copyright (c) by cory doctorow. licensed under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-sharealike . license. little brother cory doctorow doctorow@craphound.com &&& read this first this book is distributed under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-sharealike . license. that means: you are free: * to share � to copy, distribute and transmit the work * to remix � to adapt the work under the following conditions: * attribution. you must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work). * noncommercial. you may not use this work for commercial purposes. 	* share alike. if you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same or similar license to this one. * for any reuse or distribution, you must make clear to others the license terms of this work. the best way to do this is with a link http://craphound.com/littlebrother * any of the above conditions can be waived if you get my permission more info here: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/ . / see the end of this file for the complete legalese. &&& introduction i wrote little brother in a white-hot fury between may , and july , : exactly eight weeks from the day i thought it up to the day i finished it (alice, to whom this book is dedicated, had to put up with me clacking out the final chapter at am in our hotel in rome, where we were celebrating our anniversary). i'd always dreamed of having a book just materialize, fully formed, and come pouring out of my fingertips, no sweat and fuss -- but it wasn't nearly as much fun as i'd thought it would be. there were days when i wrote , words, hunching over my keyboard in airports, on subways, in taxis -- anywhere i could type. the book was trying to get out of my head, no matter what, and i missed so much sleep and so many meals that friends started to ask if i was unwell. when my dad was a young university student in the s, he was one of the few "counterculture" people who thought computers were a good thing. for most young people, computers represented the de-humanization of society. university students were reduced to numbers on a punchcard, each bearing the legend "do not bend, spindle, fold or mutilate," prompting some of the students to wear pins that said, "i am a student: do not bend, spindle, fold or mutilate me." computers were seen as a means to increase the ability of the authorities to regiment people and bend them to their will. when i was a , the world seemed like it was just going to get more free. the berlin wall was about to come down. computers -- which had been geeky and weird a few years before -- were everywhere, and the modem i'd used to connect to local bulletin board systems was now connecting me to the entire world through the internet and commercial online services like genie. my lifelong fascination with activist causes went into overdrive as i saw how the main difficulty in activism -- organizing -- was getting easier by leaps and bounds (i still remember the first time i switched from mailing out a newsletter with hand-written addresses to using a database with mail-merge). in the soviet union, communications tools were being used to bring information -- and revolution -- to the farthest-flung corners of the largest authoritarian state the earth had ever seen. but years later, things are very different. the computers i love are being co-opted, used to spy on us, control us, snitch on us. the national security agency has illegally wiretapped the entire usa and gotten away with it. car rental companies and mass transit and traffic authorities are watching where we go, sending us automated tickets, finking us out to busybodies, cops and bad guys who gain illicit access to their databases. the transport security administration maintains a "no-fly" list of people who'd never been convicted of any crime, but who are nevertheless considered too dangerous to fly. the list's contents are secret. the rule that makes it enforceable is secret. the criteria for being added to the list are secret. it has four-year-olds on it. and us senators. and decorated veterans -- actual war heroes. the year olds i know understand to a nicety just how dangerous a computer can be. the authoritarian nightmare of the s has come home for them. the seductive little boxes on their desks and in their pockets watch their every move, corral them in, systematically depriving them of those new freedoms i had enjoyed and made such good use of in my young adulthood. what's more, kids were clearly being used as guinea-pigs for a new kind of technological state that all of us were on our way to, a world where taking a picture was either piracy (in a movie theater or museum or even a starbucks), or terrorism (in a public place), but where we could be photographed, tracked and logged hundreds of times a day by every tin-pot dictator, cop, bureaucrat and shop-keeper. a world where any measure, including torture, could be justified just by waving your hands and shouting "terrorism! / ! terrorism!" until all dissent fell silent. we don't have to go down that road. if you love freedom, if you think the human condition is dignified by privacy, by the right to be left alone, by the right to explore your weird ideas provided you don't hurt others, then you have common cause with the kids whose web-browsers and cell phones are being used to lock them up and follow them around. if you believe that the answer to bad speech is more speech -- not censorship -- then you have a dog in the fight. if you believe in a society of laws, a land where our rulers have to tell us the rules, and have to follow them too, then you're part of the same struggle that kids fight when they argue for the right to live under the same bill of rights that adults have. this book is meant to be part of the conversation about what an information society means: does it mean total control, or unheard-of liberty? it's not just a noun, it's a verb, it's something you do. &&& do something this book is meant to be something you do, not just something you read. the technology in this book is either real or nearly real. you can build a lot of it. you can share it and remix it (see the copyright thing, below). you can use the ideas to spark important discussions with your friends and family. you can use those ideas to defeat censorship and get onto the free internet, even if your government, employer or school doesn't want you to. making stuff: the folks at instructables have put up some killer howtos for building the technology in this book. it's easy and incredibly fun. there's nothing so rewarding in this world as making stuff, especially stuff that makes you more free: http://www.instructables.com/member/w n t n/ discussions: there's an educator's manual for this book that my publisher, tor, has put together that has tons of ideas for classroom, reading group and home discussions of the ideas in it: http://www.tor-forge.com/static/little_brother_readers_guide.pdf defeat censorship: the afterword for this book has lots of resources for increasing your online freedom, blocking the snoops and evading the censorware blocks. the more people who know about this stuff, the better. your stories: i'm collecting stories of people who've used technology to get the upper hand when confronted with abusive authority. i'm going to be including the best of these in a special afterword to the uk edition (see below) of the book, and i'll be putting them online as well. send me your stories at doctorow@craphound.com, with the subject line "abuses of authority". &&& great britain i'm a canadian, and i've lived in lots of places (including san francisco, the setting for little brother), and now i live in london, england, with my wife alice and our little daughter, poesy. i've lived here (off and on) for five years now, and though i love it to tiny pieces, there's one thing that's always bugged me: my books aren't available here. some stores carried them as special items, imported from the usa, but it wasn't published by a british publisher. that's changed! harpercollins uk has bought the british rights to this book (along with my next young adult novel, for the win), and they're publishing it just a few months after the us edition, on november , (the day after i get back from my honeymoon!). update: november , : and it's on shelves now! the harpercollins edition's a knockout, too! i'm so glad about this, i could bust, honestly. not just because they're finally selling my books in my adopted homeland, but because *i'm raising a daughter here, dammit*, and the surveillance and control mania in this country is starting to scare me bloodless. it seems like the entire police and governance system in britain has fallen in love with dna-swabbing, fingerprinting and video-recording everyone, on the off chance that someday you might do something wrong. in early , the head of scotland yard seriously proposed taking dna from *five-year-olds* who display "offending traits" because they'll probably grow up to be criminals. the next week, the london police put up posters asking us all to turn in people who seem to be taking pictures of the ubiquitous cctv spy-cameras because anyone who pays too much attention to the surveillance machine is probably a terrorist. america isn't the only country that lost its mind this decade. britain's right there in the nuthouse with it, dribbling down its shirt front and pointing its finger at the invisible bogeymen and screaming until it gets its meds. we need to be having this conversation all over the planet. want to get a copy in the uk? sure thing! http://craphound.com/littlebrother/buy/#uk &&& other editions my agent, russell galen (and his sub-agent danny baror) did an amazing job of pre-selling rights to little brother in many languages and formats. here's the list as of today (may , ). i'll be updating it as more editions are sold, so feel free to grab another copy of this file (http://craphound.com/littlebrother/download) if there's an edition you're hoping to see, or see http://craphound.com/littlebrother/buy/ for links to buy all the currently shipping editions. * audiobook from random house: http://www.randomhouse.com/audio/littlebrotheraudiobook a condition of my deal with random house is that they're not allowed to release this on services that use "drm" (digital rights management) systems intended to control use and copying. that means that you won't find this book on audible or itunes, because audible refuses to sell books without drm (even if the author and publisher don't want drm), and itunes only carries audible audiobooks. however, you can buy the mp file direct from randomhouse or many other fine etailers, or through this widget: http://www.zipidee.com/zipidaudiopreview.aspx?aid=c a e -fd c- b e-a -f bba de * my foreign rights agent, danny baror, has presold a number of foreign editions: 	* greece: pataki 	* russia: ast publishing 	* france: universe poche 	* norway: det norske samlaget no publication dates yet for these, but i'll keep updating this file as more information is available. you can also subscribe to my mailing list for more info. &&& the copyright thing the creative commons license at the top of this file probably tipped you off to the fact that i've got some pretty unorthodox views about copyright. here's what i think of it, in a nutshell: a little goes a long way, and more than that is too much. i like the fact that copyright lets me sell rights to my publishers and film studios and so on. it's nice that they can't just take my stuff without permission and get rich on it without cutting me in for a piece of the action. i'm in a pretty good position when it comes to negotiating with these companies: i've got a great agent and a decade's experience with copyright law and licensing (including a stint as a delegate at wipo, the un agency that makes the world's copyright treaties). what's more, there's just not that many of these negotiations -- even if i sell fifty or a hundred different editions of little brother (which would put it in top millionth of a percentile for fiction), that's still only a hundred negotiations, which i could just about manage. i *hate* the fact that fans who want to do what readers have always done are expected to play in the same system as all these hotshot agents and lawyers. it's just *stupid* to say that an elementary school classroom should have to talk to a lawyer at a giant global publisher before they put on a play based on one of my books. it's ridiculous to say that people who want to "loan" their electronic copy of my book to a friend need to get a *license* to do so. loaning books has been around longer than any publisher on earth, and it's a fine thing. i recently saw neil gaiman give a talk at which someone asked him how he felt about piracy of his books. he said, "hands up in the audience if you discovered your favorite writer for free -- because someone loaned you a copy, or because someone gave it to you? now, hands up if you found your favorite writer by walking into a store and plunking down cash." overwhelmingly, the audience said that they'd discovered their favorite writers for free, on a loan or as a gift. when it comes to my favorite writers, there's no boundaries: i'll buy every book they publish, just to own it (sometimes i buy two or three, to give away to friends who *must* read those books). i pay to see them live. i buy t-shirts with their book-covers on them. i'm a customer for life. neil went on to say that he was part of the tribe of readers, the tiny minority of people in the world who read for pleasure, buying books because they love them. one thing he knows about everyone who downloads his books on the internet without permission is that they're *readers*, they're people who love books. people who study the habits of music-buyers have discovered something curious: the biggest pirates are also the biggest spenders. if you pirate music all night long, chances are you're one of the few people left who also goes to the record store (remember those?) during the day. you probably go to concerts on the weekend, and you probably check music out of the library too. if you're a member of the red-hot music-fan tribe, you do lots of *everything* that has to do with music, from singing in the shower to paying for black-market vinyl bootlegs of rare eastern european covers of your favorite death-metal band. same with books. i've worked in new bookstores, used bookstores and libraries. i've hung out in pirate ebook ("bookwarez") places online. i'm a stone used bookstore junkie, and i go to book fairs for fun. and you know what? it's the same people at all those places: book fans who do lots of everything that has to do with books. i buy weird, fugly pirate editions of my favorite books in china because they're weird and fugly and look great next to the eight or nine other editions that i paid full-freight for of the same books. i check books out of the library, google them when i need a quote, carry dozens around on my phone and hundreds on my laptop, and have (at this writing) more than , of them in storage lockers in london, los angeles and toronto. if i could loan out my physical books without giving up possession of them, i *would*. the fact that i can do so with digital files is not a bug, it's a feature, and a damned fine one. it's embarrassing to see all these writers and musicians and artists bemoaning the fact that art just got this wicked new feature: the ability to be shared without losing access to it in the first place. it's like watching restaurant owners crying down their shirts about the new free lunch machine that's feeding the world's starving people because it'll force them to reconsider their business-models. yes, that's gonna be tricky, but let's not lose sight of the main attraction: free lunches! universal access to human knowledge is in our grasp, for the first time in the history of the world. this is not a bad thing. in case that's not enough for you, here's my pitch on why giving away ebooks makes sense at this time and place: giving away ebooks gives me artistic, moral and commercial satisfaction. the commercial question is the one that comes up most often: how can you give away free ebooks and still make money? for me -- for pretty much every writer -- the big problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity (thanks to tim o'reilly for this great aphorism). of all the people who failed to buy this book today, the majority did so because they never heard of it, not because someone gave them a free copy. mega-hit best-sellers in science fiction sell half a million copies -- in a world where , attend the san diego comic con alone, you've got to figure that most of the people who "like science fiction" (and related geeky stuff like comics, games, linux, and so on) just don't really buy books. i'm more interested in getting more of that wider audience into the tent than making sure that everyone who's in the tent bought a ticket to be there. ebooks are verbs, not nouns. you copy them, it's in their nature. and many of those copies have a destination, a person they're intended for, a hand-wrought transfer from one person to another, embodying a personal recommendation between two people who trust each other enough to share bits. that's the kind of thing that authors (should) dream of, the proverbial sealing of the deal. by making my books available for free pass-along, i make it easy for people who love them to help other people love them. what's more, i don't see ebooks as substitute for paper books for most people. it's not that the screens aren't good enough, either: if you're anything like me, you already spend every hour you can get in front of the screen, reading text. but the more computer-literate you are, the less likely you are to be reading long-form works on those screens -- that's because computer-literate people do more things with their computers. we run im and email and we use the browser in a million diverse ways. we have games running in the background, and endless opportunities to tinker with our music libraries. the more you do with your computer, the more likely it is that you'll be interrupted after five to seven minutes to do something else. that makes the computer extremely poorly suited to reading long-form works off of, unless you have the iron self-discipline of a monk. the good news (for writers) is that this means that ebooks on computers are more likely to be an enticement to buy the printed book (which is, after all, cheap, easily had, and easy to use) than a substitute for it. you can probably read just enough of the book off the screen to realize you want to be reading it on paper. so ebooks sell print books. every writer i've heard of who's tried giving away ebooks to promote paper books has come back to do it again. that's the commercial case for doing free ebooks. now, onto the artistic case. it's the twenty-first century. copying stuff is never, ever going to get any harder than it is today (or if it does, it'll be because civilization has collapsed, at which point we'll have other problems). hard drives aren't going to get bulkier, more expensive, or less capacious. networks won't get slower or harder to access. if you're not making art with the intention of having it copied, you're not really making art for the twenty-first century. there's something charming about making work you don't want to be copied, in the same way that it's nice to go to a pioneer village and see the olde-timey blacksmith shoeing a horse at his traditional forge. but it's hardly, you know, *contemporary*. i'm a science fiction writer. it's my job to write about the future (on a good day) or at least the present. art that's not supposed to be copied is from the past. finally, let's look at the moral case. copying stuff is natural. it's how we learn (copying our parents and the people around us). my first story, written when i was six, was an excited re-telling of star wars, which i'd just seen in the theater. now that the internet -- the world's most efficient copying machine -- is pretty much everywhere, our copying instinct is just going to play out more and more. there's no way i can stop my readers, and if i tried, i'd be a hypocrite: when i was , i was making mix-tapes, photocopying stories, and generally copying in every way i could imagine. if the internet had been around then, i'd have been using it to copy as much as i possibly could. there's no way to stop it, and the people who try end up doing more harm than piracy ever did. the record industry's ridiculous holy war against file-sharers (more than , music fans sued and counting!) exemplifies the absurdity of trying to get the food-coloring out of the swimming pool. if the choice is between allowing copying or being a frothing bully lashing out at anything he can reach, i choose the former. &&& donations and a word to teachers and librarians every time i put a book online for free, i get emails from readers who want to send me donations for the book. i appreciate their generous spirit, but i'm not interested in cash donations, because my publishers are really important to me. they contribute immeasurably to the book, improving it, introducing it to audience i could never reach, helping me do more with my work. i have no desire to cut them out of the loop. but there has to be some good way to turn that generosity to good use, and i think i've found it. here's the deal: there are lots of teachers and librarians who'd love to get hard-copies of this book into their kids' hands, but don't have the budget for it (teachers in the us spend around $ , out of pocket each on classroom supplies that their budgets won't stretch to cover, which is why i sponsor a classroom at ivanhoe elementary in my old neighborhood in los angeles; you can adopt a class yourself here: http://www.adoptaclassroom.org/). there are generous people who want to send some cash my way to thank me for the free ebooks. i'm proposing that we put them together. if you're a teacher or librarian and you want a free copy of little brother, email freelittlebrother@gmail.com with your name and the name and address of your school. it'll be posted to http://craphound.com/littlebrother/category/donate/ by my fantastic helper, olga nunes, so that potential donors can see it. if you enjoyed the electronic edition of little brother and you want to donate something to say thanks, go to http://craphound.com/littlebrother/donate/ and find a teacher or librarian you want to support. then go to amazon, bn.com, or your favorite electronic bookseller and order a copy to the classroom, then email a copy of the receipt (feel free to delete your address and other personal info first!) to freelittlebrother@gmail.com so that olga can mark that copy as sent. if you don't want to be publicly acknowledged for your generosity, let us know and we'll keep you anonymous, otherwise we'll thank you on the donate page. i have no idea if this will end up with hundreds, dozens or just a few copies going out -- but i have high hopes! &&& dedication for alice, who makes me whole &&& quotes "a rousing tale of techno-geek rebellion, as necessary and dangerous as file sharing, free speech, and bottled water on a plane." scott westerfeld, author of uglies and extras # "i can talk about little brother in terms of its bravura political speculation or its brilliant uses of technology -- each of which make this book a must-read -- but, at the end of it all, i'm haunted by the universality of marcus's rite-of-passage and struggle, an experience any teen today is going to grasp: the moment when you choose what your life will mean and how to achieve it." steven c gould, author of jumper and reflex # i'd recommend little brother over pretty much any book i've read this year, and i'd want to get it into the hands of as many smart year olds, male and female, as i can. because i think it'll change lives. because some kids, maybe just a few, won't be the same after they've read it. maybe they'll change politically, maybe technologically. maybe it'll just be the first book they loved or that spoke to their inner geek. maybe they'll want to argue about it and disagree with it. maybe they'll want to open their computer and see what's in there. i don't know. it made me want to be again right now and reading it for the first time, and then go out and make the world better or stranger or odder. it's a wonderful, important book, in a way that renders its flaws pretty much meaningless. neil gaiman, author of anansi boys # little brother is a scarily realistic adventure about how homeland security technology could be abused to wrongfully imprison innocent americans. a teenage hacker-turned-hero pits himself against the government to fight for his basic freedoms. this book is action-packed with tales of courage, technology, and demonstrations of digital disobedience as the technophile's civil protest." bunnie huang, author of hacking the xbox # cory doctorow is a fast and furious storyteller who gets all the details of alternate reality gaming right, while offering a startling, new vision of how these games might play out in the high-stakes context of a terrorist attack. little brother is a brilliant novel with a bold argument: hackers and gamers might just be our country's best hope for the future. jane mcgonical, designer, i love bees # the right book at the right time from the right author -- and, not entirely coincidentally, cory doctorow's best novel yet. john scalzi, author of old man's war # it's about growing up in the near future where things have kept going on the way they've been going, and it's about hacking as a habit of mind, but mostly it's about growing up and changing and looking at the world and asking what you can do about that. the teenage voice is pitch-perfect. i couldn't put it down, and i loved it. jo walton, author of farthing # a worthy younger sibling to orwell's , cory doctorow's little brother is lively, precocious, and most importantly, a little scary. brian k vaughn, author of y: the last man # "little brother" sounds an optimistic warning. it extrapolates from current events to remind us of the ever-growing threats to liberty. but it also notes that liberty ultimately resides in our individual attitudes and actions. in our increasingly authoritarian world, i especially hope that teenagers and young adults will read it -- and then persuade their peers, parents and teachers to follow suit. dan gillmor, author of we, the media &&& about the bookstore dedications every chapter of this file has been dedicated to a different bookstore, and in each case, it's a store that i love, a store that's helped me discover books that opened my mind, a store that's helped my career along. the stores didn't pay me anything for this -- i haven't even told them about it -- but it seems like the right thing to do. after all, i'm hoping that you'll read this ebook and decide to buy the paper book, so it only makes sense to suggest a few places you can pick it up! &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to bakkaphoenix books in toronto, canada. bakka is the oldest science fiction bookstore in the world, and it made me the mutant i am today. i wandered in for the first time around the age of and asked for some recommendations. tanya huff (yes, *the* tanya huff, but she wasn't a famous writer back then!) took me back into the used section and pressed a copy of h. beam piper's "little fuzzy" into my hands, and changed my life forever. by the time i was , i was working at bakka -- i took over from tanya when she retired to write full time -- and i learned life-long lessons about how and why people buy books. i think every writer should work at a bookstore (and plenty of writers have worked at bakka over the years! for the th anniversary of the store, they put together an anthology of stories by bakka writers that included work by michelle sagara (aka michelle west), tanya huff, nalo hopkinson, tara tallan --and me!)]] [[bakkaphoenix books: http://www.bakkaphoenixbooks.com/ queen street west, toronto on canada m j e , + ]] i'm a senior at cesar chavez high in san francisco's sunny mission district, and that makes me one of the most surveilled people in the world. my name is marcus yallow, but back when this story starts, i was going by w n t n. pronounced "winston." *not* pronounced "double-you-one-enn-five-tee-zero-enn" -- unless you're a clueless disciplinary officer who's far enough behind the curve that you still call the internet "the information superhighway." i know just such a clueless person, and his name is fred benson, one of three vice-principals at cesar chavez. he's a sucking chest wound of a human being. but if you're going to have a jailer, better a clueless one than one who's really on the ball. "marcus yallow," he said over the pa one friday morning. the pa isn't very good to begin with, and when you combine that with benson's habitual mumble, you get something that sounds more like someone struggling to digest a bad burrito than a school announcement. but human beings are good at picking their names out of audio confusion -- it's a survival trait. i grabbed my bag and folded my laptop three-quarters shut -- i didn't want to blow my downloads -- and got ready for the inevitable. "report to the administration office immediately." my social studies teacher, ms galvez, rolled her eyes at me and i rolled my eyes back at her. the man was always coming down on me, just because i go through school firewalls like wet kleenex, spoof the gait-recognition software, and nuke the snitch chips they track us with. galvez is a good type, anyway, never holds that against me (especially when i'm helping get with her webmail so she can talk to her brother who's stationed in iraq). my boy darryl gave me a smack on the ass as i walked past. i've known darryl since we were still in diapers and escaping from play-school, and i've been getting him into and out of trouble the whole time. i raised my arms over my head like a prizefighter and made my exit from social studies and began the perp-walk to the office. i was halfway there when my phone went. that was another no-no -- phones are muy prohibido at chavez high -- but why should that stop me? i ducked into the toilet and shut myself in the middle stall (the furthest stall is always grossest because so many people head straight for it, hoping to escape the smell and the squick -- the smart money and good hygiene is down the middle). i checked the phone -- my home pc had sent it an email to tell it that there was something new up on harajuku fun madness, which happens to be the best game ever invented. i grinned. spending fridays at school was teh suck anyway, and i was glad of the excuse to make my escape. i ambled the rest of the way to benson's office and tossed him a wave as i sailed through the door. "if it isn't double-you-one-enn-five-tee-zero-enn," he said. fredrick benson -- social security number - - , date of birth august , mother's maiden name di bona, hometown petaluma -- is a lot taller than me. i'm a runty ' ", while he stands ' ", and his college basketball days are far enough behind him that his chest muscles have turned into saggy man-boobs that were painfully obvious through his freebie dot-com polo-shirts. he always looks like he's about to slam-dunk your ass, and he's really into raising his voice for dramatic effect. both these start to lose their efficacy with repeated application. "sorry, nope," i said. "i never heard of this r d character of yours." "w n t n," he said, spelling it out again. he gave me a hairy eyeball and waited for me to wilt. of course it was my handle, and had been for years. it was the identity i used when i was posting on message-boards where i was making my contributions to the field of applied security research. you know, like sneaking out of school and disabling the minder-tracer on my phone. but he didn't know that this was my handle. only a small number of people did, and i trusted them all to the end of the earth. "um, not ringing any bells," i said. i'd done some pretty cool stuff around school using that handle -- i was very proud of my work on snitch-tag killers -- and if he could link the two identities, i'd be in trouble. no one at school ever called me w n t n or even winston. not even my pals. it was marcus or nothing. benson settled down behind his desk and tapped his class-ring nervously on his blotter. he did this whenever things started to go bad for him. poker players call stuff like this a "tell" -- something that let you know what was going on in the other guy's head. i knew benson's tells backwards and forwards. "marcus, i hope you realize how serious this is." "i will just as soon as you explain what this is, sir." i always say "sir" to authority figures when i'm messing with them. it's my own tell. he shook his head at me and looked down, another tell. any second now, he was going to start shouting at me. "listen, kiddo! it's time you came to grips with the fact that we know about what you've been doing, and that we're not going to be lenient about it. you're going to be lucky if you're not expelled before this meeting is through. do you want to graduate?" "mr benson, you still haven't explained what the problem is --" he slammed his hand down on the desk and then pointed his finger at me. "the *problem*, mr yallow, is that you've been engaged in criminal conspiracy to subvert this school's security system, and you have supplied security countermeasures to your fellow students. you know that we expelled graciella uriarte last week for using one of your devices." uriarte had gotten a bad rap. she'd bought a radio-jammer from a head-shop near the th street bart station and it had set off the countermeasures in the school hallway. not my doing, but i felt for her. "and you think i'm involved in that?" "we have reliable intelligence indicating that you are w n t n" -- again, he spelled it out, and i began to wonder if he hadn't figured out that the was an i and the was an s. "we know that this w n t n character is responsible for the theft of last year's standardized tests." that actually hadn't been me, but it was a sweet hack, and it was kind of flattering to hear it attributed to me. "and therefore liable for several years in prison unless you cooperate with me." "you have 'reliable intelligence'? i'd like to see it." he glowered at me. "your attitude isn't going to help you." "if there's evidence, sir, i think you should call the police and turn it over to them. it sounds like this is a very serious matter, and i wouldn't want to stand in the way of a proper investigation by the duly constituted authorities." "you want me to call the police." "and my parents, i think. that would be for the best." we stared at each other across the desk. he'd clearly expected me to fold the second he dropped the bomb on me. i don't fold. i have a trick for staring down people like benson. i look slightly to the left of their heads, and think about the lyrics to old irish folk songs, the kinds with three hundred verses. it makes me look perfectly composed and unworried. *and the wing was on the bird and the bird was on the egg and the egg was in the nest and the nest was on the leaf and the leaf was on the twig and the twig was on the branch and the branch was on the limb and the limb was in the tree and the tree was in the bog -- the bog down in the valley-oh! high-ho the rattlin' bog, the bog down in the valley-oh --* "you can return to class now," he said. "i'll call on you once the police are ready to speak to you." "are you going to call them now?" "the procedure for calling in the police is complicated. i'd hoped that we could settle this fairly and quickly, but since you insist --" "i can wait while you call them is all," i said. "i don't mind." he tapped his ring again and i braced for the blast. "*go!*" he yelled. "get the hell out of my office, you miserable little --" i got out, keeping my expression neutral. he wasn't going to call the cops. if he'd had enough evidence to go to the police with, he would have called them in the first place. he hated my guts. i figured he'd heard some unverified gossip and hoped to spook me into confirming it. i moved down the corridor lightly and sprightly, keeping my gait even and measured for the gait-recognition cameras. these had been installed only a year before, and i loved them for their sheer idiocy. beforehand, we'd had face-recognition cameras covering nearly every public space in school, but a court ruled that was unconstitutional. so benson and a lot of other paranoid school administrators had spent our textbook dollars on these idiot cameras that were supposed to be able to tell one person's walk from another. yeah, right. i got back to class and sat down again, ms galvez warmly welcoming me back. i unpacked the school's standard-issue machine and got back into classroom mode. the schoolbooks were the snitchiest technology of them all, logging every keystroke, watching all the network traffic for suspicious keywords, counting every click, keeping track of every fleeting thought you put out over the net. we'd gotten them in my junior year, and it only took a couple months for the shininess to wear off. once people figured out that these "free" laptops worked for the man -- and showed a never-ending parade of obnoxious ads to boot -- they suddenly started to feel very heavy and burdensome. cracking my schoolbook had been easy. the crack was online within a month of the machine showing up, and there was nothing to it -- just download a dvd image, burn it, stick it in the schoolbook, and boot it while holding down a bunch of different keys at the same time. the dvd did the rest, installing a whole bunch of hidden programs on the machine, programs that would stay hidden even when the board of ed did its daily remote integrity checks of the machines. every now and again i had to get an update for the software to get around the board's latest tests, but it was a small price to pay to get a little control over the box. i fired up imparanoid, the secret instant messenger that i used when i wanted to have an off-the-record discussion right in the middle of class. darryl was already logged in. > the game's afoot! something big is going down with harajuku fun madness, dude. you in? > no. freaking. way. if i get caught ditching a third time, i'm expelled. man, you know that. we'll go after school. > you've got lunch and then study-hall, right? that's two hours. plenty of time to run down this clue and get back before anyone misses us. i'll get the whole team out. harajuku fun madness is the best game ever made. i know i already said that, but it bears repeating. it's an arg, an alternate reality game, and the story goes that a gang of japanese fashion-teens discovered a miraculous healing gem at the temple in harajuku, which is basically where cool japanese teenagers invented every major subculture for the past ten years. they're being hunted by evil monks, the yakuza (aka the japanese mafia), aliens, tax-inspectors, parents, and a rogue artificial intelligence. they slip the players coded messages that we have to decode and use to track down clues that lead to more coded messages and more clues. imagine the best afternoon you've ever spent prowling the streets of a city, checking out all the weird people, funny hand-bills, street-maniacs, and funky shops. now add a scavenger hunt to that, one that requires you to research crazy old films and songs and teen culture from around the world and across time and space. and it's a competition, with the winning team of four taking a grand prize of ten days in tokyo, chilling on harajuku bridge, geeking out in akihabara, and taking home all the astro boy merchandise you can eat. except that he's called "atom boy" in japan. that's harajuku fun madness, and once you've solved a puzzle or two, you'll never look back. > no man, just no. no. don't even ask. > i need you d. you're the best i've got. i swear i'll get us in and out without anyone knowing it. you know i can do that, right? > i know you can do it > so you're in? > hell no > come on, darryl. you're not going to your deathbed wishing you'd spent more study periods sitting in school > i'm not going to go to my deathbed wishing i'd spent more time playing args either > yeah but don't you think you might go to your death-bed wishing you'd spent more time with vanessa pak? van was part of my team. she went to a private girl's school in the east bay, but i knew she'd ditch to come out and run the mission with me. darryl has had a crush on her literally for years -- even before puberty endowed her with many lavish gifts. darryl had fallen in love with her mind. sad, really. > you suck > you're coming? he looked at me and shook his head. then he nodded. i winked at him and set to work getting in touch with the rest of my team. # i wasn't always into arging. i have a dark secret: i used to be a larper. larping is live action role playing, and it's just about what it sounds like: running around in costume, talking in a funny accent, pretending to be a super-spy or a vampire or a medieval knight. it's like capture the flag in monster-drag, with a bit of drama club thrown in, and the best games were the ones we played in scout camps out of town in sonoma or down on the peninsula. those three-day epics could get pretty hairy, with all-day hikes, epic battles with foam-and-bamboo swords, casting spells by throwing beanbags and shouting "fireball!" and so on. good fun, if a little goofy. not nearly as geeky as talking about what your elf planned on doing as you sat around a table loaded with diet coke cans and painted miniatures, and more physically active than going into a mouse-coma in front of a massively multiplayer game at home. the thing that got me into trouble were the mini-games in the hotels. whenever a science fiction convention came to town, some larper would convince them to let us run a couple of six-hour mini-games at the con, piggybacking on their rental of the space. having a bunch of enthusiastic kids running around in costume lent color to the event, and we got to have a ball among people even more socially deviant than us. the problem with hotels is that they have a lot of non-gamers in them, too -- and not just sci-fi people. normal people. from states that begin and end with vowels. on holidays. and sometimes those people misunderstand the nature of a game. let's just leave it at that, ok? # class ended in ten minutes, and that didn't leave me with much time to prepare. the first order of business were those pesky gait-recognition cameras. like i said, they'd started out as face-recognition cameras, but those had been ruled unconstitutional. as far as i know, no court has yet determined whether these gait-cams are any more legal, but until they do, we're stuck with them. "gait" is a fancy word for the way you walk. people are pretty good at spotting gaits -- next time you're on a camping trip, check out the bobbing of the flashlight as a distant friend approaches you. chances are you can identify him just from the movement of the light, the characteristic way it bobs up and down that tells our monkey brains that this is a person approaching us. gait recognition software takes pictures of your motion, tries to isolate you in the pics as a silhouette, and then tries to match the silhouette to a database to see if it knows who you are. it's a biometric identifier, like fingerprints or retina-scans, but it's got a lot more "collisions" than either of those. a biometric "collision" is when a measurement matches more than one person. only you have your fingerprint, but you share your gait with plenty other people. not exactly, of course. your personal, inch-by-inch walk is yours and yours alone. the problem is your inch-by-inch walk changes based on how tired you are, what the floor is made of, whether you pulled your ankle playing basketball, and whether you've changed your shoes lately. so the system kind of fuzzes-out your profile, looking for people who walk kind of like you. there are a lot of people who walk kind of like you. what's more, it's easy not to walk kind of like you -- just take one shoe off. of course, you'll always walk like you-with-one-shoe-off in that case, so the cameras will eventually figure out that it's still you. which is why i prefer to inject a little randomness into my attacks on gait-recognition: i put a handful of gravel into each shoe. cheap and effective, and no two steps are the same. plus you get a great reflexology foot massage in the process (i kid. reflexology is about as scientifically useful as gait-recognition). the cameras used to set off an alert every time someone they didn't recognize stepped onto campus. this did *not* work. the alarm went off every ten minutes. when the mailman came by. when a parent dropped in. when the grounds-people went to work fixing up the basketball court. when a student showed up wearing new shoes. so now it just tries to keep track of who's where and when. if someone leaves by the school-gates during classes, their gait is checked to see if it kinda-sorta matches any student gait and if it does, whoop-whoop-whoop, ring the alarm! chavez high is ringed with gravel walkways. i like to keep a couple handsful of rocks in my shoulder-bag, just in case. i silently passed darryl ten or fifteen pointy little bastards and we both loaded our shoes. class was about to finish up -- and i realized that i still hadn't checked the harajuku fun madness site to see where the next clue was! i'd been a little hyper-focused on the escape, and hadn't bothered to figure out where we were escaping *to*. i turned to my schoolbook and hit the keyboard. the web-browser we used was supplied with the machine. it was a locked-down spyware version of internet explorer, microsoft's crashware turd that no one under the age of used voluntarily. i had a copy of firefox on the usb drive built into my watch, but that wasn't enough -- the schoolbook ran windows vista schools, an antique operating system designed to give school administrators the illusion that they controlled the programs their students could run. but vista schools is its own worst enemy. there are a lot of programs that vista schools doesn't want you to be able to shut down -- keyloggers, censorware -- and these programs run in a special mode that makes them invisible to the system. you can't quit them because you can't even see they're there. any program whose name starts with $sys$ is invisible to the operating system. it doesn't show up on listings of the hard drive, nor in the process monitor. so my copy of firefox was called $sys$firefox -- and as i launched it, it became invisible to windows, and so invisible to the network's snoopware. now i had an indie browser running, i needed an indie network connection. the school's network logged every click in and out of the system, which was bad news if you were planning on surfing over to the harajuku fun madness site for some extra-curricular fun. the answer is something ingenious called tor -- the onion router. an onion router is an internet site that takes requests for web-pages and passes them onto other onion routers, and on to other onion routers, until one of them finally decides to fetch the page and pass it back through the layers of the onion until it reaches you. the traffic to the onion-routers is encrypted, which means that the school can't see what you're asking for, and the layers of the onion don't know who they're working for. there are millions of nodes -- the program was set up by the us office of naval research to help their people get around the censorware in countries like syria and china, which means that it's perfectly designed for operating in the confines of an average american high school. tor works because the school has a finite blacklist of naughty addresses we aren't allowed to visit, and the addresses of the nodes change all the time -- no way could the school keep track of them all. firefox and tor together made me into the invisible man, impervious to board of ed snooping, free to check out the harajuku fm site and see what was up. there it was, a new clue. like all harajuku fun madness clues, it had a physical, online and mental component. the online component was a puzzle you had to solve, one that required you to research the answers to a bunch of obscure questions. this batch included a bunch of questions on the plots in dojinshi -- those are comic books drawn by fans of manga, japanese comics. they can be as big as the official comics that inspire them, but they're a lot weirder, with crossover story-lines and sometimes really silly songs and action. lots of love stories, of course. everyone loves to see their favorite toons hook up. i'd have to solve those riddles later, when i got home. they were easiest to solve with the whole team, downloading tons of dojinshi files and scouring them for answers to the puzzles. i'd just finished scrap-booking all the clues when the bell rang and we began our escape. i surreptitiously slid the gravel down the side of my short boots -- ankle-high blundstones from australia, great for running and climbing, and the easy slip-on/slip-off laceless design makes them convenient at the never-ending metal-detectors that are everywhere now. we also had to evade physical surveillance, of course, but that gets easier every time they add a new layer of physical snoopery -- all the bells and whistles lull our beloved faculty into a totally false sense of security. we surfed the crowd down the hallways, heading for my favorite side-exit. we were halfway along when darryl hissed, "crap! i forgot, i've got a library book in my bag." "you're kidding me," i said, and hauled him into the next bathroom we passed. library books are bad news. every one of them has an arphid -- radio frequency id tag -- glued into its binding, which makes it possible for the librarians to check out the books by waving them over a reader, and lets a library shelf tell you if any of the books on it are out of place. but it also lets the school track where you are at all times. it was another of those legal loopholes: the courts wouldn't let the schools track *us* with arphids, but they could track *library books*, and use the school records to tell them who was likely to be carrying which library book. i had a little faraday pouch in my bag -- these are little wallets lined with a mesh of copper wires that effectively block radio energy, silencing arphids. but the pouches were made for neutralizing id cards and toll-booth transponders, not books like -- "introduction to physics?" i groaned. the book was the size of a dictionary. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to amazon.com, the largest internet bookseller in the world. amazon is *amazing* -- a "store" where you can get practically any book ever published (along with practically everything else, from laptops to cheese-graters), where they've elevated recommendations to a high art, where they allow customers to directly communicate with each other, where they are constantly inventing new and better ways of connecting books with readers. amazon has always treated me like gold -- the founder, jeff bezos, even posted a reader-review for my first novel! -- and i shop there like crazy (looking at my spreadsheets, it appears that i buy something from amazon approximately every *six days*). amazon's in the process of reinventing what it means to be a bookstore in the twenty-first century and i can't think of a better group of people to be facing down that thorny set of problems.]] [[amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/asin/ /downandoutint- ]] "i'm thinking of majoring in physics when i go to berkeley," darryl said. his dad taught at the university of california at berkeley, which meant he'd get free tuition when he went. and there'd never been any question in darryl's household about whether he'd go. "fine, but couldn't you research it online?" "my dad said i should read it. besides, i didn't plan on committing any crimes today." "skipping school isn't a crime. it's an infraction. they're totally different." "what are we going to do, marcus?" "well, i can't hide it, so i'm going to have to nuke it." killing arphids is a dark art. no merchant wants malicious customers going for a walk around the shop-floor and leaving behind a bunch of lobotomized merchandise that is missing its invisible bar-code, so the manufacturers have refused to implement a "kill signal" that you can radio to an arphid to get it to switch off. you can reprogram arphids with the right box, but i hate doing that to library books. it's not exactly tearing pages out of a book, but it's still bad, since a book with a reprogrammed arphid can't be shelved and can't be found. it just becomes a needle in a haystack. that left me with only one option: nuking the thing. literally. seconds in a microwave will do in pretty much every arphid on the market. and because the arphid wouldn't answer at all when d checked it back in at the library, they'd just print a fresh one for it and recode it with the book's catalog info, and it would end up clean and neat back on its shelf. all we needed was a microwave. "give it another two minutes and the teacher's lounge will be empty," i said. darryl grabbed his book at headed for the door. "forget it, no way. i'm going to class." i snagged his elbow and dragged him back. "come on, d, easy now. it'll be fine." "the *teacher's lounge*? maybe you weren't listening, marcus. if i get busted *just once more*, i am *expelled.* you hear that? *expelled.*" "you won't get caught," i said. the one place a teacher wouldn't be after this period was the lounge. "we'll go in the back way." the lounge had a little kitchenette off to one side, with its own entrance for teachers who just wanted to pop in and get a cup of joe. the microwave -- which always reeked of popcorn and spilled soup -- was right in there, on top of the miniature fridge. darryl groaned. i thought fast. "look, the bell's *already rung*. if you go to study hall now, you'll get a late-slip. better not to show at all at this point. i can infiltrate and exfiltrate any room on this campus, d. you've seen me do it. i'll keep you safe, bro." he groaned again. that was one of darryl's tells: once he starts groaning, he's ready to give in. "let's roll," i said, and we took off. it was flawless. we skirted the classrooms, took the back stairs into the basement, and came up the front stairs right in front of the teachers' lounge. not a sound came from the door, and i quietly turned the knob and dragged darryl in before silently closing the door. the book just barely fit in the microwave, which was looking even less sanitary than it had the last time i'd popped in here to use it. i conscientiously wrapped it in paper towels before i set it down. "man, teachers are *pigs*," i hissed. darryl, white faced and tense, said nothing. the arphid died in a shower of sparks, which was really quite lovely (though not nearly as pretty as the effect you get when you nuke a frozen grape, which has to be seen to be believed). now, to exfiltrate the campus in perfect anonymity and make our escape. darryl opened the door and began to move out, me on his heels. a second later, he was standing on my toes, elbows jammed into my chest, as he tried to back-pedal into the closet-sized kitchen we'd just left. "get back," he whispered urgently. "quick -- it's charles!" charles walker and i don't get along. we're in the same grade, and we've known each other as long as i've known darryl, but that's where the resemblance ends. charles has always been big for his age, and now that he's playing football and on the juice, he's even bigger. he's got anger management problems -- i lost a milk-tooth to him in the third grade, and he's managed to keep from getting in trouble over them by becoming the most active snitch in school. it's a bad combination, a bully who also snitches, taking great pleasure in going to the teachers with whatever infractions he's found. benson *loved* charles. charles liked to let on that he had some kind of unspecified bladder problem, which gave him a ready-made excuse to prowl the hallways at chavez, looking for people to fink on. the last time charles had caught some dirt on me, it had ended with me giving up larping. i had no intention of being caught by him again. "what's he doing?" "he's coming this way is what he's doing," darryl said. he was shaking. "ok," i said. "ok, time for emergency countermeasures." i got my phone out. i'd planned this well in advance. charles would never get me again. i emailed my server at home, and it got into motion. a few seconds later, charles's phone spazzed out spectacularly. i'd had tens of thousands of simultaneous random calls and text messages sent to it, causing every chirp and ring it had to go off and keep on going off. the attack was accomplished by means of a botnet, and for that i felt bad, but it was in the service of a good cause. botnets are where infected computers spend their afterlives. when you get a worm or a virus, your computer sends a message to a chat channel on irc -- the internet relay chat. that message tells the botmaster -- the guy who deployed the worm -- that the computers are there ready to do his bidding. botnets are supremely powerful, since they can comprise thousands, even hundreds of thousands of computers, scattered all over the internet, connected to juicy high-speed connections and running on fast home pcs. those pcs normally function on behalf of their owners, but when the botmaster calls them, they rise like zombies to do his bidding. there are so many infected pcs on the internet that the price of hiring an hour or two on a botnet has crashed. mostly these things work for spammers as cheap, distributed spambots, filling your mailbox with come-ons for boner-pills or with new viruses that can infect you and recruit your machine to join the botnet. i'd just rented seconds' time on three thousand pcs and had each of them send a text message or voice-over-ip call to charles's phone, whose number i'd extracted from a sticky note on benson's desk during one fateful office-visit. needless to say, charles's phone was not equipped to handle this. first the smses filled the memory on his phone, causing it to start choking on the routine operations it needed to do things like manage the ringer and log all those incoming calls' bogus return numbers (did you know that it's *really easy* to fake the return number on a caller id? there are about fifty ways of doing it -- just google "spoof caller id"). charles stared at it dumbfounded, and jabbed at it furiously, his thick eyebrows knotting and wiggling as he struggled with the demons that had possessed his most personal of devices. the plan was working so far, but he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing next -- he was supposed to go find some place to sit down and try to figure out how to get his phone back. darryl shook me by the shoulder, and i pulled my eye away from the crack in the door. "what's he doing?" darryl whispered. "i totaled his phone, but he's just staring at it now instead of moving on." it wasn't going to be easy to reboot that thing. once the memory was totally filled, it would have a hard time loading the code it needed to delete the bogus messages -- and there was no bulk-erase for texts on his phone, so he'd have to manually delete all of the thousands of messages. darryl shoved me back and stuck his eye up to the door. a moment later, his shoulders started to shake. i got scared, thinking he was panicking, but when he pulled back, i saw that he was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks. "galvez just totally busted him for being in the halls during class *and* for having his phone out -- you should have seen her tear into him. she was really enjoying it." we shook hands solemnly and snuck back out of the corridor, down the stairs, around the back, out the door, past the fence and out into the glorious sunlight of afternoon in the mission. valencia street had never looked so good. i checked my watch and yelped. "let's move! the rest of the gang is meeting us at the cable-cars in twenty minutes!" # van spotted us first. she was blending in with a group of korean tourists, which is one of her favorite ways of camouflaging herself when she's ditching school. ever since the truancy moblog went live, our world is full of nosy shopkeepers and pecksniffs who take it upon themselves to snap our piccies and put them on the net where they can be perused by school administrators. she came out of the crowd and bounded toward us. darryl has had a thing for van since forever, and she's sweet enough to pretend she doesn't know it. she gave me a hug and then moved onto darryl, giving him a quick sisterly kiss on the cheek that made him go red to the tops of his ears. the two of them made a funny pair: darryl is a little on the heavy side, though he wears it well, and he's got a kind of pink complexion that goes red in the cheeks whenever he runs or gets excited. he's been able to grow a beard since we were , but thankfully he started shaving after a brief period known to our gang as "the lincoln years." and he's tall. very, very tall. like basketball player tall. meanwhile, van is half a head shorter than me, and skinny, with straight black hair that she wears in crazy, elaborate braids that she researches on the net. she's got pretty coppery skin and dark eyes, and she loves big glass rings the size of radishes, which click and clack together when she dances. "where's jolu?" she said. "how are you, van?" darryl asked in a choked voice. he always ran a step behind the conversation when it came to van. "i'm great, d. how's your every little thing?" oh, she was a bad, bad person. darryl nearly fainted. jolu saved him from social disgrace by showing up just then, in an oversize leather baseball jacket, sharp sneakers, and a meshback cap advertising our favorite mexican masked wrestler, el santo junior. jolu is jose luis torrez, the completing member of our foursome. he went to a super-strict catholic school in the outer richmond, so it wasn't easy for him to get out. but he always did: no one exfiltrated like our jolu. he liked his jacket because it hung down low -- which was pretty stylish in parts of the city -- and covered up all his catholic school crap, which was like a bulls-eye for nosy jerks with the truancy moblog bookmarked on their phones. "who's ready to go?" i asked, once we'd all said hello. i pulled out my phone and showed them the map i'd downloaded to it on the bart. "near as i can work out, we wanna go up to the nikko again, then one block past it to o'farrell, then left up toward van ness. somewhere in there we should find the wireless signal." van made a face. "that's a nasty part of the tenderloin." i couldn't argue with her. that part of san francisco is one of the weird bits -- you go in through the hilton's front entrance and it's all touristy stuff like the cable-car turnaround and family restaurants. go through to the other side and you're in the 'loin, where every tracked out transvestite hooker, hard-case pimp, hissing drug dealer and cracked up homeless person in town was concentrated. what they bought and sold, none of us were old enough to be a part of (though there were plenty of hookers our age plying their trade in the 'loin.) "look on the bright side," i said. "the only time you want to go up around there is broad daylight. none of the other players are going to go near it until tomorrow at the earliest. this is what we in the arg business call a *monster head start.*" jolu grinned at me. "you make it sound like a good thing," he said. "beats eating uni," i said. "we going to talk or we going to win?" van said. after me, she was hands-down the most hardcore player in our group. she took winning very, very seriously. we struck out, four good friends, on our way to decode a clue, win the game -- and lose everything we cared about, forever. # the physical component of today's clue was a set of gps coordinates -- there were coordinates for all the major cities where harajuku fun madness was played -- where we'd find a wifi access-point's signal. that signal was being deliberately jammed by another, nearby wifi point that was hidden so that it couldn't be spotted by conventional wifinders, little key-fobs that told you when you were within range of someone's open access-point, which you could use for free. we'd have to track down the location of the "hidden" access point by measuring the strength of the "visible" one, finding the spot where it was most mysteriously weakest. there we'd find another clue -- last time it had been in the special of the day at anzu, the swanky sushi restaurant in the nikko hotel in the tenderloin. the nikko was owned by japan airlines, one of harajuku fun madness's sponsors, and the staff had all made a big fuss over us when we finally tracked down the clue. they'd given us bowls of miso soup and made us try uni, which is sushi made from sea urchin, with the texture of very runny cheese and a smell like very runny dog-droppings. but it tasted *really* good. or so darryl told me. i wasn't going to eat that stuff. i picked up the wifi signal with my phone's wifinder about three blocks up o'farrell, just before hyde street, in front of a dodgy "asian massage parlor" with a red blinking closed sign in the window. the network's name was harajukufm, so we knew we had the right spot. "if it's in there, i'm not going," darryl said. "you all got your wifinders?" i said. darryl and van had phones with built-in wifinders, while jolu, being too cool to carry a phone bigger than his pinky finger, had a separate little directional fob. "ok, fan out and see what we see. you're looking for a sharp drop off in the signal that gets worse the more you move along it." i took a step backward and ended up standing on someone's toes. a female voice said "oof" and i spun around, worried that some crack-ho was going to stab me for breaking her heels. instead, i found myself face to face with another kid my age. she had a shock of bright pink hair and a sharp, rodent-like face, with big sunglasses that were practically air-force goggles. she was dressed in striped tights beneath a black granny dress, with lots of little japanese decorer toys safety pinned to it -- anime characters, old world leaders, emblems from foreign soda-pop. she held up a camera and snapped a picture of me and my crew. "cheese," she said. "you're on candid snitch-cam." "no way," i said. "you wouldn't --" "i will," she said. "i will send this photo to truant watch in thirty seconds unless you four back off from this clue and let me and my friends here run it down. you can come back in one hour and it'll be all yours. i think that's more than fair." i looked behind her and noticed three other girls in similar garb -- one with blue hair, one with green, and one with purple. "who are you supposed to be, the popsicle squad?" "we're the team that's going to kick your team's ass at harajuku fun madness," she said. "and i'm the one who's *right this second* about to upload your photo and get you in *so much trouble* --" behind me i felt van start forward. her all-girls school was notorious for its brawls, and i was pretty sure she was ready to knock this chick's block off. then the world changed forever. we felt it first, that sickening lurch of the cement under your feet that every californian knows instinctively -- *earthquake*. my first inclination, as always, was to get away: "when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." but the fact was, we were already in the safest place we could be, not in a building that could fall in on us, not out toward the middle of the road where bits of falling cornice could brain us. earthquakes are eerily quiet -- at first, anyway -- but this wasn't quiet. this was loud, an incredible roaring sound that was louder than anything i'd ever heard before. the sound was so punishing it drove me to my knees, and i wasn't the only one. darryl shook my arm and pointed over the buildings and we saw it then: a huge black cloud rising from the northeast, from the direction of the bay. there was another rumble, and the cloud of smoke spread out, that spreading black shape we'd all grown up seeing in movies. someone had just blown up something, in a big way. there were more rumbles and more tremors. heads appeared at windows up and down the street. we all looked at the mushroom cloud in silence. then the sirens started. i'd heard sirens like these before -- they test the civil defense sirens at noon on tuesdays. but i'd only heard them go off unscheduled in old war movies and video games, the kind where someone is bombing someone else from above. air raid sirens. the wooooooo sound made it all less real. "report to shelters immediately." it was like the voice of god, coming from all places at once. there were speakers on some of the electric poles, something i'd never noticed before, and they'd all switched on at once. "report to shelters immediately." shelters? we looked at each other in confusion. what shelters? the cloud was rising steadily, spreading out. was it nuclear? were we breathing in our last breaths? the girl with the pink hair grabbed her friends and they tore ass downhill, back toward the bart station and the foot of the hills. "report to shelters immediately." there was screaming now, and a lot of running around. tourists -- you can always spot the tourists, they're the ones who think california = warm and spend their san francisco holidays freezing in shorts and t-shirts -- scattered in every direction. "we should go!" darryl hollered in my ear, just barely audible over the shrieking of the sirens, which had been joined by traditional police sirens. a dozen sfpd cruisers screamed past us. "report to shelters immediately." "down to the bart station," i hollered. my friends nodded. we closed ranks and began to move quickly downhill. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to borderlands books, san francisco's magnificent independent science fiction bookstore. borderlands is basically located across the street from the fictional cesar chavez high depicted in little brother, and it's not just notorious for its brilliant events, signings, book clubs and such, but also for its amazing hairless egyptian cat, ripley, who likes to perch like a buzzing gargoyle on the computer at the front of the store. borderlands is about the friendliest bookstore you could ask for, filled with comfy places to sit and read, and staffed by incredibly knowledgeable clerks who know everything there is to know about science fiction. even better, they've always been willing to take orders for my book (by net or phone) and hold them for me to sign when i drop into the store, then they ship them within the us for free!]] [[borderland books: http://www.borderlands-books.com/ valencia ave, san francisco ca usa + ]] we passed a lot of people in the road on the way to the powell street bart. they were running or walking, white-faced and silent or shouting and panicked. homeless people cowered in doorways and watched it all, while a tall black tranny hooker shouted at two mustached young men about something. the closer we got to the bart, the worse the press of bodies became. by the time we reached the stairway down into the station, it was a mob-scene, a huge brawl of people trying to crowd their way down a narrow staircase. i had my face crushed up against someone's back, and someone else was pressed into my back. darryl was still beside me -- he was big enough that he was hard to shove, and jolu was right behind him, kind of hanging on to his waist. i spied vanessa a few yards away, trapped by more people. "screw you!" i heard van yell behind me. "pervert! get your hands off of me!" i strained around against the crowd and saw van looking with disgust at an older guy in a nice suit who was kind of smirking at her. she was digging in her purse and i knew what she was digging for. "don't mace him!" i shouted over the din. "you'll get us all too." at the mention of the word mace, the guy looked scared and kind of melted back, though the crowd kept him moving forward. up ahead, i saw someone, a middle-aged lady in a hippie dress, falter and fall. she screamed as she went down, and i saw her thrashing to get up, but she couldn't, the crowd's pressure was too strong. as i neared her, i bent to help her up, and was nearly knocked over her. i ended up stepping on her stomach as the crowd pushed me past her, but by then i don't think she was feeling anything. i was as scared as i'd ever been. there was screaming everywhere now, and more bodies on the floor, and the press from behind was as relentless as a bulldozer. it was all i could do to keep on my feet. we were in the open concourse where the turnstiles were. it was hardly any better here -- the enclosed space sent the voices around us echoing back in a roar that made my head ring, and the smell and feeling of all those bodies made me feel a claustrophobia i'd never known i was prone to. people were still cramming down the stairs, and more were squeezing past the turnstiles and down the escalators onto the platforms, but it was clear to me that this wasn't going to have a happy ending. "want to take our chances up top?" i said to darryl. "yes, hell yes," he said. "this is vicious." i looked to vanessa -- there was no way she'd hear me. i managed to get my phone out and i texted her. > we're getting out of here i saw her feel the vibe from her phone, then look down at it and then back at me and nod vigorously. darryl, meanwhile, had clued jolu in. "*what's the plan?* darryl shouted in my ear. "we're going to have to go back!" i shouted back, pointing at the remorseless crush of bodies. "it's impossible!" he said. "it's just going to get more impossible the longer we wait!" he shrugged. van worked her way over to me and grabbed hold of my wrist. i took darryl and darryl took jolu by the other hand and we pushed out. it wasn't easy. we moved about three inches a minute at first, then slowed down even more when we reached the stairway. the people we passed were none too happy about us shoving them out of the way, either. a couple people swore at us and there was a guy who looked like he'd have punched me if he'd been able to get his arms loose. we passed three more crushed people beneath us, but there was no way i could have helped them. by that point, i wasn't even thinking of helping anyone. all i could think of was finding the spaces in front of us to move into, of darryl's mighty straining on my wrist, of my death-grip on van behind me. we popped free like champagne corks an eternity later, blinking in the grey smoky light. the air raid sirens were still blaring, and the sound of emergency vehicles' sirens as they tore down market street was even louder. there was almost no one on the streets anymore -- just the people trying hopelessly to get underground. a lot of them were crying. i spotted a bunch of empty benches -- usually staked out by skanky winos -- and pointed toward them. we moved for them, the sirens and the smoke making us duck and hunch our shoulders. we got as far as the benches before darryl fell forward. we all yelled and vanessa grabbed him and turned him over. the side of his shirt was stained red, and the stain was spreading. she tugged his shirt up and revealed a long, deep cut in his pudgy side. "someone freaking *stabbed* him in the crowd," jolu said, his hands clenching into fists. "christ, that's vicious." darryl groaned and looked at us, then down at his side, then he groaned and his head went back again. vanessa took off her jean jacket and then pulled off the cotton hoodie she was wearing underneath it. she wadded it up and pressed it to darryl's side. "take his head," she said to me. "keep it elevated." to jolu she said, "get his feet up -- roll up your coat or something." jolu moved quickly. vanessa's mother is a nurse and she'd had first aid training every summer at camp. she loved to watch people in movies get their first aid wrong and make fun of them. i was so glad to have her with us. we sat there for a long time, holding the hoodie to darryl's side. he kept insisting that he was fine and that we should let him up, and van kept telling him to shut up and lie still before she kicked his ass. "what about calling ?" jolu said. i felt like an idiot. i whipped my phone out and punched . the sound i got wasn't even a busy signal -- it was like a whimper of pain from the phone system. you don't get sounds like that unless there's three million people all dialing the same number at once. who needs botnets when you've got terrorists? "what about wikipedia?" jolu said. "no phone, no data," i said. "what about them?" darryl said, and pointed at the street. i looked where he was pointing, thinking i'd see a cop or an paramedic, but there was no one there. "it's ok buddy, you just rest," i said. "no, you idiot, what about *them*, the cops in the cars? there!" he was right. every five seconds, a cop car, an ambulance or a firetruck zoomed past. they could get us some help. i was such an idiot. "come on, then," i said, "let's get you where they can see you and flag one down." vanessa didn't like it, but i figured a cop wasn't going to stop for a kid waving his hat in the street, not that day. they just might stop if they saw darryl bleeding there, though. i argued briefly with her and darryl settled it by lurching to his feet and dragging himself down toward market street. the first vehicle that screamed past -- an ambulance -- didn't even slow down. neither did the cop car that went past, nor the firetruck, nor the next three cop-cars. darryl wasn't in good shape -- he was white-faced and panting. van's sweater was soaked in blood. i was sick of cars driving right past me. the next time a car appeared down market street, i stepped right out into the road, waving my arms over my head, shouting "*stop*." the car slewed to a stop and only then did i notice that it wasn't a cop car, ambulance or fire-engine. it was a military-looking jeep, like an armored hummer, only it didn't have any military insignia on it. the car skidded to a stop just in front of me, and i jumped back and lost my balance and ended up on the road. i felt the doors open near me, and then saw a confusion of booted feet moving close by. i looked up and saw a bunch of military-looking guys in coveralls, holding big, bulky rifles and wearing hooded gas masks with tinted face-plates. i barely had time to register them before those rifles were pointed at me. i'd never looked down the barrel of a gun before, but everything you've heard about the experience is true. you freeze where you are, time stops, and your heart thunders in your ears. i opened my mouth, then shut it, then, very slowly, i held my hands up in front of me. the faceless, eyeless armed man above me kept his gun very level. i didn't even breathe. van was screaming something and jolu was shouting and i looked at them for a second and that was when someone put a coarse sack over my head and cinched it tight around my windpipe, so quick and so fiercely i barely had time to gasp before it was locked on me. i was pushed roughly but dispassionately onto my stomach and something went twice around my wrists and then tightened up as well, feeling like baling wire and biting cruelly. i cried out and my own voice was muffled by the hood. i was in total darkness now and i strained my ears to hear what was going on with my friends. i heard them shouting through the muffling canvas of the bag, and then i was being impersonally hauled to my feet by my wrists, my arms wrenched up behind my back, my shoulders screaming. i stumbled some, then a hand pushed my head down and i was inside the hummer. more bodies were roughly shoved in beside me. "guys?" i shouted, and earned a hard thump on my head for my trouble. i heard jolu respond, then felt the thump he was dealt, too. my head rang like a gong. "hey," i said to the soldiers. "hey, listen! we're just high school students. i wanted to flag you down because my friend was bleeding. someone stabbed him." i had no idea how much of this was making it through the muffling bag. i kept talking. "listen -- this is some kind of misunderstanding. we've got to get my friend to a hospital --" someone went upside my head again. it felt like they used a baton or something -- it was harder than anyone had ever hit me in the head before. my eyes swam and watered and i literally couldn't breathe through the pain. a moment later, i caught my breath, but i didn't say anything. i'd learned my lesson. who were these clowns? they weren't wearing insignia. maybe they were terrorists! i'd never really believed in terrorists before -- i mean, i knew that in the abstract there were terrorists somewhere in the world, but they didn't really represent any risk to me. there were millions of ways that the world could kill me -- starting with getting run down by a drunk burning his way down valencia -- that were infinitely more likely and immediate than terrorists. terrorists killed a lot fewer people than bathroom falls and accidental electrocutions. worrying about them always struck me as about as useful as worrying about getting hit by lightning. sitting in the back of that hummer, my head in a hood, my hands lashed behind my back, lurching back and forth while the bruises swelled up on my head, terrorism suddenly felt a lot riskier. the car rocked back and forth and tipped uphill. i gathered we were headed over nob hill, and from the angle, it seemed we were taking one of the steeper routes -- i guessed powell street. now we were descending just as steeply. if my mental map was right, we were heading down to fisherman's wharf. you could get on a boat there, get away. that fit with the terrorism hypothesis. why the hell would terrorists kidnap a bunch of high school students? we rocked to a stop still on a downslope. the engine died and then the doors swung open. someone dragged me by my arms out onto the road, then shoved me, stumbling, down a paved road. a few seconds later, i tripped over a steel staircase, bashing my shins. the hands behind me gave me another shove. i went up the stairs cautiously, not able to use my hands. i got up the third step and reached for the fourth, but it wasn't there. i nearly fell again, but new hands grabbed me from in front and dragged me down a steel floor and then forced me to my knees and locked my hands to something behind me. more movement, and the sense of bodies being shackled in alongside of me. groans and muffled sounds. laughter. then a long, timeless eternity in the muffled gloom, breathing my own breath, hearing my own breath in my ears. # i actually managed a kind of sleep there, kneeling with the circulation cut off to my legs, my head in canvas twilight. my body had squirted a year's supply of adrenalin into my bloodstream in the space of minutes, and while that stuff can give you the strength to lift cars off your loved ones and leap over tall buildings, the payback's always a bitch. i woke up to someone pulling the hood off my head. they were neither rough nor careful -- just...impersonal. like someone at mcdonald's putting together burgers. the light in the room was so bright i had to squeeze my eyes shut, but slowly i was able to open them to slits, then cracks, then all the way and look around. we were all in the back of a truck, a big -wheeler. i could see the wheel-wells at regular intervals down the length. but the back of this truck had been turned into some kind of mobile command-post/jail. steel desks lined the walls with banks of slick flat-panel displays climbing above them on articulated arms that let them be repositioned in a halo around the operators. each desk had a gorgeous office-chair in front of it, festooned with user-interface knobs for adjusting every millimeter of the sitting surface, as well as height, pitch and yaw. then there was the jail part -- at the front of the truck, furthest away from the doors, there were steel rails bolted into the sides of the vehicle, and attached to these steel rails were the prisoners. i spotted van and jolu right away. darryl might have been in the remaining dozen shackled up back here, but it was impossible to say -- many of them were slumped over and blocking my view. it stank of sweat and fear back there. vanessa looked at me and bit her lip. she was scared. so was i. so was jolu, his eyes rolling crazily in their sockets, the whites showing. i was scared. what's more, i had to piss like a *race-horse.* i looked around for our captors. i'd avoided looking at them up until now, the same way you don't look into the dark of a closet where your mind has conjured up a boogey-man. you don't want to know if you're right. but i had to get a better look at these jerks who'd kidnapped us. if they were terrorists, i wanted to know. i didn't know what a terrorist looked like, though tv shows had done their best to convince me that they were brown arabs with big beards and knit caps and loose cotton dresses that hung down to their ankles. not so our captors. they could have been half-time-show cheerleaders on the super bowl. they looked *american* in a way i couldn't exactly define. good jaw-lines, short, neat haircuts that weren't quite military. they came in white and brown, male and female, and smiled freely at one another as they sat down at the other end of the truck, joking and drinking coffees out of go-cups. these weren't ay-rabs from afghanistan: they looked like tourists from nebraska. i stared at one, a young white woman with brown hair who barely looked older than me, kind of cute in a scary office-power-suit way. if you stare at someone long enough, they'll eventually look back at you. she did, and her face slammed into a totally different configuration, dispassionate, even robotic. the smile vanished in an instant. "hey," i said. "look, i don't understand what's going on here, but i really need to take a leak, you know?" she looked right through me as if she hadn't heard. "i'm serious, if i don't get to a can soon, i'm going to have an ugly accident. it's going to get pretty smelly back here, you know?" she turned to her colleagues, a little huddle of three of them, and they held a low conversation i couldn't hear over the fans from the computers. she turned back to me. "hold it for another ten minutes, then you'll each get a piss-call." "i don't think i've got another ten minutes in me," i said, letting a little more urgency than i was really feeling creep into my voice. "seriously, lady, it's now or never." she shook her head and looked at me like i was some kind of pathetic loser. she and her friends conferred some more, then another one came forward. he was older, in his early thirties, and pretty big across the shoulders, like he worked out. he looked like he was chinese or korean -- even van can't tell the difference sometimes -- but with that bearing that said *american* in a way i couldn't put my finger on. he pulled his sports-coat aside to let me see the hardware strapped there: i recognized a pistol, a tazer and a can of either mace or pepper-spray before he let it fall again. "no trouble," he said. "none," i agreed. he touched something at his belt and the shackles behind me let go, my arms dropping suddenly behind me. it was like he was wearing batman's utility belt -- wireless remotes for shackles! i guessed it made sense, though: you wouldn't want to lean over your prisoners with all that deadly hardware at their eye-level -- they might grab your gun with their teeth and pull the trigger with their tongues or something. my hands were still lashed together behind me by the plastic strapping, and now that i wasn't supported by the shackles, i found that my legs had turned into lumps of cork while i was stuck in one position. long story short, i basically fell onto my face and kicked my legs weakly as they went pins-and-needles, trying to get them under me so i could rock up to my feet. the guy jerked me to my feet and i clown-walked to the very back of the truck, to a little boxed-in porta-john there. i tried to spot darryl on the way back, but he could have been any of the five or six slumped people. or none of them. "in you go," the guy said. i jerked my wrists. "take these off, please?" my fingers felt like purple sausages from the hours of bondage in the plastic cuffs. the guy didn't move. "look," i said, trying not to sound sarcastic or angry (it wasn't easy). "look. you either cut my wrists free or you're going to have to aim for me. a toilet visit is not a hands-free experience." someone in the truck sniggered. the guy didn't like me, i could tell from the way his jaw muscles ground around. man, these people were wired tight. he reached down to his belt and came up with a very nice set of multi-pliers. he flicked out a wicked-looking knife and sliced through the plastic cuffs and my hands were my own again. "thanks," i said. he shoved me into the bathroom. my hands were useless, like lumps of clay on the ends of my wrists. as i wiggled my fingers limply, they tingled, then the tingling turned to a burning feeling that almost made me cry out. i put the seat down, dropped my pants and sat down. i didn't trust myself to stay on my feet. as my bladder cut loose, so did my eyes. i wept, crying silently and rocking back and forth while the tears and snot ran down my face. it was all i could do to keep from sobbing -- i covered my mouth and held the sounds in. i didn't want to give them the satisfaction. finally, i was peed out and cried out and the guy was pounding on the door. i cleaned my face as best as i could with wads of toilet paper, stuck it all down the john and flushed, then looked around for a sink but only found a pump-bottle of heavy-duty hand-sanitizer covered in small-print lists of the bio-agents it worked on. i rubbed some into my hands and stepped out of the john. "what were you doing in there?" the guy said. "using the facilities," i said. he turned me around and grabbed my hands and i felt a new pair of plastic cuffs go around them. my wrists had swollen since the last pair had come off and the new ones bit cruelly into my tender skin, but i refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out. he shackled me back to my spot and grabbed the next person down, who, i saw now, was jolu, his face puffy and an ugly bruise on his cheek. "are you ok?" i asked him, and my friend with the utility belt abruptly put his hand on my forehead and shoved hard, bouncing the back of my head off the truck's metal wall with a sound like a clock striking one. "no talking," he said as i struggled to refocus my eyes. i didn't like these people. i decided right then that they would pay a price for all this. one by one, all the prisoners went to the can, and came back, and when they were done, my guard went back to his friends and had another cup of coffee -- they were drinking out of a big cardboard urn of starbucks, i saw -- and they had an indistinct conversation that involved a fair bit of laughter. then the door at the back of the truck opened and there was fresh air, not smoky the way it had been before, but tinged with ozone. in the slice of outdoors i saw before the door closed, i caught that it was dark out, and raining, with one of those san francisco drizzles that's part mist. the man who came in was wearing a military uniform. a us military uniform. he saluted the people in the truck and they saluted him back and that's when i knew that i wasn't a prisoner of some terrorists -- i was a prisoner of the united states of america. # they set up a little screen at the end of the truck and then came for us one at a time, unshackling us and leading us to the back of the truck. as close as i could work it -- counting seconds off in my head, one hippopotami, two hippopotami -- the interviews lasted about seven minutes each. my head throbbed with dehydration and caffeine withdrawal. i was third, brought back by the woman with the severe haircut. up close, she looked tired, with bags under her eyes and grim lines at the corners of her mouth. "thanks," i said, automatically, as she unlocked me with a remote and then dragged me to my feet. i hated myself for the automatic politeness, but it had been drilled into me. she didn't twitch a muscle. i went ahead of her to the back of the truck and behind the screen. there was a single folding chair and i sat in it. two of them -- severe haircut woman and utility belt man -- looked at me from their ergonomic super-chairs. they had a little table between them with the contents of my wallet and backpack spread out on it. "hello, marcus," severe haircut woman said. "we have some questions for you." "am i under arrest?" i asked. this wasn't an idle question. if you're not under arrest, there are limits on what the cops can and can't do to you. for starters, they can't hold you forever without arresting you, giving you a phone call, and letting you talk to a lawyer. and hoo-boy, was i ever going to talk to a lawyer. "what's this for?" she said, holding up my phone. the screen was showing the error message you got if you kept trying to get into its data without giving the right password. it was a bit of a rude message -- an animated hand giving a certain universally recognized gesture -- because i liked to customize my gear. "am i under arrest?" i repeated. they can't make you answer any questions if you're not under arrest, and when you ask if you're under arrest, they have to answer you. it's the rules. "you're being detained by the department of homeland security," the woman snapped. "am i under arrest?" "you're going to be more cooperative, marcus, starting right now." she didn't say, "or else," but it was implied. "i would like to contact an attorney," i said. "i would like to know what i've been charged with. i would like to see some form of identification from both of you." the two agents exchanged looks. "i think you should really reconsider your approach to this situation," severe haircut woman said. "i think you should do that right now. we found a number of suspicious devices on your person. we found you and your confederates near the site of the worst terrorist attack this country has ever seen. put those two facts together and things don't look very good for you, marcus. you can cooperate, or you can be very, very sorry. now, what is this for?" "you think i'm a terrorist? i'm seventeen years old!" "just the right age -- al qaeda loves recruiting impressionable, idealistic kids. we googled you, you know. you've posted a lot of very ugly stuff on the public internet." "i would like to speak to an attorney," i said. severe haircut lady looked at me like i was a bug. "you're under the mistaken impression that you've been picked up by the police for a crime. you need to get past that. you are being detained as a potential enemy combatant by the government of the united states. if i were you, i'd be thinking very hard about how to convince us that you are not an enemy combatant. very hard. because there are dark holes that enemy combatants can disappear into, very dark deep holes, holes where you can just vanish. forever. are you listening to me young man? i want you to unlock this phone and then decrypt the files in its memory. i want you to account for yourself: why were you out on the street? what do you know about the attack on this city?" "i'm not going to unlock my phone for you," i said, indignant. my phone's memory had all kinds of private stuff on it: photos, emails, little hacks and mods i'd installed. "that's private stuff." "what have you got to hide?" "i've got the right to my privacy," i said. "and i want to speak to an attorney." "this is your last chance, kid. honest people don't have anything to hide." "i want to speak to an attorney." my parents would pay for it. all the faqs on getting arrested were clear on this point. just keep asking to see an attorney, no matter what they say or do. there's no good that comes of talking to the cops without your lawyer present. these two said they weren't cops, but if this wasn't an arrest, what was it? in hindsight, maybe i should have unlocked my phone for them. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to barnes and noble, a us national chain of bookstores. as america's mom-and-pop bookstores were vanishing, barnes and noble started to build these gigantic temples to reading all across the land. stocking tens of thousands of titles (the mall bookstores and grocery-store spinner racks had stocked a small fraction of that) and keeping long hours that were convenient to families, working people and others potential readers, the b&n stores kept the careers of many writers afloat, stocking titles that smaller stores couldn't possibly afford to keep on their limited shelves. b&n has always had strong community outreach programs, and i've done some of my best-attended, best-organized signings at b&n stores, including the great events at the (sadly departed) b&n in union square, new york, where the mega-signing after the nebula awards took place, and the b&n in chicago that hosted the event after the nebs a few years later. best of all is that b&n's "geeky" buyers really get it when it comes to science fiction, comics and manga, games and similar titles. they're passionate and knowledgeable about the field and it shows in the excellent selection on display at the stores.]] [[barnes and noble, nationwide: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/little-brother/cory-doctorow/e/ /?itm= ]] they re-shackled and re-hooded me and left me there. a long time later, the truck started to move, rolling downhill, and then i was hauled back to my feet. i immediately fell over. my legs were so asleep they felt like blocks of ice, all except my knees, which were swollen and tender from all the hours of kneeling. hands grabbed my shoulders and feet and i was picked up like a sack of potatoes. there were indistinct voices around me. someone crying. someone cursing. i was carried a short distance, then set down and re-shackled to another railing. my knees wouldn't support me anymore and i pitched forward, ending up twisted on the ground like a pretzel, straining against the chains holding my wrists. then we were moving again, and this time, it wasn't like driving in a truck. the floor beneath me rocked gently and vibrated with heavy diesel engines and i realized i was on a ship! my stomach turned to ice. i was being taken off america's shores to somewhere *else*, and who the hell knew where that was? i'd been scared before, but this thought *terrified* me, left me paralyzed and wordless with fear. i realized that i might never see my parents again and i actually tasted a little vomit burn up my throat. the bag over my head closed in on me and i could barely breathe, something that was compounded by the weird position i was twisted into. but mercifully we weren't on the water for very long. it felt like an hour, but i know now that it was a mere fifteen minutes, and then i felt us docking, felt footsteps on the decking around me and felt other prisoners being unshackled and carried or led away. when they came for me, i tried to stand again, but couldn't, and they carried me again, impersonally, roughly. when they took the hood off again, i was in a cell. the cell was old and crumbled, and smelled of sea air. there was one window high up, and rusted bars guarded it. it was still dark outside. there was a blanket on the floor and a little metal toilet without a seat, set into the wall. the guard who took off my hood grinned at me and closed the solid steel door behind him. i gently massaged my legs, hissing as the blood came back into them and into my hands. eventually i was able to stand, and then to pace. i heard other people talking, crying, shouting. i did some shouting too: "jolu! darryl! vanessa!" other voices on the cell-block took up the cry, shouting out names, too, shouting out obscenities. the nearest voices sounded like drunks losing their minds on a street-corner. maybe i sounded like that too. guards shouted at us to be quiet and that just made everyone yell louder. eventually we were all howling, screaming our heads off, screaming our throats raw. why not? what did we have to lose? # the next time they came to question me, i was filthy and tired, thirsty and hungry. severe haircut lady was in the new questioning party, as were three big guys who moved me around like a cut of meat. one was black, the other two were white, though one might have been hispanic. they all carried guns. it was like a benneton's ad crossed with a game of counter-strike. they'd taken me from my cell and chained my wrists and ankles together. i paid attention to my surroundings as we went. i heard water outside and thought that maybe we were on alcatraz -- it was a prison, after all, even if it had been a tourist attraction for generations, the place where you went to see where al capone and his gangster contemporaries did their time. but i'd been to alcatraz on a school trip. it was old and rusted, medieval. this place felt like it dated back to world war two, not colonial times. there were bar-codes laser-printed on stickers and placed on each of the cell-doors, and numbers, but other than that, there was no way to tell who or what might be behind them. the interrogation room was modern, with fluorescent lights, ergonomic chairs -- not for me, though, i got a folding plastic garden-chair -- and a big wooden board-room table. a mirror lined one wall, just like in the cop shows, and i figured someone or other must be watching from behind it. severe haircut lady and her friends helped themselves to coffees from an urn on a side-table (i could have torn her throat out with my teeth and taken her coffee just then), and then set a styrofoam cup of water down next to me -- without unlocking my wrists from behind my back, so i couldn't reach it. hardy har har. "hello, marcus," severe haircut woman said. "how's your 'tude doing today?" i didn't say anything. "this isn't as bad as it gets you know," she said. "this is as *good* as it gets from now on. even once you tell us what we want to know, even if that convinces us that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, you're a marked man now. we'll be watching you everywhere you go and everything you do. you've acted like you've got something to hide, and we don't like that." it's pathetic, but all my brain could think about was that phrase, "convince us that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. i had never, ever felt this bad or this scared before. those words, "wrong place at the wrong time," those six words, they were like a lifeline dangling before me as i thrashed to stay on the surface. "hello, marcus?" she snapped her fingers in front of my face. "over here, marcus." there was a little smile on her face and i hated myself for letting her see my fear. "marcus, it can be a lot worse than this. this isn't the worst place we can put you, not by a damned sight." she reached down below the table and came out with a briefcase, which she snapped open. from it, she withdrew my phone, my arphid sniper/cloner, my wifinder, and my memory keys. she set them down on the table one after the other. "here's what we want from you. you unlock the phone for us today. if you do that, you'll get outdoor and bathing privileges. you'll get a shower and you'll be allowed to walk around in the exercise yard. tomorrow, we'll bring you back and ask you to decrypt the data on these memory sticks. do that, and you'll get to eat in the mess hall. the day after, we're going to want your email passwords, and that will get you library privileges." the word "no" was on my lips, like a burp trying to come up, but it wouldn't come. "why?" is what came out instead. "we want to be sure that you're what you seem to be. this is about your security, marcus. say you're innocent. you might be, though why an innocent man would act like he's got so much to hide is beyond me. but say you are: you could have been on that bridge when it blew. your parents could have been. your friends. don't you want us to catch the people who attacked your home?" it's funny, but when she was talking about my getting "privileges" it scared me into submission. i felt like i'd done *something* to end up where i was, like maybe it was partially my fault, like i could do something to change it. but as soon as she switched to this bs about "safety" and "security," my spine came back. "lady," i said, "you're talking about attacking my home, but as far as i can tell, you're the only one who's attacked me lately. i thought i lived in a country with a constitution. i thought i lived in a country where i had *rights*. you're talking about defending my freedom by tearing up the bill of rights." a flicker of annoyance passed over her face, then went away. "so melodramatic, marcus. no one's attacked you. you've been detained by your country's government while we seek details on the worst terrorist attack ever perpetrated on our nation's soil. you have it within your power to help us fight this war on our nation's enemies. you want to preserve the bill of rights? help us stop bad people from blowing up your city. now, you have exactly thirty seconds to unlock that phone before i send you back to your cell. we have lots of other people to interview today." she looked at her watch. i rattled my wrists, rattled the chains that kept me from reaching around and unlocking the phone. yes, i was going to do it. she'd told me what my path was to freedom -- to the world, to my parents -- and that had given me hope. now she'd threatened to send me away, to take me off that path, and my hope had crashed and all i could think of was how to get back on it. so i rattled my wrists, wanting to get to my phone and unlock it for her, and she just looked at me coldly, checking her watch. "the password," i said, finally understanding what she wanted of me. she wanted me to say it out loud, here, where she could record it, where her pals could hear it. she didn't want me to just unlock the phone. she wanted me to submit to her. to put her in charge of me. to give up every secret, all my privacy. "the password," i said again, and then i told her the password. god help me, i submitted to her will. she smiled a little prim smile, which had to be her ice-queen equivalent of a touchdown dance, and the guards led me away. as the door closed, i saw her bend down over the phone and key the password in. i wish i could say that i'd anticipated this possibility in advance and created a fake password that unlocked a completely innocuous partition on my phone, but i wasn't nearly that paranoid/clever. you might be wondering at this point what dark secrets i had locked away on my phone and memory sticks and email. i'm just a kid, after all. the truth is that i had everything to hide, and nothing. between my phone and my memory sticks, you could get a pretty good idea of who my friends were, what i thought of them, all the goofy things we'd done. you could read the transcripts of the electronic arguments we'd carried out and the electronic reconciliations we'd arrived at. you see, i don't delete stuff. why would i? storage is cheap, and you never know when you're going to want to go back to that stuff. especially the stupid stuff. you know that feeling you get sometimes where you're sitting on the subway and there's no one to talk to and you suddenly remember some bitter fight you had, some terrible thing you said? well, it's usually never as bad as you remember. being able to go back and see it again is a great way to remind yourself that you're not as horrible a person as you think you are. darryl and i have gotten over more fights that way than i can count. and even that's not it. i know my phone is private. i know my memory sticks are private. that's because of cryptography -- message scrambling. the math behind crypto is good and solid, and you and me get access to the same crypto that banks and the national security agency use. there's only one kind of crypto that anyone uses: crypto that's public, open and can be deployed by anyone. that's how you know it works. there's something really liberating about having some corner of your life that's *yours*, that no one gets to see except you. it's a little like nudity or taking a dump. everyone gets naked every once in a while. everyone has to squat on the toilet. there's nothing shameful, deviant or weird about either of them. but what if i decreed that from now on, every time you went to evacuate some solid waste, you'd have to do it in a glass room perched in the middle of times square, and you'd be buck naked? even if you've got nothing wrong or weird with your body -- and how many of us can say that? -- you'd have to be pretty strange to like that idea. most of us would run screaming. most of us would hold it in until we exploded. it's not about doing something shameful. it's about doing something *private*. it's about your life belonging to you. they were taking that from me, piece by piece. as i walked back to my cell, that feeling of deserving it came back to me. i'd broken a lot of rules all my life and i'd gotten away with it, by and large. maybe this was justice. maybe this was my past coming back to me. after all, i had been where i was because i'd snuck out of school. i got my shower. i got to walk around the yard. there was a patch of sky overhead, and it smelled like the bay area, but beyond that, i had no clue where i was being held. no other prisoners were visible during my exercise period, and i got pretty bored with walking in circles. i strained my ears for any sound that might help me understand what this place was, but all i heard was the occasional vehicle, some distant conversations, a plane landing somewhere nearby. they brought me back to my cell and fed me, a half a pepperoni pie from goat hill pizza, which i knew well, up on potrero hill. the carton with its familiar graphic and phone number was a reminder that only a day before, i'd been a free man in a free country and that now i was a prisoner. i worried constantly about darryl and fretted about my other friends. maybe they'd been more cooperative and had been released. maybe they'd told my parents and they were frantically calling around. maybe not. the cell was fantastically spare, empty as my soul. i fantasized that the wall opposite my bunk was a screen, that i could be hacking right now, opening the cell-door. i fantasized about my workbench and the projects there -- the old cans i was turning into a ghetto surround-sound rig, the aerial photography kite-cam i was building, my homebrew laptop. i wanted to get out of there. i wanted to go home and have my friends and my school and my parents and my life back. i wanted to be able to go where i wanted to go, not be stuck pacing and pacing and pacing. # they took my passwords for my usb keys next. those held some interesting messages i'd downloaded from one online discussion group or another, some chat transcripts, things where people had helped me out with some of the knowledge i needed to do the things i did. there was nothing on there you couldn't find with google, of course, but i didn't think that would count in my favor. i got exercise again that afternoon, and this time there were others in the yard when i got there, four other guys and two women, of all ages and racial backgrounds. i guess lots of people were doing things to earn their "privileges." they gave me half an hour, and i tried to make conversation with the most normal-seeming of the other prisoners, a black guy about my age with a short afro. but when i introduced myself and stuck my hand out, he cut his eyes toward the cameras mounted ominously in the corners of the yard and kept walking without ever changing his facial expression. but then, just before they called my name and brought me back into the building, the door opened and out came -- vanessa! i'd never been more glad to see a friendly face. she looked tired and grumpy, but not hurt, and when she saw me, she shouted my name and ran to me. we hugged each other hard and i realized i was shaking. then i realized she was shaking, too. "are you ok?" she said, holding me at arms' length. "i'm ok," i said. "they told me they'd let me go if i gave them my passwords." "they keep asking me questions about you and darryl." there was a voice blaring over the loudspeaker, shouting at us to stop talking, to walk, but we ignored it. "answer them," i said, instantly. "anything they ask, answer them. if it'll get you out." "how are darryl and jolu?" "i haven't seen them." the door banged open and four big guards boiled out. two took me and two took vanessa. they forced me to the ground and turned my head away from vanessa, though i heard her getting the same treatment. plastic cuffs went around my wrists and then i was yanked to my feet and brought back to my cell. no dinner came that night. no breakfast came the next morning. no one came and brought me to the interrogation room to extract more of my secrets. the plastic cuffs didn't come off, and my shoulders burned, then ached, then went numb, then burned again. i lost all feeling in my hands. i had to pee. i couldn't undo my pants. i really, really had to pee. i pissed myself. they came for me after that, once the hot piss had cooled and gone clammy, making my already filthy jeans stick to my legs. they came for me and walked me down the long hall lined with doors, each door with its own bar code, each bar code a prisoner like me. they walked me down the corridor and brought me to the interrogation room and it was like a different planet when i entered there, a world where things were normal, where everything didn't reek of urine. i felt so dirty and ashamed, and all those feelings of deserving what i got came back to me. severe haircut lady was already sitting. she was perfect: coifed and with just a little makeup. i smelled her hair stuff. she wrinkled her nose at me. i felt the shame rise in me. "well, you've been a very naughty boy, haven't you? aren't you a filthy thing?" shame. i looked down at the table. i couldn't bear to look up. i wanted to tell her my email password and get gone. "what did you and your friend talk about in the yard?" i barked a laugh at the table. "i told her to answer your questions. i told her to cooperate." "so do you give the orders?" i felt the blood sing in my ears. "oh come on," i said. "we play a *game* together, it's called harajuku fun madness. i'm the *team captain*. we're not terrorists, we're high school students. i don't give her orders. i told her that we needed to be *honest* with you so that we could clear up any suspicion and get out of here." she didn't say anything for a moment. "how is darryl?" i said. "who?" "darryl. you picked us up together. my friend. someone had stabbed him in the powell street bart. that's why we were up on the surface. to get him help." "i'm sure he's fine, then," she said. my stomach knotted and i almost threw up. "you don't *know*? you haven't got him here?" "who we have here and who we don't have here is not something we're going to discuss with you, ever. that's not something you're going to know. marcus, you've seen what happens when you don't cooperate with us. you've seen what happens when you disobey our orders. you've been a little cooperative, and it's gotten you almost to the point where you might go free again. if you want to make that possibility into a reality, you'll stick to answering my questions." i didn't say anything. "you're learning, that's good. now, your email passwords, please." i was ready for this. i gave them everything: server address, login, password. this didn't matter. i didn't keep any email on my server. i downloaded it all and kept it on my laptop at home, which downloaded and deleted my mail from the server every sixty seconds. they wouldn't get anything out of my mail -- it got cleared off the server and stored on my laptop at home. back to the cell, but they cut loose my hands and they gave me a shower and a pair of orange prison pants to wear. they were too big for me and hung down low on my hips, like a mexican gang-kid in the mission. that's where the baggy-pants-down-your-ass look comes from you know that? from prison. i tell you what, it's less fun when it's not a fashion statement. they took away my jeans, and i spent another day in the cell. the walls were scratched cement over a steel grid. you could tell, because the steel was rusting in the salt air, and the grid shone through the green paint in red-orange. my parents were out that window, somewhere. they came for me again the next day. "we've been reading your mail for a day now. we changed the password so that your home computer couldn't fetch it." well, of course they had. i would have done the same, now that i thought of it. "we have enough on you now to put you away for a very long time, marcus. your possession of these articles --" she gestured at all my little gizmos -- "and the data we recovered from your phone and memory sticks, as well as the subversive material we'd no doubt find if we raided your house and took your computer. it's enough to put you away until you're an old man. do you understand that?" i didn't believe it for a second. there's no way a judge would say that all this stuff constituted any kind of real crime. it was free speech, it was technological tinkering. it wasn't a crime. but who said that these people would ever put me in front of a judge. "we know where you live, we know who your friends are. we know how you operate and how you think." it dawned on me then. they were about to let me go. the room seemed to brighten. i heard myself breathing, short little breaths. "we just want to know one thing: what was the delivery mechanism for the bombs on the bridge?" i stopped breathing. the room darkened again. "what?" "there were ten charges on the bridge, all along its length. they weren't in car-trunks. they'd been placed there. who placed them there, and how did they get there?" "what?" i said it again. "this is your last chance, marcus," she said. she looked sad. "you were doing so well until now. tell us this and you can go home. you can get a lawyer and defend yourself in a court of law. there are doubtless extenuating circumstances that you can use to explain your actions. just tell us this thing, and you're gone." "i don't know what you're talking about!" i was crying and i didn't even care. sobbing, blubbering. "i have *no idea what you're talking about*!" she shook her head. "marcus, please. let us help you. by now you know that we always get what we're after." there was a gibbering sound in the back of my mind. they were *insane*. i pulled myself together, working hard to stop the tears. "listen, lady, this is nuts. you've been into my stuff, you've seen it all. i'm a seventeen year old high school student, not a terrorist! you can't seriously think --" "marcus, haven't you figured out that we're serious yet?" she shook her head. "you get pretty good grades. i thought you'd be smarter than that." she made a flicking gesture and the guards picked me up by the armpits. back in my cell, a hundred little speeches occurred to me. the french call this "esprit d'escalier" -- the spirit of the staircase, the snappy rebuttals that come to you after you leave the room and slink down the stairs. in my mind, i stood and delivered, telling her that i was a citizen who loved my freedom, which made me the patriot and made her the traitor. in my mind, i shamed her for turning my country into an armed camp. in my mind, i was eloquent and brilliant and reduced her to tears. but you know what? none of those fine words came back to me when they pulled me out the next day. all i could think of was freedom. my parents. "hello, marcus," she said. "how are you feeling?" i looked down at the table. she had a neat pile of documents in front of her, and her ubiquitous go-cup of starbucks beside her. i found it comforting somehow, a reminder that there was a real world out there somewhere, beyond the walls. "we're through investigating you, for now." she let that hang there. maybe it meant that she was letting me go. maybe it meant that she was going to throw me in a pit and forget that i existed. "and?" i said finally. "and i want you to impress on you again that we are very serious about this. our country has experienced the worst attack ever committed on its soil. how many / s do you want us to suffer before you're willing to cooperate? the details of our investigation are secret. we won't stop at anything in our efforts to bring the perpetrators of these heinous crimes to justice. do you understand that?" "yes," i mumbled. "we are going to send you home today, but you are a marked man. you have not been found to be above suspicion -- we're only releasing you because we're done questioning you for now. but from now on, you *belong* to us. we will be watching you. we'll be waiting for you to make a misstep. do you understand that we can watch you closely, all the time?" "yes," i mumbled. "good. you will never speak of what happened here to anyone, ever. this is a matter of national security. do you know that the death penalty still holds for treason in time of war?" "yes," i mumbled. "good boy," she purred. "we have some papers here for you to sign." she pushed the stack of papers across the table to me. little post-its with sign here printed on them had been stuck throughout them. a guard undid my cuffs. i paged through the papers and my eyes watered and my head swam. i couldn't make sense of them. i tried to decipher the legalese. it seemed that i was signing a declaration that i had been voluntarily held and submitted to voluntary questioning, of my own free will. "what happens if i don't sign this?" i said. she snatched the papers back and made that flicking gesture again. the guards jerked me to my feet. "wait!" i cried. "please! i'll sign them!" they dragged me to the door. all i could see was that door, all i could think of was it closing behind me. i lost it. i wept. i begged to be allowed to sign the papers. to be so close to freedom and have it snatched away, it made me ready to do anything. i can't count the number of times i've heard someone say, "oh, i'd rather die than do something-or-other" -- i've said it myself now and again. but that was the first time i understood what it really meant. i would have rather died than go back to my cell. i begged as they took me out into the corridor. i told them i'd sign anything. she called out to the guards and they stopped. they brought me back. they sat me down. one of them put the pen in my hand. of course, i signed, and signed and signed. # my jeans and t-shirt were back in my cell, laundered and folded. they smelled of detergent. i put them on and washed my face and sat on my cot and stared at the wall. they'd taken everything from me. first my privacy, then my dignity. i'd been ready to sign anything. i would have signed a confession that said i'd assassinated abraham lincoln. i tried to cry, but it was like my eyes were dry, out of tears. they got me again. a guard approached me with a hood, like the hood i'd been put in when they picked us up, whenever that was, days ago, weeks ago. the hood went over my head and cinched tight at my neck. i was in total darkness and the air was stifling and stale. i was raised to my feet and walked down corridors, up stairs, on gravel. up a gangplank. on a ship's steel deck. my hands were chained behind me, to a railing. i knelt on the deck and listened to the thrum of the diesel engines. the ship moved. a hint of salt air made its way into the hood. it was drizzling and my clothes were heavy with water. i was outside, even if my head was in a bag. i was outside, in the world, moments from my freedom. they came for me and led me off the boat and over uneven ground. up three metal stairs. my wrists were unshackled. my hood was removed. i was back in the truck. severe haircut woman was there, at the little desk she'd sat at before. she had a ziploc bag with her, and inside it were my phone and other little devices, my wallet and the change from my pockets. she handed them to me wordlessly. i filled my pockets. it felt so weird to have everything back in its familiar place, to be wearing my familiar clothes. outside the truck's back door, i heard the familiar sounds of my familiar city. a guard passed me my backpack. the woman extended her hand to me. i just looked at it. she put it down and gave me a wry smile. then she mimed zipping up her lips and pointed to me, and opened the door. it was daylight outside, gray and drizzling. i was looking down an alley toward cars and trucks and bikes zipping down the road. i stood transfixed on the truck's top step, staring at freedom. my knees shook. i knew now that they were playing with me again. in a moment, the guards would grab me and drag me back inside, the bag would go over my head again, and i would be back on the boat and sent off to the prison again, to the endless, unanswerable questions. i barely held myself back from stuffing my fist in my mouth. then i forced myself to go down one stair. another stair. the last stair. my sneakers crunched down on the crap on the alley's floor, broken glass, a needle, gravel. i took a step. another. i reached the mouth of the alley and stepped onto the sidewalk. no one grabbed me. i was free. then strong arms threw themselves around me. i nearly cried. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to secret headquarters in los angeles, my drop-dead all-time favorite comic store in the world. it's small and selective about what it stocks, and every time i walk in, i walk out with three or four collections i'd never heard of under my arm. it's like the owners, dave and david, have the uncanny ability to predict exactly what i'm looking for, and they lay it out for me seconds before i walk into the store. i discovered about three quarters of my favorite comics by wandering into shq, grabbing something interesting, sinking into one of the comfy chairs, and finding myself transported to another world. when my second story-collection, overclocked, came out, they worked with local illustrator martin cenreda to do a free mini-comic based on printcrime, the first story in the book. i left la about a year ago, and of all the things i miss about it, secret headquarters is right at the top of the list.]] [[secret headquarters: http://www.thesecretheadquarters.com/ w. sunset boulevard, los angeles, ca + ]] but it was van, and she *was* crying, and hugging me so hard i couldn't breathe. i didn't care. i hugged her back, my face buried in her hair. "you're ok!" she said. "i'm ok," i managed. she finally let go of me and another set of arms wrapped themselves around me. it was jolu! they were both there. he whispered, "you're safe, bro," in my ear and hugged me even tighter than vanessa had. when he let go, i looked around. "where's darryl?" i asked. they both looked at each other. "maybe he's still in the truck," jolu said. we turned and looked at the truck at the alley's end. it was a nondescript white -wheeler. someone had already brought the little folding staircase inside. the rear lights glowed red, and the truck rolled backwards towards us, emitting a steady eep, eep, eep. "wait!" i shouted as it accelerated towards us. "wait! what about darryl?" the truck drew closer. i kept shouting. "what about darryl?" jolu and vanessa each had me by an arm and were dragging me away. i struggled against them, shouting. the truck pulled out of the alley's mouth and reversed into the street and pointed itself downhill and drove away. i tried to run after it, but van and jolu wouldn't let me go. i sat down on the sidewalk and put my arms around my knees and cried. i cried and cried and cried, loud sobs of the sort i hadn't done since i was a little kid. they wouldn't stop coming. i couldn't stop shaking. vanessa and jolu got me to my feet and moved me a little ways up the street. there was a muni bus stop with a bench and they sat me on it. they were both crying too, and we held each other for a while, and i knew we were crying for darryl, whom none of us ever expected to see again. # we were north of chinatown, at the part where it starts to become north beach, a neighborhood with a bunch of neon strip clubs and the legendary city lights counterculture bookstore, where the beat poetry movement had been founded back in the s. i knew this part of town well. my parents' favorite italian restaurant was here and they liked to take me here for big plates of linguine and huge italian ice-cream mountains with candied figs and lethal little espressos afterward. now it was a different place, a place where i was tasting freedom for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. we checked our pockets and found enough money to get a table at one of the italian restaurants, out on the sidewalk, under an awning. the pretty waitress lighted a gas-heater with a barbeque lighter, took our orders and went inside. the sensation of giving orders, of controlling my destiny, was the most amazing thing i'd ever felt. "how long were we in there?" i asked. "six days," vanessa said. "i got five," jolu said. "i didn't count." "what did they do to you?" vanessa said. i didn't want to talk about it, but they were both looking at me. once i started, i couldn't stop. i told them everything, even when i'd been forced to piss myself, and they took it all in silently. i paused when the waitress delivered our sodas and waited until she got out of earshot, then finished. in the telling, it receded into the distance. by the end of it, i couldn't tell if i was embroidering the truth or if i was making it all seem *less* bad. my memories swam like little fish that i snatched at, and sometimes they wriggled out of my grasp. jolu shook his head. "they were hard on you, dude," he said. he told us about his stay there. they'd questioned him, mostly about me, and he'd kept on telling them the truth, sticking to a plain telling of the facts about that day and about our friendship. they had gotten him to repeat it over and over again, but they hadn't played games with his head the way they had with me. he'd eaten his meals in a mess-hall with a bunch of other people, and been given time in a tv room where they were shown last year's blockbusters on video. vanessa's story was only slightly different. after she'd gotten them angry by talking to me, they'd taken away her clothes and made her wear a set of orange prison overalls. she'd been left in her cell for two days without contact, though she'd been fed regularly. but mostly it was the same as jolu: the same questions, repeated again and again. "they really hated you," jolu said. "really had it in for you. why?" i couldn't imagine why. then i remembered. *you can cooperate, or you can be very, very sorry.* "it was because i wouldn't unlock my phone for them, that first night. that's why they singled me out." i couldn't believe it, but there was no other explanation. it had been sheer vindictiveness. my mind reeled at the thought. they had done all that as a mere punishment for defying their authority. i had been scared. now i was angry. "those bastards," i said, softly. "they did it to get back at me for mouthing off." jolu swore and then vanessa cut loose in korean, something she only did when she was really, really angry. "i'm going to get them," i whispered, staring at my soda. "i'm going to get them." jolu shook his head. "you can't, you know. you can't fight back against that." # none of us much wanted to talk about revenge then. instead, we talked about what we would do next. we had to go home. our phones' batteries were dead and it had been years since this neighborhood had any payphones. we just needed to go home. i even thought about taking a taxi, but there wasn't enough money between us to make that possible. so we walked. on the corner, we pumped some quarters into a san francisco chronicle newspaper box and stopped to read the front section. it had been five days since the bombs went off, but it was still all over the front cover. severe haircut woman had talked about "the bridge" blowing up, and i'd just assumed that she was talking about the golden gate bridge, but i was wrong. the terrorists had blown up the *bay bridge*. "why the hell would they blow up the bay bridge?" i said. "the golden gate is the one on all the postcards." even if you've never been to san francisco, chances are you know what the golden gate looks like: it's that big orange suspension bridge that swoops dramatically from the old military base called the presidio to sausalito, where all the cutesy wine-country towns are with their scented candle shops and art galleries. it's picturesque as hell, and it's practically the symbol for the state of california. if you go to the disneyland california adventure park, there's a replica of it just past the gates, with a monorail running over it. so naturally i assumed that if you were going to blow up a bridge in san francisco, that's the one you'd blow. "they probably got scared off by all the cameras and stuff," jolu said. "the national guard's always checking cars at both ends and there's all those suicide fences and junk all along it." people have been jumping off the golden gate since it opened in -- they stopped counting after the thousandth suicide in . "yeah," vanessa said. "plus the bay bridge actually goes somewhere." the bay bridge goes from downtown san francisco to oakland and thence to berkeley, the east bay townships that are home to many of the people who live and work in town. it's one of the only parts of the bay area where a normal person can afford a house big enough to really stretch out in, and there's also the university and a bunch of light industry over there. the bart goes under the bay and connects the two cities, too, but it's the bay bridge that sees most of the traffic. the golden gate was a nice bridge if you were a tourist or a rich retiree living out in wine country, but it was mostly ornamental. the bay bridge is -- was -- san francisco's work-horse bridge. i thought about it for a minute. "you guys are right," i said. "but i don't think that's all of it. we keep acting like terrorists attack landmarks because they hate landmarks. terrorists don't hate landmarks or bridges or airplanes. they just want to screw stuff up and make people scared. to make terror. so of course they went after the bay bridge after the golden gate got all those cameras -- after airplanes got all metal-detectored and x-rayed." i thought about it some more, staring blankly at the cars rolling down the street, at the people walking down the sidewalks, at the city all around me. "terrorists don't hate airplanes or bridges. they love terror." it was so obvious i couldn't believe i'd never thought of it before. i guess that being treated like a terrorist for a few days was enough to clarify my thinking. the other two were staring at me. "i'm right, aren't i? all this crap, all the x-rays and id checks, they're all useless, aren't they?" they nodded slowly. "worse than useless," i said, my voice going up and cracking. "because they ended up with us in prison, with darryl --" i hadn't thought of darryl since we sat down and now it came back to me, my friend, missing, disappeared. i stopped talking and ground my jaws together. "we have to tell our parents," jolu said. "we should get a lawyer," vanessa said. i thought of telling my story. of telling the world what had become of me. of the videos that would no doubt come out, of me weeping, reduced to a groveling animal. "we can't tell them anything," i said, without thinking. "what do you mean?" van said. "we can't tell them anything," i repeated. "you heard her. if we talk, they'll come back for us. they'll do to us what they did to darryl." "you're joking," jolu said. "you want us to --" "i want us to fight back," i said. "i want to stay free so that i can do that. if we go out there and blab, they'll just say that we're kids, making it up. we don't even know where we were held! no one will believe us. then, one day, they'll come for us. "i'm telling my parents that i was in one of those camps on the other side of the bay. i came over to meet you guys there and we got stranded, and just got loose today. they said in the papers that people were still wandering home from them." "i can't do that," vanessa said. "after what they did to you, how can you even think of doing that?" "it happened to *me*, that's the point. this is me and them, now. i'll beat them, i'll get darryl. i'm not going to take this lying down. but once our parents are involved, that's it for us. no one will believe us and no one will care. if we do it my way, people will care." "what's your way?" jolu said. "what's your plan?" "i don't know yet," i admitted. "give me until tomorrow morning, give me that, at least." i knew that once they'd kept it a secret for a day, it would have to be a secret forever. our parents would be even more skeptical if we suddenly "remembered" that we'd been held in a secret prison instead of taken care of in a refugee camp. van and jolu looked at each other. "i'm just asking for a chance," i said. "we'll work out the story on the way, get it straight. give me one day, just one day." the other two nodded glumly and we set off downhill again, heading back towards home. i lived on potrero hill, vanessa lived in the north mission and jolu lived in noe valley -- three wildly different neighborhoods just a few minutes' walk from one another. we turned onto market street and stopped dead. the street was barricaded at every corner, the cross-streets reduced to a single lane, and parked down the whole length of market street were big, nondescript -wheelers like the one that had carried us, hooded, away from the ship's docks and to chinatown. each one had three steel steps leading down from the back and they buzzed with activity as soldiers, people in suits, and cops went in and out of them. the suits wore little badges on their lapels and the soldiers scanned them as they went in and out -- wireless authorization badges. as we walked past one, i got a look at it, and saw the familiar logo: department of homeland security. the soldier saw me staring and stared back hard, glaring at me. i got the message and moved on. i peeled away from the gang at van ness. we clung to each other and cried and promised to call each other. the walk back to potrero hill has an easy route and a hard route, the latter taking you over some of the steepest hills in the city, the kind of thing that you see car chases on in action movies, with cars catching air as they soar over the zenith. i always take the hard way home. it's all residential streets, and the old victorian houses they call "painted ladies" for their gaudy, elaborate paint-jobs, and front gardens with scented flowers and tall grasses. housecats stare at you from hedges, and there are hardly any homeless. it was so quiet on those streets that it made me wish i'd taken the *other* route, through the mission, which is... *raucous* is probably the best word for it. loud and vibrant. lots of rowdy drunks and angry crack-heads and unconscious junkies, and also lots of families with strollers, old ladies gossiping on stoops, lowriders with boom-cars going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa down the streets. there were hipsters and mopey emo art-students and even a couple old-school punk-rockers, old guys with pot bellies bulging out beneath their dead kennedys shirts. also drag queens, angry gang kids, graffiti artists and bewildered gentrifiers trying not to get killed while their real-estate investments matured. i went up goat hill and walked past goat hill pizza, which made me think of the jail i'd been held in, and i had to sit down on the bench out front of the restaurant until my shakes passed. then i noticed the truck up the hill from me, a nondescript -wheeler with three metal steps coming down from the back end. i got up and got moving. i felt the eyes watching me from all directions. i hurried the rest of the way home. i didn't look at the painted ladies or the gardens or the housecats. i kept my eyes down. both my parents' cars were in the driveway, even though it was the middle of the day. of course. dad works in the east bay, so he'd be stuck at home while they worked on the bridge. mom -- well, who knew why mom was home. they were home for me. even before i'd finished unlocking the door it had been jerked out of my hand and flung wide. there were both of my parents, looking gray and haggard, bug-eyed and staring at me. we stood there in frozen tableau for a moment, then they both rushed forward and dragged me into the house, nearly tripping me up. they were both talking so loud and fast all i could hear was a wordless, roaring gabble and they both hugged me and cried and i cried too and we just stood there like that in the little foyer, crying and making almost-words until we ran out of steam and went into the kitchen. i did what i always did when i came home: got myself a glass of water from the filter in the fridge and dug a couple cookies out of the "biscuit barrel" that mom's sister had sent us from england. the normalcy of this made my heart stop hammering, my heart catching up with my brain, and soon we were all sitting at the table. "where have you been?" they both said, more or less in unison. i had given this some thought on the way home. "i got trapped," i said. "in oakland. i was there with some friends, doing a project, and we were all quarantined." "for five days?" "yeah," i said. "yeah. it was really bad." i'd read about the quarantines in the chronicle and i cribbed shamelessly from the quotes they'd published. "yeah. everyone who got caught in the cloud. they thought we had been attacked with some kind of super-bug and they packed us into shipping containers in the docklands, like sardines. it was really hot and sticky. not much food, either." "christ," dad said, his fists balling up on the table. dad teaches in berkeley three days a week, working with a few grad students in the library science program. the rest of the time he consults for clients in city and down the peninsula, third-wave dotcoms that are doing various things with archives. he's a mild-mannered librarian by profession, but he'd been a real radical in the sixties and wrestled a little in high school. i'd seen him get crazy angry now and again -- i'd even made him that angry now and again -- and he could seriously lose it when he was hulking out. he once threw a swing-set from ikea across my granddad's whole lawn when it fell apart for the fiftieth time while he was assembling it. "barbarians," mom said. she's been living in america since she was a teenager, but she still comes over all british when she encounters american cops, health-care, airport security or homelessness. then the word is "barbarians," and her accent comes back strong. we'd been to london twice to see her family and i can't say as it felt any more civilized than san francisco, just more cramped. "but they let us go, and ferried us over today." i was improvising now. "are you hurt?" mom said. "hungry?" "sleepy?" "yeah, a little of all that. also dopey, doc, sneezy and bashful." we had a family tradition of seven dwarfs jokes. they both smiled a little, but their eyes were still wet. i felt really bad for them. they must have been out of their minds with worry. i was glad for a chance to change the subject. "i'd totally love to eat." "i'll order a pizza from goat hill," dad said. "no, not that," i said. they both looked at me like i'd sprouted antennae. i normally have a thing about goat hill pizza -- as in, i can normally eat it like a goldfish eats his food, gobbling until it either runs out or i pop. i tried to smile. "i just don't feel like pizza," i said, lamely. "let's order some curry, ok?" thank heaven that san francisco is take-out central. mom went to the drawer of take-out menus (more normalcy, feeling like a drink of water on a dry, sore throat) and riffled through them. we spent a couple of distracting minutes going through the menu from the halal pakistani place on valencia. i settled on a mixed tandoori grill and creamed spinach with farmer's cheese, a salted mango lassi (much better than it sounds) and little fried pastries in sugar syrup. once the food was ordered, the questions started again. they'd heard from van's, jolu's and darryl's families (of course) and had tried to report us missing. the police were taking names, but there were so many "displaced persons" that they weren't going to open files on anyone unless they were still missing after seven days. meanwhile, millions of have-you-seen sites had popped up on the net. a couple of the sites were old myspace clones that had run out of money and saw a new lease on life from all the attention. after all, some venture capitalists had missing family in the bay area. maybe if they were recovered, the site would attract some new investment. i grabbed dad's laptop and looked through them. they were plastered with advertising, of course, and pictures of missing people, mostly grad photos, wedding pictures and that sort of thing. it was pretty ghoulish. i found my pic and saw that it was linked to van's, jolu's, and darryl's. there was a little form for marking people found and another one for writing up notes about other missing people. i filled in the fields for me and jolu and van, and left darryl blank. "you forgot darryl," dad said. he didn't like darryl much -- once he'd figured out that a couple inches were missing out of one of the bottles in his liquor cabinet, and to my enduring shame i'd blamed it on darryl. in truth, of course, it had been both of us, just fooling around, trying out vodka-and-cokes during an all-night gaming session. "he wasn't with us," i said. the lie tasted bitter in my mouth. "oh my god," my mom said. she squeezed her hands together. "we just assumed when you came home that you'd all been together." "no," i said, the lie growing. "no, he was supposed to meet us but we never met up. he's probably just stuck over in berkeley. he was going to take the bart over." mom made a whimpering sound. dad shook his head and closed his eyes. "don't you know about the bart?" he said. i shook my head. i could see where this was going. i felt like the ground was rushing up to me. "they blew it up," dad said. "the bastards blew it up at the same time as the bridge." that hadn't been on the front page of the chronicle, but then, a bart blowout under the water wouldn't be nearly as picturesque as the images of the bridge hanging in tatters and pieces over the bay. the bart tunnel from the embarcadero in san francisco to the west oakland station was submerged. i went back to dad's computer and surfed the headlines. no one was sure, but the body count was in the thousands. between the cars that plummeted feet to the sea and the people drowned in the trains, the deaths were mounting. one reporter claimed to have interviewed an "identity counterfeiter" who'd helped "dozens" of people walk away from their old lives by simply vanishing after the attacks, getting new id made up, and slipping away from bad marriages, bad debts and bad lives. dad actually got tears in his eyes, and mom was openly crying. they each hugged me again, patting me with their hands as if to assure themselves that i was really there. they kept telling me they loved me. i told them i loved them too. we had a weepy dinner and mom and dad had each had a couple glasses of wine, which was a lot for them. i told them that i was getting sleepy, which was true, and mooched up to my room. i wasn't going to bed, though. i needed to get online and find out what was going on. i needed to talk to jolu and vanessa. i needed to get working on finding darryl. i crept up to my room and opened the door. i hadn't seen my old bed in what felt like a thousand years. i lay down on it and reached over to my bedstand to grab my laptop. i must have not plugged it in all the way -- the electrical adapter needed to be jiggled just right -- so it had slowly discharged while i was away. i plugged it back in and gave it a minute or two to charge up before trying to power it up again. i used the time to get undressed and throw my clothes in the trash -- i never wanted to see them again -- and put on a clean pair of boxers and a fresh t-shirt. the fresh-laundered clothes, straight out of my drawers, felt so familiar and comfortable, like getting hugged by my parents. i powered up my laptop and punched a bunch of pillows into place behind me at the top of the bed. i scooched back and opened my computer's lid and settled it onto my thighs. it was still booting, and man, those icons creeping across the screen looked *good*. it came all the way up and then it started giving me more low-power warnings. i checked the power-cable again and wiggled it and they went away. the power-jack was really flaking out. in fact, it was so bad that i couldn't actually get anything done. every time i took my hand off the power-cable it lost contact and the computer started to complain about its battery. i took a closer look at it. the whole case of my computer was slightly misaligned, the seam split in an angular gape that started narrow and widened toward the back. sometimes you look at a piece of equipment and discover something like this and you wonder, "was it always like that?" maybe you just never noticed. but with my laptop, that wasn't possible. you see, i built it. after the board of ed issued us all with schoolbooks, there was no way my parents were going to buy me a computer of my own, even though technically the schoolbook didn't belong to me, and i wasn't supposed to install software on it or mod it. i had some money saved -- odd jobs, christmases and birthdays, a little bit of judicious ebaying. put it all together and i had enough money to buy a totally crappy, five-year-old machine. so darryl and i built one instead. you can buy laptop cases just like you can buy cases for desktop pcs, though they're a little more specialized than plain old pcs. i'd built a couple pcs with darryl over the years, scavenging parts from craigslist and garage sales and ordering stuff from cheap cheap taiwanese vendors we found on the net. i figured that building a laptop would be the best way to get the power i wanted at the price i could afford. to build your own laptop, you start by ordering a "barebook" -- a machine with just a little hardware in it and all the right slots. the good news was, once i was done, i had a machine that was a whole pound lighter than the dell i'd had my eye on, ran faster, and cost a third of what i would have paid dell. the bad news was that assembling a laptop is like building one of those ships in a bottle. it's all finicky work with tweezers and magnifying glasses, trying to get everything to fit in that little case. unlike a full-sized pc -- which is mostly air -- every cubic millimeter of space in a laptop is spoken for. every time i thought i had it, i'd go to screw the thing back together and find that something was keeping the case from closing all the way, and it'd be back to the drawing board. so i knew *exactly* how the seam on my laptop was supposed to look when the thing was closed, and it was *not* supposed to look like this. i kept jiggling the power-adapter, but it was hopeless. there was no way i was going to get the thing to boot without taking it apart. i groaned and put it beside the bed. i'd deal with it in the morning. # that was the theory, anyway. two hours later, i was still staring at the ceiling, playing back movies in my head of what they'd done to me, what i should have done, all regrets and *esprit d'escalier.* i rolled out of bed. it had gone midnight and i'd heard my parents hit the sack at eleven. i grabbed the laptop and cleared some space on my desk and clipped the little led lamps to the temples of my magnifying glasses and pulled out a set of little precision screwdrivers. a minute later, i had the case open and the keyboard removed and i was staring at the guts of my laptop. i got a can of compressed air and blew out the dust that the fan had sucked in and looked things over. something wasn't right. i couldn't put my finger on it, but then it had been months since i'd had the lid off this thing. luckily, the third time i'd had to open it up and struggle to close it again, i'd gotten smart: i'd taken a photo of the guts with everything in place. i hadn't been totally smart: at first, i'd just left that pic on my hard drive, and naturally i couldn't get to it when i had the laptop in parts. but then i'd printed it out and stuck it in my messy drawer of papers, the dead-tree graveyard where i kept all the warranty cards and pin-out diagrams. i shuffled them -- they seemed messier than i remembered -- and brought out my photo. i set it down next to the computer and kind of unfocused my eyes, trying to find things that looked out of place. then i spotted it. the ribbon cable that connected the keyboard to the logic-board wasn't connected right. that was a weird one. there was no torque on that part, nothing to dislodge it in the course of normal operations. i tried to press it back down again and discovered that the plug wasn't just badly mounted -- there was something between it and the board. i tweezed it out and shone my light on it. there was something new in my keyboard. it was a little chunk of hardware, only a sixteenth of an inch thick, with no markings. the keyboard was plugged into it, and it was plugged into the board. it other words, it was perfectly situated to capture all the keystrokes i made while i typed on my machine. it was a bug. my heart thudded in my ears. it was dark and quiet in the house, but it wasn't a comforting dark. there were eyes out there, eyes and ears, and they were watching me. surveilling me. the surveillance i faced at school had followed me home, but this time, it wasn't just the board of education looking over my shoulder: the department of homeland security had joined them. i almost took the bug out. then i figured that who ever put it there would know that it was gone. i left it in. it made me sick to do it. i looked around for more tampering. i couldn't find any, but did that mean there hadn't been any? someone had broken into my room and planted this device -- had disassembled my laptop and reassembled it. there were lots of other ways to wiretap a computer. i could never find them all. i put the machine together with numb fingers. this time, the case wouldn't snap shut just right, but the power-cable stayed in. i booted it up and set my fingers on the keyboard, thinking that i would run some diagnostics and see what was what. but i couldn't do it. hell, maybe my room was wiretapped. maybe there was a camera spying on me now. i'd been feeling paranoid when i got home. now i was nearly out of my skin. it felt like i was back in jail, back in the interrogation room, stalked by entities who had me utterly in their power. it made me want to cry. only one thing for it. i went into the bathroom and took off the toilet-paper roll and replaced it with a fresh one. luckily, it was almost empty already. i unrolled the rest of the paper and dug through my parts box until i found a little plastic envelope full of ultra-bright white leds i'd scavenged out of a dead bike-lamp. i punched their leads through the cardboard tube carefully, using a pin to make the holes, then got out some wire and connected them all in series with little metal clips. i twisted the wires into the leads for a nine-volt battery and connected the battery. now i had a tube ringed with ultra-bright, directional leds, and i could hold it up to my eye and look through it. i'd built one of these last year as a science fair project and had been thrown out of the fair once i showed that there were hidden cameras in half the classrooms at chavez high. pinhead video-cameras cost less than a good restaurant dinner these days, so they're showing up everywhere. sneaky store clerks put them in changing rooms or tanning salons and get pervy with the hidden footage they get from their customers -- sometimes they just put it on the net. knowing how to turn a toilet-paper roll and three bucks' worth of parts into a camera-detector is just good sense. this is the simplest way to catch a spy-cam. they have tiny lenses, but they reflect light like the dickens. it works best in a dim room: stare through the tube and slowly scan all the walls and other places someone might have put a camera until you see the glint of a reflection. if the reflection stays still as you move around, that's a lens. there wasn't a camera in my room -- not one i could detect, anyway. there might have been audio bugs, of course. or better cameras. or nothing at all. can you blame me for feeling paranoid? i loved that laptop. i called it the salmagundi, which means anything made out of spare parts. once you get to naming your laptop, you know that you're really having a deep relationship with it. now, though, i felt like i didn't want to ever touch it again. i wanted to throw it out the window. who knew what they'd done to it? who knew how it had been tapped? i put it in a drawer with the lid shut and looked at the ceiling. it was late and i should be in bed. there was no way i was going to sleep now, though. i was tapped. everyone might be tapped. the world had changed forever. "i'll find a way to get them," i said. it was a vow, i knew it when i heard it, though i'd never made a vow before. i couldn't sleep after that. and besides, i had an idea. somewhere in my closet was a shrink-wrapped box containing one still-sealed, mint-in-package xbox universal. every xbox has been sold way below cost -- microsoft makes most of its money charging games companies money for the right to put out xbox games -- but the universal was the first xbox that microsoft decided to give away entirely for free. last christmas season, there'd been poor losers on every corner dressed as warriors from the halo series, handing out bags of these game-machines as fast as they could. i guess it worked -- everyone says they sold a whole butt-load of games. naturally, there were countermeasures to make sure you only played games from companies that had bought licenses from microsoft to make them. hackers blow through those countermeasures. the xbox was cracked by a kid from mit who wrote a best-selling book about it, and then the went down, and then the short-lived xbox portable (which we all called the "luggable" -- it weighed three pounds!) succumbed. the universal was supposed to be totally bulletproof. the high school kids who broke it were brazilian linux hackers who lived in a *favela* -- a kind of squatter's slum. never underestimate the determination of a kid who is time-rich and cash-poor. once the brazilians published their crack, we all went nuts on it. soon there were dozens of alternate operating systems for the xbox universal. my favorite was paranoidxbox, a flavor of paranoid linux. paranoid linux is an operating system that assumes that its operator is under assault from the government (it was intended for use by chinese and syrian dissidents), and it does everything it can to keep your communications and documents a secret. it even throws up a bunch of "chaff" communications that are supposed to disguise the fact that you're doing anything covert. so while you're receiving a political message one character at a time, paranoidlinux is pretending to surf the web and fill in questionnaires and flirt in chat-rooms. meanwhile, one in every five hundred characters you receive is your real message, a needle buried in a huge haystack. i'd burned a paranoidxbox dvd when they first appeared, but i'd never gotten around to unpacking the xbox in my closet, finding a tv to hook it up to and so on. my room is crowded enough as it is without letting microsoft crashware eat up valuable workspace. tonight, i'd make the sacrifice. it took about twenty minutes to get up and running. not having a tv was the hardest part, but eventually i remembered that i had a little overhead lcd projector that had standard tv rca connectors on the back. i connected it to the xbox and shone it on the back of my door and got paranoidlinux installed. now i was up and running, and paranoidlinux was looking for other xbox universals to talk to. every xbox universal comes with built-in wireless for multiplayer gaming. you can connect to your neighbors on the wireless link and to the internet, if you have a wireless internet connection. i found three different sets of neighbors in range. two of them had their xbox universals also connected to the internet. paranoidxbox loved that configuration: it could siphon off some of my neighbors' internet connections and use them to get online through the gaming network. the neighbors would never miss the packets: they were paying for flat-rate internet connections, and they weren't exactly doing a lot of surfing at am. the best part of all this is how it made me *feel*: in control. my technology was working for me, serving me, protecting me. it wasn't spying on me. this is why i loved technology: if you used it right, it could give you power and privacy. my brain was really going now, running like . there were lots of reasons to run paranoidxbox -- the best one was that anyone could write games for it. already there was a port of mame, the multiple arcade machine emulator, so you could play practically any game that had ever been written, all the way back to pong -- games for the apple ][+ and games for the colecovision, games for the nes and the dreamcast, and so on. even better were all the cool multiplayer games being built specifically for paranoidxbox -- totally free hobbyist games that anyone could run. when you combined it all, you had a free console full of free games that could get you free internet access. and the best part -- as far as i was concerned -- was that paranoidxbox was *paranoid*. every bit that went over the air was scrambled to within an inch of its life. you could wiretap it all you wanted, but you'd never figure out who was talking, what they were talking about, or who they were talking to. anonymous web, email and im. just what i needed. all i had to do now was convince everyone i knew to use it too. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to powell's books, the legendary "city of books" in portland, oregon. powell's is the largest bookstore in the world, an endless, multi-storey universe of papery smells and towering shelves. they stock new and used books on the same shelves -- something i've always loved -- and every time i've stopped in, they've had a veritable mountain of my books, and they've been incredibly gracious about asking me to sign the store-stock. the clerks are friendly, the stock is fabulous, and there's even a powell's at the portland airport, making it just about the best airport bookstore in the world for my money!]] [[powell's books: http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?isbn= w burnside, portland, or usa + ]] believe it or not, my parents made me go to school the next day. i'd only fallen into feverish sleep at three in the morning, but at seven the next day, my dad was standing at the foot of my bed, threatening to drag me out by the ankles. i managed to get up -- something had died in my mouth after painting my eyelids shut -- and into the shower. i let my mom force a piece of toast and a banana into me, wishing fervently that my parents would let me drink coffee at home. i could sneak one on the way to school, but watching them sip down their black gold while i was drag-assing around the house, getting dressed and putting my books in my bag -- it was awful. i've walked to school a thousand times, but today it was different. i went up and over the hills to get down into the mission, and everywhere there were trucks. i saw new sensors and traffic cameras installed at many of the stop-signs. someone had a lot of surveillance gear lying around, waiting to be installed at the first opportunity. the attack on the bay bridge had been just what they needed. it all made the city seem more subdued, like being inside an elevator, embarrassed by the close scrutiny of your neighbors and the ubiquitous cameras. the turkish coffee shop on th street fixed me up good with a go-cup of turkish coffee. basically, turkish coffee is mud, pretending to be coffee. it's thick enough to stand a spoon up in, and it has way more caffeine than the kiddee-pops like red bull. take it from someone who's read the wikipedia entry: this is how the ottoman empire was won: maddened horsemen fueled by lethal jet-black coffee-mud. i pulled out my debit card to pay and he made a face. "no more debit," he said. "huh? why not?" i'd paid for my coffee habit on my card for years at the turk's. he used to hassle me all the time, telling me i was too young to drink the stuff, and he still refused to serve me at all during school hours, convinced that i was skipping class. but over the years, the turk and me have developed a kind of gruff understanding. he shook his head sadly. "you wouldn't understand. go to school, kid." there's no surer way to make me want to understand than to tell me i won't. i wheedled him, demanding that he tell me. he looked like he was going to throw me out, but when i asked him if he thought i wasn't good enough to shop there, he opened up. "the security," he said, looking around his little shop with its tubs of dried beans and seeds, its shelves of turkish groceries. "the government. they monitor it all now, it was in the papers. patriot act ii, the congress passed it yesterday. now they can monitor every time you use your card. i say no. i say my shop will not help them spy on my customers." my jaw dropped. "you think it's no big deal maybe? what is the problem with government knowing when you buy coffee? because it's one way they know where you are, where you been. why you think i left turkey? where you have government always spying on the people, is no good. i move here twenty years ago for freedom -- i no help them take freedom away." "you're going to lose so many sales," i blurted. i wanted to tell him he was a hero and shake his hand, but that was what came out. "everyone uses debit cards." "maybe not so much anymore. maybe my customers come here because they know i love freedom too. i am making sign for window. maybe other stores do the same. i hear the aclu will sue them for this." "you've got all my business from now on," i said. i meant it. i reached into my pocket. "um, i don't have any cash, though." he pursed his lips and nodded. "many peoples say the same thing. is ok. you give today's money to the aclu." in two minutes, the turk and i had exchanged more words than we had in all the time i'd been coming to his shop. i had no idea he had all these passions. i just thought of him as my friendly neighborhood caffeine dealer. now i shook his hand and when i left his store, i felt like he and i had joined a team. a secret team. # i'd missed two days of school but it seemed like i hadn't missed much class. they'd shut the school on one of those days while the city scrambled to recover. the next day had been devoted, it seemed, to mourning those missing and presumed dead. the newspapers published biographies of the lost, personal memorials. the web was filled with these capsule obituaries, thousands of them. embarrassingly, i was one of those people. i stepped into the schoolyard, not knowing this, and then there was a shout and a moment later there were a hundred people around me, pounding me on the back, shaking my hand. a couple girls i didn't even know kissed me, and they were more than friendly kisses. i felt like a rock star. my teachers were only a little more subdued. ms galvez cried as much as my mother had and hugged me three times before she let me go to my desk and sit down. there was something new at the front of the classroom. a camera. ms galvez caught me staring at it and handed me a permission slip on smeary xeroxed school letterhead. the board of the san francisco unified school district had held an emergency session over the weekend and unanimously voted to ask the parents of every kid in the city for permission to put closed circuit television cameras in every classroom and corridor. the law said they couldn't force us to go to school with cameras all over the place, but it didn't say anything about us *volunteering* to give up our constitutional rights. the letter said that the board were sure that they would get complete compliance from the city's parents, but that they would make arrangements to teach those kids' whose parents objected in a separate set of "unprotected" classrooms. why did we have cameras in our classrooms now? terrorists. of course. because by blowing up a bridge, terrorists had indicated that schools were next. somehow that was the conclusion that the board had reached anyway. i read this note three times and then i stuck my hand up. "yes, marcus?" "ms galvez, about this note?" "yes, marcus." "isn't the point of terrorism to make us afraid? that's why it's called *terror*ism, right?" "i suppose so." the class was staring at me. i wasn't the best student in school, but i did like a good in-class debate. they were waiting to hear what i'd say next. "so aren't we doing what the terrorists want from us? don't they win if we act all afraid and put cameras in the classrooms and all of that?" there was some nervous tittering. one of the others put his hand up. it was charles. ms galvez called on him. "putting cameras in makes us safe, which makes us less afraid." "safe from what?" i said, without waiting to be called on. "terrorism," charles said. the others were nodding their heads. "how do they do that? if a suicide bomber rushed in here and blew us all up --" "ms galvez, marcus is violating school policy. we're not supposed to make jokes about terrorist attacks --" "who's making jokes?" "thank you, both of you," ms galvez said. she looked really unhappy. i felt kind of bad for hijacking her class. "i think that this is a really interesting discussion, but i'd like to hold it over for a future class. i think that these issues may be too emotional for us to have a discussion about them today. now, let's get back to the suffragists, shall we?" so we spent the rest of the hour talking about suffragists and the new lobbying strategies they'd devised for getting four women into every congresscritter's office to lean on him and let him know what it would mean for his political future if he kept on denying women the vote. it was normally the kind of thing i really liked -- little guys making the big and powerful be honest. but today i couldn't concentrate. it must have been darryl's absence. we both liked social studies and we would have had our schoolbooks out and an im session up seconds after sitting down, a back-channel for talking about the lesson. i'd burned twenty paranoidxbox discs the night before and i had them all in my bag. i handed them out to people i knew were really, really into gaming. they'd all gotten an xbox universal or two the year before, but most of them had stopped using them. the games were really expensive and not a lot of fun. i took them aside between periods, at lunch and study hall, and sang the praises of the paranoidxbox games to the sky. free and fun -- addictive social games with lots of cool people playing them from all over the world. giving away one thing to sell another is what they call a "razor blade business" -- companies like gillette give you free razor-blade handles and then stiff you by charging you a small fortune for the blades. printer cartridges are the worst for that -- the most expensive champagne in the world is cheap when compared with inkjet ink, which costs all of a penny a gallon to make wholesale. razor-blade businesses depend on you not being able to get the "blades" from someone else. after all, if gillette can make nine bucks on a ten-dollar replacement blade, why not start a competitor that makes only four bucks selling an identical blade: an percent profit margin is the kind of thing that makes your average business-guy go all drooly and round-eyed. so razor-blade companies like microsoft pour a lot of effort into making it hard and/or illegal to compete with them on the blades. in microsoft's case, every xbox has had countermeasures to keep you from running software that was released by people who didn't pay the microsoft blood-money for the right to sell xbox programs. the people i met didn't think much about this stuff. they perked up when i told them that the games were unmonitored. these days, any online game you play is filled with all kinds of unsavory sorts. first there are the pervs who try to get you to come out to some remote location so they can go all weird and silence of the lambs on you. then there are the cops, who are pretending to be gullible kids so they can bust the pervs. worst of all, though, are the monitors who spend all their time spying on our discussions and snitching on us for violating their terms of service, which say, no flirting, no cussing, and no "clear or masked language which insultingly refers to any aspect of sexual orientation or sexuality." i'm no / horn-dog, but i'm a seventeen year old boy. sex does come up in conversation every now and again. but god help you if it came up in chat while you were gaming. it was a real buzz-kill. no one monitored the paranoidxbox games, because they weren't run by a company: they were just games that hackers had written for the hell of it. so these game-kids loved the story. they took the discs greedily, and promised to burn copies for all of their friends -- after all, games are most fun when you're playing them with your buddies. when i got home, i read that a group of parents were suing the school board over the surveillance cameras in the classrooms, but that they'd already lost their bid to get a preliminary injunction against them. # i don't know who came up with the name xnet, but it stuck. you'd hear people talking about it on the muni. van called me up to ask me if i'd heard of it and i nearly choked once i figured out what she was talking about: the discs i'd started distributing last week had been sneakernetted and copied all the way to oakland in the space of two weeks. it made me look over my shoulder -- like i'd broken a rule and now the dhs would come and take me away forever. they'd been hard weeks. the bart had completely abandoned cash fares now, switching them for arphid "contactless" cards that you waved at the turnstiles to go through. they were cool and convenient, but every time i used one, i thought about how i was being tracked. someone on xnet posted a link to an electronic frontier foundation white paper on the ways that these things could be used to track people, and the paper had tiny stories about little groups of people that had protested at the bart stations. i used the xnet for almost everything now. i'd set up a fake email address through the pirate party, a swedish political party that hated internet surveillance and promised to keep their mail accounts a secret from everyone, even the cops. i accessed it strictly via xnet, hopping from one neighbor's internet connection to the next, staying anonymous -- i hoped -- all the way to sweden. i wasn't using w n ton anymore. if benson could figure it out, anyone could. my new handle, come up with on the spur of the moment, was m k y, and i got a *lot* of email from people who heard in chat rooms and message boards that i could help them troubleshoot their xnet configurations and connections. i missed harajuku fun madness. the company had suspended the game indefinitely. they said that for "security reasons" they didn't think it would be a good idea to hide things and then send people off to find them. what if someone thought it was a bomb? what if someone put a bomb in the same spot? what if i got hit by lightning while walking with an umbrella? ban umbrellas! fight the menace of lightning! i kept on using my laptop, though i got a skin-crawly feeling when i used it. whoever had wiretapped it would wonder why i didn't use it. i figured i'd just do some random surfing with it every day, a little less each day, so that anyone watching would see me slowly changing my habits, not doing a sudden reversal. mostly i read those creepy obits -- all those thousands of my friends and neighbors dead at the bottom of the bay. truth be told, i *was* doing less and less homework every day. i had business elsewhere. i burned new stacks of paranoidxbox every day, fifty or sixty, and took them around the city to people i'd heard were willing to burn sixty of their own and hand them out to their friends. i wasn't too worried about getting caught doing this, because i had good crypto on my side. crypto is cryptography, or "secret writing," and it's been around since roman times (literally: augustus caesar was a big fan and liked to invent his own codes, some of which we use today for scrambling joke punchlines in email). crypto is math. hard math. i'm not going to try to explain it in detail because i don't have the math to really get my head around it, either -- look it up on wikipedia if you really want. but here's the cliff's notes version: some kinds of mathematical functions are really easy to do in one direction and really hard to do in the other direction. it's easy to multiply two big prime numbers together and make a giant number. it's really, really hard to take any given giant number and figure out which primes multiply together to give you that number. that means that if you can come up with a way of scrambling something based on multiplying large primes, unscrambling it without knowing those primes will be hard. wicked hard. like, a trillion years of all the computers ever invented working / won't be able to do it. there are four parts to any crypto message: the original message, called the "cleartext." the scrambled message, called the "ciphertext." the scrambling system, called the "cipher." and finally there's the key: secret stuff you feed into the cipher along with the cleartext to make ciphertext. it used to be that crypto people tried to keep all of this a secret. every agency and government had its own ciphers *and* its own keys. the nazis and the allies didn't want the other guys to know how they scrambled their messages, let alone the keys that they could use to descramble them. that sounds like a good idea, right? wrong. the first time anyone told me about all this prime factoring stuff, i immediately said, "no way, that's bs. i mean, *sure* it's hard to do this prime factorization stuff, whatever you say it is. but it used to be impossible to fly or go to the moon or get a hard-drive with more than a few kilobytes of storage. someone *must* have invented a way of descrambling the messages." i had visions of a hollow mountain full of national security agency mathematicians reading every email in the world and snickering. in fact, that's pretty much what happened during world war ii. that's the reason that life isn't more like castle wolfenstein, where i've spent many days hunting nazis. the thing is, ciphers are hard to keep secret. there's a lot of math that goes into one, and if they're widely used, then everyone who uses them has to keep them a secret too, and if someone changes sides, you have to find a new cipher. the nazi cipher was called enigma, and they used a little mechanical computer called an enigma machine to scramble and unscramble the messages they got. every sub and boat and station needed one of these, so it was inevitable that eventually the allies would get their hands on one. when they did, they cracked it. that work was led by my personal all-time hero, a guy named alan turing, who pretty much invented computers as we know them today. unfortunately for him, he was gay, so after the war ended, the stupid british government forced him to get shot up with hormones to "cure" his homosexuality and he killed himself. darryl gave me a biography of turing for my th birthday -- wrapped in twenty layers of paper and in a recycled batmobile toy, he was like that with presents -- and i've been a turing junkie ever since. now the allies had the enigma machine, and they could intercept lots of nazi radio-messages, which shouldn't have been that big a deal, since every captain had his own secret key. since the allies didn't have the keys, having the machine shouldn't have helped. here's where secrecy hurts crypto. the enigma cipher was flawed. once turing looked hard at it, he figured out that the nazi cryptographers had made a mathematical mistake. by getting his hands on an enigma machine, turing could figure out how to crack *any* nazi message, no matter what key it used. that cost the nazis the war. i mean, don't get me wrong. that's good news. take it from a castle wolfenstein veteran. you wouldn't want the nazis running the country. after the war, cryptographers spent a lot of time thinking about this. the problem had been that turing was smarter than the guy who thought up enigma. any time you had a cipher, you were vulnerable to someone smarter than you coming up with a way of breaking it. and the more they thought about it, the more they realized that *anyone* can come up with a security system that he can't figure out how to break. but *no one* can figure out what a smarter person might do. you have to publish a cipher to know that it works. you have to tell *as many people as possible* how it works, so that they can thwack on it with everything they have, testing its security. the longer you go without anyone finding a flaw, the more secure you are. which is how it stands today. if you want to be safe, you don't use crypto that some genius thought of last week. you use the stuff that people have been using for as long as possible without anyone figuring out how to break them. whether you're a bank, a terrorist, a government or a teenager, you use the same ciphers. if you tried to use your own cipher, there'd be the chance that someone out there had found a flaw you missed and was doing a turing on your butt, deciphering all your "secret" messages and chuckling at your dumb gossip, financial transactions and military secrets. so i knew that crypto would keep me safe from eavesdroppers, but i wasn't ready to deal with histograms. # i got off the bart and waved my card over the turnstile as i headed up to the th street station. as usual, there were lots of weirdos hanging out in the station, drunks and jesus freaks and intense mexican men staring at the ground and a few gang kids. i looked straight past them as i hit the stairs and jogged up to the surface. my bag was empty now, no longer bulging with the paranoidxbox discs i'd been distributing, and it made my shoulders feel light and put a spring in my step as i came up the street. the preachers were at work still, exhorting in spanish and english about jesus and so on. the counterfeit sunglass sellers were gone, but they'd been replaced by guys selling robot dogs that barked the national anthem and would lift their legs if you showed them a picture of osama bin laden. there was probably some cool stuff going on in their little brains and i made a mental note to pick a couple of them up and take them apart later. face-recognition was pretty new in toys, having only recently made the leap from the military to casinos trying to find cheats, to law enforcement. i started down th street toward potrero hill and home, rolling my shoulders and smelling the burrito smells wafting out of the restaurants and thinking about dinner. i don't know why i happened to glance back over my shoulder, but i did. maybe it was a little bit of subconscious sixth-sense stuff. i knew i was being followed. they were two beefy white guys with little mustaches that made me think of either cops or the gay bikers who rode up and down the castro, but gay guys usually had better haircuts. they had on windbreakers the color of old cement and blue-jeans, with their waistbands concealed. i thought of all the things a cop might wear on his waistband, of the utility-belt that dhs guy in the truck had worn. both guys were wearing bluetooth headsets. i kept walking, my heart thumping in my chest. i'd been expecting this since i started. i'd been expecting the dhs to figure out what i was doing. i took every precaution, but severe-haircut woman had told me that she'd be watching me. she'd told me i was a marked man. i realized that i'd been waiting to get picked up and taken back to jail. why not? why should darryl be in jail and not me? what did i have going for me? i hadn't even had the guts to tell my parents -- or his -- what had really happened to us. i quickened my steps and took a mental inventory. i didn't have anything incriminating in my bag. not too incriminating, anyway. my schoolbook was running the crack that let me im and stuff, but half the people in school had that. i'd changed the way i encrypted the stuff on my phone -- now i *did* have a fake partition that i could turn back into cleartext with one password, but all the good stuff was hidden, and needed another password to open up. that hidden section looked just like random junk -- when you encrypt data, it becomes indistinguishable from random noise -- and they'd never even know it was there. there were no discs in my bag. my laptop was free of incriminating evidence. of course, if they thought to look hard at my xbox, it was game over. so to speak. i stopped where i was standing. i'd done as good a job as i could of covering myself. it was time to face my fate. i stepped into the nearest burrito joint and ordered one with carnitas -- shredded pork -- and extra salsa. might as well go down with a full stomach. i got a bucket of horchata, too, an ice-cold rice drink that's like watery, semi-sweet rice-pudding (better than it sounds). i sat down to eat, and a profound calm fell over me. i was about to go to jail for my "crimes," or i wasn't. my freedom since they'd taken me in had been just a temporary holiday. my country was not my friend anymore: we were now on different sides and i'd known i could never win. the two guys came into the restaurant as i was finishing the burrito and going up to order some churros -- deep-fried dough with cinnamon sugar -- for dessert. i guess they'd been waiting outside and got tired of my dawdling. they stood behind me at the counter, boxing me in. i took my churro from the pretty granny and paid her, taking a couple of quick bites of the dough before i turned around. i wanted to eat at least a little of my dessert. it might be the last dessert i got for a long, long time. then i turned around. they were both so close i could see the zit on the cheek of the one on the left, the little booger up the nose of the other. "'scuse me," i said, trying to push past them. the one with the booger moved to block me. "sir," he said, "can you step over here with us?" he gestured toward the restaurant's door. "sorry, i'm eating," i said and moved again. this time he put his hand on my chest. he was breathing fast through his nose, making the booger wiggle. i think i was breathing hard too, but it was hard to tell over the hammering of my heart. the other one flipped down a flap on the front of his windbreaker to reveal a sfpd insignia. "police," he said. "please come with us." "let me just get my stuff," i said. "we'll take care of that," he said. the booger one stepped right up close to me, his foot on the inside of mine. you do that in some martial arts, too. it lets you feel if the other guy is shifting his weight, getting ready to move. i wasn't going to run, though. i knew i couldn't outrun fate. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to new york city's books of wonder, the oldest and largest kids' bookstore in manhattan. they're located just a few blocks away from tor books' offices in the flatiron building and every time i drop in to meet with the tor people, i always sneak away to books of wonder to peruse their stock of new, used and rare kids' books. i'm a heavy collector of rare editions of alice in wonderland, and books of wonder never fails to excite me with some beautiful, limited-edition alice. they have tons of events for kids and one of the most inviting atmospheres i've ever experienced at a bookstore.]] [[books of wonder http://www.booksofwonder.com/ west th st, new york, ny usa + ]] they took me outside and around the corner, to a waiting unmarked police car. it wasn't like anyone in that neighborhood would have had a hard time figuring out that it was a cop-car, though. only police drive big crown victorias now that gas had hit seven bucks a gallon. what's more, only cops could double-park in the middle of van ness street without getting towed by the schools of predatory tow-operators that circled endlessly, ready to enforce san francisco's incomprehensible parking regulations and collect a bounty for kidnapping your car. booger blew his nose. i was sitting in the back seat, and so was he. his partner was sitting in the front, typing with one finger on an ancient, ruggedized laptop that looked like fred flintstone had been its original owner. booger looked closely at my id again. "we just want to ask you a few routine questions." "can i see your badges?" i said. these guys were clearly cops, but it couldn't hurt to let them know i knew my rights. booger flashed his badge at me too fast for me to get a good look at it, but zit in the front seat gave me a long look at his. i got their division number and memorized the four-digit badge number. it was easy: is also the way hackers write "leet," or "elite." they were both being very polite and neither of them was trying to intimidate me the way that the dhs had done when i was in their custody. "am i under arrest?" "you've been momentarily detained so that we can ensure your safety and the general public safety," booger said. he passed my driver's license up to zit, who pecked it slowly into his computer. i saw him make a typo and almost corrected him, but figured it was better to just keep my mouth shut. "is there anything you want to tell me, marcus? do they call you marc?" "marcus is fine," i said. booger looked like he might be a nice guy. except for the part about kidnapping me into his car, of course. "marcus. anything you want to tell me?" "like what? am i under arrest?" "you're not under arrest right now," booger said. "would you like to be?" "no," i said. "good. we've been watching you since you left the bart. your fast pass says that you've been riding to a lot of strange places at a lot of funny hours." i felt something let go inside my chest. this wasn't about the xnet at all, then, not really. they'd been watching my subway use and wanted to know why it had been so freaky lately. how totally stupid. "so you guys follow everyone who comes out of the bart station with a funny ride-history? you must be busy." "not everyone, marcus. we get an alert when anyone with an uncommon ride profile comes out and that helps us assess whether we want to investigate. in your case, we came along because we wanted to know why a smart-looking kid like you had such a funny ride profile?" now that i knew i wasn't about to go to jail, i was getting pissed. these guys had no business spying on me -- christ, the bart had no business *helping* them to spy on me. where the hell did my subway pass get off on finking me out for having a "nonstandard ride pattern?" "i think i'd like to be arrested now," i said. booger sat back and raised his eyebrow at me. "really? on what charge?" "oh, you mean riding public transit in a nonstandard way isn't a crime?" zit closed his eyes and scrubbed them with his thumbs. booger sighed a put-upon sigh. "look, marcus, we're on your side here. we use this system to catch bad guys. to catch terrorists and drug dealers. maybe you're a drug dealer yourself. pretty good way to get around the city, a fast pass. anonymous." "what's wrong with anonymous? it was good enough for thomas jefferson. and by the way, am i under arrest?" "let's take him home," zit said. "we can talk to his parents." "i think that's a great idea," i said. "i'm sure my parents will be anxious to hear how their tax dollars are being spent --" i'd pushed it too far. booger had been reaching for the door handle but now he whirled on me, all hulked out and throbbing veins. "why don't you shut up right now, while it's still an option? after everything that's happened in the past two weeks, it wouldn't kill you to cooperate with us. you know what, maybe we *should* arrest you. you can spend a day or two in jail while your lawyer looks for you. a lot can happen in that time. a *lot*. how'd you like that?" i didn't say anything. i'd been giddy and angry. now i was scared witless. "i'm sorry," i managed, hating myself again for saying it. booger got in the front seat and zit put the car in gear, cruising up th street and over potrero hill. they had my address from my id. mom answered the door after they rang the bell, leaving the chain on. she peeked around it, saw me and said, "marcus? who are these men?" "police," booger said. he showed her his badge, letting her get a good look at it -- not whipping it away the way he had with me. "can we come in?" mom closed the door and took the chain off and let them in. they brought me in and mom gave the three of us one of her looks. "what's this about?" booger pointed at me. "we wanted to ask your son some routine questions about his movements, but he declined to answer them. we felt it might be best to bring him here." "is he under arrest?" mom's accent was coming on strong. good old mom. "are you a united states citizen, ma'am?" zit said. she gave him a look that could have stripped paint. "i shore am, hyuck," she said, in a broad southern accent. "am *i* under arrest?" the two cops exchanged a look. zit took the fore. "we seem to have gotten off to a bad start. we identified your son as someone with a nonstandard public transit usage pattern, as part of a new pro-active enforcement program. when we spot people whose travels are unusual, or that match a suspicious profile, we investigate further." "wait," mom said. "how do you know how my son uses the muni?" "the fast pass," he said. "it tracks voyages." "i see," mom said, folding her arms. folding her arms was a bad sign. it was bad enough she hadn't offered them a cup of tea -- in mom-land, that was practically like making them shout through the mail-slot -- but once she folded her arms, it was not going to end well for them. at that moment, i wanted to go and buy her a big bunch of flowers. "marcus here declined to tell us why his movements had been what they were." "are you saying you think my son is a terrorist because of how he rides the bus?" "terrorists aren't the only bad guys we catch this way," zit said. "drug dealers. gang kids. even shoplifters smart enough to hit a different neighborhood with every run." "you think my son is a drug dealer?" "we're not saying that --" zit began. mom clapped her hands at him to shut him up. "marcus, please pass me your backpack." i did. mom unzipped it and looked through it, turning her back to us first. "officers, i can now affirm that there are no narcotics, explosives, or shoplifted gewgaws in my son's bag. i think we're done here. i would like your badge numbers before you go, please." booger sneered at her. "lady, the aclu is suing three hundred cops on the sfpd, you're going to have to get in line." # mom made me a cup of tea and then chewed me out for eating dinner when i knew that she'd been making falafel. dad came home while we were still at the table and mom and i took turns telling him the story. he shook his head. "lillian, they were just doing their jobs." he was still wearing the blue blazer and khakis he wore on the days that he was consulting in silicon valley. "the world isn't the same place it was last week." mom set down her teacup. "drew, you're being ridiculous. your son is not a terrorist. his use of the public transit system is not cause for a police investigation." dad took off his blazer. "we do this all the time at my work. it's how computers can be used to find all kinds of errors, anomalies and outcomes. you ask the computer to create a profile of an average record in a database and then ask it to find out which records in the database are furthest away from average. it's part of something called bayesian analysis and it's been around for centuries now. without it, we couldn't do spam-filtering --" "so you're saying that you think the police should suck as hard as my spam filter?" i said. dad never got angry at me for arguing with him, but tonight i could see the strain was running high in him. still, i couldn't resist. my own father, taking the police's side! "i'm saying that it's perfectly reasonable for the police to conduct their investigations by starting with data-mining, and then following it up with leg-work where a human being actually intervenes to see why the abnormality exists. i don't think that a computer should be telling the police whom to arrest, just helping them sort through the haystack to find a needle." "but by taking in all that data from the transit system, they're *creating the haystack*," i said. "that's a gigantic mountain of data and there's almost nothing worth looking at there, from the police's point of view. it's a total waste." "i understand that you don't like that this system caused you some inconvenience, marcus. but you of all people should appreciate the gravity of the situation. there was no harm done, was there? they even gave you a ride home." *they threatened to send me to jail,* i thought, but i could see there was no point in saying it. "besides, you still haven't told us where the blazing hells you've been to create such an unusual traffic pattern." that brought me up short. "i thought you relied on my judgment, that you didn't want to spy on me." he'd said this often enough. "do you really want me to account for every trip i've ever taken?" # i hooked up my xbox as soon as i got to my room. i'd bolted the projector to the ceiling so that it could shine on the wall over my bed (i'd had to take down my awesome mural of punk rock handbills i'd taken down off telephone poles and glued to big sheets of white paper). i powered up the xbox and watched as it came onto the screen. i was going to email van and jolu to tell them about the hassles with the cops, but as i put my fingers to the keyboard, i stopped again. a feeling crept over me, one not unlike the feeling i'd had when i realized that they'd turned poor old salmagundi into a traitor. this time, it was the feeling that my beloved xnet might be broadcasting the location of every one of its users to the dhs. it was what dad had said: *you ask the computer to create a profile of an average record in a database and then ask it to find out which records in the database are furthest away from average.* the xnet was secure because its users weren't directly connected to the internet. they hopped from xbox to xbox until they found one that was connected to the internet, then they injected their material as undecipherable, encrypted data. no one could tell which of the internet's packets were xnet and which ones were just plain old banking and e-commerce and other encrypted communication. you couldn't find out who was tying the xnet, let alone who was using the xnet. but what about dad's "bayesian statistics?" i'd played with bayesian math before. darryl and i once tried to write our own better spam filter and when you filter spam, you need bayesian math. thomas bayes was an th century british mathematician that no one cared about until a couple hundred years after he died, when computer scientists realized that his technique for statistically analyzing mountains of data would be super-useful for the modern world's info-himalayas. here's some of how bayesian stats work. say you've got a bunch of spam. you take every word that's in the spam and count how many times it appears. this is called a "word frequency histogram" and it tells you what the probability is that any bag of words is likely to be spam. now, take a ton of email that's not spam -- in the biz, they call that "ham" -- and do the same. wait until a new email arrives and count the words that appear in it. then use the word-frequency histogram in the candidate message to calculate the probability that it belongs in the "spam" pile or the "ham" pile. if it turns out to be spam, you adjust the "spam" histogram accordingly. there are lots of ways to refine the technique -- looking at words in pairs, throwing away old data -- but this is how it works at core. it's one of those great, simple ideas that seems obvious after you hear about it. it's got lots of applications -- you can ask a computer to count the lines in a picture and see if it's more like a "dog" line-frequency histogram or a "cat" line-frequency histogram. it can find porn, bank fraud, and flamewars. useful stuff. and it was bad news for the xnet. say you had the whole internet wiretapped -- which, of course, the dhs has. you can't tell who's passing xnet packets by looking at the contents of those packets, thanks to crypto. what you *can* do is find out who is sending way, way more encrypted traffic out than everyone else. for a normal internet surfer, a session online is probably about percent cleartext, five percent ciphertext. if someone is sending out percent ciphertext, maybe you could dispatch the computer-savvy equivalents of booger and zit to ask them if they're terrorist drug-dealer xnet users. this happens all the time in china. some smart dissident will get the idea of getting around the great firewall of china, which is used to censor the whole country's internet connection, by using an encrypted connection to a computer in some other country. now, the party there can't tell what the dissident is surfing: maybe it's porn, or bomb-making instructions, or dirty letters from his girlfriend in the philippines, or political material, or good news about scientology. they don't have to know. all they have to know is that this guy gets way more encrypted traffic than his neighbors. at that point, they send him to a forced labor camp just to set an example so that everyone can see what happens to smart-asses. so far, i was willing to bet that the xnet was under the dhs's radar, but it wouldn't be the case forever. and after tonight, i wasn't sure that i was in any better shape than a chinese dissident. i was putting all the people who signed onto the xnet in jeopardy. the law didn't care if you were actually doing anything bad; they were willing to put you under the microscope just for being statistically abnormal. and i couldn't even stop it -- now that the xnet was running, it had a life of its own. i was going to have to fix it some other way. i wished i could talk to jolu about this. he worked at an internet service provider called pigspleen net that had hired him when he was twelve, and he knew way more about the net than i did. if anyone knew how to keep our butts out of jail, it would be him. luckily, van and jolu and i were planning to meet for coffee the next night at our favorite place in the mission after school. officially, it was our weekly harajuku fun madness team meeting, but with the game canceled and darryl gone, it was pretty much just a weekly weep-fest, supplemented by about six phone-calls and ims a day that went, "are you ok? did it really happen?" it would be good to have something else to talk about. # "you're out of your mind," vanessa said. "are you actually, totally, really, for-real crazy or what?" she had shown up in her girl's school uniform because she'd been stuck going the long way home, all the way down to the san mateo bridge then back up into the city, on a shuttle-bus service that her school was operating. she hated being seen in public in her gear, which was totally sailor moon -- a pleated skirt and a tunic and knee-socks. she'd been in a bad mood ever since she turned up at the cafe, which was full of older, cooler, mopey emo art students who snickered into their lattes when she turned up. "what do you want me to do, van?" i said. i was getting exasperated myself. school was unbearable now that the game wasn't on, now that darryl was missing. all day long, in my classes, i consoled myself with the thought of seeing my team, what was left of it. now we were fighting. "i want you to stop putting yourself at risk, m k y." the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. sure, we always used our team handles at team meetings, but now that my handle was also associated with my xnet use, it scared me to hear it said aloud in a public place. "don't use that name in public anymore," i snapped. van shook her head. "that's just what i'm talking about. you could end up going to jail for this, marcus, and not just you. lots of people. after what happened to darryl --" "i'm doing this for darryl!" art students swiveled to look at us and i lowered my voice. "i'm doing this because the alternative is to let them get away with it all." "you think you're going to stop them? you're out of your mind. they're the government." "it's still our country," i said. "we still have the right to do this." van looked like she was going to cry. she took a couple of deep breaths and stood up. "i can't do it, i'm sorry. i can't watch you do this. it's like watching a car-wreck in slow motion. you're going to destroy yourself, and i love you too much to watch it happen." she bent down and gave me a fierce hug and a hard kiss on the cheek that caught the edge of my mouth. "take care of yourself, marcus," she said. my mouth burned where her lips had pressed it. she gave jolu the same treatment, but square on the cheek. then she left. jolu and i stared at each other after she'd gone. i put my face in my hands. "dammit," i said, finally. jolu patted me on the back and ordered me another latte. "it'll be ok," he said. "you'd think van, of all people, would understand." half of van's family lived in north korea. her parents never forgot that they had all those people living under a crazy dictator, not able to escape to america, the way her parents had. jolu shrugged. "maybe that's why she's so freaked out. because she knows how dangerous it can get." i knew what he was talking about. two of van's uncles had gone to jail and had never reappeared. "yeah," i said. "so how come you weren't on xnet last night?" i was grateful for the distraction. i explained it all to him, the bayesian stuff and my fear that we couldn't go on using xnet the way we had been without getting nabbed. he listened thoughtfully. "i see what you're saying. the problem is that if there's too much crypto in someone's internet connection, they'll stand out as unusual. but if you don't encrypt, you'll make it easy for the bad guys to wiretap you." "yeah," i said. "i've been trying to figure it out all day. maybe we could slow the connection down, spread it out over more peoples' accounts --" "won't work," he said. "to get it slow enough to vanish into the noise, you'd have to basically shut down the network, which isn't an option." "you're right," i said. "but what else can we do?" "what if we changed the definition of normal?" and that was why jolu got hired to work at pigspleen when he was . give him a problem with two bad solutions and he'd figure out a third totally different solution based on throwing away all your assumptions. i nodded vigorously. "go on, tell me." "what if the average san francisco internet user had a *lot* more crypto in his average day on the internet? if we could change the split so it's more like fifty-fifty cleartext to ciphertext, then the users that supply the xnet would just look like normal." "but how do we do that? people just don't care enough about their privacy to surf the net through an encrypted link. they don't see why it matters if eavesdroppers know what they're googling for." "yeah, but web-pages are small amounts of traffic. if we got people to routinely download a few giant encrypted files every day, that would create as much ciphertext as thousands of web-pages." "you're talking about indienet," i said. "you got it," he said. indienet -- all lower case, always -- was the thing that made pigspleen net into one of the most successful independent isps in the world. back when the major record labels started suing their fans for downloading their music, a lot of the independent labels and their artists were aghast. how can you make money by suing your customers? pigspleen's founder had the answer: she opened up a deal for any act that wanted to work with their fans instead of fighting them. give pigspleen a license to distribute your music to its customers and it would give you a share of the subscription fees based on how popular your music was. for an indie artist, the big problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity: no one even cares enough about your tunes to steal 'em. it worked. hundreds of independent acts and labels signed up with pigspleen, and the more music there was, the more fans switched to getting their internet service from pigspleen, and the more money there was for the artists. inside of a year, the isp had a hundred thousand new customers and now it had a million -- more than half the broadband connections in the city. "an overhaul of the indienet code has been on my plate for months now," jolu said. "the original programs were written really fast and dirty and they could be made a lot more efficient with a little work. but i just haven't had the time. one of the high-marked to-do items has been to encrypt the connections, just because trudy likes it that way." trudy doo was the founder of pigspleen. she was an old time san francisco punk legend, the singer/front-woman of the anarcho-feminist band speedwhores, and she was crazy about privacy. i could totally believe that she'd want her music service encrypted on general principles. "will it be hard? i mean, how long would it take?" "well, there's tons of crypto code for free online, of course," jolu said. he was doing the thing he did when he was digging into a meaty code problem -- getting that faraway look, drumming his palms on the table, making the coffee slosh into the saucers. i wanted to laugh -- everything might be destroyed and crap and scary, but jolu would write that code. "can i help?" he looked at me. "what, you don't think i can manage it?" "what?" "i mean, you did this whole xnet thing without even telling me. without talking to me. i kind of thought that you didn't need my help with this stuff." i was brought up short. "what?" i said again. jolu was looking really steamed now. it was clear that this had been eating him for a long time. "jolu --" he looked at me and i could see that he was furious. how had i missed this? god, i was such an idiot sometimes. "look dude, it's not a big deal --" by which he clearly meant that it was a really big deal "-- it's just that you know, you never even *asked*. i hate the dhs. darryl was my friend too. i could have really helped with it." i wanted to stick my head between my knees. "listen jolu, that was really stupid of me. i did it at like two in the morning. i was just crazy when it was happening. i --" i couldn't explain it. yeah, he was right, and that was the problem. it had been two in the morning but i could have talked to jolu about it the next day or the next. i hadn't because i'd known what he'd say -- that it was an ugly hack, that i needed to think it through better. jolu was always figuring out how to turn my am ideas into real code, but the stuff that he came out with was always a little different from what i'd come up with. i'd wanted the project for myself. i'd gotten totally into being m k y. "i'm sorry," i said at last. "i'm really, really sorry. you're totally right. i just got freaked out and did something stupid. i really need your help. i can't make this work without you." "you mean it?" "of course i mean it," i said. "you're the best coder i know. you're a goddamned genius, jolu. i would be honored if you'd help me with this." he drummed his fingers some more. "it's just -- you know. you're the leader. van's the smart one. darryl was... he was your second-in-command, the guy who had it all organized, who watched the details. being the programmer, that was *my* thing. it felt like you were saying you didn't need me." "oh man, i am such an idiot. jolu, you're the best-qualified person i know to do this. i'm really, really, really --" "all right, already. stop. fine. i believe you. we're all really screwed up right now. so yeah, of course you can help. we can probably even pay you -- i've got a little budget for contract programmers." "really?" no one had ever paid me for writing code. "sure. you're probably good enough to be worth it." he grinned and slugged me in the shoulder. jolu's really easy-going most of the time, which is why he'd freaked me out so much. i paid for the coffees and we went out. i called my parents and let them know what i was doing. jolu's mom insisted on making us sandwiches. we locked ourselves in his room with his computer and the code for indienet and we embarked on one of the great all-time marathon programming sessions. once jolu's family went to bed around : , we were able to kidnap the coffee-machine up to his room and go iv with our magic coffee bean supply. if you've never programmed a computer, you should. there's nothing like it in the whole world. when you program a computer, it does *exactly* what you tell it to do. it's like designing a machine -- any machine, like a car, like a faucet, like a gas-hinge for a door -- using math and instructions. it's awesome in the truest sense: it can fill you with awe. a computer is the most complicated machine you'll ever use. it's made of billions of micro-miniaturized transistors that can be configured to run any program you can imagine. but when you sit down at the keyboard and write a line of code, those transistors do what you tell them to. most of us will never build a car. pretty much none of us will ever create an aviation system. design a building. lay out a city. those are complicated machines, those things, and they're off-limits to the likes of you and me. but a computer is like, ten times more complicated, and it will dance to any tune you play. you can learn to write simple code in an afternoon. start with a language like python, which was written to give non-programmers an easier way to make the machine dance to their tune. even if you only write code for one day, one afternoon, you have to do it. computers can control you or they can lighten your work -- if you want to be in charge of your machines, you have to learn to write code. we wrote a lot of code that night. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to borders, the global bookselling giant that you can find in cities all over the world -- i'll never forget walking into the gigantic borders on orchard road in singapore and discovering a shelf loaded with my novels! for many years, the borders in oxford street in london hosted pat cadigan's monthly science fiction evenings, where local and visiting authors would read their work, speak about science fiction and meet their fans. when i'm in a strange city (which happens a lot) and i need a great book for my next flight, there always seems to be a borders brimming with great choices -- i'm especially partial to the borders on union square in san francisco.]] [[borders worldwide http://www.bordersstores.com/locator/locator.jsp]] i wasn't the only one who got screwed up by the histograms. there are lots of people who have abnormal traffic patterns, abnormal usage patterns. abnormal is so common, it's practically normal. the xnet was full of these stories, and so were the newspapers and the tv news. husbands were caught cheating on their wives; wives were caught cheating on their husbands, kids were caught sneaking out with illicit girlfriends and boyfriends. a kid who hadn't told his parents he had aids got caught going to the clinic for his drugs. those were the people with something to hide -- not guilty people, but people with secrets. there were even more people with nothing to hide at all, but who nevertheless resented being picked up, and questioned. imagine if someone locked you in the back of a police car and demanded that you prove that you're *not* a terrorist. it wasn't just public transit. most drivers in the bay area have a fastrak pass clipped to their sun-visors. this is a little radio-based "wallet" that pays your tolls for you when you cross the bridges, saving you the hassle of sitting in a line for hours at the toll-plazas. they'd tripled the cost of using cash to get across the bridge (though they always fudged this, saying that fastrak was cheaper, not that anonymous cash was more expensive). whatever holdouts were left afterward disappeared after the number of cash-lanes was reduced to just one per bridge-head, so that the cash lines were even longer. so if you're a local, or if you're driving a rental car from a local agency, you've got a fastrak. it turns out that toll-plazas aren't the only place that your fastrak gets read, though. the dhs had put fastrak readers all over town -- when you drove past them, they logged the time and your id number, building an ever-more perfect picture of who went where, when, in a database that was augmented by "speeding cameras," "red light cameras" and all the other license-plate cameras that had popped up like mushrooms. no one had given it much thought. and now that people were paying attention, we were all starting to notice little things, like the fact that the fastrak doesn't have an off-switch. so if you drove a car, you were just as likely to be pulled over by an sfpd cruiser that wanted to know why you were taking so many trips to the home depot lately, and what was that midnight drive up to sonoma last week about? the little demonstrations around town on the weekend were growing. fifty thousand people marched down market street after a week of this monitoring. i couldn't care less. the people who'd occupied my city didn't care what the natives wanted. they were a conquering army. they knew how we felt about that. one morning i came down to breakfast just in time to hear dad tell mom that the two biggest taxi companies were going to give a "discount" to people who used special cards to pay their fares, supposedly to make drivers safer by reducing the amount of cash they carried. i wondered what would happen to the information about who took which cabs where. i realized how close i'd come. the new indienet client had been pushed out as an automatic update just as this stuff started to get bad, and jolu told me that percent of the traffic he saw at pigspleen was now encrypted. the xnet just might have been saved. dad was driving me nuts, though. "you're being paranoid, marcus," he told me over breakfast one day as i told him about the guys i'd seen the cops shaking down on bart the day before. "dad, it's ridiculous. they're not catching any terrorists, are they? it's just making people scared." "they may not have caught any terrorists yet, but they're sure getting a lot of scumbags off the streets. look at the drug dealers -- it says they've put dozens of them away since this all started. remember when those druggies robbed you? if we don't bust their dealers, it'll only get worse." i'd been mugged the year before. they'd been pretty civilized about it. one skinny guy who smelled bad told me he had a gun, the other one asked me for my wallet. they even let me keep my id, though they got my debit card and fast pass. it had still scared me witless and left me paranoid and checking my shoulder for weeks. "but most of the people they hold up aren't doing anything wrong, dad," i said. this was getting to me. my own father! "it's crazy. for every guilty person they catch, they have to punish thousands of innocent people. that's just not good." "innocent? guys cheating on their wives? drug dealers? you're defending them, but what about all the people who died? if you don't have anything to hide --" "so you wouldn't mind if they pulled *you* over?" my dad's histograms had proven to be depressingly normal so far. "i'd consider it my duty," he said. "i'd be proud. it would make me feel safer." easy for him to say. # vanessa didn't like me talking about this stuff, but she was too smart about it for me to stay away from the subject for long. we'd get together all the time, and talk about the weather and school and stuff, and then, somehow, i'd be back on this subject. vanessa was cool when it happened -- she didn't hulk out on me again -- but i could see it upset her. still. "so my dad says, 'i'd consider it my duty.' can you freaking *believe* it? i mean, god! i almost told him then about going to jail, asking him if he thought that was our 'duty'!" we were sitting in the grass in dolores park after school, watching the dogs chase frisbees. van had stopped at home and changed into an old t-shirt for one of her favorite brazilian tecno-brega bands, carioca proibidão -- the forbidden guy from rio. she'd gotten the shirt at a live show we'd all gone to two years before, sneaking out for a grand adventure down at the cow palace, and she'd sprouted an inch or two since, so it was tight and rode up her tummy, showing her flat little belly button. she lay back in the weak sun with her eyes closed behind her shades, her toes wiggling in her flip-flops. i'd known van since forever, and when i thought of her, i usually saw the little kid i'd known with hundreds of jangly bracelets made out of sliced-up soda cans, who played the piano and couldn't dance to save her life. sitting out there in dolores park, i suddenly saw her as she was. she was totally h wt -- that is to say, hot. it was like looking at that picture of a vase and noticing that it was also two faces. i could see that van was just van, but i could also see that she was hella pretty, something i'd never noticed. of course, darryl had known it all along, and don't think that i wasn't bummed out anew when i realized this. "you can't tell your dad, you know," she said. "you'd put us all at risk." her eyes were closed and her chest was rising up and down with her breath, which was distracting in a really embarrassing way. "yeah," i said, glumly. "but the problem is that i know he's just totally full of it. if you pulled my dad over and made him prove he wasn't a child-molesting, drug-dealing terrorist, he'd go berserk. totally off-the-rails. he hates being put on hold when he calls about his credit-card bill. being locked in the back of a car and questioned for an hour would give him an aneurism." "they only get away with it because the normals feel smug compared to the abnormals. if everyone was getting pulled over, it'd be a disaster. no one would ever get anywhere, they'd all be waiting to get questioned by the cops. total gridlock." woah. "van, you are a total genius," i said. "tell me about it," she said. she had a lazy smile and she looked at me through half-lidded eyes, almost romantic. "seriously. we can do this. we can mess up the profiles easily. getting people pulled over is easy." she sat up and pushed her hair off her face and looked at me. i felt a little flip in my stomach, thinking that she was really impressed with me. "it's the arphid cloners," i said. "they're totally easy to make. just flash the firmware on a ten-dollar radio shack reader/writer and you're done. what we do is go around and randomly swap the tags on people, overwriting their fast passes and fastraks with other people's codes. that'll make *everyone* skew all weird and screwy, and make everyone look guilty. then: total gridlock." van pursed her lips and lowered her shades and i realized she was so angry she couldn't speak. "good bye, marcus," she said, and got to her feet. before i knew it, she was walking away so fast she was practically running. "van!" i called, getting to my feet and chasing after her. "van! wait!" she picked up speed, making me run to catch up with her. "van, what the hell," i said, catching her arm. she jerked it away so hard i punched myself in the face. "you're psycho, marcus. you're going to put all your little xnet buddies in danger for their lives, and on top of it, you're going to turn the whole city into terrorism suspects. can't you stop before you hurt these people?" i opened and closed my mouth a couple times. "van, *i'm* not the problem, *they* are. i'm not arresting people, jailing them, making them disappear. the department of homeland security are the ones doing that. i'm fighting back to make them stop." "how, by making it worse?" "maybe it has to get worse to get better, van. isn't that what you were saying? if everyone was getting pulled over --" "that's not what i meant. i didn't mean you should get everyone arrested. if you want to protest, join the protest movement. do something positive. didn't you learn *anything* from darryl? *anything?*" "you're damned right i did," i said, losing my cool. "i learned that they can't be trusted. that if you're not fighting them, you're helping them. that they'll turn the country into a prison if we let them. what did you learn, van? to be scared all the time, to sit tight and keep your head down and hope you don't get noticed? you think it's going to get better? if we don't do anything, this is as *good as it's going to get*. it will only get worse and worse from now on. you want to help darryl? help me bring them down!" there it was again. my vow. not to get darryl free, but to bring down the entire dhs. that was crazy, even i knew it. but it was what i planned to do. no question about it. van shoved me hard with both hands. she was strong from school athletics -- fencing, lacrosse, field hockey, all the girls-school sports -- and i ended up on my ass on the disgusting san francisco sidewalk. she took off and i didn't follow. # > the important thing about security systems isn't how they work, it's how they fail. that was the first line of my first blog post on open revolt, my xnet site. i was writing as m k y, and i was ready to go to war. > maybe all the automatic screening is supposed to catch terrorists. maybe it will catch a terrorist sooner or later. the problem is that it catches *us* too, even though we're not doing anything wrong. > the more people it catches, the more brittle it gets. if it catches too many people, it dies. > get the idea? i pasted in my howto for building a arphid cloner, and some tips for getting close enough to people to read and write their tags. i put my own cloner in the pocket of my vintage black leather motocross jacket with the armored pockets and left for school. i managed to clone six tags between home and chavez high. it was war they wanted. it was war they'd get. # if you ever decide to do something as stupid as build an automatic terrorism detector, here's a math lesson you need to learn first. it's called "the paradox of the false positive," and it's a doozy. say you have a new disease, called super-aids. only one in a million people gets super-aids. you develop a test for super-aids that's percent accurate. i mean, percent of the time, it gives the correct result -- true if the subject is infected, and false if the subject is healthy. you give the test to a million people. one in a million people have super-aids. one in a hundred people that you test will generate a "false positive" -- the test will say he has super-aids even though he doesn't. that's what " percent accurate" means: one percent wrong. what's one percent of one million? , , / = , one in a million people has super-aids. if you test a million random people, you'll probably only find one case of real super-aids. but your test won't identify *one* person as having super-aids. it will identify * , * people as having it. your percent accurate test will perform with . percent *inaccuracy*. that's the paradox of the false positive. when you try to find something really rare, your test's accuracy has to match the rarity of the thing you're looking for. if you're trying to point at a single pixel on your screen, a sharp pencil is a good pointer: the pencil-tip is a lot smaller (more accurate) than the pixels. but a pencil-tip is no good at pointing at a single *atom* in your screen. for that, you need a pointer -- a test -- that's one atom wide or less at the tip. this is the paradox of the false positive, and here's how it applies to terrorism: terrorists are really rare. in a city of twenty million like new york, there might be one or two terrorists. maybe ten of them at the outside. / , , = . percent. one twenty-thousandth of a percent. that's pretty rare all right. now, say you've got some software that can sift through all the bank-records, or toll-pass records, or public transit records, or phone-call records in the city and catch terrorists percent of the time. in a pool of twenty million people, a percent accurate test will identify two hundred thousand people as being terrorists. but only ten of them are terrorists. to catch ten bad guys, you have to haul in and investigate two hundred thousand innocent people. guess what? terrorism tests aren't anywhere *close* to percent accurate. more like percent accurate. even percent accurate, sometimes. what this all meant was that the department of homeland security had set itself up to fail badly. they were trying to spot incredibly rare events -- a person is a terrorist -- with inaccurate systems. is it any wonder we were able to make such a mess? # i stepped out the front door whistling on a tuesday morning one week into the operation false positive. i was rockin' out to some new music i'd downloaded from the xnet the night before -- lots of people sent m k y little digital gifts to say thank you for giving them hope. i turned onto d street and carefully took the narrow stone steps cut into the side of the hill. as i descended, i passed mr wiener dog. i don't know mr wiener dog's real name, but i see him nearly every day, walking his three panting wiener dogs up the staircase to the little parkette. squeezing past them all on the stairs is pretty much impossible and i always end up tangled in a leash, knocked into someone's front garden, or perched on the bumper of one of the cars parked next to the curb. mr wiener dog is clearly someone important, because he has a fancy watch and always wears a nice suit. i had mentally assumed that he worked down in the financial district. today as i brushed up against him, i triggered my arphid cloner, which was already loaded in the pocket of my leather jacket. the cloner sucked down the numbers off his credit-cards and his car-keys, his passport and the hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. even as it was doing that, it was flashing some of them with new numbers, taken from other people i'd brushed against. it was like switching the license-plates on a bunch of cars, but invisible and instantaneous. i smiled apologetically at mr wiener dog and continued down the stairs. i stopped at three of the cars long enough to swap their fastrak tags with numbers taken off of all the cars i'd gone past the day before. you might think i was being a little aggro here, but i was cautious and conservative compared to a lot of the xnetters. a couple girls in the chemical engineering program at uc berkeley had figured out how to make a harmless substance out of kitchen products that would trip an explosive sniffer. they'd had a merry time sprinkling it on their profs' briefcases and jackets, then hiding out and watching the same profs try to get into the auditoriums and libraries on campus, only to get flying-tackled by the new security squads that had sprung up everywhere. other people wanted to figure out how to dust envelopes with substances that would test positive for anthrax, but everyone else thought they were out of their minds. luckily, it didn't seem like they'd be able to figure it out. i passed by san francisco general hospital and nodded with satisfaction as i saw the huge lines at the front doors. they had a police checkpoint too, of course, and there were enough xnetters working as interns and cafeteria workers and whatnot there that everyone's badges had been snarled up and swapped around. i'd read the security checks had tacked an hour onto everyone's work day, and the unions were threatening to walk out unless the hospital did something about it. a few blocks later, i saw an even longer line for the bart. cops were walking up and down the line pointing people out and calling them aside for questioning, bag-searches and pat-downs. they kept getting sued for doing this, but it didn't seem to be slowing them down. i got to school a little ahead of time and decided to walk down to nd street to get a coffee -- and i passed a police checkpoint where they were pulling over cars for secondary inspection. school was no less wild -- the security guards on the metal detectors were also wanding our school ids and pulling out students with odd movements for questioning. needless to say, we all had pretty weird movements. needless to say, classes were starting an hour or more later. classes were crazy. i don't think anyone was able to concentrate. i overheard two teachers talking about how long it had taken them to get home from work the day before, and planning to sneak out early that day. it was all i could do to keep from laughing. the paradox of the false positive strikes again! sure enough, they let us out of class early and i headed home the long way, circling through the mission to see the havoc. long lines of cars. bart stations lined up around the blocks. people swearing at atms that wouldn't dispense their money because they'd had their accounts frozen for suspicious activity (that's the danger of wiring your checking account straight into your fastrak and fast pass!). i got home and made myself a sandwich and logged into the xnet. it had been a good day. people from all over town were crowing about their successes. we'd brought the city of san francisco to a standstill. the news-reports confirmed it -- they were calling it the dhs gone haywire, blaming it all on the fake-ass "security" that was supposed to be protecting us from terrorism. the business section of the san francisco chronicle gave its whole front page to an estimate of the economic cost of the dhs security resulting from missed work hours, meetings and so on. according to the chronicle's economist, a week of this crap would cost the city more than the bay bridge bombing had. mwa-ha-ha-ha. the best part: dad got home that night late. very late. three *hours* late. why? because he'd been pulled over, searched, questioned. then it happened *again*. twice. twice! &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to compass books/books inc, the oldest independent bookstore in the western usa. they've got stores up and down california, in san francisco, burlingame, mountain view and palo alto, but coolest of all is that they run a killer bookstore in the middle of disneyland's downtown disney in anaheim. i'm a stone disney park freak (see my first novel, down and out in the magic kingdom if you don't believe it), and every time i've lived in california, i've bought myself an annual disneyland pass, and on practically every visit, i drop by compass books in downtown disney. they stock a brilliant selection of unauthorized (and even critical) books about disney, as well as a great variety of kids books and science fiction, and the cafe next door makes a mean cappuccino.]] [[compass books/books inc: http://www.booksinc.net/nasapp/store/product;jsessionid=abcf-ch -pbu m zrrlr?s=showproduct&isbn= ]] he was so angry i thought he was going to pop. you know i said i'd only seen him lose his cool rarely? that night, he lost it more than he ever had. "you wouldn't believe it. this cop, he was like eighteen years old and he kept saying, 'but sir, why were you in berkeley yesterday if your client is in mountain view?' i kept explaining to him that i teach at berkeley and then he'd say, 'i thought you were a consultant,' and we'd start over again. it was like some kind of sitcom where the cops have been taken over by the stupidity ray. "what's worse was he kept insisting that i'd been in berkeley today as well, and i kept saying no, i hadn't been, and he said i had been. then he showed me my fastrak billing and it said i'd driven the san mateo bridge three times that day! "that's not all," he said, and drew in a breath that let me know he was really steamed. "they had information about where i'd been, places that *didn't have a toll plaza*. they'd been polling my pass just on the street, at random. and it was *wrong*! holy crap, i mean, they're spying on us all and they're not even competent!" i'd drifted down into the kitchen as he railed there, and now i was watching him from the doorway. mom met my eye and we both raised our eyebrows as if to say, *who's going to say 'i told you so' to him?* i nodded at her. she could use her spousular powers to nullify his rage in a way that was out of my reach as a mere filial unit. "drew," she said, and grabbed him by the arm to make him stop stalking back and forth in the kitchen, waving his arms like a street-preacher. "what?" he snapped. "i think you owe marcus an apology." she kept her voice even and level. dad and i are the spazzes in the household -- mom's a total rock. dad looked at me. his eyes narrowed as he thought for a minute. "all right," he said at last. "you're right. i was talking about competent surveillance. these guys were total amateurs. i'm sorry, son," he said. "you were right. that was ridiculous." he stuck his hand out and shook my hand, then gave me a firm, unexpected hug. "god, what are we doing to this country, marcus? your generation deserves to inherit something better than this." when he let me go, i could see the deep wrinkles in his face, lines i'd never noticed. i went back up to my room and played some xnet games. there was a good multiplayer thing, a clockwork pirate game where you had to quest every day or two to wind up your whole crew's mainsprings before you could go plundering and pillaging again. it was the kind of game i hated but couldn't stop playing: lots of repetitive quests that weren't all that satisfying to complete, a little bit of player-versus-player combat (scrapping to see who would captain the ship) and not that many cool puzzles that you had to figure out. mostly, playing this kind of game made me homesick for harajuku fun madness, which balanced out running around in the real world, figuring out online puzzles, and strategizing with your team. but today it was just what i needed. mindless entertainment. my poor dad. i'd done that to him. he'd been happy before, confident that his tax dollars were being spent to keep him safe. i'd destroyed that confidence. it was false confidence, of course, but it had kept him going. seeing him now, miserable and broken, i wondered if it was better to be clear-eyed and hopeless or to live in a fool's paradise. that shame -- the shame i'd felt since i gave up my passwords, since they'd broken me -- returned, leaving me listless and wanting to just get away from myself. my character was a swabbie on the pirate ship *zombie charger*, and he'd wound down while i'd been offline. i had to im all the other players on my ship until i found one willing to wind me up. that kept me occupied. i liked it, actually. there was something magic about a total stranger doing you a favor. and since it was the xnet, i knew that all the strangers were friends, in some sense. > where u located? the character who wound me up was called lizanator, and it was female, though that didn't mean that it was a girl. guys had some weird affinity for playing female characters. > san francisco i said. > no stupe, where you located in san fran? > why, you a pervert? that usually shut down that line of conversation. of course every gamespace was full of pedos and pervs, and cops pretending to be pedo- and perv-bait (though i sure hoped there weren't any cops on the xnet!). an accusation like that was enough to change the subject nine out of ten times. > mission? potrero hill? noe? east bay? > just wind me up k thx? she stopped winding. > you scared? > safe -- why do you care? > just curious i was getting a bad vibe off her. she was clearly more than just curious. call it paranoia. i logged off and shut down my xbox. # dad looked at me over the table the next morning and said, "it looks like it's going to get better, at least." he handed me a copy of the *chronicle* open to the third page. > a department of homeland security spokesman has confirmed that the san francisco office has requested a percent budget and personnel increase from dc what? > major general graeme sutherland, the commanding officer for northern california dhs operations, confirmed the request at a press conference yesterday, noting that a spike in suspicious activity in the bay area prompted the request. "we are tracking a spike in underground chatter and activity and believe that saboteurs are deliberately manufacturing false security alerts to undermine our efforts." my eyes crossed. no freaking way. > "these false alarms are potentially 'radar chaff' intended to disguise real attacks. the only effective way of combatting them is to step up staffing and analyst levels so that we can fully investigate every lead." > sutherland noted the delays experienced all over the city were "unfortunate" and committed to eliminating them. i had a vision of the city with four or five times as many dhs enforcers, brought in to make up for my own stupid ideas. van was right. the more i fought them, the worse it was going to get. dad pointed at the paper. "these guys may be fools, but they're methodical fools. they'll just keep throwing resources at this problem until they solve it. it's tractable, you know. mining all the data in the city, following up on every lead. they'll catch the terrorists." i lost it. "dad! are you *listening to yourself*? they're talking about investigating practically every person in the city of san francisco!" "yeah," he said, "that's right. they'll catch every alimony cheat, every dope dealer, every dirt-bag and every terrorist. you just wait. this could be the best thing that ever happened to this country." "tell me you're joking," i said. "i beg you. you think that that's what they intended when they wrote the constitution? what about the bill of rights?" "the bill of rights was written before data-mining," he said. he was awesomely serene, convinced of his rightness. "the right to freedom of association is fine, but why shouldn't the cops be allowed to mine your social network to figure out if you're hanging out with gangbangers and terrorists?" "because it's an invasion of my privacy!" i said. "what's the big deal? would you rather have privacy or terrorists?" agh. i hated arguing with my dad like this. i needed a coffee. "dad, come on. taking away our privacy isn't catching terrorists: it's just inconveniencing normal people." "how do you know it's not catching terrorists?" "where are the terrorists they've caught?" "i'm sure we'll see arrests in good time. you just wait." "dad, what the hell has happened to you since last night? you were ready to go nuclear on the cops for pulling you over --" "don't use that tone with me, marcus. what's happened since last night is that i've had the chance to think it over and to read *this*." he rattled his paper. "the reason they caught me is that the bad guys are actively jamming them. they need to adjust their techniques to overcome the jamming. but they'll get there. meanwhile the occasional road stop is a small price to pay. this isn't the time to be playing lawyer about the bill of rights. this is the time to make some sacrifices to keep our city safe." i couldn't finish my toast. i put the plate in the dishwasher and left for school. i had to get out of there. # the xnetters weren't happy about the stepped up police surveillance, but they weren't going to take it lying down. someone called a phone-in show on kqed and told them that the police were wasting their time, that we could monkeywrench the system faster than they could untangle it. the recording was a top xnet download that night. "this is california live and we're talking to an anonymous caller at a payphone in san francisco. he has his own information about the slowdowns we've been facing around town this week. caller, you're on the air." "yeah, yo, this is just the beginning, you know? i mean, like, we're just getting started. let them hire a billion pigs and put a checkpoint on every corner. we'll jam them all! and like, all this crap about terrorists? we're not terrorists! give me a break, i mean, really! we're jamming up the system because we hate the homeland security, and because we love our city. terrorists? i can't even spell jihad. peace out." he sounded like an idiot. not just the incoherent words, but also his gloating tone. he sounded like a kid who was indecently proud of himself. he *was* a kid who was indecently proud of himself. the xnet flamed out over this. lots of people thought he was an idiot for calling in, while others thought he was a hero. i worried that there was probably a camera aimed at the payphone he'd used. or an arphid reader that might have sniffed his fast pass. i hoped he'd had the smarts to wipe his fingerprints off the quarter, keep his hood up, and leave all his arphids at home. but i doubted it. i wondered if he'd get a knock on the door sometime soon. the way i knew when something big had happened on xnet was that i'd suddenly get a million emails from people who wanted m k y to know about the latest haps. it was just as i was reading about mr can't-spell-jihad that my mailbox went crazy. everyone had a message for me -- a link to a livejournal on the xnet -- one of the many anonymous blogs that were based on the freenet document publishing system that was also used by chinese democracy advocates. > close call > we were jamming at the embarcadero tonite and goofing around giving everyone a new car key or door key or fast pass or fastrak, tossing around a little fake gunpowder. there were cops everywhere but we were smarter than them; we're there pretty much every night and we never get caught. > so we got caught tonight. it was a stupid mistake we got sloppy we got busted. it was an undercover who caught my pal and then got the rest of us. they'd been watching the crowd for a long time and they had one of those trucks nearby and they took four of us in but missed the rest. > the truck was jammed like a can of sardines with every kind of person, old young black white rich poor all suspects, and there were two cops trying to ask us questions and the undercovers kept bringing in more of us. most people were trying to get to the front of the line to get through questioning so we kept on moving back and it was like hours in there and really hot and it was getting more crowded not less. > at like pm they changed shifts and two new cops came in and bawled out the two cops who were there all like wtf? aren't you doing anything here. they had a real fight and then the two old cops left and the new cops sat down at their desks and whispered to each other for a while. > then one cop stood up and started shouting everyone just go home jesus christ we've got better things to do than bother you with more questions if you've done something wrong just don't do it again and let this be a warning to you all. > a bunch of the suits got really pissed which was hilarious because i mean ten minutes before they were buggin about being held there and now they were wicked pissed about being let go, like make up your minds! > we split fast though and got out and came home to write this. there are undercovers everywhere, believe. if you're jamming, be open-eyed and get ready to run when problems happen. if you get caught try to wait it out they're so busy they'll maybe just let you go. > we made them that busy! all those people in that truck were there because we'd jammed them. so jam on! i felt like i was going to throw up. those four people -- kids i'd never met -- they nearly went away forever because of something i'd started. because of something i'd told them to do. i was no better than a terrorist. # the dhs got their budget requisition approved. the president went on tv with the governor to tell us that no price was too high for security. we had to watch it the next day in school at assembly. my dad cheered. he'd hated the president since the day he was elected, saying he wasn't any better than the last guy and the last guy had been a complete disaster, but now all he could do was talk about how decisive and dynamic the new guy was. "you have to take it easy on your father," mom said to me one night after i got home from school. she'd been working from home as much as possible. mom's a freelance relocation specialist who helps british people get settled in in san francisco. the uk high commission pays her to answer emails from mystified british people across the country who are totally confused by how freaky we americans are. she explains americans for a living, and she said that these days it was better to do that from home, where she didn't have to actually see any americans or talk to them. i don't have any illusions about britain. america may be willing to trash its constitution every time some jihadist looks cross-eyed at us, but as i learned in my ninth-grade social studies independent project, the brits don't even *have* a constitution. they've got laws there that would curl the hair on your toes: they can put you in jail for an entire year if they're really sure that you're a terrorist but don't have enough evidence to prove it. now, how sure can they be if they don't have enough evidence to prove it? how'd they get that sure? did they see you committing terrorist acts in a really vivid dream? and the surveillance in britain makes america look like amateur hour. the average londoner is photographed times a day, just walking around the streets. every license plate is photographed at every corner in the country. everyone from the banks to the public transit company is enthusiastic about tracking you and snitching on you if they think you're remotely suspicious. but mom didn't see it that way. she'd left britain halfway through high school and she'd never felt at home here, no matter that she'd married a boy from petaluma and raised a son here. to her, this was always the land of barbarians, and britain would always be home. "mom, he's just wrong. you of all people should know that. everything that makes this country great is being flushed down the toilet and he's going along with it. have you noticed that they haven't *caught any terrorists*? dad's all like, 'we need to be safe,' but he needs to know that most of us don't feel safe. we feel endangered all the time." "i know this all, marcus. believe me, i'm not fan of what's been happening to this country. but your father is --" she broke off. "when you didn't come home after the attacks, he thought --" she got up and made herself a cup of tea, something she did whenever she was uncomfortable or disconcerted. "marcus," she said. "marcus, we thought you were dead. do you understand that? we were mourning you for days. we were imagining you blown to bits, at the bottom of the ocean. dead because some bastard decided to kill hundreds of strangers to make some point." that sank in slowly. i mean, i understood that they'd been worried. lots of people died in the bombings -- four thousand was the present estimate -- and practically everyone knew someone who didn't come home that day. there were two people from my school who had disappeared. "your father was ready to kill someone. anyone. he was out of his mind. you've never seen him like this. i've never seen him like it either. he was out of his mind. he'd just sit at this table and curse and curse and curse. vile words, words i'd never heard him say. one day -- the third day -- someone called and he was sure it was you, but it was a wrong number and he threw the phone so hard it disintegrated into thousands of pieces." i'd wondered about the new kitchen phone. "something broke in your father. he loves you. we both love you. you are the most important thing in our lives. i don't think you realize that. do you remember when you were ten, when i went home to london for all that time? do you remember?" i nodded silently. "we were ready to get a divorce, marcus. oh, it doesn't matter why anymore. it was just a bad patch, the kind of thing that happens when people who love each other stop paying attention for a few years. he came and got me and convinced me to come back for you. we couldn't bear the thought of doing that to you. we fell in love again for you. we're together today because of you." i had a lump in my throat. i'd never known this. no one had ever told me. "so your father is having a hard time right now. he's not in his right mind. it's going to take some time before he comes back to us, before he's the man i love again. we need to understand him until then." she gave me a long hug, and i noticed how thin her arms had gotten, how saggy the skin on her neck was. i always thought of my mother as young, pale, rosy-cheeked and cheerful, peering shrewdly through her metal-rim glasses. now she looked a little like an old woman. i had done that to her. the terrorists had done that to her. the department of homeland security had done that to her. in a weird way, we were all on the same side, and mom and dad and all those people we'd spoofed were on the other side. # i couldn't sleep that night. mom's words kept running through my head. dad had been tense and quiet at dinner and we'd barely spoken, because i didn't trust myself not to say the wrong thing and because he was all wound up over the latest news, that al qaeda was definitely responsible for the bombing. six different terrorist groups had claimed responsibility for the attack, but only al qaeda's internet video disclosed information that the dhs said they hadn't disclosed to anyone. i lay in bed and listened to a late-night call-in radio show. the topic was sex problems, with this gay guy who i normally loved to listen to, he would give people such raw advice, but good advice, and he was really funny and campy. tonight i couldn't laugh. most of the callers wanted to ask what to do about the fact that they were having a hard time getting busy with their partners ever since the attack. even on sex-talk radio, i couldn't get away from the topic. i switched the radio off and heard a purring engine on the street below. my bedroom is in the top floor of our house, one of the painted ladies. i have a sloping attic ceiling and windows on both sides -- one overlooks the whole mission, the other looks out into the street in front of our place. there were often cars cruising at all hours of the night, but there was something different about this engine noise. i went to the street-window and pulled up my blinds. down on the street below me was a white, unmarked van whose roof was festooned with radio antennas, more antennas than i'd ever seen on a car. it was cruising very slowly down the street, a little dish on top spinning around and around. as i watched, the van stopped and one of the back doors popped open. a guy in a dhs uniform -- i could spot one from a hundred yards now -- stepped out into the street. he had some kind of handheld device, and its blue glow lit his face. he paced back and forth, first scouting my neighbors, making notes on his device, then heading for me. there was something familiar in the way he walked, looking down -- he was using a wifinder! the dhs was scouting for xnet nodes. i let go of the blinds and dove across my room for my xbox. i'd left it up while i downloaded some cool animations one of the xnetters had made of the president's no-price-too-high speech. i yanked the plug out of the wall, then scurried back to the window and cracked the blind a fraction of an inch. the guy was looking down into his wifinder again, walking back and forth in front of our house. a moment later, he got back into his van and drove away. i got out my camera and took as many pictures as i could of the van and its antennas. then i opened them in a free image-editor called the gimp and edited out everything from the photo except the van, erasing my street and anything that might identify me. i posted them to xnet and wrote down everything i could about the vans. these guys were definitely looking for the xnet, i could tell. now i really couldn't sleep. nothing for it but to play wind-up pirates. there'd be lots of players even at this hour. the real name for wind-up pirates was clockwork plunder, and it was a hobbyist project that had been created by teenaged death-metal freaks from finland. it was totally free to play, and offered just as much fun as any of the $ /month services like ender's universe and middle earth quest and discworld dungeons. i logged back in and there i was, still on the deck of the zombie charger, waiting for someone to wind me up. i hated this part of the game. > hey you i typed to a passing pirate. > wind me up? he paused and looked at me. > y should i? > we're on the same team. plus you get experience points. what a jerk. > where are you located? > san francisco this was starting to feel familiar. > where in san francisco? i logged out. there was something weird going on in the game. i jumped onto the livejournals and began to crawl from blog to blog. i got through half a dozen before i found something that froze my blood. livejournallers love quizzes. what kind of hobbit are you? are you a great lover? what planet are you most like? which character from some movie are you? what's your emotional type? they fill them in and their friends fill them in and everyone compares their results. harmless fun. but the quiz that had taken over the blogs of the xnet that night was what scared me, because it was anything but harmless: * what's your sex * what grade are you in? * what school do you go to? * where in the city do you live? the quizzes plotted the results on a map with colored pushpins for schools and neighborhoods, and made lame recommendations for places to buy pizza and stuff. but look at those questions. think about my answers: * male * * chavez high * potrero hill there were only two people in my whole school who matched that profile. most schools it would be the same. if you wanted to figure out who the xnetters were, you could use these quizzes to find them all. that was bad enough, but what was worse was what it implied: someone from the dhs was using the xnet to get at us. the xnet was compromised by the dhs. we had spies in our midst. # i'd given xnet discs to hundreds of people, and they'd done the same. i knew the people i gave the discs to pretty well. some of them i knew very well. i've lived in the same house all my life and i've made hundreds and hundreds of friends over the years, from people who went to daycare with me to people i played soccer with, people who larped with me, people i met clubbing, people i knew from school. my arg team were my closest friends, but there were plenty of people i knew and trusted enough to hand an xnet disc to. i needed them now. i woke jolu up by ringing his cell phone and hanging up after the first ring, three times in a row. a minute later, he was up on xnet and we were able to have a secure chat. i pointed him to my blog-post on the radio vans and he came back a minute later all freaked out. > you sure they're looking for us? in response i sent him to the quiz. > omg we're doomed > no it's not that bad but we need to figure out who we can trust > how? > that's what i wanted to ask you -- how many people can you totally vouch for like trust them to the ends of the earth? > um or or so > i want to get a bunch of really trustworthy people together and do a key-exchange web of trust thing web of trust is one of those cool crypto things that i'd read about but never tried. it was a nearly foolproof way to make sure that you could talk to the people you trusted, but that no one else could listen in. the problem is that it requires you to physically meet with the people in the web at least once, just to get started. > i get it sure. that's not bad. but how you going to get everyone together for the key-signing? > that's what i wanted to ask you about -- how can we do it without getting busted? jolu typed some words and erased them, typed more and erased them. > darryl would know i typed. > god, this was the stuff he was great at. jolu didn't type anything. then, > how about a party? he typed. > how about if we all get together somewhere like we're teenagers having a party and that way we'll have a ready-made excuse if anyone shows up asking us what we're doing there? > that would totally work! you're a genius, jolu. > i know it. and you're going to love this: i know just where to do it, too > where? > sutro baths! &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to anderson's bookshops, chicago's legendary kids' bookstore. anderson's is an old, old family-run business, which started out as an old-timey drug-store selling some books on the side. today, it's a booming, multi-location kids' book empire, with some incredibly innovative bookselling practices that get books and kids together in really exciting ways. the best of these is the store's mobile book-fairs, in which they ship huge, rolling bookcases, already stocked with excellent kids' books, direct to schools on trucks -- voila, instant book-fair!]] [[anderson's bookshops http://www.andersonsbookshop.com/search.php?qkey =doctorow+little+brother&sid= &imagefield.x= &imagefield.y= west jefferson, naperville, il usa + ]] what would you do if you found out you had a spy in your midst? you could denounce him, put him up against the wall and take him out. but then you might end up with another spy in your midst, and the new spy would be more careful than the last one and maybe not get caught quite so readily. here's a better idea: start intercepting the spy's communications and feed him and his masters misinformation. say his masters instruct him to gather information on your movements. let him follow you around and take all the notes he wants, but steam open the envelopes that he sends back to hq and replace his account of your movements with a fictitious one. if you want, you can make him seem erratic and unreliable so they get rid of him. you can manufacture crises that might make one side or the other reveal the identities of other spies. in short, you own them. this is called the man-in-the-middle attack and if you think about it, it's pretty scary. someone who man-in-the-middles your communications can trick you in any of a thousand ways. of course, there's a great way to get around the man-in-the-middle attack: use crypto. with crypto, it doesn't matter if the enemy can see your messages, because he can't decipher them, change them, and re-send them. that's one of the main reasons to use crypto. but remember: for crypto to work, you need to have keys for the people you want to talk to. you and your partner need to share a secret or two, some keys that you can use to encrypt and decrypt your messages so that men-in-the-middle get locked out. that's where the idea of public keys comes in. this is a little hairy, but it's so unbelievably elegant too. in public key crypto, each user gets two keys. they're long strings of mathematical gibberish, and they have an almost magic property. whatever you scramble with one key, the other will unlock, and vice-versa. what's more, they're the *only* keys that can do this -- if you can unscramble a message with one key, you *know* it was scrambled with the other (and vice-versa). so you take either one of these keys (it doesn't matter which one) and you just *publish* it. you make it a total *non-secret*. you want anyone in the world to know what it is. for obvious reasons, they call this your "public key." the other key, you hide in the darkest reaches of your mind. you protect it with your life. you never let anyone ever know what it is. that's called your "private key." (duh.) now say you're a spy and you want to talk with your bosses. their public key is known by everyone. your public key is known by everyone. no one knows your private key but you. no one knows their private key but them. you want to send them a message. first, you encrypt it with your private key. you could just send that message along, and it would work pretty well, since they would know when the message arrived that it came from you. how? because if they can decrypt it with your public key, it can *only* have been encrypted with your private key. this is the equivalent of putting your seal or signature on the bottom of a message. it says, "i wrote this, and no one else. no one could have tampered with it or changed it." unfortunately, this won't actually keep your message a *secret*. that's because your public key is really well known (it has to be, or you'll be limited to sending messages to those few people who have your public key). anyone who intercepts the message can read it. they can't change it and make it seem like it came from you, but if you don't want people to know what you're saying, you need a better solution. so instead of just encrypting the message with your private key, you *also* encrypt it with your boss's public key. now it's been locked twice. the first lock -- the boss's public key -- only comes off when combined with your boss's private key. the second lock -- your private key -- only comes off with your public key. when your bosses receive the message, they unlock it with both keys and now they know for sure that: a) you wrote it and b) that only they can read it. it's very cool. the day i discovered it, darryl and i immediately exchanged keys and spent months cackling and rubbing our hands as we exchanged our military-grade secret messages about where to meet after school and whether van would ever notice him. but if you want to understand security, you need to consider the most paranoid possibilities. like, what if i tricked you into thinking that *my* public key was your boss's public key? you'd encrypt the message with your private key and my public key. i'd decrypt it, read it, re-encrypt it with your boss's *real* public key and send it on. as far as your boss knows, no one but you could have written the message and no one but him could have read it. and i get to sit in the middle, like a fat spider in a web, and all your secrets belong to me. now, the easiest way to fix this is to really widely advertise your public key. if it's *really* easy for anyone to know what your real key is, man-in-the-middle gets harder and harder. but you know what? making things well-known is just as hard as keeping them secret. think about it -- how many billions of dollars are spent on shampoo ads and other crap, just to make sure that as many people know about something that some advertiser wants them to know? there's a cheaper way of fixing man-in-the-middle: the web of trust. say that before you leave hq, you and your bosses sit down over coffee and actually tell each other your keys. no more man-in-the-middle! you're absolutely certain whose keys you have, because they were put into your own hands. so far, so good. but there's a natural limit to this: how many people can you physically meet with and swap keys? how many hours in the day do you want to devote to the equivalent of writing your own phone book? how many of those people are willing to devote that kind of time to you? thinking about this like a phonebook helps. the world was once a place with a lot of phonebooks, and when you needed a number, you could look it up in the book. but for many of the numbers that you wanted to refer to on a given day, you would either know it by heart, or you'd be able to ask someone else. even today, when i'm out with my cell-phone, i'll ask jolu or darryl if they have a number i'm looking for. it's faster and easier than looking it up online and they're more reliable, too. if jolu has a number, i trust him, so i trust the number, too. that's called "transitive trust" -- trust that moves across the web of our relationships. a web of trust is a bigger version of this. say i meet jolu and get his key. i can put it on my "keyring" -- a list of keys that i've signed with my private key. that means you can unlock it with my public key and know for sure that me -- or someone with my key, anyway -- says that "this key belongs to this guy." so i hand you my keyring and provided that you trust me to have actually met and verified all the keys on it, you can take it and add it to your keyring. now, you meet someone else and you hand the whole ring to him. bigger and bigger the ring grows, and provided that you trust the next guy in the chain, and he trusts the next guy in his chain and so on, you're pretty secure. which brings me to keysigning parties. these are *exactly* what they sound like: a party where everyone gets together and signs everyone else's keys. darryl and i, when we traded keys, that was kind of a mini-keysigning party, one with only two sad and geeky attendees. but with more people, you create the seed of the web of trust, and the web can expand from there. as everyone on your keyring goes out into the world and meets more people, they can add more and more names to the ring. you don't have to meet the new people, just trust that the signed key you get from the people in your web is valid. so that's why web of trust and parties go together like peanut butter and chocolate. # "just tell them it's a super-private party, invitational only," i said. "tell them not to bring anyone along or they won't be admitted." jolu looked at me over his coffee. "you're joking, right? you tell people that, and they'll bring *extra* friends." "argh," i said. i spent a night a week at jolu's these days, keeping the code up to date on indienet. pigspleen actually paid me a non-zero sum of money to do this, which was really weird. i never thought i'd be paid to write code. "so what do we do? we only want people we really trust there, and we don't want to mention why until we've got everyone's keys and can send them messages in secret." jolu debugged and i watched over his shoulder. this used to be called "extreme programming," which was a little embarrassing. now we just call it "programming." two people are much better at spotting bugs than one. as the cliche goes, "with enough eyeballs, all bugs are shallow." we were working our way through the bug reports and getting ready to push out the new rev. it all auto-updated in the background, so our users didn't really need to do anything, they just woke up once a week or so with a better program. it was pretty freaky to know that the code i wrote would be used by hundreds of thousands of people, *tomorrow*! "what do we do? man, i don't know. i think we just have to live with it." i thought back to our harajuku fun madness days. there were lots of social challenges involving large groups of people as part of that game. "ok, you're right. but let's at least try to keep this secret. tell them that they can bring a maximum of one person, and it has to be someone they've known personally for a minimum of five years." jolu looked up from the screen. "hey," he said. "hey, that would totally work. i can really see it. i mean, if you told me not to bring anyone, i'd be all, 'who the hell does he think he is?' but when you put it that way, it sounds like some awesome stuff." i found a bug. we drank some coffee. i went home and played a little clockwork plunder, trying not to think about key-winders with nosy questions, and slept like a baby. # sutro baths are san francisco's authentic fake roman ruins. when it opened in , it was the largest indoor bathing house in the world, a huge victorian glass solarium filled with pools and tubs and even an early water slide. it went downhill by the fifties, and the owners torched it for the insurance in . all that's left is a labyrinth of weathered stone set into the sere cliff-face at ocean beach. it looks for all the world like a roman ruin, crumbled and mysterious, and just beyond them is a set of caves that let out into the sea. in rough tides, the waves rush through the caves and over the ruins -- they've even been known to suck in and drown the occasional tourist. ocean beach is way out past golden gate park, a stark cliff lined with expensive, doomed houses, plunging down to a narrow beach studded with jellyfish and brave (insane) surfers. there's a giant white rock that juts out of the shallows off the shore. that's called seal rock, and it used to be the place where the sea lions congregated until they were relocated to the more tourist-friendly environs of fisherman's wharf. after dark, there's hardly anyone out there. it gets very cold, with a salt spray that'll soak you to your bones if you let it. the rocks are sharp and there's broken glass and the occasional junkie needle. it is an awesome place for a party. bringing along the tarpaulins and chemical glove-warmers was my idea. jolu figured out where to get the beer -- his older brother, javier, had a buddy who actually operated a whole underage drinking service: pay him enough and he'd back up to your secluded party spot with ice-chests and as many brews as you wanted. i blew a bunch of my indienet programming money, and the guy showed up right on time: pm, a good hour after sunset, and lugged the six foam ice-chests out of his pickup truck and down into the ruins of the baths. he even brought a spare chest for the empties. "you kids play safe now," he said, tipping his cowboy hat. he was a fat samoan guy with a huge smile, and a scary tank-top that you could see his armpit- and belly- and shoulder-hair escaping from. i peeled twenties off my roll and handed them to him -- his markup was percent. not a bad racket. he looked at my roll. "you know, i could just take that from you," he said, still smiling. "i'm a criminal, after all." i put my roll in my pocket and looked him levelly in the eye. i'd been stupid to show him what i was carrying, but i knew that there were times when you should just stand your ground. "i'm just messing with you," he said, at last. "but you be careful with that money. don't go showing it around." "thanks," i said. "homeland security'll get my back though." his smile got even bigger. "ha! they're not even real five-oh. those peckerwoods don't know nothin'." i looked over at his truck. prominently displayed in his windscreen was a fastrak. i wondered how long it would be until he got busted. "you got girls coming tonight? that why you got all the beer?" i smiled and waved at him as though he was walking back to his truck, which he should have been doing. he eventually got the hint and drove away. his smile never faltered. jolu helped me hide the coolers in the rubble, working with little white led torches on headbands. once the coolers were in place, we threw little white led keychains into each one, so it would glow when you took the styrofoam lids off, making it easier to see what you were doing. it was a moonless night and overcast, and the distant streetlights barely illuminated us. i knew we'd stand out like blazes on an infrared scope, but there was no chance that we'd be able to get a bunch of people together without being observed. i'd settle for being dismissed as a little drunken beach-party. i don't really drink much. there's been beer and pot and ecstasy at the parties i've been going to since i was , but i hated smoking (though i'm quite partial to a hash brownie every now and again), ecstasy took too long -- who's got a whole weekend to get high and come down -- and beer, well, it was all right, but i didn't see what the big deal was. my favorite was big, elaborate cocktails, the kind of thing served in a ceramic volcano, with six layers, on fire, and a plastic monkey on the rim, but that was mostly for the theater of it all. i actually like being drunk. i just don't like being hungover, and boy, do i ever get hungover. though again, that might have to do with the kind of drinks that come in a ceramic volcano. but you can't throw a party without putting a case or two of beer on ice. it's expected. it loosens things up. people do stupid things after too many beers, but it's not like my friends are the kind of people who have cars. and people do stupid things no matter what -- beer or grass or whatever are all incidental to that central fact. jolu and i each cracked beers -- anchor steam for him, a bud lite for me -- and clinked the bottles together, sitting down on a rock. "you told them pm?" "yeah," he said. "me too." we drank in silence. the bud lite was the least alcoholic thing in the ice-chest. i'd need a clear head later. "you ever get scared?" i said, finally. he turned to me. "no man, i don't get scared. i'm always scared. i've been scared since the minute the explosions happened. i'm so scared sometimes, i don't want to get out of bed." "then why do you do it?" he smiled. "about that," he said. "maybe i won't, not for much longer. i mean, it's been great helping you. great. really excellent. i don't know when i've done anything so important. but marcus, bro, i have to say. . ." he trailed off. "what?" i said, though i knew what was coming next. "i can't do it forever," he said at last. "maybe not even for another month. i think i'm through. it's too much risk. the dhs, you can't go to war on them. it's crazy. really actually crazy." "you sound like van," i said. my voice was much more bitter than i'd intended. "i'm not criticizing you, man. i think it's great that you've got the bravery to do this all the time. but i haven't got it. i can't live my life in perpetual terror." "what are you saying?" "i'm saying i'm out. i'm going to be one of those people who acts like it's all ok, like it'll all go back to normal some day. i'm going to use the internet like i always did, and only use the xnet to play games. i'm going to get out is what i'm saying. i won't be a part of your plans anymore." i didn't say anything. "i know that's leaving you on your own. i don't want that, believe me. i'd much rather you give up with me. you can't declare war on the government of the usa. it's not a fight you're going to win. watching you try is like watching a bird fly into a window again and again." he wanted me to say something. what *i* wanted to say was, *jesus jolu, thanks so very much for abandoning me! do you forget what it was like when they took us away? do you forget what the country used to be like before they took it over?* but that's not what he wanted me to say. what he wanted me to say was: "i understand, jolu. i respect your choice." he drank the rest of his bottle and pulled out another one and twisted off the cap. "there's something else," he said. "what?" "i wasn't going to mention it, but i want you to understand why i have to do this." "jesus, jolu, *what*?" "i hate to say it, but you're *white*. i'm not. white people get caught with cocaine and do a little rehab time. brown people get caught with crack and go to prison for twenty years. white people see cops on the street and feel safer. brown people see cops on the street and wonder if they're about to get searched. the way the dhs is treating you? the law in this country has always been like that for us." it was so unfair. i didn't ask to be white. i didn't think i was being braver just because i'm white. but i knew what jolu was saying. if the cops stopped someone in the mission and asked to see some id, chances were that person wasn't white. whatever risk i ran, jolu ran more. whatever penalty i'd pay, jolu would pay more. "i don't know what to say," i said. "you don't have to say anything," he said. "i just wanted you to know, so you could understand." i could see people walking down the side trail toward us. they were friends of jolu's, two mexican guys and a girl i knew from around, short and geeky, always wearing cute black buddy holly glasses that made her look like the outcast art-student in a teen movie who comes back as the big success. jolu introduced me and gave them beers. the girl didn't take one, but instead produced a small silver flask of vodka from her purse and offered me a drink. i took a swallow -- warm vodka must be an acquired taste -- and complimented her on the flask, which was embossed with a repeating motif of parappa the rapper characters. "it's japanese," she said as i played another led keyring over it. "they have all these great booze-toys based on kids' games. totally twisted." i introduced myself and she introduced herself. "ange," she said, and shook my hand with hers -- dry, warm, with short nails. jolu introduced me to his pals, whom he'd known since computer camp in the fourth grade. more people showed up -- five, then ten, then twenty. it was a seriously big group now. we'd told people to arrive by : sharp, and we gave it until : to see who all would show up. about three quarters were jolu's friends. i'd invited all the people i really trusted. either i was more discriminating than jolu or less popular. now that he'd told me he was quitting, it made me think that he was less discriminating. i was really pissed at him, but trying not to let it show by concentrating on socializing with other people. but he wasn't stupid. he knew what was going on. i could see that he was really bummed. good. "ok," i said, climbing up on a ruin, "ok, hey, hello?" a few people nearby paid attention to me, but the ones in the back kept on chatting. i put my arms in the air like a referee, but it was too dark. eventually i hit on the idea of turning my led keychain on and pointing it at each of the talkers in turn, then at me. gradually, the crowd fell quiet. i welcomed them and thanked them all for coming, then asked them to close in so i could explain why we were there. i could tell they were into the secrecy of it all, intrigued and a little warmed up by the beer. "so here it is. you all use the xnet. it's no coincidence that the xnet was created right after the dhs took over the city. the people who did that are an organization devoted to personal liberty, who created the network to keep us safe from dhs spooks and enforcers." jolu and i had worked this out in advance. we weren't going to cop to being behind it all, not to anyone. it was way too risky. instead, we'd put it out that we were merely lieutenants in "m k y"'s army, acting to organize the local resistance. "the xnet isn't pure," i said. "it can be used by the other side just as readily as by us. we know that there are dhs spies who use it now. they use social engineering hacks to try to get us to reveal ourselves so that they can bust us. if the xnet is going to succeed, we need to figure out how to keep them from spying on us. we need a network within the network." i paused and let this sink in. jolu had suggested that this might be a little heavy -- learning that you're about to be brought into a revolutionary cell. "now, i'm not here to ask you to do anything active. you don't have to go out jamming or anything. you've been brought here because we know you're cool, we know you're trustworthy. it's that trustworthiness i want to get you to contribute tonight. some of you will already be familiar with the web of trust and keysigning parties, but for the rest of you, i'll run it down quickly --" which i did. "now what i want from you tonight is to meet the people here and figure out how much you can trust them. we're going to help you generate key-pairs and share them with each other." this part was tricky. asking people to bring their own laptops wouldn't have worked out, but we still needed to do something hella complicated that wouldn't exactly work with paper and pencil. i held up a laptop jolu and i had rebuilt the night before, from the ground up. "i trust this machine. every component in it was laid by our own hands. it's running a fresh out-of-the-box version of paranoidlinux, booted off of the dvd. if there's a trustworthy computer left anywhere in the world, this might well be it. "i've got a key-generator loaded here. you come up here and give it some random input -- mash the keys, wiggle the mouse -- and it will use that as the seed to create a random public- and private key for you, which it will display on the screen. you can take a picture of the private key with your phone, and hit any key to make it go away forever -- it's not stored on the disk at all. then it will show you your public key. at that point, you call over all the people here you trust and who trust you, and *they* take a picture of the screen with you standing next to it, so they know whose key it is. "when you get home, you have to convert the photos to keys. this is going to be a lot of work, i'm afraid, but you'll only have to do it once. you have to be super-careful about typing these in -- one mistake and you're screwed. luckily, we've got a way to tell if you've got it right: beneath the key will be a much shorter number, called the 'fingerprint'. once you've typed in the key, you can generate a fingerprint from it and compare it to the fingerprint, and if they match, you've got it right." they all boggled at me. ok, so i'd asked them to do something pretty weird, it's true, but still. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to the university bookstore at the university of washington, whose science fiction section rivals many specialty stores, thanks to the sharp-eyed, dedicated science fiction buyer, duane wilkins. duane's a real science fiction fan -- i first met him at the world science fiction convention in toronto in -- and it shows in the eclectic and informed choices on display at the store. one great predictor of a great bookstore is the quality of the "shelf review" -- the little bits of cardboard stuck to the shelves with (generally hand-lettered) staff-reviews extolling the virtues of books you might otherwise miss. the staff at the university bookstore have clearly benefited from duane's tutelage, as the shelf reviews at the university bookstore are second to none.]] [[the university bookstore http://www .bookstore.washington.edu/_trade/showtitleubs.taf?actionarg=title&isbn= university way ne, seattle, wa usa + read]] jolu stood up. "this is where it starts, guys. this is how we know which side you're on. you might not be willing to take to the streets and get busted for your beliefs, but if you *have* beliefs, this will let us know it. this will create the web of trust that tells us who's in and who's out. if we're ever going to get our country back, we need to do this. we need to do something like this." someone in the audience -- it was ange -- had a hand up, holding a beer bottle. "so call me stupid but i don't understand this at all. why do you want us to do this?" jolu looked at me, and i looked back at him. it had all seemed so obvious when we were organizing it. "the xnet isn't just a way to play free games. it's the last open communications network in america. it's the last way to communicate without being snooped on by the dhs. for it to work we need to know that the person we're talking to isn't a snoop. that means that we need to know that the people we're sending messages to are the people we think they are. "that's where you come in. you're all here because we trust you. i mean, really trust you. trust you with our lives." some of the people groaned. it sounded melodramatic and stupid. i got back to my feet. "when the bombs went off," i said, then something welled up in my chest, something painful. "when the bombs went off, there were four of us caught up by market street. for whatever reason, the dhs decided that made us suspicious. they put bags over our heads, put us on a ship and interrogated us for days. they humiliated us. played games with our minds. then they let us go. "all except one person. my best friend. he was with us when they picked us up. he'd been hurt and he needed medical care. he never came out again. they say they never saw him. they say that if we ever tell anyone about this, they'll arrest us and make us disappear. "forever." i was shaking. the shame. the goddamned shame. jolu had the light on me. "oh christ," i said. "you people are the first ones i've told. if this story gets around, you can bet they'll know who leaked it. you can bet they'll come knocking on my door." i took some more deep breaths. "that's why i volunteered on the xnet. that's why my life, from now on, is about fighting the dhs. with every breath. every day. until we're free again. any one of you could put me in jail now, if you wanted to." ange put her hand up again. "we're not going to rat on you," she said. "no way. i know pretty much everyone here and i can promise you that. i don't know how to know who to trust, but i know who *not* to trust: old people. our parents. grownups. when they think of someone being spied on, they think of someone *else*, a bad guy. when they think of someone being caught and sent to a secret prison, it's someone *else* -- someone brown, someone young, someone foreign. "they forget what it's like to be our age. to be the object of suspicion *all the time*! how many times have you gotten on the bus and had every person on it give you a look like you'd been gargling turds and skinning puppies? "what's worse, they're turning into adults younger and younger out there. back in the day, they used to say 'never trust anyone over .' i say, 'don't trust any bastard over !'" that got a laugh, and she laughed too. she was pretty, in a weird, horsey way, with a long face and a long jaw. "i'm not really kidding, you know? i mean, think about it. who elected these ass-clowns? who let them invade our city? who voted to put the cameras in our classrooms and follow us around with creepy spyware chips in our transit passes and cars? it wasn't a -year-old. we may be dumb, we may be young, but we're not scum." "i want that on a t-shirt," i said. "it would be a good one," she said. we smiled at each other. "where do i go to get my keys?" she said, and pulled out her phone. "we'll do it over there, in the secluded spot by the caves. i'll take you in there and set you up, then you do your thing and take the machine around to your friends to get photos of your public key so they can sign it when they get home." i raised my voice. "oh! one more thing! jesus, i can't believe i forgot this. *delete those photos once you've typed in the keys*! the last thing we want is a flickr stream full of pictures of all of us conspiring together." there was some good-natured, nervous chuckling, then jolu turned out the light and in the sudden darkness i could see nothing. gradually, my eyes adjusted and i set off for the cave. someone was walking behind me. ange. i turned and smiled at her, and she smiled back, luminous teeth in the dark. "thanks for that," i said. "you were great." "you mean what you said about the bag on your head and everything?" "i meant it," i said. "it happened. i never told anyone, but it happened." i thought about it for a moment. "you know, with all the time that went by since, without saying anything, it started to feel like a bad dream. it was real though." i stopped and climbed up into the cave. "i'm glad i finally told people. any longer and i might have started to doubt my own sanity." i set up the laptop on a dry bit of rock and booted it from the dvd with her watching. "i'm going to reboot it for every person. this is a standard paranoidlinux disc, though i guess you'd have to take my word for it." "hell," she said. "this is all about trust, right?" "yeah," i said. "trust." i retreated some distance as she ran the key-generator, listening to her typing and mousing to create randomness, listening to the crash of the surf, listening to the party noises from over where the beer was. she stepped out of the cave, carrying the laptop. on it, in huge white luminous letters, were her public key and her fingerprint and email address. she held the screen up beside her face and waited while i got my phone out. "cheese," she said. i snapped her pic and dropped the camera back in my pocket. she wandered off to the revelers and let them each get pics of her and the screen. it was festive. fun. she really had a lot of charisma -- you didn't want to laugh at her, you just wanted to laugh *with* her. and hell, it *was* funny! we were declaring a secret war on the secret police. who the hell did we think we were? so it went, through the next hour or so, everyone taking pictures and making keys. i got to meet everyone there. i knew a lot of them -- some were my invitees -- and the others were friends of my pals or my pals' pals. we should all be buddies. we were, by the time the night was out. they were all good people. once everyone was done, jolu went to make a key, and then turned away, giving me a sheepish grin. i was past my anger with him, though. he was doing what he had to do. i knew that no matter what he said, he'd always be there for me. and we'd been through the dhs jail together. van too. no matter what, that would bind us together forever. i did my key and did the perp-walk around the gang, letting everyone snap a pic. then i climbed up on the high spot i'd spoken from earlier and called for everyone's attention. "so a lot of you have noted that there's a vital flaw in this procedure: what if this laptop can't be trusted? what if it's secretly recording our instructions? what if it's spying on us? what if jose-luis and i can't be trusted?" more good-natured chuckles. a little warmer than before, more beery. "i mean it," i said. "if we were on the wrong side, this could get all of us -- all of *you* -- into a heap of trouble. jail, maybe." the chuckles turned more nervous. "so that's why i'm going to do this," i said, and picked up a hammer i'd brought from my dad's toolkit. i set the laptop down beside me on the rock and swung the hammer, jolu following the swing with his keychain light. crash -- i'd always dreamt of killing a laptop with a hammer, and here i was doing it. it felt pornographically good. and bad. smash! the screen-panel fell off, shattered into millions of pieces, exposing the keyboard. i kept hitting it, until the keyboard fell off, exposing the motherboard and the hard-drive. crash! i aimed square for the hard-drive, hitting it with everything i had. it took three blows before the case split, exposing the fragile media inside. i kept hitting it until there was nothing bigger than a cigarette lighter, then i put it all in a garbage bag. the crowd was cheering wildly -- loud enough that i actually got worried that someone far above us might hear over the surf and call the law. "all right!" i called. "now, if you'd like to accompany me, i'm going to march this down to the sea and soak it in salt water for ten minutes." i didn't have any takers at first, but then ange came forward and took my arm in her warm hand and said, "that was beautiful," in my ear and we marched down to the sea together. it was perfectly dark by the sea, and treacherous, even with our keychain lights. slippery, sharp rocks that were difficult enough to walk on even without trying to balance six pounds of smashed electronics in a plastic bag. i slipped once and thought i was going to cut myself up, but she caught me with a surprisingly strong grip and kept me upright. i was pulled in right close to her, close enough to smell her perfume, which smelled like new cars. i love that smell. "thanks," i managed, looking into the big eyes that were further magnified by her mannish, black-rimmed glasses. i couldn't tell what color they were in the dark, but i guessed something dark, based on her dark hair and olive complexion. she looked mediterranean, maybe greek or spanish or italian. i crouched down and dipped the bag in the sea, letting it fill with salt water. i managed to slip a little and soak my shoe, and i swore and she laughed. we'd hardly said a word since we lit out for the ocean. there was something magical in our wordless silence. at that point, i had kissed a total of three girls in my life, not counting that moment when i went back to school and got a hero's welcome. that's not a gigantic number, but it's not a minuscule one, either. i have reasonable girl radar, and i think i could have kissed her. she wasn't h wt in the traditional sense, but there's something about a girl and a night and a beach, plus she was smart and passionate and committed. but i didn't kiss her, or take her hand. instead we had a moment that i can only describe as spiritual. the surf, the night, the sea and the rocks, and our breathing. the moment stretched. i sighed. this had been quite a ride. i had a lot of typing to do tonight, putting all those keys into my keychain, signing them and publishing the signed keys. starting the web of trust. she sighed too. "let's go," i said. "yeah," she said. back we went. it was a good night, that night. # jolu waited after for his brother's friend to come by and pick up his coolers. i walked with everyone else up the road to the nearest muni stop and got on board. of course, none of us was using an issued muni pass. by that point, xnetters habitually cloned someone else's muni pass three or four times a day, assuming a new identity for every ride. it was hard to stay cool on the bus. we were all a little drunk, and looking at our faces under the bright bus lights was kind of hilarious. we got pretty loud and the driver used his intercom to tell us to keep it down twice, then told us to shut up right now or he'd call the cops. that set us to giggling again and we disembarked in a mass before he did call the cops. we were in north beach now, and there were lots of buses, taxis, the bart at market street, neon-lit clubs and cafes to pull apart our grouping, so we drifted away. i got home and fired up my xbox and started typing in keys from my phone's screen. it was dull, hypnotic work. i was a little drunk, and it lulled me into a half-sleep. i was about ready to nod off when a new im window popped up. > herro! i didn't recognize the handle -- spexgril -- but i had an idea who might be behind it. > hi i typed, cautiously. > it's me, from tonight then she paste-bombed a block of crypto. i'd already entered her public key into my keychain, so i told the im client to try decrypting the code with the key. > it's me, from tonight it was her! > fancy meeting you here i typed, then encrypted it to my public key and mailed it off. > it was great meeting you i typed. > you too. i don't meet too many smart guys who are also cute and also socially aware. good god, man, you don't give a girl much of a chance. my heart hammered in my chest. > hello? tap tap? this thing on? i wasn't born here folks, but i'm sure dying here. don't forget to tip your waitresses, they work hard. i'm here all week. i laughed aloud. > i'm here, i'm here. laughing too hard to type is all > well at least my im comedy-fu is still mighty um. > it was really great to meet you too > yeah, it usually is. where are you taking me? > taking you? > on our next adventure? > i didn't really have anything planned > oki -- then i'll take you. saturday. dolores park. illegal open air concert. be there or be a dodecahedron > wait what? > don't you even read xnet? it's all over the place. you ever hear of the speedwhores? i nearly choked. that was trudy doo's band -- as in trudy doo, the woman who had paid me and jolu to update the indienet code. > yeah i've heard of them > they're putting on a huge show and they've got like fifty bands signed to play the bill, going to set up on the tennis courts and bring out their own amp trucks and rock out all night i felt like i'd been living under a rock. how had i missed that? there was an anarchist bookstore on valencia that i sometimes passed on the way to school that had a poster of an old revolutionary named emma goldman with the caption "if i can't dance, i don't want to be a part of your revolution." i'd been spending all my energies on figuring out how to use the xnet to organize dedicated fighters so they could jam the dhs, but this was so much cooler. a big concert -- i had no idea how to do one of those, but i was glad someone did. and now that i thought of it, i was damned proud that they were using the xnet to do it. # the next day i was a zombie. ange and i had chatted -- flirted -- until am. lucky for me, it was a saturday and i was able to sleep in, but between the hangover and the sleep-dep, i could barely put two thoughts together. by lunchtime, i managed to get up and get my ass out onto the streets. i staggered down toward the turk's to buy my coffee -- these days, if i was alone, i always bought my coffee there, like the turk and i were part of a secret club. on the way, i passed a lot of fresh graffiti. i liked mission graffiti; a lot of the times, it came in huge, luscious murals, or sarcastic art-student stencils. i liked that the mission's taggers kept right on going, under the nose of the dhs. another kind of xnet, i supposed -- they must have all kinds of ways of knowing what was going on, where to get paint, what cameras worked. some of the cameras had been spray-painted over, i noticed. maybe they used xnet! painted in ten-foot-high letters on the side of an auto-yard's fence were the drippy words: don't trust anyone over . i stopped. had someone left my "party" last night and come here with a can of paint? a lot of those people lived in the neighborhood. i got my coffee and had a little wander around town. i kept thinking i should be calling someone, seeing if they wanted to get a movie or something. that's how it used to be on a lazy saturday like this. but who was i going to call? van wasn't talking to me, i didn't think i was ready to talk to jolu, and darryl -- well, i couldn't call darryl. i got my coffee and went home and did a little searching around on the xnet's blogs. these anonablogs were untraceable to any author -- unless that author was stupid enough to put her name on it -- and there were a lot of them. most of them were apolitical, but a lot of them weren't. they talked about schools and the unfairness there. they talked about the cops. tagging. turned out there'd been plans for the concert in the park for weeks. it had hopped from blog to blog, turning into a full-blown movement without my noticing. and the concert was called don't trust anyone over . well, that explained where ange got it. it was a good slogan. # monday morning, i decided i wanted to check out that anarchist bookstore again, see about getting one of those emma goldman posters. i needed the reminder. i detoured down to th and mission on my way to school, then up to valencia and across. the store was shut, but i got the hours off the door and made sure they still had that poster up. as i walked down valencia, i was amazed to see how much of the don't trust anyone over stuff there was. half the shops had don't trust merch in the windows: lunchboxes, babydoll tees, pencil-boxes, trucker hats. the hipster stores have been getting faster and faster, of course. as new memes sweep the net in the course of a day or two, stores have gotten better at putting merch in the windows to match. some funny little youtube of a guy launching himself with jet-packs made of carbonated water would land in your inbox on monday and by tuesday you'd be able to buy t-shirts with stills from the video on it. but it was amazing to see something make the leap from xnet to the head shops. distressed designer jeans with the slogan written in careful high school ball-point ink. embroidered patches. good news travels fast. it was written on the black-board when i got to ms galvez's social studies class. we all sat at our desks, smiling at it. it seemed to smile back. there was something profoundly cheering about the idea that we could all trust each other, that the enemy could be identified. i knew it wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely false either. ms galvez came in and patted her hair and set down her schoolbook on her desk and powered it up. she picked up her chalk and turned around to face the board. we all laughed. good-naturedly, but we laughed. she turned around and was laughing too. "inflation has hit the nation's slogan-writers, it seems. how many of you know where this phrase comes from?" we looked at each other. "hippies?" someone said, and we laughed. hippies are all over san francisco, both the old stoner kinds with giant skanky beards and tie-dyes, and the new kind, who are more into dress-up and maybe playing hacky-sack than protesting anything. "well, yes, hippies. but when we think of hippies these days, we just think of the clothes and the music. clothes and music were incidental to the main part of what made that era, the sixties, important. "you've heard about the civil rights movement to end segregation, white and black kids like you riding buses into the south to sign up black voters and protest against official state racism. california was one of the main places where the civil rights leaders came from. we've always been a little more political than the rest of the country, and this is also a part of the country where black people have been able to get the same union factory jobs as white people, so they were a little better off than their cousins in the southland. "the students at berkeley sent a steady stream of freedom riders south, and they recruited them from information tables on campus, at bancroft and telegraph avenue. you've probably seen that there are still tables there to this day. "well, the campus tried to shut them down. the president of the university banned political organizing on campus, but the civil rights kids wouldn't stop. the police tried to arrest a guy who was handing out literature from one of these tables, and they put him in a van, but , students surrounded the van and refused to let it budge. they wouldn't let them take this kid to jail. they stood on top of the van and gave speeches about the first amendment and free speech. "that galvanized the free speech movement. that was the start of the hippies, but it was also where more radical student movements came from. black power groups like the black panthers -- and later gay rights groups like the pink panthers, too. radical women's groups, even 'lesbian separatists' who wanted to abolish men altogether! and the yippies. anyone ever hear of the yippies?" "didn't they levitate the pentagon?" i said. i'd once seen a documentary about this. she laughed. "i forgot about that, but yes, that was them! yippies were like very political hippies, but they weren't serious the way we think of politics these days. they were very playful. pranksters. they threw money into the new york stock exchange. they circled the pentagon with hundreds of protestors and said a magic spell that was supposed to levitate it. they invented a fictional kind of lsd that you could spray onto people with squirt-guns and shot each other with it and pretended to be stoned. they were funny and they made great tv -- one yippie, a clown called wavy gravy, used to get hundreds of protestors to dress up like santa claus so that the cameras would show police officers arresting and dragging away santa on the news that night -- and they mobilized a lot of people. "their big moment was the democratic national convention in , where they called for demonstrations to protest the vietnam war. thousands of demonstrators poured into chicago, slept in the parks, and picketed every day. they had lots of bizarre stunts that year, like running a pig called pigasus for the presidential nomination. the police and the demonstrators fought in the streets -- they'd done that many times before, but the chicago cops didn't have the smarts to leave the reporters alone. they beat up the reporters, and the reporters retaliated by finally showing what really went on at these demonstrations, so the whole country watched their kids being really savagely beaten down by the chicago police. they called it a 'police riot.' "the yippies loved to say, 'never trust anyone over .' they meant that people who were born before a certain time, when america had been fighting enemies like the nazis, could never understand what it meant to love your country enough to refuse to fight the vietnamese. they thought that by the time you hit , your attitudes would be frozen and you couldn't ever understand why the kids of the day were taken to the streets, dropping out, freaking out. "san francisco was ground zero for this. revolutionary armies were founded here. some of them blew up buildings or robbed banks for their cause. a lot of those kids grew up to be more or less normal, while others ended up in jail. some of the university dropouts did amazing things -- for example, steve jobs and steve wozniak, who founded apple computers and invented the pc." i was really getting into this. i knew a little of it, but i'd never heard it told like this. or maybe it had never mattered as much as it did now. suddenly, those lame, solemn, grown-up street demonstrations didn't seem so lame after all. maybe there was room for that kind of action in the xnet movement. i put my hand up. "did they win? did the yippies win?" she gave me a long look, like she was thinking it over. no one said a word. we all wanted to hear the answer. "they didn't lose," she said. "they kind of imploded a little. some of them went to jail for drugs or other things. some of them changed their tunes and became yuppies and went on the lecture circuit telling everyone how stupid they'd been, talking about how good greed was and how dumb they'd been. "but they did change the world. the war in vietnam ended, and the kind of conformity and unquestioning obedience that people had called patriotism went out of style in a big way. black rights, women's rights and gay rights came a long way. chicano rights, rights for disabled people, the whole tradition of civil liberties was created or strengthened by these people. today's protest movement is the direct descendant of those struggles." "i can't believe you're talking about them like this," charles said. he was leaning so far in his seat he was half standing, and his sharp, skinny face had gone red. he had wet, large eyes and big lips, and when he got excited he looked a little like a fish. ms galvez stiffened a little, then said, "go on, charles." "you've just described terrorists. actual terrorists. they blew up buildings, you said. they tried to destroy the stock exchange. they beat up cops, and stopped cops from arresting people who were breaking the law. they attacked us!" ms galvez nodded slowly. i could tell she was trying to figure out how to handle charles, who really seemed like he was ready to pop. "charles raises a good point. the yippies weren't foreign agents, they were american citizens. when you say 'they attacked us,' you need to figure out who 'they' and 'us' are. when it's your fellow countrymen --" "crap!" he shouted. he was on his feet now. "we were at war then. these guys were giving aid and comfort to the enemy. it's easy to tell who's us and who's them: if you support america, you're us. if you support the people who are shooting at americans, you're *them*." "does anyone else want to comment on this?" several hands shot up. ms galvez called on them. some people pointed out that the reason that the vietnamese were shooting at americans is that the americans had flown to vietnam and started running around the jungle with guns. others thought that charles had a point, that people shouldn't be allowed to do illegal things. everyone had a good debate except charles, who just shouted at people, interrupting them when they tried to get their points out. ms galvez tried to get him to wait for his turn a couple times, but he wasn't having any of it. i was looking something up on my schoolbook, something i knew i'd read. i found it. i stood up. ms galvez looked expectantly at me. the other people followed her gaze and went quiet. even charles looked at me after a while, his big wet eyes burning with hatred for me. "i wanted to read something," i said. "it's short. 'governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.'" &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to forbidden planet, the british chain of science fiction and fantasy books, comics, toys and videos. forbidden planet has stores up and down the uk, and also sports outposts in manhattan and dublin, ireland. it's dangerous to set foot in a forbidden planet -- rarely do i escape with my wallet intact. forbidden planet really leads the pack in bringing the gigantic audience for tv and movie science fiction into contact with science fiction books -- something that's absolutely critical to the future of the field.]] [[forbidden planet, uk, dublin and new york city: http://www.forbiddenplanet.co.uk]] ms galvez's smile was wide. "does anyone know what that comes from?" a bunch of people chorused, "the declaration of independence." i nodded. "why did you read that to us, marcus?" "because it seems to me that the founders of this country said that governments should only last for so long as we believe that they're working for us, and if we stop believing in them, we should overthrow them. that's what it says, right?" charles shook his head. "that was hundreds of years ago!" he said. "things are different now!" "what's different?" "well, for one thing, we don't have a king anymore. they were talking about a government that existed because some old jerk's great-great-great-grandfather believed that god put him in charge and killed everyone who disagreed with him. we have a democratically elected government --" "i didn't vote for them," i said. "so that gives you the right to blow up a building?" "what? who said anything about blowing up a building? the yippies and hippies and all those people believed that the government no longer listened to them -- look at the way people who tried to sign up voters in the south were treated! they were beaten up, arrested --" "some of them were killed," ms galvez said. she held up her hands and waited for charles and me to sit down. "we're almost out of time for today, but i want to commend you all on one of the most interesting classes i've ever taught. this has been an excellent discussion and i've learned much from you all. i hope you've learned from each other, too. thank you all for your contributions. "i have an extra-credit assignment for those of you who want a little challenge. i'd like you to write up a paper comparing the political response to the anti-war and civil rights movements in the bay area to the present day civil rights responses to the war on terror. three pages minimum, but take as long as you'd like. i'm interested to see what you come up with." the bell rang a moment later and everyone filed out of the class. i hung back and waited for ms galvez to notice me. "yes, marcus?" "that was amazing," i said. "i never knew all that stuff about the sixties." "the seventies, too. this place has always been an exciting place to live in politically charged times. i really liked your reference to the declaration -- that was very clever." "thanks," i said. "it just came to me. i never really appreciated what those words all meant before today." "well, those are the words every teacher loves to hear, marcus," she said, and shook my hand. "i can't wait to read your paper." # i bought the emma goldman poster on the way home and stuck it up over my desk, tacked over a vintage black-light poster. i also bought a never trust t-shirt that had a photoshop of grover and elmo kicking the grownups gordon and susan off sesame street. it made me laugh. i later found out that there had already been about six photoshop contests for the slogan online in places like fark and worth and b ta and there were hundreds of ready-made pics floating around to go on whatever merch someone churned out. mom raised an eyebrow at the shirt, and dad shook his head and lectured me about not looking for trouble. i felt a little vindicated by his reaction. ange found me online again and we im-flirted until late at night again. the white van with the antennas came back and i switched off my xbox until it had passed. we'd all gotten used to doing that. ange was really excited by this party. it looked like it was going to be monster. there were so many bands signed up they were talking about setting up a b-stage for the secondary acts. > how'd they get a permit to blast sound all night in that park? there's houses all around there > per-mit? what is "per-mit"? tell me more of your hu-man per-mit. > woah, it's illegal? > um, hello? *you're* worried about breaking the law? > fair point > lol i felt a little premonition of nervousness though. i mean, i was taking this perfectly awesome girl out on a date that weekend -- well, she was taking me, technically -- to an illegal rave being held in the middle of a busy neighborhood. it was bound to be interesting at least. # interesting. people started to drift into dolores park through the long saturday afternoon, showing up among the ultimate frisbee players and the dog-walkers. some of them played frisbee or walked dogs. it wasn't really clear how the concert was going to work, but there were a lot of cops and undercovers hanging around. you could tell the undercovers because, like zit and booger, they had castro haircuts and nebraska physiques: tubby guys with short hair and untidy mustaches. they drifted around, looking awkward and uncomfortable in their giant shorts and loose-fitting shirts that no-doubt hung down to cover the chandelier of gear hung around their midriffs. dolores park is pretty and sunny, with palm trees, tennis courts, and lots of hills and regular trees to run around on, or hang out on. homeless people sleep there at night, but that's true everywhere in san francisco. i met ange down the street, at the anarchist bookstore. that had been my suggestion. in hindsight, it was a totally transparent move to seem cool and edgy to this girl, but at the time i would have sworn that i picked it because it was a convenient place to meet up. she was reading a book called *up against the wall motherf_____r* when i got there. "nice," i said. "you kiss your mother with that mouth?" "your mama don't complain," she said. "actually, it's a history of a group of people like the yippies, but from new york. they all used that word as their last names, like 'ben m-f.' the idea was to have a group out there, making news, but with a totally unprintable name. just to screw around with the news-media. pretty funny, really." she put the book back on the shelf and now i wondered if i should hug her. people in california hug to say hello and goodbye all the time. except when they don't. and sometimes they kiss on the cheek. it's all very confusing. she settled it for me by grabbing me in a hug and tugging my head down to her, kissing me hard on the cheek, then blowing a fart on my neck. i laughed and pushed her away. "you want a burrito?" i asked. "is that a question or a statement of the obvious?" "neither. it's an order." i bought some funny stickers that said this phone is tapped which were the right size to put on the receivers on the pay phones that still lined the streets of the mission, it being the kind of neighborhood where you got people who couldn't necessarily afford a cellphone. we walked out into the night air. i told ange about the scene at the park when i left. "i bet they have a hundred of those trucks parked around the block," she said. "the better to bust you with." "um." i looked around. "i sort of hoped that you would say something like, 'aw, there's no chance they'll do anything about it.'" "i don't think that's really the idea. the idea is to put a lot of civilians in a position where the cops have to decide, are we going to treat these ordinary people like terrorists? it's a little like the jamming, but with music instead of gadgets. you jam, right?" sometimes i forget that all my friends don't know that marcus and m k y are the same person. "yeah, a little," i said. "this is like jamming with a bunch of awesome bands." "i see." mission burritos are an institution. they are cheap, giant and delicious. imagine a tube the size of a bazooka shell, filled with spicy grilled meat, guacamole, salsa, tomatoes, refried beans, rice, onions and cilantro. it has the same relationship to taco bell that a lamborghini has to a hot wheels car. there are about two hundred mission burrito joints. they're all heroically ugly, with uncomfortable seats, minimal decor -- faded mexican tourist office posters and electrified framed jesus and mary holograms -- and loud mariachi music. the thing that distinguishes them, mostly, is what kind of exotic meat they fill their wares with. the really authentic places have brains and tongue, which i never order, but it's nice to know it's there. the place we went to had both brains and tongue, which we didn't order. i got carne asada and she got shredded chicken and we each got a big cup of horchata. as soon as we sat down, she unrolled her burrito and took a little bottle out of her purse. it was a little stainless-steel aerosol canister that looked for all the world like a pepper-spray self-defense unit. she aimed it at her burrito's exposed guts and misted them with a fine red oily spray. i caught a whiff of it and my throat closed and my eyes watered. "what the hell are you doing to that poor, defenseless burrito?" she gave me a wicked smile. "i'm a spicy food addict," she said. "this is capsaicin oil in a mister." "capsaicin --" "yeah, the stuff in pepper spray. this is like pepper spray but slightly more dilute. and way more delicious. think of it as spicy cajun visine if it helps." my eyes burned just thinking of it. "you're kidding," i said. "you are so not going to eat that." her eyebrows shot up. "that sounds like a challenge, sonny. you just watch me." she rolled the burrito up as carefully as a stoner rolling up a joint, tucking the ends in, then re-wrapping it in tinfoil. she peeled off one end and brought it up to her mouth, poised with it just before her lips. right up to the time she bit into it, i couldn't believe that she was going to do it. i mean, that was basically an anti-personnel weapon she'd just slathered on her dinner. she bit into it. chewed. swallowed. gave every impression of having a delicious dinner. "want a bite?" she said, innocently. "yeah," i said. i like spicy food. i always order the curries with four chilies next to them on the menu at the pakistani places. i peeled back more foil and took a big bite. big mistake. you know that feeling you get when you take a big bite of horseradish or wasabi or whatever, and it feels like your sinuses are closing at the same time as your windpipe, filling your head with trapped, nuclear-hot air that tries to batter its way out through your watering eyes and nostrils? that feeling like steam is about to pour out of your ears like a cartoon character? this was a lot worse. this was like putting your hand on a hot stove, only it's not your hand, it's the entire inside of your head, and your esophagus all the way down to your stomach. my entire body sprang out in a sweat and i choked and choked. wordlessly, she passed me my horchata and i managed to get the straw into my mouth and suck hard on it, gulping down half of it in one go. "so there's a scale, the scoville scale, that we chili-fanciers use to talk about how spicy a pepper is. pure capsaicin is about million scovilles. tabasco is about , . pepper spray is a healthy three million. this stuff is a puny , , about as hot as a mild scotch bonnet pepper. i worked up to it in about a year. some of the real hardcore can get up to a million or so, twenty times hotter than tabasco. that's pretty freaking hot. at scoville temperatures like that, your brain gets totally awash in endorphins. it's a better body-stone than hash. and it's good for you." i was getting my sinuses back now, able to breathe without gasping. "of course, you get a ferocious ring of fire when you go to the john," she said, winking at me. yowch. "you are insane," i said. "fine talk from a man whose hobby is building and smashing laptops," she said. "touche," i said and touched my forehead. "want some?" she held out her mister. "pass," i said, quickly enough that we both laughed. when we left the restaurant and headed for dolores park, she put her arm around my waist and i found that she was just the right height for me to put my arm around her shoulders. that was new. i'd never been a tall guy, and the girls i'd dated had all been my height -- teenaged girls grow faster than guys, which is a cruel trick of nature. it was nice. it felt nice. we turned the corner on th street and walked up toward dolores. before we'd taken a single step, we could feel the buzz. it was like the hum of a million bees. there were lots of people streaming toward the park, and when i looked toward it, i saw that it was about a hundred times more crowded than it had been when i went to meet ange. that sight made my blood run hot. it was a beautiful cool night and we were about to party, really party, party like there was no tomorrow. "eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die." without saying anything we both broke into a trot. there were lots of cops, with tense faces, but what the hell were they going to do? there were a *lot* of people in the park. i'm not so good at counting crowds. the papers later quoted organizers as saying there were , people; the cops said , . maybe that means there were , . whatever. it was more people than i'd ever stood among, as part of an unscheduled, unsanctioned, *illegal* event. we were among them in an instant. i can't swear to it, but i don't think there was anyone over in that press of bodies. everyone was smiling. some young kids were there, or , and that made me feel better. no one would do anything too stupid with kids that little in the crowd. no one wanted to see little kids get hurt. this was just going to be a glorious spring night of celebration. i figured the thing to do was push in towards the tennis courts. we threaded our way through the crowd, and to stay together we took each other's hands. only staying together didn't require us to intertwine fingers. that was strictly for pleasure. it was very pleasurable. the bands were all inside the tennis courts, with their guitars and mixers and keyboards and even a drum kit. later, on xnet, i found a flickr stream of them smuggling all this stuff in, piece by piece, in gym bags and under their coats. along with it all were huge speakers, the kind you see in automotive supply places, and among them, a stack of...car batteries. i laughed. genius! that was how they were going to power their stacks. from where i stood, i could see that they were cells from a hybrid car, a prius. someone had gutted an eco-mobile to power the night's entertainment. the batteries continued outside the courts, stacked up against the fence, tethered to the main stack by wires threaded through the chain-link. i counted -- batteries! christ! those things weighed a ton, too. there's no way they organized this without email and wikis and mailing lists. and there's no way people this smart would have done that on the public internet. this had all taken place on the xnet, i'd bet my boots on it. we just kind of bounced around in the crowd for a while as the bands tuned up and conferred with one another. i saw trudy doo from a distance, in the tennis courts. she looked like she was in a cage, like a pro wrestler. she was wearing a torn wife-beater and her hair was in long, fluorescent pink dreads down to her waist. she was wearing army camouflage pants and giant gothy boots with steel over-toes. as i watched, she picked up a heavy motorcycle jacket, worn as a catcher's mitt, and put it on like armor. it probably was armor, i realized. i tried to wave to her, to impress ange i guess, but she didn't see me and i kind of looked like a spazz so i stopped. the energy in the crowd was amazing. you hear people talk about "vibes" and "energy" for big groups of people, but until you've experienced it, you probably think it's just a figure of speech. it's not. it's the smiles, infectious and big as watermelons, on every face. everyone bopping a little to an unheard rhythm, shoulders rocking. rolling walks. jokes and laughs. the tone of every voice tight and excited, like a firework about to go off. and you can't help but be a part of it. because you are. by the time the bands kicked off, i was utterly stoned on crowd-vibe. the opening act was some kind of serbian turbo-folk, which i couldn't figure out how to dance to. i know how to dance to exactly two kinds of music: trance (shuffle around and let the music move you) and punk (bash around and mosh until you get hurt or exhausted or both). the next act was oakland hip-hoppers, backed by a thrash metal band, which is better than it sounds. then some bubble-gum pop. then speedwhores took the stage, and trudy doo stepped up to the mic. "my name is trudy doo and you're an idiot if you trust me. i'm thirty two and it's too late for me. i'm lost. i'm stuck in the old way of thinking. i still take my freedom for granted and let other people take it away from me. you're the first generation to grow up in gulag america, and you know what your freedom is worth to the last goddamned cent!" the crowd roared. she was playing fast little skittery nervous chords on her guitar and her bass player, a huge fat girl with a dykey haircut and even bigger boots and a smile you could open beer bottles with was laying it down fast and hard already. i wanted to bounce. i bounced. ange bounced with me. we were sweating freely in the evening, which reeked of perspiration and pot smoke. warm bodies crushed in on all sides of us. they bounced too. "don't trust anyone over !" she shouted. we roared. we were one big animal throat, roaring. "don't trust anyone over !" "*don't trust anyone over !*" "don't trust anyone over !" "*don't trust anyone over !*" "don't trust anyone over !" "*don't trust anyone over !*" she banged some hard chords on her guitar and the other guitarist, a little pixie of a girl whose face bristled with piercings, jammed in, going wheedle-dee-wheedle-dee-dee up high, past the twelfth fret. "it's our goddamned city! it's our goddamned country. no terrorist can take it from us for so long as we're free. once we're not free, the terrorists win! take it back! take it back! you're young enough and stupid enough not to know that you can't possibly win, so you're the only ones who can lead us to victory! *take it back!" "take it back!" we roared. she jammed down hard on her guitar. we roared the note back and then it got really really loud. # i danced until i was so tired i couldn't dance another step. ange danced alongside of me. technically, we were rubbing our sweaty bodies against each other for several hours, but believe it or not, i totally wasn't being a horn-dog about it. we were dancing, lost in the godbeat and the thrash and the screaming -- take it back! take it back! when i couldn't dance anymore, i grabbed her hand and she squeezed mine like i was keeping her from falling off a building. she dragged me toward the edge of the crowd, where it got thinner and cooler. out there, on the edge of dolores park, we were in the cool air and the sweat on our bodies went instantly icy. we shivered and she threw her arms around my waist. "warm me," she commanded. i didn't need a hint. i hugged her back. her heart was an echo of the fast beats from the stage -- breakbeats now, fast and furious and wordless. she smelled of sweat, a sharp tang that smelled great. i knew i smelled of sweat too. my nose was pointed into the top of her head, and her face was right at my collarbone. she moved her hands to my neck and tugged. "get down here, i didn't bring a stepladder," is what she said and i tried to smile, but it's hard to smile when you're kissing. like i said, i'd kissed three girls in my life. two of them had never kissed anyone before. one had been dating since she was . she had issues. none of them kissed like ange. she made her whole mouth soft, like the inside of a ripe piece of fruit, and she didn't jam her tongue in my mouth, but slid it in there, and sucked my lips into her mouth at the same time, so it was like my mouth and hers were merging. i heard myself moan and i grabbed her and squeezed her harder. slowly, gently, we lowered ourselves to the grass. we lay on our sides and clutched each other, kissing and kissing. the world disappeared so there was only the kiss. my hands found her butt, her waist. the edge of her t-shirt. her warm tummy, her soft navel. they inched higher. she moaned too. "not here," she said. "let's move over there." she pointed across the street at the big white church that gives mission dolores park and the mission its name. holding hands, moving quickly, we crossed to the church. it had big pillars in front of it. she put my back up against one of them and pulled my face down to hers again. my hands went quickly and boldly back to her shirt. i slipped them up her front. "it undoes in the back," she whispered into my mouth. i had a boner that could cut glass. i moved my hands around to her back, which was strong and broad, and found the hook with my fingers, which were trembling. i fumbled for a while, thinking of all those jokes about how bad guys are at undoing bras. i was bad at it. then the hook sprang free. she gasped into my mouth. i slipped my hands around, feeling the wetness of her armpits -- which was sexy and not at all gross for some reason -- and then brushed the sides of her breasts. that's when the sirens started. they were louder than anything i'd ever heard. a sound like a physical sensation, like something blowing you off your feet. a sound as loud as your ears could process, and then louder. "disperse immediately," a voice said, like god rattling in my skull. "this is an illegal gathering. disperse immediately." the band had stopped playing. the noise of the crowd across the street changed. it got scared. angry. i heard a click as the pa system of car-speakers and car-batteries in the tennis courts powered up. "take it back!" it was a defiant yell, like a sound shouted into the surf or screamed off a cliff. "take it back!" the crowd *growled*, a sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "*take it back*!" they chanted. "take it back take it back take it back!" the police moved in in lines, carrying plastic shields, wearing darth vader helmets that covered their faces. each one had a black truncheon and infra-red goggles. they looked like soldiers out of some futuristic war movie. they took a step forward in unison and every one of them banged his truncheon on his shield, a cracking noise like the earth splitting. another step, another crack. they were all around the park and closing in now. "disperse immediately," the voice of god said again. there were helicopters overhead now. no floodlights, though. the infrared goggles, right. of course. they'd have infrared scopes in the sky, too. i pulled ange back against the doorway of the church, tucking us back from the cops and the choppers. "take it back!" the pa roared. it was trudy doo's rebel yell and i heard her guitar thrash out some chords, then her drummer playing, then that big deep bass. "take it back!" the crowd answered, and they boiled out of the park at the police lines. i've never been in a war, but now i think i know what it must be like. what it must be like when scared kids charge across a field at an opposing force, knowing what's coming, running anyway, screaming, hollering. "disperse immediately," the voice of god said. it was coming from trucks parked all around the park, trucks that had swung into place in the last few seconds. that's when the mist fell. it came out of the choppers, and we just caught the edge of it. it made the top of my head feel like it was going to come off. it made my sinuses feel like they were being punctured with ice-picks. it made my eyes swell and water, and my throat close. pepper spray. not thousand scovilles. a million and a half. they'd gassed the crowd. i didn't see what happened next, but i heard it, over the sound of both me and ange choking and holding each other. first the choking, retching sounds. the guitar and drums and bass crashed to a halt. then coughing. then screaming. the screaming went on for a long time. when i could see again, the cops had their scopes up on their foreheads and the choppers were flooding dolores park with so much light it looked like daylight. everyone was looking at the park, which was good news, because when the lights went up like that, we were totally visible. "what do we do?" ange said. her voice was tight, scared. i didn't trust myself to speak for a moment. i swallowed a few times. "we walk away," i said. "that's all we can do. walk away. like we were just passing by. down to dolores and turn left and up towards th street. like we're just passing by. like this is none of our business." "that'll never work," she said. "it's all i've got." "you don't think we should try to run for it?" "no," i said. "if we run, they'll chase us. maybe if we walk, they'll figure we haven't done anything and let us alone. they have a lot of arrests to make. they'll be busy for a long time." the park was rolling with bodies, people and adults clawing at their faces and gasping. the cops dragged them by the armpits, then lashed their wrists with plastic cuffs and tossed them into the trucks like rag-dolls. "ok?" i said. "ok," she said. and that's just what we did. walked, holding hands, quickly and business-like, like two people wanting to avoid whatever trouble someone else was making. the kind of walk you adopt when you want to pretend you can't see a panhandler, or don't want to get involved in a street-fight. it worked. we reached the corner and turned and kept going. neither of us dared to speak for two blocks. then i let out a gasp of air i hadn't know i'd been holding in. we came to th street and turned down toward mission street. normally that's a pretty scary neighborhood at am on a saturday night. that night it was a relief -- same old druggies and hookers and dealers and drunks. no cops with truncheons, no gas. "um," i said as we breathed in the night air. "coffee?" "home," she said. "i think home for now. coffee later." "yeah," i agreed. she lived up in hayes valley. i spotted a taxi rolling by and i hailed it. that was a small miracle -- there are hardly any cabs when you need them in san francisco. "have you got cabfare home?" "yeah," she said. the cab-driver looked at us through his window. i opened the back door so he wouldn't take off. "good night," i said. she put her hands behind my head and pulled my face toward her. she kissed me hard on the mouth, nothing sexual in it, but somehow more intimate for that. "good night," she whispered in my ear, and slipped into the taxi. head swimming, eyes running, a burning shame for having left all those xnetters to the tender mercies of the dhs and the sfpd, i set off for home. # monday morning, fred benson was standing behind ms galvez's desk. "ms galvez will no longer be teaching this class," he said, once we'd taken our seats. he had a self-satisfied note that i recognized immediately. on a hunch, i checked out charles. he was smiling like it was his birthday and he'd been given the best present in the world. i put my hand up. "why not?" "it's board policy not to discuss employee matters with anyone except the employee and the disciplinary committee," he said, without even bothering to hide how much he enjoyed saying it. "we'll be beginning a new unit today, on national security. your schoolbooks have the new texts. please open them and turn to the first screen." the opening screen was emblazoned with a dhs logo and the title: what every american should know about homeland security. i wanted to throw my schoolbook on the floor. # i'd made arrangements to meet ange at a cafe in her neighborhood after school. i jumped on the bart and found myself sitting behind two guys in suits. they were looking at the san francisco chronicle, which featured a full-page post-mortem on the "youth riot" in mission dolores park. they were tutting and clucking over it. then one said to the other, "it's like they're brainwashed or something. christ, were we ever that stupid?" i got up and moved to another seat. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to books-a-million, a chain of gigantic bookstores spread across the usa. i first encountered books-a-million while staying at a hotel in terre haute, indiana (i was giving a speech at the rose hulman institute of technology later that day). the store was next to my hotel and i really needed some reading material -- i'd been on the road for a solid month and i'd read everything in my suitcase, and i had another five cities to go before i headed home. as i stared intently at the shelves, a clerk asked me if i needed any help. now, i've worked at bookstores before, and a knowledgeable clerk is worth her weight in gold, so i said sure, and started to describe my tastes, naming authors i'd enjoyed. the clerk smiled and said, "i've got just the book for you," and proceeded to take down a copy of my first novel, down and out in the magic kingdom. i busted out laughing, introduced myself, and had an absolutely lovely chat about science fiction that almost made me late to give my speech!]] [[books-a-million http://www.booksamillion.com/ncom/books?&isbn= ]] "they're total whores," ange said, spitting the word out. "in fact, that's an insult to hardworking whores everywhere. they're, they're *profiteers.*" we were looking at a stack of newspapers we'd picked up and brought to the cafe. they all contained "reporting" on the party in dolores park and to a one, they made it sound like a drunken, druggy orgy of kids who'd attacked the cops. *usa today* described the cost of the "riot" and included the cost of washing away the pepper-spray residue from the gas-bombing, the rash of asthma attacks that clogged the city's emergency rooms, and the cost of processing the eight hundred arrested "rioters." no one was telling our side. "well, the xnet got it right, anyway," i said. i'd saved a bunch of the blogs and videos and photostreams to my phone and i showed them to her. they were first-hand accounts from people who'd been gassed, and beaten up. the video showed us all dancing, having fun, showed the peaceful political speeches and the chant of "take it back" and trudy doo talking about us being the only generation that could believe in fighting for our freedoms. "we need to make people know about this," she said. "yeah," i said, glumly. "that's a nice theory." "well, why do you think the press doesn't ever publish our side?" "you said it, they're whores." "yeah, but whores do it for the money. they could sell more papers and commercials if they had a controversy. all they have now is a crime -- controversy is much bigger." "ok, point taken. so why don't they do it? well, reporters can barely search regular blogs, let alone keep track of the xnet. it's not as if that's a real adult-friendly place to be." "yeah," she said. "well, we can fix that, right?" "huh?" "write it all up. put it in one place, with all the links. a single place where you can go that's intended for the press to find it and get the whole picture. link it to the howtos for xnet. internet users can get to the xnet, provided they don't care about the dhs finding out what they've been surfing." "you think it'll work?" "well, even if it doesn't, it's something positive to do." "why would they listen to us, anyway?" "who wouldn't listen to m k y?" i put down my coffee. i picked up my phone and slipped it into my pocket. i stood up, turned on my heel, and walked out of the cafe. i picked a direction at random and kept going. my face felt tight, the blood gone into my stomach, which churned. *they know who you are,* i thought. *they know who m k y is.* that was it. if ange had figured it out, the dhs had too. i was doomed. i had known that since they let me go from the dhs truck, that someday they'd come and arrest me and put me away forever, send me to wherever darryl had gone. it was all over. she nearly tackled me as i reached market street. she was out of breath and looked furious. "what the *hell* is your problem, mister?" i shook her off and kept walking. it was all over. she grabbed me again. "stop it, marcus, you're scaring me. come on, talk to me." i stopped and looked at her. she blurred before my eyes. i couldn't focus on anything. i had a mad desire to jump into the path of a muni trolley as it tore past us, down the middle of the road. better to die than to go back. "marcus!" she did something i'd only seen people do in the movies. she slapped me, a hard crack across the face. "talk to me, dammit!" i looked at her and put my hand to my face, which was stinging hard. "no one is supposed to know who i am," i said. "i can't put it any more simply. if you know, it's all over. once other people know, it's all over." "oh god, i'm sorry. look, i only know because, well, because i blackmailed jolu. after the party i stalked you a little, trying to figure out if you were the nice guy you seemed to be or a secret axe-murderer. i've known jolu for a long time and when i asked him about you, he gushed like you were the second coming or something, but i could hear that there was something he wasn't telling me. i've known jolu for a long time. he dated my older sister at computer camp when he was a kid. i have some really good dirt on him. i told him i'd go public with it if he didn't tell me." "so he told you." "no," she said. "he told me to go to hell. then i told him something about me. something i'd never told anyone else." "what?" she looked at me. looked around. looked back at me. "ok. i won't swear you to secrecy because what's the point? either i can trust you or i can't. "last year, i --" she broke off. "last year, i stole the standardized tests and published them on the net. it was just a lark. i happened to be walking past the principal's office and i saw them in his safe, and the door was hanging open. i ducked into his office -- there were six sets of copies and i just put one into my bag and took off again. when i got home, i scanned them all and put them up on a pirate party server in denmark." "that was *you*?" i said. she blushed. "um. yeah." "holy crap!" i said. it had been huge news. the board of education said that its no child left behind tests had cost tens of millions of dollars to produce and that they'd have to spend it all over again now that they'd had the leak. they called it "edu-terrorism." the news had speculated endlessly about the political motivations of the leaker, wondering if it was a teacher's protest, or a student, or a thief, or a disgruntled government contractor. "that was you?" "it was me," she said. "and you told jolu this --" "because i wanted him to be sure that i would keep the secret. if he knew *my* secret, then he'd have something he could use to put me in jail if i opened my trap. give a little, get a little. quid pro quo, like in silence of the lambs." "and he told you." "no," she said. "he didn't." "but --" "then i told him how into you i was. how i was planning to totally make an idiot of myself and throw myself at you. *then* he told me." i couldn't think of anything to say then. i looked down at my toes. she grabbed my hands and squeezed them. "i'm sorry i squeezed it out of him. it was your decision to tell me, if you were going to tell me at all. i had no business --" "no," i said. now that i knew how she'd found out, i was starting to calm down. "no, it's good you know. *you*." "me," she said. "li'l ol' me." "ok, i can live with this. but there's one other thing." "what?" "there's no way to say this without sounding like a jerk, so i'll just say it. people who date each other -- or whatever it is we're doing now -- they split up. when they split up, they get angry at each other. sometimes even hate each other. it's really cold to think about that happening between us, but you know, we've got to think about it." "i solemnly promise that there is nothing you could ever do to me that would cause me to betray your secret. nothing. screw a dozen cheerleaders in my bed while my mother watches. make me listen to britney spears. rip off my laptop, smash it with hammers and soak it in sea-water. i promise. nothing. ever." i whooshed out some air. "um," i said. "now would be a good time to kiss me," she said, and turned her face up. # m k y's next big project on the xnet was putting together the ultimate roundup of reports of the don't trust party at dolores park. i put together the biggest, most bad-ass site i could, with sections showing the action by location, by time, by category -- police violence, dancing, aftermath, singing. i uploaded the whole concert. it was pretty much all i worked on for the rest of the night. and the next night. and the next. my mailbox overflowed with suggestions from people. they sent me dumps off their phones and their pocket-cameras. then i got an email from a name i recognized -- dr eeevil (three "e"s), one of the prime maintainers of paranoidlinux. > m k y > i have been watching your xnet experiment with great interest. here in germany, we have much experience with what happens with a government that gets out of control. > one thing you should know is that every camera has a unique "noise signature" that can be used to later connect a picture with a camera. that means that the photos you're republishing on your site could potentially be used to identify the photographers, should they later be picked up for something else. > luckily, it's not hard to strip out the signatures, if you care to. there's a utility on the paranoidlinux distro you're using that does this -- it's called photonomous, and you'll find it in /usr/bin. just read the man pages for documentation. it's simple though. > good luck with what you're doing. don't get caught. stay free. stay paranoid. > dr eeevil i de-fingerprintized all the photos i'd posted and put them back up, along with a note explaining what dr eeevil had told me, warning everyone else to do the same. we all had the same basic paranoidxbox install, so we could all anonymize our pictures. there wasn't anything i could do about the photos that had already been downloaded and cached, but from now on we'd be smarter. that was all the thought i gave the matter that night, until i got down to breakfast the next morning and mom had the radio on, playing the npr morning news. "arabic news agency al-jazeera is running pictures, video and first-hand accounts of last weekend's youth riot in mission dolores park," the announcer said as i was drinking a glass of orange juice. i managed not to spray it across the room, but i *did* choke a little. "al-jazeera reporters claim that these accounts were published on the so-called 'xnet,' a clandestine network used by students and al-quaeda sympathizers in the bay area. this network's existence has long been rumored, but today marks its first mainstream mention." mom shook her head. "just what we need," she said. "as if the police weren't bad enough. kids running around, pretending to be guerrillas and giving them the excuse to really crack down." "the xnet weblogs have carried hundreds of reports and multimedia files from young people who attended the riot and allege that they were gathered peacefully until the police attacked *them*. here is one of those accounts. "'all we were doing was dancing. i brought my little brother. bands played and we talked about freedom, about how we were losing it to these jerks who say they hate terrorists but who attack us though we're not terrorists we're americans. i think they hate freedom, not us. "we danced and the bands played and it was all fun and good and then the cops started shouting at us to disperse. we all shouted take it back! meaning take america back. the cops gassed us with pepper spray. my little brother is twelve. he missed three days of school. my stupid parents say it was my fault. how about the police? we pay them and they're supposed to protect us but they gassed us for no good reason, gassed us like they gas enemy soldiers.' "similar accounts, including audio and video, can be found on al-jazeera's website and on the xnet. you can find directions for accessing this xnet on npr's homepage." dad came down. "do you use the xnet?" he said. he looked intensely at my face. i felt myself squirm. "it's for video-games," i said. "that's what most people use it for. it's just a wireless network. it's what everyone did with those free xboxes they gave away last year." he glowered at me. "games? marcus, you don't realize it, but you're providing cover for people who plan on attacking and destroying this country. i don't want to see you using this xnet. not anymore. do i make myself clear?" i wanted to argue. hell, i wanted to shake him by the shoulders. but i didn't. i looked away. i said, "sure, dad." i went to school. # at first i was relieved when i discovered that they weren't going to leave mr benson in charge of my social studies class. but the woman they found to replace him was my worst nightmare. she was young, just about or , and pretty, in a wholesome kind of way. she was blonde and spoke with a soft southern accent when she introduced herself to us as mrs andersen. that set off alarm bells right away. i didn't know *any* women under the age of sixty that called themselves "mrs." but i was prepared to overlook it. she was young, pretty, she sounded nice. she would be ok. she wasn't ok. "under what circumstances should the federal government be prepared to suspend the bill of rights?" she said, turning to the blackboard and writing down a row of numbers, one through ten. "never," i said, not waiting to be called on. this was easy. "constitutional rights are absolute." "that's not a very sophisticated view." she looked at her seating-plan. "marcus. for example, say a policeman conducts an improper search -- he goes beyond the stuff specified in his warrant. he discovers compelling evidence that a bad guy killed your father. it's the only evidence that exists. should the bad guy go free?" i knew the answer to this, but i couldn't really explain it. "yes," i said, finally. "but the police shouldn't conduct improper searches --" "wrong," she said. "the proper response to police misconduct is disciplinary action against the police, not punishing all of society for one cop's mistake." she wrote "criminal guilt" under point one on the board. "other ways in which the bill of rights can be superseded?" charles put his hand up. "shouting fire in a crowded theater?" "very good --" she consulted the seating plan -- "charles. there are many instances in which the first amendment is not absolute. let's list some more of those." charles put his hand up again. "endangering a law enforcement officer." "yes, disclosing the identity of an undercover policeman or intelligence officer. very good." she wrote it down. "others?" "national security," charles said, not waiting for her to call on him again. "libel. obscenity. corruption of minors. child porn. bomb-making recipes." mrs andersen wrote these down fast, but stopped at child porn. "child porn is just a form of obscenity." i was feeling sick. this was not what i'd learned or believed about my country. i put my hand up. "yes, marcus?" "i don't get it. you're making it sound like the bill of rights is optional. it's the constitution. we're supposed to follow it absolutely." "that's a common oversimplification," she said, giving me a fake smile. "but the fact of the matter is that the framers of the constitution intended it to be a living document that was revised over time. they understood that the republic wouldn't be able to last forever if the government of the day couldn't govern according to the needs of the day. they never intended the constitution to be looked on like religious doctrine. after all, they came here fleeing religious doctrine." i shook my head. "what? no. they were merchants and artisans who were loyal to the king until he instituted policies that were against their interests and enforced them brutally. the religious refugees were way earlier." "some of the framers were descended from religious refugees," she said. "and the bill of rights isn't supposed to be something you pick and choose from. what the framers hated was tyranny. that's what the bill of rights is supposed to prevent. they were a revolutionary army and they wanted a set of principles that everyone could agree to. life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. the right of people to throw off their oppressors." "yes, yes," she said, waving at me. "they believed in the right of people to get rid of their kings, but --" charles was grinning and when she said that, he smiled even wider. "they set out the bill of rights because they thought that having absolute rights was better than the risk that someone would take them away. like the first amendment: it's supposed to protect us by preventing the government from creating two kinds of speech, allowed speech and criminal speech. they didn't want to face the risk that some jerk would decide that the things that he found unpleasant were illegal." she turned and wrote, "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" on it. "we're getting a little ahead of the lesson, but you seem like an advanced group." the others laughed at this, nervously. "the role of government is to secure for citizens the rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. in that order. it's like a filter. if the government wants to do something that makes us a little unhappy, or takes away some of our liberty, it's ok, providing they're doing it to save our lives. that's why the cops can lock you up if they think you're a danger to yourself or others. you lose your liberty and happiness to protect life. if you've got life, you might get liberty and happiness later." some of the others had their hands up. "doesn't that mean that they can do anything they want, if they say it's to stop someone from hurting us in the future?" "yeah," another kid said. "this sounds like you're saying that national security is more important than the constitution." i was so proud of my fellow students then. i said, "how can you protect freedom by suspending the bill of rights?" she shook her head at us like we were being very stupid. "the 'revolutionary' founding fathers *shot traitors* and spies. they didn't believe in absolute freedom, not when it threatened the republic. now you take these xnet people --" i tried hard not to stiffen. "-- these so-called jammers who were on the news this morning. after this city was attacked by people who've declared war on this country, they set about sabotaging the security measures set up to catch the bad guys and prevent them from doing it again. they did this by endangering and inconveniencing their fellow citizens --" "they did it to show that our rights were being taken away in the name of protecting them!" i said. ok, i shouted. god, she had me so steamed. "they did it because the government was treating *everyone* like a suspected terrorist." "so they wanted to prove that they shouldn't be treated like terrorists," charles shouted back, "so they acted like terrorists? so they committed terrorism?" i boiled. "oh for christ's sake. committed terrorism? they showed that universal surveillance was more dangerous than terrorism. look at what happened in the park last weekend. those people were dancing and listening to music. how is *that* terrorism?" the teacher crossed the room and stood before me, looming over me until i shut up. "marcus, you seem to think that nothing has changed in this country. you need to understand that the bombing of the bay bridge changed everything. thousands of our friends and relatives lie dead at the bottom of the bay. this is a time for national unity in the face of the violent insult our country has suffered --" i stood up. i'd had enough of this "everything has changed" crapola. "national unity? the whole point of america is that we're the country where dissent is welcome. we're a country of dissidents and fighters and university dropouts and free speech people." i thought of ms galvez's last lesson and the thousands of berkeley students who'd surrounded the police-van when they tried to arrest a guy for distributing civil rights literature. no one tried to stop those trucks when they drove away with all the people who'd been dancing in the park. i didn't try. i was running away. maybe everything *had* changed. "i believe you know where mr benson's office is," she said to me. "you are to present yourself to him immediately. i will *not* have my classes disrupted by disrespectful behavior. for someone who claims to love freedom of speech, you're certainly willing to shout down anyone who disagrees with you." i picked up my schoolbook and my bag and stormed out. the door had a gas-lift, so it was impossible to slam, or i would have slammed it. i went fast to mr benson's office. cameras filmed me as i went. my gait was recorded. the arphids in my student id broadcast my identity to sensors in the hallway. it was like being in jail. "close the door, marcus," mr benson said. he turned his screen around so that i could see the video feed from the social studies classroom. he'd been watching. "what do you have to say for yourself?" "that wasn't teaching, it was *propaganda*. she told us that the constitution didn't matter!" "no, she said it wasn't religious doctrine. and you attacked her like some kind of fundamentalist, proving her point. marcus, you of all people should understand that everything changed when the bridge was bombed. your friend darryl --" "don't you say a goddamned word about him," i said, the anger bubbling over. "you're not fit to talk about him. yeah, i understand that everything's different now. we used to be a free country. now we're not." "marcus, do you know what 'zero-tolerance' means?" i backed down. he could expel me for "threatening behavior." it was supposed to be used against gang kids who tried to intimidate their teachers. but of course he wouldn't have any compunctions about using it on me. "yes," i said. "i know what it means." "i think you owe me an apology," he said. i looked at him. he was barely suppressing his sadistic smile. a part of me wanted to grovel. it wanted to beg for his forgiveness for all my shame. i tamped that part down and decided that i would rather get kicked out than apologize. "governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." i remembered it word for word. he shook his head. "remembering things isn't the same as understanding them, sonny." he bent over his computer and made some clicks. his printer purred. he handed me a sheet of warm board letterhead that said i'd been suspended for two weeks. "i'll email your parents now. if you are still on school property in thirty minutes, you'll be arrested for trespassing." i looked at him. "you don't want to declare war on me in my own school," he said. "you can't win that war. go!" i left. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to the incomparable mysterious galaxy in san diego, california. the mysterious galaxy folks have had me in to sign books every time i've been in san diego for a conference or to teach (the clarion writers' workshop is based at uc san diego in nearby la jolla, ca), and every time i show up, they pack the house. this is a store with a loyal following of die-hard fans who know that they'll always be able to get great recommendations and great ideas at the store. in summer , i took my writing class from clarion down to the store for the midnight launch of the final harry potter book and i've never seen such a rollicking, awesomely fun party at a store.]] [[mysterious galaxy http://mysteriousgalaxy.booksense.com/nasapp/store/product?s=showproduct&isbn= clairemont mesa blvd., suite # san diego, ca usa + ]] the xnet wasn't much fun in the middle of the school-day, when all the people who used it were in school. i had the piece of paper folded in the back pocket of my jeans, and i threw it on the kitchen table when i got home. i sat down in the living room and switched on the tv. i never watched it, but i knew that my parents did. the tv and the radio and the newspapers were where they got all their ideas about the world. the news was terrible. there were so many reasons to be scared. american soldiers were dying all over the world. not just soldiers, either. national guardsmen, who thought they were signing up to help rescue people from hurricanes, stationed overseas for years and years of a long and endless war. i flipped around the -hour news networks, one after another, a parade of officials telling us why we should be scared. a parade of photos of bombs going off around the world. i kept flipping and found myself looking at a familiar face. it was the guy who had come into the truck and spoken to severe-haircut woman when i was chained up in the back. wearing a military uniform. the caption identified him as major general graeme sutherland, regional commander, dhs. "i hold in my hands actual literature on offer at the so-called concert in dolores park last weekend." he held up a stack of pamphlets. there'd been lots of pamphleteers there, i remembered. wherever you got a group of people in san francisco, you got pamphlets. "i want you to look at these for a moment. let me read you their titles. without the consent of the governed: a citizen's guide to overthrowing the state. here's one, did the september th bombings really happen? and another, how to use their security against them. this literature shows us the true purpose of the illegal gathering on saturday night. this wasn't merely an unsafe gathering of thousands of people without proper precaution, or even toilets. it was a recruiting rally for the enemy. it was an attempt to corrupt children into embracing the idea that america shouldn't protect herself. "take this slogan, don't trust anyone over . what better way to ensure that no considered, balanced, adult discussion is ever injected into your pro-terrorist message than to exclude adults, limiting your group to impressionable young people? "when police came on the scene, they found a recruitment rally for america's enemies in progress. the gathering had already disrupted the nights of hundreds of residents in the area, none of whom had been consulted in the planning of this all night rave party. "they ordered these people to disperse -- that much is visible on all the video -- and when the revelers turned to attack them, egged on by the musicians on stage, the police subdued them using non-lethal crowd control techniques. "the arrestees were ring-leaders and provocateurs who had led the thousands of impressionistic young people there to charge the police lines. of them were taken into custody. many of these people had prior offenses. more than of them had outstanding warrants. they are still in custody. "ladies and gentlemen, america is fighting a war on many fronts, but nowhere is she in more grave danger than she is here, at home. whether we are being attacked by terrorists or those who sympathize with them." a reporter held up a hand and said, "general sutherland, surely you're not saying that these children were terrorist sympathizers for attending a party in a park?" "of course not. but when young people are brought under the influence of our country's enemies, it's easy for them to end up over their heads. terrorists would love to recruit a fifth column to fight the war on the home front for them. if these were my children, i'd be gravely concerned." another reporter chimed in. "surely this is just an open air concert, general? they were hardly drilling with rifles." the general produced a stack of photos and began to hold them up. "these are pictures that officers took with infra-red cameras before moving in." he held them next to his face and paged through them one at a time. they showed people dancing really rough, some people getting crushed or stepped on. then they moved into sex stuff by the trees, a girl with three guys, two guys necking together. "there were children as young as ten years old at this event. a deadly cocktail of drugs, propaganda and music resulted in dozens of injuries. it's a wonder there weren't any deaths." i switched the tv off. they made it look like it had been a riot. if my parents thought i'd been there, they'd have strapped me to my bed for a month and only let me out afterward wearing a tracking collar. speaking of which, they were going to be *pissed* when they found out i'd been suspended. # they didn't take it well. dad wanted to ground me, but mom and i talked him out of it. "you know that vice-principal has had it in for marcus for years," mom said. "the last time we met him you cursed him for an hour afterward. i think the word 'asshole' was mentioned repeatedly." dad shook his head. "disrupting a class to argue against the department of homeland security --" "it's a social studies class, dad," i said. i was beyond caring anymore, but i felt like if mom was going to stick up for me, i should help her out. "we were talking about the dhs. isn't debate supposed to be healthy?" "look, son," he said. he'd taking to calling me "son" a lot. it made me feel like he'd stopped thinking of me as a person and switched to thinking of me as a kind of half-formed larva that needed to be guided out of adolescence. i hated it. "you're going to have to learn to live with the fact that we live in a different world today. you have every right to speak your mind of course, but you have to be prepared for the consequences of doing so. you have to face the fact that there are people who are hurting, who aren't going to want to argue the finer points of constitutional law when their lives are at stake. we're in a lifeboat now, and once you're in the lifeboat, no one wants to hear about how mean the captain is being." i barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. "i've been assigned two weeks of independent study, writing one paper for each of my subjects, using the city for my background -- a history paper, a social studies paper, an english paper, a physics paper. it beats sitting around at home watching television." dad looked hard at me, like he suspected i was up to something, then nodded. i said goodnight to them and went up to my room. i fired up my xbox and opened a word-processor and started to brainstorm ideas for my papers. why not? it really was better than sitting around at home. # i ended up iming with ange for quite a while that night. she was sympathetic about everything and told me she'd help me with my papers if i wanted to meet her after school the next night. i knew where her school was -- she went to the same school as van -- and it was all the way over in the east bay, where i hadn't visited since the bombs went. i was really excited at the prospect of seeing her again. every night since the party, i'd gone to bed thinking of two things: the sight of the crowd charging the police lines and the feeling of the side of her breast under her shirt as we leaned against the pillar. she was amazing. i'd never been with a girl as...aggressive as her before. it had always been me putting the moves on and them pushing me away. i got the feeling that ange was as much of a horn-dog as i was. it was a tantalizing notion. i slept soundly that night, with exciting dreams of me and ange and what we might do if we found ourselves in a secluded spot somewhere. the next day, i set out to work on my papers. san francisco is a good place to write about. history? sure, it's there, from the gold rush to the wwii shipyards, the japanese internment camps, the invention of the pc. physics? the exploratorium has the coolest exhibits of any museum i've ever been to. i took a perverse satisfaction in the exhibits on soil liquefaction during big quakes. english? jack london, beat poets, science fiction writers like pat murphy and rudy rucker. social studies? the free speech movement, cesar chavez, gay rights, feminism, anti-war movement... i've always loved just learning stuff for its own sake. just to be smarter about the world around me. i could do that just by walking around the city. i decided i'd do an english paper about the beats first. city lights books had a great library in an upstairs room where alan ginsberg and his buddies had created their radical druggy poetry. the one we'd read in english class was *howl* and i would never forget the opening lines, they gave me shivers down my back: i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night... i liked the way he ran those words all together, "starving hysterical naked." i knew how that felt. and "best minds of my generation" made me think hard too. it made me remember the park and the police and the gas falling. they busted ginsberg for obscenity over howl -- all about a line about gay sex that would hardly have caused us to blink an eye today. it made me happy somehow, knowing that we'd made some progress. that things had been even more restrictive than this before. i lost myself in the library, reading these beautiful old editions of the books. i got lost in jack kerouac's *on the road*, a novel i'd been meaning to read for a long time, and a clerk who came up to check on me nodded approvingly and found me a cheap edition that he sold me for six bucks. i walked into chinatown and had dim sum buns and noodles with hot-sauce that i had previously considered to be pretty hot, but which would never seem anything like hot ever again, not now that i'd had an ange special. as the day wore on toward the afternoon, i got on the bart and switched to a san mateo bridge shuttle bus to bring me around to the east bay. i read my copy of *on the road* and dug the scenery whizzing past. *on the road* is a semi-autobiographical novel about jack kerouac, a druggy, hard-drinking writer who goes hitchhiking around america, working crummy jobs, howling through the streets at night, meeting people and parting ways. hipsters, sad-faced hobos, con-men, muggers, scumbags and angels. there's not really a plot -- kerouac supposedly wrote it in three weeks on a long roll of paper, stoned out of his mind -- only a bunch of amazing things, one thing happening after another. he makes friends with self-destructing people like dean moriarty, who get him involved in weird schemes that never really work out, but still it works out, if you know what i mean. there was a rhythm to the words, it was luscious, i could hear it being read aloud in my head. it made me want to lie down in the bed of a pickup truck and wake up in a dusty little town somewhere in the central valley on the way to la, one of those places with a gas station and a diner, and just walk out into the fields and meet people and see stuff and do stuff. it was a long bus ride and i must have dozed off a little -- staying up late iming with ange was hard on my sleep-schedule, since mom still expected me down for breakfast. i woke up and changed buses and before long, i was at ange's school. she came bounding out of the gates in her uniform -- i'd never seen her in it before, it was kind of cute in a weird way, and reminded me of van in her uniform. she gave me a long hug and a hard kiss on the cheek. "hello you!" she said. "hiya!" "whatcha reading?" i'd been waiting for this. i'd marked the passage with a finger. "listen: 'they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and i shambled after as i've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "awww!"'" she took the book and read the passage again for herself. "wow, dingledodies! i love it! is it all like this?" i told her about the parts i'd read, walking slowly down the sidewalk back toward the bus-stop. once we turned the corner, she put her arm around my waist and i slung mine around her shoulder. walking down the street with a girl -- my girlfriend? sure, why not? -- talking about this cool book. it was heaven. made me forget my troubles for a little while. "marcus?" i turned around. it was van. in my subconscious i'd expected this. i knew because my conscious mind wasn't remotely surprised. it wasn't a big school, and they all got out at the same time. i hadn't spoken to van in weeks, and those weeks felt like months. we used to talk every day. "hey, van," i said. i suppressed the urge to take my arm off of ange's shoulders. van seemed surprised, but not angry, more ashen, shaken. she looked closely at the two of us. "angela?" "hey, vanessa," ange said. "what are you doing here?" "i came out to get ange," i said, trying to keep my tone neutral. i was suddenly embarrassed to be seen with another girl. "oh," van said. "well, it was nice to see you." "nice to see you too, vanessa," ange said, swinging me around, marching me back toward the bus-stop. "you know her?" ange said. "yeah, since forever." "was she your girlfriend?" "what? no! no way! we were just friends." "you *were* friends?" i felt like van was walking right behind us, listening in, though at the pace we were walking, she would have to be jogging to keep up. i resisted the temptation to look over my shoulder for as long as possible, then i did. there were lots of girls from the school behind us, but no van. "she was with me and jose-luis and darryl when we were arrested. we used to arg together. the four of us, we were kind of best friends." "and what happened?" i dropped my voice. "she didn't like the xnet," i said. "she thought we would get into trouble. that i'd get other people into trouble." "and that's why you stopped being friends?" "we just drifted apart." we walked a few steps. "you weren't, you know, boyfriend/girlfriend friends?" "no!" i said. my face was hot. i felt like i sounded like i was lying, even though i was telling the truth. ange jerked us to a halt and studied my face. "were you?" "no! seriously! just friends. darryl and her -- well, not quite, but darryl was so into her. there was no way --" "but if darryl hadn't been into her, you would have, huh?" "no, ange, no. please, just believe me and let it go. vanessa was a good friend and we're not anymore, and that upsets me, but i was never into her that way, all right? she slumped a little. "ok, ok. i'm sorry. i don't really get along with her is all. we've never gotten along in all the years we've known each other." oh ho, i thought. this would be how it came to be that jolu knew her for so long and i never met her; she had some kind of thing with van and he didn't want to bring her around. she gave me a long hug and we kissed, and a bunch of girls passed us going *woooo* and we straightened up and headed for the bus-stop. ahead of us walked van, who must have gone past while we were kissing. i felt like a complete jerk. of course, she was at the stop and on the bus and we didn't say a word to each other, and i tried to make conversation with ange all the way, but it was awkward. the plan was to stop for a coffee and head to ange's place to hang out and "study," i.e. take turns on her xbox looking at the xnet. ange's mom got home late on tuesdays, which was her night for yoga class and dinner with her girls, and ange's sister was going out with her boyfriend, so we'd have the place to ourselves. i'd been having pervy thoughts about it ever since we'd made the plan. we got to her place and went straight to her room and shut the door. her room was kind of a disaster, covered with layers of clothes and notebooks and parts of pcs that would dig into your stocking feet like caltrops. her desk was worse than the floor, piled high with books and comics, so we ended up sitting on her bed, which was ok by me. the awkwardness from seeing van had gone away somewhat and we got her xbox up and running. it was in the center of a nest of wires, some going to a wireless antenna she'd hacked into it and stuck to the window so she could tune in the neighbors' wifi. some went to a couple of old laptop screens she'd turned into standalone monitors, balanced on stands and bristling with exposed electronics. the screens were on both bedside tables, which was an excellent setup for watching movies or iming from bed -- she could turn the monitors sidewise and lie on her side and they'd be right-side-up, no matter which side she lay on. we both knew what we were really there for, sitting side by side propped against the bedside table. i was trembling a little and super-conscious of the warmth of her leg and shoulder against mine, but i needed to go through the motions of logging into xnet and seeing what email i'd gotten and so on. there was an email from a kid who liked to send in funny phone-cam videos of the dhs being really crazy -- the last one had been of them disassembling a baby's stroller after a bomb-sniffing dog had shown an interest in it, taking it apart with screwdrivers right on the street in the marina while all these rich people walked past, staring at them and marveling at how weird it was. i'd linked to the video and it had been downloaded like crazy. he'd hosted it on the internet archive's alexandria mirror in egypt, where they'd host anything for free so long as you'd put it under the creative commons license, which let anyone remix it and share it. the us archive -- which was down in the presidio, only a few minutes away -- had been forced to take down all those videos in the name of national security, but the alexandria archive had split away into its own organization and was hosting anything that embarrassed the usa. this kid -- his handle was kameraspie -- had sent me an even better video this time around. it was at the doorway to city hall in civic center, a huge wedding cake of a building covered with statues in little archways and gilt leaves and trim. the dhs had a secure perimeter around the building, and kameraspie's video showed a great shot of their checkpoint as a guy in an officer's uniform approached and showed his id and put his briefcase on the x-ray belt. it was all ok until one of the dhs people saw something he didn't like on the x-ray. he questioned the general, who rolled his eyes and said something inaudible (the video had been shot from across the street, apparently with a homemade concealed zoom lens, so the audio was mostly of people walking past and traffic noises). the general and the dhs guys got into an argument, and the longer they argued, the more dhs guys gathered around them. finally, the general shook his head angrily and waved his finger at the dhs guy's chest and picked up his briefcase and started to walk away. the dhs guys shouted at him, but he didn't slow. his body language really said, "i am totally, utterly pissed." then it happened. the dhs guys ran after the general. kameraspie slowed the video down here, so we could see, in frame-by-frame slo-mo, the general half-turning, his face all like, "no freaking way are you about to tackle me," then changing to horror as three of the giant dhs guards slammed into him, knocking him sideways, then catching him at the middle, like a career-ending football tackle. the general -- middle aged, steely grey hair, lined and dignified face -- went down like a sack of potatoes and bounced twice, his face slamming off the sidewalk and blood starting out of his nose. the dhs hog-tied the general, strapping him at ankles and wrists. the general was shouting now, really shouting, his face purpling under the blood streaming from his nose. legs swished by in the tight zoom. passing pedestrians looked at this guy in his uniform, getting tied up, and you could see from his face that this was the worst part, this was the ritual humiliation, the removal of dignity. the clip ended. "oh my dear sweet buddha," i said looking at the screen as it faded to black, starting the video again. i nudged ange and showed her the clip. she watched wordless, jaw hanging down to her chest. "post that," she said. "post that post that post that post that!" i posted it. i could barely type as i wrote it up, describing what i'd seen, adding a note to see if anyone could identify the military man in the video, if anyone knew anything about this. i hit publish. we watched the video. we watched it again. my email pinged. > i totally recognize that dude -- you can find his bio on wikipedia. he's general claude geist. he commanded the joint un peacekeeping mission in haiti. i checked the bio. there was a picture of the general at a press conference, and notes about his role in the difficult haiti mission. it was clearly the same guy. i updated the post. theoretically, this was ange's and my chance to make out, but that wasn't what we ended up doing. we crawled the xnet blogs, looking for more accounts of the dhs searching people, tackling people, invading them. this was a familiar task, the same thing i'd done with all the footage and accounts from the riots in the park. i started a new category on my blog for this, abusesofauthority, and filed them away. ange kept coming up with new search terms for me to try and by the time her mom got home, my new category had seventy posts, headlined by general geist's city hall takedown. # i worked on my beat paper all the next day at home, reading the kerouac and surfing the xnet. i was planning on meeting ange at school, but i totally wimped out at the thought of seeing van again, so i texted her an excuse about working on the paper. there were all kinds of great suggestions for abusesofauthority coming in; hundreds of little and big ones, pictures and audio. the meme was spreading. it spread. the next morning there were even more. someone started a new blog called abusesofauthority that collected hundreds more. the pile grew. we competed to find the juiciest stories, the craziest pictures. the deal with my parents was that i'd eat breakfast with them every morning and talk about the projects i was doing. they liked that i was reading kerouac. it had been a favorite book of both of theirs and it turned out there was already a copy on the bookcase in my parents' room. my dad brought it down and i flipped through it. there were passages marked up with pen, dog-eared pages, notes in the margin. my dad had really loved this book. it made me remember a better time, when my dad and i had been able to talk for five minutes without shouting at each other about terrorism, and we had a great breakfast talking about the way that the novel was plotted, all the crazy adventures. but the next morning at breakfast they were both glued to the radio. "abuses of authority -- it's the latest craze on san francisco's notorious xnet, and it's captured the world's attention. called a-oh-a, the movement is composed of 'little brothers' who watch back against the department of homeland security's anti-terrorism measures, documenting the failures and excesses. the rallying cry is a popular viral video clip of a general claude geist, a retired three-star general, being tackled by dhs officers on the sidewalk in front of city hall. geist hasn't made a statement on the incident, but commentary from young people who are upset with their own treatment has been fast and furious. "most notable has been the global attention the movement has received. stills from the geist video have appeared on the front pages of newspapers in korea, great britain, germany, egypt and japan, and broadcasters around the world have aired the clip on prime-time news. the issue came to a head last night, when the british broadcasting corporation's national news evening program ran a special report on the fact that no american broadcaster or news agency has covered this story. commenters on the bbc's website noted that bbc america's version of the news did not carry the report." they brought on a couple of interviews: british media watchdogs, a swedish pirate party kid who made jeering remarks about america's corrupt press, a retired american newscaster living in tokyo, then they aired a short clip from al-jazeera, comparing the american press record and the record of the national news-media in syria. i felt like my parents were staring at me, that they knew what i was doing. but when i cleared away my dishes, i saw that they were looking at each other. dad was holding his coffee cup so hard his hands were shaking. mom was looking at him. "they're trying to discredit us," dad said finally. "they're trying to sabotage the efforts to keep us safe." i opened my mouth, but my mom caught my eye and shook her head. instead i went up to my room and worked on my kerouac paper. once i'd heard the door slam twice, i fired up my xbox and got online. > hello m k y. this is colin brown. i'm a producer with the canadian broadcasting corporation's news programme the national. we're doing a story on xnet and have sent a reporter to san francisco to cover it from there. would you be interested in doing an interview to discuss your group and its actions? i stared at the screen. jesus. they wanted to *interview* me about "my group"? > um thanks no. i'm all about privacy. and it's not "my group." but thanks for doing the story! a minute later, another email. > we can mask you and ensure your anonymity. you know that the department of homeland security will be happy to provide their own spokesperson. i'm interested in getting your side. i filed the email. he was right, but i'd be crazy to do this. for all i knew, he *was* the dhs. i picked up more kerouac. another email came in. same request, different news-agency: kqed wanted to meet me and record a radio interview. a station in brazil. the australian broadcasting corporation. deutsche welle. all day, the press requests came in. all day, i politely turned them down. i didn't get much kerouac read that day. # "hold a press-conference," is what ange said, as we sat in the cafe near her place that evening. i wasn't keen on going out to her school anymore, getting stuck on a bus with van again. "what? are you crazy?" "do it in clockwork plunder. just pick a trading post where there's no pvp allowed and name a time. you can login from here." pvp is player-versus-player combat. parts of clockwork plunder were neutral ground, which meant that we could theoretically bring in a ton of noob reporters without worrying about gamers killing them in the middle of the press-conference. "i don't know anything about press conferences." "oh, just google it. i'm sure someone's written an article on holding a successful one. i mean, if the president can manage it, i'm sure you can. he looks like he can barely tie his shoes without help." we ordered more coffee. "you are a very smart woman," i said. "and i'm beautiful," she said. "that too," i said. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to chapters/indigo, the national canadian megachain. i was working at bakka, the independent science fiction bookstore, when chapters opened its first store in toronto and i knew that something big was going on right away, because two of our smartest, best-informed customers stopped in to tell me that they'd been hired to run the science fiction section. from the start, chapters raised the bar on what a big corporate bookstore could be, extending its hours, adding a friendly cafe and lots of seating, installing in-store self-service terminals and stocking the most amazing variety of titles.]] [[chapters/indigo: http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/little-brother-cory-doctorow/ -item.html]] i blogged the press-conference even before i'd sent out the invitations to the press. i could tell that all these writers wanted to make me into a leader or a general or a supreme guerrilla commandant, and i figured one way of solving that would be to have a bunch of xnetters running around answering questions too. then i emailed the press. the responses ranged from puzzled to enthusiastic -- only the fox reporter was "outraged" that i had the gall to ask her to play a game in order to appear on her tv show. the rest of them seemed to think that it would make a pretty cool story, though plenty of them wanted lots of tech support for signing onto the game i picked pm, after dinner. mom had been bugging me about all the evenings i'd been spending out of the house until i finally spilled the beans about ange, whereupon she came over all misty and kept looking at me like, my-little-boy's-growing-up. she wanted to meet ange, and i used that as leverage, promising to bring her over the next night if i could "go to the movies" with ange tonight. ange's mom and sister were out again -- they weren't real stay-at-homes -- which left me and ange alone in her room with her xbox and mine. i unplugged one of her bedside screens and attached my xbox to it so that we could both login at once. both xboxes were idle, logged into clockwork plunder. i was pacing. "it's going to be fine," she said. she glanced at her screen. "patcheye pete's market has players in it now!" we'd picked patcheye pete's because it was the market closest to the village square where new players spawned. if the reporters weren't already clockwork plunder players -- ha! -- then that's where they'd show up. in my blog post i'd asked people generally to hang out on the route between patcheye pete's and the spawn-gate and direct anyone who looked like a disoriented reporter over to pete's. "what the hell am i going to tell them?" "you just answer their questions -- and if you don't like a question, ignore it. someone else can answer it. it'll be fine." "this is insane." "this is perfect, marcus. if you want to really screw the dhs, you have to embarrass them. it's not like you're going to be able to out-shoot them. your only weapon is your ability to make them look like morons." i flopped on the bed and she pulled my head into her lap and stroked my hair. i'd been playing around with different haircuts before the bombing, dying it all kinds of funny colors, but since i'd gotten out of jail i couldn't be bothered. it had gotten long and stupid and shaggy and i'd gone into the bathroom and grabbed my clippers and buzzed it down to half an inch all around, which took zero effort to take care of and helped me to be invisible when i was out jamming and cloning arphids. i opened my eyes and stared into her big brown eyes behind her glasses. they were round and liquid and expressive. she could make them bug out when she wanted to make me laugh, or make them soft and sad, or lazy and sleepy in a way that made me melt into a puddle of horniness. that's what she was doing right now. i sat up slowly and hugged her. she hugged me back. we kissed. she was an amazing kisser. i know i've already said that, but it bears repeating. we kissed a lot, but for one reason or another we always stopped before it got too heavy. now i wanted to go farther. i found the hem of her t-shirt and tugged. she put her hands over her head and pulled back a few inches. i knew that she'd do that. i'd known since the night in the park. maybe that's why we hadn't gone farther -- i knew i couldn't rely on her to back off, which scared me a little. but i wasn't scared then. the impending press-conference, the fights with my parents, the international attention, the sense that there was a movement that was careening around the city like a wild pinball -- it made my skin tingle and my blood sing. and she was beautiful, and smart, and clever and funny, and i was falling in love with her. her shirt slid off, her arching her back to help me get it over her shoulders. she reached behind her and did something and her bra fell away. i stared goggle-eyed, motionless and breathless, and then she grabbed *my* shirt and pulled it over my head, grabbing me and pulling my bare chest to hers. we rolled on the bed and touched each other and ground our bodies together and groaned. she kissed all over my chest and i did the same to her. i couldn't breathe, i couldn't think, i could only move and kiss and lick and touch. we dared each other to go forward. i undid her jeans. she undid mine. i lowered her zipper, she did mine, and tugged my jeans off. i tugged off hers. a moment later we were both naked, except for my socks, which i peeled off with my toes. it was then that i caught sight of the bedside clock, which had long ago rolled onto the floor and lay there, glowing up at us. "crap!" i yelped. "it starts in two minutes!" i couldn't freaking believe that i was about to stop what i was about to stop doing, when i was about to stop doing it. i mean, if you'd asked me, "marcus, you are about to get laid for the firstest time evar, will you stop if i let off this nuclear bomb in the same room as you?" the answer would have been a resounding and unequivocal *no*. and yet we stopped for this. she grabbed me and pulled my face to hers and kissed me until i thought i would pass out, then we both grabbed our clothes and more or less dressed, grabbing our keyboards and mice and heading for patcheye pete's. # you could easily tell who the press were: they were the noobs who played their characters like staggering drunks, weaving back and forth and up and down, trying to get the hang of it all, occasionally hitting the wrong key and offering strangers all or part of their inventory, or giving them accidental hugs and kicks. the xnetters were easy to spot, too: we all played clockwork plunder whenever we had some spare time (or didn't feel like doing our homework), and we had pretty tricked-out characters with cool weapons and booby-traps on the keys sticking out of our backs that would cream anyone who tried to snatch them and leave us to wind down. when i appeared, a system status message displayed m k y has entered patcheye pete's -- welcome swabbie we offer fair trade for fine booty. all the players on the screen froze, then they crowded around me. the chat exploded. i thought about turning on my voice-paging and grabbing a headset, but seeing how many people were trying to talk at once, i realized how confusing that would be. text was much easier to follow and they couldn't misquote me (heh heh). i'd scouted the location before with ange -- it was great campaigning with her, since we could both keep each other wound up. there was a high-spot on a pile of boxes of salt-rations that i could stand on and be seen from anywhere in the market. > good evening and thank you all for coming. my name is m k y and i'm not the leader of anything. all around you are xnetters who have as much to say about why we're here as i do. i use the xnet because i believe in freedom and the constitution of the united states of america. i use xnet because the dhs has turned my city into a police-state where we're all suspected terrorists. i use xnet because i think you can't defend freedom by tearing up the bill of rights. i learned about the constitution in a california school and i was raised to love my country for its freedom. if i have a philosophy, it is this: > governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. > i didn't write that, but i believe it. the dhs does not govern with my consent. > thank you i'd written this the day before, bouncing drafts back and forth with ange. pasting it in only took a second, though it took everyone in the game a moment to read it. a lot of the xnetters cheered, big showy pirate "hurrah"s with raised sabers and pet parrots squawking and flying overhead. gradually, the journalists digested it too. the chat was running past fast, so fast you could barely read it, lots of xnetters saying things like "right on" and "america, love it or leave it" and "dhs go home" and "america out of san francisco," all slogans that had been big on the xnet blogosphere. > m k y, this is priya rajneesh from the bbc. you say you're not the leader of any movement, but do you believe there is a movement? is it called the xnet? lots of answers. some people said there wasn't a movement, some said there was and lots of people had ideas about what it was called: xnet, little brothers, little sisters, and my personal favorite, the united states of america. they were really cooking. i let them go, thinking of what i could say. once i had it, i typed, > i think that kind of answers your question, doesn't it? there may be one or more movements and they may be called xnet or not. > m k y, i'm doug christensen from the washington internet daily. what do you think the dhs should be doing to prevent another attack on san francisco, if what they're doing isn't successful. more chatter. lots of people said that the terrorists and the government were the same -- either literally, or just meaning that they were equally bad. some said the government knew how to catch terrorists but preferred not to because "war presidents" got re-elected. > i don't know i typed finally. > i really don't. i ask myself this question a lot because i don't want to get blown up and i don't want my city to get blown up. here's what i've figured out, though: if it's the dhs's job to keep us safe, they're failing. all the crap they've done, none of it would stop the bridge from being blown up again. tracing us around the city? taking away our freedom? making us suspicious of each other, turning us against each other? calling dissenters traitors? the point of terrorism is to terrify us. the dhs terrifies me. > i don't have any say in what the terrorists do to me, but if this is a free country then i should be able to at least say what my own cops do to me. i should be able to keep them from terrorizing me. > i know that's not a good answer. sorry. > what do you mean when you say that the dhs wouldn't stop terrorists? how do you know? > who are you? > i'm with the sydney morning herald. > i'm years old. i'm not a straight-a student or anything. even so, i figured out how to make an internet that they can't wiretap. i figured out how to jam their person-tracking technology. i can turn innocent people into suspects and turn guilty people into innocents in their eyes. i could get metal onto an airplane or beat a no-fly list. i figured this stuff out by looking at the web and by thinking about it. if i can do it, terrorists can do it. they told us they took away our freedom to make us safe. do you feel safe? > in australia? why yes i do the pirates all laughed. more journalists asked questions. some were sympathetic, some were hostile. when i got tired, i handed my keyboard to ange and let her be m k y for a while. it didn't really feel like m k y and me were the same person anymore anyway. m k y was the kind of kid who talked to international journalists and inspired a movement. marcus got suspended from school and fought with his dad and wondered if he was good enough for his kick-ass girlfriend. by pm i'd had enough. besides, my parents would be expecting me home soon. i logged out of the game and so did ange and we lay there for a moment. i took her hand and she squeezed hard. we hugged. she kissed my neck and murmured something. "what?" "i said i love you," she said. "what, you want me to send you a telegram?" "wow," i said. "you're that surprised, huh?" "no. um. it's just -- i was going to say that to you." "sure you were," she said, and bit the tip of my nose. "it's just that i've never said it before," i said. "so i was working up to it." "you still haven't said it, you know. don't think i haven't noticed. we girls pick upon these things." "i love you, ange carvelli," i said. "i love you too, marcus yallow." we kissed and nuzzled and i started to breathe hard and so did she. that's when her mom knocked on the door. "angela," she said, "i think it's time your friend went home, don't you?" "yes, mother," she said, and mimed swinging an axe. as i put my socks and shoes on, she muttered, "they'll say, that angela, she was such a good girl, who would have thought it, all the time she was in the back yard, helping her mother out by sharpening that hatchet." i laughed. "you don't know how easy you have it. there is *no way* my folks would leave us alone in my bedroom until o'clock." " : ," she said, checking her clock. "crap!" i yelped and tied my shoes. "go," she said, "run and be free! look both ways before crossing the road! write if you get work! don't even stop for a hug! if you're not out of here by the count of ten, there's going to be *trouble*, mister. one. two. three." i shut her up by leaping onto the bed, landing on her and kissing her until she stopped trying to count. satisfied with my victory, i pounded down the stairs, my xbox under my arm. her mom was at the foot of the stairs. we'd only met a couple times. she looked like an older, taller version of ange -- ange said her father was the short one -- with contacts instead of glasses. she seemed to have tentatively classed me as a good guy, and i appreciated it. "good night, mrs carvelli," i said. "good night, mr yallow," she said. it was one of our little rituals, ever since i'd called her mrs carvelli when we first met. i found myself standing awkwardly by the door. "yes?" she said. "um," i said. "thanks for having me over." "you're always welcome in our home, young man," she said. "and thanks for ange," i said finally, hating how lame it sounded. but she smiled broadly and gave me a brief hug. "you're very welcome," she said. the whole bus ride home, i thought over the press-conference, thought about ange naked and writhing with me on her bed, thought about her mother smiling and showing me the door. my mom was waiting up for me. she asked me about the movie and i gave her the response i'd worked out in advance, cribbing from the review it had gotten in the *bay guardian*. as i fell asleep, the press-conference came back. i was really proud of it. it had been so cool, to have all these big-shot journos show up in the game, to have them listen to me and to have them listen to all the people who believed in the same things as me. i dropped off with a smile on my lips. # i should have known better. xnet leader: i could get metal onto an airplane dhs doesn't have my consent to govern xnet kids: usa out of san francisco those were the *good* headlines. everyone sent me the articles to blog, but it was the last thing i wanted to do. i'd blown it, somehow. the press had come to my press-conference and concluded that we were terrorists or terrorist dupes. the worst was the reporter on fox news, who had apparently shown up anyway, and who devoted a ten-minute commentary to us, talking about our "criminal treason." her killer line, repeated on every news-outlet i found, was: "they say they don't have a name. i've got one for them. let's call these spoiled children cal-quaeda. they do the terrorists' work on the home front. when -- not if, but when -- california gets attacked again, these brats will be as much to blame as the house of saud." leaders of the anti-war movement denounced us as fringe elements. one guy went on tv to say that he believed we had been fabricated by the dhs to discredit them. the dhs had their own press-conference announcing that they would double the security in san francisco. they held up an arphid cloner they'd found somewhere and demonstrated it in action, using it to stage a car-theft, and warned everyone to be on their alert for young people behaving suspiciously, especially those whose hands were out of sight. they weren't kidding. i finished my kerouac paper and started in on a paper about the summer of love, the summer of when the anti-war movement and the hippies converged on san francisco. the guys who founded ben and jerry's -- old hippies themselves -- had founded a hippie museum in the haight, and there were other archives and exhibits to see around town. but it wasn't easy getting around. by the end of the week, i was getting frisked an average of four times a day. cops checked my id and questioned me about why i was out in the street, carefully eyeballing the letter from chavez saying that i was suspended. i got lucky. no one arrested me. but the rest of the xnet weren't so lucky. every night the dhs announced more arrests, "ringleaders" and "operatives" of xnet, people i didn't know and had never heard of, paraded on tv along with the arphid sniffers and other devices that had been in their pockets. they announced that the people were "naming names," compromising the "xnet network" and that more arrests were expected soon. the name "m k y" was often heard. dad loved this. he and i watched the news together, him gloating, me shrinking away, quietly freaking out. "you should see the stuff they're going to use on these kids," dad said. "i've seen it in action. they'll get a couple of these kids and check out their friends lists on im and the speed-dials on their phones, look for names that come up over and over, look for patterns, bringing in more kids. they're going to unravel them like an old sweater." i canceled ange's dinner at our place and started spending even more time there. ange's little sister tina started to call me "the house-guest," as in "is the house-guest eating dinner with me tonight?" i liked tina. all she cared about was going out and partying and meeting guys, but she was funny and utterly devoted to ange. one night as we were doing the dishes, she dried her hands and said, conversationally, "you know, you seem like a nice guy, marcus. my sister's just crazy about you and i like you too. but i have to tell you something: if you break her heart, i will track you down and pull your scrotum over your head. it's not a pretty sight." i assured her that i would sooner pull my own scrotum over my head than break ange's heart and she nodded. "so long as we're clear on that." "your sister is a nut," i said as we lay on ange's bed again, looking at xnet blogs. that is pretty much all we did: fool around and read xnet. "did she use the scrotum line on you? i hate it when she does that. she just loves the word 'scrotum,' you know. it's nothing personal." i kissed her. we read some more. "listen to this," she said. "police project four to six *hundred* arrests this weekend in what they say will be the largest coordinated raid on xnet dissidents to date." i felt like throwing up. "we've got to stop this," i said. "you know there are people who are doing *more* jamming to show that they're not intimidated? isn't that just *crazy?*" "i think it's brave," she said. "we can't let them scare us into submission." "what? no, ange, no. we can't let hundreds of people go to *jail*. you haven't been there. i have. it's worse than you think. it's worse than you can imagine." "i have a pretty fertile imagination," she said. "stop it, ok? be serious for a second. i won't do this. i won't send those people to jail. if i do, i'm the guy that van thinks i am." "marcus, i'm being serious. you think that these people don't know they could go to jail? they believe in the cause. you believe in it too. give them the credit to know what they're getting into. it's not up to you to decide what risks they can or can't take." "it's my responsibility because if i tell them to stop, they'll stop." "i thought you weren't the leader?" "i'm not, of course i'm not. but i can't help it if they look to me for guidance. and so long as they do, i have a responsibility to help them stay safe. you see that, right?" "all i see is you getting ready to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. i think you're afraid they're going to figure out who *you* are. i think you're afraid for *you*." "that's not fair," i said, sitting up, pulling away from her. "really? who's the guy who nearly had a heart attack when he thought that his secret identity was out?" "that was different," i said. "this isn't about me. you know it isn't. why are you being like this?" "why are *you* like this?" she said. "why aren't *you* willing to be the guy who was brave enough to get all this started?" "this isn't brave, it's suicide." "cheap teenage melodrama, m k y." "don't call me that!" "what, 'm k y'? why not, *m k y*?" i put my shoes on. i picked up my bag. i walked home. # > why i'm not jamming > i won't tell anyone else what to do, because i'm not anyone's leader, no matter what fox news thinks. > but i am going to tell you what *i* plan on doing. if you think that's the right thing to do, maybe you'll do it too. > i'm not jamming. not this week. maybe not next. it's not because i'm scared. it's because i'm smart enough to know that i'm better free than in prison. they figured out how to stop our tactic, so we need to come up with a new tactic. i don't care what the tactic is, but i want it to work. it's *stupid* to get arrested. it's only jamming if you get away with it. > there's another reason not to jam. if you get caught, they might use you to catch your friends, and their friends, and their friends. they might bust your friends even if they're not on xnet, because the dhs is like a maddened bull and they don't exactly worry if they've got the right guy. > i'm not telling you what to do. > but the dhs is dumb and we're smart. jamming proves that they can't fight terrorism because it proves that they can't even stop a bunch of kids. if you get caught, it makes them look like they're smarter than us. > they aren't smarter than us! we are smarter than them. let's be smart. let's figure out how to jam them, no matter how many goons they put on the streets of our city. i posted it. i went to bed. i missed ange. # ange and i didn't speak for the next four days, including the weekend, and then it was time to go back to school. i'd almost called her a million times, written a thousand unsent emails and ims. now i was back in social studies class, and mrs andersen greeted me with voluble, sarcastic courtesy, asking me sweetly how my "holiday" had been. i sat down and mumbled nothing. i could hear charles snicker. she taught us a class on manifest destiny, the idea that the americans were destined to take over the whole world (or at least that's how she made it seem) and seemed to be trying to provoke me into saying something so she could throw me out. i felt the eyes of the class on me, and it reminded me of m k y and the people who looked up to him. i was sick of being looked up to. i missed ange. i got through the rest of the day without anything making any kind of mark on me. i don't think i said eight words. finally it was over and i hit the doors, heading for the gates and the stupid mission and my pointless house. i was barely out the gate when someone crashed into me. he was a young homeless guy, maybe my age, maybe a little older. he wore a long, greasy overcoat, a pair of baggy jeans, and rotting sneakers that looked like they'd been through a wood-chipper. his long hair hung over his face, and he had a pubic beard that straggled down his throat into the collar of a no-color knit sweater. i took this all in as we lay next to each other on the sidewalk, people passing us and giving us weird looks. it seemed that he'd crashed into me while hurrying down valencia, bent over with the burden of a split backpack that lay beside him on the pavement, covered in tight geometric doodles in magic-marker. he got to his knees and rocked back and forth, like he was drunk or had hit his head. "sorry buddy," he said. "didn't see you. you hurt?" i sat up too. nothing felt hurt. "um. no, it's ok." he stood up and smiled. his teeth were shockingly white and straight, like an ad for an orthodontic clinic. he held his hand out to me and his grip was strong and firm. "i'm really sorry." his voice was also clear and intelligent. i'd expected him to sound like the drunks who talked to themselves as they roamed the mission late at night, but he sounded like a knowledgeable bookstore clerk. "it's no problem," i said. he stuck out his hand again. "zeb," he said. "marcus," i said. "a pleasure, marcus," he said. "hope to run into you again sometime!" laughing, he picked up his backpack, turned on his heel and hurried away. # i walked the rest of the way home in a bemused fug. mom was at the kitchen table and we had a little chat about nothing at all, the way we used to do, before everything changed. i took the stairs up to my room and flopped down in my chair. for once, i didn't want to login to the xnet. i'd checked in that morning before school to discover that my note had created a gigantic controversy among people who agreed with me and people who were righteously pissed that i was telling them to back off from their beloved sport. i had three thousand projects i'd been in the middle of when it had all started. i was building a pinhole camera out of legos, i'd been playing with aerial kite photography using an old digital camera with a trigger hacked out of silly putty that was stretched out at launch and slowly snapped back to its original shape, triggering the shutter at regular intervals. i had a vacuum tube amp i'd been building into an ancient, rusted, dented olive-oil tin that looked like an archaeological find -- once it was done, i'd planned to build in a dock for my phone and a set of . surround-sound speakers out of tuna-fish cans. i looked over my workbench and finally picked up the pinhole camera. methodically snapping legos together was just about my speed. i took off my watch and the chunky silver two-finger ring that showed a monkey and a ninja squaring off to fight and dropped them into the little box i used for all the crap i load into my pockets and around my neck before stepping out for the day: phone, wallet, keys, wifinder, change, batteries, retractable cables... i dumped it all out into the box, and found myself holding something i didn't remember putting in there in the first place. it was a piece of paper, grey and soft as flannel, furry at the edges where it had been torn away from some larger piece of paper. it was covered in the tiniest, most careful handwriting i'd ever seen. i unfolded it and held it up. the writing covered both sides, running down from the top left corner of one side to a crabbed signature at the bottom right corner of the other side. the signature read, simply: zeb. i picked it up and started to read. > dear marcus > you don't know me but i know you. for the past three months, since the bay bridge was blown up, i have been imprisoned on treasure island. i was in the yard on the day you talked to that asian girl and got tackled. you were brave. good on you. > i had a burst appendix the day afterward and ended up in the infirmary. in the next bed was a guy named darryl. we were both in recovery for a long time and by the time we got well, we were too much of an embarrassment to them to let go. > so they decided we must really be guilty. they questioned us every day. you've been through their questioning, i know. imagine it for months. darryl and i ended up cell-mates. we knew we were bugged, so we only talked about inconsequentialities. but at night, when we were in our cots, we would softly tap out messages to each other in morse code (i knew my ham radio days would come in useful sometime). > at first, their questions to us were just the same crap as ever, who did it, how'd they do it. but after a little while, they switched to asking us about the xnet. of course, we'd never heard of it. that didn't stop them asking. > darryl told me that they brought him arphid cloners, xboxes, all kinds of technology and demanded that he tell them who used them, where they learned to mod them. darryl told me about your games and the things you learned. > especially: the dhs asked us about our friends. who did we know? what were they like? did they have political feelings? had they been in trouble at school? with the law? > we call the prison gitmo-by-the-bay. it's been a week since i got out and i don't think that anyone knows that their sons and daughters are imprisoned in the middle of the bay. at night we could hear people laughing and partying on the mainland. > i got out last week. i won't tell you how, in case this falls into the wrong hands. maybe others will take my route. > darryl told me how to find you and made me promise to tell you what i knew when i got back. now that i've done that i'm out of here like last year. one way or another, i'm leaving this country. screw america. > stay strong. they're scared of you. kick them for me. don't get caught. > zeb there were tears in my eyes as i finished the note. i had a disposable lighter somewhere on my desk that i sometimes used to melt the insulation off of wires, and i dug it out and held it to the note. i knew i owed it to zeb to destroy it and make sure no one else ever saw it, in case it might lead them back to him, wherever he was going. i held the flame and the note, but i couldn't do it. darryl. with all the crap with the xnet and ange and the dhs, i'd almost forgotten he existed. he'd become a ghost, like an old friend who'd moved away or gone on an exchange program. all that time, they'd been questioning him, demanding that he rat me out, explain the xnet, the jammers. he'd been on treasure island, the abandoned military base that was halfway along the demolished span of the bay bridge. he'd been so close i could have swam to him. i put the lighter down and re-read the note. by the time it was done, i was weeping, sobbing. it all came back to me, the lady with the severe haircut and the questions she'd asked and the reek of piss and the stiffness of my pants as the urine dried them into coarse canvas. "marcus?" my door was ajar and my mother was standing in it, watching me with a worried look. how long had she been there? i armed the tears away from my face and snorted up the snot. "mom," i said. "hi." she came into my room and hugged me. "what is it? do you need to talk?" the note lay on the table. "is that from your girlfriend? is everything all right?" she'd given me an out. i could just blame it all on problems with ange and she'd leave my room and leave me alone. i opened my mouth to do just that, and then this came out: "i was in jail. after the bridge blew. i was in jail for that whole time." the sobs that came then didn't sound like my voice. they sounded like an animal noise, maybe a donkey or some kind of big cat noise in the night. i sobbed so my throat burned and ached with it, so my chest heaved. mom took me in her arms, the way she used to when i was a little boy, and she stroked my hair, and she murmured in my ear, and rocked me, and gradually, slowly, the sobs dissipated. i took a deep breath and mom got me a glass of water. i sat on the edge of my bed and she sat in my desk chair and i told her everything. everything. well, most of it. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to san francisco's booksmith, ensconced in the storied haight-ashbury neighborhood, just a few doors down from the ben and jerry's at the exact corner of haight and ashbury. the booksmith folks really know how to run an author event -- when i lived in san francisco, i used to go down all the time to hear incredible writers speak (william gibson was unforgettable). they also produce little baseball-card-style trading cards for each author -- i have two from my own appearances there.]] [[booksmith http://thebooksmith.booksense.com haight st. san francisco ca usa + ]] at first mom looked shocked, then outraged, and finally she gave up altogether and just let her jaw hang open as i took her through the interrogation, pissing myself, the bag over my head, darryl. i showed her the note. "why --?" in that single syllable, every recrimination i'd dealt myself in the night, every moment that i'd lacked the bravery to tell the world what it was really about, why i was really fighting, what had really inspired the xnet. i sucked in a breath. "they told me i'd go to jail if i talked about it. not just for a few days. forever. i was -- i was scared." mom sat with me for a long time, not saying anything. then, "what about darryl's father?" she might as well have stuck a knitting needle in my chest. darryl's father. he must have assumed that darryl was dead, long dead. and wasn't he? after the dhs has held you illegally for three months, would they ever let you go? but zeb got out. maybe darryl would get out. maybe me and the xnet could help get darryl out. "i haven't told him," i said. now mom was crying. she didn't cry easily. it was a british thing. it made her little hiccoughing sobs much worse to hear. "you will tell him," she managed. "you will." "i will." "but first we have to tell your father." # dad no longer had any regular time when he came home. between his consulting clients -- who had lots of work now that the dhs was shopping for data-mining startups on the peninsula -- and the long commute to berkeley, he might get home any time between pm and midnight. tonight mom called him and told him he was coming home *right now*. he said something and she just repeated it: *right now*. when he got there, we had arranged ourselves in the living room with the note between us on the coffee table. it was easier to tell, the second time. the secret was getting lighter. i didn't embellish, i didn't hide anything. i came clean. i'd heard of coming clean before but i'd never understood what it meant until i did it. holding in the secret had dirtied me, soiled my spirit. it had made me afraid and ashamed. it had made me into all the things that ange said i was. dad sat stiff as a ramrod the whole time, his face carved of stone. when i handed him the note, he read it twice and then set it down carefully. he shook his head and stood up and headed for the front door. "where are you going?" mom asked, alarmed. "i need a walk," was all he managed to gasp, his voice breaking. we stared awkwardly at each other, mom and me, and waited for him to come home. i tried to imagine what was going on in his head. he'd been such a different man after the bombings and i knew from mom that what had changed him were the days of thinking i was dead. he'd come to believe that the terrorists had nearly killed his son and it had made him crazy. crazy enough to do whatever the dhs asked, to line up like a good little sheep and let them control him, drive him. now he knew that it was the dhs that had imprisoned me, the dhs that had taken san francisco's children hostage in gitmo-by-the-bay. it made perfect sense, now that i thought of it. of course it had been treasure island where i'd been kept. where else was a ten-minute boat-ride from san francisco? when dad came back, he looked angrier than he ever had in his life. "you should have told me!" he roared. mom interposed herself between him and me. "you're blaming the wrong person," she said. "it wasn't marcus who did the kidnapping and the intimidation." he shook his head and stamped. "i'm not blaming marcus. i know *exactly* who's to blame. me. me and the stupid dhs. get your shoes on, grab your coats." "where are we going?" "to see darryl's father. then we're going to barbara stratford's place." # i knew the name barbara stratford from somewhere, but i couldn't remember where. i thought that maybe she was an old friend of my parents, but i couldn't exactly place her. meantime, i was headed for darryl's father's place. i'd never really felt comfortable around the old man, who'd been a navy radio operator and ran his household like a tight ship. he'd taught darryl morse code when he was a kid, which i'd always thought was cool. it was one of the ways i knew that i could trust zeb's letter. but for every cool thing like morse code, darryl's father had some crazy military discipline that seemed to be for its own sake, like insisting on hospital corners on the beds and shaving twice a day. it drove darryl up the wall. darryl's mother hadn't liked it much either, and had taken off back to her family in minnesota when darryl was ten -- darryl spent his summers and christmases there. i was sitting in the back of the car, and i could see the back of dad's head as he drove. the muscles in his neck were tense and kept jumping around as he ground his jaws. mom kept her hand on his arm, but no one was around to comfort me. if only i could call ange. or jolu. or van. maybe i would when the day was done. "he must have buried his son in his mind," dad said, as we whipped up through the hairpin curves leading up twin peaks to the little cottage that darryl and his father shared. the fog was on twin peaks, the way it often was at night in san francisco, making the headlamps reflect back on us. each time we swung around a corner, i saw the valleys of the city laid out below us, bowls of twinkling lights that shifted in the mist. "is this the one?" "yes," i said. "this is it." i hadn't been to darryl's in months, but i'd spent enough time here over the years to recognize it right off. the three of us stood around the car for a long moment, waiting to see who would go and ring the doorbell. to my surprise, it was me. i rang it and we all waited in held-breath silence for a minute. i rang it again. darryl's father's car was in the driveway, and we'd seen a light burning in the living room. i was about to ring a third time when the door opened. "marcus?" darryl's father wasn't anything like i remembered him. unshaven, in a housecoat and bare feet, with long toenails and red eyes. he'd gained weight, and a soft extra chin wobbled beneath the firm military jaw. his thin hair was wispy and disordered. "mr glover," i said. my parents crowded into the door behind me. "hello, ron," my mother said. "ron," my father said. "you too? what's going on?" "can we come in?" # his living room looked like one of those news-segments they show about abandoned kids who spend a month locked in before they're rescued by the neighbors: frozen meal boxes, empty beer cans and juice bottles, moldy cereal bowls and piles of newspapers. there was a reek of cat piss and litter crunched underneath our feet. even without the cat piss, the smell was incredible, like a bus-station toilet. the couch was made up with a grimy sheet and a couple of greasy pillows and the cushions had a dented, much-slept-upon look. we all stood there for a long silent moment, embarrassment overwhelming every other emotion. darryl's father looked like he wanted to die. slowly, he moved aside the sheets from the sofa and cleared the stacked, greasy food-trays off of a couple of the chairs, carrying them into the kitchen, and, from the sound of it, tossing them on the floor. we sat gingerly in the places he'd cleared, and then he came back and sat down too. "i'm sorry," he said vaguely. "i don't really have any coffee to offer you. i'm having more groceries delivered tomorrow so i'm running low --" "ron," my father said. "listen to us. we have something to tell you, and it's not going to be easy to hear." he sat like a statue as i talked. he glanced down at the note, read it without seeming to understand it, then read it again. he handed it back to me. he was trembling. "he's --" "darryl is alive," i said. "darryl is alive and being held prisoner on treasure island." he stuffed his fist in his mouth and made a horrible groaning sound. "we have a friend," my father said. "she writes for the *bay guardian*. an investigative reporter." that's where i knew the name from. the free weekly *guardian* often lost its reporters to bigger daily papers and the internet, but barbara stratford had been there forever. i had a dim memory of having dinner with her when i was a kid. "we're going there now," my mother said. "will you come with us, ron? will you tell her darryl's story?" he put his face in his hands and breathed deeply. dad tried to put his hand on his shoulders, but mr glover shook it off violently. "i need to clean myself up," he said. "give me a minute." mr glover came back downstairs a changed man. he'd shaved and gelled his hair back, and had put on a crisp military dress uniform with a row of campaign ribbons on the breast. he stopped at the foot of the stairs and kind of gestured at it. "i don't have much clean stuff that's presentable at the moment. and this seemed appropriate. you know, if she wanted to take pictures." he and dad rode up front and i got in the back, behind him. up close, he smelled a little of beer, like it was coming through his pores. # it was midnight by the time we rolled into barbara stratford's driveway. she lived out of town, down in mountain view, and as we sped down the , none of us said a word. the high-tech buildings alongside the highway streamed past us. this was a different bay area to the one i lived in, more like the suburban america i sometimes saw on tv. lots of freeways and subdivisions of identical houses, towns where there weren't any homeless people pushing shopping carts down the sidewalk -- there weren't even sidewalks! mom had phoned barbara stratford while we were waiting for mr glover to come downstairs. the journalist had been sleeping, but mom had been so wound up she forgot to be all british and embarrassed about waking her up. instead, she just told her, tensely, that she had something to talk about and that it had to be in person. when we rolled up to barbara stratford's house, my first thought was of the brady bunch place -- a low ranch house with a brick baffle in front of it and a neat, perfectly square lawn. there was a kind of abstract tile pattern on the baffle, and an old-fashioned uhf tv antenna rising from behind it. we wandered around to the entrance and saw that there were lights on inside already. the writer opened the door before we had a chance to ring the bell. she was about my parents' age, a tall thin woman with a hawk-like nose and shrewd eyes with a lot of laugh-lines. she was wearing a pair of jeans that were hip enough to be seen at one of the boutiques on valencia street, and a loose indian cotton blouse that hung down to her thighs. she had small round glasses that flashed in her hallway light. she smiled a tight little smile at us. "you brought the whole clan, i see," she said. mom nodded. "you'll understand why in a minute," she said. mr glover stepped from behind dad. "and you called in the navy?" "all in good time." we were introduced one at a time to her. she had a firm handshake and long fingers. her place was furnished in japanese minimalist style, just a few precisely proportioned, low pieces of furniture, large clay pots of bamboo that brushed the ceiling, and what looked like a large, rusted piece of a diesel engine perched on top of a polished marble plinth. i decided i liked it. the floors were old wood, sanded and stained, but not filled, so you could see cracks and pits underneath the varnish. i *really* liked that, especially as i walked over it in my stocking feet. "i have coffee on," she said. "who wants some?" we all put up our hands. i glared defiantly at my parents. "right," she said. she disappeared into another room and came back a moment later bearing a rough bamboo tray with a half-gallon thermos jug and six cups of precise design but with rough, sloppy decorations. i liked those too. "now," she said, once she'd poured and served. "it's very good to see you all again. marcus, i think the last time i saw you, you were maybe seven years old. as i recall, you were very excited about your new video games, which you showed me." i didn't remember it at all, but that sounded like what i'd been into at seven. i guessed it was my sega dreamcast. she produced a tape-recorder and a yellow pad and a pen, and twirled the pen. "i'm here to listen to whatever you tell me, and i can promise you that i'll take it all in confidence. but i can't promise that i'll do anything with it, or that it's going to get published." the way she said it made me realize that my mom had called in a pretty big favor getting this lady out of bed, friend or no friend. it must be kind of a pain in the ass to be a big-shot investigative reporter. there were probably a million people who would have liked her to take up their cause. mom nodded at me. even though i'd told the story three times that night, i found myself tongue-tied. this was different from telling my parents. different from telling darryl's father. this -- this would start a new move in the game. i started slowly, and watched barbara take notes. i drank a whole cup of coffee just explaining what arging was and how i got out of school to play. mom and dad and mr glover all listened intently to this part. i poured myself another cup and drank it on the way to explaining how we were taken in. by the time i'd run through the whole story, i'd drained the pot and i needed a piss like a race-horse. her bathroom was just as stark as the living-room, with a brown, organic soap that smelled like clean mud. i came back in and found the adults quietly watching me. mr glover told his story next. he didn't have anything to say about what had happened, but he explained that he was a veteran and that his son was a good kid. he talked about what it felt like to believe that his son had died, about how his ex-wife had had a collapse when she found out and ended up in a hospital. he cried a little, unashamed, the tears streaming down his lined face and darkening the collar of his dress-uniform. when it was all done, barbara went into a different room and came back with a bottle of irish whiskey. "it's a bushmills year old rum-cask aged blend," she said, setting down four small cups. none for me. "it hasn't been sold in ten years. i think this is probably an appropriate time to break it out." she poured them each a small glass of the liquor, then raised hers and sipped at it, draining half the glass. the rest of the adults followed suit. they drank again, and finished the glasses. she poured them new shots. "all right," she said. "here's what i can tell you right now. i believe you. not just because i know you, lillian. the story sounds right, and it ties in with other rumors i've heard. but i'm not going to be able to just take your word for it. i'm going to have to investigate every aspect of this, and every element of your lives and stories. i need to know if there's anything you're not telling me, anything that could be used to discredit you after this comes to light. i need everything. it could take weeks before i'm ready to publish. "you also need to think about your safety and this darryl's safety. if he's really an 'un-person' then bringing pressure to bear on the dhs could cause them to move him somewhere much further away. think syria. they could also do something much worse." she let that hang in the air. i knew she meant that they might kill him. "i'm going to take this letter and scan it now. i want pictures of the two of you, now and later -- we can send out a photographer, but i want to document this as thoroughly as i can tonight, too." i went with her into her office to do the scan. i'd expected a stylish, low-powered computer that fit in with her decor, but instead, her spare-bedroom/office was crammed with top-of-the-line pcs, big flat-panel monitors, and a scanner big enough to lay a whole sheet of newsprint on. she was fast with it all, too. i noted with some approval that she was running paranoidlinux. this lady took her job seriously. the computers' fans set up an effective white-noise shield, but even so, i closed the door and moved in close to her. "um, barbara?" "yes?" "about what you said, about what might be used to discredit me?" "yes?" "what i tell you, you can't be forced to tell anyone else, right?" "in theory. let me put it this way. i've gone to jail twice rather than rat out a source." "ok, ok. good. wow. jail. wow. ok." i took a deep breath. "you've heard of xnet? of m k y?" "yes?" "i'm m k y." "oh," she said. she worked the scanner and flipped the note over to get the reverse. she was scanning at some unbelievable resolution, , dots per inch or higher, and on-screen it was like the output of an electron-tunneling microscope. "well, that does put a different complexion on this." "yeah," i said. "i guess it does." "your parents don't know." "nope. and i don't know if i want them to." "that's something you're going to have to work out. i need to think about this. can you come by my office? i'd like to talk to you about what this means, exactly." "do you have an xbox universal? i could bring over an installer." "yes, i'm sure that can be arranged. when you come by, tell the receptionist that you're mr brown, to see me. they know what that means. no note will be taken of you coming, and all the security camera footage for the day will be automatically scrubbed and the cameras deactivated until you leave." "wow," i said. "you think like i do." she smiled and socked me in the shoulder. "kiddo, i've been at this game for a hell of a long time. so far, i've managed to spend more time free than behind bars. paranoia is my friend." # i was like a zombie the next day in school. i'd totaled about three hours of sleep, and even three cups of the turk's caffeine mud failed to jump-start my brain. the problem with caffeine is that it's too easy to get acclimated to it, so you have to take higher and higher doses just to get above normal. i'd spent the night thinking over what i had to do. it was like running though a maze of twisty little passages, all alike, every one leading to the same dead end. when i went to barbara, it would be over for me. that was the outcome, no matter how i thought about it. by the time the school day was over, all i wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. but i had an appointment at the *bay guardian*, down on the waterfront. i kept my eyes on my feet as i wobbled out the gate, and as i turned into th street, another pair of feet fell into step with me. i recognized the shoes and stopped. "ange?" she looked like i felt. sleep-deprived and raccoon-eyed, with sad brackets in the corners of her mouth. "hi there," she said. "surprise. i gave myself french leave from school. i couldn't concentrate anyway." "um," i said. "shut up and give me a hug, you idiot." i did. it felt good. better than good. it felt like i'd amputated part of myself and it had been reattached. "i love you, marcus yallow." "i love you, angela carvelli." "ok," she said breaking it off. "i liked your post about why you're not jamming. i can respect it. what have you done about finding a way to jam them without getting caught?" "i'm on my way to meet an investigative journalist who's going to publish a story about how i got sent to jail, how i started xnet, and how darryl is being illegally held by the dhs at a secret prison on treasure island." "oh." she looked around for a moment. "couldn't you think of anything, you know, ambitious?" "want to come?" "i am coming, yes. and i would like you to explain this in detail if you don't mind." after all the re-tellings, this one, told as we walked to potrero avenue and down to th street, was the easiest. she held my hand and squeezed it often. we took the stairs up to the *bay guardian*'s offices two at a time. my heart was pounding. i got to the reception desk and told the bored girl behind it, "i'm here to see barbara stratford. my name is mr green." "i think you mean mr brown?" "yeah," i said, and blushed. "mr brown." she did something at her computer, then said, "have a seat. barbara will be out in a minute. can i get you anything?" "coffee," we both said in unison. another reason to love ange: we were addicted to the same drug. the receptionist -- a pretty latina woman only a few years older than us, dressed in gap styles so old they were actually kind of hipster-retro -- nodded and stepped out and came back with a couple of cups bearing the newspaper's masthead. we sipped in silence, watching visitors and reporters come and go. finally, barbara came to get us. she was wearing practically the same thing as the night before. it suited her. she quirked an eyebrow at me when she saw that i'd brought a date. "hello," i said. "um, this is --" "ms brown," ange said, extending a hand. oh, yeah, right, our identities were supposed to be a secret. "i work with mr green." she elbowed me lightly. "let's go then," barbara said, and led us back to a board-room with long glass walls with their blinds drawn shut. she set down a tray of whole foods organic oreo clones, a digital recorder, and another yellow pad. "do you want to record this too?" she asked. hadn't actually thought of that. i could see why it would be useful if i wanted to dispute what barbara printed, though. still, if i couldn't trust her to do right by me, i was doomed anyway. "no, that's ok," i said. "right, let's go. young lady, my name is barbara stratford and i'm an investigative reporter. i gather you know why i'm here, and i'm curious to know why you're here." "i work with marcus on the xnet," she said. "do you need to know my name?" "not right now, i don't," barbara said. "you can be anonymous if you'd like. marcus, i asked you to tell me this story because i need to know how it plays with the story you told me about your friend darryl and the note you showed me. i can see how it would be a good adjunct; i could pitch this as the origin of the xnet. 'they made an enemy they'll never forget,' that sort of thing. but to be honest, i'd rather not have to tell that story if i don't have to. "i'd rather have a nice clean tale about the secret prison on our doorstep, without having to argue about whether the prisoners there are the sort of people likely to walk out the doors and establish an underground movement bent on destabilizing the federal government. i'm sure you can understand that." i did. if the xnet was part of the story, some people would say, see, they need to put guys like that in jail or they'll start a riot. "this is your show," i said. "i think you need to tell the world about darryl. when you do that, it's going to tell the dhs that i've gone public and they're going to go after me. maybe they'll figure out then that i'm involved with the xnet. maybe they'll connect me to m k y. i guess what i'm saying is, once you publish about darryl, it's all over for me no matter what. i've made my peace with that." "as good be hanged for a sheep as a lamb," she said. "right. well, that's settled. i want the two of you to tell me everything you can about the founding and operation of the xnet, and then i want a demonstration. what do you use it for? who else uses it? how did it spread? who wrote the software? everything." "this'll take a while," ange said. "i've got a while," barbara said. she drank some coffee and ate a fake oreo. "this could be the most important story of the war on terror. this could be the story that topples the government. when you have a story like this, you take it very carefully." &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to waterstone's, the national uk bookselling chain. waterstone's is a chain of stores, but each one has the feel of a great independent store, with tons of personality, great stock (especially audiobooks!), and knowledgeable staff.]] [[waterstones http://www.waterstones.com]] so we told her. i found it really fun, actually. teaching people how to use technology is always exciting. it's so cool to watch people figure out how the technology around them can be used to make their lives better. ange was great too -- we made an excellent team. we'd trade off explaining how it all worked. barbara was pretty good at this stuff to begin with, of course. it turned out that she'd covered the crypto wars, the period in the early nineties when civil liberties groups like the electronic frontier foundation fought for the right of americans to use strong crypto. i dimly knew about that period, but barbara explained it in a way that made me get goose-pimples. it's unbelievable today, but there was a time when the government classed crypto as a munition and made it illegal for anyone to export or use it on national security grounds. get that? we used to have illegal *math* in this country. the national security agency were the real movers behind the ban. they had a crypto standard that they said was strong enough for bankers and their customers to use, but not so strong that the mafia would be able to keep its books secret from them. the standard, des- , was said to be practically unbreakable. then one of eff's millionaire co-founders built a $ , des- cracker that could break the cipher in two hours. still the nsa argued that it should be able to keep american citizens from possessing secrets it couldn't pry into. then eff dealt its death-blow. in , they represented a berkeley mathematics grad student called dan bernstein in court. bernstein had written a crypto tutorial that contained computer code that could be used to make a cipher stronger than des- . millions of times stronger. as far as the nsa was concerned, that made his article into a weapon, and therefore unpublishable. well, it may be hard to get a judge to understand crypto and what it means, but it turned out that the average appeals court judge isn't real enthusiastic about telling grad students what kind of articles they're allowed to write. the crypto wars ended with a victory for the good guys when the th circuit appellate division court ruled that code was a form of expression protected under the first amendment -- "congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech." if you've ever bought something on the internet, or sent a secret message, or checked your bank-balance, you used crypto that eff legalized. good thing, too: the nsa just isn't that smart. anything they know how to crack, you can be sure that terrorists and mobsters can get around too. barbara had been one of the reporters who'd made her reputation from covering the issue. she'd cut her teeth covering the tail end of the civil rights movement in san francisco, and she recognized the similarity between the fight for the constitution in the real world and the fight in cyberspace. so she got it. i don't think i could have explained this stuff to my parents, but with barbara it was easy. she asked smart questions about our cryptographic protocols and security procedures, sometimes asking stuff i didn't know the answer to -- sometimes pointing out potential breaks in our procedure. we plugged in the xbox and got it online. there were four open wifi nodes visible from the board room and i told it to change between them at random intervals. she got this too -- once you were actually plugged into the xnet, it was just like being on the internet, only some stuff was a little slower, and it was all anonymous and unsniffable. "so now what?" i said as we wound down. i'd talked myself dry and i had a terrible acid feeling from the coffee. besides, ange kept squeezing my hand under the table in a way that made me want to break away and find somewhere private to finish making up for our first fight. "now i do journalism. you go away and i research all the things you've told me and try to confirm them to the extent that i can. i'll let you see what i'm going to publish and i'll let you know when it's going to go live. i'd prefer that you *not* talk about this with anyone else now, because i want the scoop and because i want to make sure that i get the story before it goes all muddy from press speculation and dhs spin. "i *will* have to call the dhs for comment before i go to press, but i'll do that in a way that protects you to whatever extent possible. i'll also be sure to let you know before that happens. "one thing i need to be clear on: this isn't your story anymore. it's mine. you were very generous to give it to me and i'll try to repay the gift, but you don't get the right to edit anything out, to change it, or to stop me. this is now in motion and it won't stop. do you understand that?" i hadn't thought about it in those terms but once she said it, it was obvious. it meant that i had launched and i wouldn't be able to recall the rocket. it was going to fall where it was aimed, or it would go off course, but it was in the air and couldn't be changed now. sometime in the near future, i would stop being marcus -- i would be a public figure. i'd be the guy who blew the whistle on the dhs. i'd be a dead man walking. i guess ange was thinking along the same lines, because she'd gone a color between white and green. "let's get out of here," she said. # ange's mom and sister were out again, which made it easy to decide where we were going for the evening. it was past supper time, but my parents had known that i was meeting with barbara and wouldn't give me any grief if i came home late. when we got to ange's, i had no urge to plug in my xbox. i had had all the xnet i could handle for one day. all i could think about was ange, ange, ange. living without ange. knowing ange was angry with me. ange never going to talk to me again. ange never going to kiss me again. she'd been thinking the same. i could see it in her eyes as we shut the door to her bedroom and looked at each other. i was hungry for her, like you'd hunger for dinner after not eating for days. like you'd thirst for a glass of water after playing soccer for three hours straight. like none of that. it was more. it was something i'd never felt before. i wanted to eat her whole, devour her. up until now, she'd been the sexual one in our relationship. i'd let her set and control the pace. it was amazingly erotic to have *her* grab *me* and take off my shirt, drag my face to hers. but tonight i couldn't hold back. i wouldn't hold back. the door clicked shut and i reached for the hem of her t-shirt and yanked, barely giving her time to lift her arms as i pulled it over her head. i tore my own shirt over my head, listening to the cotton crackle as the stitches came loose. her eyes were shining, her mouth open, her breathing fast and shallow. mine was too, my breath and my heart and my blood all roaring in my ears. i took off the rest of our clothes with equal zest, throwing them into the piles of dirty and clean laundry on the floor. there were books and papers all over the bed and i swept them aside. we landed on the unmade bedclothes a second later, arms around one another, squeezing like we would pull ourselves right through one another. she moaned into my mouth and i made the sound back, and i felt her voice buzz in my vocal chords, a feeling more intimate than anything i'd ever felt before. she broke away and reached for the bedstand. she yanked open the drawer and threw a white pharmacy bag on the bed before me. i looked inside. condoms. trojans. one dozen spermicidal. still sealed. i smiled at her and she smiled back and i opened the box. # i'd thought about what it would be like for years. a hundred times a day i'd imagined it. some days, i'd thought of practically nothing else. it was nothing like i expected. parts of it were better. parts of it were lots worse. while it was going on, it felt like an eternity. afterwards, it seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. afterwards, i felt the same. but i also felt different. something had changed between us. it was weird. we were both shy as we put our clothes on and puttered around the room, looking away, not meeting each other's eyes. i wrapped the condom in a kleenex from a box beside the bed and took it into the bathroom and wound it with toilet paper and stuck it deep into the trash-can. when i came back in, ange was sitting up in bed and playing with her xbox. i sat down carefully beside her and took her hand. she turned to face me and smiled. we were both worn out, trembly. "thanks," i said. she didn't say anything. she turned her face to me. she was grinning hugely, but fat tears were rolling down her cheeks. i hugged her and she grabbed tightly onto me. "you're a good man, marcus yallow," she whispered. "thank you." i didn't know what to say, but i squeezed her back. finally, we parted. she wasn't crying any more, but she was still smiling. she pointed at my xbox, on the floor beside the bed. i took the hint. i picked it up and plugged it in and logged in. same old same old. lots of email. the new posts on the blogs i read streamed in. spam. god did i get a lot of spam. my swedish mailbox was repeatedly "joe-jobbed" -- used as the return address for spams sent to hundreds of millions of internet accounts, so that all the bounces and angry messages came back to me. i didn't know who was behind it. maybe the dhs trying to overwhelm my mailbox. maybe it was just people pranking. the pirate party had pretty good filters, though, and they gave anyone who wanted it gigabytes of email storage, so i wasn't likely to be drowned any time soon. i filtered it all out, hammering on the delete key. i had a separate mailbox for stuff that came in encrypted to my public key, since that was likely to be xnet-related and possibly sensitive. spammers hadn't figured out that using public keys would make their junk mail more plausible yet, so for now this worked well. there were a couple dozen encrypted messages from people in the web of trust. i skimmed them -- links to videos and pics of new abuses from the dhs, horror stories about near-escapes, rants about stuff i'd blogged. the usual. then i came to one that was only encrypted to my public key. that meant that no one else could read it, but i had no idea who had written it. it said it came from masha, which could either be a handle or a name -- i couldn't tell which. > m k y > you don't know me, but i know you. > i was arrested the day that the bridge blew. they questioned me. they decided i was innocent. they offered me a job: help them hunt down the terrorists who'd killed my neighbors. > it sounded like a good deal at the time. little did i realize that my actual job would turn out to be spying on kids who resented their city being turned into a police state. > i infiltrated xnet on the day it launched. i am in your web of trust. if i wanted to spill my identity, i could send you email from an address you'd trust. three addresses, actually. i'm totally inside your network as only another -year-old can be. some of the email you've gotten has been carefully chosen misinformation from me and my handlers. > they don't know who you are, but they're coming close. they continue to turn people, to compromise them. they mine the social network sites and use threats to turn kids into informants. there are hundreds of people working for the dhs on xnet right now. i have their names, handles and keys. private and public. > within days of the xnet launch, we went to work on exploiting paranoidlinux. the exploits so far have been small and insubstantial, but a break is inevitable. once we have a zero-day break, you're dead. > i think it's safe to say that if my handlers knew that i was typing this, my ass would be stuck in gitmo-by-the-bay until i was an old woman. > even if they don't break paranoidlinux, there are poisoned paranoidxbox distros floating around. they don't match the checksums, but how many people look at the checksums? besides me and you? plenty of kids are already dead, though they don't know it. > all that remains is for my handlers to figure out the best time to bust you to make the biggest impact in the media. that time will be sooner, not later. believe. > you're probably wondering why i'm telling you this. > i am too. > here's where i come from. i signed up to fight terrorists. instead, i'm spying on americans who believe things that the dhs doesn't like. not people who plan on blowing up bridges, but protestors. i can't do it anymore. > but neither can you, whether or not you know it. like i say, it's only a matter of time until you're in chains on treasure island. that's not if, that's when. > so i'm through here. down in los angeles, there are some people. they say they can keep me safe if i want to get out. > i want to get out. > i will take you with me, if you want to come. better to be a fighter than a martyr. if you come with me, we can figure out how to win together. i'm as smart as you. believe. > what do you say? > here's my public key. > masha # when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout. ever hear that rhyme? it's not good advice, but at least it's easy to follow. i leapt off the bed and paced back and forth. my heart thudded and my blood sang in a cruel parody of the way i'd felt when we got home. this wasn't sexual excitement, it was raw terror. "what?" ange said. "what?" i pointed at the screen on my side of the bed. she rolled over and grabbed my keyboard and scribed on the touchpad with her fingertip. she read in silence. i paced. "this has to be lies," she said. "the dhs is playing games with your head." i looked at her. she was biting her lip. she didn't look like she believed it. "you think?" "sure. they can't beat you, so they're coming after you using xnet." "yeah." i sat back down on the bed. i was breathing fast again. "chill out," she said. "it's just head-games. here." she never took my keyboard from me before, but now there was a new intimacy between us. she hit reply and typed, > nice try. she was writing as m k y now, too. we were together in a way that was different from before. "go ahead and sign it. we'll see what she says." i didn't know if that was the best idea, but i didn't have any better ones. i signed it and encrypted it with my private key and the public key masha had provided. the reply was instant. > i thought you'd say something like that. > here's a hack you haven't thought of. i can anonymously tunnel video over dns. here are some links to clips you might want to look at before you decide i'm full of it. these people are all recording each other, all the time, as insurance against a back-stab. it's pretty easy to snoop off them as they snoop on each other. > masha attached was source-code for a little program that appeared to do exactly what masha claimed: pull video over the domain name service protocol. let me back up a moment here and explain something. at the end of the day, every internet protocol is just a sequence of text sent back and forth in a prescribed order. it's kind of like getting a truck and putting a car in it, then putting a motorcycle in the car's trunk, then attaching a bicycle to the back of the motorcycle, then hanging a pair of rollerblades on the back of the bike. except that then, if you want, you can attach the truck to the rollerblades. for example, take simple mail transport protocol, or smtp, which is used for sending email. here's a sample conversation between me and my mail server, sending a message to myself: > helo littlebrother.com.se mail.pirateparty.org.se hello mail.pirateparty.org.se, pleased to meet you > mail from:m k y@littlebrother.com.se . . m k y@littlebrother.com.se... sender ok > rcpt to:m k y@littlebrother.com.se . . m k y@littlebrother.com.se... recipient ok > data enter mail, end with "." on a line by itself > when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout > . . . k smw xq message accepted for delivery quit . . mail.pirateparty.org.se closing connection connection closed by foreign host. this conversation's grammar was defined in by jon postel, one of the internet's heroic forefathers, who used to literally run the most important servers on the net under his desk at the university of southern california, back in the paleolithic era. now, imagine that you hooked up a mail-server to an im session. you could send an im to the server that said "helo littlebrother.com.se" and it would reply with " mail.pirateparty.org.se hello mail.pirateparty.org.se, pleased to meet you." in other words, you could have the same conversation over im as you do over smtp. with the right tweaks, the whole mail-server business could take place inside of a chat. or a web-session. or anything else. this is called "tunneling." you put the smtp inside a chat "tunnel." you could then put the chat back into an smtp tunnel if you wanted to be really weird, tunneling the tunnel in another tunnel. in fact, every internet protocol is susceptible to this process. it's cool, because it means that if you're on a network with only web access, you can tunnel your mail over it. you can tunnel your favorite p p over it. you can even tunnel xnet -- which itself is a tunnel for dozens of protocols -- over it. domain name service is an interesting and ancient internet protocol, dating back to . it's the way that your computer converts a computer's name -- like pirateparty.org.se -- to the ip number that computers actually use to talk to each other over the net, like . . . . it generally works like magic, even though it's got millions of moving parts -- every isp runs a dns server, as do most governments and lots of private operators. these dns boxes all talk to each other all the time, making and filling requests to each other so no matter how obscure the name is you feed to your computer, it will be able to turn it into a number. before dns, there was the hosts file. believe it or not, this was a single document that listed the name and address of *every single computer* connected to the internet. every computer had a copy of it. this file was eventually too big to move around, so dns was invented, and ran on a server that used to live under jon postel's desk. if the cleaners knocked out the plug, the entire internet lost its ability to find itself. seriously. the thing about dns today is that it's everywhere. every network has a dns server living on it, and all of those servers are configured to talk to each other and to random people all over the internet. what masha had done was figure out a way to tunnel a video-streaming system over dns. she was breaking up the video into billions of pieces and hiding each of them in a normal message to a dns server. by running her code, i was able to pull the video from all those dns servers, all over the internet, at incredible speed. it must have looked bizarre on the network histograms, like i was looking up the address of every computer in the world. but it had two advantages i appreciated at once: i was able to get the video with blinding speed -- as soon as i clicked the first link, i started to receive full-screen pictures, without any jitter or stuttering -- and i had no idea where it was hosted. it was totally anonymous. at first i didn't even clock the content of the video. i was totally floored by the cleverness of this hack. streaming video from dns? that was so smart and weird, it was practically *perverted*. gradually, what i was seeing began to sink in. it was a board-room table in a small room with a mirror down one wall. i knew that room. i'd sat in that room, while severe-haircut woman had made me speak my password aloud. there were five comfortable chairs around the table, each with a comfortable person, all in dhs uniform. i recognized major general graeme sutherland, the dhs bay area commander, along with severe haircut. the others were new to me. they all watched a video screen at the end of the table, on which there was an infinitely more familiar face. kurt rooney was known nationally as the president's chief strategist, the man who returned the party for its third term, and who was steaming towards a fourth. they called him "ruthless" and i'd seen a news report once about how tight a rein he kept his staffers on, calling them, iming them, watching their every motion, controlling every step. he was old, with a lined face and pale gray eyes and a flat nose with broad, flared nostrils and thin lips, a man who looked like he was smelling something bad all the time. he was the man on the screen. he was talking, and everyone else was focused on his screen, everyone taking notes as fast as they could type, trying to look smart. "-- say that they're angry with authority, but we need to show the country that it's terrorists, not the government, that they need to blame. do you understand me? the nation does not love that city. as far as they're concerned, it is a sodom and gomorrah of fags and atheists who deserve to rot in hell. the only reason the country cares what they think in san francisco is that they had the good fortune to have been blown to hell by some islamic terrorists. "these xnet children are getting to the point where they might start to be useful to us. the more radical they get, the more the rest of the nation understands that there are threats everywhere." his audience finished typing. "we can control that, i think," severe haircut lady said. "our people in the xnet have built up a lot of influence. the manchurian bloggers are running as many as fifty blogs each, flooding the chat channels, linking to each other, mostly just taking the party line set by this m k y. but they've already shown that they can provoke radical action, even when m k y is putting the brakes on." major general sutherland nodded. "we have been planning to leave them underground until about a month before the midterms." i guessed that meant the mid-term elections, not my exams. "that's per the original plan. but it sounds like --" "we've got another plan for the midterms," rooney said. "need-to-know, of course, but you should all probably not plan on traveling for the month before. cut the xnet loose now, as soon as you can. so long as they're moderates, they're a liability. keep them radical." the video cut off. ange and i sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the screen. ange reached out and started the video again. we watched it. it was worse the second time. i tossed the keyboard aside and got up. "i am *so sick* of being scared," i said. "let's take this to barbara and have her publish it all. put it all on the net. let them take me away. at least i'll know what's going to happen then. at least then i'll have a little *certainty* in my life." ange grabbed me and hugged me, soothed me. "i know baby, i know. it's all terrible. but you're focusing on the bad stuff and ignoring the good stuff. you've created a movement. you've outflanked the jerks in the white house, the crooks in dhs uniforms. you've put yourself in a position where you could be responsible for blowing the lid off of the entire rotten dhs thing. "sure they're out to get you. course they are. have you ever doubted it for a moment? i always figured they were. but marcus, *they don't know who you are*. think about that. all those people, money, guns and spies, and you, a seventeen year old high school kid -- you're still beating them. they don't know about barbara. they don't know about zeb. you've jammed them in the streets of san francisco and humiliated them before the world. so stop moping, all right? you're winning." "they're coming for me, though. you see that. they're going to put me in jail forever. not even jail. i'll just disappear, like darryl. maybe worse. maybe syria. why leave me in san francisco? i'm a liability as long as i'm in the usa." she sat down on the bed with me. "yeah," she said. "that." "that." "well, you know what you have to do, right?" "what?" she looked pointedly at my keyboard. i could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. "no! you're out of your mind. you think i'm going to run off with some nut off the internet? some spy?" "you got a better idea?" i kicked a pile of her laundry into the air. "whatever. fine. i'll talk to her some more." "you talk to her," ange said. "you tell her you and your girlfriend are getting out." "what?" "shut up, dickhead. you think you're in danger? i'm in just as much danger, marcus. it's called guilt by association. when you go, i go." she had her jaw thrust out at a mutinous angle. "you and i -- we're together now. you have to understand that." we sat down on the bed together. "unless you don't want me," she said, finally, in a small voice. "you're kidding me, right?" "do i look like i'm kidding?" "there's no way i would voluntarily go without you, ange. i could never have asked you to come, but i'm ecstatic that you offered." she smiled and tossed me my keyboard. "email this masha creature. let's see what this chick can do for us." i emailed her, encrypting the message, waiting for a reply. ange nuzzled me a little and i kissed her and we necked. something about the danger and the pact to go together -- it made me forget the awkwardness of having sex, made me freaking horny as hell. we were half naked again when masha's email arrived. > two of you? jesus, like it won't be hard enough already. > i don't get to leave except to do field intelligence after a big xnet hit. you get me? the handlers watch my every move, but i go off the leash when something big happens with xnetters. i get sent into the field then. > you do something big. i get sent to it. i get us both out. all three of us, if you insist. > make it fast, though. i can't send you a lot of email, understand? they watch me. they're closing in on you. you don't have a lot of time. weeks? maybe just days. > i need you to get me out. that's why i'm doing this, in case you're wondering. i can't escape on my own. i need a big xnet distraction. that's your department. don't fail me, m k y, or we're both dead. your girlie too. > masha my phone rang, making us both jump. it was my mom wanting to know when i was coming home. i told her i was on my way. she didn't mention barbara. we'd agreed that we wouldn't talk about any of this stuff on the phone. that was my dad's idea. he could be as paranoid as me. "i have to go," i said. "our parents will be --" "i know," i said. "i saw what happened to my parents when they thought i was dead. knowing that i'm a fugitive isn't going to be much better. but they'd rather i be a fugitive than a prisoner. that's what i think. anyway, once we disappear, barbara can publish without worrying about getting us into trouble." we kissed at the door of her room. not one of the hot, sloppy numbers we usually did when parting ways. a sweet kiss this time. a slow kiss. a goodbye kind of kiss. # bart rides are introspective. when the train rocks back and forth and you try not to make eye contact with the other riders and you try not to read the ads for plastic surgery, bail bondsmen and aids testing, when you try to ignore the graffiti and not look too closely at the stuff in the carpeting. that's when your mind starts to really churn and churn. you rock back and forth and your mind goes over all the things you've overlooked, plays back all the movies of your life where you're no hero, where you're a chump or a sucker. your brain comes up with theories like this one: *if the dhs wanted to catch m k y, what better way than to lure him into the open, panic him into leading some kind of big, public xnet event? wouldn't that be worth the chance of a compromising video leaking?* your brain comes up with stuff like that even when the train ride only lasts two or three stops. when you get off, and you start moving, the blood gets running and sometimes your brain helps you out again. sometimes your brain gives you solutions in addition to problems. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to vancouver's multilingual sophia books, a diverse and exciting store filled with the best of the strange and exciting pop culture worlds of many lands. sophia was around the corner from my hotel when i went to van to give a talk at simon fraser university, and the sophia folks emailed me in advance to ask me to drop in and sign their stock while i was in the neighborhood. when i got there, i discovered a treasure-trove of never-before-seen works in a dizzying array of languages, from graphic novels to thick academic treatises, presided over by good-natured (even slapstick) staff who so palpably enjoyed their jobs that it spread to every customer who stepped through the door.]] [[sophia books http://www.sophiabooks.com/ west hastings st., vancouver, bc canada v b l + ]] there was a time when my favorite thing in the world was putting on a cape and hanging out in hotels, pretending to be an invisible vampire whom everyone stared at. it's complicated, and not nearly as weird as it sounds. the live action role playing scene combines the best aspects of d&d with drama club with going to sci-fi cons. i understand that this might not make it sound as appealing to you as it was to me when i was . the best games were the ones at the scout camps out of town: a hundred teenagers, boys and girls, fighting the friday night traffic, swapping stories, playing handheld games, showing off for hours. then debarking to stand in the grass before a group of older men and women in bad-ass, home-made armor, dented and scarred, like armor must have been in the old days, not like it's portrayed in the movies, but like a soldier's uniform after a month in the bush. these people were nominally paid to run the games, but you didn't get the job unless you were the kind of person who'd do it for free. they'd have already divided us into teams based on the questionnaires we'd filled in beforehand, and we'd get our team assignments then, like being called up for baseball sides. then you'd get your briefing packages. these were like the briefings the spies get in the movies: here's your identity, here's your mission, here's the secrets you know about the group. from there, it was time for dinner: roaring fires, meat popping on spits, tofu sizzling on skillets (it's northern california, a vegetarian option is not optional), and a style of eating and drinking that can only be described as quaffing. already, the keen kids would be getting into character. my first game, i was a wizard. i had a bag of beanbags that represented spells -- when i threw one, i would shout the name of the spell i was casting -- fireball, magic missile, cone of light -- and the player or "monster" i threw it at would keel over if i connected. or not -- sometimes we had to call in a ref to mediate, but for the most part, we were all pretty good about playing fair. no one liked a dice lawyer. by bedtime, we were all in character. at , i wasn't super-sure what a wizard was supposed to sound like, but i could take my cues from the movies and novels. i spoke in slow, measured tones, keeping my face composed in a suitably mystical expression, and thinking mystical thoughts. the mission was complicated, retrieving a sacred relic that had been stolen by an ogre who was bent on subjugating the people of the land to his will. it didn't really matter a whole lot. what mattered was that i had a private mission, to capture a certain kind of imp to serve as my familiar, and that i had a secret nemesis, another player on the team who had taken part in a raid that killed my family when i was a boy, a player who didn't know that i'd come back, bent on revenge. somewhere, of course, there was another player with a similar grudge against me, so that even as i was enjoying the camaraderie of the team, i'd always have to keep an eye open for a knife in the back, poison in the food. for the next two days, we played it out. there were parts of the weekend that were like hide-and-seek, some that were like wilderness survival exercises, some that were like solving crossword puzzles. the game-masters had done a great job. and you really got to be friends with the other people on the mission. darryl was the target of my first murder, and i put my back into it, even though he was my pal. nice guy. shame i'd have to kill him. i fireballed him as he was seeking out treasure after we wiped out a band of orcs, playing rock-papers-scissors with each orc to determine who would prevail in combat. this is a lot more exciting than it sounds. it was like summer camp for drama geeks. we talked until late at night in tents, looked at the stars, jumped in the river when we got hot, slapped away mosquitos. became best friends, or lifelong enemies. i don't know why charles's parents sent him larping. he wasn't the kind of kid who really enjoyed that kind of thing. he was more the pulling-wings-off-flies type. oh, maybe not. but he just was not into being in costume in the woods. he spent the whole time mooching around, sneering at everyone and everything, trying to convince us all that we weren't having the good time we all felt like we were having. you've no doubt found that kind of person before, the kind of person who is compelled to ensure that everyone else has a rotten time. the other thing about charles was that he couldn't get the hang of simulated combat. once you start running around the woods and playing these elaborate, semi-military games, it's easy to get totally adrenalized to the point where you're ready to tear out someone's throat. this is not a good state to be in when you're carrying a prop sword, club, pike or other utensil. this is why no one is ever allowed to hit anyone, under any circumstances, in these games. instead, when you get close enough to someone to fight, you play a quick couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors, with modifiers based on your experience, armaments, and condition. the referees mediate disputes. it's quite civilized, and a little weird. you go running after someone through the woods, catch up with him, bare your teeth, and sit down to play a little roshambo. but it works -- and it keeps everything safe and fun. charles couldn't really get the hang of this. i think he was perfectly capable of understanding that the rule was no contact, but he was simultaneously capable of deciding that the rule didn't matter, and that he wasn't going to abide by it. the refs called him on it a bunch of times over the weekend, and he kept on promising to stick by it, and kept on going back. he was one of the bigger kids there already, and he was fond of "accidentally" tackling you at the end of a chase. not fun when you get tackled into the rocky forest floor. i had just mightily smote darryl in a little clearing where he'd been treasure-hunting, and we were having a little laugh over my extreme sneakiness. he was going to go monstering -- killed players could switch to playing monsters, which meant that the longer the game wore on, the more monsters there were coming after you, meaning that everyone got to keep on playing and the game's battles just got more and more epic. that was when charles came out of the woods behind me and tackled me, throwing me to the ground so hard that i couldn't breathe for a moment. "gotcha!" he yelled. i only knew him slightly before this, and i'd never thought much of him, but now i was ready for murder. i climbed slowly to my feet and looked at him, his chest heaving, grinning. "you're so dead," he said. "i totally got you." i smiled and something felt wrong and sore in my face. i touched my upper lip. it was bloody. my nose was bleeding and my lip was split, cut on a root i'd face-planted into when he tackled me. i wiped the blood on my pants-leg and smiled. i made like i thought that it was all in fun. i laughed a little. i moved towards him. charles wasn't fooled. he was already backing away, trying to fade into the woods. darryl moved to flank him. i took the other flank. abruptly, he turned and ran. darryl's foot hooked his ankle and sent him sprawling. we rushed him, just in time to hear a ref's whistle. the ref hadn't seen charles foul me, but he'd seen charles's play that weekend. he sent charles back to the camp entrance and told him he was out of the game. charles complained mightily, but to our satisfaction, the ref wasn't having any of it. once charles had gone, he gave *us* both a lecture, too, telling us that our retaliation was no more justified than charles's attack. it was ok. that night, once the games had ended, we all got hot showers in the scout dorms. darryl and i stole charles's clothes and towel. we tied them in knots and dropped them in the urinal. a lot of the boys were happy to contribute to the effort of soaking them. charles had been very enthusiastic about his tackles. i wish i could have watched him when he got out of his shower and discovered his clothes. it's a hard decision: do you run naked across the camp, or pick apart the tight, piss-soaked knots in your clothes and then put them on? he chose nudity. i probably would have chosen the same. we lined up along the route from the showers to the shed where the packs were stored and applauded him. i was at the front of the line, leading the applause. # the scout camp weekends only came three or four times a year, which left darryl and me -- and lots of other larpers -- with a serious larp deficiency in our lives. luckily, there were the wretched daylight games in the city hotels. wretched daylight is another larp, rival vampire clans and vampire hunters, and it's got its own quirky rules. players get cards to help them resolve combat skirmishes, so each skirmish involves playing a little hand of a strategic card game. vampires can become invisible by cloaking themselves, crossing their arms over their chests, and all the other players have to pretend they don't see them, continuing on with their conversations about their plans and so on. the true test of a good player is whether you're honest enough to go on spilling your secrets in front of an "invisible" rival without acting as though he was in the room. there were a couple of big wretched daylight games every month. the organizers of the games had a good relationship with the city's hotels and they let it be known that they'd take ten unbooked rooms on friday night and fill them with players who'd run around the hotel, playing low-key wretched daylight in the corridors, around the pool, and so on, eating at the hotel restaurant and paying for the hotel wifi. they'd close the booking on friday afternoon, email us, and we'd go straight from school to whichever hotel it was, bringing our knapsacks, sleeping six or eight to a room for the weekend, living on junk-food, playing until three am. it was good, safe fun that our parents could get behind. the organizers were a well-known literacy charity that ran kids' writing workshops, drama workshops and so on. they had been running the games for ten years without incident. everything was strictly booze- and drug-free, to keep the organizers from getting busted on some kind of corruption of minors rap. we'd draw between ten and a hundred players, depending on the weekend, and for the cost of a couple movies, you could have two and a half days' worth of solid fun. one day, though, they lucked into a block of rooms at the monaco, a hotel in the tenderloin that catered to arty older tourists, the kind of place where every room came with a goldfish bowl, where the lobby was full of beautiful old people in fine clothes, showing off their plastic surgery results. normally, the mundanes -- our word for non-players -- just ignored us, figuring that we were skylarking kids. but that weekend there happened to be an editor for an italian travel magazine staying, and he took an interest in things. he cornered me as i skulked in the lobby, hoping to spot the clan-master of my rivals and swoop in on him and draw his blood. i was standing against the wall with my arms folded over my chest, being invisible, when he came up to me and asked me, in accented english, what me and my friends were doing in the hotel that weekend? i tried to brush him off, but he wouldn't be put off. so i figured i'd just make something up and he'd go away. i didn't imagine that he'd print it. i really didn't imagine that it would get picked up by the american press. "we're here because our prince has died, and so we've had to come in search of a new ruler." "a prince?" "yes," i said, getting into it. "we're the old people. we came to america in the th century and have had our own royal family in the wilds of pennsylvania ever since. we live simply in the woods. we don't use modern technology. but the prince was the last of the line and he died last week. some terrible wasting disease took him. the young men of my clan have left to find the descendants of his great-uncle, who went away to join the modern people in the time of my grandfather. he is said to have multiplied, and we will find the last of his bloodline and bring them back to their rightful home." i read a lot of fantasy novels. this kind of thing came easily to me. "we found a woman who knew of these descendants. she told us one was staying in this hotel, and we've come to find him. but we've been tracked here by a rival clan who would keep us from bringing home our prince, to keep us weak and easy to dominate. thus it is vital we keep to ourselves. we do not talk to the new people when we can help it. talking to you now causes me great discomfort." he was watching me shrewdly. i had uncrossed my arms, which meant that i was now "visible" to rival vampires, one of whom had been slowly sneaking up on us. at the last moment, i turned and saw her, arms spread, hissing at us, vamping it up in high style. i threw my arms wide and hissed back at her, then pelted through the lobby, hopping over a leather sofa and deking around a potted plant, making her chase me. i'd scouted an escape route down through the stairwell to the basement health-club and i took it, shaking her off. i didn't see him again that weekend, but i *did* relate the story to some of my fellow larpers, who embroidered the tale and found lots of opportunities to tell it over the weekend. the italian magazine had a staffer who'd done her master's degree on amish anti-technology communities in rural pennsylvania, and she thought we sounded awfully interesting. based on the notes and taped interviews of her boss from his trip to san francisco, she wrote a fascinating, heart-wrenching article about these weird, juvenile cultists who were crisscrossing america in search of their "prince." hell, people will print anything these days. but the thing was, stories like that get picked up and republished. first it was italian bloggers, then a few american bloggers. people across the country reported "sightings" of the old people, though whether they were making it up, or whether others were playing the same game, i didn't know. it worked its way up the media food-chain all the way to the *new york times*, who, unfortunately, have an unhealthy appetite for fact-checking. the reporter they put on the story eventually tracked it down to the monaco hotel, who put them in touch with the larp organizers, who laughingly spilled the whole story. well, at that point, larping got a lot less cool. we became known as the nation's foremost hoaxers, as weird, pathological liars. the press who we'd inadvertently tricked into covering the story of the old people were now interested in redeeming themselves by reporting on how unbelievably weird we larpers were, and that was when charles let everyone in school know that darryl and i were the biggest larping weenies in the city. that was not a good season. some of the gang didn't mind, but we did. the teasing was merciless. charles led it. i'd find plastic fangs in my bag, and kids i passed in the hall would go "bleh, bleh" like a cartoon vampire, or they'd talk with fake transylvanian accents when i was around. we switched to arging pretty soon afterwards. it was more fun in some ways, and it was a lot less weird. every now and again, though, i missed my cape and those weekends in the hotel. # the opposite of esprit d'escalier is the way that life's embarrassments come back to haunt us even after they're long past. i could remember every stupid thing i'd ever said or done, recall them with picture-perfect clarity. any time i was feeling low, i'd naturally start to remember other times i felt that way, a hit-parade of humiliations coming one after another to my mind. as i tried to concentrate on masha and my impending doom, the old people incident kept coming back to haunt me. there'd been a similar, sick, sinking doomed feeling then, as more and more press outlets picked up the story, as the likelihood increased of someone figuring out that it had been me who'd sprung the story on the stupid italian editor in the designer jeans with crooked seams, the starched collarless shirt, and the oversized metal-rimmed glasses. there's an alternative to dwelling on your mistakes. you can learn from them. it's a good theory, anyway. maybe the reason your subconscious dredges up all these miserable ghosts is that they need to get closure before they can rest peacefully in humiliation afterlife. my subconscious kept visiting me with ghosts in the hopes that i would do something to let them rest in peace. all the way home, i turned over this memory and the thought of what i would do about "masha," in case she was playing me. i needed some insurance. and by the time i reached my house -- to be swept up into melancholy hugs from mom and dad -- i had it. # the trick was to time this so that it happened fast enough that the dhs couldn't prepare for it, but with a long enough lead time that the xnet would have time to turn out in force. the trick was to stage this so that there were too many present to arrest us all, but to put it somewhere that the press could see it and the grownups, so the dhs wouldn't just gas us again. the trick was to come up with something with the media friendliness of the levitation of the pentagon. the trick was to stage something that we could rally around, like , berkeley students refusing to let one of their number be taken away in a police van. the trick was to put the press there, ready to say what the police did, the way they had in in chicago. it was going to be some trick. i cut out of school an hour early the next day, using my customary techniques for getting out, not caring if it would trigger some kind of new dhs checker that would result in my parents getting a note. one way or another, my parents' last problem after tomorrow would be whether i was in trouble at school. i met ange at her place. she'd had to cut out of school even earlier, but she'd just made a big deal out of her cramps and pretended she was going to keel over and they sent her home. we started to spread the word on xnet. we sent it in email to trusted friends, and immed it to our buddy lists. we roamed the decks and towns of clockwork plunder and told our team-mates. giving everyone enough information to get them to show up but not so much as to tip our hand to the dhs was tricky, but i thought i had just the right balance: > vampmob tomorrow > if you're a goth, dress to impress. if you're not a goth, find a goth and borrow some clothes. think vampire. > the game starts at : am sharp. sharp. be there and ready to be divided into teams. the game lasts minutes, so you'll have plenty of time to get to school afterward. > location will be revealed tomorrow. email your public key to m k y@littlebrother.pirateparty.org.se and check your messages at am for the update. if that's too early for you, stay up all night. that's what we're going to do. > this is the most fun you will have all year, guaranteed. > believe. > m k y then i sent a short message to masha. > tomorrow > m k y a minute later, she emailed back: > i thought so. vampmob, huh? you work fast. wear a red hat. travel light. # what do you bring along when you go fugitive? i'd carried enough heavy packs around enough scout camps to know that every ounce you add cuts into your shoulders with all the crushing force of gravity with every step you take -- it's not just one ounce, it's one ounce that you carry for a million steps. it's a ton. "right," ange said. "smart. and you never take more than three days' worth of clothes, either. you can rinse stuff out in the sink. better to have a spot on your t-shirt than a suitcase that's too big and heavy to stash under a plane-seat." she'd pulled out a ballistic nylon courier bag that went across her chest, between her breasts -- something that made me get a little sweaty -- and slung diagonally across her back. it was roomy inside, and she'd set it down on the bed. now she was piling clothes next to it. "i figure that three t-shirts, a pair of pants, a pair of shorts, three changes of underwear, three pairs of socks and a sweater will do it." she dumped out her gym bag and picked out her toiletries. "i'll have to remember to stick my toothbrush in tomorrow morning before i head down to civic center." watching her pack was impressive. she was ruthless about it all. it was also freaky -- it made me realize that the next day, i was going to go away. maybe for a long time. maybe forever. "do i bring my xbox?" she asked. "i've got a ton of stuff on the hard-drive, notes and sketches and email. i wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands." "it's all encrypted," i said. "that's standard with paranoidxbox. but leave the xbox behind, there'll be plenty of them in la. just create a pirate party account and email an image of your hard-drive to yourself. i'm going to do the same when i get home." she did so, and queued up the email. it was going to take a couple hours for all the data to squeeze through her neighbor's wifi network and wing its way to sweden. then she closed the flap on the bag and tightened the compression straps. she had something the size of a soccer-ball slung over her back now, and i stared admiringly at it. she could walk down the street with that under her shoulder and no one would look twice -- she looked like she was on her way to school. "one more thing," she said, and went to her bedside table and took out the condoms. she took the strips of rubbers out of the box and opened the bag and stuck them inside, then gave me a slap on the ass. "now what?" i said. "now we go to your place and do your stuff. it's time i met your parents, no?" she left the bag amid the piles of clothes and junk all over the floor. she was ready to turn her back on all of it, walk away, just to be with me. just to support the cause. it made me feel brave, too. # mom was already home when i got there. she had her laptop open on the kitchen table and was answering email while talking into a headset connected to it, helping some poor yorkshireman and his family acclimate to living in louisiana. i came through the door and ange followed, grinning like mad, but holding my hand so tight i could feel the bones grinding together. i didn't know what she was so worried about. it wasn't like she was going to end up spending a lot of time hanging around with my parents after this, even if it went badly. mom hung up on the yorkshireman when we got in. "hello, marcus," she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "and who is this?" "mom, meet ange. ange, this is my mom, lillian." mom stood up and gave ange a hug. "it's very good to meet you, darling," she said, looking her over from top to bottom. ange looked pretty acceptable, i think. she dressed well, and low-key, and you could tell how smart she was just by looking at her. "a pleasure to meet you, mrs yallow," she said. she sounded very confident and self-assured. much better than i had when i'd met her mom. "it's lillian, love," she said. she was taking in every detail. "are you staying for dinner?" "i'd love that," she said. "do you eat meat?" mom's pretty acclimated to living in california. "i eat anything that doesn't eat me first," she said. "she's a hot-sauce junkie," i said. "you could serve her old tires and she'd eat 'em if she could smother them in salsa." ange socked me gently in the shoulder. "i was going to order thai," mom said. "i'll add a couple of their five-chili dishes to the order." ange thanked her politely and mom bustled around the kitchen, getting us glasses of juice and a plate of biscuits and asking three times if we wanted any tea. i squirmed a little. "thanks, mom," i said. "we're going to go upstairs for a while." mom's eyes narrowed for a second, then she smiled again. "of course," she said. "your father will be home in an hour, we'll eat then." i had my vampire stuff all stashed in the back of my closet. i let ange sort through it while i went through my clothes. i was only going as far as la. they had stores there, all the clothing i could need. i just needed to get together three or four favorite tees and a favorite pair of jeans, a tube of deodorant, a roll of dental floss. "money!" i said. "yeah," she said. "i was going to clean out my bank account on the way home at an atm. i've got maybe five hundred saved up." "really?" "what am i going to spend it on?" she said. "ever since the xnet, i haven't had to even pay any service charges." "i think i've got three hundred or so." "well, there you go. grab it on the way to civic center in the morning." i had a big book-bag i used when i was hauling lots of gear around town. it was less conspicuous than my camping pack. ange went through my piles mercilessly and culled them down to her favorites. once it was packed and under my bed, we both sat down. "we're going to have to get up really early tomorrow," she said. "yeah, big day." the plan was to get messages out with a bunch of fake vampmob locations tomorrow, sending people out to secluded spots within a few minutes' walk of civic center. we'd cut out a spray-paint stencil that just said vampmob civic center -> -> that we would spray-paint at those spots around am. that would keep the dhs from locking down the civic center before we got there. i had the mailbot ready to send out the messages at am -- i'd just leave my xbox running when i went out. "how long. . ." she trailed off. "that's what i've been wondering, too," i said. "it could be a long time, i suppose. but who knows? with barbara's article coming out --" i'd queued an email to her for the next morning, too -- "and all, maybe we'll be heroes in two weeks." "maybe," she said and sighed. i put my arm around her. her shoulders were shaking. "i'm terrified," i said. "i think that it would be crazy not to be terrified." "yeah," she said. "yeah." mom called us to dinner. dad shook ange's hand. he looked unshaved and worried, the way he had since we'd gone to see barbara, but on meeting ange, a little of the old dad came back. she kissed him on the cheek and he insisted that she call him drew. dinner was actually really good. the ice broke when ange took out her hot-sauce mister and treated her plate, and explained about scoville units. dad tried a forkful of her food and went reeling into the kitchen to drink a gallon of milk. believe it or not, mom still tried it after that and gave every impression of loving it. mom, it turned out, was an undiscovered spicy food prodigy, a natural. before she left, ange pressed the hot-sauce mister on mom. "i have a spare at home," she said. i'd watched her pack it in her backpack. "you seem like the kind of woman who should have one of these." &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to the mit press bookshop, a store i've visited on every single trip to boston over the past ten years. mit, of course, is one of the legendary origin nodes for global nerd culture, and the campus bookstore lives up to the incredible expectations i had when i first set foot in it. in addition to the wonderful titles published by the mit press, the bookshop is a tour through the most exciting high-tech publications in the world, from hacker zines like to fat academic anthologies on video-game design. this is one of those stores where i have to ask them to ship my purchases home because they don't fit in my suitcase.]] [[mit press bookstore http://web.mit.edu/bookstore/www/ building e , massachusetts ave., cambridge, ma usa - + ]] here's the email that went out at am the next day, while ange and i were spray-painting vamp-mob civic center -> -> at strategic locations around town. > rules for vampmob > you are part of a clan of daylight vampires. you've discovered the secret of surviving the terrible light of the sun. the secret was cannibalism: the blood of another vampire can give you the strength to walk among the living. > you need to bite as many other vampires as you can in order to stay in the game. if one minute goes by without a bite, you're out. once you're out, turn your shirt around backwards and go referee -- watch two or three vamps to see if they're getting their bites in. > to bite another vamp, you have to say "bite!" five times before they do. so you run up to a vamp, make eye-contact, and shout "bite bite bite bite bite!" and if you get it out before she does, you live and she crumbles to dust. > you and the other vamps you meet at your rendezvous are a team. they are your clan. you derive no nourishment from their blood. > you can "go invisible" by standing still and folding your arms over your chest. you can't bite invisible vamps, and they can't bite you. > this game is played on the honor system. the point is to have fun and get your vamp on, not to win. > there is an end-game that will be passed by word of mouth as winners begin to emerge. the game-masters will start a whisper campaign among the players when the time comes. spread the whisper as quickly as you can and watch for the sign. > m k y > bite bite bite bite bite! we'd hoped that a hundred people would be willing to play vampmob. we'd sent out about two hundred invites each. but when i sat bolt upright at am and grabbed my xbox, there were * * replies there. four *hundred*. i fed the addresses to the bot and stole out of the house. i descended the stairs, listening to my father snore and my mom rolling over in their bed. i locked the door behind me. at : am, potrero hill was as quiet as the countryside. there were some distant traffic rumbles, and once, a car crawled past me. i stopped at an atm and drew out $ in twenties, rolled them up and put a rubber-band around them, and stuck the roll in a zip-up pocket low on the thigh of my vampire pants. i was wearing my cape again, and a ruffled shirt, and tuxedo pants that had been modded to have enough pockets to carry all my little bits and pieces. i had on pointed boots with silver-skull buckles, and i'd teased my hair into a black dandelion clock around my head. ange was bringing the white makeup and had promised to do my eyeliner and black nail-polish. why the hell not? when was the next time i was going to get to play dressup like this? ange met me in front of her house. she had her backpack on too, and fishnet tights, a ruffled gothic lolita maid's dress, white face-paint, elaborate kabuki eye-makeup, and her fingers and throat dripped with silver jewelry. "you look *great*!" we said to each other in unison, then laughed quietly and stole off through the streets, spray-paint cans in our pockets. # as i surveyed civic center, i thought about what it would look like once vampmobbers converged on it. i expected them in ten minutes, out front of city hall. already the big plaza teemed with commuters who neatly sidestepped the homeless people begging there. i've always hated civic center. it's a collection of huge wedding-cake buildings: court houses, museums, and civic buildings like city hall. the sidewalks are wide, the buildings are white. in the tourist guides to san francisco, they manage to photograph it so that it looks like epcot center, futuristic and austere. but on the ground, it's grimy and gross. homeless people sleep on all the benches. the district is empty by pm except for drunks and druggies, because with only one kind of building there, there's no legit reason for people to hang around after the sun goes down. it's more like a mall than a neighborhood, and the only businesses there are bail-bondsmen and liquor stores, places that cater to the families of crooks on trial and the bums who make it their nighttime home. i really came to understand all of this when i read an interview with an amazing old urban planner, a woman called jane jacobs who was the first person to really nail why it was wrong to slice cities up with freeways, stick all the poor people in housing projects, and use zoning laws to tightly control who got to do what where. jacobs explained that real cities are organic and they have a lot of variety -- rich and poor, white and brown, anglo and mex, retail and residential and even industrial. a neighborhood like that has all kinds of people passing through it at all hours of the day or night, so you get businesses that cater to every need, you get people around all the time, acting like eyes on the street. you've encountered this before. you go walking around some older part of some city and you find that it's full of the coolest looking stores, guys in suits and people in fashion-rags, upscale restaurants and funky cafes, a little movie theater maybe, houses with elaborate paint-jobs. sure, there might be a starbucks too, but there's also a neat-looking fruit market and a florist who appears to be three hundred years old as she snips carefully at the flowers in her windows. it's the opposite of a planned space, like a mall. it feels like a wild garden or even a woods: like it *grew*. you couldn't get any further from that than civic center. i read an interview with jacobs where she talked about the great old neighborhood they knocked down to build it. it had been just that kind of neighborhood, the kind of place that happened without permission or rhyme or reason. jacobs said that she predicted that within a few years, civic center would be one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, a ghost-town at night, a place that sustained a thin crop of weedy booze shops and flea-pit motels. in the interview, she didn't seem very glad to have been vindicated; she sounded like she was talking about a dead friend when she described what civic center had become. now it was rush hour and civic center was as busy as it could be. the civic center bart also serves as the major station for muni trolley lines, and if you need to switch from one to another, that's where you do it. at am, there were thousands of people coming up the stairs, going down the stairs, getting into and out of taxis and on and off buses. they got squeezed by dhs checkpoints by the different civic buildings, and routed around aggressive panhandlers. they all smelled like their shampoos and colognes, fresh out of the shower and armored in their work suits, swinging laptop bags and briefcases. at am, civic center was business central. and here came the vamps. a couple dozen coming down van ness, a couple dozen coming up market. more coming from the other side of market. more coming up from van ness. they slipped around the side of the buildings, wearing the white face-paint and the black eyeliner, black clothes, leather jackets, huge stompy boots. fishnet fingerless gloves. they began to fill up the plaza. a few of the business people gave them passing glances and then looked away, not wanting to let these weirdos into their personal realities as they thought about whatever crap they were about to wade through for another eight hours. the vamps milled around, not sure when the game was on. they pooled together in large groups, like an oil spill in reverse, all this black gathering in one place. a lot of them sported old-timey hats, bowlers and toppers. many of the girls were in full-on elegant gothic lolita maid costumes with huge platforms. i tried to estimate the numbers. . then, five minutes later, it was . . they were still streaming in. the vamps had brought friends. someone grabbed my ass. i spun around and saw ange, laughing so hard she had to hold her thighs, bent double. "look at them all, man, look at them all!" she gasped. the square was twice as crowded as it had been a few minutes ago. i had no idea how many xnetters there were, but easily of them had just showed up to my little party. christ. the dhs and sfpd cops were starting to mill around, talking into their radios and clustering together. i heard a far-away siren. "all right," i said, shaking ange by the arm. "all right, let's *go*." we both slipped off into the crowd and as soon as we encountered our first vamp, we both said, loudly, "bite bite bite bite bite!" my victim was a stunned -- but cute -- girl with spider-webs drawn on her hands and smudged mascara running down her cheeks. she said, "crap," and moved away, acknowledging that i'd gotten her. the call of "bite bite bite bite bite" had scrambled the other nearby vamps. some of them were attacking each other, others were moving for cover, hiding out. i had my victim for the minute, so i skulked away, using mundanes for cover. all around me, the cry of "bite bite bite bite bite!" and shouts and laughs and curses. the sound spread like a virus through the crowd. all the vamps knew the game was on now, and the ones who were clustered together were dropping like flies. they laughed and cussed and moved away, clueing the still-in vamps that the game was on. and more vamps were arriving by the second. : . it was time to bag another vamp. i crouched low and moved through the legs of the straights as they headed for the bart stairs. they jerked back with surprise and swerved to avoid me. i had my eyes laser-locked on a set of black platform boots with steel dragons over the toes, and so i wasn't expecting it when i came face to face with another vamp, a guy of about or , hair gelled straight back and wearing a pvc marilyn manson jacket draped with necklaces of fake tusks carved with intricate symbols. "bite bite bite --" he began, when one of the mundanes tripped over him and they both went sprawling. i leapt over to him and shouted "bite bite bite bite bite!" before he could untangle himself again. more vamps were arriving. the suits were really freaking out. the game overflowed the sidewalk and moved into van ness, spreading up toward market street. drivers honked, the trolleys made angry *ding*s. i heard more sirens, but now traffic was snarled in every direction. it was freaking *glorious*. bite bite bite bite bite! the sound came from all around me. there were so many vamps there, playing so furiously, it was like a roar. i risked standing up and looking around and found that i was right in the middle of a giant crowd of vamps that went as far as i could see in every direction. bite bite bite bite bite! this was even better than the concert in dolores park. that had been angry and rockin', but this was -- well, it was just *fun*. it was like going back to the playground, to the epic games of tag we'd play on lunch breaks when the sun was out, hundreds of people chasing each other around. the adults and the cars just made it more fun, more funny. that's what it was: it was *funny*. we were all laughing now. but the cops were really mobilizing now. i heard helicopters. any second now, it would be over. time for the endgame. i grabbed a vamp. "endgame: when the cops order us to disperse, pretend you've been gassed. pass it on. what did i just say?" the vamp was a girl, tiny, so short i thought she was really young, but she must have been or from her face and the smile. "oh, that's wicked," she said. "what did i say?" "endgame: when the cops order us to disperse, pretend you've been gassed. pass it on. what did i just say?" "right," i said. "pass it on." she melted into the crowd. i grabbed another vamp. i passed it on. he went off to pass it on. somewhere in the crowd, i knew ange was doing this too. somewhere in the crowd, there might be infiltrators, fake xnetters, but what could they do with this knowledge? it's not like the cops had a choice. they were going to order us to disperse. that was guaranteed. i had to get to ange. the plan was to meet at the founder's statue in the plaza, but reaching it was going to be hard. the crowd wasn't moving anymore, it was *surging*, like the mob had in the way down to the bart station on the day the bombs went off. i struggled to make my way through it just as the pa underneath the helicopter switched on. "this is the department of homeland security. you are ordered to disperse immediately." around me, hundreds of vamps fell to the ground, clutching their throats, clawing at their eyes, gasping for breath. it was easy to fake being gassed, we'd all had plenty of time to study the footage of the partiers in mission dolores park going down under the pepper-spray clouds. "disperse immediately." i fell to the ground, protecting my pack, reaching around to the red baseball hat folded into the waistband of my pants. i jammed it on my head and then grabbed my throat and made horrendous retching noises. the only ones still standing were the mundanes, the salarymen who'd been just trying to get to their jobs. i looked around as best as i could at them as i choked and gasped. "this is the department of homeland security. you are ordered to disperse immediately. disperse immediately." the voice of god made my bowels ache. i felt it in my molars and in my femurs and my spine. the salarymen were scared. they were moving as fast as they could, but in no particular direction. the helicopters seemed to be directly overhead no matter where you stood. the cops were wading into the crowd now, and they'd put on their helmets. some had shields. some had gas masks. i gasped harder. then the salarymen were running. i probably would have run too. i watched a guy whip a $ jacket off and wrap it around his face before heading south toward mission, only to trip up and go sprawling. his curses joined the choking sounds. this wasn't supposed to happen -- the choking was just supposed to freak people out and get them confused, not panic them into a stampede. there were screams now, screams i recognized all too well from the night in the park. that was the sound of people who were scared spitless, running into each other as they tried like hell to get away. and then the air-raid sirens began. i hadn't heard that sound since the bombs went off, but i would never forget it. it sliced through me and went straight into my balls, turning my legs into jelly on the way. it made me want to run away in a panic. i got to my feet, red cap on my head, thinking of only one thing: ange. ange and the founders' statue. everyone was on their feet now, running in all directions, screaming. i pushed people out of my way, holding onto my pack and my hat, heading for founders' statue. masha was looking for me, i was looking for ange. ange was out there. i pushed and cursed. elbowed someone. someone came down on my foot so hard i felt something go *crunch* and i shoved him so he went down. he tried to get up and someone stepped on him. i shoved and pushed. then i reached out my arm to shove someone else and strong hands grabbed my wrist and my elbow in one fluid motion and brought my arm back around behind my back. it felt like my shoulder was about to wrench out of its socket, and i instantly doubled over, hollering, a sound that was barely audible over the din of the crowd, the thrum of the choppers, the wail of the sirens. i was brought back upright by the strong hands behind me, which steered me like a marionette. the hold was so perfect i couldn't even think of squirming. i couldn't think of the noise or the helicopter or ange. all i could think of was moving the way that the person who had me wanted me to move. i was brought around so that i was face-to-face with the person. it was a girl whose face was sharp and rodent-like, half-hidden by a giant pair of sunglasses. over the sunglasses, a mop of bright pink hair, spiked out in all directions. "you!" i said. i knew her. she'd taken a picture of me and threatened to rat me out to truant watch. that had been five minutes before the alarms started. she'd been the one, ruthless and cunning. we'd both run from that spot in the tenderloin as the klaxon sounded behind us, and we'd both been picked up by the cops. i'd been hostile and they'd decided that i was an enemy. she -- masha -- became their ally. "hello, m k y," she hissed in my ear, close as a lover. a shiver went up my back. she let go of my arm and i shook it out. "christ," i said. "you!" "yes, me," she said. "the gas is gonna come down in about two minutes. let's haul ass." "ange -- my girlfriend -- is by the founders' statue." masha looked over the crowd. "no chance," she said. "we try to make it there, we're doomed. the gas is coming down in two minutes, in case you missed it the first time." i stopped moving. "i don't go without ange," i said. she shrugged. "suit yourself," she shouted in my ear. "your funeral." she began to push through the crowd, moving away, north, toward downtown. i continued to push for the founders' statue. a second later, my arm was back in the terrible lock and i was being swung around and propelled forward. "you know too much, jerk-off," she said. "you've seen my face. you're coming with me." i screamed at her, struggled till it felt like my arm would break, but she was pushing me forward. my sore foot was agony with every step, my shoulder felt like it would break. with her using me as a battering ram, we made good progress through the crowd. the whine of the helicopters changed and she gave me a harder push. "run!" she yelled. "here comes the gas!" the crowd noise changed, too. the choking sounds and scream sounds got much, much louder. i'd heard that pitch of sound before. we were back in the park. the gas was raining down. i held my breath and *ran*. we cleared the crowd and she let go of my arm. i shook it out. i limped as fast as i could up the sidewalk as the crowd thinned and thinned. we were heading towards a group of dhs cops with riot shields and helmets and masks. as we drew near them, they moved to block us, but masha held up a badge and they melted away like she was obi wan kenobi, saying "these aren't the droids you're looking for." "you goddamned *bitch*," i said as we sped up market street. "we have to go back for ange." she pursed her lips and shook her head. "i feel for you, buddy. i haven't seen my boyfriend in months. he probably thinks i'm dead. fortunes of war. we go back for your ange, we're dead. if we push on, we have a chance. so long as we have a chance, she has a chance. those kids aren't all going to gitmo. they'll probably take a few hundred in for questioning and send the rest home." we were moving up market street now, past the strip joints where the little encampments of bums and junkies sat, stinking like open toilets. masha guided me to a little alcove in the shut door of one of the strip places. she stripped off her jacket and turned it inside out -- the lining was a muted stripe pattern, and with the jacket's seams reversed, it hung differently. she produced a wool hat from her pocket and pulled it over her hair, letting it form a jaunty, off-center peak. then she took out some make-up remover wipes and went to work on her face and fingernails. in a minute, she was a different woman. "wardrobe change," she said. "now you. lose the shoes, lose the jacket, lose the hat." i could see her point. the cops would be looking very carefully at anyone who looked like they'd been a part of the vampmob. i ditched the hat entirely -- i'd never liked ball caps. then i jammed the jacket into my pack and got out a long-sleeved tee with a picture of rosa luxembourg on it and pulled it over my black tee. i let masha wipe my makeup off and clean my nails and a minute later, i was clean. "switch off your phone," she said. "you carrying any arphids?" i had my student card, my atm card, my fast pass. they all went into a silvered bag she held out, which i recognized as a radio-proof faraday pouch. but as she put them in her pocket, i realized i'd just turned my id over to her. if she was on the other side... the magnitude of what had just happened began to sink in. in my mind, i'd pictured having ange with me at this point. ange would make it two against one. ange would help me see if there was something amiss. if masha wasn't all she said she was. "put these pebbles in your shoes before you put them on --" "it's ok. i sprained my foot. no gait recognition program will spot me now." she nodded once, one pro to another, and slung her pack. i picked up mine and we moved. the total time for the changeover was less than a minute. we looked and walked like two different people. she looked at her watch and shook her head. "come on," she said. "we have to make our rendezvous. don't think of running, either. you've got two choices now. me, or jail. they'll be analyzing the footage from that mob for days, but once they're done, every face in it will go in a database. our departure will be noted. we are both wanted criminals now." # she got us off market street on the next block, swinging back into the tenderloin. i knew this neighborhood. this was where we'd gone hunting for an open wifi access-point back on the day, playing harajuku fun madness. "where are we going?" i said. "we're about to catch a ride," she said. "shut up and let me concentrate." we moved fast, and sweat streamed down my face from under my hair, coursed down my back and slid down the crack of my ass and my thighs. my foot was *really* hurting and i was seeing the streets of san francisco race by, maybe for the last time, ever. it didn't help that we were ploughing straight uphill, moving for the zone where the seedy tenderloin gives way to the nosebleed real-estate values of nob hill. my breath came in ragged gasps. she moved us mostly up narrow alleys, using the big streets just to get from one alley to the next. we were just stepping into one such alley, sabin place, when someone fell in behind us and said, "freeze right there." it was full of evil mirth. we stopped and turned around. at the mouth of the alley stood charles, wearing a halfhearted vampmob outfit of black t-shirt and jeans and white face-paint. "hello, marcus," he said. "you going somewhere?" he smiled a huge, wet grin. "who's your girlfriend?" "what do you want, charles?" "well, i've been hanging out on that traitorous xnet ever since i spotted you giving out dvds at school. when i heard about your vampmob, i thought i'd go along and hang around the edges, just to see if you showed up and what you did. you know what i saw?" i said nothing. he had his phone in his hand, pointed at us. recording. maybe ready to dial . beside me, masha had gone still as a board. "i saw you *leading* the damned thing. and i *recorded* it, marcus. so now i'm going to call the cops and we're going to wait right here for them. and then you're going to go to pound-you-in-the-ass prison, for a long, long time." masha stepped forward. "stop right there, chickie," he said. "i saw you get him away. i saw it all --" she took another step forward and snatched the phone out of his hand, reaching behind her with her other hand and bringing it out holding a wallet open. "dhs, dick-head," she said. "i'm dhs. i've been running this twerp back to his masters to see where he went. i *was* doing that. now you've blown it. we have a name for that. we call it 'obstruction of national security.' you're about to hear that phrase a lot more often." charles took a step backward, his hands held up in front of him. he'd gone even paler under his makeup. "what? no! i mean -- i didn't know! i was trying to *help*!" "the last thing we need is a bunch of high school junior g-men 'helping' buddy. you can tell it to the judge." he moved back again, but masha was fast. she grabbed his wrist and twisted him into the same judo hold she'd had me in back at civic center. her hand dipped back to her pockets and came out holding a strip of plastic, a handcuff strip, which she quickly wound around his wrists. that was the last thing i saw as i took off running. # i made it as far as the other end of the alley before she caught up with me, tackling me from behind and sending me sprawling. i couldn't move very fast, not with my hurt foot and the weight of my pack. i went down in a hard face-plant and skidded, grinding my cheek into the grimy asphalt. "jesus," she said. "you're a goddamned idiot. you didn't *believe* that, did you?" my heart thudded in my chest. she was on top of me and slowly she let me up. "do i need to cuff you, marcus?" i got to my feet. i hurt all over. i wanted to die. "come on," she said. "it's not far now." # 'it' turned out to be a moving van on a nob hill side-street, a sixteen-wheeler the size of one of the ubiquitous dhs trucks that still turned up on san francisco's street corners, bristling with antennas. this one, though, said "three guys and a truck moving" on the side, and the three guys were very much in evidence, trekking in and out of a tall apartment building with a green awning. they were carrying crated furniture, neatly labeled boxes, loading them one at a time onto the truck and carefully packing them there. she walked us around the block once, apparently unsatisfied with something, then, on the next pass, she made eye-contact with the man who was watching the van, an older black guy with a kidney-belt and heavy gloves. he had a kind face and he smiled at us as she led us quickly, casually up the truck's three stairs and into its depth. "under the big table," he said. "we left you some space there." the truck was more than half full, but there was a narrow corridor around a huge table with a quilted blanket thrown over it and bubble-wrap wound around its legs. masha pulled me under the table. it was stuffy and still and dusty under there, and i suppressed a sneeze as we scrunched in among the boxes. the space was so tight that we were on top of each other. i didn't think that ange would have fit in there. "bitch," i said, looking at masha. "shut up. you should be licking my boots thanking me. you would have ended up in jail in a week, two tops. not gitmo-by-the-bay. syria, maybe. i think that's where they sent the ones they really wanted to disappear." i put my head on my knees and tried to breathe deeply. "why would you do something so stupid as declaring war on the dhs anyway?" i told her. i told her about being busted and i told her about darryl. she patted her pockets and came up with a phone. it was charles's. "wrong phone." she came up with another phone. she turned it on and the glow from its screen filled our little fort. after fiddling for a second, she showed it to me. it was the picture she'd snapped of us, just before the bombs blew. it was the picture of jolu and van and me and -- darryl. i was holding in my hand proof that darryl had been with us minutes before we'd all gone into dhs custody. proof that he'd been alive and well and in our company. "you need to give me a copy of this," i said. "i need it." "when we get to la," she said, snatching the phone back. "once you've been briefed on how to be a fugitive without getting both our asses caught and shipped to syria. i don't want you getting rescue ideas about this guy. he's safe enough where he is -- for now." i thought about trying to take it from her by force, but she'd already demonstrated her physical skill. she must have been a black-belt or something. we sat there in the dark, listening to the three guys load the truck with box after box, tying things down, grunting with the effort of it. i tried to sleep, but couldn't. masha had no such problem. she snored. there was still light shining through the narrow, obstructed corridor that led to the fresh air outside. i stared at it, through the gloom, and thought of ange. my ange. her hair brushing her shoulders as she turned her head from side to side, laughing at something i'd done. her face when i'd seen her last, falling down in the crowd at vampmob. all those people at vampmob, like the people in the park, down and writhing, the dhs moving in with truncheons. the ones who disappeared. darryl. stuck on treasure island, his side stitched up, taken out of his cell for endless rounds of questioning about the terrorists. darryl's father, ruined and boozy, unshaven. washed up and in his uniform, "for the photos." weeping like a little boy. my own father, and the way that he had been changed by my disappearance to treasure island. he'd been just as broken as darryl's father, but in his own way. and his face, when i told him where i'd been. that was when i knew that i couldn't run. that was when i knew that i had to stay and fight. # masha's breathing was deep and regular, but when i reached with glacial slowness into her pocket for her phone, she snuffled a little and shifted. i froze and didn't even breathe for a full two minutes, counting one hippopotami, two hippopotami. slowly, her breath deepened again. i tugged the phone free of her jacket-pocket one millimeter at a time, my fingers and arm trembling with the effort of moving so slowly. then i had it, a little candy-bar shaped thing. i turned to head for the light, when i had a flash of memory: charles, holding out his phone, waggling it at us, taunting us. it had been a candy-bar-shaped phone, silver, plastered in the logos of a dozen companies that had subsidized the cost of the handset through the phone company. it was the kind of phone where you had to listen to a commercial every time you made a call. it was too dim to see the phone clearly in the truck, but i could feel it. were those company decals on its sides? yes? yes. i had just stolen *charles's* phone from masha. i turned back around slowly, slowly, and slowly, slowly, *slowly*, i reached back into her pocket. *her* phone was bigger and bulkier, with a better camera and who knew what else? i'd been through this once before -- that made it a little easier. millimeter by millimeter again, i teased it free of her pocket, stopping twice when she snuffled and twitched. i had the phone free of her pocket and i was beginning to back away when her hand shot out, fast as a snake, and grabbed my wrist, hard, fingertips grinding away at the small, tender bones below my hand. i gasped and stared into masha's wide-open, staring eyes. "you are such an idiot," she said, conversationally, taking the phone from me, punching at its keypad with her other hand. "how did you plan on unlocking this again?" i swallowed. i felt bones grind against each other in my wrist. i bit my lip to keep from crying out. she continued to punch away with her other hand. "is this what you thought you'd get away with?" she showed me the picture of all of us, darryl and jolu, van and me. "this picture?" i didn't say anything. my wrist felt like it would shatter. "maybe i should just delete it, take temptation out of your way." her free hand moved some more. her phone asked her if she was sure and she had to look at it to find the right button. that's when i moved. i had charles's phone in my other hand still, and i brought it down on her crushing hand as hard as i could, banging my knuckles on the table overhead. i hit her hand so hard the phone shattered and she yelped and her hand went slack. i was still moving, reaching for her other hand, for her now-unlocked phone with her thumb still poised over the ok key. her fingers spasmed on the empty air as i snatched the phone out of her hand. i moved down the narrow corridor on hands and knees, heading for the light. i felt her hands slap at my feet and ankles twice, and i had to shove aside some of the boxes that had walled us in like a pharaoh in a tomb. a few of them fell down behind me, and i heard masha grunt again. the rolling truck door was open a crack and i dove for it, slithering out under it. the steps had been removed and i found myself hanging over the road, sliding headfirst into it, clanging my head off the blacktop with a thump that rang my ears like a gong. i scrambled to my feet, holding the bumper, and desperately dragged down on the door-handle, slamming it shut. masha screamed inside -- i must have caught her fingertips. i felt like throwing up, but i didn't. i padlocked the truck instead. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to the tattered cover, denver's legendary independent bookstore. i happened upon the tattered cover quite by accident: alice and i had just landed in denver, coming in from london, and it was early and cold and we needed coffee. we drove in aimless rental-car circles, and that's when i spotted it, the tattered cover's sign. something about it tingled in my hindbrain -- i knew i'd heard of this place. we pulled in (got a coffee) and stepped into the store -- a wonderland of dark wood, homey reading nooks, and miles and miles of bookshelves.]] [[the tattered cover http://www.tatteredcover.com/nasapp/store/product?s=showproduct&isbn= th st., denver, co usa + ]] none of the three guys were around at the moment, so i took off. my head hurt so much i thought i must be bleeding, but my hands came away dry. my twisted ankle had frozen up in the truck so that i ran like a broken marionette, and i stopped only once, to cancel the photo-deletion on masha's phone. i turned off its radio -- both to save battery and to keep it from being used to track me -- and set the sleep timer to two hours, the longest setting available. i tried to set it to not require a password to wake from sleep, but that required a password itself. i was just going to have to tap the keypad at least once every two hours until i could figure out how to get the photo off of the phone. i would need a charger, then. i didn't have a plan. i needed one. i needed to sit down, to get online -- to figure out what i was going to do next. i was sick of letting other people do my planning for me. i didn't want to be acting because of what masha did, or because of the dhs, or because of my dad. or because of ange? well, maybe i'd act because of ange. that would be just fine, in fact. i'd just been slipping downhill, taking alleys when i could, merging with the tenderloin crowds. i didn't have any destination in mind. every few minutes, i put my hand in my pocket and nudged one of the keys on masha's phone to keep it from going asleep. it made an awkward bulge, unfolded there in my jacket. i stopped and leaned against a building. my ankle was killing me. where was i, anyway? o'farrell, at hyde street. in front of a dodgy "asian massage parlor." my traitorous feet had taken me right back to the beginning -- taken me back to where the photo on masha's phone had been taken, seconds before the bay bridge blew, before my life changed forever. i wanted to sit down on the sidewalk and bawl, but that wouldn't solve my problems. i had to call barbara stratford, tell her what had happened. show her the photo of darryl. what was i thinking? i had to show her the video, the one that masha had sent me -- the one where the president's chief of staff gloated at the attacks on san francisco and admitted that he knew when and where the next attacks would happen and that he wouldn't stop them because they'd help his man get re-elected. that was a plan, then: get in touch with barbara, give her the documents, and get them into print. the vampmob had to have really freaked people out, made them think that we really were a bunch of terrorists. of course, when i'd been planning it, i had been thinking of how good a distraction it would be, not how it would look to some nascar dad in nebraska. i'd call barbara, and i'd do it smart, from a payphone, putting my hood up so that the inevitable cctv wouldn't get a photo of me. i dug a quarter out of my pocket and polished it on my shirt-tail, getting the fingerprints off it. i headed downhill, down and down to the bart station and the payphones there. i made it to the trolley-car stop when i spotted the cover of the week's *bay guardian*, stacked in a high pile next to a homeless black guy who smiled at me. "go ahead and read the cover, it's free -- it'll cost you fifty cents to look inside, though." the headline was set in the biggest type i'd seen since / : inside gitmo-by-the-bay beneath it, in slightly smaller type: "how the dhs has kept our children and friends in secret prisons on our doorstep. "by barbara stratford, special to the bay guardian" the newspaper seller shook his head. "can you believe that?" he said. "right here in san francisco. man, the government *sucks*." theoretically, the *guardian* was free, but this guy appeared to have cornered the local market for copies of it. i had a quarter in my hand. i dropped it into his cup and fished for another one. i didn't bother polishing the fingerprints off of it this time. "we're told that the world changed forever when the bay bridge was blown up by parties unknown. thousands of our friends and neighbors died on that day. almost none of them have been recovered; their remains are presumed to be resting in the city's harbor. "but an extraordinary story told to this reporter by a young man who was arrested by the dhs minutes after the explosion suggests that our own government has illegally held many of those thought dead on treasure island, which had been evacuated and declared off-limits to civilians shortly after the bombing..." i sat down on a bench -- the same bench, i noted with a prickly hair-up-the-neck feeling, where we'd rested darryl after escaping from the bart station -- and read the article all the way through. it took a huge effort not to burst into tears right there. barbara had found some photos of me and darryl goofing around together and they ran alongside the text. the photos were maybe a year old, but i looked so much *younger* in them, like i was or . i'd done a lot of growing up in the past couple months. the piece was beautifully written. i kept feeling outraged on behalf of the poor kids she was writing about, then remembering that she was writing about *me*. zeb's note was there, his crabbed handwriting reproduced in large, a half-sheet of the newspaper. barbara had dug up more info on other kids who were missing and presumed dead, a long list, and asked how many had been stuck there on the island, just a few miles from their parents' doorsteps. i dug another quarter out of my pocket, then changed my mind. what was the chance that barbara's phone wasn't tapped? there was no way i was going to be able to call her now, not directly. i needed some intermediary to get in touch with her and get her to meet me somewhere south. so much for plans. what i really, really needed was the xnet. how the hell was i going to get online? my phone's wifinder was blinking like crazy -- there was wireless all around me, but i didn't have an xbox and a tv and a paranoidxbox dvd to boot from. wifi, wifi everywhere... that's when i spotted them. two kids, about my age, moving among the crowd at the top of the stairs down into the bart. what caught my eye was the way they were moving, kind of clumsy, nudging up against the commuters and the tourists. each had a hand in his pocket, and whenever they met one another's eye, they snickered. they couldn't have been more obvious jammers, but the crowd was oblivious to them. being down in that neighborhood, you expect to be dodging homeless people and crazies, so you don't make eye contact, don't look around at all if you can help it. i sidled up to one. he seemed really young, but he couldn't have been any younger than me. "hey," i said. "hey, can you guys come over here for a second?" he pretended not to hear me. he looked right through me, the way you would a homeless person. "come on," i said. "i don't have a lot of time." i grabbed his shoulder and hissed in his ear. "the cops are after me. i'm from xnet." he looked scared now, like he wanted to run away, and his friend was moving toward us. "i'm serious," i said. "just hear me out." his friend came over. he was taller, and beefy -- like darryl. "hey," he said. "something wrong?" his friend whispered in his ear. the two of them looked like they were going to bolt. i grabbed my copy of the *bay guardian* from under my arm and rattled it in front of them. "just turn to page , ok?" they did. they looked at the headline. the photo. me. "oh, dude," the first one said. "we are *so* not worthy." he grinned at me like crazy, and the beefier one slapped me on the back. "no *way* --" he said. "you're m --" i put a hand over his mouth. "come over here, ok?" i brought them back to my bench. i noticed that there was something old and brown staining the sidewalk underneath it. darryl's blood? it made my skin pucker up. we sat down. "i'm marcus," i said, swallowing hard as i gave my real name to these two who already knew me as m k y. i was blowing my cover, but the *bay guardian* had already made the connection for me. "nate," the small one said. "liam," the bigger one said. "dude, it is *such* an honor to meet you. you're like our all-time hero --" "don't say that," i said. "don't say that. you two are like a flashing advertisement that says, 'i am jamming, please put my ass in gitmo-by-the-bay. you couldn't be more obvious." liam looked like he might cry. "don't worry, you didn't get busted. i'll give you some tips, later." he brightened up again. what was becoming weirdly clear was that these two really *did* idolize m k y, and that they'd do anything i said. they were grinning like idiots. it made me uncomfortable, sick to my stomach. "listen, i need to get on xnet, now, without going home or anywhere near home. do you two live near here?" "i do," nate said. "up at the top of california street. it's a bit of a walk -- steep hills." i'd just walked all the way down them. masha was somewhere up there. but still, it was better than i had any right to expect. "let's go," i said. # nate loaned me his baseball hat and traded jackets with me. i didn't have to worry about gait-recognition, not with my ankle throbbing the way it was -- i limped like an extra in a cowboy movie. 	 nate lived in a huge four-bedroom apartment at the top of nob hill. the building had a doorman, in a red overcoat with gold brocade, and he touched his cap and called nate, "mr nate" and welcomed us all there. the place was spotless and smelled of furniture polish. i tried not to gawp at what must have been a couple million bucks' worth of condo. "my dad," he explained. "he was an investment banker. lots of life insurance. he died when i was and we got it all. they'd been divorced for years, but he left my mom as beneficiary." from the floor-to-ceiling window, you could see a stunning view of the other side of nob hill, all the way down to fisherman's wharf, to the ugly stub of the bay bridge, the crowd of cranes and trucks. through the mist, i could just make out treasure island. looking down all that way, it gave me a crazy urge to jump. i got online with his xbox and a huge plasma screen in the living room. he showed me how many open wifi networks were visible from his high vantage point -- twenty, thirty of them. this was a good spot to be an xnetter. there was a *lot* of email in my m k y account. , new messages since ange and i had left her place that morning. lots of it was from the press, asking for followup interviews, but most of it was from the xnetters, people who'd seen the *guardian* story and wanted to tell me that they'd do anything to help me, anything i needed. that did it. tears started to roll down my cheeks. nate and liam exchanged glances. i tried to stop, but it was no good. i was sobbing now. nate went to an oak book-case on one wall and swung a bar out of one of its shelves, revealing gleaming rows of bottles. he poured me a shot of something golden brown and brought it to me. "rare irish whiskey," he said. "mom's favorite." it tasted like fire, like gold. i sipped at it, trying not to choke. i didn't really like hard liquor, but this was different. i took several deep breaths. "thanks, nate," i said. he looked like i'd just pinned a medal on him. he was a good kid. "all right," i said, and picked up the keyboard. the two boys watched in fascination as i paged through my mail on the gigantic screen. what i was looking for, first and foremost, was email from ange. there was a chance that she'd just gotten away. there was always that chance. i was an idiot to even hope. there was nothing from her. i started going through the mail as fast as i could, picking apart the press requests, the fan mail, the hate mail, the spam... and that's when i found it: a letter from zeb. "it wasn't nice to wake up this morning and find the letter that i thought you would destroy in the pages of the newspaper. not nice at all. made me feel -- hunted. "but i've come to understand why you did it. i don't know if i can approve of your tactics, but it's easy to see that your motives were sound. "if you're reading this, that means that there's a good chance you've gone underground. it's not easy. i've been learning that. i've been learning a lot more. "i can help you. i should do that for you. you're doing what you can for me. (even if you're not doing it with my permission.) "reply if you get this, if you're on the run and alone. or reply if you're in custody, being run by our friends on gitmo, looking for a way to make the pain stop. if they've got you, you'll do what they tell you. i know that. i'll take that risk. "for you, m k y." "wooooah," liam breathed. "duuuuude." i wanted to smack him. i turned to say something awful and cutting to him, but he was staring at me with eyes as big as saucers, looking like he wanted to drop to his knees and worship me. "can i just say," nate said, "can i just say that it is the biggest honor of my entire life to help you? can i just say that?" i was blushing now. there was nothing for it. these two were totally star-struck, even though i wasn't any kind of star, not in my own mind at least. "can you guys --" i swallowed. "can i have some privacy here?" they slunk out of the room like bad puppies and i felt like a tool. i typed fast. "i got away, zeb. and i'm on the run. i need all the help i can get. i want to end this now." i remembered to take masha's phone out of my pocket and tickle it to keep it from going to sleep. they let me use the shower, gave me a change of clothes, a new backpack with half their earthquake kit in it -- energy bars, medicine, hot and cold packs, and an old sleeping-bag. they even slipped a spare xbox universal already loaded with paranoidxbox on it into there. that was a nice touch. i had to draw the line at a flaregun. i kept on checking my email to see if zeb had replied. i answered the fan mail. i answered the mail from the press. i deleted the hate mail. i was half-expecting to see something from masha, but chances were she was halfway to la by now, her fingers hurt, and in no position to type. i tickled her phone again. they encouraged me to take a nap and for a brief, shameful moment, i got all paranoid like maybe these guys were thinking of turning me in once i was asleep. which was idiotic -- they could have turned me in just as easily when i was awake. i just couldn't compute the fact that they thought *so much* of me. i had known, intellectually, that there were people who would follow m k y. i'd met some of those people that morning, shouting bite bite bite and vamping it up at civic center. but these two were more personal. they were just nice, goofy guys, they coulda been any of my friends back in the days before the xnet, just two pals who palled around having teenage adventures. they'd volunteered to join an army, my army. i had a responsibility to them. left to themselves, they'd get caught, it was only a matter of time. they were too trusting. "guys, listen to me for a second. i have something serious i need to talk to you about." they almost stood at attention. it would have been funny if it wasn't so scary. "here's the thing. now that you've helped me, it's really dangerous. if you get caught, i'll get caught. they'll get anything you know out of you --" i held up my hand to forestall their protests. "no, stop. you haven't been through it. everyone talks. everyone breaks. if you're ever caught, you tell them everything, right away, as fast as you can, as much as you can. they'll get it all eventually anyway. that's how they work. "but you won't get caught, and here's why: you're not jammers anymore. you are retired from active duty. you're a --" i fished in my memory for vocabulary words culled from spy thrillers -- "you're a sleeper cell. stand down. go back to being normal kids. one way or another, i'm going to break this thing, break it wide open, end it. or it will get me, finally, do me in. if you don't hear from me within hours, assume that they got me. do whatever you want then. but for the next three days -- and forever, if i do what i'm trying to do -- stand down. will you promise me that?" they promised with all solemnity. i let them talk me into napping, but made them swear to rouse me once an hour. i'd have to tickle masha's phone and i wanted to know as soon as zeb got back in touch with me. # the rendezvous was on a bart car, which made me nervous. they're full of cameras. but zeb knew what he was doing. he had me meet him in the last car of a certain train departing from powell street station, at a time when that car was filled with the press of bodies. he sidled up to me in the crowd, and the good commuters of san francisco cleared a space for him, the hollow that always surrounds homeless people. "nice to see you again," he muttered, facing into the doorway. looking into the dark glass, i could see that there was no one close enough to eavesdrop -- not without some kind of high-efficiency mic rig, and if they knew enough to show up here with one of those, we were dead anyway. "you too, brother," i said. "i'm -- i'm sorry, you know?" "shut up. don't be sorry. you were braver than i am. are you ready to go underground now? ready to disappear?" "about that." "yes?" "that's not the plan." "oh," he said. "listen, ok? i have -- i have pictures, video. stuff that really *proves* something." i reached into my pocket and tickled masha's phone. i'd bought a charger for it in union square on the way down, and had stopped and plugged it in at a cafe for long enough to get the battery up to four out of five bars. "i need to get it to barbara stratford, the woman from the *guardian*. but they're going to be watching her -- watching to see if i show up." "you don't think that they'll be watching for me, too? if your plan involves me going within a mile of that woman's home or office --" "i want you to get van to come and meet me. did darryl ever tell you about van? the girl --" "he told me. yes, he told me. you don't think they'll be watching her? all of you who were arrested?" "i think they will. i don't think they'll be watching her as hard. and van has totally clean hands. she never cooperated with any of my --" i swallowed. "with my projects. so they might be a little more relaxed about her. if she calls the bay guardian to make an appointment to explain why i'm just full of crap, maybe they'll let her keep it." he stared at the door for a long time. "you know what happens when they catch us again." it wasn't a question. i nodded. "are you sure? some of the people that were on treasure island with us got taken away in helicopters. they got taken *offshore*. there are countries where america can outsource its torture. countries where you will rot forever. countries where you wish they would just get it over with, have you dig a trench and then shoot you in the back of the head as you stand over it." i swallowed and nodded. "is it worth the risk? we can go underground for a long, long time here. someday we might get our country back. we can wait it out." i shook my head. "you can't get anything done by doing nothing. it's our *country*. they've taken it from us. the terrorists who attack us are still free -- but *we're not*. i can't go underground for a year, ten years, my whole life, waiting for freedom to be handed to me. freedom is something you have to take for yourself." # that afternoon, van left school as usual, sitting in the back of the bus with a tight knot of her friends, laughing and joking the way she always did. the other riders on the bus took special note of her, she was so loud, and besides, she was wearing that stupid, giant floppy hat, something that looked like a piece out of a school play about renaissance sword fighters. at one point they all huddled together, then turned away to look out the back of the bus, pointing and giggling. the girl who wore the hat now was the same height as van, and from behind, it could be her. no one paid any attention to the mousy little asian girl who got off a few stops before the bart. she was dressed in a plain old school uniform, and looking down shyly as she stepped off. besides, at that moment, the loud korean girl let out a whoop and her friends followed along, laughing so loudly that even the bus driver slowed down, twisted in his seat and gave them a dirty look. van hurried away down the street with her head down, her hair tied back and dropped down the collar of her out-of-style bubble jacket. she had slipped lifts into her shoes that made her two wobbly, awkward inches taller, and had taken her contacts out and put on her least-favored glasses, with huge lenses that took up half her face. although i'd been waiting in the bus-shelter for her and knew when to expect her, i hardly recognized her. i got up and walked along behind her, across the street, trailing by half a block. the people who passed me looked away as quickly as possible. i looked like a homeless kid, with a grubby cardboard sign, street-grimy overcoat, huge, overstuffed knapsack with duct-tape over its rips. no one wants to look at a street-kid, because if you meet his eye, he might ask you for some spare change. i'd walked around oakland all afternoon and the only person who'd spoken to me was a jehovah's witness and a scientologist, both trying to convert me. it felt gross, like being hit on by a pervert. van followed the directions i'd written down carefully. zeb had passed them to her the same way he'd given me the note outside school -- bumping into her as she waited for the bus, apologizing profusely. i'd written the note plainly and simply, just laying it out for her: i know you don't approve. i understand. but this is it, this is the most important favor i've ever asked of you. please. please. she'd come. i knew she would. we had a lot of history, van and i. she didn't like what had happened to the world, either. besides, an evil, chuckling voice in my head had pointed out, she was under suspicion now that barbara's article was out. we walked like that for six or seven blocks, looking at who was near us, what cars went past. zeb told me about five-person trails, where five different undercovers traded off duties following you, making it nearly impossible to spot them. you had to go somewhere totally desolate, where anyone at all would stand out like a sore thumb. the overpass for the was just a few blocks from the coliseum bart station, and even with all the circling van did, it didn't take long to reach it. the noise from overhead was nearly deafening. no one else was around, not that i could tell. i'd visited the site before i suggested it to van in the note, taking care to check for places where someone could hide. there weren't any. once she stopped at the appointed place, i moved quickly to catch up to her. she blinked owlishly at me from behind her glasses. "marcus," she breathed, and tears swam in her eyes. i found that i was crying too. i'd make a really rotten fugitive. too sentimental. she hugged me so hard i couldn't breathe. i hugged her back even harder. then she kissed me. not on the cheek, not like a sister. full on the lips, a hot, wet, steamy kiss that seemed to go on forever. i was so overcome with emotion -- no, that's bull. i knew exactly what i was doing. i kissed her back. then i stopped and pulled away, nearly shoved her away. "van," i gasped. "oops," she said. "van," i said again. "sorry," she said. "i --" something occurred to me just then, something i guess i should have seen a long, long time before. "you *like* me, don't you?" she nodded miserably. "for years," she said. oh, god. darryl, all these years, so in love with her, and the whole time she was looking at me, secretly wanting me. and then i ended up with ange. ange said that she'd always fought with van. and i was running around, getting into so much trouble. "van," i said. "van, i'm so sorry." "forget it," she said, looking away. "i know it can't be. i just wanted to do that once, just in case i never --" she bit down on the words. "van, i need you to do something for me. something important. i need you to meet with the journalist from the bay guardian, barbara stratford, the one who wrote the article. i need you to give her something." i explained about masha's phone, told her about the video that masha had sent me. "what good will this do, marcus? what's the point?" "van, you were right, at least partly. we can't fix the world by putting other people at risk. i need to solve the problem by telling what i know. i should have done that from the start. should have walked straight out of their custody and to darryl's father's house and told him what i knew. now, though, i have evidence. this stuff -- it could change the world. this is my last hope. the only hope for getting darryl out, for getting a life that i don't spend underground, hiding from the cops. and you're the only person i can trust to do this." "why me?" "you're kidding, right? look at how well you handled getting here. you're a pro. you're the best at this of any of us. you're the only one i can trust. that's why you." "why not your friend angie?" she said the name without any inflection at all, like it was a block of cement. i looked down. "i thought you knew. they arrested her. she's in gitmo -- on treasure island. she's been there for days now." i had been trying not to think about this, not to think about what might be happening to her. now i couldn't stop myself and i started to sob. i felt a pain in my stomach, like i'd been kicked, and i pushed my hands into my middle to hold myself in. i folded there, and the next thing i knew, i was on my side in the rubble under the freeway, holding myself and crying. van knelt down by my side. "give me the phone," she said, her voice an angry hiss. i fished it out of my pocket and passed it to her. embarrassed, i stopped crying and sat up. i knew that snot was running down my face. van was giving me a look of pure revulsion. "you need to keep it from going to sleep," i said. "i have a charger here." i rummaged in my pack. i hadn't slept all the way through the night since i acquired it. i set the phone's alarm to go off every minutes and wake me up so that i could keep it from going to sleep. "don't fold it shut, either." "and the video?" "that's harder," i said. "i emailed a copy to myself, but i can't get onto the xnet anymore." in a pinch, i could have gone back to nate and liam and used their xbox again, but i didn't want to risk it. "look, i'm going to give you my login and password for the pirate party's mail-server. you'll have to use tor to access it -- homeland security is bound to be scanning for people logging into p-party mail." "your login and password," she said, looking a little surprised. "i trust you, van. i know i can trust you." she shook her head. "you *never* give out your passwords, marcus." "i don't think it matters anymore. either you succeed or i -- or it's the end of marcus yallow. maybe i'll get a new identity, but i don't think so. i think they'll catch me. i guess i've known all along that they'd catch me, some day." she looked at me, furious now. "what a waste. what was it all for, anyway?" of all the things she could have said, nothing could have hurt me more. it was like another kick in the stomach. what a waste, all of it, futile. darryl and ange, gone. i might never see my family again. and still, homeland security had my city and my country caught in a massive, irrational shrieking freak-out where anything could be done in the name of stopping terrorism. van looked like she was waiting for me to say something, but i had nothing to say to that. she left me there. # zeb had a pizza for me when i got back "home" -- to the tent under a freeway overpass in the mission that he'd staked out for the night. he had a pup tent, military surplus, stenciled with san francisco local homeless coordinating board. the pizza was a dominos, cold and clabbered, but delicious for all that. "you like pineapple on your pizza?" zeb smiled condescendingly at me. "freegans can't be choosy," he said. "freegans?" "like vegans, but we only eat free food." "free food?" he grinned again. "you know -- *free* food. from the free food store?" "you stole this?" "no, dummy. it's from the other store. the little one out behind the store? made of blue steel? kind of funky smelling?" "you got this out of the garbage?" he flung his head back and cackled. "yes indeedy. you should *see* your face. dude, it's ok. it's not like it was rotten. it was fresh -- just a screwed up order. they threw it out in the box. they sprinkle rat poison over everything at closing-time, but if you get there quick, you're ok. you should see what grocery stores throw out! wait until breakfast. i'm going to make you a fruit salad you won't believe. as soon as one strawberry in the box goes a little green and fuzzy, the whole thing is out --" i tuned him out. the pizza was fine. it wasn't as if sitting in the dumpster would infect it or something. if it was gross, that was only because it came from domino's -- the worst pizza in town. i'd never liked their food, and i'd given it up altogether when i found out that they bankrolled a bunch of ultra-crazy politicians who thought that global warming and evolution were satanic plots. it was hard to shake the feeling of grossness, though. but there *was* another way to look at it. zeb had showed me a secret, something i hadn't anticipated: there was a whole hidden world out there, a way of getting by without participating in the system. "freegans, huh?" "yogurt, too," he said, nodding vigorously. "for the fruit salad. they throw it out the day after the best-before date, but it's not as if it goes green at midnight. it's yogurt, i mean, it's basically just rotten milk to begin with." i swallowed. the pizza tasted funny. rat poison. spoiled yogurt. furry strawberries. this would take some getting used to. i ate another bite. actually, domino's pizza sucked a little less when you got it for free. liam's sleeping bag was warm and welcoming after a long, emotionally exhausting day. van would have made contact with barbara by now. she'd have the video and the picture. i'd call her in the morning and find out what she thought i should do next. i'd have to come in once she published, to back it all up. i thought about that as i closed my eyes, thought about what it would be like to turn myself in, the cameras all rolling, following the infamous m k y into one of those big, columnated buildings in civic center. the sound of the cars screaming by overhead turned into a kind of ocean sound as i drifted away. there were other tents nearby, homeless people. i'd met a few of them that afternoon, before it got dark and we all retreated to huddle near our own tents. they were all older than me, rough looking and gruff. none of them looked crazy or violent, though. just like people who'd had bad luck, or made bad decisions, or both. i must have fallen asleep, because i don't remember anything else until a bright light was shined into my face, so bright it was blinding. "that's him," said a voice behind the light. "bag him," said another voice, one i'd heard before, one i'd heard over and over again in my dreams, lecturing to me, demanding my passwords. severe-haircut-woman. the bag went over my head quickly and was cinched so tight at the throat that i choked and threw up my freegan pizza. as i spasmed and choked, hard hands bound my wrists, then my ankles. i was rolled onto a stretcher and hoisted, then carried into a vehicle, up a couple of clanging metal steps. they dropped me into a padded floor. there was no sound at all in the back of the vehicle once they closed the doors. the padding deadened everything except my own choking. "well, hello again," she said. i felt the van rock as she crawled in with me. i was still choking, trying to gasp in a breath. vomit filled my mouth and trickled down my windpipe. "we won't let you die," she said. "if you stop breathing, we'll make sure you start again. so don't worry about it." i choked harder. i sipped at air. some was getting through. deep, wracking coughs shook my chest and back, dislodging some more of the puke. more breath. "see?" she said. "not so bad. welcome home, m k y. we've got somewhere very special to take you." i relaxed onto my back, feeling the van rock. the smell of used pizza was overwhelming at first, but as with all strong stimuli, my brain gradually grew accustomed to it, filtered it out until it was just a faint aroma. the rocking of the van was almost comforting. that's when it happened. an incredible, deep calm that swept over me like i was lying on the beach and the ocean had swept in and lifted me as gently as a parent, held me aloft and swept me out onto a warm sea under a warm sun. after everything that had happened, i was caught, but it didn't matter. i had gotten the information to barbara. i had organized the xnet. i had won. and if i hadn't won, i had done everything i could have done. more than i ever thought i could do. i took a mental inventory as i rode, thinking of everything that i had accomplished, that *we* had accomplished. the city, the country, the world was full of people who wouldn't live the way dhs wanted us to live. we'd fight forever. they couldn't jail us all. i sighed and smiled. she'd been talking all along, i realized. i'd been so far into my happy place that she'd just gone away. "-- smart kid like you. you'd think that you'd know better than to mess with us. we've had an eye on you since the day you walked out. we would have caught you even if you hadn't gone crying to your lesbo journalist traitor. i just don't get it -- we had an understanding, you and me..." we rumbled over a metal plate, the van's shocks rocking, and then the rocking changed. we were on water. heading to treasure island. hey, ange was there. darryl, too. maybe. # the hood didn't come off until i was in my cell. they didn't bother with the cuffs at my wrists and ankles, just rolled me off the stretcher and onto the floor. it was dark, but by the moonlight from the single, tiny, high window, i could see that the mattress had been taken off the cot. the room contained me, a toilet, a bed-frame, and a sink, and nothing else. i closed my eyes and let the ocean lift me. i floated away. somewhere, far below me, was my body. i could tell what would happen next. i was being left to piss myself. again. i knew what that was like. i'd pissed myself before. it smelled bad. it itched. it was humiliating, like being a baby. but i'd survived it. i laughed. the sound was weird, and it drew me back into my body, back to the present. i laughed and laughed. i'd had the worst that they could throw at me, and i'd survived it, and i'd *beaten them*, beaten them for months, showed them up as chumps and despots. i'd *won*. i let my bladder cut loose. it was sore and full anyway, and no time like the present. the ocean swept me away. # when morning came, two efficient, impersonal guards cut the bindings off of my wrists and ankles. i still couldn't walk -- when i stood, my legs gave way like a stringless marionette's. too much time in one position. the guards pulled my arms over their shoulders and half-dragged/half-carried me down the familiar corridor. the bar codes on the doors were curling up and dangling now, attacked by the salt air. i got an idea. "ange!" i yelled. "darryl!" i yelled. my guards yanked me along faster, clearly disturbed but not sure what to do about it. "guys, it's me, marcus! stay free!" behind one of the doors, someone sobbed. someone else cried out in what sounded like arabic. then it was cacophony, a thousand different shouting voices. they brought me to a new room. it was an old shower-room, with the shower-heads still present in the mould tiles. "hello, m k y," severe haircut said. "you seem to have had an eventful morning." she wrinkled her nose pointedly. "i pissed myself," i said, cheerfully. "you should try it." "maybe we should give you a bath, then," she said. she nodded, and my guards carried me to another stretcher. this one had restraining straps running its length. they dropped me onto it and it was ice-cold and soaked through. before i knew it, they had the straps across my shoulders, hips and ankles. a minute later, three more straps were tied down. a man's hands grabbed the railings by my head and released some catches, and a moment later i was tilted down, my head below my feet. "let's start with something simple," she said. i craned my head to see her. she had turned to a desk with an xbox on it, connected to an expensive-looking flat-panel tv. "i'd like you to tell me your login and password for your pirate party email, please?" i closed my eyes and let the ocean carry me off the beach. "do you know what waterboarding is, m k y?" her voice reeled me in. "you get strapped down like this, and we pour water over your head, up your nose and down your mouth. you can't suppress the gag reflex. they call it a simulated execution, and from what i can tell from this side of the room, that's a fair assessment. you won't be able to fight the feeling that you're dying." i tried to go away. i'd heard of waterboarding. this was it, real torture. and this was just the beginning. i couldn't go away. the ocean didn't sweep in and lift me. there was a tightness in my chest, my eyelids fluttered. i could feel clammy piss on my legs and clammy sweat in my hair. my skin itched from the dried puke. she swam into view above me. "let's start with the login," she said. i closed my eyes, squeezed them shut. "give him a drink," she said. i heard people moving. i took a deep breath and held it. the water started as a trickle, a ladleful of water gently poured over my chin, my lips. up my upturned nostrils. it went back into my throat, starting to choke me, but i wouldn't cough, wouldn't gasp and suck it into my lungs. i held onto my breath and squeezed my eyes harder. there was a commotion from outside the room, a sound of chaotic boots stamping, angry, outraged shouts. the dipper was emptied into my face. i heard her mutter something to someone in the room, then to me she said, "just the login, marcus. it's a simple request. what could i do with your login, anyway?" this time, it was a bucket of water, all at once, a flood that didn't stop, it must have been gigantic. i couldn't help it. i gasped and aspirated the water into my lungs, coughed and took more water in. i knew they wouldn't kill me, but i couldn't convince my body of that. in every fiber of my being, i knew i was going to die. i couldn't even cry -- the water was still pouring over me. then it stopped. i coughed and coughed and coughed, but at the angle i was at, the water i coughed up dribbled back into my nose and burned down my sinuses. the coughs were so deep they hurt, hurt my ribs and my hips as i twisted against them. i hated how my body was betraying me, how my mind couldn't control my body, but there was nothing for it. finally, the coughing subsided enough for me to take in what was going on around me. people were shouting and it sounded like someone was scuffling, wrestling. i opened my eyes and blinked into the bright light, then craned my neck, still coughing a little. the room had a lot more people in it than it had had when we started. most of them seemed to be wearing body armor, helmets, and smoked-plastic visors. they were shouting at the treasure island guards, who were shouting back, necks corded with veins. "stand down!" one of the body-armors said. "stand down and put your hands in the air. you are under arrest!" severe haircut woman was talking on her phone. one of the body armors noticed her and he moved swiftly to her and batted her phone away with a gloved hand. everyone fell silent as it sailed through the air in an arc that spanned the small room, clattering to the ground in a shower of parts. the silence broke and the body-armors moved into the room. two grabbed each of my torturers. i almost managed a smile at the look on severe haircut's face when two men grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around, and yanked a set of plastic handcuffs around her wrists. one of the body-armors moved forward from the doorway. he had a video camera on his shoulder, a serious rig with blinding white light. he got the whole room, circling me twice while he got me. i found myself staying perfectly still, as though i was sitting for a portrait. it was ridiculous. "do you think you could get me off of this thing?" i managed to get it all out with only a little choking. two more body armors moved up to me, one a woman, and began to unstrap me. they flipped their visors up and smiled at me. they had red crosses on their shoulders and helmets. beneath the red crosses was another insignia: chp. california highway patrol. they were state troopers. i started to ask what they were doing there, and that's when i saw barbara stratford. she'd evidently been held back in the corridor, but now she came in pushing and shoving. "there you are," she said, kneeling beside me and grabbing me in the longest, hardest hug of my life. that's when i knew it -- guantanamo by the bay was in the hands of its enemies. i was saved. &&& chapter [[this chapter is dedicated to pages books in toronto, canada. long a fixture on the bleedingly trendy queen street west strip, pages is located over the road from citytv and just a few doors down from the old bakka store where i worked. we at bakka loved having pages down the street from us: what we were to science fiction, they were to everything else: hand-picked material representing the stuff you'd never find elsewhere, the stuff you didn't know you were looking for until you saw it there. pages also has one of the best news-stands i've ever seen, row on row of incredible magazines and zines from all over the world.]] [[pages books http://pagesbooks.ca/ queen st w, toronto, on m v z canada + ]] they left me and barbara alone in the room then, and i used the working shower head to rinse off -- i was suddenly embarrassed to be covered in piss and barf. when i finished, barbara was in tears. "your parents --" she began. i felt like i might throw up again. god, my poor folks. what they must have gone through. "are they here?" "no," she said. "it's complicated," she said. "what?" "you're still under arrest, marcus. everyone here is. they can't just sweep in and throw open the doors. everyone here is going to have to be processed through the criminal justice system. it could take, well, it could take months." "i'm going to have to stay here for *months*?" she grabbed my hands. "no, i think we're going to be able to get you arraigned and released on bail pretty fast. but pretty fast is a relative term. i wouldn't expect anything to happen today. and it's not going to be like those people had it. it will be humane. there will be real food. no interrogations. visits from your family. "just because the dhs is out, it doesn't mean that you get to just walk out of here. what's happened here is that we're getting rid of the bizarro-world version of the justice system they'd instituted and replacing it with the old system. the system with judges, open trials and lawyers. "so we can try to get you transferred to a juvie facility on the mainland, but marcus, those places can be really rough. really, really rough. this might be the best place for you until we get you bailed out." bailed out. of course. i was a criminal -- i hadn't been charged yet, but there were bound to be plenty of charges they could think of. it was practically illegal just to think impure thoughts about the government. she gave my hands another squeeze. "it sucks, but this is how it has to be. the point is, it's *over*. the governor has thrown the dhs out of the state, dismantled every checkpoint. the attorney general has issued warrants for any law-enforcement officers involved in 'stress interrogations' and secret imprisonments. they'll go to jail, marcus, and it's because of what you did." i was numb. i heard the words, but they hardly made sense. somehow, it was over, but it wasn't over. "look," she said. "we probably have an hour or two before this all settles down, before they come back and put you away again. what do you want to do? walk on the beach? get a meal? these people had an incredible staff room -- we raided it on the way in. gourmet all the way." at last a question i could answer. "i want to find ange. i want to find darryl." # i tried to use a computer i found to look up their cell-numbers, but it wanted a password, so we were reduced to walking the corridors, calling out their names. behind the cell-doors, prisoners screamed back at us, or cried, or begged us to let them go. they didn't understand what had just happened, couldn't see their former guards being herded onto the docks in plastic handcuffs, taken away by california state swat teams. "ange!" i called over the din, "ange carvelli! darryl glover! it's marcus!" we'd walked the whole length of the cell-block and they hadn't answered. i felt like crying. they'd been shipped overseas -- they were in syria or worse. i'd never see them again. i sat down and leaned against the corridor wall and put my face in my hands. i saw severe haircut woman's face, saw her smirk as she asked me for my login. she had done this. she would go to jail for it, but that wasn't enough. i thought that when i saw her again, i might kill her. she deserved it. "come on," barbara said, "come on, marcus. don't give up. there's more around here, come on." she was right. all the doors we'd passed in the cellblock were old, rusting things that dated back to when the base was first built. but at the very end of the corridor, sagging open, was a new high-security door as thick as a dictionary. we pulled it open and ventured into the dark corridor within. there were four more cell-doors here, doors without bar codes. each had a small electronic keypad mounted on it. "darryl?" i said. "ange?" "marcus?" it was ange, calling out from behind the furthest door. ange, my ange, my angel. "ange!" i cried. "it's me, it's me!" "oh god, marcus," she choked out, and then it was all sobs. i pounded on the other doors. "darryl! darryl, are you here?" "i'm here." the voice was very small, and very hoarse. "i'm here. i'm very, very sorry. please. i'm very sorry." he sounded... broken. shattered. "it's me, d," i said, leaning on his door. "it's marcus. it's over -- they arrested the guards. they kicked the department of homeland security out. we're getting trials, open trials. and we get to testify against *them*." "i'm sorry," he said. "please, i'm so sorry." the california patrolmen came to the door then. they still had their camera rolling. "ms stratford?" one said. he had his faceplate up and he looked like any other cop, not like my savior. like someone come to lock me up. "captain sanchez," she said. "we've located two of the prisoners of interest here. i'd like to see them released and inspect them for myself." "ma'am, we don't have access codes for those doors yet," he said. she held up her hand. "that wasn't the arrangement. i was to have complete access to this facility. that came direct from the governor, sir. we aren't budging until you open these cells." her face was perfectly smooth, without a single hint of give or flex. she meant it. the captain looked like he needed sleep. he grimaced. "i'll see what i can do," he said. # they did manage to open the cells, finally, about half an hour later. it took three tries, but they eventually got the right codes entered, matching them to the arphids on the id badges they'd taken off the guards they'd arrested. they got into ange's cell first. she was dressed in a hospital gown, open at the back, and her cell was even more bare than mine had been -- just padding all over, no sink or bed, no light. she emerged blinking into the corridor and the police camera was on her, its bright lights in her face. barbara stepped protectively between us and it. ange stepped tentatively out of her cell, shuffling a little. there was something wrong with her eyes, with her face. she was crying, but that wasn't it. "they drugged me," she said. "when i wouldn't stop screaming for a lawyer." that's when i hugged her. she sagged against me, but she squeezed back, too. she smelled stale and sweaty, and i smelled no better. i never wanted to let go. that's when they opened darryl's cell. he had shredded his paper hospital gown. he was curled up, naked, in the back of the cell, shielding himself from the camera and our stares. i ran to him. "d," i whispered in his ear. "d, it's me. it's marcus. it's over. the guards have been arrested. we're going to get bail, we're going home." he trembled and squeezed his eyes shut. "i'm sorry," he whispered, and turned his face away. they took me away then, a cop in body-armor and barbara, took me back to my cell and locked the door, and that's where i spent the night. # i don't remember much about the trip to the courthouse. they had me chained to five other prisoners, all of whom had been in for a lot longer than me. one only spoke arabic -- he was an old man, and he trembled. the others were all young. i was the only white one. once we had been gathered on the deck of the ferry, i saw that nearly everyone on treasure island had been one shade of brown or another. i had only been inside for one night, but it was too long. there was a light drizzle coming down, normally the sort of thing that would make me hunch my shoulders and look down, but today i joined everyone else in craning my head back at the infinite gray sky, reveling in the stinging wet as we raced across the bay to the ferry-docks. they took us away in buses. the shackles made climbing into the buses awkward, and it took a long time for everyone to load. no one cared. when we weren't struggling to solve the geometry problem of six people, one chain, narrow bus-aisle, we were just looking around at the city around us, up the hill at the buildings. all i could think of was finding darryl and ange, but neither were in evidence. it was a big crowd and we weren't allowed to move freely through it. the state troopers who handled us were gentle enough, but they were still big, armored and armed. i kept thinking i saw darryl in the crowd, but it was always someone else with that same beaten, hunched look that he'd had in his cell. he wasn't the only broken one. at the courthouse, they marched us into interview rooms in our shackle group. an aclu lawyer took our information and asked us a few questions -- when she got to me, she smiled and greeted me by name -- and then led us into the courtroom before the judge. he wore an actual robe, and seemed to be in a good mood. the deal seemed to be that anyone who had a family member to post bail could go free, and everyone else got sent to prison. the aclu lawyer did a lot of talking to the judge, asking for a few more hours while the prisoners' families were rounded up and brought to the court-house. the judge was pretty good about it, but when i realized that some of these people had been locked up since the bridge blew, taken for dead by their families, without trial, subjected to interrogation, isolation, torture -- i wanted to just break the chains myself and set everyone free. when i was brought before the judge, he looked down at me and took off his glasses. he looked tired. the aclu lawyer looked tired. the bailiffs looked tired. behind me, i could hear a sudden buzz of conversation as my name was called by the bailiff. the judge rapped his gavel once, without looking away from me. he scrubbed at his eyes. "mr yallow," he said, "the prosecution has identified you as a flight risk. i think they have a point. you certainly have more, shall we say, *history*, than the other people here. i am tempted to hold you over for trial, no matter how much bail your parents are prepared to post." my lawyer started to say something, but the judge silenced her with a look. he scrubbed at his eyes. "do you have anything to say?" "i had the chance to run," i said. "last week. someone offered to take me away, get me out of town, help me build a new identity. instead i stole her phone, escaped from our truck, and ran away. i turned over her phone -- which had evidence about my friend, darryl glover, on it -- to a journalist and hid out here, in town." "you stole a phone?" "i decided that i couldn't run. that i had to face justice -- that my freedom wasn't worth anything if i was a wanted man, or if the city was still under the dhs. if my friends were still locked up. that freedom for me wasn't as important as a free country." "but you did steal a phone." i nodded. "i did. i plan on giving it back, if i ever find the young woman in question." "well, thank you for that speech, mr yallow. you are a very well spoken young man." he glared at the prosecutor. "some would say a very brave man, too. there was a certain video on the news this morning. it suggested that you had some legitimate reason to evade the authorities. in light of that, and of your little speech here, i will grant bail, but i will also ask the prosecutor to add a charge of misdemeanor petty theft to the count, as regards the matter of the phone. for this, i expect another $ , in bail." he banged his gavel again, and my lawyer gave my hand a squeeze. he looked down at me again and re-seated his glasses. he had dandruff, there on the shoulders of his robe. a little more rained down as his glasses touched his wiry, curly hair. "you can go now, young man. stay out of trouble." # i turned to go and someone tackled me. it was dad. he literally lifted me off my feet, hugging me so hard my ribs creaked. he hugged me the way i remembered him hugging me when i was a little boy, when he'd spin me around and around in hilarious, vomitous games of airplane that ended with him tossing me in the air and catching me and squeezing me like that, so hard it almost hurt. a set of softer hands pried me gently out of his arms. mom. she held me at arm's length for a moment, searching my face for something, not saying anything, tears streaming down her face. she smiled and it turned into a sob and then she was holding me too, and dad's arm encircled us both. when they let go, i managed to finally say something. "darryl?" "his father met me somewhere else. he's in the hospital." "when can i see him?" "it's our next stop," dad said. he was grim. "he doesn't --" he stopped. "they say he'll be ok," he said. his voice was choked. "how about ange?" "her mother took her home. she wanted to wait here for you, but..." i understood. i felt full of understanding now, for how all the families of all the people who'd been locked away must feel. the courtroom was full of tears and hugs, and even the bailiffs couldn't stop it. "let's go see darryl," i said. "and let me borrow your phone?" i called ange on the way to the hospital where they were keeping darryl -- san francisco general, just down the street from us -- and arranged to see her after dinner. she talked in a hurried whisper. her mom wasn't sure whether to punish her or not, but ange didn't want to tempt fate. there were two state troopers in the corridor where darryl was being held. they were holding off a legion of reporters who stood on tiptoe to see around them and get pictures. the flashes popped in our eyes like strobes, and i shook my head to clear it. my parents had brought me clean clothes and i'd changed in the back seat, but i still felt gross, even after scrubbing myself in the court-house bathrooms. some of the reporters called my name. oh yeah, that's right, i was famous now. the state troopers gave me a look, too -- either they'd recognized my face or my name when the reporters called it out. darryl's father met us at the door of his hospital room, speaking in a whisper too low for the reporters to hear. he was in civvies, the jeans and sweater i normally thought of him wearing, but he had his service ribbons pinned to his breast. "he's sleeping," he said. "he woke up a little while ago and he started crying. he couldn't stop. they gave him something to help him sleep." he led us in, and there was darryl, his hair clean and combed, sleeping with his mouth open. there was white stuff at the corners of his mouth. he had a semi-private room, and in the other bed there was an older arab-looking guy, in his s. i realized it was the guy i'd been chained to on the way off of treasure island. we exchanged embarrassed waves. then i turned back to darryl. i took his hand. his nails had been chewed to the quick. he'd been a nail-biter when he was a kid, but he'd kicked the habit when we got to high school. i think van talked him out of it, telling him how gross it was for him to have his fingers in his mouth all the time. i heard my parents and darryl's dad take a step away, drawing the curtains around us. i put my face down next to his on the pillow. he had a straggly, patchy beard that reminded me of zeb. "hey, d," i said. "you made it. you're going to be ok." he snored a little. i almost said, "i love you," a phrase i'd only said to one non-family-member ever, a phrase that was weird to say to another guy. in the end, i just gave his hand another squeeze. poor darryl. &&& epilogue [[this chapter is dedicated to hudson booksellers, the booksellers that are in practically every airport in the usa. most of the hudson stands have just a few titles (though those are often surprisingly diverse), but the big ones, like the one in the aa terminal at chicago's o'hare, are as good as any neighborhood store. it takes something special to bring a personal touch to an airport, and hudson's has saved my mind on more than one long chicago layover.]] [[hudson booksellers http://www.hudsongroup.com/hudsonbooksellers_s.html]] barbara called me at the office on july th weekend. i wasn't the only one who'd come into work on the holiday weekend, but i was the only one whose excuse was that my day-release program wouldn't let me leave town. in the end, they convicted me of stealing masha's phone. can you believe that? the prosecution had done a deal with my lawyer to drop all charges related to "electronic terrorism" and "inciting riots" in exchange for my pleading guilty to the misdemeanor petty theft charge. i got three months in a day-release program with a half-way house for juvenile offenders in the mission. i slept at the halfway house, sharing a dorm with a bunch of actual criminals, gang kids and druggie kids, a couple of real nuts. during the day, i was "free" to go out and work at my "job." "marcus, they're letting her go," she said. "who?" "johnstone, carrie johnstone," she said. "the closed military tribunal cleared her of any wrongdoing. the file is sealed. she's being returned to active duty. they're sending her to iraq." carrie johnstone was severe haircut woman's name. it came out in the preliminary hearings at the california superior court, but that was just about all that came out. she wouldn't say a word about who she took orders from, what she'd done, who had been imprisoned and why. she just sat, perfectly silent, day after day, in the courthouse. the feds, meanwhile, had blustered and shouted about the governor's "unilateral, illegal" shut-down of the treasure island facility, and the mayor's eviction of fed cops from san francisco. a lot of those cops had ended up in state prisons, along with the guards from gitmo-by-the-bay. then, one day, there was no statement from the white house, nothing from the state capitol. and the next day, there was a dry, tense press-conference held jointly on the steps of the governor's mansion, where the head of the dhs and the governor announced their "understanding." the dhs would hold a closed, military tribunal to investigate "possible errors in judgment" committed after the attack on the bay bridge. the tribunal would use every tool at its disposal to ensure that criminal acts were properly punished. in return, control over dhs operations in california would go through the state senate, which would have the power to shut down, inspect, or re-prioritize all homeland security in the state. the roar of the reporters had been deafening and barbara had gotten the first question in. "mr governor, with all due respect: we have incontrovertible video evidence that marcus yallow, a citizen of this state, native born, was subjected to a simulated execution by dhs officers, apparently acting on orders from the white house. is the state really willing to abandon any pretense of justice for its citizens in the face of illegal, barbaric *torture*?" her voice trembled, but didn't crack. the governor spread his hands. "the military tribunals will accomplish justice. if mr yallow -- or any other person who has cause to fault the department of homeland security -- wants further justice, he is, of course, entitled to sue for such damages as may be owing to him from the federal government." that's what i was doing. over twenty thousand civil lawsuits were filed against the dhs in the week after the governor's announcement. mine was being handled by the aclu, and they'd filed motions to get at the results of the closed military tribunals. so far, the courts were pretty sympathetic to this. but i hadn't expected this. "she got off totally scot-free?" "the press release doesn't say much. 'after a thorough examination of the events in san francisco and in the special anti-terror detention center on treasure island, it is the finding of this tribunal that ms johnstone's actions do not warrant further discipline.' there's that word, 'further' -- like they've already punished her." i snorted. i'd dreamed of carrie johnstone nearly every night since i was released from gitmo-by-the-bay. i'd seen her face looming over mine, that little snarly smile as she told the man to give me a "drink." "marcus --" barbara said, but i cut her off. "it's fine. it's fine. i'm going to do a video about this. get it out over the weekend. mondays are big days for viral video. everyone'll be coming back from the holiday weekend, looking for something funny to forward around school or the office." i saw a shrink twice a week as part of my deal at the halfway house. once i'd gotten over seeing that as some kind of punishment, it had been good. he'd helped me focus on doing constructive things when i was upset, instead of letting it eat me up. the videos helped. "i have to go," i said, swallowing hard to keep the emotion out of my voice. "take care of yourself, marcus," barbara said. ange hugged me from behind as i hung up the phone. "i just read about it online," she said. she read a million newsfeeds, pulling them with a headline reader that sucked up stories as fast as they ended up on the wire. she was our official blogger, and she was good at it, snipping out the interesting stories and throwing them online like a short order cook turning around breakfast orders. i turned around in her arms so that i was hugging her from in front. truth be told, we hadn't gotten a lot of work done that day. i wasn't allowed to be out of the halfway house after dinner time, and she couldn't visit me there. we saw each other around the office, but there were usually a lot of other people around, which kind of put a crimp in our cuddling. being alone in the office for a day was too much temptation. it was hot and sultry, too, which meant we were both in tank-tops and shorts, a lot of skin-to-skin contact as we worked next to each other. "i'm going to make a video," i said. "i want to release it today." "good," she said. "let's do it." ange read the press-release. i did a little monologue, synched over that famous footage of me on the water-board, eyes wild in the harsh light of the camera, tears streaming down my face, hair matted and flecked with barf. "this is me. i am on a waterboard. i am being tortured in a simulated execution. the torture is supervised by a woman called carrie johnstone. she works for the government. you might remember her from this video." i cut in the video of johnstone and kurt rooney. "that's johnstone and secretary of state kurt rooney, the president's chief strategist." *"the nation does not love that city. as far as they're concerned, it is a sodom and gomorrah of fags and atheists who deserve to rot in hell. the only reason the country cares what they think in san francisco is that they had the good fortune to have been blown to hell by some islamic terrorists."* "he's talking about the city where i live. at last count, , of my neighbors were killed on the day he's talking about. but some of them may not have been killed. some of them disappeared into the same prison where i was tortured. some mothers and fathers, children and lovers, brothers and sisters will never see their loved ones again -- because they were secretly imprisoned in an illegal jail right here in the san francisco bay. they were shipped overseas. the records were meticulous, but carrie johnstone has the encryption keys." i cut back to carrie johnstone, the footage of her sitting at the board table with rooney, laughing. i cut in the footage of johnstone being arrested. "when they arrested her, i thought we'd get justice. all the people she broke and disappeared. but the president --" i cut to a still of him laughing and playing golf on one of his many holidays "-- and his chief strategist --" now a still of rooney shaking hands with an infamous terrorist leader who used to be on "our side" "-- intervened. they sent her to a secret military tribunal and now that tribunal has cleared her. somehow, they saw nothing wrong with all of this." i cut in a photomontage of the hundreds of shots of prisoners in their cells that barbara had published on the bay guardian's site the day we were released. "we elected these people. we pay their salaries. they're supposed to be on our side. they're supposed to defend our freedoms. but these people --" a series of shots of johnstone and the others who'd been sent to the tribunal "-- betrayed our trust. the election is four months away. that's a lot of time. enough for you to go out and find five of your neighbors -- five people who've given up on voting because their choice is 'none of the above.' "talk to your neighbors. make them promise to vote. make them promise to take the country back from the torturers and thugs. the people who laughed at my friends as they lay fresh in their graves at the bottom of the harbor. make them promise to talk to their neighbors. "most of us choose none of the above. it's not working. you have to choose -- choose freedom. "my name is marcus yallow. i was tortured by my country, but i still love it here. i'm seventeen years old. i want to grow up in a free country. i want to live in a free country." i faded out to the logo of the website. ange had built it, with help from jolu, who got us all the free hosting we could ever need on pigspleen. the office was an interesting place. technically we were called coalition of voters for a free america, but everyone called us the xnetters. the organization -- a charitable nonprofit -- had been co-founded by barbara and some of her lawyer friends right after the liberation of treasure island. the funding was kicked off by some tech millionaires who couldn't believe that a bunch of hacker kids had kicked the dhs's ass. sometimes, they'd ask us to go down the peninsula to sand hill road, where all the venture capitalists were, and give a little presentation on xnet technology. there were about a zillion startups who were trying to make a buck on the xnet. whatever -- i didn't have to have anything to do with it, and i got a desk and an office with a storefront, right there on valencia street, where we gave away paranoidxbox cds and held workshops on building better wifi antennas. a surprising number of average people dropped in to make personal donations, both of hardware (you can run paranoidlinux on just about anything, not just xbox universals) and cash money. they loved us. the big plan was to launch our own arg in september, just in time for the election, and to really tie it in with signing up voters and getting them to the polls. only percent of americans showed up at the polls for the last election -- nonvoters had a huge majority. i kept trying to get darryl and van to one of our planning sessions, but they kept on declining. they were spending a lot of time together, and van insisted that it was totally nonromantic. darryl wouldn't talk to me much at all, though he sent me long emails about just about everything that wasn't about van or terrorism or prison. ange squeezed my hand. "god, i hate that woman," she said. i nodded. "just one more rotten thing this country's done to iraq," i said. "if they sent her to my town, i'd probably become a terrorist." "you did become a terrorist when they sent her to your town." "so i did," i said. "are you going to ms galvez's hearing on monday?" "totally." i'd introduced ange to ms galvez a couple weeks before, when my old teacher invited me over for dinner. the teacher's union had gotten a hearing for her before the board of the unified school district to argue for getting her old job back. they said that fred benson was coming out of (early) retirement to testify against her. i was looking forward to seeing her again. "do you want to go get a burrito?" "totally." "let me get my hot-sauce," she said. i checked my email one more time -- my pirateparty email, which still got a dribble of messages from old xnetters who hadn't found my coalition of voters address yet. the latest message was from a throwaway email address from one of the new brazilian anonymizers. > found her, thanks. you didn't tell me she was so h wt. "who's *that* from?" i laughed. "zeb," i said. "remember zeb? i gave him masha's email address. i figured, if they're both underground, might as well introduce them to one another." "he thinks masha is *cute*?" "give the guy a break, he's clearly had his mind warped by circumstances." "and you?" "me?" "yeah -- was your mind warped by circumstances?" i held ange out at arm's length and looked her up and down and up and down. i held her cheeks and stared through her thick-framed glasses into her big, mischievous tilted eyes. i ran my fingers through her hair. "ange, i've never thought more clearly in my whole life." she kissed me then, and i kissed her back, and it was some time before we went out for that burrito. &&& afterword by bruce schneier i'm a security technologist. my job is making people secure. i think about security systems and how to break them. then, how to make them more secure. computer security systems. surveillance systems. airplane security systems and voting machines and rfid chips and everything else. cory invited me into the last few pages of his book because he wanted me to tell you that security is fun. it's incredibly fun. it's cat and mouse, who can outsmart whom, hunter versus hunted fun. i think it's the most fun job you can possibly have. if you thought it was fun to read about marcus outsmarting the gait-recognition cameras with rocks in his shoes, think of how much more fun it would be if you were the first person in the world to think of that. working in security means knowing a lot about technology. it might mean knowing about computers and networks, or cameras and how they work, or the chemistry of bomb detection. but really, security is a mindset. it's a way of thinking. marcus is a great example of that way of thinking. he's always looking for ways a security system fails. i'll bet he couldn't walk into a store without figuring out a way to shoplift. not that he'd do it -- there's a difference between knowing how to defeat a security system and actually defeating it -- but he'd know he could. it's how security people think. we're constantly looking at security systems and how to get around them; we can't help it. this kind of thinking is important no matter what side of security you're on. if you've been hired to build a shoplift-proof store, you'd better know how to shoplift. if you're designing a camera system that detects individual gaits, you'd better plan for people putting rocks in their shoes. because if you don't, you're not going to design anything good. so when you're wandering through your day, take a moment to look at the security systems around you. look at the cameras in the stores you shop at. (do they prevent crime, or just move it next door?) see how a restaurant operates. (if you pay after you eat, why don't more people just leave without paying?) pay attention at airport security. (how could you get a weapon onto an airplane?) watch what the teller does at a bank. (bank security is designed to prevent tellers from stealing just as much as it is to prevent you from stealing.) stare at an anthill. (insects are all about security.) read the constitution, and notice all the ways it provides people with security against government. look at traffic lights and door locks and all the security systems on television and in the movies. figure out how they work, what threats they protect against and what threats they don't, how they fail, and how they can be exploited. spend enough time doing this, and you'll find yourself thinking differently about the world. you'll start noticing that many of the security systems out there don't actually do what they claim to, and that much of our national security is a waste of money. you'll understand privacy as essential to security, not in opposition. you'll stop worrying about things other people worry about, and start worrying about things other people don't even think about. sometimes you'll notice something about security that no one has ever thought about before. and maybe you'll figure out a new way to break a security system. it was only a few years ago that someone invented phishing. i'm frequently amazed how easy it is to break some pretty big-name security systems. there are a lot of reasons for this, but the big one is that it's impossible to prove that something is secure. all you can do is try to break it -- if you fail, you know that it's secure enough to keep *you* out, but what about someone who's smarter than you? anyone can design a security system so strong he himself can't break it. think about that for a second, because it's not obvious. no one is qualified to analyze their own security designs, because the designer and the analyzer will be the same person, with the same limits. someone else has to analyze the security, because it has to be secure against things the designers didn't think of. this means that all of us have to analyze the security that other people design. and surprisingly often, one of us breaks it. marcus's exploits aren't far-fetched; that kind of thing happens all the time. go onto the net and look up "bump key" or "bic pen kryptonite lock"; you'll find a couple of really interesting stories about seemingly strong security defeated by pretty basic technology. and when that happens, be sure to publish it on the internet somewhere. secrecy and security aren't the same, even though it may seem that way. only bad security relies on secrecy; good security works even if all the details of it are public. and publishing vulnerabilities forces security designers to design better security, and makes us all better consumers of security. if you buy a kryptonite bike lock and it can be defeated with a bic pen, you're not getting very good security for your money. and, likewise, if a bunch of smart kids can defeat the dhs's antiterrorist technologies, then it's not going to do a very good job against real terrorists. trading privacy for security is stupid enough; not getting any actual security in the bargain is even stupider. so close the book and go. the world is full of security systems. hack one of them. bruce schneier http://www.schneier.com &&& afterword by andrew "bunnie" huang, xbox hacker   hackers are explorers, digital pioneers. it's in a hacker's nature to question conventions and be tempted by intricate problems. any complex system is sport for a hacker; a side effect of this is the hacker's natural affinity for problems involving security. society is a large and complex system, and is certainly not off limits to a little hacking. as a result, hackers are often stereotyped as iconoclasts and social misfits, people who defy social norms for the sake of defiance. when i hacked the xbox in while at mit, i wasn�t doing it to rebel or to cause harm; i was just following a natural impulse, the same impulse that leads to fixing a broken ipod or exploring the roofs and tunnels at mit.    unfortunately, the combination of not complying with social norms and knowing �threatening� things like how to read the arphid on your credit card or how to pick locks causes some people to fear hackers. however, the motivations of a hacker are typically as simple as �i�m an engineer because i like to design things.� people often ask me, �why did you hack the xbox security system?� and my answer is simple: first, i own the things that i buy. if someone can tell me what i can and can�t run on my hardware, then i don�t own it. second, because it�s there. it�s a system of sufficient complexity to make good sport. it was a great diversion from the late nights working on my phd.   i was lucky. the fact that i was a graduate student at mit when i hacked the xbox legitimized the activity in the eyes of the right people. however, the right to hack shouldn�t only be extended to academics. i got my start on hacking when i was just a boy in elementary school, taking apart every electronic appliance i could get my hands on, much to my parents� chagrin. my reading collection included books on model rocketry, artillery, nuclear weaponry and explosives manufacture -- books that i borrowed from my school library (i think the cold war influenced the reading selection in public schools). i also played with my fair share of ad-hoc fireworks and roamed the open construction sites of houses being raised in my midwestern neighborhood. while not the wisest of things to do, these were important experiences in my coming of age and i grew up to be a free thinker because of the social tolerance and trust of my community.   current events have not been so kind to aspiring hackers. little brother shows how we can get from where we are today to a world where social tolerance for new and different thoughts dies altogether. a recent event highlights exactly how close we are to crossing the line into the world of little brother. i had the fortune of reading an early draft of little brother back in november . fast forward two months to the end of january , when boston police found suspected explosive devices and shut down the city for a day. these devices turned out to be nothing more than circuit boards with flashing leds, promoting a show for the cartoon network. the artists who placed this urban graffiti were taken in as suspected terrorists and ultimately charged with felony; the network producers had to shell out a $ million settlement, and the head of the cartoon network resigned over the fallout.  have the terrorists already won? have we given in to fear, such that artists, hobbyists, hackers, iconoclasts, or perhaps an unassuming group of kids playing harajuku fun madness, could be so trivially implicated as terrorists? there is a term for this dysfunction -- it is called an autoimmune disease, where an organism's defense system goes into overdrive so much that it fails to recognize itself and attacks its own cells. ultimately, the organism self-destructs. right now, america is on the verge of going into anaphylactic shock over its own freedoms, and we need to inoculate ourselves against this. technology is no cure for this paranoia; in fact, it may enhance the paranoia: it turns us into prisoners of our own device. coercing millions of people to strip off their outer garments and walk barefoot through metal detectors every day is no solution either. it only serves to remind the population every day that they have a reason to be afraid, while in practice providing only a flimsy barrier to a determined adversary. the truth is that we can't count on someone else to make us feel free, and m k y won�t come and save us the day our freedoms are lost to paranoia. that's because m k y is in you and in me--little brother is a reminder that no matter how unpredictable the future may be, we don't win freedom through security systems, cryptography, interrogations and spot searches. we win freedom by having the courage and the conviction to live every day freely and to act as a free society, no matter how great the threats are on the horizon. be like m k y: step out the door and dare to be free. &&& bibliography no writer creates from scratch -- we all engage in what isaac newton called "standing on the shoulders of giants." we borrow, plunder and remix the art and culture created by those around us and by our literary forebears. if you liked this book and want to learn more, there are plenty of sources to turn to, online and at your local library or bookstore. hacking is a great subject. all science relies on telling other people what you've done so that they can verify it, learn from it, and improve on it, and hacking is all about that process, so there's plenty published on the subject. start with andrew "bunnie" huang's "hacking the xbox," (no starch press, ) a wonderful book that tells the story of how bunnie, then a student at mit, reverse-engineered the xbox's anti-tampering mechanisms and opened the way for all the subsequent cool hacks for the platform. in telling the story, bunnie has also created a kind of bible for reverse engineering and hardware hacking. bruce schneier's "secrets and lies" (wiley, ) and "beyond fear" (copernicus, ) are the definitive lay-person's texts on understanding security and thinking critically about it, while his "applied cryptography" (wiley, ) remains the authoritative source for understanding crypto. bruce maintains an excellent blog and mailing list at schneier.com/blog. crypto and security are the realm of the talented amateur, and the "cypherpunk" movement is full of kids, home-makers, parents, lawyers, and every other stripe of person, hammering away on security protocols and ciphers. there are several great magazines devoted to this subject, but the two best ones are : the hacker quarterly, which is full of pseudonymous, boasting accounts of hacks accomplished, and o'reilly's make magazine, which features solid howtos for making your own hardware projects at home. the online world overflows with material on this subject, of course. ed felten and alex j halderman's freedom to tinker (www.freedom-to-tinker.com) is a blog maintained by two fantastic princeton engineering profs who write lucidly about security, wiretapping, anti-copying technology and crypto. don't miss natalie jeremijenko's "feral robotics" at uc san diego (xdesign.ucsd.edu/feralrobots/). natalie and her students rewire toy robot dogs from toys r us and turn them into bad-ass toxic-waste detectors. they unleash them on public parks where big corporations have dumped their waste and demonstrate in media-friendly fashion how toxic the ground is. like many of the hacks in this book, the tunneling-over-dns stuff is real. dan kaminsky, a tunneling expert of the first water, published details in (www.doxpara.com/bo .ppt). the guru of "citizen journalism" is dan gillmor, who is presently running center for citizen media at harvard and uc berkeley -- he also wrote a hell of a book on the subject, "we, the media" (o'reilly, ). if you want to learn more about hacking arphids, start with annalee newitz's wired magazine article "the rfid hacking underground" (www.wirednews.com/wired/archive/ . /rfid.html). adam greenfield's "everyware" (new riders press, ) is a chilling look at the dangers of a world of arphids. neal gershenfeld's fab lab at mit (fab.cba.mit.edu) is hacking out the world's first real, cheap " d printers" that can pump out any object you can dream of. this is documented in gershenfeld's excellent book on the subject, "fab" (basic books, ). bruce sterling's "shaping things" (mit press, ) shows how arphids and fabs could be used to force companies to build products that don't poison the world. speaking of bruce sterling, he wrote the first great book on hackers and the law, "the hacker crackdown" (bantam, ), which is also the first book published by a major publisher that was released on the internet at the same time (copies abound; see stuff.mit.edu/hacker/hacker.html for one). it was reading this book that turned me on to the electronic frontier foundation, where i was privileged to work for four years. the electronic frontier foundation (www.eff.org) is a charitable membership organization with a student rate. they spend the money that private individuals give them to keep the internet safe for personal liberty, free speech, due process, and the rest of the bill of rights. they're the internet's most effective freedom fighters, and you can join the struggle just by signing up for their mailing list and writing to your elected officials when they're considering selling you out in the name of fighting terrorism, piracy, the mafia, or whatever bogeyman has caught their attention today. eff also helps maintain tor, the onion router, which is a real technology you can use *right now* to get out of your government, school or library's censoring firewall (tor.eff.org). eff has a huge, deep website with amazing information aimed at a general audience, as do the american civil liberties union (aclu.org), public knowledge (publicknowledge.org), freeculture (freeculture.org), creative commons (creativecommons.org) -- all of which also are worthy of your support. freeculture is an international student movement that actively recruits kids to found their own local chapters at their high schools and universities. it's a great way to get involved and make a difference. a lot of websites chronicle the fight for cyberliberties, but few go at it with the verve of slashdot, "news for nerds, stuff that matters" (slashdot.org). and of course, you *have to* visit wikipedia, the collaborative, net-authored encyclopedia that anyone can edit, with more than , , entries in english alone. wikipedia covers hacking and counterculture in astonishing depth and with amazing, up-to-the-nanosecond currency. one caution: you can't just look at the entries in wikipedia. it's really important to look at the "history" and "discussion" links at the top of every wikipedia page to see how the current version of the truth was arrived at, get an appreciation for the competing points-of-view there, and decide for yourself whom you trust. if you want to get at some *real* forbidden knowledge, have a skim around cryptome (cryptome.org), the world's most amazing archive of secret, suppressed and liberated information. cryptome's brave publishers collect material that's been pried out of the state by freedom of information act requests or leaked by whistle-blowers and publishes it. the best fictional account of the history of crypto is, hands-down, neal stephenson's cryptonomicon (avon, ). stephenson tells the story of alan turing and the nazi enigma machine, turning it into a gripping war-novel that you won't be able to put down. the pirate party mentioned in little brother is real and thriving in sweden (www.piratpartiet.se), denmark, the usa and france at the time of this writing (july, ). they're a little out-there, but a movement takes all kinds. speaking of out-there, abbie hoffman and the yippies did indeed try to levitate the pentagon, throw money into the stock exchange, and work with a group called the up against the wall motherf_____ers. abbie hoffman's classic book on ripping off the system, "steal this book," is back in print (four walls eight windows, ) and it's also online as a collaborative wiki for people who want to try to update it (stealthiswiki.nine pages.com). hoffman's autobiography, "soon to be a major motion picture" (also in print from four walls eight windows) is one of my favorite memoirs ever, even if it is highly fictionalized. hoffman was an incredible storyteller and had great activist instincts. if you want to know how he really lived his life, though, try larry sloman's "steal this dream" (doubleday, ). more counterculture fun: jack kerouac's "on the road" can be had in practically any used bookstore for a buck or two. allan ginsberg's "howl" is online in many places, and you can hear him read it if you search for the mp at archive.org. for bonus points, track down the album "tenderness junction" by the fugs, which includes the audio of allan ginsberg and abbie hoffman's levitation ceremony at the pentagon. this book couldn't have been written if not for george orwell's magnificent, world-changing " ," the best novel ever published on how societies go wrong. i read this book when i was and have read it or times since, and every time, i get something new out of it. orwell was a master of storytelling and was clearly sick over the totalitarian state that emerged in the soviet union. holds up today as a genuinely frightening work of science fiction, and it is one of the novels that literally changed the world. today, "orwellian" is synonymous with a state of ubiquitous surveillance, doublethink, and torture. many novelists have tackled parts of the story in little brother. daniel pinkwater's towering comic masterpiece, "alan mendelsohn: the boy from mars" (presently in print as part of the omnibus " novels," farrar, straus and giroux, ) is a book that every geek needs to read. if you've ever felt like an outcast for being too smart or weird, read this book. it changed my life. on a more contemporary front, there's scott westerfeld's "so yesterday" (razorbill, ), which follows the adventures of cool hunters and counterculture jammers. scott and his wife justine larbalestier were my partial inspiration to write a book for young adults -- as was kathe koja. thanks, guys. &&& acknowledgments this book owes a tremendous debt to many writers, friends, mentors, and heroes who made it possible. for the hackers and cypherpunks: bunnie huang, seth schoen, ed felten, alex halderman, gweeds, natalie jeremijenko, emmanuel goldstein, aaron swartz for the heroes: mitch kapor, john gilmore, john perry barlow, larry lessig, shari steele, cindy cohn, fred von lohmann, jamie boyle, george orwell, abbie hoffman, joe trippi, bruce schneier, ross dowson, harry kopyto, tim o'reilly for the writers: bruce sterling, kathe koja, scott westerfeld, justine larbalestier, pat york, annalee newitz, dan gillmor, daniel pinkwater, kevin pouslen, wendy grossman, jay lake, ben rosenbaum for the friends: fiona romeo, quinn norton, danny o'brien, jon gilbert, danah boyd, zak hanna, emily hurson, grad conn, john henson, amanda foubister, xeni jardin, mark frauenfelder, david pescovitz, john battelle, karl levesque, kate miles, neil and tara-lee doctorow, rael dornfest, ken snider for the mentors: judy merril, roz and gord doctorow, harriet wolff, jim kelly, damon knight, scott edelman thank you all for giving me the tools to think and write about these ideas. &&&$ creative commons creative commons legal code attribution-noncommercial-sharealike . unported creative commons corporation is not a law firm and does not provide legal services. distribution of this license does not create an attorney-client relationship. creative commons provides this information on an "as-is" basis. creative commons makes no warranties regarding the information provided, and disclaims liability for damages resulting from its use. license the work (as defined below) is provided under the terms of this creative commons public license ("ccpl" or "license"). the work is protected by copyright and/or other applicable law. any use of the work other than as authorized under this license or copyright law is prohibited. by exercising any rights to the work provided here, you accept and agree to be bound by the terms of this license. to the extent this license may be considered to be a contract, the licensor grants you the rights contained here in consideration of your acceptance of such terms and conditions. . definitions . "adaptation" means a work based upon the work, or upon the work and other pre-existing works, such as a translation, adaptation, derivative work, arrangement of music or other alterations of a literary or artistic work, or phonogram or performance and includes cinematographic adaptations or any other form in which the work may be recast, transformed, or adapted including in any form recognizably derived from the original, except that a work that constitutes a collection will not be considered an adaptation for the purpose of this license. for the avoidance of doubt, where the work is a musical work, performance or phonogram, the synchronization of the work in timed-relation with a moving image ("synching") will be considered an adaptation for the purpose of this license. . "collection" means a collection of literary or artistic works, such as encyclopedias and anthologies, or performances, phonograms or broadcasts, or other works or subject matter other than works listed in section (g) below, which, by reason of the selection and arrangement of their contents, constitute intellectual creations, in which the work is included in its entirety in unmodified form along with one or more other contributions, each constituting separate and independent works in themselves, which together are assembled into a collective whole. a work that constitutes a collection will not be considered an adaptation (as defined above) for the purposes of this license. . "distribute" means to make available to the public the original and copies of the work or adaptation, as appropriate, through sale or other transfer of ownership. . "license elements" means the following high-level license attributes as selected by licensor and indicated in the title of this license: attribution, noncommercial, sharealike. . "licensor" means the individual, individuals, entity or entities that offer(s) the work under the terms of this license. . "original author" means, in the case of a literary or artistic work, the individual, individuals, entity or entities who created the work or if no individual or entity can be identified, the publisher; and in addition (i) in the case of a performance the actors, singers, musicians, dancers, and other persons who act, sing, deliver, declaim, play in, interpret or otherwise perform literary or artistic works or expressions of folklore; (ii) in the case of a phonogram the producer being the person or legal entity who first fixes the sounds of a performance or other sounds; and, (iii) in the case of broadcasts, the organization that transmits the broadcast. . "work" means the literary and/or artistic work offered under the terms of this license including without limitation any production in the literary, scientific and artistic domain, whatever may be the mode or form of its expression including digital form, such as a book, pamphlet and other writing; a lecture, address, sermon or other work of the same nature; a dramatic or dramatico-musical work; a choreographic work or entertainment in dumb show; a musical composition with or without words; a cinematographic work to which are assimilated works expressed by a process analogous to cinematography; a work of drawing, painting, architecture, sculpture, engraving or lithography; a photographic work to which are assimilated works expressed by a process analogous to photography; a work of applied art; an illustration, map, plan, sketch or three-dimensional work relative to geography, topography, architecture or science; a performance; a broadcast; a phonogram; a compilation of data to the extent it is protected as a copyrightable work; or a work performed by a variety or circus performer to the extent it is not otherwise considered a literary or artistic work. . "you" means an individual or entity exercising rights under this license who has not previously violated the terms of this license with respect to the work, or who has received express permission from the licensor to exercise rights under this license despite a previous violation. . "publicly perform" means to perform public recitations of the work and to communicate to the public those public recitations, by any means or process, including by wire or wireless means or public digital performances; to make available to the public works in such a way that members of the public may access these works from a place and at a place individually chosen by them; to perform the work to the public by any means or process and the communication to the public of the performances of the work, including by public digital performance; to broadcast and rebroadcast the work by any means including signs, sounds or images. . "reproduce" means to make copies of the work by any means including without limitation by sound or visual recordings and the right of fixation and reproducing fixations of the work, including storage of a protected performance or phonogram in digital form or other electronic medium. . fair dealing rights. nothing in this license is intended to reduce, limit, or restrict any uses free from copyright or rights arising from limitations or exceptions that are provided for in connection with the copyright protection under copyright law or other applicable laws. . license grant. subject to the terms and conditions of this license, licensor hereby grants you a worldwide, royalty-free, non-exclusive, perpetual (for the duration of the applicable copyright) license to exercise the rights in the work as stated below: . to reproduce the work, to incorporate the work into one or more collections, and to reproduce the work as incorporated in the collections; . to create and reproduce adaptations provided that any such adaptation, including any translation in any medium, takes reasonable steps to clearly label, demarcate or otherwise identify that changes were made to the original work. for example, a translation could be marked "the original work was translated from english to spanish," or a modification could indicate "the original work has been modified."; . to distribute and publicly perform the work including as incorporated in collections; and, . to distribute and publicly perform adaptations. the above rights may be exercised in all media and formats whether now known or hereafter devised. the above rights include the right to make such modifications as are technically necessary to exercise the rights in other media and formats. subject to section (f), all rights not expressly granted by licensor are hereby reserved, including but not limited to the rights described in section (e). . restrictions. the license granted in section above is expressly made subject to and limited by the following restrictions: . you may distribute or publicly perform the work only under the terms of this license. you must include a copy of, or the uniform resource identifier (uri) for, this license with every copy of the work you distribute or publicly perform. you may not offer or impose any terms on the work that restrict the terms of this license or the ability of the recipient of the work to exercise the rights granted to that recipient under the terms of the license. you may not sublicense the work. you must keep intact all notices that refer to this license and to the disclaimer of warranties with every copy of the work you distribute or publicly perform. when you distribute or publicly perform the work, you may not impose any effective technological measures on the work that restrict the ability of a recipient of the work from you to exercise the rights granted to that recipient under the terms of the license. this section (a) applies to the work as incorporated in a collection, but this does not require the collection apart from the work itself to be made subject to the terms of this license. if you create a collection, upon notice from any licensor you must, to the extent practicable, remove from the collection any credit as required by section (d), as requested. if you create an adaptation, upon notice from any licensor you must, to the extent practicable, remove from the adaptation any credit as required by section (d), as requested. . you may distribute or publicly perform an adaptation only under: (i) the terms of this license; (ii) a later version of this license with the same license elements as this license; (iii) a creative commons jurisdiction license (either this or a later license version) that contains the same license elements as this license (e.g., attribution-noncommercial-sharealike . us) ("applicable license"). you must include a copy of, or the uri, for applicable license with every copy of each adaptation you distribute or publicly perform. you may not offer or impose any terms on the adaptation that restrict the terms of the applicable license or the ability of the recipient of the adaptation to exercise the rights granted to that recipient under the terms of the applicable license. you must keep intact all notices that refer to the applicable license and to the disclaimer of warranties with every copy of the work as included in the adaptation you distribute or publicly perform. when you distribute or publicly perform the adaptation, you may not impose any effective technological measures on the adaptation that restrict the ability of a recipient of the adaptation from you to exercise the rights granted to that recipient under the terms of the applicable license. this section (b) applies to the adaptation as incorporated in a collection, but this does not require the collection apart from the adaptation itself to be made subject to the terms of the applicable license. . you may not exercise any of the rights granted to you in section above in any manner that is primarily intended for or directed toward commercial advantage or private monetary compensation. the exchange of the work for other copyrighted works by means of digital file-sharing or otherwise shall not be considered to be intended for or directed toward commercial advantage or private monetary compensation, provided there is no payment of any monetary compensation in con-nection with the exchange of copyrighted works. . if you distribute, or publicly perform the work or any adaptations or collections, you must, unless a request has been made pursuant to section (a), keep intact all copyright notices for the work and provide, reasonable to the medium or means you are utilizing: (i) the name of the original author (or pseudonym, if applicable) if supplied, and/or if the original author and/or licensor designate another party or parties (e.g., a sponsor institute, publishing entity, journal) for attribution ("attribution parties") in licensor's copyright notice, terms of service or by other reasonable means, the name of such party or parties; (ii) the title of the work if supplied; (iii) to the extent reasonably practicable, the uri, if any, that licensor specifies to be associated with the work, unless such uri does not refer to the copyright notice or licensing information for the work; and, (iv) consistent with section (b), in the case of an adaptation, a credit identifying the use of the work in the adaptation (e.g., "french translation of the work by original author," or "screenplay based on original work by original author"). the credit required by this section (d) may be implemented in any reasonable manner; provided, however, that in the case of a adaptation or collection, at a minimum such credit will appear, if a credit for all contributing authors of the adaptation or collection appears, then as part of these credits and in a manner at least as prominent as the credits for the other contributing authors. for the avoidance of doubt, you may only use the credit required by this section for the purpose of attribution in the manner set out above and, by exercising your rights under this license, you may not implicitly or explicitly assert or imply any connection with, sponsorship or endorsement by the original author, licensor and/or attribution parties, as appropriate, of you or your use of the work, without the separate, express prior written permission of the original author, licensor and/or attribution parties. . for the avoidance of doubt: . non-waivable compulsory license schemes. in those jurisdictions in which the right to collect royalties through any statutory or compulsory licensing scheme cannot be waived, the licensor reserves the exclusive right to collect such royalties for any exercise by you of the rights granted under this license; . waivable compulsory license schemes. in those jurisdictions in which the right to collect royalties through any statutory or compulsory licensing scheme can be waived, the licensor reserves the exclusive right to collect such royalties for any exercise by you of the rights granted under this license if your exercise of such rights is for a purpose or use which is otherwise than noncommercial as permitted under section (c) and otherwise waives the right to collect royalties through any statutory or compulsory licensing scheme; and, . voluntary license schemes. the licensor reserves the right to collect royalties, whether individually or, in the event that the licensor is a member of a collecting society that administers voluntary licensing schemes, via that society, from any exercise by you of the rights granted under this license that is for a purpose or use which is otherwise than noncommercial as permitted under section (c). . except as otherwise agreed in writing by the licensor or as may be otherwise permitted by applicable law, if you reproduce, distribute or publicly perform the work either by itself or as part of any adaptations or collections, you must not distort, mutilate, modify or take other derogatory action in relation to the work which would be prejudicial to the original author's honor or reputation. licensor agrees that in those jurisdictions (e.g. japan), in which any exercise of the right granted in section (b) of this license (the right to make adaptations) would be deemed to be a distortion, mutilation, modification or other derogatory action prejudicial to the original author's honor and reputation, the licensor will waive or not assert, as appropriate, this section, to the fullest extent permitted by the applicable national law, to enable you to reasonably exercise your right under section (b) of this license (right to make adaptations) but not otherwise. . representations, warranties and disclaimer unless otherwise mutually agreed to by the parties in writing and to the fullest extent permitted by applicable law, licensor offers the work as-is and makes no representations or warranties of any kind concerning the work, express, implied, statutory or otherwise, including, without limitation, warranties of title, merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose, noninfringement, or the absence of latent or other defects, accuracy, or the presence of absence of errors, whether or not discoverable. some jurisdictions do not allow the exclusion of implied warranties, so this exclusion may not apply to you. . limitation on liability. except to the extent required by applicable law, in no event will licensor be liable to you on any legal theory for any special, incidental, consequential, punitive or exemplary damages arising out of this license or the use of the work, even if licensor has been advised of the possibility of such damages. . termination . this license and the rights granted hereunder will terminate automatically upon any breach by you of the terms of this license. individuals or entities who have received adaptations or collections from you under this license, however, will not have their licenses terminated provided such individuals or entities remain in full compliance with those licenses. sections , , , , , and will survive any termination of this license. . subject to the above terms and conditions, the license granted here is perpetual (for the duration of the applicable copyright in the work). notwithstanding the above, licensor reserves the right to release the work under different license terms or to stop distributing the work at any time; provided, however that any such election will not serve to withdraw this license (or any other license that has been, or is required to be, granted under the terms of this license), and this license will continue in full force and effect unless terminated as stated above. . miscellaneous . each time you distribute or publicly perform the work or a collection, the licensor offers to the recipient a license to the work on the same terms and conditions as the license granted to you under this license. . each time you distribute or publicly perform an adaptation, licensor offers to the recipient a license to the original work on the same terms and conditions as the license granted to you under this license. . if any provision of this license is invalid or unenforceable under applicable law, it shall not affect the validity or enforceability of the remainder of the terms of this license, and without further action by the parties to this agreement, such provision shall be reformed to the minimum extent necessary to make such provision valid and enforceable. . no term or provision of this license shall be deemed waived and no breach consented to unless such waiver or consent shall be in writing and signed by the party to be charged with such waiver or consent. . this license constitutes the entire agreement between the parties with respect to the work licensed here. there are no understandings, agreements or representations with respect to the work not specified here. licensor shall not be bound by any additional provisions that may appear in any communication from you. this license may not be modified without the mutual written agreement of the licensor and you. . the rights granted under, and the subject matter referenced, in this license were drafted utilizing the terminology of the berne convention for the protection of literary and artistic works (as amended on september , ), the rome convention of , the wipo copyright treaty of , the wipo performances and phonograms treaty of and the universal copyright convention (as revised on july , ). these rights and subject matter take effect in the relevant jurisdiction in which the license terms are sought to be enforced according to the corresponding provisions of the implementation of those treaty provisions in the applicable national law. if the standard suite of rights granted under applicable copyright law includes additional rights not granted under this license, such additional rights are deemed to be included in the license; this license is not intended to restrict the license of any rights under applicable law. creative commons notice creative commons is not a party to this license, and makes no warranty whatsoever in connection with the work. creative commons will not be liable to you or any party on any legal theory for any damages whatsoever, including without limitation any general, special, incidental or consequential damages arising in connection to this license. notwithstanding the foregoing two ( ) sentences, if creative commons has expressly identified itself as the licensor hereunder, it shall have all rights and obligations of licensor. except for the limited purpose of indicating to the public that the work is licensed under the ccpl, creative commons does not authorize the use by either party of the trademark "creative commons" or any related trademark or logo of creative commons without the prior written consent of creative commons. any permitted use will be in compliance with creative commons' then-current trademark usage guidelines, as may be published on its website or otherwise made available upon request from time to time. for the avoidance of doubt, this trademark restriction does not form part of this license. creative commons may be contacted at http://creativecommons.org/. <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/ . /us/"> 	<img alt="creative commons license" style="border-width: " src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-sa/ . /us/ x .png"/> </a> <br/> <span xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/ . /" href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type"> 	little brother </span> by <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://craphound.com/littlebrother" property="cc:attributionname" rel="cc:attributionurl"> 	cory doctorow </a> is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/ . /us/"> 	creative commons attribution-noncommercial-share alike . united states license </a>. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) frontier boys in frisco by capt. wyn roosevelt illustrated by rudolf mencl [illustration: "the panting engine came to a stop."] * * * * * the frontier boys by capt. wyn roosevelt this series tells the adventures of jim, joe, and tom darlington, first in their camp wagon as they follow the trail to the great west in the early days. they are real american boys, resourceful, humorous, and--but you must meet them. you will find them interesting company. they meet with thrilling adventures and encounters, and stirring incidents are the rule, not exception. historically, these books present a true picture of a period in our history as important as it was picturesque, when the nation set its face toward this vast unknown west, and conquered it. . frontier boys on overland trail . frontier boys in colorado . frontier boys in the rockies . frontier boys in the grand canyon . frontier boys in mexico . frontier boys on the coast . frontier boys in hawaii . frontier boys in the sierras . frontier boys in the saddle . frontier boys in frisco . frontier boys in the south seas illustrated, mo, cloth price per volume, cents * * * * * copyright, , by the platt & peck co. contents chapter page i. on the engine ii. a hold up iii. jim takes a chance iv. the girl and the engineer v. the menu vi. an old acquaintance vii. where was he? viii. in frisco ix. the watcher x. the chase begins xi. the chase continued xii. the castle xiii. the man in the gully xiv. the visitor xv. the lawyer and the pirate xvi. an odd restaurant xvii. the good frau xviii. the reconnoitre xix. the castle xx. the banquet hall xxi. the apparition xxii. brian de bois guilbert xxiii. the crisis xxiv. a reincarnation xxv. in the cell xxvi. in the mow xxvii. look down and not up xxviii. a square meal xxix. a reminiscence xxx. jim boards the pirate xxxi. the end, a new start frontier boys in frisco chapter i on the engine "would you like to ride on the engine, jim?" asked the engineer of the south bound train. "nothing would suit me better, bob," replied jim darlington. "i guess you can drive this black horse," nodding towards the locomotive, "as well as you did the 'four' that you drove back in kansas across the plains, when we were boys," and jim grinned. "nothing like the real horse," replied bob ketchel, "but i can manage this fire eater all right, too." "trust you for that," agreed jim heartily. "we will be pulling out in about five minutes," remarked ketchel; "the tourists in the eating house are just swallowing their pie now with an anxious eye on the conductor. hope they don't choke." "i'm already, bob," said jim. "no, you're not," replied ketchel; "go back to your luxurious caboose and get your heaviest coat and your trusty revolver; we might see some game going through the pass," and bob winked wisely at his "boyhood" friend. "don't pull out until i get back," warned jim, as he started on a trot toward one of the rear pullmans, called a "caboose" by the flippant bob. "'the general denver' leaves in three minutes," called ketchel after the retreating jim; "wouldn't wait a second for nobody." from the fact that the locomotive was given the dignity of a real name indicates that the time of our narrative belongs to an earlier and more ornate day than this when even the biggest engine gets nothing more than a number. at ketchel's warning, jim quickened his pace to a run, for he would not have missed that ride on the "general denver" for all the buried wealth he and his brothers had once found on a treasure hunt in old mexico. i wonder if an introduction to our old friend, jim darlington, is really necessary. at least i am going through the formality. jim, the leader of "the frontier boys," whose adventures began on "the overland trail," and were last spoken of in the narrative, "in the saddle," is now on his way to san francisco in response to a message sent to him by the engineer of his captured yacht, _the sea eagle_. he had been spending the christmas time at his home in maysville, new york, where his brothers, tom and jo, remained for the winter, much to their mother's joy, but to their own deep regret, when they saw jim starting out on a journey whose adventures they could not share. so much for the introduction, now to the narrative. jim had no time to spare and he could be very prompt when he had to, as all his old friends can well remember. he swung into the black pullman near the rear of the long train, glided through the narrow alley way between the smoking-room and the side of the car, just missing a head on collision with a stout party coming out of the sleeper. the latter was about to express a haughty indignation at jim's abrupt approach, but that worthy gave him no chance, as he dashed for section no. at the end of the car. here he snatched from his valise his belt and revolver and fastened them with rapid precision around his waist, and then with a heavy sweater in his hand, he made a rapid exit from the car. already his three minutes were nearly up, and he had an exasperating delay in the narrow passageway where a file of well-fed diners were coming through. as jim leaped from the platform the engine gave a short, sharp whistle and the wheels began to revolve. jim's vacation had not made him fat nor short winded and he sped after the engine, with the swiftness of an indian on the trail of an enemy. perhaps bob ketchel let his engine take it rather slowly. however that may be, jim in a few seconds was alongside of "the general denver" and then his foot was on the ugly saddle stirrup of iron and he was aboard the engine in a jiffy. "pretty good for a tenderfoot," grinned bob. "no wonder the injuns couldn't catch you." "it's because my feet are so tender that i take them off the ground so fast," explained jim. the fireman laughed at this and his white teeth shone like a darky's from the sooty grime of his face. "you can have my side of the cab," he said. "it's going to keep me busy firing on the upgrade." jim took his place with a pleasurable feeling of excitement and interest. it was a new experience for him and one he was bound to remember. already the locomotive was gathering momentum. the little town was left behind in the gathering dusk and soon they were threading their narrow iron way through the solitude of the great mountains. looking back on a sharp curve, and there were many of them on this mountain grade, jim could see the crescent form of the coaches all alight, where the passengers were seated at their ease. then he looked at the intent, grim-faced, young engineer who never took his eyes from the track ahead, keen and quick to act on the first sign of emergency. "they certainly are safe with bob to pilot 'em, lazy beggars," said jim to himself, divided between admiration for his friend and contempt for the ease loving passengers in the sleepers, who would soon turn into their berths in comfort and security, while the engineer would guide his roaring, flaming steed through deep gorges, over dizzy bridges, and down the winding grades from some high divide. already the night had fallen and all was darkness except where the light from the locomotive sent its fierce thrust of illumination into the night, straight along the steel rails with sudden, quick thrusts as the "general denver" rounded a curve. "my but it is great!" cried jim with enthusiasm, as on the engine roared into the depths of the mountains. in a short time the moon rose over the crest of the range, shining with a pure brilliance that the work-a-day sun can only dream of. after several hours of uneventful progress the train ran into a long siding and came to a gentle stop. it was in the center of a wide mountain valley with nothing to indicate human life except a solitary section house, painted a dull red, and, beyond it a short distance, a water tank of the same color. "i guess that didn't jar any of those sleeping beauties back there, when i stopped her," said bob quietly, as he stepped down from the cab. "couldn't have done better myself," replied jim whimsically, "but i would have been tempted to give them a jolt just to make them sit up for a minute." "some of the boys do shake 'em up when they feel sort of cranky," admitted ketchel. "that's the kind i have always traveled with," remarked jim, "but what are we waiting here for?" "no. is due in a few minutes. here's where we oil up." jim watched the operation with interest while the engineer and his fireman went methodically from part to part of the engine with their long billed oil cans. "she must be late," said ketchel, looking keenly up the track and then at his heavy, open-faced watch. "what do you suppose is the matter with her? no need of losing time on a night like this," he continued. "maybe she has been held up," said the fireman. "that's more likely to happen to us," replied the engineer shortly. "no. doesn't carry anything but the money the newsboy gets out of the passengers for peanuts and bum dime novels but we have something in that express car that's going to california and it's valuable." "i'm going to california," put in jim mildly. "but you ain't valuable," replied the engineer with a grin. "except with this," said jim, putting his hand on his revolver, with a touch of seeming bravado. "that's where you come in," said the engineer. "i thought you weren't giving me a ride just for the fresh air, and to get a view of the 'mountings' by moonlight. but where do you expect these villains to jump you?" inquired jim. "well, there are numerous, romantic, little spots along the trail ahead where they might stop us for an interview," said ketchel. "i'm thinking they will be a lurking in 'boxwood canyon,'" said bill sheehan, the fireman. "it's the likes of a dirty black gang that will do the deed, the same that shot poor jimmie mcguire last month because he wouldn't give up his train to 'em, and him with three childer at home." "there comes 'no. .'" cried jim, "and it will be all aboard for boxwood canyon." "aye, but you have sharp ears, i don't hear anything of her as yet," remarked bill. "him has sharp ears and eyes, bill!" exclaimed the engineer. "that boy there can take the trail with any red indian and that's the truth." chapter ii a hold up at that moment there came a glare of light sweeping down the track from the headlight of "no. ." with a roar and swaying of the big engine, the train rushed down upon them and swept past with its hind heels or wheels kicking up the dust. then its tail lights of cherry red grew dim way down the valley. "all aboard, boys," cried ketchel as no. passed; "we've got some time to make up." "he'll stop just short of murder to the train," declared the fireman who knew his engineer when it came to a question of picking up a few minutes of time. "he will swing her like he used to drive the old stagecoach on the down grade," remarked jim, "and that will be going some." already they were gathering speed, as he sent "the general denver" along the level of the valley. in a short time the train came to a steep descent through a narrow canyon, and jim was in for a new experience. enured though he was to all kinds of dangers it made him catch his breath when the engine went straight for a wall of solid rock and then turned as though to dash straight from the track, into the brawling stream below. it righted itself with an effort and leaped down the shining trail rocking from side to side and trembling with the vibrations of its fierce power, dashing straight for the depths of the shadows between the towering cliffs. little did the sleeping passengers realize the dangers through which they were passing every minute. "gee!" exclaimed jim, "suppose a bowlder has rolled onto the track just ahead. it might happen easy enough too." just then, bill sheehan, the fireman, touched jim with the end of his shovel to call his attention to something they were coming to ahead. jim saw a jumbled heap of freight cars half in the stream and half out, and a little ways further on was the rusty ruin of a once powerful locomotive. jim nodded to the fireman. "something has been doing there," he yelled, but the words were blown from his lips and lost in the roar as steam disappears in the air. jim took a look at his friend, the engineer. he was alert and intent, ready for any emergency, and jim felt a sense of absolute confidence in his friend's skill. after a ten mile run, the canyon began to broaden out and there were other trees besides the solemn pines. a sense of impending danger came over jim. he had experienced it many times before and whether it was an ambush of indians, or the plans of some band of outlaws it had rarely betrayed him. it was something in the air; a vibration that the human nerves are as conscious of as a dog's nose is cognizant of the scent of some wild animal. jim turned and looked at the engineer, who nodded back at him for a second, with a look that indicated there was business ahead; then his eyes were fastened on the track again. jim took out his watch and saw that it was a quarter to two. it brought a quizzical smile to his face. time and again he had noted the fact that it was just about this time that an attack was sure to come. it sent a thrill through his nerves for he felt that they were rushing straight to a crisis. much depended on the three men in the engine, for there were many helpless women and children on the train for whose safety they were responsible. jim noted that the country through which they were going was well suited for the purposes of the bandits desiring to hold up the train. on either side the walls of the mountains rose at the distance of only a few hundred yards, covered with dark pines and huge rocks showing here and there on the bare fall of some precipice. between the foot of the mountains and the track was rugged ground, with large bowlders scattered here and there. clumps of trees and bushes and numerous gullies could be discerned. it was just the country for a surprise of this kind. jim stepped down from his narrow seat and got his hands thoroughly warm and pliable, took off his coat and folded it neatly on the seat and stood with his revolver in hand, seeing whether its action was all right. he was a stalwart figure indeed, dressed in his characteristic regimentals, with a thick, tight fitting sweater of blue, pants of the same color, and a new sombrero of a dark hue, for the old one had been battered and worn out of all semblance to a hat, and he was obliged to give it up, though it was like parting with an old friend. jim as you remember, perhaps, was a trifle over six feet in height and during his short stay at home he had gained in flesh, so that he weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds. his hair was brown and straight and his eyes gray. he was doubtless fit for this battle or any that should come his way. just at that moment, bob ketchel saw an obstruction on the track, about two hundred yards distant, and applied the air brakes instantly. he had been on the watch for just this thing, and noted that there was plenty of cover where the express was halted wherein the desperadoes could hide. slowly the panting engine came to a stop with its nose almost against the stone obstruction and there were flashes from a half dozen rifles on either side of "the general denver." a simultaneous attack was made at the rear of the train. it was hardly a fair duel but jim and bob ketchel were competent hands at this game and keeping under cover they managed to get in some telling shots. a near bullet sent a splinter from the cab into jim's cheek, but he paid no attention to it at the time. when he caught a sudden glimpse of two men skulking behind a clump of bushes trying to get a bead on him, he sent two shots straight at them and then ducked into the cab in time to escape a side shot from behind a rock. he could hear bob's fusillade from the other side of the cab and the return volleys from the enemy, but he did not worry about his friend, the engineer, for he knew full well that he could take care of himself. it was the other fellows who would have to look out. but jim saw a figure leap in behind a rock, near the side of the express car, where he would have the drop on bob. there was but one thing to do and james did it. he leaped into the tender which made an excellent fort, and there for a few minutes he kept the bandits at bay. he would have laughed heartily at the fireman, bill sheehan, if he could have spared the time, for that worthy had taken up the battle in his own way. having quickly discarded his revolver with which he was not an expert, he began hurling chunks of coal, wherever he saw the flash of the enemy's fire, and filled with fighting fury he exposed himself most recklessly, but with no apparent harm. whether bill's novel form of attack made the attacking party helpless with laughter or because he was in such constant motion that it was hard to get a bead on him, be the reason what it may, at least sheehan came through unscathed. for a brief time, the battle was even, in fact the engineer and jim probably had the best of it, and then there came a change in the situation. the party in the rear, saw that their brethren were meeting with a sharp resistance from the engine, so two of them swiftly and stealthily ran along by the side of the train until they came to the baggage car next to the engine. slipping in between the two cars they quickly got on top of the baggage. any noise they might have made being deadened by the firing going on just below. the desperadoes redoubled their attack when they saw two of their number about to turn the fight in their favor, for it was perfectly clear what an advantage their position on the roof of the car would give them. they could not be hit themselves even if discovered, and it was certain death for jim and the engineer for they would not be more than thirty feet from the two desperadoes. even a tenderfoot would not miss at that distance and these men were not in that class. neither jim nor bob ketchel were standing so that they could catch a glimpse of the two men who were crawling along the top of the blind baggage. at that instant, bill sheehan made a rush for the top of the coal pile to get a chunk of ammunition of sufficient size and weight. chapter iii jim takes a chance as sheehan mounted the coal, he caught a glimpse of one of the desperadoes on top of the car and yelled to ketchel and jim who jumped just in the nick of time, and by sheer luck not uncommon in battles, escaped unhurt. as for the fireman he took a novel way of making his escape, by diving into the shelving bank of coal and letting it slide over him. in the excitement of the flurry of firing he was able to do this. jim and ketchel both leaped from the same side of the engine and were protected by a slight cut alongside of the track. bullets whirred and cut into the dirt around them. as they ran both of them sent a shot at the man on the near side of the blind baggage, with such good effect that he pitched to the ground with an injured leg. "duck low, jim," yelled the engineer; "we will beat them yet. i've got a scheme." "i'm with you," replied jim. this was literally true, for he was right at the heels of the scurrying bob. as they passed the barricade of stones, ketchel gave it a quick, searching look, then in a few strides they got to cover in a culvert a number of yards in front of the pile of stone. by the help of a few ties they made a respectable fort. "so far, so well," said ketchel, "but it won't do to stay here very long, for they will loot the train." "nearly the whole gang is down there," cried jim, "i can tell by the firing." "we've got to clear that barricade off the track and quick, too," declared the engineer. "it's our only hope." "those stones are pretty heavy to lift off under fire," said jim composedly, "but i guess we can make a go of it." "i like your nerve," said ketchel, a gleam of admiration showing for an instant in his usually noncommittal face, "but i've got something here, that will help us in this hoisting business," and he thrust his hand into one of the pockets of his overalls. "what is it?" queried jim. "dynamite," replied the engineer, producing a small chunk of the same to view. "won't it blow up the engine, too?" asked jim. "not likely with this amount," said ketchel. "we will have to chance it anyhow." "ain't you afraid that you might take a chaw on it, by mistake for your tobacco?" queried jim in a matter-of-fact voice. bob ketchel only grinned by way of reply. "now is our chance," whispered the engineer; "keep the beggars lying low while i start the fireworks." "i'll attend to that," replied jim briefly and with emphasis. then two crouching figures slipped out from the culvert, and jim kept on the move with the quick dodging motions of a boxer so that the enemy in ambush could not get a bead on him. flashing the fire of his revolver this side and that at a cluster of rock, or a clump of bushes he dodged on, and such was his accuracy that not a man in the attacking party dared show himself in the open. jim was able to keep down their fire, as his ally rushed to the barricade; then ketchel stooped down and thrust the dynamite into an opening between the rocks and drawing off quickly threw himself flat down by the track. then there came an upheaval that shook things. a geyser of rocks shot into the air, and in a jiffy jim and the engineer had cleared off what remained on the track in the shape of debris. the engine itself had most of the cowcatcher torn off and the headlight smashed. "spoiled her beauty for you," said jim. "but we will spoil their game i guess, and i don't think the railroad company will complain at the loss of a cowcatcher." meantime both had raced back to the engine. before the gang had time to fully realize what had happened, ketchel had regained his place in the cab and had turned the engine loose on the sanded rails. within a remarkably short distance he had her full speed ahead, with a parting salute of shots from the enraged and baffled "hold ups." "there goes three of 'em," cried jim, who had swung aboard. "my what a jump." they shot from the rear of the train like projectiles from a catapult, rolling over and over down a steep embankment. two got up very slowly but the third lay as if dead. "where's sheehan?" cried the engineer; "we haven't lost him i hope." "gosh! he's in the coal!" exclaimed jim. he leaped into the tender and saw a movement under the coal. working frantically, jim was able to drag their submerged ally from the retreat that had almost buried him. the cold air brought him to, and he rose staggeringly to his feet. "yer started your thrain too suddint, mr. ketchel, and pulled two ton of coal over my poor head," cried the fireman in half humorous indignation. "why didn't you whistle and give me fair warning as to your intentions. and how did you lads escape without bullets in your hides. yer must have charmed lives the both of you." "how many of 'em did you get, bill," yelled back the engineer from his cab. "aye, there is many of them that will carry black marks the rest of their lives, where i handed them some chunks of coal." "the company will take it out of your salary for wasting their coal," remarked ketchel. "and shure and they ain't none too good to do it," remarked bill sheehan with conviction. "get in, bill, and throw what coal you have got left into that boiler; we have got to make the siding this side of the divide to get out of the way of 'the eastern express.' that little fracas back there cost us fifteen minutes." "and half a ton of coal," said the fireman, as he bent his back to the work of shoveling, looking for all the world like a black gnome. "i wonder what has happened to the passengers," said jim to the engineer; "there seemed to be a lot going on back there the last five minutes of the fight." "i can't slow up, jim," responded the engineer, "because we have got to make that siding." "i don't expect you to, bob," replied jim, "i'll go over the roofs. i can make it if those open air burglars did." "it's durn risky," warned the engineer; "we are speeding now, and the train is twisting so it will sure throw you on some of the curves." "i've ridden a few bronchos in my time," declared jim, "and been aloft in some heavy seas and i guess i can manage this." self-confidence is all right but pride often goes before destruction and jim came very near getting his on this occasion. "and where do you think you are going, lad?" asked bill sheehan, as jim started on his climb over the tender. "i'm going back to see how many of the passengers have been scared to death and why some of those guys in the sleepers didn't turn out and help us to fight off those bandits back there." "oh, them are tenderfeet from way back the other side of the range, they was too busy hiding behind their women folks to fight," declared the fireman, "but you ain't going on no such trip young feller." he made a dive for jim but that worthy was not to be detained and was half way up the little iron ladder before bill sheehan had recovered his balance. "come back," he cried, poising a bit of coal in his hand, "or i'll bring you back." this bluff did not disturb jim who was now on top of the baggage car. "just like a young limb," he muttered, as he watched the daring james. "i'd have done the same twenty years ago." jim crawled or sneaked his way along the elevated part of the roof, so that he could clutch one side or the other in case of need. the train was now winding through a narrow gulch in a line of hills and a fierce wind tore at his body as though trying to fling him loose. he felt that it was more than he had bargained for, as the grimy roof slipped this way and that under him, then there came a sudden lurch and he was lifted clear off the top of the car and one hand was wrenched loose, and in a second his feet were hanging over the side. his other hand caught the steel rod that opens one of the small windows in the elevated roof of the car. would it hold? on its strength depended his only chance of life. he drew himself up slowly with every ounce of his strength. the rod bent but held and once more he was back on the roof. so he took his perilous way along and at last he reached the foreward coach. the door was guarded and he came near being shot by the suspicious conductor, who took him for one of the bandits. chapter iv the girl and the engineer indeed jim's appearance was much against him. he was covered with dirt and grime and coal dust. it was only by holding his ticket against the pane of glass in the door of the coach, that the conductor was made willing to admit him. but when he was informed who jim was he treated him with due respect and even cordiality. that was pretty good for a conductor in those days. jim was an object of interest as he passed through the coach. he might have blushed at finding himself a hero, but if so he was perfectly disguised by his temporary color, which was decidedly dusky. "oh, mamma," cried a youngster, "i'm afraid of that big black man. will he steal me!" "nonsense, willie, that's the nice, kind gentleman, who gave you some candy at the station yesterday." jim laughed and the only show of white about him was his teeth. "i don't blame the little chap for being scared," he said, "i'm a bad looking object for a fact." "you ought to have seen three of those fellows jump," remarked mr. conductor, as they went on their way through the train; "that was when bob opened up. i guess one of 'em was badly shook up by the way he lit." "i saw them take their flying leap," returned jim, "but was anybody hurt back here?" "the brakeman got it in the shoulder," replied the conductor, "but i guess he will be all right. have to take a lay-off for some weeks." "it's curious how many bullets are fired without hurting anybody," remarked jim, "but i've noticed that before." the conductor looked at the tall young fellow keenly for a moment. "i reckon you are no tenderfoot," he asserted. "right there!" replied jim; "that is if experience counts. but i was born in the east." "you can't help that," remarked the conductor, to jim's amusement; "you would have laughed to see them fellows lying close to the floor of the car, when the shooting was going on. it ain't a dignified sight to see a round fat man trying to make himself small by lying as flat as possible." "i can't blame them," replied jim; "i would have been trying the same maneuver if i had been there." "no, you wouldn't," contradicted the taker of tickets; "you would have been busy trying to get a line on some of the gents who were kicking up a ruction outside. "maybe," said jim doubtfully. when they entered the first pullman, jim was in the lead and at the sight of a tall, blackened-looking individual entering through the plush portières into the main body of the car several of the women shrieked, and two stout gentlemen dived down between the seats. "conductor!" they yelled; "conductor! help!" jim was greatly embarrassed by this reception, and started to back out hastily, but was stopped by the rotund figure of the greatly in demand conductor. "ha! ha!" he roared. "ladies and gentlemen don't be frightened. this young man is no desperado, but he has been fighting them off down in front on the engine during the late hold up." slowly like twin round moons rose the faces of the two stout men from opposite sections. "i say, conductor," remarked one of them who was an englishman, "this is a jolly shame. can't we travel in peace in this beastly country? always some bally ructions going on, don't yer know." the conductor's answer was rather abrupt for he did not fancy the englishman's style of speech, and that testy individual was more upset than ever. jim went quickly to his section, got a change of clothing, retired to the wash room and proceeded to get thoroughly cleaned up. this was quite an operation, undertaken in the presence of two drummers who were smoking and talking in bragging tones of what they had done during the recent fight. jim was too busy to pay any attention to their talk until one of them addressed him directly. "where was you, young fellow, when we was held up back there?" questioned one. "i was forward," replied jim shortly. he did not take especially to either of the two men. "bet you were hiding under the trucks," asserted the other. jim did not know whether to laugh, or to throw the fellow out of the window. he had not noticed the conductor who was standing in the passageway, but that worthy had overheard the remark. "who did you say hid under the trucks?" he inquired belligerently. the man addressed feebly indicated jim, then the conductor lit into the fellow for fair. "you trying to run that young fellow? why if he took the notion into his head, he could turn you up simultaneous and paddle whack both of you. why you ain't nothing but--" however, i draw a veil over this part of the harangue. jim laughed good-naturedly but said nothing. after the conductor had left, the men took the opposite tack and were very fulsome in their praise of jim. wanted him to drink with them and all that sort of cheap comradeship, but he would have none of their game and got out as soon as he could. at the first stop the train made, james went forward to join his two friends on the engine. "and who may you be?" queried the fireman; "you look very much like the vice-president of this railroad instead of the tramp i saw some hours agone trying to ride the blind baggage." "i've got my face washed, bill, and a fresh shirt to my back and my moccasins polished if that is what you are aiming at," replied jim good humoredly. "i must say, jim, it gave me a scare when i saw you swing over the edge of the car, but it was no use for me to try and slow up then, besides i had time to make up, and the engineer can't stop for his best friend then. but i must say you have a cast-iron nerve." "i felt scared," admitted jim frankly. "you had reason to," remarked bill sheehan. "all aboard, boys," cried the engineer. "i see the conductor is waving us to go on. you take bill's side of the cab and watch me drive her into the junction. that's my terminus and we will have breakfast together." "wish you were going to the coast with me, bob," remarked jim. "i'm in for some trouble there i'm afraid, and you are the chap i should want to back me up, and that's solid." "i'd take you up in a minute, jim," then he lowered his voice, "but you see there's a girl at the junction and we are to be married next month." jim gave his friend a hearty slap on his broad back. "glad to hear it, bob, old boy, and may it be a lucky go for both of you." "thanks, jim," replied ketchel, and there was a dubious moisture in his eyes, which vanished in a second, as he watched keenly the road ahead. jim always remembered the ride into the junction. the moonlight had faded from the sky and the fuller, keener daylight was creeping in to take its place. the train was now puffing along just below timber line, and in the west was a semi-circle of snowy peaks, rugged, superb, symmetrical, with the tint of dawn gilding their summits. on the mountains through which the train was passing were great patches of snow. the air had that marvelous clearness that jim knew so well and his eyes sparkled, as he breathed it in deeply. just as the sun came up he saw below at a distance of several miles, in a snow lined basin in the hills, the dark patch of the junction. as they neared it, jim's keen eye saw the figure of a girl standing on the porch of a small white cottage. there was something very attractive about the young figure standing there, with the color of health in her face, and a look of fervor in her eyes. a signal passed between the engineer and the girl and then the train roared on towards the station. "i don't blame you for not wanting to go to california, bob," said jim. the engineer smiled good-naturedly but was content to let jim's surmise go unconfirmed. "the boss is shure done for," interrupted the fireman; "he won't be the same high spirited man in a few years he is now. it's all very tempting, but it's like tolling an ox to get his neck under the yoke. it's a terrible thing to see a young fellow like him bent on taking responsibilities he don't know the heft of." ketchel only grinned at bill sheehan's doleful prophecy for he knew the root of it, as the fireman's wife was something of a termagant and the sound of her scoldings had reached other ears than bill's. now came the whistle for the junction, and the train slowed to a halt on a long level platform on which lay a six-inch carpet of dazzling snow. chapter v the menu that morning always stood out in jim's memory, not because of any unusual adventure, nor because it marked any period in his young existence, but simply that he felt full of the exuberance of life, after the night's adventure; the very air was intoxicating. that, by the way, was the only intoxicant james ever took. he was glad to be with his old friend, bob ketchel, even for a short time. then, too, there was the certainty of immediate events of interest as soon as he reached san francisco, and he felt confident that he could meet whatever might come. his past experiences had taught him self-reliance and he thrilled to the sense of coming adventures. but the fact that he was soon to enjoy a good breakfast had something to do with his feeling of contentment. besides, he and the engineer were objects of interest in this little mountain settlement, for the story of the attempted hold up was soon common property, and the two were the observed of all observers. this is not unpleasant, as many a schoolboy hero of the football field or track knows right well. in about fifteen minutes' time jim and the engineer were seated at a pleasant looking table in a sunny corner of the dining-room, with the whitest of cloths and everything about the table neat and attractive. it was not at all like the wild west, and it is at the eating stations that whatever of luxury or comfort there is in this wild country is concentrated. there was a hearty menu of several kinds of meats and gravies, fried potatoes in abundance, excellent coffee in large cups, and smoking plates of griddle cakes with plenty of syrup. jim ate with an appetite derived from a long fast, and plenty of exercise. the reader can vouch as to the amount of exercise that james had undergone in the past few hours. the dining-room was full of tourists at the different tables, and it was a lively and animated scene. the events of the previous night were the general subject of discussion and jim was fully aware that he was being talked about. but he was a well balanced chap, and was not the least "swelled" by the notice taken of him. he and the engineer had a good time telling each other of the adventures that had come their way during the years since they last met. jim could tell his friend of their wonderful trip into mexico, the excursion into hawaii, and what occurred in the hollow mountain, likewise of their encounter with captain broome, that booming old pirate whose splendid yacht they had seized after a struggle that required strategy as well as bravery. however, captain broome was not through with jim as we shall soon see. "well, jim," said ketchel finally, as he pushed his chair back from the table, and took a quick look at his watch, "the train you pass here is due in ten minutes and then you will be pulling out. let's go outside; it's a bit too warm in here to suit me." "all right, bob, the fresh air will seem good to both of us." as they stopped at the office just outside the dining-room door, there was a moment's friendly rivalry to see who should settle for the breakfast but ketchel winked at the clerk behind the circular counter with its usual cigar case, and porcupine arrangement of toothpicks. "his money is no good, sam," he asserted, "when he's traveling in my company." "you're the judge, bob," said the clerk. "i hear you and your friend were held up in bear valley last night, together with the train you were toting along. how about it?" "i'll tell you later, sam. jim here is leaving on no. and we are old pals and have got some talking yet." "i see!" acquiesced sam. "good luck to you," and he nodded good humoredly to jim. the two friends went out into the crisp, clear air. the snow crunched under their feet as they paced along the platform, and the elixir of the atmosphere made every bit of them tingle with its vivacity and life. jim's eyes sparkled and his face was ruddy with the glow of healthy blood in the cold air. he took in the scene about him with an appreciative eye for he truely loved the west and was at home in it. he noted the white smoke rising into the clear cold from the chimneys of the little settlement, the encircling hills of the basin where it lay, all of a crystalline whiteness and the sky as blue, as the snow was white, with an intensity all its own. the fresh engine was backing down to the train as the two friends made the second turn on the platform. "i'll introduce you, jim, to the fellow who runs this engine." the new engineer was a short and very solid man of quiet demeanor; he looked jim over thoroughly in a brief moment. "glad to know you, darlington. hear you had a run-in with that bear valley gang, bob. stole the pilot off your engine, eh?" and the engineer gave a silent laugh that shook his whole system. "you notice we came in on time, joe," said ketchel, briefly. "if we are going to pull out on time, we'll have to start now. anything i can do for your friend, bob?" "yes," returned ketchel, "give him a ride through the red canyon." "i will," replied joe as he climbed into his engine and the train slowly got under way. "good-by, jim," said ketchel, as they gripped hands; "take care of yourself." "the best luck to you and the missus, bob," cried jim as he swung onto the train, that was now gathering speed and soon the settlement was left behind as the cars swayed through a narrow passage in the encircling hills. jim slept during the morning hours and nothing of peculiar interest happened on the day's trip, though jim enjoyed every minute of it, especially the ride on the locomotive through red canyon, with its walls rising for several thousands of feet in breathless grandeur. gazing from above, the train must have appeared like a worm crawling along the base of the cliffs. twenty-four hours later the huge rounded bulk of the sierra nevada loomed dead ahead. when the train came to a halt at a small station at the foot of the range, jim got out as usual to take a walk up and down the platform. he saw a small box in front of the station supported on a larger one with a curtain in front of it. upon the lower box was inscribed the legend, "the famous rocky mountain bat." jim was naturally interested in all fauna. (note the word, youthful reader, and look it up in the dictionary.) so he sauntered up to the cage and lifting the cheap red curtain looked in. what he saw made him gasp for a second, but he did not run, his native courage standing him in good stead. upon a rich green cloth of irish hue, was an ordinary red brick. there was a number of the inhabitants leaning against the side of the depot, waiting for just such an occasion as this. they went into paroxysms of laughter, clasping their knees, or beating each other on the back, and their mouths were opened wide enough to have swallowed the aforesaid bat (brick). jim felt like a fool and a strong inclination welled up within him to punch one of these border humorists, but he put the brakes on his temper and thus kept from sliding any further down grade. reaching into his coat pocket, he drew forth not his trusty revolver, but a small diary with a red cover and a dainty ivory knobbed pencil in the small sheath. dost thou remember, honored reader, when thou hadst one of them given thee to keep the record of thy important life? i bet thou dustest. perhaps, for ten successive days were daily jottings put down; if very persistent perchance fifteen days were recorded and then you quit. carried away in the rushing course of events, the little diary was left to wither on the shores of time. while this stuff has been recited jim made a careful drawing of the brick which he annotated with proper data, keeping all the time an imperturbable face under the very pointed jibes of the station loungers. his work in the interests of science being finished he stepped over to the place of the scorners, and planting himself squarely in front of the most boisterous of the group, began calmly to make a sketch of this wide-mouthed individual. instantly the fellow's face grew sober, and the crowd ready for any kind of fun began to jeer him. this made the man angry and he made a bull-like rush for jim, who was not prepared for this maneuver and he was thrown from his balance, striking with considerable force upon the station platform. chapter vi an old acquaintance the crowd, which was a good-natured one, gathered around cheering its champion and laughing at jim's fall. but james was thoroughly aroused by the fall, which had added insult to an injury, and exerting part of his unusual strength he struggled to his feet, and caught his opponent at arms' length from him, and then turning him over gave him a few hearty spanks while the crowd roared. naturally the man was furious when jim turned him loose with a shove that sent him staggering back for a number of feet, and he picked up a good sized rock. he came on to demolish jim with it, but some of his comrades collared him so that he could not do any mischief and the attention of the crowd was diverted to some more visitors to the shrine of the wonderful rocky mountain bat. one was a tall and angular englishman dressed in some rough looking suiting and his good lady who had on a long ulster and a hat with a green veil accompanied him. "aw, and what is that?" he questioned, standing and looking at the curtained box. "why, charles, it says on the box, that it contains 'the famous rocky mountain bat,'" said his wife with a show of her prominent teeth. "bah jove, we'll have a look into that." they did and viewed it with closer and closer scrutiny. "why d'ye know the beast has escaped. that bit of brick wouldn't hold him. i daresay the villagers will be surprised when they find it has gone." "it certainly is astonishing," exclaimed the lady. "do you suppose it can be a joke?" "impossible. how quite absurd you are." jim who was standing near by looking on with deepest interest, grinned audibly while the overwrought "villagers" could stand no more. they regarded the englishman solemnly, shook their heads sadly and adjourned to the nearest public house, to discuss the awful density of some foreigners. "most extraordinary people," commented the englishman; "sometimes awfully jolly, and then take to drink because they lose something like a bloomin' bat." jim moved away lest he, too, should be driven to drink. he walked towards the train, which was due to start in a short time, taking no notice of anyone. but there was one individual who was keeping an eye on jim. he had been standing in front of a saloon just across from the station watching all that was going on. this man was short like a dwarf, and was evidently a mexican, and the proud possessor of one glass eye. but his other eye was fixed upon the tall young fellow in the blue suit, and the dark sombrero. when jim was safely on the sleeper, the mexican did not attempt to follow him but went into the smoker, and puffed at a cigarette; meantime he was doing some thinking and planning. jim was soon to find that his old pirate friend, captain bill broome, had a long arm. a dry word of explanation is necessary here. frontier boys on the coast served to introduce this redoubtable man to the readers of this series. the frontier boys though badly beaten by the captain at first, finally under the leadership of jim, out-maneuvered him and captured his ship. the mexican who was watching jim was one of bill broome's trusted agents, and the most vicious, if not the most skillful that he made use of in his nefarious business. jim might have recognized him, though he was much changed by a short, curly black beard that he had purposely allowed to grow and which did not make his personal appearance the more attractive. however, jim did not dream of anyone being on his trail at such a distance from san francisco, though he knew from the letter that he carried that there was trouble to be expected when he arrived there. but for the present he was just content to take things easy and to enjoy his trip, which he was certainly doing. moreover, jim was naturally of a frank and straightforward nature and unsuspicious, unless something put him on his guard and then he was not to be easily fooled. how was it that captain broome knew of jim's exact whereabouts. he was certainly not a confidante in regard to his plans and had no direct means of knowing that james was on his way west. the explanation is simple enough. the news of the train robbery or rather the attempt at it was telegraphed to san francisco and printed in the usual flamboyant style. true, jim's name appeared in the account as mr. james damington, but that was pretty accurate for a newspaper and a brief reference to some of his former exploits made identification very simple to the shrewd eyes of old bill broome, who was naturally interested in an account of a robbery even if he did not have a hand in it. it was evident that jim was likely to become as famous as kit carson, who performed many of his wonderful exploits by the time that he was seventeen. so it behoves james to be careful. no sooner did captain broome's eagle eye see this plum of information about "mr. damington," whom he heartily hated, than he set things in motion by sending his greaser scout, with certain specific instructions, to meet and trail jim. once jim passed through the smoker, but the mexican pretended to be fast asleep with his hat pulled well down and his head half buried in his overcoat. jim noticed the reclining figure casually, but thought no more about the man, though his interest might have been aroused if he had chanced to turn quickly for the desperado had raised his head with the quickness of a rattlesnake and his beady eye was fixed with malevolent intentness on jim's every movement. that night jim slept with great soundness as was usual with him, unless there was something to watch out for. as it happened there was, though jim did not know it. as a link in the chain of what was to occur, i must mention the negro porter of jim's car. he was an undersized, grumpy person, and jim had earned his ill will by giving him a call down for his impudence to a lady who had the section across from him. the darky had vowed to do him dirt, and, though he was afraid of jim, the opportunity soon came for him to get even. at one of the stations the mexican got acquainted with the porter and soon insinuated himself into his good graces, and it did not take him long to find out that this colored person had it in for the tall young gringo, which was sugar to his coffee. it was a simple matter for him to find out the number and location of jim's berth, and to make arrangements to get into the car about midnight, so as to carry out his plans. it was shortly after twelve that night, that the porter unlocked the door of the pullman, and admitted an undersized mexican. it was a sinister figure that crouched in the corner of the deserted smoking-room, like a black spider lurking for his prey. at that moment the porter rushed in, and collared the mexican. the reason was not far to seek. looking out from the door of the car, he had chanced to see the conductor coming with his lantern; the latter was just opening the door to step out on the platform between the two sleepers. it would not do for him to discover the interloper in the car, for there would be a riot call immediately if not sooner as the frontier boys used to say. the porter hustled the mexican through the narrow aisle and shut him into the tall thin closet where a supply of bedding was wont to be kept, just as the conductor looked into the smoking-room. "somebody in here with a cigarette, porter?" "no sah," replied the porter. "not a living pusson in this heah car but's sleepin'!" "what's the matter with you?" asked the conductor "you look pale." "a niggah look pale?" laughed the porter but with mock mirth; "you must be joking, sah." "yaller then," replied the conductor brusquely. he was not entirely satisfied with the negro's reply, and with his round lantern, protected by the steel wires held high on his arm he looked through the smoking-and drawing-rooms which were unoccupied but found nothing. then he went along the car aisle and into the next sleeper banging the door. immediately the porter let out the imprisoned mexican who crouched back into the smoking-room, where he lingered for only a moment. then he glided into the dusky aisle of the car, between the heavy curtains with their hanging decorations of velvet bands with large steel figures on them indicating the number of the section. there was the constant roar of the train, and the swaying of the big brass lamps, and from all sides came the loud snores of the sleeping citizens. once there came a loud cry of a person frightened by some dream, just where the mexican was passing and he stopped, crouching low in the aisle. then as nothing further came of it, he glided along until he reached section no. , where james darlington lay asleep. chapter vii where was he? jim was breathing heavily, profoundly asleep, and the fellow's first action was to rifle jim's valise with the skill of an old hand, taking every scrap of paper he could find, a few letters and a memorandum book; these he glanced through; they were not what he wanted, at least the paper that he had been told to bring was not there. as he shoved the valise under the berth he heard the conductor coming back on his return trip, and he remained as quiet as a frozen mummy, leaning far into the berth and behind the curtain, as the conductor brushed past him. then he proceeded to the dangerous part of his task. jim's coat lay under his head, a precaution he never neglected. with his knife in his teeth, better than a revolver for close work and entirely noiseless, the fellow began slowly and with great cunning to work his hand into the pockets of the coat. he found a long flat letter; this was what he was told to get. now his cupidity was aroused. he had found nothing of pecuniary value, and he knew that this young fellow carried some treasures of value in the way of jewels. jim was too old a campaigner to put these even in the coat on which he was asleep. the spy knew that they must be in a belt around the boy's body. carefully he located it, and now the lust of theft as strong as that of the italian for blood gripped him. he despised all risk though he did not lose his craft or caution; he cut the leather belt at jim's back, and began to draw it by minute particles towards him. then jim was aroused and was wide awake in an instant. he knew that he had been robbed and grabbed for the fellow who slipped away as though he had been quicksilver and when jim who became entangled in the bed clothes got to the door of the sleeper it was locked. perhaps he has gone the other way, thought jim, and he rushed to the other end of the car; the door there was likewise locked. jim hated to raise a hue and cry, but he was determined to get the thief. the loss of the belt which contained many of the jewels which he had brought from mexico was a severe jolt. it would cripple him cruelly in his plans for his coming campaign when he reached san francisco. at all hazards he must recover that belt. he went to his berth and slipped into his trousers and sweater and then he found the porter apparently asleep in the smoking-room. "here you wake up," cried jim, shaking him by the shoulder; "i've been robbed not three minutes ago." "i didn't rob you. i dunno nothing about it," declared the porter surlily. "i've been sleeping all the time." "you go and get the conductor," ordered jim. "i can't leave this hyah car," replied the negro. jim's face grew hard with anger, and he grabbed the porter by the back of the neck in a grip that fairly made that worthy's bones crack, and lifted him towards the door. "all right, boss, all right, i'll fatch him sure," cried the terrified porter. "i dunno you was in such a hurry." jim said nothing but kept watch until the porter returned with the conductor to whom he briefly explained the situation. he looked hard at the porter, who began to protest his utter innocence with great vehemence. "why, boss, i wouldn't steal a chicken if he crowed right in my face," he concluded. "i smelled a rat when i came through this car a time back. you say you caught sight of this fellow when he escaped from your section?" "yes," replied jim. "it was dark of course. but when he slipped through the curtains i got a glimpse of him. he was very short, with a hat pulled down, hiding most of his face, but i think that he had a beard. i reckon he must be in here somewhere for i found both doors locked and i was out in a hurry." "here you get in there, porter," cried the conductor, his face red with wrath, and he gave the negro a shove into the smoking-room, and slammed and locked the door. "that will hold him for a while. i saw that fellow all right enough. he was a mexican and he got on at reno." "a mexican!" cried jim, starting back. "no, it can't be, this fellow had a beard." "sure! he had a beard!" agreed the conductor. "well if he is on this train we will get him." "he couldn't be anywhere else," declared jim. "not at the rate we are going," agreed the conductor. "this is no country to jump off in, especially this time of the year." a thorough search was made of the sleeper which aroused all the passengers, but the mexican was not found. however, a trace was discovered when the conductor unlocked the tall, narrow door, to the linen closet. "somebody has been here all right," declared the conductor. "i bet he hid here when i came through the train. something is liable to happen to that coon when we get to oakland." meanwhile the search was going on through the other cars of the train. nearly everyone had been asleep at the time and the fellow might have passed through a number of the coaches and not been seen. one woman in the chair car declared that she had seen someone just like the mexican going through the car, about one o'clock. everyone joined in the search, looking under the seats in every nook and corner of the cars. if he was inside the train, it seemed that he must have the trick of invisibility to escape. at that moment, an idea came into jim's mind suggested by a former experience. "maybe the beggar has crawled up on top of the cars," he said. "he must be an acrobat," remarked the conductor, "to do that." "i'm going to have a look, anyway," jim declared. the trainmen regarded him with amazement. "no, you don't," said the conductor; "that's foolhardy." "it's slippery as the deuce on top of the cars," put in the brakeman. "i wouldn't risk it myself." then jim's face broke into a grin, as a sudden thought struck him, in regard to the subject. "it won't take long to find out whether the mexican gent is enjoying the fresh air on top of the cars," announced jim; "there's plenty of snow on top and none has fallen for the past six hours." the conductor hit jim a clip on the shoulder. "long head, boy!" he exclaimed, "i never thought of that." they went outside and jim, the tallest of the crowd, was boosted up by a couple of trainmen, between the swaying cars (this was long before the days of vestibules), but they found no trace of the bandit. "he's certainly not roosting up there," declared jim. "well, if he jumped off, he's a dead greaser," asserted the conductor. "we will watch and see that he don't slide off at the next station," remarked one of the brakemen. "he couldn't have slipped under one of the cars, could he?" questioned jim. the conductor shook his head with emphasis. "there's no telling what that fellow mightn't do," said one of the trainmen. "with the devil to help him," put in jim. "to make sure we will search under the train," decided the conductor, "at the next stop." in a few minutes the train rolled into a small station, near the top of the range. there was a flare of yellow torches under the cars as the trainmen searched every possible foothold, while jim stood a short distance back so that he could see on either side of the train if a short, dark figure should dart forth to seek escape in the wilds of the mountains; but their quarry was not flushed into the open, even by the flare and glare of the torches. "well, boy, we will have to give it up," said the conductor to jim, when the train started once more. "it seems so," admitted jim quietly. it was hard for him to accept defeat, in this very first skirmish with his old enemy, bill broome, and harder still to lose his treasure that was to be the sinews of war in the campaign that had already opened. but jim soon pulled himself together with rugged determination. "if i remember right, old broome gave us a jolly good licking to start with, when he captured us in the canyon in the coast range," mused jim to himself, "and we beat him in the end." but the reader is probably asking about the "mysterious mexican or where did he go to." well, friend, i will tell you in confidence that mr. mexican was in the train all the time. perhaps the ingenious reader has already solved the problem of the mexican's escape, but for those who do not care to be bothered, i will relate what happened, and where he was located. when he slipped through the door of the sleeping car, which his confederate, the negro, locked after him, he glided through several coaches, where the occupants were all soundly and some loudly asleep, until he came to the forward car which carried a number of emigrants, on their way to the coast. it must be remembered that the mexican was a dwarf, no larger than a child. it was easy for him to reach one of the long brass brackets above one of the rear seats, intended for bundles often heavier than he was; here he curled up in his heavy coat, for all the world like one of the bundles belonging to an emigrant and thus escaped detection. chapter viii in frisco "well, jim," said the chief engineer of the _sea eagle_, james darlington's yacht, "captain william broome, able seaman, and all round pirate, has routed us horse and foot, taken your riches by proxy and the yacht away from me by his own personal efforts." "it does look like we were up against it," admitted jim, "but we have a fighting chance, and i propose to keep on that old codger's trail." "good for you, jim," said his friend heartily, "but if i had a crew that had been worth a tinker's curse, the night that he attacked the yacht, i would have saved that for you! i verily believe that broome owned several men in my crew, and the rest of them were half breeds and renegades, but the best that i could get together down in that forsaken port." "i don't blame you a bit, chief," said jim; "no man could have done more for me than you did. have some more of the olives." "thanks, i will." the two were seated in a well-known restaurant, by a window looking down on a busy thoroughfare. it was shortly after one o'clock in the afternoon but the lights were lit, as a dense fog peculiar to san francisco had filled the atmosphere with an opaque gloom. there is a peculiar attractiveness about a first class metropolitan restaurant. it is a warm and pleasant refuge from the bleak heartlessness and merciless activity of a great city. jim, in an unconscious way, was aware of this inner delightfulness of the large softly lighted room, with the noiseless and obsequious waiters, the flowers, the music, the presence of many women, whose beauty and charm made the social life of this remarkable city a brilliant one. jim was by no means an adept social lion, but he had an outward self-possession that stood him in good stead no matter where he was. the music, and the lights, and the subdued gayety of the scene about him, filled him with a certain elation. life seemed a very good thing to him, in spite of his present defeat, and the fact that he was surrounded by very pressing dangers. he would have been a very much surprised lad if he had been told that any of these beautiful gowned women regarded him with any interest. but he carried himself with a simple distinction and poise, that was derived from varied and harsh experiences, that gave him a quiet self-reliance. james darlington was not handsome, but he was not bad looking, as he had the power and grace of perfect health and condition. even the few scars of desperate encounters in the past had not disfigured him, and in his neatly fitting gray suit, which his friend, the engineer, had helped him select, his brown straight hair, smoothly brushed upon his long masculine head, and clear gray eyes, jim was a pleasant looking specimen of american youth. the chief engineer of the _sea eagle_, was perfectly aware of the certain amount of interest which jim excited even if the boy was entirely oblivious of it. he was a thorough man of the world and regarded the scene which elated jim, with a cool contentment and a certain appraisal of contempt. "i do hope that no girl will come along, and disturb the lad's head, he is too good a fighting man to be made a fool of," he mused to himself, as he noted the sparkle of interest in jim's eyes as the boy watched the diners at the different tables. at that moment the orchestra in the flower hidden balcony began to play the mexican national anthem la poloma, with its enchanting melody, and the well-known strains made a deep rhythmic run through the boy's blood. outwardly the young masculine has no sentiment, but inwardly he is full of a sense of romance, that he would be shy to confess. "here comes the distinguished personage himself," said john berwick, the chief engineer, "and his fair daughter, castilians from mexico, and that accounts for the music. why didn't they render 'yankee doodle,' when we made our triumphal entry, eh, james?" jim merely grinned at his companion, and then his face sobered, and his eyes opened wide. the new arrivals were by no means strangers to him. the gentleman was tall and distinguished looking with white mustachios, while his daughter was very dark after the spanish type; the sheen of her hair like that of a raven's wing, and her complexion of a pellucid pallor, while her dark eyes had depth, and not merely surface. under the obsequious guidance of the head waiter, they passed directly by the table where jim and john berwick were seated, so close indeed that the flutter of the señorita's mantilla brushed jim's arm. at the second table beyond they were assigned places, the señor facing jim. in a way this was a relief to the youth, for he was terribly confused at the sight of the girl and he was afforded time to collect his wits. the señor did not even give a casual glance around, but confined his attention to the menu. "old friends, jim?" asked berwick who was quick to note the lad's perturbation. "why, yes," answered jim, "there can be no doubt about it. i have told you about our adventure in mexico, where we saved the señorita cordova from cal jenkins and his gang and were entertained at the castle by her father. well, there they are. i hardly think the señorita would recognize me. it seems a long time ago." "don't you flatter yourself on that point," said the engineer. "let her once get a square look at you, and she will know you all right enough. she had an uneasy suspicion when she went past, that she had seen the distinguished gentleman with his back to her somewhere. she would like to turn around now. what did i tell you, she has dropped her fan." "you must have eyes in the back of your head," remarked james, "but the waiter has picked it up." "she smiles very sweetly in thanks," improvised the engineer, "but she would like to swat him with it. these dear creatures are not as sweet as they sometimes appear. have you still the rose she gave you in the castle in spain--i mean mexico?" "why, i didn't tell you about that did i?" asked the simple jim. john berwick doubled over with silent laughter. "you did not need to tell me," he said when he got his breath; "that method is as old as the daughters of eve." "i guess i will go and introduce myself," said jim hurriedly. "come on, berwick." "hold on, jim," said the engineer, "i don't think that is the wisest plan. it makes it awkward for both sides, and people don't like to have their lunch broken in on. we will wait for them in the lobby, or find out at what hotel they are stopping and you can send up your card." "you are coming, too, to call on them," said jim impulsively; "i want them to meet you." but john berwick shook his head with slow emphasis and decision. "nay, nay, james," he said, "i have a very susceptible heart. i might become enamored with the fair señorita, that would be trouble, sequel two ex-friends on the sea sands by moonlight, two revolvers flashing at the signal, two beautiful corpses stretched out on the sad sea sands, then slow music, all on account of a girl with dark hair who once wore a red rose in it. life to me is too interesting for any such nonsense." jim laughed at his friend's way of expressing himself, and tried to make him change his mind about the proposed call, but an older man would have told him that there was much sound sense under john berwick's odd humor. the truth was that the more experienced man of the world knew that the real danger lay in the señorita's caring for him instead of the more simple and straightforward jim. berwick knew that it was social experience and knowledge that was apt to count for most in such matters. "lucky this isn't our busy day," remarked the engineer, as they waited for the señor da cordova and his daughter to finish their lunch. "it's broome's move, anyway," replied jim. just then there was an incident at the other table that invited their attention. chapter ix the watcher the señorita da cordova, had suddenly leaned forward in an animated manner and spoke to her father indicating at the same time someone who was standing under an awning on the other side of the thoroughfare. whether the man's presence caused her fright, or mere excitement it was hard to tell. "there he is, there he is!" she was heard to exclaim. jim followed the direction of her glance, and immediately he jumped to his feet. "come on, berwick," he cried, "we want that fellow across the street." berwick was puzzled but he knew that jim was no alarmist who would start on a wild goose chase, without rhyme or reason. he saw the figure across the way but did not recognize who it was. thrusting a bill into the waiter's hands, a procedure the waiter did not resent, he followed jim out of the restaurant. as their sudden departure made a slight commotion, the señorita turned her head and got a fair look at jim. a flush of surprise came into her face, and her dark eyes opened wide. "why, father, look at the tall american going out," she whispered; "it is the señor who saved me from the bandits." "there are other tall americans," he said with a smile; "there was a resemblance but that happens frequently in life, my daughter, the other man bore no resemblance to his brothers." the señorita shook her dark head with emphasis. "it was not nice of señor james to run away from us, as though we had the plague; it was certainly very far from nice, and i shall make him pay some day." "señor james," exclaimed her father, a slight frown on his brow; "you certainly have a remarkable memory, marie." "it is not at all wonderful, father," replied the girl with much spirit; "did he not save me from that terrible señor jenkins and his band? i shall remember him as long as there is the breath of life in my little body." "his memory does not seem to be as retentive as yours," said her father with quiet sarcasm. the señorita's face flushed at this thrust and she sat moodily silent for a while, then something happened which changed the current of her interest. "look," she cried, "the man across the street is running. what can be the matter?" "it is your friend, señor james, and his comrade is the matter," remarked her father. sure enough the two were in fast pursuit of, "the man across the street," and then they turned a corner but crossing to the further side of the thoroughfare they were still in view. "oh, dear!" cried the señorita, "i wish i could be informed as to what all this commotion is about and know who will win." let us follow them, and perhaps we shall find out. i daresay the astute reader has already guessed the name of the gentleman who caused this distinct and sudden interest and flung consternation and activity into two separate groups. as james darlington followed the glance of the young girl, he had recognized the dwarfish figure of the mexican who had robbed him of his treasure and who had previously led him and his party into dire trouble--hence his excitement, but why the interest of the señorita da cordova?--ah! that is another tale, but now to tell the story of the chase, for upon the result much would depend. "take your hat and coat, jim!" warned john berwick, as the two rushed from the restaurant. "i won't bother with my overcoat!" shouted jim; "i'm going to catch that fellow now!" "take care of his coat!" cried berwick to the boy in the lobby, tossing him a quarter. then the two friends were outside in the foggy street, where phantom street cars and passersby were moving through the thick white density that had rolled in from the pacific. "just wait here, james," said the engineer, as they stood sheltered by the corner of the building from observation. "he don't know me from adam and i'll just saunter up and collar him." "no, john," said jim decidedly, "i'm just aching to get my hands on him!" another reason which he was too wise to give, was that this same mexican was a most dangerous animal to handle even if taken unawares, and he preferred to run the risk himself. "i don't wish to spoil your game, jim," replied berwick, "so i will just saunter along this side, and capture him if he escapes your clutches." "all right," said jim, "but he is a wary old fox and some of his pals may be on the lookout too, so you had better stay here until you see me on the other side of the street; i am not going directly across." jim was too old a campaigner to make a wild rush at his quarry and thus run a chance of losing him in the shuffle. then, too, he had a wholesome regard for the cunning of his enemy, who was not to be easily trapped. accordingly jim, instead of crossing the street, went down around the next block. in a short time berwick saw a tall figure, with a black sombrero, emerge from the fog down the street, walking casually along as if not particularly interested in any of the landscape, but out of the corner of his eye he watched the short, sinister-looking fellow he was after. by some obscure instinct the mexican scented danger and started up the street, and jim quickened his pace, as berwick came around the corner where he had been concealed. instantly the mexican took the alarm and started on the run, but jim was like a lion unleashed for his prey; in another leap he would have felled the rascal to the earth, but the mexican, handicapped as to speed, knew the city as hand to glove, especially every by-way, crooked lane, or devious alley. his knowledge stood him in good stead now; he swerved into a narrow passageway between two buildings, that was shut off from the street by a wooden gate, which at this moment was left unfastened; this was not by accident, either. before jim could turn, the fellow had turned the wooden button fastening the door. jim was furious at this escape, almost under his fingers, and his pleasure was not increased when he heard a gentle voice from the other side of the gate: "good-by, señor gringo, i cannot wait here all the afternoon. i have some money to spend." jim with one bound threw his one hundred and eighty odd pounds against the obstruction. there was a splintering crash, and then jim tore into the alleyway followed a moment later by his comrade. at the sound, a fat policeman a block away started on a waddling run to find the cause of the outbreak, and the father and daughter who were watching from the window of the restaurant were more than interested. "ah, mother of mercies!" cried the girl, "he will be killed." then she could not help exclaiming in admiration, "what strength! it is señor james, as i told you, father." "you may be right, my daughter," he admitted; "this americana is very brave and strong, but i trust he will not get himself disliked by killing this manuel del garrote, who is of importance not in keeping with his size." "he had not better come into my presence if he harms the señor," said the señorita da cordova with a bitter emphasis, which her dark eyes endorsed. "you must learn, my daughter, that in great enterprises we cannot always choose our associates." * * * * * when jim tore through into the passageway between two brick walls, he saw the mexican dodging around the corner of one of the buildings about a hundred and fifty feet ahead. it did not take jim many seconds to reach the same corner, and although the rascal was nowhere in sight, the way of his escape was plain. opening from the areaway back of the buildings was another gate, that the fleeing mexican had not time to close; beyond was the blank wall of fog filling the side street with soft gray density. in much less time than i write it, james was out through the gate on to the lustrous black sidewalk, polished with the moisture. but once again the man made his escape and it seemed this time that it was for good. there was a four-wheeler standing near the curb, into which the fellow plunged, and the driver, without a word, gave his two rusty blacks the whip and away they dashed. jim was just in time to see the dwarf jump into the coupé. he did not stop with his mouth open, but set out undaunted to overtake the fugitive; neither was he distanced, for jim had not stayed in the effete east long enough to get pursy and to lose his wind. now it was different with the engineer, john berwick. he was lithe and active enough, and at a hundred yards, was no doubt faster than his friend jim, but he knew that he was not equal to a cross-city run of several miles in the wake of a four-wheeler drawn by two sturdy mustangs. chapter x the chase begins at the corner of a street stood a hack to which was hitched a big black, and the rusty-looking individual who held the reins was anxious for immediate service. "right this way, gents!" he yelled, as he noted the signs of a chase. "i'll catch bill durnell's team if i bust a wheel." "five dollars if you do," cried john berwick, as he and jim leaped into the musty interior of the cab. before they were fairly inside the vehicle was in motion. the driver hit his horse a clip, and away the hack rattled and jounced in furious pursuit, making racket enough for ten ordinary carts. the noise of the wheels upon the cobbles aroused the immediate interest of the street urchins on both sides of the thoroughfare. they threw compliments as well as stones. one, quicker than the others, managed to get a perilous hold on the back of the vehicle, only to be hurled sprawling on the hard road as the hack whirled around a corner on two wheels. he stayed there for a few seconds, with a pained and surprised look on his befreckled face, then he jumped up and fired a rock from the gutter that swatted the coach squarely making a big dent in the black expanse of back. "i'll break ye for that ye little gutter snipe," yelled the infuriated driver standing up on his box. "yer ought to drive a coal wagon, you chump," retorted the urchin with a shrill yell. "he's been to a wake," greeted another crowd of boys, who stretched an audacious line across the street directly in front of the surging gallop of the black horse. this time the driver got some revenge by lashing a couple of them with his long whip. this provoked a volley of stones, causing jim and his friend to duck down to avoid being hit. "boys certainly are the deuce," declared the engineer with a laugh; "they think we are fair game." "i'll give them a little of their own game!" grinned jim as he picked up a couple of stones on the seat opposite, and he leaned out of the window of the door, sending a stone at the group with accuracy and precision. "look at the guy!" they yelled; "paste him in the head." to their surprise jim did not duck back at their return volley but fended off a couple of the shots with his forearm, and one he caught with his right hand as though it were a baseball, and hurled it back with a snappy, short arm throw that caught the thrower squarely on the thigh. "hurrah for you, fellar!" yelled the crowd. jim acknowledged the salute with a graceful wave of his hand. "catching 'em bill!" he yelled up at the driver. "gained half a block on 'em!" cried bill with enthusiasm. jim could just make out a dark blur in the fog ahead where the pursued hack was galloping to some unknown destination. at the sight all the fierce excitement of the chase came over jim. he must not let that mexican escape this time. it meant everything to get a hold of him. he would recover his treasure belt, whose loss was not only a serious blow to his present plans, but an injury to his natural pride and confidence in himself. he could imagine his brother tom saying: "ought to have had me along, jim; you are too innocent to travel alone." hearing the voice of his comrade, jim drew in his head. "catch a sight of the black pirate craft?" inquired the engineer. "dead ahead, and a smooth sea, sir," replied jim touching his hat. "glad to be off the pebbles anyway, captain," returned the engineer; "it may aid digestion, but it is doocid hard on old bones, like mine." "i'm going upon deck with the pilot," said jim. "i can't stay below here while that fellow is within hail." "natural feeling, jim," agreed the engineer, "but you will have to have the jehu up there slow down." "can't afford to lose the time," declared jim. "i can reach the forward step and make it all right." "risky," said the engineer, "but that fact won't stop you." he was correct, it did not, and the driver almost fell off his box in astonishment when he saw jim's head at his elbow. "hey! what's this!" he yelled, as he clubbed his whip to strike. "oh! it's you is it, mister," he changed his tone when he saw who it was. "by thunder! i thought i was to be kilt." "i'll sit in front here, bill," said jim genially. "i want to keep an eye open to see that that greaser don't give us the slip." "he's there in that hack yet," assured the driver; "he hain't had a chance to jump out yit." "they ain't pulling ahead are they?" inquired jim, anxiously. "holding 'em level going down this hill," replied the driver. "my horse is a leetle heavy for a down grade, but you will see something different when we are going up hill or on the flat." "i believe you," said jim heartily; "that horse of yours is a good one." "paid five hundred for him, he ought to be," declared his owner proudly. inside the hack the engineer was making himself as comfortable as possible. his feet were upon the opposite seat, the green carriage robe was wrapped snugly around him and his head was dented back into the soft cushions. he was thoroughly enjoying the chase in his own way. the lurching of the vehicle did not disturb him, and he felt a certain pleasure in the freedom from any immediate responsibility. there was an excitement, too, in not knowing where the chase would carry. it was all a strange section of the city where they now were. he could see the ghostly fronts of long lines of houses, one not distinguishably different from another, but as similar as if they had been sawn from the same block of wood. the fog palliated many a monstrosity of wooden ornament, little balcony, or carved pinnacle. if john berwick was quiescent on the inside of the hack, jim was on the _qui vive_ on the outside. he had no idea of the direction in which they were going, but he was determined never to lose sight of that particular hack. at this moment they reached the bottom of a long hill. an eddy of air lifted the fog aside for an instant and jim saw a head thrust out of the window of the hack. "geewillikins!" he exclaimed, wrathfully; "that isn't the greaser!" sure enough the head was not that belonging to the mexican at all. it was a shaggy bearded face that leered back at jim, and then he shouted some direction to the driver, and with a belligerent shake of his fist at jim, jerked his head back. "i guess that hunchback is in there all the same," cried the driver. "he'd better be," growled jim. at the motion made by the bushy whiskered man, the driver of the first carriage in this active procession, turned his team at right angles into a street running east. "bill" followed suit making a dangerous swerve, that almost overturned his vehicle, but it righted itself against the curb, and on the pursuit went. but jim was beginning to be worried, for the big horse was tiring rapidly, while the mustangs seemed unflagging in their energy. "how far have we gone?" asked jim. "about two miles, boss," replied the driver. "it won't be long till dusk," said jim, "with this fog rolling in." "i'll get back, what they have gained on us," declared bill with conviction, "before they have gone another mile." jim noticed that this new turn was taking them into an apparently better section of the city, where there were really some fine-looking residences. "they are making a stern chase of it, jim," called berwick, poking his head out of the window. "we will catch them yet, chief," declared jim with outward confidence. "good boy!" replied the engineer. "i must say i like your spirit." "how are you putting in the time down there, john?" queried jim. "taking it easy," replied berwick; "resting up in case i have to hustle a little later on." "wise man!" rejoined jim; "just as well to save your energies. there will be something doing pretty soon or i miss my guess. we should overhaul them on the next hill." "you look kind of damp, better get under cover, jim," urged john berwick. indeed jim did have a dampish look--his eyelashes and eyebrows were beaded with the moisture. "no, i'm going to stay on deck until we overhaul those pirates," he replied, "and it won't be long either." however, it was somewhat longer than jim thought. it seemed that the driver of the forward coupé was determined to make a clean getaway at this point for he laid on the whip with fierce determination. chapter xi the chase continued after going a half a mile further, the leader in the race made another sharp turn, and a short distance ahead his goal was in sight, or it would have been had not the heavy fog prevailed. of this, jim was of course in nowise aware. suddenly the hack ahead whirled and came to a stop. two figures leaped out into the fog and started on the run. jim thrust a coin into the willing grasp of "bill," and leaped to the ground closely followed from the cab by john berwick, leaving the two drivers to themselves, and only a few yards apart. these worthies taking no further interest in the performance of their recent fares, engaged in a wordy altercation as to the rival merits of their steeds, and each had a different answer to the problem of "who won the race?" the outcome of this led to blows; as to the result, that belongs to another chronicle than mine. we are at present concerned with the race between jim and the mexican, with the chief and "bushy whiskers" as runners up. jim bounded after the fleeing mexican and his comrade, with all the speed of his pent-up energy, and was overtaking him rapidly, when what looked like a high dark rampart showed indistinct through the fog a few rods ahead. then the mexican bent low and darted out of sight, and his sturdy companion bounding high in the air disappeared. jim was thrown suddenly backward; as in mad pursuit, he dashed into an almost invisible fence of wire, steel colored,--which luckily was not barbed. the engineer who was a few paces behind, stopped in the nick of time, his outstretched hand easily breaking the force of his collision. "hurt, jim?" he queried. "naw!" replied james. "come on, john, let's see if you can jump like his whiskers." "i'm no rat like that greaser," replied berwick; "i can't crawl through, i've got to jump." he showed himself something of an acrobat by the grace and agility with which he vaulted the six foot fence, and jim went over with more power if less grace. now they were in a quandary for directly before them was a wood of the tall and ghostly eucalyptus, into which the two fugitives had fled. "we ought to have told our carriage to wait, jim," said the chief engineer, with nonchalant humor. "this reminds me of two needles and a haystack." "i've got their trail, chief, come on before it gets too dark," ordered jim, who had been casting around like a hound for a scent. "you are the 'boy scout, or the young kit carson,' for fair, james," cried berwick, giving him a hearty slap of admiration between his broad shoulders. jim grinned but made no reply as he followed the trail into the depth of the wood, which was made weird by the slender forms of the trees whose high tops were hidden by the low hanging mists that were as the breath of the huge ocean. the waters of the ocean not far away were slowly surging through the narrow pass of "the golden gate." then the hanging white strips of bark from the tall eucalyptus trees, added to the ghostly effect of the interior of the wood. james noticed none of these things for his attention was fixed on following the trail of his enemies. here his long training in wood and plain craft stood him in good stead. it was his friend, captain graves, way back in colorado, who had given him his first lessons in this difficult art and he could have had no better tutor than the captain, who had himself qualified in many a hard contest with the crafty indian. now the mexican was subtle, if not crafty, and the ordinary observer, even if he were as intelligent and quick as john berwick, undoubtedly would have been entirely at sea in following the trail. jim's keen senses, however, trained for such work, were not to be so easily baffled. the mexican alone would have been exceedingly hard to have tracked, but his heavier footed comrade disturbed the fallen leaves or left a print in the red soil that betrayed the trail. however, the pursuers were of necessity slowed down to a certain degree so that their chance of overtaking the two rascals grew slimmer every second. at that moment, however, their chase was given a new impetus. it came with a suddenness that was startling. from some distance ahead, it was difficult to tell how far, there came a furious chorus of yelps, barks and howls. "dogs!" cried jim; "they have got our quarry treed!" "wild dogs, too!" said the engineer. "i've run across packs of them traveling in mongolia. ugly customers they are, too, unless you are good and ready for them." at that instant there came the sharp report of half-a-dozen pistol shots, and the yelps were turned to howls of pain. "why didn't our friends in front ambush us and load us up with some of those lead pellets," remarked john berwick thoughtfully. "perhaps they hadn't got to the place that suited them," said jim, "or maybe they have orders from old captain broome to take us alive rather than dead. you know he is a man who likes to settle his own grudges, rather than by proxy." "you must be something of a mind reader, james," remarked berwick. "i'm not that," declared jim, "but i have had some dealing with captain bill broome so i can judge." meanwhile the two friends were making straight for the noise of the fracas, and when they had gone about two hundred yards they were surprised by the dash of a big, gaunt, snarling yellow hound, who made a leap for jim with teeth wide spread. now james was unarmed, not his usual practice, but he was not in the habit of taking lunch at a restaurant armed to the teeth so that when this chase started he was not armed, else the venture would have come to an end long ago. however, he did have his long, sharp-edged poniard with him. this he could carry inconspicuously in a belt around his waist. he slipped it from its sheath and met the charge of the hound squarely on his bent knee. he was bent back by the fury of the hound's rush, but he got in a thrust with a deadly precision that left the dog done for on the ground. the engineer was not so lucky as jim, he had no weapon of any kind and a small limb of a tree that he had hurriedly picked up proved no defense against the attack of a huge black brute, true of mongrel breed, but none the less ugly. he had knocked prostrate the engineer, who was not a large man, and was raving for his throat with cruel jaws, being held off for the moment only, by berwick's clever use of the stick he had retained in his clutch when felled. jim was quick to see his friend's need. he dared not waste one single second, but with a low rush, he grappled with the brute, and by a sudden surge of his really great strength he thrust the beast to one side and for a moment they struggled fiercely on even terms, jim's hand gripping the animal's throat, while the red, dripping jaws were striving to close on jim's shoulder. exerting all his strength he managed to twist the beast off his balance and before it could recover had sent the death thrust home. the rest of the pack of smaller dogs evidently did not dare to come on and for a moment jim rested panting, covered with sweat and blood. "you certainly saved my neck that time, jim," acknowledged john berwick. "i guess it is hanging i'm reserved for." "if you are ready we will move on; i'm afraid that trail will get cold," said jim. "i'm with you," declared the engineer, "but i rather hope that we will soon be out of these woods." "here's a little stream," remarked jim, after they had gone a few yards, "guess i had better remove the signs of the late murder." "you can see where those fellows crossed," remarked berwick; "here is the mark of the big fellow's shoes." "you have the making of a detective in you, john," said jim with a perfectly sober face. "oh! i can detect all right, if it is thrust directly under my nose," agreed the engineer, with a smile. "i don't see for the life of me how you keep so neat, chief," remarked jim, as he wrung out his stained handkerchief; "you look ready to enter into the best society, at a moment's notice." the engineer had taken off his brown hat and was smoothing his hair with a gentle stroke that jim recognized was characteristic of him and this had provoked his remark about his friend's neatness. "hardly as bad as that, james," returned berwick with a smile, "but i must admit that for some reason i never get very badly mussed in appearance no matter what the occasion may be." jim regarded his friend thoughtfully, carefully drying his hands meanwhile. "i should like to wager a reasonable amount, berwick, that you always don a dress suit for dinner," said jim finally. "why, yes, i do," agreed the engineer, "whenever there is a chance. it makes you feel like a human being after the grease and grime of the engine room." "something in that," admitted jim. "well, let's hike." chapter xii the castle jim's persistence was rewarded in a short time, when they came to the boundary of the wood. here they found the trail very clearly marked, as in the old game of hare and hounds where the point of a new departure is marked by a bunch of cut paper. so in this case there were clear footprints, where the two rascals had cleared the fence and lighted on the damp earth on the other side. "where do you suppose they are heading for?" asked the engineer. "the devil or the deep sea," replied jim, humorously inclined. "if they follow this direction, it will be the deep sea for certain," remarked berwick, "for this trail is making straight for the bay, or i miss my guess." "i bet anything that those two guys are planning to reach the _sea eagle_, and there will be a boat lying in some cove to take them out," said jim decisively. "surely captain broome wouldn't have the gall to bring your captured yacht into the bay right under the nose of the authorities," said the engineer. "huh!" grunted jim; "that wouldn't be anything extraordinary for old broome to do. he'd delight in it; and another thing, according to my idea the authorities and captain william broome ain't on such bad terms but what they can shut an eye to some of his performances. besides it was his ship in the first instance," concluded jim with a grin. "a pirate don't have any title, anyhow," remarked the engineer. "maybe he does in san francisco," remarked jim with great simplicity. at this jim's chief engineer laughed heartily. "that would be true doctrine enough for my native town of new york," he said. "well, howsumever, captain broome don't need any title. he keeps what he has and takes what he hasn't." "you are an epigrammatist, jim," said berwick, smiling. "won't i ever outgrow it?" asked jim anxiously. "no, you will get worse as you become older," declared his friend. "gee, that's a bad outlook. well, where there is life there is hope," replied jim; "no use nosing this trail along, we have got the general direction and we want to get to the beach just as soon as we can so as to head those fellows off." the two of them then started on a brisk trot and in a short time they heard the roar of the surf on the sand. but about a quarter of a mile from the beach they came to a halt, for a high fence barred their way. "hello, what does this mean?" inquired jim with interest. "it means we have come on someone's private estate," remarked the engineer, "and judging from the sharpness of these iron spikes, they are not at home to ordinary folks like us." "i can just make out the house," remarked jim, "and it looks like a big one." there was the indistinct loom of the house through the fog; it appeared to be made of brick, with white trimmings and a huge chimney in the center clad with ivy. this was a good many years ago, and no remnant of this place remains to-day, for fire and earthquake wrought the ruin of this mansion, long before the catastrophe of . "let's walk around this estate before it gets completely dark," said jim, "which will be pretty soon now." "you don't suppose that those two misguided pirates live here, do you?" questioned the engineer. "hardly," admitted jim, "but they might be hiding in the yard." "it would be tough work getting over," said the engineer, "especially with what is coming from the direction of the house." jim looked and pulled his friend down behind the parapet of stone in which the iron fence was set. "perhaps it won't see us," said jim in a low voice. but they were a wee bit too late to escape detection. between the shrubbery there came at a menacing lope, a huge, yellow-white, bloodhound, with hanging dew laps, and following him a great dane whose velvety black form held a real ferocity. they leaped high with their forefeet against the iron fence, striving frantically to reach the two men on the other side. "they are more dangerous than the mountain lion, those dogs," said berwick. "i'm very glad to be on this side of the fence," admitted jim. "we wouldn't stand much show without our guns." "i thought you ate them alive," laughed john berwick, referring to the incident in the wood. "it was to keep you from being eaten up yourself," grinned jim. "say, chief, let's move out of range, or these beasts will rouse the whole country." "all right, captain," agreed berwick, using jim's sea title, and as they were rather at sea, it was quite appropriate. they reached a large rock that stood out on the plain away from the house, and sat down on it, until the noise of the baying had ceased. "did you think to fetch a lunch with you on this festive occasion, james?" inquired berwick. "bah jove, old chap," replied james, "we left in such haste that it slipped my mind, don't yer know." "i wish your mind hadn't been so slippery," remarked the engineer. "if you could only have had presence of mind enough to have brought an olive or two." "i tell you, chief," said jim, airily, "i'll have the dinner ready by the time you get your dress suit. but coming down to the plain english of it, i'm starved. think of the exercise we have had since leaving the restaurant to join our friend on the sidewalk." "a man who would put you to all that trouble to speak to him is no gentleman," declared john berwick whimsically. "he deserves to be hung," said jim savagely; "anyone who would impose on a trustful nature like yours and make you run over twenty miles of landscape! but cheer up, john, i have a hunch that we will strike a pay streak of grub yet. let's take one more scout around that mysterious castle yonder and then we will make a bee line for the nearest lunch counter." "any time you give the word." "well, i suppose that 'all's quiet along the potomac,' so let's move." "agreed, james," said the engineer. then the two friends slipped through the soft darkness of the night and fog until they reached the iron rampart of the fence and went past the great gates. there was a gilt monogram on either side and in the center, but these things did not interest them. then they went on to the south part of the grounds. "see that, john!" said jim in a low voice. "a light in the tower," replied his friend; "now it's gone out again." they stood watching with breathless interest. there are lights and lights. some are the mere commonplace of domestic peace set on a round table in a cozy room with children intent on the frontier boys. then there is the weird light of a lantern moving unevenly across a field, or revolving along a hidden lane, and there is something of the dramatic in its yellow flame. finally there is the light that shines under strange circumstances or peculiar surroundings that has a mystery of its own, a beacon of danger, or of sudden death. "it is again on this side, only higher up," announced jim; "somebody going up those stairs, that's what it is." in a few moments the powerful lamp illuminated an upper room and they saw the interior distinctly. but what fastened their attention was the sight of a head that showed just above the sill of the windows. it must be the head of a child to reach no higher. but what would a child be doing up in that lonely tower. jim gripped his companion's arm. "it's that infernal mexican, berwick!" he whispered. "no other!" said his friend. "and that light is a signal." "can't be seen far even if the fog is thinner," objected jim. "broome is close in," said the engineer decisively. "it may be to serve as a guide for some party coming over the lonely moor," said jim with much shrewdness. "go to the head of the class, james," remarked berwick; "that's a sound guess for a fact." "guess nothing," retorted jim; "that's a deduction as they say in the school books. what in the deuce is that up there now!" a canine head was outlined in an open window and then the big hound gave tongue that went far into the night. his senses told him that an enemy was lurking near. "my! what a mark for a shot!" whispered jim. then they heard a sharp command in spanish and both the dog and the mexican disappeared from view. "we had better move along, jim," said the engineer, "or we will be on the hot end of a chase ourselves." without a word jim started, but he would not run far. chapter xiii the man in the gully the two friends disappeared in the fog, in a southerly direction from the house and after going for about a quarter of a mile, jim called a sudden halt. "hold on, john," he said, "there is something coming our way." "i don't hear anything," replied berwick. "what does it sound like?" "it's a vehicle of some kind," declared jim. "now i hear it," admitted the engineer, "and i reckon that it is a carriage of some kind." "this is as good a place as any," remarked jim. "it's lucky there is a fog because there is no cover to get behind." "coming direct our way," said the engineer, as the thud of horses' feet could be heard distinctly, and the low roll of wheels over the ground. the two comrades moved quickly to one side, and they saw emerge from the fog a high-stepping team drawing a closed carriage. the horses shied at what they saw at the side of the way, but the coachman pulled them quickly to their course and drove rapidly on. it was impossible to get even a glimpse of the occupants of the carriage. "me lord duke," said jim, "going to his ancestral castle." "that's surely where he is bound for," declared the engineer. "there goes the gate," cried jim, as the sound of the iron closing came to his ears. "the plot thickens," remarked the engineer; "that wasn't an ordinary turnout by any means." "we will investigate this business before morning," determined jim, "but there is nothing gained by rushing,--better let things settle. what do you say, john, to getting something to eat?" "i'm with you there," agreed berwick. "i may have been hungrier in my life before, but i can't remember." "no russian duke this time to help you out, eh?" queried jim. "don't mention that," cried the engineer; "i'm in no need of an appetiser." if you have read "frontier boys in the sierras," you will recall the chief engineer's account of his experience while traveling from st. petersburg to the frontier, when he appropriated the grand duke's hamper while his highness was wrapped in the deep stupor of sleep. he had told it with much nerve and vivacity, and jim could recollect very clearly the scene in the warm engine-room of the _sea eagle_, with the stormy rain sweeping the decks outside, and the good old crowd of juarez, and the boys, listening to the engineer. "i have a hunch that we are going to get something to eat soon," remarked jim encouragingly. "shall we strike the trail back to the city, and return in the small wee hours to call on our friends in the castle?" asked berwick. "no need of that," replied jim; "i am sure we can find a place to eat down by the beach." they had a little difficulty in finding a break in the cliffs that walled the water front, but finally they discovered a cleft in the solid rock and they were able to make a steep descent over broken bowlders. they were halfway down when jim stopped so abruptly that the engineer stumbled against him. "see that man sitting against that rock," he whispered; "he looks as if he were asleep." "maybe drunk," remarked john berwick. "or a sentinel for the castle," put in jim. he felt around at his feet until he picked up a suitable rock, then closely followed by the engineer, he approached cautiously the figure against the rock, then jim deliberately went up and looked into the man's face. "he's dead," said jim in a quiet voice. "i've seen too many like him not to know." "who do you suppose got him," queried the engineer. "those friends of ours on the hill, no doubt," said jim. "yes, it's their work," he declared, as he ran his hand along under the man's coat; "stabbed in the back." the unfortunate fell heavily against jim's shoulder and one of his legs straightened out convulsively. "you have a pretty fair quality of nerve, my friend," remarked the engineer in cool admiration. "strike a light, john," said jim, "and see if we can get a line on this poor fellow." the engineer drew a pretty trinket of a match box from his upper vest pocket and struck a match near the face. there was such a direct living look in the man's half-closed eyes, that the engineer dropped the match with an involuntary expression of surprise and shock. "what's the matter with you, john?" asked jim with a touch of sharpness in his voice. the engineer was a man of usual nonchalant nerve, whose bravery had always seemed a by-product of his nature and not due to an effort of the will, which gave point to jim's question. "i am getting shaky in my old age, captain," replied the engineer. "no danger of that," replied jim. again a match was lit and this time berwick held the flame close to the dead man's face. they saw that he was not over forty years of age, with a heavy square jaw, a full straw colored mustache, and hazel eyes. he wore a light gray fedora hat and his suit was also of gray, loosely worn. he was squarely built, and slightly below the middle height. there was absolutely nothing to indicate his business, or his station in life. whatever possessions he may have had on him had been taken. "what was the reason for this, john?" questioned jim, as he gently laid the dead man back against the rock. "robbery?" suggested berwick. "they are none too good," replied jim, "as i can testify from personal experience. but i reckon that there is more back of this than that. "now i may be mistaken, but in my opinion this man was a united states detective and he was hot on the trail of this gang of pirates and smugglers. i used to know a number of these fellows in new york and there is something about them that marks them to my mind." "i bet you have hit it right," said jim, "but why did they not hide the body?" "possibly they are so safe in this section that they don't take the trouble to cover up their crime," remarked the engineer tentatively. "or they may be intending to come back to-night and dispose of the body," said jim. "that's more apt to be it," agreed the engineer. "it might be a good scheme to lie in wait for a while, and see if any of these hounds come back on their trail," suggested jim. the engineer of the _sea eagle_ who was at present out of his element, drew a deep sigh and likewise drew up his belt a couple of holes, which was his alternative for a meal, that he seemed fated to go without. the unsympathetic jim grinned at his comrade in arms. "i tell you, chief," he said, "we will catch one of these grand rascals and cook him a la cannibal." "i would be most happy to," replied the engineer suavely and savagely. "we will move down the ravine a ways," ordered jim. "my idea was that they would come down from the top of the cliff," said the engineer with cool criticism. "that was my idea, too," said jim cheerfully; "then we might follow them without too much chance of being caught ourselves." "you are certainly long on strategy, james," remarked the engineer. "hello, berwick," exclaimed jim; "there is a light ahead." sure enough on the beach at the mouth of the ravine shone the yellow light from a small square window. they crept up carefully to the place. it was rather a curious affair. it was simply two old street cars joined together by a wooden vestibule; one was used as a sleeping room the other was a tiny beach eating place. jim looked in cautiously through the window and his eyes widened and his hand went involuntarily to where his revolver usually hung. he remained there a full half minute taking in the scene within while the engineer stood a little ways back in apparent indifference, but he was carefully taking in the whole situation. a short distance away the waters of the bay were lapping through the darkness onto the beach. he noticed that there were a number of heavy tracks going towards the door of the odd little restaurant, and they were quite recent. he listened intently to hear, if possible, who might be inside, but while he could distinguish voices, there were only a few noncommittal sounds. he wondered what the captain found so interesting, but just then there came a scuffling of chairs on the floor within and the sound of guttural voices. jim drew back suddenly, and in evident alarm. the door was slowly opened and a heavy figure dressed in sailor garb lurched out into the darkness followed by a stealthy form. chapter xiv the visitor "i wonder what mischief the old man is chawing on?" it was the forward deck of the _sea eagle_, and the speaker, old pete, the sailor, of unsavory memory. "he's been as savage as a bear with a sore head two days past, and that means he's brewing some sort of devilment." "maybe he's watching to trail some craft going out with a rich cargo," said jack cales, of likewise deleterious recollection, who was seated on the forward hatch, opposite the ancient mariner who was himself resting on a coil of rope. "i dunno about that," said pete, puffing meditatively on his black, stunted pipe; "according to my notion it's something ashore. old hunch was aboard airly this mornin', and that greaser is a sure sign of trouble. reminds me of a croaking black raven. i'd like to wring his wry neck for him. he ain't fit to associate with respectable pirates like us." "i don't see why the cap'n sets such store by him, anyhow," protested jack cales. "it's an unhung gang of bloody cutthroats the old man's got ashore," remarked old pete. "i wouldn't want any trafficking with them." there was something amusing in this feud between the rascals on ship and ashore, something like the rivalry between the navy and army. "shut your jaw," said cales peremptorily; "here comes the cap'n now." to the earlier readers of "the frontier boys," he is a familiar figure but he is well worth introducing to those who are meeting him for the first time. captain william broome, familiarly known as bill, or the old man, was a remarkable person. there was a strange softness in captain broome's tread, like that of the padded panther, as he came forward along the main deck. he appeared like a man always ready to get a death hold upon a nearby enemy, both wary and using unceasing watchfulness. this was evident in the crouching gait of his powerful figure. his arms had the loose forward swing of a gorilla's, indicative of enormous strength. "that man a pirate!" you exclaim at the first glance. one who carried the blackest name along the coasts of the two american continents as a wrecker and smuggler; who in the days before the civil war had brought cargoes of slaves from africa, and who had enjoyed more marvelous escapes than any man in the history of piracy, with the exception of black jack morgan? "impossible!" you say. "why, that man is nothing but an old farmer," you cry in disappointment. "he ought to be peddling vegetables in a market!" but just wait. true enough, skipper broome had come from a long line of new england farmers, hard, close-fisted, close-mouthed men. young broome had broken away from the farm, and followed his bent for seafaring, but to the end of his rope, and his days, he kept his farmer-like appearance, and he affected many of the traits of the yeoman, which he found to be, on more than one occasion, a most useful disguise. let's take a look at him, as he comes along the deck of the _sea eagle_. the heavy winter cap, which he wore in season and out of season, pulled well down on his grizzled head, gave him a most reuben-like appearance. corduroy pants are thrust into heavy cowhide boots. the deadly gray eyes, no softer than granite, have become red-rimmed from spasms of fury and rendered hard by many scenes of coldly-calculated cruelty. "yaw two gents enjying the balmy air for'ard, on your bloomin' pleasure yacht?" inquired captain william broome, who had a turn for broad sarcasm. "jus' smokin' a few peaceful pipes, sir," replied pete, who was allowed a certain amount of leeway with his master, as he had been with him in the african trade, and as boys in new england, they had lived on nearby farms. "this ain't no time for peaceful meditation," said the captain; "you git aft and keep a sharp eye abeam, and if you see any boat creepin' through the fog, even if it's an innercent looking fishin' boat, you report it to the mate." "aye, aye, sir," replied pete as he stowed his pipe in his capacious pocket, and maneuvering a safe distance from the captain's foot, went on his mission. then broome spit carefully around on the deck. "here, cales, you loafer, clean this yere deck up," he growled. thus, having made himself pleasant to all hands, he went forward and, leaning heavily on the rail, looked shoreward as if expecting a messenger of some kind. it was impossible to tell the exact position of the _sea eagle_ in the immense bay of san francisco. one thing was certain, that it was not near the shore where the castle stood on the cliff, for the current and the depth of water made it impossible to anchor. however, it was near some shore, for the sound of the surf could be heard distinctly. five minutes passed and then the captain raised himself up with a grunt of satisfaction. a long trim boat had slipped quietly from the enveloping fog into the quiet circle of the sea around the yacht. the oars were not muffled but they made as little noise as though they were. it was rowed by four men, quite evidently foreigners; brown men, two with rings in their ears, and the others were splendidly built fellows, who rowed as easily as they breathed. these latter were hawaiians, who are as native to the sea and its ways as the cowboys to their own western plains. they were part of the mixed crew which the old pirate had got together for reasons of his own. the said reasons being that such a crew could not very well combine to mutiny or to rob him of his ill-gotten wealth. in the stern of the ship's cutter was an entirely different looking man from the kind with whom captain broome was generally associated. if the man had been a priest or a parson his presence in such company would have been no more surprising. he had the appearance of a well-dressed gentleman, probably a professional man of some kind. his features were good and his dress impeccable. against the chill fog he wore a dark overcoat, with silk facings, and a black derby hat. at his feet, on the bottom of the boat, was a long black leather bag, somewhat like those which physicians carry. yet he was not a doctor, for it was generally the enemies of captain broome who needed the services of a physician. the boat glided gently by the perforated platform of the gangway and was held firmly by the oarsmen, while the stranger stepped with a quick, precise step from the small boat. the captain was on hand and greeted him with a certain awkward courtesy, for politeness was not in his line. "glad to see yer, mr. reynolds," he said, giving him a grip from his horny hand; "hope you didn't get damp from the fog, crossin'." "it's nothing, captain," replied the man-crisply, an amused sneer hidden under his mustache; "fog is my element. it agrees perfectly with my delicate health." "i'm relieved to hear it," remarked captain broome gently. "come up to my cabin, sir, and i'll give you a drink of something that will clear the fog for you." the professional gentleman, from the city, followed his sinister host up the gangway and into his cabin, while the boat pushed away from the side of the yacht, bowed softly to the gentle swell of the sea. it was like a carriage that is waiting for the return trip. the two hawaiians were laughing and joking in characteristic good humor, which is entirely different from the boisterous jollity of the darkies. they were having sport by laughing at their passenger. his neatness of demeanor and style of dress seemed to furnish them with much amusement. with their quickness for giving nicknames, they called him, "mr. blackbag," and the captain was known to them as roaring bull. they were very apt, as all hawaiians are, to see the defects of character and weak points of those white people who came under their observation. meanwhile the captain and his guest sat in the latter's cabin, discussing matters that will soon concern us gravely. this cabin, as perhaps the reader remembers, was a good sized room. a large table of cherry wood was against one side, with a few maps and books on it. a broad bunk was curtained off with red draperies. there was a scarred sea chest against the opposite wall, fastened by a heavy padlock. on this the captain was firmly seated. to complete the description i may say that the room was paneled in white, and contrary to what you might expect, the cabin was absolutely neat. broome's visitor had turned the swivel chair halfway from the desk, and was directly facing the hard-faced captain, who had taken off his heavy cap, showing his bald and polished dome of thought that glowed red under the light of the big, swinging, brass lamp. the shuttered window was closed against the dim daylight outside. this was a secret conclave and with good reason. upon the table at mr. reynold's elbow the black satchel was opened. its contents at first glance were not startling. but wait! chapter xv the lawyer and the pirate the contrast between the two men as they sat facing each other was really dramatic; the rough hewn captain, in his countrified garb, and the city man correct in dress and quiet in manner; but as to which was the most dangerous villain it would be hard to decide off hand. mr. william howard reynolds was primarily a lawyer, but he was likewise agent and adviser for several organizations whose aims were not high but very direct. he had been of aid to captain broome several times before, had smoothed over several unfortunate affairs with the local authorities on behalf of his client and had been liberally rewarded for so doing. where finesse and criminal adroitness were concerned he was of the greatest use to the captain of the _sea eagle_. it was doubtful if he had ever been engaged in a more nefarious scheme than he had in hand upon this particular occasion. as he sits facing the captain with the light slanting across his face let us take a square look at this man, so that we shall be able to recognize him if we should chance to meet him again. as has been said he was well attired, and with his light weight overcoat off, he is seen to be dressed in a dark cut-a-way coat with a white vest according to the custom of that remote time. he wore upon the forefinger of his left hand a peculiar serpent ring, whose ruby eyes seemed really to glow in the light. he used this ring finger on occasion to drive home a convincing argument. his own dark, close set eyes always followed the line of this gesture with telling effect. it was these eyes together with a cruel mouth, at one corner of which lurked a treacherous sneer, that showed the true character of the individual, for aside from these two features his face was not an unpleasant one. the forehead was high and well developed, the chin square and masculine. the wiry, but carefully brushed hair was already becoming gray around the temples. so much for mr. william h. reynolds, so far as his mental and physical photograph goes. "well, captain broome," he said, leaning forward with the weight of his hands upon the arms of the chair, "what is your scheme in this business?" "i haven't any, mr. reynolds," replied the captain mildly; "you know that i am a plain man, just a simple, seafaring old codger and am greatly afeared of being shanghaied ashore by some of the villains that reside there." the lawyer threw back his head and laughed harshly. "i've noticed that it is the plain, farmer looking chap, that's the deepest often," he said, "but i know that you didn't invite me out to your yacht for afternoon tea. let's get down to business." "as i said, i ain't got a scheme, but i'll give you the facts and let you hatch the scheme." there was an unconscious contempt in the captain's voice, which the keen lawyer was quick to recognize, but did not care to resent. his client was too valuable to risk a breach with, so he merely tightened his jaws, and waited for the captain to begin. at this juncture in the interview the captain got up quickly from the locker on which he had been seated. the motion was so sudden and menacing that the lawyer plunged his hand into the black bag on the table. broome, if he noticed this action, gave no sign but crouched noiselessly to the door, opened it suddenly and rushed out upon the deck. there was the sound of a low growl as of an uncaged animal, then a scuffling sound followed by a thud. in a moment the old pirate returned to his cabin, shut the door, and sat down as if nothing had happened, as indeed was the fact according to his idea of things. meanwhile cales, the sailor, who chanced to be cleaning the deck not far from the captain's cabin, picked himself up from the scuppers, whence he had been flung by broome. he was bleeding and dazed, but not so dazed but what he could heap maledictions upon the head of his superior officer. even in his wrath, however, he did not dare to speak above a hoarse whisper. the lawyer surmised what had happened but he made no comment as his genial client sat himself down again upon the sea chest. "these are the facts, mr. reynolds, and i'll be brief because it is my nature." the captain leaned forward heavily on his knees, and spoke in harsh confidence to his attorney, or rather agent, who listened intently, but with an inscrutable face. "there's a rich mexican with a spanish name, señor da cordova, over in the city right now and he has been trying to make a dicker with me to get hold of my yacht. he's interested in helping those cuban niggers who are fighting the spaniards and he thinks this yere boat might come in handy in the business, and she would, too; there's nothing faster sailing these waters anyhow." "he's coming a long ways around to get his cruiser," remarked the lawyer coolly. "the other side is watched, and it ain't easy to pick up the right kind of craft anyway, without payin' a ransom, and this old dick wants to drive a hard bargain, says it is a good cause and all that, but i ain't got no interest in those cuban niggers." "i follow you," said the lawyer, "but that isn't what you wanted me to help with." he knew his client thoroughly. "you're right it ain't," replied the captain with emphasis; "i made the contract to carry the shooting irons and we are loaded ready to sail, but the señor's got a gal." the lawyer looked keenly at his client. "it's a case of kidnaping, then," remarked the lawyer with as much unconcern as if referring to an attack of measles. "yer have the right idea, mr. reynold's," said the candid mariner; "the gal's daddy sets a heap of store by her, and he'll pay something handsome to git her back, more than he would for this steam yacht of mine, twice over." "tell me how the land lies, captain, then i'll give you my terms." captain broome speaking in a low, growling voice, gave him the necessary details, and then with his bushy eyebrows knitted together he watched the other man with grim intentness. mr. william h. reynolds sat for some time with his head thrown back and half-closed eyes, gazing upward at the ceiling, and then he began to whistle softly with a slight hissing sound. "it's the devil in him getting up steam," mused broome; "he sees his way through all right." indeed he did, but he did not inform his valued client that he was well acquainted with the agent of the cuban insurgents, who had come west to meet the señor da cordova, for he had no intention of belittling the difficulty of the task assigned him. "how much?" inquired captain broome, in a noncommittal voice. these two wasted no time on formalities, they had been in too many transactions for that. by way of reply, the lawyer held up five fingers. immediately the yankee master put up three and a half by doubling his little finger, but the attorney remained firm. "you'll get ten thousand out of this, you old reprobate," he said frankly, "and i take the risk. take it or leave it, i've got some other matters to attend to immediately." the captain grunted, he hated to pay, especially without a long bargaining, but he knew his friend well enough to realize that it was a waste of valuable time, and that one might just as well try to bargain with a graven image. slowly he drew out a leather pouch from his capacious pants' pocket and opening it placed--how many twenty dollar gold pieces, reader, to make five hundred dollars? well, tom, what is it? "fifteen." you johnny? "twenty-five." quite right. they made a brave sight piled up in the light upon the table, but they did not stay in evidence very long for after noting each one carefully, he put it in the black bag, until they were all properly shepherded. "would you like to have this business finished to-day, captain?" inquired the lawyer. "you're right, i would," said broome with emphasis. "make it a thousand, and i'll guarantee to do it," replied the lawyer. the captain's jaw fell. "it is worth it, for the risk is double," returned the lawyer. "i haven't anything like it with me," declared the captain. "i'm no gold mine." "give me your note then," said reynolds, "payable in fifteen days." "i tell you what i will do, mr. reynolds, i'll make it for three hundred; and more i can't do." "agreed," said the lawyer. "have a drink on it," urged the captain, hospitably, and feeling fairly well satisfied with his bargain. "no time for that," replied the lawyer abruptly; "you'll be at the castle not later than ten and i'll make my part of the contract good. tell those niggers of yours to dig in and row some going back." the captain evidently gave them sound instructions, because they made record time, cutting through the fog at a slashing gait. chapter xvi an odd restaurant let us now return to our friends, captain james darlington and chief engineer john berwick, of the good yacht, _sea eagle_, the latter now in the bad hands of pirate william broome. we left them crouching in the fog outside the car restaurant on the beach. two men had come out into the fog. the first a big sailor as was evident by his gait, as well as his costume, and the man who followed in his wake was of a slinking type, and may have been a beachcomber. jim could not make up his mind whether these two were members of the pirate crowd or not. the two friends watched them until they merged into the darkness and fog, going towards the water and not in the direction of the castle. for one moment jim got the idea that the smaller man meant mischief towards the big sailor, but he did not attempt to follow the pair for there was other fish for them to fry that night. after a minute's wait the engineer made a move as if to go towards the door of the queer little restaurant, but his comrade laid a restraining hand on his arm. jim had learned due caution from his past experience with the indians and treacherous border men, and for all he knew these two men might return after a short time, and make trouble for them. ten minutes passed in perfect silence though the engineer began to feel extremely restive from hunger. finally jim rose to his feet. "i reckon we will board this car, pardner," he determined, "if you happen to have the fare." "they've got the fare inside there," replied the engineer sententiously, "that i want." jim laughed, and then taking another look through the window to assure himself that no one else was inside, he opened the door and followed by his friend went in. it was a quaint looking place, lighted by a big ship's lamp in the center of the ceiling, that shed warmth as well as light. it had been a really large and spacious car, and there was plenty of room for the long, clean lunch counter, which was adorned with several clusters of condiments, salt and pepper shakers, and a heavy china sugar bowl. these surrounded a tall red ketchup bottle and a black sauce bottle. there were likewise two small tables with several stools around them. at the far end of the car on either side of the heavily curtained portion, were two stained glass windows, one blue, and the other red. both had the same design, that of a knight in full armor on a prancing horse, and a long lance at half cock, as it were. "vell, poys, vat you vant, eh?" questioned the short, fat german, in his white cap and apron, from behind the lunch counter. it was clear that he was not favorably impressed with these new customers, who were muddy, wet and bedraggled, from their long chase of the afternoon and evening. but do not make a mistake; it was not their character, which fritz scheff viewed askance; they might be cutthroats and villains of the deepest dye, and it would not worry him any in the least. but could they pay? that was the question. john berwick grasped the situation with sufficient clearness. "what do we want, old sport?" he replied, airily; "everything you've got on the bill of fare. here's a bill for a beginner." and the engineer threw a five dollar currency certificate on the clean wood counter. the german's little, black eyes opened as wide as was possible, which was not saying much; he was not used to such lavishness on the part of customers. however, he was cautious, for such was his nature. he held up the bill to the light and then gave it a slight tug. this nettled jim, who did not sympathize with his friend's extravagance at times. "donner and blitzen mein freund," roared jim, who used such language as came to his hand; "you old counterfeit. get busy, we're hungry. and, another thing, you can stow that bill my friend gave you, but you've got to give him back what's coming to him." "which will be mighty little," said berwick humorously, "because my appetite is growing some." the proprietor's big red neck grew choleric under jim's remark, but by a quick transformation he swallowed his wrath, and became a smiling and complacent host. "anydings you vants shentlemen is yours. just give me de order." he handed each of them a rather soiled menu in a frame and the two gaunt travelers regarded the list with a moment's deep interest. "a hamburg steak to start with," said the engineer, "and three fried eggs on the side not to mention some black coffee and hashed brown potatoes." "the same here, friend," remarked jim, "only put me down for two eggs." "bless me! what a delicate appetite, james!" exclaimed berwick. "i'm looking to something else, john!" replied jim. "wise lad," remarked the engineer, "but do you know, as i can't have my dress suit on this auspicious occasion--" "you mean suspicious," cut in jim with a grin. "never mind that now," continued the engineer; "what i was going to say was that a plain--" "high neck," interrupted jim. "any old neck wash would be truly acceptable," concluded the engineer. the proprietor heard and heeded. "eh, anna, come here," he cried in stentorian german. there was a gentle shuffling sound and a creaking of a board from the direction of the other car or room and a large figure appeared in the curtained doorway. "what is it you want, my fritz?" questioned the placid and housewifely anna, taking in the newcomers with a quiet gaze. "the shentlemen of honorable wealth, frau scheff, would like to wash their esteemed countenances," he explained with ironical deference. "ach! that is good," said mrs. scheff with a fat good-natured smile; "trouble yourselves to come with me." "by the time you shentlemans are washed and improved, the supper will be ready," said the proprietor. the engineer was greatly amused by this stout german couple and showed it by a slight smile, but jim who always had a native respect for decent and kindly people no matter who they were, had no intention of joining his friend in any humorous byplay in regard to the stout house frau. she led them through the short passageway into the other room. one end was curtained off for the bedroom, with snowy white curtains tied back with pink ribbons. everything about the two little rooms was marvelously clean and neat. there was a big round globe lamp on a black oak table, ornamented with the quaint carvings of the fatherland, on the standard. nearby was a capacious rocking chair where the good frau had been sitting, and her knitting was on the table. on a cushion in front of the chair was a huge gray striped cat, comfortably curled and sound asleep. jim who loved all animals could not resist stroking it and then gave its ears a twitch which made his catship raise his big head and open his mouth in that silent feline protest, which is so amusing. "ah, the kaiser fritz is a very spoiled cat. is it not so liebchen?" and she lifted him bodily from his comfortable cushion. but the kaiser was decidedly peeved by all this attention and showed it very plainly. "ach! you are a tiger! a french tiger! you deserve not the good name of fritz!" and with a temper as quick as her kindness, she threw him into the chair. "the kaiser fritz is a fine animal, frau scheff," said jim pleasantly; "i should like to own him." "he eats as much as two kinder," said the frau with a sigh, "and he is not so grateful. now you two gentlemen make yourselves welcome. here are plenty towels." jim and the engineer thanked her, the former briefly, the latter with a pleasing grace that he could use when he so wished. but it was to be noted that while she surveyed john berwick with a careful and noncommittal eye, she regarded jim with a simple kindness that fairly beamed, which is not insinuating that the chief engineer of the _sea eagle_ was a rascal but that he did not have the straightforward sincerity characteristic of jim. there were indeed towels enough hanging on the rack by the washstand, which with its drapings of white and blue was so dainty, that jim regarded it as much too fine for mere washing. "look at this blue and white china washbowl and pitcher, jim," remarked berwick in a casual tone. "it is really beautiful. it is made in a town, in southern germany, where i once spent a couple of months." "seems to me you have been everywhere on this created earth, john, and say," continued jim, "see that mountain of a feather bed covered with the snow of the coverlet. you know that they make those in southern france where once i spent some months." the chief engineer grinned. chapter xvii the good frau after a thorough wash, the two compatriots felt very much refreshed, and looked less like street urchins or sea urchins, and more like themselves. only one thing troubled the chief engineer, as he rubbed his hand reflectively over his chin and face. "i would feel quite respectable now if i only had a clean shave. you know for a fact, jim, that i can think much more clearly when my face is smooth. but that is something which you don't have to bother about, jim, no reflection on your years, my lad," he concluded, with a smile. "better not be," replied jim gruffly, coloring up, for be it known that james was sensitive on the point of being young. funny thing, boy nature, anyway. john berwick opened his eyes at jim's tone, and then a quizzical look came into his face. there was no denying that berwick had at times a vicious temper, but he was always good-natured where jim was concerned, and never resented the latter's occasional flare of temper, which was greatly to his credit. "you'll feel all right, captain," he said gravely, "when you get your emptiness lined with beefsteak." "i'm a chump to flare up for nothing, chief," deplored jim; "next time i do it give me a swift push into the alley." the engineer only shook his head good-humoredly, while he was giving his brown mustache a final twist before the glass; jim was looking with interest at a photograph of a lad upon the wall. a well set up boy, with a grave, straightforward look. "that is my fritz," said a voice behind him. it was frau scheff. "he has been away from home now two years. his father was very strict with him and he love the sea, so he go away from home in some ship. he would be about your age, my lad, but not so tall. perhaps some time you see him, and tell him, please, his mother break her heart to see him." her voice trembled, and for a moment she pressed her hands against her eyes. jim had a deep-seated aversion to any show of emotion, but this simple yearning in a mother's voice affected him deeply. his eyes filled with moisture for a moment. "i promise you to keep your son in mind, frau scheff," he said in a quiet voice, "and it may not be at all impossible that i should some day meet him. was there any certain mark by which i might recognize him?" "fritz had a scar about an inch long over his left eye, which he got when he was a little fellow," said the mother, "but ach! why do i make you to feel sorry with my troubles. come! by this time my husband has your supper done." she regarded jim with a benevolent smile and led the way through the narrow passage into the little restaurant. the savory smell of cooking greeted the hungry outcasts as they entered the car restaurant. "shentlemans, your repast is served." he waved his hand towards one of the little tables, which had on it a spotless white tablecloth, and the necessary implements for attacking the grub. "ah! it looks very good, herr scheff," said john berwick, who could be very gracious when he wished. "your name should be chef; you deserve it, my friend." the german made a short bow and his round face crinkled into a smile. "it is enough that you are pleased, honorable sir," he said. "ach, fritz!" exclaimed his wife, "why do you give these friends of ourselves such knives and forks? i will get some of our own." "now don't you bother, mrs. scheff," said jim; "these will do all right for us." "ach! no! no!" she exclaimed, shaking her head; "they will not do. the sailors bite the forks as though they eat them. i go get our own." and she did. they were of heavy silver, with a quaint monogram on the handles of the forks. no doubt heirlooms of several generations back. without more ado the two friends began with hearty appetites on the two portions of steaks, the delicately browned potatoes, and the eggs. everything had a delicious taste, for, aside from their hunger, the meal was excellently cooked. "i will make the coffee, fritz," said his wife, "and how would you like some german pancake?" "we would like nothing better," agreed the engineer. "i'm good for any kind of a pancake," said jim heartily, and he was not exaggerating, either. how good that coffee did smell, and it tasted equal to its aroma. as for the big, flat, german pancakes, with their coating of powdered sugar and side dishes of apple sauce, pleasantly tart with sliced lemon,--well, jim always had the tantalizing memory of them when in other days he was furiously hungry, which latter he was destined to be on more than one occasion. jim, nevertheless, had not forgotten the business in hand, even while eating. "herr scheff, could you tell me about the people who live in the castle upon the bluff above you?" he questioned. a cold shadow came over the german's round face. it was evident that at heart he was anything but a genial man given to much talk. "i do not make my head ache about what i don't know," he replied; "my business is to cook for whoever pays me. that's all i say." "oh! i see!" exclaimed jim, somewhat taken aback. he noticed that frau scheff seemed somewhat uneasy, but nevertheless she made no effort to speak. "herr scheff, how about that man with the gray suit, for whom you got a lunch to-day, shortly after noon?" asked john berwick. for a moment the german's face took on a decided pallor, and then his expression took on a blank, noncommittal look. there was no getting behind that stolid wall. he shook his head heavily. "i know nothing about that; maype you are a reporter, eh?" john berwick laughed heartily. "you do me too much honor, herr scheff," he said; "i have not the gifts of imagination or the requisite nerve for such a profession." "ach! but fritz--" his wife began, but she stopped with a sigh at the malevolent look her husband shot at her. not willing to make trouble for the kind-hearted german woman, jim and his friend refrained from making any further inquiries. in the course of time they finished their meal, and prepared to leave, feeling like new men and fully ready physically for anything that might be in store for them. the proprietor had regained his surface good humor, and seemed anxious to make the two strangers forget his abruptness. as for his wife, she was her usual warm-hearted self, and there were tears in her eyes when she said good-by to jim. "don't forget my little fritz," she urged, and jim promised, and this seemed to give her much comfort. the two comrades then left the warm shelter of the curious little restaurant. outside it was misting heavily, but little did they mind it, as they were warm and dry and well-fed. indeed, they were now doubly anxious to make an end of their strange adventure. "herr scheff was a very uncommunicative old bird," remarked jim, dryly, as they trudged over the wet, heavy sand towards the cliffs. "just what was to be expected," replied john berwick; "you might just as well try to get water out of the sahara as information out of herr fritz. he would give the devil a meal as quick as he would a parson and ask no questions for conscience' sake. you would never find out that he had ever entertained either. that's business with that class, you know." "business be hanged, then!" exclaimed jim hotly. "i bet anything that the poor man we found murdered in the gulch up here did get a meal from him." "certainly," replied the engineer coolly; "and what's more, he knows a whole lot about the gang that infests that castle on the cliff." "well, the old clam can keep his information," remarked jim. "i propose to find out for myself what these rascals are up to. that's the only way." "you are right there, jim," replied berwick. "we want to go a little careful now," remarked jim, as they came to the mouth of dead man's gulch. noiselessly the two comrades climbed up the dark cleft, over the slippery rocks, until jim came to a halt. "that man isn't here now, john," he said in a low voice. "they've sneaked him off while we were below," remarked the engineer. "it behooves us to be on the lookout." somehow, the disappearance of the body of the dead man seemed to give a sense of danger that was everywhere present in the darkness, as if their enemies, though elusive, were near at hand. "well, here we are," exclaimed jim, with a breath of satisfaction, as they reached the tall fence surrounding the castle on the bluff. chapter xviii the reconnoiter "it seems to me that we are only where we were before," said the chief engineer, in a low voice. "we won't be there much longer," remarked jim, with determination; "follow your leader, and look out for the dog; he bites." this time james darlington took a new tack, crawling along in the opposite direction from the big gate and keeping well hidden. followed by john berwick, he went cautiously along for a distance of a hundred yards, and then jim halted, and with very good reason, for he had come to the edge of the cliff, but not exactly to the end of the fence. there was an iron obstruction in the way, that barred them from getting further. it was a fan-like spread of sharp iron spikes, such as you sometimes see in these days, separating the roofs of adjoining tenements on the island of manhattan. it appeared an impassable obstacle and indeed it was, as the powerful jim and the agile engineer had to admit after a careful investigation. "no use impaling ourselves on that thing," said berwick. "it's pretty clear that the folks in there don't wish to be disturbed." "more reason for disturbing 'em," asserted jim briefly. "that mexican is inside and has my valued possessions. i intend to get them back." "i admit the logic, go ahead." it might have been possible for jim to have scaled the high fence with its pointed iron spikes, but it was not practicable for the shorter john berwick. for a little while jim sat on the ground thinking, trying to find some way out of the difficulty. "if we only had a rope," remarked the engineer; "we could make it." "yes," replied jim, "and then use it to hang the greaser with. that is what i call a beautiful thought." "we haven't enough clothes to spare, to tear up, either," put in berwick. "you are right, john," remarked jim. "it is a little bit too damp and foggy for that." jim began pacing up and down for a few minutes, then he reached some decision. "you stay here, john, for a few minutes," he said. "i hate to stay alone here in the dark," remarked berwick humorously. jim grinned, then he strode away along the cliff, and quickly disappeared in the darkness. five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then he appeared unexpectedly in front of the engineer. "hello, what have you got there?" inquired berwick; "looks to me like you were going to start a garden." "i found these vines growing over some rocks back there," jim explained; "as we haven't any rope they are next best." "good boy! i would never have thought of that," said berwick. "we have used it before," said jim; "when we were on the frontier." "but will it hold?" remarked the engineer. "i'm no heavy weight, but i am not a fairy either." "wind 'em together and they will do," replied jim. in a short time, he had got one end of the improvised rope over one of the iron spikes, then he criss-crossed them and got the other end over the next spike, making a very respectable ladder. "you first, john," ordered jim. "all right, me lad, and if those hounds in the yard nab me, you must do something to distract their attention." "i'll attend to them," replied jim confidently. "here goes, then," said the engineer, and with the liveliness of a cat he was up and over, and jim followed. "now," exclaimed the engineer, "we are in for it. what is our next move?" "take in this rope," replied jim practically; "maybe we can use it in our business." his friend patted james on the back to show his appreciation. then they together got most of the vine down, and jim made a neat coil of it. then before they went on they waited, listening for any sound that might indicate life of any kind about the castle, but it was absolutely dark and silent. in all probability the dogs were somewhere about, or at least one of them would surely be on guard. jim knew that the first thing to do was to locate these hounds, for if they were to get on their trail the game would be up, aside from the danger of being attacked by these ferocious beasts, who were in reality as strong as a mountain lion and much more courageous. first they must find some sort of shelter. the enclosed yard was a large one, including about eight acres, with trees and shrubs set here and there and a fountain in the center of the driveway. this latter they would hardly use, unless they needed a bath. where the two comrades had got over the fence was on the north side of the house, and about one hundred and fifty yards distant. at half the distance to the house was a clump of bushes in the center of which rose a tall tree. back of the castle a short space was a stable built of brick. at first jim thought of making it his base of retreat and observation but gave it up for the present as he was fearful that one of the dogs might be there or chained near it. as a matter of fact, one of the big hounds was lying with his nose to the ground not far from the double door of the stable. it may as well be stated that this building was at the foot of a sharp slope below the castle and its back wall was built on a line with the bluff. "come on, john," said jim finally; "we will make for that clump of bushes with the tree in the center." "aye, aye, sir!" replied the engineer softly. jim threw himself on the ground and began to crawl imperceptibly towards the bushes and the engineer followed in as close an imitation of his leader as possible, and about six feet behind him. the grass was four or five inches high and they looked to be only a couple of inconspicuous and inoffensive logs. jim did not make the mistake of cranching swiftly through the darkness, for motion was the one thing that would attract the attention of even an unwary eye. so much james had learned from his old-time enemies, the crafty and patient indians. once they got a bad scare when they had worked along for half the distance undertaken. jim and his comrade became aware of the hulking yellow form of one of the huge hounds, as he stalked into the open about fifty yards from where they lay in the short grass. luckily what little wind there was blew from the southwest, so that it could not aid to betray them. the beast evidently did not have them in mind, and was unsuspicious of their nearness, as he was looking in the direction of the big gate, but only a short turn about the grounds and he would pick up their trail and then the two comrades might as well resign from their present position and retire over the fence if possible. it would seem as if he were looking for someone to come from the direction of the road. then to the relief of jim and the engineer the hound hulked heavily towards the gate. when he reached it he placed his fore feet high upon a cross bar and gazed through, evidently on the lookout in a friendly, not an inimical way. then he turned and loping near to the house disappeared in the direction of the stable, and this gave jim and the engineer their chance to reach the coveted clump of bushes. "he is surely looking for someone," said the engineer, as they straightened up in their shelter of overhanging leaves. "lucky he wasn't hunting for us," remarked jim. "it would have been all off if he had." "or we would be off," put in the engineer frankly. "come on, john; let's crawl through this clump and see what is on the other side," ordered jim. "lead on, macduff," assented berwick. "my name is plain duff, i'll have ye to know," replied jim, catching his friend playfully by the throat. for some reason they both felt a thrill of high spirits go through them and it showed in their speech and actions. if jim had stopped to consider he would have remembered that high spirits at a time like this always indicated some unusual peril ahead. it had been so on many previous occasions and this peculiar thrill of every fiber was the distillation of the very wine of danger. they had reached the middle of the clump of bushes; jim leading, when our friend received the shock of his young life, and it startled him through and through. chapter xix the castle jim's hand as he had crawled forward, clutched the foot of a man who was in hiding in this selfsame clump of bushes. james acted instantly, realizing instinctively the danger, the extreme danger of the situation. he leaped forward for the man's throat and to his utter surprise the body lay perfectly limp. "great heavens!" he exclaimed, "this man is dead." "it's the poor fellow from the gully, below," said the engineer, after an examination; "there's no mistaking him." "but how did he get here?" questioned jim, with suppressed excitement and alarm. "that's simple," replied his friend. "these bandits who live here, brought the body up at the first convenient chance and left it here for the time being, but they may come for it any time so we had better be on the lookout for trouble. "we don't have to; it is always on the lookout for us," replied jim briefly and with truth. "there's someone directly ahead," remarked the engineer, "or i miss my guess." "just wait a minute, chief," said jim; "i want to size up this castle before making the next move." "you don't observe any anxiety on my part to go anywhere do you, captain?" questioned berwick. "quiet as a kitten," replied jim with a grin, and then without any further remarks, he crawled past the form of the unfortunate man, until he reached the edge of the copse, and gathering a low bush around his shoulders so that he appeared to be a part of the natural scenery himself, he observed the castle closely with the eye of a trained scout. the fog was rifted by the wind so that he could see with sufficient clearness the outlines and details of the high brick castle. as has been said, they were on the north side, where there was the large stained glass window that lit the grand staircase, and now shone with a faint radiance. there was also a line of broad mullioned windows, their round, thick glass in circles of lead, gleaming like opals when the full light was within, but now cold and ghostly in the dimness of the fog-laden night. these windows were some twenty feet from the ground, and jim's keen eyes regarded them with special interest. further along and somewhat lower were the smaller windows, evidently of the kitchen, and near the ground several more heavily barred. after a few minutes of observation, jim returned to his companion, his mind fully made up. "well, james, what do you make of it?" queried his friend. "i'll make more of it a little later," replied jim; "i'm going to move on the enemy, right away." "very well, i'm ready," remarked the engineer. "when you can't go back with safety or stand still it is a good scheme to go forward." "but i want you to wait here, john," explained jim; "there's much less chance with two than one. in case i need you i'll yell." "if you don't happen to be gagged," replied his friend cheerfully. "never you fear about that," returned jim confidently; "there's none of that gang that is going to get me so quick but that there will be something doing on my part first." "nothing surer than that," replied the engineer heartily. "luck to you, jim," gripping his hand, "and i'll be in reserve here when you want me." "good old chief," said jim, returning his friend's grip; "now i'm off." without any further words jim crawled to the edge of the thicket, leaving john berwick in the grewsome company of the dead man, but berwick took up a position where he could see the tall, shadowy figure of james darlington as he advanced straight toward the stronghold of this gang of unmerciful pirates. "that boy has them all beaten when it comes to unqualified nerve," muttered the engineer to himself; "the best fellow in an emergency i ever saw, and that's something." james would have felt proud to have heard his friend's eulogy, but his mind was fully taken up with the problem he was facing. he must get into that house without delay; to stand long where he was meant sure detection in a short time. if he had only possessed his revolver, he would have felt more comfortable. "have to get or borrow a gun from one of those chaps inside there," he mused with shrewd humor. he was now directly below the long mullioned window, but as he was not a little birdie with wings, he could not fly, and had to climb. "here's luck," he said; "this vine is bigger than i thought it could be. takes california to grow a vine like a tree and that's a fact." indeed, the vine that spread its dark green splendor over the whole north side of the great structure and wrapped itself around the giant chimney had a stem that was more like the trunk of a small tree and very tough and fibrous. jim did not hesitate, but quickly removed his shoes, and with both free hands, noiselessly climbed up towards the window, sustaining his weight partially on the rough jutting bricks until he finally reached in safety the broad sill of the mullioned window. "so far so good," he murmured, "now to get inside." very slowly and cautiously he pushed on the lower part of the center window and it gave easily enough, the gang in foolhardy security never dreaming that an enemy would dare approach their stronghold, much less come into their very castle. indeed, their confidence was in some measure justified, for their head and chief, old captain broome, was very powerful through this section, had strong friends among the officials in the city and was safe from being bothered by the authorities. as for private enemies, he could very well take care of them himself. so without any trouble at this point jim slipped through the window and was within the castle of his bitterest enemy. he let himself down from the window, to a settee, and thence to the floor. by the dim light from the windows he saw that he was in a long, rectangular-shaped room, evidently lined with bookcases, and in the dimness at one end loomed the outline of a huge fireplace. for the moment jim felt a thrill of excitement go through him. there was something in the fact that he was alone and unarmed in the house of his foes, quite enough to give him this sensation. suppose that you were standing in the darkness in a cage where some lions were stretched out asleep but liable to awake at any moment, you might be excused if you had a few shivery thrills, and so it was with jim. it was evident that this room was not in general use and our adventurer could not have chosen a better place to land as it were. he stopped only long enough for his eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light and then he made sure that there was nothing in the room that would serve him for a weapon. "might take a dictionary and throw some of the hard words at 'em," he remarked with his usual humorous twist of imagination when in a tight place. then he cautiously opened a door which led into a long, wide corridor that was decidedly dark, except at the further end, where shone a faint light. keeping close to the wall, he went softly along until he came to the main staircase, which surprised jim with the winding sweep of its magnificence and the beautiful stained glass window above it. but there was that in the large hall below that made him draw back. there was stretched out on an immense rug, the other hound, his nose between his paws and his watchful, red-rimmed eyes upon the great door leading from the hall to the out-of-doors. no wonder that the sight of him made jim pause and draw back into the darkness of the upper corridor. one suspicion, and the huge beast would take the staircase in three leaps, and neither quickness, strength nor prowess could have saved jim if once the hound had caught his trail. "gosh, i've got to find a weapon somewhere!" jim mumbled to himself; "this won't do at all." by this time his eyes had become thoroughly accustomed to the dim light and as he turned back he stopped and his heart beat with something almost akin to fright. now our friend james darlington was not superstitious by nature, but if that dim, silvery white figure was not a ghost, what in sam hill could it be? it stood perfectly quiet to one side and about half way down the hall, evidently looking straight at jim, but making no move to attack him. what was jim to do? he could not retreat down the staircase to the main door, for that was to fall into the jaws of the hound. neither could he reach the library in safety. chapter xx the banquet hall then jim looked up at the wall which was paneled in some light wood and there his eyes saw something that gave him the clue. he straightened up and moved quickly towards the ghostly figure. "how are you, brian de bois guilbert?" he said as he came up. "i should like to borrow your suit of armor if you don't mind." the audacity of james. it was a gigantic suit of armor, and for the moment jim thought of trying to get into it, but he gave it up. perhaps as a last resort he might use it, to strike terror into the superstitious greasers and cutthroats who were making their foul nest in this once beautiful home. it would be perfectly useless for him to try and put it on in the hall, for it would make clangor enough to arouse the deaf or the dead. so jim very gently wheedled the image of the late sir brian inch by inch towards the library and finally got it inside. luckily there was only a few feet to go, but it took jim the better half of an hour. this incident of the armor goes to show how carefully jim was looking to a possible chance in the future. our old college chum, jim, was certainly strong on strategy. "now, you stay here, brian, old boy," he said, "until i come back; if you don't i'll ivanhoe your old block for you." then jim slipped out in the passageway once more, and went immediately to the place in the hall from whence he had sighted the armor man. there on the wall were medieval weapons--battle-axes, swords and poniards. these were what had given jim his clue as to what the ghostly figure really represented. "i reckon that i will have to appropriate some of this hardware, before i explore any further." he finally selected a small and exceedingly keen poniard, also a short, heavy sword, and thus equipped he was ready for what might come, which as he well knew was apt to be the unexpected. as he stood motionless in the dark hall, with its dimmed radiance at one end, he was sure that he heard the faint sound of voices, which is not saying that the voices were faint by any means. as he went cautiously along, the sound of the voices came no nearer, but they did not grow less distinct. this puzzled jim exceedingly. "i'd give my hat to be able to locate this serenade," he remarked to himself; "it sounds most peculiar." james went slowly along, feeling the wall as he went, and all at once his fingers came to a slight break in the smooth wood, and the voices became slightly clearer and jim was positive that he heard the thrum, thrum of a guitar. he ran his fingers up and down near the minute break, until they touched a small wooden button. he hesitated a moment before pressing it, not knowing what might happen nor what might possibly be on the other side. "nothing venture, nothing have," he said, and standing to one side he pressed the button and the door came quietly back. "well-oiled piece of machinery that," thought jim; "i wonder who uses this stage entrance anyhow." then there came distinctly and clear the voices of several men singing a mexican song and jim saw several steps leading to a lower level under a low-arched passageway. he also heard besides the singing the low voices of men speaking and the occasional moving of a chair. he was soon to solve this particular mystery. moving cautiously along he reached the end of the short passageway and there he saw that it opened on a balcony that ran across one end of a high vaulted room, embellished with a beautifully carved ceiling of oak. as the balcony was quite high up and shut in by big panels of wood about four feet in height, he could not see the floor below. jim dared not raise his head to see who were in the room, which was evidently intended originally for a banquet hall and not a den of thieves. however, he was not long in doubt as to what to do, for he slipped the poniard from its sheath, and began to cut a hole through the wood in front of him and it did not take him long to have a place large enough to see perfectly what was going on below. he took one long earnest look. "gosh," he muttered to himself, "what a chance, what a chance; if i only had my revolver with me, i'd corner that gang in short order." and so he would. now this is what he saw, by the light of a mammoth fireplace filled with great logs that sent a weird, but beautiful light glowing and then wavering in shadows across the high arched ceiling. a few feet back from the wide high fireplace with its roaring flame were four men playing cards. they sat around a table, and three in appearance were villainous cutthroats, probably mexicans by their dark visages, swaggeringly armed with knives and revolvers, with gaudy handkerchiefs knotted at their throats. the firelight showed the flash of their cruel eyes and teeth at some stroke of fortune in the play, and jim, who was not unaccustomed to see and deal with dubious citizens, felt that right below him was the hardest bunch that ill fortune had ever brought across his path. he was not forgetting either the apaches with whom he and his brothers had enjoyed more than one fracas in the great southwest. but what the observer regarded with greatest interest was a group of three well back in the shadow, and he needed none to tell him who that short, squat figure was. he held a guitar, and was accompanying his own songs while the other two joined in the refrain. it was his _bête noir_, the mexican dwarf who had recently robbed him, and out-maneuvered him on two occasions at least. strange to say that if you did not see him, and only heard his voice you would be certain that he was a lithe, spanish cavalier, of the "oh juanita" type of lover, for his tone was neither guttural nor harsh but smooth and melodious, and to-night for some reason he was inclined to sentimental songs of the serenade kind, but this reason was soon to appear. "who gets the señorita manuel, the one who came in the carriage this evening, as though to a ball?" queried one of the players at the card table. the words were spoken at an interval between games. jim almost stood up in his sudden enlightenment and wrath but he bethought himself in time and with whitened knuckles he drove the poniard held in his hand deep into the wood of the floor. this, in a mild way served to express his feelings. at the question the dwarf swaggered into the full light of the fire. "i, manuel de gorzaga, will have the señorita, my voice will charm her, and my money please her." jim could hardly restrain a scornful laugh at the audacity of the dwarf, but he noticed that though the others regarded him askance they did not ridicule him, but seemed to have a certain fear of his malignity, and his cunning craft. jim saw that he was clean shaven now and that he moved his head back and forth in front of his hump, like an ugly hooded bird, and his shadow was distorted on the high vaulted ceiling into something horrible and of ill omen. to complete the picture, it is necessary to say that he was dressed in gorgeous fashion in a suit of slashed velvet, and a resplendent sash around his waist. there was a marvelous celerity in his every movement, so that he was like nothing so much as a richly colored spider, that darts from shadow to pounce upon its victim. jim vowed that he would not leave the castle that night until the señorita da cordova, if a prisoner, was freed from the power of this contemptible creature. but he was to find the adventure which he had planned more difficult than was expected and that was saying a good deal. "how about the señorita's nice little nurse, señor manuel da gorzaga?" questioned one of the card players, with a sneer. "perchance that person may have something to say to your pretensions." the dwarf regarded his questioner with a venomous look and then spat emphatically on the floor, but he gave no reply except by an expressive drawing of his fingers across his throat. "the duenna's throat is iron," replied the other speaker to this pantomime; "she guards the captain's treasures like the dragon the golden apples." "i, too, am valuable to that old shark of the seas," replied the mexican, in most uncomplimentary terms to his master captain, william broome. "i know his many secrets, and it was i, manuel, who got the treasure from that long-legged, white-headed gringo" (jim grinned at this description of himself), "who would make one meal of the brave captain if it were not for me, who am too wise for his thick head." "good for you, humpty dumpty," said jim, under his breath, "you won't have to hire anybody to blow your trumpet for you. sorry i can't stay, old chap, to hear the rest of your interesting and eloquent speech." chapter xxi the apparition jim now had one purpose in mind when he gracefully withdrew, and closed the door behind him and stood in the upper hall once more and that was to find where in the castle the señorita da cordova was. james waited for a minute in the broad hall, not only to get accustomed to the darkness, but to make sure that there was no one coming, or waiting for him. our friend had not been taught by harsh experience to no purpose. nor had he fought the crafty indian, and failed to learn something of their strategy. so he closed the door as tenderly as a mother, who fears to waken her sleeping babe, and then stood as still as stone waiting, watching, listening. well it was that he did so. what was that gray bundle across the hall and lying in front of the door opening into the library? at first glance jim thought that it might be the hound, but it was not that. it looked more like a shapeless bundle of old clothes. then under the directness of his gaze the thing stirred, a head was slowly lifted, and like the gradual resurrection from the cerements of death a figure half rose, and a gaze from the gray hood that seemed to burn was fixed upon him. next the figure half raised, moved straight and steadily in his direction, noiselessly, but with terrible intentness, direct towards him. jim did not move. what was the use? it was his purpose to avoid all disturbance or fracas, which would surely wreck his plan now for the rescue of the señorita. he would see what this creature meant and he merely moved his hands lightly, one to grasp, the other to defend a possible thrust at his heart or throat. to say that he was cool and unmoved would not be true; his heart thumped and he could feel the blood beat in his ears, but he was not trembling or unmanned, though curious chills crept all over his body. this person had advanced now half the way toward him, moving with the same half bent posture, and the left hand gripping the gray cloth at the throat, forming a hood. then the woman, within three feet of him, raised her face, and looked at him with the wildest eyes ever set in a human visage. they were shot with horror, terror and an insane desperation. by the half light from the end of the hall jim could not tell whether she were young or old. her face seemed to be lighted by her terrible eyes, and from her robe one lean hand crept, half curved as though to claw. it seemed as if at any instant she might scream and clutch him and something must be done forthwith. jim returned her gaze soberly, but not defiantly, and there was no fear in his eyes. for a moment she paused, a curious questioning showing in her glance. "i wish to see and speak to a young girl who has been brought to this place," he said quietly. "i am her friend, and would do neither one of you any harm. you see many things and you believe me and know that i speak the truth." that was a simple speech, but there was more wisdom in it than appears on the surface. it was spoken directly and was phrased to grip with confidence the woman's poor broken mind; and notice also, that there was nothing to unduly excite her by a show of sympathy or to arouse her by denouncing her oppressors, for she was no doubt another victim who had been held for a ransom that had not been forthcoming. she made no direct reply to jim, but only threw her head back and laughed noiselessly with wide opened mouth. then leaving the spot she glided to the staircase and bent down listening intently. as if satisfied she returned in a moment and beckoned jim to follow her, which he was only too willing to do. she was a strange guide and might lead him to his destruction, but he was determined to follow her at all hazards for he must find the señorita and that quickly. so he kept only a short distance behind the gray crouching figure. going through the main hall they came to a fairly broad staircase, leading to the third floor, thence along a hall dimly lighted to a narrow winding stair, that brought the two of them to a round platform of stone with rooms on three sides. this place was badly lit by a tallow candle, held by a miner's holder, stuck into the wall. the woman crouched in front of one of the doors, with a wicket in it, whence jim heard a low voice repeating something over and over, and the sound of it thrilled him for he recognized it as the voice of the señorita cordova, praying softly for deliverance. it pierced through jim's heart, the pity and the pathos of it, and for a moment his eyes were blinded with tears. the next moment he was himself again, as he well needs be. he pushed gently aside the grating covering the aperture in the door itself, so that he was able to see in. it did not require much of a slit for that purpose, and he was able to get a good look at the interior, which was like a cell, with low arched, white-washed ceiling. it was not a forbidding room either, for at one end was a latticed window with diamond panes, and in the ivy that grew outside it you might imagine the little birds twittering in the summer time. the floor was covered with a heavy rug and a candelabra of a dozen candles gave a pleasant light. the room or cell was heated by coals glowing in an old-fashioned brazier. although there were two persons visible, what fastened jim's eyes was the figure of the señorita da cordova. she was kneeling before a _prie dieu_ near the casemented window, in evening dress such as she wore when she got into the carriage. she had supposed that she was going to be taken to her father, and instead had been brought to this desperate castle. her dress of white was ornamented with lace, and there was a bracelet of odd antique design on her rounded arm that made jim gasp. he knew where she had got that. it was his present to her, one of the many treasures that he and the other frontier boys had found in that mysterious mountain in the interior of mexico. why did she wear it? but in regard to that interesting question he had no time to think at this juncture. she looked pale as she knelt there, but hers was a natural pallor and did not mean fear. the graceful figure with a rope of pearls twined in the dark hair was to remain in james darlington's memory for many a year. the other figure was that of a tall, gaunt woman, hard featured with reddish brown hair. jim noted the powerful looking hands and arms and felt sure that she was not an antagonist to be regarded lightly. at that moment the woman rose suddenly from the chair in which she had been seated and jim saw that she was nearly his equal in height. "is that you, you crazy fool?" she questioned in a harsh voice, coming to the wicket and shoving it back. jim dodged down, hoping that she would unbolt the door but she did nothing of the kind. "oh, ho! you're here are you, walked into the cap'en's trap have you, young fellar? i'll tell you one thing, you'll never get out of this house, because nobody wants you enough to pay a ransom. got that straight, bub." jim had had all kinds of experiences, but this was the first time that a woman's tongue had begun to be sharpened on him and he did not relish it in the least. he felt small and insulted, so mad that he began to see things zig-zag way and was tempted to do something rash, and in fact he did call out. "never fear, señorita, i will get you out of this place." he saw her clasp her hands and turn towards the door when the sight of her was eclipsed by the bulk of her jailer. "so it is you, señor jim, with the light head." "it isn't red anyhow," he replied with humorous indignation. "ha, ha," she laughed, "you scored that time anyhow." jim took this opportunity to throw his weight against the door with all his strength; it sagged, but the bar held. the woman was furious as she glared out at jim. "i could throttle you, you sassy, long legged cub," she yelled, "only i got orders from the cap'n to stay in this here room, and i obeys him." she made a quick motion with her hand to a place near the jamb of the door. "run, señor, for your life," cried the poor demented woman; "the devil and his dogs are coming." jim saw that he must make his escape instantly or be caught helpless like a rat in a trap to be done to death. he fled with all his speed, and jim was no slouch of a runner. down the narrow stairway he sped, and along the hall to the second floor. the question was, could he reach the library where he had climbed in, before the gang in the banquet hall came rushing up the main staircase. the chances were against his doing this for the pursuers had only half the distance to go and they would be certain to respond to the alarm with much promptness. the mexican dwarf was notorious for the swiftness of his attack, so that it looked bad for our friend jim. he must reach that room or what would happen? chapter xxii brian de bois guilbert there was just one thing that saved jim at this juncture. it was an incident which he did not guess at the time and i am not sure that he became aware of it in later life, and yet there are reasons to surmise that he may have heard of it. as has not been related, the big guardian of the señorita in the cell high up in the tower, had started to give the alarm to the gang in the banquet hall by pressing a button near the door. james darlington had seen her make the move to ring, and his alarm had been added to by the cry of warning from the crazy woman. he had to run for his life as the reader well knows. so much jim was aware of but he did not see what had happened when the red headed woman started to give the alarm. the señorita da cordova was not a cowed and spiritless girl and in spite of the terror of her situation, when she saw the intention of her jailer she glided the length of the cell with remarkable swiftness and caught the arm of the woman. the señorita was not a delicate creature either, and in spite of her apparent pallor, she showed a lithe agility in struggling with this giant of a woman, who had the strength of two ordinary men and was probably nearly the equal of the redoubtable jim himself. after a struggle lasting some minutes, the girl was thrown with severe violence against the wall of the cell and lay there stunned and bleeding from a cut on the forehead, but her efforts had given jim time to reach the library which he had to pass and bolt and lock the door to it, before ever the chase began. meanwhile the unfortunate woman who had been of so much help to jim had time to flee to a remote corner of the house, where she would be free from pursuit. james had determined to make his escape the same way he had gotten in, join his comrade, the engineer, who was outside and together plan a new attack. perhaps they could get the aid of the federal authorities. at that moment jim's eye fell on the hollow figure in armor which he had dubbed brian de bois guilbert, and he determined instantly to carry out the plan that had first occurred to him, which from its very wildness might spell success. at least try it he would; anything was better than leaving the young spanish girl in the hands of this evil crew, especially as the mexican dwarf had openly declared his intention of making love to her. hastily jim lit the wax candles on the mantel, that sent their soft gleam through the long, beautiful room, and gave him sufficient light to work by. now jim was not only deft, but desperate. how he got into that suit of medieval armor, he could not tell. it would be doubtful if he could have done so in cold blood, but he was spurred on by the terror of the situation. it was just like a man pursued and in danger of immediate capture by his enemies, who comes to a chasm that in ordinary moments he would not think of attempting to cross, but he leaps it because he has to, or fall into the hands of those who pursue him. as the renegades rushed through the wide hall, with roar of harsh voices, the big hound in the lead, jim was nearly all saddled and bridled and ready for the fray. it was with a strange feeling of exultation and also of safety that james darlington found himself thus accoutered and discovered that he could move with comparative ease in the glittering armor on which shone the lights of the candles from above the fireplace. it was easy to imagine jim, who was large enough in his own proper person, and now a figure of gigantic size, to be a hero of old romance; who with three plumed helmets, unheralded and unknown enters the lists to rescue the oppressed and beautiful heroine from the hands of the ruthless destroyer. perhaps jim was a hero, but i will give a considerable sum to the boy or girl who first finds in the many thrilling narratives of "the frontier boys," our friend james spoken of or referred to as "our hero." but to leave this realm of fancy and to come back to the practical world of our narrative. jim knew that the time allowed him was apt to be very short before he would be compelled to make his début in his new character, as the man with the iron jaw, mailed fist and steel legs, so he gripped his heavy sword, which none but he could wield (see walter scott, who preceded the present writer by some years). i hope you will forgive this jesting, but jim was a great hand to make fun in the very presence of danger, a trait peculiar to the american character, and so i may be pardoned for following in his footsteps, for i, too, am an american. jim advanced toward the door, and he was thoroughly pleased and encouraged to discover that he could move with comparative ease though not noiselessly of course. but what did a little noise inside the room amount to, when there came the roar of the pursuers outside, for they had returned upon jim's trail, guided by the hound. the crisis had now come. the huge beast knew that his prey was inside, and he rushed against the door with all of his maddened bulk, and his great bark boomed through the castle, and filled with fury the mexican bandits who raged on the outside; then came the voice of their leader. "back, you fools," he cried; "away from that door." they were quick to obey, and at that instant there came the sharp report of a pistol; the bullet splintered through the thick casement but it glanced from jim's steel breastplate, but this attack aroused him to action. with a thrill and tremor of the nerves which he could not repress, he drew back the bolts and with a cry, the impulse of his humorous excitement, "desdichado to the rescue!" he flung the door wide open, and stepped with clanging stride through the smoke into the dimly lit hall. to have seen that great steel-clad figure moving with sudden life would have struck terror to even the stoutest hearts, and shaken the steadiest nerves. but these superstitious mexicans were driven almost out of their excitable minds by the sudden horror of this seeming apparition. of one accord they fled, gibbering, towards the stairs, one falling in a faint from fright before he reached them. even the dwarf who was not afraid of the powers of darkness themselves, retreated slowly, sullenly and suspiciously down the hall. but there was one of all that gang who did not flee, and that was the valiant hound. he sprang full for jim as the latter stepped from the room into the hall. jim was not altogether unprepared for this, for he had reckoned that the hound would be the one to make him trouble. if it had not been for the protection of the armor which he wore it would have gone hard with the youth. but his own strength with the added weight of his suit of mail enabled him to meet the fierce rush of the beast without losing his footing. it also saved his arm and shoulder from being torn by the grip of the animal's jaws. it only dented him as the expression goes. then with a short arm thrust of his sword he put the hound out of business. determined to follow up his advantage and make the rout thorough, he advanced to the head of the staircase. the dwarf had just reached the foot of the stairs, and looking up he saw the giant figure in armor and with a snarl he took quick aim and fired, the bullet glancing from the helm of jim's armor and making a long furrow in the plaster of the ceiling. jim had no idea of quietly standing there as a tin target for his enemy to fire at. there was, he noted, a small marble bust on a pedestal near the top of the staircase. this he seized in his iron grasp and hurled it at the elfish figure in the hall below. now james was "quite some" thrower as they say in the state of jersey. the dwarf was marvelously quick, too, but the white flash of stone came near getting him and as he dodged he slipped and fell and the bust busted in all directions, one fragment cutting his cheek, with its sharp impact. "look out, jim! look out quick!" so a friend would have cried but it was too late. while the men had all fled in utter fear, a woman was coming quickly to retrieve their reverse. "red annie," as she was known, strong, strident and feared by everyone within the castle, was on the trail. she was not to be fooled for an instant by this figure in armor. noiseless as a lioness she crept up behind jim and as he half turned to find another weapon to his hand he saw her, but not soon enough. with a mighty shove she sent him toppling down the stairs. however, jim was able to partially save himself by gripping at the balustrade. chapter xxiii the crisis there was but one way of escape now and that was by the front entrance. jim regained his feet but by the time he reached the lower hall, the woman had rallied the brown and white renegades with taunts and fierce ridicule, and they came again into the attack. "take him alive," cried the dwarf; "we will have some sport with him before he dies." "i won't die till my time comes," mumbled jim; "as for the sport, i'll have that myself." there were at least twelve of the cutthroats who swarmed into the hall, some of them reënforcements, men who had been sleeping in other parts of the castle, and who had been aroused by the racket. among them was a huge fellow with a bristling red mustache, close cropped black hair, and sinister dark eyes, all surface and no depth. "jack, darlint," cried the woman, "hit that jinted piece of hardware a blow with a shillayleh, and show these manuels and proud castilians that it's a holler sham." "i'll do it for the honor of the ould sod, annie, me gurl," he cried to his wife, for such she was. jim was pretty thoroughly aroused by these taunts, and he did not wait for the onslaught of the gallant son of hibernia, but plowed his way through the snarling mexicans, who would have pulled him down, and with a quickness that took the big irishman by surprise, smote him with a heavy swing upon the side of his fortunately thick head; that is, fortunate for him, and down he went full length, crushing two small, protesting "manuels" in his fall. he was the victim of the iron hand, minus the velvet glove. but now a trick was brought into play which jim himself had used once or twice in the course of his adventurous career. while he was busily engaged with the matter in hand, he suddenly found his arms pinioned by a rawhide lasso, cast by the expert hand of master dwarf. in a minute he was utterly helpless, unable to move arms or legs, and then how the mexicans came into the attack! with southern fury they struck at the iron jim with feet and fist, and then they wrung their injured hands and nursed their bruised toes, until jim could not help laughing, in spite of the seriousness of the situation; but he did not laugh long. the ordeal began quickly for him, and he realized that there was no escape for him from the hands of his ruthless and revengeful enemies. it was impossible for john berwick to help him; indeed, the engineer would be fortunate to escape himself. besides him, there was absolutely no one within several thousand miles who could bring him help. if only jo and tom and juarez were near, the old frontier combination, he would not despair of being rescued; but jim repressed quickly any thought of his brothers and friend, for the recollection would be sure to weaken him, and he needed all his fortitude at this point, when cruel death and he stood face to face once more, and seemingly for the last time. it was a dramatic scene, as well as one of terror, in the splendid banquet hall, where jim awaited execution. the blaze was leaping upward in the great fireplace, and the ruddy spread of light showed the tall figure of james darlington, bound hand and foot, with his back to the northern end of the banquet room. the armor had been torn off from him with bruising force. the side of his face was torn and bleeding, the work of red annie's husband when his opponent was helpless. jim had steeled himself for what must come, and he had to admit that he would just as soon be back in colorado in the hands of the indians as in the power of the present gang. at least as far as the dwarf was concerned, there was more of personal hatred than in the case of the red men. and where natural cruelty is urged on by a desire for revenge, then look out. "we will try this game first," cried the dwarf, "and see how brave this white-headed gringo is." the others laughed and made wagers on their skill, all except the irishman, who glowered at the mexicans and then at jim. it was not a pastime he was expert in. the hunchback took a step forward with his dagger poised over his shoulder, and holding it by its sharp tip. then it flashed red straight for jim's eye, apparently, but it would have missed his head by a hair's breadth if he had stayed quiet. but he was free to move his head and instinctively he dodged; this roused the mexican to perfect fury, and he grabbed a poniard from the man next to him, and aimed for the body. there was murder in his every move, there was no mistaking that. it looked as if jim's time had certainly come. but what of john berwick, the former chief engineer of the _sea eagle_? why did he not make some effort to aid his friend, and superior officer, captain jim? let us go back a ways, and we will find an answer to this query. as you remember, when jim started to find his way into the castle, he left berwick in a clump of bushes not far from the house. in one way he was alone, and in another he was not, for there was the body of the unfortunate secret service man, who had lost his life in the gulch below, not far from the beach. but most people would have chosen to be alone rather than in such company. the engineer watched jim as he climbed up to the broad window and disappeared with a wave of his hand. for a time he listened, on edge for some outbreak, and expecting every minute to see jim take a flying leap from some window, accompanied by a salute of fireworks and pistol flashes. once or twice he was positive that he heard a cry or a sound of a struggle in the great silent house, but nothing came of it. it was cold standing there, motionless. he did not want to attract possible attention by moving about, and a thought came to him upon which he acted. his silent companion had no use for apparel. he secured the heavy gray coat and put it on over his own. his hat he had lost, and substituted that of the officer. an hour or more went by. he found himself growing very sleepy, and no wonder, if we recall what a strenuous twelve hours he had just gone through. nor did he have the stimulus of interest that jim had to keep him keyed up. he fought against this sense of overpowering drowsiness, that was like a heavy adversary that was slowly pressing him into unconsciousness. it had him by the wrists tiring him, weighing on the pit of his stomach, numbing the back of his brain, making his limbs as heavy as ponderous lead. it seemed to the wearied engineer that there was nothing in this world to be desired but a good sound sleep; he fought against it desperately, but after a long struggle he suddenly succumbed; his head dropped, and he lay prone in the grass, apparently as lifeless, as the unfortunate a few feet distant. when he awoke it was with utter bewilderment. where was he, with grass and trees and shrubs all about him? that certainly was a pistol shot which had aroused him. then he came to his senses, sprang quickly to his feet, and pushed his way through the copse until he got a clear view of the castle. there he saw faint gleams of light through the broad windows of the room, which jim had entered. in a moment he had heard enough to convince him that there was serious business going on in the castle, and that "the captain," as he sometimes called jim, was in certain danger. now, john berwick did not have the natural headlong courage of jim, but he was a man of great coolness and nerve, when the occasion demanded it. he resisted the impulse to rush boldly into the house, for he saw that it would be foolhardy, as he was unarmed, and it would only be making a bad matter worse. he stood with his head slightly bent, gently whistling to himself; his hands in his pockets, as if nothing of importance was going on in the gloomy, looming castle a few feet away, but john berwick was thinking, and his thinking, it chanced, was apt to be to some purpose. then a curious smile came over his face, that was not exactly pleasant, and with fair reason. the engineer had come to a decision, and hit upon a plan. he and the dead man were about of the same build, practically of the same height, and superficially they had a similarity of appearance, and he was dressed in his coat and hat. the latter he grasped firmly and pulled well down over his face. the coat and hat were the only conspicuous things about him. just now there was a sudden terrible clangor in the castle. "sounds like somebody was discharging the cook," he remarked with whimsical humor, "and that she was throwing the hardware around." this tumult, as the reader well knows, was our esteemed friend, james, falling downstairs in his full suit of armor, which was sufficient to account for the racket. it did not take berwick long after that to get ready, and you would have been certain that it was none other than the dead detective come to life, as he stooped hurriedly across the lawn. he did not try any roundabout way of making entrance into the castle, but ran directly to the massive front doors, hoping to find them unlocked, but in this he was doomed to disappointment. chapter xxiv a reincarnation it was no time to waste any precious moments on ceremony; he must act, and act immediately. there were on either side of the main door long panels of glass. john berwick made use of the stout stick, his only weapon, which he had picked up from the midst of the copse, and broke the long panel glass into smithereens. under ordinary conditions the noise would have been sufficient to attract the attention of anyone in the banquet hall, in spite of the heavy doors and their equally heavy hangings of cloth of purple, but at this precise moment the parties therein were so intent on the tragedy that was about to be consummated there, that they would not have been diverted by even a much louder noise than that caused by the breaking of that slender panel of glass. john berwick was of slight and wiry figure, and was able to shove his way through, a feat that would have been impossible for jim, even with the most determined intentions in the world. within a half minute berwick stood crouching in the hall, and then he crossed the space swiftly, through the open door, the purple curtains parted, and there advanced into the center of the banquet hall, the gray-clad figure seemingly of the dead detective. the deadly dagger which the mexican dwarf poised to transfix his victim was never flung, but dropped with a metallic clatter from his palsied hand. even jim was dazed for a few seconds by this strange apparition, and then he could have given a yell of joy and of boundless relief. it was one of the few dramatic moments of his life, which had been filled with exciting incidents, which is an entirely different thing from being dramatic. the first look at john berwick, wearing the detective's coat and hat, the latter pulled well over his face, had appalled and paralyzed the gang of dastards, who were about to execute cold-blooded murder, and as he advanced upon them this fear was changed into frenzied panic. trampling over one another at once they fled by way of a door at the end of the room, near where they were gathered. the supposed detective gave up the pursuit after they were utterly routed, and returned to where jim stood bound. "how did you ever think of it, old chap?" cried jim, as soon as the rope that bound him had been cut by his friend. "it chanced that i was prepared," replied berwick. "i heard that horrible clatter in the house, and got in as quickly as i could." "that clatter was brian de bois guilbert tumbling downstairs," said jim gleefully. "eh?" questioned berwick, his eyes opening wide as he gazed at jim in the dawning belief that the experience he had gone through had unsettled his mind. "oh, i'm not crazy, chief," exclaimed jim. "i'll explain later; now for getting the señorita out of the hands of these villains." "she is here? then i'm ready," rejoined berwick, "but let's get a weapon or two before we start. we may need them." jim had now regained the use of his stiffened muscles, and together the two comrades went to the end of the long room. "this is yours, jim," he said, as he stooped and picked up the weapon which the mexican had dropped. "sure it is," replied james. "my friend, manuel, was about to hand it to me." "it's poisoned, look out for it," said the engineer, as he handed the blade to him gingerly. "here's a revolver," cried jim, "that one of the gents dropped in his hurry. shy only one cartridge, too," he concluded, after a hasty examination. thus equipped, they started on their quest, and though very inadequately armed they both felt heartened by the presence of the other. it is a desolate business, facing danger alone with no one to back you up, or with whom you can take counsel. true comradeship is one of the best things in the world. the two friends move quickly across the floor, but, by comparison with the danger that is approaching, they seem merely to crawl. you long to shout a warning to them, do anything to urge them on. they reach the door of the banquet hall, and then they are quick to act, and with good reason. "what durned son of thunder broke that thar glass?" there was no doubt whose voice that was. it belonged to the redoubtable captain broome, and to no other. it was his stopping to look at the broken glass that gave the two comrades their chance. "busted in'ard," he commented shrewdly, and then his gray, red-rimmed eye, with its gleam of steel, caught sight of jim and the engineer, as they came through the door of the banquet hall. with a roar of wrath he was inside, followed by six of his sailors; then his humor changed as he saw jim looking down from the head of the stairs. "very good of you, mr. darlington, to visit me in my humble home; sorry i wasn't here to welcome you," he remarked suavely. "oh, i've made myself quite at home, captain," replied jim. "nice place here; wouldn't you like to trade it for my fine sea-going yacht in the harbor?" the captain grew red in the face at this piece of persiflage, and under the stress of excitement he swallowed his quid of tobacco and likewise his wrath, at jim's coolness. "waal, son, that's extra kind of you, ain't it, boys?" and he looked over the hard beaten crew at his back. a loud guffaw of derision greeted this remark, and it was jim's turn to feel like swallowing something, only it was not a quid of tobacco, for that was a foreign substance he never indulged in, but he made another bold move by way of reply. "well, captain, as you won't consider a dicker with me, i've got a friend with me who represents the united states government. perhaps he will buy your châlet here by the sea." john berwick, who had been standing in the shadow back of jim, gave a grunt of surprise at the audacity of this move, but he was game, and stepped quietly into the limelight. captain broome stood for a moment in open-jawed surprise, and then he dropped his byplay of grim politeness with startling suddenness. a shot rang out, and a puff of smoke drifted across the hall. the bullet zipped close to john berwick's head. "don't fire yet," warned jim; "come quick." he led the way swiftly down the hall, determined to make one last effort to save the señorita, though it would have been easy enough for him to have saved himself and his comrade by dashing into the library, barring the door, and climbing down by the way which he had come up, but to jim's credit, be it said, the thought of such escape never crossed his mind. as they ran, jim had the presence of mind to swerve for a second and grab the hound which he had killed a short time before and drag it out so that it lay crossways of the hall; then on they dashed, while the lumbering sailors, better for climbing masts than for sprinting, came awkwardly on their trail. the pursuers had only started on the level of the hall when a volley of six shots flashed in sudden flame in the direction in which jim and his friend were running. two came unpleasantly near, but this only added a zest to the race, and jim laughed with a snort of disdain. "you fellows shoot like chinamen," he yelled in derision, which remark reached the ears of captain broome and his gang with forcible distinctness. it served to blind them with fury, and the next moment the captain fell forward over the dead hound, and three of his gallant sailors sprawled over him, for which piece of awkwardness they were berated and kicked and cuffed by their irate employer. "what dumb fool left that hound there!" he yelled when he saw the obstruction by the light of a full lantern that one of his men lit. "he's been pizened." "cut in the neck, cap'n, that's what killed the beastie." it was only too true, as the old pirate saw, and he went into a fit of rage that left him inarticulate; but from the way he shook both gnarled fists in the direction in which jim had fled, it was clear that he knew who was responsible for the death of his hound, and who had placed it where it was. with a sudden sense of superstition his memory went back to the fate of his great gorilla of the cavern that once had guarded his treasure in a cave in one of the islands off the coast of california. it was this same big, humorous, blond-headed boy, who had several times outwitted and beaten him, though not always, for the hard-bitten old salt horse had now gotten his yacht back from jim's grip, and, through one of his agents, had a few days ago relieved him of his treasure. now, in spite of daring and long-headedness, the captain seemed likely to defeat the youth's present intention of freeing the señorita da cordova from his cold, calculating and cruel grip. at least it was not certain that james darlington was to win her release; however, he had before fought against odds quite as desperate and won. we shall see. however, there was no question as to the bitter chagrin of captain bill broome as he took up the broken pursuit. chapter xxv in the cell james did not stop to gloat over the momentary holdup of his enemy, but followed by his comrade, he sped around the turn of the hall, then up to the second story to the narrow winding stairway, winding between stone walls, towards the cell where the señorita was under guard of the tall, red-headed amazon. as he reached the landing a bitter surprise awaited him. the door of the room was wide open. not a soul was there. the bird had flown. instantly jim turned and started to descend the stone stairs. what his intentions were it would be difficult to say. it would have been a long and hard task to have found out in which room, out of the many, the senorita was now held prisoner, even if he had had leisure to look, but under the circumstances with enemies on all sides it was impossible. already the captain and his men were near the foot of the winding stair, and from the other direction came some of the panic-stricken mexicans, who had heard the voice of captain broome ringing through the house. it doubtless gave them renewed courage to find that he was on deck; besides, they would have been afraid to have him discover them lurking in fear about the premises, and then, too, they had motives of their own for joining in the chase now that reënforcements had arrived. "back up, jim," cried john berwick; "the dogs have got us cornered." "hold 'em off," exclaimed jim; "take one shot; save the rest." he leaped back to see what way of escape there might be without retreating into the _cul de sac_ of the cell. he caught a projection in the stone above the landing in an effort to reach the glass skylight. at that moment there came a quick shot below him, and the report roared and reëchoed in the winding stairway. there was a yelp like that of a wounded animal, and one of the mexicans fell backward down the stairs, not mortally wounded, as he thought he was. for a moment the mob was held back, and then captain broome himself took the lead; he contributed the force and fury of the charge, and the mexicans the loud yells and exclamations of burning wrath. "this is the only way out, jim," cried berwick, making for the empty cell. "no time to waste climbing up stone walls." jim saw the force of this; he leaped down to the landing, and as the leaders of the charge came surging around the curve in the stone stairway, he and berwick rushed into the cell, slammed and barred the door, as the enemy came against it with a dull thud. there was no chance to make a barricade, as there was scarcely any furniture in the cell. nothing would have pleased jim better than that means of defense. there were just two things to do, either surrender or to try the window. jim would never think of the first; death was better than that. it was only a question of a few minutes before the door would be down and their capture or death certain. nothing needed to be said. jim put out the dim lamp as berwick reached the leaded casement window. in a moment they were out on a narrow balcony of iron, but green with ivy and a rambler rose, that hung and nodded near the casement. the dim light of morning was seeping through the heavy folds of fog, and spreading in steel-like patches over the dark-hued pacific. even in this moment of danger they were glad to breathe in the fresh air. if only the fog was thicker it might be of help to them; if they had only looked landward their hearts would have been lighter, for there in huge rolls of gray the fog was moving, thick, impenetrable, over the ground, and in a short time, probably not over a minute, the castle and the whole coast would be enveloped. but the two had to do something immediately, and could not stand there admiring the scenery. above them rose the high peak over the window, and higher yet the hip of the roof. a glance was sufficient to show jim that they did not want to get up any higher in the world than they were. below them was the ridge of another roof, about a distance of a dozen feet; a dizzy drop, but they had to do it; there was no other way. "i'll go first," determined jim, "and then you follow." at that instant, a red glow shone through the thick round glass of the casement, and the door fell with a crash. jim climbed out, and holding to the lower edge of the balcony, without the slightest hesitation, dropped. his feet struck on the slant, and his hands gripped the ridge and he pulled himself up. the engineer was already dangling in the air, holding on to the edge. "now," cried jim. a moment after the casement had burst out, the engineer let go, jim steadied him as he struck, and exerting all his strength barely kept the two of them from sliding down and out. the fog was already upon them with its thick enveloping whiteness, and they could not see more than two feet in either direction. it was indeed a case where fortune appeared to favor the brave. "they're down there all right," cried the captain in his harsh voice; "we've got 'em where they can't get away. don't shoot, lads, we'll take 'em alive." a roar of approval met this declaration. "give me a lasso, manuel, and hurry, or i'll take the end of it to you," roared the captain. jim put his hand on his comrade's shoulder and whispered: "i want that lasso," and he edged along until he was directly underneath the balcony, then he rose slowly to his feet, which, in his wet stockings, did not slip. manuel, indeed, had hurried, for no sooner had jim risen to the height of his precarious position than he saw the rope dangling downward like a snake. he let it alone until he believed that it was paid out to the full. then he gripped it with both of his powerful hands, and gave it a yank, as though he were ringing out the old year. it pulled the sailor who was paying the rope out bodily out of the balcony, and only the agility and strength of the captain kept him from falling into the hands or upon the head of the enemy below, but in the struggle he let go of the rope. jim, with his treasure firmly in hand, now moved rapidly along the ridge of the roof to a chimney, paying no attention to the uproar on the balcony above, nor to the shots that, with a dimmed report, tore harmlessly through the gray garment of the fog. it did not take them long to tie the rope around the chimney and then berwick slid down past several windows and with a drop of ten feet was on the ground once more. in a moment jim was standing by him. his first act was to seek out and put on his shoes. "over the fence now, captain?" "no," replied jim, "we won't give up the fight till we're beaten." "better get, while we have the chance," protested the engineer earnestly. "come quick; i have a scheme," announced jim. "we won't run yet." "no faster than molasses in january," said the engineer irritably. "take it easy, john," said jim soothingly, with a pat on the shoulder; "we'll come out all right, my boy." it was as though jim were the older of the two, but it was the quality of leadership in him that made him hearten his comrade. berwick responded, his good nature instantly restored. "go it, cap. i'll see you through this if it takes my head and both feet." "thank you, john," replied jim, gripping the other's hand. "it won't be as bad as that, i hope." then they started directly for the fence, to the complete surprise of the engineer, for jim had declared against that route most emphatically; but berwick made no protest, for, as james had said that he had a scheme, he knew it would soon develop. he noticed that his leader made no effort to disguise his footprints as they ran, and so it was not a shock to him, when they reached the fence, to see that jim made no attempt to scale it. he stopped a moment to listen for any sign of pursuit. chapter xxvi in the mow "all quiet along the potomac," remarked jim, as no disturbance was heard from the direction of the house. "not a sound was heard, not a funeral note," added the engineer, with his usual whimsical humor. "i bet that there will be a few funeral notes for that fellow who let go the rope," put in jim. "not to speak of what would happen to us if old broome should get his hand on we 'uns," remarked the engineer casually. "he's just mad enough to chaw iron," grinned jim. "well, now, here's for a little acrobatics." jim leaped up to the stone and cement parapet in which the iron fence was set, taking care to leave a few mud traces on the cement; then he went along for some little distance from iron bar to iron bar, and when he rested he did not do so on the wall, so that all trace of their trail was practically lost, even to the nose of a bloodhound. john berwick followed him with greater agility than jim showed, for he was much lighter, and very wiry, so that it was easy work for him compared with the heavier jim. berwick did not guess what their destination might be, though he had some idea that jim's scheme was to get down to the beach, but how this was to be done without getting outside of the grounds he could not figure. then close by he saw the faint outline of a building through the fog, and he thought for the moment that they had come back to the house; however, he recognized it as the stable. this building was a rustic affair, built with logs that still had the bark on, and had originally cost much more than a stone or brick structure would. "here we are," said jim in a low voice; "now look out for the hound." "i don't believe that he is here now," said berwick. this proved to be the case, and they were able to slip into the stable without anyone being the wiser. it seemed like a refuge to the two comrades after the hazards that they had run during the past few hours. and even jim was fagged and worn, and now that there was time for reaction his face showed it. there were deep cuts of fatigue in his cheeks and his eyes looked haggard. they also burned, and his head was full of a sort of vacant daze, from sleeplessness. "i don't know, john, whether i'm hungrier or sleepier, but if i had to choose i think that i would select a nap." "you have had it a lot harder than i have, old chap," said the engineer; "take a lay-off and get some sleep." "i believe i will," agreed jim; "i don't imagine that we will be disturbed for some time at least." there was plenty of hay in the warm, dusky mow, and a cozy, safe place to rest in. "i tell you what, chief," said jim, "let's both take a sleep, and then we will be fresh for what may happen next." "it wouldn't take much urging," replied the engineer; "i'm half dead for sleep myself, but we had better make the doors secure first, in case they should look for us here." "no," rejoined jim, "leave everything open; if they came to the stable and found it locked on the inside, they would know, for sure, that we were in here." "but suppose some of the gang come in here while we are asleep, they would be certain sure to hear one or both of us snoring." "that's right enough," agreed jim, "but i tell you what we can do, we'll crawl down under the hay, get close to the wall, and our loudest snores would be smothered." "i guess you're right," agreed berwick. "so lead on and i will follow." "this reminds me of when i was a boy," declared jim; "when we used to tunnel in the hay to hide in the old barn on the back lot." "when you were a boy," exclaimed berwick, in good-natured raillery. "how old do you consider yourself now, i should like to know?" "oh, i've lived in heartbeats, not in years," said jim; "that makes me about a hundred years old." "it strikes me that it takes a good deal to make your heart beat faster than usual," remarked the engineer; "you are a cool hand if there ever was one." this was a sincere tribute. then the two comrades began to work back under and through the hay, keeping close to the south wall, so that the hay showed no sign of having been disturbed, and in a short time they had burrowed their way clear through, until they reached the back wall. how comfortable and cozy it was in the warm, dry hay! jim stretched his weary length out with a sigh of relief. "ah, john, isn't this great? after being through what we have," exclaimed jim. "it is fine," agreed berwick, "to get into a safe, warm place like this when you have been in constant danger, as we have, and cold and wet besides. here goes for a good sleep." and the word was hardly out of his lips when he was sound asleep. jim looked at his watch by means of a crack of light that came in between the logs, and saw that it was twenty minutes after six. and then, lulled by the sound of the waves at the base of the cliffs, he too sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. he never thought of sleeping beyond a couple of hours, but he had not counted on the effect of his extreme fatigue, and the sudden cessation of the constant strain the two had been under for nearly eighteen hours. so hour after hour went by and still they slept in the cozy and soft dryness of the hay, that has no equal as a bed for the truly weary. it was after two in the afternoon that something happened that roused them; otherwise they might have slept until night, and indeed it was almost as dusk as night, for the fog which had lifted in the morning closed in thicker than ever, so that in the homes and offices of the city the gas lamps and jets were burning. jim awoke with a start, utterly and absolutely bewildered. where he was he could not guess; his mind was a confused daze of fragments of events that had happened during the night of adventure and excitement. then he came to himself and remembered how they came in this strange place. his hand reached out and touched the foot of his sleeping comrade. but what had roused him? there had been something; of that he was certain. so he kept perfectly still, listening with the utmost intentness; then he started slightly, for there was repeated the noise that had roused him from his sleep. it was a low, terrible croon, like "o-o-h--o-o-h," repeated and repeated, and every once in a while its monotone was broken by a sharp shriek. rested though he was, and not liable to nervous tremors, jim felt his flesh creep at the uncanny sound. it came, as far as he could judge, from the open space in the mow not far from the ladder that led up into the loft. but what it was he could not guess, nor its object in coming to this particular spot. one thing was probable, that it had nothing to do with them, and was not indicative of someone on their trail, but it was no pleasant companion to have in that dusky loft. he wished that john berwick might wake, but he did not want to disturb his much-needed rest until necessary. at that moment there came that horrid shriek, and, as if in reply to it, the engineer struggled up with a loud yell. jim had to shake him vigorously to bring him out of his very natural nightmare. the sound outside had suddenly stopped, and jim heard a rustling, creeping noise, and then all was silence. "what in the deuce was that?" whispered berwick. jim made no reply, only put his hand on his friend's shoulder. he could imagine this object rising up and peering through the dusk, trying to make out what that other noise might be, then evidently not much worried about it. after a short interval, it began its peculiar croon again. "i don't know what it is, john," replied jim to his friend's repeated question; "it has been going on some time before you waked. you must have heard it in your sleep, and that is what gave you that nightmare." "it must have been that," remarked the engineer, "because it could not have been anything that i have eaten." there was no doubt about the humor of this. they were able to talk together in low tones, for this object outside seemed to be more concerned with its own troubles than anything else. "how long have we slept?" queried berwick. "bless me if i know," replied jim, "and it is so dark in here now that i can't make out the time." "well, i reckon that it is high time to get up, anyhow," remarked berwick. "it is more a question of getting out than of getting up," remarked james, with his usual quaint humor. but at this point berwick put a hand of caution on jim's shoulder, for he was sure that there was something on hand. chapter xxvii look down and not up the engineer was entirely right. there was somebody knocking at the gate, as they are wont to say in romantic novels, but in this particular case it was the barn doors where the noise was heard. they were rolled back and then came the sound of loud voices, or, to be accurate, they were rather shrill. "that's the mexicans," declared berwick; "they are on our trail." "we will make them get off," remarked jim grimly. "better throw them off," said the engineer wisely. "gosh ding, i don't see how we are going to get out of here now if they decide to make a search of the premises," remarked jim; "we are in for it." john berwick was on the point of saying something about "i told you so," but he thought better of it, for you remember that it had been his idea to fasten the stable when they first came in. "i guess the only thing for us to do is to make a rush for it when they discover us," said jim, "and trust to our luck which seems uncommon bad of late." "due to turn," said berwick; "it's run against us long enough." the men's voices below had suddenly ceased, and then there were signs of a vigorous search on the lower floor. it was only a question of a little time when the search would reach the hay loft, where our two friends were in hiding, and then-- "i'm going to crawl around and see if i can't find some way of getting out of this trap," declared jim. "all right, i'll stay here and guard our common fireside," replied the engineer with his queer twist of humor. "speaking of firesides," remarked jim; "if they would only set fire to this place they would surely get us." "it would be a case of roast pig, as charles lamb says," put in john berwick. "the two would go well together, was he a sheep or a mutton," said jim coarsely, for be it known james was not much of an authority on english literature, the only classics with which he was fully acquainted being, "the frontier boys in every part of the world," which, with shakespeare, forms a complete library. "i fear you are nothing but a bravo, james," remarked his friend. "what's that?" jim inquired. "some other time will do just as well," he declared, "i am going scouting." suiting the action to the word, he started to crawl along the wall, and it did not take him long to get free of the hay, and raising his head, he saw something that made him draw down hurriedly, and take the trail back to where his comrade was waiting. "what luck?" asked berwick. "not a place where a rat could crawl out," remarked jim, "but you just wait. i think there is something going to happen." there did, but it was not exactly what was expected. it was evident that the search below was over, and after a brief parley, heavy feet could be heard coming up the ladder. at the moment that the leader's head appeared through the opening, a gray and ghostly figure rose with its weird, shrill cry of rage that startled the two comrades safely hidden in the hay. the effect upon the intruders can be easily guessed. these superstitious mexicans had known vaguely of a woman haunting this castle by the sea. sometimes they had seen a gray, creeping figure at the end of the hall or heard a piercing cry ring out at midnight, and now this creature was about to spring upon them and curse them to the bottomless pit. there was a cry of fright, and in leaping back, the man near the top of the ladder knocked over the one below, and he in turn the next, so that it was like when a ball hits the king pin and the others are sent sprawling. the searching party fled in panic and dismay out of the barn, and nothing could have persuaded them to have set foot in those haunted walls again, no, not even the threats of the redoubtable captain william broome himself. what the outcome would have been had the captain been on hand, it is difficult to say, for it was commonly supposed that he was in fear of nothing. "well, what did i tell you, jack?" questioned jim smiling grimly. "there was something on hand sure enough." "what under the canopy was that thing doing?" exclaimed john berwick. "it gave me the creeps, and that is a sensation that does not bother me very much these days." "that was the story of a haunted house," replied jim, "but it is safe enough now since our friends, the enemy, have fled. let us go out and see for ourselves if you aren't too timid." "anybody who survives the excitement of following your fortunes for a few weeks cannot be very timid," replied berwick candidly. jim grinned, but made no reply, and in a few moments they emerged from the hay into the dusk of the loft. for a few seconds they made out nothing, and then from the deeper shadow a dim figure took shape, and advanced towards them. jim was the nearest to her, and berwick was very well pleased that this was so. jim showed no uneasiness. "thank you for driving them away," he said quietly, peering down at the strange face that looked up at him from its hooded gray, and then she laughed at him with insane mirth. it would have done severe damage to less hardy nerves than those which our "hero" possessed. jim regarded her with unwavering kindness, which seemed to reach through the gray cloud of her unhappy condition, much as the clear sun penetrates the mist. "the old devil has gone," she volunteered. "ah, the captain," said jim to berwick quietly. "she could mean no other," agreed his friend. "perhaps we had better follow his example." "and the young lady?" questioned jim. there was a nod of the head, and even while they were speaking, the woman had faded back into the shadows. they did not disturb her, for it would be to no purpose. "how had we better get out of here, that is the question," continued berwick. "i thought we might go out the back way," remarked jim. "how, jump?" inquired berwick, who remembered the cliff, one hundred feet sheer descent, that bounded the precincts of the castle, except that shut in by the iron fence. "it won't be hard," said jim, "if we can find a rope around here, and i think we can." "if we do, we will keep enough to hang the captain with," said berwick grimly. "there's a souvenir hanging from the chimney," said jim with a grin. "better leave that for santa claus," remarked the engineer thoughtfully. "santa claus doesn't come to california," replied james; "they don't have christmas weather here." "get lost in the fog, that's a fact," remarked berwick. "come," cried jim, "let us find some rope." down the stairs they went, and it did not take them long to discover a tar-hued rope coiled in one of the empty feed bins. "here's our treasure," said berwick; "it belongs to the old sea dog evidently. i suppose you want me to hold it, while you climb gracefully down." "hardly," mocked jim. "i'd land so suddenly that it would drive my heels into my head. here's a sliding window at the back here. let's see how it looks below." at the word, jim pushed back the window and poking his head out took a good long look. "overhangs the water," exclaimed jim as he pulled back. "let me have a peek," said the engineer, and looking down he saw the waves rushing in against the black rock of the cliff a hundred feet or more beneath. when the water withdrew there was a wet stretch of sandy cove, and then the waves came in with a foaming rush. "it's pretty near high now," said berwick, as he pulled his head in. "i don't think it would be much of a trick to get around that projection of the cliff to the beach," remarked jim. "maybe," replied berwick noncommittally, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "you can swim like a fish," put in jim who had noted the shrug of his comrade's shoulders. "but i was thinking of you, my poor friend," replied the engineer. "what would become of you if the hungry ocean should seize upon you with its white and foaming teeth?" "oh, i'd wade out," remarked jim nonchalantly. "humph," grunted berwick; "by the way, jim, i think i can find something of real interest here." he got down on his knees and began very carefully to brush away with his hands the débris on the floor. "you ain't lost that diamond ring i gave you?" questioned jim in mock anxiety. he, too, got down on the floor and began to dust for himself. "i've found it," cried berwick; "just get your hulk off this door." jim obeyed promptly, exclaiming, "hully gee, it's a trap!" "what would you expect?" replied the engineer. "the captain could use this nicely in his line of trade i'm thinking." "that is where that poor fellow would have been sent, whom we found in the gulch," exclaimed jim. "certain thing," agreed his friend. "i've got an idea," said jim, lying flat on the floor. he stuck his head through the trap door while his friend held him solicitously by his legs so he could not do the sudden disappearance act. "i can fix it," declared jim as he pulled his head back; "just let me have the end of that rope." the engineer did as requested, and jim slipped the rope's end around one of the log joists and tied it securely. "it will be a good thing to have this fastened here, in case we should have to come back," remarked jim. "which i hope we won't until we get something to eat," said berwick, who was not so young and enthusiastic as to find sufficient food in an adventure as jim did. "might fish through here," remarked jim. "yes, with a bent pin," replied the engineer caustically, "as far as getting anything to eat." jim laughed gleefully. "well, i'm off, or down rather," he said, his face growing sober. "you're next, chief." chapter xxviii a square meal however, before jim began his descent, he cut off some of the rope. "that might come in handy, you know," he said. then without any more adieu he let himself down, caught the edge of the trap, then dropped, seizing the rope and thus hand over hand until he was within a few feet of the water, then watching his chance as a wave receded, he dropped onto the sand and at top speed made around the projecting cliff. it extended, however, farther than he had thought, and the returning water caught him and it was only by his exerting himself to the utmost that he was able to grip a narrow outcrop of the rock from the face of the cliff. instantly he thought of his comrade, who was much lighter than himself, and though he could swim it would not help him much against the fierce rush of the water. a little above him there was quite a wide ledge. this he gained as quickly as he could. meanwhile john berwick had let himself through the trap door, closing it down, and began his descent of the rope. "look out, john!" came jim's voice from an unexpected quarter; "it's dangerous around that curve. i'll fling you a rope if you don't make it." "aye, aye, sir," cried the engineer; "here goes." then he dropped on the skirt of the retreating waves and dashed around the promontory, but the water coming back caught him. however, he got further than jim because he was even quicker and more active. nevertheless, the charging water clutched him all the more fiercely because of the nearness of his escape, and it took him up towards the beach side of the cliff. "catch it," yelled jim, flinging him the rope. but to his surprise and dismay, the engineer made no effort to seize the rope. perhaps, thought jim, he was already overcome, but this was not the case. berwick, who was an excellent swimmer, had a plan of his own, for he was not bewildered or frightened and he had noted one or two things even as the wave caught him. he would not catch the rope flung to him because of the chance of dragging jim off his perch in spite of the latter's great strength, and then, too, he was liable to be hurled against the cliff and be badly injured, so he let the wave carry him back, exerting himself so as to be brought nearer the beach on the return. being a splendid swimmer, as has been said, he made it with a few yards to spare between the edge of the cliff and the sand. jim drew a big sigh of relief when he saw his friend safe and prepared to get out of his own difficulty. he was able by careful climbing to edge and work his way down until at last he was within a twelve-foot leap of the beach. this he did with ease, lighting gently in the soft sand. "why, john, you look damp," he said as his friend joined him. "been in swimming?" "i always like to take a salt bath before eating," replied his friend; "gives you a relish for your dinner, you know." "by jove, if you are going to get any more relish for your meal, i will be hanged if i am going to pay for it," said jim with a laugh. "come on," said berwick, paying no attention to jim's persiflage. away they trudged across the sandy beach towards the funny little restaurant of two cars where they had eaten the night before. whatever surprise the stout german may have felt at seeing them altogether soaked and disguisedly dirty, and likewise alive, he showed none; he was strictly business. "vell, gentlemans, and vat vill you haf this time?" he inquired. "everything you've got," said berwick shortly. "a salad and after dinner coffee for my friend," put in jim, "and i will take"--and here jim enumerated a bill of fare that would have done credit to two men. "the same for me," said the engineer, imperturbably, when james had finished his little spiel. "i denk you gentlemens are hungry," said herr scheff, as he saw a chance to make a big profit. "mein gottness!" it was the voice of frau scheff, "mein kindlins, you are drowned, poor tings, come, fix you fine and gute. you go ahead and cook dem blenty," she commanded her husband as she saw a frown on his forehead. he knew that tone of voice and obeyed. the two comrades followed her into the cozy bedroom. "i vill haf to give you mein herr's clothes, it's all i haf," and she smiled broadly. "thank you, frau scheff," replied jim; "while ours are getting dry it will give us more room to eat." "aye, dot is a true wort," and she laughed with a jolly, shaking heartiness. it was comical beyond words when they made the change in clothing, while frau scheff had gone to the front to help her husband to prepare the meal for the two guests. the engineer, who was short, was almost lost in the voluminous trousers of mein host, and could have easily tied them around his neck, while another pair came to half mast on the long-legged jim, and were much too large so that they flapped like a sail. "talk about dressing for dinner, john, you ought certainly to be pleased," said jim with a grin. "no time for humor," declared the engineer; "i am too weak to laugh." at this saying, he tripped in his newly acquired garments and fell full length, and jim over him. they were both so exhausted from laughing they could scarcely get up. jim was the first to arise and he helped up the other "end man," for that was the character the two suggested to each other. when they got in the quaint restaurant car, the proprietor accepted their appearance with professional gravity, only growling under his breath, "it's a wonder lena didn't let them have mein best suit." what a repast the two comrades found on the little round table in the corner, covered with a snowy cloth! two big thick tender steaks well garnished with potato salad, the handiwork of frau lena scheff, creamed potatoes, huge cups of delicious coffee and a grand finale of broad, sugar-frosted, german pancakes. by the time this feast was finished their own garments were thoroughly dry, and as lightning change artists they appeared in their own clothes, renewed in body as well as in appearance. "we have fed and slept," said berwick, "and ought to be ready for the next move." "herr scheff," questioned jim, "do you happen to know where we can get a good rowboat?" this gave to his comrade some indication of what the next move would be. "yah! yah! mein freund," replied the german, who felt as gracious as it was possible for him to feel. "you go down the beach haf a mile and you find a fisherman and him got two very nice boats." thanking their german acquaintance, they spoke a hearty good-by to frau scheff who bade them a cheerful and affectionate farewell, making them promise to come to the restaurant when they needed food, clothing or shelter. the two comrades started down the beach, continuing until they came to a sheltered cove where, in a small, ship-shape hut, they found a weazened old fisherman who regarded them with taciturn scrutiny when they told him what they wanted. "for a couple of days you want my boat? all right, i charge you five dollars." jim readily agreed to this. "we haven't got much sense," exclaimed the engineer suddenly. "if we are going on a cruise we ought to have some provisions." jim hit his skull a sound rap. "dunkerhead," he exclaimed. "i tell you, john, when we select the boat we will row up to frau scheff's and lay in a supply. that must have been my original plan, but i forgot it," concluded jim brazenly. berwick threw back his head and laughed heartily. "there is no getting away from it, jim, you have a good opinion of yourself." this gave jim a certain shock as the expression of his face showed. "i was only joshing," he said, and there was a slight sense of hurt in his tones that berwick was quick to recognize. "that's all right, old chap," he said, "your head is level." this straightened out, they went and took a look at the old sailor's two boats in the cove. one was painted white with a red stripe, and the other was as black as a venetian gondola. "that's a beauty," exclaimed jim enthusiastically, looking at the lines of her, and he pointed to the black boat. "she oughter be, i built her myself," said the old sailor, "and i know somethin' about boats, too." "got speed?" ejaculated jim. "enough to burn a streak across this bay, boy." jim laughed good-naturedly, and the old sailor was evidently pleased with his appreciation. chapter xxix a reminiscence the bargain completed, the two comrades were about to board the craft when the old sailor of the cove interposed. "i reckon you ain't in any sort of a hurry. if you start across the bay now before it gets plumb dark old bill broome is liable to ketch yer," and the aged fellow gave jim a shrewd look from under his grizzled eyebrows. "i guess that he wouldn't really do us any damage," replied jim, with an assumed carelessness. "i should think that you would have to look out for him, yourself," put in the engineer; "he's just as likely as not to drop in on you sometime, and take your two boats and such ballast as you have stowed away in your cabin, that he might take a fancy to." "him," said the old sailor with indescribable contempt; "why, old bill wouldn't come within a mile of my cabin, unless he was drug here. i had quite a set-to with him a few years ago, and since thet time he don't even pass the time of day with me." he was quick to see that he had roused the deep interest of his two visitors. "come in to my cabin, while i smoke a pipe," he continued, "and i'll tell yer about that fracas between old broome and myself." "certainly we will come in," said the engineer; "we are in no rush that i know of." "suits me," agreed jim tersely. they entered the cabin through a low doorway that caused jim to stoop his proud crest as it were. the interior was snug and cozy with brown-hued walls and wooden beams that gave the room the appearance of a ship's cabin. a large lamp swung from the center of the ceiling gave a tempered light through a green shade. there were several nautical prints upon the wall, and in front of a small stove, wherein glowed coals through its iron teeth, lay on a rug of woven rags a huge yellow cat stretched out at full and comfortable length. everything was scrupulously neat about the place, and kept in ship-shape condition. the old man seated himself in a hacked wooden chair with semicircular arms and a green cushion. jim took his place on a sea-chest, once green but now much faded, and with heavy rope handles, while the engineer occupied the other chair. after the sailor's wrinkled old wife had brought in some coffee for his two guests, and he had filled his short black pipe, he began his narrative of his once-time scrap with captain william broome, of unpious memory. "that was one of the most unusual jobs i ever tackled when i took command of the _storm king_ for j. j. singleton." "that's the famous mining man, who used to live in san francisco," remarked john berwick. "the same fellow," continued the old sailor, "and in spite of his money he had a lot of sensible ideas. you see, old 'j. j,' as he was known hereabouts, had three sons, the oldest seventeen, and their mother being dead for some years he brought 'em up according as he thought best. had 'em work in one of his mines learning to run an engine and earning their own money. the youngest was on a big cattle ranch that the old man owned down in the southern part of the state. "he told the boys that when they earned a certain amount they could put it into a steam yacht and what was lacking he would make up. maybe those kids didn't work hard for some years until they had what was needed. i had been in command of one of singleton's coasting ships and the old man picked me to take charge of the _storm king_, which was the fool name of the yacht that they invested in, but there was nothing the matter with the boat herself. "'teach 'em navigating, captain,' he says to me in his final instructions, 'and give 'em a taste of the rope's end if they ain't sharp to obey orders.' "but shucks, i had no trouble with them boys, they weren't like rich men's sons, but knew what hard work meant and could obey orders as well as give 'em. the oldest one's name was john--about your size," pointing to jim, "but one of those sandy complected chaps, with white eyelashes and cool, gray eyes and no end of grit. the other two named sam and joe, were active, competent lads, and they had brought with them a friend off the cattle ranch, whom they called 'comanche,' and i want you to know that boy was some shot with a revolver, rifle or cannon. "well, the second day out was where captain bill broome put in an appearance. he was a smuggler and cutthroat in those days, and did a little kidnaping on the side." "he hasn't reformed yet either," put in jim. "not him," agreed the narrator; "he thought that he would make a rich haul on this occasion if he could get hold of the three singleton boys and hold them for ransom. as soon as i saw the long, gray _shark_, which i was quick to recognize, and noticed how she hung on our course, i knew what the game was and, as she had the speed on us, i saw that it was a case of fight or surrender. i can tell you it wasn't a pleasant situation for me. i felt my responsibility and i didn't want to face old singleton if anything happened to those boys. i told 'em exactly what we was facing, and it would warm your heart to have seen the spirit they showed. "the oldest one declared that their father would never give up one cent if they surrendered until their ship sank under 'em, and i guess the lad was right. now we had three cannon aboard, a long, black, six pounder mounted aft, which the boys had named 'black tom,' and two smaller brass cannon forward on the bridge deck on either side. i had grinned at these guns when they were first taken aboard, considering that they were part of a kid game, and said to the old man that i wasn't qualified to command a man-of-war and that we might be able to trade the brass pieces for an island to some chief in the south seas, but now i saw that they might come in handy, and enable us to land a few kicks in old bill's side even if he got us later, as was almost certain, for he was sure to have the range on us. "i could see a long, wicked gun that the _shark_ carried forward, and there were three cannon on a side; these i could make out clearly through my glass. 'i'll navigate the ship,' i said to john singleton, 'and you fight her.' "'agreed to that, sir,' he answered, gripping my hand, and i was soon to learn that he was no kid at the fighting game either. it was now about eleven of a clear morning, with a smooth and slightly rolling sea; the _shark_ was drawing up slowly and steadily, and was about five miles astern. "'i reckon it will be an hour and a half before she gets within range, captain,' said john singleton. "'just about that,' i replied, wondering how he had estimated it so closely, but he was one of the most practical chaps i ever saw. "that will give us time for a good sound feed," remarked john. 'but i don't feel like eating, jack,' protested his younger brother, sam. "'sure you've got to eat, sam,' replied john; 'this game isn't going to be anything like as fierce as what you and i have faced in the mining camp. take my word for it, you won't be fit for anything unless you have a square meal.' i couldn't help but admire the way in which the lad put heart into his brothers, and i felt confident that he would more than hold his end up when it came to the fighting. however, it seemed to me, the contest could end only one way and as a forlorn hope, i steered southwest on the chance of cutting across the course of one of the pacific steamers, but all i succeeded in raising was the sail of a borkentine low down to the south and a few points west. "about half past two that afternoon the trouble began. the _shark_ was nearing the half-mile limit; a long, gray boat of iron, built for speed and stripped of all superfluous tackle. "'they are getting ready to show their teeth,' remarked john, pointing to a group of three men in the bow. "besides the men in the bow of the _shark_, there were several in the waist leaning over the rail and sizing up the _storm king_ with cold and calculating eyes. "'let's give 'em a shot, john,' i heard joe urge. "'no hurry,' replied his brother; 'don't let them worry you into wasting any ammunition.' "in a few minutes john singleton turned to me, 'could you turn her course a few points to the north, captain?' he asked. "'certainly,' i replied. "'thank you,' responded the lad, 'i've a plan and it won't take over five minutes.' "then he and his friend, comanche, lowered one of the ship's boats on the starboard side, where it was sheltered from the sight of the enemy by the deck cabins just abaft the midships. in this boat were two rifles, heavily loaded and ready for action. what the boy's scheme was i did not foresee but it was to develop a short time later. "upon the quarter deck of the _shark_ paced the figure of captain broome, with his long, swinging gorilla-like arms. suddenly he stopped, put his hand to his mouth and shouted an order to the men in the bow of the ship. then came the quick move of one of the men. a flash leaped from the mouth of the forward gun, a dull detonation, and a white cloud of smoke curled back over the bow of the _shark_, while the shell plunged into the water directly in front of our prow. "'that's for us to heave to,' cried john; 'give him our answer, comanche, and give it to him hard!' "comanche obeyed with belligerent willingness, and with an accuracy of aim that was utterly surprising to old bill broome, for the round shot struck his boat amidship, and it fell back into the water. the distance was too great to do execution, but a yell of triumph went up from the boys on the deck of the _storm king_. "'just a little higher next time,' cried jack singleton; 'sweep the rascal's decks for him.' "it was good advice and now the fight was on, and it was like a real naval engagement, with the constant bark of the guns, the heavy clouds of white sulphurous smoke rolling over the quiet sea between the combatants, and the thrusting flames from the mouths of the guns flashing into the smoke. but the fire of the enemy was becoming more accurate and deadly, and it was a question of only a few minutes before a well-directed shot would completely disable us. "'pull down our flag, captain,' yelled john singleton; 'let him come alongside.' "it seemed to me the only thing to do, and in a couple of minutes the long gray _shark_ had slipped through the smoke on our portside. old bill could not resist the temptation to make some remarks before he boarded us. "'i'd like to know, cap'n, what you, and your parcel of kids mean by attacking me on the high seas, me going along peaceable, just enjoying a fishin' cruise for my health. i'll take it out of yer blasted hide for making me this trouble, and i'll baste them pretty boys of your'n to a finish, or my name ain't bill broome!' "'which it ain't,' i says, and i proceeded to hand him out a line of talk that kept him eager to say something else about my character. "you see i noticed that john and comanche had disappeared just as the _shark_ hove alongside, and i intended to give them all the time i could, and i could of yelled when i see'd john creeping up behind the cap'n; and the next second he had felled him with the butt of his rifle, and comanche had done the same for two of the men who were standing in the waist of the ship, joining in our previous conversation. "well, it wasn't ten seconds before i was aboard with four of my crew and it was no time before we had possession of that ship. now you see the purpose of john singleton in lowering the boat when he did. he had used it to slip around the stern of the _shark_ and to slip up on bill broome and his crew." "great work," cried jim, in admiration, "but what did you do with 'em when you had them caught?" "that didn't bother us long," said the old fellow; "we didn't want their company, and we had to fix it so they wouldn't bother us, so we put their engines out of commission, so they had to use their small sails; broke their cannons, and threw all their ammunition into the sea, and left them, to their own devices." "where is the _storm king_ and her crew now, captain?" asked the engineer with evident interest. "cruising down in the south seas, i reckon." "some time we may run across them, eh, chief?" questioned jim. "stranger things have happened," replied berwick with a knowing grin. "well, i don't intend to let john singleton beat me at the game with our mutual friend, captain broome," remarked jim, as he rose to his feet. "the old chap was right enough," remarked jim, as the two of them sent the beautiful boat over the slightly rolling waters of the gray, sodden-hued bay towards frau scheff's. "if money can buy her, i am going to own this boat. there is no telling when we might find use for her, if we ever go down into the south seas." "you want something bigger than this low, black, rakish craft if you are going to be a pirate in the south seas," remarked berwick caustically. "indeed, yes!" agreed jim. "i'm sure going to have the _sea eagle_ over yonder," and he nodded his head in the direction of the open bay. "when captain broome gets done with her?" questioned berwick slyly. "perhaps sooner; i dunno," said jim gloomily. they beached their long, low, black craft on the sands below the restaurant of herr and frau scheff, and from that base of supplies laid in a liberal stock of provisions, enough to last for a day at least. there was some ham, a loaf of bread, butter and an apple pie. sauerkraut they had to politely refuse, for, as jim said in an aside to his friend, "there was no disguising their trail from the enemy if they carried that." but they had plenty of other necessities, including tea and coffee. they were also loaned a few necessary cooking utensils, and thus equipped, they launched out in their skiff once more. chapter xxx jim boards the pirate "whither away, brother?" questioned john berwick, as they bent gently and rhythmically to the oars. "i thought we might lay alongside the _sea eagle_, and invite brother broome to surrender," suggested jim. "all right, i'm with you, as i can't walk ashore," replied john berwick. however, instead of rowing straight in the direction of the _sea eagle_, jim bent a circuitous course around her. it was now growing towards evening and a heavy fog was rolling in even then over the sea towards the golden gate. the two comrades in a short time reached the western shore of the bay near which the _sea eagle_ lay anchored. here they rowed slowly along, looking for some place to camp. at first the shore was high and rocky, but after rowing for nearly a mile they came to a small inlet where a tiny stream trickled down from a hidden spring above in the woods. there were pines and sycamore trees both, and altogether it was a delightful place for a camp. jim's trained eye took it all in at a glance. "here's where we haul in, john," he said. "it looks good to me," agreed berwick. indeed, it was an excellent place, well sheltered, and with good water. the rest they had with them. "what time are you going to make your attack, jim, my boy?" asked berwick. "i fancy any time between eleven and one would do," said jim. "that will give us time to get in a couple of hours' sleep at least. it's just as well to store up a little rest. there is no telling what will happen; when we once get started it may be a week before we get another chance." "correct," said berwick; "which watch shall i take, captain?" "the first," said jim, "if you don't mind." "but i do mind," said berwick quickly, "when i'm told." while jim sat watching some hours later, with everything quiet except the gentle lapping of the water along the rocky shore, his mind reverted to the incidents of the past few hours, but quickly changed to the distant scene of his home. "i wish i had jo and tom with me, and juarez, too; it looks to me as though there was going to be a change of scene soon, and then we will need 'em by way of reënforcements." he brooded thus to himself over his home folks and the chances of the future until it was time for them to reconnoiter the enemy if nothing else was done. "i have given john three-quarters of an hour longer than he expected," he said as he looked at his watch. "it is now a quarter of twelve." berwick responded promptly to the call of time. "jove!" he said, "i don't see how you can pick up the _sea eagle_ or anything else in such thick weather." "it would not be easy if we struck out direct from this inlet," replied jim, "but i'm going to keep along the shore to a point that i made a note of coming in, and then row direct out; we can't lose her." they did accordingly, but they had to row very slowly, so that jim could be able to make out his landmark. "there it is," he said. "see, here is a point of rock that juts out; there is no mistaking it." "what is your plan?" asked the engineer. "there is only one thing to do," replied jim; "we are not taking this exercise for our health. we will drop along the _sea eagle_, board her, find where the señorita is, and row her ashore." "are you sure she is on the yacht?" queried berwick. "nowhere else," replied jim stoutly. "you don't suppose that old broome would leave her in the castle after the alarm we raised. the reason he didn't search for us around the premises was because he had gone off to hide on the _sea eagle_." nothing more was said, and they rowed slowly from the point of departure until they saw the faint loom of the _sea eagle_ through the night and fog. there was a light astern and two forward, one on the starboard and the other on the port, while a fourth shed a dim light from the masthead. there was no sound, whatever, and no figure in sight, which was not remarkable, considering you could see no distance whatever on account of the thick fog, but jim was seaman enough to know that there was sure to be someone on the bridge, and a watch forward. berwick brought the boat gently along the side near the stern rail and jim was aboard in a jiffy. then the engineer pushed off for a few feet where he and the black boat could not be seen, and waited in ambush for what might happen. he believed that jim stood a good chance to rescue the señorita, a much better chance, in fact, than when she was held captive in the castle. once get her into the boat and they, too, would make sure of her safety. jim felt a thrill as he once more set foot on the well-known deck. he felt strong enough to take her back single-handed, and what would he not have given to be on the bridge again, with jo and the rest of the old crew on deck, and the _sea eagle_ pushing her nose out through the golden gate, heading for the enchanted regions of the tropic seas. but jim took only a moment for such romancing. there was grim and hard work ahead before he could ever be master of his own boat again. he knew the ship as a hand does a glove, and in this there was a great advantage. he cautiously tried the doors of the staterooms on the upper deck. in one he made out the lean figure of the second mate in his bunk, sound asleep. at that moment he saw the door of the captain's cabin open. jim glided aft and crouched low near the capstan, where he was hard to be distinguished from a coil of rope. he saw the squat figure of captain broome with the long, swinging, gorilla-like arms revealed in the light which shone from the interior of the cabin, and then he slammed the door and strolled forward towards the bridge. jim held his breath, hoping he would not come his way. when the old pirate had disappeared, jim completed his search of the deck staterooms, but the señorita was in none of them. the only thing that remained for jim was to search the rooms leading from the main saloon below. he rather mistrusted going down there, and he had most sincerely hoped that the girl would be in one of the deck rooms, then his task would have been comparatively easy, but it seemed as if luck was breaking against him. he went cautiously but quickly along the deck until he reached the stairway leading down into the cabin. there was the large lamp lit in the saloon, but turned very low. as he cautiously descended into the saloon his heart went into his throat at the sight of the gaunt woman with the red hair who had been the señorita's jailer in the castle. she was apparently asleep on one of the divans, but jim would have much rather seen anyone else on guard than this redoubtable woman whose vigilance had been his undoing before. it might have been possible to have outwitted or defeated a man, but he really was in some awe of this amazon. the first thing for jim to do was to determine which of the four cabins opening off the saloon was the prison of the señorita. he could not go from one to the other opening the doors, for the woman on guard would be sure to hear, nor could he say after the manner of children, "my mother told me to take this one." it was like the suitor of portia in the "merchant of venice," who was forced to choose his fate from one of three chests with misleading mottoes on them. but there was no time to lose. should he take a chance? there seemed no other way. however, jim was an experienced scout, as the reader well knows, and his skill could be put to use inside of walls as well as out on the desert or in the pathless mountains, where he might be searching for some obscure trail. he crawled over the heavily carpeted floor on his hands and knees to the first door, but he found no trace to guide him. the second seemed to reward his scrutiny, for the nap of the rug showed the imprint of feet and the brass knob of the door was somewhat tarnished. at that moment he heard the sound of heavy feet upon the stairway. he knew that tread; he had heard it before. there was no hiding-place except under the hanging of the heavy tablecloth, and with a quiet celerity, jim slid under its protection just as the woman stirred from the divan, and then the captain's heavy, growling voice made itself heard as he came down into the saloon. "i'm going to pull anchor out of here to-morrow, ann," said the skipper; "it's jest about time." "what hour, brother?" asked the woman. this startled jim, who had not guessed that this woman was any relation of the redoubtable bill broome, and that so human a word as "brother" could be applied to the old pirate had never entered his head. this rawboned woman was quite the equal of her brother, and her life had brought out that hardness and cruelty that is latent only too often in the new england character. to her question the captain replied, "not later than four if we are to get clear. i'm going into frisco on a little business first." "do we take the gal?" questioned the woman, following his thought in some obscure way. "then she is here," mused jim. "part way, anyhow," he rumbled in his harsh voice. "every day of bother getting rid of her brings up her price." jim felt the hot blood of rage warm the roots of his hair. the cold-blooded cruelty and calculation of it made him long to get hold of the old codger. perhaps he would in a moment. "git me something to eat, ann, old gal," he said. "i'd better begin to lay in ballast for to-morrow." the captain took his seat at the table, and put his feet squarely on the unsuspected jim. then came the explosion. "by tarnation thunder, there's somebody under thar," he exclaimed, rising to his feet. jim crawled from under as quick as he could, and with a sense of sullen fury he saw the game was up for a second time. if he had cared to escape without striking a blow he did not have a chance. as he emerged the captain was on his back with all the ferocity of a hyena. "it's that blasted young beggar again," he yelled. "we'll do him good this time." chapter xxxi the end, a new start jim, well fed and rested, was up to his full strength, and to this was added his fierce anger against the captain. not on his own personal account, but because of his heartless cruelty towards the captive girl whom he had in his power and was holding for ransom. with a twist jim got hold of the back of captain bill broome's neck, and by means of a mighty wrench he got the old wretch around in front of him, breaking free from his hold. jim sent him staggering back. as the captain, regaining his footing, rushed forward like an enraged bull, jim darlington measured him with a crashing blow on the jaw that sent him dazed against a sharp edge of woodwork that cut his scalp and laid him out for the moment. drawn by the racket, the first and second mate came tumbling down, and joined in the attack, but jim knew a trick or two about boxing and surprised them with lightning blows that they did not know how to block. he was hampered, however, by a lack of space. nevertheless, as they came to close quarters, jarred and bleeding, jim was able to fling them off, the sinews of his powerful frame working in perfect unison. just at the moment he was free, he stumbled over the prostrate body of the captain, who thus accomplished more by his prone position than when he was on his feet and in the midst of the fray. at this juncture, the amazon sister jumped into the fight. she had run up on deck for a purpose, when the fight started, and returned with a marlin spike. jim was so involved with the two mates for a few brief seconds that he did not see her, and would not have paid much attention if he had, he was so full of the struggle in hand. as jim stumbled, before he could regain his feet, the woman brought down the marlin spike with a glancing blow on the side of his head. the boy dropped as though dead. there was no doubt of the strength of the captain's sister. she was evidently more than a match for any man aboard, and it was little wonder that the youth lay like a log, the blood streaming from a cut on the side of his head. he had not heard the shriek of the señorita as she threw open the door of her cabin prison and saw jim lying almost at her feet. as she stooped to his help (she was no hysterical girl to faint at the sight of blood), she was thrust violently back, after a short struggle, by the captain's sister, and locked in the cabin. however, she did not weep or wring her hands, but she became suddenly, even ominously quiet, her eyes shining in the pallor of her face with a luminous light. meanwhile, there was a council of war outside in the cabin as to the disposal of their prostrate enemy. old captain broome had recovered enough to enable him to stand up, holding on to the table, but he was still swaying somewhat, and was an ugly looking customer with his cut face. "better put him in the hold until we get out to sea," said the amazon sister. "i reckon he's done for this time," said the captain; "he oughter be if you gave him one of your love taps, anne," he concluded, with a ghastly grin. the woman bent down and coolly felt the boy's pulse, and pushed back the lids of his eyes, with no more show of feeling than if he had not been a human being. "he ain't quite done for," she said, getting to her feet. "then he will be, durn soon," declared the old captain venomously. "here, bill, you and gus take him up on deck and throw him over. that sure will finish him. one of you take his feet and t'other his head, and ann will give you a hist up the stairs. i'm too joggled to help any, but i will give him my blessing as he goes over, that is, if you don't feel too squeamish to do it." the two mates laughed at this with great heartiness. "i will say this for that young feller, he was some fighter," remarked bill. "i have handled some hard specimens in my time, but he was the toughest yet. he handed me and gus a couple of cuffs that made our jaws wobble." they got the limp figure up the stairs with the amazon's help, but she did not follow, but went below to get her brother something to eat as his strenuous day had begun, and he stood in need of immediate ballast. the scene just enacted might have been a daily occurrence from her perfect indifference, as indeed scenes of violence no doubt were, but none of the men could equal her in _sangfroid_. now they were on deck. which way would they turn, to the right or left rail. they did not know it, but it would make all the difference in the world which side they would choose. "i tell you, boys, you can throw him overboard in front of my cabin; that would just suit me to the ground," said the captain. "aye, aye, sir," replied the amiable pair of mates. it was accomplished in short order. there was a heave of the shoulders, and then a heavy splash into the dark waters beneath. no one heard or heeded a low wailing cry from the prisoner in the cabin. she knew what had happened. she flung the small port hole open as jim fell and the water from the impact splashed into her face. then to her unspeakable relief she saw a black boat glide to where the figure came up, and she saw that he was in safe hands. with a quick motion she knotted her daintily-scented handkerchief and tossed it into the boat as it swept by. it had her monogram on it, and the engineer was quick to seize the handkerchief as well as the import of it. "i will give it to him, señorita," he said in a low voice. then the boat was one with the darkness, and was gone from her sight, but she was happy knowing that jim was safe. she was not thinking of herself and her own danger at the time, as is the way of some women. john berwick, the engineer, had had an anxious time while jim had been conducting his séance on board the ship, and it was his prompt action that had saved his friend. it was some luck, too, that the three rascals aboard had not sighted the slender dark boat, but they were dazed somewhat, due to the effect of jim's fierce attack upon them, and likewise the two comrades deserved a little luck considering how fortunate their enemies had been of late. berwick lost no time in pulling for the shore, and had no difficulty in finding the outjutting rock which was the point of departure. * * * * * it was a full two hours before berwick could bring jim fully around, and then the latter sat by a bright camp fire in the cove, pale and drawn, with a handkerchief tied around his injured head. he was drinking some coffee, but as yet he could not eat anything. "who was the guy, john, who first called women the weaker sex?" inquired jim, in a faint and injured tone. "some chump who probably died a sadder and a wiser man," replied his friend. "i only wish the gentle annie back there had given him a tap with the shillalah," remarked jim. finally, by the time the fog thickened, jim was himself once more and the two comrades had determined upon their course. they had this advantage in that they knew, from what jim had overheard, something of the immediate plans of captain bill broome and his evil crew, and what actually occurred will be fully and graphically told in the "frontier boys in the south seas." furthermore, at this particular time, the captain believed his enemy drowned beyond all possibility of a doubt; therefore, he would not be on his guard against him in the future, and would know of no need to hurry his departure. "all aboard now, john," said jim. he rose stiffly to his feet. "we will row across the bay to the city and charter a fast craft to follow these beggars. i guess there will be a surprise in store for those blooming pirates in a few days." "we are short of cash, captain," remarked john; "i don't see how we are going to get a boat." "trust to luck," said jim; "it is coming our way i tell you. that was the break when i wasn't drowned this morning." it came out, the luck part, as jim said, and yet it was nothing so remarkable, for as they had rowed some distance on their way and were between the shore and the _sea eagle_, john berwick suddenly stopped at a gesture from jim. "hold on," he whispered, "there is a boat coming our way." sure enough, in half a minute a rapidly propelled boat shot into their circle of the fog. it was pulled by two powerful hawaiians and heading for the _sea eagle_. in the stern sat the humped and well-known and sinister figure of the mexican dwarf. "halt, there," cried jim. the two hawaiians obeyed with indifferent good nature. "none of that, manuel," yelled jim, as the mexican started to draw, and himself leveling a revolver which they had captured in the castle. it is true it had but one cartridge in it, but that was enough with jim at the directing end of it. the mexican wilted as he saw the game was up, and his transfer was quickly made. then jim after a hasty and vigorous search, with a yell of triumph, unbuckled his treasure belt which the mexican had stolen from, him on the train. "what did i tell you about our luck, john, old boy?" cried jim. "you boys come along with us," he continued, speaking to the hawaiians; "we give you good pay and treat you right." "yes, yes," they agreed smilingly, adding, "wele ke hau." this was their native phrase of enthusiasm; in other words, their college yell. so they took the place of the oarsmen in the black boat, and trailed the other behind. they rowed with splendid speed and precision towards the city. the mexican laid in the bottom of the boat at jim's feet, securely tied. the tables were turned, indeed. i need not weary you with the business details by which jim darlington and the engineer got the boat they wanted, nor how they were joined by tom, jo and juarez, but at three o'clock one fair day the _sea eagle_ glided gracefully through the golden gate and turned her prow to the southwest, and in due time thereafter a slender but powerfully engined black boat slipped through to the open sea and on the trail. and now, jim darlington, and your crew, the best of good luck go with you, for we know you all of old, and we like you. vale. the city that was a requiem of old san francisco by will irwin this is a recast of a newspaper article of the same title published in the sun april , , three days after the visitation came upon san francisco. it is here published by special permission of the sun. for the title, i am indebted to franklin matthews. w.i. "i'd rather be a busted lamp post on battery street, san francisco, than the waldorf-astoria."--willie britt. the old san francisco is dead. the gayest, lightest hearted, most pleasure loving city of the western continent, and in many ways the most interesting and romantic, is a horde of refugees living among ruins. it may rebuild; it probably will; but those who have known that peculiar city by the golden gate, have caught its flavor of the arabian nights, feel that it can never be the same. it is as though a pretty, frivolous woman had passed through a great tragedy. she survives, but she is sobered and different. if it rises out of the ashes it must be a modern city, much like other cities and without its old atmosphere. san francisco lay on a series of hills and the lowlands between. these hills are really the end of the coast range of mountains, which stretch southward between the interior valleys and the pacific ocean. behind it is the ocean; but the greater part of the town fronts on two sides on san francisco bay, a body of water always tinged with gold from the great washings of the mountain, usually overhung with a haze, and of magnificent color changes. across the bay to the north lies mount tamalpais, about , feet high, and so close that ferries from the waterfront take one in less than half an hour to the little towns of sausalito and belvidere, at its foot. tamalpais is a wooded mountain, with ample slopes, and from it on the north stretch away ridges of forest land, the outposts of the great northern woods of sequoia sempervirens. this mountain and the mountainous country to the south bring the real forest closer to san francisco than to any other american city. within the last few years men have killed deer on the slopes of tamalpais and looked down to see the cable cars crawling up the hills of san francisco to the south. in the suburbs coyotes still stole in and robbed hen roosts by night. the people lived much out of doors. there is no time of the year, except a short part of the rainy season, when the weather keeps one from the fields. the slopes of tamalpais are crowded with little villas dotted through the woods, and these minor estates run far up into the redwood country. the deep coves of belvidere, sheltered by the wind from tamalpais, held a colony of "arks" or houseboats, where people lived in the rather disagreeable summer months, coming over to business every day by ferry. everything there invites out of doors. the climate of california is peculiar; it is hard to give an impression of it. in the region about san francisco, all the forces of nature work on their own laws. there is no thunder and lightning; there is no snow, except a flurry once in five or six years; there are perhaps half a dozen nights in the winter when the thermometer drops low enough so that in the morning there is a little film of ice on exposed water. neither is there any hot weather. yet most easterners remaining in san francisco for a few days remember that they were always chilly. for the gate is a big funnel, drawing in the winds and the mists which cool off the great, hot interior valleys of the san joaquin and sacramento. so the west wind blows steadily ten months of the year; and almost all the mornings are foggy. this keeps the temperature steady at about degrees--a little cool for the comfort of an unacclimated person, especially indoors. californians, used to it, hardly ever think of making fires in their houses except in a few days of the winter season, and then they rely mainly upon fireplaces. this is like the custom of the venetians and the florentines. give an easterner six months of it, however, and he, too, learns to exist without chill in a steady temperature a little lower than that to which he was accustomed at home. after that one goes about with perfect indifference to the temperature. summer and winter, san francisco women wear light tailor-made clothes, and men wear the same fall-weight suits all the year around. there is no such thing as a change of clothing for the seasons. and after becoming acclimated these people find it hard to bear the changes from hot to cold in the normal regions of the earth. perhaps once in two or three years there comes a day when there is no fog, no wind, and a high temperature in the coast district. then follows hot weather, perhaps up in the eighties, and californians grumble, swelter and rustle for summer clothes. these rare hot days are the only times when one sees women in light dresses on the streets of san francisco. along in early may the rains cease. at that time everything is green and bright, and the great golden poppies, as large as the saucer of an after-dinner coffee cup, are blossoming everywhere. tamalpais is green to its top; everything is washed and bright. by late may a yellow tinge is creeping over the hills. this is followed by a golden june and a brown july and august. the hills are burned and dry. the fog comes in heavily, too; and normally this is the most disagreeable season of the year. september brings a day or two of gentle rain; and then a change, as sweet and mysterious as the breaking of spring in the east, passes over the hills. the green grows through the brown and the flowers begin to come out. as a matter of fact, the unpleasantness of summer is modified by the certainty that one can go anywhere without fear of rain. and in all the coast mountains, especially the seaward slopes, the dews and the shelter of the giant underbrush hold the water, so that these areas are green and pleasant all summer. in a normal year the rains begin to fall heavily in november; there will be three or four days of steady downpour and then a clear and green week. december is also likely to be rainy; and in this month people enjoy the sensation of gathering for christmas the mistletoe which grows profusely on the live oaks, while the poppies are beginning to blossom at their feet. by the end of january the gentle rains come lighter. in the long spaces between these winter storms, there is a temperature and a feeling in the air much like that of indian summer in the east. january is the month when the roses are at their brightest. so much for the strange climate, which invites out of doors and which has played its part in making the character of the people. the externals of the city are--or were, for they are no more--just as curious. one usually entered san francisco by way of the bay. across its yellow flood, covered with the fleets from the strange seas of the pacific, san francisco presented itself in a hill panorama. probably no other city of the world, excepting perhaps naples, could be so viewed at first sight. it rose above the passenger, as he reached dockage, in a succession of hill terraces. at one side was telegraph hill, the end of the peninsula, a height so abrupt that it had a one hundred and fifty foot sheer cliff on its seaward frontage. further along lay nob hill, crowned with the mark hopkins mansion, which had the effect of a citadel, and in later years by the great, white fairmount. further along was russian hill, the highest point. below was the business district, whose low site caused all the trouble. except for the modern buildings, the fruit of the last ten years, the town presented at first sight a disreputable appearance. most of the buildings were low and of wood. in the middle period of the ' 's, when, a great part of san francisco was building, the newly-rich perpetrated some atrocious architecture. in that time, too every one put bow windows on his house to catch all of the morning sunlight that was coming through the fog; and those little houses, with bow windows and fancy work all down their fronts, were characteristic of the middle class residence districts. then the italians, who tumbled over telegraph hill, had built as they listed and with little regard for streets, and their houses hung crazily on a side hill which was little less than a precipice. the chinese, although they occupied an abandoned business district, had remade their dwellings chinese fashion, and the mexicans and spaniards had added to their houses those little balconies without which life is not life to a spaniard. yet the most characteristic thing after all was the coloring. the sea fog had a trick of painting every exposed object a sea gray which had a tinge of dull green in it. this, under the leaden sky of a san francisco morning, had a depressing effect on first sight and afterward became a delight to the eye. for the color was soft, gentle and infinitely attractive in mass. the hills are steep beyond conception. where vallejo street ran up russian hill it progressed for four blocks by regular steps like a flight of stairs. it is unnecessary to say that no teams ever came up this street or any other like it, and grass grew long among the paving stones until the italians who live thereabouts took advantage of this herbage to pasture a cow or two. at the end of four blocks, the pavers had given it up and the last stage to the summit was a winding path. on the very top, a colony of artists lived in little villas of houses whose windows got the whole panorama of the bay. luckily for these people, a cable car scaled the hill on the other side, so that it was not much of a climb to home. with these hills, with the strangeness of the architecture and with the green-gray tinge over everything, the city fell always into vistas and pictures, a setting for the romance which hung over everything, which has always hung over life in san francisco since the padres came and gathered the indians about mission dolores. and it was a city of romance and a gateway to adventure. it opened out on the mysterious pacific, the untamed ocean; and through the golden gate entered china, japan, the south sea islands, lower california, the west coast of central america, australia. there was a sprinkling, too, of alaska and siberia. from his windows on russian hill one saw always something strange and suggestive creeping through the mists of the bay. it would be a south sea island brig, bringing in copra, to take out cottons and idols; a chinese junk after sharks' livers; an old whaler, which seemed to drip oil, home from a year of cruising in the arctic. even the tramp windjammers were deep-chested craft, capable of rounding the horn or of circumnavigating the globe; and they came in streaked and picturesque from their long voyaging. in the orange colored dawn which always comes through the mists of that bay, the fishing fleet would crawl in under triangular lateen sails; for the fishermen of san francisco bay are all neapolitans who have brought their customs and sail with lateen rigs stained an orange brown and shaped, when the wind fills them, like the ear of a horse. along the waterfront the people of these craft met. "the smelting pot of the races," stevenson called it; and this was always the city of his soul. there were black gilbert islanders, almost indistinguishable from negroes; lighter kanakas from hawaii or samoa; lascars in turbans; thickset russian sailors, wild chinese with unbraided hair; italian fishermen in tam o' shanters, loud shirts and blue sashes; greeks, alaska indians, little bay spanish-americans, together with men of all the european races. these came in and out from among the queer craft, to lose themselves in the disreputable, tumble-down, but always mysterious shanties and small saloons. in the back rooms of these saloons south sea island traders and captains, fresh from the lands of romance, whaling masters, people who were trying to get up treasure expeditions, filibusters, alaskan miners, used to meet and trade adventures. there was another element, less picturesque and equally characteristic, along the waterfront. san francisco was the back eddy of european civilization--one end of the world. the drifters came there and stopped, lingered a while to live by their wits in a country where living after a fashion has always been marvellously cheap. these people haunted the waterfront and the barbary coast by night, and lay by day on the grass in portsmouth square. the square, the old plaza about which the city was built, spanish fashion, had seen many things. there in the first burst of the early days the vigilance committee used to hold its hangings. there, in the time of the sand lot troubles, dennis kearney, who nearly pulled the town down about his ears, used to make his orations which set the unruly to rioting. in later years chinatown lay on one side of it and the latin quarter and the "barbary coast" on the other. on this square the drifters lay all day long and told strange yams. stevenson lounged there with them in his time and learned the things which he wove into "the wrecker" and his south sea stories; and now in the centre of the square there stands the beautiful stevenson monument. in later years the authorities put up a municipal building on one side of this square and prevented the loungers, for decency's sake, from lying on the grass. since then some of the peculiar character of the old plaza has gone. the barbary coast was a loud bit of hell. no one knows who coined the name. the place was simply three blocks of solid dance halls, there for the delight of the sailors of the world. on a fine busy night every door blared loud dance music from orchestras, steam pianos and gramaphones, and the cumulative effect of the sound which reached the street was chaos and pandemonium. almost anything might be happening behind the swinging doors. for a fine and picturesque bundle of names characteristic of the place, a police story of three or four years ago is typical. hell broke out in the eye wink dance hall. the trouble was started by a sailor known as kanaka pete, who lived in the what cheer house, over a woman known as iodoform kate. kanaka pete chased the man he had marked to the little silver dollar, where he halted and punctured him. the by-product of his gun made some holes in the front of the eye wink, which were proudly kept as souvenirs, and were probably there until it went out in the fire. this was low life, the lowest of the low. until the last decade almost anything except the commonplace and the expected might happen to a man on the waterfront. the cheerful industry of shanghaing was reduced to a science. a citizen taking a drink in one of the saloons which hung out over the water might be dropped through the floor into a boat, or he might drink with a stranger and wake in the forecastle of a whaler bound for the arctic. such an incident is the basis of frank norris's novel, "moran of the lady letty," and although the novel draws it pretty strong, it is not exaggerated. ten years ago the police, the sailors' union, and the foreign consuls, working together, stopped all this. kearney street, a wilder and stranger bowery, was the main thoroughfare of these people. an exiled californian, mourning over the city of his heart, has said: "in a half an hour of kearney street i could raise a dozen men for any wild adventure, from pulling down a statue to searching for the cocos island treasure." this is hardly an exaggeration, it was the rialto of the desperate, street of the adventurers. these are a few of the elements which made the city strange and gave it the glamour of romance which has so strongly attracted such men as stevenson, frank norris and kipling. this life of the floating population lay apart from the regular life of the city, which was distinctive in itself. the californian is the second generation of a picked and mixed ancestry. the merry, the adventurous, often the desperate, always the brave, deserted the south and new england in to rush around the horn or to try the perils of the plains. they found there a land already grown old in the hands of the spaniards--younger sons of hidalgo and many of them of the best blood of spain. to a great extent the pioneers intermarried with spanish women; in fact, except for a proud little colony here and there, the old, aristocratic spanish blood is sunk in that of the conquering race. then there was an influx of intellectual french people, largely overlooked in the histories of the early days; and this latin leaven has had its influence. brought up in a bountiful country, where no one really has to work very hard to live, nurtured on adventure, scion of a free and merry stock, the real, native californian is a distinctive type; as far from the easterner in psychology as the extreme southerner is from the yankee. he is easy going, witty, hospitable, lovable, inclined to be unmoral rather than immoral in his personal habits, and easy to meet and to know. above all there is an art sense all through the populace which sets it off from any other population of the country. this sense is almost latin in its strength, and the californian owes it to the leaven of latin blood. the true californian lingers in the north; for southern california has been built up by "lungers" from the east and middle west and is eastern in character and feeling. almost has the californian developed a racial physiology. he tends to size, to smooth symmetry of limb and trunk, to an erect, free carriage; and the beauty of his women is not a myth. the pioneers were all men of good body, they had to be to live and leave descendants. the bones of the weaklings who started for el dorado in lie on the plains or in the hill-cemeteries of the mining camps. heredity began it; climate has carried it on. all things that grow in california tend to become large, plump, luscious. fruit trees, grown from cuttings of eastern stock, produce fruit larger and finer, if coarser in flavor, than that of the parent tree. as the fruits grow, so the children grow. a normal, healthy, californian woman plays out-of-doors from babyhood to old age. the mixed stock has given her that regularity of features which goes with a blend of bloods; the climate has perfected and rounded her figure; out-of-doors exercise from earliest youth has given her a deep bosom; the cosmetic mists have made her complexion soft and brilliant. at the university of california, where the student body is nearly all native, the gymnasium measurements show that the girls are a little more than two inches taller than their sisters of vassar and michigan. the greatest beauty-show on the continent was the saturday afternoon matinee parade in san francisco. women in so-called "society" took no part in this function. it belonged to the middle class, but the "upper classes" have no monopoly of beauty anywhere in the world. it had grown to be independent of the matinees. from two o'clock to half-past five, a solid procession of dianas, hebes and junos passed and repassed along the five blocks between market and powell and sutter and kearney--the "line" of san francisco slang. along the open-front cigar stores, characteristic of the town, gilded youth of the cocktail route gathered in knots to watch them. there was something latin in the spirit of this ceremony--it resembled church parade in buenos ayres. latin, too, were the gay costumes of the women, who dressed brightly in accord with the city and the climate. this gaiety of costume was the first thing which the eastern woman noticed--and disapproved. give her a year, and she, too, would be caught by the infection of daring dress. in this parade of tall, deep bosomed, gleaming women, one caught the type and longed, sometimes for the sight of a more ethereal beauty--for the suggestion of soul within which belongs to a new england woman on whom a hard soil has bestowed a grudged beauty--for the mobility, the fire, which belongs to the frenchwoman. the second generation of france was in this crowd, it is true; but climate and exercise had grown above their spiritual charm a cover of brilliant flesh. it was the beauty of greece. with such a people, life was always gay. if the fairly parisian gaiety did not display itself on the streets, except in the matinee parade, it was because the winds made open-air cafes disagreeable at all seasons of the year. the life careless went on indoors or in the hundreds of pretty estates--"ranches" the californians called them--which fringe the city. san francisco was famous for its restaurants and cafes. probably they were lacking at the top; probably the very best, for people who do not care how they spend their money, was not to be had. but they gave the best fare on earth, for the price, at a dollar, seventy-five cents, a half a dollar, or even fifteen cents. if one should tell exactly what could be had at coppa's for fifty cents or at the fashion for, say thirty-five, no new yorker who has not been there would believe it. the san francisco french dinner and the san francisco free lunch were as the public library to boston or the stock yards to chicago. a number of causes contributed to this. the country all about produced everything that a cook needs and that in abundance--the bay was an almost untapped fishing pound, the fruit farms came up to the very edge of the town, and the surrounding country produced in abundance fine meats, game, all cereals and all vegetables. but the chefs who came from france in the early days and stayed because they liked this land of plenty were the head and front of it. they passed on their art to other frenchmen or to the clever chinese. most of the french chefs at the biggest restaurants were born in canton, china. later the italians, learning of this country where good food is appreciated, came and brought their own style. householders always dined out one or two nights of the week, and boarding houses were scarce, for the unattached preferred the restaurants. the eating was usually better than the surroundings. meals that were marvels were served in tumbledown little hotels. most famous of all the restaurants was the poodle dog. there have been no less than four establishments of this name, beginning with a frame shanty where, in the early days, a prince of french cooks used to exchange ragouts for gold dust. each succeeding restaurant of the name has moved further downtown; and the recent poodle dog stands--stands or stood; one mixes his tenses queerly in writing of this city which is and yet is no more--on the edge of the tenderloin in a modern five story building. and it typified a certain spirit that there was in san francisco. for on the ground floor was a public restaurant where there was served the best dollar dinner on earth. at least, if not the best it ranked with the best, and the others were in san, francisco. there, especially on sunday night, almost everyone went to vary the monotony of home cooking. everyone who was anyone in the town could be seen there off and on. it was perfectly respectable. a man might take his wife and daughter to the poodle dog. on the second floor there were private dining rooms, and to dine there, with one or more of the opposite sex, was risque but not especially terrible. but the third floor--and the fourth floor--and the fifth! the elevator man of the poodle dog, who had held the job for many years and who never spoke unless spoken to, wore diamonds and was a heavy investor in real estate. there were others as famous in their way--the zinkand, where, at one time, every one went after the theatre, and tate's, which has lately bitten into that trade; the palace grill, much like the grills of eastern hotels, except for the price; delmonico's, which ran the poodle dog neck and neck to its own line; and many others, humbler but great at the price. listen! o ye starved amidst plenty, to the tale of the hotel de france. this restaurant stood on california street, just east of old st. mary's church. one could throw a biscuit from its back windows into chinatown. it occupied a big ramshackle house, which had been a mansion of the gold days. louis, the proprietor, was a frenchman of the bas pyrenees; and his accent was as thick as his peasant soups. the patrons were frenchmen of the poorer class, or young and poor clerks and journalists who had discovered the delights of his hostelry. the place exuded a genial gaiety, of which louis, throwing out familiar jokes to right and left as he mixed salads and carried dishes, was the head and front. first on the bill of fare was the soup mentioned before--thick and clean and good. next, one of louis' three cherubic little sons brought on a course of fish--sole, rock cod, flounders or smelt--with a good french sauce. the third course was meat. this came on en bloc; the waiter dropped in the centre of each table a big roast or boiled joint together with a mustard pot and two big dishes of vegetables. each guest manned the carving knife in turn and helped himself to his satisfaction. after that, louis, with an air of ceremony, brought on a big bowl of excellent salad which he had mixed himself. for beverage, there stood by each plate a perfectly cylindrical pint glass filled with new, watered claret. the meal closed with "fruit in season"--all that the guest cared to eat. i have saved a startling fact to close the paragraph--the price was fifteen cents! if one wanted black coffee he paid five cents extra, and louis brought on a beer glass full of it. why he threw in wine and charged extra for after-dinner coffee was one of louis' professional secrets. adulterated food at that price? not a bit of it! the olive oil in the salad was pure, california product--why adulterate when he could get it so cheaply? the wine, too, was above reproach, for louis made it himself. every autumn, he brought tons and tons of cheap mission grapes, set up a wine press in his back yard, and had a little, festival vintage of his own. the fruit was small, and inferior, but fresh, and louis himself, in speaking of his business, said that he wished his guests would eat nothing but fruit, it came so cheap. the city never went to bed. there was no closing law, so that the saloons kept open nights and sundays at their own sweet will. most of the cafes elected to remain open until o'clock in the morning at least. this restaurant life, however does not express exactly the careless, pleasure-loving character of the people. in great part their pleasures were simple, inexpensive and out of doors. no people were fonder of expeditions into the country, of picnics--which might be brought off at almost any season of the year--and of long tours in the great mountains and forests. hospitality was nearly a vice. as in the early mining days, if they liked the stranger the people took him in. at the first meeting the san francisco man had him put up at the club; at the second, he invited him home to dinner. as long as the stranger stayed he was being invited to week end parties at ranches, to little dinners in this or that restaurant and to the houses of his new acquaintances, until his engagements grew beyond hope of fulfilment. perhaps there was rather too much of this kind of thing. at the end of a fortnight a visitor with a pleasant smile and a good story left the place a wreck. this tendency ran through all grades of society--except, perhaps, the sporting people who kept the tracks and the fighting game alive. these also met the stranger--and also took him in. centres of man hospitality were the clubs, especially the famous bohemian and the family. the latter was an offshot of the bohemian; and it had been growing fast and vieing with the older organization for the honor of entertaining pleasing and distinguished visitors. the bohemian club, whose real founder is said to have been the late henry george, was formed in the ' s by newspaper writers and men working in the arts or interested in them. it had grown to a membership of . it still kept for its nucleus painters, writers, musicians and actors, amateur and professional. they were a gay group of men, and hospitality was their avocation. yet the thing which set this club off from all others in the world was the midsummer high jinks. the club owns a fine tract of redwood forest fifty miles north of san francisco on the russian river. there are two varieties of big trees in california: the sequoia gigantea and the sequoia sempervirens. the great trees of the mariposa grove belong to the gigantea species. the sempervirens, however, reaches the diameter of feet, and some of the greatest trees of this species are in the bohemian club grove. it lies in a cleft of the mountains: and up one hillside there runs a natural out of doors stage of remarkable acoustic properties. in august the whole bohemian club, or such as could get away from business, went up to this grove and camped out for two weeks. on the last night they put on the jinks proper, a great spectacle in praise of the forest with poetic words, music and effects done by the club. in late years this has been practically a masque or an opera. it cost about $ , . it took the spare time of scores of men for weeks; yet these business men, professional men, artists, newspaper workers, struggled for the honor of helping out on the jinks; and the whole thing was done naturally and with reverence. it would not be possible anywhere else in this country; the thing which made it possible was the art spirit which is in the californian. it runs in the blood. "who's who in america" is long on the arts and on learning and comparatively weak in business and the professions. now some one who has taken the trouble has found that more persons mentioned in "who's who" by the thousand of the population were born in massachusetts, than in any other state; but that massachusetts is crowded closely by california, with the rest nowhere. the institutions of learning in massachusetts account for her pre-eminence; the art spirit does it for california. the really big men nurtured on california influence are few, perhaps; but she has sent out an amazing number of good workers in painting, in authorship, in music and especially in acting. "high society" in san francisco had settled down from the rather wild spirit of the middle period; it had come to be there a good deal as it is elsewhere. there was much wealth; and the hills of the western addition were growing up with fine mansions. outside of the city, at burlingame, there was a fine country club centering a region of country estates which stretched out to menlo park. this club had a good polo team, which played every year with teams of englishmen from southern california and even with teams from honolulu. the foreign quarters are worth an article in themselves. chief of these was, of course, chinatown, of which every one has heard who ever heard of san francisco. a district six blocks long and two blocks wide, housed , chinese when the quarter was full. the dwellings were old business blocks of the early days; but the chinese had added to them, had rebuilt them, had run out their own balconies and entrances, and had given the quarter that feeling of huddled irregularity which makes all chinese built dwellings fall naturally into pictures. not only this; they had burrowed to a depth of a story or two under the ground, and through this ran passages in which the chinese transacted their dark and devious affairs--as the smuggling of opium, the traffic in slave girls and the settlement of their difficulties. in the last five years there was less of this underground life than formerly, for the board of health had a cleanup some time ago; but it was still possible to go from one end of chinatown to the other through secret underground passages. the tourist, who always included chinatown in his itinerary, saw little of the real quarter. the guides gave him a show by actors hired for his benefit. in reality the place amounted to a great deal in a financial way. there were clothing and cigar factories of importance, and much of the pacific rice, tea and silk importing was in the hands of the merchants, who numbered several millionaires. mainly, however, it was a tenderloin for the house servants of the city--for the san francisco chinaman was seldom a laundryman; he was too much in demand at fancy prices as a servant. the chinese lived their own lives in their own way and settled their own quarrels with the revolvers of their highbinders. there were two theatres in the quarter, a number of rich joss houses, three newspapers and a chinese telephone exchange. there is a race feeling against the chinese among the working people of san francisco, and no white man, except the very lowest outcasts, lived in the quarter. on the slopes of telegraph hill dwelt the mexicans and spanish, in low houses, which they had transformed by balconies into a semblance of spain. above, and streaming over the hill, were the italians. the tenement quarter of san francisco shone by contrast with those of chicago and new york, for while these people lived in old and humble houses they had room to breathe and an eminence for light and air. their shanties clung to the side of the hill or hung on the very edge of the precipice overlooking the bay, on the verge of which a wall kept their babies from falling. the effect was picturesque, and this hill was the delight of painters. it was all more like italy than anything in the italian quarter of new york and chicago--the very climate and surroundings, the wine country close at hand, the bay for their lateen boats, helped them. over by the ocean and surrounded by cemeteries in which there are no more burials, there is an eminence which is topped by two peaks and which the spanish of the early days named after the breasts of a woman. the unpoetic americans had renamed it twin peaks. at its foot was mission dolores, the last mission planted by the spanish padres in their march up the coast, and from these hills the spanish looked for the first time upon the golden bay. many years ago some one set up at the summit of this peak a sixty foot cross of timber. once a high wind blew it down, and the women of the fair family then had it restored so firmly that it would resist anything. it has risen for fifty years above the gay, careless, luxuriant and lovable city, in full view from every eminence and from every valley. it stands tonight, above the desolation of ruins. the bonny, merry city--the good, gray city--o that one who has mingled the wine of her bounding life with the wine of his youth should live to write the obituary of old san francisco! some cities and san francisco and resurgam by hubert howe bancroft some cities and san francisco there had been some discussion as to improving and beautifying the city of san francisco prior to the catastrophe of april th. landscape architects had been consulted, proposals considered, and preliminary plans drawn. therefore when on that day the city was swept by fire, obviously it was the opportune moment for the requisite changes in the rebuilding. for a brief period enthusiasm waxed warm. it helped to mitigate the blow, this fencing with fate. let the earth shake, and fires burn, we will have here our city, better and more beautiful than ever--and more valuable--an imperial city of steel it shall be, and thus will we get even with the misfortunes of this day. reform in the rebuilding was needed, whatever should be the scale of beauty or utility decided upon. fifty years ago the elevating influences of tasteful environment were not so highly appreciated as now, and all large cities are fifty years old or more. all large cities, as a rule, had their beginning with narrow, crooked streets and mean houses. in europe and asia there are aggregations of humanity whose domiciles have remained unchanged, one might almost say uncleansed, for hundreds or thousands of years, or ever since their mythical beginning, save only for the covering of the debris of dead centuries. these ancient towns, mostly offspring of feudalism, begun under castle walls and continued after walls and castle had crumbled, as their area enlarged, with some improvement, perhaps, in the suburban parts, still retained this patch of mediaevalism, until obliterated by war, or fire, or later by modern progress. look at edinburgh, for example. with all its scotch thrift and neatness, there yet remains the ill-conditioned and once filthy quarter, beside which rise the old-time ten-story houses built into the hillside, while in the modern part of the city in sharp contrast are broad streets and open squares and fine buildings. in america the birth of towns is quite different. here are no plantings of trembling poverty under lordly walls, but bold pioneering, forecasting agriculture and commerce; no babel building, with "go to, let us build here a cleveland or a cincinnati," but rather, "here for the present we will abide." if, however, serfdom and mediaevalism were absent in new world town-planting, so also were aestheticism or any appreciation of the beautiful apart from the useful. old cities require reconstruction to make them what modern taste and intelligence demand; settlements in their incipiency are dominated by their sturdy founders, who usually have other things to think about than beauty and adornment. in this day of great wealth and wonderful inventions we realize more and more the value of the city to mankind, and the quality of the city as a means of culture. cities are not merely marts of commerce; they stand for civility; they are civilization itself. no untried naked adam in eden might ever pass for a civilized man. the city street is the school of philosophy, of art, of letters; city society is the home of refinement. when the rustic visits the city he puts on his best clothes and his best manners. in their reciprocal relations the city is as men make it, while from the citizen one may determine the quality of the city. the atmosphere of the city is an eternal force. therefore as we value the refinement of the human mind, the enlargement of the human heart, we shall value the city, and strive so to build, and adorn, and purify, that it may achieve its ultimate endeavor. civic betterment has long been in progress among the more civilized communities through the influence of cultured people capable of appreciating the commercial as well as the aesthetical value of art. vast sums have been spent and great results accomplished, but they are nothing as compared with the work yet to be done--work which will continue through the ages and be finished only with the end of time. and not only will larger wealth be yet more freely poured out on artistic adornment, but such use of money will be regarded as the best to which it can be applied. for though gold is not beautiful it can make beauty, even that beauty which elevates and ennobles, which purifies the mind and inspires the soul. progress is rapid in this direction as in many others. a breach of good taste in public works will ere long be adjudged a crime. for already mediaeval mud has ceased to be fashionable, and the picturesque in urban ugliness is picturesque no longer. all the capitals of europe have had to be made over, haussmannized, once or several times. our own national capital we should scarcely be satisfied with as its illustrious founder left it. it is a hopeful sign amidst some discouraging ones that wealth as a social factor and measure of merit is losing something of its prestige; that it is no longer regarded by the average citizen as the supreme good, or the pursuit of it the supreme aim in life; there are so many things worth more than money, so many human aspirations and acquirements worthy of higher considerations than the inordinate cravings of graft and greed. hoarded wealth especially is not so worshipful to-day as it was yesterday, while the beautiful still grows in grace--the beautiful and the useful, compelling improvement, always engendered by improved environment. some cities are born in the purple--rare exceptions to the rule. san francisco is not one of these. st. petersburg, the city of palaces, of broad avenues and granite-faced quays, whose greatest afflictions are the occasional overflow of the neva and the dynamite habit, was spoken into being by a monarch. necessity stands sponsor for venice, the beautiful, with her streets of water-ways and airs of heavenly harmony; while nature herself may claim motherhood of swedish stockholm, brilliant with intermingling lakes islands and canals, rocks hills and forests, rendering escape from the picturesque impossible. penn planted his quakers about , long before many of the present large cities in america were begun, yet philadelphia was one of the few sketched in such generous proportions that little change was afterwards necessary to make it one of the most spacious of urban commonwealths. with this example before him came in , more than a century later, the father of his country, who permitted his surveyors so injudiciously to cover the spot on the potomac which he had chosen for the capital city of the republic as to require much expensive remodeling later. yet what american can drive about washington now and say it is not worth the cost? further, as an example, the repeated reconstruction and adornment of the national capital by congress are priceless to the whole united states, the government therein bearing witness to the value of the beautiful. and if of value on the potomac, is it not equally so at the portal of the pacific? a few other cities there have been which have arisen at the command of man, potentate or pirate, besides those of the quaker penn and the tzar peter--alexandria, the old and the new, with constantinople between; the first by order of the poor world conqueror, at the hand of the architect dinocrates, two or three centuries before caesar, cleopatra, and antony, but made fit for them and their chariots by streets a hundred feet wide. the danube is the mother of many cities, directing the destiny of nations, from the iron gate to the golden horn. vienna has been made brilliantly modern since . beside the sufferings of constantinople our little calamity seems tame. seven times during the last half century the city has been swept by fire, not to mention earthquakes, or pestilence, which on one occasion took with it three hundred thousand lives. yet all the while it grows in magnificence faster than the invisible enemies of mohammed can destroy it. but for these purifying fires the city would still be one of narrow, filthy streets and vile smells, reeking with malaria. the golden horn of the bosporus possesses no greater natural advantages than the golden gate of san francisco, nor even so great. the industrial potentialities of the former are not to be compared with those of the latter, while for healthful airs and charming environment we have all that earth can give, and therewith should be content. cities have been made as the marquis of bute made cardiff, by constructing a dock, and ship canal, and converting the ancient castle into a modern palace. many towns have been started as railway stations, but few of them attained importance. steamboat landings have been more fortunate. some cities owe their origin to war, some to commerce, and not a few to manufactures. fanaticism has played a part, as in india and parts of africa, where are nestings of half-savage humanity with a touch of the heavenly in the air. less disciplined are these than zion--towns, but nearer the happiness of insensibility--the white--marbled and jeweled taj mahal, agra on the jumna, and delhi, making immortal jehan the builder, with his pearl mosque and palace housing the thirty-million-dollar peacock throne; benares, on the ganges, a series of terraces and long stone steps extending upward from the holy water, while rising yet higher in the background are temples, towers, mosques, and palaces, all in oriental splendor. algiers, likewise, an amphitheatre in form, might give san francisco lessons in terrace construction, having hillsides covered with them, the scene made yet more striking by the dazzling white of the houses. after the place became french, the streets were widened and arcades established in the lower part. in fact, the french believe in the utility of beauty, and in paris at least they make it pay. the entire expenses of the municipal government, including police and public works, are met by the spendings of visitors. to their dissolute monarchs were due such creations as the tuileries, the louvre, and versailles. have we not dissolute millionaires enough to give us at least one fine city? london and paris stand out in bold contrast, the one for utility, the other for beauty. both are adepts in their respective arts. the city proper of london has better buildings and cleaner streets than when st. paul was erected; otherwise it is much the same. elsewhere in london, however, are spacious parks and imposing palaces, with now and then a fine bit of something to look out upon, as the bridges of the murky thames, the parliament houses, the abbey, somerset house, and piccadilly, perhaps. children may play at the zoo, while grown-ups sit in hired chairs under the trees. three times london was destroyed by the plague, and five times by fire, that of lasting four days, and covering thrice the area of the san francisco conflagration; yet it was rebuilt better than before in three and a half years. always the city is improved in the rebuilding; how much, depends upon the intelligence and enterprise of the people. paris is brilliant with everything that takes the eye--palaces, arches, bon marche shops, arcades, colonnades, great open spaces adorned with statues, forest parks, elysian driveways, and broad boulevards cut through mediaeval quarters in every direction, as well for air as for protection from the canaille blockaded in the narrow streets. san francisco may have some canaille of her own to boast of one of these days; canaille engendered from the scum of europe and asia, and educated at our expense for our destruction. over and over, these two cities, each a world metropolis, have been renovated and reconstructed, the work in fact going on continuously. for some of the most effective of our urban elaborations we must go back to the first of city builders of whom we have knowledge. the assyrians made terraces, nature teaching them. on the level plain building ground was raised forty feet for effect. like all artists of precivilization, the assyrians placed adornment before convenience, as appeared in nineveh on the tigris and babylon on the euphrates. at thebes and palmyra it was the same, their palaces of alabaster, if one chooses to believe what is said, covering, some of them, a hundred acres. the fashion now is to build upward rather than outward. besides this alabaster acreage there are to be taken into account the pyramids, artificial mountains, and endless towertowns, supposed to be an improvement on whatever existed before their time. around the mediterranean and over india way were once hundreds of charming places like the megara suburb of carthage and the amphitheatre of rhodes, prolific in classic art and architecture, precious gifts of the gods. but before all other gods or gifts comes athens, where the men were as gods and the gods very like the men. encircling the acropolis hill--most ancient cities had their central hill--the city owes its grandeur to the many temples dedicated to the olympian deities by the men who made them, made both deities and temples, that long line of philosophers the sublimity of whose thoughts civilization fed on and found expression in the genius of now and then a pericles or a phidias. twenty times rome suffered, each time worse than ever befell an american city, the debris of destruction overspreading her sacred soil some fathoms deep, yet all the while mistress of the world. the moors in spain reconstructed and embellished many cities, and built many entire. to them spain owes her finest specimens of art and architecture, as seville, cordova, and the alhambra. in naples the mediaeval still overshadows the modern. the city needs cleansing, though she flourishes in her filth and volcanic belchings. nice, like paris, plans to please her guests. berlin was a little late with her reconstructive work; the town walls were not removed till . though dating from , glasgow is practically modern, having been several times renovated by fire. antwerp, burned in , was quickly rebuilt. the hague is charming as the city of peace. munich, on the isar, is every day drifting into the beautiful, not to say aesthetical. pekin is a city sui generis, with its kin-ching, or prohibited city, sacred to royalty; its hwang-ching, or imperial city, exclusively for court officials; its tartar division and chinese division, all completed according to the grand khan and confucius. happy celestials! there is nothing more to be done, nothing to reconstruct, nothing to improve; it stands alone, the only city in all the world that is absolutely finished and perfect. but of a truth our public works sink into insignificance beside those of the ancient barbarians, the great wall and canal of china, the pyramids of egypt, and the brilliant cities of assyria and palmyra. the cities of australia--melbourne, sydney, adelaide--in common with all those of the british colonies, are laid out along liberal lines, with broad streets, parks, public squares, and beautiful modern buildings, requiring little change for many years to come. the english part of calcutta is a city of palaces, built from the spoils of subjugation. yokohama was a small fishing station when commodore perry called there in . in the new world as in the old, from john cotton to joseph smith, religion with cupidity inspires. one william blaxton in lived where boston now is, and invited thither winthrop and his colonists. when banished from massachusetts, roger williams stepped ashore on the bank of the seekonk, on a rock where is now providence. the french built a fort where marquette camped in , and there is now chicago. buffalo was a military post in . st. paul was an indian trading station prior to . the building of fort washington was followed by settlers and cincinnati was begun. henry hudson touched at manhattan island in , and the dutch following, new york was the result. brigham young, journeying westward, came to the great salt lake, where, as he told his followers, he was instructed by divine revelation to plant the city of the saints. it proved more permanent than might have been expected, as zion--cities usually are quite ephemeral affairs. boston, the beneficial, swept by fires, smallpox, witchcraft, quakerism, snowstorms, earthquakes, and proslavery riots, still lives to meditate upon her own superiority and to instruct mankind. much attention has been given of late in boston and suburban towns to artistic effect in street architecture. until recently new york has given but little thought to pleasing effects. broadway was not broad, and fifth avenue was not striking. of late, however, the city has become imperial, houses parks and driveways being among the finest in the world. new orleans has survived at least a dozen great yellow-fever crises since , population meanwhile increasing twentyfold. after the enforced construction of the levee, the idea came to some one that the top of it would make a fine driveway, which in due time was extended from the river and bayous to the lake, thus becoming the most attractive feature of the place. though not without natural attractions, chicago was not made by or for her things of beauty. beginning with low wooden houses along dirty streets, transformations were continued until systems of parks and boulevards with elegant edifices came into view,--which shows that, however material the beginning of american towns may be, if prosperity comes the aesthetical is sure to come with it. a contrast to chicago may be found in st. louis, for a long time trading-post town and city, which would be of more importance now were her people of a different quality. even her chronic calamities, tornadoes, floods, and epidemics, fail to rouse her energies, so that chicago, starting later and under more adverse circumstances, outstripped her in every particular. cleveland was laid out for a fine city, so that as she grew little alteration was found necessary. the streets are wide, to feet--superior street feet--and so abundant is the foliage, largely maple, that it is called the forest city. as an instance of modern aesthetic town construction one might cite denver, a western yankee metropolis of ultrarefined men and women from down boston way, breathing a nomenclature never so freely used before among mid-continent mountains, streets, schoolhouses, parks, and gardens--all alive with the names of new england poets, philosophers, and statesmen. scarcely yet turned the half century in age, few such charming cities as denver have been made with fewer mistakes. san francisco at her birth and christening had for godfather neither prince nor priest, nor any cultured coterie. the sandy peninsula, on whose inner edge, at the cove called yerba buena, stood some hide and tallow stores and fur depots which drew to them the stragglers that passed that way, was about as ill-omened a spot as the one designated by the snake-devouring eagle perched upon an island cactus as the place where the wandering aztecs should rest and build their city of mexico. san francisco's godparents were but common humanity, traders and adventurers, later gold-seekers and pot politicians, intelligent, bold, and for the most part honest; few intending long to remain, few dreaming of the great city to arise here; few caring how the town should be made, if one were made at all. when was improvised an alcalde after the mexican fashion, and two boards of aldermen were established after the new york fashion, and the high officials saw that they could now and then pick up a twenty-five-dollar fee for deeding a fifty vara lot, if so be they had on hand some fifty varas, they forthwith went to work to make them by drawing lines in front of the cove and intersecting them at right angles by lines running up over the hills, giving their own names, with a sprinkling of the names of bear-flag heroes, not forgetting the usual washington and jackson, leaving in the centre a plaza, the cove in front to be filled in later. the streets were narrow, dusty in summer and miry in winter. spanish-american streets are usually thirty-six feet wide. winding trails led from the presidio to the mission, and from mission and presidio to the cove. this was the beginning of san francisco, which a merciful providence has five times burned, the original shacks and their successors, the last time thoroughly, giving the inhabitants the opportunity to build something better. all this time the matchless bay and inviting shores awaited the coming of those who should aid in the accomplishment of their high destiny. situated on the pacific relatively as is new york on the atlantic, the natural gateway with its unique portal between the old east and the new west, the only outlet for the drainage of thousands of square miles of garden lands and grain fields, a harbor in the world's center of highest development, with no other to speak of within five hundred miles on either side; dominator of the greatest of oceans, waters more spacious than those of rio, airs of purple haze sweeter than those of italy, hills islands and shore lines more sublime than any of greece--all this time these benefactions of nature have awaited the appreciation and action of those who for their own benefit and the benefit of the nation would utilize them. are they here now, these new city-builders, or must san francisco wait for another generation? they must be men of broad minds, for this is no ordinary problem to be worked out. it is certain that in the near or distant future there will be here a very large and very wealthy city, probably the largest and wealthiest in the world. the whole of the peninsula will be covered, and as much more space beyond it, and around the bay shores to and beyond carquinez strait. viewed in the light of history and progressional phenomena, this is the only rational conclusion. always the march of intellectual development has been from east to west, the old east dying as the new west bursts into being, until now west is east, and the final issue must here be met. in the advent and progress of civilization there was first the mediterranean, then the atlantic, and then the pacific, the last the greatest of all. what else is possible? where else on this planet is man to go for his ultimate achievement? conviction comes slowly in such cases, and properly so. yet in forecasting the future from the light of the past cavilers can scarcely go farther afield than our worshipful forbears, who less than a century ago, on the floor of the united states congress, decried as absurd settlement beyond the missouri, ridiculed buying half a continent of worthless northwest wilderness, thanked god for the rocky mountain barrier to man's presumption, scouted at a possible wagon road, not to say railway, across the continent, lamented the unprofitable theft of california, and cursed the alaska purchase as money worse than thrown away. in view of what has been and is, can anyone call it a utopian dream to picture the pacific bordered by an advanced civilization with cities more brilliant than any of the ancient east, more opulent than any of the cultured west? rio de janeiro! what have the brazilians been doing these last decades? decapitating politically dear dom pedro, true patriot, though emperor--he came to me once in my library, pouring out his soul for his beloved brazil--they abolished slavery, formed a republic, and modernized the city. they made boulevards and water drives, the finest in the world. they cut through the heart of the old town a new avenida central, over a mile in length and one hundred and ten feet wide, lining it on either side with palatial business houses and costly residences, paving the thoroughfare with asphalt and adorning it with artistic fixtures for illumination, the street work being completed in eighteen months. strangling in their incipiency graft and greed, after kindly dismissing dom pedro with well-filled pockets for home, these portuguese brought out their money and spent hundreds of millions in improving their city, with hundreds of millions left which they have yet to spend. thus did these of the latin race, whom we regard as less bostonian than ourselves. with this brief glance at other cities of present and other times, and having in view the part played by environment in the trend of refining influences, and remembering further, following the spirit of the times, that nothing within the scope of human power to accomplish is too vast, or too valuable, or too advanced for the purpose, it remains with the people of san francisco to determine what they will do. it is not necessary to speak of the city's present or future requirements, as sea water on the bills, and fresh water with electric power from the sierra; sea wall, docks, and water-way drives; widened streets and winding boulevards; embellished hillsides and hilltops; bay tunnels and union railway station; bay and ocean boating and bathing; arches and arcades; park strips or boulevards cutting through slums, and the nests of filthy foreigners, bordered on either side by structures characteristic of their country--all this and more will come to those who shall have the matter in charge. the pressing need now is a general plan for all to work to; this, and taking the reconstruction of the city out of politics and placing it in the hands of responsible business men. if the people and government of the united states will consider for a moment the importance to the nation of a well-fortified and imposing city and seaport at san francisco bay; the importance to the army and navy, to art and science, to commerce and manufactures; of the effect of a city with its broad surroundings, at once elegant and impressive, upon the nations round the pacific and on all the world, there should be little trouble in its accomplishment. and be it remembered that whatever san francisco, her citizens and her lovers, do now or neglect to do in this present regeneration will be felt for good or ill to remotest ages. let us build and rebuild accordingly, bearing in mind that the new san francisco is to stand forever before the world as the measure of the civic taste and intelligence of her people. resurgam the question has been oftener asked than answered, why chicago should have grown in wealth and population so much faster than st. louis, or new orleans, or san francisco. it is not enough to point to her position on the lakes, the wide extent of contributory industries, and the convergence of railways; other cities have at their command as great natural advantages with like limitless opportunity. as to location, city sites are seldom chosen by convention, or the fittest spots favored. chicagoans assert that a worse place than theirs for a city cannot be found on the shores of lake michigan. new york would be better up the hudson, london in bristol channel, and san francisco at carquinez strait. indeed, it was by a yankee trick that the sand-blown peninsula secured the principal city of the pacific. it happened in this way. general vallejo, mexican comandante residing at sonoma, upon the arrival of the new american authorities said to them: "let it bear the name of my wife, francesca, and let it be the commercial and political metropolis of your pacific possessions, and i will give you the finest site in the world for a city, with state-house and residences built and ready for your free occupation." and so it was agreed, and the general made ready for the coming of the legislature. meanwhile, to the american alcalde, who had established his rule at yerba buena, a trading hamlet in the cove opposite the island of that name and nucleus of the present san francisco, came folsom, united states army captain and quartermaster, to whom had been given certain lots of land in yerba buena, and said: "why not call the town san francisco, and bring hither ships which clear from various ports for san francisco bay?" and so it was done; the fine plans of the mexican general fell to the ground, and the name benicia was given to what had been francesca. a year or two later, with five hundred ships of the gold-seekers anchored off the cove, not all the men and money in the country could have moved the town from its ill-chosen location. opportunity is much the same in various times and places, whether fortuitous or forced. more men make opportunity than are made by it, particularly among those who achieve great success. land being unavailable, venice the beautiful was built upon the water, while the hollanders manage to live along the centuries below sea level. the builders of chicago possessed varied abilities of a high order, not least among which was the faculty of working together. they realized at an early date that the citizens and the city are one; whatever of advantage they might secure to their city would be returned to them by their city fourfold. "oh, i do love this old town!" one of them was heard to exclaim as, returning from the station, his cab paddled through the slushy streets under a slushy sky. he was quite a young man, yet he had made a large fortune there. "it's no credit to us making money here," he added, "we couldn't help it." so citizenized, what should we expect if not unity of effort, a willingness to efface self when necessary, and with intense individualism to subordinate individual ideas and feelings to the public good? in such an atmosphere rises quickly a new city from the ashes of the old, or a fairy creation like the columbian exposition. imagine the peninsula of san francisco covered by a real city equal in beauty and grandeur to the chicago sham city of . the typical west-american city builder has money--created, not inherited, wealth. but possession merely is not enough; he gives. yet possessing and giving are not enough; he works, constantly and intelligently. the power which wealth gives is often employed in retarding progress when the interests of the individual seem to clash with those of the commonwealth; it is always lessened by the absence of respect for its possessor. but when wealth, intelligence, honesty, and enthusiasm join hands with patriotism there must be progress. time and place do not account for all of chicago's phenomenal growth, nor do the distance from the world's centres of population and industry, the comparative isolation, and the evil effects of railway domination account wholly for san francisco's slow growth toward the end of the century. for, following the several spasms of development incident to the ages of gold, of grain, and of fruit, and the advent of the railway incubus, california for a time betook herself to rest, which indeed was largely paralysis. then, too, those who had come first and cleared the ground, laying the foundations of fortunes, were passing away, and their successors seemed more ready to enjoy than to create. but with the opening of a new century all california awoke and made such progress as was never made before. coming to the late catastrophe, it was well that too much dependence was not placed on promises regarding rehabilitation made during the first flush of sympathy; the words were nevertheless pleasant to the ear at the time. the insurance companies would act promptly and liberally, taking no advantage of any technicality; congress would remit duties on building material for a time, and thus protect the city-builders from the extortions of the material men; the material men roundly asserted that there should be no extortion, no advance in prices, but, on the contrary, all other work should be set aside and precedence given to san francisco orders; eastern capitalists were to cooperate with the government in placing at the portal of the pacific a city which should be a credit to the nation and a power in the exploitation of the great ocean. none of these things came to pass. indeed it was too much to expect of poor human nature until selfishness and greed are yet further eliminated. never to be forgotten was the superb benevolence which so promptly and so liberally showered comforts upon the poor, the sick, the hungry, and the houseless until it was feared that the people might become pauperized. but that was charity, whereas "business is business." the insurance companies, themselves stricken nigh unto death, paused in the generous impulse to pay quickly and in full and let the new steel city arise at once in all its glory. they began to consider, then to temporize, and finally, with notable exceptions, to evade by every means in their power the payment of their obligations. the loss and the annoyance thus inflicted upon the insured were increased by the uncertainty as to what they should finally be able to do. congress likewise paused to consider the effect the proposed remission of duties would have on certain members and their lumber and steel friends. thus a hundred days passed by, and with some relief half a hundred more. outside capital was still ready, but san franciscans seemed to have sufficient for present needs. capital is conservative and californians independent. even from the government they never asked much, though well aware that since the gold discovery california has given a hundredfold more than she has received. her people were accustomed to take care of themselves, and managed on the whole to get along. a general conflagration was not a new thing. four times during gold-digging days san francisco was destroyed by fire, and each time new houses were going up before the ashes were cold. true, there was not so much to burn in those days, but it was all the people had; there was not so much to rebuild, and there were no insurance companies to keep them back. san francisco would be grateful, and it would be a graceful thing for the government to do, to keep away the sharks until the people should get their heads above water again, not as charity, but for the general good. the exaction of duties on lumber from british columbia was simply taking money from the san francisco builders and thrusting it into the plethoric pockets of the puget sound people, who at once advanced their prices so as seriously to retard building and render it in many cases impossible. even as i write word comes of another advance in the price of lumber, owing to the apathy at washington and elsewhere, after twice before raising the price to the highest limit. meanwhile, in and around the burned district, traffic never ceased. the inflow of merchandise from all parts continued. upon the ashes of their former stores, and scattered about the suburbs, business men established themselves wherever they could find a house to rent or a lot to build upon. shacks were set up in every quarter, and better structures of one or two stories were permitted, subject to removal by order of the city at any time they should appear to stand in the way of permanent improvement. some business houses were extinguished, but other and larger ones arose in their stead. rebuilding was slow because of the debris to be removed and the more substantial character of the permanent structures to be erected. around the bay continues the hum of industry. the country teems with prosperity. never were the services of the city needed so much as now. there are no financial disturbances; money is easy, but more will be required soon; claims are not pressed in the courts. any san francisco bonds thrown upon the market are quickly taken by local capitalists. customs receipts are larger than ever before, and there is no shrinkage at the clearing house. land values remain much the same; in some quarters land has depreciated, in other places it has increased in price; buyers stand ready to take advantage of forced sales. labor is scarce in both city and country; wages are high and advancing. five times the present number of mechanics can find profitable employment in the city, and it will be so for years to come, as there is much to be done. with the advance of the labor wage and of lumber, rents are advanced. mills and factories are running at their full capacity. orchards and grain fields are overflowing, and harvesters are found with difficulty. merchants' sales were never so large nor profits so good. prices of everything rule high, with an upward tendency, the demand at the shops being for articles of good quality. oriental rugs and diamonds are conspicuously in evidence. insurers are paying their losses to some extent, and many people find themselves in possession of more ready money than they ever had before. they are rich, though they may have no house to sleep in. it is a momentary return to the flush times of the early fifties, though upon a broader and more civilized scale, and without their uncertainty or their romance. in view of the facts it seems superfluous to discuss questions regarding the future of san francisco. that is to say, such questions as are propounded by chronic croakers: will the city be rebuilt? if so, will it be a city of fine buildings? will not the fear of earthquakes drive away capital and confine reconstruction to insignificance? let us hasten to assure our friends that the day of doom has not yet come to this city; that the day of doom never comes to any city for so slight a cause, or for any cause short of a rain of brimstone and fire, as in the case of sodom. whether of imperial steel or of imperial shacks; whether calamities come in the form of such temblores as are here met occasionally in a mild form, or in the far more destructive form of hurricanes, floods, pestilence, sun--striking, and lightning, so common at the east and elsewhere, and from which san francisco is wholly free, there will here forever be a city, a large, powerful, and wealthy city. every part of the earth is subject at any time to seismic disturbance, and no one can truthfully say that california is more liable to another such occurrence than any other part of the united states. indeed, it should be less so, the earth's crust here having settled itself, let us hope, to some centuries of repose. never before has anything like this been known on our pacific seaboard. never before, so far as history or tradition or the physical features of the country can show, has california experienced a serious earthquake shock--that is to say, one attended by any considerable loss of life or property. nor was the earthquake of april last so terrible as it may seem to some. apart from the fire there was not so very much of it, and no great damage was done. the official figures are: killed by falling walls, by fire, shot, and deaths by ptomaine poisoning-- in all. the property damage by the earthquake is scarcely worth speaking of, being no more than happens elsewhere in the world from other causes nearly every day; it would have been quickly made good and little thought of it but for the conflagration that followed. compare san francisco casualties with those of other cities. two hundred and sixty-six deaths as the result of the greatest calamity that ever happened in california! not to mention the floods, fires, and cyclones common to st. louis, chicago, galveston, and all mid-continent america, the yellow fever at new orleans and along the southern shore, or the , deaths from cholera in new york and philadelphia in less than twenty-five years, or the loss of , ships on the atlantic coast in the hurricane of august, -not to mention the many extraordinary displays of vindictive nature, take some of the more commonplace calamities incident to most cities except those along the pacific coast. every year more people and more property are destroyed by lightning, floods, and wind-storms on the atlantic side of the rocky mountains than are affected by earthquakes on the pacific side in a hundred years. every year more people drop dead from sunstrokes in new york, baltimore, philadelphia, and other eastern cities than are killed by earthquakes in san francisco in a thousand years, so far as we may know. yet men and women continue to live and build houses in those cities without thought of running away. nor can california claim the whole even of united states earthquakes. in all new england was shaken up, and boston housetops and walls were set dancing, the horror coming in "with a roaring noise, like that of thunder," as the record has it, "and then a swell like the roaring sea"; and yet, and notwithstanding the great fire later, the city still shows vitality, the people are not afraid, and property is valuable. and so in regard to new york and london and all cities. in missouri, in , the earth shook almost continuously for several months along a stretch of three hundred miles, throwing up prairies into sand hills and submerging forests. chicago and new york, and all the country between, were visited by earthquakes in . then there are virginia and the carolinas, alabama texas and colorado--there is not a state in the union that has not had a touch of well-authenticated earthquakings at some time in its history. to one who knows the people and the country, the people with their magnificent energy and ability, their indomitable will and their splendid courage; the country with its boundless natural wealth and illimitable potentialities; the city, key to the golden gate, which opens the east to the west and west to east; the bay, mistress primeval, through which flows the drainage of six hundred miles in length of interior valley, the garden of the world; to one who has here lived and loved, assisting in this grand upbuilding, thoughts of relinquishment, of lesser possibilities, of meaner efforts, do not come. what would you? if there is a spot on earth where life and property are safer, where men are more enterprising and women more intelligent and refined, where business is better or fortunes more safely or surely made, the world should know of it. the earth may tremble now and then, but houses may be built which cannot be destroyed, fires are liable to occur wherever material exists that will burn, but fires may be controlled. as for the city, its life and destiny, there is this to be said. the few square miles of buildings burned were not san francisco, they were only buildings. were every house destroyed and every street obliterated, there would still remain the city, with its commerce, its manufactures, its civilization, a spiritual city if you like, yet with material values incapable of destruction--an atmosphere alive with cheerful industry; also land values, commercial relations, financial connections, skilled laborers and professional men, and a hundred other like souls of things. in a thousand ideas and industries, though the ground is but ashes, the spirit of progress still hovers over the hills awaiting incarnation. dependent on this pile of ashes, or the ghosts thereof, are fleets of vessels sailing every sea; farms and factories along shore and back to and beyond the sierra; merchants and mechanics here and elsewhere; mines and reclamation systems, and financial relations the world over. the question now is not as to the existence or permanency of a central city on the shores of san francisco bay. that fact was established beyond peradventure with the building of the bay, and nothing short of universal cataclysm can affect it. it is rather to the quality of that city that the consideration of the present generation should be directed. the shell has been injured, but the soul of the city is immortal; and in the restoration it would be strange if our twentieth-century young men cannot do better in artistic city building than the sturdy gold-seekers and their successors of half a century ago. if history and human experiences teach anything; if from the past we may judge somewhat of the future, we might, if we chose, glance back at the history of cities, and note how, when the mediterranean was the greatest of seas, carthage and venice were the greatest of cities; how, when the atlantic assumed sway, ghent, seville, and london each in turn came to the front; or how, following the inevitable, as civilization takes possession of the pacific, the last, the largest in its native wealth as well as in its potentialities the richest of all, it is not difficult to see that the chief city, the mistress of this great ocean, must be mistress of the world. but this is not all. a great city on this great bay, beside this greatest of oceans, centrally situated, through whose golden gate pass the waters drained from broad fertile valleys, a harbor without an equal, with some hundreds of miles of water front ready for a thousand industries, where ocean vessels may moor beside factories and warehouses, with a climate temperate, equable, healthful, and brewed for industry; a city here, ugly or beautiful, fostered or oppressed, given over to the sharks of speculation or safeguarded as one of the brightest jewels of the nation, is an inexorable necessity; its destiny is assured; and all the powers of graft and greed cannot prevail against it. it is a military necessity, for here will be stationed the chief defenses and defenders of the nation's western border. it is an industrial necessity, for to this city three continents and a thousand islands will look for service. as the spanish war first revealed to america her greatness, so the possible loss of san francisco quickly demonstrates the necessity of her existence to the nation. it is an educational necessity, whence the dusky peoples around the pacific may draw from the higher civilization to the regeneration of the world. in the university of california, standing opposite the golden gate, with its able and devoted president and professors, this work is already well established, the results from which will prove too vast and far-reaching for our minds at present to fathom. and in all the other many byways of progress the results of the last half-century of effort on our sand-dune peninsula are not lost. earthquakes cannot destroy them; fire cannot burn them. san francisco grew from the yerba buena hamlet in sixty years. in a new and untried field city-building then was something of an experiment; yet population grew to half a million, and wealth in proportion; and never was improvement so marked as just before the fire. with wealth and population but little impaired, and with the ground cleared for new constructive work, there would be nothing strange in a city here of three or four millions of people in another sixty years. actual progress has scarcely been arrested. we are rudely hustled and awake to higher and severer effort. no house or store or factory or business will be rebuilt or established except in a larger and more efficient way, and that is progress. in and around the city are already more people than were here before the fire, and soon there will be twice as many, for from every quarter are coming mechanics and business men, attracted by high wages and the material requirements of the city. hundreds of millions of money from the insurance companies and from local and outside capitalists are finding safe and profitable investment. and this is only the beginning. san francisco is already a large manufacturing city; it will be many times larger. around its several hundred miles of bay shore and up the carquinez strait will be thousands of industries to-day not dreamed of, and all ministering to the necessities of the thousand cities of the pacific. there is no place in the world better adapted for manufacturing. all sorts of raw material can be gathered here from every quarter of the earth at small cost, lumber, coal, iron, wool, and cotton for a hundred factories, and mineral ores for reduction. likewise labor at a minimum wage, congress and the lords of labor permitting. add to these advantages a climate cool in summer and warm in winter, where work can be comfortably carried on every day in the year, and a more desirable spot cannot be found. industrially san francisco should dominate the pacific, its firm land and islands, upon whose borders is to be found more natural wealth, mineral and agricultural, than upon those of all the other waters of the earth combined, and the exploitation of which has scarcely begun. here in abundance are every mineral and metal, rich and varied soils, all fruits and native products, fuels and forests, for some of which we may even thank earthquakes and kindred volcanic forces. manufactures compel commerce, and the commerce of the pacific will rule the world. the essentials of commerce are here. intelligence and enterprise are here and open to enlargement. for the late severe loss the city may find some compensations--as the cleansing effect of fire; much filth, material and moral, has been destroyed. yet one is forced to observe that the precincts of satan retain their land values equal to any other locality. the greatest blessing of the destruction, however, is in the saving from a life of luxury and idleness our best young men and women, who will in consequence enter spheres of usefulness, elevating and ennobling, thus exercising a beneficial influence on future generations. already work has become the fashion; snobbism is in disgrace; and some elements or influences of the simple life thus reestablished will remain. when all has been said that may be regarding the present and the future, regarding purposes and potentialities, the simple fact remains that the city of san francisco will be what people make of it, neither more nor less. the fruitful interior and the pine-clad sierra; the great ocean, its islands and opulent shores, with their fifty thousand miles of littoral frontage, and every nation thereon awaiting a higher culture than any which has yet appeared; the panama canal, the world's highway, linking east and west, all these will be everything or nothing to those who sit at the golden gate, according as they themselves shall determine. for the glory of a city is not altogether in its marble palaces and structures of steel, though these have their value, but in its citizens, its men and women, its men of ability, of unity, of energy, and public spirit, and its brave and true women. and has not this city these? surely, if in the late catastrophe all that is noble, benevolent, and self-effacing did not appear in every movement of our people, then no such qualities exist anywhere. the manner in which they rose to meet the emergency argues well for the city's future. before the calamity was fairly upon them they sprang to grapple it and ward it off so far as possible. it was owing to them and to the military that the city was saved from starvation, anarchy, and disease. it also speaks well for men so severely stricken to be the first to send aid to a similarly stricken city, the metropolis of pacific south america. all this leads us to the highest hopes for the future. what we need most of all is a centralization of mechanical industries around the shores of this bay. let everything that is made be made here, and the requirements of all the peoples facing this ocean here be met. the panama canal will be a blessing or a curse to california in proportion as she rises to the occasion and makes opportunities. manufactures and commerce tell the whole story. let us have the city beautiful by all means--it will pay; paris makes it pay; but we must have the useful in any event--this, and a municipality with its several parts subordinated to a general scheme. what we can do without is demagogism, with its attendant labor wrangles, and all the fraud, lying, and hypocrisy incident to a too free government. we want a city superior to any other in beauty, as well as in utility, and it will pay these united states well to see that we have it. if we build no better than before, we gain nothing by this fire which has cost many a heartache. the game of the gods is in our hands; shall we play it worthily? two decades of inaction at this juncture, like those which followed the advent of the overland railway, would decide the fate of the city adversely for the century, and the effect of it would last for ten centuries. when the shores of the pacific are occupied as the shores of the atlantic now are, when all around the vast arena formed by america, asia, and australia are great nations of wealth and culture, with hundreds of bostons and baltimores, of londons and liverpools, the great american republic would scarcely be satisfied with only a porter's lodge at her western gateway. it is not much to say that the new city will be modern and up to date, with some widened streets and winding boulevards, gardens banging to the hillside, parks with lakes and cascades, reservoirs of sea water on every hilltop; public work and public service, street cars telephones and lighting being of the best. plans for such changes were prepared before the fire; they can be extended and carried out with greater facility since the ground has been cleared from obstructions. all this and more may easily be done if the government can be made to see where the true interests of the people lie, to regard a west-coast metropolis with an eye for something of beauty as well as of utility, an eye which can see utility in beauty, and withal an eye of pride in possession. a paltry two or three hundred millions judiciously expended here by the government would make a city which would ever remain the pride of the whole people and command the admiration and respect of all the nations around this great ocean. of what avail are art and architecture if they may not be employed in a cause like this? here is an opportunity which the world has never before witnessed. with limitless wealth, with genius of as high an order as any that has gone before, with the stored experiences of all ages and nations--what better use can be made of it all than to establish at the nation's western gate a city which shall be the initial point of a new order of development? away back in the days of palmyra and thebes the rulers of those cities seemed to understand it, if the people did not--that is to say, the value of embellishment. and had we now but one american nebuchadnezzar we might have a babylon at our pacific seaport. for a six-months' world's fair any considerable city can get from the government five or ten millions. and why not? there's politics in it. can we not have some of "those politics" for a respectable west-coast city? would it not be economy to spend some millions on an industrial metropolis which should be a permanent world's fair for the enlightenment of the pacific? the nation has made its capital beautiful, and so established the doctrine that art, architecture, and beautiful environment have a value above ugly utility. may we not hope for something a little out of the common for the nation's chief seaport on the pacific, a little fresh gilding for our golden gate? the end san francisco during the eventful days of april, personal recollections by james b. stetson these recollections were written in june, , but the first edition being exhausted and a new one being required, i have included some events that occurred later, without changing the original date. personal recollections during the eventful days of april, as the earthquake and the great fire in san francisco in the year were events of such unusual interest, and realizing how faulty is man's memory after time passes, i have here jotted down a few incidents which i personally observed, and shall lay them away, so that if in the future i should desire i can refer to these notes, made while the events were new and fresh in my mind, with some assurance of their accuracy. on the morning of april , , at : , in my residence, van ness avenue, i was awakened by a very severe shock of earthquake. the shaking was so violent that it nearly threw me out of bed. it threw down a large bookcase in my chamber, broke the glass front, and smashed two chairs; another bookcase fell across the floor; the chandelier was so violently shaken that i thought it would be broken into pieces. the bric-a-brac was thrown from the mantel and tables, and strewed the floor with broken china and glass. it is said to have lasted fifty-eight seconds, but as nearly as i can estimate the violent part was only about twelve seconds. as soon as it was over i got up and went to the window, and saw the air in the street filled with a white dust, which was caused by the falling of masonry from st. luke's church on the diagonal corner from my room. i waited for the dust to settle, and i then saw the damage which had been done to claus spreckels's house and the church. the chimneys of the spreckels mansion were gone, the stone balustrade and carved work wrecked. the roof and the points of the gables and ornamental stone work of the church had fallen, covering the sidewalk and lying piled up against the sides of the building to the depth of eight or ten feet. about this time rachel and nora were knocking, at my door and inquiring if i were alive. i opened the door and they came in, rachel badly frightened and nora sprinkling holy water over the room. i hurriedly dressed and went up, to my daughter's (mrs. winslow's) house, pacific avenue, and found her and the children with their neighbors in the street and very much frightened. their house was cracked considerably, and she had been imprisoned in her room by the binding of the door, which had to be broken open to enable her to escape. the chimneys of her house were thrown down and much valuable glass and chinaware broken. i returned to my house and found that the tops of all my chimneys had been thrown down, and one was lying in the front yard sixteen feet from the building. there were some cracks visible in the library, but none in my room, and only very few in the parlor and dining-room. in the kitchen, however, the plastering was very badly cracked and the tiles around the sink thrown out. in the parlor the marble statue of the "diving girl" was thrown from its pedestal and broken into fragments. the glass case containing the table glassware in the dining-room and its contents were uninjured; very little china and glassware were broken in the pantry; the clocks were not stopped. a water-pipe broke in the ceiling of the spare room and the water did some damage. i then went over to the power-house of the california-street railroad and found that about seventy feet of the smoke-stack had fallen diagonally across the roof, and about six feet of it into the stable, where were two horses; fortunately it did not touch them, but before they were released they squealed and cried, most piteously. one of them was so badly frightened that he was afterward useless and we turned him out to pasture and he grew lean and absolutely worthless. things were considerably disturbed, but the engines were apparently uninjured. the watchman was not injured, although surrounded by falling bricks and mortar. i was told that the water supply was stopped, and later learned that it was because the earthquake had broken the water-mains. i then started on foot down-town, this was about a. m.; no cars were running on any line. the sidewalks in many places were heaved up, chimneys thrown down, and walls cracked by the earthquake. st. mary's cathedral and grace church gave no outward sign of being injured; neither did the fairmont hotel. i went on california street, over nob hill, and as i got in sight of the business part of the city, i saw as many as ten or twelve fires in the lower part of the city. the wind was light from the northwest, and the smoke ascended in great columns, and the sun through it looked like a large copper disk. when i arrived at california and montgomery streets the lower part of both sides of california street seemed to be all on fire. i did not realize that the whole city would be burned. i had a vague idea that it would stop, or be stopped, as fires had been hundreds of times before in this city. i went along sansome street to pine and down pine towards market. i saw that holbrook, merrill & stetson's store was all on fire, and when i arrived at front street i saw that the commercial block on the southeast corner of front and california streets (on the fifth floor of which was my office), was not on fire. so i started to go toward the building. the fire was then burning fiercely at the southeast corner of california and battery. i went to the entrance at california street and met the janitor coming out, who said i could not go upstairs, as the building was on fire on the fifth floor. however, i started slowly up. the sparks were coming down into the open area in a shower, but there was no smoke in the building, so i was sure that it was not on fire on the inside. i got up to my room on the fifth floor and found the door would not come open. i tried the door in the adjoining office of the american beet sugar company and found it open. from that room i got into mine. i raised my shades, and the fire was blazing at battery street and california, fully seventy-five feet high, and not more than three hundred feet distant from me. i looked through the hall and rooms and saw no smoke, and was sure that i was safe for a few minutes. as i turned the combination of my safe to open it another shock of earthquake came, which confused me a little, but i persevered and opened it. i had a quantity of souvenirs and presents which had been given me in years past. these i gathered up, and with my deeds and insurance and other papers soon had my arms full. i saw a fish-basket on my closet; i got it down and put all these little things in it, then opened the little iron box in the corner of the safe, and there dropped out some coins on the floor. i remembered that i had put four twenty-dollar pieces in there the day before. i felt on the floor and picked up two of them, and as i did not find any more i concluded that they must have remained in the safe; so i took the fish-basket and my books and papers in my arms, closed the safe, turned on the combination, and started down the stairs to the street. the sparks were plentiful in the area when i went up, but they were more so as i came down,--a perfect firestorm, after the manner of a snow-storm. when i got back on to california street the air was a mass of sparks and smoke being blown down the street toward the ferry. as i had to go against it to get to front street, i was afraid that my papers would take fire in my arms; so i buttoned up my coat to protect my papers, pulled my hat over my eyes, and dived through, up california street and out front towards pine street, from where i started. there i found it clear of smoke and fire. as i passed along with my arms full i saw a typewriter cover on the street, which i picked up. finding it empty, i stopped and turned it over and, dropping my bundle into it, started for front and market streets. there was no fire within a block of that corner at this time. this was about a. m.--perhaps : . i sat down on an empty box in the middle of market street for a rest, when w. r. whittier came along and helped me with my load. we took it to the door of the union trust company, and they would not let me in. i went upstairs and found mr. deering, who took it, and we went down and put it into the vault between the outer and inner doors. (in twenty-two days afterward i received it back in as good condition as when i had left it there on the memorable th, of april.) i next went up to third street and found the fire raging strong at the corner of third and mission. my son was passing in his automobile, and i got in with him. he was going to the mechanics' pavilion, where he said he could do some work for the temporary hospital established there. when we reached the pavilion they said there were two hundred wounded inside. at this hour there was no building on fire on the south line of market street west of fremont street. we went around to the drug-stores and hardware-stores to get hot-water bags and oil and alcohol stoves and surgeons' appliances. we took with us miss sarah fry, a salvation army woman, who was energetic and enthusiastic. when we arrived at a drug-store under the st. nicholas she jumped out, and, finding the door locked, seized a chair and raising it above her head smashed the glass doors in and helped herself to hot-water bags, bandages, and everything which would be useful in an emergency hospital. i continued with harry for a couple of hours. i then started down market street. the fire at that hour, : a. m., was raging strong south of market street from about fifth to tenth street. i left market street and went up on to golden gate avenue. at hyde and golden gate avenue i saw a large two-story house which had been wrecked by the earthquake. the doors, windows and all the upright-portion of the first story, were crushed and stood on an angle of °. i enquired of a woman seated on a pile of rubbish, who said "no one was killed, but what am i to do?" the city hall was badly wrecked, great cracks were to be seen and about two-thirds of the great dome had fallen. on one of our trips we went out to the park emergency hospital, and at o'clock i found myself in the pacific union club and was able to get a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which was the first food i had tasted that day. i went out from the club and saw the fire raging on market street between first and second. about this hour a policeman notified me to meet the mayor at the hall of justice, who had called a meeting of citizens for o'clock. met mr. j. e. tucker--sat down with him on a box in the middle of market street, opposite lotta's fountain, and we discussed the situation. we agreed that the city was doomed to destruction, and that we were unable to do anything to save it. crowds of people were about, only looking on--some looked dazed, and others wildly excited. i walked down to bush street between sansome and montgomery, met mr. murphy of the first national bank, and herman oelrichs, and discussed with them as to whether it would come to his building. the earthquake had thrown the heavy granite cornice of his bank building into the middle of bush street. murphy, grant & co.'s building was on fire at this time; this was between and p. m.. went along montgomery to california street, and found the fire approaching montgomery street. at o'clock it had got to the palace hotel on the mission-street side, and by : it was well on fire. about this time i went into the western union telegraph office, and while writing a telegram to nellie and robert, who were on their way to new york, the announcement was made that no more telegrams would be received. i then walked home, and at that time the streets leading to lafayette square and the presidio were filled with people dragging trunks and valises along, trying to find a place of safety. they generally landed in the presidio. as night came on the fire made it as light as day, and i could read without other light in any part of my house. at in the evening. i went downtown to see the situation, going to grant avenue through post street, then to sutter, and down sutter to montgomery. the fire was then burning the eastern half of the occidental hotel and the postal telegraph company's office, on market street, opposite second street, and other buildings adjoining. at this hour the fire was about a mile and a quarter from my house. the lick house and the masonic temple were not on fire then. i next went to pine and dupont streets, and from that point could see that the hall of justice and all the buildings in that vicinity were on fire. very few people were on the street. goldberg, bowen & co. were loading goods into wagons from their store on sutter street, between grant avenue and kearny. i attempted to go in to speak to the salesman, with whom i was acquainted, but was harshly driven away, by an officious policeman, as if i was endeavoring to steal something. i came back to my house at : and found in the library mr. wilcox and his mother, mrs. longstreet, dr. and mrs. whitney, mrs. hicks and her daughter, sallie, ruth, and marie louise. they were all very much alarmed, as the information which they obtained from the excited throng on the street was of the wildest kind. the two automobiles and the wilcox carriage stayed in front of the house all night, at an expense of twenty-five dollars per hour for the carriage. i felt tired, and went to bed at p. m. and slept until : a. m. got up and went down-town again to see what the situation was. i went to california street, then to hyde, then to pine. from pine and leavenworth i could see that the fire was at that hour burning along o'farrell from jones to mason and on the east side of mason street. the st. francis hotel was on fire. i went from pine and mason to the fairmont hotel at california and mason. the hill is very steep between these streets, and many people, having exhausted themselves, were sleeping in the street on the paving-stones and on mattresses. i did not think the fire would pass beyond the fairmont hotel, as there was hundreds of feet of space between the front or eastern side of the hotel, and any other building. but the fire passed up beyond the hotel on sacramento street until it reached a point where the hotel was at the leeward of the flames. the hotel was not finished and in the northeast corner were kept the varnishes and oils, which very much aided in the destruction of the building. from california and mason streets i could see that old st. mary's church, on the corner of california and dupont streets and grace cathedral, on the corner of california and stockton, were on fire. to the north, chinatown was in a whirlpool of fire. i returned home on california street and van ness avenue. both streets were thronged with men, women, and children--some with bundles, packages, and baby-carriages; but the usual method was to drag a trunk, which made a harsh, scraping noise on the sidewalk. i overtook a man dragging a trunk with a valise on the top which kept frequently falling off. as i approached him i took the valise in my hand and with the other took hold of the rope and helped him drag the heavy trunk. as we were strangers, i am sure that he at first took me for a thief who intended to steal the valise. i at once entered into conversation with him, and from his manner later on i think he changed his mind, for when i left him a few blocks away he was hearty in his thanks. while passing the knickerbocker hotel, on van ness avenue, i saw a party of ladies and an elderly gentleman. they were very much excited and were hesitating about returning to their rooms for their personal effects. i stopped and assured them that they had plenty of time to go and return as many times as they wished, as the fire would not reach van ness avenue for at least five hours. it did not reach there for thirteen hours. i think i succeeded in quieting them, at least for a time. when i arrived at sacramento street and van ness avenue i saw a woman tugging at a trunk which had caught on the car-track, and i helped her release it. from the speed at which the fire was traveling i judged that it could not reach that spot in many hours, i advised her, as she was safe, not to over-exert herself, but to take frequent rests. she would not take my advice and i was obliged to leave her. the throng of moving people, men and women with babies and bird cages, and everything which they held most valuable on earth, began early wednesday morning and continued until the afternoon of thursday. early thursday morning mr. wilcox, with his mother and sister, and mrs. hicks and daughter left our house and were able to cross to oakland, where they got a train for los angeles. dr. and mrs. whitney went to a friend's house. early in the morning i went over to the california-street power-house and had a talk with superintendent harris. he said that he had run out cars, but as the water was shut off and very low in the boilers, it was not safe to get up steam, and he was unable to get horses to haul away the cars; so nothing could be done but await the result, which was that every car in the house and those in the street, some of them eight blocks away, in number, were all burned. not one was left. i came back to van ness avenue. the wind was light but was from the northwest. at a. m. i sent in my son's automobile my personal clothing, silverware, bedding, and linen to mrs. oxnard's, broadway, and at : i had the rugs and some other things ready, and he took them to the presidio. matters about this time began to be rather wild. van ness avenue was filled with people, all pale and earnest, every one loaded with bundles and dragging valises or trunks. we concluded that it was best for mrs. winslow and the children to leave the city; so my son with his automobile took them to burlingame. he had but little gasoline in his machine, and it was very doubtful if he had enough to make the run there and return. not a drop could be obtained in the city. he learned that it might be obtained at the washington-street police station, so applied for some, but could get none, and barely escaped the appropriation of his machine by the police, by saying that he was preparing to take out of the city a load of women and children, and starting up suddenly and getting out of their reach. so, with the children, mrs. winslow, and a few articles of apparel hastily gathered together, he, by a circuitous and zigzag route, out of the city, made the trip and landed them safely in burlingame at o'clock. they could get no accommodation at the club, so they accepted the hospitality of mr. and mrs. robert coleman in a tent, and the next morning (friday) went to mr. and mrs. will tevis's. their kitchen chimney had not fallen, which made it possible to have cooking in the house, and as they had wells, the men put the pumps in order; so they had the luxury of a bath. when she left san francisco she expected her own house and mine would certainly be burned. so, with neither telephone, telegraph, nor mail, she passed many anxious hours until monday, the rd, when she heard that both houses were saved. at : a. m. of thursday from my window i could see blazes on jones street at clay, and southerly as far as sutter and leavenworth. about this hour, although the fire did not reach here until after o'clock, the soldiers and police drove the people from their stores and houses on polk street. johnson & co. were ordered out and not permitted to return to save books and papers, although they begged permission to do so. i think the pleasanton was on fire at about this time. at noon the flames were continuous from clay, on jones, to california. at : it had almost reached hyde and clay, and was continuous from that point to polk and sutter, the blaze reaching from to feet high. at : it was approaching van ness at hyde and washington, and reaching south as far as sutter and van ness. i was in my front room watching with my field-glass, house after house take fire and the long line as i have just described. i saw many pigeons flying wildly about, seeking some place of safety. as it approached van ness it did not burn north of washington street. the wind being northwest, and van ness avenue feet in width, i felt sure the fire would not cross. while the fire was thus raging, the thought came to me, how fast in value is property being consumed?--and as i looked at the line of flame, i remember i thought it must be as much as a million dollars an hour. it shows how imperfect in this matter was my estimate, when later the loss is estimated to be four hundred millions, and the duration of the fire, from : a. m., the th to p. m. of the th--say sixty hours, which would be at the rate of about six million five hundred thousand per hour. at o'clock the soldiers drove the people north on van ness and west up to franklin street, saying that they were going to dynamite the east side of van ness. from my window i watched the movements of the fire-fighters and dynamiters. they first set fire to every house on the east side of van ness avenue between washington and bush streets, and by : nearly every one was on fire. their method was this: a soldier would, with a vessel like a fruit-dish in his hand, containing some inflammable stuff, enter the house, climb to the second floor, go to the front window, open it, pull down the shade and curtain, and set fire to the contents of his dish. in a short time the shades and curtain would be in a blaze. when the fire started slowly, they would throw bricks and stones up to the windows and break the glass to give it draught. it took about minutes for a building to get well on fire. from to : st. luke's and the presbyterian church and all the houses on van ness avenue from bush to washington were on fire. at about this time they began dynamiting. then they started backfiring, and, as the line, of fire was at polk street, the idea was to meet the flames and not allow them to cross van ness avenue. this was a great mistake, as it caused the whole of the blocks between those streets to be on fire at once, which made an intense heat, while if allowed to approach van ness from polk street the heat would have been much less, and would not have ignited the west side of van ness. the explosions of dynamite were felt fearfully in my house; those within two blocks would jar and shake the house violently, breaking the windows, and at the same time setting off the burglar alarm. as the windows would break it tore the shades and curtains, covered the floor with glass, and cracked the walls. after it was over i found that it had demolished in my house twelve plates and fifty-four sheets of glass, each measuring about thirty by fifty inches. at : was ordered out of my house by the soldiers,--not in a quiet manner, but with an order that there was no mistaking its terms and meaning,--about like this: "get out of this house!" i replied: "but this is my house and i have a right to stay here if i choose." "get out d--n quick, and make no talk about it, either!" so a soldier with a bayonet on his gun marched me up clay street to gough amid flames, smoke, and explosions. feeling exhausted from climbing the steep street, and when within one hundred feet of gough street i rested on a doorstep. i had not been there for more than two minutes before a soldier on the opposite side of the street leveled his gun and cried out, "get out of that old man, and go up on to gough street." as he had a loaded gun, and appeared very important, i quickly obeyed his polite order. as i reluctantly ascended clay street in charge of the soldier, i held back long enough to see the steeple of the presbyterian church fall. i stayed at gough street a while, looking down upon my house, expecting every minute to see the flames coming out of it. i watched from gough street with much anxiety, and made up my mind that i would see if i could not get back into my house, for i believed i could save it. the heat was so intense that it had driven the guards away from van ness avenue; so, seeing no one near, i quietly slipped down the north side of washington street to franklin. as no one was around there, i continued to washington and van ness and, putting up my coat-collar and protecting the side of my face with my hat, i ran along van ness to my front door and quickly got into the house again at : , being kept out fifty-five minutes. my clothing got very hot but was not scorched. this i did at a great risk of my life, for these soldiers were very arrogant and consequential at having a little brief authority, and i was afraid they would not hesitate to shoot on slight provocation. i felt provoked and disgusted that i had to take such a risk to enter my own house. when i returned, mr. merrill's house had been dynamited, and the two churches, st. luke's and the first presbyterian, the bradbury house at the corner of van ness and california street, and the knickerbocker hotel adjoining, and the gunn house, corner of clay and franklin, had shared the same fate. on getting into my house again, i saw that the neustadter house, at the corner of sacramento and van ness, was half-consumed, but it had not set on fire the spreckels residence, and as at this time mr. merrill's house, which had been dynamited the second time, was so demolished, i felt that i could consider that my house had passed the critical time, for i hoped that mr. merrill's house in burning would not endanger the west side of van ness. but now a new danger threatened. the range of blocks from the north side of washington street to the south side of jackson were on fire at hyde street, and the flames coming toward van ness avenue, with the possibility of crossing. the spreckels stable on sacramento and also the houses back of the neustadter residence were now on fire. this, i knew, would set fire to the three gorovan cottages, two other two-story houses, and the dynamited house of mr. gunn, all fronting on clay street, between van ness and franklin. so i watched from my front window, the fire approach van ness between washington and jackson, then going to my back window to see the threatened danger from clay street. the wenban residence, at the corner of jackson and van ness, was well on fire at : ; at : it fell in. the clay-street danger began at about : p. m.. at : the whole front as here described was blazing and at its full height. my windows were so hot that i could not bear my hand on them. i opened one and felt the woodwork, which was equally hot. i had buckets of water in the front and rear rooms, with an improvised swab, made by tying up a feather duster, ready to put out any small fire which would be within my reach. i watched the situation for an hour, and as the flames died down a little i had hope, and at p. m. i felt satisfied that it would not cross van ness avenue, and neither would it cross clay street. at this time, as the heat had somewhat subsided, i ventured out, and saw a small flame, about as large as my two hands, just starting on the tower of mrs. schwabacher's house, which is next to mine on clay street. a very few people were around. james walton of the twenty-eighth coast artillery, was there, also c. c. jones, of fulton street, and david miller ferguson, of oakland. i said i would give any man ten dollars who would go up and put out that fire. they went into the house with a can of water, climbed the stairs and opened a window, and in a few minutes put it out. two of the men would accept nothing; the soldier, the next day, accepted ten dollars. i later presented ferguson with a gold matchbox as a reminder of that eventful night. had mrs. schwabacher's house gone, all in the block would have gone; the fire would have crossed to the north, up pacific, broadway, and vallejo, and probably over to fillmore, when very little would have been left of the residence portion of the city. now again another danger came. another tier of blocks, from leavenworth to van ness, between jackson and pacific, had taken fire. this was about : p. m.. at : it had got to van ness, and bothin's house, which was at the corner of van ness and jackson, was fully on fire, but although it was entirely consumed, the fire did not cross to the west side of van ness. the wind during all the day and evening was steady from the northwest,--not a very strong wind, but it helped protect the west side of van ness. at o'clock on the beginning of the th i saw smoke coming out of the chimney of the spreckels mansion. i went out and spoke to a fireman, and he said he had been into the house and that it was full of smoke and on fire. at o'clock the house was on fire in the upper rooms, at : it was blazing out of the upper windows, and in a short time afterwards was wholly on fire. the fire caught the house from the rear windows by the blaze from the gorovan cottages. i feel quite sure that if any one had been on guard inside with a bucket of water the fire could have been put out. when the spreckels house was well on fire i knew, from its having an iron frame, hollow tile partitions, and stone outside walls, there would be no danger from the heat to my house. as i was quite tired, i told the man ferguson that i would go into my house and take a nap. he asked me what room i would sleep in, and he promised if they were about to dynamite my house, or any other danger threatened, he would knock on my window to give me warning to get out. i went in and lay down on a lounge in the library at a. m. and slept until a. m.. when i awoke and looked out the flames were pouring from every window of the spreckels mansion. at a. m. the house was thoroughly burned out. (the general appearance of the house from a distance is the same as formerly, the walls and roof remaining the same as before the fire.) in the morning i went over to the california-street engine-house, and found it in ruins. beams, pipes, iron columns, tie-rods, car-trucks, and a tangled mass of iron-work; all that was not consumed of cars, bricks, mortar, ashes, and debris of every description filled the place. the engine-room was hot, but i crawled into it through what was left of the front stairway, which was nearly filled with loose bricks, and the stone facings of the hyde-street front. it was a sad sight to me, for i had something to do with it from its earliest existence. the form of everything was there, but rods, cranks, beams, and pipes were bent and burned, whether beyond hope of restoration i could not tell. no one was there or on the street, and i came away with uncertain feelings. i had hope, but whether the loss would be total or partial i could not say. a further examination showed much damage--one shaft fourteen inches in diameter was bent out of line one and one-quarter inches; one eight inches in diameter, seven eighths of an inch; some of the large sheaves badly twisted. a new cable coiled on a reel ready for use was so badly burned in the portion exposed as to render the whole useless. as strange as it may seem brass oilers and fillers on the engine-frames were comparatively uninjured. the tank, encased in brick, contained , gallons of fuel oil, and with its contents was uninjured. the granite blocks on which the engines and drivers rested were badly scaled and cracked by the heat, and in some places entirely destroyed. the portions of the cables in use that were in the engine-room were ruined, and on the street were burned off in five different places. the prospect of ever repairing and getting this machinery and appliances in operation again seemed impossible. it was, however, restored, and started up august , . at this time, about a. m. friday, i saw by the smoke that three large fires were burning at north beach, in the direction of the union-street engine-house, from my house. i afterwards walked down into the business part of the city. the streets in many places were filled with debris--in some places on kearny and montgomery streets to the depth of four feet in the middle of the street and much greater depth on the sidewalk. the track and slot rail of the california street r. r. were badly bent and twisted in many places. the pavement in numberless places was cracked and scaled. a very few people were to be seen at that time among the ruins, which added much to the general gloom of the situation. i found it then, and ever since, very difficult to locate myself when wandering in the ruins and in the rebuilt district, as all the old landmarks are gone and the only guide often is a prominent ruin in the distance. as there were no cars running in the burnt district, i found my automobile very useful although the rough streets filled with all manner of debris, punctured the tires too frequently. the water supply in our house was gone, as was also the gas and electric light. the only light we could use was candle-light, and that only until p. m.. the city authorities issued an order that no fires could be built in any house until the chimneys were fully rebuilt and inspected by an officer. the water we used was brought by my son in a wash-boiler in his automobile. he got it out near the park. people all cooked in improvised kitchens made in the street. as we were prohibited from making fires in the house, i improvised a kitchen on the street. i found some pieces of board which were blown into the street and partially covered with brick and stone, from st. luke's church and with some portieres from the house constructed a rude shelter, and put a laundry stove in it, so we could make coffee, stew, and fry after a fashion. some people set up a cooking stove, many set up two rows of bricks, with a piece of sheet iron laid across. our door-bell was rung several evenings, and we were ordered to "put out that light." about noon on the th the blocks between pacific and filbert were on fire at jones street, and the fire was again threatening van ness avenue, but several engines were pumping, from one to another, saltwater from black point and had a stream on the west side of van ness until it was saved. while the fire was threatening, i went up to my daughter's (mrs. oxnard's) and told the servants to get things ready to take out. i would go back home, and if it crossed van ness i would return, but if i did not return in fifteen minutes they might consider the danger over. it did not cross. while this pumping was going on, and when the fire had approached the east side of van ness avenue, one of the engines in the line suddenly stopped. this was a critical moment, but the firemen were equal to the emergency, and they uncoupled the engine which was playing on the houses, and remembering that the earthquake had disrupted and choked up the sewer, thereby damming up the outlet, and in fact creating a cistern, they put the suction down the manhole and continued playing on the fire, and saved the buildings on the north side. i tried to get the names of the foreman and men who had the presence of mind and cool judgment, but was unable to do so. this ended the conflagration; but for three nights after there were fires from smouldering timbers and slow-burning debris, sufficient to light up my room so that i could see to read. i was still in fear of a fire breaking out in the unburnt district west of van ness avenue, and as there was no water in the pipes we would be as helpless as ever. this gave much anxiety during the two weeks following the calamity. when night came on the evening of the th, the parks and the presidio were filled with frightened people, old and young. thousands left their homes in the (which afterwards proved to be) unburned district, and sought shelter, as stated, in the parks and streets in the open air. mr. and mrs. dr. j. w. keeney and family left their home at clay street, and remained on lafayette square in the open air for two days and nights, with hundreds of others, who feared another earthquake and the conflagration. the afternoon after the fire had exhausted itself, the atmosphere was hot, the great beds of coals gave out heat and glowed brightly at night. the more i saw of this desolation, the worse it looked. i barricaded my windows the best i could with mattresses and rugs, as the wind was a little chilly. they stayed that way for about two weeks. the front of my house was blistered and blackened by the intense heat. the paint melted in a peculiar way, and over two of the windows it hung like drapery. this morning (saturday, the st) a man with a policeman came to the door and demanded blankets, cover-lids, pillows, and mattresses. i gave all i could spare, and some draperies besides. they insisted on taking the rugs from the floor, and i had much difficulty in making them see that rugs were not what they needed. the telegraph and telephone wires made a network on every street, and for more than two weeks i carried in my pocket a pair of wire cutters, which i had often occasion to use. during the week following the fire, i found many water-pipes leaking, and i went around with a hammer and wooden plugs and stopped them, in hope to raise the water sufficient to have a supply in my house. i think i succeeded. this morning (saturday) i was hungry, with nothing in my house to eat. i found a fireman on the street who gave me one of two boxes of sardines which he had, and a stranger gave me soda crackers, so i had a pretty fair breakfast under the circumstances. bread we were able to buy after a few days. on may d we were able to buy the staple articles of food. up to that time we obtained what we needed from the relief committee, such as canned meats, potatoes, coffee, crackers, etc. the city being under military rule, on may th i obtained the following orders: san francisco, may , . to all civic and military authorities: permit the bearer, mr. j. b. stetson, to visit the premises, california, and get safe. j. f. dinan, chief of police. may , . permit mr. stetson, no. california street, to open safe and remove contents. j. m. stafford, major th infantry, u. s. a. so, with this permit, authority or protection, or whatever it may be called, i found my safe in the ruins and everything in it that was inflammable burned to a coal; one of the twenty-dollar gold pieces before mentioned was saved. during the afternoon of the th and until o'clock p. m. of the th the scraping sound of dragging trunks on the sidewalks was continual. all sorts of methods for conveying valuables were resorted to,--chairs on casters, baby carriages, wheelbarrows,--but the trunk-dragging was the most common. it was almost impossible to get a wagon of any kind. the object of the people was to get to the vacant lots at north beach and to the presidio grounds. shortly after the calamity the most absurd stories were in circulation. it was stated that a man came out of the wreck of the palace hotel with his pockets filled with human fingers and ears taken from the dead inmates for the rings and earrings. as no one was injured in the hotel, it was wholly imaginative. a man near the park met another who related the shocking occurrence of two men having been hanged on a tree in sight, and not a long way off; the man hastened to the spot and found no crowd, nor men hanging. my son was engaged with his automobile all the forenoon in work connected with the temporary hospital at the mechanics' pavilion. at about a. m. it was found necessary to remove the patients, which was finished by noon. when the last one was taken out, he went in and made a search, and found that all had been taken away. still the report was believed by many that a hundred or more perished there by the fire. a few personal experiences have come to me, and as i can verify them, i have here inserted them. one of our men who roomed near the engine-house on california street, packed his trunk and dragged it downstairs, and started along the street for a place of safety until he came to a pile of brick, when he stopped and had just time to lay the brick all around it and run away. the next day as soon as the heat would permit, he went for his trunk and found it slightly roasted, but the contents uninjured. a lady who does not wish her name mentioned relates a very interesting and thrilling story of her earthquake experience. she says she had permitted her servant to go away for the night, and at five o'clock she remembered that the milkcan had not been placed out as usual, so at that hour she concluded to get up and do it herself. she did so and before she could return to her bed, the shock came and the chimney was thrown over, falling on the roof and crashed through that and the ceiling of the chamber and on to the bed, which she had left only a few minutes before. alfred boles, roadmaster of the california street cable r. r. co., was working on the cables all of the previous night, and up to about : on the morning of the th. therefore, that night at their home in the richmond district, the daughter slept with her mother. the earthquake shook the chimney down, which fell through the roof and ceiling of her room, and covered the bed with brick and mortar. had she been in it she certainly would have been killed. mr. and mrs. weatherly, who were living in the savoy, carefully packed a trunk of their most valuable belongings, and he started up post street dragging the trunk, seeking a place of safety. the porter of the savoy called him back, and showed him an express wagon in front of the house, and said he was about to start for golden gate park, so he lifted his trunk on to the wagon. about this time a soldier or policeman came along and said, "i want these horses," and without ceremony unharnessed them, and took them away. in a few minutes the fire had got so near, that it was impossible to get other horses, or move the wagon by hand and the wagon and contents were burned. mr. and mrs. j. l. tharp tell a very interesting story of their experience on that april morning. their sleeping room was one fronting on the east side of scott street, between sacramento and california streets. when the shock came it rolled their bed from one side of the room to the other, quite across the room, and where the bed had stood was filled with the broken chimney, to the amount of more than three tons. mrs. tharp remembers having oiled the castors on the bedstead only a short time before, which she thinks saved their lives. later in the day or the beginning of the next, while the fire was still miles away, some friendly but excited neighbors, came rushing into mr. tharp's chambers commanding him to flee as the house was in danger from the conflagration. he was at that instant engaged in changing his undergarments, and had his arms and head nearly through. they shouted for him to come quick and save himself. he begged for a little more time, when one of them petulantly exclaimed: "oh! let him burn up if he is so slow!" the fire did not come within two miles of this place. shortly after the fire and as soon as people began to realize the extent of the calamity, i listened to many discussions and prophecies concerning the future in reference to business and rebuilding. it was the general opinion that the business of jewelry and other luxuries, would be ruined for many years to come; that fillmore street and van ness avenue would be only used temporarily; that the down-town district would be restored in two years--many entertained opinions exactly the reverse, and predicted all sorts of gloomy outlooks. many theories and predictions were made, none of which have been verified. my daughter, mrs. oxnard, with her husband was on the way to new york. at about noon of the th they heard, at north platte, that there had been a severe shock of earthquake in san francisco, and that the lower part of the city south of market street was on fire. they thought the report exaggerated, and at first declined to give it much attention; but when they met friends at grand island at about o'clock they got information of such a character that it began to give them fear. at every place until they reached chicago additional news was obtained, which indicated a very alarming condition of things here. they went to the offices of the southern pacific and the santa fe railroad companies, but could get nothing that they considered reliable. so they started on their way to new york from chicago in doubt as to whether they should continue or turn back. on arrival in new york on the th there was much excitement. newspapers issued extras every hour, filled with fearful stories and of the progress of the fire. the limits of the burned districts were reported with great accuracy, but the stories were alarmingly exaggerated, and in many instances absurd. one telegram read that the dead were so numerous that it was impossible to give burial, and the government at washington was asked to furnish a ship that they might be carried out far into the ocean and thrown into the sea. some were fortunate enough to get a telegram, which was eagerly read and discussed. the number of people killed was reported to be from one to thirty thousand. i finally received a telegram from them asking whether i would advise them to return, which i answered at once to come by all means. so they started back, arriving here on the th of may. my sister was in dresden, germany, and was like others in an excited condition, until she could hear by mail from san francisco. she says the first knowledge of the disaster reaching her was from a small evening newspaper printed in english, which in a very brief item said that "san francisco was destroyed by an earthquake this morning [april th]." this was all the information which she could obtain that afternoon and evening. a neighbor, a german lady, came in the next morning and told her that the german newspapers of that morning said that the city of san francisco was on fire, and that the loss of life was enormous. that day, the th, she visited the bulletin boards of the different newspapers, and with her daughter endeavored to translate the brief cable telegrams which were posted. the news came to london in english, and there cut down as brief as possible and translated into german, so the information was very brief. san francisco people who were there sought one another for news. within a week the new york papers came, which gave more particulars. while waiting for authentic information, such items as these were in circulation: "golden gate park has been withered by the intense heat, and people are crowded to the beach," and that "typhoid fever has broken out"; that a tidal-wave had swept over the city; that the earthquake shocks continued; that all communication with the interior by rail or otherwise had been cut off; that thirty thousand people had been killed. whether her family and friends were alive she did not know. in this state of mind, she found in a new york paper a picture of the spreckels residence which showed mine. this was the first information that she received in reference to her family or their belongings. mr. and mrs. dohrmann and his sister, mrs. paulsen, of san francisco, were in dresden, and did much to allay the fears of the san franciscans. during the first few days the german people got over the excitement, but not so with those whose homes were in this city. a letter which i mailed to her on april d reached her on may th, which was the first one she received, and which assured her of the safety of her family and friends. charles stetson wheeler, jr., who was in school at belmont, sends me an interesting account of his experiences. he says: i was awakened by the violent shaking of my bed, which rolled across the room and struck the one occupied by my roommate. the pictures and frames fell from the walls, the bowls and pitchers from the washstands, the books from the shelves, and all were scattered over the floor. a piece of plastering and a broken wash-bowl struck me on my head. i at first thought it was the playful prank of the boys, but having got out of my bed, i was thrown headlong on the floor. i knew it was something serious and realized that it was an earthquake. i in some way got down the stairs; i hardly know how. in the yard i found my companions, badly frightened, all in pajamas, gazing at the sagging walls, broken windows and chimneys. my roommate, who had got out ahead of me, rushed up to me, and cried out: "by jove, i am glad you're out safe; i didn't think of you until i saw you zig-zagging out of the building." i thanked him and joined the crowd, watching one of the teachers, who was climbing the flagpole, so as to be on top of the building if it further collapsed. we were all silent for a few minutes, but when the shock was fully over, we talked glibly and loud enough, and had many jokes. no fires were started, as in san francisco. we asked one another "if this was the end of the world or only the beginning." "do you think we will get a holiday?" etc. as the excitement subsided, we began to shiver, so by common consent we sought in the ruins for our clothing. i felt that another shock might follow, and possibly worse than the first, and got out of the wrecked building as soon as possible. a little later i found the head master of the school. "good morning," said i. "unfortunate morning," he replied. "brick structures do not hold together when acted upon by conflicting motions caused by the vibrations due to earthquakes. this disturbance is purely local, and i think that belmont is the only place which has suffered." i thought of our home in the city, which is built of brick, and that my mother, father, and sisters were in it. the more i thought of it, the weaker i felt, until my knees were shaking. in about twenty minutes i was at the belmont station determined to go to the city to learn the fate of my family. i tried to telephone, but i was told that both telephone and wire connections between san francisco and belmont were broken. this was the first proof that the earthquake was more than local, and my fears were heightened. as i waited i was joined by other boys. all were curious to know what had happened in other places, but few were worried. soon the entire school was gathered at the station. a teacher on a bicycle arrived and demanded in the name of mr. r--that we return to school. the majority complied, but five of us refused. we were promised expulsion. at last the train pulled in. we boarded it with difficulty, for it was packed with stanford students. they told us that their college was a wreck. "the buildings are of stone, you know," said one, "and stone buildings can't stand up against, an earthquake." hearing remarks like this made me so dizzy with dread that i began picturing to myself the ruins of my home. i could almost hear the groans of those most dear to me buried under tons of stone and beams, it was maddening, and i had to struggle some to keep from crying out like a child. slowly the train pulled by the ruins of san mateo, burlingame, and milbrae, but just outside of san bruno the long line of straining cars came to a sudden halt. we climbed out to find out the cause of the stop. ahead we saw several hundred yards of track buckled and humped like much crumpled ribbon. we had gone as far as possible by rail. we counted the money in the crowd and decided to rent a rig if possible and drive the twenty miles to our homes. after walking three miles, we found no one willing to take us to the city for the money we were able to offer; so at this point two of our party left us. we must have gone about eight miles when the van of the thousands leaving the city met us. they were principally hobos and riffraff, packing their blankets on their backs. we stopped and anxiously inquired the plight of the city. some said that the city was burned to the ground, some that the whole town was submerged by a tidal wave, but all agreed in this particular: that it was time to leave the city, for soon there would be nothing left of it. the numbers of the retreat were increasing now. we could see mothers wheeling their babes in buggies, limping, dusty, and tired. men lashed and swore at horses straining at loads of household furnishings. all were in desperate haste. this increased our speed in the opposite direction. we began to see the dense black cloud of smoke hanging above the sky-line ahead of us. we almost ran. as we passed over each mile we heard more distressing tales from those leaving. men called us fools to be going toward the doomed town. thousands were traveling away; we were the only ones going toward san francisco. at last we came to the old sutro forest. we toiled up to the summit of the ridge and looked down for the first time upon the city we were raised in. in my mind, it was a sight that shall always be vivid. the lower part of the city was a hell-like furnace. even from that distance we could hear the roar of the flames and the crash of falling beams. we were paralyzed for a moment with the wonder of it. then we began to run, run hard, down the slope toward the city. it was impossible for us to see our homes, for many hills intervened. soon we reached the outskirts of the town. fear grew stronger and stronger in my heart as i saw that all the chimneys of the houses were littering the streets through which we passed. they were of brick and so was my father's house. the trip across the city seemed endless, even though we strained every effort to hurry. i had had no breakfast, and was almost sick with fear and hunger. we passed a brick church, and it was in ruins, shaken to pieces by the shock. i almost reeled over when i saw it. the rest of the way i ran. as i came within four blocks of the house i looked anxiously over the roofs of other houses for its high chimneys that had hitherto been visible from that point. i could not see them! then i was sure that all was over, and that my father, mother, and sisters were lost forever. these last four blocks i fairly flew, in spite of my fatigue. i kept my eyes on the ground, not daring to raise them as i ran. then as i reached the curb before the door i never expected to enter again i looked up. the house, though shorn of its chimneys, stood staunch and strong--they were safe. for a second i stood still. then, like a poor fool, i began to laugh and shout. that was the most joyous home-coming of my life. * * * * * during the day of wednesday, april th, i saw some of the damage done by the earthquake. the loss to the california-street cable railroad was the upper portion of the chimney. i had my lunch at the pacific union club, corner of post and stockton streets, and noted that building was damaged but very little; only some few pieces of plastering fell. the call building gave no evidence on the outside. the commercial block, in which my office was located, did not show any damage. the door leading into my office would not open, but the next one did. my house shows a few cracks. the tops of the chimneys on my house were thrown off, and the kitchen chimney had to be rebuilt. but the great loss, the great calamity, was the fire. after that had raged for three days the havoc was fearful to see. for miles and miles there was not a remnant of anything inflammable remaining,--nothing but brick, stone, broken crockery, iron and telegraph poles. in the general appearance it resembles the country where a forest fire has swept, the chimneys and unburned telephone poles representing the standing trunks of trees. the loss of life is probably nearly . many earthquake shocks were felt during the three days of the calamity, and for as much as two months we felt gentle reminders. the soldiers lacked good sense and judgment, or perhaps it may have been that some incompetent officers gave senseless orders,--for instance, the people occupying the stores on polk street, between clay and pacific, and the apartments above, were driven out at a. m. of thursday, and not permitted to re-enter. as the fire did not reach this locality until about p. m., there was abundant time to save many valuable articles which were by this imbecile order lost. why this was done, i did not at the time, nor have i since been able to understand. being busy in the work of restoration, i forget what a terrible calamity has befallen the city and the people, but i sometimes realize it, and it comes like a shock. it is estimated that , buildings were destroyed. i find that people lost the power of keeping time and dates, and if i had not made notes at the time i would be unable to recollect the events of these three days with any degree of accuracy in point of time. i have felt that it was fortunate that this calamity did not happen on a friday, or on the th of the month. had it occurred on either of those days, superstitious people would have had much to aid them in their belief. the feeding of , people suddenly made destitute is a matter of great difficulty, but it has been done. it rained two nights,--one night quite hard,--but the health of the people has been remarkably good. we had water in the house on the st of may, glass in the windows on the th of may, gas on the th of june, electric light on the th of june, and cooked on the street until the th of may. june, none transcribed from the macmillan and company edition by david price, email ccx @coventry.ac.uk martin eden chapter i the one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. he wore rough clothes that smacked of the sea, and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious hall in which he found himself. he did not know what to do with his cap, and was stuffing it into his coat pocket when the other took it from him. the act was done quietly and naturally, and the awkward young fellow appreciated it. "he understands," was his thought. "he'll see me through all right." he walked at the other's heels with a swing to his shoulders, and his legs spread unwittingly, as if the level floors were tilting up and sinking down to the heave and lunge of the sea. the wide rooms seemed too narrow for his rolling gait, and to himself he was in terror lest his broad shoulders should collide with the doorways or sweep the bric-a-brac from the low mantel. he recoiled from side to side between the various objects and multiplied the hazards that in reality lodged only in his mind. between a grand piano and a centre-table piled high with books was space for a half a dozen to walk abreast, yet he essayed it with trepidation. his heavy arms hung loosely at his sides. he did not know what to do with those arms and hands, and when, to his excited vision, one arm seemed liable to brush against the books on the table, he lurched away like a frightened horse, barely missing the piano stool. he watched the easy walk of the other in front of him, and for the first time realized that his walk was different from that of other men. he experienced a momentary pang of shame that he should walk so uncouthly. the sweat burst through the skin of his forehead in tiny beads, and he paused and mopped his bronzed face with his handkerchief. "hold on, arthur, my boy," he said, attempting to mask his anxiety with facetious utterance. "this is too much all at once for yours truly. give me a chance to get my nerve. you know i didn't want to come, an' i guess your fam'ly ain't hankerin' to see me neither." "that's all right," was the reassuring answer. "you mustn't be frightened at us. we're just homely people--hello, there's a letter for me." he stepped back to the table, tore open the envelope, and began to read, giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself. and the stranger understood and appreciated. his was the gift of sympathy, understanding; and beneath his alarmed exterior that sympathetic process went on. he mopped his forehead dry and glanced about him with a controlled face, though in the eyes there was an expression such as wild animals betray when they fear the trap. he was surrounded by the unknown, apprehensive of what might happen, ignorant of what he should do, aware that he walked and bore himself awkwardly, fearful that every attribute and power of him was similarly afflicted. he was keenly sensitive, hopelessly self-conscious, and the amused glance that the other stole privily at him over the top of the letter burned into him like a dagger-thrust. he saw the glance, but he gave no sign, for among the things he had learned was discipline. also, that dagger-thrust went to his pride. he cursed himself for having come, and at the same time resolved that, happen what would, having come, he would carry it through. the lines of his face hardened, and into his eyes came a fighting light. he looked about more unconcernedly, sharply observant, every detail of the pretty interior registering itself on his brain. his eyes were wide apart; nothing in their field of vision escaped; and as they drank in the beauty before them the fighting light died out and a warm glow took its place. he was responsive to beauty, and here was cause to respond. an oil painting caught and held him. a heavy surf thundered and burst over an outjutting rock; lowering storm-clouds covered the sky; and, outside the line of surf, a pilot-schooner, close-hauled, heeled over till every detail of her deck was visible, was surging along against a stormy sunset sky. there was beauty, and it drew him irresistibly. he forgot his awkward walk and came closer to the painting, very close. the beauty faded out of the canvas. his face expressed his bepuzzlement. he stared at what seemed a careless daub of paint, then stepped away. immediately all the beauty flashed back into the canvas. "a trick picture," was his thought, as he dismissed it, though in the midst of the multitudinous impressions he was receiving he found time to feel a prod of indignation that so much beauty should be sacrificed to make a trick. he did not know painting. he had been brought up on chromos and lithographs that were always definite and sharp, near or far. he had seen oil paintings, it was true, in the show windows of shops, but the glass of the windows had prevented his eager eyes from approaching too near. he glanced around at his friend reading the letter and saw the books on the table. into his eyes leaped a wistfulness and a yearning as promptly as the yearning leaps into the eyes of a starving man at sight of food. an impulsive stride, with one lurch to right and left of the shoulders, brought him to the table, where he began affectionately handling the books. he glanced at the titles and the authors' names, read fragments of text, caressing the volumes with his eyes and hands, and, once, recognized a book he had read. for the rest, they were strange books and strange authors. he chanced upon a volume of swinburne and began reading steadily, forgetful of where he was, his face glowing. twice he closed the book on his forefinger to look at the name of the author. swinburne! he would remember that name. that fellow had eyes, and he had certainly seen color and flashing light. but who was swinburne? was he dead a hundred years or so, like most of the poets? or was he alive still, and writing? he turned to the title-page . . . yes, he had written other books; well, he would go to the free library the first thing in the morning and try to get hold of some of swinburne's stuff. he went back to the text and lost himself. he did not notice that a young woman had entered the room. the first he knew was when he heard arthur's voice saying:- "ruth, this is mr. eden." the book was closed on his forefinger, and before he turned he was thrilling to the first new impression, which was not of the girl, but of her brother's words. under that muscled body of his he was a mass of quivering sensibilities. at the slightest impact of the outside world upon his consciousness, his thoughts, sympathies, and emotions leapt and played like lambent flame. he was extraordinarily receptive and responsive, while his imagination, pitched high, was ever at work establishing relations of likeness and difference. "mr. eden," was what he had thrilled to--he who had been called "eden," or "martin eden," or just "martin," all his life. and "_mister_!" it was certainly going some, was his internal comment. his mind seemed to turn, on the instant, into a vast camera obscura, and he saw arrayed around his consciousness endless pictures from his life, of stoke-holes and forecastles, camps and beaches, jails and boozing-kens, fever-hospitals and slum streets, wherein the thread of association was the fashion in which he had been addressed in those various situations. and then he turned and saw the girl. the phantasmagoria of his brain vanished at sight of her. she was a pale, ethereal creature, with wide, spiritual blue eyes and a wealth of golden hair. he did not know how she was dressed, except that the dress was as wonderful as she. he likened her to a pale gold flower upon a slender stem. no, she was a spirit, a divinity, a goddess; such sublimated beauty was not of the earth. or perhaps the books were right, and there were many such as she in the upper walks of life. she might well be sung by that chap, swinburne. perhaps he had had somebody like her in mind when he painted that girl, iseult, in the book there on the table. all this plethora of sight, and feeling, and thought occurred on the instant. there was no pause of the realities wherein he moved. he saw her hand coming out to his, and she looked him straight in the eyes as she shook hands, frankly, like a man. the women he had known did not shake hands that way. for that matter, most of them did not shake hands at all. a flood of associations, visions of various ways he had made the acquaintance of women, rushed into his mind and threatened to swamp it. but he shook them aside and looked at her. never had he seen such a woman. the women he had known! immediately, beside her, on either hand, ranged the women he had known. for an eternal second he stood in the midst of a portrait gallery, wherein she occupied the central place, while about her were limned many women, all to be weighed and measured by a fleeting glance, herself the unit of weight and measure. he saw the weak and sickly faces of the girls of the factories, and the simpering, boisterous girls from the south of market. there were women of the cattle camps, and swarthy cigarette-smoking women of old mexico. these, in turn, were crowded out by japanese women, doll-like, stepping mincingly on wooden clogs; by eurasians, delicate featured, stamped with degeneracy; by full-bodied south-sea-island women, flower-crowned and brown-skinned. all these were blotted out by a grotesque and terrible nightmare brood--frowsy, shuffling creatures from the pavements of whitechapel, gin-bloated hags of the stews, and all the vast hell's following of harpies, vile-mouthed and filthy, that under the guise of monstrous female form prey upon sailors, the scrapings of the ports, the scum and slime of the human pit. "won't you sit down, mr. eden?" the girl was saying. "i have been looking forward to meeting you ever since arthur told us. it was brave of you--" he waved his hand deprecatingly and muttered that it was nothing at all, what he had done, and that any fellow would have done it. she noticed that the hand he waved was covered with fresh abrasions, in the process of healing, and a glance at the other loose-hanging hand showed it to be in the same condition. also, with quick, critical eye, she noted a scar on his cheek, another that peeped out from under the hair of the forehead, and a third that ran down and disappeared under the starched collar. she repressed a smile at sight of the red line that marked the chafe of the collar against the bronzed neck. he was evidently unused to stiff collars. likewise her feminine eye took in the clothes he wore, the cheap and unaesthetic cut, the wrinkling of the coat across the shoulders, and the series of wrinkles in the sleeves that advertised bulging biceps muscles. while he waved his hand and muttered that he had done nothing at all, he was obeying her behest by trying to get into a chair. he found time to admire the ease with which she sat down, then lurched toward a chair facing her, overwhelmed with consciousness of the awkward figure he was cutting. this was a new experience for him. all his life, up to then, he had been unaware of being either graceful or awkward. such thoughts of self had never entered his mind. he sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair, greatly worried by his hands. they were in the way wherever he put them. arthur was leaving the room, and martin eden followed his exit with longing eyes. he felt lost, alone there in the room with that pale spirit of a woman. there was no bar-keeper upon whom to call for drinks, no small boy to send around the corner for a can of beer and by means of that social fluid start the amenities of friendship flowing. "you have such a scar on your neck, mr. eden," the girl was saying. "how did it happen? i am sure it must have been some adventure." "a mexican with a knife, miss," he answered, moistening his parched lips and clearing his throat. "it was just a fight. after i got the knife away, he tried to bite off my nose." baldly as he had stated it, in his eyes was a rich vision of that hot, starry night at salina cruz, the white strip of beach, the lights of the sugar steamers in the harbor, the voices of the drunken sailors in the distance, the jostling stevedores, the flaming passion in the mexican's face, the glint of the beast-eyes in the starlight, the sting of the steel in his neck, and the rush of blood, the crowd and the cries, the two bodies, his and the mexican's, locked together, rolling over and over and tearing up the sand, and from away off somewhere the mellow tinkling of a guitar. such was the picture, and he thrilled to the memory of it, wondering if the man could paint it who had painted the pilot-schooner on the wall. the white beach, the stars, and the lights of the sugar steamers would look great, he thought, and midway on the sand the dark group of figures that surrounded the fighters. the knife occupied a place in the picture, he decided, and would show well, with a sort of gleam, in the light of the stars. but of all this no hint had crept into his speech. "he tried to bite off my nose," he concluded. "oh," the girl said, in a faint, far voice, and he noticed the shock in her sensitive face. he felt a shock himself, and a blush of embarrassment shone faintly on his sunburned cheeks, though to him it burned as hotly as when his cheeks had been exposed to the open furnace-door in the fire-room. such sordid things as stabbing affrays were evidently not fit subjects for conversation with a lady. people in the books, in her walk of life, did not talk about such things--perhaps they did not know about them, either. there was a brief pause in the conversation they were trying to get started. then she asked tentatively about the scar on his cheek. even as she asked, he realized that she was making an effort to talk his talk, and he resolved to get away from it and talk hers. "it was just an accident," he said, putting his hand to his cheek. "one night, in a calm, with a heavy sea running, the main-boom-lift carried away, an' next the tackle. the lift was wire, an' it was threshin' around like a snake. the whole watch was tryin' to grab it, an' i rushed in an' got swatted." "oh," she said, this time with an accent of comprehension, though secretly his speech had been so much greek to her and she was wondering what a _lift_ was and what _swatted_ meant. "this man swineburne," he began, attempting to put his plan into execution and pronouncing the i long. "who?" "swineburne," he repeated, with the same mispronunciation. "the poet." "swinburne," she corrected. "yes, that's the chap," he stammered, his cheeks hot again. "how long since he died?" "why, i haven't heard that he was dead." she looked at him curiously. "where did you make his acquaintance?" "i never clapped eyes on him," was the reply. "but i read some of his poetry out of that book there on the table just before you come in. how do you like his poetry?" and thereat she began to talk quickly and easily upon the subject he had suggested. he felt better, and settled back slightly from the edge of the chair, holding tightly to its arms with his hands, as if it might get away from him and buck him to the floor. he had succeeded in making her talk her talk, and while she rattled on, he strove to follow her, marvelling at all the knowledge that was stowed away in that pretty head of hers, and drinking in the pale beauty of her face. follow her he did, though bothered by unfamiliar words that fell glibly from her lips and by critical phrases and thought-processes that were foreign to his mind, but that nevertheless stimulated his mind and set it tingling. here was intellectual life, he thought, and here was beauty, warm and wonderful as he had never dreamed it could be. he forgot himself and stared at her with hungry eyes. here was something to live for, to win to, to fight for--ay, and die for. the books were true. there were such women in the world. she was one of them. she lent wings to his imagination, and great, luminous canvases spread themselves before him whereon loomed vague, gigantic figures of love and romance, and of heroic deeds for woman's sake--for a pale woman, a flower of gold. and through the swaying, palpitant vision, as through a fairy mirage, he stared at the real woman, sitting there and talking of literature and art. he listened as well, but he stared, unconscious of the fixity of his gaze or of the fact that all that was essentially masculine in his nature was shining in his eyes. but she, who knew little of the world of men, being a woman, was keenly aware of his burning eyes. she had never had men look at her in such fashion, and it embarrassed her. she stumbled and halted in her utterance. the thread of argument slipped from her. he frightened her, and at the same time it was strangely pleasant to be so looked upon. her training warned her of peril and of wrong, subtle, mysterious, luring; while her instincts rang clarion-voiced through her being, impelling her to hurdle caste and place and gain to this traveller from another world, to this uncouth young fellow with lacerated hands and a line of raw red caused by the unaccustomed linen at his throat, who, all too evidently, was soiled and tainted by ungracious existence. she was clean, and her cleanness revolted; but she was woman, and she was just beginning to learn the paradox of woman. "as i was saying--what was i saying?" she broke off abruptly and laughed merrily at her predicament. "you was saying that this man swinburne failed bein' a great poet because--an' that was as far as you got, miss," he prompted, while to himself he seemed suddenly hungry, and delicious little thrills crawled up and down his spine at the sound of her laughter. like silver, he thought to himself, like tinkling silver bells; and on the instant, and for an instant, he was transported to a far land, where under pink cherry blossoms, he smoked a cigarette and listened to the bells of the peaked pagoda calling straw-sandalled devotees to worship. "yes, thank you," she said. "swinburne fails, when all is said, because he is, well, indelicate. there are many of his poems that should never be read. every line of the really great poets is filled with beautiful truth, and calls to all that is high and noble in the human. not a line of the great poets can be spared without impoverishing the world by that much." "i thought it was great," he said hesitatingly, "the little i read. i had no idea he was such a--a scoundrel. i guess that crops out in his other books." "there are many lines that could be spared from the book you were reading," she said, her voice primly firm and dogmatic. "i must 'a' missed 'em," he announced. "what i read was the real goods. it was all lighted up an' shining, an' it shun right into me an' lighted me up inside, like the sun or a searchlight. that's the way it landed on me, but i guess i ain't up much on poetry, miss." he broke off lamely. he was confused, painfully conscious of his inarticulateness. he had felt the bigness and glow of life in what he had read, but his speech was inadequate. he could not express what he felt, and to himself he likened himself to a sailor, in a strange ship, on a dark night, groping about in the unfamiliar running rigging. well, he decided, it was up to him to get acquainted in this new world. he had never seen anything that he couldn't get the hang of when he wanted to and it was about time for him to want to learn to talk the things that were inside of him so that she could understand. _she_ was bulking large on his horizon. "now longfellow--" she was saying. "yes, i've read 'm," he broke in impulsively, spurred on to exhibit and make the most of his little store of book knowledge, desirous of showing her that he was not wholly a stupid clod. "'the psalm of life,' 'excelsior,' an' . . . i guess that's all." she nodded her head and smiled, and he felt, somehow, that her smile was tolerant, pitifully tolerant. he was a fool to attempt to make a pretence that way. that longfellow chap most likely had written countless books of poetry. "excuse me, miss, for buttin' in that way. i guess the real facts is that i don't know nothin' much about such things. it ain't in my class. but i'm goin' to make it in my class." it sounded like a threat. his voice was determined, his eyes were flashing, the lines of his face had grown harsh. and to her it seemed that the angle of his jaw had changed; its pitch had become unpleasantly aggressive. at the same time a wave of intense virility seemed to surge out from him and impinge upon her. "i think you could make it in--in your class," she finished with a laugh. "you are very strong." her gaze rested for a moment on the muscular neck, heavy corded, almost bull-like, bronzed by the sun, spilling over with rugged health and strength. and though he sat there, blushing and humble, again she felt drawn to him. she was surprised by a wanton thought that rushed into her mind. it seemed to her that if she could lay her two hands upon that neck that all its strength and vigor would flow out to her. she was shocked by this thought. it seemed to reveal to her an undreamed depravity in her nature. besides, strength to her was a gross and brutish thing. her ideal of masculine beauty had always been slender gracefulness. yet the thought still persisted. it bewildered her that she should desire to place her hands on that sunburned neck. in truth, she was far from robust, and the need of her body and mind was for strength. but she did not know it. she knew only that no man had ever affected her before as this one had, who shocked her from moment to moment with his awful grammar. "yes, i ain't no invalid," he said. "when it comes down to hard-pan, i can digest scrap-iron. but just now i've got dyspepsia. most of what you was sayin' i can't digest. never trained that way, you see. i like books and poetry, and what time i've had i've read 'em, but i've never thought about 'em the way you have. that's why i can't talk about 'em. i'm like a navigator adrift on a strange sea without chart or compass. now i want to get my bearin's. mebbe you can put me right. how did you learn all this you've ben talkin'?" "by going to school, i fancy, and by studying," she answered. "i went to school when i was a kid," he began to object. "yes; but i mean high school, and lectures, and the university." "you've gone to the university?" he demanded in frank amazement. he felt that she had become remoter from him by at least a million miles. "i'm going there now. i'm taking special courses in english." he did not know what "english" meant, but he made a mental note of that item of ignorance and passed on. "how long would i have to study before i could go to the university?" he asked. she beamed encouragement upon his desire for knowledge, and said: "that depends upon how much studying you have already done. you have never attended high school? of course not. but did you finish grammar school?" "i had two years to run, when i left," he answered. "but i was always honorably promoted at school." the next moment, angry with himself for the boast, he had gripped the arms of the chair so savagely that every finger-end was stinging. at the same moment he became aware that a woman was entering the room. he saw the girl leave her chair and trip swiftly across the floor to the newcomer. they kissed each other, and, with arms around each other's waists, they advanced toward him. that must be her mother, he thought. she was a tall, blond woman, slender, and stately, and beautiful. her gown was what he might expect in such a house. his eyes delighted in the graceful lines of it. she and her dress together reminded him of women on the stage. then he remembered seeing similar grand ladies and gowns entering the london theatres while he stood and watched and the policemen shoved him back into the drizzle beyond the awning. next his mind leaped to the grand hotel at yokohama, where, too, from the sidewalk, he had seen grand ladies. then the city and the harbor of yokohama, in a thousand pictures, began flashing before his eyes. but he swiftly dismissed the kaleidoscope of memory, oppressed by the urgent need of the present. he knew that he must stand up to be introduced, and he struggled painfully to his feet, where he stood with trousers bagging at the knees, his arms loose-hanging and ludicrous, his face set hard for the impending ordeal. chapter ii the process of getting into the dining room was a nightmare to him. between halts and stumbles, jerks and lurches, locomotion had at times seemed impossible. but at last he had made it, and was seated alongside of her. the array of knives and forks frightened him. they bristled with unknown perils, and he gazed at them, fascinated, till their dazzle became a background across which moved a succession of forecastle pictures, wherein he and his mates sat eating salt beef with sheath-knives and fingers, or scooping thick pea-soup out of pannikins by means of battered iron spoons. the stench of bad beef was in his nostrils, while in his ears, to the accompaniment of creaking timbers and groaning bulkheads, echoed the loud mouth-noises of the eaters. he watched them eating, and decided that they ate like pigs. well, he would be careful here. he would make no noise. he would keep his mind upon it all the time. he glanced around the table. opposite him was arthur, and arthur's brother, norman. they were her brothers, he reminded himself, and his heart warmed toward them. how they loved each other, the members of this family! there flashed into his mind the picture of her mother, of the kiss of greeting, and of the pair of them walking toward him with arms entwined. not in his world were such displays of affection between parents and children made. it was a revelation of the heights of existence that were attained in the world above. it was the finest thing yet that he had seen in this small glimpse of that world. he was moved deeply by appreciation of it, and his heart was melting with sympathetic tenderness. he had starved for love all his life. his nature craved love. it was an organic demand of his being. yet he had gone without, and hardened himself in the process. he had not known that he needed love. nor did he know it now. he merely saw it in operation, and thrilled to it, and thought it fine, and high, and splendid. he was glad that mr. morse was not there. it was difficult enough getting acquainted with her, and her mother, and her brother, norman. arthur he already knew somewhat. the father would have been too much for him, he felt sure. it seemed to him that he had never worked so hard in his life. the severest toil was child's play compared with this. tiny nodules of moisture stood out on his forehead, and his shirt was wet with sweat from the exertion of doing so many unaccustomed things at once. he had to eat as he had never eaten before, to handle strange tools, to glance surreptitiously about and learn how to accomplish each new thing, to receive the flood of impressions that was pouring in upon him and being mentally annotated and classified; to be conscious of a yearning for her that perturbed him in the form of a dull, aching restlessness; to feel the prod of desire to win to the walk in life whereon she trod, and to have his mind ever and again straying off in speculation and vague plans of how to reach to her. also, when his secret glance went across to norman opposite him, or to any one else, to ascertain just what knife or fork was to be used in any particular occasion, that person's features were seized upon by his mind, which automatically strove to appraise them and to divine what they were--all in relation to her. then he had to talk, to hear what was said to him and what was said back and forth, and to answer, when it was necessary, with a tongue prone to looseness of speech that required a constant curb. and to add confusion to confusion, there was the servant, an unceasing menace, that appeared noiselessly at his shoulder, a dire sphinx that propounded puzzles and conundrums demanding instantaneous solution. he was oppressed throughout the meal by the thought of finger-bowls. irrelevantly, insistently, scores of times, he wondered when they would come on and what they looked like. he had heard of such things, and now, sooner or later, somewhere in the next few minutes, he would see them, sit at table with exalted beings who used them--ay, and he would use them himself. and most important of all, far down and yet always at the surface of his thought, was the problem of how he should comport himself toward these persons. what should his attitude be? he wrestled continually and anxiously with the problem. there were cowardly suggestions that he should make believe, assume a part; and there were still more cowardly suggestions that warned him he would fail in such course, that his nature was not fitted to live up to it, and that he would make a fool of himself. it was during the first part of the dinner, struggling to decide upon his attitude, that he was very quiet. he did not know that his quietness was giving the lie to arthur's words of the day before, when that brother of hers had announced that he was going to bring a wild man home to dinner and for them not to be alarmed, because they would find him an interesting wild man. martin eden could not have found it in him, just then, to believe that her brother could be guilty of such treachery--especially when he had been the means of getting this particular brother out of an unpleasant row. so he sat at table, perturbed by his own unfitness and at the same time charmed by all that went on about him. for the first time he realized that eating was something more than a utilitarian function. he was unaware of what he ate. it was merely food. he was feasting his love of beauty at this table where eating was an aesthetic function. it was an intellectual function, too. his mind was stirred. he heard words spoken that were meaningless to him, and other words that he had seen only in books and that no man or woman he had known was of large enough mental caliber to pronounce. when he heard such words dropping carelessly from the lips of the members of this marvellous family, her family, he thrilled with delight. the romance, and beauty, and high vigor of the books were coming true. he was in that rare and blissful state wherein a man sees his dreams stalk out from the crannies of fantasy and become fact. never had he been at such an altitude of living, and he kept himself in the background, listening, observing, and pleasuring, replying in reticent monosyllables, saying, "yes, miss," and "no, miss," to her, and "yes, ma'am," and "no, ma'am," to her mother. he curbed the impulse, arising out of his sea-training, to say "yes, sir," and "no, sir," to her brothers. he felt that it would be inappropriate and a confession of inferiority on his part--which would never do if he was to win to her. also, it was a dictate of his pride. "by god!" he cried to himself, once; "i'm just as good as them, and if they do know lots that i don't, i could learn 'm a few myself, all the same!" and the next moment, when she or her mother addressed him as "mr. eden," his aggressive pride was forgotten, and he was glowing and warm with delight. he was a civilized man, that was what he was, shoulder to shoulder, at dinner, with people he had read about in books. he was in the books himself, adventuring through the printed pages of bound volumes. but while he belied arthur's description, and appeared a gentle lamb rather than a wild man, he was racking his brains for a course of action. he was no gentle lamb, and the part of second fiddle would never do for the high-pitched dominance of his nature. he talked only when he had to, and then his speech was like his walk to the table, filled with jerks and halts as he groped in his polyglot vocabulary for words, debating over words he knew were fit but which he feared he could not pronounce, rejecting other words he knew would not be understood or would be raw and harsh. but all the time he was oppressed by the consciousness that this carefulness of diction was making a booby of him, preventing him from expressing what he had in him. also, his love of freedom chafed against the restriction in much the same way his neck chafed against the starched fetter of a collar. besides, he was confident that he could not keep it up. he was by nature powerful of thought and sensibility, and the creative spirit was restive and urgent. he was swiftly mastered by the concept or sensation in him that struggled in birth-throes to receive expression and form, and then he forgot himself and where he was, and the old words--the tools of speech he knew--slipped out. once, he declined something from the servant who interrupted and pestered at his shoulder, and he said, shortly and emphatically, "pew!" on the instant those at the table were keyed up and expectant, the servant was smugly pleased, and he was wallowing in mortification. but he recovered himself quickly. "it's the kanaka for 'finish,'" he explained, "and it just come out naturally. it's spelt p-a-u." he caught her curious and speculative eyes fixed on his hands, and, being in explanatory mood, he said:- "i just come down the coast on one of the pacific mail steamers. she was behind time, an' around the puget sound ports we worked like niggers, storing cargo-mixed freight, if you know what that means. that's how the skin got knocked off." "oh, it wasn't that," she hastened to explain, in turn. "your hands seemed too small for your body." his cheeks were hot. he took it as an exposure of another of his deficiencies. "yes," he said depreciatingly. "they ain't big enough to stand the strain. i can hit like a mule with my arms and shoulders. they are too strong, an' when i smash a man on the jaw the hands get smashed, too." he was not happy at what he had said. he was filled with disgust at himself. he had loosed the guard upon his tongue and talked about things that were not nice. "it was brave of you to help arthur the way you did--and you a stranger," she said tactfully, aware of his discomfiture though not of the reason for it. he, in turn, realized what she had done, and in the consequent warm surge of gratefulness that overwhelmed him forgot his loose-worded tongue. "it wasn't nothin' at all," he said. "any guy 'ud do it for another. that bunch of hoodlums was lookin' for trouble, an' arthur wasn't botherin' 'em none. they butted in on 'm, an' then i butted in on them an' poked a few. that's where some of the skin off my hands went, along with some of the teeth of the gang. i wouldn't 'a' missed it for anything. when i seen--" he paused, open-mouthed, on the verge of the pit of his own depravity and utter worthlessness to breathe the same air she did. and while arthur took up the tale, for the twentieth time, of his adventure with the drunken hoodlums on the ferry-boat and of how martin eden had rushed in and rescued him, that individual, with frowning brows, meditated upon the fool he had made of himself, and wrestled more determinedly with the problem of how he should conduct himself toward these people. he certainly had not succeeded so far. he wasn't of their tribe, and he couldn't talk their lingo, was the way he put it to himself. he couldn't fake being their kind. the masquerade would fail, and besides, masquerade was foreign to his nature. there was no room in him for sham or artifice. whatever happened, he must be real. he couldn't talk their talk just yet, though in time he would. upon that he was resolved. but in the meantime, talk he must, and it must be his own talk, toned down, of course, so as to be comprehensible to them and so as not to shook them too much. and furthermore, he wouldn't claim, not even by tacit acceptance, to be familiar with anything that was unfamiliar. in pursuance of this decision, when the two brothers, talking university shop, had used "trig" several times, martin eden demanded:- "what is _trig_?" "trignometry," norman said; "a higher form of math." "and what is math?" was the next question, which, somehow, brought the laugh on norman. "mathematics, arithmetic," was the answer. martin eden nodded. he had caught a glimpse of the apparently illimitable vistas of knowledge. what he saw took on tangibility. his abnormal power of vision made abstractions take on concrete form. in the alchemy of his brain, trigonometry and mathematics and the whole field of knowledge which they betokened were transmuted into so much landscape. the vistas he saw were vistas of green foliage and forest glades, all softly luminous or shot through with flashing lights. in the distance, detail was veiled and blurred by a purple haze, but behind this purple haze, he knew, was the glamour of the unknown, the lure of romance. it was like wine to him. here was adventure, something to do with head and hand, a world to conquer--and straightway from the back of his consciousness rushed the thought, _conquering, to win to her, that lily- pale spirit sitting beside him_. the glimmering vision was rent asunder and dissipated by arthur, who, all evening, had been trying to draw his wild man out. martin eden remembered his decision. for the first time he became himself, consciously and deliberately at first, but soon lost in the joy of creating in making life as he knew it appear before his listeners' eyes. he had been a member of the crew of the smuggling schooner halcyon when she was captured by a revenue cutter. he saw with wide eyes, and he could tell what he saw. he brought the pulsing sea before them, and the men and the ships upon the sea. he communicated his power of vision, till they saw with his eyes what he had seen. he selected from the vast mass of detail with an artist's touch, drawing pictures of life that glowed and burned with light and color, injecting movement so that his listeners surged along with him on the flood of rough eloquence, enthusiasm, and power. at times he shocked them with the vividness of the narrative and his terms of speech, but beauty always followed fast upon the heels of violence, and tragedy was relieved by humor, by interpretations of the strange twists and quirks of sailors' minds. and while he talked, the girl looked at him with startled eyes. his fire warmed her. she wondered if she had been cold all her days. she wanted to lean toward this burning, blazing man that was like a volcano spouting forth strength, robustness, and health. she felt that she must lean toward him, and resisted by an effort. then, too, there was the counter impulse to shrink away from him. she was repelled by those lacerated hands, grimed by toil so that the very dirt of life was ingrained in the flesh itself, by that red chafe of the collar and those bulging muscles. his roughness frightened her; each roughness of speech was an insult to her ear, each rough phase of his life an insult to her soul. and ever and again would come the draw of him, till she thought he must be evil to have such power over her. all that was most firmly established in her mind was rocking. his romance and adventure were battering at the conventions. before his facile perils and ready laugh, life was no longer an affair of serious effort and restraint, but a toy, to be played with and turned topsy-turvy, carelessly to be lived and pleasured in, and carelessly to be flung aside. "therefore, play!" was the cry that rang through her. "lean toward him, if so you will, and place your two hands upon his neck!" she wanted to cry out at the recklessness of the thought, and in vain she appraised her own cleanness and culture and balanced all that she was against what he was not. she glanced about her and saw the others gazing at him with rapt attention; and she would have despaired had not she seen horror in her mother's eyes--fascinated horror, it was true, but none the less horror. this man from outer darkness was evil. her mother saw it, and her mother was right. she would trust her mother's judgment in this as she had always trusted it in all things. the fire of him was no longer warm, and the fear of him was no longer poignant. later, at the piano, she played for him, and at him, aggressively, with the vague intent of emphasizing the impassableness of the gulf that separated them. her music was a club that she swung brutally upon his head; and though it stunned him and crushed him down, it incited him. he gazed upon her in awe. in his mind, as in her own, the gulf widened; but faster than it widened, towered his ambition to win across it. but he was too complicated a plexus of sensibilities to sit staring at a gulf a whole evening, especially when there was music. he was remarkably susceptible to music. it was like strong drink, firing him to audacities of feeling,--a drug that laid hold of his imagination and went cloud-soaring through the sky. it banished sordid fact, flooded his mind with beauty, loosed romance and to its heels added wings. he did not understand the music she played. it was different from the dance-hall piano-banging and blatant brass bands he had heard. but he had caught hints of such music from the books, and he accepted her playing largely on faith, patiently waiting, at first, for the lifting measures of pronounced and simple rhythm, puzzled because those measures were not long continued. just as he caught the swing of them and started, his imagination attuned in flight, always they vanished away in a chaotic scramble of sounds that was meaningless to him, and that dropped his imagination, an inert weight, back to earth. once, it entered his mind that there was a deliberate rebuff in all this. he caught her spirit of antagonism and strove to divine the message that her hands pronounced upon the keys. then he dismissed the thought as unworthy and impossible, and yielded himself more freely to the music. the old delightful condition began to be induced. his feet were no longer clay, and his flesh became spirit; before his eyes and behind his eyes shone a great glory; and then the scene before him vanished and he was away, rocking over the world that was to him a very dear world. the known and the unknown were commingled in the dream-pageant that thronged his vision. he entered strange ports of sun-washed lands, and trod market-places among barbaric peoples that no man had ever seen. the scent of the spice islands was in his nostrils as he had known it on warm, breathless nights at sea, or he beat up against the southeast trades through long tropic days, sinking palm-tufted coral islets in the turquoise sea behind and lifting palm-tufted coral islets in the turquoise sea ahead. swift as thought the pictures came and went. one instant he was astride a broncho and flying through the fairy-colored painted desert country; the next instant he was gazing down through shimmering heat into the whited sepulchre of death valley, or pulling an oar on a freezing ocean where great ice islands towered and glistened in the sun. he lay on a coral beach where the cocoanuts grew down to the mellow-sounding surf. the hulk of an ancient wreck burned with blue fires, in the light of which danced the hula dancers to the barbaric love- calls of the singers, who chanted to tinkling ukuleles and rumbling tom- toms. it was a sensuous, tropic night. in the background a volcano crater was silhouetted against the stars. overhead drifted a pale crescent moon, and the southern cross burned low in the sky. he was a harp; all life that he had known and that was his consciousness was the strings; and the flood of music was a wind that poured against those strings and set them vibrating with memories and dreams. he did not merely feel. sensation invested itself in form and color and radiance, and what his imagination dared, it objectified in some sublimated and magic way. past, present, and future mingled; and he went on oscillating across the broad, warm world, through high adventure and noble deeds to her--ay, and with her, winning her, his arm about her, and carrying her on in flight through the empery of his mind. and she, glancing at him across her shoulder, saw something of all this in his face. it was a transfigured face, with great shining eyes that gazed beyond the veil of sound and saw behind it the leap and pulse of life and the gigantic phantoms of the spirit. she was startled. the raw, stumbling lout was gone. the ill-fitting clothes, battered hands, and sunburned face remained; but these seemed the prison-bars through which she saw a great soul looking forth, inarticulate and dumb because of those feeble lips that would not give it speech. only for a flashing moment did she see this, then she saw the lout returned, and she laughed at the whim of her fancy. but the impression of that fleeting glimpse lingered, and when the time came for him to beat a stumbling retreat and go, she lent him the volume of swinburne, and another of browning--she was studying browning in one of her english courses. he seemed such a boy, as he stood blushing and stammering his thanks, that a wave of pity, maternal in its prompting, welled up in her. she did not remember the lout, nor the imprisoned soul, nor the man who had stared at her in all masculineness and delighted and frightened her. she saw before her only a boy, who was shaking her hand with a hand so calloused that it felt like a nutmeg-grater and rasped her skin, and who was saying jerkily:- "the greatest time of my life. you see, i ain't used to things. . . " he looked about him helplessly. "to people and houses like this. it's all new to me, and i like it." "i hope you'll call again," she said, as he was saying good night to her brothers. he pulled on his cap, lurched desperately through the doorway, and was gone. "well, what do you think of him?" arthur demanded. "he is most interesting, a whiff of ozone," she answered. "how old is he?" "twenty--almost twenty-one. i asked him this afternoon. i didn't think he was that young." and i am three years older, was the thought in her mind as she kissed her brothers goodnight. chapter iii as martin eden went down the steps, his hand dropped into his coat pocket. it came out with a brown rice paper and a pinch of mexican tobacco, which were deftly rolled together into a cigarette. he drew the first whiff of smoke deep into his lungs and expelled it in a long and lingering exhalation. "by god!" he said aloud, in a voice of awe and wonder. "by god!" he repeated. and yet again he murmured, "by god!" then his hand went to his collar, which he ripped out of the shirt and stuffed into his pocket. a cold drizzle was falling, but he bared his head to it and unbuttoned his vest, swinging along in splendid unconcern. he was only dimly aware that it was raining. he was in an ecstasy, dreaming dreams and reconstructing the scenes just past. he had met the woman at last--the woman that he had thought little about, not being given to thinking about women, but whom he had expected, in a remote way, he would sometime meet. he had sat next to her at table. he had felt her hand in his, he had looked into her eyes and caught a vision of a beautiful spirit;--but no more beautiful than the eyes through which it shone, nor than the flesh that gave it expression and form. he did not think of her flesh as flesh,--which was new to him; for of the women he had known that was the only way he thought. her flesh was somehow different. he did not conceive of her body as a body, subject to the ills and frailties of bodies. her body was more than the garb of her spirit. it was an emanation of her spirit, a pure and gracious crystallization of her divine essence. this feeling of the divine startled him. it shocked him from his dreams to sober thought. no word, no clew, no hint, of the divine had ever reached him before. he had never believed in the divine. he had always been irreligious, scoffing good-naturedly at the sky-pilots and their immortality of the soul. there was no life beyond, he had contended; it was here and now, then darkness everlasting. but what he had seen in her eyes was soul--immortal soul that could never die. no man he had known, nor any woman, had given him the message of immortality. but she had. she had whispered it to him the first moment she looked at him. her face shimmered before his eyes as he walked along,--pale and serious, sweet and sensitive, smiling with pity and tenderness as only a spirit could smile, and pure as he had never dreamed purity could be. her purity smote him like a blow. it startled him. he had known good and bad; but purity, as an attribute of existence, had never entered his mind. and now, in her, he conceived purity to be the superlative of goodness and of cleanness, the sum of which constituted eternal life. and promptly urged his ambition to grasp at eternal life. he was not fit to carry water for her--he knew that; it was a miracle of luck and a fantastic stroke that had enabled him to see her and be with her and talk with her that night. it was accidental. there was no merit in it. he did not deserve such fortune. his mood was essentially religious. he was humble and meek, filled with self-disparagement and abasement. in such frame of mind sinners come to the penitent form. he was convicted of sin. but as the meek and lowly at the penitent form catch splendid glimpses of their future lordly existence, so did he catch similar glimpses of the state he would gain to by possessing her. but this possession of her was dim and nebulous and totally different from possession as he had known it. ambition soared on mad wings, and he saw himself climbing the heights with her, sharing thoughts with her, pleasuring in beautiful and noble things with her. it was a soul-possession he dreamed, refined beyond any grossness, a free comradeship of spirit that he could not put into definite thought. he did not think it. for that matter, he did not think at all. sensation usurped reason, and he was quivering and palpitant with emotions he had never known, drifting deliciously on a sea of sensibility where feeling itself was exalted and spiritualized and carried beyond the summits of life. he staggered along like a drunken man, murmuring fervently aloud: "by god! by god!" a policeman on a street corner eyed him suspiciously, then noted his sailor roll. "where did you get it?" the policeman demanded. martin eden came back to earth. his was a fluid organism, swiftly adjustable, capable of flowing into and filling all sorts of nooks and crannies. with the policeman's hail he was immediately his ordinary self, grasping the situation clearly. "it's a beaut, ain't it?" he laughed back. "i didn't know i was talkin' out loud." "you'll be singing next," was the policeman's diagnosis. "no, i won't. gimme a match an' i'll catch the next car home." he lighted his cigarette, said good night, and went on. "now wouldn't that rattle you?" he ejaculated under his breath. "that copper thought i was drunk." he smiled to himself and meditated. "i guess i was," he added; "but i didn't think a woman's face'd do it." he caught a telegraph avenue car that was going to berkeley. it was crowded with youths and young men who were singing songs and ever and again barking out college yells. he studied them curiously. they were university boys. they went to the same university that she did, were in her class socially, could know her, could see her every day if they wanted to. he wondered that they did not want to, that they had been out having a good time instead of being with her that evening, talking with her, sitting around her in a worshipful and adoring circle. his thoughts wandered on. he noticed one with narrow-slitted eyes and a loose-lipped mouth. that fellow was vicious, he decided. on shipboard he would be a sneak, a whiner, a tattler. he, martin eden, was a better man than that fellow. the thought cheered him. it seemed to draw him nearer to her. he began comparing himself with the students. he grew conscious of the muscled mechanism of his body and felt confident that he was physically their master. but their heads were filled with knowledge that enabled them to talk her talk,--the thought depressed him. but what was a brain for? he demanded passionately. what they had done, he could do. they had been studying about life from the books while he had been busy living life. his brain was just as full of knowledge as theirs, though it was a different kind of knowledge. how many of them could tie a lanyard knot, or take a wheel or a lookout? his life spread out before him in a series of pictures of danger and daring, hardship and toil. he remembered his failures and scrapes in the process of learning. he was that much to the good, anyway. later on they would have to begin living life and going through the mill as he had gone. very well. while they were busy with that, he could be learning the other side of life from the books. as the car crossed the zone of scattered dwellings that separated oakland from berkeley, he kept a lookout for a familiar, two-story building along the front of which ran the proud sign, higginbotham's cash store. martin eden got off at this corner. he stared up for a moment at the sign. it carried a message to him beyond its mere wording. a personality of smallness and egotism and petty underhandedness seemed to emanate from the letters themselves. bernard higginbotham had married his sister, and he knew him well. he let himself in with a latch-key and climbed the stairs to the second floor. here lived his brother-in-law. the grocery was below. there was a smell of stale vegetables in the air. as he groped his way across the hall he stumbled over a toy-cart, left there by one of his numerous nephews and nieces, and brought up against a door with a resounding bang. "the pincher," was his thought; "too miserly to burn two cents' worth of gas and save his boarders' necks." he fumbled for the knob and entered a lighted room, where sat his sister and bernard higginbotham. she was patching a pair of his trousers, while his lean body was distributed over two chairs, his feet dangling in dilapidated carpet-slippers over the edge of the second chair. he glanced across the top of the paper he was reading, showing a pair of dark, insincere, sharp-staring eyes. martin eden never looked at him without experiencing a sense of repulsion. what his sister had seen in the man was beyond him. the other affected him as so much vermin, and always aroused in him an impulse to crush him under his foot. "some day i'll beat the face off of him," was the way he often consoled himself for enduring the man's existence. the eyes, weasel-like and cruel, were looking at him complainingly. "well," martin demanded. "out with it." "i had that door painted only last week," mr. higginbotham half whined, half bullied; "and you know what union wages are. you should be more careful." martin had intended to reply, but he was struck by the hopelessness of it. he gazed across the monstrous sordidness of soul to a chromo on the wall. it surprised him. he had always liked it, but it seemed that now he was seeing it for the first time. it was cheap, that was what it was, like everything else in this house. his mind went back to the house he had just left, and he saw, first, the paintings, and next, her, looking at him with melting sweetness as she shook his hand at leaving. he forgot where he was and bernard higginbotham's existence, till that gentleman demanded:- "seen a ghost?" martin came back and looked at the beady eyes, sneering, truculent, cowardly, and there leaped into his vision, as on a screen, the same eyes when their owner was making a sale in the store below--subservient eyes, smug, and oily, and flattering. "yes," martin answered. "i seen a ghost. good night. good night, gertrude." he started to leave the room, tripping over a loose seam in the slatternly carpet. "don't bang the door," mr. higginbotham cautioned him. he felt the blood crawl in his veins, but controlled himself and closed the door softly behind him. mr. higginbotham looked at his wife exultantly. "he's ben drinkin'," he proclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "i told you he would." she nodded her head resignedly. "his eyes was pretty shiny," she confessed; "and he didn't have no collar, though he went away with one. but mebbe he didn't have more'n a couple of glasses." "he couldn't stand up straight," asserted her husband. "i watched him. he couldn't walk across the floor without stumblin'. you heard 'm yourself almost fall down in the hall." "i think it was over alice's cart," she said. "he couldn't see it in the dark." mr. higginbotham's voice and wrath began to rise. all day he effaced himself in the store, reserving for the evening, with his family, the privilege of being himself. "i tell you that precious brother of yours was drunk." his voice was cold, sharp, and final, his lips stamping the enunciation of each word like the die of a machine. his wife sighed and remained silent. she was a large, stout woman, always dressed slatternly and always tired from the burdens of her flesh, her work, and her husband. "he's got it in him, i tell you, from his father," mr. higginbotham went on accusingly. "an' he'll croak in the gutter the same way. you know that." she nodded, sighed, and went on stitching. they were agreed that martin had come home drunk. they did not have it in their souls to know beauty, or they would have known that those shining eyes and that glowing face betokened youth's first vision of love. "settin' a fine example to the children," mr. higginbotham snorted, suddenly, in the silence for which his wife was responsible and which he resented. sometimes he almost wished she would oppose him more. "if he does it again, he's got to get out. understand! i won't put up with his shinanigan--debotchin' innocent children with his boozing." mr. higginbotham liked the word, which was a new one in his vocabulary, recently gleaned from a newspaper column. "that's what it is, debotchin'--there ain't no other name for it." still his wife sighed, shook her head sorrowfully, and stitched on. mr. higginbotham resumed the newspaper. "has he paid last week's board?" he shot across the top of the newspaper. she nodded, then added, "he still has some money." "when is he goin' to sea again?" "when his pay-day's spent, i guess," she answered. "he was over to san francisco yesterday looking for a ship. but he's got money, yet, an' he's particular about the kind of ship he signs for." "it's not for a deck-swab like him to put on airs," mr. higginbotham snorted. "particular! him!" "he said something about a schooner that's gettin' ready to go off to some outlandish place to look for buried treasure, that he'd sail on her if his money held out." "if he only wanted to steady down, i'd give him a job drivin' the wagon," her husband said, but with no trace of benevolence in his voice. "tom's quit." his wife looked alarm and interrogation. "quit to-night. is goin' to work for carruthers. they paid 'm more'n i could afford." "i told you you'd lose 'm," she cried out. "he was worth more'n you was giving him." "now look here, old woman," higginbotham bullied, "for the thousandth time i've told you to keep your nose out of the business. i won't tell you again." "i don't care," she sniffled. "tom was a good boy." her husband glared at her. this was unqualified defiance. "if that brother of yours was worth his salt, he could take the wagon," he snorted. "he pays his board, just the same," was the retort. "an' he's my brother, an' so long as he don't owe you money you've got no right to be jumping on him all the time. i've got some feelings, if i have been married to you for seven years." "did you tell 'm you'd charge him for gas if he goes on readin' in bed?" he demanded. mrs. higginbotham made no reply. her revolt faded away, her spirit wilting down into her tired flesh. her husband was triumphant. he had her. his eyes snapped vindictively, while his ears joyed in the sniffles she emitted. he extracted great happiness from squelching her, and she squelched easily these days, though it had been different in the first years of their married life, before the brood of children and his incessant nagging had sapped her energy. "well, you tell 'm to-morrow, that's all," he said. "an' i just want to tell you, before i forget it, that you'd better send for marian to-morrow to take care of the children. with tom quit, i'll have to be out on the wagon, an' you can make up your mind to it to be down below waitin' on the counter." "but to-morrow's wash day," she objected weakly. "get up early, then, an' do it first. i won't start out till ten o'clock." he crinkled the paper viciously and resumed his reading. chapter iv martin eden, with blood still crawling from contact with his brother-in- law, felt his way along the unlighted back hall and entered his room, a tiny cubbyhole with space for a bed, a wash-stand, and one chair. mr. higginbotham was too thrifty to keep a servant when his wife could do the work. besides, the servant's room enabled them to take in two boarders instead of one. martin placed the swinburne and browning on the chair, took off his coat, and sat down on the bed. a screeching of asthmatic springs greeted the weight of his body, but he did not notice them. he started to take off his shoes, but fell to staring at the white plaster wall opposite him, broken by long streaks of dirty brown where rain had leaked through the roof. on this befouled background visions began to flow and burn. he forgot his shoes and stared long, till his lips began to move and he murmured, "ruth." "ruth." he had not thought a simple sound could be so beautiful. it delighted his ear, and he grew intoxicated with the repetition of it. "ruth." it was a talisman, a magic word to conjure with. each time he murmured it, her face shimmered before him, suffusing the foul wall with a golden radiance. this radiance did not stop at the wall. it extended on into infinity, and through its golden depths his soul went questing after hers. the best that was in him was out in splendid flood. the very thought of her ennobled and purified him, made him better, and made him want to be better. this was new to him. he had never known women who had made him better. they had always had the counter effect of making him beastly. he did not know that many of them had done their best, bad as it was. never having been conscious of himself, he did not know that he had that in his being that drew love from women and which had been the cause of their reaching out for his youth. though they had often bothered him, he had never bothered about them; and he would never have dreamed that there were women who had been better because of him. always in sublime carelessness had he lived, till now, and now it seemed to him that they had always reached out and dragged at him with vile hands. this was not just to them, nor to himself. but he, who for the first time was becoming conscious of himself, was in no condition to judge, and he burned with shame as he stared at the vision of his infamy. he got up abruptly and tried to see himself in the dirty looking-glass over the wash-stand. he passed a towel over it and looked again, long and carefully. it was the first time he had ever really seen himself. his eyes were made for seeing, but up to that moment they had been filled with the ever changing panorama of the world, at which he had been too busy gazing, ever to gaze at himself. he saw the head and face of a young fellow of twenty, but, being unused to such appraisement, he did not know how to value it. above a square-domed forehead he saw a mop of brown hair, nut-brown, with a wave to it and hints of curls that were a delight to any woman, making hands tingle to stroke it and fingers tingle to pass caresses through it. but he passed it by as without merit, in her eyes, and dwelt long and thoughtfully on the high, square forehead,--striving to penetrate it and learn the quality of its content. what kind of a brain lay behind there? was his insistent interrogation. what was it capable of? how far would it take him? would it take him to her? he wondered if there was soul in those steel-gray eyes that were often quite blue of color and that were strong with the briny airs of the sun- washed deep. he wondered, also, how his eyes looked to her. he tried to imagine himself she, gazing into those eyes of his, but failed in the jugglery. he could successfully put himself inside other men's minds, but they had to be men whose ways of life he knew. he did not know her way of life. she was wonder and mystery, and how could he guess one thought of hers? well, they were honest eyes, he concluded, and in them was neither smallness nor meanness. the brown sunburn of his face surprised him. he had not dreamed he was so black. he rolled up his shirt-sleeve and compared the white underside if the arm with his face. yes, he was a white man, after all. but the arms were sunburned, too. he twisted his arm, rolled the biceps over with his other hand, and gazed underneath where he was least touched by the sun. it was very white. he laughed at his bronzed face in the glass at the thought that it was once as white as the underside of his arm; nor did he dream that in the world there were few pale spirits of women who could boast fairer or smoother skins than he--fairer than where he had escaped the ravages of the sun. his might have been a cherub's mouth, had not the full, sensuous lips a trick, under stress, of drawing firmly across the teeth. at times, so tightly did they draw, the mouth became stern and harsh, even ascetic. they were the lips of a fighter and of a lover. they could taste the sweetness of life with relish, and they could put the sweetness aside and command life. the chin and jaw, strong and just hinting of square aggressiveness, helped the lips to command life. strength balanced sensuousness and had upon it a tonic effect, compelling him to love beauty that was healthy and making him vibrate to sensations that were wholesome. and between the lips were teeth that had never known nor needed the dentist's care. they were white and strong and regular, he decided, as he looked at them. but as he looked, he began to be troubled. somewhere, stored away in the recesses of his mind and vaguely remembered, was the impression that there were people who washed their teeth every day. they were the people from up above--people in her class. she must wash her teeth every day, too. what would she think if she learned that he had never washed his teeth in all the days of his life? he resolved to get a tooth-brush and form the habit. he would begin at once, to-morrow. it was not by mere achievement that he could hope to win to her. he must make a personal reform in all things, even to tooth-washing and neck-gear, though a starched collar affected him as a renunciation of freedom. he held up his hand, rubbing the ball of the thumb over the calloused palm and gazing at the dirt that was ingrained in the flesh itself and which no brush could scrub away. how different was her palm! he thrilled deliciously at the remembrance. like a rose-petal, he thought; cool and soft as a snowflake. he had never thought that a mere woman's hand could be so sweetly soft. he caught himself imagining the wonder of a caress from such a hand, and flushed guiltily. it was too gross a thought for her. in ways it seemed to impugn her high spirituality. she was a pale, slender spirit, exalted far beyond the flesh; but nevertheless the softness of her palm persisted in his thoughts. he was used to the harsh callousness of factory girls and working women. well he knew why their hands were rough; but this hand of hers . . . it was soft because she had never used it to work with. the gulf yawned between her and him at the awesome thought of a person who did not have to work for a living. he suddenly saw the aristocracy of the people who did not labor. it towered before him on the wall, a figure in brass, arrogant and powerful. he had worked himself; his first memories seemed connected with work, and all his family had worked. there was gertrude. when her hands were not hard from the endless housework, they were swollen and red like boiled beef, what of the washing. and there was his sister marian. she had worked in the cannery the preceding summer, and her slim, pretty hands were all scarred with the tomato-knives. besides, the tips of two of her fingers had been left in the cutting machine at the paper-box factory the preceding winter. he remembered the hard palms of his mother as she lay in her coffin. and his father had worked to the last fading gasp; the horned growth on his hands must have been half an inch thick when he died. but her hands were soft, and her mother's hands, and her brothers'. this last came to him as a surprise; it was tremendously indicative of the highness of their caste, of the enormous distance that stretched between her and him. he sat back on the bed with a bitter laugh, and finished taking off his shoes. he was a fool; he had been made drunken by a woman's face and by a woman's soft, white hands. and then, suddenly, before his eyes, on the foul plaster-wall appeared a vision. he stood in front of a gloomy tenement house. it was night-time, in the east end of london, and before him stood margey, a little factory girl of fifteen. he had seen her home after the bean-feast. she lived in that gloomy tenement, a place not fit for swine. his hand was going out to hers as he said good night. she had put her lips up to be kissed, but he wasn't going to kiss her. somehow he was afraid of her. and then her hand closed on his and pressed feverishly. he felt her callouses grind and grate on his, and a great wave of pity welled over him. he saw her yearning, hungry eyes, and her ill-fed female form which had been rushed from childhood into a frightened and ferocious maturity; then he put his arms about her in large tolerance and stooped and kissed her on the lips. her glad little cry rang in his ears, and he felt her clinging to him like a cat. poor little starveling! he continued to stare at the vision of what had happened in the long ago. his flesh was crawling as it had crawled that night when she clung to him, and his heart was warm with pity. it was a gray scene, greasy gray, and the rain drizzled greasily on the pavement stones. and then a radiant glory shone on the wall, and up through the other vision, displacing it, glimmered her pale face under its crown of golden hair, remote and inaccessible as a star. he took the browning and the swinburne from the chair and kissed them. just the same, she told me to call again, he thought. he took another look at himself in the glass, and said aloud, with great solemnity:- "martin eden, the first thing to-morrow you go to the free library an' read up on etiquette. understand!" he turned off the gas, and the springs shrieked under his body. "but you've got to quit cussin', martin, old boy; you've got to quit cussin'," he said aloud. then he dozed off to sleep and to dream dreams that for madness and audacity rivalled those of poppy-eaters. chapter v he awoke next morning from rosy scenes of dream to a steamy atmosphere that smelled of soapsuds and dirty clothes, and that was vibrant with the jar and jangle of tormented life. as he came out of his room he heard the slosh of water, a sharp exclamation, and a resounding smack as his sister visited her irritation upon one of her numerous progeny. the squall of the child went through him like a knife. he was aware that the whole thing, the very air he breathed, was repulsive and mean. how different, he thought, from the atmosphere of beauty and repose of the house wherein ruth dwelt. there it was all spiritual. here it was all material, and meanly material. "come here, alfred," he called to the crying child, at the same time thrusting his hand into his trousers pocket, where he carried his money loose in the same large way that he lived life in general. he put a quarter in the youngster's hand and held him in his arms a moment, soothing his sobs. "now run along and get some candy, and don't forget to give some to your brothers and sisters. be sure and get the kind that lasts longest." his sister lifted a flushed face from the wash-tub and looked at him. "a nickel'd ha' ben enough," she said. "it's just like you, no idea of the value of money. the child'll eat himself sick." "that's all right, sis," he answered jovially. "my money'll take care of itself. if you weren't so busy, i'd kiss you good morning." he wanted to be affectionate to this sister, who was good, and who, in her way, he knew, loved him. but, somehow, she grew less herself as the years went by, and more and more baffling. it was the hard work, the many children, and the nagging of her husband, he decided, that had changed her. it came to him, in a flash of fancy, that her nature seemed taking on the attributes of stale vegetables, smelly soapsuds, and of the greasy dimes, nickels, and quarters she took in over the counter of the store. "go along an' get your breakfast," she said roughly, though secretly pleased. of all her wandering brood of brothers he had always been her favorite. "i declare i _will_ kiss you," she said, with a sudden stir at her heart. with thumb and forefinger she swept the dripping suds first from one arm and then from the other. he put his arms round her massive waist and kissed her wet steamy lips. the tears welled into her eyes--not so much from strength of feeling as from the weakness of chronic overwork. she shoved him away from her, but not before he caught a glimpse of her moist eyes. "you'll find breakfast in the oven," she said hurriedly. "jim ought to be up now. i had to get up early for the washing. now get along with you and get out of the house early. it won't be nice to-day, what of tom quittin' an' nobody but bernard to drive the wagon." martin went into the kitchen with a sinking heart, the image of her red face and slatternly form eating its way like acid into his brain. she might love him if she only had some time, he concluded. but she was worked to death. bernard higginbotham was a brute to work her so hard. but he could not help but feel, on the other hand, that there had not been anything beautiful in that kiss. it was true, it was an unusual kiss. for years she had kissed him only when he returned from voyages or departed on voyages. but this kiss had tasted soapsuds, and the lips, he had noticed, were flabby. there had been no quick, vigorous lip-pressure such as should accompany any kiss. hers was the kiss of a tired woman who had been tired so long that she had forgotten how to kiss. he remembered her as a girl, before her marriage, when she would dance with the best, all night, after a hard day's work at the laundry, and think nothing of leaving the dance to go to another day's hard work. and then he thought of ruth and the cool sweetness that must reside in her lips as it resided in all about her. her kiss would be like her hand-shake or the way she looked at one, firm and frank. in imagination he dared to think of her lips on his, and so vividly did he imagine that he went dizzy at the thought and seemed to rift through clouds of rose-petals, filling his brain with their perfume. in the kitchen he found jim, the other boarder, eating mush very languidly, with a sick, far-away look in his eyes. jim was a plumber's apprentice whose weak chin and hedonistic temperament, coupled with a certain nervous stupidity, promised to take him nowhere in the race for bread and butter. "why don't you eat?" he demanded, as martin dipped dolefully into the cold, half-cooked oatmeal mush. "was you drunk again last night?" martin shook his head. he was oppressed by the utter squalidness of it all. ruth morse seemed farther removed than ever. "i was," jim went on with a boastful, nervous giggle. "i was loaded right to the neck. oh, she was a daisy. billy brought me home." martin nodded that he heard,--it was a habit of nature with him to pay heed to whoever talked to him,--and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee. "goin' to the lotus club dance to-night?" jim demanded. "they're goin' to have beer, an' if that temescal bunch comes, there'll be a rough-house. i don't care, though. i'm takin' my lady friend just the same. cripes, but i've got a taste in my mouth!" he made a wry face and attempted to wash the taste away with coffee. "d'ye know julia?" martin shook his head. "she's my lady friend," jim explained, "and she's a peach. i'd introduce you to her, only you'd win her. i don't see what the girls see in you, honest i don't; but the way you win them away from the fellers is sickenin'." "i never got any away from you," martin answered uninterestedly. the breakfast had to be got through somehow. "yes, you did, too," the other asserted warmly. "there was maggie." "never had anything to do with her. never danced with her except that one night." "yes, an' that's just what did it," jim cried out. "you just danced with her an' looked at her, an' it was all off. of course you didn't mean nothin' by it, but it settled me for keeps. wouldn't look at me again. always askin' about you. she'd have made fast dates enough with you if you'd wanted to." "but i didn't want to." "wasn't necessary. i was left at the pole." jim looked at him admiringly. "how d'ye do it, anyway, mart?" "by not carin' about 'em," was the answer. "you mean makin' b'lieve you don't care about them?" jim queried eagerly. martin considered for a moment, then answered, "perhaps that will do, but with me i guess it's different. i never have cared--much. if you can put it on, it's all right, most likely." "you should 'a' ben up at riley's barn last night," jim announced inconsequently. "a lot of the fellers put on the gloves. there was a peach from west oakland. they called 'm 'the rat.' slick as silk. no one could touch 'm. we was all wishin' you was there. where was you anyway?" "down in oakland," martin replied. "to the show?" martin shoved his plate away and got up. "comin' to the dance to-night?" the other called after him. "no, i think not," he answered. he went downstairs and out into the street, breathing great breaths of air. he had been suffocating in that atmosphere, while the apprentice's chatter had driven him frantic. there had been times when it was all he could do to refrain from reaching over and mopping jim's face in the mush- plate. the more he had chattered, the more remote had ruth seemed to him. how could he, herding with such cattle, ever become worthy of her? he was appalled at the problem confronting him, weighted down by the incubus of his working-class station. everything reached out to hold him down--his sister, his sister's house and family, jim the apprentice, everybody he knew, every tie of life. existence did not taste good in his mouth. up to then he had accepted existence, as he had lived it with all about him, as a good thing. he had never questioned it, except when he read books; but then, they were only books, fairy stories of a fairer and impossible world. but now he had seen that world, possible and real, with a flower of a woman called ruth in the midmost centre of it; and thenceforth he must know bitter tastes, and longings sharp as pain, and hopelessness that tantalized because it fed on hope. he had debated between the berkeley free library and the oakland free library, and decided upon the latter because ruth lived in oakland. who could tell?--a library was a most likely place for her, and he might see her there. he did not know the way of libraries, and he wandered through endless rows of fiction, till the delicate-featured french-looking girl who seemed in charge, told him that the reference department was upstairs. he did not know enough to ask the man at the desk, and began his adventures in the philosophy alcove. he had heard of book philosophy, but had not imagined there had been so much written about it. the high, bulging shelves of heavy tomes humbled him and at the same time stimulated him. here was work for the vigor of his brain. he found books on trigonometry in the mathematics section, and ran the pages, and stared at the meaningless formulas and figures. he could read english, but he saw there an alien speech. norman and arthur knew that speech. he had heard them talking it. and they were her brothers. he left the alcove in despair. from every side the books seemed to press upon him and crush him. he had never dreamed that the fund of human knowledge bulked so big. he was frightened. how could his brain ever master it all? later, he remembered that there were other men, many men, who had mastered it; and he breathed a great oath, passionately, under his breath, swearing that his brain could do what theirs had done. and so he wandered on, alternating between depression and elation as he stared at the shelves packed with wisdom. in one miscellaneous section he came upon a "norrie's epitome." he turned the pages reverently. in a way, it spoke a kindred speech. both he and it were of the sea. then he found a "bowditch" and books by lecky and marshall. there it was; he would teach himself navigation. he would quit drinking, work up, and become a captain. ruth seemed very near to him in that moment. as a captain, he could marry her (if she would have him). and if she wouldn't, well--he would live a good life among men, because of her, and he would quit drinking anyway. then he remembered the underwriters and the owners, the two masters a captain must serve, either of which could and would break him and whose interests were diametrically opposed. he cast his eyes about the room and closed the lids down on a vision of ten thousand books. no; no more of the sea for him. there was power in all that wealth of books, and if he would do great things, he must do them on the land. besides, captains were not allowed to take their wives to sea with them. noon came, and afternoon. he forgot to eat, and sought on for the books on etiquette; for, in addition to career, his mind was vexed by a simple and very concrete problem: _when you meet a young lady and she asks you to call, how soon can you call_? was the way he worded it to himself. but when he found the right shelf, he sought vainly for the answer. he was appalled at the vast edifice of etiquette, and lost himself in the mazes of visiting-card conduct between persons in polite society. he abandoned his search. he had not found what he wanted, though he had found that it would take all of a man's time to be polite, and that he would have to live a preliminary life in which to learn how to be polite. "did you find what you wanted?" the man at the desk asked him as he was leaving. "yes, sir," he answered. "you have a fine library here." the man nodded. "we should be glad to see you here often. are you a sailor?" "yes, sir," he answered. "and i'll come again." now, how did he know that? he asked himself as he went down the stairs. and for the first block along the street he walked very stiff and straight and awkwardly, until he forgot himself in his thoughts, whereupon his rolling gait gracefully returned to him. chapter vi a terrible restlessness that was akin to hunger afflicted martin eden. he was famished for a sight of the girl whose slender hands had gripped his life with a giant's grasp. he could not steel himself to call upon her. he was afraid that he might call too soon, and so be guilty of an awful breach of that awful thing called etiquette. he spent long hours in the oakland and berkeley libraries, and made out application blanks for membership for himself, his sisters gertrude and marian, and jim, the latter's consent being obtained at the expense of several glasses of beer. with four cards permitting him to draw books, he burned the gas late in the servant's room, and was charged fifty cents a week for it by mr. higginbotham. the many books he read but served to whet his unrest. every page of every book was a peep-hole into the realm of knowledge. his hunger fed upon what he read, and increased. also, he did not know where to begin, and continually suffered from lack of preparation. the commonest references, that he could see plainly every reader was expected to know, he did not know. and the same was true of the poetry he read which maddened him with delight. he read more of swinburne than was contained in the volume ruth had lent him; and "dolores" he understood thoroughly. but surely ruth did not understand it, he concluded. how could she, living the refined life she did? then he chanced upon kipling's poems, and was swept away by the lilt and swing and glamour with which familiar things had been invested. he was amazed at the man's sympathy with life and at his incisive psychology. psychology was a new word in martin's vocabulary. he had bought a dictionary, which deed had decreased his supply of money and brought nearer the day on which he must sail in search of more. also, it incensed mr. higginbotham, who would have preferred the money taking the form of board. he dared not go near ruth's neighborhood in the daytime, but night found him lurking like a thief around the morse home, stealing glimpses at the windows and loving the very walls that sheltered her. several times he barely escaped being caught by her brothers, and once he trailed mr. morse down town and studied his face in the lighted streets, longing all the while for some quick danger of death to threaten so that he might spring in and save her father. on another night, his vigil was rewarded by a glimpse of ruth through a second-story window. he saw only her head and shoulders, and her arms raised as she fixed her hair before a mirror. it was only for a moment, but it was a long moment to him, during which his blood turned to wine and sang through his veins. then she pulled down the shade. but it was her room--he had learned that; and thereafter he strayed there often, hiding under a dark tree on the opposite side of the street and smoking countless cigarettes. one afternoon he saw her mother coming out of a bank, and received another proof of the enormous distance that separated ruth from him. she was of the class that dealt with banks. he had never been inside a bank in his life, and he had an idea that such institutions were frequented only by the very rich and the very powerful. in one way, he had undergone a moral revolution. her cleanness and purity had reacted upon him, and he felt in his being a crying need to be clean. he must be that if he were ever to be worthy of breathing the same air with her. he washed his teeth, and scrubbed his hands with a kitchen scrub-brush till he saw a nail-brush in a drug-store window and divined its use. while purchasing it, the clerk glanced at his nails, suggested a nail-file, and so he became possessed of an additional toilet- tool. he ran across a book in the library on the care of the body, and promptly developed a penchant for a cold-water bath every morning, much to the amazement of jim, and to the bewilderment of mr. higginbotham, who was not in sympathy with such high-fangled notions and who seriously debated whether or not he should charge martin extra for the water. another stride was in the direction of creased trousers. now that martin was aroused in such matters, he swiftly noted the difference between the baggy knees of the trousers worn by the working class and the straight line from knee to foot of those worn by the men above the working class. also, he learned the reason why, and invaded his sister's kitchen in search of irons and ironing-board. he had misadventures at first, hopelessly burning one pair and buying another, which expenditure again brought nearer the day on which he must put to sea. but the reform went deeper than mere outward appearance. he still smoked, but he drank no more. up to that time, drinking had seemed to him the proper thing for men to do, and he had prided himself on his strong head which enabled him to drink most men under the table. whenever he encountered a chance shipmate, and there were many in san francisco, he treated them and was treated in turn, as of old, but he ordered for himself root beer or ginger ale and good-naturedly endured their chaffing. and as they waxed maudlin he studied them, watching the beast rise and master them and thanking god that he was no longer as they. they had their limitations to forget, and when they were drunk, their dim, stupid spirits were even as gods, and each ruled in his heaven of intoxicated desire. with martin the need for strong drink had vanished. he was drunken in new and more profound ways--with ruth, who had fired him with love and with a glimpse of higher and eternal life; with books, that had set a myriad maggots of desire gnawing in his brain; and with the sense of personal cleanliness he was achieving, that gave him even more superb health than what he had enjoyed and that made his whole body sing with physical well-being. one night he went to the theatre, on the blind chance that he might see her there, and from the second balcony he did see her. he saw her come down the aisle, with arthur and a strange young man with a football mop of hair and eyeglasses, the sight of whom spurred him to instant apprehension and jealousy. he saw her take her seat in the orchestra circle, and little else than her did he see that night--a pair of slender white shoulders and a mass of pale gold hair, dim with distance. but there were others who saw, and now and again, glancing at those about him, he noted two young girls who looked back from the row in front, a dozen seats along, and who smiled at him with bold eyes. he had always been easy-going. it was not in his nature to give rebuff. in the old days he would have smiled back, and gone further and encouraged smiling. but now it was different. he did smile back, then looked away, and looked no more deliberately. but several times, forgetting the existence of the two girls, his eyes caught their smiles. he could not re-thumb himself in a day, nor could he violate the intrinsic kindliness of his nature; so, at such moments, he smiled at the girls in warm human friendliness. it was nothing new to him. he knew they were reaching out their woman's hands to him. but it was different now. far down there in the orchestra circle was the one woman in all the world, so different, so terrifically different, from these two girls of his class, that he could feel for them only pity and sorrow. he had it in his heart to wish that they could possess, in some small measure, her goodness and glory. and not for the world could he hurt them because of their outreaching. he was not flattered by it; he even felt a slight shame at his lowliness that permitted it. he knew, did he belong in ruth's class, that there would be no overtures from these girls; and with each glance of theirs he felt the fingers of his own class clutching at him to hold him down. he left his seat before the curtain went down on the last act, intent on seeing her as she passed out. there were always numbers of men who stood on the sidewalk outside, and he could pull his cap down over his eyes and screen himself behind some one's shoulder so that she should not see him. he emerged from the theatre with the first of the crowd; but scarcely had he taken his position on the edge of the sidewalk when the two girls appeared. they were looking for him, he knew; and for the moment he could have cursed that in him which drew women. their casual edging across the sidewalk to the curb, as they drew near, apprised him of discovery. they slowed down, and were in the thick of the crown as they came up with him. one of them brushed against him and apparently for the first time noticed him. she was a slender, dark girl, with black, defiant eyes. but they smiled at him, and he smiled back. "hello," he said. it was automatic; he had said it so often before under similar circumstances of first meetings. besides, he could do no less. there was that large tolerance and sympathy in his nature that would permit him to do no less. the black-eyed girl smiled gratification and greeting, and showed signs of stopping, while her companion, arm linked in arm, giggled and likewise showed signs of halting. he thought quickly. it would never do for her to come out and see him talking there with them. quite naturally, as a matter of course, he swung in along-side the dark- eyed one and walked with her. there was no awkwardness on his part, no numb tongue. he was at home here, and he held his own royally in the badinage, bristling with slang and sharpness, that was always the preliminary to getting acquainted in these swift-moving affairs. at the corner where the main stream of people flowed onward, he started to edge out into the cross street. but the girl with the black eyes caught his arm, following him and dragging her companion after her, as she cried: "hold on, bill! what's yer rush? you're not goin' to shake us so sudden as all that?" he halted with a laugh, and turned, facing them. across their shoulders he could see the moving throng passing under the street lamps. where he stood it was not so light, and, unseen, he would be able to see her as she passed by. she would certainly pass by, for that way led home. "what's her name?" he asked of the giggling girl, nodding at the dark- eyed one. "you ask her," was the convulsed response. "well, what is it?" he demanded, turning squarely on the girl in question. "you ain't told me yours, yet," she retorted. "you never asked it," he smiled. "besides, you guessed the first rattle. it's bill, all right, all right." "aw, go 'long with you." she looked him in the eyes, her own sharply passionate and inviting. "what is it, honest?" again she looked. all the centuries of woman since sex began were eloquent in her eyes. and he measured her in a careless way, and knew, bold now, that she would begin to retreat, coyly and delicately, as he pursued, ever ready to reverse the game should he turn fainthearted. and, too, he was human, and could feel the draw of her, while his ego could not but appreciate the flattery of her kindness. oh, he knew it all, and knew them well, from a to z. good, as goodness might be measured in their particular class, hard-working for meagre wages and scorning the sale of self for easier ways, nervously desirous for some small pinch of happiness in the desert of existence, and facing a future that was a gamble between the ugliness of unending toil and the black pit of more terrible wretchedness, the way whereto being briefer though better paid. "bill," he answered, nodding his head. "sure, pete, bill an' no other." "no joshin'?" she queried. "it ain't bill at all," the other broke in. "how do you know?" he demanded. "you never laid eyes on me before." "no need to, to know you're lyin'," was the retort. "straight, bill, what is it?" the first girl asked. "bill'll do," he confessed. she reached out to his arm and shook him playfully. "i knew you was lyin', but you look good to me just the same." he captured the hand that invited, and felt on the palm familiar markings and distortions. "when'd you chuck the cannery?" he asked. "how'd yeh know?" and, "my, ain't cheh a mind-reader!" the girls chorussed. and while he exchanged the stupidities of stupid minds with them, before his inner sight towered the book-shelves of the library, filled with the wisdom of the ages. he smiled bitterly at the incongruity of it, and was assailed by doubts. but between inner vision and outward pleasantry he found time to watch the theatre crowd streaming by. and then he saw her, under the lights, between her brother and the strange young man with glasses, and his heart seemed to stand still. he had waited long for this moment. he had time to note the light, fluffy something that hid her queenly head, the tasteful lines of her wrapped figure, the gracefulness of her carriage and of the hand that caught up her skirts; and then she was gone and he was left staring at the two girls of the cannery, at their tawdry attempts at prettiness of dress, their tragic efforts to be clean and trim, the cheap cloth, the cheap ribbons, and the cheap rings on the fingers. he felt a tug at his arm, and heard a voice saying:- "wake up, bill! what's the matter with you?" "what was you sayin'?" he asked. "oh, nothin'," the dark girl answered, with a toss of her head. "i was only remarkin'--" "what?" "well, i was whisperin' it'd be a good idea if you could dig up a gentleman friend--for her" (indicating her companion), "and then, we could go off an' have ice-cream soda somewhere, or coffee, or anything." he was afflicted by a sudden spiritual nausea. the transition from ruth to this had been too abrupt. ranged side by side with the bold, defiant eyes of the girl before him, he saw ruth's clear, luminous eyes, like a saint's, gazing at him out of unplumbed depths of purity. and, somehow, he felt within him a stir of power. he was better than this. life meant more to him than it meant to these two girls whose thoughts did not go beyond ice-cream and a gentleman friend. he remembered that he had led always a secret life in his thoughts. these thoughts he had tried to share, but never had he found a woman capable of understanding--nor a man. he had tried, at times, but had only puzzled his listeners. and as his thoughts had been beyond them, so, he argued now, he must be beyond them. he felt power move in him, and clenched his fists. if life meant more to him, then it was for him to demand more from life, but he could not demand it from such companionship as this. those bold black eyes had nothing to offer. he knew the thoughts behind them--of ice-cream and of something else. but those saint's eyes alongside--they offered all he knew and more than he could guess. they offered books and painting, beauty and repose, and all the fine elegance of higher existence. behind those black eyes he knew every thought process. it was like clockwork. he could watch every wheel go around. their bid was low pleasure, narrow as the grave, that palled, and the grave was at the end of it. but the bid of the saint's eyes was mystery, and wonder unthinkable, and eternal life. he had caught glimpses of the soul in them, and glimpses of his own soul, too. "there's only one thing wrong with the programme," he said aloud. "i've got a date already." the girl's eyes blazed her disappointment. "to sit up with a sick friend, i suppose?" she sneered. "no, a real, honest date with--" he faltered, "with a girl." "you're not stringin' me?" she asked earnestly. he looked her in the eyes and answered: "it's straight, all right. but why can't we meet some other time? you ain't told me your name yet. an' where d'ye live?" "lizzie," she replied, softening toward him, her hand pressing his arm, while her body leaned against his. "lizzie connolly. and i live at fifth an' market." he talked on a few minutes before saying good night. he did not go home immediately; and under the tree where he kept his vigils he looked up at a window and murmured: "that date was with you, ruth. i kept it for you." chapter vii a week of heavy reading had passed since the evening he first met ruth morse, and still he dared not call. time and again he nerved himself up to call, but under the doubts that assailed him his determination died away. he did not know the proper time to call, nor was there any one to tell him, and he was afraid of committing himself to an irretrievable blunder. having shaken himself free from his old companions and old ways of life, and having no new companions, nothing remained for him but to read, and the long hours he devoted to it would have ruined a dozen pairs of ordinary eyes. but his eyes were strong, and they were backed by a body superbly strong. furthermore, his mind was fallow. it had lain fallow all his life so far as the abstract thought of the books was concerned, and it was ripe for the sowing. it had never been jaded by study, and it bit hold of the knowledge in the books with sharp teeth that would not let go. it seemed to him, by the end of the week, that he had lived centuries, so far behind were the old life and outlook. but he was baffled by lack of preparation. he attempted to read books that required years of preliminary specialization. one day he would read a book of antiquated philosophy, and the next day one that was ultra-modern, so that his head would be whirling with the conflict and contradiction of ideas. it was the same with the economists. on the one shelf at the library he found karl marx, ricardo, adam smith, and mill, and the abstruse formulas of the one gave no clew that the ideas of another were obsolete. he was bewildered, and yet he wanted to know. he had become interested, in a day, in economics, industry, and politics. passing through the city hall park, he had noticed a group of men, in the centre of which were half a dozen, with flushed faces and raised voices, earnestly carrying on a discussion. he joined the listeners, and heard a new, alien tongue in the mouths of the philosophers of the people. one was a tramp, another was a labor agitator, a third was a law-school student, and the remainder was composed of wordy workingmen. for the first time he heard of socialism, anarchism, and single tax, and learned that there were warring social philosophies. he heard hundreds of technical words that were new to him, belonging to fields of thought that his meagre reading had never touched upon. because of this he could not follow the arguments closely, and he could only guess at and surmise the ideas wrapped up in such strange expressions. then there was a black-eyed restaurant waiter who was a theosophist, a union baker who was an agnostic, an old man who baffled all of them with the strange philosophy that _what is is right_, and another old man who discoursed interminably about the cosmos and the father-atom and the mother-atom. martin eden's head was in a state of addlement when he went away after several hours, and he hurried to the library to look up the definitions of a dozen unusual words. and when he left the library, he carried under his arm four volumes: madam blavatsky's "secret doctrine," "progress and poverty," "the quintessence of socialism," and, "warfare of religion and science." unfortunately, he began on the "secret doctrine." every line bristled with many-syllabled words he did not understand. he sat up in bed, and the dictionary was in front of him more often than the book. he looked up so many new words that when they recurred, he had forgotten their meaning and had to look them up again. he devised the plan of writing the definitions in a note-book, and filled page after page with them. and still he could not understand. he read until three in the morning, and his brain was in a turmoil, but not one essential thought in the text had he grasped. he looked up, and it seemed that the room was lifting, heeling, and plunging like a ship upon the sea. then he hurled the "secret doctrine" and many curses across the room, turned off the gas, and composed himself to sleep. nor did he have much better luck with the other three books. it was not that his brain was weak or incapable; it could think these thoughts were it not for lack of training in thinking and lack of the thought-tools with which to think. he guessed this, and for a while entertained the idea of reading nothing but the dictionary until he had mastered every word in it. poetry, however, was his solace, and he read much of it, finding his greatest joy in the simpler poets, who were more understandable. he loved beauty, and there he found beauty. poetry, like music, stirred him profoundly, and, though he did not know it, he was preparing his mind for the heavier work that was to come. the pages of his mind were blank, and, without effort, much he read and liked, stanza by stanza, was impressed upon those pages, so that he was soon able to extract great joy from chanting aloud or under his breath the music and the beauty of the printed words he had read. then he stumbled upon gayley's "classic myths" and bulfinch's "age of fable," side by side on a library shelf. it was illumination, a great light in the darkness of his ignorance, and he read poetry more avidly than ever. the man at the desk in the library had seen martin there so often that he had become quite cordial, always greeting him with a smile and a nod when he entered. it was because of this that martin did a daring thing. drawing out some books at the desk, and while the man was stamping the cards, martin blurted out:- "say, there's something i'd like to ask you." the man smiled and paid attention. "when you meet a young lady an' she asks you to call, how soon can you call?" martin felt his shirt press and cling to his shoulders, what of the sweat of the effort. "why i'd say any time," the man answered. "yes, but this is different," martin objected. "she--i--well, you see, it's this way: maybe she won't be there. she goes to the university." "then call again." "what i said ain't what i meant," martin confessed falteringly, while he made up his mind to throw himself wholly upon the other's mercy. "i'm just a rough sort of a fellow, an' i ain't never seen anything of society. this girl is all that i ain't, an' i ain't anything that she is. you don't think i'm playin' the fool, do you?" he demanded abruptly. "no, no; not at all, i assure you," the other protested. "your request is not exactly in the scope of the reference department, but i shall be only too pleased to assist you." martin looked at him admiringly. "if i could tear it off that way, i'd be all right," he said. "i beg pardon?" "i mean if i could talk easy that way, an' polite, an' all the rest." "oh," said the other, with comprehension. "what is the best time to call? the afternoon?--not too close to meal- time? or the evening? or sunday?" "i'll tell you," the librarian said with a brightening face. "you call her up on the telephone and find out." "i'll do it," he said, picking up his books and starting away. he turned back and asked:- "when you're speakin' to a young lady--say, for instance, miss lizzie smith--do you say 'miss lizzie'? or 'miss smith'?" "say 'miss smith,'" the librarian stated authoritatively. "say 'miss smith' always--until you come to know her better." so it was that martin eden solved the problem. "come down any time; i'll be at home all afternoon," was ruth's reply over the telephone to his stammered request as to when he could return the borrowed books. she met him at the door herself, and her woman's eyes took in immediately the creased trousers and the certain slight but indefinable change in him for the better. also, she was struck by his face. it was almost violent, this health of his, and it seemed to rush out of him and at her in waves of force. she felt the urge again of the desire to lean toward him for warmth, and marvelled again at the effect his presence produced upon her. and he, in turn, knew again the swimming sensation of bliss when he felt the contact of her hand in greeting. the difference between them lay in that she was cool and self-possessed while his face flushed to the roots of the hair. he stumbled with his old awkwardness after her, and his shoulders swung and lurched perilously. once they were seated in the living-room, he began to get on easily--more easily by far than he had expected. she made it easy for him; and the gracious spirit with which she did it made him love her more madly than ever. they talked first of the borrowed books, of the swinburne he was devoted to, and of the browning he did not understand; and she led the conversation on from subject to subject, while she pondered the problem of how she could be of help to him. she had thought of this often since their first meeting. she wanted to help him. he made a call upon her pity and tenderness that no one had ever made before, and the pity was not so much derogatory of him as maternal in her. her pity could not be of the common sort, when the man who drew it was so much man as to shock her with maidenly fears and set her mind and pulse thrilling with strange thoughts and feelings. the old fascination of his neck was there, and there was sweetness in the thought of laying her hands upon it. it seemed still a wanton impulse, but she had grown more used to it. she did not dream that in such guise new-born love would epitomize itself. nor did she dream that the feeling he excited in her was love. she thought she was merely interested in him as an unusual type possessing various potential excellencies, and she even felt philanthropic about it. she did not know she desired him; but with him it was different. he knew that he loved her, and he desired her as he had never before desired anything in his life. he had loved poetry for beauty's sake; but since he met her the gates to the vast field of love-poetry had been opened wide. she had given him understanding even more than bulfinch and gayley. there was a line that a week before he would not have favored with a second thought--"god's own mad lover dying on a kiss"; but now it was ever insistent in his mind. he marvelled at the wonder of it and the truth; and as he gazed upon her he knew that he could die gladly upon a kiss. he felt himself god's own mad lover, and no accolade of knighthood could have given him greater pride. and at last he knew the meaning of life and why he had been born. as he gazed at her and listened, his thoughts grew daring. he reviewed all the wild delight of the pressure of her hand in his at the door, and longed for it again. his gaze wandered often toward her lips, and he yearned for them hungrily. but there was nothing gross or earthly about this yearning. it gave him exquisite delight to watch every movement and play of those lips as they enunciated the words she spoke; yet they were not ordinary lips such as all men and women had. their substance was not mere human clay. they were lips of pure spirit, and his desire for them seemed absolutely different from the desire that had led him to other women's lips. he could kiss her lips, rest his own physical lips upon them, but it would be with the lofty and awful fervor with which one would kiss the robe of god. he was not conscious of this transvaluation of values that had taken place in him, and was unaware that the light that shone in his eyes when he looked at her was quite the same light that shines in all men's eyes when the desire of love is upon them. he did not dream how ardent and masculine his gaze was, nor that the warm flame of it was affecting the alchemy of her spirit. her penetrative virginity exalted and disguised his own emotions, elevating his thoughts to a star-cool chastity, and he would have been startled to learn that there was that shining out of his eyes, like warm waves, that flowed through her and kindled a kindred warmth. she was subtly perturbed by it, and more than once, though she knew not why, it disrupted her train of thought with its delicious intrusion and compelled her to grope for the remainder of ideas partly uttered. speech was always easy with her, and these interruptions would have puzzled her had she not decided that it was because he was a remarkable type. she was very sensitive to impressions, and it was not strange, after all, that this aura of a traveller from another world should so affect her. the problem in the background of her consciousness was how to help him, and she turned the conversation in that direction; but it was martin who came to the point first. "i wonder if i can get some advice from you," he began, and received an acquiescence of willingness that made his heart bound. "you remember the other time i was here i said i couldn't talk about books an' things because i didn't know how? well, i've ben doin' a lot of thinkin' ever since. i've ben to the library a whole lot, but most of the books i've tackled have ben over my head. mebbe i'd better begin at the beginnin'. i ain't never had no advantages. i've worked pretty hard ever since i was a kid, an' since i've ben to the library, lookin' with new eyes at books--an' lookin' at new books, too--i've just about concluded that i ain't ben reading the right kind. you know the books you find in cattle- camps an' fo'c's'ls ain't the same you've got in this house, for instance. well, that's the sort of readin' matter i've ben accustomed to. and yet--an' i ain't just makin' a brag of it--i've ben different from the people i've herded with. not that i'm any better than the sailors an' cow-punchers i travelled with,--i was cow-punchin' for a short time, you know,--but i always liked books, read everything i could lay hands on, an'--well, i guess i think differently from most of 'em. "now, to come to what i'm drivin' at. i was never inside a house like this. when i come a week ago, an' saw all this, an' you, an' your mother, an' brothers, an' everything--well, i liked it. i'd heard about such things an' read about such things in some of the books, an' when i looked around at your house, why, the books come true. but the thing i'm after is i liked it. i wanted it. i want it now. i want to breathe air like you get in this house--air that is filled with books, and pictures, and beautiful things, where people talk in low voices an' are clean, an' their thoughts are clean. the air i always breathed was mixed up with grub an' house-rent an' scrappin' an booze an' that's all they talked about, too. why, when you was crossin' the room to kiss your mother, i thought it was the most beautiful thing i ever seen. i've seen a whole lot of life, an' somehow i've seen a whole lot more of it than most of them that was with me. i like to see, an' i want to see more, an' i want to see it different. "but i ain't got to the point yet. here it is. i want to make my way to the kind of life you have in this house. there's more in life than booze, an' hard work, an' knockin' about. now, how am i goin' to get it? where do i take hold an' begin? i'm willin' to work my passage, you know, an' i can make most men sick when it comes to hard work. once i get started, i'll work night an' day. mebbe you think it's funny, me askin' you about all this. i know you're the last person in the world i ought to ask, but i don't know anybody else i could ask--unless it's arthur. mebbe i ought to ask him. if i was--" his voice died away. his firmly planned intention had come to a halt on the verge of the horrible probability that he should have asked arthur and that he had made a fool of himself. ruth did not speak immediately. she was too absorbed in striving to reconcile the stumbling, uncouth speech and its simplicity of thought with what she saw in his face. she had never looked in eyes that expressed greater power. here was a man who could do anything, was the message she read there, and it accorded ill with the weakness of his spoken thought. and for that matter so complex and quick was her own mind that she did not have a just appreciation of simplicity. and yet she had caught an impression of power in the very groping of this mind. it had seemed to her like a giant writhing and straining at the bonds that held him down. her face was all sympathy when she did speak. "what you need, you realize yourself, and it is education. you should go back and finish grammar school, and then go through to high school and university." "but that takes money," he interrupted. "oh!" she cried. "i had not thought of that. but then you have relatives, somebody who could assist you?" he shook his head. "my father and mother are dead. i've two sisters, one married, an' the other'll get married soon, i suppose. then i've a string of brothers,--i'm the youngest,--but they never helped nobody. they've just knocked around over the world, lookin' out for number one. the oldest died in india. two are in south africa now, an' another's on a whaling voyage, an' one's travellin' with a circus--he does trapeze work. an' i guess i'm just like them. i've taken care of myself since i was eleven--that's when my mother died. i've got to study by myself, i guess, an' what i want to know is where to begin." "i should say the first thing of all would be to get a grammar. your grammar is--" she had intended saying "awful," but she amended it to "is not particularly good." he flushed and sweated. "i know i must talk a lot of slang an' words you don't understand. but then they're the only words i know--how to speak. i've got other words in my mind, picked 'em up from books, but i can't pronounce 'em, so i don't use 'em." "it isn't what you say, so much as how you say it. you don't mind my being frank, do you? i don't want to hurt you." "no, no," he cried, while he secretly blessed her for her kindness. "fire away. i've got to know, an' i'd sooner know from you than anybody else." "well, then, you say, 'you was'; it should be, 'you were.' you say 'i seen' for 'i saw.' you use the double negative--" "what's the double negative?" he demanded; then added humbly, "you see, i don't even understand your explanations." "i'm afraid i didn't explain that," she smiled. "a double negative is--let me see--well, you say, 'never helped nobody.' 'never' is a negative. 'nobody' is another negative. it is a rule that two negatives make a positive. 'never helped nobody' means that, not helping nobody, they must have helped somebody." "that's pretty clear," he said. "i never thought of it before. but it don't mean they _must_ have helped somebody, does it? seems to me that 'never helped nobody' just naturally fails to say whether or not they helped somebody. i never thought of it before, and i'll never say it again." she was pleased and surprised with the quickness and surety of his mind. as soon as he had got the clew he not only understood but corrected her error. "you'll find it all in the grammar," she went on. "there's something else i noticed in your speech. you say 'don't' when you shouldn't. 'don't' is a contraction and stands for two words. do you know them?" he thought a moment, then answered, "'do not.'" she nodded her head, and said, "and you use 'don't' when you mean 'does not.'" he was puzzled over this, and did not get it so quickly. "give me an illustration," he asked. "well--" she puckered her brows and pursed up her mouth as she thought, while he looked on and decided that her expression was most adorable. "'it don't do to be hasty.' change 'don't' to 'do not,' and it reads, 'it do not do to be hasty,' which is perfectly absurd." he turned it over in his mind and considered. "doesn't it jar on your ear?" she suggested. "can't say that it does," he replied judicially. "why didn't you say, 'can't say that it do'?" she queried. "that sounds wrong," he said slowly. "as for the other i can't make up my mind. i guess my ear ain't had the trainin' yours has." "there is no such word as 'ain't,'" she said, prettily emphatic. martin flushed again. "and you say 'ben' for 'been,'" she continued; "'come' for 'came'; and the way you chop your endings is something dreadful." "how do you mean?" he leaned forward, feeling that he ought to get down on his knees before so marvellous a mind. "how do i chop?" "you don't complete the endings. 'a-n-d' spells 'and.' you pronounce it 'an'.' 'i-n-g' spells 'ing.' sometimes you pronounce it 'ing' and sometimes you leave off the 'g.' and then you slur by dropping initial letters and diphthongs. 't-h-e-m' spells 'them.' you pronounce it--oh, well, it is not necessary to go over all of them. what you need is the grammar. i'll get one and show you how to begin." as she arose, there shot through his mind something that he had read in the etiquette books, and he stood up awkwardly, worrying as to whether he was doing the right thing, and fearing that she might take it as a sign that he was about to go. "by the way, mr. eden," she called back, as she was leaving the room. "what is _booze_? you used it several times, you know." "oh, booze," he laughed. "it's slang. it means whiskey an' beer--anything that will make you drunk." "and another thing," she laughed back. "don't use 'you' when you are impersonal. 'you' is very personal, and your use of it just now was not precisely what you meant." "i don't just see that." "why, you said just now, to me, 'whiskey and beer--anything that will make you drunk'--make me drunk, don't you see?" "well, it would, wouldn't it?" "yes, of course," she smiled. "but it would be nicer not to bring me into it. substitute 'one' for 'you' and see how much better it sounds." when she returned with the grammar, she drew a chair near his--he wondered if he should have helped her with the chair--and sat down beside him. she turned the pages of the grammar, and their heads were inclined toward each other. he could hardly follow her outlining of the work he must do, so amazed was he by her delightful propinquity. but when she began to lay down the importance of conjugation, he forgot all about her. he had never heard of conjugation, and was fascinated by the glimpse he was catching into the tie-ribs of language. he leaned closer to the page, and her hair touched his cheek. he had fainted but once in his life, and he thought he was going to faint again. he could scarcely breathe, and his heart was pounding the blood up into his throat and suffocating him. never had she seemed so accessible as now. for the moment the great gulf that separated them was bridged. but there was no diminution in the loftiness of his feeling for her. she had not descended to him. it was he who had been caught up into the clouds and carried to her. his reverence for her, in that moment, was of the same order as religious awe and fervor. it seemed to him that he had intruded upon the holy of holies, and slowly and carefully he moved his head aside from the contact which thrilled him like an electric shock and of which she had not been aware. chapter viii several weeks went by, during which martin eden studied his grammar, reviewed the books on etiquette, and read voraciously the books that caught his fancy. of his own class he saw nothing. the girls of the lotus club wondered what had become of him and worried jim with questions, and some of the fellows who put on the glove at riley's were glad that martin came no more. he made another discovery of treasure- trove in the library. as the grammar had shown him the tie-ribs of language, so that book showed him the tie-ribs of poetry, and he began to learn metre and construction and form, beneath the beauty he loved finding the why and wherefore of that beauty. another modern book he found treated poetry as a representative art, treated it exhaustively, with copious illustrations from the best in literature. never had he read fiction with so keen zest as he studied these books. and his fresh mind, untaxed for twenty years and impelled by maturity of desire, gripped hold of what he read with a virility unusual to the student mind. when he looked back now from his vantage-ground, the old world he had known, the world of land and sea and ships, of sailor-men and harpy-women, seemed a very small world; and yet it blended in with this new world and expanded. his mind made for unity, and he was surprised when at first he began to see points of contact between the two worlds. and he was ennobled, as well, by the loftiness of thought and beauty he found in the books. this led him to believe more firmly than ever that up above him, in society like ruth and her family, all men and women thought these thoughts and lived them. down below where he lived was the ignoble, and he wanted to purge himself of the ignoble that had soiled all his days, and to rise to that sublimated realm where dwelt the upper classes. all his childhood and youth had been troubled by a vague unrest; he had never known what he wanted, but he had wanted something that he had hunted vainly for until he met ruth. and now his unrest had become sharp and painful, and he knew at last, clearly and definitely, that it was beauty, and intellect, and love that he must have. during those several weeks he saw ruth half a dozen times, and each time was an added inspiration. she helped him with his english, corrected his pronunciation, and started him on arithmetic. but their intercourse was not all devoted to elementary study. he had seen too much of life, and his mind was too matured, to be wholly content with fractions, cube root, parsing, and analysis; and there were times when their conversation turned on other themes--the last poetry he had read, the latest poet she had studied. and when she read aloud to him her favorite passages, he ascended to the topmost heaven of delight. never, in all the women he had heard speak, had he heard a voice like hers. the least sound of it was a stimulus to his love, and he thrilled and throbbed with every word she uttered. it was the quality of it, the repose, and the musical modulation--the soft, rich, indefinable product of culture and a gentle soul. as he listened to her, there rang in the ears of his memory the harsh cries of barbarian women and of hags, and, in lesser degrees of harshness, the strident voices of working women and of the girls of his own class. then the chemistry of vision would begin to work, and they would troop in review across his mind, each, by contrast, multiplying ruth's glories. then, too, his bliss was heightened by the knowledge that her mind was comprehending what she read and was quivering with appreciation of the beauty of the written thought. she read to him much from "the princess," and often he saw her eyes swimming with tears, so finely was her aesthetic nature strung. at such moments her own emotions elevated him till he was as a god, and, as he gazed at her and listened, he seemed gazing on the face of life and reading its deepest secrets. and then, becoming aware of the heights of exquisite sensibility he attained, he decided that this was love and that love was the greatest thing in the world. and in review would pass along the corridors of memory all previous thrills and burnings he had known,--the drunkenness of wine, the caresses of women, the rough play and give and take of physical contests,--and they seemed trivial and mean compared with this sublime ardor he now enjoyed. the situation was obscured to ruth. she had never had any experiences of the heart. her only experiences in such matters were of the books, where the facts of ordinary day were translated by fancy into a fairy realm of unreality; and she little knew that this rough sailor was creeping into her heart and storing there pent forces that would some day burst forth and surge through her in waves of fire. she did not know the actual fire of love. her knowledge of love was purely theoretical, and she conceived of it as lambent flame, gentle as the fall of dew or the ripple of quiet water, and cool as the velvet-dark of summer nights. her idea of love was more that of placid affection, serving the loved one softly in an atmosphere, flower-scented and dim-lighted, of ethereal calm. she did not dream of the volcanic convulsions of love, its scorching heat and sterile wastes of parched ashes. she knew neither her own potencies, nor the potencies of the world; and the deeps of life were to her seas of illusion. the conjugal affection of her father and mother constituted her ideal of love-affinity, and she looked forward some day to emerging, without shock or friction, into that same quiet sweetness of existence with a loved one. so it was that she looked upon martin eden as a novelty, a strange individual, and she identified with novelty and strangeness the effects he produced upon her. it was only natural. in similar ways she had experienced unusual feelings when she looked at wild animals in the menagerie, or when she witnessed a storm of wind, or shuddered at the bright-ribbed lightning. there was something cosmic in such things, and there was something cosmic in him. he came to her breathing of large airs and great spaces. the blaze of tropic suns was in his face, and in his swelling, resilient muscles was the primordial vigor of life. he was marred and scarred by that mysterious world of rough men and rougher deeds, the outposts of which began beyond her horizon. he was untamed, wild, and in secret ways her vanity was touched by the fact that he came so mildly to her hand. likewise she was stirred by the common impulse to tame the wild thing. it was an unconscious impulse, and farthest from her thoughts that her desire was to re-thumb the clay of him into a likeness of her father's image, which image she believed to be the finest in the world. nor was there any way, out of her inexperience, for her to know that the cosmic feel she caught of him was that most cosmic of things, love, which with equal power drew men and women together across the world, compelled stags to kill each other in the rutting season, and drove even the elements irresistibly to unite. his swift development was a source of surprise and interest. she detected unguessed finenesses in him that seemed to bud, day by day, like flowers in congenial soil. she read browning aloud to him, and was often puzzled by the strange interpretations he gave to mooted passages. it was beyond her to realize that, out of his experience of men and women and life, his interpretations were far more frequently correct than hers. his conceptions seemed naive to her, though she was often fired by his daring flights of comprehension, whose orbit-path was so wide among the stars that she could not follow and could only sit and thrill to the impact of unguessed power. then she played to him--no longer at him--and probed him with music that sank to depths beyond her plumb-line. his nature opened to music as a flower to the sun, and the transition was quick from his working-class rag-time and jingles to her classical display pieces that she knew nearly by heart. yet he betrayed a democratic fondness for wagner, and the "tannhauser" overture, when she had given him the clew to it, claimed him as nothing else she played. in an immediate way it personified his life. all his past was the venusburg motif, while her he identified somehow with the pilgrim's chorus motif; and from the exalted state this elevated him to, he swept onward and upward into that vast shadow-realm of spirit-groping, where good and evil war eternally. sometimes he questioned, and induced in her mind temporary doubts as to the correctness of her own definitions and conceptions of music. but her singing he did not question. it was too wholly her, and he sat always amazed at the divine melody of her pure soprano voice. and he could not help but contrast it with the weak pipings and shrill quaverings of factory girls, ill-nourished and untrained, and with the raucous shriekings from gin-cracked throats of the women of the seaport towns. she enjoyed singing and playing to him. in truth, it was the first time she had ever had a human soul to play with, and the plastic clay of him was a delight to mould; for she thought she was moulding it, and her intentions were good. besides, it was pleasant to be with him. he did not repel her. that first repulsion had been really a fear of her undiscovered self, and the fear had gone to sleep. though she did not know it, she had a feeling in him of proprietary right. also, he had a tonic effect upon her. she was studying hard at the university, and it seemed to strengthen her to emerge from the dusty books and have the fresh sea-breeze of his personality blow upon her. strength! strength was what she needed, and he gave it to her in generous measure. to come into the same room with him, or to meet him at the door, was to take heart of life. and when he had gone, she would return to her books with a keener zest and fresh store of energy. she knew her browning, but it had never sunk into her that it was an awkward thing to play with souls. as her interest in martin increased, the remodelling of his life became a passion with her. "there is mr. butler," she said one afternoon, when grammar and arithmetic and poetry had been put aside. "he had comparatively no advantages at first. his father had been a bank cashier, but he lingered for years, dying of consumption in arizona, so that when he was dead, mr. butler, charles butler he was called, found himself alone in the world. his father had come from australia, you know, and so he had no relatives in california. he went to work in a printing-office,--i have heard him tell of it many times,--and he got three dollars a week, at first. his income to-day is at least thirty thousand a year. how did he do it? he was honest, and faithful, and industrious, and economical. he denied himself the enjoyments that most boys indulge in. he made it a point to save so much every week, no matter what he had to do without in order to save it. of course, he was soon earning more than three dollars a week, and as his wages increased he saved more and more. "he worked in the daytime, and at night he went to night school. he had his eyes fixed always on the future. later on he went to night high school. when he was only seventeen, he was earning excellent wages at setting type, but he was ambitious. he wanted a career, not a livelihood, and he was content to make immediate sacrifices for his ultimate again. he decided upon the law, and he entered father's office as an office boy--think of that!--and got only four dollars a week. but he had learned how to be economical, and out of that four dollars he went on saving money." she paused for breath, and to note how martin was receiving it. his face was lighted up with interest in the youthful struggles of mr. butler; but there was a frown upon his face as well. "i'd say they was pretty hard lines for a young fellow," he remarked. "four dollars a week! how could he live on it? you can bet he didn't have any frills. why, i pay five dollars a week for board now, an' there's nothin' excitin' about it, you can lay to that. he must have lived like a dog. the food he ate--" "he cooked for himself," she interrupted, "on a little kerosene stove." "the food he ate must have been worse than what a sailor gets on the worst-feedin' deep-water ships, than which there ain't much that can be possibly worse." "but think of him now!" she cried enthusiastically. "think of what his income affords him. his early denials are paid for a thousand-fold." martin looked at her sharply. "there's one thing i'll bet you," he said, "and it is that mr. butler is nothin' gay-hearted now in his fat days. he fed himself like that for years an' years, on a boy's stomach, an' i bet his stomach's none too good now for it." her eyes dropped before his searching gaze. "i'll bet he's got dyspepsia right now!" martin challenged. "yes, he has," she confessed; "but--" "an' i bet," martin dashed on, "that he's solemn an' serious as an old owl, an' doesn't care a rap for a good time, for all his thirty thousand a year. an' i'll bet he's not particularly joyful at seein' others have a good time. ain't i right?" she nodded her head in agreement, and hastened to explain:- "but he is not that type of man. by nature he is sober and serious. he always was that." "you can bet he was," martin proclaimed. "three dollars a week, an' four dollars a week, an' a young boy cookin' for himself on an oil-burner an' layin' up money, workin' all day an' studyin' all night, just workin' an' never playin', never havin' a good time, an' never learnin' how to have a good time--of course his thirty thousand came along too late." his sympathetic imagination was flashing upon his inner sight all the thousands of details of the boy's existence and of his narrow spiritual development into a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year man. with the swiftness and wide-reaching of multitudinous thought charles butler's whole life was telescoped upon his vision. "do you know," he added, "i feel sorry for mr. butler. he was too young to know better, but he robbed himself of life for the sake of thirty thousand a year that's clean wasted upon him. why, thirty thousand, lump sum, wouldn't buy for him right now what ten cents he was layin' up would have bought him, when he was a kid, in the way of candy an' peanuts or a seat in nigger heaven." it was just such uniqueness of points of view that startled ruth. not only were they new to her, and contrary to her own beliefs, but she always felt in them germs of truth that threatened to unseat or modify her own convictions. had she been fourteen instead of twenty-four, she might have been changed by them; but she was twenty-four, conservative by nature and upbringing, and already crystallized into the cranny of life where she had been born and formed. it was true, his bizarre judgments troubled her in the moments they were uttered, but she ascribed them to his novelty of type and strangeness of living, and they were soon forgotten. nevertheless, while she disapproved of them, the strength of their utterance, and the flashing of eyes and earnestness of face that accompanied them, always thrilled her and drew her toward him. she would never have guessed that this man who had come from beyond her horizon, was, in such moments, flashing on beyond her horizon with wider and deeper concepts. her own limits were the limits of her horizon; but limited minds can recognize limitations only in others. and so she felt that her outlook was very wide indeed, and that where his conflicted with hers marked his limitations; and she dreamed of helping him to see as she saw, of widening his horizon until it was identified with hers. "but i have not finished my story," she said. "he worked, so father says, as no other office boy he ever had. mr. butler was always eager to work. he never was late, and he was usually at the office a few minutes before his regular time. and yet he saved his time. every spare moment was devoted to study. he studied book-keeping and type-writing, and he paid for lessons in shorthand by dictating at night to a court reporter who needed practice. he quickly became a clerk, and he made himself invaluable. father appreciated him and saw that he was bound to rise. it was on father's suggestion that he went to law college. he became a lawyer, and hardly was he back in the office when father took him in as junior partner. he is a great man. he refused the united states senate several times, and father says he could become a justice of the supreme court any time a vacancy occurs, if he wants to. such a life is an inspiration to all of us. it shows us that a man with will may rise superior to his environment." "he is a great man," martin said sincerely. but it seemed to him there was something in the recital that jarred upon his sense of beauty and life. he could not find an adequate motive in mr. butler's life of pinching and privation. had he done it for love of a woman, or for attainment of beauty, martin would have understood. god's own mad lover should do anything for the kiss, but not for thirty thousand dollars a year. he was dissatisfied with mr. butler's career. there was something paltry about it, after all. thirty thousand a year was all right, but dyspepsia and inability to be humanly happy robbed such princely income of all its value. much of this he strove to express to ruth, and shocked her and made it clear that more remodelling was necessary. hers was that common insularity of mind that makes human creatures believe that their color, creed, and politics are best and right and that other human creatures scattered over the world are less fortunately placed than they. it was the same insularity of mind that made the ancient jew thank god he was not born a woman, and sent the modern missionary god-substituting to the ends of the earth; and it made ruth desire to shape this man from other crannies of life into the likeness of the men who lived in her particular cranny of life. chapter ix back from sea martin eden came, homing for california with a lover's desire. his store of money exhausted, he had shipped before the mast on the treasure-hunting schooner; and the solomon islands, after eight months of failure to find treasure, had witnessed the breaking up of the expedition. the men had been paid off in australia, and martin had immediately shipped on a deep-water vessel for san francisco. not alone had those eight months earned him enough money to stay on land for many weeks, but they had enabled him to do a great deal of studying and reading. his was the student's mind, and behind his ability to learn was the indomitability of his nature and his love for ruth. the grammar he had taken along he went through again and again until his unjaded brain had mastered it. he noticed the bad grammar used by his shipmates, and made a point of mentally correcting and reconstructing their crudities of speech. to his great joy he discovered that his ear was becoming sensitive and that he was developing grammatical nerves. a double negative jarred him like a discord, and often, from lack of practice, it was from his own lips that the jar came. his tongue refused to learn new tricks in a day. after he had been through the grammar repeatedly, he took up the dictionary and added twenty words a day to his vocabulary. he found that this was no light task, and at wheel or lookout he steadily went over and over his lengthening list of pronunciations and definitions, while he invariably memorized himself to sleep. "never did anything," "if i were," and "those things," were phrases, with many variations, that he repeated under his breath in order to accustom his tongue to the language spoken by ruth. "and" and "ing," with the "d" and "g" pronounced emphatically, he went over thousands of times; and to his surprise he noticed that he was beginning to speak cleaner and more correct english than the officers themselves and the gentleman-adventurers in the cabin who had financed the expedition. the captain was a fishy-eyed norwegian who somehow had fallen into possession of a complete shakespeare, which he never read, and martin had washed his clothes for him and in return been permitted access to the precious volumes. for a time, so steeped was he in the plays and in the many favorite passages that impressed themselves almost without effort on his brain, that all the world seemed to shape itself into forms of elizabethan tragedy or comedy and his very thoughts were in blank verse. it trained his ear and gave him a fine appreciation for noble english; withal it introduced into his mind much that was archaic and obsolete. the eight months had been well spent, and, in addition to what he had learned of right speaking and high thinking, he had learned much of himself. along with his humbleness because he knew so little, there arose a conviction of power. he felt a sharp gradation between himself and his shipmates, and was wise enough to realize that the difference lay in potentiality rather than achievement. what he could do,--they could do; but within him he felt a confused ferment working that told him there was more in him than he had done. he was tortured by the exquisite beauty of the world, and wished that ruth were there to share it with him. he decided that he would describe to her many of the bits of south sea beauty. the creative spirit in him flamed up at the thought and urged that he recreate this beauty for a wider audience than ruth. and then, in splendor and glory, came the great idea. he would write. he would be one of the eyes through which the world saw, one of the ears through which it heard, one of the hearts through which it felt. he would write--everything--poetry and prose, fiction and description, and plays like shakespeare. there was career and the way to win to ruth. the men of literature were the world's giants, and he conceived them to be far finer than the mr. butlers who earned thirty thousand a year and could be supreme court justices if they wanted to. once the idea had germinated, it mastered him, and the return voyage to san francisco was like a dream. he was drunken with unguessed power and felt that he could do anything. in the midst of the great and lonely sea he gained perspective. clearly, and for the first lime, he saw ruth and her world. it was all visualized in his mind as a concrete thing which he could take up in his two hands and turn around and about and examine. there was much that was dim and nebulous in that world, but he saw it as a whole and not in detail, and he saw, also, the way to master it. to write! the thought was fire in him. he would begin as soon as he got back. the first thing he would do would be to describe the voyage of the treasure-hunters. he would sell it to some san francisco newspaper. he would not tell ruth anything about it, and she would be surprised and pleased when she saw his name in print. while he wrote, he could go on studying. there were twenty-four hours in each day. he was invincible. he knew how to work, and the citadels would go down before him. he would not have to go to sea again--as a sailor; and for the instant he caught a vision of a steam yacht. there were other writers who possessed steam yachts. of course, he cautioned himself, it would be slow succeeding at first, and for a time he would be content to earn enough money by his writing to enable him to go on studying. and then, after some time,--a very indeterminate time,--when he had learned and prepared himself, he would write the great things and his name would be on all men's lips. but greater than that, infinitely greater and greatest of all, he would have proved himself worthy of ruth. fame was all very well, but it was for ruth that his splendid dream arose. he was not a fame-monger, but merely one of god's mad lovers. arrived in oakland, with his snug pay-day in his pocket, he took up his old room at bernard higginbotham's and set to work. he did not even let ruth know he was back. he would go and see her when he finished the article on the treasure-hunters. it was not so difficult to abstain from seeing her, because of the violent heat of creative fever that burned in him. besides, the very article he was writing would bring her nearer to him. he did not know how long an article he should write, but he counted the words in a double-page article in the sunday supplement of the san francisco examiner, and guided himself by that. three days, at white heat, completed his narrative; but when he had copied it carefully, in a large scrawl that was easy to read, he learned from a rhetoric he picked up in the library that there were such things as paragraphs and quotation marks. he had never thought of such things before; and he promptly set to work writing the article over, referring continually to the pages of the rhetoric and learning more in a day about composition than the average schoolboy in a year. when he had copied the article a second time and rolled it up carefully, he read in a newspaper an item on hints to beginners, and discovered the iron law that manuscripts should never be rolled and that they should be written on one side of the paper. he had violated the law on both counts. also, he learned from the item that first-class papers paid a minimum of ten dollars a column. so, while he copied the manuscript a third time, he consoled himself by multiplying ten columns by ten dollars. the product was always the same, one hundred dollars, and he decided that that was better than seafaring. if it hadn't been for his blunders, he would have finished the article in three days. one hundred dollars in three days! it would have taken him three months and longer on the sea to earn a similar amount. a man was a fool to go to sea when he could write, he concluded, though the money in itself meant nothing to him. its value was in the liberty it would get him, the presentable garments it would buy him, all of which would bring him nearer, swiftly nearer, to the slender, pale girl who had turned his life back upon itself and given him inspiration. he mailed the manuscript in a flat envelope, and addressed it to the editor of the san francisco examiner. he had an idea that anything accepted by a paper was published immediately, and as he had sent the manuscript in on friday he expected it to come out on the following sunday. he conceived that it would be fine to let that event apprise ruth of his return. then, sunday afternoon, he would call and see her. in the meantime he was occupied by another idea, which he prided himself upon as being a particularly sane, careful, and modest idea. he would write an adventure story for boys and sell it to the youth's companion. he went to the free reading-room and looked through the files of the youth's companion. serial stories, he found, were usually published in that weekly in five instalments of about three thousand words each. he discovered several serials that ran to seven instalments, and decided to write one of that length. he had been on a whaling voyage in the arctic, once--a voyage that was to have been for three years and which had terminated in shipwreck at the end of six months. while his imagination was fanciful, even fantastic at times, he had a basic love of reality that compelled him to write about the things he knew. he knew whaling, and out of the real materials of his knowledge he proceeded to manufacture the fictitious adventures of the two boys he intended to use as joint heroes. it was easy work, he decided on saturday evening. he had completed on that day the first instalment of three thousand words--much to the amusement of jim, and to the open derision of mr. higginbotham, who sneered throughout meal-time at the "litery" person they had discovered in the family. martin contented himself by picturing his brother-in-law's surprise on sunday morning when he opened his examiner and saw the article on the treasure-hunters. early that morning he was out himself to the front door, nervously racing through the many-sheeted newspaper. he went through it a second time, very carefully, then folded it up and left it where he had found it. he was glad he had not told any one about his article. on second thought he concluded that he had been wrong about the speed with which things found their way into newspaper columns. besides, there had not been any news value in his article, and most likely the editor would write to him about it first. after breakfast he went on with his serial. the words flowed from his pen, though he broke off from the writing frequently to look up definitions in the dictionary or to refer to the rhetoric. he often read or re-read a chapter at a time, during such pauses; and he consoled himself that while he was not writing the great things he felt to be in him, he was learning composition, at any rate, and training himself to shape up and express his thoughts. he toiled on till dark, when he went out to the reading-room and explored magazines and weeklies until the place closed at ten o'clock. this was his programme for a week. each day he did three thousand words, and each evening he puzzled his way through the magazines, taking note of the stories, articles, and poems that editors saw fit to publish. one thing was certain: what these multitudinous writers did he could do, and only give him time and he would do what they could not do. he was cheered to read in book news, in a paragraph on the payment of magazine writers, not that rudyard kipling received a dollar per word, but that the minimum rate paid by first-class magazines was two cents a word. the youth's companion was certainly first class, and at that rate the three thousand words he had written that day would bring him sixty dollars--two months' wages on the sea! on friday night he finished the serial, twenty-one thousand words long. at two cents a word, he calculated, that would bring him four hundred and twenty dollars. not a bad week's work. it was more money than he had ever possessed at one time. he did not know how he could spend it all. he had tapped a gold mine. where this came from he could always get more. he planned to buy some more clothes, to subscribe to many magazines, and to buy dozens of reference books that at present he was compelled to go to the library to consult. and still there was a large portion of the four hundred and twenty dollars unspent. this worried him until the thought came to him of hiring a servant for gertrude and of buying a bicycle for marion. he mailed the bulky manuscript to the youth's companion, and on saturday afternoon, after having planned an article on pearl-diving, he went to see ruth. he had telephoned, and she went herself to greet him at the door. the old familiar blaze of health rushed out from him and struck her like a blow. it seemed to enter into her body and course through her veins in a liquid glow, and to set her quivering with its imparted strength. he flushed warmly as he took her hand and looked into her blue eyes, but the fresh bronze of eight months of sun hid the flush, though it did not protect the neck from the gnawing chafe of the stiff collar. she noted the red line of it with amusement which quickly vanished as she glanced at his clothes. they really fitted him,--it was his first made- to-order suit,--and he seemed slimmer and better modelled. in addition, his cloth cap had been replaced by a soft hat, which she commanded him to put on and then complimented him on his appearance. she did not remember when she had felt so happy. this change in him was her handiwork, and she was proud of it and fired with ambition further to help him. but the most radical change of all, and the one that pleased her most, was the change in his speech. not only did he speak more correctly, but he spoke more easily, and there were many new words in his vocabulary. when he grew excited or enthusiastic, however, he dropped back into the old slurring and the dropping of final consonants. also, there was an awkward hesitancy, at times, as he essayed the new words he had learned. on the other hand, along with his ease of expression, he displayed a lightness and facetiousness of thought that delighted her. it was his old spirit of humor and badinage that had made him a favorite in his own class, but which he had hitherto been unable to use in her presence through lack of words and training. he was just beginning to orientate himself and to feel that he was not wholly an intruder. but he was very tentative, fastidiously so, letting ruth set the pace of sprightliness and fancy, keeping up with her but never daring to go beyond her. he told her of what he had been doing, and of his plan to write for a livelihood and of going on with his studies. but he was disappointed at her lack of approval. she did not think much of his plan. "you see," she said frankly, "writing must be a trade, like anything else. not that i know anything about it, of course. i only bring common judgment to bear. you couldn't hope to be a blacksmith without spending three years at learning the trade--or is it five years! now writers are so much better paid than blacksmiths that there must be ever so many more men who would like to write, who--try to write." "but then, may not i be peculiarly constituted to write?" he queried, secretly exulting at the language he had used, his swift imagination throwing the whole scene and atmosphere upon a vast screen along with a thousand other scenes from his life--scenes that were rough and raw, gross and bestial. the whole composite vision was achieved with the speed of light, producing no pause in the conversation, nor interrupting his calm train of thought. on the screen of his imagination he saw himself and this sweet and beautiful girl, facing each other and conversing in good english, in a room of books and paintings and tone and culture, and all illuminated by a bright light of steadfast brilliance; while ranged about and fading away to the remote edges of the screen were antithetical scenes, each scene a picture, and he the onlooker, free to look at will upon what he wished. he saw these other scenes through drifting vapors and swirls of sullen fog dissolving before shafts of red and garish light. he saw cowboys at the bar, drinking fierce whiskey, the air filled with obscenity and ribald language, and he saw himself with them drinking and cursing with the wildest, or sitting at table with them, under smoking kerosene lamps, while the chips clicked and clattered and the cards were dealt around. he saw himself, stripped to the waist, with naked fists, fighting his great fight with liverpool red in the forecastle of the susquehanna; and he saw the bloody deck of the john rogers, that gray morning of attempted mutiny, the mate kicking in death- throes on the main-hatch, the revolver in the old man's hand spitting fire and smoke, the men with passion-wrenched faces, of brutes screaming vile blasphemies and falling about him--and then he returned to the central scene, calm and clean in the steadfast light, where ruth sat and talked with him amid books and paintings; and he saw the grand piano upon which she would later play to him; and he heard the echoes of his own selected and correct words, "but then, may i not be peculiarly constituted to write?" "but no matter how peculiarly constituted a man may be for blacksmithing," she was laughing, "i never heard of one becoming a blacksmith without first serving his apprenticeship." "what would you advise?" he asked. "and don't forget that i feel in me this capacity to write--i can't explain it; i just know that it is in me." "you must get a thorough education," was the answer, "whether or not you ultimately become a writer. this education is indispensable for whatever career you select, and it must not be slipshod or sketchy. you should go to high school." "yes--" he began; but she interrupted with an afterthought:- "of course, you could go on with your writing, too." "i would have to," he said grimly. "why?" she looked at him, prettily puzzled, for she did not quite like the persistence with which he clung to his notion. "because, without writing there wouldn't be any high school. i must live and buy books and clothes, you know." "i'd forgotten that," she laughed. "why weren't you born with an income?" "i'd rather have good health and imagination," he answered. "i can make good on the income, but the other things have to be made good for--" he almost said "you," then amended his sentence to, "have to be made good for one." "don't say 'make good,'" she cried, sweetly petulant. "it's slang, and it's horrid." he flushed, and stammered, "that's right, and i only wish you'd correct me every time." "i--i'd like to," she said haltingly. "you have so much in you that is good that i want to see you perfect." he was clay in her hands immediately, as passionately desirous of being moulded by her as she was desirous of shaping him into the image of her ideal of man. and when she pointed out the opportuneness of the time, that the entrance examinations to high school began on the following monday, he promptly volunteered that he would take them. then she played and sang to him, while he gazed with hungry yearning at her, drinking in her loveliness and marvelling that there should not be a hundred suitors listening there and longing for her as he listened and longed. chapter x he stopped to dinner that evening, and, much to ruth's satisfaction, made a favorable impression on her father. they talked about the sea as a career, a subject which martin had at his finger-ends, and mr. morse remarked afterward that he seemed a very clear-headed young man. in his avoidance of slang and his search after right words, martin was compelled to talk slowly, which enabled him to find the best thoughts that were in him. he was more at ease than that first night at dinner, nearly a year before, and his shyness and modesty even commended him to mrs. morse, who was pleased at his manifest improvement. "he is the first man that ever drew passing notice from ruth," she told her husband. "she has been so singularly backward where men are concerned that i have been worried greatly." mr. morse looked at his wife curiously. "you mean to use this young sailor to wake her up?" he questioned. "i mean that she is not to die an old maid if i can help it," was the answer. "if this young eden can arouse her interest in mankind in general, it will be a good thing." "a very good thing," he commented. "but suppose,--and we must suppose, sometimes, my dear,--suppose he arouses her interest too particularly in him?" "impossible," mrs. morse laughed. "she is three years older than he, and, besides, it is impossible. nothing will ever come of it. trust that to me." and so martin's role was arranged for him, while he, led on by arthur and norman, was meditating an extravagance. they were going out for a ride into the hills sunday morning on their wheels, which did not interest martin until he learned that ruth, too, rode a wheel and was going along. he did not ride, nor own a wheel, but if ruth rode, it was up to him to begin, was his decision; and when he said good night, he stopped in at a cyclery on his way home and spent forty dollars for a wheel. it was more than a month's hard-earned wages, and it reduced his stock of money amazingly; but when he added the hundred dollars he was to receive from the examiner to the four hundred and twenty dollars that was the least the youth's companion could pay him, he felt that he had reduced the perplexity the unwonted amount of money had caused him. nor did he mind, in the course of learning to ride the wheel home, the fact that he ruined his suit of clothes. he caught the tailor by telephone that night from mr. higginbotham's store and ordered another suit. then he carried the wheel up the narrow stairway that clung like a fire-escape to the rear wall of the building, and when he had moved his bed out from the wall, found there was just space enough in the small room for himself and the wheel. sunday he had intended to devote to studying for the high school examination, but the pearl-diving article lured him away, and he spent the day in the white-hot fever of re-creating the beauty and romance that burned in him. the fact that the examiner of that morning had failed to publish his treasure-hunting article did not dash his spirits. he was at too great a height for that, and having been deaf to a twice-repeated summons, he went without the heavy sunday dinner with which mr. higginbotham invariably graced his table. to mr. higginbotham such a dinner was advertisement of his worldly achievement and prosperity, and he honored it by delivering platitudinous sermonettes upon american institutions and the opportunity said institutions gave to any hard-working man to rise--the rise, in his case, which he pointed out unfailingly, being from a grocer's clerk to the ownership of higginbotham's cash store. martin eden looked with a sigh at his unfinished "pearl-diving" on monday morning, and took the car down to oakland to the high school. and when, days later, he applied for the results of his examinations, he learned that he had failed in everything save grammar. "your grammar is excellent," professor hilton informed him, staring at him through heavy spectacles; "but you know nothing, positively nothing, in the other branches, and your united states history is abominable--there is no other word for it, abominable. i should advise you--" professor hilton paused and glared at him, unsympathetic and unimaginative as one of his own test-tubes. he was professor of physics in the high school, possessor of a large family, a meagre salary, and a select fund of parrot-learned knowledge. "yes, sir," martin said humbly, wishing somehow that the man at the desk in the library was in professor hilton's place just then. "and i should advise you to go back to the grammar school for at least two years. good day." martin was not deeply affected by his failure, though he was surprised at ruth's shocked expression when he told her professor hilton's advice. her disappointment was so evident that he was sorry he had failed, but chiefly so for her sake. "you see i was right," she said. "you know far more than any of the students entering high school, and yet you can't pass the examinations. it is because what education you have is fragmentary, sketchy. you need the discipline of study, such as only skilled teachers can give you. you must be thoroughly grounded. professor hilton is right, and if i were you, i'd go to night school. a year and a half of it might enable you to catch up that additional six months. besides, that would leave you your days in which to write, or, if you could not make your living by your pen, you would have your days in which to work in some position." but if my days are taken up with work and my nights with school, when am i going to see you?--was martin's first thought, though he refrained from uttering it. instead, he said:- "it seems so babyish for me to be going to night school. but i wouldn't mind that if i thought it would pay. but i don't think it will pay. i can do the work quicker than they can teach me. it would be a loss of time--" he thought of her and his desire to have her--"and i can't afford the time. i haven't the time to spare, in fact." "there is so much that is necessary." she looked at him gently, and he was a brute to oppose her. "physics and chemistry--you can't do them without laboratory study; and you'll find algebra and geometry almost hopeless without instruction. you need the skilled teachers, the specialists in the art of imparting knowledge." he was silent for a minute, casting about for the least vainglorious way in which to express himself. "please don't think i'm bragging," he began. "i don't intend it that way at all. but i have a feeling that i am what i may call a natural student. i can study by myself. i take to it kindly, like a duck to water. you see yourself what i did with grammar. and i've learned much of other things--you would never dream how much. and i'm only getting started. wait till i get--" he hesitated and assured himself of the pronunciation before he said "momentum. i'm getting my first real feel of things now. i'm beginning to size up the situation--" "please don't say 'size up,'" she interrupted. "to get a line on things," he hastily amended. "that doesn't mean anything in correct english," she objected. he floundered for a fresh start. "what i'm driving at is that i'm beginning to get the lay of the land." out of pity she forebore, and he went on. "knowledge seems to me like a chart-room. whenever i go into the library, i am impressed that way. the part played by teachers is to teach the student the contents of the chart-room in a systematic way. the teachers are guides to the chart-room, that's all. it's not something that they have in their own heads. they don't make it up, don't create it. it's all in the chart-room and they know their way about in it, and it's their business to show the place to strangers who might else get lost. now i don't get lost easily. i have the bump of location. i usually know where i'm at--what's wrong now?" "don't say 'where i'm at.'" "that's right," he said gratefully, "where i am. but where am i at--i mean, where am i? oh, yes, in the chart-room. well, some people--" "persons," she corrected. "some persons need guides, most persons do; but i think i can get along without them. i've spent a lot of time in the chart-room now, and i'm on the edge of knowing my way about, what charts i want to refer to, what coasts i want to explore. and from the way i line it up, i'll explore a whole lot more quickly by myself. the speed of a fleet, you know, is the speed of the slowest ship, and the speed of the teachers is affected the same way. they can't go any faster than the ruck of their scholars, and i can set a faster pace for myself than they set for a whole schoolroom." "'he travels the fastest who travels alone,'" she quoted at him. but i'd travel faster with you just the same, was what he wanted to blurt out, as he caught a vision of a world without end of sunlit spaces and starry voids through which he drifted with her, his arm around her, her pale gold hair blowing about his face. in the same instant he was aware of the pitiful inadequacy of speech. god! if he could so frame words that she could see what he then saw! and he felt the stir in him, like a throe of yearning pain, of the desire to paint these visions that flashed unsummoned on the mirror of his mind. ah, that was it! he caught at the hem of the secret. it was the very thing that the great writers and master-poets did. that was why they were giants. they knew how to express what they thought, and felt, and saw. dogs asleep in the sun often whined and barked, but they were unable to tell what they saw that made them whine and bark. he had often wondered what it was. and that was all he was, a dog asleep in the sun. he saw noble and beautiful visions, but he could only whine and bark at ruth. but he would cease sleeping in the sun. he would stand up, with open eyes, and he would struggle and toil and learn until, with eyes unblinded and tongue untied, he could share with her his visioned wealth. other men had discovered the trick of expression, of making words obedient servitors, and of making combinations of words mean more than the sum of their separate meanings. he was stirred profoundly by the passing glimpse at the secret, and he was again caught up in the vision of sunlit spaces and starry voids--until it came to him that it was very quiet, and he saw ruth regarding him with an amused expression and a smile in her eyes. "i have had a great visioning," he said, and at the sound of his words in his own ears his heart gave a leap. where had those words come from? they had adequately expressed the pause his vision had put in the conversation. it was a miracle. never had he so loftily framed a lofty thought. but never had he attempted to frame lofty thoughts in words. that was it. that explained it. he had never tried. but swinburne had, and tennyson, and kipling, and all the other poets. his mind flashed on to his "pearl-diving." he had never dared the big things, the spirit of the beauty that was a fire in him. that article would be a different thing when he was done with it. he was appalled by the vastness of the beauty that rightfully belonged in it, and again his mind flashed and dared, and he demanded of himself why he could not chant that beauty in noble verse as the great poets did. and there was all the mysterious delight and spiritual wonder of his love for ruth. why could he not chant that, too, as the poets did? they had sung of love. so would he. by god!-- and in his frightened ears he heard his exclamation echoing. carried away, he had breathed it aloud. the blood surged into his face, wave upon wave, mastering the bronze of it till the blush of shame flaunted itself from collar-rim to the roots of his hair. "i--i--beg your pardon," he stammered. "i was thinking." "it sounded as if you were praying," she said bravely, but she felt herself inside to be withering and shrinking. it was the first time she had heard an oath from the lips of a man she knew, and she was shocked, not merely as a matter of principle and training, but shocked in spirit by this rough blast of life in the garden of her sheltered maidenhood. but she forgave, and with surprise at the ease of her forgiveness. somehow it was not so difficult to forgive him anything. he had not had a chance to be as other men, and he was trying so hard, and succeeding, too. it never entered her head that there could be any other reason for her being kindly disposed toward him. she was tenderly disposed toward him, but she did not know it. she had no way of knowing it. the placid poise of twenty-four years without a single love affair did not fit her with a keen perception of her own feelings, and she who had never warmed to actual love was unaware that she was warming now. chapter xi martin went back to his pearl-diving article, which would have been finished sooner if it had not been broken in upon so frequently by his attempts to write poetry. his poems were love poems, inspired by ruth, but they were never completed. not in a day could he learn to chant in noble verse. rhyme and metre and structure were serious enough in themselves, but there was, over and beyond them, an intangible and evasive something that he caught in all great poetry, but which he could not catch and imprison in his own. it was the elusive spirit of poetry itself that he sensed and sought after but could not capture. it seemed a glow to him, a warm and trailing vapor, ever beyond his reaching, though sometimes he was rewarded by catching at shreds of it and weaving them into phrases that echoed in his brain with haunting notes or drifted across his vision in misty wafture of unseen beauty. it was baffling. he ached with desire to express and could but gibber prosaically as everybody gibbered. he read his fragments aloud. the metre marched along on perfect feet, and the rhyme pounded a longer and equally faultless rhythm, but the glow and high exaltation that he felt within were lacking. he could not understand, and time and again, in despair, defeated and depressed, he returned to his article. prose was certainly an easier medium. following the "pearl-diving," he wrote an article on the sea as a career, another on turtle-catching, and a third on the northeast trades. then he tried, as an experiment, a short story, and before he broke his stride he had finished six short stories and despatched them to various magazines. he wrote prolifically, intensely, from morning till night, and late at night, except when he broke off to go to the reading-room, draw books from the library, or to call on ruth. he was profoundly happy. life was pitched high. he was in a fever that never broke. the joy of creation that is supposed to belong to the gods was his. all the life about him--the odors of stale vegetables and soapsuds, the slatternly form of his sister, and the jeering face of mr. higginbotham--was a dream. the real world was in his mind, and the stories he wrote were so many pieces of reality out of his mind. the days were too short. there was so much he wanted to study. he cut his sleep down to five hours and found that he could get along upon it. he tried four hours and a half, and regretfully came back to five. he could joyfully have spent all his waking hours upon any one of his pursuits. it was with regret that he ceased from writing to study, that he ceased from study to go to the library, that he tore himself away from that chart-room of knowledge or from the magazines in the reading-room that were filled with the secrets of writers who succeeded in selling their wares. it was like severing heart strings, when he was with ruth, to stand up and go; and he scorched through the dark streets so as to get home to his books at the least possible expense of time. and hardest of all was it to shut up the algebra or physics, put note-book and pencil aside, and close his tired eyes in sleep. he hated the thought of ceasing to live, even for so short a time, and his sole consolation was that the alarm clock was set five hours ahead. he would lose only five hours anyway, and then the jangling bell would jerk him out of unconsciousness and he would have before him another glorious day of nineteen hours. in the meantime the weeks were passing, his money was ebbing low, and there was no money coming in. a month after he had mailed it, the adventure serial for boys was returned to him by the youth's companion. the rejection slip was so tactfully worded that he felt kindly toward the editor. but he did not feel so kindly toward the editor of the san francisco examiner. after waiting two whole weeks, martin had written to him. a week later he wrote again. at the end of the month, he went over to san francisco and personally called upon the editor. but he did not meet that exalted personage, thanks to a cerberus of an office boy, of tender years and red hair, who guarded the portals. at the end of the fifth week the manuscript came back to him, by mail, without comment. there was no rejection slip, no explanation, nothing. in the same way his other articles were tied up with the other leading san francisco papers. when he recovered them, he sent them to the magazines in the east, from which they were returned more promptly, accompanied always by the printed rejection slips. the short stories were returned in similar fashion. he read them over and over, and liked them so much that he could not puzzle out the cause of their rejection, until, one day, he read in a newspaper that manuscripts should always be typewritten. that explained it. of course editors were so busy that they could not afford the time and strain of reading handwriting. martin rented a typewriter and spent a day mastering the machine. each day he typed what he composed, and he typed his earlier manuscripts as fast as they were returned him. he was surprised when the typed ones began to come back. his jaw seemed to become squarer, his chin more aggressive, and he bundled the manuscripts off to new editors. the thought came to him that he was not a good judge of his own work. he tried it out on gertrude. he read his stories aloud to her. her eyes glistened, and she looked at him proudly as she said:- "ain't it grand, you writin' those sort of things." "yes, yes," he demanded impatiently. "but the story--how did you like it?" "just grand," was the reply. "just grand, an' thrilling, too. i was all worked up." he could see that her mind was not clear. the perplexity was strong in her good-natured face. so he waited. "but, say, mart," after a long pause, "how did it end? did that young man who spoke so highfalutin' get her?" and, after he had explained the end, which he thought he had made artistically obvious, she would say:- "that's what i wanted to know. why didn't you write that way in the story?" one thing he learned, after he had read her a number of stories, namely, that she liked happy endings. "that story was perfectly grand," she announced, straightening up from the wash-tub with a tired sigh and wiping the sweat from her forehead with a red, steamy hand; "but it makes me sad. i want to cry. there is too many sad things in the world anyway. it makes me happy to think about happy things. now if he'd married her, and--you don't mind, mart?" she queried apprehensively. "i just happen to feel that way, because i'm tired, i guess. but the story was grand just the same, perfectly grand. where are you goin' to sell it?" "that's a horse of another color," he laughed. "but if you _did_ sell it, what do you think you'd get for it?" "oh, a hundred dollars. that would be the least, the way prices go." "my! i do hope you'll sell it!" "easy money, eh?" then he added proudly: "i wrote it in two days. that's fifty dollars a day." he longed to read his stories to ruth, but did not dare. he would wait till some were published, he decided, then she would understand what he had been working for. in the meantime he toiled on. never had the spirit of adventure lured him more strongly than on this amazing exploration of the realm of mind. he bought the text-books on physics and chemistry, and, along with his algebra, worked out problems and demonstrations. he took the laboratory proofs on faith, and his intense power of vision enabled him to see the reactions of chemicals more understandingly than the average student saw them in the laboratory. martin wandered on through the heavy pages, overwhelmed by the clews he was getting to the nature of things. he had accepted the world as the world, but now he was comprehending the organization of it, the play and interplay of force and matter. spontaneous explanations of old matters were continually arising in his mind. levers and purchases fascinated him, and his mind roved backward to hand-spikes and blocks and tackles at sea. the theory of navigation, which enabled the ships to travel unerringly their courses over the pathless ocean, was made clear to him. the mysteries of storm, and rain, and tide were revealed, and the reason for the existence of trade-winds made him wonder whether he had written his article on the northeast trade too soon. at any rate he knew he could write it better now. one afternoon he went out with arthur to the university of california, and, with bated breath and a feeling of religious awe, went through the laboratories, saw demonstrations, and listened to a physics professor lecturing to his classes. but he did not neglect his writing. a stream of short stories flowed from his pen, and he branched out into the easier forms of verse--the kind he saw printed in the magazines--though he lost his head and wasted two weeks on a tragedy in blank verse, the swift rejection of which, by half a dozen magazines, dumfounded him. then he discovered henley and wrote a series of sea-poems on the model of "hospital sketches." they were simple poems, of light and color, and romance and adventure. "sea lyrics," he called them, and he judged them to be the best work he had yet done. there were thirty, and he completed them in a month, doing one a day after having done his regular day's work on fiction, which day's work was the equivalent to a week's work of the average successful writer. the toil meant nothing to him. it was not toil. he was finding speech, and all the beauty and wonder that had been pent for years behind his inarticulate lips was now pouring forth in a wild and virile flood. he showed the "sea lyrics" to no one, not even to the editors. he had become distrustful of editors. but it was not distrust that prevented him from submitting the "lyrics." they were so beautiful to him that he was impelled to save them to share with ruth in some glorious, far-off time when he would dare to read to her what he had written. against that time he kept them with him, reading them aloud, going over them until he knew them by heart. he lived every moment of his waking hours, and he lived in his sleep, his subjective mind rioting through his five hours of surcease and combining the thoughts and events of the day into grotesque and impossible marvels. in reality, he never rested, and a weaker body or a less firmly poised brain would have been prostrated in a general break-down. his late afternoon calls on ruth were rarer now, for june was approaching, when she would take her degree and finish with the university. bachelor of arts!--when he thought of her degree, it seemed she fled beyond him faster than he could pursue. one afternoon a week she gave to him, and arriving late, he usually stayed for dinner and for music afterward. those were his red-letter days. the atmosphere of the house, in such contrast with that in which he lived, and the mere nearness to her, sent him forth each time with a firmer grip on his resolve to climb the heights. in spite of the beauty in him, and the aching desire to create, it was for her that he struggled. he was a lover first and always. all other things he subordinated to love. greater than his adventure in the world of thought was his love-adventure. the world itself was not so amazing because of the atoms and molecules that composed it according to the propulsions of irresistible force; what made it amazing was the fact that ruth lived in it. she was the most amazing thing he had ever known, or dreamed, or guessed. but he was oppressed always by her remoteness. she was so far from him, and he did not know how to approach her. he had been a success with girls and women in his own class; but he had never loved any of them, while he did love her, and besides, she was not merely of another class. his very love elevated her above all classes. she was a being apart, so far apart that he did not know how to draw near to her as a lover should draw near. it was true, as he acquired knowledge and language, that he was drawing nearer, talking her speech, discovering ideas and delights in common; but this did not satisfy his lover's yearning. his lover's imagination had made her holy, too holy, too spiritualized, to have any kinship with him in the flesh. it was his own love that thrust her from him and made her seem impossible for him. love itself denied him the one thing that it desired. and then, one day, without warning, the gulf between them was bridged for a moment, and thereafter, though the gulf remained, it was ever narrower. they had been eating cherries--great, luscious, black cherries with a juice of the color of dark wine. and later, as she read aloud to him from "the princess," he chanced to notice the stain of the cherries on her lips. for the moment her divinity was shattered. she was clay, after all, mere clay, subject to the common law of clay as his clay was subject, or anybody's clay. her lips were flesh like his, and cherries dyed them as cherries dyed his. and if so with her lips, then was it so with all of her. she was woman, all woman, just like any woman. it came upon him abruptly. it was a revelation that stunned him. it was as if he had seen the sun fall out of the sky, or had seen worshipped purity polluted. then he realized the significance of it, and his heart began pounding and challenging him to play the lover with this woman who was not a spirit from other worlds but a mere woman with lips a cherry could stain. he trembled at the audacity of his thought; but all his soul was singing, and reason, in a triumphant paean, assured him he was right. something of this change in him must have reached her, for she paused from her reading, looked up at him, and smiled. his eyes dropped from her blue eyes to her lips, and the sight of the stain maddened him. his arms all but flashed out to her and around her, in the way of his old careless life. she seemed to lean toward him, to wait, and all his will fought to hold him back. "you were not following a word," she pouted. then she laughed at him, delighting in his confusion, and as he looked into her frank eyes and knew that she had divined nothing of what he felt, he became abashed. he had indeed in thought dared too far. of all the women he had known there was no woman who would not have guessed--save her. and she had not guessed. there was the difference. she was different. he was appalled by his own grossness, awed by her clear innocence, and he gazed again at her across the gulf. the bridge had broken down. but still the incident had brought him nearer. the memory of it persisted, and in the moments when he was most cast down, he dwelt upon it eagerly. the gulf was never again so wide. he had accomplished a distance vastly greater than a bachelorship of arts, or a dozen bachelorships. she was pure, it was true, as he had never dreamed of purity; but cherries stained her lips. she was subject to the laws of the universe just as inexorably as he was. she had to eat to live, and when she got her feet wet, she caught cold. but that was not the point. if she could feel hunger and thirst, and heat and cold, then could she feel love--and love for a man. well, he was a man. and why could he not be the man? "it's up to me to make good," he would murmur fervently. "i will be _the_ man. i will make myself _the_ man. i will make good." chapter xii early one evening, struggling with a sonnet that twisted all awry the beauty and thought that trailed in glow and vapor through his brain, martin was called to the telephone. "it's a lady's voice, a fine lady's," mr. higginbotham, who had called him, jeered. martin went to the telephone in the corner of the room, and felt a wave of warmth rush through him as he heard ruth's voice. in his battle with the sonnet he had forgotten her existence, and at the sound of her voice his love for her smote him like a sudden blow. and such a voice!--delicate and sweet, like a strain of music heard far off and faint, or, better, like a bell of silver, a perfect tone, crystal-pure. no mere woman had a voice like that. there was something celestial about it, and it came from other worlds. he could scarcely hear what it said, so ravished was he, though he controlled his face, for he knew that mr. higginbotham's ferret eyes were fixed upon him. it was not much that ruth wanted to say--merely that norman had been going to take her to a lecture that night, but that he had a headache, and she was so disappointed, and she had the tickets, and that if he had no other engagement, would he be good enough to take her? would he! he fought to suppress the eagerness in his voice. it was amazing. he had always seen her in her own house. and he had never dared to ask her to go anywhere with him. quite irrelevantly, still at the telephone and talking with her, he felt an overpowering desire to die for her, and visions of heroic sacrifice shaped and dissolved in his whirling brain. he loved her so much, so terribly, so hopelessly. in that moment of mad happiness that she should go out with him, go to a lecture with him--with him, martin eden--she soared so far above him that there seemed nothing else for him to do than die for her. it was the only fit way in which he could express the tremendous and lofty emotion he felt for her. it was the sublime abnegation of true love that comes to all lovers, and it came to him there, at the telephone, in a whirlwind of fire and glory; and to die for her, he felt, was to have lived and loved well. and he was only twenty-one, and he had never been in love before. his hand trembled as he hung up the receiver, and he was weak from the organ which had stirred him. his eyes were shining like an angel's, and his face was transfigured, purged of all earthly dross, and pure and holy. "makin' dates outside, eh?" his brother-in-law sneered. "you know what that means. you'll be in the police court yet." but martin could not come down from the height. not even the bestiality of the allusion could bring him back to earth. anger and hurt were beneath him. he had seen a great vision and was as a god, and he could feel only profound and awful pity for this maggot of a man. he did not look at him, and though his eyes passed over him, he did not see him; and as in a dream he passed out of the room to dress. it was not until he had reached his own room and was tying his necktie that he became aware of a sound that lingered unpleasantly in his ears. on investigating this sound he identified it as the final snort of bernard higginbotham, which somehow had not penetrated to his brain before. as ruth's front door closed behind them and he came down the steps with her, he found himself greatly perturbed. it was not unalloyed bliss, taking her to the lecture. he did not know what he ought to do. he had seen, on the streets, with persons of her class, that the women took the men's arms. but then, again, he had seen them when they didn't; and he wondered if it was only in the evening that arms were taken, or only between husbands and wives and relatives. just before he reached the sidewalk, he remembered minnie. minnie had always been a stickler. she had called him down the second time she walked out with him, because he had gone along on the inside, and she had laid the law down to him that a gentleman always walked on the outside--when he was with a lady. and minnie had made a practice of kicking his heels, whenever they crossed from one side of the street to the other, to remind him to get over on the outside. he wondered where she had got that item of etiquette, and whether it had filtered down from above and was all right. it wouldn't do any harm to try it, he decided, by the time they had reached the sidewalk; and he swung behind ruth and took up his station on the outside. then the other problem presented itself. should he offer her his arm? he had never offered anybody his arm in his life. the girls he had known never took the fellows' arms. for the first several times they walked freely, side by side, and after that it was arms around the waists, and heads against the fellows' shoulders where the streets were unlighted. but this was different. she wasn't that kind of a girl. he must do something. he crooked the arm next to her--crooked it very slightly and with secret tentativeness, not invitingly, but just casually, as though he was accustomed to walk that way. and then the wonderful thing happened. he felt her hand upon his arm. delicious thrills ran through him at the contact, and for a few sweet moments it seemed that he had left the solid earth and was flying with her through the air. but he was soon back again, perturbed by a new complication. they were crossing the street. this would put him on the inside. he should be on the outside. should he therefore drop her arm and change over? and if he did so, would he have to repeat the manoeuvre the next time? and the next? there was something wrong about it, and he resolved not to caper about and play the fool. yet he was not satisfied with his conclusion, and when he found himself on the inside, he talked quickly and earnestly, making a show of being carried away by what he was saying, so that, in case he was wrong in not changing sides, his enthusiasm would seem the cause for his carelessness. as they crossed broadway, he came face to face with a new problem. in the blaze of the electric lights, he saw lizzie connolly and her giggly friend. only for an instant he hesitated, then his hand went up and his hat came off. he could not be disloyal to his kind, and it was to more than lizzie connolly that his hat was lifted. she nodded and looked at him boldly, not with soft and gentle eyes like ruth's, but with eyes that were handsome and hard, and that swept on past him to ruth and itemized her face and dress and station. and he was aware that ruth looked, too, with quick eyes that were timid and mild as a dove's, but which saw, in a look that was a flutter on and past, the working-class girl in her cheap finery and under the strange hat that all working-class girls were wearing just then. "what a pretty girl!" ruth said a moment later. martin could have blessed her, though he said:- "i don't know. i guess it's all a matter of personal taste, but she doesn't strike me as being particularly pretty." "why, there isn't one woman in ten thousand with features as regular as hers. they are splendid. her face is as clear-cut as a cameo. and her eyes are beautiful." "do you think so?" martin queried absently, for to him there was only one beautiful woman in the world, and she was beside him, her hand upon his arm. "do i think so? if that girl had proper opportunity to dress, mr. eden, and if she were taught how to carry herself, you would be fairly dazzled by her, and so would all men." "she would have to be taught how to speak," he commented, "or else most of the men wouldn't understand her. i'm sure you couldn't understand a quarter of what she said if she just spoke naturally." "nonsense! you are as bad as arthur when you try to make your point." "you forget how i talked when you first met me. i have learned a new language since then. before that time i talked as that girl talks. now i can manage to make myself understood sufficiently in your language to explain that you do not know that other girl's language. and do you know why she carries herself the way she does? i think about such things now, though i never used to think about them, and i am beginning to understand--much." "but why does she?" "she has worked long hours for years at machines. when one's body is young, it is very pliable, and hard work will mould it like putty according to the nature of the work. i can tell at a glance the trades of many workingmen i meet on the street. look at me. why am i rolling all about the shop? because of the years i put in on the sea. if i'd put in the same years cow-punching, with my body young and pliable, i wouldn't be rolling now, but i'd be bow-legged. and so with that girl. you noticed that her eyes were what i might call hard. she has never been sheltered. she has had to take care of herself, and a young girl can't take care of herself and keep her eyes soft and gentle like--like yours, for example." "i think you are right," ruth said in a low voice. "and it is too bad. she is such a pretty girl." he looked at her and saw her eyes luminous with pity. and then he remembered that he loved her and was lost in amazement at his fortune that permitted him to love her and to take her on his arm to a lecture. who are you, martin eden? he demanded of himself in the looking-glass, that night when he got back to his room. he gazed at himself long and curiously. who are you? what are you? where do you belong? you belong by rights to girls like lizzie connolly. you belong with the legions of toil, with all that is low, and vulgar, and unbeautiful. you belong with the oxen and the drudges, in dirty surroundings among smells and stenches. there are the stale vegetables now. those potatoes are rotting. smell them, damn you, smell them. and yet you dare to open the books, to listen to beautiful music, to learn to love beautiful paintings, to speak good english, to think thoughts that none of your own kind thinks, to tear yourself away from the oxen and the lizzie connollys and to love a pale spirit of a woman who is a million miles beyond you and who lives in the stars! who are you? and what are you? damn you! and are you going to make good? he shook his fist at himself in the glass, and sat down on the edge of the bed to dream for a space with wide eyes. then he got out note-book and algebra and lost himself in quadratic equations, while the hours slipped by, and the stars dimmed, and the gray of dawn flooded against his window. chapter xiii it was the knot of wordy socialists and working-class philosophers that held forth in the city hall park on warm afternoons that was responsible for the great discovery. once or twice in the month, while riding through the park on his way to the library, martin dismounted from his wheel and listened to the arguments, and each time he tore himself away reluctantly. the tone of discussion was much lower than at mr. morse's table. the men were not grave and dignified. they lost their tempers easily and called one another names, while oaths and obscene allusions were frequent on their lips. once or twice he had seen them come to blows. and yet, he knew not why, there seemed something vital about the stuff of these men's thoughts. their logomachy was far more stimulating to his intellect than the reserved and quiet dogmatism of mr. morse. these men, who slaughtered english, gesticulated like lunatics, and fought one another's ideas with primitive anger, seemed somehow to be more alive than mr. morse and his crony, mr. butler. martin had heard herbert spencer quoted several times in the park, but one afternoon a disciple of spencer's appeared, a seedy tramp with a dirty coat buttoned tightly at the throat to conceal the absence of a shirt. battle royal was waged, amid the smoking of many cigarettes and the expectoration of much tobacco-juice, wherein the tramp successfully held his own, even when a socialist workman sneered, "there is no god but the unknowable, and herbert spencer is his prophet." martin was puzzled as to what the discussion was about, but when he rode on to the library he carried with him a new-born interest in herbert spencer, and because of the frequency with which the tramp had mentioned "first principles," martin drew out that volume. so the great discovery began. once before he had tried spencer, and choosing the "principles of psychology" to begin with, he had failed as abjectly as he had failed with madam blavatsky. there had been no understanding the book, and he had returned it unread. but this night, after algebra and physics, and an attempt at a sonnet, he got into bed and opened "first principles." morning found him still reading. it was impossible for him to sleep. nor did he write that day. he lay on the bed till his body grew tired, when he tried the hard floor, reading on his back, the book held in the air above him, or changing from side to side. he slept that night, and did his writing next morning, and then the book tempted him and he fell, reading all afternoon, oblivious to everything and oblivious to the fact that that was the afternoon ruth gave to him. his first consciousness of the immediate world about him was when bernard higginbotham jerked open the door and demanded to know if he thought they were running a restaurant. martin eden had been mastered by curiosity all his days. he wanted to know, and it was this desire that had sent him adventuring over the world. but he was now learning from spencer that he never had known, and that he never could have known had he continued his sailing and wandering forever. he had merely skimmed over the surface of things, observing detached phenomena, accumulating fragments of facts, making superficial little generalizations--and all and everything quite unrelated in a capricious and disorderly world of whim and chance. the mechanism of the flight of birds he had watched and reasoned about with understanding; but it had never entered his head to try to explain the process whereby birds, as organic flying mechanisms, had been developed. he had never dreamed there was such a process. that birds should have come to be, was unguessed. they always had been. they just happened. and as it was with birds, so had it been with everything. his ignorant and unprepared attempts at philosophy had been fruitless. the medieval metaphysics of kant had given him the key to nothing, and had served the sole purpose of making him doubt his own intellectual powers. in similar manner his attempt to study evolution had been confined to a hopelessly technical volume by romanes. he had understood nothing, and the only idea he had gathered was that evolution was a dry-as-dust theory, of a lot of little men possessed of huge and unintelligible vocabularies. and now he learned that evolution was no mere theory but an accepted process of development; that scientists no longer disagreed about it, their only differences being over the method of evolution. and here was the man spencer, organizing all knowledge for him, reducing everything to unity, elaborating ultimate realities, and presenting to his startled gaze a universe so concrete of realization that it was like the model of a ship such as sailors make and put into glass bottles. there was no caprice, no chance. all was law. it was in obedience to law that the bird flew, and it was in obedience to the same law that fermenting slime had writhed and squirmed and put out legs and wings and become a bird. martin had ascended from pitch to pitch of intellectual living, and here he was at a higher pitch than ever. all the hidden things were laying their secrets bare. he was drunken with comprehension. at night, asleep, he lived with the gods in colossal nightmare; and awake, in the day, he went around like a somnambulist, with absent stare, gazing upon the world he had just discovered. at table he failed to hear the conversation about petty and ignoble things, his eager mind seeking out and following cause and effect in everything before him. in the meat on the platter he saw the shining sun and traced its energy back through all its transformations to its source a hundred million miles away, or traced its energy ahead to the moving muscles in his arms that enabled him to cut the meat, and to the brain wherewith he willed the muscles to move to cut the meat, until, with inward gaze, he saw the same sun shining in his brain. he was entranced by illumination, and did not hear the "bughouse," whispered by jim, nor see the anxiety on his sister's face, nor notice the rotary motion of bernard higginbotham's finger, whereby he imparted the suggestion of wheels revolving in his brother-in-law's head. what, in a way, most profoundly impressed martin, was the correlation of knowledge--of all knowledge. he had been curious to know things, and whatever he acquired he had filed away in separate memory compartments in his brain. thus, on the subject of sailing he had an immense store. on the subject of woman he had a fairly large store. but these two subjects had been unrelated. between the two memory compartments there had been no connection. that, in the fabric of knowledge, there should be any connection whatever between a woman with hysterics and a schooner carrying a weather-helm or heaving to in a gale, would have struck him as ridiculous and impossible. but herbert spencer had shown him not only that it was not ridiculous, but that it was impossible for there to be no connection. all things were related to all other things from the farthermost star in the wastes of space to the myriads of atoms in the grain of sand under one's foot. this new concept was a perpetual amazement to martin, and he found himself engaged continually in tracing the relationship between all things under the sun and on the other side of the sun. he drew up lists of the most incongruous things and was unhappy until he succeeded in establishing kinship between them all--kinship between love, poetry, earthquake, fire, rattlesnakes, rainbows, precious gems, monstrosities, sunsets, the roaring of lions, illuminating gas, cannibalism, beauty, murder, lovers, fulcrums, and tobacco. thus, he unified the universe and held it up and looked at it, or wandered through its byways and alleys and jungles, not as a terrified traveller in the thick of mysteries seeking an unknown goal, but observing and charting and becoming familiar with all there was to know. and the more he knew, the more passionately he admired the universe, and life, and his own life in the midst of it all. "you fool!" he cried at his image in the looking-glass. "you wanted to write, and you tried to write, and you had nothing in you to write about. what did you have in you?--some childish notions, a few half-baked sentiments, a lot of undigested beauty, a great black mass of ignorance, a heart filled to bursting with love, and an ambition as big as your love and as futile as your ignorance. and you wanted to write! why, you're just on the edge of beginning to get something in you to write about. you wanted to create beauty, but how could you when you knew nothing about the nature of beauty? you wanted to write about life when you knew nothing of the essential characteristics of life. you wanted to write about the world and the scheme of existence when the world was a chinese puzzle to you and all that you could have written would have been about what you did not know of the scheme of existence. but cheer up, martin, my boy. you'll write yet. you know a little, a very little, and you're on the right road now to know more. some day, if you're lucky, you may come pretty close to knowing all that may be known. then you will write." he brought his great discovery to ruth, sharing with her all his joy and wonder in it. but she did not seem to be so enthusiastic over it. she tacitly accepted it and, in a way, seemed aware of it from her own studies. it did not stir her deeply, as it did him, and he would have been surprised had he not reasoned it out that it was not new and fresh to her as it was to him. arthur and norman, he found, believed in evolution and had read spencer, though it did not seem to have made any vital impression upon them, while the young fellow with the glasses and the mop of hair, will olney, sneered disagreeably at spencer and repeated the epigram, "there is no god but the unknowable, and herbert spencer is his prophet." but martin forgave him the sneer, for he had begun to discover that olney was not in love with ruth. later, he was dumfounded to learn from various little happenings not only that olney did not care for ruth, but that he had a positive dislike for her. martin could not understand this. it was a bit of phenomena that he could not correlate with all the rest of the phenomena in the universe. but nevertheless he felt sorry for the young fellow because of the great lack in his nature that prevented him from a proper appreciation of ruth's fineness and beauty. they rode out into the hills several sundays on their wheels, and martin had ample opportunity to observe the armed truce that existed between ruth and olney. the latter chummed with norman, throwing arthur and martin into company with ruth, for which martin was duly grateful. those sundays were great days for martin, greatest because he was with ruth, and great, also, because they were putting him more on a par with the young men of her class. in spite of their long years of disciplined education, he was finding himself their intellectual equal, and the hours spent with them in conversation was so much practice for him in the use of the grammar he had studied so hard. he had abandoned the etiquette books, falling back upon observation to show him the right things to do. except when carried away by his enthusiasm, he was always on guard, keenly watchful of their actions and learning their little courtesies and refinements of conduct. the fact that spencer was very little read was for some time a source of surprise to martin. "herbert spencer," said the man at the desk in the library, "oh, yes, a great mind." but the man did not seem to know anything of the content of that great mind. one evening, at dinner, when mr. butler was there, martin turned the conversation upon spencer. mr. morse bitterly arraigned the english philosopher's agnosticism, but confessed that he had not read "first principles"; while mr. butler stated that he had no patience with spencer, had never read a line of him, and had managed to get along quite well without him. doubts arose in martin's mind, and had he been less strongly individual he would have accepted the general opinion and given herbert spencer up. as it was, he found spencer's explanation of things convincing; and, as he phrased it to himself, to give up spencer would be equivalent to a navigator throwing the compass and chronometer overboard. so martin went on into a thorough study of evolution, mastering more and more the subject himself, and being convinced by the corroborative testimony of a thousand independent writers. the more he studied, the more vistas he caught of fields of knowledge yet unexplored, and the regret that days were only twenty-four hours long became a chronic complaint with him. one day, because the days were so short, he decided to give up algebra and geometry. trigonometry he had not even attempted. then he cut chemistry from his study-list, retaining only physics. "i am not a specialist," he said, in defence, to ruth. "nor am i going to try to be a specialist. there are too many special fields for any one man, in a whole lifetime, to master a tithe of them. i must pursue general knowledge. when i need the work of specialists, i shall refer to their books." "but that is not like having the knowledge yourself," she protested. "but it is unnecessary to have it. we profit from the work of the specialists. that's what they are for. when i came in, i noticed the chimney-sweeps at work. they're specialists, and when they get done, you will enjoy clean chimneys without knowing anything about the construction of chimneys." "that's far-fetched, i am afraid." she looked at him curiously, and he felt a reproach in her gaze and manner. but he was convinced of the rightness of his position. "all thinkers on general subjects, the greatest minds in the world, in fact, rely on the specialists. herbert spencer did that. he generalized upon the findings of thousands of investigators. he would have had to live a thousand lives in order to do it all himself. and so with darwin. he took advantage of all that had been learned by the florists and cattle- breeders." "you're right, martin," olney said. "you know what you're after, and ruth doesn't. she doesn't know what she is after for herself even." "--oh, yes," olney rushed on, heading off her objection, "i know you call it general culture. but it doesn't matter what you study if you want general culture. you can study french, or you can study german, or cut them both out and study esperanto, you'll get the culture tone just the same. you can study greek or latin, too, for the same purpose, though it will never be any use to you. it will be culture, though. why, ruth studied saxon, became clever in it,--that was two years ago,--and all that she remembers of it now is 'whan that sweet aprile with his schowers soote'--isn't that the way it goes?" "but it's given you the culture tone just the same," he laughed, again heading her off. "i know. we were in the same classes." "but you speak of culture as if it should be a means to something," ruth cried out. her eyes were flashing, and in her cheeks were two spots of color. "culture is the end in itself." "but that is not what martin wants." "how do you know?" "what do you want, martin?" olney demanded, turning squarely upon him. martin felt very uncomfortable, and looked entreaty at ruth. "yes, what do you want?" ruth asked. "that will settle it." "yes, of course, i want culture," martin faltered. "i love beauty, and culture will give me a finer and keener appreciation of beauty." she nodded her head and looked triumph. "rot, and you know it," was olney's comment. "martin's after career, not culture. it just happens that culture, in his case, is incidental to career. if he wanted to be a chemist, culture would be unnecessary. martin wants to write, but he's afraid to say so because it will put you in the wrong." "and why does martin want to write?" he went on. "because he isn't rolling in wealth. why do you fill your head with saxon and general culture? because you don't have to make your way in the world. your father sees to that. he buys your clothes for you, and all the rest. what rotten good is our education, yours and mine and arthur's and norman's? we're soaked in general culture, and if our daddies went broke to-day, we'd be falling down to-morrow on teachers' examinations. the best job you could get, ruth, would be a country school or music teacher in a girls' boarding-school." "and pray what would you do?" she asked. "not a blessed thing. i could earn a dollar and a half a day, common labor, and i might get in as instructor in hanley's cramming joint--i say might, mind you, and i might be chucked out at the end of the week for sheer inability." martin followed the discussion closely, and while he was convinced that olney was right, he resented the rather cavalier treatment he accorded ruth. a new conception of love formed in his mind as he listened. reason had nothing to do with love. it mattered not whether the woman he loved reasoned correctly or incorrectly. love was above reason. if it just happened that she did not fully appreciate his necessity for a career, that did not make her a bit less lovable. she was all lovable, and what she thought had nothing to do with her lovableness. "what's that?" he replied to a question from olney that broke in upon his train of thought. "i was saying that i hoped you wouldn't be fool enough to tackle latin." "but latin is more than culture," ruth broke in. "it is equipment." "well, are you going to tackle it?" olney persisted. martin was sore beset. he could see that ruth was hanging eagerly upon his answer. "i am afraid i won't have time," he said finally. "i'd like to, but i won't have time." "you see, martin's not seeking culture," olney exulted. "he's trying to get somewhere, to do something." "oh, but it's mental training. it's mind discipline. it's what makes disciplined minds." ruth looked expectantly at martin, as if waiting for him to change his judgment. "you know, the foot-ball players have to train before the big game. and that is what latin does for the thinker. it trains." "rot and bosh! that's what they told us when we were kids. but there is one thing they didn't tell us then. they let us find it out for ourselves afterwards." olney paused for effect, then added, "and what they didn't tell us was that every gentleman should have studied latin, but that no gentleman should know latin." "now that's unfair," ruth cried. "i knew you were turning the conversation just in order to get off something." "it's clever all right," was the retort, "but it's fair, too. the only men who know their latin are the apothecaries, the lawyers, and the latin professors. and if martin wants to be one of them, i miss my guess. but what's all that got to do with herbert spencer anyway? martin's just discovered spencer, and he's wild over him. why? because spencer is taking him somewhere. spencer couldn't take me anywhere, nor you. we haven't got anywhere to go. you'll get married some day, and i'll have nothing to do but keep track of the lawyers and business agents who will take care of the money my father's going to leave me." onley got up to go, but turned at the door and delivered a parting shot. "you leave martin alone, ruth. he knows what's best for himself. look at what he's done already. he makes me sick sometimes, sick and ashamed of myself. he knows more now about the world, and life, and man's place, and all the rest, than arthur, or norman, or i, or you, too, for that matter, and in spite of all our latin, and french, and saxon, and culture." "but ruth is my teacher," martin answered chivalrously. "she is responsible for what little i have learned." "rats!" olney looked at ruth, and his expression was malicious. "i suppose you'll be telling me next that you read spencer on her recommendation--only you didn't. and she doesn't know anything more about darwin and evolution than i do about king solomon's mines. what's that jawbreaker definition about something or other, of spencer's, that you sprang on us the other day--that indefinite, incoherent homogeneity thing? spring it on her, and see if she understands a word of it. that isn't culture, you see. well, tra la, and if you tackle latin, martin, i won't have any respect for you." and all the while, interested in the discussion, martin had been aware of an irk in it as well. it was about studies and lessons, dealing with the rudiments of knowledge, and the schoolboyish tone of it conflicted with the big things that were stirring in him--with the grip upon life that was even then crooking his fingers like eagle's talons, with the cosmic thrills that made him ache, and with the inchoate consciousness of mastery of it all. he likened himself to a poet, wrecked on the shores of a strange land, filled with power of beauty, stumbling and stammering and vainly trying to sing in the rough, barbaric tongue of his brethren in the new land. and so with him. he was alive, painfully alive, to the great universal things, and yet he was compelled to potter and grope among schoolboy topics and debate whether or not he should study latin. "what in hell has latin to do with it?" he demanded before his mirror that night. "i wish dead people would stay dead. why should i and the beauty in me be ruled by the dead? beauty is alive and everlasting. languages come and go. they are the dust of the dead." and his next thought was that he had been phrasing his ideas very well, and he went to bed wondering why he could not talk in similar fashion when he was with ruth. he was only a schoolboy, with a schoolboy's tongue, when he was in her presence. "give me time," he said aloud. "only give me time." time! time! time! was his unending plaint. chapter xiv it was not because of olney, but in spite of ruth, and his love for ruth, that he finally decided not to take up latin. his money meant time. there was so much that was more important than latin, so many studies that clamored with imperious voices. and he must write. he must earn money. he had had no acceptances. twoscore of manuscripts were travelling the endless round of the magazines. how did the others do it? he spent long hours in the free reading-room, going over what others had written, studying their work eagerly and critically, comparing it with his own, and wondering, wondering, about the secret trick they had discovered which enabled them to sell their work. he was amazed at the immense amount of printed stuff that was dead. no light, no life, no color, was shot through it. there was no breath of life in it, and yet it sold, at two cents a word, twenty dollars a thousand--the newspaper clipping had said so. he was puzzled by countless short stories, written lightly and cleverly he confessed, but without vitality or reality. life was so strange and wonderful, filled with an immensity of problems, of dreams, and of heroic toils, and yet these stories dealt only with the commonplaces of life. he felt the stress and strain of life, its fevers and sweats and wild insurgences--surely this was the stuff to write about! he wanted to glorify the leaders of forlorn hopes, the mad lovers, the giants that fought under stress and strain, amid terror and tragedy, making life crackle with the strength of their endeavor. and yet the magazine short stories seemed intent on glorifying the mr. butlers, the sordid dollar- chasers, and the commonplace little love affairs of commonplace little men and women. was it because the editors of the magazines were commonplace? he demanded. or were they afraid of life, these writers and editors and readers? but his chief trouble was that he did not know any editors or writers. and not merely did he not know any writers, but he did not know anybody who had ever attempted to write. there was nobody to tell him, to hint to him, to give him the least word of advice. he began to doubt that editors were real men. they seemed cogs in a machine. that was what it was, a machine. he poured his soul into stories, articles, and poems, and intrusted them to the machine. he folded them just so, put the proper stamps inside the long envelope along with the manuscript, sealed the envelope, put more stamps outside, and dropped it into the mail-box. it travelled across the continent, and after a certain lapse of time the postman returned him the manuscript in another long envelope, on the outside of which were the stamps he had enclosed. there was no human editor at the other end, but a mere cunning arrangement of cogs that changed the manuscript from one envelope to another and stuck on the stamps. it was like the slot machines wherein one dropped pennies, and, with a metallic whirl of machinery had delivered to him a stick of chewing-gum or a tablet of chocolate. it depended upon which slot one dropped the penny in, whether he got chocolate or gum. and so with the editorial machine. one slot brought checks and the other brought rejection slips. so far he had found only the latter slot. it was the rejection slips that completed the horrible machinelikeness of the process. these slips were printed in stereotyped forms and he had received hundreds of them--as many as a dozen or more on each of his earlier manuscripts. if he had received one line, one personal line, along with one rejection of all his rejections, he would have been cheered. but not one editor had given that proof of existence. and he could conclude only that there were no warm human men at the other end, only mere cogs, well oiled and running beautifully in the machine. he was a good fighter, whole-souled and stubborn, and he would have been content to continue feeding the machine for years; but he was bleeding to death, and not years but weeks would determine the fight. each week his board bill brought him nearer destruction, while the postage on forty manuscripts bled him almost as severely. he no longer bought books, and he economized in petty ways and sought to delay the inevitable end; though he did not know how to economize, and brought the end nearer by a week when he gave his sister marian five dollars for a dress. he struggled in the dark, without advice, without encouragement, and in the teeth of discouragement. even gertrude was beginning to look askance. at first she had tolerated with sisterly fondness what she conceived to be his foolishness; but now, out of sisterly solicitude, she grew anxious. to her it seemed that his foolishness was becoming a madness. martin knew this and suffered more keenly from it than from the open and nagging contempt of bernard higginbotham. martin had faith in himself, but he was alone in this faith. not even ruth had faith. she had wanted him to devote himself to study, and, though she had not openly disapproved of his writing, she had never approved. he had never offered to show her his work. a fastidious delicacy had prevented him. besides, she had been studying heavily at the university, and he felt averse to robbing her of her time. but when she had taken her degree, she asked him herself to let her see something of what he had been doing. martin was elated and diffident. here was a judge. she was a bachelor of arts. she had studied literature under skilled instructors. perhaps the editors were capable judges, too. but she would be different from them. she would not hand him a stereotyped rejection slip, nor would she inform him that lack of preference for his work did not necessarily imply lack of merit in his work. she would talk, a warm human being, in her quick, bright way, and, most important of all, she would catch glimpses of the real martin eden. in his work she would discern what his heart and soul were like, and she would come to understand something, a little something, of the stuff of his dreams and the strength of his power. martin gathered together a number of carbon copies of his short stories, hesitated a moment, then added his "sea lyrics." they mounted their wheels on a late june afternoon and rode for the hills. it was the second time he had been out with her alone, and as they rode along through the balmy warmth, just chilled by she sea-breeze to refreshing coolness, he was profoundly impressed by the fact that it was a very beautiful and well-ordered world and that it was good to be alive and to love. they left their wheels by the roadside and climbed to the brown top of an open knoll where the sunburnt grass breathed a harvest breath of dry sweetness and content. "its work is done," martin said, as they seated themselves, she upon his coat, and he sprawling close to the warm earth. he sniffed the sweetness of the tawny grass, which entered his brain and set his thoughts whirling on from the particular to the universal. "it has achieved its reason for existence," he went on, patting the dry grass affectionately. "it quickened with ambition under the dreary downpour of last winter, fought the violent early spring, flowered, and lured the insects and the bees, scattered its seeds, squared itself with its duty and the world, and--" "why do you always look at things with such dreadfully practical eyes?" she interrupted. "because i've been studying evolution, i guess. it's only recently that i got my eyesight, if the truth were told." "but it seems to me you lose sight of beauty by being so practical, that you destroy beauty like the boys who catch butterflies and rub the down off their beautiful wings." he shook his head. "beauty has significance, but i never knew its significance before. i just accepted beauty as something meaningless, as something that was just beautiful without rhyme or reason. i did not know anything about beauty. but now i know, or, rather, am just beginning to know. this grass is more beautiful to me now that i know why it is grass, and all the hidden chemistry of sun and rain and earth that makes it become grass. why, there is romance in the life-history of any grass, yes, and adventure, too. the very thought of it stirs me. when i think of the play of force and matter, and all the tremendous struggle of it, i feel as if i could write an epic on the grass. "how well you talk," she said absently, and he noted that she was looking at him in a searching way. he was all confusion and embarrassment on the instant, the blood flushing red on his neck and brow. "i hope i am learning to talk," he stammered. "there seems to be so much in me i want to say. but it is all so big. i can't find ways to say what is really in me. sometimes it seems to me that all the world, all life, everything, had taken up residence inside of me and was clamoring for me to be the spokesman. i feel--oh, i can't describe it--i feel the bigness of it, but when i speak, i babble like a little child. it is a great task to transmute feeling and sensation into speech, written or spoken, that will, in turn, in him who reads or listens, transmute itself back into the selfsame feeling and sensation. it is a lordly task. see, i bury my face in the grass, and the breath i draw in through my nostrils sets me quivering with a thousand thoughts and fancies. it is a breath of the universe i have breathed. i know song and laughter, and success and pain, and struggle and death; and i see visions that arise in my brain somehow out of the scent of the grass, and i would like to tell them to you, to the world. but how can i? my tongue is tied. i have tried, by the spoken word, just now, to describe to you the effect on me of the scent of the grass. but i have not succeeded. i have no more than hinted in awkward speech. my words seem gibberish to me. and yet i am stifled with desire to tell. oh!--" he threw up his hands with a despairing gesture--"it is impossible! it is not understandable! it is incommunicable!" "but you do talk well," she insisted. "just think how you have improved in the short time i have known you. mr. butler is a noted public speaker. he is always asked by the state committee to go out on stump during campaign. yet you talked just as well as he the other night at dinner. only he was more controlled. you get too excited; but you will get over that with practice. why, you would make a good public speaker. you can go far--if you want to. you are masterly. you can lead men, i am sure, and there is no reason why you should not succeed at anything you set your hand to, just as you have succeeded with grammar. you would make a good lawyer. you should shine in politics. there is nothing to prevent you from making as great a success as mr. butler has made. and minus the dyspepsia," she added with a smile. they talked on; she, in her gently persistent way, returning always to the need of thorough grounding in education and to the advantages of latin as part of the foundation for any career. she drew her ideal of the successful man, and it was largely in her father's image, with a few unmistakable lines and touches of color from the image of mr. butler. he listened eagerly, with receptive ears, lying on his back and looking up and joying in each movement of her lips as she talked. but his brain was not receptive. there was nothing alluring in the pictures she drew, and he was aware of a dull pain of disappointment and of a sharper ache of love for her. in all she said there was no mention of his writing, and the manuscripts he had brought to read lay neglected on the ground. at last, in a pause, he glanced at the sun, measured its height above the horizon, and suggested his manuscripts by picking them up. "i had forgotten," she said quickly. "and i am so anxious to hear." he read to her a story, one that he flattered himself was among his very best. he called it "the wine of life," and the wine of it, that had stolen into his brain when he wrote it, stole into his brain now as he read it. there was a certain magic in the original conception, and he had adorned it with more magic of phrase and touch. all the old fire and passion with which he had written it were reborn in him, and he was swayed and swept away so that he was blind and deaf to the faults of it. but it was not so with ruth. her trained ear detected the weaknesses and exaggerations, the overemphasis of the tyro, and she was instantly aware each time the sentence-rhythm tripped and faltered. she scarcely noted the rhythm otherwise, except when it became too pompous, at which moments she was disagreeably impressed with its amateurishness. that was her final judgment on the story as a whole--amateurish, though she did not tell him so. instead, when he had done, she pointed out the minor flaws and said that she liked the story. but he was disappointed. her criticism was just. he acknowledged that, but he had a feeling that he was not sharing his work with her for the purpose of schoolroom correction. the details did not matter. they could take care of themselves. he could mend them, he could learn to mend them. out of life he had captured something big and attempted to imprison it in the story. it was the big thing out of life he had read to her, not sentence-structure and semicolons. he wanted her to feel with him this big thing that was his, that he had seen with his own eyes, grappled with his own brain, and placed there on the page with his own hands in printed words. well, he had failed, was his secret decision. perhaps the editors were right. he had felt the big thing, but he had failed to transmute it. he concealed his disappointment, and joined so easily with her in her criticism that she did not realize that deep down in him was running a strong undercurrent of disagreement. "this next thing i've called 'the pot'," he said, unfolding the manuscript. "it has been refused by four or five magazines now, but still i think it is good. in fact, i don't know what to think of it, except that i've caught something there. maybe it won't affect you as it does me. it's a short thing--only two thousand words." "how dreadful!" she cried, when he had finished. "it is horrible, unutterably horrible!" he noted her pale face, her eyes wide and tense, and her clenched hands, with secret satisfaction. he had succeeded. he had communicated the stuff of fancy and feeling from out of his brain. it had struck home. no matter whether she liked it or not, it had gripped her and mastered her, made her sit there and listen and forget details. "it is life," he said, "and life is not always beautiful. and yet, perhaps because i am strangely made, i find something beautiful there. it seems to me that the beauty is tenfold enhanced because it is there--" "but why couldn't the poor woman--" she broke in disconnectedly. then she left the revolt of her thought unexpressed to cry out: "oh! it is degrading! it is not nice! it is nasty!" for the moment it seemed to him that his heart stood still. _nasty_! he had never dreamed it. he had not meant it. the whole sketch stood before him in letters of fire, and in such blaze of illumination he sought vainly for nastiness. then his heart began to beat again. he was not guilty. "why didn't you select a nice subject?" she was saying. "we know there are nasty things in the world, but that is no reason--" she talked on in her indignant strain, but he was not following her. he was smiling to himself as he looked up into her virginal face, so innocent, so penetratingly innocent, that its purity seemed always to enter into him, driving out of him all dross and bathing him in some ethereal effulgence that was as cool and soft and velvety as starshine. _we know there are nasty things in the world_! he cuddled to him the notion of her knowing, and chuckled over it as a love joke. the next moment, in a flashing vision of multitudinous detail, he sighted the whole sea of life's nastiness that he had known and voyaged over and through, and he forgave her for not understanding the story. it was through no fault of hers that she could not understand. he thanked god that she had been born and sheltered to such innocence. but he knew life, its foulness as well as its fairness, its greatness in spite of the slime that infested it, and by god he was going to have his say on it to the world. saints in heaven--how could they be anything but fair and pure? no praise to them. but saints in slime--ah, that was the everlasting wonder! that was what made life worth while. to see moral grandeur rising out of cesspools of iniquity; to rise himself and first glimpse beauty, faint and far, through mud-dripping eyes; to see out of weakness, and frailty, and viciousness, and all abysmal brutishness, arising strength, and truth, and high spiritual endowment-- he caught a stray sequence of sentences she was uttering. "the tone of it all is low. and there is so much that is high. take 'in memoriam.'" he was impelled to suggest "locksley hall," and would have done so, had not his vision gripped him again and left him staring at her, the female of his kind, who, out of the primordial ferment, creeping and crawling up the vast ladder of life for a thousand thousand centuries, had emerged on the topmost rung, having become one ruth, pure, and fair, and divine, and with power to make him know love, and to aspire toward purity, and to desire to taste divinity--him, martin eden, who, too, had come up in some amazing fashion from out of the ruck and the mire and the countless mistakes and abortions of unending creation. there was the romance, and the wonder, and the glory. there was the stuff to write, if he could only find speech. saints in heaven!--they were only saints and could not help themselves. but he was a man. "you have strength," he could hear her saying, "but it is untutored strength." "like a bull in a china shop," he suggested, and won a smile. "and you must develop discrimination. you must consult taste, and fineness, and tone." "i dare too much," he muttered. she smiled approbation, and settled herself to listen to another story. "i don't know what you'll make of this," he said apologetically. "it's a funny thing. i'm afraid i got beyond my depth in it, but my intentions were good. don't bother about the little features of it. just see if you catch the feel of the big thing in it. it is big, and it is true, though the chance is large that i have failed to make it intelligible." he read, and as he read he watched her. at last he had reached her, he thought. she sat without movement, her eyes steadfast upon him, scarcely breathing, caught up and out of herself, he thought, by the witchery of the thing he had created. he had entitled the story "adventure," and it was the apotheosis of adventure--not of the adventure of the storybooks, but of real adventure, the savage taskmaster, awful of punishment and awful of reward, faithless and whimsical, demanding terrible patience and heartbreaking days and nights of toil, offering the blazing sunlight glory or dark death at the end of thirst and famine or of the long drag and monstrous delirium of rotting fever, through blood and sweat and stinging insects leading up by long chains of petty and ignoble contacts to royal culminations and lordly achievements. it was this, all of it, and more, that he had put into his story, and it was this, he believed, that warmed her as she sat and listened. her eyes were wide, color was in her pale cheeks, and before he finished it seemed to him that she was almost panting. truly, she was warmed; but she was warmed, not by the story, but by him. she did not think much of the story; it was martin's intensity of power, the old excess of strength that seemed to pour from his body and on and over her. the paradox of it was that it was the story itself that was freighted with his power, that was the channel, for the time being, through which his strength poured out to her. she was aware only of the strength, and not of the medium, and when she seemed most carried away by what he had written, in reality she had been carried away by something quite foreign to it--by a thought, terrible and perilous, that had formed itself unsummoned in her brain. she had caught herself wondering what marriage was like, and the becoming conscious of the waywardness and ardor of the thought had terrified her. it was unmaidenly. it was not like her. she had never been tormented by womanhood, and she had lived in a dreamland of tennysonian poesy, dense even to the full significance of that delicate master's delicate allusions to the grossnesses that intrude upon the relations of queens and knights. she had been asleep, always, and now life was thundering imperatively at all her doors. mentally she was in a panic to shoot the bolts and drop the bars into place, while wanton instincts urged her to throw wide her portals and bid the deliciously strange visitor to enter in. martin waited with satisfaction for her verdict. he had no doubt of what it would be, and he was astounded when he heard her say: "it is beautiful." "it is beautiful," she repeated, with emphasis, after a pause. of course it was beautiful; but there was something more than mere beauty in it, something more stingingly splendid which had made beauty its handmaiden. he sprawled silently on the ground, watching the grisly form of a great doubt rising before him. he had failed. he was inarticulate. he had seen one of the greatest things in the world, and he had not expressed it. "what did you think of the--" he hesitated, abashed at his first attempt to use a strange word. "of the _motif_?" he asked. "it was confused," she answered. "that is my only criticism in the large way. i followed the story, but there seemed so much else. it is too wordy. you clog the action by introducing so much extraneous material." "that was the major _motif_," he hurriedly explained, "the big underrunning _motif_, the cosmic and universal thing. i tried to make it keep time with the story itself, which was only superficial after all. i was on the right scent, but i guess i did it badly. i did not succeed in suggesting what i was driving at. but i'll learn in time." she did not follow him. she was a bachelor of arts, but he had gone beyond her limitations. this she did not comprehend, attributing her incomprehension to his incoherence. "you were too voluble," she said. "but it was beautiful, in places." he heard her voice as from far off, for he was debating whether he would read her the "sea lyrics." he lay in dull despair, while she watched him searchingly, pondering again upon unsummoned and wayward thoughts of marriage. "you want to be famous?" she asked abruptly. "yes, a little bit," he confessed. "that is part of the adventure. it is not the being famous, but the process of becoming so, that counts. and after all, to be famous would be, for me, only a means to something else. i want to be famous very much, for that matter, and for that reason." "for your sake," he wanted to add, and might have added had she proved enthusiastic over what he had read to her. but she was too busy in her mind, carving out a career for him that would at least be possible, to ask what the ultimate something was which he had hinted at. there was no career for him in literature. of that she was convinced. he had proved it to-day, with his amateurish and sophomoric productions. he could talk well, but he was incapable of expressing himself in a literary way. she compared tennyson, and browning, and her favorite prose masters with him, and to his hopeless discredit. yet she did not tell him her whole mind. her strange interest in him led her to temporize. his desire to write was, after all, a little weakness which he would grow out of in time. then he would devote himself to the more serious affairs of life. and he would succeed, too. she knew that. he was so strong that he could not fail--if only he would drop writing. "i wish you would show me all you write, mr. eden," she said. he flushed with pleasure. she was interested, that much was sure. and at least she had not given him a rejection slip. she had called certain portions of his work beautiful, and that was the first encouragement he had ever received from any one. "i will," he said passionately. "and i promise you, miss morse, that i will make good. i have come far, i know that; and i have far to go, and i will cover it if i have to do it on my hands and knees." he held up a bunch of manuscript. "here are the 'sea lyrics.' when you get home, i'll turn them over to you to read at your leisure. and you must be sure to tell me just what you think of them. what i need, you know, above all things, is criticism. and do, please, be frank with me." "i will be perfectly frank," she promised, with an uneasy conviction that she had not been frank with him and with a doubt if she could be quite frank with him the next time. chapter xv "the first battle, fought and finished," martin said to the looking-glass ten days later. "but there will be a second battle, and a third battle, and battles to the end of time, unless--" he had not finished the sentence, but looked about the mean little room and let his eyes dwell sadly upon a heap of returned manuscripts, still in their long envelopes, which lay in a corner on the floor. he had no stamps with which to continue them on their travels, and for a week they had been piling up. more of them would come in on the morrow, and on the next day, and the next, till they were all in. and he would be unable to start them out again. he was a month's rent behind on the typewriter, which he could not pay, having barely enough for the week's board which was due and for the employment office fees. he sat down and regarded the table thoughtfully. there were ink stains upon it, and he suddenly discovered that he was fond of it. "dear old table," he said, "i've spent some happy hours with you, and you've been a pretty good friend when all is said and done. you never turned me down, never passed me out a reward-of-unmerit rejection slip, never complained about working overtime." he dropped his arms upon the table and buried his face in them. his throat was aching, and he wanted to cry. it reminded him of his first fight, when he was six years old, when he punched away with the tears running down his cheeks while the other boy, two years his elder, had beaten and pounded him into exhaustion. he saw the ring of boys, howling like barbarians as he went down at last, writhing in the throes of nausea, the blood streaming from his nose and the tears from his bruised eyes. "poor little shaver," he murmured. "and you're just as badly licked now. you're beaten to a pulp. you're down and out." but the vision of that first fight still lingered under his eyelids, and as he watched he saw it dissolve and reshape into the series of fights which had followed. six months later cheese-face (that was the boy) had whipped him again. but he had blacked cheese-face's eye that time. that was going some. he saw them all, fight after fight, himself always whipped and cheese-face exulting over him. but he had never run away. he felt strengthened by the memory of that. he had always stayed and taken his medicine. cheese-face had been a little fiend at fighting, and had never once shown mercy to him. but he had stayed! he had stayed with it! next, he saw a narrow alley, between ramshackle frame buildings. the end of the alley was blocked by a one-story brick building, out of which issued the rhythmic thunder of the presses, running off the first edition of the enquirer. he was eleven, and cheese-face was thirteen, and they both carried the enquirer. that was why they were there, waiting for their papers. and, of course, cheese-face had picked on him again, and there was another fight that was indeterminate, because at quarter to four the door of the press-room was thrown open and the gang of boys crowded in to fold their papers. "i'll lick you to-morrow," he heard cheese-face promise; and he heard his own voice, piping and trembling with unshed tears, agreeing to be there on the morrow. and he had come there the next day, hurrying from school to be there first, and beating cheese-face by two minutes. the other boys said he was all right, and gave him advice, pointing out his faults as a scrapper and promising him victory if he carried out their instructions. the same boys gave cheese-face advice, too. how they had enjoyed the fight! he paused in his recollections long enough to envy them the spectacle he and cheese-face had put up. then the fight was on, and it went on, without rounds, for thirty minutes, until the press-room door was opened. he watched the youthful apparition of himself, day after day, hurrying from school to the enquirer alley. he could not walk very fast. he was stiff and lame from the incessant fighting. his forearms were black and blue from wrist to elbow, what of the countless blows he had warded off, and here and there the tortured flesh was beginning to fester. his head and arms and shoulders ached, the small of his back ached,--he ached all over, and his brain was heavy and dazed. he did not play at school. nor did he study. even to sit still all day at his desk, as he did, was a torment. it seemed centuries since he had begun the round of daily fights, and time stretched away into a nightmare and infinite future of daily fights. why couldn't cheese-face be licked? he often thought; that would put him, martin, out of his misery. it never entered his head to cease fighting, to allow cheese-face to whip him. and so he dragged himself to the enquirer alley, sick in body and soul, but learning the long patience, to confront his eternal enemy, cheese- face, who was just as sick as he, and just a bit willing to quit if it were not for the gang of newsboys that looked on and made pride painful and necessary. one afternoon, after twenty minutes of desperate efforts to annihilate each other according to set rules that did not permit kicking, striking below the belt, nor hitting when one was down, cheese- face, panting for breath and reeling, offered to call it quits. and martin, head on arms, thrilled at the picture he caught of himself, at that moment in the afternoon of long ago, when he reeled and panted and choked with the blood that ran into his mouth and down his throat from his cut lips; when he tottered toward cheese-face, spitting out a mouthful of blood so that he could speak, crying out that he would never quit, though cheese-face could give in if he wanted to. and cheese-face did not give in, and the fight went on. the next day and the next, days without end, witnessed the afternoon fight. when he put up his arms, each day, to begin, they pained exquisitely, and the first few blows, struck and received, racked his soul; after that things grew numb, and he fought on blindly, seeing as in a dream, dancing and wavering, the large features and burning, animal- like eyes of cheese-face. he concentrated upon that face; all else about him was a whirling void. there was nothing else in the world but that face, and he would never know rest, blessed rest, until he had beaten that face into a pulp with his bleeding knuckles, or until the bleeding knuckles that somehow belonged to that face had beaten him into a pulp. and then, one way or the other, he would have rest. but to quit,--for him, martin, to quit,--that was impossible! came the day when he dragged himself into the enquirer alley, and there was no cheese-face. nor did cheese-face come. the boys congratulated him, and told him that he had licked cheese-face. but martin was not satisfied. he had not licked cheese-face, nor had cheese-face licked him. the problem had not been solved. it was not until afterward that they learned that cheese-face's father had died suddenly that very day. martin skipped on through the years to the night in the nigger heaven at the auditorium. he was seventeen and just back from sea. a row started. somebody was bullying somebody, and martin interfered, to be confronted by cheese-face's blazing eyes. "i'll fix you after de show," his ancient enemy hissed. martin nodded. the nigger-heaven bouncer was making his way toward the disturbance. "i'll meet you outside, after the last act," martin whispered, the while his face showed undivided interest in the buck-and-wing dancing on the stage. the bouncer glared and went away. "got a gang?" he asked cheese-face, at the end of the act. "sure." "then i got to get one," martin announced. between the acts he mustered his following--three fellows he knew from the nail works, a railroad fireman, and half a dozen of the boo gang, along with as many more from the dread eighteen-and-market gang. when the theatre let out, the two gangs strung along inconspicuously on opposite sides of the street. when they came to a quiet corner, they united and held a council of war. "eighth street bridge is the place," said a red-headed fellow belonging to cheese-face's gang. "you kin fight in the middle, under the electric light, an' whichever way the bulls come in we kin sneak the other way." "that's agreeable to me," martin said, after consulting with the leaders of his own gang. the eighth street bridge, crossing an arm of san antonio estuary, was the length of three city blocks. in the middle of the bridge, and at each end, were electric lights. no policeman could pass those end-lights unseen. it was the safe place for the battle that revived itself under martin's eyelids. he saw the two gangs, aggressive and sullen, rigidly keeping apart from each other and backing their respective champions; and he saw himself and cheese-face stripping. a short distance away lookouts were set, their task being to watch the lighted ends of the bridge. a member of the boo gang held martin's coat, and shirt, and cap, ready to race with them into safety in case the police interfered. martin watched himself go into the centre, facing cheese-face, and he heard himself say, as he held up his hand warningly:- "they ain't no hand-shakin' in this. understand? they ain't nothin' but scrap. no throwin' up the sponge. this is a grudge-fight an' it's to a finish. understand? somebody's goin' to get licked." cheese-face wanted to demur,--martin could see that,--but cheese-face's old perilous pride was touched before the two gangs. "aw, come on," he replied. "wot's the good of chewin' de rag about it? i'm wit' cheh to de finish." then they fell upon each other, like young bulls, in all the glory of youth, with naked fists, with hatred, with desire to hurt, to maim, to destroy. all the painful, thousand years' gains of man in his upward climb through creation were lost. only the electric light remained, a milestone on the path of the great human adventure. martin and cheese- face were two savages, of the stone age, of the squatting place and the tree refuge. they sank lower and lower into the muddy abyss, back into the dregs of the raw beginnings of life, striving blindly and chemically, as atoms strive, as the star-dust of the heavens strives, colliding, recoiling, and colliding again and eternally again. "god! we are animals! brute-beasts!" martin muttered aloud, as he watched the progress of the fight. it was to him, with his splendid power of vision, like gazing into a kinetoscope. he was both onlooker and participant. his long months of culture and refinement shuddered at the sight; then the present was blotted out of his consciousness and the ghosts of the past possessed him, and he was martin eden, just returned from sea and fighting cheese-face on the eighth street bridge. he suffered and toiled and sweated and bled, and exulted when his naked knuckles smashed home. they were twin whirlwinds of hatred, revolving about each other monstrously. the time passed, and the two hostile gangs became very quiet. they had never witnessed such intensity of ferocity, and they were awed by it. the two fighters were greater brutes than they. the first splendid velvet edge of youth and condition wore off, and they fought more cautiously and deliberately. there had been no advantage gained either way. "it's anybody's fight," martin heard some one saying. then he followed up a feint, right and left, was fiercely countered, and felt his cheek laid open to the bone. no bare knuckle had done that. he heard mutters of amazement at the ghastly damage wrought, and was drenched with his own blood. but he gave no sign. he became immensely wary, for he was wise with knowledge of the low cunning and foul vileness of his kind. he watched and waited, until he feigned a wild rush, which he stopped midway, for he had seen the glint of metal. "hold up yer hand!" he screamed. "them's brass knuckles, an' you hit me with 'em!" both gangs surged forward, growling and snarling. in a second there would be a free-for-all fight, and he would be robbed of his vengeance. he was beside himself. "you guys keep out!" he screamed hoarsely. "understand? say, d'ye understand?" they shrank away from him. they were brutes, but he was the arch-brute, a thing of terror that towered over them and dominated them. "this is my scrap, an' they ain't goin' to be no buttin' in. gimme them knuckles." cheese-face, sobered and a bit frightened, surrendered the foul weapon. "you passed 'em to him, you red-head sneakin' in behind the push there," martin went on, as he tossed the knuckles into the water. "i seen you, an' i was wonderin' what you was up to. if you try anything like that again, i'll beat cheh to death. understand?" they fought on, through exhaustion and beyond, to exhaustion immeasurable and inconceivable, until the crowd of brutes, its blood-lust sated, terrified by what it saw, begged them impartially to cease. and cheese- face, ready to drop and die, or to stay on his legs and die, a grisly monster out of whose features all likeness to cheese-face had been beaten, wavered and hesitated; but martin sprang in and smashed him again and again. next, after a seeming century or so, with cheese-face weakening fast, in a mix-up of blows there was a loud snap, and martin's right arm dropped to his side. it was a broken bone. everybody heard it and knew; and cheese-face knew, rushing like a tiger in the other's extremity and raining blow on blow. martin's gang surged forward to interfere. dazed by the rapid succession of blows, martin warned them back with vile and earnest curses sobbed out and groaned in ultimate desolation and despair. he punched on, with his left hand only, and as he punched, doggedly, only half-conscious, as from a remote distance he heard murmurs of fear in the gangs, and one who said with shaking voice: "this ain't a scrap, fellows. it's murder, an' we ought to stop it." but no one stopped it, and he was glad, punching on wearily and endlessly with his one arm, battering away at a bloody something before him that was not a face but a horror, an oscillating, hideous, gibbering, nameless thing that persisted before his wavering vision and would not go away. and he punched on and on, slower and slower, as the last shreds of vitality oozed from him, through centuries and aeons and enormous lapses of time, until, in a dim way, he became aware that the nameless thing was sinking, slowly sinking down to the rough board-planking of the bridge. and the next moment he was standing over it, staggering and swaying on shaky legs, clutching at the air for support, and saying in a voice he did not recognize:- "d'ye want any more? say, d'ye want any more?" he was still saying it, over and over,--demanding, entreating, threatening, to know if it wanted any more,--when he felt the fellows of his gang laying hands on him, patting him on the back and trying to put his coat on him. and then came a sudden rush of blackness and oblivion. the tin alarm-clock on the table ticked on, but martin eden, his face buried on his arms, did not hear it. he heard nothing. he did not think. so absolutely had he relived life that he had fainted just as he fainted years before on the eighth street bridge. for a full minute the blackness and the blankness endured. then, like one from the dead, he sprang upright, eyes flaming, sweat pouring down his face, shouting:- "i licked you, cheese-face! it took me eleven years, but i licked you!" his knees were trembling under him, he felt faint, and he staggered back to the bed, sinking down and sitting on the edge of it. he was still in the clutch of the past. he looked about the room, perplexed, alarmed, wondering where he was, until he caught sight of the pile of manuscripts in the corner. then the wheels of memory slipped ahead through four years of time, and he was aware of the present, of the books he had opened and the universe he had won from their pages, of his dreams and ambitions, and of his love for a pale wraith of a girl, sensitive and sheltered and ethereal, who would die of horror did she witness but one moment of what he had just lived through--one moment of all the muck of life through which he had waded. he arose to his feet and confronted himself in the looking-glass. "and so you arise from the mud, martin eden," he said solemnly. "and you cleanse your eyes in a great brightness, and thrust your shoulders among the stars, doing what all life has done, letting the 'ape and tiger die' and wresting highest heritage from all powers that be." he looked more closely at himself and laughed. "a bit of hysteria and melodrama, eh?" he queried. "well, never mind. you licked cheese-face, and you'll lick the editors if it takes twice eleven years to do it in. you can't stop here. you've got to go on. it's to a finish, you know." chapter xvi the alarm-clock went off, jerking martin out of sleep with a suddenness that would have given headache to one with less splendid constitution. though he slept soundly, he awoke instantly, like a cat, and he awoke eagerly, glad that the five hours of unconsciousness were gone. he hated the oblivion of sleep. there was too much to do, too much of life to live. he grudged every moment of life sleep robbed him of, and before the clock had ceased its clattering he was head and ears in the washbasin and thrilling to the cold bite of the water. but he did not follow his regular programme. there was no unfinished story waiting his hand, no new story demanding articulation. he had studied late, and it was nearly time for breakfast. he tried to read a chapter in fiske, but his brain was restless and he closed the book. to- day witnessed the beginning of the new battle, wherein for some time there would be no writing. he was aware of a sadness akin to that with which one leaves home and family. he looked at the manuscripts in the corner. that was it. he was going away from them, his pitiful, dishonored children that were welcome nowhere. he went over and began to rummage among them, reading snatches here and there, his favorite portions. "the pot" he honored with reading aloud, as he did "adventure." "joy," his latest-born, completed the day before and tossed into the corner for lack of stamps, won his keenest approbation. "i can't understand," he murmured. "or maybe it's the editors who can't understand. there's nothing wrong with that. they publish worse every month. everything they publish is worse--nearly everything, anyway." after breakfast he put the type-writer in its case and carried it down into oakland. "i owe a month on it," he told the clerk in the store. "but you tell the manager i'm going to work and that i'll be in in a month or so and straighten up." he crossed on the ferry to san francisco and made his way to an employment office. "any kind of work, no trade," he told the agent; and was interrupted by a new-comer, dressed rather foppishly, as some workingmen dress who have instincts for finer things. the agent shook his head despondently. "nothin' doin' eh?" said the other. "well, i got to get somebody to-day." he turned and stared at martin, and martin, staring back, noted the puffed and discolored face, handsome and weak, and knew that he had been making a night of it. "lookin' for a job?" the other queried. "what can you do?" "hard labor, sailorizing, run a type-writer, no shorthand, can sit on a horse, willing to do anything and tackle anything," was the answer. the other nodded. "sounds good to me. my name's dawson, joe dawson, an' i'm tryin' to scare up a laundryman." "too much for me." martin caught an amusing glimpse of himself ironing fluffy white things that women wear. but he had taken a liking to the other, and he added: "i might do the plain washing. i learned that much at sea." joe dawson thought visibly for a moment. "look here, let's get together an' frame it up. willin' to listen?" martin nodded. "this is a small laundry, up country, belongs to shelly hot springs,--hotel, you know. two men do the work, boss and assistant. i'm the boss. you don't work for me, but you work under me. think you'd be willin' to learn?" martin paused to think. the prospect was alluring. a few months of it, and he would have time to himself for study. he could work hard and study hard. "good grub an' a room to yourself," joe said. that settled it. a room to himself where he could burn the midnight oil unmolested. "but work like hell," the other added. martin caressed his swelling shoulder-muscles significantly. "that came from hard work." "then let's get to it." joe held his hand to his head for a moment. "gee, but it's a stem-winder. can hardly see. i went down the line last night--everything--everything. here's the frame-up. the wages for two is a hundred and board. i've ben drawin' down sixty, the second man forty. but he knew the biz. you're green. if i break you in, i'll be doing plenty of your work at first. suppose you begin at thirty, an' work up to the forty. i'll play fair. just as soon as you can do your share you get the forty." "i'll go you," martin announced, stretching out his hand, which the other shook. "any advance?--for rail-road ticket and extras?" "i blew it in," was joe's sad answer, with another reach at his aching head. "all i got is a return ticket." "and i'm broke--when i pay my board." "jump it," joe advised. "can't. owe it to my sister." joe whistled a long, perplexed whistle, and racked his brains to little purpose. "i've got the price of the drinks," he said desperately. "come on, an' mebbe we'll cook up something." martin declined. "water-wagon?" this time martin nodded, and joe lamented, "wish i was." "but i somehow just can't," he said in extenuation. "after i've ben workin' like hell all week i just got to booze up. if i didn't, i'd cut my throat or burn up the premises. but i'm glad you're on the wagon. stay with it." martin knew of the enormous gulf between him and this man--the gulf the books had made; but he found no difficulty in crossing back over that gulf. he had lived all his life in the working-class world, and the camaraderie of labor was second nature with him. he solved the difficulty of transportation that was too much for the other's aching head. he would send his trunk up to shelly hot springs on joe's ticket. as for himself, there was his wheel. it was seventy miles, and he could ride it on sunday and be ready for work monday morning. in the meantime he would go home and pack up. there was no one to say good-by to. ruth and her whole family were spending the long summer in the sierras, at lake tahoe. he arrived at shelly hot springs, tired and dusty, on sunday night. joe greeted him exuberantly. with a wet towel bound about his aching brow, he had been at work all day. "part of last week's washin' mounted up, me bein' away to get you," he explained. "your box arrived all right. it's in your room. but it's a hell of a thing to call a trunk. an' what's in it? gold bricks?" joe sat on the bed while martin unpacked. the box was a packing-case for breakfast food, and mr. higginbotham had charged him half a dollar for it. two rope handles, nailed on by martin, had technically transformed it into a trunk eligible for the baggage-car. joe watched, with bulging eyes, a few shirts and several changes of underclothes come out of the box, followed by books, and more books. "books clean to the bottom?" he asked. martin nodded, and went on arranging the books on a kitchen table which served in the room in place of a wash-stand. "gee!" joe exploded, then waited in silence for the deduction to arise in his brain. at last it came. "say, you don't care for the girls--much?" he queried. "no," was the answer. "i used to chase a lot before i tackled the books. but since then there's no time." "and there won't be any time here. all you can do is work an' sleep." martin thought of his five hours' sleep a night, and smiled. the room was situated over the laundry and was in the same building with the engine that pumped water, made electricity, and ran the laundry machinery. the engineer, who occupied the adjoining room, dropped in to meet the new hand and helped martin rig up an electric bulb, on an extension wire, so that it travelled along a stretched cord from over the table to the bed. the next morning, at quarter-past six, martin was routed out for a quarter-to-seven breakfast. there happened to be a bath-tub for the servants in the laundry building, and he electrified joe by taking a cold bath. "gee, but you're a hummer!" joe announced, as they sat down to breakfast in a corner of the hotel kitchen. with them was the engineer, the gardener, and the assistant gardener, and two or three men from the stable. they ate hurriedly and gloomily, with but little conversation, and as martin ate and listened he realized how far he had travelled from their status. their small mental caliber was depressing to him, and he was anxious to get away from them. so he bolted his breakfast, a sickly, sloppy affair, as rapidly as they, and heaved a sigh of relief when he passed out through the kitchen door. it was a perfectly appointed, small steam laundry, wherein the most modern machinery did everything that was possible for machinery to do. martin, after a few instructions, sorted the great heaps of soiled clothes, while joe started the masher and made up fresh supplies of soft- soap, compounded of biting chemicals that compelled him to swathe his mouth and nostrils and eyes in bath-towels till he resembled a mummy. finished the sorting, martin lent a hand in wringing the clothes. this was done by dumping them into a spinning receptacle that went at a rate of a few thousand revolutions a minute, tearing the water from the clothes by centrifugal force. then martin began to alternate between the dryer and the wringer, between times "shaking out" socks and stockings. by the afternoon, one feeding and one, stacking up, they were running socks and stockings through the mangle while the irons were heating. then it was hot irons and underclothes till six o'clock, at which time joe shook his head dubiously. "way behind," he said. "got to work after supper." and after supper they worked until ten o'clock, under the blazing electric lights, until the last piece of under-clothing was ironed and folded away in the distributing room. it was a hot california night, and though the windows were thrown wide, the room, with its red-hot ironing-stove, was a furnace. martin and joe, down to undershirts, bare armed, sweated and panted for air. "like trimming cargo in the tropics," martin said, when they went upstairs. "you'll do," joe answered. "you take hold like a good fellow. if you keep up the pace, you'll be on thirty dollars only one month. the second month you'll be gettin' your forty. but don't tell me you never ironed before. i know better." "never ironed a rag in my life, honestly, until to-day," martin protested. he was surprised at his weariness when he got into his room, forgetful of the fact that he had been on his feet and working without let up for fourteen hours. he set the alarm clock at six, and measured back five hours to one o'clock. he could read until then. slipping off his shoes, to ease his swollen feet, he sat down at the table with his books. he opened fiske, where he had left off to read. but he found trouble and began to read it through a second time. then he awoke, in pain from his stiffened muscles and chilled by the mountain wind that had begun to blow in through the window. he looked at the clock. it marked two. he had been asleep four hours. he pulled off his clothes and crawled into bed, where he was asleep the moment after his head touched the pillow. tuesday was a day of similar unremitting toil. the speed with which joe worked won martin's admiration. joe was a dozen of demons for work. he was keyed up to concert pitch, and there was never a moment in the long day when he was not fighting for moments. he concentrated himself upon his work and upon how to save time, pointing out to martin where he did in five motions what could be done in three, or in three motions what could be done in two. "elimination of waste motion," martin phrased it as he watched and patterned after. he was a good workman himself, quick and deft, and it had always been a point of pride with him that no man should do any of his work for him or outwork him. as a result, he concentrated with a similar singleness of purpose, greedily snapping up the hints and suggestions thrown out by his working mate. he "rubbed out" collars and cuffs, rubbing the starch out from between the double thicknesses of linen so that there would be no blisters when it came to the ironing, and doing it at a pace that elicited joe's praise. there was never an interval when something was not at hand to be done. joe waited for nothing, waited on nothing, and went on the jump from task to task. they starched two hundred white shirts, with a single gathering movement seizing a shirt so that the wristbands, neckband, yoke, and bosom protruded beyond the circling right hand. at the same moment the left hand held up the body of the shirt so that it would not enter the starch, and at the moment the right hand dipped into the starch--starch so hot that, in order to wring it out, their hands had to thrust, and thrust continually, into a bucket of cold water. and that night they worked till half-past ten, dipping "fancy starch"--all the frilled and airy, delicate wear of ladies. "me for the tropics and no clothes," martin laughed. "and me out of a job," joe answered seriously. "i don't know nothin' but laundrying." "and you know it well." "i ought to. began in the contra costa in oakland when i was eleven, shakin' out for the mangle. that was eighteen years ago, an' i've never done a tap of anything else. but this job is the fiercest i ever had. ought to be one more man on it at least. we work to-morrow night. always run the mangle wednesday nights--collars an' cuffs." martin set his alarm, drew up to the table, and opened fiske. he did not finish the first paragraph. the lines blurred and ran together and his head nodded. he walked up and down, batting his head savagely with his fists, but he could not conquer the numbness of sleep. he propped the book before him, and propped his eyelids with his fingers, and fell asleep with his eyes wide open. then he surrendered, and, scarcely conscious of what he did, got off his clothes and into bed. he slept seven hours of heavy, animal-like sleep, and awoke by the alarm, feeling that he had not had enough. "doin' much readin'?" joe asked. martin shook his head. "never mind. we got to run the mangle to-night, but thursday we'll knock off at six. that'll give you a chance." martin washed woollens that day, by hand, in a large barrel, with strong soft-soap, by means of a hub from a wagon wheel, mounted on a plunger- pole that was attached to a spring-pole overhead. "my invention," joe said proudly. "beats a washboard an' your knuckles, and, besides, it saves at least fifteen minutes in the week, an' fifteen minutes ain't to be sneezed at in this shebang." running the collars and cuffs through the mangle was also joe's idea. that night, while they toiled on under the electric lights, he explained it. "something no laundry ever does, except this one. an' i got to do it if i'm goin' to get done saturday afternoon at three o'clock. but i know how, an' that's the difference. got to have right heat, right pressure, and run 'em through three times. look at that!" he held a cuff aloft. "couldn't do it better by hand or on a tiler." thursday, joe was in a rage. a bundle of extra "fancy starch" had come in. "i'm goin' to quit," he announced. "i won't stand for it. i'm goin' to quit it cold. what's the good of me workin' like a slave all week, a- savin' minutes, an' them a-comin' an' ringin' in fancy-starch extras on me? this is a free country, an' i'm to tell that fat dutchman what i think of him. an' i won't tell 'm in french. plain united states is good enough for me. him a-ringin' in fancy starch extras!" "we got to work to-night," he said the next moment, reversing his judgment and surrendering to fate. and martin did no reading that night. he had seen no daily paper all week, and, strangely to him, felt no desire to see one. he was not interested in the news. he was too tired and jaded to be interested in anything, though he planned to leave saturday afternoon, if they finished at three, and ride on his wheel to oakland. it was seventy miles, and the same distance back on sunday afternoon would leave him anything but rested for the second week's work. it would have been easier to go on the train, but the round trip was two dollars and a half, and he was intent on saving money. chapter xvii martin learned to do many things. in the course of the first week, in one afternoon, he and joe accounted for the two hundred white shirts. joe ran the tiler, a machine wherein a hot iron was hooked on a steel string which furnished the pressure. by this means he ironed the yoke, wristbands, and neckband, setting the latter at right angles to the shirt, and put the glossy finish on the bosom. as fast as he finished them, he flung the shirts on a rack between him and martin, who caught them up and "backed" them. this task consisted of ironing all the unstarched portions of the shirts. it was exhausting work, carried on, hour after hour, at top speed. out on the broad verandas of the hotel, men and women, in cool white, sipped iced drinks and kept their circulation down. but in the laundry the air was sizzling. the huge stove roared red hot and white hot, while the irons, moving over the damp cloth, sent up clouds of steam. the heat of these irons was different from that used by housewives. an iron that stood the ordinary test of a wet finger was too cold for joe and martin, and such test was useless. they went wholly by holding the irons close to their cheeks, gauging the heat by some secret mental process that martin admired but could not understand. when the fresh irons proved too hot, they hooked them on iron rods and dipped them into cold water. this again required a precise and subtle judgment. a fraction of a second too long in the water and the fine and silken edge of the proper heat was lost, and martin found time to marvel at the accuracy he developed--an automatic accuracy, founded upon criteria that were machine-like and unerring. but there was little time in which to marvel. all martin's consciousness was concentrated in the work. ceaselessly active, head and hand, an intelligent machine, all that constituted him a man was devoted to furnishing that intelligence. there was no room in his brain for the universe and its mighty problems. all the broad and spacious corridors of his mind were closed and hermetically sealed. the echoing chamber of his soul was a narrow room, a conning tower, whence were directed his arm and shoulder muscles, his ten nimble fingers, and the swift-moving iron along its steaming path in broad, sweeping strokes, just so many strokes and no more, just so far with each stroke and not a fraction of an inch farther, rushing along interminable sleeves, sides, backs, and tails, and tossing the finished shirts, without rumpling, upon the receiving frame. and even as his hurrying soul tossed, it was reaching for another shirt. this went on, hour after hour, while outside all the world swooned under the overhead california sun. but there was no swooning in that superheated room. the cool guests on the verandas needed clean linen. the sweat poured from martin. he drank enormous quantities of water, but so great was the heat of the day and of his exertions, that the water sluiced through the interstices of his flesh and out at all his pores. always, at sea, except at rare intervals, the work he performed had given him ample opportunity to commune with himself. the master of the ship had been lord of martin's time; but here the manager of the hotel was lord of martin's thoughts as well. he had no thoughts save for the nerve- racking, body-destroying toil. outside of that it was impossible to think. he did not know that he loved ruth. she did not even exist, for his driven soul had no time to remember her. it was only when he crawled to bed at night, or to breakfast in the morning, that she asserted herself to him in fleeting memories. "this is hell, ain't it?" joe remarked once. martin nodded, but felt a rasp of irritation. the statement had been obvious and unnecessary. they did not talk while they worked. conversation threw them out of their stride, as it did this time, compelling martin to miss a stroke of his iron and to make two extra motions before he caught his stride again. on friday morning the washer ran. twice a week they had to put through hotel linen,--the sheets, pillow-slips, spreads, table-cloths, and napkins. this finished, they buckled down to "fancy starch." it was slow work, fastidious and delicate, and martin did not learn it so readily. besides, he could not take chances. mistakes were disastrous. "see that," joe said, holding up a filmy corset-cover that he could have crumpled from view in one hand. "scorch that an' it's twenty dollars out of your wages." so martin did not scorch that, and eased down on his muscular tension, though nervous tension rose higher than ever, and he listened sympathetically to the other's blasphemies as he toiled and suffered over the beautiful things that women wear when they do not have to do their own laundrying. "fancy starch" was martin's nightmare, and it was joe's, too. it was "fancy starch" that robbed them of their hard-won minutes. they toiled at it all day. at seven in the evening they broke off to run the hotel linen through the mangle. at ten o'clock, while the hotel guests slept, the two laundrymen sweated on at "fancy starch" till midnight, till one, till two. at half-past two they knocked off. saturday morning it was "fancy starch," and odds and ends, and at three in the afternoon the week's work was done. "you ain't a-goin' to ride them seventy miles into oakland on top of this?" joe demanded, as they sat on the stairs and took a triumphant smoke. "got to," was the answer. "what are you goin' for?--a girl?" "no; to save two and a half on the railroad ticket. i want to renew some books at the library." "why don't you send 'em down an' up by express? that'll cost only a quarter each way." martin considered it. "an' take a rest to-morrow," the other urged. "you need it. i know i do. i'm plumb tuckered out." he looked it. indomitable, never resting, fighting for seconds and minutes all week, circumventing delays and crushing down obstacles, a fount of resistless energy, a high-driven human motor, a demon for work, now that he had accomplished the week's task he was in a state of collapse. he was worn and haggard, and his handsome face drooped in lean exhaustion. he pulled his cigarette spiritlessly, and his voice was peculiarly dead and monotonous. all the snap and fire had gone out of him. his triumph seemed a sorry one. "an' next week we got to do it all over again," he said sadly. "an' what's the good of it all, hey? sometimes i wish i was a hobo. they don't work, an' they get their livin'. gee! i wish i had a glass of beer; but i can't get up the gumption to go down to the village an' get it. you'll stay over, an' send your books dawn by express, or else you're a damn fool." "but what can i do here all day sunday?" martin asked. "rest. you don't know how tired you are. why, i'm that tired sunday i can't even read the papers. i was sick once--typhoid. in the hospital two months an' a half. didn't do a tap of work all that time. it was beautiful." "it was beautiful," he repeated dreamily, a minute later. martin took a bath, after which he found that the head laundryman had disappeared. most likely he had gone for a glass of beer martin decided, but the half-mile walk down to the village to find out seemed a long journey to him. he lay on his bed with his shoes off, trying to make up his mind. he did not reach out for a book. he was too tired to feel sleepy, and he lay, scarcely thinking, in a semi-stupor of weariness, until it was time for supper. joe did not appear for that function, and when martin heard the gardener remark that most likely he was ripping the slats off the bar, martin understood. he went to bed immediately afterward, and in the morning decided that he was greatly rested. joe being still absent, martin procured a sunday paper and lay down in a shady nook under the trees. the morning passed, he knew not how. he did not sleep, nobody disturbed him, and he did not finish the paper. he came back to it in the afternoon, after dinner, and fell asleep over it. so passed sunday, and monday morning he was hard at work, sorting clothes, while joe, a towel bound tightly around his head, with groans and blasphemies, was running the washer and mixing soft-soap. "i simply can't help it," he explained. "i got to drink when saturday night comes around." another week passed, a great battle that continued under the electric lights each night and that culminated on saturday afternoon at three o'clock, when joe tasted his moment of wilted triumph and then drifted down to the village to forget. martin's sunday was the same as before. he slept in the shade of the trees, toiled aimlessly through the newspaper, and spent long hours lying on his back, doing nothing, thinking nothing. he was too dazed to think, though he was aware that he did not like himself. he was self-repelled, as though he had undergone some degradation or was intrinsically foul. all that was god-like in him was blotted out. the spur of ambition was blunted; he had no vitality with which to feel the prod of it. he was dead. his soul seemed dead. he was a beast, a work-beast. he saw no beauty in the sunshine sifting down through the green leaves, nor did the azure vault of the sky whisper as of old and hint of cosmic vastness and secrets trembling to disclosure. life was intolerably dull and stupid, and its taste was bad in his mouth. a black screen was drawn across his mirror of inner vision, and fancy lay in a darkened sick-room where entered no ray of light. he envied joe, down in the village, rampant, tearing the slats off the bar, his brain gnawing with maggots, exulting in maudlin ways over maudlin things, fantastically and gloriously drunk and forgetful of monday morning and the week of deadening toil to come. a third week went by, and martin loathed himself, and loathed life. he was oppressed by a sense of failure. there was reason for the editors refusing his stuff. he could see that clearly now, and laugh at himself and the dreams he had dreamed. ruth returned his "sea lyrics" by mail. he read her letter apathetically. she did her best to say how much she liked them and that they were beautiful. but she could not lie, and she could not disguise the truth from herself. she knew they were failures, and he read her disapproval in every perfunctory and unenthusiastic line of her letter. and she was right. he was firmly convinced of it as he read the poems over. beauty and wonder had departed from him, and as he read the poems he caught himself puzzling as to what he had had in mind when he wrote them. his audacities of phrase struck him as grotesque, his felicities of expression were monstrosities, and everything was absurd, unreal, and impossible. he would have burned the "sea lyrics" on the spot, had his will been strong enough to set them aflame. there was the engine-room, but the exertion of carrying them to the furnace was not worth while. all his exertion was used in washing other persons' clothes. he did not have any left for private affairs. he resolved that when sunday came he would pull himself together and answer ruth's letter. but saturday afternoon, after work was finished and he had taken a bath, the desire to forget overpowered him. "i guess i'll go down and see how joe's getting on," was the way he put it to himself; and in the same moment he knew that he lied. but he did not have the energy to consider the lie. if he had had the energy, he would have refused to consider the lie, because he wanted to forget. he started for the village slowly and casually, increasing his pace in spite of himself as he neared the saloon. "i thought you was on the water-wagon," was joe's greeting. martin did not deign to offer excuses, but called for whiskey, filling his own glass brimming before he passed the bottle. "don't take all night about it," he said roughly. the other was dawdling with the bottle, and martin refused to wait for him, tossing the glass off in a gulp and refilling it. "now, i can wait for you," he said grimly; "but hurry up." joe hurried, and they drank together. "the work did it, eh?" joe queried. martin refused to discuss the matter. "it's fair hell, i know," the other went on, "but i kind of hate to see you come off the wagon, mart. well, here's how!" martin drank on silently, biting out his orders and invitations and awing the barkeeper, an effeminate country youngster with watery blue eyes and hair parted in the middle. "it's something scandalous the way they work us poor devils," joe was remarking. "if i didn't bowl up, i'd break loose an' burn down the shebang. my bowlin' up is all that saves 'em, i can tell you that." but martin made no answer. a few more drinks, and in his brain he felt the maggots of intoxication beginning to crawl. ah, it was living, the first breath of life he had breathed in three weeks. his dreams came back to him. fancy came out of the darkened room and lured him on, a thing of flaming brightness. his mirror of vision was silver-clear, a flashing, dazzling palimpsest of imagery. wonder and beauty walked with him, hand in hand, and all power was his. he tried to tell it to joe, but joe had visions of his own, infallible schemes whereby he would escape the slavery of laundry-work and become himself the owner of a great steam laundry. "i tell yeh, mart, they won't be no kids workin' in my laundry--not on yer life. an' they won't be no workin' a livin' soul after six p.m. you hear me talk! they'll be machinery enough an' hands enough to do it all in decent workin' hours, an' mart, s'help me, i'll make yeh superintendent of the shebang--the whole of it, all of it. now here's the scheme. i get on the water-wagon an' save my money for two years--save an' then--" but martin turned away, leaving him to tell it to the barkeeper, until that worthy was called away to furnish drinks to two farmers who, coming in, accepted martin's invitation. martin dispensed royal largess, inviting everybody up, farm-hands, a stableman, and the gardener's assistant from the hotel, the barkeeper, and the furtive hobo who slid in like a shadow and like a shadow hovered at the end of the bar. chapter xviii monday morning, joe groaned over the first truck load of clothes to the washer. "i say," he began. "don't talk to me," martin snarled. "i'm sorry, joe," he said at noon, when they knocked off for dinner. tears came into the other's eyes. "that's all right, old man," he said. "we're in hell, an' we can't help ourselves. an', you know, i kind of like you a whole lot. that's what made it--hurt. i cottoned to you from the first." martin shook his hand. "let's quit," joe suggested. "let's chuck it, an' go hoboin'. i ain't never tried it, but it must be dead easy. an' nothin' to do. just think of it, nothin' to do. i was sick once, typhoid, in the hospital, an' it was beautiful. i wish i'd get sick again." the week dragged on. the hotel was full, and extra "fancy starch" poured in upon them. they performed prodigies of valor. they fought late each night under the electric lights, bolted their meals, and even got in a half hour's work before breakfast. martin no longer took his cold baths. every moment was drive, drive, drive, and joe was the masterful shepherd of moments, herding them carefully, never losing one, counting them over like a miser counting gold, working on in a frenzy, toil-mad, a feverish machine, aided ably by that other machine that thought of itself as once having been one martin eden, a man. but it was only at rare moments that martin was able to think. the house of thought was closed, its windows boarded up, and he was its shadowy caretaker. he was a shadow. joe was right. they were both shadows, and this was the unending limbo of toil. or was it a dream? sometimes, in the steaming, sizzling heat, as he swung the heavy irons back and forth over the white garments, it came to him that it was a dream. in a short while, or maybe after a thousand years or so, he would awake, in his little room with the ink-stained table, and take up his writing where he had left off the day before. or maybe that was a dream, too, and the awakening would be the changing of the watches, when he would drop down out of his bunk in the lurching forecastle and go up on deck, under the tropic stars, and take the wheel and feel the cool tradewind blowing through his flesh. came saturday and its hollow victory at three o'clock. "guess i'll go down an' get a glass of beer," joe said, in the queer, monotonous tones that marked his week-end collapse. martin seemed suddenly to wake up. he opened the kit bag and oiled his wheel, putting graphite on the chain and adjusting the bearings. joe was halfway down to the saloon when martin passed by, bending low over the handle-bars, his legs driving the ninety-six gear with rhythmic strength, his face set for seventy miles of road and grade and dust. he slept in oakland that night, and on sunday covered the seventy miles back. and on monday morning, weary, he began the new week's work, but he had kept sober. a fifth week passed, and a sixth, during which he lived and toiled as a machine, with just a spark of something more in him, just a glimmering bit of soul, that compelled him, at each week-end, to scorch off the hundred and forty miles. but this was not rest. it was super-machinelike, and it helped to crush out the glimmering bit of soul that was all that was left him from former life. at the end of the seventh week, without intending it, too weak to resist, he drifted down to the village with joe and drowned life and found life until monday morning. again, at the week-ends, he ground out the one hundred and forty miles, obliterating the numbness of too great exertion by the numbness of still greater exertion. at the end of three months he went down a third time to the village with joe. he forgot, and lived again, and, living, he saw, in clear illumination, the beast he was making of himself--not by the drink, but by the work. the drink was an effect, not a cause. it followed inevitably upon the work, as the night follows upon the day. not by becoming a toil-beast could he win to the heights, was the message the whiskey whispered to him, and he nodded approbation. the whiskey was wise. it told secrets on itself. he called for paper and pencil, and for drinks all around, and while they drank his very good health, he clung to the bar and scribbled. "a telegram, joe," he said. "read it." joe read it with a drunken, quizzical leer. but what he read seemed to sober him. he looked at the other reproachfully, tears oozing into his eyes and down his cheeks. "you ain't goin' back on me, mart?" he queried hopelessly. martin nodded, and called one of the loungers to him to take the message to the telegraph office. "hold on," joe muttered thickly. "lemme think." he held on to the bar, his legs wobbling under him, martin's arm around him and supporting him, while he thought. "make that two laundrymen," he said abruptly. "here, lemme fix it." "what are you quitting for?" martin demanded. "same reason as you." "but i'm going to sea. you can't do that." "nope," was the answer, "but i can hobo all right, all right." martin looked at him searchingly for a moment, then cried:- "by god, i think you're right! better a hobo than a beast of toil. why, man, you'll live. and that's more than you ever did before." "i was in hospital, once," joe corrected. "it was beautiful. typhoid--did i tell you?" while martin changed the telegram to "two laundrymen," joe went on:- "i never wanted to drink when i was in hospital. funny, ain't it? but when i've ben workin' like a slave all week, i just got to bowl up. ever noticed that cooks drink like hell?--an' bakers, too? it's the work. they've sure got to. here, lemme pay half of that telegram." "i'll shake you for it," martin offered. "come on, everybody drink," joe called, as they rattled the dice and rolled them out on the damp bar. monday morning joe was wild with anticipation. he did not mind his aching head, nor did he take interest in his work. whole herds of moments stole away and were lost while their careless shepherd gazed out of the window at the sunshine and the trees. "just look at it!" he cried. "an' it's all mine! it's free. i can lie down under them trees an' sleep for a thousan' years if i want to. aw, come on, mart, let's chuck it. what's the good of waitin' another moment. that's the land of nothin' to do out there, an' i got a ticket for it--an' it ain't no return ticket, b'gosh!" a few minutes later, filling the truck with soiled clothes for the washer, joe spied the hotel manager's shirt. he knew its mark, and with a sudden glorious consciousness of freedom he threw it on the floor and stamped on it. "i wish you was in it, you pig-headed dutchman!" he shouted. "in it, an' right there where i've got you! take that! an' that! an' that! damn you! hold me back, somebody! hold me back!" martin laughed and held him to his work. on tuesday night the new laundrymen arrived, and the rest of the week was spent breaking them into the routine. joe sat around and explained his system, but he did no more work. "not a tap," he announced. "not a tap. they can fire me if they want to, but if they do, i'll quit. no more work in mine, thank you kindly. me for the freight cars an' the shade under the trees. go to it, you slaves! that's right. slave an' sweat! slave an' sweat! an' when you're dead, you'll rot the same as me, an' what's it matter how you live?--eh? tell me that--what's it matter in the long run?" on saturday they drew their pay and came to the parting of the ways. "they ain't no use in me askin' you to change your mind an' hit the road with me?" joe asked hopelessly: martin shook his head. he was standing by his wheel, ready to start. they shook hands, and joe held on to his for a moment, as he said:- "i'm goin' to see you again, mart, before you an' me die. that's straight dope. i feel it in my bones. good-by, mart, an' be good. i like you like hell, you know." he stood, a forlorn figure, in the middle of the road, watching until martin turned a bend and was gone from sight. "he's a good indian, that boy," he muttered. "a good indian." then he plodded down the road himself, to the water tank, where half a dozen empties lay on a side-track waiting for the up freight. chapter xix ruth and her family were home again, and martin, returned to oakland, saw much of her. having gained her degree, she was doing no more studying; and he, having worked all vitality out of his mind and body, was doing no writing. this gave them time for each other that they had never had before, and their intimacy ripened fast. at first, martin had done nothing but rest. he had slept a great deal, and spent long hours musing and thinking and doing nothing. he was like one recovering from some terrible bout of hardship. the first signs of reawakening came when he discovered more than languid interest in the daily paper. then he began to read again--light novels, and poetry; and after several days more he was head over heels in his long-neglected fiske. his splendid body and health made new vitality, and he possessed all the resiliency and rebound of youth. ruth showed her disappointment plainly when he announced that he was going to sea for another voyage as soon as he was well rested. "why do you want to do that?" she asked. "money," was the answer. "i'll have to lay in a supply for my next attack on the editors. money is the sinews of war, in my case--money and patience." "but if all you wanted was money, why didn't you stay in the laundry?" "because the laundry was making a beast of me. too much work of that sort drives to drink." she stared at him with horror in her eyes. "do you mean--?" she quavered. it would have been easy for him to get out of it; but his natural impulse was for frankness, and he remembered his old resolve to be frank, no matter what happened. "yes," he answered. "just that. several times." she shivered and drew away from him. "no man that i have ever known did that--ever did that." "then they never worked in the laundry at shelly hot springs," he laughed bitterly. "toil is a good thing. it is necessary for human health, so all the preachers say, and heaven knows i've never been afraid of it. but there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and the laundry up there is one of them. and that's why i'm going to sea one more voyage. it will be my last, i think, for when i come back, i shall break into the magazines. i am certain of it." she was silent, unsympathetic, and he watched her moodily, realizing how impossible it was for her to understand what he had been through. "some day i shall write it up--'the degradation of toil' or the 'psychology of drink in the working-class,' or something like that for a title." never, since the first meeting, had they seemed so far apart as that day. his confession, told in frankness, with the spirit of revolt behind, had repelled her. but she was more shocked by the repulsion itself than by the cause of it. it pointed out to her how near she had drawn to him, and once accepted, it paved the way for greater intimacy. pity, too, was aroused, and innocent, idealistic thoughts of reform. she would save this raw young man who had come so far. she would save him from the curse of his early environment, and she would save him from himself in spite of himself. and all this affected her as a very noble state of consciousness; nor did she dream that behind it and underlying it were the jealousy and desire of love. they rode on their wheels much in the delightful fall weather, and out in the hills they read poetry aloud, now one and now the other, noble, uplifting poetry that turned one's thoughts to higher things. renunciation, sacrifice, patience, industry, and high endeavor were the principles she thus indirectly preached--such abstractions being objectified in her mind by her father, and mr. butler, and by andrew carnegie, who, from a poor immigrant boy had arisen to be the book-giver of the world. all of which was appreciated and enjoyed by martin. he followed her mental processes more clearly now, and her soul was no longer the sealed wonder it had been. he was on terms of intellectual equality with her. but the points of disagreement did not affect his love. his love was more ardent than ever, for he loved her for what she was, and even her physical frailty was an added charm in his eyes. he read of sickly elizabeth barrett, who for years had not placed her feet upon the ground, until that day of flame when she eloped with browning and stood upright, upon the earth, under the open sky; and what browning had done for her, martin decided he could do for ruth. but first, she must love him. the rest would be easy. he would give her strength and health. and he caught glimpses of their life, in the years to come, wherein, against a background of work and comfort and general well-being, he saw himself and ruth reading and discussing poetry, she propped amid a multitude of cushions on the ground while she read aloud to him. this was the key to the life they would live. and always he saw that particular picture. sometimes it was she who leaned against him while he read, one arm about her, her head upon his shoulder. sometimes they pored together over the printed pages of beauty. then, too, she loved nature, and with generous imagination he changed the scene of their reading--sometimes they read in closed-in valleys with precipitous walls, or in high mountain meadows, and, again, down by the gray sand-dunes with a wreath of billows at their feet, or afar on some volcanic tropic isle where waterfalls descended and became mist, reaching the sea in vapor veils that swayed and shivered to every vagrant wisp of wind. but always, in the foreground, lords of beauty and eternally reading and sharing, lay he and ruth, and always in the background that was beyond the background of nature, dim and hazy, were work and success and money earned that made them free of the world and all its treasures. "i should recommend my little girl to be careful," her mother warned her one day. "i know what you mean. but it is impossible. he is not--" ruth was blushing, but it was the blush of maidenhood called upon for the first time to discuss the sacred things of life with a mother held equally sacred. "your kind." her mother finished the sentence for her. ruth nodded. "i did not want to say it, but he is not. he is rough, brutal, strong--too strong. he has not--" she hesitated and could not go on. it was a new experience, talking over such matters with her mother. and again her mother completed her thought for her. "he has not lived a clean life, is what you wanted to say." again ruth nodded, and again a blush mantled her face. "it is just that," she said. "it has not been his fault, but he has played much with--" "with pitch?" "yes, with pitch. and he frightens me. sometimes i am positively in terror of him, when he talks in that free and easy way of the things he has done--as if they did not matter. they do matter, don't they?" they sat with their arms twined around each other, and in the pause her mother patted her hand and waited for her to go on. "but i am interested in him dreadfully," she continued. "in a way he is my protege. then, too, he is my first boy friend--but not exactly friend; rather protege and friend combined. sometimes, too, when he frightens me, it seems that he is a bulldog i have taken for a plaything, like some of the 'frat' girls, and he is tugging hard, and showing his teeth, and threatening to break loose." again her mother waited. "he interests me, i suppose, like the bulldog. and there is much good in him, too; but there is much in him that i would not like in--in the other way. you see, i have been thinking. he swears, he smokes, he drinks, he has fought with his fists (he has told me so, and he likes it; he says so). he is all that a man should not be--a man i would want for my--" her voice sank very low--"husband. then he is too strong. my prince must be tall, and slender, and dark--a graceful, bewitching prince. no, there is no danger of my failing in love with martin eden. it would be the worst fate that could befall me." "but it is not that that i spoke about," her mother equivocated. "have you thought about him? he is so ineligible in every way, you know, and suppose he should come to love you?" "but he does--already," she cried. "it was to be expected," mrs. morse said gently. "how could it be otherwise with any one who knew you?" "olney hates me!" she exclaimed passionately. "and i hate olney. i feel always like a cat when he is around. i feel that i must be nasty to him, and even when i don't happen to feel that way, why, he's nasty to me, anyway. but i am happy with martin eden. no one ever loved me before--no man, i mean, in that way. and it is sweet to be loved--that way. you know what i mean, mother dear. it is sweet to feel that you are really and truly a woman." she buried her face in her mother's lap, sobbing. "you think i am dreadful, i know, but i am honest, and i tell you just how i feel." mrs. morse was strangely sad and happy. her child-daughter, who was a bachelor of arts, was gone; but in her place was a woman-daughter. the experiment had succeeded. the strange void in ruth's nature had been filled, and filled without danger or penalty. this rough sailor-fellow had been the instrument, and, though ruth did not love him, he had made her conscious of her womanhood. "his hand trembles," ruth was confessing, her face, for shame's sake, still buried. "it is most amusing and ridiculous, but i feel sorry for him, too. and when his hands are too trembly, and his eyes too shiny, why, i lecture him about his life and the wrong way he is going about it to mend it. but he worships me, i know. his eyes and his hands do not lie. and it makes me feel grown-up, the thought of it, the very thought of it; and i feel that i am possessed of something that is by rights my own--that makes me like the other girls--and--and young women. and, then, too, i knew that i was not like them before, and i knew that it worried you. you thought you did not let me know that dear worry of yours, but i did, and i wanted to--'to make good,' as martin eden says." it was a holy hour for mother and daughter, and their eyes were wet as they talked on in the twilight, ruth all white innocence and frankness, her mother sympathetic, receptive, yet calmly explaining and guiding. "he is four years younger than you," she said. "he has no place in the world. he has neither position nor salary. he is impractical. loving you, he should, in the name of common sense, be doing something that would give him the right to marry, instead of paltering around with those stories of his and with childish dreams. martin eden, i am afraid, will never grow up. he does not take to responsibility and a man's work in the world like your father did, or like all our friends, mr. butler for one. martin eden, i am afraid, will never be a money-earner. and this world is so ordered that money is necessary to happiness--oh, no, not these swollen fortunes, but enough of money to permit of common comfort and decency. he--he has never spoken?" "he has not breathed a word. he has not attempted to; but if he did, i would not let him, because, you see, i do not love him." "i am glad of that. i should not care to see my daughter, my one daughter, who is so clean and pure, love a man like him. there are noble men in the world who are clean and true and manly. wait for them. you will find one some day, and you will love him and be loved by him, and you will be happy with him as your father and i have been happy with each other. and there is one thing you must always carry in mind--" "yes, mother." mrs. morse's voice was low and sweet as she said, "and that is the children." "i--have thought about them," ruth confessed, remembering the wanton thoughts that had vexed her in the past, her face again red with maiden shame that she should be telling such things. "and it is that, the children, that makes mr. eden impossible," mrs. morse went on incisively. "their heritage must be clean, and he is, i am afraid, not clean. your father has told me of sailors' lives, and--and you understand." ruth pressed her mother's hand in assent, feeling that she really did understand, though her conception was of something vague, remote, and terrible that was beyond the scope of imagination. "you know i do nothing without telling you," she began. "--only, sometimes you must ask me, like this time. i wanted to tell you, but i did not know how. it is false modesty, i know it is that, but you can make it easy for me. sometimes, like this time, you must ask me, you must give me a chance." "why, mother, you are a woman, too!" she cried exultantly, as they stood up, catching her mother's hands and standing erect, facing her in the twilight, conscious of a strangely sweet equality between them. "i should never have thought of you in that way if we had not had this talk. i had to learn that i was a woman to know that you were one, too." "we are women together," her mother said, drawing her to her and kissing her. "we are women together," she repeated, as they went out of the room, their arms around each other's waists, their hearts swelling with a new sense of companionship. "our little girl has become a woman," mrs. morse said proudly to her husband an hour later. "that means," he said, after a long look at his wife, "that means she is in love." "no, but that she is loved," was the smiling rejoinder. "the experiment has succeeded. she is awakened at last." "then we'll have to get rid of him." mr. morse spoke briskly, in matter- of-fact, businesslike tones. but his wife shook her head. "it will not be necessary. ruth says he is going to sea in a few days. when he comes back, she will not be here. we will send her to aunt clara's. and, besides, a year in the east, with the change in climate, people, ideas, and everything, is just the thing she needs." chapter xx the desire to write was stirring in martin once more. stories and poems were springing into spontaneous creation in his brain, and he made notes of them against the future time when he would give them expression. but he did not write. this was his little vacation; he had resolved to devote it to rest and love, and in both matters he prospered. he was soon spilling over with vitality, and each day he saw ruth, at the moment of meeting, she experienced the old shock of his strength and health. "be careful," her mother warned her once again. "i am afraid you are seeing too much of martin eden." but ruth laughed from security. she was sure of herself, and in a few days he would be off to sea. then, by the time he returned, she would be away on her visit east. there was a magic, however, in the strength and health of martin. he, too, had been told of her contemplated eastern trip, and he felt the need for haste. yet he did not know how to make love to a girl like ruth. then, too, he was handicapped by the possession of a great fund of experience with girls and women who had been absolutely different from her. they had known about love and life and flirtation, while she knew nothing about such things. her prodigious innocence appalled him, freezing on his lips all ardors of speech, and convincing him, in spite of himself, of his own unworthiness. also he was handicapped in another way. he had himself never been in love before. he had liked women in that turgid past of his, and been fascinated by some of them, but he had not known what it was to love them. he had whistled in a masterful, careless way, and they had come to him. they had been diversions, incidents, part of the game men play, but a small part at most. and now, and for the first time, he was a suppliant, tender and timid and doubting. he did not know the way of love, nor its speech, while he was frightened at his loved one's clear innocence. in the course of getting acquainted with a varied world, whirling on through the ever changing phases of it, he had learned a rule of conduct which was to the effect that when one played a strange game, he should let the other fellow play first. this had stood him in good stead a thousand times and trained him as an observer as well. he knew how to watch the thing that was strange, and to wait for a weakness, for a place of entrance, to divulge itself. it was like sparring for an opening in fist-fighting. and when such an opening came, he knew by long experience to play for it and to play hard. so he waited with ruth and watched, desiring to speak his love but not daring. he was afraid of shocking her, and he was not sure of himself. had he but known it, he was following the right course with her. love came into the world before articulate speech, and in its own early youth it had learned ways and means that it had never forgotten. it was in this old, primitive way that martin wooed ruth. he did not know he was doing it at first, though later he divined it. the touch of his hand on hers was vastly more potent than any word he could utter, the impact of his strength on her imagination was more alluring than the printed poems and spoken passions of a thousand generations of lovers. whatever his tongue could express would have appealed, in part, to her judgment; but the touch of hand, the fleeting contact, made its way directly to her instinct. her judgment was as young as she, but her instincts were as old as the race and older. they had been young when love was young, and they were wiser than convention and opinion and all the new-born things. so her judgment did not act. there was no call upon it, and she did not realize the strength of the appeal martin made from moment to moment to her love-nature. that he loved her, on the other hand, was as clear as day, and she consciously delighted in beholding his love-manifestations--the glowing eyes with their tender lights, the trembling hands, and the never failing swarthy flush that flooded darkly under his sunburn. she even went farther, in a timid way inciting him, but doing it so delicately that he never suspected, and doing it half- consciously, so that she scarcely suspected herself. she thrilled with these proofs of her power that proclaimed her a woman, and she took an eve-like delight in tormenting him and playing upon him. tongue-tied by inexperience and by excess of ardor, wooing unwittingly and awkwardly, martin continued his approach by contact. the touch of his hand was pleasant to her, and something deliciously more than pleasant. martin did not know it, but he did know that it was not distasteful to her. not that they touched hands often, save at meeting and parting; but that in handling the bicycles, in strapping on the books of verse they carried into the hills, and in conning the pages of books side by side, there were opportunities for hand to stray against hand. and there were opportunities, too, for her hair to brush his cheek, and for shoulder to touch shoulder, as they leaned together over the beauty of the books. she smiled to herself at vagrant impulses which arose from nowhere and suggested that she rumple his hair; while he desired greatly, when they tired of reading, to rest his head in her lap and dream with closed eyes about the future that was to be theirs. on sunday picnics at shellmound park and schuetzen park, in the past, he had rested his head on many laps, and, usually, he had slept soundly and selfishly while the girls shaded his face from the sun and looked down and loved him and wondered at his lordly carelessness of their love. to rest his head in a girl's lap had been the easiest thing in the world until now, and now he found ruth's lap inaccessible and impossible. yet it was right here, in his reticence, that the strength of his wooing lay. it was because of this reticence that he never alarmed her. herself fastidious and timid, she never awakened to the perilous trend of their intercourse. subtly and unaware she grew toward him and closer to him, while he, sensing the growing closeness, longed to dare but was afraid. once he dared, one afternoon, when he found her in the darkened living room with a blinding headache. "nothing can do it any good," she had answered his inquiries. "and besides, i don't take headache powders. doctor hall won't permit me." "i can cure it, i think, and without drugs," was martin's answer. "i am not sure, of course, but i'd like to try. it's simply massage. i learned the trick first from the japanese. they are a race of masseurs, you know. then i learned it all over again with variations from the hawaiians. they call it _lomi-lomi_. it can accomplish most of the things drugs accomplish and a few things that drugs can't." scarcely had his hands touched her head when she sighed deeply. "that is so good," she said. she spoke once again, half an hour later, when she asked, "aren't you tired?" the question was perfunctory, and she knew what the answer would be. then she lost herself in drowsy contemplation of the soothing balm of his strength: life poured from the ends of his fingers, driving the pain before it, or so it seemed to her, until with the easement of pain, she fell asleep and he stole away. she called him up by telephone that evening to thank him. "i slept until dinner," she said. "you cured me completely, mr. eden, and i don't know how to thank you." he was warm, and bungling of speech, and very happy, as he replied to her, and there was dancing in his mind, throughout the telephone conversation, the memory of browning and of sickly elizabeth barrett. what had been done could be done again, and he, martin eden, could do it and would do it for ruth morse. he went back to his room and to the volume of spencer's "sociology" lying open on the bed. but he could not read. love tormented him and overrode his will, so that, despite all determination, he found himself at the little ink-stained table. the sonnet he composed that night was the first of a love-cycle of fifty sonnets which was completed within two months. he had the "love-sonnets from the portuguese" in mind as he wrote, and he wrote under the best conditions for great work, at a climacteric of living, in the throes of his own sweet love-madness. the many hours he was not with ruth he devoted to the "love-cycle," to reading at home, or to the public reading-rooms, where he got more closely in touch with the magazines of the day and the nature of their policy and content. the hours he spent with ruth were maddening alike in promise and in inconclusiveness. it was a week after he cured her headache that a moonlight sail on lake merritt was proposed by norman and seconded by arthur and olney. martin was the only one capable of handling a boat, and he was pressed into service. ruth sat near him in the stern, while the three young fellows lounged amidships, deep in a wordy wrangle over "frat" affairs. the moon had not yet risen, and ruth, gazing into the starry vault of the sky and exchanging no speech with martin, experienced a sudden feeling of loneliness. she glanced at him. a puff of wind was heeling the boat over till the deck was awash, and he, one hand on tiller and the other on main-sheet, was luffing slightly, at the same time peering ahead to make out the near-lying north shore. he was unaware of her gaze, and she watched him intently, speculating fancifully about the strange warp of soul that led him, a young man with signal powers, to fritter away his time on the writing of stories and poems foredoomed to mediocrity and failure. her eyes wandered along the strong throat, dimly seen in the starlight, and over the firm-poised head, and the old desire to lay her hands upon his neck came back to her. the strength she abhorred attracted her. her feeling of loneliness became more pronounced, and she felt tired. her position on the heeling boat irked her, and she remembered the headache he had cured and the soothing rest that resided in him. he was sitting beside her, quite beside her, and the boat seemed to tilt her toward him. then arose in her the impulse to lean against him, to rest herself against his strength--a vague, half-formed impulse, which, even as she considered it, mastered her and made her lean toward him. or was it the heeling of the boat? she did not know. she never knew. she knew only that she was leaning against him and that the easement and soothing rest were very good. perhaps it had been the boat's fault, but she made no effort to retrieve it. she leaned lightly against his shoulder, but she leaned, and she continued to lean when he shifted his position to make it more comfortable for her. it was a madness, but she refused to consider the madness. she was no longer herself but a woman, with a woman's clinging need; and though she leaned ever so lightly, the need seemed satisfied. she was no longer tired. martin did not speak. had he, the spell would have been broken. but his reticence of love prolonged it. he was dazed and dizzy. he could not understand what was happening. it was too wonderful to be anything but a delirium. he conquered a mad desire to let go sheet and tiller and to clasp her in his arms. his intuition told him it was the wrong thing to do, and he was glad that sheet and tiller kept his hands occupied and fended off temptation. but he luffed the boat less delicately, spilling the wind shamelessly from the sail so as to prolong the tack to the north shore. the shore would compel him to go about, and the contact would be broken. he sailed with skill, stopping way on the boat without exciting the notice of the wranglers, and mentally forgiving his hardest voyages in that they had made this marvellous night possible, giving him mastery over sea and boat and wind so that he could sail with her beside him, her dear weight against him on his shoulder. when the first light of the rising moon touched the sail, illuminating the boat with pearly radiance, ruth moved away from him. and, even as she moved, she felt him move away. the impulse to avoid detection was mutual. the episode was tacitly and secretly intimate. she sat apart from him with burning cheeks, while the full force of it came home to her. she had been guilty of something she would not have her brothers see, nor olney see. why had she done it? she had never done anything like it in her life, and yet she had been moonlight-sailing with young men before. she had never desired to do anything like it. she was overcome with shame and with the mystery of her own burgeoning womanhood. she stole a glance at martin, who was busy putting the boat about on the other tack, and she could have hated him for having made her do an immodest and shameful thing. and he, of all men! perhaps her mother was right, and she was seeing too much of him. it would never happen again, she resolved, and she would see less of him in the future. she entertained a wild idea of explaining to him the first time they were alone together, of lying to him, of mentioning casually the attack of faintness that had overpowered her just before the moon came up. then she remembered how they had drawn mutually away before the revealing moon, and she knew he would know it for a lie. in the days that swiftly followed she was no longer herself but a strange, puzzling creature, wilful over judgment and scornful of self- analysis, refusing to peer into the future or to think about herself and whither she was drifting. she was in a fever of tingling mystery, alternately frightened and charmed, and in constant bewilderment. she had one idea firmly fixed, however, which insured her security. she would not let martin speak his love. as long as she did this, all would be well. in a few days he would be off to sea. and even if he did speak, all would be well. it could not be otherwise, for she did not love him. of course, it would be a painful half hour for him, and an embarrassing half hour for her, because it would be her first proposal. she thrilled deliciously at the thought. she was really a woman, with a man ripe to ask for her in marriage. it was a lure to all that was fundamental in her sex. the fabric of her life, of all that constituted her, quivered and grew tremulous. the thought fluttered in her mind like a flame-attracted moth. she went so far as to imagine martin proposing, herself putting the words into his mouth; and she rehearsed her refusal, tempering it with kindness and exhorting him to true and noble manhood. and especially he must stop smoking cigarettes. she would make a point of that. but no, she must not let him speak at all. she could stop him, and she had told her mother that she would. all flushed and burning, she regretfully dismissed the conjured situation. her first proposal would have to be deferred to a more propitious time and a more eligible suitor. chapter xxi came a beautiful fall day, warm and languid, palpitant with the hush of the changing season, a california indian summer day, with hazy sun and wandering wisps of breeze that did not stir the slumber of the air. filmy purple mists, that were not vapors but fabrics woven of color, hid in the recesses of the hills. san francisco lay like a blur of smoke upon her heights. the intervening bay was a dull sheen of molten metal, whereon sailing craft lay motionless or drifted with the lazy tide. far tamalpais, barely seen in the silver haze, bulked hugely by the golden gate, the latter a pale gold pathway under the westering sun. beyond, the pacific, dim and vast, was raising on its sky-line tumbled cloud-masses that swept landward, giving warning of the first blustering breath of winter. the erasure of summer was at hand. yet summer lingered, fading and fainting among her hills, deepening the purple of her valleys, spinning a shroud of haze from waning powers and sated raptures, dying with the calm content of having lived and lived well. and among the hills, on their favorite knoll, martin and ruth sat side by side, their heads bent over the same pages, he reading aloud from the love-sonnets of the woman who had loved browning as it is given to few men to be loved. but the reading languished. the spell of passing beauty all about them was too strong. the golden year was dying as it had lived, a beautiful and unrepentant voluptuary, and reminiscent rapture and content freighted heavily the air. it entered into them, dreamy and languorous, weakening the fibres of resolution, suffusing the face of morality, or of judgment, with haze and purple mist. martin felt tender and melting, and from time to time warm glows passed over him. his head was very near to hers, and when wandering phantoms of breeze stirred her hair so that it touched his face, the printed pages swam before his eyes. "i don't believe you know a word of what you are reading," she said once when he had lost his place. he looked at her with burning eyes, and was on the verge of becoming awkward, when a retort came to his lips. "i don't believe you know either. what was the last sonnet about?" "i don't know," she laughed frankly. "i've already forgotten. don't let us read any more. the day is too beautiful." "it will be our last in the hills for some time," he announced gravely. "there's a storm gathering out there on the sea-rim." the book slipped from his hands to the ground, and they sat idly and silently, gazing out over the dreamy bay with eyes that dreamed and did not see. ruth glanced sidewise at his neck. she did not lean toward him. she was drawn by some force outside of herself and stronger than gravitation, strong as destiny. it was only an inch to lean, and it was accomplished without volition on her part. her shoulder touched his as lightly as a butterfly touches a flower, and just as lightly was the counter-pressure. she felt his shoulder press hers, and a tremor run through him. then was the time for her to draw back. but she had become an automaton. her actions had passed beyond the control of her will--she never thought of control or will in the delicious madness that was upon her. his arm began to steal behind her and around her. she waited its slow progress in a torment of delight. she waited, she knew not for what, panting, with dry, burning lips, a leaping pulse, and a fever of expectancy in all her blood. the girdling arm lifted higher and drew her toward him, drew her slowly and caressingly. she could wait no longer. with a tired sigh, and with an impulsive movement all her own, unpremeditated, spasmodic, she rested her head upon his breast. his head bent over swiftly, and, as his lips approached, hers flew to meet them. this must be love, she thought, in the one rational moment that was vouchsafed her. if it was not love, it was too shameful. it could be nothing else than love. she loved the man whose arms were around her and whose lips were pressed to hers. she pressed more, tightly to him, with a snuggling movement of her body. and a moment later, tearing herself half out of his embrace, suddenly and exultantly she reached up and placed both hands upon martin eden's sunburnt neck. so exquisite was the pang of love and desire fulfilled that she uttered a low moan, relaxed her hands, and lay half-swooning in his arms. not a word had been spoken, and not a word was spoken for a long time. twice he bent and kissed her, and each time her lips met his shyly and her body made its happy, nestling movement. she clung to him, unable to release herself, and he sat, half supporting her in his arms, as he gazed with unseeing eyes at the blur of the great city across the bay. for once there were no visions in his brain. only colors and lights and glows pulsed there, warm as the day and warm as his love. he bent over her. she was speaking. "when did you love me?" she whispered. "from the first, the very first, the first moment i laid eye on you. i was mad for love of you then, and in all the time that has passed since then i have only grown the madder. i am maddest, now, dear. i am almost a lunatic, my head is so turned with joy." "i am glad i am a woman, martin--dear," she said, after a long sigh. he crushed her in his arms again and again, and then asked:- "and you? when did you first know?" "oh, i knew it all the time, almost, from the first." "and i have been as blind as a bat!" he cried, a ring of vexation in his voice. "i never dreamed it until just how, when i--when i kissed you." "i didn't mean that." she drew herself partly away and looked at him. "i meant i knew you loved almost from the first." "and you?" he demanded. "it came to me suddenly." she was speaking very slowly, her eyes warm and fluttery and melting, a soft flush on her cheeks that did not go away. "i never knew until just now when--you put your arms around me. and i never expected to marry you, martin, not until just now. how did you make me love you?" "i don't know," he laughed, "unless just by loving you, for i loved you hard enough to melt the heart of a stone, much less the heart of the living, breathing woman you are." "this is so different from what i thought love would be," she announced irrelevantly. "what did you think it would be like?" "i didn't think it would be like this." she was looking into his eyes at the moment, but her own dropped as she continued, "you see, i didn't know what this was like." he offered to draw her toward him again, but it was no more than a tentative muscular movement of the girdling arm, for he feared that he might be greedy. then he felt her body yielding, and once again she was close in his arms and lips were pressed on lips. "what will my people say?" she queried, with sudden apprehension, in one of the pauses. "i don't know. we can find out very easily any time we are so minded." "but if mamma objects? i am sure i am afraid to tell her." "let me tell her," he volunteered valiantly. "i think your mother does not like me, but i can win her around. a fellow who can win you can win anything. and if we don't--" "yes?" "why, we'll have each other. but there's no danger not winning your mother to our marriage. she loves you too well." "i should not like to break her heart," ruth said pensively. he felt like assuring her that mothers' hearts were not so easily broken, but instead he said, "and love is the greatest thing in the world." "do you know, martin, you sometimes frighten me. i am frightened now, when i think of you and of what you have been. you must be very, very good to me. remember, after all, that i am only a child. i never loved before." "nor i. we are both children together. and we are fortunate above most, for we have found our first love in each other." "but that is impossible!" she cried, withdrawing herself from his arms with a swift, passionate movement. "impossible for you. you have been a sailor, and sailors, i have heard, are--are--" her voice faltered and died away. "are addicted to having a wife in every port?" he suggested. "is that what you mean?" "yes," she answered in a low voice. "but that is not love." he spoke authoritatively. "i have been in many ports, but i never knew a passing touch of love until i saw you that first night. do you know, when i said good night and went away, i was almost arrested." "arrested?" "yes. the policeman thought i was drunk; and i was, too--with love for you." "but you said we were children, and i said it was impossible, for you, and we have strayed away from the point." "i said that i never loved anybody but you," he replied. "you are my first, my very first." "and yet you have been a sailor," she objected. "but that doesn't prevent me from loving you the first." "and there have been women--other women--oh!" and to martin eden's supreme surprise, she burst into a storm of tears that took more kisses than one and many caresses to drive away. and all the while there was running through his head kipling's line: "_and the colonel's lady and judy o'grady are sisters under their skins_." it was true, he decided; though the novels he had read had led him to believe otherwise. his idea, for which the novels were responsible, had been that only formal proposals obtained in the upper classes. it was all right enough, down whence he had come, for youths and maidens to win each other by contact; but for the exalted personages up above on the heights to make love in similar fashion had seemed unthinkable. yet the novels were wrong. here was a proof of it. the same pressures and caresses, unaccompanied by speech, that were efficacious with the girls of the working-class, were equally efficacious with the girls above the working- class. they were all of the same flesh, after all, sisters under their skins; and he might have known as much himself had he remembered his spencer. as he held ruth in his arms and soothed her, he took great consolation in the thought that the colonel's lady and judy o'grady were pretty much alike under their skins. it brought ruth closer to him, made her possible. her dear flesh was as anybody's flesh, as his flesh. there was no bar to their marriage. class difference was the only difference, and class was extrinsic. it could be shaken off. a slave, he had read, had risen to the roman purple. that being so, then he could rise to ruth. under her purity, and saintliness, and culture, and ethereal beauty of soul, she was, in things fundamentally human, just like lizzie connolly and all lizzie connollys. all that was possible of them was possible of her. she could love, and hate, maybe have hysterics; and she could certainly be jealous, as she was jealous now, uttering her last sobs in his arms. "besides, i am older than you," she remarked suddenly, opening her eyes and looking up at him, "three years older." "hush, you are only a child, and i am forty years older than you, in experience," was his answer. in truth, they were children together, so far as love was concerned, and they were as naive and immature in the expression of their love as a pair of children, and this despite the fact that she was crammed with a university education and that his head was full of scientific philosophy and the hard facts of life. they sat on through the passing glory of the day, talking as lovers are prone to talk, marvelling at the wonder of love and at destiny that had flung them so strangely together, and dogmatically believing that they loved to a degree never attained by lovers before. and they returned insistently, again and again, to a rehearsal of their first impressions of each other and to hopeless attempts to analyze just precisely what they felt for each other and how much there was of it. the cloud-masses on the western horizon received the descending sun, and the circle of the sky turned to rose, while the zenith glowed with the same warm color. the rosy light was all about them, flooding over them, as she sang, "good-by, sweet day." she sang softly, leaning in the cradle of his arm, her hands in his, their hearts in each other's hands. chapter xxii mrs. morse did not require a mother's intuition to read the advertisement in ruth's face when she returned home. the flush that would not leave the cheeks told the simple story, and more eloquently did the eyes, large and bright, reflecting an unmistakable inward glory. "what has happened?" mrs. morse asked, having bided her time till ruth had gone to bed. "you know?" ruth queried, with trembling lips. for reply, her mother's arm went around her, and a hand was softly caressing her hair. "he did not speak," she blurted out. "i did not intend that it should happen, and i would never have let him speak--only he didn't speak." "but if he did not speak, then nothing could have happened, could it?" "but it did, just the same." "in the name of goodness, child, what are you babbling about?" mrs. morse was bewildered. "i don't think i know what happened, after all. what did happen?" ruth looked at her mother in surprise. "i thought you knew. why, we're engaged, martin and i." mrs. morse laughed with incredulous vexation. "no, he didn't speak," ruth explained. "he just loved me, that was all. i was as surprised as you are. he didn't say a word. he just put his arm around me. and--and i was not myself. and he kissed me, and i kissed him. i couldn't help it. i just had to. and then i knew i loved him." she paused, waiting with expectancy the benediction of her mother's kiss, but mrs. morse was coldly silent. "it is a dreadful accident, i know," ruth recommenced with a sinking voice. "and i don't know how you will ever forgive me. but i couldn't help it. i did not dream that i loved him until that moment. and you must tell father for me." "would it not be better not to tell your father? let me see martin eden, and talk with him, and explain. he will understand and release you." "no! no!" ruth cried, starting up. "i do not want to be released. i love him, and love is very sweet. i am going to marry him--of course, if you will let me." "we have other plans for you, ruth, dear, your father and i--oh, no, no; no man picked out for you, or anything like that. our plans go no farther than your marrying some man in your own station in life, a good and honorable gentleman, whom you will select yourself, when you love him." "but i love martin already," was the plaintive protest. "we would not influence your choice in any way; but you are our daughter, and we could not bear to see you make a marriage such as this. he has nothing but roughness and coarseness to offer you in exchange for all that is refined and delicate in you. he is no match for you in any way. he could not support you. we have no foolish ideas about wealth, but comfort is another matter, and our daughter should at least marry a man who can give her that--and not a penniless adventurer, a sailor, a cowboy, a smuggler, and heaven knows what else, who, in addition to everything, is hare-brained and irresponsible." ruth was silent. every word she recognized as true. "he wastes his time over his writing, trying to accomplish what geniuses and rare men with college educations sometimes accomplish. a man thinking of marriage should be preparing for marriage. but not he. as i have said, and i know you agree with me, he is irresponsible. and why should he not be? it is the way of sailors. he has never learned to be economical or temperate. the spendthrift years have marked him. it is not his fault, of course, but that does not alter his nature. and have you thought of the years of licentiousness he inevitably has lived? have you thought of that, daughter? you know what marriage means." ruth shuddered and clung close to her mother. "i have thought." ruth waited a long time for the thought to frame itself. "and it is terrible. it sickens me to think of it. i told you it was a dreadful accident, my loving him; but i can't help myself. could you help loving father? then it is the same with me. there is something in me, in him--i never knew it was there until to-day--but it is there, and it makes me love him. i never thought to love him, but, you see, i do," she concluded, a certain faint triumph in her voice. they talked long, and to little purpose, in conclusion agreeing to wait an indeterminate time without doing anything. the same conclusion was reached, a little later that night, between mrs. morse and her husband, after she had made due confession of the miscarriage of her plans. "it could hardly have come otherwise," was mr. morse's judgment. "this sailor-fellow has been the only man she was in touch with. sooner or later she was going to awaken anyway; and she did awaken, and lo! here was this sailor-fellow, the only accessible man at the moment, and of course she promptly loved him, or thought she did, which amounts to the same thing." mrs. morse took it upon herself to work slowly and indirectly upon ruth, rather than to combat her. there would be plenty of time for this, for martin was not in position to marry. "let her see all she wants of him," was mr. morse's advice. "the more she knows him, the less she'll love him, i wager. and give her plenty of contrast. make a point of having young people at the house. young women and young men, all sorts of young men, clever men, men who have done something or who are doing things, men of her own class, gentlemen. she can gauge him by them. they will show him up for what he is. and after all, he is a mere boy of twenty-one. ruth is no more than a child. it is calf love with the pair of them, and they will grow out of it." so the matter rested. within the family it was accepted that ruth and martin were engaged, but no announcement was made. the family did not think it would ever be necessary. also, it was tacitly understood that it was to be a long engagement. they did not ask martin to go to work, nor to cease writing. they did not intend to encourage him to mend himself. and he aided and abetted them in their unfriendly designs, for going to work was farthest from his thoughts. "i wonder if you'll like what i have done!" he said to ruth several days later. "i've decided that boarding with my sister is too expensive, and i am going to board myself. i've rented a little room out in north oakland, retired neighborhood and all the rest, you know, and i've bought an oil-burner on which to cook." ruth was overjoyed. the oil-burner especially pleased her. "that was the way mr. butler began his start," she said. martin frowned inwardly at the citation of that worthy gentleman, and went on: "i put stamps on all my manuscripts and started them off to the editors again. then to-day i moved in, and to-morrow i start to work." "a position!" she cried, betraying the gladness of her surprise in all her body, nestling closer to him, pressing his hand, smiling. "and you never told me! what is it?" he shook his head. "i meant that i was going to work at my writing." her face fell, and he went on hastily. "don't misjudge me. i am not going in this time with any iridescent ideas. it is to be a cold, prosaic, matter-of-fact business proposition. it is better than going to sea again, and i shall earn more money than any position in oakland can bring an unskilled man." "you see, this vacation i have taken has given me perspective. i haven't been working the life out of my body, and i haven't been writing, at least not for publication. all i've done has been to love you and to think. i've read some, too, but it has been part of my thinking, and i have read principally magazines. i have generalized about myself, and the world, my place in it, and my chance to win to a place that will be fit for you. also, i've been reading spencer's 'philosophy of style,' and found out a lot of what was the matter with me--or my writing, rather; and for that matter with most of the writing that is published every month in the magazines." "but the upshot of it all--of my thinking and reading and loving--is that i am going to move to grub street. i shall leave masterpieces alone and do hack-work--jokes, paragraphs, feature articles, humorous verse, and society verse--all the rot for which there seems so much demand. then there are the newspaper syndicates, and the newspaper short-story syndicates, and the syndicates for the sunday supplements. i can go ahead and hammer out the stuff they want, and earn the equivalent of a good salary by it. there are free-lances, you know, who earn as much as four or five hundred a month. i don't care to become as they; but i'll earn a good living, and have plenty of time to myself, which i wouldn't have in any position." "then, i'll have my spare time for study and for real work. in between the grind i'll try my hand at masterpieces, and i'll study and prepare myself for the writing of masterpieces. why, i am amazed at the distance i have come already. when i first tried to write, i had nothing to write about except a few paltry experiences which i neither understood nor appreciated. but i had no thoughts. i really didn't. i didn't even have the words with which to think. my experiences were so many meaningless pictures. but as i began to add to my knowledge, and to my vocabulary, i saw something more in my experiences than mere pictures. i retained the pictures and i found their interpretation. that was when i began to do good work, when i wrote 'adventure,' 'joy,' 'the pot,' 'the wine of life,' 'the jostling street,' the 'love-cycle,' and the 'sea lyrics.' i shall write more like them, and better; but i shall do it in my spare time. my feet are on the solid earth, now. hack-work and income first, masterpieces afterward. just to show you, i wrote half a dozen jokes last night for the comic weeklies; and just as i was going to bed, the thought struck me to try my hand at a triolet--a humorous one; and inside an hour i had written four. they ought to be worth a dollar apiece. four dollars right there for a few afterthoughts on the way to bed." "of course it's all valueless, just so much dull and sordid plodding; but it is no more dull and sordid than keeping books at sixty dollars a month, adding up endless columns of meaningless figures until one dies. and furthermore, the hack-work keeps me in touch with things literary and gives me time to try bigger things." "but what good are these bigger-things, these masterpieces?" ruth demanded. "you can't sell them." "oh, yes, i can," he began; but she interrupted. "all those you named, and which you say yourself are good--you have not sold any of them. we can't get married on masterpieces that won't sell." "then we'll get married on triolets that will sell," he asserted stoutly, putting his arm around her and drawing a very unresponsive sweetheart toward him. "listen to this," he went on in attempted gayety. "it's not art, but it's a dollar. "he came in when i was out, to borrow some tin was why he came in, and he went without; so i was in and he was out." the merry lilt with which he had invested the jingle was at variance with the dejection that came into his face as he finished. he had drawn no smile from ruth. she was looking at him in an earnest and troubled way. "it may be a dollar," she said, "but it is a jester's dollar, the fee of a clown. don't you see, martin, the whole thing is lowering. i want the man i love and honor to be something finer and higher than a perpetrator of jokes and doggerel." "you want him to be like--say mr. butler?" he suggested. "i know you don't like mr. butler," she began. "mr. butler's all right," he interrupted. "it's only his indigestion i find fault with. but to save me i can't see any difference between writing jokes or comic verse and running a type-writer, taking dictation, or keeping sets of books. it is all a means to an end. your theory is for me to begin with keeping books in order to become a successful lawyer or man of business. mine is to begin with hack-work and develop into an able author." "there is a difference," she insisted. "what is it?" "why, your good work, what you yourself call good, you can't sell. you have tried, you know that,--but the editors won't buy it." "give me time, dear," he pleaded. "the hack-work is only makeshift, and i don't take it seriously. give me two years. i shall succeed in that time, and the editors will be glad to buy my good work. i know what i am saying; i have faith in myself. i know what i have in me; i know what literature is, now; i know the average rot that is poured out by a lot of little men; and i know that at the end of two years i shall be on the highroad to success. as for business, i shall never succeed at it. i am not in sympathy with it. it strikes me as dull, and stupid, and mercenary, and tricky. anyway i am not adapted for it. i'd never get beyond a clerkship, and how could you and i be happy on the paltry earnings of a clerk? i want the best of everything in the world for you, and the only time when i won't want it will be when there is something better. and i'm going to get it, going to get all of it. the income of a successful author makes mr. butler look cheap. a 'best-seller' will earn anywhere between fifty and a hundred thousand dollars--sometimes more and sometimes less; but, as a rule, pretty close to those figures." she remained silent; her disappointment was apparent. "well?" he asked. "i had hoped and planned otherwise. i had thought, and i still think, that the best thing for you would be to study shorthand--you already know type-writing--and go into father's office. you have a good mind, and i am confident you would succeed as a lawyer." chapter xxiii that ruth had little faith in his power as a writer, did not alter her nor diminish her in martin's eyes. in the breathing spell of the vacation he had taken, he had spent many hours in self-analysis, and thereby learned much of himself. he had discovered that he loved beauty more than fame, and that what desire he had for fame was largely for ruth's sake. it was for this reason that his desire for fame was strong. he wanted to be great in the world's eyes; "to make good," as he expressed it, in order that the woman he loved should be proud of him and deem him worthy. as for himself, he loved beauty passionately, and the joy of serving her was to him sufficient wage. and more than beauty he loved ruth. he considered love the finest thing in the world. it was love that had worked the revolution in him, changing him from an uncouth sailor to a student and an artist; therefore, to him, the finest and greatest of the three, greater than learning and artistry, was love. already he had discovered that his brain went beyond ruth's, just as it went beyond the brains of her brothers, or the brain of her father. in spite of every advantage of university training, and in the face of her bachelorship of arts, his power of intellect overshadowed hers, and his year or so of self-study and equipment gave him a mastery of the affairs of the world and art and life that she could never hope to possess. all this he realized, but it did not affect his love for her, nor her love for him. love was too fine and noble, and he was too loyal a lover for him to besmirch love with criticism. what did love have to do with ruth's divergent views on art, right conduct, the french revolution, or equal suffrage? they were mental processes, but love was beyond reason; it was superrational. he could not belittle love. he worshipped it. love lay on the mountain-tops beyond the valley-land of reason. it was a sublimates condition of existence, the topmost peak of living, and it came rarely. thanks to the school of scientific philosophers he favored, he knew the biological significance of love; but by a refined process of the same scientific reasoning he reached the conclusion that the human organism achieved its highest purpose in love, that love must not be questioned, but must be accepted as the highest guerdon of life. thus, he considered the lover blessed over all creatures, and it was a delight to him to think of "god's own mad lover," rising above the things of earth, above wealth and judgment, public opinion and applause, rising above life itself and "dying on a kiss." much of this martin had already reasoned out, and some of it he reasoned out later. in the meantime he worked, taking no recreation except when he went to see ruth, and living like a spartan. he paid two dollars and a half a month rent for the small room he got from his portuguese landlady, maria silva, a virago and a widow, hard working and harsher tempered, rearing her large brood of children somehow, and drowning her sorrow and fatigue at irregular intervals in a gallon of the thin, sour wine that she bought from the corner grocery and saloon for fifteen cents. from detesting her and her foul tongue at first, martin grew to admire her as he observed the brave fight she made. there were but four rooms in the little house--three, when martin's was subtracted. one of these, the parlor, gay with an ingrain carpet and dolorous with a funeral card and a death-picture of one of her numerous departed babes, was kept strictly for company. the blinds were always down, and her barefooted tribe was never permitted to enter the sacred precinct save on state occasions. she cooked, and all ate, in the kitchen, where she likewise washed, starched, and ironed clothes on all days of the week except sunday; for her income came largely from taking in washing from her more prosperous neighbors. remained the bedroom, small as the one occupied by martin, into which she and her seven little ones crowded and slept. it was an everlasting miracle to martin how it was accomplished, and from her side of the thin partition he heard nightly every detail of the going to bed, the squalls and squabbles, the soft chattering, and the sleepy, twittering noises as of birds. another source of income to maria were her cows, two of them, which she milked night and morning and which gained a surreptitious livelihood from vacant lots and the grass that grew on either side the public side walks, attended always by one or more of her ragged boys, whose watchful guardianship consisted chiefly in keeping their eyes out for the poundmen. in his own small room martin lived, slept, studied, wrote, and kept house. before the one window, looking out on the tiny front porch, was the kitchen table that served as desk, library, and type-writing stand. the bed, against the rear wall, occupied two-thirds of the total space of the room. the table was flanked on one side by a gaudy bureau, manufactured for profit and not for service, the thin veneer of which was shed day by day. this bureau stood in the corner, and in the opposite corner, on the table's other flank, was the kitchen--the oil-stove on a dry-goods box, inside of which were dishes and cooking utensils, a shelf on the wall for provisions, and a bucket of water on the floor. martin had to carry his water from the kitchen sink, there being no tap in his room. on days when there was much steam to his cooking, the harvest of veneer from the bureau was unusually generous. over the bed, hoisted by a tackle to the ceiling, was his bicycle. at first he had tried to keep it in the basement; but the tribe of silva, loosening the bearings and puncturing the tires, had driven him out. next he attempted the tiny front porch, until a howling southeaster drenched the wheel a night-long. then he had retreated with it to his room and slung it aloft. a small closet contained his clothes and the books he had accumulated and for which there was no room on the table or under the table. hand in hand with reading, he had developed the habit of making notes, and so copiously did he make them that there would have been no existence for him in the confined quarters had he not rigged several clothes-lines across the room on which the notes were hung. even so, he was crowded until navigating the room was a difficult task. he could not open the door without first closing the closet door, and vice versa. it was impossible for him anywhere to traverse the room in a straight line. to go from the door to the head of the bed was a zigzag course that he was never quite able to accomplish in the dark without collisions. having settled the difficulty of the conflicting doors, he had to steer sharply to the right to avoid the kitchen. next, he sheered to the left, to escape the foot of the bed; but this sheer, if too generous, brought him against the corner of the table. with a sudden twitch and lurch, he terminated the sheer and bore off to the right along a sort of canal, one bank of which was the bed, the other the table. when the one chair in the room was at its usual place before the table, the canal was unnavigable. when the chair was not in use, it reposed on top of the bed, though sometimes he sat on the chair when cooking, reading a book while the water boiled, and even becoming skilful enough to manage a paragraph or two while steak was frying. also, so small was the little corner that constituted the kitchen, he was able, sitting down, to reach anything he needed. in fact, it was expedient to cook sitting down; standing up, he was too often in his own way. in conjunction with a perfect stomach that could digest anything, he possessed knowledge of the various foods that were at the same time nutritious and cheap. pea-soup was a common article in his diet, as well as potatoes and beans, the latter large and brown and cooked in mexican style. rice, cooked as american housewives never cook it and can never learn to cook it, appeared on martin's table at least once a day. dried fruits were less expensive than fresh, and he had usually a pot of them, cooked and ready at hand, for they took the place of butter on his bread. occasionally he graced his table with a piece of round-steak, or with a soup-bone. coffee, without cream or milk, he had twice a day, in the evening substituting tea; but both coffee and tea were excellently cooked. there was need for him to be economical. his vacation had consumed nearly all he had earned in the laundry, and he was so far from his market that weeks must elapse before he could hope for the first returns from his hack-work. except at such times as he saw ruth, or dropped in to see his sister gertude, he lived a recluse, in each day accomplishing at least three days' labor of ordinary men. he slept a scant five hours, and only one with a constitution of iron could have held himself down, as martin did, day after day, to nineteen consecutive hours of toil. he never lost a moment. on the looking-glass were lists of definitions and pronunciations; when shaving, or dressing, or combing his hair, he conned these lists over. similar lists were on the wall over the oil-stove, and they were similarly conned while he was engaged in cooking or in washing the dishes. new lists continually displaced the old ones. every strange or partly familiar word encountered in his reading was immediately jotted down, and later, when a sufficient number had been accumulated, were typed and pinned to the wall or looking-glass. he even carried them in his pockets, and reviewed them at odd moments on the street, or while waiting in butcher shop or grocery to be served. he went farther in the matter. reading the works of men who had arrived, he noted every result achieved by them, and worked out the tricks by which they had been achieved--the tricks of narrative, of exposition, of style, the points of view, the contrasts, the epigrams; and of all these he made lists for study. he did not ape. he sought principles. he drew up lists of effective and fetching mannerisms, till out of many such, culled from many writers, he was able to induce the general principle of mannerism, and, thus equipped, to cast about for new and original ones of his own, and to weigh and measure and appraise them properly. in similar manner he collected lists of strong phrases, the phrases of living language, phrases that bit like acid and scorched like flame, or that glowed and were mellow and luscious in the midst of the arid desert of common speech. he sought always for the principle that lay behind and beneath. he wanted to know how the thing was done; after that he could do it for himself. he was not content with the fair face of beauty. he dissected beauty in his crowded little bedroom laboratory, where cooking smells alternated with the outer bedlam of the silva tribe; and, having dissected and learned the anatomy of beauty, he was nearer being able to create beauty itself. he was so made that he could work only with understanding. he could not work blindly, in the dark, ignorant of what he was producing and trusting to chance and the star of his genius that the effect produced should be right and fine. he had no patience with chance effects. he wanted to know why and how. his was deliberate creative genius, and, before he began a story or poem, the thing itself was already alive in his brain, with the end in sight and the means of realizing that end in his conscious possession. otherwise the effort was doomed to failure. on the other hand, he appreciated the chance effects in words and phrases that came lightly and easily into his brain, and that later stood all tests of beauty and power and developed tremendous and incommunicable connotations. before such he bowed down and marvelled, knowing that they were beyond the deliberate creation of any man. and no matter how much he dissected beauty in search of the principles that underlie beauty and make beauty possible, he was aware, always, of the innermost mystery of beauty to which he did not penetrate and to which no man had ever penetrated. he knew full well, from his spencer, that man can never attain ultimate knowledge of anything, and that the mystery of beauty was no less than that of life--nay, more that the fibres of beauty and life were intertwisted, and that he himself was but a bit of the same nonunderstandable fabric, twisted of sunshine and star-dust and wonder. in fact, it was when filled with these thoughts that he wrote his essay entitled "star-dust," in which he had his fling, not at the principles of criticism, but at the principal critics. it was brilliant, deep, philosophical, and deliciously touched with laughter. also it was promptly rejected by the magazines as often as it was submitted. but having cleared his mind of it, he went serenely on his way. it was a habit he developed, of incubating and maturing his thought upon a subject, and of then rushing into the type-writer with it. that it did not see print was a matter of small moment with him. the writing of it was the culminating act of a long mental process, the drawing together of scattered threads of thought and the final generalizing upon all the data with which his mind was burdened. to write such an article was the conscious effort by which he freed his mind and made it ready for fresh material and problems. it was in a way akin to that common habit of men and women troubled by real or fancied grievances, who periodically and volubly break their long-suffering silence and "have their say" till the last word is said. chapter xxiv the weeks passed. martin ran out of money, and publishers' checks were far away as ever. all his important manuscripts had come back and been started out again, and his hack-work fared no better. his little kitchen was no longer graced with a variety of foods. caught in the pinch with a part sack of rice and a few pounds of dried apricots, rice and apricots was his menu three times a day for five days hand-running. then he startled to realize on his credit. the portuguese grocer, to whom he had hitherto paid cash, called a halt when martin's bill reached the magnificent total of three dollars and eighty-five cents. "for you see," said the grocer, "you no catcha da work, i losa da mon'." and martin could reply nothing. there was no way of explaining. it was not true business principle to allow credit to a strong-bodied young fellow of the working-class who was too lazy to work. "you catcha da job, i let you have mora da grub," the grocer assured martin. "no job, no grub. thata da business." and then, to show that it was purely business foresight and not prejudice, "hava da drink on da house--good friends justa da same." so martin drank, in his easy way, to show that he was good friends with the house, and then went supperless to bed. the fruit store, where martin had bought his vegetables, was run by an american whose business principles were so weak that he let martin run a bill of five dollars before stopping his credit. the baker stopped at two dollars, and the butcher at four dollars. martin added his debts and found that he was possessed of a total credit in all the world of fourteen dollars and eighty-five cents. he was up with his type-writer rent, but he estimated that he could get two months' credit on that, which would be eight dollars. when that occurred, he would have exhausted all possible credit. the last purchase from the fruit store had been a sack of potatoes, and for a week he had potatoes, and nothing but potatoes, three times a day. an occasional dinner at ruth's helped to keep strength in his body, though he found it tantalizing enough to refuse further helping when his appetite was raging at sight of so much food spread before it. now and again, though afflicted with secret shame, he dropped in at his sister's at meal-time and ate as much as he dared--more than he dared at the morse table. day by day he worked on, and day by day the postman delivered to him rejected manuscripts. he had no money for stamps, so the manuscripts accumulated in a heap under the table. came a day when for forty hours he had not tasted food. he could not hope for a meal at ruth's, for she was away to san rafael on a two weeks' visit; and for very shame's sake he could not go to his sister's. to cap misfortune, the postman, in his afternoon round, brought him five returned manuscripts. then it was that martin wore his overcoat down into oakland, and came back without it, but with five dollars tinkling in his pocket. he paid a dollar each on account to the four tradesmen, and in his kitchen fried steak and onions, made coffee, and stewed a large pot of prunes. and having dined, he sat down at his table-desk and completed before midnight an essay which he entitled "the dignity of usury." having typed it out, he flung it under the table, for there had been nothing left from the five dollars with which to buy stamps. later on he pawned his watch, and still later his wheel, reducing the amount available for food by putting stamps on all his manuscripts and sending them out. he was disappointed with his hack-work. nobody cared to buy. he compared it with what he found in the newspapers, weeklies, and cheap magazines, and decided that his was better, far better, than the average; yet it would not sell. then he discovered that most of the newspapers printed a great deal of what was called "plate" stuff, and he got the address of the association that furnished it. his own work that he sent in was returned, along with a stereotyped slip informing him that the staff supplied all the copy that was needed. in one of the great juvenile periodicals he noted whole columns of incident and anecdote. here was a chance. his paragraphs were returned, and though he tried repeatedly he never succeeded in placing one. later on, when it no longer mattered, he learned that the associate editors and sub-editors augmented their salaries by supplying those paragraphs themselves. the comic weeklies returned his jokes and humorous verse, and the light society verse he wrote for the large magazines found no abiding-place. then there was the newspaper storiette. he knew that he could write better ones than were published. managing to obtain the addresses of two newspaper syndicates, he deluged them with storiettes. when he had written twenty and failed to place one of them, he ceased. and yet, from day to day, he read storiettes in the dailies and weeklies, scores and scores of storiettes, not one of which would compare with his. in his despondency, he concluded that he had no judgment whatever, that he was hypnotized by what he wrote, and that he was a self-deluded pretender. the inhuman editorial machine ran smoothly as ever. he folded the stamps in with his manuscript, dropped it into the letter-box, and from three weeks to a month afterward the postman came up the steps and handed him the manuscript. surely there were no live, warm editors at the other end. it was all wheels and cogs and oil-cups--a clever mechanism operated by automatons. he reached stages of despair wherein he doubted if editors existed at all. he had never received a sign of the existence of one, and from absence of judgment in rejecting all he wrote it seemed plausible that editors were myths, manufactured and maintained by office boys, typesetters, and pressmen. the hours he spent with ruth were the only happy ones he had, and they were not all happy. he was afflicted always with a gnawing restlessness, more tantalizing than in the old days before he possessed her love; for now that he did possess her love, the possession of her was far away as ever. he had asked for two years; time was flying, and he was achieving nothing. again, he was always conscious of the fact that she did not approve what he was doing. she did not say so directly. yet indirectly she let him understand it as clearly and definitely as she could have spoken it. it was not resentment with her, but disapproval; though less sweet-natured women might have resented where she was no more than disappointed. her disappointment lay in that this man she had taken to mould, refused to be moulded. to a certain extent she had found his clay plastic, then it had developed stubbornness, declining to be shaped in the image of her father or of mr. butler. what was great and strong in him, she missed, or, worse yet, misunderstood. this man, whose clay was so plastic that he could live in any number of pigeonholes of human existence, she thought wilful and most obstinate because she could not shape him to live in her pigeonhole, which was the only one she knew. she could not follow the flights of his mind, and when his brain got beyond her, she deemed him erratic. nobody else's brain ever got beyond her. she could always follow her father and mother, her brothers and olney; wherefore, when she could not follow martin, she believed the fault lay with him. it was the old tragedy of insularity trying to serve as mentor to the universal. "you worship at the shrine of the established," he told her once, in a discussion they had over praps and vanderwater. "i grant that as authorities to quote they are most excellent--the two foremost literary critics in the united states. every school teacher in the land looks up to vanderwater as the dean of american criticism. yet i read his stuff, and it seems to me the perfection of the felicitous expression of the inane. why, he is no more than a ponderous bromide, thanks to gelett burgess. and praps is no better. his 'hemlock mosses,' for instance is beautifully written. not a comma is out of place; and the tone--ah!--is lofty, so lofty. he is the best-paid critic in the united states. though, heaven forbid! he's not a critic at all. they do criticism better in england. "but the point is, they sound the popular note, and they sound it so beautifully and morally and contentedly. their reviews remind me of a british sunday. they are the popular mouthpieces. they back up your professors of english, and your professors of english back them up. and there isn't an original idea in any of their skulls. they know only the established,--in fact, they are the established. they are weak minded, and the established impresses itself upon them as easily as the name of the brewery is impressed on a beer bottle. and their function is to catch all the young fellows attending the university, to drive out of their minds any glimmering originality that may chance to be there, and to put upon them the stamp of the established." "i think i am nearer the truth," she replied, "when i stand by the established, than you are, raging around like an iconoclastic south sea islander." "it was the missionary who did the image breaking," he laughed. "and unfortunately, all the missionaries are off among the heathen, so there are none left at home to break those old images, mr. vanderwater and mr. praps." "and the college professors, as well," she added. he shook his head emphatically. "no; the science professors should live. they're really great. but it would be a good deed to break the heads of nine-tenths of the english professors--little, microscopic-minded parrots!" which was rather severe on the professors, but which to ruth was blasphemy. she could not help but measure the professors, neat, scholarly, in fitting clothes, speaking in well-modulated voices, breathing of culture and refinement, with this almost indescribable young fellow whom somehow she loved, whose clothes never would fit him, whose heavy muscles told of damning toil, who grew excited when he talked, substituting abuse for calm statement and passionate utterance for cool self-possession. they at least earned good salaries and were--yes, she compelled herself to face it--were gentlemen; while he could not earn a penny, and he was not as they. she did not weigh martin's words nor judge his argument by them. her conclusion that his argument was wrong was reached--unconsciously, it is true--by a comparison of externals. they, the professors, were right in their literary judgments because they were successes. martin's literary judgments were wrong because he could not sell his wares. to use his own phrase, they made good, and he did not make good. and besides, it did not seem reasonable that he should be right--he who had stood, so short a time before, in that same living room, blushing and awkward, acknowledging his introduction, looking fearfully about him at the bric-a- brac his swinging shoulders threatened to break, asking how long since swinburne died, and boastfully announcing that he had read "excelsior" and the "psalm of life." unwittingly, ruth herself proved his point that she worshipped the established. martin followed the processes of her thoughts, but forbore to go farther. he did not love her for what she thought of praps and vanderwater and english professors, and he was coming to realize, with increasing conviction, that he possessed brain-areas and stretches of knowledge which she could never comprehend nor know existed. in music she thought him unreasonable, and in the matter of opera not only unreasonable but wilfully perverse. "how did you like it?" she asked him one night, on the way home from the opera. it was a night when he had taken her at the expense of a month's rigid economizing on food. after vainly waiting for him to speak about it, herself still tremulous and stirred by what she had just seen and heard, she had asked the question. "i liked the overture," was his answer. "it was splendid." "yes, but the opera itself?" "that was splendid too; that is, the orchestra was, though i'd have enjoyed it more if those jumping-jacks had kept quiet or gone off the stage." ruth was aghast. "you don't mean tetralani or barillo?" she queried. "all of them--the whole kit and crew." "but they are great artists," she protested. "they spoiled the music just the same, with their antics and unrealities." "but don't you like barillo's voice?" ruth asked. "he is next to caruso, they say." "of course i liked him, and i liked tetralani even better. her voice is exquisite--or at least i think so." "but, but--" ruth stammered. "i don't know what you mean, then. you admire their voices, yet say they spoiled the music." "precisely that. i'd give anything to hear them in concert, and i'd give even a bit more not to hear them when the orchestra is playing. i'm afraid i am a hopeless realist. great singers are not great actors. to hear barillo sing a love passage with the voice of an angel, and to hear tetralani reply like another angel, and to hear it all accompanied by a perfect orgy of glowing and colorful music--is ravishing, most ravishing. i do not admit it. i assert it. but the whole effect is spoiled when i look at them--at tetralani, five feet ten in her stocking feet and weighing a hundred and ninety pounds, and at barillo, a scant five feet four, greasy-featured, with the chest of a squat, undersized blacksmith, and at the pair of them, attitudinizing, clasping their breasts, flinging their arms in the air like demented creatures in an asylum; and when i am expected to accept all this as the faithful illusion of a love-scene between a slender and beautiful princess and a handsome, romantic, young prince--why, i can't accept it, that's all. it's rot; it's absurd; it's unreal. that's what's the matter with it. it's not real. don't tell me that anybody in this world ever made love that way. why, if i'd made love to you in such fashion, you'd have boxed my ears." "but you misunderstand," ruth protested. "every form of art has its limitations." (she was busy recalling a lecture she had heard at the university on the conventions of the arts.) "in painting there are only two dimensions to the canvas, yet you accept the illusion of three dimensions which the art of a painter enables him to throw into the canvas. in writing, again, the author must be omnipotent. you accept as perfectly legitimate the author's account of the secret thoughts of the heroine, and yet all the time you know that the heroine was alone when thinking these thoughts, and that neither the author nor any one else was capable of hearing them. and so with the stage, with sculpture, with opera, with every art form. certain irreconcilable things must be accepted." "yes, i understood that," martin answered. "all the arts have their conventions." (ruth was surprised at his use of the word. it was as if he had studied at the university himself, instead of being ill-equipped from browsing at haphazard through the books in the library.) "but even the conventions must be real. trees, painted on flat cardboard and stuck up on each side of the stage, we accept as a forest. it is a real enough convention. but, on the other hand, we would not accept a sea scene as a forest. we can't do it. it violates our senses. nor would you, or, rather, should you, accept the ravings and writhings and agonized contortions of those two lunatics to-night as a convincing portrayal of love." "but you don't hold yourself superior to all the judges of music?" she protested. "no, no, not for a moment. i merely maintain my right as an individual. i have just been telling you what i think, in order to explain why the elephantine gambols of madame tetralani spoil the orchestra for me. the world's judges of music may all be right. but i am i, and i won't subordinate my taste to the unanimous judgment of mankind. if i don't like a thing, i don't like it, that's all; and there is no reason under the sun why i should ape a liking for it just because the majority of my fellow-creatures like it, or make believe they like it. i can't follow the fashions in the things i like or dislike." "but music, you know, is a matter of training," ruth argued; "and opera is even more a matter of training. may it not be--" "that i am not trained in opera?" he dashed in. she nodded. "the very thing," he agreed. "and i consider i am fortunate in not having been caught when i was young. if i had, i could have wept sentimental tears to-night, and the clownish antics of that precious pair would have but enhanced the beauty of their voices and the beauty of the accompanying orchestra. you are right. it's mostly a matter of training. and i am too old, now. i must have the real or nothing. an illusion that won't convince is a palpable lie, and that's what grand opera is to me when little barillo throws a fit, clutches mighty tetralani in his arms (also in a fit), and tells her how passionately he adores her." again ruth measured his thoughts by comparison of externals and in accordance with her belief in the established. who was he that he should be right and all the cultured world wrong? his words and thoughts made no impression upon her. she was too firmly intrenched in the established to have any sympathy with revolutionary ideas. she had always been used to music, and she had enjoyed opera ever since she was a child, and all her world had enjoyed it, too. then by what right did martin eden emerge, as he had so recently emerged, from his rag-time and working-class songs, and pass judgment on the world's music? she was vexed with him, and as she walked beside him she had a vague feeling of outrage. at the best, in her most charitable frame of mind, she considered the statement of his views to be a caprice, an erratic and uncalled-for prank. but when he took her in his arms at the door and kissed her good night in tender lover-fashion, she forgot everything in the outrush of her own love to him. and later, on a sleepless pillow, she puzzled, as she had often puzzled of late, as to how it was that she loved so strange a man, and loved him despite the disapproval of her people. and next day martin eden cast hack-work aside, and at white heat hammered out an essay to which he gave the title, "the philosophy of illusion." a stamp started it on its travels, but it was destined to receive many stamps and to be started on many travels in the months that followed. chapter xxv maria silva was poor, and all the ways of poverty were clear to her. poverty, to ruth, was a word signifying a not-nice condition of existence. that was her total knowledge on the subject. she knew martin was poor, and his condition she associated in her mind with the boyhood of abraham lincoln, of mr. butler, and of other men who had become successes. also, while aware that poverty was anything but delectable, she had a comfortable middle-class feeling that poverty was salutary, that it was a sharp spur that urged on to success all men who were not degraded and hopeless drudges. so that her knowledge that martin was so poor that he had pawned his watch and overcoat did not disturb her. she even considered it the hopeful side of the situation, believing that sooner or later it would arouse him and compel him to abandon his writing. ruth never read hunger in martin's face, which had grown lean and had enlarged the slight hollows in the cheeks. in fact, she marked the change in his face with satisfaction. it seemed to refine him, to remove from him much of the dross of flesh and the too animal-like vigor that lured her while she detested it. sometimes, when with her, she noted an unusual brightness in his eyes, and she admired it, for it made him appear more the poet and the scholar--the things he would have liked to be and which she would have liked him to be. but maria silva read a different tale in the hollow cheeks and the burning eyes, and she noted the changes in them from day to day, by them following the ebb and flow of his fortunes. she saw him leave the house with his overcoat and return without it, though the day was chill and raw, and promptly she saw his cheeks fill out slightly and the fire of hunger leave his eyes. in the same way she had seen his wheel and watch go, and after each event she had seen his vigor bloom again. likewise she watched his toils, and knew the measure of the midnight oil he burned. work! she knew that he outdid her, though his work was of a different order. and she was surprised to behold that the less food he had, the harder he worked. on occasion, in a casual sort of way, when she thought hunger pinched hardest, she would send him in a loaf of new baking, awkwardly covering the act with banter to the effect that it was better than he could bake. and again, she would send one of her toddlers in to him with a great pitcher of hot soup, debating inwardly the while whether she was justified in taking it from the mouths of her own flesh and blood. nor was martin ungrateful, knowing as he did the lives of the poor, and that if ever in the world there was charity, this was it. on a day when she had filled her brood with what was left in the house, maria invested her last fifteen cents in a gallon of cheap wine. martin, coming into her kitchen to fetch water, was invited to sit down and drink. he drank her very-good health, and in return she drank his. then she drank to prosperity in his undertakings, and he drank to the hope that james grant would show up and pay her for his washing. james grant was a journeymen carpenter who did not always pay his bills and who owed maria three dollars. both maria and martin drank the sour new wine on empty stomachs, and it went swiftly to their heads. utterly differentiated creatures that they were, they were lonely in their misery, and though the misery was tacitly ignored, it was the bond that drew them together. maria was amazed to learn that he had been in the azores, where she had lived until she was eleven. she was doubly amazed that he had been in the hawaiian islands, whither she had migrated from the azores with her people. but her amazement passed all bounds when he told her he had been on maui, the particular island whereon she had attained womanhood and married. kahului, where she had first met her husband,--he, martin, had been there twice! yes, she remembered the sugar steamers, and he had been on them--well, well, it was a small world. and wailuku! that place, too! did he know the head-luna of the plantation? yes, and had had a couple of drinks with him. and so they reminiscenced and drowned their hunger in the raw, sour wine. to martin the future did not seem so dim. success trembled just before him. he was on the verge of clasping it. then he studied the deep-lined face of the toil-worn woman before him, remembered her soups and loaves of new baking, and felt spring up in him the warmest gratitude and philanthropy. "maria," he exclaimed suddenly. "what would you like to have?" she looked at him, bepuzzled. "what would you like to have now, right now, if you could get it?" "shoe alla da roun' for da childs--seven pairs da shoe." "you shall have them," he announced, while she nodded her head gravely. "but i mean a big wish, something big that you want." her eyes sparkled good-naturedly. he was choosing to make fun with her, maria, with whom few made fun these days. "think hard," he cautioned, just as she was opening her mouth to speak. "alla right," she answered. "i thinka da hard. i lika da house, dis house--all mine, no paya da rent, seven dollar da month." "you shall have it," he granted, "and in a short time. now wish the great wish. make believe i am god, and i say to you anything you want you can have. then you wish that thing, and i listen." maria considered solemnly for a space. "you no 'fraid?" she asked warningly. "no, no," he laughed, "i'm not afraid. go ahead." "most verra big," she warned again. "all right. fire away." "well, den--" she drew a big breath like a child, as she voiced to the uttermost all she cared to demand of life. "i lika da have one milka ranch--good milka ranch. plenty cow, plenty land, plenty grass. i lika da have near san le-an; my sister liva dere. i sella da milk in oakland. i maka da plentee mon. joe an' nick no runna da cow. dey go-a to school. bimeby maka da good engineer, worka da railroad. yes, i lika da milka ranch." she paused and regarded martin with twinkling eyes. "you shall have it," he answered promptly. she nodded her head and touched her lips courteously to the wine-glass and to the giver of the gift she knew would never be given. his heart was right, and in her own heart she appreciated his intention as much as if the gift had gone with it. "no, maria," he went on; "nick and joe won't have to peddle milk, and all the kids can go to school and wear shoes the whole year round. it will be a first-class milk ranch--everything complete. there will be a house to live in and a stable for the horses, and cow-barns, of course. there will be chickens, pigs, vegetables, fruit trees, and everything like that; and there will be enough cows to pay for a hired man or two. then you won't have anything to do but take care of the children. for that matter, if you find a good man, you can marry and take it easy while he runs the ranch." and from such largess, dispensed from his future, martin turned and took his one good suit of clothes to the pawnshop. his plight was desperate for him to do this, for it cut him off from ruth. he had no second-best suit that was presentable, and though he could go to the butcher and the baker, and even on occasion to his sister's, it was beyond all daring to dream of entering the morse home so disreputably apparelled. he toiled on, miserable and well-nigh hopeless. it began to appear to him that the second battle was lost and that he would have to go to work. in doing this he would satisfy everybody--the grocer, his sister, ruth, and even maria, to whom he owed a month's room rent. he was two months behind with his type-writer, and the agency was clamoring for payment or for the return of the machine. in desperation, all but ready to surrender, to make a truce with fate until he could get a fresh start, he took the civil service examinations for the railway mail. to his surprise, he passed first. the job was assured, though when the call would come to enter upon his duties nobody knew. it was at this time, at the lowest ebb, that the smooth-running editorial machine broke down. a cog must have slipped or an oil-cup run dry, for the postman brought him one morning a short, thin envelope. martin glanced at the upper left-hand corner and read the name and address of the transcontinental monthly. his heart gave a great leap, and he suddenly felt faint, the sinking feeling accompanied by a strange trembling of the knees. he staggered into his room and sat down on the bed, the envelope still unopened, and in that moment came understanding to him how people suddenly fall dead upon receipt of extraordinarily good news. of course this was good news. there was no manuscript in that thin envelope, therefore it was an acceptance. he knew the story in the hands of the transcontinental. it was "the ring of bells," one of his horror stories, and it was an even five thousand words. and, since first-class magazines always paid on acceptance, there was a check inside. two cents a word--twenty dollars a thousand; the check must be a hundred dollars. one hundred dollars! as he tore the envelope open, every item of all his debts surged in his brain--$ . to the grocer; butcher $ . flat; baker, $ . ; fruit store, $ . ; total, $ . . then there was room rent, $ . ; another month in advance, $ . ; two months' type-writer, $ . ; a month in advance, $ . ; total, $ . . and finally to be added, his pledges, plus interest, with the pawnbroker--watch, $ . ; overcoat, $ . ; wheel, $ . ; suit of clothes, $ . ( % interest, but what did it matter?)--grand total, $ . . he saw, as if visible in the air before him, in illuminated figures, the whole sum, and the subtraction that followed and that gave a remainder of $ . . when he had squared every debt, redeemed every pledge, he would still have jingling in his pockets a princely $ . . and on top of that he would have a month's rent paid in advance on the type-writer and on the room. by this time he had drawn the single sheet of type-written letter out and spread it open. there was no check. he peered into the envelope, held it to the light, but could not trust his eyes, and in trembling haste tore the envelope apart. there was no check. he read the letter, skimming it line by line, dashing through the editor's praise of his story to the meat of the letter, the statement why the check had not been sent. he found no such statement, but he did find that which made him suddenly wilt. the letter slid from his hand. his eyes went lack-lustre, and he lay back on the pillow, pulling the blanket about him and up to his chin. five dollars for "the ring of bells"--five dollars for five thousand words! instead of two cents a word, ten words for a cent! and the editor had praised it, too. and he would receive the check when the story was published. then it was all poppycock, two cents a word for minimum rate and payment upon acceptance. it was a lie, and it had led him astray. he would never have attempted to write had he known that. he would have gone to work--to work for ruth. he went back to the day he first attempted to write, and was appalled at the enormous waste of time--and all for ten words for a cent. and the other high rewards of writers, that he had read about, must be lies, too. his second-hand ideas of authorship were wrong, for here was the proof of it. the transcontinental sold for twenty-five cents, and its dignified and artistic cover proclaimed it as among the first-class magazines. it was a staid, respectable magazine, and it had been published continuously since long before he was born. why, on the outside cover were printed every month the words of one of the world's great writers, words proclaiming the inspired mission of the transcontinental by a star of literature whose first coruscations had appeared inside those self-same covers. and the high and lofty, heaven-inspired transcontinental paid five dollars for five thousand words! the great writer had recently died in a foreign land--in dire poverty, martin remembered, which was not to be wondered at, considering the magnificent pay authors receive. well, he had taken the bait, the newspaper lies about writers and their pay, and he had wasted two years over it. but he would disgorge the bait now. not another line would he ever write. he would do what ruth wanted him to do, what everybody wanted him to do--get a job. the thought of going to work reminded him of joe--joe, tramping through the land of nothing-to-do. martin heaved a great sigh of envy. the reaction of nineteen hours a day for many days was strong upon him. but then, joe was not in love, had none of the responsibilities of love, and he could afford to loaf through the land of nothing-to-do. he, martin, had something to work for, and go to work he would. he would start out early next morning to hunt a job. and he would let ruth know, too, that he had mended his ways and was willing to go into her father's office. five dollars for five thousand words, ten words for a cent, the market price for art. the disappointment of it, the lie of it, the infamy of it, were uppermost in his thoughts; and under his closed eyelids, in fiery figures, burned the "$ . " he owed the grocer. he shivered, and was aware of an aching in his bones. the small of his back ached especially. his head ached, the top of it ached, the back of it ached, the brains inside of it ached and seemed to be swelling, while the ache over his brows was intolerable. and beneath the brows, planted under his lids, was the merciless "$ . ." he opened his eyes to escape it, but the white light of the room seemed to sear the balls and forced him to close his eyes, when the "$ . " confronted him again. five dollars for five thousand words, ten words for a cent--that particular thought took up its residence in his brain, and he could no more escape it than he could the "$ . " under his eyelids. a change seemed to come over the latter, and he watched curiously, till "$ . " burned in its stead. ah, he thought, that was the baker. the next sum that appeared was "$ . ." it puzzled him, and he pondered it as if life and death hung on the solution. he owed somebody two dollars and a half, that was certain, but who was it? to find it was the task set him by an imperious and malignant universe, and he wandered through the endless corridors of his mind, opening all manner of lumber rooms and chambers stored with odds and ends of memories and knowledge as he vainly sought the answer. after several centuries it came to him, easily, without effort, that it was maria. with a great relief he turned his soul to the screen of torment under his lids. he had solved the problem; now he could rest. but no, the "$ . " faded away, and in its place burned "$ . ." who was that? he must go the dreary round of his mind again and find out. how long he was gone on this quest he did not know, but after what seemed an enormous lapse of time, he was called back to himself by a knock at the door, and by maria's asking if he was sick. he replied in a muffled voice he did not recognize, saying that he was merely taking a nap. he was surprised when he noted the darkness of night in the room. he had received the letter at two in the afternoon, and he realized that he was sick. then the "$ . " began to smoulder under his lids again, and he returned himself to servitude. but he grew cunning. there was no need for him to wander through his mind. he had been a fool. he pulled a lever and made his mind revolve about him, a monstrous wheel of fortune, a merry-go-round of memory, a revolving sphere of wisdom. faster and faster it revolved, until its vortex sucked him in and he was flung whirling through black chaos. quite naturally he found himself at a mangle, feeding starched cuffs. but as he fed he noticed figures printed in the cuffs. it was a new way of marking linen, he thought, until, looking closer, he saw "$ . " on one of the cuffs. then it came to him that it was the grocer's bill, and that these were his bills flying around on the drum of the mangle. a crafty idea came to him. he would throw the bills on the floor and so escape paying them. no sooner thought than done, and he crumpled the cuffs spitefully as he flung them upon an unusually dirty floor. ever the heap grew, and though each bill was duplicated a thousand times, he found only one for two dollars and a half, which was what he owed maria. that meant that maria would not press for payment, and he resolved generously that it would be the only one he would pay; so he began searching through the cast-out heap for hers. he sought it desperately, for ages, and was still searching when the manager of the hotel entered, the fat dutchman. his face blazed with wrath, and he shouted in stentorian tones that echoed down the universe, "i shall deduct the cost of those cuffs from your wages!" the pile of cuffs grew into a mountain, and martin knew that he was doomed to toil for a thousand years to pay for them. well, there was nothing left to do but kill the manager and burn down the laundry. but the big dutchman frustrated him, seizing him by the nape of the neck and dancing him up and down. he danced him over the ironing tables, the stove, and the mangles, and out into the wash- room and over the wringer and washer. martin was danced until his teeth rattled and his head ached, and he marvelled that the dutchman was so strong. and then he found himself before the mangle, this time receiving the cuffs an editor of a magazine was feeding from the other side. each cuff was a check, and martin went over them anxiously, in a fever of expectation, but they were all blanks. he stood there and received the blanks for a million years or so, never letting one go by for fear it might be filled out. at last he found it. with trembling fingers he held it to the light. it was for five dollars. "ha! ha!" laughed the editor across the mangle. "well, then, i shall kill you," martin said. he went out into the wash-room to get the axe, and found joe starching manuscripts. he tried to make him desist, then swung the axe for him. but the weapon remained poised in mid-air, for martin found himself back in the ironing room in the midst of a snow-storm. no, it was not snow that was falling, but checks of large denomination, the smallest not less than a thousand dollars. he began to collect them and sort them out, in packages of a hundred, tying each package securely with twine. he looked up from his task and saw joe standing before him juggling flat- irons, starched shirts, and manuscripts. now and again he reached out and added a bundle of checks to the flying miscellany that soared through the roof and out of sight in a tremendous circle. martin struck at him, but he seized the axe and added it to the flying circle. then he plucked martin and added him. martin went up through the roof, clutching at manuscripts, so that by the time he came down he had a large armful. but no sooner down than up again, and a second and a third time and countless times he flew around the circle. from far off he could hear a childish treble singing: "waltz me around again, willie, around, around, around." he recovered the axe in the midst of the milky way of checks, starched shirts, and manuscripts, and prepared, when he came down, to kill joe. but he did not come down. instead, at two in the morning, maria, having heard his groans through the thin partition, came into his room, to put hot flat-irons against his body and damp cloths upon his aching eyes. chapter xxvi martin eden did not go out to hunt for a job in the morning. it was late afternoon before he came out of his delirium and gazed with aching eyes about the room. mary, one of the tribe of silva, eight years old, keeping watch, raised a screech at sight of his returning consciousness. maria hurried into the room from the kitchen. she put her work-calloused hand upon his hot forehead and felt his pulse. "you lika da eat?" she asked. he shook his head. eating was farthest from his desire, and he wondered that he should ever have been hungry in his life. "i'm sick, maria," he said weakly. "what is it? do you know?" "grip," she answered. "two or three days you alla da right. better you no eat now. bimeby plenty can eat, to-morrow can eat maybe." martin was not used to sickness, and when maria and her little girl left him, he essayed to get up and dress. by a supreme exertion of will, with rearing brain and eyes that ached so that he could not keep them open, he managed to get out of bed, only to be left stranded by his senses upon the table. half an hour later he managed to regain the bed, where he was content to lie with closed eyes and analyze his various pains and weaknesses. maria came in several times to change the cold cloths on his forehead. otherwise she left him in peace, too wise to vex him with chatter. this moved him to gratitude, and he murmured to himself, "maria, you getta da milka ranch, all righta, all right." then he remembered his long-buried past of yesterday. it seemed a life-time since he had received that letter from the transcontinental, a life-time since it was all over and done with and a new page turned. he had shot his bolt, and shot it hard, and now he was down on his back. if he hadn't starved himself, he wouldn't have been caught by la grippe. he had been run down, and he had not had the strength to throw off the germ of disease which had invaded his system. this was what resulted. "what does it profit a man to write a whole library and lose his own life?" he demanded aloud. "this is no place for me. no more literature in mine. me for the counting-house and ledger, the monthly salary, and the little home with ruth." two days later, having eaten an egg and two slices of toast and drunk a cup of tea, he asked for his mail, but found his eyes still hurt too much to permit him to read. "you read for me, maria," he said. "never mind the big, long letters. throw them under the table. read me the small letters." "no can," was the answer. "teresa, she go to school, she can." so teresa silva, aged nine, opened his letters and read them to him. he listened absently to a long dun from the type-writer people, his mind busy with ways and means of finding a job. suddenly he was shocked back to himself. "'we offer you forty dollars for all serial rights in your story,'" teresa slowly spelled out, "'provided you allow us to make the alterations suggested.'" "what magazine is that?" martin shouted. "here, give it to me!" he could see to read, now, and he was unaware of the pain of the action. it was the white mouse that was offering him forty dollars, and the story was "the whirlpool," another of his early horror stories. he read the letter through again and again. the editor told him plainly that he had not handled the idea properly, but that it was the idea they were buying because it was original. if they could cut the story down one-third, they would take it and send him forty dollars on receipt of his answer. he called for pen and ink, and told the editor he could cut the story down three-thirds if he wanted to, and to send the forty dollars right along. the letter despatched to the letter-box by teresa, martin lay back and thought. it wasn't a lie, after all. the white mouse paid on acceptance. there were three thousand words in "the whirlpool." cut down a third, there would be two thousand. at forty dollars that would be two cents a word. pay on acceptance and two cents a word--the newspapers had told the truth. and he had thought the white mouse a third-rater! it was evident that he did not know the magazines. he had deemed the transcontinental a first-rater, and it paid a cent for ten words. he had classed the white mouse as of no account, and it paid twenty times as much as the transcontinental and also had paid on acceptance. well, there was one thing certain: when he got well, he would not go out looking for a job. there were more stories in his head as good as "the whirlpool," and at forty dollars apiece he could earn far more than in any job or position. just when he thought the battle lost, it was won. he had proved for his career. the way was clear. beginning with the white mouse he would add magazine after magazine to his growing list of patrons. hack-work could be put aside. for that matter, it had been wasted time, for it had not brought him a dollar. he would devote himself to work, good work, and he would pour out the best that was in him. he wished ruth was there to share in his joy, and when he went over the letters left lying on his bed, he found one from her. it was sweetly reproachful, wondering what had kept him away for so dreadful a length of time. he reread the letter adoringly, dwelling over her handwriting, loving each stroke of her pen, and in the end kissing her signature. and when he answered, he told her recklessly that he had not been to see her because his best clothes were in pawn. he told her that he had been sick, but was once more nearly well, and that inside ten days or two weeks (as soon as a letter could travel to new york city and return) he would redeem his clothes and be with her. but ruth did not care to wait ten days or two weeks. besides, her lover was sick. the next afternoon, accompanied by arthur, she arrived in the morse carriage, to the unqualified delight of the silva tribe and of all the urchins on the street, and to the consternation of maria. she boxed the ears of the silvas who crowded about the visitors on the tiny front porch, and in more than usual atrocious english tried to apologize for her appearance. sleeves rolled up from soap-flecked arms and a wet gunny- sack around her waist told of the task at which she had been caught. so flustered was she by two such grand young people asking for her lodger, that she forgot to invite them to sit down in the little parlor. to enter martin's room, they passed through the kitchen, warm and moist and steamy from the big washing in progress. maria, in her excitement, jammed the bedroom and bedroom-closet doors together, and for five minutes, through the partly open door, clouds of steam, smelling of soap- suds and dirt, poured into the sick chamber. ruth succeeded in veering right and left and right again, and in running the narrow passage between table and bed to martin's side; but arthur veered too wide and fetched up with clatter and bang of pots and pans in the corner where martin did his cooking. arthur did not linger long. ruth occupied the only chair, and having done his duty, he went outside and stood by the gate, the centre of seven marvelling silvas, who watched him as they would have watched a curiosity in a side-show. all about the carriage were gathered the children from a dozen blocks, waiting and eager for some tragic and terrible denouement. carriages were seen on their street only for weddings and funerals. here was neither marriage nor death: therefore, it was something transcending experience and well worth waiting for. martin had been wild to see ruth. his was essentially a love-nature, and he possessed more than the average man's need for sympathy. he was starving for sympathy, which, with him, meant intelligent understanding; and he had yet to learn that ruth's sympathy was largely sentimental and tactful, and that it proceeded from gentleness of nature rather than from understanding of the objects of her sympathy. so it was while martin held her hand and gladly talked, that her love for him prompted her to press his hand in return, and that her eyes were moist and luminous at sight of his helplessness and of the marks suffering had stamped upon his face. but while he told her of his two acceptances, of his despair when he received the one from the transcontinental, and of the corresponding delight with which he received the one from the white mouse, she did not follow him. she heard the words he uttered and understood their literal import, but she was not with him in his despair and his delight. she could not get out of herself. she was not interested in selling stories to magazines. what was important to her was matrimony. she was not aware of it, however, any more than she was aware that her desire that martin take a position was the instinctive and preparative impulse of motherhood. she would have blushed had she been told as much in plain, set terms, and next, she might have grown indignant and asserted that her sole interest lay in the man she loved and her desire for him to make the best of himself. so, while martin poured out his heart to her, elated with the first success his chosen work in the world had received, she paid heed to his bare words only, gazing now and again about the room, shocked by what she saw. for the first time ruth gazed upon the sordid face of poverty. starving lovers had always seemed romantic to her,--but she had had no idea how starving lovers lived. she had never dreamed it could be like this. ever her gaze shifted from the room to him and back again. the steamy smell of dirty clothes, which had entered with her from the kitchen, was sickening. martin must be soaked with it, ruth concluded, if that awful woman washed frequently. such was the contagiousness of degradation. when she looked at martin, she seemed to see the smirch left upon him by his surroundings. she had never seen him unshaven, and the three days' growth of beard on his face was repulsive to her. not alone did it give him the same dark and murky aspect of the silva house, inside and out, but it seemed to emphasize that animal-like strength of his which she detested. and here he was, being confirmed in his madness by the two acceptances he took such pride in telling her about. a little longer and he would have surrendered and gone to work. now he would continue on in this horrible house, writing and starving for a few more months. "what is that smell?" she asked suddenly. "some of maria's washing smells, i imagine," was the answer. "i am growing quite accustomed to them." "no, no; not that. it is something else. a stale, sickish smell." martin sampled the air before replying. "i can't smell anything else, except stale tobacco smoke," he announced. "that's it. it is terrible. why do you smoke so much, martin?" "i don't know, except that i smoke more than usual when i am lonely. and then, too, it's such a long-standing habit. i learned when i was only a youngster." "it is not a nice habit, you know," she reproved. "it smells to heaven." "that's the fault of the tobacco. i can afford only the cheapest. but wait until i get that forty-dollar check. i'll use a brand that is not offensive even to the angels. but that wasn't so bad, was it, two acceptances in three days? that forty-five dollars will pay about all my debts." "for two years' work?" she queried. "no, for less than a week's work. please pass me that book over on the far corner of the table, the account book with the gray cover." he opened it and began turning over the pages rapidly. "yes, i was right. four days for 'the ring of bells,' two days for 'the whirlpool.' that's forty-five dollars for a week's work, one hundred and eighty dollars a month. that beats any salary i can command. and, besides, i'm just beginning. a thousand dollars a month is not too much to buy for you all i want you to have. a salary of five hundred a month would be too small. that forty-five dollars is just a starter. wait till i get my stride. then watch my smoke." ruth misunderstood his slang, and reverted to cigarettes. "you smoke more than enough as it is, and the brand of tobacco will make no difference. it is the smoking itself that is not nice, no matter what the brand may be. you are a chimney, a living volcano, a perambulating smoke-stack, and you are a perfect disgrace, martin dear, you know you are." she leaned toward him, entreaty in her eyes, and as he looked at her delicate face and into her pure, limpid eyes, as of old he was struck with his own unworthiness. "i wish you wouldn't smoke any more," she whispered. "please, for--my sake." "all right, i won't," he cried. "i'll do anything you ask, dear love, anything; you know that." a great temptation assailed her. in an insistent way she had caught glimpses of the large, easy-going side of his nature, and she felt sure, if she asked him to cease attempting to write, that he would grant her wish. in the swift instant that elapsed, the words trembled on her lips. but she did not utter them. she was not quite brave enough; she did not quite dare. instead, she leaned toward him to meet him, and in his arms murmured:- "you know, it is really not for my sake, martin, but for your own. i am sure smoking hurts you; and besides, it is not good to be a slave to anything, to a drug least of all." "i shall always be your slave," he smiled. "in which case, i shall begin issuing my commands." she looked at him mischievously, though deep down she was already regretting that she had not preferred her largest request. "i live but to obey, your majesty." "well, then, my first commandment is, thou shalt not omit to shave every day. look how you have scratched my cheek." and so it ended in caresses and love-laughter. but she had made one point, and she could not expect to make more than one at a time. she felt a woman's pride in that she had made him stop smoking. another time she would persuade him to take a position, for had he not said he would do anything she asked? she left his side to explore the room, examining the clothes-lines of notes overhead, learning the mystery of the tackle used for suspending his wheel under the ceiling, and being saddened by the heap of manuscripts under the table which represented to her just so much wasted time. the oil-stove won her admiration, but on investigating the food shelves she found them empty. "why, you haven't anything to eat, you poor dear," she said with tender compassion. "you must be starving." "i store my food in maria's safe and in her pantry," he lied. "it keeps better there. no danger of my starving. look at that." she had come back to his side, and she saw him double his arm at the elbow, the biceps crawling under his shirt-sleeve and swelling into a knot of muscle, heavy and hard. the sight repelled her. sentimentally, she disliked it. but her pulse, her blood, every fibre of her, loved it and yearned for it, and, in the old, inexplicable way, she leaned toward him, not away from him. and in the moment that followed, when he crushed her in his arms, the brain of her, concerned with the superficial aspects of life, was in revolt; while the heart of her, the woman of her, concerned with life itself, exulted triumphantly. it was in moments like this that she felt to the uttermost the greatness of her love for martin, for it was almost a swoon of delight to her to feel his strong arms about her, holding her tightly, hurting her with the grip of their fervor. at such moments she found justification for her treason to her standards, for her violation of her own high ideals, and, most of all, for her tacit disobedience to her mother and father. they did not want her to marry this man. it shocked them that she should love him. it shocked her, too, sometimes, when she was apart from him, a cool and reasoning creature. with him, she loved him--in truth, at times a vexed and worried love; but love it was, a love that was stronger than she. "this la grippe is nothing," he was saying. "it hurts a bit, and gives one a nasty headache, but it doesn't compare with break-bone fever." "have you had that, too?" she queried absently, intent on the heaven-sent justification she was finding in his arms. and so, with absent queries, she led him on, till suddenly his words startled her. he had had the fever in a secret colony of thirty lepers on one of the hawaiian islands. "but why did you go there?" she demanded. such royal carelessness of body seemed criminal. "because i didn't know," he answered. "i never dreamed of lepers. when i deserted the schooner and landed on the beach, i headed inland for some place of hiding. for three days i lived off guavas, ohia-apples, and bananas, all of which grew wild in the jungle. on the fourth day i found the trail--a mere foot-trail. it led inland, and it led up. it was the way i wanted to go, and it showed signs of recent travel. at one place it ran along the crest of a ridge that was no more than a knife-edge. the trail wasn't three feet wide on the crest, and on either side the ridge fell away in precipices hundreds of feet deep. one man, with plenty of ammunition, could have held it against a hundred thousand. "it was the only way in to the hiding-place. three hours after i found the trail i was there, in a little mountain valley, a pocket in the midst of lava peaks. the whole place was terraced for taro-patches, fruit trees grew there, and there were eight or ten grass huts. but as soon as i saw the inhabitants i knew what i'd struck. one sight of them was enough." "what did you do?" ruth demanded breathlessly, listening, like any desdemona, appalled and fascinated. "nothing for me to do. their leader was a kind old fellow, pretty far gone, but he ruled like a king. he had discovered the little valley and founded the settlement--all of which was against the law. but he had guns, plenty of ammunition, and those kanakas, trained to the shooting of wild cattle and wild pig, were dead shots. no, there wasn't any running away for martin eden. he stayed--for three months." "but how did you escape?" "i'd have been there yet, if it hadn't been for a girl there, a half-chinese, quarter-white, and quarter-hawaiian. she was a beauty, poor thing, and well educated. her mother, in honolulu, was worth a million or so. well, this girl got me away at last. her mother financed the settlement, you see, so the girl wasn't afraid of being punished for letting me go. but she made me swear, first, never to reveal the hiding- place; and i never have. this is the first time i have even mentioned it. the girl had just the first signs of leprosy. the fingers of her right hand were slightly twisted, and there was a small spot on her arm. that was all. i guess she is dead, now." "but weren't you frightened? and weren't you glad to get away without catching that dreadful disease?" "well," he confessed, "i was a bit shivery at first; but i got used to it. i used to feel sorry for that poor girl, though. that made me forget to be afraid. she was such a beauty, in spirit as well as in appearance, and she was only slightly touched; yet she was doomed to lie there, living the life of a primitive savage and rotting slowly away. leprosy is far more terrible than you can imagine it." "poor thing," ruth murmured softly. "it's a wonder she let you get away." "how do you mean?" martin asked unwittingly. "because she must have loved you," ruth said, still softly. "candidly, now, didn't she?" martin's sunburn had been bleached by his work in the laundry and by the indoor life he was living, while the hunger and the sickness had made his face even pale; and across this pallor flowed the slow wave of a blush. he was opening his mouth to speak, but ruth shut him off. "never mind, don't answer; it's not necessary," she laughed. but it seemed to him there was something metallic in her laughter, and that the light in her eyes was cold. on the spur of the moment it reminded him of a gale he had once experienced in the north pacific. and for the moment the apparition of the gale rose before his eyes--a gale at night, with a clear sky and under a full moon, the huge seas glinting coldly in the moonlight. next, he saw the girl in the leper refuge and remembered it was for love of him that she had let him go. "she was noble," he said simply. "she gave me life." that was all of the incident, but he heard ruth muffle a dry sob in her throat, and noticed that she turned her face away to gaze out of the window. when she turned it back to him, it was composed, and there was no hint of the gale in her eyes. "i'm such a silly," she said plaintively. "but i can't help it. i do so love you, martin, i do, i do. i shall grow more catholic in time, but at present i can't help being jealous of those ghosts of the past, and you know your past is full of ghosts." "it must be," she silenced his protest. "it could not be otherwise. and there's poor arthur motioning me to come. he's tired waiting. and now good-by, dear." "there's some kind of a mixture, put up by the druggists, that helps men to stop the use of tobacco," she called back from the door, "and i am going to send you some." the door closed, but opened again. "i do, i do," she whispered to him; and this time she was really gone. maria, with worshipful eyes that none the less were keen to note the texture of ruth's garments and the cut of them (a cut unknown that produced an effect mysteriously beautiful), saw her to the carriage. the crowd of disappointed urchins stared till the carriage disappeared from view, then transferred their stare to maria, who had abruptly become the most important person on the street. but it was one of her progeny who blasted maria's reputation by announcing that the grand visitors had been for her lodger. after that maria dropped back into her old obscurity and martin began to notice the respectful manner in which he was regarded by the small fry of the neighborhood. as for maria, martin rose in her estimation a full hundred per cent, and had the portuguese grocer witnessed that afternoon carriage-call he would have allowed martin an additional three-dollars-and-eighty-five-cents' worth of credit. chapter xxvii the sun of martin's good fortune rose. the day after ruth's visit, he received a check for three dollars from a new york scandal weekly in payment for three of his triolets. two days later a newspaper published in chicago accepted his "treasure hunters," promising to pay ten dollars for it on publication. the price was small, but it was the first article he had written, his very first attempt to express his thought on the printed page. to cap everything, the adventure serial for boys, his second attempt, was accepted before the end of the week by a juvenile monthly calling itself youth and age. it was true the serial was twenty- one thousand words, and they offered to pay him sixteen dollars on publication, which was something like seventy-five cents a thousand words; but it was equally true that it was the second thing he had attempted to write and that he was himself thoroughly aware of its clumsy worthlessness. but even his earliest efforts were not marked with the clumsiness of mediocrity. what characterized them was the clumsiness of too great strength--the clumsiness which the tyro betrays when he crushes butterflies with battering rams and hammers out vignettes with a war-club. so it was that martin was glad to sell his early efforts for songs. he knew them for what they were, and it had not taken him long to acquire this knowledge. what he pinned his faith to was his later work. he had striven to be something more than a mere writer of magazine fiction. he had sought to equip himself with the tools of artistry. on the other hand, he had not sacrificed strength. his conscious aim had been to increase his strength by avoiding excess of strength. nor had he departed from his love of reality. his work was realism, though he had endeavored to fuse with it the fancies and beauties of imagination. what he sought was an impassioned realism, shot through with human aspiration and faith. what he wanted was life as it was, with all its spirit-groping and soul-reaching left in. he had discovered, in the course of his reading, two schools of fiction. one treated of man as a god, ignoring his earthly origin; the other treated of man as a clod, ignoring his heaven-sent dreams and divine possibilities. both the god and the clod schools erred, in martin's estimation, and erred through too great singleness of sight and purpose. there was a compromise that approximated the truth, though it flattered not the school of god, while it challenged the brute-savageness of the school of clod. it was his story, "adventure," which had dragged with ruth, that martin believed had achieved his ideal of the true in fiction; and it was in an essay, "god and clod," that he had expressed his views on the whole general subject. but "adventure," and all that he deemed his best work, still went begging among the editors. his early work counted for nothing in his eyes except for the money it brought, and his horror stories, two of which he had sold, he did not consider high work nor his best work. to him they were frankly imaginative and fantastic, though invested with all the glamour of the real, wherein lay their power. this investiture of the grotesque and impossible with reality, he looked upon as a trick--a skilful trick at best. great literature could not reside in such a field. their artistry was high, but he denied the worthwhileness of artistry when divorced from humanness. the trick had been to fling over the face of his artistry a mask of humanness, and this he had done in the half-dozen or so stories of the horror brand he had written before he emerged upon the high peaks of "adventure," "joy," "the pot," and "the wine of life." the three dollars he received for the triolets he used to eke out a precarious existence against the arrival of the white mouse check. he cashed the first check with the suspicious portuguese grocer, paying a dollar on account and dividing the remaining two dollars between the baker and the fruit store. martin was not yet rich enough to afford meat, and he was on slim allowance when the white mouse check arrived. he was divided on the cashing of it. he had never been in a bank in his life, much less been in one on business, and he had a naive and childlike desire to walk into one of the big banks down in oakland and fling down his indorsed check for forty dollars. on the other hand, practical common sense ruled that he should cash it with his grocer and thereby make an impression that would later result in an increase of credit. reluctantly martin yielded to the claims of the grocer, paying his bill with him in full, and receiving in change a pocketful of jingling coin. also, he paid the other tradesmen in full, redeemed his suit and his bicycle, paid one month's rent on the type-writer, and paid maria the overdue month for his room and a month in advance. this left him in his pocket, for emergencies, a balance of nearly three dollars. in itself, this small sum seemed a fortune. immediately on recovering his clothes he had gone to see ruth, and on the way he could not refrain from jingling the little handful of silver in his pocket. he had been so long without money that, like a rescued starving man who cannot let the unconsumed food out of his sight, martin could not keep his hand off the silver. he was not mean, nor avaricious, but the money meant more than so many dollars and cents. it stood for success, and the eagles stamped upon the coins were to him so many winged victories. it came to him insensibly that it was a very good world. it certainly appeared more beautiful to him. for weeks it had been a very dull and sombre world; but now, with nearly all debts paid, three dollars jingling in his pocket, and in his mind the consciousness of success, the sun shone bright and warm, and even a rain-squall that soaked unprepared pedestrians seemed a merry happening to him. when he starved, his thoughts had dwelt often upon the thousands he knew were starving the world over; but now that he was feasted full, the fact of the thousands starving was no longer pregnant in his brain. he forgot about them, and, being in love, remembered the countless lovers in the world. without deliberately thinking about it, motifs for love-lyrics began to agitate his brain. swept away by the creative impulse, he got off the electric car, without vexation, two blocks beyond his crossing. he found a number of persons in the morse home. ruth's two girl-cousins were visiting her from san rafael, and mrs. morse, under pretext of entertaining them, was pursuing her plan of surrounding ruth with young people. the campaign had begun during martin's enforced absence, and was already in full swing. she was making a point of having at the house men who were doing things. thus, in addition to the cousins dorothy and florence, martin encountered two university professors, one of latin, the other of english; a young army officer just back from the philippines, one-time school-mate of ruth's; a young fellow named melville, private secretary to joseph perkins, head of the san francisco trust company; and finally of the men, a live bank cashier, charles hapgood, a youngish man of thirty-five, graduate of stanford university, member of the nile club and the unity club, and a conservative speaker for the republican party during campaigns--in short, a rising young man in every way. among the women was one who painted portraits, another who was a professional musician, and still another who possessed the degree of doctor of sociology and who was locally famous for her social settlement work in the slums of san francisco. but the women did not count for much in mrs. morse's plan. at the best, they were necessary accessories. the men who did things must be drawn to the house somehow. "don't get excited when you talk," ruth admonished martin, before the ordeal of introduction began. he bore himself a bit stiffly at first, oppressed by a sense of his own awkwardness, especially of his shoulders, which were up to their old trick of threatening destruction to furniture and ornaments. also, he was rendered self-conscious by the company. he had never before been in contact with such exalted beings nor with so many of them. melville, the bank cashier, fascinated him, and he resolved to investigate him at the first opportunity. for underneath martin's awe lurked his assertive ego, and he felt the urge to measure himself with these men and women and to find out what they had learned from the books and life which he had not learned. ruth's eyes roved to him frequently to see how he was getting on, and she was surprised and gladdened by the ease with which he got acquainted with her cousins. he certainly did not grow excited, while being seated removed from him the worry of his shoulders. ruth knew them for clever girls, superficially brilliant, and she could scarcely understand their praise of martin later that night at going to bed. but he, on the other hand, a wit in his own class, a gay quizzer and laughter-maker at dances and sunday picnics, had found the making of fun and the breaking of good- natured lances simple enough in this environment. and on this evening success stood at his back, patting him on the shoulder and telling him that he was making good, so that he could afford to laugh and make laughter and remain unabashed. later, ruth's anxiety found justification. martin and professor caldwell had got together in a conspicuous corner, and though martin no longer wove the air with his hands, to ruth's critical eye he permitted his own eyes to flash and glitter too frequently, talked too rapidly and warmly, grew too intense, and allowed his aroused blood to redden his cheeks too much. he lacked decorum and control, and was in decided contrast to the young professor of english with whom he talked. but martin was not concerned with appearances! he had been swift to note the other's trained mind and to appreciate his command of knowledge. furthermore, professor caldwell did not realize martin's concept of the average english professor. martin wanted him to talk shop, and, though he seemed averse at first, succeeded in making him do it. for martin did not see why a man should not talk shop. "it's absurd and unfair," he had told ruth weeks before, "this objection to talking shop. for what reason under the sun do men and women come together if not for the exchange of the best that is in them? and the best that is in them is what they are interested in, the thing by which they make their living, the thing they've specialized on and sat up days and nights over, and even dreamed about. imagine mr. butler living up to social etiquette and enunciating his views on paul verlaine or the german drama or the novels of d'annunzio. we'd be bored to death. i, for one, if i must listen to mr. butler, prefer to hear him talk about his law. it's the best that is in him, and life is so short that i want the best of every man and woman i meet." "but," ruth had objected, "there are the topics of general interest to all." "there, you mistake," he had rushed on. "all persons in society, all cliques in society--or, rather, nearly all persons and cliques--ape their betters. now, who are the best betters? the idlers, the wealthy idlers. they do not know, as a rule, the things known by the persons who are doing something in the world. to listen to conversation about such things would mean to be bored, wherefore the idlers decree that such things are shop and must not be talked about. likewise they decree the things that are not shop and which may be talked about, and those things are the latest operas, latest novels, cards, billiards, cocktails, automobiles, horse shows, trout fishing, tuna-fishing, big-game shooting, yacht sailing, and so forth--and mark you, these are the things the idlers know. in all truth, they constitute the shop-talk of the idlers. and the funniest part of it is that many of the clever people, and all the would-be clever people, allow the idlers so to impose upon them. as for me, i want the best a man's got in him, call it shop vulgarity or anything you please." and ruth had not understood. this attack of his on the established had seemed to her just so much wilfulness of opinion. so martin contaminated professor caldwell with his own earnestness, challenging him to speak his mind. as ruth paused beside them she heard martin saying:- "you surely don't pronounce such heresies in the university of california?" professor caldwell shrugged his shoulders. "the honest taxpayer and the politician, you know. sacramento gives us our appropriations and therefore we kowtow to sacramento, and to the board of regents, and to the party press, or to the press of both parties." "yes, that's clear; but how about you?" martin urged. "you must be a fish out of the water." "few like me, i imagine, in the university pond. sometimes i am fairly sure i am out of water, and that i should belong in paris, in grub street, in a hermit's cave, or in some sadly wild bohemian crowd, drinking claret,--dago-red they call it in san francisco,--dining in cheap restaurants in the latin quarter, and expressing vociferously radical views upon all creation. really, i am frequently almost sure that i was cut out to be a radical. but then, there are so many questions on which i am not sure. i grow timid when i am face to face with my human frailty, which ever prevents me from grasping all the factors in any problem--human, vital problems, you know." and as he talked on, martin became aware that to his own lips had come the "song of the trade wind":- "i am strongest at noon, but under the moon i stiffen the bunt of the sail." he was almost humming the words, and it dawned upon him that the other reminded him of the trade wind, of the northeast trade, steady, and cool, and strong. he was equable, he was to be relied upon, and withal there was a certain bafflement about him. martin had the feeling that he never spoke his full mind, just as he had often had the feeling that the trades never blew their strongest but always held reserves of strength that were never used. martin's trick of visioning was active as ever. his brain was a most accessible storehouse of remembered fact and fancy, and its contents seemed ever ordered and spread for his inspection. whatever occurred in the instant present, martin's mind immediately presented associated antithesis or similitude which ordinarily expressed themselves to him in vision. it was sheerly automatic, and his visioning was an unfailing accompaniment to the living present. just as ruth's face, in a momentary jealousy had called before his eyes a forgotten moonlight gale, and as professor caldwell made him see again the northeast trade herding the white billows across the purple sea, so, from moment to moment, not disconcerting but rather identifying and classifying, new memory-visions rose before him, or spread under his eyelids, or were thrown upon the screen of his consciousness. these visions came out of the actions and sensations of the past, out of things and events and books of yesterday and last week--a countless host of apparitions that, waking or sleeping, forever thronged his mind. so it was, as he listened to professor caldwell's easy flow of speech--the conversation of a clever, cultured man--that martin kept seeing himself down all his past. he saw himself when he had been quite the hoodlum, wearing a "stiff-rim" stetson hat and a square-cut, double-breasted coat, with a certain swagger to the shoulders and possessing the ideal of being as tough as the police permitted. he did not disguise it to himself, nor attempt to palliate it. at one time in his life he had been just a common hoodlum, the leader of a gang that worried the police and terrorized honest, working-class householders. but his ideals had changed. he glanced about him at the well-bred, well-dressed men and women, and breathed into his lungs the atmosphere of culture and refinement, and at the same moment the ghost of his early youth, in stiff- rim and square-cut, with swagger and toughness, stalked across the room. this figure, of the corner hoodlum, he saw merge into himself, sitting and talking with an actual university professor. for, after all, he had never found his permanent abiding place. he had fitted in wherever he found himself, been a favorite always and everywhere by virtue of holding his own at work and at play and by his willingness and ability to fight for his rights and command respect. but he had never taken root. he had fitted in sufficiently to satisfy his fellows but not to satisfy himself. he had been perturbed always by a feeling of unrest, had heard always the call of something from beyond, and had wandered on through life seeking it until he found books and art and love. and here he was, in the midst of all this, the only one of all the comrades he had adventured with who could have made themselves eligible for the inside of the morse home. but such thoughts and visions did not prevent him from following professor caldwell closely. and as he followed, comprehendingly and critically, he noted the unbroken field of the other's knowledge. as for himself, from moment to moment the conversation showed him gaps and open stretches, whole subjects with which he was unfamiliar. nevertheless, thanks to his spencer, he saw that he possessed the outlines of the field of knowledge. it was a matter only of time, when he would fill in the outline. then watch out, he thought--'ware shoal, everybody! he felt like sitting at the feet of the professor, worshipful and absorbent; but, as he listened, he began to discern a weakness in the other's judgments--a weakness so stray and elusive that he might not have caught it had it not been ever present. and when he did catch it, he leapt to equality at once. ruth came up to them a second time, just as martin began to speak. "i'll tell you where you are wrong, or, rather, what weakens your judgments," he said. "you lack biology. it has no place in your scheme of things.--oh, i mean the real interpretative biology, from the ground up, from the laboratory and the test-tube and the vitalized inorganic right on up to the widest aesthetic and sociological generalizations." ruth was appalled. she had sat two lecture courses under professor caldwell and looked up to him as the living repository of all knowledge. "i scarcely follow you," he said dubiously. martin was not so sure but what he had followed him. "then i'll try to explain," he said. "i remember reading in egyptian history something to the effect that understanding could not be had of egyptian art without first studying the land question." "quite right," the professor nodded. "and it seems to me," martin continued, "that knowledge of the land question, in turn, of all questions, for that matter, cannot be had without previous knowledge of the stuff and the constitution of life. how can we understand laws and institutions, religions and customs, without understanding, not merely the nature of the creatures that made them, but the nature of the stuff out of which the creatures are made? is literature less human than the architecture and sculpture of egypt? is there one thing in the known universe that is not subject to the law of evolution?--oh, i know there is an elaborate evolution of the various arts laid down, but it seems to me to be too mechanical. the human himself is left out. the evolution of the tool, of the harp, of music and song and dance, are all beautifully elaborated; but how about the evolution of the human himself, the development of the basic and intrinsic parts that were in him before he made his first tool or gibbered his first chant? it is that which you do not consider, and which i call biology. it is biology in its largest aspects. "i know i express myself incoherently, but i've tried to hammer out the idea. it came to me as you were talking, so i was not primed and ready to deliver it. you spoke yourself of the human frailty that prevented one from taking all the factors into consideration. and you, in turn,--or so it seems to me,--leave out the biological factor, the very stuff out of which has been spun the fabric of all the arts, the warp and the woof of all human actions and achievements." to ruth's amazement, martin was not immediately crushed, and that the professor replied in the way he did struck her as forbearance for martin's youth. professor caldwell sat for a full minute, silent and fingering his watch chain. "do you know," he said at last, "i've had that same criticism passed on me once before--by a very great man, a scientist and evolutionist, joseph le conte. but he is dead, and i thought to remain undetected; and now you come along and expose me. seriously, though--and this is confession--i think there is something in your contention--a great deal, in fact. i am too classical, not enough up-to-date in the interpretative branches of science, and i can only plead the disadvantages of my education and a temperamental slothfulness that prevents me from doing the work. i wonder if you'll believe that i've never been inside a physics or chemistry laboratory? it is true, nevertheless. le conte was right, and so are you, mr. eden, at least to an extent--how much i do not know." ruth drew martin away with her on a pretext; when she had got him aside, whispering:- "you shouldn't have monopolized professor caldwell that way. there may be others who want to talk with him." "my mistake," martin admitted contritely. "but i'd got him stirred up, and he was so interesting that i did not think. do you know, he is the brightest, the most intellectual, man i have ever talked with. and i'll tell you something else. i once thought that everybody who went to universities, or who sat in the high places in society, was just as brilliant and intelligent as he." "he's an exception," she answered. "i should say so. whom do you want me to talk to now?--oh, say, bring me up against that cashier-fellow." martin talked for fifteen minutes with him, nor could ruth have wished better behavior on her lover's part. not once did his eyes flash nor his cheeks flush, while the calmness and poise with which he talked surprised her. but in martin's estimation the whole tribe of bank cashiers fell a few hundred per cent, and for the rest of the evening he labored under the impression that bank cashiers and talkers of platitudes were synonymous phrases. the army officer he found good-natured and simple, a healthy, wholesome young fellow, content to occupy the place in life into which birth and luck had flung him. on learning that he had completed two years in the university, martin was puzzled to know where he had stored it away. nevertheless martin liked him better than the platitudinous bank cashier. "i really don't object to platitudes," he told ruth later; "but what worries me into nervousness is the pompous, smugly complacent, superior certitude with which they are uttered and the time taken to do it. why, i could give that man the whole history of the reformation in the time he took to tell me that the union-labor party had fused with the democrats. do you know, he skins his words as a professional poker-player skins the cards that are dealt out to him. some day i'll show you what i mean." "i'm sorry you don't like him," was her reply. "he's a favorite of mr. butler's. mr. butler says he is safe and honest--calls him the rock, peter, and says that upon him any banking institution can well be built." "i don't doubt it--from the little i saw of him and the less i heard from him; but i don't think so much of banks as i did. you don't mind my speaking my mind this way, dear?" "no, no; it is most interesting." "yes," martin went on heartily, "i'm no more than a barbarian getting my first impressions of civilization. such impressions must be entertainingly novel to the civilized person." "what did you think of my cousins?" ruth queried. "i liked them better than the other women. there's plenty of fun in them along with paucity of pretence." "then you did like the other women?" he shook his head. "that social-settlement woman is no more than a sociological poll-parrot. i swear, if you winnowed her out between the stars, like tomlinson, there would be found in her not one original thought. as for the portrait-painter, she was a positive bore. she'd make a good wife for the cashier. and the musician woman! i don't care how nimble her fingers are, how perfect her technique, how wonderful her expression--the fact is, she knows nothing about music." "she plays beautifully," ruth protested. "yes, she's undoubtedly gymnastic in the externals of music, but the intrinsic spirit of music is unguessed by her. i asked her what music meant to her--you know i'm always curious to know that particular thing; and she did not know what it meant to her, except that she adored it, that it was the greatest of the arts, and that it meant more than life to her." "you were making them talk shop," ruth charged him. "i confess it. and if they were failures on shop, imagine my sufferings if they had discoursed on other subjects. why, i used to think that up here, where all the advantages of culture were enjoyed--" he paused for a moment, and watched the youthful shade of himself, in stiff-rim and square-cut, enter the door and swagger across the room. "as i was saying, up here i thought all men and women were brilliant and radiant. but now, from what little i've seen of them, they strike me as a pack of ninnies, most of them, and ninety percent of the remainder as bores. now there's professor caldwell--he's different. he's a man, every inch of him and every atom of his gray matter." ruth's face brightened. "tell me about him," she urged. "not what is large and brilliant--i know those qualities; but whatever you feel is adverse. i am most curious to know." "perhaps i'll get myself in a pickle." martin debated humorously for a moment. "suppose you tell me first. or maybe you find in him nothing less than the best." "i attended two lecture courses under him, and i have known him for two years; that is why i am anxious for your first impression." "bad impression, you mean? well, here goes. he is all the fine things you think about him, i guess. at least, he is the finest specimen of intellectual man i have met; but he is a man with a secret shame." "oh, no, no!" he hastened to cry. "nothing paltry nor vulgar. what i mean is that he strikes me as a man who has gone to the bottom of things, and is so afraid of what he saw that he makes believe to himself that he never saw it. perhaps that's not the clearest way to express it. here's another way. a man who has found the path to the hidden temple but has not followed it; who has, perhaps, caught glimpses of the temple and striven afterward to convince himself that it was only a mirage of foliage. yet another way. a man who could have done things but who placed no value on the doing, and who, all the time, in his innermost heart, is regretting that he has not done them; who has secretly laughed at the rewards for doing, and yet, still more secretly, has yearned for the rewards and for the joy of doing." "i don't read him that way," she said. "and for that matter, i don't see just what you mean." "it is only a vague feeling on my part," martin temporized. "i have no reason for it. it is only a feeling, and most likely it is wrong. you certainly should know him better than i." from the evening at ruth's martin brought away with him strange confusions and conflicting feelings. he was disappointed in his goal, in the persons he had climbed to be with. on the other hand, he was encouraged with his success. the climb had been easier than he expected. he was superior to the climb, and (he did not, with false modesty, hide it from himself) he was superior to the beings among whom he had climbed--with the exception, of course, of professor caldwell. about life and the books he knew more than they, and he wondered into what nooks and crannies they had cast aside their educations. he did not know that he was himself possessed of unusual brain vigor; nor did he know that the persons who were given to probing the depths and to thinking ultimate thoughts were not to be found in the drawing rooms of the world's morses; nor did he dream that such persons were as lonely eagles sailing solitary in the azure sky far above the earth and its swarming freight of gregarious life. chapter xxviii but success had lost martin's address, and her messengers no longer came to his door. for twenty-five days, working sundays and holidays, he toiled on "the shame of the sun," a long essay of some thirty thousand words. it was a deliberate attack on the mysticism of the maeterlinck school--an attack from the citadel of positive science upon the wonder- dreamers, but an attack nevertheless that retained much of beauty and wonder of the sort compatible with ascertained fact. it was a little later that he followed up the attack with two short essays, "the wonder- dreamers" and "the yardstick of the ego." and on essays, long and short, he began to pay the travelling expenses from magazine to magazine. during the twenty-five days spent on "the shame of the sun," he sold hack- work to the extent of six dollars and fifty cents. a joke had brought in fifty cents, and a second one, sold to a high-grade comic weekly, had fetched a dollar. then two humorous poems had earned two dollars and three dollars respectively. as a result, having exhausted his credit with the tradesmen (though he had increased his credit with the grocer to five dollars), his wheel and suit of clothes went back to the pawnbroker. the type-writer people were again clamoring for money, insistently pointing out that according to the agreement rent was to be paid strictly in advance. encouraged by his several small sales, martin went back to hack-work. perhaps there was a living in it, after all. stored away under his table were the twenty storiettes which had been rejected by the newspaper short- story syndicate. he read them over in order to find out how not to write newspaper storiettes, and so doing, reasoned out the perfect formula. he found that the newspaper storiette should never be tragic, should never end unhappily, and should never contain beauty of language, subtlety of thought, nor real delicacy of sentiment. sentiment it must contain, plenty of it, pure and noble, of the sort that in his own early youth had brought his applause from "nigger heaven"--the "for-god-my-country-and- the-czar" and "i-may-be-poor-but-i-am-honest" brand of sentiment. having learned such precautions, martin consulted "the duchess" for tone, and proceeded to mix according to formula. the formula consists of three parts: ( ) a pair of lovers are jarred apart; ( ) by some deed or event they are reunited; ( ) marriage bells. the third part was an unvarying quantity, but the first and second parts could be varied an infinite number of times. thus, the pair of lovers could be jarred apart by misunderstood motives, by accident of fate, by jealous rivals, by irate parents, by crafty guardians, by scheming relatives, and so forth and so forth; they could be reunited by a brave deed of the man lover, by a similar deed of the woman lover, by change of heart in one lover or the other, by forced confession of crafty guardian, scheming relative, or jealous rival, by voluntary confession of same, by discovery of some unguessed secret, by lover storming girl's heart, by lover making long and noble self-sacrifice, and so on, endlessly. it was very fetching to make the girl propose in the course of being reunited, and martin discovered, bit by bit, other decidedly piquant and fetching ruses. but marriage bells at the end was the one thing he could take no liberties with; though the heavens rolled up as a scroll and the stars fell, the wedding bells must go on ringing just the same. in quantity, the formula prescribed twelve hundred words minimum dose, fifteen hundred words maximum dose. before he got very far along in the art of the storiette, martin worked out half a dozen stock forms, which he always consulted when constructing storiettes. these forms were like the cunning tables used by mathematicians, which may be entered from top, bottom, right, and left, which entrances consist of scores of lines and dozens of columns, and from which may be drawn, without reasoning or thinking, thousands of different conclusions, all unchallengably precise and true. thus, in the course of half an hour with his forms, martin could frame up a dozen or so storiettes, which he put aside and filled in at his convenience. he found that he could fill one in, after a day of serious work, in the hour before going to bed. as he later confessed to ruth, he could almost do it in his sleep. the real work was in constructing the frames, and that was merely mechanical. he had no doubt whatever of the efficacy of his formula, and for once he knew the editorial mind when he said positively to himself that the first two he sent off would bring checks. and checks they brought, for four dollars each, at the end of twelve days. in the meantime he was making fresh and alarming discoveries concerning the magazines. though the transcontinental had published "the ring of bells," no check was forthcoming. martin needed it, and he wrote for it. an evasive answer and a request for more of his work was all he received. he had gone hungry two days waiting for the reply, and it was then that he put his wheel back in pawn. he wrote regularly, twice a week, to the transcontinental for his five dollars, though it was only semi-occasionally that he elicited a reply. he did not know that the transcontinental had been staggering along precariously for years, that it was a fourth-rater, or tenth-rater, without standing, with a crazy circulation that partly rested on petty bullying and partly on patriotic appealing, and with advertisements that were scarcely more than charitable donations. nor did he know that the transcontinental was the sole livelihood of the editor and the business manager, and that they could wring their livelihood out of it only by moving to escape paying rent and by never paying any bill they could evade. nor could he have guessed that the particular five dollars that belonged to him had been appropriated by the business manager for the painting of his house in alameda, which painting he performed himself, on week-day afternoons, because he could not afford to pay union wages and because the first scab he had employed had had a ladder jerked out from under him and been sent to the hospital with a broken collar-bone. the ten dollars for which martin had sold "treasure hunters" to the chicago newspaper did not come to hand. the article had been published, as he had ascertained at the file in the central reading-room, but no word could he get from the editor. his letters were ignored. to satisfy himself that they had been received, he registered several of them. it was nothing less than robbery, he concluded--a cold-blooded steal; while he starved, he was pilfered of his merchandise, of his goods, the sale of which was the sole way of getting bread to eat. youth and age was a weekly, and it had published two-thirds of his twenty- one-thousand-word serial when it went out of business. with it went all hopes of getting his sixteen dollars. to cap the situation, "the pot," which he looked upon as one of the best things he had written, was lost to him. in despair, casting about frantically among the magazines, he had sent it to the billow, a society weekly in san francisco. his chief reason for submitting it to that publication was that, having only to travel across the bay from oakland, a quick decision could be reached. two weeks later he was overjoyed to see, in the latest number on the news-stand, his story printed in full, illustrated, and in the place of honor. he went home with leaping pulse, wondering how much they would pay him for one of the best things he had done. also, the celerity with which it had been accepted and published was a pleasant thought to him. that the editor had not informed him of the acceptance made the surprise more complete. after waiting a week, two weeks, and half a week longer, desperation conquered diffidence, and he wrote to the editor of the billow, suggesting that possibly through some negligence of the business manager his little account had been overlooked. even if it isn't more than five dollars, martin thought to himself, it will buy enough beans and pea-soup to enable me to write half a dozen like it, and possibly as good. back came a cool letter from the editor that at least elicited martin's admiration. "we thank you," it ran, "for your excellent contribution. all of us in the office enjoyed it immensely, and, as you see, it was given the place of honor and immediate publication. we earnestly hope that you liked the illustrations. "on rereading your letter it seems to us that you are laboring under the misapprehension that we pay for unsolicited manuscripts. this is not our custom, and of course yours was unsolicited. we assumed, naturally, when we received your story, that you understood the situation. we can only deeply regret this unfortunate misunderstanding, and assure you of our unfailing regard. again, thanking you for your kind contribution, and hoping to receive more from you in the near future, we remain, etc." there was also a postscript to the effect that though the billow carried no free-list, it took great pleasure in sending him a complimentary subscription for the ensuing year. after that experience, martin typed at the top of the first sheet of all his manuscripts: "submitted at your usual rate." some day, he consoled himself, they will be submitted at _my_ usual rate. he discovered in himself, at this period, a passion for perfection, under the sway of which he rewrote and polished "the jostling street," "the wine of life," "joy," the "sea lyrics," and others of his earlier work. as of old, nineteen hours of labor a day was all too little to suit him. he wrote prodigiously, and he read prodigiously, forgetting in his toil the pangs caused by giving up his tobacco. ruth's promised cure for the habit, flamboyantly labelled, he stowed away in the most inaccessible corner of his bureau. especially during his stretches of famine he suffered from lack of the weed; but no matter how often he mastered the craving, it remained with him as strong as ever. he regarded it as the biggest thing he had ever achieved. ruth's point of view was that he was doing no more than was right. she brought him the anti-tobacco remedy, purchased out of her glove money, and in a few days forgot all about it. his machine-made storiettes, though he hated them and derided them, were successful. by means of them he redeemed all his pledges, paid most of his bills, and bought a new set of tires for his wheel. the storiettes at least kept the pot a-boiling and gave him time for ambitious work; while the one thing that upheld him was the forty dollars he had received from the white mouse. he anchored his faith to that, and was confident that the really first-class magazines would pay an unknown writer at least an equal rate, if not a better one. but the thing was, how to get into the first-class magazines. his best stories, essays, and poems went begging among them, and yet, each month, he read reams of dull, prosy, inartistic stuff between all their various covers. if only one editor, he sometimes thought, would descend from his high seat of pride to write me one cheering line! no matter if my work is unusual, no matter if it is unfit, for prudential reasons, for their pages, surely there must be some sparks in it, somewhere, a few, to warm them to some sort of appreciation. and thereupon he would get out one or another of his manuscripts, such as "adventure," and read it over and over in a vain attempt to vindicate the editorial silence. as the sweet california spring came on, his period of plenty came to an end. for several weeks he had been worried by a strange silence on the part of the newspaper storiette syndicate. then, one day, came back to him through the mail ten of his immaculate machine-made storiettes. they were accompanied by a brief letter to the effect that the syndicate was overstocked, and that some months would elapse before it would be in the market again for manuscripts. martin had even been extravagant on the strength of those ten storiettes. toward the last the syndicate had been paying him five dollars each for them and accepting every one he sent. so he had looked upon the ten as good as sold, and he had lived accordingly, on a basis of fifty dollars in the bank. so it was that he entered abruptly upon a lean period, wherein he continued selling his earlier efforts to publications that would not pay and submitting his later work to magazines that would not buy. also, he resumed his trips to the pawn-broker down in oakland. a few jokes and snatches of humorous verse, sold to the new york weeklies, made existence barely possible for him. it was at this time that he wrote letters of inquiry to the several great monthly and quarterly reviews, and learned in reply that they rarely considered unsolicited articles, and that most of their contents were written upon order by well-known specialists who were authorities in their various fields. chapter xxix it was a hard summer for martin. manuscript readers and editors were away on vacation, and publications that ordinarily returned a decision in three weeks now retained his manuscript for three months or more. the consolation he drew from it was that a saving in postage was effected by the deadlock. only the robber-publications seemed to remain actively in business, and to them martin disposed of all his early efforts, such as "pearl-diving," "the sea as a career," "turtle-catching," and "the northeast trades." for these manuscripts he never received a penny. it is true, after six months' correspondence, he effected a compromise, whereby he received a safety razor for "turtle-catching," and that the acropolis, having agreed to give him five dollars cash and five yearly subscriptions: for "the northeast trades," fulfilled the second part of the agreement. for a sonnet on stevenson he managed to wring two dollars out of a boston editor who was running a magazine with a matthew arnold taste and a penny- dreadful purse. "the peri and the pearl," a clever skit of a poem of two hundred lines, just finished, white hot from his brain, won the heart of the editor of a san francisco magazine published in the interest of a great railroad. when the editor wrote, offering him payment in transportation, martin wrote back to inquire if the transportation was transferable. it was not, and so, being prevented from peddling it, he asked for the return of the poem. back it came, with the editor's regrets, and martin sent it to san francisco again, this time to the hornet, a pretentious monthly that had been fanned into a constellation of the first magnitude by the brilliant journalist who founded it. but the hornet's light had begun to dim long before martin was born. the editor promised martin fifteen dollars for the poem, but, when it was published, seemed to forget about it. several of his letters being ignored, martin indicted an angry one which drew a reply. it was written by a new editor, who coolly informed martin that he declined to be held responsible for the old editor's mistakes, and that he did not think much of "the peri and the pearl" anyway. but the globe, a chicago magazine, gave martin the most cruel treatment of all. he had refrained from offering his "sea lyrics" for publication, until driven to it by starvation. after having been rejected by a dozen magazines, they had come to rest in the globe office. there were thirty poems in the collection, and he was to receive a dollar apiece for them. the first month four were published, and he promptly received a cheek for four dollars; but when he looked over the magazine, he was appalled at the slaughter. in some cases the titles had been altered: "finis," for instance, being changed to "the finish," and "the song of the outer reef" to "the song of the coral reef." in one case, an absolutely different title, a misappropriate title, was substituted. in place of his own, "medusa lights," the editor had printed, "the backward track." but the slaughter in the body of the poems was terrifying. martin groaned and sweated and thrust his hands through his hair. phrases, lines, and stanzas were cut out, interchanged, or juggled about in the most incomprehensible manner. sometimes lines and stanzas not his own were substituted for his. he could not believe that a sane editor could be guilty of such maltreatment, and his favorite hypothesis was that his poems must have been doctored by the office boy or the stenographer. martin wrote immediately, begging the editor to cease publishing the lyrics and to return them to him. he wrote again and again, begging, entreating, threatening, but his letters were ignored. month by month the slaughter went on till the thirty poems were published, and month by month he received a check for those which had appeared in the current number. despite these various misadventures, the memory of the white mouse forty- dollar check sustained him, though he was driven more and more to hack- work. he discovered a bread-and-butter field in the agricultural weeklies and trade journals, though among the religious weeklies he found he could easily starve. at his lowest ebb, when his black suit was in pawn, he made a ten-strike--or so it seemed to him--in a prize contest arranged by the county committee of the republican party. there were three branches of the contest, and he entered them all, laughing at himself bitterly the while in that he was driven to such straits to live. his poem won the first prize of ten dollars, his campaign song the second prize of five dollars, his essay on the principles of the republican party the first prize of twenty-five dollars. which was very gratifying to him until he tried to collect. something had gone wrong in the county committee, and, though a rich banker and a state senator were members of it, the money was not forthcoming. while this affair was hanging fire, he proved that he understood the principles of the democratic party by winning the first prize for his essay in a similar contest. and, moreover, he received the money, twenty-five dollars. but the forty dollars won in the first contest he never received. driven to shifts in order to see ruth, and deciding that the long walk from north oakland to her house and back again consumed too much time, he kept his black suit in pawn in place of his bicycle. the latter gave him exercise, saved him hours of time for work, and enabled him to see ruth just the same. a pair of knee duck trousers and an old sweater made him a presentable wheel costume, so that he could go with ruth on afternoon rides. besides, he no longer had opportunity to see much of her in her own home, where mrs. morse was thoroughly prosecuting her campaign of entertainment. the exalted beings he met there, and to whom he had looked up but a short time before, now bored him. they were no longer exalted. he was nervous and irritable, what of his hard times, disappointments, and close application to work, and the conversation of such people was maddening. he was not unduly egotistic. he measured the narrowness of their minds by the minds of the thinkers in the books he read. at ruth's home he never met a large mind, with the exception of professor caldwell, and caldwell he had met there only once. as for the rest, they were numskulls, ninnies, superficial, dogmatic, and ignorant. it was their ignorance that astounded him. what was the matter with them? what had they done with their educations? they had had access to the same books he had. how did it happen that they had drawn nothing from them? he knew that the great minds, the deep and rational thinkers, existed. he had his proofs from the books, the books that had educated him beyond the morse standard. and he knew that higher intellects than those of the morse circle were to be found in the world. he read english society novels, wherein he caught glimpses of men and women talking politics and philosophy. and he read of salons in great cities, even in the united states, where art and intellect congregated. foolishly, in the past, he had conceived that all well-groomed persons above the working class were persons with power of intellect and vigor of beauty. culture and collars had gone together, to him, and he had been deceived into believing that college educations and mastery were the same things. well, he would fight his way on and up higher. and he would take ruth with him. her he dearly loved, and he was confident that she would shine anywhere. as it was clear to him that he had been handicapped by his early environment, so now he perceived that she was similarly handicapped. she had not had a chance to expand. the books on her father's shelves, the paintings on the walls, the music on the piano--all was just so much meretricious display. to real literature, real painting, real music, the morses and their kind, were dead. and bigger than such things was life, of which they were densely, hopelessly ignorant. in spite of their unitarian proclivities and their masks of conservative broadmindedness, they were two generations behind interpretative science: their mental processes were mediaeval, while their thinking on the ultimate data of existence and of the universe struck him as the same metaphysical method that was as young as the youngest race, as old as the cave-man, and older--the same that moved the first pleistocene ape-man to fear the dark; that moved the first hasty hebrew savage to incarnate eve from adam's rib; that moved descartes to build an idealistic system of the universe out of the projections of his own puny ego; and that moved the famous british ecclesiastic to denounce evolution in satire so scathing as to win immediate applause and leave his name a notorious scrawl on the page of history. so martin thought, and he thought further, till it dawned upon him that the difference between these lawyers, officers, business men, and bank cashiers he had met and the members of the working class he had known was on a par with the difference in the food they ate, clothes they wore, neighborhoods in which they lived. certainly, in all of them was lacking the something more which he found in himself and in the books. the morses had shown him the best their social position could produce, and he was not impressed by it. a pauper himself, a slave to the money-lender, he knew himself the superior of those he met at the morses'; and, when his one decent suit of clothes was out of pawn, he moved among them a lord of life, quivering with a sense of outrage akin to what a prince would suffer if condemned to live with goat-herds. "you hate and fear the socialists," he remarked to mr. morse, one evening at dinner; "but why? you know neither them nor their doctrines." the conversation had been swung in that direction by mrs. morse, who had been invidiously singing the praises of mr. hapgood. the cashier was martin's black beast, and his temper was a trifle short where the talker of platitudes was concerned. "yes," he had said, "charley hapgood is what they call a rising young man--somebody told me as much. and it is true. he'll make the governor's chair before he dies, and, who knows? maybe the united states senate." "what makes you think so?" mrs. morse had inquired. "i've heard him make a campaign speech. it was so cleverly stupid and unoriginal, and also so convincing, that the leaders cannot help but regard him as safe and sure, while his platitudes are so much like the platitudes of the average voter that--oh, well, you know you flatter any man by dressing up his own thoughts for him and presenting them to him." "i actually think you are jealous of mr. hapgood," ruth had chimed in. "heaven forbid!" the look of horror on martin's face stirred mrs. morse to belligerence. "you surely don't mean to say that mr. hapgood is stupid?" she demanded icily. "no more than the average republican," was the retort, "or average democrat, either. they are all stupid when they are not crafty, and very few of them are crafty. the only wise republicans are the millionnaires and their conscious henchmen. they know which side their bread is buttered on, and they know why." "i am a republican," mr. morse put in lightly. "pray, how do you classify me?" "oh, you are an unconscious henchman." "henchman?" "why, yes. you do corporation work. you have no working-class nor criminal practice. you don't depend upon wife-beaters and pickpockets for your income. you get your livelihood from the masters of society, and whoever feeds a man is that man's master. yes, you are a henchman. you are interested in advancing the interests of the aggregations of capital you serve." mr. morse's face was a trifle red. "i confess, sir," he said, "that you talk like a scoundrelly socialist." then it was that martin made his remark: "you hate and fear the socialists; but why? you know neither them nor their doctrines." "your doctrine certainly sounds like socialism," mr. morse replied, while ruth gazed anxiously from one to the other, and mrs. morse beamed happily at the opportunity afforded of rousing her liege lord's antagonism. "because i say republicans are stupid, and hold that liberty, equality, and fraternity are exploded bubbles, does not make me a socialist," martin said with a smile. "because i question jefferson and the unscientific frenchmen who informed his mind, does not make me a socialist. believe me, mr. morse, you are far nearer socialism than i who am its avowed enemy." "now you please to be facetious," was all the other could say. "not at all. i speak in all seriousness. you still believe in equality, and yet you do the work of the corporations, and the corporations, from day to day, are busily engaged in burying equality. and you call me a socialist because i deny equality, because i affirm just what you live up to. the republicans are foes to equality, though most of them fight the battle against equality with the very word itself the slogan on their lips. in the name of equality they destroy equality. that was why i called them stupid. as for myself, i am an individualist. i believe the race is to the swift, the battle to the strong. such is the lesson i have learned from biology, or at least think i have learned. as i said, i am an individualist, and individualism is the hereditary and eternal foe of socialism." "but you frequent socialist meetings," mr. morse challenged. "certainly, just as spies frequent hostile camps. how else are you to learn about the enemy? besides, i enjoy myself at their meetings. they are good fighters, and, right or wrong, they have read the books. any one of them knows far more about sociology and all the other ologies than the average captain of industry. yes, i have been to half a dozen of their meetings, but that doesn't make me a socialist any more than hearing charley hapgood orate made me a republican." "i can't help it," mr. morse said feebly, "but i still believe you incline that way." bless me, martin thought to himself, he doesn't know what i was talking about. he hasn't understood a word of it. what did he do with his education, anyway? thus, in his development, martin found himself face to face with economic morality, or the morality of class; and soon it became to him a grisly monster. personally, he was an intellectual moralist, and more offending to him than platitudinous pomposity was the morality of those about him, which was a curious hotchpotch of the economic, the metaphysical, the sentimental, and the imitative. a sample of this curious messy mixture he encountered nearer home. his sister marian had been keeping company with an industrious young mechanic, of german extraction, who, after thoroughly learning the trade, had set up for himself in a bicycle-repair shop. also, having got the agency for a low-grade make of wheel, he was prosperous. marian had called on martin in his room a short time before to announce her engagement, during which visit she had playfully inspected martin's palm and told his fortune. on her next visit she brought hermann von schmidt along with her. martin did the honors and congratulated both of them in language so easy and graceful as to affect disagreeably the peasant-mind of his sister's lover. this bad impression was further heightened by martin's reading aloud the half-dozen stanzas of verse with which he had commemorated marian's previous visit. it was a bit of society verse, airy and delicate, which he had named "the palmist." he was surprised, when he finished reading it, to note no enjoyment in his sister's face. instead, her eyes were fixed anxiously upon her betrothed, and martin, following her gaze, saw spread on that worthy's asymmetrical features nothing but black and sullen disapproval. the incident passed over, they made an early departure, and martin forgot all about it, though for the moment he had been puzzled that any woman, even of the working class, should not have been flattered and delighted by having poetry written about her. several evenings later marian again visited him, this time alone. nor did she waste time in coming to the point, upbraiding him sorrowfully for what he had done. "why, marian," he chided, "you talk as though you were ashamed of your relatives, or of your brother at any rate." "and i am, too," she blurted out. martin was bewildered by the tears of mortification he saw in her eyes. the mood, whatever it was, was genuine. "but, marian, why should your hermann be jealous of my writing poetry about my own sister?" "he ain't jealous," she sobbed. "he says it was indecent, ob--obscene." martin emitted a long, low whistle of incredulity, then proceeded to resurrect and read a carbon copy of "the palmist." "i can't see it," he said finally, proffering the manuscript to her. "read it yourself and show me whatever strikes you as obscene--that was the word, wasn't it?" "he says so, and he ought to know," was the answer, with a wave aside of the manuscript, accompanied by a look of loathing. "and he says you've got to tear it up. he says he won't have no wife of his with such things written about her which anybody can read. he says it's a disgrace, an' he won't stand for it." "now, look here, marian, this is nothing but nonsense," martin began; then abruptly changed his mind. he saw before him an unhappy girl, knew the futility of attempting to convince her husband or her, and, though the whole situation was absurd and preposterous, he resolved to surrender. "all right," he announced, tearing the manuscript into half a dozen pieces and throwing it into the waste-basket. he contented himself with the knowledge that even then the original type- written manuscript was reposing in the office of a new york magazine. marian and her husband would never know, and neither himself nor they nor the world would lose if the pretty, harmless poem ever were published. marian, starting to reach into the waste-basket, refrained. "can i?" she pleaded. he nodded his head, regarding her thoughtfully as she gathered the torn pieces of manuscript and tucked them into the pocket of her jacket--ocular evidence of the success of her mission. she reminded him of lizzie connolly, though there was less of fire and gorgeous flaunting life in her than in that other girl of the working class whom he had seen twice. but they were on a par, the pair of them, in dress and carriage, and he smiled with inward amusement at the caprice of his fancy which suggested the appearance of either of them in mrs. morse's drawing-room. the amusement faded, and he was aware of a great loneliness. this sister of his and the morse drawing-room were milestones of the road he had travelled. and he had left them behind. he glanced affectionately about him at his few books. they were all the comrades left to him. "hello, what's that?" he demanded in startled surprise. marian repeated her question. "why don't i go to work?" he broke into a laugh that was only half-hearted. "that hermann of yours has been talking to you." she shook her head. "don't lie," he commanded, and the nod of her head affirmed his charge. "well, you tell that hermann of yours to mind his own business; that when i write poetry about the girl he's keeping company with it's his business, but that outside of that he's got no say so. understand? "so you don't think i'll succeed as a writer, eh?" he went on. "you think i'm no good?--that i've fallen down and am a disgrace to the family?" "i think it would be much better if you got a job," she said firmly, and he saw she was sincere. "hermann says--" "damn hermann!" he broke out good-naturedly. "what i want to know is when you're going to get married. also, you find out from your hermann if he will deign to permit you to accept a wedding present from me." he mused over the incident after she had gone, and once or twice broke out into laughter that was bitter as he saw his sister and her betrothed, all the members of his own class and the members of ruth's class, directing their narrow little lives by narrow little formulas--herd-creatures, flocking together and patterning their lives by one another's opinions, failing of being individuals and of really living life because of the childlike formulas by which they were enslaved. he summoned them before him in apparitional procession: bernard higginbotham arm in arm with mr. butler, hermann von schmidt cheek by jowl with charley hapgood, and one by one and in pairs he judged them and dismissed them--judged them by the standards of intellect and morality he had learned from the books. vainly he asked: where are the great souls, the great men and women? he found them not among the careless, gross, and stupid intelligences that answered the call of vision to his narrow room. he felt a loathing for them such as circe must have felt for her swine. when he had dismissed the last one and thought himself alone, a late-comer entered, unexpected and unsummoned. martin watched him and saw the stiff-rim, the square-cut, double-breasted coat and the swaggering shoulders, of the youthful hoodlum who had once been he. "you were like all the rest, young fellow," martin sneered. "your morality and your knowledge were just the same as theirs. you did not think and act for yourself. your opinions, like your clothes, were ready made; your acts were shaped by popular approval. you were cock of your gang because others acclaimed you the real thing. you fought and ruled the gang, not because you liked to,--you know you really despised it,--but because the other fellows patted you on the shoulder. you licked cheese- face because you wouldn't give in, and you wouldn't give in partly because you were an abysmal brute and for the rest because you believed what every one about you believed, that the measure of manhood was the carnivorous ferocity displayed in injuring and marring fellow-creatures' anatomies. why, you whelp, you even won other fellows' girls away from them, not because you wanted the girls, but because in the marrow of those about you, those who set your moral pace, was the instinct of the wild stallion and the bull-seal. well, the years have passed, and what do you think about it now?" as if in reply, the vision underwent a swift metamorphosis. the stiff- rim and the square-cut vanished, being replaced by milder garments; the toughness went out of the face, the hardness out of the eyes; and, the face, chastened and refined, was irradiated from an inner life of communion with beauty and knowledge. the apparition was very like his present self, and, as he regarded it, he noted the student-lamp by which it was illuminated, and the book over which it pored. he glanced at the title and read, "the science of aesthetics." next, he entered into the apparition, trimmed the student-lamp, and himself went on reading "the science of aesthetics." chapter xxx on a beautiful fall day, a day of similar indian summer to that which had seen their love declared the year before, martin read his "love-cycle" to ruth. it was in the afternoon, and, as before, they had ridden out to their favorite knoll in the hills. now and again she had interrupted his reading with exclamations of pleasure, and now, as he laid the last sheet of manuscript with its fellows, he waited her judgment. she delayed to speak, and at last she spoke haltingly, hesitating to frame in words the harshness of her thought. "i think they are beautiful, very beautiful," she said; "but you can't sell them, can you? you see what i mean," she said, almost pleaded. "this writing of yours is not practical. something is the matter--maybe it is with the market--that prevents you from earning a living by it. and please, dear, don't misunderstand me. i am flattered, and made proud, and all that--i could not be a true woman were it otherwise--that you should write these poems to me. but they do not make our marriage possible. don't you see, martin? don't think me mercenary. it is love, the thought of our future, with which i am burdened. a whole year has gone by since we learned we loved each other, and our wedding day is no nearer. don't think me immodest in thus talking about our wedding, for really i have my heart, all that i am, at stake. why don't you try to get work on a newspaper, if you are so bound up in your writing? why not become a reporter?--for a while, at least?" "it would spoil my style," was his answer, in a low, monotonous voice. "you have no idea how i've worked for style." "but those storiettes," she argued. "you called them hack-work. you wrote many of them. didn't they spoil your style?" "no, the cases are different. the storiettes were ground out, jaded, at the end of a long day of application to style. but a reporter's work is all hack from morning till night, is the one paramount thing of life. and it is a whirlwind life, the life of the moment, with neither past nor future, and certainly without thought of any style but reportorial style, and that certainly is not literature. to become a reporter now, just as my style is taking form, crystallizing, would be to commit literary suicide. as it is, every storiette, every word of every storiette, was a violation of myself, of my self-respect, of my respect for beauty. i tell you it was sickening. i was guilty of sin. and i was secretly glad when the markets failed, even if my clothes did go into pawn. but the joy of writing the 'love-cycle'! the creative joy in its noblest form! that was compensation for everything." martin did not know that ruth was unsympathetic concerning the creative joy. she used the phrase--it was on her lips he had first heard it. she had read about it, studied about it, in the university in the course of earning her bachelorship of arts; but she was not original, not creative, and all manifestations of culture on her part were but harpings of the harpings of others. "may not the editor have been right in his revision of your 'sea lyrics'?" she questioned. "remember, an editor must have proved qualifications or else he would not be an editor." "that's in line with the persistence of the established," he rejoined, his heat against the editor-folk getting the better of him. "what is, is not only right, but is the best possible. the existence of anything is sufficient vindication of its fitness to exist--to exist, mark you, as the average person unconsciously believes, not merely in present conditions, but in all conditions. it is their ignorance, of course, that makes them believe such rot--their ignorance, which is nothing more nor less than the henidical mental process described by weininger. they think they think, and such thinkless creatures are the arbiters of the lives of the few who really think." he paused, overcome by the consciousness that he had been talking over ruth's head. "i'm sure i don't know who this weininger is," she retorted. "and you are so dreadfully general that i fail to follow you. what i was speaking of was the qualification of editors--" "and i'll tell you," he interrupted. "the chief qualification of ninety- nine per cent of all editors is failure. they have failed as writers. don't think they prefer the drudgery of the desk and the slavery to their circulation and to the business manager to the joy of writing. they have tried to write, and they have failed. and right there is the cursed paradox of it. every portal to success in literature is guarded by those watch-dogs, the failures in literature. the editors, sub-editors, associate editors, most of them, and the manuscript-readers for the magazines and book-publishers, most of them, nearly all of them, are men who wanted to write and who have failed. and yet they, of all creatures under the sun the most unfit, are the very creatures who decide what shall and what shall not find its way into print--they, who have proved themselves not original, who have demonstrated that they lack the divine fire, sit in judgment upon originality and genius. and after them come the reviewers, just so many more failures. don't tell me that they have not dreamed the dream and attempted to write poetry or fiction; for they have, and they have failed. why, the average review is more nauseating than cod-liver oil. but you know my opinion on the reviewers and the alleged critics. there are great critics, but they are as rare as comets. if i fail as a writer, i shall have proved for the career of editorship. there's bread and butter and jam, at any rate." ruth's mind was quick, and her disapproval of her lover's views was buttressed by the contradiction she found in his contention. "but, martin, if that be so, if all the doors are closed as you have shown so conclusively, how is it possible that any of the great writers ever arrived?" "they arrived by achieving the impossible," he answered. "they did such blazing, glorious work as to burn to ashes those that opposed them. they arrived by course of miracle, by winning a thousand-to-one wager against them. they arrived because they were carlyle's battle-scarred giants who will not be kept down. and that is what i must do; i must achieve the impossible." "but if you fail? you must consider me as well, martin." "if i fail?" he regarded her for a moment as though the thought she had uttered was unthinkable. then intelligence illumined his eyes. "if i fail, i shall become an editor, and you will be an editor's wife." she frowned at his facetiousness--a pretty, adorable frown that made him put his arm around her and kiss it away. "there, that's enough," she urged, by an effort of will withdrawing herself from the fascination of his strength. "i have talked with father and mother. i never before asserted myself so against them. i demanded to be heard. i was very undutiful. they are against you, you know; but i assured them over and over of my abiding love for you, and at last father agreed that if you wanted to, you could begin right away in his office. and then, of his own accord, he said he would pay you enough at the start so that we could get married and have a little cottage somewhere. which i think was very fine of him--don't you?" martin, with the dull pain of despair at his heart, mechanically reaching for the tobacco and paper (which he no longer carried) to roll a cigarette, muttered something inarticulate, and ruth went on. "frankly, though, and don't let it hurt you--i tell you, to show you precisely how you stand with him--he doesn't like your radical views, and he thinks you are lazy. of course i know you are not. i know you work hard." how hard, even she did not know, was the thought in martin's mind. "well, then," he said, "how about my views? do you think they are so radical?" he held her eyes and waited the answer. "i think them, well, very disconcerting," she replied. the question was answered for him, and so oppressed was he by the grayness of life that he forgot the tentative proposition she had made for him to go to work. and she, having gone as far as she dared, was willing to wait the answer till she should bring the question up again. she had not long to wait. martin had a question of his own to propound to her. he wanted to ascertain the measure of her faith in him, and within the week each was answered. martin precipitated it by reading to her his "the shame of the sun." "why don't you become a reporter?" she asked when he had finished. "you love writing so, and i am sure you would succeed. you could rise in journalism and make a name for yourself. there are a number of great special correspondents. their salaries are large, and their field is the world. they are sent everywhere, to the heart of africa, like stanley, or to interview the pope, or to explore unknown thibet." "then you don't like my essay?" he rejoined. "you believe that i have some show in journalism but none in literature?" "no, no; i do like it. it reads well. but i am afraid it's over the heads of your readers. at least it is over mine. it sounds beautiful, but i don't understand it. your scientific slang is beyond me. you are an extremist, you know, dear, and what may be intelligible to you may not be intelligible to the rest of us." "i imagine it's the philosophic slang that bothers you," was all he could say. he was flaming from the fresh reading of the ripest thought he had expressed, and her verdict stunned him. "no matter how poorly it is done," he persisted, "don't you see anything in it?--in the thought of it, i mean?" she shook her head. "no, it is so different from anything i have read. i read maeterlinck and understand him--" "his mysticism, you understand that?" martin flashed out. "yes, but this of yours, which is supposed to be an attack upon him, i don't understand. of course, if originality counts--" he stopped her with an impatient gesture that was not followed by speech. he became suddenly aware that she was speaking and that she had been speaking for some time. "after all, your writing has been a toy to you," she was saying. "surely you have played with it long enough. it is time to take up life seriously--_our_ life, martin. hitherto you have lived solely your own." "you want me to go to work?" he asked. "yes. father has offered--" "i understand all that," he broke in; "but what i want to know is whether or not you have lost faith in me?" she pressed his hand mutely, her eyes dim. "in your writing, dear," she admitted in a half-whisper. "you've read lots of my stuff," he went on brutally. "what do you think of it? is it utterly hopeless? how does it compare with other men's work?" "but they sell theirs, and you--don't." "that doesn't answer my question. do you think that literature is not at all my vocation?" "then i will answer." she steeled herself to do it. "i don't think you were made to write. forgive me, dear. you compel me to say it; and you know i know more about literature than you do." "yes, you are a bachelor of arts," he said meditatively; "and you ought to know." "but there is more to be said," he continued, after a pause painful to both. "i know what i have in me. no one knows that so well as i. i know i shall succeed. i will not be kept down. i am afire with what i have to say in verse, and fiction, and essay. i do not ask you to have faith in that, though. i do not ask you to have faith in me, nor in my writing. what i do ask of you is to love me and have faith in love." "a year ago i believed for two years. one of those years is yet to run. and i do believe, upon my honor and my soul, that before that year is run i shall have succeeded. you remember what you told me long ago, that i must serve my apprenticeship to writing. well, i have served it. i have crammed it and telescoped it. with you at the end awaiting me, i have never shirked. do you know, i have forgotten what it is to fall peacefully asleep. a few million years ago i knew what it was to sleep my fill and to awake naturally from very glut of sleep. i am awakened always now by an alarm clock. if i fall asleep early or late, i set the alarm accordingly; and this, and the putting out of the lamp, are my last conscious actions." "when i begin to feel drowsy, i change the heavy book i am reading for a lighter one. and when i doze over that, i beat my head with my knuckles in order to drive sleep away. somewhere i read of a man who was afraid to sleep. kipling wrote the story. this man arranged a spur so that when unconsciousness came, his naked body pressed against the iron teeth. well, i've done the same. i look at the time, and i resolve that not until midnight, or not until one o'clock, or two o'clock, or three o'clock, shall the spur be removed. and so it rowels me awake until the appointed time. that spur has been my bed-mate for months. i have grown so desperate that five and a half hours of sleep is an extravagance. i sleep four hours now. i am starved for sleep. there are times when i am light-headed from want of sleep, times when death, with its rest and sleep, is a positive lure to me, times when i am haunted by longfellow's lines: "'the sea is still and deep; all things within its bosom sleep; a single step and all is o'er, a plunge, a bubble, and no more.' "of course, this is sheer nonsense. it comes from nervousness, from an overwrought mind. but the point is: why have i done this? for you. to shorten my apprenticeship. to compel success to hasten. and my apprenticeship is now served. i know my equipment. i swear that i learn more each month than the average college man learns in a year. i know it, i tell you. but were my need for you to understand not so desperate i should not tell you. it is not boasting. i measure the results by the books. your brothers, to-day, are ignorant barbarians compared with me and the knowledge i have wrung from the books in the hours they were sleeping. long ago i wanted to be famous. i care very little for fame now. what i want is you; i am more hungry for you than for food, or clothing, or recognition. i have a dream of laying my head on your breast and sleeping an aeon or so, and the dream will come true ere another year is gone." his power beat against her, wave upon wave; and in the moment his will opposed hers most she felt herself most strongly drawn toward him. the strength that had always poured out from him to her was now flowering in his impassioned voice, his flashing eyes, and the vigor of life and intellect surging in him. and in that moment, and for the moment, she was aware of a rift that showed in her certitude--a rift through which she caught sight of the real martin eden, splendid and invincible; and as animal-trainers have their moments of doubt, so she, for the instant, seemed to doubt her power to tame this wild spirit of a man. "and another thing," he swept on. "you love me. but why do you love me? the thing in me that compels me to write is the very thing that draws your love. you love me because i am somehow different from the men you have known and might have loved. i was not made for the desk and counting-house, for petty business squabbling, and legal jangling. make me do such things, make me like those other men, doing the work they do, breathing the air they breathe, developing the point of view they have developed, and you have destroyed the difference, destroyed me, destroyed the thing you love. my desire to write is the most vital thing in me. had i been a mere clod, neither would i have desired to write, nor would you have desired me for a husband." "but you forget," she interrupted, the quick surface of her mind glimpsing a parallel. "there have been eccentric inventors, starving their families while they sought such chimeras as perpetual motion. doubtless their wives loved them, and suffered with them and for them, not because of but in spite of their infatuation for perpetual motion." "true," was the reply. "but there have been inventors who were not eccentric and who starved while they sought to invent practical things; and sometimes, it is recorded, they succeeded. certainly i do not seek any impossibilities--" "you have called it 'achieving the impossible,'" she interpolated. "i spoke figuratively. i seek to do what men have done before me--to write and to live by my writing." her silence spurred him on. "to you, then, my goal is as much a chimera as perpetual motion?" he demanded. he read her answer in the pressure of her hand on his--the pitying mother- hand for the hurt child. and to her, just then, he was the hurt child, the infatuated man striving to achieve the impossible. toward the close of their talk she warned him again of the antagonism of her father and mother. "but you love me?" he asked. "i do! i do!" she cried. "and i love you, not them, and nothing they do can hurt me." triumph sounded in his voice. "for i have faith in your love, not fear of their enmity. all things may go astray in this world, but not love. love cannot go wrong unless it be a weakling that faints and stumbles by the way." chapter xxxi martin had encountered his sister gertrude by chance on broadway--as it proved, a most propitious yet disconcerting chance. waiting on the corner for a car, she had seen him first, and noted the eager, hungry lines of his face and the desperate, worried look of his eyes. in truth, he was desperate and worried. he had just come from a fruitless interview with the pawnbroker, from whom he had tried to wring an additional loan on his wheel. the muddy fall weather having come on, martin had pledged his wheel some time since and retained his black suit. "there's the black suit," the pawnbroker, who knew his every asset, had answered. "you needn't tell me you've gone and pledged it with that jew, lipka. because if you have--" the man had looked the threat, and martin hastened to cry:- "no, no; i've got it. but i want to wear it on a matter of business." "all right," the mollified usurer had replied. "and i want it on a matter of business before i can let you have any more money. you don't think i'm in it for my health?" "but it's a forty-dollar wheel, in good condition," martin had argued. "and you've only let me have seven dollars on it. no, not even seven. six and a quarter; you took the interest in advance." "if you want some more, bring the suit," had been the reply that sent martin out of the stuffy little den, so desperate at heart as to reflect it in his face and touch his sister to pity. scarcely had they met when the telegraph avenue car came along and stopped to take on a crowd of afternoon shoppers. mrs. higginbotham divined from the grip on her arm as he helped her on, that he was not going to follow her. she turned on the step and looked down upon him. his haggard face smote her to the heart again. "ain't you comin'?" she asked the next moment she had descended to his side. "i'm walking--exercise, you know," he explained. "then i'll go along for a few blocks," she announced. "mebbe it'll do me good. i ain't ben feelin' any too spry these last few days." martin glanced at her and verified her statement in her general slovenly appearance, in the unhealthy fat, in the drooping shoulders, the tired face with the sagging lines, and in the heavy fall of her feet, without elasticity--a very caricature of the walk that belongs to a free and happy body. "you'd better stop here," he said, though she had already come to a halt at the first corner, "and take the next car." "my goodness!--if i ain't all tired a'ready!" she panted. "but i'm just as able to walk as you in them soles. they're that thin they'll bu'st long before you git out to north oakland." "i've a better pair at home," was the answer. "come out to dinner to-morrow," she invited irrelevantly. "mr. higginbotham won't be there. he's goin' to san leandro on business." martin shook his head, but he had failed to keep back the wolfish, hungry look that leapt into his eyes at the suggestion of dinner. "you haven't a penny, mart, and that's why you're walkin'. exercise!" she tried to sniff contemptuously, but succeeded in producing only a sniffle. "here, lemme see." and, fumbling in her satchel, she pressed a five-dollar piece into his hand. "i guess i forgot your last birthday, mart," she mumbled lamely. martin's hand instinctively closed on the piece of gold. in the same instant he knew he ought not to accept, and found himself struggling in the throes of indecision. that bit of gold meant food, life, and light in his body and brain, power to go on writing, and--who was to say?--maybe to write something that would bring in many pieces of gold. clear on his vision burned the manuscripts of two essays he had just completed. he saw them under the table on top of the heap of returned manuscripts for which he had no stamps, and he saw their titles, just as he had typed them--"the high priests of mystery," and "the cradle of beauty." he had never submitted them anywhere. they were as good as anything he had done in that line. if only he had stamps for them! then the certitude of his ultimate success rose up in him, an able ally of hunger, and with a quick movement he slipped the coin into his pocket. "i'll pay you back, gertrude, a hundred times over," he gulped out, his throat painfully contracted and in his eyes a swift hint of moisture. "mark my words!" he cried with abrupt positiveness. "before the year is out i'll put an even hundred of those little yellow-boys into your hand. i don't ask you to believe me. all you have to do is wait and see." nor did she believe. her incredulity made her uncomfortable, and failing of other expedient, she said:- "i know you're hungry, mart. it's sticking out all over you. come in to meals any time. i'll send one of the children to tell you when mr. higginbotham ain't to be there. an' mart--" he waited, though he knew in his secret heart what she was about to say, so visible was her thought process to him. "don't you think it's about time you got a job?" "you don't think i'll win out?" he asked. she shook her head. "nobody has faith in me, gertrude, except myself." his voice was passionately rebellious. "i've done good work already, plenty of it, and sooner or later it will sell." "how do you know it is good?" "because--" he faltered as the whole vast field of literature and the history of literature stirred in his brain and pointed the futility of his attempting to convey to her the reasons for his faith. "well, because it's better than ninety-nine per cent of what is published in the magazines." "i wish't you'd listen to reason," she answered feebly, but with unwavering belief in the correctness of her diagnosis of what was ailing him. "i wish't you'd listen to reason," she repeated, "an' come to dinner to-morrow." after martin had helped her on the car, he hurried to the post-office and invested three of the five dollars in stamps; and when, later in the day, on the way to the morse home, he stopped in at the post-office to weigh a large number of long, bulky envelopes, he affixed to them all the stamps save three of the two-cent denomination. it proved a momentous night for martin, for after dinner he met russ brissenden. how he chanced to come there, whose friend he was or what acquaintance brought him, martin did not know. nor had he the curiosity to inquire about him of ruth. in short, brissenden struck martin as anaemic and feather-brained, and was promptly dismissed from his mind. an hour later he decided that brissenden was a boor as well, what of the way he prowled about from one room to another, staring at the pictures or poking his nose into books and magazines he picked up from the table or drew from the shelves. though a stranger in the house he finally isolated himself in the midst of the company, huddling into a capacious morris chair and reading steadily from a thin volume he had drawn from his pocket. as he read, he abstractedly ran his fingers, with a caressing movement, through his hair. martin noticed him no more that evening, except once when he observed him chaffing with great apparent success with several of the young women. it chanced that when martin was leaving, he overtook brissenden already half down the walk to the street. "hello, is that you?" martin said. the other replied with an ungracious grunt, but swung alongside. martin made no further attempt at conversation, and for several blocks unbroken silence lay upon them. "pompous old ass!" the suddenness and the virulence of the exclamation startled martin. he felt amused, and at the same time was aware of a growing dislike for the other. "what do you go to such a place for?" was abruptly flung at him after another block of silence. "why do you?" martin countered. "bless me, i don't know," came back. "at least this is my first indiscretion. there are twenty-four hours in each day, and i must spend them somehow. come and have a drink." "all right," martin answered. the next moment he was nonplussed by the readiness of his acceptance. at home was several hours' hack-work waiting for him before he went to bed, and after he went to bed there was a volume of weismann waiting for him, to say nothing of herbert spencer's autobiography, which was as replete for him with romance as any thrilling novel. why should he waste any time with this man he did not like? was his thought. and yet, it was not so much the man nor the drink as was it what was associated with the drink--the bright lights, the mirrors and dazzling array of glasses, the warm and glowing faces and the resonant hum of the voices of men. that was it, it was the voices of men, optimistic men, men who breathed success and spent their money for drinks like men. he was lonely, that was what was the matter with him; that was why he had snapped at the invitation as a bonita strikes at a white rag on a hook. not since with joe, at shelly hot springs, with the one exception of the wine he took with the portuguese grocer, had martin had a drink at a public bar. mental exhaustion did not produce a craving for liquor such as physical exhaustion did, and he had felt no need for it. but just now he felt desire for the drink, or, rather, for the atmosphere wherein drinks were dispensed and disposed of. such a place was the grotto, where brissenden and he lounged in capacious leather chairs and drank scotch and soda. they talked. they talked about many things, and now brissenden and now martin took turn in ordering scotch and soda. martin, who was extremely strong-headed, marvelled at the other's capacity for liquor, and ever and anon broke off to marvel at the other's conversation. he was not long in assuming that brissenden knew everything, and in deciding that here was the second intellectual man he had met. but he noted that brissenden had what professor caldwell lacked--namely, fire, the flashing insight and perception, the flaming uncontrol of genius. living language flowed from him. his thin lips, like the dies of a machine, stamped out phrases that cut and stung; or again, pursing caressingly about the inchoate sound they articulated, the thin lips shaped soft and velvety things, mellow phrases of glow and glory, of haunting beauty, reverberant of the mystery and inscrutableness of life; and yet again the thin lips were like a bugle, from which rang the crash and tumult of cosmic strife, phrases that sounded clear as silver, that were luminous as starry spaces, that epitomized the final word of science and yet said something more--the poet's word, the transcendental truth, elusive and without words which could express, and which none the less found expression in the subtle and all but ungraspable connotations of common words. he, by some wonder of vision, saw beyond the farthest outpost of empiricism, where was no language for narration, and yet, by some golden miracle of speech, investing known words with unknown significances, he conveyed to martin's consciousness messages that were incommunicable to ordinary souls. martin forgot his first impression of dislike. here was the best the books had to offer coming true. here was an intelligence, a living man for him to look up to. "i am down in the dirt at your feet," martin repeated to himself again and again. "you've studied biology," he said aloud, in significant allusion. to his surprise brissenden shook his head. "but you are stating truths that are substantiated only by biology," martin insisted, and was rewarded by a blank stare. "your conclusions are in line with the books which you must have read." "i am glad to hear it," was the answer. "that my smattering of knowledge should enable me to short-cut my way to truth is most reassuring. as for myself, i never bother to find out if i am right or not. it is all valueless anyway. man can never know the ultimate verities." "you are a disciple of spencer!" martin cried triumphantly. "i haven't read him since adolescence, and all i read then was his 'education.'" "i wish i could gather knowledge as carelessly," martin broke out half an hour later. he had been closely analyzing brissenden's mental equipment. "you are a sheer dogmatist, and that's what makes it so marvellous. you state dogmatically the latest facts which science has been able to establish only by a posteriori reasoning. you jump at correct conclusions. you certainly short-cut with a vengeance. you feel your way with the speed of light, by some hyperrational process, to truth." "yes, that was what used to bother father joseph, and brother dutton," brissenden replied. "oh, no," he added; "i am not anything. it was a lucky trick of fate that sent me to a catholic college for my education. where did you pick up what you know?" and while martin told him, he was busy studying brissenden, ranging from a long, lean, aristocratic face and drooping shoulders to the overcoat on a neighboring chair, its pockets sagged and bulged by the freightage of many books. brissenden's face and long, slender hands were browned by the sun--excessively browned, martin thought. this sunburn bothered martin. it was patent that brissenden was no outdoor man. then how had he been ravaged by the sun? something morbid and significant attached to that sunburn, was martin's thought as he returned to a study of the face, narrow, with high cheek-bones and cavernous hollows, and graced with as delicate and fine an aquiline nose as martin had ever seen. there was nothing remarkable about the size of the eyes. they were neither large nor small, while their color was a nondescript brown; but in them smouldered a fire, or, rather, lurked an expression dual and strangely contradictory. defiant, indomitable, even harsh to excess, they at the same time aroused pity. martin found himself pitying him he knew not why, though he was soon to learn. "oh, i'm a lunger," brissenden announced, offhand, a little later, having already stated that he came from arizona. "i've been down there a couple of years living on the climate." "aren't you afraid to venture it up in this climate?" "afraid?" there was no special emphasis of his repetition of martin's word. but martin saw in that ascetic face the advertisement that there was nothing of which it was afraid. the eyes had narrowed till they were eagle-like, and martin almost caught his breath as he noted the eagle beak with its dilated nostrils, defiant, assertive, aggressive. magnificent, was what he commented to himself, his blood thrilling at the sight. aloud, he quoted:- "'under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody but unbowed.'" "you like henley," brissenden said, his expression changing swiftly to large graciousness and tenderness. "of course, i couldn't have expected anything else of you. ah, henley! a brave soul. he stands out among contemporary rhymesters--magazine rhymesters--as a gladiator stands out in the midst of a band of eunuchs." "you don't like the magazines," martin softly impeached. "do you?" was snarled back at him so savagely as to startle him. "i--i write, or, rather, try to write, for the magazines," martin faltered. "that's better," was the mollified rejoinder. "you try to write, but you don't succeed. i respect and admire your failure. i know what you write. i can see it with half an eye, and there's one ingredient in it that shuts it out of the magazines. it's guts, and magazines have no use for that particular commodity. what they want is wish-wash and slush, and god knows they get it, but not from you." "i'm not above hack-work," martin contended. "on the contrary--" brissenden paused and ran an insolent eye over martin's objective poverty, passing from the well-worn tie and the saw- edged collar to the shiny sleeves of the coat and on to the slight fray of one cuff, winding up and dwelling upon martin's sunken cheeks. "on the contrary, hack-work is above you, so far above you that you can never hope to rise to it. why, man, i could insult you by asking you to have something to eat." martin felt the heat in his face of the involuntary blood, and brissenden laughed triumphantly. "a full man is not insulted by such an invitation," he concluded. "you are a devil," martin cried irritably. "anyway, i didn't ask you." "you didn't dare." "oh, i don't know about that. i invite you now." brissenden half rose from his chair as he spoke, as if with the intention of departing to the restaurant forthwith. martin's fists were tight-clenched, and his blood was drumming in his temples. "bosco! he eats 'em alive! eats 'em alive!" brissenden exclaimed, imitating the spieler of a locally famous snake-eater. "i could certainly eat you alive," martin said, in turn running insolent eyes over the other's disease-ravaged frame. "only i'm not worthy of it?" "on the contrary," martin considered, "because the incident is not worthy." he broke into a laugh, hearty and wholesome. "i confess you made a fool of me, brissenden. that i am hungry and you are aware of it are only ordinary phenomena, and there's no disgrace. you see, i laugh at the conventional little moralities of the herd; then you drift by, say a sharp, true word, and immediately i am the slave of the same little moralities." "you were insulted," brissenden affirmed. "i certainly was, a moment ago. the prejudice of early youth, you know. i learned such things then, and they cheapen what i have since learned. they are the skeletons in my particular closet." "but you've got the door shut on them now?" "i certainly have." "sure?" "sure." "then let's go and get something to eat." "i'll go you," martin answered, attempting to pay for the current scotch and soda with the last change from his two dollars and seeing the waiter bullied by brissenden into putting that change back on the table. martin pocketed it with a grimace, and felt for a moment the kindly weight of brissenden's hand upon his shoulder. chapter xxxii promptly, the next afternoon, maria was excited by martin's second visitor. but she did not lose her head this time, for she seated brissenden in her parlor's grandeur of respectability. "hope you don't mind my coming?" brissenden began. "no, no, not at all," martin answered, shaking hands and waving him to the solitary chair, himself taking to the bed. "but how did you know where i lived?" "called up the morses. miss morse answered the 'phone. and here i am." he tugged at his coat pocket and flung a thin volume on the table. "there's a book, by a poet. read it and keep it." and then, in reply to martin's protest: "what have i to do with books? i had another hemorrhage this morning. got any whiskey? no, of course not. wait a minute." he was off and away. martin watched his long figure go down the outside steps, and, on turning to close the gate, noted with a pang the shoulders, which had once been broad, drawn in now over, the collapsed ruin of the chest. martin got two tumblers, and fell to reading the book of verse, henry vaughn marlow's latest collection. "no scotch," brissenden announced on his return. "the beggar sells nothing but american whiskey. but here's a quart of it." "i'll send one of the youngsters for lemons, and we'll make a toddy," martin offered. "i wonder what a book like that will earn marlow?" he went on, holding up the volume in question. "possibly fifty dollars," came the answer. "though he's lucky if he pulls even on it, or if he can inveigle a publisher to risk bringing it out." "then one can't make a living out of poetry?" martin's tone and face alike showed his dejection. "certainly not. what fool expects to? out of rhyming, yes. there's bruce, and virginia spring, and sedgwick. they do very nicely. but poetry--do you know how vaughn marlow makes his living?--teaching in a boys' cramming-joint down in pennsylvania, and of all private little hells such a billet is the limit. i wouldn't trade places with him if he had fifty years of life before him. and yet his work stands out from the ruck of the contemporary versifiers as a balas ruby among carrots. and the reviews he gets! damn them, all of them, the crass manikins!" "too much is written by the men who can't write about the men who do write," martin concurred. "why, i was appalled at the quantities of rubbish written about stevenson and his work." "ghouls and harpies!" brissenden snapped out with clicking teeth. "yes, i know the spawn--complacently pecking at him for his father damien letter, analyzing him, weighing him--" "measuring him by the yardstick of their own miserable egos," martin broke in. "yes, that's it, a good phrase,--mouthing and besliming the true, and beautiful, and good, and finally patting him on the back and saying, 'good dog, fido.' faugh! 'the little chattering daws of men,' richard realf called them the night he died." "pecking at star-dust," martin took up the strain warmly; "at the meteoric flight of the master-men. i once wrote a squib on them--the critics, or the reviewers, rather." "let's see it," brissenden begged eagerly. so martin unearthed a carbon copy of "star-dust," and during the reading of it brissenden chuckled, rubbed his hands, and forgot to sip his toddy. "strikes me you're a bit of star-dust yourself, flung into a world of cowled gnomes who cannot see," was his comment at the end of it. "of course it was snapped up by the first magazine?" martin ran over the pages of his manuscript book. "it has been refused by twenty-seven of them." brissenden essayed a long and hearty laugh, but broke down in a fit of coughing. "say, you needn't tell me you haven't tackled poetry," he gasped. "let me see some of it." "don't read it now," martin pleaded. "i want to talk with you. i'll make up a bundle and you can take it home." brissenden departed with the "love-cycle," and "the peri and the pearl," returning next day to greet martin with:- "i want more." not only did he assure martin that he was a poet, but martin learned that brissenden also was one. he was swept off his feet by the other's work, and astounded that no attempt had been made to publish it. "a plague on all their houses!" was brissenden's answer to martin's volunteering to market his work for him. "love beauty for its own sake," was his counsel, "and leave the magazines alone. back to your ships and your sea--that's my advice to you, martin eden. what do you want in these sick and rotten cities of men? you are cutting your throat every day you waste in them trying to prostitute beauty to the needs of magazinedom. what was it you quoted me the other day?--oh, yes, 'man, the latest of the ephemera.' well, what do you, the latest of the ephemera, want with fame? if you got it, it would be poison to you. you are too simple, too elemental, and too rational, by my faith, to prosper on such pap. i hope you never do sell a line to the magazines. beauty is the only master to serve. serve her and damn the multitude! success! what in hell's success if it isn't right there in your stevenson sonnet, which outranks henley's 'apparition,' in that 'love-cycle,' in those sea- poems? "it is not in what you succeed in doing that you get your joy, but in the doing of it. you can't tell me. i know it. you know it. beauty hurts you. it is an everlasting pain in you, a wound that does not heal, a knife of flame. why should you palter with magazines? let beauty be your end. why should you mint beauty into gold? anyway, you can't; so there's no use in my getting excited over it. you can read the magazines for a thousand years and you won't find the value of one line of keats. leave fame and coin alone, sign away on a ship to-morrow, and go back to your sea." "not for fame, but for love," martin laughed. "love seems to have no place in your cosmos; in mine, beauty is the handmaiden of love." brissenden looked at him pityingly and admiringly. "you are so young, martin boy, so young. you will flutter high, but your wings are of the finest gauze, dusted with the fairest pigments. do not scorch them. but of course you have scorched them already. it required some glorified petticoat to account for that 'love-cycle,' and that's the shame of it." "it glorifies love as well as the petticoat," martin laughed. "the philosophy of madness," was the retort. "so have i assured myself when wandering in hasheesh dreams. but beware. these bourgeois cities will kill you. look at that den of traitors where i met you. dry rot is no name for it. one can't keep his sanity in such an atmosphere. it's degrading. there's not one of them who is not degrading, man and woman, all of them animated stomachs guided by the high intellectual and artistic impulses of clams--" he broke off suddenly and regarded martin. then, with a flash of divination, he saw the situation. the expression on his face turned to wondering horror. "and you wrote that tremendous 'love-cycle' to her--that pale, shrivelled, female thing!" the next instant martin's right hand had shot to a throttling clutch on his throat, and he was being shaken till his teeth rattled. but martin, looking into his eyes, saw no fear there,--naught but a curious and mocking devil. martin remembered himself, and flung brissenden, by the neck, sidelong upon the bed, at the same moment releasing his hold. brissenden panted and gasped painfully for a moment, then began to chuckle. "you had made me eternally your debtor had you shaken out the flame," he said. "my nerves are on a hair-trigger these days," martin apologized. "hope i didn't hurt you. here, let me mix a fresh toddy." "ah, you young greek!" brissenden went on. "i wonder if you take just pride in that body of yours. you are devilish strong. you are a young panther, a lion cub. well, well, it is you who must pay for that strength." "what do you mean?" martin asked curiously, passing aim a glass. "here, down this and be good." "because--" brissenden sipped his toddy and smiled appreciation of it. "because of the women. they will worry you until you die, as they have already worried you, or else i was born yesterday. now there's no use in your choking me; i'm going to have my say. this is undoubtedly your calf love; but for beauty's sake show better taste next time. what under heaven do you want with a daughter of the bourgeoisie? leave them alone. pick out some great, wanton flame of a woman, who laughs at life and jeers at death and loves one while she may. there are such women, and they will love you just as readily as any pusillanimous product of bourgeois sheltered life." "pusillanimous?" martin protested. "just so, pusillanimous; prattling out little moralities that have been prattled into them, and afraid to live life. they will love you, martin, but they will love their little moralities more. what you want is the magnificent abandon of life, the great free souls, the blazing butterflies and not the little gray moths. oh, you will grow tired of them, too, of all the female things, if you are unlucky enough to live. but you won't live. you won't go back to your ships and sea; therefore, you'll hang around these pest-holes of cities until your bones are rotten, and then you'll die." "you can lecture me, but you can't make me talk back," martin said. "after all, you have but the wisdom of your temperament, and the wisdom of my temperament is just as unimpeachable as yours." they disagreed about love, and the magazines, and many things, but they liked each other, and on martin's part it was no less than a profound liking. day after day they were together, if for no more than the hour brissenden spent in martin's stuffy room. brissenden never arrived without his quart of whiskey, and when they dined together down-town, he drank scotch and soda throughout the meal. he invariably paid the way for both, and it was through him that martin learned the refinements of food, drank his first champagne, and made acquaintance with rhenish wines. but brissenden was always an enigma. with the face of an ascetic, he was, in all the failing blood of him, a frank voluptuary. he was unafraid to die, bitter and cynical of all the ways of living; and yet, dying, he loved life, to the last atom of it. he was possessed by a madness to live, to thrill, "to squirm my little space in the cosmic dust whence i came," as he phrased it once himself. he had tampered with drugs and done many strange things in quest of new thrills, new sensations. as he told martin, he had once gone three days without water, had done so voluntarily, in order to experience the exquisite delight of such a thirst assuaged. who or what he was, martin never learned. he was a man without a past, whose future was the imminent grave and whose present was a bitter fever of living. chapter xxxiii martin was steadily losing his battle. economize as he would, the earnings from hack-work did not balance expenses. thanksgiving found him with his black suit in pawn and unable to accept the morses' invitation to dinner. ruth was not made happy by his reason for not coming, and the corresponding effect on him was one of desperation. he told her that he would come, after all; that he would go over to san francisco, to the transcontinental office, collect the five dollars due him, and with it redeem his suit of clothes. in the morning he borrowed ten cents from maria. he would have borrowed it, by preference, from brissenden, but that erratic individual had disappeared. two weeks had passed since martin had seen him, and he vainly cudgelled his brains for some cause of offence. the ten cents carried martin across the ferry to san francisco, and as he walked up market street he speculated upon his predicament in case he failed to collect the money. there would then be no way for him to return to oakland, and he knew no one in san francisco from whom to borrow another ten cents. the door to the transcontinental office was ajar, and martin, in the act of opening it, was brought to a sudden pause by a loud voice from within, which exclaimed:- "but that is not the question, mr. ford." (ford, martin knew, from his correspondence, to be the editor's name.) "the question is, are you prepared to pay?--cash, and cash down, i mean? i am not interested in the prospects of the transcontinental and what you expect to make it next year. what i want is to be paid for what i do. and i tell you, right now, the christmas transcontinental don't go to press till i have the money in my hand. good day. when you get the money, come and see me." the door jerked open, and the man flung past martin, with an angry countenance and went down the corridor, muttering curses and clenching his fists. martin decided not to enter immediately, and lingered in the hallways for a quarter of an hour. then he shoved the door open and walked in. it was a new experience, the first time he had been inside an editorial office. cards evidently were not necessary in that office, for the boy carried word to an inner room that there was a man who wanted to see mr. ford. returning, the boy beckoned him from halfway across the room and led him to the private office, the editorial sanctum. martin's first impression was of the disorder and cluttered confusion of the room. next he noticed a bewhiskered, youthful-looking man, sitting at a roll- top desk, who regarded him curiously. martin marvelled at the calm repose of his face. it was evident that the squabble with the printer had not affected his equanimity. "i--i am martin eden," martin began the conversation. ("and i want my five dollars," was what he would have liked to say.) but this was his first editor, and under the circumstances he did not desire to scare him too abruptly. to his surprise, mr. ford leaped into the air with a "you don't say so!" and the next moment, with both hands, was shaking martin's hand effusively. "can't say how glad i am to see you, mr. eden. often wondered what you were like." here he held martin off at arm's length and ran his beaming eyes over martin's second-best suit, which was also his worst suit, and which was ragged and past repair, though the trousers showed the careful crease he had put in with maria's flat-irons. "i confess, though, i conceived you to be a much older man than you are. your story, you know, showed such breadth, and vigor, such maturity and depth of thought. a masterpiece, that story--i knew it when i had read the first half-dozen lines. let me tell you how i first read it. but no; first let me introduce you to the staff." still talking, mr. ford led him into the general office, where he introduced him to the associate editor, mr. white, a slender, frail little man whose hand seemed strangely cold, as if he were suffering from a chill, and whose whiskers were sparse and silky. "and mr. ends, mr. eden. mr. ends is our business manager, you know." martin found himself shaking hands with a cranky-eyed, bald-headed man, whose face looked youthful enough from what little could be seen of it, for most of it was covered by a snow-white beard, carefully trimmed--by his wife, who did it on sundays, at which times she also shaved the back of his neck. the three men surrounded martin, all talking admiringly and at once, until it seemed to him that they were talking against time for a wager. "we often wondered why you didn't call," mr. white was saying. "i didn't have the carfare, and i live across the bay," martin answered bluntly, with the idea of showing them his imperative need for the money. surely, he thought to himself, my glad rags in themselves are eloquent advertisement of my need. time and again, whenever opportunity offered, he hinted about the purpose of his business. but his admirers' ears were deaf. they sang his praises, told him what they had thought of his story at first sight, what they subsequently thought, what their wives and families thought; but not one hint did they breathe of intention to pay him for it. "did i tell you how i first read your story?" mr. ford said. "of course i didn't. i was coming west from new york, and when the train stopped at ogden, the train-boy on the new run brought aboard the current number of the transcontinental." my god! martin thought; you can travel in a pullman while i starve for the paltry five dollars you owe me. a wave of anger rushed over him. the wrong done him by the transcontinental loomed colossal, for strong upon him were all the dreary months of vain yearning, of hunger and privation, and his present hunger awoke and gnawed at him, reminding him that he had eaten nothing since the day before, and little enough then. for the moment he saw red. these creatures were not even robbers. they were sneak-thieves. by lies and broken promises they had tricked him out of his story. well, he would show them. and a great resolve surged into his will to the effect that he would not leave the office until he got his money. he remembered, if he did not get it, that there was no way for him to go back to oakland. he controlled himself with an effort, but not before the wolfish expression of his face had awed and perturbed them. they became more voluble than ever. mr. ford started anew to tell how he had first read "the ring of bells," and mr. ends at the same time was striving to repeat his niece's appreciation of "the ring of bells," said niece being a school-teacher in alameda. "i'll tell you what i came for," martin said finally. "to be paid for that story all of you like so well. five dollars, i believe, is what you promised me would be paid on publication." mr. ford, with an expression on his mobile features of mediate and happy acquiescence, started to reach for his pocket, then turned suddenly to mr. ends, and said that he had left his money home. that mr. ends resented this, was patent; and martin saw the twitch of his arm as if to protect his trousers pocket. martin knew that the money was there. "i am sorry," said mr. ends, "but i paid the printer not an hour ago, and he took my ready change. it was careless of me to be so short; but the bill was not yet due, and the printer's request, as a favor, to make an immediate advance, was quite unexpected." both men looked expectantly at mr. white, but that gentleman laughed and shrugged his shoulders. his conscience was clean at any rate. he had come into the transcontinental to learn magazine-literature, instead of which he had principally learned finance. the transcontinental owed him four months' salary, and he knew that the printer must be appeased before the associate editor. "it's rather absurd, mr. eden, to have caught us in this shape," mr. ford preambled airily. "all carelessness, i assure you. but i'll tell you what we'll do. we'll mail you a check the first thing in the morning. you have mr. eden's address, haven't you, mr. ends?" yes, mr. ends had the address, and the check would be mailed the first thing in the morning. martin's knowledge of banks and checks was hazy, but he could see no reason why they should not give him the check on this day just as well as on the next. "then it is understood, mr. eden, that we'll mail you the check to-morrow?" mr. ford said. "i need the money to-day," martin answered stolidly. "the unfortunate circumstances--if you had chanced here any other day," mr. ford began suavely, only to be interrupted by mr. ends, whose cranky eyes justified themselves in his shortness of temper. "mr. ford has already explained the situation," he said with asperity. "and so have i. the check will be mailed--" "i also have explained," martin broke in, "and i have explained that i want the money to-day." he had felt his pulse quicken a trifle at the business manager's brusqueness, and upon him he kept an alert eye, for it was in that gentleman's trousers pocket that he divined the transcontinental's ready cash was reposing. "it is too bad--" mr. ford began. but at that moment, with an impatient movement, mr. ends turned as if about to leave the room. at the same instant martin sprang for him, clutching him by the throat with one hand in such fashion that mr. ends' snow-white beard, still maintaining its immaculate trimness, pointed ceilingward at an angle of forty-five degrees. to the horror of mr. white and mr. ford, they saw their business manager shaken like an astrakhan rug. "dig up, you venerable discourager of rising young talent!" martin exhorted. "dig up, or i'll shake it out of you, even if it's all in nickels." then, to the two affrighted onlookers: "keep away! if you interfere, somebody's liable to get hurt." mr. ends was choking, and it was not until the grip on his throat was eased that he was able to signify his acquiescence in the digging-up programme. all together, after repeated digs, its trousers pocket yielded four dollars and fifteen cents. "inside out with it," martin commanded. an additional ten cents fell out. martin counted the result of his raid a second time to make sure. "you next!" he shouted at mr. ford. "i want seventy-five cents more." mr. ford did not wait, but ransacked his pockets, with the result of sixty cents. "sure that is all?" martin demanded menacingly, possessing himself of it. "what have you got in your vest pockets?" in token of his good faith, mr. ford turned two of his pockets inside out. a strip of cardboard fell to the floor from one of them. he recovered it and was in the act of returning it, when martin cried:- "what's that?--a ferry ticket? here, give it to me. it's worth ten cents. i'll credit you with it. i've now got four dollars and ninety- five cents, including the ticket. five cents is still due me." he looked fiercely at mr. white, and found that fragile creature in the act of handing him a nickel. "thank you," martin said, addressing them collectively. "i wish you a good day." "robber!" mr. ends snarled after him. "sneak-thief!" martin retorted, slamming the door as he passed out. martin was elated--so elated that when he recollected that the hornet owed him fifteen dollars for "the peri and the pearl," he decided forthwith to go and collect it. but the hornet was run by a set of clean- shaven, strapping young men, frank buccaneers who robbed everything and everybody, not excepting one another. after some breakage of the office furniture, the editor (an ex-college athlete), ably assisted by the business manager, an advertising agent, and the porter, succeeded in removing martin from the office and in accelerating, by initial impulse, his descent of the first flight of stairs. "come again, mr. eden; glad to see you any time," they laughed down at him from the landing above. martin grinned as he picked himself up. "phew!" he murmured back. "the transcontinental crowd were nanny-goats, but you fellows are a lot of prize-fighters." more laughter greeted this. "i must say, mr. eden," the editor of the hornet called down, "that for a poet you can go some yourself. where did you learn that right cross--if i may ask?" "where you learned that half-nelson," martin answered. "anyway, you're going to have a black eye." "i hope your neck doesn't stiffen up," the editor wished solicitously: "what do you say we all go out and have a drink on it--not the neck, of course, but the little rough-house?" "i'll go you if i lose," martin accepted. and robbers and robbed drank together, amicably agreeing that the battle was to the strong, and that the fifteen dollars for "the peri and the pearl" belonged by right to the hornet's editorial staff. chapter xxxiv arthur remained at the gate while ruth climbed maria's front steps. she heard the rapid click of the type-writer, and when martin let her in, found him on the last page of a manuscript. she had come to make certain whether or not he would be at their table for thanksgiving dinner; but before she could broach the subject martin plunged into the one with which he was full. "here, let me read you this," he cried, separating the carbon copies and running the pages of manuscript into shape. "it's my latest, and different from anything i've done. it is so altogether different that i am almost afraid of it, and yet i've a sneaking idea it is good. you be judge. it's an hawaiian story. i've called it 'wiki-wiki.'" his face was bright with the creative glow, though she shivered in the cold room and had been struck by the coldness of his hands at greeting. she listened closely while he read, and though he from time to time had seen only disapprobation in her face, at the close he asked:- "frankly, what do you think of it?" "i--i don't know," she, answered. "will it--do you think it will sell?" "i'm afraid not," was the confession. "it's too strong for the magazines. but it's true, on my word it's true." "but why do you persist in writing such things when you know they won't sell?" she went on inexorably. "the reason for your writing is to make a living, isn't it?" "yes, that's right; but the miserable story got away with me. i couldn't help writing it. it demanded to be written." "but that character, that wiki-wiki, why do you make him talk so roughly? surely it will offend your readers, and surely that is why the editors are justified in refusing your work." "because the real wiki-wiki would have talked that way." "but it is not good taste." "it is life," he replied bluntly. "it is real. it is true. and i must write life as i see it." she made no answer, and for an awkward moment they sat silent. it was because he loved her that he did not quite understand her, and she could not understand him because he was so large that he bulked beyond her horizon. "well, i've collected from the transcontinental," he said in an effort to shift the conversation to a more comfortable subject. the picture of the bewhiskered trio, as he had last seen them, mulcted of four dollars and ninety cents and a ferry ticket, made him chuckle. "then you'll come!" she cried joyously. "that was what i came to find out." "come?" he muttered absently. "where?" "why, to dinner to-morrow. you know you said you'd recover your suit if you got that money." "i forgot all about it," he said humbly. "you see, this morning the poundman got maria's two cows and the baby calf, and--well, it happened that maria didn't have any money, and so i had to recover her cows for her. that's where the transcontinental fiver went--'the ring of bells' went into the poundman's pocket." "then you won't come?" he looked down at his clothing. "i can't." tears of disappointment and reproach glistened in her blue eyes, but she said nothing. "next thanksgiving you'll have dinner with me in delmonico's," he said cheerily; "or in london, or paris, or anywhere you wish. i know it." "i saw in the paper a few days ago," she announced abruptly, "that there had been several local appointments to the railway mail. you passed first, didn't you?" he was compelled to admit that the call had come for him, but that he had declined it. "i was so sure--i am so sure--of myself," he concluded. "a year from now i'll be earning more than a dozen men in the railway mail. you wait and see." "oh," was all she said, when he finished. she stood up, pulling at her gloves. "i must go, martin. arthur is waiting for me." he took her in his arms and kissed her, but she proved a passive sweetheart. there was no tenseness in her body, her arms did not go around him, and her lips met his without their wonted pressure. she was angry with him, he concluded, as he returned from the gate. but why? it was unfortunate that the poundman had gobbled maria's cows. but it was only a stroke of fate. nobody could be blamed for it. nor did it enter his head that he could have done aught otherwise than what he had done. well, yes, he was to blame a little, was his next thought, for having refused the call to the railway mail. and she had not liked "wiki- wiki." he turned at the head of the steps to meet the letter-carrier on his afternoon round. the ever recurrent fever of expectancy assailed martin as he took the bundle of long envelopes. one was not long. it was short and thin, and outside was printed the address of the new york outview. he paused in the act of tearing the envelope open. it could not be an acceptance. he had no manuscripts with that publication. perhaps--his heart almost stood still at the--wild thought--perhaps they were ordering an article from him; but the next instant he dismissed the surmise as hopelessly impossible. it was a short, formal letter, signed by the office editor, merely informing him that an anonymous letter which they had received was enclosed, and that he could rest assured the outview's staff never under any circumstances gave consideration to anonymous correspondence. the enclosed letter martin found to be crudely printed by hand. it was a hotchpotch of illiterate abuse of martin, and of assertion that the "so- called martin eden" who was selling stories to magazines was no writer at all, and that in reality he was stealing stories from old magazines, typing them, and sending them out as his own. the envelope was postmarked "san leandro." martin did not require a second thought to discover the author. higginbotham's grammar, higginbotham's colloquialisms, higginbotham's mental quirks and processes, were apparent throughout. martin saw in every line, not the fine italian hand, but the coarse grocer's fist, of his brother-in-law. but why? he vainly questioned. what injury had he done bernard higginbotham? the thing was so unreasonable, so wanton. there was no explaining it. in the course of the week a dozen similar letters were forwarded to martin by the editors of various eastern magazines. the editors were behaving handsomely, martin concluded. he was wholly unknown to them, yet some of them had even been sympathetic. it was evident that they detested anonymity. he saw that the malicious attempt to hurt him had failed. in fact, if anything came of it, it was bound to be good, for at least his name had been called to the attention of a number of editors. sometime, perhaps, reading a submitted manuscript of his, they might remember him as the fellow about whom they had received an anonymous letter. and who was to say that such a remembrance might not sway the balance of their judgment just a trifle in his favor? it was about this time that martin took a great slump in maria's estimation. he found her in the kitchen one morning groaning with pain, tears of weakness running down her cheeks, vainly endeavoring to put through a large ironing. he promptly diagnosed her affliction as la grippe, dosed her with hot whiskey (the remnants in the bottles for which brissenden was responsible), and ordered her to bed. but maria was refractory. the ironing had to be done, she protested, and delivered that night, or else there would be no food on the morrow for the seven small and hungry silvas. to her astonishment (and it was something that she never ceased from relating to her dying day), she saw martin eden seize an iron from the stove and throw a fancy shirt-waist on the ironing-board. it was kate flanagan's best sunday waist, than whom there was no more exacting and fastidiously dressed woman in maria's world. also, miss flanagan had sent special instruction that said waist must be delivered by that night. as every one knew, she was keeping company with john collins, the blacksmith, and, as maria knew privily, miss flanagan and mr. collins were going next day to golden gate park. vain was maria's attempt to rescue the garment. martin guided her tottering footsteps to a chair, from where she watched him with bulging eyes. in a quarter of the time it would have taken her she saw the shirt-waist safely ironed, and ironed as well as she could have done it, as martin made her grant. "i could work faster," he explained, "if your irons were only hotter." to her, the irons he swung were much hotter than she ever dared to use. "your sprinkling is all wrong," he complained next. "here, let me teach you how to sprinkle. pressure is what's wanted. sprinkle under pressure if you want to iron fast." he procured a packing-case from the woodpile in the cellar, fitted a cover to it, and raided the scrap-iron the silva tribe was collecting for the junkman. with fresh-sprinkled garments in the box, covered with the board and pressed by the iron, the device was complete and in operation. "now you watch me, maria," he said, stripping off to his undershirt and gripping an iron that was what he called "really hot." "an' when he feenish da iron' he washa da wools," as she described it afterward. "he say, 'maria, you are da greata fool. i showa you how to washa da wools,' an' he shows me, too. ten minutes he maka da machine--one barrel, one wheel-hub, two poles, justa like dat." martin had learned the contrivance from joe at the shelly hot springs. the old wheel-hub, fixed on the end of the upright pole, constituted the plunger. making this, in turn, fast to the spring-pole attached to the kitchen rafters, so that the hub played upon the woollens in the barrel, he was able, with one hand, thoroughly to pound them. "no more maria washa da wools," her story always ended. "i maka da kids worka da pole an' da hub an' da barrel. him da smarta man, mister eden." nevertheless, by his masterly operation and improvement of her kitchen- laundry he fell an immense distance in her regard. the glamour of romance with which her imagination had invested him faded away in the cold light of fact that he was an ex-laundryman. all his books, and his grand friends who visited him in carriages or with countless bottles of whiskey, went for naught. he was, after all, a mere workingman, a member of her own class and caste. he was more human and approachable, but, he was no longer mystery. martin's alienation from his family continued. following upon mr. higginbotham's unprovoked attack, mr. hermann von schmidt showed his hand. the fortunate sale of several storiettes, some humorous verse, and a few jokes gave martin a temporary splurge of prosperity. not only did he partially pay up his bills, but he had sufficient balance left to redeem his black suit and wheel. the latter, by virtue of a twisted crank-hanger, required repairing, and, as a matter of friendliness with his future brother-in-law, he sent it to von schmidt's shop. the afternoon of the same day martin was pleased by the wheel being delivered by a small boy. von schmidt was also inclined to be friendly, was martin's conclusion from this unusual favor. repaired wheels usually had to be called for. but when he examined the wheel, he discovered no repairs had been made. a little later in the day he telephoned his sister's betrothed, and learned that that person didn't want anything to do with him in "any shape, manner, or form." "hermann von schmidt," martin answered cheerfully, "i've a good mind to come over and punch that dutch nose of yours." "you come to my shop," came the reply, "an' i'll send for the police. an' i'll put you through, too. oh, i know you, but you can't make no rough- house with me. i don't want nothin' to do with the likes of you. you're a loafer, that's what, an' i ain't asleep. you ain't goin' to do no spongin' off me just because i'm marryin' your sister. why don't you go to work an' earn an honest livin', eh? answer me that." martin's philosophy asserted itself, dissipating his anger, and he hung up the receiver with a long whistle of incredulous amusement. but after the amusement came the reaction, and he was oppressed by his loneliness. nobody understood him, nobody seemed to have any use for him, except brissenden, and brissenden had disappeared, god alone knew where. twilight was falling as martin left the fruit store and turned homeward, his marketing on his arm. at the corner an electric car had stopped, and at sight of a lean, familiar figure alighting, his heart leapt with joy. it was brissenden, and in the fleeting glimpse, ere the car started up, martin noted the overcoat pockets, one bulging with books, the other bulging with a quart bottle of whiskey. chapter xxxv brissenden gave no explanation of his long absence, nor did martin pry into it. he was content to see his friend's cadaverous face opposite him through the steam rising from a tumbler of toddy. "i, too, have not been idle," brissenden proclaimed, after hearing martin's account of the work he had accomplished. he pulled a manuscript from his inside coat pocket and passed it to martin, who looked at the title and glanced up curiously. "yes, that's it," brissenden laughed. "pretty good title, eh? 'ephemera'--it is the one word. and you're responsible for it, what of your _man_, who is always the erected, the vitalized inorganic, the latest of the ephemera, the creature of temperature strutting his little space on the thermometer. it got into my head and i had to write it to get rid of it. tell me what you think of it." martin's face, flushed at first, paled as he read on. it was perfect art. form triumphed over substance, if triumph it could be called where the last conceivable atom of substance had found expression in so perfect construction as to make martin's head swim with delight, to put passionate tears into his eyes, and to send chills creeping up and down his back. it was a long poem of six or seven hundred lines, and it was a fantastic, amazing, unearthly thing. it was terrific, impossible; and yet there it was, scrawled in black ink across the sheets of paper. it dealt with man and his soul-gropings in their ultimate terms, plumbing the abysses of space for the testimony of remotest suns and rainbow spectrums. it was a mad orgy of imagination, wassailing in the skull of a dying man who half sobbed under his breath and was quick with the wild flutter of fading heart-beats. the poem swung in majestic rhythm to the cool tumult of interstellar conflict, to the onset of starry hosts, to the impact of cold suns and the flaming up of nebulae in the darkened void; and through it all, unceasing and faint, like a silver shuttle, ran the frail, piping voice of man, a querulous chirp amid the screaming of planets and the crash of systems. "there is nothing like it in literature," martin said, when at last he was able to speak. "it's wonderful!--wonderful! it has gone to my head. i am drunken with it. that great, infinitesimal question--i can't shake it out of my thoughts. that questing, eternal, ever recurring, thin little wailing voice of man is still ringing in my ears. it is like the dead-march of a gnat amid the trumpeting of elephants and the roaring of lions. it is insatiable with microscopic desire. i now i'm making a fool of myself, but the thing has obsessed me. you are--i don't know what you are--you are wonderful, that's all. but how do you do it? how do you do it?" martin paused from his rhapsody, only to break out afresh. "i shall never write again. i am a dauber in clay. you have shown me the work of the real artificer-artisan. genius! this is something more than genius. it transcends genius. it is truth gone mad. it is true, man, every line of it. i wonder if you realize that, you dogmatist. science cannot give you the lie. it is the truth of the sneer, stamped out from the black iron of the cosmos and interwoven with mighty rhythms of sound into a fabric of splendor and beauty. and now i won't say another word. i am overwhelmed, crushed. yes, i will, too. let me market it for you." brissenden grinned. "there's not a magazine in christendom that would dare to publish it--you know that." "i know nothing of the sort. i know there's not a magazine in christendom that wouldn't jump at it. they don't get things like that every day. that's no mere poem of the year. it's the poem of the century." "i'd like to take you up on the proposition." "now don't get cynical," martin exhorted. "the magazine editors are not wholly fatuous. i know that. and i'll close with you on the bet. i'll wager anything you want that 'ephemera' is accepted either on the first or second offering." "there's just one thing that prevents me from taking you." brissenden waited a moment. "the thing is big--the biggest i've ever done. i know that. it's my swan song. i am almighty proud of it. i worship it. it's better than whiskey. it is what i dreamed of--the great and perfect thing--when i was a simple young man, with sweet illusions and clean ideals. and i've got it, now, in my last grasp, and i'll not have it pawed over and soiled by a lot of swine. no, i won't take the bet. it's mine. i made it, and i've shared it with you." "but think of the rest of the world," martin protested. "the function of beauty is joy-making." "it's my beauty." "don't be selfish." "i'm not selfish." brissenden grinned soberly in the way he had when pleased by the thing his thin lips were about to shape. "i'm as unselfish as a famished hog." in vain martin strove to shake him from his decision. martin told him that his hatred of the magazines was rabid, fanatical, and that his conduct was a thousand times more despicable than that of the youth who burned the temple of diana at ephesus. under the storm of denunciation brissenden complacently sipped his toddy and affirmed that everything the other said was quite true, with the exception of the magazine editors. his hatred of them knew no bounds, and he excelled martin in denunciation when he turned upon them. "i wish you'd type it for me," he said. "you know how a thousand times better than any stenographer. and now i want to give you some advice." he drew a bulky manuscript from his outside coat pocket. "here's your 'shame of the sun.' i've read it not once, but twice and three times--the highest compliment i can pay you. after what you've said about 'ephemera' i must be silent. but this i will say: when 'the shame of the sun' is published, it will make a hit. it will start a controversy that will be worth thousands to you just in advertising." martin laughed. "i suppose your next advice will be to submit it to the magazines." "by all means no--that is, if you want to see it in print. offer it to the first-class houses. some publisher's reader may be mad enough or drunk enough to report favorably on it. you've read the books. the meat of them has been transmuted in the alembic of martin eden's mind and poured into 'the shame of the sun,' and one day martin eden will be famous, and not the least of his fame will rest upon that work. so you must get a publisher for it--the sooner the better." brissenden went home late that night; and just as he mounted the first step of the car, he swung suddenly back on martin and thrust into his hand a small, tightly crumpled wad of paper. "here, take this," he said. "i was out to the races to-day, and i had the right dope." the bell clanged and the car pulled out, leaving martin wondering as to the nature of the crinkly, greasy wad he clutched in his hand. back in his room he unrolled it and found a hundred-dollar bill. he did not scruple to use it. he knew his friend had always plenty of money, and he knew also, with profound certitude, that his success would enable him to repay it. in the morning he paid every bill, gave maria three months' advance on the room, and redeemed every pledge at the pawnshop. next he bought marian's wedding present, and simpler presents, suitable to christmas, for ruth and gertrude. and finally, on the balance remaining to him, he herded the whole silva tribe down into oakland. he was a winter late in redeeming his promise, but redeemed it was, for the last, least silva got a pair of shoes, as well as maria herself. also, there were horns, and dolls, and toys of various sorts, and parcels and bundles of candies and nuts that filled the arms of all the silvas to overflowing. it was with this extraordinary procession trooping at his and maria's heels into a confectioner's in quest if the biggest candy-cane ever made, that he encountered ruth and her mother. mrs. morse was shocked. even ruth was hurt, for she had some regard for appearances, and her lover, cheek by jowl with maria, at the head of that army of portuguese ragamuffins, was not a pretty sight. but it was not that which hurt so much as what she took to be his lack of pride and self-respect. further, and keenest of all, she read into the incident the impossibility of his living down his working-class origin. there was stigma enough in the fact of it, but shamelessly to flaunt it in the face of the world--her world--was going too far. though her engagement to martin had been kept secret, their long intimacy had not been unproductive of gossip; and in the shop, glancing covertly at her lover and his following, had been several of her acquaintances. she lacked the easy largeness of martin and could not rise superior to her environment. she had been hurt to the quick, and her sensitive nature was quivering with the shame of it. so it was, when martin arrived later in the day, that he kept her present in his breast-pocket, deferring the giving of it to a more propitious occasion. ruth in tears--passionate, angry tears--was a revelation to him. the spectacle of her suffering convinced him that he had been a brute, yet in the soul of him he could not see how nor why. it never entered his head to be ashamed of those he knew, and to take the silvas out to a christmas treat could in no way, so it seemed to him, show lack of consideration for ruth. on the other hand, he did see ruth's point of view, after she had explained it; and he looked upon it as a feminine weakness, such as afflicted all women and the best of women. chapter xxxvi "come on,--i'll show you the real dirt," brissenden said to him, one evening in january. they had dined together in san francisco, and were at the ferry building, returning to oakland, when the whim came to him to show martin the "real dirt." he turned and fled across the water-front, a meagre shadow in a flapping overcoat, with martin straining to keep up with him. at a wholesale liquor store he bought two gallon-demijohns of old port, and with one in each hand boarded a mission street car, martin at his heels burdened with several quart-bottles of whiskey. if ruth could see me now, was his thought, while he wondered as to what constituted the real dirt. "maybe nobody will be there," brissenden said, when they dismounted and plunged off to the right into the heart of the working-class ghetto, south of market street. "in which case you'll miss what you've been looking for so long." "and what the deuce is that?" martin asked. "men, intelligent men, and not the gibbering nonentities i found you consorting with in that trader's den. you read the books and you found yourself all alone. well, i'm going to show you to-night some other men who've read the books, so that you won't be lonely any more." "not that i bother my head about their everlasting discussions," he said at the end of a block. "i'm not interested in book philosophy. but you'll find these fellows intelligences and not bourgeois swine. but watch out, they'll talk an arm off of you on any subject under the sun." "hope norton's there," he panted a little later, resisting martin's effort to relieve him of the two demijohns. "norton's an idealist--a harvard man. prodigious memory. idealism led him to philosophic anarchy, and his family threw him off. father's a railroad president and many times millionnaire, but the son's starving in 'frisco, editing an anarchist sheet for twenty-five a month." martin was little acquainted in san francisco, and not at all south of market; so he had no idea of where he was being led. "go ahead," he said; "tell me about them beforehand. what do they do for a living? how do they happen to be here?" "hope hamilton's there." brissenden paused and rested his hands. "strawn- hamilton's his name--hyphenated, you know--comes of old southern stock. he's a tramp--laziest man i ever knew, though he's clerking, or trying to, in a socialist cooperative store for six dollars a week. but he's a confirmed hobo. tramped into town. i've seen him sit all day on a bench and never a bite pass his lips, and in the evening, when i invited him to dinner--restaurant two blocks away--have him say, 'too much trouble, old man. buy me a package of cigarettes instead.' he was a spencerian like you till kreis turned him to materialistic monism. i'll start him on monism if i can. norton's another monist--only he affirms naught but spirit. he can give kreis and hamilton all they want, too." "who is kreis?" martin asked. "his rooms we're going to. one time professor--fired from university--usual story. a mind like a steel trap. makes his living any old way. i know he's been a street fakir when he was down. unscrupulous. rob a corpse of a shroud--anything. difference between him--and the bourgeoisie is that he robs without illusion. he'll talk nietzsche, or schopenhauer, or kant, or anything, but the only thing in this world, not excepting mary, that he really cares for, is his monism. haeckel is his little tin god. the only way to insult him is to take a slap at haeckel." "here's the hang-out." brissenden rested his demijohn at the upstairs entrance, preliminary to the climb. it was the usual two-story corner building, with a saloon and grocery underneath. "the gang lives here--got the whole upstairs to themselves. but kreis is the only one who has two rooms. come on." no lights burned in the upper hall, but brissenden threaded the utter blackness like a familiar ghost. he stopped to speak to martin. "there's one fellow--stevens--a theosophist. makes a pretty tangle when he gets going. just now he's dish-washer in a restaurant. likes a good cigar. i've seen him eat in a ten-cent hash-house and pay fifty cents for the cigar he smoked afterward. i've got a couple in my pocket for him, if he shows up." "and there's another fellow--parry--an australian, a statistician and a sporting encyclopaedia. ask him the grain output of paraguay for , or the english importation of sheetings into china for , or at what weight jimmy britt fought battling nelson, or who was welter-weight champion of the united states in ' , and you'll get the correct answer with the automatic celerity of a slot-machine. and there's andy, a stone- mason, has ideas on everything, a good chess-player; and another fellow, harry, a baker, red hot socialist and strong union man. by the way, you remember cooks' and waiters' strike--hamilton was the chap who organized that union and precipitated the strike--planned it all out in advance, right here in kreis's rooms. did it just for the fun of it, but was too lazy to stay by the union. yet he could have risen high if he wanted to. there's no end to the possibilities in that man--if he weren't so insuperably lazy." brissenden advanced through the darkness till a thread of light marked the threshold of a door. a knock and an answer opened it, and martin found himself shaking hands with kreis, a handsome brunette man, with dazzling white teeth, a drooping black mustache, and large, flashing black eyes. mary, a matronly young blonde, was washing dishes in the little back room that served for kitchen and dining room. the front room served as bedchamber and living room. overhead was the week's washing, hanging in festoons so low that martin did not see at first the two men talking in a corner. they hailed brissenden and his demijohns with acclamation, and, on being introduced, martin learned they were andy and parry. he joined them and listened attentively to the description of a prize-fight parry had seen the night before; while brissenden, in his glory, plunged into the manufacture of a toddy and the serving of wine and whiskey-and-sodas. at his command, "bring in the clan," andy departed to go the round of the rooms for the lodgers. "we're lucky that most of them are here," brissenden whispered to martin. "there's norton and hamilton; come on and meet them. stevens isn't around, i hear. i'm going to get them started on monism if i can. wait till they get a few jolts in them and they'll warm up." at first the conversation was desultory. nevertheless martin could not fail to appreciate the keen play of their minds. they were men with opinions, though the opinions often clashed, and, though they were witty and clever, they were not superficial. he swiftly saw, no matter upon what they talked, that each man applied the correlation of knowledge and had also a deep-seated and unified conception of society and the cosmos. nobody manufactured their opinions for them; they were all rebels of one variety or another, and their lips were strangers to platitudes. never had martin, at the morses', heard so amazing a range of topics discussed. there seemed no limit save time to the things they were alive to. the talk wandered from mrs. humphry ward's new book to shaw's latest play, through the future of the drama to reminiscences of mansfield. they appreciated or sneered at the morning editorials, jumped from labor conditions in new zealand to henry james and brander matthews, passed on to the german designs in the far east and the economic aspect of the yellow peril, wrangled over the german elections and bebel's last speech, and settled down to local politics, the latest plans and scandals in the union labor party administration, and the wires that were pulled to bring about the coast seamen's strike. martin was struck by the inside knowledge they possessed. they knew what was never printed in the newspapers--the wires and strings and the hidden hands that made the puppets dance. to martin's surprise, the girl, mary, joined in the conversation, displaying an intelligence he had never encountered in the few women he had met. they talked together on swinburne and rossetti, after which she led him beyond his depth into the by-paths of french literature. his revenge came when she defended maeterlinck and he brought into action the carefully-thought-out thesis of "the shame of the sun." several other men had dropped in, and the air was thick with tobacco smoke, when brissenden waved the red flag. "here's fresh meat for your axe, kreis," he said; "a rose-white youth with the ardor of a lover for herbert spencer. make a haeckelite of him--if you can." kreis seemed to wake up and flash like some metallic, magnetic thing, while norton looked at martin sympathetically, with a sweet, girlish smile, as much as to say that he would be amply protected. kreis began directly on martin, but step by step norton interfered, until he and kreis were off and away in a personal battle. martin listened and fain would have rubbed his eyes. it was impossible that this should be, much less in the labor ghetto south of market. the books were alive in these men. they talked with fire and enthusiasm, the intellectual stimulant stirring them as he had seen drink and anger stir other men. what he heard was no longer the philosophy of the dry, printed word, written by half-mythical demigods like kant and spencer. it was living philosophy, with warm, red blood, incarnated in these two men till its very features worked with excitement. now and again other men joined in, and all followed the discussion with cigarettes going out in their hands and with alert, intent faces. idealism had never attracted martin, but the exposition it now received at the hands of norton was a revelation. the logical plausibility of it, that made an appeal to his intellect, seemed missed by kreis and hamilton, who sneered at norton as a metaphysician, and who, in turn, sneered back at them as metaphysicians. phenomenon and noumenon were bandied back and forth. they charged him with attempting to explain consciousness by itself. he charged them with word-jugglery, with reasoning from words to theory instead of from facts to theory. at this they were aghast. it was the cardinal tenet of their mode of reasoning to start with facts and to give names to the facts. when norton wandered into the intricacies of kant, kreis reminded him that all good little german philosophies when they died went to oxford. a little later norton reminded them of hamilton's law of parsimony, the application of which they immediately claimed for every reasoning process of theirs. and martin hugged his knees and exulted in it all. but norton was no spencerian, and he, too, strove for martin's philosophic soul, talking as much at him as to his two opponents. "you know berkeley has never been answered," he said, looking directly at martin. "herbert spencer came the nearest, which was not very near. even the stanchest of spencer's followers will not go farther. i was reading an essay of saleeby's the other day, and the best saleeby could say was that herbert spencer _nearly_ succeeded in answering berkeley." "you know what hume said?" hamilton asked. norton nodded, but hamilton gave it for the benefit of the rest. "he said that berkeley's arguments admit of no answer and produce no conviction." "in his, hume's, mind," was the reply. "and hume's mind was the same as yours, with this difference: he was wise enough to admit there was no answering berkeley." norton was sensitive and excitable, though he never lost his head, while kreis and hamilton were like a pair of cold-blooded savages, seeking out tender places to prod and poke. as the evening grew late, norton, smarting under the repeated charges of being a metaphysician, clutching his chair to keep from jumping to his feet, his gray eyes snapping and his girlish face grown harsh and sure, made a grand attack upon their position. "all right, you haeckelites, i may reason like a medicine man, but, pray, how do you reason? you have nothing to stand on, you unscientific dogmatists with your positive science which you are always lugging about into places it has no right to be. long before the school of materialistic monism arose, the ground was removed so that there could be no foundation. locke was the man, john locke. two hundred years ago--more than that, even in his 'essay concerning the human understanding,' he proved the non-existence of innate ideas. the best of it is that that is precisely what you claim. to-night, again and again, you have asserted the non-existence of innate ideas. "and what does that mean? it means that you can never know ultimate reality. your brains are empty when you are born. appearances, or phenomena, are all the content your minds can receive from your five senses. then noumena, which are not in your minds when you are born, have no way of getting in--" "i deny--" kreis started to interrupt. "you wait till i'm done," norton shouted. "you can know only that much of the play and interplay of force and matter as impinges in one way or another on our senses. you see, i am willing to admit, for the sake of the argument, that matter exists; and what i am about to do is to efface you by your own argument. i can't do it any other way, for you are both congenitally unable to understand a philosophic abstraction." "and now, what do you know of matter, according to your own positive science? you know it only by its phenomena, its appearances. you are aware only of its changes, or of such changes in it as cause changes in your consciousness. positive science deals only with phenomena, yet you are foolish enough to strive to be ontologists and to deal with noumena. yet, by the very definition of positive science, science is concerned only with appearances. as somebody has said, phenomenal knowledge cannot transcend phenomena." "you cannot answer berkeley, even if you have annihilated kant, and yet, perforce, you assume that berkeley is wrong when you affirm that science proves the non-existence of god, or, as much to the point, the existence of matter.--you know i granted the reality of matter only in order to make myself intelligible to your understanding. be positive scientists, if you please; but ontology has no place in positive science, so leave it alone. spencer is right in his agnosticism, but if spencer--" but it was time to catch the last ferry-boat for oakland, and brissenden and martin slipped out, leaving norton still talking and kreis and hamilton waiting to pounce on him like a pair of hounds as soon as he finished. "you have given me a glimpse of fairyland," martin said on the ferry-boat. "it makes life worth while to meet people like that. my mind is all worked up. i never appreciated idealism before. yet i can't accept it. i know that i shall always be a realist. i am so made, i guess. but i'd like to have made a reply to kreis and hamilton, and i think i'd have had a word or two for norton. i didn't see that spencer was damaged any. i'm as excited as a child on its first visit to the circus. i see i must read up some more. i'm going to get hold of saleeby. i still think spencer is unassailable, and next time i'm going to take a hand myself." but brissenden, breathing painfully, had dropped off to sleep, his chin buried in a scarf and resting on his sunken chest, his body wrapped in the long overcoat and shaking to the vibration of the propellers. chapter xxxvii the first thing martin did next morning was to go counter both to brissenden's advice and command. "the shame of the sun" he wrapped and mailed to the acropolis. he believed he could find magazine publication for it, and he felt that recognition by the magazines would commend him to the book-publishing houses. "ephemera" he likewise wrapped and mailed to a magazine. despite brissenden's prejudice against the magazines, which was a pronounced mania with him, martin decided that the great poem should see print. he did not intend, however, to publish it without the other's permission. his plan was to get it accepted by one of the high magazines, and, thus armed, again to wrestle with brissenden for consent. martin began, that morning, a story which he had sketched out a number of weeks before and which ever since had been worrying him with its insistent clamor to be created. apparently it was to be a rattling sea story, a tale of twentieth-century adventure and romance, handling real characters, in a real world, under real conditions. but beneath the swing and go of the story was to be something else--something that the superficial reader would never discern and which, on the other hand, would not diminish in any way the interest and enjoyment for such a reader. it was this, and not the mere story, that impelled martin to write it. for that matter, it was always the great, universal motif that suggested plots to him. after having found such a motif, he cast about for the particular persons and particular location in time and space wherewith and wherein to utter the universal thing. "overdue" was the title he had decided for it, and its length he believed would not be more than sixty thousand words--a bagatelle for him with his splendid vigor of production. on this first day he took hold of it with conscious delight in the mastery of his tools. he no longer worried for fear that the sharp, cutting edges should slip and mar his work. the long months of intense application and study had brought their reward. he could now devote himself with sure hand to the larger phases of the thing he shaped; and as he worked, hour after hour, he felt, as never before, the sure and cosmic grasp with which he held life and the affairs of life. "overdue" would tell a story that would be true of its particular characters and its particular events; but it would tell, too, he was confident, great vital things that would be true of all time, and all sea, and all life--thanks to herbert spencer, he thought, leaning back for a moment from the table. ay, thanks to herbert spencer and to the master-key of life, evolution, which spencer had placed in his hands. he was conscious that it was great stuff he was writing. "it will go! it will go!" was the refrain that kept, sounding in his ears. of course it would go. at last he was turning out the thing at which the magazines would jump. the whole story worked out before him in lightning flashes. he broke off from it long enough to write a paragraph in his note-book. this would be the last paragraph in "overdue"; but so thoroughly was the whole book already composed in his brain that he could write, weeks before he had arrived at the end, the end itself. he compared the tale, as yet unwritten, with the tales of the sea-writers, and he felt it to be immeasurably superior. "there's only one man who could touch it," he murmured aloud, "and that's conrad. and it ought to make even him sit up and shake hands with me, and say, 'well done, martin, my boy.'" he toiled on all day, recollecting, at the last moment, that he was to have dinner at the morses'. thanks to brissenden, his black suit was out of pawn and he was again eligible for dinner parties. down town he stopped off long enough to run into the library and search for saleeby's books. he drew out "the cycle of life," and on the car turned to the essay norton had mentioned on spencer. as martin read, he grew angry. his face flushed, his jaw set, and unconsciously his hand clenched, unclenched, and clenched again as if he were taking fresh grips upon some hateful thing out of which he was squeezing the life. when he left the car, he strode along the sidewalk as a wrathful man will stride, and he rang the morse bell with such viciousness that it roused him to consciousness of his condition, so that he entered in good nature, smiling with amusement at himself. no sooner, however, was he inside than a great depression descended upon him. he fell from the height where he had been up-borne all day on the wings of inspiration. "bourgeois," "trader's den"--brissenden's epithets repeated themselves in his mind. but what of that? he demanded angrily. he was marrying ruth, not her family. it seemed to him that he had never seen ruth more beautiful, more spiritual and ethereal and at the same time more healthy. there was color in her cheeks, and her eyes drew him again and again--the eyes in which he had first read immortality. he had forgotten immortality of late, and the trend of his scientific reading had been away from it; but here, in ruth's eyes, he read an argument without words that transcended all worded arguments. he saw that in her eyes before which all discussion fled away, for he saw love there. and in his own eyes was love; and love was unanswerable. such was his passionate doctrine. the half hour he had with her, before they went in to dinner, left him supremely happy and supremely satisfied with life. nevertheless, at table, the inevitable reaction and exhaustion consequent upon the hard day seized hold of him. he was aware that his eyes were tired and that he was irritable. he remembered it was at this table, at which he now sneered and was so often bored, that he had first eaten with civilized beings in what he had imagined was an atmosphere of high culture and refinement. he caught a glimpse of that pathetic figure of him, so long ago, a self-conscious savage, sprouting sweat at every pore in an agony of apprehension, puzzled by the bewildering minutiae of eating-implements, tortured by the ogre of a servant, striving at a leap to live at such dizzy social altitude, and deciding in the end to be frankly himself, pretending no knowledge and no polish he did not possess. he glanced at ruth for reassurance, much in the same manner that a passenger, with sudden panic thought of possible shipwreck, will strive to locate the life preservers. well, that much had come out of it--love and ruth. all the rest had failed to stand the test of the books. but ruth and love had stood the test; for them he found a biological sanction. love was the most exalted expression of life. nature had been busy designing him, as she had been busy with all normal men, for the purpose of loving. she had spent ten thousand centuries--ay, a hundred thousand and a million centuries--upon the task, and he was the best she could do. she had made love the strongest thing in him, increased its power a myriad per cent with her gift of imagination, and sent him forth into the ephemera to thrill and melt and mate. his hand sought ruth's hand beside him hidden by the table, and a warm pressure was given and received. she looked at him a swift instant, and her eyes were radiant and melting. so were his in the thrill that pervaded him; nor did he realize how much that was radiant and melting in her eyes had been aroused by what she had seen in his. across the table from him, cater-cornered, at mr. morse's right, sat judge blount, a local superior court judge. martin had met him a number of times and had failed to like him. he and ruth's father were discussing labor union politics, the local situation, and socialism, and mr. morse was endeavoring to twit martin on the latter topic. at last judge blount looked across the table with benignant and fatherly pity. martin smiled to himself. "you'll grow out of it, young man," he said soothingly. "time is the best cure for such youthful distempers." he turned to mr. morse. "i do not believe discussion is good in such cases. it makes the patient obstinate." "that is true," the other assented gravely. "but it is well to warn the patient occasionally of his condition." martin laughed merrily, but it was with an effort. the day had been too long, the day's effort too intense, and he was deep in the throes of the reaction. "undoubtedly you are both excellent doctors," he said; "but if you care a whit for the opinion of the patient, let him tell you that you are poor diagnosticians. in fact, you are both suffering from the disease you think you find in me. as for me, i am immune. the socialist philosophy that riots half-baked in your veins has passed me by." "clever, clever," murmured the judge. "an excellent ruse in controversy, to reverse positions." "out of your mouth." martin's eyes were sparkling, but he kept control of himself. "you see, judge, i've heard your campaign speeches. by some henidical process--henidical, by the way is a favorite word of mine which nobody understands--by some henidical process you persuade yourself that you believe in the competitive system and the survival of the strong, and at the same time you indorse with might and main all sorts of measures to shear the strength from the strong." "my young man--" "remember, i've heard your campaign speeches," martin warned. "it's on record, your position on interstate commerce regulation, on regulation of the railway trust and standard oil, on the conservation of the forests, on a thousand and one restrictive measures that are nothing else than socialistic." "do you mean to tell me that you do not believe in regulating these various outrageous exercises of power?" "that's not the point. i mean to tell you that you are a poor diagnostician. i mean to tell you that i am not suffering from the microbe of socialism. i mean to tell you that it is you who are suffering from the emasculating ravages of that same microbe. as for me, i am an inveterate opponent of socialism just as i am an inveterate opponent of your own mongrel democracy that is nothing else than pseudo- socialism masquerading under a garb of words that will not stand the test of the dictionary." "i am a reactionary--so complete a reactionary that my position is incomprehensible to you who live in a veiled lie of social organization and whose sight is not keen enough to pierce the veil. you make believe that you believe in the survival of the strong and the rule of the strong. i believe. that is the difference. when i was a trifle younger,--a few months younger,--i believed the same thing. you see, the ideas of you and yours had impressed me. but merchants and traders are cowardly rulers at best; they grunt and grub all their days in the trough of money-getting, and i have swung back to aristocracy, if you please. i am the only individualist in this room. i look to the state for nothing. i look only to the strong man, the man on horseback, to save the state from its own rotten futility." "nietzsche was right. i won't take the time to tell you who nietzsche was, but he was right. the world belongs to the strong--to the strong who are noble as well and who do not wallow in the swine-trough of trade and exchange. the world belongs to the true nobleman, to the great blond beasts, to the noncompromisers, to the 'yes-sayers.' and they will eat you up, you socialists--who are afraid of socialism and who think yourselves individualists. your slave-morality of the meek and lowly will never save you.--oh, it's all greek, i know, and i won't bother you any more with it. but remember one thing. there aren't half a dozen individualists in oakland, but martin eden is one of them." he signified that he was done with the discussion, and turned to ruth. "i'm wrought up to-day," he said in an undertone. "all i want to do is to love, not talk." he ignored mr. morse, who said:- "i am unconvinced. all socialists are jesuits. that is the way to tell them." "we'll make a good republican out of you yet," said judge blount. "the man on horseback will arrive before that time," martin retorted with good humor, and returned to ruth. but mr. morse was not content. he did not like the laziness and the disinclination for sober, legitimate work of this prospective son-in-law of his, for whose ideas he had no respect and of whose nature he had no understanding. so he turned the conversation to herbert spencer. judge blount ably seconded him, and martin, whose ears had pricked at the first mention of the philosopher's name, listened to the judge enunciate a grave and complacent diatribe against spencer. from time to time mr. morse glanced at martin, as much as to say, "there, my boy, you see." "chattering daws," martin muttered under his breath, and went on talking with ruth and arthur. but the long day and the "real dirt" of the night before were telling upon him; and, besides, still in his burnt mind was what had made him angry when he read it on the car. "what is the matter?" ruth asked suddenly alarmed by the effort he was making to contain himself. "there is no god but the unknowable, and herbert spencer is its prophet," judge blount was saying at that moment. martin turned upon him. "a cheap judgment," he remarked quietly. "i heard it first in the city hall park, on the lips of a workingman who ought to have known better. i have heard it often since, and each time the clap-trap of it nauseates me. you ought to be ashamed of yourself. to hear that great and noble man's name upon your lips is like finding a dew-drop in a cesspool. you are disgusting." it was like a thunderbolt. judge blount glared at him with apoplectic countenance, and silence reigned. mr. morse was secretly pleased. he could see that his daughter was shocked. it was what he wanted to do--to bring out the innate ruffianism of this man he did not like. ruth's hand sought martin's beseechingly under the table, but his blood was up. he was inflamed by the intellectual pretence and fraud of those who sat in the high places. a superior court judge! it was only several years before that he had looked up from the mire at such glorious entities and deemed them gods. judge blount recovered himself and attempted to go on, addressing himself to martin with an assumption of politeness that the latter understood was for the benefit of the ladies. even this added to his anger. was there no honesty in the world? "you can't discuss spencer with me," he cried. "you do not know any more about spencer than do his own countrymen. but it is no fault of yours, i grant. it is just a phase of the contemptible ignorance of the times. i ran across a sample of it on my way here this evening. i was reading an essay by saleeby on spencer. you should read it. it is accessible to all men. you can buy it in any book-store or draw it from the public library. you would feel ashamed of your paucity of abuse and ignorance of that noble man compared with what saleeby has collected on the subject. it is a record of shame that would shame your shame." "'the philosopher of the half-educated,' he was called by an academic philosopher who was not worthy to pollute the atmosphere he breathed. i don't think you have read ten pages of spencer, but there have been critics, assumably more intelligent than you, who have read no more than you of spencer, who publicly challenged his followers to adduce one single idea from all his writings--from herbert spencer's writings, the man who has impressed the stamp of his genius over the whole field of scientific research and modern thought; the father of psychology; the man who revolutionized pedagogy, so that to-day the child of the french peasant is taught the three r's according to principles laid down by him. and the little gnats of men sting his memory when they get their very bread and butter from the technical application of his ideas. what little of worth resides in their brains is largely due to him. it is certain that had he never lived, most of what is correct in their parrot- learned knowledge would be absent." "and yet a man like principal fairbanks of oxford--a man who sits in an even higher place than you, judge blount--has said that spencer will be dismissed by posterity as a poet and dreamer rather than a thinker. yappers and blatherskites, the whole brood of them! '"first principles" is not wholly destitute of a certain literary power,' said one of them. and others of them have said that he was an industrious plodder rather than an original thinker. yappers and blatherskites! yappers and blatherskites!" martin ceased abruptly, in a dead silence. everybody in ruth's family looked up to judge blount as a man of power and achievement, and they were horrified at martin's outbreak. the remainder of the dinner passed like a funeral, the judge and mr. morse confining their talk to each other, and the rest of the conversation being extremely desultory. then afterward, when ruth and martin were alone, there was a scene. "you are unbearable," she wept. but his anger still smouldered, and he kept muttering, "the beasts! the beasts!" when she averred he had insulted the judge, he retorted:- "by telling the truth about him?" "i don't care whether it was true or not," she insisted. "there are certain bounds of decency, and you had no license to insult anybody." "then where did judge blount get the license to assault truth?" martin demanded. "surely to assault truth is a more serious misdemeanor than to insult a pygmy personality such as the judge's. he did worse than that. he blackened the name of a great, noble man who is dead. oh, the beasts! the beasts!" his complex anger flamed afresh, and ruth was in terror of him. never had she seen him so angry, and it was all mystified and unreasonable to her comprehension. and yet, through her very terror ran the fibres of fascination that had drawn and that still drew her to him--that had compelled her to lean towards him, and, in that mad, culminating moment, lay her hands upon his neck. she was hurt and outraged by what had taken place, and yet she lay in his arms and quivered while he went on muttering, "the beasts! the beasts!" and she still lay there when he said: "i'll not bother your table again, dear. they do not like me, and it is wrong of me to thrust my objectionable presence upon them. besides, they are just as objectionable to me. faugh! they are sickening. and to think of it, i dreamed in my innocence that the persons who sat in the high places, who lived in fine houses and had educations and bank accounts, were worth while!" chapter xxxviii "come on, let's go down to the local." so spoke brissenden, faint from a hemorrhage of half an hour before--the second hemorrhage in three days. the perennial whiskey glass was in his hands, and he drained it with shaking fingers. "what do i want with socialism?" martin demanded. "outsiders are allowed five-minute speeches," the sick man urged. "get up and spout. tell them why you don't want socialism. tell them what you think about them and their ghetto ethics. slam nietzsche into them and get walloped for your pains. make a scrap of it. it will do them good. discussion is what they want, and what you want, too. you see, i'd like to see you a socialist before i'm gone. it will give you a sanction for your existence. it is the one thing that will save you in the time of disappointment that is coming to you." "i never can puzzle out why you, of all men, are a socialist," martin pondered. "you detest the crowd so. surely there is nothing in the canaille to recommend it to your aesthetic soul." he pointed an accusing finger at the whiskey glass which the other was refilling. "socialism doesn't seem to save you." "i'm very sick," was the answer. "with you it is different. you have health and much to live for, and you must be handcuffed to life somehow. as for me, you wonder why i am a socialist. i'll tell you. it is because socialism is inevitable; because the present rotten and irrational system cannot endure; because the day is past for your man on horseback. the slaves won't stand for it. they are too many, and willy- nilly they'll drag down the would-be equestrian before ever he gets astride. you can't get away from them, and you'll have to swallow the whole slave-morality. it's not a nice mess, i'll allow. but it's been a- brewing and swallow it you must. you are antediluvian anyway, with your nietzsche ideas. the past is past, and the man who says history repeats itself is a liar. of course i don't like the crowd, but what's a poor chap to do? we can't have the man on horseback, and anything is preferable to the timid swine that now rule. but come on, anyway. i'm loaded to the guards now, and if i sit here any longer, i'll get drunk. and you know the doctor says--damn the doctor! i'll fool him yet." it was sunday night, and they found the small hall packed by the oakland socialists, chiefly members of the working class. the speaker, a clever jew, won martin's admiration at the same time that he aroused his antagonism. the man's stooped and narrow shoulders and weazened chest proclaimed him the true child of the crowded ghetto, and strong on martin was the age-long struggle of the feeble, wretched slaves against the lordly handful of men who had ruled over them and would rule over them to the end of time. to martin this withered wisp of a creature was a symbol. he was the figure that stood forth representative of the whole miserable mass of weaklings and inefficients who perished according to biological law on the ragged confines of life. they were the unfit. in spite of their cunning philosophy and of their antlike proclivities for cooperation, nature rejected them for the exceptional man. out of the plentiful spawn of life she flung from her prolific hand she selected only the best. it was by the same method that men, aping her, bred race- horses and cucumbers. doubtless, a creator of a cosmos could have devised a better method; but creatures of this particular cosmos must put up with this particular method. of course, they could squirm as they perished, as the socialists squirmed, as the speaker on the platform and the perspiring crowd were squirming even now as they counselled together for some new device with which to minimize the penalties of living and outwit the cosmos. so martin thought, and so he spoke when brissenden urged him to give them hell. he obeyed the mandate, walking up to the platform, as was the custom, and addressing the chairman. he began in a low voice, haltingly, forming into order the ideas which had surged in his brain while the jew was speaking. in such meetings five minutes was the time allotted to each speaker; but when martin's five minutes were up, he was in full stride, his attack upon their doctrines but half completed. he had caught their interest, and the audience urged the chairman by acclamation to extend martin's time. they appreciated him as a foeman worthy of their intellect, and they listened intently, following every word. he spoke with fire and conviction, mincing no words in his attack upon the slaves and their morality and tactics and frankly alluding to his hearers as the slaves in question. he quoted spencer and malthus, and enunciated the biological law of development. "and so," he concluded, in a swift resume, "no state composed of the slave-types can endure. the old law of development still holds. in the struggle for existence, as i have shown, the strong and the progeny of the strong tend to survive, while the weak and the progeny of the weak are crushed and tend to perish. the result is that the strong and the progeny of the strong survive, and, so long as the struggle obtains, the strength of each generation increases. that is development. but you slaves--it is too bad to be slaves, i grant--but you slaves dream of a society where the law of development will be annulled, where no weaklings and inefficients will perish, where every inefficient will have as much as he wants to eat as many times a day as he desires, and where all will marry and have progeny--the weak as well as the strong. what will be the result? no longer will the strength and life-value of each generation increase. on the contrary, it will diminish. there is the nemesis of your slave philosophy. your society of slaves--of, by, and for, slaves--must inevitably weaken and go to pieces as the life which composes it weakens and goes to pieces. "remember, i am enunciating biology and not sentimental ethics. no state of slaves can stand--" "how about the united states?" a man yelled from the audience. "and how about it?" martin retorted. "the thirteen colonies threw off their rulers and formed the republic so-called. the slaves were their own masters. there were no more masters of the sword. but you couldn't get along without masters of some sort, and there arose a new set of masters--not the great, virile, noble men, but the shrewd and spidery traders and money-lenders. and they enslaved you over again--but not frankly, as the true, noble men would do with weight of their own right arms, but secretly, by spidery machinations and by wheedling and cajolery and lies. they have purchased your slave judges, they have debauched your slave legislatures, and they have forced to worse horrors than chattel slavery your slave boys and girls. two million of your children are toiling to-day in this trader-oligarchy of the united states. ten millions of you slaves are not properly sheltered nor properly fed." "but to return. i have shown that no society of slaves can endure, because, in its very nature, such society must annul the law of development. no sooner can a slave society be organized than deterioration sets in. it is easy for you to talk of annulling the law of development, but where is the new law of development that will maintain your strength? formulate it. is it already formulated? then state it." martin took his seat amidst an uproar of voices. a score of men were on their feet clamoring for recognition from the chair. and one by one, encouraged by vociferous applause, speaking with fire and enthusiasm and excited gestures, they replied to the attack. it was a wild night--but it was wild intellectually, a battle of ideas. some strayed from the point, but most of the speakers replied directly to martin. they shook him with lines of thought that were new to him; and gave him insights, not into new biological laws, but into new applications of the old laws. they were too earnest to be always polite, and more than once the chairman rapped and pounded for order. it chanced that a cub reporter sat in the audience, detailed there on a day dull of news and impressed by the urgent need of journalism for sensation. he was not a bright cub reporter. he was merely facile and glib. he was too dense to follow the discussion. in fact, he had a comfortable feeling that he was vastly superior to these wordy maniacs of the working class. also, he had a great respect for those who sat in the high places and dictated the policies of nations and newspapers. further, he had an ideal, namely, of achieving that excellence of the perfect reporter who is able to make something--even a great deal--out of nothing. he did not know what all the talk was about. it was not necessary. words like _revolution_ gave him his cue. like a paleontologist, able to reconstruct an entire skeleton from one fossil bone, he was able to reconstruct a whole speech from the one word _revolution_. he did it that night, and he did it well; and since martin had made the biggest stir, he put it all into his mouth and made him the arch-anarch of the show, transforming his reactionary individualism into the most lurid, red- shirt socialist utterance. the cub reporter was an artist, and it was a large brush with which he laid on the local color--wild-eyed long-haired men, neurasthenic and degenerate types of men, voices shaken with passion, clenched fists raised on high, and all projected against a background of oaths, yells, and the throaty rumbling of angry men. chapter xxxix over the coffee, in his little room, martin read next morning's paper. it was a novel experience to find himself head-lined, on the first page at that; and he was surprised to learn that he was the most notorious leader of the oakland socialists. he ran over the violent speech the cub reporter had constructed for him, and, though at first he was angered by the fabrication, in the end he tossed the paper aside with a laugh. "either the man was drunk or criminally malicious," he said that afternoon, from his perch on the bed, when brissenden had arrived and dropped limply into the one chair. "but what do you care?" brissenden asked. "surely you don't desire the approval of the bourgeois swine that read the newspapers?" martin thought for a while, then said:- "no, i really don't care for their approval, not a whit. on the other hand, it's very likely to make my relations with ruth's family a trifle awkward. her father always contended i was a socialist, and this miserable stuff will clinch his belief. not that i care for his opinion--but what's the odds? i want to read you what i've been doing to- day. it's 'overdue,' of course, and i'm just about halfway through." he was reading aloud when maria thrust open the door and ushered in a young man in a natty suit who glanced briskly about him, noting the oil- burner and the kitchen in the corner before his gaze wandered on to martin. "sit down," brissenden said. martin made room for the young man on the bed and waited for him to broach his business. "i heard you speak last night, mr. eden, and i've come to interview you," he began. brissenden burst out in a hearty laugh. "a brother socialist?" the reporter asked, with a quick glance at brissenden that appraised the color-value of that cadaverous and dying man. "and he wrote that report," martin said softly. "why, he is only a boy!" "why don't you poke him?" brissenden asked. "i'd give a thousand dollars to have my lungs back for five minutes." the cub reporter was a trifle perplexed by this talking over him and around him and at him. but he had been commended for his brilliant description of the socialist meeting and had further been detailed to get a personal interview with martin eden, the leader of the organized menace to society. "you do not object to having your picture taken, mr. eden?" he said. "i've a staff photographer outside, you see, and he says it will be better to take you right away before the sun gets lower. then we can have the interview afterward." "a photographer," brissenden said meditatively. "poke him, martin! poke him!" "i guess i'm getting old," was the answer. "i know i ought, but i really haven't the heart. it doesn't seem to matter." "for his mother's sake," brissenden urged. "it's worth considering," martin replied; "but it doesn't seem worth while enough to rouse sufficient energy in me. you see, it does take energy to give a fellow a poking. besides, what does it matter?" "that's right--that's the way to take it," the cub announced airily, though he had already begun to glance anxiously at the door. "but it wasn't true, not a word of what he wrote," martin went on, confining his attention to brissenden. "it was just in a general way a description, you understand," the cub ventured, "and besides, it's good advertising. that's what counts. it was a favor to you." "it's good advertising, martin, old boy," brissenden repeated solemnly. "and it was a favor to me--think of that!" was martin's contribution. "let me see--where were you born, mr. eden?" the cub asked, assuming an air of expectant attention. "he doesn't take notes," said brissenden. "he remembers it all." "that is sufficient for me." the cub was trying not to look worried. "no decent reporter needs to bother with notes." "that was sufficient--for last night." but brissenden was not a disciple of quietism, and he changed his attitude abruptly. "martin, if you don't poke him, i'll do it myself, if i fall dead on the floor the next moment." "how will a spanking do?" martin asked. brissenden considered judicially, and nodded his head. the next instant martin was seated on the edge of the bed with the cub face downward across his knees. "now don't bite," martin warned, "or else i'll have to punch your face. it would be a pity, for it is such a pretty face." his uplifted hand descended, and thereafter rose and fell in a swift and steady rhythm. the cub struggled and cursed and squirmed, but did not offer to bite. brissenden looked on gravely, though once he grew excited and gripped the whiskey bottle, pleading, "here, just let me swat him once." "sorry my hand played out," martin said, when at last he desisted. "it is quite numb." he uprighted the cub and perched him on the bed. "i'll have you arrested for this," he snarled, tears of boyish indignation running down his flushed cheeks. "i'll make you sweat for this. you'll see." "the pretty thing," martin remarked. "he doesn't realize that he has entered upon the downward path. it is not honest, it is not square, it is not manly, to tell lies about one's fellow-creatures the way he has done, and he doesn't know it." "he has to come to us to be told," brissenden filled in a pause. "yes, to me whom he has maligned and injured. my grocery will undoubtedly refuse me credit now. the worst of it is that the poor boy will keep on this way until he deteriorates into a first-class newspaper man and also a first-class scoundrel." "but there is yet time," quoth brissenden. "who knows but what you may prove the humble instrument to save him. why didn't you let me swat him just once? i'd like to have had a hand in it." "i'll have you arrested, the pair of you, you b-b-big brutes," sobbed the erring soul. "no, his mouth is too pretty and too weak." martin shook his head lugubriously. "i'm afraid i've numbed my hand in vain. the young man cannot reform. he will become eventually a very great and successful newspaper man. he has no conscience. that alone will make him great." with that the cub passed out the door in trepidation to the last for fear that brissenden would hit him in the back with the bottle he still clutched. in the next morning's paper martin learned a great deal more about himself that was new to him. "we are the sworn enemies of society," he found himself quoted as saying in a column interview. "no, we are not anarchists but socialists." when the reporter pointed out to him that there seemed little difference between the two schools, martin had shrugged his shoulders in silent affirmation. his face was described as bilaterally asymmetrical, and various other signs of degeneration were described. especially notable were his thuglike hands and the fiery gleams in his blood-shot eyes. he learned, also, that he spoke nightly to the workmen in the city hall park, and that among the anarchists and agitators that there inflamed the minds of the people he drew the largest audiences and made the most revolutionary speeches. the cub painted a high-light picture of his poor little room, its oil-stove and the one chair, and of the death's-head tramp who kept him company and who looked as if he had just emerged from twenty years of solitary confinement in some fortress dungeon. the cub had been industrious. he had scurried around and nosed out martin's family history, and procured a photograph of higginbotham's cash store with bernard higginbotham himself standing out in front. that gentleman was depicted as an intelligent, dignified businessman who had no patience with his brother-in-law's socialistic views, and no patience with the brother-in-law, either, whom he was quoted as characterizing as a lazy good-for-nothing who wouldn't take a job when it was offered to him and who would go to jail yet. hermann von schmidt, marian's husband, had likewise been interviewed. he had called martin the black sheep of the family and repudiated him. "he tried to sponge off of me, but i put a stop to that good and quick," von schmidt had said to the reporter. "he knows better than to come bumming around here. a man who won't work is no good, take that from me." this time martin was genuinely angry. brissenden looked upon the affair as a good joke, but he could not console martin, who knew that it would be no easy task to explain to ruth. as for her father, he knew that he must be overjoyed with what had happened and that he would make the most of it to break off the engagement. how much he would make of it he was soon to realize. the afternoon mail brought a letter from ruth. martin opened it with a premonition of disaster, and read it standing at the open door when he had received it from the postman. as he read, mechanically his hand sought his pocket for the tobacco and brown paper of his old cigarette days. he was not aware that the pocket was empty or that he had even reached for the materials with which to roll a cigarette. it was not a passionate letter. there were no touches of anger in it. but all the way through, from the first sentence to the last, was sounded the note of hurt and disappointment. she had expected better of him. she had thought he had got over his youthful wildness, that her love for him had been sufficiently worth while to enable him to live seriously and decently. and now her father and mother had taken a firm stand and commanded that the engagement be broken. that they were justified in this she could not but admit. their relation could never be a happy one. it had been unfortunate from the first. but one regret she voiced in the whole letter, and it was a bitter one to martin. "if only you had settled down to some position and attempted to make something of yourself," she wrote. "but it was not to be. your past life had been too wild and irregular. i can understand that you are not to be blamed. you could act only according to your nature and your early training. so i do not blame you, martin. please remember that. it was simply a mistake. as father and mother have contended, we were not made for each other, and we should both be happy because it was discovered not too late." . . "there is no use trying to see me," she said toward the last. "it would be an unhappy meeting for both of us, as well as for my mother. i feel, as it is, that i have caused her great pain and worry. i shall have to do much living to atone for it." he read it through to the end, carefully, a second time, then sat down and replied. he outlined the remarks he had uttered at the socialist meeting, pointing out that they were in all ways the converse of what the newspaper had put in his mouth. toward the end of the letter he was god's own lover pleading passionately for love. "please answer," he said, "and in your answer you have to tell me but one thing. do you love me? that is all--the answer to that one question." but no answer came the next day, nor the next. "overdue" lay untouched upon the table, and each day the heap of returned manuscripts under the table grew larger. for the first time martin's glorious sleep was interrupted by insomnia, and he tossed through long, restless nights. three times he called at the morse home, but was turned away by the servant who answered the bell. brissenden lay sick in his hotel, too feeble to stir out, and, though martin was with him often, he did not worry him with his troubles. for martin's troubles were many. the aftermath of the cub reporter's deed was even wider than martin had anticipated. the portuguese grocer refused him further credit, while the greengrocer, who was an american and proud of it, had called him a traitor to his country and refused further dealings with him--carrying his patriotism to such a degree that he cancelled martin's account and forbade him ever to attempt to pay it. the talk in the neighborhood reflected the same feeling, and indignation against martin ran high. no one would have anything to do with a socialist traitor. poor maria was dubious and frightened, but she remained loyal. the children of the neighborhood recovered from the awe of the grand carriage which once had visited martin, and from safe distances they called him "hobo" and "bum." the silva tribe, however, stanchly defended him, fighting more than one pitched battle for his honor, and black eyes and bloody noses became quite the order of the day and added to maria's perplexities and troubles. once, martin met gertrude on the street, down in oakland, and learned what he knew could not be otherwise--that bernard higginbotham was furious with him for having dragged the family into public disgrace, and that he had forbidden him the house. "why don't you go away, martin?" gertrude had begged. "go away and get a job somewhere and steady down. afterwards, when this all blows over, you can come back." martin shook his head, but gave no explanations. how could he explain? he was appalled at the awful intellectual chasm that yawned between him and his people. he could never cross it and explain to them his position,--the nietzschean position, in regard to socialism. there were not words enough in the english language, nor in any language, to make his attitude and conduct intelligible to them. their highest concept of right conduct, in his case, was to get a job. that was their first word and their last. it constituted their whole lexicon of ideas. get a job! go to work! poor, stupid slaves, he thought, while his sister talked. small wonder the world belonged to the strong. the slaves were obsessed by their own slavery. a job was to them a golden fetich before which they fell down and worshipped. he shook his head again, when gertrude offered him money, though he knew that within the day he would have to make a trip to the pawnbroker. "don't come near bernard now," she admonished him. "after a few months, when he is cooled down, if you want to, you can get the job of drivin' delivery-wagon for him. any time you want me, just send for me an' i'll come. don't forget." she went away weeping audibly, and he felt a pang of sorrow shoot through him at sight of her heavy body and uncouth gait. as he watched her go, the nietzschean edifice seemed to shake and totter. the slave-class in the abstract was all very well, but it was not wholly satisfactory when it was brought home to his own family. and yet, if there was ever a slave trampled by the strong, that slave was his sister gertrude. he grinned savagely at the paradox. a fine nietzsche-man he was, to allow his intellectual concepts to be shaken by the first sentiment or emotion that strayed along--ay, to be shaken by the slave-morality itself, for that was what his pity for his sister really was. the true noble men were above pity and compassion. pity and compassion had been generated in the subterranean barracoons of the slaves and were no more than the agony and sweat of the crowded miserables and weaklings. chapter xl "overdue" still continued to lie forgotten on the table. every manuscript that he had had out now lay under the table. only one manuscript he kept going, and that was brissenden's "ephemera." his bicycle and black suit were again in pawn, and the type-writer people were once more worrying about the rent. but such things no longer bothered him. he was seeking a new orientation, and until that was found his life must stand still. after several weeks, what he had been waiting for happened. he met ruth on the street. it was true, she was accompanied by her brother, norman, and it was true that they tried to ignore him and that norman attempted to wave him aside. "if you interfere with my sister, i'll call an officer," norman threatened. "she does not wish to speak with you, and your insistence is insult." "if you persist, you'll have to call that officer, and then you'll get your name in the papers," martin answered grimly. "and now, get out of my way and get the officer if you want to. i'm going to talk with ruth." "i want to have it from your own lips," he said to her. she was pale and trembling, but she held up and looked inquiringly. "the question i asked in my letter," he prompted. norman made an impatient movement, but martin checked him with a swift look. she shook her head. "is all this of your own free will?" he demanded. "it is." she spoke in a low, firm voice and with deliberation. "it is of my own free will. you have disgraced me so that i am ashamed to meet my friends. they are all talking about me, i know. that is all i can tell you. you have made me very unhappy, and i never wish to see you again." "friends! gossip! newspaper misreports! surely such things are not stronger than love! i can only believe that you never loved me." a blush drove the pallor from her face. "after what has passed?" she said faintly. "martin, you do not know what you are saying. i am not common." "you see, she doesn't want to have anything to do with you," norman blurted out, starting on with her. martin stood aside and let them pass, fumbling unconsciously in his coat pocket for the tobacco and brown papers that were not there. it was a long walk to north oakland, but it was not until he went up the steps and entered his room that he knew he had walked it. he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed and staring about him like an awakened somnambulist. he noticed "overdue" lying on the table and drew up his chair and reached for his pen. there was in his nature a logical compulsion toward completeness. here was something undone. it had been deferred against the completion of something else. now that something else had been finished, and he would apply himself to this task until it was finished. what he would do next he did not know. all that he did know was that a climacteric in his life had been attained. a period had been reached, and he was rounding it off in workman-like fashion. he was not curious about the future. he would soon enough find out what it held in store for him. whatever it was, it did not matter. nothing seemed to matter. for five days he toiled on at "overdue," going nowhere, seeing nobody, and eating meagrely. on the morning of the sixth day the postman brought him a thin letter from the editor of the parthenon. a glance told him that "ephemera" was accepted. "we have submitted the poem to mr. cartwright bruce," the editor went on to say, "and he has reported so favorably upon it that we cannot let it go. as an earnest of our pleasure in publishing the poem, let me tell you that we have set it for the august number, our july number being already made up. kindly extend our pleasure and our thanks to mr. brissenden. please send by return mail his photograph and biographical data. if our honorarium is unsatisfactory, kindly telegraph us at once and state what you consider a fair price." since the honorarium they had offered was three hundred and fifty dollars, martin thought it not worth while to telegraph. then, too, there was brissenden's consent to be gained. well, he had been right, after all. here was one magazine editor who knew real poetry when he saw it. and the price was splendid, even though it was for the poem of a century. as for cartwright bruce, martin knew that he was the one critic for whose opinions brissenden had any respect. martin rode down town on an electric car, and as he watched the houses and cross-streets slipping by he was aware of a regret that he was not more elated over his friend's success and over his own signal victory. the one critic in the united states had pronounced favorably on the poem, while his own contention that good stuff could find its way into the magazines had proved correct. but enthusiasm had lost its spring in him, and he found that he was more anxious to see brissenden than he was to carry the good news. the acceptance of the parthenon had recalled to him that during his five days' devotion to "overdue" he had not heard from brissenden nor even thought about him. for the first time martin realized the daze he had been in, and he felt shame for having forgotten his friend. but even the shame did not burn very sharply. he was numb to emotions of any sort save the artistic ones concerned in the writing of "overdue." so far as other affairs were concerned, he had been in a trance. for that matter, he was still in a trance. all this life through which the electric car whirred seemed remote and unreal, and he would have experienced little interest and less shock if the great stone steeple of the church he passed had suddenly crumbled to mortar-dust upon his head. at the hotel he hurried up to brissenden's room, and hurried down again. the room was empty. all luggage was gone. "did mr. brissenden leave any address?" he asked the clerk, who looked at him curiously for a moment. "haven't you heard?" he asked. martin shook his head. "why, the papers were full of it. he was found dead in bed. suicide. shot himself through the head." "is he buried yet?" martin seemed to hear his voice, like some one else's voice, from a long way off, asking the question. "no. the body was shipped east after the inquest. lawyers engaged by his people saw to the arrangements." "they were quick about it, i must say," martin commented. "oh, i don't know. it happened five days ago." "five days ago?" "yes, five days ago." "oh," martin said as he turned and went out. at the corner he stepped into the western union and sent a telegram to the parthenon, advising them to proceed with the publication of the poem. he had in his pocket but five cents with which to pay his carfare home, so he sent the message collect. once in his room, he resumed his writing. the days and nights came and went, and he sat at his table and wrote on. he went nowhere, save to the pawnbroker, took no exercise, and ate methodically when he was hungry and had something to cook, and just as methodically went without when he had nothing to cook. composed as the story was, in advance, chapter by chapter, he nevertheless saw and developed an opening that increased the power of it, though it necessitated twenty thousand additional words. it was not that there was any vital need that the thing should be well done, but that his artistic canons compelled him to do it well. he worked on in the daze, strangely detached from the world around him, feeling like a familiar ghost among these literary trappings of his former life. he remembered that some one had said that a ghost was the spirit of a man who was dead and who did not have sense enough to know it; and he paused for the moment to wonder if he were really dead and unaware of it. came the day when "overdue" was finished. the agent of the type-writer firm had come for the machine, and he sat on the bed while martin, on the one chair, typed the last pages of the final chapter. "finis," he wrote, in capitals, at the end, and to him it was indeed finis. he watched the type-writer carried out the door with a feeling of relief, then went over and lay down on the bed. he was faint from hunger. food had not passed his lips in thirty-six hours, but he did not think about it. he lay on his back, with closed eyes, and did not think at all, while the daze or stupor slowly welled up, saturating his consciousness. half in delirium, he began muttering aloud the lines of an anonymous poem brissenden had been fond of quoting to him. maria, listening anxiously outside his door, was perturbed by his monotonous utterance. the words in themselves were not significant to her, but the fact that he was saying them was. "i have done," was the burden of the poem. "'i have done-- put by the lute. song and singing soon are over as the airy shades that hover in among the purple clover. i have done-- put by the lute. once i sang as early thrushes sing among the dewy bushes; now i'm mute. i am like a weary linnet, for my throat has no song in it; i have had my singing minute. i have done. put by the lute.'" maria could stand it no longer, and hurried away to the stove, where she filled a quart-bowl with soup, putting into it the lion's share of chopped meat and vegetables which her ladle scraped from the bottom of the pot. martin roused himself and sat up and began to eat, between spoonfuls reassuring maria that he had not been talking in his sleep and that he did not have any fever. after she left him he sat drearily, with drooping shoulders, on the edge of the bed, gazing about him with lack-lustre eyes that saw nothing until the torn wrapper of a magazine, which had come in the morning's mail and which lay unopened, shot a gleam of light into his darkened brain. it is the parthenon, he thought, the august parthenon, and it must contain "ephemera." if only brissenden were here to see! he was turning the pages of the magazine, when suddenly he stopped. "ephemera" had been featured, with gorgeous head-piece and beardsley-like margin decorations. on one side of the head-piece was brissenden's photograph, on the other side was the photograph of sir john value, the british ambassador. a preliminary editorial note quoted sir john value as saying that there were no poets in america, and the publication of "ephemera" was the parthenon's. "there, take that, sir john value!" cartwright bruce was described as the greatest critic in america, and he was quoted as saying that "ephemera" was the greatest poem ever written in america. and finally, the editor's foreword ended with: "we have not yet made up our minds entirely as to the merits of "ephemera"; perhaps we shall never be able to do so. but we have read it often, wondering at the words and their arrangement, wondering where mr. brissenden got them, and how he could fasten them together." then followed the poem. "pretty good thing you died, briss, old man," martin murmured, letting the magazine slip between his knees to the floor. the cheapness and vulgarity of it was nauseating, and martin noted apathetically that he was not nauseated very much. he wished he could get angry, but did not have energy enough to try. he was too numb. his blood was too congealed to accelerate to the swift tidal flow of indignation. after all, what did it matter? it was on a par with all the rest that brissenden had condemned in bourgeois society. "poor briss," martin communed; "he would never have forgiven me." rousing himself with an effort, he possessed himself of a box which had once contained type-writer paper. going through its contents, he drew forth eleven poems which his friend had written. these he tore lengthwise and crosswise and dropped into the waste basket. he did it languidly, and, when he had finished, sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly before him. how long he sat there he did not know, until, suddenly, across his sightless vision he saw form a long horizontal line of white. it was curious. but as he watched it grow in definiteness he saw that it was a coral reef smoking in the white pacific surges. next, in the line of breakers he made out a small canoe, an outrigger canoe. in the stern he saw a young bronzed god in scarlet hip-cloth dipping a flashing paddle. he recognized him. he was moti, the youngest son of tati, the chief, and this was tahiti, and beyond that smoking reef lay the sweet land of papara and the chief's grass house by the river's mouth. it was the end of the day, and moti was coming home from the fishing. he was waiting for the rush of a big breaker whereon to jump the reef. then he saw himself, sitting forward in the canoe as he had often sat in the past, dipping a paddle that waited moti's word to dig in like mad when the turquoise wall of the great breaker rose behind them. next, he was no longer an onlooker but was himself in the canoe, moti was crying out, they were both thrusting hard with their paddles, racing on the steep face of the flying turquoise. under the bow the water was hissing as from a steam jet, the air was filled with driven spray, there was a rush and rumble and long-echoing roar, and the canoe floated on the placid water of the lagoon. moti laughed and shook the salt water from his eyes, and together they paddled in to the pounded-coral beach where tati's grass walls through the cocoanut-palms showed golden in the setting sun. the picture faded, and before his eyes stretched the disorder of his squalid room. he strove in vain to see tahiti again. he knew there was singing among the trees and that the maidens were dancing in the moonlight, but he could not see them. he could see only the littered writing-table, the empty space where the type-writer had stood, and the unwashed window-pane. he closed his eyes with a groan, and slept. chapter xli he slept heavily all night, and did not stir until aroused by the postman on his morning round. martin felt tired and passive, and went through his letters aimlessly. one thin envelope, from a robber magazine, contained for twenty-two dollars. he had been dunning for it for a year and a half. he noted its amount apathetically. the old-time thrill at receiving a publisher's check was gone. unlike his earlier checks, this one was not pregnant with promise of great things to come. to him it was a check for twenty-two dollars, that was all, and it would buy him something to eat. another check was in the same mail, sent from a new york weekly in payment for some humorous verse which had been accepted months before. it was for ten dollars. an idea came to him, which he calmly considered. he did not know what he was going to do, and he felt in no hurry to do anything. in the meantime he must live. also he owed numerous debts. would it not be a paying investment to put stamps on the huge pile of manuscripts under the table and start them on their travels again? one or two of them might be accepted. that would help him to live. he decided on the investment, and, after he had cashed the checks at the bank down in oakland, he bought ten dollars' worth of postage stamps. the thought of going home to cook breakfast in his stuffy little room was repulsive to him. for the first time he refused to consider his debts. he knew that in his room he could manufacture a substantial breakfast at a cost of from fifteen to twenty cents. but, instead, he went into the forum cafe and ordered a breakfast that cost two dollars. he tipped the waiter a quarter, and spent fifty cents for a package of egyptian cigarettes. it was the first time he had smoked since ruth had asked him to stop. but he could see now no reason why he should not, and besides, he wanted to smoke. and what did the money matter? for five cents he could have bought a package of durham and brown papers and rolled forty cigarettes--but what of it? money had no meaning to him now except what it would immediately buy. he was chartless and rudderless, and he had no port to make, while drifting involved the least living, and it was living that hurt. the days slipped along, and he slept eight hours regularly every night. though now, while waiting for more checks, he ate in the japanese restaurants where meals were served for ten cents, his wasted body filled out, as did the hollows in his cheeks. he no longer abused himself with short sleep, overwork, and overstudy. he wrote nothing, and the books were closed. he walked much, out in the hills, and loafed long hours in the quiet parks. he had no friends nor acquaintances, nor did he make any. he had no inclination. he was waiting for some impulse, from he knew not where, to put his stopped life into motion again. in the meantime his life remained run down, planless, and empty and idle. once he made a trip to san francisco to look up the "real dirt." but at the last moment, as he stepped into the upstairs entrance, he recoiled and turned and fled through the swarming ghetto. he was frightened at the thought of hearing philosophy discussed, and he fled furtively, for fear that some one of the "real dirt" might chance along and recognize him. sometimes he glanced over the magazines and newspapers to see how "ephemera" was being maltreated. it had made a hit. but what a hit! everybody had read it, and everybody was discussing whether or not it was really poetry. the local papers had taken it up, and daily there appeared columns of learned criticisms, facetious editorials, and serious letters from subscribers. helen della delmar (proclaimed with a flourish of trumpets and rolling of tomtoms to be the greatest woman poet in the united states) denied brissenden a seat beside her on pegasus and wrote voluminous letters to the public, proving that he was no poet. the parthenon came out in its next number patting itself on the back for the stir it had made, sneering at sir john value, and exploiting brissenden's death with ruthless commercialism. a newspaper with a sworn circulation of half a million published an original and spontaneous poem by helen della delmar, in which she gibed and sneered at brissenden. also, she was guilty of a second poem, in which she parodied him. martin had many times to be glad that brissenden was dead. he had hated the crowd so, and here all that was finest and most sacred of him had been thrown to the crowd. daily the vivisection of beauty went on. every nincompoop in the land rushed into free print, floating their wizened little egos into the public eye on the surge of brissenden's greatness. quoth one paper: "we have received a letter from a gentleman who wrote a poem just like it, only better, some time ago." another paper, in deadly seriousness, reproving helen della delmar for her parody, said: "but unquestionably miss delmar wrote it in a moment of badinage and not quite with the respect that one great poet should show to another and perhaps to the greatest. however, whether miss delmar be jealous or not of the man who invented 'ephemera,' it is certain that she, like thousands of others, is fascinated by his work, and that the day may come when she will try to write lines like his." ministers began to preach sermons against "ephemera," and one, who too stoutly stood for much of its content, was expelled for heresy. the great poem contributed to the gayety of the world. the comic verse-writers and the cartoonists took hold of it with screaming laughter, and in the personal columns of society weeklies jokes were perpetrated on it to the effect that charley frensham told archie jennings, in confidence, that five lines of "ephemera" would drive a man to beat a cripple, and that ten lines would send him to the bottom of the river. martin did not laugh; nor did he grit his teeth in anger. the effect produced upon him was one of great sadness. in the crash of his whole world, with love on the pinnacle, the crash of magazinedom and the dear public was a small crash indeed. brissenden had been wholly right in his judgment of the magazines, and he, martin, had spent arduous and futile years in order to find it out for himself. the magazines were all brissenden had said they were and more. well, he was done, he solaced himself. he had hitched his wagon to a star and been landed in a pestiferous marsh. the visions of tahiti--clean, sweet tahiti--were coming to him more frequently. and there were the low paumotus, and the high marquesas; he saw himself often, now, on board trading schooners or frail little cutters, slipping out at dawn through the reef at papeete and beginning the long beat through the pearl-atolls to nukahiva and the bay of taiohae, where tamari, he knew, would kill a pig in honor of his coming, and where tamari's flower-garlanded daughters would seize his hands and with song and laughter garland him with flowers. the south seas were calling, and he knew that sooner or later he would answer the call. in the meantime he drifted, resting and recuperating after the long traverse he had made through the realm of knowledge. when the parthenon check of three hundred and fifty dollars was forwarded to him, he turned it over to the local lawyer who had attended to brissenden's affairs for his family. martin took a receipt for the check, and at the same time gave a note for the hundred dollars brissenden had let him have. the time was not long when martin ceased patronizing the japanese restaurants. at the very moment when he had abandoned the fight, the tide turned. but it had turned too late. without a thrill he opened a thick envelope from the millennium, scanned the face of a check that represented three hundred dollars, and noted that it was the payment on acceptance for "adventure." every debt he owed in the world, including the pawnshop, with its usurious interest, amounted to less than a hundred dollars. and when he had paid everything, and lifted the hundred-dollar note with brissenden's lawyer, he still had over a hundred dollars in pocket. he ordered a suit of clothes from the tailor and ate his meals in the best cafes in town. he still slept in his little room at maria's, but the sight of his new clothes caused the neighborhood children to cease from calling him "hobo" and "tramp" from the roofs of woodsheds and over back fences. "wiki-wiki," his hawaiian short story, was bought by warren's monthly for two hundred and fifty dollars. the northern review took his essay, "the cradle of beauty," and mackintosh's magazine took "the palmist"--the poem he had written to marian. the editors and readers were back from their summer vacations, and manuscripts were being handled quickly. but martin could not puzzle out what strange whim animated them to this general acceptance of the things they had persistently rejected for two years. nothing of his had been published. he was not known anywhere outside of oakland, and in oakland, with the few who thought they knew him, he was notorious as a red-shirt and a socialist. so there was no explaining this sudden acceptability of his wares. it was sheer jugglery of fate. after it had been refused by a number of magazines, he had taken brissenden's rejected advice and started, "the shame of the sun" on the round of publishers. after several refusals, singletree, darnley & co. accepted it, promising fall publication. when martin asked for an advance on royalties, they wrote that such was not their custom, that books of that nature rarely paid for themselves, and that they doubted if his book would sell a thousand copies. martin figured what the book would earn him on such a sale. retailed at a dollar, on a royalty of fifteen per cent, it would bring him one hundred and fifty dollars. he decided that if he had it to do over again he would confine himself to fiction. "adventure," one-fourth as long, had brought him twice as much from the millennium. that newspaper paragraph he had read so long ago had been true, after all. the first-class magazines did not pay on acceptance, and they paid well. not two cents a word, but four cents a word, had the millennium paid him. and, furthermore, they bought good stuff, too, for were they not buying his? this last thought he accompanied with a grin. he wrote to singletree, darnley & co., offering to sell out his rights in "the shame of the sun" for a hundred dollars, but they did not care to take the risk. in the meantime he was not in need of money, for several of his later stories had been accepted and paid for. he actually opened a bank account, where, without a debt in the world, he had several hundred dollars to his credit. "overdue," after having been declined by a number of magazines, came to rest at the meredith-lowell company. martin remembered the five dollars gertrude had given him, and his resolve to return it to her a hundred times over; so he wrote for an advance on royalties of five hundred dollars. to his surprise a check for that amount, accompanied by a contract, came by return mail. he cashed the check into five-dollar gold pieces and telephoned gertrude that he wanted to see her. she arrived at the house panting and short of breath from the haste she had made. apprehensive of trouble, she had stuffed the few dollars she possessed into her hand-satchel; and so sure was she that disaster had overtaken her brother, that she stumbled forward, sobbing, into his arms, at the same time thrusting the satchel mutely at him. "i'd have come myself," he said. "but i didn't want a row with mr. higginbotham, and that is what would have surely happened." "he'll be all right after a time," she assured him, while she wondered what the trouble was that martin was in. "but you'd best get a job first an' steady down. bernard does like to see a man at honest work. that stuff in the newspapers broke 'm all up. i never saw 'm so mad before." "i'm not going to get a job," martin said with a smile. "and you can tell him so from me. i don't need a job, and there's the proof of it." he emptied the hundred gold pieces into her lap in a glinting, tinkling stream. "you remember that fiver you gave me the time i didn't have carfare? well, there it is, with ninety-nine brothers of different ages but all of the same size." if gertrude had been frightened when she arrived, she was now in a panic of fear. her fear was such that it was certitude. she was not suspicious. she was convinced. she looked at martin in horror, and her heavy limbs shrank under the golden stream as though it were burning her. "it's yours," he laughed. she burst into tears, and began to moan, "my poor boy, my poor boy!" he was puzzled for a moment. then he divined the cause of her agitation and handed her the meredith-lowell letter which had accompanied the check. she stumbled through it, pausing now and again to wipe her eyes, and when she had finished, said:- "an' does it mean that you come by the money honestly?" "more honestly than if i'd won it in a lottery. i earned it." slowly faith came back to her, and she reread the letter carefully. it took him long to explain to her the nature of the transaction which had put the money into his possession, and longer still to get her to understand that the money was really hers and that he did not need it. "i'll put it in the bank for you," she said finally. "you'll do nothing of the sort. it's yours, to do with as you please, and if you won't take it, i'll give it to maria. she'll know what to do with it. i'd suggest, though, that you hire a servant and take a good long rest." "i'm goin' to tell bernard all about it," she announced, when she was leaving. martin winced, then grinned. "yes, do," he said. "and then, maybe, he'll invite me to dinner again." "yes, he will--i'm sure he will!" she exclaimed fervently, as she drew him to her and kissed and hugged him. chapter xlii one day martin became aware that he was lonely. he was healthy and strong, and had nothing to do. the cessation from writing and studying, the death of brissenden, and the estrangement from ruth had made a big hole in his life; and his life refused to be pinned down to good living in cafes and the smoking of egyptian cigarettes. it was true the south seas were calling to him, but he had a feeling that the game was not yet played out in the united states. two books were soon to be published, and he had more books that might find publication. money could be made out of them, and he would wait and take a sackful of it into the south seas. he knew a valley and a bay in the marquesas that he could buy for a thousand chili dollars. the valley ran from the horseshoe, land-locked bay to the tops of the dizzy, cloud-capped peaks and contained perhaps ten thousand acres. it was filled with tropical fruits, wild chickens, and wild pigs, with an occasional herd of wild cattle, while high up among the peaks were herds of wild goats harried by packs of wild dogs. the whole place was wild. not a human lived in it. and he could buy it and the bay for a thousand chili dollars. the bay, as he remembered it, was magnificent, with water deep enough to accommodate the largest vessel afloat, and so safe that the south pacific directory recommended it to the best careening place for ships for hundreds of miles around. he would buy a schooner--one of those yacht- like, coppered crafts that sailed like witches--and go trading copra and pearling among the islands. he would make the valley and the bay his headquarters. he would build a patriarchal grass house like tati's, and have it and the valley and the schooner filled with dark-skinned servitors. he would entertain there the factor of taiohae, captains of wandering traders, and all the best of the south pacific riffraff. he would keep open house and entertain like a prince. and he would forget the books he had opened and the world that had proved an illusion. to do all this he must wait in california to fill the sack with money. already it was beginning to flow in. if one of the books made a strike, it might enable him to sell the whole heap of manuscripts. also he could collect the stories and the poems into books, and make sure of the valley and the bay and the schooner. he would never write again. upon that he was resolved. but in the meantime, awaiting the publication of the books, he must do something more than live dazed and stupid in the sort of uncaring trance into which he had fallen. he noted, one sunday morning, that the bricklayers' picnic took place that day at shell mound park, and to shell mound park he went. he had been to the working-class picnics too often in his earlier life not to know what they were like, and as he entered the park he experienced a recrudescence of all the old sensations. after all, they were his kind, these working people. he had been born among them, he had lived among them, and though he had strayed for a time, it was well to come back among them. "if it ain't mart!" he heard some one say, and the next moment a hearty hand was on his shoulder. "where you ben all the time? off to sea? come on an' have a drink." it was the old crowd in which he found himself--the old crowd, with here and there a gap, and here and there a new face. the fellows were not bricklayers, but, as in the old days, they attended all sunday picnics for the dancing, and the fighting, and the fun. martin drank with them, and began to feel really human once more. he was a fool to have ever left them, he thought; and he was very certain that his sum of happiness would have been greater had he remained with them and let alone the books and the people who sat in the high places. yet the beer seemed not so good as of yore. it didn't taste as it used to taste. brissenden had spoiled him for steam beer, he concluded, and wondered if, after all, the books had spoiled him for companionship with these friends of his youth. he resolved that he would not be so spoiled, and he went on to the dancing pavilion. jimmy, the plumber, he met there, in the company of a tall, blond girl who promptly forsook him for martin. "gee, it's like old times," jimmy explained to the gang that gave him the laugh as martin and the blonde whirled away in a waltz. "an' i don't give a rap. i'm too damned glad to see 'm back. watch 'm waltz, eh? it's like silk. who'd blame any girl?" but martin restored the blonde to jimmy, and the three of them, with half a dozen friends, watched the revolving couples and laughed and joked with one another. everybody was glad to see martin back. no book of his been published; he carried no fictitious value in their eyes. they liked him for himself. he felt like a prince returned from excile, and his lonely heart burgeoned in the geniality in which it bathed. he made a mad day of it, and was at his best. also, he had money in his pockets, and, as in the old days when he returned from sea with a pay-day, he made the money fly. once, on the dancing-floor, he saw lizzie connolly go by in the arms of a young workingman; and, later, when he made the round of the pavilion, he came upon her sitting by a refreshment table. surprise and greetings over, he led her away into the grounds, where they could talk without shouting down the music. from the instant he spoke to her, she was his. he knew it. she showed it in the proud humility of her eyes, in every caressing movement of her proudly carried body, and in the way she hung upon his speech. she was not the young girl as he had known her. she was a woman, now, and martin noted that her wild, defiant beauty had improved, losing none of its wildness, while the defiance and the fire seemed more in control. "a beauty, a perfect beauty," he murmured admiringly under his breath. and he knew she was his, that all he had to do was to say "come," and she would go with him over the world wherever he led. even as the thought flashed through his brain he received a heavy blow on the side of his head that nearly knocked him down. it was a man's fist, directed by a man so angry and in such haste that the fist had missed the jaw for which it was aimed. martin turned as he staggered, and saw the fist coming at him in a wild swing. quite as a matter of course he ducked, and the fist flew harmlessly past, pivoting the man who had driven it. martin hooked with his left, landing on the pivoting man with the weight of his body behind the blow. the man went to the ground sidewise, leaped to his feet, and made a mad rush. martin saw his passion-distorted face and wondered what could be the cause of the fellow's anger. but while he wondered, he shot in a straight left, the weight of his body behind the blow. the man went over backward and fell in a crumpled heap. jimmy and others of the gang were running toward them. martin was thrilling all over. this was the old days with a vengeance, with their dancing, and their fighting, and their fun. while he kept a wary eye on his antagonist, he glanced at lizzie. usually the girls screamed when the fellows got to scrapping, but she had not screamed. she was looking on with bated breath, leaning slightly forward, so keen was her interest, one hand pressed to her breast, her cheek flushed, and in her eyes a great and amazed admiration. the man had gained his feet and was struggling to escape the restraining arms that were laid on him. "she was waitin' for me to come back!" he was proclaiming to all and sundry. "she was waitin' for me to come back, an' then that fresh guy comes buttin' in. let go o' me, i tell yeh. i'm goin' to fix 'm." "what's eatin' yer?" jimmy was demanding, as he helped hold the young fellow back. "that guy's mart eden. he's nifty with his mits, lemme tell you that, an' he'll eat you alive if you monkey with 'm." "he can't steal her on me that way," the other interjected. "he licked the flyin' dutchman, an' you know _him_," jimmy went on expostulating. "an' he did it in five rounds. you couldn't last a minute against him. see?" this information seemed to have a mollifying effect, and the irate young man favored martin with a measuring stare. "he don't look it," he sneered; but the sneer was without passion. "that's what the flyin' dutchman thought," jimmy assured him. "come on, now, let's get outa this. there's lots of other girls. come on." the young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the pavilion, and the gang followed after him. "who is he?" martin asked lizzie. "and what's it all about, anyway?" already the zest of combat, which of old had been so keen and lasting, had died down, and he discovered that he was self-analytical, too much so to live, single heart and single hand, so primitive an existence. lizzie tossed her head. "oh, he's nobody," she said. "he's just ben keepin' company with me." "i had to, you see," she explained after a pause. "i was gettin' pretty lonesome. but i never forgot." her voice sank lower, and she looked straight before her. "i'd throw 'm down for you any time." martin looking at her averted face, knowing that all he had to do was to reach out his hand and pluck her, fell to pondering whether, after all, there was any real worth in refined, grammatical english, and, so, forgot to reply to her. "you put it all over him," she said tentatively, with a laugh. "he's a husky young fellow, though," he admitted generously. "if they hadn't taken him away, he might have given me my hands full." "who was that lady friend i seen you with that night?" she asked abruptly. "oh, just a lady friend," was his answer. "it was a long time ago," she murmured contemplatively. "it seems like a thousand years." but martin went no further into the matter. he led the conversation off into other channels. they had lunch in the restaurant, where he ordered wine and expensive delicacies and afterward he danced with her and with no one but her, till she was tired. he was a good dancer, and she whirled around and around with him in a heaven of delight, her head against his shoulder, wishing that it could last forever. later in the afternoon they strayed off among the trees, where, in the good old fashion, she sat down while he sprawled on his back, his head in her lap. he lay and dozed, while she fondled his hair, looked down on his closed eyes, and loved him without reserve. looking up suddenly, he read the tender advertisement in her face. her eyes fluttered down, then they opened and looked into his with soft defiance. "i've kept straight all these years," she said, her voice so low that it was almost a whisper. in his heart martin knew that it was the miraculous truth. and at his heart pleaded a great temptation. it was in his power to make her happy. denied happiness himself, why should he deny happiness to her? he could marry her and take her down with him to dwell in the grass-walled castle in the marquesas. the desire to do it was strong, but stronger still was the imperative command of his nature not to do it. in spite of himself he was still faithful to love. the old days of license and easy living were gone. he could not bring them back, nor could he go back to them. he was changed--how changed he had not realized until now. "i am not a marrying man, lizzie," he said lightly. the hand caressing his hair paused perceptibly, then went on with the same gentle stroke. he noticed her face harden, but it was with the hardness of resolution, for still the soft color was in her cheeks and she was all glowing and melting. "i did not mean that--" she began, then faltered. "or anyway i don't care." "i don't care," she repeated. "i'm proud to be your friend. i'd do anything for you. i'm made that way, i guess." martin sat up. he took her hand in his. he did it deliberately, with warmth but without passion; and such warmth chilled her. "don't let's talk about it," she said. "you are a great and noble woman," he said. "and it is i who should be proud to know you. and i am, i am. you are a ray of light to me in a very dark world, and i've got to be straight with you, just as straight as you have been." "i don't care whether you're straight with me or not. you could do anything with me. you could throw me in the dirt an' walk on me. an' you're the only man in the world that can," she added with a defiant flash. "i ain't taken care of myself ever since i was a kid for nothin'." "and it's just because of that that i'm not going to," he said gently. "you are so big and generous that you challenge me to equal generousness. i'm not marrying, and i'm not--well, loving without marrying, though i've done my share of that in the past. i'm sorry i came here to-day and met you. but it can't be helped now, and i never expected it would turn out this way." "but look here, lizzie. i can't begin to tell you how much i like you. i do more than like you. i admire and respect you. you are magnificent, and you are magnificently good. but what's the use of words? yet there's something i'd like to do. you've had a hard life; let me make it easy for you." (a joyous light welled into her eyes, then faded out again.) "i'm pretty sure of getting hold of some money soon--lots of it." in that moment he abandoned the idea of the valley and the bay, the grass- walled castle and the trim, white schooner. after all, what did it matter? he could go away, as he had done so often, before the mast, on any ship bound anywhere. "i'd like to turn it over to you. there must be something you want--to go to school or business college. you might like to study and be a stenographer. i could fix it for you. or maybe your father and mother are living--i could set them up in a grocery store or something. anything you want, just name it, and i can fix it for you." she made no reply, but sat, gazing straight before her, dry-eyed and motionless, but with an ache in the throat which martin divined so strongly that it made his own throat ache. he regretted that he had spoken. it seemed so tawdry what he had offered her--mere money--compared with what she offered him. he offered her an extraneous thing with which he could part without a pang, while she offered him herself, along with disgrace and shame, and sin, and all her hopes of heaven. "don't let's talk about it," she said with a catch in her voice that she changed to a cough. she stood up. "come on, let's go home. i'm all tired out." the day was done, and the merrymakers had nearly all departed. but as martin and lizzie emerged from the trees they found the gang waiting for them. martin knew immediately the meaning of it. trouble was brewing. the gang was his body-guard. they passed out through the gates of the park with, straggling in the rear, a second gang, the friends that lizzie's young man had collected to avenge the loss of his lady. several constables and special police officers, anticipating trouble, trailed along to prevent it, and herded the two gangs separately aboard the train for san francisco. martin told jimmy that he would get off at sixteenth street station and catch the electric car into oakland. lizzie was very quiet and without interest in what was impending. the train pulled in to sixteenth street station, and the waiting electric car could be seen, the conductor of which was impatiently clanging the gong. "there she is," jimmy counselled. "make a run for it, an' we'll hold 'em back. now you go! hit her up!" the hostile gang was temporarily disconcerted by the manoeuvre, then it dashed from the train in pursuit. the staid and sober oakland folk who sat upon the car scarcely noted the young fellow and the girl who ran for it and found a seat in front on the outside. they did not connect the couple with jimmy, who sprang on the steps, crying to the motorman:- "slam on the juice, old man, and beat it outa here!" the next moment jimmy whirled about, and the passengers saw him land his fist on the face of a running man who was trying to board the car. but fists were landing on faces the whole length of the car. thus, jimmy and his gang, strung out on the long, lower steps, met the attacking gang. the car started with a great clanging of its gong, and, as jimmy's gang drove off the last assailants, they, too, jumped off to finish the job. the car dashed on, leaving the flurry of combat far behind, and its dumfounded passengers never dreamed that the quiet young man and the pretty working-girl sitting in the corner on the outside seat had been the cause of the row. martin had enjoyed the fight, with a recrudescence of the old fighting thrills. but they quickly died away, and he was oppressed by a great sadness. he felt very old--centuries older than those careless, care- free young companions of his others days. he had travelled far, too far to go back. their mode of life, which had once been his, was now distasteful to him. he was disappointed in it all. he had developed into an alien. as the steam beer had tasted raw, so their companionship seemed raw to him. he was too far removed. too many thousands of opened books yawned between them and him. he had exiled himself. he had travelled in the vast realm of intellect until he could no longer return home. on the other hand, he was human, and his gregarious need for companionship remained unsatisfied. he had found no new home. as the gang could not understand him, as his own family could not understand him, as the bourgeoisie could not understand him, so this girl beside him, whom he honored high, could not understand him nor the honor he paid her. his sadness was not untouched with bitterness as he thought it over. "make it up with him," he advised lizzie, at parting, as they stood in front of the workingman's shack in which she lived, near sixth and market. he referred to the young fellow whose place he had usurped that day. "i can't--now," she said. "oh, go on," he said jovially. "all you have to do is whistle and he'll come running." "i didn't mean that," she said simply. and he knew what she had meant. she leaned toward him as he was about to say good night. but she leaned not imperatively, not seductively, but wistfully and humbly. he was touched to the heart. his large tolerance rose up in him. he put his arms around her, and kissed her, and knew that upon his own lips rested as true a kiss as man ever received. "my god!" she sobbed. "i could die for you. i could die for you." she tore herself from him suddenly and ran up the steps. he felt a quick moisture in his eyes. "martin eden," he communed. "you're not a brute, and you're a damn poor nietzscheman. you'd marry her if you could and fill her quivering heart full with happiness. but you can't, you can't. and it's a damn shame." "'a poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers,'" he muttered, remembering his henly. "'life is, i think, a blunder and a shame.' it is--a blunder and a shame." chapter xliii "the shame of the sun" was published in october. as martin cut the cords of the express package and the half-dozen complimentary copies from the publishers spilled out on the table, a heavy sadness fell upon him. he thought of the wild delight that would have been his had this happened a few short months before, and he contrasted that delight that should have been with his present uncaring coldness. his book, his first book, and his pulse had not gone up a fraction of a beat, and he was only sad. it meant little to him now. the most it meant was that it might bring some money, and little enough did he care for money. he carried a copy out into the kitchen and presented it to maria. "i did it," he explained, in order to clear up her bewilderment. "i wrote it in the room there, and i guess some few quarts of your vegetable soup went into the making of it. keep it. it's yours. just to remember me by, you know." he was not bragging, not showing off. his sole motive was to make her happy, to make her proud of him, to justify her long faith in him. she put the book in the front room on top of the family bible. a sacred thing was this book her lodger had made, a fetich of friendship. it softened the blow of his having been a laundryman, and though she could not understand a line of it, she knew that every line of it was great. she was a simple, practical, hard-working woman, but she possessed faith in large endowment. just as emotionlessly as he had received "the shame of the sun" did he read the reviews of it that came in weekly from the clipping bureau. the book was making a hit, that was evident. it meant more gold in the money sack. he could fix up lizzie, redeem all his promises, and still have enough left to build his grass-walled castle. singletree, darnley & co. had cautiously brought out an edition of fifteen hundred copies, but the first reviews had started a second edition of twice the size through the presses; and ere this was delivered a third edition of five thousand had been ordered. a london firm made arrangements by cable for an english edition, and hot-footed upon this came the news of french, german, and scandinavian translations in progress. the attack upon the maeterlinck school could not have been made at a more opportune moment. a fierce controversy was precipitated. saleeby and haeckel indorsed and defended "the shame of the sun," for once finding themselves on the same side of a question. crookes and wallace ranged up on the opposing side, while sir oliver lodge attempted to formulate a compromise that would jibe with his particular cosmic theories. maeterlinck's followers rallied around the standard of mysticism. chesterton set the whole world laughing with a series of alleged non-partisan essays on the subject, and the whole affair, controversy and controversialists, was well-nigh swept into the pit by a thundering broadside from george bernard shaw. needless to say the arena was crowded with hosts of lesser lights, and the dust and sweat and din became terrific. "it is a most marvellous happening," singletree, darnley & co. wrote martin, "a critical philosophic essay selling like a novel. you could not have chosen your subject better, and all contributory factors have been unwarrantedly propitious. we need scarcely to assure you that we are making hay while the sun shines. over forty thousand copies have already been sold in the united states and canada, and a new edition of twenty thousand is on the presses. we are overworked, trying to supply the demand. nevertheless we have helped to create that demand. we have already spent five thousand dollars in advertising. the book is bound to be a record-breaker." "please find herewith a contract in duplicate for your next book which we have taken the liberty of forwarding to you. you will please note that we have increased your royalties to twenty per cent, which is about as high as a conservative publishing house dares go. if our offer is agreeable to you, please fill in the proper blank space with the title of your book. we make no stipulations concerning its nature. any book on any subject. if you have one already written, so much the better. now is the time to strike. the iron could not be hotter." "on receipt of signed contract we shall be pleased to make you an advance on royalties of five thousand dollars. you see, we have faith in you, and we are going in on this thing big. we should like, also, to discuss with you the drawing up of a contract for a term of years, say ten, during which we shall have the exclusive right of publishing in book-form all that you produce. but more of this anon." martin laid down the letter and worked a problem in mental arithmetic, finding the product of fifteen cents times sixty thousand to be nine thousand dollars. he signed the new contract, inserting "the smoke of joy" in the blank space, and mailed it back to the publishers along with the twenty storiettes he had written in the days before he discovered the formula for the newspaper storiette. and promptly as the united states mail could deliver and return, came singletree, darnley & co.'s check for five thousand dollars. "i want you to come down town with me, maria, this afternoon about two o'clock," martin said, the morning the check arrived. "or, better, meet me at fourteenth and broadway at two o'clock. i'll be looking out for you." at the appointed time she was there; but _shoes_ was the only clew to the mystery her mind had been capable of evolving, and she suffered a distinct shock of disappointment when martin walked her right by a shoe- store and dived into a real estate office. what happened thereupon resided forever after in her memory as a dream. fine gentlemen smiled at her benevolently as they talked with martin and one another; a type-writer clicked; signatures were affixed to an imposing document; her own landlord was there, too, and affixed his signature; and when all was over and she was outside on the sidewalk, her landlord spoke to her, saying, "well, maria, you won't have to pay me no seven dollars and a half this month." maria was too stunned for speech. "or next month, or the next, or the next," her landlord said. she thanked him incoherently, as if for a favor. and it was not until she had returned home to north oakland and conferred with her own kind, and had the portuguese grocer investigate, that she really knew that she was the owner of the little house in which she had lived and for which she had paid rent so long. "why don't you trade with me no more?" the portuguese grocer asked martin that evening, stepping out to hail him when he got off the car; and martin explained that he wasn't doing his own cooking any more, and then went in and had a drink of wine on the house. he noted it was the best wine the grocer had in stock. "maria," martin announced that night, "i'm going to leave you. and you're going to leave here yourself soon. then you can rent the house and be a landlord yourself. you've a brother in san leandro or haywards, and he's in the milk business. i want you to send all your washing back unwashed--understand?--unwashed, and to go out to san leandro to-morrow, or haywards, or wherever it is, and see that brother of yours. tell him to come to see me. i'll be stopping at the metropole down in oakland. he'll know a good milk-ranch when he sees one." and so it was that maria became a landlord and the sole owner of a dairy, with two hired men to do the work for her and a bank account that steadily increased despite the fact that her whole brood wore shoes and went to school. few persons ever meet the fairy princes they dream about; but maria, who worked hard and whose head was hard, never dreaming about fairy princes, entertained hers in the guise of an ex-laundryman. in the meantime the world had begun to ask: "who is this martin eden?" he had declined to give any biographical data to his publishers, but the newspapers were not to be denied. oakland was his own town, and the reporters nosed out scores of individuals who could supply information. all that he was and was not, all that he had done and most of what he had not done, was spread out for the delectation of the public, accompanied by snapshots and photographs--the latter procured from the local photographer who had once taken martin's picture and who promptly copyrighted it and put it on the market. at first, so great was his disgust with the magazines and all bourgeois society, martin fought against publicity; but in the end, because it was easier than not to, he surrendered. he found that he could not refuse himself to the special writers who travelled long distances to see him. then again, each day was so many hours long, and, since he no longer was occupied with writing and studying, those hours had to be occupied somehow; so he yielded to what was to him a whim, permitted interviews, gave his opinions on literature and philosophy, and even accepted invitations of the bourgeoisie. he had settled down into a strange and comfortable state of mind. he no longer cared. he forgave everybody, even the cub reporter who had painted him red and to whom he now granted a full page with specially posed photographs. he saw lizzie occasionally, and it was patent that she regretted the greatness that had come to him. it widened the space between them. perhaps it was with the hope of narrowing it that she yielded to his persuasions to go to night school and business college and to have herself gowned by a wonderful dressmaker who charged outrageous prices. she improved visibly from day to day, until martin wondered if he was doing right, for he knew that all her compliance and endeavor was for his sake. she was trying to make herself of worth in his eyes--of the sort of worth he seemed to value. yet he gave her no hope, treating her in brotherly fashion and rarely seeing her. "overdue" was rushed upon the market by the meredith-lowell company in the height of his popularity, and being fiction, in point of sales it made even a bigger strike than "the shame of the sun." week after week his was the credit of the unprecedented performance of having two books at the head of the list of best-sellers. not only did the story take with the fiction-readers, but those who read "the shame of the sun" with avidity were likewise attracted to the sea-story by the cosmic grasp of mastery with which he had handled it. first he had attacked the literature of mysticism, and had done it exceeding well; and, next, he had successfully supplied the very literature he had exposited, thus proving himself to be that rare genius, a critic and a creator in one. money poured in on him, fame poured in on him; he flashed, comet-like, through the world of literature, and he was more amused than interested by the stir he was making. one thing was puzzling him, a little thing that would have puzzled the world had it known. but the world would have puzzled over his bepuzzlement rather than over the little thing that to him loomed gigantic. judge blount invited him to dinner. that was the little thing, or the beginning of the little thing, that was soon to become the big thing. he had insulted judge blount, treated him abominably, and judge blount, meeting him on the street, invited him to dinner. martin bethought himself of the numerous occasions on which he had met judge blount at the morses' and when judge blount had not invited him to dinner. why had he not invited him to dinner then? he asked himself. he had not changed. he was the same martin eden. what made the difference? the fact that the stuff he had written had appeared inside the covers of books? but it was work performed. it was not something he had done since. it was achievement accomplished at the very time judge blount was sharing this general view and sneering at his spencer and his intellect. therefore it was not for any real value, but for a purely fictitious value that judge blount invited him to dinner. martin grinned and accepted the invitation, marvelling the while at his complacence. and at the dinner, where, with their womankind, were half a dozen of those that sat in high places, and where martin found himself quite the lion, judge blount, warmly seconded by judge hanwell, urged privately that martin should permit his name to be put up for the styx--the ultra-select club to which belonged, not the mere men of wealth, but the men of attainment. and martin declined, and was more puzzled than ever. he was kept busy disposing of his heap of manuscripts. he was overwhelmed by requests from editors. it had been discovered that he was a stylist, with meat under his style. the northern review, after publishing "the cradle of beauty," had written him for half a dozen similar essays, which would have been supplied out of the heap, had not burton's magazine, in a speculative mood, offered him five hundred dollars each for five essays. he wrote back that he would supply the demand, but at a thousand dollars an essay. he remembered that all these manuscripts had been refused by the very magazines that were now clamoring for them. and their refusals had been cold-blooded, automatic, stereotyped. they had made him sweat, and now he intended to make them sweat. burton's magazine paid his price for five essays, and the remaining four, at the same rate, were snapped up by mackintosh's monthly, the northern review being too poor to stand the pace. thus went out to the world "the high priests of mystery," "the wonder-dreamers," "the yardstick of the ego," "philosophy of illusion," "god and clod," "art and biology," "critics and test-tubes," "star-dust," and "the dignity of usury,"--to raise storms and rumblings and mutterings that were many a day in dying down. editors wrote to him telling him to name his own terms, which he did, but it was always for work performed. he refused resolutely to pledge himself to any new thing. the thought of again setting pen to paper maddened him. he had seen brissenden torn to pieces by the crowd, and despite the fact that him the crowd acclaimed, he could not get over the shock nor gather any respect for the crowd. his very popularity seemed a disgrace and a treason to brissenden. it made him wince, but he made up his mind to go on and fill the money-bag. he received letters from editors like the following: "about a year ago we were unfortunate enough to refuse your collection of love-poems. we were greatly impressed by them at the time, but certain arrangements already entered into prevented our taking them. if you still have them, and if you will be kind enough to forward them, we shall be glad to publish the entire collection on your own terms. we are also prepared to make a most advantageous offer for bringing them out in book-form." martin recollected his blank-verse tragedy, and sent it instead. he read it over before mailing, and was particularly impressed by its sophomoric amateurishness and general worthlessness. but he sent it; and it was published, to the everlasting regret of the editor. the public was indignant and incredulous. it was too far a cry from martin eden's high standard to that serious bosh. it was asserted that he had never written it, that the magazine had faked it very clumsily, or that martin eden was emulating the elder dumas and at the height of success was hiring his writing done for him. but when he explained that the tragedy was an early effort of his literary childhood, and that the magazine had refused to be happy unless it got it, a great laugh went up at the magazine's expense and a change in the editorship followed. the tragedy was never brought out in book-form, though martin pocketed the advance royalties that had been paid. coleman's weekly sent martin a lengthy telegram, costing nearly three hundred dollars, offering him a thousand dollars an article for twenty articles. he was to travel over the united states, with all expenses paid, and select whatever topics interested him. the body of the telegram was devoted to hypothetical topics in order to show him the freedom of range that was to be his. the only restriction placed upon him was that he must confine himself to the united states. martin sent his inability to accept and his regrets by wire "collect." "wiki-wiki," published in warren's monthly, was an instantaneous success. it was brought out forward in a wide-margined, beautifully decorated volume that struck the holiday trade and sold like wildfire. the critics were unanimous in the belief that it would take its place with those two classics by two great writers, "the bottle imp" and "the magic skin." the public, however, received the "smoke of joy" collection rather dubiously and coldly. the audacity and unconventionality of the storiettes was a shock to bourgeois morality and prejudice; but when paris went mad over the immediate translation that was made, the american and english reading public followed suit and bought so many copies that martin compelled the conservative house of singletree, darnley & co. to pay a flat royalty of twenty-five per cent for a third book, and thirty per cent flat for a fourth. these two volumes comprised all the short stories he had written and which had received, or were receiving, serial publication. "the ring of bells" and his horror stories constituted one collection; the other collection was composed of "adventure," "the pot," "the wine of life," "the whirlpool," "the jostling street," and four other stories. the lowell-meredith company captured the collection of all his essays, and the maxmillian company got his "sea lyrics" and the "love-cycle," the latter receiving serial publication in the ladies' home companion after the payment of an extortionate price. martin heaved a sigh of relief when he had disposed of the last manuscript. the grass-walled castle and the white, coppered schooner were very near to him. well, at any rate he had discovered brissenden's contention that nothing of merit found its way into the magazines. his own success demonstrated that brissenden had been wrong. and yet, somehow, he had a feeling that brissenden had been right, after all. "the shame of the sun" had been the cause of his success more than the stuff he had written. that stuff had been merely incidental. it had been rejected right and left by the magazines. the publication of "the shame of the sun" had started a controversy and precipitated the landslide in his favor. had there been no "shame of the sun" there would have been no landslide, and had there been no miracle in the go of "the shame of the sun" there would have been no landslide. singletree, darnley & co. attested that miracle. they had brought out a first edition of fifteen hundred copies and been dubious of selling it. they were experienced publishers and no one had been more astounded than they at the success which had followed. to them it had been in truth a miracle. they never got over it, and every letter they wrote him reflected their reverent awe of that first mysterious happening. they did not attempt to explain it. there was no explaining it. it had happened. in the face of all experience to the contrary, it had happened. so it was, reasoning thus, that martin questioned the validity of his popularity. it was the bourgeoisie that bought his books and poured its gold into his money-sack, and from what little he knew of the bourgeoisie it was not clear to him how it could possibly appreciate or comprehend what he had written. his intrinsic beauty and power meant nothing to the hundreds of thousands who were acclaiming him and buying his books. he was the fad of the hour, the adventurer who had stormed parnassus while the gods nodded. the hundreds of thousands read him and acclaimed him with the same brute non-understanding with which they had flung themselves on brissenden's "ephemera" and torn it to pieces--a wolf-rabble that fawned on him instead of fanging him. fawn or fang, it was all a matter of chance. one thing he knew with absolute certitude: "ephemera" was infinitely greater than anything he had done. it was infinitely greater than anything he had in him. it was a poem of centuries. then the tribute the mob paid him was a sorry tribute indeed, for that same mob had wallowed "ephemera" into the mire. he sighed heavily and with satisfaction. he was glad the last manuscript was sold and that he would soon be done with it all. chapter xliv mr. morse met martin in the office of the hotel metropole. whether he had happened there just casually, intent on other affairs, or whether he had come there for the direct purpose of inviting him to dinner, martin never could quite make up his mind, though he inclined toward the second hypothesis. at any rate, invited to dinner he was by mr. morse--ruth's father, who had forbidden him the house and broken off the engagement. martin was not angry. he was not even on his dignity. he tolerated mr. morse, wondering the while how it felt to eat such humble pie. he did not decline the invitation. instead, he put it off with vagueness and indefiniteness and inquired after the family, particularly after mrs. morse and ruth. he spoke her name without hesitancy, naturally, though secretly surprised that he had had no inward quiver, no old, familiar increase of pulse and warm surge of blood. he had many invitations to dinner, some of which he accepted. persons got themselves introduced to him in order to invite him to dinner. and he went on puzzling over the little thing that was becoming a great thing. bernard higginbotham invited him to dinner. he puzzled the harder. he remembered the days of his desperate starvation when no one invited him to dinner. that was the time he needed dinners, and went weak and faint for lack of them and lost weight from sheer famine. that was the paradox of it. when he wanted dinners, no one gave them to him, and now that he could buy a hundred thousand dinners and was losing his appetite, dinners were thrust upon him right and left. but why? there was no justice in it, no merit on his part. he was no different. all the work he had done was even at that time work performed. mr. and mrs. morse had condemned him for an idler and a shirk and through ruth had urged that he take a clerk's position in an office. furthermore, they had been aware of his work performed. manuscript after manuscript of his had been turned over to them by ruth. they had read them. it was the very same work that had put his name in all the papers, and, it was his name being in all the papers that led them to invite him. one thing was certain: the morses had not cared to have him for himself or for his work. therefore they could not want him now for himself or for his work, but for the fame that was his, because he was somebody amongst men, and--why not?--because he had a hundred thousand dollars or so. that was the way bourgeois society valued a man, and who was he to expect it otherwise? but he was proud. he disdained such valuation. he desired to be valued for himself, or for his work, which, after all, was an expression of himself. that was the way lizzie valued him. the work, with her, did not even count. she valued him, himself. that was the way jimmy, the plumber, and all the old gang valued him. that had been proved often enough in the days when he ran with them; it had been proved that sunday at shell mound park. his work could go hang. what they liked, and were willing to scrap for, was just mart eden, one of the bunch and a pretty good guy. then there was ruth. she had liked him for himself, that was indisputable. and yet, much as she had liked him she had liked the bourgeois standard of valuation more. she had opposed his writing, and principally, it seemed to him, because it did not earn money. that had been her criticism of his "love-cycle." she, too, had urged him to get a job. it was true, she refined it to "position," but it meant the same thing, and in his own mind the old nomenclature stuck. he had read her all that he wrote--poems, stories, essays--"wiki-wiki," "the shame of the sun," everything. and she had always and consistently urged him to get a job, to go to work--good god!--as if he hadn't been working, robbing sleep, exhausting life, in order to be worthy of her. so the little thing grew bigger. he was healthy and normal, ate regularly, slept long hours, and yet the growing little thing was becoming an obsession. work performed. the phrase haunted his brain. he sat opposite bernard higginbotham at a heavy sunday dinner over higginbotham's cash store, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from shouting out:- "it was work performed! and now you feed me, when then you let me starve, forbade me your house, and damned me because i wouldn't get a job. and the work was already done, all done. and now, when i speak, you check the thought unuttered on your lips and hang on my lips and pay respectful attention to whatever i choose to say. i tell you your party is rotten and filled with grafters, and instead of flying into a rage you hum and haw and admit there is a great deal in what i say. and why? because i'm famous; because i've a lot of money. not because i'm martin eden, a pretty good fellow and not particularly a fool. i could tell you the moon is made of green cheese and you would subscribe to the notion, at least you would not repudiate it, because i've got dollars, mountains of them. and it was all done long ago; it was work performed, i tell you, when you spat upon me as the dirt under your feet." but martin did not shout out. the thought gnawed in his brain, an unceasing torment, while he smiled and succeeded in being tolerant. as he grew silent, bernard higginbotham got the reins and did the talking. he was a success himself, and proud of it. he was self-made. no one had helped him. he owed no man. he was fulfilling his duty as a citizen and bringing up a large family. and there was higginbotham's cash store, that monument of his own industry and ability. he loved higginbotham's cash store as some men loved their wives. he opened up his heart to martin, showed with what keenness and with what enormous planning he had made the store. and he had plans for it, ambitious plans. the neighborhood was growing up fast. the store was really too small. if he had more room, he would be able to put in a score of labor-saving and money-saving improvements. and he would do it yet. he was straining every effort for the day when he could buy the adjoining lot and put up another two-story frame building. the upstairs he could rent, and the whole ground-floor of both buildings would be higginbotham's cash store. his eyes glistened when he spoke of the new sign that would stretch clear across both buildings. martin forgot to listen. the refrain of "work performed," in his own brain, was drowning the other's clatter. the refrain maddened him, and he tried to escape from it. "how much did you say it would cost?" he asked suddenly. his brother-in-law paused in the middle of an expatiation on the business opportunities of the neighborhood. he hadn't said how much it would cost. but he knew. he had figured it out a score of times. "at the way lumber is now," he said, "four thousand could do it." "including the sign?" "i didn't count on that. it'd just have to come, onc't the buildin' was there." "and the ground?" "three thousand more." he leaned forward, licking his lips, nervously spreading and closing his fingers, while he watched martin write a check. when it was passed over to him, he glanced at the amount-seven thousand dollars. "i--i can't afford to pay more than six per cent," he said huskily. martin wanted to laugh, but, instead, demanded:- "how much would that be?" "lemme see. six per cent--six times seven--four hundred an' twenty." "that would be thirty-five dollars a month, wouldn't it?" higginbotham nodded. "then, if you've no objection, well arrange it this way." martin glanced at gertrude. "you can have the principal to keep for yourself, if you'll use the thirty-five dollars a month for cooking and washing and scrubbing. the seven thousand is yours if you'll guarantee that gertrude does no more drudgery. is it a go?" mr. higginbotham swallowed hard. that his wife should do no more housework was an affront to his thrifty soul. the magnificent present was the coating of a pill, a bitter pill. that his wife should not work! it gagged him. "all right, then," martin said. "i'll pay the thirty-five a month, and--" he reached across the table for the check. but bernard higginbotham got his hand on it first, crying: "i accept! i accept!" when martin got on the electric car, he was very sick and tired. he looked up at the assertive sign. "the swine," he groaned. "the swine, the swine." when mackintosh's magazine published "the palmist," featuring it with decorations by berthier and with two pictures by wenn, hermann von schmidt forgot that he had called the verses obscene. he announced that his wife had inspired the poem, saw to it that the news reached the ears of a reporter, and submitted to an interview by a staff writer who was accompanied by a staff photographer and a staff artist. the result was a full page in a sunday supplement, filled with photographs and idealized drawings of marian, with many intimate details of martin eden and his family, and with the full text of "the palmist" in large type, and republished by special permission of mackintosh's magazine. it caused quite a stir in the neighborhood, and good housewives were proud to have the acquaintances of the great writer's sister, while those who had not made haste to cultivate it. hermann von schmidt chuckled in his little repair shop and decided to order a new lathe. "better than advertising," he told marian, "and it costs nothing." "we'd better have him to dinner," she suggested. and to dinner martin came, making himself agreeable with the fat wholesale butcher and his fatter wife--important folk, they, likely to be of use to a rising young man like hermann von schmidt. no less a bait, however, had been required to draw them to his house than his great brother-in-law. another man at table who had swallowed the same bait was the superintendent of the pacific coast agencies for the asa bicycle company. him von schmidt desired to please and propitiate because from him could be obtained the oakland agency for the bicycle. so hermann von schmidt found it a goodly asset to have martin for a brother-in-law, but in his heart of hearts he couldn't understand where it all came in. in the silent watches of the night, while his wife slept, he had floundered through martin's books and poems, and decided that the world was a fool to buy them. and in his heart of hearts martin understood the situation only too well, as he leaned back and gloated at von schmidt's head, in fancy punching it well-nigh off of him, sending blow after blow home just right--the chuckle-headed dutchman! one thing he did like about him, however. poor as he was, and determined to rise as he was, he nevertheless hired one servant to take the heavy work off of marian's hands. martin talked with the superintendent of the asa agencies, and after dinner he drew him aside with hermann, whom he backed financially for the best bicycle store with fittings in oakland. he went further, and in a private talk with hermann told him to keep his eyes open for an automobile agency and garage, for there was no reason that he should not be able to run both establishments successfully. with tears in her eyes and her arms around his neck, marian, at parting, told martin how much she loved him and always had loved him. it was true, there was a perceptible halt midway in her assertion, which she glossed over with more tears and kisses and incoherent stammerings, and which martin inferred to be her appeal for forgiveness for the time she had lacked faith in him and insisted on his getting a job. "he can't never keep his money, that's sure," hermann von schmidt confided to his wife. "he got mad when i spoke of interest, an' he said damn the principal and if i mentioned it again, he'd punch my dutch head off. that's what he said--my dutch head. but he's all right, even if he ain't no business man. he's given me my chance, an' he's all right." invitations to dinner poured in on martin; and the more they poured, the more he puzzled. he sat, the guest of honor, at an arden club banquet, with men of note whom he had heard about and read about all his life; and they told him how, when they had read "the ring of bells" in the transcontinental, and "the peri and the pearl" in the hornet, they had immediately picked him for a winner. my god! and i was hungry and in rags, he thought to himself. why didn't you give me a dinner then? then was the time. it was work performed. if you are feeding me now for work performed, why did you not feed me then when i needed it? not one word in "the ring of bells," nor in "the peri and the pearl" has been changed. no; you're not feeding me now for work performed. you are feeding me because everybody else is feeding me and because it is an honor to feed me. you are feeding me now because you are herd animals; because you are part of the mob; because the one blind, automatic thought in the mob-mind just now is to feed me. and where does martin eden and the work martin eden performed come in in all this? he asked himself plaintively, then arose to respond cleverly and wittily to a clever and witty toast. so it went. wherever he happened to be--at the press club, at the redwood club, at pink teas and literary gatherings--always were remembered "the ring of bells" and "the peri and the pearl" when they were first published. and always was martin's maddening and unuttered demand: why didn't you feed me then? it was work performed. "the ring of bells" and "the peri and the pearl" are not changed one iota. they were just as artistic, just as worth while, then as now. but you are not feeding me for their sake, nor for the sake of anything else i have written. you're feeding me because it is the style of feeding just now, because the whole mob is crazy with the idea of feeding martin eden. and often, at such times, he would abruptly see slouch in among the company a young hoodlum in square-cut coat and under a stiff-rim stetson hat. it happened to him at the gallina society in oakland one afternoon. as he rose from his chair and stepped forward across the platform, he saw stalk through the wide door at the rear of the great room the young hoodlum with the square-cut coat and stiff-rim hat. five hundred fashionably gowned women turned their heads, so intent and steadfast was martin's gaze, to see what he was seeing. but they saw only the empty centre aisle. he saw the young tough lurching down that aisle and wondered if he would remove the stiff-rim which never yet had he seen him without. straight down the aisle he came, and up the platform. martin could have wept over that youthful shade of himself, when he thought of all that lay before him. across the platform he swaggered, right up to martin, and into the foreground of martin's consciousness disappeared. the five hundred women applauded softly with gloved hands, seeking to encourage the bashful great man who was their guest. and martin shook the vision from his brain, smiled, and began to speak. the superintendent of schools, good old man, stopped martin on the street and remembered him, recalling seances in his office when martin was expelled from school for fighting. "i read your 'ring of bells' in one of the magazines quite a time ago," he said. "it was as good as poe. splendid, i said at the time, splendid!" yes, and twice in the months that followed you passed me on the street and did not know me, martin almost said aloud. each time i was hungry and heading for the pawnbroker. yet it was work performed. you did not know me then. why do you know me now? "i was remarking to my wife only the other day," the other was saying, "wouldn't it be a good idea to have you out to dinner some time? and she quite agreed with me. yes, she quite agreed with me." "dinner?" martin said so sharply that it was almost a snarl. "why, yes, yes, dinner, you know--just pot luck with us, with your old superintendent, you rascal," he uttered nervously, poking martin in an attempt at jocular fellowship. martin went down the street in a daze. he stopped at the corner and looked about him vacantly. "well, i'll be damned!" he murmured at last. "the old fellow was afraid of me." chapter xlv kreis came to martin one day--kreis, of the "real dirt"; and martin turned to him with relief, to receive the glowing details of a scheme sufficiently wild-catty to interest him as a fictionist rather than an investor. kreis paused long enough in the midst of his exposition to tell him that in most of his "shame of the sun" he had been a chump. "but i didn't come here to spout philosophy," kreis went on. "what i want to know is whether or not you will put a thousand dollars in on this deal?" "no, i'm not chump enough for that, at any rate," martin answered. "but i'll tell you what i will do. you gave me the greatest night of my life. you gave me what money cannot buy. now i've got money, and it means nothing to me. i'd like to turn over to you a thousand dollars of what i don't value for what you gave me that night and which was beyond price. you need the money. i've got more than i need. you want it. you came for it. there's no use scheming it out of me. take it." kreis betrayed no surprise. he folded the check away in his pocket. "at that rate i'd like the contract of providing you with many such nights," he said. "too late." martin shook his head. "that night was the one night for me. i was in paradise. it's commonplace with you, i know. but it wasn't to me. i shall never live at such a pitch again. i'm done with philosophy. i want never to hear another word of it." "the first dollar i ever made in my life out of my philosophy," kreis remarked, as he paused in the doorway. "and then the market broke." mrs. morse drove by martin on the street one day, and smiled and nodded. he smiled back and lifted his hat. the episode did not affect him. a month before it might have disgusted him, or made him curious and set him to speculating about her state of consciousness at that moment. but now it was not provocative of a second thought. he forgot about it the next moment. he forgot about it as he would have forgotten the central bank building or the city hall after having walked past them. yet his mind was preternaturally active. his thoughts went ever around and around in a circle. the centre of that circle was "work performed"; it ate at his brain like a deathless maggot. he awoke to it in the morning. it tormented his dreams at night. every affair of life around him that penetrated through his senses immediately related itself to "work performed." he drove along the path of relentless logic to the conclusion that he was nobody, nothing. mart eden, the hoodlum, and mart eden, the sailor, had been real, had been he; but martin eden! the famous writer, did not exist. martin eden, the famous writer, was a vapor that had arisen in the mob-mind and by the mob-mind had been thrust into the corporeal being of mart eden, the hoodlum and sailor. but it couldn't fool him. he was not that sun-myth that the mob was worshipping and sacrificing dinners to. he knew better. he read the magazines about himself, and pored over portraits of himself published therein until he was unable to associate his identity with those portraits. he was the fellow who had lived and thrilled and loved; who had been easy-going and tolerant of the frailties of life; who had served in the forecastle, wandered in strange lands, and led his gang in the old fighting days. he was the fellow who had been stunned at first by the thousands of books in the free library, and who had afterward learned his way among them and mastered them; he was the fellow who had burned the midnight oil and bedded with a spur and written books himself. but the one thing he was not was that colossal appetite that all the mob was bent upon feeding. there were things, however, in the magazines that amused him. all the magazines were claiming him. warren's monthly advertised to its subscribers that it was always on the quest after new writers, and that, among others, it had introduced martin eden to the reading public. the white mouse claimed him; so did the northern review and mackintosh's magazine, until silenced by the globe, which pointed triumphantly to its files where the mangled "sea lyrics" lay buried. youth and age, which had come to life again after having escaped paying its bills, put in a prior claim, which nobody but farmers' children ever read. the transcontinental made a dignified and convincing statement of how it first discovered martin eden, which was warmly disputed by the hornet, with the exhibit of "the peri and the pearl." the modest claim of singletree, darnley & co. was lost in the din. besides, that publishing firm did not own a magazine wherewith to make its claim less modest. the newspapers calculated martin's royalties. in some way the magnificent offers certain magazines had made him leaked out, and oakland ministers called upon him in a friendly way, while professional begging letters began to clutter his mail. but worse than all this were the women. his photographs were published broadcast, and special writers exploited his strong, bronzed face, his scars, his heavy shoulders, his clear, quiet eyes, and the slight hollows in his cheeks like an ascetic's. at this last he remembered his wild youth and smiled. often, among the women he met, he would see now one, now another, looking at him, appraising him, selecting him. he laughed to himself. he remembered brissenden's warning and laughed again. the women would never destroy him, that much was certain. he had gone past that stage. once, walking with lizzie toward night school, she caught a glance directed toward him by a well-gowned, handsome woman of the bourgeoisie. the glance was a trifle too long, a shade too considerative. lizzie knew it for what it was, and her body tensed angrily. martin noticed, noticed the cause of it, told her how used he was becoming to it and that he did not care anyway. "you ought to care," she answered with blazing eyes. "you're sick. that's what's the matter." "never healthier in my life. i weigh five pounds more than i ever did." "it ain't your body. it's your head. something's wrong with your think- machine. even i can see that, an' i ain't nobody." he walked on beside her, reflecting. "i'd give anything to see you get over it," she broke out impulsively. "you ought to care when women look at you that way, a man like you. it's not natural. it's all right enough for sissy-boys. but you ain't made that way. so help me, i'd be willing an' glad if the right woman came along an' made you care." when he left lizzie at night school, he returned to the metropole. once in his rooms, he dropped into a morris chair and sat staring straight before him. he did not doze. nor did he think. his mind was a blank, save for the intervals when unsummoned memory pictures took form and color and radiance just under his eyelids. he saw these pictures, but he was scarcely conscious of them--no more so than if they had been dreams. yet he was not asleep. once, he roused himself and glanced at his watch. it was just eight o'clock. he had nothing to do, and it was too early for bed. then his mind went blank again, and the pictures began to form and vanish under his eyelids. there was nothing distinctive about the pictures. they were always masses of leaves and shrub-like branches shot through with hot sunshine. a knock at the door aroused him. he was not asleep, and his mind immediately connected the knock with a telegram, or letter, or perhaps one of the servants bringing back clean clothes from the laundry. he was thinking about joe and wondering where he was, as he said, "come in." he was still thinking about joe, and did not turn toward the door. he heard it close softly. there was a long silence. he forgot that there had been a knock at the door, and was still staring blankly before him when he heard a woman's sob. it was involuntary, spasmodic, checked, and stifled--he noted that as he turned about. the next instant he was on his feet. "ruth!" he said, amazed and bewildered. her face was white and strained. she stood just inside the door, one hand against it for support, the other pressed to her side. she extended both hands toward him piteously, and started forward to meet him. as he caught her hands and led her to the morris chair he noticed how cold they were. he drew up another chair and sat down on the broad arm of it. he was too confused to speak. in his own mind his affair with ruth was closed and sealed. he felt much in the same way that he would have felt had the shelly hot springs laundry suddenly invaded the hotel metropole with a whole week's washing ready for him to pitch into. several times he was about to speak, and each time he hesitated. "no one knows i am here," ruth said in a faint voice, with an appealing smile. "what did you say?" he was surprised at the sound of his own voice. she repeated her words. "oh," he said, then wondered what more he could possibly say. "i saw you come in, and i waited a few minutes." "oh," he said again. he had never been so tongue-tied in his life. positively he did not have an idea in his head. he felt stupid and awkward, but for the life of him he could think of nothing to say. it would have been easier had the intrusion been the shelly hot springs laundry. he could have rolled up his sleeves and gone to work. "and then you came in," he said finally. she nodded, with a slightly arch expression, and loosened the scarf at her throat. "i saw you first from across the street when you were with that girl." "oh, yes," he said simply. "i took her down to night school." "well, aren't you glad to see me?" she said at the end of another silence. "yes, yes." he spoke hastily. "but wasn't it rash of you to come here?" "i slipped in. nobody knows i am here. i wanted to see you. i came to tell you i have been very foolish. i came because i could no longer stay away, because my heart compelled me to come, because--because i wanted to come." she came forward, out of her chair and over to him. she rested her hand on his shoulder a moment, breathing quickly, and then slipped into his arms. and in his large, easy way, desirous of not inflicting hurt, knowing that to repulse this proffer of herself was to inflict the most grievous hurt a woman could receive, he folded his arms around her and held her close. but there was no warmth in the embrace, no caress in the contact. she had come into his arms, and he held her, that was all. she nestled against him, and then, with a change of position, her hands crept up and rested upon his neck. but his flesh was not fire beneath those hands, and he felt awkward and uncomfortable. "what makes you tremble so?" he asked. "is it a chill? shall i light the grate?" he made a movement to disengage himself, but she clung more closely to him, shivering violently. "it is merely nervousness," she said with chattering teeth. "i'll control myself in a minute. there, i am better already." slowly her shivering died away. he continued to hold her, but he was no longer puzzled. he knew now for what she had come. "my mother wanted me to marry charley hapgood," she announced. "charley hapgood, that fellow who speaks always in platitudes?" martin groaned. then he added, "and now, i suppose, your mother wants you to marry me." he did not put it in the form of a question. he stated it as a certitude, and before his eyes began to dance the rows of figures of his royalties. "she will not object, i know that much," ruth said. "she considers me quite eligible?" ruth nodded. "and yet i am not a bit more eligible now than i was when she broke our engagement," he meditated. "i haven't changed any. i'm the same martin eden, though for that matter i'm a bit worse--i smoke now. don't you smell my breath?" in reply she pressed her open fingers against his lips, placed them graciously and playfully, and in expectancy of the kiss that of old had always been a consequence. but there was no caressing answer of martin's lips. he waited until the fingers were removed and then went on. "i am not changed. i haven't got a job. i'm not looking for a job. furthermore, i am not going to look for a job. and i still believe that herbert spencer is a great and noble man and that judge blount is an unmitigated ass. i had dinner with him the other night, so i ought to know." "but you didn't accept father's invitation," she chided. "so you know about that? who sent him? your mother?" she remained silent. "then she did send him. i thought so. and now i suppose she has sent you." "no one knows that i am here," she protested. "do you think my mother would permit this?" "she'd permit you to marry me, that's certain." she gave a sharp cry. "oh, martin, don't be cruel. you have not kissed me once. you are as unresponsive as a stone. and think what i have dared to do." she looked about her with a shiver, though half the look was curiosity. "just think of where i am." "_i could die for you! i could die for you_!"--lizzie's words were ringing in his ears. "why didn't you dare it before?" he asked harshly. "when i hadn't a job? when i was starving? when i was just as i am now, as a man, as an artist, the same martin eden? that's the question i've been propounding to myself for many a day--not concerning you merely, but concerning everybody. you see i have not changed, though my sudden apparent appreciation in value compels me constantly to reassure myself on that point. i've got the same flesh on my bones, the same ten fingers and toes. i am the same. i have not developed any new strength nor virtue. my brain is the same old brain. i haven't made even one new generalization on literature or philosophy. i am personally of the same value that i was when nobody wanted me. and what is puzzling me is why they want me now. surely they don't want me for myself, for myself is the same old self they did not want. then they must want me for something else, for something that is outside of me, for something that is not i! shall i tell you what that something is? it is for the recognition i have received. that recognition is not i. it resides in the minds of others. then again for the money i have earned and am earning. but that money is not i. it resides in banks and in the pockets of tom, dick, and harry. and is it for that, for the recognition and the money, that you now want me?" "you are breaking my heart," she sobbed. "you know i love you, that i am here because i love you." "i am afraid you don't see my point," he said gently. "what i mean is: if you love me, how does it happen that you love me now so much more than you did when your love was weak enough to deny me?" "forget and forgive," she cried passionately. "i loved you all the time, remember that, and i am here, now, in your arms." "i'm afraid i am a shrewd merchant, peering into the scales, trying to weigh your love and find out what manner of thing it is." she withdrew herself from his arms, sat upright, and looked at him long and searchingly. she was about to speak, then faltered and changed her mind. "you see, it appears this way to me," he went on. "when i was all that i am now, nobody out of my own class seemed to care for me. when my books were all written, no one who had read the manuscripts seemed to care for them. in point of fact, because of the stuff i had written they seemed to care even less for me. in writing the stuff it seemed that i had committed acts that were, to say the least, derogatory. 'get a job,' everybody said." she made a movement of dissent. "yes, yes," he said; "except in your case you told me to get a position. the homely word _job_, like much that i have written, offends you. it is brutal. but i assure you it was no less brutal to me when everybody i knew recommended it to me as they would recommend right conduct to an immoral creature. but to return. the publication of what i had written, and the public notice i received, wrought a change in the fibre of your love. martin eden, with his work all performed, you would not marry. your love for him was not strong enough to enable you to marry him. but your love is now strong enough, and i cannot avoid the conclusion that its strength arises from the publication and the public notice. in your case i do not mention royalties, though i am certain that they apply to the change wrought in your mother and father. of course, all this is not flattering to me. but worst of all, it makes me question love, sacred love. is love so gross a thing that it must feed upon publication and public notice? it would seem so. i have sat and thought upon it till my head went around." "poor, dear head." she reached up a hand and passed the fingers soothingly through his hair. "let it go around no more. let us begin anew, now. i loved you all the time. i know that i was weak in yielding to my mother's will. i should not have done so. yet i have heard you speak so often with broad charity of the fallibility and frailty of humankind. extend that charity to me. i acted mistakenly. forgive me." "oh, i do forgive," he said impatiently. "it is easy to forgive where there is really nothing to forgive. nothing that you have done requires forgiveness. one acts according to one's lights, and more than that one cannot do. as well might i ask you to forgive me for my not getting a job." "i meant well," she protested. "you know that i could not have loved you and not meant well." "true; but you would have destroyed me out of your well-meaning." "yes, yes," he shut off her attempted objection. "you would have destroyed my writing and my career. realism is imperative to my nature, and the bourgeois spirit hates realism. the bourgeoisie is cowardly. it is afraid of life. and all your effort was to make me afraid of life. you would have formalized me. you would have compressed me into a two-by- four pigeonhole of life, where all life's values are unreal, and false, and vulgar." he felt her stir protestingly. "vulgarity--a hearty vulgarity, i'll admit--is the basis of bourgeois refinement and culture. as i say, you wanted to formalize me, to make me over into one of your own class, with your class-ideals, class-values, and class-prejudices." he shook his head sadly. "and you do not understand, even now, what i am saying. my words do not mean to you what i endeavor to make them mean. what i say is so much fantasy to you. yet to me it is vital reality. at the best you are a trifle puzzled and amused that this raw boy, crawling up out of the mire of the abyss, should pass judgment upon your class and call it vulgar." she leaned her head wearily against his shoulder, and her body shivered with recurrent nervousness. he waited for a time for her to speak, and then went on. "and now you want to renew our love. you want us to be married. you want me. and yet, listen--if my books had not been noticed, i'd nevertheless have been just what i am now. and you would have stayed away. it is all those damned books--" "don't swear," she interrupted. her reproof startled him. he broke into a harsh laugh. "that's it," he said, "at a high moment, when what seems your life's happiness is at stake, you are afraid of life in the same old way--afraid of life and a healthy oath." she was stung by his words into realization of the puerility of her act, and yet she felt that he had magnified it unduly and was consequently resentful. they sat in silence for a long time, she thinking desperately and he pondering upon his love which had departed. he knew, now, that he had not really loved her. it was an idealized ruth he had loved, an ethereal creature of his own creating, the bright and luminous spirit of his love-poems. the real bourgeois ruth, with all the bourgeois failings and with the hopeless cramp of the bourgeois psychology in her mind, he had never loved. she suddenly began to speak. "i know that much you have said is so. i have been afraid of life. i did not love you well enough. i have learned to love better. i love you for what you are, for what you were, for the ways even by which you have become. i love you for the ways wherein you differ from what you call my class, for your beliefs which i do not understand but which i know i can come to understand. i shall devote myself to understanding them. and even your smoking and your swearing--they are part of you and i will love you for them, too. i can still learn. in the last ten minutes i have learned much. that i have dared to come here is a token of what i have already learned. oh, martin!--" she was sobbing and nestling close against him. for the first time his arms folded her gently and with sympathy, and she acknowledged it with a happy movement and a brightening face. "it is too late," he said. he remembered lizzie's words. "i am a sick man--oh, not my body. it is my soul, my brain. i seem to have lost all values. i care for nothing. if you had been this way a few months ago, it would have been different. it is too late, now." "it is not too late," she cried. "i will show you. i will prove to you that my love has grown, that it is greater to me than my class and all that is dearest to me. all that is dearest to the bourgeoisie i will flout. i am no longer afraid of life. i will leave my father and mother, and let my name become a by-word with my friends. i will come to you here and now, in free love if you will, and i will be proud and glad to be with you. if i have been a traitor to love, i will now, for love's sake, be a traitor to all that made that earlier treason." she stood before him, with shining eyes. "i am waiting, martin," she whispered, "waiting for you to accept me. look at me." it was splendid, he thought, looking at her. she had redeemed herself for all that she had lacked, rising up at last, true woman, superior to the iron rule of bourgeois convention. it was splendid, magnificent, desperate. and yet, what was the matter with him? he was not thrilled nor stirred by what she had done. it was splendid and magnificent only intellectually. in what should have been a moment of fire, he coldly appraised her. his heart was untouched. he was unaware of any desire for her. again he remembered lizzie's words. "i am sick, very sick," he said with a despairing gesture. "how sick i did not know till now. something has gone out of me. i have always been unafraid of life, but i never dreamed of being sated with life. life has so filled me that i am empty of any desire for anything. if there were room, i should want you, now. you see how sick i am." he leaned his head back and closed his eyes; and like a child, crying, that forgets its grief in watching the sunlight percolate through the tear-dimmed films over the pupils, so martin forgot his sickness, the presence of ruth, everything, in watching the masses of vegetation, shot through hotly with sunshine that took form and blazed against this background of his eyelids. it was not restful, that green foliage. the sunlight was too raw and glaring. it hurt him to look at it, and yet he looked, he knew not why. he was brought back to himself by the rattle of the door-knob. ruth was at the door. "how shall i get out?" she questioned tearfully. "i am afraid." "oh, forgive me," he cried, springing to his feet. "i'm not myself, you know. i forgot you were here." he put his hand to his head. "you see, i'm not just right. i'll take you home. we can go out by the servants' entrance. no one will see us. pull down that veil and everything will be all right." she clung to his arm through the dim-lighted passages and down the narrow stairs. "i am safe now," she said, when they emerged on the sidewalk, at the same time starting to take her hand from his arm. "no, no, i'll see you home," he answered. "no, please don't," she objected. "it is unnecessary." again she started to remove her hand. he felt a momentary curiosity. now that she was out of danger she was afraid. she was in almost a panic to be quit of him. he could see no reason for it and attributed it to her nervousness. so he restrained her withdrawing hand and started to walk on with her. halfway down the block, he saw a man in a long overcoat shrink back into a doorway. he shot a glance in as he passed by, and, despite the high turned-up collar, he was certain that he recognized ruth's brother, norman. during the walk ruth and martin held little conversation. she was stunned. he was apathetic. once, he mentioned that he was going away, back to the south seas, and, once, she asked him to forgive her having come to him. and that was all. the parting at her door was conventional. they shook hands, said good night, and he lifted his hat. the door swung shut, and he lighted a cigarette and turned back for his hotel. when he came to the doorway into which he had seen norman shrink, he stopped and looked in in a speculative humor. "she lied," he said aloud. "she made believe to me that she had dared greatly, and all the while she knew the brother that brought her was waiting to take her back." he burst into laughter. "oh, these bourgeois! when i was broke, i was not fit to be seen with his sister. when i have a bank account, he brings her to me." as he swung on his heel to go on, a tramp, going in the same direction, begged him over his shoulder. "say, mister, can you give me a quarter to get a bed?" were the words. but it was the voice that made martin turn around. the next instant he had joe by the hand. "d'ye remember that time we parted at the hot springs?" the other was saying. "i said then we'd meet again. i felt it in my bones. an' here we are." "you're looking good," martin said admiringly, "and you've put on weight." "i sure have." joe's face was beaming. "i never knew what it was to live till i hit hoboin'. i'm thirty pounds heavier an' feel tiptop all the time. why, i was worked to skin an' bone in them old days. hoboin' sure agrees with me." "but you're looking for a bed just the same," martin chided, "and it's a cold night." "huh? lookin' for a bed?" joe shot a hand into his hip pocket and brought it out filled with small change. "that beats hard graft," he exulted. "you just looked good; that's why i battered you." martin laughed and gave in. "you've several full-sized drunks right there," he insinuated. joe slid the money back into his pocket. "not in mine," he announced. "no gettin' oryide for me, though there ain't nothin' to stop me except i don't want to. i've ben drunk once since i seen you last, an' then it was unexpected, bein' on an empty stomach. when i work like a beast, i drink like a beast. when i live like a man, i drink like a man--a jolt now an' again when i feel like it, an' that's all." martin arranged to meet him next day, and went on to the hotel. he paused in the office to look up steamer sailings. the mariposa sailed for tahiti in five days. "telephone over to-morrow and reserve a stateroom for me," he told the clerk. "no deck-stateroom, but down below, on the weather-side,--the port-side, remember that, the port-side. you'd better write it down." once in his room he got into bed and slipped off to sleep as gently as a child. the occurrences of the evening had made no impression on him. his mind was dead to impressions. the glow of warmth with which he met joe had been most fleeting. the succeeding minute he had been bothered by the ex-laundryman's presence and by the compulsion of conversation. that in five more days he sailed for his loved south seas meant nothing to him. so he closed his eyes and slept normally and comfortably for eight uninterrupted hours. he was not restless. he did not change his position, nor did he dream. sleep had become to him oblivion, and each day that he awoke, he awoke with regret. life worried and bored him, and time was a vexation. chapter xlvi "say, joe," was his greeting to his old-time working-mate next morning, "there's a frenchman out on twenty-eighth street. he's made a pot of money, and he's going back to france. it's a dandy, well-appointed, small steam laundry. there's a start for you if you want to settle down. here, take this; buy some clothes with it and be at this man's office by ten o'clock. he looked up the laundry for me, and he'll take you out and show you around. if you like it, and think it is worth the price--twelve thousand--let me know and it is yours. now run along. i'm busy. i'll see you later." "now look here, mart," the other said slowly, with kindling anger, "i come here this mornin' to see you. savve? i didn't come here to get no laundry. i come a here for a talk for old friends' sake, and you shove a laundry at me. i tell you, what you can do. you can take that laundry an' go to hell." he was out of the room when martin caught him and whirled him around. "now look here, joe," he said; "if you act that way, i'll punch your head. an for old friends' sake i'll punch it hard. savve?--you will, will you?" joe had clinched and attempted to throw him, and he was twisting and writhing out of the advantage of the other's hold. they reeled about the room, locked in each other's arms, and came down with a crash across the splintered wreckage of a wicker chair. joe was underneath, with arms spread out and held and with martin's knee on his chest. he was panting and gasping for breath when martin released him. "now we'll talk a moment," martin said. "you can't get fresh with me. i want that laundry business finished first of all. then you can come back and we'll talk for old sake's sake. i told you i was busy. look at that." a servant had just come in with the morning mail, a great mass of letters and magazines. "how can i wade through that and talk with you? you go and fix up that laundry, and then we'll get together." "all right," joe admitted reluctantly. "i thought you was turnin' me down, but i guess i was mistaken. but you can't lick me, mart, in a stand-up fight. i've got the reach on you." "we'll put on the gloves sometime and see," martin said with a smile. "sure; as soon as i get that laundry going." joe extended his arm. "you see that reach? it'll make you go a few." martin heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed behind the laundryman. he was becoming anti-social. daily he found it a severer strain to be decent with people. their presence perturbed him, and the effort of conversation irritated him. they made him restless, and no sooner was he in contact with them than he was casting about for excuses to get rid of them. he did not proceed to attack his mail, and for a half hour he lolled in his chair, doing nothing, while no more than vague, half-formed thoughts occasionally filtered through his intelligence, or rather, at wide intervals, themselves constituted the flickering of his intelligence. he roused himself and began glancing through his mail. there were a dozen requests for autographs--he knew them at sight; there were professional begging letters; and there were letters from cranks, ranging from the man with a working model of perpetual motion, and the man who demonstrated that the surface of the earth was the inside of a hollow sphere, to the man seeking financial aid to purchase the peninsula of lower california for the purpose of communist colonization. there were letters from women seeking to know him, and over one such he smiled, for enclosed was her receipt for pew-rent, sent as evidence of her good faith and as proof of her respectability. editors and publishers contributed to the daily heap of letters, the former on their knees for his manuscripts, the latter on their knees for his books--his poor disdained manuscripts that had kept all he possessed in pawn for so many dreary months in order to fund them in postage. there were unexpected checks for english serial rights and for advance payments on foreign translations. his english agent announced the sale of german translation rights in three of his books, and informed him that swedish editions, from which he could expect nothing because sweden was not a party to the berne convention, were already on the market. then there was a nominal request for his permission for a russian translation, that country being likewise outside the berne convention. he turned to the huge bundle of clippings which had come in from his press bureau, and read about himself and his vogue, which had become a furore. all his creative output had been flung to the public in one magnificent sweep. that seemed to account for it. he had taken the public off its feet, the way kipling had, that time when he lay near to death and all the mob, animated by a mob-mind thought, began suddenly to read him. martin remembered how that same world-mob, having read him and acclaimed him and not understood him in the least, had, abruptly, a few months later, flung itself upon him and torn him to pieces. martin grinned at the thought. who was he that he should not be similarly treated in a few more months? well, he would fool the mob. he would be away, in the south seas, building his grass house, trading for pearls and copra, jumping reefs in frail outriggers, catching sharks and bonitas, hunting wild goats among the cliffs of the valley that lay next to the valley of taiohae. in the moment of that thought the desperateness of his situation dawned upon him. he saw, cleared eyed, that he was in the valley of the shadow. all the life that was in him was fading, fainting, making toward death. he realized how much he slept, and how much he desired to sleep. of old, he had hated sleep. it had robbed him of precious moments of living. four hours of sleep in the twenty-four had meant being robbed of four hours of life. how he had grudged sleep! now it was life he grudged. life was not good; its taste in his mouth was without tang, and bitter. this was his peril. life that did not yearn toward life was in fair way toward ceasing. some remote instinct for preservation stirred in him, and he knew he must get away. he glanced about the room, and the thought of packing was burdensome. perhaps it would be better to leave that to the last. in the meantime he might be getting an outfit. he put on his hat and went out, stopping in at a gun-store, where he spent the remainder of the morning buying automatic rifles, ammunition, and fishing tackle. fashions changed in trading, and he knew he would have to wait till he reached tahiti before ordering his trade-goods. they could come up from australia, anyway. this solution was a source of pleasure. he had avoided doing something, and the doing of anything just now was unpleasant. he went back to the hotel gladly, with a feeling of satisfaction in that the comfortable morris chair was waiting for him; and he groaned inwardly, on entering his room, at sight of joe in the morris chair. joe was delighted with the laundry. everything was settled, and he would enter into possession next day. martin lay on the bed, with closed eyes, while the other talked on. martin's thoughts were far away--so far away that he was rarely aware that he was thinking. it was only by an effort that he occasionally responded. and yet this was joe, whom he had always liked. but joe was too keen with life. the boisterous impact of it on martin's jaded mind was a hurt. it was an aching probe to his tired sensitiveness. when joe reminded him that sometime in the future they were going to put on the gloves together, he could almost have screamed. "remember, joe, you're to run the laundry according to those old rules you used to lay down at shelly hot springs," he said. "no overworking. no working at night. and no children at the mangles. no children anywhere. and a fair wage." joe nodded and pulled out a note-book. "look at here. i was workin' out them rules before breakfast this a.m. what d'ye think of them?" he read them aloud, and martin approved, worrying at the same time as to when joe would take himself off. it was late afternoon when he awoke. slowly the fact of life came back to him. he glanced about the room. joe had evidently stolen away after he had dozed off. that was considerate of joe, he thought. then he closed his eyes and slept again. in the days that followed joe was too busy organizing and taking hold of the laundry to bother him much; and it was not until the day before sailing that the newspapers made the announcement that he had taken passage on the mariposa. once, when the instinct of preservation fluttered, he went to a doctor and underwent a searching physical examination. nothing could be found the matter with him. his heart and lungs were pronounced magnificent. every organ, so far as the doctor could know, was normal and was working normally. "there is nothing the matter with you, mr. eden," he said, "positively nothing the matter with you. you are in the pink of condition. candidly, i envy you your health. it is superb. look at that chest. there, and in your stomach, lies the secret of your remarkable constitution. physically, you are a man in a thousand--in ten thousand. barring accidents, you should live to be a hundred." and martin knew that lizzie's diagnosis had been correct. physically he was all right. it was his "think-machine" that had gone wrong, and there was no cure for that except to get away to the south seas. the trouble was that now, on the verge of departure, he had no desire to go. the south seas charmed him no more than did bourgeois civilization. there was no zest in the thought of departure, while the act of departure appalled him as a weariness of the flesh. he would have felt better if he were already on board and gone. the last day was a sore trial. having read of his sailing in the morning papers, bernard higginbotham, gertrude, and all the family came to say good-by, as did hermann von schmidt and marian. then there was business to be transacted, bills to be paid, and everlasting reporters to be endured. he said good-by to lizzie connolly, abruptly, at the entrance to night school, and hurried away. at the hotel he found joe, too busy all day with the laundry to have come to him earlier. it was the last straw, but martin gripped the arms of his chair and talked and listened for half an hour. "you know, joe," he said, "that you are not tied down to that laundry. there are no strings on it. you can sell it any time and blow the money. any time you get sick of it and want to hit the road, just pull out. do what will make you the happiest." joe shook his head. "no more road in mine, thank you kindly. hoboin's all right, exceptin' for one thing--the girls. i can't help it, but i'm a ladies' man. i can't get along without 'em, and you've got to get along without 'em when you're hoboin'. the times i've passed by houses where dances an' parties was goin' on, an' heard the women laugh, an' saw their white dresses and smiling faces through the windows--gee! i tell you them moments was plain hell. i like dancin' an' picnics, an' walking in the moonlight, an' all the rest too well. me for the laundry, and a good front, with big iron dollars clinkin' in my jeans. i seen a girl already, just yesterday, and, d'ye know, i'm feelin' already i'd just as soon marry her as not. i've ben whistlin' all day at the thought of it. she's a beaut, with the kindest eyes and softest voice you ever heard. me for her, you can stack on that. say, why don't you get married with all this money to burn? you could get the finest girl in the land." martin shook his head with a smile, but in his secret heart he was wondering why any man wanted to marry. it seemed an amazing and incomprehensible thing. from the deck of the mariposa, at the sailing hour, he saw lizzie connolly hiding in the skirts of the crowd on the wharf. take her with you, came the thought. it is easy to be kind. she will be supremely happy. it was almost a temptation one moment, and the succeeding moment it became a terror. he was in a panic at the thought of it. his tired soul cried out in protest. he turned away from the rail with a groan, muttering, "man, you are too sick, you are too sick." he fled to his stateroom, where he lurked until the steamer was clear of the dock. in the dining saloon, at luncheon, he found himself in the place of honor, at the captain's right; and he was not long in discovering that he was the great man on board. but no more unsatisfactory great man ever sailed on a ship. he spent the afternoon in a deck-chair, with closed eyes, dozing brokenly most of the time, and in the evening went early to bed. after the second day, recovered from seasickness, the full passenger list was in evidence, and the more he saw of the passengers the more he disliked them. yet he knew that he did them injustice. they were good and kindly people, he forced himself to acknowledge, and in the moment of acknowledgment he qualified--good and kindly like all the bourgeoisie, with all the psychological cramp and intellectual futility of their kind, they bored him when they talked with him, their little superficial minds were so filled with emptiness; while the boisterous high spirits and the excessive energy of the younger people shocked him. they were never quiet, ceaselessly playing deck-quoits, tossing rings, promenading, or rushing to the rail with loud cries to watch the leaping porpoises and the first schools of flying fish. he slept much. after breakfast he sought his deck-chair with a magazine he never finished. the printed pages tired him. he puzzled that men found so much to write about, and, puzzling, dozed in his chair. when the gong awoke him for luncheon, he was irritated that he must awaken. there was no satisfaction in being awake. once, he tried to arouse himself from his lethargy, and went forward into the forecastle with the sailors. but the breed of sailors seemed to have changed since the days he had lived in the forecastle. he could find no kinship with these stolid-faced, ox-minded bestial creatures. he was in despair. up above nobody had wanted martin eden for his own sake, and he could not go back to those of his own class who had wanted him in the past. he did not want them. he could not stand them any more than he could stand the stupid first-cabin passengers and the riotous young people. life was to him like strong, white light that hurts the tired eyes of a sick person. during every conscious moment life blazed in a raw glare around him and upon him. it hurt. it hurt intolerably. it was the first time in his life that martin had travelled first class. on ships at sea he had always been in the forecastle, the steerage, or in the black depths of the coal-hold, passing coal. in those days, climbing up the iron ladders out the pit of stifling heat, he had often caught glimpses of the passengers, in cool white, doing nothing but enjoy themselves, under awnings spread to keep the sun and wind away from them, with subservient stewards taking care of their every want and whim, and it had seemed to him that the realm in which they moved and had their being was nothing else than paradise. well, here he was, the great man on board, in the midmost centre of it, sitting at the captain's right hand, and yet vainly harking back to forecastle and stoke-hole in quest of the paradise he had lost. he had found no new one, and now he could not find the old one. he strove to stir himself and find something to interest him. he ventured the petty officers' mess, and was glad to get away. he talked with a quartermaster off duty, an intelligent man who promptly prodded him with the socialist propaganda and forced into his hands a bunch of leaflets and pamphlets. he listened to the man expounding the slave-morality, and as he listened, he thought languidly of his own nietzsche philosophy. but what was it worth, after all? he remembered one of nietzsche's mad utterances wherein that madman had doubted truth. and who was to say? perhaps nietzsche had been right. perhaps there was no truth in anything, no truth in truth--no such thing as truth. but his mind wearied quickly, and he was content to go back to his chair and doze. miserable as he was on the steamer, a new misery came upon him. what when the steamer reached tahiti? he would have to go ashore. he would have to order his trade-goods, to find a passage on a schooner to the marquesas, to do a thousand and one things that were awful to contemplate. whenever he steeled himself deliberately to think, he could see the desperate peril in which he stood. in all truth, he was in the valley of the shadow, and his danger lay in that he was not afraid. if he were only afraid, he would make toward life. being unafraid, he was drifting deeper into the shadow. he found no delight in the old familiar things of life. the mariposa was now in the northeast trades, and this wine of wind, surging against him, irritated him. he had his chair moved to escape the embrace of this lusty comrade of old days and nights. the day the mariposa entered the doldrums, martin was more miserable than ever. he could no longer sleep. he was soaked with sleep, and perforce he must now stay awake and endure the white glare of life. he moved about restlessly. the air was sticky and humid, and the rain-squalls were unrefreshing. he ached with life. he walked around the deck until that hurt too much, then sat in his chair until he was compelled to walk again. he forced himself at last to finish the magazine, and from the steamer library he culled several volumes of poetry. but they could not hold him, and once more he took to walking. he stayed late on deck, after dinner, but that did not help him, for when he went below, he could not sleep. this surcease from life had failed him. it was too much. he turned on the electric light and tried to read. one of the volumes was a swinburne. he lay in bed, glancing through its pages, until suddenly he became aware that he was reading with interest. he finished the stanza, attempted to read on, then came back to it. he rested the book face downward on his breast and fell to thinking. that was it. the very thing. strange that it had never come to him before. that was the meaning of it all; he had been drifting that way all the time, and now swinburne showed him that it was the happy way out. he wanted rest, and here was rest awaiting him. he glanced at the open port-hole. yes, it was large enough. for the first time in weeks he felt happy. at last he had discovered the cure of his ill. he picked up the book and read the stanza slowly aloud:- "'from too much love of living, from hope and fear set free, we thank with brief thanksgiving whatever gods may be that no life lives forever; that dead men rise up never; that even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.'" he looked again at the open port. swinburne had furnished the key. life was ill, or, rather, it had become ill--an unbearable thing. "that dead men rise up never!" that line stirred him with a profound feeling of gratitude. it was the one beneficent thing in the universe. when life became an aching weariness, death was ready to soothe away to everlasting sleep. but what was he waiting for? it was time to go. he arose and thrust his head out the port-hole, looking down into the milky wash. the mariposa was deeply loaded, and, hanging by his hands, his feet would be in the water. he could slip in noiselessly. no one would hear. a smother of spray dashed up, wetting his face. it tasted salt on his lips, and the taste was good. he wondered if he ought to write a swan-song, but laughed the thought away. there was no time. he was too impatient to be gone. turning off the light in his room so that it might not betray him, he went out the port-hole feet first. his shoulders stuck, and he forced himself back so as to try it with one arm down by his side. a roll of the steamer aided him, and he was through, hanging by his hands. when his feet touched the sea, he let go. he was in a milky froth of water. the side of the mariposa rushed past him like a dark wall, broken here and there by lighted ports. she was certainly making time. almost before he knew it, he was astern, swimming gently on the foam-crackling surface. a bonita struck at his white body, and he laughed aloud. it had taken a piece out, and the sting of it reminded him of why he was there. in the work to do he had forgotten the purpose of it. the lights of the mariposa were growing dim in the distance, and there he was, swimming confidently, as though it were his intention to make for the nearest land a thousand miles or so away. it was the automatic instinct to live. he ceased swimming, but the moment he felt the water rising above his mouth the hands struck out sharply with a lifting movement. the will to live, was his thought, and the thought was accompanied by a sneer. well, he had will,--ay, will strong enough that with one last exertion it could destroy itself and cease to be. he changed his position to a vertical one. he glanced up at the quiet stars, at the same time emptying his lungs of air. with swift, vigorous propulsion of hands and feet, he lifted his shoulders and half his chest out of water. this was to gain impetus for the descent. then he let himself go and sank without movement, a white statue, into the sea. he breathed in the water deeply, deliberately, after the manner of a man taking an anaesthetic. when he strangled, quite involuntarily his arms and legs clawed the water and drove him up to the surface and into the clear sight of the stars. the will to live, he thought disdainfully, vainly endeavoring not to breathe the air into his bursting lungs. well, he would have to try a new way. he filled his lungs with air, filled them full. this supply would take him far down. he turned over and went down head first, swimming with all his strength and all his will. deeper and deeper he went. his eyes were open, and he watched the ghostly, phosphorescent trails of the darting bonita. as he swam, he hoped that they would not strike at him, for it might snap the tension of his will. but they did not strike, and he found time to be grateful for this last kindness of life. down, down, he swam till his arms and leg grew tired and hardly moved. he knew that he was deep. the pressure on his ear-drums was a pain, and there was a buzzing in his head. his endurance was faltering, but he compelled his arms and legs to drive him deeper until his will snapped and the air drove from his lungs in a great explosive rush. the bubbles rubbed and bounded like tiny balloons against his cheeks and eyes as they took their upward flight. then came pain and strangulation. this hurt was not death, was the thought that oscillated through his reeling consciousness. death did not hurt. it was life, the pangs of life, this awful, suffocating feeling; it was the last blow life could deal him. his wilful hands and feet began to beat and churn about, spasmodically and feebly. but he had fooled them and the will to live that made them beat and churn. he was too deep down. they could never bring him to the surface. he seemed floating languidly in a sea of dreamy vision. colors and radiances surrounded him and bathed him and pervaded him. what was that? it seemed a lighthouse; but it was inside his brain--a flashing, bright white light. it flashed swifter and swifter. there was a long rumble of sound, and it seemed to him that he was falling down a vast and interminable stairway. and somewhere at the bottom he fell into darkness. that much he knew. he had fallen into darkness. and at the instant he knew, he ceased to know. a ward of the golden gate by bret harte jtable prologue. in san francisco the "rainy season" had been making itself a reality to the wondering eastern immigrant. there were short days of drifting clouds and flying sunshine, and long succeeding nights of incessant downpour, when the rain rattled on the thin shingles or drummed on the resounding zinc of pioneer roofs. the shifting sand-dunes on the outskirts were beaten motionless and sodden by the onslaught of consecutive storms; the southeast trades brought the saline breath of the outlying pacific even to the busy haunts of commercial and kearney streets; the low-lying mission road was a quagmire; along the city front, despite of piles and pier and wharf, the pacific tides still asserted themselves in mud and ooze as far as sansome street; the wooden sidewalks of clay and montgomery streets were mere floating bridges or buoyant pontoons superposed on elastic bogs; battery street was the silurian beach of that early period on which tin cans, packing-boxes, freight, household furniture, and even the runaway crews of deserted ships had been cast away. there were dangerous and unknown depths in montgomery street and on the plaza, and the wheels of a passing carriage hopelessly mired had to be lifted by the volunteer hands of a half dozen high-booted wayfarers, whose wearers were sufficiently content to believe that a woman, a child, or an invalid was behind its closed windows, without troubling themselves or the occupant by looking through the glass. it was a carriage that, thus released, eventually drew up before the superior public edifice known as the city hall. from it a woman, closely veiled, alighted, and quickly entered the building. a few passers-by turned to look at her, partly from the rarity of the female figure at that period, and partly from the greater rarity of its being well formed and even ladylike. as she kept her way along the corridor and ascended an iron staircase, she was passed by others more preoccupied in business at the various public offices. one of these visitors, however, stopped as if struck by some fancied resemblance in her appearance, turned, and followed her. but when she halted before a door marked "mayor's office," he paused also, and, with a look of half humorous bewilderment and a slight glance around him as if seeking for some one to whom to impart his arch fancy, he turned away. the woman then entered a large anteroom with a certain quick feminine gesture of relief, and, finding it empty of other callers, summoned the porter, and asked him some question in a voice so suppressed by the official severity of the apartment as to be hardly audible. the attendant replied by entering another room marked "mayor's secretary," and reappeared with a stripling of seventeen or eighteen, whose singularly bright eyes were all that was youthful in his composed features. after a slight scrutiny of the woman--half boyish, half official--he desired her to be seated, with a certain exaggerated gravity as if he was over-acting a grown-up part, and, taking a card from her, reentered his office. here, however, he did not stand on his head or call out a confederate youth from a closet, as the woman might have expected. to the left was a green baize door, outlined with brass-studded rivets like a cheerful coffin-lid, and bearing the mortuary inscription, "private." this he pushed open, and entered the mayor's private office. the municipal dignitary of san francisco, although an erect, soldier-like man of strong middle age, was seated with his official chair tilted back against the wall and kept in position by his feet on the rungs of another, which in turn acted as a support for a second man, who was seated a few feet from him in an easy-chair. both were lazily smoking. the mayor took the card from his secretary, glanced at it, said "hullo!" and handed it to his companion, who read aloud "kate howard," and gave a prolonged whistle. "where is she?" asked the mayor. "in the anteroom, sir." "any one else there?" "no, sir." "did you say i was engaged?" "yes, sir; but it appears she asked sam who was with you, and when he told her, she said, all right, she wanted to see colonel pendleton too." the men glanced interrogatively at each other, but colonel pendleton, abruptly anticipating the mayor's functions, said, "have her in," and settled himself back in his chair. a moment later the door opened, and the stranger appeared. as she closed the door behind her she removed her heavy veil, and displayed the face of a very handsome woman of past thirty. it is only necessary to add that it was a face known to the two men, and all san francisco. "well, kate," said the mayor, motioning to a chair, but without rising or changing his attitude. "here i am, and here is colonel pendleton, and these are office hours. what can we do for you?" if he had received her with magisterial formality, or even politely, she would have been embarrassed, in spite of a certain boldness of her dark eyes and an ever present consciousness of her power. it is possible that his own ease and that of his companion was part of their instinctive good nature and perception. she accepted it as such, took the chair familiarly, and seated herself sideways upon it, her right arm half encircling its back and hanging over it; altogether an easy and not ungraceful pose. "thank you, jack--i mean, mr. mayor--and you, too, harry. i came on business. i want you two men to act as guardians for my little daughter." "your what?" asked the two men simultaneously. "my daughter," she repeated, with a short laugh, which, however, ended with a note of defiance. "of course you don't know. well," she added half aggressively, and yet with the air of hurrying over a compromising and inexplicable weakness, "the long and short of it is i've got a little girl down at the convent of santa clara, and have had--there! i've been taking care of her--good care, too, boys--for some time. and now i want to put things square for her for the future. see? i want to make over to her all my property--it's nigh on to seventy-five thousand dollars, for bob snelling put me up to getting those water lots a year ago--and, you see, i'll have to have regular guardians, trustees, or whatever you call 'em, to take care of the money for her." "who's her father?" asked the mayor. "what's that to do with it?" she said impetuously. "everything--because he's her natural guardian." "suppose he isn't known? say dead, for instance." "dead will do," said the mayor gravely. "yes, dead will do," repeated colonel pendleton. after a pause, in which the two men seemed to have buried this vague relative, the mayor looked keenly at the woman. "kate, have you and bob ridley had a quarrel?" "bob ridley knows too much to quarrel with me," she said briefly. "then you are doing this for no motive other than that which you tell me?" "certainly. that's motive enough--ain't it?" "yes." the mayor took his feet off his companion's chair and sat upright. colonel pendleton did the same, also removing his cigar from his lips. "i suppose you'll think this thing over?" he added. "no--i want it done now--right here--in this office." "but you know it will be irrevocable." "that's what i want it--something might happen afterwards." "but you are leaving nothing for yourself, and if you are going to devote everything to this daughter and lead a different life, you'll"-- "who said i was?" the two men paused, and looked at her. "look here, boys, you don't understand. from the day that paper is signed, i've nothing to do with the child. she passes out of my hands into yours, to be schooled, educated, and made a rich girl out of--and never to know who or what or where i am. she doesn't know now. i haven't given her and myself away in that style--you bet! she thinks i'm only a friend. she hasn't seen me more than once or twice, and not to know me again. why, i was down there the other day, and passed her walking out with the sisters and the other scholars, and she didn't know me--though one of the sisters did. but they're mum--they are, and don't let on. why, now i think of it, you were down there, jack, presiding in big style as mr. mayor at the exercises. you must have noticed her. little thing, about nine--lot of hair, the same color as mine, and brown eyes. white and yellow sash. had a necklace on of real pearls i gave her. i bought them, you understand, myself at tucker's--gave two hundred and fifty dollars for them--and a big bouquet of white rosebuds and lilacs i sent her." "i remember her now on the platform," said the mayor gravely. "so that is your child?" "you bet--no slouch either. but that's neither here nor there. what i want now is you and harry to look after her and her property the same as if i didn't live. more than that, as if i had never lived. i've come to you two boys, because i reckon you're square men and won't give me away. but i want to fix it even firmer than that. i want you to take hold of this trust not as jack hammersley, but as the mayor of san francisco! and when you make way for a new mayor, he takes up the trust by virtue of his office, you see, so there's a trustee all along. i reckon there'll always be a san francisco and always a mayor--at least till the child's of age; and it gives her from the start a father, and a pretty big one too. of course the new man isn't to know the why and wherefore of this. it's enough for him to take on that duty with his others, without asking questions. and he's only got to invest that money and pay it out as it's wanted, and consult harry at times." the two men looked at each other with approving intelligence. "but have you thought of a successor for me, in case somebody shoots me on sight any time in the next ten years?" asked pendleton, with a gravity equal to her own. "i reckon, as you're president of the el dorado bank, you'll make that a part of every president's duty too. you'll get the directors to agree to it, just as jack here will get the common council to make it the mayor's business." the two men had risen to their feet, and, after exchanging glances, gazed at her silently. presently the mayor said:-- "it can be done, kate, and we'll do it for you--eh, harry?" "count me in," said pendleton, nodding. "but you'll want a third man." "what's that for?" "the casting vote in case of any difficulty." the woman's face fell. "i reckoned to keep it a secret with only you two," she said half bitterly. "no matter. we'll find some one to act, or you'll think of somebody and let us know." "but i wanted to finish this thing right here," she said impatiently. she was silent for a moment, with her arched black brows knitted. then she said abruptly, "who's that smart little chap that let me in? he looks as if he might be trusted." "that's paul hathaway, my secretary. he's sensible, but too young. stop! i don't know about that. there's no legal age necessary, and he's got an awfully old head on him," said the mayor thoughtfully. "and i say his youth's in his favor," said colonel pendleton, promptly. "he's been brought up in san francisco, and he's got no d--d old-fashioned eastern notions to get rid of, and will drop into this as a matter of business, without prying about or wondering. i'll serve with him." "call him in!" said the woman. he came. very luminous of eye, and composed of lip and brow. yet with the same suggestion of "making believe" very much, as if to offset the possible munching of forbidden cakes and apples in his own room, or the hidden presence of some still in his pocket. the mayor explained the case briefly, but with business-like precision. "your duty, mr. hathaway," he concluded, "at present will be merely nominal and, above all, confidential. colonel pendleton and myself will set the thing going." as the youth--who had apparently taken in and "illuminated" the whole subject with a single bright-eyed glance--bowed and was about to retire, as if to relieve himself of his real feelings behind the door, the woman stopped him with a gesture. "let's have this thing over now," she said to the mayor. "you draw up something that we can all sign at once." she fixed her eyes on paul, partly to satisfy her curiosity and justify her predilection for him, and partly to detect him in any overt act of boyishness. but the youth simply returned her glance with a cheerful, easy prescience, as if her past lay clearly open before him. for some minutes there was only the rapid scratching of the mayor's pen over the paper. suddenly he stopped and looked up. "what's her name?" "she mustn't have mine," said the woman quickly. "that's a part of my idea. i give that up with the rest. she must take a new name that gives no hint of me. think of one, can't you, you two men? something that would kind of show that she was the daughter of the city, you know." "you couldn't call her 'santa francisca,' eh?" said colonel pendleton, doubtingly. "not much," said the woman, with a seriousness that defied any ulterior insinuation. "nor chrysopolinia?" said the mayor, musingly. "but that's only a first name. she must have a family name," said the woman impatiently. "can you think of something, paul?" said the mayor, appealing to hathaway. "you're a great reader, and later from your classics than i am." the mayor, albeit practical and western, liked to be ostentatiously forgetful of his old alma mater, harvard, on occasions. "how would yerba buena do, sir?" responded the youth gravely. "it's the old spanish title of the first settlement here. it comes from the name that father junipero serra gave to the pretty little vine that grows wild over the sandhills, and means 'good herb.' he called it 'a balm for the wounded and sore.'" "for the wounded and sore?" repeated the woman slowly. "that's what they say," responded hathaway. "you ain't playing us, eh?" she said, with a half laugh that, however, scarcely curved the open mouth with which she had been regarding the young secretary. "no," said the mayor, hurriedly. "it's true. i've often heard it. and a capital name it would be for her too. yerba the first name. buena the second. she could be called miss buena when she grows up." "yerba buena it is," she said suddenly. then, indicating the youth with a slight toss of her handsome head, "his head's level--you can see that." there was a silence again, and the scratching of the mayor's pen continued. colonel pendleton buttoned up his coat, pulled his long moustache into shape, slightly arranged his collar, and walked to the window without looking at the woman. presently the mayor arose from his seat, and, with a certain formal courtesy that had been wanting in his previous manner, handed her his pen and arranged his chair for her at the desk. she took the pen, and rapidly appended her signature to the paper. the others followed; and, obedient to a sign from him, the porter was summoned from the outer office to witness the signatures. when this was over, the mayor turned to his secretary. "that's all just now, paul." accepting this implied dismissal with undisturbed gravity, the newly made youthful guardian bowed and retired. when the green baize door had closed upon him, the mayor turned abruptly to the woman with the paper in his hand. "look here, kate; there is still time for you to reconsider your action, and tear up this solitary record of it. if you choose to do so, say so, and i promise you that this interview, and all you have told us, shall never pass beyond these walls. no one will be the wiser for it, and we will give you full credit for having attempted something that was too much for you to perform." she had half risen from her chair when he began, but fell back again in her former position and looked impatiently from him to his companion, who was also regarding her earnestly. "what are you talking about?" she said sharply. "you, kate," said the mayor. "you have given everything you possess to this child. what provision have you made for yourself?" "do i look played out?" she said, facing them. she certainly did not look like anything but a strong, handsome, resolute woman, but the men did not reply. "that is not all, kate," continued the mayor, folding his arms and looking down upon her. "have you thought what this means? it is the complete renunciation not only of any claim but any interest in your child. that is what you have just signed, and what it will be our duty now to keep you to. from this moment we stand between you and her, as we stand between her and the world. are you ready to see her grow up away from you, losing even the little recollection she has had of your kindness--passing you in the street without knowing you, perhaps even having you pointed out to her as a person she should avoid? are you prepared to shut your eyes and ears henceforth to all that you may hear of her new life, when she is happy, rich, respectable, a courted heiress--perhaps the wife of some great man? are you ready to accept that she will never know--that no one will ever know--that you had any share in making her so, and that if you should ever breathe it abroad we shall hold it our duty to deny it, and brand the man who takes it up for you as a liar and the slanderer of an honest girl?" "that's what i came here for," she said curtly, then, regarding them curiously, and running her ringed hand up and down the railed back of her chair, she added, with a half laugh, "what are you playin' me for, boys?" "but," said colonel pendleton, without heeding her, "are you ready to know that in sickness or affliction you will be powerless to help her; that a stranger will take your place at her bedside, that as she has lived without knowing you she will die without that knowledge, or that if through any weakness of yours it came to her then, it would embitter her last thoughts of earth and, dying, she would curse you?" the smile upon her half-open mouth still fluttered around it, and her curved fingers still ran up and down the rails of the chair-back as if they were the cords of some mute instrument, to which she was trying to give voice. her rings once or twice grated upon them as if she had at times gripped them closely. but she rose quickly when he paused, said "yes," sharply, and put the chair back against the wall. "then i will send you copies of this tomorrow, and take an assignment of the property." "i've got the check here for it now," she said, drawing it from her pocket and laying it upon the desk. "there, i reckon that's finished. good-by!" the mayor took up his hat, colonel pendleton did the same; both men preceded her to the door, and held it open with grave politeness for her to pass. "where are you boys going?" she asked, glancing from the one to the other. "to see you to your carriage, mrs. howard," said the mayor, in a voice that had become somewhat deeper. "through the whole building? past all the people in the hall and on the stairs? why, i passed dan stewart as i came in." "if you will allow us?" he said, turning half appealing to colonel pendleton, who, without speaking, made a low bow of assent. a slight flush rose to her face--the first and only change in the even healthy color she had shown during the interview. "i reckon i won't trouble you, boys, if it's all the same to you," she said, with her half-strident laugh. "you mightn't mind being seen--but i would-- good-by." she held out a hand to each of the men, who remained for an instant silently holding them. then she passed out of the door, slipping on her close black veil as she did so with a half-funereal suggestion, and they saw her tall, handsome figure fade into the shadows of the long corridor. "paul," said the mayor, reentering the office and turning to his secretary, "do you know who that woman is?" "yes, sir." "she's one in a million! and now forget that you have ever seen her." chapter i. the principal parlor of the new golden gate hotel in san francisco, fairly reported by the local press as being "truly palatial" in its appointments, and unrivaled in its upholstery, was, nevertheless, on august , , of that startling newness that checked any familiarity, and evidently had produced some embarrassment on the limbs of four visitors who had just been ushered into its glories. after hesitating before one or two gorgeous fawn-colored brocaded easy-chairs of appalling and spotless virginity, one of them seated himself despairingly on a tete-a-tete sofa in marked and painful isolation, while another sat uncomfortably upright on a sofa. the two others remained standing, vaguely gazing at the ceiling, and exchanging ostentatiously admiring but hollow remarks about the furniture in unnecessary whispers. yet they were apparently men of a certain habit of importance and small authority, with more or less critical attitude in their speech. to them presently entered a young man of about five-and-twenty, with remarkably bright and singularly sympathetic eyes. having swept the group in a smiling glance, he singled out the lonely occupier of the tete-a-tete, and moved pleasantly towards him. the man rose instantly with an eager gratified look. "well, paul, i didn't allow you'd remember me. it's a matter of four years since we met at marysville. and now you're bein' a great man you've"-- no one could have known from the young man's smiling face that he really had not recognized his visitor at first, and that his greeting was only an exhibition of one of those happy instincts for which he was remarkable. but, following the clew suggested by his visitor, he was able to say promptly and gayly:-- "i don't know why i should forget tony shear or the marysville boys," turning with a half-confiding smile to the other visitors, who, after the human fashion, were beginning to be resentfully impatient of this special attention. "well, no,--for i've allus said that you took your first start from marysville. but i've brought a few friends of our party that i reckoned to introduce to you. cap'n stidger, chairman of our central committee, mr. henry j. hoskins, of the firm of hoskins and bloomer, and joe slate, of the 'union press,' one of our most promising journalists. gentlemen," he continued, suddenly and without warning lifting his voice to an oratorical plane in startling contrast to his previous unaffected utterance, "i needn't say that this is the honorable paul hathaway, the youngest state senator in the legislature. you know his record!" then, recovering the ordinary accents of humanity, he added, "we read of your departure last night from sacramento, and i thought we'd come early, afore the crowd." "proud to know you, sir," said captain stidger, suddenly lifting the conversation to the platform again. "i have followed your career, sir. i've read your speech, mr. hathaway, and, as i was telling our mutual friend, mr. shear, as we came along, i don't know any man that could state the real party issues as squarely. your castigating exposition of so-called jeffersonian principles, and your relentless indictment of the resolutions of ' , were--were"--coughed the captain, dropping into conversation again--"were the biggest thing out. you have only to signify the day, sir, that you will address us, and i can promise you the largest audience in san francisco." "i'm instructed by the proprietor of the 'union press,'" said mr. slate, feeling for his notebook and pencil, "to offer you its columns for any explanations you may desire to make in the form of a personal letter or an editorial in reply to the 'advertiser's' strictures on your speech, or to take any information you may have for the benefit of our readers and the party." "if you are ever down my way, mr. hathaway," said mr. hoskins, placing a large business card in hathaway's hand, "and will drop in as a friend, i can show you about the largest business in the way of canned provisions and domestic groceries in the state, and give you a look around battery street generally. or if you'll name your day, i've got a pair of . blue grass horses that'll spin you out to the cliff house to dinner and back. i've had governor fiske, and senator doolan, and that big english capitalist who was here last year, and they--well, sir,--they were pleased! or if you'd like to see the town--if this is your first visit--i'm a hand to show you." nothing could exceed mr. hathaway's sympathetic acceptance of their courtesies, nor was there the least affectation in it. thoroughly enjoying his fellowmen, even in their foibles, they found him irresistibly attractive. "i lived here seven years ago," he said, smiling, to the last speaker. "when the water came up to montgomery street," interposed mr. shear, in a hoarse but admiring aside. "when mr. hammersley was mayor," continued hathaway. "had an official position--private secretary--afore he was twenty," explained shear, in perfectly audible confidence. "since then the city has made great strides, leaping full-grown, sir, in a single night," said captain stidger, hastily ascending the rostrum again with a mixed metaphor, to the apparent concern of a party of handsomely dressed young ladies who had recently entered the parlor. "stretching from south park to black point, and running back to the mission dolores and the presidio, we are building up a metropolis, sir, worthy to be placed beside the golden gate that opens to the broad pacific and the shores of far cathay! when the pacific railroad is built we shall be the natural terminus of the pathway of nations!" mr. hathaway's face betrayed no consciousness that he had heard something like this eight years before, and that much of it had come true, as he again sympathetically responded. neither was his attention attracted by a singular similarity which the attitude of the group of ladies on the other side of the parlor bore to that of his own party. they were clustered around one of their own number--a striking-looking girl--who was apparently receiving their mingled flatteries and caresses with a youthful yet critical sympathy, which, singularly enough, was not unlike his own. it was evident also that an odd sort of rivalry seemed to spring up between the two parties, and that, in proportion as hathaway's admirers became more marked and ostentatious in their attentions, the supporters of the young girl were equally effusive and enthusiastic in their devotion. as usual in such cases, the real contest was between the partisans themselves; each successive demonstration on either side was provocative or retaliatory, and when they were apparently rendering homage to their idols they were really distracted by and listening to each other. at last, hathaway's party being reinforced by fresh visitors, a tall brunette of the opposition remarked in a professedly confidential but perfectly audible tone:-- "well, my dear, as i don't suppose you want to take part in a political caucus, perhaps we'd better return to the ladies' boudoir, unless there's a committee sitting there too." "i know how valuable your time must be, as you are all business men," said hathaway, turning to his party, in an equally audible tone; "but before you go, gentlemen, you must let me offer you a little refreshment in a private room," and he moved naturally towards the door. the rival fair, who had already risen at their commander's suggestion, here paused awkwardly over an embarrassing victory. should they go or stay? the object of their devotion, however, turned curiously towards hathaway. for an instant their eyes met. the young girl turned carelessly to her companions and said, "no; stay here--it's the public parlor;" and her followers, evidently accustomed to her authority, sat down again. "a galaxy of young ladies from the convent of santa clara, mr. hathaway," explained captain stidger, naively oblivious of any discourtesy on their part, as he followed hathaway's glance and took his arm as they moved away. "not the least of our treasures, sir. most of them daughters of pioneers--and all californian bred and educated. connoisseurs have awarded them the palm, and declare that for grace, intelligence, and woman's highest charms the east cannot furnish their equal!" having delivered this parthian compliment in an oratorical passage through the doorway, the captain descended, outside, into familiar speech. "but i suppose you will find that out for yourself if you stay here long. san francisco might furnish a fitting bride to california's youngest senator." "i am afraid that my stay here must be brief, and limited to business," said hathaway, who had merely noticed that the principal girl was handsome and original-looking. "in fact, i am here partly to see an old acquaintance--colonel pendleton." the three men looked at each other curiously. "oh! harry pendleton," said mr. hoskins, incredulously "you don't know him?" "an old pioneer--of course," interposed shear, explanatorily and apologetically. "why, in paul's time the colonel was a big man here." "i understand the colonel has been unfortunate," said hathaway, gravely; "but in my time he was president of the el dorado bank." "and the bank hasn't got through its settlement yet," said hoskins "i hope you ain't expecting to get anything out of it?" "no," said hathaway, smiling; "i was a boy at that time, and lived up to my salary. i know nothing of his bank difficulties, but it always struck me that colonel pendleton was himself an honorable man." "it ain't that," said captain stidger energetically, "but the trouble with harry pendleton is that he hasn't grown with the state, and never adjusted himself to it. and he won't. he thinks the millennium was between the fall of ' and the spring of ' , and after that everything dropped. he belongs to the old days, when a man's simple word was good for any amount if you knew him; and they say that the old bank hadn't a scrap of paper for half that was owing to it. that was all very well, sir, in ' and ' , and--luck; but it won't do for ' and ' , and--business! and the old man can't see it." "but he is ready to fight for it now, as in the old time," said mr. slate, "and that's another trouble with his chronology. he's done more to keep up dueling than any other man in the state, and don't know the whole spirit of progress and civilization is against it." it was impossible to tell from paul hathaway's face whether his sympathy with colonel pendleton's foibles or his assent to the criticisms of his visitors was the truer. both were no doubt equally sincere. but the party was presently engaged in the absorption of refreshment, which, being of a purely, spirituous and exhilarating quality, tended to increase their good humor with the host till they parted. even then a gratuitous advertisement of his virtues and their own intentions in calling upon him was oratorically voiced from available platforms and landings, in the halls and stairways, until it was pretty well known throughout the golden gate hotel that the hon. mr. paul hathaway had arrived from sacramento and had received a "spontaneous ovation." meantime the object of it had dropped into an easy-chair by the window of his room, and was endeavoring to recall a less profitable memory. the process of human forgetfulness is not a difficult one between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six, and paul hathaway had not only fulfilled the mayor's request by forgetting the particulars of a certain transfer that he had witnessed in the mayor's office, but in the year succeeding that request, being about to try his fortunes in the mountains, he had formally constituted colonel pendleton to act as his proxy in the administration of mrs. howard's singular trust, in which, however, he had never participated except yearly to sign his name. he was, consequently, somewhat astonished to have received a letter a few days before from colonel pendleton, asking him to call and see him regarding it. he vaguely remembered that it was eight years ago, and eight years had worked considerable change in the original trustees, greatest of all in his superior officer, the mayor, who had died the year following, leaving his trusteeship to his successor in office, whom paul hathaway had never seen. the bank of el dorado, despite mrs. howard's sanguine belief, had long been in bankruptcy, and, although colonel pendleton still survived it, it was certain that no other president would succeed to his office as trustee, and that the function would lapse with him. paul himself, a soldier of fortune, although habitually lucky, had only lately succeeded to a profession--if his political functions could be so described. even with his luck, energy, and ambition, while everything was possible, nothing was secure. it seemed, therefore, as if the soulless official must eventually assume the duties of the two sympathizing friends who had originated them, and had stood in loco parentis to the constructive orphan. the mother, mrs. howard, had disappeared a year after the trust had been made--it was charitably presumed in order to prevent any complications that might arise from her presence in the country. with these facts before him, paul hathaway was more concerned in wondering what pendleton could want with him than, i fear, any direct sympathy with the situation. on the contrary, it appeared to him more favorable for keeping the secret of mrs. howard's relationship, which would now die with colonel pendleton and himself; and there was no danger of any emotional betrayal of it in the cold official administration of a man who had received the trust through the formal hands of successive predecessors. he had forgotten the time limited for the guardianship, but the girl must soon be of age and off their hands. if there had ever been any romantic or chivalrous impression left upon his memory by the scene in the mayor's office, i fear he had put it away with various other foolish illusions of his youth, to which he now believed he was superior. nevertheless, he would see the colonel, and at once, and settle the question. he looked at the address, "st. charles hotel." he remembered an old hostelry of that name, near the plaza. could it be possible that it had survived the alterations and improvements of the city? it was an easy walk through remembered streets, yet with changed shops and houses and faces. when he reached the plaza, scarce recognizable in its later frontages of brick and stone, he found the old wooden building still intact, with its villa-like galleries and verandas incongruously and ostentatiously overlooked by two new and aspiring erections on either side. for an instant he tried to recall the glamour of old days. he remembered when his boyish eyes regarded it as the crowning work of opulence and distinction; he remembered a ball given there on some public occasion, which was to him the acme of social brilliancy and display. how tawdry and trivial it looked beside those later and more solid structures! how inconsistent were those long latticed verandas and balconies, pathetic record of that first illusion of the pioneers that their climate was a tropical one! a restaurant and billiard-saloon had aggrandized all of the lower story; but there was still the fanlight, over which the remembered title of "st. charles," in gilded letters, was now reinforced by the too demonstrative legend, "apartments and board, by the day or week." was it possible that this narrow, creaking staircase had once seemed to him the broad steps of fame and fortune? on the first landing, a preoccupied irish servant-girl, with a mop, directed him to a door at the end of the passage, at which he knocked. the door was opened by a grizzled negro servant, who was still holding a piece of oily chamois-leather in his hand; and the contents of a dueling-case, scattered upon a table in the centre of the room, showed what had been his occupation. admitting hathaway with great courtesy, he said:-- "marse harry bin havin' his ole trubble, sah, and bin engaged just dis momen' on his toylet; ef yo'll accommodate yo'self on de sofa, i inform him yo' is heah." as the negro passed into the next room, paul cast a hasty glance around the apartment. the furniture, originally rich and elegant, was now worn threadbare and lustreless. a book-case, containing, among other volumes, a few law books--there being a vague tradition, as paul remembered, that colonel pendleton had once been connected with the law--a few french chairs of tarnished gilt, a rifle in the corner, a presentation sword in a mahogany case, a few classical prints on the walls, and one or two iron deed-boxes marked "el dorado bank," were the principal objects. a mild flavor of dry decay and methylated spirits pervaded the apartment. yet it was scrupulously clean and well kept, and a few clothes neatly brushed and folded on a chair bore witness to the servant's care. as paul, however, glanced behind the sofa, he was concerned to see a coat, which had evidently been thrust hurriedly in a corner, with the sleeve lining inside out, and a needle and thread still sticking in the seam. it struck him instantly that this had been the negro's occupation, and that the pistol-cleaning was a polite fiction. "yo' 'll have to skuse marse harry seein' yo in bed, but his laig's pow'ful bad to-day, and he can't stand," said the servant reentering the room. "skuse me, sah," he added in a dignified confidential whisper, half closing the door with his hand, "but if yo' wouldn't mind avoidin' 'xcitin' or controversical topics in yo' conversation, it would be de better fo' him." paul smilingly assented, and the black retainer, with even more than the usual solemn ceremonious exaggeration of his race, ushered him into the bedroom. it was furnished in the same faded glory as the sitting-room, with the exception of a low, iron camp-bedstead, in which the tall, soldierly figure of colonel pendleton, clad in threadbare silk dressing-gown, was stretched. he had changed in eight years: his hair had become gray, and was thinned over the sunken temples, but his iron-gray moustache was still particularly long and well pointed. his face bore marks of illness and care; there were deep lines down the angle of the nostril that spoke of alternate savage outbreak and repression, and gave his smile a sardonic rigidity. his dark eyes, that shone with the exaltation of fever, fixed paul's on entering, and with the tyranny of an invalid never left them. "well, hathaway?" with the sound of that voice paul felt the years slip away, and he was again a boy, looking up admiringly to the strong man, who now lay helpless before him. he had entered the room with a faint sense of sympathizing superiority and a consciousness of having had experience in controlling men. but all this fled before colonel pendleton's authoritative voice; even its broken tones carried the old dominant spirit of the man, and paul found himself admiring a quality in his old acquaintance that he missed in his newer friends. "i haven't seen you for eight years, hathaway. come here and let me look at you." paul approached the bedside with boyish obedience. pendleton took his hand and gazed at him critically. "i should have recognized you, sir, for all your moustache and your inches. the last time i saw you was in jack hammersley's office. well, jack's dead, and here i am, little better, i reckon. you remember hammersley's house?" "yes," said paul, albeit wondering at the question. "something like this, swiss villa style. i remember when jack put it up. well, the last time i was out, i passed there. and what do you think they've done to it?" paul could not imagine. "well, sir," said the colonel gravely, "they've changed it into a church missionary shop and young men's christian reading-room! but that's 'progress' and 'improvement'!" he paused, and, slowly withdrawing his hand from paul's, added with grim apology, "you're young, and belong to the new school, perhaps. well, sir, i've read your speech; i don't belong to your party--mine died ten years ago--but i congratulate you. george! confound it where's that boy gone?" the negro indicated by this youthful title, although he must have been ten years older than his master, after a hurried shuffling in the sitting-room eventually appeared at the door. "george, champagne and materials for cocktails for the gentleman. the best, you understand. no new-fangled notions from that new barkeeper." paul, who thought he observed a troubled blinking in george's eyelid, and referred it to a fear of possible excitement for his patient, here begged his host not to trouble himself--that he seldom took anything in the morning. "possibly not, sir; possibly not," returned the colonel, hastily. "i know the new ideas are prohibitive, and some other blank thing, but you're safe here from your constituents, and by gad, sir, i shan't force you to take it! it's my custom, hathaway--an old one--played out, perhaps, like all the others, but a custom nevertheless, and i'm only surprised that george, who knows it, should have forgotten it." "fack is, marse harry," said george, with feverish apology, "it bin gone 'scaped my mind dis mo'nin' in de prerogation ob business, but i'm goin' now, shuah!" and he disappeared. "a good boy, sir, but beginning to be contaminated. brought him here from nashville over ten years ago. eight years ago they proved to him that he was no longer a slave, and made him d--d unhappy until i promised him it should make no difference to him and he could stay. i had to send for his wife and child--of course, a dead loss of eighteen hundred dollars when they set foot in the state--but i'm blanked if he isn't just as miserable with them here, for he has to take two hours in the morning and three in the afternoon every day to be with 'em. i tried to get him to take his family to the mines and make his fortune, like those fellows they call bankers and operators and stockbrokers nowadays; or to go to oregon where they'll make him some kind of a mayor or sheriff--but he won't. he collects my rents on some little property i have left, and pays my bills, sir, and, if this blank civilization would only leave him alone, he'd be a good enough boy." paul couldn't help thinking that the rents george collected were somewhat inconsistent with those he was evidently mending when he arrived, but at that moment the jingle of glasses was heard in the sitting-room, and the old negro reappeared at the door. drawing himself up with ceremonious courtesy, he addressed paul. "wo'd yo' mind, sah, taking a glance at de wine for yo' choice?" paul rose, and followed him into the sitting-room, when george carefully closed the door. to his surprise hathaway beheld a tray with two glasses of whiskey and bitters, but no wine. "skuse me, sah," said the old man with dignified apology, "but de kernel won't have any but de best champagne for hono'ble gemmen like yo'self, and i'se despaired to say it can't be got in de house or de subburbs. de best champagne dat we gives visitors is de widder glencoe. wo'd yo' mind, sah, for de sake o' not 'xcitin' de kernel wid triflin' culinary matter, to say dat yo' don' take but de one brand?" "certainly," said paul, smiling. "i really don't care for anything so early;" then, returning to the bedroom, he said carelessly, "you'll excuse me taking the liberty, colonel, of sending away the champagne and contenting myself with whiskey. even the best brand--the widow cliquot"--with a glance at the gratified george--"i find rather trying so early in the morning." "as you please, hathaway," said the colonel, somewhat stiffly. "i dare say there's a new fashion in drinks now, and a gentleman's stomach is a thing of the past. then, i suppose, we can spare the boy, as this is his time for going home. put that tin box with the trust papers on the bed, george, and mr. hathaway will excuse your waiting." as the old servant made an exaggerated obeisance to each, paul remarked, as the door closed upon him, "george certainly keeps his style, colonel, in the face of the progress you deplore." "he was always a 'dandy nigger,'" returned pendleton, his face slightly relaxing as he glanced after his grizzled henchman, "but his exaggeration of courtesy is a blank sight more natural and manly than the exaggeration of discourtesy which your superior civilized 'helps' think is self-respect. the excuse of servitude of any kind is its spontaneity and affection. when you know a man hates you and serves you from interest, you know he's a cur and you're a tyrant. it's your blank progress that's made menial service degrading by teaching men to avoid it. why, sir, when i first arrived here, jack hammersley and myself took turns as cook to the party. i didn't consider myself any the worse master for it. but enough of this." he paused, and, raising himself on his elbow, gazed for some seconds half cautiously, half doubtfully, upon his companion. "i've got something to tell you, hathaway," he said, slowly. "you've had an easy time with this trust; your share of the work hasn't worried you, kept you awake nights, or interfered with your career. i understand perfectly," he continued, in reply to hathaway's deprecating gesture. "i accepted to act as your proxy, and i have. i'm not complaining. but it is time that you should know what i've done, and what you may still have to do. here is the record. on the day after that interview in the mayor's office, the el dorado bank, of which i was, and still am, president, received seventy-five thousand dollars in trust from mrs. howard. two years afterwards, on that same day, the bank had, by lucky speculations, increased that sum to the credit of the trust one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, or double the original capital. in the following year the bank suspended payment." chapter ii. in an instant the whole situation and his relations to it flashed upon paul with a terrible, but almost grotesque, completeness. here he was, at the outset of his career, responsible for the wasted fortune of the daughter of a social outcast, and saddled with her support! he now knew why colonel pendleton had wished to see him; for one shameful moment he believed he also knew why he had been content to take his proxy! the questionable character of the whole transaction, his own carelessness, which sprang from that very confidence and trust that pendleton had lately extolled--what would, what could not be made of it! he already heard himself abused by his opponents--perhaps, more terrible still, faintly excused by his friends. all this was visible in his pale face and flashing eyes as he turned them on the helpless invalid. colonel pendleton received his look with the same critical, half-curious scrutiny that had accompanied his speech. at last his face changed slightly, a faint look of disappointment crossed his eyes, and a sardonic smile deepened the lines of his mouth. "there, sir," he said hurriedly, as if dismissing an unpleasant revelation; "don't alarm yourself! take a drink of that whiskey. you look pale. well; turn your eyes on those walls. you don't see any of that money laid out here--do you? look at me. i don't look like a man enriched with other people's money--do i? well, let that content you. every dollar of that trust fund, hathaway, with all the interests and profits that have accrued to it, is safe! every cent of it is locked up in government bonds with rothschild's agent. there are the receipts, dated a week before the bank suspended. but enough of that--that isn't what i asked you to come and see me for." the blood had rushed back to paul's cheeks uncomfortably. he saw now, as impulsively as he had previously suspected his co-trustee, that the man had probably ruined himself to save the trust. he stammered that he had not questioned the management of the fund nor asked to withdraw his proxy. "no matter, sir," said the colonel, impatiently; "you had the right, and i suppose," he added with half-concealed scorn, "it was your duty. but let that pass. the money is safe enough; but, mr. hathaway,--and this is the point i want to discuss with you,--it begins to look as if the secret was safe no longer!" he had raised himself with some pain and difficulty to draw nearer to paul, and had again fixed his eyes eagerly upon him. but paul's responsive glance was so vague that he added quickly, "you understand, sir; i believe that there are hounds--i say hounds!--who would be able to blurt out at any moment that that girl at santa clara is kate howard's daughter." at any other moment paul might have questioned the gravity of any such contingency, but the terrible earnestness of the speaker, his dominant tone, and a certain respect which had lately sprung up in his breast for him, checked him, and he only asked with as much concern as he could master for the moment:-- "what makes you think so?" "that's what i want to tell you, hathaway, and how i, and i alone, am responsible for it. when the bank was in difficulty and i made up my mind to guard the trust with my own personal and private capital, i knew that there might be some comment on my action. it was a delicate matter to show any preference or exclusion at such a moment, and i took two or three of my brother directors whom i thought i could trust into my confidence. i told them the whole story, and how the trust was sacred. i made a mistake, sir," continued pendleton sardonically, "a grave mistake. i did not take into account that even in three years civilization and religion had gained ground here. there was a hound there--a blank judas in the trust. well; he didn't see it. i think he talked scripture and morality. he said something about the wages of sin being infamous, and only worthy of confiscation. he talked about the sins of the father being visited upon the children, and justly. i stopped him. well! do you know what's the matter with my ankle? look!" he stopped and, with some difficulty and invincible gravity, throwing aside his dressing-gown, turned down his stocking, and exposed to paul's gaze the healed cicatrix of an old bullet-wound. "troubled me damnably near a year. where i hit him--hasn't troubled him at all since! "i think," continued the colonel, falling back upon the pillow with an air of relief, "that he told others--of his own kidney, sir,--though it was a secret among gentlemen. but they have preferred to be silent now--than afterwards. they know that i'm ready. but i can't keep this up long; some time, you know, they're bound to improve in practice and hit higher up! as far as i'm concerned," he added, with a grim glance around the faded walls and threadbare furniture, "it don't mind; but mine isn't the mouth to be stopped." he paused, and then abruptly, yet with a sudden and pathetic dropping of his dominant note, said: "hathaway, you're young, and hammersley liked you--what's to be done? i thought of passing over my tools to you. you can shoot, and i hear you have. but the h--l of it is that if you dropped a man or two people would ask why, and want to know what it was about; while, when i do, nobody here thinks it anything but my way! i don't mean that it would hurt you with the crowd to wipe out one or two of these hounds during the canvass, but the trouble is that they belong to your party, and," he added grimly, "that wouldn't help your career." "but," said paul, ignoring the sarcasm, "are you not magnifying the effect of a disclosure? the girl is an heiress, excellently brought up. who will bother about the antecedents of the mother, who has disappeared, whom she never knew, and who is legally dead to her?" "in my day, sir, no one who knew the circumstances," returned the colonel, quickly. "but we are living in a blessed era of christian retribution and civilized propriety, and i believe there are a lot of men and women about who have no other way of showing their own virtue than by showing up another's vice. we're in a reaction of reform. it's the old drunkards who are always more clamorous for total abstinence than the moderately temperate. i tell you, hathaway, there couldn't be an unluckier moment for our secret coming out." "but she will be of age soon." "in two months." "and sure to marry." "marry!" repeated pendleton, with grim irony. "would you marry her?" "that's another question," said the young man, promptly, "and one of individual taste; but it does not affect my general belief that she could easily find a husband as good and better." "suppose she found one before the secret is out. ought he be told?" "certainly." "and that would imply telling her?" "yes," said paul, but not so promptly. "and you consider that fulfilling the promise of the trust--the pledges exchanged with that woman?" continued pendleton, with glittering eyes and a return to his own dominant tone. "my dear colonel," said paul, somewhat less positively, but still smiling, "you have made a romantic, almost impossible compact with mrs. howard that, you yourself are now obliged to admit, circumstances may prevent your carrying out substantially. you forget, also, that you have just told me that you have already broken your pledge--under circumstances, it is true, that do you honor--and that now your desperate attempts to retrieve it have failed. now, i really see nothing wrong in your telling to a presumptive well-wisher of the girl what you have told to her enemy." there was a dead silence. the prostrate man uttered a slight groan, as if in pain, and drew up his leg to change his position. after a pause, he said, in a restrained voice, "i differ from you, mr. hathaway; but enough of this for the present. i have something else to say. it will be necessary for one of us to go at once to santa clara and see miss yerba buena." "good heavens!" said paul, quickly. "do you call her that?" "certainly, sir. you gave her the name. have you forgotten?" "i only suggested it," returned paul, hopelessly; "but no matter--go on." "i cannot go there, as you see," continued pendleton, with a weary gesture towards his crippled ankle; "and i should particularly like you to see her before we make the joint disposition of her affairs with the mayor, two months hence. i have some papers you can show her, and i have already written a letter introducing you to the lady superior at the convent, and to her. you have never seen her?" "no," said paul. "but of course you have?" "not for three years." paul's eyes evidently expressed some wonder, for a moment after the colonel added, "i believe, hathaway, i am looked upon as a queer survival of a rather lawless and improper past. at least, i have thought it better not socially to compromise her by my presence. the mayor goes there--at the examinations and exercises, i believe, sir; they make a sort of reception for him--with a--a--banquet--lemonade and speeches." "i had intended to leave for sacramento to-morrow night," said paul, glancing curiously at the helpless man; "but i will go there if you wish." "thank you. it will be better." there were a few words of further explanation of the papers, and pendleton placed the packet in his visitor's hands. paul rose. somehow, it appeared to him that the room looked more faded and forgotten than when he entered it, and the figure of the man before him more lonely, helpless, and abandoned. with one of his sympathetic impulses he said:-- "i don't like to leave you here alone. are you sure you can help yourself without george? can i do anything before i go?" "i am quite accustomed to it," said pendleton, quietly. "it happens once or twice a year, and when i go out--well--i miss more than i do here." he took paul's proffered hand mechanically, with a slight return of the critical, doubting look he had cast upon him when he entered. his voice, too, had quite recovered its old dominance, as he said, with half-patronizing conventionality, "you'll have to find your way out alone. let me know how you have sped at santa clara, will you? good-by." the staircase and passage seemed to have grown shabbier and meaner as paul, slowly and hesitatingly, descended to the street. at the foot of the stairs he paused irresolutely, and loitered with a vague idea of turning back on some pretense, only that he might relieve himself of the sense of desertion. he had already determined upon making that inquiry into the colonel's personal and pecuniary affairs which he had not dared to offer personally, and had a half-formed plan of testing his own power and popularity in a certain line of relief that at once satisfied his sympathies and ambitions. nevertheless, after reaching the street, he lingered a moment, when an odd idea of temporizing with his inclinations struck him. at the farther end of the hotel--one of the parasites living on its decayed fortunes--was a small barber's shop. by having his hair trimmed and his clothes brushed he could linger a little longer beneath the same roof with the helpless solitary, and perhaps come to some conclusion. he entered the clean but scantily furnished shop, and threw himself into one of the nearest chairs, hardly noting that there were no other customers, and that a single assistant, stropping a razor behind a glass door, was the only occupant. but there was a familiar note of exaggerated politeness about the voice of this man as he opened the door and came towards the back of the chair with the formula:-- "mo'nin', sah! shall we hab de pleshure of shavin' or hah-cuttin' dis mo'nin'?" paul raised his eyes quickly to the mirror before him. it reflected the black face and grizzled hair of george. more relieved at finding the old servant still near his master than caring to comprehend the reason, hathaway said pleasantly, "well, george, is this the way you look after your family?" the old man started; for an instant his full red lips seemed to become dry and ashen, the whites of his eyes were suffused and staring, as he met paul's smiling face in the glass. but almost as quickly he recovered himself, and, with a polite but deprecating bow, said,--"for god sake, sah! i admit de sarkumstances is agin me, but de simple fack is dat i'm temper'ly occupyin' de place of an ole frien', sah, who is called round de cornah." "and i'm devilish glad of any fact, george, that gives me a chance of having my hair cut by colonel pendleton's right-hand man. so fire away!" the gratified smile which now suddenly overspread the whole of the old man's face, and seemed to quickly stiffen the rugged and wrinkled fingers that had at first trembled in drawing a pair of shears from a ragged pocket, appeared to satisfy paul's curiosity for the present. but after a few moments' silent snipping, during which he could detect in the mirror some traces of agitation still twitching the negro's face, he said with an air of conviction:-- "look here, george--why don't you regularly use your leisure moments in this trade? you'd make your fortune by your taste and skill at it." for the next half minute the old man's frame shook with silent childlike laughter behind paul's chair. "well, marse hathaway, yo's an ole frien' o' my massa, and a gemman yo'self, sah, and a senetah, and i do'an mind tellin' yo'--dat's jess what i bin gone done! it makes a little ready money for de ole woman and de chilleren. but de kernel don' no'. ah, sah! de kernel kill me or hisself if he so much as 'spicioned me. de kernel is high-toned, sah!--bein' a gemman yo'self, yo' understand. he wouldn't heah ob his niggah worken' for two massas--for all he's willen' to lemme go and help myse'f. but, lord bless yo', sah, dat ain't in de category! de kernel couldn't get along widout me." "you collect his rents, don't you?" said paul, quietly. "yes, sah." "much?" "well, no, sah; not so much as fom'ly, sah! yo' see, de kernel's prop'ty lies in de ole parts ob de town, where de po' white folks lib, and dey ain't reg'lar. de kernel dat sof' in his heart, he dare n' press 'em; some of 'em is ole fo'ty-niners, like hisself, sah; and some is spanish, sah, and dey is sof' too, and ain't no more gumption dan chilleren, and tink it's ole time come ag'in, and dey's in de ole places like afo' de mexican wah! and dey don' bin payin' noffin'. but we gets along, sah,--we gets along,--not in de prima facie style, sah! mebbe not in de modden way dut de kernel don't like; but we keeps ourse'f, sah, and has wine fo' our friends. when yo' come again, sah, yo' 'll find de widder glencoe on de sideboard." "has the colonel many friends here?" "mos' de ole ones bin done gone, sah, and de kernel don' cotton to de new. he don' mix much in sassiety till de bank settlements bin gone done. skuse me, sah!--but you don' happen to know when dat is? it would be a pow'ful heap off de kernel's mind if it was done. bein' a high and mighty man in committees up dah in sacramento, sah, i didn't know but what yo' might know as it might come befo' yo'." "i'll see about it," said paul, with an odd, abstracted smile. "shampoo dis mornen', sah?" "nothing more in this line," said paul, rising from his chair, "but something more, perhaps, in the line of your other duties. you're a good barber for the public, george, and i don't take back what i said about your future; but just now i think the colonel wants all your service. he's not at all well. take this," he said, putting a twenty-dollar gold piece in the astonished servant's hand, "and for the next three or four days drop the shop, and under some pretext or another arrange to be with him. that money will cover what you lose here, and as soon as the colonel's all right again you can come back to work. but are you not afraid of being recognized by some one?" "no, sah, dat's just it. on'y strangers dat don't know no better come yere." "but suppose your master should drop in? it's quite convenient to his rooms." "marse harry in a barber-shop!" said the old man with a silent laugh. "skuse me, sah," he added, with an apologetic mixture of respect and dignity, "but fo' twenty years no man hez touched de kernel's chin but myself. when marse harry hez to go to a barber's shop, it won't make no matter who's dar." "let's hope he will not," said paul gayly; then, anxious to evade the gratitude which, since his munificence, he had seen beaming in the old negro's eye and evidently trying to find polysyllabic and elevated expression on his lips, he said hurriedly, "i shall expect to find you with the colonel when i call again in a day or two," and smilingly departed. at the end of two hours george's barber-employer returned to relieve his assistant, and, on receiving from him an account and a certain percentage of the afternoon's fees (minus the gift from paul), was informed by george that he should pretermit his attendance for a few days. "udder private and personal affairs," explained the old negro, who made no social distinction in his vocabulary, "peroccupyin' dis niggah's time." the head barber, unwilling to lose a really good assistant, endeavored to dissuade him by the offer of increased emolument, but george was firm. as he entered the sitting-room the colonel detected his step, and called him in. "another time, george, never allow a guest of mine to send away wine. if he don't care for it, put it on the sideboard." "yes, sah; but as yo' didn't like it yo'self, marse harry, and de wine was de most 'xpensive quality ob glencoe"-- "d--n the expense!" he paused, and gazed searchingly at his old retainer. "george," he said suddenly, yet in a gentle voice, "don't lie to me, or"--in a still kinder voice--"i'll flog the black skin off you! listen to me. have you got any money left?" "'deed, sah, dere is," said the negro earnestly. "i'll jist fetch it wid de accounts." "hold on! i've been thinking, lying here, that if the widow molloy can't pay because she sold out, and that tobacconist is ruined, and we've had to pay the water tax for old bill soames, the rent last week don't amount to much, while there's the month's bill for the restaurant and that blank druggist's account for lotions and medicines to come out of it. it strikes me we're pretty near touching bottom. i've everything i want here, but, by god, sir, if i find you skimping yourself or lying to me or borrowing money"-- "yes, marse harry, but the widder molloy done gone and paid up dis afernoon. i'll bring de books and money to prove it;" and he hurriedly reentered the sitting-room. then with trembling hands he emptied his pockets on the table, including paul's gift and the fees he had just received, and opening a desk-drawer took from it a striped cotton handkerchief, such as negro women wear on their heads, containing a small quantity of silver tied up in a hard knot, and a boy's purse. this he emptied on the table with his own money. they were the only rents of colonel henry pendleton! they were contributed by "george washington thomson;" his wife, otherwise known as "aunt dinah," washerwoman; and "scipio thomson," their son, aged fourteen, bootblack. it did not amount to much. but in that happy moisture that dimmed the old man's eyes, god knows it looked large enough. chapter iii. although the rays of an unclouded sun were hot in the santa clara roads and byways, and the dry, bleached dust had become an impalpable powder, the perspiring and parched pedestrian who rashly sought relief in the shade of the wayside oak was speedily chilled to the bone by the northwest trade-winds that on those august afternoons swept through the defiles of the coast range, and even penetrated the pastoral valley of san jose. the anomaly of straw hats and overcoats with the occupants of buggies and station wagons was thus accounted for, and even in the sheltered garden of "el rosario" two young girls in light summer dresses had thrown wraps over their shoulders as they lounged down a broad rose-alley at right angles with the deep, long veranda of the casa. yet, in spite of the chill, the old spanish house and gardens presented a luxurious, almost tropical, picture from the roadside. banks, beds, and bowers of roses lent their name and color to the grounds; tree-like clusters of hanging fuchsias, mound-like masses of variegated verbena, and tangled thickets of ceanothus and spreading heliotrope were set in boundaries of venerable olive, fig, and pear trees. the old house itself, a picturesque relief to the glaring newness of the painted villas along the road, had been tastefully modified to suit the needs and habits of a later civilization; the galleries of the inner courtyard, or patio, had been transferred to the outside walls in the form of deep verandas, while the old adobe walls themselves were hidden beneath flowing cape jessamine or bestarred passion vines, and topped by roofs of cylindrical red tiles. "miss yerba!" said a dry, masculine voice from the veranda. the taller young girl started, and drew herself suddenly behind a large castilian rose-tree, dragging her companion with her, and putting her finger imperatively upon a pretty but somewhat passionate mouth. the other girl checked a laugh, and remained watching her friend's wickedly leveled brows in amused surprise. the call was repeated from the veranda. after a moment's pause there was the sound of retreating footsteps, and all was quiet again. "why, for goodness' sake, didn't you answer, yerba?" asked the shorter girl. "oh, i hate him!" responded yerba. "he only wanted to bore me with his stupid, formal, sham-parental talk. because he's my official guardian he thinks it necessary to assume this manner towards me when we meet, and treats me as if i were something between his stepdaughter and an almshouse orphan or a police board. it's perfectly ridiculous, for it's only put on while he is in office, and he knows it, and i know it, and i'm tired of making believe. why, my dear, they change every election; i've had seven of them, all more or less of this kind, since i can remember." "but i thought there were two others, dear, that were not official," said her companion, coaxingly. yerba sighed. "no; there was another, who was president of a bank, but that was also to be official if he died. i used to like him, he seemed to be the only gentleman among them; but it appears that he is dreadfully improper; shoots people now and then for nothing at all, and burst up his bank--and, of course, he's impossible, and, as there's no more bank, when he dies there'll be no more trustee." "and there's the third, you know--a stranger, who never appears?" suggested the younger girl. "and who do you suppose he turns out to be? do you remember that conceited little wretch--that 'baby senator,' i think they called him--who was in the parlor of the golden gate the other morning surrounded by his idiotic worshipers and toadies and ballot-box stuffers? well, if you please, that's mr. paul hathaway--the honorable paul hathaway, who washed his hands of me, my dear, at the beginning!" "but really, yerba, i thought that he looked and acted"-- "you thought of nothing at all, milly," returned yerba, with authority. "i tell you he's a mass of conceit. what else can you expect of a man--toadied and fawned upon to that extent? it made me sick! i could have just shaken them!" as if to emphasize her statement, she grasped one of the long willowy branches of the enormous rose-bush where she stood, and shook it lightly. the action detached a few of the maturer blossoms, and sent down a shower of faded pink petals on her dark hair and yellow dress. "i can't bear conceit," she added. "oh, yerba, just stand as you are! i do wish the girls could see you. you make the loveliest picture!" she certainly did look very pretty as she stood there--a few leaves lodged in her hair, clinging to her dress, and suggesting by reflection the color that her delicate satin skin would have resented in its own texture. but she turned impatiently away--perhaps not before she had allowed this passing vision to impress the mind of her devoted adherent--and said, "come along, or that dreadful man will be out on the veranda again." "but, if you dislike him so, why did you accept the invitation to meet him here at luncheon?" said the curious milly. "i didn't accept; the mother superior did for me, because he's the mayor of san francisco visiting your uncle, and she's always anxious to placate the powers that be. and i thought he might have some information that i could get out of him. and it was better than being in the convent all day. and i thought i could stand him if you were here." milly gratefully accepted this doubtful proof of affection by squeezing her companion's arm. "and you didn't get any information, dear?" "of course not! the idiot knows only the old tradition of his office--that i was a mysterious trust left in mayor hammersley's hands. he actually informed me that 'buena' meant 'good'; that it was likely the name of the captain of some whaler, that put into san francisco in the early days, whose child i was, and that, if i chose to call myself 'miss good,' he would allow it, and get a bill passed in the legislature to legalize it. think of it, my dear! 'miss good,' like one of mrs. barbauld's stories, or a moral governess in the 'primary reader.'" "'miss good,'" repeated milly, innocently. "yes, you might put an e at the end--g-double-o-d-e. there are goodes in philadelphia. and then you won't have to sacrifice that sweet pretty 'yerba,' that's so stylish and musical, for you'd still be 'yerba good.' but," she added, as yerba made an impatient gesture, "why do you worry yourself about that? you wouldn't keep your own name long, whatever it was. an heiress like you, dear,--lovely and accomplished,--would have the best names as well as the best men in america to choose from." "now please don't repeat that idiot's words. that's what he says; that's what they all say!" returned yerba, pettishly. "one would really think it was necessary for me to get married to become anybody at all, or have any standing whatever. and, whatever you do, don't go talking of me as if i were named after a vegetable. 'yerba buena' is the name of an island in the bay just off san francisco. i'm named after that." "but i don't see the difference, dear. the island was named after the vine that grows on it." "you don't see the difference?" said yerba, darkly. "well, i do. but what are you looking at?" her companion had caught her arm, and was gazing intently at the house. "yerba," she said quickly, "there's the mayor, and uncle, and a strange gentleman coming down the walk. they're looking for us. and, as i live, yerb! the strange gentleman is that young senator, mr. hathaway!" "mr. hathaway? nonsense!" "look for yourself." yerba glanced at the three gentlemen, who, a hundred yards distant, were slowly advancing in the direction of the ceanothus-hedge, behind which the girls had instinctively strayed during their conversation. "what are you going to do?" said milly, eagerly. "they're coming straight this way. shall we stay here and let them pass, or make a run for the house?" "no," said yerba, to milly's great surprise. "that would look as if we cared. besides, i don't know that mr. hathaway has come to see me. we'll stroll out and meet them accidentally." milly was still more astonished. however, she said, "wait a moment, dear!" and, with the instinctive deftness of her sex, in three small tugs and a gentle hitch, shook yerba's gown into perfect folds, passed her fingers across her forehead and over her ears, securing, however, with a hairpin on their passage three of the rose petals where they had fallen. then, discharging their faces of any previous expression, these two charming hypocrites sallied out innocently into the walk. nothing could be more natural than their manner: if a criticism might be ventured upon, it was that their elbows were slightly drawn inwards and before them, leaving their hands gracefully advanced in the line of their figures, an attitude accepted throughout the civilized world of deportment as indicating fastidious refinement not unmingled with permissible hauteur. the three gentlemen lifted their hats at this ravishing apparition, and halted. the mayor advanced with great politeness. "i feared you didn't hear me call you, miss yerba, so we ventured to seek you." as the two girls exchanged almost infantile glances of surprise, he continued: "mr. paul hathaway has done us the honor of seeking you here, as he did not find you at the convent. you may have forgotten that mr. hathaway is the third one of your trustees." "and so inefficient and worthless that i fear he doesn't count," said paul, "but," raising his eyes to yerba's, "i fancy that i have already had the pleasure of seeing you, and, i fear, the mortification of having disturbed you and your friends in the parlor of the golden gate hotel yesterday." the two girls looked at each other with the same childlike surprise. yerba broke the silence by suddenly turning to milly. "certainly, you remember how greatly interested we were in the conversation of a party of gentlemen who were there when we came in. i am afraid our foolish prattle must have disturbed you. i know that we were struck with the intelligent and eloquent devotion of your friends." "oh, perfectly," chimed in the loyal but somewhat infelix milly, "and it was so kind and thoughtful of mr. hathaway to take them away as he did." "i felt the more embarrassed," continued hathaway, smiling, but still critically examining yerba for an indication of something characteristic, beyond this palpable conventionality, "as i unfortunately must present my credentials from a gentleman as much of a stranger as myself--colonel pendleton." the trade-wind was evidently making itself felt even in this pastoral retreat, for the two gentlemen appeared to shrink slightly within themselves, and a chill seemed to have passed over the group. the mayor coughed. the avuncular woods gazed abstractedly at a large cactus. even paul, prepared by previous experience, stopped short. "colonel pendleton! oh, do tell me all about him!" flashed out yerba, suddenly, with clasped hands and eager girlish breath. paul cast a quick grateful glance at the girl. whether assumed or not, her enthusiastic outburst was effective. the mayor looked uneasily at woods, and turned to paul. "ah, yes! you and he are original co-trustees. i believe pendleton is in reduced circumstances. never quite got over that bank trouble." "that is only a question of legislative investigation and relief," said paul lightly, yet with purposely vague official mystery of manner. then, turning quickly to yerba, as if replying to the only real question at issue, he continued pointedly, "i am sorry to say the colonel's health is so poor that it keeps him quite a recluse. i have a letter from him and a message for you." his bright eyes added plainly--"as soon as we can get rid of those people." "then you think that a bill"--began the mayor, eagerly. "i think, my dear sir," said paul plaintively, "that i and my friends have already tried the patience of these two young ladies quite enough yesterday with politics and law-making. i have to catch the six-o'clock train to san francisco this evening, and have already lost the time i hoped to spend with miss yerba by missing her at the convent. let me stroll on here, if you like, and if i venture to monopolize the attention of this young lady for half an hour, you, my dear mr. mayor, who have more frequent access to her, i know, will not begrudge it to me." he placed himself beside yerba and milly, and began an entertaining, although, i fear, slightly exaggerated, account of his reception by the lady superior, and her evident doubts of his identity with the trustee mentioned in pendleton's letter of introduction. "i confess she frightened me," he continued, "when she remarked that, according to my statement, i could have been only eighteen years old when i became your guardian, and as much in want of one as you were. i think that only her belief that mr. woods and the mayor would detect me as an impostor provoked her at last to tell me your whereabouts." "but why did they ever make you a trustee, for goodness' sake?" said milly, naively. "was there no one grown up at that time that they could have called upon?" "those were the early days of california," responded paul, with great gravity, although he was conscious that yerba was regarding him narrowly, "and i probably looked older and more intelligent than i really was. for, candidly," with the consciousness of yerba's eyes still upon him, "i remember very little about it. i dare say i was selected, as you kindly suggest, 'for goodness' sake.'" "after all," said the volatile milly, who seemed inclined, as chaperone, to direct the conversation, "there was something pretty and romantic about it. you two poor young things taking care of each other, for of course there were no women here in those days." "of course there were women here" interrupted yerba, quickly, with a half-meaning, half-interrogative glance at paul that made him instinctively uneasy. "you later comers"--to milly--"always seem to think that there was nothing here before you!" she paused, and then added, with a naive mixture of reproach and coquetry that was as charming as it was unexpected, "as to taking care of each other, mr. hathaway very quickly got rid of me, i believe." "but i left you in better hands, miss yerba; and let me thank you now," he added in a lower tone, "for recognizing it as you did a moment ago. i'm glad that you instinctively liked colonel pendleton. had you known him better, you would have seen how truthful that instinct was. his chief fault in the eyes of our worthy friends is that he reminds them of a great deal they can't perpetuate and much they would like to forget." he checked himself abruptly. "but here is your letter," he resumed, drawing colonel pendleton's missive from his pocket, "perhaps you would like to read it now, in case you have any message to return by me. miss woods and i will excuse you." they had reached the end of the rose-alley, where a summer-house that was in itself a rose-bower partly disclosed itself. the other gentlemen had lagged behind. "i will amuse myself, and console your other guardian, dear," said the vivacious milly, with a rapid exchange of glances with yerba, "until this horrid business is over. besides," she added with cheerful vagueness, "after so long a separation you must have a great deal to say to each other." paul smiled as she rustled away, and yerba, entering the summer-house, sat down and opened the letter. the young man remained leaning against the rustic archway, occasionally glancing at her and at the moving figures in the gardens. he was conscious of an odd excitement which he could trace to no particular cause. it was true that he had been annoyed at not finding the young girl at the convent, and at having to justify himself to the lady superior for what he conceived to be an act of gratuitous kindness; nor was he blind to the fact that his persistence in following her was more an act of aggression against the enemies of pendleton than of concern for yerba. she was certainly pretty, he could not remember her mother sufficiently to trace any likeness, and he had never admired the mother's pronounced beauty. she had flashed out for an instant into what seemed originality and feeling. but it had passed, and she had asked no further questions in regard to the colonel. she had hurriedly skimmed through the letter, which seemed to be composed of certain figures and accounts. "i suppose it's all right," she said; "at least you can say so if he asks you. it's only an explanation why he has transferred my money from the bank to rothschild's agent years ago. i don't see why it should interest me now." paul made no doubt that it was the same transfer that had shipwrecked the colonel's fortune and alienated his friends, and could not help replying somewhat pointedly, "but i think it should, miss yerba. i don't know what the colonel explained to you--doubtless, not the whole truth, for he is not a man to praise himself; but, the fact is, the bank was in difficulties at the time of that transfer, and, to make it, he sacrificed his personal fortune, and, i think, awakened some of that ill-feeling you have just noticed." he checked himself too late: he had again lost not only his tact and self-control, but had nearly betrayed himself. he was surprised that the girl's justifiable ignorance should have irritated him. yet she had evidently not noticed, or misunderstood it, for she said, with a certain precision that was almost studied:-- "yes, i suppose it would have been a terrible thing to him to have been suspected of misappropriating a trust confided to him by parties who had already paid him the high compliment of confiding to his care a secret and a fortune." paul glanced at her quickly with astonishment. was this ignorance, or suspicion? her manner, however, suddenly changed, with the charming capriciousness of youth and conscious beauty. "he speaks of you in this letter," she said, letting her dark eyes rest on him provokingly. "that accounts for your lack of interest then," said paul gayly, relieved to turn a conversation fraught with so much danger. "but he speaks very flatteringly," she went on. "he seems to be another one of your admirers. i'm sure, mr. hathaway, after that scene in the hotel parlor yesterday, you, at least, cannot complain of having been misrepresented before me. to tell you the truth, i think i hated you a little for it." "you were quite right," returned paul. "i must have been insufferable! and i admit that i was slightly piqued against you for the idolatries showered upon you at the same moment by your friends." usually, when two young people have reached the point of confidingly exchanging their first impressions of each other, some progress has been made in first acquaintance. but it did not strike paul in that way, and yerba's next remark was discouraging. "but i'm rather disappointed, for all that. colonel pendleton tells me you know nothing of my family or of the secret." paul was this time quite prepared, and withstood the girl's scrutiny calmly. "do you think," he asked lightly, "that even he knows?" "of course he does," she returned quickly. "do you suppose he would have taken all that trouble you have just talked about if he didn't know it? and feared the consequences, perhaps?" she added, with a slight return of her previous expressive manner. again paul was puzzled and irritated, he knew not why. but he only said pleasantly, "i differ from you there. i am afraid that such a thing as fear never entered into colonel pendleton's calculations on any subject. i think he would act the same towards the highest and the lowest, the powerful or the most weak." as she glanced at him quickly and mischievously, he added, "i am quite willing to believe that his knowledge of you made his duty pleasanter." he was again quite sincere, and his slight sympathy had that irresistible quality of tone and look which made him so dangerous. for he was struck with the pretty, soothed self-complacency that had shone in her face since he had spoken of pendleton's equal disinterestedness. it seemed, too, as if what he had taken for passion or petulance in her manner had been only a resistance to some continual aggression of condition. with that remainder held in check, a certain latent nobility was apparent, as of her true self. in this moment of pleased abstraction she had drawn through the lattice-work of one of the windows a spray of roses clinging to the vine, and with her graceful head a little on one side, was softly caressing her cheek with it. she certainly was very pretty. from the crown of her dark little head to the narrow rosetted slippers that had been idly tapping the ground, but now seemed to press it more proudly, with arched insteps and small ankles, she was pleasant to look upon. "but you surely have something else to think about, miss yerba?" said the young man, with conviction. "in a few months you will be of age, and rid of those dreadfully stupid guardians; with your"-- the loosened rose-spray flew from her hand out of the window as she made a gesture, half real, half assumed, of imploring supplication. "oh, please, mr. hathaway, for heaven's sake don't you begin too! you are going to say that, with my wealth, my accomplishments, my beauty, my friends, what more can i want? what do i care about a secret that can neither add to them nor take them away? yes, you were! it's the regular thing to say--everybody says it. why, i should have thought 'the youngest senator' could afford to have been more original." "i plead guilty to all the weaknesses of humanity," said paul, warmly, again beginning to believe that he had been most unjust to her independence. "well, i forgive you, because you have forgotten to say that, if i don't like the name of yerba buena, i could so easily change that too." "but you do like it," said paul, touched with this first hearing of her name in her own musical accents, "or would like it if you heard yourself pronounce it." it suddenly recurred to him, with a strange thrill of pleasure, that he himself had given it to her. it was as if he had created some musical instrument to which she had just given voice. in his enthusiasm he had thrown himself on the bench beside her in an attitude that, i fear, was not as dignified as became his elderly office. "but you don't think that is my name," said the girl, quickly. "i beg your pardon?" said paul, hesitatingly. "you don't think that anybody would have been so utterly idiotic as to call me after a ground-vine--a vegetable?" she continued petulantly. "eh?" stammered paul. "a name that could be so easily translated," she went on, half scornfully, "and when translated, was no possible title for anybody? think of it--miss good herb! it is too ridiculous for anything." paul was not usually wanting in self-possession in an emergency, or in skill to meet attack. but he was so convinced of the truth of the girl's accusation, and now recalled so vividly his own consternation on hearing the result of his youthful and romantic sponsorship for the first time from pendleton, that he was struck with confusion. "but what do you suppose it was intended for?" he said at last, vaguely. "it was certainly 'yerba buena' in the trust. at least, i suppose so," he corrected himself hurriedly. "it is only a supposition," she said quietly, "for you know it cannot be proved. the trust was never recorded, and the only copy could not be found among mr. hammersley's papers. it is only part of the name, of which the first is lost." "part of the name?" repeated paul, uneasily. "part of it. it is a corruption of de la yerba buena,--of the yerba buena,--and refers to the island of yerba buena in the bay, and not to the plant. that island was part of the property of my family--the arguellos--you will find it so recorded in the spanish grants. my name is arguello de la yerba buena." it is impossible to describe the timid yet triumphant, the half-appealing yet complacent, conviction of the girl's utterance. a moment before, paul would have believed it impossible for him to have kept his gravity and his respect for his companion under this egregious illusion. but he kept both. for a sudden conviction that she suspected the truth, and had taken this audacious and original plan of crushing it, overpowered all other sense. the arguellos, it flashed upon him, were an old spanish family, former owners of yerba buena island, who had in the last years become extinct. there had been a story that one of them had eloped with an american ship captain's wife at monterey. the legendary history of early spanish california was filled with more remarkable incidents, corroborated with little difficulty from spanish authorities, who, it was alleged, lent themselves readily to any fabrication or forgery. there was no racial pride: on the contrary, they had shown an eager alacrity to ally themselves with their conquerors. the friends of the arguellos would be proud to recognize and remember in the american heiress the descendant of their countrymen. all this passed rapidly through his mind after the first moment of surprise; all this must have been the deliberate reasoning of this girl of seventeen, whose dark eyes were bent upon him. whether she was seeking corroboration or complicity he could not tell. "have you found this out yourself?" he asked, after a pause. "yes. one of my friends at the convent was josita castro; she knew all the history of the arguellos. she is perfectly satisfied." for an instant paul wondered if it was a joint conception of the two schoolgirls. but, on reflection, he was persuaded that yerba would commit herself to no accomplice--of her own sex. she might have dominated the girl, and would make her a firm partisan, while the girl would be convinced of it herself, and believe herself a free agent. he had had such experience with men himself. "but why have you not spoken of it before--and to colonel pendleton?" "he did not choose to tell me," said yerba, with feminine dexterity. "i have preferred to keep it myself a secret till i am of age." "when colonel pendleton and some of the other trustees have no right to say anything," thought paul quickly. she had evidently trusted him. yet, fascinated as he had been by her audacity, he did not know whether to be pleased, or the reverse. he would have preferred to be placed on an equal footing with josita castro. she anticipated his thoughts by saying, with half-raised eyelids:-- "what do you think of it?" "it seems to be so natural and obvious an explanation of the mystery that i only wonder it was not thought of before," said paul, with that perfect sincerity that made his sympathy so effective. "you see,"--still under her pretty eyelids, and the tender promise of a smile parting her little mouth,--"i'm believing that you tell the truth when you say you don't know anything about it." it was a desperate moment with paul, but his sympathetic instincts, and possibly his luck, triumphed. his momentary hesitation easily simulated the caution of a conscientious man; his knit eyebrows and bright eyes, lowered in an effort of memory, did the rest. "i remember it all so indistinctly," he said, with literal truthfulness; "there was a veiled lady present, tall and dark, to whom mayor hammersley and the colonel showed a singular, and, it struck me, as an almost superstitious, respect. i remember now, distinctly, i was impressed with the reverential way they both accompanied her to the door at the end of the interview." he raised his eyes slightly; the young girl's red lips were parted; that illumination of the skin, which was her nearest approach to color, had quite transfigured her face. he felt, suddenly, that she believed it, yet he had no sense of remorse. he half believed it himself; at least, he remembered the nobility of the mother's self-renunciation and its effect upon the two men. why should not the daughter preserve this truthful picture of her mother's momentary exaltation? which was the most truthful--that, or the degrading facts? "you speak of a secret," he added. "i can remember little more than that the mayor asked me to forget from that moment the whole occurrence. i did not know at the time how completely i should fulfill his request. you must remember, miss yerba, as your lady superior has, that i was absurdly young at the time. i don't know but that i may have thought, in my youthful inexperience, that this sort of thing was of common occurrence. and then, i had my own future to make--and youth is brutally selfish. i was quite friendless and unknown when i left san francisco for the mines, at the time you entered the convent as yerba buena." she smiled, and made a slight impulsive gesture, as if she would have drawn nearer to him, but checked herself, still smiling, and without embarrassment. it may have been a movement of youthful camaraderie, and that occasional maternal rather than sisterly instinct which sometimes influences a young girl's masculine friendship, and elevates the favored friend to the plane of the doll she has outgrown. as he turned towards her, however, she rose, shook out her yellow dress, and said with pretty petulance:-- "then you must go so soon--and this your first and last visit as my guardian?" "no one could regret that more than i," looking at her with undefined meaning. "yes," she said, with a tantalizing coquetry that might have suggested an underlying seriousness. "i think you have lost a good deal. perhaps, so have i. we might have been good friends in all these years. but that is past." "why? surely, i hope, my shortcomings with miss yerba buena will not be remembered by miss arguello?" sail paul, earnestly. "ah! she may be a very different person." "i hope not," said the young man, warmly. "but how different?" "well, she may not put herself in the way of receiving such point-blank compliments as that," said the young girl, demurely. "not from her guardian?" "she will have no guardian then." she said this gravely, but almost at the same moment turned and sat down again, throwing her linked hands over her knee, and looked at him mischievously. "you see what you have lost, sir." "i see," said paul, but with all the gravity that she had dropped. "no; but you don't see all. i had no brother--no friend. you might have been both. you might have made me what you liked. you might have educated me far better than these teachers, or, at least given me some pride in my studies. there were so many things i wanted to know that they couldn't teach me; so many times i wanted advice from some one that i could trust. colonel pendleton was very good to me when he came; he always treated me like a princess even when i wore short frocks. it was his manner that first made me think he knew my family; but i never felt as if i could tell him anything, and i don't think, with all his chivalrous respect, he ever understood me. as to the others--the mayors--well, you may judge from mr. henderson. it is a wonder that i did not run away or do something desperate. now, are you not a little sorry?" her voice, which had as many capricious changes as her manner, had been alternately coquettish, petulant, and serious, had now become playful again. but, like the rest of her sex, she was evidently more alert to her surroundings at such a moment than her companion, for before he could make any reply, she said, without apparently looking, "but there is a deputation coming for you, mr. hathaway. you see, the case is hopeless. you never would be able to give to one what is claimed by the many." paul glanced down the rose-alley, and saw that the deputation in question was composed of the mayor, mr. woods, a thin, delicate-looking woman,--evidently mrs. woods,--and milly. the latter managed to reach the summer-house first, with apparently youthful alacrity, but really to exchange, in a single glance, some mysterious feminine signal with yerba. then she said with breathless infelicity:-- "before you two get bored with each other now, i must tell you there's a chance of you having more time. aunty has promised to send off a note excusing you to the reverend mother, if she can persuade mr. hathaway to stay over to-night. but here they are. [to yerba] aunty is most anxious, and won't hear of his going." indeed, it seemed as if mrs. woods was, after a refined fashion, most concerned that a distinguished visitor like mr. hathaway should have to use her house as a mere accidental meeting-place with his ward, without deigning to accept her hospitality. she was reinforced by mr. woods, who enunciated the same idea with more masculine vigor; and by the mayor, who expressed his conviction that a slight of this kind to rosario would be felt in the santa clara valley. "after dinner, my dear hathaway," concluded mr. woods, "a few of our neighbors may drop in, who would be glad to shake you by the hand--no formal meeting, my boy--but, hang it! they expect it." paul looked around for yerba. there was really no reason why he shouldn't accept, although an hour ago the idea had never entered his mind. yet, if he did, he would like the girl to know that it was for her sake. unfortunately, far from exhibiting any concern in the matter, she seemed to be preoccupied with milly, and only the charming back of her head was visible behind mrs. woods. he accepted, however, with a hesitation that took some of the graciousness from his yielding, and a sense that he was giving a strange importance to a trivial circumstance. the necessity of attaching himself to his hostess, and making a more extended tour of the grounds, for a while diverted him from an uneasy consideration of his past interview. mrs. woods had known yerba through the school friendship of milly, and, as far as the religious rules of the convent would allow, had always been delighted to show her any hospitality. she was a beautiful girl--did not mr. hathaway think so?--and a girl of great character. it was a pity, of course, that she had never known a mother's care, and that the present routine of a boarding-school had usurped the tender influences of home. she believed, too, that the singular rotation of guardianship had left the girl practically without a counseling friend to rely upon, except, perhaps, colonel pendleton; and while she, mrs. woods, did not for a moment doubt that the colonel might be a good friend and a pleasant companion of men, really he, mr. hathaway, must admit that, with his reputation and habits, he was hardly a fit associate for a young lady. indeed, mr. woods would have never allowed milly to invite yerba here if colonel pendleton was to have been her escort. of course, the poor girl could not choose her own guardian, but mr. woods said he had a right to choose who should be his niece's company. perhaps mr. woods was prejudiced,--most men were,--yet surely mr. hathaway, although a loyal friend of colonel pendleton's, must admit that when it was an open scandal that the colonel had fought a duel about a notoriously common woman, and even blasphemously defended her before a party of gentlemen, it was high time, as mr. woods said, that he should be remanded to their company exclusively. no; mrs. woods could not admit that this was owing to the injustice of her own sex! men are really the ones who make the fuss over those things, just as they, as mr. hathaway well knew, made the laws! no; it was a great pity, as she and her husband had just agreed, that mr. hathaway, of all the guardians, could not have been always the help and counselor--in fact, the elder brother--of poor yerba! paul was conscious that he winced slightly, consistently and conscientiously, at the recollection of certain passages of his youth; inconsistently and meanly, at this suggestion of a joint relationship with yerba's mother. "i think, too," continued mrs. woods, "she has worried foolishly about this ridiculous mystery of her parentage--as if it could make the slightest difference to a girl with a quarter of a million, or as if that didn't show quite conclusively that she was somebody!" "certainly," said paul, quickly, with a relief that he nevertheless felt was ridiculous. "and, of course, i dare say it will all come out when she is of age. i suppose you know if any of the family are still living?" "i really do not." "i beg your pardon," said mrs. woods, with a smile. "i forgot it's a profound secret until then. but here we are at the house; i see the girls have walked over to our neighbors'. perhaps you would like to have a few moments to yourself before you dress for dinner, and your portmanteau, which has been sent for, comes from your hotel. you must be tired of seeing so many people." paul was glad to accept any excuse for being alone, and, thanking his hostess, followed a servant to his room--a low-ceilinged but luxuriously furnished apartment on the first floor. here he threw himself on a cushioned lounge that filled the angle of the deep embrasure--the thickness of the old adobe walls--that formed a part of the wooden-latticed window. a cape jessamine climbing beside it filled the room with its subtle, intoxicating perfume. it was so strong, and he felt himself so irresistibly overpowered and impelled towards a merely idle reverie, that, in order to think more clearly and shut out some strange and unreasoning enthrallment of his senses, he rose and sharply closed the window. then he sat down and reflected. what was he doing here? and what was the meaning of all this? he had come simply to fulfill a duty to his past, and please a helpless and misunderstood old acquaintance. he had performed that duty. but he had incidentally learned a certain fact that might be important to this friend, and clearly his duty was simply to go back and report it. he would gain nothing more in the way of corroboration of it by staying now, if further corroboration were required. colonel pendleton had already been uselessly and absurdly perplexed about the possible discovery of the girl's parentage, and its effect upon her fortunes and herself. she had just settled that of her own accord, and, without committing herself or others, had suggested a really sensible plan by which all trouble would be avoided in future. that was the common-sense way of looking at it. he would lay the plan before the colonel, have him judge of its expediency and its ethics--and even the question whether she already knew the real truth, or was self-deceived. that done, he would return to his own affairs in sacramento. there was nothing difficult in this, or that need worry him, only he could have done it just as well an hour ago. he opened the window again. the scent of the jessamine came in as before, but mingled with the cooler breath of the roses. there was nothing intoxicating or unreal in it now; rather it seemed a gentle aromatic stimulant--of thought. long shadows of unseen poplars beyond barred the garden lanes and alleys with bands of black and yellow. a slanting pencil of sunshine through the trees was for a moment focussed on a bed of waxen callas before a hedge of ceanothus, and struck into dazzling relief the cold white chalices of the flowers and the vivid shining green of their background. presently it slid beyond to a tiny fountain, before invisible, and wrought a blinding miracle out of its flashing and leaping spray. yet even as he gazed the fountain seemed to vanish slowly, the sunbeam slipped on, and beyond it moved the shimmer of white and yellow dresses. it was yerba and milly returning to the house. well, he would not interrupt his reflections by idly watching them; he would, probably, see a great deal of yerba that evening, and by that time he would have come to some conclusion in regard to her. but he had not taken into consideration her voice, which, always musical in its southern intonation and quite audible in the quiet garden, struck him now as being full of joyous sweetness. well, she was certainly very happy--or very thoughtless. she was actually romping with milly, and was now evidently being chased down the rose-alley by that volatile young woman. then these swift camillas apparently neared the house, there was the rapid rustle of skirts, the skurrying of little feet on the veranda, a stumble, a mouse-like shriek from milly, and her voice, exhausted, dying, happy, broken with half-hushed laughter, rose to him on the breath of the jessamine and rose. surely she was a child, and, if a child, how he had misjudged her! what if all that he had believed was mature deliberation was only the innocent imaginings of a romantic girl, all that he had taken seriously only a school-girl's foolish dream! instead of combating it, instead of reasoning with her, instead of trying to interest her in other things, he had even helped on her illusions. he had treated her as if the taint of her mother's worldliness and knowledge of evil was in her pure young flesh. he had recognized her as the daughter of an adventuress, and not as his ward, appealing to his chivalry through her very ignorance--it might be her very childish vanity. he had brought to a question of tender and pathetic interest only his selfish opinion of the world and the weaknesses of mankind. the blood came to his cheeks--with all his experienced self-control, he had not lost the youthful trick of blushing--and he turned away from the window as if it had breathed a reproach. but ought he have even contented himself with destroying her illusions--ought he not have gone farther and told her the whole truth? ought he not first have won her confidence--he remembered bitterly, now, how she had intimated that she had no one to confide in--and, after revealing her mother's history, have still pledged himself to keep the secret from all others, and assisted her in her plan? it would not have altered the state of affairs, except so far as she was concerned; they could have combined together; his ready wit would have helped him; and his sympathy would have sustained her; but-- how and in what way could he have told her? leaving out the delicate and difficult periphrase by which her mother's shame would have to be explained to an innocent school-girl--what right could he have assumed to tell it? as the guardian who had never counseled or protected her? as an acquaintance of hardly an hour ago? who would have such a right? a lover--on whose lips it would only seem a tacit appeal to her gratitude or her fears, and whom no sensitive girl could accept thereafter? no. a husband? yes! he remembered, with a sudden start, what pendleton had said to him. good heavens! had pendleton that idea in his mind? and yet--it seemed the only solution. a knock at his door was followed by the appearance of mr. woods. mr. hathaway's portmanteau had come, and mrs. woods had sent a message, saying that in view of the limited time that mr. hathaway would have with his ward, mrs. woods would forego her right to keep him at her side at dinner, and yield her place to yerba. paul thanked him with a grave inward smile. what if he made his dramatic disclosure to her confidentially over the soup and fish? yet, in his constantly recurring conviction of the girl's independence, he made no doubt she would have met his brutality with unflinching pride and self-possession. he began to dress slowly, at times almost forgetting himself in a new kind of pleasant apathy, which he attributed to the odor of the flowers, and the softer hush of twilight that had come on with the dying away of the trade winds, and the restful spice of the bay-trees near his window. he presently found himself not so much thinking of yerba as of seeing her. a picture of her in the summer-house caressing her cheek with the roses seemed to stand out from the shadows of the blank wall opposite him. when he passed into the dressing-room beyond, it was not his own face he saw in the glass, but hers. it was with a start, as if he had heard her voice, that he found upon his dressing-table a small vase containing a flower for his coat, with the penciled words on a card in a school-girl's hand, "from yerba, with thanks for staying." it must have been placed there by a servant while he was musing at the window. half a dozen people were already in the drawing-room when paul descended. it appeared that mr. woods had invited certain of his neighbors--among them a judge baker and his wife, and don caesar briones, of the adjacent rancho of los pajaros, and his sister, the dona anna. milly and yerba had not yet appeared. don caesar, a young man of a toreador build, roundly bland in face and murky in eye, seemed to notice their absence, and kept his glances towards the door, while paul engaged in conversation with dona anna--if that word could convey an impression of a conventionality which that good-humored young lady converted into an animated flirtation at the second sentence with a single glance and two shakes of her fan. and then milly fluttered in--a vision of school-girl freshness and white tulle, and a moment later--with a pause of expectation--a tall, graceful figure, that at first paul scarcely recognized. it is a popular conceit of our sex that we are superior to any effect of feminine adornment, and that a pretty girl is equally pretty in the simplest frock. yet there was not a man in the room who did not believe that yerba in her present attire was not only far prettier than before, but that she indicated a new and more delicate form of beauty. it was not the mere revelation of contour and color of an ordinary decollete dress, it was a perfect presentment of pure symmetry and carriage. in this black grenadine dress, trimmed with jet, not only was the delicate satin sheen of her skin made clearer by contrast, but she looked every inch her full height, with an ideal exaltation of breeding and culture. she wore no jewelry except a small necklace of pearls--so small it might have been a child's--that fitted her slender throat so tightly that it could scarcely be told from the flesh that it clasped. paul did not know that it was the gift of the mother to the child that she had forsworn only a few weeks before she parted from her forever; but he had a vague feeling that, in that sable dress that seemed like mourning, she walked at the funeral of her mother's past. a few white flowers in her corsage, the companions of the solitary one in his button-hole, were the only relief. their eyes met for a single moment, the look of admiration in paul's being answered by the naive consciousness in yerba's of a woman looking her best; but the next moment she appeared preoccupied with the others, and the eager advances of don caesar. "your brother seems to admire miss yerba," said paul. "ah, ye--es," returned dona anna. "and you?" "oh!" said paul, gayly, "i? i am her guardian--with me it is simple egotism, you know." "ah!" returned the arch dona anna, "you are then already so certain of her? good! i shall warn him." a precaution that did seem necessary; as later, when paul, at a signal from his hostess, offered his arm to yerba, the young spaniard regarded him with a look of startled curiosity. "i thank you for selecting me to wear your colors," said paul with a glance at the flowers in her corsage, as they sat at table, "and i think i deserve them, since, but for you, i should have been on my way to san francisco at this moment. shall i have an opportunity of talking to you a few minutes later in the evening?" he added, in a lower tone. "why not now?" returned yerba, mischievously. "we are set here expressly for that purpose." "surely not to talk of our own business--i should say, of our family affairs," said paul, looking at her with equal playfulness; "though i believe your friend don caesar, opposite, would be more pleased if he were sure that was all we did." "and you think his sister would share in that pleasure?" retorted yerba. "i warn you, mr. hathaway, that you have been quite justifying the reverend mother's doubts about your venerable pretensions. everybody is staring at you now." paul looked up mechanically. it was true. whether from some occult sympathy, from a human tendency to admire obvious fitness and symmetry, or the innocent love with which the world regards innocent lovers, they were all observing yerba and himself with undisguised attention. a good talker, he quickly led the conversation to other topics. it was then that he discovered that yerba was not only accomplished, but that this convent-bred girl had acquired a singular breadth of knowledge apart from the ordinary routine of the school curriculum. she spoke and thought with independent perceptions and clearness, yet without the tactlessness and masculine abruptness that is apt to detract from feminine originality of reflection. by some tacit understanding that had the charm of mutual confidence, they both exerted themselves to please the company rather than each other, and paul, in the interchange of sallies with dona anna, had a certain pleasure in hearing yerba converse in spanish with don caesar. but in a few moments he observed, with some uneasiness, that they were talking of the old spanish occupation, and presently of the old spanish families. would she prematurely expose an ignorance that might be hereafter remembered against her, or invite some dreadful genealogical reminiscence that would destroy her hopes and raze her spanish castles? or was she simply collecting information? he admired the dexterity with which, without committing herself, she made don caesar openly and even confidentially communicative. and yet he was on thorns; at times it seemed as if he himself were playing a part in this imposture of yerba's. he was aware that his wandering attention was noticed by the quick-witted dona anna, when he regained his self-possession by what appeared to be a happy diversion. it was the voice of mrs. judge baker calling across the table to yerba. by one of the peculiar accidents of general conversation, it was the one apparently trivial remark that in a pause challenged the ears of all. "we were admiring your necklace, miss yerba." every eye was turned upon the slender throat of the handsome girl. the excuse was so natural. yerba put her hand to her neck with a smile. "you are joking, mrs. baker. i know it is ridiculously small, but it is a child's necklace, and i wear it because it was a gift from my mother." paul's heart sank again with consternation. it was the first time he had heard the girl distinctly connect herself with her actual mother, and for an instant he felt as startled as if the forgotten outcast herself had returned and taken a seat at the board. "i told you it couldn't be so?" remarked mrs. baker, to her husband. everybody naturally looked inquiringly upon the couple, and mrs. baker explained with a smile: "bob thinks he's seen it before; men are so obstinate." "pardon me, miss yerba," said the judge, blandly, "would you mind showing it to me, if it is not too much trouble?" "not at all," said yerba, smiling, and detaching the circlet from her neck. "i'm afraid you'll find it rather old-fashioned." "that's just what i hope to find it," said judge baker, with a triumphant glance at his wife. "it was eight years ago when i saw it in tucker's jewelry shop. i wanted to buy it for my little minnie, but as the price was steep i hesitated, and when i did make up my mind he had disposed of it to another customer. yes," he added, examining the necklace which yerba had handed to him. "i am certain it is the same: it was unique, like this. odd, isn't it?" everybody said it was odd, and looked upon the occurrence with that unreasoning satisfaction with which average humanity receives the most trivial and unmeaning coincidences. it was left to don caesar to give it a gallant application. "i have not-a the pleasure of knowing-a the miss minnie, but the jewelry, when she arrives, to the throat-a of miss yerba, she has not lost the value--the beauty--the charm." "no," said woods, cheerily. "the fact is, baker, you were too slow. miss yerba's folks gobbled up the necklace while you were thinking. you were a new-comer. old 'forty-niners' did not hesitate over a thing they wanted." "you never knew who was your successful rival, eh?" said dona anna, turning to judge baker with a curious glance at paul's pale face in passing. "no," said baker, "but"--he stopped with a hesitating laugh and some little confusion. "no, i've mixed it up with something else. it's so long ago. i never knew, or if i did i've forgotten. but the necklace i remember." he handed it back to yerba with a bow, and the incident ended. paul had not looked at yerba during this conversation, an unreasoning instinct that he might confuse her, an equally unreasoning dread that he might see her confused by others, possessing him. and when he did glance at her calm, untroubled face, that seemed only a little surprised at his own singular coldness, he was by no means relieved. he was only convinced of one thing. in the last five minutes he had settled upon the irrevocable determination that his present relations with the girl could exist no longer. he must either tell her everything, or see her no more. there was no middle course. she was on the brink of an exposure at any moment, either through her ignorance or her unhappy pretension. in his intolerable position, he was equally unable to contemplate her peril, accept her defense, or himself defend her. as if, with some feminine instinct, she had attributed his silence to some jealousy of don caesar's attentions, she more than once turned from the spaniard to paul with an assuring smile. in his anxiety, he half accepted the rather humiliating suggestion, and managed to say to her, in a lower tone:-- "on this last visit of your american guardian, one would think, you need not already anticipate your spanish relations." he was thrilled with the mischievous yet faintly tender pleasure that sparkled in her eyes as she said,-- "you forget it is my american guardian's first visit, as well as his last." "and as your guardian," he went on, with half-veiled seriousness, "i protest against your allowing your treasures, the property of the trust," he gazed directly into her beautiful eyes, "being handled and commented upon by everybody." when the ladies had left the table, he was, for a moment, relieved. but only for a moment. judge baker drew his chair beside paul's, and, taking his cigar from his lips, said, with a perfunctory laugh:-- "i say, hathaway, i pulled up just in time to save myself from making an awful speech, just now, to your ward." paul looked at him with cold curiosity. "yes. gad! do you know who was my rival in that necklace transaction?" "no," said paul, with frigid carelessness. "why, kate howard! fact, sir. she bought it right under my nose--and overbid me, too." paul did not lose his self-possession. thanks to the fact that yerba was not present, and that don caesar, who had overheard the speech, moved forward with a suggestive and unpleasant smile, his agitation congealed into a coldly placid fury. "and i suppose," he returned, with perfect calmness, "that, after the usual habit of this class of women, the necklace very soon found its way back, through the pawnbroker, to the jeweler again. it's a common fate." "yes, of course," said judge baker, cheerfully. "you're quite right. that's undoubtedly the solution of it. but," with a laugh, "i had a narrow escape from saying something--eh?" "a very narrow escape from an apparently gratuitous insult," said paul, gravely, but fixing his eyes, now more luminous than ever with anger, not on the speakers but on the face of don caesar, who was standing at his side. "you were about to say,"-- "eh--oh--ah! this kate howard? so! i have heard of her--yees! and miss yerba--ah--she is of my country--i think. yes--we shall claim her--of a truth--yes." "your countrymen, i believe, are in the habit of making claims that are more often founded on profit than verity," said paul, with smileless and insulting deliberation. he knew perfectly what he was saying, and the result he expected. only twenty-four hours before he had smiled at pendleton's idea of averting scandal and discovery by fighting, yet he was endeavoring to pick a quarrel with a man, merely on suspicion, for the same purpose, and he saw nothing strange in it. a vague idea, too, that this would irrevocably confirm him in opposition to yerba's illusions probably determined him. but don caesar, albeit smiling lividly, did not seem inclined to pick up the gauntlet, and woods interfered hastily. "don caesar means that your ward has some idea herself that she is of spanish origin--at least, milly says so. but of course, as one of the oldest trustees, you know the facts." in another moment paul would have committed himself. "i think we'll leave miss yerba out of the question," he said, coldly. "my remark was a general one, although, of course, i am responsible for any personal application of it." "spoken like a politician, hathaway," said judge baker, with an effusive enthusiasm, which he hoped would atone for the alarming results of his infelicitous speech. "that's right, gentlemen! you can't get the facts from him before he is ready to give them. keep your secret, mr. hathaway, the court is with you." nevertheless, as they passed out of the room to join the ladies, the mayor lingered a little behind with woods. "it's easy to see the influence of that pendleton on our young friend," he said, significantly. "somebody ought to tell him that it's played out down here--as pendleton is. it's quite enough to ruin his career." paul was too observant not to notice this, but it brought him no sense of remorse; and his youthful belief in himself and his power kept him from concern. he felt as if he had done something, if only to show don caesar that the girl's weakness or ignorance could not be traded upon with impunity. but he was still undecided as to the course he should pursue. but he should determine that to-night. at present there seemed no chance of talking to her alone--she was unconcernedly conversing with milly and mrs. woods, and already the visitors who had been invited to this hurried levee in his honor were arriving. in view of his late indiscretion, he nervously exerted his fullest powers, and in a very few minutes was surrounded by a breathless and admiring group of worshipers. a ludicrous resemblance to the scene in the golden gate hotel passed through his mind; he involuntarily turned his eyes to seek yerba in the half-fear, half-expectation of meeting her mischievous smile. their glances met; to his surprise hers was smileless, and instantly withdrawn, but not until he had been thrilled by an unconscious prepossession in its luminous depths that he scarcely dared to dwell upon. what mattered now this passage with don caesar or the plaudits of his friends? she was proud of him! yet, after that glance, she was shy, preoccupying herself with milly, or even listening sweetly to judge baker's somewhat practical and unromantic reminiscences of the deprivations and the hardships of california early days, as if to condone his past infelicity. she was pleasantly unaffected with don caesar, although she managed to draw dona anna into the conversation; she was unconventional, paul fancied, to all but himself. once or twice, when he had artfully drawn her towards the open french window that led to the moonlit garden and shadowed veranda, she had managed to link milly's arm in her own, and he was confident that a suggestion to stroll with him in the open air would be followed by her invitation to milly to accompany them. disappointed and mortified as he was, he found some solace in her manner, which he still believed suggested the hope that she might be made accessible to his persuasions. persuasions to what? he did not know. the last guest had departed; he lingered on the veranda with a cigar, begging his host and hostess not to trouble themselves to keep him company. milly and yerba had retired to the former's boudoir, but, as they had not yet formally bade him good night, there was a chance of their returning. he still stayed on in this hope for half an hour, and then, accepting yerba's continued absence as a tacit refusal of his request, he turned abruptly away. but as he glanced around the garden before reentering the house, he was struck by a singular circumstance--a white patch, like a forgotten shawl, which he had observed on the distant ceanothus hedge, and which had at first thrilled him with expectation, had certainly changed its position. before, it seemed to be near the summer-house; now it was, undoubtedly, farther away. could they, or she alone, have slipped from the house and be awaiting him there? with a muttered exclamation at his stupidity he stepped hastily from the veranda and walked towards it. but he had scarcely proceeded a dozen yards before it disappeared. he reached the summer-house--it was empty; he followed the line of hedge--no one was there. it could not have been her, or she would have waited, unless he were the victim of a practical joke. he turned impatiently back to the house, reentered the drawing-room by the french window, and was crossing the half-lit apartment, when he heard a slight rustle in the shadow of the window. he looked around quickly, and saw that it was yerba, in a white, loose gown, for which she had already exchanged her black evening dress, leaning back composedly on the sofa, her hands clasped behind her shapely head. "i am waiting for milly," she said, with a faint smile on her lips. he fancied, in the moonlight that streamed upon her, that her beautiful face was pale. "she has gone to the other wing to see one of the servants who is ill. we thought you were on the veranda smoking and i should have company, until i saw you start off, and rush up and down the hedge like mad." paul felt that he was losing his self-possession, and becoming nervous in her presence. "i thought it was you," he stammered. "me! out in the garden at this hour, alone, and in the broad moonlight? what are you thinking of, mr. hathaway? do you know anything of convent rules, or is that your idea of your ward's education?" he fancied that, though she smiled faintly, her voice was as tremulous as his own. "i want to speak with you," he said, with awkward directness. "i even thought of asking you to stroll with me in the garden." "why not talk here?" she returned, changing her position, pointing to the other end of the sofa, and drawing the whole overflow of her skirt to one side. "it is not so very late, and milly will return in a few moments." her face was in shadow now, but there was a glow-worm light in her beautiful eyes that seemed faintly to illuminate her whole face. he sank down on the sofa at her side, no longer the brilliant and ambitious politician, but, it seemed to him, as hopelessly a dreaming, inexperienced boy as when he had given her the name that now was all he could think of, and the only word that rose to his feverish lips. "yerba!" "i like to hear you say it," she said quickly, as if to gloss over his first omission of her formal prefix, and leaning a little forward, with her eyes on his. "one would think you had created it. you almost make me regret to lose it." he stopped. he felt that the last sentence had saved him. "it is of that i want to speak," he broke out suddenly and almost rudely. "are you satisfied that it means nothing, and can mean nothing, to you? does it awaken no memory in your mind--recall nothing you care to know? think! i beg you, i implore you to be frank with me!" she looked at him with surprise. "i have told you already that my present name must be some absurd blunder, or some intentional concealment. but why do you want to know now?" she continued, adding her faint smile to the emphasis. "to help you!" he said, eagerly. "for that alone! to do all i can to assist you, if you really believe, and want to believe, that you have another. to ask you to confide in me; to tell me all you have been told, all that you know, think you know, or want to know about your relationship to the arguellos--or to--any one. and then to devote myself entirely to proving what you shall say is your desire. you see, i am frank with you, yerba. i only ask you to be as frank with me; to let me know your doubts, that i may counsel you; your fears, that i may give you courage." "is that all you came here to tell me?" she asked quietly. "no, yerba," he said, eagerly, taking her unresisting but indifferent hand, "not all; but all that i must say, all that i have the right to say, all that you, yerba, would permit me to tell you now. but let me hope that the day is not far distant when i can tell you all, when you will understand that this silence has been the hardest sacrifice of the man who now speaks to you." "and yet not unworthy of a rising politician," she added, quickly withdrawing her hand. "i agree," she went on, looking towards the door, yet without appearing to avoid his eager eyes, "and when i have settled upon 'a local habitation and a name' we shall renew this interesting conversation. until then, as my fourth official guardian used to say--he was a lawyer, mr. hathaway, like yourself--when he was winding up his conjectures on the subject--all that has passed is to be considered 'without prejudice.'" "but yerba"--began paul, bitterly. she slightly raised her hand as if to check him with a warning gesture. "yes, dear," she said suddenly, lifting her musical voice, with a mischievous side-glance at paul, as if to indicate her conception of the irony of a possible application, "this way. here we are waiting for you." her listening ear had detected milly's step in the passage, and in another moment that cheerful young woman discreetly stopped on the threshold of the room, with every expression of apologetic indiscretion in her face. "we have finished our talk, and mr. hathaway has been so concerned about my having no real name that he has been promising me everything, but his own, for a suitable one. haven't you, mr. hathaway?" she rose slowly and, going over to milly, put her arm around her waist and stood for one instant gazing at him between the curtains of the doorway. "good night. my very proper chaperon is dreadfully shocked at this midnight interview, and is taking me away. only think of it, milly; he actually proposed to me to walk in the garden with him! good night, or, as my ancestors--don't forget, my ancestors--used to say: 'buena noche--hasta manana!'" she lingered over the spanish syllables with an imitation of dona anna's lisp, and with another smile, but more faint and more ghostlike than before; vanished with her companion. at eight o'clock the next morning paul was standing beside his portmanteau on the veranda. "but this is a sudden resolution of yours, hathaway," said mr. woods. "can you not possibly wait for the next train? the girls will be down then, and you can breakfast comfortably." "i have much to do--more than i imagined--in san francisco before i return," said paul, quickly. "you must make my excuses to them and to your wife." "i hope," said woods, with an uneasy laugh, "you have had no more words with don caesar, or he with you?" "no," said paul, with a reassuring smile, "nothing more, i assure you." "for you know you're a devilish quick fellow, hathaway," continued woods, "quite as quick as your friend pendleton. and, by the way, baker is awfully cut up about that absurd speech of his, you know. came to me last night and wondered if anybody could think it was intentional. i told him it was d--d stupid, that was all. i guess his wife had been at him. ha! ha! you see, he remembers the old times, when everybody talked of these things, and that woman howard was quite a character. i'm told she went off to the states years ago." "possibly," said paul, carelessly. after a pause, as the carriage drove up to the door, he turned to his host. "by the way, woods, have you a ghost here?" "the house is old enough for one. but no. why?" "i'll swear i saw a figure moving yonder, in the shrubbery, late last evening; and when i came up to it, it most unaccountably disappeared." "one of don caesar's servants, i dare say. there is one of them, an indian, prowling about here, i've been told, at all hours. i'll put a stop to it. well, you must go then? dreadfully sorry you couldn't stop longer! good-by!" chapter iv. it was two months later that mr. tony shear, of marysville, but lately confidential clerk to the hon. paul hathaway, entered his employer's chambers in sacramento, and handed the latter a letter. "i only got back from san francisco this morning; but mr. slate said i was to give you that, and if it satisfied you, and was what you wanted, you would send it back to him." paul took the envelope and opened it. it contained a printer's proof-slip, which he hurriedly glanced over. it read as follows:-- "those of our readers who are familiar with the early history of san francisco will be interested to know that an eccentric and irregular trusteeship, vested for the last eight years in the mayor of san francisco and two of our oldest citizens, was terminated yesterday by the majority of a beautiful and accomplished young lady, a pupil of the convent of santa clara. very few, except the original trustees, were cognizant of the fact that the administration of the trustees has been a recognized function of the successive mayors of san francisco during this period; and the mystery surrounding it has been only lately divulged. it offers a touching and romantic instance of a survival of the old patriarchal duties of the former alcaldes and the simplicity of pioneer days. it seems that, in the unsettled conditions of the mexican land-titles that followed the american occupation, the consumptive widow of a scion of one of the oldest californian families intrusted her property and the custody of her infant daughter virtually to the city of san francisco, as represented by the trustees specified, until the girl should become of age. within a year, the invalid mother died. with what loyalty, sagacity, and prudence these gentlemen fulfilled their trust may be gathered from the fact that the property left in their charge has not only been secured and protected, but increased a hundredfold in value; and that the young lady, who yesterday attained her majority, is not only one of the richest landed heiresses on the pacific slope, but one of the most accomplished and thoroughly educated of her sex. it is now no secret that this favored child of chrysopolis is the dona maria concepcion de arguello de la yerba buena, so called from her ancestral property on the island, now owned by the federal government. but it is an affecting and poetic tribute to the parent of her adoption that she has preferred to pass under the old, quaintly typical name of the city, and has been known to her friends simply as 'miss yerba buena.' it is a no less pleasant and suggestive circumstance that our 'youngest senator,' the honorable paul hathaway, formerly private secretary to mayor hammersley, is one of the original unofficial trustees; while the chivalry of the older days is perpetuated in the person of colonel harry pendleton, the remaining trustee." as soon as he had finished, paul took a pencil and crossed out the last sentence; but instead of laying the proof aside, or returning it to the waiting secretary, he remained with it in his hand, his silent, set face turned towards the window. whether the merely human secretary was tired of waiting, or the devoted partisan saw something on his young chief's face that disturbed him, he turned to paul with that exaggerated respect which his functions as secretary had grafted upon his affection for his old associate, and said:-- "i hope nothing's wrong, sir. not another of those scurrilous attacks on you for putting that bill through to relieve colonel pendleton? yet it was a risky thing for you, sir." paul started, recovered himself as if from some remote abstraction, and, with a smile, said: "no,--nothing. quite the reverse. write to mr. slate, thank him, and say that it will do very well--with the exception of the lines i have marked out. then bring me the letter, and i will add this inclosure. did you call on colonel pendleton?" "yes, sir. he was at santa clara, and had not yet returned,--at least, that's what that dandy nigger of his told me. the airs and graces that that creature puts on since the colonel's affairs have been straightened out is a little too much for a white man to stand. why, sir! d--d if he didn't want to patronize you, and allowed to me that 'de kernel' had a 'fah ideah' of you, 'and thought you a promisin' young man.' the fact is, sir, the party is making a big mistake trying to give votes to that kind of cattle--it would only be giving two votes to the other side, for, slave or free, they're the chattels of their old masters. and as to the masters' gratitude for what you've done affecting a single vote of their party--you're mistaken." "colonel pendleton belongs to no party," said paul, curtly; "but if his old constituents ever try to get into power again, they've lost their only independent martyr." he presently became abstracted again, and shear produced from his overcoat pocket a series of official-looking documents. "i've brought the reports, sir." "eh?" said paul, absently. the secretary stared. "the reports of the san francisco chief of police that you asked me to get." his employer was certainly very forgetful to-day. "oh, yes; thank you. you can lay them on my desk. i'll look them over in committee. you can go now, and if any one calls to see me say i'm busy." the secretary disappeared in the adjoining room, and paul leaned back in his chair, thinking. he had, at last, effected the work he had resolved upon when he left rosario two months ago; the article he had just read, and which would appear as an editorial in the san francisco paper the day after tomorrow, was the culmination of quietly persistent labor, inquiry, and deduction, and would be accepted, hereafter, as authentic history, which, if not thoroughly established, at least could not be gainsaid. immediately on arriving at san francisco, he had hastened to pendleton's bedside, and laid the facts and his plan before him. to his mingled astonishment and chagrin, the colonel had objected vehemently to this "saddling of anybody's offspring on a gentleman who couldn't defend himself," and even paul's explanation that the putative father was a myth scarcely appeased him. but paul's timely demonstration, by relating the scene he had witnessed of judge baker's infelicitous memory, that the secret was likely to be revealed at any moment, and that if the girl continued to cling to her theory, as he feared she would, even to the parting with her fortune, they would be forced to accept it, or be placed in the hideous position of publishing her disgrace, at last convinced him. on the other hand, there was less danger of her positive imposition being discovered than of the vague and impositive truth. the real danger lay in the present uncertainty and mystery, which courted surmise and invited discovery. paul, himself, was willing to take all the responsibility, and at last extracted from the colonel a promise of passive assent. the only revelation he feared was from the interference of the mother, but pendleton was strong in the belief that she had not only utterly abandoned the girl to the care of her guardians, but that she would never rescind her resolution to disclaim her relationship; that she had gone into self-exile for that purpose; and that if she had changed her mind, he would be the first to know of it. on this day they had parted. meantime, paul had not forgotten another resolution he had formed on his first visit to the colonel, and had actually succeeded in getting legislative relief for the golden gate bank, and restoring to the colonel some of his private property that had been in the hands of a receiver. this had been the background of paul's meditation, which only threw into stronger relief the face and figure that moved before him as persistently as it had once before in the twilight of his room at rosario. there were times when her moonlit face, with its faint, strange smile, stood out before him as it had stood out of the shadows of the half-darkened drawing-room that night; as he had seen it--he believed for the last time--framed for an instant in the parted curtains of the doorway, when she bade him "goodnight." for he had never visited her since, and, on the attainment of her majority, had delegated his passing functions to pendleton, whom he had induced to accompany the mayor to santa clara for the final and formal ceremony. for the present she need not know how much she had been indebted to him for the accomplishment of her wishes. with a sigh he at last recalled himself to his duty, and, drawing the pile of reports which shear had handed him, he began to examine them. these, again, bore reference to his silent, unobtrusive inquiries. in his function as chairman of committee he had taken advantage of a kind of advanced moral legislation then in vogue, and particularly in reference to a certain social reform, to examine statistics, authorities, and witnesses, and in this indirect but exhaustive manner had satisfied himself that the woman "kate howard," alias "beverly," alias "durfree," had long passed beyond the ken of local police supervision, and that in the record there was no trace or indication of her child. he was going over those infelix records of early transgressions with the eye of trained experience, making notes from time to time for his official use, and yet always watchful of his secret quest, when suddenly he stopped with a quickened pulse. in the record of an affray at a gambling-house, one of the parties had sought refuge in the rooms of "kate howard," who was represented before the magistrate by her protector, juan de arguello. the date given was contemporary with the beginning of the trust, but that proved nothing. but the name--had it any significance, or was it a grim coincidence, that spoke even more terribly and hopelessly of the woman's promiscuous frailty? he again attacked the entire report, but there was no other record of her name. even that would have passed any eye less eager and watchful than his own. he laid the reports aside, and took up the proof-slip again. was there any man living but himself and pendleton who would connect these two statements? that her relations with this arguello were brief and not generally known was evident from pendleton's ignorance of the fact. but he must see him again, and at once. perhaps he might have acquired some information from yerba; the young girl might have given to his age that confidence she had withheld from the younger man; indeed, he remembered with a flush it was partly in that hope he had induced the colonel to go to santa clara. he put the proof-slip in his pocket and stepped to the door of the next room. "you need not write that letter to slate, tony. i will see him myself. i am going to san francisco to-night." "and do you want anything copied from the reports, sir?" paul quickly swept them from the table into his drawer, and locked it. "not now, thank you. i'll finish my notes later." the next morning paul was in san francisco, and had again crossed the portals of the golden gate hotel. he had been already told that the doom of that palatial edifice was sealed by the laying of the cornerstone of a new erection in the next square that should utterly eclipse it; he even fancied that it had already lost its freshness, and its meretricious glitter had been tarnished. but when he had ordered his breakfast he made his way to the public parlor, happily deserted at that early hour. it was here that he had first seen her. she was standing there, by that mirror, when their eyes first met in a sudden instinctive sympathy. she herself had remembered and confessed it. he recalled the pleased yet conscious, girlish superiority with which she had received the adulation of her friends; his memory of her was broad enough now even to identify milly, as it repeopled the vacant and silent room. an hour later he was making his way to colonel pendleton's lodgings, and half expecting to find the st. charles hotel itself transformed by the eager spirit of improvement. but it was still there in all its barbaric and provincial incongruity. public opinion had evidently recognized that nothing save the absolute razing of its warped and flimsy walls could effect a change, and waited for it to collapse suddenly like the house of cards it resembled. paul wondered for a moment if it were not ominous of its lodgers' hopeless inability to accept changed conditions, and it was with a feeling of doubt that he even now ascended the creaking staircase. but it was instantly dissipated on the threshold of the colonel's sitting-room by the appearance of george and his reception of his master's guest. the grizzled negro was arrayed in a surprisingly new suit of blue cloth with a portentous white waistcoat and an enormous crumpled white cravat, that gave him the appearance of suffering from a glandular swelling. his manner had, it seemed to paul, advanced in exaggeration with his clothes. dusting a chair and offering it to the visitor, he remained gracefully posed with his hand on the back of another. "yo' finds us heah yet, marse hathaway," he began, elegantly toying with an enormous silver watch-chain, "fo' de kernel he don' bin find contagious apartments dat at all approximate, and he don' build, for his mind's not dat settled dat he ain't goin' to trabbel. de place is low down, sah, and de fo'ks is low down, and dah's a heap o' white trash dat has congested under de roof ob de hotel since we came. but we uses it temper'ly, sah, fo' de present, and in a dissolutory fashion." it struck paul that the contiguity of a certain barber's shop and its dangerous reminiscences had something to do with george's lofty depreciation of his surroundings, and he could not help saying:-- "then you don't find it necessary to have it convenient to the barber's shop any more? i am glad of that, george." the shot told. the unfortunate george, after an endeavor to collect himself by altering his pose two or three times in rapid succession, finally collapsed, and, with an air of mingled pain and dignity, but without losing his ceremonious politeness or unique vocabulary, said:-- "yo' got me dah, sah! yo' got me dah! de infirmities o' human natcheh, sah, is de common p'operty ob man, and a gemplum like yo'self, sah, a legislato' and a pow'ful speakah, is de lass one to hol' it agin de individal pusson. i confess, sah, de circumstances was propiskuous, de fees fahly good, and de risks inferior. de gemplum who kept de shop was an artess hisself, and had been niggah to kernel henderson of tennessee, and do gemplum i relieved was a mr. johnson. but de kernel, he wouldn't see it in dat light, sah, and if yo' don' mind, sah"-- "i haven't the slightest idea of telling the colonel or anybody, george," said paul, smiling; "and i am glad to find on your own account that you are able to put aside any work beyond your duty here." "thank yo', sah. if yo' 'll let me introduce yo' to de refreshment, yo' 'll find it all right now. de glencoe is dah. de kernel will be here soon, but he would be pow'ful mo'tified, sah, if yo' didn't hab something afo' he come." he opened a well-filled sideboard as he spoke. it was the first evidence paul had seen of the colonel's restored fortunes. he would willingly have contented himself with this mere outward manifestation, but in his desire to soothe the ruffled dignity of the old man he consented to partake of a small glass of spirits. george at once became radiant and communicative. "de kernel bin gone to santa clara to see de young lady dat's finished her edercation dah--de kernel's only ward, sah. she's one o' dose million-heiresses and highly connected, sah, wid de old mexican gobbermen, i understand. and i reckon dey's bin big goin's on doun dar, foh de mayer kem hisself fo' de kernel. looks like des might bin a proceshon, sah. yo' don' know of a young lady bin hab a title, sah? i won't be shuah, his honah de mayer or de kernel didn't say someting about a 'donna'." "very likely," said paul, turning away with a faint smile. so it was already in the air! setting aside the old negro's characteristic exaggeration, there had already been some conversation between the colonel and the mayor, which george had vaguely overheard. he might be too late, the alternative might be no longer in his hands. but his discomposure was heightened a moment later by the actual apparition of the returning pendleton. he was dressed in a tightly buttoned blue frock-coat, which fairly accented his tall, thin military figure, although the top lappel was thrown far enough back to show a fine ruffled cambric shirt and checked gingham necktie, and was itself adorned with a white rosebud in the button-hole. fawn-colored trousers strapped over narrow patent-leather boots, and a tall white hat, whose broad mourning-band was a perpetual memory of his mother, who had died in his boyhood, completed his festal transformation. yet his erect carriage, high aquiline nose, and long gray drooping moustache lent a distinguishing grace to this survival of a bygone fashion, and over-rode any irreverent comment. even his slight limp seemed to give a peculiar character to his massive gold-headed stick, and made it a part of his formal elegance. handing george his stick and a military cape he carried easily over his left arm, he greeted paul warmly, yet with a return of his old dominant manner. "glad to see you, hathaway, and glad to see the boy has served you better than the last time. if i had known you were coming, i would have tried to get back in time to have breakfast with you. but your friends at 'rosario'--i think they call it; in my time it was owned by colonel briones, and he called it 'the devil's little canyon'--detained me with some d--d civilities. let's see--his name is woods, isn't it? used to sell rum to runaway sailors on long wharf, and take stores in exchange? or was it baker?--judge baker? i forget which. well, sir, they wished to be remembered." it struck paul, perhaps unreasonably, that the colonel's indifference and digression were both a little assumed, and he asked abruptly,-- "and you fulfilled your mission?" "i made the formal transfer, with the mayor, of the property to miss arguello." "to miss arguello?" "to the dona maria concepcion de arguello de la yerba buena--to speak precisely," said the colonel, slowly. "george, you can take that hat to that blank hatter--what's his blanked name? i read it only yesterday in a list of the prominent citizens here--and tell him, with my compliments, that i want a gentleman's mourning band around my hat, and not a child's shoelace. it may be his idea of the value of his own parents--if he ever had any--but i don't care for him to appraise mine. go!" as the door closed upon george, paul turned to the colonel-- "then am i to understand that you have agreed to her story?" the colonel rose, picked up the decanter, poured out a glass of whiskey, and holding it in his hand, said:-- "my dear hathaway, let us understand each other. as a gentleman, i have made a point through life never to question the age, name, or family of any lady of my acquaintance. miss yerba buena came of age yesterday, and, as she is no longer my ward, she is certainly entitled to the consideration i have just mentioned. if she, therefore, chooses to tack to her name the whole spanish directory, i don't see why i shouldn't accept it." characteristic as this speech appeared to be of the colonel's ordinary manner, it struck paul as being only an imitation of his usual frank independence, and made him uneasily conscious of some vague desertion on pendleton's part. he fixed his bright eyes on his host, who was ostentatiously sipping his liquor, and said:-- "am i to understand that you have heard nothing more from miss yerba, either for or against her story? that you still do not know whether she has deceived herself, has been deceived by others, or is deceiving us?" "after what i have just told you, mr. hathaway," said the colonel, with an increased exaggeration of manner which paul thought must be apparent even to himself, "i should have but one way of dealing with questions of that kind from anybody but yourself." this culminating extravagance--taken in connection with pendleton's passing doubts--actually forced a laugh from paul in spite of his bitterness. colonel pendleton's face flushed quickly. like most positive one-idea'd men, he was restricted from any possible humorous combination, and only felt a mysterious sense of being detected in some weakness. he put down his glass. "mr. hathaway," he began, with a slight vibration in his usual dominant accents, "you have lately put me under a sense of personal obligation for a favor which i felt i could accept without derogation from a younger man, because it seemed to be one not only of youthful generosity but of justice, and was not unworthy the exalted ambition of a young man like yourself or the simple deserts of an old man such as i am. i accepted it, sir, the more readily, because it was entirely unsolicited by me, and seemed to be the spontaneous offering of your own heart. if i have presumed upon it to express myself freely on other matters in a way that only excites your ridicule, i can but offer you an apology, sir. if i have accepted a favor i can neither renounce nor return, i must take the consequences to myself, and even beg you, sir, to put up with them." remorseful as paul felt, there was a singular resemblance between the previous reproachful pose of george and this present attitude of his master, as if the mere propinquity of personal sacrifice had made them alike, that struck him with a mingled pathos and ludicrousness. but he said warmly, "it is i who must apologize, my dear colonel. i am not laughing at your conclusions, but at this singular coincidence with a discovery i have made." "as how, sir?" "i find in the report of the chief of the police for the year that kate howard was under the protection of a man named arguello." the colonel's exaggeration instantly left him. he stared blankly at paul. "and you call this a laughing matter, sir?" he said sternly, but in his more natural manner. "perhaps not, but i don't think, if you will allow me to say so, my dear colonel, that you have been treating the whole affair very seriously. i left you two months ago utterly opposed to views which you are now treating as of no importance. and yet you wish me to believe that nothing has happened, and that you have no further information than you had then. that this is so, and that you are really no nearer the facts, i am willing to believe from your ignorance of what i have just told you, and your concern at it. but that you have not been influenced in your judgment of what you do know, i cannot believe?" he drew nearer pendleton, and laid his hand upon his arm. "i beg you to be frank with me, for the sake of the person whose interests i see you have at heart. in what way will the discovery i have just made affect them? you are not so far prejudiced as to be blind to the fact that it may be dangerous because it seems corroborative." pendleton coughed, rose, took his stick, and limped up and down the room, finally dropping into an armchair by the window, with his cane between his knees, and the drooping gray silken threads of his long moustache curled nervously between his fingers. "mr. hathaway, i will be frank with you. i know nothing of this blank affair--blank it all!--but what i've told you. your discovery may be a coincidence, nothing more. but i have been influenced, sir,--influenced by one of the most perfect goddess-like--yes, sir; one of the most simple girlish creatures that god ever sent upon earth. a woman that i should be proud to claim as my daughter, a woman that would always be the superior of any man who dare aspire to be her husband! a young lady as peerless in her beauty as she is in her accomplishments, and whose equal don't walk this planet! i know, sir, you don't follow me; i know, mr. hathaway, your puritan prejudices; your church proclivities, your worldly sense of propriety; and, above all, sir, the blanked hypocritical pharisaic doctrines of your party--i mean no offense to you, sir, personally--blind you to that girl's perfections. she, poor child, herself has seen it and felt it, but never, in her blameless innocence and purity, suspecting the cause, 'there is,' she said to me last night, confidentially, 'something strangely antagonistic and repellent in our natures, some undefined and nameless barrier between our ever understanding each other.' you comprehend, mr. hathaway, she does full justice to your intentions and your unquestioned abilities. 'i am not blind,' she said, 'to mr. hathaway's gifts, and it is very possible the fault lies with me.' her very words, sir." "then you believe she is perfectly ignorant of her real mother?" asked paul, with a steady voice, but a whitening face. "as an unborn child," said the colonel, emphatically. "the snow on the sierras is not more spotlessly pure of any trace or contamination of the mud of the mining ditches, than she of her mother and her past. the knowledge of it, the mere breath of suspicion of it, in her presence would be a profanation, sir! look at her eye--open as the sky and as clear; look at her face and figure--as clean, sir, as a blue-grass thoroughbred! look at the way she carries herself, whether in those white frillings of her simple school-gown, or that black evening dress that makes her look like a princess! and, blank me, if she isn't one! there's no poor stock there--no white trash--no mixed blood, sir. blank it all, sir, if it comes to that--the arguellos--if there's a hound of them living--might go down on their knees to have their name borne by such a creature! by the eternal, sir, if one of them dared to cross her path with a word that wasn't abject--yes, sir, abject, i'd wipe his dust off the earth and send it back to his ancestors before he knew where he was, or my name isn't harry pendleton!" hopeless and inconsistent as all this was, it was a wonderful sight to see the colonel, his dark stern face illuminated with a zealot's enthusiasm, his eyes on fire, the ends of his gray moustache curling around his set jaw, his head thrown back, his legs astride, and his gold-headed stick held in the hollow of his elbow, like a lance at rest! paul saw it, and knew that this quixotic transformation was part of her triumph, and yet had a miserable consciousness that the charms of this dulcinea del toboso had scarcely been exaggerated. he turned his eyes away, and said quietly,-- "then you don't think this coincidence will ever awaken any suspicion in regard to her real mother?" "not in the least, sir--not in the least," said the colonel, yet, perhaps, with more doggedness than conviction of accent. "nobody but yourself would ever notice that police report, and the connection of that woman's name with his was not notorious, or i should have known it." "and you believe," continued paul hopelessly, "that miss yerba's selection of the name was purely accidental?" "purely--a school-girl's fancy. fancy, did i say? no, sir; by jove, an inspiration!" "and," continued paul, almost mechanically, "you do not think it may be some insidious suggestion of an enemy who knew of this transient relation that no one suspected?" to his final amazement pendleton's brow cleared! "an enemy? gad! you may be right. i'll look into it; and, if that is the case, which i scarcely dare hope for, mr. hathaway, you can safely leave him to me." he looked so supremely confident in his fatuous heroism that paul could say no more. he rose and, with a faint smile upon his pale face, held out his hand. "i think that is all i have to say. when you see miss yerba again,--as you will, no doubt,--you may tell her that i am conscious of no misunderstanding on my part, except, perhaps, as to the best way i could serve her, and that, but for what she has told you, i should certainly have carried away no remembrance of any misunderstanding of hers." "certainly," said the colonel, with cheerful philosophy, "i will carry your message with pleasure. you understand how it is, mr. hathaway. there is no accounting for these instincts--we can only accept them as they are. but i believe that your intentions, sir, were strictly according to what you conceived to be your duty. you won't take something before you go? well, then--good-by." two weeks later paul found among his morning letters an envelope addressed in colonel pendleton's boyish scrawling hand. he opened it with an eagerness that no studied self-control nor rigid preoccupation of his duties had yet been able to subdue, and glanced hurriedly at its contents:-- dear sir,--as i am on the point of sailing to europe to-morrow to escort miss arguello and miss woods on an extended visit to england and the continent, i am desirous of informing you that i have thus far been unable to find any foundation for the suggestions thrown out by you in our last interview. miss arguello's spanish acquaintances have been very select, and limited to a few school friends and don caesar and dona anna briones, tried friends, who are also fellow-passengers with us to europe. miss arguello suggests that some political difference between you and don caesar, which occurred during your visit to rosario three months ago, may have, perhaps, given rise to your supposition. she joins me in best wishes for your public career, which even in the distraction of foreign travel and the obligations of her position she will follow from time to time with the greatest interest. very respectfully yours, harry pendleton. chapter v. it was on the d of august, , that paul hathaway resigned himself and his luggage to the care of the gold-laced, ostensible porter of the strudle bad hof, not without some uncertainty, in a land of uniforms, whether he would be eventually conducted to the barracks, the police office, or the conservatoire. he was relieved when the omnibus drove into the courtyard of the bad hof, and the gold-chained chamberlain, flanked by two green tubs of oleanders, received him with a gravity calculated to check any preconceived idea he might have that traveling was a trifling affair, or that an arrival at the bad hof was not of serious moment. his letters had not yet arrived, for he had, in a fit of restlessness, shortened his route, and he strolled listlessly into the reading-room. two or three english guests were evidently occupied in eminently respectable reading and writing; two were sitting by the window engaged in subdued but profitable conversation; and two americans from boston were contentedly imitating them on the other side of the room. a decent restraint, as of people who were not for a moment to be led into any foreign idea of social gayety at a watering-place, was visible everywhere. a spectacled prussian officer in full uniform passed along the hall, halted for a moment at the doorway as if contemplating an armed invasion, thought better of it, and took his uniform away into the sunlight of the open square, where it was joined by other uniforms, and became by contrast a miracle of unbraced levity. paul stood the polar silence for a few moments, until one of the readers arose and, taking his book--a murray--in his hand, walked slowly across the room to a companion, mutely pointed to a passage in the book, remained silent until the other had dumbly perused it, and then walked back again to his seat, having achieved the incident without a word. at which paul, convinced of his own incongruity, softly withdrew with his hat in his hand, and his eyes fixed devotionally upon it. it was good after that to get into the slanting sunlight and checkered linden shadows of the allee; to see even a tightly jacketed cavalryman naturally walking with clarchen and her two round-faced and drab-haired young charges; to watch the returning invalid procession, very real and very human, each individual intensely involved in the atmosphere of his own symptoms; and very good after that to turn into the thiergarten, where the animals, were, however, chiefly of his own species, and shamelessly and openly amusing themselves. it was pleasant to contrast it with his first visit to the place three months before, and correct his crude impressions. and it was still more pleasant suddenly to recognize, under the round flat cap of a general officer, a former traveler who was fond of talking with him about america with an intelligence and understanding of it that paul had often missed among his own traveled countrymen. it was pleasant to hear his unaffected and simple greeting, to renew their old acquaintance, and to saunter back to the hotel together through the long twilight. they were only a few squares from the hotel, when paul's attention was attracted by the curiosity and delight of two or three children before him, who appeared to be following a quaint-looking figure that was evidently not unfamiliar to them. it appeared to be a servant in a striking livery of green with yellow facings and crested silver buttons, but still more remarkable for the indescribable mingling of jaunty ease and conscious dignity with which he carried off his finery. there was something so singular and yet so vaguely reminiscent in his peculiar walk and the exaggerated swing of his light bamboo cane that paul could not only understand the childish wonder of the passers-by, who turned to look after him, but was stirred with a deeper curiosity. he quickened his pace, but was unable to distinguish anything of the face or features of the stranger, except that his hair under his cocked hat appeared to be tightly curled and powdered. paul's companion, who was amused at what seemed to be the american's national curiosity, had seen the figure before. "a servant in the suite of some eastern altesse visiting the baths. you will see stranger things, my friend, in the strudle bad. par example, your own countrymen, too; the one who has enriched himself by that pork of chicago, or that soap, or this candle, in a carriage with the crest of the title he has bought in italy with his dollars, and his beautiful daughters, who are seeking more titles with possible matrimonial contingencies." after an early dinner, paul found his way to the little theatre. he had already been struck by a highly colored poster near the bahnhof, purporting that a distinguished german company would give a representation of "uncle tom's cabin," and certain peculiarities in the pictorial advertisement of the tableaux gave promise of some entertainment. he found the theatre fairly full; there was the usual contingent of abonnirte officers, a fair sprinkling of english and german travelers, but apparently none of his own countrymen. he had no time to examine the house more closely, for the play, commencing with simple punctuality, not only far exceeded the promise of the posters, but of any previous performance of the play he had witnessed. transported at once to a gorgeous tropical region--the slave states of america--resplendent with the fruits and palms of mauritius, and peopled exclusively with paul and virginia's companions in striped cotton, hathaway managed to keep a composed face, until the arrival of the good southern planter st. clair as one of the earlier portraits of goethe, in top boots, light kerseymere breeches, redingote and loose byron collar, compelled him to shrink into the upper corner of the box with his handkerchief to his face. luckily, the action passed as the natural effect upon a highly sympathetic nature of religious interviews between a round-faced flaxen-haired "kleine eva" and "onkeel tome," occasionally assisted by a dissenting clergyman in geneva bands; of excessive brutality with a cattle whip by a zamiel-like legree; of the sufferings of a runaway negro zimmermadchen with a child three shades lighter than herself; and of a painted canvas "man-hunt," where apparently four well known german composers on horseback, with flowing hair, top boots, and a cor de chasse, were pursuing, with the aid of a pack of fox hounds, "the much too deeply abused and yet spiritually elevated onkeel tome." paul did not wait for the final apotheosis of "der kleine eva," but, in the silence of a hushed audience, made his way into the corridor and down the staircase. he was passing an open door marked "direction," when his attention was sharply attracted by a small gathering around it and the sounds of indignant declamation. it was the voice of a countryman--more than that, it was a familiar voice, that he had not heard for three years--the voice of colonel harry pendleton! "tell him," said pendleton, in scathing tones, to some invisible interpreter,--"tell, him, sir, that a more infamous caricature of the blankest caricature that ever maligned a free people, sir, i never before had the honor of witnessing. tell him that i, sir--i, harry pendleton, of kentucky, a southerner, sir--an old slaveholder, sir, declare it to be a tissue of falsehoods unworthy the credence of a christian civilization like this--unworthy the attention of the distinguished ladies and gentlemen that are gathered here to-night. tell him, sir, he has been imposed upon. tell him i am responsible--give him my card and address--personally responsible for what i say. if he wants proofs--blank it all!--tell him you yourself have been a slave--my slave, sir! take off your hat, sir! ask him to look at you--ask him if he thinks you ever looked or could look like that lop-eared, psalm-singing, white-headed hypocrite on the stage! ask him, sir, if he thinks that blank ringmaster they call st. clair looks like me!" at this astounding exordium paul eagerly pressed forward and entered the bureau. there certainly was colonel pendleton, in spotless evening dress; erect, flashing, and indignant; his aquiline nose lifted like a hawk's beak over his quarry, his iron-gray moustache, now white and waxed, parted like a swallow's tail over his handsome mouth, and between him and the astounded "direction" stood the apparition of the allee--george! there was no mistaking him now. what paul had thought was a curled wig or powder was the old negro's own white knotted wool, and the astounding livery he wore was carried off as no one but george could carry it. but he was still more amazed when the old servant, in a german as exaggerated, as incoherent, but still as fluent and persuasive as his own native speech, began an extravagant but perfectly dignified and diplomatic translation of his master's protests. where and when, by what instinct, he had assimilated and made his own the grotesque inversions and ponderous sentimentalities of teutonic phrasing, paul could not guess; but it was with breathless wonder that he presently became aware that, so perfect and convincing was the old man's style and deportment, not only the simple officials but even the bystanders were profoundly impressed by this farrago of absurdity. a happy word here and there, the full title and rank given, even with a slight exaggeration, to each individual, brought a deep and guttural "so!" from lips that would have found it difficult to repeat a line of his ceremonious idiocy. in their preoccupation neither the colonel nor george had perceived paul's entrance, but, as the old servant turned with magnificent courtesy towards the bystanders, his eyes fell upon paul. a flash of surprise, triumph, and satisfaction lit up his rolling eyes. paul instantly knew that he not only recognized him, but that he had already heard of and thoroughly appreciated a certain distinguished position that paul had lately held, and was quick to apply it. intensifying for a moment the grandiloquence of his manner, he called upon his master's most distinguished and happily arrived old friend, the lord lieutenant governor of the golden californias, to corroborate his statement. colonel pendleton started, and grasped paul's hand warmly. paul turned to the already half-mollified director with the diplomatic suggestion that the vivid and realistic acting of the admirable company which he himself had witnessed had perhaps unduly excited his old friend, even as it had undoubtedly thrown into greater relief the usual exaggerations of dramatic representation, and the incident terminated with a profusion of apologies, and the most cordial expressions of international good feeling on both sides. yet, as they turned away from the theatre together, paul could not help noticing that, although the colonel's first greeting had been spontaneous and unaffected, it was succeeded by an uneasy reserve. paul made no attempt to break it, and confined himself to a few general inquiries, ending by inviting the colonel to sup with him at the hotel. pendleton hesitated. "at any other time, mr. hathaway, i should have insisted upon you, as the stranger, supping with me; but since the absence of--of--the rest of my party--i have given up my suite of rooms at the bad hof, and have taken smaller lodgings for myself and the boy at the schwartze adler. miss woods and miss arguello have accepted an invitation to spend a few days at the villa of the baron and baroness von schilprecht--an hour or two from here." he lingered over the title with an odd mingling of impressiveness and inquiry, and glanced at paul. but hathaway exhibiting neither emotion nor surprise at the mention of yerba's name or the title of her host, he continued, "miss arguello, i suppose you know, is immensely admired: she has been, sir, the acknowledged belle of strudle bad." "i can readily believe it," said paul, simply. "and has taken the position--the position, sir, to which she is entitled." without appearing to notice the slight challenge in pendleton's tone, paul returned, "i am glad to hear it. the more particularly as, i believe, the germans are great sticklers for position and pedigree." "you are right, sir--quite right: they are," said the colonel, proudly--"although"--with a certain premeditated deliberation--"i have been credibly informed that the king can, in certain cases, if he chooses, supply--yes, sir--supply a favored person with ancestors--yes, sir, with ancestors!" paul cast a quick glance at his companion. "yes, sir--that is, we will say, in the case of a lady of inferior rank--or even birth, the king of these parts can, on her marriage with a nobleman--blank it all!--ennoble her father and mother, and their fathers and mothers, though they've been dead, or as good as dead, for years." "i am afraid that's a slight exaggeration of the rare custom of granting 'noble lands,' or estates that carry hereditary titles with them," said paul, more emphatically, perhaps, than the occasion demanded. "fact, sir--george there knows it all," said pendleton. "he gets it from the other servants. i don't speak the language, sir, but he does. picked it up in a year." "i must compliment him on his fluency, certainly," said paul, looking at george. the old servant smiled, and not without a certain condescension. "yes, sah; i don' say to a scholar like yo'self, sah, dat i'se got de grandmatical presichion; but as fah, sah--as fah as de idiotisms ob de language goes. sah--it's gen'lly allowed i'm dar! as to what marse harry says ob de ignobling ob predecessors, i've had it, sah, from de best autority, sah--de furst, i may say, sah--de real prima facie men--de gemplum ob his serene highness, in de korse eb ordinary conversashun, sah." "that'll do, george," said pendleton, with paternal brusqueness. "run on ahead and tell that blank chamberlain that mr. hathaway is one of my friends--and have supper accordingly." as the negro hastened away he turned to paul: "what he says is true: he's the most popular man or boy in all strudle bad--a devilish sight more than his master--and goes anywhere where i can't go. princes and princesses stop and talk to him in the street; the grand duke asked permission to have him up in his carriage at the races the other day; and, by the eternal, sir, he gives the style to all the flunkeys in town!" "and i see, he dresses the character," observed paul. "his own idea--entirely. and, by jove! he proves to be right. you can't do anything here without a uniform. and they tell me he's got everything correct, down to the crest on the buttons." they walked on in silence for a few moments, pendleton retaining a certain rigidity of step and bearing which paul had come to recognize as indicating some uneasiness or mental disturbance on his part. hathaway had no intention of precipitating the confidence of his companion. perhaps experience had told him it would come soon enough. so he spoke carelessly of himself. how the need of a year's relaxation and change had brought him abroad, his journeyings, and, finally, how he had been advised by his german physician to spend a few weeks at strudle bad preparatory to the voyage home. yet he was perfectly aware that the colonel from time to time cast a furtive glance at his face. "and you," he said in conclusion--"when do you intend to return to california?" the colonel hesitated slightly. "i shall remain in europe until miss arguello is settled--i mean," he added hurriedly, "until she has--ahem!--completed her education in foreign ways and customs. you see, hathaway, i have constituted myself, after a certain fashion, i may say--still, her guardian. i am an old man, with neither kith nor kin myself, sir--i'm a little too old-fashioned for the boys over there"--with a vague gesture towards the west, which, however, told paul how near it still was to him. "but then, among the old fogys here--blank it all!--it isn't noticed. so i look after her, you see, or rather make myself responsible for her generally--although, of course, she has other friends and associates, you understand, more of her own age and tastes." "and i've no doubt she's perfectly satisfied," said paul in a tone of conviction. "well, yes, sir, i presume so," said the colonel slowly; "but i've sometimes thought, mr. hathaway, that it would have been better if she'd have had a woman's care--the protection you understand, of an elderly woman of society. that seems to be the style here, you know--a chaperon, they call it. now, milly woods, you see, is about the same age, and the dona anna, of course, is older, but--blank it!--she's as big a flirt as the rest--i mean," he added, correcting himself sharply, "she lacks balance, sir, and--what shall i call it?--self-abnegation." "then dona anna is still of your party?" asked paul. "she is, sir, and her brother, don caesar. i have thought it advisable, on yerba's account, to keep up as much as possible the suggestion of her spanish relationship--although by reason of their absurd ignorance of geography and political divisions out here, there is a prevailing impression that she is a south american. a fact, sir. i have myself been mistaken for the dictator of one of these infernal republics, and i have been pointed out as ruling over a million or two of niggers like george!" there was no trace of any conception of humor in the colonel's face, although he uttered a short laugh, as if in polite acceptance of the possibility that paul might have one. far from that, his companion, looking at the striking profile and erect figure at his side--at the long white moustache which drooped from his dark cheeks, and remembering his own sensations at first seeing george--thought the popular belief not so wonderful. he was even forced to admit that the perfect unconsciousness on the part of master and man of any incongruity or peculiarity in themselves assisted the public misconception. and it was, i fear, with a feeling of wicked delight that, on entering the hotel, he hailed the evident consternation of those correct fellow-countrymen from whom he had lately fled, at what they apparently regarded as a national scandal. he overheard their hurried assurance to their english friends that his companions were not from boston, and enjoyed their mortification that this explanation did not seem to detract from the interest and relief with which the britons surveyed them, or the open admiration of the germans. although pendleton somewhat unbent during supper, he did not allude to the secret of yerba's parentage, nor of any tardy confidence of hers. to all appearance the situation remained as it was three years ago. he spoke of her great popularity as an heiress and a beautiful woman, and the marked attentions she received. he doubted not that she had rejected very distinguished offers, but she kept that to herself. she was perfectly competent to do so. she was no giddy girl, to be flattered or deceived; on the contrary, he had never known a cooler or more sensible woman. she knew her own worth. when she met the man who satisfied her ambition and understanding, she would marry, and not before. he did not know what that ambition was; it was something exalted, of course. he could only say, of his own knowledge, that last year, when they were on the italian lakes, there was a certain prince--mr. hathaway would understand why he did not mention names--who was not only attentive to her, but attentive to him, sir, by jove! and most significant in his inquiries. it was the only occasion when he, the colonel, had ever spoken to her on such subjects; and, knowing that she was not indifferent to the fellow, who was not bad of his kind, he had asked her why she had not encouraged his suit. she had said, with a laugh, that he couldn't marry her unless he gave up his claim of succession to a certain reigning house; and she wouldn't accept him without it. those were her words, sir, and he could only say that the prince left a few days afterwards, and they had never seen him since. as to the princelings and counts and barons, she knew to a day the date of their patents of nobility, and what privileges they were entitled to; she could tell to a dot the value of their estates, the amount of their debts, and, by jove! sir, the amount of mortgages she was expected to pay off before she married them. she knew the amount of income she had to bring to the prussian army, from the general to the lieutenant. she understood her own value and her rights. there was a young english lordling she met on the rhine, whose boyish ways and simplicity seemed to please her. they were great friends; but he wanted him--the colonel--to induce her to accept an invitation for both to visit his mother's home in england, that his people might see her. but she declined, sir! she declined to pass in review before his mother. she said it was for him to pass in review before her mother. "did she say that?" interrupted paul, fixing his bright eyes upon the colonel. "if she had one, if she had one," corrected the colonel, hastily. "of course it was only an illustration. that she is an orphan is generally known, sir." there was a dead silence for a few moments. the colonel leaned back in his chair and pulled his moustache. paul turned away his eyes, and seemed absorbed in reflection. after a moment the colonel coughed, pushed aside his glass, and, leaning across the table, said, "i have a favor to ask of you, mr. hathaway." there was such a singular change in the tone of his voice, an unexpected relaxation of some artificial tension,--a relaxation which struck paul so pathetically as being as much physical as mental, as if he had suddenly been overtaken in some exertion by the weakness of age,--that he looked up quickly. certainly, although still erect and lightly grasping his moustache, the colonel looked older. "by all means, my dear colonel," said paul warmly. "during the time you remain here you can hardly help meeting miss arguello, perhaps frequently. it would be strange if you did not; it would appear to everybody still stranger. give me your word as a gentleman that you will not make the least allusion to her of the past--nor reopen the subject." paul looked fixedly at the colonel. "i certainly had no intention of doing so," he said after a pause, "for i thought it was already settled by you beyond disturbance or discussion. but do i understand you, that she has shown any uneasiness regarding it? from what you have just told me of her plans and ambition, i can scarcely imagine that she has any suspicion of the real facts." "certainly not," said the colonel hurriedly. "but i have your promise." "i promise you," said paul, after a pause, "that i shall neither introduce nor refer to the subject myself, and that if she should question me again regarding it, which is hardly possible, i will reveal nothing without your consent." "thank you," said pendleton, without, however, exhibiting much relief in his face. "she will return here to-morrow." "i thought you said she was absent for some days," said paul. "yes; but she is coming back to say good-by to dona anna, who arrives here with her brother the same day, on their way to paris." it flashed through paul's mind that the last time he had seen her was in the company of the briones. it was not a pleasant coincidence. yet he was not aware that it had affected him, until he saw the colonel watching him. "i believe you don't fancy the brother," said pendleton. for an instant paul was strongly tempted to avow his old vague suspicions of don caesar, but the utter hopelessness of reopening the whole subject again, and his recollection of the passage in pendleton's letter that purported to be yerba's own theory of his dislike, checked him in time. he only said, "i don't remember whether i had any cause for disliking don caesar; i can tell better when i see him again," and changed the subject. a few moments later the colonel summoned george from some lower region of the hotel, and rose to take his leave. "miss arguello, with her maid and courier, will occupy her old suite of rooms here," he remarked, with a return of his old imperiousness. "george has given the orders for her. i shall not change my present lodgings, but of course will call every day. goodnight!" chapter vi. the next morning paul could not help noticing an increased and even exaggerated respect paid him by the hotel attendants. he was asked if his excellency would be served with breakfast in a private room, and his condescension in selecting the public coffee-room struck the obsequious chamberlain, but did not prevent him from preceding paul backwards to the table, and summoning a waiter to attend specially upon "milor." surmising that george and the colonel might be in some way connected with this extravagance, he postponed an investigation till he should have seen them again. and, although he hardly dared to confess it to himself, the unexpected prospect of meeting yerba again fully preoccupied his thoughts. he had believed that he would eventually see her in europe, in some vague and indefinite way and hour: it had been in his mind when he started from california. that it would be so soon, and in such a simple and natural manner, he had never conceived. he had returned from his morning walk to the brunnen, and was sitting idly in his room, when there was a knock at the door. it opened to a servant bearing a salver with a card. paul lifted it with a slight tremor, not at the engraved name of "maria concepcion de arguellos de la yerba buena," but at the remembered school-girl hand that had penciled underneath the words, "wishes the favor of an audience with his excellency the lord lieutenant-governor of the californias." paul looked inquiringly at the servant. "the gnadige fraulein was in her own salon. would excellency walk that way? it was but a step; in effect, the next apartment." paul followed him into the hall with wondering steps. the door of the next room was open, and disclosed a handsomely furnished salon. a tall graceful figure rose quickly from behind a writing-table, and advanced with outstretched hands and a frank yet mischievous smile. it was yerba. standing there in a grayish hat, mantle, and traveling dress, all of one subdued yet alluring tone, she looked as beautiful as when he had last seen her--and yet--unlike. for a brief bitter moment his instincts revolted at this familiar yielding up in his fair countrywomen of all that was distinctively original in them to alien tastes and habits, and he resented the plastic yet characterless mobility which made yerba's parisian dress and european manner fit her so charmingly and yet express so little. for a brief critical moment he remembered the placid, unchanging simplicity of german, and the inflexible and ingrained reserve of english, girlhood, in opposition to this indistinctive cosmopolitan grace. but only for a moment. as soon as she spoke, a certain flavor of individuality seemed to return to her speech. "confess," she said, "it was a courageous thing for me to do. you might have been somebody else--a real excellency--or heaven knows what! or, what is worse in your new magnificence, you might have forgotten one of your oldest, most humble, but faithful subjects." she drew back and made him a mock ceremonious curtsy, that even in its charming exaggeration suggested to paul, however, that she had already made it somewhere seriously. "but what does it all mean?" he asked, smiling, feeling not only his doubts and uneasiness vanish, but even the years of separation melt away in her presence. "i know i went to bed last night a very humble individual, and yet i seem to awaken this morning a very exalted personage. am i really commander of the faithful, or am i dreaming? might i trouble you, as my predecessor abou hassan did sweetlips, to bite my little finger?" "do you mean to say you have not seen the 'auzeiger?'" she returned, taking a small german printed sheet from the table and pointing to a paragraph. paul took the paper. certainly there was the plain announcement among the arrivals of "his excellency paul hathaway, lord lieutenant-governor of the californias." a light flashed upon him. "this is george's work. he and colonel pendleton were here with me last night." "then you have seen the colonel already?" she said, with a scarcely perceptible alteration of expression, which, however, struck paul. "yes. i met him at the theatre last evening." he was about to plunge into an animated description of the colonel's indignation, but checked himself, he knew not why. but he was thankful the next moment that he had. "that accounts for everything," she said, lifting her pretty shoulders with a slight shrug of weariness. "i had to put a step to george's talking about me three months ago,--his extravagance is something too awful. and the colonel, who is completely in his hands,--trusting him for everything, even the language,--doesn't see it." "but he is extravagant in the praise of his friends only, and you certainly justify all he can say." she was taking off her hat, and stopped for a moment to look at him thoughtfully, with the soft tendrils of her hair clinging to her forehead. "did the colonel talk much about me?" "a great deal. in fact, i think we talked of nothing else. he has told me of your triumphs and your victims; of your various campaigns and your conquests. and yet i dare say he has not told me all--and i am dying to hear more." she had laid down her hat and unloosed a large bow of her mantle, but stopped suddenly in the midst of it and sat down again. "i wish you'd do something for me." "you have only to name it." "well, drop all this kind of talk! try to think of me as if i had just come from california--or, better, as if you had never known anything of me at all--and we met for the first time. you could, i dare say, make yourself very agreeable to such a young lady who was willing to be pleased--why not to me? i venture to say you have not ever troubled yourself about me since we last met. no--hear me through--why, then, should you wish to talk over what didn't concern you at the time? promise me you will stop this reminiscent gossip, and i promise you i will not only not bore you with it, but take care that it is not intruded upon you by others. make yourself pleasant to me by talking about yourself and your prospects--anything but me--and i will throw over those princes and barons that the colonel has raved about and devote myself to you while you are here. does that suit your excellency?" she had crossed her knees, and, with her hands clasped over them, and the toe of her small boot advanced beyond her skirt, leaned forward in the attitude he remembered to have seen her take in the summer-house at rosario. "perfectly," he said. "how long will you be here?" "about three weeks: that, i believe, is the time allotted for my cure." "are you really ill," she said quietly, "or imagine yourself so?" "it amounts to about the same thing. but my cure may not take so long," he added, fixing his bright eyes upon her. she returned his gaze thoughtfully, and they remained looking at each other silently. "then you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. that is very often the case," she said quietly. "there," she added in another tone, "it is settled. you will come and go as you like, using this salon as your own. stay, we can do something today. what do you say to a ride in the forest this afternoon? milly isn't here yet, but it will be quite proper for you to accompany me on horseback, though, of course, we couldn't walk a hundred yards down the allee together unless we were verlobt." "but," said paul, "you are expecting company this afternoon. don caesar--i mean miss briones and her brother are coming here to say good-by." she regarded him curiously, but without emotion. "colonel pendleton should have added that they were to remain here overnight as my guests," she said composedly. "and of course we shall be back in time for dinner. but that is nothing to you. you have only to be ready at three o'clock. i will see that the horses are ordered. i often ride here, and the people know my tastes and habits. we will have a pleasant ride and a good long talk together, and i'll show you a ruin and a distant view of the villa where i have been staying." she held out her hand with a frank girlish smile, and even a girlish anticipation of pleasure in her brown eyes. he bent over her slim fingers for a moment, and withdrew. when he was in his own room again, he was conscious only of a strong desire to avoid the colonel until after his ride with yerba. he would keep his word so far as to abstain from allusion to her family or her past: indeed, he had his own opinion of its futility. but it would be strange if, with his past experience, he could not find some other way to determine her convictions or win her confidence during those two hours of companionship. he would accept her terms fairly; if she had any ulterior design in her advances, he would detect it; if she had the least concern for him, she could not continue long an artificial friendship. but he must not think of that! by absenting himself from the hotel he managed to keep clear of pendleton until the hour arrived. he was gratified to find yerba in the simplest and most sensible of habits, as if she had already divined his tastes and had wished to avoid attracting undue attention. nevertheless, it very prettily accented her tall graceful figure, and paul, albeit, like most artistic admirers of the sex, not recognizing a woman on a horse as a particularly harmonious spectacle, was forced to admire her. both rode well, and naturally--having been brought up in the same western school--the horses recognized it, and instinctively obeyed them, and their conversation had the easy deliberation and inflection of a tete-a-tete. paul, in view of her previous hint, talked to her of himself and his fortunes, of which she appeared, however, to have some knowledge. his health had obliged him lately to abandon politics and office; he had been successful in some ventures, and had become a junior partner in a bank with foreign correspondence. she listened to him for some time with interest and attention, but at last her face became abstracted and thoughtful. "i wish i were a man!" she said suddenly. paul looked at her quickly. for the first time he detected in the ring of her voice something of the passionate quality he fancied he had always seen in her face. "except that it might give you better control of your horse, i don't see why," said paul. "and i don't entirely believe you." "why?" "because no woman really wishes to be a man unless she is conscious of her failure as a woman." "and how do you know i'm not?" she said, checking her horse and looking in his face. a quick conviction that she was on the point of some confession sprang into his mind, but unfortunately showed in his face. she beat back his eager look with a short laugh. "there, don't speak, and don't look like that. that remark was worthy the usual artless maiden's invitation to a compliment, wasn't it? let us keep to the subject of yourself. why, with your political influence, don't you get yourself appointed to some diplomatic position over here?" "there are none in our service. you wouldn't want me to sink myself in some absurd social functions, which are called by that name, merely to become the envy and hatred of a few rich republicans, like your friends who haunt foreign courts?" "that's not a pretty speech--but i suppose i invited that too. don't apologize. i'd rather see you flare out like that than pay compliments. yet i fancy you're a diplomatist, for all that." "you did me the honor to believe i was one once, when i was simply the most palpable ass and bungler living," said paul bitterly. she was still sweetly silent, apparently preoccupied in smoothing out the mane of her walking horse. "did i?" she said softly. he drew close beside her. "how different the vegetation is here from what it is with us!" she said with nervous quickness, directing his attention to the grass road beneath them, without lifting her eyes. "i don't mean what is cultivated,--for i suppose it takes centuries to make the lawns they have in england,--but even here the blades of grass seem to press closer together, as if they were crowded or overpopulated, like the country; and this forest, which has been always wild and was a hunting park, has a blase look, as if it was already tired of the unchanging traditions and monotony around it. i think over there nature affects and influences us: here, i fancy, it is itself affected by the people." "i think a good deal of nature comes over from america for that purpose," he said dryly. "and i think you are breaking your promise--besides being a goose!" she retorted smartly. nevertheless, for some occult reason they both seemed relieved by this exquisite witticism, and trotted on amicably together. when paul lifted his eyes to hers he could see that they were suffused with a tender mischief, as of a reproving yet secretly admiring sister, and her strangely delicate complexion had taken on itself that faint alpine glow that was more of an illumination than a color. "there," she said gayly, pointing with her whip as the wood opened upon a glade through which the parted trees showed a long blue curvature of distant hills, "you see that white thing lying like a snowdrift on the hills?" "or the family washing on a hedge." "as you please. well, that is the villa." "and you were very happy there?" said paul, watching her girlishly animated face. "yes; and as you don't ask questions, i'll tell you why. there is one of the sweetest old ladies there that i ever met--the perfection of old-time courtliness with all the motherishness of a german woman. she was very kind to me, and, as she had no daughter of her own, i think she treated me as if i was one. at least, i can imagine how one would feel to her, and what a woman like that could make of any girl. you laugh, mr. hathaway, you don't understand--but you don't know what an advantage it would be to a girl to have a mother like that, and know that she could fall back on her and hold her own against anybody. she's equipped from the start, instead of being handicapped. it's all very well to talk about the value of money. it can give you everything but one thing--the power to do without it." "i think its purchasing value would include even the gnadige frau," said paul, who had laughed only to hide the uneasiness that yerba's approach to the tabooed subject had revived in him. she shook her head; then, recovering her tone of gentle banter, said, "there--i've made a confession. if the colonel talks to you again about my conquests, you will know that at present my affections are centred on the baron's mother. i admit it's a strong point in his--in anybody's--favor, who can show an unblemished maternal pedigree. what a pity it is you are an orphan, like myself, mr. hathaway! for i fancy your mother must have been a very perfect woman. a great deal of her tact and propriety has descended to you. only it would have been nicer if she had given it to you, like pocket money, as occasion required--which you might have shared with me--than leaving it to you in one thumping legacy." it was impossible to tell how far the playfulness of her brown eyes suggested any ulterior meaning, for as paul again eagerly drew towards her, she sent her horse into a rapid canter before him. when he was at her side again, she said, "there is still the ruin to see on our way home. it is just off here to the right. but if you wish to go over it we will have to dismount at the foot of the slope and walk up. it hasn't any story or legend that i know of; i looked over the guide-book to cram for it before you came, but there was nothing. so you can invent what you like." they dismounted at the beginning of a gentle acclivity, where an ancient wagon-road, now grass-grown, rose smooth as a glacis. tying their horses to two moplike bushes, they climbed the slope hand in hand like children. there were a few winding broken steps, part of a fallen archway, a few feet of vaulted corridor, a sudden breach--the sky beyond--and that was all! not all; for before them, overlooked at first, lay a chasm covering half an acre, in which the whole of the original edifice--tower turrets, walls, and battlements--had been apparently cast, inextricably mixed and mingled at different depths and angles, with here and there, like mushrooms from a dust-heap, a score of trees upspringing. "this is not time--but gunpowder," said paul, leaning over a parapet of the wall and gazing at the abyss, with a slight grimace. "it don't look very romantic, certainly," said yerba. "i only saw it from the road before. i'm dreadfully sorry," she added, with mock penitence. "i suppose, however, something must have happened here." "there may have been nobody in the house at the time," said paul gravely. "the family may have been at the baths." they stood close together, their elbows resting upon the broken wall, and almost touching. beyond the abyss and darker forest they could see the more vivid green and regular lines of the plane-trees of strudle bad, the glitter of a spire, or the flash of a dome. from the abyss itself arose a cool odor of moist green leaves, the scent of some unseen blossoms, and around the baking vines on the hot wall the hum of apparently taskless and disappointed bees. there was nobody in sight in the forest road, no one working in the bordering fields, and no suggestion of the present. there might have been three or four centuries between them and strudle bad. "the legend of this place," said paul, glancing at the long brown lashes and oval outline of the cheek so near his own, "is simple, yet affecting. a cruel, remorseless, but fascinating hexie was once loved by a simple shepherd. he had never dared to syllable his hopeless affection, or claim from her a syllabled--perhaps i should say a one-syllabled--reply. he had followed her from remote lands, dumbly worshiping her, building in his foolish brain an air-castle of happiness, which by reason of her magic power she could always see plainly in his eyes. and one day, beguiling him in the depths of the forest, she led him to a fair-seeming castle, and, bidding him enter its portals, offered to show him a realization of his dream. but, lo! even as he entered the stately corridor it seemed to crumble away before him, and disclosed a hideous abyss beyond, in which the whole of that goodly palace lay in heaped and tangled ruins--the fitting symbol of his wrecked and shattered hopes." she drew back a little way from him, but still holding on to the top of the broken wall with one slim gauntleted hand, and swung herself to one side, while she surveyed him with smiling, parted lips and conscious eyelids. he promptly covered her hand with his own, but she did not seem to notice it. "that is not the story," she said, in a faint voice that even her struggling sauciness could not make steadier. "the true story is called 'the legend of the goose-girl of strudle bad, and the enterprising gosling.' there was once a goose-girl of the plain who tried honestly to drive her geese to market, but one eccentric and willful gosling-- mr. hathaway! stop--please--i beg you let me go!" he had caught her in his arms--the one encircling her waist, the other hand still grasping hers. she struggled, half laughing; yielded for a breathless moment as his lips brushed her cheek, and--threw him off. "there!" she said, "that will do: the story was not illustrated." "but, yerba," he said, with passionate eagerness, "hear me--it is all god's truth.--i love you!" she drew back farther, shaking the dust of the wall from the folds of her habit. then, with a lower voice and a paler cheek, as if his lips had sent her blood and utterance back to her heart, she said, "come, let us go." "but not until you've heard me, yerba." "well, then--i believe you--there!" she said, looking at him. "you believe me?" he repeated eagerly, attempting to take her hand again. she drew back still farther. "yes," she said, "or i shouldn't be here now. there! that must suffice you. and if you wish me still to believe you, you will not speak of this again while we are out together. come, let us go back to the horses." he looked at her with all his soul. she was pale, but composed, and--he could see--determined. he followed her without a word. she accepted his hand to support her again down the slope without embarrassment or reminiscent emotion. the whole scene through which she had just passed might have been buried in the abyss and ruins behind her. as she placed her foot in his hand to remount, and for a moment rested her weight on his shoulder, her brown eyes met his frankly and without a tremor. nor was she content with this. as paul at first rode on silently, his heart filled with unsatisfied yearning, she rallied him mischievously. was it kind in him on this, their first day together, to sulk in this fashion? was it a promise for their future excursions? did he intend to carry this lugubrious visage through the allee and up to the courtyard of the hotel to proclaim his sentimental condition to the world? at least, she trusted he would not show it to milly, who might remember that this was only the second time they had met each other. there was something so sweetly reasonable in this, and withal not without a certain hopefulness for the future, to say nothing of the half-mischievous, half-reproachful smile that accompanied it, that paul exerted himself, and eventually recovered his lost gayety. when they at last drew up in the courtyard, with the flush of youth and exercise in their faces, paul felt he was the object of envy to the loungers, and of fresh gossip to strudle bad. it struck him less pleasantly that two dark faces, which had been previously regarding him in the gloom of the corridor and vanished as he approached, reappeared some moments later in yerba's salon as don caesar and dona anna, with a benignly different expression. dona anna especially greeted him with so much of the ostentatious archness of a confident and forgiving woman to a momentarily recreant lover, that he felt absurdly embarrassed in yerba's presence. he was thinking how he could excuse himself, when he noticed a beautiful basket of flowers on the table and a tiny note bearing a baron's crest. yerba had put it aside with--as it seemed to him at the moment--an almost too pronounced indifference--and an indifference that was strongly contrasted to dona anna's eagerly expressed enthusiasm over the offering, and her ultimate supplications to paul and her brother to admire its beauties and the wonderful taste of the donor. all this seemed so incongruous with paul's feelings, and above all with the recollection of his scene with yerba, that he excused himself from dining with the party, alleging an engagement with his old fellow-traveler the german officer, whose acquaintance he had renewed. yerba did not press him; he even fancied she looked relieved. colonel pendleton was coming; paul was not loath, in his present frame of mind, to dispense with his company. a conviction that the colonel's counsel was not the best guide for yerba, and that in some vague way their interests were antagonistic, had begun to force itself upon him. he had no intention of being disloyal to her old guardian, but he felt that pendleton had not been frank with him since his return from rosario. had he ever been so with her? he sometimes doubted his disclaimer. he was lucky in finding the general disengaged, and together they dined at a restaurant and spent the evening at the kursaal. later, at the residenz club, the general leaned over his beer-glass and smilingly addressed his companion. "so i hear you, too, are a conquest of the beautiful south american." for an instant paul, recognizing only dona anna under that epithet, looked puzzled. "come, my friend," said the general regarding him with some amusement, "i am an older man than you, yet i hardly think i could have ridden out with such a goddess without becoming her slave." paul felt his face flush in spite of himself. "ah! you mean miss arguello," he said hurriedly, his color increasing at his own mention of that name as if he were imposing it upon his honest companion. "she is an old acquaintance of mine--from my own state--california." "ah, so," said the general, lifting his eyebrows in profound apology. "a thousand pardons." "surely," said paul, with a desperate attempt to recover his equanimity, "you ought to know our geography better." "so, i am wrong. but still the name--arguello--surely that is not american? still, they say she has no accent, and does not look like a mexican." for an instant paul was superstitiously struck with the fatal infelicity of yerba's selection of a foreign name, that now seemed only to invite that comment and criticism which she should have avoided. nor could he explain it at length to the general without assisting and accenting the deception, which he was always hoping in some vague way to bring to an end. he was sorry he had corrected the general; he was furious that he had allowed himself to be confused. happily his companion had misinterpreted his annoyance, and with impulsive german friendship threw himself into what he believed to be paul's feelings. "donnerwetter! your beautiful countrywoman is made the subject of curiosity just because that stupid baron is persistent in his serious attentions. that is quite enough, my good friend, to make klatschen here among those animals who do not understand the freedom of an american girl, or that an heiress may have something else to do with her money than to expend it on the baron's mortgages. but"--he stopped, and his simple, honest face assumed an air of profound and sagacious cunning--"i am glad to talk about it with you, who of course are perfectly familiar with the affair. i shall now be able to know what to say. my word, my friend, has some weight here, and i shall use it. and now you shall tell me who is our lovely friend, and who were her parents and her kindred in her own home. her associates here, you possibly know, are an impossible colonel and his never-before-approached valet, with some south american indian planters, and, i believe, a pork-butcher's daughter. but of them--it makes nothing. tell me of her people." with his kindly serious face within a few inches of paul's, and sympathizing curiosity beaming from his pince-nez, he obliged the wretched and conscience-stricken hathaway to respond with a detailed account of yerba's parentage as projected by herself and indorsed by colonel pendleton. he dwelt somewhat particularly on the romantic character of the trust, hoping to draw the general's attention away from the question of relationship, but he was chagrined to find that the honest warrior evidently confounded the trust with some eleemosynary institution and sympathetically glossed it over. "of course," he said, "the mexican minister at berlin would know all about the arguello family: so there would be no question there." paul was not sorry when the time came to take leave of his friend; but once again in the clear moonlight and fresh, balmy air of the allee, he forgot the unpleasantness of the interview. he found himself thinking only of his ride with yerba. well! he had told her that he loved her. she knew it now, and although she had forbidden him to speak further, she had not wholly rejected it. it must be her morbid consciousness of the mystery of her birth that withheld a return of her affections,--some half-knowledge, perhaps, that she would not divulge, yet that kept her unduly sensitive of accepting his love. he was satisfied there was no entanglement; her heart was virgin. he even dared to hope that she had always cared for him. it was for him to remove all obstacles--to prevail upon her to leave this place and return to america with him as her husband, the guardian of her good name, and the custodian of her secret. at times the strains of a dreamy german waltz, played in the distance, brought back to him the brief moment that his arm had encircled her waist by the crumbling wall, and his pulses grew languid, only to leap firmer the next moment with more desperate resolve. he would win her, come what may! he could never have been in earnest before: he loathed and hated himself for his previous passive acquiescence to her fate. he had been a weak tool of the colonel's from the first: he was even now handicapped by a preposterous promise he had given him! yes, she was right to hesitate--to question his ability to make her happy! he had found her here, surrounded by stupidity and cupidity--to give it no other name--so patent that she was the common gossip, and had offered nothing but a boyish declaration! as he strode into the hotel that night it was well that he did not meet the unfortunate colonel on the staircase! it was very late, although there was still visible a light in yerba's salon, shining on her balcony, which extended before and included his own window. from time to time he could hear the murmur of voices. it was too late to avail himself of the invitation to join them, even if his frame of mind had permitted it. he was too nervous and excited to go to bed, and, without lighting his candle, he opened the french window that gave upon the balcony, drew a chair in the recess behind the curtain, and gazed upon the night. it was very quiet; the moon was high, the square was sleeping in a trance of checkered shadows, like a gigantic chessboard, with black foreshortened trees for pawns. the click of a cavalry sabre, the sound of a footfall on the pavement of the distant konigsstrasse, were distinctly audible; a far-off railway whistle was startling in its abruptness. in the midst of this calm the opening of the door of the salon, with the sudden uplifting of voices in the hall, told paul that yerba's guests were leaving. he heard dona anna's arch accents--arch even to colonel pendleton's monotonous baritone!--milly's high, rapid utterances, the suave falsetto of don caesar, and her voice, he thought a trifle wearied,--the sound of retiring footsteps, and all was still again. so still that the rhythmic beat of the distant waltz returned to him, with a distinctiveness that he could idly follow. he thought of rosario and the rose-breath of the open windows with a strange longing, and remembered the half-stifled sweetness of her happy voice rising with it from the veranda. why had he ever let it pass from him then and waft its fragrance elsewhere? why-- what was that? the slight turning of a latch! the creaking of the french window of the salon, and somebody had slipped softly half out on the balcony. his heart stopped beating. from his position in the recess of his own window, with his back to the partition of the salon, he could see nothing. yet he did not dare to move. for with the quickened senses of a lover he felt the diffused and perfumed aura of her presence, of her garments, of her flesh, flow in upon him through the open window, and possess his whole breathless being! it was she! like him, perhaps, longing to enjoy the perfect night--like him, perhaps, thinking of-- "so you ar-range to get rid of me--ha! lik thees? to tur-rn me off from your heels like a dog who have follow you--but without a word--without a--a--thanks--without a 'ope! ah!--we have ser-rved you--me and my sister; we are the or-range dry--now we can go! like the old shoe, we are to be flung away! good! but i am here again--you see. i shall speak, and you shall hear-r." don caesar's voice--alone with her! paul gripped his chair and sat upright. "stop! stay where you are! how dared you return here?" it was yerba's voice, on the balcony, low and distinct. "shut the window! i shall speak with you what you will not the world to hear." "i prefer to keep where i am, since you have crept into this room like a thief!" "a thief! good!" he broke out in spanish, and, as if no longer fearful of being overheard, had evidently drawn nearer to the window. "a thief. ha! muy bueno--but it is not i, you understand--i, caesar briones, who am the thief! no! it is that swaggering espadachin--that fanfarron of a colonel pendleton--that pattern of an official, mr. hathaway--that most beautiful heiress of the californias, miss arguello--that are thieves! yes--of a name--miss arguello--of a name! the name of arguello!" paul rose to his feet. "ah, so! you start--you turn pale--you flash your eyes, senora, but you think you have deceived me all these years. you think i did not see your game at rosario--yes, even when that foolish castro muchacha first put that idea in your head. who furnished you the facts you wanted? i--mother of god! such facts!--i, who knew the arguello pedigree--i, who know it was as impossible for you to be a daughter of them as--what? let me think--as--as it is impossible for you to be the wife of that baron whom you would deceive with the rest! ah, yes; it was a high flight for you, mees--mees--dona fulana--a noble game for you to bring down!" why did she not speak? what was she doing? if she had but uttered a single word of protest, of angry dismissal, paul would have flown to her side. it could not be the paralysis of personal fear: the balcony was wide; she could easily pass to the end; she could even see his open window. "why did i do this? because i loved you, senora--and you knew it! ah! you can turn your face away now; you can pretend to misunderstand me, as you did a moment ago; you can part from me now like a mere acquaintance--but it was not always so! no, it was you who brought me here; your eyes that smiled into mine--and drove home the colonel's request that i and my sister should accompany you. god! i was weak then! you smile, senora; you think you have succeeded--you and your pompous colonel and your clever governor! you think you have compromised me, and perjured me, because of this. you are wrong! you think i dare not speak to this puppet of a baron, and that i have no proofs. you are wrong!" "and even if you can produce them, what care i?" said yerba unexpectedly, yet in a voice so free from excitement and passion that the weariness which paul had at first noticed seemed to be the only dominant tone. "suppose you prove that i am not an arguello. good! you have yet to show that a connection with any of your race would be anything but a disgrace." "ah! you defy me, little one! caramba! listen, then! you do not know all! when you thought i was only helping you to fabricate your claim to the arguellos' name, i was finding out who you really were! ah! it was not so difficult as you fondly hope, senora. we were not all brutes and fools in the early days, though we stood aside to let your people run their vulgar course. it was your hired bully--your respected guardian--this dog of an espadachin, who let out a hint of the secret--with a prick of his blade--and a scandal. one of my peon women was a servant at the convent when you were a child, and recognized the woman who put you there and came to see you as a friend. she overheard the mother superior say it was your mother, and saw a necklace that was left for you to wear. ah! you begin to believe! when i had put this and that together i found that pepita could not identify you with the child that she had seen. but you, senora, you yourself supplied the missing proof! yes! you supplied it with the necklace that you wore that evening at rosario, when you wished to do honor to this young hathaway--the guardian who had always thrown you off! ah!--you now suspect why, perhaps! it was your mother's necklace that you wore, and you said so! that night i sent the good pepita to identify it; to watch through the window from the garden when you were wearing it; to make it sure as the creed. i sent her to your room late that night when you had changed your dress, that she might examine it among your jewels. and she did and will swear--look you!--swear that it is the one given you as a child by the woman at the convent, who was your mother! and who was that woman--eh? who was the mother of the arguello de la yerba buena?--who this noble ancestress?" "excuse me--but perhaps you are not aware that you are raising your voice in a lady's drawing-room, and that although you are speaking a language no one here understands, you are disturbing the hotel." it was paul, quiet, pale in the moonlight, erect on the balcony before the window. as yerba, with a start, retreated quickly into the room, don caesar stepped forward angrily and suspiciously towards the window. he had his hand reached forward towards the handle as if to close the swinging sash against the intruder, when in an instant he was seized by paul, tightly locked in a desperate grip, and whirled out on the balcony. before he could gain breath to utter a cry, hathaway had passed his right arm around the mexican's throat, effectively stopping his utterance, and, with a supreme effort of strength, dragged him along the wall, falling with him into the open window of his own room. as he did so, to his inexpressible relief he heard the sash closed and the bolt drawn of the salon window, and regained his feet, collected, quiet, and triumphant. "i am sorry," he said, coolly dusting his clothes, "to have been obliged to change the scene of this discussion so roughly, but you will observe that you can speak more freely here, and that any altercation we may have in this room will be less likely to attract comment." "assassin!" said don caesar chokingly, as he struggled to his feet. "thank you. relieve your feelings as much as you like here; in fact, if you would speak a little louder you would oblige me. the guests are beginning to be awake," continued paul, with a wicked smile, indicating the noise of an opening door and footsteps in the passage, "and are now able to locate without difficulty the scene of the disturbance." briones apparently understood his meaning and the success of his stratagem. "you think you have saved her from disgrace," he said, with a livid smile, in a lower tone and a desperate attempt to imitate paul's coolness. "for the present--ah--yees! perhaps in this hotel and this evening. but you have not stop my mouth for--a--to-morrow--and the whole world, mr. hathaway." "well," said paul, looking at him critically, "i don't know about that. of course, there's the equal chance that you may kill me--but that's a question for to-morrow, too." the mexican cast a quick glance at the door and window. paul, as if carelessly, changed the key of the former from one pocket to the other, and stepped before the window. "so this is a plot to murder me! have a care! you are not in your own brigand california!" "if you think so, alarm the house. they will find us quarreling, and you will only precipitate matters by receiving the insult that will make you fight--before them." "i am r-ready, sir, when and where you will," said briones, with a swaggering air but a shifting, furtive eye. "open--a--the door." "pardon me. we will leave this room together in an hour for the station. we will board the night express that will take us in three hours beyond the frontier, where we can each find a friend." "but my affairs here--my sister--i must see her." "you shall write a note to her at that table, saying that important business--a dispatch--has called you away, and we will leave it with the porter to be delivered in the morning. or--i do not restrict you--you can say what you like, provided she don't get it until we have left." "and you make of me a prisoner, sir?" "no; a visitor, don caesar--a visitor whose conversation is so interesting that i am forced to detain him to hear more. you can pass the time pleasantly by finishing the story i was obliged to interrupt a moment ago. do you know this mother of miss yerba, of whom you spoke?" "that's m--my affair." "that means you don't know her. if you did, you'd have had her within call. and, as she is the only person who is able to say that miss yerba is not an arguello, you have been very remiss." "ah, bah! i am not one of your--a--lawyers." "no; or you would know that, with no better evidence than you have, you might be sued for slander." "ah! why does not miss yerba sue, then?" "because she probably expects that somebody will shoot you." "as you for instance?" "perhaps." "and if you do not--eh?--you have not stop my mouth, but your own. and if you do, you help her to marry the baron, your rival. you are not wise, friend hathaway." "may i remind you that you have not yet written to your sister, and you may prefer to do it carefully and deliberately?" don caesar arose with a vindictive glance at paul, and pulled a chair before the table, as the latter placed pen, ink, and paper before him. "take your time," he added, folding his arms and walking towards the window. "say what you like, and don't let my presence restrain you." the mexican began to write furiously, then spasmodically, then slowly and reluctantly. "i war-r-n you, i shall expose all," he said suddenly. "as you please." "and shall say that if i disappear, you are my murderer--you understand--my murderer!" "don't consult me on a question of epithets, but go on." don caesar recommenced his writing with a malign smile. there was a sudden sharp rap at the door. don caesar leaped to his feet, grasped his papers, and rushed to the door; but paul was before him. "who is there?" he demanded. "pendleton." at the sound of the colonel's voice don caesar fell back. paul opened the door, admitted the tall figure of the colonel, and was about to turn the key again. but pendleton lifted his hand in grim deprecation. "that will do, mr. hathaway. i know all. but i wish to speak with briones elsewhere, alone." "excuse me, colonel pendleton," said paul firmly, "but i have the prior claim. words have passed between this gentleman and myself which we are now on our way to the station and the frontier to settle. if you are willing to accompany us, i shall give you every opportunity to converse with him alone, and arrange whatever business you may have with him, provided it does not interfere with mine." "my business," said pendleton, "is of a personal nature, that will not interfere with any claim of yours that mr. briones may choose to admit, but is of a private quality that must be transacted between us now." his face was pale, and his voice, although steady and self-controlled, had that same strange suggestion of sudden age in it which paul had before noticed. whether don caesar detected it, or whether he had some other instinctive appreciation of greater security, paul could not tell. he seemed to recover his swagger again, as he said,-- "i shall hear what colonel pendleton has to say first. but i shall hold myself in readiness to meet you afterwards--you shall not fear, sir!" paul remained looking from the one to the other without speaking. it was don caesar who returned his glance boldly and defiantly, colonel pendleton who, with thin white fingers pulling his moustache, evaded it. then paul unlocked the door, and said slowly, "in five minutes i leave this house for the station. i shall wait there until the train arrives. if this gentleman does not join me, i shall be better able to understand all this and take measures accordingly." "and i tell to you, meester hathaway, sir," said don caesar, striking an attitude in the doorway, "you shall do as i please--caramba!--and shall beg"-- "hold your tongue, sir--or, by the eternal!"--burst out pendleton suddenly, bringing down his thin hand on the mexican's shoulder. he stopped as suddenly. "gentlemen, this is childish. go, sir!" to don caesar, pointing with a gaunt white finger into the darkened hall. "i will follow you. mr. hathaway, as an older man, and one who has seen a good deal of foolish altercation, i regret, sir, deeply regret, to be a witness to this belligerent quality in a law-maker and a public man; and i must deprecate, sir--deprecate, your demand on that gentleman for what, in the folly of youth, you are pleased to call personal satisfaction." as he moved with dignity out of the room, paul remained blankly staring after him. was it all a dream?--or was this colonel pendleton the duelist? had the old man gone crazy, or was he merely acting to veil some wild purpose? his sudden arrival showed that yerba must have sent for him and told him of don caesar's threats; would he be wild enough to attempt to strangle the man in some remote room or in the darkness of the passage? he stepped softly into the hall: he could still hear the double tread of the two men: they had reached the staircase--they were descending! he heard the drowsy accents of the night porter and the swinging of the door--they were in the street! wherever they were going, or for what purpose, he must be at the station, as he had warned them he would be. he hastily threw a few things into his valise, and prepared to follow them. when he went downstairs he informed the porter that owing to an urgent call of business he should try to catch the through express at three o'clock, but they must retain his room and luggage until they heard from him. he remembered don caesar's letter. had either of the gentlemen, his friends who had just gone out, left a letter or message? no, excellency; the gentlemen were talking earnestly--he believed, in the south american language--and had not spoken to him. perhaps it was this that reminded paul, as he crossed the square again, that he had made no preparation for any possible fatal issue to himself in this adventure. she would know it, however, and why he had undertaken it. he tried to think that perhaps some interest in himself had prompted her to send the colonel to him. yet, mingled with this was an odd sense of a certain ridiculousness in his position: there was the absurdity of his prospective antagonist being even now in confidential consultation with his own friend and ally, whose functions he had usurped, and in whose interests he was about to risk his life. and as he walked away through the silent streets, the conviction more than once was forced upon him that he was going to an appointment that would not be kept. he reached the station some ten minutes before the train was due. two or three half-drowsy, wrapped-up passengers were already on the platform; but neither don caesar nor colonel pendleton was among them. he explored the waiting-rooms and even the half-lit buffet, but with no better success. telling the bahnhof inspector that his passage was only contingent upon the arrival of one or two companions, and describing them minutely to prevent mistakes, he began gloomily to pace before the ticket-office. five minutes passed--the number of passengers did not increase; ten minutes; a distant shriek--the hoarse inquiry of the inspector--had the herr's companions yet gekommt? the sudden glare of a cyclopean eye in the darkness, the ongliding of the long-jointed and gleaming spotted serpent, the train--a hurried glance around the platform, one or two guttural orders, the slamming of doors, the remounting of black uniformed figures like caryatides along the marchepieds, a puff of vapor, and the train had come and gone without them. yet he would give his adversary fifteen minutes more to allow for accident or delay, or the possible arrival of the colonel with an explanation, and recommenced his gloomy pacing, as the bahnhof sank back into half-lit repose. at the end of five minutes there was another shriek. paul turned quickly to the inspector. ah, then, there was another train? no; it was only the up express for basle, going the other way and stopping at the nord station, half a mile away. it would not stop here, but the herr would see it pass in a few moments at full speed. it came presently, with a prolonged despairing shriek, out of the darkness; a flash, a rush and roar at his side, a plunge into the darkness again with the same despairing cry; a flutter of something white from one of the windows, like a loosened curtain, that at last seemed to detach itself, and, after a wild attempt to follow, suddenly soared aloft, whirled over and over, dropped, and drifted slowly, slantwise, to the ground. the inspector had seen it, ran down the line, and picked it up. then he returned with it to paul with a look of sympathizing concern. it was a lady's handkerchief, evidently some signal waved to the well-born herr, who was the only passenger on the platform. so, possibly, it might be from his friends, who by some stupid mischance had gone to the wrong station, and--gott im himmel!--it was hideously stupid, yet possible, got on the wrong train! the herr, a little pale, but composed, thought it was possible. no; he would not telegraph to the next station--not yet--he would inquire. he walked quickly away, reaching the hotel breathlessly, yet in a space that seemed all too brief for his disconnected thought. there were signs of animation in the hall, and an empty carriage was just reentering the courtyard. the hall-porter met him with demonstrative concern and apology. ah! if he had only understood his excellency better, he could have saved him all this trouble. evidently his excellency was going with the arguello party, who had ordered a carriage, doubtless, for the same important journey, an hour before, yet had left only a few moments after his excellency, and his excellency, it would appear, had gone to the wrong station. paul pushed hurriedly past the man and ascended to his room. both windows were open, and in the faint moonlight he could see that something white was pinned to his pillow. with nervous fingers he relit his candles, and found it was a note in yerba's handwriting. as he opened it, a tiny spray of the vine that had grown on the crumbling wall fell at his feet. he picked it up, pressed it to his lips, and read, with dim eyes, as follows:-- "you know now why i spoke to you as i did to-day, and why the other half of this precious spray is the only memory i care to carry with me out of this crumbling ruin of all my hopes. you were right, paul: my taking you there was an omen--not to you, who can never be anything but proud, beloved, and true--but to me of all the shame and misery. thank you for all you have done--for all you would do, my friend, and don't think me ungrateful, only because i am unworthy of it. try to forgive me, but don't forget me, even if you must hate me. perhaps, if you knew all--you might still love a little the poor girl to whom you have already given the only name she can ever take from you--yerba buena!" chapter vii. it was already autumn, and in the city of new york an early sunday morning breeze was sweeping up the leaves that had fallen from the regularly planted ailantus trees before the brown-stone frontage of a row of monotonously alike five-storied houses on one of the principal avenues. the pastor of the third presbyterian church, that uplifted its double towers on the corner, stopped before one of these dwellings, ran up the dozen broad steps, and rang the bell. he was presently admittted to the sombre richness of a hall and drawing-room with high-backed furniture of dark carved woods, like cathedral stalls, and, hat in hand, somewhat impatiently awaited the arrival of his hostess and parishioner. the door opened to a tall, white-haired woman in lustreless black silk. she was regular and resolute in features, of fine but unbending presence, and, though somewhat past middle age, showed no signs of either the weakness or mellowness of years. "i am sorry to disturb your sabbath morning meditations, sister argalls, nor would i if it were not in the line of christian duty; but sister robbins is unable today to make her usual sabbath hospital visit, and i thought if you were excused from the foreign missionary class and bible instruction at three you might undertake her functions. i know, my dear old friend," he continued, with bland deprecation of her hard-set eyes, "how distasteful this promiscuous mingling with the rough and ungodly has always been to you, and how reluctant you are to be placed in the position of being liable to hear coarse, vulgar, or irreverent speech. i think, too, in our long and pleasant pastoral relations, you have always found me mindful of it. i admit i have sometimes regretted that your late husband had not more generally familiarized you with the ways of the world. but so it is--we all have our weaknesses. if not one thing, another. and as envy and uncharitableness sometimes find their way in even christian hearts, i should like you to undertake this office for the sake of example. there are some, dear sister argalls, who think that the rich widow who is most liberal in the endowment of the goods that providence has intrusted to her hands claims therefore to be exempt from labor in the christian vineyard. let us teach them how unjust they are." "i am willing," said the lady, with a dry, determined air. "i suppose these patients are not professedly bad characters?" "by no means. a few, perhaps; but the majority are unfortunates--dependent either upon public charity or some small provision made by their friends." "very well." "and you understand that though they have the privilege of rejecting your christian ministrations, dear sister argalls, you are free to judge when you may be patient or importunate with them?" "i understand." the pastor was not an unkindly man, and, as he glanced at the uncompromising look in mrs. argalls's eyes, felt for a moment some inconsistency between his humane instincts and his christian duty. "some of them may require, and be benefited by, a stern monitress, and sister robbins, i fear, was weak," he said consolingly to himself, as he descended the steps again. at three o'clock mrs. argalls, with a reticule and a few tracts, was at the door of st. john's hospital. as she displayed her testimonials and announced that she had taken mrs. robbins's place, the officials received her respectfully, and gave some instructions to the attendants, which, however, did not stop some individual comments. "i say, jim, it doesn't seem the square thing to let that grim old girl loose among them poor convalescents." "well, i don't know: they say she's rich and gives a lot o' money away, but if she tackles that swearing old kentuckian in no. , she'll have her hands full." however, the criticism was scarcely fair, for mrs. argalls, although moving rigidly along from bed to bed of the ward, equipped with a certain formula of phrases, nevertheless dropped from time to time some practical common-sense questions that showed an almost masculine intuition of the patients' needs and requirements. nor did she betray any of that over-sensitive shrinking from coarseness which the good pastor had feared, albeit she was quick to correct its exhibition. the languid men listened to her with half-aggressive, half-amused interest, and some of the satisfaction of taking a bitter but wholesome tonic. it was not until she reached the bed at the farther end of the ward that she seemed to meet with any check. it was occupied by a haggard man, with a long white moustache and features that seemed wasted by inward struggle and fever. at the first sound of her voice he turned quickly towards her, lifted himself on his elbow, and gazed fixedly in her face. "kate howard--by the eternal!" he said, in a low voice. despite her rigid self-possession the woman started, glanced hurriedly around, and drew nearer to him. "pendleton!" she said, in an equally suppressed voice, "what, in god's name, are you doing here?" "dying, i reckon--sooner or later," he said grimly, "that's what they do here." "but--what," she went on hurriedly, still glancing over her shoulder as if she suspected some trick--"what has brought you to this?" "you!" said the colonel, dropping back exhaustedly on his pillow. "you and your daughter." "i don't understand you," she said quickly, yet regarding him with stern rigidity. "you know perfectly well i have no daughter. you know perfectly well that i've kept the word i gave you ten years ago, and that i have been dead to her as she has been to me." "i know," said the colonel, "that within the last three months i have paid away my last cent to keep the mouth of an infernal scoundrel shut who knows that you are her mother, and threatens to expose her to her friends. i know that i'm dying here of an old wound that i got when i shut the mouth of another hound who was ready to bark at her two years after you disappeared. i know that between you and her i've let my old nigger die of a broken heart, because i couldn't keep him to suffer with me, and i know that i'm here a pauper on the state. i know that, kate, and when i say it i don't regret it. i've kept my word to you, and, by the eternal, your daughter's worth it! for if there ever was a fair and peerless creature--it's your child!" "and she--a rich woman--unless she squandered the fortune i gave her--lets you lie here!" said the woman grimly. "she don't know it." "she should know it! have you quarreled?" she was looking at him keenly. "she distrusts me, because she half suspects the secret, and i hadn't the heart to tell her all." "all? what does she know? what does this man know? what has been told her?" she said rapidly. "she only knows that the name she has taken she has no right to." "right to? why, it was written on the trust--yerba buena." "no, not that. she thought it was a mistake. she took the name of arguello." "what?" said mrs. argalls, suddenly grasping the invalid's wrist with both hands. "what name?" her eyes were startled from their rigid coldness, her lips were colorless. "arguello! it was some foolish schoolgirl fancy which that hound helped to foster in her. why--what's the matter, kate?" the woman dropped the helpless man's wrist, then, with an effort, recovered herself sufficiently to rise, and, with an air of increased decorum, as if the spiritual character of their interview excluded worldly intrusion, adjusted the screen around his bed, so as partly to hide her own face and pendleton's. then, dropping into the chair beside him, she said, in her old voice, from which the burden of ten long years seemed to have been lifted,-- "harry, what's that you're playing on me?" "i don't understand you," said pendleton amazedly. "do you mean to say you don't know it, and didn't tell her yourself?" she said curtly. "what? tell her what?" he repeated impatiently. "that arguello was her father!" "her father?" he tried to struggle to his elbow again, but she laid her hand masterfully upon his shoulder and forced him back. "her father!" he repeated hurriedly. "jose arguello! great god!--are you sure?" quietly and yet mechanically gathering the scattered tracts from the coverlet, and putting them back, one by one in her reticule, she closed it and her lips with a snap as she uttered--"yes." pendleton remained staring at her silently, "yes," he muttered, "it may have been some instinct of the child's, or some diabolical fancy of briones'. but," he said bitterly, "true or not, she has no right to his name." "and i say she has." she had risen to her feet, with her arms folded across her breast, in an attitude of such puritan composure that the distant spectators might have thought she was delivering an exordium to the prostrate man. "i met jose arguello, for the second time, in new orleans," she said slowly, "eight years ago. he was still rich, but ruined in health by dissipation. i was tired of my way of life. he proposed that i should marry him to take care of him and legitimatize our child. i was forced to tell him what i had done with her, and that the trust could not be disturbed until she was of age and her own mistress. he assented. we married, but he died within a year. he died, leaving with me his acknowledgment of her as his child, and the right to claim her if i chose." "and?"--interrupted the colonel with sparkling eyes. "i don't choose. "hear me!" she continued firmly. "with his name and my own mistress, and the girl, as i believed, properly provided for and ignorant of my existence, i saw no necessity for reopening the past. i resolved to lead a new life as his widow. i came north. in the little new england town where i first stopped, the country people contracted my name to mrs. argalls. i let it stand so. i came to new york and entered the service of the lord and the bonds of the church, henry pendleton, as mrs. argalls, and have remained so ever since." "but you would not object to yerba knowing that you lived, and rightly bore her father's name?" said pendleton eagerly. the woman looked at him with compressed lips. "i should. i have buried all my past, and all its consequences. let me not seek to reopen it or recall them." "but if you knew that she was as proud as yourself, and that this very uncertainty as to her name and parentage, although she has never known the whole truth, kept her from taking the name and becoming the wife of a man whom she loves?" "whom she loves!" "yes; one of her guardians---hathaway--to whom you intrusted her when she was a child." "paul hathaway--but he knew it." "yes. but she does not know he does. he has kept the secret faithfully, even when she refused him." she was silent for a moment, and then said,-- "so be it. i consent." "and you'll write to her?" said the colonel eagerly. "no. but you may, and if you want them i will furnish you with such proofs as you may require." "thank you." he held out his hand with such a happy yet childish gratitude upon his worn face that her own trembled slightly as she took it. "good-by!" "i shall see you soon," she said. "i shall be here," he said grimly. "i think not," she returned, with the first relaxation of her smileless face, and moved away. as she passed out she asked to see the house surgeon. how soon did he think the patient she had been conversing with could be removed from the hospital with safety? did mrs. argalls mean "far?" mrs. argalls meant as far as that--tendering her card and eminently respectable address. ah!--perhaps in a week. not before? perhaps before, unless complications ensued; the patient had been much run down physically, though, as mrs. argalls had probably noticed, he was singularly strong in nervous will force. mrs. argalls had noticed it, and considered it an extraordinary case of conviction--worthy of the closest watching and care. when he was able to be moved she would send her own carriage and her own physician to superintend his transfer. in the mean time he was to want for nothing. certainly, he had given very little trouble, and, in fact, wanted very little. just now he had only asked for paper, pens, and ink. chapter viii. as mrs. argalls's carriage rolled into fifth avenue, it for a moment narrowly grazed another carriage, loaded with luggage, driving up to a hotel. the abstracted traveler within it was paul hathaway, who had returned from europe that morning. paul entered the hotel, and, going to the register mechanically, turned its leaves for the previous arrivals, with the same hopeless patience that had for the last six weeks accompanied this habitual preliminary performance on his arrival at the principal european hotels. for he had lost all trace of yerba, pendleton, milly, and the briones from the day of their departure. the entire party seemed to have separated at basle, and, in that eight-hours' start they had of him, to have disappeared to the four cardinal points. he had lingered a few days in london to transact some business; he would linger a few days longer in new york before returning to san francisco. the daily papers already contained his name in the list of the steamer passengers who arrived that morning. it might meet her eye, although he had been haunted during the voyage by a terrible fancy that she was still in europe, and had either hidden herself in some obscure provincial town with the half-crazy pendleton, or had entered a convent, or even, in reckless despair, had accepted the name and title of some penniless nobleman. it was this miserable doubt that had made his homeward journey at times seem like a cruel desertion of her, while at other moments the conviction that milly's californian relatives might give him some clew to her whereabouts made him feverishly fearful of delaying an hour on his way to san francisco. he did not believe that she had tolerated the company of briones a single moment after the scene at the bad hof, and yet he had no confidence in the colonel's attitude towards the mexican. hopeless of the future as her letter seemed, still its naive and tacit confession of her feelings at the moment was all that sustained him. two days passed, and he still lingered aimlessly in new york. in two days more the panama steamer would sail--yet in his hesitation he had put off securing his passage. he visited the offices of the different european steamer lines, and examined the recent passenger lists, but there was no record of any of the party. what made his quest seem the more hopeless was his belief that, after briones' revelation, she had cast off the name of arguello and taken some other. she might even be in new york under that new name now. on the morning of the third day, among his letters was one that bore the postmark of a noted suburban settlement of wealthy villa-owners on the hudson river. it was from milly woods, stating that her father had read of his arrival in the papers, and begged he would dine and stay the next night with them at "under cliff," if he "still had any interest in the fortunes of old friends. of course," added the perennially incoherent milly, "if it bores you we sha'n't expect you." the quick color came to paul's careworn cheek. he telegraphed assent, and at sunset that afternoon stepped off the train at a little private woodland station--so abnormally rustic and picturesque in its brown-bark walls covered with scarlet virginia creepers that it looked like a theatrical erection. mr. woods's station wagon was in waiting, but paul, handing the driver his valise, and ascertaining the general direction of the house, and that it was not far distant, told him to go on and he would follow afoot. the tremor of vague anticipation had already come upon him; something that he knew not whether he feared or longed for, only that it was inevitable, had begun to possess him. he would soon recover himself in the flaring glory of this woodland, and the invigoration of this hale october air. it was a beautiful and brilliant sunset, yet not so beautiful and brilliant but that the whole opulent forest around him seemed to challenge and repeat its richest as well as its most delicate dyes. the reddening west, seen through an opening of scarlet maples, was no longer red; the golden glory of the sun, sinking over a promontory of gleaming yellow sumach that jutted out into the noble river, was shorn of its intense radiance; at times in the thickest woods he seemed surrounded by a yellow nimbus; at times so luminous was the glow of these translucent leaves that the position of the sun itself seemed changed, or the shadows cast in defiance of its glory. as he walked on, long reaches of the lordly placid stream at his side were visible, as far as the terraces of the opposite shore, lifted on basaltic columns, themselves streaked and veined with gold and fire. paul had seen nothing like this since his boyhood; for an instant the great heroics of the sierran landscape were forgotten in this magnificent harlequinade. a dim footpath crossed the road in the direction of the house, which for the last few moments had been slowly etching itself as a soft vignette in a tinted aureole of walnut and maple upon the steel blue of the river. he was hesitating whether to take this short cut or continue on by the road, when he heard the rustling of quick footsteps among the fallen leaves of the variegated thicket through which it stole. he stopped short, the leafy screen shivered and parted, and a tall graceful figure, like a draped and hidden columbine, burst through its painted foliage. it was yerba! she ran quickly towards him, with parted lips, shining eyes, and a few scarlet leaves clinging to the stuff of her worsted dress in a way that recalled the pink petals of rosario. "when i saw you were not in the wagon and knew you were walking i slipped out to intercept you, as i had something to tell you before you saw the others. i thought you wouldn't mind." she stopped, and suddenly hesitated. what was this new strange shyness that seemed to droop her eyelids, her proud head, and even the slim hand that had been so impulsively and frankly outstretched towards him? and he--paul--what was he doing? where was this passionate outburst that had filled his heart for nights and days? where this eager tumultuous questioning that his feverish lips had rehearsed hour by hour? where this desperate courage that would sweep the whole world away if it stood between them? where, indeed? he was standing only a few feet from her--cold, silent, and tremulous! she drew back a step, lifted her head with a quick toss that seemed to condense the moisture in her shining eyes, and sent what might have been a glittering dew-drop flying into the loosed tendrils of her hair. calm and erect again, she put her little hand to her jacket pocket. "i only wanted you to read a letter i got yesterday," she said, taking out an envelope. the spell was broken. paul caught eagerly at the hand that held the letter, and would have drawn her to him; but she put him aside gravely but sweetly. "read that letter!" "tell me of yourself first!" he broke out passionately. "why you fled from me, and why i now find you here, by the merest chance, without a word of summons from yourself, yerba? tell me who is with you? are you free and your own mistress--free to act for yourself and me? speak, darling--don't be cruel! since that night i have longed for you, sought for you, and suffered for you every day and hour. tell me if i find you the same yerba who wrote"-- "read that letter!" "i care for none but the one you left me. i have read and reread it, yerba--carried it always with me. see! i have it here!" he was in the act of withdrawing it from his breast-pocket, when she put up her hand piteously. "please, paul, please--read this letter first!" there was something in her new supplicating grace, still retaining the faintest suggestion of her old girlish archness, that struck him. he took the letter and opened it. it was from colonel pendleton. plainly, concisely, and formally, without giving the name of his authority or suggesting his interview with mrs. argalls, he had informed yerba that he had documentary testimony that she was the daughter of the late jose de arguello, and legally entitled to bear his name. a copy of the instructions given to his wife, recognizing yerba buena, the ward of the san francisco trust, as his child and hers, and leaving to the mother the choice of making it known to her and others, was inclosed. paul turned an unchanged face upon yerba, who was watching him eagerly, uneasily, almost breathlessly. "and you think this concerns me!" he said bitterly. "you think only of this, when i speak of the precious letter that bade me hope, and brought me to you?" "paul," said the girl, with wondering eyes and hesitating lips; "do you mean to say that--that--this is--nothing to you?" "yes--but forgive me, darling!" he broke out again, with a sudden vague remorsefulness, as he once more sought her elusive hand. "i am a brute--an egotist! i forgot that it might be something to you." "paul," continued the girl, her voice quivering with a strange joy, "do you say that you--you yourself, care nothing for this?" "nothing," he answered, gazing at her transfigured face with admiring wonder. "and"--more timidly, as a faint aurora kindled in her checks--"that you don't care--that--that--i am coming to you with a name, to give you in--exchange?" he started. "yerba, you are not mocking me? you will be my wife?" she smiled, yet moving softly backwards with the grave stateliness of a vanishing yet beckoning goddess, until she reached the sumach-bush from which she had emerged. he followed. another backward step, and it yielded to let her through; but even as it did so she caught him in her arms, and for a single moment it closed upon them both, and hid them in its glory. a still lingering song-bird, possibly convinced that he had mistaken the season, and that spring had really come, flew out with a little cry to carry the message south; but even then paul and yerba emerged with such innocent, childlike gravity, and, side by side, walked so composedly towards the house, that he thought better of it. chapter ix. it was only the third time they had ever met--did paul consider that when he thought her cold? did he know now why she had not understood him at rosario? did he understand now how calculating and selfish he had seemed to her that night? could he look her in the face now--no, he must be quiet--they were so near the house, and everybody could see them!--and say that he had ever believed her capable of making up that story of the arguellos? could he not have guessed that she had some memory of that name in her childish recollections, how or where she knew not? was it strange that a daughter should have an instinct of her father? was it kind to her to know all this himself and yet reveal nothing? because her mother and father had quarreled, and her mother had run away with somebody and left her a ward to strangers--was that to be concealed from her, and she left without a name? this, and much more, tenderly reproachful, bewildering and sweetly illogical, yet inexpressibly dear to paul, as they walked on in the gloaming. more to the purpose, however, the fact that briones, as far as she knew, did not know her mother, and never before the night at strudle bad had ever spoken of her. still more to the purpose, that he had disappeared after an interview with the colonel that night, and that she believed always that the colonel had bought him off. it was not with her money. she had sometimes thought that the colonel and he were in confidence, and that was why she had lately distrusted pendleton. but she had refused to take the name of arguello again after that scene, and had called herself only by the name he had given her--would he forgive her for ever speaking of it as she had?--yerba buena. but on shipboard, at milly's suggestion, and to keep away from briones, her name had appeared on the passenger list as miss good, and they had come, not to new york, but boston. it was possible that the colonel had extracted the information he sent her from briones. they had parted from pendleton in london, as he was grumpy and queer, and, as milly thought, becoming very miserly and avaricious as he grew older, for he was always quarreling over the hotel bills. but he had mrs. woods's new york address at under cliff, and, of course, guessed where she was. there was no address on his letter: he had said he would write again. thus much until they reached the steps of the veranda, and milly, flying down, was ostentatiously overwhelmed with the unexpected appearance of mr. paul hathaway and yerba, whom she had been watching from the window for the last ten minutes. then the appearance of mr. woods, californian and reminiscent, and mrs. woods, metropolitan, languid, and forgetful, and the sudden and formal retirement of the girls. an arch and indefinable mystery in the air whenever paul and yerba appeared together--of which even the servants were discreetly conscious. at dinner mr. woods again became retrospective and californian, and dwelt upon the changes he had noticed. it appeared the old pioneers had in few cases attained a comfortable fortune for their old age. "i know," he added, "that your friend colonel pendleton has dropped a good deal of money over in europe. somebody told me that he actually was reduced to take a steerage passage home. it looks as if he might gamble--it's an old californian complaint." as paul, who had become suddenly grave again, did not speak, mrs. woods reminded them that she had always doubted the colonel's moral principles. old as he was, he had never got over that freedom of life and social opinion which he had imbibed in early days. for her part, she was very glad he had not returned from europe with the girls, though, of course, the presence of don caesar and his sister during their european sojourn was a corrective. as paul's face grew darker during this languid criticism, yerba, who had been watching it with a new and absorbing sympathy, seized the first moment when they left the table to interrogate him with heartbreaking eyes. "you don't think, paul, that the colonel is really poor?" "god only knows," said paul. "i tremble to think how that scoundrel may have bled him." "and all for me! paul, dear, you know you were saying in the woods that you would never, never touch my money. what"--exultingly--"if we gave it to him?" what answer paul made did not transpire, for it seemed to have been indicated by an interval of profound silence. but the next morning, as he and mr. woods were closeted in the library, yerba broke in upon them with a pathetic face and a telegram in her hand. "oh, paul--mr. hathaway--it's true!" paul seized the telegram quickly: it had no signature, only the line: "colonel pendleton is dangerously ill at st. john's hospital." "i must go at once," said paul, rising. "oh, paul"--imploringly---"let me go with you! i should never forgive myself if--and it's addressed to me, and what would he think if i didn't come?" paul hesitated. "mrs. woods will let milly go with us and she can stay at the hotel. say yes," she continued, seeking his eyes eagerly. he consented, and in half an hour they were in the train for new york. leaving milly at the hotel, ostensibly in deference to the woods's prejudices, but really to save the presence of a third party at this meeting, paul drove with yerba rapidly to the hospital. they were admitted to an anteroom. the house surgeon received them respectfully, but doubtingly. the patient was a little better this morning, but very weak. there was a lady now with him--a member of a religious and charitable guild, who had taken the greatest interest in him--indeed, she had wished to take him to her own home--but he had declined at first, and now he was too weak to be removed. "but i received this telegram: it must have been sent at his request," protested yerba. the house surgeon looked at the beautiful face. he was mortal. he would see if the patient was able to stand another interview; possibly the regular visitor might withdraw. when he had gone, an attendant volunteered the information that the old gentleman was perhaps a little excited at times. he was a wonderful man; he had seen a great deal; he talked much of california and the early days; he was very interesting. ah, it would be all right now if the doctor found him well enough, for the lady was already going--that was she, coming through the hall. she came slowly towards them--erect, gray, grim--a still handsome apparition. paul started. to his horror, yerba ran impulsively forward, and said eagerly: "is he better? can he see us now?" the woman halted an instant, seemed to gather the prayer-book and reticule she was carrying closer to her breast, but was otherwise unchanged. replying to paul rather than the young girl, she said rigidly: "the patient is able to see mr. hathaway and miss yerba buena," and passed slowly on. but as she reached the door she unloosed her black mourning veil from her bonnet, and seemed to drop it across her face with the gesture that paul remembered she had used twelve years ago. "she frightens me!" said yerba, turning a suddenly startled face on paul. "oh, paul, i hope it isn't an omen, but she looked like some one from the grave!" "hush!" said paul, turning away a face that was whiter than her own. "they are coming now." the house surgeon had returned a trifle graver. they might see him now, but they must be warned that he wandered at times a little; and, if he might suggest, if it was anything of family importance, they had better make the most of their time and his lucid intervals. perhaps if they were old friends--very old friends--he would recognize them. he was wandering much in the past--always in the past. they found him in the end of the ward, but so carefully protected and partitioned off by screens that the space around his cot had all the privacy and security of an apartment. he was very much changed; they would scarcely have known him, but for the delicately curved aquiline profile and the long white moustache--now so faint and etherealized as to seem a mere spirit wing that rested on his pillow. to their surprise he opened his eyes with a smile of perfect recognition, and, with thin fingers beyond the coverlid, beckoned to them to approach. yet there was still a shadow of his old reserve in his reception of paul, and, although one hand interlocked the fingers of yerba--who had at first rushed impulsively forward and fallen on her knees beside the bed--and the other softly placed itself upon her head, his eyes were fixed upon the young man's with the ceremoniousness due to a stranger. "i am glad to see, sir," he began in a slow, broken, but perfectly audible voice, "that now you are--satisfied with the right--of this young lady--to bear the name of--arguello--and her relationship--sir--to one of the oldest"-- "but, my dear old friend," broke out paul, earnestly, "i never cared for that--i beg you to believe"-- "he never--never--cared for it--dear, dear colonel," sobbed yerba, passionately: "it was all my fault--he thought only of me--you wrong him!" "i think otherwise," said the colonel, with grim and relentless deliberation. "i have a vivid--impression--sir--of an--interview i had with you--at the st. charles--where you said"-- he was silent for a moment, and then in a quite different voice called faintly-- "george!" paul and yerba glanced quickly at each other. "george, set out some refreshment for the honorable paul hathaway. the best, sir--you understand.... a good nigger, sir--a good boy; and he never leaves me, sir. only, by gad! sir, he will starve himself and his family to be with me. i brought him with me to california away back in the fall of 'forty-nine. those were the early days, sir--the early days." his head had fallen back quite easily on the pillow now; but a slight film seemed to be closing over his dark eyes, like the inner lid of an eagle when it gazes upon the sun. "they were the old days, sir--the days of men--when a man's word was enough for anything, and his trigger-finger settled any doubt. when the trust that he took from man, woman, or child was never broken. when the tide, sir, that swept through the golden gate came up as far as montgomery street." he did not speak again. but they who stood beside him knew that the tide had once more come up to montgomery street, and was carrying harry pendleton away with it. team note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h.zip) the adventures of a forty-niner an historic description of california, with events and ideas of san francisco and its people in those early days by daniel knower dedicated to colonel jonathan stevenson, colonel john c. freemont, and captain john a. sutter, the three pre-eminent pioneers of california. [illustration: daniel knower.] preface the discovery of gold in california, in , with its other mineral resources, including the alamada quicksilver mine at san josé, which is an article of first necessity in working gold or silver ore; and the great silver mines of nevada, in , the comstock lode, in which, in ten years, from five to eight hundred millions of gold and silver were taken out, a larger amount than was ever taken from one locality before, the alamada quicksilver mine being the second most productive of any in the world, the one in spain being the largest, said to be owned by the rothschilds. its effect upon the general prosperity and development of our country has been immense, almost incalculable. before these discoveries the amount of gold in the united states was estimated at about seventy millions, now it is conceded to be seven hundred millions. the northern pacific coast was then almost unpopulated. california a territory three times as large as new york and oregon and the state of washington, all now being cultivated and containing large and populous cities, and railroads connecting them with the east. why that country should have remained uninhabited for untold ages, where universal stillness must have prevailed as far as human activity is concerned, is one of the unfathomable mysteries of nature. it is only one hundred and twenty-five years since the bay of san francisco was first discovered, one of the grandest harbors in the world, being land-locked, extending thirty miles, where all the vessels of the world could anchor in safety. the early pioneers of those two years immediately after the gold was discovered (of which i am writing) are passing away. as ossian says, "people are like the waves of the ocean, like the leafs of woody marvin that pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift up their green heads." there is probably not five per cent of the population of california to-day, of those days, scenes and events of which i have tried to portray. another generation have taken their places who can know but little of those times except by tradition. i, being one of the pioneers, felt it a duty, or an inspiration seemed to come over me as an obligation i owed to myself and compatriots of those times, to do what i could to perpetuate the memory of them to some extent in the history of our country as far as i had the ability to do it. the author. the california pioneer society. the california pioneer society was organized in august, . the photograph of their building appears on the cover of this book, w.d.m. howard was their first president. among their early presidents, and prominent in the days of forty-niners, were samuel branan, thomas larkins, wm. d. farewell, and james lick--who liberally endowed it. [illustration: building of the society of california pioneers.] it was organized for the purpose of perpetuating the memory of the events of those days and for the benefit and mutual protection of its members. no person was eligible for membership except he had arrived in california before the st of january, , and the descendants of forty-niners when arriving at the age of twenty-one are eligible. at the opening of the world's fair in san francisco in january last, in the ceremonies in the marching of the procession through the streets of the city, they were received with the greatest enthusiasm and cheers, which was a marked manifestation of the veneration in which they are held by the people of california. the adventures of a forty-niner. the writer was practising his profession in the city of albany, his native place, in , when reports came of the discovery of gold in california. in a short time samples of scales of the metal of the river diggings were on exhibition, sent to friends in the city in letters. many of colonel stevenson's regiment had been recruited in that city. soon these rumors were exaggerated. it was said that barrels of gold were dug by individuals named. soon the excitement extended all over the country, and the only barrier to wealth, it seemed, was the difficulty of getting to the eldorado. why the discovery of gold there should have produced so much excitement cannot be fathomed. it seemed an era in human affairs, like the crusades and other events of great importance that occur. your correspondent became one of its votaries, and organized a company to go to the gold rivers and secure a fortune for all interested in it, and it seemed all that was required was to get there and return in a short time and ride in your carriage and astonish your friends with your riches. suffice it to say, this company was fully organized (with its by-laws and system of government drawn up by the writer), and sailed from the port of new york on the ship _tarrolinter_ on the th of january, , to go around cape horn, arriving in san francisco on the following july. from that time i became absorbed in all the news from the gold regions, and losing confidence somewhat in the certainty of a fortune from my interest in the company, and reading of the high price of lumber, the scarcity of houses, and the extraordinary high wages of mechanics there, conceived the project of shipping the materials for some houses there, having all the work put on them here that could be done, thus saving the difference in wages, and to have them arrive there before the rainy season set in, and thus realize the imaginary fortune that i had expected from my interest in the company. in the following spring i had twelve houses constructed. the main point upon which my speculation seemed to rest was to get them to san francisco before the rainy season commenced. i went to new york to secure freight for them in the fastest vessel. fortunately for me, as i conceived at the time, i found the day before i arrived in new york, the _prince de joinville,_ a havre packet ship, had been put up to sail for the port of san francisco, and as yet had engaged no freight. i made a bargain with them at once to take my houses at sixty cents per square foot, and had the contract signed, half to be delivered at the side of the ship by such a date and the other half at a subsequent date. i delivered the first half of the houses on the time agreed, sending them down the hudson river by a barge on a tow. i sent the second half on a barge to get there on the day they were due, apprehending no trouble, i going down myself a few days in advance. they commenced complaining at the ship that they would not have room for the balance of my houses on board, although i had their written contract to take them at sixty cents per foot. there was great california excitement about this time, and other parties had come to the conclusion that the _prince de joinville_ was probably the fastest ship taking freight for san francisco. i saw them accept of offers at $ . per foot, when their contract with me was for less than half that price, which would make a difference of several thousand dollars in their favor. so, if the balance of my houses did not arrive within the time stated in the contract, they would not be taken on that vessel, and my speculation ruined. the time was up the next day at twelve o'clock. i was down on the battery the next morning early watching for the tow, with the barge with my houses. the ship was at the dock in the east river. about ten o'clock, a.m., i had the good fortune to see the barge rounding the battery. i cried out to the captain to cut loose from the tow, employ the first steam tug and i would pay the bill, which he did, getting on the side of the vessel by eleven o'clock, thus saving my contract by one hour. but they did not commence taking them on board, so the captain of the barge put a demurrage of $ per day for detention. in the meantime, i had bought my ticket to sail by the steamer _georgia_ to the isthmus to go on the st of july which was but a few days off. they, seeing that i had them on my contract, came to me and said that my houses should go on their ship according to contract, if they had to throw other freight out, and that they would sign a regular bill of lading for all the material deliverable to me upon the arrival of the _prince de joinville_ at the port of san francisco, and take my carpenters' specifications for the description of them, which seemed all right to me. the following is an article from the _albany evening atlas_ of june , : "california houses. "our estimable fellow citizen dr. knower, who is to start for california by the crescent city _via_ panama, is about to ship to that place twelve houses, complete and ready to put up on arrival at san francisco. the venture is a costly one, the freight on the material approaching the cost of as many frame buildings in this quarter, and the projector, we think, has managed the speculation with great foresight and judgment. the best timber has been selected, and the best work men employed, and a plan of architecture pursued, which is supposed to offer the greatest advantages with the most economical expenditures of material. four of these buildings are feet front and feet deep. a partition running lengthways divides the buildings into two rooms, and the stairs leads to a second platform, which is large enough for bedrooms, or for storing materials and tools of miners. two others are feet front and feet deep, with a small extension in the rear of feet. two are feet in front and feet deep, with the entrance on the gable front; and the four others are feet front by deep. the sides of the building will be composed of a double framework of boards planed, grooved and tongued, fitting air tight on each side of the timber, the interval between them being either filled with the moss of the country or left vacant, the confined column of the air being found sufficient to keep off the excess of cold or heat. the roofs of all the buildings shed from the front, except two of which are of gable shape. the roofs are to be made of solid, close-fitting planks, covered with fine ticking and coated with the patent indestructible fire-proof paint, and applications which our citizens have just begun to use here, and which they have, found entirely successful. "the houses can be easily transported to the placers or may be put up on the sea-board. we should suppose that the numerous land-owners who are speculating on the prospects of future cities would be glad to give the land necessary for the location of this village. "the houses go by the _prince de joinville_, a first-class vessel, which leaves new york soon." i sailed on the steamer which left new york at p.m., july , . friends were there to see me off, but there were no persons on the boat that i had ever seen before--i was wondering who would be my first acquaintance. being very tired, i retired soon to my berth, and woke up the next morning on the broad ocean. two days of sea sickness and i was all right again. there were about one thousand passengers from all parts of our country. i tried to fathom the motives and standing of different ones. colonel b. from kentucky, an aristocratic-looking man, with his slave for a body servant, who could not have been bought for less than $ , in kentucky, where slavery existed at that time. why a man in his circumstances should be going to california to seek gold i could not fathom. one day a party of us were seated around the table talking matters over. it was proposed that each should reveal to the others what he expected to do and his motives for the expedition. we each related our expectations and the motives that had inspired us. my aristocratic friend was one of the party. my curiosity was at its height to know his views. he said: "well, gentlemen, you have all been candid in your statements, and i shall be the same; i am going to california to deal faro, the great american gambling game, and i don't care who knows it." later on in my narrative, i shall have occasion to refer to colonel b. again under other circumstances. the fourth day out being the fourth of july, was duly celebrated on the steamer in true american style. our course was to the east of cuba. we passed in sight of the green hills of san domingo to our left, and in sight of jamaica to our right, crossing the caribbean sea, whose grand, gorgeous sunsets i shall never forget. i could not buy a ticket in new york for the steamer from panama to san francisco, but was informed at the office in new york that sixty tickets were for sale in panama by zackery, nelson & co., the american consul, who were agents for the steamer on the pacific side. i naturally supposed that those who offered their money first for those tickets could buy them. the price was $ for the first cabin, and $ for the second, from panama to san francisco; but a fraction of the passengers had a ticket for the pacific side. the objective point was to get to panama to secure a ticket, so i made an arrangement with four others; three were to take charge of the baggage of the five, and take it leisurely, and lieutenant m., of south carolina, and myself were selected to run an express across the isthmus and get there ahead of the other passengers and secure tickets for the five, and try and be the first to land at chagres. we came to anchor in the bay. the captain announced that no passengers would be permitted to go ashore until the government officials had inspected the vessel. a boat came from shore with the officials. after a short stay the officials went down the side of the steamer to their boat to return to the shore. there was a guard to keep all but the proper persons from getting into the boat. i had a small carpet bag in my hand, passed the guard, slipped a $ gold piece in his hands, and took my seat in the boat, and, of course, passed as one of the officials, and was the first passenger to land from the steamer. the first point to be made was to secure a boat for passage up the chagres river. i was recommended to colonel p., who was the head man in that business there. he was a colonel in the granadian army. i found him a full-blooded african, but an active business man in his way. i got his price for a boat and two of his best men, and then offered double the price if they would row night and day, and an extra present to the men if they made good time, for every thing seemed to depend on securing those tickets on the pacific side. by the time i had all my arrangements made, lieutenant m. made his appearance. he said he was the second passenger that landed from the steamer. then behold us in what they called a dug-out, a boat somewhat similar to a canoe, with a little canopy over the center that you could crawl under to lay down with the two naked natives, with the exception of a cloth around their loins, neither understanding each other's language, to whom we could only communicate by signs. at p.m., starting for gorgona, fifty-five miles up the river, where we were to land and take mules for panama. eight miles was the first stopping place. we felt elated that we had got so good a start of all the other passengers. the denseness of the vegetation first attracted our attention on the banks of the river. the trees, the vines, the shrubbery, the vines clinging to the trees, hanging in all fantastic shapes, it seemed to be impenetrable, an ocean of green, unlike any thing we had ever seen before. early in the evening we arrived at the first stopping place, eight miles on our way up the river, where we both made ourselves at home, excited at the strangeness of the scene, surrounded by the thatched huts of the natives, who were having a dance on the square in the village. after we had been there an hour, we thought our men had their rest, and it was time to go on according to our contract, to be rowed night and day. in the meantime it seems the natives had taken some offense at lieutenant m.'s familiarity, and they appeared with handles of long knives projecting back of their necks in a threatening manner. we likewise learned that that was the home of one of our men, and that he proposed to stay there all night in violation of the contract. so we had a consultation to decide what to do to get away. it was pitch dark; we laid our plan. lieutenant m. beckoned one of the men away from the dance as if he wanted to give him something, and drew his pistol on him and marched him down to the boat, while i, with a pistol, kept him there while he went for the other man. after a while he came with him and we got them both in the boat and started. about this time there was a storm came up with the rain, and thunder and lightning, as the elements can only perform in that way in the tropics, surrounded by impenetrable darkness, and to us an unknown river, with its serpents and alligators, with our two naked savages, that we only got in the boat by force, and, of course, could not feel very friendly toward us. expecting to be fired on from the shore, if they could see us through the darkness, we took our departure from our first landing place on the chagres river, surrounded by romance enough to satisfy the most romantic imagination in that line. our men kept steadily to work. after a while the clouds broke away, the moon showed itself, and we made good progress that night. we had no trouble with our men after that. the colonel at chagres had evidently given us his best man. they found that we were masters of the situation and it was for their interest to submit. we treated them kindly after that, and all went well, for we passed every boat we came to. i shall never forget the look of despair at two frenchmen, evidently gentlemen, as we went by them, and they informed us the length of time they had been coming up the river, and that they could do nothing with their men. that afternoon we came in sight of a thatched hut on the banks, evidently a ranch. we thought it for our interest to rest. we saw a man whom we took for the proprietor, entirely naked, rubbing his back against a post. on landing and approaching him he excused himself for a short time, and returned dressed, walking with the air of a lord of a manor, which dress consisted of a coarse bagging shirt, coming down to his knees. we arrived the next day at a.m., at gorgona, and took our dinner at the hotel kept by the alcalde of the place, and bargained with him for a guide and three mules to continue our journey to panama. as soon as our guides and mules were ready, about p.m., we started for panama. we soon got enough of our mules by being thrown a number of times over their heads. they did not understand our language. "get up and go along," was greek to them, but when the guide said "mula vamous" they knew what it meant. on reaching the place where we were to stay all night, we arose in the morning refreshed, but concluded to leave our mules and make the rest of the way a-foot, as we considered them a nuisance, and as we had no baggage but my little satchel previously referred to, in which i had bills of lading of my houses, they being consigned to me, the specifications of my carpenter's schedule, my letters and a gold chronometer watch, worth $ , belonging to h., a broker in new york, a friend, and a bottle of the best brandy, which he presented to me to keep off the fever in crossing the isthmus. this bag i handed to the guide boy, about seventeen years of age, taking out the brandy bottle. the watch i was to sell, for he had two nephews who had gone to california, and if they were in need, to supply their wants. i did not meet them; sold the watch for $ to mr. haight, one of the owners of the miners' bank in san francisco, and remitted the money to my friend, so i shall not refer to the watch again. we were walking on at a free pace, our guide boy following behind. looking back after awhile we could not see him. we stopped and waited some time, but he did not come, so we thought we would go on and he would follow. the result was we lost our way and craved for a sight of the pacific ocean with all the ardor that gilboa could have done, the first spanish discoverer of it, and on the same route, after our wanderings all day, almost without hope, until four in the afternoon, we came to a stream of water; oppressed with the heat of the tropics and fatigued i threw myself in the water. lieutenant m. exclaimed: "do not give up in that way." "i am not giving up," i replied; "only refreshing myself." in a short time he did the same thing. as we lay there we thought we heard voices. in looking back who should we see but one of our countrymen, the most gladdening sight to us. we felt saved at once. we asked him if he had any provision. he said he thought not. then he said one of his companions might have a little piece of ham left and some crackers. he said there were three of them, and they would soon be there, and when they came one of them had some bacon and a few crackers, which he gave to us. the eating of it soon refreshed us. as i had some of the brandy left in the bottle, i extended it to them, which they were very glad to receive. explanations ensued. we, by chance, had struck the crusos road, and were but ten miles from panama. they had come from philadelphia in a brig, and had started across from crusos, the head of boating on the chagres river, and had been from two to three weeks getting so far across the isthmus, and were perfectly astonished at the rapidity with which we had come. so we joined them and arrived in panama that evening. lieutenant m. and myself were the first of the one thousand passengers of the _georgia_ to enter the city. the office of the agents of the pacific steamers was closed. i went, the first thing in the morning, to purchase the five tickets for our party. alas for human expectation! i was informed it would be several weeks before the steamer would sail. she had not yet returned from the first trip to san francisco. they said there were but sixty tickets for sale, and they would not be offered until a few days before the departure of the steamer. of course, all we could do was to abide our chances of getting them. the city was walled around and dyked like those of the middle ages. toward the bay the wall was one hundred feet high by twenty broad. the city had been on the decline for most a hundred years. we could see the ruins of what it once had been. at one time spain owned all south america, mexico, california, louisiana and florida. panama was the only port of entry on the pacific coast, and controlled its commerce. as you enter the gates of the walled city there is a chapel just inside, where the lights are always burning on its altars. the first thing on entering all good catholics enter, kneel and make their devotions, seeking the protection of the patron saint of the city. the head alcalder of the city was a castilian spaniard, a venerable-looking gentleman, white as any northern man, evidently of scandinavian descent, who ages back conquered spain and divided the land up among themselves and became its nobility, from whom the present rulers of spain are descendants. it is said that when conquered, the original inhabitants of spain, to a great extent, fled to their vessels, put to sea, and found the island of ireland, from which the present inhabitants are descendants. the second alcalder was a negro as black as i have ever seen. in the city of panama in its days of prosperity, when under spain, the higher classes must have lived in great luxuries, the negroes their slaves. the natives the peons were in a condition similar to slavery, they could not leave the land as long as they owed any thing. but the despotism of old spain became so great that when they struck for freedom, all classes united. they gave freedom to the negroes and the peons, and even the priests of the catholic church had been so tyrannized over by the mother church in spain that they joined the revolutionists and all classes are represented in the government. i called at a watchmaker's to have a crystal put in my watch. two brothers had furnished rooms like a parlor. i could not speak spanish, nor they english. i could speak a little french. i found they could speak it fluently. i asked them where they learned it. they said, "at the jesuit college at granada." then one, of them, when he learned that i was from the united states, went to the piano and played hail columbia as a compliment to my country, which would trouble most of us to do the same for their country. there are now great trees growing up in the ruins of what was once its great cathedral. the freebooter morgan is said to have plundered one of its altars of a million of gold and silver, and massacred many of its inhabitants, perpetrating on them the atrocities that their ancestors had upon the original natives. it is said that when pizarro captured peru and took the inca, their king, prisoner, he issued a decree that if his subjects would fill a room with gold, he would release him, which they did. instead of doing it, he sentenced him to be burned at the stake, and only commuted it to hanging on condition that he confessed the christian religion. madam roland, when she was about to be guillotined in the french revolution, exclaimed, "o liberty, what crimes have been committed in thy name." o christianity, what terrible atrocities have been perpetrated in thy name! panama is a healthy city to those acclimated, facing a beautiful bay, unlike chagres, on this side of the isthmus of darien, which is the most unhealthy spot on this continent. excuse this diversion, i must get back to my subject, the days of the forty-niners. i stopped at the american hotel. i was somewhat in a dilapidated condition from the experiences of my trip from chagres. the waiter in my room at the hotel took the best of care of me. i soon found he was no ordinary waiter. he had resigned a position in washington of $ , a year to go to the gold eldorado. he had been in panama several months, and had been taken down with the fever twice, which had exhausted his funds and was working at the hotel for his board, but never thought of turning back. he was bound for california. he was quite enfeebled from the effects of the fever. he got hold of my sympathies and secured my friendship. (more of him anon.) i had been here four or five days without seeing our guide, the boy with my satchel, containing my valuables, particularly the bills of lading of my houses. i was in a quandary and anxiety about it, not knowing what to do, when one day as i was going to dinner, something pulled my coat from behind, and looking around, what should i see to my great joy and satisfaction but the native boy with my satchel, contents there all safe. it was an instance of honesty that would do honor to any nation. i gave some honest catholic priest credit for it. the boy had evidently been instructed what to do. the great objective point now was, how to get to san francisco. there was no hope for a sailing vessel from this place, for we saw one return for water that had been chartered by a party that had been out three weeks, and scarcely got out of sight of the city. there is very little chance for a sailing vessel from there until they get west several hundred miles, and strike the trade winds. the chances were better with the sailing vessel to start from new york and go around cape horn. so the only hope seemed to be the steamer with its sixty tickets and with from one thousand to fifteen hundred passengers waiting to buy them, all seeking to bring some influence to bear to secure one. i saw in the office of the steamer agent a young man, the book-keeper, whom i took a fancy to, and sought his acquaintance. i found he was from hudson, n.y., and i, from albany, both from the banks of the hudson river. it ripened into a warm friendship. i explained my situation to him, and my desire, if it was possible, to get off on the steamer, but did not venture to ask his influence to try and get me a ticket. at this time the cholera and panama fever was raging in full force. the acclimatednacclimated americans were dying in every direction. i was conversing at a.m. with a healthy looking man, one of our passengers, from new york. at p.m., the same day, i inquired for him and was informed that he was dead and buried. he had been attacked with the cholera. it was a law of the city that they must be buried within one hour after death from a contagious disease. i was finally myself taken down with the panama fever, lay unconscious and unnoticed in my room at the hotel for a long time, and then came to and found myself burning with the raging fever, had a doctor sent for, and after a time recovered so i could venture out. in the meantime, the steamer _panama_ had arrived, and its day of sailing for san francisco announced. zackary, nelson & co. had issued an order that the sixty tickets would be put up to be drawn for. those having the winning numbers could have the privilege of purchasing them; that they must register their names on such a day. probably one thousand names and but sixty tickets. the chances were small, but the only hope. on that day, i went early to register, as i was still very weak from the effects of the fever, and at my best in the morning. as i entered, there was a great number there registering. when my turn came, and i was about to put down my name, i looked behind the desk and saw my friend, the book-keeper. he shook his head for me not to. i knew that meant something favorable. i backed out. i returned at once to the hotel. in the evening, about o'clock, my friend came to my room with a second cabin ticket. the joys of paradise centered into my possession of that ticket. i asked him how did he obtain it? he said he was about to resign his position, and was going up on the same steamer to california. the night before the drawing he asked mr. nelson if his services had been satisfactory to him. he said they had. he then said if he should ask him a favor on leaving him if he would grant it? he replied certainly. he then said that he wanted one of those sixty tickets for a particular friend. mr. nelson said, "if i had known what you was going to ask for, i could not have granted it; but since i have pledged my word, i shall give you the ticket." the next day passengers would be received on the steamer, which was anchored out in the bay, some distance from shore. it was announced that no sick persons could go on the steamer. as i was quite enfeebled from my sickness, and was at my best in the morning, i thought i would make an early start, so as to be sure and be aboard, as they were all to be on board the vessel to sail early the next morning. i started out for a boat to take me out to it with the highest elasticity of feelings, not so much from the prospect of financial success as the idea that if i could get north again my physical health would be restored, and the steamer was going north. it seemed at times that i would have given $ , for one good breath of northern air. as i was going along, some distance ahead of me, sitting at the doors of a doggery, with his head almost between his knees, the picture of despair, was my washington friend, who waited on my room at the hotel when i first arrived, did me many favors, and got hold of my sympathies. i said to myself, poor fellow, i can do nothing for you. i must not let him see me, so i dodged and passed him. when i got some distance by him my conscience smote me. i will go back and speak to him; so i did. i had advised him a few days previous to go and see some officers of the boat and offer to go up as waiter without pay. i asked him if he had done so, and what luck? he said there was no hope. they told him they had been offered $ for the privilege of going up as waiter. i then told him i had a ticket. i was going then for a boat to go on board. that his case was desperate, and that desperate cases required desperate remedies; that he had been down twice with the fever, and the next time he would probably die; that he had no friends there nor money; if he would do as i told him i would stand by him and he must have nerve. he said to me: "how can a man have nerve without a dollar in his pocket?" which exclamation has occurred to me many times since. i asked him to hire a boat to get him out to the vessel, and what it would cost. he said $ . i gave him the money and told him to get his baggage. he said he had none. i told him to come about o'clock and go to work among the hands as if he was one of them; that all were new hands and officers, and they would not know the difference. he said that the captain had said if any person was caught on board without a ticket they would be put on shore at the first uninhabited island. i told him i would attend to that in his case. i went on board and got my berth and baggage all in. about o'clock i saw my friend coming over the water making for the vessel. there was considerable confusion on board at the time, passengers constantly arriving, and he was not noticed, and he went to work among the hands as if he had been regularly employed. in a short time the officers were arranging the men in line to pass the baggage, and said to him: "you stand here and help pass it," of course, taking him for one of the men of the boat. in the evening he came and spoke to me. i said all right so far. but in the morning, he said, they are going to examine every person, then they will put me ashore. i said, keep a stiff upper lip. if you get in trouble, come to me. the next morning the gun fired, the anchor was raised, and we sailed down to bogota, an island similar to staten island in the new york harbor. the health officers came out. then my friend trembled and thought the day of judgment had come to him, but the health officers were on board but a short time. no examination of those on board took place. the signal gun for departure was fired. we passed out of the harbor. the bow of our vessel was pointed north, and we felt extremely happy. i said to him, "this vessel is bound for san francisco, and you are aboard, and will get there as soon as i will." a few days after that the mate was arranging the employment of the men, and when he came to my friend's turn he said to him, "who employed you? you are not an able-bodied seaman." he made no reply. they could see he was a man of intelligence, and his pale look showed he had been sick. it may have moved the sympathies of the officer, who said to him, "this vessel is crowded with people; it wont do for us to be short of water, and i will put the water in your charge, and you must not let any passenger, or even the steward, have any except according to the regulations, and if you attend to that properly no other services will be required of you." that took him off of the anxious seat and put him on the solid. in all his adversities he never thought of turning back. that commanded my esteem. his attentions to me, when sick, aroused my sympathies for him, which good action on his part saved him. of one thousand passengers desirous of getting on that steamer, and there was room but for sixty on the day of its departure; his chance looked the most hopeless, being penniless, but he was one of the fortunate ones, while those who had plenty of money were left. it illustrated the old maxim, "where there is a will there is a way." nothing of interest occurred until we got to the port of acupulco, the largest place on the west coast of mexico. we were about to enter the harbor when a government boat with officials came out and ordered us to stop. if we proceeded any further there would be "matter trouble" in broken english. there were americans on shore who had crossed over from vera cruz for the purpose of taking this steamer. it would be a month before there would be another one, and then there would be no certainty of their getting aboard of that. the captain held a consultation of the passengers, who all decided to have them come on board. they were our countrymen and we would share our berths with them, although the vessel was then crowded, and some of the passengers volunteered to row ashore with the small boats to bring them aboard, which they did. when they approached the shore there was a company of soldiers waded in the water with pointed guns, forbidding them to approach any nearer. the americans who were on the bank informed them that the soldiers would fire, and warning them not to approach any nearer, while bewailing their fate that they had to be left, so they returned. then the captain received notice to leave in half an hour or the guns of the fort would open fire on us. it was a bright moonlight night. the fort was on a high knoll just above us, and could have blown us out of the water. so we thought discretion was the better part of valor, and we had to leave. the laws of nations were on their side. we were from an infected port, panama, where cholera prevailed. on board the steamer were some men of prominence. w.f. mccondery, from boston, a retired east india sea captain, a man of wealth, who had been out of business for three years and craved for a more exciting life; who started the largest commission-house in san francisco, and had consigned to him about all the shipments from boston, and likewise the _prince de joinville_ with my houses; mr. g., from liverpool, an englishman, who had about all the consignments from that city; rothschild's nephew, who had represented that house as a banker in valparaiso, chili, was going to establish a branch of those great bankers' house in san francisco; judge terry, from louisiana, who had the reputation at that time of being a dead shot with a pistol, who afterward challenged united states senator broderick to fight a duel, from political influences, and killed him, and some years afterward was assassinated himself from a disagreement with parties about a lawsuit. we came opposite mazland at the mouth of the gulf of california, and took on board some passengers and freight. the next incident in our voyage was when we came in sight of san diego, california, and saw the american flag floating from the flag staff. there was an instantaneous shout went up from every american on board. we were once more to be under its protection in our own country. love of country, mystic fire from heaven, to light our race up to stateliest heights 'tis given. we were entering the golden gate. it was but four miles to the harbor where we cast anchor, opposite the city of san francisco, which was the goal of our hopes for so long a time, and which was about to be realized; which was also the objective point from almost every part of the world where adventurers are seeking to get. we had come three thousand, five hundred miles since we left panama. we engaged a row-boat to take us ashore. my friend attended to getting my baggage out of the boat, and went with me to the shore. he had signed no papers, and entered into no bonds not to desert the vessel at san francisco, as the other sailors had. he was free to do as he pleased. i had the chills and fever all the way up, from the effects of the panama fever. my first idea was to get in good quarters, whatever expense, to regain my health. i was informed that there was a good hotel kept by a widow woman on montgomery street, where we landed. some of the other passengers were going to stop there. i inquired the terms. they said $ per day. i thought i would try it for a while. my sleeping-room was a mattress laid on the floor, with muslin partitions to separate us from the next room. the table was very indifferent, no vegetables, which i required, which we lacked on the ship coming up. being in poor health, i needed them. after being there a few days one of our passengers asked me if i knew what the charges were. i said yes, $ per day. he said it was more; i had better ask again, which i did. i was informed it was $ for the room and extra for the meals. i paid my bill and looked out for other quarters. i had brought in my baggage an indian rubber mattress and pillow which was folded up in a small space and could be blown up with your breath and filled with air, made a soft bed, a pair of new mackinaw blankets and other things to provide for any contingency, and took my meals at a restaurant, which were numerous, including the chinese which we often patronized, and found myself satisfactorily quartered. it may not be inappropriate to make some general remarks about the history of california. although my subject is strictly on the days of forty-niners, which consisted of about two years from the discovery of the gold, when it was supposed that the future prosperity of the country depended exclusively on the mining interest. how different it has turned out since has nothing to do with my subject. i want to try to paint to the mind of the reader the condition of california at that time, and the views of the pioneers in those days. i am doing it in the form of a personal narrative, as it enables me more distinctly to recall to my mind the events of those days in which i was a participant. such fluctuations of fortune as then occurred, the world never saw before in the same space of time, and probably never will again, where common labor was $ per day. there were some very interesting and truthful articles published in the _century_ magazine two years ago from the pen of the pioneers, but there has been no book published as a standard work for the present and future, and the participants in it are passing away, for it is forty-five years since they occurred. california is three times larger in territory than the state of new york. its population before the discovery of gold, including indians and all, was but a few thousand. cattle could be bought for $ per head, and all the land they ranged upon thrown in the bargain for nothing. they were killed for their hides, and the meat thrown away, as there was no one to eat it. a few historical items. san francisco bay, first discovered the th of october, . the first ship that ever entered the harbor was the _san carlos_, june, . the mission of dolores founded by the jesuit fathers in . colonel jonathan stevenson arrived at california with one thousand men on the th of march, . the treaty of hidalgo ceding california to the united states by mexico, officially proclaimed by the president, july , . gold first discovered by marshall, january , . january, , the whole white population of california was fourteen thousand, january, , the population of san francisco was two thousand. the three most prominent publicmen at the time of my arrival in california were colonel freemont, who had conducted an expedition overland; colonel stevenson, who came by sea with one thousand men, appointed by william l. marcy, who was secretary of war during the conflict with mexico, from whom i had a letter of introduction as a family connection of governor marcy, similar to the following letter to brigadier major-general p.f. smith, which was not delivered: albany, _june_ , . my dear sir--i desire to present to your favorable notice, the bearer hereof, dr. daniel knower. he is on the eve of departing for california. he is a family connection of mine, a gentleman of talents and respectability, and i commend him to your favorable notice. yours truly, william l. marcy. brig.-gen. p.f. smith. i soon found the colonel one of the warmest of friends. captain john a. sutter, who was a captain in the swiss guards of charles the tenth of france, after the revolution of in that country, came to the united states, who some years previous had wandered across the country to oregon, and the russian fur company secured for him a large grant of land from mexico in california, on which the city of sacramento now stands, extending back from that city many miles to where the gold was first discovered. he was having a raceway dug on the american river for the purpose of erecting a saw-mill, as there was no lumber in the country. he had constructed a fort some miles back from the sacramento river, where he made his home. the object of the russian fur company was to have a place where they could purchase grain, as there was none raised there at that time, and they had a contract with him, and that they were to send a vessel at such a time, and he was to settle up the country and cultivate it. sutter was the most social and generous of men. the latch-string of his cabin was always on the outside, and all callers were welcome, and the hospitalities of the fort extended to all callers. at the time of my arrival, on august , , there were several hundreds of ships anchored in the bay deserted by their crews, who had gone to the mines. they could make more in one day there than their wages would amount to in a month on the vessel. in the city a large portion of its population were living in tents. there were not buildings enough. vessels were constantly arriving loaded with people from all parts of the world. as my health permitted i investigated matters there. i took a walk out. i met what looked like a laboring man. i asked him how long he had been there? he said two months. i said to him: "and not gone up to the mines yet?" he said to me he was in no particular hurry. he said he had a row-boat and made $ a day rowing passengers to and from the vessels (there was then no dock). he had his boy with him, who gathered mussels and sold them. between the two they averaged $ per day, which explained why he was in no hurry to go to the gold diggings. lumber was bringing fabulous prices. it looked very favorable for my house ventures. mr. g., the englishman, had been very anxious to buy them. he had seen the specifications of the carpenter on the steamer coming up. on saturday p.m. i called at his office. he asked me if i had made up my mind to sell him the houses. i said to him: "if i should put a price on them you would not take me up." he said "try me." i named a price. he said he would take them and go to my lawyer to draw up the contract. i said i would just as soon go to his (which was a fatal mistake). i knew his was a state senator from florida, and had come up on the steamer with us. we found the lawyer in his office, and he commenced drawing up the contract. i made my statement that i sold the houses from my carpenter's specifications (not from any representations i made myself), and from the bills of lading and from my insurance policy, which ranked the ship _prince de joinville_, formerly a havre packet, classed a, no. . he was to deposit bills of lading of the ship _st. george_ from liverpool, consigned to him, in value to the amount of $ , , with a third party, as collateral security, that on the arrival of the _prince de joinville,_ and the delivery of the houses, he was to pay me the sum agreed upon. the lawyer, after writing a little, complained of a headache, and asked if it made any difference if he put it off until monday morning. i said, mr. g. had been very anxious to buy the houses, and i had not cared about selling them to arrive, preferring to take my chances when the vessel got here, but since i had consented to sell them, i preferred to have it on the solid. i said, i supposed the transaction was not of great importance to mr. g., but i had all that i was worth in the world at stake on the venture, and would prefer to have it closed now. he commenced writing, and again complained of the headache. i then consented to put it off until monday morning at o'clock. we both pledged our honor to meet there at that time and consummate it. i was there on monday morning at the time designated. mr. g. came in at o'clock and said he had changed his mind and would not take the houses. i said all right, but his word of pledge of honor would have no value with me hereafter. i would have made $ , profit, but i was selling them for a good deal less than they would have brought if they had been there. lumber was selling as high as from three to four hundred dollars per thousand feet in san francisco at that time. but i was making certain of a good profit and running no risk of what might happen in the future. i had another offer of a number of lots on stockton street, the next street above the plaza in the heart of the city, for six of the smaller ones, which, if i had consummated, would have made my fortune. "there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, if taken at the flood tide, leads on to fortune, or, if not seized, are forever lost." (shakespeare.) the ideas of the people there at that time was, that a railroad across the continent, connecting california with the east, was entirely impracticable. that there were one thousand miles of desert to cross, where there was no water, and the sierra nevada mountains presented an impassable barrier, and they thought how could it ever be an agricultural country, when there was no rain for more than seven months in the year. the idea of irrigation was not thought of then. how different every thing has turned out since, i have nothing to do with. i must be true to my subject, the days of the forty-niners. as it would be, at least, three months before the ship could come in with my houses, and my health had improved, i was anxious to get up to the mines. i was informed that there was a party from albany at the dutch bar, on the south fork of the american river, about eight miles from coloma, where gold was first discovered, with whom i was acquainted. i found a sloop about to sail for sacramento (there were no steamers then) the starting point to the northern mine. i took passage on board with all the passengers the boat could accommodate. i noticed on the passage up that the mosquitoes were very large, with penetrating bills. it was as much as we could do to protect our faces. the only important event on the passage was that a jew had potatoes that he was taking up on speculation, and that he was going to treat his fellow passengers to some, one day at dinner. we were a little disappointed when we found they were sweet ones, but still they were a treat. vegetables were scarce, potatoes selling from forty to sixty cents per pound. after a few days we arrived at sacramento, it being about one hundred miles from san francisco by water. there were no hacks at the landing, nobody that wanted a job to carry your baggage. governor shannon, of ohio, was among the passengers. he had been minister to mexico, yet he had to carry his own baggage, and make several trips to do it. one of the passengers assisted him. he was president of a mining company organized in ohio. it was evening. we stopped at a hotel, and i slept in my mackinaw blanket that i carried with me, on the dining-room floor. the next morning after breakfast, about o'clock, i went out on the front portico to take observations of the place. the landlord was there. there was a loaferish-looking fellow going by on the opposite side of the street. the landlord cries out to him: "bill, what will you charge to chop wood for me from now until night?" he cries back, "what will you give?" he replies, "$ ." bill answers back, "can't chop for less than an ounce," which was $ , and walked right on. it was evident that common labor was not suffering there for want of employment. i was there some days, and could find no one to post me how to get to coloma. all was excitement and bustle. while there, sam. brannan--who had built a new hotel there (just finished), called the city hotel--gave a free entertainment for one day to the public. he must have expended $ , for refreshments. he had been a mormon preacher, and was a captain in colonel stevenson's regiment. he was very enterprising and generous, a prominent figure with the "forty-niners." i saw an article in the paper a few years ago from a california correspondent, giving a biography of him; that he was, at one time, worth several millions, and went into some big enterprise--which i cannot now recall--and was unfortunate and lost all his wealth, and that he was, at that time, in san francisco at a twenty-five-cent lodging-house, and that he told him that he passed two men that day who had crossed the street to avoid him, to whom he had furnished the money from which they had made their fortunes. well, i finally found an oregon man with a yoke of oxen, who was freighting goods up to coloma. he said he had seven hundred and fifty acres of land in oregon, but no cattle on it. he thought he would come to california and get gold enough to buy them, and his wife was keeping a cake and pie stand on the streets of that city. i never saw him after that trip, but coming with so modest expectations, i have no doubt he was successful. we started on our journey in the afternoon. the country through which we traveled looked as if it had been an old-settled land, and deserted by its inhabitants. it seemed that we must come to a farm-house, but there was none. there were scattering trees in the country and occasionally a woods, but no dense forest. we made eight miles, then camped for the night on the edge of a woods. i had brought no provisions with me, so i offered him $ per meal to eat with him, which was accepted. he made tea, cooked some indian meal, and had a jug of molasses; so we made a very good supper. i got my satchel out of the wagon for a pillow, and with my blankets made my bed on the ground under the wagon. i thought it would keep the dew off, but there was none. there is no danger of taking cold sleeping on the ground in the dry season, when it does not rain for seven months. he had set fire to a dead tree to keep the grizzly bears off, and about the time i got comfortably laid down, there was a pack of coyote wolves came howling around. amid those surroundings, the burning of the fire to keep the grizzlies off and howling of the wolves, i fell asleep and did not wake until morning, refreshed from my slumbers. after a breakfast similar to the meal the night before, we proceeded on our journey, but the ox team travelled so slow that in walking i got away ahead of it, and then got tired of waiting for it to come up to me, and so went on alone. toward night i came to mormon island, the first gold diggings. i inquired if there was a place where i could get quarters for the night. they said i might, at the hospital. it was a log cabin with bunks in it, and what was my astonishment to find the proprietor, a doctor from troy, n.y., an old acquaintance. i was more than welcome. we were both delighted to see each other. i to find such comfortable quarters, and he to meet with a friend in the wilderness, and to hear the latest news from the east. he got for me the best supper that the surroundings would afford; as i had eaten nothing since morning, it was very acceptable, and he provided for me the most comfortable of his bunks for sleeping. he informed me that it was twenty-five miles from coloma, and there was but one place on the way where i could get water to drink. i started after breakfast, refreshed. after travelling some miles, i came to the smoke of the camp-fire of indians, just ahead of me. it was rumored that the oregon men were in the habit of shooting an indian on sight when they had a chance. the indians killed white men in retaliation, as they could not make peace until they had killed as many whites as they had lost, according to their ideas of equity. as i did not care particularly about being one to make up the number, i struck off in a ravine and passed around so as to avoid their camping ground and came to the road beyond them. what truth there was about the shooting of them i could not say, but it was currently reported at the time. about o'clock, p.m., i got to a stopping place six miles from coloma. there i met a man with a long beard, slouched hat, a sash around his body, a flannel shirt, evidently a miner. i had a long talk with him. he posted me about the gold diggings and i him about the news from the states. as we were about to part, he asked me to take a drink. he inquired of the proprietor if he had champagne? he said, yes, at $ a bottle. the man said, pass us down a bottle, which we drank together. he, evidently, had struck good diggings. we parted, as i was anxious to get to coloma before dark, which i did, just as the sun was setting, having made twenty-five miles in one day on foot. i found a regular tavern here, kept by a man from mississippi, with his family. i sat down to a regular table for my supper, which seemed quite a treat. he informed me that he had no bed-room for me; that i could sleep on the dining-room floor, or in his barn. he had just had some new hay put in. i chose the latter. it was a kind of a shanty building, but the soft bed of new hay was a luxury after my twenty-five miles walk. i awoke the next morning refreshed. after my breakfast i took in the place and went to the raceway where the first piece of gold was discovered. there were three or four stores in the place to supply the miners of the surrounding region. i got my direction how to find the dutch bar, eight miles from there. proceeding on my way, after going about five miles, i came to a person, his face covered with a long beard, whom i recognized, by the expression of his eyes, as a person who i knew in albany, and who belonged to the party i was seeking. he informed me that i was within three miles of them, and he gave me plain directions how to find them. i soon came to their camp and there was a genial meeting and exchange of news. there were five in the company. they had a tent and owned a pair of mules. i joined them, as i had not come to depend on mining, as i never had been accustomed to physical labor. at first i thought it was awful hard work, and that it was lucky for me that i had not come to california depending on it, but after a short time i got used to it and liked it. they took turns in cooking, so each one had one day in the week that he did the cooking. we lived on fried pork and flapjacks made from wheat flour fried in the fat of the pork, tin cups for our tea and coffee, and tin dishes. we each had stone seats, and a big one in the center for our table. at night we slept under our tent. the gold rivers were not navigable. they were sunk way down deep in the earth. when the rainy season sets in during the winter months, and sometimes rains every day in the month, causing the snow to melt on the sierra nevada mountains, where these streams take their rise, will cause the water to rise often from ten to twenty feet in a night, and in the course of ages has worn their depth down into the earth, and is supposed to have washed out of the earth the scales of gold that are found on the banks of the rivers. the first mining was a very simple process. a party of three could work together to the best advantage. a virgin bar was where the river had once run over and now receded from it. three persons worked together, one to clear off the sand on the ground to within six inches of the hardpan. the top earth was not considered worth washing, the scales of gold, being heavier, had settled through it, but could not penetrate that portion of the earth called the hardpan, so the earth within six inches of it was impregnated with more or less gold, and one to carry the bucket to the rocker, and the other to run the rocker, which was located close to the water. the rocker was a trough about three feet in length with three slats in it and a sieve at the upper end, on which the bucket of earth was thrown. the man worked the rocker with one hand and dipped the water out of the river with a tin-handled dipper. as he worked the rocker the fine earth and scales of gold passed through the holes of the sieve and settled behind the slats in the trough, and the stones and large lumps in which there was no gold were caught in the sieve and thrown away. after a certain number of buckets of earth had been run through in that way, the settlings behind the slats in the trough were put in a milk-pan and the water was allowed to run in the pan and the fine earth and sand would float on the top of the water. you would let that run off. after a few operations of that kind you would see the yellow scales of gold on the edge of the sand. you would continue that process until there was but a little of the sand left; then you would take it with you when you went to the tank and warm it by a fire to dry the sand; then with your breath you would blow away the sand and have the gold, which you carried in a buckskin bag, which was the currency of the country, at $ per ounce, and at the mint in philadelphia was worth $ . . i have carried three hundred buckets in a day, and at twenty-five cents worth of gold in a bucket, it would amount to $ , $ to each man for his day's work, which was frequently the average. in those days all it cost for a party of three for capital to start mining was about $ . then you had the chances of striking a pocket. that was a cavity in the rocks where gold had settled. in the course of ages, and where the strong currents of the streams, when the rivers were high, could not reach it to wash it out, i have known a person to take out $ of gold in less than an hour. the first miners, when they found gold on the banks of the river, thought if they could only dig in the deep holes of the bed they would find chunks of it, and they went to a big expense, and those who had money hired laborers to assist in constructing raceways at $ per day, to change the current of the river; but when they had effected their object and dug there they found no gold, for there was nothing to prevent the strong current from carrying it off; but i knew a party to draw off the water and expose the bed of the river, where there were rapids, and they were successful, and the gold had settled down between the crevices of the rocks, and the currents could not disturb it. there were some other kinds of diggings discovered different from the river mining, called cañons, one i know of, called the oregon. it was described like a tunnel, deep down in the earth, where a party of three persons from near our locality went and returned in about three weeks and had from three to five thousand dollars apiece, which they showed me. it was not scale gold, but nuggets of all sizes. of course, they had unusual luck. on the river mining each person was entitled to so many feet, as long as they left any implements of labor on it. no person would trespass upon it; but if he took every thing away, then it was inferred he had given it up, and anybody had a right to take it. all regulations were strictly respected and every thing was safe, and a person told me that he would not be afraid to leave his bag of gold in his tent. every thing was honorable and safe until the overland emigrants from western missouri arrived there. they were a different kind of people; more of the brute order. when they saw a party of two or three that had a good claim, and they were the strongest, they would dispossess them. (i suppose the same class that raided kansas in john brown's time.) they became so obnoxious that a respectable man would deny his state. and another corrupt element arrived by sea, the ex-convicts from sidney. i went to coloma one day to get supplies for the party. i rode one of the mules, the other followed to be packed with the purchases. when i bought what was wanted, i handed the storekeeper my bag of gold to pay him. when he returned it to me, i found his statement made was between three and four dollars less than i knew was in it. i informed him of the discrepancy. he said he did not see how that could be; that he weighed it right. he came in in a few minutes and apologized, saying that he had weighed it in the scales that he used when he traded with the indians. it needs no comment to know that the christian man is not always superior to the indian in integrity. there was an indian who had struck a pocket. he came to coloma with $ in gold dust that he got out in a short time. he invested it all with the storekeepers in a few hours. he had dressed himself in the height of fashion, including a gold watch. he was dressed as no california indian ever had been before. the gold he could not eat nor drink. [illustration: dressed as no california indian ever was before.] how the gold came there is one of the mysteries of nature. one theory is, that the sierra nevada mountains were once the banks of the pacific ocean, and all california had been thrown up from the bottom of the sea from that depth where gold was a part of the formation of the earth, in connection with quartz, and as all gold appears in a molten state, which would go to corroborate this theory. a person informed me that he went through a ravine where one side of the road was half of a large rock, and on the other side, the other half. he could see where the two halves would match each other exactly. well, i lived that life for two months. we had an addition to what i have described to eat--pork and beans on sunday, and chili pudding. it had been baked and sweetened, and then ground up like flour and put in bags. all you had to do was to moisten it with water to eat it. all our flour came from that country, put up in sacks of fifty and one hundred pounds each, but we had no vegetables. one day we heard that they had dried-apple sauce at the hotel at coloma for dinner. the next day, sunday, three of us walked eight miles to get there to dinner to get a taste of it. we paid $ apiece for our dinner, and they had the sauce; it tasted so good that we did not begrudge the price of the dinner and the walk back again. we were fully satisfied. the rainy season set in. it rained three days, and although it was three or four weeks before it would be possible for my houses to arrive, yet it was a new country and no bridges. the streams might get up so as to be impassable, and the houses were consigned to me, and no one but myself to receive them. i thought i had better get back to san francisco at once. what i was making in the mines was mere nothing to what i had at stake in the houses. although, to tell the truth, i never left a place with more regret, as hard as the fare was. we were interested every day in the work for gold, and did not know when we might make a rich strike. my last day there it rained. notwithstanding, a companion and myself went out to dig for a couple of hours. when we returned, we had $ worth. that was the last of my mining. i started the next morning for sacramento afoot. i sold my pistol and blankets for an ounce each, $ apiece. on my route i met a man bound for the same place. we joined teams and became very intimate. the only incident of importance was when we got within five miles of sacramento. we stopped at a log cabin and ordered dinner. a short time after my companion came to me in some excitement and said he had looked through the window and that they were cooking potatoes for dinner. i could not believe the good news, and so went and looked for myself and found it was true. i had not tasted one in two months. we took the steamer _senator_ that evening for san francisco. it had been a long island steamboat and had arrived since my departure for the mines. it was the first steamer that had ever sailed the interior waters of california, and had been put on to run from san francisco to sacramento. i think it belonged to grenell, minton & co., a prominent shipping firm of new york city. charley minton had charge of it. of course its profits were great. but i could not sleep in my state-room berth; i had been so long used to a hard bed i was restless, but we arrived safe the next morning at san francisco. the bulk of my book will be events that occurred during my residence in that city. i scarcely know how to begin to describe it. my efforts will be to portray them truthfully. to do so i must continue in the form of a personal narrative. that is the only way i can recall the events to my mind of so long ago. at this time more changes took place there in a month than in most any other place in a year. every thing was done by the month. buildings were rented by the month; money was loaned by the month; ten per cent per month was the regular interest. there was but one bank, called the miners', on the corner of the plaza, owned by three parties. during my absence a great boom had taken place--influenced by new arrivals and most favorable news from the gold mining sections. this was the fall of . the lots that i had thought of trading six of my houses for had tripled in value, but lumber was still bringing fabulous prices and every thing looked favorable for a big strike on my houses when they arrived. montgomery street was on the banks of the bay. there was one pier at this time constructed from it in the bay, and a temporary pier by colonel stevenson at the north beach. the city was growing up toward happy valley. portsmouth square, the plaza, still had some of the adobe buildings on it. the best hotel was the parker house, on the west corner of it. the plaza was sand, no vegetation on it. rincon point, on telegraph hill, was the spot where ships and steamers were signalled. steamers coming in but once a month, they brought the last news from the east. the new york papers were peddled at $ each. long lines of people were formed to get the mail, and you had to take sometimes half a day before you could reach the office. oakland, opposite the bay, had no existence. goat island had plenty of wild goats on it, and we could never imagine how the first goat ever got there. there was no scarcity of meat--plenty of beef and grizzly bears were hung out at the doors of the restaurants as a sign, and plenty of venison. i can recall now to my mind, venison steaks that we would get in the evening with their rich jellies on it. the luxuries of asia were coming in there. many china restaurants with their signs from canton or pekin. but there was a great scarcity of vegetables. onions and potatoes sold for forty cents per pound. a day or two after my arrival, my friend who came down with me from the mines came to me and said that there were a lot of blankets to be sold at auction; that he had no money, or he would buy them; that if i would buy them he would take them up in the mines and peddle them out for me for half of the profit. as i knew they were in great demand there--i had sold, when i left there, mine for $ --i told him if he could buy them for $ per pair to bid them off and i would furnish the money to pay for them. he came back in a short time and said he had bought them, and that they came to $ . we had them taken to the steamer _senator_ to ship to sacramento. we paid $ a load to have them carted from the store where they were bought to the steamer. (the result of this speculation later on.) there were at this time several hundred vessels anchored in the bay, deserted by their officers and crews. a ship could be bought for probably one-third of what it was worth in new york, and i conceived the project of buying a ship as soon as i sold my houses, which i expected soon to arrive, being on so fast a ship as the _prince de joinville_, and going myself to the sandwich islands and buying a load of onions and potatoes, as i was informed that they could be bought as cheap there as in the states, and ciphered out that one successful venture of that kind would make my fortune. so i went among the idle ships to see what i could do in that line, and to have one selected, ready to close the bargain as soon as the houses arrived. i came across a brig that had been running to sacramento, but was condemned as a foreign bottom, when collier, the collector, arrived there, a short time before, and extended the marine laws of the united states over california. the captain and crew were aboard. the captain was an englishman; the crew, cosmopolitan--a hindostan, a mexican named edwin jesus, an english sailor and an american. i inquired of the captain about the history of the vessel. he said she had been built at quavqiel, down the coast, and had belonged to a mexican general, and was built partially of an american whaler that had been wrecked on the coast, so i got american timbers in her. they wanted to sell the vessel. i told him i might buy her. i would let them know in a day or two. so i went to colonel stevenson and gave him a history of it, and asked him if he would see collier, the collector of the port, and see if i could not get her papers as an american vessel, which he did, and informed me the next day that it was all right. i went at once and bought the brig. as soon as i got its american papers it was worth twice what i had to pay for it. i kept the same captain, as he knew the navigation of the rivers, which few did at that time. i gave him $ per month and put a supercargo at $ per month, and kept the same crew. i had it put up for stockton, the head depot for the southern lines. the first month it made two trips. its receipts were $ , ; its expenses, $ , ; so it earned me $ , clear. there was a friend of mine named r., who owned a third interest in a factory that belonged to a relative of mine who got the gold fever when i did, and got me to negotiate the sale of his interest in it to him, which i did for $ , , so he could go to california with me. when he arrived there he proposed to build a brewery. his father had been a brewer in scotland. he bought a lot, a part of the city called happy valley, and started to build the first brewery on the pacific coast. he commenced to build one that would cost $ , with that capital, which was his mistake. if he had commenced in a small way he would have made his fortune. (in my personal narrative he had much to do with my affairs.) at this point in writing my manuscript, i have just heard of the death of colonel jonathan stevenson, aged ninety-four, in california, to whom i had a letter of introduction from governor william l. marcy. i found him the warmest, the truest and most generous friend. he was a little unpopular when i first met him, for what i conceived the most noble action of his life. there were in his regiment roughs from the city of new york, where it was organized, who, when the war was over with mexico, would go into saloons and places and help them selves to what they wanted and refused to pay. they were termed "the hounds." there was a vigilance committee organized against them, which public sentiment, at that time, fully indorsed. they had seized a number of them and were about to hang them. colonel stevenson faced the excited crowd and asked to have them give the men a trial and punish the guilty. he said that when he returned to new york and their mothers asked him what had become of their sons, how could he face them if they were put to death in that way; but if he could say to them that they had a fair trial, were found guilty of crime, and had been punished according to law, it would be different. i think they were not executed, but banished; but it set up a cry against the colonel that he had taken the part of "the hounds," so unjust is often, for a time, public sentiment. that was the first vigilance committee; the great one came afterward, but i am confined to the days of the "forty-niners." it was rumored, at the time, that there was a jealousy between him and colonel freemont. it was not on the part of stevenson. i boarded at the same hotel with freemont. see illustration for bill which i received while at the hotel with colonel freemont: [illustration: hotel bill.] the colonel asked me one day to speak to freemont at dinner, and request him, if convenient, to stop in his office as he came from dinner, which i did. stevenson's office was on the plaza, but freemont never called. there was great difficulty about the title to lots at that time. there were contentions set up, and claims of property from different mexican grants, as it became valuable. it was guaranteed by the united states, at the treaty of hidalgo, when california was ceded to us, that all titles that were good under the mexican government should be recognized by us. l., the chaplain of stevenson's regiment, seems to have been the butt of the boys before the gold was discovered. they, as a farce, elected him alcalde of san francisco, which position is a combination of mayor and judge, as we would understand it, and his election was declared illegal. then they elected him for spite. he served one year. there was a mexican law that in any village in that country a person had a right to settle on one hundred veras of land so many feet, about three hundred, and if he put up any kind of a building on it, and held undisputed possession for one year, he could go to the alcalde, and by paying $ , get a good and valid title. when the lots became so valuable in san francisco, after the gold was discovered, many lots based on those kinds of grants became very valuable two or three years after the discovery of gold. l. became quite wealthy, it was said, by advances in real estate. there were rumors of bogus titles in the names of dead soldiers and others who had left the country, but could be traced to no authentic source. he was estimated to be worth several hundred thousand dollars, made in the rise of real estate. i met him but once and i sold him some lumber. my shipping merchant who negotiated freight for my brig got a legal title of that kind. his story. he said he was a book-keeper for a firm in newport, rhode island, at a small salary. he made up his mind that if they would not raise his pay $ per year on the st of january he would leave them. they refused, so he lost his situation, and it was dull times, and he could not get another one, so he shipped on a whaling vessel as a sailor. his health was poor, and he found he could not stand the hardships of that life. the vessel put in the harbor of san francisco for water and fresh meat on their way to the arctic ocean, so he deserted the ship and secreted himself until it left. then he had to do something there for a living, so he squatted on one hundred veras of land on the beach, and put up a shanty and sold fruit and probably some liquor, etc., to make a living. no one disturbed him for one year. he applied to the alcalde and paid his $ and got a good, valid title. after the gold was discovered it became the most valuable property in the city. when i was doing business with him he had a three-story brick store, which he owned. the whaling ship had been gone to the arctic ocean two or three years and had heard nothing of the discovery of the gold, and wonderful changes in san francisco, and the captain thought he would put in that port on his return and hunt up his runaway sailor, and behold, his absconding sailor was rich enough when he found him to buy his ship and his whole cargo of whale oil. i was introduced by him to his captain and shook hands with him, and we had a good talk over it. wherein does our stories of fiction, of our boyhood, of arabian nights, surpass the actual events of life, of the wonderful fluctuations of fortunes in california in the days of the forty-niners? [illustration: the captain and the runaway sailor.] on the death of president taylor, a meeting was called for the purpose of having funeral obsequies there in his honor. a man was named for president of the day. then it was proposed to name a vice-president for each state and territory, which was done. there were persons in the crowd from every one of them. a day was set apart for the ceremonies, and all business was to be suspended. there was a long procession on that day, and the masons and all societies and the people in general turned out in full force, including the chinese, who were smart enough to think it would make a favorable impression in their favor. after the parade was dismissed in the plaza, the chinese were requested to remain, and a missionary addressed them, and a chinaman interpreted to them in their own language. i noticed that their language was much more condensed than ours. it took about a third of the time for him to translate what the missionary said. when the missionary closed, he said he hoped that we would all meet together in another and a better world. it seemed to them so absurd that they looked at each other and smiled as if it was a good joke. in those early days there were no particular prejudices against them. pagans, as we call them, practised the christian virtues toward their own countrymen. when the ship arrived from china they were down to greet the newcomers, whom they had never seen before, and invite them to their homes. the present laws of restriction against them, i think, are all right. we cannot afford to run the risk of having the institutions of our country injured by an emigration that is uncongenial to it. we have gone too far in that line already, not from selfishness, but to perpetuate the institutions founded by our revolutionary ancestors, in their purity, for the interests of mankind. i received a letter from my blanket friend. he informed me that he could not sell the blankets, and had traded them off for flour, and would start the next day for the yuba, which was the most remote gold river. that was all a lie. he did that so that i would not follow him up. he had not a dollar invested in them. they were my property. i knew at once i had been dealing with a rascal, but i was powerless to do any thing about it, so i wrote him back that it was all right; that i had bought a brig; and that i had it running to stockton, and he could take ventures up on that and make up what we had lost on the blankets, and much more. (more of him later on.) the gambling of that day. it was public most everywhere. faro tables, the great american gambling game, monte, the mexican and roulette. the eldorado, on the corner of the plaza, was the most celebrated gambling house of that time. there had been a great deal of money expended in fitting it up. it had an orchestra of fifteen persons. it was run all night and day, with two sets of hands. it was gorgeously fitted up. what they used to stir up the sugar in the drinks cost $ . it was solid gold. numerous gambling tables, piled up with gold and silver, to tempt the better, behind which were hired dealers. the owners of the eldorado were not known. many a miner has come with his few thousand dollars to san francisco to sail for home, and taking in the sights, visited the eldorado, got interested in the different games, and lost it all and went back to the gold regions broken and penniless to try his luck over again. i heard of one that lost his all three times in that way. i saw a man once put down a bag of gold, which contained $ , , bet $ , on one turn of the card at monte. he lost. while i was looking at him in the course of half an hour, he lost it all. i thought what independence that amount would have given some family in the east. in those early days there was often but a muslin partition between you and the next room, and you could hear every word in the next apartment. about o'clock in the morning i was awaken by two men entering and taking the next room to mine, whom i saw running a roulette table on the plaza. they seemed to be considerably excited. they said they would be willing to lose some money to get rid of that tapper. of course, i could not understand, at first, what they meant by that expression, but come to find out from their conversation, they had their roulette table arranged so that they could make the ball stop on the red or black, as it happened to be for their interest to have it do. so, if there were $ bet upon the red, the tapper would bet $ on the black, and they could not make the red lose without making the black win. so the tapper was getting half of their gains. i would advise all my friends to let roulette alone, unless they are sure they can place themselves in the position of the tapper. one morning on the plaza i took a look into a gambling saloon. i saw a greaser that had been betting against monte all night, and had had wonderful luck. he announced that he would tap the bank for $ , , which was more money than he ever had before, or could ever expect to have again, which meant that he would bet that amount for whatever sum the dealer could show to meet it on the turn of one card. he lost, and the dealer showed $ , in the bank and took all his money. monte is the great national gambling game of mexico, and his idea of paradise is to be able to break a monte bank. mr. b. from kentucky, whom i took for so rich a nabob, referred to among the passengers when out of new york. i saw him take out his gold watch, a valuable one, and bet it behind the queen, on the game of faro, for $ . he was evidently about broke. it won. then he went the $ , and it won again. then he went it the third time, and it won. in about twenty minutes he had his watch back and $ , then he left. some one asked me a few months after that if i knew that he was worth $ , ? he had been very lucky, and that he was to run for sheriff of san francisco county on the democratic ticket, and that the whigs had nominated jack hayes, the celebrated texan ranger. hayes had been in the mexican war. it was told of him that when the american and mexican armies were encamped opposite each other, that a mexican officer, splendidly equipped, came forward on horseback, and challenged any american to meet him in single combat between the two forces. jack hayes volunteered to go, and he killed him. he took his horse, gold watch and personal effects. he afterward learned who he was, and that he left a widow. he sent all his personal effects to her as a present. of course, we were interested warmly on his side, and he was elected. they say colonel b. spent all his $ , on his side and was defeated. no reputable citizen of san francisco or business man would allow himself to be seen betting at any of the public gambling tables. he would feel that he was losing character. i am trying to portray the scenes of those days exactly as they occurred, and if i left the gambling scenes out it would not be a true history. at first public offices went a begging; nobody wanted them. fine clothes were at a discount. he was looked upon as a tender-foot who knew nothing about the gold regions. but a flannel-shirted, roughly-dressed miner was the lion. he could tell something about the gold regions. the governor appointed a loafer fellow, in the early days, port warden. nobody wanted it, and he was indorsed by one firm. as the city grew very rapidly the office soon became valuable. somebody told the governor what kind of a man he had appointed port warden, and the governor wrote him a letter requesting him to resign, stating to him what representations had been made to him about his character, which, if he had known, he would not have appointed him. he wrote back to the governor refusing to resign, saying to him, he had better read the papers and look after his own character. the governor was up for re-election and the opposition papers were pitching into him. the grizzly bears. one warm afternoon my friend me and myself thought we would take a walk over to pesedeo; that was about three miles to the pacific ocean. the seal rocks is where the sea lions or seals can always be seen. it was the entrance to the golden gates, where the roar of the pacific ocean is twice that of the atlantic, it being six thousand miles broad, twice that of the atlantic. on our way we stopped into a tent to get a drink of water. we found it occupied by three miners, one of whom was quite lame. i inquired of him what was the matter. he said his hip had been dislocated by the grizzlies. i asked him how it happened. he said they went up to the trinity river to dig for gold. i knew that was the most remote gold river. he said they were lucky and found rich diggings, but after awhile their provisions gave out and they could not procure any unless they returned to the settlements. on their way, returning on horseback, they came to three grizzly bears grazing in a field. it was very dangerous to attack them, but they were very hungry. they thought if they could kill one of them it would supply them with meat, so they finally decided they would take their chances and fire on them, which they did, and wounded one. the other two took after the man whose hip was dislocated. he fled and came to a buckeye tree, the body of which slants, and he got up in it, the bears came on under it. after awhile they found they could not reach him. it being a low tree one of them commenced climbing it after him. he thought his last hour had come; all the events of his life seemed to rush on his mind, and a picture of the old-fashioned spelling book, where the man plays dead on the bear, came before him, which i distinctly recollected. he thought his only chance was to drop from the tree and hold his breath, and play dead on the bear, which he did, and fell on his face. one bear grabbed him by the shoulders and the other by the ankle, and in pulling, dislocated his hip. he had a thick overcoat on which they tore to pieces. he held his breath. after awhile they went off and left him. after a little while he raised his head to see if they were gone, and they came trotting back and smelt him all over again, and went away again, he holding his breath. then he laid a long time, fearing to move, and his companions came up "each fainter trace that memory holds so darkly of departed years, in one broad glance, the soul beholds, and all that was at once appears" in the cases of imminent danger such is said to be the case. it is evident that is what saved this man's life. truth is stranger than fiction. [illustration: pursued by the grizzlies.] the state seal of california is minerva, with a spear and shield and the grizzly bear at her feet. before the discovery of gold they were quite numerous. they roamed in full possession, apparently, of the country--no one to molest them or make them afraid. it was a very formidable animal, weighing from seven to eight hundred pounds. when the rainy season set in, late in the fall, and the winter months, during which the grass commenced to grow, he fed on it in the valleys and fields, and became fat and powerful. in the spring, when the dry season set in and no rain for seven months, and fields dried up with a dusty brown, he fled to the tops of the mountains to browse on the leaves of the trees to support life until the next rainy season commenced. it is said he is not a ferocious animal if unmolested, and will not attack you if you let him alone, unless it is a she bear with cubs, or you shoot at them and wound them. they are very hard to kill. to be hit by a bullet has very little effect on them, unless hit in a vital spot. an acquaintance of mine was walking on a road in the interior and saw a big grizzly coming down the road in the opposite direction toward him. he knew it would not do to undertake to run. he had been posted on their natures, so he kept walking right on, as if he was undisturbed and had no fear, the bear coming nearer to him all the time, with his gait unchanged, or he his, until they passed each other, he looking the grizzly in the eye and treating each other with due respect and consideration as friends. as an illustration of their strength, an old californian informed me that he knew of an instance where a grizzly came into a pack of live mules and took one off and carried it to his den and ate it. in corroboration of that fact, another man informed me that he saw a bear chasing a mule and fired on the bear and hit him, and the bear turned toward him, and the mule escaped. [illustration: the miner and the grizzly.] there was a mr. w., who opened a fashionable hotel on the east side of the plaza. i was invited to be one of a party of twenty to give a complimentary dinner to a friend, who was about to return east. the bill was just $ , which was $ apiece, the most i ever paid for a california dinner. the landlord became quite popular and was thought to be a very responsible person. a great many persons from the long voyages around cape horn arrived, sick with the scurvy, owing to want of vegetables at sea, most of whose systems underwent a change to become acclimated to the country; some seriously and others more mildly. it was thought it would be a good thing to do to erect a hospital for the benefit of the public and those arriving sick. there was $ , raised at the first meeting called, and mr. w., the landlord, was elected treasurer. [illustration: the man who escaped from the sandwich islands.] one night he got betting against the game of faro, lost, and i suppose got over excited, and in trying to recover his losses, lost every thing, including $ , . of course it was not known that he ever gambled or he would not have been trusted with the money. as soon as it was known it created great excitement and indignation, that so sacred a fund should have been wasted in that way. he fled, and the mayor offered $ , reward for his apprehension. it seems he had escaped on a vessel to the sandwich islands, and had no money, and got in debt there and could not leave there as long as he owed any thing, according to their laws, and he was in despair, until one day fortune smiled upon him. accidentally he came across a california paper in which was the $ , reward offered by the mayor of san francisco for his arrest, and this was his opportunity and he seized it at once. then hope dawned upon him. he found a vessel about to sail for san francisco. he took the paper and showed it to the captain and told him if he would advance the money so he could pay his debts, he would return with him to san francisco and he could surrender him and they would divide the reward. the captain accepted his offer and delivered him up upon his arrival at san francisco, and got the reward. two or three months had elapsed since his departure, and that was more time than so many years in any other country, and all excitement about it had subsided, and i think it was called a breach of trust, and i have no recollection that he was punished in any other way. my blanket man. when he wrote me that he had traded the blankets for flour, and had gone to the yuba river with the flour, i knew that it was a lie, and that he was a rascal, and i found that blankets had been in great demand, at a high price, and likewise learned that he had been connected with a forgery in new york city, but that his brother was a respectable merchant there, so for the time i gave up my $ as lost. what was my surprise after six weeks at my hotel (which was an expensive one), to see my man at the tea table. i greeted him most cordially and asked no questions about the blankets, but talked to him about the brig i owned and had running to stockton; that i had been looking for him to come back; there was such a splendid chance for us to make purchases in san francisco, and for him to take them up on my vessel and sell them out in the southern gold mines, near that place; that what we had lost on the blankets we could more than make up on the first venture, and that there would be big money in that kind of a speculation. we spent the evening together most cordially. the next morning i detained him in conversation until about the time for the miners' bank to open, then we went out together. when we got opposite the bank i took out my watch and said to him, that i did not think it was so late. i said i had a note of $ due there that morning; i asked him if he had the gold dust about him to that amount. he said yes. i said let me have it and i will take up my note. he said there was no place to weigh it. i said yes, here there was a place where i was acquainted. it was weighed and handed to me. i told him i would see him at dinner, which i did. i then opened on him, and told him how despicably he had acted when i so generously trusted to his honor. he made no reply; he virtually admitted the truth of my statement. i never saw him afterward. that was the only time i ever played the confidence game in my life, and my conscience has approved of it ever since. my friend, mr. r., had got his brewery well under way in happy valley, as they called that part of the city, had used up his $ , and commenced borrowing money on my indorsement, at ten per cent a month, the regular interest at that time. he had a friend, lieutenant s., who resigned from the regular army, a graduate from west point, who had been up in the country, and came back with a flaming account of a place on the toulama river, which empties into the san joaquin, which was the head of navigation on that river, and was the place to start a town, and if we would furnish him with $ , to do it with, we would each own a third of it. i did not take to it, but mr. r. was so earnest about it, and had such confidence in his friend, that i finally let him have the money. there was quite a spirit of speculation of that kind at that time. colonel stevenson had laid out one on suisan bay, at the mouth of the san joaquin river, named new york of the pacific. marysville, on the sacramento river, was laid out a short time previous, and proved a great success, making the fortunes of the projectors. of course, a few were successful, and many failed. it seemed to have been a legitimate thing to do to make a fortune in a new country. i became acquainted with broderick. it was koyler & broderick. they had an office in the same building with colonel stevenson. broderick, who was afterward united states senator from california, and i became very intimate. he was not intellectually a very brilliant man, but a solid, able and strictly honest man, and a thoroughly posted politician of his day. he had run as a democratic candidate for congress from the city of new york, but was not elected. in california he was first elected to the state senate from the city. it was he who conceived the project of laying out the water lots on the bay, and got the bill through the legislature. he advised me to buy one or more. i looked at where he suggested to me to buy, and found them six feet under water. although they could be bought very cheap then, their prospective value seemed so remote to me i thought they were not worth the trouble of bothering with. it shows how easy it is to be mistaken in apprehending the future. i understand they are now the most valuable part of the city. the man in his tent. the man in his tent, who had squatted on rincon point, an elevated locality, that commanded a grand view of the bay, informed me that when he squatted there with his tent, that he could find no person who claimed the land. he had been there but a few days, when some parties came to him and offered to give him so much a month for the privilege of putting up their tent near his. he said he had no objections. they paid him. then other parties who wanted to put up their tents were referred to him. from these various persons he was getting a very liberal income. he informed me that as long as it lasted, he was in no hurry to go to the mines. the clipper ships. about this time was the first appearance of the celebrated clipper ships. they anchored off of happy valley and attracted great attention; they could make the trip around cape horn from new york to san francisco in three or four months; they run wet; their bows were very sharp, and, in a rough sea, instead of mounting the waves, they cut them, and the bows ran under water, and their progress was not impeded by the waves, saving two or three months' time, which was of great consideration then. there was no railroad across the isthmus then, and there was no other way of transporting freight between the cities of new york and san francisco except around cape horn. they had great fame then. england conceded their superiority over all other sailing vessels for speed; but they have passed away, the railroad reducing the time to from five to eight days; of course, there is a great difference between that and three or four months. the days of sailing vessels, however great their speed, to a great extent, is gone. besides, there are regular lines of steamers to most every port of the world, and the ocean is covered with tramp steamers. that winter a convention was called to organize a state government and apply for admission to the union. the southern element there wanted to make it a slave state. the northerners, including both whigs and democrats, wanted it free. they did not want to be brought in competition with slave labor in the mines, and have their occupation degraded in that way. their pride, as well as interest, was at stake, and there was great feeling on the subject. meetings were called all through the mines and addresses made and candidates nominated. the average of intelligence there was away above any other part of the country. for they were men of enterprise, or they would not have been there in that early day. at mormon island, one of the miners got up and made a speech. he so impressed them with his ability that they unanimously nominated him as their candidate to the constitutional convention. he was an old acquaintance of mine. in or he was a democratic member of the legislature of the state of new york, from washington county, and was chosen by that body to deliver the oration on washington's birthday. his name was george washington sherwood. he was elected to the constitutional convention of california, and wrote its first constitution, copied after that of his native state, new york. the northern element prevailed in that convention, and california came in a free state by its unanimous vote. broderick headed the northern sentiment; gwin, who had been a united states marshal in mississippi, the southern. i met him often. he would come into a bar-room and say: "i did not come here to dig gold, but to represent you in the united states senate." he would then say: "come up all, and take a drink." i thought that was a strange way to inspire the people with the idea that he was the proper person to represent them in the united states senate. he was elected, with colonel freemont, the first two united states senators from california. at the next election for united states senators, broderick got absolute control, and although gwin had fought him bitterly, they were the two senators to be elected again. broderick had the magnanimity to induce his friends to go for gwin and had him elected with him, and gwin showed his ingratitude by going at once to washington and securing from buchanan the control of all the appointments of the government in the state of california. so when broderick came there, there were none to give his friends. gwin was afterward very prominent in the rebellion. he went out in a boat in charleston harbor, crying out from it his advice to major anderson, advising him to surrender at the time of the attack on fort sumter. (this is a matter of history that occurred after the time of which i am writing.) a bull fight. there were bills posted about the city that three of the most celebrated fighters of mexico would have an exhibition in the evening, and combat with animals. as my friend and myself never had seen one we thought we would go. it was an amphitheatre, with circular seats about the pit, with thick planks around it, the seats commencing about twenty feet from the bottom of the pit. there was a door at the side of the pit, which was raised by pulleys, which admitted the bull. they were wild ones. our seat was about the fifth row back. the house was crowded and brilliantly illuminated. then the bull-fighters were in the pit, one on horseback, two on foot, gorgeously and brilliantly dressed, with swords, the blades pointed like spears, with red flags in their hands to attract the bull. the door was raised and the animal came rushing in; he was a terrible one to look at. blinded by the lights and the scene, he rushed and roared around the arena; i trembled in my seat, although i was in no possible danger. the first feat of the bull-fighters was to plant a rosette on the shoulders of the animal with a barb implanted in his flesh, which enraged him more, with colored ribbons, two or three feet in length, attached to the rosette, which was flying in the air as he went around, indicating to the audience the success of the feat. then the same feat was performed on the other shoulder. then when the bull attacked the man again, a rosette was implanted between his horns, and the man escaped, which was the most difficult of all. they had red flags in one hand to enrage and blind him, but this bull, he became so furious and enraged that they could not master him. he rushed upon the man on horseback, threw the horse and rider, and, with his horns, tore the entrails out of the horse and killed it. the man was wounded, but escaped. the rest of the fighters fled, and one climbed up the side of the paling and came within two inches of being impaled alive against the side by the bull's horns. as i write i can, in imagination, hear the sound of the animal's horns as they struck the boards in missing the man. the bull was master of the situation; he had cleared the ring. it was a terrible sight as he roared around in his fury. then the most startling event of all occurred. it seems incredible, but it is the truth of history, and i must write it. [illustration: the bull fight] a greaser, with no weapon, but simply his _seraper_, a shawl that he wore around his shoulders, took that off and stretching it out in his hands, jumped down into the pit of the ring alone, to the entire astonishment of the audience, looked mr. bull in the eyes and dodged him with his shawl as the animal attacked him. he had probably been brought up among wild bulls. the audience all arose in excitement, expecting to see him torn to pieces, and crying out for him to escape. the professional bull-fighters got their red flags and drew the bull off, and the greaser escaped, and seemed to be surprised at the excitement of the audience. they succeeded in getting the bull out, and dragging out the dead horse, and letting in a less ferocious one. the same performance was gone through with him, as already described, except that this one was conquered. at last, when the bull pitched at the man, he holds his sword in such a way that the weight of the animal comes on it, and passes between his foreshoulders and penetrates his heart. in an instant the back wilts and the animal lies dead. it was the most sudden change, from full vitality to death; it startled you. it's a shock to your nervous system. my friend and myself said it was the first and last bull-fight we would ever see. the price of lumber and vegetables kept up. i paid forty cents a pound for potatoes in buying provisions for the hands on my brig. i furnished them enough to last them on the up trip, but not for the return, so they would hurry back. it was now time for the vessel with the houses to arrive, and i expected to buy a ship with the money, and to go to the sandwich islands and make, what i considered, a fortune for me, but alas! no _prince de joinville_ came. it was hope deferred. finally the rainy season set in in full blast, and all consumption of lumber stopped. the high price had stimulated shipments from everywhere. there was a big reaction in the price. the first prominent failure in the city took place, i think it was ward & co., commission merchants and private bankers. it was said it was owing to his large orders of shipments of lumber to that market. he shot himself with a pistol in the morning in his bedroom and died, knowing that he could not meet his creditors if he went to his place of business. about this time it was announced from telegraph hill that my vessel, with the houses, was entering the port two or three months after she was due, striking a glutted market. i had four or five thousand dollars to raise to pay the freight on them to get possession of them, or i would lose the capital invested. so instead of making $ , profit, which i might have made if they had come on time, i was running the risk of losing the capital invested in them. colonel stevenson had selected six of them some time before, which he wanted for his new york of the pacific, which he said he would make me an offer on as soon as they arrived. i saw it was my only chance to save myself to close that sale. i was at his office in the morning as soon as there was any probability of they being there. i said to him: "the houses have arrived. i am ready to receive your offer for the six you selected." he said he had no money now. i said i did not want any (which was a white lie). i said i would take a draft on prosper, whetmore & co., of new york city, for $ , , payable in ninety days, and his note for the balance, on his own time. he looked over the plan of the houses again. he said he would not give but so much. i said to him, that was not the question, what will you give? he said i will give you that amount, naming the sum. i said at once, they are sold, they are yours. he gave me the draft on whetmore & co., for $ , , payable in ninety days. just at this time, his partner, dr. parker, came in. the colonel informed him he had bought six of my houses. he said, you have made a mistake. lumber is in a glutted market. it is falling rapidly. the colonel said, that makes no difference now, i have bought them. the colonel was considered rich. no one there questioned the soundness of his draft. i went with it to all the brokers in the city, but could get no offer for it. i then went to charley minton, the agent of the steamer _senator_. i thought he could send it to new york to the owners of the steamer for its face value. he said, the best he could do with me was to give me $ , for it. money was ten per cent a month, and scarce at that. three months time, at the rate of interest there, would be $ . i said, i would take it. he gave me a check on his broker for that amount. he paid me in gold, $ spanish doubloon pieces. i tied them up in my handkerchief, and went to mccondery & co., and said to him, the vessel, with my houses, i see, are consigned to you. i will pay you $ , now on the freight, and before they are all taken off of the ship, i will pay you the balance. he said, take them all off, and pay the balance at your convenience (we were acquainted and had come up on the same steamer, and played whist together). it cost me $ to get them ashore. there were no wharves then. they had to be taken ashore on lighters. i expected my brig down from stockton soon, with $ , freight money, so i was out of the woods financially for the present. i then made arrangement with the colonel to have them landed on the north beach on land owned by him, where i could retail out my other six houses, which i had to sell, when i got a proper price for them. we formed a copartnership. i was to take one of my smallest houses, and have it erected there, to be used for an office, and to use the grounds as a lumber yard to sell on commission, and as a place for storage, which was very scarce then. there were quite a number who had taken the liberty of piling lumber and other articles on it, using it as public ground. i took formal possession of it in the name of colonel stevenson, and gave notice to the different parties that if they did not remove their materials from the premises in ten days they would be charged so much for storage. some removed, and others did not. i recollect the german house that did not remove it in thirty days after the ten days of notice. it was a wealthy house, and i handed them a bill of $ for storage, at which they demurred very seriously, questioning our title; but they paid it. when i went out to the ship to see about taking my houses off, i met the first mate, whom i got acquainted with in new york. i told him i thought the ship had been lost; that all the old tugs of ships had got in ahead of them. he said to me, i have had the worst time i ever had in my life. i have had to carry that old man on my shoulders (referring to the captain) all the way. whenever we had a good breeze and sails were all full, he would come on deck and order shorten sail to check our speed, or we might have been here a month sooner. that told the whole story. i saw them take freight, in my presence, when they were offered $ . per foot, when they told me there was no room for the other half of my houses to go on the ship, when i had a legal contract with them at sixty cents per foot. my freight alone would have made a difference of two or three thousand dollars by excluding it and taking the other in at the difference in the price of it. there is no doubt they served many other shippers and put their goods on other vessels, and kept theirs back until the other ships would get to san francisco ahead of them, so that they could deliver the freight according to their bills of lading on the arrival of the _prince de joinville_. that was why my speculation was ruined by their dishonesty. instead of being the fastest ship, it was a fraud, a decoy, a dead trap on those who were unfortunate enough to ship by it. when i saw the captain he was very humble. he had all kinds of apologies to make, and invited me to go to china with him. i could have the best state-room on his ship. it should not cost me a dollar. i could go around the world with him. i saw that my speculation was ruined by their dishonesty, and there was no remedy, and, like all human events, that ended it, and i had to abandon my sandwich island expedition and throw my anticipated fortune from it to the winds. mr. meighs, the one who failed and ran away to chili, and built the railroad in that country from valparaiso to its capital, and then organized a company and constructed railroads in peru, had a lumber yard side of me. i sold, after a while, my other six houses, one at a time, retailing them out, and, by careful management, just succeeded in saving my original capital. i was satisfied with san francisco, with my interest in the lumber yards, and with my partnership with colonel stevenson on the north beach. my interest in my brig, when it came down, and my prospective interest in what was to be the city of toulom, and my associations with mr. r., who was building the first brewery on the pacific, which i was backing up with my indorsement, and i was to have one-third interest when it was completed, if i wanted it, at first cost, looked like a very favorable investment for me at that time. i was living an active and enterprising life, with bright hopes of future fortune. one morning when i went down to the north beach i found there had been a house erected on our land in the night. i, of course, informed the colonel at once. he informed me it was a man by the name of colton, who pretended to have a title under what he called the "colton grant," and that it was bogus, and that he had the building erected to try and force his title. the colonel said he would see the judge of the court in the city, and get an order for its removal. in about two hours he sent a messenger with an order from the judge authorizing us to remove it. he instructed me to employ all the men that were necessary, and have the material removed from the premises and he would pay the bill, which i did, and our title was not disputed after that. i had never been on a trip to stockton, and i had chartered the freight capacity of the brig to a man for $ , . he was to put in it all the freight he chose to. i thought it would not be for his interest to overload it. if the vessel sunk there was no insurance--his cargo would be a total loss. i had reserved the deck and the passenger room. the conditions of the charter were that the freight was to be delivered in stockton by a certain date or i was to forfeit the $ , . the freight was aboard; he had loaded the vessel deeper than i had expected. i had a number of passengers at $ each. they were to furnish their own provisions, but to have the privileges of the cooking stove on deck. the vessel was anchored out in the bay, to sail at p.m., when the tide was most favorable. i had a new chain for the anchor, and the captain said he wanted a kedge anchor for safety, so i ordered one from mccondery & co., for $ , on condition that, without fail, they would have it on board before p.m. we were all on board by o'clock, waiting for the favorable tide, to start. at : no anchor and the bay was very rough. the captain said it would not come, they would not venture out in that sea in a small boat. i said it would be there certain, i knew my man. sure enough, in a few moments we could just see a boat in the distance, two men rowing and one guiding the rudder. they came alongside and we had the anchor aboard in five minutes. in the stern was mr. watson, one of the firm. he said he was afraid to trust his men in that sea for fear they would fail to deliver it. the profit on it to them was only $ . , and it was a very wealthy firm, but they had pledged their word to me that they would have it there at that time. (would that there were more of such honorable men.) we hoisted anchor, the tide in our favor and a stiff breeze blowing. we passed out of the bay of san francisco into the bay of los angles, and crossed that into the straits of benica, which is four miles long and connects with suisan bay. the straits of benica was a perfectly safe anchorage. it was approaching night, and blowing almost a gale. i was in hopes and expected that the captain would come to anchor in the straits and wait until morning before venturing out into the suisan bay, which was twenty miles across to the mouth of the san joaquin river, where we were bound. the bay was almost like the open sea; you could get out of sight of land. i think he would have come to anchor if i, the owner, had not been on board, and had not urged upon him the importance of having the vessel in stockton in time. as he was the captain i felt sensitive about interfering with his business, and had hoped and expected, all the way through the straits, that he would come to anchor, and not undertake to cross the bay that night. darkness was setting in, but he did not come to anchor. the gale increased to a hurricane; all sails were taken in, and we were scudding under bare poles, and had a lantern hung up in the rigging. the captain came to me and said, loaded as we were, we could not live in that gale; he would have to seek a place to anchor on the side of the bay. i said to him, he was the captain. the line was thrown out every few minutes. at last we found sounding, and the anchor was cast. we had been there but a short time before another vessel, more than twice as large as ours, came aside of us, with a heavy deck-load of lumber, and got entangled in our anchor chain, and kept drawing us nearer to them. if they had struck our vessel we knew we were lost. they would have sunk us at once. seven times they came down on us and each time, by superhuman efforts, we warded the blow, all hands and passengers doing their best, fully realizing the danger they were in. it seems to me that i hear now the oaths of the captain of the other vessel rising above the sounds of the terrific hurricane as he was ordering his men, for they, too, were in danger if they collided with us. of course, he was on the bare poles. as he came on us the eighth time they hoisted their jib sail. as the wind struck it, it seemed to lift their vessel out of the water, and, thank god, we were freed from it. it was forty-five years ago, and, as i write, it all lives before me as visible as if it were yesterday. the captain of the other vessel had seen our light, and, supposing we were in the right channel, had followed us. we had escaped what seemed almost certain death, but were not out of danger. our new good chain was attached to our bad chain, and the captain had let out all our chain to free us from the other vessel, so we were actually hanging by our bad chain in the open roadstead, not in the protection of a harbor, and liable to drag our anchor or break our chain and be wrecked; but we could do nothing more than submit to our fate. i thought i would get into my berth and try and get to sleep, and, if i found myself alive in the morning, we might be saved. i did sleep, and when i awoke it was daylight. the gale was subsiding. we had dragged our anchor. the bow of our brig was very sharp; the banks were soft mud, and we had struck it with such force that we were wedged in. the tide was low and we were almost out of water. we fortunately had struck the land with our bow, and that was what saved us. if we had struck with the side of the vessel we would have been wrecked. so, ever since we had been freed from the other vessel, we had been in safety and did not know it. we waited for the tide to rise and then got our kedge anchor out and pulled the vessel out off the bank as the tide rose. the sea was very rough, but the gale had subsided, and by o'clock we were entering the mouth of the san joaquin river in safety. it was forty miles up the river to stockton. the river was in a valley of tullieries. the land seemed to be in the course of formation. there was but one tree between the mouth and stockton, a willow, called the lone tree. the only place on its banks where the soil had formed solid enough to produce one, surrounded by hills at that season of the year, covered with beautiful wild flowers. the scenery was magnificent. as the river curved we could see the white sails of other vessels. they looked as if they were in a field. you could not see the water at a little distance, the river being narrow. we could almost jump from our deck to the banks. we felt in perfect safety. contrasting that with the night before in that terrible hurricane and in the death struggles for our lives, it produced a supreme feeling of ethereal ideal happiness that this earth seemed almost a paradise. the captain informed me that there was one place on the river where we might have to anchor. it was called the devil's elbow. there was a sharp turn in the river and the current was rapid, and we might have to pull the vessel around it; but sometimes, if it was favorable, he could sail around it, and if done successfully, then the vessels that had come to anchor could find no fault; otherwise you had to come to behind the others and take your turn. when we were coming to it, he was at the helm and i at his side, to see what was the best to do. as we approached, we saw several vessels had come to for the purpose of pulling around. the last was a large vessel that the captain said could never get around. if we anchored behind it we might not be able to deliver our freight according to the charter. we had put an english sailor in the hold to let the anchor go, in case we did not succeed, if we gave him the signal to do so. as we came to the place with all sails set, there was a breeze sprung up, filling all the sails. i said to the captain, let her go. as we passed the vessels that had come to anchor there was a howling and yelling from them of derision and anger at us for going by them. just as we got two-thirds of the way around, the sailor in the hold let the anchor go without orders. he got frightened. if he had not, we would have made it successfully. as it was, we got ahead of all the other vessels, and got to stockton in ample time. the next morning there was a drove of mules at the side of the brig, and the cargo was being discharged and packed on their backs to be taken to the mining camps, as there were no good roads there in those early days. about all the grain and flour came from valparaiso and chili, put up very nicely in fifty and one hundred pound sacks, so it was easy to handle. as soon as all the mules were packed, the head mule, who had on a bell fastened around his neck, which rang as he went, was started first, and all the rest, in single file, followed him, and they were going for the different mining camps in the interior. in two or three days we were unloaded, and we were prepared to return. the freight money was paid to me in gold, at $ per ounce in full, all being satisfactory to the shipper. i had delivered it within the time specified. one of the passengers who came up with me, a tailor, from salem, mass., asked me if i would not give him a free passage back on the vessel to san francisco; that he wanted to try to get home; he was discouraged. i said to him you have traveled eighteen thousand miles to get to the gold mines, and now you are within half a day of them and want to go home without trying your fortune. if you do go, you will never forgive yourself, but go to the mines and try your luck; then, if you are discouraged and want to go back, i will give you a free passage, as we have no passengers on our return trip. home sickness. when a person was attacked with it, it seemed the worst kind of malady, as it would take them months to return if they had the money to pay their passage. many were married men, separated a great distance from their wives and children. others, young men, who had their engaged ones waiting for them to return, with their fortunes made in the gold mines, to marry them. i can recall several instances where i have known them to lie down and die from despair. i was talking with an old californian of those days. he said he had once given up and made up his mind to wander off by himself on the mountains and die, which he did. as he lay there in despair, after a while he thought he would look around him, and he saw the hill was covered with every variety of beautiful wild flowers. he said their beauty seemed to refresh and revive his mind, and give him new resolution, and he decided to try his fortune again, and he became successful and returned to the states with a competency. [illustration: the despondent miner.] the early pioneers had some conflict with the indians in the interior of the country. five oregon men were massacred by them when engaged in digging gold, but a terrible retribution was visited upon those indians concerned in it by the enraged forty-niners. the indians, at first, had nothing but bows and arrows, and, of course, could not compete with rifles. several other small engagements were rumored, but they soon gave up all contests with the whites, for they saw it was useless. there was an acorn that was quite plenty in california, being longer than ours, but not of a bitter taste. the squaws made flour of them. the digger indians were the next tribe east of them; they were probably the lowest grade. they would set fire to the prairie grass to burn the grasshoppers, and pick them up and eat them. they deemed them a luxury. the oregon tribes were a higher grade, a warlike race, and superior in every respect. the highest grade of them, in the united states now, are the choctaws and chicksaws that formerly occupied the northern parts of the state of mississippi. when a young man, i spent three weeks in their nation, travelling alone, and was treated with great hospitality by them. they are quite intelligent, and they have laws and customs as civilized nations. we generally look upon all of them as alike, but such is not the case--there is as great a difference between different tribes as much as between different white nations. the california indians were not naturally warlike, and when the early pioneers expected any trouble from them, they would appoint a committee to go and see them, and they generally settled their difficulty without any conflicts. jesuit mission stations. there were about sixteen jesuit missionary stations in the country before the discovery of gold, and were there for the purpose of converting the indians to the catholic church, and when converted, generally made them work to sustain their missionary establishments. i had returned to my office on the north beach after my only trip to stockton on my brig. my friend r. was progressing with his brewery. he had received a favorable letter from lieutenant s. about our touwalma city, and informing me that s. had a diamond ring that cost $ in rio janeiro, at a broker's office, as collateral security for $ borrowed on it at ten per cent per month, and the time was about up. if i would redeem the ring i could keep it and wear it until he paid me. i went and saw the ring. it was as represented, and i redeemed it and wore it for a considerable time. one day r. came to me with a naming letter from s. that he had laid out the city and been elected alcalde, and we would make our fortune, and there was a friend of s. that was going up there, and if i would send up the ring by him he would appreciate it so much, and he would be responsible that i should not lose any thing by it. i was foolish enough to be persuaded by him and handed him the ring, for which act i have never forgiven myself. that was the last i ever saw of the ring or any of the money invested in touwalma city, for it turned out a failure. it was never the head of navigation on the river, or any thing else that was ever heard of. there were three unfortunate events that occurred in california in the winter months of and the beginning of . the rainy season had destroyed all the dams constructed on the gold rivers and raceways, which had been constructed at great expense for the purpose of working the beds of the river for gold, the rivers often rising from ten to eighteen feet in a night, and the current running with terrible force. the second, the flooding of sacramento, destroying large quantities of merchandise and carrying away and undermining the houses there. the third was the great fire in san francisco, destroying one-third of the main business portion of the city, upon which there was no insurance. there were no companies organized or agents there to insure property then, as it was too risky. there was one four-story fire-proof building that was stored full of the most valuable goods, at a large price for storage, for it was considered absolutely fire-proof, but when the fire came the heat of the fire from the buildings around it caused the iron sides of it to expand, which let the roof fall in and burned every thing to the ground, so that nothing was saved. instead of being a place of safety, it was the most destructive of all. some ships in the bay were burned. i succeeded in getting in the rear of the fire to save my brig. i ordered the men to hoist anchor and put out further in the bay, which saved it. these unfortunate events destroyed and marred the fortune of many. on the day before i called on a private banker, g., on the plaza, and presented my check for $ . he said to me, if it made no difference, it being steamer day (once a month they went east when the gold was shipped to the mint in philadelphia by them), and if i would call in the morning for it, it would be an accommodation to him. i said i wanted to use it. he commenced weighing it out. i then thought it would make no difference to me and it was mean not to accommodate him, for i might want some favor of him. i said, if i can have it in three days without fail it would answer my purpose. he said, you can have it now, pouring the gold in the scales to weigh it. i said never mind, i don't want it now. the fire came that night, burnt his place up and all his property. he was a ruined man. i never saw him afterward. mr. g., to whom i had bargained to sell my houses to arrive, (and he backed out) was an englishman from liverpool. he had about all the consignments of shipments from that city (evidently being very popular there), to sell on commission at ten per cent; when the goods came and were sold, instead of remitting the capital to the owners and being satisfied with his commission, he used it in buying property and in erecting buildings in san francisco. he had constructed a fire-proof building which he rented to the government for a post-office, at a large sum per month, likewise the first theatre in the city, and other buildings. he informed me at one time how much his rents amounted to per month; the sum was several thousand dollars. money was worth but three to five per cent in england per year to the owners of the merchandise; while in california it was in demand at ten per cent per month. i suppose he thought he would make a great fortune for himself and then return to england (where he had a wife and children) and pay up all his obligations with extra allowance, for the use of the money, and make all satisfactory; but the great fire destroyed all his buildings, and he was a ruined man, there being no insurance in the city then. i met a friend in new york about two years after my return from california; i asked him when he saw mr. g. last. he said, "it was about o'clock one day at a hotel where he invited some friends to take a drink. mr. g. was there, he declined; but afterward called him to one side and asked him to loan him $ , saying he had had no breakfast that morning." such was an example of some of the fluctuations of fortune in those days. some parties came with various kinds of machinery that was to make a certain fortune for them, and was taken up into the interior at great expense. i never knew of one that was successful. about all the companies that were formed in the states to go around cape horn for mining purposes generally dissolved after arriving in california, but what they brought with them for supplies, sold for so high a price that it generally sold for more than the cost of their passage, and they had money coming to them. some companies bought the ships as they came in and hired the captain. i recollect one, called the _mechanics' own_. every person joining their company in the states had to be voted in and pay $ , . they put on airs and talked quite aristocratic of their captain as their boy. three persons started the first bank in san francisco, called the miners' bank, on the northwestern corner of the plaza. mr. haight, who was from rochester, n.y., and the sutler of colonel stevenson's regiment, was one of them. it was said that at first they bought gold as low as $ per ounce, when it was worth more than $ at the mint east. the owners of the bank made $ , each in three or four years. before the discovery of gold the then small places on the pacific coast obtained their supplies from small trading vessels that sailed along the coast and stopped at their towns occasionally. after the discovery of gold, at first goods went up four or five times their previous value, and when one of these vessels was seen entering the port, parties would put out in small boats to get aboard of them before they came to anchor (they on board knowing nothing about the discovery of the gold), would bargain with them for some of their goods, and finally offer them so much for all their cargo. it being beyond their expectations the offer was generally accepted, and thus some big speculations were made. a lieutenant of stevenson's regiment, who had been down in monterey and had not heard of the gold discovery, on his first day in san francisco, informed me that he did not know what to make of things. most of his old acquaintances wanted to know if he did not want to borrow some money; they had some that he could have as well as not. the steamers came in once a month with letters and papers. then long lines were formed to the post-office. sometimes it took half a day to get there. the new york papers at first sold for $ each. then they got down to fifty cents. i sold the _new york herald_, that was more than a month old, that contained the latest news there from the states in the interior, for $ , and the man coaxed it out of me at that, for i wanted to give it to a party of friends i was going to see in the mining districts. i knew it would be a great treat to them. it is almost impossible to recall all the exact scenes of those days, so as to have them fully realized by the reader. the city of san francisco was extending more rapidly in what they called the happy valley district, which was toward the mission of dolores, established by the jesuits. i visited it when the building was intact. i recollect a painting of an indian warrior, with his bows and arrows, the implements of war, represented as a saint ascending to heaven--i suppose to create favorable impression on indians and make converts of them. my friend was going on with his brewery, and borrowing money and getting me deeper on his paper. he heard that i had $ , deposited with mccondery & co., and pleaded with me to let him have it as it would carry him through. i had lost all confidence in him, and felt it would be like throwing it in the sea. i informed him that i had shipped it the day before, which i had not, but went right down and gave an order for its shipment, for fear he might over-persuade me to let him have it, and i thus saved it. when most completed, a barrel of alcohol that was in the building bursted, and it ran down to the furnace and set it on fire, and burnt it up. that was the fate of the first brewery started in california. since then there have been millions made in that business there. the north beach property, after i had sold all my houses out, i closed my interest in. it proved a failure to use for a wharf or shipping point. during the seven months of summer the north-west wind blew there so hard every afternoon that it was not a safe place for vessels, and the property would never have any value for that purpose, and i do not think it has ever been used since for that. in the winter months, which is generally the rainy season, the wind blows from the south for five months, and the other seven months it blows from the north-west over six thousand miles of ocean, and, consequently, is not impregnated with any decayed vegetable matter, and is as pure as air can be. in san francisco the sun would rise in a clear sky every morning and there would be a perfect calm; by a.m. there would be a little breeze; by or o'clock, a gale. when the sun set the wind would subside and there would be a perfect calm again. every day would be the same, month after month. what was almost a gale on the coast would be a gentle breeze up in the mining district, in the interior. the next day that air would be displaced by another gale from over the thousand miles of ocean, for it is impossible to imagine any other country with purer air. during that time there were various visionary reports of new discoveries of gold regions, one of a lake that the sands of its banks were rich with gold. all you had to do, to make your fortune, was to wash it out, which produced quite a sensation, and parties were organized to go there, but they never found it. the next year after the purchase of my brig, there were small steamers constructed to run to stockton, and they had already some sailing vessels put on, built there, and the price of freight had commenced falling, and i thought i had better sell my vessel while i could get a good price for it. there was a man who came to me and said he wanted to buy it; that he had been a captain of a boat on lake erie. i stated to him my price for it. he said that was not out of the way, but he would like to try it one trip before closing the purchase, and referred me to a mercantile house there as his reference. they said he had run vessels for them on lake erie when they were doing business in buffalo. i concluded that was entirely satisfactory; that that had evidently been his regular business. he said he wanted to employ all his own hands. i had the vessel, at the time, half loaded with freight, which i turned over to him. i paid my men and discharged them, and told them the vessel was about to change owners, and put him in full possession of it. of course i had nothing more to do with it until he returned from the trip to stockton; then i expected he would close the purchase as he said that the price was satisfactory to him. after a few weeks i commenced looking for the return of my brig, but it did not come. finally i heard a rumor that the captain had left the vessel at stockton, but did not believe it, but thought that some accident might have happened. i had borrowed a spy-glass to investigate the bay. i could have recognized my vessel by the red streak around it. finally, after it had been gone long enough to make several trips, i discovered it at anchor in the bay. i went and supplied myself with money, in case it should prove true that the captain had left the vessel, to pay his men in full before they got ashore, because the vessel was liable for their wages, whoever might have employed them; so i hired a boat to row me out to it. i met a man on the deck that seemed to be in command. i inquired of him where the captain was. he said he had run away. i spoke to him in a sharp tone of voice and said, how do you know that? he said, because i saw him on the back of a mule going over the plain. then he asked me, are you the owner? i said, yes. then i said, you have all got your pay before he went; i did not employ you. he said, some of them have got some. as you seem to be in command, i suppose you have kept an account of how it stands. he said, "come down in the cabin and i will show it to you." i said, "it was hard on me to be robbed of all my freight money, but it was also hard for them to be cheated out of their hard earnings, and i would see what i could do for them." he presented the statement of what each man had received and what was due them. i was surprised at his correctness. i said: it seems all right and i would pay them, which i did, and took their receipt. i was afraid if they went ashore and found the vessel was liable for their wages they might make any kind of demands, so i got possession of my vessel again, very much damaged. before leaving the port he had let the steamer _senator_ run into the bows of the vessel, and it cost me $ to have it repaired, ship carpenters' wages being $ per day, payable in gold. the events which i had anticipated of the decline of that kind of property had come, and, after it was repaired, i put it up at auction and sold it, so that rascal cost me several thousand dollars. such was life in california in the days of the forty-niners. having some leisure i thought i would take a trip up the mining regions, and make a visit to my old friends there. more than a year had passed, and greater changes had taken place than would have occurred in any other country in many years. the population of california increased one hundred thousand the first year after the discovery of the gold, which had accounted for the great changes which had taken place since my previous trip. i went up on the steamer _senator_ to sacramento, which had become quite a city, and the next morning started for coloma in a stage full of passengers, drawn by mules. i took a seat aside of the driver. i got in conversation with the driver. i asked him what pay he received? he said, only $ per month and his board. i asked him if he had driven stages before? he said, yes, out of boston. i said, at what wages? he said, $ a month. i said that there was a big difference between that and $ . he said, yes, but that this was his last trip. he took a party of three up only a few weeks ago, and he brought them down yesterday, and they had between $ , and $ , apiece, and he was not going to waste his time driving for $ a month. he was going to the mines the next day. it was quite probable that the party referred to had made an unusual lucky strike, for i had met parties that had done the same thing. i had had in my hands at one time, in san francisco, a piece of solid gold metal, something in the shape of the cover of a sugar loaf, that was worth $ , , found by a couple of green irishmen. they inquired of some miners in the interior where was a good place to dig. the miners said in fun, dig there in that sand bank behind you. the irishmen took them up in earnest and went to digging. in a short time they found that chunk of gold, where no experienced miner would think of digging. i have dug gold in the cellar of the brewery in san francisco. i think most all the soil of that part of california is impregnated with gold. but the point is to find it in sufficient quantities to pay to dig it. as an illustration, if you knew that in a certain piece of ground there was $ , worth of gold, and it cost you $ , to wash all the ground to get it, of course that land would have no gold value. i found at coloma that my friends had left the dutch bar and gone to the middle fork of the american river, some distance from there. i got directions how to get there and started on foot. toward night i met a young man who had just came overland and had separated that day from his party to get work in the mining camp. i told him where i was going, and that he had better go with me, and that he could get from $ to $ per day to work for other parties, or to join two others and work a claim for himself, which he did. so as it was getting toward night, we camped under a tree and slept until morning, and took a fresh start. that day we found the middle fork of the american river and my friends. the river was sunk way down in the earth. it seemed almost a mile down to the water where they were to work. it was quite a large mining place. the excitement there every day was when the "dummy" went into the river. it was a diving armor that had been used in the gulf of lower california to go down in the deep waters to hunt for pearls, and had been bought by a party of five, each putting in $ , making $ , , expecting to make their fortunes by getting into the deep water of the gold rivers. (as i have shown before, the torrents and force of the currents had prevented any gold from ever lodging there.) every day at such an hour, it was announced that the "dummy" was a going in the river. the other miners quit their work to see it, and the proprietors of the "dummy" always treated the crowd in the most lavish manner. its credit was good for any store bills. its always treating the crowd had made it popular, and nobody would trade with the storekeeper who would not trust it, so it was death to the prosperity of the storekeeper, whether he trusted it or not. they never got any gold while there through "dummy," and when he left to go further down the river to try another place, the main storekeeper there lost $ by trusting it, which broke him. these stores were tents, to supply immediate wants of the miners. i never heard of "dummy" afterward. i have no doubt he operated on all the store tents until he came to grief like all evil-doers. the productiveness of the gold rivers had not diminished any that i could perceive. i talked to a man who had been off a little ways to prospect in another place. i asked him what luck? he said, there was nothing there. i said, was there no gold? he said; yes, there was some, but of no value. he said a man could make $ a day, and who was a going to waste their time on that. my visit over, i returned to san francisco. my friend r.'s brewery was not completed. i was informed he had been borrowing money from a jew at twenty per cent a month. it was no use for me to back him any more, however valuable it might be, if completed, and i had no doubt there was a fortune in it, but neither he nor i had the capital to do it. i had some other financial entangling matters, and i was afraid if i kept on with them i might get broke, and the only way i saw of getting out with them was to announce that i was going to leave, and going down to relago, central america. there was an english steamer advertised to sail for that port and panama. i thought i would go for sixty days and then return and commence again and manage my affairs in a more conservative way, and what i could control. well i closed my matters out the best i could and engaged my passage on the steamer for relago. there was considerable excitement at this time about the nicaragua route. the above place would be the terminus on the pacific coast, and, consequently, a place of importance. as i had missed it in trading six of my houses for lots in san francisco, there might be a chance to get some there in advance of any rise on them. any way, i wanted to get out of my entangling alliances and take a fresh start. the night before i sailed mr. brady (colonel stevenson's son-in-law) came to me and said the colonel did not like to have me go. i told him i had paid my passage, $ . he said the colonel understood that. he put his hand in his vest pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. he said, here is the $ , which he told me to give you, so you will not lose any thing by not going. there was once a lady, the wife of one of the officers of his regiment, who arrived there, expecting to meet her husband, but he was up in the country. the colonel asked me to go down to the steamer and meet her, and escort her to a boarding-house to stay until her husband arrived, which i did. i told him that she was short of funds, having expected to meet her husband. he gave me $ and told me to give it to her, as if i loaned it to her, and when her husband paid me i could return it to him. i mention these little incidents to show that whatever faults he may have had, he was the most generous of friends. colonels stevenson, freemont and captain sutter will stand pre-eminent in the future history of the state as its most prominent founders. i sailed out of the port of san francisco on the steamer _ecuador_ for relago, central america, expecting to return to california within sixty days. in a few days, out at sea, we began to hear unfavorable rumors about our vessel; that the engineer had left the day before our sailing; that he did not consider it safe to go in it; that it could not carry coal enough to take it to acapulco, the next coaling place. and we were informed that it was a steamer that had been running from panama to valparaiso, and had been bought up by a speculator and sent up to san francisco as an experiment, to see if it would pay. the officers and men had never been up the coast before, and knew nothing about the port. one day we were startled in mid ocean by the stopping of the engine. we soon found the cause. the captain was about to try his sails so as to save coal (which verified the reports about being short of coal). we made some headway with the sails, but lost it again when the wind subsided, by the currents of the ocean; so that project was abandoned, and after some days we put into the port of san blas, in mexico, for fuel. there was no coal there, so we laid in all the wood we could to try and reach acapulco (here we could not buy any thing with our $ gold pieces, but they were ready to sell for silver). the cholera had been there, they said, but had left. the priests had had a procession, and, with their incense boxes, had marched through the streets and driven it out. we took in all the wood we could get and started to make the port of acapulco, the regular coaling port for all the steamers on that coast. it was sunday p.m. we could raise fuel enough to make only four knots an hour. it was an iron steamer. we were burning what there was of the woodwork of the vessel, for if we could not make the port before dark we were lost. the officers were not acquainted with the coast. we had not fuel enough to keep steam up all night, and we would be on the broad pacific ocean, six thousand miles across, without the remotest possibility of meeting any other vessel, without any control of our steamer, subject to be driven in any direction. i heard the mate talking to the captain about the propriety of wrecking the vessel and saving what lives they could, although we were in sight of land. the captain said the under-tow was so great that none could be saved in that way. it is twice as great on the pacific as the atlantic. there were no female passengers. one man said he had $ , in gold with him; if his wife and children only had that he would be content to meet his fate, under the circumstances, but it was hard to leave them without it. all the passengers had more or less gold, or they would not have been returning. you can imagine with what anxiety we watched every indication of the coast to see if there was any chance of us nearing the port. finally, toward night, we saw a high projection of land on the coast, and that was predicted that it was the entrance to the port. if we could reach that point before dark, we might be saved. the passengers went to work to break up any thing for the fires that would make steam. the captain made no objections, but told them to burn all woodwork on the vessel to save their lives. at dark we reached the point we had in view, and it was fortunate for us that it was the entrance to the port. as the vessel turned to enter, you could see, coming over the waters of the ocean, a tropical storm, accompanied with wind, thunder and lightning. twenty minutes later it would have reached us, and we would have been lost. as soon as we got safely in port (and it was very dark), i can hear now, in imagination, the sound of the anchor as it was let down in the water, which assured our entire safety. it thundered and lightninged, and blowing a high gale, which was music in our ears, as we knew we were out of danger, and feeling the supreme gratification of knowing what we had escaped. blessed to us was the high mountains which surrounded the port. the entrance to it is narrow, but when you get inside it is one of the safest harbors in the world, being perfectly land-locked. the next day opened on a happy lot of passengers. i felt as if i was commencing life anew. we went ashore expecting to be there several days, as they proposed to take in a full supply of coal. this place had been once quite a city, but many years ago had been partly destroyed by an earthquake. it was said that the water went out of the bay most to the tops of the mountains, and then reacted to its usual level in the harbor; that there was a french ship carried up to the sides of the mountains, and when the water reacted, carried back in safety in the harbor. hundreds of buildings were destroyed, the ruins of which are now visible where the city once extended. i was introduced to general alvarado. he was the most prominent man in mexico, on the pacific coast, at that time, and afterward became very prominent in the public affairs of his country. on our return to the vessel that evening there was quite an excitement on board. among the passengers was a party of three who had been quite successful in sacramento in the bottling of soda and summer beer, and peddling it out through the city. they had picked up by chance an old acquaintance from waterford who belonged to an aristocratic family there, and by his habits of dissipation was a mortification to them. so when the california excitement broke out, they furnished him the money to go to the gold regions. it would either reform him or they would get rid of him. of course, such men were no good in california, and he had spent his money and wanted to return. these men came across him and told him they were going to return east in sixty days, and if he would keep straight, and drive one of their wagons for them, they would take him home with them. when they went ashore the first day they left him in charge of their baggage, and promised him that he could go ashore the next. they had their private store of wines and brandy. he had found it and tried it and got full, and treated all the sailors and everybody on board that would drink with him, and was the most popular man on board with the sailors. he repented the next day and begged their forgiveness, and they took him home with them. like a bad penny, he returned as he was before. distance did not reform him. well, our next port was relago my destination. just after dark one day we got opposite to what, according to the charts, was that port. it was necessary for them to wait until morning before they could undertake to enter it, as they had never been there before, and there were no pilots, and they decided not to let the steam go down, and they concluded that they would sail slowly around in a circle, so as to be opposite to the port in the morning. when morning came it was foggy, and we could not see the land. but they had such confidence in the correctness of their chart that they determined to enter it. instead of the port, we came to the white caps, dashing against the rocks almost mountains high, and we came within an ace of being dashed to pieces against them. if the engineer had not reversed the movement of the engine the instant he did, we would have been wrecked. the captain was now completely befogged. in a short time he came to me with a paper to sign agreeing to go to panama. it should cost me nothing extra for my passage there; that the few other passengers for that port had signed it. i thought i had better sign to go anywhere than to take any more chances in that steamer. come to find out afterward, instead of being opposite the port that morning, we were twenty miles from it, the currents of the ocean having carried us that distance while we were sailing around in a circle, which they had not ciphered on, and thus came so near wrecking us. by chance we saw a sailing vessel. the captain gave orders for the steamer to follow it, and, when we overtook it, we found it was bound for relago. there was a man on board of it who was acquainted with the port. they got him to come on our steamer and had him pilot us to that port, so i expected to go ashore, and got my baggage in readiness, and, when the time came, had it brought up on deck. they did not enter the port, but came to outside. there were two passengers, it seems, that would not sign the paper to go to panama, and it was to land them he had come to, and when i went to have my baggage put in the small boat the captain informed me i had signed to go to panama, and some of the other passengers said i was very foolish to risk my life in that sea in so small a boat. before i scarcely knew it the boat had pushed off without me, and, consequently, the whole current and course of my life was changed. upon such little incidents often do the events of human life depend. it may have been fortunate for me that i did not land there. there was in nicaragua at the time a filibustering expedition under the command of captain walker, who went from california to overthrow the government there by taking sides with the revolutionary movement that had been started, and to get an american control of the government, which i did not approve of, for i considered it a dishonorable movement; but still, if i had landed, they being my countrymen, i might have got mixed up with them. they were conquered and all sentenced to death, and shot. it is barely possible i might have shared their fate. i have often thought since i made a good escape by not landing. scenes on the pacific ocean. the course of the steamer is frequently in sight of land. the storms i have referred to were tropical storms, lasting but a short time. the ocean is generally very mild all the distance, three thousand five hundred miles from panama to san francisco. north of san francisco the storms are somewhat similar to the atlantic ocean storms. the passengers on the return trip were in the best of spirits; they were returning home; all of them had been more or less successful in california, and i can recall to my mind many pleasant times we had on board the steamship. the porpoise are very numerous on the pacific ocean; there were often, for days, schools of them on the sides of the steamer, throwing themselves out of the water, and then diving in again; great numbers, at the same time, seeming like the motion of a revolving wheel. occasionally we would hear the cry, "there she blows;" a jet of water being thrown up many feet high in the air--a sperm whale had come up to breathe. we frequently saw flying fish. one day there was a school of them landed on the steamer; they are similar to other fish, except having wings, but not of a very large size. at another time a booby bird came on the steamer. it got its name from its stupidity. we frequently saw them on the water, floating on a piece of board or a stick of wood; sailors say they have seen them five hundred miles out to sea in that way. this one you could take up and handle; it made no resistance. on the coast of central america we saw two mountain peaks of great height, standing out, individually, like the pyramids, said to be extinct volcanoes that were thrown up from the internal fires of the earth, and which, at one time, belched forth melted lava and fire. we arrived safe in panama. i was so near home that i thought i might as well return and see my friends, and take a fresh start for california, and try my fortune once more. they had commenced building the railroad over the isthmus, but it was not completed, so we crossed over to cruize, the head of navigation on the chagres river, and went down that to its mouth, and there took the steamer _georgia_ for new york, commanded by captain porter, of the united states navy--the man who had control of the vessels in going down the mississippi river and successfully passing vicksburg, which had so much to do with its capture. he was a perfect gentleman, and commanded your admiration with the skill of his management of the vessel. there were on the vessel well-dressed pickpockets, who went from new york to the isthmus, to return by the steamers to the city, for the chances of robbing the returning californians of their gold dust, as all of them had more or less of it on their persons. one unfortunate victim of their wiles appealed strongly to my sympathies. he was an english sailor, and had been two or three years up in the gold mines, and had $ , or $ , in gold dust in a buckskin bag on his person. he showed it to me. i advised him to deposit it with the purser for safety; that i had done so with mine. he said they could not rob him. he was about the happiest man i ever saw. he was richer, in feeling, than the vanderbilts. he said he had a wife and children in liverpool, and would take the first steamer from new york for that port. he said he had not seen his family for several years, and now that he had the gold he could make them all happy. he was in the steerage. a few days after i heard he was sick. he had fainted. some parties had helped him up; evidently pickpockets had taken that opportunity to rob him; his gold was all gone. i explained his case to captain porter, but nothing could be done. there was no way to identify his gold dust from any other; it was all alike. when he arrived in new york, he would have to go to the hospital until he got well enough to ship on some other vessel for $ per month, and not be able to return to his wife and children with his gold, and make them happy, while these black-hearted villainsillians were spending his money, his hard earnings of years. i entered in a bond, with myself, that if i were ever on a jury i would never show any mercy to a thief. as we were sailing along many ships and schooners came in sight. we were evidently nearing the great port of new york. the land of staten island soon came in sight covered with snow. it was late in the fall. it was the first i had seen since my departure from the same port, except on the highest peaks of the sierra nevada mountains. here ends my personal adventures of the days of the forty-niners, to be continued by the peroration on california. peroration. on my return, in looking over my finances, i was no poorer than when i left. it must be evident to the reader that i had acquired no wealth to astonish my friends with my riches, which was the visionary expectation of the early pioneers to the gold eldorado. i have been writing from personal recollections of events that occurred forty-five years ago. of course, there was nothing in my enterprises, or the little fluctuations of fortune that would be of particular interest to any one; but in the form of a personal narrative, it was the only way i could recall vividly to my mind, the events of so long ago. there were a series of articles published in the _century_ magazine two years ago, which i read with great interest, for they were truthful, but no book has ever been published that took in fully those two years when common labor was $ per day, payable in gold. such an event was never known to occur before, and probably never will again. i have not drawn on my imagination in the least in this narrative. i have simply attempted to portray from memory events that actually occurred under my own observation. any forty-niner will concede the truth of my narrative. i did not return to california as i had expected. cupid's arrow pierced my heart in the person of a young lady, and sealed my fate. i had a cottage built in the quiet and beautiful valley of schoharie, where i have passed more than thirty years of happy married life. while not possessing the wealth of the successful pioneer, i have been content. "a monument to jacob a.l. fisher, a union soldier. "_interview with doctor knower, who has charge of it--some interesting reminiscences of forty-niners._ "a monument to be erected in the old stone fort cemetery to jacob a.l. fisher, a union soldier, by abraham schell, his uncle, of california. "a draft of the above monument is before us. it is quite an affair, about twenty-seven feet high, with a full length statue of a soldier on top. it is now being constructed in des moines, iowa, to be shipped by the st of may, and unveiled on the th day of july, , with appropriate ceremonies. dr. knower, in , in laying the corner-stone to the david williams state monument, gave the grandest celebration that ever occurred in this county. this one he expects to rely to a great extent on the local army organizations of the county, as this honor paid to one of their compatriots in arms is an honor to them. "we have before us a copy of the stockton (cal.) _evening mail_ of november , , containing a seven column article descriptive of abraham schell's vineyard at knight's ferry, cal. we quote from it: 'a characteristic act of abraham schell was to give a deed to the entire place and all of its appurtenances, last summer, to herrick r. schell, his nephew, who had served him faithfully as assistant and business associate for twenty-six years.' the property conveyed consisted of three thousand acres, upon which mr. schell had expended at the time the deed was given a quarter of a million of dollars. we see by the same article that abraham schell's landed purchases in that locality, in the early days, amounted to fifteen thousand five hundred and thirty-five acres. "mr. schell joined a company formed by dr. knower (who made an investment in it, and was then a resident of albany), which sailed on the ship _tarolinton_ from the port of new york, on the th of january, . the doctor, the following spring, shipped from albany, twelve houses around cape horn, the freight on which was $ , , he going by the way of the isthmus, arriving in san francisco on the th of september, . on the steamer going up from panama was judge terry, of louisiana, who killed united states senator broderick in a duel, and who was years afterward assassinated. "in these early days there was a contest between northern and southern pioneers whether california should come in the union a free or a slave state. broderick, a democrat from the city of new york, represented the northern sentiment, and was supported by the whigs of the state. common labor at that time was $ per day, payable in gold. it was more from pride than from any thing to do with the moral question of slavery. they did not want to come in competition with slave labor. the northern element predominated, and california came in a free state. its first constitution was written by george washington sherwood, who was a democratic member of the new york legislature from washington county, and copied after the constitution of this state. "california may be said to be the child of the state of new york; her citizens may be said to have been pre-eminent in its development and present greatness. "abraham schell was born in gallupville, and proposes to be buried in the neighboring village of middleburgh, his wife's native place, where he has erected a monument. "they say that all forty-niners who remained in california either became millionaires or paupers. it seems that mr. schell was one of the former. he was an unconditional union man in the rebellion, visiting the hospitals of the wounded soldiers, and assisting them by his means, and the erection of this monument to his nephew for his services in that war is but in accord with his acts of patriotism at that time." the above article inspired this undertaking at this time. i expected to find my friend on at the dedication of the monument, and thought i would have the manuscript ready on his arrival and submit it to him, and propose to have him go in partnership with me in its publication, and have him revise it with me. he was a man of high literary attainments, and an experienced forty-niner, who could have added many important events to it that did not come under my observation. he was wealthy, and had the means to bring it properly before the public. death of a former schoharian. intelligence reaches us of the death of abraham schell, at his home at knight's ferry, california, in the early part of february. mr. schell was seventy-six years old, and was a native of this county, having been born in the town of wright. at the time of the gold excitement in he was in the mercantile business in albany, but sold out and joining a company of friends journeyed to california, where he invested his means to good advantage and became highly successful, amassing a large fortune. his vineyards and their product have long been celebrated. a man of independent thought and fine literary attainments, he was one of the sons of schoharie county, whose enterprise and intellectual culture we may take just pride in. his remains are deposited in a vault there, to be brought here in the spring by his nephew, and interred in their final resting place in the cemetery at middleburgh, where he has a $ , monument erected. we learn from dr. knower that the proposed monument to his nephew at old stone fort will undoubtedly be erected, as it has been contracted for, but the full details he will not be posted on until the arrival of the nephew in the spring. the above will show that death, which plays an important hand in the events of human life, intervened; so i have gone on alone and submit it to the public, such as it is. i hope and trust it may meet the approval of all californians, more particularly of those of the days to which it refers. if they will give their approval, it will add to the happiness and gratification of one of their compatriots of those early days of the pioneers and founders of the state of california. what california has become since, we, at that time, had no realization of. instead of conceiving it an utter impossibility of ever building one railroad across the continent, we now have five. instead of conceiving the idea that it would never be an agricultural country, it may be said to be the vineyard and wine producing country of the world, and it has a greater variety of productions than most any other land. the city of san francisco, when i first entered it, had not as many good buildings as a common eastern village. now it has a population of nearly four hundred thousand, and edifices that cost millions. it has produced more millionaires, from persons that went there poor, than any other country before in the history of the world, and more money has been donated to science and education by those successful pioneers, who were the creators of their own fortune in the same time, than all the rest of the world in the past forty-five years, since the days of the forty-niners. lick's institution for the science of astronomy, leland stanford's twenty millions to the alto university of learning, open to all students, are illustrations of the above statements. the foundation of the fortunes of many bankers and wealthy capitalists of the east were made in california in the days of the forty-niners. mill, the owner of the great building at the corner of broadway and wall street, the ground on which it stands costing a million, who is many times a millionaire, went from sing sing, in this state, a poor boy in . armour, the great millionaire cattle dealer of chicago, made his first money there in those days, which laid the foundation of his great fortune, and many others i can recall to mind too numerous to mention. while all did not succeed, as they never do in any human enterprise, some got discouraged, others fell by the way and laid down and died from disappointment, yet others more than realized their most fabulous conception of wealth. i was told when i was a boy if i went where the sun set and dug for gold i would find it. when i became a man i went three thousand miles in the direction of the sun setting and dug and found gold. it is not a dream, for as i close this writing i see on my little finger a gold ring made from the gold i there dug, which has been there for forty-five years. it is so fine that it has been wearing away, and it is not more than one-fourth the size it was when i first put it on, and time is likewise wearing on me, and it will probably last as long as i do, and we will disappear together, as shakespeare says, "besmeared with sluttish time." the end. appendix. it was the brains and statesmanship of wm. l. marcy, when he was secretary of war under president polk, that inaugurated and generaled the movements that resulted in our securing possession of california--by his expeditions, sent by sea and by land, of regular forces, followed by the volunteer regiment of one thousand men, under the command of col. jonathan stevenson, as the following able state paper indicates: [confidential.] [illustration: w.l. marcy] war department, washington, _june_ , . sir.--i herewith send you a copy of my letter to the governor of missouri for an additional force of one thousand mounted men. the object of thus adding to the force under your command is not, as you will perceive, fully set forth in that letter, for the reason that it is deemed prudent that it should not, at this time, become a matter of public notoriety; but to you it is proper and necessary that it should be stated. it has been decided by the president to be of the greatest importance in the pending war with mexico to take the earliest possession of upper california. an expedition with that view is hereby ordered, and you are designated to command it. to enable you to be in sufficient force to conduct it successfully this additional force of a thousand mounted men has been provided, to follow you in the direction of santa fe, to be under your orders or the officer you may leave in command at santa fe. it cannot be determined how far this additional force will be behind that designated for the santa fe expedition, but it will not probably be more than a few weeks. when you arrive at santa fe with the force already called, and shall have taken possession of it, you may find yourself in a condition to garrison it with a small part of your command (as the additional force will soon be at that place), and with the remainder, press forward to california. in that case you will make such arrangements as to being followed by the reinforcements before mentioned, as in your judgment may be deemed safe and prudent. i need not say to you that in case you conquer santa fe (and with it will be included the department of the state of new mexico), it will be important to provide for retaining safe possession of it. should you deem it prudent to have still more troops for the accomplishment of the object herein designated, you will lose no time in communicating that opinion on that point, and all others connected with the enterprise, to this department. indeed you are hereby authorized to make a direct requisition for it upon the governor of missouri. it is known that a large body of mormon emigrants are en route to california for the purpose of settling in that country. you are desired to use all proper means to have a good understanding with them, to the end that the united states may have their co-operation in taking possession of and holding that country. it has been suggested here that many of these mormons would willingly enter into the service of the united states and aid us in our expedition against california. you are hereby authorized to muster into service such as can be induced to volunteer; not, however, to a number exceeding one-third of your entire force. should they enter the service they will be paid as other volunteers, and you can allow them to designate, so far as it can be properly done, the persons to act as officers thereof. it is understood that a considerable number of american citizens are now settled on the sacramento river, near sutter's establishment, called "nueva helvetia," who are well disposed toward the united states. should you, on your arrival in the country, find this to be the true state of things there, you are authorized to organize and receive into the service of the united states such portion of these citizens as you may think useful to aid you to hold the possession of the country. you will in that case allow them, so far as you shall judge proper, to select their own officers. a large discretionary power is invested in you in regard to these matters, as well as to all others, in relation to the expedition confided to your command. the choice of routes by which you will enter california will be left to your better knowledge and ampler means of getting accurate information. we are assured that a southern route (called the caravan route, by which the wild horses are brought from that country into new mexico) is practicable, and it is suggested as not improbable that it can be passed over in the winter months, or at least late in autumn. it is hoped that this information may prove to be correct. in regard to routes; the practicability of procuring needful supplies for men and animals, and transporting baggage is a point to be well considered. should the president be disappointed in his cherished hope that you will be able to reach the interior of upper california before winter, you are then desired to make the best arrangement you can for sustaining your forces during the winter, and for an early movement in the spring. though it is very desirable that the expedition should reach california this season (and the president does not doubt you will make every possible effort to accomplish this object), yet if, in your judgment, it cannot be undertaken with a reasonable assurance of success, you will defer it, as above suggested, until spring. you are left unembarrassed by any specific directions in the matter. it is expected that the naval forces of the united states which are now, or will soon be in the pacific, will be in possession of all the towns on the seacoast, and will co-operate with you in the conquest of california. arms, ordnance, munitions of war, and provisions to be used in that country, will be sent by sea to our squadron in the pacific for the use of the land forces. should you conquer and take possession of new mexico and upper california, or considerable places in either, you will establish temporary civil government therein, abolishing all arbitrary restrictions that may exist, so far as it may be done with safety. in performing this duty, it would be wise and prudent to continue in their employment all such of the existing officers as are known to be friendly to the united states, and will take the oath of allegiance to them. the duties of the custom-house ought, at once, to be reduced to such a rate as may be barely sufficient to maintain the necessary officers without yielding any revenue to the government. you may assure the people of these provinces that it is the wish and design of the united states to provide for them a free government with the least possible delay, similar to that which exists in our territories. they will then be called on to exercise the rights of freemen in electing their own representatives to the territorial legislature. it is foreseen that what relates to the civil government will be a difficult and unpleasant part of your duty, and much must necessarily be left to your own discretion. in your whole conduct you will act in such a manner as best to conciliate the inhabitants and render them friendly to the united states. it is desirable that the usual trade between the citizens of the united states and the mexican provinces should be continued, as far as practicable, under the changed condition of things between the two countries. in consequence of extending your expedition into california it may be proper that you should increase your supply for goods to be distributed as presents to the indians. the united states superintendent of indian affairs at st. louis will aid you in procuring these goods. you will be furnished with a proclamation in the spanish language, to be issued by you and circulated among the mexican people on your entering into or approaching their country. you will use your utmost endeavors to have the pledges and promises therein contained carried out to the utmost extent. i am directed by the president to say that the rank of brevet brigadier-general will be conferred on you as soon as you commence your movement toward california, and sent round to you by sea or over the country, or to the care of the commandant of our squadron in the pacific. in that way cannon, arms, ammunition and supplies for the land forces will be sent to you. very respectfully, your obedient servant, w.l. marcy, _secretary of war_. colonel s. n. kearney, _fort leavenworth, missouri._ http://www.archive.org/details/californians athearch the californians by gertrude atherton john lane: the bodley head london and new york third edition university press, cambridge, u. s. a. to n. l. book i i "i won't study another word to-day!" helena tipped the table, spilling the books to the floor. "i want to go out in the sun. go home, miss phelps, that's a dear. anyhow, it won't do you a bit of good to stay." miss phelps, young herself, glanced angrily at her briery charge, longingly at the brilliant blue of sky and bay beyond the long window. "i leave it to miss yorba." her voice, fashioned to cut, vibrated a little with the vigour of its roots. "you seem to forget, miss belmont, that this is not your house." "but you are just as much my teacher as hers. besides, i always know what magdaléna wants, and i know that she has had enough united states history for one afternoon. when i go to england i'll get their version of it. we're brought up to love their literature and hate them! such nonsense--" "my dear miss belmont, i beg you to remember that you have but recently passed your sixteenth birthday--" "oh, of course! if i'd been brought up in boston, i'd be giving points to socrates and wondering why there were so many old maids in the world. however, that's not the question at present. 'léna, do tell _dear_ miss phelps that she needs an afternoon off, and that if she doesn't take it--i'll walk downstairs on my head." helena, even at indeterminate sixteen, showed promise of great beauty, and her eyes sparkled with the insolence of the spoiled child who already knew the power of wealth. the girl she addressed had only a pair of dark intelligent eyes to reclaim an uncomely face. her skin was swarthy, her nose crude, her mouth wide. the outline of her head was fine, and she wore her black hair parted and banded closely below her ears. her forehead was large, her expression sad and thoughtful. don roberto yorba was many times more a millionaire than "jack" belmont, but magdaléna was not a spoiled child. "i don't know," she said, with a marked hesitation of speech; "i'd like to go out, but it doesn't seem right to take advantage of the fact that papa and mamma are away--" "what they don't know won't hurt them. i'd like to have don roberto under my thumb for just one week. he'd get some of the tyranny knocked out of him. jack is a model parent--" magdaléna flushed a dark ugly red. "i wish you would not speak in that way of papa," she said. "i--i--well--i'm afraid he wouldn't let you come here to study with me if he knew it." "well, i won't." helena flung her arms round her friend and kissed her warmly. "i wouldn't hurt his spanish dignity for the world; only i do wish you happened to be my real own cousin, or--that would be much nicer--my sister." magdaléna's troubled inner self echoed the wish; but few wishes, few words, indeed, passed her lips. "well?" demanded miss phelps, coldly. "what is it to be? do you girls intend to study any more to-day, or not? because--" "we don't," said helena, emphatically. and magdaléna, who invariably gave way to her friend's imperious will, nodded deprecatingly. miss phelps immediately left the room. "she's glad to get out," said helena, wisely. "she hates me, and i know she's got a beau. come! come!" she pulled magdaléna from her chair, and the two girls ran to the balcony beyond the windows and leaned over the railing. "there's nothing in all the world," announced helena, "so beautiful as california--san francisco included--in spite of whirlwinds of dust, and wooden houses, and cobblestone streets, and wooden sidewalks. one can always live on a hill, and then you don't see the ugly things below. for instance, from here you see nothing but that dark blue bay with the dark blue sky above it, and opposite the pink mountains with the patches of light blue, and on that side the hills of sausalito covered with willows, and the breakers down below. and the ferry-boats are like great white swans, with long soft throats bending backwards. i don't express myself very well; but i shall some day. just you wait; i'm going to be a scholar and a lot of other things too." "what, helena?" magdaléna drew closer. she thought helena already the most eloquent person alive, and she envied her deeply, although without bitterness, loving her devotedly. the great gifts of expression and of personal magnetism had been denied her. she had no hope, and at that time little wish, that the last paucity could ever be made good by the power of will; but that articulate inner self had registered a vow that hard study and close attention to the methods of helena and others as--or nearly as--brilliant should one day invest her brain and tongue with suppleness. "what other things are you going to be, helena?" she asked. "i know that you can be anything you like." "well, in the first place, i am going to new york to school,--now, don't look so sad: i've told you twenty times that _i know_ don roberto will let you go. then i'm going to europe. i'm going to study hard--but not hard enough to spoil my eyes. i'm going to finish off in paris, and then i'm going to travel. incidentally, i'm going to learn how to dress, so that when i come back here i'll astonish the natives and be the best-dressed woman in san francisco; which won't be saying much, to be sure. then, when i do come back, i'm going to just rule things, and, what is more, make all the old fogies let me. and--_and_--i am going to be the greatest belle this state has ever seen; and that _is_ saying something." "of course you will do all that, helena. it will be so interesting to watch you. ila and tiny will never compare with you. some people are made like that,--some one way and some another, i mean. shall--shall--you ever marry, helena?" "yes. after i have been engaged a dozen times or so i shall marry a great man." "a great man?" "yes; i don't know any, but they are charming in history and memoirs. i'd have a simply gorgeous time in washington, and ever after i'd have my picture in 'famous women' books." "shall you marry a president?" asked magdaléna, deferentially. she was convinced that helena could marry a reigning sovereign if she wished. "i haven't made up my mind about that yet. presidents' wives are usually such dreary-looking frumps i'd hate to be in the same book with them. besides, most of the presidents don't amount to much. truthful george must have been a deadly bore. i prefer benjamin franklin--although i never could stand that nose--or clay or calhoun or patrick henry or webster. they're dead, but there must be lots more. i'll find one for you, too." again the dark flush mounted to magdaléna's hair, as with an alertness of motion unusual to her, she shook her head. "aha!" cried the astute helena, "you've been thinking the matter over, too, have you? who is he? tell me." magdaléna shook her head again, but slowly this time. helena embraced and coaxed, but to no effect. even with her chosen friend, magdaléna was reticent, not from choice, but necessity. but helena, whose love was great and whose intuitions were diabolical, leaped to the secret. "i know!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "it's a caballero!" this time magdaléna's face turned almost purple; but she had neither her sex's quick instinct of self-protection nor its proneness to dissemble, secretive as she was. she lifted her head haughtily and turned away. for a moment she looked very spanish, not the unfortunate result of coupled races that she was. helena, who was in her naughtiest humour, threw back her head and laughed scornfully. "a caballero!" she cried: "who will serenade you at two o'clock in the morning when you are dying with sleep, and lie in a hammock smoking cigaritos all day; who will roll out rhetoric by the yard, and look like an idiot when you talk common-sense to him; who is too lazy to walk across the plaza, and too proud to work, and too silly to keep the americans from grabbing all he's got. i met a few dilapidated specimens when i was in los angeles last year. one beauty with long hair, a sombrero, and a head about as big as my fist, used to serenade me in intervals of gambling until i appealed to jack, and he threatened to have him put in the calaboose if he didn't let me alone--" magdaléna turned upon her. her face was livid. her eyes stared as if she had seen the dead walking. "hush!" she said. "you--you cruel--you have everything--" helena, whose intuitions never failed her, when she chose to exercise them, knew what she had done, caught a flashing glimpse of the shattered dreams of the girl who said so little, whose only happiness was in the ideal world she had built in the jealously guarded depths of her soul. "oh, magdaléna, i'm so sorry," she stammered. "i was only joking. and my statesmen will probably be horrid old boors. i _know_ i'll never find one that comes up to my ideal." she burst into tears and flung her arms about magdaléna's neck: she was always miserable when those she loved were angry with her, much as she delighted to shock the misprized. "say you forgive me," she sobbed, "or i sha'n't eat or sleep for a week." and magdaléna, who always took her mercurial friend literally, forgave her immediately and dried her tears. ii don roberto yorba had escaped the pecuniary extinction that had overtaken his race. of all the old grandees who, not forty years before, had called the californias their own: living a life of arcadian magnificence, troubled by few cares, a life of riding over vast estates clad in silk and lace, botas and sombrero, mounted upon steeds as gorgeously caparisoned as themselves, eating, drinking, serenading at the gratings of beautiful women, gambling, horse-racing, taking part in splendid religious festivals, with only the languid excitement of an occasional war between rival governors to disturb the placid surface of their lives,--of them all don roberto was a man of wealth and consequence to-day. but through no original virtue of his. he had been as princely in his hospitality, as reckless with his gold, as meagrely equipped to cope with the enterprising united statesian who first conquered the californian, then, nefariously, or righteously, appropriated his acres. when commodore sloat ran up the american flag on the custom house of monterey on july seventh, , one of the midshipmen who went on shore to seal the victory with the strength of his lungs was a clever and restless youth named polk. as his sharpness and fund of dry new england anecdote had made him a distinctive position on board ship, he was permitted to go to the ball given on the following night by thomas o. larkin, united states consul, in honour of the commodore and officers of the three warships then in the bay. having little liking for girls, he quickly fraternised with don roberto yorba, a young hidalgo who had recently lost his wife and had no heart for festivities, although curiosity had brought him to this ball which celebrated the downfall of his country. the two men left the ball-room,--where the handsome and resentful señoritas were preparing to avenge california with a battery of glance, a melody of tongue, and a witchery of grace that was to wreak havoc among these gallant officers,--and after exchanging amenities over a bowl of punch, went out into the high-walled garden to smoke the cigarito. the perfume of the sweet castilian roses was about them, the old walls were a riot of pink and green; but the youths had no mind for either. the don was fascinated by the quick terse common-sense and the harsh nasal voice of the american, and the american's mind was full of a scheme which he was not long confiding to his friend. a shrewd yankee, gifted with insight, and of no small experience, young as he was, polk felt that the idle pleasure-loving young don was a man to be trusted and magnetic with potentialities of usefulness. he therefore confided his consuming desire to be a rich man, his hatred of the navy, and, finally, his determination to resign and make his way in the world. "i haven't a red cent to bless myself with," he concluded. "but i've got what's more important as a starter,--brains. what's more, i feel the power in me to make money. it's the only thing on earth i care for; and when you put all your brains and energies to one thing you get it, unless you get paralysis or an ounce of cold lead first." the californian, who had a true grandee's contempt for gold, was nevertheless charmed with the engaging frankness and the unmistakable sincerity of the american. "my house is yours," he exclaimed ardently. "you will living with me, no? until you find the moneys? i am--how you say it?--delighted. always i like the americanos--we having a few. all i have is yours, señor." "look here," exclaimed polk. "i won't eat any man's bread for nothing, but i'll strike a bargain with you. if you'll stand by me, i'll stand by you. i mean to make money, and i don't much care how i do make it; this is a new place, anyhow. but there's one thing i never do, and that is to go back on a friend. you'll need me, and my yankee sharpness may be the greatest godsend that ever came your way. i've seen more or less of this country. it's simply magnificent. americans will be swarming over the place in less than no time. they've begun already. then you'll be just nowhere. is it a bargain?" "it is!" exclaimed don roberto, with enthusiasm; and when polk had explained his ominations more fully, he wrung the american's hand again. polk, after much difficulty, but through personal influence which he was fortunate enough to possess, obtained his discharge. he immediately became the guest of don roberto, who lived with his younger sister on a ranch covering three hundred thousand acres, and, his first intention being to take up land, was initiated into the mysteries of horse-raising, tanning hides, and making tallow; the two last-named industries being pursued for purposes of barter with the boston skippers. but farming was not to polk's taste; he hated waiting on the slow processes of nature. he married magdaléna yorba, and borrowed from don roberto enough money to open a store in monterey stocked with such necessities and luxuries as could be imported from boston. when the facile californians had no ready money to pay for their wholesale purchases, he took a mortgage on the next hide yield, or on a small ranch. his rate of interest was twelve per cent; and as the californians were never prepared to pay when the day of reckoning came, he foreclosed with a promptitude which both horrified don roberto and made imperious demands upon his admiration. "my dear don," polk would say, "if it isn't i, it will be some one else. i'm not the only one--and look at the squatters. i'm becoming a rich man, and if i were not, i'd be a fool. you had your day, but you were never made to last. your boots are a comfortable fit, and i propose to wear them. i don't mean yours, by the way. i'm going to look after you. better think it over and come into partnership." to this don roberto would not hearken; but when the rush to the gold mines began he was persuaded by polk to take a trip into the san joaquin valley to "see the circus," as the yankee phrased it. there, in community with his brother-in-law, he staked off a claim, and there the lust for gold entered his veins and never left it. he returned to monterey a rich man in something besides land. after that there was little conversation between himself and polk on any subject but money and the manner of its multiplication; and, as the years passed, and polk's prophecy was fulfilled, he gave the devotion of a fanatic to the retention of his vast inheritance and to the development of his grafted financial faculty. between the mines, his store, and his various enterprises in san francisco, polk rapidly became a wealthy man. even in those days he was accounted an unscrupulous one, but he was powerful enough to hold the opinion of men in contempt and too shrewd to elbow such law as there was. and his gratitude and friendship for don roberto never flickered. he advised him to invest his gold in city lots, and as himself bought adjoining ones, don roberto invested without hesitation. polk had acquired a taste for spanish cooking, cigaritos, and life on horseback; his influences on the californian were far more subtle and revolutionising. don roberto was still hospitable, because it became a grandee so to be; but he had a yankee major-domo who kept an account of every cent that was expended. he had no miserly love of gold in the concrete, but he had an abiding sense of its illimitable power, all of his brother-in-law's determination to become one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country, and a ferocious hatred of poverty. he saw his old friends fall about him: advice did them no good, and any permanent alliance with their interests would have meant his own ruin; so he shrugged his shoulders and forgot them. the american flag always floated above his rooms. in time he and polk opened a bank, and he sat in its parlour for five hours of the day; it was the passion of his maturity and decline. when polk's sister, some eleven years after the occupation of california by the united states, came out to visit the brother who had left her teaching a small school in boston, he married her promptly, feeling himself blessed in another new england relative. she was thirty-two at the time, and her complexion was dark and sallow: but she carried her tall angular figure with impressive dignity, and her chill manners gave her a certain distinction. don roberto was delighted with her, and as she was by nature as economical as his familiar could desire, he dismissed the major-domo and gave her _carte blanche_ at the largest shops in the city; even if he had wished it, she could not have been induced to buy more than four gowns a year. but she was a very ambitious woman. as the wife of a great californian grandee, she had seen herself the future leader of san francisco society. her ambitions were realised in a degree only. don roberto built her a huge wooden palace on nob hill,--on which was the highest flagstaff and the biggest flag in san francisco,--placed a suitable number of servants at her command, and gave her a carriage. but he only permitted her to give two large dinners and one ball during the season, and would go to other people's entertainments but seldom. as their ideas of duty were equally rigid, she would not go without him; but they had a circle of intimate and aristocratic friends with whom they lunched and dined informally,--the polks, the belmonts, the montgomerys, the tarltons, the brannans, the gearys, and the folsoms. they had been married ten years when magdaléna, their only child, was born. iii mrs. yorba was so ill when her daughter came that the child struggled miserably into existence, and, failing to cry, was put away as dead, and forgotten for a time. it was discovered to be breathing by mrs. polk, who coaxed it through several months of puny existence with all a native californian woman's resource. during this time it never cried, only whimpered miserably at rare intervals. it was finally discovered to be tongue-tied, and as soon as it was old enough an operation was performed. after that the child's health mended, although she seemed in no hurry to use her tongue. as she progressed in years she still spoke but seldom, only mildly remonstrating when helena belmont pulled her hair or vented her exuberant vitality upon magdaléna's inferior person. once only did she lose her temper,--when helena hung up all her dolls in a row and slit them that she might have the pleasure of seeing the sawdust pour out,--and then she leaped upon her tormentor with a hoarse growl of rage, and the two pommelled each other black and blue. but as a rule she was gentle and much-enduring, and helena was very kind and clamoured constantly for her society. as the girls grew older they studied together, and the friendship, born of propinquity, was strengthened by mutual tastes and sympathy. helena was probably the only person who ever understood the reticent, proud, apparently cold and impassive temperament of the girl who was an unhappy and incongruous mixture of spanish and new england traits; and magdaléna was helena's most enthusiastic admirer and attentive audience. magdaléna had one other friend, her aunt, mrs. polk, for whom she was named. that lady was enormously stout and something of an invalid, but carried the tokens of early beauty in a skin of brilliant fairness and a pair of magnificent dark eyes fringed with lashes so long and thick that magdaléna, when a child, found it her greatest pleasure to count them. mrs. polk knew little of her husband and liked him less. she had obeyed her brother's orders and married him, loving a dazzling caballero--who had since gambled away his acres--the while. but polk ministered to the luxury that she loved; and though his high-pitched voice never ceased to shake her nerves, and his hard cold face to inspire active dislike, as the years went on and she saw how it was with her people, she accepted her lot with philosophy, and finally--as youth fled--with gratitude. mrs. yorba she detested, but she loved the child she had saved to a life of doubtful happiness, and--she had no children of her own--would gladly have adopted her. she lived a life of retirement, and had a scanty though kindly brain: therefore she never understood magdaléna as well as helena did at the age of six; but she could love warmly, and that meant much to her niece. the three large and aristocratically ugly mansions of don roberto yorba, hiram polk, and colonel "jack" belmont stood side by side on nob hill. belmont was not as wealthy as the others, but a "palatial residence" does not mean illimitable riches even yet in san francisco. belmont had married a boston girl of far greater family pretensions than mrs. yorba's, but of no more stately appearance nor correct demeanour. the two women were intimate friends until her husband's notorious infidelities and erraticisms when under the periodical influence of alcohol killed mrs. belmont. neither don roberto nor polk drank to excess, and they kept their mistresses in more decent seclusion than is the habit of the average san franciscan. it would never occur to mrs. yorba to suspect her husband or any other man of infidelity, did she live in california an hundred years, and mrs. polk was too indifferent to give the matter a thought. although she lived in retirement, rarely venturing out into the winds and fogs of san francisco, mrs. polk surrounded herself with all the luxuries of a pampered woman of wealth and fashion. her house was magnificent, her private apartments almost stifling in their sumptuousness. polk squeezed every dollar before he parted with it, but his wife had long since accomplished the judicious exercise of a violent spanish temper, and her bills were seldom disputed. magdaléna and helena loved these scented gorgeous apartments, and ran through the connecting gardens daily to see her. their delight was to sit at her feet and listen to the tales of california when the grandee owned the land, when the caballero, in gorgeous attire, sang at the gratings of the beauties of monterey. mrs. polk would sing these old love-songs of spain to the accompaniment of the guitar which had entranced her caballeros in the _sala_ of her girlhood; and helena, who had a charming voice, learned them all--to the undoing of her own admirers later on. it was she who asked a thousand questions of that arcadian time, and mrs. polk responded with enthusiasm. doubtless she exaggerated the splendours, the brilliancy, the unleavened pleasure; but it was a time far behind her, and she was happy again in the rememoration. as for magdaléna, she seldom spoke. she listened with fixed eyes and bated breath to those descriptions of the beautiful women of her race, seeing for the time her soul's face as beautiful, gazing at her reflected image aghast when she turned suddenly upon one of the long mirrors. her soul sang in accompaniment to her aunt's rich voice, and her hands moved unconsciously as those listless spanish fingers swept the guitar. when helena imperiously demanded to be taught, and quickly became as proficient as her teacher, magdaléna kept her eyes on the floor lest the others should see the dismay in them. had it occurred to mrs. polk to ask her niece if she would like to learn these old songs of her race, magdaléna would have shaken her head shyly, realising even sooner than she did that there was no medium for the music in her soul, as there was none for the thoughts in her mind. although her aunt loved her, she did not scruple to tell her that she was not to be either a beautiful or a brilliant woman; but although magdaléna made no reply, she had a profound belief that the virgin would in time grant her passionate nightly prayers for a beautiful face and an agile tongue. beauty was her right; no woman of her father's house had ever been plain, and she had convinced herself that if she were a good girl the virgin would acknowledge her rights by her eighteenth birthday. as her intellect developed, she was haunted by an uneasy scepticism of miracles, particularly after she learned to draw, but she still prayed; it was a dream she could not relinquish. nor was this all she prayed for. she had all the californian's indolence, which was ever at war with the intellect she had inherited from her new england ancestors. her most delectable instinct was to lie in the sun or on the rug by the fire all day and dream; and she was thoroughly convinced that the virgin aided her in the fight for mental energy, and was the prime factor in the long periods of victory of mind over temperament. and only her deathless ambition enabled her to keep pace with helena. she sat up late into the night poring over lessons that her brilliant friend danced through while dressing in the morning. her memory was bad, and she never mastered spelling; even after her schooldays were over, she always carried a little dictionary in her pocket. she laboured for years at the piano, not only under her father's orders, but because she passionately loved music, but she had neither ear nor facility, and to her importunities for both the virgin gave no heed. and the bitterness of it all lay in the fact that she was not stupid; she was fully aware that her intellect was something more than commonplace; but the machinery was heavy, and, so far as she could see, there was not a drop of cleverness with which to oil the wheels. she had read extensively even before she was sixteen,--letters, essays, biographies, histories, and a number of novels by classic authors; and although she was obliged to read each book three times in order to write it on her memory, she slowly assimilated it and developed her brain cells. up to this age she was seldom actively unhappy, for she had the hopes of youth and religion, her aunt, helena, and, above all, her sweet inner life, which was an almost constant dwelling upon the poetical past, linked to a future of exalted ideals: not only should she be more beautiful than helena or tiny montgomery or ila brannan, but she should hold rooms spell-bound with her eloquence, or the music in her finger-tips; and when in solitude her soul would rise to such heights as her fettered mind hinted at vaguely but insistently. wild imaginings for a plain tongue-tied little hybrid, but what man's inner life is like unto the husk to whose making he gave no hand? iv helena remained an hour longer, then ran home to don a white frock and roman sash. her father, with all his vagaries, seldom failed to dine at home; and he expected to find his little daughter, smartly dressed, presiding at his table. his sister, mrs. cartright, who had managed his house since his wife's death, made no attempt to manage helena, and never thought of taking the head of the table. magdaléna stood for some time looking out over the darkening bay, at the white mist riding in to hang before the mountains beyond. she had seen california wet under blinding rain-storms, but never ugly. even the fogs were beautiful, the great waves of sand whirling through the streets of san francisco picturesque. california was associated in her mind, however, with perpetual blue skies and floods of yellow light. she had wondered occasionally if all people were not happy in such a country,--where the sun shone for eight months in the year, where flowers grew more thickly than weeds, and fruit was abundant and luscious. she had read of the portion to which man was born, and had decided that if thackeray and dickens had lived in california they would have been more cheerful; but to-day, assailed by a presentiment general rather than specific, she accepted, for the first time, life in something like its true proportions. "there are no more caballeros," she thought, putting into form such sense of the change as she could grasp. "and helena is going away, for years; and papa will not let me go, i know, although i mean to ask him; and aunt is way down in santa barbara, and writes that she may not return for months. and i don't know my music lesson for to-morrow, and papa will be so angry, because he pays five dollars a lesson; and mrs. price is so cross." she paused and shivered as the white fog crept up to the verandah. it was very quiet. she could hear the ocean roaring through the golden gate. again the presentiment assailed her. "none of those things was it," she thought in terror. "uncle jack belmont says, according to balzac, our presentiments always mean something." she noticed anew how beautiful the night was: the white wreaths floating on the water, the dark blue sky that was bursting into stars, the mysterious outline of the hills, the ravishing perfumes rising from the garden below. "it is like a poem," she thought. "why does no one write about it? oh!" with a hard gasp, "if i could--if i could only write!" a meteor shot down the heavens. for the moment it seemed that the fallen star flashed through her brow and lodged, effulgent, in her brain. "i--i--think i could," she thought. "i--i--am sure that i could." and so, the cruel desires of art, and the tree of her crucifix were born. she went inside hastily, afraid of her thoughts. she changed her frock for a white one, smoothed her sleek hair, and walked downstairs. she never ran, like helena--unless, to be sure, helena dragged her; she had all the dignity of her father's race, all its iron sense of convention. she went into the big parlours to await her parents' return; they had been spending a day or two at their country house in menlo park, and would return in time for dinner. the gas had been lighted and turned low; magdaléna had never seen any rooms but her own in this house sufficiently lighted by day or by night, except when guests were present. mrs. yorba would waste neither gas nor carpets; in consequence, the house had a somewhat sepulchral air; even its silence was never broken, save when helena gave a sudden furious war-whoop and slid down the banisters. the walls of the parlour were tinted a pale buff, the ceilings frescoed with cherubs and flowers. on the great plate-glass windows were curtains of dark red velvet trimmed with gold fringe. the large square pieces of furniture were upholstered with red velvet. the floor was covered with a red brussels carpet with a design of squirming devil-fish. three or four small chairs were covered with indian embroidery, and there were two chinese tables of teak-wood and mottled marble. gas having been an afterthought, the pipes were visible, although painted to match the walls. magdaléna had seen few rooms and had not awakened to the hideousness of these; her aunt had mingled little taste with her splendour, and the belmont mansion was furnished throughout its lower part in satin damask with no attempt at art's variousness. magdaléna opened the piano and felt vaguely for the music in the keys. she forgot the star, remembered only her passionate love of exultant sound, her longing to find the soul of this most mysterious of all instruments. but her stiff fingers only sprawled helplessly over the keys, and after a few moments she desisted and sat staring with dilating eyes, the presentiment again assailing her. her shattered caballeros rose before her, but she shook her head; they, under what influence she knew not, had faded out into ghost-land. a carriage drove up to the door. she went forward and stood in the hall, awaiting her parents. they entered almost immediately. both kissed her lightly, her mother inquiring absently if she had been a good girl, and remarking that she had neuralgia and should go to bed at once. her father grunted and asked her if she and helena belmont had behaved themselves, and, more particularly, if she had been outside the house without an attendant; he never failed to ask this when he had been away from the house for twenty-four hours. magdaléna replied in the negative, and did not feel called upon to confess her minor sins. she had a conscience, but she had also a strong distaste for her father's temper. don roberto had been a handsome caballero in his youth, but his face, like that of most californians, had coarsened as it receded from its prime. the nose was thick, the outlines of the jaw lost in rolls of flesh. but the full curves of his mouth had been compressed into a straight line, and the consequent elevation of the lower lip had almost obliterated an originally weak chin. he was bald and wore a skull-cap, but his black eyes were fiery and restless, his skin fair with the fairness of castile. he went to his room, and magdaléna did not see him again until dinner was announced. she saw little of her parents. there is not much fireside life in california. there was none in the yorba household. mrs. yorba was a martyr to neuralgia, and such time as was not passed in the seclusion of her chamber was devoted to the manifold cares of her household and to her small circle of friends. don roberto would not permit her to belong to charitable associations, nor to organisations of any kind, and although she regretted the prestige she might have enjoyed as president of such concerns, she had long since found herself indemnified: don roberto's social restrictions had unwittingly given her the position of the most exclusive woman in san francisco. as time went on, it gave people a certain distinction to be on her visiting list. when mrs. yorba realised this, she looked it over carefully and cut it down to ninety names. after that, hostesses whose position was as secure as her own begged her personally to go to their balls. her own yearly contribution to the season's socialities was looked forward to with deep anxiety. it was the stiffest and dullest affair of the year, but not to be there was to be written down as second of the first. so was greatness thrust upon mrs. yorba, who never returned to her native boston, lest she might once more feel the pangs of nothingness. she loved her daughter from a sense of duty rather than from any animal instinct, but never petted nor made a companion of her. nevertheless she watched over her studies, literary excursions, and associates with a vigilant eye. magdaléna's companions were the objects of her severe maternal care. once a year in town and once during the summer in menlo park, magdaléna had a luncheon party, the guests chosen from the very inner circle of mrs. yorba's acquaintance. the youngsters loathed this function, but were forced to attend by their distinguished parents. magdaléna sat at one end of the table and never uttered a word. the only relief was helena, who talked bravely, but far less than was her wont; the big dark dining-room, panelled to the ceiling with redwood, and hung with the progenitors of the haughty house of yorba, the gliding chinese servants, the eight stiff miserable little girls, with their starched white frocks, crimped hair, and vacant glances, oppressed even that indomitable spirit. on one awful occasion when even helena's courage had failed her, and she was eating rapidly and nervously, the children with one accord burst into wild hysterical laughter. they stopped as abruptly as they had begun, staring at one another with expanded, horrified eyes, then simultaneously burst into tears. helena went off into shrieks of laughter, and magdaléna hurriedly left the room, and in the privacy of her own wept bitterly. when she went downstairs again, she found helena making a brave attempt to entertain the others in the large garden behind the house. they were swinging and playing games, and looked much ashamed of themselves. when they went home each kissed magdaléna warmly, and she forgave them and wished that she could see them oftener. she was never allowed to go to lunch-parties herself. occasionally she met them at helena's, where they romped delightedly, appropriating the entire house and yelling like demons, but taking little notice of the quiet child who sat by mrs. cartright, listening to that voluble dame's tales of the south before the war, too shy and too spanish to romp. even at that early age, they respected and rather feared her. as she grew older, it became known that she was "booky,"--a social crime in san francisco. as for helena, she was one of those favoured mortals who are permitted to be anything they please. she, too, devoured books, but she did so many other things besides that people forgot the idiosyncrasy, or were willing to overlook it. don roberto spent his leisure hours with his friends hiram polk and jack belmont. there was no resource of the town unknown to these elderly rakes; and the older they grew the more they enjoyed themselves. on fine evenings they always rode out to the presidio or to the cliff house; and it was one of the sights of the town,--these three leading citizens and founders of the city's prosperity: don roberto, fat, but riding his big chestnut with all the unalterable grace of the californian; polk, stiff and spare, his narrow grey face unchanged from year to year, ambling along on a piebald; dashing jack belmont, a cavalry officer to his death, his long black moustachios flying in the wind, a flapping hat pulled low over his abundant curls, bestriding a mighty black. all three men were somewhat old-fashioned in their attire; they went little into society, preferring the more various life beyond its pale. v half of the dinner passed in unbroken silence. magdaléna sat at one end of the table, her father at the other, their wants attended to by three chinese servants. magdaléna was not eating: she was summoning up courage to speak on a subject that was fast conquering her reticence. her thoughts were not interrupted. don roberto was a man of few words. he had been an eloquent caballero in his youth, but had grown to be as careful of words as of investments. he liked to be amused by women; but, as he rightly judged, no amount of development could make his wife and daughter amusing, so he encouraged them to hold their tongues. he deeply resented magdaléna's lack of beauty; all the women of his house had been famous throughout the californias for their beauty. it was the duty of a yorba to be beautiful--while young; after thirty it mattered nothing. magdaléna had completed the structure of her courage. she did nothing by halves, and she knew that she should not break down. "papa," she said. "well?" "helena is going to new york and to paris to school. she is going to live with relatives, but she will attend school." "she need." "i thought you liked helena." "i like; but she need the discipline more than all the girls in california." "i shall be very lonely without her." "suppose so; but now is the time to learn plenty, and no think so much by the play." "i should like to go with her." "suppose so." "may i?" "no." "but you would not miss me, nor mamma either." "i choose you shall be educate at home. i no approve of the schools. si helena belmont was my daughter, i take the green hide reata to her every morning; but belmont so soffit, the school is better for her. you stay here. no say any more about it." "could i not travel with her after? i want to travel." "si i find time one day go abroad, i take you; but you no go with helena belmont. i no am surprise si she make herself the talk of europe." "could not mamma go with me?" "your mother no leave the husband! never she propose such a thing!" "do you think you will be able to go soon?" "very doubt. the californian who leave the business for a year working like the dog for five after. si he find one red cent when he come back, he is lucky. the man no knowing just where he is even when he stand over the spot." "then when helena goes, can i go to santa barbara for awhile and visit aunt?" "you no can! i no wish you ask the reason. you never go to the south! never before you talk so much, by scott!" vi magdaléna had failed at every point. she had expected to fail, but she felt miserable and discouraged, nevertheless. after dinner she went up to her room and prayed to the virgin. in time she felt comforted, her tears ceased, and she sat thinking for some time at the foot of her little altar. with the sad philosophy of her nature she put the impossible from her, and considered the future. it had been arranged long ago that she and helena, ila and tiny, were to come out at the same time; the great function which should introduce to san francisco three of its most beautiful girls, and its most favoured by lineage and fortune, was to be given by mrs. yorba. the other girls would come out a year earlier or later. ila and tiny were already in europe. she had three uninterrupted years before her. in those years she could do much. when she was not studying, she would read the best authors and learn their secret. her father had no library, but colonel belmont had, and she was a life member of the mercantile library; the membership had been presented to her two birthdays ago by her luncheon guests, who respected what they would not emulate. she pressed her face into her hands, striving to arrange the nebulous thoughts and ambitions which burned in her brain. there was a wild ringing of bells. she raised her head and saw a red glare, then rose and walked over to the window. she thought a fire very beautiful; and as there were many in that city of wood and wind, she had had full opportunity to observe their manifold phases. her bedroom adjoined the schoolroom, but was on the corner of the house at the back, and overlooked not only the business part of the city between the foot of the hill and the bay, but the region known as "south of market street." this large valley had its aristocratic quarter, but it was now largely given over to warehouses, dépôts, and streets of the poor. a month seldom passed without a big blaze in this closely built combustible section. to-night there was a long narrow ribbon of flame twisting in the wind, which in a few moments would leap from block to block, licking up the flimsy dwellings as a cat licks up milk. above the ribbon flew a million sparks, turning the stars from gold to white. every moment the wind twisted the ribbon into wonderful fantastic shapes, which beset magdaléna's brain for words as beautiful. she listened intently. some one was climbing a pillar of the balcony. it was helena, of course: she often chose that laborious method of entering a house whose doors were always open to her. magdaléna opened the back window and stepped out onto the balcony. "is that you, helena?" she whispered. "is it? just you wait till you see me!" a moment later she had clambered over the railing and stood before the astonished magdaléna. "what--what--" "boys' clothes. can't you see for yourself? i'm going to the fire, and you're going with me." "of course i shall not. what possessed you--" but the astute helena detected a lack of decision in her friend's voice. "you're just dying to go," she said coaxingly. "you adore fires, and you'd love to see one close to. put a waterproof on and a black shawl over your head. then if anybody notices you, they'll think you're a _muchacha_ from spanish town. as i am a boy, i can protect you beautifully. we'll go to the livery stable and i'll make old duff give me a hack. i've a pocket full of boodle; papa gave me my allowance to-day. here, come in." she dragged the unresisting magdaléna into the room, arrayed her in a waterproof, and pinned a black shawl tightly about the small brown face. "there!" she said triumphantly, "you look like a poor little greaser, for all the world. don roberto would have a fit. do you think you can slide down the pillar?" "i don't know--yes, i am sure i can if you can." her spanish dignity was aghast, but her newborn creative instinct stung her spirit into a sudden overpowering desire for dramatic incident. "yes, i'll go," she whispered, closer to excitement than helena had ever, save once, seen her. "i'll go." "of course! i knew you would. i always knew you were a brick; come! quick! i'll go first." she slid down the pillar, which she could easily clasp with her long arms and legs; and magdaléna, after a gasp, followed, shivering with terror, but too proud to utter a sound. before she had reached the bottom she had lost all interest in the fire; she no longer wanted to write poetry; she wished frantically to be back in the security of her room. but she reached the ground safely; and although she fell in a heap, she quickly pulled herself together and stood up, holding her head higher than ever. and when she was on the sidewalk, in disguise, unattended for the first time in her life, her very nerves sang with exultation, and she was filled with a wild longing for a night replete with adventure. "'léna!" whispered helena, ecstatically. "isn't this gorgeous?" magdaléna nodded. her brain and heart were throbbing too loud for speech. "i'm going to fires for the rest of my life," announced helena, as they turned the corner and walked swiftly down the hill. she was not of the order which is content with one experience, even while that initial experience is yet a matter of delightful anticipation. when they reached the livery stable, helena marched in, holding magdaléna firmly by the hand. "i want a hack," she said peremptorily to the man in charge. "and double quick, too." the man stared, but helena rattled the gold in her pocket, and he called to two men to hitch up. "upon my soul," he whispered to his associates, "it's those kids of jack belmont's and old yorba's, or i'm a dead man. but it ain't none of my business, and i ain't one to peach. i like spirit." "we're going to the fire, and i wish the hack to wait for us," said helena, as he signified that all was ready. "i'll pay you now. how much is it?" "ten dollars," he replied unblushingly. helena paid the money like a blood, magdaléna horrified at the extravagance. her own allowance was five dollars a month. "can you really afford this, helena?" she asked remonstrantly, as the hack slid down the steep hill. "i got fifty dollars out of jack to-night. he's feeling awfully soft over my going away. poor old jack, he'll feel so lonesome without me. but we'll have a gay old time travelling together in europe when i'm through." magdaléna did not speak of her conversation with her own parent. she did not want to think of it. this night was to be one of uniform joy. they were a quarter of an hour reaching the fire. as they turned into the great central artery of the city, market street, they leaned forward and gazed eagerly at the dense highly coloured mass of men and women, mostly young, who promenaded the north sidewalk under a blaze of gas. "what queer-looking girls!" said magdaléna. "why do they wear so many frizzes, and sailor hats on one side?" "they're chippies," said helena, wisely. "what's chippies?" "girls that live south of market street. they work all day and promenade with their beaux all evening. as i live, 'léna, we're going down fourth street. we'll go right through chippytown." they had been south of market street before, for ila and tiny lived on the aristocratic rincon hill; but their way had always lain down second street, which was old, but stately and respectable. fourth street, like market street by night, would be a new country; but after a few moments' eager attention helena sniffed with disappointment. the narrow street and those branching from it were ill-lighted and deserted; there was nothing to be seen but low-browed shops. but there was always the red glare beyond; and in a few moments the holocaust burst upon them in all its terrible magnificence. they sprang out of the hack and walked rapidly to the edge of the crowd, which filled the street in spite of the warning cries of the firemen and the angry shouts of the policemen. the fire was devouring four large squares and sending leaping branches to isolated dwellings beyond. a great furniture factory and innumerable tenements were vanishing like icicles under a hot sun. the girls, careless of the severe jostling they received, stared in fascinated amazement at the red tongues darting among the blackened shells, the crashing roofs, the black masses of smoke above, cut with narrow swords of flame, the solid pillar of fire above the factory, the futile streams of water, the gallant efforts of the firemen. magdaléna, hardly knowing why, reflected with deep satisfaction that a fire was even more wonderful at close quarters than when viewed from a distance. every detail delighted her; but when a clumsy boy stepped on her toes, she drew helena into a sand lot opposite, where it was less crowded. it was then that she noticed for the first time the weeping women gathered about their household goods. she stared at them for a moment, then shook the rapt helena by the arm. "look!" she whispered. "what is the matter with those people?" "what?" asked helena, absently. "oh, don't i wish i were on that house with a hose in my hand! what a lovely exciting life a fireman's must be!" then, yielding to magdaléna's insistence, she turned and directed her gaze to the people in the lot behind her. "oh, the poor things!" she said, forgetting the fire. "they've been burnt out. let's talk to them." the two girls approached the unfortunate creatures, who were wailing loudly, as if at a wake. "poor devils!" exclaimed helena. "i am so glad i have some silver with me." "and i have nothing to give them," thought magdaléna, bitterly; but she was too proud to speak. she stared at them, her brain a medley of new sensations, as helena went about, questioning, fascinating, sympathising, giving. it was the first time she had seen poverty; she had barely heard of its existence; it had never occurred to her that great romanticists condescended to borrow from life. it was not abject poverty that she witnessed, by any means. there were no hollow cheeks here, no pallid faces, no shrunken limbs. it was, save for the passing distress, to which they were not unaccustomed, a very jolly, hearty, contented poverty. their belongings were certainly mean, but solid and sufficient. nevertheless, to magdaléna, who had been surrounded by luxury from her birth, and had rarely been in a street of less importance than her own, these commonly clad creatures, weeping over their cheap household goods, seemed the very dregs of the earth. her keen enjoyment fled. she was sure she could never be happy again with so much misery in the world. if her father would only--she recalled his contempt for charities, the prohibition he had laid on her mother. she determined to pray all night to the virgin to soften his heart. when the virgin had been allowed a reasonable time, she would beg him to give her a monthly allowance to devote to the poor. the virgin had failed her many times, but must surely hearken to so worthy a petition as this. she stood apart. no one noticed her. she had nothing to give. they were showering blessings upon helena, who was walking about with a cocky little stride, well pleased with herself. suddenly helena wheeled and ran over to magdaléna. "i've given away my last red," she said. "it's lucky i paid for that hack in advance. let's get out. those i haven't given any to will be down on me in a minute. besides, it's getting late. a-ou-u!" a policeman had tapped her roughly on the shoulder. she gazed at him in speechless terror for a half-moment, then gasped, "w-h-a-t do you want?" "i want you two young uns for the lock-up," he said curtly. the struggling crowd had lashed his pugnacity and ensanguined his temper. as an additional indignity, the saloon had been burned, and he had not had a drink for an hour. "i'll run you in for wearing boys' clothes; have you ever heard the penalty for that, miss? and i'll run in this little greaser as a vagrant." helena burst into shrieks of terror, clinging to magdaléna, who comforted her mechanically, too terrified, herself, to speak. even in that awful moment it was her father she feared, not the law. "shut up!" exclaimed the officer. "none of that." he paused abruptly and regarded helena closely. she was searching wildly in her pockets. "oh, if you've got a fiver," he said easily, "i'll call it square." "i haven't so much as a five-cent piece," sobbed helena, with a fresh burst of tears. "oh, 'léna, what shall we do?" "you'll come with me! that's what you'll do." he took them firmly by the hand and dragged them through the crowd, a section of which had transferred its attentions to the victims of the officer's wrath. but the three were soon hurrying up a dark cross-street toward a car; and as they went helena recovered herself, and began to cast about among her plentiful resource. she dared not risk telling this man their names, and bid him take them home in hope of reward, for he would certainly demand that reward of their scandalised parents. no, she decided, she would confide in the dignitary in charge at the station; and as soon as he knew who she was, he would be sure to let them go at once. they went up town on a street-car. helena had never been in one before, and the experience interested her; but magdaléna sat dumb and wretched. she had been a docile child, and her father's anger had never been visited upon her; but she had seen his frightful outbursts at the servants, and once he had horsewhipped a mexican in his employ until the lad's shrieks had made magdaléna put her fingers in her ears. he would not whip her, of course; but what would he do? and this horrid man, who was of the class of her father's coachman, had called her a "greaser." she had all the pride of her race. the insult stifled her. she felt smirched and degraded. nor was this all: she had had her first signal experience of the pall that lines the golden cloud. the officer motioned to the conductor to stop in front of a squat building in front of the old plaza. the man, whose gall had been slowly rising for want of drink, hurried them roughly off the car and across the sidewalk into a dark passage. their feet lagged, and he shoved them before him, flourishing his bludgeon. "git on! git on!" he said. "there's no gittin' out of this until you've served your time." the words and the dark passage made helena shiver. what if they would not give her a chance to speak, but should lock her up at once? she knew nothing of these dark doings of night. perhaps the policeman would take them directly to a cell. in that case, she must confide in him. they entered a room, and her confidence returned. a man sat at a desk, an open ledger before him. he was talking to several tramps who stood in various uneasy attitudes in front of the desk. his face was tired, but his eyes had a humourous twinkle. he did not glance at the new-comers. "sit down," commanded the policeman, "and wait your turn." the girls sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a bench. in a moment they noticed a young man sitting near the desk and writing on a small pad of paper. he looked up, looked again, regarding them intently, then rose and approached the policeman. "hello, tim," he said. "what have you got here? a girl in boys' clothes?" "that's about the size of it." helena pulled her cap over her eyes and reddened to her hair. for the first time she fully realised her position. she was colonel jack belmont's daughter, and she was waiting in the city prison as a common vagrant. magdaléna bent her head, pulling the shawl more closely about her face. the young man looked them over sharply. "they are the kids of somebodies," he said audibly. "look at their hands. there's a 'story' here." helena turned cold and set her teeth. she had no idea who the young man might be, but instinct told her that he threatened exposure. a few moments later the tramps had gone, and the man at the desk asked the policeman what charge he preferred against his arrests. "this one's a girl in boys' clothes, sir, and both, i take it, are vagrants. the house of correction is the place for 'em, i'm thinkin'." magdaléna's head sank still lower, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from gasping. but helena, in this crucial moment, was game. she walked boldly forward and said authoritatively,-- "i wish to speak alone with you." the sergeant recognised the great i am of the american maiden; he also recognised her social altitude. but he said, with what severity he could muster,-- "if you have anything private to say, you can whisper it." helena stepped behind the desk and put her lips close to his ear. "i am colonel jack belmont's daughter," she whispered. "send me home, quick, and he'll make it all right with you to-morrow." "a chip of the old block," muttered the sergeant, with a smile. "i see. and who is your companion?" helena hesitated. "do--do i need to tell you?" she asked. "you must," firmly. "she's--you'll never breathe it?" "you must leave that to my discretion. i shall do what is best." "she is the daughter of don roberto yorba." "o lord! _o_ lord!" he threw back his head and gave a prolonged chuckle. the young man edged up to the desk. "who is that man?" demanded helena, haughtily. she felt quite mistress of the situation. "he's a reporter." "what's that?" "why, a reporter for the newspapers." "i know nothing of the newspapers," said helena, with an annihilating glance at the reporter. "my father does not permit me to read them." the sergeant sprang to his feet. "this _is_ no place for you," he muttered. "that's the best thing i've heard of jack belmont for some time. here, come along, both of you." he motioned to the girls to enter the passage, and turned to the officer. "don't let anybody leave the room till i come back," he said; and the reporter, who had started eagerly forward, fell back with a scowl. "there's no 'story' in this, young man," said the sergeant, severely; "and you'll oblige _me_," with significant emphasis, "by making no reference to it." "i think you're just splendid!" exclaimed helena, as they went down the passage. "oh, well, we all like your father. although it would be a great joke on him,--scott, but it would! however, it wouldn't be any joke on you a few years from now, so i'm going to send you home with a little good advice,--don't do it again." "but it's such fun to run to fires!" replied helena, who now feared nothing under heaven. "we _did_ have a time!" "well, if you're set on running to fires, go in your own good clothes, with money enough in your pocket to grease the palm of people like our friend tim. here we are." he called a hack and handed the girls in. "please tell him to stop a few doors from the house," said helena; "and," with her most engaging smile, "i'm afraid i'll have to ask you to pay him. if you'll give me your address, i'll send you the amount first thing to-morrow." "oh, don't mention it. just ask your father to vote for tom shannon when he runs for sheriff. it's no use asking anything of old yorba," he added, with some viciousness. "and i'd advise you, young lady, to keep this night's lark pretty dark." the remark was addressed to magdaléna, but she only lifted her head haughtily and turned it away. helena replied hastily,-- "my father shall vote for you and make all his friends vote, too. i won't tell him about this until next wednesday, the day before i leave for new york; then he'll be feeling so badly he won't say a word, and he'll be so grateful to you that he'll do anything. good-night." "good-night, miss, and i guess you'll get along in this world." as the carriage drove off, helena threw her arms about magdaléna, who was sitting stiffly in the corner. "oh, darling, dearest!" she exclaimed. "_what_ have i made you go through? and you're so generous, you'll never tell me what a villain i am. but you will forgive me, won't you?" "i am just as much to blame as you are. i was not obliged to go." "but it was dreadful, wasn't it? that horrid low policeman! the idea of his daring to put his hand on my shoulder. but we'll just forget it, and next week, to-morrow, it will be as if it never had happened." magdaléna made no reply. "'léna!" exclaimed helena, sharply. "you're never going to own up?" "i must," said magdaléna, firmly. "i've done a wicked thing. i've disobeyed my father, who thinks it's horrible for girls to be on the street even in the daytime alone, and i've nearly disgraced him. i've no right not to tell him. i must!" "that's your crazy old new england conscience! if you were all spanish, you'd look as innocent as a madonna for a week, and if you were my kind of californian you'd cheek it and make your elders feel that they were impertinent for taking you to task." "you are half new england." "so i am, but i'm half southerner, too, and all californian. i'm just beautifully mixed. you're not mixed at all; you're just hooked together. come now, say you won't tell him. he's a terror when he gets angry." "i must tell him. i'd never respect myself again if i didn't. i've done lots of other things and didn't tell, but they didn't matter,--that is, not so much. he's got a _right_ to know." "it's a pity you're not more like him, then you wouldn't tell." "what do you mean, helena? i am sure my father never told a lie." helena was too generous to tell what she knew. she asked instead, "i wonder would your conscience hurt you so hard if everything had turned out all right, and we were coming home in our own hack?" magdaléna thought a moment. "it might not to-night, but it would to-morrow. i am sure of that," she said. helena groaned. "you are hopeless. thank heaven, i was born without a conscience,--that kind, anyhow. i intend to be a law all to myself. i'm californian clear through into my backbone." the hack stopped. the girls alighted and walked slowly forward. mr. belmont's house was the first of the three. "well," said helena, "here we are. i'm going to climb up the pillar and walk along the ledge. how are you going in?" "through the front door." "well, if you will, you will, i suppose. kiss me good-night." magdaléna kissed her and walked on. a half-moment later helena called after her in a loud whisper,-- "take off that shawl!" magdaléna lifted her hand to her chin, then dropped it. when she reached her own home, she rang the bell firmly. the chinaman who opened the door stared at her, the dawn of an expression on his face. "where is don roberto?" she asked. "in loffice, missee." magdaléna crossed the hall and tapped at the door of the small room her father called his office. don roberto grunted, and she opened the door and went in. he was writing, and wheeled about sharply. "what?" he exclaimed. "what the devil! take that shawl off the head." magdaléna removed the shawl and sat down. "i went to a fire," she said. "i got taken up by a policeman and went to the station. a man named tom shannon said he wouldn't lock me up, and sent me home. he paid for the carriage." she paused, looking at her father with white lips. his face had turned livid, then purple. "_dios!_" he gasped. "_dios!_" and then she knew how furious her father was. when his life was in even tenor he never used his native tongue. "_dios!_" he repeated. "tell that again. you go with that little devil, helena belmont, i suppose. _madre de dios!_ again! again!" "i went to a fire--south of market street. a policeman arrested me for a vagrant. he called me a greaser--" her father sprang to his feet with a yell of rage. he caught his riding-whip from the mantel. she stumbled to her feet. "papa!" she said. "papa! you will not do that!" a few moments later she was in her own room. the stars shone full on her pretty altar. she turned her back on it and sat down on the floor. she had not uttered a word as her father beat her. even now she barely felt the welts on her back. but her self-respect had been cut through at every blow, and it quivered and writhed within her. she hated her father and she hated life with an intensity which added to her misery, and she decided that she had made her last confession to any one but the priest, who always forgave her. if she did wrong in the future and her father found it out, well and good; but she would not be the one to tell him. vii it was a part of her punishment that she was to be locked in her room until helena left for new york; but helena visited her every night in her time-honoured fashion. magdaléna never told of the blows, but confinement was a sufficient excuse to her restless friend for any amount of depression; and helena coaxed twenty dollars out of her father and bought books and bonbons for the prisoner, which she carefully disposed about her person before making the ascent. magdaléna hid her presents in a bureau drawer; and it is idle to deny that they comforted her. one of the books was "jane eyre," and another mrs. gaskell's life of charlotte brontë. they fired her with enthusiasm, and although she cried all night after the equally tearful helena had said good-bye to her, she returned to them next day with undiminished enthusiasm. the sunday after helena's departure she was permitted to go to church. she was attended by her mother's maid, a french girl and a fervid catholic. st. mary's cathedral, in which don roberto owned a pew that he never occupied, was at that time on the corner of california and dupont streets. magdaléna prayed devoutly, but only for the reestablishment of her self-respect, and the grace of oblivion for the degradation to which her father had subjected her. later, she intended to pray that he might be forgiven, both by herself and god, and that his heart should be softened to the poor; but not yet. she must be herself again first. her head had been aching for two days, the result of long confinement and too many bonbons. it throbbed so during service that she slipped out, whispering to the maid that she only wanted a breath of fresh air and would be back shortly. she stood for a few moments on the steps. her head felt better, and she noticed how peaceful the city looked; yet, as ever, with its suggestion of latent feverishness. she had heard colonel belmont say that there was no other city in the world like it, and as she stood there and regarded the precipitous heights with their odd assortment of flimsy "palaces" and dilapidated structures dating back to the fifties, she felt the vague restlessness that brooded over everything, and understood what he had meant; and she also knew that she understood as he had not. above was the dazzling sky, not a fleck in its blue fire. there was not a breath of wind in the city. she had never known a more peaceful day. and yet, if at any moment the earth had rocked beneath her feet, she would have felt no surprise. she felt the necessity for exercise. it was now over a week since she had been out of her room, and during that time she had not only studied as usual, but read and read and read. she did not remember to have ever felt so nervous before. she could not go back into the cathedral; it was musty in itself and crowded with the great unwashed. but it would not be right to disturb julie. there could be no harm in the least bit of a walk alone, particularly as her father was in menlo park. she glanced about her dubiously. chinatown, which began a block to her right, was out of the question, although she would have liked to see the women and the funny little chinese babies that she had heard of: the fortunate helena had been escorted through chinatown by her adoring parent and a policeman. she did not care to climb twice the almost perpendicular hill which led to her home, and at the foot of the hill was the business portion of the city. there was only one other way, and it looked quiet and deserted and generally inviting. she crossed california street and walked along dupont street. she saw to her surprise that the houses were small and mean; those the fire had eaten had hardly been worse. they had green outside blinds and appeared to date from the discovery of gold at least. "there are poor people so near us," she thought. "even helena never guessed it. i am glad the plate had not been handed round; i will give some one my quarter." the houses were very quiet. the shutters were closed, but the slats were open. she glanced in, but saw no one. "probably they are all in the cathedral," she thought. "i am glad it is so close to them." she walked on, forgetting the houses for the minute, absorbed in her new appreciation of the strange suggestiveness of san francisco. again, something was shaping itself in her mind, demanding expression. she felt that it would have the power to make her forget all that she did not wish to remember, and thought that perhaps this was the sponge for the slate the virgin was sending in answer to her prayers. suddenly, almost in her ear, she heard a low chuckle. she started violently; in all her life she had never heard anything so evil, so appalling, as that chuckle. it had come from the window at her left. she turned mechanically, her spirits sinking with nameless terror. her expanded eyes fastened upon the open shutters. a woman sat behind them; at least, she was cast in woman's mould. her sticky black hair was piled high in puffs,--an exaggeration of the mode of the day. her thick lips were painted a violent red. rouge and whitewash covered the rest of her face. there was black paint beneath her eyes. she wore a dirty pink silk dress cut shamefully low. the blood burned into magdaléna's cheeks. of sin she had never heard. she had no name for the creature before her, but her woman's instinct whispered that she was vile. the woman, who was regarding her malevolently, spoke. magdaléna did not understand the purport of her words, but she turned and fled whence she had come. as she did so, the chuckle, multiplied a dozen-fold, surrounded her. she stopped for a second and cast a swift glance about her, fascinated, with all her protesting horror. behind every shutter which met her gaze was the duplicate of the creature who had startled her first. as they saw her dismay, their chuckle broke into a roar, then split into vocabulary. magdaléna ran faster than she had ever run in her life before. suddenly she saw colonel belmont sauntering down california street, debonair as ever. his long moustaches swept his shoulders. his soft hat was on the back of his head, framing his bold handsome dissipated face. his frock-coat, but for the lower button, was open, and stood out about the dazzling shirt, well revealed by a low vest. "uncle jack!" screamed magdaléna. "uncle jack!" colonel belmont jumped as if a battery had ripped up the ground in front of him. then he dashed across the street. "good god!" he shouted. "good god!" he caught magdaléna in his arms and carried her back to the shadow of the cross. "you two have been possessed by the devil of late," he began wrathfully, but magdaléna interrupted him. "no! no!" she exclaimed. "i didn't know there was anything different there from any other street. i didn't mean to." "well, i don't suppose you did. you never know where you are in this infernal town, anyhow. where's your maid?" but magdaléna had fainted. viii after that, magdaléna had brain fever. it was a sharp but brief attack, and when she was convalescent the doctor ordered her to go to the country at once and let her school-books alone. as mrs. yorba never left her husband for any consideration, magdaléna was sent to menlo park with miss phelps. the time came when magdaléna hated the monotony of menlo, with its ceaseless calling and driving, its sameness of days and conversation; but at that age she loved the country in any form. menlo park, originally a large spanish grant, had long since been cut up into country places for what may be termed the "old families of san francisco." the eight or ten families who owned this haughty precinct were as exclusive, as conservative, as any group of ancient county families in europe. many of them had been established here for twenty years, none for less than fifteen. that fact set the seal of gentle blood upon them for all time in the annals of california,--a fact in which there is nothing humourous if you look at it logically; there is really no reason why a new country should not take itself seriously. don roberto owned a square mile known as fair oaks, in honour of the ancient and magnificent woods upon it. these woods were in three sections, separated by meadows, and there was a broad road through each, but not a twig of the riotous underbrush had been sacrificed to a foot-path. a hundred acres about the house--which was a mile from the entrance to the estate--had been cleared for extensive lawns, ornamental trees, and a deer park. directly in front of the house, across the driveway and starting from a narrow walk between two great lawns, was a solitary eucalyptus-tree, one of the few in the state at the time of its planting. it was some two hundred feet high and creaked alarmingly in heavy winds; but don roberto, despite mrs. yorba's protestations, would not have it uprooted: he had a particular fondness for it because it was so little like the palms and magnolias of his youth. to the left of the house at the end of an avenue of cherry-trees was an immense orchard surrounded by an avenue of fig-trees, and english walnut-trees. the house was as unlike the adobe mansions of the old grandees as was the eucalyptus the palms. it was large, square, two-storied, and although of wood, of massive appearance. it was, indeed, the most solid-looking structure in california at that time. a deep verandah traversed three sides of the house, its roof making another beneath the bedroom windows. its pillars were hidden under rose vines and wistaria. the thirty rooms were somewhat superfluous, as don roberto would have none of house-parties, but he could not have breathed in a small house. the rooms were very large and lofty, the floors covered with matting, the furniture light and plain. above, as from the town house, floated the american flag. colonel belmont's estate adjoined fair oaks on one side, the montgomerys' on the other; and the brannans, kearneys, gearys, washingtons, and folsoms all spent their summers in that sleepy valley between the waters of the san francisco and the redwood-covered mountains; these and others who have nothing to do with this tale. hiram polk had no home in menlo, excepting in his brother-in-law's house. some of his wife's happiest memories were of the rancho de los pulgas, and she refused to witness its possession by the hated american. so polk had bought her one of the old adobe houses in santa barbara, and each year she extended the limit of her sojourn in a town where memories were still sacred. ix magdaléna was languid and content. she put the terrible experiences which had preceded her illness behind her without effort. her mind dwelt upon the joy of living in the sunshine, and upon the hopes of the future. she admitted frankly that she was glad to be rid of her parents, and only longed for helena. that faithful youngster wrote, twice a week, letters which were a succession of fireworks embellished by caricatures of such of her teachers and acquaintance as had incurred her disapproval. her aunt, mrs. edward forbes, who was one of the leaders of new york society and a beauty, was giving her much petting and would take her abroad later. magdaléna read these letters with delight stabbed with doubt. more than once she had wondered if helena had been born to realise all her own ambitions. even her letters were clever and original. in a week magdaléna was strong enough to walk in the woods, and miss phelps placed no restraint upon her. she re-read what books she had, then made out a list and sent it to her father to purchase, believing that he would refuse her nothing after her illness. don roberto read the note, grunted, and threw it into the waste-paper basket. he abominated erudite women, and had the scorn of the financial mind for the superfluous attributes of the intellectual. magdaléna waited a reasonable time, then after a day's hard fight with the reticence of her nature, wrote and asked colonel belmont for the books. he sent them at once, with a penitent note and an order on the principal bookseller of the city for all that she might want in the future. "i will say a prayer to the virgin for him," thought magdaléna, with a glow at her heart, oblivious that the virgin had refused to intercede with her father. the packet contained the lives of a number of men and women who had distinguished themselves in letters; but although magdaléna read them twice they told her little, save that she must read the works of the masters and puzzle out their methods if she could. meanwhile, in spite of her studies, she was growing strong, for she spent the day out of doors; and when her parents came down on the first of june, they found her as shy and cold as ever, but with sparkling eyes and a faint glow in her cheeks. "but never she is beauty," said don roberto, that evening to polk, as the two men sat on the verandah, smoking. "before, i resent very much, and say damnation, damnation, damnation. but now i think i no mind. si she is beauty i think more often by that time--no can help. i wonder si there are the beautiful women in the south now, like before; but, by jimminy! i like forget the place exeest. i am an american. yes, great scott!" he stretched out his little fat legs and rested his third chin on his inflexible shirt-front. he felt an american, every inch of him, and hated anything that reminded him of what he might become did he yield to the natural indolence and extravagance of his nature. he would gladly have drained his veins and packed them with galloping american blood. it grieved him that he could not eliminate his native accent, and he was persuaded that he spoke the american tongue in all its purity, being especially proud of a large assortment of expletives peculiar to the land of his adoption. polk gave a short dry laugh and stretched out his long hard yankee legs. even in the dusk his lantern jaws stood out. there was no doubt about his nationality. those legs and jaws were the objects of don roberto's abiding envy. "pretty women in the family are a nuisance," said polk. "they want the earth, and don't see why they shouldn't get it. i wouldn't have that helena for another million. by the way, jack told me a good story on you yesterday." don roberto grunted. his spanish pride had not abated an inch. he resented being discussed. polk continued: "there were seven or eight men talking over old times in the union club the other night; that is to say, they were reminiscing over the various enterprises they had been engaged in, and the piles they had made and lost. our names naturally came up, and brannan said, slowly, as if he were thinking it over hard, 'i--don't--think--i--had--any--dealings--with--yorba--ever.' whereupon washington replied, quick as a shot, 'you'd remember it if you had.'" don roberto scowled heavily. it was one of his fictions that he hoodwinked the world. he never snapped his fingers in its face as polk did: exteriorly a yorba must always be a yorba. "some day when the bank have lend meester washington one hundred thousand dollars, i turn on the screw when he no is prepare to pay," he said. and he did. x during the following week all menlo, which had moved down before mrs. yorba, called on that august leader. she received every afternoon on the verandah, clad in black or grey lawn, stiff, silent, but sufficiently gracious. on the day after her arrival, as the first visitor's carriage appeared at the bend of the avenue, its advent heralded by the furious barking of two mastiffs, a bloodhound, and an english carriage dog, magdaléna gathered up her books and prepared to retreat, but her mother turned to her peremptorily. "i wish you to stay," she said. "you must begin now to see something of society. otherwise you will have no ease when you come out. and try to talk. young people must talk." "but i can't talk," faltered magdaléna. "you must learn. say anything, and in time it will be easy." magdaléna realised that her mother was right. if she was to overcome her natural lack of facile speech, she could not begin too soon. although she was terrified at the prospect of talking to these people who had alighted and were exchanging platitudes with her mother, she resolved anew that the time should come when she should be as ready of tongue and as graceful of speech as her position and her pride demanded. she sat down by one of the guests and stammered out something about the violets. the young woman she addressed was of delicate and excessive beauty: her brunette face, under a hat covered with corn-coloured plumes, was almost faultless in its outline. she wore an elaborate and dainty french gown the shade of her feathers, and her small hands and feet were dressed to perfection. magdaléna had heard of the beautiful mrs. washington, and felt it a privilege to sun herself in such loveliness. the three elderly ladies she had brought with her--mrs. cartright, mrs. geary, and mrs. brannan--were dressed with extreme simplicity. "yes," replied mrs. washington, "they are lovely,--they are, for a fact. mine have chilblains or something this year, and won't bloom for a cent. hang the luck! i'm as cross as a bear with a sore head about it." "would you like me to pick some of ours for you?" asked magdaléna, wondering if she had better model her verbal accomplishments on mrs. washington's. she thought them even more picturesque than helena's. "do; that's a jolly good fellow." when magdaléna returned with the violets, they were received with a bewitching but absent smile; another carriage-load had arrived, and all were discussing the advent of a "bonanza" family, whose huge fortune, made out of the nevada mines, had recently lifted it from obscurity to social fame. "it's just too hateful that i've got to call," said mrs. washington, in her refined melodious voice. "teddy says that i must, because sooner or later we've all got to know them,--old dillon's a red indian chief in the financial world; and there's no use kicking against money, anyhow. but i can't cotton to that sort of people, and i just cried last night when teddy--the old darling! i'd do anything to please him--told me i must call." "it's a great pity we old families can't keep together," said mrs. brannan, a stout high-nosed dame. "there are plenty of others for them to know. why can't they let us alone?" "that's just what they won't do," cried mrs. washington. "we're what they're after. what's the reason they've come to menlo park? they'll be 'landed aristocracy' in less than no time. hang the luck!" "shall you call, hannah?" asked mrs. cartright. "dear jack never imposes any restrictions on me,--he's so handsome about everything; so i shall be guided by you." "in time," replied mrs. yorba, who also had had a meaning conference with her husband. "but i shall not rush. toward the end of the summer, perhaps. it would be unwise to take them up too quickly." "i've got to give them a dinner," said mrs. washington, with gloom. "but i'll put it off till the last gun fires. and you've all got to come. otherwise you'll see me on the war-path." "of course we shall all go, nelly," said mrs. yorba. "we will always stand in together." the conversation flowed on. other personalities were discussed, the difficulty of getting servants to stay in the country, where there was such a dearth of "me gentleman frien'," the appearance of the various gardens, and the atrocious amount of water they consumed. "i wish to goodness the water-works on top wouldn't shut off for eight months in the year," exclaimed mrs. washington. "whenever i want something in summer that costs a pile, teddy groans and tells me that his water bill is four hundred dollars a month." and mrs. washington, whose elderly and doting husband had never refused to grant her most exorbitant whim, sighed profoundly. magdaléna did not find the conversation very interesting, nor was she called upon to contribute to it. nevertheless, she received every day with her mother and went with her to return the calls. at the end of the summer she loathed the small talk and its art, but felt that she was improving. her manner was certainly easier. she had decided not to emulate mrs. washington's vernacular, but she attempted to copy her ease and graciousness of manner. in time she learned to unbend a little, to acquire a certain gentle dignity in place of her natural haughty stiffness, and to utter the phrases that are necessary to keep conversation going; but her reticence never left her for a moment, her eyes looked beyond the people in whom she strove to be interested, and few noticed or cared whether or not she was present. but at the end of the summer she was full of hope; society might not interest her, but the pride which was her chief characteristic commanded that she should hold a triumphant place among her peers. she had told neither of her parents of the books colonel belmont had given her, knowing that the result would be a violent scene and an interdiction. at this stage of her development she had no defined ideas of right and wrong. upon such occasions as she had followed the dictates of her conscience, the consequences had been extremely unpleasant, and in one instance hideous. she was indolent and secretive by nature, and she slipped along comfortably and did not bother her head with problems. xi the yorbas returned to town on the first of november. it was decided that magdaléna should continue her studies, but the rainy days and winter evenings gave her long hours for her books. she found, to her delight, that her brain was losing something of its inflexibility; that, by reading slowly, one perusal of an ordinary book was sufficient. her memory was still incomplete, but it was improving. her mother had ceased to overlook her choice of books, being satisfied that magdaléna would never care for trash. magdaléna always found the big dark house oppressive after the months in menlo park, and went out as often as she could. on fine days, attended by julie, she usually walked down to the mercantile library, and prowled among the dusty shelves. the old mercantile library in bush street, almost in the heart of the business portion of the city, had the most venerable air of any building in california. there was, indeed, danger of coming out covered with blue mould. and it was very dark and very gloomy. it has always been suspected that it was a favourite resort for suicides, but this, happily, has never been proved. but magdaléna loved it, for it held many thousand volumes, and they were all at her disposal. her membership was worth more to her than all her father's riches. julie, who hated the library, always carried a chair at once to the register and closed her eyes, that she might not be depressed to tears by the gloom and the walls of books, which were bound as became all that was left of the dead. it was during one of these visits that magdaléna approached another crisis of her inner life. she was wandering about aimlessly, hardly knowing what she wanted, when her eye was caught by the title of a book on an upper shelf: "conflict between religion and science." she knew nothing about science, but she wondered in what manner religion could conflict with anything. she took the book down and read the first few lines, then the page, then the chapter, still standing. when she had finished she made as if to replace the book, then put it resolutely under her arm, called julie, and went home. she read during the remainder of the afternoon, and as far into the night as she dared. before she went to bed she said her prayers more fervently than ever, and the next morning considered deeply whether or not she should return the book half read. she finally concluded to finish it. her intellect was voracious, and she had no other companion but her religion. moreover, if she was to aspire to a position in the world of letters, she must equip her mind with the best that had gone before. she had every faith in the power of the catholic religion to hold its own; her hesitation had been induced, not by fear of disturbing her faith, but because she doubted, pricked by the bigotry in her veins, if it was loyal to recognise the existence of the enemy. however, she finished the book. on the following saturday morning she went down to the library and asked the librarian, who took some interest in her, what he would advise her to read in the way of science; she had lost all taste for anything else. "well, darwin is about the best to begin on, i should say," he replied. "he's easy reading on account of his style. and then i should advise you to read fiske's 'outlines of cosmic philosophy' before you tackle herbert spencer or huxley or tyndall." magdaléna took home darwin's "origin of species" and "descent of man." they so fascinated her that not until their contents had become a permanent part of her mental furnishing did she realise their warfare on revealed religion. but by this time science had her in its mighty grip. she read all that the librarian had recommended, and much more. it was some six months later that she fully realised that her faith was gone. there came a time when her simple appeals to the virgin stuck in her throat; when she realised that her beloved masters, if they could have seen her telling a rosary at the foot of her altar, would have thought her a fool. there was no struggle, for the work was done, and finally. but her grief was deep and bitter. religion had been a strong inherited instinct, and it had been three fourths of her existence for nearly eighteen years. she felt as if the very roots of her spirit had been torn up and lay wilting and shrivelling in the cold light of her reason. she was terrified at her new position. how was she, a mere girl, to think for herself, to make her way through life, which every great writer told her was a complex and crucifying ordeal, with no guide but her own poor reason? for the first time she felt her isolation. she had no one to go to for sympathy, no one to advise her. of all she knew, her parents were the last she could have approached on any subject involving the surrender of her reticence. she lost interest in her books, and brooded, her mind struggling toward will-o'-the-wisps in a fog-bank, until she could endure her solitary position no longer; she felt that she must speak to some one or her brain would fall to ashes. her aunt was still in santa barbara, and showed no disposition to return. a priest was out of the question. there was no one but colonel belmont. magdaléna knew nothing of his private life: not a whisper had reached her secluded ears; but she doubted if religion were his strong point. but he had always been kind, and she knew him to be clever. it took her a week to make up her mind to speak to him and to decide what to say; but when her decision was finally reached, she walked through the connecting gardens one evening with firm tread and set lips. she entered the house by a side door and went to the library, where she knew colonel belmont smoked his after-dinner cigar when at home. a cordial voice answered her knock. when she entered he rose and came forward with the graceful hospitality which never failed him in the moments of his liveliest possession, and with the acute interest which anything feminine and young never failed to inspire. "well, honey!" he exclaimed, kissing her warmly and handing her to a chair; "you might have done this before. i'm such a lonely childless old widower." "oh!" said magdaléna, with contrition; "i never thought you'd care to see me." she could not know that he seldom permitted himself to be alone. "well, now you know it, you'll come oftener, won't you? have you heard from my baby lately? i had a letter a yard long this morning. she can write!" "i had one too." she hesitated a moment, then determined to speak at once. she could not hold this nor any man's attention in ordinary conversation, and she wanted to finish before she wearied him. "uncle jack," she said, "i've come to see you about something in particular. i know so few people, or i wouldn't bore you--" "don't you talk about boring me, honey,--you! why, your old uncle jack would do anything for you." a light sprang into magdaléna's eyes. colonel belmont forgot for the moment that she was not beautiful, and warmed to interest at once. few people had ever withstood jack belmont's magnetism, and magdaléna found it easy to speak. "it is this," she said. "i have been reading books lately that have taken my religion from me; it has gone utterly. i want to ask you what i shall do,--if there is anything to take its place. i--i--feel as if i could not get along without something." colonel belmont made a faint exclamation and wheeled about, staring at the fire. his first impulse was to laugh, so ludicrous was the idea that anyone should come to him for spiritual advice; his second to get out of the room. he did neither, however, and ordered his intelligence to work. he did not speak for some time; and magdaléna, for the first moment, watched him intently, scarcely breathing. then her attention wandered from herself, and she studied his profile. she noted for the first time how worn it was, the bags under the injected eyes, the heavy lines about the mouth. she had no name for what she saw written in that face, but she suddenly felt herself in the presence of one of life's mysteries. of man's life she knew nothing--nothing. what did this man do when he was not at home? who were his friends besides her morose father, her cold dry uncle? she felt belmont's difference from both, and could not know that they had much in common. what circumstances had imprinted that face so differently from the few faces familiar to her? for the first time man in the concrete interested her. she suddenly realised how profound was her ignorance, despite the lore she had gathered from books,--realised dimly but surely that there was a vast region called life for her yet to explore, and that what bloomed for a little on its surface was called human nature. she gave an involuntary shiver and sank back in her chair. at the same moment colonel belmont looked round. "someone walking over your grave?" he asked, smiling. "what you asked came on me right suddenly, 'léna. i couldn't answer it all in a minute. you didn't say much--you never do; so i understand how you've been taking this thing to heart. i'm sorry you've lost your religion, for it stands a woman in mighty well. they have the worst of it in this life." perhaps he was thinking of his wife. his face was very sober. "but if you have lost it, that is the end of the chapter as far as you are concerned. all i can think of is this--" the words nearly choked him, but he went on heroically: "do what you think is right in little matters as well as in great. you've been properly brought up; you know the difference between right and wrong; and all your instincts are naturally good, if i know anything about women. as you grow older, you will see your way more clearly. you won't have the temptations that many women have, so that it will be easier for you than for some of the poor little devils. and you'll never be poor. you'll find it easier than most--and i'm glad of it!" he added with a burst of warm sympathy. emotional by nature, the unaccustomed experience had brought him to the verge of tears; and magdaléna, forlorn and lonely, but thanking him mutely with her eloquent eyes, appealed to the great measure of chivalry in him. "i am glad i spoke to you, uncle jack," she said after a moment. "you have given me much to think about, and i am sure i shall get along much better. thanks, ever so much." she did not rise to go, but was silent for several moments. then she asked abruptly,-- "what do you mean by women having temptations? i know by the way you said it that you don't mean just ordinary every-day temptations." colonel belmont glanced about helplessly. his eloquence had carried him away; he had not paused to take feminine curiosity into account. he encountered magdaléna's eyes. they were fixed on him with solemn inquiry, and they were very intelligent eyes. did he take refuge in verbiage, she would not be deceived. did he refuse to continue the conversation, she would be hurt. in either case her imagination would have been set at work, and she might go far, and in the wrong direction, to satisfy her curiosity. once more he stared at the fire. to his daughter he could have said nothing on such a subject: he was too old-fashioned, too imbued with the chivalrous idea of the south of his generation that women were of two kinds only, and that those who had been segregated for men to love and worship and marry must never brush the skirts of their thought against the sin of the world. they were ideal creatures who would produce others like themselves, and men--like himself. but as he considered he realised that he had a duty toward magdaléna, which grew as he thought: she needed help and advice and had come to him, having literally no one else to go to. after all, might she not have temptations which would pass his beautiful, quick-witted, triumphant daughter by? helena, with the world at her feet, would have little time for brooding, little time for anything but the lighter pleasures of life under his watchful eye, until she loved and passed to the keeping of a man who, he hoped, would be far stronger and finer than himself. but magdaléna? repressed, unloved, intellectual, disappointed at every turn, passionate undoubtedly,--there was no knowing to what sudden extremes desperation might drive her. and the woman, no matter how plain, had yet to be born who could not be utterly bad if she put her mind to it. it was not only his duty to warn magdaléna, but to give her such advice as no mortal had ever heard from his lips before, nor ever would hear again. he drew a long breath and wheeled about. magdaléna was leaning forward, staring at him intently. there was no self-consciousness in her face, and he realised in a flash that he would merely talk into a brain. her woman's nature would not be awakened by the homily of an elderly man. the task became suddenly light. "well, it's just this: there's no moral law governing the animal kingdom; but men and women were allowed to develop into speaking, reasoning, generally intelligent beings for one purpose only: to make the world better, not worse. their reasoning faculty may or may not be a spark of the divine force behind the universe; but there's no doubt about the fact, not the least, that every intelligent being knows that he ought to be at least two thirds good, and in his better moments--which come to the worst--he has a desire to be wholly good, or at least better than he has ever been. in other words, the best of men strive more or less constantly toward an ideal (and the second-best strive sometimes) which, if realised, would make this world a very different place. i believe myself that it is this instinct alone which is responsible for religions,--a desire for a concrete form of goodness to which man can cling when his own little atom is overwhelmed by the great measure of weakness in him. do you follow me?" magdaléna nodded, but she did not look satisfied. "well, this is the point: the world might be prosaic without sin, but it is right positive that women would suffer less. and if it could be pounded into every woman's head that she was a fool to think twice about any man she could not marry, and that she threatened the whole social structure every time she brought a fatherless child into the world; that she made possible such creatures as you saw in dupont street, and a long and still more hideous sequelæ, every time she deliberately violated her own instinct for good,--we'd all begin to develop into what the almighty intended us to be when he started us off on our long march. don't misunderstand me! even if i were not such a sinner myself, i'd be deuced charitable where love was concerned, marriage or no marriage--o lord! i didn't mean to say that. forget it until you're thirty; then remember it if you like, for your brain is a good one. look, promise me something, 'léna;" he leaned forward eagerly and took her hand. "promise me, swear it, that until you are thirty you'll never do anything your instincts and your intelligence don't assure you is right,--really right without any sophistry. of course i mean in regard to men. i don't want you to make yourself into a prig--but i am sure you understand." "i think i do," said magdaléna. "i promise." "thank goodness, for you'll never break your word. you may be tempted more than once to kick the whole stupid game of life to the deuce and go out on a bat like a man, but console yourself with this: you'd be a long sight worse off when you got through than when you started, and you'd either go to smash altogether or spend the rest of your life trying to get back where you were before; and sackcloth hurts. there isn't one bit of joy to be got out of it. if you can't get the very best in this world, take nothing. that's the only religion for a woman to cling to, and if she does cling to it she can do without any other." magdaléna rose. "good-night," she said. "i'll never forget a word of it, and i'm very much obliged." she kissed him and had half crossed the room before he sprang to his feet and went hastily forward to open the door. he went to her father's house with her, then returned to his library fire. to the surprise of his servants, he spent the evening quietly at home. xii a year from the following june, and two days after her arrival in menlo, magdaléna went into the middle woods. the great oaks were dusty already, their brilliant greens were dimming: but the depths of the woods were full of the warm shimmer of summer, of the mysterious noises produced by creatures never seen, by the very heat itself, perchance by the riotous sap in the young trees which had sprung to life from the roots of their mighty parents. magdaléna left the driveway and pushed in among the brush. poison oak did not affect her; and she separated the beautiful creeper fearlessly until she reached a spot where she was as sure of being alone and unseen as if she had entered the bowels of the earth. she sat down on the warm dry ground and looked about her for a moment, glad in the sense of absolute freedom. above the fragrant brush of many greens rose the old twisted oaks, a light breeze rustling their brittle leaves, their arms lifted eagerly to the warm yellow bath from above. near her was a high pile of branches and leaves, the home of a wood-rat. no sound came from it, and mortal had nothing to fear from him. a few birds moved among the leaves, but the heat made them lazy, and they did not sing. after a few moments, magdaléna's glance swept the wall of leaves that surrounded her; then she took a pencil and a roll of foolscap from her pocket. she had made up her mind that the time had come for her first essay in fiction. for two years and a half she had studied and thought to this end; too reverent to criticise, but taking the creators' structures to pieces as best she could and giving all attention to parts and details. she had had a nebulous idea in her mind for some time. it had troubled her that it did not assume definite form, but she trusted to that inspiration of the pen of which she had read much. her hand trembled so that she could not write for a few moments. she put the pencil down, not covering her face with her hands as a more demonstrative girl would have done, but biting her lips. her heart beat suffocatingly. for the first time she fully realised what the power to write would mean to her. her religion had gone, that dear companion of many years; she had practised faithfully until six months ago, when she had asked her teacher to tell her father that she could never become even a third-rate musician; and don roberto had, after a caustic hour, concluded that he would "throw no more good money after bad;" she had had long and meaning conferences with her mirror, conjuring up phantasms of the beautiful dead women of her race, and decided sadly that the worship of man was not for her. she had never talked for ten consecutive minutes with a young man; but she had a woman's instincts, she had read, she had listened to the tales of her aunt, and she knew that what man most valued in woman she did not possess. her great position and the graces she hoped to cultivate might gratify her ambitions in a measure, but they would not companion her soul. books were left; but books are too heterogeneous an interest to furnish a vital one in life, a reason for being alive. she had read of the jealous absorption of art, of the intense exclusive love with which it inspired its votaries. she had read of the joys of creation, and her whole being had responded; she felt that did her brain obey her will and shape itself to achievement, she too would know ecstasy and ask nothing more of life. her nerves settled, and she began to write. her reading had been confined to the classics of the old world: not only had she not read a modern novel, but of the regnant lights of her own country, mr. howells and mr. james, she had never heard. she may have seen their names in the "literary bulletin" her bookseller sent her, but had probably gathered that they were biologists. there was no one to tell her that the actors and happenings within her horizon were the proper substance for her creative faculty. california had whispered to her, but she had not understood. her intention was to write a story of england in the reigns of oliver cromwell and charles the second. the romance of england appealed to her irresistibly. the mass of virgin ore which lay at her hand did not provoke a flash of magnetism from her brain. she wrote very slowly. an hour passed, and she had only covered a page. her head ached a little from the intense concentration of mind. her fingers were stiff. finally, she laid her pencil aside and read what she had written. it was a laboured introduction to the story, an attempt to give a picture of the times. she was only nineteen and a novice, but she knew that what she had written was rubbish. it was a trite synopsis of what she had read, of what everybody knew; and the english, although correct, was commonplace, the vocabulary cheap. she set her lips, tore it up, and began again. at the end of another hour she destroyed the second result. then she determined to skip the prologue for the present and begin the story. for many long moments she sat staring into the brush, her brain plodding toward an opening scene, an opening sentence. at last she began to write. she described the hero. he was walking down the great staircase of a baronial hall,--in which he had lain concealed,--and the company below were struck dumb with terror and amazement at the apparition. she got him to the middle of the stair; she described his costume with fidelity; she wrote of the temper of the people in the great hall. then she dropped the pencil. what was to happen thereafter was a blank. she read what she had written. it was lifeless. it was not fiction. the least of helena's letters was more virile and objective than this. again that mysterious indefinable presentiment assailed her. it was the first time that it had come since that night she had stood on the balcony and opened her brain to literary desire. had that presentiment meant anything since compassed? her father's cruel treatment? her terrible experience in the street of painted women? her illness? the loss of her religion? it was none of these things. so far, it had not been fulfilled; and it had struck its warning note again. she shivered, then discovered that the yellow light was no longer about her, and that her head ached. she rose stiffly and put the torn scraps of paper in her pocket. as she left, she cast a curious glance about her retreat, not knowing what prompted it. the scent of newly upturned earth came to her nostrils; a bird flew down on the rat's nest, starting along the sides a shower of loose earth; the frogs were chanting hoarsely. xiii the next morning the natural buoyancy of youth asserted itself; she reasoned that a long hard apprenticeship had been the lot of many authors, and determined that she would write a page a day for years, if need be, until her tardy faculty had been coaxed from its hard soil and trained to use. she could not go to the woods that day: her mother expected callers. "your birthday is a week from wednesday," mrs. yorba said as they sat on the verandah. "your father and i have decided to give a dinner. you will not come out formally, of course, until winter; but a little society during the summer will take off the stiffness." magdaléna turned cold. "but, mamma! i cannot talk to young men." "you expect to begin sometime, do you not? i shall also take you to any little entertainment that is given in menlo this summer; and as the brannans and montgomerys are back from europe,--they arrived last thursday,--there may be several. the older girls gave little parties before they married; but there have not been any grown girls in menlo for some years now. rose geary and caro folsom, who spent last summer in the east, will spend this in menlo, so that there will be five of you, besides nelly washington." magdaléna knew that the matter was settled. she had given a good deal of imagination to the time when she should be a young lady, but the immediate prospect filled her with dismay. then, out of the knowledge that her lines had been chosen for her, she adapted herself, as mortals do, and experienced some of the pleasures of anticipation. "i believe i did not tell you," her mother resumed, "that i wrote to helena some time ago asking her to bring back four dresses for you,--a ball dress for your début, an english walking suit, a calling dress, and a dinner dress." magdaléna had never given a thought to dress; but this sudden announcement that she was to have four gowns from paris and london pricked her with an intimation that the interests of life were more varied than she had suspected. she wondered vividly what they would be like, and recalled several of nelly washington's notable gowns. "you are to have forty dollars a month after your birthday, and your father will permit me to get you three dresses a year; everything else must come out of your allowance. you will keep an account-book and show it to your father every month, as i do. oh--and there is another thing: a mr. trennahan of new york has brought letters to your father. he is a man of some importance,--is wealthy and has been secretary of legation twice, and comes of a distinguished family; we must do something for him, and have decided to ask him down to your dinner. that will kill two birds with one stone. he can also stay a day or two, and we will show him the different places." "a strange man in the house for two days," gasped magdaléna, forgetting that she was to have forty dollars a month. "he can take care of himself most of the time. here come nelly." mrs. washington's ponies were rounding the deer park. magdaléna craned her neck. "she has some one with her," she said. and in another half-moment: "tiny montgomery and ila brannan." magdaléna clasped her hands tightly to keep them from trembling. what would they think of her? she saw that they were smartly dressed. doubtless they were very grand and clever indeed, and would think her more trying than ever. but although all her shyness threatened for a moment, it was summarily routed by her spanish pride. she rose as the phaeton drew up, and went to the head of the steps, smiling. they might find her uninteresting, but not _gauche_. the girls came gracefully forward and kissed her warmly. "_dear_ 'léna," said miss montgomery. "we wouldn't wait: we wanted so much to see you again. and besides, you know," with a mischievous smile, "we owe you a great many luncheon calls." miss brannan exclaimed almost simultaneously, "how you have improved, 'léna! i should never have known you." and if her tone was conventional, it fell upon ears untuned to conventions. it was magdaléna's first compliment, and she thrilled with pleasure. "my face looks very much the same in the glass," she said. "but i am glad to see you back. let us sit on this side." she led the girls a little distance down the verandah; she was trembling inwardly, but felt that she should get along better if relieved of her mother's ear. tiny began at once to talk of her delight in being home again, and magdaléna had time to recover herself. tiny montgomery was an exquisitely pretty little creature, very small but admirably proportioned, although thin. her brown eyes were very sweet under well-pencilled brows, her nose aquiline and fine. the mouth was barely rubbed in, but the teeth were beautiful, the smile as sweet as the eyes. she had the smallest feet and hands in california, and to-day they were clad in white _suède_ with no detriment to their fame. she wore a frock of white embroidered nainsook and a leghorn covered with white feathers. she talked rather slowly, in language carefully chosen, although plentifully laden with superlatives. her voice was very sweet, and highly cultivated. ila brannan was taller, with a slender full figure, and very smart. she wore a closely fitting frock of tan-coloured cloth, a small toque, and a veil covered with large velvet dots. she was very olive, and her cheeks were deeply coloured. her black eyes had a slanting expression. young as she was, there was a vague suggestion of maturity about her. she smiled pleasantly and echoed tiny's little enthusiasms, which had an air of elaborate rehearsal, but she seemed to have brought something of paris with her, and to adapt herself but ill to her old surroundings. magdaléna did not feel at ease with either of them, but concluded that she liked tiny best. "tell me something of helena," she said finally. "of course you saw her in paris." "oh, constantly," replied tiny. "she's perfectly beautiful, 'léna, _perfectly_. mamma took her with us one night to the opera, and so many people asked her who the beautiful american was. she has grown _quite_ tall, and is wonderfully stylish. colonel belmont has simply showered money on her since he went over, and she will have beautiful clothes, and cut us _all_ out when she comes back." but tiny did not look in the least disturbed, and peeped surreptitiously into the polished glass of the window. "she'll have all the men wild about her," announced ila; she spoke with a slight french accent, which was not affected, as she had spent the greater part of the last five years in paris. "and she is going to be a very dashing belle. she informed me that she shall run to fires and do whatever she chooses, and make people like it whether they want to or not. but i doubt if she will ever be fast." "fast!" echoed magdaléna, a street of painted women flashing into memory; she knew of no degrees. "helena! how can you think of such a thing in connection with her!" ila laughed softly. "you baby!" she said. tiny frowned. "you know, ila," she said coldly, "that i do not like to talk of such things." "well, you need not," said ila, coolly. tiny lifted her brows. "i think you know you cannot talk to me of what i do not wish to hear," she said with great dignity. magdaléna turned to her, the warm light of approval in her eyes; and ila, unabashed, rose and said, "i think i'll go over and talk scandal for awhile," and joined the older women, whose numbers had been reinforced. magdaléna longed to ask tiny if she really had improved, but was too shy. tiny said almost directly,-- "you look _so_ intellectual, 'léna. are you? i feel quite afraid." "oh, no, no!" replied magdaléna, hastily, "i really know very little; i wish i knew more." she hesitated a moment; it was difficult for her to expand even to the playmate of her childhood, but an alluring prospect had suddenly opened. "of course you will have a great deal of leisure this summer," she added. "shall we read together?" tiny rose with a sweet but rather forced smile. "i am not going to let you see how ignorant i am," she said. "but i feel very rude: i should go over and talk to mrs. yorba." when they had gone, magdaléna sat for a time staring straight before her, unheeding her mother's comments. the snub had been prettily administered, but it had cut deep into her sensitiveness. she realised that she was quite unlike these other girls of her own age, had never been like them; it was not europe that had made the difference. "i would not care," she thought, "if they would keep away from me altogether. i have what i care much more for. but i must see them nearly every day and try to interest them. and i know they will find me as dull as when i gave those dreadful luncheons." she was recalled by a direct observation of her mother's. "your washed cross-barred muslin looked very plain beside their french things, but i do not think it worth while to get you any new clothes at present. but do not let it worry you. remember that what _we_ do seems right to every one. we can afford to dress exactly as we choose." "it does not worry me," replied magdaléna. xiv whether or not to tell her parents of her determination to write had been a matter of momentous consideration to magdaléna. after the resignation of her faith and her conversation with colonel belmont, she had determined to adhere rigidly to the truth and to the right way of living, to conquer the indolence of her moral nature and jealously train her conscience. the result, she felt, would be a religion of her own, from which she could derive strength as well as consolation for what she had lost. she knew, by reading and instinct, that life was full of pitfalls, but her intelligence would dictate what was right, and to its mandates she would conform, if it cost her her life. and she knew that the religion she had formulated for herself in rough outline was far more exacting than the one she had surrendered. she had finally decided that it was not her duty to tell her parents that she was trying to write. when she was ready to publish she would ask their consent. that would be their right; but so long as they could in no way be affected, the secret might remain her own. and this secret was her most precious possession; it would have been firing her soul at the stake to reveal it to anyone less sympathetic than helena; she was not sure that she could even speak of it to her. her time was her own in the country. her father and uncle came down three times a week, but rarely before evening; her mother's mornings were taken up with household matters, her afternoons with siesta, calling, and driving; frequently she lunched informally with her friends. how magdaléna spent her time did not concern her parents, so long as she did not leave the grounds and was within call when visitors came. don roberto would not keep a horse in town for magdaléna, but in the country she rode through the woods unattended every morning. the exhilaration of these early rides filled magdaléna's soul with content. the freshness of the golden morning, the drowsy summer sounds, the deep vistas of the woods,--not an outline changed since unhistoried races had possessed them,--the glimpses of mountain and redwood forests beyond, the embracing solitude, laid somnolent fingers on the scars of her inner life, letting free the sweet troubled thoughts of a girl, carried her back to the days when she had dreamed of caballeros serenading beneath her casement. for two years she had dreamed that dream, and then it had curled up and fallen to dust under helena's ridicule. magdaléna was fatally clear of vision, and her reason had accepted the facts at once. sometimes during those rides she dreamed of a lover in the vague fashion of a girl whose acquaintance of man is confined to a few elderly men and to the creations of masters; but only then. she rarely deluded herself. she was plain; she could not even interest women. she felt that she was wholly without that magnetism which, she had read, made many plain women irresistible to man. xv don roberto was to bring his guest with him on the train which arrived a few minutes after five. magdaléna was told to dress early and be in the parlour when mr. trennahan came downstairs. she was cold at the thought of talking alone with a man and a stranger; but mrs. yorba had neuralgia, and announced her intention to lie down until the last minute. magdaléna had received a number of pretty presents from her aunt and friends, a cablegram from colonel belmont and helena, and from her father a small gold watch and fob. her father's gift was very magnificent to her, and her pleasure was as great in the thought of his generosity as in the beauty of the gift itself. his usual gift was ten dollars; and as it had been decided that she was not to be a young lady until she was nineteen, her eighteenth birthday had been passed over. her mother's present was the dress she was to wear to-night, a white organdie of the pearly tint high in favour with blondes of matchless complexion, a white sash, and a white ribbon to be knotted about the throat. the neck of the gown was cut in a small v. magdaléna had no natural taste in dress, nor did she know the first principle of the law of colour; but when she had finished her toilette she stood for many moments before the mirror, regarding herself with disapproval. the radiant whiteness of the frock and of the ribbon about her neck made her look as dark as an indian. she saw no beauty in the noble head with its parted, closely banded hair, in the fine dark eyes. she saw only the wide mouth and indefinite nose, the complexionless skin, the long thin figure and ugly neck. the only thing about her that possessed any claim to beauty, according to her own standards, was her foot. she thrust it out and strove to find encouragement in its pulchritude. it was thin and small and arched, and altogether perfect. she wore her first pair of slippers and silk stockings,--a present from her aunt. her mother thought silk stockings a sinful waste of money. magdaléna sighed and turned to the door. "feet don't talk," she thought. "what am i to say to mr. trennahan?" she walked slowly down the stair. he was before her, standing on the verandah directly in front of the doors. his back was to her. she saw that he was very tall and thin, not unlike her uncle in build, but with a distinction that gentleman did not possess. her father was strutting up and down the drive, taking his ante-dinner constitutional. she went along the hall as slowly as she could, her hands clenched, her mind in travail for a few words of appropriate greeting. when she had nearly reached the door, trennahan turned suddenly and saw her. he came forward at once, his hand extended. "this is miss yorba, of course," he said. "how good of you to come down so soon!" he had a large warm hand. it closed firmly over magdaléna's, and gave her confidence. she could hardly see his face in the gloom of the hall, but she felt his cordial grace, his magnetism. "i am glad you have come down to my birthday dinner," she said, thankful to be able to say anything. "i am highly honoured, i am sure. shall we go outside? i hope you prefer it out there. i never stay in the house if i can help it." "oh, i much prefer to be out." they sat facing each other in two of the wicker chairs. he was a man skilled in woman, and he divined her shyness and apprehension. he talked lightly for some time, making her feel that politeness compelled her to be silent and listen. she raised her eyes after a time and looked at him. he was, perhaps, thirty-five, possibly more. he looked older and at the same time younger. his shaven chin and lips were sternly cut. his face was thin, his nose arched and fine, his skin and hair neutral in tint. the only colouring about him was in his eyes. they were very blue and deeply set under rather scraggy brows. magdaléna noted that they had a peculiarly penetrating regard, and that they did not smile with the lips. the latter, when not smiling, looked grim and forbidding, and there was a deep line on either side of the mouth. her memory turned to colonel belmont, and the night she had studied his profile. there was an indefinable resemblance between the two men. then she realised how old-fashioned and worn belmont was beside this trim elegant man, who, with no exaggeration of manner, treated her with a deference and attention which had no doubt been his habitual manner with the greatest ladies in europe. "shall you be in california long?" she asked suddenly. "that is what i am trying to decide. i had heard so much of your california that i came out with a half-formed idea of buying a little place and settling down for the rest of my days." "the mark smith place is for sale," she answered quickly. "it has only two acres, but they are cultivated, and the house is very pretty." "your father told me about it; but although menlo is very beautiful, it seems to have one drawback. i am very fond of rowing, sailing, and fishing, and there is no water." "there is if you go far enough. the bay is not so very far away, and i have heard that there is salmon-fishing back in the mountains. and mr. washington and uncle jack belmont often go duck and snipe shooting down on the marsh." she stopped with a shortening of the breath. she had not made such a long speech since helena left. he sat forward eagerly. "you interest me deeply," he said. "i am very much inclined to buy the place. i shall certainly think of it." "but you--surely--you would rather be--live--in europe. we are very old-fashioned out here." the expression about his mouth deepened. "i should like to think that i might spend the rest of my days with a fishing-rod or a gun." "but you have been at courts!" he laughed. "i have, and i hope i may never see another." "and--and you are young." her interest and curiosity overcame her reserve. she wanted to know all of this man that he would tell her. she had once seen a picture of a death-mask. his face reminded her of it. _what_ lay behind? "i am forty and some months." she rose suddenly, her hand seeking her heart. "they are coming," she faltered. "i hear wheels. and mamma is not here to introduce you." "well," he said, smiling down on her. "cannot you introduce me?" "i--i cannot. i have never introduced anyone. i must seem very ignorant and _gauche_ to you." "you are delightful. and i am sure you are quite equal to anything. am i to be introduced out here, or in the drawing-room after they have come downstairs?" "oh, i am not sure." "then perhaps you will let me advise you. when they are all here, i will appear in the drawing-room; and if your mother is not down by that time, we will help each other out. they will all be talking and will hardly notice me. but i must run." the geary phaeton drove up. it held rose and her brother. after they had gone upstairs magdaléna went into the parlour to wait for them. the large room was very dim--the gasoline was misbehaving--and silent; she shivered with apprehension. there was no sign of her mother. but trennahan's words and sympathy had given her courage, and she burned with ambition to acquit herself creditably in his eyes. the guests arrived rapidly. in ten minutes they were all in the parlour, sixteen in number, the men in full dress, the women in organdies or foulards showing little of arm and neck. mrs. washington was in pink; tiny in white and a seraphic expression; rose wore black net and red slippers, a bunch of red geraniums at her belt, her eyes slanting at the men about her. with the exception of ned geary and charley rollins, a friend of helena's, with both of whom she had perhaps exchanged three sentences in the course of her life, magdaléna knew none of the young men: they had been brought, at mrs. yorba's suggestion, by the other guests. she could find nothing to say to them; she was watching the door. would her mother never come? her father was on the front verandah talking to mr. washington and her uncle. trennahan entered the room. magdaléna drew herself up and went forward. she looked very dignified and very spanish. no one guessed, with the exception of trennahan, that it was the ordeal of her life. "mr. trennahan," she said in a harsh even voice: "mrs. washington, miss brannan, miss montgomery." he flashed her a glance of admiration which sent the chill from her veins, and began talking at once to the three women that she might feel excused from further duty. a few moments later mrs. yorba entered. she received trennahan without a smile or a superfluous word. mrs. yorba was never deliberately rude; but were she the wife of an ambassador for forty years, her chill nipped new england nature would never even artificially expand; the cast-iron traditions of her youth, when neither she nor any of her acquaintance knew aught of socialities beyond church festivals, could never be torn from the sterile but tenacious soil which had received them. dinner was announced almost immediately. mrs. yorba signified to trennahan that he was to have the honour of taking her in; and as she had not intimated how the rest were to be coupled, the women arranged the matter to suit themselves. mrs. cartright went in with don roberto, mrs. washington with polk; there were no other married women present. as charley rollins was standing by magdaléna, she took the arm he offered her. the function was not as melancholy as the yorba dinners were wont to be. young people in or approaching their first season are not easily affected by atmosphere; and those present to-night, with the exception of magdaléna and tiny montgomery, chattered incessantly. tiny had a faculty for making her temporary partner do the talking while she enjoyed her dinner; but she listened sweetly and her superlatives were happily chosen. mrs. cartright always talked incessantly whether anyone listened or not. mrs. washington, who sat on don roberto's left, amused him with the audacity of her slang. where she learned the greater number of her discords was an abiding mystery; the rest of menlo park relegated slang to the unknown millions who said "mommer" and "popper," got divorces, and used cosmetics. when remonstrated with, she airily responded that her tongue was "made that way," and rattled off her latest acquisition. as she was an especial pet of mrs. yorba's--if that august dame could be said to pet anyone--and of distinguished southern connections, the remonstrances were not serious. magdaléna, although she ordered her brain to action, could think of nothing to say to rollins; but he was a budding lawyer and asked no more of providence than a listener. he talked volubly about helena's childish pranks, the last bohemian club midsummer jinks, the epigrams of his rivals at the bar. he appeared very raw and uninteresting to magdaléna, and she found herself trying to overhear the remarks of trennahan, who was doing his laborious duty by his hostess. after a time trennahan allowed his attention to be diverted by ila, who sat on his right. that he was grateful for the change there could be no doubt. his expression up to this point had been one of grim amusement, which at any moment might become careworn. the lines of his face relaxed under ila's curved smiles and slanting glances. they laughed gaily, but pitched their voices very low. magdaléna wondered if all dinners were as wearisome as this. rollins finally followed trennahan's example and devoted himself to caro folsom, a yellow-haired girl with babyish green eyes, a lisp, and an astute brain. on magdaléna's left was a blond and babbling youth named ellis, who made no secret of the fact that he was afraid of his intellectual neighbour; he stammered and blushed every time she spoke to him. he had gone in with rose geary, a blonde fairy-like little creature, as light of foot as of wit, and an accomplished flirt; who regarded men with the eye of the philosopher. they occupied each other admirably. opposite, another young lawyer, eugene fort, was saying preternaturally bright things to tiny, who lifted her sweet orbs at intervals and remarked: "how _dreadfully_ clever you are, mr. fort; i am _so_ afraid of you!" or "how _sweet_ of you to think i am worth all those _real_ epigrams! you ought to keep them for a great law-book." once she stifled a yawn, but mr. fort did not see it. little notice was taken of magdaléna, and she felt superfluous and miserable. even trennahan, who had seemed so sympathetic, had barely glanced at her. she wondered, with a little inner laugh, if she were growing conceited. why should he, with one of the prettiest girls in california beside him? ila was very young, but she belonged by instinct to his own world. the dinner came to an end. the older men went to the billiard-room, the younger men followed the girls to the parlour. trennahan talked to tiny for a time, then again to ila, who lay back in a chair with her little red slippers on a footstool. she had carefully disposed herself in an alcove beyond the range of mrs. yorba's vision. tiny, whose train added to the remarkable dignity of her diminutive person, crossed the room to magdaléna, who was sitting alone on the window-seat. "you have done so _well_, 'léna dear," she said, as she sat down beside her discouraged hostess. "i feel i must tell you that _immediately_. you are not a _bit_ shy and nervous, as i should be if i were giving my first dinner." magdaléna smiled gratefully. tiny had always been the kindest of the girls. "i am glad you think i am not so bad," she said. "but i fear that i have bored everybody." "_indeed_, you have not. you are so calm and full of natural repose. the rest of us seem _dreadfully_ american by contrast." "you are never fussy." "i know, but it is _quite_ different. i've been very carefully brought up. you would be exactly as you are if you had brought yourself up. the spanish are the most dignified--what are they going to do, i wonder?" mr. fort approached. "we are going to walk about the grounds and step on the frogs," he said. "i don't know a line of poetry, but i can count stars, and i'll tell you of my aspirations in life. will you come?" "i _so_ want to hear your aspirations, mr. fort," said tiny. "i did not know that california men had aspirations." the girls went with him to the verandah, and all started down the driveway together, then paired. to her surprise, magdaléna found trennahan beside her. "i am so glad to be with you again," he said petulantly. "i am tired of types." "types?" "yes; women that a man has been used to for many long weary years,--to put it in another way." "but surely you find ila very fascinating?" "oh, yes; but one understands the fascination so well; and it gives so much pleasure to--twenty-two, that it is almost immoral for an old fogy like myself to monopolise it. i don't understand you in the least, so i am here." magdaléna trembled a little. the nineteen years of her life suddenly assumed a glad complexion, lifting her spirit to the level of her mates. she tried to recall the sad and bitter experiences of her brief past, but they scampered down into the roots of memory. he did not speak again for a time, beyond asking if he might smoke. he was quite sincere for the moment; but he understood the much of her that was salient to his trained eye. her parents, her timid reserve, so unlike that of other american girls favoured by fortune, her ignorance of certain conventionalities, the very fashion of her hair, the very incompatibility of her costume and colouring, told him two thirds of her short history. of the history of her inner life he guessed little, but believed that she had both depth of mind and intensity of feeling. to get her confidence would be next to impossible; it was therefore well worth the effort. if she proved as interesting as he suspected, he believed that he should feel disposed to marry her did she only have a complexion. he was weary straight down into the depths of his weary soul of the women and the girls of the world; but he also abhorred a sallow skin. he had worshipped beauty in his day, and was by no means impervious to it yet; but he felt that he could overlook magdaléna's nose and mouth and elementary figure for the sake of her eyes and originality, did she only possess the primary essential of beauty. a man regards a woman's lack of complexion as a personal grievance. if the american habit of monologue had been a part of trennahan's inheritance, his foreign training had long since lifted it up by the roots; but he saw that if he was to make progress with this silent girl, he must do the talking. he could be both brilliant and amusing when he chose, and he exerted himself as he had not done for some time. he was rewarded by a rapt attention, a humble and profound admiration that would have flattered a demi-god. and in truth he was a demi-god to this girl, with her experience of elderly old-fashioned men and an occasional callow youth encountered on a verandah in summer. they followed the driveway that curved between one of the two larger lawns and the deer park. the lawn was set thickly along its edge and sparsely on its sweep with fragrant trees and shrubs. beyond the deer park was the black mass of the woods. the air was sweet with the mingled breath of june roses, orange blossoms, and the pepper-tree. after a time their way lay through a dark avenue of immense oaks, and the perfumes came from the mariposa lilies in the fields beyond. if trennahan had been with ila, he would have conducted himself as his surroundings and his companion demanded: he would have made love. but he was a man who rarely made a mistake; he talked to magdaléna of the difference between california and the many other countries he had visited, and answered her eager questions about life in the great capitals. as they were returning, he said to her,-- "you say you ride before breakfast. do you think i might join you to-morrow? your father has been kind enough to place his stable at my disposal." "oh--i--i don't know. my father is very--spanish, although he doesn't like you to call it that." "may i ask him?" "oh, yes, you could ask him." when they reached the house he sought his host in the billiard-room. the game was over, and don roberto, mr. polk, and mr. washington were seated in front of the mantel-piece with their feet on the shelf. it was don roberto's favourite attitude; he felt that it completed the structure of his americanism. he could only reach the tip of the shelf with the points of his little elegant feet, but he was just as comfortable as mr. polk, whose feet, large and booted, were planted against the wall. mr. washington, who was a most correct gentleman, with the illustrious forbears his name suggested, had never lifted his feet to one of his own mantels in his life; but don roberto's guests always humoured this little hobby, among many others. "ay, the mr. trennahan," said don roberto, graciously. "we make room for you." the others moved along, and trennahan, seeing what was expected of him, brought a chair and elevated his feet among the chinese bric-à-brac. he accepted a choice cigar--there were certain luxuries in which don roberto never economised--and added his quota to the anecdotes of the hearthstone. as his were fresh and the others as worn as an old wedding-ring, it was not long before he had an audience which would brook no interruption but applause. a chinaman brought a peremptory message from mrs. washington, and the feet on the mantel were reduced to six. when these came down, two hours later, trennahan said to don roberto,-- "may i ride with miss yorba to-morrow before breakfast?" "yes; i no mind," said the don, beaming with approval of his new friend. "but the boy, he go too. my daughter, no must ride alone with the gentleman. and you no leave the grounds, remember." xvi when magdaléna went up to her room, she spread all her pretty gifts on the table and asked herself if they were the secret of this novel feeling of content with herself and her world. she studied the mirror and fancied that she was not so plain as usual. her eyes returned to her presents, and she shook her head. her mind worked slowly, but it worked logically; nor was that imagination hers which keeps woman in a fool's paradise long after all but the husk of her adam has gone. "it is mr. trennahan," she admitted reluctantly but ruthlessly. "he is so clever and so agreeable--no, fascinating--that for the first time i forgot myself, and when i remembered was not unhappy because i am not beautiful nor clever. the world must be much nicer than i thought if there are many people like that in it." to love she did not give a thought, but she smiled to herself after the light was out, and, still smiling, fell asleep. the next morning she was downstairs by six o'clock, but found trennahan before her. as he approached her,--he had been sauntering up and down the drive,--she wondered what he thought of her costume. as she was not allowed to leave the grounds, a habit had never been thought necessary for the heiress of the house of yorba. she had worn for the past two years one of her mother's discarded black skirts and a cotton blouse. but it is doubtful if an inspired mind-reader could have made anything of such thoughts as trennahan wished to conceal. "you look as fresh as the morning," he said, with a gallantry which was mechanical, but true and delightful to a girl in her first experience of compliments. "did you sleep well?" she asked. "i hope the mosquitoes did not keep you awake. they are very bad." "i believe they are, but i received a friendly warning from mr. polk and rubbed the leather which protects my skull with vinegar. i think it was superfluous, but at all events i slept undisturbed." magdaléna regarded his skin attentively, much to his amusement. "it is thick," she said, feeling that she could not honestly reassure him, but quite positive that he expected her to answer. he laughed heartily. "oh!" he said. "what a pity you must 'come out'! i am a convert to the old-californian system. but here are the horses." the improvised groom, a sulky and intensely self-conscious stable-boy, led up the horses, and magdaléna put her foot in trennahan's hand. "oh!" he exclaimed, with a note of real admiration in his voice; and magdaléna nearly fell over the other side of her horse. they cantered off sharply, the boy following a good thirty yards behind, feeling uncommonly sheepish when he was not thinking angrily of his neglected chores. it was not thought good form in menlo park to put on the trappings of circumstance. mrs. washington drove a phaeton and took a boy in the rumble to open the gates; but the coachmen when driving the usual char-à-banc or wagonette performed this office while their mistresses steered the horses through the gates. no one ever thought of wearing a jewel or a décolleté gown to a dinner or a dance. mrs. dillon, the bonanza queen, having heard much of the simplicity of the worshipful menlo park folk, had paid her first calls in a blue silk wrapper, but, conceiving that she had done the wrong thing, sheltered her perplexities in black silk thereafter. her daughter upon the same occasion had worn a voluminous frock of pale blue camel's hair trimmed with flounces of valenciennes lace, that being the simplest frock in her wardrobe; but she privately thought even mrs. washington's apotheosised lawns and organdies very "scrubby," and could never bring herself to anything less expensive than summer silks, made at the greatest house in paris. "i am going to see the mark smith place this afternoon," said trennahan. "your mother has very kindly offered to drive me over. i suppose it has no woods on it. these are beautiful." "they are the only ones in the san mateo valley," replied magdaléna, experiencing the full pride of possession. "are there such beautiful ones in europe?" "those at fontainbleau are not unlike. but in england you stand in the middle of a wood and admire the landscape on either side." "helena wrote me something like that. she said that she always put on a veil when she went into an english wood for fear she would get freckled." "who is helena?" "she is my great friend. she is colonel jack belmont's daughter, and the most beautiful girl in california. at least i think she is, for of course i have not seen them all." "are you always as conscientious as that? why have i not seen this peerless creature?" "she is in europe. you will see her in december. of course i do not know if she is a 'type,' but i don't see how anybody else could be like helena. mr. rollins said last night that she was the concentrated essence of california." "describe her to me." he was delighted at the prospect of drawing her out on any subject. magdaléna hesitated, wondering if she should have the courage to continue, did she begin a monologue. she recalled the sustained animation of the girls at her dinner, and moved as if to shake her head, then recollected her ambition to shine in conversation. to no one had she ever found it so easy to express herself as to this man. why not take advantage of that fact? and that represented but the half of her present ambition. if she could only interest him! he watched her closely, divining some cause of her hesitation, but not all. her complexion was even less desirable by day than by gas, but her hair was tumbled, her eyes were sparkling softly; and the deep green arbours of the wood were an enchanting aid to youth. "she has curly shining hair about the colour of mahogany, and big--long--dark blue eyes that look as if they were not afraid of anything, and make you afraid sometimes, and regular features, and a whiter skin than tiny's, with a beautiful pink colour--" she stopped short, feeling that her attempt at description was as ineffective as the hours wasted upon her much modelled hero. "that sounds very charming, but still--never mind her appearance. tell me what you so much admire in her." "she talks so much, and she isn't afraid of anybody. she says she wouldn't lie because she wouldn't pay anyone that compliment. she loves to 'cheek' and shock people. she walks all round the outside of the house--upstairs--on a narrow ledge, and she runs to fires--at least she ran to one--and she won't study when she doesn't feel like it. and--and--she even snatched off papa's skull-cap once." trennahan threw back his head and laughed loud and long. "and you would have me believe that all that is what moves you to admiration. don't you know, my dear child, that you love your friend in spite of her tomboy eccentricities, not because of them? you wouldn't be or do one of those things if you could." again magdaléna hesitated. the implied approval was delightful; but she would not hold it on false pretences. she answered firmly,-- "i went to the fire with her." "you? delightful! tell me about it. every detail." she told him everything except the terrible sequel. it was lamely presented, but he cared nothing for the episode. his sympathies were immediate if temporary, and experience had eaten off the very cover of the book of seals. he followed her through every mental phase she unconsciously rehearsed; and when she brought the story to an abrupt close, lacking the art to run it off into generalities, he inferred something of the last development and did not press her to continue. he pitied her grimly. but he was an intensely practical man. "you must never think of doing that sort of thing again," he said. "unless a person is naturally eccentric, the attempt to be so demoralises him, because there is nothing so demoralising as failure--except on one's own particular lines. did you, for instance, jump on a horse and career barebacked through menlo park like a wild indian,--a performance which your friend would probably carry off with any amount of dash and _chic_--you would feel a hopeless fool; whereas," he gave her a keen side glance, "if you felt that you possessed a talent--for music, say--and failed forty times before achieving success, you would feel that your failures partook of the dignity of their cause, and of your own character." she turned to him with quickening pulse. "do you think," she faltered, hunting for phrases that would not commit her, "that if a person loved an art very much, even if he could not be sure that he had genius, that he would be right to go on and on, no matter how often he became discouraged?" her eyes were staring at her horse's neck; she did not see him smile. he had felt quite sure that she sought relief for the silences of her life in literary composition. when an unattractive woman has not talent she finds a double revenge in the torture of words, he thought. what shall i say to her? that she is whittling thorns for her own soul? bah! did i not find enjoyment once in the very imaginings of all that has scourged me since? would i have thanked anyone for opening my eyes? and the positive is the one thing that grips the memory. it is as well to have what high lights one can. she had raised her head and was looking at him expectantly. "certainly," he said. "he should go on, by all means. love of an art presupposes a certain degree of talent."--may heaven forgive me for that lie, he thought. she detected his lack of spontaneity, but attributed it to the fact that he had not guessed her personal interest in the question. "have you met many literary people?" she asked. "but of course you must. did you like them very much?" "i have inquired carefully, and ascertained that there are none in menlo. if there were, i should not think twice about the mark smith place." magdaléna felt herself burning to her hair. she glanced at him quickly, but he averted his eyes and called her attention to a magnificent oak whose limbs trailed on the ground. should i tell him? she thought, every nerve quaking. _should_ i? then she set her lips in scorn. he spoke of "literary" people, she continued. it will be many a day before i am that. meanwhile, as helena would say, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. he had no intention of letting her make any such confidences. "tell me," he said. "i have heard something of the old spanish families of california. you, of course, belong to them. that is what gives you your delightful individuality. i should like to hear something of that old life. of course it interests you?" "oh, i love it,--at least, i loved it once. my aunt, my father's sister, used to talk constantly of that time, but i have no one to talk to of it now; she has lived in santa barbara for the last three years. she told me many stories of that time. it must have been wonderful." he drew one leg across the horse's neck and brought him to a stand. they had entered the backwoods and were walking their horses. the groom was nowhere to be seen. he was, in fact, awaiting them at the edge of the woods, his beast tethered, himself prone, the ring-master of a tarantula fight. "tell me those stories," commanded trennahan. he knew they would bore him, but the girl was very interesting. magdaléna began the story of ysabel herrara. at first she stumbled, and was obliged to begin no less than three times, but when fairly started she told it very well. many of her aunt's vivid picturesque phrases sprang from their dusty shelves; her own early enthusiasm revived. when she had finished she passed on to the pathetic little histories of Éléna duncan and benicia ortega. she had told over those stories many times to herself; to-day they were little more than the recital of a well-studied lesson. the intense earnestness of trennahan's gaze magnetised her out of self-consciousness. when she was concluding the third, his horse shied suddenly at a snake, and while he quieted it she tumbled back to the present. she sat with parted lips and thumping heart. had she talked as well as that? she, magdaléna yorba, the dull, the silent, the terrified? she felt a glad pride in herself, and a profound gratitude to the wizard who had worked the spell. "i have never been more interested," he said in a moment. "how delightfully you talk! what a pity you don't write!" magdaléna's heart shook her very throat, but she managed to answer, "and then you wouldn't buy the mark smith place?" "well, no, perhaps i wouldn't," he answered hurriedly, lest she might be moved to confidence. he had a lively vision of magdaléna reading her manuscripts to him, or sending them to him for criticism. "but you must tell me a story every time we--i am so fortunate as to have you all to myself like this. i suppose we should be going back now." magdaléna took out her watch. the little air of pride in her new possession amused trennahan, although he saw the pathos of it. "yes," she said; "it is nearly eight. we must go. papa does not like us to be late for breakfast." as they reached the edge of the woods, magdaléna gave an exclamation of disgust; but trennahan leaned forward with much interest. the two tarantulas, after tearing each other's fur and legs off, were locked in the death embrace, leaping and rolling. "get on your horse at once," said magdaléna, sternly. "you are a cruel boy." "but that is very interesting," said trennahan; "i never saw it before." "they are always doing it here. they pour water--" she turned to the boy, who was mounted, and close behind them, now that they were likely to come within the range of the old don's vision at any moment. "dick," she said sternly, "how did you get those tarantulas up? have you a whiskey flask about you?" she spoke with all her father's harsh pride when addressing an inferior: don roberto regarded servants, in spite of the heavy wage they commanded, as he had the indians of his early manhood. trennahan watched her closely, remarking upon the variety a man might find in a woman if he chose to look for it. the boy assured magdaléna that the tarantulas had been above ground. she shrugged her shoulders and turned her back expressively upon him. "you see those little round holes covered with white film?" she said to trennahan. "they lead down to the tarantulas' houses,--real little houses, with doors on hinges. people pour water down, and the old tarantula comes up--back first, dragging his legs after him--to see what is the matter. then they set two of them at each other with sticks, and they--the tarantulas--never stop fighting until they have torn each other to death: they have two curved sharp teeth." good sport for variety's sake, thought trennahan. i see myself engaged on warm afternoons. xvii after breakfast trennahan lay in a long chair on the verandah and smoked undisturbed. mrs. yorba was busy, and magdaléna sat up in her room, longing to go down, but fearing to weary him. she recalled the early hours with vivid pleasure. for the first time in her life she was almost pleased with herself. she took out her writing materials; but her beloved art would not hold her. she went to the window and unfastened the shutter softly. trennahan was not talking to himself nor even walking up and down the hard boards below, but the aroma of his cigar gave evidence that he was there. it mingled with the perfume of the pink and white roses swarming over the roof of the verandah almost to her window. she experienced her first impulse to decorate herself, to gather a handful of those roses and place them in her hair. her aunt had never been without that national adornment, worn with the grace of her slender girlhood. she stepped over the sill, catching her breath as the tin roof cracked beneath her feet, but gathered the roses and returned to her mirror. with the nimble fingers of her race she arranged the roses at one side of her head, above and behind the ear. certainly they were becoming. she also discovered that she had her aunt's turn of the head, her graceful way of raising her hand to her ear. but it is so little, she thought with a sigh; if i could only have the rest! her mind wandered back to the heroines of her aunt's tales. if she but had the beauty of those wondrous girls, trennahan would have taken fire in the hour that he met her, as their caballeros had done. the thought made her sigh again, not with a woman's bitterness,--she had lived too little for that,--but with a girl's romantic sadness. why had she been defrauded of her birthright? she recalled something colonel belmont had once said about "cross-breeding being death on beauty in nine cases out of ten." why could not her father have married another woman of his race? she dismissed these reflections as unfilial and wicked, and returned to her work; but it was only to bite the end of her pen-holder and dream. meanwhile trennahan fell asleep and dreamed that his menlo house caught fire one night and that all the maidens of his new acquaintance came in a body to extinguish the flames. miss montgomery played a hose considerably larger round than her neck, with indomitable energy and persistence. miss brannan, in a dashing red cap and jacket, danced like a bacchante on the roof, albeit manipulating large buckets of water. mrs. washington was also there, and, swinging in a hammock, encouraged the workers with her characteristic optimism expressed in picturesque american. magdaléna, in a suit of her father's old clothes, was handing his books through the library window to miss folsom. miss geary was scrambling up the ladder, a hose coiled about her like a python. the leader of the company stood on the roof directly above the front door, giving orders with imperious voice and gesture. but although the flames leaped high about her, starting the leaves of a neighbouring tree into sharp relief, he could not see her face. xviii trennahan did not see magdaléna until luncheon. she came in late, and her manner was a shade colder and more reserved than usual. after much excogitation, she had decided to leave the roses in her hair, but it had taken her ten minutes to summon up courage to go downstairs. he understood perfectly, and his soul grinned. then he sighed. youth had been very sweet to him, all manifestations of femininity in a woman very dear. there were four long windows in the dining-room, but the roof of the verandah, the thick vines springing from pillar to pillar, the lilac-trees and willows just beyond, chastened the light in the room. magdaléna looked almost pretty, with her air of proud reserve, the roses nestling in her dark hair. ten years ago he might have loved her, perhaps, in spite of her complexion. mrs. yorba did not notice the roses. her mind was blind with wrath: the cream sauce of the chicken was curdled. during at least half the meal she did not utter a word; and trennahan, wondering if fate were forcing him into the permanent role of the garrulous american, a breed for which he had all the finely bred american's contempt, talked of the weather, the woods, the climate, the beauty of the californian women, with little or no assistance from magdaléna. the moment he paused, and he was hungry, the catlike tread of the chinese butlers was the only sound in the large house; the silence was so oppressive that he reflected with gratitude that his visit would be done with the morrow's morn. finally, mrs. yorba left the table and stepping through one of the open casements walked up and down the verandah. she was very fond of this little promenade between the last solid course of luncheon and the griddle-cakes and fruit. "i am glad you wear flowers in your hair," said trennahan. "your head was made for them. i am certain your ysabel what's-her-name must have worn them just so the night her ardent lover conceived the idea of robbing the mission of its pearls for her fair sake." magdaléna's face glowed with its rare smile. "but ysabel was so beautiful," she said wistfully,--"the most beautiful woman in california." "all women are beautiful, my dear miss yorba--when they are young. if girls could only be made to understand that youth is always beautiful, they would be even prettier than they are." magdaléna's eyes were large and radiant for a moment. she was disposed to believe in him implicitly. she determined that she would think no more on the beautiful women of her race, but learn to make herself attractive in other ways. helena would return soon and would teach her. "i have read in books that plain women are sometimes more fascinating than beautiful ones," she said. "how can that be? of course you must know." "a fascinating ugly woman is one who in the same moment sets the teeth on edge and makes a beauty look like a daub or a statue. her pitfall is that she is apt to be lacking in pride: she makes too great an effort to please. your pride is magnificent. i say that in strict truth and without any desire to pay you a compliment. had fate been so unkind as to make you an ugly woman, you would not have had a jot less; it is the finest part of you, to my way of thinking. you are worrying now because you have less to say than these girls who have travelled and been educated abroad, and who, moreover, are of lighter make. don't try to imitate them. the knack of making conversation will come with time; and you will always be appreciated by the men who are weary past your power to understand of the women that chatter. if i buy this place, i shall read over some of my favourite old books with you,--that is, if you will let me; and i believe that you will." magdaléna's hands were clasped on the edge of the table; she was leaning forward, her soul in her eyes. for the moment she was beautiful, and trennahan looked his admiration and forgot her lack of complexion. to magdaléna there had been a sudden blaze of golden light, then a rift, through which she caught a brief flash of heaven. her vague longings suddenly cohered. she was to be solitary no longer. she was to have a companion, a friend,--perhaps a confidante, a person to whom she might speak out her inmost soul. she had never thought that she should wish to open her reserve to anyone, but in this prospect there was enchantment. mrs. yorba returned to her seat and helped herself to hot cakes. "when miss montgomery and miss brannan were leaving last night," she said, "they asked me to stop for them this afternoon, as they wished to persuade you that the mark smith place was exactly what you wanted, or something to that effect. so we shall stop for them. the char-à-banc will be at the door at a quarter to four." that was her last remark, as it had been her first, and some twenty minutes later the repast came to an end. xix trennahan was again left to his own devices. he amused himself inspecting the stable, a most unpretentious structure, containing all that was absolutely indispensable and no more. attached to the farmhouse in an adjoining field was a barn for the work-horses. the stable-boy did duty as guide, and conducted trennahan through the dairy, granary, carpenter shop, and various other outbuildings. it was all very plain, but very substantial, the symbol of a fortune that would last; altogether unlike the accepted idea of california, that state of rockets and sticks. but, for the matter of that, thought trennahan, all things should be stable in this land of dreaming nature. he had been told since his arrival that everything had been in a rut since the great bonanza plague; but assuredly this archaic repose must be its natural atmosphere; its fevers must always be sporadic and artificial. yes, he thought, it is a good place to die in. it would have been intolerable ten years ago, but it seems little short of paradise when a man has dry rot in him. and that girl looked remarkably well with those roses in her hair. poor thing! magdaléna came down to the verandah a few moments before the char-à-banc drove up. she wore a buff lawn, simply made by the family seamstress, and a large straw hat trimmed with daisies. she had taken the flowers out of her hair, but had pinned a large cluster of red roses at her waist. altogether she looked her best, and felt that she might be able to hold her own against the other girls. one secret of trennahan's charm for women was that he never overlooked their little efforts to please him. he said immediately,-- "yellow and red were made for you. you should leave white for those who cannot stand the fury of colour." she was keenly alive to the pleasures of appreciation, but merely asked if he had managed to amuse himself. "fairly well, considering that you deserted me." "but they almost always leave the men alone down here in the daytime, tiny says. she says that all they come for is to get away from san francisco, and that they prefer to go to sleep on the verandah or the lawns." "i should not have guessed that miss montgomery was cynical. i fancy she finds entertaining in the open air rather sleepy work herself. or perhaps she thinks they are sufficiently honoured in being asked within the sacred precincts of menlo park," he added mischievously. "i have been given to understand that it _is_ an honour." "we keep very much to ourselves," said magdaléna, gravely. "we never care to know new people unless we are sure that we shall like them." to flirt with her a little, or rather to flirt at her, was irresistible. he bent over her, smiling and compelling her gaze. "and how can i be sure that you will not find me wanting?" he asked; "not like me at all a month hence? i think i should wait at least that time before buying this place." she shook her head seriously. "i am sure we are all going to like you. while you were with papa last night, tiny and ila and mrs. washington and rose and caro all said they hoped you would buy the mark smith place. ila said she had not come back to california to talk to children; and tiny--who is not really enthusiastic--said you were one of the few men she ever wanted to see a second time. mrs. washington said, 'a man-of-the-world at this last end of creation, stepping off landing--'" "i am more flattered than i can possibly express, but i want to know what _you_ think about it. shall you tire of me?" "oh, i think not. i am sure i shall not." "do you want me to buy this place?" she looked at him helplessly. instinct whispered that he was unfair, but she had no anger for him. "i--i--think i do," she said. "i--i think you know i do." and then she did feel a little angry with him. he drew back at once. "you are my first friend, you know," he said in his ordinary manner. "i should not think of settling near you unless i were sure of not boring you. but i believe we have tastes in common, and i hope you will let me come over often." "you will be always welcome," she said formally. her anger had gone, leaving a chill in its wake. the char-à-banc drove up. mrs. yorba descended simultaneously. her virtues were many, and one of them was punctuality. xx the montgomerys' house was next in age to the yorbas', but neither so large nor so solid. even its verandah, however, had a more homelike air; its carpets and rugs were old but handsome; and it was full of pretty trifles, and much carved furniture, gathered in europe. the lawns were small, the grounds carelessly kept, but there were many fine old trees and a wilderness of flowers. coralie brannan and lee tarlton, mrs. montgomery's little ward, were romping on the lawn as the yorbas drove up. tiny and ila were sitting on the verandah. the former was in her favourite white, and a hat and sash of azure. ila wore a superlatively smart frock of yellow silk muslin, and a yellow sun-hat covered with red poppies. trennahan saw the flash of dismay from magdaléna's eyes before her face settled into its most stolid expression. he felt genuinely sorry for her, but his only part was to get out and hand these radiant visions into the char-à-banc. "it is _so_ nice to think that you may be a neighbour of ours," said tiny, sweetly, as ila was kissing mrs. yorba, and asking if she were not a good girl to meet her halfway. "we shall really be glad to have you." "we shall make him forget that he has not lived here always," said ila, with her most brilliant smile. she was much elated at the unexpected foil. "he will become quite one of us." "i am sure he would not think of settling elsewhere in california," said mrs. yorba. and then she added with what for her was extreme graciousness, "my husband and i shall be very glad to have him for neighbour." trennahan murmured his thanks. he was deeply amused. that he was the representative of one of the proudest families in a state some three hundred years old mattered nothing to these californians of menlo park. is it catching, i wonder? he thought. if some of my english friends should come out here five years hence, should i patronise them? doubtless, for it is like living on another planet. exclusiveness is the very scheme of its nature. it is encouraging to think that i have yet another phase to live through. ila claimed his attention and kept it as they rolled down the dusty road toward the mark smith place. tiny, after a futile attempt to engage magdaléna in conversation, devoted herself prettily to mrs. yorba and talked of the plans for the summer. magdaléna was acutely miserable. her exaltation of spirits was a bare memory. she hated her dowdy frock, her glaring contrast to the vivid ila, accentuated by that grotesque similarity of attire. she listened to ila's brilliant chatter and recalled her own halting phrases, her narrow vocabulary, and wondered angrily at the conceit which had prompted her to hope that she was overcoming her natural deficiencies. then she remembered that she was a yorba, and drew herself up in lonely pride. it was a privilege for these girls to be intimate with her, to call her 'léna, great as might be their social superiority over the many in san francisco whose names she had never heard. in her inordinate pride of birth, in her intimate knowledge of the fact that she was the daughter of a californian grandee who still possessed the three hundred thousand acres granted his fathers by the spanish crown, she in all honesty believed no one of these friends of her youth to be her equal, although she never betrayed herself by so much as a lifting of the eyebrow. she had questioned, after her loss of religion, if it were not her duty to train down her pride, but had concluded that it was not; it injured no one, and it was a tribute she owed her race. she liked trennahan the better that he had discovered and approved this pride. xxi magdaléna did not see trennahan alone again; he did not ask her to ride with him on the following morning, and left for town immediately after breakfast. but before taking his seat in the char-à-banc he held her hand a moment and assured her with such emphasis that he owed the great pleasure of his visit entirely to her, that her spirits, which had been in weeds, flaunted into colour and song; and she went at once to her nook in the woods, feeling that the fire in her mind was nothing less than creative. but she did not write for some time. the sun was already intensely hot; even in those depths the air was heavy, the heat waves shimmered among the young green of the undergrowth. magdaléna stretched herself out lazily and looked up into the green recesses of the trees. the leaves were rustling in a light hot wind. she fancied that they sang, and strained her ears to catch the tune. it looked so cool and green and dark up there; surely the birds, the squirrels, the very tree-toads,--those polished bits of malachite,--must be happy and fond in their storeyed palace. what a poem might be written about them! but they would not raise their voices above that indefinite murmur, and the straining ears of her soul heard not either. she sat up and began to write, endeavouring to shake some life into her heroine, but only succeeding in making her express herself in very affected old english, with the air of a marionette. then mechanically, almost unconsciously, she began the story again. at the end of an hour she discovered that she had dressed up trennahan in velvet and gold, doublet and hose. she laughed with grim merriment. ignorant as she was, she was quick to see the incongruity between modern man in his quintessence and the romantic garments of a buried century. also, her hero had addressed his startled friends in this wise: "i can't stand that rat-hole any longer. i'm going to stay down here with the rest of you, whether i'm hanged for it or not." this was undoubtedly what trennahan would have said; but not the cavalier, lord hastings of fairfax. she had a vague prompting that on the whole it was preferable to,-- "gadsooks, my bold knights, and prithee should a man rot in a rat-ridden cupboard while his friends make merry? rather let him be drawn and quartered, then fed to ravens, but live while he may." but she dismissed the thought as treason to letters, and proceeded on her mistaken way with the lady eleanora templemere. shakspere and scott were her favourite writers; she felt that she must fumble into the sacred lines of literature by such feeble rays as they cast her. she liked and admired the great realists whose bones were hardly dust; but they did not inspire her, taught her nothing. xxii the next morning, as she was starting for the woods, rather later than usual, dick, the stable-boy, who had just returned from the post-office, detached a letter from a packet he was handing the butler and ran after her. as helena was her only correspondent, she marvelled at the strange handwriting, but opened the letter more promptly than most women do in the circumstances. it was from trennahan and read: dear miss yorba,--i have virtually bought the place. that is to say, i shall buy it as soon as the deeds are made out. meanwhile, i am looking for servants and hope to move down on monday next at latest. mr. smith has also consented to sell me his stud, which, your father tells me, is exceptionally fine. so, you see, i am really to be your neighbour, and am hoping you are friendly enough not to be displeased. at all events, i shall give myself the pleasure of riding over on monday evening, and hope that you will join me in another ride on the following morning. meanwhile, can i do anything for you in town? is there anything that you would care to read? pray command me. faithfully, j. s. trennahan. never was there a more commonplace or business-like note, but it seemed a miracle of easy grace to magdaléna: it was the first note of any sort that she had received from a man not old enough to be her father. she invested it with all the man's magnetism, and heard it enunciated in his cultivated voice. she imagined it delivered in the nasal tones of her uncle, or in the thick voice of the youth that had sat on her left at the birthday dinner,--she had forgotten his name,--and shuddered. she recalled that her mother had received an envelope directed by the same hand the night before; but that, doubtless, had been a mere note of politeness. he had written this because he wished to do so! she spent the entire morning answering the note, and discovered that it was as easy to write a book. after tearing up some twenty epistles, she concluded that the following, when copied on her best note-paper, and compared with the dictionary, would do,-- dear mr. trennahan,--i am glad that you have bought the mark smith place. there is nothing that i want. many thanks. yours truly, magdalÉna yorba. xxiii on the following monday don roberto had a cold and did not go to town, but sunned himself on the verandah, alternately sipping whiskey and eating quinine pills. magdaléna dutifully kept him company, and the whiskey having made him unusually amiable, he talked more than was his wont with the women of his family. in his way he was fond of his daughter, deeply as she had disappointed him; and, had she known how to manage him, doubtless her girlish wants would have met with few rebuffs. but that would have meant another magdaléna. "i like this trennahan," he announced. "he prefer talk with me than with the young mens, and he know plenty good stories, by jimminy! he have call on me at the bank three times, and i have lunch with him one day. damn good lunch. he is what jack call thoroughbred, and have the manners very fine. i like have him much for the neighbour. he ask myself and eeram and washeengton to have the dinner with him on thursday and warm the house. he understand the good wine and the tabac, by scott! i feel please si he ask me plenty time, and i have him here often." magdaléna was delighted with these unexpected sentiments. she pressed her lips together twice, then said,-- "he asked me if i could ride again with him to-morrow morning." "i have not the objection to you ride all you want it with mr. trennahan, si you not go outside the place. need not take that boy, for he have the work; and i have trust in mr. trennahan." he would, indeed, have welcomed trennahan as a son-in-law. magdaléna must inherit his wealth as well as the immense fortune of her uncle; neither of these worthy gentlemen had the least ambition to be caricatured in bronze and accumulate green mould as public benefactors. nor did don roberto regret that he had no son, having the most profound contempt for the sons of rich men, as they circled within his horizon. it would be one of the terms of his will that magdaléna's first son should be named yorba, and that the name should be perpetuated in this manner until california should shake herself into the sea. he had long since determined that magdaléna should marry no one of the sons of his moneyed friends, nor yet any of the sprouting lawyers or unfledged business youths who made up the masculine half of the younger fashionable set. nor would he leave his money in trust for trustees to fatten on. ever since magdaléna's sixteenth birthday he had been on the look-out for a son-in-law to his pattern. the new yorker suited him. a wealthy man himself, trennahan's motives could not be misconstrued. his birth and breeding were all that could be desired, even of a yorba. he understood the value of money and its management. and he was well past the spendthrift age. don roberto and mr. polk had discussed the matter between them; and these two wily old judges of human nature had agreed that trennahan must become the guardian of their joint millions. magdaléna was her father's only misgiving. would a man with an exhaustive experience of beautiful women be attracted into marriage by this ugly duckling? but trennahan had passed his youth. perhaps, like himself, he would have come to the conclusion that it was better to have a plain wife and leave beauty to one's mistresses. he had not the slightest objection to trennahan having a separate establishment; in fact, he thought a man a fool who had not. little escaped his sharp eyes. he had noted trennahan's interest in magdaléna, the length of the morning ride, his daughter's sparkling eyes at breakfast. propinquity would do much; and the bait was dazzling, even to a man of fortune. he became aware that magdaléna was speaking. "i have no habit; and ila says that they intend to have riding parties." "you can get one habit. go up to-morrow and order one." magdaléna felt a little dazed, and wondered if everything in her life were changing. "i hear wheels," she said after a moment. they were on the verandah on the right of the house. she stood up and watched the bend of the drive. "it is the montgomery char-à-banc," she said, "and there are mrs. cartright and tiny and ila and rose. shall you stay?" "i stay. bring them here to me. tiny and ila beautiful girls. great scott! they know what they are about. rose very pretty, too." the char-à-banc drew up; and as its occupants did not alight, magdaléna went down and stood beside it, shading her eyes with her hand. "we have come to take you for a drive to the hills, 'léna dear," said tiny. "do come." "papa has a bad cold. i cannot leave--" "poor dear don roberto!" exclaimed mrs. cartright. "i will get out this minute and speak to him. i know so many remedies for a cold,--blackberry brandy, or currant wine, or inhaling burnt linen and drinking hot water--" but she was halfway down the verandah by this time. "do you remember the last time we went to the hills?" asked ila. "helena and rose shrieked with such hilarity that the horses bolted." "i can answer for myself," said rose. "i may say that the memory was burnt in with a slipper." "i never was spanked," murmured tiny. "that is one of the many things i am grateful for. it must be so humiliating to have been spanked." "who can tell what futures may lie in a slipper?" replied rose, who had a reputation for being clever. "i am sure that my slipperings, for instance, generated a tendency for epigram; something swift and sharp. it destroyed the tendency to bawl continuously,--the equivalent of the great national habit of monologue." "rose, you are quite too frightfully clever," said tiny, with an assumption of languor. "you will be writing a book next." "i will make 'léna the heroine," retorted rose, with a keen glance, "and call it 'the sphinx of menlo park.'" "fancy 'léna being called a sphinx," said ila, who was looking very bored. "are you coming, 'léna, or not? i suppose you don't want to be kept standing in the sun." "oh, we're all used to that," said rose. "i have three new freckles that i owe to mrs. washington and caro folsom. they called yesterday and kept me standing in the sun exactly three quarters of an hour before they made up their minds to come in and stay ten minutes." "i'd like to go--" mrs. cartright returned, shaking her head. "don roberto does not want to be left alone," she said. "i fortunately thought of a most wonderful remedy for colds, and i have also been telling him about a terrible cold general lee had once when he was staying with us. he did look so funny, dear great man, with his head tied up in one of old aunt sally's bandannas--" "please excuse me for interrupting you, dear mrs. cartright," said tiny, firmly; "but i think we had better get out and talk to don roberto, and go to the hills another day when 'léna can go with us. don't you think that would be best?" she murmured to the other girls. "we might help to amuse him a little." "it will be vastly to our credit," said rose, "for he certainly won't amuse us." "has anyone ever been amused here?" asked ila, looking at magdaléna, who was politely listening to mrs. cartright's anecdote. "fancy having the biggest house in the smartest county in california and making no more of it than if it were a cottage. the rest of the houses are so cut up; but fancy what dances we could have here." "i have been thinking over a plan," said tiny, "and that is to try to manage don roberto. 'léna can't, but i think the rest of us could, and mrs. yorba likes to give parties." "i am told that in early days there was an extra burst of lawlessness after each of her balls,--reaction," said rose. "i don't think that it is nice for us to be discussing people at their very doorstep," said tiny. "i just thought i'd mention my plan. and if it succeeded, and all took charge, as it were, there need be no stiffness in an informal party in the country. shall we get out?" "by all means, general tom thumb," said rose, with some ire; "it is very plain who is to be boss in this community, as mrs. washington would say." "wait till helena comes," whispered ila. xxiv don roberto rose as they approached. he did not take off his skull-cap, but he received them with the courtly grace of the caballero, one of his inheritances which he had not permanently discarded, although he practised what he was pleased to call his american manners in the sanctity of his home. he bowed low, kissed their finger-tips, and handed them in turn to the chairs which he first arranged in a semi-circle about his own. when he resumed his former half-reclining attitude he had the air of an invalid sultan holding audience. "we are _so_ sorry that you have _such_ a dreadful cold," said tiny, with her sweetest smile and emphasis; "and _so_ glad that we happened to drive up. you couldn't come for a drive with us, could you? we should _love_ to have you." don roberto rose to the bait at once. he was as susceptible to the blandishments of pretty women as jack belmont, although their influence over his purse was an independent matter. "very glad i am that i have the cold," he answered gallantly; "for it give me the company of three so beautiful ladies. i no can go for drive, for it blow, perhaps; but i no care, so long as you here with me sit." "well, we are going to stay a _long_ time; and we are _so_ glad we are back in menlo again,--so many of us together. we used to love so to come here; it seems _ages_ ago. and now that we have got 'léna again, you must expect us to fairly overrun the house." "it is yours," said don roberto, in the old vernacular. "burn it if you will." tiny, who had never heard even an anecdote of the early californians, gave a quick glance at the whiskey flask, but replied undauntedly,-- "how gallant you are, don roberto! the young men say such stupid things. but you _always_ were so original!" "poor old dear, i feel like wiping it off," whispered rose to ila. but it was evident that don roberto's vision was powdered with the golden dust of flattery. he smiled approvingly into tiny's pretty face. "but i say true, and the young mens do not sometimes. it make me young again to see you here." "one would think you were _old_," said tiny. "but do you _really_ like to see us here? should you mind if we came sometimes in the evening? it would be such _fun_ to meet at each other's houses and talk on the verandahs." "come all the evenings," said don roberto, promptly, "si you talk to me sometimes." "_i_ want to do that. ila plays, and rose sings _beau_tifully. some evening we will get up charades--to amuse you." "on saturday, sunday, tuesday, and thursday nights i am here." "those will be our evenings to come here." she gave a peremptory glance to rose, who responded hurriedly, "are you fond of music, don roberto? it will give me great pleasure to sing for you; and ila has been learning some of my accompaniments." don roberto did not answer for a moment. his memory had played him a trick: it had leaped back to the days of guitars and gratings. he rarely sought the society of gentlewomen, not, at least, of those whose names were on visiting lists. there was something unexpectedly sweet and fragrant in the company of these three beautiful girls. don roberto's memories were hanging in a dusty cupboard, and his heart had shrunken like the meat of a nut too long neglected; but there was life at the core, and the memories came forth, wanting only a breath to dust them. yes, he should like to have these girls about him. and magdaléna had lived the life of a hermit. it was time for her to enjoy her girlhood. "yes," he said, "alway i like the music. si the piano need tune, i send one man down. you can dance, too, si you like it. always i like see the young peoples dance." tiny clapped her hands. ila leaned forward and patted his hand. "what an inspiration!" she exclaimed. "this will be a simply gorgeous house to dance in. don roberto, you certainly are an angel!" don roberto had never been called an angel before, but he smiled approvingly. "some night this week we have the dance," he said. "my wife write you to-night." "i am on the verge of nervous prostration," whispered rose, as his attention was claimed by mrs. cartright. "the effort of keeping my countenance--but the way you handle a trowel, tiny, is a new chapter in diplomacy. butter and molasses for fifty and after; a vaporiser and _peau d'espagne_ for the sharp young things. i was just saying," she added hastily, as don roberto reclined suddenly and turned to her, "that young men are a nuisance. i am thinking of writing a book of advice--" "a book!" cried don roberto, his brows rushing together. "you no write the books?" "of course she would never publish," interposed tiny. "she would just write it for our amusement. i think it would be so horrid to publish the _cleverest_ book," she said, turning to magdaléna, unmistakable sincerity in her voice. "it has always seemed to me so--so--_horrid_ for women to write things to print--for _anybody_ to read." magdaléna did not answer her. she was staring at her father, breathless for his next words. "the ladies never write," announced that grandson of old spain. "nor the gentlemens. always the common peoples write the books." "oh, it's better now, really," said rose. "some people that write are said to be quite nice. of course, one doesn't meet them in society,--in san francisco society, at least,--but that may be the fault of society." "of course," said tiny. "i do not mean that people who write must be horrid. but i think i couldn't know a woman who made her name so public,--i mean if i hadn't been fond of her before; but i should really _hate_ to see a friend's name in print. you are not really thinking of writing a book, are you, rose, dear?" "i have not the slightest idea of writing a book--for the very good reason that i haven't brains enough. you needn't worry about any of us adding to the glory of california--unless, to be sure, 'léna should be clever enough." she spoke at random, and magdaléna's face did not betray her; but she almost hated the girl who was forcing her to another of her mental crises. "my daughter write!" shouted don roberto. "a yorba! she make a fool de my name like the play-actor that do the monkey tricks on the stage? si she do that--" "here comes mr. trennahan," said magdaléna, standing up. "mamma is not here. i must go to meet him." trennahan threw the reins to his groom and sprang out of the cart. "i could not wait till evening, you see," he said, as he came up the steps. "what is the matter? something has gone wrong with you." she shivered. "yes. something. i cannot tell you." "can we have our ride to-morrow?" "yes, i can ride with you. don't, d-don't--" "yes?" "don't talk to me when you get round there." "i won't; and i won't let them talk to you." something _has_ gone wrong, he thought. she looks like a condemned criminal. xxv the next morning when trennahan rode up, magdaléna was already on her horse, and they cantered off at once. "i must teach you to trot," he said. "this is very old-fashioned. you must not be behind your friends, who would scorn to canter." "very well. you can teach me." the next half-hour was given up to the lesson. magdaléna did not like the new method, but persevered heroically. a half-hour was all she could endure, and they cantered across the meadows to the back woods. magdaléna was as pale as a swarthy person can be. her eyes were heavy and shadowed. "you did not sleep last night," said trennahan, abruptly. "and something had happened yesterday before i came. what was it?" "i don't think i can tell you. i don't like to talk about things--about myself." "then let me tell you that no human being can go through life without help. with all your brain and your natural reticence, you are no exception to the rule. i am much older than you are. i know a great deal of the world. you know nothing of it. i can help you if you will let me." he was interested, and thought it probable that her trouble came from the depths of her nature. nevertheless, she was very young, and he prayed that her grief were not the sequence of a rejected manuscript. magdaléna flushed, then paled again. she remembered that she had wanted to speak out to him; but face to face with the prospect, the levelling of lifelong barriers appalled her. if she could only tell part and conceal the rest! but she was no artist in words. she drew a deep sigh and opened her lips, but closed them again. "it will be easier here in the woods," he said, as they rode into the deep shade. "the world always seems quite different to me in a wood." it did not in the least, but he knew that it did to her. "i should have to go back," she said finally. "i cannot begin with yesterday. and i talk so badly." "the longer the story, the more interested i shall be. and i like your direct simplicity. let us walk the horses." "when i was a child i was very religious,--a catholic. it was a very great deal to me. when i prayed to the virgin about my wants and troubles, i felt quite happy and hopeful. i lost it a year or two ago. i had read a great many scientific books; and my religion fell to pieces like--like--there was a beautiful old tree on the edge of the woods once. it looked as if it would stand a century longer. one day there was a terrible wind, and it fell down. its sap and roots were almost gone. i felt dreadfully--about the religion, i mean. i felt, somehow, as if my backbone had been taken out. i knew that one must have some sort of moral ideal. i thought a great deal, and finally i determined to make my conscience my religion. i made a resolution that i would never do, and try not even to think, what i believed to be wrong. when i was little, i followed helena into a great many of her naughty escapades,--though nothing so bad as the fire,--and i did not tell my parents, as a rule, because i could not see that it did any good. when my new england conscience, as helena calls it, got the best of me and i confessed about the fire, the consequences were so terrible that i made up my mind that i would do as i chose and say nothing about it. i kept to that until i lost my religion. then i was careful about every little thing. it was easy enough for a year. then--i don't think i can go on." "then you wrote a book and your conscience hurts you because you have not told your parents." magdaléna dropped her reins and stared at him. had a voice leapt down from heaven, she could not have been more dumfounded. "i never told you," she said helplessly. "can all the others know too?" "i am positive that no one suspects but myself. do go on." "you have guessed something, but not all. i have only begun a book; and i am so ignorant, and my mind is so slow, that i know it will be years before i shall be able to write a book that anybody would read. at first this dismayed me. now i do not care, so long as i succeed in the end; and it will be a pleasure to see myself improve. i have not thought it wrong not to tell my parents, so long as what i did could not affect them in any way. do you not think i was right in that?" "assuredly." "i believed that when i had done something excellent, if that time ever came, they would be proud of it. my mother was a school-teacher, you know; and i did not see why my father should care. he hates to hear women talk, but writing is different. at least i thought so. yesterday, just before you came, the subject came up. rose said she believed i could write a book, and papa was furious at the mere thought. i knew nothing about old-world prejudices, but it seems that a lady would be thought to have disgraced herself in spain if she wrote a book: and papa is as spanish as if he had never learned a word of english, although he would be ready to beat anyone that told him so. he did not have a chance to say much yesterday; but i saw what his ideas were and that nothing could change them. "i did not go to sleep at all last night. i sat up trying to think what i should do. of course i need not tell him what i had done; but should i give it up? that was the question. if i continued, i must tell him of my intention to be a writer. he would forbid it. if i refused to obey, which i do not think i have any right to do, he is quite capable of locking me up. but i cannot go on writing in secret. that would be a great wrong; it would be living a lie. i could not make myself believe that i only wrote for the pleasure of writing: i should know that i longed for the time when i should see my book on somebody's shelf. it seems to me that i cannot give it up. i have much less in my life than most girls. in spite of the hard work, i have felt almost happy while writing. and i am afraid that i have as much ambition as pride. but he is my father. my first duty is to him--i cannot make up my mind. i suppose there should be no struggle; but there is, and i feel as if it were killing me." trennahan had been the confidant of many women, had listened to many tragic confessions, had seen women in agonies of remorse; but nothing had ever touched him as did this bald statement, abrupt with repressed feeling, of a girl's solitary tragedy. had her hero been a lover instead of an art, he would have met her confidence with platitudes and a suppressed yawn; but her lonely attitude in the midst of millions and friends, her terrible slavery to an ideal, to a scourging conscience which was at war with all the secretiveness, self-indulgence, and haughty intolerance of restraint which she had inherited with her father's blood, interested him even more profoundly than it appealed to his sympathies. he determined not only to help her, but to watch her development. "you have honoured me with your confidence," he said. "don't doubt for a moment that i do not appreciate the magnitude of that honour. i know just how proud and reticent you are, how much it cost you to speak. i believe that i have enough wisdom to help you a little. go on with your work. if you have a talent, you get it, one way or another, from your parents, and it is as much entitled to your consideration as your health or your riches. the birthright of every mortal is happiness. some philosopher has said that happiness is the free exercise of the higher faculties of a man's nature. if that is your instinct, pursue it. of course we have no right to claim our happiness at the expense of others. but your father is safe for the present. no matter what your talent, you will not know enough, nor have had sufficient bare practice with your pen, to write even a short story of first-rate merit for ten years to come. you may count it a blessing that various causes are preventing you from rushing into print. at the end of that period your father will be ten years older. he will probably be much softened and will look at things differently; or he may be dead. or you may be--and most likely will be--married. you need only concern yourself with the present. it is possible that you have discovered your only chance of happiness. do not commit the incredible folly of strangling that chance before it is born. this is not my day for lecturing, but i am going to take your conscience in hand. it needs training. before you know it, you will be morbid. that means brain rot, and no chance of the commonest sort of enjoyment." "you are very good; no one has ever been so good. you ought to know far better than i what is right and what is wrong." "i am afraid i do. promise me this: that you will do nothing decisive until the end of the summer. take that time to think it over. there will be little time to write in any case. i shall monopolise a good deal of your time, and i fancy they intend to be rather gay here. six months from now we will talk it over again. will you agree to that?" "i must think it over. my mind is a slow one. but i think you are right." and several days later, when he was dining at the house, she told him briefly that she should take his advice and write no more until the summer was over. xxvi mrs. yorba, who did not like to have her plans made for her, decided to give the party on the evening of saturday week. the floor was to be canvased, and three musicians were engaged. she promised the girls that after this initial party they should dance informally at fair oaks as often as they wished. it was some time before magdaléna rode alone with trennahan again. the other girls rode every morning and claimed him. magdaléna joined these parties as soon as her habit was finished, and met him every afternoon at one or other of the new tennis courts, which consisted merely of chalked lines and a net,--ila had introduced tennis to menlo,--but either ila or caro possessed him with the tentacles of their kind. mrs. yorba had made it understood that her party was to be the first of the season, so the evenings alone were unoccupied. trennahan dined twice at fair oaks, but don roberto and mr. polk claimed him. magdaléna wondered if he had forgotten his original programme. but with four handsome girls demanding his attentions, a literary friendship was doubtless a dream of the future. she felt an unaccountable depression, and wondered if she were going to be ill. by the time the evening of the party arrived, the nervousness which had assailed her when the subject was broached had been tempered by time and constant association with many who would be present. tiny and the other girls had promised to make "things go." there were to be no ball gowns, and the whole affair was to be as informal as possible. she even harboured pleasurable anticipation. parties, she had read and heard, were brilliant exhilarating affairs, and she loved dancing as only a spanish woman can. in this, at least, she should excel her fellows. she had taken lessons once a week for the last two years from a solemn and automatic person who had rarely opened his lips except to complain of the heavy carpets in the cavernous yorba parlours. magdaléna dressed immediately after dinner; the guests were expected by nine. she wore her white organdie, but fastened crimson roses in her hair and belt. she was by no means satisfied with her appearance,--she was too ardent an admirer of beauty for that,--but she knew that she looked far better than she had on the night of her dinner. she shuddered at the memory of that white ribbon about her swarthy throat. she went downstairs, and thought the big rooms looked very inviting with their white floors; the folding-doors had been rolled back, and the parlour and dining-room made an immense sweep. the vases on the mantels were full of flowers. in the distance she heard the tuning of a fiddle. the night was hot, and all the windows were open. the dark grounds beyond looked full of mystery, and of infinite depth. she thought at the moment that there was nothing she loved more than the mystery of night in the country. as she stood in the middle of the brilliantly lighted room, the heavy darkness without outlined with trees and great shrubs, the broken spaces above, set with stars, allured her. almost unconsciously she stepped through one of the windows, crossed the verandah and drive, and entered the long narrow path between the lawns. here there was more sense of space, for the lawns were very large; but the trees were close along their edge and massed heavily at the end of the perspective. above was a long banner of night sky. the monotonous chanting of frogs was the only sound. certainly, california is a land of beauty and peace, she thought. mr. trennahan says he has never known anything like it, and he has been everywhere. everybody should be happy in it, and i suppose everyone is, mostly. poets like tennyson always make weather to suit moods and circumstances. if they are right, one should laugh and be happy for eight months in the year in california, and only sad when it rains. there does not seem much chance for tragedy, although i have heard that there are many murders and suicides; but perhaps that is because the towns are new and excitable. there is nothing in the country itself to make one unhappy, as there must be in other countries where nature has done so little, and they have so many centuries of tragic past behind them.... oh, dear, i am struggling toward something, as usual. what is it? she touched her fingers to her forehead, then drew them lightly back and forth, as if to clear the mist from her brain, the rust from the wheels.... i seem to have seeds in my mind. why don't they sprout? why are they for ever knocking at the hard earth over their heads? one would think they were in their graves instead of never having been born. she sighed and shook her head, but her thoughts ran on. am i happy? i think so. and all the girls seem happy. mr. trennahan says he watched the rest of the world rise into an inverted abyss of smoke when the train slid down the sierras, and that his memory has been asleep ever since. i have been unhappy here! she continued abruptly. and one night i suffered--suffered horribly--and this last week----she stopped short, looking at the beauty and peace about her with a feeling of sharp and swift resentment. she had a sense of being betrayed by the country of which she was, far more than her mates, a part. she was of its first blood, the daughter of its arcadia, the last living representative of all that it had been in the fulness of its power. and she knew california and felt it as no one else did. that sense of betrayal, of personal treachery, passed as swiftly as it had come, but seemed to murmur back that it would come again, and again; and that with each visit she would understand it better. i have read somewhere that artists must suffer before they can accomplish anything, she thought. well, i should not mind, i should not--at least, i think i should not. some time since she had come to the end of the path and turned to the right and into a long lane running between fields. she sat down on a stump; she had quite forgotten the party. her brain was full of struggling ideas. but in a few moments she surrendered herself to the spell of the night. there were no trees quite near her, nothing but level fields thick with grain. far to the left and curving a mile behind her was the black outline of the woods. far behind them were the towering mountains with their forests of redwoods; those on the crest sharp against the stars. california was a new country. it might have been newer, so vast was its silence, so primeval its peace. oh, i am sure i am happy, thought magdaléna, suddenly. yes, i am sure. but i wish i might never see anyone again. california is faultless; it is civilisation that has spoilt her. she was stumbling close upon great truths; but it was part of her inheritance that she had no perception of what she was groping for, and passed almost unheeding the little that came to her. "miss yorba, are you cultivating a reputation for eccentricity?" she sprang to her feet. trennahan was approaching her. he was in evening dress, without a hat. his expression was one of extreme amusement, and magdaléna felt the blood in her face. "have they come?" she asked in dismay. "they are dancing, or were about to begin as your mother sent me to look for you." "i had forgotten--" "i was sure you had. miss brannan insisted that you were hiding, but i had no doubt that you had wandered off in a reverie." he laughed. "happy you!" he said. "happy you!" "you think i am an idiot." "indeed i do not. i feel sorry to think that in a year from now such a thing will no longer be possible. but we must go back, or they will be sending someone to look for us." "is papa angry?" "i don't think he noticed. miss montgomery and miss brannan were using all their blandishments to make him think the party as interesting as themselves; and i am positive they were succeeding." when they reached the house, the quadrille which had opened the party was finishing. don roberto was making a sweeping bow to tiny, whose face wore an inscrutable expression. magdaléna was about to step through the window, but trennahan guided her to the door, and they entered the room without attracting attention. there were some forty people present. with the exception of the yorbas, everybody had house guests. mrs. yorba sat in a corner with a small group of elderly ladies. mr. polk stood before the fireplace in the parlour, his legs well apart, staring absently at the young people, who looked gay and content. "what am i to do?" asked magdaléna, helplessly. "nothing, just now, as there are no wall-flowers. in a moment one of these youths will ask you to dance, and of course you will consent. it is my misfortune that i no longer dance. i think your fate approaches." a young man with a rather bright face came toward her. his name was payne. she had met him at the montgomerys. "may i have the pleasure of the first waltz, miss yorba?" he asked. "i am told that it will be a unique pleasure,--that you can talk science and waltz in the same breath, as it were." he did not speak in sarcasm, merely in facetiousness. he was a type of the fresh young san franciscan whose ways are not as all ways. magdaléna looked at him in sombre anger and made no reply. he saw that he had made a mistake, and reddened, wondering why on earth she were in society at all, if she could not be like other girls. magdaléna did not appreciate his natural indignation; but she saw that he was miserable, and relented. "i will waltz with you if you wish," she said. mr. payne bowed stiffly and offered his arm. they walked the length of the two rooms in utter silence; then the musicians played the opening bars of a waltz. magdaléna remembered that this would be her first waltz with any man, barring the teacher who had solemnly piloted her up and down the parlours in town. she had hoped much from her first dance; and she was to have it with this silly overgrown boy. it was a minor disappointment, but sharp while it lasted. "shall we begin?" he asked formally. he was sulky, and eager to have it over. two or three of his friends had flashed him glances of ironical sympathy, and he was too young to bear ridicule with fortitude. ila was floating down the room with alan rush, a young south american, as graceful of foot and bearing as herself. magdaléna forgot her partner and gazed at them with genuine delight. she had read of the poetry of motion, and this illustration appealed to the passion for beauty which was strong in her nature. she turned to her partner. "do they not dance beautifully?" she exclaimed. that much-enduring youth replied that they did, and asked her again if she were ready. she laid her hand on his shoulder and they started. magdaléna realised at once that her partner was an excellent dancer, and that she was not. she felt that she was heavy, and marvelled at the lightness of ila and rose. they seemed barely to touch the floor, and were laughing and chatting as naturally as if they had no feet to guide. "could you take a little longer step?" asked mr. payne, politely. "i--i--beg pardon for suggesting it, but it's the fashion just now. that's right--a little longer. oh, i--i--am afraid that your feet are too small. shall we sit down a moment?" they sat down in the recess, and payne wiped his brow. "it is so warm," he muttered apologetically. "mr. rush does not look warm," she said cruelly. he repressed the obvious reply, but made no other. in a moment he asked her if she cared to finish the waltz. "no," she said. "i do not. you may go and finish it with someone else, if you like." he moved off with alacrity, and magdaléna sat alone for some moments feeling very miserable. what was the matter with her? could she do nothing well? and she should be a wall-flower for the rest of the evening, of course. that wretched man would tell everybody how badly she danced. but she had forgotten that she was hostess. a moment after the waltz ended, three young men came over to her and begged for the honour of her hand. they were rollins, the sharp-faced fort, and alan rush. she gave the dance to follow to rush, and the others, having inscribed her name on their cuffs, moved off. rush sat down beside her. he had a frank kind face, and the beauty of his figure and the grace of his carriage had given him a reputation for good looks which had reached even magdaléna's ears. he was at that time the most popular young man in san francisco society. magdaléna decided that she liked him better than anyone she had met except trennahan. his voice was rich and southern, although he had no spanish blood in him. "i watched you dance," said magdaléna, abruptly. "i don't dance well enough for you." "dancing is all a matter of habit," he said kindly. "this is my third year. you have no idea how awkward i was when i began. i am sure you will be the best dancer in society next winter--with all those spanish grandmothers." "do you think so?" she liked him almost as well as trennahan for the moment. he did not, for he had noted that she was lacking in natural grace; but he was chivalrous, and he saw that she was discouraged. "there's the music," he said. "suppose we go out in the hall by ourselves, and i will give you a little lesson. no?" magdaléna was delighted, but she merely stood up in her unbending dignity and said that she was glad to take advantage of his kindness. he was a man who danced so well that he compelled some measure of facility in his partner. magdaléna felt inspired at once, and carefully obeyed every instruction. "we will have a great many other lessons, no?" he said as the music finished. "by the time that famous coming-out party of yours comes off, you will be in great form." "will you open it with me?" "i shall be delighted, and to help you all i can." they were walking down the hall, and he was bending over her with an air of devotion which she thought very pleasant. his accomplished eyes appealed to the instinct of coquetry, buried deep in the seriousness of her nature, and she smiled upon him and found herself talking with some ease. she danced with all the young men, but they bored her as much as she felt that she bored them. all the girls danced with her father, and he seemed amiable and pleased, especially when tiny was smiling upon him. ila, despite her elegance and refinement, suggested the ladies of his leisure, rose had too sharp a tongue, and caro had an exaggerated innocence of manner and eye which experience had led him to distrust. but tiny, beautiful, cool, and remote, reminded him of the women of his youth, when he was a man of enthusiasms, ideals, and dreams. mr. polk spent the evening wandering about alone or staring from the hearth-rug. one or two of the girls asked him to dance, but he refused brusquely. it was the first dance he had attended since the one given by thomas larkin to celebrate the occupation of california by the united states. the party broke up a little after twelve, and all assured magdaléna that the party had been a success with such emphasis that she was convinced that it had been; but when she was in bed and the light out, she cried bitterly. xxvii there were no engagements for the following morning, and magdaléna was sitting idly on the verandah when she saw trennahan sauntering up the drive. the blood flew through her veins, lifting the weight from her brain. but she repressed the quick smile, and sat still and erect until he reached the carriage block, when she went to the head of the steps to meet him. "put on your hat," he said, "and let us hide in the woods before somebody comes to take us for a drive or to invite us to luncheon. i haven't forgotten our private plans, if you have." "i had not forgotten, but tiny and ila manage everything. i don't like to refuse when they are so kind." "you must develop a faculty--or no, leave it to me. i shall gradually but firmly insist upon having a day or two a week to myself; and miss geary informs me that such unprecedented energy can never last in this vale of sleep; that before a month is over we shall all have settled down to a chronic state of somnolence from which we shall awaken from saturday till monday only. then, indeed, will menlo be the ideal spot of which i dreamed while you left me to myself on that long day of my visit." her hat was in the hall. she put it on hastily back foremost, and they walked toward the woods. suddenly she turned into a side path. "let us walk through the orchard," she said. "then we shall not meet anyone." the cherries were gone; but the yellow apricots, the golden pears, the red peaches and nectarines, the purple plums, hung heavy among the abundant green, or rotted on the ground. several poor children were stealing frankly, filling sacks almost as large as themselves. don roberto had never so far unbent as to give the village people permission to remove the superfluity of his orchard, but he winked at their depredations, as they saved him the expense of having it carted away; his economical graft had never been able to overcome his haughty aversion to selling the produce of his private estate. magdaléna often came to the orchard to talk to these children: the poor fascinated her, and she liked to feel that she was helping them with words and dimes; but they were not as the poor of whom she had read, nor yet of the fire. they were tow-headed and soiled of face, but they wore stout boots and well-made calico frocks, and they were not without dimes of their own. "does california seem a little unreal to you?" she asked. "i mean, there are no great contrasts. the poverty of london must be frightful." "you ungrateful person, for heaven's sake reap the advantage of your birthright and forget the countries that are not california." they passed out of the back gate and entered the middle woods. magdaléna without hesitation led the way to the retreat hitherto sacred to art. trennahan need not have apprehended that she would inflict him with her manuscript, nor with hopes and fears: she was much too shy to mention the subject unless he drew her deliberately; but she liked the idea of associating him with this leafy and sacred temple. he threw himself on his back at once, clasping his hands under his head and gazing up into the rustling storeys above. about his head was a low persistent hum, a vibration of a sound of many parts. above were only the intense silences of a hot california morning. trennahan forgot magdaléna for the moment. he felt young again and very content. his restless temperament, fed with the infinite varieties of europe, had seldom given way to the pleasures of indolence. even satiety had not meant rest. but california--as distinct from san francisco--with her traditions of luxurious idleness, the low languid murmur of her woods, her soft voluptuous air, her remoteness from the shrieking nerve centres of the united states, the sublime indifference of her people to the racing hours, drew so many quiet fingers across his tired brain, half obliterating deep and ugly impressions, giving him back something of the sense of youth and future. perhaps he dimly appreciated that california is a hell for the ambitious; he knew that it was the antechamber of a possible heaven to the man who had lived his life. he turned suddenly and regarded magdaléna, wondering how much she had to do with his regeneration, if regeneration it were, and concluded that she was merely a part of california the whole. but she was a part as was no other woman he had met. she had clasped her hands about her knees and was staring straight before her. trennahan, in a rare flash of insight, saw the soul of the girl, its potentialities, its beauty, struggling through the deep mists of reserve. "i could love her," he thought; "and more, and differently, than i have loved any other woman." he determined in that moment to marry her. as soon as he had made his decision, he had a sense of buoyancy, almost of happiness, but no rejuvenation could destroy his epicureanism; he determined that the slow awakening of her nature, of revealing her to herself, should be a part of the happiness he promised himself. he was proud that he could love the soul of a woman, that he had found his way to that soul through an unbeautiful envelope, that so far there was not a flutter of sense. he was to love in a new way, which should, by exquisite stages, blend with the old. there could be no surprises, no enigmatic delights, but vicariously he could be young again. then he wondered if he were a vampire feeding on the youth of another. for a moment he faced his soul in horrified wonder, then reasoned that he was little past his meridian in years; that a man's will, if favoured by circumstance, can do much of razing and rebuilding with the inner life. no, he concluded with healthy disgust, he was not that most sickening tribute to lechery, an old vein yawning for transfusion. he was merely a man ready to begin life again before it was too late. this girl had not the beauty he had demanded as his prerogative in woman, but she had individuality, brains, and all womanliness. her shyness and pride were her greatest charms to him: he would be the first and the last to get behind the barriers. such women loved only once. she turned her head suddenly and met his eyes. "what are you thinking about?" she asked. "i have been wondering what that huge pile is behind you." "that is a wood-rat's nest." "and you are not afraid of him? extraordinary woman!" "he is much more afraid of me. i am very afraid of house-rats." "and you sit here often? you are not afraid of snakes?" "there are none in these woods. they always retreat before people--civilisation. everyone drives through here, but scarcely anyone goes through the back woods; the roads are so bad--" "hush!" the sound of wheels, faint for a moment, grew more distinct; with it mingled the sound of voices. a heavy char-à-banc rolled by, and the words of tiny and ila came distinctly to the two in hiding. "they will have a long and fruitless search," said trennahan, contentedly. "we are going to stay here and become acquainted." and they did not move for two hours. for a time trennahan made her talk, learning almost all there was to know. he even drew forth the tattered shreds of the caballero, who had been little more than a matter of garments, and a confession of her long and passionate desire to be beautiful. the story ended with the lonely and terrible surrender of her religion. he was profoundly interested. once or twice he was appalled. did he take this woman, he must assume responsibility for every part of her. she was so wholly without egoism that she would give herself up without reservation and expect him to guide her. that would be all very well with the ordinary woman; but with a nature of high ideals, and possibly of transcendent passions,--was he equal to the task? but in his present mood the prospect fascinated him. one of her slim hands, dark but pretty, lay near his own. he wanted to take it in his, but did not: he wished to keep her unself-conscious as long as possible. he tried to talk to her about himself, but found it hard to avoid the claptrap with which a man of the world attempts to awaken interest in woman. he had always done it artistically: the weariness, the satiety, the mental grasp of nothingness,--these had been ever revealed in flashing glimpses, in unwilling allusiveness; the hope that he had finally stumbled upon the one woman sketched with a brush dipped in mist. but feeling himself sincere for the first time in incalculable years, he dismissed the tempered weapons of his victories with contempt, and, not knowing what others to substitute, talked of his boyhood and college days. as a result, he felt younger than ever, and closer to the girl who was part of the mystery that had taken him to her heart. xxviii a woman's heart may be said to resemble a subterranean cavern to which communication is had by means of a trap-door. how the lover enters this guarded precinct depends upon the lover and the woman. sometimes the trap-door is jerked open, and he is hurled down with no by your leave, gobbled up, willing or unwilling. sometimes there is a desperate fight just over the trap-door, in which he does sometimes, but not always, come off victor. at other times he suddenly finds himself rambling through those labyrinthine passages, to his surprise and that of the woman, who, however, perceives him instantly. there is no such fallacy as that a girl turns in terror or in any other sentiment from the knowledge of this dweller below the trap-door. a woman of experience may, after that first glimpse: she may, in fact, bolt the trap-door yet more tightly and sit herself upon it. but a girl uses it as a frame for her face and watches every movement of the occupant with neither fear nor foreboding until occasion comes,--hanging the halls with the tapestry of dreams, fitting the end of each rose-hued scented gallery with the magic mirror of the future. magdaléna, at the end of that morning in the woods, was quite aware that she was in love. she wondered why she had not thought of it before, and concluded that in the prelude she had been merely fascinated by the first enthralling man she had known. the trap-door of her heart was not jealously guarded; nevertheless, it was not yawning for an occupant. just how and when trennahan slipped in, she could not have told, but there he certainly was, and there he would stay so long as life was in her. he went home with her to luncheon, and she longed to have him go, that she might be alone with the thought of him. he left early in the afternoon, and she locked herself in her room and sat for hours staring into the tree-tops swimming in their blue haze. she was not in the least terrified at the beginnings of tumult within her; she rather welcomed them as the birthright of her sex. in this first stage, she hardly cared whether trennahan were in love with her or not, having none of the instinct of the huntress and her imagination being a slow one. it was enough that she should see him for many hours alone during this dreamy exquisite summer, that she should look constantly into the cold eyes that had their own power to thrill. that he was not the orthodox lover in appearance, manner, nor age pleased her the better. she was not like other girls, therefore it was fitting that she should find her mate among the odd ones of earth. that there might be others like him in the great world whence he came, that he might have loved and been loved by women of the world, never occurred to her. she was content, having found her other part, and wove no histories of the past nor future. but as the weeks went on and their intimacy grew, she accepted the fact that he loved her before the disposition to speculate had arrived in the wake of love. during the hours that they spent rambling through the woods, or in whatever fashion pleased their mood, although he did not startle her by definite word or act, he managed to convey that their future was assured, that she was his, and that in his own time he should claim her. by the time this dawn broke, her imagination was beating at its flood-gates, and shortly broke loose. thereafter when she was not with trennahan in the present, she was his in a future built on the foundations of all she had read and all that instinct taught her. she had no wish that the present should change; it was enough that it suggested the inevitable future. she was happy, and she knew that trennahan was happy. meanwhile they escaped the others and rode together before breakfast, read together after, explored every corner of the woods, and talked of many of the things under heaven. magdaléna, except for an occasional flutter of eyelid or leap of colour, confessed nothing: her pride was a supple armour that she laced tightly above her heart; but trennahan's very self lifted the trap-door and looked to him through her eyes, and he had no misgivings. sometimes he awakened suddenly in the night and gave a quick, short laugh: he was so new to himself. but he knew that he had found something very like true happiness, and he was loving her very deeply. at first he had been pricked by the apprehension that it could not last; that nature had constructed him to move upon the lower planes; that a prolonged tour on the heights would result in disastrous and possibly hideous reaction: his time-worn habits of loving had been of woof and make so different. but as time passed and the light in his spirit spread until it dazzled his eyes and consumed his memories, as the sense of regeneration grew stronger, as the future beckoned alluringly, as he forgot to remember whether magdaléna were plain or beautiful, as peace and content and happiness possessed him,--he ceased to question his immutability. he had lived in the world for forty years, and it was like an old bottle of scent long uncorked. the ideals of his youth had not changed; they had gone. beautiful women had turned to gall on his tongue, shrunken to their skeletons in his weary eyes. fate had steered his bark in the open sea of bachelorhood until he was old enough and wise enough to choose his mate with his soul and his brain, and fate had steered him to magdaléna. he was profoundly thankful. their intimacy attracted little attention in menlo park, for the reason that it was confined within the wooded limits of fair oaks. when they rode and drove with the others and attended dinners and dances, they kept apart. as rose had predicted, gaieties were sporadic, although the young people met somewhere, usually at the yorbas', every saturday evening; what others did during the long hot days when there was no company to entertain, concerned no one. occasionally one of don roberto's huge farm waggons, as deep as a tall man's height, was filled with hay, and young menlo park jolted slowly to the hills. they ate their luncheon by cool streams dark with meeting willows, and poked at the tadpoles, gathered wild roses, killed, perhaps, a snake or two. then, toward evening, they jolted home again, hot, dusty, and weary, but supremely content in having lived up to the traditions of menlo park. tiny alone came out triumphant on these trying occasions. dressed in cool white, she seated her diminutive self in the very middle of the haystack and talked little. the others, undaunted by the sun, started in high spirits, flirted with energy, and changed their positions many times. upon the return journey, tiny, again, sat serene and white; the rest dangled over the sides as a last relief for aching limbs and backs, and forgot the very alphabet of flirtation. it is true that magdaléna did not flirt; but she worked hard to keep her guests pleased and comfortable, and usually went to bed with a headache. xxix it was tiny who discovered that it was leap year, and invited menlo to dance at her house one saturday night and take all advantage of its privileges. mrs. yorba consented that magdaléna should have a new frock, the organdie being in a condition for a maid to sniff at. magdaléna asserted herself, and ordered a scarlet tarlatan. the frock was smartly made at a good house, and magdaléna, on the night of the party, was almost pleased with herself. the vivid colour slanted under her swarthy skin. she wore red slippers and red roses in her hair. by this time she knew something of dress,--it was october,--and she had also discovered that red was trennahan's favourite colour. she was happy, but a little nervous. there had been more than one sign of late that the pretty comedy of friendship had run its course. the very words they uttered had lost their clear-cut black and white, seemed to grow more full-blooded. his eyes had made her lose her breath more than once, had even sharpened her wits to hasty subterfuge. the montgomery parlour was a narrow room at right angles with the dining-room. the two rooms had been thrown into one and canvased. tiny invited don roberto to open the dance with her, and that platonically enamoured gentleman consented with a grand flourish. ila exercised her blandishments upon mr. polk, but to no purpose. no one could understand his constant attendance at these dances, for he merely stood about with unrelaxing visage, scarcely exchanging a word with even the older men. he wore the suit of evening clothes which had done duty at men's dinners these fifteen years, and had bought a pair of evening shoes and a white necktie. eugene fort remarked that he looked like a man whose vital organs had turned to gold and were giving him trouble. mr. washington replied that the tight skin which had done such good service was certainly beginning to bag, and that if he didn't knock off and take a vacation in europe he'd find himself breaking. "to my knowledge," he added, "he hasn't taken a vacation in thirty years; hasn't even been to yosemite or the big trees. he has always said that work was his tonic; but the truth was that he feared to come home and find a dollar unaccounted for,--neither more nor less. and there comes a time, my dear young man, there comes a time--" "it comes early in this state." "it does," mr. washington replied, with a sigh and a glance at his young wife. "but the fevers have raged themselves out here, or i am much mistaken. we're in for quiet times. the next generation will live longer, perhaps." "how old is polk?" "nearly sixty. he's worn better than many, because he's let whiskey alone; never took a drop more than was good for him when con. virginia was tumbling from seven hundred to nothing. neither did yorba, who is several years older; but he's got the longevity of his race. jack belmont is under fifty, and looks older than either,--when you get him in a good light. california is all right, and whiskey is all right, but the two together play the devil and no mistake." "it is the last place where i should want whiskey," said trennahan, who had joined them. "you weren't here half a dozen years ago. while the virginia city mines were booming, your backbone felt like a streak of lightning; you hadn't a comma in your very thoughts; you woke up every morning in a cold sweat, and your teeth chattered as you opened your newspaper. you believed every man a liar and dreamt that your veins ran liquid gold. the stock exchange was hell let loose. men went insane. men committed suicide. no one stopped to remark. do you wonder that men watered the roots of their nerves with alcohol? i did not, but the fever of that time burnt me out, all the same. i've never been the same man since. nor has any other san franciscan. even polk and yorba, although they sold out at the right moment in nine cases out of ten, felt the strain. as for jack belmont, he was on one glorious drunk all the time,--and never more of a gentleman. how he pulled through and doubled his pile to boot, the lord only knows; but he did." "miss belmont will be a great prize," observed fort, thoughtfully. "the greatest beauty in the state, if she has fulfilled her promise; any amount of go, and one or two cold millions,--the californian heiress sublimated." "and mistress of herself and her millions in a few years. i hear that belmont has not drunk a drop since he has been in europe with her; he's been gone a year now. that is fatal at his age,--after having been in pickle some thirty years. poor jack,--the best fellow that ever lived! i suppose his love for the girl brought him up with a round turn. doubtless he suddenly realised that she was old enough to understand, and that he must pull himself up if he would keep her respect. there's a good deal of tragedy in california, mr. trennahan, and it's not of the sentimental young folks' sort, neither." "i won't admit it," said trennahan, who was looking at magdaléna. "its very air breathes content--now, at any rate. i am glad i did not come earlier." "california is the princess royal of her country," said fort; "and at her birth all the good fairies came and gave her of every gift in the stores of the immortals. then a wicked fairy came and turned the skeleton in her beautiful body to gold; and, lo! the princess who had been fashioned to bless mankind carried, hidden from sight by her innocent and beneficent charms, a terrible curse. men came to kiss, and stayed to tear away her flesh with their teeth. when her skeleton has been torn forth, even to the uttermost rib, then the spell of the wicked fairy will be broken, and california be the most gracious mother mankind has ever known." "eugene, you like to hear yourself talk, but it must be admitted that you talk well. will you come out and have a cigar? and you, mr. trennahan?" there was no doubt that the party was a success. between dances the girls stood together in groups and superciliously regarded the ranks of humble wall-flowers. suddenly a half-dozen would dash down upon a young man, beg him simultaneously for an eighth of a waltz, and scribble hieroglyphics on their fans. alan rush was the belle, and no girl was allowed to have more than a fourth of him at a time. once the girls left the room in a body, returning, with mumbled excuses, after the music for the next dance had been playing some three minutes. sometimes a girl would approach a segregated youth, ask him patronisingly if he was enjoying himself, talk to him until the music began, then sidle off with an inaudible remark. altogether if the young men had sinned during the summer,--and they searched their consciences in vain,--they were punished. the new woman had not arrived in the eighties, but the instinct was there, inherited from remotest mother. the party was a third over when trennahan approached magdaléna for the first time. she had taken her partner to his chaperon, mrs. geary, and was regarding a group of expectant youths. the spirit of the thing had possessed her and she was enjoying herself. her shyness had worn off to some extent; she danced rather well, and had learned to make small talk. being happy, all things seemed easy of accomplishment. she became aware that trennahan was standing beside her, but did not turn her eyes. "will you sit out a dance with me--or rather walk it out in the garden? you must be a little tired, and it is delightful out there." "i'd rather--i think papa would not like it." "i am positive that he would not mind." "i am engaged." "let me see your fan." she delivered it reluctantly. "you have no one down for the next--nor the next." "i--i--think i'd rather not go." "do you mean that? for if you do, i shall go home. i came for nothing else. i have not seen you alone for three days." "i am sorry." "come." her jumping fingers closed about her fan, and the sticks creaked; but she followed him. as they descended the steps he drew her hand through his arm. the garden looked very wild and dark. the stars were burning overhead. slanting into the heavy perfume of flowers were the pungent odours of a forest fire. "you look like a pomegranate flower." "do you like my frock?" "you know that i do." "should you like to smoke?" "i should not." "it is a beautiful night." "very." "i had a letter from helena to-day." "did you?" "she described a wonderful experience she had climbing the alps. shall i tell you about it?" "good god, no! i beg pardon, but the american girl in europe is interesting to no one but herself." "she is interesting to me." "because you love her. her letters really bore you, only you won't admit it even to yourself." "but helena is really more brilliant than most people." "possibly; but i did not come out here to talk about helena." magdaléna's fan was hanging at the end of a chain. she clutched at it, missed it, and pressed her hand against her heart, which was hammering. he saw the motion, and took her hand in his. she glanced about wildly. she was in a whirl of terror of everything under heaven. too dignified to wrest herself away and run, she gave him a swift glance of appeal, then bent her head. he dropped her hand. "i would not frighten nor bother you for the world, but you know what i have wanted to say for days past. that, at least, can be no shock: you have known for a long while." "i'd rather you didn't say it," she gasped. "i intend to say it, nevertheless, and you will soon get used to it. will you marry me?" "oh--i--suppose so--that is, if you want me to. let us go back to the house." "i have no intention of going back to the house for fully half an hour. do you love me?" she hated him at the moment. "answer me." "i--i--thought i did--i don't know." "well, we will drop the subject for a moment. there are some other things i want to talk to you about. shall we walk on?" she drew a long breath at the respite. he resumed in a moment. "of course i am double your age, but i do not think we shall be any less happy on that account. my life, i am going to tell you, has not been an ideal one. after the wildness of youth came the deliberate transgressions of maturity, then the more flagrant, because purposeless sins which followed satiety. i know nothing of the middle classes of the united states,--i have lived little in this country,--but the young men of the upper class are not educated to add to the glory of the american race: they are educated to spend their fathers' millions. it is true that in spite of a rather wild career at college i left it with a half-defined idea of being a scientific explorer, and had taken a special course to that end. but my ambitions crumbled somewhere between the campus and new york. i am not seeking to exculpate myself, to throw the responsibility on my adolescent country: i had something more than the average intelligence, and i pursued my subsequent life deliberately. not pursuing an ideal, i had no care to reserve the best that was in me for the woman who should one day be my wife. i entered diplomacy because i liked the life, and because i believed that the day would come when women would mean little more than paper dolls to me, and power would mean everything. i did not reckon on wearying to desperation of the world in general. that time came; with it a desire to live an outdoor existence for the rest of my life. that at least never palled. i determined to come to california. it was an impulse; i hardly speculated upon whether i should remain or not. as the train slid down the sierras, i knew that i should. memories jumbled, and i made no effort to pull them apart. for the first time in my life i wanted a home and a wife. the night we met i felt more attracted to you than to the other charming californians i had met because you seemed more a part of the country. it is singular that a man should love the country first, and the woman as a logical result, but i did. i think that you know i love you; but not how much, nor what it means to me. i am not good enough for you. my soul is old. i see life exactly as it is. i have not an illusion. i am as prosaic as are all men who have made a business of the pleasures of life. i could not make you a perfervid or romantic speech to save my life, and as the selfishness of a lifetime has made me moody and fitful, there will be intervals when i shall be the reverse of lover-like; but on the whole i think you will find me a rather ardent lover. it seems very little to offer a girl who has everything to give. but i love you; never doubt that. what little good was left in me you have coaxed up and trained to something like its original proportions. i want you to understand what my past has been; but i also want you to understand that i am not the same man i was six months ago, and that you have worked the change. when i crossed the continent, it is no exaggeration to say that i had hell in me,--that ferment of spirit which means mental nausea and the desperate dodging of one's accusing soul. i suppose such a time comes to most men who have persistently violated the original instinct for good. with the lower orders it means crime; with the higher civilisation a legion of imps shrieking in a man's soul. i will not say that my particular band have been silent since i came here, for that would mean moral obtuseness; but they are placated, and have consented to fix a generous eye on the future. i believe, firmly believe, that my future will atone for my past,--morally, i mean; i want you to understand that i have wronged no man but myself, that i have been guilty of no act unbecoming a gentleman. now look at me and tell me that you do not hate me." magdaléna lifted her face. her lips were dry and parted, her eyes expanded, but not with horror. "i love you," she said; "i am glad that i can help you." they were near a huge oak whose limbs shut out the stars. trennahan drew her into its shadows and took her in his arms and kissed her many times. he lifted her arms about him, and she clasped her hands tightly. he might be business-like, without illusions, but he knew how to make love with energy and grace. magdaléna from brain to sole was on fire with adoration of him. the words of it surged toward speech, but reserve held her even then. she only clung to him and breathed the passion which his touch had startled. his own pulses were full, and he held her close, glad that the spiritual desires had caught and embraced the human, and that their chances for happiness were all that he could wish and a good deal more than he deserved. xxx "look!" whispered magdaléna. they had reached the steps of the verandah, and were about to mount when she laid her hand on his arm. mr. polk stood by one of the windows. his head was thrust forward. he was staring into the room with hungry eyes and twitching jaw. the light was full on his white face. in the room tiny was standing on a chair fanning alan rush. fort was commanding ila to pick up his handkerchief. the others were laughing and applauding. lee and coralie in their obscure corner were wide-eyed with excitement, and happy. mr. polk's chest heaved spasmodically. he screwed up his eyes. his face grinned. he looked like a man on the rack. he opened his eyes and glared about; but he saw nothing, for they were blind with tears. he turned and fled. magdaléna clung to trennahan, shaking. "take me home," she said. "i cannot stand any more to-night." book ii i helena was back. magdaléna sat amidst iridescent billows of ballgowns, dinner-gowns, tea-gowns, négligés, demi-toilettes, calling-frocks, street-frocks, yachting-frocks, summer-frocks. she had never seen so many clothes outside of a dry-goods shop, and marvelled that any one woman should want so many. they were on the bed, the chairs, the tables, the divan. two mammoth trunks were but half unpacked. others, empty, made the hall impassable. "i love dress," said helena, superfluously. "and women forgive your beauty and brains so much more willingly if you divert their attention by the one thing their soul can admire without bitterness." "you have not grown cynical, helena?" asked magdaléna, anxiously. "a little. it's a phase of extreme youth which must run its course with the down on the peach. i fought against it because i want to be original, but you might as well fight against a desire to sing at the top of your voice when you are happy. but, you darling! i'm so glad to see you again." she flung herself on her knees beside magdaléna and demanded to be kissed. magdaléna, who could hardly realise that she was back, and whose loves were as fixed as the roots of the redwoods, gave her a great hug. "tell me, 'léna, am i improved? am i beautiful? am i a great beauty?" "you are the most beautiful person i have ever seen. of course i have not seen the great beauties of europe--" "they are not a patch to ours. when i was presented, there were eight professionals standing round, and i walked away from the lot of them. am i more beautiful than tiny, or ila, or caro, or mrs. washington?" "oh, yes! yes!" "how? they are really very beautiful." "i know; but you are--you know i never could express myself." "i am helena belmont," replied that young woman, serenely. "besides, i've got the will to be beautiful as well as the outside. tiny hasn't. i have real audacity, and ila only a make-believe. caro shows her cards every time she rolls her eyes, and mrs. washington never had a particle of dash. i'm going to be the belle. i'm going to turn the head of every man in san francisco." "i'm afraid you will, helena." "afraid? you know you want me to. it wouldn't be half such fun if you weren't approving and applauding." "i don't want you to hurt anybody." "hurt?" helena opened her dark-blue pellucid eyes. "the idea of bothering about a trifle like that. men expect to get a scratch or two for the privilege of knowing us. it will be something for a man to remember for the rest of his life that i've 'hurt' him." "i am afraid you're a spoilt beauty already, helena." "i've got the world at my feet. that's a lovely sensation. you can't think--it's a wonderful sensation." "i can imagine it." magdaléna spoke without bitterness. helena realised all her old ambitions but one, but she was too happy for envy. "describe mr. trennahan all over again." "i am such a bad hand at describing." "well, never mind. fancy your being engaged! tell me everything. how did you feel the first moment you met him? when did you find yourself going? it must be such a jolly sensation to be in love--for a week or so. now! tell me all." "i'd rather not, helena. i love you better than anyone besides, but i am not the kind that can talk--" "well, perhaps i couldn't talk about it, myself, but i think i could. i can't imagine not talking about anything. but of course you are the same old 'léna. will you let me read his letters?" "oh, no! no!" "i'll show you every letter i get. i never could be so stingy." "i could not do that. i should feel as if i had lost something." "you were always so romantic. there never was any romance about me. poor mr. trennahan will have something to do to live up to you. an altitude of eleven thousand feet is trying to most masculine constitutions. but i suppose he likes the variety of it, after twenty years of society girls. well, let him rest." a door shut heavily in the hall below. helena sprang to her feet. "there's papa. i must go down. i never leave him a minute alone if i can help it. that's my only crumpled rose-leaf,--he is so pale and seems so depressed at times. you know how jolly and dashing he used to be. he hasn't a thing to worry him, and i can't think what is the matter. i beg him to tell me, but he says a man at his age can't expect to be well all the time. i can always amuse him, and i like to be with him all i can. he's such a darling! he'd build me a house of gold if i asked for it." ii when magdaléna returned home she spread her new garments on the bed and regarded them with much satisfaction. helena had expended no less thought on these than on her own, and none whatever on the meagreness of don roberto's check. there was a brown tweed with a dash of scarlet, a calling-frock of fawn-coloured camel's hair and silk, a dinner-gown of pale blue with bunches of scarlet poppies, and a miraculous coming-out gown of ivory gauze, the deepest shade that could be called white. and besides two charming hats there was a large box of presents: fans, silk stockings, gloves, handkerchiefs, and soft indescribable things for the house toilette. and her trousseau was also to come from paris! don roberto, in his delight at having secured trennahan, had informed his daughter that she should have a trousseau fit for a princess; or, on second thoughts, for a yorba. magdaléna opened a drawer and took out another of helena's presents,--a jewelled dagger. while colonel belmont and his daughter were in madrid there was a sale of a spendthrift noble's treasures. they had gone to see the famous collection, and among other things the dagger was shown them. "it belonged to a lady of the great house of yorba," they were told. "she always wore it in her hair, and all men worshipped her. the old women said it was the dagger that made men love her, that it was bewitched; there were other women as beautiful. but men died for this one and no other. one day she lost the dagger, and after that men loved her no longer. they ran and threw themselves at the feet of the women that had hated her. she laughed in scorn and said that she wanted no such love, and that when one returned--he had gone as ambassador to the court of france--he would show the world that his love did not skulk in the hilt of a dagger. people marvelled at this because she had flouted her very skirts in his face, had not thrown him so much as the humblest flower of hope. when they heard he was coming, they held their breath to see if the magnet had been in the dagger for him too. he arrived in the night, and in the morning she was found in her bed with the dagger to the hilt in her heart. they accused him, and he would not say yes or no, but they could prove nothing and let him go. and when he died the dagger was found among his possessions. no one could ever say how he got it. but it has remained in his family until to-day--and now it goes where?" "to a yorba!" announced helena to magdaléna, as she repeated this yarn. "i made up my mind to that, double quick! it may or may not be true, and she may or may not have been your ancestress; but it would make a jolly present all the same, so i ordered papa to buy it if all madrid bid against him. of course he did what i told him, and i want you to wear it the night of the party." magdaléna regarded it with great awe. she was by no means without superstition. would it bring men to her feet? not that she wanted them now, but she would like one evening of intoxicating success, just for the sake of her old ambitions: they had been little less than entities at one time; for old friendship's sake she would like to give them their due. she did wish that she felt a thrill as she touched it,--a vibration of the attenuated thread which connected one of her soul's particles with that other soul which, perhaps, had contributed its quota to her making. but she felt nothing, and replaced the dagger with some chagrin. she put away the clothes and sat down before the fire to think of trennahan. he had gone east at the summons of his mother, who had invested a large sum of money unwisely,--a habit she had. he might be detained some weeks. magdaléna, on the whole, was glad to have him gone for a while. she wanted to think about him undisturbed, and she wanted to get used to helena and her exactions while his demands were abstract: she loved so hard that she must rub the edge off her delight in having helena again, or the two would tear her in twain. she found the sadness of missing him very pleasurable,--feeling sure of his return; also the painful thrill every morning when the postman knocked. and to sit in retrospect of the summer was delicious. there may have been flaws in its present; there were none in its past. her ambition to write was dormant. a woman's brain in love is like a garden planted with one flower. there may be room for a weed or two, but for none other of the floral kingdom. trennahan had given her more than one glimpse of his past, and it had appalled without horrifying or repulsing her. her sympathy had been swift and unerring. she realised that trennahan had come to california at a critical point in his moral life, and that his complete regeneration depended on his future happiness. he had pointed this out as a weakness, but the fact was all that concerned her. whatever mists there might be between her perceptions and the great abstractions of life, love had sharpened all that love demanded and pointed them straight at all in trennahan that he wished her to know. she was awed by the tremendous responsibility, but confident that she was equal to it; for did she not love him wholly, and had he not chosen her, by the light of his great experience, out of all women? she would walk barefooted on arctic snows or accept any other ordeal that came her way, but she would make him happy. suddenly she remembered that she had received a brief dictated note from her aunt that morning, asking her to pack and send to santa barbara a painting of the virgin which hung in her old apartments: she wished to present it to the mission. mr. polk had closed his house a year before and taken up his permanent abode with the yorbas, but his chinese major-domo was in charge. magdaléna reflected that it was not necessary to bother her uncle, who had seemed ill and restless of late; the chinaman could attend to the matter. she went downstairs and through the gardens to the adjoining house. the weeds grew high behind it; the windows were dusty; the side door at which she rang needed painting. the chinaman answered in his own good time. he looked a little sodden; doubtless he employed much of his large leisure with the opium pipe. magdaléna bade him follow her to her aunt's apartments. as she ascended the imposing staircase she withdrew her hand hastily from the banister. "why do you not keep things clean?" she asked disgustedly. "whattee difflence? nobody come," he replied with the philosophy of his kind. the very air was musty and dusty. the black walnut doors, closed and locked, looked like the sealed entrances to so many vaults. the sound of a rat gnawing echoed through the hollow house. it seemed what it was, this house,--the sarcophagus of a beautiful woman's youth and hopes. for a year or two after the house was built mrs. polk had given magnificent entertainments, scattering her husband's dollars in a manner that made his thin nostrils twitch, and without the formality of his consent. magdaléna paused at a bend of the stair and tried to conjure up a brilliant throng in the dark hall below, the great doors of the parlours rolled back, the rooms flooded with the soft light of many candles; her aunt, long, willowy, of matchless grace, her marvellous eyes shooting scorn at the americans crowding about her, standing against the gold-coloured walls in the blood-red satin she had shown once to her small admirers. but the vision would not rise. there was only a black well below, a rat crunching above. she reached the door of her aunt's private apartments on the second floor and entered. she stepped back amazed. there was no dust here, no musty air, no dimness of window. a fire burned on the hearth. the gas was lit and softly shaded. the vases on the mantel were full of flowers. on one table was a basket of fruit; on another were the illustrated periodicals. "mrs. polk is here?" she said to ah sin. "no, missee." "she is expected, then? how odd--" "donno, missee. evey day, plenty days, one, two, thlee weeks, me fixee rooms all same this." "but why?" "kin sabbee, missee. mr. polk tellee me, and me do allee same whattee he say." magdaléna's lips parted, and her breath came short. she gave the necessary instructions about the picture. the chinaman followed her down the stairs and opened the door. as she was passing out, she turned suddenly and said to him,-- "it is not necessary to tell mr. polk about this, nor that i have been here. he does not like to be bothered about little things." "allight, missee." iii the night of mrs. yorba's long-heralded ball had arrived at last. for weeks society had been keenly expectant, for its greatest heiress and its three most beautiful girls were to come forth from the seclusion in which they were supposed to have been cultivating their minds, into the great world of balls, musicales, and teas, where their success would be in inverse ratio to their erudition. rose and caro had arrived the winter before, and were no longer "buds;" but magdaléna, helena, tiny, and ila were hardly known by sight outside the menlo park set. magdaléna had never hung over the banisters at her mother's parties. the others had been abroad so long that the most exaggerated stories of their charms prevailed. the old beaux knotted their white ties with trembling fingers and thought of the city's wild young days when nina randolph, guadalupe hathaway, mrs. hunt maclean, two of the "three macs," and the sinuous wife of don pedro earle had set their pulses humming. they were lonely old bachelors, many of them, living at the union or the pacific club, and they sighed as the memories rose. that was a day when every other woman in society was a great beauty, and as full of fascination as a fig of seeds. to-day beautiful women in san francisco's aristocracy were rare. in kearney street, on a saturday afternoon, one could hardly walk for the pretty painted shop-girls; and in that second stratum which was led by the wife of a bonanza king who had been pronounced quite impossible by mrs. yorba and other dames of the ancient aristocracy, there were many stunningly handsome girls. they could be met at the fashionable summer resorts; they were effulgent on first nights; they were familiar in kearney street on other afternoons than saturday, and their little world was gay in its way; but society, that exclusive body which owned its inchoation and later its vitality and coherence to that brilliant and elegant little band of women who came, capable and experienced, to the fevered ragged city of the early fifties, still struggled in the eighties to preserve its traditions, and did not admit the existence of these people; feminine curiosity was not even roused to the point of discussion. one day mrs. washington met one of the old beaux, ben sansome by name, on the summit of california street hill, which commands one of the finest views of a city swarming over an hundred hills. mrs. washington waved her hand at the large region known as south san francisco. "i suppose," she said thoughtfully, "that there are a lot of people in san francisco whose names we have never heard." "i suppose so!" he exclaimed. "i wonder what they are like? how many people are there in san francisco, anyhow?" "about three hundred thousand." "really? really?" and mrs. washington shrugged her pretty shoulders and dismissed the subject from her mind. would these new beauties compare with that galaxy of long ago? was the thought that danced between ben sansome's faded eyes and his mirror. three to burst forth in a night! that was unwonted measure. of late years one in three seasons had inspired fervent gratitude. nelly washington had been unchallenged for ten years; caro folsom was second-rate beside her; and rose geary, the favourite of last winter, although piquant and pretty, had not a pretension to beauty. like the other old beaux, he went only to the balls and dinners of the old-timers, never to the dances and musicales of the youngsters, but he kept a sharp look-out, nevertheless. to-night assumed the proportions of an event in his life. several of the young men had met two of these beauties during the summer, but helena was still to be experienced. the young hands did not tremble, but their eyes were very bright as they wondered if they were "in for it," if they would "get it in the neck," if she were really "a little tin goddess on wheels." even rollins, who was madly enamoured of tiny, and fort, who had carefully calculated his chances with rose, were big with curiosity. the former, who had known helena from childhood, had been refused admittance to the belmont mansion: helena had a very distinct intention of making a sensation upon her first appearance in san francisco; and as all were fish that came to her net, even rollins must be dazzled with the rest. magdaléna's engagement was a closely guarded secret, and more than one hardy youth had made up his mind to storm straight through her intellect to her millions; but even these thought only of helena as they dressed for the ball. meanwhile the girls were thinking more of their toilettes than of the men who would admire them. all were to wear white, but each gown had been made at a different paris house, that there should be no monotony of touch and cut, and each was of different shade and material: magdaléna's of ivory gauze, tiny's of pearl-white silk, ila's of cream-white embroidered _mousseline de soie_, helena's of pure white tulle. what little of magdaléna's neck the gown exposed, she concealed with a broad band of cherry-coloured velvet, and a deep necklace of turkish coins, a gift from ila. she revolved before the mirror several times in succession after the maid had left the room. she was laced so tightly that she could scarcely breathe, but she rejoiced in her likeness to a french fashion-plate, and vowed never to wear a home-made gown again. in her hair was a string of pearls that trennahan had given her; and the dagger. would it work the spell? she gave a final shake to her skirts and went downstairs. there was no lack of gas to-night; the lower part of the house was one merciless glare. no flowers graced the square ugly rooms, no decorations of any sort; but the parlours were canvased, the best band in town was tuning up, and the supper would be irreproachable. the dark-brown paper of the hall looked very old and dingy, the carpet was threadbare in places, the big teak-wood tables were in everybody's way and looked as if they were meant for the dead to rest on; but when gay gowns were billowing one would not notice these things. mrs. yorba was in the green reception-room at the end of the hall. she wore black velvet and a few diamonds, and looked impressively null. tiny and ila arrived almost immediately. they looked, the one an angel with a sense of humour, the other circean with an eye to the conventions, both as smart as paris could make them. it was nearly ten o'clock, and there was a rush just after. magdaléna waited a half-hour for helena, then opened the ball in a brief waltz with alan rush instead of the quadrille in which the four débutantes were to dance. she sent a message to helena, and mrs. cartright scribbled back that the poor dear child had altered the trimming on her bodice at the last moment, and would not be ready for an hour yet. caro took her place in the quadrille, as she also wore white. the ball promised to be a success. there were more young people than was usual at mrs. yorba's parties, and more men than girls. they danced and chatted with untiring energy, and between the dances they flirted on the stairs and in every possible nook and corner. magdaléna frolicked little, having her guests to look after; but whenever she rested for a moment there was an obsequious backbone before her. tiny and ila were besieged for dances, and divided each. the older women sat against the wall, a dado of fat and diamonds, and indulged in much caustic criticism. the old beaux stood in a group and exchanged opinions on the relative pretensions of the old and the new. "take it all in all, not to compare," said ben sansome. "miss montgomery is excessively pretty, but no figure and no style. miss brannan looks like a parisian cocotte. miss folsom has eyes, but nothing else--and when you think of 'lupie hathaway's eyes! and not one has the beginnings of the polished charm of manner, the fire of glance, the _je ne sais quoi_ of mrs. hunt maclean. just look at her in her silver brocade, her white hair _à la marquise_. she's handsomer than the whole lot of them--" at that moment helena entered the room. the white tulle gown, made with a half-dozen skirts, floated about her so lightly that she seemed rising from, suspended above it. even beside her father she looked tall; and her neck and arms, the rise of her girlish bust, were more dazzlingly white than the diaphanous substance about her. her haughty little head was set well back on a full firm throat, not too long. her cheeks were touched with pink; her lips were full of it. her long lashes and low straight brows were many shades darker than the unruly mane of glittering coppery hair. and she carried herself with a swing, with an imperious pride, with a nonchalant command of immediate and unmeasured admiration which sent every maiden's heart down with a drop and every man's pulses jumping. "i give in!" gasped ben sansome. "we never had anything like that--never! gad! the girl's got everything. it's almost unfair." alan rush turned white, but he did not lose his presence of mind. he asked don roberto to present him at once, and secured the next dance. it was a waltz; and as the admirably mated couple floated down the room, many others paused to watch them. helena's limpid eyes, raised to the eager ones above her, did all the execution of which they were capable. during the next entre-dance she was mobbed. twenty men pressed about her, introduced by don roberto and rollins, until she finally commanded them to "go away and give her air," then walked off with eugene fort, finishing his first epigram and mocking at his second. he had only a fourth of the next dance; but as helena had refused to permit her admirers to write their names on her card, and as she was at no pains to remember which fourth was whose, giving her scraps to the first comer, rush and fort, who had had the forethought not to pre-engage themselves, and were constantly in her wake, secured more than their share. but the other men had time and energy to fight for their own: helena was constantly stopped in the middle of the room with a firm demand that she should keep her word. between the dances the men crowded about her, eager for a glance, and at supper the small table before her looked like an offering at a chinese funeral. "well," exclaimed mrs. washington, "i always said that no girl could be a belle in this town nowadays, that the men didn't have gumption enough; but i reckon it's because the rest of us haven't come up to the mark. this looks like the stories they tell of old times." "it makes me think of old times," said mr. sansome. "makes me feel young again; or older than ever. i can't decide which." tiny took her eclipse with unruffled philosophy, and divided her smiles between two or three faithful suppliants. ila had a very high colour, and her primal fascination was less reserved than usual. rose admired helena too extravagantly for jealousy, and what caro felt no man ever knew. colonel belmont renewed his acquaintance with many of the women of his youth, long neglected, although he had loved more than one of them in his day. they filled his ears with praises of his beautiful daughter. helena's beauty was of that rare order which compels the willing admiration of her own sex: it was not only indisputable, but it warmed and irradiated. when colonel belmont was not talking, he stood against the wall and followed her with adoring eyes. if she had been a failure--admitting the possibility--his disappointment would have been far keener than hers. "you've cause to be proud, as proud as lucifer," said mr. polk to him. "but you ain't looking well, jack. what's the matter?" "i'm well enough. i shall live long enough to give her to someone who's good enough for her, and that's all i care about--although i'm in no hurry for that, either. but i'm _not_ feeling right smart, hi; i don't just know what's the matter." "we're both getting old. i feel like a worked-out old cart-horse. but you've got ten years the best of me, and i'll tell you what's the matter with you: you can't switch off drink at your age after being two thirds full for twenty-five years. we all need whiskey as we grow older, and the more we've had, the more we need. i'd advise you to take it up again in moderation." "not if it's the death of me! it's nothing or everything with me. the first cocktail, and i'd be off on a jamboree. then she'd know, and i'd blow out my brains with the shame of it. she thinks i'm the finest fellow in the world now, and so she shall if i suffer the tortures of the damned." "well, i guess you're right. the young fellows talk about dying for the girls, but i guess we're the ones that would do that for our own if it came to the scratch." "it's too bad you have none," said colonel belmont, with the sympathy of his own full measure. and then, although mr. polk's iron features did not move, he looked away hastily. "i guess i didn't deserve any," mr. polk answered harshly. "i don't know that you did, for that matter, but i certainly didn't. look at don cavorting round with those girls," he added viciously. "it's positively sickening." "not a bit of it. he's making up for what he's missed. and a little of it would do you good, old fellow. you've never had half enough fun, and you ought to take a little before it's too late. you haven't a pound of flesh on you, and are as spry as any of them. go and make yourself agreeable to the girls. even a smile from them goes a long way, i assure you." mr. polk shook his head. "i couldn't think of a thing to say to them. i didn't learn when i was young." iv when magdaléna drew the dagger out of her hair that night, she laughed a little and tossed it into her handkerchief box. she had seen men carried off their feet for the first time, not caring whether the world laughed or not. she had also noted the exact order of homage that she was to expect from men. helena infatuated. the other girls inspired admiration in varying measure. respect for her father's millions was her portion. she had watched and compared all the evening. it would have distressed and appalled her had she made her début last winter. as it was, it mattered little. occasionally there is a lively winter in san francisco. this promised to be almost brilliant. there were six balls in the next two weeks. at each helena's triumphs were reiterated. the men waited in a solid body between the front door and the staircase, and she had promised, divided, and subdivided every dance before she had set foot on the lowest step. it was almost impossible to begin a party until her arrival. kettledrums had been inaugurated the previous winter, and hardly a man been got to them. now the men would have begged for invitations. they even began to attend church; and helena's "evening" was so crowded that she was obliged to ask five or six of her girl friends to help her. alan rush, eugene fort, carter howard, a southerner of charming manners, infinite tact, and little conversation, and "dolly" webster, a fledgeling of enormous length and well-proportioned brain, were her shadows, her serfs, her determined, trembling adorers. they barely hated one another, so devoured were they by the sovereign passion; and as they were treated with exasperating similitude, there was nothing to set them at one another's throats. helena had all the gifts and arts of the supreme coquette. she allured and mocked, appealed and commanded; adapted herself with the suppleness of bronze to mould, with enchanting flashes of egotism; discarded all perception of man's existence in the abstract, when she had surrendered her attention to one, to jerk him out of his heaven by ordering him to go and send her his rival; possessed a quickness of intuition which finished a man's sentences with her eyes, an exquisite sympathy which made a man feel that here at last he was understood (as he would wish himself understood, rather than as he understood himself); an audacity which never failed to surprise, and never shocked; a fund of talk which never wore itself into platitudes, and a willing ear; and an absolute confidence in herself and her destiny. in addition she had great beauty, the high light spirits of her mercurial temperament, a charming and equable manner (when not engaged in judiciously tormenting her slaves), and a shrewd brain. what wonder that her sovereignty was something for the men who worshipped her to remember when they too were old beaux, and that their present condition was abject? the wonder was that the women did not hate her; but so impulsive and unaffected a creature disarms her own sex, particularly when her gowns are faultless, and she is not lifeless in their company, to scintillate the moment a man enters the room. and they forbore to criticise the dictates of her royal fancy. it is true that she deferred to no one's opinion, but she escaped criticism nevertheless. if she capriciously refused to dance at a party, but sat the night through with one man, not recognising the existence of her lowering train, people merely smiled and shrugged their shoulders, saving their scowls for those who were not the fashion. sometimes these flirtations took place in the open ball-room, sometimes in the conservatory; it was all one to helena, whose powers of concentration amounted to genius. at one of the presidio hops she spent the evening--it was moonlight--in a boat on the bay with an officer who was as accomplished a flirt as herself. the appearance of rush, fort, howard, and webster upon this occasion was pitiable. on her evening, if she tired of her admirers before they could reasonably be expected to leave, she walked out of the room without excuse and went to bed. she not only ran to fires when the humour seized her, but she commanded her quartette to rush every time the alarm sounded, that they might be at her beck in the event of officious policemen. as fires are frequent in san francisco, these enamoured young men were profoundly thankful when they occurred at such times as they happened to be in their tyrant's presence: they were willing to bundle into their clothes at two in the morning, or to leave their duties at midday, were they sure of meeting her; but as she was as capricious about fires as about everything else, their chances were as one in ten. they hinted once that she might advise them of her pleasure by telephone, but were peremptorily snubbed. helena never made concessions. it was at the end of the second month that her father imported a coach from new york. she had driven since her baby days, and could handle four horses as scientifically as one. thereafter, one of the sights of golden gate park on fine afternoons was helena on the box of the huge black and yellow structure, tooling a party of her delighted friends, her father beside her, one of her admirers crouched at her indifferent shoulder. it was the only gentleman's coach in california, for in the eighties the youth of the city had not turned their wits and prowess to sport. few of them could drive with either grace or assurance, and helena's accomplishment was the more renowned. occasionally colonel belmont was allowed to drive, a favour which he enjoyed with all the keenness of his dashing youth. "i told you how it would be," said ila to rose. "she is not only belle, but leader. that's the real reason caro's gone to new york. we are nowhere. i'd turn eccentric, regularly shock people, if i had the good luck to be the fashion. but i've got to marry well. when i have--you'll see." "we can't all be raving belles," said rose. "if helena were so much as doubled, the men would be gibbering idiots. i don't care, so long as i have a good time; and i hold my own. so do you. as for tiny, she may not be mobbed, but she has one man in love with her after another. as soon as poor charley rollins got his congé, bob payne took the vacant seat, and i see a third climbing over the horizon with business in his eye. there can be only one sun, but we're all stars of the first magnitude." "but we'd each like to be the sun, all the same." v magdaléna, although much interested in helena's performances, felt at times as if dream-walking, half expecting to awaken at the foot of her little altar. in the days when she had prayed, full of faith, for beauty and its triumphs, although ignorance had handled the brush of her imagination, yet the vigorous outline sketch had closely resembled all that was now the portion of her friend. she pondered on the fancy she had had as a child that helena realised all her own little ambitions. she certainly had realised all her larger, but one. she dreaded to ask helena if she had ever cared to write, fearing to surprise a confession to the authorship of the novel of the day. this, she concluded, after due reflection, was exaggeration; for if helena had written, even without publication, she certainly would have talked about it, reticence being no vice of hers. but the suggestion might prick a latent talent into action. this was just the one thing magdaléna could not endure, and she decided to let the talent sleep. the rest mattered little, aside from the sense of failure which the vicarious accomplishment of ambition must always induce; for she had her advantage of helena, the greatest one woman can have of another. she was happy, but helena was only satisfied for the moment; so restless and passionate a heart would not long remain content with the husks. it was true that trennahan had not gone mad over herself as other men over helena; but what of that? it was a question of years alone. it was now three months since he had left california. he had found his mother's affairs in a serious condition, but had managed to gather up the threads, and the knot would be tied before long. there was no doubt about his desire to return. in fact, as the time waned, his ardour waxed. sometimes magdaléna was driven to wonder if his yearning for california or herself were the greater; but on the whole she was satisfied, for she liked to accept his fancy that the two were indissoluble. he wrote delightful letters, witty and graceful, full of interesting gossip, and with many personal and tender pages. but the novelty of his absence had worn off some time since, and she longed impatiently for his return. she was caught in the whirl of social activity, and was the restless helena's constant companion; nevertheless, there were lonely hours, when the future with its imperious demands routed the past. the engagement was still a profound secret; magdaléna had told helena at once, but it was unguessed by anyone else. mrs. yorba had insisted that her daughter should have one brilliant girl season. the truth was that she was delighted at don roberto's sudden interest in the world of fashion, and was determined to make the most of it. he developed, indeed, into an untiring seeker after the innocent amusements of his wife's exclusive kingdom, and had given a fashionable tailor permission to bring his wardrobe down to date; he had hitherto worn clothes of the same cut for twenty years. the girls always gave him a square dance; during the round dances he stood against the wall with mr. polk and colonel belmont, and fairly beamed with good-will. the yorbas seldom spent an evening at home unless their own doors were open, and don roberto consented to two parties and several large dinners. mrs. yorba shuddered sometimes at the weakening of her inborn and long-nurtured economical faculty, but thoroughly enjoyed herself--forming an important item of the dado--and hoped that her husband's enthusiasm would endure. vi "i'm not a bit blasé," remarked helena, "but i'd like to be engaged for a change--not to last, of course. only i can't make up my mind which of the four; and whichever i choose the other three will be so disagreeable. if i could only let them know i didn't mean it,--at least wouldn't later,--but that would never do, because i shouldn't enjoy myself unless i really thought i was in earnest. besides, i haven't been able to fall in love with any of them yet." "you don't really mean what you say when you talk that way, do you, helena?" asked magdaléna, with much concern. "it would be so--so unprincipled; and i can't bear to think that of you." "but, 'léna dearest, i should be in earnest for the time being; i'm just talking from the outside, as it were. at the time i should think i really meant it. otherwise i'd be bored to death, and the engagement wouldn't last five minutes after i was. i'm simply wild to fall in love, if only to see what it's like. you won't tell me; anyhow, i don't think that would satisfy all my curiosity if you did. i wish some new man would come along." "alan rush is charming." "he's too much in love with me." "mr. fort keeps your wits on the jump." "my wits are in my brain, not my heart." "mr. howard?" "he has so much tact that he has no sincerity." "there is still mr. webster." "poor dolly!" "what _do_ you want?" helena was moving restlessly about her boudoir,--a bower of pearl-grey embroidered with wild roses, in which she reclined luxuriously when free from social duties, and improved her mind. a volume of motley lay on the floor. walter pater's "imaginary portraits" was slipping off the divan, and there was a pile of reviews on the table. she was biting the corner of a volume of herrick. "i haven't any ideal, if that's what you mean. i think it would have to be a man of the world, for conversation so soon gives out with the men of this village. mr. fort takes refuge in epigrams. if i married--became engaged to him--i should feel as if i were living on pickles. i think that one reason why alan rush and mr. howard are so determined to make love to me is because they have nothing left to talk about." "you've told me twice what you don't want, but you don't seem to know what you do. 'a man of the world' is not very definite." "no; he must be capable of falling violently in love with me, and at the same time not make himself ridiculous; to keep his head except when i particularly want him to lose it. of course i want to inspire a grand passion as well as to feel one, but i don't want to be surrounded by it; and the first time he looked ridiculous would be the last of him as far as i was concerned. i might be in the highest stages of the divine passion, and that would cure me." "well! is that all? some men could not be ridiculous if they tried." "you are thinking of mr. trennahan, of course. if he did, i do believe you wouldn't see it. but i should; i have a hideous sense of the ridiculous. well, lemme see. he must have read and travelled and thought a lot, so that he would know more than i, and i could look up to him; also that subjects of conversation would not give out. the platitudes of love! that would be fatal." "i don't believe they ever sound like platitudes." "hm! i won't undertake to discuss that point, knowing my limitations. what next? he must have suffered. that gives a man weight, as the sculptors say. my quartette will be much more interesting to the next divinity than they are to me. then of course he must have charming manners and an agreeable voice: i could not stand the brain of a bismark in the skull of an apollo if he had a nasal american voice. i believe that's all. i'm not so particular about looks, so long as he's neither small nor fat." "and if you found all that wouldn't you marry it?" "n-o-o--i don't know--but i'd be engaged a good long time. you see i want to be a belle for years and years." "and what is to become of the poor men when you are through with them?" "oh, they'll get over it. i shall. why shouldn't they?" "i thought you said once you wanted to marry a statesman." "sometimes i do, and sometimes i don't. i'll consider that question ten years hence. i want to be a perfectly famous belle first." "you are that already." "oh, i must have a season in new york, and another in washington, and another in london. the gods have given me all the gifts, and i intend to make the most of them. now let's read a chapter of motley out loud, and if i jump off to other things you jerk me back. let's finish pater, though. it's like lying under a cascade of bubbles on a hot summer's day. my brains are addled between trying to be well read and trying to keep four men from proposing. you read aloud, and i'll brush my hair. no, i'll embroider on papa's mouchoir case; i've been at it for thirteen months. oh, by the bye, i didn't tell you that i had a brilliant idea. it darted into my head just as i was dropping off last night. i forgot to speak about it to papa this morning, but i will to-night. it's this: i'm going to give a ball at del monte. take everybody down on a special train. don't you think it will be a change? the spring has come so early that we can have the grounds lit up with chinese lanterns; and there may be some eastern men there. there often are. so much the better for my ball--and me. now read." vii trennahan arrived late in the evening, and went directly to the yorbas' to dinner. he saw magdaléna alone for a moment before the others came downstairs, and his delight at meeting her again was so boyish that she could hardly have recalled his eventful forty years had she tried. he was one of those men, who, having a great deal of nervous energy, are possessed briefly by the high animal spirits of youth when in unusual mental and physical tenor,--with coincident obliteration of the bills of time. trennahan was in the highest spirits this evening. he was delighted to get back to california, delighted to see magdaléna, whom he thought improved and almost pretty in her smart frock. moreover, no woman had ever seemed to him half so sincere, half so well worth the loving, as this girl who said so little and breathed so much. don roberto and mr. polk detained him some time after dinner, and magdaléna, who thought them most inconsiderate, awaited him in the green-and-brown reception-room. she knew the ugliness of these rooms now, and wondered, as trennahan finally entered, if it clashed with his sentiment. but he gave no sign. he pushed a small sofa before the fire, drew her beside him, and demanded the history of the past four months. he held her hand and looked at her with boyish delight. even the lines had left his face for the moment, the grimness his mouth. he looked twenty-six. "your trip has done you more good than california did. you never looked so well here." "i have been funereal since the day i left. this is pure reaction. i never felt so happy in my life. couldn't we have a walk or ride somewhere to-morrow early--out to the presidio? i want to be in the open air with you." "i am afraid we couldn't. nobody does such things, you know--except helena. someone would be sure to see us, and it would be all over town before night. then we should have to announce--i'd rather not do that until just before--i should hate being discussed." "well, but i must have you to myself in my own way. i wonder if your mother would bring you down to my house for a few days. don roberto and mr. polk could come down every evening." "i think they would like it." "and you?" "oh, i should like it. the woods must be lovely in winter." "who has been teaching you coquetry? who has fallen in love with you since i left?" "with me? no one. no one would ever think of such a thing but you--" "i love you with an unerring instinct." "they are all in love with helena. i suppose you heard of her in new york." "it certainly was not your fault if i did not." "but surely you must have heard otherwise. she is a great, great belle." "my dearest girl, you do not hear california mentioned in new york once a month. it might be on mars. the east remembers california's existence about as often as europe remembers america's. they don't know what they miss. when am i to see your helena?" "a week from to-night; she gives a ball then at del monte. she and her father have already gone, because each thought the other needed rest." "monterey,--that is the scene of your ysabel's tragedy. we will explore the old part of the town together." she moved closer to him, her eyes glistening. "that has been one of my dreams,--to be there with you--for the first time. we can guess where they all lived--and go to the cemetery on the hill where so many are buried--and there is the custom house on the rocks, where the ball was and where ysabel jumped off--it will be heaven!" he laughed and caught her in his arms, kissing her fondly. "you dear little spanish maid," he said. "you don't belong to the present at all. no wonder you bewitched me. i am beginning to feel quite out of place in the present, myself. it is a novel and delightful sensation." viii mrs. yorba decided that it would be wiser for them all to go to fair oaks; no one would know whether trennahan were their guest or not. this was her first really gay winter, and could she have thought of a plausible excuse she would have delayed the marriage for a year or two. but both don roberto and trennahan were determined that the wedding should not take place later than june. they were to spend five days at fair oaks. then don roberto, mrs. yorba, and magdaléna would go to monterey, trennahan to follow on the evening of the ball. the winter woods were wet and glistening. thick in the brush were the vivid red berries and the firm little snowballs. the air was of a wonderful freshness and fragrance, cool on the cheek, but striking no chill to the blood. the grass tips in the meadows were close and green. there was no haze on the distant mountains: the redwoods stood out sharply; one could almost see the sun baldes crossing in their gloomy aisles. close to the ground was a low, restless, continuous mutter,--the voluntary of spring. trennahan and magdaléna rode or strolled in the woods during most of the hours of light. they could not sit on the damp ground, but they swung hammocks by the path-side to sit in when tired. trennahan would have slept on the verandah had not his enthusiasm for outdoor delights been controlled by his matter-of-fact brain, but he grudged the hours at table, and persuaded magdaléna to go early to bed that she might rise and go forth at five in the evening of night. after four months of snow and nipping winds and furnace heat, small wonder that he was as happy as a boy out of school, and that he made magdaléna the most wonderingly happy of women. he did little love-making; he treated her more as a comrade upon whose constant companionship he was dependent for happiness,--his other part, with which he was far better satisfied than with the original measure. "we will camp out up there during all of july and august," he said to her one morning, as they stood on the edge of the woods and watched the rising sun pick out the redwoods one by one from the black mass on the mountain. "i can't imagine a more enchanting place for a honeymoon than a redwood forest. we'll take a servant, and a lot of books; but i doubt if we shall read much,--we'll shoot and fish all day. if we like it as much as i am sure we shall, we'll build a house there. do you think you should like it?" "oh, i should! i should!" "you are so sympathetic in your own particular way; not temperamentally so, which is pleasant but means little, but with a slow, sure understanding which goes forth to few people, but is unerring and permanent." "i love no one but you and helena. i have never cared to understand anyone else." "we all have great weaknesses in us. i wonder if mine were ever revealed to you--which god forbid!--if you have sympathy enough to cover those, too." "i am sure that i have. i am neither quick nor generally affectionate, but i do nothing by halves." "i believe you. you are the one person on whose mercy i would throw myself. however,--it is a long time since we have spoken of another subject. do you think no further of writing?" "i haven't lately. there has been no time. some day--oh, yes, i think i should never wholly give it up. should--should you object?" "not in the least. but i am afraid i sha'n't give you much time, either. what were you writing,--your old-california tales?" "no,--an--an historical novel--english." "of course! and with fresh and fascinating material begging for its turn. i arrived in the nick of time. when you have transcribed those stories into correct and distinguished english, you will have taken your place among the immortals. but style alone will give you a place in letters worth having. always remember that. the theme determines popular success, the manner rank. don't misunderstand me; there is no greater fraud or bore than the writer who has acquired the art of saying nothing brilliantly. you must have both. and you are too ambitious, too intellectual, as distinguished from clever, too serious and logical, to be contented with anything short of perfection. i shall be your severest critic; but you yourself will work for years before you produce a line with which you are wholly satisfied. is not this true?" "yes; i should always be my severest critic." he drew a long breath of relief. he had no desire for a literary wife; nor to be known as the husband of one. magdaléna should be as happy as he could make her, but the sooner she realised that genius was not her portion, the better. ix "never i think i come to monterey again," said don roberto, as the 'bus which contained his party only drove from the little toy station to the big toy hotel. "once i hate all the spanish towns, because so extravagant i am before that i feel 'fraid, si i return, i am all the same like then; but now i am old and the habits fixit; and now i know my moneys go to be safe with trennahan, i feel more easy in the mind and can enjoy. but i no go to the town, for all is change, i suppose: all the womens grown old and poor, and all the mens dead--by the drink, generalmente. very fortunate i am i no stay there; meeting eeram in time. ay, yi! what kind de house is this? look like paper, and the grounds so artifeecial. no like much." magdaléna hardly knew her father these last months. from the day that he found a reminiscent pleasure in the mild diversions of menlo he had visibly softened. from the day he was assured of trennahan he had become almost expansive, and at times was moved to generosity. upon one occasion he had doubled magdaléna's allowance, and at christmas he had given her a hundred dollars; and he had paid the bills of the season without a murmur. the fear which had haunted him during the last thirty years,--that he should suddenly relapse into his native extravagance and squander his patrimony and his accumulated millions, dying as the companions of his youth had died,--he dismissed after he met trennahan. polk had been the iron mine to the voracious magnet in his character. in the natural course of things polk would outlive him; but the possibility of polk's extermination by railroad accident or small-pox had been a second devil of torment, and during the past year he had visibly failed. now, however, there was trennahan to take his place. don roberto would enjoy life once more, a second youth. he was almost happy. if he felt his will rotting, he would transfer all his vast interests to trennahan in trust for his wife and daughter, retaining a large income. he did not believe, at this optimistic period, that there was any real danger, after an inflexible resistance of thirty years; but he also realised for the first time what the strain of those thirty years had been. helena, dazzlingly fair in a frock of forest green, and surrounded by five new admirers, three eastern and two english tourists, awaited magdaléna on the verandah. the strangers gave magdaléna a faint shock: being the only well-dressed men she had ever seen except trennahan, they assumed a family likeness to him, and seemed to steal something of his preeminence among men. she commented distantly on this fact as she went up the stair with helena. "oh, your little tin god on wheels is not the only one," replied helena, the astute. "there are five here with possibilities besides dress, and more coming to-morrow. they _are_ such a relief! if i feel real wicked to-morrow night--well, never mind!" "helena! you will not make those four young men any more miserable than they are now?" helena shook her head. she was looking very naughty. "four months, my dear! i didn't realise what i had endured until i had this sudden vacation. two days of blissful rest, and then the variations for which i was born." they were in helena's room, and magdaléna sat down by the open window, where she could smell the cypresses, and regarded her beloved friend more critically than was her habit. "i wonder if you will ever mature,--get any heart?" she said. "'léna! what do you mean! heart? don't i love you and my father; and the other girls--some?" "i don't mean that kind. nor falling in love, either. i never expressed myself very well, but you know what i mean." "oh, bother. what were men and women made for but to amuse each other?" "life isn't all play." "it is for a time--when you're young. i am sure that that is what nature intended, and that the people who don't see it are those who make the mistakes with their lives. otherwise life would be simply outrageous,--no balance, no compensation. after a certain age even fools become serious: they can't help it, for life begins to take its revenge for permitting them to be young at all, and to hope, and all that sort of thing. therefore those that don't make the most of youth and all that goes with it are something more than fools." magdaléna looked at her in dismay. "how do you realise that, at your age? i have lived alone, thought more--had more time to think and to read--but i never should--" "i have intuitions. and i've seen more of the world than you have. i see everything that goes on--you can bet your life on that. talk about my powers of concentration! they're nothing to my antennae." "but have you no principles of right and wrong? no morality? you would not deliberately sacrifice others to your own pleasure, would you?" "wouldn't i? i don't take the least pleasure in cruelty, like some women. if i could give people oblivion draughts, i'd do it in a minute--for my vanity has nothing to do with it, either. but the world is at my feet, and there it shall stay, no matter who pays the piper. i love life. i love everything about it. i've never seen anything in the world i thought ugly. i don't think anything is ugly. if it was, i should hate it. i've never been through a slum,--a horrid slum, that is,--and i don't want to. the beauty of the earth intoxicates me. when i even think about it, much less look at it, i feel perfectly wild with delight to think that i am alive. and my senses are so keen. i see so far. i can hear miles. i believe i can hear the grass grow. i eat and drink little, but that little gives me delight. a glass of cold spring water intoxicates me. and, above all, i enjoy being loved. i never forget how much you and papa love me. i couldn't exist without either of you. papa is looking much better since he came down. don't you think so? and i like to see love in the eyes of men i don't care a rap about. their eyes are like impersonal mirrors for me to read the secrets of the future in. and i don't really hurt them. most men have a lot of superfluous love in them. i may as well have it as another. it won't interfere with the destination of the reserve in the least." "helena!" exclaimed magdaléna, with a sinking heart. "i believe you are a genius." "i have the genius of personality, but i couldn't do a thing to save my life." magdaléna breathed freely again. x trennahan, who was to have arrived in time to dine with the belmonts and yorbas, missed his train and took his dinner alone. afterward, he saw magdaléna for a few moments in the yorbas' private parlour, but she had to dress, and he went off to smoke in the grounds with don roberto, mr. polk, mr. washington, and colonel belmont. they subsequently had a game of bowls, and--excepting colonel belmont--several cocktails. when they suddenly remembered that a ball was in progress to which they were expected, it was eleven o'clock, and trennahan was not dressed. it was helena's ball, but she had made every man promise to look after the wall-flowers, that she might be at liberty to enjoy herself. her aunt, mrs. yorba, and magdaléna received with her; and as all the guests had arrived by the same train, and had dressed at about the same time, the arduous duty of receiving was soon over. helena left the stragglers to her chaperons and prepared to amuse herself. as usual, she had refused to engage herself for any dances, but she gave the first two to her devoted four, then announced her intention to dance no more for the present. the truth was that one of her minute high-heeled slippers pinched, but this she had no intention of acknowledging; if men wished to think her an angel, so they should. she was a sensible person, far too practical to reduce the sum of her happiness by physical discomfort; but the slippers, which she had never tried on, matched her gown, and she had no others with her that did. but the one rift in her lute induced a sympathetic rift in her temper. the party was very gay and pretty. the rooms had been fantastically decorated with red berries and snowballs, pine, and cedar. the leader of the band was in that stage of intoxication which promised music to make the soles of the dado tingle. all the girls had brought their prettiest frocks, and all the matrons their diamonds. there were no tiaras in the eighties, but there were a few necklaces, stars, and ear-rings--of the vulgar variety known as "solitaires." it is true that certain of the fungi looked like crystal chandeliers upon occasion; but helena would have none of them. herself had rarely been more lovely,--in floating clouds of pale pink tulle, which looked like a shower of almond blossoms. her hair was roped up with pearls, hinting the head-dress of juliet, but stopping short of eccentric effect. she wore nothing to break the lines of her throat and neck, but on her arms were quantities of odd and beautiful "bangles," many made from her own suggestions, others picked up in different parts of the world. she was standing opposite the door in the middle of the room as trennahan entered, leaning lightly upon a little table to rest her mischievous foot. only one man was beside her at the moment, and trennahan's view of her was uninterrupted. he knew at once who she was. his second impression was that he had seen few girls so beautiful. his third, that she possessed something more potent than beauty, and that he was responding to it with a certain wild flurry of the senses, and a certain glad exultation in youth and danger which had not been his portion for many a long year. the instinct of the hunter leaped from its tomb, shocked into the eager quivering life of its youth. trennahan was appalled to hear the fine web he had spun between his senses and his spirit rent in a second, then gratified at the youthful singing in his blood. the old joy in recklessness, in surrender to the delirium of the senses, came back to him. he pushed them roughly aside, and looked about for magdaléna. she was listening to the rapid delivery of mr. rollins. he thought she looked ill, and was about to go to her when colonel belmont took him by the arm. "you must meet my daughter," he said. "oh, bother! there go half a dozen." when trennahan reached helena, he was presented in the same breath with two other new arrivals, and her slipper was fairly biting. she did not even hear his name. she was in a mood to make her swains unhappy; and she liked trennahan's face, and what she saw there. there was eager admiration in his eyes and nostrils, and on his face the record of a man who might possibly be her match. of man's deeper and more personal life she never thought. she had heard that men sometimes loved married women, and others whose like she had never seen; but she hated the mere fact of vice as she did all forms of ugliness, and dismissed it from her mind. she read in trennahan's face that he had had many flirtations, nothing more. "i am not going to dance any more to-night," she announced. she placed her hand in trennahan's arm. "take me to the conservatory," she said. there was really nothing for him to do but take her. but it was three hours before either was seen again. xi "you are not looking well this morning," said trennahan, solicitously, about twelve hours after he had appeared in the ball-room. he had just entered the yorbas' private parlour. "neither do you," replied magdaléna. "i sat up late with some of the men, and slept ill after." magdaléna raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. "you have fallen in love with helena," she said. "what nonsense! my dear child, what are you talking about? miss belmont asked me to take her to the conservatory; and as i do not dance, and as you do, and as she announced her intention of not dancing again, and is a very entertaining young woman, i decided to remain there. if our engagement had been made known, of course i should have done nothing of the sort. but as it was--" "you turned white when you first saw her. alan rush looked just like that. now he is mad about her." "i am not alan rush, nor any other boy of twenty-five. the man you have elected to marry, and who is not half good enough for you, as i have told you many times, is a seasoned person past middle age, my dearest. i could not go off my head over a pretty face if i tried. my day for that is long past." he spoke vehemently. "you never looked at me like that." "doubtless my pallor was due to some such unromantic cause as an extremely bad dinner." "i have seen that look several times. alan rush is not the only one. and helena is no doll. she has every fascination." "possibly. shall we go for our walk? i am most anxious to see those old houses and graves." he did not offer to kiss her. she was too proud to take up woman's usual refrain. she put on her hat, and they left the hotel, and walked toward the town. "i believe the cemetery comes first," she said. "i have made inquiries. we can see the town from there, and go on afterward--if you like." "of course i like. how good of you to wait for me! i know you have been longing for the town which i am convinced is a part of your very personality." "yes, i have been longing. i don't care much about it this morning." "which of your heroines is buried in the cemetery?" "benicia ortega, la tulita, and some of aunt's old friends." "you must certainly write those old stories. i often think of them." "nothing that you say this morning sounds like the truth." "my dear girl! i am dull and stupid after a sleepless night. and the night after you left i sat up until two in the morning writing important letters." "i think it was disloyal of helena." "i must rush to her defence. she did not know until the end of the evening who i was. she took me for one of the several easterners who arrived to-day. two of them brought letters to her father from mr. forbes. one was the son of an old friend. as her father presented me--" magdaléna faced about. "and you did not tell her? you did not speak of me?" "i am going to be perfectly frank, knowing how sensible you are. i had a desperate flirtation with your friend, as desperate and meaningless as those things always are; for it is merely an invention to pass the idler hours of society. there was nothing else to do, so we flirted. it added to the zest to keep her in ignorance of my identity. it was a silly pastime, but better than nothing. i should far rather have been in bed. if i could have talked to you, it would have been quite another matter." magdaléna hurried on ahead. he had the tact not to accelerate his own steps. after a time she fell back. she said,-- "what is this 'flirtation,' anyhow? i have heard nothing but 'flirtation' all winter, and i heard a good deal of it last summer. but i have not the slightest idea what it means. what do you do?" "do? oh--i--it is impossible to define flirtation. you must have the instinct to understand. then you wouldn't ask. thank heaven you never will understand. flirtation is to love-making what soda-water is to champagne. i can think of no better definition than that." "did you kiss helena?" "good god, no! that's not flirtation. she is not the sort that would let me if i wished." "did you hold her hand?" "i have held no woman's hand but yours for an incalculable time." "did you tell her that you loved her?" "certainly not!" "i must say i can't see how a flirtation differs from an ordinary conversation." "it only does in that subtle something which cannot be explained." magdaléna had an inspiration. "perhaps you talk with your eyes some." "well, you are not altogether wrong. did you ever see a fencing match? imagine two invisible personalities dodging and doubling, springing and darting. that will give you some idea. and all without a flutter of passion or real interest. it is good exercise for the lighter wits, but stupid at best." he did not add that the very essence of flirtation is its promise of more to come. it was some time before magdaléna spoke again. then she asked,-- "what did helena say when you told her your name?" "i believe she said, 'great heaven!'" "i think this must be the cemetery." they ascended the rough hill, and pushed their way through weeds and thistles and wild oats to the dilapidated stones under the oaks. magdaléna had imagined her conflicting emotions when she visited the graves of her youthful heroines; among other things the delightful sense of unreality. but the unreality was of another sort to-day. they were a part of an insignificant past. trennahan elevated one foot to a massive stone and plucked the "stickers" from his trousers. "this is all very romantic," he said, "but these confounded things are uncomfortable. have you found your graves?" "i think this is benicia's. we can go if you like." "by no means." he went and leaned over the sunken grey stone which recorded the legend of benicia ortega's brief life and tragic death, then insisted upon finding the others. "you don't take any interest," said magdaléna. "why do you pretend?" he caught her in his arms and seated her on the highest and driest of the tombs, then sat beside her. he kept his arm about her, but he did not kiss her. "come now," he said, "let us have it out. we must not quarrel. i humble myself to the dust. i vow to be a saint. i will not exchange two consecutive sentences with your friend in the future. make me promise all sorts of things." "if you love her, you can't help yourself." "i have no intention of loving her. perhaps you will be as sweet and sensible as you always are, and not say anything so absurd again. i am deeply sorry that i have offended you. will you believe that? and will you forgive me?" "do you mean that you still wish to marry me?" "great heaven, 'léna! even if my head were turned, do you think that i have not brains enough to remember that that sort of thing is a matter of the hour only, and that i am a man of honour? i have no less intention of marrying you to-day than i had yesterday. does that satisfy you? and--since you take it so hardly--i wish i might never see miss belmont again." magdaléna raised her eyes; they were full of tears. her hat was pushed back, her soft hair ruffled. in the deep shade of the oaks and with the passion in her face she looked prettier than he had ever seen her. a kiss sprang to her lips. he bent his head swiftly and caught it; and then he was delighted at the depth of his penitence. * * * * * "'léna, you ought to hate me, but i didn't know! i swear i didn't!" "i know you did not. he told me that it was entirely his fault, and i have forgiven him; so don't let us say any more about it." "well, i am glad he admitted that. i'm pretty selfish, as i've never denied, but i'd never be disloyal. not to you, anyhow," she added on second thoughts. "i shouldn't mind ila so much, nor caro." "you don't mean to say you would take any girl's lover away from her, helena?" "yes, i would if i wanted him badly. but i'd do it right out before her face. i'd never be underhand about it. i loathe deceit. i was furious for a time with mr. trennahan last night, but i really believe i was more furious because he was the most interesting man i had ever met and i couldn't have him, than because he hadn't behaved quite properly." magdaléna reached her right hand to a bow on her left shoulder, that helena should not see the sudden leap of her heart. "do you mean to say that you had--had intended to--to--add him to the quartette?" "i had had a very definite idea of turning the entire quartette out in his favour. i don't mind telling you that, because wild horses couldn't make me so much as flirt an eyelash at him again; and of course it was only one of my passing fancies. nothing goes very deep with me. i'm made on a magnificent plan. so is he. we'll both have forgotten last evening before the end of the week. i hate the morning after a ball, don't you? one always feels so devitalised. wasn't ila's gown disgracefully low? and the way some girls roll their eyes is positively sickening. let's go out and get a breath of air." xii two nights later tiny had a large dinner. a place had been kept for trennahan. he had expected to be sent in with magdaléna,--somewhat illogically, as no one suspected his engagement. he was sent in with helena. the long low dining-room of the old house on rincon hill had never been double-dated with gas fixtures. there was a large candelabra against the dark wainscot at each end of the room, and little clusters of flame on the table. the girls never looked so pretty, so guileless, never planted their arrows so surely, as in this room, in the soft radiance of its wax candles. on helena's other side sat rollins, whom she honoured by regarding as a brother. on trennahan's left ila was intent upon the subjugation of a younger brother of mr. washington, who had recently returned to san francisco after six years in europe, and had knelt at her shrine at once. he was wealthy, and she had made up her mind to marry him. trennahan she had given up during the summer. had she not, she would have known better than to pit her charms against helena's. magdaléna was on the same side of the table. helena wore white, in which she looked her best; the silk softened with much lace on the bust. she raised her eyes defiantly to trennahan's. their coquetry had been ordered to the rear. "we've got to talk, or look like idiots," she said. "i had made up my mind never to speak to you again. i think you were quite too horrid the other night." "i certainly was." "was it your fault or mine?" "wholly mine--despite your fascinations." "i wouldn't have been fascinating if i had known. i am glad you admit that it was all your fault. it makes me believe that it was. what made you keep it up for three hours?" "the weakness of man." "is that what you told 'léna?" "no; it is not." "what did you tell her--oh, how horrid of me to ask! let's talk about something else. do you like california better than new york?" "it will take exactly eight minutes to exhaust that subject; i am an old hand at it. so while i assure you that i do, and am giving my reasons, please cast about for a subject to follow." "my thinker is not good to-night. i expect you to take care of me." "what greater delight! you are paler than you were. are you not well?" trennahan's voice became tender from long habit. the softness and fire sprang to helena's eyes. the pink tide poured into her cheeks. a sudden intense light sprang into trennahan's eyes. it held hers for the fraction of a moment, then both looked away; and ate their oysters. it was helena who spoke first. "another moment, and we should have been launched into the second chapter. but we are not to flirt; we understand that thoroughly. i don't think, on second thoughts, that i should like you at all. you have yourself too well in hand; you look as if you had been through it all too many times; there isn't a bit of freshness about you--oh, bother, i hate lying! i'll tell you plainly and have done with it,--i should be in love with you by this time if it were not for 'léna. that's not the way of older climes, but it's mine: i've got to talk out or die. i've always said everything that occurred to me. let's talk this out, and then we'll never talk for two minutes alone again. if you had not been in love with 'léna, should you be in love with me by this time?" he put his fork down abruptly and turned to her. she shrank a little. "i think we had better let that subject alone. as a product of older climes, i am competent to judge." "i must know. i will know. tell me." "well, then, i should." "as much as you are with 'léna?" "i should have been madder about you than i have been about any woman for fifteen years." "if you know that, how can you help it now?" "there is such a thing as honour in men." "that means that there is none in women? well, i don't believe there is. but honour does not keep a man from loving a woman." he made no reply. "does it?" "are you mad about fire? or is it your vanity that is insatiable?" again he met her eyes. and this time her face was as white as her gown. her bosom was heaving. her skin was translucent. to trennahan's suffused vision she seemed bathed in white fire. "i love you," he said hoarsely; "and i would give all the soul i've got to have met you a year ago." xiii talk about the complex heart of a woman. it is nothing to that of a man. trennahan had loved a good many women in a good many ways. perhaps he understood women as well as any man of his day: he had been bred by women of the world, and his errant fancy had occasionally sent him into other strata. he also thought that he knew himself. his mind, his heart, his senses, the best and the worst in him, had been engaged so often and so actively that he could have drawn diagrams of each, alone or in combination, with accommodating types of woman. he also, without generalising too freely, knew men, and he had spent ten years of his life in diplomacy. but he now stood before himself as puzzled as he was aghast. if his grip upon himself had suddenly relaxed, and he had spent a wild night with the wild young men of san francisco, he should not have been particularly surprised: he had been living on an exalted plane for the last ten months. but that he loved magdaléna with the love of his life, that he realised in her some vague youthful ideal, that she was the woman created for the better part of him, that his highest happiness was to be found in her, he had never doubted from the minute he had finished his long communion with himself and determined to marry her. and every moment he had spent with her had strengthened the tie. nothing about her but had pleased him: her intellect, her pride, her reticence, her difference from other women; even, after the first shock to his taste was over, her lack of beauty. it was true that she had no great power over his pulses, but he was tired of his pulses. she appealed to his tenderness and deeper affections as no woman had done. above all, she had given him peace of mind; and she held his future in her hands. and now? helena belmont was that most dangerous rival of other women,--a girl whom men loved desperately with no attendant loss of self-respect. whatever their passion, they felt a keen personal delight in the purity of her mind; and they admired themselves the more that they appreciated her cleverness. she was not only a woman to love but to idolise; she gave even these prosaic san francisco youths vague promptings to distinguish themselves by some great and noble action, sending her shafts straight through the american brain to those dumb inherited instincts which had straggled down through the centuries from mediæval ancestors. her very selfishness--which she was pleased to call paganism--charmed them: it was one of the divine rights of the woman born to rule men and to create a happiness for one unimagined by lesser women. no man but idealised her, unfanciful as he might be, not so much for her beauty or gifts, or for all combined, as because when she gave herself it would be for the last as it was for the first time. as the reader knows, there was nothing ideal about helena. even her fastidiousness was natural in view of her upbringing. she was a most practical young flirt, with a very distinct intention of having her own way as long as she lived. the wealth and petting and adulation which had surrounded her from birth had made a thorough-going egoist of her, albeit a most charming one; for she was warm-hearted, impulsive, generous, and kind--in her own way. naturally the men for whom her lovely eyes beamed welcome, for whom her tantalising mouth pouted into smiles, thought her nothing short of a goddess, and were moved to inarticulate rhyme. * * * * * trennahan had met many more women who were beautiful, seductive, dashing, and withal fastidious, than had these young men of a cosmopolitan and still chaotic state; nevertheless, he might have been adam ranging the dreary solitudes of paradise, facing about for the first time upon the first woman. helena was the type of woman for whom such men as meet her have the strongest passion of their lives, if for no other reason than because she induces an exaggeration of their best faculties and a consequent exaltation of self-appreciation, as distinguished from mere masculine self-sufficiency. never is the briefly favoured one so much of a man apart from a type, looking down upon that type with pitying scorn. this is a mere matter of fascination, too subtle, and composed of too many parts for man's analysis, but it is the most telling force in the clashing of the sexes. trennahan was an extremely practical man. he called things by their right names, and scorned to turn his head aside when life or himself was to be looked squarely in the eye. it is true that he cursed himself for a fool. he was neither in his youth nor in his dotage; he was in that long intermediate period where a man may hope that his will and sound common-sense are in their prime,--the interval of the minimum of mistakes. nevertheless, he was as madly in love with helena belmont as was the first man with the first woman, as a boy with his first mistress, an old man with his last. he admitted the fact and ordered his brain to make the best of the situation. he was not conscious of any change in his feelings for magdaléna except that he no longer desired to marry her. the sense of rest, of comradeship, the tenderness and affection, had not abated. he was just as sure that she was the woman for him to marry as he had been two weeks ago; and he knew that he could not make a greater mistake than to marry helena belmont. he believed that it would be years before she would be capable of loving any man for any length of time. such women not only develop slowly, but they have too much to give, men too little. the clever woman is abnormal in any case, being a divergence from the original destiny of her sex. the woman who is beautiful, fascinating, passionate, and clever is a development with which man has not kept pace. he spent the greater part of the three days following the dinner, on the cliffs beyond the golden gate. there was no great moral battle going on in his mind; he intended to marry magdaléna. one of his pet theories was that one secret of the rottenness underlying the social, and in natural sequence, the political structure of the united states was the absence of a convention. men were on their knees to women so long as their pleasure was materially abetted by the attitude; but the moment the motive ceased to exist, any display of chivalry toward her would be as useless and wasted as toward the ordinary run of women. it is always the woman of the moment, never woman in general. the so-called chivalry of american men does not exist; the misconception has arisen out of the multitudinous examples of american subserviency to the individual woman,--which is part of a habit of exaggeration natural to a youthful nation. there is an utter absence of all responsibility that is not the concomitant of personal desire. the new country is full of good impulses with little to bind them together. children respect their parents if they feel like it, just as they are polite when in a responsive mood, not through any sense of convention. the american press is an exemplification of this absence of _noblesse oblige_, and more particularly in its treatment of women. even when not moved by personal jealousy or spite, the total lack of respect with which the american press treats women who have not in any way challenged public opinion--society women with whom the public has no concern, women upon whom either the misfortune of circumstances or of a powerful individuality has fallen--is the most significant foreboding of the degeneration of a national character while yet half grown. it is individualism, which is a polite term for rampant selfishness, run mad, a fussy contempt and hatred for the traditions of older nations. fifty years ago, when the united states was still so old-fashioned as to be hardly "american," it was more or less bound together by the conventions it had inherited from the great civilisations that begat it. these conventions exist to-day only in men of the highest breeding, those with six or eight generations behind them of refinement, consequence, and fastidiousness in association. in these men, the representatives of an aristocracy that is in danger of being crippled and perhaps swamped by plutocracy, exists the convention which forces the most deplorable degenerate of old-world aristocracy to manifest himself a gentleman in every crucial test. so thoroughly did trennahan comprehend these facts, so profound was his contempt for the second-rate men of his country, that he was almost self-conscious about his honour. he would no more have asked magdaléna to release him, nor have adopted the still more contemptible method of forcing her to break the engagement, than he would have been the ruin of an ignorant girl. but he would have sacrificed every green blade in his soul to have met helena belmont a year ago, and would have taken the chances with defiance and the consequences without a murmur. to marry magdaléna in june was impossible. that he should ever cease to desire helena belmont, to regret the very complete happiness which might have been his for a few years, was a matter of doubt,--with even possibilities. but there must be a long intermission before he could marry another woman. his determination to leave california for a year was fixed, but what excuse to offer don roberto and magdaléna was the question which beset him in all his waking hours and amid all his torments. during these three days he avoided seeing magdaléna alone. on the afternoon of the fourth day he came face to face with helena belmont in the mercantile library. she was leaving as he entered. they looked at each other for a moment, then without a word both walked toward a room at the right of the door. this was a long narrow apartment leading off the great room, and was darker, dustier, gloomier, grimmer. as the building stood almost against another of equal height, its side windows looked upon blank walls; but some measure of grey light was coaxed down from the narrow strip above by means of reflectors. the walls were lined with old books bound in calf black with age, and in the centre was a long narrow table which looked as if it should have a coffin on it. this room had depressed many cheerful lovers in its time; it was enough to drive tormented souls to suicide. trennahan and helena sat down in an angle where they were least likely to be seen. "what are you going to do?" asked helena. "i am going away for a year as soon as i can invent a decent excuse." "then shall you come back and marry 'léna?" "yes." "suppose you still love me?" "it will make no difference. and time works wonders. you will have quite forgotten me." "i sincerely hope i shall." her voice shook. there was agitation in every curve of her figure. but had anyone entered, their faces could not have been distinguished two feet away. the sky was grey. there was no light to reflect. "it is the first time i haven't got what i wanted," she said ingenuously. "it will make your next triumph the keener. i shall be glad to serve as a shadow for the high lights." "i have suffered horribly in the last week." "so have i, if that consoles you. but i have had a good deal of suffering in my life, one way and another, and i shall weather it. i wish i could take your share." "shouldn't you like to marry me?" "of course i should. why do you ask such foolish questions?" "i want to talk it all out. i love 'léna, but i don't love her better than i do myself, and i don't see why i should suffer instead of she. don't you think that if we told her she would release you?" "undoubtedly; but i shall not ask her. nor must you think of such a thing. why two young and exceptionally fortunate girls should want what is left of me god only knows; but if they do the prior rights must win the day. if i don't marry 'léna, i shall marry no woman,--not even you." she gave him a swift glance. his face was not as stern as his words. "you know that you would," she said with decision. "you are too honourable to break the engagement, but you would marry me if it were broken for you." he drew his brows together and bent his face to hers. "listen to me," he said. "i mean what i say. i love you,--how much you have not the vaguest idea; but i will not have her happiness ruined. if you ask her to break the engagement, i shall never see you again. will you remember that?" "i suppose you are right. i had not really thought of asking her. but i've got to tell her that i love you. i feel like a hideous hypocrite. i can hardly look her in the face. i'll promise not to betray you, but i must tell her that. she has been so sweet to me this last week, ever since that night at monterey. she's the very best creature that ever lived. then i'll ask papa to take me away. you need not go." "i shall go. can't you go away without saying anything to her about it? i don't see why her peace of mind should be disturbed." "i should feel just as guilty when i came back." "you would have forgotten it by that time." "oh, no; i shouldn't! i shouldn't!" there was no mistaking the passion in her voice. trennahan half rose, but sat down again. "i would rather you wrote it to her after you left," he said. "then there would be no danger of saying too much. if you want to go to europe, i will go to the south sea islands." "well, i will arrange it that way, if you like." her head was lowered. she spoke dejectedly. there was little of the old helena manifest. in truth, she had been making a mighty effort to control herself for the first time in her life. she hardly knew whether she wished to do what was right or not; for the moment she was dominated by a stronger will than her own. she drew a deep sigh. "i wish i could take it as coolly as you do," she said. "i take it less coolly. but i am older and used to self-control." "i hate self-control." "so do i." "i feel as if life were quite over. i would a great deal rather die than not. i wish i were older. i don't know what to do. i feel that it cannot be right to throw away the happiness of one's life, but i don't know how to hold you, and, above all, i don't want to hurt 'léna. i thought that i knew so much; but i know nothing at all--nothing." "if you do what is right, you will be very glad a year hence." "a year is such a long time." her head dropped lower. she looked utterly dejected. in a moment she put her handkerchief to her face and cried silently. the undemonstrativeness of the act, so unlike her usual volcanic energy, touched him out of prudence. he put his arm about her and pressed her head against his shoulder. in a moment he laid his face against hers and closed his eyes to crowd back the tears that sprang from the depths of his soul. when he opened his eyes, it was to meet those of magdaléna. xiv she had left them without a word, and trennahan did not see her until the following evening, when she sent for him. she received him in the room at the end of the hall, where they were sure not to be interrupted. as he entered he averted his face hastily, and cursed himself for a scoundrel. but he went straight to the point. "i have made you suffer," he said, "and as only you can suffer. i have no excuse to offer except my own weakness. do you remember that i asked you once if you thought you could love me did you come to understand all the weakness of my nature, and that you replied you could? will you forgive me this display of it? i have no desire--no intention of marrying any other woman." "i have not doubted your honour. but i shall not marry you. i do not want you without your love. i see now that i never had it." "you did, and you have it still. it is impossible for a man to explain himself to a woman. will you let me decide for both? i am going away for a time. when i return i want you to marry me." she shook her head. "there would be three people miserable instead of one. if i had not gone there yesterday, perhaps i should never have known: i simply made up my mind after that night at monterey that i would think no more about it. by and by you might have got over it and we might have been happy in a way--i don't know. it is not your fault that i found out. and i went to the library by the merest chance yesterday. it seems like fate, and i shall recognise it. if helena did not love you, it would be different; but i had a terrible scene with her last night. i never thought even she could feel so. for the time i felt much sorrier for her than for myself--i felt rather dull, for that matter. after she went i thought all night. it was a terrible night." she stopped and shivered. he took her hand, but she withdrew it. "i thought of everything. you know i once told you that my only religion was to do what i believed to be right. if love means anything, it means that one should make the other person happy, not oneself. i thought and thought. you two were more to me than any people living. i have not ever really loved anyone else, except my aunt, and her not half so much as helena. therefore my love would not be worth much if i did not consider you two before myself. if helena did not love you, it would be different. i would try to forget that she had fascinated you, and i should see no reason why i should not marry you if you still wished me to. but she loves you. i never expected to see such tragedy. but even if i did not believe she would make you happy, i would not give you to her, for i vowed to live for that--long before the night at tiny's--in the garden. but helena could make any man happy. she has everything." she paused again. he made no reply for a moment. he was staring at the carpet, at a hideous green-and-yellow dragon. the comedy which cuts every black cloud in thin staccato blades was suggesting that he had something to be grateful for, inasmuch as the scene with helena had been spared himself. "you are far more suited to me than she is," he said finally. "i am too old for her. i am not for you. if we have souls, yours and mine were made for each other. years have nothing to do with us. they would mean everything between helena and myself." she leaned forward and fixed her eyes on his, compelling his gaze. "if you had never met me, would you not be engaged to helena by this time?" "doubtless, but that proves nothing." "will you give me your word of honour that you do not wish you were free, that you would not gladly marry her now?" he drew a long breath. he felt like a prisoner on the witness stand driven to save himself by incrimination of another. but he was in that state of mind when only the truth is possible. "i will put it in another way. do you want anything in the world as much as helena?" "no," he said; "i do not." she got up and walked to the window, and drew aside the curtains. the sky was brilliant with moon and stars; the bay and hills lovely with the mystery of night. california had never been more unsympathetically beautiful. she jerked the curtains together and went back to him. as she did not sit down, he rose. "that is all," she said, "except that you must let me explain to my father." "and let you bear the whole brunt of it. not if i know myself." "you must. i understand him, and you do not. besides, if he knew that you and helena had anything to do with the breaking of the engagement he would never let me speak to either of you again, and i have no other friends. i shall tell him that i no longer wish to marry you, and he cannot compel me to give reasons. if he speaks to you about it, you must tell him that you will marry no woman against her will, and let him see that you mean it." "magdaléna, you are a grand woman." "i am a very dull and stupid person who has made up her mind that the only chance of making life bearable is to do what is right. i am terribly commonplace. i wonder you stood me as long as you did." "you are the reverse of stupid and commonplace; and i am by no means sure that you are doing right. i, too, have thought over this matter, for nearly as many days as you have hours. i have tried to get outside myself, to view the case quite dispassionately; and i honestly believe that--as you insist upon putting me before yourself--it would be better for me to marry you than helena." "i do not believe it. nor could i marry you after what you just acknowledged. i have never had much pride with you, but i have that much. marry you when you said that you wanted nothing so much in the world as to marry helena belmont? that was the end of everything." he left the room and the house. magdaléna went up the stair slowly, assisting herself with the banister. her limbs felt as if their muscles had fallen to dust. her heart seemed to have taken it outside of herself altogether; there was no sensation where sensation was supposed to sit, unless it were that of vacancy. her brain was not confused; she did not feel in the least as if she were going to be ill. she knew what she had done, what she had to do in the future; and she wished that her heavy limbs were as dead as that something within her for which she had no name. xv the next morning she received a note from trennahan. i am sailing for honolulu. do nothing until my return. i shall be gone six weeks. until your final decision i shall consider myself bound to you. and, i repeat, i think it best that we should marry. you have acted on impulse, and your mind and judgment were constructed to work slowly. and god knows this is not a matter to be decided in haste. i shall have sailed before even a telegram from you could reach me. don roberto knows that i have thought more than once of a trip to the islands. tell him when he returns that i suddenly decided to go. j. t. but magdaléna wanted no respite. it was her temper to die once rather than a thousand times. her father was in sacramento on business. he would return the following day. she was too dull and listless to feel fear of him, but she wanted it over. she wrote at once to helena, enclosing trennahan's letter: "i have made up my mind, and that is the end of it. as far as i am concerned, he now belongs to you. i shall speak to papa to-morrow night. immediately after i shall write to mr. trennahan, and that will put an end to my part in the matter." helena ordered her devoted parent to take her to southern california at once. to pick up the old routine, to show herself daily and nightly in the studied simulacrum of her former self, was no part of her code. she felt she should tell every man that came near her that she hated him, and the reason why. nor was hers the temperament for suspense without diversion. she could live through the next six weeks with change of scene, but not otherwise. she made a full confession to her father and received the severest reprimand of her life; but colonel belmont took her to southern california. magdaléna went to a lunch-party on the day following trennahan's departure and paid calls during the afternoon. the small details diverted her, and she found herself able to make conversation, despite the sluggish current of misery beneath. she had told her mother of her determination not to marry trennahan; and although mrs. yorba had paced the room in apprehension of her husband's wrath, she was secretly pleased. a daughter, particularly one that gave no trouble, was companionable and useful, and she saw no reason why she should be asked to give her to any man for years to come. although meagre, she was not heartless, and was much relieved that magdaléna appeared indifferent to the sudden break. she was dimly conscious that she did not understand her daughter, but she had no desire to plumb the depths; she had a substantial distaste for the spanish nature when roused. her husband was expected to return in time for dinner. she went to bed with an attack of neuralgia a little after six. magdaléna did not see her father until he entered the dining-room with her uncle. he inquired immediately for trennahan, who usually dined with him when there were no engagements elsewhere. "he decided suddenly to go to the sandwich islands and sailed yesterday." "very sorry he no wait until i come back. i think i gone with him. always i want to see the islands. i work long enough now: go to travel some and see the world. so queer to think is so much world outside california. when you go to europe, i go too. and you, too, eeram. you no can go with us, for both cannot leave the bank, but when we coming back you take the vacation, too." "i never expect to see the outside of california again," said mr. polk, shortly. magdaléna's nerves shook for the first time in seventy-two hours. she appreciated the ordeal she had to face within the next. the dull ache in every nerve of her gave place to a certain keenness of apprehension. what would that terrible little man do? she had absorbed something of her father's personality as a child. during the last year she had talked much with him and had discovered the strange weaknesses and fears which lurked in that manufactured character. she fully realised what a son-in-law like trennahan meant to him. he was quite capable of killing her. and during the last three or four weeks he had flown into more than one violent passion, prompted by a liver disordered by too much dining out. while the two men were drinking their coffee, she left the room and went to the office. the riding-whip was in its old place; on a shelf in the cupboard was a brace of pistols. magdaléna threw the whip into the cupboard, locked the door, and slipped the key behind a book on the mantel. her father came in a moment later. she handed him a cigar and a match. he drew his heavy brows together and puckered his eyelids. "what the matter?" he demanded drily. "so white you are, and the hand tremble." magdaléna sat down and took control of herself. "i am not going to marry mr. trennahan," she said. she held her breath for the expected outburst; but don roberto only stared at her, his eyes slowly expanding. the cigar dropped from his fingers. "he no want marry you?" he ejaculated finally. "i told him that i did not wish to marry him,--i never wish to marry any man,--and he is too proud to insist upon marrying a woman who does not want him. we had a long conversation. we quite understand each other. he will never ask me again." "_dios!_" gasped don roberto. "_dios!_" but there was no anger in his voice. his eyes rolled from magdaléna to the window and back again. finally he said,-- "he no come back, then?" "he is coming back in six weeks." don roberto drew a long breath and seemed to recover himself. "then si he no break the engagement, he feel glad si it is make again. you marry him the day after he come back. i fixit that." "no power on earth can make me marry him." her father searched her countenance. he knew her character. did it not have that iron of new england in it for which he would have sold his birthright? he might turn her into the street, and it would avail him nothing. again his features relaxed, this time not with surprise and consternation, but with abject fear. he shuddered from head to foot; then his hands shot up to receive his face. he groaned and rocked from side to side. magdaléna was aghast. what feeling was alive in her united in filial tenderness. she went to him and put her hands uncertainly about his head, then stroked his hair awkwardly: she was little used to endearments. "i never thought--" she stammered. "i never thought--" "thirty years i work like the slave, and now all going! eeram, he have the death-tick in him: i hear! and now i no go to have the son, and i go to die in the streets like the others; with no one cents! _ay! yi! ay! yi!_" magdaléna was pricked with a new fear: was her father insane? she had heard of the "fixed idea." this weevil had been burrowing in his brain for more than a quarter of a century. she went back to her chair and said assertively,-- "you are one of the ablest financiers in california: everybody says so. nothing can change that, whether uncle dies or not. this is all a fancy of yours. you don't half appreciate yourself. and you are tired out to-night, and have not been well lately--" "all going! all going! _ay de mi! ay de mi!_ why i no dying with the wife and the little boy? make myself over, and now the screws go to drop out my character, and i am like before." magdaléna had an inspiration. "take me into the bank," she said eagerly. "teach me everything. i am sure i can learn. then i will look after everything when uncle dies. i want to work--" don roberto dropped his hands and gave a low roar. "the women all fools, and you the more big fool i never see. you throw way the clever man like he is old hat, and think you can manage the bank! _madre de dios!_ si i no feel like old clothes, no more, i beating you. to-morrow i do it." his eyes kindled at the prospect. "to-morrow si you no say you marry trennahan, i beating you till you are black like my hat." what remained of magdaléna's apathy left her then. she stood up and faced him, drawing her heavy brows together after his own fashion. "you will never beat me again," she said. "let us have an understanding on that subject before we go to bed to-night. i am your daughter, and i shall always obey you except where the question of my marrying is concerned. but if you ill-treat me i shall leave your house and not return. i am of age, and i have my aunt to go to. now, unless _you_ promise _me_ that you will never raise your hand to me again, i will leave for santa barbara to-night." again don roberto stared at her. but his surprise passed quickly. he was too shrewd a judge of human nature to doubt her. if she had inherited the iron of her mother's ancestors, she had also inherited the pride of the yorbas: she would not permit her womanhood to be outraged. but he could have his revenge in other ways; and he would take it. he gave the promise and ordered her sullenly to send the butler to help him up to bed. xvi during the following week don roberto was very ill. the doctor came three times a day. mrs. yorba and magdaléna sat up on alternate nights. mr. polk was constantly at the bedside. when he retired to snatch an hour's sleep, don roberto's temperature became alarming; of the presence of his wife and daughter he took no notice whatever. as the ego must enter into all things, magdaléna, despite her alarm and pity, was grateful for the diversion. the interview with her father had roused her abruptly and finally; and during that night her misery had raged in every part of her. it is true that in the long watches thought fairly stamped in her brain, but it was rudely brushed aside every little while by the imperious wants of the sick man, or the whispered remarks of the professional nurse. at other times she slept heavily or received the numerous friends who came to inquire for the eminent citizen who had dined out too often during the gayest season in many years. don roberto recovered, and his convalescence was as memorable as his previous social activity. no nurse would remain more than thirty-six hours at any price; and even his wife, whose ideas of marital duty were as rigid as her social code, lost her patience upon one occasion and rated him soundly. mr. polk was the only person he treated with common decency. as for magdaléna, he might have been a sultan and she his meanest slave. but magdaléna was rather pleased than otherwise. her conscience had flagellated her as the immediate cause of his illness, and she strove by every act of devotion to make amends. as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he was taken, in a special car, to fair oaks, to absorb the sun on his spacious verandahs. magdaléna had asked the doctor to order southern california, but the order had been received with such a roar of fury that the subject was not resumed. magdaléna was forced to return to menlo park. she spent the night walking the floor of her room, struggling for endurance to face the places eloquent of trennahan. there were so many of them! helena simply would not have returned; no power short of physical force could have compelled her. more than once magdaléna wished that she was cast in her friend's anarchic mould. she felt that did her grip upon herself relax she should scream aloud and grovel on the very boards that had had their share in her brief love-life. but she was magdaléna yorba, the proudest woman in california; in the very hour of her discovery, when she had been possessed of a blind terror rather than grief, she had remembered to be thankful that the world could not pity her. even the genuine sympathy of tiny would have been gall in a raw wound. she was looking thinner and plainer than ever, but her father's illness would account for that. she must set her features in steel and lock them, keep her emotions for the night. the next day she visited every spot associated with trennahan,--not once, but many times. she had made up her mind with the right instinct that the thing to do was to blunt her sensibilities. by the third day she had ordered the earlier associations on duty, and managed to confuse them somewhat with those which had held possession for so brief a time. she was determined to succeed. she had no right to love the husband of another woman, and suffering was something so much more terrible than anything her imagination had ever hinted that she was frantic to get rid of the load as quickly as possible. by and by she would go back to her writing; and that, and her duties, should be every bit of her life henceforth. at the end of a week she discovered that she was still receptive to the æsthetic delights. it was early spring. the soft air caressed the senses, perfumed with violet and lilac, castilian roses, new clover, and the breath of mountain forests, brought on the long sighs of the wind. never was there such a _bouquet_ since time began. over a high bush on the lawn opposite her window the long "bridal wreaths" tumbled. the meadows were full of mustard, the bright green leaves hardly visible, so thick were the yellow blossoms. once she rode to the foot-hills, escorted by dick. they were covered with yellow and purple lupins, miniature jungles which harboured nothing more sanguinary than the gopher and the cotton-tail. the tawny poppies had hills all to themselves, a blaze of colour as fiery as the sun to which they lifted their curved drowsy lips. the mariposa lilies grew by the creeks, in the dark shade of meeting willows. the gold-green moss was like plush on the trees. from the hills the great valley looked like a dense forest out of which lifted the tower of an enchanted castle. not another signal of man was to be seen, nothing but the excrescence on the big wedding-cake house of a bonanza king. beyond the hills rose the slopes of the mountains, with their mighty redwoods, their dark untrodden aisles, their vast primeval silences. magdaléna was thankful that nature had not ceased to be beautiful, and pressed her hands against her heart to stifle its demand; nature commands union, and has no sympathy for aching solitude. meanwhile don roberto was recovering rapidly. from the hour that he could walk briskly about the garden his voluble irascibility left him, and he reverted to something more than his old taciturnity; he rarely opened his mouth except to put the plainest of food into it, even to speak to mr. polk. his brows were lowered constantly over heavy brooding eyes; his lips seemed set with a spring. when he finally addressed his wife, it was to tell her that she must manage with one butler and one housemaid. coincidently he dismissed two of the gardeners and commanded the one retained, and dick, to plant in a part of the lawns that there might be less water used. himself came from town every evening and worked in the garden for two hours, besides arising at five in the morning and working until breakfast. he sold his finest carriage horses to mr. geary; and when one of the two remaining was temporarily disabled, he rode to and from the station in the spring wagon. the monthly allowance of his wife and daughter was suspended for the summer. mrs. yorba, tall, garbed in black, stalked about the house with the expression of an outraged empress; magdaléna, being the cause of the outrage, was rarely addressed. she ostentatiously made over several of her old frocks and coldly requested her daughter to make her own bed. she kept all the windows in the house, with the exception of one in each room, closed and shuttered, as she was deprived of both service and water. the house seemed perpetually expectant of funeral guests, its silence only broken by mrs. yorba's heavy sighs. magdaléna had certainly succeeded in making three people miserable; she could only hope that she had been more fortunate with the other two. she spent most of her time out of doors, riding or walking until her strength was exhausted. she was profoundly grateful that she was to take little part in the socialities of the summer. to dance and picnic and tennis and ride to the hills, exactly as she had done when quite another person! she infinitely preferred the disapproval of her parents and the freedom they gave her. xvii trennahan had written to magdaléna from the islands, acknowledging the letter she had written him after her interview with her father, and accepting his dismissal. he returned to san francisco the last of may. almost immediately she received a letter from helena announcing her engagement to him. helena, while in southern california, had written to magdaléna with her accustomed regularity. the letters were bitter with self-reproach alternated with the very joy of being alive in that opulent southern land. when she wrote of the engagement she assured the dearest friend she had on earth that if things had turned out differently she should have gone away and got over it somehow, but as magdaléna's decision was irrevocable she intended to be the happiest girl in the world; it wouldn't do anybody a bit of good if she wasn't. magdaléna felt no bitterness toward her. she had lost trennahan; the woman mattered nothing. she would rather it were helena than another; for who else could make him so happy? but she knew that she should see less of helena in the future, and she hardly knew whether she were glad or sorry. she wished that she had the courage to ask her to keep him away from menlo park this summer. the other girls moved down, bringing many guests, and she saw them daily; habit is not broken in a moment. they passed through fair oaks as usual on their afternoon drives, stopping for a chat; in their char-à-bancs or on the verandah. it was some time before they discovered the changes in the yorba household, and when they did they merely shrugged their shoulders at the old don's eccentricities. the big parlours were certainly to be regretted; but there were other parlours that were not half bad, and it was terribly up-hill work entertaining don roberto. they were profoundly sorry for magdaléna, and were so insistent in their demands that she should spend much of her time with them that she found her solitude far less complete than she had hoped. but helena and trennahan were not to come down until the first of july; they had gone with colonel belmont to the yosemite, geysers and big trees. xviii trennahan in that first month thought little of magdaléna. he hardly knew whether he were happy or not; he certainly was intoxicated. helena was both impassioned and shy, a companion to whom words were hardly a necessary medium for thought, and magnificently uncertain of mood. moreover, whether riding a donkey up the steep dusty grades of the yosemite, or half veiled in a mist of steam, reeking of hell, or standing with wondering eyes and parted lips among the colossal trees of calaveras, she was always beautiful. and trennahan worshipped her beauty with the strength of a passion which had sprung from a long and recuperative sleep. that he was twice her age mattered nothing to him now. nothing mattered but that she was to be wholly his. the morning after his return to menlo he awoke with a confused sense that he should be late for his morning ride with magdaléna. he laughed as his senses rattled into place, but he sighed just after; and both the laugh and the sigh were magdaléna's, grim as the former may have been. that had been a time of peace and perfect content, and he could never forget it, not though he lived long years of unimaginable bliss with helena--which he probably would not. a part of his life, limited and stunted a part as it was, belonged irrevocably to magdaléna. he concluded, after some hard thinking, that it was his best part. he had given her something of his soul, and he had no wish to take it back. he had given her the reviving aspirations of an originally noble nature; the sun of her had shone upon the barren soil, and the harvest was hers. he was an unimaginative man, but he was inclined to believe that if there was a future existence, magdaléna would belong to him then and for ever, that something even less definable than the soul of each belonged to the other. for there was nothing to be ashamed of in his love for helena. she appealed as powerfully to his mind and heart as to his passion. but there was something beyond all, and he had no name for it,--unless it were that principle of absolute good as distinguished from its grades and variations; and it belonged to the girl whom he certainly no longer wanted in this life. he wished that he had suggested to helena to spend the summer in san rafael or monterey. menlo park belonged to magdaléna; he found himself hating the thought of having a series of very perfect memories disturbed, even by the most passionately loved of women. and so magdaléna had her first revenge. he went reluctantly enough to fair oaks in the afternoon. the very leaves whispered as they drove through the woods. he had protested, but helena must see 'léna at once; she could never be entirely happy until she had looked into 'léna's eyes and convinced herself that they were quite unchanged. and trennahan must go, too, and have it over. trennahan, who only crossed her whims for the pleasure of making up with her later, admitted that she was right, and went. mrs. yorba was on the verandah receiving mrs. geary and mrs. brannan. magdaléna was upstairs in her room. the monotony of those afternoon receptions had taken its place among the distasteful things of life, and she was determined not to go down until she was sent for. each time she heard wheels she went to the window and looked out. the third time she saw trennahan and helena. the very bones of her skeleton seemed to fall upon each other; she sank to the ground with less vigour than a shattered soldier. but in a moment she gave a hard gasp and pressed her hands to her face. then she heard helena's voice,--that sweet husky voice which was not the least potent of her charms. "'léna! 'léna! well, i'll go look for her." magdaléna scrambled to her feet and fled down the hall to her mother's dressing-room. there, in a cupboard, was always a decanter of sherry; for mrs. yorba, after her neuralgic attacks, was often faint. magdaléna filled a glass, drank it, and blessed the swift fire which shook her will free and made a disciplined regiment of her nerves. she was so delighted at her sudden mastery over herself that she ran out into the hall, caught helena in her arms, and kissed her demonstratively. helena burst into tears. "you are the best girl on earth," she sobbed. "and i feel so wicked; but i am so happy." magdaléna dried her tears, a part she had filled many times. "you are the dearest and most honest girl in the world," she said. "oh, i try to be honest, but i get so mixed up. i wish i could have a new set of commandments handed down all for myself, and that i could have made the rough draft of them. then i'd be quite happy. but come down and see jack,--i couldn't stand john. he's awfully brown and looks splendid." trennahan gave magdaléna's hand a friendly shake and asked her what the plans for the summer were. "papa has a frightfully economical fit and says we are not to entertain any more. he doesn't even allow us enough water to wash the windows; and if this supply of gasoline gives out before the end of the summer, we've got to burn oil." "magdaléna!" gasped mrs. yorba. she wondered if her contribution to the yorbas had suddenly gone mad. but the sherry was in magdaléna's head. she was quite conscious of it, but recklessly decided to let it have its way so long as it helped her to convey to trennahan the information that he was no more to her than the browning tuberoses on the lawn. "it's only what everybody knows," she replied. "i am sure everybody in menlo has discussed him threadbare. mr. trennahan, you happened upon him in the oasis of his life; you never could stand it to dine here now. we can scarcely see to eat, and he never opens his mouth except to swear at the servants." mrs. yorba was speeding her guests. when she returned, she gave her daughter an annihilating glance and went into the house. trennahan stared at magdaléna. he saw her object, but could not guess the motive-power behind. a sudden, sickening fear assailed him: was magdaléna deteriorating? and he the cause? but magdaléna was rattling on. the sherry seemed to have a marvellous power over one's wits and tongue. why had she not known of it in the days when she had longed to shine? but her mother did not approve of girls drinking wine, and she had rarely tasted it, although until recently it had always been on the table. "you both look so well," she said. "you don't look so tired as most engaged people do. i suppose you don't sit up every night until twelve talking about yourselves, as they generally do, i am told. that must be so fatiguing. mr. trennahan, you are actually stouter. you don't look as if you had been climbing perpendicular mountains. is it true that a man stepped over the bridal veil backward? do tell me all about it!" helena was staring at magdaléna with her mouth half open. she was the least obtuse of mortals, but although she knew that pride was at the root of magdaléna's extraordinary behaviour, she concluded that love had fled, and marvelled, for she had believed magdaléna to be the deepest and most tenacious of women. but she was very glad. "well!" she exclaimed. "something has improved you! you will be fairly brilliant by next winter. and do for goodness' sake, 'léna, give don roberto to understand that he's not to have his own way. he's like all bullies: he'd soon give in if you bullied him. i adore papa, and would do anything on earth for him; but if he had been born a different sort, and gave me trouble, i'd find more than one way of bringing him to terms. just flash your eyes at don roberto as you're flashing them at us, and you'll see the difference it will make." has she ceased to love me? thought trennahan. thank god!--at least i ought to. when they had gone, the sherry had run its course, and magdaléna felt very much ashamed of herself. i overdid it, she thought in terror, as she recalled her scintillating remarks and elaborate manner. he must have suspected! i'll drink no more, and next time i'll be just what i would have been if i had never laid eyes on him--if i die in the attempt. and how i talked! what things i said! great heaven, i made a complete fool of myself! and the knowledge that for once in her life she had thrown her dignity and pride to the winds put her other pain to flight, and she had at least one night unracked by the record within her. xix two days later she met trennahan on the montgomerys' verandah. she was her old sedate self, to his unspeakable relief. that magdaléna should change, be less than the admirable creature he had loved when he was something more than himself, would have seemed no less a calamity than had the stars turned black. she sat up very straight in her prim little way and talked of helena's new project; which was to build bath-houses down by the lagoon at ravenswood and bathe when the tide was in. he told her that he too had a project: to persuade the men of menlo to build a club house, and thus have some sort of informal social centre. she told him that she thought that would be nice, and added that she wished she had a project too, but she was hopelessly unoriginal. trennahan assured her that she did herself injustice; and in these admirable platitudes they pushed along a half-hour like a wheel-barrow, while both thought of the great oak staring at them from the foot of the garden. it will come easier with time, she thought that night, as she pulled her clothes off with heavy fingers. i can almost look him in the eyes without wanting to fling myself at him. his voice does not matter so much, for i always hear it anyway. they say that when you no longer hear a person's voice in your memory the love has gone too. they will be away for a year after they marry. perhaps i shall forget then. my memory is not very good. she opened the upper drawer of her bureau and lifted out her large handkerchief box. in its lower part, carefully hidden away, were trennahan's letters, several of his faded boutonnières, and one of his gloves. she had made up her mind the day she heard of his engagement to helena that these things must be burnt, but had dreaded their sight and touch. now, however, they must go. she was always conscious of their presence; something of her weakness might pass with their destruction. as she lifted out the handkerchiefs she came upon the dagger. it was a beautiful toy, but she pushed it aside resentfully. its magic was not for her. she gathered up her tokens with trembling fingers, resisted the impulse to sit down and weep over them, laid them in the grate, and flung a bunch of lighted matches into the pyre. * * * * * helena immediately gave a party. the belmont house, like most of the others of menlo, had been designed for comfort rather than for entertaining; but the dining-room was large, and when stripped of the many massive pieces of furniture which colonel belmont had brought from his southern home, would have accommodated more dancing folk than the neighbours and their guests. the famous four were not present; nor were they seen in menlo that summer. immediately after the announcement of helena's engagement some cruel wag had sent each a miniature tub with "for tears" inscribed with black paint upon the bottom. it was generally supposed that the afflicted quartette were spending their leisure over these tubs, for they had retired into as complete an obscurity as their various callings would permit. helena told magdaléna that she lived in terror of their poisoned or perforated bodies being found in the dark byways of golden gate park; but the youth of the modern civilisation, while amenable to suffering, thinks highly of himself as a factor in current history. trennahan was not allowed to spend the evening in the smoking-room with the older men; he must keep himself in sight even while his helena was dancing with another. he wandered about with a grim smile on his mouth, talking occasionally to the older ladies who sat in a corner; wall-flowers there were none. he wished that magdaléna would take pity on him, for he was unmercifully bored; but she danced with exasperating regularity. occasionally helena slipped her hand through his arm and took him out in the garden, purring upon his shoulder and begging him not to be bored; but she must look at him! if he insisted upon it, she would not dance. he refused to countenance such a sacrifice, and protested that he was just beginning to understand the pleasure of evening parties. once he did slip away, and was lying, with his coat off, a cigar between his lips, crosswise on a bed upstairs with colonel belmont and mr. washington, when he received a peremptory message to go downstairs at once. he threw his cigar away, jerked himself into his coat, and left the room with jeering condolences in his wake. he felt cross for the moment; but when he reached the hall below he smiled humorously as he met the protesting eyes of his lady. "i can't bear to have you out of my sight!" she exclaimed. "it's horribly selfish, but i feel as if everything were a blank when you are out of the room." what could a man do in the face of so much beauty and so much affection, but to vow to hold up the wall for the rest of the evening? as he was taking magdaléna to her carriage a little after midnight, she said to him shyly,-- "i hope you are quite happy." and he answered with unmistakable fervour, "i am indeed." mrs. yorba was detained by mrs. cartright, who was delivering herself of many words. "do you believe that love is everything in life?" magdaléna asked him. "by no means. not even to woman, in spite of the poets. it induces intense concentration for the time, consequently looms larger in the affairs of life than the million other scraps that go to make up the vast patchwork. but it is as well to remember that it is but an occasional patch in the quilt, even if it be of the most vivid hue. and there is a lot to be got out of the other patches!" "if you lost helena, could you feel like that?" "in time; beyond a doubt. memory simply cannot hold water beyond a certain strain; there comes a rift at last, and the flood pours through." "then if you lost helena, should you feel as--as--you did when you came here first? you were--tired of everything--you remember. you told me--you don't mind my speaking of it?" she was aghast at her inconsistency, but the magnet in the man was as irresistible as ever. "mind? from you? i have never talked to a human being about myself as i have talked to you. i don't know what would happen to me in such an event. i am neither a fool nor a drunkard, remember. i think i should seek entirely new, barely comprehended, lands,--the south sea islands, for instance. i have wasted my life. i have neither the energies nor the ambitions to pull up now. i should simply seek new oranges and squeeze them dry. there are always the intellectual pleasures, you know. i should not be proud of myself, but i should get through the remaining years somehow." "there was something else--i should not speak of it--" they were standing in the shadow of the char-à-banc. trennahan raised her hand to his lips. "i was in a state of moral chaos when i met you,--that is what you mean. i do not think i ever shall be again. even helena could never do for me what you did. you and i made a great mistake, but we generated one of those singular friendships which no circumstances nor time can annihilate. some day we shall take up the threads where they broke off. i always look forward to that. a man may be contented with one woman's love, but not with one woman's friendship. i am glad that you are as dear to helena as you are to me. in time, perhaps we may all three live more or less together." he was a man of humour, but he said that. she was a woman of little humour, but she laughed. xx the breathless state of helena's affections did not interfere with her desire to lead in all things those favoured of her acquaintance. although, in deference to trennahan's emphatic wish, she forswore eccentricities, she taxed her fertile brain to keep menlo park in a whirl of excitement. "it can't be done," said rose. "the climate has poppy dust in it instead of oxygen, but she may wake us up for a while." she did. the bath-houses were built, and the big char-à-bancs rolled down the dusty road to ravenswood every morning. the salt water and the sun brought out the red in the girls' hair, so the pastime promised to weather one season, at least. she gave dances and picnics on alternate weeks, and her hospitality in the matter of luncheons and dinners was unbounded. the colonel built a bowling-alley and a proper tennis-court; in short, there was no doubt about "the belmonts'" being the nucleus of menlo park. several times helena persuaded the owner of the stage line between redwood city and la honda to let her drive; and she took a select few of her friends on the top of the lumbering coach, relegating the uneasy passengers to the stuffy interior. the road is one of the most picturesque in california, but the grades are steep, the turnings abrupt, dangerous in many places. nevertheless, helena, balancing on her narrow perch high above the wheelers' heels, managed her rapid mustangs so admirably that trennahan, balancing beside her, wondered if he should be able to manage her one half so well. "what helena belmont needs," said mrs. montgomery, with some asperity, "is six babies; and i hope for mr. trennahan's sake she'll have them. otherwise, i should like to know where the poor man is to get any rest; she's a human cyclone." "i never thought she'd marry so soon," replied mrs. brannan. "it looked as if she were going to be a regular old-time belle; and it took them years to get through." "she's not married yet," remarked mrs. montgomery. but these enormous energies, as rose had predicted, reached their meridian in something under two months, after which, much to trennahan's relief, helena succumbed to menlo park, and manifested an increasing desire for long hours alone with him under the trees on the lawn, although she by no means allowed her neighbours to rest for more than seventy-two hours at a time. xxi don roberto and mr. polk took no part in these festivities; mrs. yorba and magdaléna took less and less; the picture made by don roberto in his shirt-sleeves, manipulating a hose as the char-à-banc drove off, finally forbade his wife to riot while her husband toiled. she was angry and resentful; but she was a woman of stern principles, and she had a certain measure of that sort of love for her husband which duty prompts in those who are without passion. "i don't pretend to understand your father," she said to magdaléna. "the bees he gets in his bonnet are quite beyond me, but if he feels that way, he does, and that's the end of it; and he makes me feel uncomfortable all the time i am anywhere. i sha'n't go out again until he gets over this. you can go with somebody else." "i would a great deal rather stay home. i don't enjoy myself. people work so hard to be amused. i'd much rather just sit still and do nothing." "you're lazy, like all the spanish. well, you'll have to do a good deal of sitting still, i expect; and in a sick room, i'm afraid. poor hiram looks thinner and greyer every day. almost all our relations died of consumption." "i wrote to aunt how badly he was looking, but she has not answered." "she won't, the heartless thing. she never loved him. but if he takes to his bed with slow consumption, she'll have to come up and do her share of the nursing. she ought to like it. fat women always make good nurses." magdaléna was more than glad to fall out of the gaieties. she was beginning to feel that most demoralising of all sensations,--the disintegration of will. pride, a certain excitement, and novelty had kept her armour locked for a time; but each time she met trennahan, the ordeal of facing him with platitudes, or, what was worse still, in occasional friendly talks, and of witnessing helena's little airs of possession, suggested a future and signal failure. she came to have a morbid terror that she should betray herself, and when in company with him kept out of the very reach of his voice. she never went to the woods, lest she meet him, with or without helena. in those rustling arbours of many memories, she knew that she should let fly the passion within her. she was appalled that neither time nor will nor principle had authority over her love. she had made up her mind that she would, if not tear it up by the roots, at least level it to the soil from which it had sprung, and she was quite ready to believe that love was not all; that with her youth, intellect, and wealth there was much in life for her. but the plant flourished and was heavy with bloom. even while she avoided him, she longed for the moment when he must of necessity speak to her. she welcomed the excuse to secede from the ranks of pleasurers, but even then she started up at every sound of wheels that might herald his approach. she longed for the wedding to be over; but helena would not marry before december, that being her birth month and eminently suitable, in her logical fancy, for her second launching. colonel belmont, having satisfied himself that everyone in the little drama had acted with honour, was well pleased with his son-in-law; but he was much distressed at the attitude of the old friend who had hoped to fill a similar relation to trennahan. don roberto, taciturn with everybody, refused to speak to colonel belmont, to return his courtly salutation. "i suppose it is natural," said colonel belmont to helena. "don is not only eccentric, but he would almost rather lose a hundred thousand dollars than his own way. but i hope he'll come round in time, for it makes me feel right lonesome in my old age. he and hi were the only real intimates i have had in california, and now hi is going, poor old fellow! and of course i can do little to cheer him up until don thaws out." "do you feel quite well yourself?" asked helena, anxiously. "you often look so terribly pale." "i never was better, honey, i assure you. but remember that you must expect to lose your old father some day. but i've been pretty good to you, haven't i? you'll have nothing but pleasant things to remember?" "you're the very best angel on earth. i don't even love jack so much. i thought i did, but i don't." "don't you love him?" asked her father, anxiously. he was eager for her to marry; he knew that his blood was white. "of course! what a question!" xxii it was an intensely hot september night. magdaléna, knowing that sleep was impossible, had not gone to bed. she wandered restlessly about her large room, striving to force a current of air. not a vibration came through the open windows, nor a sound. the very trees seemed to lean forward with limp hanging arms. across the stars was a dark veil, riven at long intervals with the copper of sheet lightning. her room, too, was dark. a light would bring a pest of mosquitoes. the high remote falsetto of several, as it was, proclaimed an impatient waiting for their ally, sleep. last night, tiny had given a party, and wrung from magdaléna a promise that she would go to it. rose had called for her. at the last moment magdaléna's courage had shrunk to a final shuddering heap, and as she heard the wheels of the geary waggonette, she had run upstairs, and flung herself between the bedclothes, sending down word that she had a raging toothache. it was her first lie in many years, but it was better than to dance with despair and agony written on her relaxed face behind the windows of the garden in which trennahan had asked her to marry him. to-night she was seriously considering the proposition of going to her aunt in santa barbara, with or without her father's consent. her sense of duty had not tumbled into the ruins of her will, but she argued that in this most crucial period of her life, her duty was to herself. helena had not even asked her to be bridesmaid; she took her acquiescence for granted. magdaléna laughed aloud at the thought; but she could not leave helena in the lurch at the last moment. when she got to santa barbara, she could plead her aunt's ill health as excuse for not returning in time for the ceremony. she was in a mood to tell twenty lies if necessary, but she would not stand at the altar with trennahan and helena. her passionate desire for change of associations was rising rapidly to the dignity of a fixed idea. to-morrow there must be a change of some sort, or her brain would be babbling its secrets. already her memory would not connect at times. she felt sure that the prolonged strain had produced a certain congestion in her brain. and she was beginning to wonder if she hated helena. the fires in magdaléna burned slowly, but they burned exceeding hot. she paused and thrust her head forward. for some seconds past her sub-consciousness had grasped the sound of galloping hoofs. they were on the estate, by the deer park; a horse was galloping furiously toward the house. she ran to the window and looked out. she could see nothing. could it be a runaway horse? was somebody ill? the flying feet turned abruptly and made for the rear of the house, then paused suddenly. there was a furious knocking. magdaléna's knees shook with a swift presentiment. something had happened--was going to happen--to her. she stood holding her breath. someone ran softly but swiftly up the stair, and down the hall, to her room. she knew then who it was, and ran forward and opened the door. "helena!" she exclaimed. "what is the matter? something has--mr. trennahan--" helena flung herself upon magdaléna and burst into a passion of weeping. magdaléna stood rigid, ice in her veins. "is he dead?" she managed to ask. "no! he isn't. i wish he were--no, i don't mean that--i'll tell you in a minute--let me get through first!" magdaléna dragged her shaking limbs across the room and felt for a chair. helena began pacing rapidly up and down, pushing the chairs out of her way. "would you like a light?" asked magdaléna. "no, thanks; i don't want to be eaten alive with mosquitoes. oh, how shall i begin? i suppose you think we've had a commonplace quarrel. i wish we had. i swear to you, 'léna, that up to to-night i loved him--yes, i know that i did! i was rather sorry i'd promised to marry so soon, for i like being a girl, not really belonging to anyone but myself, and i love being a great belle, and i think that i should have begged for another year--but i loved him better than anyone, and i really intended to marry him--" "aren't you going to marry him?" "don't be so stern, 'léna! you don't know all yet. lately i've been alone with him a great deal, and you know how you talk about yourselves in those circumstances. i had told him everything i had ever done and thought--most; had turned myself inside out. then i made him talk. up to a certain point he was fluent enough; then he shut up like a clam. i never was very curious about men; but because he was all mine, or perhaps because i didn't have anything else to think about, i made up my mind he should come to confession. he fought me off, but you know i have a way of getting what i want--if i don't there's trouble; and to-night i pulled his past life out of him bit by bit. 'léna! he's had _liaisons_ with married women; he's kept house with women; he's seen the worst life of every city! for a few years--he confessed it in so many words--he was one of the maddest men in europe. the actual things he told me only in part; but you know i have the instincts of the devil. 'léna, _he's a human slum_, and i hate him! i hate him! i hate him!" "but that all belongs to his past. he loves you, and you can make him better--make him forget--" "i don't want to make any man better. i love everything to be clean and new and bright,--not mildewed with a thousand vices that i would never even discuss. oh, he's a brute to ask me to marry him. i hate myself that i've been engaged to him! i feel as if i'd tumbled off a pedestal!" "are you so much better and purer than i? i knew much of this; but it did not horrify me. i knew too, what you may not know, that he came here in a critical time in his--his--inner life, and i was glad to think that--california had helped him to become quite another man." her voice was hoarse, almost inarticulate. helena flung herself at magdaléna's feet. she was trembling with excitement; but her feverish appeal for sympathy met with no response. "that is another thing that nearly drove me wild,--that i had taken him away from you for nothing. i know you don't care now; but you did--perhaps you do now--sometimes i've suspected, only i wouldn't face it--and to think that in my wretched selfishness i've separated you for ever! for your pride wouldn't let you take him back now, and he's as wild about me as ever: i never thought he could lose control over himself as he did when i told him what i thought of him and beat him on the shoulders with both my fists. he turned as white as a corpse and shook like a leaf. then he braced up and told me i was a little wild cat, and that he should leave me and come back when i had come to my senses, that he had no intention of giving me up. but he need not come back. i'll never lay eyes on him again. while he was letting me get at those things, i felt as if my love for him burst into a thousand pieces, and that when they flew together again they made hate. he told me he was used to girls of the world, who understood things; and that the girls of california were so crude they either knew all there was to know by experience, or else they were prudes--" helena paused abruptly and caught her breath. she had felt magdaléna extend her arm and stealthily open a drawer in the bureau beside her chair. there was nothing remarkable in the fact, for in that drawer magdaléna kept her handkerchiefs. nevertheless, helena shook with the palsy of terror; the cold sweat burst from her body. in the intense darkness she could see nothing, only a vague patch where the face of magdaléna was. the silence was so strained that surely a shriek must come tearing across it. the shriek came from her own throat. she leaped to her feet like a panther, reached the door in a bound, fled down the hall and the stair, her eyes glancing wildly over her shoulder, and so out to her horse. it is many years since that night, but there are silent moments when that ride through the woods flashes down her memory and chills her skin,--that mad flight from an unimaginable horror, through the black woods on a terrified horse, the shadow of her fear racing just behind with outstretched arms and clutching fingers. helena's sudden flight left magdaléna staring through the dark at the spanish dagger in her hand. her arm was raised, her wrist curved; the dagger pointed toward the space which helena had filled a moment ago. "i intended to kill her," she said aloud. "i intended to kill her." the mental admission of the design and its frustration were almost simultaneous. her brain was still in a hideous tumult. weakened by suffering, the shock of helena's fickleness and injustice, the sudden perception that her sacrifice had been useless, if not absurd, had disturbed her mental balance for a few seconds, and left her at the mercy of passions hitherto in-existent to her consciousness. her love for her old friend, long trembling in the balance, had flashed into hate. upon hate had followed the murderous impulse for vengeance; not for her own sake, but for that of the man whose weakness had ruined her life and his own. in the very height of her sudden madness she was still capable of a curious misdirected feminine unselfishness. when she came to herself, chagrin that she had failed to accomplish her purpose possessed her mind for the moment, although she had made no attempt to follow helena, beyond springing to her feet. then her conscience asserted itself, and reminded her that she should be appalled, overcome with horror, at the awful possibilities of her nature. the picture of helena in the death struggle, bleeding and gasping, rose before her. her knees gave way with horror and fright, and she fell upon her chair, dropping the dagger from her wet fingers, staring at the grim spectre of her friend. then once more the sound of galloping hoofs came to her ears. both helena and herself were safe. in a few moments her thoughts grouped themselves into a regret deeper and bitterer still. she was capable of the highest passion, and circumstance had diverted it from its natural climax and impelled it toward murder. she sat there and thought until morning on the part to which she had been born; the ego dully attempting to understand, to realise that its imperious demands receive little consideration from the great law of circumstance, and are usually ignored. xxiii the next morning magdaléna did as wise a thing as if inspired by reason instead of blind instinct: she got on her horse and rode for six hours. when she returned home she was exhausted of body and inert of brain. she found a note from helena awaiting her. dearest 'lÉna,--what a tornado and an idiot you must think me! i cannot explain my extraordinary departure. i suppose i was in such a nervous state that i was obsessed in some mysterious manner and went off like a rocket. i can assure you i feel like a stick this morning. you will forgive me, won't you? for you know that although my affections do fluctuate for some people, they never do for you. well! this morning i had a scene with papa. he was very angry, talked about honour and all that sort of thing, said that i was an unprincipled flirt, and that i expected too much of a man. but when i said i could not understand how so perfect a man as himself could wish his daughter to marry a rake, he never said another word, but went off and wound up with mr. trennahan. i don't know what they said to each other; i don't care. it's all too dreadful to think about, and i never want to hear the subject mentioned again. we're going to monterey this afternoon to remain till the end of the season, and then we'll go to the blue lakes for a little before settling down for the winter. i'm tired of menlo. can't you come to monterey for a week or two? do think about it. i haven't a minute to go over to fair oaks to say good-bye, but perhaps you'll come to the train. helena. magdaléna got some luncheon from the pantry, then went to bed and slept until six o'clock. at dinner mr. polk said to her,-- "i saw trennahan this afternoon in a hack with a lot of luggage on behind, and i stopped the driver and got in, and went to the ferry with him. his engagement with helena belmont is broken, it seems, and he is off for samoa. looked like the devil, but was as polite as ever, and asked me to say good-bye to all of you." don roberto looked up. "when he coming back?" he asked. "you know as much about that as i do; or as he does, i guess. he told me that he was going to explore the south seas thoroughly, and that ought to take as many years as he's got left, and more too." it was two or three days before magdaléna realised what a relief it was to have trennahan out of the country. it moved him back among the memories, and struck from her imagination agitating possibilities. and he belonged to no woman! he could never be hers, but at least she could love him. already she had begun to do so with a measure of calm. she could hide him in her soul and count him wholly hers; and the prospect seemed far sweeter and more satisfactory than she should have imagined of such immaterial union. and some day, she believed, he would write to her. he had spoken authoritatively of the permanence of their friendship, and of its necessity to him. he had not loved her, as men count love, but for a little she had been to him something more than other women had been. the spiritual sympathy which had been rudely interrupted, but had surely existed, taught her this. in time he would become conscious again of the bond, and his letters alone would be something to live for. and she had much else. in the evenings when her father was weeding on the lawn, she devoted herself to her uncle; and he seemed grateful for her attentions, slight as was his response. he was visibly shrinking to his skeleton, although he neither coughed nor complained, and went to town every morning with the regularity of his youth. but his gaunt face was less savagely determined, his eyes had lost the hard surface of metal; and one evening when magdaléna slipped her hand into his, he clasped and held it until don roberto, gloomy and perspiring, came panting across the drive. and almost immediately magdaléna began to write. she did not go to her nook in the woods, but after her morning ride she wrote in her room until luncheon. she told her mother of her literary plans and asked her advice about making a similar announcement to her father. between astonishment and consternation mrs. yorba gasped audibly, and her impassive countenance looked as if the hinges had fallen out of its muscles. "for god's sake don't tell your father!" she exclaimed; and she was not given to strong language. "i don't believe you can write, anyhow, and we should only have a terrible scene for nothing." magdaléna accepted the advice. her father showed so little sense of his duty as a parent that her own was growing adaptable to circumstances, although she was still determined not to publish without his knowledge. she had not returned to her english romance: that had been consigned to the flames, and was now meditating in that limbo which receives the wraiths of the lame, the halt, and the blind of abortive talent. she was at work upon the simplest of the old-californian tales. on the saturday afternoon after helena's departure for monterey rose called and invited magdaléna to drive with her to the train to meet mr. geary. tiny and ila, who were with her, added their insistence, and magdaléna, having no reasonable excuse, joined them. as they drove through the woods ila confided her engagement to young washington, and was kissed and congratulated in due form. "i'm going to live in paris," she announced. "no more california for me. you might as well be on mars, in the first place, and everybody cackles over your private affairs, in the second. for the matter of that, you haven't any." "i think it's disloyal of you to desert california," said tiny. "i have a feeling that we should all keep together, and to the country." "that's a very fine sentiment, but though i love you none the less, i want to live. i intend to be the best-dressed american in paris. that's a reputation worth having." "i'm going east to find a husband," said rose, shamelessly. "there's no one to marry here. alan rush would not have been half bad, but he might as well be in an urn on helena's mantel-piece. i like eastern men best, anyhow." "why not go to southern california?" asked tiny. "it's not so far as new york; and there are always plenty of them there." "i should feel like a ghoul,--man-hunting in one-lungdom, as mr. bierce calls it. besides, i'd rather die an old maid than have a sick man on my hands for five minutes. i'm not heartless, but--well, we've all had our experiences with fathers and brothers. a sick man's an anomaly, somehow: he doesn't fit into a woman's imagination." "i'm not going to marry at all," said tiny. "fancy what a lot of bother. it's so comfortable just to drift along like this." "tiny," said rose, "you're a menlo park poppy." they had arrived at the station, the pretty station under its great oak, and flanked by its beds of bloom. eight or ten other equipages were there, waiting for the "daisy train,"--the fast train from town which on saturday afternoons carried many san franciscans to monterey. the women were in their bright summer attire and full of chatter; as the train was not due for some moments, several got out of their carriages and went to other carriages to gossip. it was a very lively and agreeable scene: there being no outsiders, they were like one large family. in the middle of the large open space beside the platform stood several of the phaetons and waggonettes, whose horses stepped high at sight of the engine. on the far side was a row of chinese wash-houses, in whose doors stood the mongolians, no less picturesque than the civilisation across the way. behind them was the tiny village of menlo park. on the opposite side of the track was a row of high closely knit trees which shut the folsom place from the passing eye. caro, under a big pink sunshade, had walked over to chat with her friends and escort her visitors home. the train rolled in and discharged its favoured few. the wait was short, and mr. geary was still mounting the steps of his char-à-banc when magdaléna sat forward with a faint exclamation. the smoking-car was slowly passing. four hats at four consecutive windows were raised as they drifted past. they were the hats of alan rush, eugene fort, carter howard, and "dolly" webster. xxiv the yorba house on nob hill was the gloomiest house in san francisco in any circumstances; upon the return of the family to town this year it suggested a convent of perpetual silence. mrs. yorba, bereft of her full corps of servants, herself shook the curtains free of their loops and pinned them together. "ah kee can play the hose on the windows from the outside once a month," she remarked to her daughter; "but heaven only knows when they will be washed inside again, or how often poor ah kee will have time to sweep the rooms. i shall make an attempt to keep the reception-room in some sort of order; and as it is comparatively small and i can dust it myself, i may succeed, but i don't suppose anyone will ever enter the parlours again. there seems no hope of your father coming to his senses." magdaléna flung her own curtains wide, determined to have light if she had to wash the windows herself. but the rest of the house chilled and oppressed her. even her mother's bedroom was half-lighted, and the halls and rooms downstairs were echoing vaults. one was almost afraid to break the silence; even the soft-footed chinaman walked on his toes. magdaléna conceived the whimsical idea that her father's house had been closed to receive all the family skeletons of san francisco, of which many whispers had come to her. sometimes she fancied that she heard their bones rattling at night, as they crowded together, muttering their terrible secrets. but the idea only amused her; it did not make her morbid, although there was little but her own will to keep her spirits on a plane where there was more light than bog. it was a very grey and rainy winter. she was forced to spend the afternoons after four o'clock in idleness: don roberto himself turned off the gas every morning before he went down town, and on again at seven in the evening. the meals in the dining-room, naturally the darkest room in the house, were eaten in absolute silence. in fact, it was seldom that anyone spoke except on mrs. yorba's reception day. herself wore the air of a stoic. don roberto's keen eyes searched his wife and daughter now and again for any sign of extravagance in attire, but he rarely addressed them except on the first of the month, when he demanded their accounts. he peremptorily forbade them to go out after dusk, as the night air was bad for the horses. the evenings he spent in his study with his brother-in-law. mrs. yorba and magdaléna sat in their respective rooms until nearly half-past ten; when don roberto went the rounds to see that the lights were out. were it not for his fear of earthquakes, he would have turned off the gas at that hour, but he permitted a tiny spark to burn in the halls all night. occasionally mr. polk came home early and went to magdaléna's little sitting-room, the old schoolroom, and sat with her for an hour or two. he said little and never talked of himself. she longed to bring her aunt back to this lonely old man, but did not know in the least how to go about it, and the subject never was mentioned between them; he might have been a bachelor or a widower. but as he sat staring into the fire, magdaléna was convinced that he was thinking of his wife. she had never entered his house since the day of her strange discovery; delicacy kept her away, but her feminine curiosity often tempted her to go in and see if the fires were burning, the flowers and magazines on the table. sometimes at night she heard footsteps in the connecting gardens behind the houses, and fancied they were those of her uncle, gone on what pilgrimage she dared not imagine. she and helena met again early in november. they greeted each other with all their old cordiality, but there was a barrier, and both felt it. still, they exchanged frequent visits, and magdaléna was always interested in helena's new conquests and dazzling regalities. helena was enjoying herself mightily. she had all her old admirers exhausting and coining adjectives at her feet, and a number of distinguished foreigners, who were spending the winter in san francisco. she could not drive, nor yacht, nor run to fires on account of the weather, but she unloosed her energies upon indoor society, and started a cotillion club, and an amateur opera company. she gave a fancy dress ball, to which all her guests were obliged to come in the costumes of old california, and laughed for a week at the ridiculous figure which most of them cut. she also gave many dinners and breakfasts, kettle-drums and theatre parties, and, altogether, managed to amuse herself and others. she never mentioned trennahan to magdaléna. nor did he write. the pacific might have been climbing over him, for any sign he gave. xxv it was midnight, and magdaléna was still awake; a storm raged, prohibitive of sleep. the wind screamed over the hills, tearing the long ribbons of rain to bits and flinging them in great handfuls against the windows; from which they rebounded to the porch to skurry down the pipes and gurgle into the pools of the soaked ground below. the roar of the ocean bore aloft another sound, a long heavy groan,--the fog-horn of the farallones. magdaléna imagined the wild scene beyond the golden gate: the ships driven out of their course, bewildered by the fog, the loud unceasing rattle of the rigging, the hungry boom of the breakers, the mountains and caverns of the raging pacific. her mind, open to impressions once more, stirred as it had not during its period of subservience to the heart, and toward expression. suffering had not worked those wonders with her literary faculty of which she had read; but she certainly wrote with something more of fluency, something less of attenuated commonplace. she had finished her first story; and although it by no means satisfied her, she had passed on to the next, determined to write them all; then, with the education accruing from long practice, to go back to the beginnings and make them literature. to-night she forgot her stories and lay wondering at the ghostly images rolling through her brain, breaking upon the wall which stood between themselves and speech,--hurled back to rise and form again. what did it mean? was some dumb dead poet trying to speak through her brain, inextricably caught in the folds of her ravening intelligence before recognising its fatal limitations? or was that intelligence but the half of another, divided out there in eternity before being sucked earthwards? it was seldom that such fancies came to her nowadays, but to-night the storm shrieked with a thousand voices, no one of which was unfamiliar to these ghosts in her mind. she had heard the expression "hell let loose" variously applied. were those the souls of old and wicked mates tossed into the wild playground of the storm, helpless and furious shuttle-cocks, yelling their protests with furious energy? the idea that she too might have been wicked once thrilled magdaléna unexpectedly: she had had a few sudden brief lapses into primal impulse, accompanied by a certain exaltation of mind. as she recalled them the rest of her life seemed flat by comparison, and unburdened with meaning; something buried, unsuspected, left over from another existence, shook itself and made as if to leap to those doomed wretches, heavy with memories, buffeting each other on the tides of the storm. a crash brought her upright. it had been preceded by a curious bumping along the front of the house. she realised in a moment what it meant: the flag-pole had snapped and been hurled to the ground. she thought of her father's dismay, and shuddered slightly; she was in a mood to greet omens hospitably. suddenly her eyes fixed themselves expandingly upon the door. she was cast in a heroic mould; but the storm and the vagaries of her imagination had unnerved her, and she shook violently as the knob was softly turned and the door moved forward with significant care. had her father gone suddenly mad? the possibility had crossed her mind more than once. she would lock her door hereafter. "what is it?" she faltered. the door was pushed open abruptly. her uncle stood there. for a moment she thought it was his ghost. the dim light of the hall shone on a ghastly face, and he wore a long gown of grey flannel. he held one hand pressed against his chest. in another second she heard the rattling of his breath. she sprang out of bed and ran to him. "i am going to die," mr. polk said. "telegraph and ask her to come." she led him to his room, roused her father and mother, telephoned for the doctor and a messenger boy, then went to her room, dressed, and wrote the telegram. she had little time to think, but the approach of death made her hands shake a little, and lent an added significance to the horrid sounds without. death had been a mere name before these last few moments; he suddenly became an actual presence stalking the storm. the bell rang. she went down to the door herself. it was the messenger boy. she gave him the telegram to despatch, and told him to return and to remain on duty all night. then she went to her uncle's room. her mother and a dishevelled maid were compounding mustard plasters and heating water. her father was huddled in an armchair, staring at the gasping form on the bed. magdaléna shuddered. his face was more terrible to look on than the sick man's. "it's pneumonia, of course," said mrs. yorba, in the hushed whisper of the sick room, although her hard voice was little more sympathetic in its lower register. "he was wet through when he came home this afternoon. i should think it had rained enough for one year." the doctor came and eased the sufferer with morphine; but he gave the watchers no hope. "he has no lungs, anyhow," he said. "this abrupt climax is rather a mercy than otherwise." magdaléna remained by the bedside during all of the next day. early in the morning a telegram came from mrs. polk, saying that she was about to start on a special train. the message was read to her husband, and he whispered to magdaléna, "i should live until she came,--if she took a week." that was the only remark he made until late in the day, when he motioned to magdaléna to bend her ear to his lips. "don't waste your youth," he whispered; and then he coloured slightly, as if ashamed of having broken the reticence of a lifetime. don roberto barely moved from the chair which commanded a view of the dying man's face. his own shrank visibly. he neither ate nor drank. his sunken terror-struck eyes seemed staring through the passing face on the high pillows into an inferno beyond. "i declare, he gives me the horrors, and i'm not a nervous woman," said mrs. yorba to her daughter. "i never could understand your father's queer ways. who would ever have thought that he could care for anyone like that? poor hiram! no one can feel worse than i do; but he has to go, and as the doctor says, this is a mercy; there's no use acting as if you had lost your last friend on earth." "perhaps that's the way papa feels; and as you say, he's not like other people." the only other person in the sick-room was colonel belmont. he came over as soon as he heard of the attack, and sat on the other side of the bed all day, when he was not attempting to make himself useful. his old comrade smiled when he entered; but mr. polk took little notice of anyone. occasionally his eyes rested with an expression of profound pity on the face of his brother-in-law: once or twice he pressed magdaléna's hand; but his attention chiefly centred on the door, although he knew that his wife could not arrive until after midnight. magdaléna went to the train to meet her aunt. it was still raining, but calmly. there was no gay and chattering crowd in market street, not even the light of a cable car flashing through the grey drizzle. magdaléna recalled the night of the fire. her inner life had undergone many upheavals since that night; even her feeling for helena was changed. and her aunt was a mere memory. at the station she left the carriage and walked along the platform as the train drew in. mrs. polk, assisted by a mexican maid, descended from the car. she was very stout, but as she approached magdaléna, it was evident that her carriage had lost nothing of majesty or grace. she kissed her niece warmly. "so good you are to come for me, _mijita_. and when rain, too--so horriblee san francisco. never i want to see again. and the uncle? how he is?" "he says he will live until you come; but he won't live long after." "poor man! i am sorry he go so soon. but all the mens die early in california now: work so hard. live very old before the americanos coming." they could talk without restraint in the carriage, for the maid did not speak english; but mrs. polk merely asked how her husband had caught cold. her fair placid face and sleepy eyes showed no print of the years. she seemed glad to see magdaléna again. "often i wish have you with me in santa barbara," she said. "but roberto is what the americanos call 'crank.' no is use asking him. santa barbara no is like in the old time, but is nice sleep place, where no have the neuralgia, and nothing to bother. then always i have the few old families that are left, and we are so friends,--see each other every day, and eat the spanish dishes. i no know any americanos; always i hating them. so thin you are, _mijita_; i wish i can take you back." but magdaléna felt no desire to go with her; her aunt seemed to belong to another life. when they reached home, mrs. polk went to mrs. yorba's room to remove her wraps and drink a cup of chocolate. she smoothed her beautiful dusky hair and arranged the old-fashioned lace about her throat, then sailed in all her languid majesty across the hall. "aunt," said magdaléna, with her hand on the door of the sick room, "will--will--you kiss uncle?" mrs. polk raised her eyebrows. "why, yes, is he wanting; but i never kiss him in my life. why now?" "he is dying, and he has wanted you more than anything." "so queer fancies the seeck people have. but i kiss him, of course." as she entered the room, mr. polk raised himself slightly and stared at her with an expression she had never seen in his young eyes. it thrilled her nerves within their mausoleum of flesh. she bent over and kissed him. "poor eeram!" she said. "so sorry i am. but you no suffer, no?" he made no reply. he sank back to his pillows; and after greeting her brother, she took a chair beside the bed and sat there until her husband died, in the ebb of the night. he held her hand, his eyes never leaving her beautiful face, never losing their hunger until the film covered them. what thoughts, what bitter regrets, what futile desires for another beginning may have moved sluggishly in that disintegrating brain, he carried with him into the magnificent vault which his widow erected on lone mountain. his will was read on the day following the funeral, in the parlour where his coffin had rested, and by the light of a solitary gas-jet. magdaléna had never heard a will read before: she hoped she might never hear another. the three women in their black gowns, the four executors and trustees in their crow-black funeral clothes,--her father, colonel belmont, mr. washington, and mr. geary,--the big rustling document with its wearisome formalities,--made a more lugubrious picture than the lonely coffin of the day before. the terms of the will were simple enough: the interest of the vast fortune was left to mrs. polk; upon her death it was to be divided between his sister and niece, the principal to go to magdaléna upon mrs. yorba's death. when mr. washington finished reading the document, don roberto spoke for the first time in four days. "i go to resign. i no will be executor or trustee. no need me, anyhow." and he would listen to no argument. the next day he called a meeting of the bank's board of directors and resigned the presidency, requesting that mr. geary, a cautious and solid man, should succeed him. his wish was gratified, and he walked out of the bank, never to enter it again. his many other interests were in the hands of trustworthy agents: neither he nor his brother-in-law had ever made a mistake in their choice of servants. when he reached home, he wrote to each of these agents demanding monthly instead of quarterly accounts. he had a bed brought down to a small room adjoining the "office," and in these two rooms he announced his intention to live henceforth. at the same time he informed his wife and daughter that their allowance hereafter would be one hundred dollars a year each, and that he would pay no bills. ah kee, who had lived with him for twenty years, would attend to the domestic supplies. then he ordered his meals brought to the office, and shut himself up. on the third day mrs. polk said to magdaléna,-- "si i stay in this house one day more, i go mad, no less. is like the dungeons in the mission. _madre de dios!_ and you living like this for years, perhaps; for roberto grow more crank all the time. come with me. i no think he know." "you may be sure that he knows everything. and i cannot leave them. shall you go back to santa barbara? don't you want to travel?" "_dios de mi alma_; no! i think i go to die on that treep from santa barbara--so jolt. i am too old to travel. once i think i like see spain; but now i only want be comfortable. well, si you change the mind and come sometime, i am delight. but i go now: feel like i am old flower wither up, without the sun." xxvi mrs. polk's large white face and throat had seemed to shed a measure of light in the dark house; when she left, the gloom seemed to get down and sit on one. helena refused to enter by the front door, and lamenting that she was too big to climb the pillar, paid her visits by way of the kitchen and back stairs. after the calls of condolence visitors came more and more rarely to the yorba house. they said it depressed them for days after, and that while there they sat in mortal terror of hearing don roberto burst out of his den with the yell of a maniac. and as for dear mrs. yorba and magdaléna, they never had had much to say, but now they had nothing. they would not drop off altogether, for the old don was bound to follow his brother-in-law in course of time, and then his widow would once more be a useful member of society. mrs. montgomery, mrs. geary, and mrs. cartright were more faithful than the others, but the affections mrs. yorba had inspired during her long and distinguished sojourn in san francisco were not very deep and warm. the girls were sorry for magdaléna, and called frequently, conquering their horror of the gloomy echoing house; but they had less to endure than their elders, for they were received in magdaléna's own sitting-room, which, although sparsely and tastelessly furnished, was always as cheerful as the weather would permit. they brought her all the gossip of the outside world, discussed the new novels with her, and occasionally induced her to spend a day with them. at the end of the winter ila was married; very grandly, in grace church. all her friends but magdaléna were bridesmaids. the omission was a serious one, and all felt that it robbed the function of a last fine finish: each of the girls had counted upon having the last of the yorbas for chief bridesmaid. magdaléna went and sat in a corner of the church and saw the first of her friends break the circle of their girlhood. her present had been very meagre: it had come out of her monthly allowance. mrs. polk was much too indolent to consider whether her niece was allowed an income suitable for her position or not, and magdaléna was much too proud to ask favours. she slipped out of the church just before the end of the ceremony, feeling like a poor relation. she rarely saw her father. occasionally she met him in the hall; he drifted past her like a ghost. mr. polk died in february. on the first of june don roberto had not been out of the house for three months, nor had he exchanged a word with his wife or daughter. "he'll blink like an owl when he does go out," said mrs. yorba. "i wonder if he remembers that it is time to go to the country?" "he never forgets anything. i'll pack his things if you like." but the day passed and the next, and don roberto gave no sign of remembering that it was time to move. then mrs. yorba drew several long breaths, went downstairs, and knocked at his door. there was no response, but she turned the knob and went in. don roberto's face was between the large pages of a ledger. he looked round with a scowl. "everything is ready to move down. are you not coming?" "no; and you no going either. letting the place." if the president of the united states had let the white house, mrs. yorba could not have been more astounded. "let fair oaks! fair oaks?" "yes." "and where are we to go this summer?" "we stay here." "robert! you cannot mean that. no one stays here in summer. the city is impossible--those trade-winds--those fogs--" "need not go out. can stay in the house." and don roberto returned to his ledger. mrs. yorba went straight to magdaléna's room, and for the first time in her daughter's experience of her, wept. "to think of spending a summer in san francisco! how i have looked forward to the summer! things are always bright and cheerful in menlo even with the house shut up, for one can sit on the verandah. but here! and not a soul in town! and the house like a prison! what in heaven's name ails your father? he's not crazy. he's reading his ledgers, and what he says is to the point, goodness knows! but i shall follow hiram if this keeps up. you're a real comfort to me, 'léna. i don't know what i should do without you." magdaléna said what she could to console her mother. the two had drawn together during these trying months. she was bitterly disappointed that she could not go to menlo park. she was tired of its efforts to amuse itself, but she could live in its woods, its soft gracious air, find companionship in the distant redwoods swimming in their dark-blue mists. the girls all invited her to visit them, but she would not leave her mother, even could her father's consent be obtained. mrs. yorba was genuinely unhappy. without mental resources, and deprived of even an occasional hour with her friends, she was further harassed by the fear that her husband would die and leave her with a pittance: he certainly appeared to hate the sight of his family. it consoled her somewhat to reflect that wills were easily broken in california. why had her brother left her nothing? with a full purse she could at least have the distractions of philanthropy. she took to novel-reading with a voracious appetite, and her taste grew so exacting that she would have nothing that was not magnificently sensational. she thought on boston with a shudder, but concluded that it was enough to have been intellectual when young. magdaléna plodded on with her work. she described the customs and manners of the old times with much accuracy, and felt that her beloved creations were rather more than puppets; and it was as much for their sake as for her own that she wanted these little histories to be triumphs of art, that they might arrest the attention of the world. alvarado and castro were great heroes to her: it was unjust and cruel that the big world outside of california should know nothing of them; to the present californian, for that matter, they were not even names. and forty years before the californias had bent to their nod! they had lived with the state of princes, and the wisdom with which the one had ruled and the other had managed his armies would have given them lasting fame had not their country then been as remote from earth's greater civilisations as had it been on jupiter. if she could only immortalise them! that would be a sufficient reason for living, compensate her for the wreck of her personal life. it might take a lifetime, but what of that if she succeeded in the end? she took long walks daily; alone, for the french maid had been dismissed long since. the walks were not pleasant, for when the sand from the outlying dunes was not swept through the city by the bitter trades, the fog was crawling into one's very marrow. and the hills were steep. sometimes she took the cable car to the end of the line, then walked to the presidio; but that brought the sand-hills nearer, and she went home with smarting eyes. protected by her window, she found beauty even in the summer mood of san francisco; and sometimes she went up into the tower of the belmont house and watched the long clouds of dust roll symmetrically down the streets of the city's valleys; or the delicate white mist ride through the golden gate to wreathe itself about the cross on calvary, then creep down the bare brown cone to press close about the tombs on lone mountain; then onward until all the city was gone under a white swinging ocean; except the points of the hills disfigured with the excrescences of the rich. into the cañons and rifts of the hills beyond the blue bay the fog crept daintily at first, hanging in festoons so light that the very trades held aloof, then advancing with a rush,--a phantom of the booming ocean whence it came. and trennahan? he made no sign. whether he were dead or alive, the victim or the captor of his old familiars, careless, or nursing an open wound, magdaléna was miserably ignorant. the time had come when she waited tensely as mails were due, feeling that an empty envelope covered with his handwriting would give her solace. she cherished no hope that he would ever return to her, but he had promised her his lasting friendship. sometimes she wondered at the cruelty of men. why should he not help her? even if he really believed in the extinction of her love, he might guess that she needed his friendship. she had yet to learn that the one thing that man never gives to woman is spiritual help. helena wrote that her father was so anxious for her to marry alan rush that she was officially engaged to that much-enduring youth and really liked him. menlo park was the same as ever; not so gay as last year, but the same in quality. no one had called on the lessees of fair oaks. they were new people whom nobody knew, and it would be horrid to go there, anyhow. caro was engaged to marry an englishman who had bought a grape-ranch some twenty miles from menlo. tiny was prettier and more bored than usual. rose wrote that she certainly could not stand another summer of menlo and should go east in the autumn. ila wrote from paris, london, and homburg that life was quite perfect. it was so interesting to be named washington,--everybody stared so; as the english had never read a line of united states history, they thought her george was a lineal descendant of the immortal head of his house; and she had thirty-two trunks of paris clothes and ever so many men in love with her. and magdaléna lived this life for three years. its monotony was broken by one event only. xxvii during the winter following mr. polk's death, colonel belmont was driving his coach along the beach beyond the park one afternoon when helena, who sat beside him, saw him give a long shudder, then huddle. she grasped the reins of the four swiftly trotting horses and spoke over her shoulder to alan rush. "pull my father up to the top," she said. rush did as he was bid, and the body of colonel belmont was laid out between the two rows of young people, whose gaiety had frozen to horror. "now take the reins," said helena. rush took the reins. helena followed her father swiftly and stooped to take his head in her arms. but she dropped her ear to his lips instead, then to his heart. for a moment longer she stared at him, while the others waited for the outburst. but she returned to the front seat, and caught the reins from rush's hands. "i must do something," she said; and he knew better than to answer her, or even to look at her. it was some time before she could turn the horses, and then she was several miles from home. she drove with steady hands; but when they had reached the house and rush lifted her down, she was trembling violently. she pushed him aside. "go and get magdaléna," she said. magdaléna remained with her a week. this was helena's first real grief, and there was nothing cyclonic about it. "i'll never get over it," she said. "never! and i'll never be quite the same again. of course i don't mean that i'll have this awful sense of bereavement and keep on crying all my life: i know better than that; but i could never forget him, nor forget to wish i still had him, if i lived to be a hundred. if i had anything to reproach myself for--anything serious--i believe i'd go off my head; but i _was_ good to him; and i am sure mamma never could have taken better care of him than i did. when he was under doctor's orders i gave him every drop of the medicine myself, and i never would let him eat a thing i thought wouldn't agree with him. he used to say his life was a burden, poor darling, but i know he liked it. and who knows?--if i hadn't watched him so, he might not have lived as long as he did. that is my one consolation.... this terrible grief makes everything else seem so paltry; i could not even think of being engaged to alan rush any longer. poor fellow! i feel sorry for him, but i can't play for a long time to come. as for papa's wishes in the matter, mr. geary and mr. washington will take care of my money, and i am quite able to take care of myself. if papa is near me now, he will understand how i feel, and agree with me. i wish i had some heroic destiny. why has the united states ceased to make history? i'd like to play some great part. papa used to say there was bound to be another upheaval some day, but i'm afraid it won't be in my time." "it may," replied magdaléna. "there's a good deal of history-making, quiet and noisy, going on all the time. i've been reading the newspapers this last year. they're horrid sensational things, but i manage to get a few ideas from them. no one can tell what may happen ten years hence. you may have a chance to be the heroine of a revolution yet." "i'm afraid i'll never be anything but a belle, and i'm tired of that already, although i never could stand being shelved. but if there is a revolution during my life i'll be a factor in it. just you remember that." "i really do believe that you were intended for something extraordinary." "i believe i was. that's the reason i'm so restless and dramatic. i don't feel as if i ever could be so again, though,--not for ages, anyhow." the old close and affectionate intimacy between the two girls was restored during that week. at its end helena went east to visit her aunt, mrs. forbes. she was the untrammelled mistress of something under a million dollars; and as her private car, filled with flowers, bonbons, and books, pulled away from a sorrowing crowd of friends on the oakland side of the ferry, it must be confessed she reflected that the future would appear several shades darker if she were arranging her belongings in a half-section, a small quarterly allowance in her pocket. nevertheless colonel belmont had his reward. his daughter's grief was deep and lasting; and perhaps he knew. xxviii caro married her englishman, and on a thriving grape-farm entertained other englishmen. rose went east and triumphantly captured a baltimorean of distinguished lineage and depleted exchequer. tiny went to europe again. magdaléna was practically alone. her father still lived in his two rooms downstairs and never spoke to anyone but ah kee. once he forgot to close his study door, and magdaléna, who happened to be passing, paused and looked at him. his face had shrunken and was crossed with a thousand fine and eccentric lines; like the palm of a man singled out for a career of trouble. he had let his hair and beard grow, and he looked uncouth and dirty. mrs. yorba still read novels. she no longer paid calls, for her allowance, now reduced to fifty dollars a year, was quite inadequate to meet the requirements of a dignified member of society. she received her few intimate and faithful friends in her bedroom; the first floor was never dusted nor aired. the house smelt musty and deserted; the lower rooms were as cold and damp as underground caverns; the spiders spun unheeded; when the front door was opened, the festoons in the hall swung like hammocks. even the gloom of the house seemed to accentuate with the years. magdaléna wondered if the inside of the old polk house looked any more haunted than this; and even the belmont house was acquiring an expression of pathos, peculiar to desertion in old age. magdaléna fancied that the three houses must be pointed out to visitors as the sarcophagi of the futile ambitions of three californian millionaires. in her own rooms she toiled on, absorbed in her work, loving it with the beggared passion of her nature, experiencing two or three moments of creative ecstasy and many hours of dull discouragement. she wrote her stories and rewrote them; then again, and again. her critical faculty took long strides ahead of her creative power, and she rarely ceased to be uneasy at the disparity between her work and her ideals. but trennahan had said that it would be ten years before she could attain excellence, and she was willing to serve a harder apprenticeship than this. had it not been for her work and the books of those who had climbed the heights and slept beneath the stars, she might have become morbid and melancholy in her unnatural surroundings. but although the monotony of her life was never broken by a day in the country, she had always the beauty of bay and hill and sky beyond her window; and there are certain months in the spring and autumn when san francisco is as lovely and brilliant as the southern shores of california. the trades are hibernating in the caves of the pacific, and the fogs exist only in the spray of the ponderous waves. on such days and evenings magdaléna sat for hours on her little balcony, forgetting her work, dreaming idly. it was inevitable, in her purely mental and imaginative life, that she should apprehend in trennahan the lover again. she wove her own romance as ardently and consecutively as that of any of her heroines. in time he would forget helena; his love for her had been one of those sudden insane passions of which she had read,--which she tried to depict in her southland tales,--and in time it would fall from him, and he would hear the tinkle of the chain forged in long hours of perfect sympathy. they would both be older and wiser and more sad: the better, perhaps. loneliness and the peculiar circumstances of her life inclined her to borderland sympathies; she believed that if he died suddenly she should become immediately aware of the fact. her love for trennahan by no means interfered with her literary ambitions. all others had failed her; she knew now that with the best of opportunities she should never have cut a brilliant figure in society. but she did not care; letters were a far more glorious goal. helena adored great military heroes, great imperialists like clive and hastings, even great tyrants like napoleon. herself reverenced the great names in literature, and could think of no destiny so exalted as to be enrolled among them. and if she succeeded, what would have mattered these long years of dull loneliness, of denial of all that is dear to the heart of a girl? sometimes she even thought the tarrying of trennahan mattered little; for there is no tyrant so jealous as art. once she read her stories aloud to her mother; and mrs. yorba was pleased to observe that they were much better than she could have expected, but that on the whole she preferred "the duchess." she had grown quite fond of her daughter, and often sat in her room while she wrote. the intimacy and isolation of the two women had made it easy and natural for magdaléna to confide in her mother, but she was forced to confess that she had not inherited her critical faculty from her maternal parent. nevertheless, she was glad of the meagre encouragement and plodded on. xxix it was early in the fourth year that henry james swooped down upon san francisco. he arrived in the train of helena's triumphant return, under her especial patronage. not that a few choice spirits in california had not discovered james for themselves long since; but james as a definite entity, known and approved by society, awaited the second advent of helena. he immediately became the fad; rather, society split into two factions and was threatened with disruption. one young woman of the disapproving camp even went so far as to call an ardent advocate a "henry james fool." all of which was doubtless due to the fact that the traditions of action still lingered in california. strangely enough, tiny, who returned almost immediately after helena, was one of the first to take mr. james under her small but determined wing. she regarded well-read people as an unnecessary bore, and ambition of any sort as unsuited to the land of the poppy, but she had a feminine faith in exceptions, and joined the cult with something like enthusiasm. it was she who introduced him to magdaléna. magdaléna cared nothing for american latter-day authors, and gave no heed to helena's emphatic approval of mr. james. in fact, she and helena had so much else to talk about that they found little leisure for books. helena had been abroad again, and the belle of a winter in washington. she was more beautiful than ever, and, although somewhat subdued, was full of plans for the future. her first ball--she arrived at the end of the winter season--determined that her supremacy, socially and sentimentally, was unshaken. immediately after, she bought an old spanish house in the northern redwoods and provided new surprises for her little world. but there is no more room for helena in this chronicle. perhaps, if history shapes itself around her, she may one day have a chronicle to herself. tiny called on magdaléna one afternoon with two volumes of henry james under her arm. she took to her toes as the front door closed, and ran down the long hall and up the stair to magdaléna's room. "i feel like a book agent," she said, trying not to pant, and hoping magdaléna would go down to the door with her when she left. "but you really must read him, 'léna. he's so fascinating: i think it's because nothing ever happens, and that's so like life. i think i must always have felt henry jamesish, and it seems to me that he is singularly like menlo,--when helena is not there,--just jogging along in aristocratic seclusion punctuated by the epigrams of rose and eugene fort. i'm sure mr. james could, write a novel of menlo park; he just revels in irradiating nothing with genius. there! i feel so guilty, for i really do love menlo,--with intervals of europe,--but i've been visiting rose, and i'm afraid i'm plagiarising a little; you know i'm not one bit clever. only i really feel so when i read mr. james. and he'll be such company in menlo this summer. just think, i shall be all alone there, when i'm not visiting helena or caro. is--is--" she glanced about fearfully--"is there no hope of dear don roberto relenting?" "i am afraid not. but it is such a comfort to have you back. i heard you were engaged--to an englishman, or something?" tiny blushed. she was on her way to a tea, and looked exquisitely pretty in a fawn-coloured _crêpe de chine_ embroidered with wild roses, and a bonnet of pink tulle crushed about her face. magdaléna wondered why some man had not married her out of hand, then reflected that tiny was likely to dispose of her own future. "i'm not quite sure," said miss montgomery, looking innocently at a lithograph of the virgin which still decorated the wall. "you see, he has a title, and it's so commonplace to marry a title. but if i decide to, i'll let you know the very first." shortly after she went away--and left magdaléna alone with henry james. she took up one of the volumes. as she did so, something stirred in the cellars of her mind--beat its stiff wings against the narrow walls--struggled forward and upward. she stood on the porch in the late evening: alone in a fog. her young mind opened to literary desire--preceding it was a swift disturbing presentiment; it had recurred once, and again--but not for several years. what did it mean, here again? and what had henry james to do with it? she dropped into a chair. her hands trembled as they opened the book. xxx it was a week before she squarely faced the relation of henry james to her own ambitions. then she admitted it in so many words: she could not write, she never could write. the writers who were dust had inspired her to emulation; it took a great contemporary to bring her despair. it is only the living enemies we fear; the dead and their past are beautiful unrealities to the smarting ego. magdaléna realised for the first time the exact value she had placed upon the art of expression,--a value that was in inverse ratio to her limitations. literature to her was, above all else, the art of words. stories were to be picked up anywhere: had she not found a number ready to her hand? the creative faculty might, in its unique development, be something supremer still, although crippled without the perfected medium of this writer, who seemed above all writers to be the master and not the servant of words. she re-read her own efforts. they represented the hard thought and work of six years; not a great span, perhaps, but long enough to determine the promise of a faculty. the stories were wooden. her work would always be wooden. there was not a phrase to delight the cultivated reader, not a line that any moderately clever person, given the same material, might not have written. after as many more years of labour she might become a praiseworthy writer of the third rank. she put her manuscripts in the fire. after that, life turned grey indeed. her imagination might have gone into the flames with the stories, for her illusions about trennahan fell to ashes coincidently. she no longer believed that he would return, that he would even write demanding her friendship. she could hardly recall his face; the sound of his voice was gone from her. indubitably he had forgotten her long since. why not? she had ascended above the rosy stratum of youth, where delusions were possible. then began a long struggle against despair and its terrible consequences. it was a summer of raging trades which seemed to lift the sand dunes from their foundations and hurl them through the choking city. she could take little exercise. the library was her only resource, but one can read only so many hours a day. if she could but travel, as helena did, when anything went wrong! or if her uncle had only left her an income that she could expend in charity! her sympathy for the poor had never ebbed, and she would have gladly spent her life in their service, although she doubted if they were more miserable than herself. it was true that she had enough to eat, a roof to her head, and clothes to wear,--extremely plain clothes; but that was all. a nun or a prisoner had as much. there were times when she was threatened with a consuming hatred of life, and then she fled out into the dust and battled with the storms within and without; for her ideals were all that were left her. she knew the ugly potentialities in the depths of her ill-compounded nature: the day she ceased to be true to herself there would be a tragedy in that dark house on the hill. sometimes she wondered toward what end she was persevering, striving to perfect the better part of her. a quarter of a century or more of meaningless earthly existence? a controvertible hereafter? but she ceased to analyse, knowing that it could lead nowhere until the human mind ceased to be human. and one day, in the end of the summer, she lost her grip on herself. for three days the trade-winds had raged; she had not been able to leave the house. twice she had set forth, desperate with the nervous monotony of her hours, and been driven back by the blinding dust. it was on the third day that she happened to catch sight of herself in the glass. she saw her face plainer than ever, but her attention passed suddenly to her shoulders and rested there. they were bent. her carriage was dejected, apathetic. the sluggish tide mounted slowly to her face as she realised that this physical manner must have fallen upon her gradually, and been worn for some time; and its significance. she made an effort to reassume her old erect haughty poise, which had been partly the manifest of inherent pride, partly of half-acknowledged defiance of the beauty-worship of the world. her shoulders sank before the spine had risen to its perpendicular. what did it matter? again she experienced that disintegration of will which once had left her at the mercy of that instinct for destruction which is one of the essential particles of the ego. her brain was almost torpid. the want of exhilarating exercise, the long dearth of companionship, the terrible monotony of her life, the restless nights, the dank gloomy atmosphere in which she had her perpetual being, were, she told herself dully, doing their work. and she did not care. but if her brain was sodden, her nerves felt as if on the verge of explosion. she noticed that her hands were not steady, and sat for hours, wondering what was coming upon her. she cared less and less. ah kee tapped at her door. she replied that she did not want any dinner, loathing the unvarying bill-of-fare. the hours dragged on, and darkness came; but she did not light the gas, whose jet was but a feeble point in these times, hardly worth the waste of a match. she strained her ears, fancied she heard whisperings in the hall below. if san francisco's skeletons really were down there, she wished they would go in and throttle her father. he was the author of all her misery; and was any woman on earth so miserable as she? why should he live, exist down there like a beast in his cave, when his death would give her liberty?--a poignant happiness in itself. she wondered did she kill him should she be hanged? they rarely hanged anybody in california, never when there was gold to rattle contemptuously in the face of the law; why should she not deliver her mother and herself? they would both be in an asylum for the mad, or dead before their time, unless he went soon; and their lives were of several times more value than his. they, at least, had ruined the lives of no one, and with his hoarded unsavoury millions they would gladly do good to hundreds. she tiptoed out into the hall, and leaned over the circular railing, and peered down into the space below. only an old-fashioned waxen taper burned in a cup of oil; it emitted a feeble and ghostly light. the large webs of the spiders quivered in a draught. they assumed strange distorted shapes and seemed to point long fingers at her father's door. they are the ghosts that once animated the skeletons, she thought; and they think it time he joined them. she stood there for a long while, her eyes narrowed in a hard searching regard; the trembling gloom with the tiny sallow flame in its middle suggested the purgatory of imaginative artists. should she go down and thrust the dagger into his neck? her thoughts were torn apart by the abrupt loud shouts of the wind. she wondered if there were such winds anywhere else on earth, or if this were the voice of some fiend prisoned in the pacific,--the spouse whom california had taken to her arms when the fires in her body were hewing and shattering and rehewing her, and divorced in an after-desire for beauty and peace. magdaléna went back to her room and turned the key in the drawer which contained the dagger. "i must get out of this house," she said aloud, with the sensation of dragging her will from the depths of her brain and shaking it back to life. "if i don't, i'll be in an asylum to-morrow. something is certainly wrong in my head." she put on her jacket and hat with trembling fingers. her nerves seemed fighting their way through her skin. her ears were humming. something had begun to pound in her brain. she ran downstairs and let herself out, averting her eyes from her father's door. her fingers were rigid, and curved. as she reached the sidewalk, a squall caught and nearly carried her off her feet. it bellied her skirts and loosened her hair. she lost her breath and regained it with difficulty; she could hardly steer herself. but the wind filled her with a sudden wild exaltation, not of the soul, but of the worst of her passions,--those tangled, fighting, sternly governed passions of the cross-breed. she cursed aloud. she let fly all the maledictions, english and spanish, of which she had knowledge. the street was deserted. she raised her voice and pierced the gale, the furious energy of her words hissing like escaping steam. she raised her voice still higher and shrieked her profane arraignment of all things mundane in a final ecstasy of nervous abandonment. when the passion and its voice were exhausted, her obsession had passed. her head felt lighter, the danger of congestion was over; but her protest was the keener and bitterer. her father's life was safe in her hands, but she had no desire to return to his house. she determined to walk until morning, and to drift, rudderless, in the great sea of the night. she caught her skirts close to her body and walked rapidly to the brow of the hill. the twinkling lights were all below. the wrack of cloud torn by the wind into a thousand flapping sails skurried across a sky which the hidden moon patched with a hard angry silver. far away and high in the storm the great cross on calvary seemed dancing an inebriated jig above the ghostly tombs of lone mountain. magdaléna walked rapidly down the hill. once or twice she paused before a house and stared at it. what secrets did it hold? what skeletons? were any within so desperate as she? why did they not come out and shriek with the storm? she pictured a sudden obsession of san francisco: every door simultaneously flung open, every wretched inmate rushing forth to scream his protest against the injustice of life into the ecstatic fury of the elements. high on a terrace, or rather an unlevelled angle of the hill, and reached by a long rickety flight of steps, was an old ugly wooden house. it was unpainted; the shutters were shaking on their rusty hinges; the chimneys had been blown off long since; but it had cost much gold in its time. it had been the home of a "forty-niner," and he was dead and forgotten, his dust as easily accounted for as his winged gold. doubtless every room had its patient skeleton, grinning eternally at the yellow lust of man. as she passed dupont street, she paused again and regarded it steadily. sheltered in the steep hillside, it took no note of the storm; its sidewalks were not empty, and its windows were broken bars of light. magdaléna wondered if the painted creatures talking volubly behind the shutters were not happier and more normal than she. they were the rejected of their native boulevards, beyond a doubt, but they were free in their way, and they certainly were alive. i am nothing, she thought; neither to myself, nor to any one else. i wonder will the wind blow me in there some night? what if it does? but when a man started toward her with manifest intent to speak, she fled down the hill. when she reached kearney street she turned without hesitation to the left, and walked toward those regions which are associated in the minds of every san franciscan with lawlessness and crime. she had given a swift glance to the right before turning; the region of respectable shops and fashionable promenade was as black as a tunnel; the eccentric economy of the city forbade the light of street lamps when the moon was out, whether clouds accompanied her or not. ahead was a line of lights twisting and leaping in the wind,--the vagrant gas-jets before the row of cheap shops on the east side of the plaza. magdaléna hardly glanced at the medley of curious wares and faces as she hurried past; the wind was roaring about the open square, interfering with sight and hearing and headway. and beyond--her blood leaped to that mysterious disreputable region. she left the plaza and passing under the shelter of the heights upon which stood her home slackened her steps. there was a discordant crash of music in the crowded streets. light was streaming from music-halls, above and below stairs, and from restaurants and saloons. but everybody seemed to be on the sidewalks. it was a strange crowd, and magdaléna forgot herself for the moment: she had entered a new world, and her tortured soul lagged behind. the riff-raff of the world was moving there, and when not apathetic they took their pleasures with drawn brows and eyes alert for a fight; but the only types magdaléna recognised were the drunken sailors and the occasional blank-faced chinaman who had strayed down from his quarter on the hill. there were dark-faced men who were doubtless french and italian; what their calling was, no outsider could guess, but that it was evil no man could doubt; and there were many whose nationality had long since become as inarticulate as such soul they may have been born with. many looked anæmic and consumptive, but the majority were highly coloured and frankly drunk. and if the men were forbidding, the women were appalling. there was no attempt at smartness in their attire; they were dowdy and frowsy, and even the young faces were old. the din of voices, the medley of tongues and faces, the crash of music, the poisoned atmosphere, confused magdaléna, and she turned precipitately into a restaurant. it was almost empty; she sat down before a dirty table and ordered a cup of coffee. the only waiter in attendance--the rest were probably in the street--was old and bleared of eye, but he stared hard at the new customer. "you'd better git out of this," he said, as magdaléna finished her unpleasant draught. "you ain't pretty, but you're a lady, and they don't understand that sort here. have you got much money with you?" "about a dollar, and i certainly do not give the impression of wealth. most nursery maids are better dressed." "you'd better git out, all the same." but the strong coffee had gone to magdaléna's head, and she cared little what became of her. nevertheless, a moment later she was shrieking and struggling in the arms of a big golden-bearded russian. she barely grasped the sense of what followed. there was a volley of screams and laughter; the man was cursing and gripping her with the arms of a grizzly. then there was a flash of knives, and she was stumbling headlong through the crowd, hooted at and buffeted. but no one attempted to stop her, for a fight with bowie-knives was more interesting than a sallow-faced girl who had happened upon foreign territory. she ran up a dark side-street, and then, as her breath gave out and forced her to moderate her pace, she glanced repeatedly over her shoulder. no one was in pursuit, but it was some moments before she realised that it was not relief she experienced, but something akin to disappointment. she was in the ugliest mood of which her nature was capable, and that was saying much. with one exception, better forgotten, this blond ruffian who had insulted her was the only man who had ever desired her; doubtless, she reflected bitterly, even trennahan might be excepted. and when an unprepossessing woman of starved affections and implacably controlled passions sees desire in the eyes of a man for the first time, her vanity of sex responds, if her passions do not. she half turned back and stood looking down the hill to the brilliant noisy street. why should i not go back and live with him, and disappear from a world which takes no interest in me, and in which i am no earthly use? she thought. and no life could be worse than mine, nor more immoral, for that matter. i have never fulfilled a single one of the conditions for which woman was born, and i'd be more normal as that man's mistress, and less unhappy even if he beat me, which he probably would, than living the life of a blind mole underground. then she wondered who her deliverer was, and wondered if he too had wanted her. some portion of the blackness in her soul receded suddenly, and she smiled and trembled slightly. involuntarily her back straightened, and she lifted her head. but with the sudden rush of sexual pride the magnetism of its creators receded, and she turned her back on the flare below and continued to mount the hill. in a moment she turned into a badly lighted alley thinly peopled. here there was but a tinkle of music, and it came from the guitar. fat old women with black shawls pinned about their heads sat on the doorsteps of ramshackle houses talking to men whose flannel shirts revealed hairy chests. the women looked stupid, the men weather-beaten, but the prevailing expression was good-natured. in the middle of the street was a tamale stand surrounded by patrons. the aroma of highly seasoned cooking came from a restaurant at the foot of a rickety flight of steps. every dilapidated window had its flower-box. this, then, was spanish town. magdaléna had dreamed of it often, picturing it a blaze of colour, a moving picture-book, crowded with beautiful girls and handsome gaily attired men. there was not a young person to be seen. nothing could be less picturesque, more sordid. an old crone with a face like a withered apple followed her, whining for a nickel. the others stared at her with the stolid dignity of their race. she gave the woman the nickel and interrupted the invocation. "are there no girls here?" "girl come from other place sometimes, then have the baby and is old queeck. si the señorita stay here, she have the baby and grow old too." magdaléna hastened on. she neither knew nor cared where she went, but after a time struck down the slope again, judging that she was beyond the centre of social activity. once, at the corner of two sharply converging streets, she passed a house whose lighted windows were open, for the wind had gone and the night was hot. but she only stood for a moment. fat mexican women half dressed were lolling about, and the front door was open to many men. the women were not as evil appearing as the french dregs of dupont street, possibly because they wore flowers in their hair and looked more frankly sensual and less commercial. again magdaléna felt an almost irresistible attraction, but hastened on. once, in a dark street, she was flung against a wall and her pockets turned inside out, but she made no protest and was allowed to go without further indignity. it was a woman who had robbed her, and magdaléna, having come off with the mere loss of seventy cents, indulged in a pleasurable thrill of adventure. after a time she found herself climbing a steep hill and felt a sudden desire to reach the top, and that the climb should be a long one. here and there she passed a tumble-down house, but the rest of the hill under the brilliant moon showed bare and brown. from the other side came the sound of lapping waves, and she knew herself to be on telegraph hill. she reached the top and sat down on the ground. the clouds had flown with the wind, and the moon revealed the quiet bay and the black masses of cliff and hill and mountain beyond. an occasional gust made a loud clatter in the rigging of the many crafts below, or an angry shout arose from the water-front; but otherwise the night from the summit of telegraph hill was peaceful and most beautiful. magdaléna, who loved nature and had yielded to its influence many times in her life, made a deliberate attempt to absorb the peace and beauty of the night into her own scarred and troubled soul. but she gave up the attempt in a few moments. the fierceness of her mood had passed, and some of its blackness, but she was still bitter and hopeless. there was nothing to do but to face the problem of her life, and thinking was easier on these altitudes, where the air was fresh and salt, and the stars seemed close, than in the ill-ventilated prison which she called her home. she determined to remain until morning and to restore her brain to its normal condition, if possible. she looked back upon the mental and moral inertia into which she had sunken during the past month, and its sequence of morbid and criminal instinct, with terror and horror. before an hour had passed, she had herself in hand once more, for she had deliberately forced herself to face her own soul, and she believed that she could put her character together again and accept the future without further luxation or debility of will. but she made no attempt to close her eyes to the ugly fact that in that future of interminable years there were only two small stars of hope; and it required an effort of imagination to drag them above the horizon,--her father's death and the return of trennahan. her father belonged to a long-lived race, and trennahan during an absence of three years and some months had given no indication that he remembered her existence; moreover, he had gone into exile for love of another woman. but without the faint white twinkle of those stars the future would be not a blank, but an infernal abyss, which magdaléna, without the society of her kind, without talent, without occupation, without religion, refused to contemplate. and she had all a woman's capacity for fooling herself with the will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination. her eyes had been clear and her logic relentless so long as the man had been within sight and touch, but his absence, combined with his abrupt and final eviction from the toils of the other woman, had lifted him from practical life into the realms of the imagination; in other words, he was no longer so much a man as an ideal,--a soul whom her own soul was free to await or pursue in that inner world where realities are bodiless and forgotten. she longed for the old comfortable irresponsible sensuous embrace of the church of rome. its lightest touch was hypnotic, its very breath a balm. why, she wondered bitterly, could she not have been given less brains, or more? if her talents had been genuine, she would have had that magnificent independence of religion and worldly conditions which only art--and love--can create in the human mind. and if her logic had been a trifle less relentless, she would have had hours of ecstatic forgetfulness these last long years. of course there was always the almighty power to whom one could pray, and who certainly could grant prayer if he chose. but it seemed to her an impertinence for ordinary insignificant beings to importune this remote and absolute god, so forbidding in his monotonous mystery. she had all the arrogance of intellect despite her remorseless limitations. had she been granted the gift of creation,--in other words, a spark from the great creative force commanding the universe,--she felt that she should have no hesitation in begging for further favours; a certain sense of kinship, of being in higher favour than the great congested mass, would have given her assurance and faith. she sighed for a new religion, for that prophet who must one day arise and rid the world of the abomination of dogma and sect, giving to the groping millions a simple belief, in which the fussiness, sentimentality, and cruelty of present religions would have no place. she sat there until the dawn came, grey and appalling at first, then touching the bay and the dark heights with delicate colour, as the sun struggled out of the embrace of the ocean. she was obliged to walk home, as she had no money, and the long toilsome tramp in the wake of the eventful night gave her appetite and many hours of rest. when she awoke she felt that, whatever came, the most formidable crisis of her life had been safely passed. xxxi in the autumn she found an occupation which gave her a temporary place in the scheme of things. mrs. yorba fell ill. the sudden and complete change from a personage to a nobody, the long confinement,--she rarely put her foot outside the house lest her shabby clothes be remarked upon,--and a four years' course of sensational novels induced a nervous distemper. magdaléna, hearing the sound of pacing footsteps in the hall one night, arose and opened her door. mrs. yorba, arrayed in a red flannel nightgown and a frilled nightcap, was walking rapidly up and down, talking to herself. magdaléna persuaded her to go to bed, and the next morning sent for the doctor. he prescribed an immediate change of scene,--travel, if possible; if not, the country. magdaléna undertook to carry the message to her father. knowing that a knock would evoke no response, she opened the door of the study and went in. don roberto, dirty, unshaven, looked like a wild man in a mountain cave; but his eyes were steady enough. his table and the floor about his chair were piled high with ledgers. on everything else the dust was inches thick, and the spiders had spun a shimmering web across one side of the room. it hung from the gas-rod like a piece of fairy tapestry, woven with red and gold here and there, where the sun's rays, scattering through the slats of the inside blinds, caressed it. on the mantel-piece, supported on its broken staff, was the big american flag which had floated above the house of don roberto yorba for thirty years. it had been carefully washed, and although broken bits of spiders' weavings hung to its edges, there were none on its surface. magdaléna felt no desire to kiss her parent, although it was the first time for several years that she had stood in his presence. she disliked and despised him, and thought no less of herself for her repudiation. if she, a young, inexperienced, and lonely woman, could fight and conquer morbid fancies, why not he, who had been counted one of the keenest financial brains of the country? she felt thoroughly ashamed of her progenitor as she stood looking down upon the little dirty shrunken shambling figure. "well?" growled don roberto, "what you want?" "my mother is very ill. this life is killing her. the doctor says she must have a change." "all go to die sometime. what difference now or bimeby?" "will you let us go to santa barbara to visit aunt?" "si she send you the moneys, i no care what you do with it. i no give you one cents." "very well; i shall ask my aunt." but mrs. yorba declared that she would not go to santa barbara: she detested her sister-in-law, and would accept no favours from her, nor be forced into her society. there was nothing for magdaléna to do but to nurse her, and a most exasperating invalid she proved. nevertheless, magdaléna, although a part of her duties was to read her mother's favourite literature aloud by the hour, was almost grateful for the change. she seldom found time for her daily walk, but at least she had little time to think. when mrs. montgomery, mrs. geary, and mrs. brannan returned to town, they came frequently to sit with the invalid, and cheered her somewhat with talk of the coming summer, when they should take her down to their own houses in menlo. "and i shall go," said mrs. yorba to her daughter, "if i _haven't_ a decent rag to my back. they think nothing of that; i was a fool not to go before. and i'm going to get well--against the time when that old fiend dies. there! i never thought i'd say that, for i was brought up in the fear of the lord, but saying it is little different from thinking it, after all. i've been thinking it for two solid years. california's not new england, anyhow. when i do get the money, won't i scatter it! i've been economical all my life, for i had it in my blood, and it was my duty, as your father wished it; as long as he did his duty by me, i was more than willing to do mine by him: he can't deny it. but we all know what reaction means, and it has set in in me. when i am my own mistress, i'll give three balls and two dinners a week. i'll have the finest carriages and horses ever seen in california. i'll have four trousseaux a year from paris, and i'll go to new york myself and buy the most magnificent diamonds tiffany's got. i'll refurnish this house and fair oaks. the walls shall be frescoed, and every stick in them will come from new york--" she paused abruptly, springing to her elbow. the door was ajar. through the aperture came a long low chuckle. magdaléna jumped to her feet, flung the door to, and locked it. "do you think he's gone mad at last?" gasped mrs. yorba. "it sounded like it." "for heaven's sake, don't leave me for a minute. you must sleep here at night. there's a cot somewhere,--in the attic, i think, if the rats haven't eaten it. what a life to live!" she fell to weeping, as she frequently did in these days. suddenly her face brightened. "if he should make a will disinheriting us, we could easily enough prove him insane after the way he's been acting these four years. thank heaven, this is california! general william could break any will that ever was made." mrs. yorba took an opiate and fell asleep. magdaléna went out, locking the door behind her. she determined to ascertain at once if her father was insane. if he was, he should be confined in two of the upper rooms with a keeper. the world should know nothing of his misfortune; but it would be absurd for herself and her mother to live in a constant state of physical terror. as she descended the stair, the door of her father's study opened abruptly and a man shot out as if violently propelled from behind. the door was slammed to immediately. magdaléna ran downstairs and toward the stranger. he was a tall man greatly bowed, and as she approached him she saw that he was old and wore a long white beard. his head was large and suggested nobility and intellect; but the eyes were bleared, the flesh of the face loose and discoloured, and he was shabby and dirty. he looked like a fallen king. "was--was--my father rude?" asked magdaléna. "he is not very well. perhaps i can do something." the man appealed to her strangely, and she had a dollar in her purse. "we were great friends in our boyhood and youth," replied the stranger. he spoke with an accent, but his english was unbroken. "and he has been my guest many times. there was a time when he thought it an honour to know me. when the americans came, everything changed. my career closed, for i would have nothing to do with them. i had held the highest offices under the mexican government. i could not stoop to hold office under the usurpers--many of whom i would not have employed as servants. then they took my lands,--everything. but i am detaining you, señorita." "oh, no, no, indeed! how could they take your lands? who are you? tell me everything." "they 'squatted,' many of them, almost up to my door. the only law we could appeal to was american law, and california was a hell of sharpers at that time. it is bad enough now, but it was worse then. and then came the great drought of ' , in which we lost all our cattle. we never recovered from that, for we mortgaged our lands to the americans to get money to live on with,--everything was three prices then; and when the time came they foreclosed, for we never had the money to pay. and we were great gamblers, señorita, and so were the americans--and far better ones than we were. we were only made for pleasure and plenty, to live the life of grandees who had little use for money, and scorned it. when the time came for us to pit ourselves against sordid people, we crumbled like old bones. your father has been very fortunate: he had a clever man to teach him to circumvent other clever men. years ago, when i was prouder than i am now, i put my pride in my pocket and wrote, asking him for help. i wanted a small sum to pay off the mortgage on a ranchita, upon which i might have ended my days in peace, for it was very productive. he never answered. to-day i came to ask him for money to buy bread. he roared at me like a bull, and vowed he'd blow my brains out if i ever entered his house again. he looks like--" he paused abruptly. there was much of the old-time courtliness in his manner. "i--i--am so sorry. and i have little money to spend. if you will leave me your name and address, i will send you something on the first of each month; and if--if ever i have more i will take care of you--of all of you. i suppose there are many others." "there are indeed, señorita." "some day i will ask you for all of their names. and yours?" he gave it. it was a name famous in the brief history of old california,--a name which had stood for splendid hospitality, for state and magnificence, for power and glory. it was the name of one of her beloved heroes. she had written his youthful romance; she had described the picturesque fervour of his wooing, the pomp of his wedding; of all those heroes he had been the best beloved, the most splendid. and she met him,--a broken-down old drunkard, in the dusty gloom of an old maniac's wooden "palace," in the fashionable quarter of a city which had never heard his name. "o god!" she said. "o god!" and she was glad that she had burned her manuscripts. she took the dollar from her pocket and gave it to him. he accepted it eagerly. "god bless you, señorita!" he said. "and you can always hear of me at the yosemite saloon, castroville." he passed out, neglecting to shut the door behind him, but magdaléna did not notice the unaccustomed rift of light. she sank into a chair against the wall and wept heavily. they were the last tears she shed over her fallen idols. when the wave had broken, she reflected that she was glad to know of the distress of her people; it should be her lifework to help them. when she came to her own she would buy them each a little ranch and see that they passed the rest of their lives in comfort. she leaned forward and listened intently. loud mutterings proceeded from her father's room. she wondered if there was a policeman in the street. she and her mother were very unprotected. the only man in the house besides her father was the chinaman, and chinamen are as indifferent to the lives of others as to their own. don roberto had ordered the telephone and messenger call removed years ago. the sounds rose to a higher register. magdaléna, straining her ears, heard, delivered in rapid defiant tones, the familiar national cry, "hip-hip-hooray!" she went over softly, and put her ear to the thick door. the tones of the old man's voice were broken, as if by muscular exertion, and accompanied by a curious bumping. magdaléna understood in a moment. he was striding up and down the room, waving the american flag, and shouting, "hip-hip-hooray! hip-hip-_hooray_! hoo_ray_! hoo_ray_! hoo_ray_!" she ran down the hall to summon ah kee and send him for a doctor, but before she reached the bell she heard the front door close, and turned swiftly. a man had entered. she went forward in some indignation. so deep was the gloom of the hall that she could distinguish nothing beyond the facts that the intruder was tall and slight, and that he wore a light suit of clothes. when she had approached within a few feet of him, she saw that he was trennahan. for the moment she thought it was the soul of the man, so ghostly he looked in that dim light, in that large silence. his first remark was reassuring: "i rang twice; but as no one came, and the door was open, i walked in,--as you see." "we have so few servants now. won't you come and sit down?" he followed her down to the reception-room. she jerked aside the curtains, careless of the bad house-keeping the light would reveal. it streamed in upon him. he was deeply tanned and indescribably improved. they sat down opposite each other. magdaléna, recalling her tears, placed her chair against the light. "when did you get back?" she asked. "the ship docked an hour ago." "you look very well. have you been enjoying yourself?" "i have been occupied, and useful--i hope. at least, i have collected some data and made some observations which may be new to the world of science. i found the old love very absorbing. and, you will hardly credit it, i have lived quite an impersonal life." "have you come back to california again because you think it a good place to die in?" "i came back to california, because it is a good place to write my book in, and because you are here." "ah!" "don't misunderstand me. i am not so conceited as to imagine that i can have you for the asking. but--listen to me: i had a brief but very genuine madness. when i recovered i knew what i had th--lost. i argued--even during my convalescence--that i had been wholly right in believing that you were the one woman for me to marry, and, that fact established, you must believe it no less than i. but for a long time i was ashamed to come back, or to write. later, i went where it was impossible. moreover, in solitude a man comes into very close knowledge of himself. after a few months of it i knew that i should never be contented with mere existence again. i determined to take advantage of what might be the last chance granted me to make anything of my life; i had thrown away a good many chances. i also argued that if you loved me, you would wait for me; that you were not the sort to marry for any reason but one. at least, perhaps you will give me another trial." "i shall marry you, i suppose; i have wanted to so long, and i never had any pride where you were concerned. a few months ago i should have flown into your arms; and i had felt sure that you would return. but lately i have not been able to care about anything. i am not the least bit excited that you are here. it merely seems quite natural and rather pleasant." "is anything the matter?" he asked anxiously. "you look very thin and worn, and the house--it was like entering the receiving vault on lone mountain. i thought when i came in that you were having a funeral, at least." "it has been like that for four years. uncle died, and papa was afraid to trust himself in the world for fear he would relapse into his natural instincts. so he shut himself up, makes us live on next to nothing, and of course we go nowhere, for we have no clothes. mamma has been ill with nervous prostration for months, and now i feel sure that papa has gone insane. i have only spoken to him once in four years; but i have been certain that he would lose his mind finally, and i have just discovered that he is quite mad." "good god! we'll be married to-morrow. i never imagined your father would hit upon any new eccentricities. you poor little hermit! i fancied you going to parties and plodding at your stories. i never dreamed that you were shut up in a dungeon. i shall see that you are happy hereafter." "i feel sad and worn out. i don't think i can ever feel much of anything again." "oh, you'll get over that," he replied cheerfully; he was as practical as ever. "what you want is plenty of sun and fresh air and a rest from your family. if your father is insane, he'll go into an asylum; and a rest cure is the place for your mother. that will dispose of her while we are taking our honeymoon in the redwoods. do you think you could stand camping out?" "i could stand anything so long as it was the country once more," she said, with her first flash of enthusiasm. "but there is something i should tell you. perhaps after you hear it you won't want to marry me. i tried to kill helena once." "you did what?" he said, staring at her. "she came to me just after leaving you, on the night of your last interview. i was very much worked up before she came, had been for a long while; and when she told me that she had treated you badly and had thrown you over, after taking you away from me, i suddenly wanted to kill her, and i took my dagger out of the drawer beside me. it was very dark, but she had an instinct, and she jumped up and ran away. i never knew i could feel so; but every bit of blood in my body seemed shrieking in my head, and if she had not gone i should have jumped on her and hacked her to bits. i must go up to my mother now. you can think it over and come back again." "i don't need to think it over," he said, smiling. "that was all you needed to make you quite perfect. you are a wonderful example of misdirected energies. where is your father? i will go and look after him at once." he took her suddenly in his arms and compelled her to kiss him; and then magdaléna knew how glad she was that he had come. she went with him to the door of the study. "he is quiet," she whispered. "perhaps he is asleep." she left him and went down the hall, turning to wave her hand to him. trennahan knocked. there was no answer. he opened the door softly, then gave a swift glance over his shoulder, entered hurriedly, and closed the door behind him. suspended from the gas pipe, which was bent and leaking, was don roberto. the light was dim. the purple face on the languidly revolving body was barely visible; but as it turned slowly to the door, it occupied a definite place among the shadows. trennahan flung back the curtains and opened the window, closing the lower inside blinds. a cloud hurried across the face of the sun, as if light had no place in that ghastly room. about the limp body and sprawling hands clung the delicate prismatic tapestry of the spiders. it was rent in twain, and it quivered, and threatened to drop and trail upon the floor. the little weavers were racing about, full of anger and consternation, bent on repair. a number had already gathered up the broken strands and were fastening them across the body. had don roberto remained undiscovered for twenty-four hours, he might have been wrought into the tissue of that beautiful delicate web, a grotesque intruder over whom the spiders would doubtless have held long and puzzled counsel. the cloud passed. the sun caught a brilliant line of colour. trennahan went forward hastily, and examined the long knotted strip between the body and the ceiling. don roberto had hanged himself with the american flag. the end * * * * * _by the same author._ patience sparhawk and her times. his fortunate grace. the doomswoman. (companion volumes to "the californians.") a whirl asunder. american wives and english husbands. a daughter of the vine (ready shortly). some novels published by john lane an african millionaire by grant allen patience sparhawk and her times by gertrude atherton the californians by gertrude atherton a man from the north by e. a. bennett ordeal by compassion by vincent brown grey weather by john buchan carpet courtship by thomas cobb a king with two faces by m. e. coleridge a bishop's dilemma by ella d'arcy middle greyness by a. j. dawson mere sentiment by a. j. dawson symphonies by george egerton fantasias by george egerton the martyr's bible by george fifth a celibate's wife by herbert flowerdew when all men starve by charles gleig the edge of honesty by charles gleig comedies and errors by henry harland the child who will never grow old by k. douglas king weighed in the balance by harry lander the quest of the golden girl by richard le gallienne the romance of zion chapel by richard le gallienne derelicts by w. j. locke idols by w. j. locke mutineers by a. e. j. legge the spanish wine by frank mathew a child in the temple by frank mathew regina by herman sudermann the tree of life by netta syrett galloping dick by h. b. marriott watson the heart of miranda by h. b. marriott watson proofreaders the blood red dawn by charles caldwell dobie to my mother book i chapter i the pastor's announcement had been swallowed up in a hum of truant inattention, and as the heralded speaker made his appearance upon the platform claire robson, leaning forward, said to her mother: "what?... did you catch his name?" "a foreigner of some sort!" replied mrs. robson, with smug sufficiency. for a moment the elder woman's sneer dulled the edge of claire's anticipations, but presently the man began to speak, and at once she felt a sense of power back of his halting words, a sudden bursting fort of bloom amid the frozen assembly that sat ice-bound, refusing to be melted by the fires of an alien enthusiasm. she could not help wondering whether he felt how hopeless it would be to force a sympathetic response from his audience. in ordinary times the second presbyterian church of san francisco could not possibly have had any interest in serbia except as a field for foreign missionaries. now, with america in the war and speeding up the draft, these worthy people were too much concerned with problems nearer their own hearthstones to be swept off their feet by a specific and almost inarticulate appeal for an obscure country, made only a shade less remote by the accident of being accounted an ally. claire, straining at attention, found it hard to follow him. he talked rapidly and with unfamiliar emphasis, and he waved his hands. frankly, people were bored. they had come to hear a concert and incidentally swell the red cross fund, but they had not reckoned on quite this type of harangue. besides, an appetizing smell of coffee from the church kitchen had begun to beguile their senses. and yet, the man talked on and on, until quite suddenly claire robson began to have a strange feeling of disquiet, an embarrassment for him, such as one feels when an intimate friend or kinsman unconsciously makes a spectacle of himself. she wished that he would stop. she longed to rise from her seat and scream, to create an outlandish scene, to do anything, in short, that would silence him. at this point he turned his eyes in her direction, and she felt the scorch of an intense inner fire. instinctively she lowered her glance.... when she looked up again his gaze was still fixed upon her. she felt her color rise. from that moment on she had a sense that she was his sole audience. he was talking to her. the others did not matter. she still did not have any very distinct idea what it was all about, but the manner of it held her captive. but gradually the mists cleared, he became more coherent, and slowly, imperceptibly, bit by bit, he won the others. yet never for an instant did he take his eyes from _her_. when he finished, a momentary silence blocked the final burst of applause. but claire robson's hands were locked tightly together, and it was not until he had disappeared that she realized that she had not paid him the tribute of even a parting glance. the pastor came back upon the platform and announced that refreshments would be served at the conclusion of the next number. a heavy odor of coffee continued to float from the church kitchen. a red-haired woman stepped forward and began to sing. already claire robson dreaded the ordeal of supper. the fact that tables were being laid further disturbed her. this meant that she and her mother would have to push their way into some group which, at best, would remain indifferent to their presence. when coffee was served informally things were not so awkward. to be sure, one had to balance coffee-cup and cake-plate with an amazing and painful skill, but, on the other hand, table-less groups did not emphasize one's isolation. claire had got to the point where she would have welcomed active hostility on the part of her fellow church members, but their utter indifference was soul-killing. she would have liked to remember one occasion when any one had betrayed the slightest interest in either her arrival or departure, or rather in the arrival and departure of her mother and herself. the solo came to an end, and the inevitable applause followed, but before the singer could respond to the implied encore most of the listeners began frank and determined advances upon the tables. the concert was over. mrs. robson rose and faced claire with a look of bewilderment. as usual, mother and daughter stood irresolutely, caught like two trembling leaves in the backwater of a swirling eddy. at last claire made a movement toward the nearest table. mrs. robson followed. they sat down. the scattered company speedily began to form into congenial groups. there was a great deal of suddenly loosened chatter. claire robson sat silently, rather surprised and dismayed to find that she and her mother had chosen a table which seemed to be the objective of all the prominent church members. the company facing her was elegant, if not precisely smart, and there were enough laces and diamonds displayed to have done excellent service if the proper background had been provided. claire was further annoyed to discover that her mother was regarding the situation with a certain ruffling self-satisfaction which she took no pains to conceal. mrs. robson bowed and smirked, and even called gaily to every one within easy range. there was something distasteful in her mother's sudden and almost aggressive self-assurance. gradually the company adjusted itself; the tables were filled. the only moving figures were those of young women carrying huge white pitchers of steaming coffee. claire robson settled into her seat with a resignation born of subtle inner misery. across her brain flashed the insistent and pertinent questions that such a situation always evoked. why was she not one of these young women engaged in distributing refreshments? did the circles close automatically so as to exclude her, or did her own aloofness shut her out? what was the secret of these people about her that gave them such an assured manner? no one spoke to her with cordial enthusiasm.... it was not a matter of wealth, or brains, or prominent church activity. it was not even a matter of obscurity. like all large organizations, the second presbyterian church was made up of every clique in the social calendar; the obscure circle was as clannish and distinctive in its way as any other group. but claire robson was forced to admit that she did not belong even to the obscure circle. she belonged nowhere--that was the galling and oppressive truth that was forced upon her. at this point she became aware that one of the most prominent church members, mrs. towne, was making an unmistakably cordial advance in her direction. claire had a misgiving.... mrs. towne was never excessively friendly except for a definite aim. "my dear miss robson," mrs. towne began, sweetly, drooping confidentially to a whispering posture, "i am so sorry, but i shall have to disturb you and your mother!... it just happens that this table has been reserved for the elders and their wives.... i hope you'll understand!" for a moment claire merely stared at the messenger of evil news. then, recovering herself, she managed to reply: "oh yes, mrs. towne! i understand perfectly.... i am sure we were very stupid.... come, mother!" mrs. robson responded at once to her daughter's command. the two women rose. by this time the task of securing another place was quite hopeless. claire felt that every eye in the room was turned upon them. picking their way between a labyrinth of tables and chairs, they literally were stumbling in the direction of an exit when claire felt a hand upon her arm. she turned. "pardon me," the man opposite her was saying, "but may i offer you a place at our table?" claire said nothing; she followed blindly. her mother was close upon her heels. the table was a small one, and only two people were occupying it--the man who had halted claire, and a woman. the man, standing with one hand on the chair which he had drawn up for mrs. robson, said, simply: "my name is stillman, and of course you know mrs. condor--the lady who has just sung for us." claire gave a swift, inclusive glance. yes, it was the same woman who had attempted to beguile a weary audience from its impending repletion; at close range one could not escape the intense redness of her hair or the almost immoral whiteness of the shoulders and arms which she was at such little pains to conceal. "stillman?" mrs. robson was fluttering importantly. "not the old rincon hill family?" "yes, the old rincon hill family," the man replied. mrs. robson sat down with preening self-satisfaction. wearily the daughter dropped into the seat which mrs. condor proffered. the name of ned stillman was not unfamiliar to any san franciscan who scanned the social news with even a casual glance, and claire had a vague remembrance that mrs. condor also figured socially, but in a rather more inclusive way than her companion. at all events, it was plain that her mother, with unerring feminine insight, had placed the pair to her satisfaction. already the elder woman was contriving to let stillman know something of _her_ antecedents. _she_ was emily carrol, also of rincon hill, and of course he knew her two sisters--mrs. thomas wynne and mrs. edward finch-brown! as stillman returned a smiling assurance to mrs. robson's attempts to be impressive, a young woman in white arrived with ice-cream and messy layer-cake. unconsciously claire robson began to smile. she could not have said why, but somehow the presence of ned stillman and mrs. condor at a table spread with such vacuous delights seemed little short of ridiculous. they did not fit the picture any more than her beetle-browed, red-lipped serbian who.... she turned deliberately and swept the room with her glance. of course he had gone. it was not to be expected that _he_ would descend to the level of such puerile feasting. a sudden contempt for everything that only an hour ago seemed so desirable rose within her, and, in answer to the young woman's query as to whether she preferred coffee to ice-cream, she answered with lip-curling aloofness: "neither, thank you.... i am not hungry." stillman looked at her searchingly. she returned his gaze without flinching. claire robson did not sleep that night. she lay for hours, quite motionless, staring into the gloom of her narrow bedroom, her mind ruthlessly shaping formless, vague intuitions into definite convictions. she could not put her finger upon the precise reason for her inquietude. was it chargeable to so trivial a circumstance as a stranger's formal courtesy or had something more subtle moved her? if the depths of her isolation had been thrown into too high relief by the almost shameful sense of obligation she felt toward stillman for his courtesy, what was to be said of the uniqueness of the solitary position which the serbian awarded her by singling her out for a sympathetic response? could it be that a vague pity had stirred him, too? had things reached a point where her loneliness showed through the threadbare indifference of her glance? in short, had both men been won to gallantry by her distress? in one case, at least, she decided that there was a reasonable chance to doubt. and that doubt quickened her pulse like may wine. but the humiliation of her last encounter with chivalry stuck with profound irritation. she recalled the scene again and again. she remembered her contemptuous silence before stillman's obvious suavities, the high, assured laugh which his companion, mrs. condor, threw out to meet his quiet sallies, the ruffling satisfaction of her mother, chattering on irrelevantly, but with the undisguised purpose of creating a proper impression. how easily stillman must have seen through claire's muteness and the elder woman's eager craving for an audience! and all the time mrs. condor had been laughing, not ill-naturedly, but with the irony of an experienced woman possessing a sense of humor. and at the end, when the four had left the church together, to be whirled home in stillman's car, the sudden nods and smiles and farewells that had blossomed along the path of her mother's exit! claire could have laughed it all away if her mother had not betrayed such eagerness to drink this snobbish flattery to the lees.... claire's father had never entered very largely into her calculations, but to-night her readjusted vision included him. stubborn, kind, a bit weak, and inclined to copying poetry in a red-covered album, he had been no match for the disillusionments of married life. her mother's people had felt a sullen resentment at his downfall--he had taken to drink and died ingloriously when claire was still in her seventh year. claire, influenced by the family traditions, had shared this resentment. but now she found herself wondering whether there was not a word or two to be said in his behalf. her father had been a cheap clerk in a wholesale house when he had married. the uncertain carrol fortunes were waning swiftly at the time, and emily carrol had been thrown at him with all the panic that then possessed a public schooled in the fallacy that marriage was a woman's only career. the result was to have been expected. extravagance, debts, too much family, drink, death--the sequence was complete. he had been captured, withered, cast aside, by a tribe that had not even had the decency to grant his memory the kindness of an excuse. wide-eyed and restless, claire robson felt a sudden pity for her father. tears sprang to her eyes; it overwhelmed her to discover this new father so full of human failings and yet so full of human provocation. in her twenty-four years of life she had never shed a tear for him, or felt the slightest pang for his failure. if she had ever doubted the carrol viewpoint, she had never given her lack of faith any scope. she had taken their cast-off prejudices and threadbare convictions as docilely as she had once received their stale garments. she had shrunk from spiritual independence with all the obsequious arrogance of a poor relation at a feast. her diffidence, her self-consciousness, her timidity, were the outward forms of an inbred snobbery. it was curious how suddenly all this was made clear to her.... at length she fell into a troubled sleep.... when she awoke the room's outlines were reviving before the advances of early morning. for the first time in her life she caught the poetry of the new day at first hand. for years she had reveled vicariously in the delights of morning. but it had always been to her a thing apart, a matter which the writers of romantic verse beheld and translated for the benefit of late sleepers. it never occurred to her that the day crawling into the light-well of her clay street flat was lit with precisely the same flame that colored the far-flung peaks of the poet's song. and instantly a phrase of the serbian's harangue came to her--blood-red dawn! he had repeated these words over and over again, and somehow under the heat of his ardor and longing for his native land this hackneyed phrase took on its real and dreadful value. in the sudden sweep of this vital remembrance, claire robson rose for a moment above the fretful drip of circumstance.... _blood-red dawn_!... she threw herself back upon her bed and shuddered.... she rose at seven o'clock, but already the morning had grown pallid and flecked with gray clouds. an apologetic tap came at the door, and the voice of mrs. robson repeating a formula that she never varied: "better hurry, claire. if you don't you'll be late for the office!" chapter ii as claire stepped out into the cold sunlight of early november, she smiled bitterly at the exaggeration of last night's mood. after the first hectic flush of dawn there is nothing so sane and sweet and commonplace as morning. the spectacle of mrs. finnegan, who lodged in the flat below, slopping warm suds over the thin marble steps, added a final note of homeliness, which divorced claire completely from heroics. "well, miss robson, so you really got home, last night," broke from the industrious neighbor as she straightened up and tucked her lifted skirts in more securely. "i thought you never would come!... a package came from new york for you. the man nearly banged your door down. i had finnegan put it on your back stoop.... it's from that cousin of yours, i guess. i was so excited about it i kept wishing you'd get home early so that i could get a peep at all the pretty things. but i'll run up just as soon as i get through with the breakfast dishes." claire smiled wanly. "it was very good of you to take all that trouble, i'm sure, mrs. finnegan!" "oh, bother my trouble!" mrs. finnegan responded. "i just knew how crazy i'd be about a box. i guess we women are all alike, miss robson. anyway, your mother and i are!" mrs. finnegan bent over her task again with a quick exasperated movement, and claire passed on. her neighbor's abrupt rebuke gave claire a renewed sense of exclusion. she had meant to be warmly appreciative, but she knew now that she had been only coldly polite. but, as a matter of fact, the prospect of delving through a box of gertrude sinclair's discarded finery moved her this morning to a dull fury. she felt suddenly tired of cast-offs, of compromise, of all the other shabby adjustments of genteel poverty. and by the time she reached the office of the falcon insurance company her soul was seething with a curious and unreasonable revolt. the feminine office force seemed seething also, but with an impersonal, quivering excitement. nellie whitehead had been dismissed! this nellie whitehead, the stenographer-in-chief, was big, vigorous, blond--vulgar, energetic, vivid; and miss munch, her assistant, a thin, hollow-chested spinster, who loafed upon her job so that she might save her sight for the manufacture of incredible yards of tatting, never missed an opportunity to lift her eyes significantly behind her superior's back. "and what do you suppose?" miss munch was querying as claire stepped into the dressing-room. "she told mr. flint to go to hell!... yes, positively, she used those very words. and i must say he was a gentleman throughout it all. he told her gently but firmly that her example in the office wasn't what it should be and that in justice to the other girls...." claire turned impatiently away. the fiction of mr. flint's belated interest in the morals of his feminine office force was unconvincing enough to be irritating. for a man who never missed an opportunity to force his attentions, he was showing an amazingly ethical viewpoint. on second thought, claire remembered that miss munch was never the recipient of mr. flint's attentions, which to the casual eye might have seemed innocent enough--on rainy days gallantly bending his ample girth in a rather too prolonged attempt to slip on the girls' rubbers, insisting on the quite unnecessary task of incasing them in their jackets and smoothing the sleeves of their shirt-waists in the process, flicking imaginary threads where the feminine curves were most opulent. not that mr. flint was a wolf in sheep's clothing; he played the part of sheep, but he needed no disguise for his performance; he merely lived up to a sort of flock-mind consciousness where women were concerned. the group clustered about miss munch broke up at the approach of mr. flint, who gave a significant glance in the direction of claire robson, intent upon her morning work. but the excitement persisted in spite of the scattered auditors, and the fact was mysteriously communicated that miss munch's interest in the event was chargeable to her hopes. it seemed impossible to miss munch that any one but herself could succeed to the vacant post of stenographer-in-chief. at precisely eleven o'clock the buzzer on claire robson's desk hummed three times. this announced that she was wanted by mr. flint. she gathered her note-book and pencils and answered the call. mr. flint was busy at the telephone when claire entered the private office. she seated herself at the flat oak table in the center of the room. mr. flint's office bore all the conventional signs of business--commissions of authority from insurance companies, state licenses in oak frames, an oil-painting of thomas sawyer flint, the founder of the firm, over a fireplace that maintained its useless dignity in spite of the steam-radiator near the window. on his desk was the inevitable picture of his wife framed in silver, a hand-illumined platitude of stevenson, an elaborate set of desk paraphernalia in beaten brass that bore little evidence of service. in two green-glazed bowls of japanese origin, roses from mr. flint's garden at yolanda scattered faint pink petals on the smyrna rug. these flowers were the only concession to esthetics that mr. flint indulged. in spite of a masculine distaste for carrying flowers, hardly a day went by when he did not appear at the office with a huge harvest of blossoms from his country home. claire was bending over, intent on picking up the crumpled rose-petals, when mr. flint finally spoke. she straightened herself slowly. her unhurried movements had a certain grace that did not escape the man opposite her. she tossed the bruised leaves into a waste-basket and reached for her pencil. her heart was pounding, but she faced mr. flint with a clear, direct gaze. "miss robson, of course you've heard all about the rumpus," mr. flint was saying. "i had to fire miss whitehead.... i think you can fill the bill." claire rose without replying. mr. flint left his seat and crossed over to her. "i hope," he said, flicking a thread from her shoulder, "that you're game.... some girls, of course, don't care a damn about getting on ... especially if there's a johnny somewhere in sight with enough cash in his pocket for a marriage license." "i am very much taken by surprise," claire faltered. "you see, the change means a great deal to me." mr. flint moved closer. his manner was intimate and distasteful. "sometimes i think we business men ought to get more of a slant on our employees.... you know what i mean, not exactly bothering about how many lumps of sugar they take in their coffee, or their taste in after-dinner cheese ... but, well, just how often they have to resole their boots and turn the ribbons on their spring bonnets.... now, in miss whitehead's case.... but of course you're not interested in miss whitehead." "why, i wouldn't say that," stammered claire. then, as she reached for her shorthand book she said, more confidently: "to be quite frank, mr. flint, i liked miss whitehead tremendously. she was so alive ... and vivid." flint beamed. "do you know why i picked you instead of that munch dame?... it's because you had all the frills of a woman and none of the nastiness. for instance, you wouldn't be bothered in the least if i took a notion to overload the office with another pretty girl.... i've watched you for some time. it has taken me six months to make up my mind to fire miss whitehead and boost you into her job." he stood with an air of condescending arrogance, his thumbs bearing down heavily on his trousers pockets, his broad fingers beating a self-satisfied tattoo upon his thighs. claire shrank nearer the table. "you mean, mr. flint, that you dismissed miss whitehead merely to give me her position?" flint smiled. "well, now you're coming down to brass-headed tacks. i'm not keen on spelling out the whys and wherefores of anything i do.... but one thing is certain enough--if miss munch had been the only available candidate i _could_ have stood miss whitehead.... there ain't much question about that." "oh, mr. flint! i'm sorry!" he gave a wide guffaw. "that only makes you all the more of a corker!" he answered, rubbing his hands together in narrow-eyed satisfaction. she escaped into the outer office, flushed, but with her head thrown back in an attitude of instinctive defense, and the next instant she literally ran into the arm of a man. "why, miss robson, but this _is_ pleasant! i'm just dropping in to see mr. flint." she drew back. mr. stillman stood smiling before her. greetings and questions flowed with all the genial ease of one who is never quite taken unawares. claire, outwardly calm, felt overcome with inner confusion. she passed rapidly to her desk and sat down. miss munch was upon her almost instantly. "do _you_ know ned stillman?" miss munch asked, veiling her real purpose. "yes," replied claire, with uncomfortable brevity. "i have a cousin who was housekeeper for his wife's father.... you know about his wife, of course." claire lifted her clear eyes in a startled glance that was almost as instantly converted into a look of challenge. "yes," she lied. miss munch hesitated, then plunged at once into the issue uppermost in her mind. "it's too bad you've had to be bothered with flint's dictation, miss robson. it just happens i'm writing up a long home-office report, otherwise i'm sure he wouldn't have annoyed you." claire robson fixed miss munch with a coldly polite stare. "you've made a mistake, miss munch. mr. flint has given me no dictation." the speech in itself was nothing, but claire's tone gave it unmistakable point. miss munch grew white and then flushed. she turned away without a word, but claire robson knew that in a twinkling of an eye she had gained not only an enemy, but an uncommon one. * * * * * that night claire took an unusually long way round on her walk home. her path from the falcon insurance company's office on california street to the clay street flat was never a direct one, first, because there were hills to be avoided, and, second, because claire found the streets at twilight too full of charm for a rapid homeward flight. the year was on the wane and the november days were coming to an early blackness. claire reveled in the light-flooded dusk of these late autumn evenings. to her, the city became a vast theater, darkened suddenly for the purpose of throwing the performers into sharper relief. most clerks made their way up montgomery street toward market, but claire climbed past the german bank to kearny street. she liked this old thoroughfare, struggling vainly to pull itself up to its former glory. the kearny street crowd was a varying quantity, frankly shabby or flashily prosperous, as far south as sutter street, suddenly dignified and reserved for the two blocks beyond. to-night claire missed the direct appeal of the streets lined with bright shops. they formed the proper background for her broodings, but they scarcely entered into her mood. she could not have said just what flight her mood was taking, or upon just which branch her thought would alight. she was confused and puzzled and vaguely uneasy. she had a sense that somehow, somewhere, a door had been opened and that a strong, devastating wind was clearing the air and bringing dead things to ground in a disorderly shower. she was stirred by twilights of uneasiness. it was almost as if the monotonous truce of noonday had been darkened by a huge, composite, masculine shadow, made up in some mysterious way of the ridiculous serbian and his blood-red dawn, and this man stillman, who had a wife, and flint, with hands so ready to flick threads from her sloping shoulders. yesterday her outlook had been peaceful and unhappy; to-day she felt stimulation of an impending struggle. she was afraid, and yet she would not have turned back for one swift moment. and suddenly the words of mrs. finnegan recurred, "i guess we women are all alike." were they? at which point she came upon a pastry-shop window and she went in and bought a half-dozen french pastries. the thought of her mother's pleasure at this unusual treat brought her in due time smiling to her threshold. mrs. robson was not in her accustomed place at the head of the stairs; about half-way up the long flight her voice sounded triumphantly: "oh, claire, do hurry and see what gertrude has sent! everything is perfectly lovely." claire quickened her pace and gained the cramped living-room. thrown about in a sort of joyous disorder, gertrude sinclair's finery quite lit up the shabbiness. hats, plumes, scraps of vivid silks, gilded slippers, a spangled fan--their unrelated vividness struck claire as fantastic as a futurist painting. her mother seemed suddenly young again. claire wondered whether, after the toll of sixty-odd years, she could be moved to momentary youth by the mere sight of the prettiness that was quickening her mother's pulse. mrs. robson held up a filmy evening gown of black net embroidered with a rich design of dull gold. "isn't this heavenly?" she demanded. "and it will just fit you, claire. i think gertrude has spread herself this time." "yes, on finery, mother. but didn't she send anything sensible? what possessed her to load us up with a lot of things we can never possibly get a chance to wear?" claire had not meant to be disagreeable, but there was rancor in her voice. mrs. robson cast aside the dress with the carelessness of a spoiled favorite; she always adapted her manner to the tone of her background. "claire robson!" she cried, good-naturedly. "you're a regular old woman! i'm sure _i_ haven't much to be cheerful about, but i just won't let anything down me!... if i wanted to, i could give up right now. where would we have been, i'd like to know, if i hadn't held my head up? goodness knows, _my_ folks didn't help me. if they had had their way, i'd been out manicuring people's nails and washing heads for a living. and _you_ in an orphan-asylum! that's what my people did for me! as it is, they shoved you out to work. what chance have you of meeting nice people? no, claire, i don't care how they have treated me, but they might have given you a chance. i'll never forgive them for that!... i thought last night when i was talking to mrs. condor and watching you and mr. stillman how nice it would have been if.... oh, that reminds me! who do you think has been here to-day?... mrs. towne! she came to apologize about asking us to move our seats the other night. _she_ knows the stillmans well. the old people were pillars of the second church in the 'sixties. i fancy he is dancing about that mrs. condor's heels a bit. of course, as mrs. towne said, _she_ wouldn't be likely to make herself a permanent feature of second church entertainments. but now in war-times _anything_ is possible. mrs. towne was telling me all about stillman and his wife. i _should_ have remembered, but somehow i forgot. get your things off and i'll tell you all about it." claire handed her mother the package of pastries. "i heard about it to-day," she said, coldly. "but mrs. towne knows the whole thing from a to z," insisted mrs. robson, genially. "i'm not interested in the details," claire returned, doggedly. mrs. robson's face wore a puzzled, almost a harried, expression. claire moved away. her mother gave a shrug and renewed her efforts to drag further finery from the mysterious depths of the treasure-box. her daughter cast a last incurious glance back. the glow on mrs. robson's face, which claire had mistaken for youth, seemed now a thing hectic and unpleasant, and gave an uncanny sense of a skeleton sitting among gauds and baubles. a feeling of isolation swept claire, such as she had never experienced. the person who should have been closest suddenly had become a stranger.... she went into her room and closed the door. chapter iii the following week claire was surprised to find a letter on her desk at the office. the few written favors that came her way usually were addressed to the clay street flat, so that she was puzzled by this innovation and the unfamiliar handwriting. glancing swiftly at the signature, she was surprised to see the name "lily condor," scrawled loosely at the foot of the note. it seemed that mrs. condor was giving a little musicale in ned stillman's apartments on the following friday night, and, if one could believe such a thing, the lady implied that the evening would scarcely be complete without the presence of claire robson--or, to put it more properly, claire robson and her _mother_. as claire had scarcely said a half-dozen words to mrs. condor on the night of the red cross concert, this invitation seemed little short of extraordinary. but, as claire thought it over, she recalled that there had been some general conversation about music, in which she had admitted a discreet passion for this form of entertainment, even going so far as to confess that she played the piano herself upon occasion. her first impulse, clinched by the familiar feminine excuse that she had nothing suitable to wear, was to send her regrets. at once she thought of the scorned finery that gertrude sinclair had included in her last box, and the more she thought about it the more convinced she became that she had no real reason for refusing. but a swift, strange regret that her mother had been included in the invitation took the edge off her anticipations. she tried to dismiss this feeling, but it grew more definite as the morning progressed. for days claire had been striking at the shackles of habit with a rancor bred of disillusionment. she had been on tiptoe for new and vital experiences, and yet, for any outward sign, her life bid fair to escape the surge of any torrential circumstance. particularly, at the office, things had gone on smoothly. the other clerks had accepted claire's advancement without either protest or enthusiasm. even miss munch had veiled her resentment behind the saving trivialities of daily intercourse. she had gone so far as to introduce claire to her cousin, a mrs. richards, who had come in at the noon hour for a new tatting design. this cousin was a large, red-faced woman, with an aggressively capable manner. she had the quick, ferret-like eyes of miss munch and the loose mouth of a perpetual gossip. "she's the one i told you about the other day," miss munch had explained later--"the housekeeper for _your friend_ stillman's father-in-law." she gave nasty emphasis to this trivial speech. flint had been direct and business-like almost to the point of bruskness. but claire knew that such moods were not unusual, so she took little stock in the ultimate significance of his restrained manner. perhaps the most indefinable change had come over claire's home life. her mother's unfailing string of trivial gossip, formerly not without a certain interest, now scarcely held her to even polite attention. indeed, her self-absorbed silence, while mrs. robson poured out the latest news about mrs. finnegan's second sister's husband's mother--who was suddenly stricken with some incurable disease, made all the more mysterious by the fact that its nature was not divulged--was so apparent that her mother, goaded on to a mild exasperation, would ask, significantly: "what's the matter, claire? have you a headache?" mrs. robson was never so happy as in the discovery of some one with a mysterious disease, particularly if the victim's relatives were loath to discuss the issue. "they think they fool me!" she would say, triumphantly, to claire, "but i guess i know what ails her.... didn't her mother, and her uncle, and her sister's oldest child die of consumption? i tell you it's in the family. the last time i saw her she nearly coughed her head off." not that mrs. robson was unsympathetic; brought face to face with suffering, she blossomed with every impulsive tenderness, but her experiences had confirmed her in pessimism, and every fresh tragedy testified to the soundness of her faith. her pride at diagnosing people's ills and pronouncing their death-sentences was almost professional. and she had an irritating way of making comments such as this: "well, claire, i see that old mrs. talbot is dead at last!... i knew she wouldn't live another winter. they'll feel terribly, no doubt; but, of course, it is a great relief." or: "why, here is the death notice of isaac rice! i thought he died _years_ ago. my, but he was a trial! what a blessing!" this was the type of conversation that claire was finding either empty of meaning or illuminating to the point of annoyance. what amazed her was the fact that she had remained blind so long to the slightest of the conversational food upon which she had been fed. claire did not tell her mother about the invitation to mrs. condor's musical evening. "i'll wait," she said to herself. "thursday will be time enough." although why delay would prove advantageous was not particularly apparent. on wednesday night at the dinner-table, mrs. robson, as if still puzzled at her daughter's altered mood, said, rather cautiously: "there's to be a reception at the church on friday night." "for whom?" inquired claire, with pallid interest. "i didn't quite catch the name.... some woman back from france. she's been nursing in one of the british hospitals. she's to get red cross work started at the church. it seems san francisco is a bit slow over taking up the work, but, then, you know, we're poked off here in a corner and i suppose we don't quite realize yet.... anyway, mrs. towne wants us to help with the coffee. she says you should have been in the church-work long ago. you look so self-contained and efficient.... i told her we would be there at half past seven and get the dishes into shape." claire's heart beat violently. "friday night? i'm sorry, mother; i have another engagement." "another engagement? why, claire, how funny! you never said anything about it. i don't know what to say to mrs. towne." claire felt calm again. "just tell her the truth." "but she'll think so strange that i didn't know ... that i...." "you shouldn't have spoken for me until you found out whether i was willing." "willing! _willing!_ i didn't suppose you'd be anything else. i've been trying to get you in with the right people at the church for the last fifteen years. i've tried so hard...." "yes, mother, i know," said claire, patiently. "but don't you see? that's just it. you've tried too hard." mrs. robson began to whimper discreetly. "how you do talk, claire! i declare i don't know what to make of it. i suppose you're bitter about mrs. towne the other night. i felt so at first, but i can see now we were at the wrong table. and, after all, everything came out beautifully. we sat with mr. stillman, and that had a very good effect, i can tell you. especially when everybody saw us leave with him. why, it brought mrs. towne to her feet." "yes, and that's the humiliating part of it." "well, claire, when you've lived as long as i have you won't be so uppish about making compromises," flung back mrs. robson. "of course, if you've got another engagement, you've got another engagement, but if...." "i wouldn't have gone, anyway. i'm through with that sort of thing." "why, claire, how can you! it's your duty, _now_!--with your country at war--and ... and ... even that dreadful serbian the other night made _that_ plain." "i'll go with you to church on sundays, of course, but--" "what am _i_ to do?" wailed mrs. robson. "at least you might think of me! i've not had much pleasure in my life, goodness knows, and now just as i...." mrs. robson broke off abruptly on a flood of tears. two weeks ago these tears would have overwhelmed claire. as it was, she sat calmly stirring her tea, surprised and a little ashamed of her coldness. the truth was that claire robson was feeling all the fanatical cruelty that comes with sudden conviction. the forms of her new faith had hardened too quickly and left outlines sharp and uncompromising. for years claire had found shelter from the glare of middle-class snobbery beating about her head, by shrinking into her mother's inadequate shadow as a desert bird shrinks into the thin shadow of a dry reed by some burned-out watercourse. now a full noon of disillusionment had annihilated this shadow and given her the courage of necessity. and there was something more than courage--there was an eagerness to stand alone in the commonplace words with which she sought to temper her refusal to assist at the coming church reception: "i can't see any good reason, mother, why you shouldn't go and help mrs. towne.... what have my plans to do with it?" to which her mother answered: "i do so hate to be seen at such places alone, claire." claire made no reply. she did not want to give her mother's indecision a chance to crystallize into a definite stand. she knew by long experience that if this happened it would be fatal. but in a swift flash of decision claire made up her mind for one thing--she would either go to mrs. condor's evening alone or she would send her regrets. chapter iv by a series of neutral subterfuges and tactful evasions claire robson won her point--she went to the condor musicale at ned stillman's apartments alone, and on that same night her mother wended a rather grudging way to the second presbyterian church reception. acting under her mother's advice, claire timed her arrival for nine o'clock, an hour which seemed incredibly late to one schooled in the temperate hour of church socials. mrs. condor herself opened the door in answer to claire's ring. "oh, my dear, but i _am_ glad to see you!" burst from the elder woman as she waved her in. but she did not so much as mention the absence of mrs. robson, and claire was divided between a feeling of wounded family pride, and gratification at the intuition which had warned her to leave her mother to her own devices. more people arrived on claire's heels, and in the lively bustle she was left to shed her wraps in one of the bedrooms. her heart was pounding with reaction at her outwardly self-contained entrance. she let her rather shabby cloak slip to the floor, revealing a strange, new claire resplendent in the gold-embroidered gown that had once so stirred her rancor. for a brief instant she had an impulse to gather the discarded wrap securely about her and make a quick exit. a swooning fear at the thought of meeting a roomful of people assailed her. but there succeeded a courage born of the realization that they all would be strangers. with a sense of bravado she stepped out into the entrance hall again. ned stillman came forward. she halted and waited for him. his face had lit with a sudden pleasure, which told claire that for once in her life her presence roused positive interest. he inquired after her health, why her mother had not come, whether the abominable fog was clearing. his easy formality put her, as usual, completely at ease. it was only when he asked her, with the most inconsequential tone in the world, "whether she could read music at sight" that a sinking fear came over her. and yet she found courage enough to be truthful and say yes. "that's fine!" he returned. "our accompanist hasn't come yet and we want to start off with a song or two." from this moment on the evening impressed itself on claire in a series of blurred hectic pictures.... she knew that stillman was leading her toward the piano, but the living-room and its toned lights gave her a curious sense of unreality. she seated herself before the white keyboard and folded her hands with desperate resignation while she waited for stillman to dictate the next move. "my dear mrs. condor," stillman explained, as that lady came up to them, "we sha'n't have to wait for flora menzies. miss robson will accompany you." claire sat unmoved. she was beyond so trivial a sensation as anxiety. stillman drifted away; mrs. condor began to run through the sheet music lying on the piano. "of course you know schumann, miss robson. shall we start at once? how is the light? if you moved your stool a little--so. there, that's better." claire did not reply. she looked at the music before her. she was conscious that it was a piece she knew, although its name registered no other impression. she began to play. the opening bars almost startled her. she felt a hush fall over the noisy room. her fingers stumbled--she caught the melody again with staggering desperation. mrs. condor was singing.... the room faded; even the sound of mrs. condor's voice became remote. claire had a desire to laugh. all manner of strange, disconnected thoughts ran through her head. she remembered a doll she had broken years ago and buried with great pomp and circumstance, a pink parasol that had been given her as a child, the gigantic and respectable wig which had incased the head of her old german music-teacher, frau pfaff. and as she played on and on the music further evoked the memory of this worthy lady who had given her services in exchange for lodgings in an incredibly small hall bedroom, with certain privileges at the kitchen stove. and pictures of this irritating woman rose before her, stewing dried fruit, or preparing sour beef, or borrowing the clothes boiler for a perennial wash. what compromises her mother had made to give her child the gentle accomplishments that mrs. robson associated with breeding! it came to claire that it was almost cruel to have denied this mother a share in the triumphs of that evening. and with that, she realized that mrs. condor had ceased singing. a hum broke loose, followed by applause. claire grew faint. her head began to swirl. she clutched the piano stool and by sheer terror at the thought of creating a scene she managed to keep her consciousness as she felt mrs. condor's hand upon her shoulder and heard a voice that just missed being patronizing: "my dear, you did it beautifully." claire longed to burst into tears.... the concert was over shortly after eleven o'clock. besides mrs. condor, there had been a 'cellist, very masculine in his looks but rather forceless in his playing, and a young, frail girl who brought great breadth and vigor to her interpretations at the piano. but claire was really too excited for calm enjoyment. supper followed--creamed minced chicken and extraordinarily thin sandwiches, and a dry, pale wine that claire found at first rather distasteful. claire sat with a little group composed of mrs. condor, ned stillman, a fashionable young man, phil edington, who frankly confessed boredom at all things musical except one-steps and fox-trots, and two or three artistic-looking souls who pretended to be quite shocked by young edington's frankness. conversation veered naturally to the subject of the war. edington had tried for a commission in an officers' training-camp and failed. he was extraordinarily frank about it all, and good-natured at the chaffing that mrs. condor and stillman threw at him. "i'm going to wait now and be drafted," he announced. "as long as i failed to make a high grade i want to begin at the bottom and see the whole picture." claire rather waited for a word from stillman as to his convictions on the subject. of course one could see that he was over the draft age, still.... for the most part she was silent, but happy and content. by contributing her share to the evening's entertainment she had justified her presence. wine as a factor in midnight suppers was a new but not a revolutionary experience to claire robson, but she gasped a bit when the maid passed cigarettes to the ladies. and yet she felt a delicious sense of being a party to something quite daring and _outré_, although she did not have either courage or skill to enjoy one of the slender, gold-tipped delights. the time for departure finally came. claire rose reluctantly. mrs. condor, slipping one arm in phil edington's and the other in claire's, sauntered with them toward the entrance hall. "i say," ventured edington as stillman caught up to the group. "what's the matter with just us four dropping down to the palace for a whirl or two?" claire stared. she had not grown used to the novelty of being included, but any instinctive objections to the plan were promptly silenced by mrs. condor's enthusiastic approval. they arrived at the palace hotel shortly before midnight. the rose room was crowded. all the tables seemed filled, and claire had a moment of disappointment caused by the fear that their party would be unable to gain admittance. but young edington's presence soon set any uneasiness on that score at rest, and a place was evolved with deftness and despatch. the novelty of the situation to claire was nothing compared with her matter-of-fact acceptance of it. she was neither self-conscious nor timid. her three companions had a way of tacitly including her in even their trivial chatter that was unmistakable, though hard to define. she felt that she was one of them, and she blossomed in this strange new warmth like a chilled blossom at the final approach of a belated spring. all evening her starved sense of self-importance had been feeding greedily upon the compliments that had come her way. there had been her mother's rather apologetic words of approval at her appearance, to begin with, then mrs. condor's appreciation at the piano, and finally a word dropped by one of the women who had shared a mirror with her at the hour of departure. "how do you manage your hair, miss robson?" the other had said, digging viciously at her shifting locks with a hairpin. "i do declare you're the only woman in the room that looks presentable." but it was edington's words to stillman while they stood waiting for the hotel attendants to prepare the table that brought a quickened beat to her heart. the conversation was low and not meant for her ears, but her senses were too sharpened to miss edington's furtive words as he whispered to stillman: "where did ... amazing.... miss robson?" claire did not catch the reply which must have also been something of a query, but she heard edington continue. "well ... a little too silent, i must admit.... no, i don't dislike 'em that way ... but i'm afraid of them." stillman answered with a low laugh. they sat down. edington ordered wine. the crowd at the tables was rather a mixed one. there was plenty of elaborate gowning among the groups of formal diners who had prolonged their feasting into the supper hour, but many casuals, drifting in for a few drinks and a dance or two, robbed the scene of its earlier brilliance. the orchestra struck up a one-step. claire denied stillman the dance, explaining that she knew none of the new steps, and he whirled away with mrs. condor. edington, robbed of his chance, pouted unashamed. "i say, miss robson, can't you do a one-step--really? there isn't anything to it! come on--try; i'll pull you through." claire's knowledge of dancing was instinctive, but not a matter of much practice, yet his distress was so comic that she relented. she wondered if he could feel her trembling as they swung into the dance. she stumbled once or twice from timidity, but edington guided unerringly. half-way round she suddenly struck the proper swing. "there--that's it," cried edington, enthusiastically. "now you've got it! fine!" his praise mounted to her brain like a heady wine, and suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, all the repressed youth within her awoke with a sweet and terrible joy.... they danced madly, perfectly, the rhythm entering into them like something at once fluid and flaming. her ecstasy awoke a vague response in her partner, who bent forward as he kept repeating, monotonously: "and you said you couldn't, miss robson! fancy, you said you couldn't!" the music stopped abruptly with a crash. some of the dancers made their way leisurely back among the tables, but the most of them wandered about the polished' floor, clapping insistent hands for an encore. in this brief interlude, groups arrived and departed. the musicians lifted their instruments to chin and lip, struck an opening chord; couples began to whirl and glide. claire robson, palpitant and eager, followed edington's lead, but almost at the first moment of their rhythmic flight they came crashing into the overcoated bulk of a man cutting across the corner of the ballroom in an attempt at a swift exit. a smothered protest escaped edington, and claire detached herself from her partner long enough to see the offender bow very low and hear his apology in a voice and manner that seemed curiously familiar: "i beg your pardon. pray forgive me! i should have known better." in the twinkling of an eye the interrupted dancers were sweeping on again, and the apologetic stranger, hat in hand, turning for a farewell look at the pair. claire robson felt an up-leap of the heart; a fresh ecstasy quickened her. it was the serbian! they finished the dance almost opposite their table and were met by a patter of applause from mrs. condor and stillman, who were already seated. claire was flaming with embarrassment as she faced stillman. "i hope you'll understand, mr. stillman," she faltered. "but mr. edington seemed willing to risk my ignorance." mrs. condor turned claire's plaintive apology into a covert attack upon stillman's courage, but stillman rescued claire from further confusion by laughing back: "well, i'll have my revenge on edington. i'll grant him all the one-steps, but he can't have any of the waltzes, miss robson." the waiter began to pour out the champagne. claire settled back in her seat with a feeling of delightful languor. the dance had released all the pent-up emotions that a night of vivid sensations had called into her life. she had come into the rose room of the palace hotel quivering in the leash of a restrained enjoyment; it had taken the quick lash of opportunity to send her spirits hurtling forward in wild and headlong abandon. she lifted her wine-glass in answer to the upraised glasses of her companions, and the thought flashed over her that it would be impossible for her to have quite her old vision again. in every life there are culminating moments of joy or sorrow which either clear or dim the horizon, and claire felt that such moment was now hers. stillman rose promptly in his seat at the first strains of the waltz, which proved to be the next number. claire stepped out upon the floor with confidence. she did not need any word of reassurance this time to tell her that her dancing was more than acceptable, and, true to her brief experience with stillman, he refrained from voicing the obvious. they had begun the dance promptly and for the first whirl about they had the floor almost to themselves. claire's discreet sidelong glances detected many approving nods in their direction; people were noticing them and making favorable comment.... the floor filled, but even in the crowd claire had a sense that she and her partner were standing out distinctly. the very nature of the waltz contrasted sharply with the one-step. there was less abandon and more art. the first dance had expressed a primitive emotion; the present slow and measured whirl a discriminating sensation. and slowly, under the spell of stillman's calm and yet strangely glowing manner, claire recovered her poise. all night she had been inhaling every fresh delight rapturously with the closed eyes and open senses that one brings to the enjoyment of blossoms heavy with perfume. it took stillman's influence to rob the hours of their swooning delight by recapturing her self-consciousness. things became at once orderly and reasonable. and as he led her back to their table she felt the flame within cease its flarings and become steady, with a pleasurable glow. for a moment she felt uneasy, as if she were being trapped by something sweetfully insidious. slowly, almost cautiously, she withdrew her arm from his. he made no comment; it was doubtful if he really noticed her recoil. * * * * * long past its appointed time the hall light in the robson flat continued to burn dimly. mrs. robson, sleepless and a bit anxious, waited alertly for the sound of claire's key in the door. the welcome click came finally, succeeded by the unmistakable slam of an automobile door and the sharp, quick note of a machine speeding up. "she's come home in stillman's car," flashed through mrs. robson's mind, as she sat up in bed. at that moment mrs. finnegan's cuckoo clock, sounding distinctly through the thin flooring, warbled twice with a voice of friendly betrayal. "mercy! it's two o'clock!" she muttered. "i wonder if mrs. finnegan is awake?... i do hope she heard the automobile!..." seated at the foot of her mother's bed, claire tried her best to give a satisfactory report of the evening, but she found that she had overlooked most of the details that her mother found interesting. who was there? what did mrs. condor wear? did they have an elaborate spread?--the questions rippled on in an endless flow. under the acceleration of claire's recital, mrs. robson found her experiences at the church reception left far behind. even with scant details, claire had managed to evolve a fascinating picture of a life robbed sufficiently of puritanism to be properly piquant. there was a tang of the swift, immoral, fascinating 'seventies in claire's still cautious reference to champagne and cigarettes. it was impossible for any san franciscan who had lived through those splendid madcap bonanza days to deny the lure of gay wickedness. at least it was hard to keep one's eyes on a prayer-book while the car of pleasure rattled by. and a coffee-and-cake social was, after all, a rather tame experience in the face of beverages more sparkling and eatables distinctly enticing.... of course, if claire had been introduced to any of these questionable delights by anybody short of a survivor of the stillman clan, mrs. robson might have had a misgiving. as it was, she was not above a certain forewarning sense that made her say with an air of inconsequence as claire finished her recital: "mrs. towne tells me that there is a chance that mr. stillman's wife may get well. she's in a private sanitarium, at livermore, you know." she stopped to draw up the bedclothes higher. "i do hope it's so!... but i'm always skeptical about _crazy_ people ever amounting to anything again. seems to me they're better off dead." chapter v for claire robson, there followed after the memorable condor-stillman musicale a period of slack-water. it seemed as if a deadly stagnation was to poison her existence, so sharp and emphasized was her boredom. on the other hand, mrs. robson seemed to have contrived, from years of living among arid pleasures, the ability to conserve every happiness that she chanced upon to its last drop. claire's invitation to be one of a distinguished group fed her vanity long after her daughter had outworn the delights of retrospection. the memory of this incident filled mrs. robson's thoughts, her dreams, her conversation. gradually, as the days dragged by, bit by bit, she gleaned detached details of what had transpired, weaving them into a vivid whole, for the entertainment of herself and the amazement of her neighbor, mrs. finnegan. formerly mrs. finnegan's information regarding what went on in exclusive circles was confined to society dramas on the screen and the sunday supplement. the personal note which mrs. robson brought to her recitals was a new and pleasing experience. after listening to the authentic gossip of mrs. robson, mrs. finnegan would return to her threshold with a sense of having shared state secrets. on such occasions mrs. robson's frankness had almost a challenge in it; she exaggerated many details and concealed none. "yes," she would repeat, emphatically, "they served cigarettes along with the wine. they _always_ do." "well, mrs. robson," mrs. finnegan inevitably returned, "far be it from me to criticize what your daughter's friends do. but i don't approve of women smoking." as a matter of fact, neither did mrs. robson, but she felt in duty bound to resent mrs. finnegan's narrow attacks upon society. "well, mrs. finnegan, that's only because you're not accustomed to it. now, if you had ever...." "did claire smoke?" "why, of course _not_! how can you ask such a thing? i hope i've brought my daughter up decently, mrs. finnegan." and with that, mrs. robson would deftly switch to a less exciting detail of the condor-stillman musicale, before her neighbor had a chance to pick flaws in her logic. but sooner or later the topic would again verge on the controversial. usually at the point where the scene shifted from ned stillman's apartments to the palace hotel, mrs. finnegan's pug nose was lifted with tentative disapproval, as she inquired: "how many did you say went down to the palace?" "only four--mr. stillman, claire, mrs. condor, and a young fellow named edington." "i suppose _that_ mrs. condor was the chaperon. finnegan knows her well! she used to hire hacks when finnegan was in the livery business years ago. she's a gay one, i can tell you. when only the steam-dummy ran out to the cliff house...." "that's nothing. everybody who was anybody had dinners at the cliff house in those days. i remember how my father...." "yes, mrs. robson, maybe you do! but i'll bet _you_ never went to such a place without your husband ... and ... with a _strange_ man." mrs. robson never had, and she would tell mrs. finnegan so decidedly. this always had the effect of switching the subject again and mrs. robson found her desire to know the real details of mrs. condor's questionable gaieties offered up on the altar of class loyalty. for it never occurred to mrs. robson to doubt that her social exile had nothing to do with the inherent rights of her position. when everything else in the way of an irritating program failed to rouse mrs. robson's dignified ire, her neighbor fell back upon the fact that stillman was a married man. mrs. finnegan really worshiped mrs. robson to distraction, but she had a natural combative tendency that was at odds with even her loyalty. "mr. stillman is a married man," mrs. finnegan would insist, doggedly. "and i don't approve of married men taking an interest in young girls. who knows?--he may spoil your daughter's chances." this statement always had the effect of dividing mrs. robson against herself. she resented mrs. finnegan's insinuations concerning stillman, because it was not in her nature to be anything but partizan, and at the same time she was mollified by her neighbor's recognition of the fact that claire had such things as chances. she always managed cleverly at this point by saying, patronizingly: "why, how you talk, mrs. finnegan! mr. stillman is just like an old friend. not that we've known _him_ so long ... but the family, you know ... they're old-timers. everybody knows the stillmans! really one couldn't want a better friend." thus did mrs. robson take meager and colorless realities and expand them into things of blossoming promise. she was almost creative in the artistry she brought to these transmutations. in the end she convinced _herself_ of their existence and she was quite sure that mrs. finnegan shared equally in the delights of her fancy. meanwhile november passed, and the first weeks of december crowded the old year to its death. november had been shrouded in clammy fogs, but no rain had fallen, and everybody began to have the restless feeling engendered by the usual summer drought in california prolonged beyond its appointed season. the country and the people needed rain. claire, always responsive to the moods of wind and weather, longed for the cleansing flood to descend and wash the dust-drab town colorful again. she awoke one morning to the delicious thrill of the moisture-laden southeast wind blowing into her room and the warning voice of her mother at her bedroom door calling to her: "you'd better put on your thick shoes, claire! we're in for a storm." she leaped out of bed joyously and hurried with her dressing. as she walked down to work the warm yet curiously refreshing wind flung itself in a fine frenzy over the gray city. dark-gray clouds were closing in from the south, and in the east an ominous silver band of light marked the sullen flight of the sun. people were scampering about buoyantly, running for street-cars, chasing liberated hats, battling with billowing skirts. it seemed as if the promise of rain had revived laughter and motion to an extraordinary degree. at the office this ecstasy of spirit persisted; even miss munch came in hair awry and blowsy, her beady eyes almost laughing. mr. flint had not been to the office for two days. a sniffling cold had kept him at home. claire had rather looked for him to-day, and had prepared herself for a flood of accumulated dictation. but the threat of dampness evidently dissuaded him, for the noon hour came and went and mr. flint did not put in an appearance. at about three o'clock in the afternoon a long-distance call came on the telephone for miss robson. claire answered. flint was on the other end of the wire. he wanted to know if she could come at once over to yolanda and take several pages of dictation. his cold was uncertain and he might not get out for the rest of the week. he realized that it was something of an imposition on her good nature, but she would be doing him a great favor if.... she interrupted him with her quick assent and he finished: "i'll have the car at the station, and of course you'll stay for dinner." claire hung up the receiver and looked at her watch. it was just half after three. the next ferryboat connecting at sausalito with the electric train for yolanda left at three-forty-five. she had no time to lose; it was a good ten minutes' walk from the office to the ferry and little to be gained by taking a street-car. she managed her preparations for departure successfully, but in the end she had to ask miss munch to telephone her mother. miss munch assented with an alarmingly sweet smile. claire walked briskly down california street toward the ferry-building. no rain had fallen, but the air was full of ominous promise. the wind was even brisker than it had been in the morning, and its breath almost tropically moist. "at sundown it will simply pour," thought claire, as she exchanged fifty cents for a ticket to yolanda. she presented her ticket at the entrance to the waiting-room and passed in. the passageway to the boat was already open; she went at once and found a sheltered corner outside on the upper deck. a strong sea was running and already the ferryboat was plunging and straining like a restless bloodhound in leash. the air was full of screaming gulls and the clipped whistling of restless bay craft. claire was so intent on all this elemental agitation that she took no notice of the people about her, but as the boat slid lumberingly out of the slip she was recalled by a voice close at hand saying: "why, miss robson, who would think of seeing you here at this hour!" claire turned and discovered miss munch's cousin sitting beside her, intent on the inevitable tatting. "oh, mrs. richards, how stupid of me! have you been here long?" "about ten minutes. but i get so interested in my work i never have eyes for anything else. how do you put in the time? a trip like this is so tiresome!" claire delved into her bag and brought out knitting-needles and an unfinished sock. "i'm trying a hand at this," she admitted, holding her handiwork up ruefully. "but i'm afraid i'm not very skilful." mrs. richards inspected the sock with critical disapproval. "oh, well," she encouraged, "you'll learn ... practice makes perfect. i've just finished a half-dozen pairs. i suppose i'm laying myself out for a roast doing tatting in public _these_ war days! but it's restful and i'm not one to pretend. as long as my conscience is clear i can afford to be perfectly independent.... you don't make this trip every night, do you?" "oh my, no! i'm going over to mr. flint's to take some dictation. he's home sick." "i saw mrs. flint and the children coming _off_ the boat just as i got on." mrs. richards's voice took on a tone of casual directness. "you know mrs. flint?" "my dear girl, a trained nurse knows everybody--and everything about them, too. you never get a real line on people until you live with them. i've never nursed any of the flint family, but i wouldn't have to to get their reputation--or perhaps i should say, old flint's." "_old_ flint's?" echoed claire. "well, of course he isn't so awfully old, but men like him always give that impression. they're so awfully wise--about _some_ things. i _was_ so relieved when gertie didn't get that dreadful miss whitehead's place. being in the general office is bad enough, but in his _private_ office...." mrs. richards lifted and dropped her tatting-filled hands significantly. claire felt the blood rush to her face. "i'm in the private office, mrs. richards.... no doubt you forgot it." "well now, you know i _had_ ... for the moment. but with a girl like you it's different. some women can handle men, but gertie would be so helpless!" the humor of mrs. richards's remark saved the situation for claire. she changed the subject deliberately. but somehow, with the conversation forced from the particular to the general, miss munch's cousin lost interest, and by the time the boat had passed alcatraz island claire was deep in her thoughts again and the other woman following the measured flight of the tatting-shuttle with strained attention. the boat was romping through the stiff sea like a playful porpoise, dipping and plunging. a half-score of adventuresome gulls were still following in the foam-churned wake. in the face of all the pitching about, mrs. richards had quite a battle to direct her shuttle to any efficient purpose, and claire was almost amused at the grim determination she brought to the performance. presently a warning whistle from the ferryboat betrayed the fact that they were nearing sausalito. mrs. richards began to gather up her numerous bundles, and claire and she made their way down the narrow stairs to the lower deck. their progress was slow and uncertain. the southeaster was tearing across the open spaces and bending everything before it; the lumbering boat dipped sideward in a stolid encounter with its adversary. "mercy! what a night!" gasped mrs. richards, clutching at claire's arm. a gust of wind struck them with its force just as they reached the lower deck. mrs. richards staggered and wrestled vainly with tatting-bag and bundles and a refractory skirt. for the moment both women were stalled in a desperate effort to retain their equilibrium. "come!" gasped claire. "let's get over there in the shelter of that automobile." they made the leeward side of the automobile in question, and while mrs. richards began to recover her roughly handled dignity claire turned her attention to the car. it was a huge dark-red affair, evidently fresh from the shop. claire knew none of the fine points of automobiles, but this one had unmistakable evidences of distinction. she was peering in at its opulent depths when who should surprise her but ned stillman. "my dear miss robson!" he cried, in a tone of delight, as he faced her from the opposite side of the car. "what do you think of it?" "yours?" she queried. "just out of the shop to-day. i couldn't wait until it cleared. i just had to get out with it. and this kind of weather always puts me up on my toes. where are you going--to ross? if you are, don't bother with the train. come along with me." he circled about the machine and came up to her with a frank, outstretched hand. "oh, i beg your pardon!" he murmured as mrs. richards came into view. claire began an introduction, but mrs. richards cut in with her odd, challenging way. "oh, _i_ know mr. stillman! but i guess he's forgotten _me_. it's been some years, of course. at mr. faville's--your _wife's_ father's house." stillman paled for the briefest of moments, but he recovered himself cleverly. "mrs. richards--of course! how do you do? it _has_ been some years." "i'm going to mr. flint's--at yolanda," said claire, "to take some dictation. he's been ill, you know." "ill? no, i hadn't heard it. nothing serious, i hope." "not serious enough to keep mrs. flint at home, anyway," volunteered mrs. richards, in her characteristically disagreeable way. "mrs. richards saw mrs. flint and the children coming off the boat...." "as i got on," interrupted the lady again. "oh, indeed, is that so?" claire fancied that stillman's tone held something more than polite acceptance of what he had just heard. "i can take you ladies to yolanda if you'd like a spin in the open better than a stuffy ride in the train." "thank you," mrs. richards returned, "but i get off at sausalito. i've no doubt miss robson will be delighted." "i think i'd better not," said claire. "mr. flint is sending his car to the train for me. i shouldn't want to change my program and cause confusion. but i'd like nothing better! the air is so bracing!" "you can excuse _me_!" put in mrs. richards, moving toward the forward deck. "it's going to pour in less than ten minutes. i'm not one of those amphibious creatures who like to get wringing wet just for the fun of it!" stillman lifted his hat. claire stood for a moment undecided whether to follow mrs. richards or remain for a chat with stillman. "i'm an awful fool, i suppose," stillman smiled at claire, "bringing the car out on a night like this. but the truth is edington promised to catch this boat and i wanted him to try out the new plaything. i might have known he wouldn't make it. we're running over for dinner with edington's sister." at this moment the boat crashed clumsily against the sausalito ferry-slip, and in the sudden confusion of landing claire was swept along without further ado. she looked back. stillman waved a genial good-by to her. she felt glad that he was behind her, in a vague, impersonal, thoroughly inexplainable way. chapter vi claire was disappointed that mrs. flint was not to be at home. she had caught glimpses of her now and then coming into the office and she was interested in the hope of seeing her at closer range. mrs. flint was a rather frumpish individual, who always gave the impression of pieced-out dressmaking. "she must subscribe to the _ladies' home journal_," nellie whitehead had commented one day. "you know that 'go-up-into-the-garret-and-get-five- yards-of-grandmother's-wedding-gown' column. well, she's a walking ad for it. she's no raving beauty, but if she would throw out her chest and chuck those flat-heeled clogs of hers, and put a marcel wave in her hair, maybe the old man would sit up and take notice." to which miss munch had replied: "well, she's a mighty sweet woman, anyway!" in a tone calculated to freeze the irrepressible nellie whitehead into silence. "who says she isn't? and at that, a good tailor-made suit and a decent-looking hat won't spoil her disposition any...." the children, too, were what nellie whitehead had termed "perfect guys." on warm days mrs. flint would drag these two daughters of hers into the office, dressed in plaid suits and velveteen hats; and when a cold north wind blew it seemed inevitable that they would appear in gay and airy costumes up to their knees, with impossible straw bonnets trimmed with daisies and faded cornflowers, reminiscent of the white-leghorn-hat era. "men don't marry women for their clothes," miss munch used to say, challengingly, to nellie. "oh, don't they, indeed! well, i've lived longer than sixteen and a half years and i've noticed that it's the up-to-the-minute dame that gets away with it and holds onto it every time, just the same. and any woman silly enough to work the rag-bag game when her husband can afford seven yards of taffeta and a butterick pattern is a fool!" claire knew women who looked dowdy on dress-parade and yet managed to be quite charming in their own houses. she was wondering whether this might not be mrs. flint's case; anyway, she had hoped for a chance to decide this point, and now mrs. flint was not at home. as she settled into her matting-covered seat in the train she began to wonder just who _would_ be home at the flint establishment. and she thought suddenly of the disagreeable emphasis that mrs. richards had seen fit to give the fact that mrs. flint was bound cityward. at this stage she became lost in discovering so many points of contact between mrs. richards and her cousin, miss munch. then the train started with a quick lurch, and a view of the rapidly darkening landscape claimed her utterly. claire always took a childish delight in watching the panorama of the countryside unroll swiftly before the space-conquering flight of a train. and to-night the quick close of the december day warned her to make the most of her opportunity. the wind was whipping the upper reaches of the bay into a shallow fury, and the water in turn was beating against the slimy mud and swallowing it up in gray, futile anger. this part of the ride just out of sausalito was always more or less depressing unless a combination of full tide and vivid sunshine gave its muddy stretches the enlivening grace of sky-blue reflections. worm-eaten and tottering piles, abandoned hulks, half-swamped skiffs, all the water-logged dissolution of stagnant shore lines the world over, flashed by, to be succeeded by the fresher green of channel-cut marshes. the hills were wind-swept, huddling their scant oak covering into the protecting folds of shallow canons. at intervals, clumps of eucalyptus-trees banded together or drew out in long, thin, soldier-like lines. presently it began to rain. there was no preliminary patter, but the storm broke suddenly, hurling great gray drops of moisture against the windows. claire withdrew from any further attempt to watch the whirling landscape. it was now quite dark, the short december day dying even more suddenly under a black pall of lowering clouds. she began to have distinctly uncomfortable thoughts about her visit to the flints'. but the more uncomfortable her thoughts became, the more reason she brought to bear for conquering them. surely one was not to be persuaded into a panic by any such person as mrs. richards! and by the time the brakeman announced the train's approach to yolanda, claire had recovered her common sense. what of it if mrs. flint had gone to town? there must be other women in the household--at least a maid. it was absurd! the train stopped and claire got off. flint's car was waiting, and jerry donovan, the chauffeur, stood with a dripping umbrella almost at claire's elbow as she hopped upon the platform. as they swished through the inky blackness, claire said to jerry, with as inconsequential an air as she could muster: "i thought i saw mrs. flint get off the boat in town. but i guess i was mistaken. she wouldn't be leaving mr. flint alone ... when he's ill." "ill?" jerry chuckled. "well, he ain't dead by a long shot. just a case of sniffles, and a good excuse for hitting the booze. he's in prime condition, i can tell you." claire had never seen flint in "prime condition," but she had it from nellie whitehead that there were moments when the gentleman in question could "go some," to use her predecessor's precise terms. "about twice a year," nellie had once confided to claire, "the old boy starts in to cure a cold. i helped him cure one ... but _never_ again!" jerry's observations aroused fresh anxiety, but they did not settle the issue for claire. she felt that she could not turn back at the eleventh hour. there was nothing else for her to do but go through with the game. yet she still hoped for the best. "_did_ mrs. flint go to town to-day?" she finally asked, point-blank. "sure thing," said jerry, swinging the car past the flint gateway. claire refused to be totally lacking in faith. "there must be a maid," flashed through her mind, as jerry stopped the car and swung down to help her out. a japanese boy threw open the door as they scrambled up the rain-soaked steps. but the fine, orderly, colonial interior reassured claire. the few country homes she had seen had been of the rambling, unrelated bungalow type, with paneled redwood walls either stained to a dismal brown or quite frankly left to their rather characterless pink. this home was different. even the pungent oak logs crackling in the fireplace did so with indefinable distinction. the general tone of the surroundings was as little in keeping with the patchwork personality of its mistress as one could imagine. it was as if the singular completeness of mrs. flint's home left no time nor energy for a finished individuality. claire got all this in the briefest of flashes, just a swift, inclusive glance about the entrance hall and through the doorways leading into the rooms beyond. particularly did she sense the severe opulence of the dining-room, twinkling at a remoter distance than the living-room--its perfectly polished silver, its spotless linen, its wonderfully blue china, not to mention the disconcerting fact that the table in the center was laid for but two. and then flint himself came forward with a very red face and an absurdly cordial greeting. "well, i began to wonder whether you'd risk it. this will be a storm and no mistake.... here, let me have your coat. come, you're quite wet.... shall you warm up on a hot toddy or something cooler--a cocktail?" she felt his hand sliding down her arm as she released the coat to his too-eager fingers. "oh no, mr. flint! thank you, nothing. it's only a bit of rain on the surface. i'm quite dry." "quite dry!" he echoed her words with a guffaw. "well, then, we'll have to moisten you up. i always say everything's a good excuse for a drink. if you're cold you take a drink to warm up; if you're warm you take one to cool off. you dry out on one, and you wet up on one. i don't know of any habit with so many good reasons back of it. i'm dry, too.... we'll have a bronx! that's a nice, ladylike drink." claire weighed her reply. she did not want to strike the wrong note; she wanted to let him have a feeling that she was accepting everything in a normal, matter-of-fact way, as if she saw nothing extraordinary in the situation. "you're very kind, but really you know ... if i'm to get my dictation straight...." "well, perhaps there won't be any dictation. we're not slaves, you and i. maybe it will be much pleasanter to sit before the fire and listen to the storm. what do you say to that?" she turned from him deliberately, under the fiction of fluffing up her hair before a gilt mirror near the door. she was thinking quickly and with a tremendous, if concealed, agitation. "why," she laughed back, finally, "that _would_ be pleasant. but i came to take dictation, mr. flint. and women ... women, you know, are so funny! if they make up their minds to one thing, they can't switch suddenly to another idea." he was paying no attention to her remark, a remark which she felt would have fallen flat in any event, since it was so palpably studied. "the living-room is in there," he said, pointing. "make yourself at home." she went in and sat before the fire. flint disappeared. she tried hard to analyze the situation. it was unthinkable that mr. flint had deliberately planned this piece of foolishness. he must have had some idea of work when he had telephoned her; perhaps he still had. it was his way of being facetious, she argued, this fine pretense that it was all to be a pleasant lark, or it may have been his idea of hospitality. of course he had been drinking, but she took comfort in the thought that there must be instinctive standards in a man like flint that even whisky could not swamp. at least he must respect his wife--surely it was not possible for flint, drunk or sober, to offer such an affront to _her_, however little he respected the women in his employ. she dismissed mrs. richards's exaggerated insinuations with their well-deserved contempt, but she could not thrust aside quite so readily the eye-lifting tone with which stillman had met the announcement of mrs. flint's absence from home. this was the first time that claire had seen stillman since the musicale. she had thought a great deal about him and particularly about his problem. she felt a great desire to know everything--all the details of the unfortunate circumstance that had driven his wife into a madhouse, and yet whenever her mother broached the subject claire changed the topic with curious panic. she seemed to dread the hard, almost triumphant manner that her mother assumed in tracking misfortune to its lair and gloating over it. she began to wonder whether stillman would be swinging back to the city on a late boat ... or would the storm keep him at edington's sister's home all night? she was in the midst of this speculation when flint came into the room. "we'll eat early and have that off our minds," he announced. his manner was brusk and business-like again. claire felt reassured. but she was disturbed to find a cocktail at her place at the table. "well, here's glad to see you!" flint raised his glass and tilted it ever so slightly in her direction. claire lifted the cocktail to her lips and set it down untasted. "what's the matter? getting unsociable again?" "no, mr. flint. i don't care for cocktails." "oh, all right! we'll send down-cellar and get some wine." "thank you, not for me." "i suppose you don't care for wine, either?" his voice had a bantering quality, with a shade of menace in it. "or maybe the right party isn't here. i've noticed that makes a difference. females are damned moral with the wrong fellow." his attack was so direct and insolent that claire missed the trepidation that might have come with a more covert move. she was no longer uncertain. there was a sharp relief in realizing that all the cards were on the table. she felt also that there was no immediate danger. flint was far from sober, but he was in his own home. she had the conviction that he was merely skirmishing, testing the strength or weakness of the line he hoped to penetrate. her reply was rather more of a challenge than she could have imagined herself giving under such a circumstance. "and if i were to tell you that i don't care for wine, mr. flint?" he threw open his napkin with a flourish. "you'd be telling me a damned lie! you drink wine at the palace with stillman and edington." she had felt that he was going to say some such thing and for a moment it amused her. it was so ridiculous to find this rather wan and wistful indiscretion assuming damaging proportions. but a nasty fear succeeded her faint amusement. could it be possible that stillman had gossiped? "who told you?" she demanded. "oh, don't be afraid; it wasn't stillman! you're like all women, you moon about sentimentalizing over ned until it makes a man like me sick! i like ned; i always have. but even when we went to college together it was the same way. everybody ... yes, even the men ... always gave him credit for a high moral tone. not that he ever took it.... i'll say that for him.... ned stillman didn't tell me, for the simple reason that he didn't have to. nobody told me. i go to the palace myself under pressure, and i've got two eyes. as a matter of fact, there isn't any reason why edington or stillman or the waiter who drew the corks shouldn't have mentioned it. a glass of wine is no crime. but the thing that makes me hot is to see any one pretending. if you drink with stillman, you haven't any license to refuse a glass with me." there was something more than wine-heated rancor back of his harangue. claire guessed instinctively that he both loved and hated stillman with a curious confusion of impulses. it was a feeling of affection torn by the irritating superiority of its object. one gets the same thing in families ... among children. it was at once subtle and extremely primitive. "my dear mr. flint, this isn't quite the same thing. i've work to do for one thing and, and...." "and ... and.... why don't you say it? you're alone with me and all that sort of rubbish! want a chaperon, i suppose. mrs. condor, for instance.... good lord!" claire dipped her spoon into the steaming bouillon-cup in front of her. she was growing quite calm under the directness of flint's attack. "it isn't the same," she reiterated, stubbornly. "i've work to do, mr. flint." "i tell you that you haven't!" flint brought his fist down upon the table. "well, then, why did you send for me?" "i had something to say to you.... gad! one can't talk in that ramping office of mine. we've never even settled the matter of an increase in salary for you. by the way, how much money do you get?" claire had never seen any man look so crafty and disagreeable. he gave her the impression of a petty tyrant about to bestow largess upon an obsequious and fawning slave. "sixty-five dollars a month." "well, i don't exactly know.... i've been trying to figure out just how valuable you are to me, miss robson. or, rather, how valuable you're likely to be." he thrust aside his soup and leaned heavily upon the table. "that's why i invited you over to-night. i wanted to see you at a little closer range. you live with your mother, don't you?" "yes, mr. flint." "you ... you support your mother, i believe?" "yes, mr. flint." "well, sixty-five dollars don't leave much margin for hair ribbons and the like, does it, now?" "no, mr. flint." "no, mr. flint.... yes, mr. flint...." he mocked. "good lord! can't you cut that school-girl-to-her-dignified-guardian attitude. i'm human. dammit all, i'm as human as your friend ned stillman. i'll bet you don't yes-sir and no-sir him.... you know, that night i saw you at the palace you quite bowled me over. i'd been thinking of you as a shy, unsophisticated young thing. but you were hitting the high places like a veteran. even old lady condor didn't have anything on you. except, of course, that she looks the part. by the way, where did you meet stillman?" "at ... at a church social," claire stammered. "at a church social! say, i wasn't born yesterday. ned stillman doesn't go to church. tell me something easy." "it was really a red cross concert. he went with mrs. condor," claire found herself explaining in spite of her anger. "we sat at the same table when the ice-cream was served." flint was roaring with exaggerated laughter. even claire could not restrain a smile. what made the statement so ridiculous, she found herself wondering. was she unconsciously reflecting flint's attitude or had she herself changed so tremendously in the last few weeks? "stillman at a church social! but that _is_ good! and eating ice-cream.... how long ago did all this happen, pray?" "sometime in november." he stopped his senseless guffawing and looked at her keenly. "where did you get the church-social habit?" "i ... why, i guess i formed it early, mr. flint. as you say, sixty-five dollars a month doesn't leave much for hair ribbons or anything else. going to church socials is about the cheapest form of recreation i can think of." the bitterness of her tone seemed to pull flint up with a round turn. "well, we're going to get you out of this silly church-social habit. dammit all, stillman isn't the only possibility in sight. that's just what i wanted to get at--your viewpoint. i take an interest in you, miss robson--a tremendous interest. good lord! i can dance one-steps and fox-trots and hesitations as well as anybody! i danced every bit as well as ned stillman when we went to dancing-school together. but he always got most of the applause. he _has_ an air, i don't deny that, but he's working it overtime.... and he's not in any better position for being friendly to you than i am--_he's_ married." the talk was sobering him a little. claire was amazed to find that she did not feel indignant. his tone was offensive, but at least it was forthright. besides, she had known instinctively that some day he would force the issue, and she was rather glad to get it settled. and she began to hope that she could persuade him skilfully against his warped convictions. she was trembling inwardly, too, at the thought that she might make a false step and find herself out of a position. positions were not easy to land these days. she knew a half-score of girls who had tramped the town over in a desperate effort to find a vacancy. two or three months without salary meant debts piling up, clothes in ribbons, and no end of hectic worries. "i think you've got a decidedly wrong impression of my friendship for mr. stillman," she said, after some deliberation. "i really know him only slightly. he was good enough, or rather i should say mrs. condor was good enough, to include me in a little musical evening. that was on the night you saw me at the palace. we dropped down for a dance or two after the music was over. i'd never been to such a place before, and i dare say i'll never go again. it was just one of those experiences that come to a person out of a clear sky. it's over as quickly as a shower." "oh, don't you worry! there'll be other showers. i'm going to see to that. you know, the more i talk to you the more amazing you are.... fancy your graduating from dinky church things into stillman musicales, and palace dansants, and young edington, and old lady condor, all of a sudden ... and getting away with it as if you were an old hand at the game. say, if you're that apt i'll give you a post-graduate course in high life that'll make your hair curl forty-seven ways. i don't mean anything vulgar or common ... _you_ understand. i'm a gentleman, miss robson, at that." he stopped for a moment to ring the bell for the japanese boy. claire maintained a discreet silence. she had a feeling that it would be just as well to let him take his full rein. the servant came in and cleared away the empty bouillon-cups. fish was served. flint took one taste of the fish and shoved it away impatiently. "you know, a fellow like me gets awfully bored at all this sort of thing." he swept the room with an inclusive gesture. "not that my wife isn't the best little woman in the world, but _you_ know. she's got standards and convictions and all that sort of rot. i can't bundle _her_ off for dinner and a little lark at the red paint or bonini's or some other bohemian joint like them.... you know what i mean, no rough stuff ... but a good feed, and two kinds of wine, and a cigarette with the small black. just gay and frivolous.... of course i can get any number of girls to run around and help eat up all the nourishment i care to provide. but, good lord! that isn't it! i'm looking for somebody with human intelligence. not that i want to discuss free verse and the little theater movement. but i like to feel that if i took such a crazy notion the person sitting opposite me could qualify for a good comeback.... i like my home and everything, but.... oh, well, what's the use in pretending? i'm just as human as your friend ned stillman and i've got just as keen an eye for class." he sat back in his seat with an air of satisfaction, waiting for claire's reply. she had been calm enough while he talked, but under the tenseness of his silent expectancy she felt her heart bound. "dammit all! why don't you say something?" he blurted out. "i know, you need a little wine. i'm going down-stairs and pick out the best in the cellar ... _myself_." she did not attempt to dissuade him; as a matter of fact, she felt relieved to be left alone for a moment. she must leave as soon as dinner was over. she began to wonder about the trains. the storm was raging outside. she could hear the frenzied trees flinging their branches about and a noisy flood of rain against the windows. she spoke to the japanese boy as he was carrying away flint's unfinished fish course. "do you know what time the next train leaves?" he laid the tray on the serving-table. "please.... i telephone. please!" he bobbed at her absurdly and went out into the hall. she listened. he was ringing up the station-master. he came back promptly. "please," he began, sucking in his breath, "please ... no train to-night." "no train to-night? why, what do you mean?" "please ... very much water. train track washed out. no train to-night. to-morrow morning, maybe." "oh, but i must go home to-night! i really must! i...." she broke off suddenly, realizing the futility of her protest. "to-morrow morning," replied the japanese, blandly. "all right to-morrow morning. you stay here.... i fix a place. you see.... i fix a very nice place for young lady." he went out with the tray and claire rose and walked to the window. flint broke into the room noisily. she turned--he had two dusty bottles in his hand, and an air of triumph. "mr. flint, it seems that there has been a washout. i understand that no trains are running. what can i do? i must get back; really i...." "who says so?" flint laid the bottles down with an irritating calmness. "the station-master. your ... your servant just telephoned for me." "oh, well, _we_ should worry! sit down." "mr. flint, really, i must.... you know i can't.... i...." "sit _down_!" his tone was a dash of cold water thrown in the face of her rising hysteria. she sat down. flint ignored the bottles on the table and, crossing over to the sheraton sideboard, poured himself a stiff drink of whisky. his hair-towsled condition stood out sharply against the precise background. he made no further comment, but he began to open the bottles of wine deliberately. then he rummaged in the china-closet for the wine-glasses and set four, two at his place and two at claire's, upon the table. "white wine with the entree and red wine with the roast," he muttered. and he poured out the white wine without further ado. the servant came in with creamed sweetbreads. claire forced herself to make a pretense of eating, although her appetite had long since deserted her. she was thinking, and thinking hard. she should never have come, in the first place--at least she should have turned back upon the strength of jerry's announcement. but she saw now, with a clearness that surprised her, that the situation had really challenged her imagination. she had been too calm, too collected, too well-poised, full of smug over-confidence. she had read in the current novels of the day how hysterically unsophisticated heroines conducted themselves in tight corners and she had followed their writhings with ill-concealed impatience. she never had really put herself in their place, but she had had a vague notion that they carried on absurdly. her fear all evening had been not what mr. flint would do or say or even suggest--she had been anxious merely to have the impending storm over, the air cleared, and her position in the office assured upon a purely business-like basis. she had really welcomed the forced issue; for weeks her mind had been entertaining and dismissing the idea that mr. flint had any questionable motives in yielding nellie whitehead's place to her. with this fleeting trepidation had come the realization of her dependence, the importance her sixty-five dollars a month in the scheme of things, the compromises that she might be forced into accepting in order to insure its continuance; not definite and soul-searing compromises, it was true, but petty, irritating trucklings which wear down self-esteem. it had been the primitive violence of flint's commanding, "sit down!" to thrust the issue from the economic to the elemental. for the first time in her life claire was face to face with unstripped masculine brutality. she had wondered why women of a lower order took men's blows without striking back, without at least escaping from further torment. but she was beginning to see, as her spirits tried to rise reeling from flint's verbal assault, the fawning submission, half admiration, half fear, that could follow a frank, hard-fisted blow. and she had a terror, sitting there trying to thrust food between her trembling lips, that the sheer physical force of the male opposite her might shatter in one blow a will that could have withstood any amount of spiritual or material attrition. she had never seen flint so clearly as at this moment; in fact, she had never seen him _at all_. formerly, he had been a conventionalized masculine biped in a blue-serge covering who paid her salary and struck attitudes that were symbols of predatory instincts rather than an indication that such instincts existed. life had, after all, been peopled by the precisely labeled puppets of a morality play; they came on, and declaimed, and made gestures--but they remained abstractions, things apart from life, mere representations of the vices and virtues they impersonated. she had entertained this idea particularly with regard to flint. she had felt that the day would come when he and she would occupy the stage together. he would speak his part with a great flourish of the hands and much high-sounding emphasis, and when he had finished she would reply with a carefully worded retort, setting forth the claims and rewards of virtue. thus it would continue, argument succeeding argument, a declamatory give and take, dignified, passionless, theatrical. they were occupying the stage now, it was true, but there was something warm and human and ragged about the performance. flint was not a mere spiritless allegory in red-satin doublet and hose to give flame to his conventionality. instead, she saw sitting opposite her a ponderous, quick-breathing, drunken male, handsome in a coarse, rough-hewn way, speaking in the quick, clipped speech of passion and striking her to the ground with the energy of his stage business. she was afraid, almost for the first time in her life, with a primitive, abandoned fear. and suddenly her vista of womanhood narrowed to include the ugly foreground of life that youth had looked over in its eager, far-flung scanning of the horizon beyond. suddenly she felt all the oppression and sorrow of the sex bear down upon her and mark her with its relentless finger. because she was a woman she would pay for every joy with a corresponding sorrow; receive a blow for every caress; know courage and fear with equal intimacy.... she stopped eating and she began to realize with a vivid terror that flint was looking at her fixedly and beginning to speak. "what's the matter with the sweetbreads? don't you like 'em?... and the wine?... say, i'm going to get peeved in a minute. you don't suppose we serve this french-restaurant style of meal every day do you? i should say _not_! that's another one of the _frau's_ convictions. plain living at home so as to set the right example to the _girls_!" flint threw his head from side to side, mincing out his last statement. "gad! i'm tired of setting a good example!... and even sing gets tired. chinks, you know, like to cook a bang-up meal once in a while. they like a chance to show their speed and put in all the fancy trimmings." his mood, during this speech, had changed with drunken facility from irritability to good humor. claire, still attempting to marshal her wits, picked up her fork again and murmured: "oh, you have a chinese cook, then? i had no idea.... the japanese boy, you know. they say that the two never get along." "that's a fairy-tale. besides, it's next to impossible, these days, to get a chinese second-boy. and the missus _won't_ hire a girl." he winked broadly. "can't get one ugly enough, i guess. sing's a wonder. i copped him from the tom forsythes. _you_ know--young edington's in-laws. they've never quite forgiven me. though they _will_ come back and tuck away one of his dinners occasionally." claire's mind closed nimbly over flint's statement. "the--the tom forsythes of ross?" she asked. he nodded and tossed a glass of wine off in one gulp. the tom forsythes of ross ... edington's sister ... ned stillman! the sequence of ideas flashed through claire's mind with flashing detachment. she leaned back in her seat and raised the wine-glass in obvious pretense to her lips. flint was watching her keenly: an ugly gleam was in his eyes. "well, miss robson, you might just as well make up your mind to finish that glass of wine first as last. we're not going to have the next course until you do." she measured him deliberately. she knew now that it was to be a fight to a finish. she was honestly afraid and full of the courage of realization. "i've had enough as it is, mr. flint. besides, we must either be getting to work or figuring how i am to make the boat at sausalito. i suppose you could send me in the car ... with jerry." "oh, with jerry? so that's it!... no, not on your life! he's too good-looking a boy for a job like that. no, miss robson, you are going to stay _right_ here.... now, understand me, i'm not a damn fool! you seem to have an idea that because i've had a glass or two that i've lost my reason. you're an attractive girl and all that, miss robson, and i am interested in you! but please don't flatter yourself that i'm staking everything on a throw like this. as a matter of fact, i'll see that you are properly chaperoned. we've plenty of neighbors. you've got the best excuse in the world for staying here and...." "but, my dear mr. flint, can't you see, i...." "no, i can't. i want you to stay _here_. my reasons are as good as yours. now let's get that off our mind and enjoy the meal." his manner struck her protests to the ground again. she was no longer fearing the immediate outcome, in fact, she never had, but she knew that if he broke her to his will now, all the safeguards, all the chaperons, all the conventions in the world wouldn't save her from ultimate consequences. this was the try-out that was to establish her pace in the final contest; she would stand or fall upon the record she made at this moment. for she was trying out something more than flint's temper, something greater than a mechanical adjustment of human relationships--she was trying out _herself_. she sat for some moments, thinking hard, one hand fingering the slender base of the wine-filled glass in front of her, the other dropped in pensive limpness at her side. flint had cleared the space in front of him of everything but his two wine-glasses. he had slipped down in his seat and his two bloodshot eyes were fixing her with a level stare. she stirred finally and rose. he was on his feet in an instant. "i'm going to telephone," she said, calmly. "telephone ... where?... what's the idea?" "mr. flint," she answered, a bit wearily, "at least i'm a guest in your house, am i not?" he settled back in his seat with a grunt of acquiescence. she stood dazed for a moment, surprised at the chance that had put such telling words into her mouth. she had been fingering timidly for the key to his chivalry; quite by accident she had hit upon it in the shape of this appeal to her expectations of him in the rôle of host. she could have lied, of course, and told him that she wished to telephone her mother, but she had not yet been cornered sufficiently to resort to so distasteful a weapon.... as she left the room she found herself wondering whether stillman had by any chance left the tom forsythes. she looked at the clock. it was not quite eight o'clock. she felt reassured, yet she was tremendously frightened.... especially as she realized that the telephone was in the entrance hall within earshot of the dining-room.... she was decidedly more frightened when she got back from her telephoning, and looked at flint. he was clutching at the table with both hands, his body tilted slightly forward, his lips ominously thin. "you telephoned to the tom forsythes, didn't you?" "yes." "and you asked for stillman.... did you get him?" "yes." "what did you want with him?" "if you heard that much, i guess you heard the rest, mr. flint." claire stood at her place at the table. she decided not to sit. flint bore down on both hands until things began to creak. "yes, i heard everything, but, dammit all, i couldn't believe my own ears. you're like every woman i ever knew ... you don't play fair. you appeal to my instinct as host and then you go and outrage every privilege you've got me to concede. you're a pretty guest, you are! and i sit here and let you 'play me for a fool.' let you ring up ned stillman and ask him to fetch you away from _my_ house in _his_ car!" he stopped and took a deep breath; his words were no longer passionate; instead, they were precise and cool and venomous. "understand me, young lady, i'm through with you. i wouldn't care, if i thought you were really virtuous. but you're too clever for a virtuous woman.... oh, i dare say you subscribe to the letter of the law, all right. for instance, you take care not to run around with married men whose incumbrances are in plain view of the audience.... oh, i've seen lots of clever women in my time, but in the end they always took too much rope. remember, you'll have your bluff called some day." he pushed back his chair noisily and rose. the japanese servant came bobbing along. "clear away the things!" flint bellowed. "we're through!... good night, miss robson, and a pleasant journey to you--you and your _immaculate_ friend stillman." he left the room with a melodramatic flourish.... presently claire heard him mounting the stairs. "he's drunk!" flashed through her mind, as if the idea had just struck her. "of course, he must be drunk, otherwise he wouldn't have dared to...." she went out into the entrance hall and put on her hat. chapter vii midway between yolanda and sausalito stillman's machine died with disconcerting suddenness the rain was coming down in sheets. stillman got out. "it's no use," he announced, lifting himself back into his seat. "i can't do anything in this deluge." this was the first word that had been said since he and claire had left flint's. "the worst will be over in a few moments," replied claire, easily. but she was far from reassured. the deluge was _not_ over in a few moments. it kept up with an ever-increasing violence, until it seemed that even the stalled car would be compelled to yield to its force. claire had never seen it rain harder; the storm had a vindictive fury that reminded her of the dreadful tempest in "king lear." stillman maintained his usual well-bred calm and smoked cigarettes while he chattered. he touched on every conceivable subject but the one uppermost in claire's mind, until she began to wonder whether delicacy or contempt veiled his conversation. a half-hour passed ... an hour ... two. still the rain swept from the sullen sky. twice stillman made a futile attempt to remedy the trouble with his engine, and twice he retired defeated to the shelter of the car. claire was relieved that she was in the company of a man who did not emphasize the monotonous hours by indiscriminate raillery against the tricks of chance. at first he dismissed the situation with the most casual of shrugs; later he acknowledged his annoyance by an expression of regret at his companion's discomfort, but he stopped there. as the hours went on, with no abatement of the storm's devastating energy, claire grew less and less pleased at the prospect. she began to wonder whether the shelter of flint's roof had not been, after all, the discreet thing. was not her headlong flight in company with stillman more open to criticism than the frank acceptance of her employer's hospitality? but these vagrant questions were the spawn of a colorless spirit of social expediency which fastens itself on weak natures, and in claire's case they died still-born. she had been too well schooled in loneliness to lean heavily on the crooked stick of public opinion. accustomed to standing alone, she had something of the spiritual arrogance that goes with independence. people could think what they liked. and it was more a realization of her mother's anxiety than any thought of self which made her suggest to stillman that they might get out and walk into sausalito. "i think the last boat leaves there at twelve-thirty," she finished. "surely we could make it if we keep going." stillman thrust his arm out into the drenching rain, and withdrew it instantly. "i'm afraid that's out of the question, so long as the rain keeps up, miss robson," he said, in a tone of implied objection. "perhaps if it should stop...." claire settled back in her seat. stillman was right. the storm was too furious to be lightly braved. it was eleven o'clock before a quick veering of the wind brought a downpour so violent that what had gone before seemed little better than a rather weak rehearsal. "it will clear presently," stillman assured claire. "southeaster always break up in a flurry like this from the west." in ten minutes the stars were peeping brilliantly through rents in the torn clouds. pungent odors floated up from the rain-trampled stubble of the hillsides, the air was cleared of its stifling oppressiveness, the first storm of the season was over. both claire and stillman clambered out at the first signs of the storm's exhaustion. stillman switched on his pocket-light and began to investigate the trouble with the engine. his decision was swift and conclusive. "it's hopeless," he announced, turning to claire with a slight grimace. "we're stalled absolutely and no mistake. i guess we'd better strike out and walk. no doubt we'll get a lift into sausalito before we've gone very far, but i dare say it's well to be on the safe side." they rolled the machine to one side of the roadway and struck out hopefully. the rain had made a thin chocolate ooze of the highway, and before they had gone a hundred yards their shoes were slimy with mud. it appeared that stillman had been something of an aimless wanderer for many years, and as he talked on and on, giving detached glimpses of the remote places he had visited, claire had a curious sense of futility. she read between his clipped and vivid sentences the tragedy of a personality worsted by the soft hands of circumstances. this man might have done things. as it was he was an idler. he gave her the impression of a man waiting vaguely for opportunity--like some traveler pacing restlessly up and down a railway station platform in expectation of the momentary arrival of a delayed train. she tried to imagine him as she felt sure he must once have been--youthful, eager, ardent, a man of charming enthusiasms that just missed being extravagances, who could bring zest to his virtues as well as to his follies. "surely," she thought, "something more than inclination must have pushed him into this deadly stagnation." and at once miss munch's insinuating question leaped up to answer: "you know about his wife, of course!" were men put out of countenance by such impersonal tricks of fortune? impersonal?... this domestic tragedy?... yes, claire felt that it must be, otherwise the man tramping at her side would have wrestled so passionately against fate as to have come away at least spattered with the mud of defeat. no, stillman was not defeated, he was merely arrested, restrained, held for orders. he had been in london when the war broke out. he had stayed long enough to watch the stolid, easy-going british public awake to the seriousness of the encounter, coming home after the first air raids. "i didn't mind being killed," he laughed, in explanation of his sudden flight. "but i didn't like being so frightfully messed up in the process. i want a chance to strike back when i'm cornered. the zeppelin game was too much like a rabbit-drive to suit me." as he spoke of these experiences, claire listened with a quickening of the spirit. the prospect of finding stillman vibrant was too stirring to be denied. but he was still sober on this colossal subject of war ... a bit judicial, always well poised. he had his sympathies, but they did not appear vitalized by extravagances of feeling. yet here and there claire was conscious of truant warmths, like brief flashes of sunlight through a somber forest. "and the draft--what do you think of that?" the question rose to her lips as if his answer might unlock the door to something deeper in the way of convictions. he began with a shrug that chilled her; then his reply broke with sudden refreshment: "it helps ... some of us. there are many who can't decide for themselves. the obvious duty isn't always the correct one. in my case...." he did not stop speaking suddenly, but his voice trailed off into a dim region of musing. they both fell silent. but claire knew. there was that haunting hope, almost like a fear, that his wife might some day get better. that was what he was waiting for! it might come to-morrow ... next week ... in a year ... never! but when it did come he felt that he must be there, ready. she wondered whether he loved his wife very much, and she found herself hoping that he did.... it would help, somehow ... yes, if that were so his sacrifice gained point. on the other hand.... she put the thought away with a quick thrust, feeling that she had no right to such a speculation, and presently she was aware that they were swinging into sausalito. stillman looked at his watch. twelve-thirty-five ... just five minutes late for the boat! she could see that he was disturbed. "i thought sure we'd get a lift," he railed, tossing aside a mangled cigar. "this _is_ luck!... i guess we'll have to rout out the sherwins. it's something of a pull up the hill, but any safe port in a storm, you know." "the sherwins?" "another one of the edington girls. they have a bungalow at the very dizziest point in sausalito." but claire objected and held firm. "i couldn't think of it, mr. stillman. no, really!... please don't insist." they agreed on a lodging for claire in a freshly painted but otherwise rather decrepit lodging-house, just north of the ferry-slip. its chief advantage was that it seemed quite too stagnant to be anything but respectable, and the suppressed grumbling of the old shrew whom they routed out confirmed their estimate. she didn't approve of couples who dragged god-fearing old women out of bed at unholy hours in the morning, and it was only the generous tip from stillman and the assurance that he intended looking elsewhere for quarters for himself that reconciled her to her loss of sleep and the compromise with her convictions. for a good half-hour claire sat with folded hands peering out from her room upon the damp hillside to the west. from across the street came the bawdy thumping of a mechanical piano and the swish of a sluggish tide. her encounter with sawyer flint had forced the door of her virginal seclusion and thrust her at once into the primitive and elemental open. she felt like one who was coming out of voluntary exile to the pathos of a deferred heritage. before her stretched the eagle's horizon, but she had only the fledgling's strength of wing. she longed for the faith and courage and daring to take life at its word, longed with all the dangerous fierceness of one who had fed too long upon the husks of existence. and, longing, she fell asleep, sitting in a chair before the open window, without thought or preparation.... * * * * * the morning broke cloudless. all traces of the night's fury were obliterated as completely as sorrow from the face of a smiling child. the sun touched the open spaces with a tender, caressing warmth, but the shadows held a keen-edged chill. claire decided upon an early boat to town. "i'll be less likely to meet any of the california street crowd," she said to herself, as she picked her brief way toward the ferry. the boat was crowded, especially the lower cabin. it was the artisans' boat and the air was heavy with the smoke of pipe-tobacco. claire passed rapidly to the dining-room. perched upon the high revolving chairs surrounding a horseshoe counter, a score or more of soft-shirted men sat devouring huge greasy doughnuts and gulping coffee. the steward, taking note of claire's hesitation, came forward and led her to a seat at one of the side tables. she was about to take advantage of the chair which he had drawn out for her when she heard her name called. she turned. miss munch's cousin, mrs. richards, was sitting alone at the table just behind. claire's first feeling was one of relief--she was glad to discover an acquaintance. she thanked the steward for his trouble and abandoned the proffered seat for the one opposite mrs. richards. almost at once she regretted her impulsive decision. "i didn't know you intended staying at flint's all night," mrs. richards began, fixing claire with a challenging gaze. "i didn't intend to," returned claire, her voice sharpened slightly. mrs. richards took the lid off the sugar-bowl and powdered her grapefruit sparingly. "have they a nice home?" she questioned. "yes, very nice." "they gave you an early start, didn't they?... it's almost impossible to get servants these days to consider such a thing as serving breakfast much before eight o'clock." claire glanced at the bill of fare. mrs. richards's tone was a trifle too eager. "i suppose it is," claire assented, placing the menu-card back in its place between the vinegar and oil cruets. mrs. richards remained unabashed at her vis-à-vis's palpable indirectness. "i guess i'm old-fashioned, but, servants or no servants, i don't believe i could let a guest of mine leave the house without breakfast. it seems to me that if i'd been mrs. flint i'd have gotten up and made you a cup of coffee myself." claire's growing annoyance was swallowed up in a feeling of faint amusement. "perhaps mrs. flint wasn't home," she said, beckoning the waiter. "oh!" mrs. richards exclaimed with shocked brevity. it was not until the arrival of claire's order of toast and coffee that mrs. richards found her voice again. "this business of wives staying from home all night gets me," mrs. richards hazarded, boldly. "why, i never remember the time when my mother remained away overnight ... not under _any_ circumstances. my father expected her to be there, and she always _was_." claire distributed bits of butter over the surface of her toast. she felt that in justice to the flint family it was not right for her to give mrs. richards's dangerous tongue any further scope, however tempting was the prospect of leaving such venomous inquisitiveness ungratified. "i think you misunderstood me, mrs. richards. i didn't say that mrs. flint remained away from home last night. as a matter of fact i didn't stay at yolanda, so i don't know anything about it." "oh!" faintly escaped mrs. richards for the second time that morning, but claire was conscious that there was more incredulity than surprise registered in the lady's tone. "as a matter of fact," claire continued, stung to incautious exasperation, "i spent the night in sausalito." mrs. richards met this information with a disarmingly bland smile. "i didn't know you had friends in sausalito," she said, letting a spoonful of coffee trickle back into her cup. "i haven't. i spent the night in a lodging-house ... on the water-front...." "my dear miss robson, really i.... why, i hope you don't think i was inquisitive!" it was the simplicity of the challenge that made it impossible to be ignored. claire knew that she was trapped, but she was angry enough to decide on some reservation. "the storm put the track between yolanda and sausalito out of commission," claire found herself snapping back too eagerly at her tormentor. "we tried to make the last boat by auto, but we got stalled and missed it. we had to walk a good half of the way." "i shouldn't think that would have done mr. flint's cold any good," mrs. richards said, drawlingly. "mr. flint's cold?... i don't quite see what that has to do with it." "oh, you said 'we' i somehow got the impression...." "no, mrs. richards, you've misunderstood me again." claire threw a cool, even glance at her antagonist. "i made the trip from yolanda to sausalito in mr. stillman's car." "oh!" said mrs. richards for a third time, and in this instance her voice was warm with gratification. claire directed her attention to her plate of buttered toast and her cup of coffee. she was chagrined to think that she had fallen so easily into mrs. richards's very obvious traps. not that it mattered. she was quite sure that the truth could not harm stillman, and she was equally sure that her position in life was too obscure to stand out conspicuously against the darts of mrs. richards's vindictive tongue. but she had the pride of her reticences and she did not like to surrender these privileges at the point of insolent curiosity. the two continued to eat in silence. it was mrs. richards who finished first, and she dipped her fingers hurriedly into the battered metal finger-bowl which the japanese bus-boy thrust before her. "do you mind if i go along?" she inquired of claire, with an air of polite triumph. "i think i'll go forward where i can get a quick start ... before the crowd gets too thick. i've got a million errands to do before nine o'clock. and i _do_ want to run into the office before gertie settles down to work. i haven't seen her for a week and i've got _more_ things to tell her!" chapter viii "why, miss claire, how could you! where have you been? and your mother in such a bad way!" mrs. finnegan broke into sudden tears. claire, fumbling in her bag for the front-door key, looked up. mrs. finnegan had swung open the door to the robson flat and she stood like a vision of disaster upon the threshold. "what has happened?" claire's voice rose with a note of swift apprehension. "your mother ... she's paralyzed! she was taken last night. the doctor says it would have happened, anyway. but i say it was worry, that's what it was. with you away all night and never a word!" claire climbed the stairs in silence, aware that mrs. finnegan was following at a discreet distance. already the house seemed permeated with an atmosphere of tragedy and gloom in spite of the morning light pouring in unscreened at every window. mrs. robson's room was the only exception to this unusual excess of cold radiance--unusual, because it was one of mrs. robson's prides to keep her window-shades lowered to a uniform and genteel distance. until claire came face to face with her mother she almost had fancied that her neighbor was indulging in a crude and terrible joke, but one look sufficed. mrs. robson lay staring vacantly at the ceiling; she could not move, she could not speak, and her spirit showed through the veiled light in her eyes like a mysterious spot of sunshine in a shaded well. above a swooning sense of calamity claire felt the strength of a tender pretense struggling to communicate its vague hope to the stricken form. she raised the window-shade slightly and sat down upon the bed. "why, mother, what's all this?" she began, in a tone of gentle banter, as she stroked the helpless hands. "were you worried? i'm so sorry! i asked miss munch to let you know. didn't she?... i went over to mr. flint's to take dictation. the storm washed out the track. i tried to make the boat in mr. stillman's car, but we broke down and missed it.... i had to stay all night in sausalito." mrs. robson, stirring faintly, attempted to speak. claire turned helplessly to mrs. finnegan. "i can't make out what she is trying to say." mrs. finnegan bent an attentive ear. "it's about stillman," she explained. "your mother don't understand why...." the speaker stopped with significant discretion. it was plain to claire that _nobody_ understood, and she felt a dreary futility as she answered both her mother and mrs. finnegan with: "it's a long story. some other time, when ... when you're feeling better." a look of gray disappointment crossed mrs. robson's face. mrs. finnegan's upper lip seemed shaped suddenly with a suspicion that died almost as quickly as it began. there was a ring at the bell. "that's the doctor," said mrs. finnegan, and she left to open the door. the doctor chilled claire with his steely nonchalance as she stood apart while he went through the usual forms of a professional visit that was obviously futile. she followed him to the front door. he answered her eager inquiries with the cold triumph of authority. "how long will she last?... well, miss robson, that is hard to say. she might go off to-night. then, again, she might live twenty years. she'll scarcely get any better, though. no, a nurse isn't essential, unless you can afford one. but you ought to have another woman about. if you have any relatives you'd better send for them and let them help out." claire did not find the doctor's announcement that her mother might die at once nearly so brutal as his assurance that she had an equal chance for existing twenty years. _twenty years!_ claire closed the door and sank upon the steps overwhelmed. but there was scant leisure on this first dreadful day of mrs. robson's illness for theatrical exuberances. claire, unaccustomed to the routine of household duties, took a thousand unnecessary steps. she tried to work calmly, to bring an acquired philosophy to her tasks, but she went through her paces with a feverish, though stolid, anxiety. the long night which followed was inconceivably a thing of horror. her wakeful moments were dry-eyed with despair, and when she slept it was only to come back to a shivering consciousness. mrs. finnegan found her next morning fresh from an attempt to rouse her mother into accepting a few swallows of milk, which had ended in pathetic and miserable failure. she had thrown herself in an abandon of grief across the narrow kitchen table, and the coffee from an overturned cup was trickling in a warm, thick stream to the floor. but the paroxysm did her good. she rose to the kindly caresses of her neighbor like a flower beaten to earth but refreshed by a relentless torrent. after this, custom and habit began to reassert themselves in spite of the crushing weight of circumstance. she 'phoned to the office. mr. flint had returned, they told her. she explained her trouble to the cashier. "i'll try to be back the first of the week," she finished, in a burst of illogical hope. later in the day mrs. robson's two sisters arrived in answer to claire's summons. claire's impulse to send for them had been purely instinctive--an atrophied survival of clan-spirit that persisted beyond any real faith in its significance. perhaps she had a feeling that her mother wished it; certainly she had no illusions as to the manner in which the unwelcome news of mrs. robson's illness would be received by these two self-centered females. it was mrs. thomas wynne who came in first, bundled mysteriously in her furs and holding a glass of wine jelly as a conventional symbol of the rôle of lady bountiful which she had for the moment assumed. claire could almost fancy how conspicuously she had contrived to carry this overworked badge of the humanities, and the languid drawl of her voice as she explained to her friends _en route_: "so sorry i can't stop and chat. but, as you see, i'm running along to a sick-room.... oh no, nothing serious, i hope! just my sister.... mrs. ffinch-brown? oh, dear no! a younger sister. i don't think you know her. she's had a great deal of trouble and hasn't been about much for a number of years." mrs. thomas wynne had the trick of intrenching a stubborn family pride by throwing back her head and daring all comers to uncover any of the carrol clan's shortcomings. but her selfishness had at least the virtue of a live-and-let-live attitude that contrasted with the futile aggressiveness of mrs. edward ffinch-brown. she asked claire no questions concerning her life or her prospects; she did not even pry very deeply into the chances that her sister had for an ultimate recovery. her philosophy seemed to be founded on the knowledge that uncovered cesspools were bound to be unpleasant, and, since she had no desire to assist in their purification, she was quite content to keep them properly screened. she came and deposited her wine jelly and patted her sister's hand and went away again without leaving even a ripple in her wake. as she departed she gave further proof of her insolent insincerity by calling back at claire: "remember, claire, if there is anything i can do, just let me know." mrs. ffinch-brown's visit was scarcely more comforting, but decidedly more exciting. she had not the suavity of her indifferences. mrs. robson's untimely tilt with fate irritated her, and she took no pains to conceal this fact. "i suppose your mother is just as she's always been--a creature of nerves," she said, as she dropped into a seat for a preliminary session with claire before venturing upon the unwelcome sight of her stricken sister. "i don't know why it is, but she seems to be one of those people who always has had something the matter with her. poor emily! well, i suppose we are all made differently." when she entered the sick-room she found fault with the arrangement of the bed, the manner in which the covers slipped off, the uncovered glass of medicine on the bureau. "you should braid your mother's hair, too. and why don't you pull the window down from the top?" claire stood in sullen silence while her aunt vented a personal annoyance on the nearest objects. but when mrs. ffinch-brown's ill-natured ministrations brought a dumb but protesting misery to the sufferer's face, claire found the courage to say, as gently as she could: "why bother, aunt julia? mother is really too sick now to care much about appearances?" this was just what claire's aunt had hoped for. it gave her a chance for escape without any strain upon her conscience. she did not remain long after what she was pleased to consider a rebuff. "well, claire, i see i can't be of much help," she announced as she powdered her nose before the shabby hat-rack mirror and drew on her gloves.... after she was gone claire found a five-dollar bill on the living-room table. she opened the gilt-edged copy of tennyson that, together with a calf edition of ouida's _moths_, had stood for years as guard over the literary pretensions of the household, and thrust the money midway between its covers. doubtless a time was coming when she would find it necessary to use this money, but the present moment was too charged with the giver's resentful benevolence to make such a compromise possible. for three consecutive days mrs. ffinch-brown swooped down upon the robson household and gave vent to her pique. she had been divorced so long from these melancholy relations of hers that she had really forgotten their existence, and she displayed all the rancor of a woman who discovers suddenly a moth hole in the long undisturbed folds of a treasured cashmere shawl. her precisely timed visits had not the slightest suspicion of attentiveness back of them, and claire guessed almost at once that they were more in the nature of assaults carried on in the hope that she would meet enough opposition to insure an honorable retreat. unlike mrs. thomas wynne, aunt julia inquired minutely into family matters, insisted on knowing claire's plans, and was aggressively free with advice. "you ought to be making plans, claire," she said, at the conclusion of her second visit. "you can't go on like this. i'd like to be able to do more, but of course i can't spare much time. and next week you'll have to be getting into harness again. you'd better think it over." and on the next day, finding that claire obviously had _not_ thought it over, she threw out a hint that was little save a thinly veiled threat. she came in with a more genial manner than she was accustomed to waste upon the desert air of penury, and claire, well schooled in reading the significance of proverbial calms, had a misgiving. "i've been talking to miss morton ... about your mother," mrs. ffinch-brown began, without bothering to lead up to the subject. "you know alice morton.... well, your mother does, anyway. i bumped into her yesterday, quite by accident ... at a red cross meeting. it seems she's one of the directors of the king's daughters' home for incurables!" claire was sitting opposite her aunt, nervously fingering a paper-cutter. mrs. ffinch-brown eyed her niece sharply, and with an obvious determination to drive her thrusts home before her victim recovered from the first vicious stabs she continued: "it seems they haven't a great deal of room out there, but she thinks she could arrange things. they'll raise the price to two thousand dollars after the fifteenth of the month, so i thought that--" "oh, not quite yet, aunt julia!... mother has a chance. surely...." "now, claire, don't get hysterical. you're a business woman and _you_ ought to be practical if any of us are. the price to-day is one thousand dollars. think of it! care for life in a ward with only _three_ others! now i can't ask your uncle for any more than is necessary in a case like this. if we make up our mind promptly we can save just one thousand dollars." for the moment claire felt the harried desperation of a cornered animal. she had never seen anything more disagreeable than her aunt's sidelong glance. she felt herself rise from her seat with cold dignity. "i'm afraid, aunt julia, i can't make up my mind as quickly as you wish. it isn't so simple as it seems. i'm not above a plan like this if i'm convinced it's necessary. but somehow.... oh, i know what you're thinking--you're thinking that beggars shouldn't be choosers. well, i'm not quite a beggar yet. but when i am, i won't choose.... i'll promise you that." mrs. ffinch-brown rose also. she was in a position to triumph in any case, and she was washing her hands of the situation with eager satisfaction. "oh, indeed! i'm glad you can say that _now_. but you weren't always so independent. i suppose it never occurs to you to thank me for what i did when you were younger." claire felt quite calm. the events of the past twenty-four hours had wrung her emotions dry. "yes, aunt julia," she said, with an air of cool defiance, "it occurred to me many times.... perhaps if i'd had any choice...." mrs. ffinch-brown grew pale. "it's plain that i'm wasting my time here!" she sneered. claire went with her aunt to the door.... mrs. ffinch-brown did not cross the threshold of the robson home again, and when on the following day claire saw the figure of mrs. thomas wynne outlined against the lace-screened front door she let the bell ring unanswered. * * * * * the dismissal of the last of the carrol clan from any participation in the robson destinies gave claire a feeling at once independent and solitary. there had been a vague hope that this crisis might germinate some stray seeds of kinship, shriveled by the drought of uneventful years. but the poisonous nettles of memory were the only harvest that had sprung from the presence of mrs. robson's sisters, and claire was glad to uproot the arid product of their shallowness. the week came to a close with a rush of visitors. suddenly it seemed as if everybody knew of mrs. robson's illness. fellow church members, old school friends, casual acquaintances began to ring the front-door bell insistently. knowing her mother's instinctive craving for recognition, it struck claire that it was the height of irony to see this belated crowd come swarming in on the heels of calamity at the moment when mrs. robson was unable to so much as see them. mrs. robson would have so liked to sit in even a threadbare pomp and receive the homage of her visitors, but fate had been scurvy enough to withhold this scant triumph. nellie whitehead breezed in on saturday afternoon just as mrs. finnegan's cuckoo clock cooed the stroke of three; immediately the air began to move out of adversity's tragic current. it was impossible to be wholly without hope under the impetus of nellie whitehead's flaming good humor. "i'm all out of breath," she began, as she flopped into the first chair that came handy. "i keep forgetting i ain't sweet sixteen any more and never been kissed. i hate to walk slow, though. don't you? say, but you _are_ up against it, ain't you! i saw that munch dame on the street and she nearly broke her old neck trying to catch up with me. i wondered what was the matter, because she ain't usually so keen about flagging _me_. but, _you_ know, she never misses a trick at spilling out the calamity stuff, especially if it isn't on her.... 'oh, miss whitehead,' she called out before i had a chance to beat it, 'have you heard about miss robson's mother?' ...when she got through i fixed her with that trusty old eye of mine and i said, 'i suppose you see her quite often.' and what do you think the old stiff said? 'oh, i'd like to, miss whitehead, but i really haven't had time. you know i'm doing all mr. flint's dictation now.' and she had the nerve to try and slip me a hint that she was going to keep on doing it. but i just said to myself: 'you should kid yourself that way, old girl! when flint picks a bloomer like you to ornament the back office it will be because his eyesight's failed him.' ...by the way, how do you manage to stand him off--with religious tracts or a hat-pin?" she hardly waited for claire's reply, but plunged at once into another monologue. "do you know what i'm up to? i got my eye on the swellest fur-lined coat you ever saw ... at magnin's. but you can bet i'm going to keep my eye on it until after the holidays. they want a hundred and a quarter for it now, but they'll be glad to take sixty-five when the gay festivities are over, or i miss my guess. i go in every other day to have a look at it, and when the girl's back is turned i hang it back in the case myself--'way back where everybody else will overlook it. oh, i know the game all right. i did the same thing with a three piece suit last summer. but i say, all is fair in war and the high cost of living. maybe you think i haven't had a time scraping the wherewithal for that coat together. but i brought the total up to seventy the other day by getting billy holmes to slip me a ten in advance for christmas. i never trust a man to invest in anything for me if i can help it. they usually run to manicure sets in satin-lined cases or cut-glass cologne-bottles. billy holmes?... oh, you know him! he ran the reinsurance desk at the royal for years. they put him on the road last week. he's _some_ live wire. and what's better, he has no incumbrances. i'll tell you what it is, robson, i'm getting kind of tired of the goings. i'm just about ready to settle down by the old steam-radiator. and as long as i've got eyesight enough to look the field over, i've decided on a traveling-man or a sea-captain. they'll be sticking around home just about often enough to suit me.... not that i'm a man-hater, but i've never had 'em for a steady diet and i'm not going to begin to get the habit this late day." nellie whitehead stayed about an hour, and, as claire opened the front door upon her friend's departure the letter-man thrust an envelope into her hands. she opened it hastily and turned suddenly white. "well, robson, what's wrong now?" inquired nellie. "flint ... he's let me out ... miss munch was right!" chapter ix on the selfsame saturday of claire's dismissal from the office ranks of the falcon insurance company ned stillman was the recipient of an early telephone message from lily condor. it appeared that flora menzies, the young woman who usually accompanied her in her vocal flights, had been laid low with pneumonia and she wanted stillman to persuade claire robson to succeed to the honorary position. "she did so famously on that night of our musicale," lily condor had explained, "and flora won't be in shape again for a good three months. of course, there isn't anything in it but glory. i'm just one of those 'sweet charity' artists. but i think she is a dear, and i know that _you_ have influence." stillman pretended to be annoyed at mrs. condor's assumption that his word would carry any weight in the matter, but as a matter of fact he felt pleased in secret masculine fashion. chancing to pass flint's office at the noon hour, he dropped in. it happened that miss munch was standing near the counter, and she answered his inquiries with suave eagerness. "oh, miss robson isn't with us any more. she hasn't been here for over a week--not since her mother was taken sick. oh, i thought you knew. you're mr. stillman, aren't you? i've heard my cousin, mrs. richards, speak of you. miss robson went over to mr. flint's on that night of the storm and she missed the boat or something--_you_ know! and when she got home next morning she found that her mother had worried herself into a stroke. they say she is quite helpless.... i'm sure i don't know what she intends doing. we mailed her check yesterday. it's always hard to land another position when one is dismissed." stillman escaped quickly. miss munch's venom was a thing too crude and unconcealed to face with indifference. her emphatic "_you_ know" was pregnant with innuendo and malice. still, it did not occur to stillman that he had any part in claire robson's misfortune. but he did know from miss munch's tone that the unfortunate situation, growing out of the automobile ride from yolanda to sausalito, had received due recognition at the hands of those who made a business of blowing out bubbles of scandal from the suds of chance. it was useless for him to deny that claire robson from the first had been of more or less interest. she seemed to rise in such a detached fashion from her environment. he had to admit, as later he sat in the cloistered silences of his club library and blew contemplative smoke-rings into the air, that a certain idle curiosity had been the mainspring of his concern for her. he had been like a boy who captured a strange butterfly and clapped it under a glass tumbler where he could watch how easily it would adapt itself to its new surroundings. but, having caught the butterfly and held it a brief captive, the dust from its wings still lingered upon the hands that imprisoned it. he had made the mistake of imagining that one is always master of casual incidents. to meet a young woman by the most trivial chance, to extend a brief courtesy to her, these were matters which hold scarcely the germs of a menacing situation, not menacing to him, of course--they never could be menacing to him; he was still thinking of things from the viewpoint of claire robson. to tell the truth, he was annoyed at having been mixed up in claire's flight from the flint household. had flint been a complete stranger he would not have minded so much. he was still divided by the appeal to his chivalry and the sense of loyalty that a man feels to the masculine friends of his youth. in her telephone message claire had put the matter very casually--the track was washed out and she was wondering whether he contemplated returning to town that evening. but he guessed at once what lay back of her matter-of-fact boldness. he had guessed so completely that he had decided not only to return to town, but to start at once. he wondered now whether he had answered the appeal because a woman was in a desperate situation or because that woman was claire robson. all through the dinner hour at the tom forsythes he had thought about her, had speculated vaguely what mischance or effrontery had been responsible for her ill-timed visit to flint's. he remembered trying to decide whether the young woman was extraordinarily deep or extraordinarily simple and frank. he did not like to concede that he could be influenced by anything so transparently malicious as mrs. richards's statements regarding the absence of mrs. flint, but he was bound to admit that they did nothing to render the situation less innocent; what had particularly annoyed him was the fact that he should have given the matter a second thought. to begin with, it was none of his business and he was not a man who presumed to judge or even speculate on other people's indiscretions. claire robson was no sheltered schoolgirl. she was a full-grown woman, in the thick of business life. such women were not taken unawares. he had just dismissed the whole affair from his mind on this basis when claire's telephone message came to him. even now he marveled at the sense of satisfaction that her appeal had given. but he had found no savor in a situation that compelled him to interfere in flint's program. such a move on his part was contrary to his standards, to his training in comradeship, to all his acquired philosophy. he had the well-bred man's distaste for getting into a mess. he abhorred scenes and conspicuous complications. he had come through the incident with steadily waning enthusiasm and a decision to wash his hands in the future of all such unprofitable trifling. but the sudden knowledge that the young woman was in desperate trouble revived his interest. he had no idea how serious mrs. robson's illness was or whether claire had any hopes for a new position. but miss munch's words had been significant. claire had been _dismissed_, and stillman knew enough about present business stagnation to conclude that for the time, at least, claire robson faced a bleak outlook. he realized the indelicacy of any definite move on his part, but it occurred to him that it might be well to talk the situation over with some one--preferably a woman. as he tossed his cigar butt aside, lily condor appealed to him as just the person for the emergency. therefore he looked her up without further ado. he found her at home, curled up among the cushions of a davenport that did service as a bed when the scenes were shifted. she was living in a tiny apartment consisting of one room and a kitchenette that gave stillman the impression of a juggler's cabinet. nothing in this room was ever by any chance what it seemed. things that looked like doors led nowhere; bits of stationary furniture usually yielded to the slightest pressure and revealed strange secrets. he had seen mrs. condor deftly construct a card-table out of an easy-chair, and he had no doubt that the oak table in the center of the room could have been converted into a chiffonier or a chassis-lounge at a given signal. in repose, it struck stillman that mrs. condor seemed very much like a purring cat. he had never seen her quite so frankly behind the scenes, robbed of both her physical and mental make-up. she was one of those women in middle age who adapt themselves to the tone of their background and while she contrived to strike a fairly vivid note, she took care not to be discordant. she was clever enough to realize that her talents were not sensational and that she could only hope for an indifferent success as a professional. but in the rôle of a gracious amateur she disarmed criticism and forced her way into circles that might otherwise have been at some pains to exclude her. for, if the truth were known, there had been certain phases of mrs. condor's earlier life which were rather vaguely, and at the same time aptly, covered by mrs. finnegan's term of "gay." a perfectly discreet woman, for instance, would have made an effort to live down her flaming hair and almost immorally dazzling complexion, but mrs. condor had been much more ready to live _up_ to these conspicuous charms. in fact, she had lived up to them pretty furiously, until time began to take a ruthless toll of her contrasting points. from the concert-platform she still seemed to discount, almost to flout, the years, but in secret she yielded unmistakably to their pressure. it was this yielding, pliant attitude that struck stillman as he came upon her almost unawares on that early december afternoon, a yielding, pliant attitude which gave a curious sense of tenacity under the surface. and he thought, as he dropped into the chair she indicated, that she was a woman who gained strength in these moments of relaxation. "fancy your catching me like this!" she said, "i thought when the bell rang that you were my dressmaker.... if you want a highball you'll have to wait on yourself. phil edington brought an awfully good bottle of scotch last night. i declare i don't know what i'd do if i didn't have a youngster or two on my staff. old men are such bores, anyway, and, as a matter of fact, they never waste time on any woman over thirty. well, i don't blame them. we're a sorry, patched-up mess at best.... tell me, did you get hold of miss robson?" "i dropped in, but she wasn't at the office," stillman replied, tossing his hat on the center-table. mrs. condor withdrew to the relaxation of her innumerable sofa pillows again. "wasn't at the office? how thrilling! is she one of the sultan's favorites?... i've heard sawyer flint was an easy mark if you know how to work him. miss robson didn't strike me that way, though. but i ought to have known that silent women are always cleverer than they appear." stillman caught the barest suggestion of a sneer in mrs. condor's tone--the sneer of a woman relinquishing a stubborn hold upon the gaieties. "well, i guess miss robson didn't know how to work him, as a matter of fact," stillman said, quietly. "she lost her job to-day. i'm a little bit worried about her.... i came here on purpose to talk the situation over with you." his directness brought lily condor out of her languidness with a sharp turn. she wriggled up and sat erectly on the edge of the davenport, one slippered foot dangling just above the other. "why, ned stillman, what an old fraud you are! i didn't fancy you were interested in _anybody_. i didn't think that you.... oh, well, throw me a cigarette and let me hear the worst in comfort!" he opened his cigarette-case and leaned over toward her. she made her choice. he struck a match and she put her hand tightly on his wrist as she bent over the flame and slowly drew in her breath. even after she had released her grasp his flesh still bore the imprint of the rings on her fingers. for a moment he had an impulse to bow himself out of her presence without further explanation, but already she seemed to have a proprietary interest in him. her smile was full of friendly malice. he ended by telling her everything, in spite of the conviction that he had approached the wrong person. "of course," she hazarded, boldly, when he had finished, "you mean to help her out." her presumption annoyed but rather refreshed him. "i'd like to do something, but, hang it all, what can be done?" "what can be done? if that isn't like a man! or i should say, a _gentleman_!... why don't you plunge in boldly and damn the consequences?... it's just your sort that sends women into the arms of men like flint. you're so busy keeping an eye on the proprieties that you miss all the danger signals." her tone was extraordinarily familiar, and, to a man who rather prided himself upon his ability to keep people at arm's-length, it was not precisely agreeable. yet he knew that it would be folly to give any hint of his irritation. "well," he contrived to laugh back at her, "so far as i can see, miss robson's problems are quite too simple. after all, it's largely a question of money.... i can't go and throw gold in her lap as if she were some beggar on a street corner." "you mean, i suppose, that you are afraid to risk the outraged dignity of this ward of yours. i think that's a lovely name for her. don't you?... you're acquiring such a benevolent old attitude. the only thing to be done, i fancy, is to adopt some transparent ruse--some sort of daddy-long-leggish deception." she closed her eyes thoughtfully--"_hiring_ her as my accompanist, for instance." she rose to dispense scotch and soda. stillman sat in thoughtful silence, while mrs. condor talked to very trivial purpose. she seemed suddenly to have grown tired of the subject of claire robson. the arrival of the expected dressmaker broke in upon the rather one-sided tête-à-tête. "you'll have to go," lily condor announced with an intimate air of dismissal to stillman. "it would never do to let a mere man in on the secrets of the sewing-room." at the door he hesitated awkwardly over his good-by. "i was wondering," he said, "whether you were serious about ... about hiring miss robson as your accompanist. you know i think the plan has possibilities." she threw back her head and smiled with hard satisfaction. "i've been trying to figure if you had killed your imagination. think it over." she gave him the tips of her fingers. he returned their languid pressure and departed. as he drifted down the hall he heard her calling, half gaily, half derisively, after him: "don't decide on anything rash now.... sleep over it!..." * * * * * he thought it over for three days and when he called on lily condor again he found her divorced from her languishing mood. she was dressed for dinner down-town, and he had to confess she had made the most of what remained of her flaming hair and dazzling complexion. he felt that she guessed the reason for his visit, although she took care to let him force the issue. "about miss robson," he said, finally, "i've concluded to take you at your word." lily condor smoothed out her gloves and laid them aside. "take me at _my_ word? you're welcome to the suggestion, if that is what you mean. as a matter of fact i wasn't serious." he was annoyed to feel that he was flushing. he could not fathom her, but he had a conviction that she _had_ been serious and that this attitude was a mere pose. "nevertheless, i think it can be managed," he insisted. "and i want you to help me." she listened to his plan. "what you will call a daddy-long-leggish pretense," he explained to her with an attempt at facetiousness. "you to do the hiring and ... and yours truly to provide the wherewithal. until things look up a bit. of course then ... why, naturally, when things look up a bit for her...." but lily remained lukewarm. she wasn't quite sure that it would be ... oh, well, he knew what she meant! it seemed too absurd to think that he had given an ear to anything so extravagant. she would like to be of service to miss robson, of course, but, after all, she felt that it was taking an unfair advantage of the girl. "if she's everything you say she is, she'd resent it all tremendously," she put forth as a final objection. "but she isn't to know! that's the point of the whole thing," he explained, with absurd simplicity. "oh, my dear man, she isn't to know, but she _will_, ultimately. you don't suppose the secret of a woman's meal-ticket is hidden very long, do you? and, besides, you couldn't offer her enough to live on. that would be absurd on the very face of it." "oh, well, i could offer her enough to help out a bit, anyway, and half a loaf you know...." he broke off, amazed at the determination her opposition had crystallized. she looked at him sharply and rose. "i must be running along," she commented as she drew on her gloves. "i tell you, i'll go call on miss robson--some day this week. a woman can always get a better side-light on a situation like this. there are so many angles to be considered. she must have relatives. you wouldn't want to make a false move, would you, now?" he was too grateful to be suspicious at this sudden compromise with her convictions. "you're tremendously good," he stammered. "it _will_ be a favor. and any time that i can...." "you can be of service to me right now," she interrupted, gaily. "order me a taxi ... that's a good boy! i always do so like to pull up at a place in style." stillman paid lily condor a third visit that week--this time in answer to the lady's telephone message. she had been to see claire robson and her report was anything but rosy. "her mother's perfectly helpless and will be for the rest of her life," lily volunteered almost cheerfully. "and, frankly, i don't see what is going to become of them. it seems that mrs. robson is a sister of mrs. tom wynne and that dreadful ffinch-brown woman. they both have about as much heart as a cast-iron stove. miss robson didn't say so in words, but i gathered that she had called both of them off the relief job. i almost cheered when i realized that fact. i threw out a hint about there being a possibility of my needing an accompanist. i said miss menzies was ill and perhaps ... and i intimated that there was something more than glory in it." "and what did miss robson say to that?" "oh, she was more self-contained than one would imagine under the circumstances. she said she would like to think it over. she put it that way on the score of leaving her mother alone nights. but, believe me, that young lady is more calculating than she seems. of course i didn't mention terms or anything like that. i left a good loophole in case you had changed your mind." for the moment stillman was almost persuaded to tell lily condor that he _had_ changed his mind. not that he had lost interest in claire, but already he had another plan and there was something disagreeably presumptuous in mrs. condor's tone. he never remembered having taken anybody into his confidence regarding a personal matter. the trouble was that he had begun the whole affair under the misapprehension that it was a most _impersonal_ thing. he still tried to look at it from that angle, but lily condor's manner seemed bent on forcing home the rather disturbing conviction that he had a vital interest in the issue. she had cut in upon his reserve and he would never quite be able to recover the lost ground. he felt that she sensed his revulsion, for almost at once she adroitly changed the subject and it did not come to life again during the remainder of his call. but when he was leaving she thrust an idle finger into the lapel of his coat and said: "i think it's awfully good of you, ned, to be human enough to want to do something for others. i watched you as a young man, and when you married...." his startled look must have halted her, for she released her hold upon him and finished with a shrug. he said good-by hastily and escaped. but he wondered, as he found his way out into the street, how long it would be before mrs. condor would acquire sufficient boldness to discuss with him what and whom she chose. chapter x christmas day came and went with a host of bitter-sweet memories for claire robson. not that she could look back on any holiday season with unalloyed happiness, but time had drawn the sting from the misfortune of the old days. through the mist of the years outlines softened, and she was more prone to measure the results by the slight harvest that their efforts had brought. for instance, they had never been too poor to deny themselves the luxury of a tree. and a tree to mrs. robson meant none of the scant, indifferent affairs that most of the neighbors found acceptable strung with a few strands of dingy popcorn and pasteboard ornaments. no, the robson tree was always an opulent work of art, freighted with bursting cornucopias and heavy glass balls and yards of quivering tinsel. the money for all this dazzling beauty usually came a fortnight or so before the eventful day in the shape of a ten-dollar bill tucked away in the folds of gertrude sinclair's annual letter to mrs. robson. as claire had grown older she had grown also impatient of the memory of her mother squandering what should have gone for thick shoes and warm plaid dresses upon the ephemeral joys of a christmas tree. but now she suddenly understood, and she felt glad for a mother courageous enough to lay hold upon the beautiful symbols of life at the expense of all that was hideously practical. shoes wore out and plaid dresses finally found their way to the rag-bag, but the glories of the spirit burned forever in the splendor of all this truant magnificence, and the years stretched back in a glittering procession of light-ladened fir-trees. then some time between christmas and new-year came the christmas pantomime at the tivoli, with its bewildering array of scantily clad fairies and dashing amazons and languishing princes in pale-blue tights; to say nothing of the queen charlottes consumed between acts through faintly yellow straws. how claire would mark off each day on the calendar which brought her nearer to this triumph! and what a hurry and bustle always ensued to get dinner over and be fully dressed and down to the box-office before even the doors were opened, so that they could get first choice of the unreserved seats which sold at twenty-five cents. then there would ensue the long, tedious wait in the dimly lighted cavern of the playhouse, smelling with a curious fascination of stale cigars and staler beer, and the thrill that the appearance of the orchestra produced, followed by the arrival of all the important personages fortunate enough to afford fifty-cent seats, which gave them the security to put off their appearance until the curtain was almost ready to rise. and when the curtain really did rise upon the inevitable spectacle of villagers dancing upon the village green! and mrs. robson carefully picked out in the chorus the stout sister of a former servant who had worked for her mother! and the wicked old witch swept from the wings on the traditional broomstick! from that moment until the final transformation scene, when scintillating sea-shells yielded up one by one their dazzling burdens of female loveliness and a rather hebraic cupid descended from an invisible wire to wish everybody a happy new-year in words appropriately rhymed, there was no halt to the wonders disclosed. with what sharp and exquisite reluctance did claire remain glued to her seat, refusing to believe that it was all over! even at this late date claire had only to close her eyes to revive the delights of these rather covert excursions into the realm of fancy--covert, because a tivoli pantomime had not precisely the sanction of such a respectable organization as the second presbyterian church. mrs. robson, while not definitely encouraging claire to wilful dishonesty, always managed to warn her daughter by saying: "i wouldn't tell any one about going to the tivoli, claire, if i were you ... unless, of course, they should ask about it." claire, in mortal terror lest any indiscretion on her part would put a stop to this annual lapse into such delightful immoralities, held her peace in spite of her desire to spread abroad the beauties which she had beheld. she had a feeling that all the participants in the pantomime must of necessity be rather wicked and abandoned creatures, and half the pleasure she had felt in viewing them arose from a secret admiration at the courage which permitted human beings to be so perfectly and desperately sinful. although she was almost persuaded that perhaps it did not take quite such bravado to be wicked in blue-spangled gauze and satin slippers as it did to lapse from the straight and narrow path in a gingham dress and resoled boots. the only thrill that the present christmas day produced came in the shape of a pot of flaming poinsettias bearing the card of ned stillman. these were the first flowers that claire ever remembered having received. it pleased her also to realize that stillman had been delicate to the point of this thoroughly unpractical gift, especially as he had every reason to assume that something more substantial would have been acceptable. she was confident that by this time he had heard through mrs. condor of her mother's illness and her loss of position. claire was still puzzled at mrs. condor's visit. for all that lady's skill at subterfuge, there were implied evasions in her manner which claire sensed instinctively. and then claire was not yet inured to the novelty of being in demand. to have been forced by circumstance upon mrs. condor as an accompanist was one thing; to be desired by her in a moment of cold calculation was quite another; and there had been more uncertainty than caution in claire's plea for time in which to consider the offer. but as the days flew by it became more and more apparent to claire that she was in no position to indulge in idle speculation. she had long since given up the hope of fulfilling the demands of a regular office position, even if one had been open to her. mrs. finnegan's enthusiasm to be neighborly and helpful was more a matter of theory than practice, and it did not take claire many days to decide that she had no right to impose upon a good nature which was made up largely of ignorance of a sick-room's demands. claire's final check from flint was dwindling with alarming rapidity; indeed, she was facing the first of the year with the realization that there would be barely enough to pay the next month's rent, let alone to settle the current bills. she had no idea what mrs. condor intended paying, but she fancied that it must be little enough. surely mrs. condor did not receive any great sum for her singing and there must be any number of gratuitous performances. she decided quite suddenly, the day after christmas, to take mrs. condor at her word, and she was a bit disturbed at both the lady's reply and the manner of it. "oh," mrs. condor had drawled rather disagreeably, "i thought you'd given up the idea. i spoke to somebody else only this morning. but, of course, i'm not certain about how it will turn out. i'll keep you in mind and if the other falls through.... by the way, how is your mother? i keep asking ned stillman every day what the news is, but he never knows anything. all men are alike ... unless they've got some special interest. sometimes i marvel that he looks me up so regularly, but then i've known him ever since.... but there, i'll be telling more than i should! do come and see me. i'm always in in the morning.... yes, i can imagine you do have a lot to do. i'm so sorry you didn't call up sooner. but one never can tell. good-by.... i hope you'll have a happy new year." claire hung up the receiver. well, she had lost an opportunity to turn an easy dollar or two and she had no one to thank but herself. why had she delayed in accepting mrs. condor's offer? fortunately the unexpected arrival of nellie whitehead cut short any further repinings. claire was frankly glad to see her and at once she thought, "she has come to show me her new coat." but nellie whitehead was incased in a wrap that showed every evidence of a good six months' wear. "my new coat?" the lady echoed, in answer to claire's question. "there ain't no such animal. somebody else copped it. i didn't shove it back far enough the last time i took a look at it, i guess. oh, well, i should worry! i can get along very well without it...." when nellie whitehead rose to leave, dusk had fallen and claire was fumbling for matches to light the hall gas, when she felt her friend's hand close over hers. there followed the cold pressure of several coins against claire's palm and the voice of her visitor sounding a bit tremulous in the dusk. "you'll need some extra money, robson, or i miss my guess." claire fell back with a gesture of protest. "why, nellie whitehead, how could you? it's your coat money, too! well, _i_ never!" and with that they both burst into tears.... when claire recovered herself she found that nellie whitehead had escaped. she lit the gas and opened her palm. four twenty-dollar gold pieces glistened in the light. * * * * * next morning claire received a telephone message from mrs. condor. the position of accompanist was hers at forty dollars a month if she desired it. "it won't be hard," mrs. condor had finished, reassuringly. "some weeks i've something on nearly every night. and then again there won't be anything doing for days.... how can i afford to pay so much? well, my dear, that is a secret. but don't worry, you'll earn it...." and toward the close of the week there came another surprise for claire in the shape of a letter from stillman, which ran: my dear miss robson.--i am going to take a little flier at the bean market. that was my father's business and i know a few things about it--at least to the extent of recognizing the commodity when the sack is opened. do you fancy you could arrange to give me a few hours a week at the typewriter? if so, we can get together and arrange terms. cordially, edward stillman. "at last," flashed through claire's mind, "he's going in for something worth while." this time she decided promptly. over the telephone she made an appointment with stillman, in his apartments, for beginning work on the second wednesday in january. chapter xi shortly after the first of the year claire received her initial summons from lily condor--they were to appear at a concert in the colonial ballroom of the st. francis for the belgian relief. mrs. condor had intimated that the affair was to be smart, and so it proved. it was set at a very late and very fashionable hour, and all through the program groups of torpid, though rather audible, diners kept drifting in. claire was not slow to discover that lily condor was first on the bill, and she remembered reading somewhere in a newspaper that among professionals the first and last place were always loathsome positions. judging from the noise and confusion that accompanied their efforts, claire could well understand why this was so, and she expected to find lily condor resentful. but to her surprise mrs. condor merely shrugged her shoulders and said: "what difference does it make? they don't come to listen, anyway. besides, i always open the bill. i like to get it over quickly." but claire had reason to suspect, as she followed the remainder of a very excellent program, that the choice of position did not rest with mrs. condor. claire began to wonder how much money mrs. condor received for an effort like this. and she became more puzzled as she gathered from the conversation of the other artists about her that the talent had been furnished gratuitously. "i understand," she heard a woman in front of her whisper to her companion, "that devincenzi, the 'cellist, is the only one in the crowd who is getting a red cent. but he has a rule, you know--or is it a contract? i'm sure i don't know. at any rate, they say that the ffinch-browns donated his fee.... the ffinch-browns? don't you know them?... see, there they are ... over there by the tom forsythes. she has on turquoise pendant earrings.... oh, they're ever so charitable! but they do say that she is something of a...." claire lost the remainder of this stage whisper in a rather tremulous anxiety to catch a glimpse of her aunt before she moved. claire had to acknowledge that at a distance her aunt gave a wonderful illusion of arrested youth as she stood with one hand grasping the collar of her gorgeous mandarin coat. but claire was more interested in the turquoise pendants than in her aunt. she had never seen the jewels before, but she had heard about them almost from the time she was able to lisp. "they're mine," mrs. robson had repeated to claire again and again. "my father bought them for me when i was sixteen years old. i remember the day distinctly, and how my mother said: 'don't you think, john, that emily is a little young for anything like this? i'll keep them for her until she is twenty.' i nearly cried myself sick, but of course mother was right, _then_.... but like everything else, i never got my hands on them again. and what is more, julia carrol ffinch-brown knows that they are mine as well as anybody, because she stood right alongside of me when i handed them over to mother. not that i care.... it's the principle of the thing!" claire felt disappointed in the pendants. they seemed so insignificant--to fall very far short of her mother's passionate description of them, and she began to wonder which was the more pathetic, mrs. robson's exaggerated notion of their worth or the pettiness that gave aunt julia the tenacity to hold fast to such trivial baubles. ned stillman was in the audience, also. claire saw him sitting off at the side. indeed, she spotted him on the very moment of her entrance upon the stage. she had been nervous until his friendly smile warmed her into easy confidence; and though, while she played, her back had been toward him, she felt the glow of his sympathy. as lily condor and she swept back upon the stage for their rather perfunctory applause, and still more perfunctory bouquets provided by the committee, claire could see him gently tapping his hands in her direction, and she was surprised when the usher handed her a bouquet of dazzling orchids. "they must be for you," claire said, innocently enough, to mrs. condor. "i don't find any name on them." "that shows that you've got a discreet admirer, at any rate," lily condor returned with that bantering sneer which claire was just beginning to notice. and the thought struck her at once that stillman had sent the flowers. she was pleased, but also a little annoyed to think he had so deliberately ignored mrs. condor. the flints were there, too; flint looked uncomfortable and warm in his scant full-dress suit and his wife frankly ridiculous in a low-cut gown that exhibited every angle of a hopelessly scrawny neck. claire did not see them until she was leaving the stage, and she smiled as she saw flint lean over and pick up the opera-glasses from his wife's lap. but this was not all. in a far corner sat miss munch and her cousin, mrs. richards, their ferret eyes darting busily about and their tongues clicking even more rapidly. doubtless flint had invested in a number of tickets at the office for business reasons and passed them around for any of the office force who felt a desire to see society at close range. claire had not meant to stay beyond one or two numbers following her own appearance, but she kept yielding to mrs. condor's insistent suggestions that she "stay for just one more," until she discovered, to her dismay, that it was past midnight. the last artists were taking their places upon the stage. claire resigned herself to the inevitable and sat out the remainder of the performance. she was making a quick exit into the dressing-room when she came face to face with her aunt. mrs. ffinch-brown betrayed her confusion by the merest lift of the eyebrows, and she stepped back as if to get a clearer view of her niece, as she said with an air of polite surprise: "you--_here_?" claire carried her head confidently. "i was on the program," she returned, consciously eying the turquoise pendants. mrs. ffinch-brown rested a closed fan against her left ear as if to screen at least one of the earrings from claire's frank stare. "oh, how interesting! i must have missed you--i came in late. it's rather odd. i thought i knew everybody on the program.... i helped arrange it." "well," claire smiled, "i wasn't what you would call one of the head-liners. i played mrs. condor's accompaniments." "that accounts for it ... my not knowing, i mean. i dare say your mother is better, otherwise you wouldn't be here." claire met her aunt's thrust calmly. "no, mother is worse, if anything. as a matter of fact, i'm here...." she broke off abruptly, realizing suddenly that she had left her orchids behind. she turned to discover stillman making his leisurely way toward her. he had the orchids in his hand. "my dear miss robson," he said, gently, "mrs. condor came very near appropriating your flowers." she could feel the color rising to her forehead. "i see you came to my rescue again," she said, simply, taking them from him. "i think you know mr. stillman, aunt julia." mrs. ffinch-brown forced a too-sweet smile as she gave stillman a nod of recognition. "fancy any girl forgetting so much gorgeousness!" she exclaimed with an attempt at lightness, but claire caught the covert rancor in her voice, and as her aunt made a movement of escape she put out a restraining hand and said: "i wanted you to know, aunt julia, that i'm here merely as a matter of business. mrs. condor has hired me to play her accompaniments." mrs. ffinch-brown shook off claire impatiently. "_hired_ you!" she sneered. "how extraordinary!" and with that she swept past, giving stillman a glance of farewell. claire turned to stillman. "what must you think of me? leaving my flowers behind. confess--it was you who sent them.... i was in such a rush to get away, though. i shouldn't have stayed so long. my mother is alone.... of course there are neighbors just below and they will look in on her, but just the same...." his smile reassured her. "are you forgetting about to-morrow?" he asked. "remember we are to begin business promptly at two o'clock. i hired a typewriting-machine yesterday. i'm really thrilled at the idea of--of going into business." she looked at him steadily as she gave him her hand: "my dear mr. stillman," she said, quite frankly, "you are very kind." he answered by pressing her hand warmly and she covered her face with the purple orchids. they were interrupted by lily condor sweeping rather arrogantly toward them. "haven't you gone yet?" she asked claire. "i thought you were in a hurry! i hope you've persuaded ned to get us a taxi. i hate street-cars at this hour." and in answer to claire's embarrassed protest that she had never given such a thing a thought, mrs. condor finished: "well, i've given it a thought, and don't you forget it. come, ned, is it a go?" claire fancied that a flicker of annoyance passed over stillman's face as he answered, with a dry laugh: "you might at least have given me time to prove my gallantry." "i'm not taking any chances," was the prompt reply. claire turned away. what had contrived to give mrs. condor this disagreeable air of assurance toward ned stillman, she found herself wondering. it had not been apparent at the condor-stillman musicale.... she arrived home dismayed to find the front room illuminated, but the rattle of the departing taxi brought mrs. finnegan to the top of the stairs with a laughing apology. "i just looked in to see how your mother was, miss claire, and i found a book on the front-room table"--mrs. finnegan held up ouida's _moths_--"and i got so interested in it that i just naturally forgot to go home. finnegan's out, anyway. i was telling him about your good fortune. and all he said was: 'well, it beats me how an old crow like mrs. condor gets paid for singing. i remember five years ago, when she wasn't so uppish, we had her for a benefit performance of the native sons, and she didn't get paid then. her singing may be over my head. anyway, it didn't get to my ears.' but finnegan is always like that. he just likes to contradict. i got back at him. i said, 'well, if she can afford to pay miss claire forty a month for playing the piano, she must get a good piece of money every time she opens her mouth.' ...mercy, look at the orchids! well, you must have had a swell time. i'll bet you wouldn't like to tell who sent them.... there wasn't any card? that's not saying you don't know, miss claire.... i hope you won't think i'm a meddler, but i'm an older woman and.... well, just you keep a sharp eye on the feller that sends you orchids, miss claire." she went down-stairs without further ado. claire put the orchids in water and set them on a sill near an open window. she did not feel in the least resentful of mrs. finnegan's warnings. she was too confident to be anything but faintly amused at her neighbor's middle-class anxiety. but finnegan's skepticism concerning mrs. condor annoyed her and she remembered the disagreeable words of her aunt: "_hired_ you? how extraordinary!" * * * * * "two o'clock _sharp_!" the memory of stillman's air of delicate banter as he emphasized the hour for beginning his business venture struck claire ironically the more she pondered his words. she had a feeling that there was something farcical in the prospect, and yet there seemed nothing to do but to go through with the preliminaries. she presented herself, therefore, at the appointed time at the stanford court apartments. she found stillman quite alone, his hands blue-black with the smudge from a refractory typewriter ribbon which he was vainly endeavoring to adjust. it took some time for him to get his hands clean again, and claire sharpened her pencils while she waited. but there really proved to be nothing to do. "i'm all up in the air over this bean business," stillman confessed, nonchalantly. "the government, you know ... they're taking over all that sort of thing ... regulating food and prices. of course, in that case...." claire felt an enormous and illogical relief. "then you really won't need me," she ventured. "oh, quite the contrary.... i have a certain amount of business, of a sort. and i'm tired of dropping checks along the trail of public stenographers.... suppose we talk terms. we haven't fixed on any salary, yet." claire felt a rising impatience. his subterfuge seemed too childish and obvious. "that will depend on how much of my time you expect, mr. stillman." "well, three times a week, anyway ... to start with. say mondays, wednesdays, and fridays from two to five.... i was thinking that something in the neighborhood of fifteen dollars a week would be fair." he turned a very frank gaze in her direction and she quizzically returned his glance. "that's rather ridiculous, don't you think?" she said, trying to disguise her furtive annoyance. "you can hire a substitute through any typewriting agency on the basis of three dollars a day." "yes, and i can buy two cigars for a nickel, but i shouldn't want to smoke them." she clicked the keys of her machine idly. "that is hardly a fair comparison. you can get any number of competent girls for three dollars." he rested his chin on his upturned palm. "but, my dear miss robson, i happen to want _you_." she thought of any number of cheap, obvious retorts that might have been flung back at his straightforward admission, but instead she said, with equal frankness: "that's just what i don't understand." he threw her a puzzled look and the usual placid light in his eyes quickened to resentful impatience. "is that a necessary part of the contract, miss robson?" she caught her breath. his tone of annoyance was sharp and unexpected. there was a suggestion of flint's masculine arrogance in his voice. she felt how absurd was her cross-examination of him, of how absurd, under the circumstances, would have been her cross-examination of anybody ready and willing to give her work to do and an ample wage in the bargain, and yet, for all the force of his reply, she knew it to be a well-bred if not a deliberate evasion. "you mean it is none of my business, don't you?" she contrived to laugh back at him. his reply was a further surprise. "yes, precisely," he said, with an ominous thinning of the lips. she rose instinctively to meet this thrust and she was conscious that even flint had never managed so to disturb her. she glanced about hastily as if measuring the room in a swift impulse toward escape. stillman had chosen the dining-room for a temporary office, and upon the polished surface of the antique walnut table the typewriter struck an incongruous note; indeed, it was all incongruous, particularly stillman and his assumed business airs. yes, it was absurd for her to either cross-examine or protest, but it was equally absurd for him to pay her such an outlandish sum for nine hours a week. "he's doing it for me," she thought, not without a sense of triumph. then, turning to him, she said, a bit awkwardly: "i guess there isn't any use to dissuade you, mr. stillman. if you say fifteen dollars a week, i sha'n't argue with you." he smiled back at her, all his former suavity regained. she slid into her seat again. her mind was recalling vividly the one other time in her life when she had grappled vigorously with the masculine spirit of domination, and come away victorious. this time she had been defeated and she had impulses toward relief and fear. she looked up suddenly and trapped a solicitous glance from stillman that rather annoyed her. and it struck her, as she mentally compared stillman with most of the men of her acquaintance, how far he could have loomed above them if he had had the will for such a performance. as it was he fell somewhat beneath them in a curious, indefinable way. had he been too finely tempered by circumstances or had the flame of life lacked the proper heat for fusing his virtues effectively? for the moment she found flint's forthright insolence more tolerable than stillman's sterile deference. suddenly she began to think of home, not with any sense of security, but as something unpleasant, dark, disquieting.... chapter xii toward six o'clock one afternoon in late february ned stillman, making his way from the business district at california and montgomery streets toward his club, suddenly remembered a forgotten luncheon engagement for that day with lily condor. "well," he muttered at once, "i'm in for it now! i guess i might as well swing out and see her and get the thing over with." it was curious of late how often he was given to muttering. previously, petty annoyances had not moved him to these half-audible and solitary comments which he had always found contemptuously amusing in others. he wondered whether this new trick was the result of his business ventures, his sly charities, or his approach toward the suggestive age of forty. associating the name of lily condor with his covert charities, he was almost persuaded that they lay back of this preposterous habit. and the more he thought about it the more he muttered and became convinced that lily condor was usually the topic of these vocal self-communings. ned stillman had always prided himself upon his sense of personal freedom concerning the trivial circumstances of life. of course, like any man of sensibility, he was bound by the chains that deeper impulses forge, but he had never been hampered by any restraints directed at his ordinary uprisings and downsittings. in short, he had answered the beck and nod of no man, much less a woman, and he was not finding lily condor's growing presumptions along this line altogether agreeable. he would not have minded so much if there was any personal gratification in yielding to the lady's whip-hand commands. there are certain delights in self-surrender which give a zest to slavery, but there is no joy in being held a hostage. looking back, stillman marveled at the indiscretion he had committed when he handed over not only his reserve, but claire robson's reputation into the safekeeping of lily condor. had he ever had the simplicity to imagine that a woman of mrs. condor's stamp would constitute herself a safe-deposit vault for hoarding secrets without exacting a price? well, perhaps he had expected to pay, but a little less publicly. he had not looked to have the lady in question ring every coin audibly in full view and hearing of the entire market-place, and yet, if his experience had stood him in good stead, he must have known that this was precisely what she would do. stillman's hidden gratitude, his private beneficences, did not serve her purpose, but the spectacle of him in the rôle of her debtor was a sight that went a long way to establishing a social credit impoverished by no end of false ventures. her command for him to take her to luncheon--and it had been a command, however suavely she had managed to veil it--bore also the stamp of urgency. usually she was content to lay all her positive requests to the charge of mere caprice, but on this occasion she took the trouble to intimate that there was a particular reason for wanting to see him. it did not take him long to conclude that this particular reason had to do with claire robson. that was why he yielded with a better grace than he had been giving to his troublesome friend's disagreeable pressure. stillman knew that while lily condor was not precisely jealous of the younger woman, she was distinctly envious--with the impersonal but acrid envy of middle age for youth. the episode of the orchids still rankled. he had to admit that in this instance his course had been tactless, but he had ignored mrs. condor as a challenge to the presumption which he had already begun to sense. she, while seeming definitely to evade the real issue, had answered the challenge and he had paid for his temerity a hundredfold. she had reminded him again and again in deft but none the less positive terms that she was keeping a finger on the mainspring of any advantage that came her way. sometimes stillman wondered whether she would really be cattish enough to betray his confidence and bring claire robson crashing down under the weight of the questionable position into which his indiscretion had forced her. would she really have the face to publish abroad the pregnant fact that ned stillman was providing what she had been pleased to designate as a meal-ticket for a young woman in difficulty? for himself he cared little, except that he always shrank instinctively from appearing ridiculous. he had been thinking a great deal of late as to the best course to pursue in ridding himself and claire of this menacing incubus. he had a feeling that claire, having exhausted the novelties of her position as accompanist to lily condor, was beginning to find the affair irksome. the business venture had progressed in quite another direction from his original intention. suddenly, without knowing how it had all come about, he found his plans clearly defined. the government needed him. somehow, it had never occurred to him that he could be of service at a point so far from the center of war activities. he had been a good deal of an idler, it was true, but the seeds of achievement were merely lying in fallow soil. at first, he had been stung into action more by claire's accusing attitude than anything else. she used to come every other afternoon at the appointed time and almost challenge him by her reproachful silence to do something, if only to provide her with an illusion. it was as if she said: "see, i have given in to you. i know that you are doing this for me, and i am deeply grateful. but won't you please make the situation a little less transparent? won't you at least justify me in the eyes of those who are watching our little performance?..." it had all ended by his offering his services to the food administration. he knew something of his father's business. he felt that he had a fair knowledge of beans, and he could learn more. he merely asked a trial, and it surprised him to find what a sense of humility suddenly possessed him. he was really overjoyed when a place was assured him. but he had to admit that his acceptance was not accorded any great enthusiasm. the newspapers mentioned it in a scant paragraph that was not even given a prominent place. he had received greater recognition for a brilliant play upon the golf-links! well, in such stirring times he was nobody. he did not complain, even to himself, but the knowledge subconsciously rankled. he hired an office down-town, joined the commercial club, religiously attended every meeting that had to do with food conservation, hunted out, absorbed, appropriated all the economic secrets that served his purpose.... suddenly he found himself engrossed, enthusiastic, _busy_! finally claire said to him one day: "don't you think i ought to come to you every afternoon?" "if you can arrange it," he almost snapped back at her. she did arrange it, how he took no pains to inquire, and a little later she said again: "you ought to have some one here all day. i guess you will have to look for another stenographer." he remembered how menacingly he had darted at her. she was dressed for the street, on her way home, and she had halted at the door. "do you want to desert the work that you've inspired?" he demanded. "inspired?... by _me_?" her voice took on a note of triumph. "you didn't fancy that _i_ inspired it, did you?" he sneered at her. his vehemence confused her. "i hadn't thought.... really, you know.... well, as you say.... but, of course, it is absurd when you can get any number of girls to...." "but suppose i want _you_?" he demanded of her for a second time. she left without further reply. when she was gone he found himself in a nasty panic. it was as if the lady who had called him to her lists had suddenly decided upon a new defender. "is she tired of it all ... or is there some one else? can it be possible that flint...." he had stopped short, amazed to find his mind descending to such a vulgar level. what had come over him? and he began to fancy things as they once had been--empty, purposeless days, and nights that found him too bored to even sleep. it seemed incredible that he could go back to them again. what lay at the bottom of his sudden deep-breathed satisfaction with life? for an instant, the truth which he had kept at bay with his old trick of evasion swept toward him. "no ... no," he muttered. "oh no!... that would be too absurd!" but when he had gone to the mirror to brush his hair before venturing on the street he found thick beads of perspiration on his forehead and his hand shook as he lifted the comb. the next day he told claire that in the future her salary would be twenty dollars a week. he stood expecting her to rail against the increase, to try to put him to rout by explaining that she had received less for a full day's work at flint's. but to his surprise she thanked him and went on with her work. it was shortly after this that he began to haunt the various performances in which lily condor and claire appeared. he always contrived to slip in during the first number, which as a rule happened to be mrs. condor's offering, and he sat in a far corner where nobody but that lady could have chanced upon him. but he never knew her to fail in locating him, or to miss the opportunity to sit out the remainder of the program at his side, or to suggest crab-legs louis at tait's, particularly if claire were determined upon an early leave-taking. the effect of all this was not lost upon the general public, and it was not long before men of stillman's acquaintance used to remark facetiously to him over the lunch-table: "what's new in beans to-day?... are _reds_ still a favorite?" stillman would throw back an equally cryptic answer, thinking as he did so: "what a wigging i must be getting over the teacups! i guess i'll cut it all out in the future." but he usually went no farther than his impulsive resolves. sometimes he wondered what claire thought of his faithful appearance. did she fancy that he came to bask in the smiling impertinences of lily condor? as he made his way to a street-car on this vivid february afternoon, he called to mind that of late claire had been bringing a fagged look to her daily tasks. he hoped again that mrs. condor's desire to see him had to do with claire--more particularly with her dismissal as accompanist. miss menzies had quite recovered and there was really no reason for claire to continue in her service. it struck him as he pondered all these matters how strange it was to find him concerned about these feminine adjustments--he who had always stared down upon trivial circumstances with cold scorn. he arrived at lily condor's apartments almost upon the lady's heels. her hat was still ornamenting the center-table and her wrap lay upon a wicker rocker, where, with a quick movement of irritation, it had been cast aside. her greeting was not reassuring. "oh...." she began coldly. "isn't this rather late for lunch?" "i'm really very sorry," stillman returned as he took a chair, "but to be frank, i quite forgot about you." "well," she tried to laugh back at him, "there isn't any virtue as disagreeable as the truth. i expected you would at least attempt to be polite enough to lie." "i hope you were not too greatly inconvenienced," he said, in a deliberate attempt to ignore her irritation. "i waited two hours, if that is what you mean. but then, _my_ time isn't particularly valuable." he rose suddenly. "i've told you that i was sorry," he began coldly, reaching for his hat. "but evidently you are determined to be disagreeable. i fancied you wanted to see me about something urgent, so i came almost as soon as i remembered." she snatched the discarded wrap from its place on the wicker rocker as she glared at him. "you're in something of a hurry, it seems.... well, i sha'n't detain you. the truth is there's a pretty kettle of fish stewed up over this young woman, claire robson.... i want you to tell her that she can't play at the café chantant next friday night." "want _me_ to tell her? i don't see where i come in.... why don't you tell her yourself?" "because i don't choose to.... besides, i think you might do it a little more delicately. i can't tell her brutally that she isn't wanted." "isn't wanted? why, what do you mean?" "the committee informs me that she isn't the sort of person they are accustomed to have featured in their entertainments. it seems that mrs. flint...." "mrs. sawyer flint?" "precisely." "what is her objection?" "do you really want me to tell you?" "why not?" "it appears that some time last fall miss robson tried to get her husband into a compromising position. she came over to the house one night when mrs. flint was away. flint promptly ordered her out. it seems she went ... to be quite frank ... with _you_. and what is more, she...." "it isn't necessary for you to go any farther. tell me, do you mean to say that you believe this thing? didn't you lift a hand to defend her?" lily condor narrowed her eyes. "oh, come now, ned stillman, don't be a fool! you know as well as i do that i'm hanging on to my own reputation by my finger-nails. i'm not taking any chances. as to whether it is so ... well, if i were to tell the committee everything i know it wouldn't help her cause any. i could wreck her reputation like that," she snapped her fingers, "with one solitary fact. if she hasn't wrecked it already with her senseless chatter.... only last week her aunt, mrs. ffinch-brown, said to me: 'so you're hiring my niece! i must say that is handsome of you!' you were sitting talking to claire and she looked deliberately at you when she said it. remember how i warned you, last december. i told you then that the secret of a woman's meal-ticket was never hidden very long." during this speech mrs. condor's voice had dropped from its original tone of petty rancor to one of petulant self-justification. stillman knew at once that her ill-temper had caught her off-guard and she was already trying to crawl slowly back into his favor. she had meant, no doubt, to soften her news over a glass or two of chilled white wine which she had counted on sipping during the noon hour. she might even then have gone farther and decided to cast her fortunes with stillman and claire if she had seen that her advantage lay in that direction. he was not sure but that she still had some such notion in her mind. but he felt suddenly sick of her past all hope of compromise, and he was determined to be rid of her once and for all. "no doubt," he said, frigidly, "you will be glad to be relieved of miss robson's presence permanently. i take it that you don't consider her association exactly ... well ... shall we say discreet?" her eyes took on a yellow tinge as she faced him. she must have sensed the finality of his tone, the well-bred insolence that his query suggested. "discreet?" she echoed. "well, i wouldn't say that that was quite what i meant. desirable--that would be better. i don't find her association desirable.... i don't _want_ her, in other words." he had never been so angry in his life. had she been a man he would have struck her. he felt himself choking. "my dear mrs. condor," he warned, "will you be good enough to take a little more respectful tone when you speak of miss robson?" "oh, indeed! and just what are your rights in the matter? you're not her brother ... you're surely not her husband. and i didn't know that it was the fashion for a...." his look stopped her. she trembled a moment, tossed back her head, and finished, defiantly, "yes, that is what i want to know, what _are_ your rights?" he took a step toward her. instinctively she retreated. "a woman like you wouldn't understand even if i were to tell you," he flung at her. she covered her face with both hands. he left the room. he himself was trembling as he reached the street--trembling for the first time in years. as a child he had been given to these fits of emotional tremors, but he had long since lost the faculty for recording physically his intense moments. or had he lost the faculty for the intense moments themselves, he found himself wondering, as he walked rapidly toward his home. the evening was warm with the perfume of a bit of truant summer that had somehow escaped before its time to hearten a winter-weary world against the bitter assaults of march. birds of passage sang among the hedges, the sun still cast a faint greenish glow in the extreme west. his first thought was of the cowering woman he had just left. he had meant to lash her keenly with his verbal whipcords, but he had not expected to find her quite so sensitive to his cutting scorn. he remembered the gesture with which she had lifted her hand as if to screen herself from his insults. there was a whole life of futile compromise in just the manner of that gesture, a growing helplessness to give straightforward thrusts, a pitiful admission of defeat. but he knew that this surrender was temporary--a quick lifting of the mask under a relentless pressure. to-morrow, in an hour, in ten minutes, lily condor would be her dangerous self again, lashed into the fury of a woman scorned. for a moment he did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed at the prospect of mrs. condor for an enemy. how much would she really dare? he thought with a lowering anger of flint. he had been ready to concede everything but this former friend in the rôle of a cheap and nasty gossip. no--gossip was a pale, sickly term. flint was a malignant toad, a nauseous mud-slinger, a deliberate liar. he had heard of men who had justified themselves with vile tales to their insipid, disgustingly virtuous wives, but he had not counted such among his acquaintances. by the side of flint, lily condor loomed a very paragon of the social amenities. stillman was conscious that his mental process was keyed to the highest pitch of melodrama. it was not usual for him to indulge in mental abuse. he had never quite understood the dark and moving processes of red-eyed anger. there had been something absurd in the theatrical hauteur of his manner in this last scene with mrs. condor--that is, if it were measured by his own standards. his growing detachments from life had claimed him almost to the point of complete indifference. but now, suddenly, as if fate had dealt him an insulting blow upon the face with her bare palm, he felt not only rage, but a sense of its futility, its impotence. "flint!" he thought again. and immediately he spewed forth the memory of this man in a flood of indiscriminate epithets. * * * * * later, in the refuge of his own four walls and under the brooding solace of an after-dinner cigar, he lost some of the intensiveness of his former humor. but the force of the vehemence which had shaken him filled him with much wonder and some apprehension. he was too much a man of experience to deny questions when they were put to him squarely by circumstances. "you're not her brother ... you're surely not her husband. and i didn't know it was the fashion for a...." lily condor's clipped question struck him squarely now. just what were his expectations concerning claire robson? the thought turned him cold. essentially he was of puritan mold, but he had always had a theory that love of illicit pleasures must have been uncommonly strong in a people who found it necessary to fight the flesh so uncompromisingly. battling with the elements upon the bleak shores of new england contributed, no doubt, to the gray and chastened spirits that these grim folks had won for themselves; spirits that colored and sometimes seeded swiftly under the softer skies of california. san francisco was full of these forced blooms consumed and withered by the sudden heat of a free and traditionless life. he knew scores of old-timers--his father's friends--who had been gloriously wrecked by the passion with which they met freedom's kiss. they had pursued pleasure with an energy overtrained in wrestling with the devil and had paid the penalty of all ardent souls lacking the prudence of weakness. there was at once something fine and unlawful about the spirit of adventure: it implied courage, impatience of restraint, wilfulness--in short, all the virtues and vices of strength. he had felt at times the heritage of this strength, shorn of its power by the softness of a wilderness that had been wooed instead of conquered. his forefathers had found california a waiting, gracious bride, but there had been almost a suggestion of the courtezan in the lavishness of this land's response to the caresses of the invaders. there was something fantastic in the memory of his father, fresh from the austere dawns of the little fishing village of gloucester, transplanted suddenly to the wine-red sunsets of the golden gate. he felt that his father must have had the courage for substance-wasting without the temptation. most men in those early days had plunged unyoked into the race--ezra stillman brought his bride, and therefore his household goods, with him, and unconsciously custom drew its restraining rein tight. ezra stillman came from a long line of salt-seasoned tempters of the sea; their virtues had been rugged and their vices equally robust; sin with them had been gaunt, sinewy, unlovely; there was nothing insinuating and soft about the lure of pleasure in that silver-nooned environment. ezra had been the first of this long line to turn his back upon the sea, and the land had rewarded him lavishly as if determined to make his capture complete. yet, he was not landsman enough to wrest a living direct from the soil; instead, he set up his booth in the market-place of the town and tr note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h.zip) port o' gold a history-romance of the san francisco argonauts louis j. stellman [illustration: as they looked the sunlight triumphed, scattering the fog into queer floating shapes, luminous and fraught with weird suggestions.... one might have thought a splendid city lay before them, ... impalpable, yet triumphant, with its hint of destiny.] to the city of my adoption and rebirth san francisco oft from my window have i seen the day break o'er thy roofs and towers like a dream in mystic silver, mirrored by the bay, bedecked with shadow craft ... and then a gleam of golden sunlight cleaving swiftly sure some narrow cloud-rift--limning hill or plain with flecks of gypsy-radiance that endure but for the moment and are gone again. then i have ventured on thy strident streets, mid whir of traffic in the vibrant hour when commerce with its clashing cymbal greets the mighty mammon in his pomp of power.... and in the quiet dusk of eventide, as wearied toilers quit the marts of trade, have i been of their pageant--or allied with passion's revel in the night parade. oh, i have known thee in a thousand moods and lived a thousand lives within thy bounds; adventured with the throng that laughs or broods, trod all thy cloisters and thy pleasure grounds, seen thee, in travail from the fiery torch, betrayed by greed, smirched by thy sons' disgrace-- rise with a spirit that no flame can scorch to make thyself a new and honored place. ah, good gray city! let me sing thy song of western splendor, vigorous and bold; in vice or virtue unashamed and strong-- stormy of mien but with a heart of gold! i love thee, san francisco; i am proud of all thy scars and trophies, praise or blame and from thy wind-swept hills i cry aloud the everlasting glory of thy name. preface this is the story of san francisco. when a newspaper editor summoned me from the mountains to write a serial he said: "i've sent for you because i believe you love this city more than any other writer of my acquaintance or knowledge. and i believe the true story of san francisco will make a more dramatic, vivid, human narrative than any fiction i've ever read. "take all the time you want. get everything straight, and _put all you've got into this story_. i'm going to wake up the town with it." to the best of my ability, i followed the editor's instructions. he declared himself satisfied. the public responded generously. the serial was a success. but, ah! i wish i might have written it much better ... or that robert louis stevenson, for instance, might have done it in my stead. "port o' gold" is history with a fiction thread to string its episodes upon. most of the characters are men and women who have lived and played their parts exactly as described herein. the background and chronology are as accurate as extensive and painstaking research can make them. people have informed me that my fictional characters, vide benito, "took hold of them" more than the "real ones" ... which is natural enough, perhaps, since they are my own brain-children, while the others are merely adopted. nor is this anything to be deplored. the writer, after all, is first an entertainer. indirectly he may edify, inform or teach. my only claim is that i've tried to tell the story of the city that i love as truly and attractively as i was able. my only hope is that i have been worthy of the task. valuable aid in the accumulation of historical data for this volume was given by: robert rea, librarian, san francisco public library; mary a. byrne, manager reference department, san francisco public library; john howell and john j. newbegin, booksellers and collectors of californiana, for whose cheerful interest and many courtesies the author is sincerely grateful. the author. contents i yerba buena. ii the gambled patrimony. iii the gringo ships. iv american occupation. v an offer and a threat. vi the first election. vii the rancheros revolt. viii mcturpin's coup. ix the elopement. x hull "capitulates". xi san francisco is named. xii the new york volunteers. xiii the "sydney ducks". xiv the auction on the beach. xv the beginning of law. xvi gold! gold! gold! xvii the quest of fortune. xviii news of benito. xix the veiled woman. xx a call in the night. xxi outfacing the enemy. xxii shots in the dark. xxiii the new arrival. xxiv the chaos of ' . xxv retrieving a birthright. xxvi fire! fire! fire! xxvii politics and a warning. xxviii on the trail of mcturpin. xxix the squatter conspiracy. xxx "growing pains". xxxi the vigilance committee. xxxii the people's jury. xxxiii the reckoning. xxxiv the hanging of jenkins. xxxv the people and the law. xxxvi fevers of finance. xxxvii "give us our savings". xxxviii king starts the bulletin. xxxix richardson and cora. xl the storm gathers. xli the fateful encounter. xlii the committee organizes. xliii governor johnson mediates. xliv the truce is broken. xlv the committee strikes. xlvi retribution. xlvii hints of civil war. xlviii sherman resigns. xlix terry stabs hopkins. l the committee disbands. li senator broderick. lii a trip to chinatown. liii enter po lun. liv the "field of honor". lv the southern plot. lvi some war reactions. lvii waters pays the price. lviii mcturpin turns informer. lix the comstock furore. lx the shattered bubble. lxi desperate finance. lxii adolph sutro's tunnel. lxiii lees solves a mystery. lxiv an idol topples. lxv industrial unrest. lxvi the pick-handle parade. lxvii dennis kearney. lxviii the woman reporter. lxix a new generation. lxx robert and maizie. lxxi the blind boss. lxxii fate takes a hand. lxxiii the return. lxxiv the "reformer". lxxv a nocturnal adventure. lxxvi politics and romance. lxxvii aleta's problem. lxxviii the fateful morn. lxxix the turmoil. lxxx aftermath. lxxxi readjustment. lxxxii at bay. lxxxiii in the toils. lxxxiv the net closes. lxxxv the seven plagues. lxxxvi a new city government. lxxxvii norah finds out. lxxxviii the shooting of heney. lxxxix defeat of the prosecution. xc the measure of redemption. xci conclusion. list of illustrations as they looked, the sunlight triumphed, scattering the fog into queer, floating shapes, luminous and fraught with weird suggestions.... one might have thought a splendid city lay before them, ... impalpable, yet triumphant, with its hint of destiny. "ah, senor," inez' smile had faded, ... "they have cause for hatred". men with shovels, leveling the sand-hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering grains which were ... dumped into pile-surrounded bogs. san francisco reached farther and farther out into the bay. samuel brannan rode through the streets, holding a pint flask of gold-dust in one hand ... and whooping like a madman: "gold! gold! gold! from the american river". passersby who laughed at the inscription witnessed simultaneously the rescue of an almost submerged donkey by means of an improvised derrick. broderick's commanding figure was seen rushing hither and thither.... "you and two others. blow up or pull down that building," he indicated a sprawling, ramshackle structure. there sat the redoubtable captain, all the ... austerity of his west point manner melted in the indignity of sneezes and wheezes.... "money! god almighty! sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town". "draw and defend yourself," he said loudly. he shut his eyes and a little puff of smoke seemed to spring from the end of his fingers, followed ... by a sharp report. in front of the building on a high platform, two men stood.... a half-suppressed roar went up from the throng. terry, who had taken careful aim, now fired. broderick staggered, recovered himself. slowly he sank to one knee. the concourse broke into applause. then it was hysteria, pandemonium. fifty thousand knew their city was safe for anti-slavery. half a thousand jobless workers, armed and reckless, marched toward the docks. they bore torches.... "a hell-bent crew," said ellis. "my boy ... you're wasting your time as a reporter. listen," he laid a hand upon francisco's knee. "i've a job for you.... the new mayor will need a secretary". "perhaps i shall find me a man--big, strong, impressive--with a mind easily led.... then i shall train him to be a leader.... i shall furnish the brain". "i am going south," francisco told his son. "i cannot bear this". all at once he stepped forward.... tears were streaming down his face. then the judge's question, clearly heard, "what is your plea?" "guilty!" ruef returned. a history-romance of the san francisco argonauts prologue the vision "blessed be the saints. it is the punta de los reyes." the speaker was a bearded man of middle years. a certain nobleness about him like an ermine garment of authority was purely of the spirit, for he was neither of imposing height nor of commanding presence. his clothing hung about him loosely and recent illness had drawn haggard lines upon his face. but his eyes flashed like an eagle's, and the hand which pointed northward, though it trembled, had the fine dramatic grace of one who leads in its imperious gesture. he swept from his head the once magnificent hat with its scarred velour and windtorn plume, bending one knee in a movement of silent reverence and thanksgiving. this was gaspar de portola, october , . near him stood his aides. all of them were travel-stained, careworn with hardship and fatigue. following their chieftain they uncovered and knelt. to one side and a little below the apex of a rocky promontory that contained the little group, christian indians, muleteers and soldados crossed themselves and looked up questioningly. in a dozen litters sick men tossed and moaned. a mule brayed raucously, startling flocks of wild geese to flight from nearby cliffs, a herd of deer on a mad stampede inland. portola rose and swept the horizon with his half-fevered gaze. to the south lay the rugged shore line with its sea-corroded cliffs, indented at one point into a half-moon of glistening beach and sweeping on again into vanishing and reappearing shapes of mist. far to the northwest a giant arm of land reached out into the water, high and stark and rocky; further on a group of white farallones lay in the tossing foam and over them great flocks of seabirds dipped and circled. finally, along the coast to the northward, they descried those chalk cliffs which francis drake had aptly named new albion, and still beyond, what seemed to be the mouth of an inlet. dispute sprang up among them. since july th they had been searching between this place and san diego for the port of monterey. "perhaps this is the place," said crespi, the priest, reluctantly. "vizcaino may have been amiss when he located it in degrees." "yes," spoke captain fernando de rivera, "these explorers are careless dogs. one seldom finds the places they map out so gaily. and what do they care who dies of the hunger or scurvy--drinking their flagons in mexico or madrid? a curse, say i, on the lot of them." portola turned an irritated glance of disapproval on his henchmen. "what say you, my pathfinder?" he addressed sergeant jose ortega, chief of scouts. "that no one may be certain, your excellency," the scout-chief answered. "but," his eyes met those of his commander with a look of grim significance, "one may learn." portola laid a hand almost affectionately on the other's leather-covered shoulder. here was a man after his heart. always he had been ahead of the van, selecting camp sites, clearing ways through impenetrable brush, fighting off hostile savages. now, ill and hungry as he was, for rations had for several days been down to four tortillas per man, ortega was ready to set forth again. "you had better rest, saldado. you are far from well. start to-morrow." ortega shrugged. "meanwhile they mutter," his eyes jerked to the indiscriminate company below. "when men march and have a motive, they forget their grievances. when they lie in camp the devil stalks about and puts mischief into their thought. i have been a soldier for fourteen years, your excellency." "and i for thirty," said the other dryly, but he smiled. "you are right, my sergeant. go. and may your patron saint, the reverend father of assisi, aid you." ortega saluted and withdrew. "i will require three days with your excellency's grace," he said. portola nodded and observed ortega's sharp commands wheel a dozen mounted soldados into line. they galloped past him, their lances at salute and dashed with a clatter of hoofs into the valley below. young francisco garvez spurred his big mare forward till he rode beside the sergeant. a tall, half-lanky lad he was with the eager prescience of youth, its dreams and something of its shyness hidden in the dark alertness of his mien. "whither now, my sergeant?" he inquired with a trace of pertness as he laid a hand upon the other's pommel. "do we search again for that elusive monterey? methinks vizcaino dreamed it in his cups." he smiled, a flash of strong, white teeth relieving the half-weary relaxation of his features, and ortega turning, answered him: "perhaps the good st. francis hid it from our eyes--that we might first discover this puerto christened in his honor. we have three days to reach the punta de los reyes, which vizcaino named for the kings of cologne." for a time the two rode on in silence. then young garvez muttered: "it is well for portola that your soldados love you.... else the expedition had not come thus far." the sergeant looked at his companion smolderingly, but he did not speak. he knew as well as anyone that the governor's life was in danger; that conspiracy was in the air. and it was for this he had taken with him all the stronger malcontents. yes, they loved him--whatever treachery might have brooded in their minds. his eyes kindled with the knowledge. he led them at a good pace forward over hill and dale, through rough and briery undergrowth, fording here and there a stream, spurring tired horses over spans of dragging sand until darkness made further progress impossible. but with the break of day he was on again after a scanty meal. just at sunrise he led his party up to a commanding headland where he paused to rest. his winded mount and that of garvez panted side by side upon the crest while his troopers, single file, picked their way up the narrow trail. below them was the bay of san francisco guarded by the swirling narrows of the golden gate. and over the brown hilltops of the contra costa a great golden ball of sunlight battled with the lacy mists of dawn. it was a picture to impress one with its mystery and magnificence. the two men gazed upon it with an oddly blended sense of awe and exultation. and as they looked the sunlight triumphed, scattering the fog into queer floating shapes, luminous and fraught with weird suggestions of castle, dome, of turret, minaret and towering spire. one might have thought a splendid city lay before them in the barren cove of sand-dunes, a city impalpable, yet triumphant, with its hint of destiny; translucent silver and gold, shifting and amazing--gone in a flash as the sun's full radiance burst forth through the vapor-screen. "it was like a sign from heaven!" garvez breathed. ortega crossed himself. the younger man went on, "something like a voice within me seemed to say 'here shall you find your home--you and your children and their children's children.'" ortega looked down at the dawn-gold on the waters and the tree-ringed cove. here and there small herds of deer drank from a stream or browsed upon the scant verdure of sandy meadows. in a distant grove a score of indian tepees raised their cone shapes to the sky; lazy plumes of blue-white smoke curled upward. canoes, rafts of tules, skillfully bound together, carried dark-skinned natives over wind-tossed waters, the ends of their double paddles flashing in the sun. "one may not know the ways of god." ortega spoke a trifle bruskly. "what is plain to me is that we cannot journey farther. this estero cuts our path in two. and in three days we cannot circle it to reach the contra costa. we must return and make report to the commander." he wheeled and shouted a command to his troopers. the cavalcade rode south but young francisco turning in the saddle cast a farewell glance toward the shining bay. "port o' gold!" he whispered raptly, "some day men shall know your fame around the world!" port o' gold chapter i yerba buena it was . three quarters of a century had passed since young francisco garvez, as he rode beside portola's chief of scouts, glimpsed the mystic vision of a city rising from the sandy shores of san francisco bay. garvez, so tradition held, had taken for his spouse an indian maiden educated by the mission padres of far san diego. for his service as soldado of old spain he had been granted many acres near the mission of dolores and his son, through marriage, had combined this with another large estate. there a second generation of the garvez family had looked down from a palatial hacienda upon spreading grain-fields, wide-reaching pastures and corrals of blooded stock. they had seen the mission era wax and wane and mexico cast off the governmental shackles of madrid. they had looked askance upon the coming of the "gringo" and francisco garvez ii, in the feebleness of age, had railed against the destiny that gave his youngest daughter to a yankee engineer. he had bade her choose between allegiance to an honored race and exile with one whom he termed an unknown, alien interloper. but in the end he had forgiven, when she chose, as is the wont of women, love's eternal path. thus the garvez rancho, at his death became the windham ranch and there dwelt dona anita with her children inez and benito, for her husband, "don roberto" windham lingered with an engineering expedition in the wilds of oregon. just nineteen was young benito, straight and slim, combining in his fledgling soul the austere heritage of anglo-saxons with the leaping fires of castile. fondly, yet with something anxious in her glance, his mother watched the boy as he sprang nimbly to the saddle of his favorite horse. he was like her husband, strong and self-reliant. yet,--she sighed involuntarily with the thought,--he had much of the manner of her handsome and ill-fated brother, don diego, victim of a duel that had followed cards and wine. "why so troubled, madre mia?" the little hand of inez stole into her mother's reassuringly. "is it that you fear for our benito when he rides among the gringos of the puebla?" her dark crowned and exquisite head rose proudly and her eyes flashed as she watched her brother riding with the grace of splendid horsemanship toward the distant town of yerba buena. "he can take care of himself," she ended with, a toss of her head. "to be sure, my little one," the dona windham answered smiling. no doubt it was a foolish apprehension she decided. if only the dona briones who lived on a ranchita near the bay-shore did not gossip so of the americano games of chance. and if only she might know what took benito there so frequently. * * * * * benito spurred his horse toward the puebla. a well-filled purse jingled in his pocket and now and then he tossed a silver coin to some importuning indian along the road. as he passed the little ranch-house of dona briones he waved his hat gaily in answer to her invitation to stop. benito called her tia juana. large and motherly she was, a woman of untiring energy who, all alone cultivated the ranchito which supplied milk, butter, eggs and vegetables to ships which anchored in the cove of yerba buena. she was the friend of all sick and unfortunate beings, the secret ally of deserting sailors whom she often hid from searching parties. benito was her special favorite and now she sighed and shook her head as he rode on. she had heard of his losses at the gringo game called "pokkere." she mistrusted it together with all other alien machinations. benito reached the little hamlet dreaming in the sun, a welter of scrambled habitations. there was the little ship's cabin, called kent hall, where dwelt that genial spirit, nathan spear, his father's friend. nearby was the dwelling, carpenter and blacksmith shop of calvert davis; the homes of victor pruden, french savant and secretary to governor alvarado; thompson the hide trader who married concepcion avila, reigning beauty of her day; stephen smith, pioneer saw-miller, who brought the first pianos to california. where a spring gushed forth and furnished water to the ships, juan fuller had his washhouse. within a stone's throw was the grist mill of daniel sill where a mule turned, with the frequent interruptions of his balky temperament, a crude and ponderous treadmill. grain laden ox-carts stood along the road before it. farther down was finch's, better known as john the tinker's bowling alley; cooper's groggery, nicknamed "jack the sailor's," vioget's house, later to be yerba buena's first hotel. the new warehouse of william leidesdorff stood close to the waterline and, at the head of the plaza, the customs house built by indians at the governor's order looked down on the shipping. benito reined his horse as he reached the plaza where a dozen other mounts were tethered and left his steed to crop the short grass without the formality of hitching. he remembered how, nine years ago, don jacob primer leese had given a grand ball to celebrate the completion of his wooden casa, the first of its kind in yerba buena. there had been music and feasting with barbecued meats and the firing of guns to commemorate the fourth of july which was the birth of americano independence. long ago leese had moved his quarters farther from the beach and sold his famous casa to the hudson's bay company. half perfunctorily, young windham made his way there, entered and sat down in the big trading room where sailormen were usually assembled to discourse profanely of the perils of the sea. benito liked to hear them and to listen to the drunken boasts of factor william rae, who threatened that his company would drive all yankee traders out of california. sometimes spear would be there, sardonically witty, drinking heavily but never befuddled by his liquor. but today the place was silent, practically deserted so benito, after a glass of fiery scotch liquor with the factor, made his way into the road again. there a hand fell on his shoulder and spear's hearty voice saluted him: "how fares it at the ranch, camerado?" "moderately," the young man answered, "for my mother waits impatiently the coming of my father. she is very lonely since my uncle died. though inez tries to comfort her, she, too, is apprehensive. the time set by my father for home-coming is long past." "it is the way of women," spear said gently. "give them my respects. if you ride toward home i will accompany you a portion of the way." benito turned an almost furtive glance on his companion. "not yet," ... he answered hastily, "a thousand pardons, senor. i have other errands here." he nodded half impatiently and made his way along the embarcadero. spear saw him turn into the drinking place of cooper. a stranger caught spear's glance and smiled significantly. "i saw the lad last night at poker with a crowd that's not above a crooked deal.... someone should stop him." in the voice was tentative suggestion. "i've no authority," spear answered shortly. he turned his back upon the other and strode toward the plaza. chapter ii the gambled patrimony the stranger took his way toward the waterfront and into "jack the sailor's." cooper, who had earned this nickname, stood behind a counter of rough boards polishing its top with a much soiled towel. he hailed the newcomer eagerly. "hello, alvin potts! what brought you here? and how is all at monterey?" "all's well enough," said potts, concisely. he glanced about. several crude structures, scarcely deserving the name of tables, were centers of interest for rings of rough and ill-assorted men. there were loud-voiced, bearded fellows from the whaler's crew. in tarpaulins and caps pulled low upon their brows; swarthy russians with oily, brutish faces and slow movements--relics of the abandoned colony at fort ross; suave, soft-spoken spaniards in broad-brimmed hats, braided short coats and laced trousers tucked into shining boots; vaqueros with colored handkerchiefs about their heads and sashes around their middles. a few americans were sprinkled here and there. usually one player at each table was of the sleek and graceful type, which marks the gambler. and usually he was the winner. now and then a man threw down his cards, pushed a little pile of money to the center of the table and shuffled out. cooper passed between them, serving tall, black bottles from which men poured their potions according to impulse; they did not drink in unison. each player snatched a liquid stimulus when the need arose. and one whose shaky nerves required many of these spurs was young benito. potts observed the pale face and the hectic, burning eyes with a frowning disapproval. presently he drew john cooper to one side. "he's no business here, that lad ... you know it, jack," potts said, accusingly. the saloon keeper threw wide his arms in a significant gesture. "he won't stay away ... i've told him half a dozen times. no one can reason with that headstrong fool." "who's that he's playing with?" asked potts. "i mean the dark one with a scar." an impressive and outstanding figure was the man potts designated. stocky, sinister of eye and with a mouth whose half-sardonic smile drew the lips a little out of line, he combed his thick black hair now and then with delicate, long-fingered hands. they had a deftness and a lightning energy, those fingers with their perfectly groomed nails, which boded little good to his opponents. he sat back calmly in strange contrast to the feverish uncontrol of other players. now and then he flashed a swift glance round the circle of his fellow players. before him was a heap of gold and silver. they watched him deal with the uncanny skill of a conjurer before jack cooper answered. "that's aleck mcturpin from australia. thought you knew him." "one of the sydney coves?" "not quite so loud," the other cautioned hastily. "they call him that--behind his back. but who's to tell? i'd like to get the lad out of his clutches well enough." "think i'll watch the game," potts said, and sauntered to the table. he laid a friendly hand on windham's shoulder. benito's pile of coin was nearly gone. mcturpin dealt. it was a jack-pot, evidently, for a heavy stake of gold and silver was upon the center of the board. benito's hand shook as he raised his cards. he reached forth and refilled his glass, gulping the contents avidly. "dos cartos," he replied in spanish to the dealer's inquiry. potts glanced at the three cards which benito had retained. each was a king. the young man eyed his first draw with a slight frown and seemed to hesitate before he lifted up the second. then a little sucking gasp came from his throat. "senor," he began as mcturpin eyed him curiously, "i have little left to wager. luck has been my enemy of late. yet," he smiled a trembling little smile, "i hold certain cards which give me confidence. i should like to play a big stake--once, before i leave--" "how big?" asked mcturpin, coldly, but his eye was eager. the spanish-american faced him straightly. "as big as you like, amigo ... if you will accept my note." mcturpin's teeth shut with a click. "what security, young fellow?" he demanded. "my ranch," replied benito. "it is worth, they say, ten thousand of your dollars." mcturpin covered his cards with his hands. "you want to lay me this ranch against--what?" "five thousand dollars--that is fair enough," benito answered. he was trembling with excitement. mcturpin watched him hawk-like, seeming to consider. "bring us ink and paper, jack," he called to cooper, and when the latter had complied, he wrote some half a dozen lines upon a sheet. "sign that. get two witnesses ... you, jack, and this fellow here," he indicated potts imperiously. he laid his cards face down upon the table and extracted deftly from some inner pocket a thick roll of greenbacks. slowly, almost meticulously, he counted them before the gaping tableful of players. fifty hundred-dollar bills. "american greenbacks," he spoke crisply. "a side bet with our friend, the senor windham." he shoved the money toward the center of the table, slightly apart from the rest. benito waveringly picked up the pen. it shook in his unsteady fingers. "wait," potts pleaded. but the young man brooked no intervention. with a flourish he affixed his signature. mcturpin picked up the pen as benito dropped it. "put your name on as a witness," he demanded of the host. "jack the sailor" shook his head. "i've no part in this," he said, and turned his back upon them. "nor i," potts answered to a similar invitation. mcturpin took the paper. "well, it doesn't matter. you've all seen him sign it: you ... and you ... and you." his finger pointed to a trio of the nearest players, and their nods sufficed him, evidently. he weighted the contract with a gold-piece from his own plethoric pile. "show down! show down!" cried the others. triumphantly benito laid five cards upon the table. four of them were kings. a little cry of satisfaction arose, for sympathy was with the younger player. mcturpin sat unmoved. then he threw an ace upon the table. followed it with a second. then a third. and, amid wondering murmurs, a fourth. he reached out his hand for the stakes. benito sat quite still. the victorious light had gone out of his eyes, but not a muscle moved. one might have thought him paralyzed or turned to stone by his misfortune. mcturpin's hand closed almost stealthily upon the paper. there was a smile of cool and calculating satisfaction on his thin lips as he drew the stake toward him. then with an electrifying suddenness, benito sprang upon him. "cheat!" he screamed. "you fleeced me like a robber. i knew. i understood it when you looked at me like that." quick as mcturpin was in parrying attack--for he had frequent need of such defense--the onslaught of benito found him unprepared. he went over backward, the young man's fingers on his throat. from the overturned table money rattled to the floor and rolled into distant corners. hastily the non-combatants sought a refuge from expected bullets. but no pistol barked. mcturpin's strength far overmatched that of the other. instantly he was on his feet. benito's second rush was countered by a blow upon the jaw. the boy fell heavily. mcturpin smoothed his ruffled plumage and picked up the scattered coins. "take the young idiot home," he said across his shoulder, as he strode out. "pour a little whisky down his throat. he isn't hurt." chapter iii the gringo ships government was but a name in yerba buena. a gringo engineer named fremont with a rabble of adventurers had overthrown the valiant vallejo at sonora and declared a california republic. he had spiked the cannon at the presidio. and now a gringo sloop-of-war was in the bay, some said with orders to reduce the port. almost simultaneously an english frigate came and there were rumors of a war between the anglo-saxon nations. the prefect, don rafael pinto, had already joined the fleeing governor castro. commandante francisco sanchez, having sent his soldiers to augment the castro forces in the south, was without a garrison and had retired to his rancho. nevertheless, had the senora windham, with her son and daughter, called upon sub-prefect guerrero in hope of justice. her rancho was being taken from her. already mcturpin had pre-empted a portion of the grant and only the armed opposition of the windham vaqueros prevented an entire dispossession. though guerrero listened, courteous and punctilious, he had obviously no power to afford relief. he was a curiously nervous man of polished manners whose eyelids twitched at intervals with a sort of slow st. vitus' dance. "what can i do, senora?" with a blend of whimsicality and desperation. "i am an official without a staff. and sanchez a commander stripped of his soldados." he stepped to the door with them and looked down upon the dancing, rippling waters of the bay, where two ships rode. "let these gringos fight it out together. this mcturpin is an inglese, i am told, from their far colony across the sea. if the americanos triumph take your claim to them. if not, god save you, my senora. i cannot." don guillermo richardson, the former harbormaster, came up the hill as dona anita emerged from the alcalde's office. he was a friend of her husband--a gringo--but trusted by the spanish californians, many of whom he had befriended. to him mrs. windham turned half desperately, confessing in a rush of words her family's plight. "what is to become of us?" she questioned passionately. "ah, that my roberto were here! he would know how to deal with these desperadoes." she gestured angrily toward the sloop-of-war which rode at anchor in the bay. "you have nothing to fear, my friend," returned richardson with a trace of asperity. "commodore sloat is a gentleman. he is, i understand, to seize monterey and raise the the american flag there tomorrow. yet his instructions are that californians are to be shown every courtesy." "and our rancho?" cried the boy. "will the americano capitan restore it to us, think you, don guillermo?" "i know not," said the other sadly. "you should have thought of that before you gambled it away, my son." benito hung his head. richardson passed on and the trio made their way toward the beach. there they found nathan spear in excited converse with john cooper and william leidesdorff. they were discussing the probability of an occupation by the american marines. "if they come ashore," said leidesdorff, "i'll invite them to my new house. there's plenty of rum for all, and we'll drink a toast to fremont and the california republic as well." "hurrah! hurrah!" came a cheer from several bystanders. "i invite you all," cried leidesdorff, waving his hands and almost dancing in his eagerness. "every man-jack of you in all yerba buena." "how about the ladies, leidesdorff?" called out a sailor. "ah, forgive me, senora, senorita!" cried the dane remorsefully. he swept off his wide-brimmed hat with an effort, for he had a fashion of jamming it very tightly upon his head. he laid a hand enthusiastically upon the shoulders of both spear and cooper. "it grows better and better. tomorrow, if the captain is willing," he jerked his head toward the portsmouth, "tomorrow evening we shall have a grand ball. it shall celebrate the day of independence." "but tomorrow is the eighth of july," said cooper. "what matter?" leidesdorff exclaimed, now thoroughly enthusiastic. "it's the spirit of the thing that counts, my friends." a crowd was assembling. mrs. windham and her daughter drew instinctively aside. benito stood between them and the growing throng as if to shield them from a battery of curious glances. "will the ladies accept?" asked leidesdorff with another exaggerated salute. senora windham, haughty and aloof, had framed a stiff refusal, but her daughter caught her hand. "do not antagonize them, mother," she said in an undertone. "let us meet this gringo commandante of the ship. perhaps," she smiled archly, "it is not beyond the possibilities i may persuade him into giving aid." the elder woman hesitated, glanced inquiringly at nathan spear who stood beside them. he nodded. "the ladies will be pleased," he answered in their stead. another cheer met this announcement. chapter iv american occupation yerba buena awoke to the sunrise of july , , with a spirit of festive anticipation and a certain relief. today the american sloop-of-war would land its sailors and marines to take possession of the port. today the last remaining vestige of the latin's dominance would end. a strange flag, curiously gay with stripes and stars, would fly above the customs house; strange men in uniforms of blue, and golden braid, would occupy the seats of power. even the name of yerba buena would be altered, it was said. new boston probably would be its title. early morning brought ox-carts laden with gay, curious spanish ladies from surrounding ranches, piquant eager senoritas with vivacious gestures of small hands and fluttering fans; senoras plump and placid, slower in their movements and with brooding eyes. they wore their laciest mantillas, silkiest gowns and daintiest footwear to impress the alien invader. and, beside their equipages, like outriders in the cortege of a queen, caballeros and vaqueros sat their caracoling steeds. sailors from the trade and whaling ships, trappers, hunters and the motley populace of yerba buena made a colorful and strangely varied picture, as they gathered with the rancheros about the plaza. at o'clock four boats descended simultaneously from the portsmouth's sides. they were greeted by loud cheers from the americans on shore and watched with excited interest by the others. the boats landed their crews near the spring where a sort of wharf had been constructed. they returned for more and finally assembled seventy marines, a smaller number of sailors and the ship's band. captain montgomery, in the full dress uniform of a naval commander, reviewed his forces. beside him stood lieutenant john s. misroon, large, correct and rather awkward, with long, restless arms; a youthful, rosy complexion and serious blue eyes. further back, assembling his marines in marching order, was lieutenant henry watson, a smaller man of extraordinary nervous energy. montgomery gave the marching order. fife and drum struck up a lively air and to its strains the feet of yerba buena's first invading army kept uncertain step as sailors and marines toiled through the sand. half a thousand feet above them stood the quaint adobe customs house, its red-tiled roof and drab adobe walls contrasting pleasantly with the surrounding greenery of terraced hills. below it lay the plaza with its flagpole, its hitching racks for horses and oxen. here the commander halted his men. "lieutenant watson," he addressed the senior subaltern, "be so good as to request attendance by the prefect or alcalde.... and for heaven's sake, fasten your coat, sir," he added in a whispered aside. saluting with one hand, fumbling at his buttons with the other, watson marched into the customs house, while the populace waited agape; but he returned very soon to report that the building was untenanted. captain montgomery frowned. he had counted on the pomp and punctilio of a formal surrender--a spectacular bit of history that would fashion gallant words for a report. "haul down the flag of mexico," he said to lieutenant misroon. "run up the stars and stripes!" lieutenant misroon gazed aloft, then down again, embarrassed. "there is no flag, sir," he responded, and montgomery verified his statement with a frowning glance. "where the devil is it, then?" he asked explosively. a frightened clerk appeared now at the doorway of the custom house. he bowed and scraped before the irate commander. "pardon, senor commandante," he said, quaveringly, "the flag of mexico reposes in a trunk with the official papers of the port. i, myself, have seen the receiver of customs, don rafael pinto, place it there." "and where is don rafael?" "some days ago he joined the castro forces in the south, senor." "well, well!" montgomery's tone was sharp; "there must be someone in command. who is he?" "the sub-prefect has ridden to his rancho, commandante." "that disposes of the civil authorities," montgomery reflected, "since port-captain ridley is in jail with fremont's captives." he turned to the clerk again. "is there not a garrison at the presidio?" "they have joined the noble castro," sighed the clerk, recovering his equanimity. "there is only the commander sanchez, senor. he is also at his rancho." despite his irritation, captain montgomery could not miss the humor of the situation. a dry chuckle escaped him. "run up the flag," he said to lieutenant misroon, and the latter hastened to comply. an instant later the starry banner floated high above their heads. a cheer broke out. hats flew into the air and from the ship's band came the stirring strains of america's national air. then, deep and thunderous, a gun spoke on the portsmouth. another and another. captain montgomery, stiff and dignified, lifted his hand and amid an impressive silence read the proclamation of commodore sloat, in which all citizens of captured ports were assured of fair and friendly treatment and invited to become subjects of the united states. he suggested the immediate formation of a town militia. leidesdorff came bustling forward. "my house is at your service, gentlemen," he said. "and tonight," he removed his hat and bowed toward the ladies, "tonight i bid you all to be my guests and give our new friends welcome." he saluted montgomery and his aids, who, somewhat nonplussed, returned the greeting. nathan spear elbowed his way to the commander's side. with him came senora windham and the smiling senorita inez. benito lingered rather diffidently in the background with a group of spanish californians, but was finally induced to bring them forward. there were general handshakings. many other rancheros, now that the ice was broken, brought their wives and daughters for an introduction to the gringo commandante, and montgomery, his good humor restored, kissed many a fair hand in response to a languishing smile. it seemed a happy and a friendly seizure. inez said, eyes a-sparkle, "we shall see you at the ball this evening, senor commandante." "i shall claim the first dance, senorita," said the sailor, bowing low. her heart leaped as they left him, and she squeezed her brother's arm. "he is a kindly man, benito mio. i shall tell him of this interloper--this mcturpin. have no fear." benito smiled a little dubiously. he had less faith than inez in the future government of the americans. chapter v an offer and a threat aleck mcturpin, tired but exhilarated, rode toward the windham rancho on the morning after leidesdorff's ball. he had made a night of it and he was in high fettle. the senorita windham had granted him a dance despite her brother's scowling disapproval. out of the charm of that brief association there had come into the gambler's mind a daring plan. to the senorita inez he had spoken of his claim upon the windham rancho through her brother's note won on the gambling table. he had touched the matter very gently, for mcturpin knew the ways of women and was not without engaging qualities when they stood him in good stead. now he rode toward a tryst with inez windham and his heart leaped at the prospect of another sight of her; within him like a heady wine there was the memory of her sparkling eyes, the roguish, mischievous, half-pouting mouth. the consciousness of something finer than his life had known aroused in him strange devotional impulses, unfamiliar yearnings. he and the senorita were to meet and plan a settlement of mcturpin's claim against the rancho. he had asked her to come alone, and, after a swift look, half fearful, half desperate, she consented. it was an unheard-of thing in spanish etiquette. but he believed she would fulfill the bargain. and if she did, he asked himself, what should he say--or do? for, perhaps, the first time in his life mcturpin was uncertain. suddenly the road turned and he came upon her. she stood beside her horse, the morning sunlight in her wondrous dark hair. the ride had brought fresh color to her face and sparkle to her eyes. mcturpin caught his breath before the wonder and beauty of her. then he sprang from his horse and bowed low. the senorita inez nodded almost curtly. "i have little time, senor," she said, uneasily. "you are late. i may be missed." her smile was all the more alluring for its hint of panic. "can we not come to the point at once? i have here certain jewels which will pay a portion of the debt." she unclasped from her throat a necklace of pearls he had noted at the ball. she held them out toward him. "and here is a ring. have you brought the paper?" mcturpin held up a protesting hand. "you wrong me, senorita," he declared. "i am a gambler. yes ... i take my chance with men and win or lose according to the fates. but i have yet to rob a woman of her trinkets." "it is no robbery," she demurred, hastily. "take them, i beseech you, and return the note. if it is not enough, we will pay more ... later ... from the proceeds of the ranch." "senorita," said mcturpin eagerly, "let us compromise this matter more adroitly. should i make no further claim upon your ranch than that which i possess, why may we not be neighbors--friends?" she tried to protest, but he rushed on, giving her no opportunity. "senorita, i am not a man devoid of culture. i am not a sailor or a trapper like those ruffians below. nor a keeper of shops. senorita, i will give up gambling and become a ranchero. if--" he stammered, "if i--" inez windham took a backward step. her breath came sharply. in this man's absurd confusion there was written plainer than his uncompleted words could phrase it, what he meant. "no, no," her little hands went out as if to ward off some repulsive thing. "senor--that is quite impossible." mcturpin saw the look of horror, of aversion. he felt as though someone had struck him in the face. there was a little silence. then he laughed, shortly. "impossible?" the tone was cutting. "we shall see.... this is now a white man's country. i have offered to divide the rancho. what if i should take it all? where would you go? you, the proud senora and the shiftless young benito?" the senorita inez' lips curled. "when my father comes he will know how to answer you," she told him, hotly. "if he were alive he would have come long since," mcturpin answered. "many perish on the northern trails." he took a step toward her. "do you know that this morning more americans arrived on the ship brooklyn? they are armed and there is talk of 'running out the greasers.' do you know what that means? it were well to have a friend at court, my little lady." "go!" the girl blazed at him. "go, and quickly--liar that you are. my brother and his vaqueros will know how to protect my mother and me." she sprang upon her horse and galloped toward the rancho. mcturpin, red and angry, watched her disappearing in a whirl of dust. * * * * * "look, my brother! he has spoken truly." inez and benito had ridden to the pueblo for a confirmation of mcturpin's words. they hitched their horses at the rack in portsmouth square and walked down toward the landing place. a large ship lay in the offing. between her and the shore many small boats laden with passengers and varied cargoes plied to and fro. inez, as they descended, noted many women clad in the exaggerated hoopskirts, the curious, short, gathered bodices and the low hats of the early forties. she thought this apparel oddly ugly, though the faces were not unattractive. they stood in knots, these women, some of them gazing rather helplessly about. the younger ones were surrounded by groups of admirers with whom they were chatting animatedly. there were also many children capering in the sand and pointing out to one another the strange sights of this new place. the men--hundreds of them it seemed to inez--were busied with constructive tasks. already there were many temporary habitations, mostly tents of varied shapes and sizes. bonfires blazed here and there. stands of arms in ordered, regular stacks, gave the scene a martial air. piles of bed-clothing, household effects, agricultural implements, lay upon the sand. a curious instrument having a large wheel on one side caught the girl's attention. near it were square, shallow boxes. a pale, broad-shouldered man with handsome regular features and brooding, poetic eyes stood beside the machine, turning the wheel now and then, and examining the boxes. he seemed to be a leader, for many people came to ask him questions which he answered with decision and authority. "who is that?" asked inez of nathan spear and leidesdorff as the two approached. "and what is the strange contrivance upon which he has his hand?" "it is a printing press," spear answered. "yerba buena is soon to have a paper for the chronicling of its metropolitan affairs. the man? oh, that's sam brannan, the elder of this band of mormons." "is it true that they have come to drive us from our homes?" asked inez fearfully. "who, the mormons? lord forbid," retorted spear. he beckoned to the elder, who approached and was presented. inez, as she looked into his kindly eyes, forgot her fears. brannan eagerly explained his printing press. she left him feeling that he was less enemy than friend. chapter vi the first election captain john j. vioget's house was the busiest place in yerba buena, and john henry brown its most important personage. the old frame dwelling built by a swiss sailor in had become in turn a billiard hall and groggery, a sort of sailors' lodging house and a hotel. now it was the scene of yerba buena's first election. about a large table sat the election inspectors guarding the ballot box, fashioned hastily from an empty jar of lemon syrup. robert ridley, recently released from sutter's fort, where he had been imprisoned by the bear flag party, was a candidate for office as alcalde. he opposed lieutenant washington bartlett, appointed to officiate pro tem by captain montgomery. brown was busy with his spirituous dispensing. it was made a rule, upon brannan's advice, that none should be served until he had voted. brown kept shouting: "ship-shape, gents, and reg'lar; that's the word. place your vote and then you drinks.... gord bless yer merry hearts." thus he harangued them into order and coaxed many a russian, spanish, english and american coin across his bar. suddenly he looked into the eyes of aleck mcturpin. "give me a brandy sling," the gambler ordered. he was in a rough mood, which ensues from heavy and continued drinking. "have ye voted, aleck?" brown inquired. "i vote when i please," mcturpin answered sullenly, "and i drink when it suits me." he took from an inner pocket of his coat a derringer with silver mountings, laid it meaningly upon the bar. "i ordered a brandy sling." brown paled, but his eye did not waver. almost casually, he spoke. "stop your jokin', aleck. rules is rules." mcturpin's fingers closed about the pistol. his eyes were venomous. then benito windham entered. just inside the door he paused, uncertainly. "i have come to vote for senor bartlett as alcalde," he declared. a laugh greeted him. "you should not announce your choice," said inspector ward severely. "the ballot is supposedly secret." mcturpin turned, his quarrel with brown instantly forgotten. "throw the little greaser out," he spoke with slow distinctness. "this is a white man's show." there was a startled silence. "he's drunk," brown told them soothingly. "aleck's drunk. don't listen to him." "drunk or not, i back my words." he waved the weapon threateningly. "sit down there," he ordered windham. "if you want to vote you'll vote for a gentleman. write bob ridley's name on your ballot, or, by god! i'll fix you." benito, as if hypnotized, took a seat at the table and dipped his quill in the ink. the others stirred uneasily, but made no move. there was a moment of foreboding silence. then a hearty voice said from the door: "what's the matter, gentlemen?" no one answered. mcturpin, the pistol in his hand, still stood above benito. the latter's fingers held the quill suspended. a drop of ink fell on the ballot slip unnoted. brannan, with a puzzled frown, came forward, laid a hand upon the gambler's shoulder. "what's the matter here?" he asked more sharply. mcturpin turned upon him fiercely. "go to hell!" he cried. "i'm running this." brannan's voice was quiet. "put the pistol down!" he ordered. deliberately mcturpin raised his weapon. "damn you--" but he got no farther. brannan's fist struck fairly on the chin. one could hear the impact of it like a hammer blow. there was a shot, a bullet spent against the rafters overhead. mcturpin sprawling on the sawdust-covered floor. * * * * * on windham rancho the senora windham waited with a faith that knew no end for the coming of her husband. there had been vague reports from vaguer sources that he had been captured by the northern savages. inez and benito were forever at her side--save when the boy rode into town to cull news from arriving sailors. the spanish rancheros had all withdrawn to the seclusion of their holdings and were on the verge of war against the new authorities of yerba buena. washington bartlett, recently elected alcalde, had abused his office by repeated confiscations of fine horses from the camponeras of spanish-californians, seizing them by requisition of military authority and giving orders on the government in exchange. this the spaniards had borne in silence. but abuses had become so flagrant as to pass all bounds. "we must arm and drive these robbers from our california," said benito passionately. "sanchez has, in secret, organized one hundred caballeros. only wait. the day comes when we strike!" "benito," said his mother, sadly, "there has been enough of war. we cannot struggle with these yankees. they are strong and numerous. we must keep the peace and suffer until your father comes." "there is to be a grand ball at the casa of the senor leidesdorff," said inez. "el grande commandante of the yankee squadron comes amid great ceremony. i will gain his ear. perchance he will undo the wrongs of this bartlett, the despoiler." "inez mia," said her brother, "do not go. no good will come of it. for they are all alike, these foreigners." "ah!" she cried, reproachfully, "you say that of the senor brannan? or of don nathan?" "they are good men," benito answered, grudgingly. "have it as you will." * * * * * yerba buena did honor to commodore stockton under leidesdorff's ever-hospitable roof. hundreds of candles burned in sconces and chandeliers, festoons of bunting and greenery gave the big room a carnival air; indian servitors flitted silently about with trays of refreshments, and the gold lace and braid of america's navy mingled picturesquely with the almost spectacular garb of stately spanish caballeros. the commodore, though undersized, was soldierly and very brisk of manner. stockton seemed to inez a gallant figure. while she danced with him, she found his brisk directness not unpleasing. he asked her of the rancheros and of reports that came to him of their dissatisfaction with american authority. "they seem so cordial," he said, "these spanish gentlemen. i cannot believe that they hate us, as it is said." "ah, senor." inez' smile had faded and her deep and troubled eyes held his. "they have cause for hatred, though they come in all good will to welcome you." as it chanced, they passed just then close to a little group in which alcalde bartlett made a central figure. two of stockton's aids were hanging on his words. "tomorrow, gentlemen, we shall go riding. i will find you each a worthy mount. we raise fine horses on the ranches." the fiery sanchez, strolling by, overheard as well. eyes ablaze, he went on swiftly joining vasquez and de haro near the door. they held low converse for an instant with their smouldering glances on the pompous bartlett. then they hurried out. [illustration: "ah, senor," inez' smile had faded ... "they have cause for hatred."] chapter vii the rancheros revolt five horsemen rode into the morning sunshine down el camino real toward the south. one was washington bartlett, alcalde of yerba buena, whose rather pursy figure sat with an ungainly lack of grace the mettled horse which he bestrode. it was none other than senora windham's favorite and beloved mare "diablo," filched from the windham stables several days before. in compensation she received a bit of paper signifying that the animal was commandeered "for military necessity." the rancheros were patient fellows, bartlett reflected. if his conscience smote him sometimes, he took refuge in the knowledge that america was still at war with mexico and that these horses were the property of alien enemies. non-combatants, possibly. yet they had failed in declaration of allegiance to the united states. "i'll show you some excellent horseflesh today," he promised his companions. "and, what's better, you shall have your pick." "well, that's extraordinarily good of you, alcalde," said the man who rode beside him. "but ... do you mean one gets these glorious animals--for love?" "not--er--exactly," bartlett answered. "you see, my deputies and officers, like yourself, must ride about to make their observations and reports. such are the needs of war." "of course," another rider nodded understandingly. "and as alcalde you have many deputies." "as well as many--er--observation officers like ourselves to supply," a third supplemented, slyly dropping one eyelid. the fourth man said nothing for a time. then, rather unexpectedly, he asked: "and what do you give them in exchange, alcalde?" bartlett turned in some surprise. "i give them notes of hand," he answered half resentfully. "notes redeemable in american gold--when the war is over." "and, are these notes negotiable security? will your shop-keepers accept them in lieu of coin?" "at proper discounts--yes," said bartlett, flushing. "i have heard," the other remarked almost musingly, "that they are redeemable at from fifteen to twenty per cent. and that the only man who accepts them at even half of their face value is mcturpin the gambler." "that is not my business," bartlett answered brusquely. the quintet rode on, absorbed and silent. below them swept green reaches of ranch land, dotted here and there with cattle and horses or the picturesque haciendas of old spanish families. the camino stretched white and broad before them, winding through rolling hillocks, shaded sometimes by huge overhanging trees. "isn't this francisco sanchez, whom we go to visit, a soldier, a former commandante of your town, alcalde?" asked a rider. "yes, the same one who ran away when montgomery came." bartlett laughed. "it was several days before he dared come out of the brush to take a look at the 'gringo invader.'" "i met him at the reception to commodore stockton," said the man who rode beside bartlett. "he didn't impress me as a timid chap, exactly. something of a fire-eater, i'd have said." "oh, they're all fire-eaters--on the surface," bartlett's tone was disdainful. "but you may all judge for yourselves in a moment. for, if i'm not mistaken, he's coming up the road to meet us." "by jove, he sits his horse like a king," said bartlett's companion, admiringly. "who are those chaps with him? looks like a sort of--reception committee." "they are guerrero and vasquez and--oh, yes, young benito windham," bartlett answered. he spurred his horse and the others followed; there was something about the half careless formation of the four riders ahead which vaguely troubled the alcalde. "buenos dias, caballeros," he saluted in his faulty spanish. "buenos dias, senors," sanchez spoke with unusual crispness. "you have come for horses, doubtless, amigo alcalde?" "ah--er--yes," said bartlett. "the necessities of war are great," he added apologetically. "and suppose we refuse?" benito windham pressed forward, blazing out the words in passionate anger. "suppose we deny your manufactured requisitions? whence came the horse you sit like a very clown? i will tell you, tyrant and despoiler. it was stolen from my mother by your thieves." "benito, hold your peace," said sanchez sternly. "i will deal with this good gentleman and his friends. they shall be our guests for a time." as though the words had been a signal, five lariats descended apparently from a clear sky, each falling over the head of a member of bartlett's party. they settled neatly and were tightened, pinning the arms of riders helplessly. "well done, amigos," commented sanchez as a quintet of grinning vaqueros rode up from the rear. "as you have so aptly said, the necessities of war are paramount, alcalde." "what's the meaning of this?" demanded bartlett. "release us instantly, or you shall suffer. do you think," he sneered, "that a handful of greasers can defy the united states?" "perchance, with so important an official as the great alcalde bartlett for your hostage, we can reach a compromise on certain points," said sanchez. "come, you shall suffer no hardship, if you accept the situation reasonably." "i warn you that this means death or imprisonment to all of you," bartlett shouted. "ah, senor, the risks of war are many." sanchez' teeth flashed. he clucked to his horse and the little cavalcade wound, single-file, up a narrow horse-trail toward the hills. they passed many bands of horsemen, all armed, saluting sanchez as their chief. among them were owners and vaqueros from a score of ranches. there was something grim, determined in their manner which foreboded serious trouble. one of bartlett's fellow-captives leaned toward him, whispering: "those fellows mean business. they're like hornets if you stir 'em up too far, these greasers." "yes, by jove! and they mean to sting!" said another. chapter viii mcturpin's coup yerba buena was in an uproar. sanchez' capture of alcalde bartlett and his party had brought home with a vengeance the war which hitherto was but an echo from far mexico. now the peaceful pueblo was an armed camp. volunteers rode in from san jose, san juan and other nearby pueblos, asking for a chance to "fight the greasers." all the ranches of the countryside buzzed with a martial ardor. vaqueros, spurred with jangling silver-mounted harness, toward francisco sanchez' stronghold in the santa clara hills to battle with the "gringo tyrants." commander hull of the "warren" had sent a hundred sailors and marines from his sloop, post haste, to quell the rebellion. couriers rode to and fro between his headquarters in the custom house and the punitive expedition under captain ward marston which was scouting the santa clara plains in search of the enemy. even now the battle waged, no doubt, for marston that morning reported a brush with the enemy, had asked for reinforcements. hull had sent post haste a pack of ill assorted and undrilled adventurers from among the new arrivals. that was o'clock and now the sun had passed its noon meridian--with no courier. william leidesdorff came strolling up, his expression placid, smiling as always. he was warm from toiling up the hill and paused, panting, hat in hand, to mop his brow with a large red 'kerchief. "ha! commander!" he saluted. "and how goes it this morning?" hull glanced at him half irritated, half amused. one could never quite be angry at this fellow nor in tune with him. leidesdorff, with his cherubic grin, his plump, comfortable body, the close-cropped hair, side whiskers and moustache, framing and embellishing his round face with an ornate symmetry, was like a bearded cupid. hull handed him the latest dispatch. "nothing since then, confound it!" he said gloomily. "ah, well," spoke leidesdorff, with unction, "one should not be alarmed. what is that cloud of dust on the horizon? a courier perhaps." it proved to be samuel brannan, dusty and weary, with dispatches from captain ward which hull almost snatched from his hand. a group of men and women who had watched his arrival, gathered about asking questions. nathan spear spoke first. he had been too ill to join the americans, but had furnished them horses and arms. "how goes it with our 'army,' sam?" he asked. "none too well," said brannan. "those greasers can fight and they've a good leader. everyone of them would die for sanchez. and everyone's a sharpshooter. for a time they amused themselves this morning knocking off our hats--it rather demoralized the recruits." hull, with an imprecation, crushed the dispatch and turned to brannan. "we must have more men and quickly," he announced. "ward asks for instant reinforcements.... can you recruit--say fifty--from your colony?" "impossible," said brannan, shortly. "i have sent all who can ride or manage a rifle." he came a little closer and regarded the commander steadily. "did ward write anything about a parley?" he inquired. "yes," said hull. "he indicates that peace might be arranged if i will give a guarantee against further horse or cattle commandeering." "may i suggest that such a course is wise--and just?" "damn it, sir! you'd have me treat with these--these brigands!" the other shouted. "never. they've defied the united states by laying violent hands on an official. they've wounded two of my marines." he turned to the crowd which had assembled. "do you hear that? two americans wounded. five held in captivity--including your alcalde. shall we stand that passively? shall we let the enemy dictate terms?" "no, no!" a voice shouted. "fight to the last ditch. kill the greasers. hang them to a tree. i'm with you, horse and gun. who else?" "i, i, i," a score made answer. they pressed forward. "who's to lead us?" asked the first speaker. brannan stepped forward but commander hull raised a protesting hand. "i shall send a corporal of marines from the warren. you will rest your horse, since i cannot spare you a fresh mount, and hold yourself in readiness to act as a courier, mr. brannan." he summoned an orderly and sent him to the warren with an order to corporal smith. meanwhile the volunteers assembled in the square, thirty-four in all; men of half a dozen nationalities. one giant russian loomed above them, a goliath on a great roan horse. and near him, to accentuate the contrast, an elderly moustached, imperialed frenchman on a mare as under-sized and spirited as himself. brannan and leidesdorff watched them galloping down the camino ten minutes later under the guidance of a smart young corporal. "i trust it will soon be over," said the former. "i saw benito windham riding beside sanchez in the battle today." * * * * * the senorita inez' head was high that afternoon when mcturpin came upon her suddenly in the patio of the windham hacienda. she rose haughtily. "senor, this intrusion is unpardonable. if my brother was within call--" mcturpin bowed low. there was a touch of mockery in his eye. "it is about your brother that i've come to talk with you, miss inez." the girl's hand sought her breast. "benito! he is not--" words failed her. "no, not dead--yet," mcturpin answered. "god in heaven! tell me," said the girl, imploringly! "he is wounded? dying?" mcturpin took a seat beside her on the rustic bench. "benito isn't dead--nor wounded so far as i know. but," his tone held an ominous meaning, "it might be better if he were." "i--i do not understand," said inez, staring. "then let me make it clear." mcturpin struck a fist against his palm. "your brother is american. very well. and what is an american who takes up arms against his country?" the girl sprang up. "it is a lie. benito fights for freedom, justice only--" "that is not the view of our american commander," mcturpin rose and faced her. "the law of war is that a man who fights against his country is a traitor." his eyes held hers hypnotically. "when this revolt is over there will be imprisonment or pardon for the spanish-californians. _but benito will be hanged_." inez windham swayed. one hand grasped at the bench-back for support; the other clutched her bodice near the throat. "benito," she said almost in a whisper. then she turned upon mcturpin furiously. "go," she cried. "i do not believe you. go!" but mcturpin did not stir. "it is the law of nations," he declared, "no use denying it, miss windham." "why did you come to tell me this? to torture me?" "to save you--and your brother?" "how?" she asked fiercely. "i have influence with alcalde bartlett." the gambler smiled. "he owes me--more than he can pay. but if that fails ..." he turned toward her eagerly, "i have means to accomplish his escape." "and the price," she stammered. "there is a price, isn't there?" his gaze met hers directly, "you, little inez." chapter ix the elopement two riders, a man and a veiled woman evidently young, halted their horses in portsmouth square, where the former alighted and offered an arm to his companion. she, however, disdaining his assistance, sprang lightly from the saddle and, turning her back on him, gazed, motionless, toward the bay. there was something arresting and curiously dramatic about the whole performance, something that hinted of impending tragedy. the slight figure with its listless droop and stony immobility caught and clutched the sympathies of nathan spear as he was passing by. the man was alec mcturpin; the girl, no doubt, some light o' love from a neighboring pueblo. yet there was a disturbing familiarity about her. spear watched them go across the square toward the city hotel, a long, one-story adobe structure built by leidesdorff as a store and home. on the veranda stood the stocky figure of proprietor brown, smoking a long pipe and conversing with half a dozen roughly dressed men who lounged about the entrance. he looked up wonderingly as mcturpin approached. the latter drew him to one side and appeared to make certain demands to which brown acquiesced by a curt nod, as if reluctant. then the man and woman passed around a corner of the building, the loungers peering curiously after them. a little later spear observed the gambler issue forth alone and journey rapidly toward the landing dock. he noted that a strange ship rode at anchor. it must have come within the hour, he decided. impelled by curiosity, he descended in mcturpin's wake. "what ship is that?" he asked of leidesdorff. "i haven't learned her name. she's from the north coast with a lot of sick men. they've the scurvy and flux, i'm told. dr. jones has gone aboard." "i wonder what mcturpin's doing at the ship?" said spear. "he'll get no gambling victims out of ailing seamen." "it's something else he wants, i fancy," said bob ridley, coming from the dock toward them. "he's looking for a preacher--" "preacher?" cried the other men in unison. "yes," responded ridley. "aleck's going to be married, the sly dog. and since the padres will have nothing to do with him, he's hard pressed. perhaps the wench is a stickler for proprieties," he laughed. "someone told him there was a sky pilot aboard the ship!" * * * * * inez windham removed her veil. she was in a small room, almost dark, where mcturpin had left her after locking the door on the outside. it was like a cell, with one small window high and narrow which let in a straggling transmitted light, dimming mercifully the crude outlines of a wooden stool, a bedstead of rough lumber, covered by soiled blankets, a box-like commode upon which stood a pitcher and basin of heavy crockery. the walls were very thin. from beyond them, in what was evidently a public chamber, came snatches of talk interspersed with oaths, a click of poker chips and coin, now and then a song. an odor of rank tobacco seeped through the muslin-covered walls. with a sudden feeling of nausea, of complete despair, the girl threw herself face down upon the bed. for a time inez lay there, oblivious to all save the misery of her fate. if only her father had not gone with those northern engineers! if only benito were here to advise her! benito, her beloved brother, in whose path the gallows loomed. it was that picture which had caused her to yield to mcturpin. even darker, now, was the picture of her own future. a gambler's wife! her hand sought a jewelled dagger which she always carried in her coiffure. her fingers closed about the hilt with a certain solace. after benito was safe-- voices in the next room caught her interest by a mention of the santa clara battle. "hull is fighting mad," she heard. "he promises to bring the greasers to their knees. it's unconditional surrender or no quarter, brannan says." "first catch your pig--then butcher it," said another, meaningly. "the spaniards have the best of it thus far. hull's shouting frantically for reinforcements. well, he won't get me. i think the rancheros have their side as well as we. if this stiff-necked commander would listen to reason." "he hasn't heard the other side," the first speaker resumed. "if he knew what alcalde bartlett had done to these poor devils through his horse and cattle raids--" a third man laughed. "he'll never learn that, partner, have no fear; who'll tell him?" "well, here's to uncle sam," said a fourth voice. followed a clink of glasses. inez windham sat up swiftly and dried her eyes. a daring thought had come to her. why should not she tell commander hull the truth! she rose and smoothed her ruffled gown. a swift look from the window revealed that the road was clear. inez began tugging at the door. it resisted her efforts, but she renewed the battle with all the fury of her youthful strength. finally the flimsy lock gave a bit beneath her efforts; a narrow slit appeared between the door and jamb in which she forced her hands and thus secured a great purchase. then, one foot against the wall, she tugged and pried and pulled until, with a sudden crack, the bar to liberty sprang open. she was free. just across the plaza the custom house looked down at her, the late sun glinting redly on its tiles. there, no doubt, she would find commander hull. she hastened forward. "not so fast, my dear!" a hand fell on her shoulder rudely. with, a gasp she looked up at mcturpin. beside the gambler, whose eyes burned angrily, inez perceived a tall, lean, bearded stranger. "let me go!" she demanded. "i have brought the parson," said mcturpin. "we can be married at once." "i--i--let us wait a little," stammered inez. "why?" the gambler asked suspiciously. "where were you going?" "nowhere," she evaded, "for a walk--" "well, you can walk back to the hotel, my lady," said mcturpin. "i have little time to waste. and there's benito to consider," he concluded. suddenly he put an arm about her waist and kissed her. inez thought of her brother and tried to submit. but she could not repress a little cry of aversion, of fear. the bearded man stepped forward. "hold up a bit, partner," he drawled. "this doesn't look quite regular. don't you wish to marry him, young lady?" "of course she does," mcturpin blustered. "she rode all the way in from her mother's ranch to be my wife." he glared at inez. "isn't it true?" he flung at her. "tell him." she nodded her head miserably. but the stranger was not satisfied. "let go of her," he said, and when mcturpin tailed to heed the order, sinewy fingers on the gambler's wrist enforced it. "now, tell me, miss, what's wrong?" the bearded one invited. "has this fellow some hold on you? is he forcing you into this marriage?" again the girl nodded dumbly. "she lies," said mcturpin, venomously, but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before the stranger's fist drove them back. mcturpin staggered. "damn you!" he shouted, "i teach you to meddle between a man and his woman." inez saw something gleam in his hand as the two men sprang upon each other. she heard another blow, a groan. screaming, she fled uphill toward the custom house. chapter x hull "capitulates" like a startled deer, inez windham fled from mcturpin and the stranger, her little, high-heeled slippers sinking unheeded into the horse-trodden mire of portsmouth square, her silk skirt spattered and soiled; her hair, freed from the protecting mantilla, blowing in the searching trade wind. thus, as commander hull sat upon the custom house veranda, reading the latest dispatch from captain ward, she burst upon him--a flushed, disheveled, lovely vision with fear-stricken eyes. "senor," she panted, "senor commandante ... i must speak with you at once!" hull rose. "my dear young lady"--he regarded her with patent consternation--"my dear young lady ... w-what is wrong?" she was painfully aware of her bedraggled state, the whirlwind lack of ceremony with which she had propelled herself into his presence. suddenly words failed her, she was conscious that an arm stretched toward her as she swayed. next she lay upon a couch in an inner chamber, the commander, in his blue-and-gold-braid stiffness bending over her, gravely anxious. she rose at once, ignoring his protesting gesture. "i--i fainted?" she asked perplexedly. hull nodded. "something excited you. a fight in the street below. a man was stabbed--" "oh!" the white face of the bearded stranger sprang into her memory, "is he dead?" "no, but badly hurt, i fancy," said the commander. "they have taken him to the city hotel." desperately, she forced herself to speak. "i have come, senor, to ask a pardon for my brother. he is very dear to me--and to my mother"--she clasped her hands and held them toward him supplicatingly. "senor, if benito should be captured--you will have mercy?" the commander regarded her with puzzled interest. "who is benito, little one?" "his name is windham. my father was a gring--americano, commandante." hull frowned. "an american ... fighting against his country?" he said sharply. "ah, sir"--the girl came closer in her earnestness--"he does not fight against the united states ... only against robbers who would hide behind its flag." in her tone there was the outraged indignation of a suffering people. "horse thieves, cattle robbers." "hush," said hull, "you must not speak thus of american officials. their seizures, i am told, were unavoidable--for military needs alone." "you have never heard our side," the girl spoke bitterly. "was it military need that filched two hundred of our blooded horses from the ranches? was it military need that robbed my ailing mother of her pet, the mare diablo? was it military need that gave our finest steeds to your alcalde for his pleasure, that enabled half a dozen false officials to recruit their stables from our caponeras and sell horses in the open market?" her eyes blazed. "senor, it was tyranny and theft, no less. had i been a man, like benito, i, too, should have ridden with sanchez." "can you prove these things?" asked the commander, sternly. "si, senor," said inez quickly. "it is well known hereabouts. do not take my word," she smiled, "i am a woman--a spaniard, on my mother's side. ask your own countrymen--samuel brannan, nathan spear, william leidesdorff." hull pulled at his chin reflectively. "something of this sort i have already heard," he said, "but i believed it idle gossip.... if your brother had come to me, instead of riding with the enemy--" "he is a youth, hot-blooded and impulsive, senor commandante." swiftly, and to hull's intense embarrassment, she knelt before him. "we love him so: my mother, who is ill, and i," she pleaded. "he is all we have.... ah, senor, you will spare him--our benito!" "get up," said hull a trifle brusquely. his tone, too, shook a little. "confound it, girl, i'm not a murderer." he forced a smile. "if my men haven't shot the young scoundrel you may have him back." "and that," he added, as the girl rose with a shining rapture in her eyes, "may be tomorrow." he picked up a paper from the desk and regarded it thoughtfully. "there is truce at present. sanchez will surrender if i give my word that there shall be no further raids." "and--you will do this, commandante?" the girl asked, breathlessly. "i--will consult with brannan, leidesdorff and spear, as you suggested," hull replied. but his eyes were kind. the senorita inez had her answer. impetuously, her arms went around his neck. an instant later, dazed, a little red, a moist spot on his cheek and a lingering fragrance clinging subtly like the touch of vanished arms, hull watched her flying heels upon the muddy square. "well, i'll be damned!" he said, explosively. * * * * * in the room which had been inez' whilom prison--and which proved to be the only one available in the city hotel, adrian stanley lay tossing and muttering. the woman who sat at his bedside watched anxiously each movement of his lips, listening eagerly to catch the incoherent, whispered words. for a time she could make of them no intelligent meaning. but now, after a long and quiet interval, he began to ask questions, though his eyes were still closed. "am i going to die?" "no," said inez, for it was she, "you've lost a lot of blood, but the doctor says there's small danger." the bearded face looked up half quizzically. "are you glad?" "oh ... yes," said inez, with a quick-taken respiration. "then it's all right," the patient murmured sleepily. his eyes closed. inez' color heightened as she watched him. what had he meant, she wondered, and decided that his brain was not quite clear. but, somehow, this was not the explanation she desired. presently dr. elbert jones came in, cheering her with his breezy, jovial drawl. "getting tired of your task?" he questioned. but inez shook her head. "he protected me," she said. "it was while defending me that he was wounded." her eyes searched the physician's face. "where," she questioned fearfully, "is--" "mcturpin?" returned the doctor. "lord knows. he vamoosed, absquatulated. you'll hear no more of him, i think, miss windham." for a moment the dark lashes of the patient rose as if something in the doctor's words had caught his attention; then they fell again over weary eyes and he appeared to sleep. but when doctor jones was gone, inez found him regarding her with unusual interest. "did i hear him call you windham?" he inquired, "inez windham?" "yes, that is my name," she answered. "and your father's?" "he is don roberto windham of the engineers," inez leaned forward. "oh!" her eyes shone with a hope she dared not trust. "tell me, quickly, have you news of him?" "yes," said stanley. "he is ill, but will recover. he will soon return." his eyes dwelt on the girl in silence, musingly. "tell me more!" she pleaded. "we believed him lost. ah, how my mother's health will mend when she hears this. we have waited so long...." "i was with him in the north," said stanley. "often, sitting at the camp-fire, while the others slept, he told me of his wife, his daughter, and his son, benito. in my coat," he pointed to a garment hanging near the door, "you will find a letter--" he followed her swift, searching fingers, saw her press the envelope impulsively against her heart. while she read his eyes were on her dreamily, until at last he closed them with a little sigh. chapter xi san francisco is named evening on the windham rancho. far below, across a vast green stretch of meadow sloping toward the sea, the sun sank into crimson canopies of cloud. it was one of those perfect days which come after the first rains, mellow and exhilarating. the trio in the rose arbor of the patio were silent under the spell of its beauty. don roberto windham, home again, after long months of wandering and hardship, stood beside the chair in which senora windham rested against a pillow. she had mended much since his return, and her eyes as she looked up at him held the same flashing, fiery tenderness which in the long ago had caused her to renounce castilian traditions and become the bride of an americano. at her feet upon a low stool sat her daughter, inez, and windham, as he looked down, was a little startled at her likeness to the spanish beauty he had met and married a generation before. conscious of his glance, her eyes turned upward and she held out her hand to him. "father, mine," she said in english, "you have made the roses bloom again in mother's cheeks. and in my heart," she added with a quick, impulsive tenderness. robert windham bent and kissed her wind-tossed hair. "i think another has usurped me in the latter task." he smiled, although not without a touch of sadness. "ah, well, adrian is a fine young fellow. you need not blush so furiously." "i think he comes," said the senora anita, and, unconsciously, her arm went around the girl. "is not that his high-stepping mare and his beanpole of a figure riding beside benito in yon cloud of dust?" she smiled down at inez. "do not mind your mother's jesting--go now to smooth your locks and place a rose within them--as i used to do when don roberto came." inez rose and made her way into the casa. she heard a clatter of hoofs and voices. at the sound of one her heart leaped strangely. "we have famous news," she heard her brother say. "the name of yerba buena has been changed to san francisco. here is an account of it in brannan's _california star_." she heard the rustle of a paper then, once more her brother's voice: "san francisco!" he pronounced it lovingly. "some day it will be a ciudad grande--perhaps even in my time." "a great city!" repeated his mother. "thus my father dreamed of it.... but you will pardon us, don adrian, for you have other things in mind than yerb--than san francisco's future. see, my little one! even now she comes to bid you welcome." inez as she joined them gave her hand to stanley. "ah, don adrian, your color is high"--her tone was bantering, mock-anxious. "you have not, perchance, a touch of fever?" he eyed her hungrily. "if i have," he spoke with that slow gentleness she loved so well, "it is no fever that requires roots or herbs.... shall i," he came a little closer, "shall i put a name to it, senorita?" his words were for her ears alone. her eyes smiled into his. "come, let us show you the rose garden, senor stanley," she said with playful formality and placed her silk-gloved fingers on his arm. senora windham's hand groped for her husband's. there were tears in her eyes, but he bent down and kissed them away. "anita, mia, do not grieve. he is a good lad." "it is not that." she hid her face against his shoulder. "it is not that--" "i understand," he whispered. after a little time benito spoke. "mother, i learned something from the warring of the rancheros aganist alcalde bartlett." he came forward and picked up the newspaper which had fallen from his mother's lap. "i learned," his hand fell on his father's shoulder, "that i am an american." "benito!" said his mother quickly. "i am don roberto's son, as well as thine, remember, madre mia!" he spoke with unusual gentleness. "even with sanchez, vasquez and guerrero at my side in battle, i did not shoot to kill. something said within, 'these men are brothers. they are of the clan of don roberto, of thy father.' so i shot to miss. and when the commandante, senor hull, dismissed me with kind words--he who might have hanged me as a traitor--my heart was full of love for all his people. and contrition. mother, you will forgive? you, who have taught me all the pride of the hidalgo. for i must say the truth, to you and everyone...." he knelt at her feet, impressing a kiss of love and reverence upon her outstretched hand. "rise, my son," she said, tremulously. "you are right, and it is well." she smiled. "who am i to say my boy is no americano? i, who wed the best and noblest of them all." there was a little silence. inez and don adrian, returning, paused a moment, half dismayed. "come, my children," said anita windham. "ah," cried inez, teasingly, "we are not the only ones who have been making love." she led her companion forward. "we have come to ask your blessing, mother, father mine," she whispered. "i," her eyes fell, "i am taken captive by a gringo." "do not use that name," her mother said reprovingly. but don roberto laughed. "you are the second to declare allegiance to the stars and stripes." he took benito's hand. "my son's discovered he's american, don adrian." presently benito spoke again. "that is not all, my father. there is soon to be a meeting for relief of immigrants lost in the sierra nevada snows. james reed will organize an expedition from yerb--from san francisco. and i wish to go. there are women and children starving, perhaps." "it is the donner party. they tried a short cut and the winter overtook them. i, too, will go," said don roberto. "and i," volunteered stanley. but the women had it otherwise. "you have been too long gone from me," anita quavered. "i would fear your loss again." and inez argued that her adrian was not recovered from his wound or illness. finally it was decided that benito only would accompany the expedition. the talk fell upon other matters. alcalde bartlett had been discredited, though not officially, since his return from capture by the rancheros. he was soon to be displaced and there would be no further commandeering of horses and cattle. "the commandante tells me," windham said, "that there is still no news of the warren's launch which was sent last december to pay the garrison at sutter's fort. bob ridley's men, who cruised the san joaquin and sacramento rivers, found nothing." "but--the boat and its crew couldn't vanish completely?" benito's tone held puzzled incredulity. "there would be wreckage. floating bodies--" "unless," said adrian, "they had been hidden--buried secretly, perhaps." "adrian, what do you mean?" asked inez in excitement. "it was about the time that--" "mcturpin left," responded stanley. "i've heard more than a whisper of his possible connection with the disappearance. mcturpin didn't leave alone. he rounded up half a dozen rough-looking fellows and they rode out of town together." there was a silence. then benito spoke. "we haven't seen the last of him, i fear." chapter xii the new york volunteers it was almost a month later that inez galloped home from san francisco with a precious missive from the absent brother. they had outfitted at johnson's ranch near sacramento and, encountered the first expedition returning with twenty-two starved wretches from the donner camp. many women and children still remained there. "we started on the day which is a gringo fete because it is the natal anniversary of the great george washington," benito's chronicle concluded. "may it prove a good omen, and may we bring freedom, life to the poor souls engulfed by the snowdrifts. i kiss your hands. benito." a fortnight passed before there came another letter. the second relief party had reached donner camp without mishap but, with seventeen survivors, had been storm-bound on a mountain summit and returned with but eleven of the rescued after frightful hardship. benito was recuperating in a sacramento hospital from frozen feet. * * * * * "look, roberto," exclaimed senora windham as they cantered into san francisco one morning. "a ship all gay with banners! see the townsfolk are excited. they rush to the embarcadero. the band plays. it must be the festival of some americano patron saint." "it is the long expected new york volunteers," replied her husband. "they've been recruited for the past year for service in california. colonel stevenson, the commander, is a most distinguished man. the president himself made him an offer of command if he could raise a regiment of california volunteers." windham smiled. "i believe it is for colonization rather than actual military duty that they've been sent out here ... three shiploads of them with two doctors and a chaplain." as they picked their way along a narrow footpath toward the beach, the portly leidesdorff advanced to greet them. "would that i had a cloak of velvet," he said gallantly, "so that i might lay it in the mire at your feet, fair lady." anita windham flashed a smile at him. "like the chivalrous don walter raleigh," she responded. "ah, but i am not a queen elizabeth. nor is this london." she regarded with a shrug of distaste the stretch of mud-flats reaching to the tide-line, rubbish--littered and unfragrant. knee-deep in its mire, bare-legged indians and booted men drove piles for the superstructure of a new pier. lieutenant bryant joined them, brisk and natty in his naval garb. he was the new alcalde, bartlett having been displaced and ordered to rejoin his ship. "no, it's not london," he took up anita's statement, "but it's going to be a better san francisco if i have my way. we'll fill that bog with sand and lay out streets between fort montgomery and the rincon, if the governor'll cede the tide-flats to the town. jasper o'farrell is making a map." "see, they are landing," cried the dona windham, clapping her hands. a boat put off amid hails from the shore. soon four officers and a boat's crew stood upon the landing pier and gazed about them curiously. "that's colonel stevenson," said bryant, nodding toward the leader. on the verge of fifty, statesmanlike of mien and manner, stood the man who had recruited the first volunteer company which came around the horn. he fingered his sword a bit awkwardly, as though unused to military dress formalities. but his eyes were keen and eager and commanding. more boats put off from the anchored vessel. by and by the parade began, led by captain stevenson. it was a straggling military formation that toiled up-hill through the sand toward portsmouth square. these men were from the byways and hedges of life. some of them had shifty eyes and some bold, predatory glances which forebode nothing good for san francisco's peace. adventurers for the most part, lured to this new land, some by the wander spirit, others by a wish to free themselves from the restraints of law. certain of them were to die upon the gallows; others were to be the proud and honored citizens of a raw, potential metropolis. they talked loudly, vehemently, to one another as they marched like school boys seeing strange sights, pointing eagerly at all that aroused their interest. the officers marched more stiffly as though conscious of official noblesse oblige. "i wish that inez might have seen it," mrs. windham said a little wistfully. "but she must help the indian seamstress with her gown for the dance. don adrian is to be there." "he has decided that there are other ways of serving god than in the pulpit," remarked stanley. "they talk of making him the master of the school ... if our committee can ever decide on a location and what's to pay for it." * * * * * in the full regimentals of his rank, colonel stevenson graced leidesdorff's ballroom that evening, cordially exchanging smiles and bows with san francisco's citizenry. besides him was his quartermaster, captain joseph folsom who, though less than thirty, had seen active service in a florida campaign against the seminoles. he held himself slightly aloof with the class consciousness of the west pointer. nearby stood a lanky surgeon of the volunteers discussing antiseptics with dr. jones. leidesdorff was everywhere, pathetically eager to please, an ecstatic, perspiring figure, making innumerable inquiries as to the comfort of his guests. "he's like a mother hen worried over a brood of new chicks," said brannan to jasper o'farrell. "and a damned fine little man," the irishman answered. "oh--i beg your pardon, senorita." inez windham smiled forgiveness, nodding when he asked her for a dance. "tell me," she asked eagerly, "of the grand new map you make for san francisco." "ah," o'farrell said, "they laugh at it because i have to change vioget's acute and obtuse angles. they call it 'o'farrell's swing.' you see, i've had to change the direction of some streets. there are many more now. eight hundred acres laid out like a city." as the music stopped he led her to a bench and fumbled in his pocket for a drawing which he straightened on his knees. "see, here is a new road through the center, a broad way, straight as an arrow from the bay to the foot of twin peaks. it parallels the mission camino, and bryant wants to call it market street." "but how is this?" asked inez puzzled, "streets where there is only mud and water--" "they will be reclaimed with the waste from our leveled sand hills," said o'farrell. he glanced about him searchingly, then whispered: "tonight governor mason told me confidentially he would cede the tide flats to our local government, provided they are sold at auction for the benefit of san francisco. they'll go cheap; but some day they'll be worth thousands. tell your father--" he broke off hastily. toward them stalked benito windham, covered with dust as though from a long ride. there was trouble in his eyes. with a swift apology he drew his sister aside. "mcturpin," he panted. "he is back ... with a dozen men ... riding toward the rancho." chapter xiii the "sydney ducks" dazed with the suddenness of benito's announcement and its menacing augury, inez sought her father and adrian. the latter acted instantly. "do not tell your wife," he said to windham. "there may be nothing amiss. and if there should be, she will find no profit in knowing. tell her you are called away and follow me to the square. we will ride at once to the rancho." he pressed inez' hand and was gone. "take care of your mother," he said over his shoulder, an admonition which don roberto repeated a moment later as he hurried out. she was left alone in a maze of doubts, fears, speculations. what was mcturpin doing in san francisco? why had he and his companions ridden toward the windham rancho? there was only one answer. most of the vaqueros were at a fandango in the mission. only the serving women and a few men too old for dancing remained at home. meawhile her brother, father, lover were speeding homeward, into what? a trap? an ambush? certainly to battle with a foe out-numbering them four to one. at the mission were a dozen of their servants; men whose fathers and grandfathers had ridden herd for her family. any one of them would give his life to serve a windham. inez looked about her feverishly. should she ask o'farrell to accompany her? he was dancing with one of the mormon women. brannan and spear were not to be seen. leidesdorff was impossible in such an emergency. besides, she could not take him from his guests. she would go alone, decided inez. quietly she made her way to the cloak-room, in charge of an indian servant, caught up her mantilla and riding crop and fled. on the square her horse whinnied at her approach as if eager to be gone. swiftly she climbed into the saddle and spurred forward. far ahead gleamed the lights of the mission. they were making merry there with the games and dance of old spain. and to the south benito, adrian, her father, rode toward a battle with treacherous men. breathlessly she spurred her horse to greater effort. trees flashed by like witches in the dark. presently she heard the music of the fandango. another picture framed itself before her vision. excited faces round her. a sudden stoppage of the music, a frocked priest making anxious inquiries. her own wild words; a jingle of spurs. then many hoofs pounding on the road beside her. she never knew just what had happened, what she had said. but now she felt the sting of the bay breeze in her face and antonio's steady hand upon her saddle pommel. "caramba!" he was muttering. "the pig of a gringo once more. and your father; the little benito. hurry, comrades, faster! faster! to the rescue!" came a third picture, finally more clear, more disconcerting. the entrance to her father's ranch barred by armed riders. mcturpin smiling insolent in the moonlight, bowing to her while antonio muttered in suppressed wrath. "we have three hostages here, senorita ... relatives of yours and ah--a friend." his voice, cold, threatening, spoke on. "they are unharmed--as yet." "i don't believe you," inez stormed at him. "tell them, senor windham," said mcturpin, "that i speak the truth." "inez, it is true," her father spoke out of some shadowed darkness. "we were ambushed. taken by surprise." "what do you propose?" asked antonio, unable longer to restrain himself. "to turn them loose ... upon their word not to trouble us further," said mcturpin. "i have merely assumed control of my property. i hold the conveyance of benito windham. it is all quite regular," he laughed shortly. antonio moved uneasily. his hand upon the lariat itched for a cast. mcturpin saw it. "you'll do well to sit still in the saddle," he reminded, "all of you. we have you covered." "what are your orders, master?" said the chief vaquero tensely. "say the word and we will--" "no," commanded windham. "there shall be no fighting now. we will go. tomorrow we shall visit the alcalde. i can promise no more than this." "it's enough," mcturpin answered. "i've possession. i've a deed with your son's signature. and a dozen good friends to uphold me." he turned. "take their pistols, friends, and let them go." * * * * * george hyde looked up from a sheaf of drawing which lay on the table before him and which represented the new survey of san francisco. a boy with a bundle of papers under his arm entered unannounced, tossed a copy of "the california star" toward him and departed. hyde picked it up and read: "great sale of valuable real estate in the town of san francisco, upper california. "by the following decree of his excellency, general s.w. kearny, governor of california, all the right, title and interest of the united states and of the territory of california to the beach and water lots on the east front of the town of san francisco have been granted, conveyed and released to the people or corporate authorities of said town--" hyde read on. there was a post-script by edwin bryant, his predecessor as alcalde, calling a public sale for june . that was rather soon. but he would see. hyde had an antipathy to any rule or circumstance fixed by another. his enemies called him "pig-headed"; his friends "forceful," though with a sigh. there was something highhanded in the look and manner of him, though few men had better intent. now his glance fell on another, smaller item in the newspaper. "sydney ducks arrive." "in recent vessels from the antipodes have come numerous men from australia who, according to rumor, are deported english criminals, known as 'sydney ducks.' it is said that the english government winks at the escape of these birds of ill omen, who are lured hither by tales of our lawlessness carried by sailormen. it is high time we had a little more law in san francisco." that was another of his problems, hyde reflected irritably. "sydney ducks." there would be many more no doubt, for san francisco was growing. it had citizens, irrespective of the new york volunteers; buildings. he would need helpers in the task of city-governing. half idly he jotted down the names of men that would prove good henchmen: "william a. leidesdorff, robert a. parker, jose p. thompson, pedro sherreback, john rose, benjamin buckalew." it had a cosmopolitan smack, though it ignored some prominent and capable san franciscans. william clark, for instance, with whom washington bartlett had quarreled over town lots, dr. elbert jones and william howard. hyde was not certain whether they would be amenable to his program. well, he would see. a shadow loomed in his doorway. he looked up to see adrian stanley and robert windham. "come in. come in." he tried to speak cordially, but there was a shade of irritation in his tone. they, too, were a problem. "be seated," he invited, as the two men entered. but they stood before him rather stiffly. "is there any--news?" asked adrian. "nothing favorable," said hyde uneasily. he made an impatient gesture. "you can see for yourselves, gentlemen, that my hands are tied. the man--what's-his-name?--mcturpin, has a perfectly correct conveyance signed by your son. benito, i understand, does not deny his signature. and his right is unquestioned, for the property came to him direct from his uncle, who was francisco garvez' only son." "but--" began adrian hotly. "yes, yes, i know," hyde interrupted. "the man is a rascal. but what of that? it does not help us; i have no power to aid you, gentlemen." chapter xiv the auction on the beach it was the morning of july . fog drifts rode the bay like huge white swans, shrouding the island of alcatraz with a rise and fall of impalpable wings and casting many a whilom plume over the tents and adobe houses nestling between sandhills and scrub-oaks in the cove of san francisco. robert and benito windham, on the hill above clark's point, looked down toward the beach, where a crowd was gathering for the auction of tidewater lots. the windhams, since their dispossession by mcturpin, had been guests of hospitable juana briones. through the alcalde's order they had secured their personal effects. but the former gambler still held right and title to the windham acres. adrian stanley made his home at the city hotel and had been occupied with an impromptu school where some four score children and half a dozen illiterates were daily taught the mysteries of the "three rs." "adrian has determined to buy some of these mud-lots," said windham to his son. "he believes some day they will be valuable and that he will make his fortune." he sighed. "i fear my son-to-be is something of a visionary." benito gave his father a quick, almost furtive glance. "do not condemn him for that," he said, with a hint of reproach. "adrian is far-sighted, yes; but not a dreamer." "what can he do with a square of bog that is covered half of the time by water?" asked windham. "ah," benito said, "we've talked that over, adrian and i. adrian has a plan of reclamation. an engineering project for leveling sandhills by contract and using the waste to cover his land. he has already arranged for ox-teams and wagons. it is perfectly feasible, my father." robert windham smiled at the other's enthusiasm. "perhaps you are right," he said. "god grant it--and justify your faith in that huddle of huts below." below them a man had mounted an improvised platform. he was waving his arms, haranguing an ever-growing audience. benito stirred uneasily. "i must go," he said. "i promised adrian to join him." "very well," returned his father. he watched the slight and supple figure riding down the slope. slowly he made his way back to the rancho briones. his wife met him at the gate. "juana and inez have gone to the sale," she announced. "shall we join them in the pueblo later on?" "nay, anita," he said, "unless you wish it.... i have no faith in mire." she looked up at him anxiously. "roberto! i grieve to hear it. they--" she checked herself. "they--what, my love?" he asked curiously. "they have gone to buy," said anita. "juana has great faith. she has considerable money. and inez has taken her jewels--even a few of mine. the senor o'farrell whispered to her at the ball that the lots would sell for little and their value would increase immensely." "so, that is why benito has his silver-mounted harness," windham spoke half to himself. he smiled a little ruefully. "you are all gamblers, dreamers.... you dear ones of spanish heritage." * * * * * on the beach a strangely varied human herd pressed close around a platform upon which stood samuel brannan and alcalde hyde. the former had promised to act as auctioneer and looked over a sheaf of notes while hyde in his dry, precise and positive tone read the details of the forthcoming sale. it would last three days, hyde informed his hearers, and lots would be sold. north of the broad street paralleling the mission camino lots were sixteen and a half varas wide and fifty varas deep. all were between the limits of low and high water mark. "what's a vara?" shouted a new arrival. "a spanish yard," explained hyde, "about thirty-three and a third inches of english measure. gentlemen, you are required to fence your lots and build a house within a year. the fees for recording and deed will be $ . , and the terms of payment are a fourth down, the balance in equal payments during a period of eighteen months." "how about the lots that lie south?" cried a voice. "they are one hundred varas square, same terms, same fees," replied hyde. he stepped down and brannan began his address. "the site of san francisco is known to all navigators and mercantile men to be the most commanding commercial position on the entire eastern coast of the pacific ocean," he shouted, quoting from former alcalde bryant's announcement of three months previous. "the town itself is destined to become the commercial emporium of western america." "bravo!" supplemented the dona briones, waving her fan. she was the center of a little group composed of benito and inez windham, adrian stanley and nathan spear. near them, keeping out of their observance, stood aleck mcturpin. "the property offered for sale is the most valuable in or belonging to the town," brannan went on, enthusiastically; "it will require work to make it tenable. you'll have to wrest it from the waves, gentlemen ... and ladies," he bowed to juana and her companion, "but, take my word for it--and i've never deceived you--everyone who buys will bless my memory half a dozen years from now...." "why don't ye get in yerself and practice what ye preach?" cried a scoffing sailor. brannan looked him up and down. "because i'm trying to serve the commonwealth--which is more than a drunken deserter from his ship can claim," he shot back hotly, "but i'm going to buy my share, never fear. bill leidesdorff's my agent. he has $ , and my power of attorney. that's fair enough, isn't it boys? or, shall we let the sailor act as auctioneer?" "no! no!" a dozen cried. "'rah for sam. go on! you're doin' fine!" "thank you," brannan acknowledged. "who's to make the first bid? speak up, now, don't be bashful." "twenty-five dollars," called juana briones. "thirty," said a voice behind her, a voice that caused young windham and his sister to start, involuntarily. "mcturpin," whispered inez to adrian. "thirty-five," spoke juana, imperturbably. "forty." brannan looked straight into mcturpin's eyes. "sold to juana briones for thirty-five dollars," he said, as his improvised gavel fell on the table before him. "i bid forty!" stormed mcturpin. all eyes turned to him. but brannan paid him no attention. someone laughed. "next! who bids?" invited the auctioneer. "twenty-five," began benito. this time there were other bidders, all of whom brannan recognized courteously and promptly. finally, benito's bid of fifty seemed to win. then mcturpin shouted, "fifty-five!" brannan waited for a moment. there were no more bids. "sold to benito windham for fifty dollars," he announced. "curse you!" cried the gambler, pushing forward, "you heard me bid higher, sam brannan!" into his path stepped the tall figure of robert windham. "we are not taking bids from convicts," he said, loudly and distinctly. chapter xv the beginning of law mcturpin's look of blind astonishment at windham's words was succeeded by a whitehot fury. two eyes gleamed with snake-like venom and two spots of red glowed in his cheeks, as though each had felt the impact of a sudden blow. for a moment he neither moved nor spoke. then a hand, which trembled slightly, made a lightning move toward his hip. "i wouldn't," drawled the voice of robert windham. his right hand, loosely in a pocket of his coat, moved slightly. "i've got you covered, sydney duck mcturpin ... if that's your real name." the other's hand fell at his side. the two men's glances countered, held each other, one calm, dignified, unafraid; the other, murderous, searching, baffled. presently, mcturpin turned and strode away. windham looked after the departing gambler. "'fraid i've spoiled his morning," he remarked to nathan spear. "yes--to chance a knife or bullet in the back," retorted spear, uneasily. their further confidence was drowned in brannan's exhortations: "on with the sale, boys," he shouted. "the side show's over ... with nobody hurt, thank heaven! what'll you bid for a lot in the southern part of town? they're a hundred varas square--four times as big as the others. not as central, maybe, but in ten years i bet they'll bring a thousand dollars. what's bid for a south lot, my hearties?" "twenty-five dollars," said inez windham. "oh, come, now, senorita," cried the auctioneer, intriguingly, "twenty-five dollars for a hundred-vara lot. have you no more faith in san francisco?" "its--all i have...." the girl spoke almost in a whisper. brannan frowned. he looked about him threateningly. "does anyone bid higher than miss windham?" he demanded. there was no response. brannan's gavel fell, decisively. "sold!" he cried, and half a dozen voices cheered. inez windham made her way to the auctioneer's stand and handed three banknotes to alcalde hyde. "but, my dear young lady," he expostulated, "you need only pay a fourth of the money down. six dollars and a quarter is enough." "oh," said inez, "then i could have bought more, couldn't i!" she turned to brannan, eagerly. "i could have bought four lots--if i'd only known." brannan smiled at her. then he turned to the crowd. "what d'ye say, boys, shall we let her have 'em?" he inquired. instantly the answer came: "yes, yes, give her the four. god bless her. she'll bring us luck." impulsively, inez mounted the platform; astonished at her own temerity, at the exuberance of some new freedom, springing from the barriers of a shielded life, she shouted at these strange, rough men about her: "thank you, gentlemen!" then her mother's look of horrified, surprise brought a sudden red into her cheeks. she turned and fled. her father smiled, indulgently; anita's frown changed presently into a look of whimsical, perplexed affection. "i am always forgetting, inez mia," she said, softly, "that this is a new day--the day of the americano." she watched benito shouting bids at the side of adrian, vying with such men as howard, mellus, clark and leidesdorff in the quest for lots. "fifty of them have been sold already," windham told her. "the auction will last three days because there are four hundred more." suddenly, anita windham put forth a hand and touched that of her husband. "buy one, for me, roberto," she pleaded. "but--" he hesitated, "anita carissima, what will you do with a rectangle of mire in this rough, unsettled place?" "for sentiment," she answered, softly, "in memory of my father, who had such abundant faith in san francisco.... and, perhaps, don samuel is right. we may yet bless his name." * * * * * the summer of had passed. inez windham was the wife of adrian stanley. he had given up his school for larger matters. every day his ox-teams struggled over sandy bottoms to the tune of snapping whips and picturesque profanity by indian drivers. men with shovels leveling the sand hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering white grains which were carried to the shore and dumped into pile-surrounded bogs till the tides left them high and dry. san francisco reached farther and farther into the bay, wresting irregular nooks and corners from the ebbing-flowing waters, building rickety, improvised piers, sometimes washed out by the northers which unexpectedly came down with tempestuous fury. quaint, haphazard buildings made their appearance, strange architectural mushrooms grown almost over night, clapboarded squares with paper or muslin partitions for inner walls. under some the tides washed at their full and small craft discharged cargoes at their back doors. ships came from boston, bremen, sitka, chile, mexico, the sandwich islands, bringing all manner of necessities and luxuries. monthly mails had been established between san francisco and san diego, as well as intermediate points, and there was talk of a pony express to independence, missouri. * * * * * there were many crimes of high and low degree, from rifled tills to dead men found half buried in the sands. rumor told of thieves and murderers encamped in the hollow bowl of a great sandhill, where they slept or caroused by day, venturing forth only at night. aleck mcturpin's name was now and then associated with them as a leader. men were importing safes from the states and carrying derringers at night--even the peaceful mormons. at this time governor mason addressed to alcalde hyde an order for the election of a town council. adrian was full of these doings when he came home from an executive session before which he had appeared as an expert on reclamation. "they are good men, inez," he declared, enthusiastically. "they'll bring law to san francisco. and law is what we need more than all else, my dear." "and how will they go about it, with no prison-house, no courts or judges?" asked inez, wonderingly. "oh, those will soon be provided," he assured, "when there is a will for law the machinery comes." he smiled grimly. "mcturpin and his ilk had better look to themselves.... we are going after the gamblers." [illustration: men with shovels, leveling the sand-hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering grains which were dumped into pile-surrounded bogs. san francisco reached farther and farther out into the bay.] chapter xvi gold! gold! gold! san francisco never could remember when the first rumor of gold reached it. gold was to mean its transformation from a struggling town into a turbulent, riotous city, a mecca of the world's adventurers. benito windham, early in the spring of ' brought home an echo of it from san jose. one of sutter's teamsters had exchanged a little pouch of golden grains for a flask of aguardiente. afterward he had told of finding it in the tail-race of marshall's mill on the south fork of the american river. little credence had been given his announcements. in the south, near san fernando mission, gold had long ago been found, but not in sufficient quantities to allure the fortune hunter. "see, is it not pretty?" asked benito, pouring out a handful of the shining stuff which he had purchased from the teamster. "pretty, yes, but what's it worth?" asked adrian, dubiously. "some say it's true value is $ for an ounce," responded inez, her eyes shining. "samuel brannan had a letter from a member of his band who says they wash it from the river sand in pans." "sam's skeptical, though," retorted stanley. "and, as for me, i've a mine right here in san francisco." he spoke enthusiastically. "moving sandhills into the bay. making a new city front out of flooded bogs! that's realism. romance. and what's better, fortune! isn't it, my girl?" inez' eyes were proud. "fortune, yes, and not a selfish one. for it is making others richer, san francisco better." "which is well enough for you," returned benito with a hint of sullenness. "but i am tired of clerking for ward & smith at two dollars a day. there's no romance in that." with a quick, restless motion he ran the golden dust through his fingers again. "i hope they are true, these stories. and if they are--" he looked at the others challengingly, "then i'm off to the mines, muy pronto." "come," said stanley, "let us have a game of chess together." but benito, with a muttered apology, left them and went out. san francisco had streets now, since the o'farrell survey's adoption by the council. the old calle de fundacion had become dupont street and below it was kearny street, named after the general and former governor. to the west were parallel roads, scarcely worthy of the name of thoroughfares, christened in honor of commodore stockton, surgeon powell of the sloop-of-war warren, dr. elbert jones, governor mason, chaplain leavenworth, the present alcalde, and george hyde, the former one. thomas larkin, former counsel at monterey, was also to be distinguished. east and west the streets had more haphazard names. broadway and california were the widest, aside from the projected market street, which would have a lordly breadth of feet. some were named after presidents--jackson, washington and clay. the council had authorized two long wharves, one at the foot of clay street, feet long. this was a great undertaking and had caused much discussion pro and con. but now it was almost completed and a matter of much civic pride. large ships, anchored at its terminus, were discharging cargo, and thither benito bent his course, head bent, hat pulled well down on his forehead, until a rousing slap on the back spun him around almost angrily. he looked into the wise and smiling eyes of edward c. kemble. "well, lad," the editor of the _californian star_ accosted, "i hear you've been to san jose. what's new up there, if i may ask you?" "very little ... nothing," said benito, adding, "save the talk of gold at marshall's mill." "pooh!" exclaimed the editor. "marshall's mill, and mormon island! one would think the famous fairy tale of el dorado had come true." "you place no credence in it, then?" asked benito, disappointed. "not i," said kemble. "see here," he struck one fist into the palm of another. "all such balderdash is bad for san francisco. we're trying to get ahead, grow, be a city. look at the work going on. that means progress, sustained stimulus. and along come these stories of gold finds. it's the wrong time. the wrong time, i tell you. it'll interfere. if we get folks excited they'll pull out for the hills, the wilderness. everything'll stop here.... then, bye and bye, they'll come back--busted! mark my words, busted! is that business? no." he went off shaking his head sagely. benito puzzled, half resentful, gazed after him. he abandoned the walk to the dock and returned with low-spirited resignation to his tasks at ward & smith's store. * * * * * for several months gold rumors continued to come. citizens, fearing ridicule, perhaps, slipped unobtrusively out of town, to test their truth. kemble was back from a trip to the so-called gold fields. editorially, he made sport of his findings. he had seen feather-brained fortune-seekers gambling hopelessly with fate, suffering untold hardships for half the pay they could have gained from "honest labor." now and then a miner, dirty and disheveled, came in ragged clothes to gamble or drink away the contents of a pouch of "dust." it was at first received suspiciously. barkeepers took "a pinch for a drink," meaning what they could grasp with their fingers, and one huge-fisted man estimated that this method netted him three dollars per glass. san francisco awoke to a famine in butcher-knives, pans and candles. knives at first were used to gouge out auriferous rock, and soon these common household appurtenances brought as high as twenty-five dollars each. candles ere long were the equivalent of dollars, and pans were cheap at five dollars each. still san francisco waited, though a constant dribble of departures made at last perceptible inroads on its population. then, one may afternoon, the fat was in the fire. samuel brannan, who had been at his store in new helvetia, rode through the streets, holding a pint flask of gold-dust in one hand, swinging his hat with the other, and whooping like a madman: "gold! gold! gold! from the american river!" as if he had applied a torch to the hayrick of popular interest, san francisco flamed with fortune-seeking ardor. next morning many stores remained unopened. there were neither clerks nor proprietors. soldiers fled from the garrison, and lieutenant william t. sherman was seen galloping northward with a provost guard to recapture a score of deserters. children found no teacher at the new schoolhouse and for months its doors were barred. cargoes, half-discharged, lay on the wharves, unwarehoused. crews left en masse for the mines, and ships floated unmanned at anchor. many of them never went to sea again. on every road a hegira of the gold-mad swept northward, many afoot, with heavy burdens, the more fortunate with horses and pack animals. men, old, young, richly dressed and ragged--men of all conditions, races, nations. the end of may, in , found san francisco a manless eden. stanley, struggling with a few elderly indians and squaws to carry on his work, bemoaned the madcap folly bitterly. [illustration: samuel brannan rode through the streets, holding a pint flask of gold-dust in one hand ... and whooping like a madman: "gold! gold! gold! from the american river!"] but benito, with shining eyes, rode on to what seemed destiny and fortune. ward & smith's little shop lay far behind him. even his sister and her busy husband. before him beckoned gold! the lure, adventure, danger of it, like a smiling woman. and his spirit stretched forth longing arms. chapter xvii the quest of fortune by the end of june more than half of san francisco's population had departed for the mines. they went by varied routes, mostly on horseback. rowboats, which a month ago had sold for $ , were now bringing ten times that sum, for many took the river route to the gold fields. others toiled their way through the hills and the livermore valley. the ferry across carquinez straits at benicia, was thronged to the danger of sinking. those who stayed at home awaited eagerly the irregular mails which straggled in from unsettled, unorganized, often inaccessible regions where men cut and slashed the bowels of the earth for precious metal, or waded knee-deep in icy torrents, washing their sands in shallow containers for golden residue. no letter had come from benito to inez or adrian. but robert windham wrote from monterey as follows: "my children: monterey is mad with the gold-lust, and our citizens are departing with a haste that threatens depopulation. until recently we had small belief in the tales of sudden fortune started by the finds at marshall's mill. alcalde colton dispatched a messenger to the american river on the th of june, and, though he has not returned, others have brought the news he was sent to gain. on the th a man came into town with a nugget weighing an ounce and all monterey buzzed with excitement. everyone wanted to test it with acids and microscopes. an old woman brought her ring and when placed side by side, the metal seemed identical; it was also compared with the gold knob of a cane. some declare it a humbug, but it is generally believed to be genuine gold. "governor mason, who has been messing with alcalde colton and a naval officer named lieutenant lanman, is now compelled to bake his own bread. the trio roast their coffee and cook what meals they eat. even the negro who blacked their boots went gold hunting and returned after a few weeks with $ . "yesterday i met a rough-looking fellow who appeared to be starving. he had a sack on his shoulder in which was gold-dust and nuggets worth $ , . you should have seen him a few hours later--all perfumed and barbered, with shiny boots; costly, ill-fitting clothes and a marvelous display of jewelry. "alcalde colton is going to the mines next month. he laughed when he told me of henry bee, the alguacil or jailor of san jose. this man had charge of ten prisoners, some of whom were indians, charged with murder. he tried to turn them over to the alcalde, but the latter was at the mines. so bee took his prisoners with him. it is said their digging has already made him rich and that he'll let them loose. there is no one to chide him. and no one to care." later in the day sam brannan and editor kemble looked in on the stanleys. "it's sheer insanity!" exploded kemble. "the soldiers have gone--left their wives and their children to starve. even the church is locked. governor mason has threatened martial law in the mining regions, which are filled with cutthroats and robbers. it's said he contemplates giving furloughs of two or three months to the gold-fevered troops which remain. was there ever such idiocy?" "you're wrong, ed," brannan told him. "this gold boom is the biggest thing that's ever happened. it'll bring the world to our door. why, mason has reported that gold enough's been taken from the mines already to pay for the mexican war." "bah!" cried kemble, and stalked out muttering. brannan laughed. "he's riding his hobby consistently. but he'll come down. so you've had no news from benito?" "no," said inez gloomily. "perhaps it is too soon. perhaps he has had no luck to tell us of as yet. but i wish he would write just a line." "well, well, cheer up, my dear," said brannan, reassuringly. "benito can take care of himself. next week i return to my store in the gold lands, and i'll have an eye out for the lad. how does your work go, adrian?" "poorly," answered stanley. "labor's too high to make money. why, the common laborers who were satisfied with a dollar a day, now ask ten, and mechanics twenty. even the indians and the immigrants learn at once the crazy price of service." "san francisco. port o' gold!" apostrophized the mormon gaily. he went on his way with a friendly wave of the hand. his steps were bent toward alcalde hyde's headquarters. hyde had made many enemies by his set, opinionated ways. there was talk of putting rev. thaddeus leavenworth in his place. but brannan was by no means certain this would solve the problem. he missed leidesdorff sadly. the latter's sudden death had left a serious hiatus. he was used to talking problems over with the genial, hospitable dane, whose counsel was always placid, well considered. congress had failed to provide a government for california. san francisco grumbled; more than all other towns she needed law. stevenson's regiment had been disbanded; its many irresponsibles, held previously in check by military discipline, now indulged their bent for lawlessness, unstinted. everything was confusion. gold-dust was the legal tender, but its value was unfixed. the government accepted it at $ per ounce, with the privilege of redemption in coin. the problem of land grants was becoming serious. there were more than hints of the alcalde's speculation; of illegal favors shown to friends, undue restrictions placed on others. brannan shook his head as he climbed washington street hill toward the alcalde's office. in the plaza stood a few mangy horses, too decrepit for sale to gold seekers. gambling houses and saloons ringed the square and from these proceeded drunken shouts, an incessant click of poker chips; now and then a burst of song. the sound of a shot swung him swiftly about. it came from the door of a noisy and crowded mart of chance recently erected, but already the scene of many quarrels. the blare of music which had issued from it swiftly ceased. there was a momentary silence; then a sound of shuffling feet, of whispering voices. a man ran out into the street as if the devil were after him; another followed, staggering, a pistol in his hand. he fired one shot and then collapsed with horrid suddenness at brannan's feet. the other man ran into portsmouth square, vaulted to the saddle of a horse and spurred furiously away. brannan stooped over the fallen figure. it was that of a brawny, bearded man, red-shirted, booted, evidently a miner. that he was mortally wounded his gazing eyes gave evidence. yet such was his immense vitality that he muttered, clutching at his throat--staving off dissolution with the mighty passionate vehemence of some dominating purpose. brannan bent to listen. "write," he gasped, and brannan, with an understanding nod, obeyed. "i bequeath my claim ... south fork ... american river ... fifty feet from end of lone pine's shadow ... sunset ... to my pard ... benito wind--" his voice broke, but his eyes watched brannan's movements as the latter wrote. dying hands grasped paper, pencil ... signed a scrawling signature, "joe burthen." then the head dropped back, rolled for a moment and lay still. chapter xviii news of benito brannan turned from contemplation of the dead to find himself surrounded by a curious, questioning group. a bartender, coatless, red-faced, grasping in one hand a heavy bung-starter as if it were a weapon of defense; a gambler, sleeves rolled up, five cards clutched in nervous fingers; half a dozen sailors, vaqueros, a ragged miner or two and several shortskirted young women of the class that had recently drifted into the hectic night-life of san francisco. all were whispering excitedly. some of the men, with a show of reverence, removed their hats. "do you know who did this?" brannan asked. "i saw it," cried one of the women. she was dressed as a spanish dancer and in one hand held a tambourine and castanets. "they fight," she gave a little smirk of vanity, "about me." brannan recognized her as rosa terranza, better known as ensenada rose. she had been the cause of many rivalries and quarrels. "dandy" carter, the gambler, let down his sleeves and thrust the cards into his pocket. "rose was dealin' faro," he explained, "and this galoot here bucks the game.... he lose. you un'erstan'. he lose a lot o' dust ... as much as forty ounces. then--just like that--he stops." the gambler snapped his fingers. "he says, 'my little gal; my partner! god almighty! i'm a-wrongin' them!' he starts to go, but rose acts mighty sympathetic and he tells her all about the kid." "hees little girl," the dancer finished. "i say we dreenk her health together, and he tell me of the senorita. he draw a picture of his claim with trees and river and a mountain--ver' fine, like an artist. and he say, 'you come and marry me and be a mother to my child'." she laughed grimly. "he was ver' much drunk ... and then--" "that sydney duck comes in," said dandy carter. "he sits down at the table with 'em. they begins to quarrel over rose. and the fust i knows there was a gun went off; the girl yells and the other man vamooses, with this feller staggerin' after." "he shot from under the table," a sailor volunteered. "'twas murder. where i come from they'd a-hanged him for't." "but who was he?" brannan asked the question in another form. the girl and dandy carter looked at one another, furtively. "i--don't know his name," the girl said, finally. "don't any of you?" brannan's tone was searching. but it brought no answer. several shook their heads. ensenada rose shivered. "it's cold. i go back in," she said, and turned from them. brannan stopped her with a sudden gesture. "wait," he ordered. "where's the map ... the paper this man showed you ... of his mine?" ensenada rose's eyes looked into brannan's, with a note of challenge her chin went up. "quien sabe?" she retorted. brannan watched the slender, graceful figure vanish through the lighted door. in her trail the gambler and bartender followed. presently a burst of music issued from the groggery; a tap-tap-tap of feet in rhythm to the click of castanets. already the tragedy was forgotten. brannan found himself face to face with the sailor. "i'll help you carry him--somewhere," he said. he raised the dead man's shoulders from the ground, and brannan, following his suggestion, took the other end of the grim burden, which they bore to the city hotel. brannan, in the presence of alcalde hyde, searched burthen's clothing for the plan which rosa had described. but they did not find it; only a buckskin bag with a few grains of gold-dust at the bottom, a jackknife, a plug of tobacco, a scratched daguerreotype of a young girl with corkscrew curls and friendly eyes. * * * * * next evening nathan spear chanced in to see the stanleys. "sam brannan's gone," he told them. "said he'd let you know about benito. and here's a letter from alcalde colton of monterey--who's at the gold-fields now." "has he seen my brother?" inez questioned, eagerly. spear began to read: "young benito windham has been near here for a fortnight. i am told, without much luck, he had to sell his horse and saddle, for the price of living is enormous; finally he paired off with a man named burthen--strapping, bearded kansan with a little daughter, about . they struck a claim, and burthen's on the way to san francisco for supplies. i'll tell you more when i have seen the lad and had a talk with him. the girl, i understand, was keeping house for them. a pretty, wistful little thing, they tell me, so i'd better keep an eye on friend benito." "have you seen this burthen? is he here?" asked stanley. "he was robbed--and killed last night at the eldorado." "sanctissima!" cried the girl, and crossed herself. "then the little one's an orphan. and benito--" "her guardian, no doubt." spear laughed. "he writes that a miner gave $ in gold-dust for a box of seidlitz powders; another paid a dollar a drop for laudanum to cure his toothache. flour is $ per barrel, whisky $ for a quart bottle, and sugar $ a pound. 'it's a mad world, my masters,' as shakespeare puts it, but a golden one. by and by this wealth will flow into your coffers down in san francisco. just now there is little disturbance, but it is bound to come. several robberies and shootings have already taken place. there is one man whom i'd call an evil genius--a gambler, a handsome ruffian and a dead shot, so they tell me. it's rumored that he has a fancy for the little burthen girl. lord save her! perhaps you know the rascal, for he hails, i understand, from san francisco, one alexander mcturpin." the three surveyed each other in a startled silence. "benito and he are sure to quarrel," inez whispered. "madre dolores! what can we do?" "perhaps i'd better run up to the mines," said adrian. "i've my own affair, you know, to settle with this fellow." "no, no, you must not," cried his wife in quick alarm. spear smiled. "i wouldn't fret," he spoke assuringly. "sam's gone up to see this fellow ... on a little business of his own." chapter xix the veiled woman several months went by with no news from benito. james burthen had been buried in the little graveyard on a hill overlooking the bay. and that ended the matter in so far as san francisco was concerned. in the alta california, a consolidation of two rival papers, appeared a brief notice chronicling the death of an unidentified miner, whose assassin, also nameless, had escaped. ensenada rose, described as an exotic female of dubious antecedents and still more suspicious motives, had left the eldorado on the morning after the shooting "for parts unknown." she was believed to hold some "key to the tragic mystery which it was not her purpose to reveal." but killings were becoming too familiar in the growing town to excite much comment. san francisco's population had quadrupled in the past half year and men were streaming in by the hundreds from all quarters of the globe. flimsy bunk-houses were hastily erected, springing up as if by magic overnight. men stood in long lines for a chance at these sorry accommodations and the often sorrier meals which a score of enterprising culinary novices served at prices from one dollar up. lodging was $ per month and at this price men slept on naked boards like sailors in a forecastle, one above the other. often half a dozen pairs of blankets served a hundred sleepers. for as soon as a guest of these palatial hostelries began to snore the enterprising landlord stripped his body of its covering and served it to a later arrival. "if the town grows much faster it will be a tragedy," remarked adrian to james lick that afternoon. lick had bought a city lot at montgomery and jackson streets and had already sold a portion of it for $ , . he was a believer in san francisco's future, and at san jose his flour mill, once contemptuously called "lick's folly," was grinding grain which at present prices brought almost its weight in gold. "things always right themselves, my boy," he said. "don't worry. keep pegging away at your sand lots. some day you'll be a millionaire." "but half of these people are homeless. and every day they come faster. in our neighborhood are a dozen ramshackle tents where these poor devils keep 'bachelors' hall' with little more than a skillet and a coffee pot. they call it 'ranching.'" he laughed. "what would our old land barons have thought of a rancho four by six feet, which the first of our trade winds will blow into the bay?" "the lord," said lick, devoutly, "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. and also to the homeless squatter on our sandy shores." "i hope you're right," responded stanley. "it does me good to hear someone speak of god in this godless place. it is full of thieves and cut-throats; they've a settlement at the base of the hill overlooking clark's point. no man's life is safe, they tell me, over there." lick frowned. "they call it sydney town because so many australian convicts have settled in it. some day we'll form a citizens' committee and run them off." "which reminds me," lick retorted, "that mcturpin came to town this morning. with a veiled woman ... or girl. she looks little more than a child." adrian surveyed the other, startled. "child?" his mind was full of vague suspicions. "well, she didn't weigh more than a hundred. yes, they came--both on one horse, and the fellow's companion none too well pleased, i should say. frightened, perhaps, though why she should be is a puzzle." lick shrugged his shoulders. "has he taken the girl to his--the ranch?" asked adrian. "don't know. i reckon not," lick answered. "they ate at the city hotel. he'd a bag full of dust, so he'll gamble and guzzle till morning most likely." he regarded his friend keenly, a trifle uneasily. "come, adrian ... i'll walk past your door with you." "i'm not going home just yet, thanks," stanley's tone was nervously evasive. "well, good-night, then," said the other with reluctance. he turned south on kearny street toward his home. stanley, looking after him, stood for a moment as if undetermined. then he took his way across the plaza toward the city hotel. in the bar, a long and low-ceiling room, talk buzzed and smoke from many pipes made a bluish, acrid fog through which, adrian, standing in the doorway, saw, imperfectly, a long line of men at the bar. others sat at tables playing poker and drinking incessantly, men in red-flannel shirts, blue denim trousers tucked into high, wrinkled boots. they wore wide-brimmed hats, and cursed or spat with a fervor and vehemence that indicated enjoyment. adrian presently made out the stocky form of mcturpin, glass upraised. before him on the bar were a fat buckskin bag and a bottle. he was boasting of his luck at the mines. a companion "hefted" the treasure admiringly. "did you make it gamblin', alec?" he inquired. "no, by harry!" said the other, tartly. "i'm no gambler any more. i'm a respectable gentleman with a mine and a ranch," he emptied his glass and, smacking his lips, continued, "and a beautiful young girl that loves me ... loves me. understand?" his hand came down upon the other's shoulder with a sounding whack. "where is she?" asked the other, coaxingly. "you're a cunning hombre, alec. leave us have a look at her, i say." "bye and bye," mcturpin spoke more cautiously. "bye and bye ... then you can be a witness to the marriage, dave." he drew the second man aside across the room, so near to adrian that the latter stepped back to avoid discovery. "she's a respectable lass," he heard mcturpin whisper. "yes, it's marry or nothing with her ... and i'm willing enough, the lord knows. can ye find me a preacher, old fellow?" he could not make out the other's reply. their voices died down to an imperceptible whisper as they moved farther away. stanley thought they argued over something. then the man called dave passed him and went swiftly up the hill. vaguely troubled, stanley returned to the veranda. it was unoccupied for chilly evening breezes had driven the loungers indoors. absently he paced the creaking boards and, having reached a corner of the building, continued his promenade along what seemed to be the rear of the building. here a line of doors opened on the veranda like the upper staterooms of a ship. why should he trouble his mind about mcturpin and a paramour? thought adrian. yet his thought was curiously disturbed. something spear had read from a letter vexed him dimly like a memory imperfectly recalled. what was there about mcturpin and a child? whose child? and what had it to do with the veiled woman who had ridden with the gambler from the mines. impishly the facts eluded him. inez would know. but inez must not be bothered just now--at this time. he paused and listened. was that a woman sobbing? of course not. only his nerves, his silly sentiment. he would go home and forget the whole thing. there it was again. this time he could not be mistaken. noiselessly he made his way toward the sound. it stopped. but presently it came again. from where? ah, yes, the window with a broken pane. soft, heartbroken, smothered wailing. spasms of it. then an interlude of silence. adrian's heart beat rapidly. he tip-toed to the window, tried the door beside it. locked. after a moment's hesitation he spoke, softly: "is someone in trouble?" chapter xx a call in the night there was no answer. for a second time adrian's mind fought a belief that sense had tricked him. now and then a shout from the bar-room reached him as he waited, listening. the wind whistled eerily through the scant-leaved scrub-oaks on the slopes above. but from the room at the window of which he listened there came no sound. adrian felt like one hoaxed, made ridiculous by his own sentimentality. he strode on. but when he reached the farther corner some involuntary impulse turned him back. and again the sound of muffled sobbing came to him from the open window--fainter now, as though an effort had been made to stifle it. once more he spoke: "i say, what's the trouble in there? can i help?" almost instantly a face appeared against the pane--a tear-stained face, terrified and shrinking. "oh!" said a voice unsteady with weeping. "oh! sir, if there is a heart in your breast you will help me to escape--to find my father." her tone, despite agitation, was that of extreme youth. she was not of the class that frequent gambling halls. both her dress and her manner proclaimed that. adrian was perplexed. "are you--" he hesitated, fearing to impart offense, "are you the girl who came with mcturpin?" "yes, yes," she spoke hurriedly. "he told me my father was ill. he promised to take me to him. instead, he locked me in this room. he threatened--oh! he is a monster! will you help me? do you know my father, sir?" "what is his name?" asked stanley. "burthen, sir, james burthen," she replied, and fell once more to sobbing helplessly. "oh, if i were only out of here." stanley pressed his weight against the door. he was thinking rapidly. so this was the daughter of benito's partner--the murdered miner of the eldorado tragedy. he recalled the letter from colton; the hint of mcturpin's infatuation and its menace. things became clear to him suddenly. the door gave as he pressed his knee against it. presently the flimsy lock capitulated and he walked into the room. the girl shrank back against the farther wall at his approach. "oh, come," he said, a trifle testily, "i'm not going to hurt you. get on your hat. i'll see you're taken care of. i'll place you in charge of my wife." "and my father," she begged. "you'll take me to him?" "yes, yes, your father," he agreed in haste. "but first you'll come home with me." she snatched up a hat and shawl from the commode, and, with hurried movements rearranged her hair; then she followed him submissively into the gathering dusk, shrinking close as if to efface herself whenever they passed anyone. the streets were full of men now, mostly bound from hotels, lodging houses and tents to the eldorado and kindred resorts. many of them ogled her curiously, for a female figure was a rarity in nocturnal san francisco. they passed dimly lighted tents in which dark figures bulked grotesquely against canvas walls. in one a man seemed to be dancing with a large animal which stanley told her was a grizzly bear. "they have many queer pets," he said. "one of my neighbors keeps a pet coon, and in another tent there are a bay horse, two dogs, two sheep and a pair of goats. they sleep with their master like a happy family." "it is all so strange," said the girl, faintly. "in the east my father was a lawyer; we had a good house and a carriage; everything was so different from--this. but after my mother died, he grew restless. he sold everything and came to this rough, wild country. none of his old friends would know him now, with his beard, his boots and the horrible red flannel shirt." adrian made no reply. he was thinking of the tragic news which must ere long be told to burthen's daughter. for a time they strode along in silence--until stanley paused before an open door. against the inner light which streamed through it into the darkness of the street a woman's figure was outlined. "well, here we are, at last," said adrian. "and my wife's in the doorway waiting to scold me for being so late." inez ran to meet him. "i have been anxious," she declared. she noted her husband's companion, and stepped back, startled. "adrian, who is this?" "a daughter of the mur----" adrian began. he broke the telltale word in two: "of james burthen--benito's partner." "ah, then you know my brother," inez hailed her eagerly. she took the girl's hands in her own and pressed them. "you must tell us all about him--quickly. we have waited long for news." "you are--mr. windham's sister?" cried the girl almost incredulously. then, with a swift abandonment to emotion she threw her arms about the elder woman's neck and sobbed. stanley followed them into the house. he saw inez supporting her companion, soothing her in those mysterious ways which only women know. his mind was stirred with grave perplexities. a peremptory knock aroused him from his cogitations. could it be the gambler so soon? he thought there were voices. several men, no doubt. inez called out in a whisper, "who is there?" "go back," her husband ordered. "it's all right, dear. they're friends of mine." inez came out quickly and stood beside him, looking up into his face. "you're sure? there's no--no danger?" again the rat-tat-tat upon the panel, more peremptory than before. stanley forced a laugh. "danger! why, of course not. just a business talk. but go back and look after the girl. i don't want her coming out here while i've visitors." he patted her hand. his arm about her shoulder he ushered her across the threshold of the inner chamber and closed the door. then he extinguished the lamp. hand on pistol he felt his way toward the outer portal and, with a sudden movement flung it wide. three men stood on the threshold. they seemed puzzled by the darkness. out of it the host's voice spoke: "who are you? what do you wish?" william henry brown was first to answer him. "we want you, adrian, at the hotel. can you come now--quickly?" "what for?" he asked suspiciously. "who sent you here?" "nobody," came the cheery voice of dr. jones. "there's a friend of yours at brown's who needs you." "you mean--mcturpin? "damn mcturpin!" spoke the third voice. it was nathan spear's. "light your lamp. nobody's going to shoot you, stanley.... it's young benito from the mines and down with fever. he's calling for you ... and for a girl named alice.... if you can pacify him--that will help a lot. he's pretty low." chapter xxi outfacing the enemy "wait," said adrian, hurriedly. he relighted the lamp and, going to the inner door, called softly. there was an agitated rustle; then the door swung back and stanley saw the figure of his wife, beside whom stood the light-haired girl. "what is it, adrian?" "there's someone sick at brown's hotel," said adrian, "a friend of mine. i'm going over there." he made a sign imposing silence on the men. inez came close. "you're certain it's no trick," she whispered, "it's not mcturpin's scheme to--" "no, no," he assured her hastily. "i'm sure of that." he seized his hat and coat. "put down the window shades and answer no one's knock till i return." he kissed her and without more ado joined the men outside. he heard the door shut and lock click into place. for a time the quartette strode along in silence; then brown spoke, as if the thought had been long on his lips, "wasn't that--the girl mcturpin brought to town?" "yes," said adrian tersely, "it was she." brown made no immediate response; he seemed to be digesting adrian's remark. finally he burst out, "if it's any of my business, what's she doing--there?" "she asked for help," retorted stanley. he related the incident of the veranda. spear laughed meaningly. "that's the second one you've taken from mcturpin; he'll be loving you a heap, old man." "he doesn't know it yet," brown said. "but keep out of his way tomorrow." stanley's teeth met with a little click. "when i've seen benito, alec mcturpin and i will have a showdown. but tell me of the boy. what brought him here?" "the missing girl, of course," said dr. james. "he's daft about her. alice burthen ... that's her name, isn't it?" stanley was about to make some rejoinder when they passed two men, one of whom looked at them curiously. he was mcturpin's companion of the bar-room episode. "who's that?" asked spear as brown saluted the pair. "that's reverend wheeler, the new baptist parson." "yes, yes, i know. but the other one?" "ned gasket ... he's a friend of dandy carter's at the eldorado." "and a sydney duck, i guess," the doctor added. "do your own guessing, friend," said brown, impatiently. spear sighed. "we'll have to do more than guess about that stripe of citizen if we want law and order. it will take a rope i fear," he finished grimly. brown led them round the back to a room not far from the one which had held alice burthen. "it's quieter here," he explained. "they get noisy sometimes along about midnight." he opened the door and struck a sulphur match by whose weird flicker they made out a bed with a tossing figure upon it. adrian crossed over and took the nervous clutching hands within his own firm clasp. "benito," he said. "don't you know me? it's adrian!" brown with a lighted lamp came nearer, so that stanley saw the sufferer's eyes. they were incognizant of realities. the murmuring voice droned on, fretfully, "i've looked for her everywhere. she's gone! gone!" suddenly he cried out: "alice! alice!" half rising. but he tumbled back upon the pillow with a swift collapse of weakness and his words waned into mumbled incoherence. "benito," adrian addressed him earnestly, "alice is with me. with me and inez. she's safe. i'll bring her to you in the morning. do you understand?" "with you--with inez?" the sick man repeated. "then tell her to come. i want her. tell alice to come--" "tomorrow," dr. jones said, soothingly, "when you've had a chance to rest." "no, tonight," the fevered eyes stared up at them imploringly. jones drew adrian aside. "pretend you'll do it or hell wear himself out. then go. i'll give him something that will make him sleep." he emptied a powder in a tumbler of water and held it out to the sick man. "drink this," he ordered, "it'll give you strength to see miss burthen." benito's lips obediently quaffed the drink. his head lay quieter upon the pillow. slowly, as they watched, the eyelids closed. "and now," said adrian when he had assured himself that benito slept, "i'm going for mcturpin." "don't be a confounded fool," dr. jones said quickly. but stanley paid no heed. he went directly into the saloon and looked about him. at a table, back toward him, sat a stocky figure, playing cards and reaching for the rum container at his side. adrian stood a moment, musing; then his right hand slid down to his hip; a forward stride and the left hand fell on the player's shoulder. "we meet once more, mcturpin." the gambler rose so suddenly that the stool on which he sat rolled over. his face was red with wine and rage. his fingers moved toward an inner pocket. "don't," said adrian meaningly. the hand fell back. "what do you want?" the gambler growled. "a quiet talk, my friend. come with me." "and, suppose i refuse?" the other sneered. "oh, if you're afraid--" began adrian. mcturpin threw his cards upon the table. between him and a man across the board flashed a swift, unspoken message. "i'm at your service, mr.--ah--stanley." he led the way out, and adrian following, gave a quick glance backward, noting that the man across the table had arisen. what he did not see was that spear hovered in the offing, following them with watchful eyes. toward the north they strolled, past a huddle of tents, for the most part unlighted. from some came snores and through many a windblown flap, the searching moonlight revealed sleeping figures. on a waste of sand-dunes mcturpin paused. "now tell me what ye want," he snarled, "and be damned quick about it. i've small time to waste with meddlers." "on this occasion," stanley said, "you'll take the time to note the following facts, mr. mcturpin, mr. pillsworth--or whatever your true name may be--i've had a talk with dandy carter. he recognized you and gasket when burthen was killed, in spite of your beard. so did rosa, of course, though she skipped the next morning. the burthen girl is at my house." he paused an instant, thinking that he heard a movement in a bush nearby. "well, that's all," he finished, "except this: if i find you here tomorrow, alec mcturpin, murderer, card-sharp and abductor, i'll shoot you down like a dog." and then, with a splendid piece of bravery, he turned his back on the gambler, walking away with never a backward glance. he did not go directly home, but walked for an indeterminate interval till his spirit was more calm. the house was dark. inez had obeyed him by leaving no trace of light. doubtless by now they had retired. suddenly he started, peered more closely at the door he was about to enter. it was slightly ajar. on the threshold, as he threw it open, adrian found a lace-edged handkerchief. his wife's. filled with quick foreboding, he called her name. his voice sounded hollow, strange, as if an empty house. tremblingly he struck a light and searched the inner room. the bed had not been slept in. there was no one to be seen. chapter xxii shots in the dark frantically adrian ran out into the darkness, crying his wife's name. his thought went, with swift apprehension, over the events of recent hours. the villainous face of ned gasket passed before his memory mockingly; the meaning look mcturpin gave his henchman at the gaming table. finally, with double force, that movement in the bushes as he told the gambler of his former captive's whereabouts. by what absurd imprudence had he laid himself thus open to the scoundrel's swift attack? what farther whimsy of an unkind fate had prompted his long walk? sudden fury flamed in stanley's heart; it steadied him. the twitching fingers on the pistol in his pocket relaxed into a calm and settled tension. with long strides he made his way toward brown's hotel. there was death in his eyes; men who caught their gleam beneath a lamplight, hastily avoided him. that inez--at this time--should have been taken from her home, abducted, frightened or harassed, was the sin unpardonable. for it he meant to exact a capital punishment. the law, just then, meant to him nothing; only the primitive instinct of an outraged man controlled his mind. at the bar he paused. "where's mcturpin, where's gasket?" he demanded, harshly. the bartender observed him with suspicion and uneasiness. "don't know. haven't seen 'em since they started out with you," he answered. stanley left the room without another word. he struck across the plaza, entering the eldorado gambling house. there he ordered a drink, gulped it, made, more quietly, a survey of the room. he scanned the players carefully. spear sat at one of the tables, toying with a pile of chips and stroking his chin reflectively as he surveyed three cards. "give me two. hello, there, adrian. good lord! what's up?" "have you seen mcturpin or his friend, ned gasket?" he tried to speak quietly. a miner at another table leaned forward. "try the stalls, pard," he whispered, while his left eyelid descended meaningly. "wait," cried spear and laid his cards down hastily. but adrian was already on his way. at the rear were half a dozen small compartments where visitors might drink in semi-privacy with women who frequented the place. adrian made the round of them, flinging aside each curtain as he went. some greeted him with curses for intruding; some with invitations. but he did not find the men he sought, until the last curtain was thrown back. there sat gasket and mcturpin opposite ensenada rose. she looked up impudently as adrian entered. into the gambler's visage sprang a quick surprise and fear. instantly he blew out the lamp. a pistol spoke savagely almost in adrian's face. he staggered, clasping one hand to his head. something warm ran down his cheek and the side of his neck. he felt giddy, stunned. but a dominant impulse jerked his own revolver into position and he shot twice--as rapidly as he could operate the weapon. the narrow space was chokingly filled with acrid vapor. somewhere a woman screamed; then came a rush of feet. it seemed to adrian he had stood for hours in a kind of stupor when a light was brought. gasket lay, his head bowed over on the table and an arm flung forward. he was dead. on the floor was a lace mantilla. spear reached adrian's side ahead of the others. "i heard him shoot first," he said, so that all might hear him. "are you hit?" adrian's hand went once more to his cheek. "just a furrow," he said and smiled a trifle dazedly. "he fired straight into my face." "by harry! he must have. your cheek's powder-marked," cried brannan, running up and holding the lamp for a better view. "see that, gentlemen? they tried to murder mr. stanley. this is self-defense. who fired at you?" "this fellow!" adrian indicated the sprawled figure. "must have been. i shot at the flash from his gun; then i aimed at mcturpin. i missed him, probably." "not so sure of that," said brown, who had come running from his hostelry across the square. "look, here's blood on the floor. a trail--let's follow it. either mcturpin or the woman was hit." "i tried to avoid her," adrian said. "i--hope i didn't--" "never mind. you were attacked. they're all of a parcel," cried a man who wore the badge of a constable. "we've had our eyes on the three of them a long time. this fellow," he indicated gasket, "was one of the crowd suspected of the warren murders. he's the one who killed old burthen. dandy carter let it out tonight; he's half delirious. we'd have strung him up most probably, if you hadn't--" "come," urged brannan, "let us follow this trail to the wounded. perhaps he or she needs assistance." he held the lamp low, tracing the dark spots across an intervening space to the rear entrance; thence to a hitching rack where several horses still were tethered. "they mounted here," the constable decided. "one horse probably. no telling which it was that got the bullet." adrian was conscious, suddenly, that his hand still held the pistol. he flung it from him with a gesture of repulsion. "my wife!" he said faintly, "inez!" "what d'ye mean?" asked spear. "talk up, man. what's wrong?" "she's gone--abducted," stanley answered. "who'll lend me a horse. i must find mcturpin. he knows--" unexpectedly spear complicated matters. "you're mistaken, stanley. i followed when you and he took your walk together. i suspected treachery--when gasket sneaked along behind. i had mcturpin covered when you turned your back on him. he came here after that. both of them have been here all the evening." stanley put his hand to his head with a bewildered gesture. "good god! then where--? what has become of them?" "maybe they got wind of benito's presence. maybe they're with him. let's see." they hurried back to the city hotel. "the room's dark," spear lighted a taper and they softly opened the door. benito slept; beside him drowsed a red-shirted miner slumped upon a chair. adrian shook him, whispering, "where's doctor jones?" "don't know," muttered the watcher, sleepily. "this yere is his busy night i reckon. asked me to look after this galoot. feed him four fingers of that pizen if he woke." his head drooped forward and a buzzing sound came from his open mouth. once more adrian shook him. "didn't he say anything about his destination?" "his which, pard?" "where he was bound," the young man said half angrily. this time the other sat up straighter. for the first time he really awoke and took intelligent cognizance of the situation. "now i come to think on it, he's bound for the hill over yonder. woman named briones come for him at a double quick. good lookin' spanish wench. she took him by the arm commandin' like. 'you come along,' she says and picks up his medicine chest. 'don't stop for yer hat.' and he didn't." he winked heavily, chuckling at the reminiscence. "then it isn't juana briones that's ill. perhaps it's her husband." "has she got a husband?" asked the miner, disappointedly. "no, i reckon 'twant him. 'twas a woman name o' stanley. i remember now--goin' to have a bebby." chapter xxiii the new arrival "take my horse," said brannan, hurriedly. "i'll stay here with benito." he bundled the excited stanley and nathan spear out of the room, where benito still slept under the spell of the doctor's opiate. "you, too," he told the miner, "you've had too much red liquor to play the nurse." he closed the door after them. the young contractor spoke first. "by the eternal, i never thought of that! i'm glad she had a woman with her." he spurred his horse toward telegraph, hill, as it had begun to be known, since signals were flashed from its crest, announcing the arrival of vessels. down its farther slope was the little rancho of dona briones, where inez in her extremity had sought the good friend of her childhood. adrian's thought leaped forward into coming years. inez and he together, always together as the years passed. and between them a son--intuitively he felt that it would be a son--a successor, taking up their burdens as they laid them down; bearing their name, their ideals, purposes along, down the pageant of time. he paid little heed as they passed through a huddle of huts, tents and lean-tos on the southern ascent. though the hour was late, many windows were light and sounds of revelry came dimly, as though muffled, from curtain-hid interiors. there was something furtive and ill-omened about this neighborhood which one sensed rather than perceived. spear rode close and touched adrian's arm. "sydney town," he whispered, meaningly. "the hang-out of our convict citizens from australia, those eastern toughs and plug-uglies of the seventh regiment who came here to feather their nests. do you know what they've done? formed a society called the hounds. appropriate, isn't it? your friend mcturpin's one of them. thanks to you, they've lost a valued member." "hounds?" said adrian. his thought still forged ahead. "oh, yes, i've heard about them. they are going to drive out the foreigners." "loot them, more likely," spear returned, disgustedly; "then us, if we don't look out. mark my word, they'll give us trouble. alcalde leavenworth's too careless by half." stanley, paying scant attention, suddenly leaned forward in his saddle. at one of the windows a curtain was drawn back; a woman's face appeared for a moment silhouetted against inner light; then as swiftly withdrew. "who was that?" asked adrian, involuntarily reining in his mount. "not--" "rosa terranza," said spear excitedly. they listened. from within the tent-house came a sound of hasty movements, whispering. the light winked out. a bolt was shot; then silence. "i'll bet, by jupiter, mcturpin's there," cried adrian. "and that he's hurt," spear added. "what shall we do?" "let them be," decided stanley, clucking to his horse. "my duty's ahead." he took the steep pitch of the hillside almost at a gallop and soon they were descending again into that little settlement of waterside and slope called north beach. juana briones' place had been its pioneer habitation. her hospitable gate stood always invitingly open. through the branches of a cypress lights could be seen. the front door stood ajar and about it were whispering women. adrian's heart leaped. was something amiss? he dismounted impetuously, throwing the reins to an indian who had come out evidently to do them service. spear followed as he rushed through the door. there stood dona briones, finger on lip, demanding silence. her face was grave. "how--how is she? how is inez?" adrian stammered. "the doctor's with her. everything will be all right, i think. but make no noise. go in that room and sit down." adrian threw up his hands. "my god, woman! how can i sit still when--when--?" "walk up and down, then," said juana, "but take off your shoes." which adrian finally did. it seemed to him that he had paced the tiny chamber a thousand times. he heard movements, voices in the next room; now and then his wife's moan and the elder woman's soothing accents. then a silence which seemed century long, a silence fraught with unimaginable terror. it was broken by a new sound, high pitched, feeble, but distinct; the cry of a child. helplessly adrian subsided into a chair beside nathan spear. "do you hear that?" he asked, mopping his forehead. "yes, i heard it," said the other non-committally. "i can't stand this any longer," adrian exclaimed. "i'm going in there. i--i've got to know--" he rose, determinedly, shaking off spear's detaining arm. in the doorway stood dr. jones. again came the tiny cry. "it's a boy," said the medico, and held out his hand. but adrian caught him by the shoulders. "my wife?" he asked. "how is she? is there any--" "danger? no, it's over," said the doctor. "sit down and calm yourself." adrian relaxed a trifle. finally his set face softened; he laughed. * * * * * it was the evening of july , . stanley stood over the cradle of his son, looking worshipfully down at the tiny sleeping face. inez stanley, busied with the varied tasks of motherhood, came and stood for a moment beside him. she voiced that platitude of wives and mothers in their pride: "he looks just like you, adrian." stanley put his hands upon her shoulders. "got your mouth, your big eyes," he said, and kissed her. they were wont to quarrel tenderly over this. but tonight inez looked seriously up at her husband. suddenly she hid her face upon his shoulder. "if only--if only--" she whispered, "he wouldn't grow up. and we wouldn't grow old." stanley's fingers on her hair stroked gently. "life is life, my dear," he said at last. "let us not question the inexorable too deeply. yesterday is gone, you know. tomorrow never comes.... and here we are together in the best town in the world. with love, good prospects ... our little francisco--" "he will live to see a great city," said inez, comforted. "he will help to make it." her eyes were prophetic. the child stirred and hastily they withdrew, lowering the light so that his slumber might be undisturbed. a light tap sounded at the door and adrian answered. spear and brannan with benito stood upon the threshold. the latter entered, kissed his sister and was shown the sleeping child. "how is alice?" inez asked. "well. and the best little wife in the world," benito answered. his eyes glowed happily. "the tiny francisco is growing like a weed. only ten months old--" "nine months, two weeks and three days," said his mother, glibly. "won't you all come in and see the baby?" she invited. "no," spear answered. "we must steal your husband for a' little while. there's business at the city hall...." "adrian's become a prominent citizen, you know," he added at her look of pouting protest. she brought her husband's hat. "don't be long," she urged, and smiled a good-bye from the threshold. when he heard the door shut, adrian turned on brannan. "what's up?" "plenty," said the other meaningly. "the hounds have broken out. they looted little chili about dark tonight and one of them was shot. they threaten to burn the foreign quarter. they're arming. there's trouble afoot." "and what do you want of me?" stanley questioned. "damn it! wake up, man!" cried spear. "a citizens' committee. we're going to enforce the law--if it takes a rope." chapter xxiv the chaos of ' inez and alice were returning from church on sunday, july when they encountered a strange, unsabbatical procession; a company of grim and tight-lipped citizens marching, rifles over shoulder toward the bay. at their head was william spofford. midway of the parade were a dozen rough-appearing fellows, manacled and guarded. among these inez recognized sam roberts, gaunt and bearded leader of the hoodlum band known as the hounds or regulars. from little chili, further to the north and west, rose clouds of smoke; now and then a leaping tongue of flame. presently benito, musket at shoulder, came marching by and inez plucked at his arm. "can't stop now," he told her hurriedly. "we're taking these rogues to the sloop warren. they're to be tried for arson and assault in the foreign quarter." "by the eternal!" shouted a bystander enthusiastically. "we've got law in san francisco at last.... hurrah for bill spofford and the citizens' committee." "there's adrian," cried inez as the rearguard of the pageant passed. "isn't it fine? alice, aren't you proud?" but alice was a practical little body. "they'll be hungry when they come home," she averred. "let us hurry back and get their dinner ready." [illustration: passersby who laughed at the inscription witnessed simultaneously the rescue of an almost-submerged donkey by means of an improvised derrick.] the affair of the hounds was already past history when the gold-seekers, hunted from the heights by early snows, returned to san francisco in great numbers. sara roberts and his evil band had been deported. better government obtained but there were many other civic problems still unsolved. san francisco, now a hectic, riotous metropolis of , inhabitants, was like a muddy venice, for heavy rains had made its unpaved streets canals of oozy mud. at clay and kearny streets, in the heart of the business district, some wag had placed a placard reading: this street is impassable not even jackassable in which there was both truth and poetry. passersby who laughed at the inscription witnessed simultaneously the rescue of an almost-submerged donkey by means of an improvised derrick. * * * * * benito was showing his friend david broderick, a recent arrival from new york, some of san francisco's sights. "everything is being used to bridge the crossings," said the former laughingly ... "stuff that came from those deserted ships out in the bay. their masts are like a forest--hundreds of them." "you mean their crew deserted during the gold rush?" broderick inquired. "yes, even the skippers and officers in many cases.... see, here is a cargo of sieves with which some poor misguided trader overwhelmed the market. they make a fair crossing, planted in the mud. and there are stepping stones of tobacco boxes--never been opened, mind you--barrels of tainted pork and beef. on montgomery street is a row of cook stoves which make a fine sidewalk, though, sometimes the mud covers them." "and what are those two brigs doing stranded in the mud?" asked broderick. "oh, those are the euphemia and apollo. they use the first one for a jail. that's geary's scheme. he's full of business. and the second's a tavern.... let's go up to the new post-office. alice is always eager for a letter from her folks in massachusetts." they made their way to the new wooden structure at clay and pike streets where several clerks were busily sorting the semi-weekly mail which had just arrived. hundreds of people stood in long queues before each of the windows. "get in line stranger," said a red-shirted man laughingly. "only seventy-five ahead of us. i counted 'em.... some have been in line since last night i'm told. they're up near the front and holding places for others ... getting $ cash for their time." broderick and benito decided not to wait. they made another journey round the town, watching chinese builders erecting long rows of habitations that had come in sections from cathay. everywhere was hasty, feverish construction--flimsy houses going up like mushrooms over night to meet the needs of san francisco's swiftly augmenting populace. "it's like a house of cards," said broderick, who had been a fireman in new york. "lord help us if it ever starts to burn. even our drinking water comes from sausalito across the bay." chapter xxv retrieving a birthright benito windham stole from his dwelling, closing the door softly after him so alice, his wife, might not wake. a faint rose dawn colored the contra costa ridge. from a few of the huts and larger buildings which sprinkled san francisco's hills and hollows so haphazardly, curls of blue white wood smoke rose into the windless air. here and there some belated roisterer staggered toward his habitation. but otherwise all was still, quicscent. san francisco slept. it was the morning of december , --the first christmas eve following the gold rush. windham, who had lain awake since midnight, pondered upon this and other things. events had succeeded each other with such riotous activity of late that life seemed more like a dream than a reality. his turbulent months at the mines, his high preliminary hopes of fortune, their gradual waning to a slow despair; the advent of james burthen and his daughter; then love, his partner's murder and the girl's abduction; his pursuit and illness. alice's rescue and their marriage; his return to find the claim covered with snow; finally a clerical post in san francisco. a sudden distaste for the feverish, riotous town assailed him--a longing for the peace and beauty of those broad paternal acres he had lost upon the gaming table wrenched his heart. he pictured alice in the old rose patio, where his american father had wooed his spanish mother. involuntarily his steps turned eastward. at sacramento and leidesdorff streets he left solid ground to tread a four-foot board above the water, to the theoretical line of sansome street; thence south upon a similar foothold to the solid ground of bush street, where an immense sand-*hill with a hollow in its middle, like a crater, struck across the path. some called this depression thieves hollow, for in it deserting sailors, ticket-of-leave men from botany bay prison colony and all manner of human riff-raff consorted for nefarious intrigue. benito, mounting the slope, looked down at a welter of tents, shacks, deck houses and galleys of wrecked ships. he had expected their occupants to be asleep, for they were nighthawks who reversed man's usual order in the prosecution of nocturnal and ill-favored trades. he was astonished to note a general activity. at the portholes of dwellings retrieved from the wreck of the sea, unkempt bearded faces stared; smoke leaped from a dozen rickety, unstable chimneys, and in the open several groups of men and women plied frying pans and coffee pots over driftwood fires. benito observed them with a covert interest. a black-browed man with a shaggy beard and something leonine about him, seemed the master of the chief of this godless band. he moved among them, giving orders, and with two companions finally ascended to the top. benito, concealing himself behind a scrub oak, watched them, animatedly conversing, as they descended and picked their way inland toward the square. so swift their movements and so low their tones he could not make out the tenor of their discourse. he caught the words, "like tow," but that was all. musingly, he went on. up the broad and muddy path to market street, thence west again to third, he made his way. now south to mission and once more west, a favored route for caballeros. benito had never traveled it before afoot. but his horse had succumbed to the rigors of that frantic ride in pursuit of alice and mcturpin several months ago. mounts were a luxury now. he skirted the edge of a lagoon that stretched from sixth to eighth streets and on the ascent beyond observed a tiny box-like habitation, brightly painted, ringed with flowers and crowned with an imposing flagpole from which floated the star-spangled banner. it was a note of gay melody struck athwart the discordant monotony of soiled tent houses, tumble-down huts and oblong, flat-roofed buildings stretching their disorderly array along the road. coming closer he saw the name, "pipesville," printed on the door, and knew that this must be the "summer home," as it was called, of san francisco's beloved minstrel, stephen massett, otherwise "jeems pipes of pipesville," singer, player, essayist and creator of those wondrous one-man concerts dear to all the countryside. "jeems" himself appeared in the doorway to wave a greeting and benito went on oddly cheered by the encounter. in front of the mansion house, adjoining mission dolores, stood bob ridley, talking with his partner. "you look warm, son," he remarked paternally to windham, "let me mix you up a milk punch and you'll feel more like yourself. where's your boss and whither are ye bound?" "died," benito answered. "going to my--to the ranch." "thought so," ridley said. "i hear there's no one on it. why not steal a march on that tin-horn gambler and scallawag. rally up some friends and take possession. that's nine points of the law, my boy, and a half-dozen straight-shooting americans is nine hundred more, now that geary's alcalde and that weak-kneed psalm-singing leavenworth's resigned under fire." "you're sure--there's no one at the place?" benito questioned. "pretty sure. but what's it matter? everybody knows it's yours by rights. wait," he cried, excitedly. "i'll get horses. stuart and i will go along. we'll pick up six or seven bully boys along the way. is it a go?" "a go!" exclaimed benito, his eyes ashine. "you--you're too good, bob ridley." he pressed the other's hand. "my wife," he mused, "among the roses in the patio! the old home, dear god! let it come true!" an hour later ten men galloped through the gate of the windham rancho. no one offered them resistance. it had the look of a place long abandoned. dead leaves and litter everywhere. all of the animals had been driven off--sold, no doubt. the hacienda had been ransacked of its valuables. it was almost bare of furniture. the rose court, neglected, unkempt, brought back a surge of memories. a chimney had fallen; broken adobe bricks lay scattered on the grass. but to benito it spelled home. for him and for alice. this should be his christmas gift. old antonio, his former major-domo, lingered still in san francisco. he would send him out this very day to set the place in order. tomorrow he and alice would ride--his brow clouded. he should have to borrow two horses. no matter. tomorrow they would ride-- a startled exclamation from bob ridley roused him from his rhapsody. "benito, come here! look! what the devil is that?" from their eminence the town of san francisco was plainly visible; tall, thin shafts of smoke rising straight and black from many chimneys; the blue bay shimmering in the morning sunshine; the curious fretwork shadows of that great flotilla of deserted ships. but there was something more; something startlingly unnatural; a great pillar of black vapor--beneath it a livid red thing that leaped and grew. "good god! the town's afire!" cried benito. chapter xxvi fire! fire! fire! benito's first thought was of alice. he had left her sleeping. perhaps she had not yet awakened, for the morning was young. adrian had gone to san jose the previous afternoon. his wife, his sister and her child would be alone. benito sprang upon his horse; the others followed. in less than half an hour they crossed market street and were galloping down kearny toward the square. at california street they were halted by a crowd, pushing, shouting, elbowing this way and that without apparent or concerted purpose. above the human babel sounded a vicious crackle of burning wood like volleys of shots from small rifles. red and yellow flames shot high and straight into the air. now and then a gust of wind sent the licking fire demon earthward, and before its hot breath people fled in panic. benito flung his reins to a bystander. he was scarcely conscious of his movements; only that he was fighting for breath in a surging, suffocating press of equally excited human beings. from this he finally emerged, hatless, disheveled, into a small cleared space filled with flying sparks and stifling heat. across it men rushed feverishly carrying pails of water. dennison's exchange on kearny street, midway of the block facing portsmouth square, was a roaring furnace. flame sprang like red, darting tongues from its windows and thrust impertinent fingers here and there through the sloping roof. somewhere--no one seemed to know precisely--a woman screamed, "my baby! save my baby!" the sound died to a moan, was stilled. benito, passing a bucket along the line, stared, white faced, at his neighbor. "what was that?" he asked. "quien sabe?" said the other, "hurry along with that pail. the roof's falling." it was true. the shingle-covered space above the burning building stirred gently, undulating like some wind-ruffled pond. the mansard windows seemed to bow to the watchers, then slowly sink forward. with a roar, the whole roof sprang into fire, buckled, collapsed; the veranda toppled. smoke poured from the eight mansard windows of the parker house, next door. south of the parker house were single-storied buildings, one of wood, another of adobe; the first was a restaurant; over its roof several foreign-looking men spread rugs and upon them poured a red liquid. "it's wine," bob ridley said. "but they'll never save it. booker's store is going, too. looks like a clean sweep of the block." broderick's commanding figure could be seen rushing hither and thither. "no use," benito heard him say to one of his lieutenants. "water won't stop it. not enough.... is there any powder hereabouts?" "powder!" cried the other with a blanching face. "by the eternal, yes! a store of it is just around the corner. mustn't let the fire reach--" broderick cut him short. "go and get it. you and two others. blow up or pull down that building," he indicated a sprawling ramshackle structure on the corner. "but it's mine," one of the fire-fighters wailed. "cost me ten thousand dollars--" fiercely broderick turned upon him. "it'll cost the town ten millions if you don't hurry," he bellowed. "you can't save it, anyhow. do you want the whole place to burn?" [illustration: broderick's commanding figure was seen rushing hither and thither.... "you and two others. blow up or pull down that building," he indicated a sprawling, ramshackle structure.] "all right, all right, cap. don't shoot," the other countered with a sudden laugh. "come on, boys, follow me." benito watched him and the others presently returning with three kegs. they dived into the building indicated. presently, with the noise of a hundred cannon, the corner building burst apart. sticks and bits of plaster flew everywhere. the crowd receded, panic-stricken. "good work!" cried the fire marshal. it seemed, indeed, as though the flames were daunted. the two small structures were blazing now. the parker house, reeling drunkenly, collapsed. unexpectedly a gust of wind sent fire from the ruins of dennison's exchange northward. it reached across the open space and flung a rain of sparks down washington street toward montgomery. instantly there came an answering crackle, and exasperated fire-fighters rushed to meet the latest sortie of their enemy. once more three men, keg laden, made their way through smoke and showering brands. again the deafening report reverberated and the crowd fell back, alarmed. someone grasped benito's arm and shook it violently. he turned and looked into the feverishly questioning eyes of adrian stanley. "i've just returned," the other panted. "tell me, is all well--with inez? the women?" "don't know," said benito, half bewildered. the woman's wail for a lost child leaped terrifyingly into his recollection. his hand went up as if to ward off something. "don't know," he repeated. "wasn't home when--fire started." it came to him weirdly that he was talking like a drunken man; that adrian eyed him with a sharp disfavor. "where the devil were you, then?" "at the ranch," he answered. suddenly he laughed. it all seemed very funny. he had meant to give his wife a christmas present; later he had ridden madly to her rescue, yet here he was passing buckets in a fire brigade. and adrian, regarding him with suspicion, accusing him silently with his eyes. "you take the pail," he cried. "you fight the fire." and while stanley looked puzzledly after him, benito charged through a circle of spectators up the hill. he did not know that his face was almost black; that his eyebrows and the little foreign moustache of which they had made fun at the mines was charred and grizzled. he knew only that alice might be in danger. that the fire might have spread west as well as east and north. as he sped up washington street another loud explosion drummed against his ears. a shout followed it. benito neither knew nor cared for its significance. five minutes later he stumbled across his own doorsill, calling his wife's name. there was no answer. frenziedly he shouted "alice! alice!" till at last a neighbor answered him. "she and mrs. stanley and the baby went to preacher taylor's house. is the fire out?" "no," returned benito. once more he plunged down hill, seized a bucket and began the interminable passing of water. he looked about for adrian but did not see him. he became a machine, dully, persistently, desperately performing certain ever-repeated tasks. hours seemed to pass. then, of a sudden, something interrupted the accustomed trend. he held out his hands and no bucket met it. with a look of stupid surprise he stared at the man behind him. he continued to hold out his hand. "wake up," cried the other, and gave him a whack across the shoulders. "wake up, benito, man. the fire's out." robert parker, whose hotel was a litter of smoking timbers, and tom maguire, owner of what once had been the eldorado gambling house, were discussing their losses. "busted?" parker asked. "cleaned!" maguire answered. "goin' to rebuild?" "yep. and you?" "sartin. sure. soon as i can get the lumber and a loan." "put her there, pard." their hands met with a smack. "that's the spirit of san francisco," ridley remarked. "well we've learned a lesson. next time we'll be ready for this sort of thing. broderick's planning already for an engine company." "i reckon," adrian commented as he joined the group, "a vigilance committee is what we need even more." to this benito made no answer. into his mind flashed a memory of the trio that had left thieves' hollow at daybreak. chapter xxvii politics and a warning benito windham rose reluctantly and stretched himself. it was very comfortable in the living-room of the ranch house, where a fire crackled in the huge stone grate built by his grandfather's indian artisans. many of the valuable tapestries imported from spain had been removed by mcturpin during his tenure, but even bare adobe walls were cheerful in the light of blazing logs, and rugs of native weave accorded well with the simple mission furniture. in a great chair that almost swallowed her sat alice, gazing dreamily into the embers. family portraits hung upon the wall, and one of these, stiff and haughty in the regimentals of a soldado de cuero, seemed to look down upon the domestic picture with a certain austere benignity. this was the painting of francisco garvez of hidalgo lineage, who had stood beside ortega, the pathfinder, when that honored scout of portola had found the bay of san francisco and the golden gate. "carissima, how he would have loved you, that old man!" benito's tone was dreamy. alice windham turned. "you are like him, benito," she said fondly. "there is the same flash in your eye. come, sit for awhile by the fire. it's so cosy when it storms." benito kissed her. "i would that i might, but today there is an election in the city," he reminded. "i must go to vote. perhaps i can persuade the good broderick to dine with us this evening; or brannan--though he is so busy nowadays. often i look about unconsciously for nathan spear. it seems impossible that he is dead." "he was , but he seemed so young," commented alice. she rose hastily. "you must be very careful, dear," she cautioned, with a swift anxiety, "of the cold and wet--and of the hoodlums. they tell me there are many. every week one reads in the _alta_ that so-and-so was killed at the eldorado or the verandah. never more than that. in my home in the east they would call it murder. there would be a great commotion; the assassin would be hanged." "ah, yes; but this is a new country," he said, a little lamely. "will there never be law in san francisco?" alice asked him, passionately. "i have not forgotten--how my father died." benito's face went suddenly white. "nor i," he said, with an odd intensity; "there are several things ... that you may trust me ... to remember." "you mean," she queried in alarm, "mcturpin?" benito's mood changed. "there, my dear." he put an arm about her shoulders soothingly. "don't worry. i'll be careful; neither storm nor bullets shall harm me. i will promise you that." * * * * * early as it was in the day's calendar--for san francisco had no knack of rising with the sun--benito found the town awake, intensely active when he picked his way along the edge of those dangerous bogs that passed for business streets. several polling places had been established. toward each of them, lines of citizens converged in patient single-file detachments that stretched usually around the corner and the length of another block. official placards announced that all citizens of the united states were entitled to the ballot and beneath one of these, a wag had written with white chalk in a large and sprawling hand: "no chinese coolies in disguise need apply." no one seemed to mind the rain, though a gale blew from the sea, causing a multitude of tents to sway and flap in dangerous fashion. now and then a canvas habitation broke its moorings and went racing down the hill, pursued by a disheveled and irate occupant, indulging in the most violent profanity. at kearny and sacramento streets benito, approaching the voting station, was told to get in line by charley elleard, the town constable. elleard rode his famous black pony. this pony was the pet of the town and had developed a sagacity nearly human. it was considered wondrous sport to give the little animal a "two-bit" piece, which it would gravely hold between its teeth and present to the nearest bootblack, placing its forefeet daintily upon the footrests for a "shine." as he neared the polls in the slow succession of advancing voters, benito was beset by a rabble of low-voiced, rough-dressed men, who thrust their favorite tickets into his hands and bade him vote as indicated, often in a threatening manner. raucously they tried to cry each other down. "here's for geary and the good old council," one would shout. "geary and his crowd forever." "we've had the old one too long," a red-shirted six-footer bellowed. "fresh blood for me. we want sidewalks and clean streets." this provoked a chorus of "aye! aye! that's the ticket, pard," until a satirical voice exclaimed, "clean streets and sidewalks! gor a'mighty. he's dreamin' o' heaven!" a roar of laughter echoed round the town at this sally. it was repeated everywhere. the campaign slogan was hastily dropped. at the polling desk benito found himself behind a burly kanaka sailor, dark as an african. "i contest his vote," cried one of the judges. "if he's an american, i'm a hottentot." "where were you born?" asked the challenging judge of election. "new york," whispered a voice in the kanaka's ear, and he repeated the word stammeringly. "where was your father born?" came the second question, and again the word was repeated. "what part of new york?" "new york, new york." the answer was parrot-like. someone laughed. "ask him what part of the empire state he hails from?" suggested another. the question was put in simpler form, but it proved too much for the islander. he stammered, stuttered, waved his hand uncertainly toward the ocean. perceiving that he was the butt of public jest, he broke out of the line and made off as fast as his long legs could transport him. the man whose whispered promptings had proved unavailing, fell sullenly into the background, after venomous glance at the successful objector. benito caught his eyes under the dripping crown of a wide-brimmed slouch hat. they seemed to him vaguely familiar. almost instinctively his hand sought the pocket in which his derringer reposed. then, with a laugh, he dismissed the matter. he had no quarrel with the fellow; that murderous look was aimed at henry mellus, not at him. so he cast his ballot and went out. opposite the square he paused to note the progress of rehabilitation in the burned area. it was less than a fortnight since he had stood there feverishly passing buckets of water in a fight against the flames, but already most of the evidences of conflagration were hidden behind the framework of new buildings. the eldorado announced a grand opening in the "near future"; maguire's jenny lind theater notified one in conspicuous letters, "we will soon be ready for our patrons, bigger and grander than ever." benito nodded to robert parker, whose hotel was rising, phoenix-like from its ashes. "things are coming along," he said with a gesture toward the buildings. "have you seen anything of dave broderick?" parker shook the rain-drops from his hat. "saw him going toward the bella union," he replied. "they say he's as good as elected. a fine state senator he'll make, too." taking benito's arm, he walked with him out of earshot of those nearby. "benito," his tone was grave. "they tell me you've resumed possession of your ranch." "yes," confirmed the younger. "half a dozen of my old servants are there with mrs. windham and myself. i've bought a little stock on credit and all's going well." for a moment parker said nothing; then, almost in benito's ear, he spoke a warning: "do you know that mcturpin is back?" chapter xxviii on the trail of mcturpin benito, in a mood of high excitement, strode uphill toward the bella union, pondering the significance of parker's startling information. so mcturpin had come back. he had been about to ask for further details when one of the hurrying workmen called his informant away. after all it did not matter much just how or when the gambler had returned. they were sure to meet sooner or later. once more windham's hand unconsciously sought the pistol in his pocket. at the entrance of the bella union he halted, shook the rain from his hat, scraped the mud from his feet upon a pile of gunnysacks which served as doormats, and went into the brilliant room. since the temporary closing of the eldorado, this place had become the most elegant and crowded of the city's gaming palaces. a mahogany bar extended the length of the building; huge hanging lamps surrounded by ornate clusters of prisms lent an air of jeweled splendor which the large mirrors and pyramids of polished glasses back of the counter enhanced. on a platform at the rear were several mexican musicians in rich native costumes twanging gaily upon guitars and mandolins. now and then one of them sang, or a spanish dancer pirouetted, clicking her castanets and casting languishing glances at the ring of auditors about her. these performers were invariably showered with coins. tables of all sizes filled the center of the room from the long roulette board to the little round ones where drinks were served. faro, monte, roulette, rouge et noir, vingt-un, chuck-a-luck and poker: each found its disciples; now and then a man went quietly out and another took his place; there was nothing to indicate that he had lost perhaps thousands of dollars, the "clean-up" of a summer of hardships at the mines. a bushy bearded miner boasted that he had won $ , and lost it again in an hour and a half. henry mellus offered him work as a teamster and the other accepted. "easy come, easy go," he commented philosophically and, lighting his pipe from one of the sticks of burning punk placed at intervals along the bar, he went out. in an out-of-the-way corner, where the evening's noise and activity ebbed and flowed a little more remotely, benito discovered broderick chewing an unlighted cigar and discussing the probabilities of election with john geary. they hailed him cordially, but in a little while geary drifted off to learn further news of the polls. "and how is the charming mrs. windham?" asked broderick. "well and happy, thank you," said benito. "she loves the old place. cannot you dine with us there tonight?" "with real pleasure," broderick returned. "in this raw, boisterous place a chance to enjoy a bit of home life, to talk with a high-bred woman is more precious than gold." benito bowed. "it is not often that we have a senator for a guest," he returned, smiling. broderick placed a hand upon his shoulder almost paternally. "i hope that is prophetic, benito," he said. "i'm strangely serious about it. this town has taken hold of me--your san francisco." they turned to greet sam brannan, now a candidate for the ayuntamiento or town council. "how goes it, sam?" asked broderick. "well enough," responded brannan. he looked tired, irritated. "there's been a conspiracy against us by the rowdy element, but i think we've beaten them now." broderick's brow clouded. "we need a better government; a more effective system of police, sam," he said, striking his first against the table. "what we need," said brannan, "is a citizens' society of public safety; a committee of vigilance. and, mark my word, we're going to have 'em. there's more than one who suspects the town was set afire last december." "but," said broderick, "mob rule is dangerous. the constituted authorities must command. they are the ones to uphold the law." "but what if they don't?" brannan's aggressive chin was thrust forward. "what then?" "they must be made to; but authority should not be overthrown. that's revolution." "and where, may i ask, would human liberty be today if there'd never been a revolution?" brannan countered. benito left them. he had no stomach for such argument, though he was to hear much more of it in years to come. suddenly he recalled the man who had tried to coach the kanaka; who had glared so murderously at mellus. those eyes had been familiar; something about them had made him grip his pistol, an impulse at which afterward he had laughed. but now he knew the reason for that half-involuntary action. despite the beard and mustache covering the lower portion of his face completely; despite the low-pulled hat, the disguising ulster, he knew the man. mcturpin. the hot spanish temper which he had never entirely mastered, flamed like a scorching blast across benito's mind. he saw again mcturpin smiling as he won by fraud the stake at cards which he had laid against benito's ranch; he seemed to hear again the gambler's sneering laugh as he, his father and adrian had been ambushed at the entrance of his home; in his recollection burned the fellow's insult to his sister; the abduction of alice, his wife; the murder of his partner. he was certain that mcturpin had somehow been at the bottom of it. swiftly he was lost to all reason. he took the weapon from his pocket, examined it carefully to make certain that the caps were unimpaired by moisture. then he set forth. at the polling station he made casual inquiries, but the ballot-box stuffer for some time had not been seen. "charley elleard ran him off, i think," said frank ward, laughing. "he'd have voted chinamen and indians if he'd had his way. but if you're looking for the rascal try the gambling house at long wharf and montgomery street; that's where his kind hang out." later in the spring of montgomery street was graded. now it was a sloping streak of mud, the western side of which was several feet above the other. where long wharf, which was to be cut through and called commercial street, intersected, or rather bisected montgomery, stood a large building with a high, broad roof. its eaves projected over a row of benches, and here, sheltered somewhat from the rain, a group of mexicans and chilenos lounged in picturesque native costumes, smoking cigarettes. through the door came a rollicking melody--sailor tunes played by skillful performers--and a hum of converse punctuated by the click of chips and coin. benito entered. the room was blue with cigarette smoke, its score of tables glimpsed as through a fog. sawdust covered the floor and men of all nationalities mingled quietly enough at play of every kind. a stream of men came and went to and from the gaming boards and bar. benito ordered a drink, and surveyed the room searchingly. the man he sought was not in evidence. "is mcturpin here?" he asked the bartender. if that worthy heard, he made no answer; but a slight, agile man with sly eyes looked up from a nearby table, "what d'ye want of him, stranger?" an arrogant retort sprang to benito's lips, but he checked it. he bent toward the questioner confidentially. "i've news for alec," he whispered; "news he ought to know--and quickly." chapter xxix the squatter conspiracy instantly the slight man rose. he had narrow eyes, shrewd and calculating and the sinuous motions of a contortionist. linking his arm with benito's, he smiled, disclosing small, discolored teeth. there was something ratlike about him, infinitely repellant. "come, i'll tyke ye to 'im," he volunteered. but this did not suit benito's purpose. "i must go alone," he said emphatically. the other eyed him with suspicion. "then find him alone," he countered, sullenly. but a moment later he was plucking at benito's elbow. "what's it all abaout, this 'ere news? cawn't ye tell a fellow? give me an inklin'; trust me and i'll trust you; that's business." benito hesitated. "it's about the ranch," he returned at a venture. "ow, the rawnch. well, you needn't 'ave been so bloody sly about it. alec isn't worried much abaout the rawnch. 'e's bigger fish to fry. but you can see 'im if you wants. 'e's at the broken bottle tavern up in sydney town." they had a drink together; then benito parted from his informant, ruminating over what the little man, so palpably a "sydney duck," had told him. benito surveyed his reflection in a glass. in his rain-bedraggled attire he might pass for one of the sydney ducks himself. his boots were splashed with mud, his scrape wrinkled and formless. he pulled the dripping hat into a disheveled slouch, low down on his forehead. mcturpin had not seen him with a beard, had failed to recognize him at the polling station. benito decided to risk it. * * * * * one of the largest and most pretentious of sydney town's "pubs," or taverns, was the broken bottle, kept by a former english pugilist from botany bay. he was known as bruiser jake, could neither read nor write and was shaped very much like a log, his neck being as large as his head. it was said that the australian authorities had tried to hang him several times, but failed because the noose slipped over his chin and ears, refusing its usual function. so he finally had been given a "ticket of leave" and had come to california. curiously enough the bruiser never drank. he prided himself on his sobriety and the great strength of his massive hands in which he could squeeze the water out of a potato. ordinarily he was not quarrelsome, though he fought like a tiger when aroused. benito found this worthy behind his bar and asked for a drink of english ale, a passable quality of which was served in the original imported bottles at most public houses. the bruiser watched him furtively with little piglike eyes. "and who might ye be, stranger?" he asked when benito set down his glass. "'awkins--that's as good a nyme as another," said benito, essaying the cockney speech. "and what ye daon't know won't 'urt you, my friend." he threw down a silver piece, took the bottle and glass with him and sat down at a table near the corner. hard by he had glimpsed the familiar broad back of mcturpin. at first the half-whispered converse of the trio at the adjoining table was incomprehensible to his ears, but after a time he caught words, phrases, sentences. first the word "squatters" reached him, several times repeated; then, "at rincon." finally, "the best lots in the city can be held." after that for a time he lost the thread of the talk. an argument arose, and, in its course, mcturpin's voice was raised incautiously. "who's to stop us?" he contended, passionately. "the old alcalde grants aren't worth the paper they're written on. haven't squatters dispossessed the spaniards all over california? didn't they take the san antonio ranch in oakland, defend it with cannon, and put old peralta in jail for bothering them with his claims of ownership?" he laughed. "it's a rare joke, this land business. if we squat on the rincon, who'll dispossess us? answer me that." "but it's government ground. it's leased to ted shillaber," one objected. "to the devil with shillaber," mcturpin answered. "he won't know we're going to squat till we've put up our houses. and when he comes we'll quote him squatter law. he can buy us off if he likes. it'll cost him uncommon high. he can fight us in the courts and we'll show him squatter justice. we've our friends in the courts, let me tell you." "aye, mayhap," returned a lanky, red-haired sailor, "but there's them o' us, like you and me and andy, yonder, what isn't hankerin' for courts." mcturpin leaned forward, and his voice diminished so that benito could scarcely hear his words. "don't be afraid," he said. "i've got my men selected for the rincon business, a full dozen of 'em ... all with clean records, mind ye. nothing against them." he pounded the table with his fist by way of emphasis. "and when we've done old shillaber, we'll come in closer. we'll claim lots that are worth fifty thou--" he paused. his tone sank even lower, so that some of his sentence was lost. it was at this juncture that benito sneezed. he had felt the approach of that betraying reflex for some minutes, but had stifled it. those who have tried this under similar circumstances know the futility of such attempts; know the accumulated fury of sound with which at length bursts forth the startling, terrible and irrepressible "ker-chew!" mcturpin and his two companions wheeled like lightning. "who's this?" the gambler snarled. he took a step toward the bruiser. "who the devil let him in to spy on us?" "aw, stow it, alec!" said the former fighter. "'e's no spy. 'e's one o' our lads from the bay. hi can tell by 'is haccent." benito rose. his hand crept toward the derringer, but mcturpin was before him. "don't try that, blast you!" he commanded. "now, my friend, let's have a look at you.... by the eternal! it's young windham!" "the cove you don hout o' his rawnch?" asked the bruiser, curiously. "shut up, you fool!" roared the gambler. his face was white with fury. "what are you doing here?" he asked benito. "getting some points on--er--land holding," said windham. he was perfectly calm. several times this man had overawed, outwitted, beaten him. now, though he was in the enemy's country, surrounded by cutthroats and thieves, he felt suddenly the master of the situation. perhaps it was mcturpin's dismay, perhaps the spur of his own danger. he knew that there was only one escape, and that through playing on mcturpin's anger. "a most ingenious scheme, but it'll fail you!" "and why'll it fail, my young jackanapes?" the gambler blazed at him. "do you reckon i'll let you go to give the alarm?" it was then benito threw his bombshell. it was but a shrewd guess. yet it worked amazingly. "your plan will fail," he said with slow distinctness, "because sam brennan and alcalde geary know you set the town afire. because they're going to hang you." rage and terror mingled in mcturpin's face. speechless, paralyzing wrath that held him open-mouthed a moment. in that moment windham acted quickly. he hurled the bottle, still half full of ale, at his antagonist, missed him by the fraction of an inch and sent the missile caroming against the bruiser's ear, thence down among a pyramid of glasses. there was a shivering tinkle; then the roar as of a maddened bull. the bruiser charged. windham shot twice into the air and fled. he heard a rending crash behind him, a voice that cried aloud in mortal pain, a shot. then, silence. chapter xxx "growing pains" on the morning of february , , theodore shillaber, with a number of friends, made a visit to the former's leased land on the rincon, later known as rincon hill. here, on the old government reserve, whose guns had once flanked yerba buena cove, shillaber had secured a lease on a commanding site which he planned to convert into a fashionable residence section. what was his surprise, then, to find the scenic promontory covered with innumerable rickety and squalid huts. a tall and muscular young fellow with open-throated shirt and stalwart, hirsute chest, swaggered toward him, fingering rather carelessly, it seemed to shillaber, the musket he held. "lookin' for somebody, stranger?" he inquired, meaningly. shillaber, somewhat taken aback, inquired by what right the members of this colony held possession. "squatter's rights," returned the large youth, calmly, and spat uncomfortably near to shillaber's polished boots. "and what are squatter's rights, may i ask?" said shillaber, striving to control his rising temper. the youth tapped his rifle barrel. "anyone that tries to dispossess us'll soon find out," he returned gruffly, and, turning his back on the visitors, he strode back toward his cabin. "wait," called shillaber, red with wrath, "i notify you now, in the presence of witnesses that if you and all your scurvy crew are not gone bag and baggage within twentyfour hours, i'll have the authorities dispossess you and throw you into jail for trespassing." the large young man halted and presented a grinning face to his threatener. he did not deign to reply, but, as though he had given a signal, shrill cackles of laughter broke out in a dozen places. shillaber, who was a choleric man, shook his fist at them. he was too angry for speech. shillaber had more than his peck of trouble with the sydney ducks that roosted on his land. he sent the town authorities to dispossess them, but without result. there were too many squatters and too few police. next he sent an agent to collect rents, but the man returned with a sore head and bruised body, minus coin. shillaber was on the verge of insanity. he appealed to everyone from the prefect to the governor. in sydney town his antics were the sport of a gay and homogeneous population and at the public houses one might hear the flouted landlord rave through the impersonations of half a dozen clever mimics. at the broken bottle a new boniface held forth. bruiser jake had mysteriously disappeared on the evening of election. and with him had vanished alec mcturpin, though a sly-eyed little man now and then brought messages from the absent leader. in the end shillaber triumphed, for he persuaded captain keyes, commander at the presidio, that the squatters were defying federal law. thus, one evening, a squad of cavalry descended upon the rincon squatters, scattering them like chaff and demolishing their flimsy habitations in the twinkling of an eye. but this did not end squatterism. some of the evicted took up claims on lots closer in. a woman's house was burned and she, herself, was driven off. another woman was shot while defending her husband's home during his absence. meanwhile, san francisco's streets had been graded and planked. the old city hall, proving inadequate, was succeeded by a converted hotel. the graham house, a four-story wooden affair of many balconies, at kearny and pacific streets, was now the seat of local government. for it the council paid the extraordinary sum of $ , , thereby provoking a storm of newspaper discussion. three destructive fires had ravaged through the cloth and paper districts, and on their ashes more substantial structures stood. there was neither law nor order worthy of the name. only feverish activity. a newsboy who peddled altas on the streets made $ , from his operations; another vendor of the sacramento union, boasted $ , for his pains. a washerwoman left her hut on the lagoon and built a "mansion." laundering, enhanced by real estate investments, had given her a fortune of $ , . social strata were not yet established. caste was practically unknown. former convicts married, settled down, became respected citizens. carpenters, bartenders, laborers, mechanics from the east and middle west, became bankers, senators, judges, merchant princes and promoters. white linen replaced red flannel, bowie knives and revolvers were sedately hidden beneath frock coats, the vicuna hat was a substitute for slouch and sombrero. but, under it all, the fierce, restless heart of san francisco beat on unchanged. in it stirred the daring, the lawless adventure, the feverish ambition and the hair-trigger pride of argonauts from many lands. and in it burned the deviltry, brutality, licentiousness and greed of criminal elements freed from the curb of legal discipline. david broderick discussed it frequently with alice windham. he had fallen into a habit of coming to the ranch when wearied by affairs of state. he was a silent, brooding man, robbed somehow of his national heritage, a sense of humor, for he had irish blood. he was a man of fire, implacable as an enemy, inalienable as a friend. and to alice, as she sat embroidering or knitting before the fire, he told many of his dreams, his plans. she would nod her head sagely, giving him her eyes now and then--eyes that were clear and calm with understanding. thus alice came to know what boded for the town of san francisco. "benito," she said one night, when broderick had gone, "benito, my dearest, will you let me stir you--even if it wounds?" she came up behind him quickly; put her arms about his neck and leaned her golden head against his own. "we are sitting here too quietly ... while life goes by," her tone was wistful. "you, especially, benito. outside teems the world; the gorgeous, vibrant world of which our david speaks." "what do you want me to do?" he asked, stirring restlessly, "go into business? make money--like adrian?" "no, no," she nestled closer. "it isn't money that i crave. we are happy here. but"--she looked up at the portrait of francisco garvez, and benito followed her glance. "what would he have you do?" "i promised him in thought," her husband said, "that i would help to build the city he loved. it was a prophecy," his tone grew dreamy, "a prophecy that he and his--the garvez blood--should always stir in san francisco's heart." swiftly he rose and, standing very straight before the picture, raised his right hand to salute. "you are right," he said. "he would have wanted me to be a soldier." but alice shook her head. "the conquest is over," she told him. "san francisco needs no gun nor saber now. in our courts and legislatures lie the future battlegrounds for justice. you must study law, benito.... i want"--quick color tinged her face--"i want my--son to have a father who--" "alice!" cried benito. but she fled from him. the door of her bedroom closed behind her. but it opened again very softly--"who makes his country's laws," she finished, fervently. chapter xxxi the vigilance committee about o'clock on the evening of february , , two men entered the store of c.j. jansen & co., a general merchandise shop on montgomery street. the taller and older presented a striking figure. he was of such height that, possibly from entering many low doorways, he had acquired a slight stoop. his beard was long and dark, his hair falling to the collar, was a rich and wavy brown. he had striking eyes, an aquiline nose and walked with a long, measured stride. charles jansen, alone in the store, noted these characteristics half unconsciously and paid little attention to the smaller man who lurked behind his companion in the shadows. "show me some blankets," said the tall man peremptorily. jansen did not like his tone, nor his looks for that matter, but he turned toward a shelf where comforters, sheets and blankets were piled in orderly array. as he did so he heard a quick step behind him; the universe seemed to split asunder in a flash of countless stars. and then the world turned black. hours afterward his partner found him prone behind the counter, a great bleeding cut on his head. the safe stood open and a hasty examination revealed the loss of $ , in gold dust and coin. jansen was revived with difficulty and, after a period of delirium, described what had occurred. the next morning's alta published a sensational account of the affair, describing jansen's assailant and stating that the victim's recovery was uncertain. as adrian, benito and samuel brannan passed the new city hall on the morning of february , they noticed that a crowd was gathering. people seemed to be running from all directions. newsboys with huge armfuls of morning papers, thrust them in the faces of pedestrians, crying, "extra! extra! assassins of jansen caught." adrian tossed the nearest lad a two-bit piece and grasped the outstretched sheet. it related in heavy blackfaced type the arrest of "two scoundrelly assassins," one of whom, james stuart, a notorious "sydney duck," was wanted in auburn for the murder of sheriff moore. this was the man identified by jansen. he claimed mistaken identity, however, insisting that his name was thomas berdue. "they'll let him go on that ridiculous plea, no doubt," remarked brannan, wrathfully. "there are always a dozen alibis and false witnesses for these gallows-birds. it's time the people were doing something." "it looks very much as though we _were_ doing something," said benito, with a glance at the gathering crowd. there were shouts of "lynch them! bring them out and hang them to a tree!" someone thrust a handbill toward benito, who grasped it mechanically. it read: citizens of san francisco the series of murders and robberies that have been committed in the city seems to leave us entirely in a state of anarchy. law, it appears, is but a nonentity to be sneered at; redress can be had for aggression but through the never-failing remedy so admirably laid down in the code of judge lynch. all those who would rid our city of its robbers and murderers will assemble on sunday at o'clock on the plaza. "this means business," commented adrian grimly. "it may mean worse unless their temper cools. i've heard this stuart has a double. they should give him time--" "bosh!" cried brannan, "they should string him up immediately." he waved the handbill aloft. "hey, boys," he called out loudly, "let us go and take them. let us have a little justice in this town." "aye, aye," cried a score of voices. instantly a hundred men rushed up the stairs and pushed aside policemen stationed at the doors. they streamed inward, hundreds more pushing from the rear until the court room was reached. there they halted suddenly. angry shouts broke from the rear. "what's wrong ahead? seize the rascals. bring them out!" but the front rank of that invading army paused for an excellent reason. they faced a row of bayonets with determined faces behind them. sheriff hayes had sensed the brewing troubles and had brought the washington guards quietly in at a rear entrance. so the crowd fell back and the first mob rush was baffled. outside the people still talked angrily. at least a thousand thronged the court house, surrounding it with the determined and angry purpose of letting no one escape. mayor geary made his way with difficulty through the press and urged them to disperse. he assured them that the law would take its proper course and that there was no danger of the prisoners' release or escape. they listened to him respectfully but very few left their posts. here and there speakers addressed the multitude. the crowd, the first fever abated, had resolved itself into a semi-parliamentary body. but no real leader had arisen. and so it arrived at nothing save the appointment of a committee to confer with the authorities and insure the proper guarding of the prisoners. brannan was one of these and benito another. "windham's getting to be a well-known citizen," said a bystander to adrian, "i hear he's studying law with hall mcallister. used to be a dreamy sort of chap. he's waking up." "yes, his wife is at the bottom of it," stanley answered. sunday morning , people surrounded the courthouse. less turbulent than on the previous day, their purpose was more grimly certain. mayor geary's impressive figure appeared on the balcony of the court house. he held out a hand for silence and amid the hush that followed, spoke with brevity and to the point. "the people's will is final," he conceded, "but this very fact entails responsibility, noblesse oblige! what we want is justice, gentlemen. now, i'll tell you how to make it sure. appoint a jury of twelve men from among yourselves. let them sit at the trial with the presiding judge. their judgment shall be final. i pledge you my word for that." he ceased and again the crowd began murmuring. a tall, smooth-shaven youth began to talk with calm distinctness. there was about him the aspect of command. people ceased their talk to listen. "i move you, gentlemen," he shouted, "that a committee of twelve men be appointed from amongst us to retire and consider this situation calmly. they shall then report and if their findings are approved, they shall be law." "good! good!" came a chorus of voices. "hurray for bill coleman. make him chairman." coleman bowed. "i thank you, gentlemen," he said, then crisply, like so many whip-cracks, he called the names of eleven men. one by one they answered and the crowd made way for them. silently and in a body they departed. "there's a leader for you," exclaimed adrian to his brother-in-law. benito nodded, eyes ashine with admiration. presently there was a stir among the crowd. the jury was returning. "well, gentlemen," the mayor raised his voice, "what is the verdict?" coleman answered: "we recommend that the prisoners be tried by the people. if the legal courts wish to aid they're invited. otherwise we shall appoint a prosecutor and attorney for the prisoners. the trial will take place this afternoon." "hurray! hurray!" the people shouted. the cheers were deafening. chapter xxii the people's jury benito, as he elbowed his way through a crowd which ringed the city hall that afternoon, was impressed by the terrific tight-lipped determination of those faces all about him. it was as though san francisco had but one thought, one straight, relentless purpose--the punishment of crime by mosaic law. the prisoners in the county jail appeared to sense this wave of retributive hatred, for they paced their cells like caged beasts. it was truly a case of "the people vs. stuart (alias berdue) and windred," charged with robbery and assault. coleman and his committee of twelve were in absolute charge. they selected as judges, three popular and trusted citizens, j.r. spence, h.r. bowie and c.l. ross. w.a. jones was named the judge's clerk and j.e. townes the whilom sheriff. while the jury was impaneling, brannan spoke to benito: "twelve good men and true; the phrase means something here. lord, if we could have such jurymen as these in all our american courts." benito nodded. "they've appointed bill coleman as public prosecutor; that's rather a joke on bill." judge spence, who sat between his two colleagues, presiding on the bench, now spoke: "i appoint judge shattuck and--er--hall mcallister as counsel for the defendants." there was a murmur of interest. judge shattuck, dignified, a trifle ponderous, came forward, spectacles in hand. he put them on, surveyed his clients with distaste, and took his place composedly at the table. hall mcallister, dapper, young and something of a dandy, advanced with less assurance. he would have preferred the other side of the case, for he did not like running counter to the people. amid a stir the prisoners were led forward to the dock. judge spence, looking down at them over his spectacles, read the charges. "are you guilty or not guilty?" he asked. windred, the younger, with a frightened glance about the court room, murmured almost inaudibly, "not guilty." the other, in a deep and penetrating voice, began a sort of speech. it was incoherent, agonized. benito thought it held a semblance of sincerity. "always, your honor," he declared, "i am mistaken for that scoundrel; that stuart.... i am a decent man ... but what is the use? i say it's terrible...." "judge" spence removed his eyeglasses and wiped them nervously; "does anyone in the courtroom recognize this man as thomas berdue?" there was silence. then a hand rose. "i do," said the voice of a waterfront merchant. "i've done business with him under that name." immediately there was an uproar. "a confederate," cried voices. "put him out." a woman's voice in the background shrieked out shrilly, "hang him, too!" mcallister rose. "there must be order here," he said, commandingly and the tumult subsided. mcallister addressed berdue's sponsor. "can you bring anyone else to corroborate your testimony?" the merchant, red and angry, cried: "it's nothing to me; hang him and be damned--if you don't want the truth. i'm not looking for trouble." he turned away but the prisoner called to him piteously. "don't desert me. find jones or murphy down at the long wharf. they'll identify me.... hurry! hurry! ... or they'll string me up!" "all right," agreed the other reluctantly. he left the court room and judge shattuck moved a postponement of the case. "your honor," william coleman now addressed the court, "this is no ordinary trial. ten thousand people are around this courthouse. they are there because the public patience with legal decorum is exhausted; however regular and reasonable my colleague's plea might be in ordinary circumstances, i warn you that to grant it will provoke disorder." judge shattuck, startled, glanced out of the window and conferred with hall mcallister. "i withdraw my petition," he said hurriedly. the case went on. witnesses who were present when the prisoners were identified by jansen gave their testimony. there was little cross-examination, though mcallister established jansen's incomplete recovery of his mental faculties when the men were brought before him. coleman pointed out the striking appearance of the older prisoner; there was little chance to err he claimed in such a case. the record of james stuart was then dwelt upon; a history black with evil doing, red with blood. the jury retired with the sinister determined faces of men who have made up their minds. meanwhile, outside, the crowd stood waiting, none too patiently. now and then a messenger came to the balcony and shouted out the latest aspect of the drama being enacted inside. the word was caught up by the first auditor, passed along to right and left until the whole throng knew and speculated on each bit of information. adrian, caught in the outer eddies of that human maelstrom, found himself beside juana briones. "the jury's out," she told him. "jury's out!" the word swept onward. then there came a long and silent wait. once again the messenger appeared. "still out," he bellowed, "having trouble." "what's the matter with them?" a score of voices shouted. presently the messenger returned. his face was angry, almost apoplectic. one could see that he was having difficulty with articulation. he waved his hands in a gesture of impotent wrath. at last he found his voice and shouted, "disagreed. the jury's disagreed." an uproar followed. "hang the jury!" cried an irate voice. a rush was made for the entrance. but two hundred armed, determined men opposed the onslaught. the very magnitude of the human press defeated its own ends. men cried aloud that they were being crushed. women screamed. soon or late the defenders must have fallen. but now a strange diversion occurred. on the balcony appeared general baker, noted as the city's greatest orator. in his rich, sonorous tones, he began a political speech. it rang even above the excited shouts of the mob. instantly there was a pause, an almost imperceptible let-down of the tension. those who could not see asked eagerly of others, "what's the matter now? who's talking?" "it's ed baker making a speech." someone laughed. a voice roared. "rah for ed baker." others took it up. impulsive, variable as the wind, san francisco found a new adventure. it listened spellbound to golden eloquence, extolling the virtues of a favored candidate. meanwhile acting sheriff townes rushed his prisoners to the county jail without anyone so much as noticing their departure. presently three men came hurrying up and with difficulty made their way into the court room. "good god! are we too late?" the leader of the trio asked, excitedly. he was the waterfront merchant who had recognized berdue. "too late for the trial," returned coleman; "it's over; the jury's dismissed. disagreed." "and what are they doing outside?" cried the other, "are they hanging the prisoners?" "no, the prisoners are safe," returned coleman, "though they had a close enough shave, i'll admit." he laid a hand upon benito's shoulder and there came a twinkle to his eyes. "our young friend here had an inspiration--better than a hundred muskets. he sent ed baker out to charm them with his tongue." chapter xxxiii the reckoning it was june on the rancho windham. roses and honeysuckle climbed the pillars and lattices of the patio; lupin and golden poppies dotted the hillsides. cloud-plumes waved across the faultless azure of a california summer sky and distant to the north and east, a million spangled flecks of sunlight danced upon the bay. david broderick sat on a rustic bench, his eyes on alice windham. he thought, with a vague stirring of unrecognized emotion that she seemed the spirit of womanhood in the body of a fay. "a flower for your thoughts," she paraphrased and tossed him a rose. instinctively he pressed it to his lips. he saw her color rise and turned away. for a moment neither spoke. "my thoughts," he said at length, "have been of evil men and trickery and ambition. i realize that, always, when i come here--when i see you, alice windham. for a little time i am uplifted. then i go back to my devious toiling in the dark." a shadow crossed her eyes, but a smile quickly chased it away. "you are a fine man, david broderick," she said, "brave and wonderful and strong. why do you stoop to--" "to petty politics?" his answering smile was rueful. "because i must--to gain my ends. to climb a hill-top often one must go into a valley. that is life." "no, that is sophistry," her clear, straight glance was on him searchingly. "you tell me that a statesman must be first a politician; that a politician must consort with rowdies, ballot-box stuffers, gamblers--even thieves. david broderick, you're wrong. women have their intuitions which are often truer than men's logic." she leaned forward, laid a hand half shyly on his arm. "i know this much, my friend: as surely as you climb your ladder with the help of evil forces, just so surely will they pull you down." it was thus that benito came upon them. "scolding dave again?" he questioned merrily, "what has our lieutenant-governor been doing now?" "consorting with rowdies, gamblers, ballot-box stuffers--not to mention thieves, 'twould seem," said broderick with a forced laugh. alice windham's eyes looked hurt. "he has accused himself," she said with haste. "you're always your own worst critic, dave," benito said. "i want to tell you something: the vigilance committee forms this afternoon." the other's eyes flashed. "what is that to me?" he asked, with some asperity. "only this," retorted windham. "the committee means business; it's going to clean up the town--" broderick made as if to speak but checked his utterance. benito went on: "i tell you, dave, you had better cut loose from your crowd. some of them are going to get into trouble. you can't afford to have them running to you--calling you their master." he took from his pocket a folded paper. "we've been drafting a constitution, hall mcallister and i." he read the rather stereotyped beginning. broderick displayed small interest until benito reached the conclusion: we are determined that no thief, burglar, incendiary or assassin shall escape punishment either by the quibbles of the law, the insecurity of prisons, the carelessness and corruption of police or a laxity of those who pretend to administer justice. "and do you mean," asked broderick, "that these men will take the law into their own hands; that they'll apprehend so-called criminals and presume to mete out punishment according to their own ideas of justice?" "i mean just that," returned benito. "why--it's extraordinary," broderick objected. "it's mob law--organized banditti." "you'll find it nothing of the sort," cried windham hotly. "how can it be otherwise?' asked broderick. what's to prevent rascals taking advantage of such a movement--running it to suit themselves? they're much cleverer than honest, men; more powerful.... else do you think i'd use my political machine? no, no, benito, this is farce--disaster." "read this, then," urged benito, and he thrust into the other's hand a list of some two hundred names. broderick perused it with growing gravity. it represented the flower of san francisco's business and professional aristocracy, men of all political creeds, religious, social affiliations. * * * * * a few days afterward broderick conferred with his lieutenants. word went forth that he had cut his leading strings to city politics. rumors of a storm were in the air. when it would break no one could say with certainty. the committee of vigilance had quietly established quarters on battery street near pine, where several secret meetings had been held and officers elected. these were not made known. members were designated by numerals instead of names. some said they wore masks but this was an unproven rumor. broderick, brooding on these things one afternoon, was suddenly aware of many people running. he descried a man hastening down long wharf toward the bay. "stop thief!" some one shouted. others took it up. broderick found himself running, too, over the loose boards of the wharf, in pursuit of the fleeing figure. the fugitive ran rapidly, despite a large burden slung over his shoulder. presently he disappeared from view. but soon they glimpsed him in a boat, rowing lustily away. a dozen boats set out in chase. shots rang out. "he's thrown his bundle in the water," someone cried. "he's diving," called another. a silence, then "we've got him," came a hail exultingly. ere long a dripping figure surrounded by half a dozen captors, was brought upon the wharf. "he stole a safe from virgin & co.," broderick was told. "the vigilantes have him. they'll hang him probably. come along and see the show." "but where are the police?" asked broderick. the man laughed contemptuously. "where they always are--asleep," he answered, and went on. others brought the news that john jenkins, an australian convict, was the prisoner. he had several times escaped the clutches of the "law." he seemed to treat the whole proceeding as a bit of horseplay, joking profanely with his captors, boasting of his crimes. at o'clock the monumental fire bell struck several deep-toned notes and fifteen minutes later eighty members of the vigilance committee had assembled. the door was locked. a constable from the police department knocked upon it long without avail. everything was very still about the building; even the crowd which gathered there to await developments conversed in whispers. at midnight several cloaked forms emerged, walking rapidly up the street. then the california fire engine bell began to toll. james king of william, a local banker, leaving vigilante quarters almost collided with broderick. "what does that mean?" the latter asked; he pointed to the tolling bell. "it means," king answered, solemnly, "that jenkins is condemned to death. he'll be executed on the plaza in an hour." chapter xxxiv the hanging of jenkins mayor brenham pushed his way forward. "did i understand you rightly, mr. king?" he questioned. "this committee means to lynch a man--to murder him?" king turned upon him fiery-eyed. "i might accuse you of a hundred murders, sir, with much more justice. where are your police when our citizens are slain? what are your courts but strongholds of political iniquity?" he raised his arm and with a dramatic gesture, pointed toward the city hall. "go, mayor brenham, rouse your jackals of pretended law.... the people have risen. at the plaza in an hour you shall see what justice means." several voices cheered. brenham, overwhelmed, inarticulate before this outburst, turned and strode away. broderick walked on thoughtfully. it was evident that the people were aroused past curbing. as he neared the city hall, constable charles elleard approached him anxiously. "there's going to be trouble, isn't there?" he asked. "what shall we do? we've less than a hundred men, mr. broderick. perhaps we could get fifty more." "whatever happens, don't use firearms," broderick cautioned. "one shot will set the town afire tonight." he came closer to the officer and whispered, "make a show of interference, that's all.... if possible see that sheriff hayes' pistols don't go off.... you understand? i know what's best." elleard nodded. broderick went on. soon he heard the tramp of many feet. a procession headed by men bearing torches, was proceeding down the street toward the plaza. as they neared he saw jenkins, hands tied behind his back, striding along in the midst of his captors. a rope was about his neck; it extended for a hundred feet behind him, upheld by many hands. diagonally across the plaza the procession streamed. at the flagstaff a halt was made. samuel brannan mounted a sand-heap and addressed the crowd. "i have been deputed by the vigilance committee," he began, "to tell you that john jenkins has been fairly tried; he was proven guilty of grand larceny and other crimes." he paused dramatically. "the sentence of the people's court is death through hanging by the neck. it will be executed here at once, with your approval. all who are in favor of the committee's action, will say 'aye.'" "aye! aye!" came a thunder of voices, mingled with a few desultory "noes." sheriff jack hayes rode up importantly on his prancing black charger. "in the name of the law i command this proceeding to cease." "in the name of what law?" mocked brannan, "the law you've been giving us for six months past?" a roar of laughter greeted this retort. the sheriff, red-faced, held up a hand for silence. "i demand the prisoner," he shouted. instantly there was a quiet order. fifty men in soldierly formation surrounded jenkins. "take him, then," a voice said pleasantly. it was william coleman's. the guards of the forward ranks threw back their cloaks, revealing a score of business-like short-barrelled shotguns. before this show of force, the gallant hayes retreated, baffled. he was a former texan ranger, fearless to a fault; but he was wise enough to know when he was beaten. "i've orders not to shoot," he said, "but i warn you that all who participate in this man's hanging will be liable for murder." again came brannan's sneer. "if we're as safe as the last hundred men that took human life in this town, we've nothing to fear." again a chorus of derision. the sheriff turned, outraged, on his tormentor. "you shall hear from me, sir," he said indignantly, and wheeling his horse, he rode off. "string him up on the flagpole," suggested a bystander. but this was cried down with indignation. several members who had been investigating now advanced with the recommendation that the hanging take place at the south-end of the old custom house. "we can throw the rope over a beam," cried a tall man. he was one of those who had pursued and caught jenkins on the bay. now he seized the rope and called, "come on, boys." there was a rush toward the southwest corner of the plaza, so sudden that the hapless prisoner was jerked off his feet and dragged over the ground. when the improvised gallows was reached he was half strangled, could not stand. several men supported him while others tossed the rope across the beam. then, with a shout, he was jerked from his feet into space. his dangling figure jerked convulsively for a time, hung limp. * * * * * after the inquest brannan met william coleman at vigilante headquarters. "they were very hostile," he declared; "the political gang is hot on our trail. they questioned me as to the names on our committee. i told them we went by numbers only," he laughed. "there have been threats, veiled and open," said coleman, soberly. "king has lost several good banking accounts and my business has fallen off noticeably. friends have advised me to quit the committee--or worse things might happen." brannan took a folded paper from his pocket; it was a printed scrawl unsigned, which read: "beware; or your house will be burned. we mean business." a newsboy hurried down the street crying an extra on the inquest. brannan snatched one from his hand and the two men perused it eagerly. the finding, couched in usual verbiage, recited the obvious facts that jenkins, alias simpson, perished by strangulation and that "an association of citizens styling themselves a committee of vigilance," was responsible. "eight of us are implicated, besides myself," said brannan finally, "they'll start proceedings probably at once." "and they'll have the courts to back their dirty work," added coleman, thoughtfully. "that will never do," his teeth shut with a little click. "i'm going to the _herald_ office." "what for?" asked brannan, quickly. "to publish the full list of names," coleman responded. "we're all in this together; no group must bear the brunt." "but," objected brannan, "is that wise?" "of course.... in union there is strength. these crooks will hesitate to fight two hundred leading citizens; if they know them all they can't pick out a few for persecution." "well, i'll go along," said brannan. "eh, what's that? what's happened now?" the monumental engine bell was tolling violently. coleman listened. "its not a fire," he declared, "it's the vigilante signal. we'll wait here." a man came running toward them from the bay. "they've captured james stuart," he shouted. "bludgeoned a captain on his ship but the man's wife held on to him and yelled till rescue came." "but stuart's in the auburn jail, awaiting execution for the murder of the sheriff," coleman said bewildered. "no," cried the man, "this is the real one. the other's tom berdue, his double." "then there'll be another hanging," coleman muttered. chapter xxxv the people and the law frightened, desperate, angered by the usurpation of their power, varied forces combined in opposition to the vigilance committee. political office-holders, good and bad, were naturally arrayed against it, and for the first time made a common cause. among the politicians were many men of brains, especially those affiliated with the "chivalry" faction, as it was known--southern men whose object it was to introduce slavery into california. these were fiery, fearless, eloquent and quick at stratagem. there was also broderick's tammany organization, an almost perfect political machine, though as yet in the formative stage. there was the tacit union of the underworld; gamblers, thieves, plug-uglies, servitors of or parasites upon the stronger factions. each and all they feared and hated this new order of the vigilantes. coleman's scheme of publishing the names of the entire committee was carried out after a meeting of the executive committee. it had the effect of taking the wind out of their opponents' sails for a time. but it also robbed committee members of a certain security. in a dozen dark and devious ways the vigilantes were harassed, opposed; windows of shops were broken; men returning to their homes were set upon from ambush; long-standing business accounts were diverted or withdrawn. even socially the feud was felt. for the southerners were more or less the arbiters of society. wives of vigilante members were struck from invitation lists in important affairs. whispers came to them that if their husbands were persuaded to withdraw, all would be well. a few, indeed, did hand their resignations to the committee, but more set their names with eagerness upon its roster. the hanging of james stuart was impressive and conducted with extreme decorum. stuart, tried before twelve regularly impaneled talesmen and defended by an advocate, cut matters short by a voluntary confession of his crimes. in fact, he boasted of them with a curious pride. arson, murder, robbery, he admitted with a lavishness which first aroused a doubt as to his sanity and truth, but when in many of the cases he recited details which were later verified, all doubt as to his evil triumphs vanished. on the morning of july he was sentenced. in the afternoon his body swung from a waterfront derrick at battery and market streets. "get it over with," he urged his executioners, "this 'ere's damned tiresome business for a gentleman." he begged a "quid o' terbacker" from one of the guards and chewed upon it stolidly until the noose tightened about his neck. he did not struggle much. a vagrant wind blew off his hat and gently stirred his long and wavy hair. when benito next saw broderick he asked the latter anxiously if all were well with him. the latter answered with a wry smile, "i suppose so. i have not been ordered to leave town so far." "you've remembered what we told you--alice and i?" "yes," said broderick, "and it was good advice. tell your wife for me that woman's intuition sometimes sees more clearly than man's cunning.... it is nearer god and truth," he added, softly. "i shall tell her that. 'twill please her," benito replied. "you must come to see us soon." brannan joined them rather anxiously and drew benito aside with a brusque apology. "do you know that governor mcdougall has issued a proclamation condemning the vigilance committee?... i happen to know that broderick inspired this." he gave a covert glance over his shoulder, but the lieutenant-governor had wandered off. "so far he's taken no part against us. and we've left him alone. now we shall strike back." "i shall advise against it," windham objected. "dave is honest. he's played fair." "if you think we're going to let this pass, you're quite mistaken," brannan answered, hotly. "why, its not long ago that governor mcdougall came to our committee room and commended our work. said he hoped we'd go on." "exactly," said benito, "in the presence of witnesses. let us see if king and coleman are inside. i have a plan." they found their tall and quiet leader with james king of william and half a dozen others already in session. brannan, in fiery anger, read the governor's proclamation. there was silence when he finished. possibly a shade of consternation. "windham's got a scheme to answer him," said brannan. that day the _evening picayune_ printed the committee's defn. it was as follows: san francisco, aug. , . "we, the undersigned, do hereby aver that governor mcdougall asked to be introduced to the executive committee of the committee of vigilance, which was allowed and hour fixed. the governor, upon being introduced, states that he approved of the acts of the committee and that much good had taken place. he hoped they would go on and endeavor to act in concert with the authorities, and in case any judge was guilty of mal-administration to hang him and he would appoint others." to this was appended the names of reputable citizens--men whose statements no one doubted. it was generally conceded, with a laugh, that governor mcdougall's private opinion differed from his sense of public duty. that afternoon representatives of the committee met an incoming vessel and examined the credentials of all passengers. several of these not proving up to standard, they were denied admittance to the port. the outraged captain blustered and refused to take them back to sydney. but in the end he agreed. there was nothing else to do. a guard was placed on the non-desirables and maintained until the vessel cleared--until the pilot boat returned in fact. san francisco applauded. but all the laurels were not with the committee. on thursday morning, august , sheriff hayes surprised vigilante headquarters at dawn and captured samuel whitaker and robert mckenzie both convicted of murder by the committee and sentenced to hang. the city government was much elated but the victory was short. for, on the following sunday, vigilantes gained an entrance to the jail and took their prisoners back without a struggle. * * * * * broderick and windham, en route to the latter's ranch that afternoon, heard the monumental bell toll slowly, solemnly. "what's up?" asked broderick, startled. "it means," benito answered, "that the vigilance committee still rules. two more scoundrels have been punished." chapter xxxvi fevers of finance four years had passed since the vigilance committee ceased active labors. some said they preserved a tacit organization; theirs was still a name to conjure with among evil doers, but san francisco, grown into a city of some , , was more dignified and subtle in its wickedness. politics continued notoriously bad. comedians in the new metropolitan theatre made jokes about ballot-boxes said to have false bottoms, and public officials who had taken their degrees in "political economy" at sing sing. "honest harry" meiggs and his brother, the newly-elected city controller, had sailed away on the yacht "american," leaving behind them an unpaid-for -foot wharf and close to a million in debts; forged city warrants and promissory notes were held by practically every large business house in san francisco. it was concerning this urbane and gifted prince of swindlers that adrian stanley talked with william sherman, manager of the banking house of turner, lucas & company. sherman, once a lieutenant in the united states army, had returned, after an eastern trip, as a civilian financier. in behalf of st. louis employers, he had purchased of james lick a lot at jackson and montgomery streets, erecting thereon a $ , fire-proof building. the bank occupied the lower floor; a number of professional men had their offices on the second floor; on the third james p. casey, supervisor, journalist and politician, maintained the offices of _the sunday times_. he passed the two men as they stood in front of the bank and shouted a boisterous "hello." adrian, ever courteous and good-natured, responded with a wave of the hand while sherman, brusk and curt, as a habit of nature and military training, vouchsafed him a short nod. "i have small use for that fellow," he remarked to stanley, "even less than i had for meiggs." the other had something impressive about him, something almost napoleonic, in spite of his dishonesty. if business had maintained the upward trend of ' and ' , meiggs would have been a millionaire and people would have honored him--" "you never trusted 'honest harry,' did you?" stanley asked. "no," said sherman, "not for the amount he asked. i was the only banker here that didn't break his neck to give the fellow credit. i rather liked him, though. but this fellow upstairs," he snapped his fingers, "some day i shall order him out of my building." "why?" asked adrian curiously. "because of his--" "his alleged prison record?" sherman finished. "no. for many a good man's served his term." he shrugged. "i can't just tell you why i feel like that toward jim casey. he's no worse than the rest of his clan; the city government's rotten straight through except for a few honest judges and they're helpless before the quibbles and intricacies of law." he took the long black cigar from his mouth and regarded adrian with his curious concentration--that force of purpose which was one day to list william tecumseh sherman among the world's great generals. "there's going to be the devil to pay, my young friend," he said, frowning, "between corruption, sectional feuds and business depression ..." "what about the report that page, bacon & company's st. louis house has failed?" said stanley in an undertone. sherman eyed him sharply. "where'd you hear that?" he shot back. and then, ere adrian could answer, he inquired, "have you much on deposit there?" "ten thousand," replied the young contractor. for a moment sherman remained silent, twisting the long cigar about between grim lips. then he put a hand abruptly on the other's shoulder. "take it out," he said, "today." * * * * * somewhat later sherman was summoned to a conference with henry haight, manager of the banking house in question, and young page of the sacramento branch. he emerged with a clouded brow, puffing furiously at his cigar. as he passed through the bank, sherman noted an unusual line of men, interspersed with an occasional woman, waiting their turn for the paying teller's service. the man was counting out gold and silver feverishly. there was whispering among the file of waiters. to him the thing had an ominous look. he stopped for a moment at the bank of adams & company. there also the number of people withdrawing deposits was unusual; the receiving teller's window was neglected. james king of william, who, since the closing of his own bank, had been adams & company's manager, came forward and drew sherman aside. "what do you think of the prospect?" he asked. "few of us can stand a run. we're perfectly solvent, but if this excitement spreads it means ruin for the house--for every bank in town perhaps." "haight's drunk," said sherman tersely. "page is silly with fear. i went over to help them ... but it's no use. they're gone." king's bearded face was pale, but his eyes were steady. "i'm sorry," he said, "that makes it harder for us all." he smiled mirthlessly. "you're better off than we ... with our country branches. if anything goes wrong here, our agents will be blamed. there may be bloodshed even." he held out his hand and sherman gripped it. "good luck," the latter said, "we'll stand together, far as possible." as sherman left the second counting house, he noted how the line had grown before the paying teller's window. it extended now outside the door. at palmer, cook & company's and naglee's banks it was the same. the human queue, which issued from the doors of page, bacon & company, now reached around the corner. it was growing turbulent. women tried to force themselves between the close-packed file and were repelled. one of these was sherman's washwoman. she clutched his coat-tails as he hurried by. "my god, sir!" she wailed, "they've my money; the savings of years. and now they say it's gone ... that haight's gambled ... spent it on women ..." sherman tried to quiet her and was beset by others. "how's your bank?" people shouted at him. "how's lucas-turner?" "sound as a dollar," he told them; "come and get your money when you please; it's there waiting for you." but his heart was heavy with foreboding as he entered his own bank. here the line was somewhat shorter than at most of the others, but still sufficiently long to cause dismay. sherman passed behind the counter and conferred with his assistant. "we close in half an hour--at three o'clock," he said. "that will give us a breathing spell. tomorrow comes the test. by then the town will know of page-bacon's failure ..." he beckoned to the head accountant, who came hurriedly, a quill pen bobbing behind his ear, his tall figure bent from stooping over ledgers. "how much will we require to withstand a day's run?" sherman flung the question at him like a thunderbolt. and almost as though the impact of some verbal missile had deprived him of speech, the man stopped, stammering. "i--i--i think, s-s-sir," he gulped and recovered himself with an effort, "f-forty thousand will do it." swiftly sherman turned toward the door. "where are you going?" the assistant called. "to get forty thousand dollars--if i have to turn highwayman," sherman flung over his shoulder. chapter xxxvii "give us our savings!" as he left the bank sherman cast over in his mind with desperate swiftness the list of men to whom he could go for financial support. turner, lucas & co. had loaned captain folsom $ , on his two late ventures, the metropolitan theatre and the tehama house. both, under normal conditions, would have made their promoter rich. but nothing was at par these days. sherman wondered uneasily whether folsom could help. he was not a man to save money, and the banker, who made it his business to know what borrowers of the bank's money did, knew that folsom liked gambling, frequented places where the stakes ran high. of late he had met heavy losses. however, he was a big man, sherman reasoned; he should have large resources. both of them were former army officers. that should prove a bond between them. at captain folsom's house an old negro servant opened the door, his wrinkled black face anxious. "mars joe, he ain't right well dis evenin'," he said, evasively, but when sherman persisted he was ushered into a back room where sat the redoubtable captain, all the fierceness of his burnside whiskers, the austerity of his west point manner, melted in the indignity of sneezes and wheezes. sherman looked at him in frank dismay. "heavens, man," he said, "i'm sorry to intrude on you in this condition ... but my errand won't wait...." "what do you want, bill sherman?" the sick man glowered. "money," sherman answered crisply. "you know, perhaps, that page, bacon & co. have failed. everyone's afraid of his deposits. we've got to have cash tomorrow. how about your--?" with a cry of irritation folsom threw up his hands. "money! god almighty! sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town. my agent, van winkle, has walked his legs off, talked himself hoarse.... he can't get anything. it's impossible." "then you can do nothing?" for answer folsom broke into a torrent of sneezes and coughs. the old negro came running. sherman shook his head and left the room. there remained major hammond, collector of the port, two of whose notes the bank held. he and sherman were not over-friendly; yet hammond must be asked. sherman made his way to the customs house briskly, stated his business to the doorkeeper and sat down in an anteroom to await hammond's pleasure. there he cooled his heels for a considerable period before he was summoned to an inner office. "well, sherman," he asked, not ungraciously, "what can i do for you?" "you can take up one of your notes with our bank," replied sherman, without ado. "we need cash desperately." "'fraid of a run, eh?" "not afraid, no. but preparing for it." the other nodded his approval. "quite right! quite right!" he said with unexpected warmth.... "so you'd like me to cash one of my notes, mr. sherman?" "why, yes, sir, if it wouldn't inconvenience you," the banker answered, "it would aid us greatly." he looked into the collector's keen, inquiring eyes, then added: "i may as well say quite frankly, mr. hammond, you're our last resort." "then why"--the other's smile was whimsical--"then why not both of my notes?" [illustration: there sat the redoubtable captain, all the ... austerity of his west point manner melted in the indignity of sneezes and wheezes.... "money! god almighty! sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town."] "do you mean it?" sherman asked breathlessly. by way of answer hammond drew a book of printed forms toward him. calmly, leisurely, he wrote several lines; tore a long, narrow strip from the book and handed it to sherman. "here's my check for $ , on the united states treasurer. he will cash it in gold. never mind, don't thank me, this is purely business. i know what's up, young man. i can't see your people go under. good day!" * * * * * ten o'clock on the following morning. hundreds of people lined up before the doors of san francisco banks. men of all classes; top-hatted merchants rubbed elbows with red-shirted miners, irish laborers smoking clay pipes, mexican vaqueros, roustabouts from the docks, gamblers, bartenders, lawyers, doctors, politicians. here and there one saw women with children in their arms or holding them by the hand. they pressed shoulder to shoulder. those at the head had their noses almost against the glass. inside of the counting houses men with pale, harried faces stood behind their grilled iron wickets, wondering how long the pile of silver and gold within their reach would stay that clamorous human tide. doors swung back and it swept in, a great wave, almost overturning the janitors. the cashier and assistant manager of lucas & co. watched nervously, the former now and then running his fingers through his sparse hair; the assistant manager at intervals retired to a back room where he consulted a decanter and a tall glass. frequently he summoned the bookkeeper. "how's the money lasting?" he would inquire almost in a whisper, and the other answered, "still holding out." but now the assistant manager saw that the cash on hand was almost exhausted. he was afraid to ask the bookkeeper any more questions. "where the devil's sherman?" he snapped at the cashier. that official started. "why--er--how should i know?... he was hunting major snyder this morning. he had a check from hammond, the collector of the port." "damnation!" cried the assistant manager. "sherman ought to be here. he ought to talk to these people. they think he's skipped." he broke off hurriedly as the assistant teller came up trembling. "we'll have to close in ten minutes," he said. "there's less than $ left." his mouth twitched. "i don't know what we'll do, sir, when the time comes ... and god only knows what they'll do." "good god! what's that?" some new commotion was apparent at the entrance of the bank. the assistant teller grasped his pistol. the line of waiting men and women turned, for the moment forgetting their quest. william sherman, attended by two armed constables, entered the door. between them the trio carried two large canvas bags, each bearing the imprint of the united states treasury. sherman halted just inside the door. "forty thousand in gold, boys," he cried, "and plenty more where it came from. turner, lucas & co. honors every draft." his face pressed eagerly against the lattice of the paying teller's cage stood a little frenchman. his hat had fallen from his pomaded hair; his waxed moustache bristled. "do you mean you have ze monnaie? all ze monnaie zat we wish?" he asked gesticulating excitedly with his hands. "sure," returned the teller. sherman and his aids were carrying the two sacks into the back of the cage, depositing them on a marble shelf. "see!" the teller turned one over and a tinkling flood of shining golden disks poured forth. "ah, bon! bon!" shrieked the little frenchman, dancing up and down upon his high-heeled boots. "if you have ze monnaie, zen i do not want heem." he broke out of the line, happily humming a chanson. half a dozen people laughed. "that's what i say," shouted other voices. "we don't want our money if it's safe." chapter xxxviii king starts the bulletin after several months of business convalescence, san francisco found itself recovered from the financial chaos of february. many well-known men and institutions had not stood the ordeal; some went down the pathway of dishonor to an irretrievable inconsequence and destitution; others profited by their misfortunes and still others, with the dauntless spirit of the time, turned halted energies or aspirations to fresh account. among them was james king of william. the name of his father, william king, was, by an odd necessity, perpetuated with his own. there were many james kings and to avert confusion of identities the paternal cognomen was added. in the bank exchange saloon, where the city's powers in commerce, journalism and finance were wont to congregate, king met, on a rainy autumn afternoon, r.d. sinton and jim nesbitt. they hailed him jovially. seated in the corner of an anteroom they drank to one another's health and listened to the raindrops pattering against a window. "well, how is the auction business, bob?" asked king. "not so bad," the junior partner of selover and sinton answered. "better probably than the newspaper or banking line.... here's poor jim, the keenest paragrapher in san francisco, out of work since the _chronicle's_ gone to the wall. and here you are, cleaned out by adams & company's careless or dishonest work--i don't know which." "let's not discuss it," king said broodingly. "you know they wouldn't let me supervise the distribution of the money. and you know what my demand for an accounting brought ..." "abuse and slander from that boughten sheet, the alta--yes," retorted sinton. "well, you have the consolation of knowing that no honest man believes it." king was silent for a moment. then his clenched hand fell upon the table. "by the eternal!" he exclaimed, with a sudden upthrust of the chin. "this town must have a decent paper. do you know that there are seven murderers in our jail? no one will convict them and no editor has the courage to expose our rotten politics." he glanced quickly from one to the other. "are you with me, boys? will you help me to start a journal that will run our crooked officials and their hired plug-uglies out of town?... sinton, last week you asked my advice about a good investment ... nesbitt, you're looking for a berth. well, here's an answer to you both. let's start a paper--call it, say, the evening bulletin." nesbitt's eyes glowed. "by the lord harry! it's an inspiration, king," he said and beckoned to a waiter to refill their glasses. "i know enough about our state and city politics to make a lot of well-known citizens hunt cover--" sinton smiled at the journalist's ardor. "d'ye mean it, james?" he asked. "every word," replied the banker. "but i can't help much financially," he added. "my creditors got everything." "you mean the king's treasury is empty," said sinton, laughing at his pun. "well, well, we might make it go, boys. i'm not a millionaire, but never mind. how much would it take?" nesbitt answered with swift eagerness. "i know a print shop we can buy for a song; it's on merchant street near montgomery. small but comfortable, and just the thing. $ down would start us." sinton pulled at his chin a moment. "go ahead then," he urged. "i'll loan you the money." king's hand shot out to grasp the auctioneer's. "there ought to be , decent citizens in san francisco who'll give us their support. let's go and see the owner of that print-shop now." * * * * * on the afternoon of october th, , a tiny four-page paper made its first appearance on the streets of san francisco. the first page, with its queer jumble of news and advertisements, had a novel and attractive appearance quite apart from the usual standards of typographical make-up. people laughed at king's naive editorial apology for entering an overcrowded and none-too-prosperous field; they nodded approvingly over his promise to tell the truth with fearless impartiality. william coleman was among the first day's visitors. "good luck to you, james king of william," he held forth a friendly hand. the editor, turning, rose and grasped it with sincere cordiality. they stood regarding each other silently. it seemed almost as though a prescience of what was to come lay in that curious communion of heart and mind. "going after the crooks, i understand," said coleman finally. "big and little," king retorted. "that's all the paper's for. i don't expect to make money." "how about the southerners, the chivalry party? they'll challenge you to duels daily." "damn the 'chivs'." king answered. "i shall ignore their challenges. this duelling habit is absurd. it's grandstand politics; opera bouffe. they even advertise their meetings and the boatmen run excursions to some point where two idiots shoot wildly at each other for some fancied slight. no, coleman, i'm not that particular kind of a fool." "well, you'd better carry a derringer," the other warned. "there are broderick's plug-uglies. they won't wait to send a challenge." king gave him an odd look. "i have feeling that one cannot change his destiny," he said. "if i am to be killed--then so be it ... kismet, as the orientals say. but meanwhile i'll fight corruption. i'll call men by name and shout their sins from the housetops. we'll wake up the town, or my name isn't james king of william.... won't we, james?" he clapped a hand on nesbitt's shoulder. the other turned half irritably. "what? oh, yes. to be sure," he answered and resumed his writing. charles gerberding, who held the title of publisher in the new enterprise, looked up from his ledger. "if this keeps up," he said, smiling and rubbing his hands, "we can enlarge the paper in a month or so." he shut the volume with a slam and lighted a cigar. "hello, coleman, how are the vigilants? i'm told you still preserve a tacit organization." "more of the spirit than substance," said coleman smiling. "i hope we'll not need to revive it." "not so sure," responded gerberding. "this man here," the cigar was waved in king's direction, "this editor of ours is going to set the town afire." coleman did not answer. he went out ... wondering whether isaac bluxome was in town. bluxome had served as secretary for the vigilance committee of ' . chapter xxxix richardson and cora business went on with at least a surface calm of new stability. politics brought forth occasional eruptions, mostly twixt the abolitionists and slavery parties. each claimed california. broderick more than ever held the reins of state and city government. but the latter proved a fractious steed. for all his dauntless vigor and political astuteness, destiny as yet withheld from broderick the coveted united states senatorship. at best he had achieved an impasse, a dog-in-the-manger victory. by preventing the election of a rival he had gained little and incurred much censure for depriving the state of national representation. benito and alice tried to rouse him from a fit of moodiness as he dined with them one evening in november. lately he had made a frequent, always-welcome third at their evening meal. "cheer up, dave," benito rallied, as he raised a glass of wine. "we'll be reading your speeches in the washington reports before many years have gone by. come," he said to his wife, "let's drink to the future of 'the gentleman from california.'" broderick smiled; his glass clinked against those of his two companions. he gazed a moment musingly at both; then quaffed his liquor with a touch of haste. alice windham's eyes were troubled. "david," she was hesitant, yet earnest. "it is really necessary to associate with people such as--well, you know ... james casey, billy mulligan, mcgowan?" he answered her with a vehemence close to anger. "politicians cannot choose their weapons. they must fight fire with fire ... or lose." for a moment the talk lagged. then benito, with his sprightly gossip, sent it rolling on. "sherman has turned jim casey and his _sunday times_ out of the turner-lucas building ... for attacking the banks." "he threatened to, some time ago," said broderick.... "how goes it with your law, benito?" "well enough," said windham, as his wife rose. she left them to attend the child, which had awakened. broderick stared after her, a brooding hunger in his eyes. presently, he, too, arose, and despite benito's urging, departed. it was dusk when he reached the blue wing saloon, where "judge" mcgowan awaited him. a burly, forceful man, with bushy eyebrows, a walrus moustache perpetually tobacco-stained, and an air of ruthless command. "where've you been?" he asked, impatiently, but did not wait for an answer. "casey's in trouble again." "what's the matter now?" asked broderick with a swift, half anxious uplift of the chin. "oh, not his fault exactly," said the other. "five of gwin's men attacked him. tried to kill him probably. but jim's a tough lad. he laid one out, took his pistol and shot another. the rest vamoosed. jim's in jail ... for disturbing the peace," he added, chuckling grimly. "well, billy mulligan will let him out," responded broderick. "if not, see scannell. do you need bail?" he reached into his pocket and took out a roll of banknotes. "you'll attend to it, ned?" he asked hurriedly. "yes, yes," returned the tall man. "that's all right.... i wish it hadn't happened, though. we're none too strong ... with seven murderers in the jail.... they'll bring up casey's prison record at the examination. see if they don't." broderick turned away. at the bar he greeted "general" billy richardson, deputy united states marshal. they had a drink together. "james king of william's crusading with the bulletin," said richardson, "he threatens to run all the crooks out of town. it's making a good deal of talk." "but king's not a newspaper man," retorted broderick, puzzled. "he's a banker. how's he going to run a journal? that takes money--experience." "quien sabe?" richardson vouchsafed. "sinton of selover and sinton's his financial backer. jim nesbitt helps with the writing. you know nesbitt, don't you? slings a wicked pen. but king writes his own editorials i'm told. he's got a big job on his hands--cleaning up san francisco.... you ought to know, dave broderick," he laughed meaningly. "here's to him, anyhow." "don't know if i should drink to that or not," broderick ruminated, smiling. "may get after me. i'll take a chance, though. king's straight. i can always get on with a straight man." he raised his glass. a friend of richardson's came up. broderick did not know him, but he recognized at his side the well-groomed figure of charles cora, gambler and dandy. "wancha t'meet charley," said the introducer, unsteadily, to richardson. "bes' li'l man ever lived." richardson held out his hand a bit reluctantly. cora's sort were somewhat declassé. "have a drink?" he invited. broderick left them together. later he saw richardson quit the gambler's presence abruptly. the other took a few steps after him, then fell back with a shrug. broderick heard the deputy-marshal mutter: "too damned fresh; positively insulting," but he thought little of it. richardson was apt to grow choleric while drinking. he often fancied himself insulted, but usually forgot it quickly. so broderick merely smiled. on the following day he chanced again upon richardson, who, to broderick's astonishment, still brooded over cora's "impudent remark." he did not seem to know just what it was, but the offensive flavor of it lingered. "wonder where he is?" he kept repeating. "deserves to be thrashed. confound his impertinence. may do it yet." he was drinking. broderick glanced apprehensively about. the gambler's sleek form was not in evidence. mcgowan came in with casey and mulligan. casey, too, had been drinking. he was in an evil humor, his usually jovial face sullen and vengeful. "damn the newspapers," he exploded. "they've printed the sing sing yarn on me again. it was brought out at the arraignment." "confound it, broderick, haven't you any influence at all? can't you keep such stuff out of type?" "sometimes--if i know about it in advance. i'm sorry, jim." "they tell me king of william's going to print it in the _bulletin_. better see him." "no use," put in mcgowan, "that fellow's so straight (he sneered the word) that he leans over backward. somebody'll fix him though ... you'll see." the trio wandered off to broderick's relief, making their exit just as cora entered the door. the gambler approached richardson. they had a drink together, some rather loud, conversation. broderick feared it would develop into a quarrel, but evidently they patched a truce between them, for soon they went out arm in arm. his thought turned to alice windham. in a kind of reverie he left the blue wing, walking without sense of direction. it was getting dark; a chilling touch of fog was in the air--almost, it seemed to broderick, like a premonition. on clay, near montgomery, he passed two men standing in a doorway; it was too dark to see their faces. some impulse bade him stop, but he repressed it. later he heard a shot, men running. but his mood was not for street brawls. he went on. chapter xl the storm gathers it was nesbitt who told broderick of the murder. nesbitt, of whom richardson had said the night before, "he slings a wicked pen." "my god, jim, this is awful!" broderick exclaimed. "you're sure there's no mistake ... i saw the two of them go out arm in arm." "mistake! i wish it were," cried nesbitt angrily. "no, poor billy richardson is dead. cora's in jail.... they say cora laughed when he went to prison with scannell.... scannell and mulligan!" he spat out the words with a savage distaste. "let me show you something, dave. a reporter from the new york _express_ was out here gathering data--crime statistics for the year. he showed it to me. listen to this: four hundred and eighty-nine murders in california during ten months. six executions by sheriffs, forty-six hanged by mobs; that makes fifty-two in all." he tapped the paper with his lean forefinger. "probably two hundred of these killings were local.... and in the entire history of this city there's been exactly one legal execution. that was in ." broderick shook his head. "what are you going to do with that stuff?" asked broderick. "publish it in the _bulletin_," returned nesbitt decisively. "we're going to stir things up." they walked along together, broderick's head bent in thought. everywhere people were discussing the evening's tragedy. more than once "judge lynch's" name was mentioned threateningly. about the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide. some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats against cora. as broderick and nesbitt passed the door, a handsome and richly clad woman emerged. trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic smoothness of her cheeks. her eyes looked frantic. but she proceeded calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. the driver whipped his horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of whom shouted epithets after it. "that was belle cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town," nesbitt volunteered. "yes," said broderick musingly, "she seemes to take it hard." "she's mad about the fellow," nesbitt waved a parting salutation and walked toward the bulletin office. broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he had passed on clay street where the killing had taken place. perchance if he had stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted. nobody seemed to know just how it came about. the thing was most unfortunate politically. king would stir up a hornet's nest of public opinion. broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired. his sleep was fitful. he dreamed that alice windham and sheriff scannell were fighting for his soul. in the morning he met benito on the plaza and the two encountered colonel e.d. baker. "i hear you're cora's counsel," said benito with a touch of disapproval. baker looked at the young man over his spectacles. he was a big impressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries. he commanded large fees. it was to broderick rather than benito that he made reply. "that belle woman--she calls herself mrs. cora--came to me last night. by the lord, she melted my heart. she got down on her knees. how she loves that gambler!... well, i promised to defend him, confound it." he passed on shaking his head. "didn't mention what his fee was," broderick spoke cynically. "i'm informed he tried to give it back to her this morning," said benito. "but she wouldn't take it. made a scene and held him to his honor." he laughed. * * * * * cora's trial dragged itself into the following january on the slow feet of countless technicalities. every legal subterfuge was exhausted by the quartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by belle cora's questionable fortune but unquestioned affection. the trial proved a feast of oratory, a mass of contradictory evidence. before it began a juror named jacob mayer accused l. sokalasky with offering him a bribe. sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge. and there it ended, save that thenceforth the "twelve good men and true" were exiled even from their families by the order of judge hagar. none the less it seemed quite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable had been locked after the horses were stolen. on january the cora jury announced its inability to agree. the trial ended minus a conviction. * * * * * ned mcgowan, james p. casey, sheriff scannell and his aid, billy mulligan, had frequent conferences in the offices of casey's _sunday times_. broderick held more or less aloof from his political subordinates these troublous days. but charley duane, former chief engineer of the fire department, was their frequent consort. the _sunday times_ concentrated its fire chiefly on james king of william. it was his biting, unstudied verbiage that struck "the federal brigade" on the raw. early in may the _times_ accused thomas king, the _bulletin_ editor's brother, of scheming by illegal means to gain the office that richardson's death had left vacant. to this imputation, the _bulletin_ made a sharp reply. among other items calculated to enrage his foe appeared the following: "the fact that casey has been an inmate of sing sing prison in new york is no offense against the laws of this state; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot box, as elected to the board of supervisors from a district where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification why mr. bagley should shoot casey, however richly he may deserve having his neck stretched for such fraud upon the people...." there was more, but this was all that casey read. he tore the paper into shreds and stamped upon it, inarticulate with fury. when at last he found his tongue a flood of obscenities flowed. he drew a pistol from his pocket; brandishing the weapon, he reached for the door knob. but doane, who had brought the paper, caught his arm. "don't be a fool. put that pistol away," he warned. "the public's crazy-mad about the cora verdict. they won't stand for shooting king." "listen," said mcgowan, craftily, "go up there and protest like a gentleman. try to make the ---- insult you in the presence of a witness.... afterward--we'll see." chapter xli the fateful encounter james king of william sat with his back toward the door when casey, still a-quiver with rage but endeavoring to control himself, entered the bulletin office. he stumbled over the doorsill. king turned. when he saw who the intruder was, he laid down a handful of proofs and rose. casey glared at him. "what do you mean," cried the politician, trying to speak calmly, "by publishing that article about me in the bulletin?" king transfixed him with accusing eyes. "about the ballot-box stuffing ... or your sing sing record, casey?" he inquired. "you--you know well enough," blustered casey. "it's an outrage to rake up a man's past.... a fellow's sensitive about such things." he shook a fist at king. "if necessary, i'll defend myself." "very well," responded king. "that's your prerogative. you've a paper of your own.... and now get out of here," he added curtly. "never show your face inside this door again." later at the bank exchange mcgowan found the supervisor cursing as he raised a glass of whiskey with a trembling hand. "well, did you make him insult you?" "damn him," was all casey could answer. "damn him. damn him." he tossed the raw liquor down his throat and poured another drink. mcgowan smiled. "you can do that till doomsday and it won't hurt him." mcgowan's voice rang with contempt. "is that all you can do? are you afraid--" casey interrupted fiercely. "i'm not afraid. you know it. i'll get even." "how?" "never mind. you'll see," the politician muttered darkly. "you're a drunken fool," remarked mcgowan. "you've no chance with king. he's twice as big as you. he carries a derringer. and he shoots straight. listen to me." he dragged the other to a corner of the room; they sat there for at least an hour arguing, drinking. * * * * * james king of william watched casey's exit from the bulletin with a smile. he recalled his wife's warning that morning as he left his home, "look out for casey, james." "pooh, charlotte," he had reassured her. "i've far worse enemies than that prison rat." she had merely smiled, smoothed a wrinkle from his coat and kissed him, a worried look in her eyes. then the children had gathered round him. little annie wanted a toy piano, joe some crayons for his work at school. remembering this, king seized a desk pad, wrote on it some words of memoranda. then he straightway forgot casey in the detail of work. when the bulletin was off the press, the pad, with its written inscription, caught his eye and he shoved it into a side pocket. "well, i'm going home," he said to nesbitt. "must buy a few things for the children." nesbitt looked up half absently from his writing. "afternoon," he greeted. "better take your derringer. don't know what might happen." king shrugged himself into the talma cape, which he usually wore on the streets. it is doubtful if he heard nesbitt's warning. with a nod to gerberding he sauntered slowly out, enjoying the mellow spring sunshine, filtering now and then through wisps of fog. as he turned into montgomery street he almost collided with benito windham, who, brief case under arm, was striding rapidly southward. they exchanged a cordial greeting. benito looked after the tall courtly figure crossing montgomery street diagonally toward a big express wagon. benito thought he could discern a quick nervous movement back of it. a man stepped out, directly across king's path. he was james p. casey, tremendously excited. his right hand shook violently. his hat was on one side of his head; he was apparently intoxicated. king did not notice him until they were almost abreast. casey's arm was outstretched, pointed at king's breast. "draw and defend yourself," he said loudly. he shut his eyes and a little puff of smoke seemed to spring from the ends of his fingers, followed in the fraction of a second by a sharp report. benito ran with all his might toward the men. he did not think that king was hit, for the editor turned toward the pacific express office. on the threshold he stumbled. a clerk ran out and caught the tall figure as it collapsed. benito looked about for king's assailant. he saw a group of men on washington street, but was unable to distinguish casey among them, though mcgowan's lanky form was visible. at benito's feet lay a pocket-memorandum marked with a splash of red. the young man picked it up and read: "piano for annie. "crayons for joe. "candy--" a man with a medicine case shouldered his way in. he was dr. hammond. "get a basin," he ordered, "some warm water." he unbuttoned the wounded man's coat, looking grave as he saw the spreading red stain on his shirt. "will he get well, doctor?" shouted a dozen voices. [illustration: "draw and defend yourself," he said loudly. he shut his eyes and a little puff of smoke seemed to spring from the end of his fingers, followed ... by a sharp report.] "can't tell ... 'fraid not," hammond answered, and a sympathetic silence followed his announcement. someone cried: "where's casey?" word came that casey was in jail. "he gave himself up," a man said. presently there was a sound of carriage wheels. a white-faced woman made her way to the express office. the crowd stood with bared heads as it opened a way for her passage. the woman was mrs. king. they heard her sobbing. gerberding and nesbitt came and made their exit after a short stay. tears ran down nesbitt's cheeks. "i told him so," they heard him muttering, "i told him so.... he wouldn't listen.... didn't take his pistol." last of all came william coleman, lips pressed tightly together, eyes hard. he remained only a few moments. benito hailed him as he emerged from the express office. "any chance of recovery?" "very little." the tone was grim. "i hate to think of what may happen if he dies?" windham commented. "hell will break loose," coleman stated with conviction. "better come along, benito. i'm going to find ike bluxome. it's time we prepared." chapter xlii the committee organizes when benito rode up montgomery street next morning he saw a litter being carried out of the pacific express office. beside it, were mrs. king, dr. hammond and john sime. they walked very slowly and the crowd fell back on either side as the litter-bearers progressed. benito's heart stood still a moment. "is he--?" the question formed reluctantly upon his lips. but david broderick, standing by, reassured him. "no, not dead. thank heaven! they're taking him to more comfortable quarters. a room in the montgomery block. they've postponed the operation on the artery; as a last resort." "dave," said windham, seriously, "do you suppose you'll be blamed for this?" "good god, man! no," returned the other. "not even gwin would dare to lay this at my door. there's no politics in it. at least none of mine." "yet casey was one of your men. they'll say that." "let them," answered broderick angrily. "i've no more to do with it than you--nor coleman, who, they tell me, is forming another vigilance committee." "yes," said windham. "they're to meet at the old know nothing hall on sacramento street. i'm going there now." "well i'm bound for a talk with will sherman; he's been appointed head of the militia. just in time i should say. he'll be needed before order is restored." they shook hands. benito looked after his friend uneasily. broderick was on the wrong side, the young man thought; was taking an unwise tack. but no one could argue with broderick ... unless it were alice. they must have dave to dinner again. * * * * * the street in front of know nothing hall, a long two-story brick building was already crowded. one by one men were admitted--or rejected. now and then a man would fall out of the line muttering wrathfully. "they're taking mighty good care not to let any of scannell's friends get in," a man behind benito confided. "the sheriff's sent a dozen 'plants' this morning but bluxome weeds them out unfailingly." after a time benito found himself at the wicket, gazing into isaac bluxome's shrewd eyes. he was passed immediately with a smile of welcome and found himself in a large room of the "lodge" variety. there was a desk behind which sat william coleman and charles doane. about one hundred men moved about talking animatedly in groups and among these benito noted many of his fellows of the ' committee. presently coleman spoke. "gentlemen, it has been decided to reorganize the vigilance committee. mr. bluxome and i have assumed the initiative, without any idea of placing ourselves at the head of the organization. neither of us desire more than a chance to serve--in whatever capacity you may determine. we have prepared a form of oath, which i suggest shall be signed by each of us with his name and the number of his enrollment. afterward he shall be known by that number only." he read the oath: "i do solemnly swear to act with the vigilance committee and second and sustain in full all their actions as expressed through the executive committee." "that's good!" "that's the ticket!" affirmed a score of voices. coleman held up a quill pen invitingly, "who'll be first to sign?" "you, mr. coleman," said benito firmly, "you must be our chief." a cheer followed. coleman demurred but in vain. they would have no one else. so, at last he put his name upon the paper, adding after it "no. ." others came up and affixed their signatures: c.j. dempster, the post brothers, alfred rix, p.g. childs and so on. bluxome, relieved from his post, was no. . it proved in after days a potent numeral for it represented the secretarial seal on documents which spelled doom to evildoers; hope, law and order to an outraged populace. * * * * * meanwhile, mcgowan, scannell and his clan had not been idle. on the night of the shooting one hundred men proceeded to the pacific street wharf where the coliah and seabird were anchored. from each of these, by force of arms, but with a promise of return, they took a ship's cannon which they dragged by means of two long ropes, uphill to the county stronghold. * * * * * on thursday morning mayor van ness stalked into turner, lucas & company's bank and button-holed the manager. this was william t. sherman, late of the united states army. "sherman," said van ness excitedly, "is it true that you've been appointed major-general in charge of the second division of the california militia?" "it is," retorted sherman. his calm demeanor as he answered, without even looking up from the stock sheets which engrossed him, contrasted sharply with the fuming unrest of van ness. the latter now seized sherman's sleeve. "lay those down and come with me," he urged. "we need you instantly. armed mobs are organizing to destroy the jail and seize the city government. it's your duty, sir, your manifest duty--" "all right, mayor," sherman said, "i'll go along." he called a clerk and gave some orders. then he slipped the stock sheets into a drawer and took his hat from a peg. they strode along together, van ness gesturing and talking; sherman's head slightly bent as if in thought. now and then he asked a curt question. the crowd about the jail had dwindled to a few curiosity seekers. the center of public interest had shifted to know nothing hall where vigilantes were still enrolling. sherman and van ness found sheriff scannell, ned mcgowan, billy mulligan and the prisoner casey in vehement consultation. they welcomed the soldier and mayor with manifest relief. "i'm glad you came," said mulligan, "things look bad. there'll be hell poppin'--if that d---- fool dies." "if you are referring to mr. king, speak of him with respect." sherman's tone was like a whiplash. the soldier turned to scannell. "how many men have you? men on whom you can depend in a crisis?" scannell hesitated. "a hundred maybe ... but," he looked at sherman hopefully, "there's your militia. some of them served last night." "they've refused further service," said van ness. "i'm told that most of them have gone over to the vigilantes ... and taken their arms along." sherman stroked his chin. "this place is not impregnable by any means," he remarked. "the first thing we must do is to secure the buildings on each side." "too late," groaned scannell. "i tried to find lodgings for some of my guards at mrs. hutchinson's boarding house. she slammed the door in my face. i tried the other side and found that coleman and bluxome had an option on it. they've already sent men to guard both places." "then," sherman told them, "you cannot defend this jail against a well planned attack. perhaps they'll not resort to force," he added hopefully. "the governor's coming down to talk with coleman." chapter xliii governor johnson mediates on the second day after the shooting, governor j. neely johnson arrived on the evening boat. mayor van ness had sent him a panicky message, imploring him to drop all else and hasten to san francisco. the mayor and william k. garrison met him at the dock. they almost pushed the governor into a carriage which was driven hastily to the international hotel. in his room, behind closed doors, the governor spoke a trifle irritably: "what the devil's all this row about, van ness? the town seems quiet enough. you spoke of civil war." "coleman's organized another vigilance committee," garrison took it upon himself to answer. "you know how impulsive san franciscans are. they're in for anything. two thousand have already joined. they've bought all the arms in town except a few that sheriff scannell seized in the militia armories. scannell's sent out a hurry call for deputies--" "but," broke in the governor, incredulously, "you say coleman's doing this. i can't believe it. coleman's a good man, a quiet fellow. he's my friend. i'll go to him at once." he rose, but garrison, the politic, raised his hand. "let him come to you. summon him. the effect is much better." "as you say," acceded johnson with a smile. "send for coleman, with my compliments." he resumed his seat and picked up an evening bulletin, shaking his head. "poor king, i hear he's dying." "a dangerous man," remarked garrison as he left the room. "he is a lot less dangerous alive--than dead," the mayor shivered. "as a reformer he'd soon have ceased to interest the public. nobody interests them long. but as a martyr!" he threw up his hands. "god help san francisco!" they discussed the dangers of a public outbreak till a knock at the door interrupted them. it proved to be garrison, accompanied by the vigilante chief. "hello, coleman," the governor greeted, cordially. the two shook hands. "what's this i hear about your vigilante recrudescence?" he smote his hands together with a catechising manner. "what do you people want?" "we want peace," responded coleman. "and, to get it, you prepare for war. what do you expect to accomplish?" "what the vigilantes did in ' --" briefly and concisely he outlined the frightful condition of affairs in san francisco; the straining of public patience to its present breaking point. "now, governor," he said, impressively, "you've been called on by the mayor and a certain class to bring out the militia and put down this movement. i assure you it cannot be done. it's not the way to treat the question...." "what is the way, then?" johnson asked, aggressively. "allow us to clean our augean stables without more than a formal opposition from the state. issue your necessary proclamations to maintain the dignity of the law. but don't interfere with our work. we shall get through with it quickly--and be glad to quit, i promise you." he rose and johnson with him. suddenly the governor slapped the vigilante chief a rousing whack upon the shoulder. "go ahead, old boy! but hurry up. there is terrible opposition. terrific pressure." * * * * * turn verein hall that evening was a busy place. a dozen companies were drilling on the big gymnasium floor. men who had never shouldered guns were executing orders with an ardor and a concentration which concealed much awkwardness of unfamiliarity. the garb and condition of recruits were vividly diversified. doctor, teamster, lawyer, stevedore and banker, they were actuated by a common spirit, working through the manual of arms together, conscious of no caste. benito and adrian, who had come in late, surveyed the drilling. warren olney, big and forceful, gave them cordial welcome. "you're both in my company," he informed them. "we've graded all the signers of the roll according to their numbers. that is, the first hundred signers make the first company, the second hundred another. and so on." "how about cavalry and artillery?" benito questioned. "oh, we'll have both, don't worry," charles doane answered them. "two vessels in the harbor have contributed cannon; we'll mount them on the foreparts of wagons. that's where olney and his men will come in. and we've splendid riders, though the troops are still to be rounded into shape." he passed on hurriedly to execute some commission. "there's a splendid fellow," olney said. "he's to be grand marshal of our forces." he took benito and adrian by the arm and led them toward a group of waiting men. "we must get our battery organized." a messenger strode hastily across the room seeking coleman, who conferred with doane in a distant corner. "the governor's outside," he whispered as he passed. * * * * * coleman, entering the ante-room in answer to a summons, found governor johnson; his brother; w. k. garrison and william sherman, head of the somewhat depleted militia. a subtle change was noticeable in johnson's manner. he spoke with brusque official authority, as if no previous interview had taken place: "mr. coleman, what are you and your committee plotting? can't this trouble be adjusted here and now?" coleman accepted the situation. he saw that opposition forces had been active. "we are tired of outlawry and assassination, governor," he answered. "we've determined to endure them no longer. street shooting's got to stop!" "i agree with you," the governor admitted. "i've come down from sacramento to aid. but this is a matter for the courts, and not for you to adjust. our judges are honest. you can't impugn a man like norton." he lowered his voice. "i'll see that norton tries the case; that a grand jury indicts casey. i'll do everything i can to force a trial, a conviction--and a speedy execution.... i've no right to make such promises. but i'll do it--to save this city the disgrace of a mob." coleman raised his head. "this is no mob. you know it, governor," he answered. "we've no faith in sheriff scannell nor his juries." he turned to sherman. "this committee is a deliberative body, sir; regularly organized with officers and men, an executive council. the best men in the city are its members...." "and you are its czar," remarked garrison, tauntingly. "i am chairman by their choice--not mine," said coleman, tartly. "to show you that i make no personal decisions, i will call other members of the council." he bowed and withdrew, returning in a few moments with the brothers arrington, thomas smiley, seymour and truitt. the two sides went over the ground a second time. smiley insisted that casey be delivered to the vigilantes. johnson suggested that the committee continue its labors, but permit the court to try casey, even in the event of king's death. an impasse loomed. finally came coleman's ultimatum: "if sheriff scannell will permit ten of our members to join the guard over casey, this committee will agree to make no overt move--until our guards are withdrawn and you are notified." "done," agreed the governor, hastily. chapter xliv the truce is broken on the garvez ranch, at sunset, the th of may, david broderick found a gracious interval of peace. it seemed almost incredible to be dining in the patio with benito and alice against a background of fragrant honeysuckle and early roses. the long sloping mesas were bright with golden poppies; fleecy white clouds bedecked the azure of a western sky, flushing now with carmine tints. cowbells tinkled musically faint with distance and from the vaquero quarters came a herder's song, a woman's laughter, the tinkle of a guitar. "what are you dreaming of, my friend?" asked alice windham, gently. "it is very like a dream," he smiled at her, "this place of yours. so near the city. yet so far removed in its enchantment.... "down there," he pointed toward the town, where lights were springing up out of the dusk, "a man lies dying ... and a mob plots vengeance." "oh, come," benito voiced a protest, "we're not a mob, dave. you know that." he laid a hand upon the other's arm. "i understand how hard it's been for you.... you're suffering for the sins of underlings unfit to lace your boots." "against whom you warned me not long since," said broderick to alice. "casey, mulligan. yes, i remember ... you resented it a little, didn't you?" "no," he said, his eyes upon her with that eager look, repressed and yearning, which she could not always meet. "no, dear lady; it was not resentment.... but it hurt." alice turned from him to her husband. "tell me what they've done today, benito." windham's eyes shone. "you should see will coleman. ah, he's a leader incomparable. we've got nearly , men. infantry, artillery, cavalry. a police force, too, for patrolling the streets day and night." "and what is the other side doing?" alice asked. "they've got the governor wobbling," said benito. "sooner or later he'll call out the militia...." "but they've got no ammunition, no guns, i understand," responded broderick. "sherman tried to commandeer those flintlock muskets from the mexican war--several thousand of them--but coleman got them first." "yes," affirmed benito. "the sheriff's seized some scattered arms. but that is not what coleman fears. it's federal interference. they're trying to get general wool to give them rifles from the arsenal at benicia, perhaps a gunboat from the navy yard." "that means--civil warfare," broderick said, aghast. alice windham rose and the two men with her. she took an arm of each. "come," she pleaded, "let us put it all away--this turmoil of men's hatred ... let us walk here in the sweet-scented evening and forget." "i wish we might," said broderick quickly. "what will happen in the next few days may never be forgotten." swiftly, alice turned to him; looked up into his face. "do you think," she asked, so low that he could scarcely catch the words, "do you think, dave, that you're safe?" broderick caught his breath. involuntarily his eyes strayed toward benito. but the latter was so patently absorbed in sunset splendors that broderick sighed as if relieved. it seemed as though some holy thing had passed between him and this woman. in her look, her simple question lay a shadowy, half-spoken answer to his heart's unuttered prayer. for a moment the world seemed aglow with some strange, quiet glory. then he said, quite calmly: "i? oh, yes, i'm safe enough." * * * * * saturday passed without much change in king's condition. he was sinking slowly, despite his rugged strength, his will to live and the unceasing efforts of the city's best physicians. the law and order party was being organized out of various elements that viewed alarmedly the vigilantes' growing power. religious, political, social elements combined in this new faction. in it were men of note, distinction, undisputed honor; and rascals of the worst degree. ned mcgowan, it was rumored, had gone into hiding. broderick kept to himself and took no sides, yet. many sought him for support and for advice, but he repulsed them tactfully, remaining in his room to read; walking silently about at twilight. he had a way of standing on a hilltop, losing count of minutes, even hours. thus adrian surprised him one evening gazing down on san francisco's winking street lamps as the night came down. "hello, dave," he said, "why so pensive?" quietly as he spoke the other started. "i was wondering about tomorrow...." "why tomorrow?" broderick looked around to satisfy himself that there was no one else to hear. "coleman will withdraw his vigilante guard from the jail on sunday morning.... oh, yes," he added, as the other seemed surprised, "i have my agents in the committee's camp. not to harm them. i don't hold with spies and treachery.... but i have to keep informed." adrian looked at his friend, astonished. this was news to him. broderick went on: "the governor's indirectly forced their hand. coleman knows that violent forces are at work to overthrow his vigilantes; that the governor's aiding them. so he's decided to strike." "tomorrow, eh!" said adrian thoughtfully. "that means bloodshed, probably." broderick turned a gloomy countenance toward him. "i don't know," he answered, and resumed his gazing. adrian went on. he looked back after he had gone a hundred yards. the other man remained there, immobile and silent as a statue. governor j. neely johnson paced up and down the confines of his suite at the international hotel. in a chair sprawled mayor van ness, his fingers opening and shutting spasmodically upon the leather upholstery. volney howard leaned in a swaggering posture against the mantelpiece, smoking a big cigar and turning at intervals to expectorate out of one corner of his mouth. "well," said howard, "the president's turned us down. we get no federal aid, i understand. what next?" johnson stopped his pacing. "i fancy coleman will have to answer that question. our cue is to wait." "'he also serves who stands and waits'," quoted howard sardonically. there came a knock at the door. van ness, arising quickly, answered it. a uniformed page stood on the threshold bearing a silver platter on which reposed two letters. something about the incident again aroused howard's sense of humor. "like a play," he muttered. "'my lord, the carriage waits.'" with an exclamation of annoyance the governor stepped forward, took the two envelopes, displacing them with a bit of silver, and dismissed the boy. he opened both missives before examining either. then he stood for a moment, a rectangle of paper in either hand, frowning. van ness, peering over the governor's shoulder, read: we have given up hope for mr. king's recovery. his death is a matter of days, perhaps hours. dr. hammond. we beg to inform your excellency that the vigilance committee's guard at the county jail has been withdrawn. , secretary. chapter xlv the committee strikes on sunday morning, may th, all of san francisco was astir at dawn. there was none of the usual late breakfasting, the leisurely perusal of a morning paper. in some mysterious fashion word had gone abroad that history would be made this morning. the odd and feverish expectancy which rides, an unseen herald in the van of large events, was everywhere. a part of this undue activity resulted from the summoning of male members out of nearly three thousand households for military duty to begin at o'clock. long before that hour the general headquarters of the vigilantes swarmed with members. * * * * * as a neighboring clock struck noon, the vigilantes debouched into the street, an advance guard of riders clearing that thoroughfare of crowding spectators. first came captain james n. olney commanding the citizens' guard of sixty picked men, so soldierly in appearance that their coming evoked a cheer. company , officered by captain donnelly and lieutenant frank eastman came next, and after them a company of french citizens, very straight and gallant in appearance; then a german company. followed at precise and military intervals a score or more of companies, with their gleaming bayonets, each standing at attention until the entire host had been assembled. now and then some bystander cried a greeting. on the roofs were now a fringe of colored parasols, a fluttering of handkerchiefs. one might have deemed it a parade save for a certain grimness, the absence of bands. there was a hush as marshal doane rode all along the line and paused at the head to review his troops. one could hear him clearly as he raised his sabre and commanded, "forward, march!" at the sidelines the lieutenants chanted: "hup! hup! hup-hup-hup!" legs began to move in an impressive clock-work unison. gradually the thousands of bayonets took motion, seemed to flow along like some strange stream of scintillating lights. * * * * * on the roof of the international hotel the governor, the mayor, major-general sherman of the state militia, volney howard and a little group of others watched the vigilantes as they marched up sacramento street. the governor seemed calm enough; only the spasmodic puffs from his cigar betrayed agitation. van ness walked back and forth, cramming his hands into his breeches pockets and withdrawing them every ten seconds. volney looked down with his usual sardonic smile but his eyes were bitter with hate. sherman alone displayed the placidity of a soldier. "look at the damned rabble!" exclaimed howard. "they're dividing. some are going up pacific street to kearney, some to dupont and ... yes, a part of them on stockton." "it's what you call an enfilading movement," said sherman quietly. * * * * * in the county jail were sheriff scannell, harrison his deputy, marshal north, billy mulligan the jailor, and a small guard. some of these watched proceedings from the roof, now and then descending to report to scannell. cora, in his cell, played solitaire and casey made pretense of reading a book. presently scannell entered the room where casey sat; it was not a cell nor had the door been locked since the withdrawal of the vigilante guard. casey looked up quickly. "what's the latest news from king?" "he's dying, so they say," retorted scannell. "dave," it was almost a whisper. "you've been to broderick? curse him, won't he turn his hand to help a friend?" "easy, billy," said the sheriff. "broderick's never been your friend; you know that well enough. your boss, perhaps. but even so, he couldn't help you. no one can.... this town's gone mad." "what d'ye mean?" asked casey in a frightened whisper. "billy," spoke the sheriff, "have a drink." he poured a liberal potion from a bottle standing on the table. casey drained the glass, his eyes never leaving scannell's. "now," resumed the sheriff, "listen, boy, and take it cool. they're coming for you!" at first casey made no reply. one might have thought he had not heard, save for the widening of his eyes. "you--you'll not let them take me, dave?" he said, after a silence. "you'll fight?" scannell's hand fell on the other's shoulder. "i've only thirty men; they're a hundred to one. they've a cannon." they looked at one another. casey closed his fists and straightened slightly. "give me a case-knife, dave," he pleaded. "i'll not let them take me. i'll--" silently, scannell drew from his boot a knife in a leather sheath. casey grasped it, feverishly, concealing it beneath his vest. "how soon?" he asked, "how soon?" scannell strode to the window. "they're outside now," he informed the shrinking casey. "the executive committee's in front ... the citizens' guard is forming a hollow square around them.... miers truett's coming to the door." casey drew the knife; raised it dramatically. "i'll not let them take me," he shouted, as if to bolster up courage by the sound of his own voice. "i'll never leave this place alive." sheriff scannell, summoned by a deputy, looked over his shoulder. "oh, yes, you will," he muttered. in his tone were pity and disdain. * * * * * early tuesday afternoon benito and broderick met in front of the montgomery block. the former had just been released from duty at committee headquarters, where a guard of men was, night and day, maintained. "casey has spent most of his time writing since we captured him," benito told his friend. "he recovered his nerve when he found we'd no intention of hanging him without a trial. of course, if king should live, he'll get off lightly. and then, there's cora--" "yes, he'll be a problem, if the other one's released," said broderick. "unless king dies this whole eruption of the vigilantes will fall flat." benito nodded, half reluctantly. "it seems--like destiny," he muttered. suddenly his head jerked upward. "what is that?" a man came running out of the montgomery block. he seemed excited. his accelerated pace continued as he sped down sacramento street. presently another made his exit; ran like mad, uphill, toward the jail. dr. hammond, looking very grim, came hurriedly out of the door and entered a closed carriage. it drove off instantly. then everything went on as usual. the two men stood there, watchful, expectant. the town seemed unusually still. a flag on a two-story building flapped monotonously. then a man across the street ran out of his store and pointed upward. a rope was thrown from an upper window of the montgomery block. someone picked it up and carried it to the bulletin building, pulled it taut. on a strip of linen had been hastily inscribed the following announcement, stretched across the street: "the great and good is dead. who will not mourn?" chapter xlvi retribution cora's trial was in progress. in the upper front room of vigilante headquarters sat the tribunal upon whose decision cora's fate would rest. they were grouped about a long table, twenty-nine men, the executive committee. at their head sat william coleman, grim and stern, despite his clear complexion and his youthful, beardless mien. near him, isaac bluxome, keen-eyed, shrewd, efficient, made notes of the proceedings. cora, affecting an air of nonchalance, and, as ever, immaculate in dress, sat between his counsel, miers f. truett and thomas j.l. smiley, while john p. manrow acted as the prosecutor. the gambler's eyes were fixed upon the trio when he was not searching the faces of those other silent men about the board. they were dressed in black. there was about them an air of impassivity almost removed from human emotion, and cora could not but contrast them with the noisy, chewing, spitting, red-shirted jury at his previous trial, where belle cora's thousands had proved efficacious in securing disagreement. there would be no disagreement here. instinctively, cora knew that. marshal doane entered. he held in his hand a folded paper. coleman and the others looked at him expectantly. "it is my great misfortune to report that james king of william is dead," said doane. there was a buzz of comment, almost instantly stilled by coleman's gavel. "damn!" said the gambler under his breath. "gentlemen, we will proceed with the trial," coleman spoke. the examination of witnesses went on. but there was a difference. cora noticed it. sometimes, with an involuntary, shuddering gesture, he touched the skin above his flowing collar. casey, when informed of king's death, trembled. "your trial begins tomorrow," doane informed him. "they'll finish with cora tonight." * * * * * thursday morning carpenters were seen at work on the vigilante building. a stout beam was projected from the roof over two of the upper windows facing sacramento street; to these pulleys were attached. platforms were extended from the window sills. they were about three feet long and were seen to be hinged at the sills. the ends were held up by ropes fastened to the beams overhead. stouter ropes next appeared, one end passing through the pulleys overhead, then they were caught up in nooses. the other ends were in the committee rooms. men tested the platforms by standing on them; tried the nooses; found them strong. then the carpenters retired. the windows were closed. a crowd below looked up expectantly, but nothing happened until noon, when military companies formed lines along sacramento, front and davis streets. cannon were placed to command all possible approaches. the great alarm bell of the vigilantes sounded. by this time every roof near by was thronged with people. a cry went up as the windows of vigilante headquarters were opened. at each stood a man, his arms pinioned. he advanced to the edge of the platform. * * * * * bells were tolling. black bunting was festooned from hundreds of doors and windows. all the flags of the city were at half-mast, even those of ships in the bay. from the unitarian church on stockton street, between clay and sacramento, came the funeral cortege on its way to the burial ground at lone mountain. everywhere along the route people stood with bared heads. little joe king, a son of the murdered editor, years of age, sat stiff and stunned by the strangeness of it all in a carriage beside mrs. john sime. mr. and mrs. sime were great friends of his father and mother, and mrs. sime, whom he sometimes called "auntie," had taken him into her carriage, since that of the widow was filled. little joe did not know what to make of it all. he knew, somehow, vaguely, that his father had been put into a long box that had silver handles and was covered with flowers. he knew of that mystery called death, but he had not visualized it closely heretofore. the thing overwhelmed him. just now he could only realize that his father was being honored as no one had ever before been honored in san francisco. that was something he could take hold of. as the carriage approached sacramento street the crowd thickened. he heard a high-pitched voice that seemed almost to be screaming. he made out phrases faintly: "... god!... my poor mother!... let nobody call ... murderer ... god save me ... only ..." swiftly the screaming stopped. a strange silence fell on the crowd. they turned their heads and looked down sacramento street. little joe could stand the curiosity no longer. he craned his neck to see. far down the street soldiers were standing before a building. everybody watched them open-mouthed. in front of the building on a high platform two men stood as if they were making speeches. but they did not move their arms, and their heads looked very queer ... as if they had bags over them. then, unexpectedly, mrs. sime forced him back. she pulled the curtain on the left side of the carriage. little joe heard a half-suppressed roar go up from the throng. for an instant the carriage halted. he was grievously disappointed not to witness the thing which held the public eye. then the carriage went on. * * * * * later, another funeral wended its way through the streets. it was at night and ill attended. a handsome woman followed it with streaming eyes; a woman who lived by an evil trade, and the inmates of whose house were given over to sin. early that morning she had married a murderer. now she was a widow with a broken heart--she whom many stigmatized as heartless. for many years she was to visit and to weep over the grave of a little dark man who had touched her affections; who might, under happier conditions, have awakened her soul. she was mrs. charles cora, born arabella ryan, and widely known as "belle," the mistress of a bawdy house. a few members of casey's fire engine company paid him final honors. shrived, before his execution, he was laid in holy ground, a stone erected over his grave. * * * * * the city returned more or less to its normal activities. but the vigilante committee remained in active session. it had avenged the deaths of richardson and king, but it had other work to do. about this time, yankee sullivan, prize-fighter, ballot-box stuffer and political plug-ugly, killed himself in vigilante quarters, evidently mad with fear. ned mcgowan, made of different stuff, arch plotter, thought by many to be the instigator of king's murder, went into hiding. [illustration: in front of the building on a high platform, two men stood.... a half suppressed roar went up from the throng.] chapter xlvii hints of civil war after the hanging a temporary reaction took place--a let-down from the hectic, fevered agitations of preceding days. members of the law and order party were secretly relieved by the removal of casey and cora. "now that they've shot their bolt, we'll have peace," said hall mcallister to broderick. but the latter shook his head. "they've only started, mac," he answered, "don't deceive yourself. these vigilantes are business men; they've a business-like organization. citizens are still enlisting ... seven thousand now, i understand." "damn them!" said the lawyer, broodingly, "what d'ye think they'll be up to next?" "don't damn them too much." broderick's smile held a grim sort of humor. "they're going to break up a political organization it's taken me years to perfect. that ought to please you a little." mcallister laughed. the two men shook hands and parted. they were political enemies--mcallister of the southern or "chivalry" clan, which yearned to make a slave state out of california; broderick an uncompromising northerner and abolitionist. yet they respected one another, and a queer, almost secret friendship existed between them. farther down the street broderick met benito. "i've just been talking with your boss," he said. "no longer," windham informed him. "mcallister didn't like my vigilante leanings. so we parted amiably enough. i'll study law on my own hook from now on. i've had a bit of good luck." "ah," said the other. "glad to hear it. an inheritance?" "something like it," windham answered. "do you remember when i went to the mines i met a man named burthen? alice's father, you know. we had a mining claim together," his brow clouded. "he was murdered at the eldorado.... well, that's neither here nor there.... but it left me the claim. i didn't think it was worth much. but i've sold it to an eastern syndicate." "good!" cried broderick. "congratulations." they shook hands. "ten thousand," benito informed him. "we've had an offer for the ranch, too. company wants to make it into small allotments.... think of that! a few years ago we were far in the country. now it's suburban property. they're even talking of street cars." * * * * * at vigilante headquarters benito found unusual activity. drays were backing up to the doors, unloading bedding, cots, a number of cook-stoves. men were carrying in provisions. coleman came out with bluxome. they surveyed the work a moment, chatting earnestly, then parted. "we're equipping a commissary and barracks," thus a member informed benito. "doesn't look much like disbanding, does it? the chivs. think we're through. no such luck. this is costing me $ a day in my business," he sighed. "we've got a dozen blacklegs, shoulder-strikers and ballot-stuffers in there now, awaiting trial. we've turned all the petty offenders over to the police." benito laughed. "and have you noticed this: the police courts are convicting every single one of them promptly!" "yes, they're learning their lessons ... but we've trouble ahead. these southerners and politicians have the governor in their pocket. he's sent two men to washington to ask the president for troops. farragut has been asked to bombard the city. he's refused. but general wool has promised them arms from benicia if the governor and sherman prove that anarchy exists." "they can't," benito contended. "not by fair means, no.... but that won't stop them. yesterday chief justice terry of the supreme court issued a habeas corpus writ for billy mulligan, harrison came down today and served it." "what happened?" asked benito, eagerly. "well, the hotheads wanted to resist--to throw him out. but bluxome saw through the scheme--to get us on record as defying federal authority. so he hid billy mulligan and let harrison search. of course he found no one. we were politely regretful." "which settles that," remarked benito, chuckling. "not so fast, old boy!" the other vigilante cautioned. "harrison's no fool. he couldn't go back outwitted.... so he simply lied. wrote on the warrant, 'service resisted by force.'" * * * * * on the following day major general sherman of the state militia received the following document, dated "executive department, sacramento, june d, ": information having been received by me that an armed body of men are now organized in the city and county of san francisco, in this state, in violation of law; and that they have resisted the due execution of law by preventing a service of a writ of habeas corpus duly issued; and that they are threatening other acts of violence and rebellion against the constitution and the laws of the state; you are hereby commanded to call upon such number as you may deem necessary of the enrolled militia, or those subject to military duty, also upon all the voluntary independent companies of the military division under your command--to report, organize, etc., and act with you in the enforcement of the law. j. neely johnson. * * * * * two days after the governor's proclamation half a dozen of the prisoners in "fort gunnybags" were exiled by the vigilance committee. each, after a regular and impartial trial, was found guilty of offenses against the law. the sentence was banishment, with death as the penalty for return. under a strong guard of vigilance committee police the malodorous sextet were marched through town, and placed aboard the steamer hercules. a squad of vigilantes remained until the vessel left her dock to see that they did not escape. thus did the committee answer governor johnson's proclamation. the fortification of the vigilante headquarters went on. hundreds of gunnysacks filled with sand were piled in front of the building as a protection against artillery fire. this continued for days until a barricade ten feet high and six feet thick had been erected with embrasures for cannon and a loop-holed platform for riflemen. cannon were placed on the roof of the building where the old monumental firebell had been installed as a tocsin of war. in the meantime sherman was enrolling men. they came in rather fast, most of them law-breakers seeking protection, and a small minority of reputable citizens honestly opposed to vigilante methods. but the armories were bare of rifles and ammunition. sherman dispatched a hasty requisition to general wool, reminding him of his promise. days passed and no arms arrived. the new recruits were calling for them. some of them drilled with wooden staves and were laughed at. they quit in disgust. then sherman went to sacramento. something was wrong. johnson, nervous and distraught, showed him a letter from general wool. it was briefly and politely to the effect that he had no authority to issue arms without a permit from the war department. sherman, always for action, seized his hat. "come," he said, as though the governor were a subaltern. "we'll go to benicia. we must have a talk with general wool." and the governor went. but wool, though courteous, proved obdurate. the militia remained unarmed. chapter xlviii sherman resigns on saturday, june , benito found coleman sitting at his desk in the executive chamber of fort gunnysacks. his usually cheerful countenance wore an anxious look, a look of inner conflict. he glanced up, almost startled, as benito entered. "fred macondray and his party are outside," said windham. "they would like to see you." "what do they wish?" asked coleman in a harassed tone. "they're leaving for benicia today to see the governor," benito answered. "want your final word on mediation matters." coleman rose with a brisk movement. he paced the room half a dozen times, his hands behind him, his head slightly bent, before he spoke. "bring 'em in. call bluxome and as many of the executive committee as you can find." benito departed. presently there filed into the room nine gentlemen, headed by macondray. they belonged neither to the vigilantes nor to the law and order party. and they were now bent on averting a clash between the two. "william," macondray, acting as the spokesman, "what message shall we take the governor?" bluxome, smiley, dempster and others of the executive committee entered. coleman explained to them the purpose of macondray and his friends. "what shall we say to them, boys?" he asked. "put it in your own words," bluxome said. "we'll stand by what you say." coleman faced macondray and his companions. "tell j. neely johnson," he announced, "that if he will consent to withdraw his proclamation we will, on our part, make no further parade of our forces on the street, nor will we resist by force any orders of the court." bluxome and his companions nodded. macondray looked a trifle puzzled. "suppose he declines to withdraw the proclamation?" he asked, hesitatingly. "then," the voice of coleman rang, "we promise nothing." * * * * * on the boat which took them to benicia, macondray and his friends met major-general sherman of the state militia. they found him striding up and down the deck, chewing his cigar. macondray and he compared notes. sherman had been summoned for an interview with johnson. the governor planned a final onslaught of persuasion, hoping general wool would change his mind; would furnish arms for the militia. "if he doesn't, it's useless. men can't fight without guns." macondray thought he noted an undertone of relief in sherman's words. "do you think he'll give them to you?" macondray asked in an undertone. sherman slowly shook his head. he walked away, as though he dreaded further questioning. * * * * * at benicia, sherman and the macondray party rode up in the same 'bus to the solano house. sherman was admitted at once. the committee was asked to wait. sherman entered a room blue with tobacco smoke. it contained four men, besides the governor: chief justice david s. terry, a tall man with a hard face, sat tilted back in a chair, his feet on the governor's table. he had not taken off his hat. without moving or apparently looking in that direction, he spat at regular intervals toward the fireplace. near him sat edward s. baker, statesmanlike, impressive, despite his drink-befuddlement; edward jones, of palmer, cook & co., smaller, shrewd, keen and avaricious-eyed, was pouring a drink from a decanter; volney howard, fat, pompous, aping a blasé, decadent manner, stood, as usual, near the mantel. they all looked up as sherman entered. terry favored him with a half-concealed scowl; howard with an open sneer; jones with deprecating hostility. baker smiled. the governor, who seemed each day to grow more nervous and irritable, held out his hand. "well, well, sherman," he greeted, "glad to see you." then his brow knit in a kind of puzzled provocation. "what's that vigilante committee doing here with you?" terry grunted and spat. sherman looked them over with a repulsion he could not completely conceal. they were men of violent prejudices. it was bad to see the governor so completely in their grasp. "they are not vigilantes, your excellency," he began with punctilious hauteur. "the hell they're not!" said terry. sherman ignored him completely. "my meeting with them was purely casual," he resumed. "they are prominent, impartial citizens of san francisco, seeking to make peace. they have, i understand, seen coleman; are prepared to offer certain compromises." "aha!" cried howard, "the rabble is caving in. they're ready to quit." johnson looked at sherman as if for confirmation. he shook his head. "far from it." "cannot they state their business in writing?" asked johnson. "send them packing, the damned pork merchants!" terry said, as if issuing a command. again the governor seemed to hesitate. again his glance sought sherman's. "that would be unwise," returned the soldier. the governor summoned a clerk. "ask the committee to put their business in writing!" he ordered. when the man had gone he once more addressed sherman: "wool absolutely refuses to provide the militia with arms." terry's fist smote the table with a crash. a stream of vituperation issued from his lips. general wool, the vigilance committee and admiral farragut were vilified in terms so crude that even the other men surveyed the chief justice with distaste. sherman turned to the door. "governor, i've had enough of this," he spoke sharply. "i shall send you my resignation tonight." he went out, leaving johnson to mutter distressedly. "never mind," said terry, "give his job to volney. he'll drive the damned pork merchants into the sea." "what about rifles and ammunition?" asked howard with sudden practicality. they looked at each other blankly. then the wily jones came forward with a shrewd suggestion. "wool can't refuse you the regular quota of arms for annual replenishment," he said. "get those by requisition. ship them down to san francisco. reub maloney is here. he'll carry them down in a sloop." "but they're only a few hundred guns," said the governor. "they'll help," contended jones. "they'll make a showing." "suppose coleman hears about it; he'll seize them on the bay." "then he'll commit an act of 'piracy'," baker said, explosively. terry took his feet from the table, rose. "by god!" he exclaimed, "there's an idea! piracy! a capital offense!" he crammed his hands into his pockets and strode heavily up and down. "coleman's not likely to hear of our sending these arms," said the governor. jones poured another drink and sipped it. "isn't he, though?" he laughed softly. "you fellows just leave that to me." he caught up his hat and went out. "a smart little man," remarked howard baker, complacently. chapter xlix terry stabs hopkins the peace-makers took an early boat for san francisco. they were hopelessly alienated from the law and order party. after some deliberation they decided to call a mass meeting in front of the oriental hotel. thus they hoped to make the vigilante sentiment practically unanimous and request through popular acclaim, a withdrawal of the governor's proclamation. early on june , the day appointed, citizens began to gather at bush and battery streets; by noon they blocked both thoroughfares and overflowed into market street. each window, roof and balcony near by was filled. women in their summer finery lent gay splashes of color, waved parasols or handkerchiefs excitedly at their acquaintances below. inez windham called to david broderick, who was passing, "there's room for one more on our balcony. come up." as he stood behind her in the window, stooping a little, she looked eagerly into his careworn face. "one might think it was a circus." he smiled. "you remind me of champagne, you san franciscans. the inherent quality of you is sparkle.... even if an earthquake came along and swallowed you, i think you'd go down with that same light, laughing nonchalance." mrs. stanley made a moue at him. "you find us--different from your eastern ladies, mr. broderick?" she asked expectantly. he considered for a moment. "sometimes i think it is the land more than the women. they come from everywhere--with all their varied prejudices, modes, conventions. but, after a time, they become californians--like you." "that's what benito says," returned his sister. "he's daft about san francisco. he calls it his golden city. i think"--she leaned nearer, "but you must not say i told you--i think he has written poetry about it." "ah, yes," said broderick, "he has that strain. and how is alice?" "alice is well," he heard inez say. then a great shout from the street silenced their converse. colonel bailie peyton was speaking. "we are here to consider principles of the first magnitude and which may result in the shedding of innocent blood. one of the objects of this meeting is to prevent so dire a calamity. "the vigilance committee must be sustained or put down. if they are put down it must be at the point of the bayonet. the question is whether we shall appeal to the governor to put them down in this way, or whether we shall ask him to withdraw his opposition." he looked up at the balconies across the street. "the vigilance committeemen have the prayers of the churches on their side, and the smiles of the ladies--god bless them." there were cheers and applause. again his voice rose to crescendo: "let us show the governor that if he fights the committee he will have to walk over more dead bodies than can be disposed of in the cemetery. let us indorse all the committeemen have done. let us be ready to fight for them if necessary." the crowd broke into wild huzzas. volney howard and richard ashe, the naval officer, paused on a near-by corner, attracted by the uproar. howard scowled and muttered something about "damned pork merchants," but he looked uneasy. * * * * * the vigilance committee, undaunted by governor johnson's proclamation or the efforts of the law and order element, continued quietly the work of ridding san francisco of its criminals and undesirables. on june the national guard of san francisco disbanded and marshal hampton north resigned. rumor had it that the vigilance committee's work was finished. on july they would disband with a great public demonstration, it was rumored. coleman did not deny this. on july came news that rifles and ammunition were being shipped from benicia; wool was said at last to have capitulated. but it turned out to be a small annual replenishment order of muskets with a few rounds of powder and ball. later came the exciting rumors that john durkee, charles rand and a crew of ten men had captured the sloop carrying these arms on the bay; had arrested reuben maloney, john phillips and a man named mcnab. the arms were brought to committee headquarters in san francisco. on arrival there, perhaps through oversight, the prisoners were released. * * * * * the vigilance committee made two serious mistakes. they fell into the law and order trap by committing an act of technical piracy. from this durkee saved them by taking upon himself the legal onus of the seizure. the second error, though a minor one, proved much more serious. they sent sterling hopkins, a vainglorious, witless, overzealous wight, to rearrest maloney. coleman was not responsible for this; nor were the vigilantes in a larger sense, for a few hotheads in temporary command issued the order. hopkins, glorying in the quest, for any errand of authority made him big with pride, set out alone to execute it. he found maloney in the office of dr. richard p. ashe, united states naval agent. ashe was companioned by adherents of the law and order faction, among them justice david s. terry. pushing the doorkeeper rudely aside, hopkins entered the room. "come with me, reub maloney," he commanded, "you're under arrest." maloney shrank into a corner. ashe stepped in the constable's path. "get out of here!" he thundered. "as a federal officer i order you to begone!" "and i, as a judge and a southern gentleman, will kick you out, suh." judge terry moved menacing forward. his eyes flashed. several others joined him. they took hopkins by the shoulders and pushed him none too gently out of the room. the door closed. he stood for a moment in the hall, muttering in his outraged dignity. then he turned and ran toward fort vigilance. "we've scared the dirty peddler," ashe said, as they watched his flying footsteps from a window. "he's gone for reinforcements," said another. "let's get out of here. the blues' armory is better." there was some argument. finally, however, armed with pistols, they sought the street, forming a guard around maloney. but they had not proceeded far down jackson street when hopkins came upon them with nine men. both parties halted, judge terry standing in front of the prisoner; hopkins, who was no coward for all his pompous tactlessness, advanced determinedly. he reached around the judge and clutched at maloney's arm. "i arrest you in the name of the committee." "to hell with your committee!" shouted terry. he struck hopkins' arm away and poked a derringer in the policeman's face. hopkins countered; the pistol went flying. terry staggered back, while hopkins made another clutch at his intended prisoner. then occurred, with lightning speed, an unexpected thing. terry, recovering his balance, sprang forward, drew the bowie knife he always carried and plunged it, with a vicious thrust, into hopkins' neck. chapter l the committee disbands alice windham and her little son, named robert for his grandfather, were passing coleman's store, en route to benito's office; it was a pleasant, quiet afternoon, almost windless. the infant robert toddled manfully along on his five-year legs, holding tightly to his mother's hand. men began to rush by, jostling them in their haste. the child drew closer to his mother. more men passed. some of them were carrying guns. coleman, emerging hurriedly, stopped at sight of mrs. windham. "better go inside," he advised, "there's trouble afoot." he picked up the now frightened child and escorted the mother to his office. "sit down," he invited. "it's comfortable here ... and safe." before she could thank him he was off. at the door miers truett hailed him. "hopkins stabbed," she heard him pant. he had been running. "may die ... terry did it." they went off together. other men stood in the doorway. "by the eternal!" one was saying. "a judge of the supreme court! what will coleman do? they can't arrest terry." there was a silence. then the monumental fire engine bell began to toll. "come on," the second man spoke with a kind of thrill. "that's coleman's answer." * * * * * terry, ashe and their companions ran pell mell up jackson street until they reached the armory of the san francisco blues. it was rather an ornate building, guarded by iron doors. these stood open as the fugitives entered, but were immediately closed and guarded by a posse of pursuing vigilantes, effectually preventing law and order reinforcements from the outside. meanwhile the wounded hopkins, screaming that he was murdered, had been carried into the pennsylvania engine house close by. dr. beverly cole, the vigilante surgeon chief, was summoned and pronounced the wound a serious one. thereupon the bell was tolled. half an hour later several thousand men under marshal doane marched to the armory. in front of it he drew up his forces and knocked on the inner portal. "what d'ye want?" came the heavy bass of david terry, a little less arrogant than usual. "the committee has ordered the arrest of yourself and your party," answered doane. "will you come quietly?" there was excited murmuring; then terry's heavy tones once more: "do you mean that you will attack the person of a supreme court justice?" he asked half incredulous. "we will arrest all those who commit or attempt murder." more whispering. "very well," said terry. "i will not subject my friends to violence.... but i warn you that the consequences will be serious." doane ignored this, waiting quietly until the door was opened. then he detailed a guard for the prisoners. at o'clock--an hour after hopkins had been wounded--terry, ashe and half a dozen others were locked in cells at fort vigilance. once more the town was quiet. "it is all over," benito told his wife, whom he found in coleman's office. "we can go home now." little robert slept. his mother picked him up gently. "what will they do with judge terry?" she asked in an excited whisper. "if hopkins dies they'll hang him sure as shooting," said benito. sterling hopkins did not die, despite the serious nature of his wound. had he done so many a different chapter might have been recorded in the history of san francisco. hopkins lived to pass into inconsequence. terry was released to wreak once more his violent hatred on a fellow being, to perish in a third and final outburst of that savagery which marred his whole career. captain ashe and others taken in the terry raid were soon released upon parole. the supreme court judge remained a prisoner in fort vigilance for many weeks. after days and nights of wrestling with the situation, the committee judged the prisoner guilty of assault. as the usual punishment within their power to inflict was not applicable in this case, the prisoner was discharged. it was pointedly suggested that the best interests of the state demanded his resignation. to this, however, terry paid no heed. broderick, who had been out of town, campaigning, met ike bluxome on montgomery street. "i thought you folks were going to disband," he spoke half-banteringly. and bluxome answered with, his usual gravity. "we thought so, too ... but terry jumped into the picture. now he's boasting that the committee didn't dare to hold him longer." bluxome smiled faintly. "he was meek enough till hopkins had recovered ... offered to resign and quit the state forever." "i believe in terry," broderick remarked. "he's quarrelsome, but brave--and honest as a judge. i spent a lot of money in a newspaper fight to help him through this mess." bluxome eyed him keenly. "yes, i know you did. i know you were sincere, too, broderick. that's why we didn't bother you for bribing the editors. but you will get no thanks from terry. he's against you on the slavery question. he'd kill you tomorrow if he got a chance. you or any other man that's in his way. watch out for him." "nonsense," said broderick, and walked away. * * * * * on august th the vigilantes paraded for the last time. there were four artillery batteries with an armament of fifteen cannon. then came the executive committee followed by two companies of dragoons, each preceded by a band; the medical staff of fifty members, the committee of , some half a hundred strong, and four regiments of infantry. san francisco was ablaze with decorations, vibrant with enthusiasm. men, women, children, turned out to do the vigilantes honor. a float symbolic of fort gunnybags was wildly cheered. benito windham, adrian stanley and their families stood at the window of an office which had "b. windham, attorney and counselor," inscribed upon its door. benito had but recently passed his law examination and alice was accordingly proud. broderick, who stood near her with an arm about young robert, looked out at the pageant. "they have been my enemies," he said, "but i take off my hat to your committee. they have done a wondrous work, benito lad." chapter li senator broderick swept clear of its lesser rascals, san francisco still, ostensibly, was ruled by freelon, scannell, byrne and other officials of the former city government, who had defied the people's invitation to resign. they did little more than mark time, however. jury-packing was at an end for the committee had posted publicly the names of men unfit to judge their fellows, and the courts had wisely failed to place them on venires. "wait till november," was the watchword. and san francisco waited. a committee of twenty-one was appointed at a mass meeting shortly before the city election. by this body were selected candidates for all municipal offices. their ticket was the most diversified, perhaps, that ever was presented to a city's voters, for it included northern and southern men, republicans, democrats, know-nothings, jews, catholics and protestants. yet there was an extraordinary basic homogeneity about them. all were honest and respected business men, pledged to serve the city faithfully and selflessly. former marshal doane of vigilante fame was chosen as chief of police. * * * * * broderick was the windhams' guest at their new home on powell street overlooking the bay when benito's clerk brought them news of the election. "every reform candidate wins by a landslide," cried the youth enthusiastically. "i cast my first vote today, mr. windham," he said proudly, "and i'm glad to know that the ballot-box had no false bottom." he turned to broderick. "your men fared mighty well too, sir, considering--" he paused and reddened, but the politician clapped him, laughing, on the shoulder. "that's right, my boy. be honest," he declared. "it means you'll be our senator next year," the lad said staunchly, holding out his hand. "they're all saying so down town. allow me to congratulate you, sir." the keen, half-smiling eyes of broderick took stock of herbert waters. tall, shy and awkward, with a countenance fresh, unmarked, but eager and alert with clean ideals. "thank you, son," he pressed the lad's hand vigorously. "perhaps ... if i should get to washington, there'll be a place for you. you'll like it, wouldn't you? to see a little of the world?" "would i?" cried the youth, delighted. "try me." he departed, treading on air. alice windham shook a finger at her guest. "dave, you mustn't trifle with our little protégé.... but you did it charmingly. tell me, will you have to go about now, kissing babies and all that sort of thing?" "no doubt," he answered gaily. "so i'll practice on your little bob." he caught the child up in his arms. "got a kiss for uncle dave?" he asked. robert's response was instant and vehement. laughing, broderick took from an inner pocket a long and slender parcel, which he unwrapped with tantalizing slowness. it revealed at last a gaily painted monkey-on-a-stick which clambered up and down with marvelous agility when broderick pulled a string. "this, my little man," he said half soberly, "is how we play the game of politics." he made the jointed figure race from top to bottom while his eyes were rather grim. "here, you try it, bobbie," he said. "i've played with it long enough." broderick came to them aglow with triumph. he was a big man now, a national figure. only a short time ago he had been a discredited boss of municipal politics. now he was going to washington. he had made william gwin, the magnificent, do homage. he had all of the federal patronage for california. for years it had gone to southern men. san francisco's governmental offices had long been known as "the virginia poorhouse." now its plums would be apportioned to the politicians of the north. everywhere one heard the praise of broderick's astuteness. he had a way of making loyal friends. a train of them had followed him through years of more or less continuous defeat and now they were rejoicing in the prospect of reward. he was explaining this to alice. trying to at least. "one has to pay his debts," he told her. "these men have worked for me as hard as any factory slaves. and without any definite certainty of compensation. do you remember young waters who came here last december to congratulate me? yes, of course, he was benito's clerk. i'd forgotten that. well, what did that young rascal do but grow a beard and hire out as a waiter in the magnolia hotel. he overheard some plots against me in a corner of the dining room. and thus we were prepared to checkmate all the movements of the enemy.... i call that smart. i'll see that he gets a good berth. a senate clerkship. something of the sort." "when do you leave?" asked alice quickly. "tomorrow.... gwin is going also. i'll stop over in new york." he smiled at her. "when i left there i told my friends i'd not return until i was a senator. eight years ago that was.... and now i'm making good my promise." he laughed boyishly. "you're very happy over it, aren't you, dave?" she said with a shadow of wistfulness. "why, yes, to be sure," he answered. his eyes held hers. "i'll miss you, of course.... all of you." he spoke with a touch of restraint. "and we'll miss you." she said more brightly, "i know you will do us much honor ... there in the nation's capital." her hand went half way out toward him and drew back. "you'll fight always ... for the right alone ... dave broderick." he took a step toward her. "by god! i will promise you that. i'm through with ward politics, with tricks and intriguing. i'm going to fight for freedom ... against slavery. they're trying to fasten slavery onto kansas. president buchanan is a pennsylvanian but he's dominated by the southern men. washington is dominated by them. there aren't more than half a dozen who are not afraid of them." he drew himself up. "but i'm one. douglas of illinois is another. and seward of new york. i've heard from them. we stand together." he laughed a shade bitterly. "it's difficult to fancy, isn't it? dave broderick, the son of a stone mason, a former fireman, bartender, ward-boss--fighting for an ideal? against the solid south?" she came closer. "dave, you must not say such things." she looked about her. they were alone in the room, for benito had gone out with robert. "dave, we're proud of you.... and i--i shall always see you, standing in the senate chamber, battling, like a knight of old...." her face was upturned to his. his hands clenched themselves. with a swift movement he caught up his hat and stick. fled from the house without a good-bye. as he went down the hill with long strides, his mind was torn between a fierce pride in his proven strength and a heart-wrecked yearning. he started the next morning for washington. chapter lii a trip to chinatown samuel brannan brought the first news from washington. gwin, who owed his place to broderick, had after all betrayed him. the bargained-for double patronage was not forthcoming. broderick was grievously disappointed in buchanan. there had been a clash between them. no democratic senator, the president had said, could quarrel profitably with the administration. which meant that broderick must sustain the lecompton resolution or lose face and favor in the nation's forum. things were at a bitter pass. "what's the lecompton resolution?" alice asked. "it's a long story," brannan answered. "in brief, it means forcing slavery on kansas, whose people don't want it. and on the lecompton resolution hinges more or less the balance of power, which will keep us, here, in the free states, or give us, bound and gagged, to the south." "and you say gwin has repudiated his pact?" "either that ... or buchanan has refused to sanction it. the result is the same. david doesn't get his patronage." "i'm glad! i'm glad!" cried alice. brannan looked at her astonished. "but ... you don't know what it means. his men, awaiting their political rewards! his organization here ... it will be weakened. you don't understand, mrs. windham." "i don't care," she said. "it leaves him--cleaner--stronger!" she turned swiftly and left the room. brannan shrugged his shoulders. "there's no fathoming women," he thought. * * * * * but broderick, in far washington, understood when there came to him a letter. it bore neither signature nor salutation: "when one is stripped of weapons--sometimes it is by the will of god! and he does not fail to give us better ones. "truth! righteousness! courage to attack all evil. these are mightier than the weapons of the world. "oh, my friend, stand fast! you are never alone. the spirit of another is forever with you. watching--waiting--knowing you shall win the victory which transcends all price." he read this letter endlessly while people waited in his ante-room. then he summoned herbert waters, now his secretary, and sent them all away. among them was a leader of the new york money-powers who never forgave that slight; another was an emissary of the president. broderick neither knew nor cared. he put the letter in his pocket; walked for hours in the snow, on the banks of the frozen potomac. that afternoon he reviewed the situation, was closeted an hour with douglas of illinois. the two of them sought seward of new york, who had just arrived. to their conference came chase and wade of ohio, trumbull of illinois, fessenden of maine, wilson of massachusetts, cameron of pennsylvania. soon thereafter volney howard in san francisco received an unsigned telegram, supposedly from gwin: unexpected gathering anti-slavery forces. looks bad for lecompton resolution. president worried about california. in the southeastern part of san francisco a few tea and silk merchants had, years before, established the nucleus of an oriental quarter. gradually it had grown until there were provision shops where queer-looking dried vegetables, oysters strung necklace-wise on rings of bamboo, eggs preserved in a kind of brown mold, strange brown nuts and sweetmeats were displayed; there were drugs-shops with wondrous gold and ebony fret work, temples with squat gods above amazing shrines. there were stark-odored fish-stalls in alleyways so narrow that the sun touched them rarely, barred upper-windows from which the faces of slant-eyed women peeped in eager wistfulness as if upon an unfamiliar world. cellar doorways from which slipper-shod, pasty-faced cantonese crept furtively at dawn; sentineled portals, which gave ingress to gambling houses protected by sheet-iron doors. on a pleasant sunday, early in february, benito, alice, adrian and inez walked in chinatown with david broderick. the latter was about to leave for washington to attend his second session in congress. things had fared ill with him politically there and at home. just now david broderick was trying to forget congress and those battles which the next few weeks were sure to bring. he wanted to carry with him to washington the memory of alice windham as she walked beside him in the mellow winter sunshine. an odor of fruit blossoms came to them almost unreally sweet, and farther down the street they saw many little street-stands where flowering branches of prune and almond were displayed. "it's their new year festival," adrian explained. "come, we'll visit some of the shops; they'll give us tea and cakes, for that's their custom." "how interesting!" remarked inez. she shook hands cordially with a grave, handsomely gowned chinese merchant, whose emporium they now entered. to her astonishment he greeted her in perfect english. "a graduate of harvard college," broderick whispered in her ear. wong lee brought forward a tray on which was an assortment of strange sweetmeats in little porcelain dishes; he poured from a large tea-pot a tiny bowl of tea for each of his visitors. while they drank and nibbled at the candy he pressed his hands together, moved them up and down and bowed low as a visitor entered; the latter soon departed, apparently abashed by the americans. "he would not mingle with the 'foreign devils,'" broderick smiled. "that was chang foo, who runs the hall of everlasting fortune, wasn't it?" "yes, the gambling house," wong lee answered. "a bad man," his voice sank to a whisper. "chief of the hip lee tong, for the protection of the trade in slave women. he came, no doubt, to threaten me because i am harboring a christian convert. see," he opened a drawer and took therefrom a rectangle of red paper. "last night this was found on my door. it reads something like this: "withdraw your shelter from the renegade po lun, who renounces the gods of his fathers. send him forth to meet his fate--lest the blade of an avenger cleave your meddling skull." "po was a member of the hip yees when he was converted; they stole a chinese maiden--his beloved and po sun hoped to rescue her. that is why he joined that band of rascals." "and did he succeed?" asked alice. "no," wong lee sighed. "they spirited her away--out of the city. she is doubtless in some slave house at vancouver or seattle. poor po! he is heartbroken." "and what of yourself; are you not in danger?" broderick questioned. wong smiled wanly. "until the new year season ends i am safe at any rate." chapter liii enter po lun broderick returned to washington; he wrote seldom, but the newspapers printed, now and then, extracts from his speeches. the democrats were once more a dominating power and their organs naturally attacked the california senator who defied both president and party; they asserted that broderick was an ignorant boor, whose speeches were written for him by a journalist named wilkes. but they did not explain how broderick more than held his own in extemporaneous debate with the nation's seasoned orators. many of these would have taken advantage of his inexperience, for he was the second youngest senator in congress. but he revealed a natural and disconcerting skill at verbal riposte which made him respected, if not feared by his opponents. one day, being harried by administration senators, he struck back with a savagery which, for the moment, silenced them. the san francisco papers--for that matter, all the journals of the nation--printed broderick's words conspicuously. and, as they held with north or south, with abolition or with slavery, they praised or censured him. "i hope, in mercy to the boasted intelligence of this age, the historian, when writing the history of these times, will ascribe the attempt of the president to enforce the lecompton resolution upon an unwilling people to the fading intellect, the petulant passion and the trembling dotage of an old man on the verge of the grave." "buchanan will be furious," said benito. "they say he's an old beau who wears a toupee and knee-breeches. all washington that dares to do so will be laughing at him, especially the ladies." benito returned from the office one foggy june evening with a copy of the bulletin that contained a speech by broderick. it was dusk and alice had lighted the lamp to read the washington dispatch as she always did with eager interest, when there came a light, almost stealthy knock at the door. benito, rather startled, opened it. there stood a chinese youth of about , wrapped in a huge disguising cloak. he bowed low several times, then held forth a letter addressed in brush-fashioned, india-ink letters to "b. windham esquire." curiously he opened it and read: "the hand of the 'avenger' has smitten. i have not long to live. will you, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, po lun? he will make a good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal. may the lord of heaven bless you." "wong lee." excitedly and with many gestures po lun described the killing of his uncle by a hip yee "hatchetman." but even in his dying hour wong lee had found means to protect a kinsman. po lun wept as he told of wong lee's goodness. suddenly he knelt and touched his forehead three times to the floor at alice's feet. "missee, please, you let me stay?" he pleaded. "po lun plenty work. washee, cookee, clean-em house." his glance strayed toward the cradle. "takem care you' li'l boy." benito glanced at alice questioningly. "would you--trust him?" he whispered. "yes," she said impulsively. "he has a good face ... and we need a servant." she beckoned to po lun. "come, i will show you the kitchen and a place to sleep." * * * * * broderick came back from washington and entered actively into the state campaign. he found its politics a hodge-podge of unsettled, bitter policies. the republicans made overtures to him; they sought a coalition with the anti-lecompton democrats as opposed to chivalry or solid south democracy. benito and alice saw little of broderick. he was here, there, everywhere, making impassioned, often violent speeches. most of them were printed in the daily papers. "they'll be duelling soon," said windham anxiously, as he read of broderick's accusations of "the lime point swindle," "the mail-carrying conspiracy," his reference to gwin and latham as "two great criminals," to the former, "dripping with corruption." then came judge terry with an unprovoked attack on members of the anti-lecompton party. "they are the personal chattels of one man," he said, "a single individual whom they are ashamed of. they belong heart, soul, body and breeches to david c. broderick. afraid to acknowledge their master they call themselves douglas democrats.... perhaps they sail under the flag of douglas, but it is the black douglas, whose name is frederick, not stephen." frederick douglas was a negro. therefore, terry's accusation was the acme of insult and contumely, which a southerner's imagination could devise. broderick read it in a morning paper as he breakfasted with friends in the international hotel and, wounded by the thrust from one he deemed a friend, spoke bitterly: "i have always said that terry was the only honest man on the bench of a miserably corrupt court. but i take it all back. he is just as bad as the others." by some evil chance, d.w. perley overheard that statement--which proceeded out of broderick's momentary irritation. perley was a man of small renown, a lawyer, politician and a whilom friend of terry. instantly he seized the opportunity to force a quarrel, and, in terry's name, demanded "satisfaction." broderick was half amused at first, but in the end retorted angrily. they parted in a violent altercation. "dave," said alice, as he dined with them that evening, "your're not going to fight this man?" "i shall ignore the fellow. i've written him that i fight with no one but my equal. he can make what he likes out of that. i've been in a duel or two. nobody will question my courage." * * * * * po lun proved a model servitor, a careful nurse. alice often left in his efficient hands her household tasks. sometimes she and benito took an outing of a saturday afternoon, for there was now a pleasant drive down the peninsula along the new san bruno turnpike to san mateo. the windhams were returning from such a drive in the pleasant afternoon sunshine when a tumult of newsboys hawking an extra edition arrested them. "big duel ... broderick and terry!" shrieked the "newsies." benito stopped the horse and bought a paper, perusing the headlines feverishly. alice leaned over his shoulder, her face white. presently benito faced her. "terry's forced a fight on dave," he said huskily. "they're to meet on monday at the upper end of lake merced." chapter liv the "field of honor" chief of police burke lingered late in his office that saturday afternoon. twilight had passed into dusk, through which the street lamps were beginning to glimmer, leaping here and there into sudden luminance as the lamp-lighter made his rounds. deep in the complexities of police reports burke had scarcely noted the entrance of a police clerk who lighted the swinging lamp overhead. and he was only dimly aware of faint knocking at his door. it came a second, a third time before he roused himself. "come in," he called, none too graciously. the door opened with an inrush of wind which caused his lamp to flicker. before him stood a slight and well-gowned woman, heavily veiled. she was trembling. he looked at her expectantly, but she did not speak. "please be seated, madam," said the chief of police. but she continued to stand. presently words came to her. "can you stop a duel? will you?" her hands went out in a gesture of supplication, involuntary, unstudiedly dramatic. "what do you mean?" he asked. "what duel?" "senator broderick ... justice terry," a wealth of hate was in her utterance of the second name. "they fight at sunrise monday morning." "it's not our custom to--interfere in such cases," burke said slowly. "what would you have me do? arrest them?" "anything," she cried. "oh--anything!" he looked at her searchingly. "if you will raise your veil, madam, i will talk with you further. otherwise i must bid you goodnight." for a moment she stood motionless. then her hand went upward, stripped the covering from her features. "now," she asked him, in a half-shamed whisper, "will you help me?" "yes ... mrs. windham," said burke. * * * * * at daybreak on a raw, cold monday morning, broderick, with his seconds, joe mckibben and dave colton, arrived at the upper end of lake merced. terry and his seconds were already waiting. the principals, clad in long overcoats, did not salute each other. broderick looked toward the sea. terry stood implacable and silent, turning now and then to spit into the sun dried grass. the seconds conferred with each other. all seemed ready to begin when an officer, springing from a foam-flecked horse, rushed up to broderick and shouted, "you are under arrest." broderick turned half-bewildered. he was very tired, for he had not slept the night before. "arrest?" he said blankly. "you and justice terry," said the officer; "i've warrants for ye both. come along and no nonsense. this duel is stopped." terry began an angry denunciation of the officer, but his seconds, calhoun benham and colonel thomas hayes, persuaded him at length into a blustering submission. principals and seconds, feeling like the actors in an ill-considered farce, rode off together. later they were summoned to appear before judge coon. * * * * * "the whole thing was a farce," benito told his wife. "the case was dismissed. our prosecuting counsel asked the judge to put them under bonds to keep the peace. but he refused." "then the fight will go on?" asked alice. her face was white. "doubtless," said benito gloomily. "they say that terry's been practicing with a pair of french pistols during the past two months and hopes to use them at the meeting. old 'natchez,' the gunsmith, tells me one's a tricky weapon ... discharges now and then before the trigger's pressed." "why--that would be murder," alice spoke aghast. "you must find david's seconds and warn them." "i've tried all afternoon to locate them ... they're hidden ... afraid of arrest." * * * * * despite the secrecy with which the second meeting was arranged, some three score spectators were already assembled at the duelling ground when broderick and terry arrived. it was not far from where they had met on the previous morning, but no officer appeared to interrupt their combat. both men looked nervous and worn, especially broderick, who had spent the night in a flea-infested hut on the ocean shore at the suggestion of his seconds who feared further interference. terry had fared better, being quartered at the farm house of a friend who provided breakfast and a flask of rum. the seconds tossed for position and those of broderick won. the choice of pistols, too, was left to chance, which favored terry. joe mckibben thought he saw a smile light the faces of benham and hayes, a smile of secret understanding. the french pistols were produced and hayes, with seeming care, selected one of them. mckibben took the other. he saw benham whisper something to terry as the latter grasped his weapon, saw the judge's eyes light with a sudden satisfaction. "you will fire between the words 'one' and 'two'," colton announced crisply. "are you ready, gentlemen?" terry answered "yes" immediately. broderick, who was endeavoring to adjust the unfamiliar stock of the foreign pistol to his grasp, did not hear. mckibben repeated, "are you ready, dave?" in an undertone. broderick looked up with nervous and apologetic haste, "yes, yes, quite ready," he replied. "one," called colton. broderick's pistol spoke. discharged apparently before aim could be taken; his bullet struck the ground at terry's feet. broderick, now defenseless, waited quietly. "two," the word came. terry, who had taken careful aim, now fired. broderick staggered, recovered himself. his face was distorted with pain. slowly he sank to one knee; sidewise upon his elbow, then lay prone. * * * * * it was sunday, september th. in the plaza a catafalque had been erected, draped in black. upon it stood a casket covered with flowers. an immense crowd was about it, strangely silent. across the platform a constant stream of people filed, each stopping a moment to gaze at a face that lay still and peaceful, seemingly composed in sleep. it was a keen and striking face; the forehead bespoke intellect and high resolve; the jaw and chin indomitable; aggressive bravery. over all there was a stamp of sadness and of loneliness that caught one's heart. friends, political compatriots and erstwhile enemies paid david broderick a final tribute as they passed; few without a twitching of the lips. tears ran down the faces of both men and women. the crowd murmured. then the splendid moving voice of colonel baker poured forth an oration like mark anthony above the bier of caesar: "citizens of california: a senator lies dead.... it is not fit that such a man should pass into the tomb unheralded; that such a life should steal, unnoticed, to its close. it is not fit that such a death should call forth no rebuke...." his majestic voice rolled on, telling of broderick's work, his character, devotion to the people. he assailed the practice of duelling, the bitter hatreds of a slave-impassioned south. his voice shook with emotion as he ended: "thus, o brave heart! we bear thee to thy rest. as in life no other voice so rung its trumpet blast upon the ear of freemen, so in death its echoes will reverberate amid our valleys and mountains until truth and valor cease to appeal to the human heart. "good friend! true hero! hail and farewell." [illustration: terry, who had taken careful aim, now fired. broderick staggered, recovered himself. slowly he sank to one knee.] chapter lv the southern plot america stood on war's threshold. even in the west one felt its imminence. the republican victory had been like a slap in the face to slave-holding democracy. its strongholds were secretly arming, mobilizing, drilling. and though lincoln wisely held his peace--warned all the states which hummed with wild secession talk that their aggression alone could disrupt the union--the wily stanton, through the machinery of the war department, prepared with quiet grimness for the coming struggle. herbert waters, after broderick's death, returned to windham's office. he was a full-fledged lawyer now, more of a partner than an employee. waters was of southern antecedents, a native of kentucky, a friend, almost a protégé, of general albert sydney johnson, commanding the military district of the pacific. one evening in january, , he dined with the windhams. early in the evening benito was called out to the bedside of an ailing client, who desired him to write a will. after he was gone, young waters turned to alice. "you were a friend of mr. broderick's," he said impulsively. "he often spoke of you ... and once, not long before he died, he said to me: 'herbert, when your soul's in trouble, go to alice windham ...'" mrs. windham put aside her knitting rather hastily, rose and walked to the window. she made no answer. presently the boy continued: "that time has come--now--mrs. windham." alice crossed the room and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "herbert! what's the matter?" his voice sank almost to a whisper. "there's a plot to overthrow the government in california. i'm a part of it.... i don't know what to do." "you don't mean ... you're a traitor?" she asked unbelievably. "i suppose i am or must be--to some one," he said wearily. "i'm caught in a net, mrs. windham. will you help me get out? advise me ... as you did him. oh, i know what you meant to mr. broderick. your faith, your counsel!" "please," said alice sharply. "we won't speak of that. what can i do for you?" "i beg your pardon. i'm a thoughtless ass ... that's why i got into the pickle probably. they asked me to join...." "they? who?" she asked. "is he--benito--?" "oh, no, benito's out of it completely. i'm a southern boy, you know. that's why they let me in; a lot of them have money. a man we call 'the president' is our chief. and there's a committee of thirty, each of whom is pledged to organize a fighting force; a hundred men." waters hesitated. "i took an oath to keep this all a secret ... but i'll trust you, mrs. windham. you've got to know something about it.... these men are hired desperadoes or adventurers. they know there's fighting to be done; they've no scruples.... meanwhile they're well paid, ostensibly engaged in various peaceful occupations all around the bay. when our president gives the order they'll be massed--three thousand of 'em; well armed, drilled--professional fighters. you can see what'll happen...." "you mean they'll seize the forts ... deliver us to the enemy?" she spoke aghast. "i'm afraid you're right, mrs. windham." "has your--ah--society approached general johnson?" "not yet--they're a little afraid of him." alice windham thought a moment. "when is your next meeting?" "tomorrow. we are called by word of mouth. i've just received my summons." "well, then," alice told him, "make a motion--or whatever you call it--that the general be approached, sounded. they'll appoint a committee. they'll put you on it, of course. thus you can apprise him of the plot without violating your oath. i don't believe he will aid you, for that means betraying his trust.... but if he should--come back to me. we will have to act quickly." * * * * * a fortnight passed. alice had learned by adroit questioning that the federal army was a purely negligible defensive force. an attack would result in the easy plundering of this storehouse as well as the militia armories of san francisco. thus equipped, an army could be organized out of california's southern sympathizers, who would beat down all resistance, loot the treasury of its gold and perhaps align the state with slavery's cause. rebellion, civil warfare loomed with all its horrors. if the plot that waters had described were carried through there would be bloodshed in the city. her husband had gone to sacramento on business. suppose it came tonight! anxiously alice hovered near the cot where ten-year robert slept. there came a knock at the door. "who's there?" she asked, hand upon the bolt. then, with an exclamation of relief, she opened it. admitted herbert waters. he was smiling. "i took your advice.... it worked." she pushed a chair toward the hearth. "sit there," she ordered. "tell me all about it." waters gazed into the fire half abstractedly. "three of us were named," he said, "to have a conference with general johnson." he turned to her, his eyes aglow, "i'll never forget that meeting. he asked us to be seated with his usual courtesy. then he said, quite matter-of-factly ... in an off-hand sort of way, 'there's something i want to mention before we go further. i've heard some foolish talk about attempts to seize the strongholds of the government under my charge. so i've prepared for all emergencies.' his eyes flashed as he added, 'i will defend the property of the united states with every resource at my command, with the last drop of blood in my body. tell that to your southern friends.'" "and your plot?" "it's been abandoned." "thank god," alice exclaimed fervently. "and thank yourself a little," he commented, smiling. "general johnson is a brave and honorable gentleman," alice said. "i wonder--who could have informed him?" waters looked at her quickly. but he did not voice the thought upon his tongue. * * * * * april general e.v. sumner arrived with orders to take charge of the department of the pacific. general johnson's resignation was already on its way to washington. on the following morning came the news that southern forces had attacked fort sumpter. chapter lvi some war reactions san francisco adjusted itself to war conditions with its usual impulsive facility. terry, who had resigned from the supreme bench following broderick's death, and who had passed through the technicalities of a farcical trial, left for texas. he joined the southern forces and for years california knew him no more. albert sydney johnson, after being displaced by general sumner, offered his services to jefferson davis and was killed at shiloh. edward baker, now a senator from oregon, left the halls of congress for a union command. at the head of the california volunteer regiment he charged the enemy at ball's bluff and fell, his body pierced by half a dozen bullets. curiously different was the record of broderick's old foeman, william gwin. in october, , he started east via the isthmus of panama, accompanied by calhoun benham, one of terry's seconds in the fateful duel. on the same steamer was general sumner, relieved of his command in san francisco, en route to active service. convinced that gwin and benham plotted treason, he ordered their arrest, but not before they threw overboard maps and other papers. they escaped conviction. but gwin found paris safer than america--until the war had reached its close. when the first call came for volunteers by way of the pony express, benito and adrian talked of enlisting. even thirteen-year francisco, to his mother's horror, spoke of going as a drummer boy. "one would think you men asked nothing better than to kill each other," inez windham stormed. yet she was secretly proud. she would have felt a mite ashamed had adrian displayed less martial ardor. and to her little son she showed the portrait of francisco garvez, who had ridden with ortega and d'anza in the days of spanish glory. lithographs of president lincoln appeared in household and office. flags flew from many staffs and windows. news was eagerly awaited from the battle-front. adrian had been rejected by a recruiting board because of a slight limp. he had never quite recovered from a knife wound in the groin inflicted by mcturpin. benito had been brusquely informed that his family needed him more than the union cause at present. still unsatisfied he found a substitute, an englishman named dart, who fell at gettysburg, and to whose heirs in distant liverpool he gladly paid $ . but herbert waters went to war. alice kissed the lad good-by and pinned a rosebud on his uniform as he departed on the steamer. little robert clung to him and wept when they were separated. adrian, benito and a host of others shook his hand. a whistle blew; he had to scamper for the gang-plank. the vessel moved slowly, turning in her course toward the golden gate. men were waving their hats and weeping women their handkerchiefs. alice stood misty eyed and moveless, till the steamer passed from sight. * * * * * though one heard loud-chorused sentiments of unionism, there were many secret friends of slavery in san francisco. one felt them like an undercurrent, covert and disquieting. to determine where men stood, a public meeting had been called for may . where post ran into market street, affording wide expanse for out-door gathering, a speaker's stand was built. here the issues of war, it was announced, would be discussed by men of note. "starr king, our pulpit demosthenes, is to talk," benito told his wife. "they tell me king's a power for the union. he's so eloquent that even southerners applaud him." they were interrupted by po lun, their chinese servitor, who entered, leading robert by the hand. the boy had a soldier cap, fashioned from newspaper by the ingenious celestial; it was embellished with plumes from a feather duster. a toy drum was suspended from his neck; the hilt of a play-time saber showed at his belt. the chinaman carried a flag and both were marching in rhythmic step, which taxed the long legs of po lun severely by way of repression. "where in the world are you two going?" alice laughed. "we go public meeting, missee," said po lun. "we hea' all same miste' stah king pleach-em 'bout ablaham lincoln." "hurrah!" cried benito with enthusiasm. "let's go with them, alice." he caught her about the waist and hurried her onward. bareheaded, they ran out into the morning sunshine. * * * * * at post and market streets, thousands waited, though the day was young. constantly the crowd increased. from all directions came pedestrians, horsemen, folks in carriages, buggies--all manner of vehicles, even farm wagons from the outlying districts. most of them looked upon attendance as a test of loyalty. when it was learned that governor downey had sent his regrets a murmur of disapproval ran through the throng. he had been very popular in san francisco, for he had vetoed the infamous bulkhead bill, which planned to give private interests the control of the waterfront. he also pocketed a libel measure aimed at san francisco's independent press. but in the national crisis--a time when political temporizing was not tolerated--he "did not believe that war should be waged upon any section of the confederacy, nor that the union should be preserved by a coercive policy." "i saw the letter," adrian told benito. "they were going to read it at first, but they decided not to. after all, the little governor's not afraid to utter his thoughts." "i've more respect for him than for latham," windham answered. "he's to make a speech today. only a few weeks ago he damned us up and down in congress. now he's for the union. i despise a turn-coat." they were interrupted by a voice that made announcements from the platform. starr king arose amid cheers. the preacher was a man of marvelous enthusiasm. his slight, frail figure gave small hint of his dynamic talents. he had come to california for rest and health. but in the maelstrom of pre-war politics, he found neither "dolce far niente" nor recuperation. he plunged without a thought of self into the fight for california. as he began to talk the crowd pressed forward, packed itself into a smaller ring. medlied sounds of converse died into a silence, which was almost breathless. for an hour king went on discussing clearly, logically and deeply, all the issues of the civil war; the attitude, responsibilities and influences of california, particularly san francisco. he made no great emotional appeals; he dealt in no impassioned oratory nor invective. at the close there was a little pause, so deep the concentration of their listening, before the concourse broke into applause. then it was hysteria, pandemonium. hats flew in the air; whistles, cheers and bravos mingled. the striking of palm against palm was like a great volley. again and again the preacher rose, bowed, retired. finally he thanked them, called the meeting closed, and bade them a good afternoon. only then the crowd began to melt. fifty thousand people knew their city--and their state no doubt--were safe for anti-slavery. [illustration: the concourse broke into applause. then it was hysteria, pandemonium. fifty thousand knew their city was safe for anti-slavery.] chapter lvii waters pays the price months passed to a tune of fifes and drums. everywhere men were drilling. at more or less regular intervals one saw them marching down montgomery street, brave in their new uniforms, running a gauntlet of bunting, flags and cheers. then they passed from one's ken. each fortnight the san francisco papers published a column of deaths and casualties. in due time a letter came from herbert waters, now a sergeant of his troop. benito promptly closed his office for the afternoon and ran home with it; he read the missive, while alice, robert and po lun listened, eager-eyed and silent: "we have marched over historic ground, the trail of d'anza, which benito's forefathers broke in . they say it is the hardest march that volunteer troops ever made and i can well believe it. there are no railroads; it was almost like exploring. sometimes water holes are ninety miles apart. the desert is so hot that you in temperate san francisco can't imagine it unless you think of hell; and in the mountains we found snow up to our waists; were nearly frozen. "apaches, yumas, navajos abound; they are cruel, treacherous fighters. we had some lively skirmishes with them. i received a poisoned arrow in my arm. but i sucked the wound and very soon, to everyone's surprise, it healed. there comes to me oft-times a strange conceit that i cannot be killed or even badly hurt ... until i have met terry." there was a postscript written on a later date, proceeding from fort davis, texas. though the handwriting was less firm than the foregoing, there was a jubilance about the closing lines which even the chinese felt. his eyes glowed with a battle spirit as benito read: "my prayer has been answered. at least in part. i have met and fought with broderick's assassin. it was in the battle for fort davis, which we wrested from the enemy, that he loomed suddenly before me, a great hulk of a man in a captain's uniform swinging his sword like a demon. i saw one of our men go down before him and then the battle press brought us together. it seemed almost like destiny. his sword was red and dripping, his horse was covered with foam. he looked at me with eyes that were insane--mad with the lust of killing; tried to plunge the blade into my neck. but i caught his wrist and held it. i shouted at him, for the noise was hideous, 'david terry, i am broderick's friend.' he went white at that. i let his wrist go and drew my own saber. i struck at him and the sparks flew from his countering weapon. my heart was leaping with a kind of joy. 'no trick pistols this time,' i cried. and i spat in his face. "but another's ball came to his rescue. i felt it, cold as ice and hot as fire in my lung. i made a wild slash at him as i fell; saw him wince, but ride away.... so, now i lie in a camp hospital. it has seemed a long time. but it is the fortune of war. perhaps i shall see you soon." "it isn't signed," benito seemed a trifle puzzled. then he found, in back of waters' lines, a final sheet in a strange handwriting. hurriedly he rose, walked to the open door. below, upon the bay, storm was brewing; it seemed mirrored in his eyes. "what is it, dear?" asked alice following. he handed her the single sheet of paper. "dead!" her tone was stunned, incredulous. benito's arm around her, dumbly, they went out together. rain was beginning to fall, but neither knew it. * * * * * several years of war made little change in san francisco. the city furnished more than its quota of troops. the california hundred, trained fighters and good horsemen, went to massachusetts in and were assigned to the second cavalry. later the california battalion joined them. both saw terrific fighting. but california furnished better than "man-power" to the struggle. money, that all-important war-essential, streamed uninterruptedly from the coast-state mines to washington. more than a hundred millions had already been sent--a sum which, in confederate hands, might have turned the destiny of battle. california was loyal politically as well. though badly treated by a remote, often unsympathetic government, she had scorned the plot to set up a "pacific republic" as the south had planned and hoped. her secret service men were busy and astute, preventing filibustering plots and mail robberies. there was a constant feeling of uneasiness. san francisco still housed too many southern folk. benito and alice were dining with the stanleys. francisco and robert were squatted on the hearth, poring over an illustrated book that had come from new york. it showed the uniforms of united states soldiers, the latest additions to the navy. "see," said francisco, "here are pictures of admiral farragut and general sherman." he was fifteen now and well above his father's shoulders. robert, three years younger, looked up to admire his cousin. a smaller, more intellectual type of boy was robert, with his mother's quiet sweetness and his father's fire. "here's a picture of the fight between the monitor and merrimac," he cried interestedly, "when i grow up i shall join the navy and wear a cap with gold braid, like farragut." "and i shall be a lawyer ... maybe a senator or president," said francisco, with importance. the men, talking politics over their cigars, did not hear this converse, but the women looked down at their sons, smiling fondly. "yesterday robert announced that he would be a poet," alice confided. "he saw his father writing verses in a book." "and tomorrow he will want to be an inventor or a steam-boat captain," inez answered. "'tis the way with boys.... mine is getting so big--i'm afraid he'll be going to war." po lun interrupted their further confidences. he rushed in breathless, unannounced. "misstah windham," he spoke to benito. "one man wanchee see you quick in chinatown.... he allee same plitty soon die. he say you sabe him. his name mctu'pin." chapter lviii mcturpin turns informer benito stared, bewildered, at the chinaman. "mcturpin dying? wants to see me?" po lun nodded. "he send-um china boy you' house. he wait outside." benito rose. alice laid detaining fingers on his arm. "don't go ... it's just a ruse. you know mcturpin." "the time is past when he can injure me," he answered gravely. "something tells me it is right--to go." he kissed her, disengaged her arms about him gently, and went out. adrian signaled to the chinese. "follow him...." po lun nodded understandingly. a shuffling figure, face concealed beneath a broad-brimmed hat, hands tucked each within the opposite sleeve, awaited windham just outside the door. he set out immediately in an easterly direction, glancing over his shoulder now and again to make certain that benito followed. down the steep slope of washington street he went past moss-grown retaining walls; over slippery brick pavements, through which the grass-blades sprouted, to plunge at length into the eddying alien mass of chinatown's main artery, dupont street. here rushing human counter-currents ebbed and flowed ceaslessly. burdens of all sizes and of infinite variety swept by on swaying shoulder yokes. benito's guide paused momentarily on the farther side of dupont street. then, with a beckoning gesture, he dived into a narrow alley. benito, following, found himself before the entrance of a cellarway. as he halted, iron trapdoors opened toward him, revealing a short flight of steps. the chinese motioned him to descend, but the lawyer hesitated with a sudden sense of trepidation. beneath the pavement in this cul-de-sac of chinatown, he would be hidden from the world, from friends or rescue, as securely as though he were at the bottom of the bay. but he squared his shoulders and went down. a door opened noiselessly and closed, leaving him in total darkness. a lantern glimmered and he followed it along a narrow passage that had many unexpected turns. an odor, pungent, acrid, semi-aromatic troubled his nostrils. it increased until the lantern-bearing chinese ushered him into a large square room, lined with bunks, three-deep, like the forecastle of a ship. in each lay two chinese, face to face. they drew at intervals deep inhalations from a thick bamboo pipe, relaxing, thereupon into a sort of stupored dream. the place reeked with the fumes that had assailed benito in the passage. intuitively he knew that it was opium. a voice in english, faint and dreamy, reached him. "this way ... mr. windham.... please." a white almost-skeleton hand stretched toward him from a lower bunk. a bearded face, cadaverously sunken, in which gleamed bright fevered eyes, was now discernible. "mcturpin!" he spoke incredulously. "what's left of me," the tone was hollow, grim. "please sit down here, close to me.... i've something to tell you.... something that will--" he sank back weakly, but his eyes implored. benito took a seat beside the bunk. for a moment he thought the man was dead. he lay so limp, so silent! then mcturpin whispered. "bend closer. i will tell you how to serve your country.... there's a schooner called the 'j.m. chapman.' do you know where it lies?" "no," benito answered, "but that's easily discovered. if you've anything to say--go on." mcturpin's bony fingers clutched benito's sleeve. "listen," he said. "bend nearer." his voice droned on, at times imperceptible, again hoarse with excitement. benito sat moveless, absorbed. above the iron-trap doors po lun waited patiently. * * * * * in an unlighted alley back of the american exchange hotel two figures waited, as if by appointment on the night of march . one was ashbury harpending, a young southerner, and one of the committee of thirty which, several years before, had hatched an unsuccessful plot to capture california for the hosts of slavery. the other was an english boy named alfred rubery, large, good-looking, adventurous, nephew of the great london publicist, john bright. it was he who spoke first in a guarded undertone: "is everything ready--safe?" "far as i can tell," responded harpending. "how many men d'you get?" asked rubery. "twenty ... that's enough. we'll pick up more at manzanillo. there we'll dress the chapman into fighting trim, set up our guns aboard and capture the first pacific mail liner with gold out of california." "you're a clever fellow, harpending. how'd you get those guns aboard without suspicion?" "through a mexican friend," replied harpending. "he said he needed them to protect his mine in south america. besides, we've a large assortment of rifles, revolvers, cutlasses. they're boxed and marked 'machinery.'" further talk was interrupted by a group of men who approached, saluted, gave a whispered countersign. others came, still others till the quota of a full score had arrived. at harpending's command they separated to avoid attention. silently they slipped through dimly-lighted streets, past roaring saloons and sailors' boarding houses to an unfrequented portion of the waterfront. there the trim black silhouetted shape of the schooner chapman loomed against a cloudy sky. at the rail stood ridgely greathouse, big, florid, his burnside whiskers twitching. "where the devil's law?" he bellowed. "lord almighty! here it's nearly midnight and no captain." "he's not with us," said harpending quietly. but his face paled. navigator william law was the only one of whom he had a doubt. but the men must not suspect. "law will be along soon," he added. "let us all get aboard and make ready to sail." the men followed him and went below. harpending, greathouse and rubery paced the deck. "he's drunk probably," commented greathouse savagely. "tut! tut!" cried rubery, "let us have no croaking." but at two o'clock, the navigator had not shown his face. they could not sail without a captain. wearily they went below and left a sentinel on watch. he was a young man who had eaten heavily and drunk to even more excess. for a time he paced the deck conscientiously. then he sat down, leaned against a spar and smoked. after a while the pipe fell from his listless fingers. * * * * * "ahoy, schooner chapman!" the sleeping sentinel stirred languidly. he stretched himself, yawned, rose in splendid leisure. then a shout broke from him. like a frightened rabbit he dived through the hatchway, yelling at the top of his lungs. "the police! the police!" harpending was up first. pell mell, rubery and greathouse followed. a couple of hundred yards away they looked into the trained guns of the federal warship cyane. several boatloads of officers and marines were leaving her side. from the san francisco waterfront a police tug bore down on the chapman. greathouse stumbled back into the cabin. "quick, destroy the evidence," he shouted. chapter lix the comstock furore press reports gave full and wide sensation to the capture of the "chapman." chief lees took every credit for the thwarting of a "plot of southern pirates" who "conspired to prey upon the golden galleons from california." thus the headlines put it. and benito was relieved to find no mention of himself. harpending he knew and liked, despite his southern sympathies; rubery he had met; an english lad, high-spirited and well connected. in fact, john bright soon had his errant nephew out of jail. and when, a few months later, harpending and greathouse were released, benito deemed the story happily ended. he heard nothing from mcturpin. no doubt the fellow was dead. that troublesome proclivity of wooing chance was uppermost again in windham's mind. it was only natural perhaps, for all of san francisco gambled now in mining stocks. the brokers swarmed like bees along montgomery street; every window had its shelf of quartz and nuggets interspersed with pictures of the "workings" at virginia city. it was nevada now that held the treasure-seeker's eye. within a year it had produced six millions. scores of miners staked their claims upon or near the comstock lode and most of them sought capital in san francisco. washerwomen, bankers, teamsters--every class was bitten by the microbe of hysterical investment. some had made great fortunes; none apparently thus far had lost. in front of flood and o'brien's saloon a hand fell heartily upon benito's shoulder. "come in and have a drink," james lick invited. lick had "made a pile" of late. he was building a big hotel on montgomery street; was recognized as one of san francisco's financiers. he took benito by the arm. "we've got to celebrate. i've made ten thousand on my ophir shares. carrying any mining stock, benito?" "no," retorted windham. he suffered lick to lead him to the bar. will o'brien, a shrewd-faced merry irishman, took their orders. he and flood had bought an interest in virginia city ... "a few fate only, but it's goin' t' make us rich, me lad," he said enthusiastically as he set their glasses out upon the bar. "we'll all be nabobs soon. ain't that the god's truth, mr. ralston?" "sure, my boy," a deep voice answered heartily. windham turned and saw a man of forty, tall, well-molded, with a smiling forceful countenance. he seemed to smack of large affairs. benito sipped his liquor, listening absorbedly while ralston rattled off facts, figures, prospects in connection with the comstock lode. "the nevada mines will pay big," benito heard him tell a group of bearded men who hung upon his utterances. "big! you can bet your bottom dollar on it. if you've money, don't let it stay idle." benito bade his friend good-bye and went out, thinking deeply. he wondered what alice would say if.... nesbitt of the bulletin interrupted his musing. "heard the news, benito? we're to have a stock exchange next month." "the brokers are opposed to it. they don't want staple values, because, now and then, they can pick up a bargain or drive a hard trade. and they can peddle 'wildcat' stocks to tenderfeet.... we must stop that sort of thing." "quite so," said windham vaguely comprehending. nesbitt babbled on. "there are to be forty charter members, with a fund of $ ." he took a pencil from his pocket. tapped benito's shirt front with it. "buy a little gould and curry.... i've just had a tip that it will rise." he hurried on. * * * * * windham let his clients wait that afternoon. he took a walk toward twin peaks on market street. that lordly, though neglected, thoroughfare began to make pretensions toward commercial activity. opposite montgomery street was st. ignatius church. farther down toward the docks were lumber yards and to the west were little shops, mostly one-storied, widely scattered. chinese laundries, a livery stable or two. the pavements were stretches of boardwalk interspersed with sand or mud, trodden into passable trails. down the broad center ran a track on which for years a dummy engine had labored back and forth, drawing flat cars laden with sand. now most of the sand hills were leveled above kearny street. benito picked his way along the northern side of market street till he came to hayes. there the new horse car line ran to hayes park. one was just leaving as he reached the corner, so he hopped aboard. as the driver took his fare he nodded cordially. benito recognized him as a former client. "listen," said the fellow, "you did me a good turn once, mr. windham. now i'll return the compliment." he leaned nearer, whispered. "buy some hale and norcross mining stock. i've got a tip straight from the president. it's going up." * * * * * in the spring of ' , virginia city mines still yielded treasure harvests unbelievable. windham's bank account had risen to the quarter-million mark. month by month he watched his assets grow by leaps more marvelous than even his romantic fancy could fore-vision. stocks were climbing at a rate which raised the value of each share $ every thirty days. san francisco's stock and exchange board, the leading of the three such institutions, had quarters in the montgomery block. electric telegraphs, which flashed its stock quotations round the world, made it a money power in london, paris and new york. benito had a home now in south park, the city's new, exclusive residence section. from there the omnibus street railway company, in which he was a large stockholder, operated horse cars to north beach. he wore a high hat now and spectacles. there were touches of gray in his hair. as he entered the exchange, a nimble-fingered morse-operator was marking figures on a blackboard. windham heard his name called; turning, met the outstretched hand of william ralston. they chatted for a time on current matters. there was to be a merchants' exchange. already ground was broken for the building. the bank of california, one of ralston's enterprises, would soon open its doors. ralston was in a dozen ventures, all of them constructive, public spirited. he counted his friends by the hundreds. suddenly he turned from contemplation of the blackboard to benito. "carrying much virginia city nowadays?" benito told him. ralston knit his brow, deliberating. then he said with crisp decision, "better start unloading soon, my son." benito was surprised; expostulated. ophir, gould and curry, savage were as steady as a rock. he didn't want to lose a "bag of money." ralston heard him, nodded curtly, walked away. disturbed, rebellious, benito quit the place. he wanted quiet to digest the older man's advice. ralston had the name of making few mistakes. restlessly benito sought an answer to his problem. in the end he went home undecided and retired dinnerless, explaining that he had a headache. he awoke with a fever the next morning. alice, frightened by his haggard eyes, sent po lun for a doctor. chapter lx the shattered bubble benito looked up from his pillows, tried to rise and found that he had not the strength. someone was holding his wrist. oh, yes, dr. beverly cole. behind him stood alice and robert.... how tall the boy looked beside his little mother! they seemed to be tired, worried. and alice had tears in her eyes. he heard the doctor's voice afar off, saying, "yes, he'll live. the danger's over--barring complications." once more his senses drifted, slept. * * * * * in the morning po lun brought a cup of broth and fed him with a spoon. "long time you been plenty sick," the chinaman replied to his interrogation. "where's alice?" "she go 'sleep 'bout daylight.... she plenty ti'ed. ebely night she sit up while you talk clazy talk." "you mean i've been delirious, po lun?" the chinese nodded. "you get well now plitty soon," he said soothingly and, with the empty cup, stole softly out. after a time alice came, rejoiced to find him awake. the boy, on his way to school, poked a bright morning face in at the door and called out, "hello, dad! better, ain't you?" "yes, robert," said benito. when the boy had gone he turned to alice. "how long have i been ill?" "less than a fortnight--though it seems an age." she took his hand and cried a little. but they were happy tears. he stroked her hair with a hand that seemed strangely heavy. * * * * * three weeks later, hollow-eyed, a little shaky, but eager to be back at work, benito returned to his office. a press of work engaged him through the morning hours. but at noon, he wandered out into the bright june sunshine, walking about and greeting old friends. at the russ house cafe, where he lunched, william ralston greeted him cordially. "how is the war going?" windham asked. "i've been laid up for a month--rather out of the running." "well, they're devilish hard fighters, those confederates. and lee's a master strategist.... but we've the money, windham. that's what counts. the union owes a lot to california and nevada." "nevada!" with the word came sudden recollection. "that reminds me, ralston.... how are stocks?" but the banker, with a muttered excuse hastened off. benito finished his coffee, smoked a cigarette and made his way again into the street. presently he went into the stock exchange, almost deserted now, after the close of the morning session. o'brien was there, smoking a long black cigar and chatting in his boisterous, confidential way with asbury harpending. the latter was babbling in real estate. "hullo, windham!" he greeted. "you don't look very fit.... been ill?" "yes," benito told him. "laid up since the last of may. what's new?" "nothing much--since the bottom dropped out of comstock." instinctively benito's hand went out toward a chair. he sank into it weakly. so that was the explanation of ralston's swift departure. he felt the men's eyes upon him as he walked unsteadily to the files and scanned them. ophir stock had dropped per cent. gould and curry was even lower. benito closed the book and walked blindly out of the exchange. after a time he heard footsteps following. harpending's voice came, "hey, there, windham." benito turned. "cleaned out?" asked the other sympathetically. "not--quite." "then forget the stocks. they're tricky things at best.... i've a proposition that's a winner. positively.... there's law work to be done. we need you." "montgomery street straight" was the plan. it was to be extended across market street either in a straight line or at an easy angle--over all obstructions to the bay. "but such a scheme would involve millions," benito objected. "it would cut through the latham and parrott homes for instance.... old senator latham would hold you up for a prohibitive price. and parrott would fight you to a finish." "quite right," returned harpending. "that's where you come in, benito. we want you to draw us a bill and lobby it through the legislature...." "the thing is to make it a law. then the governor must appoint a commission. the latham and parrott properties will be condemned and we can acquire them at a fair price." "very well," benito answered. "it's a go." several days after his talk with harpending, benito met adrian and francisco, the latter a tall, gangling lad of sixteen. father and son were talking animatedly, discussing some point on which francisco seemed determined to have his way. "what d'ye think of this youngster of mine?" stanley questioned. "scarcely out of short pants and wants to be a newspaper man! i say he should go to school a few years more ... to one of those eastern colleges you hear so much about. i've the money. he doesn't need to work.... talk to him, benito. make him listen to sense." "i don't wish to go east, uncle ben," said francisco. "what good will it do me to learn latin and greek.... higher mathematics and social snobbery? i want to get to work. calvin mcdonald's offered me a job on the american flag." "what will you do? write editorials or poetry?" his father asked. francisco flushed. "i'll be a copy boy to start with.... and there's no harm in writing poetry. uncle ben does it himself." it was benito's turn to redden. "better let the boy have his way," he said hastily. "journalism's quite an education in itself." "so, you're against me, too! well, well. i'll see about it." they shook hands good-humoredly, the boy beaming. afterward news reached benito that young stanley was a member of mcdonald's staff. * * * * * in there came the joyous news of victory and peace. the democratic press accepted lee's surrender sullenly, printing now and then a covert sneer at grant or lincoln. enmity died hard in southern breasts. one morning as he came to town benito saw a crowd of angry and excited men running down montgomery street. some of them brandished canes. "down with copperheads," they were shouting. presently he heard a crash of glass, a cry of protest. then a door gave with a splintering sound. the crowd rushed through, into the offices and print rooms of the democratic press. there was more noise of wreckage and destruction. broken chairs, tables, typecases, bits of machinery hurtled into the street. benito grasped the arm of a man who was hurrying by. "what's wrong?" he asked. the other turned a flushed and angry mien toward him. "god almighty! haven't you heard? president lincoln was shot last night ... by a brother of ed booth, the actor.... they say he's dying." he picked up a stone and hurled it at an upper window of the press. "we'll show these traitor-dogs a thing or two," he called. "come on, boys, let's wreck the place!" chapter lxi desperate finance the publishers of the democratic press had their lesson. in a city draped with black for a beloved president, they swept up the glass of their shattered windows, picked up what remained of scattered type, reassembled machinery and furniture--and experienced a change of heart. presently the examiner burgeoned from that stricken journalistic root. francisco was now a member of the alta staff, the aggressive but short-lived american flag, having ceased publication several years after the war. adrian admitted to benito that the boy had justified his bent for journalistic work. "the young rascal's articles are attracting attention. he even signs some of them; now and then they print one of his verses--generally a satire on local events. and he gets passes to all of the theaters. inez and i are going to 'camille' tonight." "so are alice and myself, by a coincidence." benito lighted a cigar and puffed a moment; then he added, "do you know what that boy of mine proposes to do?" "no," said adrian. "become an actor--or a politician?" "well, it's almost as bad.... he wants to be a letter carrier.... the new free delivery routes will be established soon, you know." "yes, the town's growing," commented stanley. "well, you'd better let young robert have his way. he's almost as big as you.... how is 'montgomery straight' progressing?" "fairly well," returned benito. "latham and parrott are fighting us as we expected. but harpending's acquired selim woodworth's lot on market street, just where montgomery will cut through." he laughed. "selim wanted half a million for it.... he'd have got it in a day or two because we had to have the property. but along comes an earthquake and literally shakes $ , out of woodworth's pockets. frightened him so badly that he sold for $ , and was glad to get it." "well, even earthquakes have their uses," adrian smiled. "here comes francisco. i'll have him see maguire and arrange it so that we can sit together at the show." "who is the lanky fellow with him?" asked benito. "looks as if he would appreciate a joke." "oh, that's his friend, sam clemens," adrian answered. "an improvident cuss but good company. he writes for the carson appeal under the name of mark twain." * * * * * benito, that afternoon, was closeted with harpending and ralston in the bank of california. the financier, who was backing the montgomery street venture, regarded harpending a trifle quizzically. "once," he said, "you tried to be a pirate, asbury.... oh, no offense," he laid a soothing hand upon the other's knee. "but tonight i need a desperate man such as you. another like benito. we're going to raid the mint." "what?" cried windham, startled. "you'll need steadier nerves than that for our enterprise." ralston passed his cigar case to the two men, saw them puffing equably ere he continued. "you know how tight the money situation has become because president grant declines to let us exchange our gold bars for coin. with eight tons of gold in our vault we almost had a run this afternoon.... now, that's ridiculous." his fist smote the table. "grant doesn't know the ropes.... but that's no reason why hell should break loose tomorrow morning." "what are you going to do?" benito asked. "use my common sense--and save the banks," said ralston shortly. "you two must meet me here this evening. soon as it's dark. you'll have a hard night's work. my friend dore will be there also. can you suggest anyone else--absolutely to be trusted, who will ask no questions?" "my son," benito answered; "robert likes work. he wants to be a postal-carrier." "bring him by all means," said ralston. "if he helps us out tonight, i'll see that he gets anything he wants in san francisco." he was boyishly eager; full of excited plans for his daring scheme. the two men left him chuckling as he bit the end off a fresh cigar. * * * * * it was nearly nine o'clock when they left the bank of california. theater-going crowds were housed at the play; the streets were extraordinarily silent as the quintet made their way toward the mint. robert was breathing hard. the dark streets, the mysterious empire ahead, the hint of danger and a mighty stake distilled a toxic and exhilarating fever in his blood. as the pillared front of the federal treasure house loomed up before them, ralston made a sign for them to halt, advancing cautiously. with astonishment they saw him pass through the usually guarded door and disappear. presently he emerged with two sacks. "robert and benito, take these to the bank," he whispered. "the watchmen there will give you the equivalent in gold bars to bring back." he turned to harpending and dore. "i'll have yours ready in a minute." once more he vanished within. robert picked up the bag allotted to him. it was very heavy. as he lifted it to his shoulder, the contents clinked. "gold coin," said his father, significantly. "what if we're caught?" asked the boy, half fearfully. ralston, reappearing, heard the question. "you won't be," he said. "i've attended to that." his assurance proved correct. all night the four men toiled between the mint and the bank of california sweating, puffing, fatigued to the brink of exhaustion. with the first streak of dawn, ralston dismissed them. "you've brought five ton of gold coin to the vault," he said, his eyes agleam. "you've saved san francisco the worst financial panic that ever a short-sighted federal government unwittingly precipitated." suddenly he laughed and threw his arms wide. "at ten o'clock the frightened sheep will come running for their deposits.... well, let 'em come." "and now you boys go home and get some sleep. by the eternal, you deserve it!" chapter lxii adolph sutro's tunnel william c. ralston's bank of california had become the great financial institution of the west. ralston was the rothschild of america. through him central pacific railway promoters borrowed $ , , with less formality than a country banker uses in mortgaging of a ten-acre farm. two millions took their unobtrusive wing to south america, financing mines he had never seen. in virginia city william sharon directed a branch of the bank of california and kept his eye on mineral investment. benito sat in ralston's office one morning, smoking and discussing the montgomery street problem when a clerk tapped at the door. "a fellow's out here from virginia city," he said nervously. "wants to see you quickly 'and no bones about it.' that's what he told me." "all right, send him in," said ralston laughing. "stay, benito. he won't take a minute...." ere he finished there stalked in a wild-eyed individual clad in boots, the slouch hat of the mining man, a suit of handsome broadcloth, mud-bespattered and a heavy golden watch chain with the usual nugget charm. he was a clean-cat type of mining speculator from nevada. "sit down," invited ralston. "have a smoke." the intruder glared at windham; then he eased himself uncomfortably into a spacious leather-covered seat, bit off the end of a cigar, half-viciously and, having found the cuspidor, began. "i've something for your ear alone, bill ralston...." "meet benito windham," ralston introduced. "speak out. i have no secrets from my friends." the other hemmed and hawed. he seemed averse to putting into words some thought which troubled him beyond repression. "do you know," he burst out finally, "that your partner, sharon, has become the most incurable and dissolute gambler in nevada?" "you don't say." ralston did not seem as shocked as one might have expected. "well, my friend, that sounds quite serious.... what's poor bill's particular kind of--vice?" "poker," said the visitor. "by the eternal, that man sharon would stake his immortal soul on a four-card flush and never bat an eye. time and time again i've seen it." ralston leaned back comfortably, his folded hands across his middle. his speculative stare was on a marble statue. at length he spoke. "does sharon win or lose?" "well," the other man admitted, "i must say he wins...." "then he's just the man i want," ralston spoke with emphasis. he rose, held out his hand toward the flustered visitor. "thanks for telling me.... and now we'll all go for a drink together." * * * * * "that's bill ralston!" said benito to his wife. they laughed about the anecdote which windham had related at the dinner table. robert, in his new letter-carrier's uniform, spoke up. "i saw him at the bank this afternoon.... there was a letter from virginia city and he kept me waiting till he opened it. then he slapped me on the shoulder. 'if the contents of that letter had been known to certain people, son,' he told me, 'they'd have cleaned up a fortune on the information.' then he handed me a gold-piece. but i wouldn't take it. 'don't be proud,' he said and poked me in the ribs. 'and don't forget that bill ralston's your friend.'" "everybody calls him 'bill,'" his mother added. "washerwomen, teamsters, beggars, millionaires. if ever there was a friend of the people it is he." "some day, though, he'll overplay his game," benito prophesied. ralston had been euchered out of a railroad to eureka, planned by harpending and himself and opposed by the big four; "montgomery to the bay" was meeting with a host of difficulties; the grand hotel was building and kearny street, where he owned property, was being widened. ralston's genial countenance showed sometimes a little strained pucker between the eyes. * * * * * now and then benito met a man named adolph sutro. they called him "the man with a dream." stocky, under average height, intensely businesslike, he was--a german burgomeister type, with burnside whiskers and a purpose. he proposed to drive a tunnel four miles long from carson valley, and strike the comstock levels feet below the surface. an english syndicate was backing him. the work was going on. much of sutro's time was spent in virginia city, superintending the work on his tunnel. but he fell into the habit of finding benito whenever he came to town--dragging him from home with awkward but sincere apologies to alice. "you will lend me your husband, hein?" he would say. "i like to tell him of my fancies, for he understands ... the others laugh at me." alice smiled into his broad, good humored face. "that's very silly of them." "donnerwetter! some day they will laugh the other way around," he threatened. * * * * * benito and sutro usually drove or rode through the presidio and out along a road which skirted cliffs and terminated at the seal rock house. there they dined and watched the seals disporting on some sea-drenched rocks, a stone's throw distant. and there sutro indulged in more dreams. "some day i shall purchase that headland and build me a home ... and farther inland i shall grow a forest out of eucalyptus trees. they come from australia.... one can buy them cheap enough.... they grow fast like bamboo in the tropics." he clapped a hand upon benito's knee. "i shall call it mount parnassus." benito tried to smile appreciatively. he felt rather dubious about the scheme. but he liked to see the other's quiet eyes flash with an unexpected fire. perhaps his genius might indeed reclaim this desolate region. inward from the beach lay the waste of sand-hills known as golden gate park. there was talk among the real estate visionaries of making it a pleasure ground. so regularly did they end their outings with a dinner at the seal rock house that alice always knew where to find her husband in case some clamorous client sought benito's aid. and tonight as an attendant called his name he answered with no other thought than that he would be asked to make a will or soothe some jealous and importunate wife who wanted a divorce without delay. they usually did want them that way. he rose, leisurely enough, and made his way to the door. there, instead of the usual messenger boy, stood alice. "you must come at once," she panted. "robert has been robbed of an important letter to the bank. they talk of arresting him.... ralston wants you at his office." chapter lxiii lees solves a mystery in the president's office at the bank of california, benito found his son, pale but intrepid. he was being questioned by william sharon and a postoffice inspector. ralston, hands crammed into trousers pockets, paced the room disturbedly. "you admit, then, that the envelope was given you?" sharon was asking truculently as benito entered. "yes," said robert, "i remember seeing such a letter as i packed my mail." "humph!" exclaimed sharon. he seemed about to ask another question, but the postal official anticipated him. "explain what happened after you left the mail station." "nothing much ... i walked up washington street as usual. on the edge of chinatown a woman stopped me ... asked me how to get to market street." "is that all?" "yes, that's all," said robert. "she seemed confused by our criss-cross streets. i had to tell her several times ... to point the way before she understood." "and nothing else happened?" "nothing else--except that mr. ralston asked me for the letter. said he was expecting it.... i searched my bag but couldn't find it." "tell us more about this woman. give us a description of her." "spanish type," said robert tersely. "very pleasant; smiled a lot and had gold fillings in her teeth. must have been quite handsome when she was young." the inspector stroked his chin reflectively. "didn't set the bag down, did you? ... when you pointed out the way, for instance?" "let me see.... why, yes--i did. i hadn't thought of that...." * * * * * captain of detectives i.w. lees was making a record for himself among the nation's crime-detectors. he was a swarthy little man, implacable as an indian and as pertinacious on a trail. he never forgot a face and no amount of disguise could hide its identity from his penetrating glance. without great vision or imagination, he knew criminals as did few other men; could reason from cause to effect within certain channels, unerringly. he was heartless, ruthless--some said venal. but he caught and convicted felons, solved the problems of his office by a dogged perseverance that ignored defeat. for, with a mind essentially tricky, he anticipated tricksters--unless their operations were beyond his scope. it was o'clock at night, but he was still at work upon a case which, up to now, had baffled him--a case of opium smuggling--when robert and benito entered. at first he listened to them inattentively. but at robert's story of the woman, he became electrified. "rose terranza! dance hall girl back in the eldorado days! queen of the night life under half a dozen names! smiling rose, some called her. good clothes and gold in her teeth! i've her picture--wait a minute." he pulled a cord; a bell jangled somewhere. an officer entered. * * * * * chinatown at midnight. dark and narrow streets; fat, round paper lanterns here and there above dim doorways; silent forms, soft-shuffling, warily alert. "wait one minee," said po lun. "i find 'em door." following the chinaman were captain lees, with his half a dozen "plain clothes men," benito, robert and the mail inspector. presently po spoke again. "jus' alound co'ne'" (corner), he whispered. "me go ahead. plitty soon you come. you hea' me makem noise ... allee same cat." lees descried him as he paused before a dimly lighted door. evidently he was challenged; gave a countersign. for the door swung back. po lun passed through. nothing happened for a time. then a piercing feline wail stabbed through the night. "m-i-i-a-o-w-r-r-r!" lees sprang forward, pressed his weight against the partly-open portal; flashed his dark lantern on two figures struggling violently. his hand fell on the collar of po lun's antagonist; a policeman's "billy" cracked upon his skull. "tie and gag him," said the captain. "leave a man on guard.... the rest of you come on." po lun leading, they went, single file through utter blackness. now and then the white disc of lees' lantern, now in po lun's hand, gleamed like a guiding will-o-wisp upon the tortuous path. suddenly benito felt the presence of new personalities. they seemed to be in a room with other people. several dark lamps flashed at po lun's signal. they revealed a room sumptuously furnished. teakwood chairs, with red embroidered backs and cushions, stood about the walls. handsome gilded grillwork screened a boudoir worthy of a queen. clad in the laciest of robes de chambre, a dark-skinned woman sat on the edge of a canopied bed. she was past her first youth, but still of remarkable beauty. at the foot of the bed stood mcturpin--pale ghost of his former self. he looked like a cornered rat ... and quite as dangerous. two chinese were crouched against a lacquered screen. "what do you want?" asked the woman, her voice shrill with anger. "take your hand out from under that pillow!" ordered lees. "no nonsense, smiling rose." reluctantly the ringed and tapered fingers that had clutched apparently a hidden weapon came into view. "light the lamps," said lees, and one of his men performed this office. "that's the woman, father," spoke young robert, unexpectedly. "put the bracelets on her," ordered lees, "and search the place." a man stepped forward. but they had not counted on mcturpin. "let her be," he screamed. a pistol flashed. the officer went down at rose's feet. instantly there was confusion. the room was filled with shuffling oriental figures. the lights went out. powder-flashes leaped like fireflies in the darkness. through it all lees could be heard profanely giving orders. then, as swiftly, it was over. somewhere a door closed. lees leaped forward just in time to hear an iron bar clang into place. "gone," he muttered, as his light searched vainly for the woman. "who's that on the bed?" asked benito. "the cursed opium-wreck, mcturpin," lees replied impatiently. "i planted him when i saw dick go down." he bent above the wounded officer while benito relighted the lamps and examined curiously the body of his ancient enemy. for mcturpin was dead. he had evidently tried to reach the woman as he fell. his clawlike fingers clutched, in rigor mortis, her abandoned robe. on the floor, where it had fallen from her bosom, doubtless in the hasty flight, there lay a crumpled, bloodstained envelope. robert springing forward, seized it with an exclamation. it was addressed to william c. ralston. chapter lxiv an idol topples news had come in early spring of robert windham senior's death in monterey; less than two months afterward his wife, anita, lay beside him in the spanish cemetery. the old californians were passing; here and there some venerable hidalgo played the host upon broad acres as in ancient days and came to san francisco, booted, spurred, attended by a guard of vaqueros. but a new generation gazed at him curiously and, after a lonely interval, he departed. market street was now a lordly thoroughfare; horse-cars jingled merrily along the leading streets. up clay street ran that wonder of the age, a cable-tram invented by old hallidie, the engineer. they had made game of him for years until he demonstrated his invention for the conquering of hills. now the world was seeking him to solve its transportation problems. ralston, as usual, was riding on the crest of fortune. his was a veritable lust for city building. each successive day he founded some new enterprise. "like a master juggler," said benito to his wife, "he keeps a hundred interests in the air. let's see. there are the mission woolen mills, the kimball carriage works, the cornell watch factory--of all things--the west coast furniture plant, the san francisco sugar refinery, the grand hotel, a dry dock at hunter's point, the california theater, a reclamation scheme at sherman island, the san joaquin valley irrigating system, the rincon hill cut, the extension of montgomery street ..." he checked them off on his fingers, pausing finally for lack of breath. "you've forgotten the palace hotel," said alice smiling. "no," benito said, "i hadn't got that far. but the palace is typical. ralston wants san francisco to have the best of everything the world can give. he's mad about this town. it's wife and child to him. why it's almost his god!" alice looked into his eyes. "you're fearful for your prince! you monte cristo!" "yes," he said, "i'm frankly worried. something's got to drop.... it's too--too splendid." * * * * * as he went down market street toward montgomery, benito paused to observe the new palace hotel. hundreds of bricklayers, carpenters and other workmen were raising it with astonishing speed. hod-carriers raced up swaying ladders, steam-winches puffed and snorted; great vats of lime and mortar blockaded the street. it was to have a great inner court upon which seven galleries would look down. ralston boasted he would make it a hotel for travelers to talk of round the world. and no one in san francisco doubted it. benito, eyes upraised to view the labors of a bustling human hive, almost collided with two gentlemen, who were strolling westward, arm in arm. he apologized. they roared endearing curses at him and insisted that he join them in a drink. they were j.c. flood and w.s. o'brien, former saloon proprietors now reputed multi-millionaires. early in the seventies they had joined forces with jim mackey, a blaster, at virginia city and a mining man named j.g. fair. between them they bought up the supposedly depleted consolidated virginia mine, paying from $ to $ each for its , shares. mining experts smiled good naturedly, forgot the matter. then the world was brought upstanding by the news of a bonanza hitherto unrivaled. con. virginia had gained a value of $ , , . after he had sipped the french champagne, on which flood insisted and which windham disliked, the latter spoke of ralston and his trouble with the editors. "some of the newspapers would have us think he's playing recklessly, with other people's money," he said with irritation. '"well, well, and maybe he is, me b'y," returned o'brien. "don't blame the newspaper fellahs.... they've raison to be suspicious, hiven knows.... ralston's a prince. we all love the man. it's not that. but--," he came closer, caught both of benito's coat lapels in a confidential grasp, "i'm tellin' ye this, me lad: if it should come to a show-down ... if certain enemies should have a chance to call bill ralston's hand, i tell ye, it would mean dee-saster!" * * * * * at o'clock on the morning of august , francisco stanley entered the private door of windham's office. he was now an under-editor on the chronicle, which had developed from the old dramatic chronicle, into a daily newspaper. benito glanced up from his desk a bit impatiently; it was a busy day. "what's the matter, francisco? you're excited." "i've a right to be," the journalist spoke sharply. he glanced at his uncle's secretary. "i must see you alone." "can't you come in later? i've a lot of clients waiting." "for god's sake, uncle ben," the younger man said desperately, "send them off." benito gazed at him, astonished. then convinced by something in francisco's eyes, he nodded to the secretary who departed. "it's ralston ... word has reached the newspapers ... his bank has failed." benito sprang to his feet. "you're crazy! it's--impossible!" "uncle ben, it's true!" his fingers closed almost spasmodically upon the other's arm. "how do you know?" "ralston says so. i've just come from there.... he wants you." benito reached dazedly for his hat. * * * * * benito found "bill" ralston in his private office, head bowed; eyes dully hopeless. he looked ten years older. "the bank of california has failed," he said before the younger man could ask a question. "it will never reopen its doors." "i--i simply can't believe it!" after a stunned silence benito spoke. he laid a hand on the banker's shoulder. "all i have is at your service, ralston." "thank you ... but it isn't any use." he looked up misty-eyed. "i tried to make this town the greatest in the world.... i went too far.... i played too big a stake. now--" he tried to smile. "now comes the reckoning." "but, god almighty! ralston," cried benito, "your assets must be enormous.... it's only a matter of time. you'll pull through." "they won't give me time," he spoke no names, yet windham knew he meant those who had turned from friends to enemies. * * * * * two days later francisco met ralston coming out of the bank. his face was haggard. his eyes had the look of one who has been struck an unexpected blow. "will the directors' meeting take place today, mr. ralston?" "it's in session now," he answered dully. "ah, i thought, perhaps--since you are leaving--it had been postponed." spots of red flamed in the banker's cheeks. "they've barred me from the meeting," he replied and hurried on. several hours later newsboys ran through san francisco's streets: "extra! extra!" they screamed, "all about ralston's suicide." chapter lxv industrial unrest about the bank of california was a surging press of men and women. the doors of that great financial institution were closed, blinds drawn, as on the previous day. now and then an officer or director passed the guarded portals. d.o. mills was one of these, his stern, ascetic face more severe than usual. francisco stanley pushed his way up to the carriage as it started. "will the bank reopen, mr. mills?" he asked, walking along beside the moving vehicle. the financier's eyes glared from the inner shadows. "yes, yes. certainly," he snapped. "very shortly ... as soon as we can levy an assessment" the coachman whipped up his horses; the carriage rolled off. francisco turned to face his uncle. "what did he say?" asked benito. others crowded close to hear the young editor's answer. the word found it way through the crowd. "the bank will reopen.... they'll levy an assessment.... we won't lose a cent." gradually the throng disbanded. everywhere one heard expressions of sorrow for ralston; doubt of the story that he had destroyed his life. as a matter of fact a coroner's jury found that death resulted from cerebral attack. an insurance company waived its suicide exemption clause and paid his widow $ , . the bank of california was reopened. ralston, buried with the pomp and splendor of a sorrowing multitude, was presently forgotten. few new troubles came upon the land. overspeculation in the comstock lode brought economic unrest. thousands were unemployed in san francisco. agitators rallied them at public meetings into furious and morbid groups. from the eastern states came telegraphic news of strikes and violence. adrian returned one evening, tired and harassed. "i don't know what's got into the working people," he said to inez. "oh, they'll get over that," pronounced francisco, with the sweeping confidence of youth. "these intervals of discontent are periodical--like epidemics of diseases." adrian glanced at the treatise on political economy in his son's hand. "and what would you suggest, my boy?" he asked with a faint smile. "leave them alone," said francisco. "it goes through a regular form. they have agitators who talk of bloodsucking plutocrats, rights of the people and all that. but it generally ends in mere words." "the paris commune didn't end in mere words," reminded adrian. "oh, that!" francisco was a trifle nonplussed. "well, of course--" "there have been serious riots in eastern states." "but--they had leaders. here we've none." "i'm not so sure of that," said adrian thoughtfully. "d'ye know that irish drayman, dennis kearney?" "y-e-s ... the one who used to be a sailor?" "that's the man. he's clever; knows men like a book.... has power and a knack for words. he calls our legislature 'the honorable bilks.' wants to start a workingmen's party. and he'll do it, too, or i'm mistaken. his motto is 'the chinese must go!'" "by harry! there's a story for the paper," said francisco. "i must see the fellow." robert windham and po lun were out for a morning promenade. they often walked together of a sunday. robert, though he was now twenty-six, still retained his childhood friendship for the chinese servitor; found him an agreeable, often-times a sage companion. urged by alice, whose ambitious love included all within her ken, po lun attended night school; he could read and write english passably, though the letter "r" still foiled his oriental tongue. today they were out to have a look at the new city hall. on a sand lot opposite several hundred men had gathered, pressing round a figure mounted on a barrel. the orator gesticulated violently. now and then there were cheers. a brandishing of fists and canes. po lun halted in sudden alarm. "plitty soon they get excited. they don't like chinese. i think maybe best we go back." but already po's "pig-tail" had attracted attention. the speaker pointed to him. "there's one of them heathen chinese," he cried shrilly. "the dirty yaller boys what's takin' bread out of our mouths. down with them, i say. make this a white man's country." an ominous growl came from the crowd. several rough-looking fellows started toward robert and po lun. the latter was for taking to his heels, but robert stood his ground. "what do you fellows want?" they paused, abashed by his intrepid manner. "no offense, young man. we ain't after you. it's that yaller heathen.... the kind that robs us of a chance to live." "po lun has never robbed anyone of a chance to live. he's our cook ... and my friend. you leave him alone." "he sends all his money back to china," sneered another coming closer, brandishing a stick. "a fine american, ain't he?" "a better one than you," said robert hotly. anger got the better of his judgment and he snatched the stick out of the fellow's hand, broke it, threw it to the ground. savagely they fell upon him. he went down, stunned by a blow on the head, a sense of crushing weight that overwhelmed his strength. he was vaguely conscious of a tirade of strange words, of an arm at the end of which was a meat cleaver, lashing about. the vindictive bark of a pistol. shouts, feet running. a blue-coated form. a vehicle with champing horses that stood by. "are you hurt very bad, young feller?" robert moved his arms and legs. they appeared intact. he rose, stiffly. "where's po lun?" "in the wagon." robert, turning, observed an ambulance. "not--dead?" "well, pretty near it," said the policeman. "he saved your life though, the yellow devil. laid out half a dozen of them hoodlums with a hatchet. he's shot through the lungs. but doc. says he's got a chance." * * * * * late that afternoon william t. coleman sat closeted with chief ellis of the san francisco police. coleman bore but scant resemblance to the youth of . he was heavier, almost bald, moustached, more settled, less alert in manner. yet his eyes had in them still the old invincible gleam of leadership. "but," he was saying to the man in uniform, "that was twenty years ago. can't you find a younger chap to head your citizens' committee?" "no," said ellis shortly. "you're the one we need. you know the way to deal with outlaws ... how to make the citizens respond. do you know that the gang wrecked several chinese laundries after the attack on windham? that they threaten to burn the pacific mail docks?" chief ellis drew a little nearer. "general mccomb of the state forces has called a mass meeting. he wishes you to take charge...." chapter lxvi the pick-handle brigade benito found his son awaiting when he returned from the citizens' mass meeting at midnight. robert, insisting that he was "fit as a fiddle," had nevertheless been put to bed through the connivance of an anxious mother and the family physician, who found him to have suffered some severe contusions and lacerations in the morning's fray. but he was wide awake and curious when his father's latch key grated in the door. "it must have seemed like old times, didn't it, dad?" he asked with enthusiasm. the vigilance committee of the fifties in his young mind was a knightly company. as a boy he used to listen, eager and excited, to his father's tales of coleman. now his hero was again to take the stage. "yes, it took me back," said windham. "i was about your age then and coleman was just in his thirties." he sat down a trifle wearily. "the years aren't kind. some of the fellows who were young in ' seemed old tonight.... but they have the same spirit." "tell me what happened," said robert, after a pause. benito's eyes flashed. "you should have heard them cheer when coleman rose. he called for his old comrades and we stood up. then there was more cheering. coleman is all business. he commenced at once enrolling men for his pick-handle brigade; he's refused fire-arms. he has fifteen hundred already, divided into companies of a hundred each--with their own officers." "and are you an officer, dad?" asked robert. "yes," benito smiled. "but my company is one man short. we've only ninety-nine." "how's that?" robert's tone was puzzled. windham rose. "i'm saving it," he answered, "for a wounded hero, who, i rather hope, will volunteer." "father!" cried the young man rapturously. * * * * * at the mount zion hospital po lun fought with death on tuesday. the bullet was removed; but though this brought relief, there came an aftermath of fever and destroying weakness. alice and her son were at his bedside, but po lun did not recognize them. mrs. windham turned a tear-stained face to the physician. "can nothing be done?" she pleaded. "he saved my boy.... oh, doctor! you won't let him die." the young physician's sympathy showed plainly in his eyes. "i've done everything," he said. "he's sinking. if i knew a way to rouse him there might be a chance." as he spoke francisco stanley entered, viewed the silent figure on the cot and shook his head. "poor po lun. at any rate he's been a hero in the papers. i've seen to that ..." "he was delirious all morning ... stretching out his arms and calling 'hang far! hang far!' do you know what it means?" "i do," alice answered; "it's the girl from whom he was separated nearly twenty years ago." "why--that's funny," said francisco. "yesterday a woman by that name was captured by the mission-workers in a raid on chinatown. i wonder.... could it be the same one?" "not likely," the physician answered. "it's a common name, i think. still--" he looked at po lun. "run and get her," alice urged. "it's a chance. go quickly." half an hour passed; an hour, while the watchers waited at the bedside of po lun. gradually his respiration waned. several times the nurse called the physician, thinking death had come. but a spark still lingered, growing fainter with the minutes till a mist upon a mirror was the only sign that breath remained. suddenly there was a rush of feet, a door flung open and francisco entered, half dragging a chinese woman by the arm. she gazed with frantic eyes from alice to robert till her glance took in the figure on the bed. she stared at it curiously, incredulously. then she gave a little cry and flung herself toward po lun. what she said no one there present knew. what strange cabal she invoked is still a mystery. be that as it may, eyes which had seemed closed forever, opened. lips white, bloodless, breathed a scarce-heard whisper. "_hang far_!" "come," said alice. "let us leave them together." half an later, in an ante-room, the doctor told them: "he will live, i think. it's very like a miracle...." * * * * * at the foot of brannan street lay the pacific mail docks, where the chinese laborers were landed. many thousands of them had been brought there by the steamers from canton. they had solved vexed problems as house servants, fruit pickers, tillers of the soil; they had done the rough work in the building of many bridges, the stemming of turbulent streams, the construction of highways. and while there was work for all, they had caused little trouble. now half a thousand jobless workers, armed and reckless, marched toward the docks. they bore torches, which illuminated fitfully their flushed, impassioned faces. here and there one carried a transparency described, "the chinese must go." [illustration: half a thousand jobless workers, armed and reckless, marched toward the docks. they bore torches.... "a hell-bent crew'" said ellis.] chief ellis and a squad of mounted policemen watched them as they marched down second street, shouting threats and waving their firebrands. "they're a hell-bent crew," he said to william coleman. "is your posse ready?" "yes," he answered, "they've assembled near the dock. i've twenty companies." "good.... you'll need 'em all." as he spoke a tongue of flame leaped upward from the darkness. another and another. "they've fired the lumber yards," the chief said. "i expected that. there is fire apparatus on the spot.... it's time to move." he spurred forward, rounding up his officers. coleman rode silently toward the entrance of the docks. very soon a bugle sounded. there were staccato orders; then a tramp of feet. the citizens' army moved in perfect unison toward the fires. already engines were at work. one blaze was extinguished. then came sounds of battle. cries, shots. coleman and his men rushed forward. stones and sticks flew through the air. now and then a pistol barked. the mounted police descended with a clatter, clubbing their way into the throng. but they did not penetrate far, so dense was the pack; it hemmed them about, pulling officers from their horses. the fire engines had been stopped. one of them was pushed into the bay. more fires leaped from incendiary torches. the rioters seemed triumphant. then coleman's brigade fell upon them. whack, whack, whack, fell the pick-handles upon the backs, shoulders, sometimes heads of rioters. it was like a systematic tattoo. coleman's voice was heard directing, here and there, cool and dispassionate. a couple of locomotive headlights threw their glare upon the now disordered gangsters. whack! whack! whack! suddenly the rioters, bleating, panic-stricken, fled like frightened sheep. they scattered in every direction leader*-less, completely routed. the fire engines resumed work. an ambulance came up and the work of attending the wounded began. the fight was over. chapter lxvii dennis kearney weeks went by and brought no further outbreak. chinatown which, for a time, was shuttered, fortified, almost deserted, once again resumed its feverish activities. in the theaters, funny men made jokes about the labor trouble. in the east strikes had abated. all seemed safe and orderly again. but san francisco had yet to deal with dennis kearney. dennis, born in county cork just thirty years before, filled adventurous roles since his eleventh year, mostly on the so-called "hell-ships" which beat up and down the mains of trade. in he first set foot in san francisco as an officer of the clipper "shooting star." tiring of the sea he put his earnings in a draying enterprise. this, for half a dozen years, had prospered. suddenly he cast his business interests to the winds. became a labor agitator. francisco stanley, who had sought him, questing for an interview since morning, cornered him at last in bob woodward's what cheer house at sacramento and leidesdorff streets. it was one of those odd institutions found only in this vividly bizarre metropolis of the west. for "two bits" you could get a bed and breakfast at the what cheer house, both clean and wholesome enough for the proudest. if you had not the coin, it made little difference. one room was fitted out as a museum and contained the many curious articles which had found their way into woodward's hands. another room was the hotel library; the first free reading room in san francisco. at the what cheer house all kinds of people gathered. stanley, as he peeped into the library, noted a judge of the superior court poring over a volume of dickens. he waved a salute to tousle-haired, eagle-beaked sam clemens, whose mark twain articles were beginning to attract attention from the eastern publishers. near him, quietly sedate, absorbed in macaulay, was bret harte. he had been a wells-fargo messenger, miner, clerk and steam-boat hand, so rumor said, and now he was writing stories of the west. stanley would have liked to stop and chat ... but kearney must be found and interviewed before the chronicle went to press. presently a loud, insistent voice attracted his attention. it was penetrating, violent, denunciatory. francisco knew that voice. he went into an outer room where perhaps a dozen rough-clad men were gathered about a figure of medium height, compactly built, with a broad head, shifting blue eyes and a dynamic, nervous manner. "don't forget," he pounded fist on palm for emphasis, "on august we organize the party. johnny day will be the prisident. we'll make thim bloody plutocrats take notice." he paused, catching sight of stanley. instantly his frowning face became all smiles. "ah, here's me young friend, the reporter," he said. "come along misther stanley, and i'll give yez a yarn for the paper. lave me tell ye of the workingmen's trade and labor union." he kept francisco's pencil busy. "there ain't no strings on us. we're free from all political connections. we're for oursilves. get that." "our password's 'the chinese must go.'" "how do you propose to accomplish this?" asked stanley. "aisy enough," returned the other with supreme confidence. "we'll have the treaty wid chiny changed. we'll sind back all the yellow divils if they interfere wid us americans." stanley could not repress a smile. kearney himself had been naturalized only a year before. for an hour he unfolded principles, threatened men of wealth, pounded stanley's knee until it was sore and finally stalked off, highly pleased with himself. "he's amusing enough," said francisco to his father that evening. "but we mustn't underrate him as you said. the fellow has force. he knows the way to stir up human passion and he'll use his knowledge to the full. also he knows equity and law. some of his ideas are altruistic." "what is he going to do to the central pacific nabobs if they don't discharge their chinese laborers?" asked adrian. young stanley laughed. "he threatens to dynamite their castles on the hill." his father did not answer immediately. "it may not be as funny as you think," he commented. * * * * * with the weeks po lun mended rapidly. hang far was at his bedside many hours each day. alice often found them chatting animatedly. "when i get plenty well, we mally," po informed her. "maybeso go back to china. what you say, missee alice?" "i think you'd better stay with me," she countered. "as for hang far, we'll find room for her." she smiled dolefully. "i'm getting to be an old lady, po lun ... i need more help in the house." "you nebbeh get old, missee alice," said the sick man. "twenty yea' i know you--always like li'l gi'l." "nonsense, po!" cried alice. nevertheless she was pleased. "will you and hang far stay with me?" "i t'ink so, missee," po replied. "by 'n' by we take one li'l tlip fo' honeymoon. but plitty soon come back." * * * * * the labor movement grew and dennis with it--both in self-importance and in popularity. he went about the state making speeches, threatening the "shoddy aristocrats who want an emperor and a standing army to shoot down the people." every sunday he harangued a crowd of his adherents on a sand-lot near the city hall and owing to this fact his followers were dubbed "the sand-lot party." one day robert, after hearing them discourse, returned home shaken and angry. "the man's a maniac," he told his father; "he talked of nothing but lynching railroad magnates and destroying their property. he wants to blow up the pacific mail docks and burn the steamers ... to drop dynamite from balloons on chinatown." young stanley joined them, smiling, and dropped into a chair. "whew!" he exclaimed, "it's been a busy day down at the office. have you heard that dennis kearney's been arrested?" chapter lxviii the woman reporter francisco stayed for tea and chatted of events. yes, dennis kearney was in jail and making a great hullabaloo about it. he and five of his lieutenants had been arrested after an enthusiastic meeting on the barbary coast. "and what's the workingmen's trade and labor union doing?" robert asked. "oh, muttering and threatening as usual," francisco laughed. "they'll not do anything--with the memory of coleman's pick-handles fresh in their minds...." "well, i'm glad those murderous ruffians are behind the bars," said alice. but francisco took her up. "that's rather hard on them, aunt alice," he retorted. "they're only a social reaction of the times ... when railroad millionaires have our legislature by the throat and land barons refuse to divide their great holdings and give the small farmer a chance.... kearney, aside from his rant of violence, which he doesn't mean, is advocating much-needed reforms.... i was talking with henry george today...." "he's the new city gas and water inspector, isn't he?" asked benito. "they tell me he's writing a book." "yes, 'progress and poverty.' george believes the single tax will cure all social wrongs. but jean...." he hesitated, flushing. "jean?" his aunt was quick to sense a mystery. "who is jean?" "oh, she's the new woman reporter," said francisco hastily. he rose, "well, i'll be going now." his aunt looked after him in silent speculation. "so!" she spoke half to herself. "jean's the woman reporter." and for some occult reason she smiled. * * * * * robert saw them together some days later, talking very earnestly as they walked through "pauper alley." such was the title bestowed upon leidesdorff street between california and pine streets, where the "mudhens"--those bedraggled, wretched women speculators who still waited hungrily for scanty crumbs from fortune's table--chatted with broken-down and shabby men in endless reminiscent gabble of great fortunes they had "almost won." "miss norwall's going to do some 'human interest sketches,' as they call 'em," francisco explained as he introduced his cousin. "our editor believes in a 'literary touch' for the paper. something rather new." jean norwall held out her hand. she was an attractive, bright-eyed girl in her early twenties, with a searching, friendly look, as though life were full of surprises which she was eager to probe. "so you are robert," she remarked. "francisco's talked a lot about you." "that was good of him," the young man answered. "he's talked a deal of you as well, miss norwall." "oh, indeed!"' she reddened slightly. "well, we must be getting on." robert raised his hat and watched them disappear around the corner. there was a vaguely lonesome feeling somewhere in the region of his heart. he went on past the entrance of the san francisco stock exchange and almost collided with a bent-over, shrewd-faced man, whose eagle-beak and penetrating eyes were a familiar sight along california street. he was e.j. (better known as "lucky") baldwin, who had started the pacific stock exchange. baldwin had a great ranch in the south, where he bred blooded horses. he owned the baldwin theater and the baldwin hotel, which rivaled the palace. women, racing and stocks were his hobbies. benito had done some legal work for baldwin and robert knew him casually. rather to his surprise baldwin stopped, laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "hello, lad," he greeted; "want a tip on the stock market?" tips from "lucky" were worth their weight in gold. robert was astonished. "why--yes, thank you, sir," he stammered. "well, don't play it ... that's the best tip in the world." the operator walked off chuckling. * * * * * robert continued his walk along montgomery street to market, where he turned westward. it was saturday and his father's office, where he was now studying law, had been closed since noon. it had become a custom--almost an unwritten law--to promenade san francisco's lordly thoroughfare on the last afternoon of the week, especially the northern side. for market street was now a social barrier. south of it were smaller, meaner shops, saloons, beer-swilling "cafe chantants," workmen's eating houses and the like, with, of course, the notable exceptions of the grand and palace hotels. on the northern side were the gay haberdasheries, millinery stores, cafes and various business marts, where fashionable san francisco shopped. where men with top hats, walking sticks and lavender silk waistcoats ogled the feminine fashion parade. as he passed the baldwin hotel with its broadside of bow-windows, robert became aware of some disturbance. a large dray drawn by four horses, plumed and flower garlanded, was wending a triumphal course up market street. a man stood in the center of it waving his hat--a stocky fellow in soiled trousers and an old gray sweater. shouts of welcome hailed him as the dray rolled on; most of them came from the opposite or southern side. "it's dennis kearney," said a man near robert. "he and his gang were released from custody today.... now we'll have more trouble." robert followed the dray expectantly. but kearney made no overt demonstration. he seemed much subdued by his fortnight in jail. the swift california dusk was falling. the afternoon was gone. and robert, realizing that it was past the dinner hour at his home, decided to find his evening meal at a restaurant. one of these, with a display of shell-fish grouped about a miniature fountain in its window, confronted him ere long and he entered a rococo interior of mirrored walls. what caught his fancy more than the ornate furnishings, however, was a very pretty girl sitting within a cashier's cage of iron grill-work. it happened that she was smiling as he glanced her way. she had golden hair with a hint of red in it, a dainty oval face, like his mother's; eyes that were friendly and eager with youth. robert smiled back at her involuntarily. the smile still lingered as a man came forward to adjust his score. a keen, dynamic-looking man of middle years and an imposing presence. robert watched him just a little envious of his assured manner as he threw down a gold-piece. while the fair cashier was making change he grinned at her. "how's my little girl tonight?" reaching through the aperture, he chucked her suddenly beneath the chin. tears of mortification sprang into her eyes. impulsively robert stepped forward, crowding the other aside none too gently. "i beg your pardon," he was breathless, half astounded by his own temerity. "but--can i be of any--ah--service?" "puppy!" stormed the elder man and stalked out haughtily. the girl's eyes encountered robert's, shining, grateful for an instant. then they fell. her face grew grave. "you shouldn't have ... really.... that was isaac j. kalloch." "oh, the preacher that's running for mayor," robert's tone was abashed. "but i don't care," he added, "i'm glad i did." once again the girl's eyes met his, shyly. "so am i," she whispered. chapter lxix a new generation isaac s. kalloch was the labor candidate for mayor. people said he was the greatest pulpit orator in san francisco since starr king. his sunday sermons at the metropolitan temple were crowded; as a campaign orator he drew great throngs. robert's dislike for the man was mitigated by a queer involuntary gratitude. without that bit of paternal familiarity, which had goaded the young lawyer to impulsive protective championship, he and maizie carter, the little golden-haired cashier, might have found the road to comradeship much longer. for comrades they had become almost at once. at least so they fondly fancied. robert's mother wondered why he missed so many meals from home. the rococo restaurant gained a steady customer. and the host of cavaliers who lingered in the hope of seeing maizie home each evening diminished to one. he was often invited into the vine-clad cottage at the top of powell street hill. sometimes he sat with maizie on a haircloth sofa and looked at mrs. carter's autograph album. it contained some great names that were now no longer written. james lick, david broderick, colonel e.d. baker and the still lamented ralston, of whom maizie's mother never tired of talking. he, it seems, was wont to give her tips on mining stocks. acting on them, she had once amassed $ , . "but i lost it all after the poor, dear man passed away," she would say, with a tear in her eye. "once that fellow mills--i hate his fishy eyes!--looked straight at me and said, 'see the poor old mud-hen'!" she began to weep softly. maizie sprang to comfort her, stroking the stringy gray hair with tender, youthful fingers. "mother quit the market after that. she hasn't been near pauper alley for a year ... not since i've been working at the mineral cafe. and we've three hundred dollars in the bank." "ah, yes," said the mother, fondly. "maizie's a brave girl and a thrifty one. we're comfortable--and independent, even though the rich grind down the poor." her eyes lighted. "wait till kalloch is elected ... then we'll see better times, i'll warrant." robert was too courteous to express his doubts. later he discussed the situation with francisco. his paper had printed an "expose" of kalloch, who struck back with bitter personal denunciation of his editorial foes. "it's a nasty mess," francisco said disgustedly. "broderick used to tell my father that politics had always been a rascal's paradise because decent men wouldn't run for office--nor vote half of the time.... i'm going to write an article about it for the overland. and pixley of the argonaut has given me a chance to do some stories. i shall be an author pretty soon--like harte and clemens." "or a poet like this cincinnatus heinie miller, whom one hears about. fancy such a name. i should think he'd change it." "he has already," laughed francisco. "calls himself joaquin--after marietta, the bandit. joaquin miller--rather catchy, isn't it? and he's written some really fine lines. showed me one the other day that's called 'columbus.' it's majestic. i tell you that fellow will be famous one day." "pooh!" scoffed robert; "he's a poseur--ought to be an actor, with his long hair and boots and sash.... how is the fair jeanne?" francisco's face clouded. "i want her to leave newspaper work and try literature," he said, "but jeanne's afraid to cut loose. she's earning her living ... and she's alone in the world. no one to fall back on, you know." "but she'd make more money at real writing, wouldn't she?" asked robert. "ever since harte wrote that thing about 'the luck of roaring camp,' which the lady proofreader said was indecent, he's had offers from the eastern magazines. john carmony's paying him $ , a year to edit the overland and $ for each poem or story he writes." "ah, yes, but bret harte is a genius." "maybe jeanne's another," robert ventured. francisco laughed ruefully. "i've told her that ... but she says no.... 'i'm just a woman,' she insists, 'and not a very bright one at that.' she has all kinds of faith in me, but little in herself." he made an impatient gesture. "what can a fellow do?" robert looked at him a moment thoughtfully. "why not--marry jeanne?" dull red crept into francisco's cheeks. then he laughed. "well--er--probably she wouldn't have me." "there's only one way to find out," his cousin persisted. "she's alone ... and you're soon going to be. when do your folks start on their 'second honeymoon,' as they call it?" "oh, that trip around the world--why, in a month or two. as soon as father closes out his business." "you could have the house then--you and jeanne." "say!" exclaimed francisco suddenly, "you're such a jim dandy to manage love affairs! why don't you get married yourself?" it was robert's turn to flush. "i'm quite willing," he said shortly. "won't she have you?" asked his cousin sympathetically. "'tisn't that ... it's her mother. maizie won't leave her ... and she won't bring her into our home. mrs. carter's peculiar ... and maizie says we're young. young enough to be unselfish." "she's a fine girl," returned francisco. "well, good bye." he held out a cordial hand. "i--i'll think over what you said." "good luck, then," robert answered as they gripped. * * * * * adrian stanley was closing up his affairs. as a contractor he had prospered; his reclaimed city lots had realized their purchase price a hundred fold and his judiciously conservative investments yielded golden fruit. adrian was not a plunger. but in thirty years he had accumulated something of a fortune.... and now they were to travel, he and inez, for a year or so. he had provided, too, for francisco. the latter, though he did not know it, would have $ , to his credit in the bank of california. adrian planned to hand his son the bank deposit book across the gang plank as the ship cast off. they were going first to the sandwich islands. then on to china, india, the south seas. each evening, sometimes until midnight, they perused the illustrated travel-folders, describing routes, hotels, trains, steamships. "you're like a couple of children," smiled francisco on the evening before their departure. he was writing a novel, in addition to the other work for carmony and pixley. sometimes it was hard work amid this unusual prattle by his usually sedate and silent parents. he tried to imagine the house without them; his life, without their familiar and cherished companionship.... it would be lonely. probably he would rent the place, when his novel was finished ... take lodgings down town. chapter lxx robert and maizie francisco saw his parents to the steamer in a carriage packed with luggage--shiny new bags and grips which, he reflected, would one day return much buffeted and covered with foreign labels. he had seen such bags in local households. the owners were very proud of them. shakenly he patted his mother's arm and told her how young she was looking, whereat, for some reason, she cried. adrian coughed and turned to look out of the window. none of the trio spoke till they reached the dock. there mrs. stanley gave him many directions looking to his health and safety. and his father puffed ferociously at a cigar. they had expected jeanne to bid them good-bye, but she no doubt was delayed, as one so often was in newspaper work. at last it was over. francisco stood with the bank book in his hand, a lump in his throat, waving a handkerchief. the ship was departing rapidly. he could no longer distinguish his parents among the black specks at the stern of the vessel. finally he turned, swallowing hard and put the bank book in his pocket. what a thoughtful chap his father was! how generous! and how almost girlish his mother had looked in her new, smart travel suit! well, they would enjoy themselves for a year or two. some day he would travel, too, and see the world. but first there was work to do. work was good. and life was filled with opportunity. he thought of jeanne. suddenly he determined to test robert's advice. now, if ever, was the time to challenge providence. he had in his pocket adrian's check for $ , . the stanley home was vacant. but more than all else, jeanne was being courted by a new reporter on the chronicle--a sort of poet with the dashing ways that women liked. he had taken jeanne to dinner several times of late. with a decisive movement francisco entered a telephone booth. five minutes later he emerged smiling. jeanne had broken an engagement with the poet chap to dine with him. later that evening he tipped an astonished french waiter with a gold-piece. he and jeanne walked under a full moon until midnight. * * * * * two months after the stanleys' departure francisco and jeanne were married and took up their abode in the stanley home. francisco worked diligently at his novel. now and then they had robert and maizie to dinner. both jeanne and francisco had a warm place in their hearts for little maizie carter. it was perfectly plain that she loved robert; sometimes her eyes were plainly envious when they fell on jeanne in her gingham apron, presiding over the details of her household with, a bride's new joy in domestic tasks. but maizie was a knowing little woman, too wise to imperil her dream of love's completeness with a disturbing element like her mother, growing daily more helpless, querulous, dependent. and she had a fine pride, this little working girl. from robert she would accept no aid, despite his growing income as the junior partner in his father's law firm. benito's health had not of recent months been robust, and robert found upon his shoulders more and more of the business of the office, which acted as trustee for several large estates. robert now had his private carriage, but maizie would not permit his calling thus, in state, for her at the mineral cafe. "it would not look well," she said, half whimsically, yet with a touch of gravity, "to have a famous lawyer in his splendid coach call for a poor little cinderella of a cashier." and so robert came afoot each night to take her home. when it was fine they walked up the steep powell street hill, gazing back at the scintillant lights of the town or down on the moonlit bay, with its black silhouetted islands, the spars of great ships and the moving lights of tugboats or ferries. if it were wet they rode up on the funny little cable cars, finding a place, whenever possible, on the forward end, which maizie called the "observation platform." as they passed the nob hill mansions of hopkins, stanford and crocker, and the more modest adobe of the fairs, maizie sometimes fancied herself the chatelaine of such a castle, giving an almost imperceptible sigh as the car dipped over the crest of powell street toward the meaner levels just below where she and her mother lived. their little yard was always bright with flowers, and from the rear window one had a marvelous view of the water. she seldom failed to walk into the back room and feast her eyes on that marine panorama before she returned to listen to her mother's fretful maunderings over vanished fortunes. tonight as they sat with jeanne and francisco in front of the crackling fire, maizie's hunger for a home of her own and the man she loved was so plain that jeanne arose impulsively and put an arm about her guest. she said nothing, but maizie understood. there was a lump in her throat. "i should not think such things," she told herself. "i am selfish ... unfilial." robert was talking. she smiled at him bravely and listened. "mother's planning to go east," she heard him say. "she's always wanted to, and as she grows older it's almost an obsession. so father's finally decided to go, too, and let me run the business ... i'll be an orphan soon, like you, francisco." "oh," said maizie. "do you mean that you'll be all alone?" robert smiled, "quite.... po lun and hang far plan a trip to china ... want to see their parents before they die. the chinese are great for honoring their forebears.... sometimes i think," he added, whimsically, "that maizie is partly chinese." the girl flushed. jeanne made haste to change the subject. "how is your friend, dennis kearney?" she asked francisco. "oh, he's left the agitator business ... he's a grain broker now. but dennis started something. capital is a little more willing to listen to labor. and chinese immigration will be restricted, perhaps stopped altogether. the geary exclusion act is before congress now, and more or less certain to pass." "he's a strange fellow," said jeanne, reminiscently. "i wonder if he still hates everyone who disagrees with him. loring pickering was one of his pet enemies." "oh, dennis is forgiving, like all irishmen," said robert. impulsively he laid a hand on maizie's. "maizie is part irish, too," he added, meaningly. the girl smiled at him star-eyed. for she understood. chapter lxxi the blind boss francisco met the erstwhile agitator on the street one day. he had made his peace with many former foes, including pickering." "politics is a rotten game, me b'y," he said, by way of explanation. "and i've a family, two little girruls at home. i want thim to remimber their father as something besides a blatherskite phin they grow up. so i'm in a rispictible business again.... there's a new boss now, bad cess to him! chris buckley. "him your chinese friends call 'the blind white devil?' yes, i've heard of chris." "he keeps a saloon wid a gossoon name o' fallon, on bush street.... go up and see him, misther stanley.... he's a fair-speakin' felly i'm told.... ask him," dennis whispered, nudging the writer's ribs with his elbow, "ask him how his gambling place in platt's hall is coming on?" * * * * * several days later francisco entered the unpretentious establishment of christopher buckley. he found it more like an office than a drinking place; people sat about, apparently waiting their turn for an interview with buckley. a small man, soft of tread and with a searching glance, asked stanley's business and, learning that the young man was a writer for the press, blinked rapidly a few times; then he scuttled off, returning ere long with the information that buckley would "see mr. stanley." soon he found himself facing a pleasant-looking man of medium height, a moustache, wiry hair tinged with gray, a vailed expression of the eyes, which indicated some abnormality of vision, but did not reveal the almost total blindness with which early excesses had afflicted christopher buckley. "sit down, my friend," spoke the boss. his tone held a crisp cordiality, searching and professionally genial. "what d'ye want ... a story?" "yes," said stanley. "about the election?" stanley hesitated. "tell me about the gambling concession at platt's hall," he said suddenly. buckley's manner changed. it became, if anything, more cordial. "my boy," his tone was low, "you're wasting time as a reporter. listen," he laid a hand upon francisco's knee. "i've got a job for you.... the new mayor will need a secretary ... three hundred a month. and extras!" "what are they?" asked francisco curiously. "lord! i don't have to explain that to a bright young man like you.... people coming to the mayor for favors. they're appreciative ... understand?" "well," francisco seemed to hesitate, "let me think it over.... can i let you know," he smiled, "tomorrow?" buckley nodded as francisco rose. as soon as the latter's back was turned the little sharp-eyed man came trotting to his master's call. "follow him. find out what's his game," he snapped. the little man sped swiftly after. buckley made another signal. the top-hatted representative of railway interests approached. * * * * * francisco stopped at robert's office on his way home. windham had moved into one of the new buildings, with an elevator, on kearney street. in his private office was a telephone, one of those new instruments for talking over a wire which still excited curiosity, though they were being rapidly installed by the pacific bell company. hotels, newspapers, the police and fire departments were equipped with them, but private subscribers were few, francisco had noticed one of the instruments in buckley's saloon. robert had not returned from court, but was momentarily expected. his amanuensis ushered francisco into the private office. he sat down and picked up a newspaper, glancing idly over the news. a bell tinkled somewhere close at hand. it must be the telephone. rather gingerly, for he had never handled one before, francisco picked up the receiver, put it to his ear. it was a man's voice insisting that a probate case be settled. francisco tried to make him understand that robert was out. but the voice went on. apparently the transmitting apparatus was defective. francisco could not interrupt the flow of words. "see buckley.... he has all the judges under his thumb. pay him what he asks. we must have a settlement at once." francisco put back the receiver. so buckley controlled the courts as well. he would be difficult to expose. the little plan for getting evidence with robert's aid did not appear so simple now. francisco waited half an hour longer, fidgeting about the office. then he decided that robert had gone for the day and went out. at the corner of powell street he bumped rather unceremoniously into a tall figure, top-hatted, long-coated, carrying a stick. "i beg your pardon," he apologized. "oh--why it's mr. pickering." "where are you bound so--impetuously?" "home," smiled stanley. "jeanne and i are going to the show tonight." he was about to pass on when a thought struck him. "got a minute to spare, mr. pickering?" "always to you, my boy," returned the editor of the bulletin, with his old-fashioned courtesy. [illustration: "my boy ... you're wasting your time as a reporter. listen," he laid a hand upon francisco's knee. "i've a job for you.... the new mayor will need a secretary."] "then, come into the baldwin cafe.... i want to tell you something." in an unoccupied corner, over a couple of glasses, francisco unfolded his plan. he was somewhat abashed by pickering's expression. "very clever, stanley ... but quite useless. it's been tried before. you'd better have taken the job, accumulated evidence; then turned it over to us. that would be the way to trap him ... but it's probably too late. ten to one his sleuth has seen us together. buckley's very--bright, you know." he put a hand kindly on the crestfallen young man's shoulder.... "go back tomorrow and see if he'll make you secretary to the mayor. then get all the 'extras' you can. label each and bring it to me. i'll see that you're not misunderstood." he rose. "but i fear buckley will withdraw his offer ... if so, we'll print the story of his platt's hall gambling house." chapter lxxii fate takes a hand francisco found that pickering's prophecy had been a true one. on a subsequent visit to the bush street saloon he found the blind boss unapproachable. after waiting almost an hour and seeing several men who had come after him, led to the rear room for a conference, word was brought him by the little, keen-eyed man that the position of mayor's secretary was already filled. he was exceedingly polite, expressing "mr. buckley's deep regret," about the matter. but there was in his eye a furtive mockery, in his tight-lipped mouth a covert sneer. francisco went directly to the office of the bulletin, relating his experience to the veteran editor. "i supposed as much," said pickering. he tapped speculatively on the desk with his pencil. "what's more, i think there's little to be done at present. printing the story of platt's hall will only be construed as a bit of political recrimination. san francisco rather fancies gambling palaces." "jack!" he called to a reporter. "see if you can locate jerry lynch." he turned to stanley. "there's the fellow for you: senator jeremiah lynch. know him? good. you get evidence on buckley. consult with lynch concerning politics. he'll tell you ways to checkmate chris you wouldn't dream of...." pickering smiled and picked up a sheet of manuscript. francisco took the hint. from that day he camped on buckley's trail. bit by bit he gathered proofs, some documentary, some testimonial. no single item was of great importance. but, as a whole, robert had assured him, it was weaving a net in which the blind boss might one day find himself entrapped. perhaps he felt its meshes now and then. for overtures were made to stanley. he was offered the position of secretary to mayor pond, but he declined it. word reached him of other opportunities; tips on the stock market, the races; he ignored them and went on. * * * * * one night his house was broken into and his desk ransacked most thoroughly. twice he was set upon at night, his pockets rifled. threats came to him of personal violence. finally the blind boss sent for him. "is there anything you want--that i can give you?" buckley minced no words. stanley shook his head. then, remembering buckley's blindness, he said "no." buckley took a few short paces up and down the room, then added: "i'll talk plain to you, my friend--because you're smart; too smart to be a catspaw for an editor and a politician who hate me. let me tell you this, you'll do no good by keeping on." he spun about suddenly, threateningly, "you've a wife, haven't you?" "we'll not discuss that, mr. buckley," said francisco stiffly. "nevertheless it's true ... and children?" "n-not yet," said francisco in spite of himself. "oh, i see. well, that's to be considered.... it's not what you'd call a time for taking chances, brother." "what d'ye mean?" francisco was a trifle startled. "nothing; nothing!" said the blind boss unctuously. "think it over.... and remember, i'm your friend. if there's anything you wish, come to me for it. otherwise--" stanley looked at him inquiringly, but did not speak. nor did buckley close his sentence. it was left suspended like the damoclesian blade. francisco went straight home and found jeanne busied with her needle and some tiny garments, which of late had occupied her days. he was rather silent while they dined, a bit uneasy. * * * * * francisco usually went down town for lunch. there was a smart club called the bohemian, where one met artists, actors, writers. among them were young keith, the landscape painter, who gave promise of a vogue; charley stoddard, big and bearded; they called him an etcher with words; and there were prentice mulford, the mystic; david belasco of the columbia theater. francisco got into his street clothes, kissed jeanne and went out. it was a bright, scintillant day. he strode along whistling. at the club he greeted gaily those who sat about the room. instead of answering, they ceased their talk and stared at him. presently stoddard advanced, looking very uncomfortable. "let's go over there and have a drink," he indicated a secluded corner. "i want a chat with you." "oh, all right," said francisco. he followed stoddard, still softly whistling the tune which had, somehow, caught his fancy. they sat down, charley stoddard looking preternaturally grave. "well, my boy," francisco spoke, "what's troubling you?" "oh--ah--" said the other, "heard from your folks lately, francisco?" "yes, they're homeward bound. ought to be off newfoundland by now." the drinks came. stanley raised his glass, drank, smiling. stoddard followed, but he did not smile. "can you bear a shock, old chap?" he blurted. "i--they--dammit man--the ship's been wrecked." francisco set his glass down quickly. he was white. "the--the raratonga?" stoddard nodded. there was silence. then, "was any-body--drowned?" stanley did not need an answer. it was written large in stoddard's grief-wrung face. he got up, made his way unsteadily to the door. a page came running after with his hat and stick and he took them absently. nearby was a newspaper office, crowds about it, bulletins announcing the raratonga's total destruction with all on board. francisco began to walk rapidly, without a definite sense of direction. he found relief in that. the trade-wind was sharp in his face and he pulled his soft hat down over his eyes. presently he found himself in an unfamiliar locality--the water-front--amid a bustling rough-spoken current of humanity that eddied forward and back. there were many sailors. from the doors of innumerable saloons came the blare of orchestrions; now and then a drunken song. entering one of the swinging doors, francisco called for whisky. he felt suddenly a need for stimulant. the men at the long counter looked at him curiously. he was not of their kind. a little sharp-eyed man who was playing solitaire at a table farther back, looked up interested. he pulled excitedly at his chin, rose and signed to a white-coated servitor. they had their heads together. it was almost noon the following day when chief mate chatters of the whaleship greenland, en route for behring sea, went into the forecastle to appraise some members of a crew hastily and informally shipped. "shanghaiing," it was called. but one had to have men. one paid the waterfront "crimps" a certain sum and asked no questions. "who the devil's this?" he indicated a man sprawled in one of the bunks, who, despite a stubble of beard and ill-fitting sea clothes, was unmistakably a gentleman. "don't know--rum sort for a sailor. got knocked on the head in a scrimmage. cawnt remember nothing but his name, francisco." chapter lxxiii the return in the fall of a man of middle years walked slowly down the stairs which plunged a traveler from the new ferry building's upper floor into the maelstrom of market street's beginning. cable cars were whirling on turn-tables, newsboys shouted afternoon editions; hack drivers, flower vendors, train announcers added their babel of strident-toned outcries to the clanging of gongs, the clatter of wheels and hoofs upon cobblestone streets. ferry sirens screamed; an engine of the belt line railroad chugged fiercely as it pulled a train of freight cars toward the southern docks. the stranger paused, apparently bewildered by this turmoil. he was a stalwart, rather handsome man, bearded and bronzed as if through long exposure. and in his walk there was a suggestion of that rolling gait which smacks of maritime pursuits. he proceeded aimlessly up market street, gazing round him, still with that odd, half-doubting and half-troubled manner. in front of the palace hotel he paused, seemed about to enter, but went on. he halted once again at third street, surveying a tall brick building with a clock tower. "what place is that?" he queried of a bystander. "that? why, the chronicle building." the stranger was silent for a moment. then he said, in a curious, detached tone, "i thought it was at bush and kearney." "oh, not for eight years," said the other. "did you live here, formerly?" "i? no." he spoke evasively and hurried on. "i wonder what made me say that?" he mumbled to himself. down kearney street he walked. now and then his eyes lit as if with some half-formed memory and he made queer, futile gestures with his hands. before a stairway leading to an upper floor, he stopped, and, with the dreamy, passive air of a somnambulist, ascended, entering through swinging doors a large, pleasant room, tapestried, ornamented with paintings and statuary. half a dozen men lounging in large leathern chairs glanced up and away with polite unrecognition. the stranger was made aware of a boy in a much-buttoned uniform holding a silver tray. "who do you wish to see, sir?" "oh--ah--" spoke the stranger, "this is the bohemian club, isn't it?" "yes, sir. shall i call the house manager, sir?" at the other's nod he vanished to return with a spectacled man who looked inquiring. "i beg your pardon--for intruding," said the bearded man slowly. "but--i couldn't help it.... i was once a member here." "indeed?" said the spectacled man, tentatively cordial, still inquiring. "and you're name--" from the bearded lips there came a gutteral sound--as if speech had failed him. he gazed at the spectacled personage helplessly. "i--don't know." sudden weakness seemed to seize him. still with the helpless expression in his eyes, he retreated, found a chair and sank into it. he passed a hand feverishly before his eyes. the spectacled man acted promptly. "garrison, you're one of the ancients round this club," he addressed a smiling, gray-haired man of plump and jovial mien. "come and talk to the mysterious stranger.... says he was a member ten or fifteen years ago.... can't recollect who he is." "what do you wish me to do?" asked garrison. "pretend to recognize him. talk to him about the eighties.... get him oriented. it's plainly a case of amnesia." he watched garrison approach the bearded man with outstretched hand; saw the other take it, half reluctantly. the two retired to an alcove, had a drink and soon were deep in conversation. the stranger seemed to unfold at this touch of friendliness. they heard him laugh. another drink was ordered. after half an hour garrison returned. he seemed excited. "hold him there till i return," he urged. "i'm going to a newspaper office to look at some files." fifteen minutes later he was back. "come," he said, "i've got a cab ... want you to meet a friend of mine." he took the still-dazed stranger's arm. they went out, entered a carriage and were driven off. as they passed the city hall the stranger said, as though astonished. "why--it's finished, isn't it?" "yes, at last," garrison smiled. "even buckley couldn't hold it back forever." "buckley ... he's the one who promised me a job, is pond the mayor now?" "no," returned the other. "phelan." as he spoke the carriage stopped before a rather ornate dwelling, somewhat out of place amid surrounding offices and shops. the stranger started violently as they approached it. again the gutteral sound came from his lips. the door opened and a woman appeared; a woman tall, sad-faced and eager-eyed. beside her was a lad as tall as she. they stared at the bearded stranger, the boy wide-eyed and curious; the woman with a piercing, concentrated hope that fears defeat. the man took a stumbling step forward. "jeanne!" he halted half abashed. but the woman sobbing, ran to him and put her arms about his neck. for an instant he stood, stiffly awkward, his face very red. then something snapped the shackles of his prisoned memory. a cry burst from him, inarticulately joyous. his arms went round her. * * * * * it required weeks for stanley to recover all his memories. it was a new world; jeanne the one connecting link between the present and that still half-shadowy past from which he had been cast by some unceremonial jest of fate into a strange existence. from the witless, nameless unit of a whaler's crew he had at last arisen to a fresh identity. frank starbird, they christened him, he knew not why. and when they found that he had clerical attainments, the captain, who was really a decent fellow, had befriended him; found him a berth in a store at sitka.... since then he had roamed up and down the world, mostly as purser of ships, forever haunted by the memory of some previous identity he could not fathom. he had been to russia, india, europe's seaports, landing finally at baltimore. thence some mastering impulse took him westward. and here he was again, francisco stanley. it was difficult to realize that fifteen years had flown. jeanne seemed so little older. but the tall young son was startling evidence of time's passage. stanley used to sit gazing at him silently during those first few days, as though trying to drink in the stupendous fact of his existence. old friends called to hear his adventures; he was given a dinner at the club where he learned, with some surprise, that he was not unfamous as an author. jeanne had finished his book and found a publisher. between the advertisement of his mysterious disappearance and its real merits, the volume had a vogue. robert had married maizie after her mother's death. they lived in the windham house in old south park, for benito and alice had never returned from the east. po lun and hang far had gone to china. slowly life resumed its formed status for francisco. chapter lxxiv the "reformer" francisco loved to wander round the town, explore its nooks and corners and make himself, for the time being, a part of his surroundings. a smattering of european languages aided him in this. he rubbed elbows with coatless workmen in french, swiss, spanish and italian "pensions," sitting at long tables and breaking black bread into red wine. he drank black coffee and ate cloying sweetmeats in greek or turkish cafes; hobnobbed with sicilian fishermen, helping them to dry their nets and sometimes accompanying them in their feluccas into rough seas beyond the heads. now and then he invaded chinatown and ate in their underground restaurants, disdaining the "chop suey" and sweets invariably served to tourists for the more palatable and engaging viands he had learned to like and name in shanghai and canton. fortunately, he could afford to indulge his bent, for the value of his inheritance had increased extraordinarily in the past decade. stanley's income was more than sufficient to insure a life of leisure. * * * * * at market and fourth streets stood a large and rather nondescript gray structure built by flood, the comstock millionaire. it had served for varied purposes, but now it housed the palais royal, an immense saloon and gambling rendezvous. in the massive, barn-like room, tile-floored and picture-ornamented, were close to a hundred tables where men of all descriptions drank, played cards and talked. farther to the rear were private compartments, from which came the incessant click of poker chips. francisco and robert sometimes lunched at the palais royal. the former liked its color and the vital energy he always found there. robert "sat in" now and then at poker. he had a little of his father's love for chance, but a restraining sanity left him little the loser in the long run. robert had three children, the eldest a girl of twelve. petite and dainty maizie had become a plump and bustling mother-hen. it was in the palais royal that francisco met abraham ruef, a dapper and engaging gentleman of excellent address, greatly interested in politics. he was a graduate of the state university, where he had specialized in political economy. francisco liked him, and they often sat for long discussions of the local situation after lunching at the palais royal. ruef, in a small way, was a rival of colonel dan burns, the republican boss. burns, they said, was jealous of ruef's reform activites. "if one could get the laboring class together," ruef told stanley, "one could wield a mighty power. some day, perhaps, i shall do it. the laborer is a giant, unconscious of his strength. he submits to capital's oppression, unwitting of his own capacity to rule. for years we've had nothing but strikes, which have only strengthened employers." "yes, they're always broken," said francisco. "the strike is futile. organization--political unity; that's the thing." "a labor party, eh?" francisco spoke, a trifle dubiously. "yes, but not the usual kind. it must be done right." his eyes shone. "ah, i can see it all so plainly. if i could make it clear to others--" "why don't you try?" asked stanley. but ruef shook his head. "i lack the 'presence.' do you know what i mean? no matter how smart i may be, they see in me only a small man. so they think i have small ideas. that is human nature. and they say, 'he's a jew.' which is another drawback." he was silent a moment. "i have thought it all out.... i must borrow the 'presence.'" "what do you mean?" francisco was startled. "we shall see," ruef responded. "perhaps i shall find me a man--big, strong, impressive--with a mind easily led.... then i shall train him to be a leader. i shall furnish the brain." "what a curious thought!" said francisco. ruef, smiling, shook his head. "it is not new at all," he said. "if you read political history you will soon discover that." * * * * * francisco worked at his novel. word came of alice windham's death in massachusetts. robert urged his father to return to san francisco, but benito sought forgetfulness in european travel. frank had finished high school; was a cub reporter on the bulletin. pickering was dead; his widow and her brother, r.a. crothers, had taken over the evening paper; john d. spreckels, sugar nabob, now controlled the call. newspaper policies were somewhat uncertain in these days of economic unrest. strike succeeded strike, and with each there came a greater show of violence. lines were more sharply drawn. labor and capital organized for self-protection and offense. "i hear that governor gage is coming down to settle the teamsters' strike," said francisco to his son as they lunched together one sultry october day in . "i can't understand why he's delayed until now." "probably wanted to keep out of it as long as possible," responded frank. "there are strong political forces on each side ... but the story goes that colonel 'montezuma' burns is jealous of ruef's overtures to workingmen. so he's ordered the governor to make a grandstand play." [illustration: "perhaps i shall find me a man--big, strong, impressive--with a mind easily led.... then i shall train him to be a leader. i shall furnish the brain."] stanley looked at his son in astonishment. he was not yet nineteen and he talked like a veteran of forty. francisco wondered if these were his own deductions or mere parroted gossip of the office. later that afternoon he met robert and told him of frank's comment. robert thought the situation over ere he answered. "the employing class is fearful," he said. "they've controlled things so long they don't know what may happen if they lose the reins. it's plain that phelan can't be re-elected. and it's true that if the labor men effect a real organization they may name the next mayor. rather a disturbing situation." "have you heard any talk about a man named schmitz? a labor candidate?" "yes, i think i have. the chap's a fiddler in a theater orchestra. big, fine looking. but i can't imagine that he has the brains to make a winning fight." "big! fine looking! hm!" repeated stanley. "meaning--what?" asked robert. "nothing much.... i just remembered something ruef was telling me." he walked on thoughtfully. "might be a story there for the boy's paper," he cogitated. ruef's offices were at the corner of kearney and california streets. thither, with some half-formed mission in his mind, francisco took his way. a saturnine man took him up in a little box-like elevator, pointing out a door inscribed: a. ruef, att'y-at-law. the reception-room was filled. half a dozen men and two women sat in chairs which lined the walls. a businesslike young man inquired francisco's errand. "you'll have to wait your turn," he said. "i can't go in there now ... he's in conference with mr. schmitz." francisco decided not to wait. after all, he had learned what he came for. abe ruef had borrowed a "presence." chapter lxxv a nocturnal adventure stanley was to learn much more of eugene schmitz. it was in fact the following day that he met ruef and the violinist at zinkand's. schmitz was a man of imposing presence. he stood over six feet high; his curly coal-black hair and pointed beard, his dark, luminous eyes and a certain dash in his manner, gave him a glamor of old-world romance. in a red cap and ermine-trimmed robe, he might have been richelieu, defying the throne. or, otherwise clad, the porthos of dumas' "three musketeers." francisco could not help reflecting that ruef had borrowed a very fine presence indeed. ruef asked francisco to his table. he talked a great deal about politics. schmitz listened open-eyed; stanley more astutely. all at once ruef leaned toward francisco. "what do you think of mr. schmitz--as a candidate for mayor?" he asked. "i think," francisco answered meaningly, "that you have chosen well." they rose, shook hands. to francisco's surprise schmitz left them. "i have a matinee this afternoon," he said. ruef walked down market street with stanley. "he's leader of the columbia orchestra.... i met him through my dealings with the musicians' union." impulsively he grasped francisco's arm. "isn't he a wonder? i'll clean up the town with him. watch me!" "and, are you certain you can manage this chap?" ruef laughed a quiet little laugh of deep content. "oh, gene is absolutely plastic. just a handsome musician. and of good, plain people. his father was a german band leader; his mother is irish--margaret hogan. that will help. and he is a native son." ruef babbled on. he had a great plan for combining all political factions--an altruistic dream of economic brotherhood. francisco listened somewhat skeptically. he was not certain of the man's sincerity, but he admired ruef. of his executive ability there could be no doubt. yet there was something vaguely wrong about the wondrous fitness of ruef's plan. mary godwin shelley's tale of "frankenstein" came to francisco's mind. * * * * * that evening frank said to his father, with a wink at jeanne, "want to go slumming with me tonight, father? i'm going to do my first signed story: 'the night-life of this town'." "do you think i ought to, jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. he glanced at his son. "this younger generation is a trifle--er--vehement for old fogies like me." jeanne came over and sat on the arm of his chair. "nonsense," she said, "you are just as young as ever, francisco.... yes, go with the boy, by all means. i'll run up to maizie's for the evening. she's making a dress for alice's birthday party. she will be sixteen next month." * * * * * francisco and his son went gaily forth to see their city after dark. truth to tell, the father knew more of it than the lad, who acted as conductor. francisco's wanderings in search of 'local color' had included some nocturnal quests. however, he kept this to himself and let frank do the guiding. they went, first, to a large circular building called the olympia, at eddy and mason streets. it was the heart of what was called the tenderloin, a gay and hectic region frequented by half-world folk, but not unknown to travelers nor to members of society, slumming parties were both fashionable and frequent. two girls were capering and carolling behind the footlights. "they are darlton and boice," explained young stanley. "the one with the perpetual smile is a great favorite. she's boice. she's got a daughter old as i, they say." they visited the thalia, a basement "dive" of lower order, and returned to the comparative respectability of the oberon beer hall on o'farrell street, where a plump orchestra of german females played sprightly airs; thence back to market street and the midway. "little egypt," tiny, graceful, sensually pretty, performed a "danse du ventre," at the conclusion of a long program of crude and often ribald "turns." when "off-stage" the performers, mostly girls, drank with the audience in a tier of curtained boxes which lined the sides of the auditorium. at intervals the curtains parted for a moment and faces peered down. a drunken sailor in a forward box was tossing silver coins to a dancer. they made their exit, francisco frankly weary and the young reporter bored by the unrelieved crudity of it all. a smart equipage, with champing horses, stood before the entrance. they paused to glance at it. "looks like harry bear's carriage," frank commented. "you know the young society blood who's had so many larks." he turned back. "wait a minute, father, i'm going in. if bear has a party upstairs in those boxes it'll make good copy." "it'll make a scandal, you mean," returned francisco rather crisply. "you can't print the women's names." "bosh!" the younger man retorted pertly. "everyone's doing this sort of thing now. come along, dad. see the fun." he caught his father's arm and they re-entered, taking the stairs, this time, to the boxes above. from one came a man's laughing banter. "that's he," frank whispered, hastily he drew his half reluctant father into a vacant box. a waiter brought them beer, collected half a dollar and inquired if they wanted "company." francisco shook his head. the man in the adjoining box was drunk, the girl was frightened. their voices filtered plainly through the thin partition. he was urging her to drink and she was protesting. finally she screamed. stanley and his son sprang simultaneously to the rescue. they found a young man in an evening suit trying to kiss a very pretty girl. his ears were red where she had boxed them and as he turned a rather foolish face surprisedly toward the intruders, a scratch showed livid on one cheek. the girl's hair streamed disheveled by the struggle. she caught up, hastily, a handsome opera cloak to cover her torn corsage. "please," she said, "get me out of here quickly.... i'll pay you well." then she flushed as young stanley stiffened. "i ... i beg your pardon." he offered her his arm and they passed from the box together. the befuddled swain, after a dazed interval, attempted to follow, but francisco flung him back. he heard the carriage door shut with a snap, the clatter of iron-shod hoofs. then he went out to look for frank, but did not find him. evidently he had gone with the lady. francisco smiled. it was quite an adventure. thoughtfully he gazed at the banners flung across market street: "vote for eugene schmitz, "the workingman's friend." that was abraham ruef's adventure. he wondered how each of them would end. chapter lxxvi politics and romance ruef swept the field with his handsome fiddler. all "south of market street" rallied to his support. the old line parties brought their trusty, well-oiled election machinery into play, but it availed them little. robert and francisco met one day soon after the election. "everyone is laughing at our fiddler mayor," said the former. "he's like a king without a court; for all the other offices were carried by republicans and democrats." francisco smoked a moment thoughtfully. "union labor traded minor offices for mayoralty votes, i understand. meanwhile ruef is building his machine. he has convinced the labor people that he knows the game. they've given him carte blanche." "and how does the big fellow take it?" "i was talking with him yesterday," francisco answered. "schmitz is shy just yet. but feels his dignity. oh, mightily!" he laughed. "little abe will have his hands full with big 'gene, i'm thinking." "but ruef's not daunted by the prospect." "heavens, no. the man has infinite self-confidence. and it's no fatuous egotism, either. a sort of suave, unshakable trust in himself. abe ruef's the cleverest politician san francisco's known in many years--perhaps since broderick. he makes such men as burns and buckley look like tyros--" robert looked up quickly. "by the way, i've often wondered whether buckley wasn't guilty of your disappearance. he meant you no good." "no," francisco answered. "i've looked into that. chris, himself, had no connection with it. once he threatened me ... but i've since learned what he meant.... just a little blackmail which concerned a woman. but--" he hesitated. robert moved uneasily. "but--what?" "oh, well, it didn't work. the girl he planned to use told him the truth." francisco, too, seemed ill at ease. "it was so long ago ... it's all forgotten." "i trust so," said the other. rather abruptly he rose. "must be getting back to work." * * * * * once a week frank donned his evening clothes and was driven to a certain splendid home on pacific heights. bertha larned met him always with a smile--and a different gown. each successive one seemed more splendid, becoming, costly. and ever the lady seemed more sweet as their intimacy grew. once when frank had stammered an enthusiastic appreciation of her latest gown--a wondrous thing of silk and lace that seemed to match the changing fires in her eyes--she said suddenly: "what a fright i must have looked that evening--in the midway! and what you must have thought of me--in such a place!" "do you wish to know just what i thought?" frank asked her, reddening. "yes." her eyes, a little shamed, but brave, met his. "well," he said, "you stood there with your hair all streaming and your--and that splendid fire in your eyes. the beauty of you struck me like a whip. you seemed an angel--after all the sordid sights i'd seen. and--" "go on--please;" her eyes were shining. "then--it's sort of odd--but i wanted to fight for you!" she came a little closer. "some day, perhaps," she spoke with sudden gravity, "i may ask you to do that." "what? fight for you?" bertha nodded. * * * * * it was after the olympia had been made over into a larger tivoli opera house that frank met aleta boice. she was a member of the chorus. their acquaintance blossomed from propinquity, for both had a fashion of supping on the edge of midnight at a little restaurant, better known by its sobriquet of "dusty doughnut," than by its real name, which long ago had been forgotten. frank had formed the habit of sitting at a small table somewhat isolated from the others where now and then he wrote an article or editorial. hitherto it had unvaryingly been at his disposal, for the hour of frank's reflection was not a busy one. therefore he was just a mite annoyed to find his table tenanted by a woman. perhaps his irritation was apparent; or, perchance, aleta had a knack for reading faces, for she colored. "i--i beg your pardon. have i got your place?" "n-no," protested frank. "i sit here often ... that's no matter." "well," she said; "don't let me drive you off. i'll not be comfortable.... let's share it, then," she smiled; "tonight, at least." they did. frank found her very like her mother--the smiling one of darlton and boice, olympia entertainers of past years. one couldn't call her pretty, when her face was in repose. but that was seldom, so it didn't matter. her smile was like a spring, a fountain of perennial good nature. and her eyes were trusting, like a child's. frank often wondered how she had maintained that look of eager innocence amid the life she lived. frank learned much of her past. she could barely remember the father, who was a circus acrobat and had been killed by a fall from a trapeze. her mother had retired from the stage; she was doing needlework for the department stores and the woman's exchange. "every morning she teaches me grammar," said aleta. "mother's never wanted me to talk slang like the other girls. she says if you're careless with your english you get careless of your principles. mother's got a lot of quaint ideas like that." again came her rippling laugh. frank grew to enjoy her; look forward to the nightly fifteen minutes of companionship. they never met anywhere else. but when an illness held aleta absent for a week the dusty doughnut seemed a lonesome place. bertha twitted frank upon his absent-mindedness one evening as he dined with her. by an effort he shook off his vagary of the other girl. he loved bertha. but, for some unfathomed cause, she held him off. never had she let him reach a declaration. "we're such marvelous friends!... can't we always be that--just that?" * * * * * things drifted on. schmitz, as a mayor, caused but small remark. he reminded frank of a rustic, sitting at a banquet board and watching his neighbors before daring to pick up a fork or spoon. but ruef went on building his fences. union labor was now a force to deal with. and ruef was union labor. one of robert's clients desired to open a french restaurant, with the usual hotel appurtenances. he made application in the usual manner. but the license was denied. robert was astonished for no reason was assigned and all requests for explanation were evaded. a week or so later, robert met the restaurateur. "well, i've done it," said the latter, jovially. "open monday, come around and eat with me." "but--how did you manage it?" "oh, i took a tip. i made ruef my attorney. big retaining fee," he sighed. "but--well, it's worth the price." chapter lxxvii aleta's problem by the end of schmitz' second term the democrats and republicans were thoroughly alarmed. they saw a workingmen's control of city government loom large and imminent, with all its threat of overturned political tradition. so the old line parties got together. they made it a campaign of morality against imputed vice. they selected as a fusion standard-bearer george s. partridge, a young lawyer of unblemished reputation--and of untried strength. "if ruef succeeds a third time," frank said to his father, "he'll control the town. he'll elect a full board of supervisors ... that is freely prophesied if union labor wins. you ought to see his list of candidates--waffle bakers, laundry wagon drivers--horny-fisted sons of toil and parasites of politics. heaven help us if they get in power!" "but there's always a final reckoning ... like the vigilance committee," said francisco, slowly. "somehow, i feel that there's a shakeup coming." "a moral earthquake, eh?" laughed jeanne. "i wouldn't want to have a real one, with all of our new skyscrapers." * * * * * after dinner stanley and his son strolled downtown together. exercise and diet had been recommended, francisco was acquiring embonpoint. frank was enthusiastic over the new motor carriages called automobiles. robert had one of them--the gasoline type--with a _chauffeur_, as the french called the drivers of such machines. bertha larned had an "electric coupe," very handsome and costly, with plate-glass windows on three sides. she drove it herself. frank sometimes encountered it downtown, looking like a moving glass cage, with the two women in it. mrs. larned, the aunt, always had a slightly worried expression, and bertha, as she steered the thing through a tangle of horse-drawn traffic, wore a singularly determined look. there were cable cars on most of the streets; a few electric lines which ran much more swiftly. but people deemed the latter dangerous. there was much popular sentiment against electrizing market street. the united railways, which had succeeded the old market street railway company, was in disfavor. there were rumors of illicit bargains with the supervisors for the granting of proposed new franchises. young partridge made much of this. he warned the public that it was about to be "betrayed." but his prophetic eloquence availed him little. schmitz and all the union labor candidates won by a great majority. * * * * * frank sought aleta at the dusty doughnut some months later. he was very tired, for the past few days had brought a multitude of tasks. he had counted on aleta's smile. it seldom failed to cheer him, to restore the normal balance of his mind. but, though she came, the smile was absent. there was a faint ghost of it now and again; a harried look about the eyes. frank thought there was a mistiness which hinted recent tears. he laid a hand sympathetically on hers. "what is it, little girl?" she would not tell him. her mother was ill. but the trouble did not lie there. frank was sure. she had borne that burden long and uncomplainingly. aleta had an ingenue part now at the alcazar. only once or twice a week did she keep the tacit tryst at the little nocturnal cafe. frank saw her at the techau, at zinkand's, the st. germain, with the kind of men that make love to actresses. she knew all about the stock market and politics, for some of ruef's new supervisors were among her swains. once or twice, as the jargon of the journals has it, she had "tipped off" a story to frank. she said at last, "i'll tell you something ... but you mustn't print it: this new city government is running wild.... they're scheming to hold up the town. they've made a list of all the corporations--the united railways, the telephone company.... everyone that wants a favor of the city must pay high. the man who told me this said that his share will total $ , . ruef and schmitz will probably be millionaires." "but how's it to be done? they're being watched, you know. they've lots of enemies. bribery would land them in the penitentiary." the girl leaned forward. "ah, this isn't ordinary bribery. anyone that wants a franchise or a license hires ruef as his attorney. they say he gets as high at $ , for a retaining fee ... and they expect to clean the street car company out of a quarter million." prank stared. "why--in god's name!--did he tell you this?" "he loves me." there was something like defiance in her answer. "he wants me to accompany him to europe--when he gets the coin. he says it won't be long." "so"--frank was a little nonplussed--"he wants you to marry him?" "no," the girl's face reddened. "no, i can't ... he's got a wife." for a moment there was silence. then. "what did you tell the--hound, aleta?" "he's not a hound," she said evenly. "the wife won't care. she runs with other men...." her eyes would not meet frank's. "i--haven't answered." "but--your mother!" "mother's mind is gone," aleta answered, bitterly. "she doesn't even recognize me now.... but she's happy." her laugh rang, mirthless. "aleta," he said, sternly, "do you love this man?" "no," she said and stared at him. "i--i--" "what?" "i love another--if you must know all about it." "can't you--marry _him?_ is he too poor?" asked stanley. "poor?" her eyes were stars; "that wouldn't matter. no, he's not my sort...." "does he know?" "no," aleta answered, hastily. "no, he doesn't ... and he never will." * * * * * frank told his father something of the conversation. "its an open secret," said francisco, "that ruef and his crew are out for the coin. i'll tell you something else you mustn't print, your paper is determined to expose ruef. the managing editor is on his way to washington to confer with president roosevelt.... the plan is to borrow francis heney and william j. burns." "what? the pair that has been exposing senators and land frauds up in oregon?" his father nodded. "phew!" the young man whistled. "you were right when you predicted that there was a shakeup coming." * * * * * frank, expecting startling things to happen, kept his mind alert. but the months passed uneventfully. the editor returned from washington. no sensational announcement followed the event. later it was rumored that burns had sent operatives to the city. they were gathering evidence, one understood, but if they did, naught seemed to come of it. frank was vaguely disappointed. now and then he saw aleta, but the subject of their former talk was not resumed. vaguely he wondered what manner of man was her beloved. frank resented the idea that he was above her. aleta was good enough for any man. bertha was visiting her aunt's home in the east. she had been very restless and capricious just before she went. all women were thus, he supposed. but he missed her. chapter lxxviii the fateful morn on the evening of april , , frank and bertha, who had recently returned, attended the opera. the great caruso, whose tenor voice had taken the east by storm, and whose salary was reputed to be fabulous, had come at last to san francisco. fremsted, almost equally famous, was singing with him in "carmen" at the grand opera house. all the town turned out in broadcloth, diamonds, silks and décolleté to hear them--a younger generation of san franciscans assuming a bit uncomfortably that social importance which had not yet become genealogically sure of itself. frank and bertha drove down in the electric brougham, for which they had with difficulty found a place along the vehicle-lined curb of mission street. and, as they were early, they halted in the immense and handsome, though old-fashioned, foyer to observe the crowd. the air was heavy with perfume. "look at that haughty dame with a hundred-thousand dollar necklace," he smiled. "one would have thought her father was at least a king. forty years ago he drove a dray.... and that one with the ermine coat and priceless tiara. wouldn't you take her for a princess? ah, well, more power to her! but her mother cleaned soiled linen in washerwoman's lagoon and her dad renovated cuspidors, swept floors in the bella union." but the girl did not seem interested. "i wonder," she remarked a little later, "why it makes so very much--ah--difference ... who one's parents were?" there was a curious, half-detached sadness in her tone. frank wondered suddenly if he had blundered. bertha had never mentioned her parents. he vaguely understood that they had died abroad and had foreborne to question, fearing to arouse some tragic memory. "of course, it really doesn't matter," he said hastily; "it's only when people put on airs that i think of such things." she took his arm with fingers that trembled slightly. "let us go in. the overture is beginning." during an intermission she whispered. "i wish i were like carmen--bold enough to fight the world for lo--for what i wanted." "aren't you?" he turned and looked at her. "no, sometimes i'm overwhelmed ... feel as though i can't look life in the face." he saw that her lips were trembling, that her eyes were winking back the tears. "what is it, dear?" he questioned. but she did not answer. the curtain rose upon the final act. silently they moved out with a throng whose silk skirts swished and rustled. the men were restless, glad of a chance at the open and a smoke; the women gay, exalted, half intoxicated by the musical appeal to their emotions. there was an atmosphere almost of hysteria in the great swiftly emptying auditorium. "i feel sort of--smothered," bertha said; "suppose we walk." "gladly," answered frank, "but what about the coupe?" "there's one of these new livery stables with machine shop attached not far away. they call it a garage.... we'll leave the brougham there," she said. * * * * * the night was curiously still--breathless one might have called it. while the temperature was not high, there was an effect of warmth, vaguely disturbing like the presage of a storm. as they traversed a region of hotels and apartment houses, frank and bertha noted many open windows; men and women staring out half dreamily. they passed a livery stable, out of which there came a weird uncanny dissonance of horses neighing in their stalls. "tell me of your actress friend. do you see her often?" bertha asked. "not very. she's a good pal. but she's ... well, not like you." her eyes searched him. "do you mean she's not as--pretty, frank?" "oh, i don't know," he answered. "it's because i love you, dear. aleta's right enough. but she's not--oh, you know--essential." bertha squeezed his arm. was silent for a moment. then, "aleta's father was a circus rider?" "acrobat. yes, he was killed when she was quite a child." "but she remembers him; they were married, her mother" and he." "why, yes, i suppose so ... naturally." there was another silence. suddenly he turned on her, perplexed. "bertha, what is wrong with you tonight?" they were crossing a little park high up above the city whose lights lay, shimmering and misty, below. the stillness was obtrusive here. not a leaf stirred. there was no one about. they might have been alone upon some tropic peak. "i--can't tell you, frank." her tone of blended longing and despair caught at his heart. impetuously his arms went around her. "dear," he said unsteadily. "dear, i want you.... oh, bertha, i've waited so long! i don't care any more if you're rich ... i'm going to--you've got to promise...." she tried to protest, to push him away; but frank held her close. and, after a moment, like a tired child's, her head lay quiet on his shoulder; her arms stole round his neck; she began to weep softly. * * * * * the horror came at dawn. frank, startled from a late and restless slumber, thought that he was being shaken or attacked by some intruder. he sprang up, sleepily bewildered. the room rocked with a quick, sharp, jerking motion that was strangely terrifying. there was a dull indescribable rumbling, punctuated by a sound of falling things. a typewriter in one end of the room went over on the floor. a shaving mug danced on the shelf and fell. the windows rattled and a picture on the wall swayed drunkenly. "damn!" frank rubbed his eyes. "an earthquake!" he heard his mother's scream; his father's reassuring answer. hurriedly he reached for his clothes. downstairs he found his father endeavoring to calm the frightened servants, one of whom appeared to have hysterics. presently his mother entered with the smelling salts. soon the maid's unearthly laughter ceased. "anyone hurt?" frank questioned anxiously. "no," his father answered. "thought the house was going over ... but there's little damage done." suddenly frank thought of bertha. he must go to her. she would be frightened. he ran into the debris-cluttered street. cable cars stood here and there, half twisted from the tracks, pavements were littered with bricks from fallen chimneys, bits of window glass. men and women in various degrees of dishabille, were issuing from doorways. as he mounted higher, frank saw smoke spirals rising from the southeastern part of town. he heard the strident clang of firegongs. automobiles were tearing to and fro, with a great shrieking of siren whistles. it seemed like a nightmare through which he tore, without a sense of time or movement, arriving finally at the marble vestibule of bertha's home. it was open and he rushed in, searching, calling. but he got no answer. bertha, servants, aunt--all apparently had fled. chapter xxxix the turmoil frank never knew just why he turned toward the town from bertha's empty dwelling. it was an involuntary reaction. the excitement of those lower levels seemed to call, and thence he sped. several times acquaintances--newspaper men and others--accosted him. everyone was eagerly alert, feverishly interested, as if by some great adventure. japanese boys were sweeping up the litter in front of stores. in many places things were being put in order, as if the trouble were over. but at other points there was confusion and dread. half-dressed men and women wandered about, questing for a cup of coffee, but there was none to be had, for the gas mains had broken. people converged toward parks and open spaces. union square was crowded with a strangely varied human mass; opera singers from the st. francis hotel, jabbering excitedly in italian or french, and making many gestures with their jeweled hands; chinese and japanese from the oriental quarter hard by; women-of-the-town, bedraggled, sleepy-eyed and fearful; sailors, clerks, folk from apartment houses. near the pansy bed a woman lay. she screamed piercingly at intervals. frank learned that she was in travail. by and by a doctor came, a nurse. they were putting up tents on the green sward. automobiles rolled up, sounding their siren alarms. out of them were carried bandaged men who moaned, silent forms on litters, more screaming women. they were taken to the tents. extra police appeared to control the crowds that surged hither and thither without seeming reason, swayed by sudden curiosities and trepidation. san francisco was burning. the water mains were broken by the quake, frank learned. the fire department was demoralized. chief sullivan was dead. a falling chimney from the california hotel had crushed him. there were emergency reservoirs, but no one seemed to know where. they had not been used for years. swiftly the fire gained. it ravaged like a fiend in the factory district south and east, toward the bay. by noon a huge smoke curtain hid the sky; through it the sun gleamed palely like a blood-red disc. wild rumors were in circulation. los angeles was wiped out. st. louis had been destroyed. new york and chicago were inundated by gigantic tidal waves. frank decided to return home and discover how his people fared. perhaps there would be a bite for him. he found his father's house surrounded by a cordon of young soldiers--student militiamen from berkeley, some one said. they ordered him off. "but--" he cried. "it's my home. my father and mother are there." "they were ordered out two hours since," said a youthful officer, who came up to settle the dispute. "we'll have to dynamite the place.... no water.... desperate measures necessary...." he stopped frank's effort to reply with further stereotyped announcements. "orders of the admiral, mayor, chief of police.... sorry. can't be helped.... keep back, everybody. men have orders to shoot." he made off tempestuously busy and excited. frank shouted after him, "wait, where have my parents gone? did they leave any word?" the young man turned, irritably. "don't know," he answered, and resumed his vehement activities. frank, with a strange, empty feeling, retraced his way, fought a path by means of sheer will and the virtue of his police badge across market street, and struck out toward lafayette square. scarcely realizing it, he was bound for aleta's apartment. a warped shaft had incapacitated the automatic elevator, so he climbed three flights of stairs and found aleta packing. "frank!" she cried, and ran to him. "this is good of you." she took both of his hands and clung to them as if she were a little frightened. "wait," she said. "i'll bet you've had nothing to eat. i'll make you a cup of coffee and a toasted cracker on the spirit lamp." silently he sat on a broken chair and watched her. he was immensely grateful and--he suddenly realized--immensely weary. what a dear girl aleta was! and he had not thought of her till all else failed him. soon the coffee was steaming in two little dresden cups, one minus a handle. there was a plateful of crackers, buttered and toasted, a bit of swiss cheese. frank had never tasted anything so marvelous. "where were you going?" he asked, finally. "to the park ... the panhandle ... everybody's going there." "your--mother!" a swift recollection smote him. "where is she?" "mother died last week," aleta turned away. "i'm rather thankful--now." silently he helped her with the packing. there were a suitcase and a satchel for the choice of her possessions. they required much picking and choosing. many cherished articles must be abandoned. suddenly aleta ran to frank. the room was rocking. plaster fell about them. the girl screamed. to his astonishment, frank found his arms around her waist. he was patting her dark, rumpled hair. her hands were on his shoulders, and her piquant, wistful face close to his own. she had sought him like a frightened child. and he, with masculine protective impulse, had responded. that was all. or was it? they looked into each other's eyes, bewildered, shaken. all was quiet now. the temblor had passed instantly and without harm. in the street they joined a motley aggregation moving westward in horse-driven vehicles, automobiles, invalid chairs, baby buggies and afoot. rockers, filled with household goods, tied down and pulled by ropes, were part of the procession. everyone carried or dragged the maximum load his or her strength allowed. when they reached that long narrow strip of park called the panhandle it was close to dusk. they advanced some distance ere they found a vacant space. the first two blocks were covered like a gypsy camp with wagons, trunks and spread-out salvage of a hundred hastily abandoned homes. improvised tents had been fashioned from blankets or sheets. before one of these a bearded man was praying lustily for salvation. a neighbor watched him, smiling, and drank deeply from a pocket flask. a stout woman haled aleta. "you and your husband got any blankets?" she asked. "no," the girl said, reddening. "no, we haven't ... and he's not ..." "well, never mind," the woman answered. "take these two. it may come cold 'fore morning. and i've got more than i can use. we brung the wagon." she drew the girl aside and nudged her in the ribs. "we ain't married, either--jim 'n' me. but what's the diff?" chapter lxxx aftermath about daylight the next morning frank was awakened by a soft pattering sound. he jumped to his feet. was it raining? all about folk stirred, held forth expectant hands to feel the drops. but they were fine white flakes--ashes from the distant conflagration. aleta still lay moveless, wrapped in her blanket some ten feet away. they had been up most of the night, watching the flames, had seen them creep across market street, up powell, mason, taylor, jones streets to nob hill. finally frank had persuaded aleta to seek a little rest. despite her protest that sleep was impossible, he had rolled her in one of the borrowed blankets, wrapping himself, indianwise, in the other. toward morning slumber had come to them both. aleta, now awake, smiled at frank and declared herself refreshed. "what had we better do next?" she questioned. frank pondered. "go to the presidio, i guess. the army's serving food out there, i hear." he returned the blankets to their owner and the two of them set forth. on oak street, near the mouth of golden gate park, a broken street main spouted geyser-like out of the asphalt. they snatched a hurried drink, laved their faces and hands and went on, passing a cracker wagon, filled with big tin containers, and surrounded by a hungry crowd. the driver was passing out crackers with both hands, casting aside the tins when they were empty. "it's like the millennium," aleta remarked. "all classes of people herded together in common good will. do you see that well-fed looking fellow carrying the ragged baby? he's a corporation lawyer. he makes $ , a year i'm told. and the fat woman he's helping with her numerous brood is a charwoman at the alcazar theatre." frank looked and laughed. "why--it's my uncle robert!" he exclaimed. robert windham held out his free hand to frank and aleta. his family was safe, he told them. so were francisco and jeanne, who had joined the windhams when the stanley home was dynamited. they had gone to berkeley and would stay with friends of maizie's. frank wrote down the address. he decided to remain in san francisco. there was aleta.... and, somehow, bertha must be located. everyone was bound for the presidio. "you may find me there later," said windham. "i've some--er--business on this side." * * * * * at the great military post which slopes back on the green headlands from the golden gate, frank and aleta found a varied company. the hospitals were filled with men and women burned in the fire or hurt by falling walls. there were scores--perhaps a hundred of them. frank, with his heart in his mouth, made a survey of the hospitals, after finding tent room for aleta. his press badge gained admittance for him everywhere and he went through a pretence of taking notes. but he was looking for bertha. at a large tent they were establishing an identification bureau, a rendezvous for separated families, friends or relatives. many people crowded this with frantic inquiries. soup was being served at the mess kitchens. great wagons filled with loaves of bread drove in and were apportioned. men, women and children formed in line to get their shares. the sky was still covered with smoke. late comers reported that the fire had crossed van ness avenue. there were orders posted all about that one must not build fires indoors nor burn lights at night. those who disobeyed would be shot. the orders were signed by mayor schmitz. saloons had been closed for an indefinite period. two men, found looting the dead, had been summarily executed by military order. hundreds of buildings were being dynamited. the dull roar of these frequent explosions was plainly discernible at the presidio. * * * * * after they had eaten frank said good-bye to aleta. he was going back to town. the feverish adventure of it called him. and he had learned that there were many other camps of refugees. in one of these he might find bertha. a milk wagon, clattering over the cobblestones overtook him and, without an invitation, he climbed aboard. frank had little sense of destination or purpose. he wanted action. the thought of bertha tugged at him now like a pain, insistent, quenchless. he tried to stifle it by movement, by absorbing interest in the wondrous drama all about him. suddenly he sprang from the wagon. they had reached the park where he had learned of bertha's love. frank scarcely recognized the tiny pleasure ground, so covered was it with tents and bedding. it swarmed with people--a fact which frank resented oddly. in the back of his mind was a feeling that this spot was sacred. he made his way among the litter of fabrics and humanity. these were mostly people from the valley where a foreign section lay. loudly and excitedly they chattered in strange tongues, waving their hands about. children wailed. all was disorder, uncontrol. sickened of the place frank turned to go, but something tugged at his coatsleeve; a haggard, elderly dishevelled man. frank looked at the fellow in wonder. then he gave a cry and took the fellow by the shoulders. he had recognized, despite disguising superficialities of garb and manner, bertha's once spick-and-span butler. "god almighty, jarvis!" frank could scarcely speak, his heart was pounding so. "wh--where is she--bertha?" "come with me, sir," said the old man sadly. he led the way past sheet-hung bushes, over crumb-and-paper sprinkled lawns to a little retreat under sheltering trees. one had to stoop to enter that arbored, leaf encircled nest through which the sun fell like a dappled pattern on the grass. frank adjusted his eyes to the dimmer light before he took in the picture: a girl lying, very pale and still, upon a gorgeous indian blanket. she looked at him, cried out and stretched her arms forth feebly. "bertha!" he knelt down beside her, pressed his lips to hers. her arms about his neck were cold but strangely vibrant. for a moment they remained thus. then he questioned, anxiously, "bertha? what is wrong?" "everything! the world!" she whispered. "when you left me dearest, i was happy! i had never dreamed that one could be so glad! but afterward ... i didn't dare to face the morning--and the truth!" her lips quivered. "i--i couldn't stand it, frank," she finished weakly. "she took morphia," said jarvis. "when the earthquake came i couldn't wake her. i was scared. i carried her out here." "you tried to kill yourself!" frank's tone was shocked, condemning. "after tuesday night?" her eyes craved pardon. she essayed to speak but her lips made wordless sounds. finally she roused a little, caught his hand and held it to her breast. "ask your uncle robert, dear?" she whispered. her eyes looked into his with longing, with renunciation. a certain peace stole into them and slowly the eyelids closed. frank, who had half grasped the meaning of her words, leaned forward fearfully. the hand which held his seemed colder, more listless. there was something different. something that he could not name--that frightened him. suddenly he realized its meaning. the heart which had pulsed beneath his fingers was still. chapter lxxxi readjustment of the trip to berkeley which followed, frank could not afterward recall the slightest detail. between the time when, like a madman, he had tried to rouse his sweetheart from that final lethargy which knew no waking, and the moment when he burst upon his uncle robert with what must have seemed an insane question, frank lost count of time. he was in the library of an alameda county lawyer, host of the stanley and the windham families. across the mahogany table, grasping the back of a chair for support, one hand half outstretched in a supplicating gesture, stood his uncle robert--pale, shaken ghost of the self-possessed man that he usually was. between them, imminent with subtle violence, was the echo of frank's question, hurled, like an explosive missile at the elder man: "why did bertha larned kill herself?" after an interval of silence windham pulled himself together; looked about him hastily ere he spoke. "hush! not here! not now!" the eyes which sought frank's were brilliant with suffering. "is she--dead?" the young man nodded dumbly. something like a sob escaped the elder. he was first to speak. "come. we must get out of here. we must have a talk." he opened the door and went out, frank following. in the street, which sloped sharply downward from a major elevation, they could see the bay of san francisco, the rising smoke cloud on the farther shore. they walked together upward, away from the houses, toward a grove of eucalyptus trees. here robert halted and sat down. he seemed utterly weary. frank stood looking down across the valley. "bertha larned was my daughter," said his uncle almost fiercely. frank did not turn nor start as windham had expected. one might have thought he did not hear. at length, however, he said slowly, "i suspected that--a little. but i want to know." "i--can't tell you more," said the other brokenly. "who--who was her mother, uncle bob?" "if you love her, frank, don't ask that question." the young man snapped a dry twig from a tree and broke it with a sort of silent concentration into half a dozen bits. "then--it's true ... the tale heard round town! that you and--" "yes, yes," windham interrupted, "frank, it's true." "the--procuress?" "frank! for god's sake!" windham's fingers gripped his nephew's arm. "don't let maizie know. i've tried to live it down these twenty years...." "damn it, do you think i'd tell aunt maizie?" "it's--i can't believe it yet! that you--" "maizie wouldn't leave her mother." with a flicker of defiance robert answered him. "i was young, rudderless, after my people went east.... a little wild, i guess." "so you sought consolation?" "call it what you like," the other answered. "some things are too strong for men. they overwhelm one--like fate." frank began pacing back and forth, his fingers opening and shutting spasmodically. "uncle bob," he said at length, "... after you married, what became--" "her mother sent the child east--to a sister. she was well raised--educated. if she'd only stayed there, in that massachusetts town!" "then--bertha didn't know?" "not till she came to san francisco, after her mother's death. she had to come to settle the estate. the mother left her everything--a string of tenements. she was rich." "bertha came to you, then, i suppose." "yes, she came to me," said robert windham. suddenly, as though the memory overwhelmed him, windham's face sank forward in his hands. "she was very sweet," his voice broke pitifully. "i--loved her." * * * * * several days later frank and his father paid a visit to the ruined city. one had to get passes in oakland and wear them on one's hat. sightseers were not admitted nor carried on ferry boats, trains. already telegraph hill was dotted with new habitations. it was rumored that andrea sbarbora, banker and patron of the italian colony, was bringing a carload of lumber from seattle which he would sell to fire sufferers on credit and at cost. the spirit of rehabilitation was strong. frank was immensely cheered by it. but francisco was overwhelmed by the desolation. "i am going south," he told his son. "i can't bear to see this. i don't even know where i am." it was true. one felt lost in those acres of ashes and debris. familiar places seemed beyond memorial reconstruction, so smitten was the mind by this horror of leveled buildings, gutted walls and blackened streets. francisco and jeanne went to san diego. there the former tried to refashion the work of many months--two hundred pages of a novel which the flames destroyed. robert windham and his family journeyed to hawaii. frank did not see his uncle after that talk in the berkeley hills. parks and public spaces were covered with little green cottages in orderly rows. refugee camps one termed then and therein lived , of the city's homeless. street cars were running. passengers were carried free until the first of may. patrick calhoun was trying to convert the cable roads into electric lines in spite of the objection of the improvement clubs. he was negotiating with the supervisors for a blanket franchise to electrize all of his routes. "and he'll get it, too," aleta told frank as they dined together. "it's arranged, i understand, for quarter of a million dollars." frank pondered. "what'll langdon say to that?" william h. langdon was the district attorney, a former superintendent of schools, whom ruef had put on his union labor ticket to give it tone. but langdon had refused to "take program." he had even raided the "protected" gamblers, ignoring ruef's hot insinuations of "ingratitude." "oh, ruef's too smart for langdon," said aleta. "every sunday night he, schmitz and big jim gallagher hold a caucus. gallagher is ruef's representative on the board. they figure out what will occur at monday's session of the supervisors. it's all cut and dried." "it can't last long," frank mused. "they're getting too much money. those fellows who used to earn from $ to $ a month are spending five times that amount. schmitz is building a palace. he rides around in his automobile with a liveried chauffeur. he's going to europe they say." the girl glanced up at him half furtively. "perhaps i'll go to europe, too." "what?" frank eyed her startled. "not with--" "yes, my friend, the supervisor." her tone was defiant. "why shouldn't i?" "don't--aleta." "but, why not?" he was silent. but his eyes were on her, pleadingly. "would you care, frank? would you care--at all?" "you know i would," he spoke half angrily. the girl traced patterns with her fork upon the table cloth. [illustration: "i am going south," francisco told his son. "i cannot bear this."] chapter lxxxii at bay on may , the united railway company received a franchise to electrize any of its street-car routes, "where grades permitted." at once ensued a public uproar. from the press, the pulpit and the rostrum issued fiery accusations that the city was betrayed. in the midst of it mayor schmitz departed for europe. frank met ruef at the ferry, where the former had gone to see aleta off on a road tour with her company. the little boss was twisting his moustache and muttering to himself. "so his honor's off on a lark," said the newsman, meaningly. ruef glared at him, but made no answer. afterward frank heard that they had quarreled. ruef, he learned, had charged the mayor with ingratitude; had threatened, pleaded, warned--without success. schmitz had gone; his was the dogged determination which easily-led men sometimes manifest at unexpected moments. one heard of him through the press dispatches, staying at the best hotels of european capitals, making speeches when he had a chance. he was like a boy on a holiday. but at home ruef sensed the stirring of an outraged mass and trembled. he could no longer control his minions. and, worst of all, he could not manage langdon. "big jim" gallagher, now the acting mayor, was docile to a fault, however. he would have put his hand into the fire for this clever little man, whom he admired so immensely. once they discussed the ousting of langdon. "it would be quite legal," ruef contended. "the mayor and board have power to remove a district attorney and select his successor." henry ach, advisor of the boss, looked dubious. "i'm not sure of that. moreover, it's bad politics. it would be better seemingly to cooperate with langdon. he has the public confidence. we've not.... besides, whom would we put in langdon's place?" "ruef," said "big jim," with his ready admiration. "he's the man." "hm!" the little boss exclaimed, reflectively. "well we shall see." * * * * * frank liked langdon. he was rather a slow-thinking man; not so clever at expedient as ruef. but he was grounded in the law--and honest. moreover, he had courage. powerful enemies and their machinations only stirred his zest. single-handed langdon might have been outwitted by the power and astuteness of his foes. but another mind, a keener one was soon to add its force to langdon's. francis j. heney, special investigator of the roosevelt government, who had unmasked and overthrown corruption in high places, was in town. frank knew that he had come to san francisco for a purpose. he met this nervous, wiry, sharp-eyed man in the managing editor's office now and again. once he had entered rather unexpectedly upon a conference of heney, former mayor james d. phelan, rudolph spreckels, son of the sugar nabob, and william j. burns. frank, who guessed he was intruding, made a noiseless exit; not, however, till he heard that there would be a thorough, secret search into the trolley franchise and some other actions of the ruef administration. spreckels and phelan guaranteed to raise $ , for this purpose. burns and his detectives had for several months been quietly at work. on october district attorney langdon publicly announced the appointment of francis j. heney as his assistant, stating that a thorough and fearless search into the actions of the city government would ensue. on october the supervisors met. frank, himself, went to the council chamber to learn what was afoot. he suspected a sensation. but the board met quietly enough at : o'clock, with jim gallagher in the chair. at : a special messenger called the acting mayor to ruef's office. three hours later he was still absent from the angry and impatient board. that some desperate move was imminent frank realized. here was ruef between two bodeful dates. yesterday had come the news that langdon had appointed heney--the relentless enemy of boodlers--to a place of power. tomorrow would begin the impaneling of a grand jury, whose avowed purpose it was to "investigate municipal graft." "what would i do if i were ruef?" frank asked himself. but no answer came. he paced up and down the corridor, pondering the situation. at intervals he paused before the supervisors' chamber. once he found the door slightly ajar and listened shamelessly. he saw big jim gallagher, red-faced, excited, apparently much flustered, reading a paper. he thought he heard langdon's name and heney's. there seemed to be dissension in the board. but before he learned anything definite a watchful attendant closed the portal with an angry slam. frank resumed his pacing. finally he went out for a bite to eat. frank returned half an hour later to find the reporters' room in an uproar. big jim gallagher had dismissed langdon from office with the corroboration of the board of supervisors, as a provision of the city ordinance permitted him to do. ruef had been appointed district attorney. langdon's forces were not disconcerted by the little boss's coup. late that evening frank advised his paper of a counterstroke. heney had aroused judge seawell from his slumbers and obtained an order of the court enjoining ruef from actual assumption of the title he had arrogated to himself. judge graham upheld it. langdon remained the district attorney. though ruef imposed every possible obstacle, the grand jury was impaneled, november , and began its work of investigation with such startling celerity that ruef and schmitz faced charges of extortion on five counts, a week later. chapter lxxxiii in the toils meanwhile schmitz, who had but recently returned from europe, became officially involved in the anti-japanese agitation. "he's summoned east to see the president," said a burns operative to frank one morning as they met at temple israel. "lucky devil, that big fellow! here's the town at sixes and sevens about the 'little brown brother.' doesn't want him with its white kids in the public schools. the mikado stirs the devil of a row with washington about it. and teddy sends for 'gene. just his luck to come back a conquering hero." but schmitz fared badly at the capital, whence roosevelt dispatched a "big stick" message to the california legislature. at the same time george b. keane, the supervisors' clerk, and a state senator as well, was working for the "change of venus bill," a measure which if passed, would have permitted ruef to take his case out of the jurisdiction of judge dunne. but the bill was defeated. once more ruef's straining at the net of justice had achieved no parting of the strands. on march stanley greeted mayor schmitz as he stepped from a train at oakland mole. correspondents and reporters gathered round the tall, bearded figure. schmitz looked tired, discouraged. perfunctorily, uneasily, schmitz answered the reporter's queries. he had done his level best for san francisco. as for the charges pending against him, they would soon be disproved. no one had anything on him. all his acts were open to investigation. "do you know that ruef has skipped?" frank asked. "wh-a-a-t!" the mayor set down his grip. he seemed struck all of a heap by the announcement. "fact!" another newsman corroborated. "abie's jumped his bond. he's the well-known 'fugitive from justice.'" without a word the mayor left them. he walked aboard the ferry boat alone. they saw him pacing back and forth across the forward deck, his long overcoat flapping in the wind, one hand holding the dark, soft hat down on his really magnificent head. "a ship without a rudder," said frank. the others nodded. * * * * * over the municipal administration was the shadow of ruef's flight. the shepherd had deserted his flock. and the wolves of the law were howling. frank was grateful to the powers for this rushing pageant of political events. it gave him little chance to grieve. now and then the tragedy of bertha gripped him by the throat and shook him with its devastating loneliness. he found a certain solace in aleta's company. she was always ready, glad to walk or dine with him. she knew his silences; she understood. but there were intervals of grief beyond all palliation; days when he worked blindly through a grist of tasks that seemed unreal. and at night he sought his room, to sit in darkness, suffering dumbly through the hours. sometimes dawn would find him thus. robert windham and his family had returned from the hawaiian islands. they had found a house in berkeley; windham opened offices on fillmore street. robert and his nephew visited occasionally a graveyard in the western part of town. the older man brought flowers and his tears fell frankly on a mound that was more recent than its neighbors. but stanley did not join in these devotions. "she is not here," he said one day. "you know that, uncle robert." "she's up above," returned the other, brokenly. "my poor, wronged child!" frank stared at him a moment. "do you believe in the conventional heaven?" "why--er--yes," said windham, startled. "don't you, frank?" "no," said stanley, doggedly. "not in that ... nor in a god that lets men suffer and be tempted into wrongs they can't resist ... makes them suffer for it." "what do you mean? are you an atheist?" asked windham, horrified. "no ... but i believe that god is good. and knows no evil. sometimes in the night when i've sat thinking, bertha seems to come to me; tells me things i can't quite understand. wonderful things, uncle robert." the other regarded him silently, curiously. he seemed at a loss. "i've learned to judge men with less harshness," frank spoke on. "ruef and schmitz, for instance.... every now and then i see the mayor pacing on the ferryboat. it's rather pathetic, uncle robert. did god raise him up from obscurity just to torture him? he's had wealth and honor--adoration from the people. now he's facing prison. and those poor devils of supervisors; they've known luxury, power. now they're huddled like a pack of frightened sheep; everybody thinks they're guilty. ruef's forsaken them. ruef, with his big dream shattered, fleeing from the law...." he faced his uncle fiercely, questioning. "is that god's work? and bertha's body lying there, because of the sins of her forebears! forgive me, uncle robert. i'm just thinking aloud." windham placed a hand upon his nephew's shoulder. "i'm afraid i can't answer you, frank," he said slowly. "you're a young man. you'll forget. the world goes on. and our griefs do not matter. we fall and we get up again ... just as ruef and the others will." "do you suppose they'll catch him--ruef, i mean?" "not if the big fellows can prevent it. if he's caught there'll be the deuce to pay. our pillars of finance will topple.... no, i think ruef is safe." "i don't quite understand," said stanley. "ruef, himself, is nothing; a political boss, a solicitor of bribes. but our corporation heads. the town will shake when they're accused, perhaps indicted. i know what's been going on. we're close to scandals that'll echo round the world." frank looked at his uncle wonderingly. windham was a corporation lawyer. doubtless he knew. silently the two men made their way out of the graveyard. frank determined to ride down town with his uncle, and then telephone to aleta. he hadn't seen her for a week. as the car passed the call building they noted a crowd at third and market streets, reading a bulletin. people seemed excited. frank jumped from the moving car and elbowed his way forward. in the newspaper window was a sheet of yellow paper inscribed in large script: "burns arrests ruef at the trocadero roadhouse." chapter lxxxxiv the net closes frank discussed the situation with aleta one evening after ruef's capture. her friend, the supervisor, had brought news of the alarm. "he says no one of them will trust the other; they're afraid of gallagher; think he'll turn state's evidence, or whatever you call it. 'squeal,' was what he said." "burns and heney must be putting on the screws," commented frank. "frank," aleta laid a hand impulsively upon his arm, "i don't suppose there's any way to save this man ... i--oh, frank, it would be awful if he went to prison." he stared at her. "what do you mean, aleta?" "i mean," she answered, "that he's done things for me ... because he loves me ... hopes to win me. he's sincere in that.... oh, can't you see how it would hurt if--" "if he gets caught--stealing," frank spoke harshly. "well, you should have thought of that before, my dear." a touch of anger tinctured the appeal with which her eyes met his. "one doesn't always reason when the heart is sore. when one is bitter with--well--yearning." he did not answer. he was rather startled by that look. finally she said, more gently: "frank, you'll help him if you can--i know." he nodded. it was late. aleta had to hurry to the theatre. frank left her there and walked down sutter street. he turned south toward heney's office. it was in a little house between geary and o'farrell, up a short flight of stairs. above were the living quarters of heney and his companion, half clerk, half bodyguard. there was a light in the office, but the shades of the bay-window were tightly drawn. frank rang the bell, which was not immediately answered. finally the bodyguard came to the door. "mr. heney's very busy, very busy." he seemed tremendously excited. "very well," said frank; "i'll come tomorrow." "we'll have big news for you," the man announced. he shut the door hastily and double-locked it. frank decided to remain in the neighborhood. he might learn something. the morning papers had been getting the best of it recently in the way of news. it proved a tiresome vigil. and the night was chilly. frank began to walk briskly up and down the block. a dozen times he did this without result. then the sudden rumble of a motor car spun him about. he saw two men hasten down the steps of heney's office, almost leap into the car. instantly it drove off. frank, who followed to the corner, saw it traveling at high speed toward fillmore street. he looked about for a motor cab in which to follow. there was none in sight. reluctantly he turned toward home. he had been outwitted, doubtless by a watcher. but not completely. for he was morally certain that one of the men who left heney's office was big jim gallagher. that visit was significant. from his hotel frank tried to locate the editor of his paper by telephone. he was not successful. he went to bed, disgusted, after leaving a daylight call. it was still dark when he dressed the next morning, the previous evening's events fresh in his thought. he had scarcely reached the street before a newsboy thrust a morning paper toward him. frank saw that the upper half of the front page was covered with large black headlines. he snatched it, tossing the boy a "two-bit piece," and, without waiting or thinking of the change, became absorbed in the startling information it conveyed. sixteen out of the eighteen supervisors had confessed to taking bribes from half a dozen corporations. wholesale indictments would follow, it was stated, involving the heads of public service companies--men of unlimited means, national influence. many names were more than hinted at. ruef, according to these confessions, had been the arch-plotter. he had received the funds that corrupted an entire city government. gallagher had been the go-between, receiving a part of the "graft funds" to be divided among his fellow supervisors. each of the crooked sixteen had been guaranteed immunity from imprisonment in consideration of their testimony. "well, that saves aleta's friend, at any rate," thought frank. he recalled his uncle's prediction that ruef's capture would result in extraordinary revelations. but it had not been ruef, after all, who "spilled the beans." ruef might confess later. they would need his testimony to make the case complete. as a matter of fact, ruef had already begun negotiations with langdon and heney looking toward a confession. * * * * * the grand jury acted immediately upon the wholesale confessions of ruef's supervisors. they summoned before them the heads of many corporations, uncovering bribery so vast and open that they were astounded. they found that $ , had been paid for the trolley franchise and enormous sums for permits to raise gas rates, for telephone franchises, for prize-fight privileges and in connection with a realty transaction. the trolley bribe funds had been carried in a shirt box to ruef by the company's attorney. other transactions had been more or less "covered." but all were plain enough for instant recognition. san francisco, which had suspected ruef and his supervisors with the easy tolerance of a people calloused to betrayal, was aroused by the insolent audacity of these transactions. it demanded blood. and heney was prepared to furnish sanguine vengeance. he was after the "higher-ups," he stated. like a passionate evangel of mosaic law, he set out to secure it. louis glass, acting president of the telephone company, was indicted on a charge of felony, which made a great hallabaloo, for he was a personable man, a clubman, popular and generally esteemed. a subtle change--the primary index of that opposition which was to develop into a stupendous force--was noted by the prosecution. heney and langdon had been welcomed hitherto in san francisco's fashionable clubs. men of wealth and standing had been wont to greet them as they lunched there, commending their course, assuring them of cooperation. but after the telephone indictment there came a cooling of the atmosphere. glass seemed more popular than ever. langdon and heney were often ignored. people failed to recognize them on the street. even spreckels and phelan, despite their wealth and long established standing, suffered certain social ostracisms. wealthy evildoers found themselves as definitely threatened by the law as were the supervisors. but wealth is made of sterner stuff. it did not cringe nor huddle; could not seek immunity through the confessional. famous lawyers found themselves in high demand. from new york, where he had fought a winning fight for harry thaw, came delphin delmas. t.c. coogan, another famous pleader, entered the lists against heney in defense of glass. meanwhile the drawing of jurors for ruef's trial progressed, inexorably. chapter lxxxv the seven plagues several weeks passed. politics were in a hectic state, and people grumbled. frank discussed the situation with his uncle robert. "why don't they oust these grafters from office?" he asked. windham smiled. "because they daren't, frank," he answered. "if the prosecution forced the supervisors to resign, which would be easy enough, do you know what would happen?" "why, they'd fill their posts with better men, of course." "not so fast, my boy. the mayor has the power to fill all vacancies due to resignations. don't you see what would happen? schmitz could select another board over whom the prosecution would hold no power. then, if necessary, he'd resign and his new board would fill the mayor's chair with some one whom ruef or the mayor could trust. then the city government would once more be independent of the law." "lord! what a tangle," frank ruminated. "how will they straighten it out?" "remove the mayor--if they can convict him of felony." "suppose they do. what then?" "the prosecution forces can then use their power over the boodlers--force them to appoint a mayor who's to langdon's liking. afterward they'll force the supervisors to resign and the new mayor will put decent people in their stead." "justice!" apostrophized frank, "thy name is red tape!" heney alone was to enter the lists against delmas and coogan in the trial of louis glass. the charge was bribing supervisor boxton to vote against the home telephone franchise. frank had seen glass at the press club, apparently a sound and honest citizen. a little doubt crept into frank's mind. if men like that could stoop to the bribing of supervisors, what was american civilization coming to? he looked in at the ruef trial to see if anything had happened. for the past two months there had been nothing but technical squabbles, interminable hitches and delays. ruef was conferring with his attorneys. all at once he stepped forward, holding a paper in his hand. tears were streaming down his face. he began to read in sobbing, broken accents. the crowd was so thick that frank could not get close enough to hear ruef's words. it seemed a confession or condonation. scattered fragments reached frank's ears. then the judge's question, clearly heard, "what is your plea?" "guilty!" ruef returned. * * * * * ruef's confession served to widen the breach between class and mass. he implicated many corporation heads and social leaders in a sorry tangle of wrongdoing. other situations added fuel to the flame of economic war. the strike of the telephone girls had popular support, a sympathy much strengthened by the charges of bribery pending against telephone officials. [illustration: all at once he stepped forward.... tears were streaming down his face. then the judge's question, clearly heard, "what is your plea?" "guilty!" ruef returned.] ten thousand ironworkers were on strike at a time when their service was imperative, for san francisco was rebuilding feverishly. capital made telling use of this to bolster its impaired position in the public mind. while "pot called kettle black," the city suffered. the visitation of some strange disease, which certain physicians hastened to classify as bubonic plague, very nearly brought the untold evils of a quarantine. a famous sanitarian from the east decided it was due to rats. he came and slew his hundred-thousands of the rodents. meanwhile the malady had ceased. but there were other troubles. fire had destroyed the deeds and titles stored in the recorder's office, as well as other records. great confusion came with property transfer and business contracts. but, worst of all, perhaps, was the street car strike. "it seems as though the seven plagues of egypt were being repeated," remarked frank to his uncle as they lunched together. they had come to be rather good companions, with the memory of bertha between them. for frank, within the past twelve months, had passed through much illuminating experience. robert windham, too, was a changed man. he cared less for money. frank knew that he had declined big fees to defend some of the "higher ups" against impending charges of the graft prosecution. windham smiled as he answered frank's comment about the seven plagues. "we'll come out of it with flying colors, my boy. a city is a great composite heart that keeps beating, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but the healthy blood rules in the main; it conquers all passing distempers." * * * * * market street was queer and unnatural without its rushing trolley cars. all sorts of horse-drawn vehicles rattled up and down, carrying passengers to and from the ferry. many of the strikers were acting as jehus of improvised stages. autotrucks, too, were impressed into service. they rumbled along, criss-crossed with "circus seats," always crowded. frank made his way northward and east through the ruins. here and there little shops had opened; eating houses for the army of rehabilitation. they seemed to frank symbols of renewed life in the blackened waste, like tender, green shoots in a flame-ravaged forest. sightseers were beginning to swarm through the burned district, seeking relics. a large touring car honked raucously almost in frank's ear as he was crossing sutter street, and he sprinted out of its lordly course, turning just in time to see the occupant of the back seat, a large man, rather handsome, in a hard, iron-willed way. he sat stiffly erect, unbending and aloof, with a kind of arrogance which just escaped being splendid. this was patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads, who had sworn to break the carmen's union. it was said that calhoun had sworn, though less loudly, to break the graft prosecution as well. * * * * * on montgomery street several financial institutions were doing business in reclaimed ruins. one of these was the california safe deposit and trust company, which had made spectacular history of late. it was said that spiritualism entered into its affairs. frank had been working on the story, which promised a sensation. as he neared the corner of california and montgomery streets, where the crumbled bank walls had been transformed into a temporary habitation, he saw a crowd evidently pressing toward it. the bank doors were closed, though it was not yet three o'clock. now and then people broke from the throng and wandered disconsolately away. one of these, a gray-haired woman, came in frank's direction. he asked her what was wrong. "they're busted ... and they've got me money," she wailed. hastily frank verified her statement. then he hurried to the office, found his notes and for an hour wrote steadily, absorbedly a spectacular tale of superstition, extravagance and financial chaos. as he turned in his copy the editor handed him a slip of paper on which was written: "call aleta boice at once." he sought a telephone, but there was no response. he tried again, but vainly. a third attempt, however, and aleta's voice, half frantic, answered his. "he's killed himself," she cried. "oh, frank, i don't know what to do." "he? who?" frank asked startled. "frank, you know! the man who wanted me to--" "do you mean the supervisor?" "yes.... they say it was an accident. but i know better. he lost his money in the safe deposit failure.... oh, frank, please come to me, quick." chapter lxxxvi a new city government frank found aleta, dry-eyed, frantic, pacing up and down her little sitting room which always looked so quaintly attractive with its jumble of paintings and bric-a-brac, its distinctive furniture and draperies--all symbolic of the helter-skelter artistry which was a part of aleta's nature. she took frank's hand and clung to it. "i'm so glad you've come," she whispered. "i'm so glad you've come." it was a little time ere she could tell him of the tragedy. the man had been run over, quickly killed. witnesses had seen him stagger, fall directly in the path of an advancing car. a doctor called it apoplexy. "but i know better," sobbed aleta, for the tears had come by now. "he never was sick in his life. he thought he'd lost me when the money went ... his money in the california safe deposit company." frank took a seat beside her on the couch, whose flaming, joyous colors seemed a mockery just then. "aleta," he said, "i wish i could help you. i wish i knew how, but i don't." she lifted her tear-stained eyes to his with a curious bitterness. "no ... you don't. but thank you. just your coming's helped me, frank. i'm better. go--and let me think things over." she tried to smile, but the tears came. "life's a hideous puzzle. perhaps if i'd gone with him, all would have come right.... i'd have made him happy." "but what about yourself?" again that bitter, enigmatic look came to her eyes. "i guess ... that doesn't matter, frank." he left her, a queer ache in his heart. was she right about the man's committing suicide. poor devil! he had stolen for a woman. others had filched his plunder. then god had taken his misguided life. but had he? was god a murderer? a passive conniver at theft? no, that were blasphemy! yet, if he _permitted_ such things--? no, that couldn't be, either. it was all an abominable enigma, as aleta said. unless--the thought came startlingly--it were all a dream, a nightmare. thus kant, the great philosopher, believed. obsessed by the idea, he paused before a book-store. its show window prominently displayed francisco stanley's latest novel. frank missed the mellow wisdom of his father's counsel seriously. he entered the shop, found a volume of kant and scanned it for some moments till he read: "this world's life is only an appearance, a sensuous image of the pure spiritual life, and the whole of sense is only a picture swimming before our present knowing faculty like a dream and having no reality in itself." acting upon a strange impulse, he bought the book, marked the passage and ordered it sent to aleta. a week after ruef's confession the trial of mayor schmitz began. it dragged through the usual delays which clever lawyers can exact by legal technicality. judge dunne, sitting in the auditorium of the bush street synagogue, between the six-tinned ceremonial candlesticks and in front of the mosiac tablets of hebraic law, dispensed modern justice. meanwhile the committee of seven sprang suddenly into being. a morning paper announced that schmitz had handed the reins of the city over to a septette of prominent citizens. governor gillette lauded this action. but rudolph spreckels disowned the committee. langdon and heney were suspicious of its purpose. so the committee of seven resigned. at this juncture the schmitz trial ended in conviction of the mayor which was tantamount to his removal from office. it left a vacancy which, nominally, the supervisors had the power to fill. but they were under langdon's orders. actually, therefore, the district attorney found himself confronted by the task of naming a new mayor. unexpectedly the man was found in edward robeson taylor, doctor of medicine and law, poet and greek scholar. the selection was hailed with relief. frank hastened to the taylor home, a trim, white dwelling on california street near webster. he found a genial, curly-haired old gentleman sitting in a room about whose walls were thousands of books. he was reading epictetus. stanley found the new mayor likeable and friendly. he seemed a man of simple thought. frank wondered how he would endure the roiling passions of this city's politics. dr. taylor seemed undaunted by the prospect, though. without delay he was elected by the supervisors. then began the farcical procedure of their resignations. one by one the new chief named good citizens as their successors. but the real fight was now beginning. halsey's testimony had not incriminated glass beyond a peradventure. there remained a shade of doubt that he had authorized the outlay of a certain fund for the purposes of bribery. the jury disagreed. the prosecution's first battle against the "higher-ups" had brought no victory. ruef was failing heney as a witness for the people. after months of bargaining the special prosecutor withdrew his tacit offer of immunity. heney's patience with the wily little boss, who knew no end of legal subterfuge, was suddenly exhausted. frank heard that ruef was to be tried on one of the three hundred odd indictments found against him. schmitz had been sentenced to five years in san quentin. he had appealed. * * * * * several times frank tried to reach aleta on the telephone. but she did not respond to calls, a fact which he attributed to disorganized service. but presently there came a letter from camp curry in the yosemite valley. "i am here among the everlasting pines and cliffs," she wrote, "thinking it all out. i thank you for the book, which has helped me. if only we might waken from our 'dream'! but here one is nearer to god. it is very quiet and the birds sing always in the golden sunshine. "i shall come back saner, happier, to face the world.... perhaps i can forget myself in service, i think i shall try settlement work. "meanwhile i am trying not to think of what has happened ... what can never happen. i am reading and painting. yesterday a dog came up and licked my hand. i cried a little after that, i don't know why." in his room that evening, frank re-read the letter. it brought a lump to his throat. chapter lxxxvii norah finds out very soon after the appointment of mayor taylor, the second trial of louis glass ended in his conviction. he was remanded to the county jail awaiting an appeal. the trial of an official of the united railways began. meanwhile the politicians rallied for election. schmitz had been elected at the end of . his term, which dr. taylor was completing, would be terminated with the closing of the present year. and now the graft prosecution was to learn by public vote how many of the people stood behind it. union labor, ousted and discredited by venal representatives, was not officially in favor of the taylor-langdon slate. p.h. mccarthy, labor leader and head of the building trades council, was labor's nominee for mayor. frank met mccarthy now and then. he posed as "a plain, blunt man," but back of the forthright handgrip, the bluff directness of manner, frank scented a massive and wily self-interest. he respected the man for his power, his crude but undeniable executive talents. the two opponents for the mayoralty were keenly contrasted. taylor was quiet, suavely cultured, widely read but rather passive. some said he lacked initiative. frank macgowan was langdon's foeman in the struggle for the district attorneyship. little could be said for or against him. a lawyer of good reputation who had made his way upward by merit and push, he had done nothing big. he was charged with no wrong. the "dark horse" was daniel ryan. ryan was a young irishman, that fine type of political leader who approximates what has sometimes been called a practical idealist. he had set out to reform the republican party and achieved a certain measure of success, for he had beaten the herrin or railroad forces at the republican convention. ryan was avowedly pro-prosecution. it was believed that he would deliver his party's nomination to taylor and langdon. but he astonished san francisco voters by becoming a candidate for mayor. * * * * * aleta had returned from camp curry. there was a certain quiet in her eyes, a greater self-control, a better facing of life's problems. they spoke of kant and his philosophy. "the nightmare is less turbulent," she said. one evening at her apartment frank met a young woman named france, a fragile, fine-haired, dreamy sort of girl, and he was not surprised to learn that she wrote poetry. "norah's been working as a telephone operator," explained aleta. "she's written a story about it--the working girl's wrongs.... oh, not the ordinary wail-and-whine," she added hastily. "it's real meat. i've read it. the saturday magazine's considering it." miss france smiled deprecatingly. "i have high hopes," she said. "i need the money." "it will give you prestige, too," frank told her, but she shook her head. "norah hasn't signed her name to it," aleta disapproved. "just because a friend, a well known writer in carmel, has fixed it up for her a little." "it doesn't seem like mine," the girl remarked. aleta rose. "this is election night," she said; "let's go down and watch the returns." they did this, standing on the fringe of a crowd that thronged about the newspaper offices, watching, eager, but patient, the figures which were flashed on a screen. the crowd was less demonstrative than is usual on such occasions. a feeling of anxiety prevailed, a consciousness of vital issues endangered and put to the test. toward midnight the crowd grew thicker. but it was more joyous now. taylor and langdon were leading. it became evident that they must win. suddenly the restless stillness of the throng was broken by spontaneous cheering. it was impressive, overwhelming, like a great burst of relieved emotion. norah france caught frank's arm as the celebrants eddied round them. the press was disbanding with an almost violent haste. "where's aleta?" asked the girl. frank searched amid the human eddies, but in vain. "she got separated from us somehow," he said rather helplessly. they searched farther, without result. aleta doubtless had gone home. "i wonder if you'd take me somewhere ... for a cup of coffee," said miss france. the hand upon his arm grew heavy. "i'm a little faint." "surely." he suggested a popular cafe, but she shook her head. "just some quiet little place ... a 'chop house.' that's what the switch-girls call them." so they entered a pair of swinging doors inscribed "ladies" on one side and "gents" on the other. miss france laughingly insisted that they pass each on the proper side of this divided portal. she was a creature of swift moods; one moment feverishly gay, the next brooding, with a penchant for satire. he wondered how she endured the hard work of a telephone switch-operator. but one felt that whatever she willed she would do. eagerly she sipped her steaming coffee from a heavy crockery cup, nibbling at a bit of french bread. then she said to him so suddenly that he almost sprang out of his chair. "do you know that aleta boice loves you?" he looked at her annoyed and disturbed by the question. "no, i don't," he answered slowly. "nor do i understand just what you're driving at, miss france." "if you'll forgive me," her eyes were upon him, "i am driving at masculine obtuseness ... and aleta's happiness." "then you're wasting your time," he spoke sharply. "aleta loves another.... she's told me so." "did she tell you his name?" "no, some prig of a professor, probably.... thinks he's 'not her kind.'" "yes ... let's have another cup of coffee. yes, aleta told me that." frank signalled to the waiter. "she's anybody's kind," he said, forcibly. "but not yours, mr. stanley." "mine? why not?" "because you don't love her." norah's tone was sad, half bitter. "will you forgive me? i'm sorry i provoked you.... but i had to know.... aleta's such a dear. she's been so good to me." the christmas holidays brought handsome stock displays to all the stores. san francisco was still flush with insurance money but there was a pinch of poverty in certain quarters. the refugee camps had been cleared, public parks and squares restored to their normal state. langdon and heney worked on. another jury brought a verdict of "not guilty" at the second trial of a trolley-bribe defendant. some of the newspapers had changed by almost imperceptible degrees, were veering toward the cause of the defense. then, like a thunderbolt, in january, , came news that the appellate court had set aside the conviction of ruef and schmitz. technical errors were assigned as the cause of this decision. the people gasped. but some of the newspapers defended the appellate judges' decree. chapter lxxxviii the shooting of heney heney and langdon, who had had, perhaps, some inkling of an adverse decision, went grimly on. enemies of prosecution, backed by an enormous fund, were setting innumerable obstacles in their way. witnesses disappeared or changed their testimony. jurors showed evidence of having been tampered with. through a subsidized press an active propaganda of innuendo and slander was begun. calhoun's trial still loomed vaguely in the distance. heney, overworked and harassed in a multitude of ways--keyed to a battle with ruffians, gun-men and shysters as well as the ablest exponents of law, developed a nervousness of manner, a bitterness of mind which sometimes led him to extremes. "he isn't sleeping well," his faithful bodyguard confided to frank one afternoon when they met on van ness avenue. "he comes down in the morning trying to smile but i know he feels as though he'd like to bite my head off. i can see it in his eyes. he needs a rest." "mr. calhoun evidently thinks so, too," retorted stanley. "the honorable pat is trying to retire him." "he'll never succeed," said the other explosively. "frank heney's not that kind. he'll fight on till he drops.... but i hate to see those boughten lawyers ragging him in court." langdon, more phlegmatic of temperament, stood the gaff with less apparent friction. hiram johnson gave aid now and then which was always of value. there was a dauntless quality about the man, a rugged double-fisted force which made him feared by his opponents. frank stanley looked in at the second ruef trial. he found it a kaleidoscope of dramatic and tragic events. heney, who had been the target for a volley of insinuations from ruef's attorneys, was nervous and distraught. several times he had been goaded into altercation; had struck back with a bitterness that showed his mounting anger. stanley noted that he was "on edge," and rather looked for "fireworks," as the reporters called these verbal duels of the prosecution trials. but he was astonished to see heney turn upon an unoffending juryman in sudden fury. the man had a fat, good-natured teuton face with small eyes and a heavy manner. his name was morris haas. he had asked to be excused but the judge had not granted his plea. now he seemed to cower in exaggerated fright before the prosecutor's pointed finger. a little hush ensued. a tense dramatic pause. then heney branded haas before the court-room as a former convict. the man broke down utterly. many years before he had served a short term in prison. after his release he had married, raised a family, "lived a respectable life," as he pleaded in hysterical extenuation. he kept a grocery store. haas stumbled from the court-room and frank followed him. he could not help but feel a certain pity for the poor wretch, wailing brokenly that he was "ruined." he could never face his friends again. his customers would leave him. frank learned the details of his ancient crime; he also ascertained that haas had lived rightly since. the incident rankled. he wrote a guarded story of the affair. but he did not mention one episode of haas' exposure. as the man staggered out frank had heard another whisper sympathetically, "i would kill the man who did that to me." justice often has its cruel, relentless aspects. haas, with his weak, heavy face, stayed in stanley's memory. an ordinary man might have tried again and won. but haas was drunken with self-pity and the melancholy of his race. he would brood and suffer. frank felt sorry for the man, and, somehow, vaguely apprehensive. ruef's trial ended in a disagreement of the jury. it was a serious blow. most of the san francisco papers heaped abuse upon the prosecution, its attorneys and its judges. matters dragged along until the th of november. gallagher was on the witness stand. he testified with the listlessness of many repetitions to the sordid facts of san francisco's betrayal by venal public servants. it was all more or less perfunctory. everyone had heard the tale from one to half a dozen times. heney was at the attorneys' table talking animatedly with an assistant. the jury had left the room and gallagher stepped down from the stand to have a word with the prosecutor. a few feet away was heney's bodyguard lolling, plainly bored by the testimony. there was the usual buzz of talk which marks a lull in court proceedings. into this scene came with covert tread a wild, dramatic figure. no one noted his approach. morris haas, glittering of eye, dishevelled, mad with loss of sleep and brooding, had crept into the court-room unheeded. he approached the attorneys' table stealthily. all at once frank saw him standing within a foot of heney. something glittered in his outstretched hand. frank shouted, but his warning lost itself in a wild cry of revengeful accusation. there was a sharp report; smoke rose. an acrid smell of exploded powder hung upon the air. heney, with a cry, fell backward. blood spurted from his neck. * * * * * once more the city was afire with men's passions. haas was rushed to the county jail and heney to a hospital, where it was found, amid great popular rejoicing, that the wound was not a fatal one. had it been otherwise no human power could have protected haas from lynching. a great mass meeting was held. langdon, phelan, mayor taylor pleaded for order. "let us see to it," said the last, "that no matter who else breaks the law, we shall uphold it." this became the keynote of the meeting. rudolph spreckels, who arrived late, was greeted with tumultuous cheering. frank and aleta were impressed by the spontaneity of the huge popular turnout. "it means," said the girl, as they made their exit, "that san francisco is again aroused to its danger. what a great, good natured, easy-going body of men and women this town is! we feed on novelty and are easily wearied. that's why so many have back-slid who were strong for the prosecution at first." "yes, you're right," answered frank. "we alternate between spasms of virtue and comfortable inertias of don't-care-a-damn! that's san francisco!" "the good gray city," he added after a little silence. "we love it in spite of its faults and upheavals, don't we, aleta?" "perhaps because of them." she squeezed his arm. for a time they walked on without speaking. "how is your settlement work progressing?" he asked at length. but she did not answer, for a shrieking newsie thrust a paper in her hand. "buy an extra, lady," he importuned her. "all about morris haas' suicide!" she tossed him a coin and he rushed off, shrilling his tragic revelation. huge black headlines announced that heney's assailant had shot himself to death in his cell. chapter lxxxix defeat of the prosecution while heney lay upon the operating table of a san francisco hospital, three prominent attorneys volunteered to take his place. they were hiram johnson, matt i. sullivan and j.j. dwyer. ruef's trial went on with renewed vigor three days after the attempted killing, though the defendant's attorneys exhausted every expedient for delay. it was a case so thorough and complete that nothing could save the prisoner. he was found guilty of bribing a supervisor in the overhead trolley transaction and sentenced to serve fourteen years in san quentin penitentiary. frank was in the court-room when ruef's sentence was imposed. the little boss seemed oddly aged and nerveless; the old look of power was gone from his eyes. frank recalled ruef's plan of a political utopia. the man had started with a golden dream, a genius for organization which might have achieved great things. but his lower self had conquered. he had sold his dream for gold. and retribution was upon him. frank thought of patrick calhoun, large, blustering, arrogant with the pride of an old southern family; the power of limitless wealth between him and punishment; a masterful figure who had broken a labor union and who scoffed at law. and eugene schmitz, once happy as a fiddler. schmitz was trying to face it out in the community. frank could not tell if that was courage or a sort of impudence. during the holidays frank visited his parents in san diego. his granduncle, benito windham, had died abroad. and his mother was ailing. frank and his father discussed the prosecution. "it has had its day," the elder stanley said. "your public is listless, sick of the whole rotten mess. they've lost the moral perspective. all they want is to have it over." "i guess i feel the same way." frank's eyes were downcast. * * * * * sometimes frank met norah france at aleta's apartment, but she carefully avoided further mention of the topic they had talked of on election night. frank liked her poetry. with a spirit less morbid she would have made a name for herself he thought. aleta was doing more and more settlement work. she had been playing second lead at the theater and had had a new york offer. frank could not understand why she refused it. but norah did, though she kept the secret from frank. "do you know how many talesmen have been called in the calhoun trial?" aleta asked, looking up from the newspaper. "there were nearly in the ruef case. they called that a record." she laughed. "of course pat calhoun would wish to outdo abe ruef," said frank. "that's only to be expected. he's had close to , i reckon." "not quite," aleta referred to the printed sheet. "your paper says veniremen were called into court. that's what money can do. if he'd been some poor devil charged with stealing a bottle of milk from the doorstep, how long would it take to convict him?" "it's a rotten world," the other girl spoke with a sudden gust of bitterness. "a world without honor or justice." "or a nightmare," said frank, with a glance at aleta. "well, if it is, i'm going to wake up soon--in one way or another," said norah. "i will promise you that." to frank the words seemed ominous. he left soon afterward. the calhoun trial dragged interminably. heney, not entirely recovered from his wound, but back in court, faced a battery of the country's highest priced attorneys. there were a.a. and stanley moore, alexander king, who was calhoun's law partner in the south; lewis f. byington, a former district attorney; j.j. barrett, earl rogers, a sensationally successful criminal defender from los angeles, and garret mcenerney. heney had but one assistant, john o'gara, a deputy in langdon's office. for five long months the prosecution fought such odds. heney lost his temper frequently in court. he was on the verge of a nerve prostration. anti-prosecution papers hinted that his faculties were failing. langdon more or less withdrew from the fight. he was tired of it; had declined to be a candidate for the district attorneyship in the fall. heney was the prosecution's only hope. he consented to run; which added to his legal labors the additional tasks of preparing for a campaign. it was not to be wondered at that heney failed to convict calhoun. the jury disagreed after many ballots. a new trial was set. but before a jury was empanelled the november ballot gave the prosecution its "coup de grace." p.h. mccarthy was elected mayor. charles fickert defeated heney for the district attorneyship. an anti-prosecution government took office. "big jim" gallagher, the prosecution's leading witness, disappeared. fickert sought dismissal of the calhoun case and finally obtained it. * * * * * san francisco heaved a sigh of relief and turned its attention toward another problem. its people planned a great world exposition to celebrate the opening of the panama canal. with the close of the graft trials, san francisco put its shoulders in concerted effort to the wheel. there were rivals now. san diego claimed a prior plan. new orleans was importuning congress to support it in an exposition. the southern city sent its lobbying delegation to the capitol. san francisco seemed about to lose. but the city was aroused to one of its outbursts of pioneer energy. the panama-pacific international exposition company was organized. a meeting was called at the merchants' exchange. there, in two hours, $ , , was subscribed by local merchants. chapter xc the measure of redemption frank journeyed east with a party of "exposition boosters" after the memorable meeting in the merchants' exchange. the import of that afternoon's work had been flashed around the world. it swung the tide of public sentiment from new orleans toward the western coast. congress heard the clink of power in those millions. president taft discerned a spirit of efficiency that would guarantee success. he did not desire another jamestown fiasco. he had an open admiration for the city which in four years could rebuild itself from ashes, suffer staunchly through disrupting ordeals of political upheaval and unite its forces in a mighty plan to entertain the world. frank went to the white house for an interview. he clasped the large, firm hand which had guided so many troubled ships of state for the roosevelt regime, looked into the twinkling eyes that hid so keen a force behind their kindness. stanley soon discovered that in this big, bluff president his city had a friend. "what shall i say to the people at home for you, mr. president? will you give me a message?" the chief executive was thoughtful for an instant. then he said, "go back, my boy, and tell them this from me, 'san francisco knows how!'" frank left the white house, eager and enthusiastic; sought a telegraph office. on the following day market street blazed with the slogan. in new york, where he went from washington, frank heard echoes of that speech. san francisco's cause gained new and sudden favor. frank found the eastern press, which hitherto had favored new orleans, was veering almost imperceptibly toward the golden gate. he met many san franciscans in new york. john o'hara cosgrave was editing everybody's magazine, "bob" davis was at the head of the munsey publications, edwin markham wrote world-poetry on staten island, "in a big house filled with books and mosquitoes," as a friend described it. "bill" and wallace irwin were there, the former "batching" in a flat on washington square. all of them were glad to talk of san francisco. charley aiken, editor of sunset magazine, was with the boosters. stanley met him in new york. he had a plan for buying the publication from its railroad sponsors; making it an independent organ of the literary west. things were looking up for san francisco. * * * * * frank was glad to get back. he had enjoyed his visit to the east. but it was mighty good to ride up market street again. it looked quite as it did before the fire. one would have found it difficult to believe that this new city with its towering, handsome architecture, had lain, a few years back, the shambles of the greatest conflagration history has known. on christmas eve frank and aleta went down town to hear tetrazzini sing in the streets. the famous prima donna faced an audience which numbered upward of a hundred thousand. they thronged--a joyous celebrant, dark mass--on market, geary, third and kearny streets. every window was ablaze, alive with silhouetted figures. frank, who had engaged a window in the monadnock block, could not get near the entrance. so he and aleta stood in the street. "it's nicer," she whispered happily, "to be here among the people.... i feel closer to them. as if i could sense the big pulse of life that makes us all brothers and sisters." frank looked down at her understandingly, but did not speak. tetrazzini had begun her song. its first notes floated faintly through the vast and unwalled auditorium. then her voice grew clearer, surer. never had those bustling, noisy streets known such a stillness as prevailed this night. the pure soprano which had thrilled a world of high-priced audiences rang out in a wondrous clarion harmony. it moved many people to tears. the response was overwhelming. something in that vast human pack went out to the singer like a tidal wave. not the deafening fusilade of hand-clapping nor the shouted "bravos!" it was something deeper, subtler. tetrazzini stepped forward. tears streamed from her eyes. she blew impulsive kisses to the crowd. * * * * * the pageant of the months went on. a coal merchant by the name of rolph had displaced p.h. mccarthy as mayor of san francisco. he had installed what was termed "a business administration." san francisco seemed pleased with the result. power of government had returned to the "north of market street." san francisco had been selected by congress as the site of the exposition. it was scheduled for and the panama canal approached completion. frank was living with his father at the press club. his mother was dead. he had given up newspaper work, except for an occasional editorial. through his father's influence he had found publication for a novel. he was something of a public man now, despite his comparative youth. occasionally he saw his uncle robert. two of his cousins had married. the third, an engineer, had gone to colorado. robert windham and his wife were planning a year of travel. sometimes windham and his nephew talked of bertha. it was a calmer, more dispassionate talk as time went on, for years blunt every pain. one day the former said, with tentative defiance, "i suppose you'll think there's something wrong about me, boy.... but i loved her mother deeply. honestly--if one can call it that. if i'd had a certain kind of--well, immoral--courage, i'd have married her.... just think how different all our lives would have been. but i hadn't the heart to hurt maizie; to break with her ... nor the courage to give up my position in life. so we parted. i didn't know then--" "that you had a daughter?" questioned frank. his uncle nodded. "perhaps it would have made a difference ... perhaps not." * * * * * aleta had a week's vacation. they were playing a comedy in which she had no part. so she had gone to carmel to visit her friend norah france. frank decided to look in on them. he had been oddly shaken by the talk with his uncle. what tragedies men hid beneath the smooth exteriors of successful careers? he had always thought his uncle's home a happy one. doubtless it was--happy enough. love perhaps was not essential to successful unions. frank wondered why he had not asked aleta boice to be his wife. they were good comrades, had congenial tastes. they would both be better off; less lonely. a sudden, long-forgotten feeling stirred within his heart. he had missed aleta in the past few days. why not go to her now; lay the question before her? perhaps love might come to them both. chapter xci conclusion for years thereafter frank was haunted by the wraiths of vain conjecture--morbid questionings of what might have occurred if he had caught the train for monterey that afternoon. for he was not to seek aleta at carmel. an official of the exposition company met frank on the street. they talked a shade too long. frank missed the train by half a minute. he shrugged his shoulders petulantly, found his father at the club. that evening they attended a comedy. he was not yet out of bed when the office telephoned him the next morning. "didn't he know norah france rather well?" the city editor inquired. frank admitted it sleepily. had he a picture of her? frank denied this. no. he didn't know where one might be obtained. had norah printed a poem or something? w-h-a-a-t! the voice at the telephone repeated its message. "norah france was found dead in her room at carmel this morning. suicide probably. empty vial and a letter.... the carmel authorities haven't come through yet." frank began to dress hurriedly. again the telephone rang. wire for him. should they send it up? no, he would be down in a minute. the telegram was from aleta. it read: "am returning noon train. see you at my apartment six p.m." stanley did not see his father in the dining room. he gulped a cup of coffee and went down to the office. he had planned an editorial for today. but his mind was full of norah france just now. poor child! how she had loved life in her strangely vivid moods! and how she had brooded upon its injustice in her alternating tempers of depression! he remembered now aleta's mention of a love affair that turned out badly. aleta had gone down to hearten her friend from these dolors. and he recalled, with a desperate, tearing remorse, a casual-enough remark of norah's: "you always cheer me up, frank, when you come to see me." he recalled, as well, her comment, months before, that she would awake from her dream in one way or another. well, she had fulfilled her promise. god grant, he thought passionately, that the awakening had been in a happier world. at six o'clock he went to aleta's apartment. she had not yet arrived but presently she came. he saw that she had been crying. she could scarcely speak. "frank, let us walk somewhere," she said. "i can't go upstairs; it's too full of memories. and i can't sit still. i've got to keep moving--fast." they strode off together, taking a favorite walk through the presidio toward the beach. from a hill-top they saw the exposition buildings rising from what once had been a slough. aleta paused and looked down. "it's easier to bear--up here," she spoke in an odd, weary monotone, as if she were thinking aloud. "this morning ... i think, if norah had left anything in the bottle ... i'd have taken it, too." "why did she do it?" frank asked quickly. aleta faced him. "norah loved a man ... he wasn't worthy. she could see no hope. i wished, frank, that you might have been there yesterday. you used to cheer her so!" "don't!" he cried out sharply. the exposition progressed marvelously. often frank and aleta climbed the winding presidio ascent and gazed upon its growing wonders. "beauty will come out of it all," she said one day. "out of our travail and sorrow and sin. i wish that norah was here. she loved beauty so!" "perhaps she is here.... who knows?" she looked at him startled. he was staring off across the exposition site, toward the golden gate, where a great ship, all its sails spread, swam mysteriously luminous with the sunset. "it's beautiful," he said, a catch in his voice. "it's like life ... coming home in the end ... after long strivings with tempest and wave. i wonder--" he turned to her slowly, "aleta, will it be like that with us?" "home!" she spoke the word tenderly. "i wonder what it's like ... i've never known." he drew his breath sharply. "aleta--will you marry me?" her eyes filled but she did not answer. presently she shook her head. he looked at her dumbly, questioning. "you don't love me, frank," she said at last. he could not answer her. his eyes were on the ground. a hundred thoughts came to his mind; thoughts of an almost overwhelming tenderness; thoughts of reverence for her; of affection, comradeship. but they were not the right thoughts. they were not what she wanted. presently they turned and went toward the town together. * * * * * a fairyland of gardens and lagoons sprung into existence. great artists labored with a kind of beauty-madness in its making. nine years after san francisco lay in ashes its doors opened to the world. from ruins had grown a great dream, one so beautiful and strong, it seemed unreal. aleta and frank went often. to them the exposition was a rhapsody of silent music and they seldom broke its harmonies with speech. frank had not recurred to the question he had asked on presidio hill. but out of it had come an unspoken compact, a comradeship of spirit that was very sweet. they stood one day on the margin of fine arts lagoon, gazing down at the marvelous reflections of the great dome and its pillared colonnade. "frank," the girl said almost in a whisper, "i believe that love is god's heart, beating, beating ... through the whole of life." he turned and saw that her eyes were radiant. "and i think that when we feel its rhythm in us, it's like a call. a call to--" "what?" he asked abashed. "service.... frank," she faced him questioningly, half fearful. "you'll forgive me, won't you? i--i'm going away." she expected protest, exclamation. instead he asked her, very quietly: "to europe, aleta? the red cross?" "yes," she said, surprised. "how did you know?" "i--i'm going, myself. as a stretcher bearer." "then--" her eyes were stars, "you've felt it, too?" he nodded. * * * * * on the deck of an outbound steamer stood two figures. the sky was gray. drifts of fog hung plume-like over alcatraz, veiled the exposition domes and turrets in a mystic glory. sometimes it was like a great white nothingness; then, as if by magic, color, forms and beauty leaped forth like some startling vision from a land of make believe. the woman at the stern-rail stretched forth her arms. "goodbye," her words were like a song, a song of heartbreak, mixed with exultation. "goodbye, oh my city of dreams!" "we will come back," said the man shakily. "we will come with new peace in our hearts." "perhaps," she replied, "but it will not matter. san francisco will go on, big, generous, unafraid in its sins and virtues. oh, frank, i love it, don't you? i want it to be the greatest city in the world!" he made no answer but he caught her hand and pressed it. the fog came down about them like a mantle and shut them in. team by the golden gate or san francisco, the queen city of the pacific coast; with scenes and incidents characteristic of its life by joseph carey, d.d. a member of the american historical association to my beloved wife this volume is affectionately inscribed. preface this work now offered to the public owes its origin largely to the following circumstance: on the return of the author from california and the city of mexico, in november, , his friend, the rev. john n. marvin, president of the _diocesan press_, asked him to contribute some articles to the _diocese of albany_. from these "sketches" of san francisco this book has taken form. there are chapters in the volume which have not appeared in print hitherto, and such portions as have been already published have been thoroughly revised. much of the work has been written from copious notes made in san francisco, and impressions received there naturally give a local colouring to it in its composition. it is not a history, nor yet is it a guide book; but it is thought that it will be helpful to tourists who visit one of the most picturesque and interesting cities in the united states. it furnishes in a convenient form just such information as the intelligent traveller needs in order to enjoy his walks and rides through the city. the writer in his quest among books could not find any thing exactly of the character here produced; and therefore he is led to give the results of his observations and studies with the hope that the perusal of this volume, sent forth modestly on its errand, will not prove an unprofitable task. the author. november st, . contents chapter i westward chapter ii views from the boat on the bay chapter iii san francisco and the discovery of gold chapter iv the story of golden gate park and the cemeteries chapter v then and now, or eighteen hundred forty-nine and nineteen hundred and one chapter vi from street nomenclature to a cannon chapter vii chinamen of san francisco--their callings and characteristics chapter viii a chinese newspaper, little feet, and an opium-joint chapter ix music, gambling, eating, theatre-going chapter x the joss-house, chinese immigration and chinese theology chapter xi the general convention of chapter xii through the city to the golden gate chapter i westward choice of route--the ticket--journey begun--pan-american exposition and president mckinley--the cattle-dealer and his story--horses--old friends--the father of waters--two noted cities--rocky mountains--a city almost a mile high--the dean and his anti-tariff window--love and revenge--garden of the gods--haunted house--grand cañon and royal gorge--arkansas river--in salt lake city--a mormon and his wives--the lake--streets--tabernacle and temple--in st. mark's--salt lake theatre--impressions--ogden--time sections--last spike--piute indians--el dorado--on the sierras--a promised land. the meeting of the general convention of the church in san francisco, in , gave the writer the long-desired opportunity to visit the pacific coast and see california, which since the early discoveries, has been associated with adventure and romance. who is there indeed who would not travel towards the setting sun to feast his eyes on a land so famous for its mineral wealth, its fruits and flowers, and its enchanting scenery from the snowy heights of the sierras to the waters of the ocean first seen by balboa in , and navigated successively by magalhaes and drake, dampier and anson? the question, debated for weeks before setting out on the journey, was, which route of travel will i take? it is hard to choose where all are excellent. i asked myself again and again, which line will afford the greatest entertainment and be most advantageous in the study of the country from a historic standpoint? the canadian pacific route, and also the northern pacific, with their grand mountainous scenery and other attractions, had much to commend them; so also other lines of importance like the santa fé with its connecting roads; and the only regret was that one could not travel over them all. but one way had to be selected, and the choice at last fell on the delaware and hudson, the erie, rock island, the denver and rio grande, and the southern pacific roads. this route was deemed most feasible, and one that would give a special opportunity to pass through cities and places famous in the history of the nation, which otherwise could not be visited without great expense and consumption of time. it enabled one also to travel through such great states as pennsylvania, ohio, indiana, illinois, iowa, nebraska, colorado, utah, and nevada, as well as central california. as the return journey had also to be determined before leaving home, the writer, desirous of visiting the coast towns of california south of san francisco, and as far down as san diego, the first settlement in california by white men, arranged to take the southern pacific railway and the direct lines with which it communicates. in travelling over the "sunset route," as the southern pacific is styled, he would pass across the southern section of california from los angeles, through arizona, new mexico, texas and louisiana, the line over which president mckinley travelled when he made his tour in the spring of . from new orleans, by taking the louisville and nashville railroad, he would journey through southern mississippi, tennessee, kentucky, and so back through ohio from cincinnati, and across pennsylvania into the empire state, over the erie and the "d. & h." railways. by the "sunset route," too, the writer could avail himself of the privilege of going into the country of mexico at eagle pass, and so down to the city of mexico, famous with the memories of the montezumas and of cortez and furnishing also a memorable chapter in our own history, when, in september , the heights of chapultepec were stormed by general pillow and his brave followers. the journey from beginning to end was one of delightful experiences, full of pleasure and profit, and without a single accident or mishap. this is largely owing to the excellent service afforded and the courtesy of the railway officials, who were ready at all times to answer questions and to promote the comfort of the passengers. the obliging agent of the "d. & h." railway in saratoga springs made all the necessary arrangements for the ticket, with its coupons, which was to take me to and fro; and baggage checked in saratoga was found promptly, and in good condition, on my arrival in san francisco. how different our system, in this respect, from that of the english and continental and oriental railways! luggage in those far off countries is a source of constant care, and in continental europe and asiatic lands a heavy item of expense. the old world might learn in several particulars from our efficient american railway system, which has for its prime object facility of travel. the ticket was an object of interest from its length, with its privileges of stopping over at important towns; and strangely, as i travelled down the pacific coast, with new coupons added, it seemed to grow instead of diminishing. one could not but smile at times at its appearance, and the wonder of more than one conductor on the trains was excited as it was unfolded, and it streamed out like the tail of a kite. it was most generous in its proportions as the railway companies were liberal in their concessions. it was on september the rd, , a bright monday morning, when i stepped on the "d. & h." for albany, thence proceeding from the capital city to binghamton, where i made connection with the erie railway. travelling on the train with me as far as albany were mr. w. edgar woolley, proprietor of the grand union hotel, saratoga, and mrs. james amory moore, of saratoga and new york city, whose hearty wish that i might have a prosperous journey was prophetic. the country traversed from saratoga to binghamton by the "d. & h." railway affords many beautiful views of hill and valley, and, besides albany with its long and memorable history and magnificent public buildings and churches, including st. peter's and all saints' cathedral, there are places of note to be seen, such as howe's cave and sharon springs. by this branch of the "d. & h" system, cooperstown, rendered famous by james fenimore cooper in his works, is reached. on alighting from the train at binghamton i was greeted by my old friends, col. arthur macarthur, the genial and accomplished editor of the _troy budget_, and that witty soul, rev. cornelius l. twing, rector of calvary church, brooklyn, n.y., who had come here for the purpose of attending the annual conclave of the grand commandery of the state of new york. at buffalo i had sufficient time, before taking the through sleeping car "sweden," on the erie railway, to chicago, to visit the pan-american exposition grounds. the scene, at night, as i approached, was very impressive. the buildings, illuminated with electricity furnished by the power-house at niagara's thundering cataract, looked like palaces of gold. the flood of light was a brilliant yellow. the main avenue was broad and attractive. the tower, with the fountains and cascade, appealed wonderfully to the imagination. machinery, agricultural, and the electrical buildings, had an air of grandeur. music hall, where the members of weber's orchestra from cincinnati were giving a concert before an audience of three hundred persons, had a melancholy interest for me. it was here, only a short time before, that president mckinley, at a public reception, was stricken down by the hand of an assassin; and the exact spot was pointed out to me by a policeman. in that late hour of the evening, as i stood there rapt in contemplation over the tragic scene which deprived a nation of one of the wisest and best of rulers, i seemed to hear his voice uplifted as in the moment when he was smitten, pleading earnestly with the horrified citizens and officers around him, to have mercy on his murderer,--"let no one do him harm!" it was christian, like the protomartyr; it was the spirit of the divine master, who teaches us to pray for our persecutors and enemies! happy the nation with such an example before it! in travelling westward one meets now and then with original and striking characters. they are interesting, too, and you can learn lessons of practical wisdom from them if you will. they will be friendly and communicative if you encourage them. answering this description was a mr. h.w. coffman, a dealer in short horn cattle, who was travelling from buffalo on the erie road to chicago. he lives at willow grove stock farm, a hundred miles west of chicago on the great western railway, one mile south of german valley. naturally we talked about cows, and we discussed the different breeds of cattle, especially the buffalo cows of the present-day egypt, and the apis of four thousand years ago, which according to the representations, on the monuments, was more like the devon breed than the buffalo. the names which he gave to his cows were somewhat poetic. one, for example, was named "gold bud;" and another, called "sweet violet," owing to her fine build, was sold for $ , . as the conversation drifted, sometimes into things serious, and then into a lighter vein, mr. coffman told a story about a man who had three fine calves. one of them died, and, when his foreman told him, he said he was sorry, but no doubt it was "all for the best." "skin him," said he, "and sell his hide." another one died, and he said the same thing. when the last and the best died, his wife said to him, "now the lord is punishing you for your meanness!" his reply was, "if the lord will take it out in calves it is not so bad." i could not but moralise that the divine judgments on us, for our sins, are not as severe as they might be, and that few of us get what we deserve in the way of punishment or chastening. i also met a horse dealer, who said that he shipped some sixty horses every week to a commission merchant in buffalo. the latter made three dollars per head for selling them. they brought about $ a piece. when shipped at new york, by english buyers, for france, south africa, and elsewhere, they cost about $ a head. the farmers of ohio, indiana, iowa, and wisconsin, are getting rich from horse culture and the raising of cattle. he said that fifteen years ago, the farmers, in many instances, had heavy notes discounted in the banks. now they have no such indebtedness. when formerly he entered a town he would go to a bank and find out from the cashier who had notes there; and then he would go and buy the horses of such men at reduced rates. all is different now. the european demand has helped the american farmer. at akron, ohio, the energetic and successful rector of st. paul's church, the rev. james h.w. blake, accompanied by his wife and miss graham, his parishioner, boarded the train; and i found them most agreeable travelling companions to san francisco. in chicago, in the rock island station, i was met by tourist agent donaldson, in the employ of the rock island railway company, and during all the journey he was most courteous and helpful. here also i found my old classmate in the general theological seminary, rev. dr. alfred brittin baker, rector of trinity church, princeton, n.j., rev. dr. henry l. jones, of wilkesbarre, pa., rev. dr. a.s. woodle, of altoona, pa., the rev. henry s. foster, of green bay, wis., and the rev. wm. b. thorne, of marinette, wis., all journeying to san francisco. it was a pleasure to see these friends, and to have their delightful companionship. many interesting chapters might be written about this journey; and to give all the incidents by the way and descriptions of places visited and pen pictures of persons met would detain you, dear reader, too long, as you are hastening on to the city by the golden gate. some things, however, we may not omit as we travel over great prairies and cross rivers and plains and mountains and valleys. at rock island our train crossed the mississippi, reaching davenport by one of the finest railway bridges in the country; and as the "father of waters" sped on in its course to the gulf of mexico, it made one think of the nile and the long stretches of country through which that ancient river wends its way; but the teeming populations on the banks of the mississippi have a more noble destiny than the subjects of the pharaohs who sleep in the necropolis of sakkarah and among the hills of thebes and in innumerable tombs elsewhere. they have the splendid civilisation of the gospel, and they are a mighty force in the growth and stability of this nation, whose mission is worldwide. at transfer we passed over the missouri by a long bridge, and entered omaha, a city picturesquely situated, the home of that doughty churchman, rev. john williams, and of chancellor james m. woolworth, a noble representative of the laity of the church. well may this place be called the "gate city" of the antelope state. towards evening we reached lincoln, the home of william jennings bryan, the democratic candidate for the presidency in , and also four years later. the house where he lives was pointed out to us. it is a modest structure on the outskirts of the city, comporting with the simplicity of the man himself. in the morning we found ourselves riding over the plains of colorado. here are miles and miles of prairie, with great herds of cattle here and there. here also the eye of the traveller rests on hundreds of miles of snow fences. at last we have our first view of the rocky mountains, that great rampart rising up from the plains like huge banks of clouds. it was indeed an imposing view; and it reminded me of the day when, sailing across the sea from cyprus, i first saw the mountains of lebanon. you almost feel as if you are going over a sea on this plain, with the rocky mountains as an immovable wall to curb it in its tempests. one thought greatly impressed me in the journey thus far, and this is the wonderful agricultural resources of our country. we were travelling over but one belt of the landscape. its revelations of fertility, of cultivation, of products, of prosperity, of thrifty homes, of contented peoples, made one feel indeed that this is a land of plenty, and that we are a nation blessed in no ordinary way. the city of denver is beautiful for situation, with the rocky mountains fifteen miles to the west. as it is on the western border of the great plain, you can hardly at first realise what its elevation is. yet it is , feet above the sea, lacking only ten feet of being a mile above tide water. the atmosphere is clear and crisp, and the mountain air exhilarates one in no ordinary degree. although founded only as far back as , it has to-day a population of , , and it is steadily growing. it has well equipped hotels such as the palace, the windsor, the albany and the st. james. it has also fine public buildings, flourishing churches and schools, and many beautiful homes. there is an air of prosperity everywhere. here among other places which i visited is wolfe hall, a boarding and day school for girls, well equipped for its work, with miss margaret kerr, a grand-daughter of the late rev. dr. john brown, of newburgh, n.y., for its principal. i also met the rev. dr. h. martyn hart, a man of strong personality. i found him in st. john's cathedral, of which he is the dean, and of which he is justly proud. it is a churchly edifice, and it suggests some of the architectural form of sancta sophia in constantinople. dean hart showed my companions and me what he calls his anti-tariff window. the window was purchased abroad, and the original tariff was to be ten per cent of the cost price. this would be about $ . the window cost $ . meanwhile the mckinley tariff bill was passed by congress, and as the duty was greatly increased he would not pay it. finally the window was sold at auction by the customs' officials, and dean hart bought it for $ . as we rode about the city the courteous driver, a mr. haney, pointed out a beautiful house embowered in trees, which had a romantic history. a young man of denver was engaged to be married to a young woman. she jilted him and married another, and while she was on her wedding tour her husband died. the house in which she lived was offered for sale at this juncture, and the original suitor bought it and turned her out into the street. he had his revenge, which shows that human nature is the same the world over. had he offered her the house to live in, however, it would have been a nobler revenge, "overcoming evil with good." it is but a short ride from denver to colorado springs, which is a delightful spot with , inhabitants, and here is a magnificent hotel a block or two from the railway station called the new antlers. the rev. dr. h.h. messenger, of summit, mississippi, an apostolic looking clergyman, with his wife, accompanied us from denver to colorado springs, and also to manitou, at the foot of pike's peak and the mouth of the ute pass. from manitou we drove to the garden of the gods, comprising about five hundred acres, and went through this mysterious region with its fantastic and wonderful formations, which seem to caricature men and beasts and to mimic architectural creations. here we saw the scotchman, punch and judy, the siamese twins, the lion, the elephant, the seal, the bear, the toad, and numerous other creatures. we also viewed the balanced rock, at the entrance, and the gateway cliffs, at the northeast end of the garden, and the cathedral spires. everything was indeed startling, and as puzzling as the sphinx in old egypt. nature was certainly in a playful mood when, with her chisel and mallet, she carved these grotesque forms out of stones and rocks. on the outskirts of manitou the "haunted house" was pointed out by the guide, who said that a man and his wife and their son had been murdered here. no one would live in the house now. he asked me if i believed in "ghosts." i said i was not afraid of dead men, and that i did not think they came back to disturb us. he seemed to agree with me, but hastened to say that he "met a clergyman yesterday who said he believed in them." the house in manitou which, of all others, interested me most, was the pretty vine-covered cottage of helen hunt jackson, who wrote "ramona." it was she, who, with a fine appreciation of nature, gave this wild and secluded spot, with its riddles in stone, the suggestive name of "the garden of the gods." at noon on friday, october th, i boarded the pullman train at colorado springs, on the denver and rio grande railway, for salt lake city. on this train was my old friend the rev. james w. ashton, rector of st. stephen's church, olean, n.y., whom i had not seen for years, and from this hour he was my constant travelling companion for weeks in the california tour, ready for every enterprise and adventure. at pueblo were some quaint spanish-looking buildings, and farther on we were among the foothills of the rocky mountains. our train gradually ascended the heights skirting the bank of the arkansas river, which was tawny and turbid for many a mile. but the grand cañon of the arkansas, with its eight miles of granite walls and its royal gorge towering nearly three thousand feet above us! it is rightly named. i cannot undertake to describe it accurately. here are grand cliffs which seemingly reach the heavens, and in some places the rocky walls come so near that they almost touch each other. as you look up, even in midday, the stars twinkle for you in the azure vault. as the train sped on, toiling up the pass through the riven hills and crossing a bridge fastened in the walls of the gorge and spanning the foaming waters, you felt as if you were shut up in the mysterious chambers of these eternal mountains. it is a stupendous work of the creator, and man dwarfs into littleness in the presence of the majesty of god here manifested as when elijah stood on horeb's heights. it was a pleasant task to study the scenery, wild beyond description at times; and then you would pass upland plains with cattle here and there, and mining camps. that is leadville, a mile or so yonder to the north; and the children who have come down to the station have valuable specimens of ore in their little baskets, to sell to you for a trifle. off to the left hand, a little farther on, was a "placer mine," with water pouring out of a conduit, muddy and yellow with "washings." this emptied itself into the arkansas river, which, from this point down to the foot of the mountains, was as if its bed had been stirred up with all its clay and other deposit. above this junction the waters of the river were clear and sparkling. it is a picture of life, whose stream is pure and sweet until sin enters it and vitiates its current. miles beyond are snow sheds, and the famous tennessee pass, , feet above the sea level. this is the great watershed of the rocky mountains, and two drops of water from a cloud falling here,--the one on the one side and the other on the other side of the pass,--are separated forever. one runs to the atlantic ocean through rivers to the gulf of mexico, and the other to the pacific ocean. so there is the parting of the ways in human experience. there are the two ways, and the little turns of life determine your eternal destiny! even after a night of travel through the mountains and across the colorado desert, we still, in the morning, find our train speeding on amid imposing hills, but now we are in utah. this we entered at utah line. at length we cross the pass of the wahsatch mountains at soldier summit, , feet above the sea, and some thirty miles farther west we enter the picturesque utah valley. at length we see the stream of the river jordan, which is the connecting link between utah lake and the great salt lake, and at last we find ourselves in the city founded by brigham young and his pioneer followers in . there is a monument of the mormon prophet in salt lake city, commemorating this founding. standing on the hill above the present city and looking out on the great valley, with his left hand uplifted, he said: "here we will found an empire!" and here to-day in this city, which bears his marks everywhere, is a population of , souls, two-thirds of whom profess the mormon faith. here we were met by bishop abiel leonard, d.d., of salt lake, who was a most gracious host and who welcomed us with all the warmth of his heart. he had engaged accommodations for us at the cullen house; and when i went to my room, i looked out on a courtyard bounded on one side by the rear end of a long block of stores. there i saw a wagon which had just been driven into the grounds. two men were on the seat, the driver and another person, and seated on the floor of the wagon, with their backs toward me, were four women. they wore no hats, as the day was balmy, and i noticed that one had flaxen, another brown, and the two others dark hair. seeing everything here with a mormon colouring, i said, "this is a mormon family. the mormon farmer has come to town to give his four wives a holiday." it reminded me of similar groups which i had seen in old cairo, on fridays, when the mohammedan went with his wives in the donkey cart to the mosque. and is there not a strong resemblance between mormon and mohammedan? the mormon husband alighted and gently and affectionately took up one of his wives and carried her into the adjoining store, then a second, and a third. my interest deepened as i watched the proceeding. i said to myself--"how devoted these mormon husbands, if this is a true example, and how trusting the women!" when he took up the fourth wife to carry her in where her companions were, he turned her face toward me, so that i had a good view of her, and then, to my surprise, nay, amazement, i discovered that she had no feet! but quickly it dawned on my mind, that, instead of real, living mormon wives, i had been looking on waxen figures, models for show windows! well, are there not manikins in human life, unreal creatures, who never accomplish more than the models in the windows, who may be looked at, but who perform no noble and lasting deeds? our sojourn in salt lake city gave ample time to visit the great salt lake, eighty miles long and thirty miles wide, with two principal islands, antelope and stansbury; to make a complete study of the city, whose streets run at right angles to each other, with one street straight as an arrow and twenty miles long, and many of them bordered with poplar trees which, as has been facetiously said, were "popular" with brigham young; to attend the saturday afternoon recital on the great organ, in the tabernacle, which is oval in shape, and has a roof like a turtle's back, and where some three thousand people were assembled; to walk around temple square and examine the architecture of the mormon temple, which is like a great cathedral, and into which no one is admitted but the specially initiated and privileged among the latter-day saints; to visit many buildings famous in mormon history, and especially "zion's co-operative mutual institute," which, in its initials has been said wittily to mean, "zion's children multiply incessantly;" and on sunday morning to attend the beautiful service in st. mark's church, where bishop tuttle, of missouri, preached a striking sermon from the text "a horse is counted but a vain thing to save a man;" and in the evening to participate in the grand missionary service in salt lake theatre, where the congregation was led by a choir of sixty voices, and stirring addresses were made by bishop leonard of salt lake, bishop gailor of tennessee, bishop jacob, of newcastle, england, bishop dudley, of kentucky, and bishop tuttle, who was formerly bishop here, before an audience of four thousand people, made up, as the bishop said, of "methodists, presbyterians, congregationalists, hebrews, latter-day saints and churchmen." what i saw and heard here in salt lake city and in other parts of utah would make a book of itself, but i may say that the only place in which to study mormonism in all its workings is here in its seat. while polygamy must drop out of the system owing to the laws of the united states, the religious elements will not so soon perish. it has enough of christianity in it to give it a certain stability like mohammedanism; but we believe that the church of the living god will sooner or later triumph over all forms and teachings which are antagonistic to the christian creeds and apostolic order. i visited a mormon bookstore, among other places, and i was amazed at the number of volumes which i found here on the religion of the latter-day saints. in a history of mormonism, which i opened, was this pregnant sentence--"the pernicious tendency of luther's doctrine." surely here is something for reflection! from salt lake city to ogden, the great centre of railway travel, where several lines converge, is but a ride of thirty-six miles. here the train, which was very heavy, was divided into two sections, and, after some delay, we went on our journey with hopeful hearts. the salt lake valley and the great salt lake, which we had traced for a long distance, finally disappeared from view. the journey was begun from ogden on what is known as pacific time. there are four time sections employed in the united states, adopted for convenience in ,--eastern, central, mountain, and pacific. it is eastern time until you reach - / degrees west longitude from greenwich, central time up to - / , mountain time till you arrive at - / , pacific time to - / , which will take you out into the pacific ocean; and there is just one hour's difference between each time section, covering fifteen degrees. so that when it is twelve o'clock, midday, in new york city, it is eleven in chicago, ten o'clock in denver, and nine o'clock in san francisco. you adapt yourself, however, very readily to these changes of time, in your hours of sleep and in other matters. one of the places of special interest through which we passed before leaving utah is promontory. here the last tie was laid and here the last spike was driven, on the th of may, , when the central pacific and the union pacific railways were united and the great cities of the atlantic seaboard and san francisco at the setting sun were brought into communication with each other by an iron way which has promoted our civilisation in a marked degree. a night ride over the alkali plains of nevada, famous for their sage brush, was a novelty, and in the clear atmosphere they looked like fields of snow. at wadsworth, where our train began to ascend the lower slopes of the sierra nevada mountains, were several piute indians. they sell beads, blankets, baskets, and other mementoes. a papoose, all done up in swathing bands, aroused no little curiosity, and when some venturesome passenger with a kodak tried to take a picture of the infant, the mother quickly turned away. they think that the kodak is "the evil eye." there was an old squaw here with whom i conversed, who had a remarkable face on account of its wrinkled condition. she said her name was marie martile, and at first she said she was one hundred years old, and later that she was one hundred and fifty. at reno i saw more indians with papooses. the thought, however, that this old race is passing away like the fading leaf before the "pale face," is saddening. soon we arrive in the el dorado state, we are at last on california soil, and the train with panting engines climbs the dizzy heights of the sierras, through beautiful forests, along the slopes of hills, through tunnels, beneath long snow sheds. these sheds are a striking feature, and are, with broken intervals, forty miles long. the scenery is remarkable, entirely different from that of the rocky mountains; and donner lake, into whose clear depths we look from lofty heights, recalls the terrible story of hardship, isolation, suffering and death, here in the winter of and , when snow-fall on snow-fall cut the elder donners and several members of this party off from the outside world, and they perished from cold and starvation. oh, what a tragic, harrowing history it is! at summit station, the loftiest point of the pass over the sierras, in the path of our railway, engines are changed, and while the train halts passengers amuse themselves by making snowballs. then we begin the descent along the slopes of the mountains into the great valleys of california. already we have passed from the region of perpetual snows to a milder clime. we begin to feel the tempered breezes from the pacific fanning our cheeks. yes, we are now in the land of a semi-tropical vegetation, a land of beauty and fertility, which in many respects resembles palestine; and surely it is a promised land, rich in god's good gifts. blue cañon and cape horn and beautiful landscapes with vineyards and orange groves are passed, and as night with its sable pall descends upon us, we rest in peace with a feeling of satisfaction and thankfulness to him who has led us safely by the way thus far. when the train halted at sacramento, i had a midnight view of it, and then we sped on to our destination. some three weeks later, in company with rev. dr. ashton, i visited the valley west of sacramento, suisun and benicia, that i might not lose the view which night had obscured. the carquinez straits, with the railway ferryboat "solano," the largest of its kind in the world, and the upper view of the great bay of san francisco, make a deep impression on the mind. i was well repaid for all my pains. but on that first night, as we hastened to our goal, amid landscapes of beauty and fruitfulness traversed in the olden days by the feet of pioneers and gold-seekers, it all seemed as if we were in fairyland. will the dream be substantial when we enter the city by the golden gate? chapter ii views from the boat on the bay arrival at oakland--"ticket!"--on the ferryboat--the city of "live oaks"--mr. young, a citizen of oakland--distinguished members of general convention--alameda--berkeley and its university--picturesque scenery--yerba buena, alcatraz and angel islands--san francisco at last. it was on the morning of wednesday, october the second, , when i had my first view of that queen city of the pacific coast, san francisco. our train, fully nine hours late, in our journey from salt lake city, arrived at its destination on the great oakland pier or mole at : a.m. the understanding with the conductor the evening before, as we were descending the sierra nevada mountains, was that we would not be disturbed until day break. when the end of our long journey was reached i was oblivious to the world of matter in midnight slumber; but as soon as the wheels of the sleeping coach had ceased to revolve i was aroused with the cry, "ticket!" first i thought i was dreaming, as i had heard the phrase, "show your tickets," so often; but the light of "a lantern dimly burning" and a stalwart figure standing before the curtains of my sleeping berth, soon convinced me that i was in a world of reality. this, i may say, was my only experience of the kind, in all my travelling over the southern pacific railway, the sante fé, and the mexican international and mexican central railways. there was little sleep after the interruption; and when the morning came with its interest and novelty i was ready to proceed across the bay of san francisco. our faithful porter, john williams, whose name is worthy of mention in these pages, as i stepped from the pullman car, said, "good-bye, colonel!" he always addressed me as "colonel." the porters on all the western roads and on the mexican railways are polite and obliging, and a word of commendation must be said for them as a class. the rev. dr. james w. ashton, of olean, n.y., my fellow-traveller, and i were soon in the ferry house. we ascended a wide staircase and then found ourselves in a large waiting room, through whose windows i looked out on the bay of san francisco for the first time. off in the distance, in the morning light, i could catch a glimpse of the golden city of the west. near by was a departing ferryboat bound for san francisco. just then a young man, evidently a stranger, accompanied by a young woman, apparently a bride, accosted me and asked the question, "sir, do you think we can get on from up here?" looking at the bay-steamer fast receding, i assured him, somewhat pensively, that i thought we could. in a few moments another steamer appeared in view and speedily entered the dock. the gates of the ferry house were opened and we went on board at once. most of the passengers at this early hour were those who had come across the sierras, but there were a few persons from oakland going over to their places of business in san francisco. oakland, so named from the abundance of its live-oaks, has been styled the "brooklyn" of san francisco. it is largely a place of residence for business men, and from fifteen to twenty thousand cross the bay daily in pursuit of their avocations. it is pleasantly situated on the east side of the bay, gradually rising up to the terraced hills which skirt it on the east. the streets are regularly laid out and lined with shade trees of tropical luxuriance as well as the live-oaks. pretty lawns, green and well kept, are in front of many of the houses in the residence part of the city, and here the eye has a continual feast in gazing on flowers in bloom, fuschias, verbenas, geraniums and roses especially. at a later day i visited oakland, and found it just as beautiful and attractive as it looked in the distance from the deck of the ferry boat. it has several banks, numerous churches, five of our own faith, with some twelve hundred communicants, also good schools, and some fine business blocks. trolley cars conduct you through its main streets in all directions. landing at the oakland pier, one of the largest in the world, and extending out into the bay some two miles from the shore, the southern pacific railway will soon carry you to the station within the city limits. as you wander hither and thither you see on all sides tokens of prosperity. there is an air of refinement about the place, and you find the atmosphere clear and stimulating. there is not a very marked difference in the temperature of the climate between summer and winter. frosts are unknown. it is no disparagement to san francisco to say that oakland for delicate persons is more desirable. the trade winds as they blow from the pacific ocean, and make one robust and hardy in san francisco, when there is vitality to resist them, are tempered as they blow across the bay some fourteen miles or more, while the fogs, so noted, as they rush in through the golden gate and speed onward, are greatly modified as they reach the further shore. as it has such a splendid climate and natural advantages, and enjoys the distinction of being at the terminus of the great overland railway systems, it is constantly attracting to itself population and capital. ten years ago it had , inhabitants; to-day it numbers , . its people are very hospitable and are glad to welcome the traveller from the east to their comfortable homes. on the ferry boat i was accosted by a ruddy-faced and genial gentleman, a mr. young, a resident of oakland, who was proceeding to his place of business in san francisco. he gave me some valuable information, and pointed out objects and places of interest. he seemed to be well informed about the general convention appointed to meet on the day of my arrival, in trinity church, san francisco. he spoke with intelligence about its character and purpose, and with enthusiasm concerning its members whom he had met as they were crossing the bay. the names of bishop doane, of albany, bishop potter, of new york, and mr. j. pierpont morgan, were as household words on his lips, and there was a gleam of delight in his eye as he pictured to us the pleasures and surprises in store for us during our sojourn in the capital of the golden west. "that town," said he, "which you see to the south of oakland, with its long mole, is alameda. it is a great place of resort, a kind of pleasure grove. alameda in the spanish language means 'poplar avenue.' many people go there on excursions and picnic parties from san francisco, and other places along the bay. it is, as you see, a very pretty spot. in time it will become a part of oakland. it has to-day a population of over sixteen thousand people." when i asked him if it had an episcopal church, he said, "yes. its name is christ church, and there are in it four hundred communicants. do you know its rector? he is the rev. thomas james lacey." mr. young, who was a native of massachusetts and just as proud of california as he was of his old home in the east, turned with considerable elation to berkeley, the university town. "there," said he, "to the north of oakland is berkeley, with a population of thirteen thousand. it is, as you see, situated at the foot of the san pablo hills, and is about eleven miles from the market street ferry in san francisco. to reach it you go by ferry to the oakland pier and then take the cars on the southern pacific road." as i gazed northward, there, as a right arm of oakland, was the classic town with its aristocratic name, nestling at the foot of the hills in the midst of trees and flowers. it was like a dainty picture with the bay in the foreground. a nearer view or a visit to it brings the traveller into line with the golden gate, through which his eye wanders straight out into the pacific ocean with all its mystery and grandeur. the university of california was organised by an act of the legislature in . a law passed then set apart for its work $ , , proceeds from the sale of tide lands. to this endowment was added the sum of $ , , from a "seminary and public building fund." there was also applied to the new university another fund of $ , , realised from the old college of california, which had been organised in . then by an act of congress appropriating , acres of land for an agricultural college, which is a part of the equipment of the university, it became still richer. it embraces acres within the area of its beautiful grounds, and so has ample room for expansion. it has departments of letters, science, agriculture, mechanics, engineering, chemistry, mining, medicine, dentistry, pharmacy, astronomy and law. the famous lick observatory, stationed on mount hamilton near san jose, is a part of the institution. it has prospered greatly under its present efficient president, benjamin ide wheeler, ll.d.; and it now has three hundred instructors, with over three thousand students. tuition is free to all students except in the professional departments. it has a splendid library of seventy-three thousand volumes. it will be readily seen that with such an institution of learning, and with the leland stanford jr. university, at palo alto, the state of california is giving diligent attention to matters of education. while also there are the various schools and academies and seminaries of the different denominations, it may be said that the church is not backward in this respect. st. margaret's school for girls, and st. matthew's school for boys, as well as the church divinity school of the pacific, at san mateo, where bishop nichols resides, and the irving institute for girls, and trinity school in san francisco, are an evidence of what she is doing for the welfare of the people intellectually, aside from her spiritual ministrations in the dioceses of california and los angeles and the missionary jurisdiction of sacramento. mr. young was forward to mention the fact that in berkeley there is the large and influential parish of saint mark with a list of nearly four hundred communicants; and this is a great factor for good in the life of such a unique university town. as my eyes turned away from berkeley, i naturally recalled the great bishop of cloyne, after whom the place is named; and as i took into view the wider range of the coast lands, and the blue waters of the magnificent bay, some fifty miles in length, and, on an average, eight miles wide, and reflected on the significance which attaches to this favoured region, and the influences which go out from this seat of power, and fountain head of riches, i instinctively recalled the noble lines which the eighteenth century prophet wrote when he mused, "on the prospect of planting arts and learning in america:" "westward the course of empire takes its way; the four first acts already past, a fifth shall close the drama with the day: time's noblest offspring is the last." east of us, in picturesqueness, as in a panorama spread out, were the counties of alameda and contra costa, with their receding hills, and mount diablo, , feet in height, lifting up its head proudly. farther to the south was the rich and beautiful valley of santa clara, with its orchards and vineyards. on the west across the bay were the counties of san mateo, and san francisco, with their teeming life, covering a peninsula twenty-six miles long, and extending up to the golden gate; while off to the north, and bordering on the ocean was marin in its grandeur, crowned with tamalpais, , feet above the sea;--and skirting san pablo bay was sonoma with its vine-clad vale. there were the islands of the bay also, which attracted our attention. not far from the oakland pier is goat island rising to the height of feet out of the waters, and consisting of acres. it was brown on that october morning when i first saw it, but when the rains come with refreshment in november the islands and all the surrounding country are invested with a robe of emerald green, and flowers spring up to gladden the eyes. goat island was so named because goats which were brought in ships from southern ports to san francisco, for fresh meat, were turned loose here for pasturage for a time; and as these creatures multiplied the island took their name. but it formerly bore the more euphonious title, yerba buena, which means in spanish "good herbs." later in my journeyings to and fro i overheard a lady instructing another person as to the proper way in which to pronounce it, and she made sad work of it. she gave the "b" the sound of the letter g. it also had another name, as you may learn from an old spanish map of miguel costanso, where it is called--ysla de mal abrigo, which means that it afforded poor shelter. it is a government possession, as also the other islands, alcatraz and angel. alcatraz, which costanso styles, white island, is smaller than yerba buena. in its greatest elevation it is feet above the bay, and it embraces in its surface about thirty-five acres, about the same area as the haram esh-sherîf, or sacred enclosure of the temple hill in jerusalem, with the mosque of omar and the mosque el-aksa. on its top is a lighthouse, which, on a clear night, sailors can see twelve miles outside of the golden gate. nature, with her wise forethought, seems indeed to have formed this island opposite the golden gate, far inside, in the bay, as a sentinel to watch that pass into the pacific, and to guide the returning voyager after his perilous journeyings to safe moorings in a land-locked haven. farther to the north is ysla de los angeles, angel island, with a varied landscape of hill and plain, comprising some acres of land. here are natural springs of water, and in the early days it was well wooded with live-oak trees. to the eyes of drake and other early navigators and explorers it must have been a vision of beauty, lifting itself out of the waters. not many trees are seen here now, however, but you may behold instead in harvest time fields of grain. it is especially noted for its stone quarries, and out of these were taken the materials for the fortifications of alcatraz and fort point--as well as the california bank building. it was my privilege at a later day, in company with many of the members of the general convention to sail over the bay and around these islands, which one can never forget. the steamer "berkeley" was courteously placed at the service of the members of the convention by the officers of the southern pacific railway; and it was indeed a most enjoyable afternoon under clear and balmy skies as we rode along the shores of the peninsula, and up the eastern side of the bay, and northward towards san pablo, and then around angel island and alcatraz strongly fortified, a distance altogether of forty miles. but now on the first morning, veiled partly with clouds, san francisco rises on the view, that city of so many memories by the waters of the pacific, where many a one has been wrecked in body and soul as well as in fortune, while others have grown rich and have led useful lives. yes, it is san francisco at last! and while it looms upon the view with its varied landscape, its hills and towered buildings, i am reminded of another october morning when i first saw constantinople, when old stamboul with its seraglio point, and galata with its tower, and pera on the heights above, and yildiz to the east, and scutari across the bosphorus, all were revealed gradually as the mists rolled away. so the golden city of the west is disclosed to view as the shadows disappear and the clouds break and flee away and the morning sun hastening across the lofty sierras gilds the homes of the rich and poor alike, and bathes water and land in beauty. there is another city on the shore of a tideless sea, and it will be the joyful morning of eternal life, when, earthly journeys ended, we walk over its golden streets! chapter iii san francisco and the discovery of gold san francisco--her hills--her landscapes--population of different decades--the flag on the plaza in --yerba buena its earliest name--first englishman and first american to build here--the palace hotel--the story of the discovery of. gold in --sutter and marshall--the news spread abroad--multitudes flock to the gold mines--san francisco in . as we stand on the deck of the bay steamer and are fast approaching the san francisco ferry-house which looms up before us in dignity, we look out on a great city with a population of , souls, and we observe that it is seated on hills as well as on lowlands. rome loved her hills, corinth had her acropolis, and athens, rising out of the plain of attica, was not content until she had crowned mars' hill with altars and her acropolis with her parthenon. here in this golden city of the pacific the houses are climbing the hills, nay they have climbed them already and they vie in stateliness with palaces and citadels in the old historic places which give picturesqueness to the coast lands of the mediterranean. there is indeed in the aspect of san francisco, in her waters and her skies, and all her surroundings, that which recalls to my mind landscapes and scenery of italy and greece and old syria. yonder to the northeast of the city is telegraph hill, feet high, a spot which in the olden days, that is, as far back only as , was wooded. now it is teeming with life, and it looks down with seeming satisfaction on miles and miles of streets and warehouses and dwellings of rich and poor. but there are not many poor people in this queen city. in all my wanderings about the city for a month, i was never accosted by a professional beggar. everybody could find work to do, and all seemed prosperous and happy. off to the west, serving as a sentinel, is russian hill, feet high. it is a striking feature in the ever-expanding city, and it is a notable landmark for the san franciscan. in the southeastern part of the city is rincon hill, feet in height, attracting to itself the interest of that part of the population whose homes are in its shadow. there are other hills of lesser importance as to altitude, but over their tops extend long streets and broad avenues lined with the dwellings of a contented and thrifty people. the business blocks and hotels, the printing houses and railway and steamship offices, the stores and art galleries, the places of amusement and lecture halls, the stores and shops, the homes and the churches, fill all the spaces between those hills in a compact manner and run around them and stretch beyond them, and at your feet, as you stand on an eminence, is a panorama of life which at once arrests your attention and enchains your mind. it was all so different fifty or sixty years ago. according to the census returns the population of san francisco in was , . in there was a gain of , . in there were in the city , souls; while in there was a population of , including , chinese. the census of gives an increase of , during the decade, and the last enumeration shows that there has been a gain of , in the ten years. if the towns across the bay and northward, as well as san mateo on the south, which are as much a part of san francisco as brooklyn and staten island are of new york, there would be a population of more than , . the growth, as will be seen, is steady, and san francisco offers to such as seek a home within her borders, all the refinements and comforts of life, all that ministers to the intellect and the spiritual side of our nature as well as our social tastes and desires. there can be no greater contrast imaginable than that between the san francisco of , when commodore montgomery, of the united states sloop of war _portsmouth_, raised the american flag over it, and the noble city of to-day. and no one then in the band of marines who stood on the plaza as the flag was unfurled to the breeze by the waters of the pacific, in sight of the great bay, could have dreamed of the golden future which was awaiting california--of the splendour which would rest on little yerba buena in the lapse of time. yerba buena was the early name of the settlement. this was applied also, as we have learned, to goat island. the pueblo was then insignificant and apparently with no prospect of expansion or grandeur. there were only a few houses there, chiefly of adobe construction, clustering about the plaza. the presidio, west of the stray hamlet, and the mission dolores, to the southwest, were all that relieved a dreary landscape beyond. there were the hills covered with chaparral and the shifting sands all around, and far to the south, where now are wide streets and great blocks of buildings. the ground sloped towards the bay on the east, and a cove, long since filled in, which bore the name of yerba buena, extended up to montgomery street. the population of the town was less than a hundred; there was hardly this number in the presidio, and not more than two hundred people were connected with the mission dolores. in captain william a. richardson, an englishman, the first foreigner to enter the embryo town, erected a tent for his residence; and on july th, , the second house was built at the corner of clay and dupont streets. the story runs that the first american to build a house in san francisco proper was daniel culwer, who also founded santa barbara. this pioneer was born in maryland in , and died in california in . he lived long enough to see the greatness of the city assured. but on that day when he finished his modest house on the corner of new montgomery and market streets, he little thought that in after years there would spring up, as if by magic, under the skillful hands of the lelands, famous in san francisco as in saratoga in the olden days, the magnificent palace hotel, with its royal court, its great dining halls, and its seven hundred and fifty-five rooms for guests, rivalling in its grandeur and its luxurious appointments the palaces of kings. the growth of san francisco was very rapid after the discovery of gold. the population immediately leaped into the thousands. california was the goal of the gold-seeker, the el dorado of his quest. men in search of fortune came from all parts of the world to the golden west. it was on the th of january, , that gold was discovered. the story reads like a romance. captain john augustus sutter, who was born in baden, germany, february th, , after many adventures in new york, missouri, new mexico, the sandwich islands, and sitka, at last found himself in san francisco. from this spot he crossed the bay and went up the sacramento river, where he built a stockade, known as sutter's fort, and erected a saw mill at a cost of $ , , and a flour mill at an outlay of $ , . here in he was joined by james wilson marshall, born in new jersey in . marshall was sent up to the north fork of the american river, where at coloma he built a saw mill. this was near the center of el dorado county, and in a line northeast from san francisco. the mill, in the midst of a lumber region, was finished on january th, , and everything was in readiness for the sawing of timber, which was in great demand in all the coast towns and brought a high price. the mill-race, when the water was let into it, was found too shallow, and in order to deepen it marshall opened the flood gates and allowed a strong, steady volume of water to flow through it all night. nature, aided by human sagacity, having done her work well, the flood gates were closed, and there in the gravel beneath the shallow stream lay several yellow objects like pebbles. they aroused curiosity. the miller took one and hammered it on a stone. he found it was gold. he then gave one of the "yellow pebbles" to a mrs. wimmer, of his camp, to be boiled in saleratus water. she threw it into a kettle of boiling soap, and after several hours it came out bright and shining. it is yellow gold, california gold, there can be no mistake! next, we see marshall, all excitement, hastening to sutter's fort, and informing his employer, in a mysterious way, that he has found gold. sutter goes to the mill the next day, and marshall is impatiently waiting for him. more water is turned on, and the race is ploughed deeper, and more nuggets are brought to light. it is a day of supreme joy. the excitement is great. even the waters of the american river seem to "clap their hands" and the trees of the wood wave their tops in homage and rejoice. at the foot of the sierras is the hidden treasure, which will thrill the civilised world when it hears the tidings with a new joy, which will bring delight beyond measure to thousands of adventurers, which will enrich some beyond their wildest dreams, and which will prove the ruin of many an one, wrecking, alas! both soul and body. sutler's plan was to keep the wonderful discovery a secret, but this was impossible. even the very birds of the air would carry the news afar to the coast in their songs; the waters of mountain streams running down to the sacramento river and on to san francisco bay and out to the pacific ocean through the golden gate would bear the report north and south to all the cities and towns, to central and south america, to china and japan, to europe and more distant lands; and the wings of the wind would serve as couriers to waft the story across the sierras and the rocky mountains and the plains, till the whole world would be startled and gladdened with the cry, gold is found, gold in california! one of the women of sutler's household told the secret, which was too big to be kept in hiding, to a teamster, and he, overjoyed, in turn told it to merchant smith and merchant brannan of the fort. the "secret" was out in brief space, and like an eagle with outspread wings, it flew away into all quarters of the globe. poor sutter, strange to say, it ruined him. the gold seekers came from the ends of the earth and "squatted" on his lands, and he spent all the fortune he had amassed in trying to dispossess them. but his efforts were unavailing. the laws, loosely administered then, seemed to be against him, and fate, relentless fate, spared him not. almost all that was left to him in the end was the ring which he had made out of the lumps of the first gold found, and on which was inscribed this legend: "the first gold found in california, january, ." it tells a melancholy as well as a joyous tale, in it are bound up histories and tragedies, in it the happiness of multitudes, and even the fate of immortal souls! the california legislature at length took pity on sutter, and granted him a pension of $ per month, on which he lived until he was summoned, at washington, d.c., on june th, , by the angel of death, to a land whose gold mocks us not, and where everyone's "claim" is good, if he be found worthy to pass through the golden gate. marshall, too, died a poor man, august th, , having lived on a pension from the state of california, which also has seen fit to honour his memory, as the discoverer of gold, by erecting a monument to him at coloma, the scene of the most exciting events in his life. the names of these two men, however, will endure in the thrilling histories of and , as long as time lasts--for all unconsciously they set the civilised world in motion, gave new impulse to armies of men, spread sails on the ocean, filled coffers with yellow gold, and added new chapters to the graphic history of san francisco and many another city. when the tidings of the discovery of gold reached the outside world thousands on thousands set their faces towards the el dorado of the pacific slopes. there were many new jasons. the golden fleece of the sunny west was beckoning them on. new argos were fitted out for the new colchis. the argonauts of were willing to brave all dangers. it is joaquin miller who sings-- "full were they of great endeavour. brave and true as stern crusader clad in steel, they died afield as it was fit-- made strong with hope, they dared to do achievement that a host to-day would stagger at, stand back and reel, defeated at the thought of it." there were three ways of reaching the gold fields. men could travel across the plains in the traditional emigrant wagon. it was a weary, lonely journey, life was endangered among hostile indians, and happy were those who at last were strong enough to toil in the mines. alas, too many fell by the way and left their bones to bleach in arid regions. it is the experience of life. we have our object of desire. we often come short of it. ere we reach the goal we perish and the coveted prize is forever lost. not so is it to him who seeks the gold of new jerusalem. the gold of that land is good, and all who will can find it and enjoy it. another way was by the isthmus of panama, and then up the coast in such a ship as one could find. it was the least toilsome journey and the shortest, but still attended with hardships. many fell a prey to wasting fevers which burn out one's life, and so never reached the destined port of san francisco, through which they would pass to the gold fields. the longest way was around cape horn. still there were those who took it, even if months, five or six, it might be, were consumed in the journey. the gold they sought would compensate them at last. these too had to encounter storms, face probable shipwreck or contend with grim death. many who sold all to equip themselves, who turned away from home and kindred, for a time they thought, to enrich themselves, who would surely return to their loved ones with untold treasure, never fulfilled their desire. some perished in the voyage, others died in san francisco, and were laid to rest till the final day in her cemeteries by the heaving ocean. such as reached the mines did not always gain the gold they coveted. there were those who were fortunate, who made a success of life, who realised their day dreams; and some of these returned to the old home, to the waiting parents, to the longing wife and children. some with their gold settled in san francisco and sent for their kindred. and what happy meetings were those in the years of gold mining, when ships coming from many lands, from american and foreign ports, brought to the city through the golden gate the beloved ones whose dear faces had ever been an inspiration to the toilers in darkest hours! methinks the meetings of loved ones parted here, on the shores of the crystal sea, will compensate for all life's labours and trials. yes, if we only have the true treasures, the true gold of the golden city. in those days of and and during and , san francisco--on which we are now looking, the stately, comely city of to-day, was a city of tents in a large measure. ships were pouring out their passengers at the long wharf. they would tent for a time on the shore, then hurry off to the mines. in those days you could meet in the streets men of various nationalities. here were gold seekers from new england and old england, from our own southland and the sunny land of france and italy, from germany and sweden and norway, from canada and other british possessions, from china and japan. and it was gold which brought them all here, the statesman and the soldier, the labouring man and the child of fortune, sons of adversity and sons of prosperity, rich and poor, lawyers, doctors, merchants, sailors, scholars, unlettered,--all are here for gold. such is the san francisco of those early days. it is a romance of reality, of the golden west! chapter iv the story of golden gate park and the cemeteries st. andrew's brotherhood--patras--the cross at megara and the golden gate--portsmouth square and its life--other city squares and parks--golden gate park, its beauty, objects and places of interest--prayer book cross--chance visitors--logan the guide--first view of the pacific ocean--"thy way is in the sea"--the cemeteries of san francisco--world-wide sentiment--group around lone mountain--story of the graves--earth's ministries--lesson of the heavens. when my companion ashton and i landed at the market street ferry house, an imposing structure of two stories, with a wide hall on the second floor and offices and bureaus of information on either side, our newfound friend, mr. young, bade us a "good-by" with a hearty handshake, hoping he might meet us again. before leaving us, however, he introduced us to a young man a member of the brotherhood of st. andrew, who took us to the temporary office of the society in the ferry house, and gave us necessary directions about the street cars, hotels and churches. we were in a strange city on the western shore of the continent, yet, we felt at home at once through the cordial greeting of the brotherhood. the st. andrew's cross, which our young guide wore on his coat, was indeed a friendly token. it spoke volumes to the heart; and i was carried back in memory to that early morning, when, having sailed over ionian seas, our good ship cast anchor in the bay of patras, and my feet pressed the soil which had been consecrated by the blood of the saint, whose cross was now a token of good will and welcome at the ends of the earth. i could not but recall besides a memorable incident in connection with the saint andrew's cross. we had passed the isthmus of corinth, and our train halted for a space at megara, a town of six or seven thousand people, where is the bluest blood in all greece; and as i alighted from my coach on the athens and peloponnesus railway, i saw, some twenty rods away, a greek papa or priest, who made a splendid figure. an impulse came over me to speak to him, and i knew there was one sign which he would recognise and understand. it was the saint andrew's cross, which i made by crossing my arms. he immediately came to me and we conversed briefly as the time would permit, in the old language of homer and plato, which all patriotic greeks love. he asked me if i was a papa, and was pleased when i said, "yes." i introduced him to my companions in the coach, and he greeted them warmly; and as the train began to move on we bade each other farewell. we may never meet again, but the cross of saint andrew was a bond between us, and we felt that we were brethren in one lord, saint andrew's divine master and ours. so the sight of that cross there by the pacific, with all its history of faith and love and martyrdom, caused our hearts to beat in unison with our brethren by the golden gate. i thought then it would be a special advantage to strangers in strange cities, if in some way the brotherhood could serve as a bureau of information to travellers, who understand the meaning of the cross. it would not be a matter of large expense after all if chapters in large centres would extend greeting to men and women who are journeying hither and thither and who often stand in need of just such services as the brotherhood could give. in a few hours after our arrival we were ready for the opening service of the general convention, in trinity church, on gough street at the corner of bush street. at intervals when duty would permit we made a study of san francisco and its life, rich in scene and incident, and most instructive as well as attractive. some of the noticeable features of the city are its parks and squares. in the northern part or section, washington and lobos squares greet you, while pioneer park adorns telegraph hill, and portsmouth square or the plaza is just east of the famous chinese restaurant and close by police headquarters. this last was famous in the early days as the centre of yerba buena, and here the american flag was raised for the first time when our marines under commodore montgomery took possession of the town. indeed some of the most exciting scenes in the early history of san francisco were witnessed in this locality. volumes might be written about its spanish and mexican families, its adobe buildings, its gambling places, its haunts of vice, its public assemblies, its crowds of men from all lands, its social and civic histories. but all this is of the past, and it seems like a dream of by-gone days. when i visited it on two occasions, in company with friends, it was a quiet place enough; and the casual observer could never have thought or realised that around this romantic spot fortunes made by hard toil of weary months and years had been lost in a few short hours in the saloon and gambling places for which the vicinity was noted, that the worst passions of the human heart had been exhibited here, and that betimes amid the laughter of the merry throng in midnight revelry and above the strains of the "harp and viol" one could have heard the voices of blasphemy and the sharp, loud reports of pistols in the hands of careless characters, whose deadly bullets had sent many a poor unfortunate wayfarer or unwary miner from the gold fields to his long home. if, in your saunterings, you go through the central part of the city you will find lafayette square, alta plaza, hamilton square, columbia square, and franklin and jackson parks, at varying distances from each other and affording variety to the tourist. in the south section you will see buena vista park and garfield square, while to the west you have hill park and golden gate park. the golden gate park is now famous the world over and vies in beauty and splendour with central park in new york, nay, in some respects surpasses this, in that it has a magnificent frontage on the pacific ocean, a long coast view and a wide range of sea with the farallone islands, about twenty miles off in the foreground of the picture, and visible on a clear day always, and most enchanting in the sunset hour as we gazed on them. the golden gate park dates back only to the year , when the california legislature passed an act providing for the improvement of public parks in san francisco. at that time this lonely spot, now so like a dream of fairy land, was but a waste, a wide stretch of sand dunes among which the winds of the ocean played hide and seek. its entrances, with a wide avenue in the foreground running north and south, are some five miles from the market street ferry. the afternoon that my friend ashton and i visited it was clear and balmy. just as we were entering the park carriage i was greeted by a young friend from the east, whom i had not seen for years; and then, more than three thousand miles away from home, i realised how small our planet is after all. as we rode along the flowery avenues with green lawns stretching out on either hand and losing themselves in groups of stately trees and hedges of shrubs and monterey cypress we were filled with delight. we could see the birds, native and foreign, flying from branch to branch of trees which grew within their gigantic cages, and occasionally we heard the notes of some songster. yonder, too, we saw deer browsing, and elk and antelope. there also were the buffalo and the grizzly bear; and apparently all forgot that, shut in as they were in wide enclosures, they were in captivity. we could not fail to observe the bright flower-beds on every hand, the pleasant groves, the shady walks, the grottoes of wild design, the woodland retreats, the sylvan bowers. the park, we were told by our communicative driver, john carter, comprises ten hundred and forty acres of ground. he also pointed out various places and objects of interest. the museum, by the wayside, in its egyptian architecture, is like one of the old temples of the pharaohs on the banks of the nile. you are carried into the realm of immortal song when you gaze on the busts of goethe and schiller, and your patriotism is stirred afresh as you behold the monument of francis scott key, author of the star-spangled banner. the muses also have their abode here on the colonnaded music stand or pavilion erected by claus spreckles at a cost of $ , . another interesting feature is the japanese tea garden. then there is the well equipped observatory on strawberry hill from which you can look far out to sea, and where star-gazers can study celestial scenery as the heavens declare god's glory. seven lakelets give charm to the landscape, but the eye is never weary in looking on stone lake, a mile and a quarter in circuit, beautiful with its clear waters, its shelving shores, its bays and miniature headlands, while on its calm bosom, ducks of rich plumage and australian swans are disporting themselves. that, however, which attracted our attention most of all was the great grey stone cross on the crest of the highest point of the golden gate park. this, chiseled after the fashion of the old crosses of lona and linked with the name of st. columba, is the monument erected by the late george w. childs, of philadelphia, pa., to commemorate the first use of the book of common prayer on the pacific coast, when, in , under admiral drake, chaplain fletcher read prayers in this vicinity, either in san francisco bay, or a little further north in what is called drake's bay. but more of this anon. as we walked from the carriage road, beneath some spreading trees, to get a nearer view of the prayer book cross, numerous partridges were moving about, without fear, in our pathway; and had we been minded to frighten them or do them harm we would have been restrained by yonder symbol of our redemption, which teaches us ever to be tender and humane towards bird and beast and all others of god's helpless creatures. the prayer book cross is seen from afar. it looks down on the city with its innumerable homes, on the cemeteries within its shadow, on the presidio with its tents and munitions of war, on the golden gate and on the waters of the pacific, and it brings a blessing to all with its message of love and peace. it is a guide too, to the sailor coming over the seas from distant lands. as he strains his eyes to catch a glimpse of the coast the cross stands out in bold relief against the eastern sky, and it tells him that he will find a hospitable welcome and safe harbourage within the golden gate. so it is dear to him after his voyage over stormy seas as was of old "sunium's marbled steep" to the greek sailor nearing home. near stone lake we met the head commissioner of the park who saluted us with all the easy grace of the californian; and on the way we had the opportunity of receiving a scotch gentleman and his wife into our carriage; and, later, a clergyman who had been wandering about in the midst of sylvan scenes, rode with us to the entrance of the park, where we bade our new found friends good-bye, each to go his own way, at eventide. the third day after our arrival in san francisco i had a longing to gaze on the pacific ocean which i had never seen. there were no laurels for us to win, such as balboa justly deserved when he discovered the pacific and first beheld its wide waters in the year ; but it was a natural desire to look on its broad expanse and to stand on its shores, along which bold navigators had sailed since the days of cabrillo and drake. taking a line of cars running out to the presidio, ashton and i walked the rest of the way. a young man named logan, a cousin of the famous general logan, who was in the service of the government as a mail carrier, but off duty that afternoon, volunteered most courteously to be our guide. he accompanied us for more than a mile and a half of the distance beyond the presidio, but then had to return to meet an engagement. we went forward climbing the steep hills and finally found that we were standing on the heights above the immense ocean, in the grounds of the government reservation. it was a solemn moment when we for the first time beheld the pacific, and we were greatly impressed. there the mighty waters, across which the ships sail to china and japan and the sandwich islands and the philippine archipelago and the south seas, lay before our eyes. the darkness of the night was coming on, but the sky far off across the waters, away beyond the farallone islands, was tinged with red and gold, the fading glories of the dying day. we could see in the glow of evening the heaving of the sea and the motion of its comparatively calm surface, in that twilight hour. gathering clouds hung over the horizon and formed the shadows in the picture. every picture has light and shade. it is a portrait of life. we stood silently for a time drinking in all the beauty of the scene, well nigh entranced, awed, thrilled betimes; and at last in order to give fitting expression to the thoughts within our hearts, i suggested that we should hold a brief service in recognition of his power who holds the seas in the hollow of his hands, who had guided our feet in safe paths and byways of the world, often over its troublesome waves. ashton said an appropriate collect from the dear old prayer book of so many tender and far off memories, while i expressed my feelings in the grand words of the psalm--"thy way is in the sea, and thy paths in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." we felt god's presence in that hushed hour, we saw in vision the divine christ walking over the waters to us! in our wanderings about the city the sleeping places of the dead naturally attracted our attention; and where, especially, on sunday afternoons, the living congregate to mourn over their loved ones, to scatter flowers on their graves, or to while away an hour amid scenes which have a melancholy interest and tend to sobriety and remind one of another land where there is no death for those who pass through the golden gate of eternity. cemeteries have always attracted the living to their solemn precincts at stated times, anniversaries and fiestas. it is so in all lands, among all peoples no matter what their creed, and in all ages. jew and gentile alike, mohammedan and christian, by visiting tomb or grassy mound with some token of their affection, the prayer uttered, the tear shed, the blossoms laid on sacred soil, after this manner cherish the memories of the departed. and it is well! scenes which the traveller may witness in the campo santo of genoa or in the koimeteria of athens, on sundays, in the mezâristans of skutari on the bosphorus and eyûb on the golden horn, on friday afternoons, and in the kibroth of old tiberias by the sea of galilee or outside of the walls of jerusalem, on saturday or in the cimenterios of mexico city on fiestas, all testify to the universality of the deep and tender feelings of reverence and affection which animate the human heart and make all men as one in thought and sentiment as they stand on time's shores and follow the receding forms of their kindred and friends with wishful eyes bedimmed with tears across the dark river! while there is a burial place for the soldiers who die for their country or in their country's cause, on the grounds of the presidio, the principal cemeteries of san francisco seem to cluster around lone mountain in the northwestern part of the city and south of the military reservation. these are laurel hill, calvary, masonic and odd fellows. the jews have their special burying ground between eighteenth and twentieth streets, and the old mission cemetery where some of the early indian converts and franciscan fathers sleep their last sleep, is close by the mission dolores, on the south side. the group around lone mountain is dominated by a conspicuous cross on the hill top, which, as a sentinel looks down with a benison on the resting places of the dead, and, in heat and cold, in storm and sunshine, seems to speak to the heart about him "who died, and was buried, and rose again for us." to this picturesque spot too the chinese have been attracted, and they bury their departed west of laurel hill, with all the rites peculiar to the followers of confucius. but what thrilling histories of men from many lands are entombed in all these tens of thousands of graves, what fond hopes are buried here, what withered blossoms of life mingle with this consecrated soil by the waters of the pacific! many a one who sought the golden west in pursuit of fortune found all too soon his goal here with unfulfilled desire, while anxious friends and relatives beyond the seas and the mountains or on the other side of the continent awaited his home coming for years in vain. here, indeed, are no rolls of papyrus, no hieroglyphics, as in egyptian tombs, to tell us the story of the past, but it is written in the experiences of the gold seekers, it is interwoven with the life of the city, now the mistress of the great ocean which laves her feet, and it is burned into the memories of many living witnesses. if yonder grave could tell its tale it would speak to you of a misspent life which might have been a blessing--of midnight revels and mad excesses and circe's feasts, the ruin of soul and body. and this grave could talk to you about one who, far away from home and kindred, had pined and wasted away in his loneliness, and had died of homesickness. but while you are touched with the pathetic recital, that grave near by reads you a lesson of patience, of heroism, of faith, of purity of soul and body preserved in the midst of fiery temptations, even while strong men were yielding themselves up to "fleshly lusts which war against the soul." the shrubs and trees and flowers on which you gaze, and which are green and blossom the year round, now beautify all and mother earth softens with her ministries the severities of the past, and sunlit skies bend over the dead, as of old in many lands, and star-bedecked heavens tell still to the living, as once to those whose bodies mouldered here, the story of the life beyond, where glory and riches and honour are the heritage of the faithful! chapter v then and now, or eighteen hundred forty-nine and nineteen hundred and one triangular section of san francisco--clay banks, mud and rats in --streets at that time--desperate characters--gambling houses--thirst for gold--saloons and sirens--the bella union--the leaven of the church--robbers' dens and justice in mining camps--the vigilance committee and what it did--san francisco well governed now--highway robbers and the courts--chief of police wittman and his men--a visit to police headquarters--the cells--a murderer--a chinese woman in tears--a hardened offender. the traveller to the city of the golden gate, as he approaches it, having crossed the great bay from oakland, notices that the hundreds of streets which greet his gaze run from east to west, and cross each other at right angles, except a triangular section of this metropolis of the west. this part of the city may be compared to a great wedge with the broad end on the bay. it begins at the market street ferry house and runs south as far as south street at the lower end of china basin. this triangle is bounded on the north by market street, which follows a line west by southwest, and on the south by channel and ridley streets, the latter crossing market street at the sharp end of the wedge-shaped section. the portion of the city within the triangle embraces in its water-front the mission, howard, folsom, stewart, spear, fremont, and merrimac piers, together with mail and hay docks. here you may see steamships and sailing vessels from all parts of the world moored at their piers, while others are riding at anchor a little way out from the land. the whole scene is at once picturesque and animated and suggests great activity. we must remember, however, that where now are these massive piers with their richly laden ships and noble argosies, as far back only as there were no stable docks, no properly constructed wharfs, no convenient landing places. here only were clay banks, which gave no promise of the great future with its commercial grandeur, and everything was insecure and unsatisfactory, especially in rainy weather, which began in november and continued with more or less interruption until april. the new comer, not cautious to secure a sure footing would sometimes sink deep in the soft mud or even disappear in the spongy earth. with the ships too came not only the gold-seekers from many lands, but rats also as if they had a right and title to the rising city. these swarmed along the primitive wharfs, and at times they would invade the houses and tents of the people and go up on their beds or find a lodging-place in vessels and cup-boards. some of these rodents which followed in the wake of the new civilisation were from china and japan, while others, gray and black, came in ships from europe and from american cities on the atlantic seaboard. even wells had to be closed except at the time of the drawing of water, in order to keep out these pests which made the life of many a householder well nigh intolerable. the streets were few in number then, not more than fifteen or twenty, as the town, at the time of which we are speaking, had only a population of about five thousand people. as san francisco grew, however, under the impetus which the discovery of gold gave to it, the streets were naturally multiplied; and, to overcome the mire in wet weather and also the sand of the dry season, which made it difficult for pedestrians to walk hither and thither or for vehicles to move to and fro, they were planked in due time. wooden sewers were also constructed on each side of the street to carry off the surface water. a plank road besides ran out to mission dolores, the vicinity of which was a great resort on sundays, especially in the days when "bull fighting" was a pastime and the old spanish and mexican elements of the population had not been eliminated or had not lost their prestige. as one went to and fro then and encountered men of all nationalities, it was not an uncommon thing to meet many who had the look of desperadoes, whose upper garment was a flannel shirt, while revolvers looked threateningly out of their belts at the passerby. all this of course, was changed after a time, when the days of reform came, as they always come when the need arises. there is an element in human society which acts as a corrective, and wrong is finally dethroned, and right displays her power with a divine force and a vivid sweep as a shaft of lightning from the sky. we need never despair about the triumph of the good. it is a noble sentiment which bryant utters in "the battle field:" "truth crushed to earth shall rise again: the eternal years of god are hers; but error, wounded, writhes in pain, and dies among his worshippers." and never was there a community or a city where truth asserted her sway more potently in the midst of evil than in san francisco in the trying days of her youth. with the rush from all lands to california for the coveted gold came the lawless and the blood-thirsty. men in the gambling houses would sometimes quarrel over the results of the game or over some "love affair." fair helen and unprincipled, gay, thoughtless paris were here by the golden gate. the old story is constantly repeating itself since the homeric days. duels were fought betimes as a consequence, and the issue for one or both of the combatants was generally fatal. gambling in those days was, from a worldly stand-point, the most profitable business, that is for the professional player or the saloon-keeper. indeed it was looked upon as quite respectable. it has a strange fascination at all times for a certain class, with whom it becomes a passion as much as love for the wine-cup, and one must be well grounded in principle to resist its influences. many once noble souls who had been tenderly brought up were led astray. away from home and its restraining associations, gambling, drinking, and other sins and vices became their ruin. in calm moments when alone or under some momentary impulse of goodness there would rise before them the vision of god-fearing parents--of open bibles--of hallowed sundays; but the thirst for gold could not be quenched, the mad race must be run, and to the bitter end, dishonour, death, the grave! shelley, if he had stood in the midst of the gamblers, staking all, even their souls, for gold, in those california days of wild revelry, could not have expressed himself more appositely than in his graphic and truthful lines, in queen mab: "commerce has set the mark of selfishness; the signet of its all-enslaving power upon a shining ore, and called it gold: before whose image bow the vulgar great, the vainly rich, the miserable proud, the mob of peasants, nobles, priests, and kings, and with blind feelings reverence the power that grinds them to the dust of misery. but in the temple of their hireling hearts gold is a living god, and rules in scorn all earthly things but virtue." the saloons fifty years ago were the centres of attraction for the over-wrought miner, the aimless wanderer, the creature of impulse, the child of passion. they were decorated with an eye to brilliant colours, to gorgeous effect, to all that appeals to the sensuous element in our nature. they were the best built and most richly furnished houses in the san francisco of that period. the walls were adorned with costly paintings, and the furniture was in keeping with this lavish outlay. in each gambling house was a band of music, and a skillful player received some $ per night for his services. painted women were the presiding geniuses at the wheels of fortune and these modern circes or sirens played the piano and the harp with all the passion of their art to drown men's cares and make them forget duty and principle and honour. the tables of the players of the games were piled high with yellow gold to serve as a tempting bait. the games were chiefly what are called in the nomenclature of the gambling fraternity. rouge-et-noir, monté-faro, and roulette. the men who lost, whatever their feelings might be, and they were often bitter, as a rule disguised their sore disappointment. they would try their luck again, but this only led them deeper in the mire. many an one lost a princely fortune in a night. the gambling houses were located chiefly around the plaza or portsmouth square, of which we have already spoken. they were filled, as a general thing, all night, with an eager throng, especially on sunday. indeed everything then had its full course on sunday. there were various sports; drinking and gambling ran riot. blasphemous words filled the air. men swore without the least thought. but profanity is not alone restricted to a frontier or border community, where laws and a sense of propriety are wanting. one may hear it in old and civilised towns, as he walks the streets, and sometimes from the lips of boys. in these saloons people of all ages congregated from youth up to hoary hairs. here were the indian and the negro, the american and the mexican, the spaniard and the frenchman, the italian, the dutchman and the german, the dane and the russian, the english, the irish and the scotchman, the chinaman and the japanese. one of the most noted of the saloons was the bella union, a monte carlo in itself. woe betide the miner from the mountains with gold who entered it. here was a richly appointed bar to tempt the desire for drink, while costly mirrors were arranged in such wise as to reflect the scenes of revelry, and pictures that were worth large sums of money hung on the walls. the silverware too would have done credit to a royal board. both the tables and the bar were well patronised at all times. naturally with such elements of society, with the mad thirst for gold, with the loose morality which prevailed to a large extent, there would be great lawlessness. it must be borne in mind however that the christian church was at work in those perilous times, which live only in memory now, and was gradually leavening the whole lump. there were devout men and true women in early san francisco, who, in the midst of "a crooked generation," kept themselves pure and "unspotted from the world." and is it not true that men can hold fast their crown, that no man take it from them, if only they will make use of the grace of god? god has his faithful witnesses in every place, in every age, no matter how corrupt. there are the "seven thousand" who do not bow the kneel to baal, there are the faithful "few names" even in sardis who do not defile their garments with the world. san francisco had them in those days of special temptation, brave and noble souls who could say with sir galahad: "my strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure." in this strength they rose up and purged the place, even though as difficult as a labour of hercules. the men of the vigilance committee will ever live in song and story. even up in the mountains in the gold mines of el dorado county and elsewhere the spirit of the men of san francisco was at work in the camps. robbers were there, bold characters, dark-browed men, who would not hesitate to steal, and kill, if need be, in their nefarious work. the miners had their perils to encounter in these bandits. the robbers had their dens in the mountains in lonely places, beside a trail sometimes, and in the depths of the forests. the dens had generally two rooms on the ground floor and a loft which was reached by a ladder. if a belated miner sought shelter or food here he was given a lodging in the loft. if he drank with his "host" it would most likely be some liquor that was drugged, and in his heavy sleep he was sure to be robbed. in the morning he had no redress, and he might consider himself fortunate if he escaped with his life. sometimes however the robber was brought to quick justice by the miners. robbery was not countenanced in the camps. if one should steal, his fellows would rise up, try him in a hastily convened court, and condemn him to death, and hang him on the nearest tree. it was a rule that the body should be exposed for twenty-four hours as a warning to others. all this may seem harsh, but under the circumstances it was the only way in which justice could be dealt out to offenders. the camps were in consequence orderly and safe. we must not think, because the vigilance committees of the mining camps and of the city took the administration of law into their own hands that therefore they were lawless and that their rule was that of the mob. no, this was the only way in which peaceable citizens could be protected from the violence and crimes perpetrated by the turbulent and disorderly and vicious elements of society. in the years and there was great lawlessness in san francisco. bad men, who had served terms in prisons for their misdeeds, and men who wished to disorganise society, who had the spirit of anarchy in their breasts, organised themselves into bands for the purpose of stealing and killing, and good citizens stood in mortal fear of them. buildings were burned at pleasure, houses were broken open and robberies committed, and even murder was resorted to when the wrongdoers found it necessary in the accomplishment of their hellish purposes. the officials of the city were careless in punishing offenders, indeed they were powerless to do so, and the lawbreakers knew this. it is said that over a hundred persons were murdered during the period of six months; and the blood of these victims cried to heaven for vengeance. to assert the majesty of law and to punish criminals a large number of the best citizens, who grieved over the evils which prevailed, organised themselves into the famous vigilance committee. the seal which they adopted showed their worthy purpose. in the centre was the figure of a human eye to denote watchfulness. above the eye was the word, committee,--beneath, vigilance; then the name, san francisco. around the edge of the seal ran the legends: "fiat justitia ruat coelum. no creed; no party; no sectional issues." while not constituted exactly like the court of areopagus, yet the vigilance committee of san francisco did for a time exercise authority over life and death like the athenian judges on mars' hill. the shaft of lightning first fell on an ex-convict who was caught stealing. eighty members of the committee tried and convicted him, and on the same night he was hanged in portsmouth square in view of the saloons. a thrill ran through the whole community, and when, the next morning, the people read the names of the prominent citizens who served on the committee, their action made a deep and salutary impression. the vigilance committee prosecuted its work till the city was purged of its evils, and it exercised from time to time its authority until the year . as a result of its firmness, its promptness in punishing criminals, and its high-minded aims, the land had rest for twenty years. a weak administration of justice is an encouragement to wrong doing. municipal and state officials can best serve their city and country by dealing quick and severe blows at lawlessness; but to be effective they must be men of integrity, above reproach, and withal just. to-day san francisco is one of the most orderly and best governed cities in the united states. during my rambles through its streets i went to and fro at all hours without being molested. i never met a drunken man or a disorderly person. the city feels the effect of the committee's good work even to this latest hour. it serves as an example. justice is dealt out speedily to offenders. there are few if any technical delays of the law and the criminal rarely escapes without punishment. some examples have occurred recently which show that the judges of the superior courts are alive to their duty and that they can perform it when the occasion arises. a man named john h. wood, a former soldier, was convicted of highway robbery, and he was speedily sentenced to imprisonment for life in folsom penitentiary. judge cook who passed sentence on him took the position that a man who used a deadly weapon in the commission of his crime should receive the full penalty of the law. a man who holds a pistol to shoot will take life, therefore he ought to have a life sentence. wood, who belongs to a wealthy family in texas, has a checkered history. he served as a soldier for a time in the philippine islands. here he deserted his post and committed highway robbery. he was tried by court martial for larceny and convicted. then he was brought to san francisco and put in the military prison on the island of alcatraz. he was finally discharged from the army in disgrace. a few months ago he tried to rob a showcase man and held a revolver at his head while he seized a watch and chain. he was immediately arrested by three officers, and a month after he was sentenced for life. as showing the depravity of the man he said after receiving sentence: "that is an awful dose, and i haven't had my breakfast yet." possibly in prison he will reflect upon his evil life, and be softened, and repent. he might have been a good citizen, worthy of his country; but he hardened his heart and sank deeper and deeper in his degradation. oh, the hardening of the heart! it was pharaoh's sin. it is the sin of many an one now. another highway robber, edward davis, was sentenced at the same time with wood to serve in the state penitentiary for thirty-three years. he also pointed a pistol to the head of his victim. but thirty-three years! he will probably die in prison. it is a life thrown away, one of god's best gifts. but if stern justice be meted out here in this world, what must the unrepenting sinner, who has trampled the divine law under foot, expect in the world to come? san francisco teaches a lesson which reaches farther than an earthly tribunal. the judge on his bench is an image of the judge who weighs human life in his balances. there is of course crime in san francisco as in all other cities. indeed crime is universal, whether in the orient or the occident. the chief of police wittman accounts for highway robbery, to the extent in which it prevails, from the fact that san francisco is a garrison city. here are numerous recruits and discharged soldiers, and, as a seaport, it draws to itself the scum and offscourings of all nations, hindoos, chinese, malays, and all other kinds of people. the police force is hardly adequate to patrol the entire city. it consists only of men all told, and they are fine, manly looking guardians of the law, always ready to do their duty, always courteous to strangers, answering all questions intelligently. it is claimed, moreover, that the criminal element of the country drifts to san francisco in the winter on account of the climate and also through the attractions of the racetrack. the police also find that the places where poker-games are played are a rendezvous for criminals. in and there was an outbreak of highway robbery, but the grand jury acted promptly in the matter and the courts soon suppressed it. property and life therefore are jealously guarded in the city of the golden gate, and bad characters who go thither to prey on the public soon get their deserts. in this respect then san francisco is a desirable place in which to live. one evening in company with a party of friends, rev. dr. ashton of clean, n.y., rev. dr. reynold marvin kirby of potsdam, n.y., rev. clarence ernest ball of alexandria, va., rev. henry sidney foster of green bay, wis., the rev. william barnaby thorne of marinette, wis., and doctor robert j. gibson, surgeon in the united states army, stationed at san francisco, i visited the police headquarters, situated on the east side of portsmouth square. this is a large building of several stories with numerous offices. the chief in his office on the main floor, on the right hand of the entrance, received us courteously and assigned to us a detective according to an arrangement previously made with ashton. in the office were portraits of police commissioners and the chiefs and others who had been connected with the department for many years. entering an elevator we were soon on the topmost floor where were the cells in which prisoners just arrested and waiting for trial were confined. the doors of the cells, all of iron, were opened or closed by moving a lever. it was now about : p.m., and officers were bringing in such persons as had been arrested for theft, for assault and battery, for drunkenness and other kinds of evil doing. towards daybreak the cells are pretty well filled, but now they were nearly empty. how true his words who knows what is in man. "men love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil!" one young man who had killed another in a quarrel was pointed out to us. the woman who loved him and who expected to be his wife, and still had faith in him, was at his side, with her sister, conversing with him between her sobs, in a low earnest tone. he seemed greatly agitated. a detective stood a little way off from the trio. the evidence was strong against the murderer, and an officer said to us that there was no chance for him to escape from the penalty of the law. in a cell was a young chinese woman, just brought in, possibly for disorderly conduct. she could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. she was pretty and refined in appearance and handsomely dressed, and she wept as if her heart would break. not yet hardened by sin, and probably imprisoned for the first time, she felt the shame and degradation of her lot. i could not but feel pity for her, and expressed sorrow for her, though she may not have understood my words. at least she could interpret the signs of sympathy in voice and expression. these are a universal language. maybe she was more sinned against than sinning,--and that divine one who reads all hearts and knows the temptations and snares which beset unwary feet, would say to her--"go, and sin no more!" in another cell was an old offender who had a face furrowed with sin. as we looked at her i could see that she regarded our presence as an intrusion. i recalled dr. watt's lines: "sinners who grow old in sin are hardened in their crimes." yet there is an awakening of the conscience at last, and even a prison house with its corrections may be a door of escape from that other prison of the sinful soul from which no one can go forth, be he culprit or juror, counsellor or judge, until his pardon is pronounced by him who can forgive sins. chapter vi from street nomenclature to a cannon the streets of the city--numbers and names--example of athens--names of men--names of states and countries--american spirit--flowers and trees--market street--pleasantries--mansions of california avenue--grand reception--art in california--cost of living in --hotels and private houses now--restaurants--new city hall--monumental group--scenes and representations--history of a cannon--chance meeting with general shafter--mission of the republic. the streets of the city! they are an important feature, and the traveller naturally observes their direction and studies their character. in the description of new jerusalem, st. john noted the fact that its street was "pure gold." the streets of earthly cities cannot vie with the celestial, though the gold of commerce may be found in their warehouses and mansions; but if men were as earnest in seeking after the treasures of heaven as were the tens of thousands who flocked to the gold-fields of california in , they would surely win the fortune which awaits them within the golden gate of the city on the banks of the crystal river. san francisco has her noted streets, just as the city of mexico has her san francisco promenade, leading from the alameda to the plaza de zocalo; or rome her famous corso, the old via flaminia, with its shops and its teeming life; or athens her hodos hermou, with its old byzantine church of kapnikaraea; or constantinople her grande rue de pera, with its hotels and theatres and bazaars; or old damascus, her "street that is called straight," suk et-tawileh, the street of the long bazaar, with its oriental life and colouring; or cairo her picturesque muski, where you may find illustrations of scenes in the arabian nights, and gratify your senses with "sabean odours from the spicy shore of araby the blest." the streets of the city by the golden gate have an interesting nomenclature, which well deserves one's study for what it teaches. some streets in the triangular section of san francisco, already spoken of, are numbered. these begin west of fremont street and run up to thirteenth, being bounded by market street. then the numbered streets take a turn to the left hand and go from fourteenth to twenty-sixth, in the southwestern section of the city, and run due west. numbers on the streets of any city are of course a convenience, but such a nomenclature has nothing else to commend it, and lacks imagination and sacrifices bits of history which may be interwoven with municipal life and show progress from small beginnings and perpetuate pioneers' names and benefactors' memories. modern athens in naming her streets has very wisely called them after some of the demigods, heroes, generals, statesmen, and poets of greece; and grateful too for the work of lord byron in behalf of her independence, she has honoured him who in immortal song spurred on her sons to arise and cast off the turkish yoke, with a name on one of her thorough-fares--hodos tou buronos--which the traveller reads with emotion, even as he gazes also with admiration on the beautiful pentelic monument reared to the memory of her benefactor, near the arch of hadrian, while athenae is represented as crowning him with the victorious olive. with feelings and sentiments akin to this the sons of the golden west have associated forever with the streets of their great city the names of men who either benefited california or take high rank in national life or are otherwise worthy of perpetual commemoration. hence we have a berkeley street, a buchanan, a castro, a fillmore, a franklin, a fremont, a grant, a hancock, a harrison, a hawthorne, and a humboldt street. juniper street is a memorial of father junipero serra, founder of franciscan missions. kepler takes us up to the stars, which shine beautifully over the lofty sierras, california's eternal rampart; while lafayette speaks to us of friendship and chivalry, still alive in these matter of fact days. as you walk through the streets you see also the name of kearney, not dennis of "sand-lot" fame, but that of general s.w. kearney, whose sword aided in placing the star of california in our nation's flag; you read too the name of the old indian chief, marin, and that of montezuma takes you across the rio grande and back to the days of mexican romance and barbaric splendour. here also montgomery is remembered, the patriotic commander of the portsmouth, who gave orders to his marines to raise the stars and stripes, in place of spanish ensigns and the bear flag, on the plaza of yerba buena, old san francisco, in . we find also such well known names as scott, sherman and stanford. we have too a st. francis street and a st. joaquin street; sumner, sutter, tilden and webster are remembered also. nearly all the states of the union speak to us by these waters of the pacific in the stones of the streets. all the original thirteen except georgia have been honoured. possibly this will receive recognition in the future. it is to be noted, however, that the adjectives are omitted in the carolinas and new hampshire. new york is the exception together with rhode island. the other states which have given their names to streets are alabama, arkansas, california, the dakotas without the qualifying adjective, florida, illinois, indiana, iowa, kansas, kentucky, louisiana, michigan, minnesota, missouri, nebraska, nevada, tennessee, utah, vermont, wisconsin and wyoming. the natural inference from this is that san francisco has drawn her population from all parts of the land; so that here you have representatives of our great country, north, south, east and west gathered together. while there are many who delight to call themselves native sons, yet their fathers have sprung from households in new england and in the south and in the middle states and elsewhere and new peoples are steadily migrating to the pacific slopes, notably to this queen city by the golden gate. in my intercourse with san franciscans, this or that worthy citizen would say, with no little pride, i was born in new york, boston is my birthplace, i am a native of albany, or saratoga, or philadelphia, or baltimore, or savannah or new orleans. sometimes one would say to me, i came from the east. what part? the answer would be at times, chicago, or st. louis, or omaha, as the case might be. but one thing was very noticeable, that they were all loyal americans. i think it may be truly said that the spirit of patriotism is even stronger in the pacific states than at the east. you could see the flag of the union everywhere, and there was abundant evidence in the life and speech of the people of san francisco and of california generally that they were an integral part of the republic and as anxious to have it prosperous and great and united as the most ardent american in any other part of the land. the cosmopolitan character of san francisco is further indicated by the names of foreign countries and places which some of her streets bear. here we note in our walks the names of denmark and japan, honduras and montenegro, trinidad, venezuela and valencia, and also the spanish town de haro. certain names also of cities tell us whence people have come to the city of the golden gate. we find an albany, an austin, and a chattanooga street. there are also streets called erie, hartford, vicksburg and york, san jose and santa clara, while fair oaks speaks of one of the great battlefields of the civil war. some of the counties of the state have also fixed their names on the streets as butte, el dorado, mariposa, napa, solano and sonoma. the potomac river has a name here also, while sierra and shasta represent the mountains. there are names of streets besides which take us among the trees and shrubs, such as the cedar, the locust, the linden, the oak, the walnut, the willow, the ivy, the laurel and the myrtle. of flowers there is a profusion in san francisco. they bloom on every hand; and wherever there is a bit of ground or lawn in front of a house there you will see plants or flowers in blossom. fuschias attain the height of ten feet in some places and are magnificent in the colour and beauty of their flowers. the heliotrope climbs up its support with eagerness and its blossoms vie in hue with the blue skies. you may also see the pink flowers of the malva plant in abundance, the chaste mignonette and the australian pea-vine. the latter is a favourite and clothes the bare walls of fence or house or trellis with a robe of beauty which queens might envy. roses are rich and fragrant, white and pink chiefly, and delight the eye, no matter which way you turn. the acacia grows here in san francisco as if it were native to the soil; and the monterey cypress, green and beautiful, makes a handsome hedge, or, when given room and air, it attains to stately proportions. here also you will find the eucalyptus tree in its perfection, stately in form with its ivy-green foliage, and you look upon it with an admiring eye. california may be truly called a land of flowers as well as a land of fruits; and we err not in judgment when we say that close association with these beautiful products of the earth has a refining and an uplifting influence on the human heart. a man who has love for a flower is brought near to the lord of the flowers, who said as he walked over the meadows of palestine--"consider the lilies of the field, how they grow." so they have their sweet message of love and gentleness and peace for all, yes, these "stars of the earth," as the poet calls them. such thoughts come to you as you gaze on the rich gardens of san francisco and note their wealth of bright blossoms, brightening man's life and filling his soul with poetry and sentiment and longing for the beautiful and for the good. as we walk through the city we note that it is rapidly extending itself towards the south and the slopes of the pacific, and new homes are constantly appearing in its suburbs, even climbing up the hills to the west. market street, broad and straight, is san francisco's main artery of business activity, and the cable cars which run through it are so numerous that a person who undertakes to cross this great avenue, especially during the busy hours of the day, must be careful lest he be run over. it reminds one of broadway, new york, in this respect. all streets of the city converge towards market street. crowds of people throng it, and this is true, particularly during saturday night, when the labours of the week are ended and the populace seek recreation. there are many large and attractive buildings on this street, as for example "the call building," "the chronicle building," "the palace hotel," and the "emporium." as you walk up and down studying life you note many things, and you see good nature depicted in the faces of the people whom you meet. they all look bright and intelligent. i think there is something in the surroundings and in the exhilarating atmosphere which promotes fellowship and good feeling. there is a keen sense of humour often manifest. among many of the things which i saw was an illuminated sign, with the legend: "your bosom friend." as i drew near it i discovered that it was over a shirt store. it was certainly most suggestive. the women, as you see them going hither and thither, are the picture of health and many of them can boast of real beauty. here are few if any pale faces, sallow complexions, cadaverous cheeks. there are various types of nationality, but it may be said that there is a california or san francisco type, which is the product of climate and environment. one is struck with the animation manifested in the faces and movements of the men and women. they are quick too in reaching conclusions and witty in observation. a young man in one of the railway offices asked this question: "what," said he to me, "is the difference in dress between a bishop and any other clergyman," i replied that some of the bishops wore aprons, and that this was the only real difference in daily attire--except some special mark on the coat or the shape of the hat. i hastened to add by way of pleasantry, that my friend ashton, who was standing beside me, and i had not an apron as yet. "well," he replied promptly, "you have gotten beyond that." they take pleasure in telling a good story also. as ashton and i were travelling one afternoon to san rafael we were joined on the saucelito ferry boat by a benevolent gentleman, named ingram, who said he was a cousin of the bishop of london. as we talked over various matters he finally said, "i will tell you a story. an irishman landed in new york after a stormy voyage; and as he walked up broadway he thought that he would go into the first place he saw, which looked like a roman catholic church, and there offer thanks for his safe journey. when he came to st. paul's chapel, with the statute of the apostle in view, he went into it, and kneeling down he began to cross himself. the sexton seeing his demonstrations said to him, 'this is not a roman church, this is a protestant church.' but said he, 'it is a catholic church. don't you see the cross and the candles on the altar.' 'o no,' said the sexton in reply, 'it is a protestant church.' 'no, no,' said the irishman, 'you can't convince me that st. paul turned protestant when he came to america!'" one is impressed with the air of prosperity and thrift on every hand. many of the houses are artistic in construction and elegant in their furnishings. some of them are stately mansions, notably the stanford, huntington, hopkins and crocker residences on california avenue, in its most conspicuous section. the homes of these california kings are adorned with costly works of art, choice paintings, and beautifully chiselled marbles. during the sessions of the general convention the crocker mansions on the north side of the avenue were the centre of attraction in the liberal hospitality dispensed there and the courtesies shown to many of the bishops and other clergy. on the evening of wednesday, october the ninth, bishop nichols held a reception for the bishops, other clergy, the lay deputies, and their friends, in the hopkins' mansion, on the south side of california avenue. this is now used as an art institute, and it is admirably adapted to its purpose. the building was thronged all the evening by the members of the convention and the representatives of san francisco society. five thousand people high in the councils of the church and the nation and in social walks were in attendance; and it was impossible to accommodate all who came. it is said that hundreds were turned away. the writer and his friends considered themselves fortunate to be able to thread their way through the crowd without being crushed or having their garments torn. it was the grandest function of a social character which ever took place on the pacific coast. the costly paintings adorning chambers, galleries and reception rooms, the splendid specimens of statuary, the numerous pictures, the brilliant lights, the strains of joyous music, but above all the moving throng of handsome women beautifully arrayed, and the noble bearing of bishop, priest and layman, with the fine intellectual faces seen on all sides, made this reception a scene never to be forgotten. who, in the days of forty-nine, would have dreamed that, a little over a half a century later, there would be such a magnificent gathering of intellect and beauty,--men and women with lofty aims and noted for their achievements in letters and art, and their prominence in church and state, and excelling in virtuous deeds, on a hill which was then a barren waste of shifting sands? while i am speaking of the reception in the hopkins' art institute, i may note that californians have a great love for art. their own grand scenery of mountain and valley and ocean fosters the love for the beautiful; and to-day they can point with pride to the works of such men as julian rix, charles dickman, h.j. bloomer, j.m. gamble, and h. breuer, whose landscapes are eagerly sought for, and command high prices. the frequent sales of paintings are the best evidence that the people of san francisco equal the citizens of the oldest cities of the land in refinement and the elevation of the mind and heart above the mere desire to make money. there is also a goodly array of female artists who deserve praise and honour. eastern cities must look well to their laurels in the matter of art as well as in many other things. the contrast between and in the prices paid for articles of consumption and service rendered is quite remarkable. when bayard taylor visited san francisco in he paid the sum of two dollars to a mexican porter to carry his trunk from the ship to the plaza or portsmouth square. here in an adobe building, he tells us, he had his lodging. his bed, in a loft, and his three meals per day, consisting of beefsteak, bread and coffee, cost him thirty-five dollars a week. from other sources we learn that, if you kept house, you had to pay fifty cents per pound for potatoes,--one might weigh a pound. apples were sold at fifty cents a piece, dried apples at seventy-five cents a pound. fresh beef cost fifty cents a pound, milk was a dollar a quart, hens brought six dollars a piece, eggs nine dollars a dozen, and butter brought down from oregon, was sold at the rate of two dollars and fifty cents per pound. flour was in demand at fifty dollars a barrel, and a basket of greens would readily bring eight dollars. a cow cost two hundred dollars. a tin coffee pot was worth five dollars, and a small cooking stove was valued at one hundred dollars. a cook commanded three hundred dollars a month, a clerk two hundred dollars a month, and a carpenter received twelve dollars a day. lumber sold for four hundred dollars per thousand feet, and for a small dwelling house you had to pay a rental of five hundred dollars per month. it must be remembered that people were pouring into san francisco from all parts of the world in search of gold, that there were few if any persons to till the ground, and that many of the articles in demand for life's necessities were brought either across the isthmus of panama or around by cape horn. in consequence the cost of living was necessarily high. to-day you can live as cheaply in san francisco or any other city of california, as santa barbara, los angeles, or san diego, as in any eastern city or town. rooms with board can be secured at the palace hotel, corner of market street and new montgomery, at the rate of three dollars and a half per day up to five dollars. without board you can obtain a room for the sum of one dollar and a half up to three dollars. the grand hotel, the annex to the palace, and just across the street, offers the same rates as the palace. the lick house, the corner of montgomery and sutler streets, will take you for three dollars up to five per day. the occidental, corner of montgomery and bush streets charges also from three dollars up to five per day for board and room. the california hotel, an imposing structure, on bush street, supplies rooms at the rate of one dollar per day and upwards. the baldwin, corner of market and powell streets, charges for board and room at the rate of two dollars and a half up to five per day; and the russ house receives guests, giving room and board at the rate of one dollar and a half up to two dollars and a half per day--this hotel is situated on the corner of montgomery and pine streets. there are many other hotels where the traveller can be made comfortable at a moderate cost. it is the same with many private houses which are open for guests. in the latter a parlor and bedroom with the luxury of a bath may be had for two dollars per day. a single room can be secured for a dollar a day. in such a case you can obtain your meals at one of the numerous restaurants for which san francisco is noted. there are the restaurants at the palace, the california and other prominent hotels, the maison dorée in kearney street, westerfeldt's in market street, and the café in the call building on the top floor of the tower, from which you have a commanding view of the city in all directions. good servants can be had at the rate of thirty dollars per month, especially the much abused chinese, who cook and do the laundry work, and wait on the table, and render a willing service. i recall the faithfulness of the chinaman "fred," who tried to please his employer, and also the fidelity and zeal of "max," the dane, or mads christensen. max was an ideal waiter. he had been only nine months in the united states, and yet he had learned sufficient of the english language to understand what was said to him and to express himself clearly. it is an example of persistence; and max had the qualities which, in a young man, are bound to lead to success. in addition to the other great buildings you cannot fail to notice the new city hall, a magnificent pile including the hall of records to the east of the main structure. the location is somewhat central, being opposite eighth street, just north of market street, and bounded by park avenue, larkin and mcallister streets. the plot of ground on which it is erected has an area of six and three-quarters acres and is triangular in shape. the front is eight hundred feet in length, the larkin street side five hundred and fifty feet, and the mcallister side six hundred and fifty feet long. while the architecture is difficult to describe, as being of any particular order, yet it may be said that it is partly classical, partly of the renaissance style and that it has a suggestion of the byzantine period, which is seen in so many buildings of a public character. nothing, however, could be more dignified than this great and imposing structure, which is traversed by a main corridor crossed by a central one with two others, one in the east and the other in the west. these corridors which give you a sense of amplitude, are paved with vermont marble. it has one chief dome, three hundred feet above the base, which is surmounted by a colossal figure with a torch in the uplifted right hand, a goddess of liberty. on another section of the hall is a small tower with a flag staff, then a lower dome with a flag staff, the dome being supported by pillars with corinthian capitals. flowers were in bloom in the court-yards the day when i visited the building, and they gave an artistic appearance to the granite-foundations. the upper courses of the hall are made of stucco in imitation of granite. the building, which was begun in , was completed in . what it cost is hard to tell. i questioned several persons in regard to it, but received different answers, ranging all the way from five millions of dollars up to thirteen millions. san francisco, however, may well be proud of the white edifice, in which are located most of the offices relating to the business of the city. but we must not depart from these precincts until we have examined the monumental group in the new city hall square on the south side or front. the monument is circular in form and is crowned with a figure of a woman, representing california, in bronze. she wears a chaplet made of olive leaves, and holds a wand in her right hand, and in her left a large disk bordered with stars, while a bear is seen standing on her right side. no doubt bruin has reference to the famous bear flag which had been raised on the plaza in , when california declared herself independent of mexico, and which in the same year gave place to the stars and stripes. around the monumental figure of california are subjects in bronze. first of all there is an overland wagon drawn by oxen, with pioneers accompanying it. secondly an indian wigwam with hunters and indians representing the year . in the third scene we have a buffalo hunt, the hunter holding a lasso in his hand, and then there is the dying buffalo. succeeding this we have a domestic scene--fruits and wheat--and a reaper in . we then note bronze-medallions of sutter, james lick, fremont, drake, the american flag, and serra. moreover on this central monument we have the names of stockton, castro, vallejo, marshall, sloat, larkin, cabrillo-portalo. then the date, "erected a.d. . dedicated to the city of san francisco by james lick." the scenes on the four monuments around the central one are--first, the finding of gold in "' "--three miners. second, a figure with an oar. third, early days. indian with bow and arrow. pioneer with saddle and lasso. a franciscan preaching. fourth, a figure crowned with wheat, apples in right hand, and the horn of plenty with various fruits in the left hand. the monument bears this inscription, near the base--whyte and de rome, founders. frank appersberger, sculptor. in front of this most interesting monument is a cannon that has a history. near the head of this instrument of destruction is the legend, _pluribus nec impar_. on the body of the cannon we read le prince de conde. _ultima ratio regum_. louis charles de bourbon--comte d'eu., due d'aumale. a douay--par t. berenger. commissionaire. des fontes le mars, . the cannon is made of bronze, has a coat of arms, and is otherwise ornamented. it has two handles in the shape of dragons. it is twelve feet long. but it has another inscription in which we are deeply interested. this is in english, and reads as follows: "captured at santiago de cuba, july , , by the fifth army corps, u.s. army, commanded by major general william r. shafter, and presented by him to the city of san francisco, california, in trust for the native sons of the golden west, and accepted as a token of the valor and patriotism of the army of the united states." while i was reading the inscriptions and making measurements an open two-seated carriage was driven up to the curbstone, about four o'clock in the afternoon. from this a gentleman in a business suit, about sixty years of age, alighted and approached me. he was a man of pleasing address. he said to me, "you seem to be interested in this cannon." "i am," was the reply. then he began to pace it and to examine it, and said, "it is just twelve feet long." he thought that possibly it came into the hands of the spaniards during the napoleonic wars, and that it at length found its way over to cuba to help in enslaving the people of that island. as i was attracted to my informant, i ventured to ask him whom i had the pleasure of addressing. imagine my astonishment and delight when he said modestly--"i am general shafter." i said to him, "i am glad to meet one so brave and who has helped to add new lustre to our flag." he replied that "he considered it a privilege to have had a share in the liberation of cuba, and that our beloved nation was on the march to still greater glory." finding out where i came from, and that i lived near ballston spa, he said, "you must know my son-in-law, william h. mckittrick." i replied that i did, that i knew him when he was a boy, and that he and his family were my parishioners, when i was rector of christ church, ballston spa, twenty-eight years ago. said he, "william distinguished himself in the cuban war. he is now a captain and assistant adjutant-general, and it was he who was the first to hoist the flag over santiago." the general having courteously invited me to call on him, soon after bade me good-bye. it was a chance meeting, but full of interest, especially under the circumstances. here was the hero who had captured the cannon and who had won laurels for himself and for his country. mckittrick also comes of a patriotic family, his father having laid his life on the altar of his country in the civil war; and after the elder mckittrick is named the grand army post of ballston spa, n.y.--post mckittrick. general shafter was as modest on the day when i met him by the cannon as he was brave at santiago. while the republic has such worthy sons she has nothing to fear. her mission is one of peace to her own people in all the states and territories of the union, and in all our colonial possessions; and the motto of every citizen should be _non sibi sed patriae_. for every churchman it ought to be _non sibi sed ecclesiae_. chapter vii chinamen of san francisco--their callings and characteristics a visit to chinatown--its boundaries--a terra incognita--fond of mongrels--my licensed guide--the study of the signs--men of all callings--picture of the chinaman--devoid of humour--confucius--great men from good mothers--confucius to women--mormonism and mohammedanism--how to regenerate china--slaves of the lamp--chinamen impassive--aroused to wrath--how they dress--the queue--"pidgin" english--payment of debts--bankrupt law--suicide. when in the city of the golden gate you will not fail to visit the chinese quarter, or "chinatown," as it is popularly called. just as in an oriental city like jerusalem or constantinople you find different nationalities or races living apart from each other, so here in san francisco you have "little china" in the heart of anglo-saxon civilisation. it is as if you had unfolded to your wondering eyes in a dream some town from the banks of the pearl river, the yangtse-kiang, or the hwangho or. yellow river; and it seems strange indeed that, without the trouble or expense and danger of crossing the waters of the pacific, you can by a short walk from the midst of the teeming life of an american city, be ushered into streets that are foreign in appearance and where scenes that are unfamiliar to the eye attract your attention on every hand. with the exception of the houses, which, as a rule, take on a european or an american style of architecture, you might imagine that you were in canton or some other chinese city. the life is truly asiatic and mongolian in its character and in its display as well as in its customs. the home of the sons of the flowery kingdom in san francisco is in the north-eastern section of the city, and may be said to be in one of the best portions of the metropolis of the west, sheltered as it is from the winds of the pacific by the hills which are back of it, and with a commanding view of the bay and its islands and the magnificent landscapes to the east, valleys and hills running up to the heights of the sierras. the locality is bounded by jackson, pacific, dupont, commercial, and sacramento streets, and embraces some eight squares; and within this space, crowded together, are the twenty-five or thirty thousand chinese who form a part of the population of the city. there are chinamen here and there in other parts of san francisco, but nearly all live here in this quarter which we are now approaching. here there are the homes of the people who came from the land of confucius, here the famous shops, the theatres, the joss-houses where heathen worship is maintained. as soon then as you set foot within the area described you feel that you are in a strictly foreign country; and if this is your first visit, the place is to you a sort of terra incognita. you will need a guide to take you through its labyrinths and point out to you its hidden recesses and explain the strange sights and interpret for you the language which sounds so oddly to your ears. if you have not some man to conduct you, a dragoman or courier, you will be likely to make mistakes as ludicrous as that related of an english woman. sir henry howarth, the author of the "history of the mongols," a learned and laborious work, was out dining one evening. it fell to his lot at his host's house to escort a lady to the dinner table; and she, having a confused idea of the great man's theme, surprised him somewhat by the abrupt question, "i understand, sir henry, that you are fond of dogs. are you not? i am too." "dogs, madam? i really must plead guiltless. i know nothing at all of them!" "indeed," his fair questioner replied; "and they told me you had written a famous history of mongrels!" it is best then always to take a guide, and you will have no trouble in finding one, who will charge you from two to three dollars an hour. if you go with a small party, which is best, all can share the expense. it will take about three hours to explore the town thoroughly and study the life. the writer went through chinatown on two evenings at an interval of a few days, and saw this asiatic quarter of san francisco to great advantage. the first time was with a licensed guide of long experience, and the second time it was under the direction of a police-detective. some five friends were in the party; and we started on our tour of exploration about half past nine o'clock at night. the night is the best time in which to study the life, for then you can see the chinese in their houses and at their amusements, as well as many others who still are at work; for some of the chinese artisans toil for sixteen hours a day, and long into the hours of the night. here among them are no strikes for fewer hours, but patient toil, as it were in a treadmill, without a murmur. my licensed guide was henry gehrt, a man about fifty-five years old, of german parentage. he had been in the business for twenty-seven years, and he maintained an office on sacramento street. his badge was no. . all guides must wear badges according to law. as we went hither and thither we met occasionally groups of sight-seers, among them some of our friends, members of the convention, bishops, and clerical and lay deputies, who felt this was a rare opportunity to study heathendom; and i am sure all went away from this strange spot thanking god for our noble anglo-saxon civilisation, as well as for the knowledge of his revelation. the houses, i observed, are three, and sometimes four stories high, with balconies and windows, which give them a decidedly oriental appearance. on most of them were signs displayed in the chinese language. you also see scrolls by the doors of the private houses and on the shops. the signs are a study in their bright colours and their mythological and fantastic adornments. yellow is the predominant colour, and the dragon is in evidence everywhere. this emblem of the celestial empire is represented in gorgeous array and with a profusion of ornament. a splendid dragon is the sign and trade mark of "sing fat and co.," who keep a chinese and japanese bazaar on dupont street. on their card they give this warning, "beware of firms infringing on our name;" and it seems as if the dragon on the sign would avenge any invasion of their rights. the signs are a study, and if you are ignorant of the language, you ask your learned guide to interpret them for you. he will tell you that hop wo does business here as a grocer, that shun wo is the butcher, that shan tong is the tea-merchant, that tin yuk is the apothecary, and that wo-ki sells bric-a-brac. some of the signs, your guide will tell you, are not the real names of the men who do business, that they are only mottoes. wung wo shang indicates to you that perpetual concord begets wealth, hip wo speaks to you of brotherly love and harmony, tin yuk means a jewel from heaven, wa yun is the fountain of flowers, while man li suggests thousands of profits. other of the signs relate to the muse. they do not at all reveal the business carried on within. the butcher, for example, has over his shop such elegant phrases as great concord, constant faith, abounding virtue. there are many pawn-brokers who ply their vocation assiduously. they tell you of their honest purpose after this fashion: "let each have his due pawn-brokers," and, "honest profit pawn-brokers." in the chinese restaurant, to which we will go later, you will be edified by such sentiments as these,--the almond-flower chamber, chamber of the odours of distant lands, garden of the golden valley, fragrant tea-chamber. the apothecary induces you to enter his store with inviting signs of this character: benevolence and longevity hall, hall of everlasting spring, hall of joyful relief, hall for multiplying years. surely if the american druggist would exhibit such sentences as these over his shop he would never suffer for want of customers. all are in pursuit of length of years and health; and i think the chinese pharmacist shows his great wisdom in offering to all who are suffering from the ills to which flesh is heir a panacea for their ailments. it takes the fancy, it is a pleasing conceit for the mind, and the mere thought that you are entering longevity hall gives you fresh courage! you will find here in chinatown men of all callings, the labourer who is ready to bear any burden you lay on him, the artisan who is skilled in his work, the grocer, the clothes' dealer, the merchant, the apothecary, the doctor, the tinsmith, the furniture-maker, the engraver, the goldsmith, the maker of paper-shrines for idols, the barber, the clairvoyant, the fortune-teller, and all others of every calling which is useful and brings profit to him who pursues it. but we are deeply interested in the men whom we meet. at first view they all seem to look alike, you can hardly distinguish one from another. they are a study. look on their solemn faces, sphinx-like in their repose and imperturbability. they are a riddle to you. you rarely ever hear them laugh. they are like a landscape beneath skies which are wanting in the sparkling sunbeams. they seem to you as if they had continual sorrow of heart, as if some wrong of past ages had set its seal on their features. the chinaman has very little sense of the ludicrous, and he is lacking in the elements of intellectual sprightliness and vivacity which lead a frenchman or an american to appreciate and enjoy a sally of wit, a bon mot, or a joke. life indeed is better, and a man can bear his burdens with more ease if he has a sense of humour. some of the great characters in history have often come out of the depths with triumph by reason of the spirit within them which could perceive the flash of wit and apply its medicine to the wounds of the heart. i think it may be said, as a rule, that the asiatic has not the power to appreciate wit and humour like the old greek or the teuton or the celt. he is not wanting in his love of the beautiful, in his appreciation of poetry, in the vision which perceives the flowers blooming by the waters in the desert, and in the hearing which catches the sound of the harmonies of his palm-trees and lotus flowers, but in the sense or faculty to seize on mirth and appropriate her to his service in burden-bearing he is sadly deficient. he is but a child in this respect. while the chinaman has inventive faculties and keen intellect and wonderful imitative powers, yet in other respects he is behind the progressive races of the world. he has made little advance for thousands of years. his isolation, his narrow sphere, his simple life, and his religion even, which, while some of its maxims and tenets are admirable, still is lacking in the knowledge of the true god and in lofty ideals, have had a marked effect upon his thoughts and habits and pursuits. his great teacher, confucius, who flourished five centuries before the christian era and who spoke some sublime truths, was nevertheless ignorant of a revelation from heaven and inferior in his grasp of religious truth to such sages of greece as socrates and plato. in his system also woman is practically a slave. she is simply the minister of man, and therefore unable to rear up children, sons who would reflect the greatness of soul of a noble motherhood. it has often been remarked that great men have had great mothers. i think experience and observation will bear out this statement. glance over the pages of history, and eminent examples will rise up before the view. whence spring the samuels and the davids, whence a leonidas and a markos bozzaris, whence the scipios and the gracchi, whence the augustines and the chrysostoms, whence the alfreds and the gladstones, whence the washingtons and the lincolns, whence the seaburys and the doanes, and many another? are they not all hewn from the quarries of a noble motherhood? are they not sprung from the fountain of a womanhood whose living streams are clear as crystal and sweet and refreshing? the first chavah, eve, is rightly styled the mother of all living; and a generation or race of men to be living, active, noble in achievement, distinguished in virtues, must issue from a well-spring which vitalises and beautifies and magnifies the spirit and the intellect, as engannim waters her gardens, and engedi nourishes her acacias and lotus-plants, and enshemesh reflects the sun's golden beams the livelong day. but what, you ask, are the exact teachings of the sage confucius, who influences chinese society even to this day, with regard to woman? hear him: "moreover, that you have not in this life been born a male is owing to your amount of wickedness, heaped up in a previous state of existence, having been both deep and weighty; you would not then desire to adorn virtue, to heap up good actions, and learn to do well! so that you now have been hopelessly born a female! and if you do not this second time specially amend your faults, this amount of wickedness of yours will be getting both deeper and weightier, so that it is to be feared in the next state of existence, even if you should wish for a male's body, yet it will be very difficult to get it." again another saying of confucius is: "you must know that for a woman to be without talent is a virtue on her part." with such teaching then ever before them, do you wonder that chinese women do not excel in virtue, and that they are the mothers of a race of men who are practically like standing water instead of a flowing fountain to refresh the waste places of human life? the teachings of mormonism and mohammedanism with regard to woman also degrade her and rob her of the beautiful crown which her maker has put upon her head; and hence it is that such peoples are not virile and progressive like the nations where woman is looked upon as man's helpmeet, where she stands upon his right hand as a queen. the mormons are better in many respects than their faith; and if the first generation was hardy and aggressive and brave in subduing the desert and changing rocky mountain wastes into a blooming garden, it was because they had been trained in the school of christianity and had imbibed lessons of wisdom at the fountain of a pure faith and inherited from christian fathers and mothers those qualities which are stamped on the soul through upright living and a creed that is formulated in true doctrine. but mormonism is dying out, and woman in utah is receiving the rightful place assigned her by her creator in the work of building up the race and perpetuating the virtues and forces of a true manhood. the followers of mohammed are still numerous and powerful, and the religion of the koran has shown great vitality for centuries. the nobility of character, however, which has manifested itself in such lives as that of saladin the great is the product of other causes than the specific teachings and views of islam respecting domestic life and the position and office of woman. the destinies of men have been determined often by their environments. we must also bear in mind that from time to time, under the sway of the crescent, different sections of the civilised world have been brought under the rule of the sultans, and all that was good and noble in the lives of peoples newly incorporated into the faith of the arabian prophet has contributed in no small degree to the strength of a system which has in its own bosom the seeds of decay and which will ultimately become effete and pass away. mohammed ali, the founder of the present khedivial house of egypt, had in his veins old macedonian blood, and his views respecting marriage and domestic life, as well as the traditions of his family in his old home at kavala, had much to do with the development of his character and his brilliant career; and hence neither he nor others like him in the turkish empire can be singled out to prove that a religion which looks upon woman as an inferior being to man is excellent in its tendencies and produces a noble fruitage. what napoleon once said with respect to france, that she needed good mothers, is true as regards china. where woman is held in honour and where the domestic virtues are woven into a beautiful chaplet of spring-time blossoms to bedeck her brow, there you will find good and great men. our own nation is an example of this. to regenerate china then, to improve the morals of chinatown in san francisco, or chinatown in new york where there are between seven and eight thousand sons and daughters of the flowery kingdom, you must create pure homes, and to do this you must first of all sweeten them with the precepts of the gospel of jesus christ. confucius will fail you. the son of god will reform you and save you! such thoughts and reflections as these naturally sprang up in my mind in my walks through chinatown. i saw its people on every hand. sometimes they were in twos, again in groups of a half a dozen or more. they scarcely noticed us as we walked by them; they showed no curiosity to observe us, but went on their way as though intent on one object. they moved about like automatons, as if they were a piece of machinery; and such as were at work in shops heeded us not even when we stood over them and watched them as they handled their tools. it was work, work. they were doing their masters' bidding like the genii of the lamp; and in the glare of the light in which they wrought on their bench or at their stand the workers in gold and silver, the makers of ornaments and jewelry, were like some strange beings from another world. they work to the point of endurance. they have their amusements, their holidays, as the chinese new year which comes in february, their processions from time to time, but their great indulgence is in the use of opium. once or twice a month the ordinary labourer or workman gives himself up to its seductive charms, to its power more fatal to his manhood than intoxicating drinks taken to excess. the chinaman is so stolid and impassive that it is hard to arouse his wrath. he will bear insults without a murmur for a long time, but in the end he will be stung into madness and he will give force to all his pent up fires of hate that have slumbered like a volcano. he may wait long without having punished his oppressor, but he will bide his time. so it was with the boxers in china whose story is so painfully fresh in the memories of the great legations of the world in pekin. the men and women of chinatown dress very nearly like each other; though you do not meet many women. the chinaman wears a blouse of blue cotton material or other cheap, manufactured goods. this is without a collar, and is usually hooked over the breast. there are no buttons. wealthy chinamen, and there are many such, indulge in richer garments. as a rule they have adopted the american felt hat of a brownish colour. the shoe has the invariable wooden sole with uppers of cotton or some kind of ordinary cloth. the hair is the object of their chief attention, however, in the making up of their toilet. it is worn in a queue or pigtail fashion as it is commonly styled. it is their glory, however, this long, black, glossy braid. it is the chinaman's distinguishing badge. it gives him dignity in the presence of his countrymen. if cut off he feels dishonoured. he can never go back to the home of his ancestors, but must remain in exile. he wears this mark of his nationality either hanging down his back or else coiled about the head. when at work the latter style is preferred, as it is then out of the way of his movements. some of the men whom you meet have fine intellectual heads. the merchants and scholars whom i saw answer to this description. as a rule they can all read and write. they have a love of knowledge to a certain point, and a book is prized by them. the great desire of the chinamen who reach our shores is to learn the english language. they know it gives them an advantage. it is the avenue to success. sometimes they will become members of an american mission or bible-class in order to learn the language. they still, however, have their mental reservations with regard to their native joss-houses and worship. but they are not singular in this respect. mohammedans and jews in the east allow their children to attend schools where english is taught, because with the knowledge of this they can the more readily find employment among tourists and in places of exchange. this is particularly true in egypt and in syria. but the chinaman in his attempt to learn the anglo-saxon tongue finds great difficulties. very many speak only what is called "pidgin" or "pigeon" english, that is business english. business on the lips of the new learner becomes "pidgin." they like to end a word with ee as "muchee," and they find it next to impossible to frame the letter r. for example the word _rice_ becomes _lice_ in a chinaman's mouth, and a christian is a chlistian, while an american is turned into an amelican. of course this does not apply to the educated chinaman who is polished and gifted in speech as is the case with any well-trained chinese clergyman or such as minister wu ting-fang in washington. all debts among the chinese are paid once a year, that is when their new year comes around in our month of february. there are three ways in which they may cancel their debts. first, they pay them in money, if they are able, when accounts are cast up between creditor and debtor. if in the second place they are unable to pay what they owe they assign all their goods and effects to their creditors, and then the debtor gets a clean bill and so starts out anew with a clear conscience for another year. this in few words is the chinese "bankrupt law." but, in the third place, if a man has no assets, if he be entirely impoverished, and cannot pay his debts, he considers it a matter of honour to kill himself. death pays all debts for him, settles all scores, and he is not looked upon with aversion or execrated. even chinese women have resorted to this extreme method of settling their accounts. but what of their settlement with their maker who gave them life, who holds all men responsible for that gift, who expects us to use the boon aright? a chinaman does not value life with the same feeling and estimate as an anglo-saxon. should he fail in any great purpose, should he meet with defeat in some cherished plan, he will seek refuge in the bosom of the grave; he will voluntarily return to his ancestors whom he has worshipped as gods. in the late war between china and japan, in which china was vanquished, some of her generals committed suicide. it presents, alas, a degenerate side of human nature. it is most pathetic. better far to live under the smart of defeat and bear its shame, carry the cross, endure the stings of conscience, and meet the frowns of the world, than flee from the path of duty, than dishonour our manhood. the greatest victory is to conquer one's proud heart, and to suffer, and do god's will. the teachings of christ show us the value of life, tell us how to live, how to die, how to win the divine approbation. to him we bow and not to confucius. chapter viii a chinese newspaper, little feet, and an opium joint in chinatown--a chinese editor--his views of chinese life--a daily paper and the way in which it is printed--a night school--the mission of the english language--a widow and her children--pair of small shoes--binding of the feet and custom--mrs. wu ting-fang on small feet--maimed and veiled women--the shulamite's feet--an opium-joint--a wretched chinaman--fascination of opium--history and cultivation of the poppy--the east india company and the opium war--an opium farmer--how the old man smoked--de quincey and his experiences--"i will sleep no more." as my guide and i went forth to visit the places of interest in chinatown, we directed our steps first of all to the chinese newspaper office. this is located at no. sacramento street, corner of dupont street. on being ushered in i met with a cordial welcome from the managing editor, mr. ng poon chew, who, before i bade him good-bye, exchanged cards with me. he, i learned, is a christian minister and is the pastor of a chinese church in los angeles. his literary attainments and business capacity peculiarly fit him for his work on the chinese paper, and he is held in high esteem by chinamen generally. he is a man about four feet five inches in stature, and possibly forty years old. it is hard, however, to tell a chinaman's age, and so he may be five or ten years older. he is what you would call a handsome man, with a fine head and a beaming countenance. he showed great warmth in his greeting--and this was the more remarkable as the chinaman is generally cool and impassive. he was dressed in the chinese fashion with the traditional queue hanging down behind. he presented altogether a striking appearance, and you would single him out from a crowd as a man of more than ordinary cultivation and ability. he talked english fluently, and it was a pleasure to listen to him. he has well defined views regarding china and other countries. when questioned about the flowery kingdom, he said that the people were very conservative, that they do not wish for change, and that chinese women dress as they did thousands of years ago. he remarked, however, that there is a younger generation of chinamen who long for a change and for reform in methods, i suppose after the manner of the so-called "young turks" in the sultan's dominions. they would like the improvements of european and american life, and would shake off the trammels of the past to a large extent, just as japan has shaken off the sleep of centuries and is marching towards greatness among the strong nations of the world. with the modern appliances and advances in civilisation and armies well drilled like those of england or the united states of america, and with great war-ships well manned, they would be able to meet the world and to defend themselves and repel every invader from their country. he says the chinese have good memories, that they will never forget the manner in which opium came to them, and the opium war of . when he was a child he was taught to pray to a wooden god, and he had to rise as early as : a.m. to go to school to study the teachings of confucius. as the custom is to go so early in the morning to school, the children sometimes drop to sleep by the way as they are hastening on. chinamen will tell you that they have the religion which is best for them. this is the doctrine of confucius; but confucius, while a great scholar, was not a saint. he taught men "to improve their pocket," but did not teach them much about their soul. in order to see the real effect of the teachings of confucius, you must go to china. confucius may make men whom you may admire, but he cannot make men whom you can respect. the religion of confucius is dreary and is lacking in the warmth and blessing which come from a belief in the bible. it is most certainly refreshing to hear this learned chinaman talking and giving his impressions and opinions about matters of such vital importance. ng poon chew, at my request, gave me the business card of the newspaper. this states that the paper, which is published daily in chinese, is called "chung sai yat po," and that it has the largest circulation of any chinese paper published outside of the chinese empire. the card further tells us that "this paper is the organ of the commercial element in america and is the best medium for chinese trade." in addition to the daily issue of the newspaper, "english and chinese job printing" is done in the office. the work of interpreting the english and chinese languages is carried on here. mr. ng poon chew spoke with evident pride about his paper, and informed me that he gave a daily account of the proceeding's of the general convention, then in session in trinity church, san francisco, in the "chung sai yat po." the editing of a chinese newspaper is no easy matter. the printing of the paper is difficult and requires great skill and patience. there are, for example, forty thousand word-signs, all different, in the chinese language, and to represent these signs there must be separate, movable type-pieces. it is said that it takes a long period of time to distribute the type and lay out "the case." the typesetter must know the word by sight to tell its meaning, otherwise he will make serious blunders. then it is a hard matter to find intelligent typesetters. the editor, too, must be a man of business. the paper is watched by spies of the chinese government, and if the editor expresses himself in any manner antagonistic to the emperor or the dowager empress or any of the viceroys of the provinces, his head would be cut off if he ever ventured to set foot in china. there is another obstacle in the way of a chinese newspaper of liberal views, like the "chung sai yat po." it cannot get its type from china, as the government is opposed to every reform paper. the type for such a journal is cast in a japanese foundry in yokohama. it is said that about ten thousand word-signs are used in the printing of the newspaper. the type-case is usually long, for the purpose of allowing all the type-pieces to be spread out. the type runs up and down in a column, and you read from right to left as in hebrew or other shemitic languages. the characters are as old in form as the days of confucius. the "chung sai yat po" has a very large circulation and finds its way to the islands of the pacific ocean and into china. from the newspaper office we wended our way to a little baptist mission chapel for the chinese. there were about forty persons congregated here, among them some ten or twelve americans who were teaching the chinese the english language. this night school is popular with young, ambitious chinamen, for when they learn our language it is much easier for them to obtain work in stores and offices, and even as house servants. the books used had the chinese words on one page and the english sentences opposite. sometimes converts to christianity are made through the medium of the night school, but it takes time and patience to win a chinaman from the religion of confucius. it is worth the labour, however. the difficulties in the mastery of english are a great barrier to conversions. nevertheless they do occur. a chinaman is readily reached through his own language. hence the importance of raising up native teachers of the gospel who can speak to the hearts as well as to the understanding of their countrymen. as we observed in the foregoing chapter, in the orient, as in syria and egypt, jews and mohammedans sometimes allow their children to attend the english schools, and to a large extent from a worldly motive. the syrian or arab who can speak english is in demand as a dragoman, an accountant, an office clerk in the bazaar, or a camp-servant or boatman. indeed a great revolution is now taking place all through the east. nearly all the young egyptians can talk english, and this is the first step towards their conversion to the faith of the gospel. when they are able to read the books of the christians in the english, they are led to look favourably on the church. they catch the spirit of belief in jesus christ from the christian tourist. they lose the narrowness and bigotry which the mosque or the synagogue fosters, and in time they examine the claims of a religion which has built up the great nations of europe and america. the future has in store great developments for the church in palestine and the old land of the pharaohs through the agency of the english schools, and i believe the readiest way in which to convert the chinese people, whether in chinatown in san francisco, or in china itself, is to teach them our language and give them access to the holy scriptures in our noble tongue. our church schools in china are doing a great work in this respect. so is st. john's college in shanghai. they should all be liberally supported with offerings from america, and what we sow in this generation will be reaped in the next, a splendid harvest for christ and his church! after leaving the night school our guide conducted us up narrow stairs to the rooms occupied by a chinese woman. she was a widow with four children, daughters, and rather petite in form, and lacking the physical development and beauty of the caucasian race. they seemed shy and timid, for chinese women are not accustomed to the society of men. in fact there is among them no such home-life as we are familiar with. they were dressed in a measure after the fashion of our girls, and had long, black hair. the mother said a few sentences in broken english, and welcomed us with an air of sincerity, though not a little embarrassed. she was a woman of about forty years, and from the expression of her face had evidently met with trials. brought over to san francisco from canton when a young girl, she had married shan tong with all the ceremony and merry-making which characterise a chinese wedding, with its processions and feasting and the noise of its firecrackers; but some four or five years ago death claimed her husband, and she was left to do battle alone, while he was laid to rest in the chinese burying-ground at the west end of laurel hill cemetery. but she did not suffer from want, for chinamen are kind to the needy of their own race. among the objects which excited our curiosity were the tiny shoes of the small-footed woman. these were not quite three inches in length, and looked as if they were more suited for a doll's feet than for a full grown woman's. yes, here was the evidence of a barbarous custom which deprives a human being of one of nature's good gifts, so necessary to our comfort and happiness. think what you would be, if, through infirmity, you were not at liberty to go hither and thither at will like the young hart or gazelle! we grieve naturally if our children's feet are deformed or misshapen at birth, but what a crime it is to destroy the form and strength of the foot as god has made it! it is true that the manchu women in china rejoice in the feet which the beneficent creator has given them. the dowager empress--of whom we have read so much of late, and who rules china with an iron rod, has feet like any other woman; but millions of her countrywomen have been robbed of nature's endowment through a foolish and wicked custom which has prevailed in china from time immemorial. the feet are bound when the child is born, and they are never allowed to grow as god designed, as the flower expands into beauty from the bud. chinese women realise that it is foolish, that it is a deformity, but it is the "custom," and custom prevails. it is like the laws of the medes and persians which alter not. women are powerless under it. it is in vain to a large extent that they oppose it. there is in china an anti-foot-binding league, which receives the support of men of prominence. even centuries ago imperial edicts were issued against it, but custom still rules. it was montaigne who declared that "custom" ought to be followed simply because it is custom. a poor reason indeed. there should be a better argument for the doing of what is contrary to reason and nature. nature is a wise mother, and she bestows on us no member of the body that is unnecessary. the thought of her fostering care was well expressed by the old greeks who lived an out-door life, in their personification of mother earth under the creation of their demeter, perfect in form and beautiful in expression and noble in action. this is far above the conceptions of nature or of a presiding genius over our lives, taking into account social order and marriage vows, which we find in chinese literature or mythology. it is not difficult to perceive the reason why the greeks, who rule the realms of philosophy and art and literature to-day, after the lapse of many centuries, are the superior people. well does that master-mind, shakespeare, characterise evil custom: "that monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, of habits devil." but a better day is coming for chinese women. wherever christianity has touched them in the past they have been uplifted and benefited. the sun seems now to rise in greater effulgence on the kingdom of the yellow dragon. the wretched custom of dwarfing and destroying the feet of a child whose misfortune, according to confucius, it is to be born a female, is giving way under pressure from contact with the enlightened nations of the world. the teachings of the christian church are having their salutary effect and chinamen are beginning to learn the value of a woman's life from the biblical standpoint, and the daughters of the flowery kingdom will, as time goes on, become more and more like the polished corners of the temple, or the caryatides supporting the entablature of the erechtheum at athens. it is madame wu ting-fang, wife of the chinese minister at washington, who has recently returned from a visit to her old home, who says: "the first penetrating influence of exterior civilisation on the customs of my country has touched the conditions of women. the emancipation of woman in china means, first of all, the liberation of her feet, and this is coming. indeed, it has already come in a measure, for the style in feet has changed. wee bits of feet, those no longer than an infant's, are no longer the fashion. when i went back home i found that the rigid binding and forcing back of the feet was largely a thing of the past. china, with other nations, has come to regard that practice as barbarous, but the small feet, those that enable a woman to walk a little and do not inconvenience her in getting about the house, are still favoured by the chinese ladies." the custom of binding and destroying the feet, no doubt, arose from the low views entained by chinese sages concerning woman, and from a lack of confidence in her sense of honour and virtue. she must be maimed so that she cannot go about at will, so she shall be completely under the eye of her husband, held as it were in fetters. it is a sad comment on chinese domestic morality, it fosters the very evil it seeks to cure, it destroys all home life in the best sense. the veiled women of the east are very much in the same position. if a stranger, out of curiosity or by accident, look on the face of a mohammedan wife, it might lead to her repudiation by her jealous husband, or the offender might be punished for his innocent glance. the writer recalls how at hebron, in palestine, he was cautioned by the dragoman, when going up a narrow street to the mosque of machpelah, where he had to pass veiled women, not to look at them or to seem to notice them, as the men were very fanatical and might do violence to an unwary tourist. the chinese women of small feet, or rather no feet at all, walk, or attempt to walk, in a peculiar way. it is as if one were on stilts. the feet are nothing but stumps, while the ankles are large, almost unnatural in their development. it is indeed a great deformity. the feet are shrunken to less size than an infant's; but they have not the beauty of a baby's feet, which have in them great possibilities and a world of suggestion and romance and poetry. if the chinese custom had prevailed among the ancient hebrew people, think you that king solomon in singing of the graces of the shulamite, who represents the church mystically, would ever have exclaimed,--"how beautiful are thy feet with shoes, o prince's daughter!" we should have lost, moreover, much that is noble in art, and the poetic creations of greek sculptors would never have delighted the eye nor enchained the fancy. in our perambulations about chinatown, we must next visit an opium-joint. this mysterious place was situated in a long, rambling building through which we had to move cautiously so as not to stumble into some pit or dangerous hole or trap-door. here were no electric lights to drive away the gloom, here no gas-jets to show us where we were treading, nothing but an occasional lamp dimly burning. yet we went on as if drawn by a magic spell. at last we were ushered into a room poorly furnished. it was not more than twelve feet square, and in the corner was an apology for a bed. on this was stretched an old man whose face was sunken, whose eyes were lusterless, whose hand was long and thin and bony, and whose voice was attenuated and pitched in a falsetto key. the guide said that this old chinaman was sixty-eight years of age, and that he had had a life of varied experience. he was a miner by profession, but had spent all his earnings long ago, and was now an object of charity as well as of pity. indeed he was the very embodiment of misery, a wretched, woebegone, human being! he had lost one arm in an accident during his mining days. chinamen in the thirst for gold had mining claims as well as anglo-saxons. this desire for the precious metal seems to be universal. all men more or less love gold; and for its acquisition they will undergo great hardship, face peril, risk their lives. this aged chinaman for whom there was no future except to join his ancestors in another life, was now a pauper notwithstanding all his quest for the treasures of the mines; and his chief solace, if it be comfort indeed to have the senses benumbed periodically, or daily, and then wake up to the consciousness of loss and with a feeling of despair betimes, was in his opium pipe, which he smoked fifty times a day at the cost of half a dollar, the offering of charity, the dole received from his pitying countrymen or the interested traveller who might come to his forlorn abode. but what a fascination the opium drug has for the chinaman, and not for him alone, but for children of other races--for men and women who, when under its spell, will sell honour and sacrifice all that is dear in life, and even forego the prospect and the blessed hope of entering at last into the bliss of the heavenly world! but what is opium, what its parentage and history? the greeks will tell you it is their opion or opos, the juice of the poppy, and the botanist will point out the magic flower for you as the papaver somniferum, whose home was originally in the north of europe and in western asia; but now, just as the tribes of the earth have spread out into many lands, so has the poppy which has brought much misery as well as blessing to men, found its way into various quarters of the globe, particularly those countries which are favoured with sunny skies. it is cultivated in turkey, india, persia, egypt, algeria and australia, as well as in china. i now recall vividly the beautiful poppy fields at assiut, esneh and kenneh, by the banks of the nile, in which such subtle powers were sleeping potent for ill or good as employed by man for deadening his faculties or soothing pain in reasonable measure. these flowers were of the reddish kind. in china they have the white, red and purple varieties, which, as you gaze on them, seem to set the fields aglow with fire and attract your gaze as if you were enchained to the spot by an unseen power. the seeds are sown in november and december, in rows which are eighteen inches apart, and four-fifths of the opium used in china is the home-product, though it was not so formerly. in march or april the poppy flowers according to the climate, the soil, and the location. the opium is garnered in april or may, and prepared for the market. the chinese merchant values most of all the shense drug, while the ynnan and the szechuen drugs take next rank. the opium is generally made into flat cakes and wrapped up in folds of white paper. it is said that it was introduced into china in the reign of taitsu, between the years a.d. and ; but it is worthy of note that up to the year it was imported only in small quantities and employed simply for its medicinal properties, as a cure for diarrhoea, dysentery, and fevers, hemorrhage and other ills. it was in the year that the monopoly of the cultivation of the poppy in india passed into the hands of the east india company through the victory of lord clive over the great mogul of bengal at plassey; and from this time the importation of the drug into china became a matter of great profit financially. in the whole quantity imported was only two hundred chests. in it had increased to one thousand chests, while in it leaped up to four thousand and fifty-four chests. the chinese emperor, keaking, becoming alarmed at its growing use and its pernicious effect when eaten or smoked, forbade its importation, and passed laws punishing persons who made use of it otherwise than medicinally, and the extreme penalty was sometimes transportation, and sometimes death. yet the trade increased, and in the decade between and the importation was as high as sixteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy-seven chests. the evil became so great that in a royal proclamation was put forth threatening english opium ships with confiscation if they did not keep out of chinese waters. this was not heeded, and then lin, the chinese commissioner, gave orders to destroy twenty thousand, two hundred and ninety-one chests of opium, each containing - / pounds, the valuation of which was $ , , . still the work of smuggling went on and the result was what is known as the opium war, which was ended in by the treaty of nanking. china was forced by great britain to pay $ , , indemnity, to cede in perpetuity to england the city of hong kong, and to give free access to british ships entering the ports of canton, amoy, foochoofoo, ningpo and shanghai. the importation of opium from india is still carried on--but the quantity is not so great as formerly, owing to the cultivation of the plant in china. the hong kong government has an opium farm, for which to-day it receives a rental of $ , per month. the farmer sells on an average from eight to ten _tins_ of opium daily, the tins being worth about $ each. his entire receipts from his sales of the drug are about $ , per month. this opium farmer is well known to be the largest smuggler of opium into china; and not without reason does lord charles beresford, in his book "the break-up of china," say: "thus, indirectly the hong kong government derives a revenue by fostering an illegitimate trade with a neighbouring and friendly power, which cannot be said to redound to the credit of the british government. it is in direct opposition to the sentiments and tradition of the laws of the british empire." it was here in chinatown, in san francisco, that i was brought face to face with the havoc that is made through the opium trade and the use of the pernicious drug in eating and smoking. i was told that europeans and americans sometimes sought the opium-joints for the purpose of indulgence in the vice of smoking. even women were known to make use of it in this way. the old man whom i visited was lying on his left side, with his head slightly raised on a hard pillow covered with faded leather. he took the pipe in his right hand, the other, as i have already said, having been cut off in the mines. then he laid down the pipe by his side with the stem near his mouth. the next movement was to take a kind of long rod, called a dipper, with a sharp end and a little flattened. this he dipped in the opium which had the consistency of thick molasses. he twisted the dipper round and then held the drop which adhered to it over the lamp, which was near him. he wound the dipper round and round until the opium was roasted and had a brown colour. he then thrust the end of the dipper with the prepared drug into the opening of the pipe, which was somewhat after the turkish style with its long stem. he next held the bowl of the pipe over the lamp until the opium frizzled. then putting the stem of the pipe in his mouth he inhaled the smoke, and almost immediately exhaled it through the mouth and nostrils. while smoking he removed the opium, going through the same process as before, and it all took about fifteen minutes. what the old man's feelings were he did not tell us, but he seemed very contented, as if then he cared for nothing, as if he had no concern for the world and its trials. but one must read the graphic pages of thomas de quincey in his "confessions of an english opium eater," in order to know what are the joys and what the torments of him who is addicted to the use of the pernicious drug. it was while de quincey was in oxford that he came under its tyranny. at first taken to allay neuralgic pain, and then resorted to as a remedy on all occasions of even the slightest suffering, it wove its chain around him like a merciless master who puts his servant in bonds. but though given to its use all his life afterwards, in later years he took it moderately. still he was its slave. a man of marvellous genius, a master of the english tongue, he had not full mastery of his own appetite; and one of such talent, bound andromeda-like to the rock of his vice, ready to be devoured in the sea of his perplexity by what is worse than the dragon of the story, he deserves our pity, nay, even our tears. he tells us how he was troubled with tumultuous dreams and visions, how he was a participant in battles, strifes; and how agonies seized his soul, and sudden alarms came upon him, and tempests, and light and darkness; how he saw forms of loved ones who vanished in a moment; how he heard "everlasting farewells;" and sighs as if wrung from the caves of hell reverberated again and again with "everlasting farewells." "and i awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, 'i will sleep no more!'" chapter ix music, gambling, eating, theatre-going in chinatown--a musician's shop--a secret society--gambling houses--"the heathen chinee"--fortune-telling--the knife in the fan-case--a boarding house--a lesson for landlords--a kitchen--a goldsmith's shop--the restaurant--origin of the tea-plant--what a chinaman eats--the tobacco or opium pipe--a safe with eight locks--the theatre--women by themselves--the play--the stage--the actors--the orchestra and the music--the audience--a death on the stage--the theatre a gathering place--no women actors--a wise provision--temptations--real acting--men the same everywhere. the reader will now accompany us to a musician's shop in our wanderings through chinatown. this is located in a basement and is a room about fifteen feet wide and some twenty feet deep. this son of jubal from the flowery kingdom was about fifty-five years old and a very good-natured man. he received us with a smile, and when he was requested by the guide to play for us he sat down before an instrument somewhat like the american piano, called _yong chum_. the music was of a plaintive character, and was lacking in the melody of a broadwood or a steinway. then he played on another instrument which resembled a bandore or banjo and was named _sem yim_. afterwards he took up a chinese flute and played a tune, which was out of the ordinary and was withal of a cheerful nature. he then showed us something that was striking and peculiar--a chinese fiddle with two strings. the bow strings were moved beneath the fiddle strings. the music was by no means such as to charm one, and you could not for a moment imagine that you were listening to a maestro playing on a cremona. the chinese, while they have a reputation for philosophy after the example of their great men, like confucius and mencius, and while there are poets of merit among them like su and lin, yet can not be said to excel in musical composition and rendering. the tune with which our chinese friend sought to entertain us on his fiddle was, "a hot time in the old town to-night." he thought this would be agreeable to our american ears. meanwhile i glanced around this music-room and among other things i saw, and which interested me, were several effigies of men, characters in chinese history. some were no doubt true to life while others were caricatures of the persons whom they represented. it might be styled an eden musée. leaving the musician's, after giving him a suitable fee for entertaining us, we turned our footsteps towards the _chee kung tong_. this is a chinese secret society. the chinese are wont to associate themselves together, even if they do not mingle much with men of other nations. they have their gatherings for social purposes and for improvement and pastime, and, like the anglo-saxon and the latin races, they have their mystic signs and passwords. of course we were not permitted to enter the _chee kung tong_ hall, however much we desired to cross its mysterious threshold. the door was well guarded, and chinamen passing in had to give assurance that they were entitled to the privilege. on the night when the detective from police headquarters accompanied us we made an attempt to enter a chinese gambling house. the entrance even to this was well guarded; although the sentinel unwittingly left the door open for a moment as a chinaman was passing in. the detective seeing his opportunity went in boldly and bade us to follow him. in a few moments all was confusion. we heard hurrying feet in the adjoining room, and then excited men appeared at the head of the passage way and waved their arms to and fro while they talked rapidly in high tones. outside already some fifty men had collected together, and these were also talking and gesticulating wildly. the detective then said to us that it would be wise to retreat and leave the place lest we might meet with violence. we did so, but the uproar among the chinese did not subside for some time. we pitied the poor sentinel who had allowed us to slip in, for we knew that he would be severely punished after our departure. the chinese are noted for their gambling propensities, and there are many gambling houses in chinatown. this vice is one of their great pastimes, and whenever they are not engaged in business they devote themselves either to gambling, the amusements of the theatre, the pleasures of the restaurant, or the seductive charms of the opium pipe. later in my saunterings i went into a kind of restaurant, where i saw a number of chinese men and boys playing cards and dominoes and dice. they went on with the games as if they were oblivious to us. i noticed there were chinese coins of small value on the tables, and some of the players were apparently winning while others were losing. the latter, however, gave no indication that they were in the least degree disappointed. of course, as a rule they play after their own fashion, having their own games and methods. minister wu, of washington, when asked recently if he liked our american games, replied that he did not understand any of them. no doubt this is true of the majority of chinamen in the united states. in thinking of the chinese and gambling one always recalls bret harte's "plain language from truthful james of table mountain," popularly known as "the heathen chinee," one of the best humorous poems in the english language. you can fairly see the merry eyes of the author of the "argonauts of ' " dancing with pleasure as he describes the game of cards between "truthful james," "bill nye" and "ah sin." "which we had a small game, and ah sin took a hand; it was euchre: the same he did not understand; but he smiled as he sat by the table with a smile that was childlike and bland. "yet the cards they were stacked in a way that i grieve, and my feelings were shocked at the state of nye's sleeve, which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, and the same with intent to deceive. "but the hands that were played by that heathen chinee, and the points that he made. were quite frightful to see-- till at last he put down the right bower, which the same nye had dealt unto me. "then i looked up at nye, and he gazed upon me: and he rose with a sigh, and said, 'can this be? we are ruined by chinee cheap labour'-- and he went for that heathen chinee." there are all kinds of jugglers in chinatown and among them are numerous fortune-tellers. this kind of pastime is as old as the human race, and you find the man who undertakes to reveal to you the secrets of the future among all peoples. the orientals are always ready to listen to the "neby" or the necromancer or the fakir or the wandering minstrel, who improvises for you and sings for you the good things which are in store for you. we see this tendency among our own people who would have their destiny pointed out by means of a pack of cards, by the reading of the palm of the hand, in the grounds in the tea-cup, and by other signs. it was with some interest then that we glanced at the mystic words and signs which adorned the entrance to sam wong yung's fortune-teller's place. passing on, we next visited a hardware shop, where you could purchase various kinds of chinese cutlery. among other things that attracted my attention was a simple-looking chinese fan, apparently folded up. on examining it i found that inside of the fan-case was a sharp knife or blade like a wide dagger. this could be carried in an unsuspecting manner into the midst of a company of men, and in a moment, if you had in your breast the wicked spirit of revenge, your enemy could be weltering in his life blood at your feet. it suggested all kinds of tragedies, and no doubt its invention had behind it some treacherous impulse. the writer ventured to purchase it, but he hastens to announce to his friends that his purposes are good and innocent. though in the same category as the sword or dagger hidden in a walking-stick or a concealed weapon, this bloodthirsty knife will repose harmlessly in its fan-case like a sleeping babe in his cradle. a chinese boarding house next claimed our inspection. it was rather a forbidding place, but no doubt the chinaman was well content with its accommodations. it was a long, rambling structure, and it seemed to me as if i were going through an underground passage in walking from room to room. the various halls were narrow, indeed so narrow that two persons meeting in them could not without difficulty pass each other. the beds, which brought a dollar a month, were one above another in tiers or recesses in the walls. generally a curtain of a reddish hue depended in front of them. they reminded one of the berths in a ship or of the repositories of the dead in the roman catacombs. two hundred and twenty-five persons were lodged in this dark, mysterious labyrinth. in another house there were five hundred and fifty people lodged in seventy-five rooms. possibly the owners of tenement houses in our large cities, who crowd men and women into a narrow space and through unpitying agents reap a rich harvest regardless of the sufferings of their fellow-beings, have been taking lessons from the landlords of chinatown. i said to myself, as i went to and fro through these narrow passages, dimly lighted with a lamp, and the lights were few and far between, if a fire should break out, at midnight, when all are wrapt in slumber, what a holocaust would be here! and whose would the sin and the shame be? there are good and ample fire-appliances for the protection of the city, but the poor chinamen hemmed in, as in a dark prison-house, would surely be suffocated by smoke or be consumed in the flames. when the old theatre was burned down, twenty-five men, and probably more, perished, although there were means of escape from this building. i was told that the wood from which the largest hotel in chinatown, its palace hotel so to speak, was constructed in the early days, was brought around cape horn, and cost $ per thousand feet. this was before saw-mills were erected in the forests among the foothills and on the slopes of the sierras. the kitchen of the big boarding house was a novelty. it was nothing in any respect like the well-appointed kitchens of our hotels with their great ranges and open fire-places where meats may be roasted slowly on the turnspit. on one side of the kitchen there was a kind of stone-parapet about two feet and a half high, and on the top of this there were eight fire-places. as the chinamen cook their own food there might be as many as eight men here at one time. i asked the guide if they ever quarreled. his answer was significant. "no! and it would be difficult to bring eight men of any other nationality together in such close proximity without differences arising and contentions taking place; but the chinamen never trouble each other." there was only one man cooking at such a late hour as that in which we visited the kitchen, about half-past ten o'clock at night. he used charcoal, and as the coals were fanned the fire looked like that of a forge in a blacksmith's shop. on our way to the chinese restaurant we stepped into a goldsmith's shop. there were a few customers present, and the proprietor waited on them with great diligence. at benches like writing desks, on which were tools of various descriptions, were seated some half a dozen workmen who were busily engaged. they never looked up while we stood by and examined their work, which was of a high order. the filagree-work was beautiful and artistic. there were numerous personal ornaments, some of solid gold, others plaited. the bracelets which they were making might fittingly adorn the neck of a queen. i learned that these skilled men worked sixteen hours a day on moderate wages. their work went into first-class chinese bric-a-brac stores and into the jewelry stores of the merchants who supply the rich and cultured with their ornaments. but it is time that we visit the restaurant. this is located in a stately building and is one of the first class. it overlooks the old plaza, though you enter from the street one block west of the plaza. you ascend broad stairs, and then you find yourself in a wide room or dining hall in two sections. here are tables round and square, and here you are waited on by the sons of the fiery flying dragon clad in well-made tunics, sometimes of silk material. as your eye studies the figure before you, the dress and the physiognomy, you do not fail to notice the long pigtail, the chinaman's glory, as a woman's delight is her long hair. the tea, which is fragrant, is served to you out of dainty cups, china cups, an evidence that the tea-drinking of americans and europeans is derived from the celestial empire. the tea-plant is said, by a pretty legend, to have been formed from the eyelids of buddha dharma, which, in his generosity, he cut off for the benefit of men. if you wish for sweetmeats they will be served in a most tempting way. you can also have chicken, rice, and vegetables, and fruits, after the chinese fashion. you can eat with your fingers if you like, or use knives and forks, or, if you desire to play the chinaman, with the chop-sticks. in chinatown the men and the women do not eat together. this is also the custom of china, and hence there is not what we look upon as an essential element of home-life--father and mother and children and guests, if there be such, gathered in a pleasant dining-room with the flow of edifying conversation and the exchange of courtesies. confucius never talked when he ate, and his disciples affect his taciturnity at their meals. though in scholastic times, in european institutions and in religious communities, men kept silence at their meals, yet the hours were enlivened by one who read for the edification of all. the interchange of thought, however,--the spoken word one with another, at the family table, is the better way. silence may be golden, but speech is more golden if seasoned with wisdom; and even the pleasant jest and the _bon mot_ have their office and exercise a salutary influence on character and conduct. the food of chinamen generally is very simple. rice is the staple article of consumption. they like fruits and use them moderately. they eat things too, which would be most repulsive to the epicurean taste of an anglo-saxon. even lizards and rats and young dogs they will not refuse. but these things are prepared in a manner to tempt the appetite. after you have partaken of your repast in the chinese restaurant, if you request it, tobacco pipes will be brought in, and your waiter will fill and light them for you and your friends. you can even, with a certain degree of caution, indulge in the opium pipe, the joy of the chinaman. as you draw on this pipe and take long draughts you lapse into a strange state, all your ills seem to vanish, and you become indifferent to the world. the beggar in imagination becomes a millionaire, and for the time he feels that he is in the midst of courtly splendours. but, ah! when one awakes from his dream the pleasures are turned into ashes, and the glory fades as the fires of the pipe die. _sic transit gloria mundi_! on the walls of the restaurant were various chinese decorations. the inevitable lantern was in evidence. here also were tablets with sentences in the language of the celestials. but there was one thing that struck me forcibly as i examined the various objects in the rooms. in the rear half of the restaurant, on the north side of the room, stood a chinese safe, somewhat in fashion like our ordinary american safe. it was not, however, secured with the combination lock with which we are all familiar. it shut like a cupboard, and had eight locks on a chain as it were. every lock represented a man whose money or whose valuables were in the safe. each of the eight men had a key for his own lock, different from all the other seven. when the safe is to be opened all the eight men must be present. is this a comment on the honesty of the chinaman? is this indicative of their lack of confidence in each other? and yet as a house-servant the chinaman is trusty and faithful and honest. he is also silent as to what transpires in his master's house and at his employer's table. the writer has conversed with people who have had chinamen in their service, he has also visited the homes of gentlemen where only chinese servants are employed in domestic work, and all bear testimony to their excellence and faithfulness and honesty. no visit to chinatown would be complete without an inspection of its theatre and a study of the audience. here you see the celestials _en masse_, you behold them in their amusements. let us repair then to the jackson street theatre. the building was once a hotel, now it is a place of pastime; and singularly under the same roof is a small joss-house,--for the chinaman couples his amusements with his religion. it rather reminds one of those buildings in christian lands, which, while used for religious services, yet have kitchens and places for theatrical shows and amusements under the same roof. but the play has already begun. indeed it began at six o'clock--and it is now nearly eleven p.m. it will, however, continue till midnight. this is the rule; for the chinaman does nothing by halves, and he takes his amusement in a large quantity at a time. the theatre had galleries on three sides and these were packed with men and women as well as the main floor. there were altogether a thousand persons present, and it was indeed a strange sight to look into their faces, dressed alike as they were, and all seemingly looking alike. the women were seated in the west gallery on the right hand of the stage by themselves. this is an eastern custom which asiatic nations generally observe. even in their religious assemblies the women sit apart. the custom arose primarily from the idea that woman is inferior to man. in the jewish temple as well as in the synagogue, the sexes were separated. it is so to-day in most synagogues. among the mohammedans, too, woman is ruled out and is kept apart; and so strong is custom it even affected the christian church in oriental lands in the early days. you see a trace of it still in the east in church-arrangements. a chinese play takes a number of weeks or even months in which to complete it. it may be founded on domestic life or on some historic scene. sometimes the history of a province of the chinese empire is the theme. the plays are mostly comedy. there are no grand tragedies like those of the old greek poets. the chinese have had no such writers as sophocles or euripides, no such creators of plays as shakespeare, and they have no such actors as a garrick or an irving. we were invited to seats on the stage--which had no curtains, everything being done openly. in order to reach the stage the guide conducted us down the passageway or aisle through the midst of the audience. then we ascended a platform at the end of the stage and went behind it into a long room where the actors were putting on costumes of a fantastic shape and painting their faces with bright coloured pigments. some of them also put on masks that would frighten a person should he meet the wearers suddenly. the majority of the masks were caricatures of the human face and were comical in expression. we felt quite at home on the stage at once; for here, seated on either side with the actors in the midst of the company, were many of our friends lay and clerical, men and women, looking on in wonder at the strange performance. an orchestra of six or seven members was here on the back part of the stage--and the music! it consisted of the beating of drums, the sounding of gongs and other outlandish noises. now and then above the din you could catch the sound of a clarionet and the feeble strains of a banjo. it was indeed pandemonium! yet above all the noise and confusion you could hear the high pitched voices of the actors as they shouted and gesticulated. the audience, i noticed, was most attentive and decorous. they were evidently well pleased with the play; and what was quite remarkable they seemed to have neither ears nor eyes for their visitors. of course they must have seen us, but with an indifference that almost bordered on contempt they paid no attention to us. in the play one of the actors died on the stage, but the death had nothing of the tragic or heroic in it. after a brief interval he rose up and walked off amid the merriment of the audience. many chinamen come here to spend their evening. the admission is fifty cents, which entitles one to a seat. as the play runs through six hours at a time, they feel that they get the worth of their money. they meet their friends there also; and although they are not very demonstrative towards each other, like the warm blooded races of italy and greece and northern europe and the united states, yet they are very happy in the presence of men of their own race and nation. the theatre is about the only place where they can meet on common ground, at least in large bodies, and then, as we have already intimated, the theatre is something more than a place of amusement in their eyes. their forefathers liked such plays, and they believe that the spirits of the dead are in a certain sense present to share in the enjoyments of men in the body. only men and boys act on the chinese stage. there are no women, though the female sex is personated. this has its advantages. woman is kept out of harm; she is not subject to the indignities and temptations which beset her among other peoples who employ her services. of course there are good and virtuous women on the stage--very many, i trust! but it will be admitted that the life of an actress is one of trial. she must of necessity be brought into intercourse with an element whose moral ideals are not the loftiest, and she must have unusual strength of character to preserve her integrity. she can do it! i believe that men and women can resist temptation in all spheres, in all vocations of life; i have great faith in humanity, especially when sustained by divine helps; but we must not subject the bow to too much tension lest it break. the personating of characters which have in them a spice of wickedness, the taking of the part in a play which represents the downfall of a virtuous person, the setting forth of the passions of love and hatred, must in time produce a powerful effect on the mind of a young woman, and there is danger that the neophyte on the stage will be contaminated with the base things of life before strength of character is developed. the chinese are to be commended in this respect, whatever their motive in excluding their women from the stage. the reproduction of greek plays, in some of our universities, where only men take the parts, shows what could be done among us on the stage, and successfully. the chinese actors whom i saw, exhibited a great deal of human nature in their acting. there was the full display of the human passions; and they entered into their work with zest as if it were real life. some of the men in the audience were smoking cigars, others cigarettes. the asiatic has a fondness for cigarettes. you see the men of the east smoking everywhere, whether in syria, or egypt, or nubia, or arabia. and is it not true that men are much the same the world over, in their pastimes and pursuits, their loves and their pleasures? chapter x the joss-house, chinese immigration and chinese theology in chinatown--conception of god--the joss house--chinese mottoes--the joss a chinaman--greek and egyptian ideas of god--different types of madonnas--chinese worship and machine prayers--the joss-house and the christian church--chinese immigration--chinamen in the united states--a plague spot--fire crackers and incense sticks--the lion and the hen--the man with tears of blood--filial piety--the joss--origin of the world--creation of man--spirits of the dead--ancestral rites--the chinese emperor--what might have been--the hand of god. our study of chinatown and the civilisation of the country of the yellow dragon, as seen in the city of the golden gate, has thus far brought us in contact with the social and business life of the chinese and their amusements; but we are now to visit one of their temples of worship, the joss-house. and here the real man will be revealed; for it is in religious services and ceremonies and beliefs that we get a true knowledge of a race or a nation. the conception of god which you have is the key to your character. if your views of deity are low and ignoble you will not achieve any greatness in the world; but if on the other hand you invest the being whom you worship with noble attributes and look upon him as just and holy, a god of mercy and judgment, your breast will be animated with grand thoughts and lofty ideals will impel you to the performance of heroic deeds. the word joss, which we use for a chinese idol or god, seems to be derived from the portugese, dios, or rather it is the pidgin english of dios. a joss-house then is a chinese idol or god-house. we are now standing before such a place of worship. this is on the corner of kearney and pine streets, and is built of brick, and as we look up we see that it is three stories high. there is a marble slab over the entrance with an inscription which tells us that this building is the sze-yap asylum. let us enter. the lower story, we find, is given up to business of one kind or another connected with the sze-yap immigration society. this, we note, is richly adorned with valuable tapestries and silken hangings, and the rich colours attract the eye at once. if you wish to sit down you can, and enjoy the novelty of the scene. for here are easy chairs which invite you to rest. in your inspection of the place you venture to peer into the room back of this, and you perceive at once that there is the lounging place of the establishment. you see men on couches perfectly at ease and undisturbed by your presence, smoking cigarettes or opium, the chinaman's delight. if you desire to penetrate further into the building you will come to the kitchen where the dainty dishes of the chinese are cooked; but you retreat and ascend a staircase in the southeast corner of the first room, and soon you are in the joss-house proper. this second story is devoted exclusively to religious purposes. the room to which you are now introduced is about thirty feet square, and as you look around you perceive the hangings on the walls and the rich decorations of the ceiling. here are placards on the walls, which, your guide will tell you, if you are not conversant with the chinese tongue, bear on them sentences from the writings of confucius, mencius, and others, with exhortations to do nothing against integrity or virtue, to venerate ancestors and to be careful not to injure one's reputation in the eyes of americans;--all of which is most excellent advice, and worthy of the attention of men everywhere. you then cast your eyes on the gilded spears, and standards and battle-axes standing in the corners of the temple, and as you look up you almost covet the great chinese lanterns suspended from the ceiling. your eyes are finally directed to the altar, near which, and on it, are flowers artificial and natural. at the rear in a kind of a niche in the joss or god. the figure of this deity was like a noble chinaman, well-dressed, with a moustache, and having in his eyes a far-away expression. he wore a tufted crown, which made him look somewhat war-like. it is but natural that this joss should be a blind man. the greek gods and goddesses have greek countenances. the idolatrous nations fashion their deities after their own likeness. and what are these but deified human beings? it is so in greek and roman mythology. the egyptian osiris is an egyptian. it is true that some of the ancients outside of hebrew revelation had a better conception of god than others. even in egypt where birds and beasts and creeping things received divine honors there were scholars and poets who had an exalted idea of the deity, as witness the poems of pentaur. this is true also of some of the greek poets who had a deep insight into divine things. it is not a little interesting to note also that artists of different nations paint the madonna after the style of their own women. very few of the pictures in the great art galleries are after the style of face which you see in the orient. hence there are dutch madonnas, and italian and french and english types. there were no worshippers in the joss-house at the hour when i visited it. worship is not a prominent feature of chinese religious life. the good chinaman comes once a year at least, perhaps oftener, and burns a bit of perforated paper before his joss, in order to show that he is not forgetful of his deity. this bit of paper is about six inches long and two inches wide. he also puts printed or written papers in a machine which is run like a clock. well, this is an easy way to say prayers. and are there not many prayers offered, not merely by chinamen, that are machine prayers, soulless, heartless, meaningless, and faithless, and which bring no answer? but how simple, how beautiful, how sublime, the golden prayer which the divine master taught his disciples! lord, teach us how to pray. if the noble liturgy of the church is properly rendered,--for it is the expansion of the lord's prayer,--there will be no machine-praying, and the answer to prayer will be rich and abundant. the contrast between the worship of the joss and the worship of the true god in a christian church is striking and affords reflection. the former is of the earth earthy, the latter transports the devout worshipper to the throne of the most high. there is no fear that the religion of the joss-house will ever usurp the religion of the christian altar. men have expressed the fear that if the chinese came in overwhelming numbers to america they would endanger the christian faith by their idolatry. but would this be true? has christianity anything to dread? what impression has the joss-house made all these years on the life of san francisco outside of chinatown? none whatever, except to make the reflecting man value the christian faith with its elevating influences and its blessed hopes all the more. it is a mistake then to exclude chinamen from our shores on the ground that they will do harm to christianity. on the contrary the church will do them good. the gospel is the leaven which will be the salvation of heathen men. did it not go forth into the gentile world on its glorious mission, and did it not convert many nations in the first ages? has it lost its potency to-day? no! it is as powerful as ever to win men from their idols and their evil lives. the question of chinese immigration is a large one. it has its social and its political aspects. it is found all along the pacific coast that chinamen make good and faithful servants. the outcry against them as competing with white laborers and artisans is more the result of political agitation for political purposes than good judgment. where they have been displaced on farms, in mills, in warehouses, in domestic life, white men and women have not been found to take their places and do the work which they can do so well. under the geary act immigration has been restricted and the numbers of the chinese in the united states have been gradually decreasing. in the year there were only , chinese in the city of san francisco; but even then there was agitation against them. it was governor bigler who called them "coolies," and this term they repudiated with the same abhorrence which the negro or black man has for the term "nigger." they kept on increasing, however, until in there were in the whole state of california , . of this number , were in san francisco. to-day there are only about , in california and there are not more than thirty thousand of these in the city of san francisco. there are only , chinese altogether in the united states proper. even the most ardent exclusionist can see from this that there is nothing to dread as to an overwhelming influx that will threaten the integrity and existence of our civilisation. the labour-question and the race-question and the international question, aroused by the presence of the chinese within our borders, will from time to time cause agitation and provoke discussion and heated debate and evoke oratory of one kind or another; but the question which should be uppermost in the minds of wise statesmen is how shall they be assimilated to our life? how shall we make them christians? the answer will be the best solution of the whole matter, if it has in mind the spiritual interests of the chinaman and of all other heathen on our shores. there is indeed a plague spot in chinatown, the social fester, which can and ought to be removed. but this is true of american san francisco as well as of chinatown. what, we may ask, are the men and women of as beautiful a city as ever sat on bay or lake or sea-shore or river, doing for its purgation, for its release from moral defilement and "garments spotted with the flesh?" this indeed is one of the searching questions to be asked of any other city, such as new york, chicago, st. louis, london, paris, cairo, constantinople, as well as san francisco. among the other noticeable things in the joss-house were two immense lanterns, as much for ornament as for utility. then i saw a big drum and a bell, used in some of the processions of the temple; for the chinese take special delight in noises, indeed the more noise the better satisfied they are. during my visit some of the joss-house attendants were shooting off fire crackers; and i was told that this was an acceptable offering to the chinese god. one who was selling small, slender incense sticks, said that you could burn them to drive away the devil, an excellent purpose certainly. he also said they were good to keep moths away. doubtless in the chinese mind there is a connection between moths and evil spirits; but you smile at all such puerilities. they belong to the childhood of the world and not to the beginning of the twentieth century. among other creatures which they venerate are chickens and lions. they invest the lion with divine attributes on account of his majesty and power. but the chicken? well, it is a gentle creature. it is the embodiment of motherhood and it speaks of care, not only to the chinaman's understanding, but to ours also. the divine teacher, greater than confucius, said: "how often would i have gathered thy children together as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings!" will china, now waking out of the sleep of centuries, allow him to gather her children together under the wings of his cross? "and ye would not." oh, what pathos in these few words! but doubtless they will. many during the war of the boxers were "gathered" unto him, emulating the zeal and courage and faith of the martyrs of the early days of the church. as the hen is sacred in the eyes of the chinaman, sacred as the peacock to juno or the ibis to the egyptians, they swear by her head, and an oath thus taken may not be broken. one of the images which i saw in the joss-house was pointed out as the god of the door; and how suggestive this title and this office! another figure, on the right side of the altar, which attracted my attention particularly was that of toi sin. he was dressed somewhat like a mandarin, and his head was bared, while tears as of blood were on his cheeks. he lived some three hundred years after the advent of christ; and owing to his disobedience to his parents, for which he was punished in his conscience, and otherwise, he grieved himself to death and wept tears of blood. his image, i was told, is placed in all temples as a warning to children. it is a forceful lesson, and it is a timely warning. the one thing that is characteristic of a chinaman is his filial piety. this filial piety was admired in all ages. it was inculcated in the old hebrew law and enforced with weighty considerations. it was a virtue among the greeks as well as other peoples of the gentile world; and i wonder not that when the heroes who captured troy saw aeneas carrying his aged father anchises on his shoulders and leading his son, the puer ascanius, by the hand, out of the burning city, they cheered him and allowed him to escape with his precious burden. a chinaman is taught by precept and example to venerate his parents and to give them divine honors after death. should a chinese child be disobedient he would be punished severely by the bamboo or other instrument, and he would bring on himself the wrath of all his family. this strong sense of filial piety has done more for the stability and perpetuity of the chinese empire than ought else. it is a great element of strength and it leads to respect for customs and to the observance of maxims. especially are burial places held in sacred esteem, and as they contain the ashes of the fathers they must not be disturbed or desecrated. in this respect we might emulate the chinese, for they are a perfect illustration of the old precept, "honour thy father and thy mother," which, in a busy, independent age, there is danger of forgetting. but we look with no little interest on the joss above the altar, the chinese god. his name is kwan rung, and i am informed that he was born about two hundred years after the beginning of the christian era. such is the person who is worshipped here. that he may not be hungry food is placed before him at times, and also water to drink. it is a poor, weak human god after all, a dying, dead man. how different the creator of the ends of the earth, who fainteth not neither is weary! the chinese have no conception of the true god. they cannot conceive of the beauty and power and compassion of jesus christ until they are brought into the light of the gospel. but what is chinese theology? what do they teach about the origin of the world and man and his destiny. the scholars tell us that the world was formed by the duel powers yang and yin, who were in turn influenced by their own creations. first the heavens were brought into being, then the earth. from the co-operation of yang and yin the four seasons were produced, and the seasons gave birth to the fruits and flowers of the earth. the dual principles also brought forth fire and water, and the sun and moon and stars were originated. the idea of a creator in the biblical sense is far removed from the chinese mind. their first man, named pwanku, after his appearance, was set to work to mould the chaos out of which he was born. he had also to chisel out the earth which was to be his abode. behind him through the clefts made by his chisel and mallet are sun and moon and stars, and at his right hand, as companions, may be seen the dragon, the tortoise and the phoenix as well as the unicorn. his labours extend over a period of eighteen thousand years. he grew in stature at the rate of six feet every day, and when his work was finished he died. the mountains were formed from his head, his breath produced the wind, and the moisture of his lips the clouds. his voice is the thunder, his limbs are the four poles, his veins the rivers, his sinews the wave-like motions of the earth, his flesh the fields, his beard the stars, his skin and hair herbs and trees, his teeth bones, his marrow metals, rocks and precious stones, his sweat rain, and the insects clinging to his body become men and women. ah, how applicable the memorable line of horace! parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. in regard to the spirits of the dead the chinese believe that they linger still in the places which were their homes while alive on earth, and that they can be moved to pleasure or pain by what they see or hear. these spirits of the departed are delighted with offerings rendered to them and take umbrage at neglect. believing also that the spirits can help or injure men they pray to them and make offerings to them. from this we can understand the meaning and object of ancestral rites. in these rites they honour and assist the dead as if they were alive still. food, clothing and money are offered, as they believe they eat and drink and have need of the things of this life. even theatrical exhibitions and musical entertainments are provided on the presumption that they are gratified with what pleased them while in the body. now as all past generations are to be provided for, the chinese pantheon contains myriads of beings to be worshipped. but think, what a burden it becomes to the poor man who tries conscientiously to do his duty to the departed! now this ancestral worship leads to the deduction that it is an unfilial thing not to marry and beget sons by whom the line of descendants may be continued. otherwise the line would cease, and the spirits would have none to care for them or worship them. the chinese view of rulers or kings is also striking. according to the belief prevalent regarding government, heaven and earth were without speech. these created man who should represent them. this man is none other than the emperor their vicegerent. he is constituted ruler over all people. this accounts for three things; first, the superiority which the chinese emperors assume over the kings and rulers of other countries; secondly, for the long-lived empire of china, it being rebellion against heaven to lift up one's self against the emperor; and in the third place it explains to us why divine honours are paid to him. he is a sacred person. he is in a certain sense a god. the view is similar to that entertained by the roman emperors, who, in inscriptions and on coins employed the term deus, and at times exacted divine honours. as we turn from the joss-house and walk away from this bit of heathendom in the heart of an active, stirring, prosperous, great american city with its christian civilisation and its christian churches and its christian homes, we cannot but ask ourselves what would have been the history of the pacific states, of california with its nearly eight hundred miles of coast, if the chinese had settled here centuries ago? if they had been navigators and colonizers like the phoenicians of old, like the greeks and romans, if they had had a columbus, a balboa, a cabrillo, a drake, the whole history of the country west of the rocky mountains might have been totally different. millions of chinamen instead of thousands might now be in possession of that great region of our land, and great cities like canton and fuchau, pekin and tientsin, might rise up on the view instead of san diego and los angeles, sacramento and san francisco, with their idolatry and peculiar life and customs. another question may be asked here by way of speculation. what would have been the effect of chinese occupation of the pacific coast on the indians of all the region west of the rocky mountains? would the followers of confucius have incorporated them into their nationality, supplanted them, or caused them to vanish out of sight? what problems these for the ethnologist! doubtless there would have been intermarriages of the races with new generations of commingled blood. and what would have been the result of this? there is a story which i have read somewhere, that long years ago a chinese junk was driven by the winds to the shores of california, and that a chinese merchant on board took an indian maiden to wife and bore her home to the flowery kingdom, and that from this marriage was descended the famous statesman li hung chang. but whatever the fortunes of the indians, or the chinese in their appropriation of the pacific coast, it would not have been so advantageous to civilisation, to the progress of humanity. it would have been loss, and a hindrance to the anglo-saxon race destined now to rule the world and to break down every barrier and to set up the standard of the cross everywhere for the glory of the true god. his hand is apparent in it all. he directs the great movements of history for the welfare of mankind, and he controls the destinies of nations for the advancement of his kingdom! chapter xi the general convention of first services--drake's chaplain--flavel scott mines--bishop kip--growth of the church in california--the general convention in san francisco--a western sermon--personnel of the convention--distinguished names--subjects debated--missions of the church--apportionment plan--the woman's auxiliary--the united offering--missionary meeting in mechanics' pavilion--college reunions--zealous men--a dramatic scene--closing service--object lesson--a revelation to california--examples of the church's training--mrs. twing--john i. thompson--golden gate of paradise. as we turn away from chinatown, with its oriental customs and its peculiar life and its religion, we naturally give ourselves up to reflection on the mission and character of the christian church. while we recognise the good that is done by "all who profess and call themselves christians," and thank god for every good work done in the name and for the sake of jesus christ, we may more especially consider the development of the episcopal church, pure and apostolic in its origin, on the pacific coast. we must ever keep in mind the services held in this region as far back as the year , by chaplain francis fletcher, under admiral drake, when the old prayer book of the church of england was used on the shores of the golden gate, a fact commemorated, as we have already noted in a previous chapter, by the prayer book cross erected by the late george w. childs, of philadelphia, in golden gate park. this was prophetic of bright days to come. time would roll on and bring its marvellous changes, but the truth of god would remain the same, and the church would still flourish and the liturgy of our forefathers would hold its place in the affections of the people of all ranks, as at this day. drake and fletcher could hardly have realised, however, that the good seed which they then sowed, though it might remain hidden from view for many generations, would in time spring-up and yield a glorious harvest. we are not unmindful, of course, of the labours and teachings of the franciscans among the california indians; but when this order of things passed away and the anglo-saxon succeeded the spaniard and the mexican, it was but natural that the old church which had made great britain what it was and is, aye, and moulded our civilisation on this continent, should seek a foothold in the beautiful lands by the pacific and on the slopes of the sierras. many of the church's sons were among the thousands who sought california in quest of gold, and these argonauts she would follow whithersoever they went. they must not be left alone to wrestle with the temptations which would beset them far away from home and the hallowing influences of sacred institutions and religious services. hence it is that we behold that zealous missionary of the church, the rev. flavel scott mines, going forth to seek out christ's sheep in san francisco and elsewhere, and to gather them into the fold of the good shepherd. his history is most interesting and instructive. he was the son of rev. john mines, d.d., a presbyterian clergyman of virginia, and was born in leesburg, va., on the st of december, . in he was graduated from princeton theological seminary, and soon after he became pastor of the laight street presbyterian church, new york city, where he served with distinction until he resigned his charge in . in he took orders in the church, of which to the day of his death he was a loyal son. reasons for becoming a churchman and the motives which impelled him are set forth in a striking and graphic manner in his monumental book, "a presbyterian clergyman looking for the church," a work of marked ability and of great utility. it had a large sale in his day, and it is still sought after as a book of permanent value. it is a strong plea for apostolic order and liturgical worship, and it is safe to say that it has been instrumental in leading many an inquirer into the "old paths" and the faith as "once delivered to the saints." the rev. mr. mines, after his ordination, became assistant minister in st. george's church, new york city, under rev. dr. james milnor. from here he went to the danish west indies and became rector of st. paul's parish, fredericksted, st. croix, about forty miles square and embracing almost half of the island. owing to failing health he returned, after many arduous labours, to the united states, and became rector of st. luke's church, rossville, staten island. he went finally to san francisco, where he preached for the first time on july th, , in the midst of the gold excitement, and on july nd of this same year, became the founder of trinity parish, where his honoured name is still held in grateful remembrance, not merely by some of the twenty-two original members, who still live, but by their children and grandchildren. the first trinity church was located on the northeast corner of post and powell streets. it was a modest building, which, in , gave place to an edifice, gothic in design, costing $ , . a few years ago the present trinity church was erected on the northeast corner of bush and gough streets, with ample grounds for parish buildings. this sacred edifice is one of the finest and largest churches on the pacific coast, and is a combination of spanish and byzantine styles of architecture. it was designed by a. paige brown, who was the architect of the california building at the columbian exposition, in chicago, and also of the new bethesda church, saratoga springs, n.y. i have thus dwelt with particularity on the rev. flavel scott mines's life and work, because trinity parish is the mother of all the other parishes in california, and because here in this new edifice, where there is a tablet to his memory, and where he is buried, the general convention was held in , a council of the church which will ever be memorable. it is well also to rescue from oblivion the memory of a man who laid the foundations of the church in california on the enduring principles of the ancient creeds. may we not learn also from the facts of his life, which show how faithful and accomplished he was, that the men who are to be heralds of the cross in new fields are to be the ablest and the best equipped that the church can furnish? other early missionaries of the church who may be named here are the rev. dr. ver mehr, who arrived in san francisco in september, , and in founded grace parish; and rev. john morgan, who organised christ church parish in ; and rev. dr. christopher b. wyatt, who succeeded mines in trinity church. there is another also whose name is interwoven in the history of the church's mission in california. it is that of right rev. william ingraham kip, d.d., ll.d., who was consecrated first bishop of california, october , . few, if any, of his day, were better fitted in scholarship, zeal, and other gifts and qualifications for his work than he, who is the famous author of "the double witness of the church," a book which has largely moulded the faith and practice of the churchmen of this generation. bishop kip's immortal work and mines's incomparable volume deserve to be ranked together, and though they differ widely in their manner of presenting the old faith, yet are they one in purpose. is it not a little singular, or is it not rather a happy coincidence, that the two foremost pioneers of the church's work in california should thus be the authors of works which are fit to take rank with the apologiai of the early christian writers or the "apologia pro ecclesia anglicana" of bishop jewell? mines went to his rest in , just in the prime of life, while kip was spared to the church until , witnessing its great increase and reaping the abundant harvest from that early sowing. the growth is seen to-day in the three dioceses in the state. california, the parent diocese, with san francisco as its chief city, right rev. william ford nichols, d.d., bishop, has its eighty-one clergymen, with its eighty-six parishes and missions, and , communicants. los angeles, right rev. joseph horsfall johnson, d.d., bishop, has its forty-nine clergy, with its fifty-six parishes and missions, and , communicants; while sacramento, right rev. william hall moreland, d.d., bishop, has thirty-four clergymen with seventy parishes and missions, and a list of , communicants. all this, however, is not the full evidence of the strength of the church on the pacific coast. there are the church schools and hospitals and other agencies for good, and there are the blessed influences which the church, with her stability and order and work, is exerting among the people. the results arising from the presence of the members of the general convention will be gratifying. everywhere throughout the state of california this august body was hailed with a glad welcome, and san francisco and her suburban towns did everything possible to make churchmen feel at home. the attendance at services was large, and a deep and an abiding interest was enkindled. it was said by the press and by leading citizens, that while many bodies had met in san francisco from all parts of the land, none had ever surpassed in standard that of the convention or even equalled it in dignity, scholarship, eloquence and other noted characteristics. the newspapers of the city, such as the _daily call_ and the _chronicle_, gave up large space to the services, debates and other features of the convention, and they were always complimentary in their comments on individuals as well as on receptions and sermons and addresses. the keynote of the convention was struck by the right rev. benjamin wistar morris, d.d., bishop of oregon, in his sermon based on st. luke, chapter v, verse :--"now when he had left speaking, he said unto simon, launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught." the discourse was in every sense what the venerable prelate had said it would be, a "western" one, and it was a powerful plea setting forth the urgent necessity of extending and supporting the church in her missionary efforts in the pacific coast states. the attendance of members in the house of deputies was unusually large, and while some familiar faces were missed, like dean hoffman, of the general theological seminary; rev. dr. morgan dix, of trinity parish, new york; rev. dr. edward a. renouf, of keene, n.h.; rev. dr. w.w. battershall, of albany, n.y.; mr. spencer trask, of yaddo, saratoga springs, n.y.; mr. louis hasbrouck, of ogdensburgh, n.y.; mr. g.p. keese, of cooperstown, n.y.; and judge robert earl, of herkimer, n.y., yet the personnel of the convention was up to the usual standard. the new deputies, clerical and lay, felt at home at once, and some of them made good reputations for themselves in debate and in committee-work. it would seem invidious, perhaps, to single out any one deputy more than another, when all excelled, yet the names of some of the representative clergymen and laymen of the church may justly be mentioned, as for example, rev. dr. john s. lindsay, of boston, mass., the distinguished and well-balanced president of the house; rev. dr. arthur lawrence, of stockbridge, mass.; rev. dr. reese f. alsop, of brooklyn, n.y.; rev. dr. j. houston eccleston, of baltimore, md.; rev. dr. samuel d. mcconnell, of brooklyn, n.y.; rev. dr. j.s. hodges, of baltimore, md.; rev. dr. george hodges, of cambridge, mass.; rev. dr. cameron mann, of kansas city, mo.; rev. dr. james w. ashton, of olean, n.y.; rev. dr. robert j. nevin, of rome, italy; rev. dr. john fulton, of _the church standard_, philadelphia, pa.; rev. dr. william b, bodine, of philadelphia, pa.; rev. dr. charles s. olmstead, of bala, pa.; rev. dr. george mcclellan fiske, of providence, r.i.; rev. dr. edgar a. enos, of troy, n.y.; rev. dr. j. lewis parks and rev. dr. william m. grosvenor of new york; rev. dr. r.m. kirby, of potsdam, n.y.; rev. dr. john h. egar, of rome, n.y.; rev. dr. george d. silliman, of stockport, n.y.; rev. dr. john brainard, of auburn, n.y.; rev. dr. h. martyn hart, of denver, col.; rev. dr. edwin s. lines, of new haven, conn; rev. dr. daniel c. roberts, of concord, n.h.; rev. dr. alfred b. baker, of princeton, n.j.; rev. george s. bennitt, of jersey city, n.j.; rev. dr. j. isham bliss, of burlington, vt.; rev. john henry hopkins, of chicago, ill.; rev. dr. campbell fair, of omaha, neb.; rev. john williams, of omaha, neb.; rev. dr. frederick w. clampett, of san francisco, cal; rev. r.g. foute, of san francisco, cal.; rev. dr. angus crawford, of alexandria seminary, va.; rev. dr. randolph h. mckim, of washington, d.c.; rev. dr. frederick p. davenport, of memphis, tenn.; rev. dr. alex. mackay-smith, of washington, d.c.; rev. henry b. restarick, of san diego, cal.; rev. b.w.r. tayler, of los angeles, cal.; rev. dr. david h. greer, of new york; rev. dr. william r. huntington, of new york; rev. dr. beverly d. tucker, of norfolk, va.; rev. dr. carl e. grammer, of norfolk, va.; rev. dr. william t. manning, of nashville, tenn.; rev. frederick a. de rosset, of cairo, ill.; rev. richard p. williams, of washington, d.c.; rev. dr. henry w. nelson, of geneva, n.y.; rev. dr. john kershaw, of charleston, s.c.; rev. dr. herman c. duncan, of alexandria, la.; rev. dr. john k. mason, of louisville, ky.; rev. dr. walter r. gardner, of algoma, wis.; rev. dr. george c. hall, of wilmington, del; rev. j.l. mckim, of milford, del.; rev. dr. henry l. jones, of wilkesbarre, pa.; rev. dr. george c. foley, of williamsport, pa.; rev. dr. storrs o. seymour, of litchfield, conn.; rev. dr. charles e. craik, of louisville, ky.; rev. c.s. leffingwell, of bar harbour, me.; rev. dr. rufus w. clark, of detroit, mich.; rev. dr. lucius waterman, of claremont, n.h.; rev. dr. henry h. oberly, of elizabeth, n.j.; rev. julian e. ingle, of henderson, n.c.; rev. dr. charles l. hutchins, of concord, mass., the efficient secretary, always patient and courteous; rev. dr. henry anstice, of philadelphia, pa.; rev. edward w. worthington, of cleveland, ohio, and rev. william c. prout, of herkimer, n.y., assistant secretaries; mr. george m. darrow, of murfreesboro, tenn.; dr. william seward webb, of shelburne, vt.; mr. henry e. pellew, of washington, d.c.; mr. linden h. morehouse, of milwaukee, wis., of _the young churchman_ co.; judge james m. woolworth, of omaha, neb.; mr. burton mansfield, of new haven, conn.; hon. cortlandt parker, of newark, n.j.; judge charles andrews, of syracuse, n.y.; mr. john i. thompson, of troy, n.y.; mr. leslie pell-clarke, of springfield centre, n.y.; hon. george r. fairbanks, of fernandina, fla.; judge l. bradford prince, of santa fé, n.m.; hon. francis a. lewis, of philadelphia, pa.; hon. francis l. stetson, of new york; mr. george c. thomas, of philadelphia, pa., treasurer of the board of missions; hon. w. bayard cutting, of new york; judge john h. stiness, of providence, r.i.; hon. joseph packard, of baltimore, md.; hon. charles g. saunders, of lawrence, mass.; hon. arthur j.c. sowdon, and hon. robert treat paine, of boston, mass; mr. william b. hooper, of san francisco; mr. henry p. baldwin, of detroit, mich.; mr. francis j. mcmaster, of st. louis, mo.; mr. william h. lightner, of st. paul, minn.; mr. richard h. battle, of raleigh, n.c.; hon. g.s. gadsden, of charleston, s.c.; mr. george truesdell, of washington, d.c.; mr. george m. marshall, of salt lake city, utah; and mr. joseph wilmer, of alexandria seminary, va. there is one other name which must not be omitted, that of mr. j. pierpont morgan, of new york city, who, notwithstanding his vast business interests, was in his seat from the opening of the convention until the closing session, watching all the debates and deliberations with the deepest interest, and serving on various important committees. many of the members of the convention, too, were deeply indebted to him for a gracious hospitality dispensed by him in his magnificent temporary home on california avenue. to name the bishops who in one way and another made their presence felt in their own house, in the board of missions and elsewhere, at meetings and in services, it would be necessary to speak of all who were in attendance on the convention. those who were specially active, however, were bishop william croswell doane, of albany; bishop henry codman potter, of new york; bishop daniel sylvester tuttle, of missouri; bishop benjamin wistar morris, of oregon; bishop thomas underwood dudley, of kentucky; bishop ozi william whitaker, of pennsylvania; bishop cortlandt whitehead, of pittsburg; bishop john scarborough, of new jersey; bishop george franklin seymour, of springfield; bishop william david walker, of western new york; bishop leighton coleman, of delaware; bishop samuel david ferguson, of cape palmas; bishop ellison capers, of south carolina; bishop theodore nevin morrison, of iowa; bishop lewis william burton, of lexington; bishop sidney catlin partridge, of kyoto; bishop peter trimble rowe, of alaska; bishop william frederick taylor, of quincy; bishop william crane gray, of southern florida; bishop ethelbert talbot, of central pennsylvania; bishop james steptoe johnston, of western texas; bishop anson rogers graves, of laramie; bishop edward robert atwill, of west missouri; bishop william n. mcvickar, of rhode island; bishop william lawrence, of massachusetts; bishop arthur c.a. hall, of vermont; bishop william andrew leonard, of ohio; bishop james dow morrison, of duluth; bishop henry yates satterlee, of washington; bishop charles c. grafton, of fond du lac; bishop abiel leonard, of salt lake; bishop isaac lea nicholson, of milwaukee; bishop cleland kinlock nelson, of georgia, and bishop thomas f. gailor, of tennessee. it is needless to say that right rev. dr. william ford nichols, of california, who was the host of the convention, was prominent in all gatherings, and that his guiding hand was seen in all the admirable arrangements made for meetings and services. he was ably seconded by bishop johnson, of los angeles, and bishop moreland, of sacramento. some faces were sadly missed, as for example, bishop niles, of new hampshire; bishop huntington, of central new york; bishop worthington, of nebraska; bishop spaulding, of colorado; and the presiding bishop, right rev. thomas march clark, of rhode island. the secretary of the house of bishops, rev. dr. samuel hart, of middletown, conn., was a conspicuous figure in the convention, and he and his assistants, rev. dr. george f. nelson, of new york, and rev. thomas j. packard, of washington, were often seen in the house of deputies, bearing official messages. in addition to the regular business of the convention, there were discussions of a high order on such matters as amendments to the constitution, the enactment of new canons, admission of new dioceses, marriage and divorce, and marginal readings in the bible. the report of the commission on marginal readings was finally adopted, with some modifications, after an animated debate, to the great satisfaction of many who felt the need of such a help in reading the holy scriptures. at times the speakers, both lay and clerical, rose to heights of fervid oratory, and it was an education to listen to men who were thoroughly versed in the themes which they handled. the missions of the church were not neglected in the midst of the exciting debates of the convention, and an important step was taken when the board resolved to adopt the apportionment plan, by which each diocese and missionary jurisdiction would be called on to raise a definite sum of money. this, it was felt, would relieve the board from the burden of indebtedness, and would enable the church to originate new work. no more earnest advocates of this plan could be found in the meetings of the two houses of convention as the board of missions, than in bishop brewer of montana and mr. george c. thomas, the treasurer. their words were forcible and their manner magnetic. bishop doane's eloquent advocacy of the measure also led to happy results. in this chapter on the triennial council of the church held in san francisco, we must not omit to make mention of the united offering of the woman's auxiliary to the board of missions. the women of the church specially devoted to its missionary work had been gradually increasing their forces and activities and offerings. when they last met, in the city of washington, d.c., three years before, they presented the goodly sum of $ , ; but now in san francisco they were to surpass their previous efforts. they were to show forth the fruits of more earnest labours and richer giving. they established their headquarters at sutter street, in a commodious dwelling house, not far from trinity church, where the convention was in session. here various rooms were fitted up with handiwork and other products of missionary labour from the numerous fields where the church, in obedience to her lord's command, is engaged in sowing beside all waters; and no one could walk through these artistic chambers adorned with the work of the indians of alaska and the dwellers of the south seas, the converts of india, of china and japan, as well as mexico and other regions, without being filled with admiration. various dioceses also of the church exhibited pictures of sacred edifices showing different styles of architecture. there were also photographs of noted missionaries, pioneer bishops and other clergy in the collection. here indeed was an object lesson, and in all these works was manifested a spirit of enterprise most commendable. different countries were thus brought together in such a way as to make the student of missions realise the fact that the church had indeed gone into all lands and that the gentiles were walking in the light of him who is the life of men. while there were important meetings held by the auxiliary, and special services were arranged for its members, the greatest interest naturally centered in the service held in grace church on thursday, october rd, when the united offering for the three years ended, was laid on the altar of god. six clergymen gathered the alms, and bearing them to the chancel, they were received in the large gold basin which some years ago was presented to the american church by the church of england. this alms basin is three feet in diameter, and is an object of great interest as well as value. it is used only at grand functions, such as the meetings of the general convention. it was an occasion of great rejoicing as well as a cause for devout gratitude when the magnificent sum of one hundred and four thousand dollars was reverently placed on the altar. behind all this was the love which made the large offering possible, behind it too the devotion which at this most significant and inspiring service, led fully a thousand faithful women to draw nigh to their divine lord in that blessed eucharist which quickens the soul into newness of life. the sermon at the service of the united offering was preached by right rev. dr. nichols, bishop of california, from st. luke, chapter ii, verses - , and was one of remarkable power, rehearsing the righteous acts and noble deeds wrought by women in all ages. one of the most noted meetings during the sessions of the convention was held in mechanics' pavilion, on the evening of tuesday, october th. it was probably the greatest gathering ever brought together on the pacific coast in the interest of missions or of religion. there were not less than seven thousand persons present during the evening in the great hall, whose arches rang from time to time with applause at the sentiments of the speakers, and echoed and re-echoed the stirring missionary hymns sung by the vast multitude as led by the vested choirs of the various parishes in san francisco. it is said that this enthusiastic gathering of all ranks was equalled only by the thousands who had assembled here only a short time before to pay honours to the memory of president mckinley, whom the people loved. bishop doane of albany presided with his accustomed tact and force, and, after suitable devotions, introduced the four speakers. the first of those who addressed the assemblage was the right rev. edgar jacob, d.d., the lord bishop of newcastle, who represented the archbishop of canterbury. he said that there were four methods of spreading the gospel in obedience to the command of the master, "go, make disciples of all people of the earth." these are the evangelistic, the educational, the medical, and the magnetic. of this last he said, "it is that the society should attract the individual. the influence of the individual must be followed by the influence of the society." bishop potter of new york followed in his usual happy vein. then came the eloquent bishop of kyoto, right rev. dr. sidney c. partridge, and after him burton mansfield, representing the laity, who spoke about "re-quickened faith as necessary to all." during the last week of the convention there were some special reunions of colleges and theological seminaries. among the most interesting of these, that of the philadelphia divinity school, with bishop whitaker presiding, may be mentioned, and also that of st. stephen's college, annandale, with its first warden, bishop seymour, at the head of the table. bishop dudley honoured the gathering of alumni at this banquet, in the occidental hotel, with his presence, and warden lawrence t. cole was a prominent figure. the convention attracted to san francisco several well-known clergymen who, although not deputies, were nevertheless deeply interested listeners, in the galleries and on the floor of the house, during the sessions, and were also participants in services and missionary gatherings. among these was the rev. dr. lawrence t. cole, the energetic warden of st. stephen's college, annandale, n.y., of whom we have already spoken. there was also in attendance the rev. a. burtis hunter, principal of st. augustine's school for coloured students, in raleigh, n.c. in this church institute rev. mr. hunter and his excellent wife are doing a grand work for the negro people of the south, on lines somewhat similar to those followed by booker t. washington at tuskeegee. we also noticed at the convention and missionary services the rev. william wilmerding moir, b.d., the zealous missionary at lake placid, n.y., in the diocese of albany. his missions, which have been phenomenal in their growth, are st. eustace-by-the-lakes and st. hubert's-at-newman. under his sowing beside all waters, the adirondack wilderness, in the field committed to him, is blossoming as the rose. never was missionary more indefatigable and self-denying than he, and his rich reward now is in the possession of the confidence and love of his flock. it shows what a true and beautiful life can accomplish for the divine master and for the souls of perishing men, when the apostolic injunction is observed to the letter,--"let this mind be in you, which was also in christ jesus." this is indeed the true spirit in all missionary labours; and, thank god, it animates the church in all its fulness, as evidenced here in san francisco in the devising of methods for the extension of the gospel of the kingdom! during the last hour of the final session of the convention, rev. dr. william r. huntington, rector of grace church, new york city, a man whom every one who knows him respects and honours for his learning, his eloquence, his integrity, his character as a man, his devotion as a clergyman, to the church, and his love for his divine master, created a sensation by a speech which he made. indeed it was dramatic in its character, and it made a profound impression on all who heard it. as he spoke, a deep silence came over the members of the house. as is well known, dr. huntington has for years advocated an amendment to article x of the constitution by which there should be given to the bishops of the church the spiritual oversight of congregations not in communion with the church, allowing the bishops to provide services for them other than those of the book of common prayer. this subject was debated at length, and at last, to harmonise all interests, a committee of conference was appointed from both houses. finally the committee reported two resolutions for adoption,--the first, that article x of the constitution is to be so interpreted as not restricting the authority of the bishops, acting under the canons of the general convention, to provide special forms of worship; and the second, that the bishops have the right to take under their spiritual oversight congregations of christian people not in union with the church, and that the use of the book of common prayer is not obligatory for such congregations, but no such congregations shall be admitted into union with a diocesan convention until organised as a parish and making use of the book of common prayer. the first was adopted, and the second lost. dr. huntington then arose and moved a reconsideration of the vote on the report of the committee of conference. having made his motion, he said, with evident feeling and pathos in his voice: "i may perhaps be allowed in advocating this motion to say a single word of a personal character, or partially of a personal character. i desire to say that i entertain the same faith in the final victory of the principles which i have had the honour to advocate in three previous conventions that i ever have entertained. individuals may rebuke me because of too great persistency and because of too much presumption. great measures, if i may be pardoned in using a political phrase, may be turned down for the time. they cannot be turned down for all time. you have chosen your course for the present with reference to the great question of the opening century. i acquiesce. i resign to younger hands the torch. i surrender the leadership which has been graciously accorded me by many clerical and lay members of this house. the measure i advocated has been known as the iridescent dream. i remember who they were who said, we shall see what will become of his dream. in time they saw. but for the present it is otherwise. the chicago-lambeth platform has been turned down, and what i hope i may characterise without offence as the oxford-milwaukee platform is for the time in the ascendant. i accept the fact. my 'iridescent dream' shall disturb their dreams no more. i recall a saying of my old friend father fidele, whom we used to know in our college days as james kent stone. when he went over to rome he wrote a book with the title, 'the invitation heeded,' and the best thing in it was this: 'i thank heaven that i have reached a church where there is no longer any nervousness about the general convention.' there is no probability, sir, of my heeding the invitation that he heeded, but henceforth i share his peace." the motion to reconsider the vote by which the first resolution of the committee of conference was adopted, was lost; and then dr. huntington retired from the house. soon after the bishops sent to the deputies in message , the same resolutions as having been adopted by them, and asking the house of deputies to concur. the motion prevailed by a large vote, and the victory came for the good doctor, who thought he was defeated for the present, much sooner than he had expected. the closing service of the convention, on thursday afternoon, october the th, was a memorable one. the imposing array of bishops in their robes, the presence of the house of clerical and lay deputies, and the hundreds of san francisco's citizens who thronged trinity church, together with the inspiring hymns and the reading of the pastoral letter by bishop dudley, who used his voice with great effect, made a lasting impression on all present. with the solemn benediction by bishop tuttle at : p.m., the great council of was a thing of the past, but though its sessions were ended and become a matter of history, its effect could not be undervalued. it was a great advantage to the churchmen from all parts of the land to meet in san francisco. in their journeyings from the east and other portions of the country between the atlantic ocean and the rocky mountains they had an opportunity of studying the far west, and they realised more than ever how great is the extent of the country, how inexhaustible its resources; and they were stirred up to greater missionary activity and more liberal giving. the wide domain between the rocky mountains and the sierras and the rich valleys of california bordering on the pacific ocean, inviting enterprising agriculturalists from all sides, were indeed an object lesson. the civilisation of the west too is the civilisation of the east, and the church, with her adaptability, is as much at home by the golden gate as in new york or boston or philadelphia. the convention will help the church in california. its influences have gone out among the people in healing streams. its character and work were a revelation to the populations by the pacific; and already men who knew but little about the strength of our great american church, its order, its catholicity, its aims, have been greatly enlightened and drawn to its services. they realise more and more what a mighty agency it is for good, how it promotes all that is best in our civilisation, and how it adds to the stability of the institutions of the land. the character of the men and women whom the church trains for citizenship and usefulness in the world is seen in two beautiful lives whose labours were finished, in god's providence, by the waters of the golden gate. mrs. mary abbott emery twing, of new york, widow of the late rev. dr. twing, for many years secretary of the board of missions, had travelled across the continent to be present at the meetings of the woman's auxiliary, of which she had been the first active secretary. but sickness came, and after a few days she was cut down like a flower. she was a woman of a lovely character, devoted to the service of her divine master like the marys of old, and was a type of the tens of thousands of the church's faithful daughters throughout the land. as she has left a holy example of missionary zeal and labour, so her good works follow her. the other life of which we speak is also an eminent example of love for god's church, of faithfulness and good works. john i. thompson, one of the most esteemed citizens of troy, n.y., though hardly in a condition physically to make the long journey to san francisco, yet felt it his duty to be in his seat in the convention. so he counted not his life dear unto himself, but with that sense of duty and spirit of self-sacrifice which always had characterised him he was found in his place at the opening and organising of the convention, in trinity church, and answered the roll call. exposures by the way had made inroads on his health and gradually he lost his strength until death finally claimed him on the evening of wednesday, october the th. the next day the convention passed the following resolution: "_resolved_, that the members of this convention have heard, with deep regret, of the death of mr. john i. thompson, a lay deputy of the diocese of albany, and they hereby express their warm and tender sympathy for his family in their sore bereavement." but what a deathbed was his! what a testimony to the power of a living faith in christ! he died as he had lived, a truly christian man, illustrating the power of that gospel which the general convention is pledged to propagate and defend. with him, in the palace hotel, were those whom he loved best of all, his devoted wife, who had accompanied him, and his faithful son, who had hastened from the distant east to the chamber of sickness; with him too betimes the bishop of albany, whose tender words and loving ministrations were an unspeakable comfort to him; with him also his beloved rector, dr. edgar a. enos, of his dear st. paul's church, to break for him the bread of life and press the cup of salvation to his lips, and pray for him as he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and to commend his departing soul to god. he knew he was going away from earthly scenes, and with faith and hope, he leaned on the arms of his lord. trained from his childhood in the ways of the divine life, and having walked like the holy men of old in the paths of righteousness, he had no fear as his feet touched the dark river. he was ready to launch his soul's bark on the ocean of eternity. methinks i see his purified spirit passing out through the golden gate yonder, but to sail over a sea more calm than the pacific. it is eventide now, but "at evening time it shall be light;" and the light of god's eternal city is shed across his pathway as the divine pilot guides him through the golden gate of paradise to the harbour of peace! chapter xii through the city to the golden gate a well equipped fire department--destructive fires--scene at the _call_ office--loyalty to the flag--the blind man and bobby burns--street scenes and places of interest--market street system--mission dolores--effect of pictures--franciscan missionaries--a quaint building--the mosque a model--the presidio--the spanish and american reservation--tents--cemetery--the cliff house--sutro baths--museum--seal rocks--farallones--golden gate--what it recalls--golden poppy--john c. fremont--drake and the golden hind--a convenient harbour--first to enter--with the indians--child of destiny--a vision of greatness--queen of the golden gate. our walks hither and thither in san francisco will lead us to many interesting places, and at times into the midst of exciting scenes. there is an onward sweep of the current of humanity, which is exhilarating in a high degree; there is activity on all sides; and you soon catch the spirit of the place. men have a purpose in view, something to accomplish; and there is the entire absence of lethargy; there are no drones in the great hive. you realise that you are in a city of distances as well as surprises; and wherever you go you find some object or locality or happening that calls for comment. hark! there is the fire alarm. the engines and hose-carts and fire ladders, with other apparatus, pass you as in the twinkling of an eye; and so skillful are the fire-laddies, and so well equipped is the department, that the devouring flames rarely ever make headway. they are quickly mastered. but it was not always so. there was a period about fifty years ago when great and destructive fires succeeded one another like a deluge and wiped out large portions of the growing city. there was then a woful lack of water, which is now most abundant, and the fire engines were very primitive in character and inadequate to the needs of the place. to-day every precaution is taken to guard against fire, and the great business blocks and the miles and miles of handsome homes are well protected. i visited the central department, and it was most interesting to note the appliances of other days. it almost excited a smile to see the simple hand engines and old fire-extinguishers. on the walls of the "curiosity-shop" where these mementoes of other days were exhibited, not far from the chinese quarter, were photographs of the members of the department, of past years; and among the faces were some of the most distinguished citizens of san francisco. all honour to the men who protect our homes thus, who respond quickly to the fire bell which startles the ear in midnight hours, who risk their lives for the sake of others, who evince such hardihood and perform acts which are truly heroic! some old inhabitant, if you question him, will go back to the past and tell you in graphic language about the disastrous fires which have swept over the city laying large portions of it again and again in ashes. the first, which was of consequence occurred in december . then the loss was estimated to be a million of dollars. on may th there was another fire which was a heavy blow to the business interests of the town. a third fire broke out in june th, , and still another on september th, , causing great loss. but, as the climax, came on may rd, , what is known as "the great fire." at the time the chief engineer and many of the firemen were in sacramento, and this greatly crippled the service. the fire-fiend held carnival for twenty-four hours, and property, valued at twenty millions of dollars, was consumed, while many of the people perished in the flames. on sunday, june nd, , there was still another ruinous fire which raged among the homes on the hillsides and in the residence-districts generally. this was accompanied with a most pathetic incident. while the flames were raging around the plaza, a man who was very sick was carried on his bed into the midst of the open place, and there while a shower of flame was rained on him and smoke blinded his eyes his spirit passed to his eternal home in the heavens. but although san francisco had met with all these losses in rapid succession, partly the result of incendiarism and partly by reason of a lack of fire equipment, yet the people, brave-hearted and unconquerable, rebuilt their city on broader and safer lines; and the san francisco of to-day, so attractive and prosperous and beautiful, may be said to have risen phoenix-like out of her ashes. so it is that evils are overruled for good in god's providence, and the fine gold comes out of the fire of discipline, tried and precious! our walks now will lead us up through the city to the mission dolores, the presidio, and the golden gate. but as we proceed up market street we take note of some features of the life of san francisco. behold, here is an eager group of men and boys in front of _the call_ office. they are scanning the bulletin of the day's news from all parts of the world, which will be published in to-morrow's _call_ or in the _chronicle_ on the north side of the street. in the early part of my sojourn in this city by the golden gate i was impressed with this aspect of life here. it was on thursday the rd day of october that i saw a crowd of men of various ages, and boys also, reaching out into the street, besieging the bulletin board of _the call_, at the corner of market and third streets. why are they so deeply absorbed and why so interested? they are reading the news of the victory of mr. j. pierpont morgan's _columbia_ over sir thomas lipton's _shamrock_ in the great yacht race in new york waters, in the cup contest. had this international race taken place outside of their own golden gate, on the broad pacific, they could not have evinced greater enthusiasm and pride at the result. the pulse of san francisco is quickened and the heart thrilled at american success on the atlantic seaboard as much as boston or new york is elated when it triumphs. distance is nothing. it is america from sandy hook to the golden gate. the one thing that impresses you here in san francisco is the intense patriotism of the people, and your own heart is warmed as you see the evidences of loyalty to the flag. i could not but be touched too at the devotion which the people everywhere displayed to the memory of president mckinley. even in chinatown a deep sentiment prevailed, and his draped portrait with his benignant countenance might be seen in houses and stores and in other conspicuous places. as you walk leisurely along you will see on the sidewalk, on the south side of the street, west of the palace hotel and opposite no. , a newstand with american flags decorating its roof; and you will be interested in the man who stands in his sheltered place behind the counter on which are the daily papers. it is george m. drum, a blind man. poor drum, a man about fifty years old, lost his eyesight in a premature explosion of giant powder, in a quarry near ocean view, on the rd of november . yet he takes his misfortune cheerfully. he is chatty and witty and somewhat of a poet and is the author of a highly imaginative story about a "bottomless lake" and a "haunted cavern" in which that strange character, joaquin murietta, well known in all california mining camps fifty years ago, figures. this joaquin murietta has also been the theme of the "poet of the sierras," joaquin miller. indeed it was from this "joaquin" that miller has taken his name joaquin, being otherwise called cincinnatus heine miller. it was my custom to purchase _the call_ and _the chronicle_ each morning from mr. drum; and on the second time that i saw him he said, "i wish to shake hands with you; i know you." "who am i?" i asked, with no little surprise. said he, "you are bobby burns." "bobby burns!" i exclaimed; and, thinking only of the ayrshire poet, i said, "burns is dead!" "oh," he said, "there is a man here in san francisco, whom i call bobby burns, and t thought that you were he." so the mystery was explained; and i could not but reflect that many other things which puzzle us are just as easy of solution when we have the proper key to them. if your walk is extended into the evening through the brilliantly lighted streets, which electricity makes almost as bright as day, you will meet here and there detachments of the salvation army and the american volunteers; then you will see a group of men around some temperance lecturer or street orator. you will also hear the voice of some fakir selling his fakes or wares, or some juggler who is delighting his audience with his tricks of legerdemain. if you desire to make purchases of silver articles or gold ornaments you will go to hammersmith and field's at no. kearney street; and if you wish to spend an hour pleasantly and profitably among books on all subjects, you will visit no. market street or mission street. here you will learn that books on california, whether old or new, are in great demand. indeed all books relating to the golden state are eagerly sought for; and if you chance to have any such you will be reluctant to part with them. they increase in value year by year. the club life of san francisco is an important element; and it will be an easy matter for you to find admittance to the pacific union club, the cosmos club, or the bohemian club, if you have the indorsement of a member. a letter of introduction or commendation from a clergyman or some well-known public man will secure for you the open sesame at any time; and here you can pass an hour pleasantly and meet the foremost men of the city, physicians, clergymen, lawyers, merchants, and army officers. but we hasten on now to the old mission dolores. let us board the street car which leads to its door. meanwhile we have an opportunity to study what is called the market street system. rumour hath it that the street railways will soon pass into the hands of a syndicate with capitalists from baltimore at the head of it. the estimated value of the various lines is said to be over fourteen millions of dollars. these cars are excellent in service, and they climb up the hills of san francisco with perfect ease. you feel, on some of the lines, as ascent is so steep, that the car is about to stand on end, and you cling to your seat lest you lose your balance; but you are perfectly safe. they will take you in every direction as they run through all principal streets and out to golden gate park and the cliff house as well as to distant points in the suburbs of san francisco. away back in the early days of the city the mission was reached by a plank road from the shores of the bay; but now you ride to its doors in comfort. the mission dolores located in the western part of the city will always be a place of special interest. it carries you back to , the same year in which the american colonies declared themselves to be free and independent of great britain. the mission was founded under the supervision of padre miguel jose serra junipero, a native of the island of majorca, who was born on nov. th, . at the age of years he joined the order of st. francis of assisi, and in he went as a missionary to the city of mexico. it was in that he arrived in san diego and established its mission. proceeding up the coast he founded other missions, and his desire was to name one in honour of the founder of his order. said he to don jose de galvez, the leader of the expedition from mexico to california, "is st. francis to have no mission?" the answer was, "let him show us his port, and he shall have one." in consequence of this the san francisco mission was established. the solemn mass which marked its foundation was celebrated by padres palou, cambon, nocedal and peña; and on the occasion firearms were discharged as a token of thanks to god, and also for the purpose of attracting the indians, though it was difficult for them to understand it. the indians were hard to win at san francisco, but a piece of cloth, with the image of "our lady de los dolores," on it, was exhibited to them and it produced a marvellous effect. pictures seem to have a peculiar attraction for the savage mind. in the church of guadaloupe, mexico, you may see a large painting of the mexican virgin with indians crowding around her. the effect of pictures is well illustrated by a scene in the ninth century, as when, in answer to the request of bogoris, king of the bulgarians, the emperor michael, of constantinople, sent to him a painter to decorate the hall of his palace with subjects of a terrible character. it was methodius, the monk, who was despatched to the bulgarian court on this mission, and he took for his theme the last judgment as being the most terrible of all scenes. the representation of hell so alarmed the king that he cast aside his idols, and many of his subjects were converted. the franciscans in their work both in mexico and in california understood well the value of pictures in convincing the untutored mind. hence it was the custom to have pictures of heaven and hell on the walls of the missions. they were better than sermons. the name of the mission here was at first, simply san francisco de asis. then in time dolores was added to indicate its locality, because it was west of a laguna bordered with "weeping willows" or because three indians had been seen weeping in its vicinity. naturally the title of the virgin would be applied to the mission,--nuestra señora de los dolores, "our lady of sorrows." in this mission, as well as in the others, the indians were in a certain sense slaves, as the fathers controlled all their movements. the religious instruction was of the simplest character. the life of the convert also was somewhat childlike, in marked contrast with his experience in his savage condition. his breakfast consisted of a kind of gruel made of corn, called atole. the dinner was pozoli, and the supper the same as breakfast. the christian indians lived in adobe huts--of which the padres kept the keys. some of the missions were noted for their wealth. for example, as you may read in the annals of san francisco, the mission dolores, in its palmiest days, about the year , possessed , head of cattle, tame horses, , breeding mares, stud of choice breed, mules, , sheep, , hogs, yoke of working oxen, , bushels of wheat and barley, $ , in merchandise and $ , in specie. such prosperity in time was fatal to the missions. the spiritual life was deadened, and in time it might be said that ichabod was written on them. the glory has departed. the early franciscans were men of deep, religious fervour, self-denying and godly. they did a splendid work among the indians in california. father junipero was a saintly man, full of labour, enduring hardships for christ's sake, and he is worthy of being ranked with the saints of old. padre palott was a man of like character, and there were others who caught the inspiration of his life. when junipero knew that his pilgrimage was about ended he wrote a farewell letter to his franciscans; and then, on the th of august, , having bade good-bye to his fellow-labourer, padre palou, he closed his eyes in the last sleep, and was laid to rest at san carlos. the lives of such men make a bright spot in the early history of california; and as most of its towns and cities have san or santa as a part of their names it is well to recall the fact that the word saint was not unmeaning on the lips of those franciscan missionaries who laboured on these shores and taught the ignorant savage the way of life. on the day when doctor ashton and i visited the mission dolores we were deeply impressed with what we saw. there stood the old building, partly overshadowed by the new edifice erected recently just north of it. yonder were the hills, north and south and west, which from the first had looked down upon it; but the old gardens and olive trees which had surrounded it for many years were gone, and instead the eye fell on blocks of comfortable houses and streets suggestive of the new life which had taken place of the old. the bull-fights which used to take place near this spot on sunday afternoons are things of the past happily, and the gay, moving throngs, with picturesque costume of spanish make and mexican hue, have forever vanished. the old graveyard with its high walls on the south side of the church remains. tall grass bends over the prostrate tombstones, a willow tree serves as a mourning sentinel here and there, while the odours of flowers, emblems of undying hopes, are wafted to us on the balmy air as we stand, with memories of the past rushing on the mind, and gaze silently on the scene. the building looks very quaint in the midst of the modern life which surrounds it. it is a monument of by-gone days with its adobe walls and tiled roof. its front has in it a suggestion of an egyptian temple. its architecture is spanish and mexican and old californian combined. you can not fail to carry away its picture in your memory, for without any effort on your part it is photographed on your mind for the remainder of your days. these old mission buildings of california and of mexico too are all very similar in their construction. some have the tower which reminds you of the minaret of a mosque. i fancy, as the idea of the mission building with its rectangular grounds, generally walled, came from spain, that the mosque, with its square enclosure and houses for its attendants, was its model. the moors of spain have left their impress behind them in architecture as well as in other things. they borrowed from constantinople, and the city of the golden horn has extended its influence in one way and another over all the civilised world. but dolores is crumbling, and its services, still held, and its "bells," of which bret harte sang so sweetly years ago, can not arrest its decay. in it is seen "the dying glow of spanish glory," which once, like a cimeter, flashed forth here. yet, though a building fall and a nation be uprooted, "the church of jesus constant will remain," shedding its glory on generation after generation and beautifying the human race! let us now pursue our walk in a northwesterly direction to the presidio. the descendants of the old spanish families in san francisco pronounce the word still in the castilian way, with the vowels long, and the full continental sound is given. this makes the name very musical as it is syllabled on their lips. what is the presidio? this was originally the military post of the spaniards, but it is now the military reservation of the united states. we are carried back to the old spanish days as we tread the well kept walks of this garrisoned post. it was on sept. , , as we learn that it was established. there were four of these presidios in california, one at san diego, the second at santa barbara, the third at monterey, and the fourth here by the waters of the golden gate. they were built on the lines of a square, three hundred feet long on each side, and the walls were made of adobes formed of ashes and earth. within this enclosure were the necessary buildings, of the simplest construction, such as the commandante's house, the barracks, the store house, the shops and the jail. the government buildings as a rule were whitewashed. the chief object of the presidios was to give protection to the missionaries and guard them against the indians. the full complement of soldiers in each presidio was two hundred and fifty--but the number rarely reached as high as this. the soldiers in those early days were not, as a rule, of the highest standing. many of them were from the dregs of the mexican army, and among them were men sometimes who had committed crime and were in a measure in banishment. there could be no greater contrast possible than that between the presidio of spanish days and the presidio of the present time, both as to the place and the personnel of the officers and men of the garrison. as you look around you now your eyes rest on wide and handsome parade grounds, on beautiful gardens where flowers bloom in luxuriance, on groups of the monterey cypress, on neatly trimmed hedges, on walks in many places bordered with cannon balls, on attractive buildings which have a homelike aspect with vines climbing the walls, on barracks where the soldiers are made comfortable. the presidio looks like a settlement in itself, and is very picturesque. i will not soon forget the beautiful, balmy afternoon, when i walked through the grounds on my way to the hills above the ocean. here everything was suggestive of forethought, of care, of order, of dignity. the reservation stretched out on every hand and over to the shore of the bay northward where it has a water frontage of at least a mile and a half. in all its area it embraces a landscape, varied and undulating, of one thousand, five hundred and forty-two acres. it is a noble park in itself and well may the nation be proud of it. the presidio was first occupied by united states troops in , on march th, when the sword was trembling in the weak hands of spain. on november th, , president millard fillmore set these grounds apart forever as a military reservation. as i walked on, before me to the west, rose hundreds of tents in which were soldiers, some of whom had returned from the philippine islands, and others of them were soon to embark for the orient. yonder too is the cemetery, where, as on arlington heights above the potomac, sleep the nation's dead; and "there honour comes, a pilgrim gray, to bless the turf that wraps their clay." after your visit to the presidio you will naturally desire to go to the cliff house, that world renowned resort on point lobos south of the golden gate, and about seven miles distant from the city hall. thousands frequent this favoured spot annually, and especially on saturday afternoons is it thronged. you can reach the cliff either by the street cars going by golden gate park, or by the electric railway which skirts the rocky heights of the golden gate. this last was our route, and the return journey was by the street railway. a mr. black and a mr. norton, two of san francisco's prosperous business-men, were going thither also, and, seeing that we were strangers, they with true california courtesy gave us much information and showed us favours which we valued highly. as we sped westward, on our right was fort point just rising above tide water with its granite and brick walls and strong fortifications and powerful guns guarding the entrance to the bay of san francisco. close by the cliff house, and north of it, are the famous sutro baths, always well patronised; and the lofty, vaulted building in which they are located impresses you greatly as you enter it. it stands on the shore of the sea, reaching out into the deep; and the waters, which fill the swimming pools of various depths, flow in from old ocean in all their virgin purity. here you will find all the best equipments and conveniences of a bath house. after bathing you may ascend to a long gallery of the building, where is a museum with a valuable collection of indian relics and stuffed animals and archaeological specimens, and even mummies from old egypt in their well preserved cases. the view from the heights above the cliff house is magnificent. almost at your feet, about two hundred and fifty yards from the shore, are the seal rocks rising up in their hoary forms from the sea and against whose sides the waves dash from time to time in rythmical cadence. here are hundreds of sea-lions, young and old, basking in the sun or disporting themselves in the waters, and ever and anon you hear their roaring, reminding you that here is nature's grand aquarium. as you look northward you see the rocky shores of the ocean for miles, while to the south your eyes rest on a receding beach; and in a direct line some twenty miles westward are the farallones or needles, a group of seven islands consisting of barren rocks, the largest of which, comprising some two acres in area, has a spring of pure water and is surmounted by a lighthouse. here too are vast numbers of sea-lions and wild birds of the sea, which make these islets their home, nothing daunted by the billows which roll over them in wind and storm. surely it is a picture of the steadfast soul in the midst of commotions, when the waves of the sea of human passions "are mighty and rage horribly!" as you look out toward the farallones, as lights and shadows fall on them, you almost imagine that they are ships from distant shores ploughing their way to the golden gate. but what of the golden gate, on which our eyes now rest? the name naturally recalls to mind the "golden gate" in the wall of theodosius, in constantinople, with its three arches and twin, marble towers, now indeed walled up to prevent the fulfillment of a prophecy that the christian conqueror who is to take the city will enter through it. a similar belief prevails concerning the golden gate of the temple area in jerusalem, which is also effectually barred. but whoever named it doubtless had in mind the "golden horn," that noble right arm of the bosphorus, embracing stamboul and its suburbs for five miles up to the "sweet waters of europe." there are indeed some correspondences between the two. as the wealth of the orient flows into the golden horn, the harbour of constantinople for many centuries, so the riches of commerce, the products of great states west of the rocky mountains, and the treasures of the pacific, pass through the golden gate. the golden gate too is about five miles in length, although at its entrance it is a little over a mile wide and widens out as you sail into the great bay of which it is the outlet. this is located in latitude ° ' north and in longitude ° ' " west of greenwich, and has a depth of thirty feet on the bar while inside of its mouth it ranges from sixty to one hundred feet. the shores are a striking feature, and on the south side range from three hundred to four hundred feet in height, while on the north the hills, in places, attain an altitude of two thousand feet; and these adamantine walls, witnesses of many a stirring event in the history of california, are clothed in green in spring-time, while in autumn they are brown, and from the distance resemble huge lions, couchant, guardians of the gate. but who gave it its name, and why is it so called? these were my questions. among the residents of san francisco, whom i asked, was a señora whose countenance plainly indicated her spanish descent, and she said it took its name from the golden poppy of california. this was the gateway to the land of the golden poppy. the poppy is called chryseis at times, after one of the characters of homer; and it is also known by the spanish name, especially in the early days, caliz de oro, chalice of gold. another designation, used by the poets, is copa de oro, cup of gold; while in indian legends it has sometimes been styled, "fire-flower" and "great spirit flower." it was the belief among the indians, when they saw the people flocking for gold from all directions, that the petals of the "great spirit flower," dropping year after year into the earth, had been turned into yellow gold. the golden poppy, the state flower of california, blooms in great profusion and with marvellous beauty on hillside in plain and valley, in field and garden, by lake and river, from the sierras to the shores of the pacific, and it is especially abundant on the hills which skirt the shores of the golden gate. indeed in spring time these are one mass of gold; and hence it would not require much imagination to coin the magic name by which the gateway to one of the grandest bays in the world is known. an old californian song well describes the beauty and luxuriance of this suggestive flower. "o'er the foothills, through the meadows, midst the canons' lights and shadows, spreading with their amber glow, lo, the golden poppies grow! golden poppies, deep and hollow, golden poppies, rich and mellow, radiant in their robes of yellow, lo, the golden poppies grow!" the honour of having named the gate, however, is generally conceded to general john c. fremont. in his "memoirs" he says: "to this gate i gave the name of chrysopylae or golden gate, for the same reasons that the harbour of byzantium (constantinople) was named the golden horn (chrysoceras)." it has been hinted nevertheless that sir francis drake gave it its appellation; and if this be so the euphonious name would be suggested by his ship in which he sailed along this coast, the _golden hind._ at first the ship bore the name of _pelican_, but at cape virgins, at the entrance to the straits of magellan, drake changed it to the _golden hind_, in honour of his patron sir christopher hatton, on whose coat of arms was a golden hind. not without interest do we follow the fortunes of this ship. when finally she was moored in her english port after her voyages, and was put out of commission as unseaworthy, and fell into decay, though guarded with care, john davis, the english navigator, had a chair made out of her timbers, which he presented to the university of oxford, still guarded sacredly in the bodleian library. no wonder that cowley, while sitting in it, wrote his stirring lines, and apostrophised it as "great relic!" how noble this thought. "the straits of time too narrow are for thee-- launch forth into an undiscovered sea, and steer the endless course of vast eternity; take for thy sail, this verse, and for thy pilot, me!" had we stood on these lofty shores by the golden gate in the early summer of we would have descried the _golden hind_ ploughing the waters of the pacific northward. her course was as far north as latitude ° on june rd. owing, however, to the cold weather drake returned southward to find a "convenient and fit harbour" for rest and refitting of the vessel; and, as one of the narrators of the voyage writes, "it pleased god to send us into a fair and good bay, with a good wind to enter the same." was this what is known as drake's bay or popularly as jack's bay, southeast of point los reyes, or was it the bay of san francisco? justin winsor, in his narrative and critical history of america, and hubert howe bancroft, in his history of california, discuss this matter in an exhaustive manner; and the reader after sifting all the evidence afforded, will still be free to form his own judgment. some writers, wishing to give the glory to the spaniards, arrive at conclusions hastily, though of course a name like that of bancroft carries great weight and his arguments deserve the highest consideration. the question then is, was the _golden hind_ the first ship to cross the bar and pass through the golden gate, in the name of queen elizabeth of england? or was it juan bautista de ayala's ship, _san carlos_, in august, , in the name of charles iii. of spain? it seems to the writer that a man of drake's discernment and perception and experience would not be likely to pass by the golden gate without seeing it and entering it. true, it may have been veiled in fog, such as you may see the trade winds driving into the bay to-day often in the afternoon, but there are many hours when the gate is clear and when it could hardly escape the notice of an experienced seaman. the intercourse of drake with the indians who crowned him as king, the services used on these shores out of the old book of common prayer by "master fletcher," the _golden hind's_ chaplain, the naming of the country albion from its white cliffs in honour of britain's ancient title, and the taking possession of it in the queen's name, and many other interesting things, are all told in the old narratives, as you may find the story in hakluyt's collection; and most edifying is it, opening up a new world and making a romantic chapter in the early history of california. the centuries have rolled on since that time: california has become one of the brightest jewels in the crown of the republic; san francisco has been born and has attained greatness never dreamed of by those pioneers who laid her foundations, and before her is a grand career owing to her position and character. she is the child of destiny, with her sceptre extended over the seas which bind to her the great orient. when john c. calhoun was secretary of state he laid his finger on the map where san francisco stands now, and said: "there, when this bay comes into our possession, will spring up the great rival of new york." give san francisco a history as long as that of new york, and then see what mighty force she will develop. has she not at her feet all the great states which stretch out beyond the rocky mountains? has she not the homage of all the pacific coast lands with their untold wealth? and are not her perpetuity and greatness assured? "whoever," says sir walter raleigh, "commands the sea commands the trade of the world, and whoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself." true is it that san francisco commands the riches of alaska, the commerce of china and japan, the wealth of the sandwich islands and of the philippine archipelago as well as the products of the south seas, and what more can she desire? her cup, a golden cup, is full to overflowing; and i see the years coming, in the visions of the future, when the city will cover, like a jewelled robe, the whole peninsula as far south as san jose and will embrace within her government the flourishing towns upon the beautiful shores of her great bay. yes, alameda and oakland, berkeley and benicia, vallejo and saucelito, and the villages as far north as san rafael with all their rich fruitage, will sparkle in her diadem, and teeming millions will be enrolled within her borders rejoicing in her prosperity and her grandeur. all the advantages of tyre and corinth and alexandria, of the ancient world, are her heritage without the elements of decay which led to their downfall; and if she but hold fast the principles of righteousness, which are the best bulwarks of a city or state, she will continue to reign as a queen to latest generations, sitting on her exalted throne by the golden gate! the sisters-in-law a novel of our time by gertrude atherton to dr. alanson weeks of san francisco several people who enter casually into this novel are leading characters in other novels and stories of the "california series," which covers the social history of the state from the beginning of the last century. they are gwynne, his mother, lady victoria gwynne, isabel otis and the hofers in ancestors; the randolphs in a daughter of the vine; lee tarlton, lady barnstable, lady arrowmount, coralie geary, the montgomerys and trennahans in transplanted and the californians; rezánov in the novel of that name, and chonita iturbi y moncada in the doomswoman, both bound in the volume, before the gringo came; the price ruylers in the avalanche. book i chapter i i the long street rising and falling and rising again until its farthest crest high in the east seemed to brush the fading stars, was deserted even by the private watchmen that guarded the homes of the apprehensive in the western addition. alexina darted across and into the shadows of the avenue that led up to her old-fashioned home, a relic of san francisco's "early days," perched high on the steepest of the casual hills in that city of a hundred hills. she was breathless and rather frightened, for although of an adventurous spirit, which had led her to slide down the pillars of the verandah at night when her legs were longer than her years, and during the past winter to make a hardly less dignified exit by a side door when her worthy but hopelessly victorian mother was asleep, this was the first time that she had been out after midnight. and it was five o'clock in the morning! she had gone with aileen lawton, her mother's pet aversion, to a party given by one of those new people whom mrs. groome, a massive if crumbling pillar of san francisco's proud old aristocracy, held in pious disdain, and had danced in the magnificent ballroom with the tireless exhilaration of her eighteen years until the weary band had played home sweet home. she had never imagined that any entertainment could be so brilliant, even among the despised nouveaux riches, nor that there were so many flowers even in california. her own coming-out party in the dark double parlors of the old house among the eucalyptus trees, whose moans and sighs could be heard above the thin music of piano and violin, had been so formal and dull that she had cried herself to sleep after the last depressed member of the old set had left on the stroke of midnight. even aileen's high mocking spirits had failed her, and she had barely been able to summon them for a moment as she kissed the friend, to whom she was sincerely devoted, a sympathetic good-night. "never mind, old girl. nothing can ever be worse. not even your own funeral. that's one comfort." ii that had been last november. during the ensuing five months alexina had been taken by her mother to such entertainments as were given by other members of that distinguished old band, whose glory, like mrs. groome's own, had reached its meridian in the last of the eighties. not that any one else in san francisco was quite as exclusive as mrs. groome. others might be as faithful in their way to the old tradition, be as proud of their inviolate past, when "money did not count," and people merely "new," or of unknown ancestry, did not venture to knock at the gates: but the successive flocks of young folks had overpowered their conservative parents, and society had loosened its girdle, until in this year of grace nineteen-hundred-and-six, there were few rich people so hopelessly new that their ball rooms either in san francisco or "down the peninsula," were unknown to a generation equally determined to enjoy life and indifferent to traditions. mrs. groome alone had set her face obdurately against any change in the personnel of the eighties. she had the ugliest old house in san francisco, and the change from lamps to gas had been her last concession to the march of time. the bath tubs were tin and the double parlors crowded with the imposing carved italian furniture whose like every member of her own set had, in the seventies and eighties, brought home after their frequent and prolonged sojourns abroad: for the prouder the people of that era were of their lofty social position on the edge of the pacific, the more time did they spend in europe. mrs. groome might be compelled therefore to look at new people in the homes of her friends--even her proud daughter, mrs. abbott, had unaccountably surrendered to the meretricious glitter of burlingame--but she would not meet them, she would not permit alexina to cross their thresholds, nor should the best of them ever cross her own. poor alexina, forced to submit, her mother placidly impervious to coaxings, tears, and storms, had finally compromised the matter to the satisfaction of herself and of her own close chosen friend, aileen lawton. she accompanied her mother with outward resignation to small dinner dances and to the matriarch balls, presided over by the newly elected social leader, a lady of unimpeachable southern ancestry and indifference to wealth, who pledged her virginia honor to mrs. groome that alexina should not be introduced to any young man whose name was not on her own visiting list; and, while her mother slept, the last of the ballinger-groomes accompanied aileen (chaperoned by an unprincipled aunt, who was an ancient enemy of maria groome) to parties quite as respectable but infinitely gayer, and indubitably mixed. she was quite safe, for mrs. groome, when free of social duties, retired on the stroke of nine with a novel, and turned off the gas at ten. she never read the society columns of the newspapers, choked as they were with unfamiliar and plebeian names; and her friends, regarding alexina's gay disobedience as a palatable joke on "poor old maria," and sympathetic with youth, would have been the last to enlighten her. iii alexina had never enjoyed herself more than to-night. young mrs. hofer, who had bought and remodeled the old polk house on nob hill--the very one in which mrs. groome's oldest daughter had made her début in the far-off eighties--had turned all her immense rooms into a bower of every variety of flower that bloomed on the rich california soil. it was her second great party of the season, and it had been her avowed intention to outdo the first, which had attempted a revival of spanish california and been the talk of the town. the decorations had been done by a firm of young women whose parents and grandparents had danced in the old house, and the catering by another scion of san francisco's social founders, miss anne montgomery. to do mrs. groome full justice, all of these enterprising young women were welcome in her own home. she regarded it as unfortunate that ladies were forced to work for their living, but had seen too many san francisco families in her own youth go down to ruin to feel more than sorrow. in that era the wives of lost millionaires had knitted baby socks and starved slowly. even she was forced to admit that the newer generation was more fortunate in its opportunities. alexina had not gone to mrs. hofer's first party, aileen being in santa barbara, but she had sniffed at the comparisons of the more critical girls in their second season. she was quite convinced that nothing so splendid had ever been given in the world. she had danced every dance. she had had the most delicious things to eat, and never had she met so charming a young man as mortimer dwight. "some party," she thought as she ran up the steep avenue to her sacrosanct abode, where her haughty mother was chastely asleep, secure in the belief that her obedient little daughter was dreaming in her maiden bower. "what the poor old darling doesn't know 'll never hurt her," thought alexina gayly. "she really is old enough to be my grandmother, anyhow. i wonder if maria and sally really stood for it or were as naughty as i am." alexina was the youngest of a long line of boys and girls, all of whom but five were dead. ballinger and geary practiced law in new york, having married sisters who refused to live elsewhere. sally had married one of their harvard friends and dwelt in boston. maria alone had wed an indigenous californian, an abbott of alta in the county of san mateo, and lived the year round in that old and exclusive borough. she was now so like her mother, barring a very slight loosening of her own social girdle, that alexina dismissed as fantastic the notion that even a quarter of a century earlier she may have had any of the promptings of rebellious youth. "not she!" thought alexina grimly. "oh, lord! i wonder if my summer destiny is alta." chapter ii i she was quite breathless as she reached the eucalyptus grove and paused for a moment before slipping into the house and climbing the stairs. the city lying in the valleys and on the hills arrested her attention, for it was a long while since she had been awake and out of doors at five in the morning. it looked like the ghost of a city in that pallid dawn. the houses seemed to have huddled together as if in fear before they sank into sleep, to crouch close to the earth as if warding off a blow. only the ugly dome of the city hall, the church steeples, and the old shot tower held up their heads, and they had an almost terrifying sharpness of outline, of alertness, as if ready to spring. in that far-off district known as "south of market street," which she had never entered save in a closed carriage on her way to the southern pacific station or to pay a yearly call on some old family that still dwelt on that oasis, rincon hill--sole outpost of the social life of the sixties--infrequent thin lines of smoke rose from humble chimneys. it was the region of factories and dwellings of the working-class, but its inhabitants were not early risers in these days of high wages and short hours. even those gray spirals ascended as if the atmosphere lay heavy on them. they accentuated the lifelessness, the petrifaction, the intense and sinister quiet of the prostrate city. alexina shuddered and her volatile spirits winged their way down into those dark and intuitive depths of her mind she had never found time to plumb. she knew that the hour of dawn was always still, but she had never imagined a stillness so complete, so final as this. nor was there any fresh lightness in the morning air. it seemed to press downward like an enormous invisible bat; or like the shade of buried cities, vain outcroppings of a vanished civilization, brooding menacingly over this recent flimsy accomplishment of man that nature could obliterate with a sneer. alexina, holding her breath, glanced upward. that ghost of evening's twilight, the sad gray of dawn, had retreated, but not before the crimson rays of sunrise. the unflecked arc above was a hard and steely blue. it looked as if marsh lights would play over its horrid surface presently, and then come crashing down as the pillars of the earth gave way. ii alexina was a child of california and knew what was coming. she barely had time to brace herself when she saw the sleeping city jar as if struck by a sudden squall, and with the invisible storm came a loud menacing roar of imprisoned forces making a concerted rush for freedom. she threw her arms about one of the trees, but it was bending and groaning with an accent of fear, a tribute it would have scorned to offer the mighty winds of the pacific. alexina sprang clear of it and unable to keep her feet sat down on the bouncing earth. then she remembered that it was a rigid convention among real californians to treat an earthquake as a joke, and began to laugh. there was nothing hysterical in this perfunctory tribute to the lesser tradition and it immediately restored her courage. moreover, the curiosity she felt for all phases of life, psychical and physical, and her naïve delight in everything that savored of experience, caused her to stare down upon the city now tossing and heaving like the sea in a hurricane, with an almost impersonal interest. the houses seemed to clutch at their precarious foundations even while they danced to the tune of various and appalling noises. above the ascending roar of the earthquake alexina heard the crashing of steeples, the dome of the city hall, of brick buildings too hastily erected, of ten thousand falling chimneys; of creaking and grinding timbers, and of the eucalyptus trees behind her, whose leaves rustled with a shrill rising whisper that seemed addressed to heaven; the neighing and pawing of horses in the stables, the sharp terrified yelps of dogs; and through all a long despairing wail. the mountains across the bay and behind the city were whirling in a devil's dance and the scattered houses on their slopes looked like drunken gnomes. the shot tower bowed low and solemnly but did not fall. iii as the earth with a final leap and twist settled abruptly into peace, the streets filled suddenly with people, many in their nightclothes, but more in dressing-gowns, opera cloaks, and overcoats. all were silent and apparently self-possessed. whence came that long wail no one ever knew. alexina, remembering her own attire, sprang to her feet and ran through the little side door and up the stair, praying that her mother, with her usual monumental poise, would have disdained to rise. she had never been known to leave her room before eight. but as alexina ran along the upper hall she became only too aware that mrs. groome had surrendered to nature, for she was pounding on her door and in a haughty but quivering voice demanding to be let out. alexina tiptoed lightly to the threshold of her room and called out sympathetically: "what is the matter, mother dear! has your door sprung?" "it has. tell james to come here at once and bring a crow-bar if necessary." "yes, darling." alexina let down her hair and tore off her evening gown, kicking it into a closet, then threw on a bathrobe and ran over to the servants' quarters in an extension behind the house. they were deserted, but wild shrieks and gales of unseemly laughter arose from the yard. she opened a window and saw the cook, a recent importation, on the ground in hysterics, the housemaid throwing water on her, and the inherited butler calmly lighting his pipe. "james," she called. "my mother's door is jammed. please come right away." "yes, miss." he knocked his pipe against the wall and ground out the life of the coal with his slippered heel. "just what happened to your grandmother in the 'quake of sixty-eight. i mind the time i had getting her out." iv it was quite half an hour before the door yielded to the combined efforts of james and the gardener-coachman, and during the interval mrs. groome recovered her poise and made her morning toilette. she had taken her iron-gray hair from its pins and patted the narrow row of frizzes into place; the flat side bands, the concise coil of hair on top were as severely disdainful of untoward circumstance or passing fashion as they had been any morning these forty years or more. she wore old-fashioned corsets and was abdominally correct for her years; a long gown of black voile with white polka dots, and a guimpe of white net whose raff of chiffon somewhat disguised the wreck of her throat. on her shoulders, disposed to rheumatism, she wore a tippet of brown marabout feathers, and in her ears long jet earrings. she had the dark brown eyes of the ballingers, but they were bleared at the rims, and on the downward slope of her fine aquiline nose she wore spectacles that looked as if mounted in cast iron. altogether an imposing relic; and "that built-up look" as aileen expressed it, was the only one that would have suited her mental style. mrs. abbott, who dressed with a profound regard for fashion, had long since concluded that her mother's steadfast alliance with the past not only became her but was a distinct family asset. only a woman of her overpowering position could afford it. mrs. groome's skin had never felt the guilty caress of cold-cream or powder, and if it was mahogany in tint and deeply wrinkled, it was at least as respectable as her past. in her day that now bourgeois adjective--twin to genteel--had been synchronous with the equally obsolete word swell, but it had never occurred to even the more modern mrs. abbott and her select inner circle of friends, dwelling on family estates in the san mateo valley, to change in this respect at least with the changing times. v alexina had washed the powder from her own fresh face and put on a morning frock of green and brown gingham, made not by her mother's dressmaker but by her sister's. her soft dusky hair, regardless of the fashion of the moment, was brushed back from her forehead and coiled at the base of her beautiful little head. her long widely set gray eyes, their large irises very dark and noticeably brilliant even for youth, had the favor of black lashes as fine and lusterless as her hair, and very narrow black polished eyebrows. her skin was a pale olive lightly touched with color, although the rather large mouth with its definitely curved lips was scarlet. her long throat like the rest of her body was white. all the other children had been clean-cut ballingers or groomes, consistently dark or fair; but it would seem that nature, taken by surprise when the little alexina came along several years after her mother was supposed to have discharged her debt, had mixed the colors hurriedly and quite forgotten her usual nice proportions. the face, under the soft lines of youth, was less oval than it looked, for the chin was square and the jaw bone accentuated. the short straight thin nose reclaimed the face and head from too classic a regularity, and the thin nostrils drew in when she was determined and shook quite alarmingly when she was angry. these more significant indications of her still embryonic personality were concealed by the lovely curves and tints of her years, the brilliant happy candid eyes (which she could convert into a madonna's by the simple trick of lifting them a trifle and showing a lower crescent of devotional white), the love of life and eagerness to enjoy that radiated from her thin admirably proportioned body, which, at this time, held in the limp slouching fashion of the hour, made her look rather small. in reality she was nearly as tall as her mother or the dignified mrs. abbott, who rejoiced in every inch of her five feet eight, and retained the free erect carriage of her girlhood. alexina, with a sharp glance about her disordered room, hastily disarranged her bed, and, sending her ball slippers after the gown, ran across the hall and threw herself into her mother's arms. "some earthquake, what? you are sure you are not hurt, mommy dear? the plaster is down all over the house." "more slang that you have learned from aileen lawton, i presume. it certainly was a dreadful earthquake, worse than that of eighteen-sixty-eight. is anything valuable broken? there is always less damage done on the hills. what is that abominable noise?" the cook, who had recovered from her first attack, was emitting another volley of shrieks, in which the word "fire" could be distinguished in syllables of two. mrs. groome rang the bell violently and the imperturbable james appeared. "is the house on fire?" "no, ma'am; only the city. it's worth looking at, if you care to step out on the lawn." mrs. groome followed her daughter downstairs and out of the house. her eyebrows were raised but there was a curious sensation in her knees that even the earthquake had failed to induce. she sank into the chair james had provided and clutched the arms with both hands. "there are always fires after earthquakes," she muttered. "impossible! impossible!" "oh, do you think san francisco is really going?" cried alexina, but there was a thrill in her regret. "oh, but it couldn't be." "no! impossible, impossible!" black clouds of smoke shot with red tongues of flame overhung the city at different points, although they appeared to be more dense and frequent down in the "south of market street" region. there was also a rolling mass of flame above the water front and sporadic fires in the business district. the streets were black with people, now fully dressed, and long processions were moving steadily toward the bay as well as in the direction of the hills behind the western rim of the city. james brought a pair of field glasses, and mrs. groome discovered that the hurrying throngs were laden with household goods, many pushing them in baby carriages and wheelbarrows. it was the first flight of the refugees. "james!" said mrs. groome sharply. "bring me a cup of coffee and then go down and find out exactly what is happening." james, too wise in the habits of earthquakes to permit the still distracted cook to make a fire in the range, brewed the coffee over a spirit lamp, and then departed, nothing loath, on his mission. mrs. groome swallowed the coffee hastily, handed the cup to alexina and burst into tears. "mother!" alexina was really terrified for the first time that morning. mrs. groome practiced the severe code, the repressions of her class, and what tears she had shed in her life, even over the deaths of those almost forgotten children, had been in the sanctity of her bedroom. alexina, who had grown up under her wing, after many sorrows and trials had given her a serenity that was one secret of her power over this impulsive child of her old age, could hardly have been more appalled if her mother had been stricken with paralysis. "you cannot understand," sobbed mrs. groome. "this is my city! the city of my youth; the city my father helped to make the great and wonderful city it is. even your father--he may not have been a good husband--oh, no! not he!--but he was a good citizen; he helped to drag san francisco out of the political mire more than once. and now it is going! it has always been prophesied that san francisco would burn to the ground some time, and now the time has come. i feel it in my bones." this was the first reference other than perfunctory, that alexina had ever heard her mother make to her father, who had died when she was ten. the girl realized abruptly that this elderly parent who, while uniformly kind, had appeared to be far above the ordinary weaknesses of her sex, had an inner life which bound her to the plane of mere mortals. she had a sudden vision of an unhappy married life, silently borne, a life of suppressions, bitter disappointments. her chief compensation had been the unwavering pride which had made the world forget to pity her. and it was the threatened destruction of her city that had beaten down the defenses and given her youngest child a brief glimpse of that haughty but shivering spirit. vi alexina's mind, in spite of a great deal of worldly garnering with an industrious and investigating scythe, was as immature as her years, for she had felt little and lived not at all. but she had swift and deep intuitions, and in spite of the natural volatility of youth, free of care, she was fundamentally emotional and intense. swept from her poor little girlish moorings in the sophisticated sea of the twentieth-century maiden, she had a sudden wild access of conscience; she flung herself into her mother's arms and poured out the tale of her nocturnal transgressions, her frequent excursions into the forbidden realm of modern san francisco, of her immense acquaintance with people whose very names were unknown to mrs. groome, born ballinger. then she scrambled to her feet and stood twisting her hands together, expecting a burst of wrath that would further reveal the pent-up fires in this long-sealed volcano; for alexina was inclined to the exaggerations of her sex and years and would not have been surprised if her mother, masterpiece of a lost art, had suddenly become as elementary as the forces that had devastated san francisco. but there was only dismay in mrs. groome's eyes as she stared at her repentant daughter. her heart sank still lower. she had never been a vain woman, but she had prided herself upon not feeling old. suddenly, she felt very old, and helpless. "well," she said in a moment. "well--i suppose i have been wrong. there are almost two generations between us. i haven't kept up. and you are naturally a truthful child--i should have--" "oh, mother, you are not blaming yourself!" alexina felt as if the earth once more were dancing beneath her unsteady feet. "don't say that!" the sharpness of her tone dispelled the confusion in mrs. groome's mind. she hastily buckled on her armor. "let us say no more about it. i fancy it will be a long time before there are any more parties in san francisco, but when there are--well, i shall consult maria. i want your youth to be happy--as happy as mine was. i suppose you young people can only be happy in the new way, but i wish conditions had not changed so lamentably in san francisco.... who is this?" chapter iii i as alexina followed her mother's eyes she flushed scarlet and turned away her head. a young man was coming up the avenue. he was a very gallant figure, moderately tall and very straight; he held his head high, his features were strong in outline. but the noticeable thing about him at this early hour of the morning and in the wake of a great disaster was his consummate grooming. "that--that--" stammered alexina, "is mr. dwight. i met him last night at the hofers'." the young man raised his hat and came forward quickly. "i hope you will forgive me," he said with a charming deference, "but i couldn't resist coming to see if you were all right. so many people are frightened of fire--in their own houses." "mr. dwight--my mother--" he lifted his hat again. mrs. groome in her chastened mood regarded him favorably, and for the moment without suspicion. at least he was a gentleman; but who could he be? "dwight," she murmured. "i do not know the name. were you born here?" "i was born in utica, new york. my parents came here when i was quite young. we--always lived rather quietly." "but you go about now? to all these parties?" "oh, yes. i like to dance after the day's work. but i am not what you would call a society man. i haven't the time." mrs. groome was not usually blunt, but she suddenly scented danger and she had not fully recovered her poise. "you are in business?" she disliked business intensely. all gentlemen of her day had followed one of the professions. "i am in a wholesale commission house. but i hope to be in business for myself one day." "ah." still, all young men in this terrible twentieth century could not be lawyers. mrs. groome knew enough of the march of time to be aware of the increasing difficulties in gaining a bare livelihood. tom abbott was a lawyer, like his father before him, and his grandfather in the fifties. it was one of the oldest firms in san francisco, but she recalled his frequent and bitter allusions to the necessity of sitting up nights these days if a man wanted to keep out of the poorhouse. and at least this young man did not look like an idler or a wastrel. no man could have so clear a skin and be so well-groomed at six in the morning if he drank or gambled. alexander groome had done both and she knew the external seals. "is aileen lawton a friend of yours?" she asked sharply. "i have met miss lawton at a number of dances but she has not done me the honor to ask me to call." "i think the more highly of you. judge lawton is an old friend of mine. his wife, who was much younger than the judge, was an intimate friend of my daughter, mrs. abbott. alexina and aileen have grown up together. i find it impossible to forbid her the house. but i disapprove of her in every way. she paints her lips, smokes cigarettes, boasts that she drinks cocktails, and uses the most abominable slang. i kept my daughter in new york for two years as much to break up the intimacy as to finish her education, but the moment we returned the intimacy was renewed, and for my old friend's sake i have been forced to submit. he worships that--that--really ill-conditioned child." "oh--miss lawton is a good sort, and--well--i suppose her position is so strong that she feels she can do as she pleases. but she is all right, and not so different--" "do you mean to tell me that you approve of girls--nice girls--ladies--painting themselves, smoking, drinking cocktails?" "i do not." his tones were emphatic and his good american gray eyes wandered to the fresh innocent face of the girl who had captivated him last night. "i should hope not. you look like an exceptionally decent young man. have you had breakfast? alexina, go and ask maggie, if she has recovered herself, to make another cup of coffee." ii alexina disappeared, repressing a desire to sing; and young dwight, receiving permission, seated himself on the grass at mrs. groome's feet. he was lithe and graceful and as he threw back his head and looked up at his hostess with his straight, honest glance the good impression he had made was visibly enhanced. mrs. groome gave him the warm and gracious smile that only her intimate friends and paid inferiors had ever seen. "the young men of to-day are a great disappointment to me," she observed. "oh, they are all right, i guess. most of the men that go about have rich fathers--or near-rich ones. i wish i had one myself." "and you would be as dissipated as the rest, i presume." "no, i have no inclinations that way. but a man gets a better start in life. and a man's a nonentity without money." "not if he has family." "my family is good--in utica. but that is of no use to me here." "but your family _is_ good?" "oh, yes, it goes 'way back. there is a family mansion in utica that is over two hundred years old. but when the business district swamped that part of the old town it was sold, and what it brought was divided among six. my father came out here but did not make much of a success of himself, so that he and my mother might as well have been on the fiji islands for all the notice society took of them." he spoke with some bitterness, and mrs. groome, to whom dwelling beyond the outer gates of san francisco's elect was the ultimate tragedy, responded sympathetically. "society here is not what it used to be, and no doubt is only too glad to welcome presentable young men. i infer that you have not found it difficult." "oh, i dance well, and my employer's son, bob cheever, took me in. but i'm only tolerated. i don't count." the old lady looked at him keenly. "you are ambitious?" he threw back his head. "well, yes, i am, mrs. groome. as far as society goes it is a matter of self-respect. i feel that i have the right to go in the best society anywhere--that i am as good as anybody when it comes to blood. and i'd like to get to the top in every way. i don't mean that i would or could do the least thing dishonest to get there, as so many men have done, but--well, i see no crime in being ambitious and using every chance to get to the top. i'd like not only to be one of the rich and important men of san francisco, but to take a part in the big civic movements." mrs. groome was charmed. she was by no means an impulsive woman, but she had suddenly realized her age, and if she must soon leave her youngest child, who, heaven knew, needed a guardian, this young man might be a son-in-law sent direct from heaven--via the earthquake. if he had real ability the influential men she knew would see that he had a proper start. but she had no intention of committing herself. "and what do you think of what is now called san francisco society?" she demanded. he was quite aware of mrs. groome's attitude. who in san francisco was not? it was one of the standing jokes, although few of the younger or newer set had ever heard of her until her naughty little daughter danced upon the scene. "oh, it is mixed, of course. there are many houses where i do not care to go. but, well, after all, the rich people are rather simple for all their luxury, and as for the old families there are no more real aristocrats in england itself." mrs. groome was still more charmed. "but you were at mrs. hofer's last night. i never heard of her before." "her husband is one of the most important of the younger men. his father made a fortune in lumber and sent his son to yale and all the rest of it. he is really a gentleman--it only takes one generation out here--and at present he's bent upon delivering the city from this abominable ring of grafters ... there is no water to put out the fires because the city administration pocketed the money appropriated for a new system; the pipes leading from spring valley were broken by the earthquake." "and who was she?" mrs. groome asked this question with an inimitable inflection inherited from her mother and grandmother, both of whom had been guardians of san francisco society in their day. the accent was on the "who." bob cheever, whose grandmother had asked or answered the same question in dark old double parlors filled with black walnut and carved oak, would have muttered, "oh, hell!" but mr. dwight replied sympathetically: "something very common, i believe-south of market street. but her father was very clever, rose to be a foreman of the iron works, and finally went into business and prospered in a small way. he sent his daughter to europe to be educated ... and even you could hardly tell her from the real thing." "and you go down to burlingame, i suppose! that is a very nest of these new people, and i am told they spend their time drinking and gambling." he set his large rather hard lips. "no, i have never been asked down to burlingame-nor down the peninsula anywhere. you see, i am only asked out in town because an unmarried dancing man is always welcome if there is nothing wrong with his manners. to be asked for intimate week-ends is another matter. but i don't fancy burlingame is half as bad as it is represented to be. they go in tremendously for sport, you know, and that is healthy and takes up a good deal of time. after all when people are very rich and have more leisure than they know what to do with--" "many of the old set in alta, san mateo, atherton and menlo park have wealth and leisure-not vulgar fortunes, but enough-and for the most part they live quite as they did in the old days." his eyes lit up. "ah, san mateo, alta, atherton, menlo park. there you have a real landed aristocracy. the burlingame set must realize that they would be nobodies for all their wealth if they could not call at all those old communities down the peninsula." "not so very many of them do. but i see you have no false values. you. must go down with us some sunday to alta. i am sure you would like my oldest daughter. she is very smart, as they call it now, but distinctly of the old régime." "there is nothing i should like better. thank you so much." and there was no doubting the sincerity of his voice, a rather deep and manly voice which harmonized with the admirable mold of his ancestors. iii alexina appeared. "breakfast is ready for all of us," she announced. "we cooked it on the old stove in the woodhouse. i helped, for maggie is a wreck. martha has swept the plaster out of the dining-room. come along. i'm starved." young dwight sprang to his feet and stood over mrs. groome with his charming deferential manner, but he had far too much tact to offer assistance as she rose heavily from her chair. "are you really going to give me breakfast? i am sure i could not get any elsewhere." "we are only too happy. your coming has been a real god-send. will you give me your arm? this morning--not the earthquake but those dreadful fires--has quite upset me." he escorted her into the dark old house with glowing eyes. he had seen so little of the world that he was still very young at thirty and his nature was sanguine, but he had never dared to dream of even difficult access to this most exclusive home in san francisco. its gloom, its tastelessness, relieved only by the splendid italian pieces, but served to accentuate its aristocratic aloofness from those superb but too recently furnished mansions of which he knew so little outside of their ballrooms. and he was breakfasting with the sequestered mrs. groome and the loveliest girl he had ever seen, at seven o 'clock in the morning. he looked about eagerly as they entered the dining-room.. it was long and narrow with a bow window at the end. the furniture was black walnut; two immense sideboards were built into the walls. it looked ballinger, and it was. it was heavily paneled; the walls above were tinted a pale buff and set with cracked oil paintings of men in the uniforms of several generations. the ceiling was frescoed with fish and fowl. there had been a massive bronze chandelier over the table. it now lay on the floor, but as james had turned off the gas in the meter while the earthquake was still in progress the air of the large sunny room was untainted, and the windows were open. the breakfast was smoked but not uneatable and the strong coffee raised even mrs. groome's wavering spirits. they were all talking gayly when james entered abruptly. he was very pale. "city's doomed, ma'am. thirty fires broke out simultaneous, and the wind blowing from the southeast. a chimney fell on the fire-chief's bed and he can't live. people runnin' round like their heads was cut off and thousands pouring out of the city--over to oakland and berkeley. lootin' was awful and general funston has ordered out the troops. pipes broken and not a drop of water. they're goin' to dynamite, but only the fire-chief knew how. everybody says the whole city'll go, doomed, that's what it is. better let me tell mike to harness up and drive you down to san mateo." mrs. groome had also turned pale, but she cut a piece of bacon with resolution in every finger of her large-veined hands. "i do not believe it, and i shall not run--like those people south of market street. i shall stay until the last minute at all events. the roads at least cannot burn." "this house ought to be safe enough, ma 'am, standin' quite alone on this hill as it does; but it's a question of food. we never keep much of anything in the house, beyond what's needed for the week, and the california market's right in the fire zone. and the smoke will be something terrible when the fire gets closer." "i shall stay in my own house. there are grocery stores and butcher shops in fillmore street. go and buy all you can." she handed him a bunch of keys. "you will find money in my escritoire. tell the maids to fill the bathtubs while there is any water left in the mains. you may go if you are frightened, but i stay here." "very well, and you needn't have said that, ma'am. i've been in this family, man and boy, ballinger and groome, for fifty-two years, and you know i'd never desert you. but no doubt those hussies in the kitchen will, with a lot of others. a lot of stoves have already been set up in the streets out here and ladies are cookin' their own breakfasts." "forgive me, james. i know you will never leave me. and if the others do we shall get along. miss alexina is not a bad cook." and she heroically swallowed the bacon. iv james departed and she turned to dwight, who was on his feet. "you are not going?" "i think i must, mrs. groome. there may be something i can do down there. all able-bodied men will be needed, i fancy." "but you'll come back and see us?" cried alexina. "indeed i will. i'll report regularly." he thanked mrs. groome for her hospitality and she invited him to take pot luck with her at dinner time. after he had gone alexina exclaimed rapturously: "oh, you do like him, don't you, mommy dear?" and mrs. groome was pleased to reply, "he has perfect manners and certainly has the right ideas about things. i could do no less than ask him to dinner if he is going to take the trouble to bring us the news." chapter iv i that was a unique and vivid day for young alexina groome, whose disposition was to look upon life as drama and asked only that it shift its scenes often and be consistently entertaining and picturesque. never, so james told her, since her grandmother ballinger's reign, had there been such life and movement in the old house. all mrs. groome's intimate friends and many of alexina's came to it, some to make kindly inquiries, others to beg them to leave the city, many to gossip and exchange experiences of that fateful morning; a few from rincon hill and the old ladies' fashionable boarding-house district to claim shelter until they could make their way to relatives out of town. mrs. groome welcomed her friends not only with the more spontaneous hospitality of an older time but in that spirit of brotherhood that every disaster seems to release, however temporarily. brotherhood is unquestionably an instinct of the soul, an inheritance from that sunrise era when mutual interdependence was as imperative as it was automatic. the complexities of civilization have overlaid it, and almost but not wholly replaced it by national and individual selfishness. but the world as yet is only about one-third civilized. centuries hence a unified civilization may complete the circle, but human nature and progress must act and react a thousand times before the earthly millenium; and it cannot be hastened by dreamers and fanatics. all mrs. groome's spare rooms were placed at the service of her friends, and cots were bought in the humble fillmore street shops and put up in the billiard room, the double parlors, the library and the upper hall. some forty people would sleep under the old ballinger roof that night--dynamite permitting. mrs. groome was firm in her determination not to flee, and as james and mike were there to watch, she had graciously given a number of the gloomy refugees from the lower regions permission to camp in the outhouses and grounds. ii alexina spent the greater part of the day with aileen lawton, olive bascom, and sibyl thorndyke, out of doors, fascinated by the spectacle of the burning city. the valley beyond market street, and the lower business district, were a rolling mass of smoke parting about pillars of fire, shot with a million glittering sparks when a great building was dynamited. all the windows in those sections of the city as yet beyond the path of the fire were open, for although closed windows might have shut out the torrid atmosphere, the explosions would have shattered them. "oh, dear," sighed olive bascom, "there goes my building. the smoke lifted for a moment and i saw the flames spouting out of the windows. a cool million and uninsured. we thought class a buildings were safe from any sort of fire." "heavens!" exclaimed alexina naïvely, "i wish i had a million-dollar building down in that furnace. it must be a great sensation to watch a million dollars go up in sparks." "i hope your mother hasn't any buildings down in the business district," said aileen anxiously. "i've heard dad talk about her ground rents. she'll get those again soon enough. i fancy the old tradition survives in this town and they'll begin to draw the plans for the new city before the fire is out. it used to burn down regularly in the fifties, dad says." "i don't fancy we have much of anything," said alexina cheerfully. "i think mother has only a life interest in a part of father's estate, and i heard her tell maria once that she intended to leave me all she had of her own, this place and a few thousand a year in bonds and some flats that are probably burning up right now. i gathered from the conversation that father didn't have much left when he died and that it was understood mother was to look out for me. i believe he gave a lot to the others when he was wealthy." "good lord!" aileen sighed heavily. "it won't pay your dressmakers' bills, what with taxes and all. i won't be much better off. we'll have to marry rex roberts or bob cheever or frank bascom--unless he's going up in smoke too, olive dear. but there are a few others." alexina shook her head. her color could not rise higher for her face was crimson from the heat; like the others she had a wet handkerchief on her head. "there is not a grain of romance in one of them," she announced. "curious that the sons of the rich nearly always have round faces, no particular features, and a tendency to bulge. i intend to have a romance--old style--good old style--before the vogue of the middle-class realists. there's nothing in life but youth and you only have it once. i'm going to have a romance that means falling wildly, unreasonably, uncalculatingly in love." "you anticipate my adjectives," said aileen drily. "although not all. but let that pass. i'd like to know where you expect to find the opposite lead, as they say on the stage. our men are not such a bad sort, even the richest--with a few exceptions, of course. they may hit it up at week-ends, generally at the country clubs, but they're better than the last generation because their fathers have more sense. i'll bet they're all down there now fighting the fire with the vim of their grandfathers.... but romantic! good lord! i'll marry one of them all right and glad of the chance--after i've had my fling. i'm in no hurry. i'd have outgrown my illusions in any case by that time, only nature did the trick by not giving me any." "don't you believe there isn't a man in all san francisco able to inspire romance." if alexina could not blush her dark gray eyes could sparkle and melt. "all the men we meet don't belong to that rich group." "bunch, darling. where--will you give us the pointer?--are to be found the romantic knights of san francisco? 'frisco as those tiresome eastern people call it. makes me sick to think that they are even now pitying 'poor 'frisco.' well?--i could beat my brains and not call one to mind." "oh!" "what does that mean, alex groome? when you roll up your eyes like that you look like a love-sick tomato." "mortimer dwight was most devoted last night," said sibyl thorndyke. "she danced with him at least eight times." "you must have sat out alone to know what i was doing," alexina began hotly, but aileen sprang at her and gripped her shoulders. "don't tell me that you are interested in that cheap skate. alexina groome! you!" "he's not a cheap skate. i despise your cheap slang." "he's a rank nobody." "you mean he isn't rich. or his family didn't belong. what do you suppose i care? i'm not a snob." "he is. a climbing, ingenuous, empty-headed snob." "you are a snob. you ought to be ashamed of yourself." "i've a right to be a snob if i choose, and he hasn't. my snobbery is the right sort: the 'i will maintain' kind. he'd give all the hair on his head to have the right to that sort of snobbery. his is" (she chanted in a high light maddening voice): "oh, god, let me climb. yank me up into the paradise of san francisco society. burlingame, alta, menlo park, atherton, belvidere, san rafael. oh, god, it's awful to be a nobody, not to be in the same class with these rich fellers, not to belong to the pacific-union club, not to have polo ponies, not to belong to smart golf clubs, to the burlingame club. not to get clothes from new york and london--" "you keep quiet," shrieked alexina, who with difficulty refrained from substituting: "you shut up." she flung off aileen's hands. "what do you know about him? he doesn't like you." "never had a chance to find out." "what can you know about him, then?" "think i'm blind? think i'm deaf? don't i know everything that goes on in this town? isn't sizing-up my long suit? and he's as dull as--as a fish without salt. i sat next to him at a dinner, and all he could talk about was the people he'd met--our sort, of course. and he was dull even at that. he's all manners and bluff--" "you couldn't draw him out. he talked to me." "what about? i'm really interested to know. everybody says the same thing. they fall for his dancing and manners, and--well, yes--i 'll admit it--for his looks. he even looks like a gentleman. but all the girls say he bores 'em stiff. they have to talk their heads off. what did he say to you that was so frantically interesting?" "well, of course--we danced most of the time." "that's just it. he's inherited the shell of some able old ancestor and not a bit of the skull furniture. nature often plays tricks like that. but i could forgive him for being dull if he weren't such a damn snob." "you shan't call him names. if he wants to be one of us, and life was so unkind as to--to--well, birth him on the outside, i'm sure that's no crime." "snobbery," said miss thorndyke, who was intellectual at the moment and cultivating the phrase, "is merely a rather ingenuous form of aspiration. i can't see that it varies except in kind from other forms of ambition. and without ambition there would be no progress." "oh, can it," sneered judge lawton's daughter. "you're all wrong, anyhow. snobbery leads to the rocks much oftener than to high achievement. i've heard dad say so, and you won't venture to assert that _he_ doesn't know. it bears about the same relation to progress that grafting does to legitimate profits. anyhow, it makes me sick, and i'm not going to have alex falling in love with a poor fish--" "fish?" alexina's voice rose above a fresh detonation, "you dare--and you think i'm going to ask you whom i shall fall in love with? fish? what do you call those other shrimps who don't think of anything but drinking and sport, whether they attend to business or not?--their fathers make them, anyhow. and you want to marry one of them! they're fish, if you like." the two girls were glaring at each other. gray eyes were blazing, green eyes snapping. two sets of white even teeth were bared. they looked like a couple of belligerent puppies. another moment and they would have forgotten the sacred traditions of their class and flown at each other's hair. but miss bascom interposed. even the loss of her uninsured million did not ruffle her, for she had another in government and railroad bonds, and full confidence in her brother, who was an admirable business man, and not in the least dissipated. "come, come," she said. "it's much too hot to fight. dwight is not good enough for alex--from a worldly point of view, i mean," as alexina made a movement in her direction. "we should none of us marry out of our class. it never works, somehow. but mr. dwight is really quite all right otherwise. i like him very much, alex darling, and i don't mind his being an outsider in the least--so long as he doesn't try to marry one of us. he's _too_ good-looking, and his heels are fairly inspired. no one questions the fact that he is an honorable and worthy young man, working like a real man to earn his living. it isn't at all as if he were an adventurer. he has never struck me as being more of a snob than most people, and i don't see why i haven't thought to ask him down to san mateo for a week-end." "you'll certainly have a friend for life if you do," said aileen satirically. "fall in love with him yourself if you choose. you can afford it." "no fear. i've made up my mind. i'm going to marry a french marquis." "what?" even alexina forgot mortimer dwight. "who is he? where did you meet him?" "i haven't met him yet. but i shall. i'm going to paris next winter to visit my aunt, and i'll find one. you get anything in this world you go for hard enough. to be a french marquise is the most romantic thing in the world." "why not elton gwynne? it's an open secret that he's an english marquis. or that young gathbroke lady victoria brought last night?" "he's a younger son, and he never looked at any one but alex. and isabel otis has preëmpted mr. gwynne. and i adore france and don't care about england." "well, that is romantic if you like!" cried aileen, her green eyes dancing. "you have my best wishes. doesn't it make your geary street knight look cheap--he boards somewhere down on geary street." "no, it doesn't! and i'm a good american. french marquis, indeed! mr. dwight comes of the best old american stock from new york. he told mother so, i'd spit on any old decadent european title." "i wish your mother could hear you. so--he's been getting round her has he? where on earth did he meet her?" alexina, with sulky triumph, reported mr. dwight's early visit and the favorable impression he had made. aileen groaned. "that's just the one thing she would fall for in a rank outsider--superlative manners. his being poor is rather in his favor. i'll put a flea in her ear--" "you dare!" aileen lifted her shoulders. "well, as a matter of fact i can't. tattling just isn't in my line. but if i can queer him with you i will." "i won't talk about him any more." alexina drew herself up with immense dignity. she had the advantage of aileen not only in inches but in a natural repose of manner. the eminent judge lawton's only child, upon whom, possibly, he may have lavished too much education, had a thin nervous little body that was seldom in repose, and her face, with its keen irregular features and brilliant green eyes, shifted its surface impressions as rapidly as a cinematograph. olive bascom had soft blue eyes and abundant brown hair, and sibyl thorndyke had learned to hold her long black eyes half closed, and had the black hair and rich complexion of a creole great-grandmother. alexina was admittedly the "beauty of the bunch." nevertheless, miss lawton had informed her doting parent before this, her first season, was half over, that she was _vivid_ enough to hold her own with the best of them. the boys said she was a live wire and she preferred that high specialization to the tameness of mere beauty. iv said alexina: "sibyl, what are you going to do with your young life? shall you marry an english duke or a new york millionaire?" but miss thorndyke smiled mysteriously. she was not as frank as the other girls, although by no means as opaque as she imagined. aileen laughed. "oh, don't ask her. doubt if she knows. to-day she's all for being intellectual and reading those damn dull russian novelists. to-morrow she may be setting up as an odalisque. it would suit her style better." miss thorndyke's face was also crimson from the heat, but she would not have flushed had it been the day before. she was not subject to sudden reflexes. "your satire is always a bit clumsy, dear," she said sweetly. "the odalisque is not your rôle at all events." "i don't go in for rôles." and the four girls wrangled and dreamed and planned, while a city burnt beneath them; some three hundred million dollars flamed out, lives were ruined, exterminated, altered; and labor sat on the hills and smiled cynically at the tremendous impetus the earth had handed them on that morning of april eighteenth, nineteen hundred and six. they were too young to know or to care. when the imagination is trying its wings it is undismayed even by a world at war. chapter v i that night alexina knew that romance had surely come to her. she shared her room with three old ladies who slept fitfully between blasts of dynamite. but she sat at the window with no desire for oblivion. on the lawn paced a young man with a rifle in the crook of his arm. he was tall and young and very gallant of bearing; no less a person than mortimer dwight, who had been sworn in that morning as a member of the citizens' patrol, and at his own request detailed to keep watch over the house of mrs. groome. he had not been able to pay his promised visits during the day but had arrived at seven o'clock, dining beside mrs. abbott, and surrounded by old ladies whose names were as historic as mrs. groome's. the cook had deserted after the second heavy shock, and, with her wardrobe in a pillow case, had tramped to the farthest confines of the presidio. it was not fear alone that induced her flight. there was a rumor that the government would feed the city, and why should not a hard-working woman enjoy a month or two of sheer idleness? let the quality cook for themselves. it would do them good. james and the housemaid had cooked the dinner, and alexina and her friends waited on the table. then the girls, to alexina's relief, went home to inquire after their families, and she accompanied mr. dwight while he explored every corner of the grounds to make sure that no potential thieves lurked in the heavy shadows cast by the trees. he had been very alert and thorough and alexina admired him consumedly. there was no question but that he was one of those men--aileen called it the one hundred per cent male--upon whose clear brain and strong arm a woman might depend even in the midst of an infuriated mob. he had an opportunity that comes to few aspiring young men born into the world's unblest millions, and if he made the most of it he was equally assured that he was acting in strict accord with the instincts and characteristics that had descended upon him by the grace of god. ii there was no physical cowardice in him; and if he would have preferred a life of ease and splendor, he had no illusions regarding the amount of "hustling" necessary to carry him to the goal of his desires and ambitions--unless he made a lucky strike. he played the stock market in a small way and made a few hundred dollars now and then. he would have been glad to marry a wealthy girl, olive bascom, by preference, for he had an inner urge to the short cut, but he had found these spoiled daughters of san francisco unresponsive ... and then, suddenly, he had fallen in love with alexina groome. his past was green and prophylactic. he was moral both by inheritance and necessity, and his parents, people of fair intelligence, if rather ineffective, stern principles, and good old average ideals, had taken their responsibilities toward their two children very seriously. people who talked with young dwight might not find him resourceful in conversation but they were deeply impressed with his manners and principles. the younger men, with the exception of bob cheever, who respected his capacity for work, did not take to him; principally, no doubt, he reflected with some bitterness, because he was not "their sort." he never admitted to himself that he was a snob, for something deep and still unfaced in his consciousness, bade him see as little fault in himself as possible, forbade him to admit the contingency of a failure, impelled him to call such weaknesses as the fortunate condemned by some one of those interchangeable terms with which the lexicons are so generous. but if he would not face the word snob he told himself proudly that he was ambitious; and why should he not aspire to the best society? was he not entitled to it by birth? his family may not have been prominent to excess in utica, but it was indisputably "old." however, he assured himself that the chief reason for his determination to mingle with the social elect of san francisco was not so much a tribute to his ancestors, or even the insistence of youth for the decent pleasures of that brief period, but because of the opportunities to make those friends indispensable to every young man forced to cut his own way through life. even if his good conscience had compelled him to admit that he was a snob he would have reminded it there was no harm in snobbery anyway. it was the most amiable of the vices. but he thought too well of himself for any such admission, and his mind had not been trained to fish, even, in shallow waters. nor did he admit that if the lovely miss groome had been a stenographer he would not have looked at her. he would indeed have turned his face resolutely in the other direction if she had happened to sit in his employer's office. fate forbade him a marriage of that sort, and dalliance with an inferior was forbidden both by his morals and his social integrity. but that alexina groome should be beautiful, as exaltedly born as only a san franciscan of the old stock might be, with a determinate income, however modest, with a background of friendly males, as substantial financially as socially, who would be sure to give a new member of the family a leg-up (he liked the atmosphere and flavor of the lighter english novels), and, above all, responsive, seemed to him a direct reward for the circumspect life he had lived and his fidelity to his chosen upward path. iii he was free to fall in love as profoundly as was in him, and during that early hour of the agitated night, with that pit of hell roaring below to the steady undertone of a thousand tramping feet, he felt, despite the fact that all business was moribund for the present and his savings were in the hot vaults of a dynamited bank, that he was a supremely fortunate young man. moreover, this disaster furnished a steady topic for conversation. he was aware that he contributed little froth and less substance to a dinner table, that, in short, he did not keep up his end. although he assured himself that small talk was beneath a man of serious purpose, and that no one could acquire it anyhow in society unless addicted to sport, still there had been times when he was painfully aware that a dinner partner or some bright charming creature whose invitation to call he had accepted, looked politely bored or chattered desperately to cover the silences into which he abruptly relapsed; when, "for the life of him he had not been able to think of a thing to say." then, briefly, he had felt a bitter rebellion at fate for having denied him the gift of a lively and supple mind, as well as those numberless worldly benefits lavished on men far less deserving than he. he felt dull and depressed after such revelations and sometimes considered attending evening lectures at the university of california with his sister. but for this form of mental exertion he had no taste, keenly as he applied himself to his work during the hours of business; and he assured himself that such knowledge would do him no good anyway. it did not seem to be prevalent in society. if he had been a brilliant hand at bridge or poker, the inner fortifications of society would have gone down before him, but his courage did not run to card gambling with wealthy idlers who set their own pace. on the stock market he could step warily and no one the wiser. it would have horrified him to be called a piker, for his instincts were really lavish, and the economical habit an achievement in which he took a resentful pride. iv on this evening he had talked almost incessantly to alexina, and she, in the vocabulary of her years and set, had thought him frantically interesting as he described the immediate command of the city assumed by general funston, the efforts of the committee of fifty, formed early that morning by leading citizens, to help preserve order and to give assistance to the refugees; of rich young men, and middle-aged citizens who had not spent an afternoon away from their club window for ten years, carrying dynamite in their cars through the very flames; of wild and terrible episodes he had witnessed or heard of during the day. his brain was hot from the mental and physical atmosphere of the perishing city, the unique excitement of the day: when he had felt as if snatched from his quiet pasture by the roots; and by the extraordinary good fortune that had delivered this perfect girl and her formidable parent almost into his hands. under his sternly controlled exterior his spirits sang wildly that his luck had turned, and dazzling visions of swift success and fulfillment of all ambitions snapped on and off in his stimulated brain. alexina thought him not only immoderately fascinating in his appeal to her own imperious youth, but the most interesting life partner that a romantic maiden with secret intellectual promptings could demand. her brilliant long eyes melted and flashed, her soft unformed mouth wore a constant alluring smile. a declaration trembled on his tongue, but he felt that he would be taking an unfair advantage and restrained himself. besides, he wished to win mrs. groome completely to his side, to say nothing of the still more alarming because more worldly mrs. abbott. _she_ was a snob, if you like! v at nine o'clock, after he had given the inmates of the house and outbuildings stern orders not to light a candle or lamp under any circumstances--such was the emergency law--he bade alexina a gallant good-night, and betook himself to the lawn within the grove of sighing eucalyptus trees, to pace up and down, his rifle in his arm, his eyes alert, and quite aware of the admiring young princess at the casement above. he did his work very thoroughly, visiting outhouses at intervals and sharply inspecting the weary occupants, as well as the prostrate forms under the trees. they were all far too tired and apprehensive to dream of breaking into the house that had given them hospitality, even had they been villains, which they were not. but they did not resent his inspection; rather they felt a sense of security in this watching manly figure with the gun, for they were rather afraid of villains themselves: it was reported that many looters had been stood against hissing walls and shot by the stern orders of general punston. they asked their more immediate protector questions as to the progress of the fire, which he answered curtly, as befitted his office. chapter vi i mrs. abbott entered alexina's room and caught her hanging out of the window. she had motored up to the city during the afternoon, and, after a vain attempt to persuade her mother to go down at once to alta, had concluded to remain over night. the spectacle was the most horrifyingly interesting she had ever witnessed in her temperate life, and her self-denying aunt clara was in charge of the children. her husband had driven himself to town as soon as he heard of the fire and been sworn in a member of the committee of fifty. "darling," she said firmly to the sister who was little older than her first-born, "i want to have a talk with you. come into papa's old dressing-room. i had a cot put there, and as there is no room for another i am quite alone." alexina followed with lagging feet. she had always given her elder sister the same surface obedience that she gave her mother. it "saved trouble." but life had changed so since morning that she was in no mood to keep up the rôle of "little sister," sweet and malleable and innocent as a ballinger-groome at the age of eighteen should be. ii she dropped on the floor and embraced her knees with her arms. mrs. abbott seated herself in as dignified an attitude as was possible on the edge of the cot. even the rocking-chairs had been taken down to the dining-room. "well?" queried alexina, pretending to stifle a yawn. "what is it? i am too sleepy to think." "sleepy? you looked sleepy with your eyes like saucers watching that young man." "everybody that can is watching the fire--" "don't quibble, alexina. you are naturally a truthful child. do you mean to tell me you were not watching mr. dwight?" "well, if i say yes, it is not because i care a hang about living up to my reputation, but because i don't care whether you know it or not." "that is very naughty--" "stop talking to me as if i were a child." "you are excited, darling, and no wonder." maria abbott was in the process of raising a family and she did it with tact and firmness. nature had done much to assist her in her several difficult rôles. she was very tall straight and slender, with a haughty little head, as perfect in shape as alexina's, set well back on her shoulders, and what had been known in her grandmother ballinger's day as a cameo-profile. her abundant fair hair added to the high calm of her mien and it was always arranged in the prevailing fashion. on the street she invariably wore the tailored suit, and her tailor was the best in new york. she thought blouses in public indecent, and wore shirtwaists of linen or silk with high collars, made by the same master-hand. there was nothing masculine in her appearance, but she prided herself upon being the best groomed woman even in that small circle of her city that dressed as well as the fashionable women of new york. at balls and receptions she wore gowns of an austere but expensive simplicity, and as the simple jewels of her inheritance looked pathetic beside the blazing necklaces and sunbursts (there were only two or three tiaras in san francisco) of those new people whom she both deplored and envied, she wore none; and she was assured that the lack added to the distinction of her appearance. but although she felt it almost a religious duty to be smart, determined as she was that the plutocracy should never, while she was alive, push the aristocracy through, the wall and out of sight, she was a strict conformer to the old tradition that had looked upon all arts to enhance and preserve youth as the converse of respectable. her once delicate pink and white skin was wrinkled and weather-beaten, her nose had never known powder; but even in the glare of the fire her skin looked cool and pale, for the heat had not crimsoned her. her blood was rather thin and she prided herself upon the fact. she may have lost her early beauty, but she looked the indubitable aristocrat, the lady born, as her more naïve grandmothers would have phrased it. it sufficed. iii by those that did not have the privilege of her intimate acquaintance she was called "stuck-up," "a snob," a mid-victorian who ought to dress like her more consistent mother, "rather a fool, if the truth were known, no doubt." in reality she was a tender-hearted and anxious mother, daughter, and sister, and an impeccable wife, if a somewhat monotonous one. at all events her husband never found fault with her in public or private. he had his reasons. to the friends of her youth and to all members of her own old set, she was intensely loyal; and although she had a cold contempt for the institution of divorce, if one of that select band strayed into it, no matter at which end, her loyalty rose triumphant above her social code, and she was not afraid to express it publicly. toward alexina she felt less a sister than a second mother, and gave her freely of her abundant maternal reservoir. that "little sister" had at times sulked under this proud determination to assist in the bringing-up of the last of the ballinger-groomes, did not discourage her. she might be soft in her affections but she never swerved from her duty as she saw it. alexina was a darling wayward child, who only needed a firm hand to guide her along that proud secluded old avenue of the city's elect, until she had ambled safely to established respectability and power. she had been alarmed at one time at certain symptoms of cleverness she noticed in the child, and at certain enthusiastic remarks in the letters of ballinger groome, with whose family alexina had spent her vacations during her two years in new york at school. but there had been no evidence of anything but a young girl's natural love of pleasure since her début in society, and she was quite unaware of alexina's wicked divagations. she had spent the winter in santa barbara, for the benefit of her oldest, boy, whose lungs were delicate, and, like her mother, never deigned to read the society columns of the newspapers. her reason, however, was her own. in spite of her blood, her indisputable position, her style, she cut but a small figure in those columns. she was not rich enough to vie with those who entertained constantly, and was merely set down as one of many guests. the fact induced a slight bitterness. iv she began tactfully. "i like this young mr. dwight very much, and shall ask him down, as mother desires it. but i hope, darling, that you will follow my example and not marry until you have had four years of society, in other words have seen something of the world--" "california is not the world." "society, in other words human nature, is everywhere much alike. as you know, i spent a year in england when i was a young lady, and was presented at court--by lady barnstable, who was lee tarlton, one of us. it was merely san francisco on a large scale, with titles, and greater and older houses and parks, and more jewels, and more arrogance, and everything much grander, of course. and they talked politics a great deal, which bored me as i am sure they would bore you. the beauty of our society is its simplicity and lack of arrogance--consciousness of birth or of wealth. even the more recent members of society, who owe their position to their fortunes, have a simplicity and kindness quite unknown in new york. eastern people always remark it. and yet, owing to their constant visits to the east and to europe, they know all of the world there is to know." "so do the young men, i suppose! i never heard of their doing much traveling--" "i should call them remarkably sophisticated young men. but the point is, darling, that if you wait as long as i did you will discover that the men who attract a girl in her first season would bore her to extinction in her fourth." "you mean after i've had all the bloom rubbed off, and men are forgetting to ask me to dance. then i'll be much more likely to take what i can get. i want to marry with all the bloom on and all my illusions fresh." "but should you like to have them rubbed off by your husband? you've heard the old adage: 'marry in haste and repent--'" "i've been brought up on adages. they are called bromides now. as for illusions, everybody says they don't last anyway. i'd rather have them dispelled after a long wonderful honeymoon by a husband than by a lot of flirtations in a conservatory and in dark corners--" "good heavens! do you suppose that i flirted in a conservatory and in dark corners?" "i'll bet you didn't, but lots do. and in the haute noblesse, the ancient aristocracy! i've seen 'em." "it isn't possible that you--" "oh, no, i love to dance too much. but i'm not easily shocked. i 'll tell you that right here. and i 'll tell you what i confessed to mother this morning." v when she had finished mrs. abbott sat for a few moments petrified; but she was thirty-eight, not sixty-five, and there was neither dismay nor softening in her narrowed light blue eyes. "but that is abominable! abominable!" and alexina, who was prepared for a scolding, shrank a little, for it was the first time that her doting sister had spoken to her with severity. "i don't care," she said stubbornly, and she set her soft lips until they looked stern and hard. "but you must care. you are a groome." "oh, yes, and a ballinger, and a geary, and all the rest of it. but i'm also going to annex another name of my own choosing. i'll marry whom i damn please, and that is the end of it." "alexina groome!" mrs. abbott arose in her wrath. "cannot you see for yourself what association with all these common people has done to you? it's the influence--" "of two years in new york principally. the girls there are as hard as nails--try to imitate the english. ours are not a patch, not even aileen, although she does her best. but i hadn't finished--i even powder my face." alexina grinned up at her still rudderless sister. "after mother is asleep and i am ready to slip out." "i thought you were safe in new york under the eyes of ballinger and geary, or rather of mattie and charlotte. they are such earnest good women, so interested in charities--" "deadly. but you don't know the girls," "and i have told mother again and again that she should not permit you to associate with aileen lawton." "she can't help herself. aileen is one of us. besides, mother is devoted to the judge." "but powder! none of us has ever put anything but clean cold water on her face." "you'd look a long sight better if you did. cold cream, too. you wouldn't have any wrinkles at your age, if you weren't so damn respectable-aristocratic, you call it. it's just middle class. and as out of date as speech without slang. as for me, i'd paint my lips as aileen does, only i don't like the taste, and they're too red, anyhow. it's much smarter to make up than not to. times change. you don't wear hoopskirts because our magnificent grandmother ballinger did. you dress as smartly as the burlingame crowd. why does your soul turn green at make-up? all these people you look down upon because our families were rich and important in the fifties are more up-to-date than you are, although i will admit that none of them has the woman-of-the-world air of the smartest new york women--not that terribly respectable inner set in new york--aunt mattie's and aunt charlotte's--_that_ just revels in looking mid-victorian.... the newer people i've met here--their manners are just as good as ours, if not better, for, as you said just now, they don't put on airs. you do, darling. you don't know it, but you would put an english duchess to the blush, when you suddenly remember who you are--" mrs. abbott had resumed her seat on the cot. "if you have finished criticizing your elder sister, i should like to ask you a few questions. do you smoke and drink cocktails?" "no, i don't. but i should if i liked them, and if they didn't make me feel queer." "you--you--" mrs. abbot's clear crisp voice sank to an agonized whisper. for the first time she was really terrified. "do you gamble?" "why, of course not. i have too much fun to think of anything so stupid." "does aileen lawton gamble?" "she just doesn't, and don't you insinuate such a thing." "she has bad blood in her. her mother--" "i thought her mother was your best friend." "she was. but she went to pieces, poor dear, and judge lawton wisely sent her east. i can't tell you why. there are things you don't understand." "oh, don't i? don't you fool yourself." mrs. abbott leaned back on the cot and pressed it hard with either hand. "alexina, i have never been as disturbed as i am at this moment. when sally and i were your age, we were beautifully innocent. if i thought that joan--" "oh, joan'll get away from you. she's only fourteen now, but when she's my age--well, i guess you and your old crowd are the last of the mohicans. i doubt if there'll even be any chaperons left. joan may not smoke nor drink. who cares for 'vices,' anyhow? but you haven't got a moat and drawbridge round rincona, and she'll just get out and mix. she'll float with the stream--and all streams lead to burlingame." "i have no fear about joan," said mrs. abbott, with dignity. "four years are a long time. i shall sow seeds, and she is a born ballinger--i am dreadfully afraid that my dear father is coming out in you. even the boys are ballingers--" vi "tell me about father?" coaxed alexina, who was repentant, now that the excitement of the day had reached its climax in the baiting of her admirable sister and was rapidly subsiding. "mother let fall something this morning; and once aileen ... she began, but shut up like a clam. was he so very dreadful?" "well, since you know so much, he was what is called fast. married men of his position often were in his day--quite openly. yesterday, i should have hesitated--" "fire away. don't mind me. yes, i know what fast is. lots of men are to-day. even members of the a. a." "a. a.?" "ancient aristocracy. the kind england and france would like to have." "i'm ashamed of you. have you no pride of blood? the best blood of the south, to say nothing of--" "i'm tickled to death. i just dote on being a groome, plus ballinger, plus. and i'm not guying, neither. i'd hate like the mischief to be second rate, no matter what i won later. it must be awful to have to try to get to places that should be yours by divine right, as it were. but all that's no reason for being a moss-back, a back number, for not having any fun--to be glued to the ancestral rock like a lot of old limpets.... and it should preserve us from being snobs," she added. "snobs?" "the 'i will maintain' sort, as aileen puts it." "don't quote that dreadful child to me. i haven't an atom of snobbery in my composition. i reserve the right to know whom i please, and to exclude from my house people to whom i cannot accustom myself. why i know quite a number of people at burlingame. i dined there informally last night." "yes, because it has the fascination for you that wine has for the clergyman's son." alexina once more yielded to temptation. "but the only people you really know at burlingame except mrs. hunter are those of the old set, what you would call the pick of the bunch, if you were one of us. they went there to live because they were tired of being moss-backs. why don't you follow their example and go the whole hog? they--and their girls--have a ripping time." "at least they have not picked up your vocabulary. i seldom see the young people. and i have never been to the club. i am told the women drink and smoke quite openly on the verandah." "you may bet your sweet life they do. they are honest, and quite as sure of their position as you are. but tell me about father. how did mother come to marry him? if he was such a naughty person i should think she would have exercised the sound ballinger instincts and thrown him down." "mother met him in washington. grandfather ballinger was senator at the time--" "from virginia or california?" "it is shocking that you do not know more of the family history. from california, of course. he had great gifts and political aspirations, and realized that there would be more opportunity in the new state--particularly in such a famous one--than in his own where all the men in public life seemed to have taken root--i remember his using that expression. so, he came here with his bride, the beauty of richmond--" "oh, lord, i know all about her. remember the flavor in my mother's milk--" "well, you'd look like her if you had brown eyes and a white skin, and if your mouth were smaller. and until you learn to stand up straight you'll never have anything like her elegance of carriage. however.... of course they had plenty of money--for those days. they had come to virginia in the days of queen elizabeth and received a large grant of land--" "don't fancy i haven't heard _that_!" "grandfather had inherited the plantation--" "sold his slaves, i suppose, to come to california and realize his ambitions. funny, how ideals change!" "his abilities were recognized as soon as lie arrived in the new community, and our wonderful grandmother became at once one of that small band of social leaders that founded san francisco society: mrs. hunt mclane, the hathaways, mrs. don pedro earle, the montgomerys, the gearys, the talbots, the belmonts, mrs. abbott, tom's grandmother--" "never mind about them. i have them dished up occasionally by mother, although she prefers to descant upon the immortal eighties, when she was a leader herself and 'money wasn't everything.' we never had so much of it anyhow. i know grandfather ballinger built this ramshackle old house--" mrs. abbott sat forward and drew herself up. she felt as if she were talking to a stranger, as, indeed, she was. "this house and its traditions are sacred--" "i know it. yon were telling me how mother came to marry a bad fast man." "he was not fast when she met him. it was at a ball in washington. he was a young congressman--he was wounded in his right arm during the first year of the war and returned at once to california; of course he had been one of the first to enlist. he was of a fine old family and by no means poor. of course in washington he was asked to the best houses. at that time he was very ambitious and absorbed in politics and the advancement of california. afterward he renounced washington for reasons i never clearly understood; although he told me once that california was the only place for a man to live; and--well--i am afraid he could do more as he pleased out here without criticism--from men, at least. the standards--for men--were very low in those days. but when he met mother--" "was mother ever very pretty?" "she was handsome," replied mrs. abbott guardedly. "of course she had the freshness and roundness of youth. i am told she had a lovely color and the brightest eyes. and she had a beautiful figure. she had several proposals, but she chose father." "and had the devil's own time with him. she let out that much this morning." "i am growing accustomed to your language." once more mrs. abbott was determined to be amiable and tactful. she realized that the child's brain was seething with the excitements of the day, but was aghast at the revelations it had recklessly tossed out, and admitted that the problem of "handling her" could no longer be disposed of with home-made generalities. "yes, mother did not have a bed of roses. father was mayor at one time and held various other public offices, and no one, at least, ever accused him of civic corruptness. quite the contrary. the city owes more than one reform to his determination and ability. "he even risked his life fighting the bosses and their political gangs, for he was shot at twice. but he was very popular in his own class; what men call a good fellow, and at that time there was quite a brilliant group of disreputable women here; one could not help hearing things, for the married women here have always been great gossips. well--you may as well know it--it may have the same effect on you that it did on ballinger and geary, who are the most abstemious of men--he drank and gambled and had too much to do with those unspeakable women.... "nevertheless, he made a great deal of money for a long time, and if he hadn't gambled (not only in gambling houses and in private but in stocks), he would have left a large fortune. as it is, poor darling, you will only have this house and about six thousand a year. father was quite well off when sally and i married and ballinger and geary went to new york after marrying the lyman girls, who were such belles out here when they paid us a visit in the nineties. they had money of their own and father gave the boys a hundred thousand each. he gave the same to sally and me when we married. but when you came along, or rather when you were ten, and he died--well, he had run through nearly everything, and had lost his grip. mother got her share of the community property, and of course she had this house and her share of the ballinger estate--not very much." vii "why didn't mother keep father at home and make him behave himself?" "mother did everything a good woman could do." "maybe she was too good." "you abominable child. a woman can't be too good." "perhaps not. but i fancy she can make a man think so. when he has different tastes." "women are as they are born. my mother would not have condescended to lower herself to the level of those creatures who fascinated my father." "well, i wouldn't, neither. i'd just light out and leave him. why didn't mother get a divorce?" "a divorce? why, she has never received any one in her house who has been divorced. neither have i except in one or two cases where very dear friends had been forced by circumstances into the divorce court. i didn't approve even then. people should wash their dirty linen at home." "time moves, as i remarked just now. nothing would stop me; if, for instance, i had been persuaded into marrying a member of the a. a. and he was in the way of ruining my young life. you should be thankful if i did decide to marry mr. dwight--mind, i don't say i care the tip of my little finger for him. i barely know him. but if i did you would have to admit that i was following the best ballinger instincts, for he doesn't drink, or dissipate in any way; and everybody says he works hard and is as steady as--i was going to say as a judge, but i've been told that all judges, in this town at least, are not as steady as you think. anyhow, he is. his family is as old as ours, even if it did have reverses or something. and you can't deny that he is a gentleman, every inch of him." "i do not deny that he has a very good appearance indeed. but--well, he was brought up in san francisco and no one ever heard of his parents. he admitted to me at the table that his father was only a clerk in a broker's office. he is not one of us and that is the end of it." "why not make him one? quite easy. and you ought to rejoice in what power you have left." she rose and stretched and yawned in a most unladylike fashion. "i'm going to make a cup of coffee for our sentinel, and have a little chat with him, chaperoned by the great bonfire. don't think you can stop me, for you can't. heavens, what a noise that dynamite does make! we shall have to shout. it will be more than proper. good night, darling." chapter vii i gora dwight with a quick turn of a strong and supple wrist flung a folding chair up through the trap door of the roof. she followed with a pitcher of water, opened the chair, and sat down. it was the second day of the fire, which was now raging in the valleys north of market street and up the hills. it was still some distance from all but the lower end of van ness avenue, the wide street that divides the eastern and western sections of the city, as market street divides the northern and southern, and her own home on geary street was beyond franklin and safe for the present. it was expected that the fire would be halted by dynamiting the blocks east of the avenue, but as it had already leapt across not far from market street and was running out toward the mission, gora pinned her faith in nothing less than a change of wind. life has many disparate schools. the one attended by miss gora dwight had taught her to hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and be thankful if she escaped (to use the homely phrase; one rarely found leisure for originality in this particular school) by the skin of her teeth. gora fully expected to lose the house she sat on, and had packed what few valuables she possessed in two large bags: the fine underclothes she had made at odd moments, and a handsome set of toilet articles her brother had given her on the christmas before last. he had had a raise of salary and her experiment with lodgers had proved even more successful than she had dared to hope. on the following christmas he had given her a large book with a fancy binding (which she had exchanged for something she could read). after satisfying the requirements of a wardrobe suitable for the world of fashion, supplemented by the usual toll of flowers and bon-bons, he had little surplus for domestic presents. gora's craving for drama was far deeper and more significant than young alexina groome's, and she determined to watch until the last moment the terrific spectacle of the burning city. the wind had carried the smoke upward for a mile or more and pillars of fire supported it at such irregular intervals that it looked like a vast infernal temple in which demons were waging war, and undermining the roof in their senseless fury. in some places whole blocks of houses were blazing; here and there high buildings burned in solitary grandeur, the flames leaping from every window or boiling from the roof. sometimes one of these buildings would disappear in a shower of sparks and an awful roar, or a row of humbler houses was lifted bodily from the ground to burst into a thousand particles of flying wood, and disappear. the heat was overpowering (she bathed her face constantly from the pitcher) and the roar of the flames, the constant explosions of dynamite, the loud vicious crackling of wood, the rending and splitting of masonry, the hoarse impact of walls as they met the earth, was the scene's wild orchestral accompaniment and, despite underlying apprehension and horror, gave gora one of the few pleasurable sensations of her life. but she moved her chair after a moment and fixed her gaze, no longer rapt but ironic, on the flaming hillcrests, the long line of california street, nucleus of the wealth and fashion of san francisco. the western addition was fashionable and growing more so, but it had been too far away for the pioneers of the fifties and sixties, the bonanza kings of the seventies, the railroad magnates of the eighties, and they had built their huge and hideous mansions upon the hill that rose almost perpendicularly above the section where they made and lost their millions. some wag or toady had named it nob hill and the inhabitants had complacently accepted the title, although they refrained from putting it on their cards. and now it was in flames. ii gora recalled the day when she had walked slowly past those mansions, staring at each in turn as she assimilated the disheartening and infuriating fact that she and the children that inhabited them belonged to different worlds. her family at that time lived in a cottage at the wrong end of taylor street hill, and, mrs. dwight having received a small legacy from a sister recently deceased which had convinced her, if not her less mercurial husband, that their luck had finally turned, had sent gora, then a rangy girl of thirteen, fond of books and study, to a large private school in the fashionable district. gora, after all these years, ground her teeth as she had a sudden blighting vision of the day a week later, when, puzzled and resentful, she had walked up the steep hill with several of the girls whose homes were on california and taylor streets, and two of whom, like herself, were munching an apple. they had hardly noticed her sufficiently to ignore her, either then or during the previous week, so absorbed were they in their own close common interests. she listened to allusions which she barely could comprehend, but it was evident that one was to give a party on friday night and the others were expected as a matter of course. gora assumed that jim and sam and rex and bob were brothers or beaux. last names appeared to be no more necessary than labels to inform the outsider of the social status of these favored maidens, too happy and contented to be snobs but quite callous to the feelings of strange little girls. they drifted one by one into their opulent homes, bidding one another a careless or a sentimental good-by, and gora, throwing her head as far back on her shoulders as it would go without dislocation, stalked down to the unfashionable end of taylor street and up to the solitude of her bedroom under the eaves of the cottage. on the following day she had lingered in the school yard until the other girls were out of sight, then climbing the almost perpendicular hill so rapidly that she arrived on the crest with little breath and a pain in her side, she had sauntered deliberately up and down before the imposing homes of her schoolmates, staring at them with angry and puzzled eyes, her young soul in tumult. it was the old inarticulate cry of class, of the unchosen who seeks the reason and can find none. iii as she had a tendency not only to brood but to work out her own problems it was several days before she demanded an explanation of her mother. mrs. dwight, a prematurely gray and wrinkled woman, who had once been handsome with good features and bright coloring, and who wore a deliberately cheerful expression that gora often wanted to wipe off, was sitting in the dining-room making a skirt for her daughter; which, gora reflected bitterly, was sure to be too long on one side if not in front. mrs. dwight's smile faded as she looked at the somber face and huddled figure in the worn leather arm-chair in which mr. dwight spent his silent evenings. "why, my dear, you surely knew long before this that some people are rich and others poor--to say nothing of the betwixts and betweens." she was an exact woman in small matters. "that's all there is to it. i thought it a good idea to send you to a private school where you might make friends among girls of your own class." "own class? they treat me like dirt. how am i of their class when they live in palaces and i in a hovel?" "i have reproved you many times for exaggerated speech. what i meant was that you are as well-born as any of them (better than many) only we have been unfortunate. your father tried hard enough, but he just doesn't seem to have the money-making faculty like so many men. now, we've had a little luck i'm really hopeful. i've just had a nice letter from your aunt eliza goring--i named you for her, but i couldn't inflict you with eliza. you know she is many years older than i am and has no children. she was out here once just before you were born. we--we were very hard up indeed. it was she who furnished this cottage for us and paid a year's rent. soon after, your father got his present position and we have managed to get along. she always sends me a little cheque at christmas and i am sure--well, there are some things we don't say.... but this legacy from your aunt jane is the only real stroke of luck we ever had, and i can't help feeling hopeful. i do believe better times are coming.... it used to seem terribly hard and unjust that so many people all about us had so much and we nothing, and that in this comparatively small city we knew practically no one. but i have got over being bitter and envious. you do when you are busy every minute. and then we have the blessing of health, and mortimer is the best boy in the world, and you are a very good child when you are not in a bad temper. i think you will be handsome, too, although you are pretty hopeless at present; but of course you will never have anything like mortimer's looks. he is the living image of the painting of your great-great-great-grandfather dwight that used to hang in the dining-room in utica, and who was in the first congress. now, do try and make friends with the nicer of the children." but gora's was not a conciliating nor a compromising nature. her idea of "squaring things" was to become the best scholar in her classes and humiliate several young ladies of her own age who had held the first position with an ease that had bred laxity. greatly to the satisfaction of the teachers an angry emulation ensued with the gratifying result that although the girls could not pass gora, their weekly marks were higher, and for the rest of the term they did less giggling even after school hours, and more studying. but gora would not return for a second term. she had made no friends among the girls, although, no doubt, having won their respect, they would, with the democracy of childhood, have admitted her to intimacy by degrees, particularly if she had proved to be socially malleable. but for some obscure reason it made gora happier to hate them all, and when she had passed her examinations victoriously, and taken every prize, except for tidiness and deportment, she said good-by with some regret to the teachers, who had admired and encouraged her but did not pretend to love her, and announced as soon as she arrived at home that she should enter the high school at the beginning of the following term. iv her parents were secretly relieved. even mrs. dwight's vision of future prosperity had faded. she had been justified in believing that her sister eliza would make a will in favor of her family, but unfortunately mrs. goring had amused herself with speculation in her old age, and had left barely enough to pay her funeral expenses. mrs. dwight broached the subject of their immediate future to her husband that evening. she had some time since made up her mind, in case the school experiment was not a success, to furnish a larger house with what remained of the legacy, and take boarders. "i wouldn't do it if gora had made the friends i hoped for her," she said, turning the heel of the first of her son's winter socks, "and there's no such thing as a social come-down for us; for that matter, there is more than one lady, once wealthy, who is keeping a boarding-house in this town. gora will have to work anyhow, and as for mortimer--" she glanced fondly at her manly young son, who was amiably playing checkers in the parlor with his sister, "he is sure to make his fortune." "i don't know," said mr. dwight heavily. "i don't know." "why, what do you mean?" asked his wife sharply. mrs. dwight belonged to that type of american women whose passions in youth are weak and anæmic, not to say exceedingly shame-faced, but which in mature years become strong and selfish and jealous, either for a lover or a son. mrs. dwight, being a perfectly respectable woman, had centered all the accumulated forces of her being on the son whom she idealized after the fashion of her type; and as she had corrected his obvious faults when he was a boy, it was quite true that he was kind, amiable, honest, honorable, patriotic, industrious, clean, polite, and moral; if hardly as handsome as apollo or as brilliant and gifted as she permitted herself to believe. "what do you mean?" she repeated, although she lowered her voice. it was rarely that it assumed an edge when addressing her husband. she had never reproached him for being a failure, for she had recognized his limitations early and accepted her lot. but something in his tone shook her maternal complacence and roused her to instant defense. mr. dwight took his pipe from his mouth and also cast a glance toward the parlor, but the absorbed players were beyond the range of his rather weak voice. "i mean this," he said with nothing of his usual vague hesitancy of speech. "i'm not so sure that morty is beyond clerk size." "you--you--john dwight--your son--" the thin layer of pale flesh on mrs. dwight's face seemed to collapse upon its harsh framework with the terrified wrath that shook her. her mouth fell apart, and hot smarting tears welled slowly to her eyes, faded with long years of stitching; not only for her own family but for many others when money had been more than commonly scarce. "mortimer can do anything. anything." "can he? why doesn't he show it then? he went to work at sixteen and is now twenty-two. he is drawing just fifty dollars a month. he's well liked in the firm, too." "why don't they raise his salary?" "because that's all he's worth to them. he's a good steady honest clerk, nothing more." "he's very young--" "if a man has initiative, ability, any sort of constructive power in his brain he shows it by the time he is twenty-two--if he has been in that forcing house for four or five years. that is the whole history of this country. and employers are always on the look-out for those qualities and only too anxious to find them and push a young man on and up. many a president of a great business started life as a clerk, or even office boy--" "that is what i have always known would happen to morty. i am sure, sure, that you are doing him a cruel injustice." "i hope i am. but i am a failure myself and i know what a man needs in the way of natural equipment to make a success of his life." "but he is so energetic and industrious and honorable and likable and--" "i was all that." "then--" mrs. dwight's voice trailed off; it sounded flat and old. "what do you both lack?" "brains." v mrs. dwight had repeated this conversation to gora shortly before her death, and the girl in her reminiscent mood recalled it as she stared with somber eyes and ironic lips at the havoc the fire was playing with those lofty mansions which had stood to her all these intervening years as symbols of the unpardonable injustice of class. she recalled another of the few occasions when mrs. dwight, who believed in acceptance and contentment, had been persuaded to discuss the idiosyncrasies of her adopted city. "it isn't that money is the standard here as it is in new york. of course there is a very wealthy set these late years and they set a pace that makes it difficult for the older families, like the groomes for instance--i met mrs. groome once at a summer resort where i was housekeeper that year, and i thought her very typical and interesting. she was so kind to me without seeing me at all.... but those fine old families, who are all of good old eastern or southern stock--if they manage to keep in society are still the most influential element in it.... family.... having lived in california long enough to be one of that old set.... to be, without question, one of them. that is all that matters. i've come in contact with a good many of them first and last in my poor efforts to help your father, and i believe the san franciscans to be the most loyal and disinterested people in the world-to one another. "but if you come in from the outside you must bring money, or tremendous family prestige, or the right kind of social personality with the best kind of letters. we just crept in and were glad to be permitted to make a living. why should they have taken any notice of us? they don't go hunting about for obscure people of possibly gentle blood. that doesn't happen anywhere in the world. you must be reasonable, my dear child. that is life, 'the world.'" but gora was not gifted with that form of reasonableness. she had wished in her darker moments that she had been born outright in the working-class; then, no doubt, she would have trudged contentedly every morning (except when on strike) to the factory or shop, or been some one's cook. she was an excellent cook. what galled her was the fact of virtually belonging to the same class as these people who were still unaware of the existence of her family, although it had lived for over thirty years in a city numbering to-day only half a million inhabitants. she was almost fanatically democratic and could see no reason for differences of degree in the aspiring classes. to her mind the only line of cleavage between the classes was that which divided people of education, refinement of mind manners and habits, certain inherited traditions, and the mental effort no matter how small to win a place in this difficult world, from commonness, ignorance, indifference to dirt, coarse pleasures and habits, and manual labor. she respected labor as the solid foundation stones upon which civilization upheld itself, and believed it to have been biologically chosen; if she had been born in its class she would have had the ambition to work her way out of it, but without resentment. there her recognition of class stopped. that wealth or family prominence even in a great city or an old community should create an exclusive and favored society seemed to her illogical and outrageous. a woman was a lady or she wasn't. a man was a gentleman or he wasn't. that should be the beginning and the end of the social code.... when she had been younger she had lamented her mean position because it excluded her from the light-hearted and brilliant pleasures of youth; but as she grew older this natural craving had given place to a far deeper and more corrosive resentment. she had no patience with her brother's ingenuous snobbery. a good-natured friend had introduced him to one or two houses where there were young people and much dancing and he had been "taken up." nothing would have filled gora with such murderous rage as to be taken up. she wanted her position conceded as a natural right. had it been in her power she would have forced her conception of democracy upon the entire united states. but as this was quite impossible she longed passionately for some power, personal and irresistible, that would compel the attention of the elect in the city of her birth and ultimately bring them to her feet. and here she had a ray of hope. vi meanwhile it was some satisfaction to watch them being burned out of house and home. then she gave a short impatient sigh that was almost a groan, as she wondered if her own home would go. the family had moved into it eight years ago; and after mr. dwight's death his widow had barely made a living for herself and her daughter out of the uncertain boarders. mortimer had paid his share, but she had encouraged him to dress well and no one knew the value of "front" better than he. after her death, three years ago, gora had turned out the boarders and the last slatternly wasteful cook and let her rooms to business women who made their morning coffee over the gas jet. the new arrangement paid very well and left her time for lectures at the university of california, and for other studies. a jap came in daily to put the rooms in order and she cooked for herself and her brother. so unknown was she that even aileen lawton was unaware that the "boarding-house down on geary street" was a lodging house kept by mortimer dwight's sister. fortunately gora was spared one more quivering arrow in her pride. chapter viii i there was a tremendous burst of dynamite that rocked the house. then she heard her brother's voice: "gora! gora! where are you?" she let herself through the trap door and ran down to the first floor. her brother was standing in the lower hall surrounded by several of their lodgers, competent-looking women, quite calm and business like, but dressed as for a journey and carrying suitcases and bags. "you are all ordered out," he was saying. "a change of the wind to the south would sweep the fire right up this hill, and it may cross van ness avenue again at any time. so everybody is ordered out to the western hills, or the presidio, or across the bay, if they can make it." he had no private manners and greeted his sister with the same gallant smile and little air of deference which always carried him a certain distance in public. "you had better take out a mattress and blanket," he said. "i wish i could do it for you--for all of you--but i am under orders and must patrol where i am sent. when i finish giving the orders down here i must go back to the western addition." "don't worry about us," said gora drily. "we are all quite as capable as men when it comes to looking out for ourselves in a catastrophe. i hear that several wives led their weeping stricken husbands out of town yesterday morning. are you sure the fire will cross van ness avenue to-night?" "it may be held back by the dynamiting, but one can be sure of nothing. of course the wind may shift to the west any minute. that would save this part of the city." "well, don't let us keep you from your civic duties. you look very well in those hunting boots. lucky you went on that expedition last summer with mr. cheever." mortimer frowned slightly and turned to the door. the brother and sister rarely talked on any but the most impersonal subjects, but more than once he had had an uneasy sense that she knew him better than he knew himself. his consciousness had never faced anything so absurd, but there were times when he felt an abrupt desire to escape her enigmatic presence and this was one of them. ii the lodgers were permitted by the patrol to cook their luncheon on the stove that had been set up in the street, the orders being that they should leave within an hour. after their smoky meal they departed, carrying mattresses and blankets. gora had no intention of following them unless the flames were actually roaring up the block between van ness avenue and franklin street. she felt quite positive that she could outrun any fire. the last of the lodgers, at her request, shut the front door and made a feint of locking it, an unnecessary precaution in any case as all the windows were open; and as the sentries had been ordered to "shoot to kill," and had obeyed orders, looting had ceased. chapter ix i gora went up to the large attic which, soon, after her mother's death, she had furnished for her personal use. the walls were hung with a thin bluish green material and there were several pieces of good furniture that she had picked up at auctions. one side of the room was covered with book shelves which mortimer had made for her on rainy winter nights and they were filled with the books she had found in second-hand shops. a number of them bore the autographs of men once prosilient in the city's history but long since gone down to disaster. there were a few prints that she had found in the same way, but no oils or water colors or ornaments. she despised the second-rate, and the best of these was rarely to be bought for a song even at auction. she sighed as she reflected that if obliged to flee to the hills there was practically nothing she could save beyond the contents of her bags; but at least she could remain with her treasures until the last minute, and she pinned the curtains across the small windows and lit several candles. between the blasts of dynamite the street was very quiet. she could hear the measured tread of the sentry as he passed, a member of the citizens' patrol, like her brother. suddenly she heard a shot, and extinguishing the candles hastily she peered out of a window from behind the curtains. the sentry was pounding on a door opposite with the butt of his rifle. it was the home of an eccentric old bachelor who possessed a fine collection of ceramics and a cellar of vintage wine. the door opened with obvious reluctance and the head of mr. andrew bennett appeared. "what you doin' here?" shouted the sentry. "haven't all youse been told three hours ago to light out for the hills? git out--" "but the fire hasn't crossed van ness avenue. i prefer--" "your opinion ain't asked. git out." "i call that abominable tyranny." "git out or i'll shoot. we ain't standin' no nonsense." gora recognized the voice as that of a young man, clerk in a butcher shop in polk street, and appreciated the intense satisfaction he took in his brief period of authority. mr. bennett emerged in a moment with two large bags and walked haughtily up the street at the point of the bayonet. gora stood expectantly behind her curtain, and some ten minutes later saw him sneak round the eastern end of his block, dart back as the sentry turned suddenly, and when the footsteps once more receded run up the street and into his house. she laughed sympathetically and hoped he would not be caught a second time. ii suddenly another man, carrying a woman in his arms, turned the same corner. he was staggering as if he had borne a heavy burden a long distance. gora ran down to the first floor and glanced out of the window of the front room. the sentry had crossed the far end of the street and was holding converse with another member of the patrol. as the refugee staggered past the house she opened the front door and called softly. "come up quickly. don't let them see you." the man stumbled up the steps and into the house. "you can put her on the sofa in this room." gora led the way into what had once been the front parlor and was now the chamber of her star lodger. "is she hurt?" the man did not answer. he followed her and laid down his burden. gora flashed her electric torch on the face of the girl and drew back in horror. "dead?" "yes, she is dead." the young man, who looked a mere boy in spite of his unshaven chin and haggard eyes, threw himself into a chair and dropping his face on his arms burst into heavy sobs. gora stared, fascinated, at the sharp white face of the girl, the rope of fair hair wound round her neck like something malign and muscular that had strangled her, the half-open eyes, whose white maleficent gleam deprived the poor corpse of its last right, the aloofness and the majesty of death. she may have been an innocent and lovely young creature when alive, but dead, and lacking the usual amiable beneficencies of the undertaker, she looked like a macabre wax work of corrupt and evil youth. and she was horribly stiff. iii gora went into the kitchen and made him a cup of coffee over a spirit lamp. he drank it gratefully, then followed her up to the attic as she feared their voices might be overheard from the lower room. there he took the easy chair and the cigarette she offered him and told his story. the young girl was his sister and they were english. she had been visiting a relative in santa barbara when a sudden illness revealed the fact that she had a serious heart affection. he had come out to take her home and they had been staying at the palace hotel waiting for suitable accommodations before crossing the continent. his sister--marian--had been terrified into unconsciousness by the earthquake and he had carried her down the stairs and out into market street, where she had revived. she had even seemed to be better than usual, for the people in their extraordinary costumes, particularly the opera singers, had amused her, and she had returned to the court of the hotel and listened with interest to the various "experiences." finally they had climbed the four flights of stairs to their rooms and he had helped her to dress--her maid had disappeared. they had remained until the afternoon when the uncontrolled fires in the region behind the hotel alarmed them, and with what belongings they could carry they had gone up to the st. francis hotel, where they engaged rooms and left their portmanteaux, intending to climb to the top of the hill, if marian were able, and watch the fire. half way up the hill she had fainted and he had carried her into a house whose door stood open. there was no one in the house, and after a futile attempt to revive her, he had run back to the hotel to find a doctor. but among the few people that had the courage to remain so close to the fire there was no doctor. the hotel clerk gave him an address but told him not to be too sure of finding his man at home as all the physicians were probably attending the injured, helping to clear the threatened hospitals, or at work among the refugees, any number of women having embraced the inopportune occasion to become mothers. the doctor whose address was given him not only was out but his house was deserted; and, distracted, he returned to his sister. he knew at once that she was dead. he sat beside her for hours, too stunned to think.... it was some time during the night that the roar of the fire seemed to grow louder, the smoke in the street denser. then it occurred to him that the inhabitants of this house as well as of the doctor's, which was close by, would not have abandoned their homes if they had not believed that some time during the night they would be in the path of the flames. and he had heard that the pipes of the one water system had been broken by the earthquake. he had caught up the body of his sister and walked westward until, worn out, he had entered the basement of another empty house, and there he had fallen asleep. when he awakened he was under the impression for a moment that he was in the crater of a volcano in eruption. dynamite was going off in all directions, he could hear the loud crackling of flames behind his refuge; and as he took the body in his arms once more and ran out, the fire was sweeping up the hill not a block below. in spite of the smoke he inferred that the way was clear to the west, and he had run on and on, once narrowly escaping a dynamiting area where he saw men like dark shadows prowling and then rushing off madly in an automobile ... dodging the fire, losing his way, once finding himself confronting a wall of flames, finally crossing a wide avenue ... stumbling on ... and on.... iv gora decided that blunt callousness would help him more than sympathy. he had recovered his self-control, but his eyes were still wide with pain and horror. "cremation is a clean honest finish for any one," she remarked, lighting another cigarette and offering him her match. "i should have left her if she had been my sister in that first house...." "i might have done it--in london. but ... perhaps i was not quite myself.... i couldn't leave her to be burned alone in a strange country. besides, the horror of it would have killed my mother. marian was the youngest. i felt bound to do my best.... perhaps i didn't think at all.... if this house is threatened i shall take her out to the presidio, where i happen to know a man--colonel norris. thanks to your hospitality i can make it." "but naturally you cannot go very fast ... and these sentries ... i am not sure.... i don't see how you escaped others ... the smoke and excitement, i suppose.... i think if you are determined to take her it would be better if i helped you to carry her out to the cemetery. we can put her on a narrow wire mattress and cover her, so that it will look as if we were rescuing an invalid. out there you can put her in one of the stone vaults. some of the doors are sure to have been broken by the earthquake." the young man, who had given his name as richard gathbroke, gratefully rested in her brother's room while she kept watch on the roof. it was night but the very atmosphere seemed ablaze and the dynamiting as well as the approaching wall of fire looked very close. finally when sparks fell on the roof she descended hastily and awakened her guest, making him welcome to her brother's linen as well as to a basin of precious water. when he joined her in the kitchen he had even shaved himself and she saw that he looked both older and younger than americans of his age; which, he had told her, was twenty-three. his fair well-modeled face was now composed and his hazel eyes were brilliant and steady. he had a tall trim military body, and very straight bright brown hair; a rather conventional figure of a well-bred englishman, gora assumed; intelligent, and both more naif and more worldly-wise than young americans of his class: but whose potentialities had hardly been apprehended even by himself. they ate as substantial a breakfast as could be prepared hastily over a spirit lamp, filled their pockets with stale bread, cake, and small tins of food, and then carried a narrow wire mattress from one of the smaller bedrooms to the front room on the first floor. chapter x i the patrol had been relieved by another, an older man, and sober. he merely reproved them for disobeying orders, glanced sympathetically at the presumed invalid, and directed them to one of the temporary hospitals some blocks farther west. gora, like all imaginative people, had a horror of the corpse, and averted her eyes from the head of the dead girl outlined under the veil she had thrown over it, gathbroke was obliged to walk backward, and as both were extremely uncomfortable, there was no attempt at conversation until they reached the gates of the old cemetery the great pioneers had called lone mountain and their more commonplace descendants rechristened laurel hill. the glare of the distant fire illuminated the silent city where a thousand refugees slept as heavily as the dead, and as they ascended the steep path they examined anxiously the vaults on either side. finally gora exclaimed: "there! on the right." the iron doors of a once eminent resident's last dwelling had been half twisted from their rusty hinges. gathbroke threw his weight on them and they fell at his feet. he and gora carried in the body and lifted it to an empty shelf. "good!" gora gave a long sigh of relief. "nothing can happen to her now. even the entrance faces away from the fire and there is nothing but grass in the cemetery to burn, anyhow." she held her electric torch to the inscription above the entrance. "better write down the name--randolph. there's one of the tragedies of the sixties for you! an englishman the hero, by the way. nina randolph is a handful of dust in there somewhere. heigho! what's the difference, anyway? even if she'd been happy she'd be dead by this time--or too old to have a past." gathbroke replaced the gates, for he feared prowling dogs, and they walked down to the street and sat on the grass, leaning against the wall of the cemetery, as dissociated as possible from the rows of uneasy sleepers. ii they slept a little between blasts of dynamite, the snoring of men and women and cries of children; finally at gora's suggestion climbed to the steep bare summit of calvary to observe the progress of the fire. the unlighted portion of the city beneath them looked like a dead planet. beyond was a tossing sea of flame whose far-reaching violent glare seemed to project it illimitably. "nothing can stop it!" gasped gora; and that terrific red mass of energy and momentum did look as if its only curb would be the pacific ocean. they talked until morning. he was very frank about himself, finding no doubt a profound comfort in human companionship after those long hours of ghastly communion down in that flaming jungle. he was a younger son and in the army, not badly off, as his mother made him a goodish allowance. she had come of a large manufacturing family in the north and had brought a fortune to the empty treasury of the young peer she had--happily for both--fallen in love with. he had wanted to go into business--politics later perhaps--after he left eton, feeling that he had inherited some of the energy of his maternal grandfather, but his mother had insisted upon the army and as he really didn't care so very much, he had succumbed. "but i'm not sure i shan't regret it. it isn't as if there were any prospect of a real war. i'd like a fighting career well enough, but not picayune affairs out in india or africa. i can't help thinking i have a talent for business. sounds beastly conceited," he added hastily. it was evident that he was a modest youth. "but after all one of us should inherit something of the sort. perhaps, later, who knows? at least i can thank heaven that i wasn't born in my brother's place. he likes politics, and his fate is the house of lords. a man might as well go and embalm himself at once. do you know gwynne? elton gwynne? john gwynne he calls himself out here." "i've heard of him. he's been written up a good deal. i don't know any one of that sort." "really? well, don't you see? he inherited a peerage; grandfather died and his cousin shot himself to cover up a scandal. gwynne was in the full tide of his career in the house of commons and simply couldn't stand for it. he cut the whole business and came out here where he and his mother had a large estate--lady victoria's mother or grandmother was a spanish-californian. of course he chucked the title. he's a sort of cousin of mine and i looked him up, and dined with him the other night. he was born in the united states, by a fluke as it were, and has made up his mind to be an american for the rest of his life and carve out a political career in this country. i'd have done the same thing, by jove! first-class solution ... although it's a pretty hard wrench to give up your own country. but when a man is too active to stagnate--there you are.... i wish i had known where to find him to-day, but he lives on his ranch and i've only seen him once since. lady victoria took me to a ball night before last--good god! was it only that? ... and we were to have met again for lunch to-day." "it is very easy and picturesque to renounce when you possess just about everything in life! if i attempted to renounce any of my privileges, for instance. i should simply move down and out." iii he turned his head and regarded her squarely for the first time. heretofore she had been simply a friend in need, a jolly good sport, incidentally a female. if she had been beautiful he should have noted that fact at once, for he could not imagine the circumstances in which beauty would not exert an immediate and powerful influence, however transitory. miss dwight was not beautiful, but he concluded during that frank stare that her face was interesting; disturbingly so, although he was unable at the moment to find the reason. it was possible that in favorable conditions she would be handsome. she had a mass of dark brown hair that seemed to sink heavily over her low forehead until it almost met the heavy black eyebrows. she had removed her hat and the thick loose coils made her look topheavy; for the face, if wide across the high cheek-bones and sharply accentuated with a salient jaw, was not large. the eyes were a light cold gray, oval and far apart. her nose was short and strong and had the same cohibitive expression as the straight sharply-cut mouth--when not ironic or smiling. her teeth were beautiful. she had put on her best tailored suit and he saw that her "figger" was good although too short and full for his taste. he liked the long and stately slenderness that his own centuries had bred. but her hands and well-shod feet were narrow if not small, and he decided that she just escaped possessing what modern slang so aptly expressed as "class," possibly it was the defiance in her square chin, the almost angry poise of her head, that betrayed her as an unwilling outsider. "bad luck!" he asked sympathetically. she gave him a brief outline of her family history, overemphasizing as americans will--those that lay any claim to descent--the previous importance of the dwights and the mortimers in utica, n.y. incidentally, she gave him a flashlight picture of the social conditions in san francisco. he was intensely interested. "really! i should have said there would be the complete democracy in california if anywhere. of course no englishman of my generation expects to find san franciscans in cowboy costume; but i must say i was astonished at the luxury and fashion not only at those southern california hotels, where, to be sure, most of the guests are from your older eastern states, but at that ball lady victoria took me to. it was magnificent in all its details, originality combined with the most perfect taste. of course there were not as many jewels as one would see at a great london function, but the toilettes could not have been surpassed. and as for the women--stunning! such beauty and style and breeding. i confess i didn't expect quite all that. miss bascom, miss thorndyke, and an exquisite young thing, miss groome--" "oh, those are the haute noblesse." gora's tipper lip curled satirically. "no doubt they lay claim that their roots mingle with your own." "well, we'd be proud of 'em." "that was the hofer ball, wasn't it! do you mean to say that alexina groome was there? mrs. groome, who is the most imposing relic of the immortal eighties, is supposed to know no one of twentieth-century vintage." "i am sure of it. i danced with her twice and would have jolly well liked to monopolize her, but she was too plainly bowled over by a fellow--your name, by jove--dwight. good-looking chap, clean-cut, fine shoulders, danced like a god--if gods do dance. i'm an awful duffer at it, by the way." "mortimer? is it possible? and he--was he bowled over?" "ra--ther! a case, i should say." "how unfortunate. of course he hasn't the ghost of a chance. mrs. groome won't have a young man inside her doors whose family doesn't belong root and branch to her old set. fine prospect for a poor clerk!" "jove! i've a mind to stay and try my luck. oh!" he dropped his face in his hands. "i'm forgetting!" "well, forget again." gora's voice expressed more sympathy than she felt. she deeply resented his immediate acceptance of her social alienage, even relegating her personal appearance to another class than that of the delicate flora he had seen blooming for the night against the most artful background of the season. however ... he was the first man she had ever met in her limited experience who seemed to combine the three magnetisms.... who could tell.... "i should be delighted if you would cut my brother out before it goes any further," she said untruthfully. "it will save him a heartache.... where could you meet her now? society is disrupted here. but of course mr. gwynne visits down the peninsula. he could take you to any one of those exclusive abodes where you would be likely to meet the little alexina. she is only eighteen, by the way." "that is rather young," he said dubiously. "i don't fancy her conversation would be very interesting, and, after all, that is what it comes down to, isn't it? i've been disappointed so often." he sighed and looked quite thirty-five. "still, she has personality. five or six years hence she may be a wonder.... i don't think i'd care about educating and developing a girl--i like a pal right away.... what an ass i am, rotting like this. tour brother has as much chance as i have. younger sons with no prospect of succession are of exactly no account with the american mamma. i've met a few of them." "oh, i fancy birth would be enough for mrs. groome. she's quite dotty on the subject, and the people out here are simpler than easterners, anyhow. simpler and more ingenuous." "how is it you know so much about it, all, if you are not, as you say--pardon me--a part of it?" "i wonder!" she gave a short hard little laugh. "i don't know that i could explain, except that it all has seemed to me from birth a part of my blood and bones and gristle. an accident, a lucky strike on my father's part when he first came out here, and they would know me as well to-day as i know them. and then ... of course ... it is a small community. we live on the doorsteps of the rich and important, as it were. it would be hard for us not to know. it just comes to us. we are magnets. i suppose all this seems to you--born on the inside--quite ignominious." "well, my mother would have remained on the outside--that is to say a quiet little provincial--if her father hadn't happened to make a fortune with his iron works. i can understand well enough, but, if you don't mind my saying so, i think it rather a pity." "pity?" "i mean thinking so much about it, don't you know? i fancy it's the result of living in a small city where there are only a few hundred people between you and the top instead of a few hundred thousand. i express, myself so badly, but what i mean is--as i make it out--it is, with you, a case of so near and yet so far. in a great city like london now (great in generations--centuries--as well as in numbers) you'd just accept the bare fact and go about your business. not a ghost of a show, don't you see? here you've just missed it, and, the middle class always flowing into the upper class, you feel that you should get your chance any minute. ought to have had it long ago.... i can't imagine, for instance, that if my mother had married the son of my grandfather's partner that i should have wasted much time wondering why i wasn't asked to the elizabethan hail on the hill. of course i don't mean there isn't envy enough in the old countries, but it's more passive ... without hope...." he felt awkward and officious but he was sorry for her and would have liked to discharge his debt by helping her toward a new point of view, if possible. she replied: "that's easy to say, and besides you are a man. my brother, who is only a clerk in a wholesale house, has been taken up and goes everywhere. they don't know that i even exist." "well, that's their loss," he said gallantly. "can't you make 'em sit tip, some way? women make fortunes sometimes, these days, and they're in about everything except the army and navy. business? or haven't you a talent of some sort? you have--pardon me again, but we have been uncommonly personal to-night--a strong and individual face ... and personality; no doubt of that." gora would far rather he had told her she was pretty and irresistible, but she thrilled to his praise, nevertheless. it was the first compliment she had ever received from any man but the commonplace and unimportant friends her brother had brought home occasionally before he had been introduced to society; he took good care to bring home none of his new friends. her heart leapt toward this exalted young englishman, who might have stepped direct from one of the novels of his land and class ... even the stern and anxious moderns who had made england's middle-class the fashion, occasionally drew a well-bred and attractive man from life.... she turned to him with a smile that banished the somber ironic expression of her face, illuminating it as if the drooping spirit within had suddenly lit a torch and held it behind those strange pale eyes. "i'll tell you what i've never told any one--but my teacher; i've taken lessons with him for a year. he is an instructor in the technique of the short story, and has turned out quite a few successful magazine writers. he believes that i have talent. i have been studying over at the university to the same end--english, biology, psychology, sociology. i'm determined not to start as a raw amateur. oh! perhaps i have made a mistake in telling you. you may be one of those men that are repelled by intellectual women!" "not a bit of it. don't belong to that class of duffers anyway. i don't like masculine women, or hard women--run from a lot of our girls that are so hard a diamond wouldn't cut 'em. but i've got an elder sister--she's thirty now--who's the cleverest woman i ever met, although she doesn't pretend to do anything. she won't bother with any but clever and exceptional people--has something of a salon. my parents hate it--she lives alone in a flat in london--but they can't help it. my grandfather doubleton liked her a lot and left her two thousand a year. i wish you knew her. she is charming and feminine, as much so as any of those i met at the ball; and so are many of the women that go to her flat--" "don't you think i am feminine?" asked gora irrisistibly. he had a way of making her feel, quite abruptly, as if she had run a needle under her fingernail. once more he turned to her his detached but keen young eyes. "well ... not exactly in the sense i mean. you look too much the fighter ... but that may be purely the result of circumstances," he added hastily: the strange eyes under their heavy down-drawn browns were lowering at him. "you are not masculine, no, not a bit." once more miss dwight curled her upper lip. "i wonder if you would have said the first part of that if you had met me at the hofer ball and i had worn a gown of flame-colored chiffon and satin, and my hair marcelled like every other woman present--except those embalmed relics of the seventies, who, i have heard, rise from the grave whenever a great ball is given, and appear in a built-up red-brown wig.... and a string of pearls round my throat? my neck and arms are quite good; although i've never possessed an evening gown, i know i'd look quite well in one ... my best." he laughed. "it does make a difference. i wish you had been there. i am sure you are as good a dancer as you are a pal. but still ... i think i should have recognized the fighter, even if you had been born in the california equivalent for the purple. i fancy you would have found some cause or other to get your teeth into once in a while. tell me, don't you rather like the idea of taking life by the throat and forcing it to deliver?" "i wonder? ... perhaps ... but that does not mitigate my resentment that i am on the outside of everything when i belong on the in. i should never have been forced to strive after what is mine by natural right." "well, don't let it make a socialist of you. that is such a cheap revenge on society.... confession of failure; and nothing in it." iv he looked at his watch: "eight o'clock. i'll be getting on to the presidio. why don't you come with me?" gora's feminine instincts arose from a less perverted source than her social. she shook her head with a smile. "i don't want to go any farther from my house. i shall slip down my first chance; and i have plenty to eat. perhaps you will come to see me before you go if my house is spared." "rather. what is the number? and if the house goes i'll find you somehow." he took her hand in both his and shook it warmly. "you are the best pal in the world--" "now don't make me a nice little speech. i'm only too glad. go out to the presidio and get a hot breakfast and attend--to--to your affairs. i am sure everything will be all right, although you may not be able to get away as soon as you hope." "i don't like leaving you alone here--" "alone?" she waved her hand at the hundreds of recumbent forms in the cemeteries and on the lower slopes of calvary. "i probably shall never be so well protected again. please go." he shook her hand once more, ran down the hill, turned and waved his cap, and trudged off in the direction of the presidio. v she slept in her own house that night, for dynamiting by miners summoned from grass valley by general funston, and a change of wind, had saved the western portion of the city. for the first time in her life gora experienced a sense of profound gratitude, almost of happiness. she felt that only a little more would make her quite happy. her lodgers, even her absorbed brother, noticed that her manner, her expression, had perceptibly softened. she herself noticed it most of all. chapter xi i gathbroke met alexina groome again a week later. on saturday, when the fire was over, and she could retreat decently and in good order, mrs. groome, to her young daughter's secret anguish, had consented to rest her nerves for a fortnight at rincona, mrs. abbott's home in alta. as gora had predicted, gathbroke found that it would have been hardly more difficult to move his sister's body, now at an undertaker's in fillmore street, out of the state in war-time than in the wake of a city's disaster, which was scattering its population to every point of the railroad compass. he had refused the space in the baggage car offered to him by the company; it should: be a private car or nothing; and for that, in spite of all the influence gwynne and his powerful friends could bring to bear, he must wait. meanwhile gwynne had asked him to stay with himself and his mother, lady victoria gwynne, at the house of his fiancée, isabel otis, on russian hill; a massive cliff rising above one of the highest of the city's northern hills, whose old houses, clinging to its steep sides had escaped the fire that roared about its base. to-day it was a green and lofty oasis in the midst of miles of smoking ruins. gathbroke was as nervous as only a young englishman within his immemorial armor can be. gwynne, who had gone through the same nerve-racking crisis, although from different causes, understood what he suffered and pressed him into service in the distribution of government rations, and garments to the different refugee camps. but gathbroke had the active imagination of intelligent youth, and he never forgot to blame himself for lingering in new york with some interesting chaps he had met on the _majestic_, and afterward in southern california, seduced by its soft climate and violent color. unquestionably, if he had stayed on his job, as these expressive americans put it, his sister would have been in new york, possibly on the atlantic ocean when san francisco shook herself to ruin. "but not necessarily alive," said lady victoria callously, removing her cigar, her heavy eyes that looked like empty volcanos, staring down over the smoldering waste. "people with heart disease don't invariably wait for an earthquake to jolt them out of life. assume that her time had come and think of something else or you'll become a silly ass of a neurotic." gwynne, more sympathetic, continued to find him what distraction he could, and one day drove him down the peninsula with a message from the committee of fifty to tom abbott; who had caught a heavy cold during those three days when he had driven a car filled with dynamite and had had scarcely an hour for rest. he was now at home in bed. ii the abbott's place, rincona, stood on a foothill behind the other estates of alta and surrounded by a park of two hundred acres set thick with magnificent oaks. gathbroke had never seen finer ones in england or france. gwynne before entering the avenue drove to an elevation above the house and stopped the car for a moment. the great san mateo valley looked like a close forest of ancient oaks broken inartistically by the roofs of houses shorn of their chimneys. beyond, on the eastern side of a shallow southern arm of the bay of san francisco, was the long range of the contra costa mountains, its waving indented slopes incredibly graceful in outline and lovely in color. gwynne had pointed out their ever changing tints and shades as they drove through the valley; at the moment they were heliotrope deepening to purple in the hollows. behind the foothills above rincona rose the lofty mountains which in maria abbott's youth had seemed to tower above the valley a solid wall of redwoods; but long since plundered and defaced for the passing needs of man. "great country--what?" said gwynne, starting the car. "you couldn't pry me away from it--that is, unless i have the luck to represent it in washington half the year. you'll be coming back yourself some day." "i? never. i hate the sight of its grinning blue sky after the red horror of those three days. i haven't seen a cloud as big as my hand, and in common decency it should howl and stream for months." "well, forget it for a day. perhaps you will be placed next the fair alexina at luncheon--" "alexina...?" "groome. you must have met her at the hofer ball." "she--what--possible--" gwynne looked at his stuttering and flushed young cousin and burst into laughter. "as bad as that, was it? well, she's not bespoken as far as i know. wade in and win. you have my blessing. she is almost as beautiful as isabel--" "she's quite as beautiful as miss otis." "oh, very well. no doubt i'd think so myself if i hadn't happened to meet isabel first, and if i were not too old for her anyway." gwynne could think of no better remedy for demoralized nerves than a flirtation with a resourceful california girl, and if dick annexed a living companion for his trying journey to england so much the better. gathbroke's excitement subsided quickly. he was in no condition for sustained enthusiasm. he felt as if quite ten years had passed since he had half fallen in love with alexina groome in a ball room that was now a charred heap in the sodden wreck of a city he barely could conjure in memory. besides, he had half fallen in love so often. and she was too young. he had really been more drawn to that strange miss dwight; upon whom, however, he had not yet called. he felt thankful that the girl _was_ too young for his critical taste. he wanted nothing more at present in the way of emotions. chapter xii i rincona had been named in honor of rincon hill, where tom abbott's grandmother had reigned in the sixties; a day, when in order to call on her amiable rival, mrs. ballinger, her stout carriage horses were obliged to plow through miles of sand hills, and to make innumerable détours to avoid the steep masses of rock, over which in her grandson's day cable car and trolley glided so lightly until that morning of april eighteen, nineteen hundred and six. when her husband, in common with other distinguished citizens, bought an estate in the san mateo valley, she named it rincona, to the secret wrath of other eminent ladies who had not thought of it in time. the house had as little pretensions to architectural beauty as others of its era, but it was a large compact structure of some thirty rooms, exclusive of the servants' quarters, and with as many outbuildings as a danish, farm. long french windows opened upon a wide piazza, whose pillars had disappeared long since under a luxuriant growth of rose vines and wistaria. at its base was a bed of parma violets, whose fragrance a westerly breeze wafted to the end of the avenue a quarter of a mile away. all about the house, breaking the smooth lawns, were beds and trees of flowers, at this time of the year a glowing exotic mass of color; but in the park that made up the greater part of the estate exclusive of the farms, the grass under the superb oaks was merely clipped, the weeds and undergrowth removed. the oaks had been evenly shorn of their lower branches, which gave them a formal and somewhat arrogant expression, as of cardinals and kings lifting their skirts. alexina hated the enormous rooms with their high frescoed ceilings and heavy victorian furniture; but maria abbott loved and revered the old house, emblem that it was of a secure proud family that had defied that detestable (and disturbing) old phrase: "three generations from shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves." the abbotts, like the ballingers and groomes and gearys and many others of that ilk, had not come to california in the fifties and sixties as adventurers, but with all that was needed to give them immediate prestige in the new community; and, among those that still retained their estates in the san mateo valley, at least, there was as little prospect of their reversion to shirt sleeves as of their conversion to the red shirt of socialism. their wealth might be moderate but it was solid and steadfast. ii the entertaining of the abbotts, yorbas, hathaways, montgomerys, brannans, trennahans, and others of what alexina irreverently called the a.a., had always been ostentatiously simple, albeit a butler and a staff of maids had contributed to their excessive comfort. in the eighties, evening toilettes during the summer were considered immoral; but by degrees, as time tooled in its irresistible modernities, they gradually fell into the habit of wearing out their winter party gowns at the evening diversions of the country season. burlingame, that borough of concentrated opulence founded in the early nineties as a fashionable colony, began its career with a certain amount of simplicity; but its millions increased to tens of millions; and what in heaven's name, as mrs. clement hunter, a leader and an individual, once remarked, is the use of having money if you don't dress and entertain as you would dream of dressing and entertaining if you didn't have a cent? mrs. hunter, who had formed an incongruous and somewhat hostile alliance with mrs. abbott, knew that her valuable friend, like others of that "small and early" band, resented the fact that their standards no longer counted outside of their own set. mrs. abbott had turned a haughty shoulder to mrs. hunter for a time, for she remembered her as, in their school days, the socially obscure lidie mckann; now, however, her husband turning all he touched to gold, she had, incredibly, become one of the most important women in san francisco and burlingame. when maria abbott finally succumbed she assured herself that curiosity to see the more ambushed glitter of that meretricious faubourg had nothing to do with it; it was easy to persuade herself that she hoped, being an indisputably smart woman herself, gradually to impose her simpler and more appropriate standards upon these people who sorely threatened the continued dominance of the old régime. mrs. hunter soon disabused her of any such notion, and during the early days of their acquaintance, after mrs. abbott came to one of her luncheons attired in a pique skirt and severe shirtwaist, impeccably cut and worn, but entirely out of place in an italian palace, where forty fashionable women, some of whom had motored sixty miles to attend the function, were dressed as they would be at a newport luncheon, mrs. hunter attended the next solemn affair at rincona so overdressed and made up that the outraged altarinos (as alexina irreverently called them) were reduced to a horrified silence that was almost hysterical. but one morning mrs. abbott caught mrs. hunter digging in her private vegetable garden behind the palace, and wearing a garment that her second gardener's wife would have scorned, her unblemished face beaming under a battered straw hat. both women had the humor to laugh, and their intimacy dated from that moment, mrs. hunter confessing that stuff on her face made her sick; but adding that she adored dress and thought that any rich woman was a fool who didn't. after that there was a compromise on both sides. mrs. hunter lunched or dined at rincona in her simplest frocks and mrs. abbott wore her best when honoring mrs. hunter and others at burlingame. she even went so far as to have some extremely smart silk voiles (the fashionable material of the moment) and linens made, and when asked to a wedding, a garden party, or a great function given to some visitor of distinction, complimented the occasion to the limit of her resources. iii mrs. hunter, in white duck, a sailor hat perched above her angular somewhat masculine face, was sitting on the abbott verandah as the two englishmen drove up. she waved her cigarette and cried gayly in her hearty resonant voice: "two men! what luck! and in time for lunch. i've hardly seen a man since the first day of the fire. leave your car anywhere and come in out of the sun. i'll call maria, and, incidentally, mention whiskey and soda." "the whiskey and soda is all right," said gwynne mopping his brow; nature, having wreaked her worst on california, seemed determined to atone by unseasonably brilliant weather, and the day under the blazing blue vault was very hot. mrs. abbott appeared in a few moments, smiling, cool, in immaculate white, the collar of her shirtwaist high and unwilted. her weather-beaten face looked years older than mrs. hunter's, who, although plain by comparison with the once beautiful maria groome, had treated her clean healthy skin with marked respect. but as the butler had preceded her with whiskey and soda and ice, mrs. abbott might already have achieved the mahogany tints of her mother and she would have been regarded as enthusiastically by two hot and dusty men. "of course you will stay to luncheon," she said as naturally as she had said it these many years, and as two hospitable generations had said it on that verandah before her. she turned to young gathbroke with a smile, for mrs. hunter, who was in her confidence, had detained her for a moment with a few sharp incisive words. "i have a very bored little sister, who will be glad to sit next to a young man once more." and although gathbroke almost frowned at this fresh reminder of the callow years of the girl whose sheer loveliness had haunted his imagination, he went off with a not disagreeable titillation of the nerves, at mrs. abbott's suggestion, to find her in the park and bring her back to luncheon in half an hour. chapter xiii i he was light of step and made no sound on the heavy turf; he saw her several minutes before she was aware of his presence and stood staring at her, feeling much as he had done during the progress of the earthquake. she was standing under one of the great oaks whose lower limbs had been trimmed so evenly some seven feet above the ground that they made a compact symmetrical roof above the dark head of the girl, who, being alone, had abandoned the limp curve of fashion and was standing very erect, drawn up to her full five feet seven. alexina had no intention of being afflicted with rounded shoulders when the present mode had passed. but her face expressed no guile as she stood there in her simple white frock with a bunch of periwinkles in her belt, her delicate profile turned to gathbroke as she gazed at the irregular majesty of the coast range, dark blue under a pale blue haze. he had retained the impression of starry eyes and vivid coloring and eager happy youth, a body of perfect slenderness and grace, whose magnetism was not that of youth alone but personal and individual. now he saw that although her fine little profile was not too regular, and as individual as her magnetism, the shape of her head was classic. it was probable that she was not unaware of the fact, for its perfect lines and curves were fully revealed by the severe flatness of the dusky thickly planted hair, which was brushed back to the nape of her neck and then drawn up a few inches and flared outward. the little head was held high on the long white stem of the throat; and the pose, with the dropping eyelids, gave her, in that deep shade, the illusion of maturity. gathbroke realized that he saw her for the moment as she would look ten years hence. even the full curved red lips were closed firmly and once the nostrils quivered slightly. the narrow black eyebrows following the subtle curve of her eyelids, the low full brow with its waving line of soft black hair, seemed to brood over the lower part of the face with its still indeterminate curves, over the wholly immature figure of a very young girl. gathbroke surrendered then and there. this radiation of mystery, of complexity, this secret subtle visit of maturity to youth, the hovering spirit of the future woman, was unique in his experience and went straight to his head. he forgot his sister, dismissed the thought of dwight with a gesture of contempt. he might be modest and rather diffident in manner, owing to racial shyness, but he had a fine sustaining substructure of sheer masculine arrogance. ii as he walked forward swiftly alexina turned; and immediately was the young thing of eighteen and of the early twentieth century. her spine drooped into an indolent curve, her soft red lips fell apart, her black-gray eyes opened wide as she held out her hand to the young englishman. "how nice! i never really expected to see you again. i understood lady victoria to say you were merely passing through." alexina had not cast him a thought since the night of the ball but she was hospitable and feminine. "i was detained." she noted with intense curiosity that his bright color paled and his sparkling hazel eyes darkened with a sudden look of horror; but the spasm of memory passed quickly, and once more he was staring at her with frank capitulation. alexina's head went up a trifle. she was still new to conquest, and although she had met more than one pair of admiring eyes in the course of the past season, and received as many compliments as the vainest girl could wish, few men had had the courage to storm the stern fortress on ballinger hill, or to sit more than once in a drawing-room so darkly reminiscent of funeral ceremonies that a fellow's nerves began to jump all over him. nor had her fancy been even lightly captured until mortimer dwight, that perfect hero of maiden dreams, had swept her off her dancing feet on the most memorable night of her life. she had quite made up her mind to marry him. the indignant silent hostility of the family (even mrs. ballinger, her moment of weakness passed, having been swung to the horrified maria's point of view) had been all that was necessary to convince the young alexina that fate had sent her the complete romance. she hoped the opposition would drive her to an elopement; little dreaming of the horror with which mr. dwight would greet the heterodox alternative. mrs. abbott had had a valid excuse for not asking him down: provisions were scarce, and, so tom said, he was doing useful work in town. but olive bascom, whose country home was in san mateo, had invited him for the next week end, and he had accepted. alexina was to be one of the small house party, and there were many romantic walks behind san mateo. a moon was also due. iii still gathbroke might have entered the race with an even chance, for maidens of eighteen are merely the blind tools of nature, had not the family made the mistake of displaying too warm an approval of the eligible young englishman. mrs. groome, mrs. abbott, aunt clara, reënforced even by the more worldly mrs. hunter, who, however, had no children of her own, treated him throughout the luncheon with an almost intimate cordiality and a lively personal interest; whereas, if mrs. abbott had been driven to keep her word and invite mortimer dwight to her historic board she would have depressed him with the cool pleasant detachment she reserved for those whom she knew slightly and cared for not at all; mrs. groome, automatically gracious, would have retired within the formidable fortress of an exterior built in the still more exclusive eighties; aunt clara would have sat petrified with horror at the desecration; and mrs. hunter, free from the obligations of hospitality, would have been brusque, frankly supercilious, made him as uncomfortable as possible. all this alexina angrily resented, not knowing that their amiability was in part inspired by sympathy, gwynne having told them the story of his cousin's tragic experience; although they did in truth regard him as a possibly heaven-sent solution of a problem that was causing them all, even mrs. hunter, acute anxiety. young gathbroke was handsomer than dwight. he was younger, and his circumstances were far more romantic, if romance alexina must have. it was plain that he was fascinated by the dear silly child, who, in her turn, would no doubt promptly forget the ineligible dwight if the englishman proved to be serious and paid her persistent court. nevertheless gathbroke, before the luncheon was half over, felt that he was making no progress with alexina. subtly it was conveyed to him on one of those unseen currents that travel directly to the sensitive mind, that these amiable people knew his story; and, no doubt, in all its harrowing details. simultaneously those details flashed into his own consciousness with a horrible distinctness, depressing his spirits and extinguishing a natural gayety and light chaff that had come back for a moment. moreover, to use his own expression, he was besottedly in love, and knew that he betrayed himself every time his eyes met those of the girl, who, he felt with bitterness and alarm, long before the salad, was making a desperate attempt to entertain a very dull young man. once or twice a mocking glance flashed through those starry ingenuous orbs, but was banished by the simple art of elevating the wicked iris and revealing a line of saintly white. alexina was quite determined to add a british scalp to her small collection, and for the young man's possible torment she cared not at all. with young arrogance she rather despised him for his surrender before battle, or at all events for hauling down his flag publicly; and her mind traveled with feminine satisfaction to the calm smiling dominance, combined with utter devotion, of the man who had won her as easily as she had conquered richard gathbroke. that the young englishman's nature was hot and tempestuous, with depths that even he had not sounded, and her ideal knight's more effective mien but the expression of a possibly meager and somewhat puritanical nature; that dwight's heart was a well-trained organ which would never commit an indiscretion, and that young gathbroke would have sold the world for her if she had been a flower girl, or the downfall of her fortunes had sent her clerking, she was far too inexperienced to guess; and it is doubtful if the knowledge would have affected her had she possessed it. she was in the obstinate phase of first youth, common enough in girls of her sheltered class, where the opportunities to study men and their behavior are few. having persuaded herself that she was far more romantic than she really was, and that there would be no possible happiness or indeed interest in life after youth, she had conceived as her ideal mate the dominant male, the complete master, and easily persuaded herself that she had found him in mortimer dwight.... if she married gathbroke he would be her slave (so little did she know him.). dwight would be her master. (so little did she know him, or herself.) chapter xiv i after luncheon, grinning amiably when mrs. abbott hinted that englishmen liked to be out of doors, she led gathbroke to the confines of the park, where they sat down under one of the oaks that reminded him of england; for which he was in truth desperately homesick, and never more so than at this moment. everything combined to make him realize uneasily his youth. in england a man of twenty-three was a man-of-the-world if he had had the proper opportunities; but this girl who had infatuated him, and even the far more sympathetic miss dwight, made him feel that he was a mere boy; and so had this entire family, however unwittingly. ii he spoke of miss dwight suddenly, for alexina, who had been duly enlightened while the men were smoking with tom, had tactfully conveyed her sympathy, her eyes almost round with fascinated horror and curiosity. he set his teeth and gave a rapid but graphic account of the whole dreadful episode, willing to interest her at any price; and alexina, sitting opposite on the ground, her long spine curved, her long arms embracing her knees, listened with a breathless interest, spurring him to potent words, even to stressing of detail. "my goodness gracious me!" she ejaculated when he paused. "i should have gone raving mad. you are a perfect wonder. i never heard of anything so gor--perfectly thrilling. and that girl, what did you say her name was?" gathbroke, who had purposely withheld it, said explosively: "dwight." "dwight?" "i think she is a sister of a friend of yours." and he was made as miserable as he could wish by a crimson tide that swept straight from her heart pump up to her widow's peak. "dwight? sister? i didn't know he had one. i saw him several times during the fire and he didn't mention her." "i suspect he was too absorbed." gathbroke muttered the words, but man's instinct of loyalty to his own sex is strong. "a city doesn't burn every day, you know." "still ... what is she like? like him?" "i do not remember him at all ... she? oh, she has a tremendous amount of dark hair that looks as if falling off the top of her head and down her face. uncommonly heavy eyebrows, and very light gray--ah, i have it! i have been groping for the word ever since--sinister eyes.... that is the effect in that dark face. she has a curious character, i should think. not very frank. she--well, she rather struck me as having been born for drama; tragic drama, i am afraid." "not a bit like her brother. how old is she?" "twenty-two, she told me." "what--what does she do? they are not a bit well off." he hesitated a moment. "well--as i recall it, she is studying something or other at the university of california." "and of course she boards down there with her brother, who takes care of her while she is studying to be a teacher or something." alexina having arranged it to her satisfaction dismissed the subject. she had no mind to betray herself to this good-looking young englishman who had been sent to her providentially on a very dull day. he would, no doubt, have been frantically interesting if he had not been so idiotic as to fall head over ears the first shot. still ... alexina examined him covertly as he transferred his gaze for a moment to the mountains across the distant bay, swimming now in a pale blue mist with a wide banner of pale pink above them.... if she had met him first, or had never met the other at all ... who knew? iii alexina, for all her passion for romance, had a remarkably level head. she was quite aware that there had been a certain amount of deliberation in her own headlong plunge, convinced as she was that high romance belonged to youth alone, and fearful lest it pass her by; aware also that a part of dwight's halo, aside from his looks and manners and chivalrous charm, consisted in his being a martyr to an unjust fate, and, as such, under the ban of her august family. it was all quite too perfect.... but if gathbroke had come first his qualifications might have proved quite as puissant, and no doubt tom abbott, who retained his school-history hatred of the entire english race, would have provided the opposition and perhaps influenced the family. she swept her intoxicating lashes along the faint bloom high on her olive cheeks and then raised her eyes suddenly to the tormented ones opposite. she also smiled softly, alluringly, as little fascinating wretches will who know nothing of the passions of men. "i think you should follow mr. gwynne's example and stay here with us." he thought of silver chimes and contrasted her voice with gora dwight's angry contralto: he always thought of gora in phrases. "so many englishmen live out here and adore it." "i'm perfectly satisfied with my own country, thank you." alexina, who was feeling intensely american at the moment, curled her lip. "oh, of course. we have had plenty of those, too. scarcely any of them becomes naturalized. just use and enjoy the country and give as little in return as possible." "really? i fancy they must give rather a lot in return or they would hardly be tolerated. no native has worked harder than elton these last days. i understand most of them are in business or ranching and have married california girls." "oh, they have redeeming points." and then having satisfied her curiosity as to how hazel eyes looked when angry she gave him a dazzling smile. "we love them like brothers, and that is a proof that we are not snobbish, for most of them are not of your or mr. gwynne's class--just middle-class business people at home." "well, you are a business nation, so why not? i have met hardly any but business men out here and i feel quite at home with them. my mother's family are in trade and i enjoy myself immensely when i visit them." "oh!" his halo slipped.... still, what did it matter? "i suppose you told me that to let me know you didn't need to come out here in search of an heiress. but many of our most charming girls are not. just now it seems to me that more young men in california have money than girls ... but they are so uninteresting." she looked pathetic, her mouth drooped; then she smiled at him confidingly. he knew quite as well as if he had not been hard hit that she was flirting with him, but as long as she gave him his chance to win her she might do her transparent little best to make a fool of him. "have you ever been in love?" asked alexina softly. "oh, about half-way several times, but always drew back in time ... knew it wasn't the real thing ... youth fools itself, you know, for the sake of the sensation--or the race. have you?" "oh--" alexina lifted her thin flexible shoulders airily and this time her color did not flow. "how is one to tell ... a girl in her first season ... when all men look so much alike? it is fun to flirt with them, when you have been shut up in boarding-school and hardly had a glimpse of life even in vacation. my new york relatives are terribly old-fashioned. it's great fun to give one man all the dances and watch the dado of dowagers look disapproving." and once more she gave him the quick smile of understanding that springs so spontaneously between youth and youth. "well ... you might have given all those dances to me the other night, instead of to that fellow dwight." "oh, but you see, i had already promised them to him. lady victoria always comes so late." "that's true enough." his spirits rose a trifle. "when do you go--back to england, i mean? not for a good long time, i hope. we have awfully good times down here. janet maynard and olive bascom live at san mateo in the summer, and aileen lawton at burlingame. they are my chums and we'd give you a ripping time. we'd like to have you take away the pleasantest possible memory of california instead of such a terrible one. i don't mean anything very gay of course. you mustn't think i'm heartless." and she showed the lower pearl of her eyes and looked like a madonna. "i'm afraid i must go soon. i've had an extension of leave already, and hofer told me just before we left to-day that he thought he could let me have his private car inside of a week. they've been using it." iv there was not a dwelling in sight. the quiet of that old park with its brooding oaks was primeval. behind her was the pink and blue glory of sky and mountain. her eyes were like stars. he burst out boyishly: "if i only had more time! if only i could have met you even when i first came to san francisco ... before ... before ... i'd--i'd like to marry you. it's fearfully soon to say such a thing. i feel like a fool. but i'm not the first man to fall madly in love at first sight ... and you ... you ... if i tell you now instead of waiting it's because there's so little time. would you ... do you think you could marry me?" "oh! ah!" (she almost said ow.) after all it was her first proposal. she was thrilled in spite of the fact that she was in love with another man, for she felt close to something elemental, hazily understood ... something in her own unsounded depths rushed to meet it. but he was too young, and too "easy," and she didn't like his gray flannel shirt; which, laundry being out of the question, he had bought in fillmore street almost opposite the undertaker's. "suppose we correspond for a year? that is, if you must really go so soon." "i must. i want you to go with me." his eyes had turned almost black and he had set his jaw in a way she didn't like at all. in nerving himself to go through the ordeal he had worked up his fermenting mind into a positively brutal mood. "oh--mercy! i couldn't do that. my people are the most conventional in the world." the situation was getting beyond her. she had not intended to make him propose for at least a week and then he would have been abject and she majestic. she sprang to her feet with a swift sidewise movement that made her limp young body melt into a series of curves; and, standing at bay as it were, looked at him with a little frown. he rose as quickly and she liked the set of his jaw bones less and less. "are you refusing me outright?" he demanded. "that would be only fair, you know, if i have no chance." "well.... i think so. that is--" "do you love another man?" coquetry flashed back. nevertheless, she told the exact truth little as she suspected it. "i love myself, and youth, and life, and liberty. what is a man in comparison with all that?" "this." and before she could make another leap he had her in his arms; and under the fire of his lips and eyes she lay inert, intoxicated, her first flash of young passion completely responsive to his. but only for a moment. she wrenched herself away, her face livid, her eyes black with fury. she beat his chest with her fists. "you! you! how i hate you! to think i should have given that to you ... to think that another man should have been the first to kiss me ... i'm in love with another man, i tell you. why don't you go? i hate myself and i never want to lay eyes on you again. go! go! go!" chapter xv i during the retreat from mons and again in those black days of march, nineteen-eighteen, gathbroke's tormented mind snapped from the present and flashed on its screen so startling a resurrection of himself during those last dreadful days in san francisco that for the moment he was unconscious of the world crashing about him. he saw himself in long days and nights of anguish and despair, of embittered love and baffled passion: youth enjoying one of its divine prerogatives and the fullness thereof! pacing the floor of his room on russian hill, tramping over the mountains across the bay, doggedly awaiting that sole alleviation of mental suffering in its early stages, a change of scene. finally the hofer car was placed at his disposal and he started on his four days' journey to new york; and this brief chapter, that his friends thought so gruesome, was the least of his afflictions. the memory of his twenty-four hours or more of close physical association with his sister's corpse made any subsequent adventure with the dead seem tame. and at least he was leaving behind him a state which seemed to have magnetized him across six thousand miles to experience the horror and misery she had in pickle for him. he reveled in the audible rush of the train that was carrying him farther every moment from the girl who had cut down into the core of his heart and left her indelible image on a remarkably good memory. ii he had asked himself one day--it was his last in california and he had taken his courage in his teeth and was on his way to call on gora dwight at last, picking his steps through, the still smoking ruins down to van ness avenue--whether it would be possible for any man to suffer twice in a lifetime as he had suffered since that hideous moment at rincona, coming as it did on top of an uncommon and terrible experience that had racked his nerves and soul as it might not have done had he been seasoned by war or even a few years older. at all events it had left him with no reserves even in his pride to fight his failure and his loss. in that shrieking hell of august twenty-sixth, or again when lying abandoned and gassed in a way-side hut during that ominous retreat of the fifth army, when he had a sudden close vision of himself, trousers tucked into a pair of gwynne's hunting boots, swearing now and again as he stepped on a hot brick; and heard his groping ego whisper the question through his prostrate mind, he was tempted to answer aloud, to shout "no" above the shrieking of shells and the groans of men fallen about him. he might no longer love alexina groome after twelve or even eight years of complete severance; and, indeed, save in flashing moments like these he had seldom thought of her after the first two or three years; but at least she had taken the edge from his power to suffer. he had lost his mother soon after his return with the body of her youngest child, his father had died three years later, and he had accepted these griefs with the composure of maturity. although he had had some agreeable adventures (not that he had had much time for either women or society) he had taken devilish good care not to get in too deep--even if he still possessed the power to love at all, which he doubted. he remembered also, what he had almost forgotten, that during that walk it had come to him with the sharpness of surprise that the image of the girl who clung to his mind with the tentacles of a devil-fish, was as he had seen her standing under the oak tree while unaware of his presence: older, a more dignified and thoughtful figure, a woman old enough to be his mate in something more than youthful passion, the ideal woman of vague sweet dreams; not as the thoughtless little coquette who had tempted him to ruin his chances by acting like a cave brute. given a fortnight longer, during which he remained master of himself instead of a young fool with a smashed temperament, and the unfledged woman in her, whose subtle projection he had witnessed during that moment of his capitulation, would have recognized him as her mate; as for the moment she had in his arms. not the least of his ordeals during those last days was the inevitable call on gora dwight. he felt like a cad, after what she had been to him at the end of an appalling experience, to have let, nearly three weeks go by with no apparent recognition of her existence. but he had been unable to find a messenger, there was no post; and then, after his ill-starred visit to rincona, he had forgotten her until his final visit to the undertaker; when she had seemed to stand, an indignant and reproachful figure, at the head of the casket. iii he had a note in his pocket and hoped she would be out. but she opened the door herself, and her dark face, thinner than he recalled it, flushed and then turned pale. but she said calmly as she extended her hand: "come in. i wondered what had become of you." "i'm sorry. but--perhaps--you can understand--it was not easy for me to come here!" "of course. come up to my diggings." he followed her up to the attic studio, where as before he took the easy chair and accepted one of her cigarettes; which he professed to be grateful for as his were exhausted and every decent brand in town had gone up in smoke. gora was deeply disappointed that she had received no warning of his call, for she possessed an extremely becoming and richly embroidered silk chinese costume, as red as the flames that had devoured chinatown a few days after she had bought it at a bankrupt sale. she had put it on every afternoon for a week, hoping and expecting that he would call; and now that she had on her second-best tailored suit, and a darned if immaculate shirtwaist, he had chosen to turn, up! ... but at least the lapels of the jacket had recently been faced with red, and it curved closely over her beautiful bust. moreover, she had just finished rearranging the masses of her rich brown hair when the bell rang. and she had him for a time, perhaps for an hour! she set out the tea things as an intimation of the refreshment he would get at the proper time.... she too had suffered during this past interminable fortnight, but gora was far more mature than the young englishman, upon whom life until the last few weeks had smiled so persistently. she was too complex, she had suffered in too many ways, from too many causes, not all of them elevating, to be capable upon so short a notice, even after a night of unique companionship, of such whole-souled agony and despair. in her imagination, her sense of drama, her vanity, in the fading of vague dazzling hopes of a future to which he held the key, and perhaps a little in her stormy heart, she had felt a degree of harsh disappointment, but she had already half-recovered; and as she sat looking at his ravaged face she wondered that the death of a sister, no matter how harrowing the conditions, could make such a wreck of any man. he told her of his difficulties in finding some one to remove the body from the vault to the undertaker's, of the delay in obtaining a private car, gave her some idea of his disorganized life since they had parted, but made no mention of alexina groome or rincona. then he politely asked her if she had any new plans for the future. nobody seemed to look forward to the same old life. gora shrugged her shoulders with a movement expressive of irritation. "my brother, who is engaged to alexina groome, insists that i give up this lodging house." "oh, so they are engaged?" gathbroke lit another cigarette, and his hand did not tremble; he felt as if his nerves had been immersed in ice water and frozen. "yes--marvelously. the family, as might be expected, is furious. but the girl is mad about him and of age. she is just a foolish child and should be locked up. my brother is not in the least what she imagines him. she wrote me a letter. good heaven! one would think she had captured the prince of a fairy tale, or the hero of an old romantic novel. there should be a law prohibiting girls from marrying before they are twenty-two at least.... however, the thing is done. and my brother is terribly afraid they'll find out that i keep a lodging house. he's given them to understand we both board here. they are prime snobs and so is he. i never dreamed it was in him until he began to go about in society, but then you never know what is in anybody. otherwise, he is harmless enough, and a good industrious boy, but he'll never make the money to keep up with that set, and she won't have much. it's a stupid affair all round...." "i've refused to budge until he finds me a job. he certainly cannot support me, even if i were willing to be supported by any one. as far as i am concerned they could know i kept a lodging house and welcome. it is honest and it gives me a good living; and, what i value more, many hours of freedom. but mortimer is not only positively terrified they'll find it out, but he is as obstinate over it as--well, as that kind of man always is. he's looking about, and i fancy my fate is stenography or bookkeeping: i took a course at a business college shortly before my mother died. i don't know that he'd like that much better; he hinted that i might be a librarian in a small town. but i'll be hanged if i fall for that." gathbroke smiled. "not that. you don't belong to the country town. but i fancy you'll have to give up the lodging house. elton gwynne took me down the peninsula one day, and--well--i don't fancy they would stand for it. aristocracies are aristocracies the world over. they may talk democracy, and really modify themselves a bit, but there are certain things they'd choke on if they tried to swallow them, and they won't even try. better give it up before they find it out and tackle you. i don't fancy you'd stand for that. it would be devilish disagreeable. you've got to know and be more or less intimate with them all--" "i'll not be patronized by them. i don't know that i'll go near them. for years i've resented that i was not one of them, but i don't fancy tagging in after my brother, treated with pleasant courteous resignation, invited once a year to a family dinner, and quite forgotten on smart occasions." "quite so. i like your spunk. have you thought of being a nurse? all work is hard and i should think that would be interesting. must meet a jolly lot of people. you should see the becoming uniforms the london nurses wear. prettiest women on the street, by jove." her heart sank but she replied evenly: "not a bad idea. i've quite enough saved to take the course comfortably--" he had a flash of memory. "and that would give you time to win your reputation as a writer. then the nursing would be merely one more resource." "it was nice of you to remember that. i'll consider the nursing proposition, and when you have your next war i'll go over and nurse you. that part of it--a war nurse--would be mighty interesting." the words were spoken idly, merely to avert a pause, and forgotten as soon as uttered. but as a matter of fact the next time they met was when he looked up from his cot in the hospital after he had been retrieved from the hut by two of his devoted tommies, and saw the odd pale eyes of gora dwight close above his own. book ii chapter i i gora closed the door of mrs. groome's room as the clock struck two, the old ballinger clock that had seemed to toll the hours on a deep note of solemn acquiescence for the past six weeks. she crossed the hall and entered alexina's room without knocking. mortimer, during the past fortnight, had moved from the room adjoining his wife's to one at the back of the house, lest it should be necessary to call alexina in the night. he worked very hard. alexina still occupied her old room in the front of the house where the creaking eucalyptus trees sometimes brushed the window pane. it had been refurnished and fitted in various elusive shades of pink by mrs. abbott as her wedding present. there was a dim point of light above a gas jet and gora saw that alexina was asleep. the pillows were on the floor. she was lying flat, her arms thrown out, the dusky fine mass of her hair spread over the low head board. her clear olive cheeks were pale with sleep and her eyelashes looked like two little black clouds. gora watched her for a moment. why awaken the poor child? she was sleeping as peacefully as if that tall old clock of her forefathers had not tolled out the last of another generation of ballingers. her soft red lips were half parted. it was now three years since her marriage but she still looked like a very young girl. gora always felt vaguely sorry for her although she seemed happy enough. at all events it was quite obvious that she did little thinking except when she remembered to wish for a baby. gora wore the white uniform of a nurse, and a little cap with wings on the coronet of her heavy hair. it was a becoming costume and made her eyes in their dark setting look less pale and cold. she had a secret contempt for most of the old conventions but she had given her word to awaken alexina the moment any change occurred, and she reluctantly shook her sister-in-law's shoulder. ii alexina sprang out of bed on the instant. "mother?" she cried. "is she worse?" gora nodded. alexina made a dart for the door, but gora threw a strong arm about her. those arms had held more than one violent man in his bed. "better wait," she said softly. alexina's body grew rigid as she slowly drew back on gora's arm and stared up at her. in a moment she asked in a hard steady voice: "is my mother dead?" "yes. it was very sudden. i had no time to telephone for the doctor; to call you. she was sleeping. i was sitting beside her. suddenly i knew that she had stopped breathing--" "would you mind telephoning to maria and sally? maria will never forgive herself--but mother seemed so much better--" "i will telephone at once. shall i call mortimer?" "no. why disturb him?" gora, watching alexina, saw a curious remoteness enter the depths of her eyes, and her own narrowed with something of her old angry resentment. in this hour of profound sorrow, when the human heart is quite honest, alexina, however her conscious mind might be averted from the fact, regarded mortimer dwight as an outsider, an agreeable alien who had no permanent place in the immense permanency of the ballinger-groomes. she wanted only her own family, her own inherent sort. sally had hastened to california as soon as her mother's illness had been pronounced dangerous, and had stayed in the house until a week ago when she had been ordered by the doctor to santa barbara to get rid of a heavy cold on her chest. she had telegraphed the day before that she was threatened with pneumonia, and maria, assured that her mother was in no immediate danger, had gone down to spend two days with her. possibly alexina caught a flash from the mind of this strange and interesting sister-in-law, for she added hastily: "you know how hard mortimer works, poor dear. and i do not feel in the least like crying. i shall write telegrams to ballinger and geary: my brothers, you know." (gora ground her teeth.) "it was too sad they could not get here, but ballinger is in south america and geary on a diet. i must also write a cablegram to an old friend of mine who has married a frenchman, olive de morsigny. she was always so fond of mother. would you also mind telephoning to rincona about seven?" "i'll do all the telephoning. go back to bed as soon as possible. it is only a little after two." as gora turned to leave the room alexina put her hand on her arm and summoned a faint sweet smile. "i cannot tell you how grateful i am, gora dear, how grateful we all are. you have been simply wonderful--" "i am a good nurse if i do say it myself," said gora lightly. "but you must remember there are others quite as good; and that i--". "i know you would do your duty as devotedly by any stranger." alexina interrupted her with sweet insistence. "but it has been wonderful to be able to have you, all the same. it has also given me the chance to know you at last, and i shall never quite let you go again." gora, to her secret anger, had never accustomed herself to the unswerving graciousness of these people, and all that it implied, but her sharp mind had long since warned her that as she had neither the position nor the training to emulate it, at least she must not betray a sense of social inferiority by open resentment. her voice was deep and naturally abrupt but she achieved a fair imitation of alexina's sweet cordiality. "it has meant quite as much to me, alexina, i can assure you. and now that i am on my own and shall have a day or two between cases i know where i shall spend them. i am only too thankful that i graduated in time to take care of dear mrs. groome. write your telegrams and i will give them to the doctor when he comes. i must telephone to him at once." iii after she had gone alexina wrote not only her telegrams and cablegrams, but the "letters to follow." it was nearly four o'clock when she finished. old dr. maitland had not yet come and she put her bulletins on the table in the hall. she heard gora moving about her mother's room and retreated into her own. she did not want to go to her mother yet nor did she care particularly to see gora again, although she had certainly been very nice and a great comfort to them all. alexina was quite unaware that her attitude to her sister-in-law was one of unconsicous condescension, of a well-bred determination never to wound the pride of a social inferior. she found gora an "interesting personality" and quite extraordinarily efficient. it had been the greatest relief to all the family when that very capable miss dwight--gora, that is; one must remember--had been brought by dr. maitland to take charge of the case after mrs. groome's cardiac trouble became acute and she demanded constant attention. gora had slept in mrs. groome's bedroom for six weeks, relieved for several hours of the afternoon by a member of the family or one of mrs. groome's many anxious friends. it was her first case and it interested her profoundly. moreover, her personal devotion placed her for the moment on a certain basis of equality with a family whose mental processes were quite transparent to her contemptuous mind. she was excessively annoyed with herself for still caring, but the roots were too deep, and there had been nothing in her life during the past three years to diminish her fierce sense of democracy as she interpreted it. alexina had never given a thought to her sister-in-law's psychology, although the sensitive plates of her brain received an impression now and again of a violent inner life behind that business-like exterior. but she had seen little of her until lately, and during the past six weeks her mind had been too concentrated upon her mother's sufferings and possible danger to have any disposition for analysis. she certainly did not feel the least need of her now. she wished, indeed, that she had asked aileen to remain in the house last night. aileen was her own age, they had been intimate since childhood, often without the slightest regard for each other's feelings, and was more like a sister than even dear sally and maria. suddenly she determined to go to her. she had her own latch key and would disturb no one but aileen. she dressed herself warmly and slipped down stairs and out of the house. chapter ii i the city below--the new solid city--was obliterated under a heavy fog, pierced here and there by steeples and towers that looked like jagged dark rocks in that white and tranquil sea. on angel island and on the north shore of the bay the deep sad bells were tolling their warning to moving craft; and from out at sea, beyond the golden gate, the fog horn sent forth its long lugubrious groans. the bells sounded muffled, so dense was the fog, and there was no other sound in the sleeping city. alexina wrapped her long cloak more closely about her and pulled the hood over her head. as she walked slowly down the steep avenue it came to her with something of a shock that she had not thought of her husband since she had expressed to gora her reluctance to disturb him. she was doing the least conventional thing possible in leaving the house at four o'clock in the morning to seek the sympathy of a girl friend when any other young wife she knew (unless getting a divorce) would have flown to her husband and wept out her sorrow in his arms. and she had been married only three years, and found mortimer quite as irreproachable as ever, always kind, thoughtful, and considerate. he assuredly would have said just the right things to her and not have resented in the least being deprived of a few hours of rest. on the contrary, he would no doubt resent being ignored, for not only was he devoted to his lovely young wife but such behavior was unorthodox, and he disliked the unorthodox exceedingly. well, she didn't want him and that was the end of it. he didn't fill the present bill. she had never regretted her marriage, for he had quite measured up to the best feats of her maiden imagination. he made love charmingly, he was manly chivalrous and honorable, and his eager spontaneity of manner when he arrived home at six o'clock every evening never varied; to whatever level of flatness he might drop immediately afterward. when they entered a ballroom or a restaurant she knew that they made a "stunning couple" and that people commented upon their good looks, their harmonious slenderness and inches, and contrasts in nature's coloring. ii alexina, almost unconsciously, sat down on a bench under the trees. her mind sought the pleasant past as a brief respite from the present; she knew that that part of her mind called heart was frozen by the suddenness of her mother's death, and that her emotions would be fluid a few hours hence. they had had a simply heavenly time together until her mother's illness. as a clerk in the family was unthinkable mrs. groome had lent him the insurance on one of her burned buildings and he had started a modest exporting and importing house, that being the only business of which he had any knowledge. judge lawton and tom abbott had suggested that he open an insurance office, or start himself in any business where little capital besides office furniture was needed; as mrs. groome's advisors they were averse to launching any of her moderate fortune on a doubtful venture. but dwight had insisted that he was more likely to succeed in a business he understood than in one of which he knew nothing, and mrs. groome had agreed with him. judge lawton and abbott paid over the insurance money with the worst grace possible. and then mortimer had a piece of the most astounding good luck. his aunt eliza goring had left stock in a mine which had run out of pay ore soon after her investment, and shut down. it had recently been recapitalized and a new vein discovered. mrs. goring's executor had sold her stock for something under twenty thousand dollars, delivering the proceeds, as directed in her will, to two of her amazed heirs, mortimer and gora dwight. gora had been opposed to her brother leaving the firm of cheever harrison and cheever, where, beyond question, he would be head of a department in time and safely anchored for life; but he had taken the step, and she reasoned that he must have a considerable knowledge of a business with which he had been associated for fourteen years, she knew his energy and powers of application, and she resented the attitude of "the family." appreciating what his triumph would mean to him she had consented to invest her inheritance in his business and enable him to make immediate restitution to mrs. groome. as a matter of fact his "stock did go up" with the family, particularly as he seemed to be doing well and had the reputation of working harder than any young man on the street. as he had anticipated, a good deal of business was thrown his way. he had accepted as a matter of course mrs. groome's invitation to live with her, paying, as he insisted upon it, a stipulated sum toward the current expenses. he thought her offer quite natural; not only would she be lonely without the child of her old age, but she must desire that alexina continue to live in the conditions to which she was accustomed; the sum mrs. groome consented to accept would not have kept them in a fashionable family hotel, much less an apartment with several servants. moreover, housing room was scarce; they might have been obliged to live across the bay; and, in his opinion, the duty of parents to their offspring never ceased. alexina at that time thought every sentiment he expressed "simply great," and had continued to feed from her mother's hand even in the matter of pin money. mortimer felt it to be right, so he told her, to put his surplus profits back in his business; all he could spare he needed for "front," to say nothing of pleasant little dinners at restaurants to their hospitable young friends; who thought it no adequate return to be asked to dine on ballinger hill. moreover, he often gave her a far handsomer present than he should have done, considering the "hard times;" or at least she would have preferred that he give her the combined values in the form of a monthly allowance; she would have enjoyed the sensation of being in a measure supported by her husband. however, she and her mother assured each other that he was bound to make a fortune in time, and then she would have an allowance as large as that of sibyl thorndyke, who had married frank bascom. it had been like playing at marriage. alexina put it into concrete words. subconsciously she had always known it. she had had no cares, no responsibilities. she had merely continued to play, to keep her imagination on that plane sometimes called the fool's paradise. iii she realized abruptly that here was the secret of her longing for children. they would have been the real thing, given a serious translation to life. but she had enjoyed the gay life of her little world, nevertheless, and with all the abandon of a youth which had just closed its first long chapter in that silent room on top of the hill. and no one could have asked for a more delightful companion to play with than morty, when his working hours were over. mortimer loved society. it had been simply delicious, poor darling, to watch his secret delight, under his perfect repose, the first time they spent a week-end in mrs. hunter's magnificent "villa" at burlingame. even aileen had treated his initiation as a matter of course; and they had spent the afternoon at the club, where he drank whiskey and soda on equal terms with many millionaires. iv it was doubtful if he enjoyed similarly his first visit to rincona during their engagement: after all the powwow was over and the family had grimly surrendered to avoid the scandal of an elopement. alexina recalled that dreadful day. they had all sat on the verandah on the shady side of the house: her mother, aunt clara groome, maria, susan belling and grace montgomery, tom abbott's sisters, whose homes were in alta, and coralie geary, born brannan, of fair oaks (now atherton) who had married a nephew of mrs. groome. all these were as one united family. they met every day, wandering in and out at all hours, and although they had many healthy disagreements they agreed on all the fine old fundamentals, and they stood by one another through thick and thin. the hair of all looked freshly washed. their complexions had perished asking no quarter. mrs. montgomery and mrs. geary were as slim and smart as mrs. abbott, but the others were expanding rapidly, and aunt clara, who was only a year older than mrs. groome, was shamelessly fat, and her face was so weather-beaten that the freckled skin hung as loosely as her old wrapper. all wore white, the simplest white, and all sewed quietly for the new refugee babies; all except alexina who talked feverishly to cover the awful pauses, and young joan, who had crawled under the table and stuffed an infant's flannel petticoat into her mouth to muffle her giggles. tom had escaped to the golf links. mortimer sat in the midst of the irregular circle and smoked three cigars. he smiled when he spoke, which was seldom, and appeared appreciative of the determined efforts to be "nice" of these ladies who had called him mortimer as soon as he arrived, and who made him fed more like a poor relation whose feelings must be spared, every moment. finally alexina, who was on the verge of hysteria, dragged joan from under the table, and the two carried him off to the tennis court. in subsequent visits, now covering a period of three years, their gracious civil "kind" attitude had never varied, save only when their consciences hurt them for disliking him more than usual, and then they were not only heroic but fairly effusive in their efforts to be nice. nevertheless, it was quite patent to alexina that he enjoyed smoking his after-dinner cigar on that old verandah whose sweet-scented vines had been planted in the historic sixties; or under the ancient oaks of the park where he dreamed aloud to her of sitting under similar oaks of england, the guest of lady barnstable or lady arrowmount, belles of the eighties who faithfully exchanged letters once a year with maria abbott and coralie geary. from the family there was always the refuge of the tennis court and he played an excellent game. he also seemed to enjoy those dinners given them in certain other old peninsula mansions, and if they were dull he was duller. v alexina had admitted to herself some time since (never to that wretch, aileen lawton) that he _was_ rather dull, poor darling. for a long time the aftermath of the earthquake and fire had supplied topics for conversation. for quite two years there had been an acutely painful interest in the graft prosecution, which, beginning with an attempt merely to bring to justice the political boss, his henchman the mayor, and his ignorant obedient board of supervisors, had unthinkably resolved itself into a declaration of war, with state's prison as its goal, upon some of the most prominent capitalists in san francisco. the prosecution had been started by a small group of eminent citizens, bent upon cleaning up their city, notorious for graft, misgovernment, and the basest abuses of political power. they had assumed as a matter of course that those of their own class, who for years had expressed in private their bitter resentment against paying out small fortunes to the board of supervisors every time they wanted a franchise, would be only too glad to expose the malefactors. but it immediately transpired that they had no intention whatever of admitting to the world that they had been guilty of corruption and bribery. they might have been "held up," forced to "come through," or renounce their great enterprises; helpless, in other words; but the law had technical terms for their part in the shameful transactions, and so had the public. all solemnly vowed that they had neither been approached by the city administration for bribe money, nor paid a cent for franchises, some of which the prosecution knew had cost them no less than two hundred thousand dollars. therefore did the prosecutors change their tactics. supervisors, by various means, were induced to confess, and the grand jury indicted not only the boss and the mayor, but a large number of eminent citizens. society was riven in twain. life-long friends cut one another, and now and again they burst into hysteria as they did it. mrs. ferdinand thornton, at a dinner party, left the room as mrs. hofer entered it, and mrs. hofer gave a magnificent exhibition of celtic temperament. the editor who supported the prosecution with the full strength of his historic sheet was kidnapped. the prosecuting attorney was shot in the court room by a former convict who afterward was found dead in his cell. there were moments when it looked as if excited mobs would reinstitute the lynch law of the fifties. nothing came of it all but such a prolonged exposure of general vileness that it was possible to effect a certain number of reforms later by popular vote. the system remained inviolate, even during the mayorship of a fine old citizen too estimable to build up a rival machine; and the men of the prosecution, after many bitter harassed months, when they walked and slept with their lives in their hands, resigned themselves to the fact that no san francisco jury would ever convict a man who had the money to bribe it. all this had given mortimer abundant material for conversation and he had entertained mrs. groome and alexina night after night with a report of the day's events and the gossip of the street. mrs. groome had been intensely interested, for this upheaval reminded her of personal episodes in the life of her husband and father, the latter having been a member of the vigilance committees of the fifties. she had been so delighted with the efforts of the prosecuting group to bring the boss and the mayor to justice that she had permitted alexina to invite the hofers to dinner; but when men of her own proud circle were accused of crimes against society and threatened with san quentin, nothing could convince her of their guilt; and she asked alexina to follow the example of maria and cut that mrs. hofer. alexina had never been interested in the details of the prosecution; the large moments of the drama and the social convulsions were enough for her. she refused to cut mrs. hofer, although she ceased to call on her, as her mother and her husband made such a point of it; but she gave little thought to the sorrows of that ambitious young matron. she had other fish to fry. two great hotels whose interiors had been swept by the fire were renovated and furnished and their restaurants and ballrooms eagerly patronized. the assembly balls were resumed. there were dinners and dances in the western addition, where many of the finest homes in the city had been built during the past ten or twenty years; and entertaining down the peninsula had not paused for more than two months after the disaster. nevertheless, she had exulted in the fact that the husband of her choice was able to please and entertain her mother-no easy feat. moreover, as time went on and interest in the graft prosecution wore thin, it was evident that mortimer had established himself firmly in his mother-in-law's graces. he was not only the perfect husband but the son of her old age. she had lost ballinger and geary in her comparative youth, and tom was rarely in the house when she visited rincona. but mortimer was as devoted to her in the little ways so appreciated by women of any age as he was to his wife, and he was noiseless in the house and as prompt as the clock. during her illness his devotion touched even mrs. abbott, although mrs. groome was the only member of the family he ever won over. vi poor morty. in a way he was a failure, after all. the men of her set did not seem to care any more for him than they did before her marriage, although they were always polite and amiable; and the promise of those old family friends to throw business in his way seemed to be forgotten as time went on. no doubt they had thought he was able to stand on his own feet after a while, but he had often looked depressed during the panic of nineteen-seven and the long period of business drought that had followed. still, he had managed to hold his own, and his constitutional optimism was unshaken. he _knew_ that when times changed he would soon be a rich man, and alexina shared his faith. not that she had ever cared particularly for great wealth, but he talked so much about it that he had excited her imagination; after all money was the thing these days, no doubt of that, and she had heard "poor talk" all her life and was tired of it. moreover, nothing could be more positive than that if morty's father had made a fortune in his own day, and the son inherited and administered it with the canny vigilance which distinguished the sons of rich men to-day from the mad spendthrifts of a former generation, he would be as logically intimate with those young capitalists who were the renewed pillars of san francisco society, as she was with the most aloof and important of her own sex. she had heard judge lawton and other men say that if a man were still a clerk at thirty he was hopeless. the ruts were packed with the mediocre whose destiny was the routine work of the world, whatever might be their secret opinions of their unrecognized abilities and their resentment against a system that anchored them. the young man of brains and initiative, of energy, ambition, vision and balance, provided he were honorable as well, and temperate in his pleasures, was the man the eager world was always waiting for. alexina knew that the united states was almost as prolific in this fine breed of young men as she still was in opportunities for the exceptional of every class. and it was possible that mortimer was not one of them. once more she put a fact into bald words. she knew that her butterfly youth had come to an end with her mother's death, and for a year she should be very much alone, to say nothing of her new burden of responsibilities. thinking during that period was inevitable. she might as well begin now. mortimer had some of those gifts. he worked like a dog, he was ambitious and temperate and he was the soul of honor. but although his brain was clear enough, the blindest love would, perceive in time that it lacked originality. did it also lack initiative, resource, that peculiar alertness and quick pouncing quality of which she had heard? she wished she knew, but she had never discussed her husband with any one. certainly he had stood still. or was that merely the fault of the hard times? she had heard other men complain as bitterly. "fate handed you a lemon, old girl." alexina could almost hear aileen's mocking voice. she even gave a startled glance down the quiet avenue. well, she would never discuss him with aileen or any one else. did she love him any longer? had she ever loved him? what was love? she had been quite happy with him in her own little way. what did girls of eighteen know of love? deliberately in her youthful arrogance and unlicensed imagination she had manufactured a fool's paradise; and, a hero being indispensable, had dragged him in after her. perhaps she still loved him. she had read and seen enough to know that love changed its character as the years went on. she respected his many admirable qualities and she would never forget his devotion to her mother. she certainly liked him. and the family attitude roused her obstinate championship as much as ever. at least she would always remain his good friend, helping him as far as lay in her power. she had deliberately selected her life partner and she would keep her part of the contract. he filled his to the letter, or as far as in him lay. if he were not the masterful superman of her dreams, at least he was quite obstinate enough to have his own way in many things, in spite of his unswerving devotion to her charming self. he was whitely angry when she received bob cheever one afternoon when she was alone, and had forbidden her ever to receive a man in the daytime again. if men wanted to call on a married woman they could do so in the evening. she no longer danced more than twice with any man at a party, and he refused to read her favorite books, new or old, and chilled any attempt to discuss them in his presence. vii well, after all, what did it matter? she had dreamed her dream and he was better than most. she sprang to her feet and ran down the hill and across the street to the house of judge lawton. chapter iii i gora waited until her brother had finished his bath and returned to his room. when she was admitted he had a brush in either hand polishing his pale brown immaculately cut hair. he turned to her, startled, his good american gray eyes showing no trace of sleep. he always awoke with alert mind and refreshed body. "what is it? not--" gora nodded. "at two this morning. alexina wouldn't let me call you--" his wide masculine eyebrows met. it was correct to be angry and he was. "i never heard of such a thing--" "she was not a bit overcome and wrote letters to her brothers and friends for at least two hours. it really wouldn't have been worth while to disturb you--i must say i was astonished; thought she'd go to pieces--but you never know." "i'll go to her at once." "i'd dress first. aileen lawton is with her." gora knew that alexina had gone out at four in the morning and returned half an hour since, but the cat in her was of the tiger variety and never descended to small game. "oh, of course!" mortimer gave a groan of resignation as he hunted out a pair of black socks. "i like aileen well enough, but she has altogether too much influence over alexina. she'd have more than myself if i didn't keep a close watch." "i have an idea that no one will have much influence over alexina as time goes on. she hasn't that jaw and chin for nothing. they mean things in some people." he gave her a quick suspicious glance, but her pale gray eyes were fixed on the windmill beyond the window, that odd old landmark in a now fashionable quarter of san francisco. "i shall always control her," he said, setting his large finely cut lips. "i wish her to remain a child as long as possible, for she is quite perfect as she is. she is bright and all that, but of course she has no intellect--" gora forgot her message of death and laughed outright. "men--american men, anyhow--are really the funniest things in the world. even intellectual men are absurd in their patronizing attitude toward the cleverest of women; but when it conies to mere masculine arrogance ... don't you really respect any woman's brains?" "i never denied that some women were clever and all that, but the best of them cannot compare with men. you must admit that." "i admit nothing of the sort, but i know your type too well to waste any time in argument--" "my type?" she longed to reply: "the smaller a man's brain the more enveloping his mere male arrogance. instinct of self-defense like the turtle's shell or the porcupine's quills or the mephitic weasel's extravasations." but she never quarreled with morty, and to have shared with him her opinion of his endowments would have been to deprive herself of a good deal of secret amusement. "oh, you're all alike," she said lightly, and added: "don't be too sure that alexina hasn't intellect-the real thing. when she emerges from this beatific dream of youth she has almost hugged to death for fear it might escape her, and begins to think--" "i'll do her thinking." "all right, dear. you have my best wishes. but keep on the job.... i'll clear out; you want to dress--" "wait a moment." he sat down to draw on his socks. "i'm really cut up over mrs. groome's death. she was my only friend in this damn family, and i coveted her money so little that i wish she could have lived on for twenty years." "i wondered how you liked them as time went on." he brought his teeth together and thrust out his jaw. "i hate the whole pack of superior patronizing condescending snobs, and it is all i can do to keep it from alexina, who thinks her tribe perfection. but, by god!"--he brought down his fist on his knee--"i'll beat them at their own game yet. i simply live to make a million and build a house at burlingame. they really respect money as much as they think they don't; i've got oil to that. when i'm a rich roan they'll think of me as their equal and forget i was ever anything' else." "well, don't speculate," said gora uneasily. "remember that luck was left out of our family." "my luck changed with that legacy. i am certain of it. i have only to wait until this period of dry rot passes--" "but you're not speculating?" he looked at her with eyes as cold as her own. "i answer questions about my private affairs to no one." "they are my affairs to the extent of half your capital." "you have received your interest regularly, have you not?" "yes." "then you have nothing to worry about. i understand business, as well as the man's opportunities, and you do not." "i did not ask out of curiosity, but because i shall be glad when you are doing well enough to let me have my eight thousand--" "what do you want of it? where could you get more interest?" "nowhere, possibly. but some day i shall want to take a vacation, a fling. i shall want to go to new york and europe." "and you would throw away your capital!" "why not? i have other capital in my profession; and, although you will find this difficult to grasp, in my head. i have practiced fiction writing for years. it is just ten months since i tried to get anything published, and i have recently had three stories accepted by new york magazines: one of the old group and two of the best of the popular magazines." he looked at her with cold distaste, which deepened in a moment to alarm. "i hope you will not use your own name. these people who think themselves so much above us anyhow, look upon authors and artists and all that as about on a level with the working class--" "i shall use my own name and ram it down their throats. they worship success like all the rest of the world. their fancied distaste for people engaged in any of the art careers--with whom they practically never come in contact, by the way--is partly an instinctive distrust of anything they cannot do themselves and partly because they have an elizabethan idea that all artists are common and have offensive manners." "i don't like the idea of your using your own name. ladies may unfortunately be obliged to earn their own living--and that you shall never do when i am rich--but they have no business putting their names up before the public like men." gora looked at his rigid indomitable face; the face of the pilgrim fathers, of the revolutionary statesmen, which he had inherited intact from old john dwight who had sat in the first congress; the american classic face that is passing but still crops out as unexpectedly as the last drop from a long forgotten "tar brush," or the sly recurrent biblical profile. "we will make a bargain," she said calmly. "i will ask you no more questions about your business for a year--when, if convenient, i should like my money--and you will kindly ignore the literary career i mean to have. it won't do you the least good in the world to formulate opinions about anything i choose to do. now, better concentrate on alexina. you've got your hands full there. see you at breakfast." and she shut the door on an indignant worried and disgusted brother. chapter iv i when mortimer, after tapping on his wife's door, was bidden to enter he found her sitting with aileen over a breakfast tray, the belated tears running down into her coffee. aileen, promising to return after she had given her father his breakfast, made a hasty retreat; and dwight took his wife in his arms and soothed the grief which grew almost hysterical in its reaction from the insensibility of the morning. "you won't leave me for a moment?" she sobbed, in this mood finding his sympathy exquisite and necessary. "you'll stay home--until--until--" "of course. i'll telephone wicksam after breakfast. he can run the office for a day or two. by the way maria will be here this evening; sally is better. joan and tom and the rest will be here in about an hour. tom and i will attend to everything. you are not to bother, not to think." "oh, you are too wonderful--always so strong--so strong--how i love it. but i'll never get over this--poor old mommy!" but the paroxysm passed, and just as mortimer was on the verge of morning starvation and too polite to mention it, she grew calm by degrees and sent him down to breakfast. the emotional phase of her grief was over. chapter v i it was three months later that aileen, once more sitting in alexina's bedroom, after her return from santa barbara, where she had gone with her father for the summer, said abruptly: "dad is terribly cut up, dear old thing. he'd known your mother since they were both children, in the days when there were wooden sidewalks on montgomery street, and laurel hill was called lone mountain, and they had picnics in it. odd they both should have had young daughters. another link--what? as the english say. well--anyhow--he told me to tell you that he was just as fond of your father as of your mother, and that you must try to imagine that he is your father from this time forth, and come to him when you are in doubt about anything." alexina looked her straight in the eyes. "i have sometimes thought uncle daddy didn't like mortimer." "on the contrary, he rather likes him. he respects a capacity for hard work, and persistence, and a reputation for uncompromising honesty. but of course mortimer is young--in business, that is; and father thinks--but you had better talk with him." "no. why should i? but i don't mind you. at least i could not discuss mortimer with any one else. i am furious with tom abbott. he wants me to put my money in trust, with himself and uncle daddy as trustees--ignoring mortimer, whom he pretends to like. he says maria's fortune has been kept intact, that he has never touched a cent of it, but that men in business are likely to get into tight places and use their wife's money. nothing would induce mortimer to touch my money, but he would feel pretty badly cut up if i let any one else look after my affairs. of course i wouldn't even discuss the matter with tom. and if morty does need money at any time i'll lend it to him. why not? what else would any one expect me to do?" "of course tom abbott went to work the wrong way, the blundering idiot. no one doubts mortimer's good faith, but the times are awful, money has paresis; and when you are obliged to take any of your own out of the stocking in order to keep business going, it is easily lost. dad hopes you will hang on like grim death to your inheritance. you see--the times are so abnormal, mortimer hasn't had time to prove his abilities yet; he's just been able to hold on; and if things don't mend and he should lose out, why--if you still have your own little fortune, at least you'll not be any worse off than, you are now. don't you see?" "yes, i see. but mortimer has told me of other panics and bad times. they always pass, and better times come again. and if he has been able to hold on, that at least shows ability, for others have gone under. of course we shall live here and run the house--as mother did. i couldn't bear to live anywhere else, and morty adores it too." "oh, rather. i couldn't imagine you anywhere else." "geary and ballinger sent me ten thousand dollars for a wedding present and morty bought some bonds for me, but i'm going to sell a few and refurnish the lower rooms. i love the old house but i like cheerful modern things. the poor old parlors and dining-room do look like sarcophagi." "good. i'll help. we'll have no end of fun." ii there was a pause and then alexina said: "mortimer is so determined to be a rich man and thinks of so little else and works so hard, that he is bound to be. otherwise, such gifts would be meaningless." she made the statements with an unconscious rising inflection. aileen did not answer and turned her sharp revealing green eyes on the eucalyptus grove which concealed ballinger house from the vulgar gaze, and incidentally shut off a magnificent view. "i don't know whether i like gora dwight or not," she remarked. "neither do i. but i admire her. she is a wonder." "oh, yes, i admire her, and i've a notion she's got something big in her, some sort of destiny. but those light eyes in that dark face give me the creeps. it isn't that i don't trust her. i believe her to be insolently honest and honorable--and just, if you like. but--perhaps it's only the accident of her queer coloring--she gives me the impression that while she might go to the stake for her pride, she'd murder you in cold blood if you got in her way." "poor gora! you make her all the more interesting." "did she ever tell you that she corresponds with that englishman who was out here at the time of the earthquake and fire and had that ghastly adventure with his sister? we all met him at the hofer ball--gathbroke his name was." alexina was staring at her with an amazed frown. "correspond--gora? ... i remember now he told me she helped him to carry his sister's body out to the old cemetery. is he interested in her?" "i shouldn't wonder. they've corresponded off and on ever since. i walked, home with her one afternoon before i went south--she interests me frantically--and she invited me up to her quite artistic attic in geary street, where she still lives, and gave me the most vivid description of that night. it made me crawl. she stared straight before her as she told it. her eyes were just like gray oval mirrors in which it seemed to me i saw the whole thing pass.... "then she showed me a photograph he had recently sent her--stunning thing he is, all right, and looks years older than when he was here. she also alluded to things he had said in a letter or two. so my phenomenally quick wits inferred that they correspond. perhaps they are engaged. pretty good deal for her." iii alexina, to her surprise, felt intensely angry, although she had the presence of mind to cast up her eyes until the white showed below the large brilliant iris and she looked like a saint in a niche. she had kept gathbroke out of her thoughts for nearly four years, deliberately. for a time she had hated him. mortimer's love-making had seemed tame in comparison with that primitive outburst, and never had she felt any such fiery response to the man she had loved and chosen as during those few moments when she had been in that impertinent, outrageous, loathsome young englishman's arms. at first she had wondered and resented, loyally concluding that it was her own fault, or that of fate for endowing her with such a slender emotional equipment that she used it all up at once on the wrong man. finally, she found it wise not to think about it at all and to dismiss the intruder from her thoughts. now she felt outraged in her sense of possession.... unconsciously she had enshrined him as the secret mate of her inmost secret self ... a self she was barely conscious of even yet ... lurking in her subconsciousness, the personal and peculiar blend of many and diverse ancestors.... sometimes she had glimpsed it ... wondered a little with a not unpleasant sense of apprehension.... but for the most part circumstance had decreed that she abide on the abundant surface of her nature and enjoy a highly enjoyable life as it came. now, she had experienced her first grief, which at the same time was her first set-back. she did not go out at all. she saw much of mortimer and little of any one else. it was the summer season and all her friends were in the country or in europe. she had given mortimer her power of attorney (largely a gesture of defiance, this) and he had attended to all details connected with her new fortune. between the inheritance tax, small legacies, and depreciations, she would have a little over six thousand dollars a year; which, however, with mortimer's contribution, would run the old house, and keep her wardrobe up to mark after she went out of mourning. she knew nothing of the value of money, and was accustomed to having little to spend and everything provided. but her mind regarding finances was quite at rest. even if mortimer remained a victim of the hard times, they would be quite comfortable. the cares of housekeeping were very light. she discussed the daily menus with james, but he had run ballinger house for years, little as mrs. groome had suspected it. mortimer, shortly after his mother-in-law's death, and while alexina was passing a fortnight at rincona, had given james orders to collect all bills on the first of every month and hand them to him, together with a statement of the servants' wages. mrs. dwight was not to be bothered. alexina, when she returned, had made no protest. the details of housekeeping did not appeal to her. but the arrangement left her without occupation, and much time for thought. after a long walk morning and afternoon she had little to do but read. she was an early riser and her mind was active. iv dwight had not the least intention of using his wife's money, for he had perfect confidence in his change of luck, and in his ability to do great things with his business as soon as the period of depression had passed. but he had no faith in any woman's ability to invest and take care of money, he had fixed ideas in regard to a man being master in his own house, and he had asked alexina for her power of attorney more to flaunt her confidence in him and to annoy her damnable relatives than because there might possibly be a moment when he should have need of immediate resources. like many americans he chose to keep his wife in ignorance of his business life, and it would have annoyed him excessively to go to her with an explanation of temporary difficulties and ask for a loan. moreover, he wished to keep alexina young and superficial, ignorant of money matters, indifferent to the sordid responsibilities of life. not only was the present alexina no embarrassment whatever to a man full of schemes, aside from the slow march of business, for getting rich, but she was infinitely alluring. he detested business women, intellectual women, women with careers; they tipped the even balance of the man's world; moreover, they had no accepted place in the higher social scheme. for women wage-earners he had no antipathy and much sympathy and consideration, although he underpaid them cheerfully when circumstances would permit. it was an abiding canker that his sister was obliged to support herself; he was not ashamed of it, for nursing was an honorable (and altruistic) profession, and several young women in his new circle bad taken it up; but he hated it as a man and a brother. as for her turning herself into an authoress, however, he only hoped he would make his million before she got herself talked about. as for alexina she was the perfect flower of a system lie worshiped and nothing should mar or change her if his fond surveillance could prevent it. on the whole he was quite happy at this time, despite his passionate desire for wealth and his natural resentment, at the attitude of the abbotts and their intimate circle of old friends who were so like them that he always included them in his mind when speaking of "the family." although he was making barely enough to pay his sister the monthly interest on her money, the salaries of his employees, and, until recently, a monthly contribution to the household expenses, he had a comfortable and delightful home with not a few of the minor luxuries, an undisputed position in the best society, an honorable one in the business world, and a beautiful wife. now that the conventions forced them to live the retired life, they could economize without attracting attention; as he paid the bills alexina would not know whether he still contributed his share or not; (in time he meant to pay the whole and give his wife, with the grand gesture, her entire income for pin money) and, with alexina's cordial assent, he had sold the old carriage, and the horses, which were eating their heads off, dismissed the coachman-gardener, and found a young swede to take care of the garden and outbuildings. later, they would have their car like other people, but there was no need for it at present, and it was neither the time nor the occasion to exhibit a tendency to extravagance. in the matter of "front" he knew precisely where to leave off. in a certain small anxious bag-of-tricks way he was clever. but not clever enough. he knew nothing of alexina beneath her shining surface. if he had he would have sought to crowd her mind with the details of the home, encouraged her to join in the frantic activities of some one of the women's clubs he held in scorn, persuaded her to play golf daily at the fashionable club of which they were members, even though she ran the risk of talking, unchaperoned by himself, with other men. he never would have left her to long hours of idleness, with only books for companions (and alexina cared little for novels lacking in psychology, or in revelations of the many phases of life of which she was personally so ignorant); and only his own companionship evening after evening. but he had known all the alexina he was ever to know. such flashing glimpses as he was destined to have later so bewildered him that he reacted obstinately to his original estimate of her, ... just a child under the influence of her family or some of those friends of hers who had always hated him ... erratic and irresponsible like all women ... a man never could understand women because there was nothing to understand ... merely a bundle of contradictions.... in some ways his mental equipment was an enviable one. vi some of all this alexina guessed, and although she was nettled at times that he took no note of her maturing mind and character, she was, on the whole, more amused. indulgent by nature, and somewhat indolent, she had been more than willing that morty should enjoy his new authority, should even delude himself that he was footing all the bills, poor dear; and she listened raptly to his evening visions of their future life in burlingame, alternated with visits to new york and england, the while she puzzled over the intricacies of some character portrayed by a master analyst. sometimes he did not talk at all, utterly fagged by a strenuous day in which he had accomplished precisely nothing. but the more transparent and truncated and dull he grew the more spontaneous the "niceness" and almost effusive courtesy of his wife. insensibly she was veering to the family attitude, but he had tagged her once for all and never saw it. until this moment, however, when gathbroke had been jerked from his deep seclusion within her ivory tower by aileen's unwelcome news, she had never had a moment of complete self-revelation.... she knew instantly that she had never loved her husband: he was not her mate and gathbroke was. she had had three years of rippling content and light enjoyment with mortimer, they had never quarreled seriously, and they had never taken their parts in one moment of real drama. if she had married gathbroke they would have quarreled furiously, they would have thrown courtesy and behavior to the winds often enough, particularly while they were young, for neither would have been in the least apprehensive of wounding the rank-pride of the other, and such mutual and passionate love as theirs naturally gave birth to a high state of irritability; they would have loved and hated and made constant discoveries about each other ... there would have been depths never to be fully explored but always luring them on ... and the perfect companionship ... the complete fusion.... how alexina knew all this after less than three hours' association with gathbroke, let any woman answer. she was not so foolish as to imagine herself the victim of a secret passion, or that she had ever loved the man, or ever would. she had merely had her chance for the great duodrama, and thrown it away for a callow dream. she had no passing wish, even in that moment of visualizing him interlocked with her own wraith in that sacred inner temple where even she had never intruded before, to meet him again. she had no intention of passing any of her abundant leisure in dreaming dreams of him and the perfect bliss. but he had been hers ... and utterly ... he had loved her ... he had wanted her ... he had precipitately begged her to marry him ... he had offered her the homage of complete brutality. something of him would always be hers. and even though she renounced all rights in him because she must, she did not in the least relish that any one so close to her as gora dwight should have him. she might have heard of his marriage to a girl of his own land and class with only a passing spasm, but his continued and possibly tender friendship with her sister-in-law shook her out of the last of her jejunity and its illusions.... she was not exactly a dog in the manger ... she was a maturing woman looking back with anger and dismay not only upon the fatal mistake of her youth, but upon the inexorable realities of her present life.... the reaction was a more intense feeling of loyalty to mortimer than ever. she was entirely to blame. he not only had been innocent of conscious rivalry, even of pursuit--for she could quite easily have discouraged him in the earlier stages of his courtship--but he was dependent upon her in every way: for his happiness, for the secure social position that meant so much to him, for the greater number of his valuable connections, for even his comfort and ease of living. something of this had passed through her stunned mind on the morning of her mother's death. now it was all as sharply outlined as the etching at which she was raptly gazing, and she vowed anew that she would never desert him, never deny him the assistance of the true partner. she had signed a life contract with her eyes open and she would keep it to the letter. only she hoped to heaven that gathbroke was not serious about gora. she wished never to be reminded of his existence again. and, as aileen talked of santa barbara, she wondered vaguely why there was not a law forbidding girls to marry until they were well into their twenties.... until they had had a certain amount of experience.... knew their own minds.... maria had been right.... chapter vi i the darkness had come early with the high rolling fog that shut out the stars. the fog horn and the bells were silent but the wind had a thin anxious note as if lost, and the long creaking eucalyptus trees angrily repelled it as if irritated beyond endurance by its eternal visitations. alexina, who had been reading in her bedroom, realized that it must be quite half an hour since she had turned a page. she lifted her shoulders impatiently. she was in no humor for reading. it was only eight o'clock. far too early for bed. mortimer had gone to los angeles on business. he had been gone a week, and she admitted to herself with the new frankness she had determined to cultivate--that she might meet, with the clearest possible vision, whatever three-cornered deals life might have in store for her--that she had not missed him at all. his absence had been a heavenly interlude. she and aileen had gone to the moving pictures unescorted every night (a performance of which he would have disapproved profoundly), and they had lunched downtown every day until alexina had suddenly discovered that she had no more money in her purse; and, knowing nothing whatever even of minor finance, was under the impression that having given mortimer her power of attorney she would not be able to draw from the bank. aileen had gone down to burlingame to visit sibyl bascom for a few days. alexina had declined to go, although it was a quiet party; it would be embarrassing not to tip the servants. the wind gave a long angry shriek as it flew round the corner of the house and fastened its teeth in its enemies, the eucalyptus trees; who shook it off with a loud furious rattle of their leaves and slapped the window severely for good measure. alexina was used to san francisco in all her many moods, but to-night, the wind and the high gray fog shutting out the stars, the silent house--silent that is but for the mice playing innocently between the walls--her complete solitude, made her restless and a little nervous. what could she do? she knew quite well that she had wanted to go to see gora for a week. she had not indulged in any silly dreams about gathbroke but she was curious to see his photograph. she remembered that it had crossed her mind that april day under the oak tree that if he had been older, if he had outgrown his hopelessly youthful curve of cheek, his fresh color, and the inability to conceal the asinine condition to which she had immediately reduced him, she might have given him an equal chance with morty. aileen had said that he looked older. she had a quite natural curiosity to decide for herself if, had he been born several years earlier, he would have proved the successful rival in that foundational period of their youth.... or perhaps she was the reason of his rather sudden maturity. after all there was no great chasm between twenty-three and twenty-six and three-quarters. she looked little if any older. neither did morty, nor any one she knew. this idea thrilled her, and, grimly determined upon no compromise or evasion, she admitted it. moreover, she wanted to sound out gora. somehow she had no real belief that he had transferred his affections to her dissimilar sister-in-law, but her interest in gora was growing. she wanted to know her better. besides, although she had often invited her to tea on her free afternoons, and to dinner whenever possible, and had occasionally dropped in to see her while she was still in the hospital, she had never called on her in her home. as gora only slept there after a killing day's or night's work, visitors were anything but welcome; nevertheless she felt that she had been negligent, rude--three years!--and as gora was not on a case for a day or two, now was the time to atone. moreover, she had never been out quite alone at night, except to run down the avenue and across the street to aileen's. it was a long way down to geary street, and fillmore street at night was "tough." mortimer would be furious. she hastily changed her dinner gown to a plain walking suit of black tweed and pinned on a close hat firmly, prepared to defy the wind and thoroughly to enjoy her little adventure. not since she had stolen out to go to forbidden parties with aileen had she felt such a sense of altogether reprehensible elation. chapter vi i fillmore street, its low-browed shops dark, but with great arcs of white lights spanning the streets that ran east and west, long shafts of yellow light shining across the sidewalk from the restaurants, the candy stores and the nicolodeons--where the pianola tinkled plaintively--was thronged with saunterers. alexina darted quick curious glances at them as she walked rapidly along. in front of every saloon was a group of young men almost fascinatingly common to alexina's cloistered eyes, their hats tilted over their foreheads at an indescribable angle, rank black cigars in the corners of their mouths, or cigarettes hanging from their loose lips, leering at "bunches" of girls that passed unattended, appraising them cynically, making strident or stage-whispered comments. a great many girls had cavaliers, and these walked with their heads tossed, unless drooping toward a padded, shoulder; and they wore perhaps a coat or two less of make-up than their still neglected sisters. these were vividly earmined, although most of them were young enough to have relied on cold water and a rough towel; their hair was arranged in enormous pompadours and topped with "lingerie" or beflowered hats. their blouses were "peek-a-boo" and cut low, their skirts high; slender or plump, they wore exaggerated straight front corsets, high heels and ventilated stockings. they practiced the débutante slouch and their jaws worked automatically. not all of them were "bad" by any means. fillmore street was a promenade at night for girls who were confined by day: waitresses, shop girls of the humbler sort, servants, clerks, or younger daughters of poor parents, who would see nothing of life at all if they sat virtuously in the kitchen every night. the best of them were not averse to being picked up and treated to ice-cream-soda or the more delectable sundae. a few there were, and they were not always to be distinguished by the kohl round their eyes, the dead white of their cheeks, the magenta of their lips, who, ignoring the "bums" and "cadets" lounging at the corners or before the saloons, directed intent long glances at every passing man who looked as if he had the "roll" to treat them handsomely in the back parlor of a saloon, or possibly stake them at a gaming table. the town, still in its brief period of insufferable virtue, was "closed," but the lid was not on as irremovably as the police led the good mayor to believe; and these girls, who traveled not in "bunches" but in pairs, if they had not already begun a career of profitable vice, were anxious to start but did not exactly know how. fillmore street was not the hunting ground of rich men; but men with a night's money came there, and many "boobs" from the country. alexina had heard of fillmore street from aileen, who investigated everything, escorted by her uxorious parent, and had been informed that many of these girls were "decent enough"; "much more decent than i would be in the circumstances: work all day, coarse underclothes, no place to see a beau but the street. i'd go straight to the devil and play the only game i had for all it was worth." but to alexina they all looked appalling, abandoned, the last cry in "badness." she was not afraid. the street was too brilliant and the great juggernauts of trolley cars lumbered by every few moments. moreover, she could make herself look as cold and remote as the stars above the fog, and she had drawn herself up to her full five feet seven, thrown her shoulders back, lifted her chin and lowered her eyelids the merest trifle. she fancied that the patrician-beauty type would have little or no attraction for the men who frequented fillmore street. certainly the bluntest of these males could see that she was not painted, blackened, dyed, nor chewing gum. moreover she was in mourning. but she had reckoned without her youth. ii "say, kid, what you doin' all alone?" a hand passed familiarly through her arm. her brain turned somersaults, raced. should she burst into tears? turn upon him with a frozen stare? appeal for help? then she discovered that although astonished she was not at all terrified; nor very much insulted. why should she be? a casual remark of the sophisticated aileen flashed through her rallying mind: "when a man is even half way drunk he doesn't know a lady from a trollop, and ten to one the lady's a trollop anyhow." she heartily wished that aileen were in her predicament at the present moment. what on earth was she to do with the creature? she had accelerated her steps without speaking or making any foolish attempts to shake him off; but she knew that her face was crimson, and one girl tittered as they passed, while another, appreciating the situation, laughed aloud and cried after her: "don't be frightened, kid. he's not a slaver." irrepressible curiosity made her send him a swift glance from the corner of her eye. he was a young man, thick set, with an aggressive nose set in a round hard face. his small, hard, black eyes were steady, and so were his feet. he did not look in the least drunk. "i think you have made a mistake," she said quietly, and with no pretense at immense dignity (she could hear aileen say: "cut it out. nothing doing in that line here"). "i, also, have made a mistake--in walking at night on this street. would you mind letting go my arm? i think i'll take a car." "no, i think you'll stay just where you are," he said insolently. "you don't belong here all right, but you've come and you can stand the consequences. you're just the sort that needs a jolt and i like the idea of handing it." alexina gave him a coldly speculative glance. "i wonder why?" "you would? well, i'll tell you. never been out alone at night before, i'll bet, like these other girls, that ain't got no place on earth to have any fun but the streets. never even rubbed against the common herd? generally go about in a machine, don't you?" "it is quite true that i have never been out alone at night before. i certainly shall not go again." "no, you don't have to! that's the point, all right. and if you weren't such a beauty, damn you! i'd hate you this minute as i hate your whole parasite class." "oh, you are a socialist!" alexina looked at him with frank curiosity. "i never saw one before." he was obviously disconcerted. then his face flushed with anger. "yes, i'm a socialist all right, and you'll see more of us before you're many years older." "you might tell me about it if you _will_ walk with me. i am a long way from my destination, and that would be far more interesting than personalities." "i've got more personalities where those came from. it makes me sick to see the difference between you and these poor kids--ready to sell their souls for pretty clothes and a little fun. there's nothing that has done so much to inflame class hatred as the pampered delicate satin-skinned women of your class, who have expensive clothes and 'grooming' to take the place of slathers of paint and cheap perfume. raised in a hot house for the use of the man on top. it's the crowning offense of capitalism, and when the system goes, they'll all be like you, or you'll be more like them. you'll come down about a thousand pegs, and the ones down below will be shoved up to meet you." alexina stood still and faced him. "are you poor?" she asked. "what a hell of a question. have i been talkin' like a plutocrat?" "oh, there are, still, different grades. i was wondering if you would be so inconsistent as to earn a little money from me and two friends of mine. we have read socialism a bit, but, we don't understand it very well. i am in mourning and it would interest me immensely." he had dropped her arm and was staring at her. "you are not afraid of me, then?" his voice was sulky but his eyes were less hostile. "oh, not in the least. i fully appreciate that you merely wished to humiliate me, not to be insulting, as some of these other men might have been. my name is mrs. mortimer dwight. i live on ballinger hill--do you know it? that old house in the eucalyptus grove?" "i know it, all right." "then you probably know, also, that i am not rich and never have been. my husband is a struggling young business man." "that cuts no ice. you train with that class, don't you? you're class yourself, reek with it. you had rich ancestors or you wouldn't be what you are now." "well, we can discuss that point another time. one of my friends is a daughter of judge lawton--" "hand in glove with every rich grafter in 'frisco." alexina shuddered. "please say san francisco. i am positive you never heard a word against judge lawton's probity, nor that he ever rendered an unjust decision." "he's a wise old guy, all right. but it would be wastin' time tryin' to make you understand why i have no use for him." "of course you would have no use for the husband of my other friend, mrs. frank bascom." she fully expected that the young millionaire's name would be the final red rag and that her escort would roar his opinion of him for the benefit of all fillmore street. but he surprised her by saying reluctantly: "he's dead straight, all right. he's not a grafter. i've nothing against him personally, but he's part of a damnable system and i'd clean him out with the rest." "well, there you have three of us to your hand. who knows but that you might convert us? why not give us the chance? if you will give me your address i will write to you as soon as my friends come back to town." "i don't know whether i want to do it or not. you may be makin' game of me for all i know." "i am quite sincere. you interest me immensely. and we might teach you something too--what it means to have a sense of humor. i know enough of socialism to know that no socialist can have it. may i ask what your occupation is?" "i'm just a plain working-man--housebuilding line." "then you could only come in the evening?" "not at all; i get off at five. you don't have your dinner until eight in your set, i believe," this with a sneer that curled his upper lip almost to the septum of his nose. "seven. my husband works until nearly six. he rarely has time for lunch and comes home very hungry." once more he looked puzzled and disconcerted, but his small steady eyes did not waver. "my name's james kirkpatrick." he found the stub of a pencil in his pocket and wrote an address on the flap of an envelope. "i'll think it over. maybe i'll do it. i dunno, though." "i do hope you will. i'm sure we can learn a good deal from each other. now, would you mind putting me on the next car? or don't the socialist tenets admit of gallantry to my sex?" "socialism admits the equality of the sexes, which is a long sight better, but i guess there's nothing to prevent me seeing you onto your car." he even lifted his hat as she turned to him from the high platform, and as he smiled a little she inferred that he was congratulating himself on having had the last word. chapter vii i gora, to whom she had telephoned before leaving home, was standing on the steps of her house, looking anxiously up the street, as her young sister-in-law left the car at the corner. gora walked up to meet her guest. "where on earth have you, been?" she demanded. "i supposed of course that you'd take a taxi. you should not go out alone at night. mortimer would be wild. he has the strictest ideas; and you--" "haven't. not, any more. i'm tired of being kept in a glass case--being a parasite." she laughed gayly at gora's look of amazement. "i've had an adventure. almost the first i ever had." she related it as they walked slowly down the street and up the steps and stairs to the attic. gora looked very thoughtful as she listened. "shall you tell mortimer?" "oh, i don't know. possibly not. why agitate him? the thing is done." "but if you study with this man?" "there is no necessity to explain where i met him. i look upon myself as morty's partner, not as his subject. we have never disputed over anything yet, but of course as time goes on i shall wish to do many things whether he happens to like it or not. possibly without consulting him." "you've had time to think these past three months for the first time in your life," said gora shrewdly. "here we are. i hope you don't hate stairs. i do when i come home dog-tired, but somehow i can't give up the old place.... and i've lit the candles in your honor." ii "oh, but it is pretty! charming!" thought gora: "i do hope she's not going to be gracious. i've never liked her so well before." but alexina was too excited to have a firm grip on the ballinger-groome tradition. she had had an adventure, an uncommon one, in a far from respectable night district; she had done something that would cause the impeccable mortimer the acutest anguish if he knew of it; and she had caught sight immediately of gathbroke's picture framed and enthroned on the mantelpiece. she walked about the room admiring the hangings and prints, the old chinese lanterns that held the candles. "i am going to refurnish our lower rooms," she said. "if you have time do help me. heavens! i wish i could work off some of that old furniture on you. i like the italian pieces well enough, but there are too many of them. that rather low florentine cabinet in the back parlor would just fit in this corner...." she gave a little girlish exclamation and ran forward. "isn't that young gathbroke, who was out here at the time of the earthquake and fire ... or an older brother, perhaps?" she had taken the photograph from the mantel and was examining it under one of the lanterns. her alert ear detected the deeper and less steady note in gora's always hoarse voice. "it is the same. did you meet him? ... oh, i remember he told me he met you at the hofer ball. he rather raved over you, in fact." "did he? how sweet of him. i met him again, i remember. mr. gwynne brought him down to rincona one day." "oh?" and alexina, knew that he had never mentioned that visit. "but he looks much much older." "he did before he left. that horrible experience of his seemed to prey on him more and more. "oh." he had not looked a day over twenty-three on that afternoon at eincona, two weeks after the fire. alexina replaced the picture, then turned to her sister-in-law with a coaxing smile. "are you engaged? it would be too romantic. do tell me." "no," said gora, shortly. "we are not engaged. good friends, that is all, and write occasionally." "well, he must be very much interested--and you must be a very interesting correspondent, gora dear! is he? interesting, i mean. what does he do, anyhow? i have a vague remembrance that he said something about the army." "he was in the army, the grenadier guards. but he has resigned and gone into business with a cousin of his in lancashire. he wrote me--oh, it must be nearly two years ago--that if there should be a war he would enlist as a matter of course, but as there was no prospect of any, and he was sick of idleness--his good middle-class energetic blood asserting itself, he said,--he was going to amuse himself with work, incidentally try to make a fortune. his mother left a good deal of money, but there are several children and i guess the present earl needs most of it to keep up his estates, to say nothing of his position. fotten law, that--entail, i mean." alexina came and sat down on the divan beside gora, piling the cushions behind her. "are you a socialist?" "i am not. i believe in sticking to your own class, whether you have a grudge against it or not, or even if you think it far from perfection." she shot a quick challenging glance at her admittedly aristocratic sister-in-law, but alexina had lifted the lower white of her eyes just above their soft black fringe and looked more innocent than any new born lamb. as she did not answer gora continued: "i remember that night i sat out with gathbroke on calvary he said something about socialism ... that it was a confession of failure. i may feel so furious with destiny sometimes that i could go out and wave a red flag, or even the darker red of anarchy, but what always sobers me is the thought that if i had the good luck to inherit or make even a reasonable fortune i'd have no more use for socialism than for a rattlesnake in my bed. why are you interested?" "only as in any subject that interests a few million people. i haven't the least intention of being converted, but i don't want to be an ignoramus. aileen and sibyl and i did start marx's _das kapital_--in german! we nearly died of it. but i felt sure that this man, kirkpatrick, had studied his subject, if only because his language changed so completely when he talked about it. it was as if he were quoting, but intelligently. of course the poor man had little or no education to begin with. somehow he struck me as a pathetic figure. perhaps when every one is educated--and there must be many thousands of naturally intelligent men in the working class whose brains if trained would be mighty useful in washington--well, all having had equal opportunities they would surely arrive at some way to improve conditions without struggling for anything so hopeless as socialism. i know enough to be sure that it is hopeless, because it antagonizes human nature." "rather. the trend under all the talk is more and more toward individualism, not self-effacing communism. as for myself i like the idea of the fight--for public recognition, i mean; and i don't think i'd be happy at all if things were made too smooth for me; if, for instance, in a socialized state it were decided that i could devote all my time to writing, and that the state would take care of me, publish my work, and distribute it exactly where it was sure to be appreciated. i haven't any of the old california gambling blood in me, but i guess the hardy ghost of those old days still dominates the atmosphere, and i have not been one of those to escape." "it's in mine! not that i care for gambling, really, like aileen and alice. but i've always been fascinated by the idea of taking long chances, and i have had inklings that i'll be rather more than less fascinated as i grow older.... when are your stories to be published? i am simply expiring to read them." "are you?" iii alexina had thrust her slim index finger unerringly through gora's bristling armor and tickled her weakest spot. the fledgling author smiled into the dazzling eyes opposite and a deep flush rose to her high cheek bones. "rather!" "then..." gora rose and took a magazine from the table beside her bed. she spread it open on her lap, when she had resumed her seat, and handled it as alexina had seen young mothers fondle their first-born. "it's here. just out." "oh!" alexina gave a little shriek of genuine anticipation. "read it to me. quick. i can't wait." gora led a lonely life outside of her work, a lonely inner life always. she had never had an intimate friend, and she suddenly reflected that there had been a certain measure of sadness in her joy both when her manuscripts were accepted and to-day when for the first time she had gazed at herself in print.... she had had no one to rejoice with her.... she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to alexina. but she gave this young wife of her brother whom she knew as little as alexina knew her, another swift suspicious glance.... no, there was nothing of alexina's usual high and careless courtesy in that eager almost excited face. "i'd love to have your opinion.... i read very badly.... make allowances...." "oh, fire away. if i'd written a story and had it accepted by that magazine i'd read it from the housetops." gora read the story well enough, and alexina's mind did not wander even to gathbroke. it was written in a pure direct vigorous english. a little less self-consciousness and it would have been distinguished. the story itself was built craftily; she had been coached by a clever instructor who was a successful writer of short stories himself; and it worked up to a climax of genuine drama. but this was merely the framework, the flexible technique for the real gora. the story had not only an original point of view but it pulsed with the insurgent resentful passionate spirit of the writer. alexina gave a little gasp as gora finished. "many people won't like that story," she said. "it shocks and jars and gives one's smugness a pain in the middle. but those that do like it will give you a great reputation, and after all there are a few thousand intelligent readers in the united states. how on earth did that magazine come to accept it?" gora was staring at alexina with an uncommonly soft expression in her opaque light eyes. she felt, indeed, as if her ego would leap through them and make a fool of her. "the editor wrote me something of what you have just said. he wanted something new--to give his conservative old subscribers a shock. thought it would be good for them and for the magazine. you--you--have said what i should have wanted you to say if i could have thought it out.... i think i should have hated you if you had said, 'how charming!' or 'how frantically interesting!'" "well, it's the last if not the first. aileen will say that and mean it. i'll telephone to the bookstore the first thing monday morning and get a copy. now i must go. it's late." iv "let me telephone for a taxi." alexina laughed merrily. "you'll never believe it, but i've just thirty cents in my purse. i forgot to ask morty for something before he left.... you see, i happened to find quite a bit in mother's desk and so i've never thought to ask him for an allowance. but i shall at once." "an allowance? but you have your own money? or is it because the estate isn't settled? what has morty to do with that?" "i believe we get the income from the estate until it is settled. but i gave my power of attorney to morty." "oh! but if there is money on deposit in the bank you can draw on it." "could i? well! i'll just draw a round hundred on monday at ten a.m." "why did you give your power of attorney to morty?" "oh ... why ... he asked me to ... i know nothing about business, and he naturally would attend to my affairs." "but you are not going away. no one needs your power of attorney. and the executors are judge lawton and mr. abbott. you are here to sign such papers as they advise.... don't be angry, please. i am not insinuating anything against morty. he's never bad a dishonest thought in his life ... has always been, the squarest ... but..." "well?" alexina's head was very high. it was quite bad enough for tom abbott and judge lawton ... but for his sister ... "it's this way, alexina. people in this world, more particularly men, are just about as honest as circumstances will permit them to be. some are stronger than life in one way or another, no doubt of it; but they make up for it by being weaker in others.... i am talking particularly of the money question, the struggle for existence, which the vast majority of men are forced to make.... "men fight life from the hour they leave their homes, when they have any, to force success--in one way or another--out of her until the hour they are able to lay down the burden.... some are too strong and too firm in their ideals ever to do wrong; they would prefer failure, and generally they are strong enough to avoid it, even to succeed in their way against the most overwhelming odds.... many are too clever not to find some way of compromising and circumventing.... others just peg along and barely make both ends meet.... others go under and down and out. "morty, like millions of other young americans, had good principles and high ideals inculcated from his earliest boyhood and took to them as a duck takes to water. nor is he weak. but although he is a hard and steady worker he is also visionary. he speculated on the stock market before he was married. probably not now as the market is moribund. he is frantic to get rich ... for more reasons than one." "but he never would do anything dishonorable." "no. nothing he couldn't square with his conscience if it turned out all right. but the most honest man, when in a hole, finds little difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that what is, illogically, the possession of the women of his family, is his if he needs it. "moreover, no doubt you have discovered that morty is the sort of man who looks upon women as man's natural inferiors, that if there is any question of sacrifice the woman is not to be considered for a moment ... especially where no public risk is involved. that sort of man only thinks he is too honest to refrain from taking some unrelated woman's money, but as a matter of fact it is because she would send him to state's prison as readily as a man would. one's own women are safe. "i lent morty my small inheritance with my eyes open. but he knows a good deal of that particular business, and i did not dream the times were going to be so bad.... i doubt if i ever see it again.... but you must not run the risk of losing yours. i want you to promise me that on monday morning you will go down to the city hall and revoke your power of attorney. and as much for morty's sake as for your own. he will lose your money if he keeps it in his hands, and then he will suffer agonies of remorse. he will be infinitely more miserable than if he merely failed in business. that is honorable. it would only hurt his pride. then he could get a position again, and you would have your own income." "but do you mean to say that if i did revoke my power of attorney and he asked me later for money to save his business that i should not give it to him?" "yes, i mean just that. morty will never take any of the prizes in the business world. he may hold on and make a living, that is all. he has plenty to start with, and tells me he is doing fairly well, in spite of the times. but he would do better in the long run as a clerk. in time he might get a large salary as a sort of general director of all the routine business of some large house--" alexina curled her lip. "i do not want him to be a clerk." "no, of course you don't! but you'd like it still less if he cleaned you out. you--would have to sell or rent your old home and live on a hundred and fifty dollars a month in a flat in some out-of-the-way quarter. you might have to go to work yourself." "i shouldn't mind that so much, except that i'm afraid i'd not be good for much. perhaps it was snobbish of me to object lo morty's being a clerk. but ... well, i'm not so sure that it is snobbish to prefer what you have always been accustomed to--i mean if it is a higher standard. and after all i married him when he was only a clerk." "you are surprisingly little of a snob, all things considered; but you are a hopeless aristocrat." "what do you mean by that?" "i think the line between the aristocratic and the snobbish attitude of mind is almost too fine to be put into words. but they are often confused by the undiscriminating. will you revoke that power of attorney on monday?" "shouldn't i wait until morty is home? ... tell him first? it seems rather taking an advantage ... and he will be very angry." "that doesn't matter." "what excuse shall i give him?" "any one of a dozen. you are bored and want to take care of your money ... intend to learn something of business, as all women should, and will in time.... ring in the feminist stuff ... wife's economic independence ... woman's new position in the world.... that will make morty so raving angry that he will forget about the other. will you do it?" "yes, i will. i believe you are right. so were the others ... there must be something in it." she told gora of the advice of tom abbott and judge lawton. gora nodded. "they meant more than they said. and merely because they are men of the world, not because they like and trust morty any the less." alexina did not hear her. she was staring hard at the floor.... a year ago ... three months ago ... she couldn't have done this thing. she had been still under the illusion that she loved her husband, that her marriage was a complete success. she would have sacrificed her last penny rather than hurt his feelings. now she only cared that she didn't care.... she had admitted to herself that she did not love her husband but that was different from committing an overt act that proved it.... she felt something crumbling within her.... it was the last of the fairy edifice of her romance ... of her first, her real, youth.... what was to take its place? the future smugly secure on six thousand a year and an inviolate social position ... a good dull husband ... not even the prospect of travel.... v she sprang to her feet and turned away her head. "why don't you come and live with us?" she asked abruptly. "why should you keep this on? there are so many vacant bedrooms up there. you could have one for your study. i'd love to have you. you'd have the most complete independence. do." gora shook her head. "i've always this to fall back on." "fall back on?" "oh! i never meant to let that out. however.... perhaps it is as well.... morty--you know his pride--everybody has his prime weakness and that is his. transpose it into snobbery if you like.... we did not board down here. i kept a lodging house for business women. it paid well, but morty, when he became engaged to you, insisted that i give it up. he was afraid you'd be outraged in your finest sensibilities! well, i did. one of my lodgers resigned from her job and took it over. i entered the hospital, but kept on my room as i had to have one somewhere. eight months later she married, and i took it back. i found i could run it as well as ever with the aid of a treasure of a chinaman she had discovered. but i never told morty." alexina laughed. "better not. but you could run it and live with us all the same." "no. i have too little time. i'd waste it coming back and forth, for i must be here some time every day.... besides..." "your own precious atmosphere?" "you do understand!" "well, come to see me often. i shall need your advice." "you bet. and now, i'll see you to your car; stay with you until you are safely transferred to the fillmore car. and don't assert your independence in just this way again. all those loafers on fillmore street are not spiteful socialists." as gora put on her hat at the distant mirror alexina turned to gathbroke's picture with a scowl. she even clenched her hands into fists. "oh ... you ... you.... why weren't you.... why didn't you...." chapter viii i mortimer arrived on tuesday evening, looking immaculate in spite of his day on the train, and with that air of beaming gallantry that he could always summon at will, even when all was not well with him. to-night, however, he was quite sincere. his visit to los angeles had been a success; he had actually put through a deal that had translated itself into a cheque for a thousand dollars. he had, through a mistaken order, been overstocked with a certain commodity from the orient that the retail merchants of san francisco bought very sparingly; but he had found in los angeles a firm that did a large business with the swarming japanese population and was glad to take it over at a reasonable figure. ii it was after dinner; his taut trim body was relaxed in evening luxury before the wood fire of the back parlor, and he was half way through a cigar when alexina rose and extended one arm along the mantelpiece. she looked like a long black poplar with her round narrow flexible figure and her small head held with a lofty poise; as serene as a poplar in france on a balmy day. but she quaked inside. she glanced at her happy unsuspecting husband with an engaging smile. "i'm afraid you will be rather cross with me," she said softly. "but i went down to the city hall yesterday and revoked my power of attorney to you." "you did what?" the slow blood rose to dwight's hair. he mechanically took the cigar from his mouth. it lost its flavor. he had a sensation of falling through space ... out of somewhere.... alexina repeated her statement. he recovered himself. "tom abbott has been at you again, i suppose. or judge lawton." "neither. really, morty, you must give me credit for a mind of my own. i did it for several reasons. sibyl was here sunday. she motored up from burlingame with aileen on purpose to talk to me. she has induced mrs. hunter and some other of the more intelligent women down there--those that read the serious new books and go to lectures when there are any worth while--to join a class in economics. one of the professors at stanford is going to teach us. aileen has lost frightfully at poker lately and wants a new interest; she put sibyl up to it--who was delighted with the suggestion as she hasn't been intellectual for quite a while now, and really has a practical streak; so that studying economics appealed to her. "i jumped at the idea. it was a god-send. i have had so little to do. i don't care for poker and one can't read all the time.... but after they left i reflected that i should cut a rather ridiculous figure studying economies in the abstract if i didn't have sense and 'go' enough to manage my own affairs. why, i was so ignorant i thought i couldn't draw any money from the bank because i had given you my power of attorney. aileen has an allowance and the judge makes her keep books. she usually comes out about even at poker in the course of the month, and if she doesn't she pawns something. i've been with her to pawn shops and it's the greatest fun. i don't mind telling you, as i know you never betray a confidence. the judge would lock poor dear aileen up on bread and water. "sibyl manages those two great houses herself. frank gives her some stupendous sum a year and she is proud of the fact that she never runs over it. you know how she entertains. "i should never dare admit to them--or to the professor if he asked my opinion on that sort of thing and it had to come out--that i was too lazy and too incompetent to manage my own little fortune. so i went down first thing monday morning and revoked my power of attorney. i simply couldn't wait. when the estate is settled and turned over to me i shall attend to everything and not bother you, morty dear." iii morty dear looked at her with a long hard suspicious stare. alexina thoughtfully turned up her eyes and changed promptly from a poplar into a saint. "i don't like it. i don't like it at all." words were never his strong point and he could find none now adequate to express his feelings. "i may be old-fashioned--" "you are, morty. that is your only fault. you belong to the old school of american husbands--" "there are plenty of old-fashioned people left in the world." "so there are, poor dears. it's going to be so hard for them--" "are you trying to be one of those infernal new women?" "well, you see, i just naturally am a child of my times, in spite of my old-fashioned family. i'd be much the same if i'd never taken any interest in all these wonderful modern movements." "it's those chums of yours--aileen, sibyl, janet. i never did wholly approve of them." "neither did mother and maria, but it never made any difference." "do you mean to say that you intend to ignore me ... disobey me?" "oh, morty, i never promised to obey you. you know the fun we all had at the rehearsal. you haven't noticed, these three years, that i've had my way, in pretty nearly everything, merely because it happened to be your way too. we've been living in a sort of pleasure garden, just playing about, with mother as the good old fairy. but everything has changed. we must look out for ourselves now, and i cannot put the whole burden on your shoulders--" "i do not mind in the least. that is where it belongs." alexina shook her wise little head. "oh, no. it isn't done any more. no woman who has learned to think is so unjust as to throw the whole burden of life on her husband's shoulders. you have your own daily battle in the business world. i will do the rest." "what damned emancipated talk." "what a funny old-fashioned word. we don't even say advanced or new any more." "it's nonsense anyhow. you're nothing but a child." "you may just bet your life i'm not a child. nor have i awakened all of a sudden. in one sense i have. but not in this particular branch of modern science. i have read tons about it, and aileen and i are always discussing everything that interests the public; i have even read the newspapers for two years." "much better you didn't. there is no reason whatever for a woman in your position knowing anything about public affairs. it detracts from your charm." "maybe, but we'll find more charm in life as we grow older." his memory ran back along a curved track and returned with something that looked like a bogey. "may i ask what your program is? your household program? i had got everything down to a fine point.... it seems too bad you should bother...." "bother? i've been bored to death, and feeling like a silly little good-for-nothing besides. the trouble is, it's too little bother. james and i have had a long talk. housekeeping will be reduced to its elements with him, but at least i shall begin to feel really grown up when i pore over monthly bills and 'slips' and sign cheques." she hesitated. "you mustn't think for a minute that i want to make you feel out of it, morty. it. is only that i _must_. the time has come, ... of course, you have been paying half the bills anyhow. we could simply go on along those lines. i will tell you what it all amounts to, shortly after the first of the month, and you'll give me half." iv dwight stared at the end of his cigar. his was not an agile brain but in that moment it had an illuminating flash. he realized that this sheltered creature, with whom her mother had never discussed household economics, and from whom he had purposely kept all knowledge of his business, took for granted that he could pay his share of the monthly expenses, merely because all the men she knew did twice as much, however they might grumble. for the matter of that she never saw tom abbott that he did not curse the ascending prices, but there was no change whatever in his bountiful fashion of living. alexina knew that the times were bad and that her husband was having something of a struggle, and, as a dutiful wife, was anxious to help him out for the present, but it was simply beyond her powers of comprehension to grasp the fact that he was in no position to pay half the expenses of their small establishment. if he told her ... tried to make her understand ... even if she did, how would he appear in her eyes? of all people in the world he wanted to stand high with alexina ... he had never taken more pains to bluff the street when things were at their worst than this girl who was the symbol of all he had aspired to and precariously achieved. he had longed for riches, not because she craved luxury and pomp, but because she would be forced to look up to him with admiration and a lively gratitude. he had, in this spirit, given her; in the most casual manner, handsome presents, or brilliant little dinners at fashionable restaurants, in all of which she took a fervent young pleasure. he had dipped into his slender capital, but of this she had not even a suspicion ... he had made some airy remark about celebrating a "good deal" ... no wonder ... he had her too well bluffed. for an instant he contemplated a plain and manly statement of fact. but he did not have the courage. anything rather than that she should curl that short aristocratic upper lip of hers, stare at him with wide astonished eyes that saw him a failure, even if a temporary one. he set his teeth and vowed to go through with it, to make good. this thousand would last several months, even if he made no more than his expenses meanwhile. he shrugged his shoulders and lit another cigar. the first had died a lingering and malodorous death. "have your own way," he said coldly. "i only wished to keep you young and carefree. if you choose to bother with bills and investments it is your own look-out." "thank you, morty dear." she felt that it would be an act of wifely self-abnegation to defer the announcement of her interest in socialism and mr. kirkpatrick. aileen and sibyl had hailed her plan as even more exciting than the study of economics with an exceedingly good-looking young professor (who had been tutoring in burlingame), and she had already dispatched a note to him whom aileen disreputably called her fillmore street mash. chapter ix i kirkpatrick sat before a crescent composed of mrs. mortimer dwight, mrs. francis leslie bascom and miss aileen livingston lawton. his reasons for coming to ballinger house--which even he knew was inaccessible to the common herd--were separate and tabulated. alexina had fascinated him against his best class principles; but he not only jumped at the chance of meeting her again, he was excessively curious to understand a woman of her class, to watch her in different moods and situations. he was equally curious to meet other women of the same breed; he had never brushed their skirts before, but he had often stood and gazed at them hungrily as they passed in their limousines or driving their smart little electric cars. he was also curious to see several of those "interiors" he had read so much about, and hoped his pupils would meet in turn at their different homes. he was a sincere and honest socialist, was mr. kirkpatrick, and he had a good healthy class-consciousness and class-hatred. but he also had a large measure of intelligent curiosity. he had never expected to have the opportunity to gratify it in respect to "bourgeois" inner circles, and when it came he had only hesitated long enough to search his soul and assure himself that he was in no danger of growing compliant and soft. moreover he might possibly make converts, and in any case it was not a bad way, society being still what it was, of turning an honest penny. but in this the first lesson he was as disconcerted as a socialist serene in his faith could be. the three girls had curved their slender bodies forward, resting one elbow on a knee. at the end of each of these feline arches was a pair of fixed and glowing eyes. no doubt there were faces also, but he was only vaguely aware of three white disks from which flowed forth lambent streams of concentrated light. they looked like three little sea-monsters, slim, flexible, malignant, ready to spring. he exaggerated in his embarrassment, but he was not so very far wrong. "the little devils!" he thought in his righteous wrath. "i'll teach 'em, all right." as it was necessary to break the farcical silence he said in a voice too loud for the small library. "well, what is it about socialism that you don't just know? mrs. dwight told me you had read some." "there is one thing i want to say before we begin," said aileen in her high light impertinent voice, "and that is that if there is one thing that makes us more angry than another it is to be called _bourgeois_." "and ain't you?" "we are not. i suppose your marx didn't know the difference, although he is said to have married well, but _bourgeois_ for centuries in europe had meant middle-class. just that and nothing more. marx had no right to pervert an honest historic old word into something so different and so obnoxious." "to marx all capitalists were in the same class. i suppose what you mean is that you society folks call yourselves aristocrats, even when you have less capital than some of them that can't get in." "sure thing. take it from me." he gazed at her astounded, and once more had recourse to his rather heavy sarcasm. "even when they use slang." "oh, we're never afraid to--like lots of the middle-class--bourgeois. too sure of ourselves to care a hang what any one thinks of us." alexina came hastily to the rescue, for a dull glow was kindling in mr. kirkpatrick's small sharp eyes. she didn't mind baiting him a little, but as he was in a way her guest he must be protected from the naughtiness of aileen and the insolence of sibyl bascom, who had taken a cigarette from a gold bejeweled case that dangled from her wrist and was asking him for a light. he gave her measure for measure, for he lifted his heavy boot and struck a match on the sole. "you must not be too hard on us, mr. kirkpatrick." alexina upreared and leaned against the high back of her chair with a sweet and gracious dignity, "we are really a pack of ignoramuses, full of prejudices, which, however, we would get rid of if we knew how. we are hoping everything from these lessons." "do _you_ smoke?" "no, i don't happen to like the taste of tobacco, but i quite approve of my friends smoking--unless they smoke their nerves out by the roots, as miss lawton does. don't give her a light. but i'm sure you smoke. i'll get you a cigar." she pinched aileen, glared at sibyl, and left the room. ii mortimer was smoking furiously, trying to concentrate his mind on the evening paper. "give me a cigar, morty dear." "a cigar? what for?" "it would be too mean of those girls to smoke unless mr. kirkpatrick did too, and i am sure we couldn't stand his tobacco. even a whiff of bad tobacco makes me feel quite ill." "i'll be hanged if i give my cigars to that bounder. the kitchen is the place for him." "but not for us. and our minds are quite made up, you know. we are going to study with him just to find out what these strange animals called socialists are like. he is queer enough, to begin, with. and the knowledge may prove useful one of these days.... if you won't give me one i'll send james out--" mortimer handed over one of his choice cigars with ill grace, and alexina returned to the library. aileen was informing mr. kirkpatrick how intensely she disliked marx's beard, not only as she had seen it in a photograph, but as she had smelt it in spargo's too vivid description. he rose awkwardly as she entered, but he rose. she handed him the cigar and struck a match and held it to one end while he drew at the other. their faces were close and she gave him a smile of warm and spontaneous friendliness. thought mr. kirkpatrick: "oh, lord, she's got me. i'd better make tracks out of here. if she was a vamp like that bascom woman she wouldn't get me one little bit. plenty of them where i come from. but she's plain goddess with eyes like headlights on an engine." perturbed as he was, however, he resumed his seat and drew appreciatively at the finest cigar that had ever come his way. it had the opportune effect of causing his class-hatred to flame afresh. no fear that he would be made soft by teaching in the homes of these pampered cats. for the moment he hated alexina, seated in a carved high-back italian chair like a young queen on a throne. "well," he growled. "let's get to business. i've brought spargo. marx is too much for me. he's terrible dull and involved. he was so taken up with his subject, i guess, that he forgot to learn how to write about it so's people without much time and education could understand without getting a pain in their beans. of course i've heard him expounded many times from the platform, but there must have been about fifty marxes, for i've heard--or read--just about that many expounders of him and no two agree so's you'd notice it. that, to my mind, is the only stumbling block for socialism--that we have a prophet who's so hard to understand. "so, i've settled on spargo. he has the name of being about the best student of marx and of socialism generally--it's split up quite a bit--and he's easy reading. i fetched him along." he produced "socialism" from his hat and hesitated. "i don't know noth--a thing about teaching." "oh, don't let that worry you," drawled sibyl bascom in her low voluptuous voice and transfixing him with narrow swimming eyes; then as he refused to be overcome, she continued more humanly: "we've been to lots of classes, you know. there are all sorts of methods. suppose one of us reads the first chapter aloud and then you expound. that is, we'll ask you questions." "that's fine," said mr. kirkpatrick with immense relief. "fire away." and alexina, who always read prefaces and introductions last, began with "robert owen and the utopian spirit." book iii chapter i i mr. kirkpatrick realized his ambition to see with his own sharp puncturing little eyes (aileen said they reminded her of a sewing-machine needle playing staccato) several of the most flagrant examples of capitalistic extravagance where parasitic femalehood idled away their useless lives and servitors battened. in other words the extremely comfortable or the shamelessly luxurious homes built for the most part by still active business men whose first real period of rest would be in a small stone residence in a certain silent city down the peninsula. several were already occupied by their widows. in a climate where a man can work three hundred and sixty-five days of the year the temptation to do so is strong, and not conducive to longevity. the ferdinand thorntons, trennahans, hofers and others who had lost their city homes on nob hill had not rebuilt, but lived the year round in their country houses at burlingame, san mateo, alta, menlo park, atherton, or "across the bay," using the hotels when they came to town for dances, but motoring home after the theater. fortunately the finest and all of the newest mansions had been built in the western addition and escaped the fire. sibyl bascom's father-in-law had erected, shortly before his death, a large square granite palace more or less in the italian style, and as his widow preferred to live in santa barbara, frank bascom had taken it over for himself and his bride. olive had carried her millions to france and found her marquis. (as he was wealthy himself they contributed little to the current gossip of san francisco.) janet maynard lived with her mother, another widow of unrestricted means, in a large low spanish house with a patio, built by a famous local architect with such success that rex roberts when he married polly luning, had bought the nearest vacant lot and ordered a romantic mansion as nearly like that of his wife's intimate friend as possible. he would live in it as soon as the idiosyncrasies of the architect and labor would permit. mrs. clement hunter had another pale gray stone palace, supported in front by noble pillars and commanding a superb view of the bay, the golden gate, and mount tamalpais. aileen and her father lived in an old wooden house with a modern facade of stucco, and surrounded by a garden filled with somewhat blighted geraniums, fuchsias, sweet alicias, heliotrope, mignonette, and other nineteenth-century posies beloved of mrs. lawton in her romantic and innocent youth. sibyl and alice thorndyke's father had left his girls a square bow-windowed mansard-roofed double house, built in eighteen-seventy-eight, and unreclaimed. with it went a moderate income, and alice lived on under the ugly old roof chaperoned by an aunt, who had been chosen from a liberal assortment of relatives because she was almost deaf, quite myopic, and so terrified of draughts that her absence when convenient could always be counted on. ii all of these young women belonged to alexina's personal set, and joined the class in socialism, as they joined anything the stronger spirits among them suggested; and they attended as regularly as could be expected of "parasites" who were mainly interested in society, dress, poker, and some absorbing creature of the other sex. mr. kirkpatrick hated them all with the exception of alexina, aileen, mrs. price ruyler, the half-french wife of a new yorker, recently adopted by california, and mrs. hunter, who had joined out of curiosity, having read a certain amount of socialism, but never met a socialist. she confided to mrs. thornton that she was not acutely anxious to meet another, and mrs. thornton replied tartly: "what do you want to belong to such a class for? it's rank hyprocrisy to pretend interest in a question we all hate the very name of, and to give the creature money that he no doubt turns over to the 'cause' with his tongue in his cheek. i'd never give one of them the satisfaction of knowing that i recognized his existence." said maria abbott firmly: "exactly. we should ignore them, just as we ignore envious and spiteful and ill-bred outsiders of any sort." "but we may not be able to ignore them," said mrs. hunter. "their organization is the best of any party even if their numbers are not overwhelming. if they are content to advance slowly and by purely political methods there is no knowing who will own this or any government fifty years hence. for my part i'd rather they all turn raging anarchists; then we could turn machine guns on them and clean 'em out. i hate them, for i was too long getting where i am now, and i want to stay. but i don't make the mistake of ignoring them, and i rather like having a squint at them at close quarters. kirkpatrick has taken us to several socialist meetings ... we borrow the servants' coats and mutilate our oldest hats.... socialism seems to me rather more endurable than the socialists, and of these kirkpatrick is about the sanest i have heard. they rant and froth, contradict themselves and one another, wander from the point and never get anywhere.... that would give me hope if it were not for the fact that poor california is a magnet for the cranks of every fad as well as for the riff-raff and derelicts.... my other hope is that even they--that is to say the least unbalanced of them--will come in time to realize that socialism is economically unsound--" "do you mean to say," cried mrs. abbott, "that alexina has gone to socialist meetings?" "rather. she's very keen--" "believes in it?" "rather not. but she is naturally thorough--has a really extraordinary tendency, for a san franciscan of her sex and status, to finish anything she has begun. sometimes when she is arguing with kirkpatrick she sticks out that chin of hers so far that you notice how square it is. she has him pretty well tamed though. when he is ready to eat the rest of us alive she can smooth him down like a regular lion tamer." "well, you're nothing but a lot of parlor socialists," said mrs. thornton disgustedly. "and just as ridiculous as any other hybrids. but i'm relieved that it hasn't spoiled your taste for the simpler pleasures of life. maria, as you don't play poker we'll have a game of bridge, ladie, ring for cocktails, will you--or would you rather have a gin fizz? don't look so horrified, maria. we're better than socialists, anyhow; if they did win out you'd have farther to fall than we, for you're a moss-backed old conservative who hates change of any sort, while we not only love change of all sorts but are regular anarchists: do as we please and snap our fingers at the world. here we are." the three were in mrs. thornton's moorish palace half way between san mateo and burlingame, a situation that symbolized the connecting bridge between the old and new order for mrs. abbott. mrs. thornton was a lineal descendant of the rincon hill of the sixties and had made her début with maria groome in the eighties. but she had married an immoderately rich man and had a barbaric taste for splendor that formed the proper setting for her own somewhat barbaric beauty, and imperious temper. her dark and splendid beauty was waning, for in the matter of giving aid to nature with secrecy or with art she was faithful to the old tradition. but she was always an imposing figure and as close to being the first power in san francisco society as that happy-go-lucky independent class would ever tolerate. iii kirkpatrick liked mrs. hunter, regarding her as "an honest plain-spoken dame without any frills." this estimate applied not only to her temperament but to her costumes. he admired her severe tailored suits (although he sensed their cost) and her smart, plain, hard, little hats. the "frills and furbelows" of the younger "spenders" irritated the group of nerves appropriated by his class-consciousness almost beyond endurance; but he managed to stand it by reminding himself that irritation of all such was a healthy sign and vastly preferable to insidious tolerance. mrs. hunter was also as regular in her attendance as mrs. dwight, miss lawton and mrs. price ruyler, and asked fairly intelligent questions. the others floated in and out, and one by one dropped from the class, until toward the middle of the second winter none remained but alexina, aileen, mrs. hunter and hélène ruyler, who, like aileen, found in the "frantic interest" of the materialistic creed which antagonized every instinct in them, a distraction from the excessive gambling which had threatened to wreck their nerves, purses, and peace of mind. they confided this artlessly to mr. kirkpatrick, who replied dryly that they were the best argument he had in stock. but if the major part of his fashionable class deserted him in due course he had meanwhile seen the inside of their homes; and in each case, alexina, who divined his interest, arranged to have him shown over the house from the kitchens and pantries straight up to the servants' quarters. these he found unexpectedly comfortable and complete. in fact, they were so much more modern and adorned than the little cottage in the mission where he lived with his mother that he longed for the immediate installation of a system that would teach these workers what real work was. what enraged him further was their "airs." they too obviously looked upon him as an alien intruder, whereas their mistresses, until socialism bored them, were, for the most part, as charmingly courteous as his one reliable friend, mrs. mortimer dwight. iv during the first winter and spring while his pupils were still fairly regular in their attendance, he was both incensed and grimly amused by their various idiosyncrasies. he soon became accustomed to their vanity boxes and their public application of powder and lip stick, the frank crossing of their knees that exhibited more diaphanous silk than he had ever seen in his life before, the polite excitement that any new article of attire worn by one seemed to induce in all, the wicked but on the whole good-natured baiting of aileen lawton and polly roberts, the alternate insolence and circean glances of mrs. bascom, who amused herself "practicing on him," and the constant smoking of most of them. but what he could neither understand nor accept was their attitude toward one another. they would all rush at the hostess of the day as they entered, or at late comers, with the excited enthusiasm of loved and loving intimates who had not met for months; and kirkpatrick, who missed nothing, knew that they met once a day if not oftener. in spite of their intimacy their warm enraptured greetings carried a patent measure of admiration and even respect. it was always at least fifteen minutes before they would settle down for "work" and meanwhile they chattered about their common interests, but always with the air of relating long-delayed information and a frank desire to give of their best. he could have understood "gush," and sentimentalism, but this attitude of which he had neither heard nor read bothered him until one day he had a sudden, flash of enlightenment. v "is it class-consciousness?" he asked the question of gora, who dropped in upon a class at alexina's or aileen's sometimes on a free afternoon, and with whom he was walking down to the trolley car. "something like that. caste they would call it if they thought about it at all, which to do them justice they don't.... it used to be the fashion in san francisco for everybody to 'knock' everybody else. then came a revulsion and everybody began to praise and boost. you see it in all circles, but the way it has taken that crowd is to show their intense loyalty to one another by a constant reminder of it in manner, and in refraining from criticism of one another, no matter how much they may gossip about others outside of their particular set. once, just to try my sister-in-law, i told her that in my nursing i had stumbled across evidence of an illicit love affair going on between one of her friends and a married man, the husband of my patient. my sister became so remote that i had the impression for a few moments that she really wasn't there. once it would have infuriated me, but i have improved my sense of humor and developed my philosophy, so i merely turned the conversation, as she wouldn't speak at all. she had quite withdrawn--still further into the sacred preserves, i suppose.... "they are not only loyal but really seem to have the most exalted admiration for one another because they are all of the same heaven-born stock.... that is not all, however. the truth of the matter is that they get so bored out here they would go frantic if they did not cultivate as many kinds of excitement and indigenous admirations as their wits are equal to. when they can, they vary the monotony of life with summers in europe and winters in new york--or santa barbara, where they meet many interesting people from the east or england; but some of them won't leave their busy husbands or the husbands won't be left; or parents are not amenable; so they try to create an atmosphere of high spirits and sheer delight in youth and one another, and the result is almost a work of art. i rather respect them, but i envy them a good deal less than before i knew them so well." "oh, you envied them? they should envy you." "well, they don't! yes, i envied them because it is my natural right to be one of them and fate slammed the door before i was born. it embittered my first youth, and it might have become an obsession after my brother married into society if i had not found the right kind of work. that and the boring sundays i've spent at rincona, and the experiences i have had with that young set, who are always at mrs. dwight's more or less; besides a profound satisfaction in accomplishing literary work that not one of them could do to save their lives--all this has routed a good deal of my old bitterness of spirit. i am not sorry that i had it and indulged it, however. discontent and resentment put spurs on the soul. anything is better than smugness." "it's made you different enough from these others, all right. even from mrs. dwight, who is different herself.... i'd rather you'd stayed discontented. the whole scheme's all wrong and you know it. you've suffered from it. you should be the last to tolerate it. when they're jabbering away about their ninny affairs they pay as little attention to you as they do to me. they forget our existence. we don't belong, as they say. there isn't, one of them except mrs. dwight that i wouldn't give my eye teeth to see hanging out the wash or running a machine in a factory."' gora turned to him with a smile. at this time she was as nearly happy as was possible for that insurgent too aspiring spirit. "nevertheless, they've made you over in a way--oh, don't flame! i don't mean your principles ... other ways that won't hurt you in the least. you cut your hair differently. you wear better shoes. you have your clothes pressed--the suit you wear up here anyhow. you've reformed your speech somewhat, and you know a good deal more about many things than you did a few months ago. i am expecting any day to see you wearing a 'boiled' shirt." "oh, no, not that! it'd never do. it's true enough i got to feeling self-conscious about my rough clothes and boots, especially after i met that dude brother of yours one day in the hall and he gave me a once-over that made me feel like a tramp." "oh! ... but he was snubbed himself not so very long ago, and i suppose it gives him a certain pleasure to snub some one else, i am ashamed of him.... but tell me, don't you like them rather better than you expected? find them rather a better sort? you must see that there is practically no leisure class as far as the men are concerned--" "they have time enough to go chicken chasing--" "well, aside from that? at least they do work. and the younger women? you knew before that they were frivolous because they had too much money and too few responsibilities. many of the older women have a serious and useful side, even if they do waste an unholy amount of time at cards." "well, if you ask me, their manners, when they remember to use 'em, are better than i expected. only that miss thorndyke is cold and haughty, but perhaps that's because she's poor (for her), or is covering up something, or is just plain stupid.... mrs. dwight's manners are always perfect. she's my idea of a lady--just! and in the new system there'll be a long sight more ladies than is possible now, only no aristocrats.... yes, they're decent enough considering they're rotten poisoned by money and thinkin' themselves better'n the mass; and i like their affection for one another. but they could be all that in the socialist state and more too. they'd have to cut out drink and gambling, and a few other diversions some of 'em'll drift into, if one or two of 'em haven't already--just through being bored to death." "do you honestly think socialism means universal virtue?" "no, i don't. i'm no such greenhorn; though there's some that does, or pretends to.... but i mean there'd be no _drifting_ into vice like there is now, no indulgence of any old weakness because temptation was always following them about or just round the corner. that's the trouble now.... but in the most perfect state some would be watching out for their chance, just because the old adam was too strong in spite of the fact that all the old reminders had disappeared." "more likely they'd all murder one another because they were some ten thousand times more bored than that poor little group whose brains you are addling." "i don't like to hear you talk like that, miss gora. you ought to give that pen of yours to socialism. there would be all the revenge you could want--and it's what you're entitled to. then i could call you comrade gora." "call me comarade by all means if it hurts you to say miss to a fellow worker.... you admit then that envy of a society you were not born into and which refuses to acknowledge you as an equal, is the secret of your desire to pull it down?" "partly that." he admitted cooly. "not that i'd change places with any of those fat millionaires i see shuffling down the steps of the pacific-union club--although i'll admit to you what i wouldn't to these young devils in my class, that i know some socialists who would. i hate the sight of 'em. but i want to do away with class-rights and class-distinctions, not only because i just naturally have no use for them but because i want to put an end to the misery of the world." "you mean the material misery. what would you do with the other seven hundred different varieties?" "well.... i guess each case would have to take care of itself. perhaps we'd get round to it after a while. get power and class-envy out of the world, and some genius, like as not, would invent a post-graduate course of colleges for human nature. all things are possible." "you are an optimist! here's our car. come home with me and share the supper that i pay for with the tainted money of a plutocrat. only we haven't any real plutocrats in san francisco. only modest millionaires. will you?" "yes." said mr. kirkpatrick. "and thank you kindly." he even smiled, for he was developing a latent heavily overlain seed of humor; inherited from the full bay tree that had flourished in his grandfather, born in county clare, where men sometimes indulged in rebellion but did not take themselves too seriously withal. chapter ii i that winter and the following seasons for the next few years passed very rapidly for alexina. besides her classes and the constant companionship of her friends (to say nothing of the excitement of helping one or two of them out of not infrequent scrapes), she had for a time the absorbing interest of refurnishing the best part of her house. the square lower hall which had been scantily furnished with the grandfather's clock, a hat-rack, and a settee, and whose walls were covered with "marble paper," was painted, walls and wood, a deep ivory white, and refurnished with light wicker furniture, palms, and growing plants. the hat-rack was abolished, and the small library on the left of the entrance turned into a men's dressing-room. the folding doors were removed from the great double parlors, the "body brussels" replaced by hardwood floors, the walls tinted a pale gray as a background for the really valuable pictures (including the proud and gracious and beautiful alexina ballinger, dust long since in lone mountain), and the splendid pieces of italian furniture which had always seemed to sulk and bulge against the dull brown walls. the rep and walnut sets were sent to the auction room and replaced by comfortable chairs and sofas whose colors varied, but harmonized not only with one another but with the rugs that alexina under gora's direction had bought at auction. in fact she bought many of her new pieces at auction and with aileen found it vastly exciting to pore over the advertisements and then go down to the crowded rooms and bid. the billiard room behind the former library she left as it was. her mother's large bedroom upstairs she turned into a library with bookcases to the ceiling on three sides, and one of the carved oaken tables against an expanse of pompeiian red relieved by one painting (a wedding gift from judge lawton, who believed in patronizing local art) that had despoiled a desert of its gorgeous yellow sunrise. the carpet and curtains were red without pattern. the coal grate had been removed and a fireplace built for logs. it was to be her own den for long rainy winter afternoons, or the cold and foggy days of summer when she remained in the city. the dining-room was also given a hardwood floor and a japanese red and gold wall paper as a compliment to her martial ancestors; but as the sideboards were built into the wails end could be replaced only at great cost; they remained as a brooding reminder of the solid sixties, and no doubt exchanged resentful reminiscences at night with the chairs which had been merely recovered. as a matter of course modern bathtubs were installed and gas replaced by electricity. all this made a "hole" in alexina's bonds, the wedding-present of her brothers, but mortimer offered no objection, knowing as he did that to achieve his ambition of being master of a house to which fashionable people would come as a matter of course the outlay was imperative. moreover, entertaining at home would be far cheaper for him than at the restaurants. he was doing fairly well at this time, for he had learned what commodities the retail men were likely to buy of a firm as small as his, and he had got into touch with one or two foreign markets not monopolized by the older houses. moreover, he had been speculating a little in the new nevada mines, and successfully. he presented alexina with a victrola which included the music for all the new dances, and a long coat of baby lamb lined with her favorite periwinkle blue. to his sister he returned a thousand dollars of her money. alexina knew nothing of these speculations and felt that her original faith in him was justified. he did not offer even yet to pay all the monthly expenses of the house, explaining casually that the greater part of his profits went back into the business; but he handed over his share promptly, and such fleeting doubts and anxieties as may once have visited his still inexperienced wife faded and finally disappeared. ii they began to entertain a little during the second winter, mrs. groome having been dead nearly two years. the new floor of the large drawing-room had been laid for dancing, and their friends formed a habit, when there was "nothing on" elsewhere, of telephoning and announcing they were coming up to take a whirl. this led to more telephoning, and some twenty couples would dance in the long-silent old house at least once and often three times a week. the new order delighted james, who felt young again, and his hastily improvised suppers were models of unpretentious succulence. there were always sherry and whiskey in the handsome old decanters on the sideboards; and, at the equally perfect little dinners, for a time, two bottles of alexander groome's favorite brand of champagne (which he had remembered with satisfaction on his deathbed that he had not outlived) were brought up from the cellar by the beaming james. when, almost with tears, he informed his mistress' husband that the last bottle had been served mortimer could do no less than order up a case. he had not the courage either to give his guests the excellent native claret where they had formerly enjoyed imported champagne or to appear a "piker" in the eyes of the far from democratic family butler. he consoled himself with the reflection that it was "good business." nearly all the young men, married or otherwise, that came to his house (alexina subtly encouraged him to call it his house) were of more or less importance or standing in the world of business and finance (two were lawyers in their first flight, bascom luning and jimmie thorne), and the more prosperous he appeared to be (they knew to a dollar the extent of alexina's income) the more apt would business be to flow his way, the less likely they would be to suspect him of playing the stock market. at all events it enhanced his standing and gave him intense pleasure. moreover, as time passed it became evident to his sensitive ego that he was no longer looked upon as an outsider. he was accepted as a matter of course. he was one of them. neither men nor women (not even aileen) continued to ask themselves whether they liked him or not. he was there and to stay and that was the end of it. they had always liked his manners; he made a charming host, and, as ever, he danced like "a god with wings on his heels." quite naturally in due course some one offered to put him up at the most exclusive and the most expensive club west of new york, a club to which every californian with any pretence to fashion or importance belonged as a matter of course. old men whose names had once been potent in the great banks or firms of the valleys below, sat and gazed with sad and rheumy eyes down upon the new city in which there was barely a familiar landmark to remind them of their youth or the years of their power and their pride. they sat there all day long, day after day; and tourists went away with the impression that the imposing brown stone mansion on the sacred crest of nob mill was a sumptuously endowed retreat for the incurably aged. but the majority of its members were very much alive and still well-padded; and, far from being on a pale diet, were deeply appreciative of the famous culinary resources of the chef, and showed it. when the offer was made to mortimer he accepted with a bright: "oh, thanks, old chap. i'd like it immensely," but when, on the first day of his membership, he stood in one of the front windows and gazed out at the ruins opposite--the pacific union club and the fairmont hotel were still two oases in the rubbled waste of nob hill--he felt so exultant and so happy that he dared not open his lips lest he betray himself. he could mount no higher socially. all that he had to strive for now was his million--or millions. when he had half a million he would build a house at burlingame that could be enlarged from time to time. only with the "rincona crowd" he had made no headway. maria did not hesitate to comment on the extravagance of doing the house over, the membership at the club with all it entailed, alexina's little electric car, and above all the constant entertaining. a moderate amount was due alexina's position; but open house--nothing made money fly so quickly. prices were getting higher every day (there came a time, in the wake of the great war, when she looked back with sad amazement at the morning of her discontent) and rich people were getting richer while poor people like themselves (she meant what alexina still called the a. a.) were growing poorer. tom abbott had not put mortimer up at the club. he happened to know that although his brother-in-law was doing fairly well he was not making a fortune, and suspected that he dabbled in stocks. but he said nothing of this to his wife, and as he knew that alexina had long since revoked her power of attorney (she had given him to understand that this was done at mortimer's suggestion) he believed that her money at least was safe. chapter iii i alexina, although she would have found it impossible, even if she had so desired, to relapse into the incognitance of the years preceding her mother's death, had nevertheless locked and sealed and cellared her ivory tower, those depths of her nature where, she suspected, her true ego dwelt. it was an ego she had forfeited the right to indulge, nor had she at this time any desire to know more of herself than she did. life after all was very pleasant; she managed to fill it with many little and even a few absorbing interests; and once she spent a month at santa barbara chaperoning janet maynard, where her duties sat lightly upon her and she would have responded naturally if addressed as miss groome, so completely did mortimer fade into the background. in the summer of nineteen-thirteen judge lawton and aileen overcame all protests and took her with them to europe, where, after a month in paris, she visited olive de morsigny in her renaissance château on the loire. the memory of gathbroke revisited her and she half-wished the judge would go to england, but the climate did not agree with him, and after a few more enchanted weeks, in italy and spain, she returned to mortimer, who was distinctly duller than ever. but she had reconciled herself long since to the dullness of her life-partner; he could not help it and she had willfully married him in the face of as imposing a phalanx of family and friendly opposition as ever attempted to stand between a girl and her fate. nevertheless, immediately after her return from santa barbara in the late autumn of nineteen-eleven, and wholly without, analysis or pondering, she made a significant change in the order of her life. mortimer, who had, during her absence, occupied a large room at the back of the house visited by the afternoon sun, found himself invited to retain it.... they must avoid the least possibility of a family until they were better off.... she had been hearing the subject discussed ... the most economical baby cost fifty dollars a month. with a permanent trained nurse, and of course they would have one, the cost would easily be doubled ... thousands were required for the proper education of a child ... even if she had girls she should wish them to go to college; she was not half educated herself ... and boys, with their extravagances, their debts, they cost a mint; it was better for children to be born outright in the humbler classes than to be born into a rich set without riches themselves ... it all put her in a panic every time she thought of it.... morty was so sensible and had such a high sense of responsibility, of course he understood ... children, even when small, would hamper him fearfully, especially as he had not even begun to make his million.... as for herself she would be more economical than ever and help him like the good pal she was. mortimer had the sensation of being trussed up with invisible but inflexible silken thongs. his thoughts need not be recorded. ii alexina refurnished her bedroom in her favorite periwinkle blue; a low graceful day-bed with a screen before the stationary washstand helped to create the atmosphere of a boudoir. it had an intensely personal atmosphere in which man, more particularly a lawful husband, had no place. when alexina stood on the threshold and surveyed this room, chaste, cool, proud, and exquisitely lovely, she lifted her hand and blew off a kiss, out of the window, wafting away the memory of the room as it had been. she had remarkable powers of obliteration, a sort of river of lethe among the backwaters of her mind, where she held below the surface all she wished to forget until it ceased to struggle. she never again gave a thought to her early relationship with her husband; not even to the indifference or distaste which had followed so quickly upon her curiosity and her determination to feel romantic at all costs. iii subtly she felt she was happier than she had ever been even in those first weeks, when she had barred the gates of her fool's paradise behind her; she felt as free and happy as the birds skimming over the beds of periwinkle below her window, and (miraculously finding her second youth quite as productive as her first) took no pains to conceive of anything better. she looked neither forward nor back, and all was well. she even flirted a little, that being the fashion, and, having had enough of business men, encouraged the devotions of bascom luning and jimmie thorne. she saw them when they chose to call in the daytime, and regaled the glowering mortimer at the dinner table with scraps of their sapience. mortimer had resigned himself long since to the sacrifice of several of his bourgeois ambitions, among them to be master in his own house; but not an iota of his convictions. although it would not have occurred to him to distrust his wife if she had chosen to sit up all night with a man, he made frozen comments upon the impropriety of a woman having men in the house when her husband was not there, sitting out dances with men, taking long tramps through marin county with three men and no one for chaperon but alice thorndyke and janet maynard--shocking flirts--whole sundays--with lunch heaven knew where, and himself, who hated tramping, not included. but these grim remonstrances were met in so gay a spirit of badinage that he felt ridiculous, particularly as no powers of badinage or of repartee had been included in his own mental equipment; and he usually relapsed into a polite and bored silence. he never had had much to say at the dinner table when they were alone, and, as time went on, his comments on the day were exhausted before the soup had given place to the entrée, and alexina fell into the habit of bringing her italian text-book to the table--the study of italian just then being the rage in her set--and whatever interesting book she had on hand. mortimer made no protest. his brain was fagged at night. it was a relief not to be expected to talk when they dined alone; those long silences had been oppresive even to him; he rather welcomed the books. chapter iv i this complete new freedom, and personal privacy, entailed in time a result which alexina would have been the last to anticipate even if she had disposed of her husband by death or divorce. owing to the thoroughness of her mental methods she was psychologically free, the legal tie mattered as little as if mortimer had been transposed by some beneficent law to the status of a brother. the will when it is strong enough can control acts, and, when favored by bias, thought; but it has no command whatever over the sub-consciousness, and in that mysterious region are the subtle inheritances of mind and character, the springs and the direction, of all functional life; a fate with a thousand threads on her wheel, filaments from the souls and the bodies, the minds and the acts, of every ancestor straight back to that vast impersonal ocean where, unthinkable millions of years ago proemial life awaited the call of the worlds. this aged untiring fate at the wheel battles unceasingly with the conscious mind above, for age is prone to live by law and rote. these fates, the oldest daughters of the earth-mother, nature, know nothing of morals or manners, assume that men and women are as naïve in their normality as the denizens of forest and field. and so they are while children. ii the eternal pull between civilizing mind (oh, centuries yet from being civilized!) and the memoried but obstinate old lady at the wheel (who laughs when a man of powerful will and too active mind "wills" sleep; forcing him finally to choose between the horrors of insomnia, the insidious tyranny of drugs, and the doubtful and wearisome alternative of psychotherapeutics)--this pull, automatic in people of low estate, becomes bitter and often appalling where the mind is highly developed and attuned besides to the codes and customs of the best that civilization has so far accomplished. the most vital of all these functions, for without it mother earth would be like an ant hill without ants, and all these ancient norms of daughters as homeless as the rest of the fates, is what man in a spirit of social compromise has labeled an instinct--the sex-instinct. it is no more an instinct than recurring sleep, lymphatic action, hunger, thirst, alimentation. it is a primal function for which mind, wisely foreseeing the consequences of too much nature, long since created laws both civil and social to curb. there are many impulses, inherited, from ten thousand ancestors and constantly jogged by earth's busy agent, human nature, that may logically be called instincts (their roots lying in the ancient social groups and their struggle to exist) but not a function that governs the law of reproduction, as appetite governs the law of renewing the vital necessities of the body. iii in the latin races the conscious war between the brain above and the sub-ego below, with the latter's constant reminders that mind is a mere excrescence, often warped or ill-directed, at the apex of the perfect body, is almost negligible. even, when moral their lack of reticence, their practical logic, their habit of facing every fact pertaining to life, psychical and physical, as squarely as they face a simple question of hunger and thirst, above all their almost complete lack of that modern, development, called romance, which has given birth to a peculiar form of personal imagination, too often without foundation or logic--all these preclude that most active of all mental aids to the matter of fact needs of the body--glamour. but it is far otherwise with the english-speaking races--loosely called anglo-saxon, they are powerfully sexed; their feelings and sentiments go deeper than is possible to those of more ebullient temperament but fatal clarity of vision; refinement of mind and habit and manner is perhaps the most precious of their achievements, and they have established a code which not only demands rectitude of act but suppression of thought and desire where there is no lawful outlet. nothing, possibly, has more infuriated the old lady at the methodically performing wheel than this. she takes her revenge and squirts poison into the physical structure of the brain, obscures the soul with dark and brooding clouds, and subtly reduces the blood system to such a state that any germ is welcome. iv once more mind uses its highest faculties and outwits her, having no intention that civilization shall drop below the plane to which it has been raised through long laborious centuries of time. life becomes more diverse, more complex. the middle classes work harder to live; they have little leisure for thoughts, for introspection. punishment is dire.... those that have leisure and yet not enough to command the more brilliant and special forms of distraction are supplied with public libraries, gymnasiums, free medical advice regarding the laws of hygiene in places where they cannot fail to see it, new forms of cheap amusement; they are subtly encouraged to take up useful work or study; or there are increasing pressures which may force even this semi-leisure class to work for luxuries if not for bread. tens of thousands of women are led into the passionate diversions of club life. for them, too, politics with its fierce championships and hatreds and frictions; the necessity of concentration of thought on the impersonal plane if only in the matter of getting the best of rivals within the fold; and if hair flies souls are saved. over the oldest profession mind still scratches its head in vain. it is ever hopeful, and hamstrings a sovereign patron, like alcohol, now and again; but the lady at the wheel smiles, for here, in addition to the unquenchable maternal instinct, the ignorance of the poor, and the glamour that the men of certain races have learned to give to love, she has her clearest field. aside from the women of commerce there are, of course, many secret rebels--now and then only does one make her exit from society through the courts. the vast majority of anglo-saxons in whatever clime or capital, suppress their "unrefined" appetites or vagrant fancies--which are vibrations from the wheel; sometimes hard jerks when the presiding genius is more than commonly out of patience--and rise to serene heights or grow morbid and irritable according to the strength or the meagerness of their equipment; or the nature of their resources. a cultivated resource is a persistent fiction that life is as it ought to be, not as it is, and it is no plan of theirs to read books or witness plays that might carve and populate a new groove in their brains. let no one imagine that this class will become more "enlightened," "broader," as time goes on. not for a century at least. mind has made too great a success of this product; she has practically achieved a complete triumph over the lady at the wheel. it is this class that has made civilization progress, the solid thing it is to date. the excrescences, the deserters from the normal, scintillating or subtle, may be tolerated for the spice they give to life but they will never rule. possibly they do not mind. life is made up of compromises and compensations. v american women in youth, of the visibly reputable world, may be freely divided into two classes, the oversexed and those that seem cold to themselves and others until they are well into the period of their second youth--between twenty-four and thirty; and a not inconsiderable number are so and permanently. in the first case they either precipitate themselves into matrimony or have one or more intrigues until they find the man they wish to marry, when they settle down and make excellent wives. the others, if they are imaginative and high-minded, fall in love romantically and marry far too soon; or they capitalize their youth or beauty and marry to the best advantage; or they elect to live a life of serene spinsterhood like alexina's aunt clara, and bring up the family children. a not inconsiderable number take their fling late. when the american girl of the super-refined class, and whose baleful norm in the crypt was asleep at the wheel in her first blind youth, finds herself disappointed in the most intimate partnership that exists, the complaisance, voluntary at the beginning, drifts into habit, more and more grimly endured. some have the moral courage to put an end to it as they would to any false situation, but if individuals were not rare in this world we should have chaos, not a civilization of sorts which is a pleasant place to plant the feet, however high into the clouds the head may poke its investigating nose. it is natural that with such women during the period of endurance all love should seem distasteful, and the mind dwell upon any other subject. but remove the cause of sex-inertia and there is likely to be the stir and awakening of spring after a long monotonous winter of hard frost and blanketing snow. or a homelier simile: remove the cause of chronic indigestion and the appetite becomes fresh and normal. thus alexina. chapter v i san francisco, commencing in september, has three or four months of perfect weather. the cold fogs and winds cease to pay their daily visits, the rainy season awaits the new year. the skies are a deep and cloudless blue, the air is warm and soft and alluring, never too hot, although the overcoats of summer are discarded. the city lies bathed in golden sunlight or the sharp jeweled light of stars, when the moon is not blazing like a crystal bonfire. then mount tamalpais and other mountains across the bay and behind the city take on a chiseled outline that, particularly at night, makes them look curiously new, as if but yesterday heaved from the deep, and nature too busy to provide them with a background and the soft blurs of time for centuries to come. this primeval look of bare california mountains on clear nights has something sinister and menacing in its aspect as if at any moment they might once more brood alone over the earth. ii alexina returned from abroad early in november and stood one morning outside her eucalyptus grove, revolving slowly on one heel, schoolgirl fashion, as she gazed up at the steep densely populated hill that rose from the street below her own private little hill, and cut off her view of the hills of berkeley and the mountains beyond; at the broad crowded valleys on the south; the range of hills that hid the pacific ocean, and included mount calvary with its cross and the symmetrical mass of twin peaks; the bare brown mountains of the north piling above the green sparkling bay with its wooded and military islands. like a good and valiant californian she was assuring herself that she had seen nothing like this in europe, and that she really preferred it to art galleries and dilapidated old ruins. but as a matter of fact she had returned to california with dragging feet and was merely staving off the disheartening moment when her ruthless candor would force her to admit it. san francisco was all very well, and in this dazzling light that compact mass of houses swarming over the city's hills and valleys, with sudden palms in high gardens and a tree here and there, produced the impression that all were white with red roofs, and looked not unlike genoa. but it seemed quite unromantic and uninspiring to a girl who had just paid her first brief visit to the old world, an interval, moreover, that had been without a responsibility, cut her off so completely from her general life that when variously addressed "mademoiselle," "signorina," "señorita," she ceased almost at once to feel either surprised or flattered. if she had not forbidden herself to dream she would still have been alexina groome with a future to sketch with her own adventurous pencil; and to fill in at her pleasure. but although she was free in a sense she was not free to live in europe. she was a partner with a partner's obligations. to desert mortimer would not only be to banish him from ballinger house to dreary bachelor quarters, with none of the comforts and little luxuries he intensely loved, but it would also deprive him of his surest social prop. people had accepted him and liked him as well as they liked the totally uninteresting of the good old stock; but many would drift into the habit of not inviting him to anything but large dances, if his wife were absent. alexina knew that her invitations to all important and many small dinners, not avowedly bridge or poker parties, were as inevitable as crab in season; but there were too many young men whom girls would infinitely prefer to enliven the monotony of crab à la poulette, to any married man, particularly one who had as little to say as poor morty. she had known dèbutantes who flatly refused to dance with married men or even to be introduced to them. california was her fate. no doubt of that. she might never see europe again, for while it was all very well to be a guest once it would be quite impossible another time. she certainly could not afford it herself and keep ballinger house open, even for brief summer visits; as she might if her home were in new york. of course mortimer might make his million, but then again he might not. certainly there were no present signs of it and she had never seen him so depressed, not even during the panic of nineteen-seven. his eyes were as lifeless as slate, his voice was flat, although for that matter he was almost dumb. when at home he sat brooding heavily by the open western windows of the drawing-room, or moved restlessly about. to all her questions he replied shortly that the times were bad again, worse than ever; that he was holding his own, but was tired, tired out. as she had not been there he had not cared to take a cottage by himself, and had paid few week-end visits. he had nothing to talk to women about and the men talked of nothing but the business depression.... alexina had shrugged her shoulders and concluded that his attitude was a subtle reproach for leaving him to the dull cares of business while she enjoyed herself in europe. she was not in the least sorry for mortimer. he had been perfectly comfortable; he had had his friends; she had left him a sum of money which with the monthly rents from the flats would pay her share in the household expenses; he could spend his free afternoons at the golf club by the ocean, and his evenings, when not invited out, at the temple of his idolatry on nob hill. james was a better housekeeper than she was and it was now two years that mortimer bad been living the life of a luxurious bachelor at the back of the house with an always amiable companion at breakfast and dinner. iii alexina, as she stood shading her eyes from the brilliant sunlight and watching a great liner drift through the golden gate, wondered if morty had consoled himself, and if his puritanical conscience were flaying him. she hoped that he had, for she was quite willing that he should be happy in his own way, poor thing, so long as he secluded his divagations from the world--and she could trust him to do that! now that she had ceased to be the complaisant bored wife with dull nerves and torpid imagination she would be the last to condemn him. human nature was an ever opening book to her these days, and she wondered what would happen to herself if any of several men she liked were capable of making her love him, whipping up a personal storm in those emotional gulfs which had slowly and inflexibly intruded themselves upon her consciousness. she had pondered long and deeply on this subject, particularly in the old world where bonds seem looser to the mere observer whether they are or not, and where life looks to the american the quintessence of romance.... she had concluded that the most satisfactory experience that could come to her would be a mad love affair "in the air" with a man who possessed all the requirements to induce it, but who would either be the unsuspecting object, or, reciprocating, would continue to love her with the world between them. for she shrank from the disillusionments of secret libertinage; she did not, indeed, believe that love could survive it, although passion might for a time. passion was unthinkable to her without love, and when she recalled the mean and sordid devices to which two of her friends were put to meet their lovers she felt nothing but disgust for the whole drama of man and woman. alexina had been reared on the soundest moral principles of church and society, to say nothing of the law, but the norm at the wheel has often laughed in her amiable way at church and society and law when circumstances have conspired to help her. but against fastidiousness even the blind urge of the race seldom has availed her; she can only go on sullenly feeding the fires, heaping on the fuel, hoping grimly for the astrological moment. iv alexina shrugged her shoulders impatiently and went into the house. she would go down to the bank and clip her coupons. she cultivated assiduously the practical side of life, making the most of it, delighted when repairs were needed on her flats, regretting that the greater part of her income came from ground rents, collected, as ever, by tom abbott, and bonds, from which she still experienced a childish pleasure in cutting the coupons. her flats, which were in a humbler part of the western division of the city, she had never visited, but she received a call every month from the agent, who brought her the rents and complaints. she had made a heroic effort to turn herself into a business woman but the material had been too slender; and she sometimes wished for a large independent fortune that would tax her powers to the utmost. but she never even had any surplus to invest. her wardrobe was no inconsiderable item; living prices rose steadily; there were repairs both on her own house and the flats to be anticipated every year, to say nothing of the fiendish sum that must be set aside for taxes. but she managed to save the necessary amount; and if they lived somewhat extravagantly, at least she had never disturbed her capital. on the whole she knew they had managed very well for young people who lived so much in the world, and she had no intention of economizing further. they had no children. her husband was young and energetic and healthy. her own little fortune was secure. she purposed to enjoy life as best she could; and as she could not have done this quite selfishly and been happy, she included among her yearly expenditures a certain admirable charity presided over by her equally admirable sister, and even visited it occasionally with her friends when a serious mood descended abruptly upon them.... she was now on the threshold of her second beautiful youth, and found herself and life far more interesting than when, a silly girl of eighteen, she had believed that all life and romance must be crowded into that callow period. she had no idea of sacrificing this new era vibrating with unknown possibilities (it was on the cards that she might resurrect gathbroke from his ivory tomb; lie would do admirably for her present needs, and when she found it difficult to visualize him after so long a period, she could pay gora a sisterly visit) to a penurious attempt to increase her capital. at the same time she had no intention of diminishing it. to quote tom abbott (when maria was elsewhere): she might be a fool, or even a----fool, but she was not a----fool. v she dressed herself in a black velvet suit made by her new york tailors. she had spent, a fortnight with her brother ballinger on her way home, and he had given her a set of silver fox: a large muff and two of those priceless animals head to head to keep a small section of her anatomy at blood heat in a climate never cold enough for furs. the day was hot. it was the sort of weather which on the opposite side of the continent arrives when spring is melting into summer and fortunate woman arrays herself in thin and dainty fabrics. but women everywhere with a proper regard for fashion rush the season, and autumn is the time to display the first smart habiliments of winter. no san francisco woman of fashion would be guilty of comfortable garments in the glorious spring weather of november if she perished in her furs. the coat, bound with silk braid, was lined with periwinkle blue, and there was a touch of the same color in her large black velvet hat. nothing could make the great irises of her black-gray eyes look blue, but they shone out, dazzling, under the drooping brim; and if she was, perchance, too warm above, her scant skirt, her thin silk stockings and low patent leather shoes struck the balance like a brilliant paradox. alexina nodded approvingly at her image in the pier glass, found the key of her safe deposit box in the cabinet where she had left it, and went down to the smart little electric car which the gardener had brought to the door. chapter vi i alexina stood alone in the strong room of the bank leaning heavily against the wall with its endless rows of compartments from one of which she had taken the dispatch box in which she had kept her bonds. the box had fallen to the floor. if there had been any one in the room with her he would have started and turned as the box clanged with a hollow echo on the steel surface. the box was empty. it was a large box. it had contained forty thousand dollars' worth of bonds, nearly a third of her fortune. the securities were among the soundest the country afforded, for alexander groome, wild as he may have been when relieving the monotony of life with too many diversions, not the least of which was speculation, never made a mistake in his permanent investments; and others had been bought with equal prudence by judge lawton or tom abbott. but the bonds had been negotiable. she recalled tom abbott's warning to keep them always in her safe deposit box and the key hidden. they might be traced if stolen, but state's prison for the thief would be cold comfort if the bonds had been cashed and the money spent. she had always had one of the lighter italian pieces in her bedroom, a beautiful cabinet of carved and gilded oak nearly black with age. like all such it had a secret drawer and here she had kept her keys, and her jewels during the winter. who knew of this secret drawer, which opened by pressing a certain little gilded face on the panel? ... all her friends, of course: aileen, sibyl, alice, olive, janet, hélène.... unthinkable to have a secret drawer in an old italian cabinet which had belonged to some borgia or other, and not exhibit it to one's chosen friends. she had even shown it to gora, but to no one else but mortimer. she had kept his love letters in it for a time, written while the family was applying the polite methods of the modern inquisition at rincona, they had remained there, forgotten, until her mother's death, when she had remembered the secret drawer as a safe hiding place for her keys and jewels; which, with her mother's, had formerly reposed in the safe under the stairs. it was a deep drawer and when she was in town held the few valuable stones, reset, that she had inherited from her mother, besides the fine pieces she had received as wedding-gifts; when all the old friends of the family out-did themselves, and not a few of the less distinguished but more opulent, whose floors alexina had graced while her mother slept. her pearl necklace had been the present of her more intimate group of friends. alexina was not a little proud of her collection of jewels, although she seldom wore anything but her pearls. she had left it when she went abroad, in the safe deposit vault, and she sent a quick terrified glance in the coffer's direction like that of a cornered rat. but her attention riveted itself once more on the empty box at her feet. a third of her fortune, and gone beyond redemption. her stunned mind grasped that fact at once. no one stole bonds to keep them. but who was the thief? not any of her old friends. they might gamble, or drink, or deceive their legal guardians, but they drew the line at stealing. certain sins lie within the social code and others do not. women of her class, unless kleptomaniac, did not steal. it wasn't done. with reason or unreason they classed thieves of any sort with harlots, burglars, firebugs, embezzlers, forgers, murderers, and common people who overdressed and drank too much in public; and withdrew their skirts. moreover, aileen had been with her in europe. olive lived there. janet and sibyl had more money than they could spend. the ruylers were ranching, and hélène was in adler's sanatorium with a new baby. alice had gone to santa barbara before she left and had not returned. it was insulting even to pass them in review, but the mind works in erratic curves under shock. gora had taken the thousand dollars mortimer had returned to her and gone first to lake tahoe and then to honolulu to write a novel. she would return on the morrow. mortimer. it was incredible. monstrous. she was outrageous even to link his name with such a deed. he was the soul of honor. he might not be a genius but no man had a cleaner reputation. she had lived with him now for over six years and she had never ... never ... never ... and she knew, unconsentingly, infallibly, that mortimer had stolen the bonds. chapter vii i alexina drew the jewel coffer from the depths of the compartment and opened it with fingers that felt swollen and numb. but the jewels were there, and she experienced a feeling of fleeting satisfaction. they were no part of her fortune, for she believed that only want would ever induce her to sell them, but at least they were her own personal treasure and a part of the beauty of life. she returned the fallen box to its place and locked the little cupboard, then took herself in hand. neither the keeper outside the door of the vault nor those she met above must suspect that anything was wrong with her. what she should do she had no idea at the moment, but at all events she must have time to think. she left the bank with her usual light step and her head high, and then she motored down the peninsula. as she passed the shipyards she saw crowds of men standing about; some of them turned and scowled after her. they were on strike and took her no doubt for the wife or daughter of a millionaire; and in truth there was never any difference superficially in her appearance from that of her wealthier friends. she had one ear instead of several hut it was perfect of its kind. her wardrobe was by no means as extensive as sibyl's or janet's or a hundred others, but what she had came from the best houses, that use only the costliest materials. her face was composed and proud. there was not a signal out, even from her brilliant expressive eyes, of the storm within. her mind was no longer stunned. it was seething with disgust and fury. how dared he? her own, her exclusive property, inherited and separate.... she felt at this moment exactly as she would have felt if her jewel coffer instead of the dispatch box had been rifled; it was the instinct of possession that had been outraged. what was hers was hers as much as the hair on her head or the thoughts in her mind ... an instinct that harked back to the oldest of the buried civilizations ... she wondered if any socialist really had cultivated the power to feel differently. she was quite certain that if kirkpatrick should see a thief fleeing with his purse he would chase him, collar him, and either chastise him then and there or drag him to the nearest police station. and the thief was her husband, the man of her choice. alexina felt that possibly if a brother had stolen her money she would have been less bitter because less humiliated; one did not select one's brothers.... and if she had still loved mortimer it would have been bad enough, although no doubt with the blindness of youthful passion she would immediately have begun to make excuses for him, reeling a blow as it would have been. but the one compensation she had found in her matrimonial wilderness was her pride in the essential honor of her chosen partner, and her complete trust. if there had been any necessity for giving a power of attorney when she went to europe she would have drawn it in his favor without hesitation, so completely had she forgotten her earlier incitements to precaution.... if she had, no doubt she would have returned to find herself penniless. whether he had stolen the money to speculate with or to extricate himself from some business muddle she did not pause to wonder. he had lost it; that was sufficiently evident from his depression. when his powers of bluff failed him matters were serious indeed. he had stolen and lost. the first would have been unforgivable, but the last was unpardonable. and he had taken her money as he would have taken gora's, or his parents' had they been alive, because however they might lash him with their contempt, his body was safe from prison, his precious position in society unshaken. she knew him well enough to be sure that if he had had forty thousand dollars of some outsider's money under his hand it would have been safe no matter what his predicament. he would have accepted the alternative of bankruptcy without hesitation. but with the women of his family a man was always safe. she remembered something that gora had once said to the same effect.... yes, she could have forgiven the theft of an outsider, for at least she would be spared this sickening suffocating sensation of contempt. it was demoralizing. she hated herself as much as she hated him. moreover there would have been some compensation in sending an outsider to san quentin. and there was the serious problem of readjusting her life. two thousand dollars out of a small income was a serious deficit. simultaneously she was visited by another horrid thought. mortimer had heretofore paid half the household expenses. no doubt he was no longer in a position to pay any. they would have to live, keep up ballinger house, dress, pay taxes, subscribe to charities, maintain their position in society, pay the doctor and the dentist ... a hundred and one other incidentals ... out of four thousand dollars a year. well, it couldn't be done. they would have to change their mode of living. however, that concerned her little at present. the ordeal loomed of a plain talk with mortimer. it was impossible to ignore the theft even had she wished; which she did not, for it was her disposition to have things out and over with. but it would be horrible ... horribly intimate. she had always deliberately lived on the surface with her family and friends, respected their privacies as she held hers inviolate. as her mind flashed back over her life she realized that this would be the first really serious personal talk she would ever have held with any one. or, if her family, and occasionally, mortimer, had insisted upon being serious she had maintained her own attitude of airy humor or delicate insolence. she had no shyness of manner but a deep and intense shyness of the soul. some day ... perhaps ... but never yet. ii she turned her car after a time, for she feared that her batteries would run down. the strikers were still lounging and scowling; and this time having relaxed her mental girths she looked at them with sympathy. she knew from the liberal education she had received at the hands of mr. james kirkpatrick, and the admissions of judge lawton and other thoughtful men, that the iniquities of employers and labor were pretty equally divided; greed and lack of tact on the one hand, greed and class hatred and the itch for power on the part of labor leaders; and a stupidity in the mass that was more pardonable than the short-sighted stupidities of capital.... but what would you? a few centuries hence the world might be civilized, but not in her time. nothing gave her mind less exercise. one thing at least was certain and that was that when strikes lasted too long the laborers and their families went hungry, and the employers did not. that settled the question for her and determined the course of her sympathy. (it was not yet the fashion to recognize the unfortunate "public," squeezed and helpless between these two louder demonstrators of sheer human nature.) but her mind did not linger in the shipyards. she had problems of her own.... the chief of her compensations, having made a mess of her life, had been taken from her: her pride and her faith in the man to whom she was bound. the death of love had been so gradual that she had not noticed it in time for decent obsequies; she had not sent a regret in its wake.... she had had enough left, more than many women who had made the same blind plunge into the barbed wire maze of matrimony.... and now she had nothing. she would have liked to drive right out on to a liner about to sail through the golden gate ... but she would no doubt have to live on ... and on ... in changed, possibly humble, conditions ... despising the man she must meet sometime every day.... yes, she did wish she never had been born. chapter viii i she concluded, while she dressed for dinner, that she must be a coward. alexina was far from satisfied with herself as she was; she would have liked to possess a great talent like gora, or be an intellectual power in the world of some sort. she was far from stultification by the national gift of complacence, careless self-satisfaction--racial rather than individual ... qualities that have made the united states lag far behind the greater european nations in all but material development and a certain inventiveness; both of which in some cases are outclassed in the older world. a california woman of her mother's generation had become a great and renowned archæologist and lived romantically in a castle in the city of mexico. she bad often wished, since her serious mental life had begun, that this gift had descended upon her--the donee had also been a member of the a. a., and this striking endowment might just as well have tarried a generation and a half longer. she was by no means avid of publicity--people seldom are until they have tasted of it--but she would have enjoyed a rapid and brilliant development of her mental faculties with productiveness of some sort either as a sequel or an interim. it was impossible to advance much farther in her present circumstances. no, she was far from perfect, and willing to admit it; but she had always assumed that courage, moral as well as physical, was an accompaniment of race, like breeding and certain automatic impulses. but her hands were trembling and her cheeks drained of every drop of color because she must have a plain and serious talk with a guilty wretch. she had nothing to fear, but she could not have felt worse if she had been the culprit herself. what was human nature but a bundle of paradoxes? at least she had the respite of the dinner hour. only a fiend would spoil a man's dinner--and cigar--no matter what he had done. that would make the full time of her own respite about an hour and twenty minutes. in a moment of panic she contemplated telephoning to aileen and begging her to come over to dinner. she also no doubt could get bascom luning and jimmie thorne. then it would not be possible to speak to mortimer before to-morrow as he always fell asleep at ten o'clock when there was no dancing.... to-morrow it would be easier, and wiser. one should never speak in anger.... but she was quite aware that her anger had burnt itself out. her mind felt as cold as her hands. better have it over. she put on a severe black frock, not only suitable to the occasion but as a protection from disarming compliments. mortimer, who dressed so well himself that it would have been as impossible for him to overdress as to be rude to a woman, disliked dark severity in woman's attire. he never criticized his wife's clothes, but when they displeased him he ignored them with delicate ostentation. ii alexina had begun to feel that she should scream in the complete silence of the dining-room when mortimer unexpectedly made a remark. "gora arrives to-morrow. will you meet her? i shall not have time." "of course. i shall be delighted to see her again. it would have been an ideal arrangement if i could have left her here with you when i went to europe." "yes. she was here for a week. i missed her when she left." "w-h-at? when was she here? you never told me." "i forgot. it was soon after you left. the ship was disabled--fire, i think,--and put back. i asked her to stay here until the next sailing." "how jolly." again there was a complete silence. but alexina did not notice it. her brain was whirling. after all, she might be mistaken! mortimer! he might be innocent.... to think of gora as a thief was fantastic ... was it? ... was she not mortimer's sister? ... why he rather than she? ... and what after all did she know of gora? ... she inspired some people with distrust, even fear.... that might be the cause of mortimer's depression.... he knew it.... at all events it was a straw and she grasped it as if it had been a plank in mid-ocean. with even a bare chance that mortimer was innocent it would be unpardonable to insult and wound him.... nor was it quite possible to ask him if his sister were a thief. she must wait, of course. and if gora had taken the bonds they might be recovered. it would be like a woman to secrete them in a reaction of terror after having nerved herself up to the deed. she wished that gora had gone to hong kong. bolted. then she could be certain. but at least she had a respite, and she felt so ebullient that she almost forgot her loss, and swept morty over to the lawtons after dinner; and the judge took them all to the movies. chapter ix i alexina would listen to no remonstrance. gora might send her trunks to geary street if she liked, but she must come home to ballinger house and spend at least one night with her brother and sister, who had missed her quite dreadfully. gora wondered how alexina could have missed her so touchingly in europe, but accepted the invitation, as a note from the surgeon to whom she had written by the previous steamer asked her to hold herself in readiness for an operation a week hence. gora was looking remarkably well, and alexina assumed it was not only the six months of mountain life and the three months in the tropics. she had an air of assured power, rarely absent in a woman who has found herself and achieved a definite place in life. besides being one of the best nurses in san francisco, in constant demand by the leading doctors and surgeons, her short stories had attracted considerable attention in the magazines, although no publisher would risk bringing them out in book form. but they were invariably mentioned in any summary of the year's best stories, one had been included in a volume of selected short stories by modern authors, and one in a recent text-book compiled for the benefit of aspirants in the same difficult art. the remuneration had been insignificant, for her stories were not of the popular order, and she had not yet the name that alone commands the high reward; but she had advanced farther than many another as severely handicapped, and she knew through her admiring sister-in-law and aileen lawton that her stories were mentioned occasionally at a san francisco dinner table and even discussed! she was "arriving." no doubt of that. ii "when will the novel come out? i can't wait." "not until the spring." they were sitting in alexina's room and gora had been placed directly in front of the cabinet, which she did not appear even to see. she had taken off her hat and coat and was holding the heavy masses of hair away from her head. "do you mind? i feel as if i had a twenty-pound weight...." "what a question! do what you want." gora took out the pins and let down her hair. it was not as fine as alexina's, but it was brown and warm and an unusual head of hair for these days. it fell down both sides of her face, and her long cold unrevealing eyes looked paler than ever between her sun-burned cheeks and her low heavy brows. alexina knew that she had an antagonist far worthier of any weapons she might find in her armory than poor morty, but she believed she could trap her if she were guilty.... and she must be ... she must.... "didn't you find it too hot in the tropics for writing?" "i only copied and revised. the book was finished before i left lake tahoe-an ideal place for work. some day i shall have a log cabin up there. may i smoke?" "of course." "it is almost a shame to desecrate a flower.... i used to come in here sometimes and look round ... the week i spent here.... the room is a poem ... like you.... or rather the binding of the prose poem that is alexina." "i'd love it if you made me the heroine of one of your novels." "you'll have much more fun living it yourself." "fine chance. i don't suppose i'll ever get out of california again.... i am afraid that morty is doing quite badly." gora shrugged her strong square shoulders. "i never expected anything else. i asked him for another thousand dollars of my money when i was here and he looked as if he had forgotten he owed me any. just like a man and morty in particular. then he said he expected to make an immense profit on something or other he had ordered from the orient and would pay me off when i returned. has he condescended to tell you anything about his affairs?" "not a word. did you need the money badly? if i had been here i could have lent it to you." "thanks. i am sure you would. but i dislike the idea of borrowing. it must be so depressing to pay back.... i was in no particular need of it, for of course i've saved quite a bit. i merely have a natural desire for my own and thought it was a good opportunity to strike morty.... i suppose he's been speculating. fortunes have been made in tonopah, but he would be sure to buy at the wrong time or in the wrong mine.... has he ever asked you for money?" "never. he knows, too, that i have quite a sum in bonds that i could convert into cash at once." "well, take my advice and hold on to them--to every cent you have. where do you keep them?" "in the bank ... in a safe-deposit vault--oh, how careless of me! i've left the key out on the table! i usually keep it ... you remember ... in the secret drawer of the cabinet." "how i wish i had the courage to write a story about a secret drawer of an old italian cabinet! ... i wouldn't leave it lying about; although, of course, no one could use it without a pass also." "a what?" "they use every precaution. i know, because when i nursed old mrs. beresford for eight months, i was sent down to the vault twice." alexina's head was whirling. the blood burned and beat in her face. "even with her signature i couldn't get by the keeper the first time because he didn't know me. i had to be identified by her lawyer." "i like to feel so well taken care of. what shall you do if your novel is a great success? of course it will be. you would never go on being a nurse." "i am not so sure it will be a success. neither is my publisher. he wrote me a half-whimsical half-complimentary letter saying that i must remember the average reader was utterly commonplace, with no education in the higher sense, no imagination, had an extremely limited vocabulary and thought and talked in ready-made phrases, composed for the most part of the colloquialisms of the moment. style, distinction of mind, erected an almost visible wall between the ambitious writer and this predominant class. if they found this sort of book interesting-which as a rule they did not--they felt a sullen sense of inferiority; and if there were too many unfamiliar words they pitched it across the room with the ultimate adjective of their disapproval--'highbrow.' but it is more the general atmosphere they resent--would resent if the book were purposely written with the most limited vocabulary possible." "our national self-sufficiency, i suppose. also the fetish of equality that still persists. we are the greatest nation on earth, of course, but it isn't democratic for any one of us to be greater than the other." "exactly. i don't say i wouldn't write for the mob if i could. nice stories about nice people. intimate life histories of commonplace 'real americans,' touched with a bit of romance, or tragedy-somewhere about the middle--or adventure, with a bad man or woman for good measure and to prove to the highbrows that the author is advanced and knows the world as well as the next, even if he or she prefers to treat of the more 'admirable aspects of our american life.' unluckily i cannot read such books nor write them. i was born with a passion for english and the subtler psychology. i should be hopeless from any editor's or publisher's standpoint if i didn't happen to have been fitted out with a strong sense of drama. if i could only set my stage with commonplace, people no doubt i'd make a roaring hit. but i can't and i won't. who has such a chance as an author to get away from commonplace people? fancy deliberately concocting new ones!" "not you! but you'll have some sort of success, all the same." "yes, there are publics. perhaps i'll hypnotize one of them. as for the financial end what i hope is that the book will give me a position that will raise my prices in the magazines." "you could live abroad very cheaply." alexina raised her eyes a trifle and looked as guileless as her words. "oh, be sure i'll go to europe and stay there for years as soon as i see my way ahead. i should find color in the very stones or the village streets." "i am told that you can find most comfortable quarters in some of those english village inns, and for next to nothing. by the way, do you still correspond with that englishman who was here during the fire?" "gathbroke? off and on. t send him my stories and he writes a humorous sort of criticism of each; says that as i have no humor lie feels a sort of urge to apply a little somewhere." "how interesting. he didn't strike me as humorous." "i fancy he wasn't more than about one-fifth developed when he was here. men like that, with his advantages, go ahead very rapidly when they get into their stride. he has already developed from business into politics--he is in parliament--and that is the second long stride he has taken in the past seven years." "how interesting it will be for you two to meet, again." alexina spoke with languid politeness. gora shrugged her shoulders, "if we do." she might not be able to show the under-white of her eyes arid look like a seraph, but she had her voice, her features, under perfect control, and she had never been quick to blush. she did not suspect that alexina was angling, but the very sound of gathbroke's name was enough to put up her guard. "you must have had several proposals, gora dear. your profession is almost as good as a matrimonial bureau. and you look too fetching for words in that uniform and cap." "i've had just two proposals. one was from an old rancher who liked the way i turned him over in bed and rubbed his back. the other was--well, a nice fellow, and quite well off. but i'm not keen on marrying any one." "still, if it gave you that much more independence and leisure ... travel ... a wider life...." "i'd only consider marrying for two reasons: if i met a man who had the power to make me quite mad about him, or one who could give me a great position in the world and was not wholly obnoxious. otherwise, i prefer to trot alone. why not? at least i escape monotony; i have what after all is the most precious thing in life, complete personal freedom; and if i succeed with my writing i can see the world and attain to position without the aid of any man. if i don't, i don't, and that is the end of it. i'm a bit of a fatalist, i think, although to be sure when i want a thing badly enough i forget all about that and fight like the devil." alexina looked at the square face of her strange sister-in-law, so unlike her brother; at the high cheek bones, the heavy low brows over the cold light eyes, the powerful jaw, the wide firm but mobile mouth. "have you any eussian blood?"' she asked. "'way back?" "not that i know of. but after all i know little about my family, outside of the one ancestor that anchors us in the revolutionary era. he or his son or his son's son may have married a russian or a mongolian for all i know. perhaps some one of my old aunts may have worked out a family tree in cross-stitch, but if so i never heard of it. well, i'm off to clean up for dinner." alexina for the first time in their acquaintance flung her arms round gora's neck and kissed her warmly. truth to tell her conscience was smarting, although she was able to assure herself that not for a moment had she really believed her sister-in-law to be guilty; she had merely grasped at a straw. gora returned the embrace gratefully and without suspicion. as ever, she was a little sorry for alexina. chapter x i alexina felt only an intolerable ennui. gora had gone in the morning; she sat alone in her room. of course she must have that explanation with mortimer, but any time before the first of the month would do. she was far less concerned with that now than with the problem: what to do with her life. how was she to continue to live in the same house with him? perhaps in far smaller quarters than these? for she could not leave him. she had no visible excuse, and no desire to admit to the world that she had made woman's superlative mistake. she scowled at the lovely room in which she had expected to find compensation in dreams, the setting for an unreal and enchanted world. dreams had died out of her. for the first time in her sheltered existence she appreciated the grim reality of life. she was no longer sheltered, secluded, one of the "fortunate class." ways and means would occupy most of her time henceforth. and it was not the privations she shrank from but the contacts with the ugly facts of life; a side she had found extremely picturesque in novels, but knew from, occasional glimpses to be merely repulsive and demoralizing. and of whom could she ask advice! she must make changes and make them quickly. four thousand dollars a year! ... and taxes--besides the new income tax--to be paid on the downtown property, the fiats, the land on which her home stood, ballinger house itself and all its contents. she knew vaguely that many girls these days were given special training of some sort even where their parents were well off; but more particularly where the father was what is known as a high-salaried man; or even a moderately successful professional or business man--all of whose expenses arid incomes balanced too nicely for investments. not in her set! joan, bored after her third season with dancing in winter and "sitting round alta" in summer, had asked permission to become a trained nurse like gora, or go into the decorating business, "any old thing"; and maria abbott had simply stared at her in horror; even her father had asked her angrily if she wished to disgrace him, advertise him as unable to provide for his family. no self-respecting american, etc. but something must be done. she wished to live on in ballinger house if possible, not only because she loved it, or to avoid the commiserations of the world; she had no desire to live in narrow quarters with her husband.... and she knew nothing, was fit for nothing, belonged to a silly class that still looked upon women workers as de-classed, although to be sure two or three whose husbands had left them penniless had gone into business and were loyally tolerated, if deeply deplored. the day after her return from europe alice thorndyke had come into this room and thrown herself down on the couch, her long, languorous body looking as if set on steel springs, her angelic blonde beauty distorted with fury and disgust, and poured out her hatred of men and all their ways, her loathing for society and gambling and all the stupid vicious round of the life both public and secret she had elected to lead.... she had had enough of it.... after all, she had some brains and she wanted to use them. she wanted to go into the decorating business. there was an opening. she had a natural flair for that sort of thing. see what she had managed to do with that old ark she had inherited, and on five cents a year.... when she had asked her sister to advance the money sibyl had flown into one of her worst rages and thrown a gold hair brush through a venetian mirror. didn't she give her clothes by the dozen that she hadn't worn a month? did any girl have a better time in society? was any girl luckier at poker? was any girl more popular with men--too bad it was generally the married ones that lost their heads.... better if she stopped fooling and married. by and by it would be too late. but she didn't want to marry. she was sick of men. she wanted to get out of her old life altogether and cultivate a side of her mind and character that had stagnated so far ... also to enjoy the independent life of a money-earner ... life in an entirely different world ... something new ... new ... new. alexina had offered to lend her the capital, for alice had a hard cool head. but she had refused, saying she could mortgage her old barrack if it came to that ... but she didn't know ... it would be a break.... sib might never speak to her again ... people were such snobs ... and she mightn't like it ... she wished she had been born of poor but honest parents and put to work in a canning factory or married the plumber. she had done nothing, and alexina wondered if she would have the courage to go into some sort of business with herself ... they could give out they were bored, seeking a new distraction ... save the precious pride of their families. she leaned forward and took her head in her hands. if she only had some one to talk things over with. it was impossible to confide in gora, in any one. if she broached the subject to tom abbott, to judge lawton, even in a roundabout way, they would suspect at once. aileen and janet and the other girls did not know enough. they would suspect also. but her head would burst if she didn't consult some one. she was too horribly alone. and after all she was still very young. she had talked largely of her responsibilities, but as a matter of fact until now she had never had one worth the name. suddenly she thought of james kirkpatrick. ii the lessons in socialism had died a natural death long since. but alexina and aileen and janet had never quite let him go. whenever there was a great strike on, either in california or in any part of the nation, they invited him to take tea with them at least once a week while it lasted and tell them all the "ins." this he was nothing loath to do, and waived the question of remuneration aside with a gesture. he was now a foreman, and vice-president of his union, and it gave him a distinct satisfaction to confer a favor upon these "lofty dames," whom, however, he liked better as time went on. alexina he had always worshiped and the only time he ceased to be a socialist was when he ground his teeth and cursed fate for not making him a gentleman and giving him a chance before she was corralled by that sawdust dude. he had also remained on friendly terms with gora, who had cold-bloodedly studied him and made him the hero of a grim strike story. but as he never read polite literature their friendship was unimpaired. ii he came to tea that afternoon in response to a telephone call from alexina. she had put on a tea gown of periwinkle blue chiffon and a silver fillet about her head, and looked to mr. kirkpatrick's despairing gaze as she intended to look--beautiful, of course, but less woman than goddess. exquisite but not tempting. she was quite aware of the young workman's hopeless passion and she managed him as skillfully as she did the more assured, sophisticated, and sometimes "illuminated" jimmie thorne and bascom luning. she received him in the great drawing-room behind the tea-table, laden with the massive silver of dead and gone ballingers. "i've only been home a week," she said gayly. "see what a good friend i am. i've scarcely seen any one. did you get my post cards?" "i did and i've framed them, if you don't mind my saying so." "i hoped you would. i picked out the prettiest i could find. they do have such beauties in europe. just think, it was my first visit. i was wildly excited. wouldn't you like to go?" "naw. america's good enough for me. 'fris--oh, lord! san francisco--for that matter. i'd like to go to the next international socialist congress all right--next year. maybe i will. i guess that would give me enough of europe to last me the rest of my natural life." "i met a good many frenchmen, and i have a friend married to a very clever one. he says they expect a war with germany in a year two--" "there'll never be another war. not in europe or anywhere else. the socialists won't permit it." "there are a good many socialists--and syndicalists--in france, and it's quite true they're doing all they can to prevent any money being voted for the army or expended if it is voted; but i happen to know that the government has asked the president of the red cross to train as many nurses as she can induce to volunteer, and as quickly as possible. my friend madame morsigny was to begin her training a few days after i left." "hm. so. i hadn't heard a word of it." "we get so much european news out here! america first! especially in the matter of murders and hold-ups. who cares for a possible war in europe when the headlines are as black as the local crimes they announce?" "sure thing. great little old papers. but don't let any talk of war from anywhere at all worry you. and i'll tell you why. at the last international congress all the socialists of all the nations were ready to agree that all labor should lay down its tools--quit work--go on a colossal strike--the moment those blood-sucking capitalists at the top, those sawdust kings and kaisers and tsars--or any president for that matter--declared war for any cause whatsoever. all, that is, but the german delegates. they couldn't see the light. now they have. when we meet next august the resolution will be unanimous. take it from me. you've read of your last war in some old history book. peace from now on, and thank the socialists." "i should. but suppose germany should declare war before next august?" "she won't. she ain't ready. she'd have done it after that there 'agadir incident' if she'd dared. that is to say been good and ready. now she's got to wait for another good excuse and there ain't one in sight." "but you believe she'd like to precipitate a war in europe for her own purposes?" "she'd like it all right." and he quoted freely from treitschke and bernhardi, while alexina as ever looked at him in wonder. he seemed to be more deeply read every time she met him, and he remained exactly the same james kirkpatrick. "what an adventitious thing breeding was! mortimer had it!" "well, i am glad i spoke of it. you have relieved my mind, for you speak as one with authority.... there is something else i want to talk to you about.... a friend of mine is in a dilemma and i don't quite know how to advise her.... we're all such a silly set of moths--" "no moth about you!" interrupted mr. kirkpatrick firmly. "some of them--those others, if you like. the only redeeming virtue i can see in most of them is that they are what they are and don't give a damn. but you--you've got more brains and common sense than the whole bunch of women in this town put together." "oh, dear! oh, dear! i'm afraid i've addled my brains trying to cultivate them, and what i'm more afraid of is that i've addled my common sense." she spoke with such gayety, with such a roguish twinkle, and curve of lip, that neither then nor later did he suspect that she was the heroine of her own tale. "well, fire away. no, thanks, no more. i only drink tea to please you anyway. tea is so much hot water to me." "well, smoke." she pushed the box of cigarettes toward him. "i know you smoke a pipe, but i won't let my husband smoke one at home. it's bad for my curtains.... this is it--one of my friends, poor thing, has had a terrible experience: discovered that her husband has stolen the part of her little fortune whose income enabled them to do something more than keep alive. you see, it's a sad case. she believed in him, and he had always been the most honest creature in the world; and that's as much of a blow as the loss of the money." "what'd he do it for?" "oh, i know so little about business ... he wanted to get rich too quickly i suppose ... speculated or something ... perhaps got into a hole. this has been a bad year." "poor chap!" said kirkpatriek reflectively. "you're not commiserating _him_?" "ain't i, just? he done it, didn't he? he's got to pay the piper, hasn't he? women don't know anything about the awful struggles and temptations of the rotten business world. he didn't do it because he wanted to, you can bet your life on that. he's just another poor victim of a vicious system. a fly in the same old web; same old fat spider in the middle! not capital enough. hard times and the little man goes under, no matter if he's a darn sight better fellow than the bloated beast on top--" "you mean if we were living in the socialistic utopia no man could go under?" "i mean just that. it's a sin and a shame, a fine young fellow--" "remember, you don't know anything about him. he's not a bad sort and has always been quite honest before; but he's not very clever. if he were he wouldn't have got himself into a predicament. he had a good start, far better than nine-tenths of the millionaires in this country had in their youth." "oh, i don't care anything about that. if all men were equally clever in chasing the almighty dollar there'd be no excuse for socialism. it's our job to displace the present rotten system of government with one in which the weak couldn't be crowded out, where all that are willing to work will have an equal chance--and those that ain't willing will have to work anyhow or starve.... one of the thousand things the matter with the present system is that the square man is so often in the round hole. in the socialized state every man will be guided to the place which exactly fits his abilities. no weaker to the wall there." "you think you can defy nature to that extent!" "you bet." "well. i'm too much distracted by my friend's predicament to discuss socialism.... i rather like the idea though of the strong man having the opportunity to prove himself stronger than life ... find out what, he was put on earth and endowed with certain characteristics for ... rather a pity all that should atrophy.... however--what shall my friend do? continue to live with a man she despises?" "she's no right to despise him or anybody. it's the system, i tell you. and no doubt she's just as weak in some way herself. every man jack of us is so chuck full of faults and potential crime it's a wonder we don't break out every day in the week, and if women are going to desert us when the old adam runs head on into some one of the devilish traps the present civilization has set out all over the place, instead of being able to sidestep it once more, well--she'd best divorce herself from the idea of matrimony before she goes in for the thing itself. would i desert my brother if he got into trouble? would you?" "n--o, i suppose you are right, and i doubt if she would leave him anyway. however ... there's the other aspect. what can a woman in her position do to help matters out? you have met a good many of her kind here. fancy miss lawton or mrs. bascom or miss maynard forced to work--" "i can't. if i had imagination enough for that i'd be writin' novels like miss dwight." "i believe they'd do better than you think. well, this friend isn't quite so much absorbed in society and poker and dress. she's more like--well, there's mrs. ruyler, for instance. she was very much like the rest of us, and now we never see her. she's as devoted to ranching as her husband." "there was sound bourgeois french blood there," he said shrewdly. "and she wasn't brought up like the rest of you. don't you forget that." "then you think we're hopeless?" "no, i don't. three or four women of your crowd--a little older, that's all--are doin' first-rate in business, and they were light-headed enough in their time, i'll warrant. and you, for instance--if you came up against it--" "yes? what could i do?" cried alexina gayly. "but alas! you admit you have no imagination." "don't need any. you'd be good for several things. you could go into the insurance business like mrs. lake, or into real estate like mrs. cole--people like to have a pretty and stylish young lady showin' 'em round flats. or you could buy an orchard like the ruylers--that'd require capital. if we had the socialistic state you'd be put on one of the thinking boards, so to speak. that's the point. you've got no training, but you've got a thinker. you'd soon learn. but i'm not so sure of your friend. somehow, you've given me the impression she's just one of these lady-birds." "i'm afraid she is," said alexina with a sigh. "but you're so good to take an interest.... suppose you had the socialistic state now--to-morrow, what would you do with all these--lady-birds?" "i'd put 'em in a sanatorium until they got their nerves patched up, and then i'd turn 'em over to a trainer who'd put them into a normal physical condition; and then i'd put 'em at hard labor--every last one of 'em." "oh, dear, mr. kirkpatrick, would you?" "yes," he said grimly. "it 'ud be their turn." chapter xi i she walked down the avenue with him, listening to his angry account of the great coal strike in west virginia, where the families of miners in their beds had been fired on from armored motor cars, and both strikers and civilians were armed to the teeth. "that's the kind of war--civil war--we can't prevent--not yet. no wonder some of us want quick action and turn into i.w.ws. of course they're fools, just poor boobs, to think they can win out that way, but you can't blame 'em. lord, if we only _could_ move a little faster. if marx had been a good prophet we'd have the socialized state to-day. things didn't turn out according to hoyle. lots of the proletariat ain't proletariat any longer, instead of overrunning the earth; and in place of a handful of great capitalists to fight we've a few hundred thousand little capitalists, or good wage earners with white collars on, that have about as much use for socialism as they have for man-eating tigers. i'm thinking about this country principally. too much chance for the individual. trouble is, the individual, like as not, don't know what's good for him and goes under, like the man you've been telling me about." "there's only one thing i apprehend in your socialistic state," said alexina, who always became frivolous when kirkpatrick waxed serious, "and that is universal dissolution from sheer ennui. either that or we'll go on eternally rowing about something else. earth has never been free from war since the beginning of history, and there is trouble of some sort going on somewhere all the time--" "all due to capitalism." "capitalism hasn't always existed." "human greed has, and the dominance of the strong over the weak." "exactly, and socialism if she ever gets her chance will dominate all she knows how. remember what you said just now about forcing the pampered women to work when they were the underdog. but the point is that nature made earthians a fighting breed. she must have had a good laugh when we named another planet mars." "well, we'll fight about worthier things." "don't be too sure. we fight about other things now. all the trouble in the world isn't caused by money or the want of it. and what about the religious wars--" iii it was at this inopportune moment that they met mortimer. if alexina had remembered that this was his homing hour she would have parted from her visitor at the drawing-room door; but in truth she had dismissed mortimer from her mind. he halted some paces off and glared from his wife's diaphanous costume to the workman in his rough clothes and flannel shirt. as the avenue sloped abruptly he was at a disadvantage, and it was all he could do to keep from grinding his teeth. alexina went forward and placed her hand within his arm, giving it a warning pressure. "now, at last, you and mr. kirkpatrick will meet. you've always so snubbed our little attempts to understand some of the things that men know all about, that you've never met any of our teachers. but no one has taught, me as much as mr. kirkpatrick, so shake hands at once and be friends." mortimer extended a straight and wooden hand. kirkpatrick touched, and dropped it as if lie feared contamination, mortimer ascended a few steps and from this point of vantage looked down his unmitigated disapproval and contempt. kirkpatrick would have given his hopes of the speedy demise of capitalism if alexina had picked up her periwinkle skirts and fled up the avenue. his big hands clenched, he thrust out his pugnacious jaw, his hard little eyes glowed like poisonous coals. mortimer, to do him justice, was entirely without physical cowardice, and continued to look like a stage lord dismissing a varlet. kirkpatrick caught alexina's imploring eyes and turned abruptly on his heel, "so long," he said. "guess i'd better be getting on." iv "i won't have that fellow in the house," said mortimer, in a low tone of white fury. "to think that my wife--my wife--" "if you don't mind we won't talk about it." alexina was on the opposite side of the avenue and her head was in the air. she had long since ceased to carry her spine in a tubercular droop and when she chose she could draw her body up until it seemed to elongate like the neck of a giraffe, and overtop mortimer or whoever happened to have incurred her wrath. mortimer glowered at her. he had many grievances. for the moment he forgot that she might have any against him. "and out here in broad daylight, almost on the street, in that tea gown--" "i have often been quite on the street in similar ones. going over to aileen's. you forget that the western addition is like a great park set with the homes of people more or less intimate." mortimer made no further remarks. he had never pretended to be a match for her in words. but the agitating incident seemed to have lifted him temporarily at least out of the nether depths of his depression, for although he talked little at dinner he appeared to eat with more relish. as he settled himself to his cigar in a comfortable wicker chair on the terrace and she was about to return to the house he spoke abruptly in a faint firm voice. "will you stay here? i've got something to say to you." "oh?" she wheeled about. his face was a sickly greenish white in the heavy shade of the trees. "it's--it's--something i've been wanting to say--tell you ... as well now as any time." "oh, very well. i must write just one letter." she ran into the house and up the stairs and shut herself in the library, breathless, panic-stricken. he was going to confess! how awful! how awful! how could she ever go through with it? why, why, hadn't she spoken at once and got it over? she sat quite still until she had ceased trembling and her heart no longer pounded and affected her breathing. then she set her teeth and went downstairs. chapter xii i mortimer was walking up and down the hall. "come in here," he said. he entered the drawing-room, and alexina followed like a culprit led to the bar. nevertheless, it crossed her mind that he wanted the moral support of a mantelpiece. she almost stumbled into a chair. mortimer did not avail himself of the chimneypiece toward which he had unconsciously gravitated, but walked back and forth. two electric lights hidden under lamp shades were burning, but the large room was rather somber. alexina composed herself once more with a violent effort and asked in a crisp tone: "well? what is this mystery? are you in love with some one else? been, making love--" "alexina!" he confronted her with stricken eyes. "you know that i am literally incapable of such a thing. but of course you were jesting." "of course. but something is so manifestly wrong with you, and ... well ... of course you would be justified." "not in my own eyes. besides, i shall never give up the hope of winning you back again. i live for that ... although now! ... that is the whole trouble.... how am i going to say it?" "well, let me help you out. you took the bonds." "you've been to the bank! i wanted to tell you first ... the day you came back.... i couldn't...." "there is only one thing i am really curious about. how did you get in? of course you knew where i kept the key, but--" "i--" his voice was so lifeless that if dead men could speak it must be in the same flat faint tones. "i had the old power of attorney." "but i revoked it." "i mean the instrument--the paper. you did not ask for it. i did not think of it either.... i trusted to the keeper taking it on its face value, not looking it up. he didn't. you see--" he gave a dreadful sort of laugh. "i am well known and have a good reputation." "why didn't you cable and ask me to lend you the money?" "there wasn't time. besides, you might have refused. i was desperate--" "i don't want to hear the particulars. i am not in the least curious. what i must talk to you about--" "i must tell you the whole thing. i can't go about with it any longer. then, perhaps, you will understand." his voice was still flat and as he continued to walk he seemed to draw half-paralyzed legs after him. alexina set her lips and stared at the floor. he meant to talk. no getting out of it. "i--i--have only done well occasionally since the very first. it didn't matter so long as your mother was alive, and for a little while after. but when you took things into your own hands ... after that it was capital i turned over to you nearly every month--hardly ever profits." "what? why didn't you tell me?" "i hadn't the courage. i was too anxious to stand well with you. and i always hoped, believed, i would do better as times improved. i had great hopes of myself and i had a pretty good start. but as time went on i grew to understand that my abilities were third-rate. i should have done all right with a large capital--say a hundred and fifty thousand dollars--but only a man far cleverer than i am could have got anywhere in that business with a paltry sixteen thousand to begin on. i got one or two connections and did pretty well, off and on, for a time; but if i hadn't made one or two lucky strikes in stocks my capital would simply have run away in household expenses long ago." "then why did you join that expensive club?" "it was good business," he said evasively. "i meet the right sort of men there. that's where i got my stock pointers." "did you take the bonds to gamble with?" "no. i'd never have done that. i gambled in another way, though. i thought i saw a chance to sell a certain commodity at that particular time and i plunged and sent for a large quantity of it. it looked sure. i have a friend over there and got it on credit. i banked on an immediate sale and a big profit. but something delayed the shipping in hong kong. when it arrived the market was swamped. some one else had had the same idea. i had to pay for the goods, as well as other big outstanding bills, or go into bankruptcy. so i took the bonds. it wasn't easy. but there was nothing else to do.... there were about ten thousand dollars left and i tried another coup. that failed too." "how is it possible to go on with the business?" "it isn't. i have closed out. but i have escaped bankruptcy. people on the street think that i wanted to get into the real estate business--with andrew weston, a young man who has recently come here from los angeles. he's doing fairly well and has a good office. he wanted a hustler and a partner who had good connections. but it is slow work. there are the old firms, again, to compete with. i wouldn't have looked at it if i'd had any choice, but it was a case of a port in a storm." "well? is that all? there is another matter to discuss. our future mode of living." "no, it isn't all. i wish you would tell gora something. i can never go through this again. while she was away--in honolulu--that lawyer of my aunt sent out ten thousand dollars' worth more of stock, that had been looked upon as so much waste paper, but suddenly appreciated--some little railroad that was abandoned half finished, but has since been completed. this had been left to gora alone. we had some correspondence and he sent it to me as gora was traveling. it came at the wrong time for me ... on top of everything else.... i plunged in a new mine bob cheever and baseom luning were interested in. it turned out to be no good. we lost every cent." ii alexina sat cold and rigid. once she pinched her arm. she fancied it had turned to stone. he dropped into a chair and leaning forward twisted his hands together. "if you knew ... if you knew ... what i have been through.... at first it was only the anxiety and excitement. but afterward, when it was over ... when there was nothing left to speculate with ... then i realized what i had done ... i ... a thief ... a thief.... i had been so proud of my honor, my honesty. i never had believed that i could even be tempted. and i went to pieces like a cheaply built schooner in its first storm. there's nothing, it seems, in being well brought up, when circumstances are too strong for you." alexina forebore the obvious reply. "of course you were a little mad," she said, rather at a loss. "no, i wasn't. i'd always been a cool speculator, and i'd never taken long chances in business before. it all looked too good and i got in too deep. but if i could have repaid it all i'd feel nearly as demoralized. that i should have stolen ... and from women...." again alexina restrained herself. the dead monotonous voice went on. "i thought once or twice of killing myself. it didn't seem to me that i had the right to live. i had always had the best ideals, the strictest sense of right and wrong ... it does not seem possible even now." alexina could endure no more. another moment and she felt that she should be looking straight into a naked soul. she felt so sorry for him that she quite forgot her own wrongs or her horror of his misdeeds. she wished that she still loved him, he looked so forlorn and in need of the physical demonstrations of sympathy; but although she was prepared to defend him if need be, and help him as best she could, she felt that she would willingly die rather than touch him.... she wondered if souls in dissolution subtly wafted their odors of corruption if you drew too close.... "well, what is done is done," she said briskly. "i'll tell gora and engage that she will never mention it. you have suffered enough. now let us discuss ways and means. does this new business permit you to contribute anything to the household expenses?" "i'm afraid not. it takes time to work up a business." "then we must live on what i have left, and you know what taxes are. i suppose i had better look for a job." "what?" he seemed to spring out of his apathy, and stared at her incredulously. "you?" "yes. we must have more money. i could sell the flats and go into the decorating business." "and advertise to all san francisco that i am a failure! do you think i could fool them then!" "are you sure you have fooled them now! they must know you would have stuck to the old business if it had paid." "it isn't the first time a man has changed his business. but if you go out to earn money--why, i'd be a laughing stock." "then we shall have to give up the house. the city has long wanted this lot--" "that would never do, either. everybody knows how devoted you are to your old home ... and after fixing it up...." "well, what, do you suggest? you know perfectly well we can't go on." "my brain seems to have stopped. i can't do much thinking. but ... well ... you might sell the flats and we could go on as before until my business begins to pay." "sacrifice more of my capital? that i won't do. why don't you see if you can get back with cheever harrison and cheever? i know that bob--" "i won't go back to being a salaried man. you can't go back like that when you've been in the other class." he beat a fist into a palm. "why couldn't bob cheever have left me alone? so long as i didn't know anything about society i never thought about it. why couldn't your family have let me stay where i was? i should have been head clerk with a good salary by this time, and we would have arranged our expenses accordingly when your mother died. why can't men give a young fellow a better chance when he goes into business for himself? every man trying to cut every other man's throat. what chance has a young fellow with a small capital?" "do you know that you have blamed everybody but yourself? however ... perhaps you are right.... mr. kirkpatrick puts it down to the system. i feel more inclined to trace it straight back to old dame nature--all the ancestral inheritances down in our sub-cellars. we are as we are made and our characters are certainly our fate. i suppose you will at least resign from the club?" he set his lips in the hard line that made him look the man of character his ancestor, john dwight, had been when he legislated in the first congress. "no, i shall not resign. it would be bad business in two ways: they would know i was hard up, and i should no longer meet in the same way the men who can give me a leg up in business." "are you sure those are the only reasons?" to this he did not deign to reply, and she asked: "do you mean that you shall go on speculating?" "i've nothing to speculate with. i mean that the men i cultivate can help me in business." "they don't seem to have done much in the past. however ... at least i'll send in our resignations to the golf club. as we use it so seldom no one will notice. now i'm going upstairs to think it all over. to-morrow i shall do something. i don't know what it will be, yet." he stood up. "promise me," he said with firm masculine insistence, "that you will neither go into any sort of money-making scheme or sell this house." his tones had distinctly more life in them and he had recovered his usual bearing of the lordly but gallant male. his eyes were as stern as his lips. alexina stared at him for a moment in amazement, then reflected that apparently the stupider a man was the more difficult he was to understand. she nodded amiably. "no doubt i'll think of some other way out. will let you know at dinner time. don't expect me at breakfast. good-night." chapter xiii i alexina was driving her little car up the avenue at rincona on the following morning when she saw joan running toward her through the park and signaling to her to stop. "what is it?" she asked in some alarm as joan arrived panting. "any one ill?" "not so's you'd notice it. leave your car here and come with me. sneak after me quietly and don't say a word." much mystified, alexina ran her car off the road and followed her niece by a devious route toward the house. joan interested her mildly; she had fulfilled some of her predictions but not all. she did not go with the "fast set" even of the immediate neighborhood; that is to say the small group called upon, as they indubitably "belonged," but wholly disapproved of, who entertained in some form or other every day and every night, played poker for staggering stakes, danced the wildest of the new dances, made up brazenly, and found tea and coffee indifferent stimulants. two of joan's former schoolmates belonged to this active set, but she was only permitted to meet them at formal dinners and large parties. she had rebelled at first, but her mother's firm hand was too much for her still undeveloped will, and later she had concluded "there was nothing in it anyhow; just the whole tiresome society game raised to the nth degree." moreover, she was socially as conventional as her mother and her good gray aunts, and although full of the mischief of youth, and longing to "do something," no prince having captured her fancy, enough of what alexina called the sound ballinger instincts remained to make her disapprove of "fast lots," and she had progressed from radical eighteen to critical twenty-one. she worked off her superfluous spirits at the outdoor games which may be indulged in california for eight months of the year, rode horseback every day, used all her brothers' slang she could remember when in the society of such uncritical friends as her young aunt alexina, and bided her time. sooner or later she was determined to "get out and hustle,"--"shake a leg." that would be the only complete change from her present life, not matrimony and running with fast sets. she wanted more money, she wanted to live alone, and, while devoted to her family, she wanted interests they could not furnish, "no, not in a thousand years." ii joan's slim boyish athletic figure darted on ahead and then approached the rear of the house on tiptoe. alexina followed in the same stealthy fashion, feeling no older at the moment than her niece. the verandah did not extend as far as the music room, which had been built a generation later, and the windows were some eight feet from the ground. a ladder, however, abridged the distance, and alexina, obeying a gesture from joan, climbed as hastily as her narrow skirt would permit and peered through the outside shutters, which had been carefully closed. the room was not dark, however. the electricity had been turned on and shone down upon an amazing sight. clad in black bloomers and stockings lay a row of six women flat on the floor, while in front of them stood a woman thin to emaciation, who was evidently talking rapidly. alexina's mouth opened as widely as her eyes. she had heard of devil worship, of strange and awful rites that took place at midnight in wickedest paris. had an expurgated edition been brought to chaste alta--plus menlo--plus atherton, by mrs. hunter or mrs. thornton, or any of those fortunate californians who visited the headquarters of fashion and sin once a year? they would do a good deal to vary the monotony of life. but that they should have corrupted maria ... the impeccable, the superior, the unreorientable maria! maria, with whom contentment and conservatism were the first articles of the domestic and the socio-religious creed! for there lay maria, extended full length; and on her calm white face was a look of unholy joy. beside her, as flat as if glued to the inlaid floor, were mrs. hunter, mrs. thornton, coralie geary, mrs. brannan, another old friend of maria, and--yes--tom's sister, susan delling, austere in her virtues, kind to all, conscientiously smart, and with a fine mahogany complexion that made even a merely powdered woman feel not so much a harlot as a social inferior. what on earth ... what on earth.... the thin loquacious stranger clapped her hands. up went six pairs of legs. two remained in mid-air, mrs. geary's and mrs. brannan's having met an immovable obstacle shortly above the hip-joints. three bent backward slowly but surely until they approached the region of the neck. maria's flew unerringly, effortlessly, up, back, until they tapped the floor behind her head. alexina almost shouted "bravo." maria was a real sport. six times they repeated this fascinating rite, and then, obeying another peremptory command, they rolled over abruptly and balanced on all fours. alexina could stand no more. she dropped down the ladder and ran after joan, who was disappearing round the corner of the house. iii "well, i never!" she exclaimed. "maria! your mo--" "she gained three pounds, for the first time in her life, and you know her figure is her only vanity. this woman came along and the whole peninsula is crazy about her. she's taken the fat off every woman in new york, and came out with letters to a lot of women. mother fell for her hard. i nearly passed away when i peeked through that shutter the first time. mother! she's the best of the bunch, though. but they're all having a perfectly grand time. new interest for middle-age--what?" "don't be cruel. heavens, how hot they all looked! i could hear them gasp. hope their arteries are all right. are they going to stay to lunch?" "no. there's a big one on in burlingame. mother's not going, though. it's at that mrs. cutts', new burlingame stormer, that anne montgomery coaches and caters for and who gives wonderful entertainments. mother and aunt susan won't go, but nearly all the others do." "anne montgomery. i haven't seen her since mother died." "you look as if an idea had struck you. she's useful no end, they say; is now a social secretary to a lot of new people, and sells the 'real lace' and other superfluous luxuries of some of our old families for the cold coin that buys comforts." "fine idea. but i'm glad your mother will be alone. i've come down to have a talk with her." "thanks. i'll take the hint." chapter xiv i alexina went up to joan's room to remain until the gong sounded for luncheon, when she drifted down innocently and kissed the somewhat furtive-looking maria, who was in chaste duck and fresh from a bath. "so glad to see you, darling," she murmured almost effusively. "i hope you haven't waited long. a number of my friends have a lesson every thursday morning, and meet at one house or another." "irregular french verbs, i suppose. so fascinating, and one does forget so. i thought i'd never brush up my french." not for anything would she have forced maria into the most innocent equivocation, and she rattled on about her wonderful summer as people are expected to do after their first visit to europe. no time could have been more propitious for this necessary understanding with maria, who was feeling amiable, apologetic, as limber as joan, and almost as warm. she had also lost two-thirds of a pound. ii alexina began as soon as joan left them alone on the shady side of the wide piazza. "i have a lot of things to tell you," she said nervously. "i have to make certain economies and i want the benefit of your advice." mrs. abbott looked up from her embroidery. "of course, darling. i was afraid you were going a little too fast for young people." "that is not it. i always managed well enough.... you know we've never gone the limit: polo at burlingame and monterey, gambling, big parties and all the rest of it. i've never run into debt or spent any of my capital. but..." maria began to feel anxious and took off the large round shell-rimmed spectacles that enlarged stitches and print. "yes?" "you know i had bonds--about forty thousand dollars' worth--those that mother left: i spent those that ballinger and geary gave me on the house and one thing and another." "yes?" mrs. abbott was now alarmed. she had a very keen sense of the value of money, like most persons that have inherited it, and was extremely conservative in its use. "well, you see, i thought i saw a chance to treble it--we never really had enough--and i speculated and lost it." alexina was a passionate lover of the truth, but she could always lie like a gentleman. maria abbott readjusted her spectacles and took a stitch or two in her linen. she was aghast and did not care to speak for a moment. she was no fool and tom had told her that mortimer had changed his business and might bluff the street, but could never bluff him. she knew quite as well as if alexina had confessed it that mortimer had lost the money, either in his business or in stocks; although of course she was far from suspecting the whole truth. iii "that is dreadful," she said finally. "i wish you had consulted tom. he understands stocks as he does everything else." "i thought i had the best tips. however--the thing is done, and the point is that i must make great changes. mortimer is not making as much as he was, either; he came to the conclusion that he couldn't get anywhere in that business on so small a capital, and has gone into real estate. it will be some time before he makes enough to keep things going in the old way. i made all my plans last night and came down to ask you if you could take james. he has been with us so long; i can't let him go to strangers. then i shall turn out all those high-priced servants and get a woman to do general housework. alice says her aunt always gets green ones from an agency and breaks them in. they are quite cheap. i shall help her, of course, and if she doesn't know much about cooking i know a little and can learn more. i shall shut up the big drawing-room, put everything into moth balls, and give out that the doctor has ordered me to rest this winter, to go to bed every night at eight. that will stop people coming up three or four times a week to dance. and i can sell the new clothes i brought from paris and new york to polly roberts. she's just my height and weight. of course i must tell the girls the truth--that i'm economizing; but wild horses wouldn't drag it out of them. i don't care tuppence, but morty says it would hurt his business. i rather like the idea of working. i'm tired of the old round, and would like to get a job if morty wasn't so opposed--says it would ruin him." "i should think so. at least let us wash our dirty linen at home.... i have been thinking while you talked. i've only spent two whole winters in town since i married, end i've always thought i'd love to live in the old house. i've rather envied you, alexina, dear ... it is so full of happy memories for me. i did have such a good time as a girl ... such a good, simple time.... i'm wondering if tom wouldn't rent it for the winter and spring. he's been doing splendidly these last two or three years, and he owned some of the property west of twin peaks that is building up so fast. i know he sold it for quite a lot.... and i sometimes wonder if he doesn't get as tired of living in the same place year after year as i do. he could play golf at the ingleside.... i am sure he will.... it would be the very best thing all round. then we could run the house, and you and mortimer would pay something--never mind what.... people would think it was the other way, if they thought anything about it. families often double up in that fashion." "maria! i can't believe it. it would be too perfect a solution, provided of course that we pay all we cost. i should insist upon keeping the slips as usual. you are an angel." "we groomes and ballingers always stand by one another, don't we? the abbotts, too. besides, it will certainly be no sacrifice on any of our parts. it will mean a great deal to me to spend six months in town, and i know that tom has grown as tired of motoring back and forth every day as he used to be of the train." "it will be heavenly just having you." alexina spoke with perfect sincerity. she had not faltered before the prospect of work, but that of mortimer's society unrelieved for an indefinite time had filled her with something like panic. it had been the one test of her powers of endurance of which she had not felt assured. "that will give us time, too, to get on our feet again. morty is very hopeful of this new business. i shall go out very little, and as joan will be the natural center of attraction it will be understood that her friends, not mine, have the run of the house." maria nodded. "it's just the thing for joan. really a godsend. she worries me more than all three of the boys. they are east at school for the winter and of course don't come home for the christmas holidays. if you want to be housekeeper you may. i don't know anything i should like better than a rest from ordering dinner, after all these years." "perfect! i'll also take care of my room and morty's. then i'd be sure i wasn't really imposing on you. you're a dead game sport, maria, and i'd like to drink your health." chapter xv i mortimer looked nonplussed when alexina informed him at dinner of the immediate solution of their difficulties. he detested tom and maria abbott; there were certain things he could forget in his aristocratic wife's presence, far as she had withdrawn, but never in theirs. moreover he feared abbott. he was as keen as a hawk; an unconsidered word and he might as well have told the whole story. well, he never talked much anyhow; he would merely talk less. when alexina asked him if he had any better plan to propose he was forced to shrug his shoulders and set his lips in a straight line of resignation. when she told him what her original plan had been he was so appalled, so humiliated at the bare thought of his wife in a servant's apron (to say nothing of the culinary arrangements) that he almost warmed to the abbotts. ii ten days later, on the eve of the abbotts' arrival, the equanimity of spirit he was striving to regain by the simple process of thinking of something else when his late delinquencies obtruded themselves, received a severe shock. alexina handed him a cheque for ten thousand dollars and asked him to place it to gora's account in the bank where she kept her savings. "where did you get it?" he asked stupidly, staring at the slip of paper so heavily freighted. "anne montgomery sold some of my things to a good-natured ignoramus whose husband made a fortune in tonopah. she doesn't know how to buy and anne advises her." "what did you sell? your jewels?" "some. i never wear anything but the pearls anyhow; and it's bad taste to wear jewels unless you're wealthy. i had some old lace that is hard to buy now, and real lace isn't the fashion any more. new rich people always think it's just the thing. i also sold her two of the biggest and clumsiest of the italian pieces. she is crazy about them. anne told her that they were as good as a passport." mortimer sprang to the only, the naïve, the eternal masculine conclusion. "you do love me still!" the dull eyes of his spirit flashed with the sudden rejuvenation of his heavy body. "i never really believed you had ceased to care.... you were capricious like all women ... a little spoilt. i knew that if i had patience ... only a loving wife would do such a thing." alexina made a wry face at the banality of his climax, although the fatuous outburst had barely amused her. "no, i don't love you in the least, mortimer, and never shall. make up your mind to that. love some one else if you like.... i did this for two reasons: i did not have the courage to tell gora the truth--and that i was too unjust and penurious to restore the money you had taken; and as your wife it would have hurt my pride unbearably." "and you are not afraid to trust me with this money?" he asked, his voice toneless. "not in the least. there's no other way to manage it and i fancy you know what would happen if you didn't hand it over. there is such a thing as the last straw." chapter xv i it was a week later. alexina was changing her dress. maria had asked a number of her girlhood friends in for luncheon, and they were to exchange reminiscences in the old house over a table laden as of yore with the massive ballinger silver, english cutglass, and french china. alexina was about to take refuge with janet maynard. her door opened unceremoniously and gora entered. alexina caught her breath as she saw her sister-in-law's eyes. they looked like polar seas in a tropical storm. "why, gora, dear," she said lightly. "i thought you were on an important case." "man died last night. i have just been to see mortimer. when i got his note--just three lines--saying that he had received a cheque from utica and deposited it to my account i knew at once--as soon as i had time to think--there was something wrong. the natural thing would have been to call me up--couldn't tell me the good news too soon.... and there was a hollow ring about that note.... well, as soon as i woke up to-day i went straight down to his office. i had to wait an hour. when he came in and saw me he turned green. i marched him into a back room and corkscrewed the truth out of him--the whole truth. then i blasted him. he knows exactly what one person in this world thinks of him, what everybody else would think of him if he were found out. i gathered that you had let him down easy. your toploftical pride, i suppose. well, i must have a good plebeian streak in me somewhere and for the first time i was glad of it. when i left him he looked shrunken to half his natural size. his eyes looked like a dead fish's and all the muscles of his face had given way. he looked as if he were going to die and i wish he would. faugh! a thief in the family. that at least we never had before." "don't be too sure. remember nobody else knows about morty, and everybody'll go on thinking he's honest. half our friends may be thieves for all we know, and as for our ancestors--what are you doing?" ii gora had taken a roll of yellow bills from her purse. she counted them on the table; ten bills denominating a thousand dollars each. "i won't take them." said alexina stiffy. "i think you are horrid, simply horrid." "and do you imagine i would keep it? i what do you take me for?" "i am in a way responsible for mortimer's debts--his partner." "that cuts no ice with me--nor with you. that is not the reason you sold your jewels and laces and those superb--oh, you poor child! if i'm furious, it's more for you than on any other account. you don't deserve such a fate--" "i don't deserve to have you treat me so ungratefully. i can't get my things back. i wanted you to have the money more than i eared for those things, anyhow. i have no use for the money. i don't owe anything and the rent tom pays me for six months will help me to run the house for the rest of the year and pay taxes besides. so, you just keep it, gora. it's yours and that's the end of it." "this is the end of it as far as i'm concerned." she opened the secret drawer of the cabinet and stuffed in the bills. "they're safe from any sort of burglars there. but not from fire. bank them to-morrow." "i'll not touch them." "nor i either." iii gora threw her hat on the floor and sitting down before the table thrust her hands into her hair and tugged at the roots. "i always do this when i'm excited--which is oftener than you think. what dreams i had that first night--i got his note late and was too tired to reason, to suspect.... i just dreamed until i fell asleep. i'd start for england a week later--for england!" goose flesh made alexina's delicate body feel like a cold nutmeg grater. "england?" "yes! ... ah ... you see, it's the only place where literary recognition counts for anything." "oh? i rather thought the british authors looked upon uncle sam in the light of a fairy godfather. our recognition counts for a good deal, i should say. i never thought you were snobbish." "i'm not really. only london is a sort of mecca for writers just as paris is for women of fashion.... just fancy being feted in london after you had written a successful novel." "i'd far rather receive recognition in my own country," said alexina, elevating her classic american profile. she was not feeling in the least patriotic, however. "you'd see your friend gathbroke, though. that would be jolly. do take the money, gora, and don't be a goose." "that subject's closed. don't let me keep you. james told me that maria is having a luncheon, and i suppose that means you are going out. i'll rest here for awhile if you don't mind." chapter xvi i mortimer went off that night and got drunk. it was the first time in his life and possibly his last, but he made a thorough job of it. he took the precaution to telephone to the house that he was going out of town, but when he returned two days later he experienced a distinct pleasure in telling alexina what he had done. alexina, who still hoped that she would always be able to regard life as god's good joke, rather sympathized with him, and assured him that he would have nothing to apprehend from gora in the future: she had no more fervent wish than to keep out of his way. ii he found himself on the whole very comfortable. maria was always most kind, alexina polite and amiable, and tom "decent." joan liked him as well as she liked anybody, and when the family spent a quiet evening at home he undertook to improve her dancing and she was correspondingly grateful; it had been her weak point. the fiction was carefully preserved that the dwights were conferring a favor on the abbotts and that all expenses were equally shared. in time he came to believe it, and his hours of deep depression, when he had pondered over his inexplicable roguery, grew rarer and finally ceased. after all he had had nothing to lose as far as alexina was concerned; one's sister hardly mattered (did women matter much, anyhow?); and his sense of security, which he hugged at this time as the most precious thing he had ever possessed, at last made him a little arrogant. he had done what he should not, of course, but it was over and done with, ancient history; and where other men had gone to state's prison for less, he had been protected like an infant from a rude wind. he knew that he would never do it again and that his position in life was as assured as it ever had been. iii he spent a good many evenings at the club, and maria found him a willing cavalier when tom "drew the line" at dancing parties. alexina, who had sold her car to janet and her new gowns to polly, had announced that she was bored with dancing and should devote the winter to study. she spent the evenings either in her library upstairs or with her friends. mortimer saw her only at the table. he wondered if tom abbott would rent the house every winter. a pleasant feeling of irresponsibility was beginning to possess his jaded spirit. he made a little money occasionally, but he was no longer expected to hand anything over when the first of the month came round--a date that had haunted him like a nightmare for four long years. pie could spend it on himself, and he felt an increasing pleasure in doing so. chapter xvii i gray naked trees; orchards of prune and peach and cherry, mile after mile. orange trees in small wayside gardens heavy-laden with golden fruit. tall accacias a mass of canary colored bloom. opulent palms shivering against a gray sky. close mountains green and dense with forest trees, their crests filagreed with redwoods. far mountains lifting their bleak ridges above bare brown hills thirsting for rain. the heavy rains were due. it was late in january. alexina and several of her friends were motoring back to the city through the santa clara valley, after luncheon with the price ruylers at their home on the mountain above los gatos. as it was sunday there was an even number of men in the party, and alexina, maneuvered into jimmie thorne's roadster, was enduring with none of the sweet womanly graciousness which was hers to summon at will, one of those passionate declarations of love which no beautiful young woman out of love with her husband may hope to escape; and not always when in. alexina had grown skillful in eluding the reckless verbalisms of love, but when one is packed into a small motor car with a determined man, desperately in love, one might as well try to wave aside the whirlwind. jimmie thorne was a fine specimen of the college-bred young american of good family and keen professional mind. he has no place in this biography save in so far as he jarred the inner forces of alexina's being, and he fell at château-thierry. ii alexina lifted her delicate profile and gave it as sulky an expression as she could assume. she really liked him, but was annoyed at being trapped. "i don't in the least wish to marry you." "everybody knows you don't care a straw for dwight. you could easily get a divorce--" "on what grounds! besides, i don't want to. i'd have to be really off my head about a man even to think of such a thing. our family has kept out of the divorce courts. and i don't care two twigs for you, jimmie dear." "i don't believe it. that is, i know i could make you care. you don't know what love is--" "i suppose you are about to say that you think i think i am cold, and that if i labor under this delusion it is only because the right man hasn't come along. well, jimmie dear, you would only be the sixteenth. i suppose men will keep on saying it until i am forty--forty-five--what is the limit these days? i know exactly what i am and you don't." "i'm not going to be put off by words. remember i'm a lawyer of sorts. god! i wish i'd been here when you married that codfish, instead of studying law at columbia, do you mean to tell me i couldn't have won you!" "no. almost any man can win a little goose of eighteen if circumstances favor him. twenty-five is another! matter. oh, but vastly another! even if i'd never married before i'm not at all sure i should have fallen in love with you." "yes, you would. you're frozen over, that's all." alexina sighed, and not with exasperation. he was very charming, magnetic, companionable. he was handsome and clever and manly. she could feel the warmth of his young virile body through their fur coats, and her own trembled a little.... it suddenly came to her that she no longer owed mortimer anything. their "partnership" had been dissolved by his own act. if she could have loved jimmie thorne with something beyond the agreeable response of the mating-season (any season is the mating season in california) ... that was the trouble. he was not individual enough to hold her. life had been too kind to him. save for this unsatisfied passion he was perfectly content with life. such men do not "live." they may have charm, but not fascination.... perhaps it was as well after all that she had married mortimer. another man might not have been so easily disposed of. "jimmie dear, if it were a question of a few months, and i made a cult of men as some women do, it would be all right. but marry another man that i am not sure--that i know i don't want to spend my life with. oh, no." he looked somewhat scandalized. like many american men he was even more conventional than most women are; he was, moreover, a man's man, spending most of his leisure in their society, either at the club or in out-of-door sports, and he divided women rigidly into two classes. alexina was his first love and his last; and as he went over the top and crumpled up he thought of her. "i wouldn't have a rotten affair with you. you're not made for that sort of thing--" "well, you're not going to have one, so don't bother to buckle on your armor." she relented as she looked into his miserable eyes, and took his hand impulsively. "i'm sorry ... sorry.... i wish ... you are worth it ... but it's not on the map." chapter xviii i gora's novel was published in february. aileen lawton, sibyl bascom, alice thorndyke, polly roberts, and janet maynard organized a campaign to make it the fashion. they went about with copies under their arms, on the street, in the shops, at luncheons, even at the matinée, and "could talk of nothing else." sibyl and janet bought a dozen copies each and sent them to friends and acquaintances with the advice to read it at once unless they wished to be hopelessly out of date: it was "all the rage in new york." as a matter of fact, with the exception of aileen and possibly janet, the book almost terrified them with its pounding vigor and grim relentless logic, even its romantic realism, which made its tragedy more poignant and sinister by contrast; and, again with the exception of aileen, they were little interested in gora. but they were loyally devoted to alexina and obeyed, as a matter of course, her request to help her make the book a success. they worked with the sterner determination as alexina in her own efforts was obliged to be extremely subtle. besides, it, was rather thrilling not only to know a real, author but almost to have her in the family as it were. their industrious sowing bore an abundant harvest and gora's novel became the fashion. whether people hated it or not, and most of them did, they discussed it continually, and when a book meets with that happy fate personal opinions matter little. ii maria thought the book was "awful" and forbade joan to read it. joan thought (to alexina) that it was simply the most terribly fascinating book she had ever read and made her despise society more than ever and more determined to light out and see life for herself first chance she got. tom abbott thought it a remarkable book for a woman to have written; a man might have written it. judge lawton read it twice. mortimer declined to read it. he had not forgiven gora; moreover, although his social position was now planetary, it annoyed him excessively to hear his sister alluded to continually as an author. even the men at the club were reading the damned book. iii bohemia stood off for some time. it was only recently they had learned that gora dwight was a californian. they had read her stories, but as she had been the subject of no publicity whatever they had inferred that, like many another, she had dwelt in their midst only long enough to acquire material. when they learned the truth, and particularly after her inescapable novel appeared, they were indignant that she had not sought her muse at carmel-by-the-sea, or some other center of mutual admiration; affiliated herself; announced herself, at the very least. there was a very sincere feeling among them that any attempt on the part of a rank outsider to achieve literary distinction was impertinent as well as unjustifiable.... it was impossible that he or she could be the real thing. when they discovered that she was affiliated more or less with fashionable society, nurse though she might be, and that those frivolous and negligible beings were not only buying her book by the ton but giving her luncheons and dinners and teas, their disgust knew no bounds and they tacitly agreed that she should be tabû in the only circles where recognition counted. iv but gora, who barely knew of their existence, little recked that she had been weighed, judged, and condemned. her old dream had come true. society, the society which should have been her birthright and was not, had thrown open its doors to her at last and everybody was outdoing everybody else in flattering and entertaining her. not that she was deceived for a moment as to the nature of her success with the majority of the people whose names twinkled so brightly in the social heavens. she more than suspected the "plot" but cared little for the original impulse of the book's phenomenal success in san francisco and its distinguished faubourgs. she was square with her pride, her youthful bitterness had its tardy solace, her family name was rescued from obscurity. she knew that this belated triumph rang hollow, and that she really cared very little about it; but the strength and tenacity of her nature alone would have forced her to quaff every drop of the cup so long withheld. even if she had been desperately bored she would have accepted these invitations to houses so long indifferent to her existence, and as a matter of fact she welcomed the sudden lapse into frivolity after her years of hard and almost unremitting work. she had played little in her life; and a year later when she was working eighteen hours a day without rest, in conditions that seemed to have leapt into life from the blackest pages of history, she looked back upon her one brief interval of irresponsibility, gratified vanity, and bodily indolence, as at a bright star low on the horizon of a dark and terrible night. v there was one small group of women, gora soon discovered, that stood for something besides amusement, sharply as some of them were identified with all that was brilliant in the social life of the city. they read all that was best in serious literature and fiction as soon after it came out as their treadmill would permit, and they gave somewhat more time to it than to poker. it was this small group, led by mrs. hunter, that in common with several wealthy and clever jewish women, with intellectual members of old families that had long since dropped out of a society that gave them too little to be worth the drain on their limited means, and with one or two presidents of women's clubs, made up the small attendance at the lectures on literary and political subjects, delivered either by some local light, or european specialist in the art of charming the higher intelligence of american women without subjecting it to undue fatigue. this small but distinguished band discussed gora separately and collectively and placed the seal of approval upon her. with them her arrival was genuine and permanent. it was hardly a step from their favor to the many women's clubs of the city, and she was invited to be the luncheon or afternoon guest at one after another until all had entertained the rising star and she had learned to make the little speeches expected of her without turning to ice. vi the local intelligenzia, those that assured one another how great were each and all, and whose poems or stories found an occasional hospitality in the eastern magazines, who toiled over "precious" paragraphs of criticism or whose single achievement had been a play for the mid-summer jinks of the bohemian club; these and their associates, the artists and sculptors, still held aloof, more and more annoyed that gora dwight should have had the bad taste to be discovered by the philistines, and should be flying across the high heavens in spite of their tabû. gora had gradually become aware of their existence, and their attitude, which both amused and piqued her. she knew now that if she had been one of them they would have beaten the big drum and proclaimed to the world (of california) that she was "great," "a genius," the legitimate successor of ambrose bierce, whom she remotely resembled, and bret harte, whom she did not resemble at all. this they would have done if only to prove that california no longer "knocked" as in the mordant nineties, nor waited for the anile east to set the seal of its dry approval before discovering that a new volcano was sending forth its fiery swords in their midst. but it was extremely doubtful if society and upper club circles would have taken any notice of her. both had acquired the habit, however unjustly, of regarding their local intelligenzia (with the exception of the few who kept themselves wholly apart from all groups) as worshipers of small gods, and preferred to take their cues from london or new york. they plumed themselves upon having discovered gora dwight and sometimes wondered how it had happened. but bohemia is hardly a trades union; it is indeed anarchistic and knows no boss. gora might not be invited to carmel this many a day, nor yet to berkeley, nor to sundry other parnassi, but there was one club in san francisco whose curiosity got the better of it, and she was invited to be the guest of the evening at the home of the seven arts club on the twentieth of april in the fateful year of nineteen-fourteen. vii the seven arts club had been organized by a group of painters, architects, authors, sculptors, musicians, actors and poets, most of whom had long since found various degrees of fame and moved to new york, europe, or the romantic wilderness. it still had seventy times seven votaries of the seven arts on its list and few had found fame as yet outside their hospitable state--where log-rolling is as amiable as the climate--but all save the elders were expecting it and many made a fair living. they met once a week, and a part of the evening pleasure of the literary wing was to "place" authors. they were willing to swallow the british authors whole (they did in fact "discover" one or two of them, as the musical critics had discovered such a rara avis as tetrazzini, or the dramatic critics many a now famous player); but they were excessively critical of all who owed their origin to the united states of america, and particularly of those who had loved and lost the sovereign state of california. naturally all were more or less radical (except the cynical and now somewhat anæmic elders who gave up hope for a world that had ceased to hold out hope to them). the artists were disturbed by futurism and cubism, although as neither paid they were forced to devote the greater part of their inspiration to the marketable california scenery. but the writers: potential or locally arrived novelists, playwrights, poets, essayists, were the real intelligenzia! they went about with the radical weeklies of the east (or berkeley) under their arms and discoursed under their breath (when foregathered in small and ardent groups) upon the revolution, the day of judgment for all but honest labor, and hissed their hatred of capital. and if they had much in common with those "intellectuals" to be found in every land who caress the chin of radicalism with one hand and plunge the other into the pocket of capital as far as permitted, who shall blame them? one must live and one must have something to excite one's intellect when sex, the stand-by, takes its well-earned rest. several of these ardent ladies and gentlemen, with the sanction of the club's president, a business man whose contributions were the financial mainstay of the seven arts, and who sincerely envied the gifted members, denying them nothing, invited james kirkpatrick to be the guest of an evening and deliver an address on socialism and the proletariat. he replied that he would come and spit on them if they liked but that he had as much use for parlor socialists as he had for damned fools and posers of any sort. life was too short. as for labor it knew how to take care of itself and had about as crying a need of their "support" as a healthy human body had of lice and other parasites. they were not discouraged however, merely pronouncing him a "creature," and were not at all flattered or surprised when gora dwight accepted their invitation and asked permission to bring her friends, mrs. mortimer dwight and miss aileen lawton. chapter xix i the wildflowers were on the green hills: the flame-colored velvet skinned poppy, the purple and yellow lupins, the pale blue "babyeyes," buttercups, dandelions and sweetbrier, fields of yellow mustard. the gardens about the bay and down the peninsula were almost licentious in their vehement indulgence in color. every flower that grows north, south, east, west, on the western hemisphere and the eastern, was to be found in some one of these gardens of central california; the poinsettia cheek by jowl with periwinkle and the hedges of marguerite; heavy-laden trees of magnolia above beds of russian violets. pomegranate trees and sweet peas, bridal wreath and camellia, begonia, fuchsias, heliotrope, hydrangea, chrysanthemums, roses, roses, roses.... little orchards of almond trees, their blossoms a pink mist against a clear blue sky.... the mariposa lily was awake in the forests; infinitesimal yellow pansies made a soft carpet for the feet of the deer and the puma.... in the old spanish towns of the south, the castilian roses were in bloom and as sweet and pink and poignant as when rezánov sailed through the golden gate in the april of eighteen-six, or chonita iturbi y moncada, the doomswoman, danced on the hearts of men in monterey.... from end to end of the great santa clara valley the fruit trees were in bloom, a hundred thousand acres and more of pure white blossoms or delicate pink. bascom luning took alexina over it one day in his air-car, as she called it, and from above it looked like a scented sea that was all foam. but no such riot and glory had come to san francisco. this was the season for winds that seemed to blow from the four points of the compass at once and of ghostly fogs that stole up and down the streets of the city, abandoning the hills to bank in the valleys, as if seeking warmth; abruptly deserting the lowlands to prowl along the heights, always searching, searching, these pure white lovely fogs of san francisco, for something lost and never found. ii "i hope they're not too artistic to keep their rooms warm," said aileen, as they drove from her house where gora and alexina had dined, down to the club of the seven arts. "i have smoked so much, intending to prove in public how really virtuous a society girl is, in contrast to bohemia, that i'm nearly frozen." "keep your wrap on," said alexina. "who cares? i have always been wild to get into real bohemian circles, meet authors and artists. we do lead the most provincial life. all circles should overlap--the best of all, anyhow. that is the way i would remold society if i were rich and powerful--" "good heavens alex, you are not idealizing this crowd we are going to meet to-night? they're just a lot of second and third raters--" "what do you know about them?" "i keep my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds. i know more or less what it must be. besides, the last time i was in new york i was taken several times to the restaurants and studios of greenwich village. i could only convey my opinion of it in many swear words. this must be a sort of chromo of it.... gora, are you as wildly excited as alex is? i know she is because her spine is rigid; and she is probably colder than i am." "well, anyhow," said alexina defiantly, "it will be something i never saw before." "it will, darling. well. gora, what do you anticipate?" gora laughed. "i wonder? i don't think i've thought much about it. the circumstances of my life have developed the habit of switching off my imagination except when i am at my desk. i've also formed the habit of taking things as they come. i'll manage to extract something from this, one way or another." iii the car stopped before a narrow house in the rebuilt portion of the city. the door was opened immediately and the three guests of honor, apparently very late, as a large room beyond the vestibule appeared to be crowded, were marshaled up a narrow stair into a dressing-room under the eaves. "looks like the loft of a barn," grumbled aileen. there was no attendant to hear. "well, i'm not going to leave my cloak, for several reasons--only one of which is that if this room is a sample my ill-covered bones will rattle together downstairs." she wore a gown of black chiffon with a green jade necklace and a band of green in her fashionably done fair hair. alexina's gown was a soft white satin that fitted closely and made her look very tall and slim and round, the corsage trimmed with the only color she ever wore. her hair was done in a classic knot and held with a comb--a present from aileen--designed from periwinkles and green leaves and sparkling dew-drops. gora shook out the skirt of her only evening-gown, a well-made black satin, very severe, but always relieved by a flower of some sort. to-night she wore a poinsettia, whose peculiarly vivid red brought out the warm browns of her skin and hair. she had a superb neck and shoulders and bust, and the skin of her body was a delicate honey color that melted imperceptibly into the deeper tones of her throat and face. "alexina," she said, "let us perish but exhibit all our points. your arms and hands were modeled for some untraced greek ancestress and born again. your neck is almost as good as mine, if not quite so solid...." she had a spot of crimson on her high cheek bones and admitted to the discerning aileen that she was the least bit excited. after all, the keenest brains of san francisco might be down in that long raftered room they had glimpsed, and in any case she was about to be judged by a new standard. "oh, don't let that worry you," aileen began. a door at the end of the room opened abruptly and a small woman came forward almost panting. "i just ran up those stairs," she cried. "but i was bound to be the first. i used to go to school with your mother down on bush street--dear minnie morrison!" she was a woman of fifty or sixty, with a nose like an inflamed button, eyes that watered freely, and a shabby black hat somewhat on one side. "but my mother never went to school in san francisco," said gora stiffly, and eyeing this first precipitate member of the intellectual world with profound disfavor. "oh, yes, she did. we were the most intimate friends. to think that dear minnie's daughter--" "her name was not minnie morrison--" "oh, yes, it was--" "don't mind her so much, gora dear." aileen did not trouble to lower her voice. "she's drunk. let's go down." another woman entered the same door almost as hastily, but she was a stately and rather handsome woman of forty, who gave the intruder such a withering look from her serene blue eyes that the unrefined member of the seven arts slunk out and could be heard stumbling down the stairs. "i followed as soon as some one told me that miss skeers had come up here," she said apologetically. "she is not always herself, poor thing. once she was quite distinguished as a local magazine writer, but ... well, you know ... all people do not have the good fortune to have their genius universally recognized, and the results are sometimes disastrous. we are so proud to welcome you to-night, miss dwight, and--and--your charming friends. i am jane upton halsey." she appeared to think no further explanation necessary. "oh, yes," murmured the bewildered gora. "it was you who wrote to me." "exactly. i am chairman of the reception committee." she looked expectant, then piqued, and added hastily: "will you come downstairs? what lovely gowns. i should like to paint you all." she herself was a symphony in pink ("dago pink," whispered aileen wickedly), and she wore a small pink silk turban, apparently made from the same bolt as the gown. "perhaps we should have worn hats," said gora nervously. "i didn't know--i thought..." "you are just all right. anything goes here. we wear what's becoming, what we can afford, and what is our own idea of the right thing. nobody criticizes anybody else." "now, this is life!" said alexina to aileen. "you will admit we never found anything like that before." "just you watch and catch them criticizing us.... rather effective--what?" they were descending a staircase that led directly into the crowded room below, and they looked down upon a mass of upturned expectant faces, gora was ahead with miss halsey, and as she reached the floor the faces changed their angle; it was apparent that they were not interested in her satellites. "let's stop here for a moment and watch," said alexina. "it's too interesting. they look as if they'd eat her alive." the whole company seemed to be seething about gora, and as they were rapidly presented by miss halsey and passed on they produced the effect, in the inner circles, of a maelstrom. on the outer edge the women frankly stood on chairs to get a better look at the new lion, or pushed forward with frenzied determination to the fixed center of the whirlpool, whose gracious smile was becoming strained. "poor gora!" said aileen. "we do it better. a few picked souls at a time; or, even when it's a tea, just casual introductions at decent intervals, and not too many references to the immortal work." "it's simply great for gora, anyhow; for, big or little, they're her own sort. and they're not snobs, they don't care tuppence for us." "you're right there. i went to a big reception of all the arts in paris once and the only people any one kowtowed to were two disgustingly rich new york women who had never done anything. but no one can be blamed for national characteristics. heavens! what an olla podrida!" some of the men were in evening dress, but the greater number were not. they were of all ages, shaves, neckties and haircuts. the women wore every variety of hat, from an immense sailor perched above an immense fat face, above an immense shirtwaist bust, to minute turbans and waving plumes. they wore tailored suits, high "one piece" frocks of any material from chiffon to serge, symphonic confections like miss halsey's, and flowing robes presumably artistic. none wore full evening dress except the guests of honor. all, however, did not wear hats, and they arranged their hair as individually as alexina. iv "this may be our chance to see the art exhibit," said aileen. "they'll remember us in time, or gora will...." they descended into the room but had waited too long. miss halsey, turning the guest of honor over to the second in command, a woman of portentous seriousness, made her way hastily to the mere butterflies; who endeavored vainly to slink away under cover of the rotating crowd. "you won't think me rude, i hope," she cried, "but i had to start things going, and it is awkward for all to introduce three people at a time." "you were most considerate," said alexina amiably. "but we only came to witness gora's triumph, and we enjoy looking on, anyhow.... we were about to look at the pictures...." "you must meet some of our more brilliant members," said miss halsey firmly. "they would never forgive me, and have been almost as excited at meeting two such distinguished members of society as at meeting miss dwight herself. now, if you ... if you ... that is..." "our names are jane boughton and mamie featherhurst," supplied aileen, transfixing the lady with her wicked green eyes. "oh, yes, to be sure ... there has been so much to think of ... but your names are so often in the society columns ... it seems to me i recall that one of you is the daughter of a famous judge--" "boughton. he's under indictment, you know, for graft, bribery, and corruption." "oh ... ah ... how unfortunate," miss halsey's jaw fell. even she had heard--vaguely in her studio--of the scandal of judge boughton, and she wondered how she had been so absent-minded as to invite a member of his family to the club. "you see," said aileen coolly. "i am not fit to associate with your members, and as miss featherhurst is still my loyal friend, we'll just go over and sit in a corner--" "indeed you shall do nothing of the kind. you are our guests, and--please for this evening forget everything else." "you nasty little beast," hissed alexina into aileen's discomforted ear. "she's worth two of you." "so she is," said aileen contritely, "i'll behave better." miss halsey, who had been signaling several members and rounding up others, returned, alexina blazed her eyes at aileen, who murmured hastily to the hostess: "i was just joking. i am judge lawton's daughter, and this is mrs. mortimer dwight, gora's sister-in-law. i'd never have told such a whopper but i'm so nervous and shy. i didn't think i could go through the ordeal." "oh, you poor child. well, you'll find we're not terrible in the least. now, don't try to remember names. they'll remember yours--better than i did!" another small eddying circle formed about the luminaries from a lower sphere. this proved to be much like similar performances in any stratum of society. all murmured platitudes, or nothing. nobody tried to be original or witty. alexina and aileen gradually disengaged themselves and were making their way toward the pictures that turned the four walls into a harmonious mass of color, when an old man came tottering up. he had bright, eyes and a pleasant face. "which is mrs. dwight?" he asked eagerly. alexina bent her lofty head and smiled down upon him. "of course. little alexina. i remember you when you were a dear little girl and i used to see you playing about the house when i went up to have a good powwow with that clever grandfather of yours, alex groome--one of the ablest politicians this town ever had; and straight, damn straight." "alexander groome was my father." "oh, no, he wasn't. he was your grandfather. you are the daughter ... let me see ... there were two or three young ladies.... i remember when they came out in the eighties ... and a boy or two...." "i am sorry to be rude, but alexander groome was my father. i came along rather late." "impossible! ... well, i suppose you know best..." and he drifted off. "this seems to be a home for incurables," said aileen. "i am sure i don't know how i shall get through the evening. gora has a slight sense of humor, you have quite a keen one, but mine is positively fiendish.... oh, lord!" miss halsey was trailing them, her hand resting lightly on the arm of another woman. "now this is something like," whispered aileen. "witch of endor got up to look like carmen." the oncoming luminary was a singular-looking woman who may have been considerably less so in the privacy of her dressing-room; she had evidently expended much thought upon supplementing the niggardliness of nature. her unwashed-looking black hair was dressed very high and stuck with immense pins. large, circular, highly colored, imitation jade rings dangled in tiers from her ear-lobes, and at least eight rows of colored beads covered the front of her loose, fringed, embroidered, beaded gown. she had a haggard face, deeply lined and badly painted, but something, an emanation perhaps, seemed to proclaim that she was still young. "this, dear mrs. dwight and miss lawton, is alma de quincey smith, with whose work you are of course familiar. she had her reception last week but was only too glad to come to-night and extend the welcoming hand of the east to our new daughter of the west." miss de quincey smith barely gave her time to finish. she darted forward and grasped aileen's hand. "oh, you must let me tell you how wonderful i think your unique green eyes go with that jade. i've been watching you!" she spoke with the eager unthinking impulsiveness of a child, which, oddly, made her look like a very old woman. "too nice of you," murmured aileen, who was determined to behave. "and you!" she cried, turning to alexina. "your eyes simply blaze. you look like a long white arum lily. and dusky hair, not merely black. oh, i do think you are both too wonderful, and i am sure all these splendid artists here will want to paint you." alexina and aileen were not accustomed to such spontaneous and unbridled admiration and they thought miss smith quite fascinating if rather queer. but miss smith did not number tact among her gifts and rushed on. "gora dwight is too wonderful looking for words. we are all crazy over her. all the artists want to paint her already. her coloring and style are unique and she suggests tragedy--with those marvelous pale eyes in that dark face--those heavy dark brows and heavy masses of hair. i have suggested that folkes--your greatest portrait painter, you know,--paint her as medea, or as the genius of the revolution, how proud you must be of her!" "so we are," murmured aileen. "we think she is the only woman writer in america worth mentioning. why don't you paint her yourself?" "i? i am not an artist--with the brush! i am an author, alma de quincey smith." "oh!..." aileen's voice trailed off vaguely, "what do you write? plays? essays?..." "i--why, i'm one of the best--my stories appear constantly in the best magazines." miss smith, who had been deserted some time since by miss halsey, looked abject, helpless, and infuriated. "oh! we only read the worst. it must be wonderful to be famous. come, alex, we must see the pictures. they're going to have music and supper later." v "nevertheless," said alexina, "they are real as far as they go, and they really do things, good or bad. they work, they aspire; they dream, and perhaps with reason, of a glorious future, when they will be as famous and successful as the founders of the club. even if they fail they will have had the wonderful dream. nothing can take that from them. i envy them--envy them!" they were standing in a far corner of the room, after having examined three or four admirable and many passable paintings. aileen looked at her in surprise. they had both been remarking upon the comic aspects of the intellectual life, and alexina's outburst was unexpected. aileen had seldom seen her vehement since they had outgrown their youthful habit of wrangling. she was still more astonished when she turned from a view of the latin-seeming roofs of san francisco from twin peaks, to alexina's face. it looked drawn and desperate. "well, most of them will fail," she said lightly. "look at these pictures! that is what is the matter with california--too much talent. you must be as individual as a talking monkey to get your head above the crowd. all these poor devils are doomed to the local reputation." "even so they have something to live for, mean something, do something. what do i mean to myself or anyone? what have i accomplished? the man i married is a dummy-husband; means nothing to me nor i to him. i have no children. even my housekeeping for maria is a farce; james really does it all. i mean nothing to society now that i can no longer entertain it. i haven't even a decent vice. i don't smoke and gamble like you, nor have lovers like some of the others. i'm simply a nonentity--nothing!" "you have personality ... beauty...." aileen was completely at a loss. "i hate being banal like that smith idiot ... but you are the perfection of a type. that is something. and you cultivate your mind--" "my mind! what does it amount to? anybody can pack a brain. i'd like one of those that gives out something, however little. but i can't help that. the point is i don't live. i don't care a hang about personality that doesn't get anywhere, and i care still less about being a finished type--that's the work of dead and gone ancestors, anyhow, not mine.... i wish i could fall in love with james kirkpatrick. i'd feel more justified in my own eyes if i were living with him over in the mission--" "his old mother would chase you out with a broom and use biblical language. of course i know you must be bored, alex dear. can't you manage to go abroad and live for a time?" "no, i can't, and i don't see what difference that would make. but i'll tell you what i shall do. if tom and maria want to rent the house next year they can have it but i'll not live there. i'll not be 'held up' any longer. i'll stand on my own feet--in other words get a job. no--i've some loose money, i'll start in business." "good for you. perhaps dad'll let me go in with you. don't imagine i don't get sick of my racketing life; and when i have a spasm of reform i nearly take seriously to drink, i'm so bored. would you have me for partner?" "wouldn't i? that is if you would be serious about it. i am, let me tell you. the whole family can perform suttee for all i care. i'm going to do something that will give me a place in the main stream of life." "trust me. i have been considering bob's fifteenth proposal--mr. cheever has promised him a full partnership the day he marries, and it wouldn't be so bad. bobby is a good sport, and we'd live the out-door life at burlingame instead of the in--sports ... tournaments ... polo ... cut out dissipation. we've both really had enough of it. but i believe business would be more interesting. after all that's what you marry for unless you want children--which i don't--to be interested. what'll we be? decorators?" "i suppose so. but all this has only just come to a head, although i know now that it has been slowly gathering force in my deepest deeps. if we do i'll take alice on. she's sick of the game too and she has simply ripping ideas." "perfect. 'dwight, thorn--', no, 'thorndyke, lawton and dwight.' i'm too excited--convicts must feel like that when they tunnel a hole and get out. it will be our real, our first adventure." chapter xx i but two weeks later aileen told alexina that although she had cannily waited for what she believed to be the propitious moment and told her father about the great scheme, she had never seen him so upset. she stormed, argued, wept, but he was adamant. he would give her neither a cent nor his permission. when she accused him of inconsistency (he had supported woman's suffrage) he replied that women forced to work needed the franchise and no fair-minded man would withhold it; and if for no other reason he would forbid his daughter to go out and compete with women who must work whether they wanted to or not. but that was only one point. what did progress mean if women deliberately dropped from a higher plane to a lower? what had their ancestors worked for, possibly died for? it was their manifest duty to their class, to their family, to go up not down. moreover, when women had men to support them and insisted upon forcing their way into the business world, they made men ridiculous and undermined society. it was dangerous, damned dangerous. if he had his way not a woman in any class, outside of nursing and domestic service, should work. he'd tax every male in the land, according to his income or wage, to say nothing of the rich women, and keep every last one of the unportioned in idleness rather than risk the downfall of male supremacy in the world. he hated every form of publicity for the women of his class. if he had his way their names, much less photographs, should never appear in the public press. society should be sacrosanct. its traditions should be handed on, not lowered.... charity boards and settlement work, perhaps, but no further exposure to the vulgar gaze ... he was glad she had never gone in for the last. civilization would be meaningless without that small class at the top that proved what earth could accomplish in the way of breeding, the refinements of life, the beauty of distinction, in making an art of leisure, of pleasure--quite as much an art as writing books or painting pictures. if the men in the younger nations had to work, at least they were able to prove to the older that the exquisite creatures they bred and protected were second to none on this planet, at least. if women had genius that was another question. let them give it to the world, by all means. that was their personal gift to civilization.... he was not bigoted like some men, even young men, who thought it a disgrace for a lady publicly to transfer herself to the artistic plane and compete with men for laurels.... but when it came to stripping off the delicate badges that only the higher civilization could confer, and struggling tooth and nail with the mob for no reason whatever--it was disloyal, ungrateful and monstrous. he was no snob. he thought himself better than no man. (different, yes.) but in regard to women, the women of his class, the class of his father before him, and of his father's father, he had his ideals, his convictions. that was all. ii "in short, he's modern but not too modern. my twentieth-century arguments were brushed aside as mere fads. and yet there's probably not an important case tried in any court in either hemisphere that he doesn't read--learn something from if he can. he takes in the leading newspapers and reviews of america and europe and even reads the best modern novels as carefully as he ever read thackeray and dickens--says they are the real social chronicles. he's a profound student of history, and the history of the present interests him just as much--he has those balkans under a microscope; and collects all the data on every important strike here and elsewhere. and yet where women are concerned he is a fossil. an american fossil--worst sort. some of the young ones are just as bad ... i'll have to give in. i can't break his heart. i suppose i'll marry bobby." iii alice thorndyke also shook her head. "i'd like to, alex, but frankly i haven't the courage. your friends all stick to you like perfect dears when you step down and out and set up shop, and are so kind you feel like a street walker in a house of refuge. but secretly they hate it and they don't feel toward you in the same way at all. they may not know enough to express it, but what they really feel is that you have threatened the solidity of the order and lowered yourself as well as them. one day they may have more sense but not in our time, i am afraid." nevertheless, alexina persisted in her determination. one could succeed alone. she would not be the first. she was by no means sure, however, what she wanted to do, and made up her mind to take no step before the following winter. when the abbotts returned to rincona in may they took james with them. alexina closed ballinger house, although mortimer slept there and a filipino came in every morning to make his breakfast and bed; and took a cottage in ross with janet maynard whose mother had gone south to visit old lady bascom, and who craved the wild peace of marin county after too much san francisco and burlingame. marin, with its magnificent redwood forests on the coast, fed by the fogs of the pacific, its ancient sunlit woods of oak and madroño and manzanita, its mountains and rocky hills and peaceful fertile valleys, is perhaps the most beautiful county in california, and its towns and villages are still almost primitive in spite of the many fashionable residents whose homes are close to or in them. the ocean pounds its western base, mount tamalpais is its proudest possession, it has a haunted looking lake; and a part of it embraces one of the many ramifications of the bay of san francisco, and commands a superb view of city and island and mountain. but it has a heavy brooding peace that seems to relax the social conscience. entertaining is intermittent, and its inhabitants return to their winter in san francisco deeply refreshed. it has its paradoxes like the rest of california. on a stark little peninsula, jutting out from bare hills into the bay, is san quentin, one of the state's prisons, and along the edges of the marsh are chinese hamlets and shrimp fisheries. iv alexina and janet purposed to spend the summer reading, idling in the sweet-scented garden, walking in the early morning, riding horseback in the late afternoon, taking tea at the club house at san rafael, or belvedere, perhaps, but "cutting out" all social dissipations. janet was now twenty-six and beginning to feel the strain as well as seriously to consider what she should do with the rest of her life. she had great wealth, she was blasée as a result of doing everything she chose to do, in public or in private, and she was nearly two generations younger than judge lawton. nevertheless, she perceived no allurement in the business world, and the only alternative seemed marriage. not in california, however. no surprises there. she might take her fortune to london and become a peeress of the realm. when change became imperative better go up than down. alexina had never felt the attractions of dissipation and was not afflicted with moral ennui; but she was tired from much thinking and brooding and intimate personal contacts. she wanted the deep refreshment of the summer before girding up for the winter--before making her plunge into the world of business and toil. but she was soon to discover that she had girded up her loins, or at all events brightened up her corpuscles and reposed her brain cells, for a far different purpose. chapter xxi i it is possible that only two people in california, barring german spies, leapt instantly to the conclusion that the sarajevo bomb meant a european war. the judge, because he had the historical background and knew his modern europe as he knew his chessboard; and alexina because she recalled conversations she had had in france the summer before with people close to the government, to say nothing of mysterious allusions in the letters of olive de morsigny; who may have thought it wise not to trust all she knew to the post, or may have been too busy with her intensive nursing course to enter into particulars. janet shrugged her large statuesque shoulders when alexina communicated her fears. what was war to her? england at least would have sense enough to keep out of it. aileen came over after a convincing talk with her father looking as worried as if some nation or other were training their guns on the golden gate. "dad says it's the world war ... that we'll be dragged in ... that germany has had it up her sleeve for years ... believes that bomb was made in berlin ... nothing under heaven could have averted this impending war but a huge standing army in great britain ... hasn't lord roberts been crying out for it?.... dad and i dined at his house one night in london and the only picture in the dining-room was an oil painting of the kaiser in a red uniform, done expressly for lord roberts ... funny world ... and now britain's got a civil war on her hands and mutinous officers who won't go over and shoot men of their own class in ulster.... russia hasn't built her strategic railways--all the money used up in graft.... oh, lord! oh, lord! who'd have thought it? ... twentieth century and all the rest of it." "twentieth century ... war ... how utterly absurd.... i don't wish to be rude ... but really..." this from every one to whom alexina and aileen, or even judge lawton, communicated their fears. ii one day alexina and aileen met in san francisco by appointment and telephoned to james kirkpatrick, asking him to lunch with them at the california market. he accepted with alacrity, and laughed genially at their apprehensions. war? war? not on your life. there'll never be another war. socialists won't permit it. the kaiser? to hell with the kaiser. (excuse me.) he, james kirkpatrick, was in frequent correspondence with certain german socialists. they would declare themselves in the coming international congress for the general strike if any sovereign--or president--dared to try to put over a war on the millions of determined socialists, syndicalists, internationalists, and communists in great britain and europe; he'd get the surprise of his life. socialism was determined there should never be another war--the burden and life-toll of which was always borne by the poor man. he didn't believe any of those fool sovereigns, not even the crazy kaiser, would attempt it, knowing what they did; but if they turned out to be deaf and blind, well, just watch out for the great strike. that would be the most portentous, the most awe-inspiring event in history. and then he dismissed a prospective european war as unworthy of further attention and held forth with extreme acrimony on the subject of the great colorado strike; which rose to passionate denunciation of the miserable make-shift called civilization which, would permit such a horror in the very heart of a great and prosperous nation. but with the new system ... the new system ... there would not be even these abominable little civil wars ... for that was what we had right here in our own country ... no need to use up your gray matter bothering about european states.... he was so convincing that alexina and aileen thanked him warmly and went to their respective destinations lulled and comforted. nevertheless, the war made its grand début on august first, and mr. kirkpatrick, who had started on one of the passenger ships leaving new york for the international socialist congress, climbed ignominiously over the side and returned to the great ironic city on a tug. iii two letters came from olive to alexina and one to each of her other old friends, imploring them to come over and help. they could nurse. they could run canteens. oeuvres. she wanted to show france what her friends, her countrywomen, could do. but the war would be over in three months.... only judge lawton believed it would be a long war. others hardly comprehended there was a war at all.... such things don't happen in these days. (who in that wondrous smiling land could think upon war anywhere?) ... it would be too funny if it were not for those dreadful pictures of the belgian refugees.... poor things.... maria and other good women immediately began knitting for them ... sat for hours on the verandahs, all in white, knitting, knitting ... but talking of anything of war.... it simply was a horrid dream and soon would be over.... their husbands all said so ... three months.... german army irresistible ... modern implements of war must annihilate whole armies very quickly, and the germans had the most and the best.... rotten shame (said burlingame) and the germans not even good sportsmen. james kirkpatrick, who avoided his former pupils, consoled himself with the thought that at least britain would be licked ... she'd get what was coming to her, all right, and ireland would be free.... anyhow it would soon be over.... when april nineteen-seventeen came he damned the socialist party for its attitude and enlisted: "i was a man and an american first, wasn't i?" he wrote to alexina. "i guess your flag ... oh, hell! (excuse me.)" iv in december, nineteen-fourteen, alexina and alice thorndyke (who grasped the entering wedge with both ruthless white little hands) went to france. aileen was not strong enough to nurse so she bade a passionate good-by to her friends and engaged herself to bob cheever. jimmie thorne went to france as an ambulance driver, and bascom luning to join the lafayette escadrille. gora sailed six months later to offer her services to england. in the case of a nurse there was much red tape to unravel. a fair proportion of the women left behind continued to knit. as time went on branches of certain french war-relief organizations were formed, and run by such capable women as mrs. thornton and mrs. hunter, who had many friends among the american women living in france; now toiling day and night at their oeuvres. alexina and olive de morsigny, after a year of nursing, when what little flesh they had left could stand no more, founded an oeuvre of their own, and sibyl bascom and aileen cheever did fairly well with a branch in san francisco, alexina's relatives quite wonderfully in new york and boston; although they were already interested in many others. v certain interests in california, notably the orchards and canneries, were violently anti-british during the first years of the war, as the blockade shut off their immense exports to germany, and those that failed, or closed temporarily, realized the incredible: that a war in europe could affect california, even as the civil war affected the textile factories of england. to them it was a matter of indifference, until nineteen-seventeen, who won the war so long as one side smashed the other and was quick about it. owners and directors of copper mines--but let us draw a veil over the sincere robust instincts of human nature. the club of seven arts was proudly and vociferously pro-german. not that they cared a ha'penny damn really for germany, but it was a far more original attitude than all this sobbing over france ... and then there was reinhardt, the secessionist school, the adorable jugendstyl. and the atrocity stories were all lies anyway. the bourgeois president resigned, but no one else paid any attention to them. in nineteen-seventeen a few declared themselves pacifists and conscientious objectors, and, little recking what they were in for, marched off triumphantly to a military prison, feeling like christ and longing for a public cross. the others, those that were young enough, shouldered a gun and went to the front with high hearts and hardened muscles. democracy über alles. the women enlisted in the red cross and the y.w.c.a., and worked with grim enthusiasm, either at home or in france. vi by this time california, almost on another planet as she was, with her abundance unchecked, and her skies smiling for at least three-fourths of the year, admitted there was a real war in the world, as bad (or worse) as any you could read about in history. the war films in the motion picture houses were quite wonderful, but too terrible. they also discussed it, especially on those days when the streets echoed with the march of departing regiments in khaki, or one's own son, or one's friend's son enlisted or was drafted, or it was their day at red cross headquarters. all the older women were at work now, and all but the most irreclaimably frivolous of the young ones. even tom and maria abbott made no protest against joan's joining the woman's motor corps; and, dressed in a smart, gray, boyish uniform, she drove her car at all hours of the day and night. she was not only sincerely anxious to serve, but she knew, and sheltered girls all over the land knew,--to say nothing of the younger married women--that this was the beginning of their real independence, the knell of the old order. they were freed. even the reënforced concrete minds of the last generation imperceptibly crumbled and were as imperceptibly modernized in the rebuilding. a good many of the women, old and young, continued to gamble furiously out of their hours of work; but the majority of the girls did not. those with naturally serious minds were absorbed, uplifted, keen, calculating. they did not even dance. they realized that they had wonderful futures in a changing world. it was "up to them." vii mortimer was beyond the draft age, but, possibly owing to his gallant fearless appearance, it was rather expected that he would enlist. he did not, however, nor did he join the red cross or the y.m.c.a., nor volunteer for some government work, as so many of the men of his age and class were doing as a matter of course. war news bored him excessively. he was making two or three hundred dollars a month; he lived at the club when maria abbott occupied ballinger house--tom went to washington--and he was extremely comfortable. in the club he always felt like a blood, forgot for the time being that he was not a rich man, like the majority of its members, and there was always a group of nice quiet contented fellows, glad to play bridge with him in the evening. on the whole, he congratulated himself, he had not done so badly, although he had resigned all hope of being a millionaire--unless he made a lucky strike.... but it did not make so much difference in california ... and when alexina had had enough of horrors they would settle down again very comfortably to the old life.... there was very good dancing at the restaurants (upstairs) where one met nice girls of sorts who didn't care a hang about this infernal war ... one of them ... but he was extremely careful ... he would never be divorced; that was positive ... as for society he did not miss it particularly ... the dancing at the restaurants was better and he didn't have to talk ... whether people stopped asking him or not, now that his wife was away, or whether they entertained or not, didn't so much matter. he had the club. that was the all important pivot of his life, his altar, his fetish ... a lot he cared what went so long as he had that. book iv chapter i i the embassy was a blinding glare of light from the ground floor to the upper story, visible above the wide staircase. after four years of legal tenebration it was obvious that the ambassador's intention was to celebrate the armistice as well as the visit of his king to paris with an almost impish demonstration of the recaptured right to extravagance, obliterate the dry economical past. the ambassador's country might be intolerably poor after the war, but like many other prudent nobles he had invested money in north and south america, and was able to entertain his sovereign out of his private purse. he had made up his mind to give the first brilliant function following the sudden end of la grande guerre and one that it would be difficult for even paris to eclipse. all paris had burst forth into illumination of street and shop after nightfall, but alexina had seen no such concentrated blaze as this; and her eyes, long accustomed to a solitary globe high in the ceiling of her room, blinked a little, strong as they were. she had come with the marquis and marquise de morsigny, and after they had passed the long receiving line where the king in his simple worn uniform stood beside the resplendent ambassador, her friends' attention had been diverted to a group of acquaintances chattering excitedly over the startling munificence that seemed to them prophetic of a swift renaissance. they moved off unconsciously, and alexina remained alone near one of the long windows behind the receiving line; but she felt secure in her insignificance and quite content to gaze uninterruptedly at the greatest function she had ever seen. after the bitter hard work, the long monotonies, the brief terrible excitements, of the past four years, and the depressed febrile atmosphere of paris during the last year when avions dropped their bombs nearly every night, and big bertha struck terror to each quarter in turn, this gay and gorgeous scene recalled one's most extravagant dreams of fairy-land and arabia; and alexina felt like a very young girl. even the almost constant sensation of fatigue, mental and bodily, fell from her as she forgot that she had worked from nine until six for three years in her oeuvre, often walking the miles to and from her hotel or pension to avoid the crowded trains; the distasteful food; the tremors that had shaken even her tempered soul when the flashing of the german guns, drawing ever nearer, could be seen at night on the horizon. and paris had been so dark! she reveled almost sensuously in the excessiveness of the contrast, quite unconcerned that her white gown was several years out of date. for that matter there were few gowns, in these vast rooms, of this year's fashion. although paris had begun to dance wildly the day the armistice was declared, not only in sheer reaction from a long devotion to its ideal of duty, but that the american officers should have the opportunity to discover the loveliness and charm of the french maiden, the women had not yet found time to renew their wardrobes, and the only gowns in the room less than four years old were worn by the newly arrived americans of the peace commission and the ladies of the embassy. the most striking figures were the french generals in their horizon blue uniforms and rows of orders on their hardy chests. of jewels there were few. when the german drive in march seemed irresistible, jewels had been sent to distant estates, or to banks in marseilles and lyons, and there had been no time to retrieve them after the ambassador sent out his sudden invitations. alexina smiled as she recalled olive de morsigny's lament over the absence of her tiara. european women of society take their jewels very seriously, and there was not a frenchwoman present who did not possess a tiara, however old-fashioned. but the cold luminosity of jewels would have been extinguished to-night under this really terrific down-pour of light. the tall candelabra against the tapestried or the white and gold walls were relieved of duty; paris had had enough of candlelight; the four immense chandeliers of this reception room, either of which would have illuminated a restaurant, had been rewired and blazed like suns. suspended from the ceiling, festooned between the candelabra and the chandeliers, were clusters and loops of glass tupils and roses, each concealing an electric bulb. alexina reflected that the soft haze of candles might be more artistic and becoming, but was grateful nevertheless for this rather tasteless fury of light, symptomatic as it was; and understood the ambassador's revolt against the enforced economies of a long war, his desire to do honor to his unassuming little sovereign. ii the room, whose lofty ceiling was supported along the center by three massive pillars, was already crowded, and people entered constantly. every embassy was represented, all the grande noblesse of paris and even a stray bourbon and bonaparte. a few of the guests were the more distinguished american residents of paris and their gowns were as out of date if as inimitably cut as the frenchwomen's, for they had worked as hard. but alexina ceased to notice them. she had become aware that two american officers, standing still closer to the window, were talking. one of them had parted the curtains and was looking out. "by jove," he said. "strikes me this is rather risky. six long windows opening on the garden, and the king standing directly in front of one of them. fine chance for some filthy bolshevik or anarchist." "oh, nonsense," said the other absently; his eyes were roving over the room. "wish i could take to one of these french girls ... feel it a sort of duty to increase the rapport and all that ... but although the married women and the other sort of girls are a long sight more fascinating than ours, the upper--" "american girls for me. but i'm still jumpy, and this sort of carelessness makes me nervous, particularly as the story is going about that the king came near being assassinated in the station of his home town when he was leaving. man fired point blank at his face, but gun didn't go off or some one knocked up the man's arm. did you notice that he looked about rather apprehensively when he arrived, at the station yesterday? no wonder, poor devil." iii alexina moved off, making her way slowly, but finally was forced to halt near the row of pillars. she was looking through the opposite door at the fantastic illuminations of the hall and reception rooms beyond, when, without a second's warning flicker, every light in the house went out. simultaneously the high clatter of voices ceased as if the old familiar cry of "_alerte_" had sounded in the street. involuntarily, as people in real life do act, her hands clutched her heart, her mouth opened to relieve her lungs. a frenchman whispered beside her. "the king! a plot!" she waited to hear screams from the women, wild ejaculations from the men. but the years of war and danger had extinguished the weak and exalted the strong. beyond the almost inaudible gasp of her neighbor alexina heard nothing. the silence was as profound as the darkness and that was abysmal; she could not see the white of her gown. all, she knew, were waiting for the sound of a pistol shot, or of a groan as the king fell with a knife in his back. then she became aware that men were forcing their way through the crowd; she was almost flung into the arms of a man behind her. later she knew that a group of officers had surrounded their king and rushed him up the room to place him in front of the central pillar, but at the moment she believed that they were either carrying out his body, or that a group of anarchists was escaping. iv then one man lit a match. she saw a pale strained face, the eyes roving excitedly above the flickering flame. then another match was struck, then another. those that had no matches struck their briquets, and these burned with a tiny yellow flame. one or two took down candles and lit them. all over the room, in little groups, or widely separated, alexina saw face after face, white and anxious, appear. the bodies were invisible. the faces hung, pallid disks, in the dark. her attention was suddenly arrested by a face above the small steady flame of a briquet. it was a thin worn face, probably that of an officer recently discharged from hospital. his expression was ironic and unperturbed and his eyes flashed about the room exhibiting a lively curiosity. an englishman, probably; nothing there of the severity of the american military countenance; although, to be sure, that had relaxed somewhat these last weeks under the blandishments of paris. nevertheless ... quite apart from the military, there was the curious unanalyzable difference between the extremely well-bred american face and the extremely well-bred english face. it might be that the older civilization did not take itself quite so seriously.... v obeying an impulse, which, she assured herself later, was but the sudden reaction to frivolity from the horror that had possessed her, she took a match unceremoniously from the hand of a neighbor, lit it and held it below her own face. the man's eyes met hers instantly, opened a little wider, then narrowed. she looked at him steadily ... interested ... something ... somewhere ... stirring. the match burnt her fingers and was hastily extinguished. at the same time she became aware of a fuller effulgence just beyond the pillars and that people were moving on, some retreating toward the hall. she was carried forward and a little later turned her head, forgetting for a moment the humorous face that still had seemed to beckon above the white disks that inspired her with no interest whatever. against the central pillar stood the king, and on either side of him two officers of his suite, as rigid as men in armor, held aloft each a great candelabra taken from the wall. all the candles in the branches had been lit and shone down on the composed and somewhat expressionless face of the king. the strange group looked like a picture in some old cathedral window. the scene lasted only a moment. then the king, bowing courteously, left the room, still between the candelabra; and, followed by his ambassador, whose face was far paler than his, ascended the staircase. vi a frenchman beside alexina cursed softly and she learned the meaning of the dramatic finale to a superb but rather dull function. there had been no attempt at assassination. a lead fuse had melted; the ambassador, who had taxed his imagination to honor his king, had forgotten to give the order that electricians remain on guard to avert just such a calamity as this. as the explanation ran round the room people began to laugh and chatter rapidly as if they feared the sudden reaction might end in hysteria. but although all the candles had now been lit, the effort to revive the mild exhilaration of the evening was fruitless. they wanted to get away. many still believed that a plot had been balked, and that the assassins were lurking in one of the many rooms of the hotel. alexina met olive de morsigny in the dressing-room, and found her white and shaking, although for four years she had proved herself a woman of strong nerves as well as of untiring effort. "great heaven!" she whispered, as she helped alexina on with her wrap. "if he had been assassinated! in paris! i thought andré would faint. his last wound is barely healed. come, let us get out of this. who knows? ... in paris!..." their car had to wait its turn. as alexina stood with her silent friends in the porte cochère the certainty grew that some one was watching her. that officer! who else? she flashed her eyes over the crowd about her, then into the densely packed hall behind. but she encountered no pair of eyes even remotely humorous, no face in any degree familiar.... later she whirled about again.... there was a pillar ... easy to dodge behind it.... at this moment andré took her elbow and gently piloted her into the car. chapter ii i alexina in the weariness of reaction climbed the long stairs of her pension in passy. sibyl bascom, whose husband being on government duty in washington left her free to go to france, and who rolled bandages all day long in the great hospital in neuilly; janet maynard and alice thorndyke, who ran a canteen in the environs of paris, and herself, had lived until the armistice in a comfortable hotel not far from the house of olive de morsigny, and found much solace together. but their hotel had been commandeered for one of the commissions; sibyl had taken refuge with her sister-in-law, and alexina, janet, and alice had found with no little difficulty vacant rooms in a second-rate pension in passy. the food was even worse than at the hotel, the rooms were barely heated, and as trams at alexina's hours were airless and jammed, and taxicabs in swarming paris as scarce as tiaras, with drivers of an unsurpassable effrontery, she was forced to walk three miles a day in all weathers. it is true that she could have rented a limousine for a thousand francs a month, but it was almost a religion with workers of her class to economize rigorously and give all their surplus to the oeuvre of their devotion. janet and alice went back and forth in one of the supply camions of the y.m.c.a. ii alexina passed janet's room softly. she saw a light under the door and inferred that she and alice were playing poker and consuming many cigarettes, that being their idea of recuperation between one hard day's work and the next. she was in no mood for talking. her room was stuffy as well as cold; the furniture and curtains had probably not been changed since the second empire. she opened one of the long windows and stepped out on the balcony. the seine was nearly in flood after the heavy rains, but it reflected the stars to-night and many long banners of light from the almost festive banks. it was bitterly cold and she closed her window in a moment and moved about her room. it was too cold to undress. she was inured to discomforts and thankful that she had been brought up in san francisco, which is seldom warm; but she longed for a few creature comforts nevertheless. during the war she had sustained herself with the thought of the men in the trenches, but now that their lot was ameliorated she felt that she had a right to what comforts she could find. the difficulty was to find them. with paris overflowing. generals sleeping in servants' rooms under the roof, soldiers, even officers, picking up women on the streets if only to have a bed for the night, and hotel after hotel being requisitioned for the various peace commissions and their illimitable suites, conditions were likely to grow worse. olive de morsigny had repeatedly offered hospitality, but she preferred her independence. to leave was impossible. her oeuvre must continue for several months. sick and wounded men do not recover miraculously with the cessation of hostilities. no doubt she should be grateful for this refuge, and now that the war was over it might be possible to buy petrol for an oil stove. then she became aware that it was not only the cold that made her restless. the rigidly enforced calm of her inner life had received a shock to-night and not from the imagined assassination of a king. she went suddenly to her mirror and looked at herself intently ... shook her head with a frown. she had always been slim; she was now very thin. the roundness and color had left her cheeks. they were pale--almost hollow. janet and alice had rejoiced in the lack of fats and sweets, both having a tendency to plumpness had achieved without effort the most fashionable slenderness that anxious woman could wish. but she had not had a pound to lose. it seemed to her that she was almost plain. her eyes retained their dazzling brilliancy, a trick of nature that old age alone no doubt could conquer, but there were dark stains beneath the lower lashes. she let down her hair. it was the same soft dusky mass as ever. her teeth were as even and bright; her lips had not lost their curves, but they were pink, not red. she was anæmic, no doubt. why, in heaven's name, shouldn't she be? even olive, whose major domo, driving a ford, had paid daily visits to the farms and brought back what eggs, chickens and other succulences the peasants would part with for coin, had lost her brilliant color and the full lines of her beautiful figure. she had rouged to-night and looked as lovely as when morsigny had captured her, but her magnificent gown had been too hastily taken in by an elderly inefficient maid--her young one having patriotically deserted her for munitions long since, and sagged on her bones as she expressed it. sibyl, who was in bed with the flu, had offered to lend her one of the new ones she had had the forethought to buy in new york before sailing, and was only a year old, but olive had feared the critical eyes of french women who had not replenished their evening wardrobe since nineteen-fourteen. alexina did not feel particularly consoled because others had looked no better than she. until to-night she had given little thought to her looks, but she now felt a renewed interest in herself, and the frown was as much for this revival as for her wilted beauty. her evening wrap was very warm and she sat down in the hard arm-chair and huddled into its folds, covering the lower part of her body with a hideous brown quilt. no doubt the sheets were damp, and she knew that she could not sleep. why shiver in bed? iii was it gathbroke? it was long since she had thought of him. she had not even seen his photograph for four or five years. if it were, he had changed even more since that photograph had been taken than after she had dismissed him at rincona. she was by no means sore that it was he. the light of a briquet was not precisely searching, and for the most part he had looked like more than one war-worn british officer she had seen during her long residence in paris.... it was something in the eyes ... she could have vowed they were hazel ... their expression had altered; it was that of a somewhat ironic man of the world, which had changed as she watched them to the piercing alertness of a man of action ... but after ... was it perhaps an emanation of the personality that had so impressed her angry young soul and refused to be obliterated? but what of it? he might be married. love another woman. all officers and soldiers during the war had looked about eagerly for love, when not already supplied, and given themselves up to it, indifferent as they may have been before.... life seemed shorter every time they went back to the front. and if not why should he be attracted to her again! he had loved her for a moment when she had been in the first flush of her exquisite youth. that was twelve years ago. she was now thirty. true, thirty, to-day, was but the beginning of a woman's third youth, and a few weeks in the california sunshine and nourished by the california abundance would restore her looks, no doubt of that. but she would look no better as long as she remained in paris.... nor did she wish to return to california ... and beyond all question he must have forgotten, lost all interest in her long since. still--there had been an eager upspringing light in his eyes ... was it recognition? ... merely the passing impulse of flirtation over a match and a briquet? ... no doubt she would never see him again. chapter iii i did she want to? she had gone through many and extraordinary phases during these years of close personal contact with the martial history of europe, as precisely different from the first twenty-six years of her life as peace from war. during those months of nineteen-fifteen when she had worked in hospitals close to the front as auxiliary nurse, all the high courage of her nature which she had inherited from a long line of men who had fought in the civil war, the revolution, and in the colonial wars before that, and the tribal wars that came after, and all that she had inherited from those foremothers whose courage, as severely tested, had never failed either their men or their country; in short, the inheritance of the best american tradition; had risen automatically to sustain her during that period of incessant danger and horror. she had been firm and smiling for the consolation of wounded men when under direct shell fire. she had felt so profound a pity for the mutilated patient men that it had seemed to cleanse her of every selfish impulse fostered by a too sheltered life. she had bathed so many helpless bodies that she lost all sense of sex and felt herself a part of the eternal motherhood of the world. she had once thrown herself over the bed of a politely protesting poilu, covering his helpless body with her own, as a shell from a taube came through the roof. that had been a wonderful, a noble and exalted (not to say exhilarating) period; a period that made her almost grateful for a war that revealed to her such undreamed of possibilities in her soul. she might smile at it in satiric wonder in the retrospect, but at least it was ineradicable in her memory. if it could but have lasted! but it had not. insensibly she accepted suffering, sacrifice, pity, as a matter of course, even as danger and death. it had been the romance of war she had experienced in spite of its horrors, and no romance lives after novelty has fled. for months nothing seemed to affect her bodily resistance to fatigue, and as exaltation dropped, as the monotony of nursing, even of danger, left her mind more and more free, as war grew more and more to seem, the normal condition of life, more and more she became conscious of herself. ii life at the front is very primitive. social relations as the world knows them cease to exist. the habits of the past are almost forgotten. it is death and blood; shells shrieking, screaming, whining, jangling; the boom of great guns as if nature herself were in a constant electrical orgasm; hideous stench; torn bodies, groans, cries, still more terrible silences of brave men in torment; incessant unintermittent danger. above all, blood, blood, blood. she believed she should smell it as long as she lived. she knew it in every stage from the fresh dripping blood of men rushed from the field to the evacuation hospitals, to the black caked and stinking blood of men rescued from no man's land endless days and nights after they had fallen. all that was elementary in her strong nature, inherited from strong, full-blooded, often reckless and ruthless men, gradually welled to the surface. she was possessed by a savage desire for life, a bitter inordinate passion for life. why not, when life might be extinguished at any moment? what was there in life but life? farcical that anything else could ever have mattered. civilization--by which men meant the varied and pleasant times of peace--seemed incredibly insipid and out of date. it had no more relation to this war-zone than her youth to this swift and terrible maturity. she was in many hospitals--rushed where an indomitable and tireless auxiliary nurse was most in demand--some under the direction of the noblesse division of the red cross, others under the bourgeois; and in more than one were english and american girls, long resident in france, or, in the latter case, come from america like herself to serve the country for which they had a romantic passion. the majority, of course, were frenchwomen, young (in their first freedom), middle-aged, elderly. of these some were placid, emotionless, extinguished, consistently noble, selfless, profoundly and simply religious, as correct in every thought and deed as the best bourgeois peace society of any land. but others! alexina had been horrified at first at the wanderings off after nightfall of women who had nursed like scientific angels by day, accompanied by men who were never more men than when any moment might turn them into carrion. but with her mental suppleness she had quickly readjusted her point of view. there is nothing as sensual as war. it is the quintessential carnality. renan once wrote a story of the french revolution, "the abbess juarre," in which his thesis was that if warning were given that the world would end in three days the entire population of the globe would give itself over to an orgy of sex; sex being life itself. it is the obsession of the doomed consumptive, the doomed spinster, the last thought of a man with the rope round his neck. how much more under the terrific stimulation of war, the constant heedless annihilation of life in its flower and its maturity? man's inveterate enemy, death, shrieking its derision in the very shells of man's one inviolable right, the right to drift into eternity through the peaceful corridors of old age. war is a monstrous anachronism and a monstrous miscarriage of justice. the ignorant feel it less. it is the enlightened, the intelligent, accustomed to the higher delights of civilization, to the perfecting of such endowments, however modest, as their ancestors have transmitted and peace has encouraged, with ambitions and hopes and dreams, that resent however sub-consciously the constant snarling of death at their heels. all the forces of mind and body and spirit become formidable in a reckless hatred of the gross injustice of a fate that individually not one of them has deserved. but the moment remains. they compress into it the desires of a lifetime. after years of proud individualism they have learned that they are atoms, cogs, helpless, the sport of iron and steel and powder and the ambitions and stupidities of men whose lives are never risked. very well, turn the ego loose to find what it can. if all they have learned from civilization is as useless in this shrieking hell, as impotent as the dumb resentment of the clod, they can at least be animals. to talk of the ennobling influences of war is one of the lies of the conventionalized mind anxious to avoid the truths of life and to extract good from all evil--worthy but unintelligent. how can men in the trenches, foul with dirt and vermin, stench forever in their nostrils, callous to death and suffering, wallowing like pigs in a trough, compulsorily obscene, be ennobled? courage is the commonest attribute of man, a universal gift of nature that he may exist in a world bristling with dangers to frail human life; never to be commended, only to be remarked when absent. if men lose it in the city, the sedentary life, they recover it quickly in the camp. the exceptions, the congenital cowards, slink out of war on any pretext, but if drafted are likely to acquit themselves decently unless neurotic. the cases of cowardice in active warfare are extremely rare; a mechanical chattering of teeth, or shaking of limbs, but practically never a refusal to obey the command to advance. but it is this very courage which breeds callousness, and, combined with bestial conditions, inevitably brutalizes. when good people (far, oh far, from the zones of danger) can no longer in the face of accumulating evidence, cling to their sentimental theory that war ennobles, they take refuge in the vague but plausible substitute that at least it makes the good better and the bad worse. possibly, but it is to be remembered that there is bad in the best even where there is no good in the worst. indubitably it leaves its indelible mark in a collection of hideous memories, on the just and the unjust, alike; as it is more difficult (nature having made human nature in an ironical mood) to recall the pleasant moments of life than the poignantly unpleasant, so is it far more difficult to recall the moments of exaltation, of that intense spiritual desire which visits the high and low alike, to give their all for the safety of their country and the honor of their flag. moreover, the sublime indifference in the face of certain death often has its origin in a still deeper necessity to relieve the insufferable strain on scarified nerves, and forever. as for the much vaunted recrudescence of the religious spirit which is one of the recurring phenomena of war, it is merely an instinct of the subtle mind, in its subtlest depths called soul, to indulge in the cowardice of dependence since the body must know no fear. if men who have been temperate and moral all their lives, or at the worst indulging in moderation, spend their leaves of absence from the front like swine, it is not a reaction from the monotony of trench life, or from the nerve-racking din of war, but merely an extension of the fearful stimulation of a purely carnal existence, even where the directing mind is ever on the alert. the aggressors of war should be pilloried in life and in history. men must defend their country if attacked; to do less would be to sink lower than the beasts that defend their lairs; and for that reason all pacifists, and conscientious objectors, are abject, mean, and shabby. in times of national danger no man has a right to indulge his own conscience; it merges, if he be a normal courageous man, into the national conscience. but that very fact lowers the deliberate seekers of war so far below the high plane of civilization as we know it, that they should be blotted out of existence. iii as regards women alexina was not likely to remain shocked for long at any erratic manifestations of temperament. pride and fastidiousness and the steel armor fused by circumstances had protected her heretofore from any divagations of her own; nor had crystallized temptation ever approached her. but her education had been liberal. several of her intimate friends and more that she associated with daily made what she euphemistically termed a cult of men. the naïve deliberate immorality of young things not only in the best society but in all walks of life is far more prevalent than the good people of this world will ever believe. those with much to lose seldom lose it; the instinct of self-protection envelops them as a mantle; although in small towns, where concealments are less simple, the majority of scandals are not about married women as in a less sophisticated era, but about girls. alexina had possessed numerous confidences, helped more than once to throw dust, amiably replaced the post. she had never approved, but she was philosophical. she took life as she found it; although the fact stood out that aileen, who was indifferent to men, remained always her favorite friend. an individualist, she felt it no part of her philosophy to criticize the acts of women with different desires, weaknesses, temptations, equipment from her own; all other things being equal. that was the point. these girls who made use of their most secret and personal possession as they saw fit were as well-bred as herself, honorable in all their dealings with one another and with society at large, generous, tolerant, exquisite in their habits, often highly intelligent and studious. sex was an incident. with the peccadillos of married women who were wives she had little tolerance as they were a breach of faith, a deliberate violation of contract, and indecent to boot. she was quite aware that sibyl for all her posturings, and avidness for sex admiration, and "acting oriental" as the phrase went, was entirely devoted to frank. such of her married friends as had severed all but the nominal and public bond with their legal husbands, she placed in the same category as girls as far as her personal attitude toward them went. iv therefore not only did she understand these young women driven by the horrid stimulus of war; women (or girls) heretofore sheltered, virtuous, romantic, sentimental, now merely filled with the lust of life. they were, like herself, devoted and meticulous nurses, brave, high-minded, tender; practically all, if not from the upper, at least from the educated ranks of life. but they lived under the daily shadow of death. even when safe from the shells of the big guns, the murderous aircraft paid them daily visits, singling out hospitals with diabolical precision. they were in daily contact with young torn human bodies from which had gone forever the purpose for which one generation precedes another. life was horror. blood and death and shattered bodies were their daily portion. no matter how brave, they heard death scream in every shell. the world beyond existed as a mirage. no wonder they became primeval. alexina had met alice thorndyke in one of these hospitals and observed her with some curiosity. but alice was, to use her own vernacular, the best little bourgeoise of them all. she had had her fling. men repelled her. she never meant to marry, even for substance. when the war was over she should live the completely independent life. nobody would care what economic liberties a woman took in the new era. the war had liberalized the most conservative old bunch of relatives a girl was ever inflicted with. v as alexina sat huddled in her warm coat--the periwinkle blue to which she was still faithful--her dark fine hair, hanging about her, a mantle in itself, she recalled those days when she, too, had vibrated to that savage lust for life; those days of concentrated egoism, of deep and powerful passions whose existence she had only dimly begun to suspect after she dismissed her husband. what had held her back? she had had a no more fastidious inheritance than most of those women, a no more cultivated intelligence, nor proud instinct of selection, nor ingrained habit of self-control. she had put it down at first to fastidiousness, possibly a still lurking desire to be able to give all to one man; that hope of the complete mating which no woman relinquishes until toothless, certainly not in the mere zone of death. she had concluded that it was neither of these, or at least that they had but played a part, and alone would never have won. it was a furious mental revolt at the terrific power of the body, the mind, frightened and cornered, determined to dominate; a fierce delight in the battle raging behind her serene and smiling mask to the accompaniment of that vulgar blare of war where mind over matter was as powerless in the death throe as incantations during an eruption of vesuvius. this internal silent warfare between her long reed-like body as little sensible to fatigue as if made of flexible steel and her extremely cold proud chaste-looking head had grown to be of such absorbing interest that the knowledge of its cessation was almost a shock. it was after a prolonged experience in a hospital where they were short of nurses and rest was almost unknown and the inroads upon her vitality so severe and menacing that she was finally ordered to paris to rest, and there found a complete change of habit in an oeuvre founded by the equally exhausted but always valiant olive de morsigny, that she suddenly realized that somewhere sometime the battle had finished and mind and body were acting in complete harmony. vi to-night she wondered if her imagination, turned loose, stimulated, had not missed the whole point. there had been no man who had made the direct irresistible appeal. no concrete temptation.... she had after all been a degree too civilized ... or ... romantic idealism? there had been little to stimulate and excite since she had settled down to office work in the summer of nineteen-sixteen. her nerves, always strong, had become too case-hardened to be affected by avions or the immense uncertainties of big bertha; although the light on the horizon at night during the last german drive and the bellow of the guns had shaken her with a sort of reminiscent excitement. but for the most part she had felt frozen, torpid, a cog in the vast military machine of france, dedicating herself like hundreds of other women to the succor of men she never saw. that extraordinary abominable experience at the front was overlaid, almost forgotten. and such news as one had in paris was quite enough to exercise the mind.... there had been the downfall of the russian dynasty ... the still more sinister downfall of the true revolutionists ... the bolshevik monster projecting its murderous shadow over all europe, exposing the instability of the entire social structure.... vii was it? could such an experience ever be forgotten? the grass might grow over the dead on the battlefields, but the corruption fed the wheat, and the peogle of france ate the bread. this uninvited thought had intruded itself the first time she had driven by the marne battlefields and seen the numberless crosses in the rich abundant fields. she smiled, a small, secret, ruthless smile.... that was her residue: ruthlessness. she may have left behind her in the turbulent war-zone the savage elementary lust for living at any cost, but she had ineradicably learned the value of life, its brevity at best, the still more tragic brevity of youth; she had a store of hideous memories which could only be submerged first in the performance of duty if duty were imperative; then, duty discharged and finished, in the one thing that during its brief time gave life any meaning, made this earthly sojourn bearable. if she met the man she wanted she would have him if she had to fight for him tooth and nail. it was four o 'clock. she went to bed. chapter iv i the next day alexina found herself suddenly free of office duty, a very handsome and wealthy american woman who had not been able to visit her beloved paris since the beginning of the world's war, and finding the state department obdurate to the whims of pretty women, had induced mrs. ballinger groome, on one of whose committees she had worked faithfully, to ask her sister-in-law to inform the department of state that her services at the oeuvre in paris were indispensable. alexina had passed the letter on to the president, madame de morsigny, and forgotten the incident. olive wrote the necessary letter promptly. not only did she believe that the time had come for alexina to rest, but she longed for a fresh access of energy in the office that would in a measure relieve herself. moreover, mrs. wallack was wealthy and had many wealthy friends. that meant more money for the oeuvre, always in need of money. olive had given large sums herself, but the president of a charity is yet to be found who will not permit its constant demands to be relieved by the generous public. mrs. wallack had not only promised a substantial donation at once, but a monthly contribution. this had not been named, but madame de morsigny meant that it should be something more than nominal. she could do so much for mrs. wallack socially, now that it was possible to entertain again, that she felt reasonably confident of rousing the enthusiasm of any ambitious new yorker. moreover, olive had a very insinuating way with her. ii mrs. wallack presented herself at the imposing headquarters of the oeuvre, radiant, fresh, energetic, beautifully dressed. the war had interested her and commanded her sympathies to some purpose, but nothing short of personal affliction could subdue that inexhaustible vitality, and she seemed to bring into the dark and solemn rooms something of the atmospheric gayety and sunshine of a land that had done much but suffered little. by no one was she received with more warmth of welcome than by alexina. the sudden release made her realize sharply her lowered vitality. moreover, the semi-yearly income which had just arrived from california was her own now and she could replenish her wardrobe and feel feminine and irresponsible once more. the reaction was so violent that after inducting mrs. wallack into the mysteries of her desk she remained in bed, prostrate, for two days. then, feeling several years younger, she sallied forth in search of many things. iii there is no such antidote to the migraines of the woman soul as clothes. their only rival is travel and there are cases where they know none. sometimes women remember to pity men, that have no such happy playground. alexina for all her ramifications, some of them too deep, had a light and feminine side. during the following fortnight she gave it full rein; she was absorbed, almost happy. she spent quite recklessly and after the years of economy and self-denial this alone gave her an intense satisfaction. in addition to her income forwarded by judge lawton, who had charge of her affairs, her brother ballinger, who was as fond of her as of his own children, and very proud of her--she had received two decorations--sent her a large check with the mandate to spend it on herself. iv even so, she was not always in the shops and the dressmakers' ateliers. she found much amusement in strolling up and down the arcades of the rue de rivoli, watching the odd throngs at which paris herself seemed, to bend her head and stare. some poet had called paris the mistress of europe. she looked like an old trollop. she was dirty and dreary, unpainted and unwashed. the rain was almost incessant and the shop windows were soon denuded of the few attractive novelties scrambled together to meet the sudden demand after the long drought. but under the long arcades the curious sauntering throngs were sheltered from the rain and found all things in paris novel. men in the american khaki, from generals to striplings, were there by the hundred; endless streams of young women in the uniform of the red cross, the y.m.c.a., the salvation army; british and american nurses; members of the fashionable oeuvres artlessly watching this novel phase of paris; the beautiful violet uniform of le bien-Être du blessé; girls with worn faces and relaxed bodies fresh from the front, hundreds of them, arriving daily in camions and cars, thanking heaven for the sudden cessation of work, sleeping heaven knew where. the american women of the commission, and others who, like mrs. wallack, had invented a plausible excuse to get to paris and looked almost anachronistic in their smart gowns, their fresh faces, their bright, curious, glancing eyes. there were also officers in the uniform of britain, and alexina regarded them frankly, with no effort to deceive herself. the spirit of adventure was awake in her, now that the dark mood had passed, or slept. she hoped to meet the man of the embassy again, whether he were gathbroke or another. she had liked his eyes. she had met many charming and interesting men during the last two and a half years at olive de morsigny's table, especially when andré, convalescent, was at home. but their eyes had said nothing to her whatever, if not for the want of trying. alexina's imagination, torpid for many months, ran riot. this man might disappoint her, might have nothing in him for her, but she refused for more than a moment to contemplate anything so flat. something must come of that adventure, that vital intensely personal moment when their eyes had met above flames so tiny the wonder was they could see anything but a white blur on the dark. she was as sure of meeting him again as that she trod on air after she had ordered a new gown or brought an inordinately becoming hat. she had forgotten mortimer's existence. chapter v i one day at the hotel crillon she thought she had found him. she had passed the portals of that fortress with some delay, for the american commission protected itself as if it dwelt under the shadow of imminent assassination and theft; whereas it was merely exclusive. the sentries at the door demanded her permit, and passed her in with intense suspicion to the inner guard. this was composed of three polite but very young lieutenants in smart new uniforms with no blight of war on them, and flagrantly of the american aristocracy. with these she had less trouble, for they recognized her social status and accepted her explanation that she had been invited for tea with one of the ladies of the commission. nevertheless, they knew their duty and alexina was followed up to the door of her hostess' suite by another young guardian who watched her entrance through the sacred door as carefully as if he suspected her of carrying a bomb in her muff. ii the party numbered about thirty, and alexina, after chatting with the few she knew, was standing apart by a small table drinking a cup of tea with three lumps of sugar in it and consuming cakes like a greedy boarding-school girl home for the holidays, when she caught sight of a man in the british khaki, a major by his insignia, a tall man, thin and straight, standing with his back to her at the opposite end of the room. he was talking to the host and a small group of men. she glimpsed something like half of his profile when he turned from the host for a moment. like all men in khaki, when not pronounced brunettes, his complexion and hair looked the same color as his uniform. nevertheless ... if she could only see his eyes ... he turned his full profile ... she had never glanced at gathbroke's profile; he had given her no opportunity! ... certainly she had not the faintest idea whether the man of the embassy had had a snub nose or the thin straight feature of this man who would have attracted her attention in any ease if only because he did not carry his shoulders with the disillusioning obliquity of the british army ... why did he not turn round? alexina felt an impulse to throw her cup straight across the room at the back of that well-shaped head. suddenly he shook hands with his host, nodded to the others and left the room. iii alexina set her cup and saucer down on the table, forebore to interrupt her hostess, who was known to talk steadily in order to avoid questions, and walked quickly and deliberately out after him. it is a primitive instinct in woman to chase the male; but civilization having initiated her into the art of permitting him to chase her, alexina was merely bent upon giving this man his chance if the interest had been mutual and existed beyond the moment. one lift was descending as she reached the outer corridor and the other was closed. she ran down the wide staircase as rapidly as a woman in fashionable skirts may. there was no british uniform in the hall below. iv she stood for a quarter of an hour under the arcade before the crillon waiting for a taxi, staring out into the dreary mist of rain, at the round soft blurs of light in the place de la concorde, but in no wise depressed. what did it matter if she had not met him to-day? the conviction that she should meet him before long was as strong as if she were ever hopeful sixteen.... that was the real secret of her elation. she felt very young and entirely carefree. she reflected that if she had met gathbroke, or whoever he might be, during the last three years of the war she would have felt neither joy nor elation, however interested she might have been. to love and dream and enjoy when men were falling every minute, writhing in agony, gasping out their life, would have seemed to her grossly unæsthetic if nothing worse. it was not in the picture. the primal impulses she had experienced at the front to that harsh music of death's orchestra were natural enough; but safe (comparatively!) in paris, certainly quiet, the romance of love would have been as incongruous and heartless as to go out to the great hospital at neuilly and tango through a ward of dying men. but now! she had done her part. she could do no more. men still must die, but in every comfort, with every consolation. and there would be no more recruits. she was free. she was young, young, young again. and at this moment her heart emptied itself of song and sank like lead in her breast. she pressed her muff against her face to hide the sudden grimace she was sure contorted it; there had been few moments in her life when she had not been mistress of her features, but this was one of them. gora dwight was walking rapidly toward her. chapter vi i gora did not see her sister-in-law for a moment and alexina had time to recover her poise and make sharp swift observations. she had not seen gora for four years, nor exchanged a line with her. she had almost forgotten her. the changes were more striking than in herself, who had been always slight. gora's superb bust had disappeared; her face was gaunt, throwing into prominence its width and the high cheek bones. her eyes were enormous in her thin brown face; to alexina's excited imagination they looked like polar seas under a gray sky brooding above innumerable dead. there were lines about her handsome mouth, closer and firmer than ever. how she must have worked, poor thing! what sights, what suffering, what despair ... four long years of it. but she had evidently had her discharge. she wore an extremely well-cut brown tailored suit, good furs, and a small turban with a red wing. what was she in paris for? ... what ... what ... ii gora saw her and almost ran forward, that brilliant inner light that had always been her chief attraction breaking through her cold face ... sunlight sparkling on polar seas ... oh, yes, gora had her charm! "alexina! it isn't possible! i was going to ask at the american embassy for your address. i only arrived last night." alexina had lowered her muff and her face expressed only the warmest surprise and welcome. "gora! it's too wonderful! but i suppose you couldn't go home without seeing paris?" "rather not! it's the first chance i've had, too. where can we have a talk?" "it's too late for tea. come out to my pension and spend the night. janet and alice have gone to nice for a few days' rest. you'll be hideously uncomfortable--" "not any more than where i am--sharing a room with three others. where can i telephone? in here?" "good heavens, no. take a liberty with a duke, but with the american aristocracy, never. come down to the meurice. perhaps we can find a cab there. this seems to be hopeless. everybody comes to the crillon in a private car or a military automobile. taxis appear to avoid it." iii it only took half an hour to get the telephone connection and another to seize by force a taxi, which, however, deposited them at the Étoile. the driver explained unamiably that he wanted his dinner; and a bribe, unless unthinkable, would have been useless. in these days taxi drivers made fifty francs a day in tips, and, as a frenchman knows exactly what he wants and calculates to a nicety when he has enough, valuing rest and nutriment above even the delights of gouging foolish americans, alexina knew that it would be useless to argue and did not even waste energy in announcing her opinion of him for taking a fare under false pretenses. there was no other cab in sight and they walked the rest of the way. but both were inured to hardships and took their mishap good-naturedly, trudging the long distance under their umbrellas. iv after a very bad dinner in an airless room as frugally lighted they made themselves comfortable in alexina's room over the oil stove she had bought, and supplied through olive's influence with the higher powers. she took off her street clothes and put on a thick dressing gown, giving her sister-in-law a quilted red wrapper of janet's, which threw some warmth into gora's pale cheeks. she looked comfortable, almost happy, as she smoked her cigarette in the arm-chair. alexina curled up on the bed. "now, gora," she said brightly, "give an account of yourself." gora did not reply for a moment and alexina examining her again came to the conclusion that she had been spared some of the horrors of the front. as a head nurse her responsibilities had been too heavy for philanderings, and having the literary imagination rather than the personal she had no doubt consigned it to a water-tight compartment and converted herself into a machine. "i don't know that i can talk about it," she said. "i feel much like the men. it is too close. i am thankful that i had the experience: not only to have been of actual service, indispensable, as every good nurse was, but to have been a part of that colossal drama. but i am even more thankful that it is over and if i can possibly avoid it i'll never nurse again." "i suppose you have had no time to write?" "i should think not! during the brief leaves of absence i spent most of the time in bed. but i have an immense amount of material. i have no idea how much fiction has been written about the war; there might have been none, so far as i have had time to discover. i've barely read a newspaper." "the only reason i want to go back to america is to hear the news. i see a new york newspaper once in a while, and it is plain they have it all. we have next to none in europe, in france at all events. shall you write your stories here or go back to california? that would give you the necessary perspective, i should think." alexina's eyes were fixed upon an execrable print many inches above the footboard, and gora, glancing at her, reflected that she was as beautiful as ever in spite of her loss of flesh and color. any one would be with eyes that were like stars when they looked at you and a murillo madonna's when she lifted them the fraction of an inch. astute as she was she had never penetrated below the surface of alexina, nor suspected the use she made of those pliable orbs. alexina had such an abundance of surface it occurred to few people that she might be both subtle and deep. "i ... don't know.... i rather fear losing the atmosphere ... the immediate stimulation. shall you go home, now that you are free?" "i wonder. could i stand it? i have longed for a rest--ached would be a better word.... this last year has been full of both nervous strain and desperate monotony. nineteen-seventeen was bad enough in another way: the internal defeatist campaign, the constant menace of mutiny, soviets in the army, strikes in the munition towns,--all the rest of it.... but could one stand california after such an experience? i know they have done splendid work since we entered the war, but i know also that they will immediately subside into exactly what they were before, settle down with a long sigh of relief to enjoy life and forget that war ever was. it could not be otherwise in that climate. with that abundance. that remoteness.... there seems no place out there for me. a decorator after this! what funny little resources we thought out in those days.... i do not see myself fitting in anywhere. tom wants to buy ballinger house for maria and i fancy i'll let him have it. i can't keep it up unaided and i might as well sell as rent it. he and judge lawton would invest the money and i should have quite a decent income. as for mortimer i never want to see him again. he has not done one thing for this war--he is utterly contemptible-- "i've long since given up criticizing mortimer. my father once sized him up. he hasn't an ounce of brain. he'd like to be quite different, but you can stretch nature's equipment so far and no farther. he stretched his until it suddenly snapped back and found itself shrunken to less than half its natural size. vale mortimer. let him rest. why don't you divorce him? no doubt he has found some one else-- "i couldn't divorce him on that count, for i told him repeatedly to console himself. it wouldn't be playing the game. of course there are other grounds. it would be easy enough. but our family has a strong aversion to divorce. and a unique record.... not that that would stop me if i found any one i really wanted to marry. nothing would stop me, in fact." gora glanced at her quickly, arrested by something in her voice. she had already noticed that alexina's limpid musical tones had deepened. just now they rang with something of the menace of a deep-toned bell. "have you found him?" she asked smiling. "if there are obstacles, so much the more interesting. i don't fancy that romantic streak in your nature which permitted you to idealize mortimer has quite dried up. once romantic always romantic--i deduce from human nature as i have studied it." "well ... i am rather afraid of romance. certainly i'd never be blinded again. a man might be nine parts demi-god and if i knew--and i should know--that there was no companionship in him for me i wouldn't marry him." "that i believe." alexina was once more regarding the print. gora wondered if sex would influence her at all. "but have you met him? you were always an interesting child and you've roused my curiosity." "no ... yes ... i don't know ... later perhaps i'll tell you something. but i'm far more interested in you. have you been in france all this time?" "oh, no. i was in rouen for a year. then i was in hospitals in england until the german drive began in. march when i was sent over again. oh, god! what sights! what sounds! what smells!" she huddled into her chair and stared at the dull flame behind the little door of the stove. "oh, i know them all. think of something else. surely you met--but literally--hundreds of officers, and some must have interested you. the british officer at best is a superb creature--if he would only stand up straight. i saw one at the crillon to-day whose good american shoulders made me stare at him quite rudely." "who was he?" "haven't the faintest idea. i only saw his back, anyway. surely you must have been more than passing interested in one or two." "i am not susceptible. and nursing is not conducive to romance." "but you never were romantic, gora dear. and you are good-looking in your odd way. and that was your great, chance." "well, i'm afraid i was too busy or too tired to take it. now ... perhaps ... but i'm afraid i don't inspire men with either romance or passion. they like me and are grateful--that is, as grateful as an englishman can be; they take most things for granted." "the french are so grateful, poor dears. i loved them all. after all ... frenchmen...." her voice grew dreamy. again gora threw her an amused glance. "you must have met many of them at your friend, madame de morsigny's, and under far more attractive conditions than any man can hope for in a sick bed.... i can't imagine any more appropriate destiny for you ... you should be madame la duchesse at the very least." "not money enough, and besides they've all grown so religious, or think they have, they wouldn't stand for divorce. anyhow it would be so hard on 'the family'! ... still.... but why, gora dear, do you depreciate yourself? it seems to me that you are just the type that a certain sort of man would appreciate--fall in love with. i've heard even american men who play about in society comment on your looks, different as you are from sport and fluff and come-hitherness; and you only need a few months' rest to look like your old self. i should think that a highly intelligent englishman would find you irresistible, especially if you had shown your womanly side when he had holes in him. i've always had an idea that englishmen weren't nearly as afraid of intellectual women as american men are." "that's true enough. but i doubt if there are any men more susceptible to beauty, or quite as lustful after it, no matter how romantic they may think they are feeling. i've talked to a good many of them in the past four years, and for six months i was in charge of a convalescent hospital in kent. i think i've pretty thoroughly plumbed the englishman. they found me sympathetic all right, forgot their racial shyness and inadvertently gave me much valuable material. but i saw no indication that i made any sex appeal to them whatever." "not one? not ever?" gora gave a slight withdrawing movement as if something sacred had been touched. but she answered: "oh ... some day i may have something to tell you.... you said much the same thing to me a little while ago. tell me now." alexina turned over on her elbow to beat up her pillows. then she answered lightly but firmly: "not unless you promise to do likewise. mine is such a little thing anyhow. i know by the expression of your face--just now--that, yours is the real thing. is he in paris?" "i'm ... not sure.... yes, there is something ... the conditions are very peculiar ... not at all what you think ... there is so much more to it.... no, i don't think i can tell you." a fortnight ago alexina could have lifted her eyes and uttered gathbroke's name as if groping through a jungle of memories. but she could no more force his name through her lips now than she could have laid bare all that was in her tumultuous soul. it was, in fact, all she could do to keep from screaming. for a moment her excitement was so intense that she jumped from the bed and ran over and opened the window. "this room gets intolerably stuffy. that is the worst of it--freeze or stifle." "oh, i have been cold so long! please don't leave it open. that's a darling." v alexina closed it with an amiable smile. "what would you do, gora, if you were really mad about a man? have him at any cost? annihilate anything that stood in your way? anybody, i mean." an appalling light came into gora's pale eyes as she turned them, at first in some surprise, on her sister-in-law: "yes, if i thought he cared ... could be made to care if i had the chance ... if another woman tried to get him away ... yes, i don't fancy i'd stop at anything.... even if i finally were forced to believe that he never could care for me in that way, the only way that counts with men--at first, anyway ... well, i believe i'd fight to the death just the same. when you've waited for thirty-four years ... well, you know what you want! better die fighting than live on interminably for nothing ... less than nothing.... i can't tell you any more. please don't ask me." "of course not. i'll tell you my little story." and she gave a rapid vivid account of the remarkable scene at the embassy. she concluded abruptly: "do you think one could tell that a man's eyes were hazel--the golden-brown hazel--across a pitch dark room above the flame of a briquet?" "hazel?" alexina was standing behind gora. she saw her body stiffen. "i could have vowed they were hazel. and that he was english. he also reminded me of some one i must have met somewhere or other ... one meets so many ... possibly it was only a fancy." "you didn't see him after the lights went on again?" "they didn't. only candles. we were all too anxious to get away, anyhow. i fancy the king was in a hurry to get the ambassador upstairs and tell him what he thought of him--" "don't be flippant. you always did have a maddening habit of being flippant at the wrong time. haven't you seen him again anywhere?" "i've walked the rue de rivoli and lunched at the ritz looking for him; but i've never had even a glimpse--unless that was his back i saw at the crillon to-day. if i saw his eyes i'd know in a minute." "why should you think it was his back?" "some men have expression in the back of their head. and i just had an idea--fantastic, no doubt--that my particular englishman stands up straight." "yours?" "yes, i'm feeling quite too fearfully romantic. i'm sure he's looking for me as hard as i am for him. and if i find him i'll keep him." she saw gora's long brown hands slowly clench until they looked like steel. she glanced at her own slim white hands. they were quite as strong if more ornamental. she yawned politely. "i'm not so romantic as sleepy. i know that you must be dead after your journey. they say it's more trouble to travel to paris from london than from new york. the girls won't be back for a week. you must get your things to-morrow and come out here. i won't hear of your living in paris discomfort with three two empty rooms." "that is good of you. yes, i'll come. and perhaps your landlady, or whatever they call them here, could put me up later. now that i have come to paris i intend to see it. i believe some of the great galleries and museums are to be reopened." "andré will arrange it if they're not. how you will enjoy it with your sensitiveness to all the arts. take this candle in ease the bulb is burnt out. it usually is." vi gora had risen. her face wore an expression both puzzled and grim; but she and alexina as they said good-night looked full into each other's eyes without faltering. and alexina had never looked more ingenuous. perhaps that dim idea ... that she had thrown down a challenge ... had come out in the open for a moment ... insolently? ... honestly? ... she _must_ be completely fagged out after that abominable trip to have such absurd fancies. she took her candle; and disposed herself in janet's bed, between four walls that gave her an unexpected and heavenly privacy, with a deep sigh of gratitude, dismissing fantasies. vii during the next ten days alexina kept as close to gora as was possible in the circumstances. she had made many engagements and not all of them were social; there were still gowns to be fitted, committee meetings to attend. twice gora appeared to have risen with the dawn, and she vanished for the day. nevertheless, it grew increasingly evident to alexina's alert and penetrating vision that gora was neither peaceful nor happy; therefore it was safe to assume that she had not found gathbroke. for some reason she had not inquired at the british embassy. or a letter to its care had failed to reach him. possibly he was enjoying himself without formalities. she took gora twice to the ritz to luncheon and on several afternoons to tea. but it was a mob of americans and members of the various commissions. a brilliant sight, but not in the least satisfactory. it was quite patent from gora's ever traveling eyes that she sought and never found. therefore when olive asked alexina to go to one of the towns where the oeuvre had a branch and attend to an important matter that mrs. wallack was far too much of a novice to be entrusted with, she agreed at once. she experienced a growing desire to get away by herself--away from paris--away from gora. she wanted to think. what if gora did meet him first? she would be but the more certain to meet him herself. moreover ... give gora a sporting chance. janet and alice had written from nice that they might be detained for some time. gora unpacked her trunk and settled down in the pension with that air of indestrucible patience that had always made her formidable. she was not one of life's favorites, but she had wrung prizes from that unamiable deity more than once. alexina speculated. gora had all the brains that mortimer lacked and commanding traits of character. she was so striking in appearance even now that people often turned and stared at her. but unless she possessed the potent spell of woman for man all her gifts would avail her nothing in this tragic crisis of her life. did she possess it i no woman could answer. certainly alexina had never seen evidence of it even in gora's youth; although to be sure her opportunities had been few. still ... when a woman possesses the most subtle and powerful of all the fascinations men are drawn to it, no matter how dark the sky or high the barriers. nothing is keener than the animal essence. still ... she had heard that some women developed it later than others. alexina feared nothing else. she fancied that gora took leave of her with a little indrawn sigh of relief. it was with difficulty that she repressed her own. chapter viii i "can this be lieutenant james kirkpatrick?" kirkpatrick wheeled about and snatched off his cap. "mrs. dwight, by all that's holy! i never expected any such luck as this!" they shook hands warmly in the deserted square which had been a shambles during the first battle of the marne, and in the days of cæsar and attila, of napoleon the great and napoleon the little. to-day it was as gray and peaceful, its houses as aloof and haughty as if war had never been. it was a false impression, however, for it was the paralysis of war it expressed, not even the normal peace of a dull provincial town. "i've often wondered about you," said alexina. "but i've been working with the french army and had no way of finding out. you don't look as if you had been wounded." "nary scratch, and in the thick of it. my, but it's good to sec you again." he stared at her, his face flushed and his breath short. then he asked abruptly: "when do you think we're goin' home?" alexina laughed merrily. "that is the first question every officer or private i have met since the armistice has asked me. i should feel greatly flattered, but i fancy the question, being always on the top of your minds, simply babbles off." "you bet. but--jimminy! i'm glad to see you. you're lookin' thin, though. been workin', too, i'll bet." "oh, yes--and all your old class has worked; most of them over here. mrs. cheever couldn't come, as her husband is in the army. but she's worked hard in california." "i believe you. the women have come up to the scratch, no doubt of that. although some of them! good lord! this isn't my usual language when speaking of them. but if some came over to do just about as they damn please, the others strike the balance, and on the whole i think more of women than i did." "that's good news. but you mustn't blame them too severely. i mean those that really came over with a single purpose and were not proof against the forcing house of war. as for the others ... well, a good many followed their men over, others came after excitement, others, as you say, to do as they pleased, with no questions asked--possibly! i shouldn't take enough interest in them to criticize them if they hadn't used the war-relief organizations, from the red cross down to the smallest oeuvre, as a pretext to get over, and then calmly throw us down--the oeuvres, i mean. mine was 'done' several times. but let us be good healthy optimists such as our country loves and remind ourselves that the worthy outnumber the unworthy--and that the really bad would have gone the same way sooner or later." "it goes. optimism for me for ever more once i get out of france." ii they had crossed the square and were walking down a narrow crooked street as gray as if the dust of ages were in its old walls. alexina looked at him curiously. he had never had what might be called a soft and tender countenance, but now it looked like cast-iron covered with red rust, and his eyes were more like bits of the same metal, blackened and polished, than ever. his youth had gone. there were deep vertical lines in his face. his mouth was cynical. his bullet head, shaved until only a cap of black stiff hair remained on top, and presumably safe from assault, by no means added to the general attractiveness of his style. he was straighter, more compact, than before, however, and his uniform at least did not have the truly abominable cut of the private. "what do you think of war as war?" she asked. "sherman for me. not that i didn't enjoy sticking germans with the best of 'em when my blood was up. but the rest of it--god almighty!" they stopped before a solid double door in a high wall. "will you come and take tea with me this afternoon? i am staying here for a few days. i'm afraid i can't offer you sugar, or cakes--" "i'll bring the sugar along. i'm in barracks just outside and solid with, the commissary." "heavens, what a windfall! you'll be sure to come?" "won't i, just? expect me at four-thirty." he lifted his cap from his comical head, then sainted, swung on his heel and marched off, swinging both arms from the shoulders and looking a fine martial figure of a man. "but still the same old kirkpatrick," thought alexina. "i wonder if he will go bolshevik?" iii her ring was answered by the old woman who toot care of the house and alexina entered the wild garden. there was an acre of it, but it had been so long uncared for that it looked like a jungle caught between four high gray walls. it was the property of one of the french members of the oeuvre and was used as a storehouse for hospital supplies and as headquarters for alexina when business brought her to this part of the marne valley. she had been here several times during the siege of verdun in nineteen-sixteen when her bed had quivered all night, and once a big gun had been trained on the city and a shell had fallen near the headquarters of the staff. last night she had lain awake wondering if she did not miss the sound of the distant guns, as she had in passy where there was no noisy traffic to take their place. there is a certain amount of morbidity in all highly strung imaginative minds, and although she had developed no love for big bertha nor for the sound of high firing guns attacking avions in the middle of the night, there had been something in that steady boom of cannon whose glare stained the horizon that had thrilled and excited her. iv on the right of the main hall of the house was the room she used as an office; the dining-room was opposite; the salon ran the whole length at the back. this was quite a beautiful room furnished in the style of the last bourbons, and its long windows opened upon a stone terrace leading down into what was still a picturesque garden in spite of its neglect. there were three fine oaks, and the chestnut trees along the wall shut off the town from even the upper windows. the oeuvre always managed to keep a load of wood in the cave and to-day the concierge had raised the temperature of the salon to sixty-five degrees fahrenheit alexina cleared a table and told the woman to set it for tea, then went upstairs to change her dress. as she had made her trip in one of the automobiles belonging to the oeuvre she had been able to bring her little stove, and her bedroom was also warm. she had also brought one of her new gowns, knowing that she should receive visits from several french officers, and she concluded to put it on for kirkpatrick. he was worth the delicate compliment; moreover it almost obliterated the ravages of war, for it was of periwinkle blue velvet edged with fur about the high square of the neck and at the wrists of the long sleeves: in these days it was wise to revert to the fashions of the centuries when palaces and houses alike were cold and gowns were made for comfort as well as fashion. to complete the proportions it had a train and the sleeves were slightly puffed. alexina was quite aware that she "looked like a picture" in it. she still wore her hair brushed softly back and coiled low at the base of her beautiful curved head. her pearls were the only jewels she had brought to france and she always wore them. she sighed as she looked at the vision in the mirror. for kirkpatrick! but she was used to the irony of life. chapter ix i he arrived promptly at half-past four and in his capacious hands were three packages which arrested her eyes at once. he presented them one by one. "sugar. loaf of white bread. candy--i'm also solid with one of the doctors." "i feel like pinching myself. white bread!--i've only tasted it twice in two years-both times at the crillon. and candy--not a sight of it for more than that. i don't like the heavy french chocolates, which were all one could get when one could get anything. i shall eat at least half and take the other half back to gora." "miss dwight? she's done good work, i'll bet. just in her line. somehow, i don't see you--what did you do?" he watched her hungrily as she made the tea, sitting in a gilt and brocaded chair, whose high tarnished back seemed to frame her dark head. "oh, lord!" he sighed. "what is it?" "don't ask me. what've you been doing? yes, i'll drink tea to please you." "i nursed at first--as an auxiliary, of course--what is the matter?" "can't bear to think of it. i hope you've not been doin' that for four years!" "oh, no. i've been at work with a war-relief organization in paris most of the time. that was too monotonous to talk about, and, thank heaven, this will probably end my connection with it. i am much more interested to know how the war has affected you. are you still a socialist?" "ain't i!" "not going bolshevik, i hope." "not so's you'd notice it. i want changes all right and more'n ever, but i've had enough of blood and fury and mix-ups without copying them murdering skally-wags. that's all they are. just out for loot and revenge and not sense enough to know that to-morrow there'll be no loot, and revenge'll come from the opposite direction. i may have been in hell but my head's screwed on in the same place." "i wondered ... i've heard so many stories about the grievances of the soldiers." "every last one of 'em got a grievance. hate their officers, and often reason enough. hate the discipline. hate the food. hate the neglect in hospital when the flu is raging. hate gettin' no letters, and as like as not no pay and no tobacco. hate bein' gouged by the french like they were by the good americans when they were in camp on the other side. hate every last thing a man just naturally would hate when he is livin' in a filthy trench, or even camp, and homesick in the bargain.... but as for mass-dissatisfaction--not a bit of it. loyal as they make 'em. laugh at bolshevik propaganda just like they laughed at hun propaganda. they just naturally seem to hate every other race, allied or enemy, and that makes them so all-fired american they're fit to bust. of course there's plenty of skallywags--caught in the draft--and just waitin' to get home and turn loose on the community. but in the good old style: burglars, highwaymen, yeggs. not a new frill. europe hasn't a thing on the good old american criminal brand. they fought well, too. any man does who's a man at all. but lord! they'll cut loose when they get back. every wild bad trait they was born with multiplied by one hundred and fifty ... before i go any further i want to warn you that i'm liable to break out into bad language any minute. it gets to be a kind of habit in the army to swear every other word like." "don't mind me," said alexina dryly. "after i was put out of my hotel i managed to get a room in one of the hotels on the rue de rivoli for two nights before i found my pension in passy. the walls were thin. the room next to mine was occupied by two american officers and the one beyond by two more. they talked back and forth with apparently no thought of the possibility of being overheard. such language! and not only swear words--although one of these to two of any. such adventures as they related! such frankness! such plain undiluted anglo-saxon! fancy a girl with all her illusions fresh, and worshiping some heroic figure in khaki, listening to such a revelation of the nether side of man's life!" "men are hogs, all right. i don't like the idea of your having heard such things." kirkpatrick scowled heavily. "nor did i. but i had no cotton to put in my ears. i couldn't sleep in the street. nor could i ask them to keep quiet and admit i had heard them." "well, i guess you can forget anything you have a mind to. you couldn't look like you do--a kind of princess out of a fairy tale and an angel mixed, if you couldn't." "a black-haired angel! and all the princesses of legend had golden hair." "well, that's just another way you're different." he changed the subject abruptly. "what you goin' to do now!" "i wish i knew." "goin' back to california?" "if i knew i would tell you. but i don't. you see.... well, i shall not live with mr. dwight again. we had been really separated a long while before i left--and then he has done nothing for the war. that is only one reason. what should i do there? i had thought of going into business before i left. but i shall have a good income, and what right have i to go into business and use my large connection to get customers away from those that need the money for their actual bread?" "not the ghost of an excuse. farce, i call it. as long as the present system lasts women of your class better be ornamental and satisfied with that than take the bread out of mouths that need it." "i could not settle down to the old life. it isn't that i'm in love with work. for that matter i'm only too grateful to be able to rest. but i must fill in, some way. possibly i could do that better in france or england, where vita! subjects are always being discussed--and happening!--where i would not only be interested but possibly useful in many ways. i should feel rather a brute, knowing the conditions of europe as i do, to go back and settle down on the smiling abundance of california. and bored to death." "then you think you'll stay? ... you'd be wasted there--at present--sure enough." "sometimes i think i'll buy this house. i could for a song. heavens! _how_ i have longed for solitude in the last four years! i could have it here with my books, and go to paris as often as i wished. it would be an ideal life. i could afford a car, and to make this house very livable. and that garden ... between those gray high walls ... in there ... that would...." she had forgotten kirkpatrick and was staring through the long windows at the dripping trees and the riot of green. "there is something about the old world ... in its byways like this ... not in its hateful capitals...." "do you mean there's something you want to forget? that this place would be consolin' like?" she met kirkpatrick's sharp dilated eyes with smiling composure. "this war, and much that has happened--incidental to it; yes." "you could forget it easier in california." "i should forget too much." "it's awful to think of you not comin' back, though i understand well enough. europe suits you all right. but ... but...." he rose abruptly almost overturning his fragile chair. "good-by, and as i guess it _is_ good-by i'll tell you something i wouldn't if there was any chance of my seein' you like i used to. it's this: if i'm more of a socialist than ever it's because of _you_! if my class hatred's blacker than ever _you're_ the cause! _you'd_ have made me a socialist if i wasn't one before. _jesus christ_! when i think what i might have had if we'd all been born alike! had the same chances! if you hadn't been born at the top and i down at the bottom ... common ... not even educated except by myself after i was too old to get what a boy gets that goes to school long enough. i wouldn't mind bein' born ugly. there's plenty of men at the top that's ugly enough, god knows. but just one generation with money irons out the commonness. that's it! i'm common! common! common. _democracy_! oh, god!" he caught up his cap and rushed out of the room, alexina ran after him and caught him at the garden door. like all beautiful women who have listened to many declarations of love (or avoided them) she was inclined to be cruel to men that roused no response in her. but she felt only pity for kirkpatrick. she had intended merely to insist upon shaking hands with him, but when she saw his contorted face she slipped her arm round his neck and kissed him warmly on the cheek. then she pushed him gently through the door and locked it. chapter x i alexina had finished giving tea to two officers, a surgeon and a médecin major, and, enchanted almost as much by the sugar and the white bread as by their hostess, refreshingly beautiful and elegant in her velvet gown of pervenche blue, they had lingered until nearly six. as the concierge had gone out on an errand of her own alexina had opened the garden door for them, and after they disappeared she stood looking at the street, which always fascinated her. it was very narrow and crooked and gray. her house was the only one with a garden in front; the others rose perpendicularly from the narrow pavement, tall and close and rather imposing. each was heavily shuttered, the shutters as gray as the walls. the town had been evacuated during the first battle of the marne and only the poor had returned. the well-to-do provincials in this street had had homes elsewhere, perhaps a flat in paris; or they had established themselves in the south. the street had an intensely secretive air, brooding, waiting. soon all these houses would be reopened, the dull calm life of a provincial town would flow again, the only difference being that the women who went in and out of those narrow doors and down this long and twisted street would wear black; but for the most part they would sit in their gardens behind, secluded from every eye, as indifferent to their neighbors as of old, with that ingrained unchangeable bourgeois suspicion and exclusiveness; and the façades, the street itself, would look little less secretive than now. ii nowhere could she find such seclusion if she wished for it. this house was the only one in the street that belonged to a member of the noblesse, and the bourgeoisie had as little "use" for the noblesse as the noblesse for the bourgeoisie. for the moment alexina felt that the house was hers, and the street itself. she was literally its only inhabitant. as she stood looking up and down its misty grayness she felt more peaceful than she had felt for many days. there were certain fierce terrible emotions that she never wanted to feel again, and one of them was ruthlessness. she had done much good in the past four years; she had been, for the most part, high-minded, self-sacrificing, indifferent to the petty things of life, even to discomfort, and it had given her a sense of elevation--when she had had time to think about it. it was only certain extraordinary circumstances that brought other qualities as inherent as life itself surging to the top. it was demoralizing even to fight them, for that involved recognition. better that she protect herself from their assaults. true, she was young, but she had had her fill of drama. all her old cravings, never satisfied in the old days of peace without and insurgence within, had been surfeited by this close personal contact with the greatest drama in history. why return to paris at all? why not settle down here at once, live a life of thought and study, and give abundant help where help was needed? there were villages within a few miles where the inhabitants were living in the ruins. (the germans in their first retreat had been too hard pressed to linger long enough to set fire to this large town and they had not been able to reach it during their second drive.) that had been a last flicker of romance at the embassy ... a last resurgence of the evil the war had done her, as she sat in her cold room ... a last blaze of sheer femininity when she discovered that gora had come to paris in search of gathbroke.... she felt as if she had escaped from a bottomless pit.... assuredly she had the will and the character to make herself now into whatever she chose to be ... let gora have him if she could find him and keep him.... better that than hating herself for the rest of her life ... love, far from being ennobling, seemed to her the most demoralizing of the passions ... there had been something ennobling, expanding, soul-stirring in hating the brutal mediæval race that had devastated france ... but in the reaction from her fierce registered vow to snatch a man from a forlorn unhappy woman no matter what her claims and have him for her own, she had shrunk from this new revelation of her depths in horror.... one could not live with that.... iii a man in khaki was walking quickly down the long crooked street. as he approached she saw the red on his collar. he was a british officer. in another moment she was shaking hands with gathbroke. she was far more composed than he, although she felt as if the world had turned over, and there was a roar in her ears like the sound of distant guns. she had a vague impression that the war had begun again. "you are the last person i should have expected to meet here. there is no british--" "i came here to see you. i got your address from madaine de morsigny. i saw her last night at a reception and recognized her. she was at that ball in san francisco. i introduced myself at once and asked her if you were in paris. i was sure it was you ... that night...." "will you come in!" he followed her into the salon, softly lit by candles. she felt that fate for once had been kind. it was difficult to imagine surroundings or conditions in which she would look lovelier, be seen to greater advantage. but her hands were cold. "it is too late for tea but perhaps you will share my frugal supper." "if it won't inconvenience you too much. thanks." she sat down in the wide brocaded chair with its tarnished back. he stood looking at her for a moment, then took a turn up and down the long room. certainly she could not object to him to-day on the score of youth and freshness. his hair had lost its brightness. his face was very brown and thin and the lines if not deep were visible even in the candle light. his nose and mouth had the hard determination that life, more especially life in war time, develops; it was no casual trick of nature with him. his eyes were still the same bright golden hazel, but their expression was keen and alert, and commanding. she fancied they could look as hard as those features more susceptible to modeling. iv "smoke if you like." "thanks. i don't want to smoke." finally when alexina was gripping the arms of the chair he began to speak. "i feel rather an ass. i hardly know how to begin. i'm no longer twenty-three. i've lived several lifetimes since this war began, and made up my mind twice that i was going out. i should feel ninety. somehow i don't feel vastly different from that day when i grabbed you like a brute because i wanted you more than anything on earth.... "i don't pretend that i've thought of you ever since. i've forgotten you for years at a time. but there have been moments when you have simply projected yourself into me and been closer than any mortal has ever been. you were there! "i felt there was some meaning in those sudden secret wonderful visits of your soul to mine--i hate to say what sounds like sentimental rotting, but that exactly expresses it. they belonged to some other plane of consciousness. it takes war to shift a man over the border if only for a moment. it kept me--lately--from ... never mind that now. when i saw your eyes above that tiny yellow flame ... it wasn't only that your eyes are not to be matched anywhere ... it seemed to me that i saw myself in them, they came as dose as that! laugh if you like." he stood defiantly in front of her. "god! you look as if you never had had an emotion, never could have one. but you had once, if only for a moment!" "i have never had one since--for any one, that is. i hear the concierge. i'll tell her to set a place for you." v she left the room and he stared after her. her words had been full of meaning but her voice had been even and cold. she returned and asked: "are you in any way committed to gora dwight?" "no ... yes ... that is ... why do you ask me that?" "are you engaged to her?" "i am not. but i came very close--that is, of course if she would have had me. she nursed me after i was wounded and gassed. she was a wonderful nurse and there was something almost romantic in meeting her again ... as if she had come straight out of the past. we had an extraordinary experience as you know. i was not in the least drawn to her at that time. you filled, possessed me." he hesitated. but it was a barrier he had not anticipated and it must go down. moreover, it was evident that she wouldn't talk, and he was too excited for silence on his own part. "she was there ... when a man is weakest ... when he values tenderness above all things ... when he does little thinking on either the past or the future. "she has a queer odd kind of fascination too, and any man must admire a woman so clever and capable and altogether fine. several times i almost proposed to her. but there is no privacy in wards. i was sent back to england and went to my brother's house in hertfordshire. it was then that you began to haunt me. she had rejuvenated that california period in my mind--resuscitated it ... but both express what i am trying to say. we had often talked about california and the fire. she alluded to you, casually, of course, more than once; but as i looked back i gathered that your marriage had been a mistake and that you had known it for a long time. "she did not come to england until four months later, and then she was in charge of a hospital. i took her out occasionally--she was very much confined. i liked her as much as ever. but _i didn't want her_. it seemed tragic. there was one chance in a million that i should ever meet you again. once i deliberately drew her on to talk of you and asked why you did not divorce your husband. she commented satirically upon the intense conservatism of your family and of your own inflexible pride. she added that you were the only beautiful woman she had ever known who seemed to be quite indifferent to men--sexless, she meant! but no woman knows anything about other women. i knew better! "as i said it was rather tragic. to be haunted by a chimera! i liked her so much. admired her. who wouldn't? if she had been able to take me home, to remain with me, there is no doubt in the world that i should have married her if she would have had me.... i prefer now to believe that she wouldn't. why should she, with a great career in front of her? "no doubt i should have loved her--with what little love i had to give. but those months had taught me that i could do without her, although i enjoyed her letters. even so ... "it was after she came to london that i felt i had to talk to some one and i went down, to the country to see lady vick-elton gwynne's mother. she had founded a hospital and run it, and was resting, worn out. she is a hard nut, empty, withered, arid. nothing left in her but noblesse oblige. but there is little she doesn't know. she was smoking a black cigar that would have knocked me down and looked like an old sibyl. i told her the whole story--all of it, that is that was not too sacred. she puffed such, a cloud of smoke that i could see nothing but her hard, bright, wise, old eyes. 'go after her,' she said. 'find her. divorce her. marry her. that's where you men have the advantage. you can stalk straight out into the open and demand what you want point blank. no scheming, plotting, deceit, being one thing and pretending another, in other words ice when you are fire. beastly rôle, woman's--' i interrupted to remind her that it was twelve years since i had seen you; that you had thrown me down as hard as a man ever got it and married another man. there was no more reason to believe that i could win you now. then she asked me what i had come to see her and bore her to death for when she was trying to rest. 'if you want a thing go for it and get it, or if you can't get it at least find out that you can't. also see her again and find out whether you want her or not, instead of mooning like a silly ass.' "the upshot was i made tip my mind to go to california as soon as i could obtain my discharge. it never occurred to me that you were in paris. then i was sent to paris with the commission. i have certain expert knowledge.... for some reason i didn't tell miss dwight.... i wrote her a hurried note saying that i was obliged to go to paris for a few weeks. "the night after i arrived i saw you at the embassy. that finished it. if i hadn't been sent back to england for some papers--twice--i'd have found you before this." chapter xi i the concierge announced supper. alexina had brought food with her and the little meal was good if not abundant. the dining-room was very dreary, although warmed by the petrol stove. it was a long dark room, paneled to the ceiling, and the two candles on the table did little more to define their lineaments to each other than the flames of briquet and match. the concierge served and they talked of the peace conference and of the general pessimism that prevailed. same old diplomacy. same old diplomatists. same old ambitions. same old european policies. an idealist had about as much chance with those astute conventionalized brains dyed in the diplomatic wiles and methods of the centuries as an unarmed man on foot with a pack of wolves.... at the moment all the other commissions were cursing italy.... she might be the stumbling block to ultimate peace.... as for the league of nations, as well ask for the millenium at once. human, nature probably inspired the creed: "as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be," etc. "what we want" (this, gathbroke), "is an alliance between great britain, and the united states. they could rule the world. let the rest of everlastingly snarling europe go hang." elton gwynne would work for that. he had already obtained his discharge and returned to america. he, gathbroke, 'd work for it too. so would anybody else in the two countries that had any sense and no personal fish to fry. ii when they returned to the salon he smoked. alexina was thankful that it was cigarettes. mortimer had made her hate cigars. if, like most englishmen, he loved his pipe, he had the tact to keep it in his pocket. it was she who reopened the subject that filled him. "i feel sorry for gora. her life has been a tragedy in a way. of course she has had her successes, her compensations. but it isn't quite everything to be the best of nurses, and i don't know that even writing could fill a woman's life. not unless she'd had the other thing first. i am afraid she'll never be very popular anyhow. there are only small groups here and there in america than can stand intellect in fiction.... it seems to me that she would make a great wife. i mean that. it is a great rôle and she could fill it greatly. i don't know, of course, whether she cares for you or not. i am not in her confidence. she is staying at my pension in passy and i saw her constantly for ten days before i came here, but she did not mention your name.... if she does she's the sort that would never marry any one else and her life would be spoilt. i don't mean to say she would give up, but she would just keep going. that seems to me the greatest tragedy of all.... "no! why should there be any of this conventional subterfuge. i believe that she does care for you. i believed so long ago. i was jealous of her. i don't mean, to say that i was in love with you. i--perhaps forced myself not to be. it seemed too silly. too utterly hopeless.... besides i knew even then the danger of letting myself go ... of the unbridled imagination. probably love is all imagination anyhow. french marriages would seem to prove it. but we--your race and mine--have fallen into a sublime sort of error, and we'll no more reason ourselves out of it than out of the sex tyranny itself.... i don't see how i could be happy with the eternal knowledge that gora was miserable--that she would be happy if i had remained in california...." "i have just told you that i should have gone to california as soon as i was free." iii the air between them quivered and their eyes were almost one. but he remained smoking in his chair and continued: "i marry you or no one. a man well and a man ill are two different beings. in illness sex is dormant. when a man is well he wants a woman or he doesn't want her. it may be neither his fault nor hers. but if she hasn't the sex pull for him, doesn't make a powerful insistent demand upon his passion, there is nothing to build on. i haven't come out alive from that shrieking hell to be satisfied with second-class emotions. i lay one night under three dead bodies, not one over twenty-five. i knew them all. each was deeply in love with a woman.... well, i knew the value of life that night if i never did before. and life was given to us, when we can hold on to it, for the highest happiness of which we are individually capable, no matter what else we are forced to put up with. happiness at the highest pitch, not makeshifts.... the horrors, the obstacles, the very demons in our own characters were second thoughts on the part of life either to satisfy her own spite or to throw her highest purpose into stronger relief. i'll have the highest or nothing." "but that is not everything. there must be other things to make it lasting. gora would make a great companion." "not half so great--to me--as you would and you know it. i hope you will understand that i dislike extremely to speak of miss dwight at all. if you had not brought her name into it i never should have done so. but now i feel i must have a complete understanding with you at any cost." he dropped his cigarette on the table. he left his chair swiftly and snatched her from her own. his face was dark and he was trembling even more than she was. "i'll have you ... have you...." she nodded. chapter xii i gora entered her room at the pension, mechanically lit the oil stove that alexina had procured for her, threw her hat on the bed, sat down in the low chair and thrust her hands info the thick coils of hair piled as always on top of her head. as she did so she caught sight of herself in the mirror and wondered absurdly why she should have kept all her hair and lost so much of her face. she looked more top-heavy than ever. her face was a small oblong, her eyes out of all proportion. she thought herself hideous. she had heard two hours before that gathbroke was in paris attached to the british commission. she had met an old acquaintance, a san francisco newspaper man, who had taken her to lunch and spoken of him casually. gathbroke had good-naturedly given him an interview when other members of the commission had been inaccessible. gathbroke had told her nothing of a definite object when he wrote her that he was off for paris. nor had he mentioned it in the note he had written her after his arrival. this had been merely to tell her that he was feeling as well as he ever had felt in his life and was enjoying himself. polite admonition not to tire herself out. he was always hers gratefully and her devoted friend. he had written the note at the rite hotel, but when, assuming this was his address, she had called him up on her arrival, she had received the information that he was not stopping there, nor had been. gora was very proud. but she was also very much in love; and she had been in love with gathbroke for twelve years. for the greater part of that time she had believed it to be hopeless, but it had always been with her, a sad but not too painful undertone in her busy life. it had kept her from even a passing interest in another man. she had even felt a somewhat ironic gratitude to him and his indifference, for all the forces of her nature, deprived of their natural outlet, went into her literary work, informing it with an arresting and a magnetic vitality. she had believed herself to be without hope, but in the remote feminine fastnesses of her nature she had hoped, even dreamed--when she had the time. that was not often. her life, except when at her desk with her literary faculty turned loose, had been practical to excess. she would have offered her services in any case to one of the warring allies, no doubt of that; the tremendous adventure would have appealed to her quite aside from the natural desire to place her high accomplishment as a nurse at the disposal of tortured men. nevertheless she was quite aware that she went to the british army with the distinct hope of meeting gathbroke again; quite as, under the cloak of travel, she would have gone to england long since had she not been swindled by mortimer. until she found him insensible, apparently at the point of death, after the terrible disaster of march, nineteen-eighteen, she had only heard of him once: when she read in the _times_ he had been awarded the d.s.o. she knew then where he was and maneuvered to get back to france. she found him sooner than she had dared to hope. and she believed that she had saved his life. not only by her accomplished nursing. her powerful will had thrown out its grappling irons about his escaping ego and dragged it back and held it in its exhausted tenement. he had believed that also. he had an engaging spontaneity of nature and he had felt and shown her a lively gratitude. he was restless and frankly unhappy when she was out of his sight. he had a charming way of baying charming things to a woman and he said them to her. but he was also as full of ironic humor as in his letters and "ragged" her. and he talked to her eagerly when he was better and she had gone with him to a hospital far back of the lines. there were intervals when they could talk, and the other men would listen ... and had taken things for granted. so had she. he had not made love to her. there was no privacy. moreover, she guessed that his keen sense of the ridiculous would not permit him to make love to any woman when helpless under her hands. but how could there be other than one finale to such a story as theirs? what was fiction but the reflection of life? if she had written a story with these obvious materials there could have been but one logical ending--unless, in a sudden spasm of reaction against romance, she had killed him off. but he would live; and not be strong enough to return to the front for mouths ... the war _must_ be over by then.... as for romance, well, she was in the romantic mood. it was a right of youth that she had missed, but a woman may be quite as romantic at thirty-four as at eighteen, if she has sealed her fountain instead of splashing it dry when she was too young to know its preciousness. once before she had surrendered to romance, fleetingly: during the week that followed the night she had sat on calvary with gathbroke and watched a sea of flames. the mood descended upon her, possessed her. she had other patients. there were the same old horrors, the same heart-rending duties; but the mood stayed with her. and after he left, for england. she knew there could, be but one ending. her imagination had surrendered to tradition. moreover, she was tired of hard work. she wanted to settle down in a home. she wanted children. she must always write, of course. writing was as natural to her as breathing. and she had already proved that a woman could do two things equally well. ii she never thought of trying to follow him back to england, to shirk the increasing terrible duties behind the reorganized but harassed armies. the wounded seemed to drop through the hospital roof like flies. nevertheless when she was abruptly transferred to london she went without protest! it was then that she began to have misgivings. she was given charge of a large hospital just outside of london and her duties were constant and confining. but she managed to go out to lunch with him twice and once to dine; after which they drove back to the hospital in a slow and battered old hansom. she returned a few weeks before the armistice. she had not seen him for four months. he was well and expecting to be sent back to the front any day. at present they were making use of him in london. if anything he appeared to admire her more than ever, to be more solicitous for her health. he lamented personally her exacting duties. but it was the almost exuberant friendliness of one man for another, for a comrade, a good fellow; although he often paid her quick little diagnostic compliments. if she hadn't loved him she would have enjoyed his companionship. he had read and thought and lived. before the war he had been in active public life. he had far greater plans for the future. he had been almost entirely impersonal. it had maddened her. even the night they had driven through the dark streets of london out to her hospital, although he had talked more or less about himself, even encouraged her to talk about herself, there had not been one instant of correlation. but she had made excuses as women do, in self-defense. he assumed that he might easily go back to the front just in time to get himself killed, although the end of the war was in sight.... her utter lack of experience with men in any sex relation had made her stiff, even in her letters; afraid of "giving herself away." she had no coquetry. if she had, pride would have forbidden her to use it. her ideals were intensely old-fashioned. she wanted to be pursued, won. the man must do it all. her writings had never been in the least romantic. well, she was, if romance meant having certain fixed ideals. one thing puzzled her. when she wrote she manipulated her men and women in their mutual relations with a master-hand. but she had not the least idea how to manage her own affair. what was genius? a rotten spot in the brain, a displacement of particles that operated independently of personality, of the inherited ego? possession? ancestors come to life for an hour in the subliminal depths? but what did she care for genius anyhow! one thing she would have been willing to do as her part, aside from meeting him mentally at all points and showing a brisk frank pleasure in his society: give him every chance to woo and win her, to find her more and more indispensable to his happiness. but she was no woman of leisure. she could not receive him in charming toilettes in an equally seductive room. she had nothing for evening wear but an old black satin gown. after her arrival in london she had found time to buy a smart enough tailored coat and skirt, and a hat, but nothing more. and after the armistice was declared she only saw him once. then came his abrupt departure for paris. his noncommittal note. even then she refused to despair. it would be an utterly impossible end to such a story ... after twelve years ... not for a moment would she accept that. iii she applied for her discharge. during her long stay in the british service she had made influential friends. she had also made a high record not only for ability but for an untiring fidelity. her vacations had been few and brief. she obtained her discharge and went to paris. her pride would permit her to telephone. what more natural? nothing would have surprised him more than if she had not. she had little doubt of his falling into the habit of daily companionship. he knew paris and she did not. he would have seen her daily in london if she had been free. something, no doubt of that, held him back. he was discouraged ... or not sure of himself.... she had assumed as a matter of course that he was at the ritz. when she found that he was not, had not been, she realized that he had omitted to give her an address. that might have been mere carelessness.... but to find him in paris! she had not visualized such swarms of people. she might almost have passed him on the street and not seen him. but not for a moment did she waver from her purpose. she held passionately to the belief that were they together day after day, hours on end.... unbelievable. iv she had telephoned an hour ago to the hotel where he was staying with other members of the british commission and been told that he was out of town, but might return any moment. there was nothing to do but write him a note and wait. she was not equal to the humiliation of telephoning a third time. she wrote it at the hotel where her english friends were staying and sent it by messenger, having heard of the idiosyncracies of the paris post. hastings, her newspaper friend, had been altogether a bird of ill omen. he had told her that the american market was glutted with "war stuff." the public was sick of it. some of the magazines were advertising that they would read no more of it. she had told him that her material was magnificent and he had replied: "can it. maybe a year or two from now--five, more likely. i'm told over here that the war fiction we've had wished on us by the ton resembles the real thing just about as much as maneuvers look like the first battle of the marne, say, when the germans didn't know where they were at; went out quail hunting and struck a jungle full of tigers.... why not? when most of 'em were written by men of middle age snug beside a library fire with mattresses on the roof--in america not even a zeppelin to warm up their blood. but that doesn't matter. the public took it all as gospel. ate it up. now it is fed up and wants something else." what irony! and what a future if he--but that she would not face. chapter xii i she heard janet maynard, who had returned alone the day before from nice, enter the next, room. she kept very still; she had no desire for conversation. but janet tapped on her door in a moment and entered looking very important. "i've something to tell you," she announced. "you'd never guess in a thousand years. don't get up. sit on the bed-used to any old place. only too thankful it isn't a box, or to sit down at all. try one of mine? don't you feel well?" "i've a rotten headache." "oh ... mind my smoking?" "not a bit. what did you have to tell me?" "well, 'way back in ancient times, b.w., nineteen hundred and six, a young englishman named gathbroke came to california after his sister, who was ill." she was blowing rings and did not see gora's face. when she leveled her eyes gora was unbuttoning her gaiters. "it seems she died some time during the fire and he had a perfectly horrid experience getting the body out to the cemetery. but that has nothing to do with the story. he met olive and the rest of us--_and alexina_--the night of the hofer ball. i had forgotten the whole thing until olive reminded me that we had joked alex afterward about the way she had bowled him over. his eyes simply followed her, but mortimer gave him no chance. "then. i remembered something else. isabel gwynne once told me that her husband was sure gathbroke had proposed to alex one day when he took him down to eincona. he was in a simply awful state of nerves afterward. john thought he was going out of his mind. now, here's the point. night before last olive was at a ball and who should come up to her and introduce himself but gathbroke. he's changed a lot but she recognized him. well, he hardly waited to finish the usual amenities before he asked her plump out if alex was in paris, said he was positive he had seen her at that embassy ball where all the lights went out and they expected a riot. he turned white when he did it, but he was as direct as chain lightning. he wanted her address. of course he got it. olive was thrilled. it's safe to assume that he's with alex at the present moment. at any rate olive called him up this morning intending to ask him to dinner, and was told he was out of town. now, isn't that romance for you?" "rather." "twelve years! fancy a man being faithful all that time. hadn't got what he wanted, that's probably why. have you ever heard alex speak of him? think she'll divorce mortimer?" "i asked her the other night why she didn't. she said it was against the traditions of the family. but--i recall--she said--it seemed to me there was a curious sort of meaning in her voice--that if she wanted to marry a man nothing would stop her." "and it wouldn't. nothing would stop alexina if anything started her. the trouble always was to start her. she's indolent and unsusceptible and fastidious. but deep and intense--lord! mark my words, she saw him at the embassy. if she did and the thing's mutual she'll give poor old maria such a shock that the war will look like ten cents." "possibly." "you look really ill, gora. no wonder you have headaches with that hair. it's magnificent--but! go to bed and i'll send up your dinner. got any aspirin?" "yes, thanks." "au 'voir." chapter xiii i the day was fine and alexina took advantage of the brief interval of grace and went for a walk. gathbroke was in paris but might come out any moment. she wore a coat and skirt of heavy white english tweed with a silk blouse of periwinkle blue. the same soft shade lined her black velvet hat. she had a number of notes changed at the bank and struck out for one of the ruined villages. she was in a mood to distribute happiness, and only silver coin could carry a ray of light into the dark stupefied recesses of those miserable wretches living in the ruins of homes haunted by memories of their dead. she felt a very torch of happiness herself. her body and her brain glowed with it. the currents of her blood seemed to have changed their pace and their essence. the elixir of life was in them. she felt less woman than goddess. she knew now why she had been born, why she had waited. as long as this terrible war had to be she was thankful for her intimate contact with the very martyrdom of suffering; never else could she have known to the full the value of life and youth and health and the power to be triumphantly happy in love. she would have liked to wave a wand and make all the world happy, but as this was as little possible as to remake human nature itself she soared into an ether of her own to revel in her astounding good fortune. ii the village she approached was picturesque in its ruin for it climbed the side of a hill, and although the germans had set fire deliberately to every house the shells for the most part remained. along the low ridge was a row of brick walls in various stages of gaunt and jagged transfiguration. they looked less the victims of fire than of earthquake. the narrow ascending street was filled with rubble. she picked her way and peered into the ruins. at first she saw no one; the place seemed to be deserted. then some one moved in a dark cellar, and as she stood at the top of the short flight of steps a very old woman came forward into the light. there were two children at her heels. alexina suddenly felt very awkward. she had always thought the mere handing out of money the most detestable part of charity. but there was nothing here to buy. that was obvious. the old woman however relieved her embarrassment. she extended a skinny hand. the poor of france are not loquacious, but like all their compatriots they know what they want, and no doubt feel that life is simplified when they are in a position to ask for it. alexina gratefully handed her a coin and hurried on. her next experience was as simple but more delicate. a younger woman had fitted up a corner of her ruin with a petticoat for roof and a plank supported by two piles of brick for counter and had laid in a supply of the post cards that pictured with terrible fidelity the ruins of her village. alexina bought the entire stock, "to scatter broadcast in the united states," and promised to send her friends for more; assuring the woman that when the tourists came to france once more these ruined villages would be magnets for gold. she managed to get rid of her coins without much difficulty, although comparatively few of the village's inhabitants had returned, and these by stealth. many of them had trekked far! others were still detained at the hostels in paris and other cities where they could be looked after without too much trouble. several had set up housekeeping in the cellars in a fashion not unlike that of their cave dwelling ancestors, and a few had found a piece of roof above ground to huddle under when it rained. some talked to her pleasantly, some were surly, others unutterably sad. none refused her largesse, and she was amused to look back and see a little procession making for the town, no doubt with intent to purchase. in one side street less choked with rubbish small boys were playing at war. but for the most part the children looked very sober. they had been spared the horrors of occupation but they had suffered privations and been surrounded by grief and despair. iii when she had exhausted her supplies she took refuge in the church. it was at the end of the long street on the ridge and after she had rested she could leave the village by its farther end, and by making a long détour avoid the painful necessity of refusing alms. there was no roof on the church; otherwise it would have been the general refuge. part of it including the steeple was some distance away and looked as if it had been blown off. the rest had gone down with one of the walls. it was a charred unlovely ruin. saints and virgins sometimes defied the worst that war could do, but all had succumbed here. the paneless windows in the walls that still remained precariously erect framed pictures of a quiet and lovely landscape. the stone walls were intact about the farms in which moved a few old men and women in faded cotton frocks that looked like soft pastels. the oaks were majestic and serene. the hills were lavender in the distance. but the farm houses were in ruins and so was a château on a hill. alexina could see its black gaping walls through the grove of chestnut trees withered by the fire. she wandered about looking for a seat however humble but could find nothing more inviting than piles of brick and twisted iron. she noticed an open place in the floor and went over to it and peered down. there was a flight of steps ending in cimmerian darkness. doubtless the vaults of the great families of the neighborhood were down there. she wondered if the spite of the huns had driven them to demolish the very bones of the race they were unable to conquer. iv suddenly she stiffened. a chill ran up her spine. she had an overwhelming sense of impending danger and stepped swiftly away from the edge of the aperture; then turned about, and faced gora dwight. chapter xiv i "oh," she said calmly, although her nerves still shuddered. "you must walk like a fairy. i didn't hear you." "one must pick one's way through rubbish." "ghastly ruin, isn't it?" "life is ghastly." alexina made no reply lest she deny this assertion out of the wonder of her own experience. she guessed what gora had come for and that she was feeling as elemental as she looked. she herself had recovered from that sudden access of horror but she moved still further from, that black and waiting hole. "are you going to marry gathbroke?" the gauntlet was down and alexina felt a sharp sense of relief. she was in no mood for the subtle evasion and she had not the least inclination to turn up her eyes. she made up her mind however to save gora's pride as far as possible. "yes," she said. "you dare say that to me?" alexina raised her low curved eyebrows. she seldom raised them but when she did she looked like all her grandmothers. "dare? did you expect me to lie? is that what you wish?" gora clutched her muff hard against her throat. (alexina wondered if she had a pistol in it.) her eyes looked over it pale and terrible. alexina had the advantage of her in apparent calm, but there was no sign of confusion in those wide baleful irises with their infinitesimal pupils. "you knew that i loved him. that i had loved him for twelve years." "i _knew_ nothing of the sort. you had his picture on your mantel and you corresponded with him off and on but you never gave me a hint that you loved him. twelve years! good heaven! a friendship extending over such a period was conceivable; natural enough. but a romance! when such an idea did cross my mind i dismissed it as fantastic. you always seemed to me the embodiment of common sense." "there is no such thing. it is true--that i hardly believed it then--admitted it. but i knew we should meet again. he never had married. it looked like destiny when i did meet him. i nursed him--" she paused and her eyes grew sharp and watchful, alexina's face showed no understanding and she went on, still watching. "i nursed him back to life. through a part of his convalescence. a woman _knows_ certain things. he almost loved me then. if we could have been alone he would have found out--asked me to marry him. we should be married to-day. if i could have seen him constantly in london it would have been the same." she burst out violently: "i believe you wrote to him to come to paris." "my dear gora! keep your imagination for your fiction. i had forgotten his existence until i saw him, for a few seconds, at a reception. don't forget that he came to paris under orders from his government." "but you recognized him that night. you came down here to meet him, to get away from me." "far from coming here to meet him i had given up all hope of ever seeing him again. he found out my address and followed me. you also seem to forget that you never mentioned his name to me in paris. how was i to know that you were still interested in him?" "that first night ... you guessed it ... you threw down a sort of challenge. deny that if you can!" "no! i'll not deny it. i wanted him as badly as you did if with less reason. nevertheless ... believe it or not as you like ... i came down here as much to leave the field clear to you as for my own peace of mind. i think ... i fancy ... i decided to leave the matter on the knees of the gods." "do you mean to tell me that if i had met him while we were together in paris, and you knew the truth, that you would not have tried to win him away from me?" "i wonder! i have asked myself that question several times. i like to think that i should have been noble, and withdrawn. but i am not at all sure.... yes, i do believe i should, not from noble unselfishness, oh, not by a long sight, but from pride--if i saw that he was really in love with you. i'd never descend to scheming and plotting and pitting my fascinations against another woman--" "oh, damn your aristocratic highfalutin pride. i suppose you mean that i have no such pride, having no inherited right to it. perhaps not or i wouldn't be here to-day. at least i wouldn't be talking to you," she added, her voice hoarse with significance. once more alexina eyed the muff. "did you come here to kill me?" "yes, i did. no, i haven't a pistol. i couldn't get one. i trusted to opportunity. when i saw you standing at the edge of that hole i thought i had it." alexina found it impossible to repress a shiver but in spite of those dreadful eyes she felt no recurrence of fear. "what good would that have done you? murderesses get short shrift in france. there is none of that sickening sentimentalism here that we are cursed with in our country." "murders are not always found out. if you were at the bottom of that hole it would be long before you were found and there is no reason why i should be suspected. i didn't come through the village. i didn't even inquire at your house. i saw you leave it and followed at a distance. if i'd pushed you down there i'd have followed and killed you if you were not dead already." alexina wondered if she intended to rush her. but she was sure of her own strength. if one of them went down that hole it would not be she. nevertheless she was beginning to feel sorry for gora. she had never sensed, not during the most poignant of her contacts with the war, such stark naked misery in any woman's soul. its futile diabolism but accentuated its appeal. "well, you missed your chance," she said coldly. gora was in no mood to receive sympathy! "and if you hadn't and escaped detection i don't fancy you would have enjoyed carrying round with you for the next thirty or forty years the memory of a cowardly murder. too bad we aren't men so that we could have it out in a fair fight. my ancestors were all duellists. no doubt yours were too," she added politely. "perhaps you are right." for the first time there was a slight hesitation in gora's raucous tones. but she added in a swift access of anger: "i suppose you mean that your code is higher than mine. that you are incapable of killing from behind." "good heavens! i hope so! ... still ... i will confess i have had my black moods. it is possible that i might have let loose my own devil if--if--things had turned out differently." "oh, no, you wouldn't! not when it came to the point. you would have elevated your aristocratic nose and walked off." she uttered this dictum with a certain air of personal pride although her face was convulsed with hate. "gora, you are really making an ass of yourself. if you had taken more time to think it over you wouldn't have followed me up with any such melodramatic intention as murder. good god! haven't you seen enough of murder in the past four years? i could readily fancy you going in for some sort of revenge but i should have expected something more original--" "murder's natural enough when you've seen nothing else as long as i have. and as for human life--how much value do you suppose i place on it after four years of war? i had almost reached the point where death seemed more natural than life." "oh, yes ... but later.... there are tremendous reactions after war. settled down once more in our smiling land my ghost would be an extremely unpleasant companion. you see, gora, you are just now in that abnormal state of mind known as inhibition. but, unfortunately, perhaps, in spite of the fact that you have proved yourself to be possessed of a violence of disposition--that i rather admire--you were not cut out to be the permanent villain. you have great qualities. and for thirty-four years of your life you have been a sane and reasonable member of society. for four of those years you have been an angel of mercy.... oh, no. if you had killed me you would have killed yourself later. you couldn't live with gathbroke for you couldn't live with yourself. silly old tradition perhaps, but we are made up of traditions.... that was one reason i left paris, gave up trying to find him.... i knew that i could have him. but i also knew that you had had some sort of recent experience with him, that you had come to paris to find him, that possibly if left with a clear field you could win him. i knew--oh, yes, i knew!--that he would know instantly he was mine if we met. but ... well, i too have to live with myself. it might be that he was committed to you, that if he married you, you would both be happy enough. when he did come nothing would have tempted me to accept him if i had still believed--" "did he tell you? tell you how close he came? tell you that i was in love with him?" "my dear gora, i fancy that if he were capable of that you would not be capable of loving him. i certainly should not." there was a slight movement in her throat as if she were swallowing the rest of the truth whole. she had adhered to it where she could but gora's face must be saved. "your name was not mentioned. i asked him no questions about his past. i am not the heroine of a novel, old style. he told me that he loved me, that he had never loved any other woman, never asked any other woman to marry him. that was enough for me. i had no place in my mind for you or any one else. perhaps you don't know--how could you--that years ago, when he was in california, he asked me to marry him." "calf love! if you had not been here now--" "he would have gone to california as soon as he could get away. he had made up his mind to that before he came to paris." "what!" gora's arms dropped to her sides and she stared at the floor. then she laughed, "o god, what irony! i talked of you more or jess as was natural ... and he remembered ... we had recalled the past vividly enough.... why couldn't one of those instincts in which we are supposed to be prolific have warned me?.... much fiction is like life! ... any heroine i could have created would have had it ... had more sense.... i have botched the thing from beginning to end." she raised her head and stared at alexina with somber eyes; the insane light had died out of them. they took in every detail of that enhanced beauty, of that inner flame, white hot, that made alexina glow like a transparent lamp. she also recalled that she had watched her pack her bags ... that pervenche velvet gown ... alexina had described the quaint old salon.... her imagination, flashed out that first interview with gathbroke with a tormenting conjuring of detail.... "yon are one of the favorites of life," she admitted in her bitter despair. "you have been given everything--" "i drew mortimer," alexina reminded her. "true. but you dusted him out of your life with an ease and a thoroughness that has never been surpassed. think what you might have drawn. no, you are lucky, lucky! the prixes of life are for your sort. i am one of the overlooked or the deliberately neglected. not a fairy stood at my cradle. all things have come to you unsought. beauty. birth. position. sufficient wealth. power over men and women. an enchanting personality. all the social graces. you have had ups and downs merely because after all you are a mortal; and as a matter of contrast--to heighten your powers of appreciation. no doubt the worst is over for you. i have had to take life by the throat and wring out of her what little i have. that is what makes life so hopeless, so terrible. no genius for social reform will ever eliminate the inequality of personality, of the inner inheritance. nature meant for her own sport that a few should live and the rest should die while still alive." "gora, i don't want to sound like the well-meaning friends who tell a mother when she loses her child that it is better off, but i can't help reminding you that a very large and able-bodied fairy presided at your cradle. you have a great gift that i'd give my two eyes for; and you know perfectly well--or you will soon--that you will get over this and forget that gathbroke ever existed, while you are creating men to suit yourself." her incisive mind drove straight to the truth. "you will write better than ever. possibly the reason that you have not reached the great public is because your work lacks humanity, sympathy. you never lived before. you were all intellect. now you have had a terrific upheaval and you seem to have experienced about everything, including the impulse to murder. most writers would appear to live uneventful lives judging from their extremely dull biographies. but they must have had the most tremendous inner adventures and soul-racking experiences--the big ones--or they couldn't have written as they did.... this must be the more true in regard to women." gora continued to stare at her. the words sank in. her clear intellect appreciated the truth of them but they afforded her no consolation. all emotion had died out of her. she felt beaten, helpless. she was obliged to look up as she watched alexina's subtly transfigured face, fascinated. it made her feel even her physical insignificance; the more as she had lost the flesh that had given her short stature a certain majesty. "oh, life is unjust, unjust." she no longer spoke with bitterness, merely as one forced to state an inescapable fact. "injustice! the root of all misfortune." "life is a hard school but where she has strong characters to work on she turns out masterpieces. you will be one of them, gora. and i fancy that women born with great gifts were meant to stand alone and to be trained in that hard school. it is only when women of your sort have a passing attack of the love germ that they imagine they could go through life as a half instead of a whole. when you are in the full tide of your powers with the public for a lover i fancy you will look back upon this episode with gratitude, if you remember it at all." "perhaps. but that, is a long way off! i have just been told that the order of fiction with which my mind is packed at present is not wanted. it has been contemptuously rejected by the american public as 'war stuff.'" "good heaven! that _is_ a misfortune!" for a moment alexina was aghast. here was the real tragedy. she almost prayed for inspiration, for it lay with her to readjust gora to life. to no one else would gora ever give her confidence. "i don't believe for a moment," she said, "that the intelligent public will ever reject a great novel or story dealing with the war. the masterly treatment of any subject, the new point of view, the swift compelling breathless drama that is your peculiar gift, must triumph over any mood of the moment. moreover, when you are back in california you will see these last four years in a tremendous perspective. and no contrast under heaven could be so great. you probably won't hear the war mentioned once a month. no doubt much that crowds your mind now will cease to interest the productive tract of your brain and you will write a book with the war as a mere background for your new and infinitely more complete knowledge of human psychology. no novel of any consequence for years to come will be written without some relationship to the war. stories long enough to be printed in book form perhaps, but not the novel: which is a memoir of contemporary life in the form of fiction. no writer with as great a gift as yours could have anything but a great destiny. go back to california and bang your typewriter and find it out for yourself." for the first time something like a smile flitted over gora's drawn face. "perhaps. i hope you are right. i don't think i could ever really lose faith in that star." she was thinking: oh, yes! i'll go back to california as quickly as i can get there--as a wounded animal crawls back to its lair. she would have encircled the globe three times to get to it. _her state_. to her it was what family and friends and home and children were to another. it was literally the only friend she had in the world. she would have flown to it if she could, sure of its beneficence. "i shall go as soon as i can get passage," she said. "and you?" "i must go too unless i can get a divorce here. i shall know that in a few days." "well, we travel on different steamers if you do go! i shall stop off at truckee and go to lake tahoe. it will be a long while before i go to any place that reminds me of you. i no longer want to kill you but i want to forget you. good-by." chapter xv when she reached the foot of the hill she turned and looked back. alexina was standing in one of the jagged window casements of the church. the bright warm sun was overhead in a cloudless sky. its liquid careless rays flooded the ruin. alexina's tall white figure, the soft blue of her hat forming a halo about her face, was bathed in its light; a radiant vision in that shattered town whose very stones cried out against the injustice of life. alexina, who was feeling like anything but a madonna in a stained glass window, waved a questing hand. "the fortunate of earth!" thought gora. she set her lips grimly and walked across the valley with a steady stride. at least she could be one of the strong. the end [illustration: life at the mission of dolores, ] in the footprints of the padres by charles warren stoddard new and enlarged edition introduction by charles phillips san francisco a.m. robertson mcmxii to my father samuel burr stoddard, esq. for half a century a citizen of san francisco though the kindness of the editors of the san francisco chronicle, the century magazine, the overland monthly, the ave maria, notre dame, indiana, the victorian review, melbourne introduction since the first and second editions of "in the footprints of the padres" appeared, many things have transpired. san francisco has been destroyed and rebuilt, and in its holocaust most of the old landmarks mentioned in the pages that follow as then existing, have been obliterated. since then, too, the gentle heart, much of whose story is told herein, has been hushed in death. charles warren stoddard has followed on in the footprints of the padres he loved so well. he abides with us no longer, save in the sweetest of memories, memories which are kept ever new by the unforgettable writings which he left behind him. he passed away april , , and lies sleeping now under the cypresses of his beloved monterey. charles warren stoddard was possessed of unique literary gifts that were all his own. these gifts shine out in the pages of this book. here we find that mustang humor of his forever kicking its silver heels with the most upsetting suddenness into the honeyed sweetness of his flowing poetry. here, too, we find that gift of word-painting which makes all his writings a brilliant gallery of rich-hued and soft-lighted wonder. of the green thickets of the redwood forests he says, in "primeval california": "a dense undergrowth of light green foliage caught and held the sunlight like so much spray." so do stoddard's pages catch and hold the lights and shadows of a world which is the more beautiful because he beheld it and sang of it--for sing he did. his prose is the essence of poetry. in my autograph copy of "the footprints of the padres" stoddard wrote: "a new memory of old monterey is the richer for our meeting here for the first time in the flesh. we have often met in spirit ere this." whenever we would go walking together, he and i, through the streets of that old monterey, old no longer save in memory, he would invariably take me to a certain high board fence, and looking through an opening show me the ruins of an adobe house--nothing but a broken fireplace left, moss-grown and crumbling away. "that is my old california," he would say, while his sweet voice was shaken with tears. that desolated hearth seemed to him the symbol of the california which he had known and loved.... but no, the old california that stoddard loved lives on, and will, because he caught and preserved its spirit and its coloring, its light and life and music. as the redwood thicket holds the sunlight, so do stoddard's words keep bright and living, though viewed through a mist of tears, the california of other days. in this new edition of "the footprints" some changes will be found, changes which all will agree make an improvement over the original volume. "primeval california," first published in october, , in the old scribner's (now the century) magazine, when james g. holland was its editor, is at times stoddard at his best. "in yosemite shadows" shows us the young stoddard full of boyish enthusiasm--he could not have been more than twenty when it was written and published, in the old overland, then edited by bret harte. it is more than a gloriously poetic description of yosemite, when yosemite still dreamed in its virgin beauty; it is the revelation of a poet's beginnings, for it gives us in the rough, just finding their way to the light, all those gifts which later won stoddard his fame. the third addition to this volume is "an affair of the misty city," a valuable chapter, since it is wholly autobiographical, and at the same time embodies pen portraits of all the celebrities of california's first literary days, that famous group of which stoddard was one. of all the group, ina coolbrith was closest and dearest to stoddard's heart. the beautiful abiding friendship which bound the souls of these two poets together has not been surpassed in all the poetry and romance of the world. these last added chapters are taken from "in the pleasure of his company," which is out of print and may never be republished. the "mysterious history," included in the original editions of "the footprints" has wisely been left out. it had no proper place in the book: stoddard himself felt that. the additions which have been supplied by mr. robertson, who was for years stoddard's publisher, and in whom the author reposed the utmost confidence, make a real improvement on the original book. "we have often met in spirit ere this," stoddard wrote me. we had; and we meet again and again. i feel him very near me as i write these words; and i feel, too, that his gentle soul will visit everyone who reads the chronicles he has here set down, so that even though no shaft rise in marble glory to mark his last resting place, still in unnumbered hearts his memory will be enshrined. with his poet friend, thomas walsh, well may we say: "vain the laudation!--what are crowns and praise to thee whom youth anointed on the eyes? we have but known the lesser heart of thee whose spirit bloomed in lilies down the ways of padua; whose voice perpetual sighs on molokai in tides of melody." charles phillips. san francisco, september first, nineteen hundred and eleven. table of contents old days in el dorado-- i. "strange countries for to see" ii. crossing the isthmus iii. along the pacific shore iv. in the wake of drake v. atop o' telegraph hill vi. pavement pictures vii. a boy's outing viii. the mission dolores ix. social san francisco x. happy valley xi. the vigilance committee xii. the survivor's story a bit of old china with the egg-pickers of the farallones a memory of monterey in a californian bungalow primeval california inland yachting in yosemite shadows an affair of the misty city-- i. what the moon shone on ii. what the sun shone on iii. balm of hurt wounds iv. by the world forgot list of illustrations life at the mission of dolores, view of montgomery, post and market streets, san francisco, fort point at the golden gate the outer signal station at the golden gate city of oakland in interior of the el dorado warner's at meigg's wharf the old flume at black point, lone mountain, russ gardens, certificate of membership, vigilance committee, west from black point, "china is not more chinese than this section of our christian city." "rag alley" in old chinatown the farallones murre on their nests, farallone islands monterey, san carlos de carmelo "the huge court of that luxurious caravansary." "the gallery among the huge vases of palms and creepers." meigg's wharf in telegraph hill, sentinel hotel, yosemite, in san francisco in the bells of san gabriel thine was the corn and the wine, the blood of the grape that nourished; the blossom and fruit of the vine that was heralded far away. these were thy gifts; and thine, when the vine and the fig-tree flourished, the promise of peace and of glad increase forever and ever and aye. what then wert thou, and what art now? answer me, o, i pray! and every note of every bell sang gabriel! rang gabriel! in the tower that is left the tale to tell of gabriel, the archangel. oil of the olive was thine; flood of the wine-press flowing; blood o' the christ was the wine-- blood o' the lamb that was slain. thy gifts were fat o' the kine forever coming and going far over the hills, the thousand hills-- their lowing a soft refrain. what then wert thou, and what art now? answer me, once again! and every note of every bell sang gabriel! rang gabriel! in the tower that is left the tale to tell of gabriel, the archangel. seed o' the corn was thine-- body of him thus broken and mingled with blood o' the vine-- the bread and the wine of life; out of the good sunshine they were given to thee as a token-- the body of him, and the blood of him, when the gifts of god were rife. what then wert thou, and what art now, after the weary strife? and every note of every bell sang gabriel! rang gabriel! in the tower that is left the tale to tell of gabriel, the archangel. where are they now, o, bells? where are the fruits o' the mission? garnered, where no one dwells, shepherd and flock are fled. o'er the lord's vineyard swells the tide that with fell perdition sounded their doom and fashioned their tomb and buried them with the dead. what then wert thou, and what art now?-- the answer is still unsaid. and every note of every bell sang gabriel! rang gabriel! in the tower that is left the tale to tell of gabriel, the archangel. where are they now, o tower! the locusts and wild honey? where is the sacred dower that the bride of christ was given? gone to the wielders of power, the misers and minters of money; gone for the greed that is their creed-- and these in the land have thriven. what then wer't thou, and what art now, and wherefore hast thou striven? and every note of every bell sang gabriel! rang gabriel! in the tower that is left the tale to tell of gabriel, the archangel. charles warren stoddard. in the footprints of the padres [illustration: view of montgomery, post and market streets, san francisco, ] old days in el dorado i. "strange countries for to see" now, the very first book was called "infancy"; and, having finished it, i closed it with a bang! i was just twelve. 'tis thus the twelve-year-old is apt to close most books. within those pages--perhaps some day to be opened to the kindly inquiring eye--lie the records of a quiet life, stirred at intervals by spasms of infantile intensity. there are more days than one in a life that can be written of, and when the clock strikes twelve the day is but half over. the clock struck twelve! we children had been watching and waiting for it. the house had been stripped bare; many cases of goods were awaiting shipment around cape horn to california. california! a land of fable! we knew well enough that our father was there, and had been for two years or more; and that we were at last to go to him, and dwell there with the fabulous in a new home more or less fabulous,--yet we felt that it must be altogether lovely. we said good-bye to everybody,--getting friends and fellow-citizens more or less mixed as the hour of departure from our native city drew near. we were very much hugged and very much kissed and not a little cried over; and then at last, in a half, dazed condition, we left rochester, new york, for new york city, on our way to san francisco by the nicaragua route. this was away back in , when san francisco, it may be said, was only six years old. it seemed a supreme condescension on the part of our maternal grandfather that he, who did not and could not for a moment countenance the theatre, should voluntarily take us, one and all, to see an alleged dramatic representation at barnum's museum--at that time one of the features of new york city, and perhaps the most famous place of amusement in the land. four years later, when i was sixteen, very far from home and under that good gentleman's watchful supervision, i asked leave to witness a dramatic version of "uncle tom's cabin," enacted by a small company of strolling players in a canvas tent. there were no blood-hounds in the cast, and mighty little scenery, or anything else alluring; but i was led to believe that i had been trembling upon the verge of something direful, and i was not allowed to go. what would that pious man have said could he have seen me, a few years later, strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage? well, we all saw "damon and pythias" in barnum's "lecture room," with real scenery that split up the middle and slid apart over a carpet of green baize. and 'twas a real play, played by real players,--at least they were once real players, but that was long before. it may be their antiquated and failing art rendered them harmless. and, then, those beguiling words "lecture room" have such a soothing sound! they seemed in those days to hallow the whole function, which was, of course, the wily wish of the great moral entertainer; and his great moral entertainment was even as "the cups that cheer but not inebriate." it came near it in our case, however. it was our first matinee at the theatre, and, oh, the joy we took of it! years afterward did we children in our playroom, clad in "the trailing garments of the night" in lieu of togas, sink our identity for the moment and out-rant damon and his pythias. thrice happy days so long ago in california! there is no change like a sea change, no matter who suffers it; and one's first sea voyage is a revelation. the mystery of it is usually not unmixed with misery. five and forty years ago it was a very serious undertaking to uproot one's self, say good-bye to all that was nearest and dearest, and go down beyond the horizon in an ill-smelling, overcrowded, side-wheeled tub. not a soul on the dock that day but fully realized this. the dock and the deck ran rivers of tears, it seemed to me; and when, after the lingering agony of farewells had reached the climax, and the shore-lines were cast off, and the star of the west swung out into the stream, with great side-wheels fitfully revolving, a shriek rent the air and froze my young blood. some mother parting from a son who was on board our vessel, no longer able to restrain her emotion, was borne away, frantically raving in the delirium of grief. i have never forgotten that agonizing scene, or the despairing wail that was enough to pierce the hardest heart. i imagined my heart was about to break; and when we put out to sea in a damp and dreary drizzle, and the shore-line dissolved away, while on board there was overcrowding, and confusion worse confounded in evidence everywhere,--perhaps it did break, that overwrought heart of mine and has been a patched thing ever since. we were a miserable lot that night, pitched to and fro and rolled from side to side as if we were so much baggage. and there was a special horror in the darkness, as well as in the wind that hissed through the rigging, and in the waves that rushed past us, sheeted with foam that faded ghostlike as we watched it,--faded ghostlike, leaving the blackness of darkness to enfold us and swallow us up. day after day for a dozen days we ploughed that restless sea. there were days into which the sun shone not; when everybody and everything was sticky with salty distillations; when half the passengers were sea-sick and the other half sick of the sea. the decks were slimy, the cabins stuffy and foul. the hours hung heavily, and the horizon line closed in about us a gray wall of mist. then i used to bury myself in my books and try to forget the world, now lost to sight, and, as i sometimes feared, never to be found again. i had brought my private library with me; it was complete in two volumes. there was "rollo crossing the atlantic," by dear old jacob abbot; and this book of juvenile travel and adventure i read on the spot, as it were,--read it carefully, critically; flattering myself that i was a lad of experience, capable of detecting any nautical error which jacob, one of the most prolific authors of his day, might perchance have made. the other volume was a pocket copy of "robinson crusoe," upon the fly-leaf of which was scrawled, in an untutored hand, "charley from freddy,"--this freddy was my juvenile chum. i still have that little treasure, with its inscription undimmed by time. frequently i have thought that the reading of this charming book may have been the predominating influence in the development of my taste and temper; for it was while i was absorbed in the exquisitely pathetic story of robinson crusoe that the first island i ever saw dawned upon my enchanted vision. we had weathered cape sable and the florida keys. no sky was ever more marvellously blue than the sea beneath us. the density and the darkness that prevail in northern waters had gone out of it; the sun gilded it, the moon silvered it, and the great stars dropped their pearl-plummets into it in the vain search for soundings. sea gardens were there,--floating gardens adrift in the tropic gale; pale green gardens of berry and leaf and long meandering vine, rocking upon the waves that lapped the shores of the antilles, feeding the current of the warm gulf stream; and, forsooth, some of them to find their way at last into the mazes of that mysterious, mighty, menacing sargasso sea. strange sea-monsters, more beautiful than monstrous, sported in the foam about our prow, and at intervals dashed it with color like animated rainbows. from wave to wave the flying fish skimmed like winged arrows of silver. sometimes a land-bird was blown across the sky--the sea-birds we had always with us,--and ever the air was spicy and the breeze like a breath of balm. one day a little cloud dawned upon our horizon. it was at first pale and pearly, then pink like the hollow of a sea-shell, then misty blue,--a darker blue, a deep blue dissolving into green, and the green outlining itself in emerald, with many a shade of lighter or darker green fretting its surface, throwing cliff and crest into high relief, and hinting at misty and mysterious vales, as fair as fathomless. it floated up like a cloud from the nether world, and was at first without form and void, even as its fellows were; but as we drew nearer--for we were steaming toward it across a sea of sapphire,--it brooded upon the face of the water, while the clouds that had hung about it were scattered and wafted away. thus was an island born to us of sea and sky,--an island whose peak was sky-kissed, whose vales were overshadowed by festoons of vapor, whose heights were tipped with sunshine, and along whose shore the sea sang softly, and the creaming breakers wreathed themselves, flashed like snow-drifts, vanished and flashed again. the sea danced and sparkled; the air quivered with vibrant light. along the border of that island the palm-trees towered and reeled, and all its gardens breathed perfume such as i had never known or dreamed of. for a few hours only we basked in its beauty, rejoiced in it, gloried in it; and then we passed it by. even as it had risen from the sea it returned into its bosom and was seen no more. twilight stole in between us, and the night blotted it out forever. forever? i wonder what island it was? a pearl of the antilles, surely; but its name and fame, its history and mystery are lost to me. its memory lives and is as green as ever. no wintry blasts visit it; even the rich dyes of autumn do not discolor it. it is perennial in its rare beauty, unfading, unforgotten, unforgettable; a thing immutable, immemorial--i had almost said immortal. whence it came and whither it has gone i know not. it had its rising and its setting; its day from dawn to dusk was perfect. doubtless there are those whose lives have been passed within its tranquil shade: from generation to generation it has known all that they have known of joy or sorrow. all the world that they have knowledge of has been compassed by the far blue rim of the horizon. that sky-piercing peak was ever the centre of their universe, and the wandering sea-bird has outflown their thoughts. all this came to me as a child, when the first island "swam into my ken." it was a great discovery--a revelation. of it were born all the islands that have been so much to me in later life. and even then i seemed to comprehend the singular life that all islanders are forced to live: the independence of that life--for a man's island is his fortress, girded about with the fathomless moat of the sea; and the dependence of it--for what is that island but an atom dotting watery space and so easily cut off from communication with the world at large? drought may visit the islander, and he may be starved; the tornado may desolate his shore; fever and famine and thirst may lie in wait for him; sickness and sorrow and death abide with him. thus is he dependent in his independence. and he is insecluded in his seclusion, for he can not escape from the intruder. he should have no wish that may not be satisfied, provided he be native born; what can he wish for that is beyond the knowledge he has gained from the objects within his reach? the world is his, so far as he knows it; yet if he have one wish that calls for aught beyond his limited horizon he rests unsatisfied. all that was lovely in that tropic isle appealed to me and filled me with a great longing. i wanted to sing with the beloved bard: oh, had we some bright little isle of our own, in the blue summer ocean, far off and alone! and yet even then i felt its unutterable loneliness, as i have felt it a thousand times since; the loneliness that starves the heart, tortures the brain, and leaves the mind diseased; the loneliness that is exemplified in the solitude of alexander selkirk. robinson crusoe lived in very truth for me the moment i saw and comprehended that summer isle. he also is immortal. from that hour we scoured the sea for islands: from dawn to dark we were on the watch. the caribbean sea is well stocked with them. we were threading our way among them, and might any day hear the glad cry of "land ho!" but we heard it not until the morning of the eleventh day out from new york. the sea seemed more lonesome than ever when we lost our, island; the monotony of our life was almost unbroken. we began to feel as prisoners must feel whose _time_ is near out. oh, how the hours lagged!--but deliverance was at hand. at last we gave a glad shout, for the land was ours again; we were to disembark in the course of a few hours, and all was bustle and confusion until we dropped anchor off the mosquito shore. ii. crossing the isthmus we approached the mosquito shore timidly. the shallowing sea was of the color of amber; the land so low and level that the foliage which covered it seemed to be rooted in the water. we dropped anchor in the mouth of the san juan river. on our right lay the little spanish village of san juan del norte; its five hundred inhabitants may have been wading through its one street at that moment, for aught we know; the place seemed to be knee-deep in water. on our left was a long strip of land--the depot and coaling station of the vanderbilt steamship company. it did not appear to be much, that sandspit known as punta arenas, with its row of sheds at the water's edge, and its scattering shrubs tossing in the wind; but sovereignty over this very point was claimed by three petty powers: costa rica, nicaragua, and "mosquito." great britain backed the "mosquito" claim; and, in virtue of certain privileges granted by the "mosquito" king, the authorities of san juan del norte--the port better known in those days as graytown, albeit 'twas as green as grass--threatened to seize punta arenas for public use. thereupon graytown was bombarded; but immediately rose, phoenix-like, from its ashes, and was flourishing when we arrived. the current number of _harper's monthly_, a copy of which we brought on board when we embarked at new york, contained an illustrated account of the bombardment of graytown, which added not a little to the interest of the hour. while we were speculating as to the nature of our next experience, suddenly a stern-wheel, flat-bottom boat backed up alongside of the star of the west. she was of the pattern of the small freight-boats that still ply the ohio and mississippi rivers. if the star of the west was small, this stern-wheel scow was infinitely smaller. there was but one cabin, and it was rendered insufferably hot by the boilers that were set in the middle of it. there was one flush deck, with an awning stretched above it that extended nearly to the prow of the boat. it was said our passenger list numbered fourteen hundred. the gold boom in california was still at fever heat. every craft that set sail for the isthmus by the nicaragua or panama route, or by the weary route around cape horn, was packed full of gold-seekers. it was the golden age of the argonauts; and, if my memory serves me well, there were no reserved seats worth the price thereof. the first river boat at our disposal was for the exclusive accommodation of the cabin passengers, or as many of them as could be crowded upon her--and we were among them. other steamers were to follow as soon as practicable. hours, even days, passed by, and the passengers on the ocean steamers were sometimes kept waiting the arrival of the river boats that were aground or had been belated up the stream. about two hundred of us boarded the first boat. our luggage of the larger sort was stowed away in barges and towed after us. the decks were strewn with hand-bags, camp-stools, bundles, and rolls of rugs. the lower deck was two feet above the water. as we looked back upon the star of the west, waving a glad farewell to the ship that had brought us more than two thousand miles across the sea, she loomed like a noah's ark above the flood, and we were quite proud of her--but not sorry to say good-bye. and now away, into the very heart of a central american forest! and hail to the new life that lay all before us in el dorado! the river was as yellow as saffron; its shores were hidden in a dense growth of underbrush that trailed its boughs in the water, and rose, a wall of verdure, far above our smokestacks. as we ascended the stream the forest deepened; the trees grew taller and taller; wide-spreading branches hung over us; gigantic vines clambered everywhere and made huge hammocks of themselves; they bridged the bayous, and made dark leafy caverns wherein the shadows were forbidding; for the sunshine seemed never to have penetrated them, and they were the haunts of weirdness and mystery profound. sometimes a tree that had fallen into the water and lay at a convenient angle by the shore afforded the alligator a comfortable couch for his sun-bath. shall i ever forget the excitement occasioned by the discovery of our first alligator! not the ancient and honorable crocodile of the nile was ever greeted with greater enthusiasm; yet our sportsmen had very little respect for him, and his sleep was disturbed by a shower of bullets that spattered upon his hoary scales as harmlessly as rain. though the alligator punctuated every adventurous hour of that memorable voyage in nicaragua, we children were more interested in our darwinian friends, the monkeys. they were of all shades and shapes and sizes; they descended in troops among the trees by the river side; they called to us and beckoned us shoreward; they cried to us, they laughed at us; they reached out their bony arms, and stretched wide their slim, cold hands to us, as if they would pluck us as we passed. we exchanged compliments and clubs in a sham-battle that was immensely diverting; we returned the missiles they threw at us as long as the ammunition held out, but captured none of the enemy, nor did the slightest damage--as far as we could ascertain. often the parrots squalled at us, but their vocabulary was limited; for they were untaught of men. sometimes the magnificent macaw flew over us, with its scarlet plumage flickering like flame. oh, but those gorgeous birds were splashes of splendid color in the intense green of that tropical background! there were islands in this river,--islands that seemed to have no shores, but lay half submerged in mid-stream, like huge water-logged bouquets. there were sand-bars in the river, and upon these we sometimes ran, and were brought to a sudden stand-still that startled us not a little; then we backed off with what dignity we might, and gave the unwelcome obstructions a wide berth. perhaps the most interesting event of the voyage was "wooding up." a few hours after we had entered the river our steamer made for the shore. more than once in her course she had rounded points that seemed to block the way; and occasionally there were bends so abrupt that we found ourselves apparently land-locked in the depths of a wilderness which might well be called prodigious. now it was evident that we were heading for the shore, and with a purpose, too. as we drew nearer, we saw among the deep tangle of leaves and vines a primitive landing. it was a little dock with a thatched lodge in the rear of it and a few cords of wood stacked upon its end. there were some natives here--indians probably,--with dark skins bared from head to foot; they wore only the breech-clout, and this of the briefest. evidently they were children of nature. having made fast to this dock, these woodmen speedily shouldered the fuel and hurried it on board, while they chanted a rhythmical chant that lent a charm to the scene. we were never weary of "wooding up," and were always wondering where these gentle savages lived and how they escaped with their lives from the thousand and one pests that haunted the forest and lay in wait for them. every biting and stinging thing was there. the mosquitoes nearly devoured us, especially at night; while serpents, scorpions, centipedes, possessed the jungle. there also was the lair of larger game. it is said that sharks will pick a white man out of a crowd of dark ones in the sea; not that he is a more tempting and toothsome morsel--drenched with nicotine, he may indeed be less appetizing than his dark-skinned, fruit-fed fellow,--but his silvery skin is a good sea-mark, as the shark has often confirmed. so these dark ones in the semi-darkness of the wood may, perhaps, pass with impunity where a pale-face would fall an easy prey. at the rapids of machuca we debarked. here was a miry portage about a mile in length, through which we waded right merrily; for it seemed an age since last we had set foot to earth. our freight was pulled up the rapids in _bongas_ (row-boats), manned by natives; but our steamer could not pass, and so returned to the star of the west for another load of passengers. there was mire at machuca, and steaming heat; but the path along the river-bank was shaded by wondrous trees, and we were overwhelmed with the offer of all the edible luxuries of the season at the most alarming prices. there was no coin in circulation smaller than a dime. everything salable was worth a dime, or two or three, to the seller. it didn't seem to make much difference what price was asked by the merchant: he got it, or you went without refreshments. it was evident there was no market between meals at machuca rapids, and steamer traffic enlivened it but twice in the month. what oranges were there!--such as one seldom sees outside the tropics: great globes of delicious dew shut in a pulpy crust half an inch in thickness, of a pale green tinge, and oozing syrup and an oily spray when they are broken. bananas, mangoes, guavas, sugar-cane,--on these we fed; and drank the cream of the young cocoanut, goat's milk, and the juices of various luscious fruits served in carven gourds,--delectable indeed, but the nature of which was past our speculation. it was enough to eat and to drink and to wallow a muddy mile for the very joy of it, after having been toeing the mark on a ship's deck for a dozen days or less, and feeding on ship's fodder. our second transport was scarcely an improvement on the first. again we threaded the river, which seemed to grow broader and deeper as we drew near its fountain-head, lake nicaragua. upon a height above the river stood a military post, el castillo, much fallen to decay. here were other rapids, and here we were transferred to a lake boat on which we were to conclude our voyage. those stern-wheel scows could never weather the lake waters. we had passed a night on the river boat,--a night of picturesque horrors. the cabin was impossible: nobody braved its heat. the deck was littered with luggage and crowded with recumbent forms. a few fortunate voyagers--men of wisdom and experience--were provided with comfortable hammocks; and while most of us were squirming beneath them, they swung in mid-air, under a breadth of mosquito netting, slumbering sonorously and obviously oblivious of all our woes. if i forget not, i cared not to sleep. we were very soon to leave the river and enter the lake. from the boughs of overarching trees swept beards of dark gray moss some yards in length, that waved to and fro in the gathering twilight like folds of funereal crape. there were camp-fires at the wooding stations, the flames of which painted the foliage extraordinary colors and spangled it with sparks. great flocks of unfamiliar birds flew over us, their brilliant plumage taking a deeper dye as they flashed their wings in the firelight. the chattering monkeys skirmished among the branches; sometimes a dull splash in the water reminded us that the alligator was still our neighbor; and ever there was the piping of wild birds whose notes we had never heard before, and whose outlines were as fantastic as those of the bright objects that glorify an antique japanese screen. once from the shore, a canoe shot out of the shadow and approached us. it was a log hollowed out--only the shell remained. within it sat two indians,--not the dark creatures we had grown familiar with down the river; these also were nearly nude, but with the picturesque nudeness that served only to set off the ornaments with which they had adorned themselves--necklaces of shells, wristlets and armlets of bright metal, wreaths of gorgeous flowers and the gaudy plumage of the flamingo. they drew near us for a moment, only to greet us and turn away; and very soon, with splash of dipping paddles, they vanished in the dusk. these were the flowers of the forest. all the winding way from the sea the river walls had been decked with floral splendor. gigantic blossoms that might shame a rainbow starred the green spaces of the wood; but of all we had seen or heard or felt or dreamed of, none has left an impression so vivid, so inspiring, so instinct with the beauty and the poetry and the music of the tropics, as those twilight mysteries that smiled upon us for a moment and vanished, even as the great fire-flies that paled like golden rockets in the dark. iii. along the pacific shore all night we tossed on the bosom of the lake between san carlos, at the source of the san juan river, and virgin bay, on the opposite shore. the lake is on a table-land a hundred feet or more above the sea; it is a hundred miles in length and forty-five in width. our track lay diagonally across it, a stretch of eighty miles; and when the morning broke upon us we were upon the point of dropping anchor under the cool shadow of cloud-capped mountains and in a most refreshing temperature. oh, the purple light of dawn that flooded the bay of the blessed virgin! of course the night was a horror, and it was our second in transit; but we were nearing the end of the journey across the isthmus and were shortly to embark for san francisco. i fear we children regretted the fact. our life for three days had been like a veritable "jungle book." it almost out-kiplinged kipling. we might never again float through monkey land, with clouds of parrots hovering over us and a whole menagerie of extraordinary creatures making side-shows of themselves on every hand. at virgin bay we were crowded like sheep into lighters, that were speedily overladen. very serious accidents have happened in consequence. a year before our journey an overcrowded barge was swamped at virgin bay and four and twenty passengers were drowned. the "transit company," supposed to be responsible for the life and safety of each one of us, seemed to trouble itself very little concerning our fate. the truth was they had been paid in full before we boarded the star of the west at pier no. , north river. having landed in safety, in spite of the negligence of the "transit company," our next move was to secure some means of transportation over the mountain and down to san juan del sur. we were each provided with a ticket calling for a seat in the saddle or on a bench in a springless wagon. naturally, the women and children were relegated to the wagons, and were there huddled together like so much live stock destined for the market. the men scrambled and even fought for the diminutive donkeys that were to bear them over the mountain pass. a circus knows no comedy like ours on that occasion. it is true we had but twelve miles to traverse, and some of these were level; but by and by the road dipped and climbed and swerved and plunged into the depths, only to soar again along the giddy verge of some precipice that overhung a fathomless abyss. that is how it seemed to us as we clung to the hard benches of our wagon with its four-mule attachment. once a wagon just ahead of us, having refused to answer to its brakes, went rushing down a fearful grade and was hurled into a tangle of underbrush,--which is doubtless what saved the lives of its occupants, for they landed as lightly as if on feather-beds. from that hour our hearts were in our throats. even the thatched lodges of the natives, swarming with bare brown babies, and often having tame monkeys and parrots in the doorways, could not beguile us; nor all the fruits, were they never so tempting; nor the flowers, though they were past belief for size and shape and color and perfume. over the shining heights the wind scudded, behatting many a head that went bare thereafter. out of the gorges ascended the voice of the waters, dashing noisily but invisibly on their joyous way to the sea. from one of those heights, looking westward over groves of bread-fruit trees and fixed fountains of feathery bamboo, over palms that towered like plumes in space and made silhouettes against the sky, we saw a long, level line of blue--as blue and bluer than the sky itself,--and we knew it was the pacific! we were little fellows in those days, we children; yet i fancy that we felt not unlike balboa when we knelt upon that peak in darien and thanked god that he had the glory of discovering a new and unnamed ocean. why, i wonder, did keats, in his famous sonnet "on first looking into chapman's homer," make his historical mistake when he sang-- then felt i like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken; or like stout _cortez_ when with eagle eyes, he stared at the pacific,--and all his men looked at each other with a wild surmise-- silent, upon a peak in darien. it mattered not to us whether our name was cortez or balboa. with any other name we would have been just as jolly; for we were looking for the first time upon a sea that was to us as good as undiscovered, and we were shortly to brave it in a vessel bound for the golden gate. at our time of life that smacked a little of circumnavigation. san juan del sur! it was scarcely to be called a village,--a mere handful of huts scattered upon the shore of a small bay and almost surrounded by mountains. it had no street, unless the sea sands it fronted upon could be called such. it had no church, no school, no public buildings. its hotels were barns where the gold-seekers were fed without ceremony on beans and hardtack. fruits were plentiful, and that was fortunate. there, as in every settlement in central america, the eaves of the dwellings were lined with turkey buzzards. these huge birds are regarded with something akin to veneration. they are never molested; indeed, like the pariah dogs of the orient, they have the right of way; and they are evidently conscious of the fact, for they are tamer than barnyard fowls. they are the scavengers of the tropics. they sit upon the housetop and among the branches of the trees, awaiting the hour when the refuse of the domestic meal is thrown into the street. there is no drainage in those villages; strange to say, even in the larger cities there is none. offal of every description is cast forth into the highways and byways; and at that moment, with one accord, down sweep the grim sentinels to devour it. they feast upon carrion and every form of filth. they are polution personified, and yet they are the salvation of the indolent people, who would, but for the timely service of these ravenous birds, soon be wallowing in fetid refuse and putrefaction under the fierce rays of their merciless sun. in the twilight we wandered by a crescent shore that was thickly strewn with shells. they were not the tribute of northern waters: they were as delicately fashioned and as variously tinted as flowers. all that they lacked was fragrance; and this we realized as we stored them carefully away, resolving that they should become the nucleus of a museum of natural history as soon as we got settled in our california home. we had crossed the isthmus in safety. yonder, in the offing, the ship that was to carry us northward to san francisco lay at anchor. for three days we had suffered the joys of travel and adventure. on the san juan river we had again and again touched points along the varying routes proposed, by the maritime canal company of nicaragua and the walker commission, as being practical for the construction of a great ship canal that shall join the atlantic and the pacific oceans. we had passed from sea to sea, a distance of about two hundred miles. the san juan river, one hundred and twenty miles in length, has a fall of one foot to the mile. this will necessitate the introduction of at least six massive locks between the atlantic and the lake. sometimes the river can be utilized, but not without dredging; for it is shallow from beginning to end, and near its mouth is ribbed with sand-bars. for seventy miles the lake is navigable for vessels of the heaviest draught. beyond the lake there must be a clean-cut over or through the mountains to the pacific, and here six locks are reckoned sufficient. cross-cuts from one bend in the river to another can be constructed at the rate of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, or less, per mile. the canal must be sunk or raised at intervals; there will, therefore, at various points be the need of a wall of great strength and durability, from one hundred and thirty to three hundred feet in height or depth. the annual rain-fall in the river region between lake nicaragua and the caribbean sea is twenty feet; annual evaporation, three feet. these points must be considered in the construction and feeding of the canal, even though it is to vary in width. the dimensions of the proposed canal, as recommended by the walker government commission, are as follows: total length, one hundred and eighty-nine miles; minimum depth of water at all stages, thirty feet; width, one hundred feet in rock-cuts, elsewhere varying from one hundred and fifty to three hundred feet--except in lake nicaragua, where one end of the channel will be made six hundred feet wide. nearly fifty years ago, when a canal was projected, the childs survey set the cost at thirty-seven million dollars. now the commissioners differ on the question of total cost, the several estimates ranging from one hundred and eighteen million to one hundred and thirty-five million dollars. the united states congress at its last session authorized the expenditure of one million by a new commission "to investigate the merits of all suggested locations and develop a project for an isthmus canal." and so we left the land of the lizard. what wonders they are! from an inch to two feet in length, slim, slippery, and of many and changeful colors, they literally inhabit the land, and are as much at home in a house as out of it; indeed, the houses are never free of them. they sailed up the river with us, and crossed the lake in our company, and sat by the mountain wayside awaiting our arrival; for they are curious and sociable little beasts. as for the san juan river, 'tis like the ocklawaha of florida many times multiplied, and with all its original attractions in a state of perfect preservation. all the way up the coast we literally hugged the shore; only during the hours when we were crossing the yawning mouth of the gulf of california were we for a single moment out of sight of land. i know not if this was a saving in time and distance, and therefore a saving in fuel and provender; or if our ship, the john l. stevens, was thought to be overloaded and unsafe, and was kept within easy reach of shore for fear of accident. we steamed for two weeks between a landscape and a seascape that afforded constant diversion. at night we sometimes saw flame-tipped volcanoes; there was ever the undulating outline of the sierra nevada mountains through central america, mexico, and california. just once did we pause on the way. one evening our ship turned in its course and made directly for the land. it seemed that we must be dashed upon the headlands we were approaching, but as we drew nearer they parted, and we entered the land-locked harbor of acapulco, the chief mexican port on the pacific. it was an amphitheatre dotted with twinkling lights. our ship was speedily surrounded by small boats of all descriptions, wherein sat merchants noisily calling upon us to purchase their wares. they had abundant fruits, shells, corals, curios. they flashed them in the light of their torches; they baited us to bargain with them. it was a venetian _fete_ with a vengeance; for the hawkers were sometimes more impertinent than polite. it was a feast of lanterns, and not without the accompaniment of guitars and castanets, and rich, soft voices. after that we were eager for the end of it all. there was santa catalina, off the california coast, then an uninhabited island given over to sunshine and wild goats, now one of the most popular and populous of california summer and winter resorts--for 'tis all the same on the pacific coast; one season is damper than the other, that is the only difference. the coast grew bare and bleak; the wind freshened and we were glad to put on our wraps. and then at last, after a journey of nearly five thousand miles, we slowed up in a fog so dense it dripped from the scuppers of the ship; we heard the boom of the surf pounding upon the invisible shore, and the hoarse bark of a chorus of sea-lions, and were told we were at the threshold of the golden gate, and should enter it as soon as the fog lifted and made room for us. [illustration: fort point at the golden gate] iv. in the wake of drake we were buried alive in fathomless depths of fog. we were a fixture until that fog lifted. it was an impenetrable barrier. upon the point of entering one of the most wonderful harbors in the world, the glory of the newest of new lands, we found ourselves prisoners, and for a time at least involved in the mazes of ancient history. in cortez coasted both sides of the gulf of california--first called the sea of cortez; or the vermilion sea, perhaps from its resemblance to the red sea between arabia and egypt; or possibly from the discoloration of its waters near the mouth of the rio colorado, or red river. in captain drake, even then distinguished as a navigator, fitted out a buccaneering expedition against the spaniards; it was a wild-goose chase and led him round the globe. in those days the wealth of the philippines was shipped annually in a galleon from manila to acapulco, mexico, on its way to europe. drake hoped to intercept one of these richly laden galleons, and he therefore threaded the straits of magellan, and, sailing northward, found himself, in , within sight of the coast of california. all along the pacific shore from patagonia to california he was busily occupied in capturing and plundering spanish settlements and spanish ships. wishing to turn home with his treasure, and fearing he might be waylaid by his enemies if he were again to thread the straits of magellan, he thought to reach england by the cape of good hope. this was in the autumn of . to quote the language of an old chronicler of the voyage: "he was obliged to sail toward the north; in which course having continued six hundred leagues, and being got into forty-three degrees north latitude, they found it intolerably cold; upon which they steered southward till they got into thirty-eight degrees north latitude, where they discovered a country which, from its white cliffs, they called nova albion, though it is now known by the name of california. "they here discovered a bay, which entering with a favorable gale, they found several huts by the waterside, well defended from the severity of the weather. going on shore, they found a fire in the middle of each house, and the people lying around it upon rushes. the men go quite naked, but the women have a deerskin over their shoulders, and round their waist a covering of bulrushes after the manner of hemp. "these people bringing the admiral [captain drake] a present of feathers and cauls of network, he entertained them so kindly and generously that they were extremely pleased; and afterward they sent him a present of feathers and bags of tobacco. a number of them coming to deliver it, gathered themselves together at the top of a small hill, from the highest point of which one of them harangued the admiral, whose tent was placed at the bottom. when the speech was ended they laid down their arms and came down, offering their presents; at the same time returning what the admiral had given them. the women remaining on the hill, tearing their hair and making dreadful howlings, the admiral supposed they were engaged in making sacrifices, and thereupon ordered divine service to be performed at his tent, at which these people attended with astonishment. "the arrival of the english in california being soon known through the country, two persons in the character of ambassadors came to the admiral and informed him, in the best manner they were able, that the king would visit him, if he might be assured of coming in safety. being satisfied on this point, a numerous company soon appeared, in front of which was a very comely person bearing a kind of sceptre, on which hung two crowns, and three chains of great length. the chains were of bones, and the crowns of network, curiously wrought with feathers of many colors. "next to sceptre-bearer came the king, a handsome, majestic person, surrounded by a number of tall men dressed in skins, who were followed by the common people, who, to make the grander appearance, had painted their faces of various colors; and all of them, even the children, being loaded with presents. "the men being drawn up in line of battle, the admiral stood ready to receive the king within the fences of his tent. the company halted at a distance, and the sceptre-bearer made a speech half an hour long; at the end of which he began singing and dancing, in which he was followed by the king and all the people; who, continuing to sing and dance, came quite up to the tent; when, sitting down, the king took off his crown of feathers, placed it on the admiral's head, and put on him the other ensigns of royalty; and it is said he made him a solemn tender of his whole kingdom; all which the admiral accepted in the name of the queen his sovereign, in hope that these proceedings might, one time or other, contribute to the advantage of england. "the people, dispersing themselves among the admiral's tents, professed the utmost admiration and esteem for the english, whom they looked upon as more than mortal; and accordingly prepared to offer sacrifices to them, which the english rejected with abhorrence; directing them, by various signs, that their religious worship was alone due to the supreme maker and preserver of all things.... "the admiral, at his departure, set up a pillar with a large plate on it, on which were engraved her majesty's name, picture, arms, and title to the country; together with the admiral's name and the time of his arrival there." pinkerton says in his description of drake's voyage: "the land is so rich in gold and silver that upon the slightest turning it up with a spade these rich materials plainly appear mixed with the mould." it is not strange, if this were the case, that the natives--who, though apparently gentle and well disposed, were barbarians--should naturally have possessed the taste so characteristic of a barbarous people, and have loved to decorate themselves even lavishly with ornaments rudely fashioned in this rare metal. yet they seemed to know little of its value, and to care less for it than for fuss and feathers. either they were a singularly stupid race, simpler even than the child of ordinary intelligence, or they scorned the allurements of a metal that so few are able to resist. drake was not the first navigator to touch upon those shores. the explorer juan cabrillo, in - , visited the coast of upper california. a number of landings were made at different points along the coast and on the islands near santa barbara. cabrillo died during the expedition; but his successor, ferralo, continued the voyage as far north as latitude °. probably drake had no knowledge of the discovery of california by the spaniards six and thirty years before he dropped anchor in the bay that now bears his name, and for many years he was looked upon as the first discoverer of the golden state. even to this day there are those who give him all the credit. queen elizabeth knighted him for his services in this and his previous expeditions; telling him, as his chronicler records, "that his actions did him more honor than his title." her majesty seems not to have been much impressed by his tales of the riches of the new world--if, indeed, they ever came to the royal ear,--for she made no effort to develop the resources of her territory. no adventurous argonauts set sail for the pacific coast in search of gold till two hundred and seventy years later. there seems to have been a spell cast over the land and the sea. we are sure that sir francis drake did not enter the bay of san francisco, and that he had no knowledge of its existence, though he was almost within sight of it. in one of the records of his voyage we read of the chilly air and of the dense fogs that prevailed in that region; of the "white banks and cliffs which lie toward the sea"; and of islands which are known as the farallones, and which lie about thirty miles off the coast and opposite the golden gate. in captain thomas cavendish, afterward knighted by queen elizabeth, touched upon cape st. lucas, at the extremity of lower california. he was a privateer lying in wait for the galleon laden with the wealth of the philippines and bound for acapulco. when she hove in sight there was a chase, a hot engagement, and a capture by the english admiral. "this prize," says the historian of the voyage, "contained one hundred and twenty-two thousand _pesos_ of gold, besides great quantities of rich silks, satins, damasks, and musk, with a good stock of provisions." in those romantic and adventurous days piracy was legalized by formal license; the spoils were supposed to consist of gold and silver only, or of light movable goods. the next english filibuster to visit the california coast was captain woodes rogers--arriving in november, . he described the natives of the california peninsula as being "quite naked, and strangers to the european manner of trafficking. they lived in huts made of boughs and leaves, erected in the form of bowers; with a fire before the door, round which they lay and slept. some of the women wore pearls about their necks, which they fastened with a string of silk grass, having first notched them round." captain rogers imagined that the wearers of the pearls did not know how to bore them, and it is more than likely that they did not. neither did they know the value of these pearls; for "they were mixed with sticks, bits of shells, and berries, which they thought so great an ornament that they would not accept glass beads of various colors, which the english offered them." the narrator says: "the men are straight and well built, having long black hair, and are of a dark brown complexion. they live by hunting and fishing. they use bows and arrows and are excellent marksmen. the women, whose features are rather disagreeable, are employed in making fishing-lines, or in gathering grain, which they grind upon a stone. the people were willing to assist the english in filling water, and would supply them with whatever they could get; they were a very honest people, and would not take the least thing without permission." such were the aborigines of california. captain woodes rogers did not hesitate to take whatever he could lay his hands on. he captured the "great manila ship," as the chronicle records. "the prize was called nuestra señora de la incarnacion, commanded by sir john pichberty, a gallant frenchman. the prisoners said that the cargo in india amounted to two millions of dollars. she carried one hundred and ninety-three men, and mounted twenty guns." the exact locality of drake's bay was for years a vexed question. so able an authority as alexander von humboldt says: "the port of san francisco is frequently confounded by geographers with the port of drake, farther north, under ° ' of latitude, called by the spaniards the puerto de bodega." the truth is, bodega bay lies some miles north of drake's bay--or jack's harbor, as the sailors call it; the latter, according to the log of the admiral, may be found in latitude ° ' "; longitude ° - / '. the cliffs about drake's bay resemble in height and color, those of great britain in the english channel at brighton and dover; therefore it seems quite natural that sir francis should have called the land new albion. as for the origin of the name california, some etymologists contend that it is derived from two latin words: _calida fornax_; or, as the spanish put it, _caliente fornalla_,--a hot furnace. certainly it is hot enough in the interior, though the coast is ever cool. the name seems to have been applied to lower california between and . mr. edward everett hale rediscovered in an old printed romance in which the name california was, before the year , applied to a fabulous island that lay near the indus and likewise "very near the terrestrial paradise." the colonists under cortez were perhaps the first to apply it to lower california, which was long thought to be an island. the name san francisco was given to a port on the california coast for the first time by cermeñon, who ran ashore near point reyes, or in drake's bay, when voyaging from the philippines in . at any rate, the name was not given to the famous bay that now bears it before , and until that date it was unknown to the world. it is not true, as some have conjectured, that the name san francisco was given to any port in memory of sir francis drake. spanish catholics gave the name in honor of st. francis of assisi. drake was an englishman and a freebooter, who had no love for the saints. that the bay of san francisco should have so long remained undiscovered is the more remarkable inasmuch as many efforts were made to survey and settle the coast. california was looked upon as the el dorado of new spain. it was believed that it abounded in pearls, gold, silver, and other metals; and even in diamonds and precious stones. fruitless expeditions, private or royal, set forth in , and ; , and ; and . but nothing came of these. a hundred years later the spanish friars established their peaceful missions, and in the mission church of san francisco was dedicated. [illustration: the outer signal station at the golden gate] * * * * * at last the fog began to show signs of life and motion. huge masses of opaque mist, that had shut us in like walls of alabaster, were rent asunder and noiselessly rolled away. the change was magical. in a few moments we found ourselves under a cloudless sky, upon a sparkling sea, flooded with sunshine, and the golden gate wide open to give us welcome. v. atop o' telegraph hill perhaps it is a mile wide, that golden gate; and it is more bronze than golden. a fort was on our right hand; one of those dear old brick blockhouses that were formidable in their day, but now are as houses of cards. drop one shell within its hollow, and there will be nothing and no one left to tell the tale. down the misty coast, beyond the fort, was point lobos--a place where wolves did once inhabit; farther south lie the semi-tropics and the fragrant orange lands; while on our left, to the north, is point bonita--pretty enough in the sunshine,--and thereabout is drake's bay. behind us, dimly outlined on the horizon, the farallones lie faintly blue, like exquisite cloud-islands. the north shore of the entrance to the bay was rather forbidding,--it always is. the whole california shore line is bare, bleak, and unbeautiful. it is six miles from the golden gate to the sea-wall of san francisco. there was no sea-wall in those days. we were steaming directly east, with the pacific dead astern. beyond the fort were scantily furnished hill-slopes. that quadrangle, with a long row of low white houses on three sides of it, is the _presidio_--the barracks; a lorner or lonelier spot it were impossible to picture. there were no trees there, no shrubs; nothing but grass, that was green enough in the rainy winter season but as yellow as straw in the drouth of the long summer. beyond the _presidio_ were the lagoon and washerwoman's bay. black point was the extremest suburb in the early days; and beyond it meigg's wharf ran far into the north bay, and was washed by the swift-flowing tide. san francisco has as many hills as rome. the most conspicuous of these stands at the northeast corner of the town; it is telegraph hill, upon whose brawny shoulder stood the first home we knew in the young metropolis. after rounding telegraph hill, we saw all the city front, and it was not much to see: a few wooden wharves crowded with shipping and backed by a row of one or two-story frame buildings perched upon piles. the harbor in front of the city--more like an open roadstead than a harbor, for it was nearly a dozen miles to the opposite shore--was dotted with sailing-vessels of almost every description, swinging at anchor, and making it a pretty piece of navigation to pick one's way amongst them in safety. as the john l. stevens approached her dock we saw that an immense crowd had gathered to give us welcome. the excitement on ship and shore was very great. after a separation of perhaps years, husbands and wives and families were about to be reunited. our joy was boundless; for we soon recognized our father in the waiting, welcoming throng. but there were many whose disappointment was bitter indeed when they learned that their loved ones were not on board. often a ship brought letters instead of the expected wife and family; for at the last moment some unforeseen circumstance may have prevented the departure of the one so looked for and so longed for. in the confusion of landing we nearly lost our wits, and did not fully recover them until we found ourselves in our own new home in the then youngest state in the union. how well i remember it all! we were housed on union street, between montgomery and kearny streets, and directly opposite the public school--a pretentious building for that period, inasmuch as it was built of brick that was probably shipped around cape horn. california houses, such as they were, used to come from very distant parts of the globe in the early fifties; some of them were portable, and had been sent across the sea to be set up at the purchaser's convenience. they could be pitched like tents on the shortest possible notice, and the fact was evident in many cases. our house--a double one of modest proportions--was of brick, and i think the only one on our side of the street for a considerable distance. there was a brick house over the way, on the corner of montgomery street, with a balcony in front of it and a grocery on the ground-floor. that grocery was like a country store: one could get anything there; and from the balcony above there was a wonderful view. indeed that was one of the jumping-off places; for a steep stairway led down the hill to the dock two hundred feet below. as for our neighbors, they dwelt in frame houses, one or two stories in height; and his was the happier house that had a little strip of flowery-land in front of it, and a breathing space in the rear. the school--our first school in california--backed into the hill across the street from us. the girls and the boys had each an inclosed space for recreation. it could not be called a playground, for there was no ground visible. it was a platform of wood heavily timbered beneath and fenced in; from the front of it one might have cast one's self to the street below, at the cost of a broken bone or two. in those days more than one leg was fractured by an accidental fall from a soaring sidewalk. above and beyond the school-house telegraph hill rose a hundred feet or more. our street marked the snow-line, as it were; beyond it the hill was not inhabited save by flocks of goats that browsed there all the year round, and the herds of boys that gave them chase, especially of a holiday. the hill was crowned by a shanty that had seen its best days. it had been the lookout from the time when the forty-niners began to watch for fresh arrivals. from the observatory on its roof--a primitive affair--all ships were sighted as they neared the golden gate, and the glad news was telegraphed by a system of signals to the citizens below. not a day, not an hour, but watchful eyes sought that signal in the hope of reading there the glad tidings that their ship had come. the hill sloped suddenly, from the signal station, on every side. on the north and east it terminated abruptly in artificial cliffs of a dizzy height. the rocks had been blasted from their bases to make room for a steadily increasing commerce, and the débris was shipped away as ballast in the vessels that were chartered to bring passengers and provision to the coast, and found nothing in the line of freight to carry from it. upon those northern and eastern slopes of the hill a few venturesome cottagers had built their nests. the cottages were indeed nestlike: they were so small, so compact, so cosy, so overrun with vines and flowering foliage. usually of one story, or of a story and a half at most, they clung to the hillside facing the water, and looking out upon its noble expanse from tiny balconies as delicate and dainty as toys. their garden-plots were set on end; they must needs adapt themselves to the angle of demarkation; they loomed above their front-yards while their back-yards lorded it over their roofs. indeed they were usually approached by ascending or descending stairways, or perchance by airy bridges that spanned little gullies where ran rivulets in the winter season; and they were a trifle dangerous to encounter after dark. there were parrots on perches at the doorways of those cottages; and song-birds in cages that were hidden away in vines. there were pet poodles there. i think there were more lap-dogs than watch-dogs in that early california. and there were pleasant people within those hanging gardens,--people who seemed to have drifted there and were living their lyrical if lonely lives in semi-solitude on islands in the air. i always envied them. i was sorry that we were housed like other folk, and fronted on a street than which nothing could have been more commonplace or less interesting. its one redeeming feature in my eyes was its uncompromising steepness; nothing that ran on wheels ever ran that way, but toiled painfully to the top, tacking from side to side, forever and forever, all the way up. weary were the beasts of burden that ascended that hill of difficulty. there was the itinerant marketer, with his overladen cart, and his white horse, very much winded. he was a yorkshire man, and he cried with a loud voice his appetizing wares: "cabbage, taters, onions, wild duck, wild goose!" well do i remember the refrain. probably there were few domestic fowls in the market then; moreover, even our drinking water was peddled about the streets and sold to us by the huge pailful. the goats knew saturday and sunday by heart. every saturday we lads were busier than bees. we had at intervals during the week collected what empty tin cans we might have chanced upon, and you may be sure they were not a few. the markets of california, in early times, were stocked with canned goods. flour came to us in large cans; probably the barrel would not have been proof against mould during the long voyage around the horn. everything eatable--i had almost said and drinkable--we had in cans; and these cans when emptied were cast into the rubbish heap and finally consigned to the dump-cart. we boys all became smelters, and for a very good reason. there was a market for soft solder; we could dispose of it without difficulty; we could in this way put money in our purse and experience the glorious emotion awakened by the spirit of independence. with our own money, earned in the sweat of our brows--it was pretty hot work melting the solder out of the old cans and moulding it in little pig-leads of our own invention,--we could do as we pleased and no questions asked. oh, it was a joy past words,--the kindling of the furnace fires, the adjusting of the cans, the watching for the first movement of the melting solder! it trickled down into the ashes like quicksilver, and there we let it cool in shapeless masses; then we remelted it in skillets (usually smuggled from the kitchen for that purpose), and ran the fused metal into the moulds; and when it had cooled we were away in haste to dispose of it. some of us became expert amateur metallists, and made what we looked upon as snug little fortunes; yet they did not go far or last us long. the smallest coin in circulation was a dime. no one would accept a five-cent piece. as for coppers, they are scarcely yet in vogue. money was made so easily and spent so carelessly in the early days the wonder is that any one ever grew rich. a quarter of a dollar we called two "bits." if we wished to buy anything the price of which was one bit and we had a dime in our pocket, we gave the dime for the article, and the bargain was considered perfectly satisfactory. if we had no dime, we gave a quarter of a dollar and received in change a dime; we thus paid fifty per cent more for the article than we should have done if we had given a dime for it. but that made no difference: a quarter called for two bits' worth of anything on sale. a dime was one bit, but two dimes were not two bits; and it was only a very mean person--in our estimation--who would change his half dollar into five dimes and get five bits' worth of goods for four bits' worth of silver. [illustration: city of oakland in ] sunday is ever the people's day, and a san francisco sunday used to be as lively as the lord's day at any of the capitals of europe. how the town used to flock to telegraph hill on a sunday in the olden time! they were mostly quiet folk who went there, and they went to feast their eyes upon one of the loveliest of landscapes or waterscapes. they probably took their lunch with them, and their families--if they had them; though families were infrequent in the fifties. they wandered about until they had chosen their point of view, and then they took possession of an unclaimed portion of the hill. they "squatted," as was the custom of the time. the "squatter" claimed the right of sovereignty, and exercised it so long as he was left unmolested. one man seemed to have as much right as another on telegraph hill. and one right was always his: no one disputed him the right of vision; he shared it with his neighbor, and was willing to share it with the whole world. for generations he has held it, and he will probably continue to hold it so long as the old hill stands. from the heights his eye sweeps a scene of beauty. there is the golden gate, bathed in sunset glories; and there the northern shore line that climbs skyward where mount tamalpais takes on his mantle of mist. there is saucelito, with its green terraces resting upon the tree-tops; and there the bit of sheltered water that seems always steeped in sunshine,--now the haunt of house boats, then the haven of a colony of neapolitan fishermen; and angel island, with its military post; and fort alcatraz, a rocky bubble afloat in mid-channel and one mass of fortifications. what an inland sea it is--the bay of san. francisco, seventy miles in length, from ten to twelve in width; dotted with islands, and capable of harboring all the fleets of all the civilized or uncivilized worlds! the northern part of it, beyond the narrows, is known as the bay of san pablo; the straits of carquinez connect it with suisun bay, which is a sleepy sheet of water fed by the sacramento and san joaquin rivers. to the east is yerba-buena, vulgarly known as goat island; and beyond it the contra costa, with its alameda, oakland, and fruit vale; then the coast range; and atop of all and beyond all mount diablo, with its three thousand eight hundred feet of perpendicularity, beyond whose summit the sun rises, and from whose peaks almost half the state is visible and almost half the sea,--or at least it seems so--but that's another vision! vi. pavement pictures we had been but a few days in san francisco when a new-found friend, scarcely my senior, but who was a comparatively old settler, took me by the hand and led me forth to view the town. he was my neighbor, and a right good fellow, with the surprising composure--for one of his years--that is so early, so easily, and so naturally acquired by those living in camps and border-lands. we descended telegraph hill by dupont street as far as pacific street. so steep was the way that, at intervals, the modern fire-escape would have been a welcome aid to our progress. sidewalks, always of plank and often not broader than two boards placed longitudinally, led on to steps that plunged headlong from one terrace to another. from the veranda of one house one might have leaped to the roof of the house just below--if so disposed,--for the houses seemed to be set one upon another, so acute was the angle of their base-line. the town stood on end just there, and at the foot of it was a foreign quarter. in those days there were at least four foreign quarters--spanish, french, italian, and chinese. we knew the spanish quarter at the foot of the hill by the human types that inhabited it; by the balconies like hanging gardens, clamorous with parrots; and by the dark-eyed senoritas, with lace mantillas drawn over their blue-black hair; by the shop windows filled with mexican pottery; the long strings of cardinal-red peppers that swung under the awnings over the doors of the sellers of spicy things; and also by the delicious odors that were wafted to us from the tables where mexicans, spaniards, chilians, peruvians, and hispano-americans were discussing the steaming _tamal_, the fragrant _frijol_, and other fiery dishes that might put to the blush the ineffectual pepper-pot. everywhere we heard the most mellifluous of languages--the "lovely lingo," we used to call it; everywhere we saw the people of the quarter lounging in doorways or windows or on galleries, dressed as if they were about to appear in a rendition of the opera of "the barber of seville," or at a fancy-dress ball. figaros were on every hand, and rosinas and dons of all degrees. at times a magnificent caballero dashed by on a half-tamed bronco. he rode in the shade of a sombrero a yard wide, crusted with silver embroidery. his mexican saddle was embossed with huge mexican dollars; his jacket as gaily ornamented as a bull-fighter's; his trousers open from the hip, and with a chain of silver buttons down their flapping hems; his spurs, huge wheels with murderous spikes, were fringed with little bells that jangled as he rode,--and this to the accompaniment of much strumming of guitars and the incense of cigarros. near the spanish quarter ran the barbary coast. there were the dives beneath the pavement, where it was not wise to enter; blood was on those thresholds, and within hovered the shadow of death. beyond, we entered chinatown, as rare a bit of old china as is to be found without the great wall itself. chinatown has grown amazingly within the last forty years, but it has in reality gained little in interest. there is more of it: that is the only difference; and what there is of it is more difficult of approach. the joss house, the theatre, with its great original "continuous performance"--its tragedy half a year in length,--flourished there. the glittering, spectacular restaurant was wide open to the public, and so was everything else. that fact made all the difference between chinatown in the fifties and chinatown forty years later. my companion and i tarried long on dupont street, between pacific and sacramento streets. the shops were like peep shows on a larger scale. how bright they were! how gay with color! how rich with carvings and curios. each was like a set-scene on the stage. the shopkeepers and their aids were like actors in a play. they seemed really to be playing and not trying to engage in any serious business. surely it would have been quite beneath the dignity of such distinguished gentlemen to take the smallest interest in the affairs of trade. they were clad in silks and satins and furs of great value; they had a little finger-nail as long as a slice of quill pen; they had tea on tables of carved teak; and they had impossible pipes that breathed unspeakable odors. they wore bracelets of priceless jade. they had private boxes, which hung from the ceiling and looked like cages for some unclassified bird; and they could go up into those boxes when life at the tea-table became tiresome, and get quite another point of view. there they could look down upon the world of traffic that never did anything in their shops, as far as we could see; and, still murmuring to themselves in a tongue that sounds untranslatable and a voice that was never known to rise above a stage whisper, they could at one and the same moment regard with scorn the christian, keep an eye on the cash-boy, and make perfect pictures of themselves. [illustration: interior of the el dorado] in some parts of that strange street, where everybody was very busy but apparently never accomplished anything, there were no fronts to the rooms on the groundfloor. if those rooms were ever closed--it seemed to me they never were,--some one kindly put up a long row of shutters, and that end was accomplished. when the shutters were down the whole place was wide open, and anybody, everybody, could enter and depart at his own sweet will. this is exactly what he did; we did it ourselves, but we didn't know why we did it. the others seemed to know all about it. there was a long table in the centre of each room; it was always surrounded by swarms of chinamen. not a few foreigners of various nationalities were there. they were all intensely interested in some game that was being played upon that table. we heard the "chink" of money; and as the players came and went some were glad and some were sad and some were mad. these were the gambling halls of chinatown. they were not at all beautiful or alluring to the eye, but they cast a spell over the minds and the pockets of men that was irresistible. nowadays the place is kept under lock and key, and you must give the countersign or you will be turned away from the door thereof by a chinaman whose face is the image of injured innocence. the authors of the annals of san francisco, , say: "during , most of the moral, intellectual, and social characteristics of the inhabitants of san francisco were nearly as already described in the reviews of previous years. there was still the old reckless energy, the old love of pleasure, the fast making and fast spending of money; the old hard labor and wild delights; jobberies, official and political corruption; thefts, robberies, and violent assaults; murders, duels and suicides; gambling, drinking, and general extravagance and dissipation.... the people had wealth at command, and all the passions of youth were burning within them; and they often, therefore, outraged public decency. yet somehow the oldest residenters and the very family-men loved the place, with all its brave wickedness and splendid folly." i can testify that the town knew little or no change in the two years that followed. the "el dorado" on the plaza, and the "arcade" and "polka" on commercial street, were still in full blast. how came i aware of that fact? i was a child; my guide, philosopher and friend was a child, and we were both as innocent as children should be. it is written, "children and fools speak the truth." i may add, "children and 'fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'" the doors of "el dorado," of the "arcade," and the "polka" were ever open to the public. we saw from the sidewalk gaily-decorated interiors; we heard enchanting music, and there seemed to be a vast deal of jollity within. no one tried to prevent our entering; we merely followed the others; and, indeed, it was all a mystery to us. cards were being dealt at the faro tables, and dealt by beautiful women in bewildering attire. they also turned the wheels of fortune or misfortune, and threw dice, and were skilled in all the arts that beguile and betray the innocent. the town was filled with such resorts; some were devoted to the patronage of the more exclusive set; many were traps into which the miner from the mountain gulches fell and where he soon lost his bag of "dust,"--his whole fortune, for which he had been so long and so wearily toiling. there he was shoulder to shoulder with the greaser and the lascar, the "shoulder-striker" and the hoodlum; and they were all busy with monte, faro, rondo, and rouge-et-noir. there was no limit to the gambling in those days. there was no question of age or color or sex: opportunity lay in wait for inclination at the street corners and in the highways and the byways. the wonder is that there were not more victims driven to madness or suicide. the pictures were not all so gloomy. six times san francisco was devastated by fire, and all within two years--or, to speak accurately, within eighteen months. many millions were lost; many enterprising and successful citizens were in a few hours rendered penniless. some were again and again "burned out"; but they seemed to spring like the famed bird, who shall for once be nameless, from their own ashes. it became evident that an efficient fire department was an immediate and imperative necessity. the best men of the city--men prominent in every trade, calling and profession--volunteered their services, and headed a subscription list that swelled at once into the thousands. perhaps there never was a finer volunteer fire department than that which was for many years the pride and glory of san francisco. on the fourth of july it was the star feature of the procession; and it paraded most of the streets that were level enough for wheels to run on--and when the mud was navigable, for they turned out even in the rainy season on days of civic festivity. their engines and hose carts and hook and ladder trucks were so lavishly ornamented with flowers, banners, streamers, and even pet eagles, dogs, and other mascots, that they might without hesitation have engaged in any floral battle on any riviera and been sure of victory. the magnificence of the silver trumpets and the quantity and splendor of the silver trappings of those fire companies pass all belief. it begins to seem to me now, as i write, that i must have dreamed it,--it was all so much too fine for any ordinary use. but i know that i did not dream it; that there was never anything truer or better or more efficient anywhere under the sun than the san francisco fire department in the brave days of old. representatives of almost every nation on earth could testify to this, and did repeatedly testify to it in almost every language known to the human tongue; for there never was a more cosmical commonwealth than sprang out of chaos on that pacific coast; and there never was a city less given to following in the footsteps of its elder and more experienced sisters. nor was there ever a more spontaneous outburst of happy-go-luckiness than that which made of young san francisco a very babel and a bouncing baby babylon. [illustration: warner's at meigg's wharf] vii. a boy's outing there was joy in the heart, luncheon in the knapsack, and a sparkle in the eye of each of us as we set forth on our exploring expedition, all of a sunny saturday. outside of california there never were such saturdays as those. we were perfectly sure for eight months in the year that it wouldn't rain a drop; and as for the other four months--well, perhaps it wouldn't. it is true that longfellow had sung, even in those days: unto each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary. our days were not dark or dreary,--indeed, they could not possibly be in the two-thirds-of-the-year-dry season. it did not rain so very much even in the rainy season, when it had a perfect right to; therefore there was joy in the heart and no umbrella anywhere about when we prepared to set forth on our day of discovery. we began our adventure at meigg's wharf. we didn't go out to the end of it, because there was nothing but crabs there, being hauled up at frequent intervals by industrious crabbers, whose nets fairly fringed the wharf. they lay on their backs by scores and hundreds, and waved numberless legs in the air--i mean the crabs, not the crabbers. we used to go crabbing ourselves when we felt like it, with a net made of a bit of mosquito-bar stretched over an iron hoop, and with a piece of meat tied securely in the middle of it. when we hauled up those home-made hoop-nets--most everything seems to have been home-made in those days--we used to find one, two, perhaps three huge crabs revolving clumsily about the centre of attraction in the hollow of the net; and then we shouted in glee and went almost wild with excitement. just at the beginning of meigg's wharf there was a house of entertainment that no doubt had a history and a mystery even in those young days. we never quite comprehended it: we were too young for that, and too shy and too well-bred to make curious or impertinent inquiry. we sometimes stood at the wide doorway--it was forever invitingly open, --and looked with awe and amazement at paintings richly framed and hung so close together that no bit of the wall was visible. there was a bar at the farther end of the long room,--there was always a bar somewhere in those days; and there were cages filled with strange birds and beasts,--as any one might know with his eyes shut, for the odor of it all was repelling. the strangest feature of that most strange hostelry was the amazing wealth of cobwebs that mantled it. cobwebs as dense as crape waved in dusty rags from the ceiling; they veiled the pictures and festooned the picture-frames, that shone dimly through them. not one of these cobwebs was ever molested--or had been from the beginning of time, as it seemed to us. a velvet carpet on the floor was worn smooth and almost no trace of its rich flowery pattern was left; but there were many square boxes filled with sand or sawdust and reeking with cigar stumps and tobacco juice. need i add that some of those pictures were such as our young and innocent eyes ought never to have been laid on? nor were they fit for the eyes of others. there was something uncanny about that house. we never knew just what it was, but we had a faint idea that the proprietor's wife or daughter was a witch; and that she, being as cobwebby as the rest of its furnishings, was never visible. the wharf in front of the house was a free menagerie. there were bears and other beasts behind prison bars, a very populous monkey cage, and the customary "happy family" looking as dreadfully bored as usual. then again there were whole rows of parrots and cockatoos and macaws as splendid as rainbow tints could make them, and with tails a yard long at least. from this bewildering pageant it was but a step to the beach below. indeed the water at high tide flowed under that house with much foam and fury; for it was a house founded upon the sand, and it long since toppled to its fall, as all such houses must. we followed the beach, that rounded in a curve toward black point. just before reaching the point there was a sandhill of no mean proportions; this, of course, we climbed with pain, only to slide down with perspiration. it was our alp, and we ascended and descended it with a flood of emotion not unmixed with sand. near by was a wreck,--a veritable wreck; for a ship had been driven ashore in the fog and she was left to her fate--and our mercy. probably it would not have paid to float her again; for of ships there were more than enough. everything worth while was coming into the harbor, and almost nothing going out of it. we looked upon that old hulk as our private and personal property. at low tide we could board her dry-shod; at high tide we could wade out to her. we knew her intimately from stem to stern, her several decks, her cabins, lockers, holds; we had counted all her ribs over and over again, and paced her quarter-deck, and gazed up at her stumpy masts--she had been well-nigh dismantled,--and given sailing orders to our fellows amidships in the very ecstasy of circumnavigation. she has gone, gone to her grave in the sea that lapped her timbers as they lay a-rotting under the rocks; and now pestiferous factories make hideous the landscape we found so fair. [illustration: the old flume at black point, ] as for black point, it was a wilderness of beauty in our eyes; a very paradise of live-oak and scrub-oak, and of oak that had gone mad in the whirlwinds and sandstorms that revelled there. beyond black point we climbed a trestle and mounted a flume that was our highway to the sea. through this flume the city was supplied with water. the flume was a square trough, open at the top and several miles in length. it was cased in a heavy frame; and along the timbers that crossed over it lay planks, one after another, wherever the flume was uncovered. this narrow path, intended for the convenience of the workmen who kept the flume in repair, was our delight. we followed it in the full assurance that we were running a great risk. beneath us was the open trough, where the water, two or three feet in depth, was rushing as in a mill-race. had we fallen, we must have been swept along with it, and perhaps to our doom. sometimes we were many feet in the air, crossing a cove where the sea broke at high tide; sometimes we were in a cut among the rocks on a jutting point; and sometimes the sand from the desert above us drifted down and buried the flume, now roofed over, quite out of sight. so we came to fort point and the golden gate; and beyond the fort there was more flume and such a stretch of sea and shore and sunshine as caused us to leap with gladness. we could follow the beach for miles; it was like a pavement of varnished sand, cool to the foot and burnished to the eye. and what sea-treasure lay strewn there! mollusks, not so delicate or so decorative as the shells we had brought with us from the southern seas, but still delightful. such starfish and cloudy, starch-like jelly-fish, and all the livelier creeping and crawling creatures that populate the shore! brown sea-kelp and sea-green sea-grass and the sea-anemone that are the floating gardens of the sea-gods and sea-goddesses; sea-birds, soft-bosomed as doves and crying with their ceaseless and sorrowful cry; and all they that are sea-borne along the sea-board,--these were there in their glory. we hid in caverns and there dreamed our sea-dreams. we ate our lunches and played at being smugglers; then we built fires of drift-wood to warn the passing ships that we were castaways on a desert island; but when they took no heed of our signals of distress we were not too sorry nor in the least distressful. at the seal rocks we tarried long; for there are few spots within the reach of the usual sight-seer where an enormous family of sea-lions can be seen at home, sporting in their native element, and at liberty to come and go in the wide pacific at their own sweet wills. there they had lived for numberless generations unmolested; there they still live, for they are under the protection of the law. the famous cliff house is built upon the cliff above them, and above it is a garden bristling with statues. thousands upon thousands of curious idlers stare the sea-folks out of countenance--or try to; but they, the sons of the salt sea and the daughters of the deep, climb into the crevices of the rocks to sun themselves, unheeding; or leap into the waves that girdle them and sport like the fabled monsters of marine mythology. seal, sea-leopard, or sea-lion--whatever they may be--they cry with one voice night and day; and it is not a pleasant cry either, though a far one, they mouth so horribly. long ago it inspired a wit to madness and he made a joke; the same old joke has been made by those who followed after him. it will continue to be made with impertinent impunity until the sea gives up its seals; for the temptation is there daily and hourly, and the humorist is but human--he can not long resist it; so he will buttonhole you on the veranda of the cliff house and whisper in your astonished ear as if he were imparting a state secret: "their bark is on the sea!" the way home was sometimes a weary one. after leaving the bluff above the shore, we struck into an almost interminable succession of sand-dunes. there was neither track nor trail there; there was no oasis to gladden us with its vision of beauty. the pale poet of destiny and despair has written: in the desert a fountain is springing, in the wide waste there still is a tree; and a bird in the solitude singing, which speaks to my spirit of thee. there was no fountain in our desert, and we knew it well enough; for we had often braved its sands. in that wide waste there was not even the solitary tree that moved the poet to song; nor a bird in our solitude, save a sea-gull cutting across-lots from the ocean to the bay in search of a dinner. there were some straggling vines on the edge of our desert, thick-leaved and juicy; and these were doing their best to keep from getting buried alive. the sand was always shifting out yonder, and there was a square mile or two of it. we could easily have been lost in it but for our two everlasting landmarks--mount tamalpais across the water to the north, and in the south lone mountain. lone mountain was our calvary--a green hill that loomed above the graves where slept so many who were dear to us. the cross upon its summit we had often visited in our holiday pilgrimages. they were _holydays_, when our childish feet toiled hopefully up that steep height; for that cross was the beacon that lighted the world-weary to everlasting rest. and so we crossed the desert, over our shoetops in sand; climbing one hill after another, only to slide or glide or ride down the yielding slope on the farther side. meanwhile the fog came in like a wet blanket. it swathed all the landscape in impalpable snow; it chilled us and it thrilled us, for there was danger of our going quite astray in it; but by and by we got into the edge of the town, and what a very ragged edge it was in the dim long ago! once in the edge of the town, we were masters of the situation: you couldn't lose us even in the dark. and so ended the outing of our merry crew,--merry though weary and worn; yet not so worn and weary but we could raise at parting a glad "hoorah for health, happiness, and the hills of home!" viii. the mission dolores i have read somewhere in the pages of a veracious author how, five or six years before my day, he had ridden through chaparral from yerba buena to the mission dolores with the howl of the wolf for accompaniment. yerba buena is now san francisco, and the mission is a part of the city; it is not even a suburb. in there were two plank-roads leading from the city to the mission dolores; on each of these omnibuses ran every half hour. the plank-road was a straight and narrow way, cut through acres of chaparral--thickets of low evergreen oaks,--and leading over forbidding wastes of sand. to stretch a figure, it was as if the sea-of-sand had been divided in the midst, so that the children of israel might have passed dry-shod, and the egyptians pursuing them might have been swallowed up in the billows of sand that flowed over them at intervals. somewhere among those treacherous dunes--of them it might indeed be said that "the mountains skipped like rams and the little hills like lambs,"--somewhere thereabout was located the once famous but now fabulous pipesville, the country-seat of my old friend, "jeems pipes of pipesville." he was longer and better known to the world as stephen c. massett, composer of the words and music of that once most popular of songs, "when the moon on the lake is beaming," as well as many another charming ballad. stephen c. massett, a most delightful companion and a famous diner-out, give a concert of vocal music interspersed with recitations and imitations, in the school-house that stood at the northwest corner of the plaza. this was on monday evening, june , ; and it was the first public entertainment, the first regular amusement, ever given in san francisco. the only piano in the country was engaged for the occasion; the tickets were three dollars each, and the proceeds yielded over five hundred dollars; although it cost sixteen dollars to have the piano used on the occasion moved from one side of the plaza, or portsmouth square, to the other. on a copy of the programme which now lies before me i find this line: "n.b.--front seats reserved for ladies!" history records that there were but four ladies present--probably the only four in the town at the time. massett died in new york city a few months ago,--a man who had friends in every country under the sun, and, i believe, no enemy. i remember the mission dolores as a detached settlement with a pronounced spanish flavor. there was one street worth mentioning, and only one. it was lined with low-walled adobe houses, roofed with the red curved tiles which add so much to the adobe houses that otherwise would be far from picturesque. the adobe is a sun-baked brick; it is mud-color; its walls look as if they were moulded of mud. the adobes were the native california habitations. we spoke of them as adobes; although it would probably be as correct, etymologically, to refer to brick houses as bricks. there were a few ramshackle hotels at the mission; for in the early days it seemed as if everybody either boarded or took in boarders, and many families lived for years in hotels rather than attempt to keep house in the wilds of san francisco. the mission was about one house deep each side of the main street. you might have turned a corner and found yourself face to face with the cattle in the meadow. as for the goats, they met you at the doorway and followed you down the street like dogs. at the top of this street stood the mission church and what few mission buildings were left for the use of the fathers. the church and the grounds were the most interesting features of the place, and it was a favorite resort of the citizens of san francisco; yet it most likely would not have been were the church the sole attraction. here, in appropriate enclosures, there were bull-fighting, bear-baiting, and horse-racing. many duels were fought here, and some of them were so well advertised that they drew almost as well as a cock-fight. cock-fighting was a special sunday diversion. through the mission ran the highway to the pleasant city of san josé; it ran through a country unsurpassed in beauty and fertility. above the mission towered the mission peaks, and about it the hillslopes were mantled with myriads of wild flowers, the splendor and variety of which have added to the fame of california. the mission church was never handsome; but the facade with the old bells hanging in their niches, and the almost naive simplicity of its architectural adornment, are extremely pleasing. it is a long, narrow, dingy nave one enters. its walls of adobe do not retain their coats of whitewash for any length of time; in the rainy season they are damp and almost clammy. the floor is of beaten earth; the stations upon the walls of the rudest description; the narrow windows but dimly light the interior, and rather add to than dispel the gloom that has been gathering there for ages. the high altar is, of course, in striking contrast with all that dark interior: it is over-decorated in the mexican manner--flowers, feathers, tinsel ornaments, tall candlesticks elaborately gilded; all the statues examples of the primitive art that appealed strongly to the uncultivated eye; and all the adornments gay, gaudy, if not garish. do you wonder at this? when you enter the old church at the mission dolores you should recall its history, and picture in your imagination the people for whom the mission was established. the franciscans founded their first mission in california at san diego in . the mission dolores was founded on st. francis' day, . to found a mission was a serious matter; yet one and twenty missions were in the full tide of success before the good work was abandoned. the friars were the first fathers of the land: they did whatever was done for it and for the people who originally inhabited it. they explored the country lying between the coast range and the sea. they set apart large tracts of land for cultivation and for the pasturing of flocks and herds. for a long time old and new spain contributed liberally to what was known as the pious fund of california. the fund was managed by the convent of san fernando and certain trustees in mexico, and the proceeds transmitted from the city of mexico to the friars in california. the mission church was situated, as a rule, in the centre of the mission lands, or reservations. the latter comprised several thousand acres of land. with the money furnished by the pious fund of california the church was erected, and surrounded by the various buildings occupied by the fathers, the retainers, and the employees who had been trained to agriculture and the simple branches of mechanics. the presbytery, or the rectory, was the chief guest-house in the land. there were no hotels in the california of that day, but the traveller, the prospector, the speculator, was ever welcome at the mission board; and it was a bountiful board until the rapacity of the federal government laid it waste. alexander forbes, in his "history of upper and lower california" (london, ), states that the population of upper california in was a little over , ; of these , were indians. it was for the conversion of these indians that the missions were first established; for the bettering of their condition--mental, moral and physical--that they were trained in the useful and industrial arts. that they labored not in vain is evident. in less than fifty years from the day of its foundation the mission of san francisco dolores--that is in --is said to have possessed , head of cattle; tame horses; , breeding mares; stud of choice breed; mules; , sheep; , hogs; yoke of working oxen; , bushels of wheat and barley; besides $ , in merchandise and $ , in specie. that was, indeed, the golden age of the california missions; everybody was prosperous and proportionately happy. in the mission of soledad owned more than , head of cattle, and a larger number of horses and mares than any other mission in the country. these animals increased so rapidly that they were given away in order to preserve the pasturage for cattle and sheep. in the spanish power in mexico was overthrown; in a republican constitution was established. california, not then having a population sufficient to admit it as one of the federal states, was made a territory, and as such had a representative in the mexican congress; but he was not allowed a vote on any question, though he sat in the assembly and shared in the debates. in the federal government began to meddle with the affairs of the friars. the indians "who had good characters, and were considered able to maintain themselves, from having been taught the art of agriculture or some trade," were manumitted; portions of land were allotted to them, and the whole country was divided into parishes, under the superintendence of curates. the zealous missionaries were no longer to receive a salary--four hundred dollars a year had formerly been paid them out of the national exchequer for developing the resources of the state. everybody and everything was now supposed to be self-sustaining, and was left to take care of itself. it was a dream--and a bad one! [illustration: lone mountain, ] within one year the indians went to the dogs. they were cheated out of their small possessions and were driven to beggary or plunder. the fathers were implored to take charge again of their helpless flock. meanwhile the pious fund of california had run dry, as its revenues had been diverted into alien channels. the good friars resumed their offices. once more the missions were prosperous, but for a time only. it was the beginning of the end. year after year acts were passed in the mexican congress so hampering the friars in their labors that they were at last crippled and helpless. the year was specially disastrous; and in the franciscans the pioneer settlers and civilizers of california, were completely denuded of both power and property. in that year a number of the missions were sold by public auction. the indian converts, formerly attached to some of the missions, but now demoralized and wandering idly and miserably over the country, were ordered to return within a month to the few remaining missions, _or those also would be sold_. the indians, having had enough of legislation and knowing the white man pretty well by this time, no doubt having had enough of him, returned not, and their missions were disposed of. then the remaining missions were rented and the remnants divided into three parts: one kindly bestowed upon the missionaries, who were the founders and rightful owners of the missions; one upon the converted indians, who seem to have vanished into thin air; one, the last, was supposed to be converted into a new pious fund of california for the further education and evangelization of the masses--whoever they might be. the general government had long been in financial distress, and had often borrowed--to put it mildly--from the friars in their more prosperous days. in the mexican congress owed the missions of california $ , of borrowed money; and in it left those missionaries absolutely penniless. let me not harp longer upon this theme, but end with a quotation from the pages of a non-catholic historian. referring to the franciscans and their mission work on the pacific coast, josiah joyce, assistant professor of philosophy in harvard college, says:[ ] "no one can question their motives, nor may one doubt that their intentions were not only formally pious but truly humane. for the more fatal diseases that so-called civilization introduced among the indians, only the soldiers and colonists of the presidios and pueblos were to blame; and the fathers, well knowing the evil results of a mixed population, did their best to prevent these consequences, but in vain; since the neighborhood of a presidio was often necessary for the safety of a mission, and the introduction of a white colonist was an important part of the intentions of the home government. but, after all, upon this whole toil of the missions, considered in itself, one looks back with regret, as upon one of the most devout and praiseworthy of mortal efforts; and, in view of its avowed intentions, one of the most complete and fruitless of human failures. the missions have meant, for modern american california, little more than a memory, which now indeed is lighted up by poetical legends of many sorts. but the chief significance of the missions is simply that they first began the colonization of california." the old mission church as i knew it four and forty years ago is still standing and still an object of pious interest. the first families of the faithful lie under its eaves in their long and peaceful sleep, happily unmindful of the great changes that have come over the spirit of all our dreams. the old adobes have returned to dust, even as the hands of those who fashioned them more than a century ago. very modern houses have crowded upon the old church and churchyard, and they seem to have become the merest shadows of their former selves; while the roof-tree of the new church soars into space, and its wide walls--out of all proportion with the dolores of departed days--are but emblematic of the new spirit of the age. footnotes: [footnote : in "california," ,--one of the admirable american commonwealths series.] ix. social san francisco social san francisco during the early fifties seems to have been a conglomeration of unexpected externals and surprising interiors. it was heterogeneous to the last degree. it was hail-fellow-well-met, with a reservation; it asked no questions for conscience's sake; it would not have been safe to do so. there were too many pasts in the first families and too many possible futures to permit one to cast a shadow upon the other. and after all is said, if sins may be forgiven and atoned for, why should the memory of a shady past imperil the happiness and prosperity of the future? all futures should be hopeful; they were "promise-crammed" in that healthy and hearty city by the sea. it was impossible, not to say impolite, to inquire into your neighbors' antecedents. it was currently believed that the mines were filled with broken-down "divines," as if it were but a step from the pulpit to the pickaxe. as for one's family, it was far better off in the old home so long as the salary of a servant was seventy dollars a month, fresh eggs a dollar and a quarter a dozen, turkeys ten dollars apiece, and coal fifty dollars a ton. in and san francisco had a monthly magazine that any city or state might have been proud of; this was _the pioneer_, edited by the rev. ferdinand c. ewer. in , a lady, the wife of a physician, went with her husband into the mines and settled at rich bar and indian bar, two neighboring camps on the north fork of the feather river. there were but three or four other women in that part of the country, and one of these died. this lady wrote frequent and lengthy descriptive letters to a sister in new england, and these letters were afterward published serially in _the pioneer_. they picture life as a highly-accomplished woman knew it in the camps and among the people whom bret harte has immortalized. she called herself "dame shirley," and the "shirley letters" in _the pioneer_ are the most picturesque, vivid, and valuable record of life in a california mining camp that i know of. the wonder is that they have never been collected and published in book form; for they have become a part of the history of the development of the state. the life of a later period in san francisco and monterey has been faithfully depicted by another hand. the life that was a mixture of gringo and diluted castilian--a life that smacked of the presidio and the hacienda,--that was a tale worth telling; and no one has told it so freely, so fully or so well as gertrude franklin atherton. "dame shirley" was mrs. l.a.c. clapp. when her husband died she went to san francisco and became a teacher in the union street public school. it was this admirable lady who made literature my first love; and to her tender mercies i confided my maiden efforts in the art of composition. she readily forgave me then, and was the very first to offer me encouragement; and from that hour to this she has been my faithful friend and unfailing correspondent. south park and rincon hill! do the native sons of the golden west ever recall those names and think what dignity they once conferred upon the favored few who basked in the sunshine of their prosperity? south park, with its line of omnibuses running across the city to north beach; its long, narrow oval, filled with dusty foliage and offering a very weak apology for a park; its two rows of houses with, a formal air, all looking very much alike, and all evidently feeling their importance. there were young people's "parties" in those days, and the height of felicity was to be invited to them. as a height o'ertops a hollow, so rincon hill looked down upon south park. there was more elbow-room on the breezy height; not that the height was so high or so broad, but it _was_ breezy; and there was room for the breeze to blow over gardens that spread about the detached houses their wealth of color and perfume. how are the mighty fallen! the hill, of course, had the farthest to fall. south parkites merely moved out: they went to another and a better place. there was a decline in respectability and the rent-roll, and no one thinks of south park now,--at least no one speaks of it above a whisper. as for the hill, the hillites hung on through everything; the waves of commerce washed all about it and began gnawing at its base; a deep gully was cut through it, and there a great tide of traffic ebbed and flowed all day. at night it was dangerous to pass that way without a revolver in one's hand; for that city is not a city in the barbarous south seas, whither preachers of the gospel of peace are sent; but is a civilized city and proportionately unsafe. a cross-street was lowered a little, and it leaped the chasm in an agony of wood and iron, the most unlovely object in a city that is made up of all unloveliness. the gutting of this hill cost the city the fortunes of several contractors, and it ruined the hill forever. there is nothing left to be done now but to cast it into the midst of the sea. i had sported on the green with the goats of goatland ere ever the stately mansion had been dreamed of; and it was my fate to set up my tabernacle one day in the ruins of a house that even then stood upon the order of its going,--it did go impulsively down into that "most unkindest cut," the second street chasm. even the place that once knew it has followed after. the ruin i lived in had been a banker's gothic home. when rincon hill was spoiled by bloodless speculators, he abandoned it and took up his abode in another city. a tenant was left to mourn there. every summer the wild winds shook that forlorn ruin to its foundations. every winter the rains beat upon it and drove through and through it, and undermined it, and made a mush of the rock and soil about it; and later portions of that real estate deposited themselves, pudding-fashion, in the yawning abyss below. i sat within, patiently awaiting the day of doom; for well i knew that my hour must come. i could not remain suspended in midair for any length of time: the fall of the house at the northwest corner of harrison and second streets must mark my fall. while i was biding my time, there came to me a lean, lithe stranger. i knew him for a poet by his unshorn locks and his luminous eyes, the pallor of his face and his exquisitely sensitive hands. as he looked about my eyrie with aesthetic glance, almost his first words were: "what a background for a novel!" he seemed to relish it all--the impending crag that might topple any day or hour; the modest side door that had become my front door because the rest of the building was gone; the ivy-roofed, geranium-walled conservatory wherein i slept like a babe in the wood, but in densest solitude and with never a robin to cover me. he liked the crumbling estate, and even as much of it as had gone down into the depths forever. he liked the sagging and sighing cypresses, with their roots in the air, that hung upon and clung upon the rugged edge of the remainder. he liked the shaky stairway that led to it (when it was not out of gear), and all that was irrelative and irrelevant; what might have been irritating to another was to him singularly appealing and engaging; for he was a poet and a romancer, and his name was robert louis stevenson. he used to come to that eyrie on rincon hill to chat and to dream; he called it "the most san francisco-ey part of san francisco," and so it was. it was the beginning and the end of the first period of social development on the pacific coast. there is a picture of it, or of the south park part of it, in gertrude atherton's story, "the californians." the little glimpse that louis stevenson had of it in its decay gave him a few realistic pages for _the wrecker_. i have referred to the surprising interiors of the city in the fifties. what i meant was this: there was not an alley so miserable and so muddy but somewhere in it there was pretty sure to be a cottage as demure in outward appearance as modesty itself. nothing could be more unassuming: it had not even the air of genteel poverty. i think such an air was not to be thought of in those days: gentility kept very much to itself. as for poverty, it was a game that any one might play at any moment, and most had played at it. this cottage stood there--i think i will say _sat_ there, it looked so perfectly resigned,--and no doubt commanded a rent quite out of proportion to its size. it had its shaky veranda and its french windows, and was lined with canvas; for there was not a trowel full of plaster in it. the ceiling bellied and flapped like an awning when the wind soughed through the clapboards; and the walls sometimes visibly heaved a sigh; but they were covered with panelled paper quite palatial in texture and design, and that is one thing that made those interiors surprising. at the windows the voluminous lace draperies were almost overpowering. satin lambrequins were festooned with colossal cord and tassels of bullion. a plate-glass mirror as wide as the mantel reflected the florentine gilt carving of its own elaborate frame. there were bronzes on the mantel, and tall vases of sévres, and statuettes of bisque brilliantly tinted. at the two sides of the mantel stood pedestals of italian marble surmounted by urns of the most graceful and elegant proportions, and profusely ornamented with sculptured fruits and flowers. there was the old-fashioned square piano in its carven case, and cabinets from china or east india; also a lacquered japanese screen, marble-topped tables of filigreed teek, brackets of inlaid ebony. curios there were galore. some paintings there were, and these rocked softly upon the gently-heaving walls. as for the velvet carpet, it was a bed of gigantic roses that might easily put to the blush the prime of summer in a queen's garden. i well remember another home in san francisco, one that possessed for me the strongest attraction. it was bosomed in the sandhills south of market street,--i know not between what streets, for they had all been blurred or quite obliterated by drifts of sifting sand. it was a small house fenced about; but the fence was for the most part buried under sand, and looked as if it were a rampart erected for the defense of this isolated cot. some few hardy flowers had been planted there, but they were knee-deep in sand, and their petals were full of grit. one usually blew into that house with a pinch of sand, but how good it was to be there! within those walls there was the unmistakable evidence of the feminine touch, the aesthetic influence that refines and beautifies everything. it was not difficult to idealize in that atmosphere. it was the home of a lady who chose to conceal her identity, though her pen-name was a household word from one end of the coast to the other. she was a star contributor to the weekly columns of the _golden era,_ a periodical we all subscribed for and were immensely proud of. it was unique in its way. of late years i have found no literary journal to compare with it at its best. it introduced bret harte, mark twain, prentice mulford, joaquin miller, ina coolbrith, and many others, to their first circle of admirers. in the large mail-box at its threshold--a threshold i dared not cross for awe of it--i dropped my earliest efforts in verse, and then ran for fear of being caught in the act. imagine the joy of a lad whose ambition was to write something worth printing, and whose wildest dream was to be named some day with those who had won their laurels in the field of letters,--imagine his joy at being petted in the sanctum of one who was in his worshipful eyes the greatest lady in the land! about her were the trophies of her triumph, though she was personally known to few. each post brought her tribute from the grateful hearts of her readers afar off in the mountain mining camps, and perhaps from beyond the rockies; or, it may have been, from the unsuspecting admirer who lived just beyond the first sandhill. this was another surprising interior. there was plain living and high thinking in the midst of a wilderness that was, to say the least, uninviting; the windows rattled and the sand peppered them. without was the abomination of desolation; but within the desert blossomed as the rose. there were other homes as homely as the one i preferred--for there was sand enough to go round. it went round and round, as god probably intended it should, until a city sat upon it and kept it quiet. some of these homes were perched upon solitary hilltops, and were lost to sight when the fog came in from the sea; and some were crowded into the thick of the town, with all sorts of queer people for neighbors. you could, had you chosen to, look out of a back window into a hollow square full of cats and rats and tin cans; and upon the three sides of the quadrangle which you were facing, you might have seen, unblushingly revealed, all the mysteries and miseries of europe, asia, africa, and oceanica; for they were all of them represented by delegates. of course there were handsome residences (not so very many of them as yet), where there was fine art--some of the finest. but often this art was to be found in the saloons, and the subjects chosen would hardly find entertainment elsewhere. the furnishing of the houses was within the bounds of good taste. monumental marbles were not erected by the hearth-side; the window drapery was diaphanous rather than dense and dowdy. the markets of san francisco were much to blame for the flashiness of the domestic interior: they were stocked with the gaudiest fixtures and textures, and in the inspection of them the eye was bewildered and the taste demoralized. harmony survived the inharmonious, and it prevailed in the homes of the better classes, as it was bound to do; for refinement had set its seal there, and you can not counterfeit the seal of refinement. but i am inclined to think that in the fifties there was a natural tendency to overdress, to over-decorate, to overdo almost everything. indeed the day was demonstrative; if the now celebrated climate had not yet been elaborately advertised, no doubt there was something hi it singularly bracing. the elixir of it got into the blood and the brain, and perhaps the bones as well. the old felt younger than they did when they left "the states,"--the territory from the rockies to the atlantic ocean was commonly known as "the states." the middle-aged renewed their youth, and youth was wild with an exuberance of health and hope and happiness that seemed to give promise of immortality. no wonder that it was thought an honor to be known as the first white child born in san francisco--i'd think it such myself,--and i'm proud to state that all three claimants are my personal friends. x. happy valley how well i remember it--the happy valley of the days of old! it lay between california street and rincon point; was bounded on the east by the harbor of san francisco, and on the west by the mission peaks. i never knew just why it was called _happy_; i never saw any wildly-happy inhabitants singing or dancing for joy on its sometimes rather indefinite street corners. if there is happiness in sand, then, happily, it was sandy. you might have climbed knee-deep up some parts of it and slid down on the other side; you could have played at "hide-and-seek" among its shifting undulations. from what is now known as nob hill you could have looked across it to the heights of rincon point--and, perchance, have looked in vain for happiness. yet who or what is happiness? a flying nymph whose airy steps even the sand can not stay for long. down through this happy valley ran market street, a bias cut across the city that was to be. market street is about all that saved that city from making a checker-board of its ground-plan. market street flew off at a tangent and set all the south portion of the town at an angle that is rather a relief than anything else that i know of. who wants to go on forever up one street and down another, and then across town at right angles, as if life were a treadmill and there were no hope of change until the great change comes? happy valley! i remember one cool twilight when a "prairie schooner," that was time-worn and weather-beaten, drifted down montgomery street from market street, and rounded the corner of sutter street, where it hove to. you know the "prairie schooner" was the old-time emigrant wagon that was forever crossing the plains in forty-nine and the early fifties. it was scow-built, hooded from end to end, freighted with goods and chattels; and therein the whole family lived and moved and had its being during the long voyage to the pacific coast. on this twilight evening the captain of the schooner, assisted by a portion of his crew, deliberately took down part of the fence which enclosed a sand-lot bounded by montgomery, sutter and post streets; driving into the centre of the lot; the horses--four jaded beasts--were turned loose, and soon a camp-fire was lighted and the entire emigrant family gathered about it to partake of the evening meal. on this lot now stands the lick house and the masonic hall--undreamed of in those days. no one seemed in the least surprised to find in the very heart of the city a scene such as one might naturally look for in the heart of the rocky mountains and the wilds of the great desert, or the heights of the humboldt. no doubt they thought it a happy valley; and well they might, for they had reached their journey's end. a stone's throw from that twilight camp, on the south side of market street, stood old st. patrick's church. it was a most unpretending structure, and was quite overshadowed by the r.c. orphan asylum close at hand. both were backed by sandhills; and both, together with the sand, have been spirited away. the palace and grand hotels now stand on the spot. the original st. patrick's still exists; and, after one or two transportations, has come to a final halt near the catholic cemetery under the shadow of lone mountain. it must be ever dear to me, for within its modest rectory i met the first catholic clergyman i ever became acquainted with; and within it i grew familiar with the offices of the church; though i was instructed by the rev. father accolti, s.j., at old st. ignatius', on market street; and by him baptized at the st. mary's cathedral, on the corner of california and dupont streets, now the church of the paulist fathers. i have referred to dear old st. patrick's--which was dedicated on the first sunday in september, --in the story of my conversion, a little bit of autobiography entitled "a troubled heart, and how it was comforted at last." the late peter h. burnett, first governor of california, was my godfather. in st. mary's cathedral was the handsomest house of worship in the city. for the most part, the churches of all denominations were of the plainest, not to say cheapest, order of architecture. as a youth, i sat in the family pew in the first presbyterian church, situated on stockton street, near broadway. well i remember my father, with others of the congregation--all members of the vigilance committee,--at the sound of the alarm-bell, rising in the midst of the sermon and striding out of the house to take arms in defence of law and order. perhaps the saddest sights in those early days were the neglected cemeteries. there was one at north beach, where before there were eight hundred and forty interments. it was on the slope of telegraph hill. the place was neglected; a street had been cut through it, and on the banks of this street we could, at intervals, see the ends of coffins protruding. some were broken and falling apart; some were still sound. it was a gruesome sight. there were a few russian graves on russian hill, a forlorn spot in those days; but perhaps the forlornest of all was yerba buena cemetery, where previous to four thousand and five hundred bodies had been buried. it was half-way between happy valley and the mission dolores. the sand there was tossed in hillocks like the waves of a sandy sea. there the chaparral grew thickest; and there the scrub-oaks shrugged their shoulders and turned their backs to the wind, and grew all lopsided, with leafage as dense as moss. no fence enclosed this weird spot. the sand sifted into it and through it and out on the other, side; it made graves and uncovered them; it had ever a new surprise for us. we boys haunted it in ghoulish pairs, and whispered to each other as we found one more coffin coming to the surface, or searched in vain for the one we had seen the week before; it had been mercifully reburied by the winds. there were rude headboards, painted in fading colors; and beneath them lay the dead of all nations, soon to be nameless. by and by they were all carried hence; and those that were far away, watching and waiting for the loved and absent adventurers, watched and waited in vain. a change come o'er the spirit of the place. the site is now marked by the new city hall--in all probability the most costly architectural monstrosity on this continent. "from grave to gay" is but a step; "from lively to severe," another,--i know not which of the two is longer. it was literally from grave to gay when the old san franciscans used to wade through the sandy margin of yerba buena cemetery in search of pleasure at russ' garden on the mission road. it flourished in the early fifties--this very german garden, the pride and property of mr. christian russ. it was a little bit of the fatherland, transported as if by magic and set down among the hillocks toward the mission dolores. well i remember being taken there at intervals, to find little tables in artificial bowers, where sat whole families as sedate, or merry, and as much at ease as if they were in their own homes. they would spend sunday there, after mass. there was always something to be seen, to be listened to, to be done. meals were served at all hours, and beer at all minutes; and the program contained a long list of attractions,--enough to keep one interested till ten or eleven o'clock at night. i can remember how scanty the foliage was--it resembled a little the toy-villages that are made in the tyrol, having each of them a handful of impossible trees that breathe not balsam, but paint. i remember the high wind that blew in bravely from the sea; the pavilion that was a wonder-world of never-failing attractiveness; and how on a certain occasion i watched with breathless anxiety and dumb amazement a man, who seemed to have discarded every garment common to the race, wheel a wheelbarrow with a grooved wheel up a tight rope stretched from the ground to the outer peak of the pavilion; and all the time there was a man in the wheelbarrow who seemed paralyzed with fright,--as no doubt he was. the man who wheeled the barrow was the world-famous blondin. [illustration: russ gardens, ] another sylvan retreat was known as "the willows." there were some willows there, but i fear they were numbered; and there was an _al fresco_ theatre such as one sees in the champs-elysées; indeed, the place had quite a frenchy atmosphere, and was not at all german, as was russ' garden. french singers sang french songs upon the stage--it was not much larger than a sounding-board. an air of gaiety prevailed; for i imagine the majority of the _habitués_ were from the french quarter of the city. of course there were birds and beasts, and cages populous with monkeys; and there was an emeu--the weird bird that can not fly, the australian cassowary. this bird inspired bret harte to song, and in his early days he wrote "the ballad of the emeu"; o say, have you seen at the willows so green, so charming and rurally true, a singular bird, with the manner absurd, which they call the australian emeu? have you ever seen this australian emeu? i fear the poet was moved to sarcasm when he sang of "the willows so green, so charming and rurally true." surely they were greener than any other trees we had in town; for we had almost none, save a few dark evergreens. well, the place was charming in its way, and as rurally true as anything could be expected to be on that peninsula in its native wilderness. the willows and russ' garden had their day, and it was a jolly day. they were good for the people--those rural resorts; they were rest for the weary, refreshment for the hungry and thirsty--and they have gone; even their very sites are now obliterated, and the new generation has perhaps never even heard of them. how we wondered at and gloried in the oriental hotel! it was the queen of western hostelries, and stood at the corner of battery and bush streets. and the tehama house, so famous in its day! it was lieutenant g.h. derby, better known in letters as john phoenix, and squibob--names delightfully associated with the early history of california,--it was this lieutenant derby, one of the first and best of western humorists, who added interest to the hotel by writing "a legend of the tehama house." it begins, chapter first: "it was evening at the tehama. the apothecary, whose shop formed the southeastern corner of that edifice, had lighted his lamps, which, shining through those large glass bottles in the window, filled with red and blue liquors--once supposed by this author, when young and innocent, to be medicines of the most potent description,--lit up the faces of the passers-by with an unearthly glare, and exaggerated the general redness and blueness of their noses." the third and last chapter concludes with these words: "the tehama house is still there." the laughter-making and laughter-loving phoenix has long since gone to his reward. of the oriental hotel scarcely a tradition remains. the tehama house--what there is left of it--has been spirited to the north side of broadway within a stone's-throw of the city and county jail. the cliffs of telegraph hill browbeat it. it is, one might say, the last of its race. another hospice--if it _was_ a hospice--i remember. it stood on the corner of clay and sansome streets, and was a very ordinary building, erected over the hulk of a ship that had been stranded there in the days of forty-nine. i saw the building torn down and the bones of the hulk disinterred years after the water lots that had been filled in for several squares, between it and the old harbor, were covered with substantial buildings. when that bark was buoyant it had weathered cape horn with a small army of argonauts. they had gone their way to dusty death; she had buried her nose on the water-front and had been smothered to death in the mire. docks, streets, grew up around her; a building had snuffed her out of sight and mind. the old building gave place to a new one; the bark was resurrected in order to lay a solid foundation for the new block that was to be. in the hold of this forgotten bark was discovered a forgotten case of champagne. it had been sunk in mud and ooze for years. when the bottles were opened the corks refused to pop, and nobody dared to touch the "bilge" that was within. all this was on the happy hem of happy valley--and still i was not happy. xi. the vigilance committee it was may , . i chanced to be standing at the northwest corner of washington and montgomery streets, watching the world go by. it was a queer world: very much mixed, not a little fantastic in manner and costume; just the kind of world to delight a boy, and no doubt i was delighted. "bang!" it was a pistol-shot, and very near me--not thirty feet away. i turned and saw a man stagger and fall to the pavement. then the streets began to grow dark with people hurrying toward the scene of the tragedy. i fled in fright; i had had my fill of horrors. the pistol-shot was familiar enough: it punctuated the hours of day and night out yonder. but i had never witnessed a murder, and this was evidently one. when i reached home i was dazed. on the witness stand, under oath, i could have told nothing; but very shortly the whole town was aware that james king--known as james king of william (i.e., william king was his father)--the editor of the _evening bulletin_ had been shot in cold blood by james casey, a supervisor, the editor of a local journal, an unprincipled politician, an ex-convict, and a man whose past had been exposed and his present publicly denounced in the editorial columns of the _bulletin_. this climax precipitated a general movement toward social and political reform in san francisco. it was james p. casey, a graduate of the new york state-prison at sing sing, who stuffed a ballot-box with tickets bearing his own name upon them as candidate for supervisor, and as a result of this stuffing declared himself elected. casey was hurried off to jail by his friends, lest the outraged populace should lynch him on the spot. a mob gathered at the jail. the mayor of the city harangued the people in favor of law and order. they jeered him and remained there most of the night. one leading spirit might have roused the masses to riot; but the hour was not yet ripe. in a vigilance committee had endeavored to purge the politics of the town and rid it of the criminals who had foisted themselves into office. some ex-members of this committee became active members of the committee of . chief among them was william t. coleman, a name deservedly honored in the annals of san francisco. james king of william was shot on tuesday, the th of may. he died on the following monday. that fatal shot was the turning-point in the history of the metropolis of the pacific. a meeting of the citizens was immediately called; an executive committee was appointed; the work of organization was distributed among the sub-committees. with amazing rapidity three thousand citizens were armed, drilled, and established in temporary armories; ample means were subscribed to cover all expenses. several companies of militia disbanded rather than run the risk of being called into service against the vigilantis; they then joined the committee, armed with their own muskets. arms were obtained from every quarter, and soon there was an ample supply. a building on sacramento street, below battery, was secured and made headquarters of the committee. a kind of fortification built of potato sacks filled with sand was erected in front of it. it was known as fort gunny bags. this secured an open space before the building. the fort was patrolled by sentinels night and day; military rule was strictly observed. all things having been arranged silently, secretly, decently and in order--the members of the committee were under oath as well as under arms--they decided to take matters into their own hands; and in order to do this casey must be removed from jail--peaceably if possible, forcibly if necessary--and given a lodging and a trial at fort gunny bags. on sunday morning, the th of may, chancing be under the weather, and consequently at home sitting by a window, i saw people flocking past the house and hastening toward the jail. we were then living on broadway, below montgomery street; the jail was on broadway, a square or two farther up the street; between us was a shoulder of telegraph hill not yet cut away, though it had been blasted out of shape and an attempt had been made to tunnel it. the young californian of that day was keen-scented and lost no opportunity of seeing whatever was to be seen. forgetting my distemper, i grabbed my cap and joined the expectant throngs. we went over the heights of the hill like a flock of goats: we were used to climbing. on the other edge of the cliff, where we seemed almost to overhang the jail and the street in front of it, we paused and caught our breath. what a sight it was! it seems that on saturday twenty-four companies of vigilantis were ordered to meet at their respective armories, in various parts of the city, at nine o'clock on sunday morning. orders were given to each captain to take up a certain position near the jail. the jail was surrounded: no one could approach it, no one escape from it, without leave of the commanders of the committee. the streets glistened with bayonets. it was as if the city were in a state of siege; so indeed it was. the companies marched silently, ominously, without music or murmur, to their respective stations. citizens--non-combatants but all sympathizers--flocked in and covered the housetops and the heights in the vicinity. a hollow square was formed before the jail; an artillery company with a huge brass cannon halted near it; the cannon was placed directly in front of the jail and trained upon the gates. i remember how impressive the scene was: the grim files of infantry; the gleaming brass of the cannon; one closed carriage within the hollow square; the awful stillness that brooded over all. [illustration: certificate of membership, vigilance committee, ] two vigilance officials went to the door of the jail and informed sheriff scannell that they had come to take casey with them. resistance was now useless; the door of the jail was thrown open to them and they entered. at their approach casey begged leave to speak for ten minutes in his own defense,--he evidently expected to be executed on the instant. he was assured that he should have a fair trial, and that his testimony should be deliberately weighed in the balance. this act of an outraged and disgusted people was one of the calmest, coolest, wisest, most deliberate on record. law, order, and justice were at bay. casey, under guard, walked quietly to the carriage and entered it. in the jail at the time was charles cora, a man who had murdered united states marshal richardson. he had been tried once; but then the jury disagreed--as they nearly always agreed to in those barbarous days. hanging was almost out of the question. cora was invited to enter the carriage with casey, and the two were driven under military escort to fort gunny bags. on the day following, monday, james king of william died. on tuesday casey was tried by the executive committee. john s. hittell, the historian of san francisco, says: "no person was present at the trial save the accused, the members of the vigilance committee, and witnesses. the testimony was given under oath, though there was no lawful authority for its administration. hearsay testimony was excluded; the general rules of evidence observed in the courts were adopted: the accused heard all the witnesses, cross-examined those against him, summoned such as he wanted in his favor, had an attorney to assist him, and was permitted to make an argument by himself or his attorney, in his own defence." casey and cora were both convicted: their guilt was beyond the shadow of a doubt. on wednesday james king of william was laid to rest at lone mountain. the whole city was draped in mourning; all business was suspended; the citizens lined the streets through which the feral cortége proceeded, or followed it until it seemed interminable. as that procession passed up montgomery street and crossed sacramento street, those who were walking or driving in it looked down the latter street and saw, two squares below, the lifeless bodies of james p. casey and charles cora dangling by the neck from two second-story windows of the headquarters of the vigilance committee. justice was enthroned at last. "the vigilance committees of san francisco in and ," as hittell says, "were in many important respects unlike any other extra-judicial movement to administer justice. they were not common mobs: they were organized for weeks or months of labor, deliberate in their movements, careful to keep records of their proceedings, strictly attentive to the rules of evidence and the penalties for crime accepted by civilized nations; confident of their power, and of their justification by public opinion; and not afraid of taking the public responsibility of their acts." the committee of was never formally dissolved. the reformation it had accomplished rendered it inactive. some of the worst criminals in california had been officials. a thousand homicides had been committed in the city between and , and there were but seven executions in seven years. richard henry dana, jr., the author of "two years before the mast," who spent the greater portion of two years-- - --on the coast of california, and who revisited the pacific coast in , observes: "and now the most quiet and well-governed city in the united states is san francisco. but it has been through its seasons of heaven-defying crime and violence and blood; from which it was rescued and handed back to soberness and morality and good government by that peculiar invention of anglo-saxon republican america--the solemn, awe-inspiring vigilance committee of the most grave and respectable citizens; the last resort of the thinking and the good, taken only when vice, fraud, and ruffianism had entrenched themselves behind the forms of law, suffrage, and ballot." san francisco was undoubtedly the most disreputable city in the union. it is now one of the most reputable. as i think of it to-day there is no shudder in the thought. and yet i saw james king of william shot; i saw casey and cora transferred from the jail to the headquarters of the vigilance committee; and i saw them hanging as the body of james king of william was being borne by a whole city, bowed in grief, to his last resting-place. and my venerated father was a member of that never-to-be-forgotten vigilance committee of san francisco in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and fifty-six. xii. the survivor's story it is not much of a story. it is only the mild adventure of a boy at sea; and of a small, sad boy at that. this boy had an elder brother who was ill; and the physicians in consultation had decided that a long sea-voyage was his only hope, and that even in this case the hope was a very faint one. there was a ship at anchor in the harbor of san francisco,--a very famous clipper, one of those sailors of the sea known as ocean greyhounds. she was built for speed, and her record was a brilliant one; under the guidance of her daring captain, she had again and again proved herself worthy of her name. she was called the _flying cloud_. her cabins were luxuriously furnished; for in those days seafarers were oftener blown about the world by the four winds of heaven than propelled by steam. yet when the _flying cloud_, one january day, tripped anchor and set sail, there were but three strangers on the quarter-deck--a middle-aged gentleman in search of health, the invalid brother, in his eighteenth year, and the small, sad boy. [illustration: west from black point, ] the captain's wife, a lady of salem who had followed him from sea to sea for many a year, was the joy and salvation of that forlorn little company. how forlorn it was only the survivor knows, and he knows well enough. forty years have scarcely dimmed the memory of it. through all the wear and tear of time the remembrance of that voyage has at intervals haunted him: the length of it, the weariness of it, and the almost unbroken monotony stretching through the ninety odd days that dawned and darkened between san francisco and new york; the solitary sail that was blown on and on, and becalmed and buffeted between the blue waste of waters and the blue waste of sky; the lonesomeness of it all--no land, no lights flashing across the sea in glad assurance; no passing ships to hail us with faint-voiced "ahoy!"--only the ever-tossing waves, the trailing sea-gardens, the tireless birds of the air and the monsters of the deep. ah, well-a-day! there was a solemn and hushed circle listening to family prayers that morning,--the morning of the th of january. the father's voice trembled as he opened the bible and read from that beautiful psalm: "they that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these see the works of the lord and his wonders in the deep. for he commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. they mount up to the heaven; they go down again to the depths; their soul is melted because of trouble. they reel to and fro and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. then they cry unto the lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. he maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. oh, that men would praise the lord for his goodness and for his wonderful works to the children of men!" the small, sad boy looked smaller and sadder than ever as he stood on the deck of the _flying cloud_ and waved his last farewell. he tried his best to be manly and to swallow the heart that was leaping in his throat, and at the earliest possible moment he flew to his journal and made his first entry there. he was going to keep a journal because his brother kept one, and because it was the proper thing to keep a journal at sea--no ship is complete without its log, you know; and, moreover, i think it was a custom in that family to keep a journal; for it was, more or less, a journalistic family. now we are nearing the anniversary of that boy's journal: it runs through january, february and march; it is more than forty years old this minute. and because it is a boy's journal, and the boy was small and sad, i'm going to peep into it and fish out a line or two. with an effort he made this entry: "clipper ship, flying cloud, "january , . "i watched them till we were out of sight of them, and then began to look about to see what i could see. it begins to get rough. i tried to see home, but i could not. the pilot says he will take a letter ashore for us. now i will go to bed." then he cried unto the lord in his trouble with a heart as heavy as lead. "jan. .--the day rather rough, with little squalls of rain. we are passing the farallone islands, but i feel too bad to sketch them. i get homesick when i think of the dear ones i left behind me. i hope i may see them all in this world again." that was the gray beginning of a voyage that had very little color in it. the coast-line sank apace; the gray rocks--the farallones, the haunt of the crying gull--dissolved in the gray mist. the hours were all alike: all dismal and slow-footed. "i don't feel very well to-day," said the small, sad boy, quite plaintively. on the th he brightens and begins to take notice. history would have less to fasten on were there not some such entries as this: "a list of our live-stock: pigs; dozen hens and roosters; turkeys; gobbler; a cockatoo and a wild-cat. we have a fair breeze, and carry sails. "jan. .--the day is calm. i began to read 'uncle tom's cabin.' i like it. the captain's wife was going to train the wild-cat when it bit her--but not very hard. " .--there was not much wind to-day. we fished for sea-gulls and caught four. i caught one and let it go again. two hens flew overboard. the sailors in a boat got one of them; the gulls killed one. " .--the day has been rather gloomy. i caught another sea-gull but let him go again. on deck nearly all day. " .--the cockatoo sits on deck and talks and talks. " .--it makes me feel bad when i think of home. i want to be there." the long, long weary days dragged on. it is thought worth while to note that there were fresh eggs for breakfast, fresh pork for dinner, fresh chicken for supper; that a porpoise had been captured, and that his carcass yielded "three gallons of oil as good as sperm oil"; that no ship had been seen--"no sail from day to day"; that they were in the latitude of panama; that it was squally or not squally, as the case might be; that on one occasion they captured "four barrels of oil," the flotsam of some ill-fated whaler, and that it all proved "very exciting"; that a dolphin was captured, and that he died in splendor, passing through the whole gamut of the rainbow--that the words of tradition might be fulfilled; that the hens had suffered no sea-change, but had contributed from a dozen to two dozen eggs per day. still stretched the immeasurable waste of waters to the horizon line on every hand. day by day the small boy made his entries; but he seemed to be running down, like a clock, and needed winding up. this is how his record dwindled: "jan. .--the day is very pleasant, with some wind. we crossed the equator. i sat up in one of the boats a long time. i wish my little brothers were here to play with me. " .--the day is very pleasant, with a good breeze. we are going ten or eleven knots an hour. " .--the day is very pleasant. a nine-knot breeze. nothing new happened to-day. " .--the day is pleasant. six-knot breeze." it came to pass that the small, sad boy, wearying of "uncle tom" and his "cabin," was driven to extremes; and, having obtained leave of the captain--who was autocrat of all his part of the world,--he climbed into one of the ship's boats, as it hung in the davits over the side of the vessel. it was an airy voyage he took there, sailing between sea and sky, soaring up and down with the rolling vessel, like a bird upon the wing. he rigged a tiny mast there--it was a walking-stick that ably served this purpose; the captain's wife provided sails no larger than handkerchiefs. with thread-like ropes and pencil spars he set his sails for dreamland. one day the wind bothered him; he could not trim his canvas, and in desperation he set it dead against the wind, and then the sails were filled almost to bursting. but his navigation was at fault; for he was heading in a direction quite opposite to the _flying cloud_. then came a facetious sailor and whispered to him: "do you want ever to get to new york?"--"yes, i do," said the little captain of the midair craft.--"well, then, you'd better haul in sail; for you're set dead agin us now." the sails were struck on the instant and never unfurled again. i wonder why some people are so very inconsiderate when they speak to children, especially to simple or sensitive children? the small, sad boy took it greatly to heart, and was cast down because he feared that he might have delayed the bark that bore him all too slowly toward the far-distant port. this was indeed simplicity of the deepest dye, and something of that simplicity the boy was never to escape unto the end of time. we are as god made us, and we must in all cases put up with ourselves. what a lonely voyage was that across the vast and vacant sea! now and then a distant sail glimmered upon the horizon, but disappeared like a vanishing snowflake. the equator was crossed; the air grew colder; storm and calm followed each other; the daily entry now becomes monotonous. "february .--to-day for the first time we saw an albatross. " .--rather rough and cold; i have spent all day in the cabin. it makes me homesick to have such weather. " .--i rose at five o'clock and went on deck, and before long saw land. it was terra del fuego; it was a beautiful sight. here lay a pretty island, there a towering precipice, and over yonder a mountain covered with snow. we made the fatal cape horn at two o'clock, and passed it at four o'clock. now we are in the atlantic ocean. "washington's birthday.--rough weather: a sixteen-knot breeze. to-day we got our one thousandth egg, and the hens are doing well. at twelve--eight bells--we saw a sail on our weather-bow: she was going the same way as we were. at two, we overtook and spoke her. she was the whaler _scotland_ from new zealand, bound for new bedford, with thirty-five hundred barrels of oil. we soon passed her. i wish her good luck." i will no longer stretch the small, sad boy upon the rack of his dull journal. he had a glimpse at juan fernandez, but the island of his dreams was so far off that he had to climb to the maintop in order to get a sight of its shadowy outline. when it had faded away like the clouds, the lonely little fellow cried himself to sleep for love of his robinson crusoe. one night the moon--a large, mellow tropical one,--rose from a bank of cloud so like a mountain's chain that the small one clapped his hands in glee and cried: "land ho!" but, alas! it was only cloud-land; and his eyes, that were starving for a sight of god's green earth, were again bedewed. indeed he was bound for a distant shore, a voyage of ninety-one days; and during all that voyage he was in sight of land for five days only. it may be said that the port he was bound for, and where he was destined to pass two years at school, four thousand miles from his own people, may be called "the vale of tears." off the brazilian coast a head-wind forced the ship to tack repeatedly; she was sometimes so near the land that people could be seen moving, like black dots, along the shore. native fishermen, mounted upon the high seats of their catamarans--the frailest rafts,--drifted within hailing distance; and over night the brave ship was within almost speaking distance of pernambuco. the lights of the city were like a bed of glowworms,--but the small, sad boy was blown off into the sea again, for his hour had not yet come. here is the last entry i shall weary you with, for i would not abuse your patience: "april , .--i was _awoke_ this morning by the noise the pilot made in getting on board. at ten o'clock the steam-tug hercules took us in tow. we had beautiful views of the shore [god knows how beautiful they were in his eyes!], and at three o'clock we were at the astor house, with captain and mrs. cresey, mr. connor, and the stoddard boys--all of the _flying cloud_,--where we retired to soft beds to spend the night." there is a plaintive touch in that reference to _soft beds_ after three months in the straight and narrow bunk of a ship. and there is more pathos in all those childish pages than you wot of; for, alas and alas! i am the sole survivor,--i was that small, sad boy; and i alone am left to tell the tale. a bit of old china "it is but a step from confucius to confusion," said i, in a brief discussion of the chinese question. "then let us take it by all means," replied the artist, who had been an indulgent listener for at least ten minutes. we were strolling upon the verge of the chinese quarter in san francisco, and, turning aside from one of the chief thoroughfares of the city, we plunged into the busiest portion of chinatown. from our standpoint--the corner of kearny and sacramento streets--we got the most favorable view of our mongolian neighbors. here is a goodly number of merchant gentlemen of wealth and station, comfortably, if not elegantly, housed on two sides of a street that climbs a low hill quite in the manner of a tea-box landscape. a few of these gentlemen lodge on the upper floors of their business houses, with chinese wives, and quaint, old-fashioned children gaudily dressed, looking like little idols, chatting glibly with one another, and gracefully gesticulating with hands of exquisite slenderness. confucius, in his infancy, may have been like one of the least of these. there are white draymen and porters in the employ of these shrewd and civil merchants, and the outward appearance of traffic, as conducted in the immediate vicinity, is rather american than otherwise. farther up the hill, on dupont street, from california to pacific streets, the five blocks are almost monopolized by the chinese. there is, at first, a sprinkling of small shops in the hands of jews and gentiles, and a mingling of chinese bazaars of the half-caste type, where american and english goods are exposed in the show windows; but as we pass on the asiatic element increases, and finally every trace of alien produce is withdrawn from the shelves and counters. here little china flaunts her scarlet streamers overhead, and flanks her doors with legends in saffron and gold; even its window panes have a foreign look, and within is a glimmering of tinsel, a subdued light, and china lamps flickering before graven images of barbaric hideousness. the air is laden with the fumes of smoking sandal-wood and strange odors of the east; and the streets, swarming with coolies, resound with the echoes of an unknown tongue. there is hardly room for us to pass; we pick our way, and are sometimes curiously regarded by slant-eyed pagans, who bear us no good-will, if that shadow of scorn in the face has been rightly interpreted. china is not more chinese than this section of our christian city, nor the heart of tartary less american. turn which way we choose, within two blocks, on either hand we find nothing but the infinitely small and astonishingly numerous forms of traffic on which the hordes around us thrive. no corner is too cramped for the squatting street cobbler; and as for the pipe cleaners, the cigarette rollers, the venders of sweetmeats and conserves, they gather on the curb or crouch under overhanging windows, and await custom with the philosophical resignation of the oriental. on dupont street, between clay and sacramento streets--a single block,--there are no less than five basement apartments devoted exclusively to barbers. there are hosts of this profession in the quarter. look down the steep steps leading into the basement and see, at any hour of the day, with what deft fingers the tonsorial operators manipulate the devoted pagan head. there is no waste space in the quarter. in apartments not more than fifteen feet square three or four different professions are often represented, and these afford employment to ten or a dozen men. here is a druggist and herb-seller, with huge spectacles on his nose, at the left of the main entrance; a butcher displays his meats in a show-window on the right, serving his customers over the sill; a clothier is in the rear of the shop, while a balcony filled with tailors or cigar-makers hangs half-way to the ceiling. [illustration: "china is not more chinese than this section of our christian city."] close about us there are over one hundred and fifty mercantile establishments and numerous mechanical industries. the seventy-five cigar factories employ eight thousand coolies, and these are huddled into the closest quarters. in a single room, measuring twenty feet by thirty feet, sixty men and boys have been discovered industriously rolling _real_ havanas. the traffic which itinerant fish and vegetable venders drive in every part of the city must be great, being as it is an extreme convenience for lazy or thrifty housewives. a few of these basket men cultivate gardens in the suburbs, but the majority seek their supplies in the city markets. wash-houses have been established in every part of the city, and are supplied with two sets of laborers, who spend watch and watch on duty, so that the establishment is never closed. one frequently meets a travelling bazaar--a coolie with his bundle of fans and bric-a-brac, wandering from house to house, even in the suburbs; and the old fellows, with a handful of sliced bamboos and chairs swinging from the poles over their shoulders, are becoming quite numerous; chair mending and reseating must be profitable. these little rivulets, growing larger and more varied day by day, all spring from that great fountain of asiatic vitality--the chinese quarter. this surface-skimming beguiles for an hour or two; but the stranger who strolls through the streets of chinatown, and retires dazed with the thousand eccentricities of an unfamiliar people, knows little of the mysterious life that surrounds him. let us descend. we are piloted by a special policeman, one who is well acquainted with the geography of the quarter. provided with tapers, we plunge into one of the several dark recesses at hand. back of the highly respectable brick buildings in sacramento street--the dwellings and business places of the first-class chinese merchants--there are pits and deadfalls innumerable, and over all is the blackness of darkness; for these human moles can work in the earth faster than the shade of the murdered dane. here, from the noisome vats three stories underground to the hanging gardens of the fish-dryers on the roofs, there is neither nook nor corner but is populous with mongolians of the lowest caste. the better class have their reserved quarters; with them there is at least room to stretch one's legs without barking the shins of one's neighbor; but from this comparative comfort to the condensed discomfort of the impoverished coolie, how sudden and great the change! between brick walls we thread our way, and begin descending into the abysmal darkness; the tapers, without which it were impossible to proceed with safety, burn feebly in the double night of the subterranean tenements. most of the habitable quarters under the ground are like so many pigeon-houses indiscriminately heaped together. if there were only sunshine enough to drink up the slime that glosses every plank, and fresh air enough to sweeten the mildewed kennels, this highly eccentric style of architecture might charm for a time, by reason of its novelty; there is, moreover, a suspicion of the picturesque lurking about the place--but, heaven save us, how it smells! [illustration: "rag alley" in old chinatown] we pass from one black hole to another. in the first there is a kind of bin for ashes and coals, and there are pots and grills lying about--it is the kitchen. a heap of fire kindling wood in one corner, a bench or stool as black as soot can paint it, a few bowls, a few bits of rags, a few fragments of food, and a coolie squatting over a struggling fire,--coolie who rises out of the dim smoke like the evil _genii_ in the arabian tale. there is no chimney, there is no window, there is no drainage. we are in a cubic sink, where we can scarcely stand erect. from the small door pours a dense volume of smoke, some of it stale smoke, which our entry has forced out of the corners; the kitchen will only hold so much smoke, and we have made havoc among the cubic inches. underfoot, the thin planks sag into standing pools, and there is a glimmer of poisonous blue just along the base of the blackened walls; thousands feed daily in troughs like these! the next apartment, smaller yet, and blacker and bluer, and more slippery and slimy, is an uncovered cesspool, from which a sickening stench exales continually. all about it are chambers--very small ones,--state-rooms let me call them, opening upon narrow galleries that run in various directions, sometimes bridging one another in a marvelous and exceedingly ingenious economy of space. the majority of these state-rooms are just long enough to lie down in, and just broad enough to allow a narrow door to swing inward between two single beds, with two sleepers in each bed. the doors are closed and bolted; there is often no window, and always no ventilation. our "special," by the authority vested in him, tries one door and demands admittance. there is no response from within. a group of coolies, who live in the vicinity and have followed close upon our heels even since our descent into the under world, assure us in soothing tones that the place is vacant. we are suspicious and persist in our investigation; still no response. the door is then forced by the "special," and behold four of the "seven sleepers" packed into this air-tight compartment, and insensible even to the hearty greeting we offer them! the air is absolutely overpowering. we hasten from the spot, but are arrested in our flight by the "special," who leads us to the gate of the catacombs, and bids us follow him. i know not to what extent the earth has been riddled under the chinese quarter; probably no man knows save he who has burrowed, like a gopher, from one living grave to another, fleeing from taxation or the detective. i know that we thread dark passages, so narrow that two of us may not cross tracks, so low that we often crouch at the doorways that intercept pursuit at unexpected intervals. here the thief and the assassin seek sanctuary; it is a city of refuge for lost souls. the numerous gambling houses are so cautiously guarded that only the private police can ferret them out. door upon door is shut against you; or some ingenious panel is slid across your path, and you are unconsciously spirited away through other avenues. the secret signals that gave warning of your approach caused a sudden transformation in the ground-plan of the establishment. gambling and opium smoking are here the ruling passions. a coolie will pawn anything and everything to obtain the means with which to indulge these fascinations. there are many games played publicly at restaurants and in the retiring rooms of mercantile establishments. not only are cards, dice, and dominos common, but sticks, straws, brass rings, etc., are thrown in heaps upon the table, and the fate of the gamester hangs literally upon a breath. these haunts are seldom visited by the officers of justice, for it is almost impossible to storm the barriers in season to catch the criminals in the very act. to-day you approach a gambling hell by this door, to-morrow the inner passages of the house are mysteriously changed, and it is impossible to track them without being frequently misled; meanwhile the alarm is sounded throughout the building, and very speedily every trace of guilt has disappeared. the lottery is another popular temptation in the quarter. most of the very numerous wash-houses are said to be private agencies for the sale of lottery tickets. put your money, no matter how little it is, on certain of the characters that cover a small sheet of paper, and your fate is soon decided; for there is a drawing twice a day. enter any one of the pawn-shops licensed by the city authorities, and cast your eye over the motley collection of unredeemed articles. there are pistols of every pattern and almost of every age, the majority of them loaded. there are daggers in infinite variety, including the ingenious fan stiletto, which, when sheathed, may be carried in the hand without arousing suspicion; for the sheath and handle bear; an exact resemblance to a closed fan. there are entire suits of clothes, beds and bedding, tea, sugar, clocks--multitudes of them, a clock being one of the chinese hobbies, and no room is completely furnished without at least a pair of them,--ornaments in profusion; everything, in fact, save only the precious _queue_, without which no chinaman may hope for honor in this life or salvation in the next. the throngs of customers that keep the pawn-shops crowded with pledges are probably most of them victims of the gambling table or the opium den. they come from every house that employs them; your domestic is impatient of delay, and hastens through his daily task in order that he may nightly indulge his darling sin. the opium habit prevails to an alarming extent throughout the country, but no race is so dependent on this seductive and fatal stimulant as the chinese. there are several hundred dens in san francisco where, for a very moderate sum, the coolie may repair, and revel in dreams that end in a deathlike sleep. let us pause at the entrance of one of these pleasure-houses. through devious ways we follow the leader, and come at last to a cavernous retreat. the odors that salute us are offensive; on every hand there is an accumulation of filth that should naturally, if it does not, breed fever and death. forms press about us in the darkness,--forms that hasten like shadows toward that den of shades. we enter by a small door that is open for a moment only, and find ourselves in an apartment about fifteen feet square. we can touch the ceiling on tiptoe, yet there are three tiers of bunks placed with head boards to the wall, and each bunk just broad enough for two occupants. it is like the steerage in an emigrant vessel, eminently shipshape. every bunk is filled; some of the smokers have had their dream and lie in grotesque attitudes, insensible, ashen-pale, having the look of plague-stricken corpses. some are dreaming; you see it in the vacant eye, the listless face, the expression that betrays hopeless intoxication. some are preparing the enchanting pipe,--a laborious process, that reminds one of an incantation. see those two votaries lying face to face, chatting in low voices, each loading his pipe with a look of delicious expectation in every feature. they recline at full-length; their heads rest upon blocks of wood or some improvised pillow; a small oil lamp flickers between them. their pipes resemble flutes, with an inverted ink-bottle on the side near the lower end. they are most of them of bamboo, and very often are beautifully colored with the mellowest and richest tints of a wisely smoked meerschaum. a small jar of prepared opium--a thick black paste resembling tar--stands near the lamp. the smoker leisurely dips a wire into the paste; a few drops adhere to it, and he twirls the wire in the flame of the lamp, where they fry and bubble; he then draws them upon the rim of the clay pipe-bowl, and at once inhales three or four mouthfuls of whitish smoke. this empties the pipe, and the slow process of feeding the bowl is lazily repeated. it is a labor of love; the eyes gloat upon the bubbling drug which shall anon witch the soul of those emaciated toilers. they renew the pipe again and again; their talk grows less frequent and dwindles to a whispered soliloquy. we address them, and are smiled at by delirious eyes; but the ravenous lips are sealed to that magic tube, from which they draw the breath of a life we know not of. their fingers relax; their heads sink upon the pillows; they no longer respond, even by a glance, when we now appeal to them. here is the famous malay, the fearful enemy of de quincy, who nightly drugged his master into asiatic seas; and now himself is basking in the tropical heats and vertical sunlight of hindostan. egypt and her gods are his; for him the secret chambers of cheops are unlocked; he also is transfixed at the summit of pagodas; he is the idol, the priest, the worshipped, the sacrificed. the wrath of brahma pursues him through the forests of asia; he is the hated of vishnu; siva lies in wait for him; isis and osiris confront him. what is this key which seems for a time to unlock the gates of heaven and of hell? it is the most complicated drug in the pharmacopoeia. though apparently nothing more than a simple black, slimy paste, analysis reveals the fact that it contains no less than five-and-twenty elements, each one of them a compound by itself, and many of them among the most complex compounds known to modern chemistry. this "dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain," this author of an "iliad of woes," lies within reach of every creature in the commonwealth. as the most enlightened and communicative of the opium eaters has observed: "happiness may be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket; portable ecstasy may be had corked up in a pint bottle; peace of mind may be set down in gallons by the mail-coach." this is the chief, the inevitable dissipation of our coolie tribes; this is one of the evils with which we have to battle, and in comparison with which the excessive indulgence in intoxicating liquors is no more than what a bad dream is to hopeless insanity. see the hundred forms on opium pillows already under the circean spell; swarms are without the chambers awaiting their turn to enter and enjoy the fictitious delights of this paradise. while the opium habit is one that should be treated at once with wisdom and severity, there is another point which seriously involves the chinese question, and, unhappily, it must be handled with gloves. nineteen-twentieths of the chinese women in san francisco are depraved! not far from one of the pleasure-houses we intruded upon a domestic hearth smelling of punk and pestilence. a child fled with a shrill scream at our approach. this was the hospital of the quarter. nine cases of small-pox were once found within its narrow walls, and with no one to care for them. as we explored its cramped wards our path was obstructed by a body stretched upon a bench. the face was of that peculiar smoke-color which we are obliged to accept as chinese pallor; the trunk was swathed like a mummy in folds of filthy rags; it was motionless as stone, apparently insensible. thus did an opium victim await his dissolution. in the next room a rough deal burial case stood upon two stools; tapers were flickering upon the floor; the fumes of burning punk freighted the air and clouded the vision; the place was clean enough, for it was perfectly bare, but it was eminently uninteresting. close at hand stood a second burial case, an empty one, with the cover standing against the wall; a few hours more and it would find a tenant--he who was dying in rags and filth in the room adjoining. this was the native hospital of the quarter, and the mother of the child was the matron of the establishment. i will cast but one more shadow on the coolie quarter, and then we will search for sunshine. it is folly to attempt to ignore the fact that the seeds of leprosy are sown among the chinese. if you would have proof, follow me. it is a dreary drive over the hills to the pest-house. imagine that we have dropped in upon the health officer at his city office. our proposed visitation has been telephoned to the resident physician, who is a kind of prisoner with his leprous patients on the lonesome slope of a suburban hill. as we get into the rugged edge of the city, among half-graded streets, strips of marshland, and a semi-rustic population, we ask our way to the pest-house. yonder it lies, surrounded by that high white fence on the hill-top, above a marsh once clouded with clamorous water-fowl, but now all, all under the spell of the quarantine, and desolate beyond description. our road winds up the hill-slope, sown thick with stones, and stops short at the great solid gate in the high rabbit fence that walls in the devil's acre, if i may so call it. we ring the dreadful bell--the passing-bell, that is seldom rung save to announce the arrival of another fateful body clothed in living death. the doctor welcomes us to an enclosure that is utterly whitewashed; the detached houses within it are kept sweet and clean. everything connected with the lazaret is of the cheapest description; there is a primitive simplicity, a modest nakedness, an insulated air about the place that reminds one of a chill december in a desert island. cheap as it is and unhandsome, the hospital is sufficient to meet all the requirements of the plague in its present stage of development. the doctor has weeded out the enclosure, planted it, hedged it about with the fever-dispelling eucalyptus, and has already a little plot of flowers by the office window,--but this is not what we have come to see. one ward in the pest-house is set apart for the exclusive use of the chinese lepers, who have but recently been isolated. we are introduced to the poor creatures one after another, and then we take them all in at a glance, or group them according to their various stages of decomposition, or the peculiar character of their physical hideousness. they are not all alike; with some the flesh has begun to wither and to slough off, yet they are comparatively cheerful; as fatalists, it makes very little difference to them how soon or in what fashion they are translated to the other life. there is one youth who doubtless suffers some inconveniences from the clumsy development of his case. this lad, about eighteen years of age, has a face that is swollen like a sponge saturated with corruption; he can not raise his bloated eyelids, but, with his head thrown back, looks downward over his cheeks. two of these lepers are as astonishing specimens as any that have ever come under my observation, yet i have morbidly sought them from palestine to molokai. in these cases the muscles are knotted, the blood curdled; masses of unwholesome flesh cover them, lying fold upon fold; the lobes of their ears hang almost to the shoulder; the eyes when visible have an inhuman glance that transfixes you with horror. their hands are shapeless stumps that have lost all natural form or expression. of old there was a law for the leprosy of a garment and of a house; yet, in spite of the stringency of that mosaic law, the isolation, the purging with hyssop, and the cleansing by fire, st. luke records: "there met him ten men who were lepers, who stood afar off; and they lifted up their voices and cried, jesus, master, have mercy on us!" and to-day, more than eighteen hundred years later, lepers gather on the slopes of mount zion, and hover at the gates of jerusalem, and crouch in the shadow of the tomb of david, crying for the bread of mercy. leprosy once thoroughly engrafted on our nation, and nor cedar-wood, nor scarlet, nor hyssop, nor clean birds, nor ewes of the first year, nor measures of fine flour, nor offerings of any sort, shall cleanse us for evermore. let us turn to pleasanter prospects--the joss house, for instance, one of the several temples whither the chinese frequently repair to propitiate the reposeful gods. it is an unpretentious building, with nothing external to distinguish its facade from those adjoining, save only a chinese legend above the door. there are many crooks and turns within it; shrines in a perpetual state of fumigation adorn its nooks and corners; overhead swing shelves of images rehearsing historical tableaux; there is much carving and gilding, and red and green paint. it is the scene of a perennial feast of lanterns, and the worshipful enter silently with burn-offerings and meat-offerings and drink-offerings, which they spread before the altar under the feet of some colossal god; then, with repeated genuflections, they retire. the thundering gong or the screaming pipes startle us at intervals, and white-robed priests pass in and out, droning their litanies. at this point the artist suggests refreshments; arm in arm we pass down the street, surfeited with sight-seeing, weary of the multitudinous bazaars, the swarming coolies, the boom of beehive industry. swamped in a surging crowd, we are cast upon the catafalque of the celestial dead. the coffin lies under a canopy, surrounded by flambeaux, grave offerings, guards and musicians. chinatown has become sufficiently acclimatized to begin to put forth its natural buds again as freely as if this were indeed the flowery land. the funeral pageant moves,--a dozen carriages preceded by mourners on foot, clad in white, their heads covered, their feet bare, their grief insupportable, so that an attendant is at hand to sustain each mourner howling at the wheels of the hearse. an orchestra heads the procession; the air is flooded with paper prayers that are cast hither at you to appease the troubled spirit. they are on their way to the cemetery among the hills toward the sea, where the funeral rites are observed as rigorously as they are on asian soil. we are still unrefreshed and sorely in need of rest. overhead swing huge balloon lanterns and tufts of gold flecked scarlet streamers,--a sight that maketh the palate of the hungry asiatic to water; for within this house may be had all the delicacies of the season, ranging from the confections of the fond suckling to funeral bake-meats. legends wrought in tinsel decorate the walls. here is a shrine with a vermilion-faced god and a native lamp, and stalks of such hopelessly artificial flowers as fortunately are unknown in nature. saffron silks flutter their fringes in the steams of nameless cookery--for all this is but the kitchen, and the beginning of the end we aim at. a spiral staircase winds like a corkscrew from floor to floor; we ascend by easy stages, through various grades of hunger, from the economic appetite on the first floor, where the plebian stomach is stayed with tea and lentils, even to the very house-top, where are administered comforting syrups and a _menu_ that is sweetened throughout its length with the twang of lutes, the clash of cymbals, and the throb of the shark-skin drum. servants slip to and fro in sandals, offering edible birds'-nests, sharks' fins, and _beche de mer_,--or are these unfamiliar dishes snatched from some other kingdom? at any rate, they are native to the strange people who have a little world of their own in our midst, and who could, if they chose, declare their independence to-morrow. we see everywhere the component parts of a civilization separate and distinct from our own. they have their exits and their entrances; their religious life and burial; their imports, exports, diversions, tribunals, punishments. they are all under the surveillance of the six companies, the great six-headed supreme authority. they have laws within our laws that to us are sealed volumes. why should they not? fifty years ago there were scarcely a dozen chinese in america. in , inclusive, not more than , had arrived; but the next year brought , , seized with the lust of gold. the incoming tide fluctuated, running as low as , and as high as , per annum. since, we have received from , to , yearly. after supper we leaned from the high balcony, among flowers and lanterns, and looked down upon the street below; it was midnight, yet the pavements were not deserted, and there arose to our ears a murmur as of a myriad humming bees shut in clustering hives; close about us were housed near twenty thousand souls; shops were open; discordant orchestras resounded from the theatres; in a dark passage we saw the flames playing upon the thresholds of infamy to expel the evil shades. away off in the bay in the moonlight, glimmered the ribbed sail of a fishing junk, and the air was heavy with an indefinable odor which to this hour puzzles me; but it must be attributed either to sink or sandal-wood--perchance to both! "it is a little bit of old china, this quarter of ours," said the artist, rising to go. and so it is, saving only a noticeable lack of dwarfed trees and pale pagodas and sprays of willowy bamboo; of clumsy boats adrift on tideless streams; of toy-like tea gardens hanging among artificial rocks, and of troops of flat-faced but complaisant people posing grotesquely in ridiculous perspective. [illustration: the farallones] with the egg-pickers of the farallones those who have visited the markets of san francisco during the egg season may have noticed the abundance of large and singularly marked eggs, that are offered for sale by the bushel. the shells of these eggs are pear-shaped, parti-colored, and very thick. they range in color from a light green to grey or brown, and are all of them profusely spotted, or blotted, i might say spattered, with clots of black or brown. some are beautiful, with soft tints blended in a delicate lace-like pattern. some are very ugly, and look unclean. all are a trifle stale, with a meat of coarse texture and gamy flavor. but the italians and the coolies are fond of them, and doubtless many a gross finds its way into the kitchens of the popular cheap restaurants, where, disguised in omelets and puddings, the quantity compensates for the lack of quality, and the palate of the rapid eater has not time to analyze the latter. these are the eggs of the sea-gull, the gull that cries all day among the shipping in the harbor, follows the river boats until meal-time, and feeds on the bread that is cast upon the water.[ ] how true it is that this bread returns to us after many days! the gulls, during incubation, seek the solitude of the farallones, a group of desolate and weather-beaten rocks that tower out of the fog about thirty miles distant from the mouth of the harbor of san francisco. nothing can be more magnificently desolate than the aspect of these islands. scarcely a green blade finds root there. they are haunted by sea-fowl of all feathers, and the boom of the breakers mingles with the bark of the seals that have colonized on one of the most inaccessible islands of the group. it is here that myriads of sea-birds rear their young, here where the very cliffs tremble in the tempestuous sea and are drenched with bitter spray, and where ships have been cast into the frightful jaws of caverns and speedily ground into splinters. the profit on sea-eggs has increased from year to year, and of late speculators have grown so venturesome that competition among egg-gatherers has resulted in an annual naval engagement, known to the press and the public as the egg-war. if two companies of egg-pickers met, as was not unlikely, the contending factions fell upon one another with their ill-gotten spoils--the islands are under the rule of the united states, and no one has legal right to take from them so much as one egg without license--and the defeated party was sure to retire from the field under a heavy shower of shells, the contents of which, though not fatal, were at least effective. i have before me the notes of a retired egg-picker; they record the brief experience of one who was interested in the last campaign, which, as it terminated the career of the egg-pirates, is not without historical interest. i will at once introduce the historian, and let him tell his own tale. "on board the schooner 'sierra.'-- "off the city front. "may , . " p.m.--there are ten of us all told; most of us strangers to one another, but tom and jim, and fred, that's me, are pals, and have been these many months. so we conclude to hang together, and make the most of an adventure perfectly new to each. at our feet lie our traps; blankets, woolen shirts, heavy boots, with huge nails in the soles of them, tobacco in bulk, a few novels, a pack of cards, and a pocket flask, for the stomach's sake. a jolly crew, to be sure, and jollily we bade adieu to the fellows who had gathered in the dock to wish us god-speed. casting loose we swung into the stream, and then slowly and clumsily made sail. the town never looked prettier; it is always the way and always will be; towns, like blessings, brighten just as they get out of reach. drifting into the west we began to grow thoughtful; what had at first seemed a lark may possibly prove to be a very serious matter. we have to feed on rough rations, work in a rough locality, among rough people, and our profits, or our share of the profits, will depend entirely upon the fruitfulness of the egg-orchard, and the number of hundred gross that we are able to get safely into the market. no news from the town, save by the schooner that comes over at intervals to take away our harvest. no society, save our own, good enough always, provided we are not forcibly confined to it. no amusements beyond a novel, a pipe, and a pack of cards. ah well! it is only an experience after all, and here goes! "sea pretty high, as we get outside the heads, and feel the long roll of the pacific. wind, fresh and cold; we are to be out all night and looking about for bunks, we find the schooner accommodations are limited, and that the captain and his crew monopolize them. we sleep anywhere, grateful that we are able to sleep at all. " p.m.--a blustering head wind, and sea increasing. what little supper we were able to get on board was worse than none at all, for it did not stay with us--anything but fun, this going to sea in a bowl, to rob gull's nests, and smuggle eggs into market. "may th. "woke in the early dawn, everything moist and sticky, clammy is the better word, and that embraces the whole case; stiff and sore in every joint; bacon for dinner last night, more bacon for breakfast this morning, and only half-cooked at that. our delicate town-bred stomachs rebel, and we conclude to fast until we reach the island. have sighted the farallones, but are too miserable to express our gratitude; wind and sea still rising; schooner on beam ends about once in forty seconds, between times standing either on her head or her tail, and shaking herself 'like a thing of life.' "at noon off the landing, a buoy bobbing in the billows, to which we are expected to make fast the schooner, and get to shore in the exceedingly small boat; captain fears to tarry on account of heavy weather; concludes to return to the coast and bide his time; consequently makes for bolinas bay, which we reach about p.m., and drop anchor in comparatively smooth water; glad enough to sleep on an even keel at last; it seems at least six months since we left the shining shores of san francisco, yet it is scarce thirty hours--but such hours, ugh! "bolinas bay, may th. "wind blowing a perfect gale; we are lying under a long hill, and the narrow bay is scarcely rippled by the blast that rushes over us, thick with flying-scud. captain resolves to await better weather; some of the boys go on shore, and wander out to a kind of reef at the mouth of the bay, where in a short time they succeed in gathering a fine mess of mussels; the rest of us, the stay-on-boards, rig up a net and catch fifteen large fat crabs; with these we cook a delicious dinner, which we devour ravenously, like half-starved men; begin to realize how storm-tossed mariners feel, and have been recounting hair-breadth escapes, over our pipes on deck; there will be much to tell the fellows on shore, if we are ever so fortunate as to get home again. "may th. "though the weather is still bad enough to discourage us landsmen, we put to sea, and once more head for the farallones. they are hidden in mist, but we beat bravely about, and by-and-by distinguish the faint outlines of the islands looming through the fog! we try to secure the buoy, tacking to and fro; just at the wrong moment our main halyards part, and the sail comes crashing to the deck. to avoid being cast on the inhospitable shore, we put to sea under jib and foresail, and are five miles away before damages are repaired and we dare venture to return; head about, and make fast this time. hurrah! after several trips of the small boat, succeed in landing luggage and provisions above high-water mark on the farallones; each trip of the boat is an event, for it comes in on a big breaker, and grounds in a torrent of foam and sand. "we find two cabins at our disposal; the larger one containing dining-room and kitchen, and chambers above; seven of our boys store their blankets in the rude bunks that are drawn by lot. tom, jim, and i secure the smaller cabin, a single room, with bunks on three sides, a door on the fourth. " p.m.--we have dined and smoked and withdrawn to our respective lodges; the wind moans without, a thin, cold fog envelopes us; the sea breaking furiously, the night gloomy beyond conception, but the captain and his crew on the little schooner are not so comfortable as the egg-pickers whom they have left behind. "may th. "we all rose much refreshed, and after a hearty breakfast, such as would have done credit to a mining-camp in pioneer days, set forth on a rabbit chase. the islands abound in rabbits. where do they come from, and on what do they feed? these are questions that puzzle us. "we resolve to attack them. having armed ourselves with clubs about two feet in length, we proceed in a body until a rabbit is sighted, then, separating, we surround him and gradually close him in, pelt him with stones or sticks until the poor fellow is secured; sometimes three or four are run down together; it is cruel sport, but this is our only hope of fresh meat during the sojourn on the islands; a fine stew for dinner, and some speculation on the prospect of our egg-hunt to-morrow. "may th. "we did the first work of the season to-day. at the west end of the islands is a chasm, through which the wind whistles; the waves, rushing in from both sides, meet at the centre and leap wildly into the air. across this chasm we threw a light suspension bridge about forty feet in length and two in width; one crosses it by the aid of a life-line. on the further rock the birds are nesting in large numbers, and to-morrow we begin the wholesale robbery of their nests. "when the bridge was completed, being pretty well fagged and quite famished, we returned to the cabin, lunched heartily, and spent the afternoon in highly successful rabbit chasing. plenty of stew for all of us. if robinson crusoe had been cast ashore on this island, i wonder how he would have lived? as it is, the rabbits sometimes succeed in escaping us, and without powder and shot it would be quite impossible for one or two persons to bag them. we are beginning to lose faith in the delightful romances of our youth, and to realize what a desert island is. "may th. "in front of us we each carry a large sack in which to deposit eggs; our boots are clumsy, and the heavy nails that fill their soles make them heavy and difficult to walk in. we also carry a strong staff to aid us in climbing the rugged slopes. about us is nothing but grey, weather-stained rocks; there are few paths, and these we cannot follow, for the sea-birds, though so unused to the presence of man, are wary and shy of his tracks; the day's work has not proved profitable. few of us gathered any eggs; one who was more successful, and had secured enough to make it extremely difficult for him to scale the rocks, slipped, fell on his face, and scrambled all his store. his plight was laughable, but he was scarcely in the mood to relish it, as he washed his sack and blouse in cold water, while we indulged in cards. [illustration: murre on their nests, farallone islands] "may th. "built another bridge over a gap where the sea rushes, and which we call the _jordan_. if the real jordan is as hard to cross, heaven help us. eggs not very plentiful as yet; we are rather early in the season, or the crop is late this year. more rabbits in the p.m.; more wind, more fog; and at night, pipes, cards, and a few choruses that sound strange and weird in the fire lights on this lonely island. "may th. "eggs are so very scarce. the foreman advises our resting for a day. we lounge about, looking off upon the sea; sometimes a sail blows by us, but our islands are in such ill-repute with mariners, they usually give us a wide berth, as they call it. a little homesick towards dusk; wonder how the boys in san francisco are killing time; it is time that is killing us, out here in the wind and fog. "may th. "have been hunting abalones all day, and found but a baker's dozen; their large, shallow shells are glued to the rock at the first approach of danger, and unless we can steal upon these queer fish unawares, and thrust something under their shells before they have shut down upon the rock, it is almost impossible to pry them open. some of the boys are searching in the sea up to their waists--hard work when one considers how tough the abalone is, and how tasteless. "may th. "this morning all our egg-pickers were at work; took in the west end, only the high rock beyond the first bridge; gathered about forty dozen eggs, and got them safely back to camp; in some nests there were three eggs, and these we did not gather, fearing they were stale. in the p.m. tried to collect dry grass enough to make a thin mattress for my bunk; barely succeeded; am more than ever convinced that desert islands are delusions. "may th. "it being sunday, we rest from our labors; by way of varying the monotony of island life, we climb up to the lighthouse, feet above sea level. the path is zig-zag across the cliff, and is extremely fatiguing. while ascending, a large stone rolled under my foot, and went thundering down the cliff. jim, who was in the rear, heard it coming, and dodged; it missed his head by about six inches. had it struck him, he would have been hurled into the sea that boiled below; we were both faint with horror, after realizing the fate he had escaped. were cordially welcomed by the lighthouse keeper, his wife, and her companion, a young woman who had come to share this banishment. the keeper and his wife visit the mainland but twice a year. everywhere we saw evidence of the influence of these charming people. the house was tidy--the paint snow-white. the brass-work shone like gold; the place seemed a kind of paradise to us; even the machinery of the revolving light, the multitude of reflectors, etc., was enchanting. we dreaded to return to our miserable cabins, but were soon compelled to, and the afternoon was spent in the customary rabbit chase, ending with a stew of no mean proportions. "may th. "more eggs, and afterwards a fishing excursion, which furnished us material for an excellent chowder. we are beginning to look for the return of the schooner, and have been longing for news from shore. "may th. "a great haul of abalones this p.m. we filled our baskets, slung them on poles over our shoulders coolie fashion, and slowly made our way back to camp. the baskets weighed a ton each before we at last emptied them by the cabin door. built a huge fire under a cauldron, and left a mess of fish to boil until morning. the abalones are as large as steaks, and a great deal tougher. smoke, cards, and to bed; used up. "may th. "same program as yesterday, only the novelty quite worn off, and this kind of life becoming almost unendurable. "may th. "more eggs, more abalones, more rabbits. no signs of schooner yet. wonder, had crusoe kept a diary, how many days he would have kept it before closing it with chagrin. "may th. "spent the p.m. in getting the abalone shells down to the egg-house at the landing. we have cleaned them, and are hoping to find this speculation profitable; for the shells, when polished and cut, are much used in the market for inlaying and setting in cheap jewelry. we loaded a small tram, pushed it to the top of an incline, and let it roll down the other side to the landing, which it reached in safety. this is the only labor-saving machine at our command. "may st. "we seem to be going all to pieces. the day commenced badly. two of the boys inaugurated it by a violent set-to before breakfast--an old grudge broke out afresh, or perhaps the life here has demoralized them. i have lamed my foot. tide too high for abalone fishing. eggs growing scarce, and the rabbits seem to have deserted the accessible parts of the island. everybody is disgusted. we are forgetting our table-manners, it is 'first come first served' now-a-days. i wonder if robinson--oh, no! he had no one but his man friday to contend against. no schooner; no change in the weather; tobacco giving out, and not a grain of good humor to be had in the market. to bed, very cross. "may d. "no one felt like going to work this morning. affairs began to look mutinous. we have searched in vain for the schooner, now considerably overdue, and are dreading the thought of having to fulfill a contract which calls for six weeks' labor on these islands. some of the other islands are to be visited, and are accessible only in small boats over a sea that is never even tolerably smooth. this expedition we all dread a little--at least, i judge so from my own case--but we say nothing of it. while thus gloomily brooding over our plight, smoke was sighted on the horizon; we ascended the hill to watch it. a steamer, doubtless, bound for a sunnier clime, for no clime can be less sunny than ours of the past fortnight.... it was a steamer, a small government steamer, making directly for our island. we became greatly excited, for nothing of any moment had occurred since our arrival. she drew in near shore and cast anchor. we gathered at the landing-cove to give her welcome. a boat was beached in safety. an officer of the law said, cheerfully, as if he were playing a part in a nautical comedy, 'i must beg you, gentlemen, to step on board the revenue cutter, and return to san francisco.' we were so surprised we could not speak; or were we all speechless with joy, i wonder? he added, this very civil sheriff, 'if you do not care to accompany me, i shall be obliged to order the marines on shore. you will pardon me, but as these islands are government property, you are requested to immediately withdraw from them.' we withdrew. we steamed away from the windy rocks, the howling caverns, the seething waves, the frightful chasms, the seabirds, the abalones, the rabbits, the gloomy cabins, and the pleasant people at the top of the cliff within the white walls of the lighthouse. joyfully we bounded over the glassy waves, that grew beautiful as the farallones faded in the misty distance, and, having been courteously escorted to the city dock, we were bidden farewell, and left to the diversions of the hour. thus ended the last siege of the farallones by the egg-pickers of san francisco. (profits _nil_.)" and thus i fear, inasmuch as the government proposes to guard the sea-birds until a suitable license is secured by legitimate egg-pickers, the price of gulls' eggs will go up in proportion, and hereafter we shall have to look upon them as luxuries, and content ourselves with the more modest and milder-flavored but undecorated products of the less romantic barn-yard fowl. footnotes: [footnote : note: the author has confused the murre with the sea-gull. it was the egg of the murre that was marketed.] a memory of monterey i "old monterey"? yes, old monterey; yet not so very old. old, however, inasmuch as she has been hopelessly modernized; the ancient virtue has gone out of her; she is but a monument and a memory. it is the monterey of a dozen or fifteen years ago i write of; and of a brief sojourn after the briefer voyage thither. the voyage is the same; yesterday, to-day and forever it remains unchanged. the voyager may judge if i am right when i say that the pacific coast, or the coast of california, oregon and washington, is the selvage side of the american continent. i believe this is evidenced in the well-rounded lines of the shore; the smooth meadow-lands that not infrequently lie next the sea, and the comparatively few island-fragments that are discoverable between alaska and mexico. i made that statement, in the presence of a select few, on the promenade deck of a small coaster then plying between san francisco and monterey; and proved it during the eight-hour passage, to the seeming edification of my shipmates. even the bluffs that occasionally jutted into the sea did the picturesque in a half-theatrical fashion. time and the elements seemed to have toyed with them, and not fought with them, as is the annual custom on the eastern coast of the united states. flocks of sheep fed in the salt pastures by the water's edge; ranch-houses were perched on miniature cliffs, in the midst of summer-gardens that even through a powerful field-glass showed few traces of wear and tear. and the climate? well, the sunshine was like sunshine warmed over; and there was a lurking chill in the air that made our quarters in the lee of the smoke-stack preferable to the circular settee in the stern-sheets. yes, it was midsummer at heart, and the comfortable midsummer ulster advertised the fact. what a long, lonesome coast it is! erase the few evidences of life that relieve the monotonous landscape at infrequent intervals, and you shall see california exactly as drake saw it more than four centuries ago, or the argonaut friars saw it a century later, and as the improved races will see it ages hence--a little bleak and utterly uninteresting. california secretes her treasures. as you approach her from the sea, you would scarcely suspect her wealth; her lines, though fine and flowing, are not voluptuous, and she certainly lacks color. this was also a part of our steamer-talk under the lee of the smoke-stack; and while we were talking we turned a sharp corner, ran into the bay of monterey, and came suddenly face to face with santa cruz. ah, there was richness! perennial groves, dazzling white cottages snow-flaking them with beauty; a beach with afternoon bathers; and two straggling piers that had waded out into deep water and stuck fast in the mud. a stroll through santa cruz does not dissipate the enchantment usually borrowed from usurious distance; and the two-hours'-roll in the deep furrows of the bay, that the pilgrim to monterey must suffer, is apt to make him regret he left that pleasant port in the hope of finding something pleasanter on the dim opposite shore. we re-embarked for monterey at dusk, when the distant horn of the bay was totally obscured. it is seldom more than a half-imagined point, jutting out into a haze between two shades of blue. stars watched over us,--sharp, clear stars, such as flare a little when the wind blows. but the wind was not blowing for us. showers of sparks spangled the crape-like folds of smoke that trailed after us; the engine labored in the hold, and the sea heaved as it is always heaving in that wide-open bay. in an hour we steamed into a fog-bank, so dense that even the head-light of our ship was as a glowworm; and from that moment until we had come within sound of voices on the undiscovered shore, it was all like a voyage in the clouds. whistles blew, bells rang, men shouted, and then we listened with hungry ears. a whistle answered us from shore--a piercing human whistle. dim lights burned through the fog. we advanced with fearful caution; and while voices out of the air were greeting us, almost before we had got our reckoning, we drifted up under a dark pier, on which ghastly figures seemed to be floating to and fro, bidding us all-hail. and then and there the freedom of the city was extended to us, saturated with salt-sea mist. probably six times in ten the voyager approaches monterey in precisely this fashion. 'tis true! 'tis pity! having been hoisted up out of our ship--the tide was exceeding low and the dock high; having been embraced in turn by friends who had soaked for an hour and a half on that desolate pier-head--for our ship was belated, groping her way in the fog,--we were taken by the hand and led cautiously into the sand-fields that lie between the city and the sea. of course our plans had all miscarried. our bachelors' hall fell with a dull thud when we heard that the chief bachelor had turned benedict three days before. but he was present with his bride, and he knew of a haunt that would compensate us for all loss or disappointment. we crossed the desert nursing a faint hope. we threaded one or two wide, weedy, silent streets; not a soul was visible, though it was but nine in the evening,--which was not to be wondered at, since the town was divided against itself: the one half slept, the other half still sat upon the pier, making a night of it; for old monterey had but one shock that betrayed it into some show of human weakness. the cause was the steam navigation co. the effect was a fatal fondness for tendering a public reception to all steamers arriving from foreign ports, after their sometimes tempestuous passages of from eight to ten hours. this insured the inhabitants a more or less festive night about once every week or ten days. with rioutous laughter, which sounded harsh, yea, sacrilegious, in the sublime silence of that exceptional town, we were piloted into an abysmal nook sacred to a cluster of rookeries haggard in the extreme. we approached it by an improvised bridge two spans in breadth. the place was buried under layers of mystery. it was silent, it was dark with the blackness of darkness; it was like an unholy sepulchre that gave forth no sound, though we beat upon its sodden door with its rusted knocker until a dog howled dismally on the hillside afar off. some one admitted us at the last moment, and left us standing in the pitch-dark entrance while he went in search of candles, that apparently fled at his approach. the great room was thrown open in due season and with solemnity. it may have been the star-chamber in the days when monterey was the capital of the youngest and most promising state in the union; but it was somewhat out of date when we were ushered into it. a bargain was hastily struck, and we repaired to damp chambers, where every sound was shared in common, and nothing whatever was in the least degree private or confidential. we slept at intervals, but in turn; so that at least one good night's rest was shared by our company. [illustration: monterey, ] at nine o' the clock next morning we were still enveloped in mist, but the sun was struggling with it; and from my window i inspected spanish or mexican, or spanish-mexican, california interiors, sprinkled with empty tin cans, but redeemed by the more picturesque _débris_ of the early california settlement--dingy tiles, forlorn cypresses, and a rosebush of gigantic body and prolific bloom. we breakfasted at simoneau's, in the inner room, with its frescos done in beer and shoeblacking by a brace of hungry bohemians, who used to frequent the place and thus settle their bill. five of us sat at that uninviting board and awaited our turn, while simoneau hovered over a stove that was by no means equal to the occasion. it was a breakfast such as one is reduced to in a mountain camp, but which spoils the moment it is removed from the charmed circle of ravenous foresters. we paid three prices for it, but that was no consolation; and it was long before we again entered the doors of one of the chief restaurants of old monterey. before the thick fog lifted that morning we had scoured the town in quest of lodgings. the hotels were uninviting. at the washington the rooms were not so large as the demands of the landlord. at the st. charles'--a summer-house without windows, save the one set in the door of each chamber--we located for a brief season, and exchanged the liveliest compliments with the lodgers at the extreme ends of the building. a sneeze in the dead of night aroused the house; and during one of the panics which were likely to follow, i peremptorily departed, and found shelter at last in the large square chamber of an adobe dwelling, the hospitable abode of one of the first families of monterey. broad verandas surrounded us on four sides; the windows sunk in the thick walls had seats deep enough to hold me and my lap tablet full in the sunshine--whenever it leaked through the fog. two of these windows opened upon a sandy street, beyond which was a tangled garden of cacti and hollyhock and sunflowers, with a great wall about it; but i could look over the wall and enjoy the privacy of that sweet haunt. in that cloistered garden grew the obese roses of the far west, that fairly burst upon their stem. often did i exclaim: "o, for a delicate blossom, whose exquisite breath savors not of the mold, and whose sensitive petals are wafted down the invisible currents of the wind like a fairy flotilla!" beyond that garden, beyond the roofs of this town, stretched the yellow sand-dunes; and in the distance towered the mountains, painted with changeful lights. my other window looked down the long, lonesome street to the blue bay and the faint outline of the coast range beyond it. here i began to live; here i heard the harp-like tinkle of the first piano brought to the california coast; here also the guitar was touched skillfully by her grace the august lady of the house, who scorned the english tongue--the more eloquent and rhythmical spanish prevailed under her roof. one of the members of the household was proud to recount the history of the once brilliant capital of the state, and i listened by the hour to a narrative that now reads to me like a fable. in the year of our lord , when don sebastian viscaino--dispatched by the viceroy of mexico, acting under instructions from philip iii. of spain--touched these shores, mass was celebrated, the country taken possession of in the name of the spanish king, and the spot christened monterey in honor of gaspar de zuniga, count of monterey, viceroy of mexico. in eighteen days viscaino again set sail, and the silence of the forest and the sea fell upon that lonely shore. that silence was unbroken by the voice of the stranger for one hundred and sixty-six years. then gaspar de portola, governor of lower california, re-discovered monterey, erected a cross upon the shore, and went his way. in may, , the final settlement took place. the packet _san antonio_, commanded by don juan perez, came to anchor in the port, "which"--wrote the leader of the expedition to padre francisco palou--"is unadulterated in any degree from what it was when visited by the expedition of don sebastian viscaino in . after this"--the celebration of the mass, the _salve_ to our lady, and a _te deum,_--"the officers took possession of the country in the name of the king (charles iii.) our lord, whom god preserve. we all dined together in a shady place on the beach; the whole ceremony being accompanied by many volleys and salutes by the troops and vessels." when the _san antonio_ returned to mexico, it left at monterey padre junipero serra and five other priests, lieutenant pedro fages and thirty soldiers. the settlement was at once made capital of alta california, and portola appointed the first governor. the presidio (an enclosure about three hundred yards square, containing a chapel, store-houses, offices, residences, and a barracks) was the nucleus of the city; but the mission was soon removed to a beautiful valley about six miles distant, where there was more room, better shelter from the cold west winds, and an unrivalled prospect. the valley is now known as carmelo. a fort was built upon a little hill commanding the settlement, and life began in good earnest. what followed? mexico threw off the spanish yoke; california was hence forth subject to mexico alone. the news spread; vessels gathered in the harbor, and enormous profits were realized on the sale and shipment of the hides of wild cattle lately roaming upon a thousand hills. then came gradual changes in the government; they culminated in when captain mervin, at the head of two hundred and fifty men, raised the stars and stripes over monterey, and a proclamation was read declaring california a portion of the united states. the rev. walter colton, once chaplain of the united states frigate _congress_, was appointed first alcalde; and the result was the erection of a stone courthouse, which was long the chief ornament of the town; and, somewhat later, the publication of alcalde colton's highly interesting volume, entitled "three years in california." ii. in captain robinson, the author of "life in california" in the good old mission days, wrote thus of his first sight of monterey: "the sun had just risen, and, glittering through the lofty pines that crowned the summit of the eastern hills, threw its light upon the lawn beneath. on our left was the presidio, with its chapel dome and towering flag-staff in conspicuous elevation. on the right, upon a rising ground, was seen the _castillo_, or fort, surmounted by some ten or a dozen cannon. the intervening space between these two points was enlivened by the hundred scattered dwellings that form the town, and here and there groups of cattle grazing. "after breakfast g. and myself went on shore, on a visit to the commandant, don marian estrada, whose residence stood in the central part of the town, in the usual route from the beach to the presidio. in external appearance, notwithstanding it was built of adobe--brick made by the mixture of soft mud and straw, moulded and dried in the sun,--it was not displeasing; for the outer walls had been plastered and whitewashed, giving it a cheerful and inviting aspect. like all dwellings in the warm countries of america, it was but one story in height, covered with tiles, and occupied, in its entire premises, an extensive square. "our don was standing at his door; and as we approached, he sallied forth to meet us with true castilian courtesy; embraced g., shook me cordially by the hand, then bowed us ceremoniously into the _sala_. here we seated ourselves upon a sofa at his right. during conversation _cigarritos_ passed freely; and, although thus early in the day, a proffer was made of refreshments." in r.h. dana, jr., the author of "two years before the mast," found monterey but little changed; some of the cannon were unmounted, but the presidio was still the centre of life on the pacific coast, and the town was apparently thriving. day after day the small boats plied between ship and shore, and the population gave themselves up to the delights of shopping. shopping was done on shipboard; each ship was a storehouse of attractive and desirable merchandise, and the little boats were kept busy all day long bearing customers to and fro. in prices were ruinously high, as the alcalde was free to confess--he being a citizen of the united states and a clergyman into the bargain. unbleached cottons, worth cents per yard in new york, brought cents, cents, cents in old monterey. cowhide shoes were $ per pair; the most ordinary knives and forks, $ per dozen; poor tea, $ per pound; truck-wheels, $ per pair. the revenue of these enormous imposts passed into the hands of private individuals, who had placed themselves by violence or fraud at the head of the government. in those days a "blooded" horse and a pack of cards were thought to be among the necessaries of life. one of the luxuries was a _rancho_ sixty miles in length, owned by captain sutter in the valley of the sacramento. native prisoners, arrested for robbery and confined in the adobe jail at monterey, clamored for their guitars, and the nights were filled with music until the rascals swung at half-mast. in august, , _the californian_, the first newspaper established on the coast, was issued by colton & semple. the type and press were once the property of the franciscan friars, and used by them; and in the absence of the english _w_, the compositors on _the californian_ doubled the spanish _v_. the journal was printed half in english and half in spanish, on cigarette paper about the size of a sheet of fools-cap. terms, $ per year in advance; single copies, - / cents each. semple was a man just suited to the newspaper office he occupied; he stood six feet eight inches in moccasins, was dressed in buckskin, and wore a foxskin cap. the first jury of the alcaldean court was empanelled in september, . justice flourished for about three years. in bayard taylor wrote: "monterey has the appearance of a deserted town: few people in the streets, business suspended," etc. rumors of gold had excited the cupidity of the inhabitants, and the capital was deserted; elsewhere was metal more attractive. the town never recovered from that shock. it gradually declined until few, save bohemian artists and italian and chinese fishermen, took note of it. the settlement was obsolete in my day; the survivors seemed to have lost their memories and their interest in everything. thrice in my early pilgrimages i asked where the presidio had stood; on these occasions did the oldest inhabitant and his immediate juniors vaguely point me to three several quarters of the town. i believe in my heart that the pasture in front of the old church--then sacred to three cows and a calf--was the cradle of civilization in the far west. [illustration: san carlos de carmelo] the original custom-house--there was no mistaking it, for it was founded on a rock--overhung the sea, while the waves broke gently at its base, and rows of sea-gulls sat solemnly on the skeletons of stranded whales scattered along the beach. a captain lambert dwelt on the first floor of the building; a goat fed in the large hall--it bore the complexion of a stable--where once the fashionable element tripped the light fantastic toe. in those days the first theatre in the state was opened with brilliant success, and the now long-forgotten binghams appeared in that long-forgotten drama, "putnam, or the lion son of ' ." the never-to-be-discourteously-mentioned years of our pioneers, ' and ' , "were memorable eras in the thespian records of monterey," says the guide-book. they were indeed; for lieutenant derby, known to the literary world as "john phoenix" and "squibob," was one of the leading spirits of the stage. but the thespian records came to an untimely end, and it must be confessed that monterey no longer tempts the widely strolling player. i saw her in decay, the once flourishing capital. the old convent was windowless, and its halls half filled with hay; the barracks and the calaboose, inglorious ruins; the block house and the fort, mere shadows of their former selves. as for colton hall--the town-hall, named in honor of its builder, the first alcalde,--it is a modern-looking structure, that scarcely harmonizes with the picturesque adobes that surround it. colton said of it: "it has been erected out of the slender proceeds of town lots, the labor of the convicts, taxes on liquor shops, and fines on gamblers. the scheme was regarded with incredulity by many; but the building is finished, and the citizens have assembled in it, and christened it after my name, which will go down to posterity with the odor of gamblers, convicts and tipplers." bless his heart! he need not have worried himself. no one seems to know or care how the building was constructed; and as for the name it bears, it is as savory as any. the church was built in , and dedicated as the parish church in , when the missions were secularized and carmelo abandoned. it is the most interesting structure in the town. much of the furniture of the old mission is preserved here: the holy vessels beaten out of solid silver; rude but not unattractive paintings by nameless artists--perhaps by the friars themselves,--landmarks of a crusade that was gloriously successful, but the records of which are fading from the face of the earth. doubtless the natives who had flourished under the nourishing care of the mission in its palmy days, wagged their heads wittingly when the brig _natalia_ met her fate. tradition says napoleon i. made his escape from elba on that brig. it was by the _natalia_ that hijar, director of colonization, arrived for the purpose of secularizing the missions; and his scheme was soon accomplished. but the winds blew, and the waves rose and beat upon the little brig, and laid her bones in the sands of monterey. it is whispered that when the sea is still and the water clear, and the tide very, very low, one may catch faint glimpses of the skeleton of the _natalia_ swathed in its shroud of weeds. there are two attractions in the vicinity, without which i fear monterey would have ultimately passed from the memory of man. these are the mission at carmelo, and the druid grove at cypress point. in the edge of the town there is a cross which marks the spot where padre junipero serra sang his first mass at monterey. it was a desolate picture when i last saw it. it stood but a few yards from the sea, in a lonely hollow. it was a favorite subject with the artists who found their way thither, and who were wont to paint it upon the sea-shells that lay almost within reach. now a marble statue of junipero serra, erected by mrs. leland stanford, marks the spot. six miles away, beyond the hills, above the shallow river, in sight of the sparkling sea, is the ruin of carmelo. from the cross by the shore to the church beyond the hills, one reads the sacred history of the coast from _alpha_ to _omega_. this, the most famous, if not the most beautiful, of all the franciscan missions, has suffered the common fate. in my day the roof was wanting; the stone arches were crumbling one after another; the walls were tufted with sun-dried grass; everywhere the hand of vandalism had scrawled his initials or his name. the nave of the church was crowded with neglected graves. fifteen governors of the territory mingle their dust with that consecrated earth, but there was never so much as a pebble to mark the spot where they lie. even the saintly padre junipero, who founded the mission, and whose death was grimly heroic, lay until recent years in an unknown tomb. thanks to the pious efforts of the late father cassanova, the precious remains of junipero serra, together with those of three other friars of the mission, were discovered, identified, and honorably reentombed. from to padre junipero serra entered upon the parish record all baptisms, marriages, and deaths. these ancient volumes are carefully preserved, and are substantially bound in leather; the writing is bold and legible, and each entry is signed "fray junipero serra," with an odd little flourish of the pen beneath. the last entry is dated july , ; then fray francesco palou, an old schoolmate of junipero serra, and a brother friar, records the death of his famous predecessor, and with it a brief recital of his life work, and the circumstances at the close of it. junipero serra took the habit of the order of st. francis at the age of seventeen; filled distinguished positions in spain and mexico before going to california; refused many tempting and flattering honors; was made president of the fifteen missions of lower california--long since abandoned; lived to see his last mission thrive mightily, and died at the age of seventy--long before the fall of the crowning work of his life. feeling the approach of death, junipero serra confessed himself to fray palou; went through the church offices for the dying; joined in the hymn _tantum ergo_ "with elevated and sonorous tones," saith the chronicle,--the congregation, hearing him intone his death chaunt, were awed into silence, so that the dying man's voice alone finished the hymn; then he repaired to his cell, where he passed the night in prayer. the following morning he received the captain and chaplain of a spanish vessel lying in the harbor, and said, cheerfully, he thanked god that these visitors, who had traversed so much of sea and land, had come to throw a little earth upon his body. anon he asked for a cup of broth, which he drank at the table in the refectory; was then assisted to his bed, where he had scarcely touched the pillow when, without a murmur, he expired. in anticipation of his death, he had ordered his own coffin to be made by the mission carpenter; and his remains were at once deposited in it. so precious was the memory of this man in his own day that it was with the utmost difficulty his coffin was preserved from destruction; for the populace, venerating even the wooden case that held the remains of their spiritual father, clamored for the smallest fragment; and, though a strong body-guard watched over it until the interment, a portion of his vestment was abstracted during the night. one thinks of this and of the overwhelming sorrow that swept through the land when this saintly pioneer fell at the head of his legion. the california mission reached the height of its prosperity forty years later, when it owned , head of cattle, , sheep, , calves, , horses, yoke of oxen, much merchandise, and $ , in specie. tradition hints that this money was buried when a certain piratical-looking craft was seen hovering about the coast. this wealth is all gone now--scattered among the people who have allowed the dear old mission to fall into sad decay. what a beautiful church it must have been, with its quaint carvings, its star-window that seems to have been blown out of shape in some wintry wind, and all its lines hardened again in the sunshine of the long, long summer; with its saracenic door!--what memories the _padres_ must have brought with them of spain and the moorish seal that is set upon it! here we have evidence of it painfully wrought out by the hands of rude indian artisans. the ancient bells have been carried away into unknown parts; the owl hoots in the belfry; the hills are shown of their conventual tenements; while the wind and the rain and a whole heartless company of iconoclasts have it all their own way. once in the year, on san carlos' day, mass is sung in the only habitable corner of the ruin; the indians and the natives gather from all quarters, and light candles among the graves, and mourn and mourn and make a strange picture of the place; then they go their way, and the owl returns, and the weeds grow ranker, and every hour there is a straining among the weakened joists, and a creaking and a crumbling in many a nook and corner; and so the finest historical relic in the land is suffered to fall into decay. or, perhaps i should say, that was the sorry state of carmelo in my day. i am assured that every effort is now being made to restore and preserve beautiful carmelo. iii. she was a dear old stupid town in my day. she boasted but half a dozen thinly populated streets. one might pass through these streets almost any day, at almost any hour of the day, footing it all the way from the dismantled fort on the seaside to the ancient cemetery, grown to seed, at the other extremity of the settlement, and not meet half a score of people. geese fed in the gutters, and hissed as i passed by; cows grazing by the wayside eyed me in grave surprise; overhead, the snow-white sea-gulls wheeled and cried peevishly; and on the heights that shelter the ex-capital the pine-trees moaned and moaned, and often caught and held the sea-fog among their branches, when the little town was basking in the sunshine and dreaming its endless dream. how did a man kill time in those days? there was a studio on alvarado street; it stood close to the post-office, in what may be generously denominated as the busiest part of the town. the studio was the focus of life and hope and love; some work was also supposed to be done there. it was the headquarters of the idle and the hungry, and the seeker after consolation in all its varied forms. choice family groceries were retailed three times a day in the rear of the establishment; and there we often gathered about the bohemian board, to celebrate whatever our fancy painted. now it was an imaginary birthday--a movable feast that came to be very popular in our select artistic circle; again it was the possible--dare i say probable?--sale of a picture at a quite inconceivable price. there were always occasions enough. would it had been the case with the dinners! the studio was the thing,--the studio, decked with indian trophies and the bleached bones of sea birds and land beasts, and lined with studies in all colors under heaven. here was the oft-lighted peace-pipe; and orient rugs and wolf-skins for a _siesta_ when the beach yonder was a blaze of white and blinding light, that made it blessed to close one's eyes and shut out the glare--and to keep one's ears open to the lulling song of the sea. here we concocted a plan. it was to be kept a profound mystery; even the butcher was unaware, and the baker in total darkness; as for the wine-merchant, he was as blind as a bat. we were to give the banquet and ball of the season. we went to the hall of our sisters,--scarcely kin were they, but kinder never lived, and their house was at our disposal. we threw out the furniture; we made a green bower of the adobe chamber. one window, that bore upon the forlorn vacuum of the main street, was speedily stained the deepest and most splendid dyes; from without, it had a pleasing, not to say refining, medieval effect; from within, it was likened unto the illuminated page of an antique antiphonary--in flames; yes, positively in flames! a great board was laid the length of the room, a kind of round table--with some few unavoidable innovations, such as a weak leg or two, square corners, and an unexpected depression in the centre of it, where the folding leaves sought in vain to join. from the wall depended the elaborate _menu_, life-size and larger; and at every course a cartoon in color more appetizing than the town market. the emblematic owl blinked upon us from above the door. invitations were hastily penned and sent forth to a select few. forgive us, dona jovita, if thy guest card was redolent of tea or of brown soap; for it was penned in the privacy of the pantry, and either upon the scylla of the tea-caddy or the soapy charybdis it was sure to be dashed at last. it was rare fun, if i did say it from the foot of the flower-strewn table, clad in an improvised toga, while a gentleman in joss-like vestments carved and complimented in a single breath at the top of the bohemian board. from the adjoining room came the music of hired minstrels: the guitar, the violin, and blending voices--a piping tenor and a soft spanish _falsetto_. they chanted rhythmically to the clatter of tongues, the ripple of laughter, and the clash of miscellaneous cutlery. an unbidden multitude, gathered from the highways, and the byways, loitered about the vicinity, patiently--o how patiently!--awaiting our adjournment. the fandango naturally followed; and it enlivened the vast, bare chambers of an adjoining adobe, whose walls had not echoed such revelry since the time when monterey was the chief port of the northern pacific, and basked in the sunshine of a prosperous monopoly. a good portion of the town was there that evening. shadowy forms hovered in the arbors of the rose garden; the city band appeared and rendered much pleasing music,--though it was rendered somewhat too vigorously. that band was composed of the bone and sinew of the town. oft in the daytime had i not heard the flageolet lifting its bird-like voice over the counter of the juvenile jeweller, who wrought cunningly in the shimmering abalone shells during the rests in his music? did not the trombone bray from beyond the meadow, where the cooper could not barrel his aspiring soul? it was the french-horn at the butcher's, the fife at the grocer's, the cornet in the chief saloon on the main street; while at the edge of the town, from the soot and grime of the smithy, i heard at intervals the boom of the explosive drum. it was thus they responded to one another on that melodious shore, and with an ambitious diligence worthy of the royal conservatory. there was nothing to disturb one in the land, after the musical mania, save the clang of the combers on the long, lonely beach; the cry of the sea-bird wheeling overhead, or the occasional bang of a rifle. even the narrow-gauge railway, that stopped discreetly just before reaching the village, broke the monotony of local life but twice in the twenty-four hours. the whistle of the arriving and departing train, the signal of the occasional steamer--ah! but for these, what a sweet, sad, silent spot were that! i used to believe that possibly some day the unbroken stillness of the wilderness might again envelop it. the policy of the people invited it. anything like energy or progress was discouraged in that latitude. when it was discovered that the daily mail per narrow gauge was arriving regularly and usually on time, it began to look like indecent haste on the part of the governmental agents. the beauty and the chivalry that congregated at the post-office seemed to find too speedy satisfaction at the general delivery window; and presently the mail-bag for monterey was dropped at another village, and later carted twenty miles into town. the happy uncertainty of the mail's arrival caused the post-office to become a kind of forum, where all the grievances of the populace were turned loose and generally discussed. then it seemed possible that the narrow gauge might be frowned down altogether, and the locomotive warned to cease trespassing upon the green pastures of the ex-capital. it even seemed possible that in course of time all aliens might require a passport and a recommendation from their last place before being permitted to enter in and enjoy the society of the authorities brooding over that slumberous village. i have seen as many as six men and a boy standing upon one of the half-dozen street corners of the town, watching, with a surprise that bordered upon impertinence, a white pilgrim from san francisco in an ulster, innocently taking his way through the otherwise deserted streets. the ulster was perhaps the chief object of interest. i have seen three or four citizens sitting in a row, on a fence, like so many rooks,--and sitting there for hours, as if waiting for something. for what, pray? for the demented squaw, who revolved about the place, and slept out of doors in all weathers, and muttered to herself incessantly while she went to and fro, day after day, seeking the rest she could not hope for this side the grave? or for murillo, the indian, impudent though harmless, full of fancies and fire-water? or for the return of the whale-boats, with their beautiful lateen-sails? or for the gathering of the neapolitan fishermen down under the old custom house, where they sat at evening looking off upon the bay, and perchance dreaming of italy and all that enchanted coast? or for the rains that poured their sudden and swift rivulets down the wooded slopes and filled the gorges that gutted some of the streets? was it the love of nature, or a belief in fatalism, or sheer laziness, i wonder, that preserved to monterey those washouts, from two to five feet in depth, that were sometimes in the very middle of the streets, and impassable save by an improvised bridge--a single plank? ah me! it is an ungracious task to prick the bubble reputation, had i not been dazzled with dreams of monterey from my youth up! was i piqued when i, then a citizen of san francisco--one of the three hundred thousand,--when i read in "the handbook of monterey" these lines: "san francisco is not too firmly fixed to fear the competition of monterey"? well, i may as well confess myself a false prophet. the town fell into the hands of croesus, and straightway lost its identity. it is now a fashionable resort, and likely to remain one for some years to come. where now can one look for the privacy of old? then, if one wished to forget the world, he drove through a wilderness to cypress point. now 'tis a perpetual picnic ground, and its fastnesses are threaded by a drive which is one of the features of del monte hotel life. it was solemn enough of yore. the gaunt trees were hung with funereal mosses; they had huge elbows and shoulders, and long, thin arms, with skeleton fingers at the ends of them, that bore knots that looked like heads and faces such as doré portrayed in his fantastic illustrations. they were like giants transformed,--they are still, no doubt; for the tide of fashion is not likely to prevail against them. they stand upon the verge of the sea, where they have stood for ages, defying the elements. the shadows that gather under their locked branches are like caverns and dungeons and lairs. the fox steals stealthily away as you grope among the roots, that writhe out of the earth and strike into it again, like pythons in a rage. the coyote sits in the edge of the dusk, and cries with a half-human cry--at least he did in my dead day. and here are corpse-like trees, that have been naked for ages; every angle of their lean, gray boughs seems to imply something. who will interpret these hieroglyphics? blood-red sunsets flood this haunted wood; there is a sound as of a deep-drawn sigh passing through it at intervals. the moonlight fills it with mystery; and along its rocky front, where the sea-flowers blossom and the sea-grass waves its glossy locks, the soul of the poet and of the artist meet and mingle between shadowless sea and cloudless sky, in the unsearchable mystery of that cypress solitude. so have i seen it; so would i see it again. when i think on that beach at monterey--the silent streets, the walled, unweeded gardens--a wistful saturday-afternoon feeling comes over me. i hear again the incessant roar of the surf; i see the wheeling gulls, the gray sand; the brown, bleak meadows; the empty streets; the shops, tenantless sometimes--for the tenant is at dinner or at dominos; the other shops that are locked forever and the keys rusted away;--whenever i think of her i am reminded of that episode in coulton's diary, where he, as alcalde, was awakened from a deep sleep at the dead of night by a guard, a novice, and a slave to duty. with no little consternation, the alcalde hastened to unbar the door. the guard, with a respectful salute, said: "the town, sir, is perfectly quiet." in a californian bungalow it was reception night at the palace hotel. as usual the floating population of san francisco had drifted into the huge court of that luxurious caravansary, and was ebbing and eddying among the multitudes of white and shining columns that support the six galleries under the crystal roof. the band reveled in the last popular waltz, the hum of the spectators was hushed, but among the galleries might be seen pairs of adolescent youths and maidens swaying to the rhythmical melody. we were taking wine and cigarettes with the colonel. he was always at home to us on monday nights, and even our boisterous chat was suspended while the blustering trumpeters in the court below blew out their delirious music. it was at this moment that bartholomew beckoned me to follow him from the apartment. we quietly repaired to the gallery among the huge vases of palms and creepers, and there, bluntly and without a moment's warning, the dear fellow blurted out this startling revelation: "i have made an engagement for you; be ready on thursday next at p.m.; meet me here; all arrangements are effected; say not a word, but come; and i promise you one of the jolliest experiences of the season." all this was delivered in a high voice, to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals; he concluded with the last flourish of the bandmaster's baton, and the applause of the public followed. certainly dramatic effect could go no further. i was more than half persuaded, and yet, when the applause had ceased, the dancers unwound themselves, and the low rumble of a thousand restless feet rang on the marble pavement below, i found voice sufficient to ask the all-important question, "but what is the nature of this engagement?" to which he answered, "oh, we're going down the coast for a few days, you and i, and alf and croesus. a charming bungalow by the sea; capital bathing, shooting, fishing; nice quiet time generally; back monday morning in season for biz!" this was certainly satisfactory as far as it went, but i added, by way of parenthesis, "and who else will be present?" knowing well enough that one uncongenial spirit might be the undoing of us all. to this bartholomew responded, "no one but ourselves, old fellow; now don't be queer." he knew well enough my aversion to certain elements unavoidable even in the best society, and how i kept very much to myself, except on monday nights when we all smoked and laughed with the colonel--whose uncommonly charming wife was abroad for the summer; and on tuesday and saturday nights, when i was at the club, and on wednesdays, when i did the theatricals of the town, and on thursdays and fridays--but never mind! girls were out of the question in my case, and he knew that the bachelor hall where i preside was as difficult of access as a cloister. i might not have given my word without further deliberation, had not the impetuous colonel seized us bodily and borne us back into his smoking-room, where he was about to shatter the wax on a flagon of wine, a brand of fabulous age and excellence. bartholomew nodded to alf, alf passed the good news to croesus, for we were all at the colonel's by common consent, and so it happened that the compact was made for thursday. that thursday, at p.m. we were on our way to the station at : ; the town-houses were growing few and far between, as the wheels of the coaches spun over the iron road. at five o'clock the green fields of the departed spring, already grown bare and brown, rolled up between us and the horizon. california is a naked land and no mistake, but how beautiful in her nakedness! an hour later we descended at school-house station; such is the matter-of-fact pet-name given to a cluster of dull houses, once known by some melodious but forgotten spanish appellation. the ranch wagon awaited us; a huge springless affair, or if it had springs they were of that aggravating stiffness that adds insult to injury. excellent beasts dragged us along a winding, dusty road, over hill, down dale, into a land that grew more and more lonely; not exactly "a land where it was always afternoon," but apparently always a little later in the day, say p.m. or thereabouts. we were rapidly wending our way towards the coast, and on the breezy hill-top a white fold of sea-fog swept over and swathed us in its impalpable snow. oh! the chill, the rapturous agony of that chill. do you know what sea-fog is? it is the bodily, spiritual and temporal life of california; it is the immaculate mantle of the unclad coast; it feeds the hungry soil, gives drink unto the thirsting corn, and clothes the nakedness of nature. it is the ghost of unshed showers--atomized dew, precipitated in life-bestowing avalanches upon a dewless and parched shore; it is the good angel that stands between a careless people and contagion; it is heaven-sent nourishment. it makes strong the weak; makes wise the foolish--you don't go out a second time in midsummer without your wraps--and it is altogether the freshest, purest, sweetest, most picturesque, and most precious element in the physical geography of the pacific slope. it is worth more to california than all her gold, and silver, and copper, than all her corn and wine--in short, it is simply indispensable. this is the fog that dashed under our hubs like noiseless surf, filled up the valleys in our lee, shut the sea-view out entirely, and finally left us on a mountaintop--our last ascension, thank heaven!--with nothing but clouds below us and about us, and we sky-high and drenched to the very bone. the fog broke suddenly and rolled away, wrapped in pale and splendid mystery; it broke for us as we were upon the edge of a bluff. for some moments we had been listening to the ever-recurring sob of the sea. there at our feet curled the huge breakers, shouldering the cliff as if they would hurl it from its foundation. a little further on in the gloaming was the last hill of all; from its smooth, short summit we could look into the delectable land by candle light, and mark how invitingly stands a bungalow by the sea's margin at the close of a dusty day. on the summit we paused; certain unregistered packages under the wagon, which had preyed at intervals upon the minds of alf, croesus, and bartholomew, were now drawn forth. life is a series of surprises; surprise no. , a brace of long, tapering javelins having villainous-looking heads, i.e., two marine rockets, with which to rend the heavens, and notify the vassals at the bungalow of our approach. one of these rockets we planted with such care that having touched it off, it could not free itself, but stood stock still and with vicious fury blew off in a cloud of dazzling sparks. the dry grass flamed in a circle about us; never before had we fought fire with wildly-waving ulsters, but they prove excellent weapons in engagements of this character, i assure you. profiting by fatiguing experience, we poised the second rocket so deftly that it could not fail to rise. on it we hung our hopes, light enough burdens if they were all as faint as mine. with the spurt of a match we touched it, a stream of flaky gold rushed forth and then, as if waiting to gather strength, _biff_! and away she went. never before soared rocket so beautifully; it raked the very stars; its awful voice died out in the dim distance; with infinite grace it waved its trail of fire, and then spat forth such constellations of variegated stars--you would have thought a rainbow had burst into a million fragments--that shamed the very planets, and made us think mighty well of ourselves and our achievement. there was still a long dark mile between us and the bungalow; on this mile were strung a fordable stream, a ragged village of italian gardeners, some monstrous looking hay-stacks, and troops of dogs that mouthed horribly as we ploughed through the velvety dust. the bungalow at last! at the top of an avenue of trees--and such a bungalow! a peaked roof that sheltered everything, even the deepest verandas imaginable; the rooms few, but large and airy; everything wide open and one glorious blaze of light. a table spread with the luxuries of the season, which in california means four seasons massed in one. flowers on all sides; among these flowers japanese lanterns of inconceivable forms and colors. these hung two or three deep--without, within, above, below; nothing but light and fragrance, and mirth and song. we were howling a chorus as we drove up, and were received with a musical welcome, bubbling over with laughter from the lips of three pretty girls, dressed in white and pink--probably the whitest and pinkest girls in all california; and this was surprise no. . perfect strangers to me were these young ladies; but, like most confirmed bachelors, i rather like being with the adorable sex, when i find myself translated as if by magic. we were formed of the dust of the earth--there was no denying the fact, and we speedily withdrew; but before our dinner toilets were completed, such a collection of appetizers was sent in to us as must distinguish forever the charming hostess who concocted them. i need not recall the dinner. have you ever observed that there is no real pleasure in reviving the memory of something good to eat? suffice it to state that the dinner was such a one as was most likely to be laid for us under the special supervision of three blooming maidens, who had come hither four and twenty hours in advance of us for this special purpose. that night we played for moderate stakes until the hours were too small to be mentioned. i forget who won; but it was probably the girls, who were as clever at cards as they were at everything else. we ultimately retired, for the angel of sleep visits even a californian bungalow, though his hours are a trifle irregular. our rooms, two large chambers, with folding doors thrown back, making the two as one, contained four double beds; in one of the rooms was a small altar, upon which stood a statue of the madonna, veiled in ample folds of lace and crowned with a coronet of natural flowers; vases of flowers were at her feet, and lighted tapers flickered on either hand. the apartment occupied by the young ladies was at the other corner of the bungalow; the servants, a good old couple, retainers in alf's family, slept in a cottage adjoining. we retired manfully; we had smoked our last smoke, and were not a little fatigued; hence this readiness on our part to lay down the burdens and cares of the day. when the lights were extinguished the moon, streaming in at the seaward windows, flooded the long rooms. it was a glorious night; no sound disturbed its exquisite serenity save the subdued murmur of the waves, softened by an intervening hillock on which the cypress trees stood like black and solemn sentinels of the night. [illustration: "the huge court of that luxurious caravansary."] i think i must have dozed, for it first seemed like a dream--the crouching figures that stole in indian file along the carpet from bed to bed; but soon enough i wakened to a reality, for the phillistines were upon us, and the pillows fell like aerolites out of space. the air was dense with flying bed-clothes; the assailants, bartholomew and alf, his right-hand man, fell upon us with school-boy fury; they made mad leaps, and landed upon our stomachs. we grappled in deadly combat; not an article of furniture was left unturned; not one mattress remained upon another. we made night hideous for some moments. we roused the ladies from their virgin sleep, but paid little heed to their piteous pleadings. the treaty of peace, which followed none too soon--the pillow-cases were like fringes and the sheets were linen shreds--culminated in a round of night-caps which for potency and flavor have, perhaps, never been equalled in the history of the vine. then we _did_ sleep--the sleep of the just, who have earned their right to it; the sleep of the horny-handed son of the soil, whose muscles relax with a jerk that awakens the sleeper to a realizing sense that he has been sleeping and is going to sleep again at his earliest convenience: the sweet, intense, and gracious sleep of innocence--out of which we were awakened just before breakfast time by the most considerate of hostesses and her ladies of honor, who sent into us the reviving cup, without which, i fear, we could not have begun the new day in a spirit appropriate to the occasion. the first day at the bungalow was friday and, of course, a fast day; we observed the rule with a willingness which, i trust, the recording angel made a note of. there was a bath at the beach toward mid-day, followed by a cold collation in the shelter of a rude chalet, which served the ladies in the absence of the customary bathing-machine. lying upon rugs spread over the sand we chatted until a drowsy mood persuaded us to return to the bungalow and indulge in a _siesta_. it being summer, and a california summer by the sea, a huge log fire blazed upon the evening hearth; cards and the jingle of golden counters again kept us at the table till the night was far spent. need i add that the ladies presented a petition with the customary night-cap, praying that the gentlemen in the double-chamber would omit the midnight gymnastics upon retiring, and go to sleep like "good boys." it had been our intention to do so; we were not wholly restored, for the festivities of the night previous had been prolonged and fatiguing. we began our preparations by wheeling the four bedsteads into one room. it seemed to us cosier to be sleeping thus together; indeed, it was quite a distance from the extremity of one room to the extremity of the other. resigning ourselves to the pillows, each desired his neighbor to extinguish the lights; no one moved to perform this necessary duty. we slept, or pretended to sleep, and for some moments the bungalow was quiet as the grave. in the midst of this refreshing silence a panic seized us; with one accord we sprang to arms; the pillows, stripped of their cases on the night previous, again darkened the air. we leaped gaily from bed to bed, and in turn, took every corner of the room by storm; the shout of victory mingled with the cry for mercy. there was one solitary voice for peace; it was the voice of the vexed hostess, and it was followed by the suspension of hostilities and the instant quenching of the four tapers, each blown by an individual mouth, after which we groped back to our several couches in a state of charming uncertainty as to which was which. saturday followed, and, of all saturdays in the year, it chanced to be the vigil of a feast, and therefore a day of abstinence. the ladies held the key of the larder, and held it, permit me to add, with a clenched hand. it may be that all boys are not like our boys; that there are those who, having ceased to elongate and increase in the extremities out of all proportion, are willing to fast from day to day; who no longer lust after the flesh-pots, and whose appetites are governable--but ours were not. the accustomed fish of a friday was welcome, but saturday was out of the question. "something too much of this," said croesus the sybarite. "amen!" cried the affable alf. there was an unwonted fire in the eye of bartholomew when he asked for a dispensation at the hands of the hostess, and was refused. all day the maidens sought to lighten our burden of gloom; the sports in the bath were more brilliant than usual. we adjourned to the hay-loft and told stories till our very tongues were tired. it is true that egg-nogg at intervals consoled us; but when we had awakened from a refreshing sleep among the hay, and fought a battle that ended in victory for the amazons and our ignominious flight, we bore the scars of burr and hay-seed for hours afterwards. cold turkey and cranberry sauce at midnight had been promised to us, yet how very distant that seemed. hunger cried loudly for beef and bouillon, and a strategic movement was planned upon the spot. the gaming, which followed a slim supper, was not so interesting as usual. at intervals we consulted the clock; how the hours lagged! croesus poured his gold upon the table in utter distraction. the maidens, who sat in sack-cloth and ashes, sorrowing for our sins, left the room at intervals to assure themselves that the larder was intact. we, also, quietly withdrew from time to time. once, all three of the girls fled in consternation--the footsteps of bartholomew had been heard in the vicinity of the cupboard; but it was a false alarm, and the game was at once resumed. now, indeed, the hours seemed to fly. to our surprise, upon referring to the clock, the hands stood at ten minutes to twelve. so swiftly speed the moments when the light hearts of youth beat joyously in the knowledge that it is almost time to eat! twelve o'clock! cold turkey, cranberry sauce, champagne, etc., and no more fasting till the sixth day. having devastated the board, we must needs betray our folly by comparing the several timepieces. alf stood at five minutes to eleven; bartholomew some minutes behind him; croesus, with his infallible repeater, was but : ; as for me, i had discreetly run down. the secret was out. the clock had been tampered with, and the trusting maids betrayed. at first they laughed with us; then they sneered, and then they grew wroth, and went apart in deep dismay. the dining-hall resounded with our hollow mirth; like the scriptural fool, we were laughing at our own folly. the ladies solemnly re-entered; our hostess, the spokeswoman, said, with the voice of an oracle, "you will regret this before morning." still feigning to be merry, we went speedily to bed, but there was no night-cap sent to soothe us; and the lights went out noiselessly and simultaneously. after the heavy and regular breathing had set in--i think all slept save myself--light footsteps were heard without. why should one turn a key in a bungalow whose hospitality is only limited by the boundary line of the county surveyor? our keys were not turned, in fact,--too late--we discovered there were no keys to turn. in the dim darkness--the moon lent us little aid at the moment--our door was softly thrown open, and the splash of fountains could be heard; it was the sound of many waters. as i listened to it in a half dream, it fell upon my ear most musically, and then it fell upon my nose, and eyes, and mouth; it seemed as if the windows of heaven were opened, as if the dreadful deluge had come again. i soon discovered what it was. i threw the damp bed clothes over my head and awaited further developments. i began to think they never would come--i mean the developments. meanwhile the garden hose, in the hands of the irate maidens, played briskly upon the four quarters of the room--not a bed escaped the furious stream. nothing was left that was not saturated and soaked, sponge-full. the floor ran torrents; our boots floated away upon the mimic tide. we lay like inundated mummies, but spake never a word. possibly the girls thought we were drowned; at all events, they withdrew in consternation, leaving the hose so that it still belched its unwelcome waters into the very centre of our drenched apartment. rising at last from our clammy shrouds, we gave chase; but the water-nymphs had fled. then we barricaded the bungalow, and held a council of war. sitting in moist conclave, we were again assailed and driven back to our rooms, which might now be likened to a swimming bath at low-tide. we shrieked for stimulants, but were stoutly denied, and then we took to the woods in a fit of indignation, bordering closely upon a state of nature. i thought to bury myself in the trackless wild; to end my days in the depths of the primeval forest. but i remembered how a tiger-cat had been lately seen emerging from these otherwise alluring haunts, and returned at once to the open, where i glistened in the moonlight, now radiant, and shivered at the thought of the possible snakes coiling about my feet. my disgust of life was full; yet in the midst of it i saw the reviving flames dancing upon the hearth-stone, and the click of glasses recalled me to my senses. we returned in a body, a defeated brotherhood, accepting as a peace-offering such life-giving draughts as compelled us, almost against our will, to drink to the very dregs in token of full surrender. then rheumatism and i lay down together, and a little child might have played with any two of us. i assured my miserable companions that "i was not accustomed to such treatment." alf added that "it was more than he had bargained for." bartholomew had neither speech nor language wherewith to vent his spleen. as for the bland and blooming croesus--he who had been lapped in luxury and cradled in delight--it was his private opinion, publicly expressed, that "the like of it was unknown in the annals of social history." [illustration: "the gallery among the huge vases of palms and creepers."] yet on the sunday--our final day at the bungalow--you would have thought that the gods had assembled together to hold sweet converse; and, when we lounged in the shadow of the invisible ida, never looked the earth more fair to us. the whole land was in blossom from the summit to the sea; the gardeners, as they walked among their vines, prated of sicily and sang songs of their sun-land. there was no chapel at hand, and no mass for the repose of souls that had been sorely troubled; but the charm of those young women--they were salving our wounds as women know how to do--and the voluptuous feast that was laid for us, when we emptied the fatal larder; the music, and the thousand arts employed to restore beauty and order out of the last night's chaos, made us better than new men, and it taught us a lesson we never shall forget--though from that hour to this, neither one nor the other of us, in any way, shape, or fashion whatever, has referred in the remotest degree to that eventful night in a californian bungalow. primeval california "primeval california" was inscribed on the knapsack of the artist, on the portmanteau of foster, the artist's chum, and on the fly-leaf of the note-book of the scribe. the luggage of the boisterous trio was checked through to the heart of the red woods, where a vacation camp was pitched. the expected "last man" leaped the chasm that was rapidly widening between the city front of san francisco and the steamer bound for san rafael, and approached us--the trio above referred to--with a slip of paper in his hand. it was not a subpoena; it was not a dun; it was a round-robin of farewells from a select circle of admirers, wishing us joy, godspeed, success in art and literature, and a safe return at last. the wind blew fair; we were at liberty for an indefinite period. in forty minutes we struck another shore and another clime. san francisco is original in its affectation of ugliness--it narrowly escaped being a beautiful city--and its humble acceptation of a climate which is as invigorating as it is unscrupulous, having a peculiar charm which is seldom discovered until one is beyond its spell. sailing into the adjacent summer,--summer is intermittent in the green city of the west,--we passed into the shadow of mount tamalpais, the great landmark of the coast. the admirable outline of the mountain, however, was partially obscured by the fog, already massing along its slopes. the narrow-gauge of the n.p.c.r.r. crawls like a snake from the ferry on the bay to the roundhouse over and beyond the hills, but seven miles from the sea-mouth of the russian river. it turns very sharp corners, and turns them every few minutes; it doubles in its own trail, runs over fragile trestle-work, darts into holes and re-appears on the other side of the mountains, roars through strips of redwoods like a rushing wind, skirts the shore of bleak tomales bay, cuts across the potato district and strikes the redwoods again, away up among the saw-mills at the logging-camps, where it ends abruptly on a flat under a hill. and what a flat it is!--enlivened with a first-class hotel, some questionable hostelries, a country store, a post-office and livery-stable, and a great mill buzzing in an artificial desert of worn brown sawdust. here, after a five hours' ride, we alighted at duncan's mills, hard by the river, and with a girdle of hills all about us--high, round hills, as yellow as brass when they are not drenched with fog. in the twilight we watched the fog roll in, trailing its lace-like skirts among the highland forests. how still the river was! not a ripple disturbed it; there was no perceptible current, for after the winter floods subside, the sea throws up a wall of sand that chokes the stream, and the waters slowly gather until there is volume enough to clear it. then come the rains and the floods, in which rafts of drift-wood and even great logs are carried twenty feet up the shore, and permanently lodged in inextricable confusion. i remember the day when we had made a pilgrimage to the coast, when from the rocky jaws of the river we looked up the still waters, and saw them slowly gathering strength and volume. the sea was breaking upon the bar without; indian canoes swung on the tideless stream, filled with industrious occupants taking the fish that await their first plunge into salt water. every morning we bathed in the unpolluted waters of the river. how fresh and sweet they are--the filtered moisture of the hills, mingled with the distillations from cedar-boughs drenched with fogs and dew! lounging upon the hotel veranda, turning our backs upon the last vestiges of civilization in the shape of a few guests who dressed for dinner as if it were imperative, we were greeted with mellow heartiness by a hale old backwoodsman, a genuine representative of the primeval. it was ingram, of ingram house, austin creek, red woods, sonoma county, primeval california. it was he, with ranch-wagon and stalwart steeds. the artist, who was captain-general of the forces, at once held a consultation with ingram, whom we will henceforth call the doctor, for he is a doctor--minus the degrees--of divinity, medicine, and laws, and master of all work; a deer-stalker, rancher, and general utility man; the father of a clever family, and the head of a primeval house. in half an hour we were jolting, bag and baggage, body and soul, over roads wherein the ruts were filled with dust as fine as flour, fording trout-streams, and winding through wood and brake. we passed the old logging-camp, with the hills about it blackened and disfigured for life; and the new logging-camp, with its stumps still smoldering, its steep slides smoking with the friction of swift-descending logs, the ring of the ax and the vicious buzz of the saw mingled with the shouts of the woodsmen. how industry is devastating that home of the primeval! soon the road led us into the very heart of the redwoods, where superb columns stood in groups, towering a hundred and even two hundred feet above our heads! a dense undergrowth of light green foliage caught and held the sunlight like so much spray; the air was charged with the fragrance of wild honeysuckle and resiniferous trees; the jay-bird darted through the boughs like a phosphorous flame, screaming his joy to the skies; squirrels fled before us; quails beat a muffled tattoo in the brush-snakes slid out of the road in season to escape destruction. we soon dropped into the bed of the stream austin creek, and rattled over the broad, strong highway of the winter rains. we bent our heads under low-hanging boughs, drove into patches of twilight, and out on the other side into the waning afternoon; we came upon a deserted cottage with a great javelin driven through the roof to the cellar; it had been torn from one of the gigantic redwoods and hurled by a last winter's gale into that solitary home. fortunately no one had been injured, but the inmates had fled in terror, lashed by the driving storm. we came to ingram house in the dusk, out of the solitude of the forest into a pine-and-oak opening, the monotony of which was enlivened with a fair display of the primitive necessities of life--a vegetable garden on the right, a rustic barn on the left, a house of "shakes" in the distance, and nine deer-hounds braying a deep-mouthed welcome at our approach. in the rises of the house on the hill-slope is a three-roomed bachelors' hall; here, on the next day, we were cozily domiciled. there were a few guests in the homestead. the boys slept in the granary. the deer-hounds held high carnival under our cottage, charging at intervals during the night upon imaginary intruders. we woke to the blustering music of the beasts, and thought on the possible approach of bear, panther, california lion, wild cat, 'coon, and polecat; but thought on it with composure, for the hounds were famous hunters, and there was a whole arsenal within reach. we were waked at : , and come down to the front "stoop" of the homestead. the structure was home-made, with rafters on the outside or inside according to the fancy of the builder; sunshine and storm had stained it grayish brown, and no tint could better harmonize with the background and surroundings. in one corner of the stoop a tin wash-basin stood under a waterspout in the sink; there swung the family towels; the public comb, hanging by its teeth to a nail, had seen much service; a piece of brown soap lay in an _abalone_ shell tacked to the wall; a small mirror reflected kaleidoscopical sections of the face, and made up for its want of compass by multiplying one or another feature. we never before ate at the hour of seven as we ate then; then a pipe on the front steps and a frolic with the boys or the dogs would follow, and digestion was well under way before the day's work began. then the artist shouldered his knapsack and departed; the lads trudged through the road to school; the women went about the house with untiring energy; the male hands were already making the anvil musical in the rustic smithy, or dragging stock to the slaughter, or busy with the thousand and one affairs that comprise the sum and substance of life in a self-sustaining community. we were assured that were war to be declared between the outer world and ingram house, lying in ambush in the heart of our black forest, we might withstand the siege indefinitely. all that was needful lay at our hands, and yet, a stone's-throw away from our shake-built citadel, one loses himself in a trackless wood, whose glades are still untrodden by men, though one sometimes hears the light step of the _bronco_ when charlie rides forth in search of a strong bull. all work was like play there, because of a picturesque element which predominated over the practical. wood-cutting under the window of the best room, trying out fat in a caldron or an earth-oven against our cottage, dragging sunburnt straw in a rude sledge down the hill-side road, shoeing a neighbor's horse in a circle of homely gossips, hunting to supply the domestic board at the distant market--is this all that adam and the children of adam suffer in his fall? at noon a clarion voice resounded from the kitchen door and sent the echoes up and down the creek. it was the hostess, who, having prepared the dinner, was bidding the guests to the feast. the artist came in with his sketch, the chum with his novel, the scribe with his note-book, followed by the horny-handed sons of toil, whose shoulders were a little rounded and whose minds were seldom, if ever, occupied with any life beyond the hills that walled us in. we sat down at a camp board and ate with relish. the land was flowing with milk and honey; no sooner was the pitcher drained or the plate emptied than each was replenished by the willing hands of our hostess or her boys. another smoke under the stoop followed, and then, perhaps, a doze at the cottage, or in one of the dozen rocking-chairs about the house, or on the rustic throne hewn from a stump in the grove between the house and the barn. the sun flooded the cañon with hot and dazzling light; the air was spiced with the pungent odor of shrubs; it was time to rest a little before beginning the laborious sports of the afternoon. later, we all wandered on the banks of the creek and were sure to meet at the swimming-pool about four o'clock. meanwhile the artist has laid in another study. foster has finished his tale, and is rocking in a hammock of green boughs; the scribe has booked a half-dozen fragmentary sentences that will by and by grow into an article, and the boys have come home from school. by and by we wanted change; the monotony of town life is always more or less interesting; the monotony of country life palls after a season. change comes over us in a most unexpected guise. our cañon was decked with the flaming scarlet of the poison-oak; these brilliant bits of foliage are the high-lights in almost every california landscape, and must satisfy our love of color, in the absence of the eastern autumnal leaf. the gorgeous shrubs stand out like burning bushes by the roadside, on the hill-slope, in the forest recesses, and almost everywhere. the artist's chum gave evidence of a special susceptibility to the poison by a severe attack that prostrated him utterly for a while. yet he stood by us until his vacation came to an end, and, to the last, there was no complaint heard from this martyr to circumstances. one day he left us--on mule-back, with nine dogs fawning upon his stirrup, and amid a hundred good-byes wafted to him from the house, the smithy, the barn, and the swimming-pool. he had orders to send in the kid, or his successor, immediately upon his arrival at the bay. we must needs have some one to indulge, some one whose interests were not involved in the primeval farther than the pleasure it afforded for the hour. the kid was the very thing--a youngster with happiness in heart, luster in his eye, and nothing more serious than peach-down on his lip; yet there was gravity enough in his composition to carry him beneath the mere surface of men and things. the kid drove in one night with rifle tall as himself, fishing-tackle, and entomological truck, wild with enthusiasm and hungry as a carp. what days followed! our little entomologist chased scarlet-winged dragon-flies and descanted on the myriad forms of insect-life with premature accomplishment. "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings" we heard revelations not unmixed with the ludicrous superstitions of the nursery. there is a school-house a mile distant, on the forks of the creek; we visited it one friday, and saw six angular youths, the sum total of the young ideas within range of the instructress, spelled down in broadsides; and heard time-honored recitations delivered in the same old sing-song that could only have been original with the sons of our first parents. the school-mistress, with a sun-bonnet that buried her face from the world, passed ingram's ten times a week, footing it silently along the dusty road, lunch-pail in hand. she lives in a lonely cabin on the trail to the wilderness over the hill. the kid sketched a little; indeed, the artistic fever spread to the granary, where the boys spent some hours of each day restoring, not to say improving, the tarnished color of certain face-cards of an imperfect euchre deck, the refuse of the palette being carefully secreted to this end; we never knew at what moment we might sit upon the improvised color-box of some juvenile member of the family. but hunting was our delectable recreation; the doctor would lead off on a half-broken _bronco_, followed by a select few from the house or the friendly camps, fred bringing up the rear with a pack-mule. this was the chief joy of the hounds; the old couple grew young at the scent of the trail, and deserted their whining progeny with indian stoicism. two nights and a day were enough for a single hunt,--one may in that time scour the rocky fortresses of the last chance, or scale the formidable slopes of the devil's ribs. the return from the hunt was a scene of picturesque interest: the approach of the hunters at dusk, as they emerged one after another from the dark wood; the pack-mule prancing proudly under a stark buck weighing one hundred and thirty-three pounds, without its vitals; the baby fawn slain by chance (for no one would acknowledge the criminal slaughter); the final arrival of the fagged, sore-footed dogs, who were wildly greeted by the puppies, and kissed on the mouth and banged about by many a playful paw; the grouping under the trees in front of bachelors' hall, where the buck was slung, head downward among green leaves, and with stakes crossed between the gaping ribs; the light of the flickering lantern; the dogs supping blood from the ground where it had dripped; the satisfaction of the hunters; the admiration of the women; the wild excitement of the boys, who all talked at once, at the top of their voices, with gestures quicker than thought;--this was the carnival of the primeval. one night, the kid set out for the stubble-field and lay in wait for wild rabbits; when he came in with his hands full of ears, the glow of moonlight was in his eye, the flush of sunset on his cheek, the riotous blood's best scarlet in his lips, and his laugh was triumphant; with a discarded hat recalled for camp-duty, a blue shirt open at the throat, hair very much tumbled, and no thoughts of self to detract from the absolute grace of his pose. but all hunting-parties were not so successful. one of seven came home empty-handed and disgusted. it became necessary, while the unlucky huntsmen were under our roof, to give them festive welcome. fred drew out his fiddle; the doctor gathered his strength and shook as lively a shoe on the sanded floor of the best room as one will hear the clang of in many a day. clumsy joints grew supple; heavy boots made the splinters fly; a fellow-townsman, like ourselves on a vacation tour, jigged with the inimitable grace of a trained dancer. how few of our muscles are aware of the joy of full development! from the wall of the best room the "family of horace greeley," in mezzotint, looked down through clouded glass and a veneered frame. the county map hung _vis-à-vis_. a family record, wherein a pale infant was cradled in saffron, and schooled in pink, passing through a rainbow-tinted life that reached the climax of color at the scarlet and gold bridal, and ended in a sea-green grave; this record, with a tablet for appropriate inscriptions under each epoch in the family history, was still further enriched with lids of stained isinglass carefully placed over the domestic calendar, as much as to say, "what is written here is not for the public eye." on the triangular shelf in the corner, stood the condensed researches of all arctic explorers, in one obese volume; its twin contained the revelations of african discoveries boiled down and embellished with numberless cuts; a family physician, one volume of legislative documents, and three stray magazines, with a greek almanac, completed the library. so, even in the primeval state, we were not without food for our minds as well as exercise for our muscles. after a time, even the dance ceased to attract us. the artist had lined the walls of his chamber with brilliant sketches; the kid clamored for home. i suppose we might have tarried a whole summer and still found some turn in the brook, some vista in the wood, some cluster of isolated trees, to hold us entranced; for the peculiar glory of the hour transfigured them, and the same effect was never twice repeated. moreover, we at last grew intolerant of one great annoyance. you all have known it as we knew it, and doubtless endured it with as little grace. is there anything more galling than the surpassing impudence of country flies? we resolved to return to town, and returned close upon the heels of our resolution. again we threaded the dark windings of the wood, and bade farewell to every object that had become endeared to us. we wondered how soon change would lay its hand upon this primeval beauty. we approached the logging-camp. presto! in the brief interval since our first glimpse of the forests above it, the hills had been shorn of their antique harvest, and the valley was a place of desolation and of death. it seemed incredible that the dense growth of gigantic trees could be so soon dragged to market. there was a famous tree--we saw the stump still bleeding and oozing up--which, three feet from the ground, measured eleven and a half feet one way by fourteen feet the other. when its doom was sealed, a path was cut for it and a soft bed made for it to lie on. the land was graded, and covered with a cushion of soft boughs. had the tree fallen on uneven ground, it would have been shattered; if it had swerved to right or left, nothing but fire could have cleared the wrecks. the making of the death-bed of this monster cost mrs. duncan forty dollars. then the work began. an ax in the hands of a skillful wood-cutter threw the tree headlong to the earth. then it was sawed across, yielding eighteen logs, each sixteen feet in length, with a diameter of four feet at the smallest end. the logs were put upon wheels, and run over a light trestle-work to the mill, drawn thither by a ridiculous dummy, which looked not unlike an old-fashioned tavern store on its beam-ends, with an elbow in the air. at the mill, it was sawed into eighty thousand feet of marketable lumber. reaching the forest, on our way to the mills, we found the river had risen so that ten miles from the mouth we were obliged to climb upon the wagon-seats, and hold our luggage above high-water mark. at duncan's, on the home stretch, we made our final pilgrimage, to a wild glen over the russian river, where, a few weeks before, the bohemian club had held high jinks. the forest had been a scene of enchantment on that midsummer night; but now the tents were struck, the japanese lanterns were extinguished, and nothing was left to tell the tale but the long tables of rough deal, where we had feasted. they were covered with leaves and dust; spiders had draped them with filmy robes. the quail piped, the jay-bird screamed, the dove sobbed, and a slim snake, startled at the flight of a bounding hare, glided away among the rustling leaves. so soon does this new land recover the primeval beauty of eternal youth. inland yachting when your bosom friend seizes you by the arm, and says to you in that seductive sotto voce which implies a great deal more than is confessed, "come, let us go down to the sea in ships, and do business in the great waters," you generally go, if you are not previously engaged. at least, i do. much has been said in disfavor of yachting in san francisco bay. it is inland yachting to begin with. the shelving shores prevent the introduction of keel boats; flat and shallow hulls, with a great breadth of beam, something able to battle with "lumpy" seas and carry plenty of sail in rough weather, is the more practical and popular type. atlantic yachts, when they arrive in california waters, have their rigging cut down one-third. schooners and sloops with bermudian mutton-leg sails flourish. a modification of the english yawl is in vogue; but large sloops are not handled conveniently in the strong currents, the chop seas, the blustering winds, the summer fogs that make the harbor one of the most treacherous of haunts for yachtsmen. think of a race when the wind is blowing from twenty-five to thirty-five miles an hour! the surface current at the golden gate runs six miles per hour and the tide-rip is often troublesome; but there is ample room for sport, and very wild sport at times. the total area of the bay is four hundred and eighty square miles, and there are hundreds of miles of navigable sloughs, rivers, and creeks. one may start from alviso, and sail in a general direction, almost without turning, one hundred and fifty-five miles to sacramento city. during the voyage he is pretty sure to encounter all sorts of weather and nearly every sort of climate, from the dense and chilly fogs of the lower bay to the semi-tropics of the upper shores, where fogs are unknown, and where the winds die away on the surface of beautiful waters as blue as the bay of naples. there are amateur yachtsmen, a noble army of them, who charter a craft for a day or two, and have more fun in a minute than they can recover from in a month. i have sailed with these, at the urgent request of one who has led me into temptation more than once, but who never deserted me in an evil hour, even though he had to drag me out of it by the heels. i am at this moment reminded of an episode which still tickles my memory, and, much as a worthy yachtsman may scorn it, i confess that this moment is more to me than that of any dash into deep water which i can at present recall. it was a summer saturday, the half-holiday that is the reward of a week's hard labor. with the wise precaution which is a prominent characteristic of my bosom friend, a small body of comrades was gathered together on the end of meigg's wharf, simultaneously scanning, with vigilant eyes, the fleets of sailing crafts as they swept into view on the strong currents of the bay. it was a little company of youths, sick of the world and its cares, and willing, nay eager, to embark for other climes. they came not unfurnished. i beheld with joy numerous demijohns with labels fluttering like ragged cravats from their long necks; likewise stacks of vegetables, juicy joints, fruits, and more demijohns, together with a small portable iceberg; blankets were there, also guns, pistols, and fishing tackle. if one chooses to quit this world and its follies, one must go suitably provided for the next. experience teaches these things. the breeze freshened; the crowd grew impatient; more fellows arrived; another demijohn was seen in the distance swiftly bearing down upon us from the upper end of the wharf, and at this moment a dainty yacht skimmed gracefully around the point of telegraph hill, picking her way among the thousand-masted fleet that whitened the blue surface of the bay, and we at once knew her to be none other than the "lotus," a crack yacht, as swift as the wind itself. in fifteen minutes there was a locker full of good things, and a deck of jolly fellows, and when we cast off our bow-line, and ran up our canvas, we were probably the neatest thing on the tide. i know that i felt very much like a lay figure in somebody's marine picture, and it was quite wonderful to behold how suddenly we all became sea-worthy and how hard we tried to prove it. a heavy bank of cloud was piled up in the west, through which stole long bars of sunshine, gilding the leaden waves. the "lotus" bent lovingly to the gale. some of us went into the cabin, and tried to brace ourselves in comfortable and secure corners--item--there are no comfortable or secure seats at sea, and there will be none until there is a revolution in ship-building. our yachting afforded us an infinite variety of experience in a very short time; we had a taste of the british channel as soon as we were clear of the end of the wharf. it was like rounding gibraltar to weather alcatraz, and, as we skimmed over the smooth flood in raccoon straits, i could think of nothing but the little end of the golden horn. why not? the very name of our yacht was suggestive of the orient. the sun was setting; the sky deeply flushed; the distance highly idealized; homeward hastened a couple of italian fishing boats, with their lateen sails looking like triangular slices cut out of the full moon; this sort of thing was very soothing. we all lighted our cigarettes, and lapsed into dreamy silence, broken only by the plash of ripples under our bow and the frequent sputter of matches quite necessary to the complete consumption of our tobacco. [illustration: meigg's wharf in ] about dusk our rakish cutter drifted into the shelter of the hills along the north shore of the bay, and with a chorus of enthusiastic cheers we dropped anchor in two fathoms of soft mud. we felt called upon to sing such songs as marines are wont to sing upon the conclusion of a voyage, and i believe our deck presented a tableau not less picturesque than that in the last act of "black-eyed susan." susan alone was wanting to perfect our nautical happiness. how charming to pass one's life at sea, particularly when it is a calm twilight, and the anchor is fast to the bottom: the sheltering shores seem to brood over you; pathetic voices float out of the remote and deepening shadows; and stars twinkle so naturally in both sea and sky that a fellow scarcely knows which end he stands on. i have preserved a few leaves from a log written by my bosom friend. i present them as he wrote them, although he apparently had "happy thoughts" on the brain, and much burnand had well nigh made him mad. the log of the "lotus" p.m.--dinner just over; part of our crew desirous of fishing during the night; hooks lost, lines tangled, no bait; a row by moonlight proposed. p.m.--the irrepressibles still eager to fish; lines untangled, hooks discovered; two fellows despatched with yawl in search of bait; a row by moonlight again proposed; we take observation--no moon! p.m.--two fellows returning from shore with hen; hen very tough and noisy; tough hens not good for bait; fishing postponed till daybreak; moonlight sail proposed as being a pleasant change; still no moon; half the crew turn in for a night's rest; cabin very full of half-the-crew. midnight.--irrepressibles dance sailor's hornpipe on deck; half-the-crew below awake from slumbers, and advise irrepressibles to renew search for bait. : a.m.--irrepressibles return to shore for bait. loud breathing in cabin; water swashing on rocks along the beach; very picturesque, but no moon yet; voice in the distance says "halloa!" echo in the other distance replies, "halloa yourself, and see how you like it!" a.m.--irrepressibles still absent on shore; a dog barks loudly in the dark; a noise is heard in a far away hen-coop--irrepressibles looking diligently for bait. : a.m.--dog sitting on the shore howling; very heavy breathing in the cabin; noise of oars in the rowlocks; music on the water, chorus of youthful male voices, singing "a smuggler's life is a merry, merry, life." subdued noise of hens; dog still howling; no moon yet; more noise of hens, bait rapidly approaching. a.m.--irrepressibles try to row yawl through sternlights of "lotus"; grand collision of yawl at full speed and a rakish cutter at anchor. profane language in the cabin; sleepy crew, half awake, rush up the hatchway, and denounce irrepressibles. irrepressibles sing "smuggler's life," etc.; terrific noise of hens; half-the-crew invite the irrepressibles to "be as decent as they can." no moon yet; everybody packed in the cabin. : a.m.--sudden squall. "lotus," as usual, bends lovingly to the gale; dramatic youth in his bunk says, in deep voice, "no sleep till morn!" more dramatic youths say, "i heard a voice cry, 'sleep no more'." very deep voice says, "macbeth hath mur-r-r-r-dered sleep!" general confusion in the cabin. old commodore of the "lotus" says, "gentlemen, a little less noise, if you please." noise subsides. a.m.--irrepressibles propose sleeping in binnacle; unfortunate discovery--no binnacle on board. half-the-crew turn over, and suggest that the irrepressibles take night-caps, and retire anywhere. moved and seconded, that the irrepressibles take two night-caps, and retire in a body--item: two heads better than one, two night-caps ditto, ditto. : a.m.--commotion in cabin. irrepressibles find no place to lay their weary heads. moonlight sail proposed; observations on deck--no moon; squall in the distance; air very chilly. irrepressibles retire in a body, and take night-caps. song by irrepressibles, "a smuggler's life." half-the-crew sit up and throw boots. irrepressibles assault half-the-crew, and take bunks by storm; great confusion; old commodore of the "lotus" says, "gentlemen had better sleep a little, so as to be in trim for fishing at daybreak," night-caps all round; order restored; chorus of subdued voices, "a smuggler's life." a.m.--signs of daybreak; thin blue mist over the water; white sea-bird overhead, with bright light on its breast; flocks bleating on shore; sloop becalmed under the lee of the land; fishermen casting nets; more fishermen right under them, casting nets upside down. everything very fresh and shining; feel happy; think we must look like marine picture by somebody. : a.m.--commodore of the "lotus" comes on deck, and takes an observation; all favorable; commodore draws bucket of water out of the sea and makes toilet, white beard of the commodore waves gently in the breeze; fine-looking old sea-dog that commodore of the "lotus." sunday morning.--all quiet; air very clear and bracing. shore resembles new world. feel like christopher columbus discovering america. peaceful and happy emotions animate bosom; think i hear sabbath bells--evidently don't: no sabbath bells anywhere around. penitentiary of san quentin in the distance; look at san quentin, and feel emotion of sadness steal over me; moral reflection to try and avoid san quentin as long as possible. a.m.--noise in cabins; boots flying in the air; cries for mercy; reconciliation and eye-openers all round. everybody on deck; next minute everybody overboard bathing; water very cold; teeth chattering; something warming necessary for all hands. yawl goes out fishing; two small boats at the disposal of irrepressibles; a row by sunlight; no moon last night; funny boy says, "bring moon along next time!" everybody sees san quentin at the same moment; half-the-crew advise irrepressibles to "go home at once." cries of "hi yi." irrepressibles say "they will inform on half-the-crew when they get there"; disturbance on deck in consequence; commodore suggests a new search for bait; order restored; new search for bait instituted. three fellows sing "father, come home," and look toward san quentin. bad jokes on the prison every ten minutes throughout the day. small fleet of stern-wheel ducks come alongside for breakfast; ducks in great danger of the galley; flock of pelicans, with tremendous bowsprits, fly overhead; pistol-shot carries away tail feathers of pelican; order restored. a.m.--irrepressibles propose naval engagement; three small boats armed and equipped for the fray. irrepressibles routed; some taken prisoners; great excitement; quantities of water dashed in all directions; boats rapidly filling; two fellows overboard; cries for help, "fellows can't swim a stroke"; intense excitement; boat sinks in five feet of water and two feet of mud; the fellows brought on board to be wrung out. irrepressibles hang everything in the rigging to dry. imagination takes her accustomed flight; good study of nude irrepressibles in great number; think we must resemble the barge of cleopatra on the nile! unlucky thought; no cleopatra on board. subject reconsidered; lucky fancy--the greek gods on a yachting cruise. sun very hot; another bath all round; a drop of something, for fear of catching cold; the greek gods on deck indulge in negro dances; two men on shore look on, and wonder what's up. sun intensely hot; greek gods turn in for a square sleep! it becomes necessary to suppress the bosom friend, who, it is superfluous to state, was one of the leaders of the irrepressibles on the memorable occasion--and the balance of his log is consigned to the locker of oblivion. the cruise of the "lotus" had its redeeming features, though they were probably unrecorded at the time. there was fishing and boating; rambles on shore over the grassy hills; a search for clams and a good old-fashioned clam bake; to which the sharpest appetites did ample justice; and there were quiet fellows, who stole apart from the rioters and had hours of solid satisfaction. you may have rocked in a small skiff yourself, casting your line in deep water, waiting and watching for the cod to bite. it is pleasant sculling up to a distant point, and sounding by the way so as to get off the sand and over the pebbly bottom as soon as possible. it is pleasant to cast anchor and float a few rods from shore, where the rocks are eaten away by the tides of numberless centuries, where the swallows build and the goats climb, and the scrub oaks look over into the sea, with half their hairy roots trailing in the air. it is less pleasant to thread your hook with a piece of writhing worm that is full of agonizing expression, though head and tail are both missing and writhing on their own hooks, which are also attached to your line. i wonder if one bit of worm on a hook recognizes a joint of itself on the next hook, and says to it, in its own peculiar fashion, "well, are you alive yet?" the baiting accomplished, with a great flourish you throw your sinker, and see it bury itself in the muddy water; then you listen intently, for the least suggestion of a disturbance down there at the other end of the line; the sinker thumps upon this rock and the next one, drops into a hole and gets caught for a moment, but is loosened again, and then a sort of galvanic shock thrills through your body; on guard! if you would save your bait; another twinge, fainter than the first, and at last a regular tug, and you haul in your line, which is jerking incessantly by this time. the next moment the hooks come to the surface, and on one of them you find a lilliputian fish that is not yet old enough to feed himself, and was probably caught by accident. perhaps you haul in your line as fast as you can, bait it and throw it in again as rapidly as convenient--for this is the sport that fishermen love to boast of; perhaps you rock in your boat all day, and draw but a half-dozen of these shiners out before their time, and waste your precious worms to no purpose. it's hungry work, isn't it? and the summons to dinner that is by-and-by sounded from the yacht is a pleasing excuse for deserting so profitless a task. the right thing to do, however, is to put on an appearance of immense success whenever a rival skiff comes within hail. you hold up your largest fish several times in succession, so as to delude the anxious inquirers in the other boat, who will of course think you have a dozen of those big cod with a striking family resemblance. it is a very successful ruse; all fishermen indulge in it, and you have as good a right to play the pantomime as they. by-and-by we are glad to think of a return to town. why is it that pleasure excursions seem to ravel out? they never stop short after a brilliant achievement nor conclude with an imposing tableau; they die out gradually. someone gets out here, some-one else falls off there, and there is a general running down of the machinery that has propelled the festival up to the last moment. they flatten unmistakably, and it is almost a pity that some sort of climax cannot be engaged for each occasion, in the midst of which everyone should disappear, in red fire and a blaze of rockets. our yachting cruise was very jolly. we hauled in our lines and our anchors, and spread our canvas, while the wind was brisk and the evening was coming on; white-caps danced and tumbled all over the bay. it looked stormy far out in the open sea as we crossed the channel; thin tongues of fog were lapping among the western hills, as though the town were about to be devoured by some ghostly monster, and presently it was of course. the spray leaped half-way up our jib, and our fore-sail was dripping wet as we neared the town; there was a rolling up of blankets, and a general clearing out of the debris that always accumulates in small quarters. everybody was a little tired, and a little hungry, and a little sleepy, and quite glad to get home again, and when the "lotus" landed us on the old wharf at the north end of the town, we crept home through the side streets for decency's sake. the young "corinthian" would scorn to recognize a yachting exploit such as i have depicted. the young "corinthian" owns his yacht, and lives in it a great part of the summer. he is the first to make his appearance after the rainy season has begun to subside, and the last to be driven into winter quarters at oakland or antioch, where the fleet is moored during four or five months of the year. the "corinthian" paints his boat himself, and is an adept at every art necessary to the completeness of yachting life. he can cook, sail his boat, repair damages of almost every description; he sketches a little, writes a little, and is, in fact, an amphibious bohemian, the life of the regatta, whose enthusiasm goes far towards sustaining the healthful and amiable rivalry of the two yachting clubs. these clubs have charming club-houses at saucelito, where many a "hop" is given during the summer, and where, on one occasion, "h.m.s. pinafore" was sung with great effect on the deck of the "vira," anchored a few rods from the dock; the dock was, for the time being, transformed into a dress-circle. sir joseph porter, k.c.b., made his entree in a steam launch, and all the effects were highly realistic. the only hitch in the otherwise immensely successful representation was the impossibility of securing a moon for the second act. the annual excursion of the two clubs is one of the social events of the year. the favorite resort is napa, a pretty little town in the lap of a lovely valley, approached by a narrow stream that winds through meadow lands and scattered groves of oak. the yachts are nearly all of them there, from twenty-six to thirty, a flock of white wings that skim the waters of san pablo bay, upward bound. at vallejo and mare island they exchange salutes, abreast of the naval station, and enter the mouth of napa creek; it is broad and marshy for a time, but soon grows narrow, and very crooked. more than once as we sailed we missed stays, and drifted broadside upon a hayfield, and were obliged to pole one another around the sharp turns in the creek; it is then that cheers and jeers come over the meadows to us, from the lesser craft that are sailing breast deep among the waving corn. all this time napa, our destination, is close at hand, but not likely to be reached for twenty or thirty minutes to come. we turn and turn again, and are lost to sight among the trees, or behind a barn, and are continually greeted by the citizens, who have come overland to give us welcome. riotous days follow: a ball that night, excursions on the morrow, and on the second night a concert, perhaps two or three of them, on board the larger vessels of the fleet. we are lying in a row, against a long curve of the shore; chains of lanterns are hung from mast to mast, the rigging is gay with evergreens and bunting. the revelry continues throughout the night; serenaders drift up and down the stream at intervals until daybreak, when a procession is formed, a steamer takes us in tow, and we are dragged silently down the tide, in the grey light of the morning. at vallejo, after a toilet and a breakfast, which is immensely relished, we get into position. every eye is on the commodore's signal; by-and-by it falls, bang goes a gun, and in a moment all is commotion. the sails are trimmed, the light canvas set, and away flies the fleet on the home stretch, to dance for an hour or two in the sparkling sunshine of san pablo bay, then plunge into the tumbling sea in the lower harbor, and at last end a three days' cruise with unanimous and hearty congratulations. a week ago i could have added here that in the annals of the yacht clubs of san francisco there has never been a fatal accident, never a drowning, nor a capsizing, nor a wreck, and this covers a period of thirteen years; alas! in a single day, on a cruise such as i have been writing of, there was a shocking death. one yacht nearly foundered, but fortunately escaped into smooth water, another was dashed upon the rocks, and is probably a total wreck; while a third lost her centre-board over a mud bank, where it buried itself, and held the little craft a helpless prisoner; the crew and guests of the latter took to the small boats, pulled three miles in a squall, and were rescued by a passing steamer when they were all drenched to the skin, and well-nigh exhausted. you see that inland yachting is not child's play, nor are these inland yachts without their romantic records. the flag of the san francisco yacht club has floated among the south sea islands; one of its boats has beaten the german and english types in their own waters; one has been as far as the australian seas; one is a pearl fisher in the gulf of california, and another is coquetting with the doldrums along the mexican coast. they are staunch little beauties all, and it would be neither courteous nor healthful to think otherwise in the presence of inland yachtsmen. [illustration: telegraph hill, ] in yosemite shadows "yosemite, sept.--: come at once--the year wanes; would you see the wondrous transformation, the embalming of the dead summer in windings of purple and gold and bronze--come quickly, before the white pall covers it--delay no longer. the waters are low and fordable, the snows threaten, but the hours are yet propitious; and such a welcome waits you as solomon in all his glory could not have lavished on sheba's approaching queen. * * *" there was much more of the same sort of high-toned epistolary rhetoric, written and sent by a dear hand, whose fanciful pen seemed touched by the ambrosial tints of autumn. so the year was going out in a gorgeous carnival, before the lent-like solemnity of winter was assumed. i had only two things to consider now: first, was it already too late to hasten thither, and enjoy the splendid spectacle so freely offered and so alluring; secondly, could i, if yet in time, venture so boldly upon the edge of winter, and risk the possibility--nay, probability--of being snow-bound for four or six months, miles from any human habitation? i did not long consider. i felt every moment that the soul of summer was passing. i scented the ascending incense of smoking and crackling boughs. what a requiem was being chanted by all the tremulous and broken voices of nature! would i, could i, longer forbear to join the passionate and tumultuous _miserere_? it seemed that i could not, for gathering about me the voluminous furs of siberia, i bade adieu to friends, not without some forebodings awakened by the admonitions of my elders, then, dropping all the folly of the world, like a monk i went silently and alone into the monastery of a sierran solitude, resigned, trusting, prayerful. what an entering it was! with slow, devotional steps i approached the valley. there was a thin veil of snow over the upper trail. it was smooth and unbroken as i came upon it, following the blazed trees in my way. footprints of bear and fox, squirrel and coyote, were traceable. the owl hooted at me, and the jay shot past me like a blue flash of light, uttering her prolonged, shrill cry. as for the owl, i could not see him, but i heard him at startling intervals give the challenge, "who are you?" so i advanced and gave the countersign. i don't believe it was for his grave face alone that the owl was chosen symbol of wisdom. not too soon came the steep and perilous descent into the abysmal depths of the mountain fastness. it is a shame that pilgrims who come up thither do not time their steps so as to reach this _ultima thule_ of old times and ways at sunset. then the magnificence of the spectacle culminates. that new world below there is illuminated with the soft tints of eden. what unutterable fullness of beauty pervades all. the forests--those moss-like fields are forests, and mighty ones, too--are all aflame with the burnished gold of sunset, brightening the gold of autumn; for gold twice refined, as it were, gilds the splendid landscape. only think of that picture, shining through the mellow haze of indian summer, and flashing with the lambent glimmer of a myriad glassy leaves. you can not see them moving, yet they twinkle incessantly, and the warm air trembles about them while you hang bewildered from a toppling parapet, four thousand feet above them; birds swing under you in mid-air, streams leap from the sharp cliff, and reel in that sickening way through the air that your brain whirls after them. one is tired, anyhow, by the time he has reached this far, and a night camp in the cool rim of this world-to-come is just the panacea for any sort of weariness. take my advice: sleep on it, and drop down on the wings of the morning, while the sun is filling up this marvelous ravine with such lights and shadows as are felt, yet scarcely understood. refreshed, amazed, bewildered, go down into that solemn place, and see if you are not more saint-like than you dared to think yourself. when the times are out of joint, as they frequently are, come up here, forget men and things; don't imagine we are as bad as we seem, for it is quite certain we might be a great deal worse if we tried. while you bemoan our earthliness, you may not be the one saint among us. coming down with the evening, i was scarcely at the gates of the inner valley when night was on me. of this gate, it is formed of a ponderous monument on the right, called cathedral rock, and on the left is the one bald spot in the sierras, the great el capitan. the arch over this primeval threshold is the astral dome of heaven, and the gates stand ever open. there is no toll taken in any mansion of my father's house, and this is one of them. passing to the door of my host, i lifted the latch noiselessly. before me dawned fresh experiences. at my back night gathered deeper than ever, and all around i seemed to read the rubric of life's new lesson. we are a comfort to ourselves--six of us, all told. summer invites our little company into a breezy hotel, over in the shadow across the valley. winter suggests a log cabin, an expansive fireplace, plenty of hickory, and as much sunshine as finds its way into our secluded hermitage. so we are done up compactly, in between thick walls, our hard finish being in the shape of mud cakes in the chinks of the logs, and a very hard finish it is; but we take wondrous comfort withal. how do i pass the hours? leaving my friends, i wander forth, after breakfast, in any direction that pleases me. take today this sheep path; it leads me to a pebbly beach at a swift turn of the merced. that clump of trees produces the best harvest of frost-pointed leaves; there are new varieties offered every day at an alarming sacrifice, and i invest largely in these fragile wares. tomorrow, i shall go yonder across three tumultuous streams, upon three convenient logs, broad and mossy. some book or other goes with me, and is opened now and then. such books as plant life, the sexuality of nature, studies in animal life, suggest themselves. open these anywhere, and each is annotated and illustrated by the scene before me. every page is a running text to the hour i glorify. perhaps a leaf falls into my lap as i sit over the brook, on a log--a single leaf, gilded about its border, in the centre a crimson flush, fast swallowing up the original greenness; the whole will presently be bronzed and sombre. o, leaf! how art thou mummified! we do not think of these little things of nature. look at this leaf. what is its record? how many generations, think you, are numbered in its ancestry? a perpetual intermarriage has not weakened its fibres. the anatomy of this leaf is perfect, and the sap of this oak flows from oak to acorn, from acorn to oak, in an interminable and uninterrupted succession since the first day. what are your titles and estates beside this representative? what is your heraldry, with its two centuries of mold; your absurd and confused genealogies, your escutcheons, blotted no doubt with crimes and errors, when this scion, which i am permitted to entertain for a moment, comes of a race whose record is spotless and without stain through ten thousand eventful years. why, eve would recognize the original of this stock from the mere family resemblance. do you think these days tiresome? it is embarrassing for some people to be left alone with themselves. they can no longer play a part, for there are none like themselves to play to. the sun and stars know you well enough--most likely, better than you yourselves do. i like this. i would out and say to myself: "here is a confidant. day hides nothing from me, or you; it expresses all, exposes all--even that which we might not ask to see. it is best that we should see it; there are no errors in nature." walking, the squirrel nods to me. i nod back; and why shouldn't i? nature has familiarly introduced us. squirrel munches under his tail canopy till i am out of sight, jabbering all the while. what sage little fellows go on four feet! i believe an animal has all the instincts of adam. he should never be tamed, however, lest he lose his identity. civilization rubs down the points in our character. as the surf rounds the pebble, the masses round us. we are polished and insufferably proper, but have no angles left! it is the angles that give the diamond its lustre. are you hungry? when the index of shadow points out from the base of old sentinel rock and touches that column of descending spray they call yosemite, i go to dinner. "the fall of the yosemite"--what a dream it is. a dream of the lotus-eaters, and an aspiration of the ideal in nature. you can not realize it; and yet, you will never forget it. don't take it too early in the spring, when it is less ethereal--nay, somewhat heavy; rather see it in summer after the rains, or in autumn, better than all, when it is like a tissue of diamond dust shaken upon the air. it really seems a labor for it to reach its foaming basin, it is so filmy, spiritual, delicate. the very air wooes it from its perpetual leap; sudden currents of wind catch it up and whirl it away in their arms, a trembling captive, or dash it against the solemn and sad-looking rock, where it clings for a moment, then trickles down the scarred and rugged face of it, fading in its descent; sometimes it is waved back by the elements, and almost seems to return into its cloudy nest up yonder close under the sky. it only comes to us at last by impulses, and all along its shining and vapory path rockets of spray shoot out like pendants, dissolving singly and alone. but "to return to our muttons." my dial says m. there is no winding up and down of weights here; m. it undoubtedly is, and mutton waits. these muttons were begotten here of muttons begotten here to the third or fourth generation. their wool is clipped, larded, and spun here by one who lives here and loves this valley. these mittens, that keep the frost from my fingers, are among the comforting results of this domestic economy. in the cabin, by the fireplace, stands the old-fashioned spinning wheel; and the old-fashioned body who manipulates the wool so skillfully is the light of our little household. the shadow has struck twelve from old sentinel; and i take the sun once a day, and no oftener. a cool, bracing air, a sharp run over the meadows, for i see the hostess waving a signal at me for my tardiness, and i am hungry on my own account--such cliffs and vistas as one sees here make one hollow with looking at them, and are calculated to keep a supply of appetite on hand. do you like good long strips of baked squash? how do you fancy bowls of warm milk--milk that declares a creamy dividend before morning? here is a fine fowl of our own raising--one that has seen yosemite in its glory and in its gloom; it ought to be good eating, and i can affirm that it is. that's a dinner for you, and one where you can begin on pie the first thing, if your soul craves it, which it frequently does. a storm brewing, and rain in the lower valley. never mind, there is no hurry here; one blushes to be caught worrying in the august presence of these mountains. what can i do this stormy afternoon? stop within doors and sit at the window; a small grossbeak overhead, and we two looking out upon the rain and fog. it is a mile nearly to that wall opposite, but look up high as i can from my window i see no strip of sky. here is a precipice of homely, almost hideous-looking rock, and above it a hanging garden; those pines in that garden are a hundred feet and more in height: measure the second cliff by their proportions--how far is it, think you, to the garden above? a thousand feet, perhaps; and three, four--no, six of these terraces before you touch blue sky. oh, what a valley! and where else under heaven are we sunk forty fathoms deep in shadow? but the sun is up yet, and there floats an eagle in its golden ray. i like to watch the last beams burn out in that upper gallery among the pines. there is a moment given us at sunset when we may partly realize the inexpressible sweetness of the eternal day that is promised us--a dim, religious light. there is no screen or tint soft enough to render the effect perfectly. only these few seconds at sunset seem to hint something of its surpassing tenderness. what cloud effects! look up!--a break in the heavens, and beyond it the shoulder of a peak weighing some billions of tons, but afloat now, as soft in outline as the mists that envelop it. what masses of clouds tumble in upon us! the sky is obscured, night is declared at once, and the fowls go to roost at three p.m. how is the fall in this weather? a silver braid dropped from one cloud to another. its strands parted and joined again, lost and found in its own element. leaping from its dizzy eyrie in the clouds, itself most cloud-like, it is lost in a whirlwind of foam. now it is as a voice heard faintly above the wind, borne hither and thither. long, stinging nights, plenty of woolen blankets, and delicious sleep. then the evenings, so cosy around the fire. h---- reads scott; we listen and comment. baby is abed long ago--little baby, four years old, born here also; knowing nothing of the beautiful world save what is gathered in this gallery of beauties. such a queer little child, left to herself, no doubt thinking she is the only little one in existence, contented to teeter for hours on a plank by the woodpile, making long explorations by herself and returning, when we are all well frightened, with a pocketful of lizards and a wasp in her fingers; always talking of horned toads and heifers; not afraid of snakes, not even the rattlers; mocking the birds when she is happy, and growling bear-fashion to express her disapproval of any thing. when the snows come, there will be avalanches by day and night, rushing into all parts of the valley. the hermit hears a rumbling in the clouds, as he hoes his potatoes. he looks; a granite pilaster, hewn out by the hurricanes centuries ago, at last grown weary of clinging to that precipitous bluff, lets go its hold, and is dashed from crag to crag in a prolonged and horrible suicide. a pioneer once laid him out a garden, and marked the plan of his cellar; he was to begin digging the next day: that night, there leaped a boulder from under the brow of this cliff right into the heart of the plantation. it dug his cellar for him, but he never used it. it behooved him and others to get farther out from the mountain that found this settler too familiar, and sent a random shot as a sufficient hint to the intruder. in the trying times when the world was baking, what agony these mountains must have endured. you see it in their faces, they are so haggard and old-looking: time is swallowed up in victory, but it was a desperate duel. there is a dome here that the ambitious foot of man has never attempted. tissayac allows no such liberty. look up at that rose-colored summit! the sun endows it with glory long after twilight has shut us in. we are cheated of much daylight here--it comes later and goes earlier with us; but we get hints of brighter hours, both morning and evening, from those sparkling minarets now decked with snowy arabesques. i have seen our canopy, the clouds, so crimsoned at this hour that the valley seemed a grand oriental pavilion, whose silken roof was illuminated with a million painted lamps. the golden woods of autumn detract nothing from the bizarre effect of the spectacle. to be sure, these walls are rather sombre for a festival, but the sun does what it can to enliven them, whilst the flame-colored oaks and blood-spotted azaleas projecting on all sides from the shelving rocks resemble to a startling degree galleries of blazing candelabra. night dispels this illusion, it is so very deep and mysterious here. the solemn procession of the stars silently passes over us. i see taurus pressing forward, and anon orion climbs on hand and knee over the mountain in hot pursuit. does it tire you to look so long at a gigantic monument? i do not wonder. the secret of self-esteem seems to lie in regarding our inferiors; therefor let us talk of this frog. i have heard his chorus a thousand times in the dark. his is one of the songs of the night. just watch him in the meadow pool. see the contentment in his double chin; he flings out three links of hind leg and carries his elbows akimbo; his attitudes are unconstrained; he is entirely without affectation; life never bores him; he keeps his professional engagements to the letter, and sings nightly through the season, whether hoarse or not. it is a good plan to portion off the glorious vistas of yosemite, allotting so many surprises to each day. take, for instance, the ten miles of valley, and passing slowly through the heart of it, allow a tableau for every three hundred yards. you are sure of this variety, for the trail winds among a galaxy of snowy peaks. turn as you choose, it is either a water-fall at a new angle, a cliff in profile, a reflection in river or lake--the sudden appearance of the supreme peak of all, or ravine, cañon, cavern, pine opening, grove or prairie. there is a point from which you may count over a hundred rocky fangs, tearing the clouds to tatters. i can not tell you the exact location of this terrific climax of savage beauty; try to find it, and perhaps discover half a dozen as singular scenic combinations for yourself. see all that you are told must be seen, then go out alone and discover as much more for yourself, and something no doubt dearer to your memory than any of the more noted haunts. "see mirror lake on a still morning," they said to me. i saw it, but went again in the evening, and saw a vision that the reader may not expect to have reflected here. it was the picture of the morning--so softened and refined a veil of enchantment seemed thrown over it. hamadryad or water nymph could not have startled me at that moment: they belonged there, and were looked for. i shall hardly again renew those impressions; it was all so unexpected, and one is not twice surprised in the same manner. that wondrous amphitheatre was for once made cheerful with the broad, horizontal bars of fire that shifted about it, yet all its lights were mellowed in the purpling mists of evening, and the whole was pictured in little on the surface of the lake. there was nothing earthly visible, i thought then, for every thing seemed transfigured, floating in a lucent atmosphere. it was the hour when the birds are silent for the space of one intense moment, stopping with one accord--perhaps holding their breath till the spell is broken. as i stood entranced, a large golden leaf, ready and willing to die, let go its hold on the top bough of a tree overhanging the water. from twig to twig it swung. i heard every sound in its fall till it was out of the congregation of its fellows, turning over and over in mid-air, sailing toward the centre of the lake. there it hung on the rim of that stainless crystal, while a thin ring of silver light noiselessly expanded toward the shore. the sun was down. all the birds of heaven said so with their bubbling throats. bewildered with the delicious conclusion of this illustration of still life, i turned homeward, dispelling the mirage. then such a ride home in the keen air, while a pillar of smoke rose over the little cabin, telling me which of the hundred bowers of autumn sheltered my nest. but, again and again, i have seen all. pohono has breathed upon me with its fatal breath, yet i survive. it is said that three indian girls were long ago bewitched by its waters, and now their perturbed spirits haunt the place. those perfectly round rainbows may form the nimbus for each of the martyrs; they, at any rate, look supernatural enough for such an office. the wildly wooded pass to the vernal and nevada falls has echoed to my tread. i have been sprayed upon till my spirit is never dry of the life-giving waters that flow so freely. but i am just a little tired of all this. i begin to breathe short, irregular breaths. the soul of this mighty solitude oppresses me; i want more air of the common sort, and less wisdom in daily talks and walks. i remember the pleasant nonsense of life over the mountains, and sigh for those flesh-pots of egypt once in a while. these rocks are full of texts and teachings--these cliffs are tables of stone, graven with laws and commandments. i read everywhere mysterious cyphers and hieroglyphics; every changing season offers to me a new palimpsest. i do not quite like to play here; i dare not be simple; i'm altogether too good to last long. how many thousand ascensions have been made in these worshipful days, i wonder; not merely getting the body on to the tops of these wonderful peaks, but going thither in spirit, as when the soul goes up into the mountains to pray? this eye-climbing is as fatiguing and perilous as any. i feel the want of some pure blue sky. a few farewell rambles associate themselves with packing up and plans of desertion. not sad farewells in this case, for if i never again meet these individual mountains, i carry with me their memory, eternal and incomparably glorious. let us peep into this nook: i got plentiful blackberries there in the spring, together with stains and thorny scratches. i haul myself over the ferry and back, for old acquaintance' sake; the current is so lazy, it seems incredible that the same waters are almost impassable at some seasons. i succeed in wrecking a whole armada of floating leaves with stems like a bowsprit. a few beetles take passage in these gilded barges--no doubt, for the antipodes. did you ever drive up the cattle at milking time? i have; but not without endless trial and tribulation, for they spill off the path on either side in a very remarkable way, and when i rush after one with a flank movement, the column breaks and falls back utterly demoralized. a little strategy on the part of their commander (which is myself) triumphs in the end, for i privately reconstruct and march them all up in detachments of one. i look after the little trees, the unbent twigs; they are more interesting to me than your monsters. this nursery of saplings sprang up in a night after a freshet: here are quivering aspens trembling forever in penance for that one sin. they once were gravely pointed out by the guide of a party of tourists as "shuddering asps." he is doubtless the same who, being asked "what that was," (pointing to the north dome, six thousand feet in the air) said "he'd be hanged if he knew; some knob or other." i recall ten thousand pleasant times as i turn my face seaward; not only the great and omnipotent shadows under the south wall of the valley, nor the continuous canticles of the waters, but innumerable little things that fill up and make life perfect. the talks, the walks with my friends here, the parrot "sultan," fed daily from the table, soliloquizing upon men and things in arabic and hindostanee, for he scorns english and talks in his sleep. there is _bobby_, the grossbeak, brought to the door in pin feathers and skin like oiled silk by an indian. his history is tragic: this indian brained the whole family and an assortment of relatives; bobby alone remaining to brood over the massacre, was sold into bondage for two bits and a tin dipper without the bottom. the sun seems to lift his gloom, for he sings a little, sharpens his bill with great gusto and tomahawks a bit of fruit, as though dealing vengeance upon the destroyer of his race. [illustration: sentinel hotel, yosemite, in ] when shall i see another such cabin as this--its great fireplaces, and the loft heaping full of pumpkins? o, yosemite! o, halcyon days, and bed-time at eight p.m., tucking in for ten good hours and up again at six; good eatings and drinkings day by day, mugs of milk and baked squash forever, plenty of butter to our daily bread; letters at wide intervals, and long, uninterrupted "thinks" about home and friends (as the poet of the "hermitage" writes in one of his letters). shall i ever again sit for two mortal hours hearing a housefly buzz in the window and thinking it a pleasant voice! but alas! those restless days, when the air was full of driving leaves and i could find nothing on earth to comfort me. i leave this morning. opportunity takes me by the hand and leads me away. the heart leaps with emotion: everything is momentous in a quiet life. this is the portal we entered one deepening dusk. its threshold will soon be cushioned with snow; let us hasten on. if i were asked when is the time to visit yosemite, i should reply: go in the spring; see the freshets and the waterfalls in their glory, and the valley in its fresh and vivid greenness. go again, by all means, in the autumn, when the woods are powdered with gold dust and a dreamy haze sleeps in the long ravines; when the stars sparkle like crystals and the mornings are frosty; when the clouds visit us in person, and the trees look like crayon sketches on a vapory background, and the cliffs like leaning towers traced in sepia on a soft ground glass. go in spring and autumn, if possible. i should choose autumn of the two; but go at any hazard, and do not rest till you have been. you can enter and go out at this portal. passing seaward, to the left, out of the gray and groping mists a form, arises, monstrous and awful in its proportions; spurning the very earth that crumbles at its very base as it towers to heaven. the vapors of the air cleave to its massive front. the passing cloud is caught and torn in the grand carvings of its capitals. gaze upon it in the solemnity of its sunlit surface. impressive, impassive, magnetic; having a pulse and the organs of life almost; terrible as the forehead of a god. the full splendor of the noonday can not belittle it, night can not compass it. the moon is paler in its presence and wastes her lamp, the stars are hidden and lost over and beyond it. across the face of it is borne forever the shadowy semblance of a swift and flying figure. despair and desperation are in the nervous energy depicted in this marvelous medallion. surely, the indian may look with a degree of reverence upon that picture, painted by the morning light, fading in the meridian day, and gone altogether by evening. a grand etching of colossal proportions, representing the great chief tutochanula in his mysterious flight. the wandering jew might look upon it and behold his traditional beard and flowing robes blown here by the winds in the rapidity of his desperate haste. it is the last one sees of the valley, as it is the last any have seen of tutochanula. he fled into the west, cycles ago, and i follow him now into the west, nest-building, and getting into the shadow and resting after the door of the mountain is passed, and my soul no longer beats impetuously against those stormy walls. with uncovered head, having nothing between me and saturn, wiser, i trust, for my intercourse with these masters, purer in heart and holier for my prolonged vigil, with careful and reverential steps i pass out of yosemite shadows. an affair of the misty city i. what the moon shone on she was a smallish moon, looking very chaste and chilly and she peered vaguely through folds of scurrying fog. she shone upon a silent street that ran up a moderate hill between far-scattered corporation gas-lamps--a street that having reached the hill top seemed to saunter leisurely across a height which had once been the most aristocratic quarter of the misty city; the quarter was still pathetically respectable, and for three squares at least its handsome residences stared destiny in the face and stood in the midst of flower-bordered lawns, unmindful of decay. its fountains no longer played; even its once pampered children had grown up, and the young of the present generation were of a different cast; but the street seemed not to heed these changes; indeed it was growing a little careless of itself and needed replanking. was it a realization of this fact, i wonder, that caused it on a sudden to run violently down a steep place into the bay, as if it were possessed of devils? well it might be, for the human scum of the town gathered about the base of the hill, and the nights there were unutterably iniquitous. o that pale watcher, the moon! she shone on a rude stairway leading up to the bare face of a cliff that topped the hill; and five and forty uncertain steps that had more than once slid down into the street below along with the wreckage of the winter rains, for the cliff was of rock and clay and though the rock may stand until the crack of doom, the clay mingles with the elements and an annual mud pudding, tons in weight, was deposited on the pavement of the high street, to the joy of the juveniles and the grief of the belated pedestrians. the cliff towering at the junction of the two thoroughfares shared with each its generous mud-flow and half of it descended in lavalike cascades into the depths of a ravine that crossed the high street at right angles, passing under a bridge still celebrated as a triumph of architectural ungainliness. she shone, my lady moon, into that deep ravine which was half filled with shadow and made a weird picture of the place; it seemed like the bed of some dark noiseless river, the source of which was still undiscovered; and as for its mouth, no one would ever find it, or, finding, tell of it, for the few who trusted themselves to its voiceless and invisible current were heard of no more; sometimes a sharp cry for help pierced the midnight silence, and it was known upon the hill that murder was being done down yonder--that was all. yet day by day the great tide of traffic poured through this subterranean passage, with muffled roar as of a distant sea. she shone on all that was left of a once beautiful and imposing mansion. it crowned the very brow of the cliff; it proudly overlooked all the neighbors; it was a gothic ruin girded about with a mantle of ivy and dense creepers, yet not all of the perennial leafage that clothed it, even to the eaves, could disguise the fact that the major portion of the mansion had been razed to the ground lest it should topple and go crashing into that gulf below. there, once upon a time, in a gothic garden shaded by slender cypresses, walked the golden youth of the land; there, feminine lunch parties, pink teas, highly exclusive musicales and fashionable hops, flourished mightily; now the former side-door served as the front entrance to all that was left of the mansion; the stone that was rejected had become the headstone of the corner, as it were; it was an abrupt corner to be sure, with the upper half of its narrow door filled with small panes of glass; its modest threshold was somewhat worn; but upon the platform before it a large egg-shaped jar of unmistakable chinese origin encased the roots of a flowing cactus that might have added a grace to the proudest palace in the misty city. this was the modest portal of the eyrie; ivy vines sheltered it like a dense thatch; ivy vines clung fast to a deep bay window that nearly filled one side of the library of the old mansion, now a living-room; ivy vines curtained the glazed wall of a conservatory where some one slept as in a bower. a weird dwelling place was this the moon shone upon, where pigeons nested and cooed at intervals in all the green nooks thereof. she shone on the tall slim panes of glass in the bay window till they shimmered like ice, and brightened the carpet on the floor of the room--a carpet that was faded and frayed; she threw a soft glow upon the three walls beyond the window; where were low, convenient shelves of books; there were books, books, books everywhere--books of all descriptions, neither creed nor caution limited their range. many pictures and sketches in oil or water-color--some of them unframed--were upon the walls above the book-shelves; there were bronze statuettes, graceful figures of lute-strumming troubadours upon the old-fashioned marble mantel; there were busts and medallions in plaster, and a few casts after the antique. heaped in corners, and upon the tops of the book-shelves lay bric-a-brac in hopeless confusion; toy canoes from kamchatka and the southern seas; wooden masks from the burial places of the alaskan indians and the theban tombs of the nile kings; rude fish-hooks that had been dropped in the coral seas; sharks' teeth; and the strong beak of an albatross whose webbed feet were tobacco pouches and whose hollow wing-bones were the long jointed stem of a pipe; spears and war-clubs were there, brought from the gleaming shores of reef-girdled islands; a florentine lamp; a roll of papyrus; an idol from easter island, the eyes of which were two missionary shirt buttons of mother-of-pearl, of the puritan type; your practical cannibal, having eaten his missionary, spits out the shirt buttons to be used as the eyes which see not; carved gourds were there, and calabashes; mexican pottery; and some of the latest pompeiian antiquities such as are miraculously discovered in the presence of the amazed and delighted tourist who secretly purchases the same for considerably more than a song. there were pious objects, many of them resembling the ex votos at a shrine; an ebony and bronzed indulgenced crucifix with a history, and sacred hearts done in scarlet satin with flames of shining tinsel flickering from their tops. there were vines creeping everywhere within the room, from jars that stood on brackets and made hanging gardens of themselves; creepers, yards in length that sprung from the mouths of water-pots hidden behind objects of interest, and these framed the pictures in living green; a huge wide-mouthed vase stood in the bay window filled with a great pulu fern still nourished by its native soil--a veritable tropical island this, now basking in the moonlight far from its native clime. japanese and chinese lanterns were there; and an ostrich egg brought from nubia that hung like an alabaster lamp lit by a moonbeam; and fans, of course, but quaint barbaric ones from the orient and the equatorial isles; and framed and unframed photographs of celebrities each bearing an original autograph; and easy chairs, nothing but the easiest chairs from the very far-reaching one with the long arms like a pair of oars over which one throws his slippered feet, and lolls in his pajamas in memory of an east indian season of exile, to the deep nest-like sleepy hollow quite big enough for two, in which one dozes and dreams, and out of which it is so difficult for one to rise. over all this picturesque confusion grinned a fleshless human skull with its eye sockets and yawning jaws stuffed full of faded boutonnieres. the moon shone, but paler now for it was growing late, on a closed coupe that rolled rapidly from the club house in the early morning after a high jinks night, and clattered through the streets accompanied by the matutinal milk wagons with their frequent, intermittent pauses; thus it rolled and rolled over the resounding pavement toward that house on the hill top, the eyrie. the vehicle zigzagged up the steep grade, and stopped at the foot of the long stairway; some one alighted and exchanged a friendly word or two with the driver, for in that lonely part of the town it was pleasant to hear the sound of one's own voice even if one was guiltily conscious of making conversation; then with a cheerful "good-night," this some-one climbed the steps while the vehicle hurried away with its jumble of hoofs and wheels. a key was heard at the outer door; the door sagged a little in common with everything about the house--and a tenant passed into the eyrie. enter paul clitheroe, sole scion of that melancholy house whose foundations had sunk under him, and left him, at the age of five and twenty, master of himself, but slave to fortune. in the dim light he closed and fastened the outer door; from a hall scarcely large enough for two people to pass in, he entered the inner room with the confident step of a familiar. having deposited hat, cane and ulster in their respective places--there was a place for everything or it would have been quite impossible to abide in that snuggery--he sank into one of the easy chairs, rolled a cigarette with meditative deliberation, lighted it and blew the smoke into the moonlight where it assumed a thousand fantastic forms. the silence of the room seemed emphasized by the presence of its occupant; he was one who under no circumstances was likely to disturb the serenity of a house. in most cases a single room takes on the character of the one who inhabits it; this is invariably the case where the apartment is in the possession of a woman; but turn a man loose in a room, and leave him to himself for a season, and he will have made of that room a witness strong enough to condemn or condone him on the last day; the whole character of the place will gradually change until it has become an index to the man's nature; where this is not the case, the man is without noticeable characteristics. those who knew paul clitheroe, the solitary at the eyrie, would at once recognize this room as his abode; those of his friends who saw this room for the first time, without knowing it to be his home, would say: "paul clitheroe would fit in here." a kind of harmonious incongruity was the chief characteristic of the man and his solitary lodging. he sat for some time as silent as the inanimate objects in that singularly silent room. an occasional turn of the wrist, the momentary flash of the ash at the end of his cigarette, the smoke-wreath floating in space--those were all that gave assurance of life; for when this solitary returned into his well-chosen solitude he seemed to shed all that was of the earth earthy, and to become a kind of spectre in a dream. having finished his cigarette, paul withdrew into the conservatory, his sleeping room, half doll's house and half bower, where the ivy had crept over the top of the casement and covered his ceiling with a web of leaves. shortly he was reposing upon his pillow, over which his holy-water font--a large crimson heart of crystal with flames of burnished gold, set upon a tablet of white marble--seemed almost to pulsate in the exquisite half-lights of approaching dawn. it may not have been manly, or even masculine, for him thus literally to curtain his sleep, like a faun, with ivy; it may not have been orthodox for him to admit to his valhalla some of the false gods, and to honor them after a fashion; the one true god was duly adored, and all his saints appealed to in filial faith. that was his nature and past changing; if he could not look upon god as a jealous god visiting his judgments with fanatical justice upon the witted and half-witted, it was because his was a nature which had never been warped by the various social moral and religious influences brought to bear upon it. he may have lacked judgment, in the eyes of the world, but he had never suffered seriously in consequence. it may not have been wise for him to fondly nourish tastes and tendencies that were usually quite beyond his means; but he did it, and doing it afforded him the greatest pleasure in life. you will pardon him all this; every one did sooner or later, even those who discountenanced similar weaknesses or affectations--or whatever you are pleased to call them--in anyone else, soon found an excuse for overlooking them in his case. he was not, thank heaven, all things to all men; all things to a few, he may have been--yea, even more than all else to some, so long as the spell lasted; to the majority, however, he was probably nothing, and less than nothing. and what of that? if he did little good in the world, he certainly did less evil, and, as he lay in his bed, under a white counterpane upon which the dawning light, sifting through the vines that curtained the glazed front of his sleeping room, fell in a mottled japanese pattern, and while the ivy that covered the gothic ceiling trailed long tendrils of the palest and most delicate green, each leaf glossed as if it had been varnished, this unheroic-hero, this pantheistic-devotee, this heathenized-christian, this half-happy-go-lucky æthestic bohemian, lay upon his pillow, the incarnation of absolute repose. and so the morning broke, and the early birds began to chirp in the ivy and to prune their plumage and flutter among the leaves; and down the street tramped the feet of the toilers on their way to forge and dock. over the harbor came the daffodil light from the sun-tipped eastern hills, and it painted the waves that lapped the sleek sides of a yacht lying at anchor under the hill. a yacht that paul had watched many a day and dreamed of many a night; for he often longed with a great longing to slip cable and hie away, even unto the uttermost parts. ii. what the sun shone on he shone on the far side of the eastern azure hills and set all the tree tops in the wood beyond the wold aflame; he looked over the silhouette out of a cloudless sky upon a bay whose breadth and beauty is one of the seven hundred wonders of the world; he paved the waves with gold, a path celestial that angels might not fear to tread. he touched the heights of the misty city and the sea-fog that had walled it in through the night as with walls of unquarried marble--albeit the eaves had dripped in the darkness as after a summer shower--and anon the opaque vapors dissolved and fled away. there she lay, the misty city, in all her wasted and scattered beauty; she might have been a picture for poets to dream on and artists to love--their wonder and their despair--but she is not; she is hideous to look upon save in the sunset or the after-glow when you cannot see her, but only the dim vision of what she might have been. he rose as a god refreshed with sleep and called the weary to their work, and disturbed the slumbers of those that toil not and spin not, and have nothing to do but sleep. there were no secrets from him now; every detail was discovered; and so having gilded for a moment the mossy shingles of the eyrie he stole into the room where paul clitheroe passed most of his waking hours, and through the curtain of ivy and geraniums that screened the conservatory from the eyes of the curious world, and where paul was at this moment sleeping the sleep of the just. from the bed of the ravine below the eyrie rose the rumble and roar of traffic. the hours passed by. the sleeper began to turn uneasily on his pillow. the sound of hurrying feet was heard upon the board walks in front of the eyrie-cliff; many voices, youthful voices, swelled the chorus that told of the regiments of children now hastening to school. from dreamland paul returned by easy stages to the work-a-day world. he arose, donned a trailing garment with angel sleeves and a large crucifix embroidered in scarlet upon the breast--that robe made of him a cross between a monk and a marchioness--slipped his feet into sandals and entered the larger chamber which was at once living-room and library. he opened the shutters in the deep bay window and greeted the day with the silent solemnity of a fire-worshipper; gave drink to his potted palms and ferns and flowering plants; let his eye wander leisurely over the titles of his books; lingered a little while over his favorites and patted some of them fondly on the back. taking a small key from its nail by the door he opened the mail box without, carrying his letters to his writing table and leaving them there unopened. he loved to speculate as to whom the writers were and what they may have said to him. this piqued his curiosity, and tided him over a scant breakfast at an inexpensive but fly-blown restaurant where he was wont to eat or make a more or less brave effort to eat whenever he had the wherewithal to settle for the same. breakfast over and gone the young man returned to his eyrie, and in due course was at his writing table, and at work upon the weekly article that had been appearing in the sunday issue of one of the popular dailies for an indefinite period, and the price of which had on several occasions kept him from becoming a conspicuous object of charity. having written himself out for the day, as he was apt to in a few hours, he wandered down to the club for a bit of refreshment which was sure to be forthcoming, for his friends there were ever ready to dine him, or more frequently to wine him, merely for the pleasure of his company. [illustration: san francisco in ] so the afternoon waned and the dinner hour approached; fortunately this hour was usually bespoken and for a little while at least he was lapped in luxury. on his way home he was very apt to turn in at the wicker gates of a typical german rathskellar where he was unmolested; where the blustering pipes of a colossal orchestrion brayed through an aria from trovatore with more sound than sentiment and all unmindful of modulation. he was at home by midnight, for the beer and the bravura ceased to flow at the witching hour. then he lounged in the easy chair, gradually and not unconsciously shedding all the worldly influences that had been clothing him as with a hair-shirt even since he first went forth that morning. safely he sank into the silence of the place. every breath he drew was balm; every moment healing. so he passed into the silence, enfolded by invisible arms that led him gently to his pillow where he sank to sleep with the trustful resignation of a tired babe. if this routine was ever varied it was a variation with a vengeance. "from grave to gay, from lively to severe" might have been engraved upon his escutcheon. it chanced that the family motto was festina lente; this also was appropriate; had he not all his life made haste slowly? for this very reason he had been accounted one of the laziest of his kind; his indolence was a byword merely because he did not throw himself into an easy chair at the club, of an evening, and bewail his fate; because he did not puff and blow and talk often of the work he had accomplished, was accomplishing, or hastening forward to accomplishment. with all his faults, thank heaven, that sin cannot be charged against him. iii. balm of hurt wounds he was scrimping in every way; his case was growing desperate. the books, the pictures, the bric-a-brac so precious in his eyes, he was loath to part with; moreover, he was well aware that if he were to trundle his effects down to an auction-room they would not bring him enough to cover his expenses for a single week. "better to starve in the midst of my household gods," thought he, "than to part with them for the sake of prolonging this misery." the situation was in some respects serio-comic. while he seemed to have everything, he really had almost nothing; he was in a certain sense at the mercy of his friends and dependent upon them. as the dinner hour approached, paul was called upon to make choice of the character of his table-talk; there were several standing invitations to dine at the houses of old friends, and these were a boon to him, for at such houses the homeless fellow felt much at home. there were special invitations, sometimes an embarrassing profusion of them--all kindly, some persistent, and some even imperative; thus the dinner was a fixed fact; the mood alone was to be consulted in his choice of a table and after all how much of the success of a dinner depends upon the mood of the diner! paul's income was uncertain; while he had written much, and traveled much as a special correspondent, he had never regularly connected himself with any journal, and he knew nothing of the routine of office-work. sometimes, i may say not infrequently, he could not write at all; yet his pen was his only source of revenue, and often he was without a copper to his credit. he was, therefore, constrained to dine sumptuously with friends, when he would have found a solitary salad a sweet alternative, and independence far more acceptable. the state of the exchequer was very often alarming, and his predicament might have cast a stronger man into the depths; but paul could fast without complaint, when necessary, for he had fasted often; and, to confess the truth, he would much rather have fasted on and on, than parted with any of the little souvenirs that made his surroundings charming in spite of his privations. the friends who loved and fondled him were wont to send messengers to his door with gifts of flowers, books, pictures and the like, when soup-tickets would have been more serviceable, though by no means more acceptable. it had happened to him more than once, that having failed to break his fast--for he had a judicious horror of debt, born of bitter experience--he received at a late hour as tokens of sincere interest in his welfare, scarf pins, perfumery and scented soap; or it may have been a silk handkerchief bearing the richly wrought monogram of the happy but hungry recipient. at any rate these testimonials of his popularity were never edible. was this hard luck? he went from one swell dinner to another, day after day, with never so much as a crumb between meals. it of course made some difference to him--this prolonged abstinence--but fortunately, or unfortunately, the effect upon him mentally, morally and physically was hardly visible to the naked eye. he had a dress coat of the strictly correct type, which he had worn but a few times; he had lectured in it; once or twice, he had recited poems in it to the audiences of admiring lady friends. it was of no use to him now, and he felt that he should never need it again. on the street below him was a small shop, kept by the customary israelite. again and again, paul had noted the sun-faded frock-coat swinging from a hook over the sidewalk in front of this shop; he had said, "i will take this coat to him; it is a costly garment; divide the original price of it by the number of times i have worn it and i find it has cost me about ten dollars an evening. perhaps this old-clothes dealer will pay me a fair price for it; jew though he be, he may be possessed of the heart of a christian!" alas and alack! all of clitheroe's sufferings could be traced to the cool, calculating hardness of the christian's heart. probably it was prejudice alone that caused him to trust the christian, and distrust the jew. from day to day he passed the shop, striving to muster courage enough to enter and propose his bargain. at first he had imagined the dealer offering him but ten dollars for the coat--it had cost him a goodly sum; a little later he concluded that ten dollars was too little for any one to offer him; he might take twenty; a day later thirty seemed to him a probable offer, and shortly after he imagined himself consenting to receive fifty dollars, since the coat was in such admirable repair. one day he took it to the dealer; he was not cordially welcomed by the man in shirt sleeves, with whom of late he had held innumerable imaginary conversations. the shop was extremely small and dark; the odor of dead garments pervaded it. with an earnest and kindly glance, paul invited the sympathy of abraham the son of moses who was the son of isaac; he saw nothing but speculation in those eyes. his coat was examined and tossed aside, as possessing few attractions. clitheroe's heart sunk within him; and it sank deeper and deeper as it began to dawn upon him that the hebrew had no wish to possess the garment, and, if he did so, he did so only to oblige the christian youth. a bargain was at last struck; paul departed with five dollars in his pocket--his dress-coat was a thing of the past. what could he do next to extricate himself from his dubious dilemma? he had a small gold watch, a precious souvenir: "gold is gold," said he, "and worth its weight in gold." he had the address of one who was known far and wide as "uncle." he had heard of persons of the highest respectability seeking this uncle when close pressed, and there finding temporary relief at the hands of one who is in some respects a good samaritan in disguise. paul found it absolutely impossible for him to enter the not unattractive front of this establishment but there was a "private entrance" in a small dark alley-way; so delicate is the consideration of an uncle whose business it is to nourish those in distress. one night, it was late at night, clitheroe stole guiltily in through the private entrance, and sought succor of his uncle: this was an unctuous uncle, who was as sympathetic and emotional as an undertaker. paul exhibited his watch; not for worlds would he part with it forever; money he must have at once, and surely some good angel would come to his assistance before many days; this state of affairs could not exist much longer. mine uncle examined the watch with kindly eyes; with a pathetic shake of his head, a pitiful lifting of his bushy eyebrows, a commiserating shrug of his fat shoulders, and a petulant pursing of his plump lips as much as to say, "well, it is a pity, but we must make the best of it, you know"--he told clitheroe he would advance him ten dollars on the watch. for this the boy was to pay one dollar per week, and in the end receive his watch, as good as new, for the sum of ten dollars, as originally advanced. paul hesitated, but consented since he had no choice in the matter. "what name?" asked the uncle, benevolently. "p. clitheroe," said paul under his breath, as if he feared the whole world might know of his disgrace; he looked upon this transaction as nothing short of disgrace, and he wished to keep it a profound secret. "oh, yes; i know the name very well. well, mr. clitheroe, here is your ticket; take good care of it; and here is your money--you will always pay your money in advance, and weekly, until you redeem your pledge. i deduct the dollar for the first week." clitheroe took the proffered money, and withdrew. to his surprise and chagrin he found himself possessed of but nine dollars. "it will not go far," thought he with a heavy sigh; "and where is the dollar to come from? i don't see that i have gained much by this exchange." what he gained was this: for fifteen weeks he managed by the strictest economy to pay his dollar. at the end of that time, he no longer found it possible to even pay a dollar and the affair with the uncle ended with his having lost, not only his watch, but sixteen dollars into the bargain. * * * * * a month has passed: the sun is streaming through the tall narrow windows of a small chapel; the air is flooded with the music that floats from the organ loft, the solemn strains of a requiem chanted by sweet boy-voices; clouds of fragrant incense half obscure the altar, where the priest in black vestments is offering the solemn sacrifice of the mass for the repose of the soul of one whom paul had loved dearly ever since he was a child. there is one chief mourner kneeling before the altar--it is paul clitheroe. when the mass is over, while the exquisite silence of the place is broken only by the occasional note of some bird lodging in the branches of the trees without, paul lingers in profound meditation. he is not at all the paul whom we knew but a few months ago; through some mysterious influence he seems to have cast off his careless youth, and to have become a grave and thoughtful man. from the chapel he wanders into the quiet library on the opposite side of a cloister, where the flowers grow in tangle, and a fountain splashes musically night and day, and the birds build and the bees swarm among the blossoms. now we see him chatting with the fathers as they stroll up and down in the sunshine; now musing over the graves of the franciscan friars who founded the early missions on the coast; now dreaming in the ruins of the orchard--wandering always apart from the novices and the scholastics, who sometimes regard him curiously as if he were not wholly human but a kind of shadow haunting the place. his heart grew warm and mellow as he sat by the adobe wall under the red-baked spanish tiles, richly mossed with age, and contemplated the statue of the madonna in the trellised shrine overgrown with passion flowers. there were votive offerings of flowers at her feet, and he laid his tribute there from day to day. neither did he neglect to pay his visit to the shrine of st. joseph, in the cloister, or st. anthony of padua, whom he loved best of all, and whose statue stood under the willows by the great pool of gold fish. he used to count the hours and the quarter hours as they chimed in the belfry and he was beginning to grow fond of the inexorable routine and to find it passing sweet and restful. he was unconsciously falling into a mode of life such as he had never known before, and he seemed to feel a growing repugnance to the world without him; how very far away it seemed now! he realized an increasing sense of security so long as he lodged within those gates. his dark robed companions, the amiable fathers, cheered him, comforted him, strengthened him; and yet when his ghostly father one day sent word to clitheroe that he desired to see him immediately, and thereupon insisted that the heart-broken boy accompany him to the retreat of his order, he had no thought other than to offer paul the change of scene which alone might help to tide the youth over the first crushing pangs of bereavement. "give me a week or two of your time," pleaded the good priest--"and i will introduce you to a course of life such as you have never known; it should interest and perhaps benefit you; possibly you may find it delightful. at any rate you must be hastened out of the morbid mood which now possesses you, even if we have to drag you by force." so paul went with him, suddenly and in a kind of desperation: his visit was prolonged from day to day, until some weeks had passed. peace was returning to him--peace such as he had never known before. * * * * * meanwhile certain of the young poet's friends had called to see him at the eyrie, and to their amazement found his rooms deserted; in the staring bay window with the inner blinds thrown wide open was notice "to let." his landlady knew nothing of his whereabouts. he had said good-bye to no one. his disappearance was perhaps the most mysterious of mysterious disappearances! * * * * * now, what really happened was this. having packed everything he valued and seen it safely stored, he settled with his landlady and went down to the club. it was his p.p.c., though no one there suspected it, and with just a touch of sentiment--he walked through the rooms alone; he saw at a glance that the usual habitues of the place were employing themselves in the same old way. though he had not been there often of late, no one seemed much surprised to see him; he passed through the suite of rooms without addressing himself to any one in particular; a glance of recognition here and there; a smile, a slight nod, now and again, this was all. having made the rounds he returned to the cloak-room, took his hat and cane and departed. from that hour dated his disappearance. from that hour the eyrie saw him no more forever. * * * * * iv. by the world forgot for a long while he had been listening to the moan of the sea--the wail and the warning that rise from every reef in that wild waste of waters. there was no moon, but the large stars cast each a wake upon the wave, and the distant surf-lines were faintly illuminated by a phosphorescent glow. there were reefs on every hand, and treacherous currents that would have imperilled the ribs of any craft depending on the winds alone for its salvation; but the "_waring_," its pulse of steam throbbing with a slow measured beat, picked its way in the glimmering night with a confidence that made light of dangers past, present, and to come. it had struck eight-bells forward; midnight; the air was warm, moist, caressing; it stole forth from invisible but not far distant vales ladened with the unmistakable odor of the land--a fragrance that was at times faint enough, but at other times was almost overwhelming; from the heart of the tropics only, is such perfume distilled; few who inhale it for the first time can resist its subtle charm; its influence once yielded to, the soul is soon enslaved and the dreams that follow are never to be forgotten. eight-bells, and silence broken only by the swish of the propeller as it ploughed slowly, deliberately, through the sea; the slap of the ripples under the prow, and an occasional harp-like sigh of the zephyr in the softly-vibrating shrouds; paul clitheroe had stolen out of the cabin and was sitting by the companion-way on the port side. a small ladder still hung there, for there had been boating and bathing just before dinner, and there was sure to be more or less fishing whenever the weather was favorable. moreover, it must be acknowledged that the yacht was liberty-hall afloat, yes, adrift, on a go-as-you-please cruise, and things were not always in ship-shape. an old half-breed trader, who knew these seas as the star-gazer knows the skies, was in the wheelhouse; every wakeful eye among officers and crew, was at the prow peering into the depth in search of danger-signals; every ear was listening intently for an order from the lips of the pilot, and for the first whisper of the wave upon the reef. meanwhile the vessel crept forward with utmost caution, barely ruffling the water under her keel. _one bell! two bells!_ clitheroe had for a long time been sitting unobserved by the companion-way. he had dined with a riotous company and withdrew as soon after dinner as possible; this privilege was freely accorded him, for he was at intervals gloomy, or silent, and his companions were quite willing to dispense with his society. hilarity had ceased for the night, the fact was patent. the truth is, there was apt to be something too much of it aboard that ship. when a young gentleman, on the death of a distant relative, comes suddenly into an almost fabulous fortune, he is apt to set about doing that which pleases him best; in all probability he overdoes it. if he be fond of any society and is willing to pay for the purchase of it, he will find no difficulty in supplying himself, even to the verge of satiety. a certain gentleman who shall be nameless in these pages but who came to be known among his followers as _the commodore_, finding himself heir to a fortune, chartered a yacht for a summer cruise, and invited his friends to join him. the yacht had been for some weeks the scene of unceasing festivity; the joyous party on board her had passed from island to island, the feted guests of kings and queens and dusky chiefs; feasting, dancing, and the exchange of gifts--these were the order of entertainment night and day. it was a novel life for most who were on board, filled with adventure and spectacular surprises. the commodore's hospitality was boundless; the appetites of his guests insatiable. but clitheroe had seen all this from quite another point of view; he had been a native among the natives; admitted into brotherhood with the tribe, he had lived the life they lead until it had become as natural to him as if he had been born to it. their thoughts were his thoughts, their tongue, his tongue. he was thinking of this as he sat by the companion-way, in the silence, unobserved. _three bells!_ he rose and going to the open transom, looked down into the cabin. the long dinner table had been relieved of dessert-dishes, but the after-dinner bottles were there in profusion, and cigar-boxes and cigarettes within convenient reach; it was an odd scene; a picture of confusion in a dead calm. the lights were burning low and there was no sound save the hoarse breathing of some of the revelers who had subsided into uncomfortable positions and were too heavy with sleep to seek easier ones. clitheroe saw at the head of the table the commodore, stretched back in his easy chair; he was fast asleep; there was no doubt about that. his guests one and all were dozing. the drowsy stupor that follows a debauch pervaded the whole company. i venture the assurance that not one person present could have been aroused in season to save himself or herself had the ship at that moment struck a reef, and foundered. there they were, dimly outlined under the cabin-lamps, the companions with whom for a season clitheroe had been more or less intimately associated in the misty city; the bohemians who had found it an easy and pleasant thing to flock upon the deck of the "_waring_," one foggy afternoon, and set sail on a summer cruise. the commodore invited them for his entertainment, and because he was a mighty good fellow and could afford to. they went for a change of air and scene, in search of adventure--and moreover they were sure of luxurious hospitality for at least six months. clitheroe joined the company, not only for the reason that there seemed nothing else for him to do, but he was glad of the opportunity of revisiting a quarter of the globe so very dear to him. this voyage, he thought, might re-awaken his interest in life; at any rate, he could lose nothing by taking it, and that settled the question for him. the singers, the dancers, the painters and poets made life very lively in that summer sea; it was a case of sweet idleness with wine, women and wits, and all the world before them where to choose. it must be confessed that clitheroe had enjoyed himself in the society of these old comrades--you would recognize most of them were he to name them; but tonight, or rather this early morning he had begun to moralize, as he peered down the transom upon the half-shadowy forms of those feasters who had fallen by the way. he was asking himself if it paid--this high-pressure happiness that knew no respite save temporary insensibility? he began to think that it did not, and with a shrug of his shoulders and a faint sigh, he turned away. he was about to resume his solitary watch, for he could not sleep on such a night, when his eye was attracted by a flitting shadow weaving to and fro astern; it seemed to be soaring upon the face of the waters; was it some broad-winged sea-bird following in their wake? he watched it as it drew near, growing larger and larger every moment. no! it was not a bird; but it was the next thing to one. out of the darkness was evolved the slender hull of a canoe, the wide, many ribbed sail, and the dusky forms of three naked islanders. they had not yet taken note of him; with a sudden impulse, he stole up to the transom, and standing over it so that the lights from the cabin-lamps shone full upon him, he waved a signal to the savages, enjoining silence, and bidding them approach with caution. in a few moments they had wafted themselves noiselessly up under the companion ladder, and there, with suppressed excitement, he was recognized. old friends these, pals in the past, young chiefs from an island he had loved and mourned. there was a moment of passionate greeting, and but a moment, in the silence under the stars, then, with a sudden resolve, and with never a glance backward, clitheroe, descending the ladder, entered the canoe and it swung off into the night. two hours later, the "_waring_," having run clear of the labyrinthine reefs, steamed up and was out of sight before daybreak. * * * * * "_and what is left? dust and ash and a tale--or not even a tale_!" marcus aurelius. proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net the readjustment by will irwin author of "the city that was," etc. new york b. w. huebsch copyright, , by b. w. huebsch printed in u. s. a. the readjustment chapter i after luncheon they walked over from the ranch-house--more indeed a country villa, what with its ceiled redwood walls, its prints, its library, than the working house of a practical farm--and down the dusty, sun-beaten lane to the apricot orchard. picking was on full blast, against the all too fast ripening of that early summer. judge tiffany, pattern of a vigorous age, seemed to lean a little upon his wife as she walked beside him, her arm tucked confidently into his; but it was a leaning of the spirit rather than of the flesh. she, younger than he by fifteen years, was a tiny woman, her hair white but her waist still slim. she seemed to tinkle and twinkle. her slight hands,--the nail of the little finger was like a grain of popcorn--moved with swift, accurate bird-motions. as she chattered of the ranch and the picking, her voice, still sweet and controlled, came from her lips like the pleasant music of a tea bell. he was mainly silent; although he threw in a quiet, controlled answer here and there. one could read, in the shadowy solicitude with which she regarded him now and then, the relation between that welded old couple--she the entertainer, the hoarder of trivial detail from her days; he the fond, indulgent listener. "i think eleanor must be back from the city," mrs. tiffany was saying, "i notice smoke from the big chimney; and i suppose she'll be over before noon with the sulphur samples. it's amusing and homey in her--her habit of flying to her own little nest before she comes to us. she'll inspect the house, have dinner ordered, and know every blessed detail of the picking before we catch a glimpse of her." mrs. tiffany smiled sadly, as though this industry were somewhat tragic. "i wonder how long eleanor will be contented with such a way of life?" put in judge tiffany. "i've worried over that," answered his wife. "suppose she should settle down to it? it isn't as though eleanor hadn't her chance at travel and society and the things a girl of her breeding should have. this is all her deliberate choice, and i've done nothing to help her choose. perhaps i should have decided for her. it's curious the guard that girl keeps over her deeper feelings. how unlike she is to her mother--and yet how like--" her thought shifted suddenly with the direction of her eyes. "hasn't olsen overloaded that little team?" she said. the cutting-shed stood midway of their course. twenty women and girls, their lips going as rapidly as their knives, sat on fruit crates at long tables, slicing the red-and-gold balls apart, flicking out the stones, laying the halves to dry in wooden trays. a wagon had just arrived from the orchard. olsen, the swedish foreman, was heaving the boxes to his portuguese assistant, who passed them on into the cutting shed. further on stood the bleaching kilns; still further, the bright green trees with no artistic irregularities of outline--trees born, like a coolie, to bear burdens. now the branches bent in arcs under loads of summer-gilded fruit. long step-ladders straddling piles of boxes, beside this row or that, showed where picking was going forward. mrs. tiffany halted under one tree to call pleasantries up to a portuguese, friend of many a harvest before. judge tiffany proceeded on down the row, pausing to inspect the boxes for any fruit gathered before it was ripe. the first picker was a chinese. his box, of course, showed only perfection of workmanship. the judge called up familiarly: "hello, charlie!" a yellow face grinned through the branches; the leaves rustled as though some great bird were foraging, and the answer came back: "hello you judge!" the judge picked over the next two boxes without comment; at the third, he stopped longer. "too much greenery, young man!" he cried at length. the branches of this tree rustled, and a pair of good, sturdy legs, clad in corduroys, appeared on the ladder; then the owner of the legs vaulted from four feet high in the air, and hit the ground beside his box. he was a stalwart boy of perhaps two and twenty, broad, though a bit over-heavy, in the shoulders. that approach to over-heaviness characterized his face, otherwise clean-cut and fair. his eyes, long, brown and ingenuous, rather went to redeem this quality of face. under his wide and flapping sombrero peered the front lock of his straight, black hair. even before he smiled, judge tiffany marked him as a pleasing youth withal; and when he did smile, eyes and mouth so softened with good humor that stern authority went from the face of judge tiffany. he stood in that embarrassment which an old man feels sometimes in the presence of a younger one, struggled for a word to cover his slight confusion, and said: "you are one of the college outfit camped down by the arroyo, aren't you?" "i am," said the youth. "i also picked the fruit too green. i am here to take my beating." judge tiffany, who held (he thought) an old-fashioned distaste for impudence, smiled back in spite of himself. "if you don't attend to business in small matters, how can you hope to succeed when you go out into life?" he asked with some pomposity. he had intended, when he opened his mouth, to say something very different. his pomposity, he felt, grew out of his embarrassment; he had a dim feeling that he was making himself ridiculous. "i can't," said the youth with mock meekness; and he smiled again. at that moment, while the judge struggled for a reply and while the youth was turning back to the ladder as though to mount it and be done with the conversation, two things happened. up from one side came mrs. tiffany; and from the other, where ran a road dividing the tiffany orchard from the next, approached a buckboard driven by a lolling portuguese. beside him sat a girl all in brown, dust-resistant khaki, who curtained her face with a parasol. mrs. tiffany ran, light as an elderly fairy, down the rows. "eleanor!" she called. "dear, dear aunt mattie!" cried the girl. judge tiffany, too, was hurrying forward to the road. the youth had his hand on the ladder, prepared to mount, when the parasol dropped. he stopped short with some nervous interruption in his breathing--which might have been a catch in his throat--at the sight of her great, grey eyes; stood still, watching. mrs. tiffany was greeting the girl with the pats and caresses of aged fondness. out of their chatter, presently, this came in the girl's voice: "and i was so excited about getting back that when antonio left the corral gate open i never thought to speak to him. and ruggles's dynamo--they've let him run away again--just walked in and butted open the orchard bars and he's loose now eating the prune trees!" "edward, you must go right over!" cried mrs. tiffany; and then stopped on the thought of an old man trying to subdue a jersey bull, good-natured though that bull might be. the same thought struck judge tiffany. antonio, the portuguese, lolling half-asleep against the dashboard, was worse than useless; the nearest visible help was a chinaman, incompetent against horned cattle, and another portuguese, and-- "let me corral your bull," said the easy, thrilling voice of the boy who stood beside the step-ladder. judge tiffany turned in reproof, his wife in annoyance, the girl in some surprise. the youth was already walking toward the buckboard. "i guess that lets you out, john," he said to the portuguese. something in him, the same quality which had made the judge smile back through his rebuke concerning the green apricots, held them all. the judge spoke first: "very well, mr.--" "chester--bertram chester," said the youth, throwing his self-introduction straight at the girl. "mr. chester is one of the university boys who are picking for us this summer," said judge tiffany. "yes?" replied the girl in a balanced, incurious tone. her eyes followed mr. chester, while he took the reins from the deposed antonio and waited for her to mount the buckboard. as she sprang up, after a final caution from mrs. tiffany, she perceived that he was going to "help her in." with a motion both quick and slight, she evaded his hand and sprang to the seat unaided. mr. chester slapped the reins, clucked to the horse, and bent his gaze down upon the girl. he had seated himself all too close. she crowded herself against the iron seat-rail. it annoyed her a little; it embarrassed her still more. she was slightly relieved when he made a beginning of conversation. "so you're judge tiffany's niece, the girl who runs her ranch herself. i've heard heaps about you." "yes?" embarrassment came back with the sound of her own voice. she could talk to judge tiffany or to any man of judge tiffany's age, but with her male contemporaries she felt always this same constraint. and this young man was looking on her insistently, as though demanding answers. "they say you're one of the smartest ranchers in these parts," he went on. "do they?" her tone was even and inexpressive. but mr. chester kept straight along the path he was treading. "and that you're also the prettiest girl around santa lucia." "that's very kind of them." "i haven't seen your ranch, but about the rest of it they're dead right." to this, she made no answer. "i'm just down for a few weeks," he went on, changing the subject when he perceived that he had drawn no reply. "i'm a senior next year at berkeley. ever been over to berkeley?" "yes." "ever go to any of the class dances?" "no." "thought you might, being in the city winters. i'm not much on dances myself. i'm a barb." he peered, as though expecting that this last statement would evoke some answer. but her eyes were fixed on the little group of buildings--a bungalow, a barn and a corral--which had just come in sight around a turn of the orchard road. for the first time, she spoke with animation. "there's the house--and there he is, just back of the stable!" dynamo, the bull, a black and tan patch amidst the greenery, stood reaching with his tongue at an overhanging prune branch, bowed to the breaking point with green beads of fruit. as they watched, he sucked its tip between his blue lips, pulled at it with a twist of his head; the branch cracked and broke. dynamo, his eyes closed in meditative enjoyment, started to absorb it from end to end. "oh, dear, he'll ruin it!" she cried. "do hurry! hadn't you better send for help?" "i figure i can handle him," said bertram chester, bristling at the imputation. "just give me that halter and drive in back of the corral, will you?" "please don't let him trample any trees!" she called after her champion as he vaulted the fence. dynamo, seeing the end of his picnic at hand, galloped awkwardly a few rods, the branch trailing from his mouth. then, with the ponderous but sudden shift of bull psychology, indignation rose in his bosom. he stopped himself so short that his fore-hoofs plowed two long furrows in the soft earth; whirled, lifted his muzzle, and bellowed. one fore-hoof tore up the dirt and showered it over his back. he dropped to his knees and rubbed the ground with his neck in sheer abandonment to the joy of his own abandoned wickedness. he rose up in the hollow which he had dug, lowered his horns, and glowered at the youth, who advanced with a kind of awkward bull-strength of his own. "chase yourself!" cried bertram chester, flicking the halter. for a second, dynamo's eyelids fluttered; then, unaccountably, his bull pride rose up in him. he stopped midway of a bellow; his head went down, his tail rose up--and he charged. the girl across the fence gave a little scream. the youth, stepping aside with a quickness marvelous considering the size of his frame, avoided the charge. as dynamo tore past him, he struck out--a mighty lash--with the halter. the bull tore on until he smashed into a prune tree. the green fruit flew like water splashing from a stone; and dynamo checked his course, turned again, began to paw and challenge as the preliminary to another charge. "oh, let him go--please!" cried eleanor. whether he heard her or not made little difference to the youth. taking advantage of dynamo's slight hesitation, he sprang in close, caught him by the horn and the tender, black nose; and back and forth, across the ruins of the prune tree, which went flat at the first rally, they fought and tugged and tossed. through the agonized half-bellows of dynamo, eleanor caught a slighter sound. her champion was swearing! raised a little above her fears by the vicarious joy of fight, she took no offence at this; it seemed part of the picture. no one can account for the emotional processes of a bull. just as suddenly as it rose, dynamo's courage evaporated. once more was he brother to the driven ox. he ceased to plant his fore feet; his bellow became a moan; he gave backward; in one mighty toss, he threw off his conqueror, turned, and galloped down the orchard with his tail curved like a pretzel across his back. behind him followed the youth, lashing him with the halter as long as he could keep it up, pelting him with rocks and clods as the retreat gained. so, in a cloud of dust, they vanished into the santa clara road. when bertram chester came back panting, to return the halter, antonio had arrived and was unhitching the bay mare from the buckboard. eleanor stood by the corral gate, her panama hat fallen back from her brown hair and a little of the excitement left in her grey eyes. bertram approached, grinning; he wore a swagger like that of a little boy who has just turned a series of somersaults before the little girls. eleanor noticed this. faintly--and in spite of the gratitude she owed him for turning a neighborly service into a heroic deed--she resented it. also, dynamo and mr. chester, between them, had wholly ruined a good prune tree in the prime of bearing. "say, we didn't do a thing to that tree," said bertram chester, with the air of one who deprecates himself that he may leave the road wide open for praise. "it doesn't matter. it--it was very brave of you. thank you very much--are you hurt?" "only mussed up a little." he blinked perceptibly at the coolness in her tone. then he leaned back against a fence-post with the settled air of one who expects to continue the conversation. she swayed slightly away from him. "kind of nice place," he said, sweeping his eye over the shingled cottage whose rose-bushes were making a brave fight against the dry summer dust, over the tiny lawn, over the lombardy poplars. "it's nice of you to say so." bertram turned his eye upon her again. "say," said he, "i don't believe the judge expects me back right away! anything more i can do around the place?" eleanor smiled through her slight resentment. "i don't think i care to take the responsibility." in that moment, the butcher-wagon, making the rounds from farm-house to farm-house, appeared quite suddenly at the bend of the road. maria, wife of antonio and cook for eleanor's haciendetta, ran out to meet it. "oh, maria--tell mr. bowles i want to see him!" cried eleanor, and hurried toward the house. bertram chester stood deserted for a moment, and then; "good bye!" he called after her. "good bye and thank you so much!" she answered over her shoulder. * * * * * two minutes later, mr. bowles, driver of the meat wagon, was saying to eleanor: "which was it--rib or loin for saturday, miss gray?" "was it?" said eleanor, absently; and she fell to silence. maria and mr. bowles, waiting respectfully for her decision, followed her eyes. she was looking at a dust cloud which trailed down the lane. when she came out of her revery and beheld them both watching, silent and open-mouthed, she flushed violently. bertram chester, swinging between the green rows, was whistling blithely: "say coons have you ebber ebber seen ma angeline? she am de swetes' swetes' coon you ebber seen." chapter ii every sunday afternoon during the picking season, mrs. tiffany served tea on the lawn for the half-dozen familiar households on the santa lucia tract. that was the busy time of all the year, affording no leisure for those dinners and whist parties which came in the early season, when the country families had just arrived from town, or in the late season, when prune picking grew slack. night finds one weary in the country, even when his day has brought only supervision of labor. these town-bred folk, living from the soil and still but half welded to it, fell unconsciously into farmer habits in this working period. the goodyears and the morses, more formal than their neighbors, did indeed give a dinner once or twice a summer to this or that visitor from san francisco or san jose. otherwise, the colony gathered only at this sunday afternoon tea of mrs. tiffany's. her place lay about midway of the colony, her lawn, such as it was--no lawn flourishes greatly in that land of dry summers--was the oldest and best kept of all; further, they had acquired the habit. already, these californians were beginning a country life remotely like that of england; a country life made gracious by all the simple refinements, from bathtubs to books. they had settled, too, into the ways of a clique; small and informal as their entertainments were, minor jealousies of leadership had developed already. by a kind of consent never yet made law by any contest, the goodyears were leaders and dictators. he, raleigh goodyear, was passably rich; his wife was by birth of that old southern set which dominated the society of san francisco from its very beginning. until their only daughter married into the army and, by her money and connections, advanced her husband to a staff position in washington, mrs. goodyear had figured among the patrons to those cotillions and assemblies by which the elect, under selection of a wine agent, set themselves off from the aspiring. them the colony treated with familiar deference. mrs. tiffany, whose native desire to please and accommodate had grown with her kind of matrimony, held social leadership of a different kind. her summer house was the boudoir of this colony, as her town house was the centre for quiet and informal entertainment just tinged with bohemia. hers was the gate at which one stopped for a greeting and a chat as one drove past on the road; she was forever running to that gate. she knew the troubles of all her neighbors, both the town dwellers of her set and the humbler folk who made fruit farming more of a business. that rather silent husband of hers--a man getting an uncomfortable peace from the end of a turbulent and disappointing life which had just escaped great success--told her that she had one great fault of the head. she must always make a martyr of herself by bearing the burdens of her world. the judge and mrs. tiffany sat now, in the early afternoon of a summer sunday, under the gigantic live-oak which shadowed their piazza. she was crocheting a pink scarf, through which her tiny fingers flew like shuttles; he was reading. out beyond their hacienda, the american "hands," fresh-shaved for sunday, lolled on the ground over a lazy game of cards. from the creek bottom further on, came a sound which, in the distance, resembled the drumming of cicadas--a chinese workman was lulling his ease with a moon-fiddle. near at hand stood the tea things, all prepared before molly, the maid, started for her sunday afternoon visit to the camp of the women cutters. factory girls from the city, these cutters, making a vacation of the summer work. mrs. tiffany glanced up from her yarns at the leonine head of her husband, bent above "the history of european morals," opened her mouth as though to speak; thought better of it, apparently. twice she looked up like this, her air showing that she was not quite confident of his sympathy in that which she meant to bring forward. "edward!" she said at length, quite loud. he lowered the book and removed his reading glasses, held them poised--a characteristic gesture with him. he said no word; between them, a glance was enough. "you remember the young man who went over with eleanor to drive away the ruggles bull?" judge tiffany gave assent by a slight inclination of his head. "i went over to the camp of those university boys yesterday," she went on, running loops with incredible speed, "and i don't quite like the way they are living there. they associate too much with the cutting-women. you know, edward, that isn't good for boys of their age--and they must be nice at bottom or they wouldn't be trying to work their way through college--" she stopped as though to note the effect. the ripple of a smile played under judge tiffany's beard. she caught at her next words a little nervously. "you know we have a responsibility for the people about the place, edward--i couldn't bear to think we'd let any nice college boy degenerate because we employed him--and it is so easy at their age." "which means," broke in the judge, "that you have asked this mr. chester up here to tea." "if--if you wish it, edward." "i can't very well countermand your invitation and tell him by the foreman not to come. but i warn you that this social recognition will serve as no excuse if i catch him picking any more green apricots." mrs. tiffany, unturned by this breeze of criticism, ran along on her own tack. "his manners _are_ a little forward, but he has a nice way of speaking. i'm sure he is a gentleman, at bottom. you can't expect such a young man, who has been obliged to work his way, to have all the graces at once. they've brought down their town clothes--i saw them last sunday--so you needn't be afraid of that. i've asked mr. heath, too." "is that by way of another introduction?" asked judge tiffany. his eyes looked at her severely, but his beard showed that he was smiling gently again. half his joy in a welded marriage lay in his appreciation of her humors, as though one should laugh at himself. "oh, there's no doubt that _he's_ a gentleman. he is less loud, somehow, than mr. chester, though he hasn't his charm. it seems there is the most wonderful boy friendship between them." "where did you get all this insight into the social life of our employees?" asked judge tiffany; and then, "mattie, you've been exposing yourself to the night air again." "over at their camp last evening," said mrs. tiffany. "well, and isn't it my business to look after--after that side of the ranch?" she added. the judge had dropped the book now; his senses were alert to the game which never grew old to him--"mattie-baiting" he had named it. "mattie," he said, "with a pretty and marriageable, dowered and maiden niece on your hands, a new era is opening in your life of passionate self-sacrifice. it used to be orphan children and neglected wives of farm hands. now it is presentable but neglected bachelors. your darling match for eleanor, i suppose, would be some young soul snatched from evil courses, pruned, trimmed, and delivered at the altar with 'made by mattie tiffany' branded on his wings. spare, o spare your innocent niece!" "edward, i never thought of it in that light!" cried mrs. tiffany; and she bent herself to furious crocheting. after a time, and when the judge had resumed his book, she looked up and added: "it might be worse, though, than a young man who had made it all himself." judge tiffany burst into laughter. then, seeing her bend closer over her pink yarns, he grew grave, reached for the hand which held the needles, and kissed it. that was her reward of childless matrimony, as the appreciation of her humors was his. * * * * * while they sat thus, in one of their comfortable hours, the guests were come. the morses appeared first. he was a pleasant, hollow-chested little man; his delicacy of lung gave him his excuse for playing gentleman farmer. she, half-spanish, carried bulk for the family and carried it well. the andalusian showed in her coy yet open air, in her small, broad hand and foot, in a languorous liquidity of eye. their son, a well-behaved and pretty youth of twelve, and their daughter, two years older, rode behind them on the back seat. the daughter bore one of those mosaic names with which the mixed race has sprinkled california--teresa del vinal morse. a pretty, delicate tea-rose thing, she stood at an age of divided appreciations. in the informal society of the santa lucia colony, she was listening half the time to her elders, taking a shadowy interest in their sayings and opinions; for the rest, she was turning on theodore, that childish brother, an illuminated understanding. the goodyears arrived with a little flourish. their trap, which she drove herself and which was perhaps a little too english to be useful or appropriate on a californian road, the straight, tailor lines of her suit--all displayed that kind of quiet, refined ostentation which, very possibly, shrieks as loud to god as the diamond rings on a soiled finger. mrs. tiffany, who had met the morses on the lawn, tripped clear across the rose-border to meet the goodyears; did it with entire unconsciousness of drawing any distinction. as by right, mrs. goodyear appropriated the great green arm-chair under the oak tree, from which throne she radiated a delicate patronage upon the company. the others followed by twos and threes. montgomery lee, fresh-faced english university man, raising prunes on his patrimony of a younger son; the roach girls, plump californian old maids, and their pleasant little yankee mother; the ruggleses, a young married couple. careless farmers, mr. and mrs. ruggles; but they had the good nature which is the virtue of that defect. this, and the common interest in their three plump, mischievous babies, gave them general popularity in the colony. within five minutes, the company had followed the law of such middle-aged groups of familiars, and separated by sexes. the men drifted over to the piazza, lit cigars, hoisted their knees, and talked, first, of the prune picking, their trouble with help, the rather bootless effort of a group in san jose to form a growers' association; then of that city where lay their more vital interests. goodyear had just been to san francisco on a flying trip; he brought back fresh gossip: the bohemian club had the "jinks" in rehearsal; a new-discovered poet had written the book; it was to be (so the sire declared) the greatest in club history. "as usual," smiled judge tiffany. they were saying about the pacific union club that the southern pacific had raised its rates to southern points. one might have sensed that shadow which hangs always over commercial california in the sombreness which froze the group at this news. from five minutes of pessimistic discussion, goodyear led them by a scattered fire of personalities. billy darnton was going to give a bull's head breakfast at san jacinto. al hemphill was coming to it all the way from new york. charlie bates had pulled out for the new gold diggings in the mojave desert, rich again in anticipation, although he had to leave san francisco secretly to escape the process servers. "tea, gentlemen!" called mrs. tiffany, from her nasturtium bower in the shadow of the great oak. "just when we are getting comfortable," her husband growled pleasantly; and he made no move to rise. the women sat at ease about the tea-table. their talk, beginning with the marvelous ruggles babies, had run lightly past clothes and help, and fallen into the hands of mrs. goodyear. she, too, was full of san francisco. apart, under the grape arbor, teresa morse and her brother were snaring lizards--playing like two well-behaved babies miraculously grown tall. "there's eleanor," suddenly spoke teresa. at the word, she dropped her lizard, started forward; and stopped as she came out into full view of the road. eleanor, in fresh white, bareheaded under her parasol, was approaching between two young men. the slighter of the two men moved a little apart; the heavier, in whom mrs. tiffany recognized with some apprehension the new protegé, mr. bertram chester, walked very close up. he was peering under the parasol, which eleanor dropped in his direction from time to time without visibly effecting his removal. it seemed from his wide gestures, from the smile which became apparent as he drew nearer, that he was talking ardently. in the other man, mrs. tiffany recognized that mr. heath who had the boy friendship with bertram chester. he was putting in a word now and then, it appeared. when he spoke, eleanor turned polite attention upon him; and then resumed her guarded attitude toward that dynamo buzzing at her left. insensible of the company on the lawn, they passed behind the grape arbor which fringed the gate and which hid them temporarily from view; and the one-sided conversation became audible. "it wasn't a _patch_ on fights i've had with 'em. down home, i used to fight steers right along. that's nothing to a nigger who used to work for us in tulare. he'd jump on their backs and reach over and bite their noses till they hollered quits. sure thing he did!" it died out as they turned in at the gate and faced the group about the trees. mrs. goodyear made a gesture of an imaginary lorgnette toward her high-bridged nose. mrs. tiffany gathered herself and ran over to the gate. it was mr. heath--she noticed as she advanced--who was blushing. bertram chester stood square on his two feet smiling genially. as for eleanor, she maintained that sweet inscrutability of face which became, as years and trouble came on, her great and unappreciated personal asset. young chester spoke first: "i knew miss gray was coming down this afternoon--so i laid for her on the road--didn't i, miss gray?" "very nice of you, i'm sure," murmured mrs. tiffany, though she bit her lip before she spoke--"won't you come over to meet our friends?" eleanor had darted ahead, to the pats of the women and the adoring hugs of teresa morse. mrs. tiffany saw with relief that her disgraced protegé managed his end of the introduction very well, although he did make a slight advance to shake hands with the critical mrs. goodyear. he gave no sign to show that he perceived the men over on the piazza. mr. heath, his fidus achates, cast a slight glance in their direction; then, seeing bertram settle himself down in an arm-chair and begin at once to address mrs. goodyear, he sat down likewise, suffused with an air of young embarrassment. mrs. ruggles, seated next to him, began with visible tact the effort to put him at his ease. mr. chester, as he talked to mrs. goodyear, looked always toward eleanor. she, helping mrs. tiffany with the tea things, turning a caressing word now and then toward teresa morse, might not have noticed, for all her expression showed. the men came over for tea, were introduced. mrs. tiffany, in her foolish anxiety for the manners and appearance of her protegé, noted that he was at home with men, at least. mr. goodyear, indeed, clutched with his eye at the blue-and-gold button in the lapel of bertram's coat, at the figure of him, and at the name. "you aren't chester who played tackle on the berkeley varsity last season?" he asked. an old harvard oar, goodyear kept up his interest in athletics. "tackle and half," said the youth. "yes, sir." "well, well, i remember you in the game!" said goodyear. mrs. tiffany, now that her protegé no longer needed watching, had returned to her tea things. "eleanor," she called. "will you run into the house and get that box of chocolate wafers that's over the ice chest?" "let me carry 'em for you, miss gray," put in chester, breaking through a college reminiscence of goodyear's. eleanor never flicked an eyelash as she announced: "i should be very glad." tiffany, glancing over the group, noted with comparative relief that none but she, goodyear, and the young persons involved, had heard this passage. as they moved toward the house, bertram opened upon miss gray at once. "this is the second chance i've had alone at you," he said. "we are rather conspicuous," she burst out. "oh, nobody'll mind. a girl always thinks everybody is looking at her. besides, i wouldn't care if they were. i've wanted to tell you something, and i couldn't with heath trailing us. you've got awfully nice eyes." eleanor seemed to see neither the necessity nor the convenience of an answer. "but you have!" he persisted. "they're better than pretty. they're nice." again eleanor said nothing. it seemed to her that there was nothing to say. "i know why you've got it in for me," he burst out. "you have, you know. when i speak to you, you never talk back, and yesterday you wouldn't let me stay after i had corralled the bull. it's because i'm working for your uncle. it's because i'm making a living, not eating what someone else made for me like--" he swept his hand backward toward the company on the lawn--"like those people out there." stung, for a second, to a visible emotion, eleanor raised her grey eyes and regarded him. "you are assuming a little, aren't you?" said she. "then why can't i come to see you sometime in the evening if that isn't so? i don't ask it of many nice girls." she caught at the delimiting phrase, "nice girls," and glanced up again. by this time, they had passed through the living room; and he had awkwardly opened the door into the kitchen. "i haven't known you very long," she said. "there isn't a lot to know about me," he grumbled. then his face cleared like the sunshine breaking through. "i could teach you to savvey the whole works in an evening." "there are the chocolate wafers up over the ice-chest--that brown tin box." he reached up and heaved the package down, putting into that simple and easy operation the energy of one lifting a trunk. annoyed, and a little amused, eleanor watched him. all at once, she felt a catch in her throat, was aware of a vague, uncomprehended fear--fear of him, of her loneliness with him, of something further and greater which she could not understand, did not try to understand. she wanted air; wanted to get away. when he turned about, she stood holding open the kitchen door, her eyes averted. she felt that he was standing over her; she felt his smile as he looked down. "you needn't be in such a terrible hurry," he said. "they'll be waiting for us on the lawn," she forced herself to answer. it required all her energy to keep her voice clear and firm. then she hurried ahead into the open air. once in sight of the lawn party, she made herself walk beside him, even smile up at him. "it's just as i said--" he had gone back to his grumbling voice and his wholly presumptuous manner--"either you don't like me, or you're sore on me because i'm working for your uncle." to the great relief of eleanor, mrs. tiffany came out to meet them, took the box from bertram and accompanied them back to the tea table. for the rest of the afternoon, eleanor managed by one device or another to save the situation. when, in the shifting of group and group, she had no one else for protection, teresa morse, following her like a dog, ready to come to her side at a glance, played the involuntary chaperone. judge tiffany had no word alone with his wife until the sun slanted low across the orchard and the company broke up. when he met her apart, he said: "he ought to be a success, that protegé of yours!" "i have been dreadfully mortified!" "oh, not a social success, though that may come too, if he ever perceives the necessity for it. but a general success. such simple and unturned directness as his ought to win out anywhere. it is more than enchanting. it is magnificent. i'm willing to risk discipline on the place just to study a specimen so unusual. mattie, this time i am going to assist. i'm going to ask him to supper." "edward, are you laughing at me again?" "for once, my dear, no; not at least on the main line. you'd better ask that mr. heath, too." "and eleanor?" the judge looked across to the oak tree, where eleanor was ostentatiously tying up the brown braids of teresa morse. bertram, talking athletics with goodyear, had her under fire of his eyes. "if any young person was ever capable to make that choice, it is your niece eleanor," he said. "it might afford study. yes, ask her, too." mr. chester and mr. heath were delighted; though mr. chester said that he had an engagement for the evening. ("what engagement except with the cutting-women?" thought mattie tiffany.) but eleanor declined. some of the chickens were sick; she was afraid that it might be the pip; she doubted if antonio or maria would attend to it; she would sup at home. mrs. tiffany, anticipating the intention which she saw in bertram's eyes, made a quick draft on her tact and asked: "mr. chester, would you mind helping me in with the chairs?" seated at the supper table, bertram chester expanded. the judge took him in hand at once; led him on into twenty channels of introspective talk. presently, they were speaking direct to one another, the gulf that separates youth from age, employer from employed, bridged by interest on one side and supreme confidence on the other. this grouping left mrs. tiffany free to study heath. it grew upon her that she had overlooked him and his needs through her interest in the more obvious chester. she noticed with approval his finished table manners. mr. chester, though he understood the proper use of knife and fork and napkin, paid slight attention to "passing things"; heath, on the contrary, was alert always, and especially to her needs. "he had a careful mother," she thought. gently, and with a concealed approach, she led him on to his family and his worldly circumstances. he spoke freely and simply, and with a curious frank assumption that anything his people chose to do was right, because they did it. he had come down to the university from tacoma; his father kept a wagon repair shop. his people had gone too heavily into the land boom, and lost everything. "i felt that i could work my way through berkeley or stanford more easily than through an eastern college," he said simply. "and then i shouldn't be so far away from home. mother likes to see me at least once a year." he was going home after the apricot picking was over; he felt that in vacation he should earn at least his fare to washington and back. "i'm sure she must be a very good mother to deserve that devotion," said mrs. tiffany, warming to him. "she deserves more," he said, a kind of inner glow rising to his white-and-pink boyish face. that same glow,--mrs. tiffany might have noticed this and did not--illuminated him whenever, from across the table, chester's laugh or his energetic crack on a sentence called a forced attention. mr. heath deferred always to this louder personality; kept for him the anxious and eager interest of a mother toward her young. gradually, this interest absorbed both mr. heath and mrs. tiffany. the table talk became a series of monologues by young bertram chester, judge tiffany throwing in just enough replies to spur and guide him. "no, i don't belong to any fraternity," said the confident youth, "don't believe in them. they plenty beat me for football captain last year too. when i came to college, they didn't want me. after i made the team and got prominent, they began to rush me. then i didn't want _them_." "it might have been easier for bert if he _had_ joined them," said heath. "they don't like to have their members working at--with their hands; they always find them snap jobs if they are poor and prominent." "oh, i don't know," said bertram. "the barbs elected me business manager of the _occident_ last season--i didn't make the team until i was a sophomore, you know--and that more than paid my way. this year i've got a billiard hall with sandy mccusick. "he used to be a trainer for the track team," explained bertram. "i steer him custom and he runs it. ought to get me through next year over and above. that's one reason i'm picking fruit and resting my mind this summer instead of hustling for money in the city." "and then?" asked the judge. "law, i guess." "i am an attorney myself." "i guess i know that!" "what school have you chosen?" "none, i guess. i don't want to afford the time. yes, i know you want good preparation, but i'd rather be preparing in an office, making a little and keeping my eye open for chances. i may find, before my three years are up, that it isn't law i want, but business." "i'm not a college man myself," said the judge, "i got my education by reading nights on the farm, and pounded out what law i knew in an office at virginia city. one didn't need a great deal of law to practice in comstock days--more nerve and mining sense. but i've regretted always that i didn't have a more thorough preparation. still, every man to his own way. this may be best for you." "that's what i think," said bertram chester. "when i got through high school in tulare, dad said, 'unless you want to stay on the ranch, you'd better foot it for college.' i didn't want to ranch it, and i saw that college must be the best place for a start. dad put up for the first year. i might have stretched it out to cover a little of my sophomore year if i'd been careful. i was a pretty fresh freshman," he added. "and your mother?" asked mrs. tiffany. "i suppose she was crazy for you to go." "yes, i suppose she would have been. she's been dead ten years. how hard is it to get into a law office in san francisco?" he added, shifting. judge tiffany met the direct hint with a direct parry. "we have five thousand attorneys in san francisco and only five hundred of them are making a living." "yes, i know it is overcrowded," said bertram chester, not a particle abashed. after black coffee on the piazza, the two college boys swung off down the lane, bertram smoking rapidly at one of the judge's cigars. "he can be almost anything," said the judge, meditatively. "even a gentleman?" gently inquired mrs. tiffany. "perhaps that isn't necessary in our western way of life. thank god, we haven't come yet to the point where the caste of vere de vere is necessary to us." "i wish i had it," he went on, a little wistfully. "gentility? why edward, if anyone--" "oh no, my dear. i may say that was half the trouble. so many considerations came up; so many things i didn't want to do, so many it didn't seem right to do. i was forever turning aside to wrestle with my feelings on those things, and forever hesitating. half the time, after the opportunity was gone by, i discovered that my scruples had been foolish; but i always discovered afterward. i don't believe that success lies that way in a new world." he had risen; and now his wife rose and stood beside him. "you are forever talking as though you were a failure. i know you're not. everyone knows you're not." "the parable of the ten talents, mattie. not how much we've got, but how much interest we've earned on our powers. however, we had that out long ago, my dear. yes, i know. i promised not to talk and think this way. but if i'd been like this boy! he'll seize the thing before him. no side considerations in his mind!" "it is a policy," said mrs. tiffany in a tone of injured partisanship, "that will land him in jail." "no," said the judge, "success does not lead towards jails. he'll look out for that." chapter iii in that immortal "middle period" of san-francisco, when the gay mining camp was building toward a stable adjustment of society, when the wild, the merry, the dissolute and the brave who built the city were settling down to found houses and cultivate respectability in face of a constantly resurgent past--in those days none who pretended to eminence in the city but knew the sisters sturtevant. members of that aristocracy which dwelt on rincon hill, their names and fames quite eclipsed those of their quiet, self-effacing parents. although they never called it that, their establishment amounted to a salon. also, they never called their circle bohemian, yet it was tinged with an easy view on the conventionalities, a leaning toward art and the things of art, which meant bohemia in the time when that word was of good repute. spain, perpetual spring, the flare of adventure in the blood, the impulse of men who packed virgil with their bean-bags on the overland journey, conspired already to make san francisco a city of artists. she had developed her two poets, singers whose notes had sounded round the world; the painters had followed. the stir of a new life in art, a life which was never quite to reach fulfilment, blew in the bay air. centre for those awakening young painters, those minor poets who carried in weaker hands the torches of the two giant pioneers, was the house of the sturtevant sisters, the one a wit, the other a beauty. heaven was not grudging with gifts to these two. alice, the wit, had also a hidden kind of beauty which was not to be taken in on first sight, but which, perceived by the painters of that set, made some of them swear that she was the real beauty of the two. matilda, the beauty, had if not wit a sprightly feminine fancy. then, too, her gentleness of judgment, her sweetness of intention, and her illogic of loyalty, gave her point of view a humorous quality. her circle, confident in her good-nature, was forever leading her on, by this device or that, to exhibit what john stallard, the novelist, called her "comedy of charity." o'ryan, that great, glowing failure whose name will outlive the fame of the successful in san francisco, used to play ingenious jokes upon it. o'ryan was possibly the only man of any time who could draw the sting of a practical joke. they dwelt, twin-regnant over this world of theirs, in sisterly harmony. stallard declared always that a final gift of fate and the gods preserved them to harmony: their tastes in men differed. they had choice enough, god wot--poets and novelists struggling on the verge of fame; attractive, irresponsible, magnetic journalists, destined never to arrive anywhere, but following a flowery path along which a woman might smile; sons of new-rich millionaires who followed and backed and corrupted the artists of that budding paris which never blossomed; two painters, among many, who got both fame and wealth before they were done. in his later years, one asked tyson the english novelist, connoisseur of women if there ever was one, whom he esteemed the prettiest and whom the wittiest among the women he had known and studied. "for wit, lady vera loudon," he said, "and after her, a quite remarkable woman i met in san francisco out on the west coast of america--of all places." tradition has enlarged this reply to make matilda sturtevant his prettiest as alice was his wittiest. matilda's fresh beauty of the devil, her full yet delicate beauty of the twenties and early thirties, live in the galleries of europe. the painters all had their try at her; she lived in creation which ran the line between miniatures and heroic canvases. lars wark, perhaps the least considered of all her painter friends, is the one that triumphed most of all. who does not know his launcelot and enid? the enid, of a beauty so intelligent, so wistful and so good--she is matilda sturtevant, hardly idealized. these twin graces married within two years of each other. of course, they chose strangely. matilda, whose beauty might have graced the head of the table in any one of three gaudy mansions on nob hill, chose edward c. tiffany, attorney, politician in a small but honorable way, man about town--and much older than she. alice, following quietly, accepted billy gray, journalist--a clever reporter with no possibilities beyond that; a gentleman, it is true, and a man of likeable disposition, but on the whole the least desirable of all her followers. billy and alice gray lived out the three years which were all they ever had of matrimony, in a latin quarter garret, transformed into a studio. the intellectual centre of san francisco shifted to that garret; the gay, the witty and the brilliant still followed wherever alice gray might go. billy, a type of the journalist in the time when journalism meant the careless life, left her a great deal alone after the honeymoon. on his side, there was no conscious neglect in this; on her side, there was no reproach. it was just their way of living. he adored her with a quiet, steady flame of affection which was too fine to degenerate into mere uxoriousness. already, he was a little too fond of his liquor--a peccadillo which attracted little attention in that age of the careless city. this troubled alice gray less than it would have troubled her mother. in the periods when she pulled herself up, she worried to think how little she did care about it. in fact, his remorseful recovery from his debauches had become her occasion for pouring out upon him the mother in her. she reveled guiltily in this singular sacrament of her singular love. after three years alice gray gave birth to a daughter--and died within a fortnight afterward. in all truth, i may say that life, for billy gray, ended that day. to lose this tenth muse--i can think of nothing more complete in tragedy except the loss of her father of marjorie fleming. and he, like marjorie fleming's father, spoke her name no more--until near the end. when after twenty years, his own time came, stallard, lebrun the poet and lars wark gathered to pay him their last respects. lebrun came all the way from new orleans, and stallard delayed his journey to the south seas. they had drifted away from him, such had become his ways and habits; they came back in honor of the woman who illuminated their youth. so long and so powerful was the influence of her who never wrote a line except in air and memory. billy gray went on living for the sake of his daughter; but he lived like a man driven of the furies. he became one of those restless, wandering journalists whose virtue to their newspapers is their utter abandonment of courage and enterprise, whose defect is their love of drink. eleanor, they called the baby--alice had chosen that name "in case it is a girl." mrs. tiffany, childless herself, played second mother during the first three years of eleanor's healthy and contented little life. perceiving the growth of bad habits in that broken brother-in-law, strong and generous enough to face her perceptions, she called him back from a desk in los angeles, where, gossip said, he was drinking himself to death, and gave him over his daughter to keep. from that time on, during a succession of removes which took him from vancouver on the north to los angeles on the south, billy gray had establishment after establishment, housekeeper after housekeeper for this daughter. her face and ways, the dim shadowing of her mother's, were the only hold on reality which he kept. she grew up a rather grave little thing, hardly pretty at all until she turned fifteen, when she showed signs that the beauty of her aunt, if not the wit of her mother, might live again in her. of wit, it seemed, she had little; neither did she show any great talents in her irregular schooling. her longest term at any one school was three years with the franciscan sisters in santa barbara. they, spanish gentlewomen mainly, are the arbiters and conservators of old fashioned manners on the west coast. of them it is said, as it is said of certain sisterhoods in france, that one may know their graduates by the way they keep their combs and brushes. in two years eleanor absorbed something of their grave gentility from these spanish women. little else she got from that education, seeing that she was a protestant and studied neither catechism nor church doctrine. she did, indeed, totter once on the brink of rome--even dared speak to her father about it. he accepted the situation so carelessly and gave his assent so easily that she was a little hurt. but the next day, he quizzed her about the church and its doctrines. like a good lawyer, he slipped in the crucial question of his cross-examination between two blind ones. "all who die outside of the church go to hell, don't they?" he asked. "sister sulpicia says so." "then your grandmother" (mrs. sturtevant had just died) "is in hell?" he pursued the line no further; he never needed to; and after a time the storm of doctrine died down in her. that phase of life left another effect on her beside her manners--a mark common enough among protestant women reared in the shadow of the catholic church. outside its pale by belief, she clung to a few of its sacramentals for pet superstitions, and to a few of its observances for her consolation in trouble and her expression in happiness. she was sixteen, and about to graduate from a seminary in oakland, when her call came to her. in one moment, the secret of her father's long absence became plain; and her whole way of life changed. billy gray had drifted back to the city of his beginnings and happiness; was writing hack editorials and paragraphs for the little weeklies which so infested san francisco. she knew that their fortunes were low, that only her inheritance, left in trust by her grandparents, kept them moving. also, a dim suspicion which she had held of her father for years was taking shape in her mind--too young that mind, yet, for any very strong belief in human conduct not written in the tables of the law or in the etiquette book. the current which fused these amorphic thoughts was generated in the most commonplace manner. by custom, she went to the seminary on monday morning, staying there until friday evening. it happened that the death of a teacher made friday an unexpected holiday. returning on thursday afternoon, she found the house locked. she remembered that this was "make-up day" at the weekly which took most of her father's work; he must be in the office. she hesitated, wondering whether to telephone for the key; decided to walk down town, since it was a beaming, windless afternoon. she came about a corner of montgomery street, turned in toward the office of _the whale_, and ran into the environs of a gathering city crowd. the men were straining over backs and shoulders to see; the women were pressing their hands convulsively to their faces with pity and disgust. "what's the answer?" some one called from the fringe. "a drunk," came a voice from within, "plain drunk." the police arrived just then, and cleared a way; through the rift they made, she saw them lift--billy gray, her father. in the limpness and horror of this, her first crisis, she did nothing, said nothing; only stood there. presently, she was aware that a workman in soiled overalls had joined the policemen. "now that's all right," he was saying, "he's only dead to the world, making no trouble for nobody. he works for _the whale_ up above; what's the good to pinch him?" "_the whale_?" asked one of the policemen; and hesitated on the word. in quick decision, then, he whirled upon the crowd, pushed it back, cleared a space. the other policeman and the man in the soiled overalls--he was foreman of _the whale_--picked up billy gray, who was turning and mumbling feebly, and started to carry him upstairs. a sudden impulse of her limbs, an instinct independent of her will, drew her toward them. the policeman, clearing away the crowd, laid hand upon her. "you'll have to get back little girl!" he said. she looked him in the eye; the sudden abandonment to her shame seemed to lift and to exalt her; afterward, shuddering over that day, she still remembered a certain perverse pleasure in this moment. and she spoke loud, so loud that all the crowd might hear. "he is my father!" the policeman gave way; she hurried up the stairs. the bearers of billy gray were resting on the top of the first flight. they had braced him up against the banisters and were trying to rub sense back into him. she addressed herself straight to the foreman. "does this happen often?" she asked. a good natured and communicative person, he was also enough touched by his importance as good samaritan to answer the question of a stray little girl. "lord yes!" he replied. "every pay day nowadays. used to be the brightest man in the business, too." then as she stood there, blown by all the strong cross-winds of the world, marshall the editor, who knew eleanor, came hurrying down the stairs. he saw that wreckage, grown familiar now to them all, saw the girl standing white of face beside the balustrade; the situation came over him at once. he opened the door, drew in both the intoxicated billy gray and his daughter. half an hour later, when billy could walk a little--it was a dead, nerveless intoxication with him nowadays--eleanor and the foreman took him home in a cab. in that long day and night, eleanor strung together a thousand half-forgotten incidents, neglects and irregularities of life, and perceived the truth which her whole world had been in conspiracy to keep from her. out of the cross-blowing impulses of an immaturity which was still half childhood--self pity, shame, heroic pride in her own tragedy, passionate hatreds of a world which harbors such things--she came to a resolve in whose very completeness she was happy for a time. when, before breakfast, she burst into mattie tiffany's boudoir, she had a saintly radiance in her face. the elder woman, advised by the first words that eleanor knew, took the little, cold body into bed with her, petted her back to something like calm. storm followed the calm; eleanor went all to pieces in a burst of passionate crying. after she had recovered a little, her purpose came out of her. considering her years, she said it all quite simply and undramatically. it was her business to be with her father. her mother would have wished it so. she was going to leave school. that was her work. mattie tiffany, with her passion for picturesque philanthropies, knew right well that she had neglected somewhat the plain, unpicturesque philanthropy which lay close to her hand. she had neither the heart nor the conscience to deny eleanor this sacrifice. in that hour, there grew up between the childless aunt and the motherless niece an understanding which those three years of first infancy, when eleanor had lain on her breast like a daughter, had never brought at all. in three months more, during which time billy gray reformed, lapsed, reformed, lapsed again, the wiser head of judge tiffany found the way. the sturtevant estate, nearly fifty thousand dollars in all, lay in his hands as trustee. upon eleanor's majority, it was to be divided, one third accruing to her, the surviving grandchild, and two-thirds to mattie tiffany. of late, judge tiffany had been turning his mind toward the santa clara valley fruit farms, and especially toward the santa lucia tract. he had made the struggle with his own world and lost; that is another story. at sixty-eight, life held little for him except an easy descent into the grave after a career in which he had played only too little. that leisurely style of farming, which would permit him to keep an eye on his dwindling law practice, attracted him. and nothing, it seemed to him, would better further the intention, now awakened in all of them, to do something for billy gray. he bought, therefore, two tracts, already planted and bearing in diversified fruits; one of forty acres, with a little cottage home, for eleanor; the other of eighty acres, with a large bungalow, for himself. so far as his intentions toward billy gray went, judge tiffany made this venture with little hope. billy gray had tried the keeley cure twice. after each course of treatment, he had "beaten it," although he must gargle whisky, through a deadly sickness, in order to get back into the habit again. his was that variety of drunkenness which is not only an unnatural thirst, but also a mania to forget. there on the santa lucia tract, billy gray, sure of a living, might tilt at happiness and success with that independent writing which is the chimera of all newspaper men until the end of their days; and eleanor might help him make the fight. the next four years--they were a monotony of variety. for her broken, incompetent father, eleanor learned the art and practice of growing apricots and prunes. lady of her small manor, she made a business of it; got it to pay after the second year. billy gray never reformed; no one but eleanor ever expected that he would. he smuggled whisky in; he stole away to get it; once he led the judge and eleanor a chase through his old haunts in san francisco until they found him, broken all to pieces, in the county hospital. that incident--it appeared that he had been beaten by a squad of drunken soldiers from the presidio--was the breaking strain. his constitution gone, his mind and body weakened. for twenty years, no one had ever heard him speak the name of that saxon alice whose death was the death of his soul. now, he began suddenly to babble to his daughter of her mother. in his last delirium, he called her "alice." when he was dead and buried, eleanor went on for a year through her accustomed routine of the ranch, letting life flow in again. tired at twenty-two, she overstated the feeling to herself after the manner of youth, and thought that heart and sense and feeling were dead in her. in all the years of passage from girlhood to womanhood, she had lived alone with that dipsomaniac, seeing only such society as frequented her aunt's lawn, and little of that. books, and such training in life as they give, she had known; but she had never known a flirtation, a follower or a lover. on the day when bertram chester went with her to tame the bull, she was as one who steps from the door of a convent. chapter iv as she left the tiffany gate and emerged into the main road between santa clara and los gatos, eleanor raised her serviceable khaki-brown parasol. she was walking directly toward the setting sun, which poured into her eyes; yet she dropped the sunshade behind her head as though to shield herself against an approach from the rear. no one followed; she had walked to the next fence corner before she assured herself of that, dared to shift that feminine buckler against the eye of the sun, to slacken her pace, and to muse on an afternoon whose events, so quiet, so undramatic, and yet so profoundly significant, buzzed still in her head. as she thought on them, other things came into her mind as momentous and worthy of attention before the jump of the great event--that moment alone with bertram chester, that panic of unaccountable fear. slow to anger as much by a native and hidden sweetness as by that surface control which puzzled her demonstrative aunt matilda, she surprised her cheeks burning and her blood beating in her throat. with this physical agitation came an army of disagreeable and disturbing thoughts. at first they were only recollections of irritations past; the tiny maladjustments of her life; things by which she owed vengeance of slight wrongs. they came together at length, into one great, sore grievance--the forwardness, the utter, mortifying impudence, of mr. chester. it was long before she admitted this as a cause of irritation; once admitted, it overshadowed all her other complaints against life. timidly, she approached stage by stage that scene on the lawn, that unaccountable moment in the kitchen. again she saw his great shoulders heave with unnecessary strength at the ridiculous cracker box; again she caught the sense of confinement with a machine of crushing strength and power. it seemed to her that her retina still danced with the impression of him as he turned to face her, as he flashed upon her like a drawn weapon. she found herself looking down at the dusty road; suddenly she grew so sick and faint that the breath deserted her body and she had to lean against the gate post for support. the touch of it against her body revived her with a start, and brought to her mind the extent and folly of her own imaginings. she pulled herself together and dropped her parasol to shield her face from maria, who was hurrying over from the kitchen garden. * * * * * life flowed in immediately. a hundred details of a household, of a fruit farm in the picking season, awaited her attention. her orchard and the tiffany orchard were conducted together on a kind of a loose co-operative system devised by the judge to give her the greatest amount of freedom with just as much responsibility as would be good for her. foreseeing that alice sturtevant's daughter would never live on a farm indefinitely, that marriage or her own kind would claim her in the end, he arranged everything so that her oversight might pass on short notice to olsen or to himself. in this harvest season, for example, he secured for both farms the cutters and pickers--the hardest problem for the californian farmer. also, the fruit went to his own sheds and yards for cutting and drying. he was among the sturdy minority who stood out against the co-operative driers which had absorbed most of the fruit crop in the santa clara valley. the detail work about her place--such as setting out the fruit boxes, selecting the moment when apricots or pears were ripe for the picking, seeing that the trees, her permanent investment, were not injured by wagon or picker, keeping her own accounts in balance with those of judge tiffany--these and a hundred other little things she did herself and did them well. especially was the up-keep of the orchard her special care; and this she managed with such native mother-sense that one learned in trees might have told just when he crossed the unfenced line from the gray orchard to the tiffany orchard. to-night, olsen was waiting to know whether she thought that the ten rows of moor parks were ready for picking; he had just finished the first crop of the judge's royals and a small gang would be without pressing work on monday morning. so they walked over the orchard together, pressing a golden ball here and there, and decided that the fruit was ripe and ready. eleanor summoned antonio for directions about boxes and ladders. the hen-house had to be inspected, for eleanor was fumigating against the pip, brought into the santa lucia by an importation of fancy eastern chickens. to-morrow's menu of the housekeeper was to be looked after. the things kept her busy until her solitary sunday evening supper. eleanor had dined alone so much that she had quite recovered from any self-pity on that score. like the daughter of convent manners that she was, she kept up her self-respect by a little ceremony at this meal. she dressed for it usually; at least she put on fresh ribbons and flowers, gave a touch here and there to the table, held maria to the refinements of service. however, as she opened her napkin that evening the rush and emotional strain of the day brought a certain flash of introspection. it came first when she lifted her eyes and caught sight of herself in the mirror--dewy eyed, fresh, a pink rose in her hair, a pink ribbon at her throat. what was she, so young, so feminine, doing there, supping alone in state? she remembered the invitation of lars wark in munich; he and his wife, living the life artistic away over there, had sent to ask her that she visit them and share their winter in the studio or their summer on the coast of brittany. why, in the face of that alluring invitation, did she suffer her soul to keep her in such prisons as this? she could afford it; there was no question of money. according to the books she had read, that solitary state belonged to old, disappointed bachelors, old maids, faded people generally. here she sat, a picture unseen, playing at age--and she less than twenty-two. there was a kind of delicate incongruity about it all. and watching her own grey eyes, as they faced her in the mirror, she half comprehended why she continued to live so, even after her father died and took away the reason for her old solitude. she had been under the hypnotic suggestion of an event, an impression. that moment on montgomery street, when she found her father lying drunk, when tragedy and responsibility came together--that moment had stretched itself out to six years. she had lived by it; was living by it now. in some unaccountable fashion, that picture would intertwine itself with the impression, so new and vivid, which she had received that afternoon. momentarily, both united to produce one emotion--profound disgust and dislike for the coarseness, the brutality, of male humanity, which had laid her father out on the pavement for the sport of a mob, which had made this perturbing young man trample on all considerations and delicacies. "you need not mind about dessert, maria," she called out suddenly. she rose, hurried out of doors, tore into the inspection of fruit crates for to-morrow's picking. night, falling with little twilight, as always in those climes, found her still ranging the house and barnyard, the rose incongruously in her hair, the ribbon at her throat. when it was too dark to find employment out of doors, she hurried back to the house, tried to read. but a sense of confinement drove her forth. she started out toward the road, stopped by the hedge gate, sat down finally on a bench under her grape arbor. the leaves and the bunches of swelling fruit hid her from sight of the highway, overshadowed at that point by a great bay tree. a confusion of voices, masculine and feminine, sounded in the distance. she caught a shrill, rowdy laugh. "the cutting-women and their men," she thought dimly. that social phenomenon of the picking season, grown accustomed by six years of passing summers and winters, drew no special attention from her. but the noise continued; it became plain that these reveling laborers were making in her direction. doubtless, they came from the women's camp at judge tiffany's. the night was bringing her peace and sleep of the soul after a disturbing day; alone, that raucous noise marred the calm. she peered idly through the leaves. a half a dozen women, their white dresses making them visible in the dusk, a few men whose forms loomed indistinctly against the edge of the sky, noised past her and were gone down the road. one couple, she perceived, lingered behind. they had reached the shade of the bay tree, were so close that she might have reached out and touched them, before she realized the situation. she was about to call out, to cough, when the man spoke. "no, i won't hurt you," he said, "i'm as gentle a little kisser as you ever saw." the voice was that of bert chester. "aw, you're too fresh," came the voice of the girl. but as they drew into deeper shadow, she was not pulling away from him. "fresh as a daisy!" said the voice of bertram chester. followed a struggle, a faint "stop, stop!" in the voice of the girl, the sound of gross and heavy kissing. in a moment, the white form of the girl broke down the road, the greater, darker form of the man lumbering after. he caught her, held her for a longer time and a lesser struggle. she came out of this one laughing, and down the road they went, his arm a black shadow about her waist. eleanor's deeper and higher self--the self that lay like a filmy, impalpable wrapper about her conscious mind, so that at times she appeared to herself as two persons--that consciousness stood aloof in expectation of disgust, revulsion, horror. it came as a confused surprise that she felt nothing of the kind. a cloying sweetness, a sensation purely physical, as though a syrup had been poured into all the channels of her nerves, began in her throat, rushed through body and limbs. the sweet tide surged backward, beat in a wave of faintness upon her heart. shame, like air into a vacuum, followed with a rush. she sank to the ground, clinging to the bench. when she had so far mastered herself that she could feel her own senses, she was praying aloud--praying in the rite which held her emotions while it failed with her reason. "ave maria sanctissima!" she was saying over and over again. chapter v "match you to see whether it's good, old fifteen cent feed at the marseillaise or a four bit bust at the nevada," said bertram chester. "i'll take you," responded mark heath, flipping a silver dollar as he spoke. "heads the nevada; tails the croutons and dago red." "tails it is--aw, let's make it the nevada to show there's nothing in luck." "you quitter!" "all right; but i hate to look cabbage soup in the face," grumbled bertram. he resumed, then, his languid occupation which this parley had interrupted, and continued to review, from an angle of moe's cigar stand, the passing matinee parade. the time was late afternoon of a fog-scented october day. through the wet air, street lamps and electric signs had begun to twinkle. under the cross-light of retreating day and incandescent globes, the parade of women, all in bright-colored silks and gauds, moved solid, unbroken. opera bags marked off those who had really attended the matinees; but only one in five wore this badge of sincerity. the rest had dressed and painted and gone abroad to display themselves just because it was the fashion in their circles so to dress and paint and display. women of greek perfection in body and feature, free-stepping western women who met the gaze of men directly and fearlessly, their costumes ran through all the exaggerations of parisian mode and tint. toilettes whose brilliancy would cause heads to turn and necks to crane on the streets of an eastern city, drew here no tribute of comment. it had gone on all the afternoon. from the columbia theatre corner, which formed one boundary of "the line," to the sutler street corner of kearney, five blocks away, certain of these peacocks had been strutting back and forth since two o'clock. the men who corresponded in the social organization to these paraders of vanity lined the sidewalks or lolled in the open-air cigar stands, as did these two young adventurers in life--bertram chester, now a year and a half out of college, and mark heath, cub reporter on the _herald_. when the homefarers from office and factory had begun to tarnish the brilliance of this show, when the women had begun to scatter--this one to dinner with her man, that one back to the hall-room supper by whose economies she saved for her saturday afternoon vanities--bertram and mark drifted with the current up kearney street toward the hotel marseillaise. in their blood, a little whipped already by the two cocktails which they had felt able to afford even while they debated over the price of dinner, ran all the sparkling currents of youth. they drew on past sutler street to adventurer's lane, the dingy section of that street wherein walked the treasure-farers of all the seven seas; and as they walked, bertram began to speak of the things which lay close to his heart. "i guess i'll chuck the law," he said. "maybe i'll stay with judge tiffany a year or so longer--until i get admitted anyway. a bar admission might count if i wanted to go into politics." "politics is a pretty poor kind of business," responded mark heath. old enough in journalism to have recovered somewhat from his first enchantment with the rush of life, he was only just beginning to acquire the cynical pose. "hell, it's all according to how you play it," said bertram. "when you get to be lincoln, nobody calls it poor business. do they think any the worse of my old man because he played politics to be sheriff of tulare? if i should go into the game down there, his pull would help me a lot. but it's me for this." his sweeping gesture took in the whole city. he had missed mark's point. the latter felt within him a little recoil from that loyalty for his greater, more ready, more popular friend, which had carried him, a blind slave, through college, and which had helped him make him settle in san francisco instead of tacoma. through his four years at the university, mark had shared his crusts with bertram chester, yelled for him from the bleachers, played his fag at class elections. now mark was out in the world, practising the profession of lost illusions; and a new vision had been growing within him for many days. he turned a grave face toward his chum, and his lips opened on the impulse of a criticism. but he thought better of it. his mouth closed without sound. "the real chances for a lawyer, though, are in business," bertram went on. "judge tiffany never grabbed half his chances. attwood in the office, says so." "he surely didn't keep out of politics, that judge," said mark, remembering the turns of fate which had almost--and ever not quite--made the old judge a congressman, a mayor, and a justice of the california state supreme court. "oh, he had no call to be in politics. he hasn't the sand. attwood says so. and he stuck at his desk and let his business chances go by. myself, i'm keeping my lamps open. just because the judge doesn't watch his chances, that office is a great place to pick things up. look at those tidewater cases of ours over in richmond. i know, from the inside, that we're going to lose our case, and lots will go whooping up. i've written to bob for a thousand dollars to invest. i'll double that in a year and have my first thousand ahead. say, why don't you try something in business instead of sticking to newspapers? let's go in together. reporting is a rotten kind of business." "oh, i don't know, i like it. i think i'll stay with it for a while." again mark had put back the thought of his heart. like so many of the loyal and devoted, he could hardly bring himself to speak of his own deeper motives and ambitions. least of all could he reveal them in this moment of disillusion. he had never told bertram about the four-act comedy hidden in the writing desk of their common room, to be mulled over during the mornings of his leisure. "i think i'll stay with it for a while, anyway," he added simply. they had turned out of kearney street and were mounting the hill-rise toward the hotel marseillaise. these fringes and environments of chinatown had been residences for the newly affluent in the days when the poodle dog flourished and flaunted in the hull of a wreck, in the days when that chinatown site was rialto and market-place for the overgrown mining camp. the wall moss which blew in with the trade winds, and the semi-tropic growth of old ivies and rose-bushes, had given to these houses the seasoning of two centuries. unpretentious hovels beside the structures of stone turrets and mill-work fronts by which later millionaires shamed california street and van ness avenue, they had the simple dignity of a mission, a colonial farm-house, or any other structure wherein love of craft has supplanted scanty materials. innumerable additions of sheds and boxes, the increment of their fallen social condition, broke their severe lines. a massive door, a carriage entrance, the remains of a balcony faced to catch wind and air of the great bay, recalled what they had been; as though a washerwoman should wear on her tattered waist some jewel of a wealth long past. the hotel marseillaise occupied one of these houses. where it stood, the hill rose steep. one might enter a narrow alley, skirt a board fence, dodge into a box hall, seasoned with dinners long past, and mount by a steep staircase to the dining room; or he might enter that dining room directly from the street, such was the slope of the hill. a row of benches parked the front door. on the fine, out-of-doors evenings which came too seldom in the city of fogs, french waiters out of work, french deserters from merchantmen in the harbor below, french cabmen waiting for night and fares, lolled on these benches while they smoked their black cigarettes and chattered in their heavy, peasant accent. within, madame loisel ruled with her cash register at the cigar counter. she, bursting with sweet inner fatness like a california nectarine, kept in her middle age the everlasting charm and chic of the frenchwoman. this madame loisel was a dual personality. she of the grave mouth, the considering eye, the business manner, who rung up dinner fees on the cash register and bargained with the chinamen for vegetables at the back door, seemed hardly even sister to the madame loisel of saturday afternoon on "the line" or sunday morning at the french church. by what process man may not imagine, this second madame loisel took six inches from her girth, fifty pounds from her weight, fifteen years from her age. her step was like a dancer's; her figure was no more than comfortably plump; her sunday complexion brought the best out of her alluring eyes and her black, ungrizzled hair; her hands, in their perfect gloves, bore no resemblance to the hands which had scraped pots for louis loisel in the time before he could flaunt the luxury of a cashier. in madame loisel's background lay the ramblings of a house built for comfort and large hospitalities. gone were the folding doors, bare the niches, empty the window-seats. the old drawing-rooms, music-room, dining-room, had become one apartment of a sanded floor and many long tables. through this background of his wife moved louis loisel, grizzled, fat and gay; never too busy at his serving to exchange flamboyant banter with a patron. hither the peasant french of san francisco, menials most of them, came for luncheons and dinners of thick, heavy vegetable soup, coarse fish, boiled joint, third-class fruit and home-made claret, vinted by louis himself in a hand press during those september days when the latin quarter ran purple--and all for fifteen cents! thither, too, came young apprentices of the professions, working at wages to shame a laborer, who had learned how much more one got for his money at louis's than at the white-tiled american places further down town. it stood for ten years, this hotel marseillaise, the hope of the impecunious. how many careers did it preserve, how many old failures from the wreckage of kearney street did it console! madame loisel stood at her cash register as the two young men entered. a fresh waist, a ribbon at her throat, a slimness of her waist and an artificial freshness in her complexion showed that she had been parading that afternoon. "bonsoir madame--la la la-la-la!" called bertram. her face blossomed with coquetry, her teeth gleamed, and: "bonsoir--diable!" she smiled back at him. mark heath had greeted her more soberly. her eyes followed chester's big, square frame as he moved with lumbering grace to a corner table. there he sat at the beginning of his career, such as it was, this bertram chester--a completed piece of work, fresh, unused, from the mills of the gods. his strong frame was beginning to fill out, what with the abandonment of training for a year. he was a pretty figure of a man in his clothes; and those clothes were so woven and cut as to be in contrast with his surroundings. a tailor of san francisco, building toward fashionable patronage, had made him suits free during his last year in college. varsity man and public character about the campus, chester paid him back in advertising of mouth. guided by that instinct of vanity and personal display which runs in those who have to do with the cattle range, he had learned to dress well before he was really sure-mouthed in english grammar. his face, still, as when we first saw him, a little over-heavy, had lightened with the growth of spirit within him. this increase of spirit and expression manifested itself in his rolling and merry eye, which travelled over all humanity in his path with an air of possession, in the mobility of his rather thick-lipped mouth. for the rest, the face was all solidity and strength. his neck rose big and straight from his collar, a sign of the power which infused the figure below; his square chin, in repose, set itself at a most aggressive angle; his nose was low-bridged and straight and solid. from any company which he frequented, an attraction deeper than his obviously regular and animal beauty brought him notice and attention. the son of louis, a small, cheerful imitation of his father, slammed a bowl of cabbage soup down before them. bertram, sighing his young, ravenous satisfaction, sank the ladle deep and stopped, his hand poised, his eyes fixed. mark followed the direction of his glance. louis loisel, wearing his best air of formal politeness, was bowing a party of women to a table by the door. "slummers!" said mark under his breath. a habitué of the place, he had already developed a resentment of outsiders. louis pulled out chairs, wiped the table mightily; the french cabmen, the barbary coast flotsam and jetsam, gazed over their soup-spoons in silent, furtive interest. "it's her!" said bertram, lapsing into his native speech. heath flashed a glance of recognition at the same moment. "miss gray--sure--mrs. tiffany's niece. i thought she was in europe--didn't she start a week or two after we left the ranch?" "oh, i knew she was coming back. mrs. tiffany told me. the mrs. boss isn't so sweet on me as she used to be, but i see her in the office now and then." bertram resumed his ladling. both watched furtively. it was a balanced party--three men and three women. among the men, mark heath recognized him of the pointed beard as masters, the landscape painter. the little, brown woman who sat with her back to them must be his wife. the other girl, a golden, full-blown californian thing--her, too, they marked and noted with their eyes. recognition of a sort had come meanwhile from the party at the guest table. miss waddington, the full-blown golden girl, had seated herself and cooed an appreciative word or two about the quaintness and difference of the marseillaise, when her eyes clutched at the two young men in the corner, whose dress made them stand out so queerly among the lost and soiled. as bertram looked up with his glance of recognition, her eyes caught his. she glanced down at her plate. "eleanor," she said, "is that a flirtation starting, or do any of us know the two men in the corner--there under that beer sign." eleanor looked. kate waddington, her indirect gaze still on that corner table, saw the dark young man smile and bow effusively. she slipped a sidling glance at eleanor gray. something curious, an intent look which seemed drawn to conceal a tumult within, had filmed itself over eleanor's grey eyes. but she spoke steadily. "why, yes. i have met them both. they used to do summer work on the ranch when they were in college. i believe that the darker one--mr. chester--is in uncle edward's law office now. i haven't seen either of them since i went abroad." "i should say that this mr. chester fancied you, from his expression." "i suppose that he fancies every girl that he sees--from his expression." kate waddington caught the shade of irritation, uncommon with eleanor, and noted it in memory. mrs. masters, an eager little woman who grasped at everything about her like a child, broke in: "if you know them, and they're really frequenters of the place, it would be fun to ask them over. sydney used to dine here a great deal when he was young and poor, and he has _such_ stories of the people he used to know then!" eleanor hesitated. kate looked again toward bertram, who was talking rapidly across his soup to mark heath, and: "do!" she murmured. in that instant, bertram himself cast the die. this had been the debate across the soup: "i'm going over to speak to her," said bertram. "i shouldn't butt in," said mark. "it's a balanced party." "oh, i shan't try to stay--coming along?" he did not wait to see whether or not mark was following. miss gray greeted him more cordially, altogether more sweetly, than she had ever done in their meetings on the ranch, and passed him about the circle for introductions. noticing, then, that mark had not followed, bertram turned and beckoned with impatience. mark crossed the room in some embarrassment. "is this your first visit to the hotel marseillaise?" asked mrs. masters. mark hesitated; but bertram laughed and beamed down on her from his brown eyes. "only about my two hundred and first," he said. "mr. heath and i dine here every night we haven't the price to dine anywhere else." masters, with that ready tact which he needed in order to live with mrs. masters, rushed into the breach. "and i should call it about my four hundred and first," he said. "it's back to the old scenes for the night. i haven't tasted real cabbage soup since the last time--it has been a canned imitation. for goodness' sake join us and tell us the news!" "do!" said miss waddington with animation, and "please," said those two escorts who do not figure in this story. eleanor said nothing, but her expression was an invitation. "sure!" responded bertram. the hotel marseillaise had familiar customs of its own. for one thing, guests bothered the waiters as little as possible. masters smiled when the two unconscious youths went back to their table, picked up the big soup tureen, their knives and forks, their plates, and transported them to the larger table. they were dragging the lees of a rather squalid bohemia, these two boys; a bohemia the more real because they were unconscious in it. its components were a cheap furnished room, restaurants like this, adventurous companionship in the underworld which thrust itself to the surface here and there in that master-port of the saxon advance. not for months had either of them been in the society of such women as these--women who preferred cleanliness to display, women who were nice about their nails and hair. a kind of pleasant shyness crept over mark heath; the spirit came into the face of bertram chester. masters, tactician that he was, put the conversation into their hands. presently, they were telling freely about the fare at coffee john's, about their familiars and companions in the little eddy-street lodging house, about the drifters of the latin quarter. they quite eclipsed the pale youth who was playing escort to eleanor, and the substantial person in the insurance business who seemed to be responsible for kate waddington. heath, speaking with a little diffidence and lack of assurance, had twice the wit, twice the eye for things, twice the illumination of bertram chester; yet it was the latter who brought laughter and attention. his personality, which surrounded him like an aroma, his smile, his trick of the eyes--one listened to bertram chester. * * * * * when the son of louis brought in the little sweet oranges and arranged the goblets for black coffee, talk shifted from monologue to dialogue. eleanor found herself talking to bertram. a kind of pride had been rising in her all the evening; a pride born in recoil from her latest recollection of him. the episode of that night under the bay tree had gone with her clear across the atlantic. even the influence of the wholly new environment, in which she had grown from a girl recluse to a woman, had not served for a long time to erase that ugly stain on her memory. here and now was the man who served so to perturb her once--and she could look on him, with her more mature eyes, as an attractive, unlicked young cub. she surprised herself taking revenge upon the past by a hidden patronage. at once, then, she fell to talking of europe and the splendors she had lived there. "this reminds me of the places one slips into abroad," she said, "mr. and mrs. wark--lars wark you know--took me to just such an old ruin in paris. we dined for thirty centimes, i remember, but it was no better than this. i've had to go away to know my native city. that is the thing which strikes you when you come back--san francisco is so like the latin cities of europe, and yet so unlike!" kate leaned across her insurance man. "the society for the narration of european travel is in session, mr. chester," she said. "i know the joy that eleanor is having. it was the passion of my life after i first got back from abroad." "oh, i eat it alive," said bertram. "i'm strong for seeing paris." he turned back to eleanor; and her double embarrassment drove her on. "such a good time as i had with the warks--their studio in munich, where i met all the german long-haired artists--a run to paris in the season--the dearest little village on the coast of brittany last summer--and three weeks in incomparable london at the end. i haven't thought of the ranch for a year and a half--uncle edward pays me the compliment of saying that my profits fell off twenty per cent. under olsen's management--oh, isn't she a dear!" for madame loisel, wearing a beaming and affable manner, had come through the door and approached their table. madame made it a point of business honor to promote personal relations with her regular guests, asking jean how he liked the fish, assuring jacques that the soup would be better to-morrow. this visit of hers to the slumming party came after a storm in the kitchen, whose french thunders had reached the dining room now and then. louis, the conservative, hated slummers and dreaded being "discovered." he ran a restaurant as a social institution as well as a business venture. madame loisel, with her eye on the cash register, longed ardently for slummers who would give large tips to louis the younger, order expensive wines, and put the marseillaise on the way to a twenty-five cent table d'hote dinner. from that kitchen squabble, recurrent whenever slummers visited them, madame loisel swept in haughty determination, leaving louis to take it out on the pots. as she approached the table, all the charm of france illuminated her smile. she invariably paid slummers the compliment of addressing them in french. "_bonsoir--le souper, plait-il vous_?" she asked. eleanor took her up in fluent french, and the talk sparkled back and forth between them--reminiscences of this or that restaurant on the boulevards which madame loisel had known in her youth and which eleanor had visited. bertram, his mouth open, followed that talk as though summoning all his sophomore french to match a word here and there. kate waddington, leaning again across her insurance man, was the first to break in. "i myself used to be keen on french when i came back from europe, but i'm out of practice. please excuse me, madame, if i speak english. how can you do it at this price?" "it is kind of you to say so, mademoiselle--economy and honesty." masters patted mark heath on the knee. "we can't let you fellows go away from us now. one doesn't get guides to the latin quarter for nothing. take us somewhere, mr. heath--unless you're working to-night." "no, virtue has been rewarded," said mr. heath. "i'm off to-night as a testimonial of esteem from the city editor. what shall it be?" bertram chester, taking up the talk again, laid out kearney street like a bill of fare. mrs. masters, casting her vote as chaperone, chose the marionette theatre tucked away under the shadow of the broadway jail. as eleanor stepped out into california street, gathering her coat about her against a night which had come up windy and raw, bertram took her side with a proprietary air. she turned toward her appointed escort. it happened that he was walking ahead with heath just then, holding an argument about the drift of montgomery street when it was the water front. for several blocks, then, bertram had her alone. it seemed to her that he began just where he left off two years or more ago. "you're even prettier than you used to be," he said caressingly; "you've bully eyes. i think i told you that before." this time, she looked him full in the face and smiled easily. "have i? well i hope you don't mind my saying that they're resting on a bonny sight!" somewhat taken aback by the directness of this answer, so different from the artificial coyness of the girls he knew best in that period of his life, bertram turned in his course. "you're joshing me," he said. "truly i'm not. you are good to look at--eyes and all." although balked of his opening, bertram tried again. "well your mouth is just as good as your eyes." the same quick look into his face, and the same smile, as she answered: "yours is a little better if anything. it is not only well formed, but it becomes delicious when you smile, and it has most attractive shadows in the corners." "suppose we talk sense," grumbled bertram. "suppose we do; i know you can." they both laughed at this, and all the way up kearney street she continued her chatter of europe. lars wark, who had known her mother, had done everything for her. it had been very different from the regular tour; she came back ignorant of all the show places from cologne cathedral to the tower. but it had been her privilege to see and meet wonderful people. they would not do for regular companionship, such people. they struck one, in the end, as goblins and trolls; but it had been an experience of a lifetime--while it lasted. the warks had taken her to places which the tourist never sees--lost villages in the black forest, undiscovered corners of london, even. after a little of this, she drew him on to speak of himself. she had heard news of him, she said, from her uncle, who said that he was doing well and gave promise of a future in the law. how long had he remained on the ranch that summer? this reference put him back into his presumptive mood. "you went away without giving me a chance to say good-bye," he complained. "i never saw you again after the party on the lawn." her tongue ran away with her. "i saw you, though," she said. "where?" "oh, at a distance." he caught nothing from her tone, yet a slight change did come into her manner, as though something had been drawn between them. then her escort fell in on the other side of eleanor, appropriating her by right and by consent of her attitude. now they were in broadway, skirting the small bake-shops, the dark alleys, all the picture scenes of the latin quarter. at that very moment, miss waddington drew a little apart from the group clustering about masters and mark heath. an italian baby of three, too late out of bed, stood by a cellar rail surveying them with the liquid fire which was his eyes. kate waddington stooped to pat his head. as she raised herself, she was beside bertram. nothing more natural than that she should fall in, step by step, beside him. he caught step with her, but he still looked toward eleanor. "wonderful girl, isn't she?" asked kate. "she sure is." "her mother," said kate, "had more wit than any other woman in san francisco--and the men she had!" "i think eleanor has inherited _that_ at any rate," she added after a pause. they had reached the door of the marionette theatre now. afterward they drank beer at norman's; and when they broke up, bertram chester found himself with three invitations to call. * * * * * kate waddington spent that night with eleanor gray in the tiffany house on russian hill. while they sat before the fireplace, in the half-hour of loosened hair and confidences, eleanor broke a minute of silence with the inquiry: "what did you think of him?" an instant after she let slip this impersonal inquiry, she would have given gold to recall it. and if she had any hope that kate waddington had missed the point, it died in her when kate answered in an indifferent tone: "he? oh, he seems to me to be a little promiscuous." chapter vi the tiffany house--i spare you full description--rambled with many a balcony and addition over that hill which rose like a citadel above san francisco. from its southern windows, one looked clean over the city, lying outspread below. even the call building, highest eminence piled up by man in that vista, presented its roof to the eye. i can picture that site no better than by this; over judge tiffany's front wall hung an apple tree, gnarled, convoluted, by the buffets of the sea wind. in autumn, when the fruit was ripe, stray apples from this tree had been seen to tumble from the wall and roll four blocks down into the latin quarter. from the rear, the house looked out on a hedged and sloping garden, quite old, as gardens go in that land, for a pioneer planted it; and from the rear gate of that garden it was only a step to the hill mount. thence one came out suddenly to the panorama of the bay, stretching on three sides; a panorama divided, as by the false panels of a mural landscape, into three equal marvels. to left, the narrow gate, a surge like the rush of a river always in its teeth and the bright ocean, colored like smelt-scales, beyond. in front the roads, where all strange crafts from the mysterious pacific anchored while they waited their turns at the docks. both in foreground and background, this panel changed day by day. it might be whalers from the arctic which lay there in the morning, their oils making noisome the breeze; it might be a fleet of beaten, battered tramp wind-jammers, panting after their fight about the horn; it might be brigs from the south seas; it might be pacific steamers, benicia scow-schooners, italian fishing smacks, chinese junks--it might be any and all of these together. as for the background, that changed not every day but every hour what with the shifts of wind, tide and mists. now its tinge was a green-gold betraying pollution of those mountain placers which fed the san joaquin and the mighty sacramento. now it was blue and ruffled, now black and calm, now slate-gray,--a mysterious shade this last, so that when the fog began to shoot lances across the waters, these fleets at anchor by quarantine wharf seemed argosies of fairy adventure. even tamalpais, the gentle mountain which rose beyond everything, changed ever with the change in her veil of mist or fog or rain-rift. the third panel, lying far to the right, showed first dim mountain ranges and the mouths of mighty rivers, and then, nearer by, masts, stacks and shipping, fringing the city roofs. north into this garden ran a small wing of the tiffany house. upon the death of alice gray, mattie tiffany had set it apart for eleanor the baby. when, after her years with billy gray, eleanor came back, mattie had refurnished it for the grown baby. the upper story held her bedroom and her closets. below was her own particular living-room. this opened by a vine-bordered door into the garden, into that path which led up to the bay view. * * * * * judge tiffany, sitting within the front window to watch the shimmer of a pleasant sunday afternoon on the city roofs below, perceived that his wife had walked three times to that garden wall which looked down along the drop of broadway to the spanish church. the second time that he perceived this phenomenon, his eyes showed interest; the third he smiled with inner satisfaction and rose to meet her return as though by accident. he was leaning upon a cane, getting ease of the sciatica which plagued him. the judge had aged during the two years since he opened these events. he had settled now into the worldly state of a man who rests content with the warming sun and the bright air which feed life. but the inner soul, whose depth was his philosophy, whose surface his whimsical humor--that still burned in his dark blue eyes. those eyes glistened a little as he went on to this, his daily sport. he met her on the piazza. she had raked the rise of broadway, which one mounted by two blocks of hen-coop sidewalks; and now she was inspecting the cross street. "all the sherlock holmes in me," said judge tiffany, "tells me that miss eleanor gray is going to have a caller, and that mrs. edward c. tiffany is in a state of vicarious perturbation. "further," continued judge tiffany, dropping his hand upon her arm with that affectionate gesture which drew all sting his words might have carried, "this is no common caller. for that young civil engineer and mr. perham the painter and ned greene, mrs. tiffany never blushes; but these new attentions to her niece--well, i hope my approach drew as much blood from her heart to her countenance twenty-five years ago!" "i--i _am_ perturbed," said mattie tiffany. running rose-bushes, just leafing out into their fall greenery, overgrew the pillars beside her. these she fell to pruning with her hands, so that she turned away her face. "i see that discipline is relaxing in this family," said judge tiffany. "dear, dear, after managing a wife bravely and well for a quarter century, to fail in one's age! mattie, he works in my office, this blush-compelling caller; and i told you when i gave him the position not to take him up socially for the present!" "but what was i to do when he telephoned to eleanor and asked her?" mrs. tiffany turned her head with a turn of her thought. "did you hear him telephone--was that how you knew?" "i'd lose all hold on discipline if i revealed my methods." judge tiffany settled himself in an armchair as one prepared to make it a long session. "let's begin at the start. how came he to renew his acquaintance with eleanor, and when, and where--and how much had mattie tiffany to do with bringing them together again?" "not a thing--truly edward! some of eleanor's slumming with kate waddington and the masters--they met by accident at a restaurant--eleanor asked him. you remember he was taken with her that afternoon just before she went to europe--the time he mortified me so dreadfully." "and the time he attracted my attention," said judge tiffany. "and now behold that youth, who will always get what he wants by frontal attack, reading my california cases and wearing out my desk with his feet." "do you think he will make a good lawyer?" asked mattie tiffany. she turned full around at this, and the glance she threw into her husband's face showed more than a casual matchmaker's interest. "he'll make a good something," said the judge. "so far as anyone can judge the race from the start. but that isn't why i have him in the office. you know how little i care in these days for such practice as i have left. i tell myself, of course, that it is my lingering interest in life as a general proposition which made me do it--i am curious to see before i die how this find of yours is coming out. that is what i tell myself. probably in my very inside heart i know that it's something else." "what else?" asked mattie. "this is one of the hidden things which this experiment is to discover," said judge tiffany. "what made me notice him in the first place? what made you invite him to tea on the lawn? what has made you and me and eleanor remember this chance meeting so long--let me see--how long was it?" "a year ago last june," said mattie. one of her functions in their partnership was to hold small details always ready to the hand of the wide-thinking judge. "will he go back on me--that's the question," pursued the judge. "success is probably at the end for him, but he has two ways of success open. he may go slowly and well, or fast and ill. road number one: he stays with my moth-eaten old practice, he refurbishes it, he earns a partnership; and so to conservative clients and, probably, to genuine success." he hesitated. "and the other road?" asked mrs. tiffany. "oh, that has many by-paths. he is trying one of them already. the stealthy, invaluable attwood has told me about it. this mr. chester has made an investment in richmond lots on information which he had no right to use. never mind the details. if he follows that general direction, it will be a flashy success, a pretty worm-eaten crown of laurels." "like northrup's," broke in mrs. tiffany. that name always jarred on their ears. northrup, ex-congressman, flowery western orator, all christian love on the surface, all guile beneath--he had taken to himself that success which judge tiffany might have had but for his hesitations of conscience. theirs was a secret resentment. judge tiffany's pride would never have let him show the world one glimmer of what he felt. "suppose he should follow that path--and take up with northrup," went on judge tiffany. "mine honorable opponent has use for such young men as our mr. chester will prove himself if he follows that path--magnetic young men to coax the rabble, young men not too nice on moral questions. well, a boy isn't born with honor, any more than he's born with courage; he grows to it. and god only knows just when the boy strikes the divide which will turn his course one way or the other." "but edward, you ought to warn him!" "in the first place, it would do no good to warn one of his age and temperament. in the second place, it would spoil the experiment--but i had commanded you to talk, and here i am doing it all. how looked she; what said he?" "to-day--just before church--i was hooking up kate and eleanor, and he telephoned." "instinct, of course, informing you that it was none other than he at the other end of the wire?" on another tongue and in another fashion of speech, this sentence might have been offensive; between them, it was a part of his perpetual game with her amiable weaknesses. "if i did listen, it was no more than right. it was what a mother would have done by eleanor. i heard her say, 'good morning mr. chester,' not at all as though she were surprised to have him call up; and i was really quite disturbed. you had told me not to invite him here for the present; and i hadn't the slightest reason for knowing that eleanor had seen him since she came back from abroad. her speaking so familiarly--well, i wondered. but kate--" "oh, she was listening too?" "well, i know that she hadn't the excuse for listening that i had; but i had stopped hooking her up, and it was only natural that she should listen too. eleanor said, 'certainly i shall be in,' and kate said, 'that's the old friend we met with mr. masters last night in the hotel marseillaise. he is prompt!' rather sharp in kate, considering what eleanor has been doing for her! "you'd have thought eleanor had eaten the canary bird when she came back. of course, she knew we had been listening. i wish she hadn't. i'd have liked to see whether she'd have told us then, or waited for him to surprise us. kate was sharp again. i wonder if she isn't envious at bottom? after all eleanor is so much more a lady! kate said again, 'the young man is prompt!'" judge tiffany laughed. "oh, that women could dwell together in peace and harmony! can't you grant my playmate miss waddington a feminine jab or two?" "well, she _is_ nice to you!" "did it never occur to you as a virtue in her that she puts herself out to entertain--even, madame, i flatter myself to fancy--a withered old codger like me!" mrs. tiffany's first expression flooded her eyes and said, "is there anything strange in liking you?" her second expression set her mouth hard and said, "what is her object?" her voice said nothing. "and behold him now," said judge tiffany. there, indeed, came bertram chester, visible over their garden wall as he toiled up the hen-coop sidewalk. the judge returned to the house; mattie tiffany settled herself on the piazza with the preen and flutter of a female thing about to be wooed. the tiffany drawing-room, panelled simply in woods, furnished with the old sturtevant mahogany, came upon bertram chester like a stage setting as he entered with mrs. tiffany. upstage, burned a driftwood fire in a low hearth of rough bricks; judge tiffany sat there, in a spindle-backed chair, reading. across a space broken only by a painting, a japanese print or so, and more spindle-backed chairs, eleanor and kate had grouped themselves by the piano. eleanor, turning the leaves on the music-rack, looked over her shoulder at him. she was in pink that day; the tint of her gown, blending into the tint of her fresh skin, contrasted magically with the subdued background. kate, all in white, sat on a hassock pulling a volume from the low book shelf. all this came upon bertram with a soothing sense which he did not understand in that stage of his development, did not even formulate. kate, tripping across the rugs with a lightness which perfectly balanced her weight, greeted him first; eleanor and judge tiffany shook hands with more reserve. and as bertram settled himself in an arm-chair before the fire, it was the ready kate who put him at his ease by opening fire of conversation. "did i tell you, mrs. tiffany, about the restaurant which mr. chester found for us last night? such an evening he gave us! mr. chester, who is madame loisel--you should have seen her, judge tiffany--you'd never dine at home again. when these young charms fade, i'm going to marry a french restaurant-keeper and play hostess to the multitude and be just plump and precious like her. how can you ever get past the counter with her behind it, mr. chester?" "i'm generally hungry--that's how!" said bertram chester. "that's man for you!" responded kate. "judge beloved, if you were a young man and eleanor--i'm too modest to mention myself, you see--were what she'll be at forty, and she were behind a counter, and you before it, would hunger tear you away? oh dear, it's such a bore to keep one's grammar straight!" "i ask my wife's permission before giving the answer which is in my heart," said judge tiffany. eleanor broke into the laugh which followed. "but i would like to know about madame loisel." "well, she's certainly a ripe pippin; you've seen that," answered bertram, his smile on eleanor. "and i'd like to know what she's saying when she parleys french to the garçons. she's all right if she's feeling right, but i've seen her tear the place up when the service went bad. i guess she's a square and a pretty good fellow!" "tell us more about her--" this from eleanor. "about her squareness? well, there was the time gentle willie purdy got drunk. we call him gentle willie because he isn't, you know. about three o'clock in the morning, he took the notion it was dinner time and climbed the side gate to the hotel marseillaise and pounded at the door. he faded out about then, he says. when he woke up, he was laid out on a couch, with a towel on his head, and madame was bringing him black coffee. he tried to thank her after he felt better; and what do you think she said? 'meester purdy, nevaire, nevaire come to eat in thees place again.' she stayed with it too!" "good for her!" said mrs. tiffany, reaching for her crewel work. "oh, yes," responded mr. chester in the uncertain tone of one who gives assent for politeness without knowing exactly why. "if i ever depart from the straight and narrow paths and get drunk, may i have madame loisel to hold my head," cried kate. the talk ran, then, into conventional channels--the news, the latest novel, and the season's picking at the ranch. judge tiffany dropped out gradually, and resumed his book; and more and more did bertram direct his talk, salted and seasoned with his magnetism, toward eleanor. kate waddington, left out of the conversation through three or four exchanges, crossed the room and draped herself on a hassock at the feet of judge tiffany. "judge darling," she said in an aside which penetrated to the furthest corner of the room, "i'm going back to my unsympathetic home before tea. don't you think we're well enough chaperoned to go on with our flirtation just where we left off?" "where was i when we were interrupted?" asked judge tiffany, leaning forward. "twenty-fourth page, fifth chapter," said kate. "i was just getting you jealous and you were trying not to show it. mr. chester--oh excuse me--well, i've broken in now, so i might as well get the reward of my impoliteness--may i use you to make judge tiffany jealous?" "sure you can!" answered bertram. "oh, he won't do at all!" kate was addressing judge tiffany again. "he's entirely too eager. who would be a good rival anyway, judge adored? let's create one, like the picture of your future husband in a nickel vaudeville!" "eleanor," spoke mrs. tiffany, "suppose you show mr. chester your end of the house and our garden--or would you like it, mr. chester? we're rather proud of the garden." "i'd like it," answered bertram; and he rose instantly. mrs. tiffany made no move to accompany them; she sat bent over her yarns, her ears open. and she noticed, at the moment when bertram made that abrupt movement from his chair, how kate hesitated in the middle of a sentence, as though confused. the rehearsed flirtation between kate and judge tiffany faded into a game of jackstones on the floor. mrs. tiffany heard the double footsteps fade down the hall, heard the garden door open and close. after a short interval, she heard the door again, and the dim footsteps sounded for but a moment. they had turned, evidently, into eleanor's own living room. would they stop there, these two, for a talk--yes, her gentle treble, his booming bass, drifted down the hall. presently mrs. tiffany heard eleanor's laugh, followed by his. in that instant, she looked at the jackstone players by the hearth. kate, on the crackle of that laugh, had arrested all motion. a jack which she had tossed in the air, descended with no hand to stop it. for a moment, kate held that intent pose; then, "judge wonderful, i'm a paralytic at times. you for twosies." she swept the jacks towards him with one of her characteristic gestures, free and yet deft. a bell rang in the outer hall, and the maid entered. "miss waddington is wanted at the telephone," she announced. eleanor, when she saw that her visitor had no intention of rejoining the party, commanded him to smoke. he rolled a cigarette, western fashion, from powdered tobacco and brown paper, and disposed himself in the window-seat, one leg drawn up under him, his big shoulders settled comfortably against the wall. eleanor began to talk fluently, superficially, with animation. she felt from the first that he was throwing himself against her barriers, trying to reach at once the deeper stages of acquaintance. his direct look seemed both to plead and to command. she outwitted two or three flanking movements before he took advantage of a pause and charged her entrenchments direct. "i've said it before, but i'm going to keep on. you are pretty." "thank you," she replied; and smiled--mainly at the ingenuousness of this, although partly at the contrast between her present view of him and that old memory. "oh, it never seems to bother you when i say that," went on bert chester, bending his rather large and compelling black-brown eyes upon her. "some girls would get sore, and some would like it; you never pay any attention. that's one of the ways you're different." ("heavens--is he making love already--he is sudden!" thought eleanor with amusement.) "you are, you know. i picked you for different the first time i saw you. i wondered then if you were beautiful--i always knew you had nice eyes--and it isn't so much that you've changed, as that the longer a man looks at you the prettier you are." "shall we discuss other things than me?" asked eleanor. "why shouldn't we talk about you? i've never had a chance before--just think, it's the first time ever i saw you alone--even that time on the ranch a bull chaperoned us!" this minor joke, like every play of his spirit, gained a hundred times its own inherent effect by sifting through his personality. she smiled back to his smile at the boyish ripples about his mouth and eyes. "you see, it means a lot when a girl sticks in a man's mind that way," he continued. "why, i've carried you around right through my senior year at college and my first year out. so of course, it must mean something." the open windows of eleanor's bower looked out upon a bay tree, a little thing awaiting its slaughter--for shade trees might not grow too near the windows in san francisco. it was flopping its lance-leaves against the panes; puffs of the breeze brought in a suggestion of its pungency. that magic sense, so closely united with memory--it brought back a faint impression upon her. her very panic at this ghost of old imaginations inspired the inquiry, barbed and shafted with secret malice: "how many really nice girls have you known in that time?" bertram, sitting in considerable comfort on the window seat, flashed his eyes across his shoulder to her. "oh, a few in my senior year, not many this year. what's a man going to do on twelve a week?" she noticed the indelicacy of this, since he spoke in the house of his employer. but the next sentence from him was even more startling: "the last time i was in love was down in high school at tulare. she's married a fellow in the salt business now. i guess she was pretty: anyway, her hair was the color of molasses candy. i wrote a poem to her the first day i saw her." "a poem?" asked eleanor. "you do well to ask that," said bertram, throwing on one of those literary phrases by which, in the midst of his plain, anglo-saxon speech, he was recalling that he was a university man. "it rhymed, after a fashion." "you don't know how to be in love until you're older," he went on. ("even that bay scent brings up only wonder, not emotion; and i can laugh at him all the way," she thought. yet in this tiny triumph eleanor was not entirely happy. the vision, a little disturbing, a little shameful, but yet sweet, was quite gone.) "tell me about this girl with the molasses hair. she interests me. and a lot about yourself." "oh, i've forgotten most about her long ago. and i've something else to remember now, i hope. i'd like to talk about myself, though. i'd like some girl to hear about my ambitions. i really think it would do me good." he stopped, as though expecting an answer. none came. he bent his eyes closer on her and repeated: "it would!" and at that moment, a pair of high heels tapped in the doorway, a cheerful voice called for admission through the portières, and enter kate waddington. mr. chester, eleanor saw, rose to her entrance as one who has not always risen for women; there was something premeditated about the movement. "mrs. tiffany said you two were in here," she began in her full, rich contralto, "and i made so bold, nell--mrs. masters is taking a party over to their ranch next sunday. one of her men has disappointed her and she's just telephoned to give me the commission to fill his place. mr. chester, you are an inspiration sent straight from heaven. any other man, positively any other, would be a second choice--but she didn't know you when she made up the party, so how could she have invited you?" she paused and threw an arch look past eleanor. "sure i'll come!" said bertram, jarred into the vernacular by his internal emotion of pleasant surprise. "sure--i'd be delighted." "i told mrs. masters you'd be the ready accepter," said kate. "you're going too, aren't you?" asked bertram of eleanor. "no; i had to decline, i'm sorry to say." "and i'm sorry; blame sorry." he turned back toward kate waddington, and she, the lightning-minded, read his expression. he had made a great _faux pas_; he had seemed more eager toward eleanor, to whom he owed no gratitude for the invitation, than toward her. "would you care to drop in on mrs. masters as you go down town to let her know that you are coming? or if you wish i'll tell them--i'm going now--that way." her tone gave the very slightest hint of pique; her attitude put a suggestion. the game, plain as day to eleanor, raised up in her only a film of resentment. mainly, she was enjoying the humor of it. bertram rose promptly. "it is time i was going," he said. "i've enjoyed myself very much, miss gray. if you don't mind, i'd like to come to see you again." "and i'll get into my things," said kate. they all moved toward the door. kate passed first; then eleanor. there hung beside the door-casing a hook, designed to hold the portière cord. eleanor brushed too close; it caught in the lace at her throat. she pulled up with a jerk, gave a little cry; the lace held fast. she turned--in the wrong direction. bertram saw this tiny accident; he sprang forward, caught the lace, disentangled her. and to do so, he must reach about her so that his arms, never quite touching her, yet surrounded her as a circle surrounds its centre. she turned and looked up to thank him, surprised him, surprised herself, in that position. and a wave which was fear and loathing and longing and agitation ran over her with the speed of an electric current, and left her weak. her face, with its own sweet inscrutability, showed little change of expression; but he caught a dullness and then a glitter of her eye, a heave of her bosom, a catch of her breath. as he stood there, his great frame towering above her, something which she feared might be comprehension came into his eyes. and-- "you make a picture--you two there!" called kate waddington from without. the transitory expression in his eyes--eleanor saw it now with triumph--was that of one who has thrown a pearl away. but he followed. * * * * * dining with mark heath in the hotel marseillaise that night, bertram fell into a spell of musing, a visible melancholy uncommon in him; for his ill-humors, like his laughters, burned short and violent. mark heath--by this time he was growing into a point of view on his chum and room mate--remarked it with some amusement and more curiosity. mark was casting about for an opening, when bertram anticipated him. staring into the dingy wall of the hotel marseillaise, past the laborers, the outcasts, the french cabmen purring over their cabbage soup, he said in a tone of musings: "when bert chester grows up and gets rich, he'll take unto himself a wife. we'll live in a big house in the western addition with a bay frontage. it will be furnished with dinky old dull stuff, and those swell japanese prints and paintings. and i'll have two autos and a toy ranch in the country to play with. we'll give little dances in the big hall downstairs. i'll lead the opening dance with the missus, and then i'll just take a dance or so with the best looking girls--the ones i take a special cotton to. i'll have my home sweet home dance with the missus--" he fell again to musing. "a man up a tree," said mark heath, "would say you were in love." "i'll be damned--i wonder if that ain't the matter?" said bertram chester. chapter vii the ferry, doorway to san francisco, wore its holiday sunday aspect as bertram chester approached it. a schuetzen park picnic was gathering itself under the arches, to the syncopated tune of a brass band. the crowd blazed with bright color. the young men, in white caps, yellow sashes of their mysterious fraternity, and tinted neckties like the flowers of spring, lolled and larked and smoked about the pillars. fat mothers and stodgy fathers fussed over baskets and progeny. young girls, in white dresses and much trimming of ribbons, coquetted in groups as yet unbroken by the larking young men. over these ceremonial white dresses of the sunday picnic, they wore coats and even furs against the damp, penetrating morning--rather late in the season it was for picnics. in the rests of the ragtime, rose the aggressive crackle of that flat, hard accent, with its curious stress on the "r," which would denote to a californian in tibet the native of south of market, san francisco. bertram chester, had he been accustomed to spare any of his powers for introspective imagination, might have beheld his crossroads, his turning point, in this passage through the south of market picnic to the little group waiting, by the sausalito ferry, to take him to the masters ranch. but a month ago, he himself had whistled up that infatuated little milliner's apprentice who was his temporary light of love, and had taken her over to schuetzen park of a sunday. he had drunk his beer and shaken for his round of drinks with the boys, had taken the girl away from a young butcher, had fought and conquered the bookmaker's clerk who tried to take away the milliner's apprentice from him, and had gone home, when the day was done, with his head buried on that soft curve of the feminine shoulder which was made to receive tired male heads. now, without a backward look, he was walking toward sydney masters, mrs. masters, the sprightly and dainty kate waddington, and those others, grouped about them, who might be guides and companions on his new way. kate waddington had acquainted him in advance with the party, so that the introductions brought no surprises. that young-old man with the sharp little face was harry banks, mine owner, millionaire, and figure about town--every one in san francisco knew him or knew about him. that tall, swaying girl with the repressed mouth, the abundant hair coiled about her head, the rather dull expression, was marion slater--"she paints miniatures and hammers brass and does all kinds of art stunts," kate had said. that tall young man, who radiated good manners, was dr. norman french; that little woman, all girl, was alice needham, his fiancée. "they play juvenile lead in this crowd," had been kate's phrase for them. kate, taking possession of bertram at once, gave him her bag to carry, and, as the gates opened and the whistle blew, she walked beside him. from the upper deck, this masters party watched that city panorama, spread on the hills for all to see, roll away from them, the wheeling flocks of gulls trailing the craft in the roads, the surge of golden waters rolling in from the gate. a morning mood blew in upon the winds; the party became gay. bertram, in the rise of his morning spirits, performed certain cub-like gambols for the benefit of kate waddington. the company failed not to notice that he had assisted her up the gangway by slipping his hand under her elbow. on the deck, he cut her out immediately from the rest, insisted on tucking her veil into his pocket, made a pretence of trying to take her hand. even kate found it hard to parry these advances. banks, slouching back on a bench in his easy, indolent attitude, looked over toward them, and his mouth tightened and set. so much had he been courted for his wealth and personality, this harry banks, that among his familiars he assumed the privilege of falling into moods without reason or preliminary notice. his present mood was a perverse one; and he took it out on its reason for being--this presumptuous outsider. "me gawd, jimmie, but me belt hurts!" he called out suddenly in his richest imitation of the south of market dialect. with his light step of a dancer, he skipped over to kate waddington, whirled her to her feet, and began to waltz about the forward deck, imitating the awkward, contorted, cheek-to-cheek style of the schuetzen park picnic. kate, who fell in at once with every invitation, had laughed as he began to whirl her, but she flushed too. the whole upper deck was craning necks to stare. mrs. masters caught her breath and whispered, "oh, don't!" dr. french and alice needham fell to talking apart, as though repudiating, in their embarrassment, such company. marion slater, sitting at ease on her bench, cast one glance at harry banks as he whirled to face her. his eyes fell; on the next turn, he waltzed kate back to her seat. the relationship between these two was a puzzle to their familiars. he, the uncaught bachelor, the flaneur, the epicurean, he who lived for his pleasures, taking them with a calculated moderation that he might preserve the power to enjoy; she, the etiolated, the subtle, the earnest follower of art, she who seemed always a little too earnest and conventional for that group of the frivolous and unconventional rich--people had wondered for years how there could be anything between them. these two alone understood that the bond was of the mind, not of the flesh or the spirit. she but thought, and he thought with her; she but lifted her eyebrow or moved her hand, and the motion translated itself to speech in his mind. that glance of her had made his mind say, "i am making them all ridiculous." and, like the spoiled child that he was, he ceased from one naughtiness only to plunge into another and worse one. as kate dropped to the bench, he looked at bertram and said: "you try it; i am a little rusty." one of his rare embarrassments flamed into the face of bertram chester. the shot had gone more truly than harry banks could have known. "no, thank you," bertram said simply, and flushed again. masters spoke up from his corner: "well, chester, you ought to be a good dancer if build counts--though i shouldn't like to have you showing off your accomplishment right here--you might lack the public finish of the banks style. you big football fellows always have the call on the little men in dancing. it is a matter of bulk and base, i think." the ferry boat was passing alcatraz now, and the populace had turned its attention away from harry banks and his party. the spoiled child kept straight ahead. "they make real, ball-room gents," he said. he turned toward marion on this; turned as though he could not keep his look away. she lifted her eyebrow again, and he fell into a sulky silence. the others rushed to the first refuge of tact--personalities. after a moment, banks joined the talk; and then appeared another aspect of his perverse mood. he took the conversation into his own hands, and he talked of nothing which could by any chance include bertram chester, the callow newcomer, the outsider. it was all designed to show, it did show, how intimate they were, how many old things they had in common--never a passage in which bertram could join by any excuse. even so did banks direct it as to draw kate waddington into the talk. bertram sat apart, then, his face showing all his displeasure. his straight brows set themselves in a frown, which he bent sometimes at the group volleying personalities at harry banks, and sometimes on the terraced hills of sausalito. when they trooped off with the crowd, kate fell in beside bertram again. lagging deliberately, she let a group of picnickers come in between them and the rest of their party. he was still frowning. "i'd like to soak that man," he said. "maybe i will." "no you won't!" said she. "won't i?" he replied. "oh, don't think i haven't seen it all. he was horrid. you see, we've got used to him. you're meeting him new, and you don't quite understand him yet." "well, i'm going to spend no sleepless nights trying!" "he's really very clever and kind, at bottom. you'll come to like him as we all do. and he's a man that it's good for you to know." bertram seemed to be considering this. "well, what did he mean, anyway?" he snapped. "nothing. it's just his foolery. we all had to take it from him at first--and then we came to appreciate him." bertram answered with an impatient gesture. kate caught his arm, held it for just a second. "now, you wouldn't spoil my day, would you?" she asked softly. "you know i'm responsible for you--" his frown melted into his smile. "sure, if you put it like that!" "now, you're a sensible, accommodating, self-restrained lad, and every other adjective in samuel smiles. you could charm the buttons off a policeman--and you'll see how really nice he can be." "you'll take out time until i get over my grouch?" "of course." they were approaching masters and dr. french, who stood waiting by the train platform. "late and happy!" she called. harry banks, walking ahead beside marion slater, had taken his own wordless rebuke from her. during the train passage, he made the concession of keeping away from bertram, and grouped himself off in the other double seat. bertram, sitting with kate and the engaged couple, spoke but seldom and then languidly. he did not come face to face with harry banks again until the buckboards had delivered them at the masters ranch. this estate bore the title of "ranch" only by courtesy. masters himself said that he raised nothing but mild hell on his forty acres. he did have an olive orchard, a small orange grove flourishing by luck of a warm gorge in the hills, and a little fancy stock. kate and masters took possession of the new guest at the gate, and carried him over the estate for inspection. mainly, bertram took this entertainment sullenly. he warmed a little at the sight of the cattle. the house, built by masters's own design, drew only the comment, "pretty nice." after that, bertram was free to go to his room and dispose his belongings. returning in a marvelously short time, he came out upon the house-party, grouped all in the big, redwood ceiled living-room. a fire of driftwood snapped with metallic crackling on the hearth. alice needham sat with dr. french beside it; mrs. masters, pausing in a flight of supervision, had stopped to speak with them; alice was looking up at her, presenting her fresh, full-faced view to the gaze of the man on the staircase. marion slater stood with masters by one of the dutch windows, criticizing the design with a painter's half-arm gestures. banks, by another window, sat dividing his time between a book and the valley below. it happened then, as bertram stood there, that alice needham looked in his direction. it happened, also, that she was smiling. he caught her smile and smiled back. that smile was half the secret of his physical charm. in the first place, it broke with wholly unexpected force. his face, what with its heaviness of feature, was a little forbidding and severe. as he bent his unillumined gaze, he appeared stern--even angry. then, with the sudden preliminary vibration of an earthquake, that smile would begin to quiver about his mouth, to start wrinkles about his eyes. next, as he bent his head forward toward the target of his charms, it drew back the corners of his mouth to show his white teeth, it pulled eyelids and eyebrows into a tiny slit, through which his pupils twinkled like electric sparks. these movements--wholly muscular at that--spiritualized and transformed his face. mrs. masters, looking up at the interruption, was caught in this flood of charm and good will. harry banks, feeling a psychic current running about the room, looked up also; and that smile caught him. it carried away the last trace of his perverse mood. and bertram heaved himself down the stairs and crossed at once to seat himself beside alice needham. "i see at a glance i'm going to like this party," he said. on other lips there would have been nothing to laugh at in this; but they all did laugh. in a minute more, harry banks had dropped his book and crossed over to the fireplace. bertram, leading the talk now, took him in without a trace of apparent resentment. kate, emerging from the room, dropped down beside harry banks on the floor and joined her cheerful pipe to the symphony of good fellowship. before luncheon, this find of hers was the centre of the party; events were revolving about him. in the lazy hour after meat, the engaged couple found chance to slip out into the orange grove. masters, summoned by his foreman, went to look after a sick cow, harry banks went back to his reading, and alice needham to a design for a window seat which she was building for the masters dining-room. these pairings left bertram and kate to each other; and presently they were out-of-doors, drawing on into the woods. masters, from the barn, watched them and noted what a goodly couple, what a faun and dryad in clothes, they were. kate waddington was turning over her shoulder her slow and rather lazy smile, which began at her lips and lit her green-grey eyes last of all. that was her best attitude of head. bertram swung up the trail, making progress by main force--not walking so much as lifting himself on those sturdy, saddle-sprung legs of his. he was making wide, sweeping gestures; and kate, as he talked, leaned a little toward him now and then, like a woman absorbed. momentarily, she had him on the subject of football. he was touching upon the subject of one bill graham, stanford tackle and opponent in two varsity games, whom she knew and whom he was teaching her to know better. bertram stooped and gathered a handful of pebbles from the trail to show how bill graham used to throw sand in his eyes; he thrust his open hand against an alder, bordering the trail, to show how he contravened these tactics by slamming bill graham in the face. even so far did loosen his tongue and spirit that he boasted of his victories and excused his defeats. he went further; he touched upon the most frightful disappointment of his career. "it was in the ten to nothing game," said he. "you remember, don't you, how they had us down on our ten yard line early in the second half? we got the ball away. nobody had scored yet. well, stuffy halpin he gave the signal for a delayed pass on end. that was a freak play we were trying out that year--delayed pass first and then the back passed to me. i jogged bill graham and he stumbled down the field just bull-headed--he never did have much football sense. i looked down toward the goal"--(bertram had been gesticulating wildly; now he gave the outstretched fingers of his right hand a sudden fillip to show the changed direction of his glance) "and i saw a clear field right straight to the fullback or glory--" "gracious! what happened?" asked kate. she was capable, wit and social strategist that she was, of assuming all this interest by way of leading an inept youth to make a fool and a braggart of himself for her amusement. but she showed not a glimmer of irony, neither in her mouth nor in her green-grey eyes. she spoke with the straight, sincere interest of a dairymaid listening to the self-told heroisms of a stable boy. "stuffy tumbled all over himself and dropped the ball!" bertram's answer conveyed all the tragedy in the world. they were come now to a place where the trail ran steep and the redwoods thickened to make a californian hillside. it was november, but the season was late. the earth was washed bright by the early rains and not yet sodden with the later ones. the black, shaded loam, bare of grass, oozed the moisture it was saving for its evergreen redwoods against a rainless summer. in the dark clefts grew scentless things of a delicate, gnome aspect--gold-back fern, maiden-hair overlying dank, cold pools, sorrel, six-foot brake. no blossoms blew among all this greenery; only by that sign and by the wet, perspiring earth might one know that it was autumn on those hills. the clean ooze and dew started a little stream which ran, choked with maiden-hair, to the trail, and formed a pool. some philanthropic camper had driven a nail into the rock and hung there a tin cup. kate (bertram still talking and gesticulating at her left) threw a perceptive glance. "how good the water looks!" she said. "i believe i am thirsty!" while he filled the cup, she seated herself on the rock, disposed herself into a composition; and after they had both drunk, she showed no disposition to move from her perch. in fact, she loosened her brown student beri, shook her hair free, and sat there, a wood-nymph framed by the ruddy brown and dark green of redwood and laurel. he crouched his big frame down beside her, so that she leaned back against the rock. a long silence, and: "nature is mighty nice!" he said. then, perceiving her as a part of the picture, he added: "and you're the nicest thing about it." at this frontal attack, kate waited to see whether it meant further attack, skirmish, or retreat. his general softness of expression, showed that it meant attack. bertram, in fact, was in the mood for attack on rose citadels. a year of life on twelve dollars a week--cheap, crowded lodgings, meals at the hotel marseillaise, the landlady's daughter and those of her kind for companionship--and now, in a week, the refinements of the tiffany house, the refinement plus entertainment of the masters villa, and these two lovely, fragrant women. it seemed all to roll up in him as he sat there, the woods about him and this golden creature at his side; and it found half-unconscious expression on his lips. "i'm going to be rich some day," he said. "i hope so." "i am, sure. when i get rich i'm going to have a place like this--i'll have a long pull by that time and be able to invite anybody i want--this is the only way to live." his voice fell away. then he looked up and bent upon her that smile. "it's great to have a girl like you to confide in," he said. "thank you; but you haven't confided much as yet," responded kate. "i don't suppose there is a whole lot to confide. at least, things you'd want to tell a girl like you. only one thing. i'm in love!" the arrest of all motion in kate which followed this declaration was like one of those sudden calms which fall over a field at the approach of evening. it descended upon her in the mid-course of a gesture; it wrapped her about in such a stillness that neither breath nor blood stirred. then, though only her lips moved, her vocal cords responded to her will. "and she is to be mistress of the villa when you get rich?" "if she'll take me," said bertram. "you see, it is a brand new case. i've just got it--just realized it. she's up and i'm still down, so it wouldn't be square to say anything about it, now would it?" "no," answered kate softly, "though we women like bold lovers too." "yes, that's so. and i suppose if i keep too still about it, somebody else will come riding onto the ranch and carry her off. it's my game, i guess, to stay around and watch. and if i find any gazebo getting too thick with her, then up speaks little bertie for the word that makes her his. "if she'll have me," he added. "but she's a good many pegs above me just now and i've got more than a living to make. of course, that'll come all right if i have fair luck. if it was easy money plugging my way through college, it will be easy plugging it through the world. don't you size it up about that way?" kate clasped her hands and leaned forward. "if you're playing the long game, i suppose so. but wouldn't you do better at least to hint to the girl?" "i guess you can advise me about that," said he. "better than anybody i know. suppose i tell you all about it?" a little panic ran through the nerves of kate. "now?" she said, "are--are you ready?" "now-time is good-time," he said. "well, i guess you've savveyed just who it is and what's the matter. it's--it's miss gray--eleanor gray." to the end of her days, kate waddington remembered to be thankful for a certain cotton-tail rabbit. at that moment precisely, this fearling of the woods streaked down the trail, pursued by a dog whose heavy crashing sounded in the distance; came out upon them, whirled with a loud roaring of fern and leaves, screamed the heart-rending scream of a frightened rabbit, and dashed off into the wood. the sound, coming in this tender moment, betrayed bert chester into a guilty start. so, when he looked back, her face was as smoothly beautiful as ever and she was even smiling. "you lucky boy!" she said. and then, "i don't blame you. i wouldn't blame any man." bertram fairly glowed. "i knew you'd agree with me," he said. "say, what chance do i stand--honest, what do you believe she thinks of me?" "honest, i never heard her say. it is likely she hasn't begun to think of it at all. women are slower than men about such things. how long have you been--in love with her?" "of course, i've been that way ever since i saw her first--ever since i was a student, picking prunes for her uncle, and went down and helped her run a bull off her place. i thought then that i never saw nicer eyes or a more ladylike girl. she's always given me the glassy eye. i think she hates me--no, it isn't that, either. she just feels superior to me." "oh, perhaps not that!" "well, anyhow, i was in college and any one girl looked about the same to me as any other--" bertram wrinkled his brows in contempt for his utter, undeveloped youngness of two years before--"but i remembered her always. when i saw her sitting in the hotel marseillaise that evening, i felt queer; and after i called on her i just knew i had it. funny, you coming in that afternoon. you and i have hit it off so well, and here i'm confiding in you! it was a regular luck sign, i think." kate's voice, when she spoke, fell to its deeper, richer tones. "and i'm sure i feel flattered--any girl would. i really thank you--you don't know how much." "and you'll help me, won't you?" "with my advice--yes." "well, that's all i want. if i win this game, i want to win it square. "say, you are sure the goods. you're as pretty--it wouldn't be natural for a man to say you're as pretty as she is, but a man can just look at you and wonder--" and here he dropped one of his hands gently upon hers. she let it rest there a moment before she drew away. "we'd better be going back," she said. "they'll think it's i and not eleanor, if we stay so long." as they started, he stooped to get her another drink. standing above him, her hand lifted toward her student beri, she bent her gaze on his back. a peculiar look it was, as though an effort against pain. it faded into an expression like hunger. chapter viii it seemed afterward to bertram chester, reviewing the early events of a life in which he was well pleased, that his real attack on things, his virtual beginning, came with that house-party of the masters's. the victory of his smile on the staircase he followed up that evening to a general conquest. for masters, when dinner was over, brewed a hot punch. they drank it about the driftwood fire, and even the severe marion slater relaxed and made merry. the essence of the gods strips self-control and delicacy first, so that the finer wit goes by without tribute of a laugh and the wit of poked fingers--especially if it be sauced by personality--rules at the board. after the punch had worked sunshine in them, the poked finger of this young barbarian was more compelling than the sallies of masters or the mimicry of harry banks. when the party dispersed at the sausalito ferry and scattered for a workaday monday, he found himself accepting invitations left and right. dr. french asked him to motor out to the cliff house that very night; mrs. masters wanted him to dinner; harry banks must have him over to his ranch under tamalpais. kate waddington, mounting the steps to banks's automobile, slipped him a farewell word. "you were a success," she said. "that's the reward of naughty little boys when they reform!" "well, i'd have liked to smash his face just the same--then." "you've done better than that--you've quite conquered him. i'll see you wednesday at the masters? good bye!" bertram chester sold forthwith the richmond lots, his first venture in business, to get ready money for the wisest or the most foolish investment which a young man of affairs can make in the beginning of his career--general society. with all his youth, his energy and his eager attack on things, he plunged into the life of san francisco. only in that city of easy companionships and careless social scrutinies would such a sudden rise have been possible. his furnished room, where he used to read and study of evenings in his years of beginnings, knew him no more before midnight. he dropped away from those comrades of the lower sort with whom he had found his recreation; abandoned and forgotten were his old lights of love. the milliner's apprentice, a coarsely pretty little thing, used to wait for him sometimes on the doorstep. mark heath, coming home one night earlier than usual, found her there, took her for a walk about the block, and conveyed to her the unpleasant news that bertram was now flying higher than her covey. after that, she came no more; and the first phase of his life in san francisco drifted definitely back of bertram chester. we shall stop with him only three or four times in the course of that winter wherein he made his beginnings. before it was over, he had entered, by the special privilege accorded such characters, the club about which man-society in san francisco revolved; he had broken into a half a dozen circles of women society; he had become hail-fellow-well-met with the younger sons of the cocktail route, the loud characters of flashy latin quarter studios, the returned arctic millionaires of the hour and day who kept the palace hotel prosperous, the patrons and heroes of the prize-fight games, the small theatrical sets of that small metropolis. sometimes he flashed in a night through four or five such circles. he hung of late afternoons over bars, exchanging that brainless but well-willed talk by which men of his sort come to know men. he sat beside roped rings to witness the best muscle of the world--and not the worst brain--revive in ten thousand men the primeval brute. he frolicked with trifling painters, bookless poets, apprentice journalists, and the girls who accrued to all these, through wild studio parties in latin quarter attics. he sat before the lace, mahogany, crimson lights and cut glass of formal dinners, whereat, after the wine had gone round, his seat became head of the table. from these meetings and revels, whereby he made his way along the path of dalliance in the easiest, most childish, most accepting city of the western world, two or three kaleidoscopic flashes remained in his maturer memory. the night of the football game, for example, he strayed into the annual pitched battle of noise and reproach at the yellowstone between the california partisans and the stanford fanatics. a california graduate, his companion along the cocktail route, recognized him; immediately, he was riding shoulder high. his bearers broke for the sidewalk, and down market street he went, a blue-and-gold serpentine dancing behind him. there was his first jinks at the bohemian club--an impromptu affair, thrown in between the revelling christmas jinks in the clubhouse and the formally artistic midsummer high jinks in the russian river grove. the sire, noting his smile and figure, impressed him into service for a small part. this brought a fortnight of rehearsal which was all play and expression of young animal spirits, a night of revel refined by art, an after-jinks dinner of the cast, whereat bertram, as usual, spoke only to conquer. memory held also one perfectly-blended winter house-party at the banks ranch, with the rain swaying the eucalyptus trees outside and a dozen people chosen from san francisco for their power to entertain, making two nights and a day cheerful within. later in life, he, the unreflective, thought that times had changed in his city; that men were not so brilliant nor circles so convivial as when he was very young. it was not in him to know that neither times nor men had changed; that he thought so only because he looked on them no longer through the rose glasses of youth. he himself would have called it a season of great change, and he would have missed, at that, the greatest change of all--the transformation in himself. the face on which we saw so little written when he had that meeting in the hotel marseillaise, the new sheet straight from the mills of the gods, had now a faint scratching upon it. the mouth was looser in repose, firmer in action; the roving and merry eye was more certain, more accurate as it were, in its glances. his youthful assurance had changed in him to something like mature self-certainty. in those external city manners which he had set about from the beginning to acquire, he showed more ease. although he had lost the fragrance of an untouched youth, he had become altogether a prettier figure of a man. he needed all the prodigal youth and the cowboy strength in him to keep up his social pace and still do his work, but he managed it. indeed, he became of distinct value to the office through the business which he brought in from his wandering and his revelling. it seemed that he might refurbish that old law practice and find his way to the partnership which judge tiffany foresaw at the end of one path. through this consideration and through the partisan friendship of mrs. tiffany, he became gradually a pet and familiar of the tiffany household, taking pot-luck dinners with them, joining them once or twice on their out-of-doors excursions. his big, bounding presence, his good-natured gambols of the newfoundland pup order, transformed that somewhat serious and faded ménage, gave it light and interest, as from a baby in the house. although mrs. tiffany mothered him, gave him her errands to do, she made no mistake about the centre of attraction for him. he was "after" eleanor. that young woman took him soberly and naturally, laughing at his gambols, accepting his attentions, but giving no sign to mrs. tiffany's attentive eyes that her interest was more than indifferent friendship. his wooing, in fact, went on in a desultory fashion, as though he were following the policy which he had expounded to kate waddington--"hang around and watch." he paid no more compliments to grey eyes; he paid no compliments at all. when they were alone, he entertained her with those new tales of his associations in the city, which pleased her less, had he only known it, than his tales of the ranch and gridiron. if he showed the state of his feeling, it was no more than by an occasional long and hungry look. in one way or another, he saw nearly as much of kate waddington, that winter, as he did of eleanor. kate, too, was a ray of light. she--"the little sister of the clever" her enemies called her--made the tiffany house a bourne between her stops at her home in the mission and her rangings about russian hill. bertram noticed with sentimental pleasure that the two girls were a great deal together. he found them exchanging the coin of feminine friendship in eleanor's living-room, he met them on shopping excursions in post street. when the three met so, kate always sparkled with her best wit, her most cheerful manner; but she showed, too, a kind of deference toward eleanor, an attitude which said, "he is yours; i am intruding only by accident." the meaning in this attitude bore itself in, at length, even upon bertram chester; and he did not fail to glow with gratitude. he expressed that gratitude once or twice when he was alone with kate. somehow, it was easy for him to talk to her about such things. chapter ix "are you off the job to-night?" came the resonant voice of bertram chester over the telephone. "yes!" eleanor laughed. "are you coming to play with us?" "no. you're coming to play with me. one of our best little playmates leans over my elbow as i indite these few lines--little katie. mark heath is reporting great doings in chinatown to-night, and he wants assistance. do you suppose your aunt mattie will object to chinatown?" "aunt matilda never dictates--" "then it's chinatown! we'll be along for you in half an hour. we're dining with the masters, who have inconsiderately refused to come along. what's happened to you?" "nothing--why?" "your voice sounds so chipper!" "that shows i'm in a mood to play!" "then we'll be along in a _quarter_ of an hour." "and i'll be waiting at the garden gate!" the swish and murmur of night, the rustle of a steady sea breeze, the composite rumble of the city far below, tuned with the song in eleanor's blood as she stood waiting by the front gate. she looked down on the pattern of light and heavy shadow that was the city, and a curious mood of exultation came over her. light foreshadowings of this mood had touched her now and again during the past two months; never before had these transitory feelings piled themselves up into such a definite emotion. she could not trace its shy beginning, but she was aware of it first as a sense of the humanity in the cells of that luminous honeycomb below, the struggling, hoping, fighting, aspiring mass, each unit a thing to love, did one but know the best. the wave of love universal beat so strong on her heart that she turned her eyes away for surfeit of rapture, and looked up to the stars. they, the bright angels of judgment whose infinite spaces she could not contemplate without fear, united themselves in some mysterious bond with the little human things below; the sight of them brought the same wave of rapture. too mighty long to be endured, the wave broke into ripples of happy contemplation. sounding lines of forgotten poems ran through her mind, movements of old symphonies, memories of her vicarious raptures before the altar in the convent, glimpses of hillsides and valleys and woods in the winter rain which she had seen unseeing that she might reserve their deeper meaning for this deeper sight of the spirit. "i wonder if this is not happiness; if heaven will not be so?" she thought. it came, too, that if this exaltation lasted a moment longer, she should know with god the meaning of all things, the reason which united stars and space and men and the works of men. the resonant bass of bertram chester, beating down kate's cheerful treble, floated up from the sidewalk. the sound came almost as a relief; yet on second thought she was a little sorry for their intrusion into this lonely rapture of the spirit. she looked over the wall. kate, revealed in the light of their gate-lamp, walked between the two men, who were bending toward her; now they were all laughing together. she was radiant, this firm-fleshed, golden flower of the west. eleanor dipped from her clouds of glory to notice that she wore a new tailor gown, that every touch of her costume showed how she had got herself up for that special occasion. and now the spiritual fluid in eleanor transmuted itself into a reckless gaiety. she slipped down the steps and confronted them on the sidewalk. "hello," said kate, looking her over. "well, who's given you a present?" eleanor hugged her. "that's just what's happened, katie. somebody _has_ given me a present--i believe it must have been the stars." she extended her hands, right and left, to the men; holding them so, she rattled on; "boys and girls, there's so much ego in my cosmos to-night that it's running out at every pore. i'm sure there's going to be a party to-night, and i'm sure it's got up for my benefit. i'm going to play so hard--so hard that they'll put me to bed crying! mr. heath, bring on your chinese and let them gambol and frisk. it's my birthday. this isn't the date in the family bible, as kate could tell you if she weren't a lady, but i'm sure my parents made a mistake. i just know that some menial is coming in a minute with a birthday cake--and the ring and the thimble and the coin and everything will be in my slice--hello, bert chester!" "where do i come in?" enquired kate. "you? you come in as my dearest little playmate, to whom i sent the first invitation." "i see at a glance," rejoined mark heath, "that we've got our work cut out for us. i will now announce to the little girl who is having a party the program of games and sports. the festival of the women is on in chinatown." "i saw it from the car as i passed dupont street," chimed in kate. "and the quarter is blazing like a fire in a tar barrel." in the most natural manner, kate linked herself to mark heath. she always yielded the place beside bertram when eleanor was present; quite as naturally, she herself took that place when eleanor was away. bertram cast a long look on his companion; and he ventured for the first time in weeks, on something like a compliment. "what _has_ happened to you? you look--hanged if i can just tell you how you look, but it's great!" "oh, compliment me! i love compliments! that's my birthday present from you. i wonder if the chinese babies will be out on the street--the little, golden babies. why haven't they a legend about those babies? mr. heath, do you know chinese mythology? kate, aren't you sure those children are primroses transformed by the fairies to hide them from the goblins?" bertram frowned a little as she drew the other couple into their private conversation. but he continued to study her. this lightness and brightness which she had developed so suddenly, seemed quite to dim the radiance of his own personality. he fell into a quiet which lasted far into the evening. she, on her side, moved like one intoxicated by some divine liquor. never had she seemed so gay, so young; and--though he did not wholly formulate this--never had she seemed to him so inaccessible. they approached a dark alley beside an italian tenement. eleanor, dancing around the corner, came upon it suddenly. she drew up. "there's an ogre in this dark den--i know there is. i must see him! just think, i'm ten years old going onto eleven, and i never yet saw a real ogre. come on--we're going ogre hunting!" she plunged into the shadows. mark, laughing, followed. eleanor peeped into the door of a wine-house, peeped over a board fence, and came back to announce: "he's not in. i left my card--oh, there he is--he's visiting the goblin in that garden across the street!" she skipped across to an old stone wall which held its half-acre of earth suspended over the hill-fall. mark skipped with her; bertram followed at a distance as one who plays a game of which he is not sure. eleanor brought up against the wall. "there he is--by the kitchen door. of course you see him! good, kind ogre, you don't eat little girls on their birthdays do you?" "aren't his red eyes beautiful and hasn't he a classy set of teeth?" rejoined mark heath. "be good, fido, and you shall have a plumber for breakfast." "but he'll spare me! he says i'm too beautiful to eat!" eleanor was dancing back. "oh kate, i've seen an ogre!" kate did not answer. she fell in with mark heath, and as they drew ahead she murmured: "i wonder what's got into her?" "nothing i guess. i should rather say she'd got out. i think it's bully." "oh, yes," said kate, drawing out the last word. they turned into the quarter at washington street, and at once they were in the midst of the festival. from a doorway burst a group of little, immobile-featured cantonese women, all in soft greens, deep blues, reds and golds that glimmered in the gas-lights. banded combs in jade and gold held their smooth, glossy black hair; their slender hands, peeping from their sleeves, shone with rings. the foremost among them, a doll-girl of sixteen or so, tottered and swayed on the lily feet of a lady. the rest walked upon clattering pattens, like a french heel set by the cobbler's mistake at the instep. mark heath, the young reporter, proud in his knowledge of "the inside," took up the reins of conversation. "a fairy story for you right at the start, birthday lady! that little-foot girl is the daughter of hom kip. you remember the story, don't you? the old plug tried to sell this daughter of his for wife to a merchant in portland. she had her own ideas--she eloped with the second tragedian from the theatre over there. hom kip put detectives on them, and caught her at fresno. but she'd already married her actor american fashion; and the portland bridegroom is waiting until father makes his little blossom a widow." "as temporary empress of chinatown, i order that he shall do nothing of the kind," said eleanor. "as your grand vizier, i shall put the machinery in motion that will free the beautiful young bride," rejoined mark heath. kate broke in. "what became of the actor? i'm one of those dull persons who always wants the rest of the story!" "i told you, didn't i, that father is going to make her a widow? at least he was until the empress ordered otherwise. the actor has probably abandoned his art, which gives him undesirable publicity. and some day, if father dares disobey the empress, there'll be a mysterious murder in a backwoods laundry--police baffled." eleanor contemplated the lily-foot girl, swaying about the corner into dupont, her little handkerchief in one hand, her proper fan in the other. "poor little blossom--i wonder if she'll mourn for him? faithful grand vizier, don't tell me sad facts on my birthday night. i want only pretty things." "whether she'll mourn or not won't make much difference to father--or to the highbinders. je-hoshaphat--look!" for they had turned the corner into dupont street, main avenue of the quarter. its narrow vista came upon them at first as a smothered flame. innumerable paper lanterns, from scarlet globes as big as a barrel to parti-colored cones that one might hold in his palm, blazed everywhere, making strange combinations, incredible shades, in the flaring chinese signs, the bright dresses of the women. the sidewalks quivered with life--soberly dressed coolies, making green background for the gauds of their women, bespangled babies late out of bed that they might gain good luck and blessing from those rites, priests in white robes, dignitaries in long tunics, incongruous caucasian tourists and spectators. a moment eleanor drank it all in; then she addressed her grand vizier. "inform my people, through your invaluable publication, that their demonstration in my honor is perfect." "it shall be done, liege lady--three column spread on the front page. oh, you've got to have a shoe." for a vendor was bearing down on them, carrying a tray of pink paper shoes like valentines. "that's the symbol of this festival--the goddess lost her shoe before she died. how much, charlie? two bits two? all light! empress, permit me to present this souvenir of a grateful people. miss waddington, have a shoe on me!" eleanor hung the pink trifle to the pin at her throat. "i shall add it to the royal treasure trove," she said. it came across her then, as one of the unrelated thoughts and fancies which were coursing in such swarms through her mind, that bertram chester, though he stuck close to her side, had been unusually silent. she drew him in at once. "does it become me?" she asked. "everything becomes you." "you don't say anything about _my_ shoes!" said kate. now the crowd began to eddy and to whirl toward the next corner. there rose the clang of gongs, the shrilling of a chinese pipe playing a mournful air in that five-toned scale whose combinations suggest always the mystery of the east. about that corner swept the procession of the good lady, priests before, women worshippers behind. the priests set up a falsetto chant, the banner-bearers lifted their staves, and the parti-colored mass moved down on them. "it's like a flower-bed on a landslide!" exclaimed eleanor. mark heath gravely pulled out his left cuff and took rapid notes with a pencil. "that goes into the story--anything more up your sleeve like that?" "wasn't it good? eleanor is always thinking up clever things to say," kate came in. her voice was rather flat. at the edge of the gutter where they stood, a chinese shoemaker had set out on a lacquer tray his offering to the gods. red candles bordered it, surrounding little bowls of rice and sweetmeats, a slice of roast pig, a chinese lily. as the banners approached, certain devout coolies found room on the sidewalk to prostrate themselves. eleanor, absorbed now in a poetic appreciation of all this glory of color and spirit, felt a movement beside her. she looked down. the shoemaker was flat on his forehead beside his offering. "would you per-ceive that chink grovel," spoke the voice of bertram chester. before eleanor could turn on him, he was addressing the shoemaker. "feel a heap better, charlie? say, who-somalla you? brush off your knees!" the chinese, if he understood, paid no more attention than he paid to the lamp post in his path. gathering up his offering, he pushed his way back through the crowd. for the first time that evening, eleanor became somewhat like her normal self as she said: "why, this is a religious ceremony, isn't it--all this light and color!" "yes," responded the personal conductor of the party, "but you have to pinch yourself to remember it. for instance, you'll be charmed to know that i saw one of those priests, up in front there, arrested last week in a raid on a gambling joint. morals haven't an awful lot to do with this religion. maybe that fellow on the pavement was praying that he'd have a chance to murder his dearest enemy, and maybe he was applying for luck in a lottery. empress of chinatown, up yon frazzled flight of stairs lurks the new york daytime lottery. the agents of said lottery are playing ducks and drakes right now with the pay of the printers on the imperial bulletin which i have the honor to represent. some day, your grand vizier and most humble servant is going to do a sunday story on a drawing in a chinese lottery." eleanor showed no inclination to go on with the game. "have another shoe--one shoe, charlie, for the little princess!" continued mark heath. this one, displayed amid the cone-sticks and new years nuts of a sweetmeat stand, was bright blue. mark hung it on eleanor's shoulder; then, as a kind of afterthought, he bought a crimson tassel for kate. the procession was past, was breaking up. the women, in knots of three or four, were scattering to the night's festivities. mark, as guide, let business go as he led them on his grand tour of chinatown. they stopped to survey sidewalk altars of rice paper and jade, where priests tapped their little gongs and sang all night the glory of the good lady; they visited the prayer store, emporium for red candles, "devil-go-ways," punks, votive tassels, and all other chinese devices to win favor of the gods and surcease from demons; they explored the cavernous underground dwellings beneath the jackson street theatre; they climbed a narrow, reeking passage to marvel at the revel of color and riot of strange scent which was the big joss house. bertram's spirits were rising by this time; he expressed them by certain cub-like gambols which showed both his failure to appreciate the beauty in all this strangeness and his old-time californian contempt for the chinese as a people. once he tweaked a cue in passing and laughed in the face of the insulted chinaman; and once he made pretence of stealing nuts from a sweetmeat stall. wherever mark found a new design in toy shoes, he bought one for eleanor, until she wore a string of them, like a necklace, across her bodice. yet had the illumination gone a little out of her; she replied with diminishing vivacity to mark's advances as he played the birthday game. when they mounted the joss house stairs she lagged behind; and bertram lagged with her. "what's the matter?" he asked. "i never saw you so bright and chipper as we were awhile ago, and now--say, what's the matter?" "nothing. oh, mr. heath--" she raised her voice, "are the actors allowed in the joss house--and if not will you have it fixed for me?" after they had presented their votive punks to the great high god, kate announced that she was footweary. "can't we find a place to sit down?" she asked. mark took her up. "that's the signal for tea at the man far low restaurant. ever been there? tea store below, fantan next floor, restaurant top side all the way through the block. come on, empress of chinatown. the royal board awaits." the man far low was in the throes of large preparation for the chinese all-night banquets which would close the festival. the cashier wore his dress tunic, his cap with the red button. the kitchen door, open on the second landing, gave forth a cloud of steam which bore odors of peanut oil, duck, bamboo sprouts and chinese garlic; through the cloud they could see cooks working mightily over their brass pots. every compartment of the big dining hall upstairs held its prepared table; waiters in new-starched white coats were setting forth a thousand toy devices in porcelain. though the chinese feasting had not yet commenced, it was plain, from the attitude of the waiters, that slummers and tourists were not wanted on that night. but still the head waiter, when he came slipping over on his felt shoes, led them to a table in the eastern dining room, from whose balconies one overlooked portsmouth square. his aspect, however, was anything but cheerful. "say, you chink, smile!" said bertram as he seated himself. by a slight turn of the head, the very slightest in the world, the chinese showed that he caught this in all its force. but he went gravely on, setting out porcelain bowls. eleanor's hand moved a little, as though in restraint. "cheer up, charlie, crops is ripe!" resumed bertram. "don't--please," cried eleanor. the first word came short, sharp and peremptory; the "please" was appealing. the color rose under bertram's brown skin. kate, an outside party to this passage, smiled a quiet smile; but she spoke to mark heath. "what _are_ those paintings on that screen--come and tell me about them!" now bertram and eleanor stood alone with the table between them. "i was jollying him!" burst out bertram. eleanor glanced at kate, who stood profile-on listening to the ready heath. "shall we go out on the balcony?" she stepped through the open french window. as they stood in the shadow, the city at their feet, neither spoke for a moment. finally, "it's a call-down, i suppose?" began bertram, tentatively. "not necessarily." with a slam, he brought his hand down on the balcony rail. "you don't give--you don't give a damn--that's the trouble with you--you don't care what i do!" eleanor drew a little away from him before she answered: "i care if anyone is uncivil." "what is it but a chink? they expect it! why, down in tulare--" his voice fell away as though he recognized the futility of an attack in this form. she spoke: "it is you who should not expect it." and then, "i am sorry i said what i did. it was an impulse. we are all imperfect. i've often been unkind myself." bertram stood gripping the rail before him as one caught and held by a new emotion. when he spoke, his voice was low and rather hard. at the first tone of it, she shrank from the daimon in him. "if you only cared enough to call me down! that's the trouble with you. am i--am i the dirt under your feet?" "oh, don't please!" but he was going on, too fast to be stopped. "i'm afraid of you--that's what's the matter. what have you got in you that i can't seem to melt? you kept away from me the first time ever i saw you. you've kept away ever since. you don't think i'm as good as you--and i'm not. but it's aggravating--it's damned aggravating--to have you rub it in. you've got something about you that i can't touch anywhere." and he paused, as though expecting her to deny it. "i don't know what right you have to say this," she exclaimed. in her swift rush to her own defence, she had dropped her guard. she realized it on the moment, heard his inevitable reply before he opened his mouth to the swift-flashing answer which, that outer self told her, was the only possible answer for him to make. "only this right. i'm in love with you. i've been in love with you ever since i saw you down at the judge's ranch, only i didn't know it then. i love you." silence for a moment, and then, "i love you!" for just one instant, it seemed to her that she was swaying toward him in spite of herself. he made, curiously, no active motion toward her. that outer self of eleanor's, reigning as always over her conscious self, commenting, criticising, seeing--that outer self remembered, above her mental turmoil, that never in all their later acquaintance had he tried even to touch her finger. "oh, don't!" she cried, "please don't!" he made a growl in his throat, the adult counterpart to a baby's cry of disappointment. "didn't i tell you?" he said, "and now i've laid myself wide open for a throw-down." "if you call it that. oh bertram--" he and she both noticed the shift to his familiar name--"i'm afraid i haven't been fair to you. oh, have i been fair?" he paused as though considering a whole new range of ideas. "yes, i guess you have," he responded at length. "you're a man," she said, "and a big man. i suppose i ought--to love you. to have the power of loving you in me. and oh, there have been moments when i thought i could." she stopped as though appalled by the lengths to which she had gone. "you see, i'm trying to be fair now. i'm telling you everything." and then, with the thought which succeeded, it was as though she felt the physical tingle of bay leaves in her nostrils, "or nearly everything." through the open french windows came the cheery voice of kate waddington. "tea is served, ladies and gentlemen!" "all right--be along presently!" called bertram. and then to eleanor: "you must tell me--you can't keep me hanging by the toes until i see you again." "the rest means--since i am being perfectly fair to you--that i can't tell." now something like strong emotion touched her voice--"don't think i am coquetting with you--don't believe that it is anything but my effort to be fair." she turned on this, and stepped through the open window. bertram struggling to compose his face, eleanor wearing her old air of sweet inscrutability, they faced the quick, perceiving glance of kate waddington who sat pouring tea from the crack between two shell bowls. eleanor settled herself on the teak-wood stool. "you _must_ come out on the balcony before we go," she cried. "i never saw the city lights so wonderful." "well," said kate, "it all depends on the company!" chapter x kate's plump and inert mother, who always regarded this daughter of hers somewhat as a cuckoo in the nest, was in a complaining mood this morning. she sat in her dressing-gown embroidering peonies on a lambrequin and aired her grievances. kate, writing notes at the old-fashioned black walnut writing desk, looked up at the climaxes of her mother's address, bit her pen and frowned over her shoulder. for the greater part of the time, however, mrs. waddington spoke to empty air. "i never did see such a daughter," said mrs. waddington, jabbing with her scissors at a loose end of pink silk. "as if it isn't enough, gallivanting around the way you do, fairly living in other people's houses, never bringing any company home, but you can't even be decently civil when you _are_ at home. we might just as well be a hotel for all the respect you pay us. what are you doing when you're away, i'd like to know? it's all well enough, the stories you tell--" kate, resting between notes, saw fit to parry this last thrust. "i've always supposed i was capable of taking care of myself," she said. "at any rate, you've let me proceed on that theory." it needed only the slightest flutter of an opponent's rapier to throw mrs. waddington on the defensive. "you never let me," she mourned. "goodness knows, i gave you every chance to take me along. when first you began going with those painter people, you might have counted me in." "you didn't seem eager, perceptibly, until i had made my own way," kate vouchsafed. at that moment the telephone rang. while kate was in the house, no one else thought of answering the telephone. mrs. waddington would have been the last to usurp the prerogative. for that instrument was the tap root of her spy system over her daughter. by it, she picked up things; learned what this irresponsible responsibility of hers was doing. mrs. waddington had her mental lists of kate's telephonic friends. she imagined that she could tell, by the tone of her daughter's voice, just who was on the other end of the line. "oh, bert chester!" came kate's voice from the hall. mrs. waddington made note number one. this mention of the name was significant. the discreet kate, who knew her mother's habits, hardly ever called names over the wire. a pause for a very short reply, and then: "certainly. zinkand at one. i'm beginning to think it's time i worked at my job as confidant. what is the use of a confidant if you don't confide?" mrs. waddington leaned forward while kate got her reply. the mother in her, unsensitized though as it was, noted the sparkle in kate's voice. but for the intervening door, she might have seen a great deal more sparkle in kate's face, down-turned to listen. "oh yes, i was aware of that!" kate's voice went on. "dolt! did i catch it? you're a poor dissembler. you're too honest. you might tell the verdict before i tell you--" mrs. waddington could stand it no longer. it was so uncommon for her daughter to speak thus freely and emotionally at the telephone, that she must have a look. she rose, therefore, and crossed past the open hall door. she noticed a certain tension in her daughter's face as she bent her head to await the reply. "you poor, perplexed boy!" went on kate's purring, caressing voice, "then you need a confidant. zinkand's at one--and i'll look my prettiest to draw you out!" mrs. waddington, when her daughter was come back into the room, renewed her plaint: "i wish you'd save for your parents a little of the graciousness you give your friends," she said. "i wouldn't mind so much if you were getting somewhere. but here you are, nearly twenty-four years old and goodness knows if you've had a young man, i don't hear about it. how can a respectable young man want to marry a girl like you, i'd like to know? those they play with, they don't marry." kate's mood had changed completely. she advanced now with the prettiest caressing gesture in the world, threw one arm across the wrinkled skin and old lace of her mother's throat. mrs. waddington resisted for a moment, her head turned away; then, gradually, she let her being lap itself in this quieter air. her head settled down on kate's shoulder. "perhaps," said kate, "i may." "well i wish you'd hurry up about it," said mrs. waddington. "girls will be girls, i suppose, and they've got to learn for themselves. there, there--you're mussing my work." kate dropped a kiss on her mother's forehead and vanished up the stairs. bert chester, waiting before zinkand's an hour later, picked her a block away from the nooning crowd. before he recognized the olive-green tailor suit which he had come to know, he noticed the firm yet gracile move of her. as she came nearer, he was aware of two loungers waiting, like himself, to keep appointments. he caught this exchange from them: "who? the girl in a kind of brownish green?" "yes. isn't she a peach?" just then, it seemed to him, did the purely physical charm of her burst upon him for the first time. supple and swaying, yet plump and round; her head set square with some of a man's strength, on exquisitely sloping shoulders: and the taste--he would have called it so--of her dress! a discriminating woman might have noticed that her costume bordered on ostentatious unostentation. for it was designed in every detail to frame the picture, to set off not only that figure but also the cream of her skin, the tawny hair, even those firm, plump hands. he found himself remembering that he had just proposed to another girl. the thought flashed in, and flashed out as quickly. * * * * * the café zinkand formed, at the time, a social nodule in the metropolitan parish that san francisco was. as the palace hotel was its rialto, gathering-place for prosperous adventure, so the zinkand was its bourne. in this mahoganied and mirrored restaurant with its generous fare, its atmosphere of comfortable extravagance, those who made the city go, who gave its peculiar saxon-latin move and glitter, were accustomed to gather and gossip. it blazed with special splendor on the nights when this or that "eastern attraction" showed at the columbia theatre. to stand on such evenings at the powell street terminus, to watch those tripping, gaily-dressed, laughing californian women thronging the belt of city light from the theatre canopy to the restaurant canopy--ah, that was san francisco! not paris, not buenos ayres--they say who have travelled far--could show such a procession of dianaides, such a greek festival of joy in the smooth, vigorous body and the things which feed and clothe it. with that absence of public conventionality which was another ear-mark of the old city, all sorts and conditions of men and women sat side by side at the tables. harlots, or those who might well pass as such, beside the best morale there is in women; daughters of washerwomen beside daughters of such proud blood as we have; bookmakers' wives, blazing with the jewels which will be pawned to-morrow, beside german housewives on a saturday night revel; jockies and touts from the race tracks beside roistering students from stanford and berkeley; soldiers of fortune blown in by the pacific winds, taking their first intoxicating taste of civilization after their play with death and wealth, beside stodgy burghers grown rich in real estate; clerks beside magnates--all united in the worship of the body. at noon, however, its workaday aspect was on; it was no more than a lunching place. chester and kate found seats in a retired corner. she looked him over with cool mischief while she drew off her gloves and let one white hand, still creased in pink with the pressure of the seams, drop toward him on the table. "i am not exactly to congratulate you," she said, "but for a man who was turned down last night you don't seem exactly unhappy." bertram let several expressions chase themselves over his face before he blurted out: "what's the matter with me?" "not a great deal. has she so refused you as to make you conscious of sin?" "it wasn't a cold turn-down. i'd like it better if it was. i'd have something to go on. it's--it's like trying to bite into a billiard ball. i--you know what i mean." "you mean that she holds herself above you--that she feels superior to you?" bertram arrested all motion on that word, sat with the menu card, which he had been twirling, immovable between his hands. "yes. if you want to jolt it to me good and hard that way. i guess that is what it does mean." "i suppose then that the crisis--last night--came about from your little passage with the chinese waiter? it happened while you were out on the balcony didn't it?" bertram stared and glowed. "say, you're a wonder. you reach out and get things before they come to you at all. that's just what did happen." "and then? or pardon me, i don't want you to tell me any more than it's right for you to tell--any more than you feel like telling." "oh that's all right. well, when we got outside it was the same old song. she didn't care enough even to call me down. and like a fool i came out with it. what's the use of telling what she said or what i said? it was just the same way. she kept me dancing. she wouldn't say yes and she wouldn't say no. she seemed anxious about only one thing. she wanted to know if she'd been fair to me." "i suppose she has--!" kate brought this out as though he had put a question to her. "and you want to know what i think?" "i sure do." "i think she cares--at least a little--shall i tell you all?" bertram, even in the hottest of this conversation, did not forget the needs of his body. the waiter stood at his elbow. he rushed through the order, and continued: "i want to know everything." "well, to begin with--bert chester, you're a man." "i didn't ask for hot air." "that's all of that. you're an unfinished man. you--haven't had the chance to get all the refinements which people like eleanor gray have acquired. do you see now? you've made it--you've been making it--all for yourself. you had no fortune. it's splendid the way you worked to get all these things. i know the story of how you got through college. everyone who knows you is proud of that. but--well eleanor's mother was rich and proud before she married, and her grandparents were richer and prouder. then she's lived a great deal alone; and she never really blossomed out until she went abroad. so she learned her social ways from europeans. she's got a lot of british and continental ideas. "with the rest of us, you know, it doesn't make any difference. you could perceive that by the way we've taken you in. why, it's really a part of you. you're only two years out of college, hardly that; and you're still studying law; but think how people have taken you up! it is simply that eleanor looks at it in a different way. it's a pretty peculiarity in one of the sweetest girls i know." kate paused. bert made no move to answer. she went on: "now about the thing you can't grasp in eleanor. it's this way. you can't see her nature as another _girl_ can. she's just as sweet and tender and delicate as she can be, and she has high ideals--that's one result of her living away from the world. if she were a little warmer in temperament, it might be different, but--" kate paused here as though pondering whether to reveal or to conceal the thought of her mind. "but of course it is the coldness of a diamond or a sapphire or something else very pure and precious." bertram chester pulled himself up at this point and plucked at a place away back in the conversation. "what are these things that i don't know? where is it that i fall down?" "they are some of the finer points." "well tell me." kate noticed that the color had risen in his cheeks and that his eyes drooped from hers. "they must be corrected as we go on--provided you'll let me correct them." "that's what i am asking for--but i'd blame well like an example." "well, now, we'll take that waiter episode. the kind of people she'd like to know treat servants impersonally. servants are just conveniences to them, like dumb waiters. so of course,--even if it was only a chinaman--she didn't like your noticing him and she came out of her shell for just a moment to say so. do you see now?" bertram's dark complexion reddened with the rush of his shame. "oh, that's the idea is it? i thought from something she said that she was afraid i'd hurt his feelings. she wants me to put more front on before 'em, does she?" "just about that. she doesn't like to see you put yourself on a level with them." "all right, that was straight over the plate and i got it." again kate reached over to pat his hand. "now don't take it seriously; i know--she herself must know--how splendid and able and promising you are--how much of a man!" bert spoke in some irritation. "i always knew i wasn't a gentleman," he said, "but this is the first time it was ever shot straight at me that way." "bert chester, as long as i'm a friend of yours don't you ever dare say to me that you're not a gentleman. you're one of the biggest and strongest gentlemen i ever knew. anyone need only see you for five minutes to know you're that. but some people have certain things which they attribute to a gentleman--notions, as i've said. and eleanor from her european experiences has some of these notions. don't you see?" the smile, which always broke so suddenly, came back to bert chester's face. "well, of course that's why i broke loose from the ranch and went to college in the first place. i wanted to be as good, every way, as the best there is!" "and you are already!" he shook his head. "no, or this wouldn't have happened. i want to be good enough to marry any girl, no matter who. i'm going to amount to something. i'm going to be rich, too--and a darn sight quicker than most people know. i don't know that we came here to talk about that, though." "please go on. we came here to talk about you--anything about yourself." "that part of it has something to do with the main issue. i'm going to pull out from judge tiffany as soon as i go up against the bar examinations next month. at least, i want to pull out, and i'm only wondering how the judge will take it and how she will take it. you see, i might just as well get admitted, and then it is good-bye to law for me afterwards unless i use it in politics. law--" bertram rammed his finger on the table with each word that followed "law is too blame slow. anyone could see that i couldn't be chasing about as i'm doing if i had to depend on what judge tiffany is paying me as a clerk. why, i've made twice as much already whirling at business. i'll always have my admission to the bar, too. if i want to settle down on a law practice after i get rich, i can do it." "that seems very promising to me." "but here's the question. is the judge going to take it for a throw-down, and how is eleanor going to like the program?" kate appeared to be considering. in fact, she was considering a great many more things than bertram knew. "i'm pretty sure eleanor wouldn't care," she said at length. "hers isn't a very practical mind. it's impossible to say about judge tiffany. he's crotchety. the right's on your side, for a man has a right to change his employment, hasn't he? and i'm sure you have more than returned your little salary. on the whole, i don't know but it would be better for you with eleanor if the judge did get angry with you. a girl with ideals like hers rather likes to have a man persecuted. and you can't let it stand in the way of your career." "but--" "oh, it isn't as though it were a choice between the girl and the career. it isn't at all. the best way to win her is to build yourself up to the big, splendid man she'd like you to be. if you stay a little law clerk for five years or so, you won't have much inducement to offer her! when you consider marriage, you have to remember that a girl like eleanor can't live on a trifle. i'd follow my own career. it isn't, you see, as though there were anyone else in the field. other men come to the house, of course--men she's met at the masters, old friends of the family--but i don't consider any of them as rivals. i did think for a time that ned greene was attracted, but he's crazy now over katherine herbert. so it isn't a case for immediate action." "do you think--have you ever heard her speak of me?" kate's answer came readily. "she has spoken to me of you--the way women do, so that you see under what they say. we women are devils"--she smiled--"no, i can't tell you what she said. i'm in a peculiar position about it. you see, her talk, as it happens, is all twisted up in a confidence she made to me--something else in her life--nothing to do with you--and i can't break it. but i can do something without breaking any confidence. i can tell you what i think you ought to do." "well, i guess that's what i want--" with the air of one who would have liked a great deal more. "the man who gets eleanor gray--and especially if bertram chester is the man--cannot take her by assault. if you reach out to grasp her--you who are so strong--it will only break something in that delicate nature of hers. don't woo. serve. don't even see her too often. don't renew that scene on the balcony--never make that mistake again. when you are with her, show by your attitude how you feel, and show her--well, that you're learning the things you've asked me to teach you--the things i'm going to teach you." "it's sure a pink tea program," said bertram. kate laughed. "bert chester, when you make your dying speech from the scaffold you're going to say something original and funny. you can't help it. now can you?" the smile broke again on bertram's face. "well, it has its funny side," he admitted. "all right. if refinement's the game, me to it." his smile had caught kate's laugh, and there came between them a kind of mental click. soft gratitude sprang into his heart and quivered on his lips. "you're a bully girl! i don't know what i'd do if i didn't have you to talk it over with. and you really do understand lots about women and those things--where did you learn it?" the smile went out of kate. she drooped her eyes and let her pink nails flutter on the tablecloth. "suffering and experience, i suppose." "could i--would you tell me about it?" she looked up with an air of sweet sincerity. "i should like very much to tell you. you could help me as much as you say i'm helping you. some other time, we'll have that all out together. you see, when one has held a thing in her heart for a long time--well, it's a struggle at first to get it out. but sometime when i'm in the mood!" and then he discovered that an appointment at the office was overdue. while they went through the formalities of checks and wraps, she talked foolish nothings. he parted with her hurriedly to run after a market street cable car. "we're going to be the best chums in the world," he said as he shook hands. "indeed we are!" she watched him as he ran after the car, swung on the platform with the easy economy of motion which belongs to the athlete. but just before he set his foot on the platform and looked back at her, she herself whirled and started down the street, so that he saw only her trim back-figure, the glint of her bronze hair, the easy grace of her walk. chapter xi so bertram chester went on, the easy familiar of the tiffany establishment, the contriver of mrs. tiffany's household assistances, and the devoted follower of eleanor. he never referred in any way to the scene on the restaurant balcony; he did nothing formally to press his suit. indeed, his occasional air of gentle diffidence puzzled and amused her. she had a queer sense, when she beheld him so, that she liked it in him less than some of his old uncouthness, and only a trifle better than such roughness of the heart as that passage with the chinese waiter. this new attitude was loose in the back, tight across the shoulders, short in the seams--it was not made to fit bertram chester. when he launched out into rudimentary art criticism, stringing together the stock slang which he had picked up in the studios, when he tried to impress her with his refined acquaintance, his progress toward "society" of the conventional kind, her amusement took another turn in the circle of emotion, and became annoyance. in general company, he reverted to type. at their home dinners, when wine and good fare had lit the fires of his animal spirits, he still told his rambling, half-boastful stories of the cow country and of college times, or laid before these home-stayers the gossip of the town. that manner of his, always more compelling than either his substance or his words, carried the plainest story; and he had at least the art of brevity. one laughed when he laughed, catching from his spirit the humorous idea, even when its expression failed on the tongue. voice and gesture and an inner appreciation which he could flash instantly to his tongue contributed to these dazzling effects. his new-made friends of the artistic set used to tell him, "if you could only write down your stories--what humor, what action!" mark heath, with the information of a room mate, the judging eye of a half-disillusionized friend and the cynicism of a young journalist, was first to perceive that a stenographer concealed to transcribe his talk would get only barren words. in his fading and declining years, judge tiffany leaned more and more upon eleanor, his business partner. now it had come spring. the trees were in bud along the santa clara. they must begin preparing for the season. the family did not move to the ranch until apricot picking was afoot; but from now on either judge tiffany or eleanor would run down every week to watch the trees and to oversee the olsen preparations for harvest time. purchase of supplies and the business of selling last year's stock, held over for a rise in german prices, kept eleanor busy. she dragged the judge out of his library one march afternoon, that he might inspect with her a new set of sprayers which she was considering. the judge went to his office all too seldom nowadays; eleanor and mrs. tiffany used continually all kinds of diplomacies to keep him at his business, from which he stubbornly refused to retire. when they had driven their bargain, eleanor guided and wheedled him to the office. the methodical attwood, having his man there, thumped a pile of papers down before the judge, representing that this demurrer must be in on tuesday, that case tried or continued next week. the judge sighed as he pulled the papers toward him. "they've nailed me, nell," he said. "here, i'll appoint a substitute. send for mr. chester, attwood--dining anywhere, chester? then take pot luck with us and pay me by escorting my business conscience home. i'll overwork myself if someone doesn't carry her away!" * * * * * the afternoon fog, forerunner of another rain, floated in lances above montgomery street. the interior valleys had felt their first touch of baking summer, had issued their first call on their cooling plant--the golden gate, funnel for mist and rain-winds. the moisture fell in sleety drops; yet only the stranger and pilgrim took protection of raincoat or umbrella. the native knew well enough that it would go no further. on these afternoons, neither cold nor hot, wet nor wholly dry, the blood is champagne and the heart a dancing-floor. at the moment when eleanor stepped out into the home-going crowd, she, an instrument tuned to catch delicate vibrations from earth and sea and air, felt all this exhilaration. life was right; the future was right; the display of a young female creature before the male--that most of all was right. and bertram chester, talking for the moment like his old, natural self, was a main eddy in the currents of joy-in-youth. "you are bonny to-day!" she said quite naturally as she looked him over. he blushed happily. and the blush helped restore him in her eyes as the natural bertram chester. "and you're the bonniest of the bonny. i never saw you look so full of ginger except--" he hesitated there, and her words rushed in to meet the emergency. "thank you! though i wasn't fishing, i am grateful just the same." "then you do find something now and then that you can stand for in me?" "i find a great deal--when you are bert chester." he seemed to puzzle over this, to ponder it; so that she added: "let's not talk conundrums in this air and this crowd! we're not blue-nosed, self-searching new englanders. let's keep away from market street and walk through the quarter. they haven't yet taken the easter things from the shop windows, and there's a darling atrocious group of statuary next door to the fior d'italia which you must see!" and then, as they turned the corner-- "what's the crowd? i'm for disremembering that i'm refined. i want to be curious!" "looks like a scrap--do you--" "nonsense! come on. i divide women into those who would like to see a prize fight and admit it, and those who would like to see a prize fight and deny it!" "gee whiz!" said bertram. they had reached the edge of the crowd, which circled about some knot of violent struggle and gesture. "excuse me!" he had sprung from her side and was breaking his way through. by instinct, she followed into the hole back of him, so that she found herself in the second row of spectators to a curious struggle, the details of which flashed in upon her all at once. two laborers, gross, tanned, dirty, were fighting. they had swung side-on as the hole opened, and her glance focused itself upon the smaller of the two. he was an old man, quite gray; and down his scalp ran a stream of bright blood which trickled upon his ear. the thing which puzzled her was the action of the older man. he seemed to be hanging to the arms of his younger and sturdier opponent; also he was talking rapidly, excitedly; and she caught only one phrase. "hit me with a nail, will you?" and just then the younger man got his arm free, and dove for the pavement--dove at precisely the same instant with bertram chester. apparently, the younger fighter arrived first; he backed off from the scuffle brandishing a piece of packing box. then she saw what the old man meant. pointing the weapon was a nail, stained red. as this rough fury poised himself for the stroke, she took in the whole picture--a young, tall, brute man, one eye puffing from a new blow, the other blood-shot, the mouth open and dripping, the right arm raised for the murderer's blow. bertram chester came between as though he had risen out of the earth. his left hand, with a trained aptitude which made the motion seem the easiest thing in the world, caught the upraised wrist. the laborer ripped out an unconsidered oath and struck with his free fist at bertram's face. bertram evaded the blow, slipped in close. and then--in a lightning flash of speed, bertram's right hand, which had been resting loosely by his side, shot upward. his whole body seemed to spring up behind it. the blow struck under the point of the chin. the head of the young bruiser dropped, then his shoulders, then his arms; his body sagged down upon bertram. the champion of age shook him off; he dropped to the sidewalk. all this in a flash, in a wink. the crowd, curiously inert, as all city crowds are until the leader appears, now followed this leader. a clamor of many tongues arose--"get a cop!" "he's killed him!" "do him up!" a short rush of half a dozen boys toward the fallen bully met the resistance of bertram, who had turned as though anticipating such a movement. he shoved them back and raised his hand. his eyes were bright, his face flushed, and that smile which won and commanded men had broken out on his lips. "say," he said, "you all saw me do this man fair and square. he isn't dead. he's only put out. he'll be all right in five minutes. you know it was coming to him. now, i've got a lady with me, and i don't want her dragged into the police station. the cops will be here in a minute. i'd like to show this thing up in court, but we don't want to trouble the lady, do we? if i beat it, how many of you will witness to the cops just what happened?" "i!" and "i!" and "i!" from the crowd and "me! god bless ye!" from the elder warrior, who stood wiping the blood from his ear. bertram gave them no chance for reconsideration. "all right!" he said, "here i go!" he pushed his way out as he pushed it in, swept eleanor along with him. the spectators lifted a cheer; but only a mob of small boys followed. "beat it, kids, or the bulls will pipe me!" called bertram over his shoulder. at this magic formula, the boys fell out. a half a block away, eleanor dared look back. a policeman had just arrived; he was clubbing his way stupidly through the crowd. bertram looked back too. "all right," he announced, "now don't appear to hurry." at kearney street, he swung her aboard an electric car. "victory!" she cried as the conductor rang his two bells and the car gathered headway. "it was perfect!" he stared down at her. "well, i just had to put it through once i got started, but say--i thought you'd sure be sore on me." his voice took on an apologetic tone. "it seems to me when i see a scrap, i constitutionally can't keep out of it." "no more should you--such fights as that." "then you make distinctions?" he asked. "if you mean that i distinguish between fighting just for the lust of it and fighting to protect the helpless, i may say that i do. you did well." "thank you!" he said, half-earnestly. "i'd have thought you wouldn't like to see me muss things up, that way." he was letting his voice slip away from him, both in volume and in manner, and the car was crowded. a panic necessity for concealment took possession of her. "surely we've evaded the police--let's get out and have our walk through the quarter." "i'm with you." kearney street, that thoroughfare which gathered into its two miles every element in american life, here struck its hill rise. sheer above them hung telegraph hill, attained by latticed sidewalks, half stairs. the latin quarter thronged and played all about them in the dusk and the fresh lamplight. and again, mood and spirits rose in her. the event whose swift, kaleidoscopic action still danced on her retina, the very stimulus of brutal youth in action, had conspired with the perfect night to raise her above herself. "oh, talk to me about it!" she said. "how did you do it--what do you call it--i want to hear _you_ tell about it." "i guess you saw it all--just a plain uppercut. those blame city crowds would see a man killed before they'd think of anything but the show. i've always said that, and now i know it. i caught sight of the old man side-on and i saw he was hurt by something more than a punch. far be it from me to spoil a good scrap, but that wasn't a fair shake. so i dropped you and started in. and then i saw that nail. i made a slip there," he let his voice fall in self-depreciation--"i should have kicked that chunk of board away, instead of diving for it. he beat me to it. the rest was so easy it was a shame to take the money. up comes his head and up comes my guard"--he stopped in the street to illustrate--"and he couldn't use his club any more than a kitten. i'd have let him go, if he hadn't hit at me--and clipped me. for a second, i could have bit nails in two. when i pulled myself in close, there was his chin just above me--a be-auty target. and an uppercut was his medicine." bertram jerked his right hand up from his hip to illustrate the uppercut. then he screwed up his face and felt of his right shoulder. "he marked me some," he said in explanation. "did he hurt you?" she asked with real concern. it ran into her mind that the conventional hero of romance makes his wound a scratch before his lady. if she expected that from bertram chester, he disillusionized her. "well, you don't take a punch like that, even glancing on your shoulder, without something getting loose," he replied. "i shouldn't be surprised if i'd slipped a cog or a tendon or something." "why--let's go home and see about it." "oh, it isn't bad enough for that!" then he fell into reminiscences. in their toilsome passage up the hen-coop sidewalks of broadway, he gesticulated--with constrained motions of his right arm--loosed the sparkle of his energetic, magnetic talk upon her. she drew close to him. gradually, as the steps became steep, her hand slipped under his arm. she was only half-conscious of this motion; her consciousness was full of a softening toward him, a leaning upon that strength which she had seen in action. on his side, he did not fail to notice it--this first movement in her which had seemed like an advance. he stopped his buzz of talk at one moment and all the lines of his face relaxed as though he were about to say something softer and deeper. but he only caught his breath and changed to another story. he had remembered--and just in time, he thought--the advice of kate waddington. but in spite of that remembrance, he permitted himself the luxury of being natural; and he talked continually until they were within the tiffany doors. mrs. tiffany must hear all about it from both of them. when they came to the hero's injury, she dismissed eleanor, made him strip his massy shoulder, and got out her pet liniment. the judge, coming home in the midst of these surgical cares, heard the story retold with heroic additions by his wife. dinner that night was a merry, a happy, an intimate party. when bertram left, mrs. tiffany did not follow him to the door, as was her old-fashioned custom. he waited a moment, as though expecting something. his eyes were on eleanor. she did not move. she only bade him a simple and easy good night over her shoulder. the old couple sat for a long time before the fire. eleanor was gone--not to bed, could they but have known it, but to sit by her window and breathe bay-fragrance and drink the foggy night air off the gate. the judge smiled down on that faded daintiness at his feet. "are we now to consider him in the light of a nephew-in-law?" he asked. "it has bothered me a good deal," said mattie tiffany. "what do you think i ought to do?" "if that frightful social responsibility of yours drives you to anything," responded the judge, "i should say you'd best leave it alone." "but edward, dear, i'm just like a mother to her--and goodness knows i haven't always been the best of mothers. there was her father--you know how long i shirked that--" "the sin of omission that you will carry to your grave--" "and somehow this is so like billy gray! it was just this way in her mother's case. when billy came around--you remember how bonny a boy he was then, edward--i, her own sister, could never tell how she felt toward him. i've always told you that eleanor has slipped a generation. she's her grandmother, not her mother, in mind. but she's just like her mother in one thing. you can't ever tell what she's thinking about, and the deeper her thoughts go the harder it is to tell! that's why i'm considering all this so carefully--she doesn't commit herself in one way or the other. it's a sign." "knowing you, mattie, i presume that you've conducted researches into his desirability as a nephew-in-law?" "well, shouldn't i? goodness knows, we don't lead a conventional life in this family, and i don't chaperone her. i reproach myself a little with that. when mrs. goodyear wanted to take her up and put her into the fortnightly, it wasn't so much eleanor's disinclination as my own laziness about getting up gowns and paddling about paying calls which kept me back--and that's god's truth." "and these penitential exercises in detective work--what have they brought forth?" "he's a little careless morally, i think. he's had too much conviviality about the club. i'm afraid he's blossoming over young. they can say all they want about wild oats, but in this city it's a mistake to sow them all at once. that's one reason why i've been so good to him. i flatter myself that a house like this is a moral influence on him." "it's all a concern for his soul with you, then?" "no. frankly, i like him. everyone likes him. he's a dear. but as to eleanor--" the judge had risen and taken off his skull cap. "well, she has run a ranch and she's travelled alone to europe and back, and she's saved the soul if not the body of a father. and i wonder whether a girl who's all that to her credit can't be trusted to deal with the problem of an undesirable though attractive young man--" "if i were only sure he was undesirable!" "it is according," responded the judge, "to your definition of undesirability. if you mean worldly circumstances, you needn't fear for bertram chester. he resigns from my firm this month." "what for?" "attwood brought me news of it. i don't know where he's going. i'm not supposed to know anything. but for to get rich, for one thing." he closed his book and restored it to its place on the shelves. "he took the left-hand road, you see. it was manifest destiny; and you and i and eleanor cannot move one whit the career of that young man." chapter xii when kate called him up over the telephone, inviting him, second-hand, to join a masters party at sanguinetti's restaurant, bertram interrupted his banter to ask if eleanor were going. "i'm sure i don't know what her plans are," said kate. "why don't you ask her?" the tone was a little cold. remembering his duty, bertram did ask eleanor over the telephone. "i'm sorry," answered eleanor, "but i had to decline." "oh, duck your engagement if you have any!" he said, pleading like a boy. "it'll do you good to jolly up!" but she was firm. he matched the cool tone of kate with the equally cool tone of eleanor, and wondered, as he hung up the telephone, whether anything had gone wrong between those girls. he remembered now that he had not seen kate at the tiffany's since the expedition into chinatown. had he but known it, he was perceiving late a thing of which others were making gossip already. while bertram freshened up his toilet in his room and thought hard on this, kate waddington, at home in the mission, was making certain special preparations of her own. mrs. waddington could measure the importance of her daughter's engagements by the care she took with her toilet. fresh lace indicated the first degree of importance, her latest pair of shoes the second degree, and perfectly fresh white gloves raised the engagement to the highest degree of all. to-night, all these omens served. further, mrs. waddington saw that kate was rummaging through the unanswered letters in her writing desk, saw that she was comparing two of them. kate picked up the larger one. she was wearing furs, since the april night was chilly. this letter she tucked carefully into her muff. "why in the name of common sense are you taking that letter along to a dinner party?" "oh, something i want to show someone," answered kate after a momentary pause. mrs. waddington knew from old times the hidden meaning of that pause. just so, when at the age of seven they had caught her in the sugar-bowl, kate had paused before starting her ready explanation. she had never overcome it; and her mother was the last person likely to acquaint her with that flaw of method. "it's from alice johnstone, i judge by the handwriting," continued mrs. waddington. "oh, i guess so," responded kate. she made rapidly for the door. "good night, mother. i'll be home to-night, but rather late." "thank you for small favors--" but kate was gone. sanguinetti's held a place in the old city no less definite than that of zinkand's or the poodle dog. in the beginning a plain italian restaurant, frequented by the italian fishermen whose sashes made so bright the water front and whose lateen sails, shaped by the swelling wind like a horse's ear, gave delight to the bay, it had existed since the neapolitans came to drag the pacific with their nets. painters and art students from the attics of the quarter "discovered" it. when they made a kind of bohemia about it, "the gang" of tawdry imitators and posing professional bohemians followed as a matter of course. that invasion put it on the fair way toward failure. but sanguinetti's saved itself by dropping one degree lower. "south of market" discovered it. that district is somewhat to san francisco as the east side to new york, though with an indescribable difference. then came the milliner's apprentice who slaved all the week that she might brighten the "line" on saturday afternoon, with the small clerk, her companion or the butcher-boy her beau. there came also the little people of the race track, as jockies out of a job, touts, bookmakers' apprentices--tawdry people mainly, but ever good-humored and ready to loosen restraint of custom after the second quart of steve sanguinetti's red wine. so this place came to have an air of loose, easy, half-drunken camaraderie, which seldom fell into roughness. it was the home of noise and song and easy flirtations which died at the door. when this transformation was fully accomplished, the painters and art students and seekers after "life" came back again. this time, they did not spoil its flavor. the fishermen had been shy folk who fled from the alien invasion; no shyness about south-of-market people on a holiday! this sanguinetti dinner party of sydney masters's differed but slightly, after all, from other slumming parties in the hostelry of touch-and-go familiarities. amused outsiders, they watched the growth of swift flirtations, passed comments on the overdressed women, joined in the latest orpheum songs which started when the cheap wine made music in the throat, chucked quarters into the banjoes of the two negro minstrels who came in at eight o'clock to stimulate merriment. bertram, in his position as jester to king masters, went a little further than the others. it was he who bought out the stock of a small italian flower-vendor, that he might present a bouquet "to every lady in the place." his attention brought from the ladies varying degrees of gratitude, and from their escorts degrees of resentment which varied still more. running out of flowers before he had gone clear around the room, he built up on toothpicks bouquets of celery and radishes, which he fastened to the corks of empty claret bottles and gave, with elaborate presentation speeches, to the merrier and prettier of the neglected ladies. from this expedition, he returned leading a little, sad man, who had the look of a boy grown old by troubles. a bleached-blonde woman followed them half-way across, but centre room she turned back with a stamp of her foot and a flourish of her shoulders. "ladies and gentlemen," bertram announced, "i desire the privilege of introducing teddy murphy, california's premier jockey, lately set down on an outrageously false charge of pulling a horse. he is here, ladies and gentlemen, to tell you his troubles!" a moment of silent embarrassment on both sides. "here--take my chair, mr. murphy!" spoke kate from the foot of the table. the next table, set _a deux_, had just become vacant. kate slipped into its nearest chair. bertram's seat was back by the wall; to reach it, he must step over feet and so interrupt mr. murphy's tale of wrong. nothing was more natural than that he should take the seat opposite kate. and instantly--he having heard the story already--bertram lost interest. "would you mind getting my muff?" asked kate. "i think my handkerchief is in it." as bertram handed over the muff, she was smiling up at him. she did not look down until she had taken out her handkerchief, flirted out its folds. then a little, disconcerted "oh!" escaped her. "what is it?" kate was shaking out her skirt, was glancing rapidly to right and left. "goodness!" she cried. "what's the matter?" "a letter. have you seen it?" bertram looked under the table. there it lay, by his chair. he picked it up and passed it over. "oh!" she cried again, this time in a tone balanced between relief and embarrassment. she tucked it back into her muff, and her eyes avoided his. he noted all this pantomime, and he was about to speak, when mrs. masters touched kate on the shoulder. "my dear, you're missing this!" she whispered. kate put all her attention upon mr. murphy and his burning story about the pulling of candlestick. mr. murphy grew a little too broad; mrs. masters, as the easiest way rid of him, rose and asked for her wraps. as bertram assisted kate, he saw her reach an anxious hand into her muff. outside, she contrived a loose shoe lace, so that she and bertram fell behind. she did not approach the subject of the letter; that came up later and, of course, quite incidentally. "anything to confide in me to-night?" she began. "oh, nothing much. gee, you can't tell about her, can you? say, are you sure about your system? she was with me last tuesday when i punched the jaw off a man, and she hasn't treated me so well since i knew her as she did after that. i was blame near opening on her again. blame near. what's the answer?" "a passing mood, perhaps." "well, i'd like to get her in that mood often." "and you'll find that she's furthest from you in those moods--it's in them that she's least herself." "this general girl proposition is a tough one," commented bertram. "all right. you know the dope." "you poor, perplexed boy!" "say, isn't it time you began confiding?" "oh, you caught it--the letter i mean--there are few things those eyes of yours don't see!" "man?" he continued, ignoring the compliment. "yes. it's a dreadful perplexity." "tell your old uncle!" "perhaps." "you're in love?" "i--i was. you see--ah, it's gone past the place where it should have ended!" "then why don't you break it off?" "that's all very well to say, but he's a good man, and he says he's crazy about me. do i seem happy to you?" "middling." "i am--sometimes. then something like to-day comes, and it puts me clear down in the heart. i have to keep up laughing and being gay when i'm all torn to pieces. i feel that i oughtn't to keep him in suspense this way. he's young, he's fairly rich--if that counted. when he's here, i often think i do--love him. when he writes, i know i don't." "poor little girl!" said bert, catching sympathetically at the half-sob in her voice. "thank you," answered kate on an indrawn breath. and then, "what would you do? i'm only a girl after all, am i not? here i'm leaning on you, asking for advice." bertram did not answer for a time. then: "sure you don't love him?" "not--not entirely. i might if he made me." bertram was looking straight down on her. his mouth was pursed up. "suppose he made you--and after you'd married him you got to feeling again as you do now. that wouldn't be square to him, would it?" "i--perhaps not. but oh, it would hurt him so!" "i guess he could live through it. they usually do, and don't lose many meals at that. i think he's running a bluff, myself." kate drew slightly away from him. "that's a poor compliment." bertram studied her meaning. "what?" "to say that a man _couldn't_ get crazy over me." "oh! not on your life. sure thing no. i don't know a girl anywhere that a man has more license to get crazy over. you're a beauty and you're just about the best fellow i know." "i suppose you _had_ to say that!" "i figure that i wanted to. if i haven't said it before, it's because--" he stopped; kate, as though it were an actual presence, could see the figure of eleanor rising between them. "yes, i know--" she said quickly. "you do think i'm attractive then--cross your heart." "cross my heart, you're a beaut." "but that doesn't get me any further with my troubles." "what are his bad points that make you hold off?" "nothing more than a feeling, i suppose. no, it's more than that--something definite. it's--i find this thing hard to say. not exactly weakness in him--more a lack of proved strength. he inherited his money; he's had the regular eastern education. he's at work, managing his properties. but i'd feel so much more secure of his strength if he had made it for himself. that is the thing i could admire most in a man; more even than kindness. to have him succeed from nothing because his strength was in it. i don't care how unfinished he might be--that would show he was a man!" bertram was still pausing on this, when kate touched his arm. "i'm afraid," she said, "that we must join the others. they'll be talking about us if we don't, and we mustn't have that--for eleanor's sake if for no other!" they hurried ahead, therefore, and walked beside mr. and mrs. masters all the way in. at the studio door, kate declined a half-accepted invitation to remain for the night. "mother isn't wholly well," she said, "and i can be fearfully domestic in emergency! it's only a step to the valencia street cars, and mr. bertram will get me home." it was still too early for the theatre crowd; they found themselves alone on the outer seat of a "dummy" car, one of those rapid transit conveyances by which san francisco of old let the passenger decide whether that amorphic climate was summer or winter. he had, it seemed, to shake her back into the story of her love-affair. three times he approached the subject, and each time she fended it off. they had passed clear into the mission, were more than three-quarters of the way home, before he launched one of his frontal assaults. "you might give me some more work at my job of confidant," he said. she began again, then; a story without detail; more a sentimental exposure of her feelings. the thing was growing like a canker; she fought it, but the decision, the feeling of his unhappiness should she give him final rejection, roosted on her pillow. it had never come to an engagement; it had been only an understanding; but she thought of dreadful things, even of his possible suicide, whenever she contemplated giving him the final blow. the old-fashioned waddington house stood on a big spanish lot far out in the mission. there was ground to spare; enough so that its original owners had room to plant trees without shading light from the windows. as they walked into the deep shadows, her voice took on an intonation like a suppressed sob. "it is a comfort now to have said it, and it's a new life to have you for support. oh, bertram, what a big, strong friend you are! be good to me, won't you?" she had stopped; in the shadows the clouded moon of her face looked up into his. "oh, won't you be good to me?" he slipped his arm about her; and suddenly he kissed her. she suffered his kiss for only a moment; then she moved away. he let her go, and she rushed ahead to the door. when he reached the step, she had faced about. "consider my _feelings_, bert chester," she said; and the screen door slammed. chapter xiii just where the santa eliza trail commanded sight of the main travelled road, eleanor sat on a rock watching the hill-shadows lengthen on the valley below, watching a mauve haze deepen on the dark-green tops of redwood trees. the time was approaching when she must hurry back to mrs. goodyear's bungalow for a dinner which she dreaded. three weeks of perplexity had bred in her a shrinking from people. she had found excuse to wander away alone. that lazy spring of the north woods, so like to early fall in other climates, had given her at first the healing of spirit which she needed. she wandered hither and yon as her fancy led her, following this trail, pushing into that opening in the chapparal. she had come out upon the santa eliza trail and gained sight of the road before she realized with a kind of inner shame the way in which her feet of flesh had been tending, the direction in which she had been turning her eyes of the spirit. three miles away on the summit of the next ridge was the masters ranch, and there rested the centre of her soul-storm. bertram chester, she knew by chance, was spending the week-end with the masters. she stopped by the rock, then; and immediately nature went out of her heart and the world entered. for three intolerable weeks, this heaviness had been descending upon her as by a whimsy of its own. like the water of those cupped wheels in her little irrigation plant at the ranch, this black liquid, when it had filled its vessel to the brim, would empty automatically without touch on the spring of her will. when this came, she would feel rested, healed, in a state of dull peace. now the struggle of thought was on her again. as always before, it began with an arraignment of the facts in the case, a search of memory for any forgotten data which might lead to a conclusion. the first crisis arrived on the evening when judge tiffany came home in a plain mood of disgust, and announced baldly: "well, mattie; our young friend did everything i expected of him." he went on quite simply with the news. bertram chester had left him almost without notice. but that was to be expected. the rest was the worst. bertram had gone to senator northrup--as manager of his real estate interests. the name northrup was as the name of the devil in that household. northrup's operations included not only law and politics but latterly speculative and unprincipled ventures in business. a dying flash of his old fire woke in judge tiffany when he spoke as he felt about this young cub who had bitten his caressing hand. eleanor left the dinner table as soon as she had a fair excuse. she found herself unable to bear it. had she remained, she must have defended him. but alone in her living room she look counsel of this treason and agreed in her heart with her uncle. the very manner in which he had done it--never a hint, never a preliminary mention of northrup--appealed to her as the deepest treason of all. the next evening, bertram chester had the superb impudence to call. eleanor was alone in the house that night. she hesitated when the maid brought in his name, then shook herself together and went out to face him. he met her with an imitation of his old manner, an assumption that his change in employment would make no difference in his social relations with the tiffanys. what words had she used to let him know her feelings? she could not remember now. but it had come hard; for the unmoral half of her perceptions was noting how big and beautiful he looked, how his blush, as of a stripling facing reproof, became him. he pleaded, he stormed, he presumed, he passed in and out of sulky moods, he began to defend himself against the silent attack of her look. why hadn't he a right to do it? a man should look out for himself. but he'd have stayed and rotted with the old law office if he'd felt that she would take it that way. "you mean more to me than success!" he said. "no more of that, please!" she cried. after that cry, she fell into dignified silence as the only defence against the double attack from him and from the half of her that yearned for him. from her silence he himself grew silent until, with a boyish shake of his shoulders--lovable but comically inadequate--he bade her good night. "you'll cool off!" he said at the door. "good bye," she responded simply. "no, it's good night," he answered. she woke next morning with a sense of vacancy in heart and mind. something was gone. she did nothing for a week but justify herself for calling that something back, or nerve herself to let it go. on the one hand, her mind told her that he had done the ungrateful, the treasonable thing. it did not matter that he might have done it through mere lack of finer perception. that was part of his intolerability. on the other hand, her heart ran like a shuttle through a web of his smiles, his illuminations, the shiver, as from a weapon suddenly drawn, of his unexpected presence, even his look when he stood at the door to receive her final good bye. the woof of that web was the sense of vacancy in her--the unconquerable feeling that a thing by which she had lived was utterly lost. and where would he go if she let him go? ah, the inn was ready, the room was swept. he would go inevitably to kate waddington. that would be hard to bear. sense of justice was strong in eleanor; she realized the ungenerosity of this emotion while she continued to harbor it. but was there not justice in it after all? kate waddington could grasp, could guide, only the worst part of him. kate waddington had in her no guidance for the better bertram chester, who must be in him somewhere. she hugged this justification to herself. perhaps it was not right to let him go; perhaps her heart and her duty were as one. a cock quail came out from the chapparal, saw her, and bobbed back; the feet of his flock rustled the twigs. now he was raising his spring call--"muchacho!" "muchacho!" clearer and slighter came the call of his mate--"muchacho!" "muchacho!" a ground squirrel shook the laurel-bush at her side, so that its buds brushed her shoulder. the cock quail came back into the pathway, slanted his wise head, plumed in splendor, to find whether she were friend or enemy, saw that she made no move, and fell to foraging among the leaves. she had sat so long and so quietly that the little people of the ground were accepting her as part of the landscape. she began dimly to perceive these things, to take joy in them. and then they colored her mood. what was she but a young, female thing, a vessel of life universal? what was her attraction toward bertram chester but a part of the great, holy force which made and moved hills, trees, the little people of hills and trees? what was she, to have resisted the impulse in her because of a few imperfections, a little lack of development in civilized morals? her perception of nature died away, but the slant which it had given her thoughts persisted. when she felt and spoke as she had done that night in the man far low, she was unwholesome, super-refined, super-civilized--she was proceeding by the hothouse morals which she had learned in books and in european studios. when she felt as she did on that first night under the bay tree, she was wholesome and eternally right. how much greater in her, after all, if she had followed the call, had taken him for the man in him, to develop, to guide as a woman may guide! ah, by what token could she call him back? her gaze of meditation had been fixed on the road below. she had been half-consciously aware for some time of a figure which lost itself behind one of the hill-turns, reappeared again, became wholly visible in a band of late afternoon sunshine. it was bertram chester. the vision came without any shock of first surprise. he had been so much part of her thoughts that it seemed the most natural presence in the world. he was swinging along the road in her direction, heaving his massive shoulders with every stride; he stopped, took off his cap, wiped his forehead with a motion which, seen even at that distance, conveyed all his masculinity, and strode on again. would he keep on along the road, or would he turn toward her up the santa eliza trail? and if he did keep on, would those roving eyes of his perceive her sitting there? why not leave everything to that chance? if he looked up and saw her there on her rock, if he turned into the trail and passed her--that was a sign. she found herself, nevertheless, humanly striving to cheat fortune and the gods by fixing all her mind and eyes upon him, as though she would hypnotize him into looking up. but her mind and eyes had no power over him. he kept on with his even gait until he was lost behind the clump of trees which marked the branching of the trail. one chance was gone; she might not know the issue of the other until time and waiting informed her. how long before she should know? she crouched low on the rock and tried not to think. the twigs and pebbles crunched under heavy feet; the branches shook and rustled; a blue sweater became visible in the shadows. she looked away. "well, i'll be--eternally blowed!" his voice came out like an explosion. much as she expected it, she started. when, after a moment, she dared look up, he stood over her. "are you going to run away?" he asked. his voice, with its ripple like laughter, showed that he expected nothing of the kind. "no," she answered, superfluously. he seemed, then, to feel the necessity for explanation. "i hadn't an idea--" "neither had i." she broke in to anticipate his thought. each was lying a little; and both knew it. she rushed to commonplaces. "uncle edward and i are at mrs. goodyear's bungalow over sunday. it's our last expedition out of town before we go down to the ranch." "well, i must have had a hunch! i'm at the masters ranch over sunday. i got a freak idea to take a walk alone. it sure was a hunch!" soft sentiment tinged his voice. she answered nothing. "a hunch that you were alone here, nobody to interrupt--say, are you still sore on me?" "i--i didn't run away--" "oh, i knew you'd get over it. i think even the judge will get over it. i don't believe he'd care anyhow, if it wasn't for his old grouch on senator northrup." "perhaps. he's said nothing--to me--" "but it's you i care about. only you. i told you that and i mean it. i don't want you to be sore--i'd go back and bury myself in the old office for life if i thought it would make it different with you." "would you, bertram?" he leaned close to her; she could feel his compelling eyes burning into her averted face. with one part of her, she was conscious that here was a crisis too great for her fully to feel; with the other part, she was aware that an ant, dragging a ridiculously heavy straw, was toiling up her rock. now he had her hand, which lay inert in his; now his arm was about her shoulder; and now he was speaking again: "can't you? can't you stop looking down on me and believe i'm going to be good enough for you?" she found power of speech. "i never--i don't think that i'm too good for you!" her rubicon was crossed. it was a strangely long time before he kissed her, but the silent interval after the kiss was stranger and longer still. "tell me what you plan for our future, bertram, for i am afraid!" she whispered at length. "it's got to be a wait--that's the risk you take with a comer. i'll go on twice as fast for you. what do you want--shall we tell about it, girlikins?" "as you wish, bertram." "i guess we'd better not, then--not until the old judge gets his back down. let's have it just between me and my little girl. "say!" he added, the sentiment blowing out of his tone, "what was the matter, anyhow, that night on the restaurant balcony? why did you turn me down then, and what made you so sore? i've never quite got to your thoughts, you know. but i'm going to!" he drew her closer. "every one of them!" she dropped her face on his shoulder. "ah, we've so many things to talk about, bertram, and there's so much time! i've been a girl that didn't know her mind. shan't we let that rest now? shan't we be contented with what to-day has brought you and me?" a film clouded his face. "yes--if you want it that way." "hoo-ooo-ooo!" clear and high, but quavering, a masculine voice was calling across the ridge. eleanor sprang up. "that's uncle edward--it's dinner-time--do you want him to find you--you'd better go!" he stood as though considering. "all right. when are you going back?" "we catch the seven train to-morrow afternoon at santa eliza." "darn! i'd engaged to take on the five-ten at las olivas. i've half a notion to change and join you and see what the old man says--" "no, bertram, it's better not. we'll find a way. go now!" "you bet we will--good bye, girlikins!" he made no move to kiss her again; he turned and crashed down the trail. eleanor sped up the trail. safe on the summit of the ridge, her secret hidden behind her, she answered the call. then she dared look back at the figure vanishing in deep shadow below. her expression and attitude, soft-eyed and drooping though they were, showed other emotions than unmixed happiness. chapter xiv judge tiffany turned from a consideration of the hillside to a closer consideration of eleanor, who rode beside him in the goodyear trap. she sat very straight, her hands folded in her lap, her grave, grey eyes staring not at hillsides nor spring skies, but into the far horizons. since he recovered from that purely human rage against this youth who had betrayed him to his dearest enemy, the judge had been watching, with all his old interest, the surface indications of eleanor's moods. last night, it had been a kind of gaiety; to-day the mood was quiet, but not at all despondent; there was life in it. judge tiffany held his own views on the relations between his niece and bertram chester, and on the right or convenience of interfering. twice he had been on the point of telling her that his feeling toward bertram chester should not color hers; that his house was still open to the young man. but the curiosity of philosophical age to see how things will turn out had prevented him. it was just as well. they were on the eve of their summer flight to the ranch, where she would have other things to think about than young men. that was his half-expressed theme when he spoke: "well, girl, will you be glad to get back to work again? you missed last summer." eleanor started as out of sleep. "i think i am glad of everything!" she said cryptically. as though to turn the subject, she indicated a buckboard which was coming down an intersecting by-road at crazy speed. "why are they driving so fast?" the goodyear driver turned with the familiarity of a country henchman. "that's the doctor's rig from las olivas," he said, "and he's sure going some!" followed a monologue on the doctor and his habits. about the next bend of the road, a little boy rushed from a wayside camp which looked strangely deserted for supper-time of sunday afternoon. he waved both arms before his face. "hey, mister, take me to the wreck!" "what wreck, kid?" "the five-ten is over the trestle, and they went off and left me!" judge tiffany took the information calmly, even selfishly. "i wonder if we'd better turn back and give it up to-night, or go on?" eleanor spoke with a catch of the breath, a drawn-in tone. "go on! oh, tell him to go on!" the judge peered at her. she was pale, but, as always in her crises, the curtain of inscrutability made her face a mask. "oh, do go on!" she repeated. then, as though it all needed explanation, she added: "we might be able to help!" "drive on, then--fast!" absolutely passive, eleanor swayed a little with the trap, but made no motion of her own. indeed, there was little motion within. the train had gone over the trestle, that was all. bertram chester was on that train. she must not try to think it out--must only hold tight to herself until she found how god had decided for her. once it did occur that she had fretted her heart away over shadowy ills, toy troubles, while bertram walked the earth free and healthy. how trivial those troubles seemed beside this real apprehension! once again, she wondered how she had been cruel enough to hold him at arm's length so long. was this to be the punishment for her folly? a buckboard, driven furiously, came over the hill-rise before them--the doctor's rig. "ask him--ask him!" she called to her driver. as they drew up alongside, the doctor's driver began talking without need for inquiries. "spread rail! the rear car just bucked over the trestle--" "anybody dead?" "two that i saw--and everybody in the rear car hurt. they're loading 'em on the front car to take 'em to town. good bye--i've got to bring back medicine before they start!" the chances were even--the chances were even. if he had been in the front car--relief. if he had been in the rear car-- the thing opened before them like a panorama as they topped the hill. the engine puffing regularly, normally, the baggage car and one coach on the rails behind it; a little crowd buzzing and rushing up and down the trestle; a black, distorted mass of iron and splinters at the edge of the water below. three or four heads appeared above the trestle, and the people swarmed in that direction. the heads grew to four men, carrying between them a bundle covered by a red blanket. judge tiffany spoke for the first time. "you'd better not see it, nell!" his words seemed to draw the curtain away from her self-control. "oh, go on--for god's sake, go on!" as they drew up beside the undamaged coach, the bearers had just arrived with another body. eleanor jumped down, rushed to the platform. the thing under the blanket was a woman. she turned into the coach, apprehension growing into certainty. she had not seen him in the crowd. if he were unhurt, he must be first and foremost among the workers. the coach was a hospital--limp, bandaged people propped up on every seat; in a little space by the further door, a row of quiet figures which lay as though sleeping. above them bent two men. their business-like calm showed that they were physicians. the half of her which stood aloof, observing all things, wondering at all things, the half whose influence kept her now so calm and sane, marvelled that she heard no moaning, tormented sounds. they were in the second stage of injury; the blessed anæsthesia of nature was upon them. for human speech, she heard only the low, quick voices of those who healed and nursed. she saw a bare arm lifted from the press of huddled forms, saw that a physician had pressed a black bulb to it. the hand--the inevitable configuration of that arm which she had never seen bare--and she knew him. bertram lay on his side. his eyes were closed, his whole figure huddled; yet something more than the quiver of his body at the prick of the syringe told her that he was alive. his color had changed but little; hovering death showed mainly by a sharpening of all the lines of his face. yet it did not seem to be bertram, but rather some statue, some ghastly replica of him. the physician stood up and stretched his back. she came close. "will he live?" he turned impatiently, but he caught her eyes. "he has a chance. he's young and strong--is he--yours?" "yes--yes! what shall i do for him?" "are you sure you're strong enough--you won't faint nor carry on?" "no--no! i'm sure of that. what may i do?" judge tiffany was beside her now. he looked, understood, and said nothing. "thank god for you, then! with all the crowd we haven't sane people enough to nurse one baby! everything's the matter with him--broken arm, broken collar-bone, shock, and maybe he's injured internally. we can't be sure about that yet. i'm trying to make him comfortable, but"--here the agitated man broke through the calm physician for a moment--"no braces, no slings, no anything! we're going to town as soon as this company will let us. and he must be held. it's the only way to keep him comfortable. come!" judge tiffany touched the doctor's arm, but he spoke to eleanor. "nell--you'd better let a man do that." "no. you may help. how shall i hold him?" all her will concentrated on obedience to direction, she followed the doctor while he drew bertram's bare arm over her shoulder, set a cushion at his back, showed her how she must support his neck with her right hand. "hold him as long as you can, then have your friend relieve you. but change no more often than you find necessary. he'll get jostled enough before we reach town." the judge seated himself calmly. she was alone with the care of her dying. the necessity for comforting and reassuring him came into her mind. "it's all right, bertram; it's all right!" she whispered. he returned no answer, even of a flickering eyelash. he lay still, inert, a great bulk that tugged at the muscles of her arms. after a time, her frame adjusted itself to the position. her perceptions, still keenly alive, told her that her doctor was working over a woman in the corner. just as the train started, she saw him rise, wipe his hands on his handkerchief, and motion calmly to two of the men. they lifted the woman. eleanor realized all at once what the motion signified. they had taken her to join the dead in the baggage car. next to bertram lay an old man, his head so wrapped in bandages that she could see only the tip of his grey beard. a middle-aged woman--eleanor recognized her as a camper whom they had passed on the road but yesterday--knelt beside him, talking into his ear about his soul. "do you lean on your savior?" she whispered. a kind of passing impatience touched eleanor. so much had her sympathetic spirit absorbed the feelings of these dying ones, that she resented this as an intrusion, an unwelcome distraction from the business of sloughing off the flesh. a little sag of bertram's body, which alarmed her for a moment until she saw that the movement came from relaxation of her own arms, called her back to responsibility. the realization that it _had_ called her back brought with it the amazing, shameful realization that it had ever wandered away. why-- from the moment when she took him into her arms, she had never thought of him as her dying lover--never as her lover at all! a man in extremis, a thing so beaten and suffering that she called for it on her christ--he was all that, in common with the other beaten and battered and senseless wrecks about them. but the feeling that he was her own, about to go from her, had never entered her heart. she was ashamed while she thought of it; but it persisted. not hers? why, she had suffered him to kiss her only yesterday! must she think of such things with a life to save? now, her body was giving way with weariness; it seemed that she could hold him no longer. she nodded to judge tiffany, therefore; the old man rose and gently took her burden from her. she sank back on the empty seat. when the faintness of fatigue had passed, she fixed her eyes on the still face of him who had been her lover. why was it? the clear-cut profile, so refined and beautiful since suffering gave it the final touch, had thrilled her only yesterday and through a succession of yesterdays. it had no power to thrill her now. she tried to put back this unworthy thought, but it persisted. in spite of pity and all decency of the heart, that outer self of hers kept saying it to her like an audible voice. were he to die now, in her arms, she should work and weep and pray over his passing--but only as she would work and weep and pray over that alien old man who lay beside him, that woman whom they had just carried away. the judge was flagging. he glanced wearily over his shoulder, as though he hesitated to ask for relief. she rose; and without a word she took his place. and now, as she knelt with bertram's slight yet heavy breathing in her ear, her thoughts became uncontrollable nightmare--scattered visions and memories of old horrors, as when she saw her father drunk on the pavement; a multitude of those little shames which linger so long. one incident which was not quite a shame thrust itself forward most insistently of all. it was that episode under the bay tree, when she was only a little girl. why did that memory start to the surface those tears which had been falling so long within? her weeping seemed to lift her to a tremendous height of perception, as though that outer self had flowed in upon her. that which had lured her and dragged her to him in the end, was the life in him, the strong, vigorous body, the gestures, the smiles. that which had held her away from him was the soul within him--high and clean enough as souls go, but not one which she could ever know, and not one which could ever know hers. in this struggle of passing, he was all soul; the body was not in it. she held the plan of her puzzle; it was necessary only to set the scattered blocks into place. she found herself whispering to him; she checked herself until she remembered that he could not hear: "o bertram, you are not mine! o bertram, you could never be mine!" now she could look straight at the possibility of his death or recovery. and she could weigh and choose, in case it was life, between telling him what she felt, or going on with him to the end--walking with a soul apart, yet choosing paths for it, too. that last might be the road of honor. that fine and heroic course, indeed, came to her with a high appeal. she had made her one resolve of duty. perhaps it was her destiny to immolate herself for duty to the end. the train bowled on, stopping for no stations. the old man in the corner was unconscious or asleep; the woman who tended him had stopped her spiritual ministrations. a child, propped up in one of the rear seats, had awakened to cry, fallen asleep, awakened and wept again. she had in her voice a thick, mucous note, which became to eleanor the motif in that symphony of misery. otherwise, no one seemed to be making sound except the two physicians. her own doctor came up once, pressed a syringe again into the bare arm, whispered that it was all going well. a whistle came muffled through the fog; they were slowing down. it was a station; the lights, the clamor of human voices, proved it. eleanor looked out of the window. a knot of young men had broken for the platform; and she could distinguish the black boxes of cameras. there arose a sharp parley at the rear door; her doctor muttered "reporters--damn!" and hurried back. judge tiffany rose and followed him. over her shoulder eleanor caught the white, intent face of mark heath. "he knows; they have told him," she thought. judge tiffany, his mind on the practical necessities of the case, still had it in him to admire the control of that good soldier, the modern reporter. when he told simply what had happened, how the issue lay balanced between life and death, mark only said: "my god!--and me with the story to do!" then his eye caught eleanor. "did she--has she been nursing him?" judge tiffany glanced at the other reporters, clustered about the conductor, at the photographers, holding animated wrangle with the physicians about flashlights. "keep her out of your story--you can do that. say i found him on the train--put me in--that's a good story enough. keep my niece out. keep the others off. keep those flashlights muffled!" mark hurried forward. one look, a look which contorted his face, he bent on bertram. then he spoke puzzles to eleanor. "you're miss brown, a camper at santa eliza, if anyone asks you--and when we leave this train you stay by me and do everything i tell you." "very well." mark touched bertram's face with a tenderness almost feminine. "poor old man!" he whispered; and he hurried back. a shock-headed youth accosted him. "what's up there?" he asked. "good story," answered mark. "i've got it all--don't you fellows bother. bertram chester, old california varsity tackle, real estate manager for northrup and co., seriously injured, may not recover. get his injuries from the doctor. his late employer, judge edward c. tiffany, reached this train at santa eliza and has been taking care of him." a voice came from the group of reporters: "why, he's your roommate!" "i know it--damn it! keep on. judge tiffany has been caring for him, holding him up so he could bear it, assisted by miss sadie brown, a camper at santa eliza. she's the one i was talking to." "who is she? any chance for a photograph?" "i braced her for a picture. she wouldn't stand for it." "let me try! i'll get it." "see here, you fellows, i'll attend to that. i'll let you all in if she gives up. i'll play you square. he's my roommate--can't you trust me to handle it? keep on. miss sadie brown, works at the emporium, lives valencia--" mark was reading from a perfectly blank sheet of copy paper--"judge tiffany will take him home. he wired ahead for a private ambulance from havens. that's all of that. now what have you fellows got? help me out; it's none too easy for me." as he took notes, asked questions, formed his "story" in his mind, mark never took his eyes off that group in the corner. now they were racing down the last stage of the trip, with full freeway. now they were drawing into the ferry station. under the lights stood a buzzing crowd, its blacks shot with the white coats of hospital orderlies. a dozen ambulances, their doors open, stood backed to the platform. eleanor sagged down on the floor with a sigh as two orderlies lifted bertram's arms from her shoulders, made shift to get him upon their stretcher. but the doctor stopped them. "get this old man first," he said, "and be careful. that young fellow ought to pull through." chapter xv toward morning, eleanor managed to get a little sleep. when full daylight wakened her to the dull realization of her situation and burdens, she hurried into clothes, crept to the solid, old-fashioned best bedroom where they had put bertram, and took counsel of the nurse. everything was hopeful; she got that from the professional patter of temperatures and reactions. it seemed that there might be no internal hurt. he had roused from his shock in the night; had seemed to know where he was and what had happened. he lay now in a natural sleep, but he must be kept very quiet. on the way downstairs, eleanor met face to face with her aunt. mrs. tiffany had been awake since the ambulance brought responsibility; but her eyes showed more than want of sleep. the two women stopped, looked long at each other; then mrs. tiffany took eleanor tenderly in her arms and kissed her. "don't you worry, dear," she whispered, "he will get well, and everything will be all right with edward and me." eleanor did not answer at first. she drew a little away from her aunt's embrace, before she found tongue to say: "please don't speak of that, aunt mattie--oh, not of that now!" as she made her way out to the piazza, in an instinctive search for air and room, she was crying. in the limpness of reaction, she sank into a chair. every joint and muscle, she realized now, ached and creaked. she could lift her arms only after taking long thought with herself; and the soul within was as burned paper. the front gate clicked. the first, doubtless, of those inquiring visitors who would read a meaning into the adventures of last night. that, too, was to be faced this day! the pattering, hurrying footsteps sounded near to her before she looked up and recognized kate waddington. if kate had been crying, the only evidence was a hasty powdering which left streaks of white and pink before her ears. on first glance, eleanor marvelled at her appearance of control, at the lack of emotion in her face. but insight rather than conscious vision told eleanor of the currents which were running under that mask. at the bottom eleanor detected a fear which was not only apprehension of the news from bertram chester, but also a cowardly shrinking from the situation. she fancied that she could even trace kate's consideration of the proper shade of acting in the circumstances. all this in the moment before kate sprang up the steps and asked: "oh, will he live?" a baser nerve in eleanor quivered with the desire to be cruel. she had to put it down before she could tell the simple truth. one little corner of kate's mouth quivered and jerked for a second under her teeth before she caught herself and resumed the impersonation of a solicitous friend. "tell me all about it," she said. "ah, i am too tired!" nevertheless, eleanor did manage a plain tale, ending with the nurse's report and with her own conviction that he would live. "oh, of course he will live!" and then--"who is nursing him?" she looked up on this question, which was also an appeal, a begging. "we have a nurse," answered eleanor shortly. it gratified her a little, in her low state of consciousness, to be thus abrupt. the better part of her realized this; saw how she was wreaking the revenge of an old emotion. a reaction of generosity prompted her next words; but she spoke with an effort. "you may help if you want to. uncle edward must go to the ranch this week--unless--don't you want to come here and stay in my spare room?" it seemed to eleanor that she had never made a harder sacrifice than the one which she sealed with that invitation. this, too, brought kate out of her impersonation. her whole figure straightened for a second, and-- "oh, might i?" she said. "i should be very glad. will you come up to see him--one may look in at the door. he is in uncle edward's spare chamber." as they threaded the involved halls of that rambling dwelling, kate hurried on ahead. eleanor, from the rear, threw out a word or two by way of direction. at the door, opened to get air of a dull and heavy morning, they peered into the grim order of the sick room. the nurse had already stripped it to hospital equipment. his face, refined almost into beauty by pain and low-running blood, lay tilted to one side as he slept. the nurse touched her lips. eleanor nodded. the nurse turned back toward her patient. eleanor dared look at kate. her color had changed from pale, back to the pink of life; now it was turning pale again. she noticed neither eleanor nor the nurse; she stood as one in a universe unpeopled save by herself and another. once, her two arms quivered with an involuntary outward motion, and once she swayed against the lintel. and eleanor, watching her through this wordless passage, gathered all the currents that had been running through her will into an indeterminate determination. in that moment she realized the full bitterness of a renunciation that does not mean renouncing a wholly dear and desired thing, but does mean renouncing the beloved thing which one is better without. kate turned at length. eleanor, as their eyes met, could read in her face and body the change as the actress took command once more. kate flew at once to her hollow conventional phrases. "the poor, poor boy!" she said. "oh, we must all help!" eleanor turned away with the feeling that this made it harder for her to perform her renunciation--if real renunciation it were. the day brought too much work, activity, purely material anxiety, for a great deal of thought. they had cut off the telephone in the main wing of the tiffany house and switched the current to the instrument in eleanor's living-room. most of the day she spent answering that telephone. people of whom she had never even heard, made anxious inquiries about the condition of mr. chester. before night the newspapers became a plague. for in the afternoon, winged reporters, shot out in volleys for a "second day story," had called at valencia and found there no sadie brown. hurrying down the back trail to the emporium, they did discover an indignant little shop-girl of that name. those reporters who had been with the wreck the night before found no resemblance in her to the mysterious lady. then came a bombardment, in person and by telephone, of the tiffany house. the judge, meeting all callers at the front door, lied tactfully. the city editors gave up sending reporters and took to bullying over the telephone; so that the burden of an unaccustomed lying fell upon eleanor. at eleven o'clock, and after one voice had declared that the _journal_ had the whole account and would make it pretty peppery if the tiffanys did not confirm it, eleanor took the telephone off the hook and went to bed. the morning papers did pretty well with what they had. "mysterious woman nurses prominent varsity athlete"--"who is the pretty girl that nursed society man in las olivas horror?"--"modest heroine of las olivas holocaust." but the secret, thanks to mark heath, was safe. * * * * * she slept that night. far along in the morning she awoke to the delicious sense of physical renewal. the situation crept into her mind stage by stage, as such things do arrive in the awakening consciousness. she was calm now, what with her rest of body, her decision of soul. she could think it out; her course of action and how she might accomplish it. a knock at her door roused her from half-sleep and meditation to full wakening. kate waddington had entered--kate, transformed into a picturesque imitation of a nurse. she was all in grass linen, the collar rolled away to show her round, golden throat. her flowing tie was blue, and a blue bow completed the knot of her hair. she looked cool, efficient, domestically business-like. "he's better!" kate burst out with the news as eleanor turned her head. "there's really no danger now. the nurse says that he roused this morning and showed a positively vicious temper because they would not let him see anyone." "that's pleasant news. i was sure that he would recover." eleanor caught an unconsidered expression, no more than a glint and a drooping, in kate's eyes. this answer, so calm, so entirely unemotional, had touched curiosity if nothing more. but kate chirped on: "i'm playing mama's little household fairy--how do you like the way i dress the part? i sent for these clothes last night. now you're to lie abed and let me bring you your breakfast. are you rested, dear? it was enough to kill two women!" "quite rested, i think." kate opened the window, bustled about putting the room to rights. "shall i bring your coffee now?" she asked at last. "yes, thank you." kate was back in ten minutes with table and tray. whatever she did had an individuality, a touch. that tray, for example--nothing could have been better conceived to tempt the appetite. she set out the breakfast and remained to pour coffee and to talk. "and isn't it good--mustn't you be thankful--that it won't leave him lame or disfigured or anything like that! his shoulder may be weak, but what does a man need of shoulders after he's quit football?" eleanor just glanced over her coffee-cup, but she made no answer. kate turned her course. "won't you let me open your egg for you?" "no, thank you." then, "you're very kind, kate." "i am the original ray of light. do let me fix those pillows. you're going to lie in bed all the morning, you know. shall i bring you the papers? you should see them! they've got you a heroine." "me!" now eleanor showed animation. "oh, not you. we've all kept the secret well. you're a mystery, a pretty shop-girl to the rescue. i hope the weeklies don't find the real story." "i hope so." kate rose, made another pretense at setting things right in the room, and moved toward the door. a relief, a lowering of tension, came over eleanor. but at the threshold, kate turned. "oh, i nearly forgot! they sent up from mr. northrup's office this morning for some documents or deeds or something which they thought mr. chester might have in his pockets. the nurse brought out his clothes so that mrs. tiffany and i might go through them--i felt like a pickpocket. and we came across a package of proofs--photographs of him. we opened it to see if the old deeds might be in there. and they're such stunning likenesses--muller, you know--that i thought it would do you good to see them." "thank you, i should like to." kate drew the photographs from her bosom and handed them over. as eleanor took them and began mechanically to inspect them, she caught an unconsidered trifle. kate was not leaving the room. she had stepped over to the cheval-mirror, which faced the bed, and was adjusting the ribbon in her hair. looking across the photographs through her lashes, eleanor saw that the counterfeit eyes of kate in the mirror were trained dead upon her. she examined them, therefore, with indifference; she stopped in the middle of her inspection to ask if judge tiffany were up yet. "they're excellent likenesses," she went on indifferently. "that's a good composition. i don't care so much for this one. that's a poor pose." she had come now to the bottom of the pile. this last print was one of those spirited profiles by which muller, master-photographer, so illuminates character. "oh, that's a wonder," cried eleanor. "such a profile!" then, at the thought how kate might misinterpret this purely artistic enthusiasm, she dropped her voice to indifference again. "won't you please tell aunt mattie that i will get up if i can be of any use?" and she held out the package. kate packed up the tray and withdrew. eleanor heard the muffled tap of her heels in the hall. the sound stopped abruptly. it was fully a minute before they went on again. kate, in fact, had rested the tray on a hall table, drawn out the photographs, and run over them, looking at them with all her eyes. the profile was at the bottom of the package. when she reached that, she hesitated a moment; then, with a quivering motion that ran from her fingers over her whole body, she tore it in two. short as this explosion was, her recovery was quicker. she glanced with apprehension over her shoulder at the door of eleanor's room, tucked the photographs back in her bosom, and took up the tray again. eleanor, when the sound of the tapping heels had quite died away, turned her face toward the wall and gave herself to thought. she had gathered up the last strand of the tangled web. nothing was left but the unweaving. first, his soul was not hers, as her soul was not his. that impression, received in a crisis which, she felt, was to be the crisis of her life, had grown to be an axiom. his youth, his vigor, the pull of a stalwart vitality which made his coarseness almost beauty--that had been the attraction. his spirit, so blazing but so full of flaws--that had been the repulsion. did not her own spirit have its flaws? doubtless. who was she, then, to judge him? ah, but they did not fit into her flaws! kate waddington now--eleanor turned her thoughts in that direction with difficulty--her flaws were akin to his. kate could tolerate and admire the whole of him. his lapses in finer standards, such as that desertion to northrup--did they not fit like the segments of a broken coin with kate's diplomacies of that very day, her subtle reaching to discover if eleanor were really a rival? kate would weigh his compromises with honor as lightly as he would weigh those pretty treacheries. he would be successful; everyone had felt that in him from his very first flash on the horizon. kate would help him to the kind of success he wanted. her tact, her diplomacies, her _flair_ for engrafting herself, would be the very best support to his direct methods of assault. they belonged to each other; and since now kate's desires in the matter had become manifest, only one thing remained. all this allowed, what should her own line of conduct be? how should she bear herself in the days and weeks when pure human kindness must inhibit her from delivering a shock? would it be necessary to commit the inner treason of posing to him as a secret fiancée? well, that must be lived out, step by step. she could at least take all possible means, within the bounds of kindness, of withdrawing herself gradually from him, of paving the way for the ultimate confession. kate waddington would help in that. there, her own game and kate's ran parallel. this discovery of kate at the end of the tangled strings brought a tug at her heart, a black cloud to her spirit. she hated kate waddington. it made her grip the pillows to think how much she hated. her mood descending into a bitter, morbid jealousy which had no reason for being, but which momentarily swept all her resolutions away, sent her mind and body whirling back toward bertram chester. that passed. the last trace of her wild animal hatred for kate waddington was borne away on a prayer of the old faith which held her instincts. she rose from her bed in a state of fixed determination that never faltered again. when eleanor was dressed, she turned not to the front of the house where the business of drawing back a life was afoot, but to the fresh silences of her garden. she walked to the lattice whose view commanded the bay and the distant gate. it was a quiet, dull-gold morning on the roads. a tug fussed about the quarantine wharf; the lateen fisher-boats were slipping out towards the sacramento. and white and stately, between the pillars of the gate, a full-rigged ship was making out to sea on a favoring breeze. eleanor watched the sea-birds bending toward it, the mists creeping down to cover it. the soul within her leaped toward it and seized it as a symbol. "o ship," she whispered, "take this too away with you! i give it to the pure seas. take this little love away with you!" that rite, with its poetry and its self-pity, brought exaltation into her resolution. the sacrifice was complete. chapter xvi life and spirit came back to bertram chester with a sudden bound. by the fourth day, he was so much alive, so insistent for company, that it became a medical necessity to break the conventional regulations for invalids, and let him see people. as it happened, his father was the first visitor. judge tiffany, who thought of everything, had telegraphed on the night of the accident, and had followed this dispatch, as bertram improved, with reassuring messages. bert chester the elder, it appeared, was off on a long drive into modoc; two days elapsed before his vaqueros, left on the ranch, could reach him. he arrived with his valise on the morning of that fourth day when bertram roared for company. he was a tall, calm man, with a sea-lion mustache, a weather-beaten complexion and the chester smile in grave duplicate. he was obviously uncomfortable in his town clothes; and, even at the moment when they were leading him solemnly to the sick room, he stepped in awe through the tiffany splendors. when mrs. tiffany told him that bert was doing well, would doubtless recover and without disability, he said "that's good!" and never changed expression. mrs. tiffany, lingering at the door, saw and heard their greeting. "how are you, bert?" said chester senior. "pretty well, dad," said bertram. then awkwardly, with embarrassed self-consciousness of the rite which he was performing, mr. chester shook his son's hand. after their short interview, mr. chester, a cat--or a bear rather--in a strange garret, roamed the tiffany home and entertained her who would listen. he warmed to kate especially, and that household fairy, in her flights between errands of mercy, played him with all the prettiness of her coquetry. at luncheon he quite lost his embarrassment and responded to the advances of three friendly humans. yes ma-am, he had been glad to learn that bertram was doing well in the city. he had five sons, all doing well. he'd risked letting bert try college, and it had turned out all right. there wasn't much more left in the cattle business; but he was an old dog to learn new tricks. if he had it to do over again, he'd try fruit in the santa clara valley, just like they had done. as the afternoon wore away bringing its callers, its telephone messages and its consultations of doctors, his mood shifted to uneasiness. he spent an hour walking back and forth in the garden. just before dinner-time he approached mrs. tiffany and kate, who were sewing in the living-room, and said simply: "well, i guess i've got to be going." "why, we're just getting acquainted!" cried kate. mrs. tiffany merely flickered an eyelash at the assumption of privilege which this implied. but she answered, after a moment, "we should like to have you stay. even at that, don't consider us when it is a case of being near your son." "well," answered the older chester, ponderously, "you see it ain't like i had only this one son and hadn't been through trouble. there's bob now. i worried quite a lot more than was necessary when the artiguez outfit shot him up, but he pulled through. and after pete got scrambled by a riata, and a few more things of that kind happened, i stopped worrying any more than was necessary. he'll get well, and you're handling him fine. you've been blame good to the boy," he said; and the touch of sentimental softness in his voice showed how genuine was his hardly expressed gratitude. he began talking rapidly, as though ashamed of it. he hoped they all could come to see him on the ranch some time, though there wasn't much there to attract a lady. still, the boys had pretty good times now and then. if the tiffanys liked fresh venison, the boys always got some deer in the season. "it's lovely down there, i know. bertram--your son--has told me so much about it!" broke in kate. "we'd like to see you, too," said mr. chester. then, catching the implication, embarrassed by it, he retreated to his room and came back in an incredibly short time with his valise. he had turned toward the door when mrs. tiffany said: "i think bertram is well enough so that you might see him again." "oh, sure," replied mr. chester, as recalling a neglected trifle. he dropped his valise and strode back to the sick-room for a short stay. all that day, eleanor harbored a dread, which turned toward night to a relief--dread of the first interview, relief that bertram had not sent for her. kate, waiting her chance, slipped secretly into the room after mr. chester had gone. bertram was awake. he smiled in a measured imitation of his old smile when she entered, and extended his uninjured hand. she did not take it; instead, she patted it with her cool, long fingers, made to soothe. and considering that the nurse was watching, she looked a long time into his eyes. "they sure smashed me up some," he said. "but i'm a-knitting. how did it happen that they swore you in?" "i wanted to help!" "that was being pretty good to little bertie!" he withdrew his hand to drop it above hers, and he looked long into her face. "pretty good to little bertie," he repeated, "and now i want you to be better, and not ask any questions about it. is miss gray--eleanor--about the house?" "yes." "i thought she might have gone to the ranch. well, just about to-morrow, will you get her in here--alone?" "are you ready--to be agitated?" "now you don't know what i want--or you wouldn't be asking questions. will you?" "yes, bertram." "you mustn't talk any more," spoke the nurse from the corner. and kate withdrew. when, next morning, the two girls met in the hall before breakfast, kate repeated the message simply, carelessly. eleanor found herself struggling to keep face and color. in spite of her long inner preparation, the emergency came to her with a sense of surprise. how should she carry off this interview? though her respite had been long, though she had thought much, she had no prepared plan of campaign. must she lie for the sake of his bodily health, assume the part which she had been playing when he went out of life? even the question how to get rid of the nurse was a tiny embarrassment. she mustered her voice to say: "i think i'll look in now. invalids are likely to be awake at this hour of the day." "yes, you must be eager!" dabbed kate. the nurse was no obstacle. she looked up toward the figure in the door, said: "a young lady to see you, mr. chester," and withdrew. eleanor stood alone by the foot of the bed, looking into the eyes of her problem. he made no motion. he did not even put out his hand. he regarded her with the frown which usually broke into a smile. now, it continued a frown. "well, things happened, didn't they?" he said. his voice burst out of him with almost its normal force. "yes, bertram. a great deal." "and i thank you. it was bully work. i don't see how you stood it, holding me up the way you did--it ought to have killed off a man, let alone a girl. didn't hurt you anywhere, did it?" "no--who told you?" her voice was hard and constrained. now bertram smiled. it was different, this smile, from the old illumination of his features. she could not tell, in the moment she had to think, whether it was his illness that changed it so, or whether it really held a bitterness which, superficially, she read into it. "that's the answer," he said enigmatically. "you didn't know i was onto everything, did you? i never went out but once--just after the crash when the car turned over. i began to know things while they were carrying me up the bank. from that time, i was just like a man with his wind knocked out. it didn't hurt much, but i couldn't move a finger or a toe. i didn't want to move if i could. i was too busy just keeping alive. i couldn't open my eyes, but i heard everything. you just bet i heard everything!" this descent of the conversation into reminiscence and apparent commonplace gave eleanor an opening into which she leaped. it was wonderful; she had read of such cases. had he heard that child crying in the corner, and had it bothered him? had he been conscious that it was mark heath and none other who was asking so many questions? mark heath had done so much for them--she would tell him about it some other time. but bertram still lay there with his frown of a petulant boy on his face, and her voice ran down into nothing for lack of sympathy in her listener. "do you remember all you said?" he asked when she was quite silent. "i think so--why?" the question had brought a little, warm jump of her nerves. "everything? something you said to me?" "i think so, bertram." "did i dream it, then?" she made no answer to this, but her knees failed under her so that she sat down on the bed. had she--had she said it aloud? "something like this: 'bertram, we don't belong to each other'?" he laughed a little on this; even a certain blitheness came into his laugh, as though he should say, "the joke is on you." a sense of the shock she might give him moved her to temporize. "let us not talk of it now, bertram. let it be as it was until you're better." "i'll be a blame sight better after i get this off my system. you see--well i couldn't think just then, but now, when my think tank has resumed business, i savvey a heap of things. one is that you weren't telling me any news." "what makes you say that?" eleanor bent her grave grey eyes on him. "i had the signal already. i mightn't have seen it fully if this smash hadn't come, but just the same i caught it away ahead of you. that afternoon up on the las olivas trail when we came together. when i kissed you." had she ever let him kiss her? he made an incurved gesture of his free hand, as though joining two wires. "it didn't connect. that's all. i was acting on a hunch when i told you to keep it dark. told anyone?" not until afterward did she think to be offended by this question. at the time, she answered with a simple negative. "that's good. it is just between us now. i suppose the matter with me was that i wanted to fly high, and you were about the highest thing in sight--" "don't, bertram. i'm not high. am i hurting you? oh, am i unkind when you are ill?" "oh, if you think it's hurting me, you're off. this is a swell way to talk, isn't it, considering that i'm here--" his eyes swept the aristocratic comforts of the tiffany spare room. "we mustn't think of that. it's too big to think of that!" "i guess you're right. now that is finished, going to forgive me because i walked over to northrup?" "i've nothing of any kind to forgive. it's you, i think, that must forgive." "oh, it's all square, everything's all square. i want to be good friends with you if you'll let me. i hope," his voice was almost tender, "you connect with the right man. he won't have any too much blood in his neck, but he'll have a lot of general culture in his system." here she realized that she had something to forgive. she repeated, mentally, her act of renunciation as she said: "you're a great, strong, generous man. i can't tell you how much i thank you for the course you've taken to-day. you're going to succeed and--some woman--is going to be proud of you." she had avoided by a thread naming the woman. "i shall be glad i knew you, and i shall be your friend as long as you'll let me." he smiled his old smile and his uninjured hand went out. "shake!" he said. yet it was a relief that the nurse came back and said quietly, "you've talked enough." as she walked to the door, eleanor found that her will was focused on the operation of her feet, commanding them to move with decent slowness. had she obeyed her impulse, she should have run. she forced herself to turn at the door and smile back, forced herself to bridle her emotions and go quietly to breakfast and to her ordeal with the lightning thrusts of kate waddington. * * * * * two days later, eleanor followed judge tiffany to the ranch. a perplexing fruit season brought her fair excuse. the year before, the japanese, adventurers in minor labors, had begun to flood the santa lucia tract. they drove out the chinese; when that spring brought picking contracts, no oriental was to be had save a japanese. in the first rush of that season, the japanese pickers on the tiffany ranch, in concert with all the other japanese of santa lucia, had thrown down their baskets, repudiated their agreements, and struck. it needed more than judge tiffany's failing strength, more than olsen's methodical plodding, to conquer this situation. she must be a post now, not a rail, eleanor told mrs. tiffany. and kate would help until mr. chester could be moved. at further acceptance of kate, mrs. tiffany rebelled. kate had foisted herself on them. goodness knew, mrs. tiffany couldn't tell why they had ever accepted that situation. it didn't seem to her even decent. "you'll perplex me greatly, dear aunt mattie, if you don't let her remain now!" said eleanor, looking up from her packing. this remark, cryptic though it was, came as a fresh shower to mrs. tiffany's curiosity. never before had eleanor so nearly committed herself on the subject which lay like lead on her aunt's responsibilities. it prompted mrs. tiffany to try for a wider opening. "would you like it, dear, if we brought mr. chester down to the ranch to recuperate when he is better? i'm sure edward wouldn't object. after all, he's ready to forgive the northrup affair." eleanor looked up significantly. "if you're consulting my wishes, certainly not!" she said. the sigh which mrs. tiffany drew expressed deep relief. thereafter, they proceeded straight ahead with the arrangement. eleanor went on to the ranch. kate, remaining, made herself so useful in a hundred ways that mrs. tiffany's irritation wore itself away. the old combination of eleanor and an attractive though undesirable young man had moved her to a perilous sympathy. now that it was over, now that she had no more responsibility in the matter, she transferred some of that vivid and friendly interest to the new arrangement. she caught herself resisting a temptation to spy on their conversations; she watched kate's face for tell-tale expression whenever bertram's name came up in their luncheon-time chats. kate usurped all the finer prerogatives of the nurse. hers it was to arrange the sick-room, to put finishing touches on bed and table, to feed him at his meals. her tawny hair made sunshine in the chamber, her cool hands, in their ministration, had the caress of breezes. he was getting to be an impatient invalid; he bore the confinement harder than he did the ache of knitting bones. kate's part it was to laugh away these irritations, so that she always left him smiling. he went on mending until they could get him out of bed; until, on an afternoon when the sun was bright and the wind was low, they could take him into the garden for a breath of air and view. he made the journey out-of-doors with kate supporting him unnecessarily by the armpit. she set out a morris chair for him by the lattice, so that he could overlook the bay, she tucked the robes about him, she parted the vines that he might have better view. for a moment he swept the bay with his eyes and opened his lungs to the out-door room and air. then his gaze returned to kate's strong, vigorous yet feminine back, as she stood, arms outstretched, hooking vines on the trellis. the misty sunshine was making jewels in her hair. "say!" he spoke so suddenly and with such meaning in the monosyllable that kate blushed as she turned. "say! is that fellow still writing to you--the one with the eastern education and the money?" kate dropped her eyes. "no," she said softly. "i told him--i have broken it off--lately." bertram laughed--his old, fresh laugh of a boy. "you saved me trouble then. i was just about to serve notice on him that henceforth no one but little bertie was going to be allowed on this ranch." kate did not speak. she continued to look down at the gravel walk. "now don't you go pretending you don't know what i mean," bertram went on. "just for that, i won't tell you what i mean. but you know." "what about eleanor?" murmured kate. "you little devil!" answered bertram. "come over here." kate sank down on the edge of his chair, and dropped one arm about his neck. mrs. tiffany, viewing the morning from the window of her room, saw them so. at first, she smiled; then a heavier expression drew down all the lines of her face. she crossed to her dresser, where a long frame of many divisions held the photographs of all whom she had loved. the first in order was of a woman who had a face like eleanor's; a more beautiful eleanor, perhaps, but with no such grave light of the spirit in her eyes. this she touched with her finger tips. but her look was bent upon the second, the portrait of a young man whose attitude, defying the conventional pose of old-fashioned photography, showed how blithe and merry and full of life he must have been. "ah, billy gray!" she whispered, "billy gray, you know, _you_, how sincerely eleanor and i ought to thank god!" the end the online distributed sleeping fires a novel by gertrude atherton sleeping fires i there was no burlingame in the sixties, the western addition was a desert of sand dunes and the goats gambolled through the rocky gulches of nob hill. but san francisco had its rincon hill and south park, howard and fulsom and harrison streets, coldly aloof from the tumultuous hot heart of the city north of market street. in this residence section the sidewalks were also wooden and uneven and the streets muddy in winter and dusty in summer, but the houses, some of which had "come round the horn," were large, simple, and stately. those on the three long streets had deep gardens before them, with willow trees and oaks above the flower beds, quaint ugly statues, and fountains that were sometimes dry. the narrower houses of south park crowded one another about the oval enclosure and their common garden was the smaller oval of green and roses. on rincon hill the architecture was more varied and the houses that covered all sides of the hill were surrounded by high-walled gardens whose heavy bushes of castilian roses were the only reminder in this already modern san francisco of the spain that had made california a land of romance for nearly a century; the last resting place on this planet of the spirit of arcadia ere she vanished into space before the gold-seekers. on far-flung heights beyond the business section crowded between market and clay streets were isolated mansions, built by prescient men whose belief in the rapid growth of the city to the north and west was justified in due course, but which sheltered at present amiable and sociable ladies who lamented their separation by vast spaces from that aristocratic quarter of the south. but they had their carriages, and on a certain sunday afternoon several of these arks drawn by stout horses might have been seen crawling fearfully down the steep hills or floundering through the sand until they reached market street; when the coachmen cracked their whips, the horses trotted briskly, and shortly after began to ascend rincon hill. mrs. hunt mclane, the social dictator of her little world, had recently moved from south park into a large house on rincon hill that had been built by an eminent citizen who had lost his fortune as abruptly as he had made it; and this was her housewarming. it was safe to say that her rooms would be crowded, and not merely because her sunday receptions were the most important minor functions in san francisco: it was possible that dr. talbot and his bride would be there. and if he were not it might be long before curiosity would be gratified by even a glance at the stranger; the doctor detested the theatre and had engaged a suite at the occidental hotel with a private dining-room. several weeks before a solemn conclave had been held at mrs. mclane's house in south park. mrs. abbott was there and mrs. ballinger, both second only to mrs. mclane in social leadership; mrs. montgomery, mrs. brannan, and other women whose power was rooted in the fifties; maria and sally ballinger, marguerite mclane, and guadalupe hathaway, whose blue large talking spanish eyes had made her the belle of many seasons: all met to discuss the disquieting news of the marriage in boston of the most popular and fashionable doctor in san francisco, howard talbot. he had gone east for a vacation, and soon after had sent them a bald announcement of his marriage to one madeleine chilton of boston. many high hopes had centered in dr. talbot. he was only forty, good-looking, with exuberant spirits, and well on the road to fortune. he had been surrounded in san francisco by beautiful and vivacious girls, but had always proclaimed himself a man's man, avowed he had seen too much of babies and "blues," and should die an old bachelor. besides he loved them all; when he did not damn them roundly, which he sometimes did to their secret delight. and now he not only had affronted them by marrying some one he probably never had seen before, but he had taken a northern wife; he had not even had the grace to go to his native south, if he must marry an outsider; he had gone to boston--of all places! san francisco society in the sixties was composed almost entirely of southerners. even before the war it had been difficult for a northerner to obtain entrance to that sacrosanct circle; the exceptions were due to sheer personality. southerners were aristocrats. the north was plebeian. that was final. since the war, victorious north continued to admit defeat in california. the south had its last stronghold in san francisco, and held it, haughty, unconquered, inflexible. that dr. talbot, who was on a family footing in every home in san francisco, should have placed his friends in such a delicate position (to say nothing of shattered hopes) was voted an outrage, and at mrs. mclane's on that former sunday afternoon, there had been no pretence at indifference. the subject was thoroughly discussed. it was possible that the creature might not even be a lady. had any one ever heard of a boston family named chilton? no one had. they knew nothing of boston and cared less. but the best would be bad enough. it was more likely however that the doctor had married some obscure person with nothing in her favor but youth, or a widow of practiced wiles, or--horrid thought--a divorcee. he had always been absurdly liberal in spite of his blue southern blood; and a man's man wandering alone at the age of forty was almost foredoomed to disaster. no doubt the poor man had been homesick and lonesome. should they receive her or should they not? if not, would they lose their doctor. he would never speak to one of them again if they insulted his wife. but a bostonian, a possible nobody! and homely, of course. angular. who had ever heard of a pretty woman raised on beans, codfish, and pie for breakfast? finally mrs. mclane had announced that she should not make up her mind until the couple arrived and she sat in judgment upon the woman personally. she would call the day after they docked in san francisco. if, by any chance, the woman were presentable, dressed herself with some regard to the fashion (which was more than mrs. abbott and guadalupe hathaway did), and had sufficient tact to avoid the subject of the war, she would stand sponsor and invite her to the first reception in the house on rincon hill. "but if not," she said grimly--"well, not even for howard talbot's sake will i receive a woman who is not a lady, or who has been divorced. in this wild city we are a class apart, above. no loose fish enters our quiet bay. only by the most rigid code and watchfulness have we formed and preserved a society similar to that we were accustomed to in the old south. if we lowered our barriers we should be submerged. if howard talbot has married a woman we do not find ourselves able to associate with in this intimate little society out here on the edge of the world, he will have to go." ii mrs. mclane had called on mrs. talbot. that was known to all san francisco, for her carriage had stood in front of the occidental hotel for an hour. kind friends had called to offer their services in setting the new house in order, but were dismissed at the door with the brief announcement that mrs. mclane was having the blues. no one wasted time on a second effort to gossip with their leader; it was known that just so often mrs. mclane drew down the blinds, informed her household that she was not to be disturbed, disposed herself on the sofa with her back to the room and indulged in the luxury of blues for three days. she took no nourishment but milk and broth and spoke to no one. today this would be a rest cure and was equally beneficial. when the attack was over mrs. mclane would arise with a clear complexion, serene nerves, and renewed strength for social duties. her friends knew that her retirement on this occasion was timed to finish on the morning of her reception and had not the least misgiving that her doors would still be closed. the great double parlors of her new mansion were thrown into one and the simple furniture covered with gray rep was pushed against soft gray walls hung with several old portraits in oil, ferrotypes and silhouettes. a magnificent crystal chandelier depended from the high and lightly frescoed ceiling and there were side brackets beside the doors and the low mantel piece. mrs. mclane may not have been able to achieve beauty with the aid of the san francisco shops, but at least she had managed to give her rooms a severe and stately simplicity, vastly different from the helpless surrenders of her friends to mid-victorian deformities. the rooms filled early. mrs. mclane stood before the north windows receiving her friends with her usual brilliant smile, her manner of high dignity and sweet cordiality. she was a majestic figure in spite of her short stature and increasing curves, for the majesty was within and her head above a flat back had a lofty poise. she wore her prematurely white hair in a tall pompadour, and this with the rich velvets she affected, ample and long, made her look like a french marquise of the eighteenth century, stepped down from the canvas. the effect was by no means accidental. mrs. mclane's grandmother had been french and she resembled her. her hoopskirt was small, but the other women were inclined to the extreme of the fashion; as they saw it in the godey's lady's book they or their dressmakers subscribed to. their handsome gowns spread widely and the rooms hardly could have seemed to sway and undulate more if an earthquake had rocked it. the older women wore small bonnets and cashmere shawls, lace collars and cameos, the younger fichus and small flat hats above their "waterfalls" or curled chignons. the husbands had retired with mr. mclane to the smoking room, but there were many beaux present, equally expectant when not too absorbed. unlike as a reception of that day was in background and costumes from the refinements of modern art and taste, it possessed one contrast that was wholly to its advantage. its men were gentlemen and the sons and grandsons of gentlemen. to no one city has there ever been such an emigration of men of good family as to san francisco in the fifties and sixties. ambitious to push ahead in politics or the professions and appreciating the immediate opportunities of the new and famous city, or left with an insufficient inheritance (particularly after the war) and ashamed to work in communities where no gentleman had ever worked, they had set sail with a few hundreds to a land where a man, if he did not occupy himself lucratively, was unfit for the society of enterprising citizens. few had come in time for the gold diggings, but all, unless they had disappeared into the hot insatiable maw of the wicked little city, had succeeded in one field or another; and these, in their dandified clothes, made a fine appearance at fashionable gatherings. if they took up less room than the women they certainly were more decorative. dr. talbot and his wife had not arrived. to all eager questions mrs. mclane merely replied that "they" would "be here." she had the dramatic instinct of the true leader and had commanded the doctor not to bring his bride before four o'clock. the reception began at three. they should have an entrance. but mrs. abbott, a lady of three chins and an eagle eye, who had clung for twenty-five years to black satin and bugles, was too persistent to be denied. she extracted the information that the bostonian had sent her own furniture by a previous steamer and that her drawing room was graceful, french, and exquisite. at ten minutes after the hour the buzz and chatter stopped abruptly and every face was turned, every neck craned toward the door. the colored butler had announced with a grand flourish: "dr. and mrs. talbot." the doctor looked as rubicund, as jovial, as cynical as ever. but few cast him more than a passing glance. then they gave an audible gasp, induced by an ingenuous compound of amazement, disappointment, and admiration. they had been prepared to forgive, to endure, to make every allowance. the poor thing could no more help being plain and dowdy than born in boston, and as their leader had satisfied herself that she "would do," they would never let her know how deeply they deplored her disabilities. but they found nothing to deplore but the agonizing necessity for immediate readjustment. mrs. talbot was unquestionably a product of the best society. the south could have done no better. she was tall and supple and self-possessed. she was exquisitely dressed in dark blue velvet with a high collar of point lace tapering almost to her bust, and revealing a long white throat clasped at the base by a string of pearls. on her head, as proudly poised as mrs. mclane's, was a blue velvet hat, higher in the crown than the prevailing fashion, rolled up on one side and trimmed only with a drooping gray feather. and her figure, her face, her profile! the young men crowded forward more swiftly than the still almost paralyzed women. she was no more than twenty. her skin was as white as the san francisco fogs, her lips were scarlet, her cheeks pink, her hair and eyes a bright golden brown. her features were delicate and regular, the mouth not too small, curved and sensitive; her refinement was almost excessive. oh, she was "high-toned," no doubt of that! as she moved forward and stood in front of mrs. mclane, or acknowledged introductions to those that stood near, the women gave another gasp, this time of consternation. she wore neither hoop-skirt nor crinoline. could it be that the most elegant fashion ever invented had been discarded by paris? or was this lovely creature of surpassing elegance, a law unto herself? her skirt was full but straight and did not disguise the lines of her graceful figure; above her small waist it fitted as closely as a riding habit. she was even more _becomingly_ dressed than any woman in the room. mrs. abbott, who was given to primitive sounds, snorted. maria ballinger, whose finely developed figure might as well have been the trunk of a tree, sniffed. her sister sally almost danced with excitement, and even miss hathaway straightened her fichu. mrs. ballinger, who had been the belle of richmond and was still adjudged the handsomest woman in san francisco, lifted the eyebrows to which sonnets had been written with an air of haughty resignation; but made up her mind to abate her scorn of the north and order her gowns from new york hereafter. but the san franciscans on the whole were an amiable people and they were sometimes conscious of their isolation; in a few moments they felt a pleasant titillation of the nerves, as if the great world they might never see again had sent them one of her most precious gifts. they all met her in the course of the afternoon. she was sweet and gracious, but although there was not a hint of embarrassment she made no attempt to shine, and they liked her the better for that. the young men soon discovered they could make no impression on this lovely importation, for her eyes strayed constantly to her husband; until he disappeared in search of cronies, whiskey, and a cigar: then she looked depressed for a moment, but gave a still closer attention to the women about her. in love with her husband but a woman-of-the-world. manners as fine as mrs. mclane's, but too aloof and sensitive to care for leadership. she had made the grand tour in europe, they discovered, and enjoyed a season in washington. she should continue to live at the occidental hotel as her husband would be out so much at night and she was rather timid. and she was bright, unaffected, responsive. could anything be more reassuring? there was nothing to be apprehended by the socially ambitious, the proud housewives, or those prudent dames whose amours were conducted with such secrecy that they might too easily be supplanted by a predatory coquette. the girls drew little unconscious sighs of relief. sally ballinger vowed she would become her intimate friend, sibyl geary that she would copy her gowns. mrs. abbott succumbed. in short they all took her to their hearts. she was one of them from that time forth and the reign of crinoline was over. iii the talbots remained to supper and arrived at the occidental hotel at the dissipated hour of half past nine. as they entered their suite the bride took her sweeping skirts in either hand and executed a pas seul down the long parlor. "i was a success!" she cried. "you were proud of me. i could see it. and even at the table, although i talked nearly all the time to mr. mclane, i never mentioned a book." she danced over and threw her arms about his neck. "say you were proud of me. i'd love to hear it." he gave her a bear-like hug. "of course. you are the prettiest and the most animated woman in san francisco, and that's saying a good deal. and i've given them all a mighty surprise." "i believe that is the longest compliment you ever paid me--and because i made a good impression on some one else. what irony!" she pouted charmingly, but her eyes were wistful. "now sit down and talk to me. i've scarcely seen you since we arrived." "oh! remember you are married to this old ruffian. you'll see enough of me in the next thirty or forty years. run to bed and get your beauty sleep. i promised to go to the union club." "the club? you went to the club last night and the night before and the night before that. every night since we arrived--" "i haven't seen half my old cronies yet and they are waiting for a good old poker game. sleep is what you want after such an exciting day. remember, i doctor the nerves of all the women in san francisco and this is a hard climate on nerves. wonder more women don't go to the devil." he kissed her again and escaped hurriedly. those were the days when women wept facilely, "swooned," inhaled hartshorn, calmed themselves with sal volatile, and even went into hysterics upon slight provocation. madeleine talbot merely wept. she believed herself to be profoundly in love with her jovial magnetic if rather rough husband. he was so different from the correct reserved men she had been associated with during her anchored life in boston. in washington she had met only the staid old families, and senators of a benignant formality. in europe she had run across no one she knew who might have introduced her to interesting foreigners, and mrs. chilton would as willingly have caressed a tiger as spoken to a stranger no matter how prepossessing. howard talbot, whom she had met at the house of a common friend, had taken her by storm. her family had disapproved, not only because he was by birth a southerner, but for the same reason that had attracted their madeleine. he was entirely too different. moreover, he would take her to a barbarous country where there was no society and people dared not venture into the streets lest they be shot. but she had overruled them and been very happy--at times. he was charming and adorable and it was manifest that for him no other woman existed. but she could not flatter herself that she was indispensable. he openly preferred the society of men, and during that interminable sea voyage she had seen little of him save at the table or when he came to their stateroom late at night. for her mind he appeared to have a good-natured masculine contempt. he talked to her as he would to a fascinating little girl. if he cared for mental recreation he found it in men. she went into her bedroom and bathed her eyes with eau de cologne. at least he had given her no cause for jealousy. that was one compensation. and a wise married friend had told her that the only way to manage a husband was to give him his head and never to indulge in the luxury of reproaches. she was sorry she had forgotten herself tonight. iv dr. talbot had confided to mrs. mclane that his wife was inclined to be a bas bleu and he wanted her broken of an unfeminine love of books. mrs. mclane, who knew that a reputation for bookishness would be fatal in a community that regarded "lucile" as a great poem and read little but the few novels that drifted their way (or the continued stories in godey's lady's book), promised him that madeleine's intellectual aspirations should be submerged in the social gaieties of the season. she kept her word. dinners, receptions, luncheons, theatre parties, in honor of the bride, followed in rapid succession, and when all had entertained her, the less personal invitations followed as rapidly. her popularity was not founded on novelty. no girl in her first season had ever enjoyed herself more naively and she brought to every entertainment eager sparkling eyes and dancing feet that never tired. she became the "reigning toast." at parties she was surrounded by a bevy of admirers or forced to divide her dances; for it was soon patent there was no jealousy in talbot's composition and that he took an equally naive pride in his wife's success. when alone with women she was quite as animated and interested, and, moreover, invited them to copy her gowns. some had been made in paris, others in new york. the local dressmakers felt the stirrings of ambition, and the shops sent for a more varied assortment of fabrics. madeleine talbot at this time was very happy, or, at least, too busy to recall her earlier dreams of happiness. the whole-hearted devotion to gaiety of this stranded little community, its elegance, despite its limitations, its unbounded hospitality to all within its guarded portals, its very absence of intellectual criticism, made the formal life of her brief past appear dull and drab in the retrospect. the spirit of puritanism seemed to have lost heart in those trackless wastes between the atlantic and the pacific and turned back. true, the moral code was rigid (on the surface); but far from too much enjoyment of life, of quaffing eagerly at the brimming cup, being sinful, they would have held it to be a far greater sin not to have accepted all that the genius of san francisco so lavishly provided. wildness and recklessness were in the air, the night life of san francisco was probably the maddest in the world; nor did the gambling houses close their doors by day, nor the women of dupont street cease from leering through their shuttered windows; a city born in delirium and nourished on crime, whose very atmosphere was electrified and whose very foundations were restless, would take a quarter of a century at least to manufacture a decent thick surface of conventionality, and its self-conscious respectable wing could no more escape its spirit than its fogs and winds. but evil excitement was tempered to irresponsible gaiety, a constant whirl of innocent pleasures. when the spirit passed the portals untempered, and drove women too highly-strung, too unhappy, or too easily bored, to the divorce courts, to drink, or to reckless adventure, they were summarily dropped. no woman, however guiltless, could divorce her husband and remain a member of that vigilant court. it was all or nothing. if a married woman were clever enough to take a lover undetected and merely furnish interesting surmise, there was no attempt to ferret out and punish her; for no society can exist without gossip. but none centered about madeleine talbot. her little coquetries were impartial and her devotion to her husband was patent to the most infatuated eye. life was made very pleasant for her. howard, during that first winter, accompanied her to all the dinners and parties, and she gave several entertainments in her large suite at the occidental hotel. sally ballinger was a lively companion for the mornings and was as devoted a friend as youth could demand. mrs. abbott petted her, and mrs. ballinger forgot that she had been born in boston. when it was discovered that she had a sweet lyric soprano, charmingly cultivated, her popularity winged another flight; san francisco from its earliest days was musical, and she made a brilliant success as la belle helene in the amateur light opera company organized by mrs. mclane. it was rarely that she spent an evening alone, and the cases of books she had brought from boston remained in the cellars of the hotel. v society went to the country to escape the screaming winds and dust clouds of summer. a few had built country houses, the rest found abundant amusement at the hotels of the geysers, warm springs and congress springs, taking the waters dutifully. as the city was constantly swept by epidemics dr. talbot rarely left his post for even a few days' shooting, and madeleine remained with him as a matter of course. moreover, she hoped for occasional long evenings with her husband and the opportunity to convince him that her companionship was more satisfying than that of his friends at the club. she had not renounced the design of gradually converting him to her own love of literature, and pictured delightful hours during which they would discuss the world's masterpieces together. but he merely hooted amiably and pinched her cheeks when she approached the subject tentatively. he was infernally over-worked and unless he had a few hours' relaxation at the club he would be unfit for duty on the morrow. she was his heart's delight, the prettiest wife in san francisco; he worked the better because she was always lovely at the breakfast table and he could look forward to a brief dinner in her always radiant company. thank god, she never had the blues nor carried a bottle of smelling salts about with her. and she hadn't a nerve in her body! god! how he did hate women's nerves. no, she was a model wife and he adored her unceasingly. but companionship? when she timidly uttered the word, he first stared uncomprehendingly, then burst into loud laughter. "men don't find companionship in women, my dear. if they pretend to they're after something else. take the word of an old stager for that. of course there is no such thing as companionship among women as men understand the term, but you have society, which is really all you want. yearnings are merely a symptom of those accursed nerves. for god's sake forget them. flirt all you choose--there are plenty of men in town; have them in for dinner if you like--but if any of those young bucks talks companionship to you put up your guard or come and tell me. i'll settle his hash." "i don't want the companionship of any other man, but i'd like yours." "you don't know how lucky you are. you have all of me you could stand. three or four long evenings--well, we'd yawn in each other's faces and go to bed. a bull but true enough." "then i think i'll have the books unpacked, not only those i brought, but the new case papa sent to me. i have lost the resource of society for several months, and i do not care to have men here after you have gone. that would mean gossip." "you are above gossip and i prefer the men to the books. you'll ruin your pretty eyes, and you had the makings of a fine bluestocking when i rescued you. a successful woman--with her husband and with society--has only sparkling shallows in her pretty little head. now, i must run. i really shouldn't have come all the way up here for lunch." madeleine wandered aimlessly to the window and looked down at the scurrying throngs on montgomery street. there were few women. the men bent against the wind, clutching at their hats, or chasing them along the uneven wooden sidewalks, tripping perhaps on a loose board. there were tiny whirlwinds of dust in the unpaved streets. the bustling little city that madeleine had thought so picturesque in its novelty suddenly lost its glamour. it looked as if parts of it had been flung together in a night between solid blocks imported from the older communities; so furious was the desire to achieve immediate wealth there were only three or four buildings of architectural beauty in the city. the shop windows on montgomery street were attractive with the wares of paris, but madeleine coveted nothing in san francisco. she thought of boston, new york, washington, europe, and for a moment nostalgia overwhelmed her. if howard would only take her home for a visit! alas! he was as little likely to do that as to give her the companionship she craved. but she had no intention of taking refuge in tears. nor would she stay at home and mope. her friends were out of town. she made up her mind to go for a walk, although she hardly knew where to go. between mud and dust and hills, walking was not popular in san francisco. however, there might be some excitement in exploring. she looped her brown cloth skirt over her balmoral petticoat, tied a veil round her small hat and set forth. although the dust was flying she dared not lower her veil until she reached the environs, knowing that if she did she would be followed; or if recognized, accused of the unpardonable sin. the heavy veil in the san francisco of that day, save when driving in aggressively respectable company, was almost an interchangeable term for assignation. it was as inconvenient for the virtuous as indiscreet for the carnal. madeleine reached the streets of straggling homes and those long impersonal rows depressing in their middle-class respectability, and lowered the veil over her smarting eyes. she also squared her shoulders and strode along with an independent swing that must convince the most investigating mind she was walking for exercise only. almost unconsciously she directed her steps toward the cliff house road where she had driven occasionally behind the doctor's spanking team. it was four o'clock when she entered it and the wind had fallen. the road was thronged with buggies, tandems, hacks, phaetons, and four-in-hands. society might be out of town but the still gayer world was not. madeleine, skirting the edge of the road to avoid disaster stared eagerly behind her veil. here were the reckless and brilliant women of the demi-monde of whom she had heard so much, but to whom she had barely thrown a glance when driving with her husband. they were painted and dyed and kohled and their plumage would have excited the envy of birds in paradise. san francisco had lured these ladies "round the horn" since the early fifties: a different breed from the camp followers of the late forties. some had fallen from a high estate, others had been the mistresses of rich men in the east, or belles in the half world of new york or paris. never had they found life so free or pickings so easy as in san francisco. madeleine knew that many of the eminent citizens she met in society kept their mistresses and flaunted them openly. it was, in fact, almost a convention. she was not surprised to see several men who had taken her in to dinner tooling these gorgeous cyprians and looking far prouder than when they played host in the world of fashion. on one of the gayest of the coaches she saw four of the young men who were among the most devoted of her cavaliers at dances: alexander groome, amos lawton, ogden bascom, and "tom" abbott, jr. groome was paying his addresses to maria ballinger, "a fine figure of a girl" who had inherited little of her mother's beauty but all of her virtue, and madeleine wondered if he would reform and settle down. abbott was engaged to marguerite mclane and looked as if he were having his last glad fling. ogden bascom had proposed to guadalupe hathaway every month for five years. it was safe to say that he would toe the mark if he won her. but he did not appear to be nursing a blighted heart at present. madeleine's depression left her. _that_, at least, howard would never do. she felt full of hope and buoyancy once more, not realizing that it is easier to win back a lover than change the nature of man. when madeleine reached the cliff house, that shabby innocent-looking little building whose evil fame had run round the world, she stared at it fascinated. its restaurant overhung the sea. on this side the blinds were down. it looked as if awaiting the undertaker. she pictured howard's horror when she told him of her close contact with vice, and anticipated with a pleasurable thrill the scolding he would give her. they had never quarrelled and it would be delightful to make up. "not mrs. talbot! no! assuredly not!" involuntarily madeleine raised her veil. she recognized the voice of "old" ben travers (he was only fifty but bald and yellow), the union club gossip, and the one man in san francisco she thoroughly disliked. he stood with his hat in his hand, an expression of ludicrous astonishment on his face. "yes, it is i," said madeleine coolly. "and i am very much interested." "ah? interested?" he glanced about. if this were an assignation either the man was late or had lost courage. but he assumed an expression of deep respect. "that i can well imagine, cloistered as you are. but, if you will permit me to say so, it is hardly prudent. surely you know that this is a place of ill repute and that your motives, however innocent, might easily be misconstrued." "i am alone!" said madeleine gaily, "and my veil is up! not a man has glanced at me, i look so tiresomely respectable in these stout walking clothes. even you, dear mr. travers, whom we accuse of being quite a gossip, understand perfectly." "oh, yes, indeed. i do understand. and mrs. talbot is like caesar's wife, but nevertheless--there is a hack. it is waiting, but i think i can bribe him to take us in. you really must not remain here another moment--and you surely do not intend to walk back--six miles?" "no, i'll be glad to drive--but if you will engage the hack--i shouldn't think of bothering you further." "i shall take you home," said travers firmly. "howard never would forgive me if i did not--that is--that is--" madeleine laughed merrily. "if i intend to tell him! but of course i shall tell him. why not?" "well, yes, it would be best. i'll speak to the man." the jehu was reluctant, but a bill passed and he drove up to madeleine. "guess i can do it," he said, "but i'll have to drive pretty fast." madeleine smiled at him and he touched his hat. she had employed him more than once. "the faster the better, thomas," she said. "i walked out and am tired." "i saw you come striding down the road, ma'am," he said deferentially, "and i knew you got off your own beat by mistake. i think i'd have screwed up my courage and said something if mr. travers hadn't happened along." madeleine nodded carelessly and entered the hack, followed by travers, in spite of her protests. "i too walked out here and intended to ask some one to give me a lift home. i am the unfortunate possessor of a liver, my dear young lady, and must walk six miles a day, although i loathe walking as i loathe drinking weak whiskey and water." madeleine shrugged her shoulders and attempted to raise one of the curtains. the interior was as dark as a cave. but travers exclaimed in alarm. "no! no! not until we get out of this. when we have reached the city, but not here. in a hack on this road--" "oh, very well. then entertain me, please, as i cannot look out. you always have something interesting to tell." "i am flattered to think you find me entertaining. i've sometimes thought you didn't like me." "now you know that is nonsense. i always think myself fortunate if i sit next you at dinner." madeleine spoke in her gayest tones, but in truth she dreaded what the man might make of this innocent escapade and intended to make a friend of him if possible. she was growing accustomed to the gloom and saw him smile fatuously. "that sends me to the seventh heaven. how often since you came have i wished that my dancing days were not over." "i'd far rather hear you talk. tell me some news." "news? news? san francisco is as flat at present as spilled champagne. let me see? ah! did you ever hear of langdon masters?" "no. who is he?" "he is virginian like myself--a distant cousin. he fought through the war, badly wounded twice, came home to find little left of the old estate--practically nothing for him. he tried to start a newspaper in richmond but couldn't raise the capital. he went to new york and wrote for the newspapers there; also writes a good deal for the more intellectual magazines. thought perhaps you had come across something of his. there is just a whisper, you know, that you were rather a bas bleu before you came to us." "because i was born and educated in boston? poor boston! i do recall reading something of mr. masters' in the _atlantic_--i suppose it was--but i have forgotten what. here, i have grown too frivolous--and happy--to care to read at all. but what have you to tell me particularly about mr. masters?" "i had a letter from him this morning asking me if there was an opening here. he resents the antagonism in the north that he meets at every turn, although they are glad enough of his exceptionally brilliant work. but he knows that san francisco is the last stronghold of the south, and also that our people are generous and enterprising. i shall write him that i can see no opening for another paper at present, but will let him know if there happens to be one on an editorial staff. that is a long journey to take on an uncertainty." "i should think so. heavens, how this carriage does bounce. the horses must be galloping." "probably." he lifted a corner of the curtain. "we shall reach the city soon at this rate. ah!" madeleine, in spite of the bouncing vehicle, had managed heretofore to prop herself firmly in her corner, but a violent lurch suddenly threw her against travers. he caught her firmly in one of his lean wiry arms. at the moment she thought nothing of it, although she disliked the contact, but when she endeavored to disengage herself, he merely jerked her more closely to his side and she felt his hot breath upon her cheek. it was the fevered breath of a man who drinks much and late and almost nauseated her. "come come," whispered travers. "i know you didn't go out there to meet any one; it was just a natural impulse for a little adventure, wasn't it? and i deserve my reward for getting you home safely. give me a kiss." madeleine wrenched herself free, but he laughed and caught her again, this time in both arms. "oh, you can't get away, and i'm going to have that kiss. yes, a dozen, by jove. you're the prettiest thing in san francisco, and i'll get ahead of the other men there." his yellow distorted face--he looked like a satyr--was almost on hers. she freed herself once more with a dexterous twisting motion of her supple body, leaped to the front of the carriage and pounded on the window behind the driver. "for god's sake! you fool! what are you doing? do you want a scandal?" the carriage stopped its erratic course so abruptly that he was thrown to the floor. madeleine already had the door open. she had all the strength of youth and perfect health, and he was worn out and shaken. he was scrambling to his feet. she put her arms under his shoulders and threw him out into the road. "go on!" she called to the driver. and as he whipped up the horses again, his homeric laughter mingling with the curses of the man in the ditch, she sank back trembling and gasping. it was her first experience of the vileness of man, for the men of her day respected the women of their own class unless met half way, or, violently enamoured, given full opportunity to express their emotions. moreover she had made a venomous enemy. what would howard say? what would he do to the wretch? horsewhip him? would he stop to think of scandal? the road had been deserted. she knew that travers would keep his humiliation to himself and the incidents that led up to it; but if she told her husband and he lost his head the story would come out and soon cease to bear any semblance to the truth. she wished she had some one to advise her. what _did_ insulted women do? but she could not think in this horrible carriage. it would be at least an hour before she saw howard. she would bathe her face in cold water and try to think. the hack stopped again and the coachman left the box. "it's only a few blocks now, ma'am," he said, as he opened the door. "i haven't much time--" madeleine almost sprang out. she opened her purse. he accepted the large bill with a grin on his good-natured face. "that's all right, mrs. talbot. i wouldn't have spoke of it nohow. the doctor and me's old friends. but i'm just glad old ben got what he deserved. the impudence of him! you--well!--good day, ma'am." he paused as he was climbing back to the box. "if you don't mind my giving ye a bit of advice, mrs. talbot--i've seen a good bit of the world, i have--this is a hot city, all right--i just wouldn't say anything to the doctor. trouble makes trouble. better let it stop right here." "thanks, thomas. good-by." and madeleine strode down the street as if the furies pursued her. vi madeleine was spared the ordeal of confession; it was six weeks before she saw her husband again. he telegraphed at six o'clock that he had a small-pox patient and could not subject her to the risk of contagion. the disease most dreaded in san francisco had arrived some time before and the pest house outside the city limits was already crowded. the next day yellow flags appeared before several houses. before a week passed they had multiplied all over the city. people went about with visible camphor bags suspended from their necks, and madeleine heard the galloping death wagon at all hours of the night. howard telegraphed frequently and sent a doctor to revaccinate her, as the virus he had administered himself had not taken. she was not to worry about him as he vaccinated himself every day. finally he commanded her to leave town, and she made a round of visits. she spent a fortnight at rincona, mrs. abbott's place at alta, in the san mateo valley, and another with the hathaways near by. then, after a fortnight at the different "springs" she settled down for the rest of the summer on the ballinger ranch in the santa clara valley. all her hostesses had house parties, there were picnics by day and dancing or hay-rides at night. for the first time she saw the beautiful california country; the redwood forests on the mountains, the bare brown and golden hills, the great valleys with their forests of oaks and madronas cleared here and there for orchard and vineyard; knowing that howard was safe she gave herself to pleasure once more. after all there was a certain satisfaction in the assurance that her husband could not be with her if he would. she was not deliberately neglected and it was positive that he never entered the club. she told no one but sally ballinger of her adventure, and although travers was a favorite of her mother, this devoted friend adroitly managed that the gentleman to whom she applied many excoriating adjectives should not be invited that summer to "the ranch." vii langdon masters arrived in san francisco during madeleine's third winter. he did not come unheralded, for travers bragged about him constantly and asserted that san francisco could thank him for an editorial writer second to none in the united states of america. as a matter of fact it was on masters' achievement alone that the editor of the _alta california_ had invited him to become a member of his staff. masters was also a cousin of alexander groome, and arrived in san francisco as a guest at the house on ballinger hill, a lonely outpost in the wastes of rock and sand in the west. there was no excitement in the female breast over his arrival for young men were abundant; but society was prepared to welcome him not only on account of his distinguished connections but because his deliberate choice of san francisco for his future career was a compliment they were quick to appreciate. he came gaily to his fate filled with high hopes of owning his own newspaper before long and ranking as the leading journalist in the great little city made famous by gold and bret harte. he was one of many in new york; he knew that with his brilliant gifts and the immediate prominence his new position would give him the future was his to mould. no man, then or since, has brought so rare an assortment of talents to the erratic journalism of san francisco; not even james king of william, the murdered editor of the _evening bulletin_. perhaps he too would have been murdered had he remained long enough to own and edit the newspaper of his dreams, for he had a merciless irony, a fearless spirit, and an utter contempt for the prejudices of small men. but for a time at least it looked as if the history of journalism in san francisco was to be one of california's proudest boasts. masters was a practical visionary, a dreamer whose dreams never confused his metallic intellect, a stylist who fascinated even the poor mind forced to express itself in colloquialisms, a man of immense erudition for his years (he was only thirty); and he was insatiably interested in the affairs of the world and in every phase of life. he was a poet by nature, and a journalist by profession because he believed the press was destined to become the greatest power in the country, and he craved not only power but the utmost opportunity for self-expression. his character possessed as many antitheses. he was a natural lover of women and avoided them not only because he feared entanglements and enervations but because he had little respect for their brains. he was, by his virginian inheritance, if for no simpler reason, a bon vivant, but the preoccupations and ordinary conversational subjects of men irritated him, and he cultivated their society and that of women only in so far as they were essential to his deeper understanding of life. his code was noblesse oblige and he privately damned it as a superstition foisted upon him by his ancestors. he was sentimental and ironic, passionate and indifferent, frank and subtle, proud and democratic, with a warm capacity for friendship and none whatever for intimacy, a hard worker with a strong taste for loafing--in the open country, book in hand. he prided himself upon his iron will and turned uneasily from the weeds growing among the fine flowers of his nature. such was langdon masters when he came to san francisco and madeleine talbot. viii he soon tired of plunging through the sand hills between the city and ballinger hill either on horseback or in a hack whose driver, if the hour were late, was commonly drunk; and took a suite of rooms in the occidental hotel. he had brought his library with him and one side of his parlor was immediately furnished with books to the ceiling. it was some time before society saw anything of him. he had a quick reputation to make, many articles promised to eastern periodicals and newspapers, no mind for distractions. but his brilliant and daring editorials, not only on the pestiferous politics of san francisco, but upon national topics, soon attracted the attention of the men; who, moreover, were fascinated by his conversation during his occasional visits to the union club. several times he was cornered, royally treated to the best the cellar afforded, and upon one occasion talked for two hours, prodded merely with a question when he showed a tendency to drop into revery. but as a matter of fact he liked to talk, knowing that he could outshine other intelligent men, and a responsive palate put him in good humor with all men and inspired him with unwonted desire to please. husbands spoke of him enthusiastically at home and wives determined to know him. they besieged alexina ballinger. why had she not done her duty? langdon masters had lived in her house for weeks. mrs. ballinger replied that she had barely seen the man. he rarely honored them at dinner, sat up until four in the morning with her son-in-law (if she were not mistaken he and alexander groome were two of a feather), breakfasted at all hours, and then went directly to the city. what possible use could such a man be to society? he had barely looked at sally, much less the uxoriously married maria, and might have been merely an inconsiderate boarder who had given nothing but unimpaired virginian manners in return for so much upsetting of a household. no doubt the servants would have rebelled had he not tipped them immoderately. "moreover," she concluded, "he is quite unlike our men, if he _is_ a southerner. and not handsome at all. his hair is black but he wears it too short, and he had no mustache, nor even sideboards. his face has deep lines and his eyes are like steel. he rarely smiles and i don't believe he ever laughed in his life." society, however, had made up its mind, and as the women had no particular desire to make that terrible journey to alexina ballinger's any oftener than was necessary, it was determined (in conclave) that mrs. hunt mclane should have the honor of capturing and introducing this difficult and desirable person. mr. mclane, who had met him at the club, called on him formally and invited him to dinner. hunt mclane was the greatest lawyer and one of the greatest gentlemen in san francisco. masters was too much a man of the world not to appreciate the compliment; moreover, he had now been in san francisco for two months and his social instincts were stirring. he accepted the invitation and many others. people dined early in those simple days and the hours he spent in the most natural and agreeable society he had ever entered did not interfere with his work. sometimes he talked, at others merely listened with a pleasant sense of relaxation to the chatter of pretty women; with whom he was quite willing to flirt as long as there was no hint of the heavy vail. he thought it quite possible he should fall in love with and marry one of these vivacious pretty girls; when his future was assured in the city of his enthusiastic adoption. he met madeleine at all these gatherings, but it so happened that he never sat beside her and he had no taste for kettledrums or balls. he thought her very lovely to look at and wondered why so young and handsome a woman with a notoriously faithful husband should have so sad an expression. possibly because it rather became her style of beauty. he saw a good deal of dr. talbot at the club however and asked them both to one of the little dinners in his rooms with which he paid his social debts. these dinners were very popular, for he was a connoisseur in wines, the dinner was sent from a french restaurant, and he was never more entertaining than at his own table. his guests were as carefully assorted as his wines, and if he did not know intuitively whose minds and tastes were most in harmony, or what lady did not happen to be speaking to another at the moment, he had always the delicate hints of mrs. mclane to guide him. she was his social sponsor and vastly proud of him. ix madeline went impassively to the dinner. his brilliancy had impressed her but she was indifferent to everything these days and her intellect was torpid; although when in society and under the influence of the lights and wine she could be almost as animated as ever. but the novelty of that society had worn thin long since; she continued to go out partly as a matter of routine, more perhaps because she had no other resource. she saw less of her husband than ever, for his practice as well as his masculine acquaintance grew with the city--and that was swarming over the hills of the north and out toward the sand dunes of the west. but she was resigned, and inappetent. she had even ceased to wish for children. the future stretched before her interminable and dull. a railroad had been built across the continent and she had asked permission recently of her husband to visit her parents: her mother was now an invalid and mr. chilton would not leave her. but the doctor was more nearly angry than she had ever seen him. he couldn't live without her. he must always know she was "there." moreover, she was run down, she was thin and pale, he must keep her under his eye. but if he was worried about her health he was still more worried at her apparent desire to leave him for months. did she no longer love him? her response was not emphatic and he went out and bought her a diamond bracelet. at least she was thankful that it had been bought for her and not sent to his wife by mistake, an experience that had happened the other day to maria groome. the town had rocked with laughter and groome had made a hurried trip east on business. but madeleine no longer found consolation in the reflection that things might be worse. the sensation of jealousy would have been a welcome relief from this spiritual and mental inertia. she wore a dress of bright golden-green grosgrain silk trimmed with crepe leaves a shade deeper. the pointed bodice displayed her shoulders in a fashion still beloved of royal ladies, and her soft golden-brown hair was dressed in a high chignon with a long curl descending over the left side of her bust. a few still clung to the low chignon, others had adopted a fashion set by the empress eugenie and wore their hair in a mass of curls on the nape of the neck; but madeleine received the latest advices from a sister-in-law who lived in new york; and as femininity dies hard she still felt a mild pleasure in introducing the latest cry in fashion. as she was the last to arrive she would have been less than woman if she had not felt a glow at the sensation she made. the color came back to her cheeks as the women surrounded her with ecstatic compliments and peered at the coiffure from all sides. the diamond bracelet was barely noticed. "i adopt it tomorrow," said mrs. mclane emphatically. "with my white hair i shall look more like an old marquise than ever." one of the other women ran into masters' bedroom where they had left their wraps and emerged in a few moments with a lifted chignon and a straggling curl. amid exclamations and laughter two more followed suit, while the host and the other men waited patiently for their dinner. it was a lively party that finally sat down, and it was the gayest if the most momentous of masters' little functions. his eyes strayed toward madeleine more than once, for her success had excited her and she had never looked lovelier. she was at the other end of the table and mrs. mclane and mrs. ballinger sat beside him. she interested him for the first time and he adroitly drew her history from his mentor (not that he deluded that astute lady for an instant, but she dearly loved to gossip). "she is going through one of those crises that all young wives must expect," she concluded. "if it isn't one thing it's another. she is still very young, and inclined to be romantic. she expected too much--of a husband, mon dieu! of course she is lonely or thinks she is. too bad youth never can realize that it is enough to be young. and with beauty, and means, and position, and charming frocks! she will grow philosophical--when it is too late. meanwhile a little flirtation would not hurt her and howard talbot does not know the meaning of the word jealousy. why don't you take her in hand?" "not my line. but it seems odd that talbot should neglect her. she looks intelligent and she is certainly beautiful." "oh, howard! he is the best of men but the worst of husbands." her attention was claimed by the man on her right and at the same moment madeleine's had evidently been drawn to the wall of books behind her. she turned, craned her neck, forgetting her partner. then, masters saw a strange thing. her eyes filled with tears and she continued to stare at the books in complete absorption until her attention was laughingly recalled. "now, that is odd," thought masters. "very odd." she felt his keen gaze and laughed with a curious eagerness as she met his eyes. he guessed that for the first time he had interested her. x after dinner the men went into his den to smoke, but before his cigar was half finished he muttered something about his duty to the ladies and returned to the parlor. as he had half expected, madeleine was standing before the books scanning their titles, and as he approached she drew her hand caressingly across a shelf devoted to the poets. the other women were gossiping at the end of the long room. "you are fond of books!" he said abruptly. she had not noticed his reappearance. she was startled and exclaimed passionately, "i loved them--once! but it is a long time since i have read anything but an occasional novel." "but why? why?" he had powerful gray eyes and they magnetized the truth out of her. "my husband thinks it is a woman's sole duty to look charming. he was afraid i would become a bluestocking and lose my charm and spoil my looks. i brought many books with me, but i never opened the cases and finally gave them to the mercantile library. i have never gone to look at them." "good heaven!" he had never felt sorrier for a woman who had asked alms of him in the street. she was looking at him eagerly. "perhaps--you won't mind--you will lend me--i don't think my husband would notice now--he is never at home except for breakfast and dinner--" "will i? for heaven's sake look upon them as your own. what will you take with you to-night?" "oh! nothing! perhaps you will send me one tomorrow?" "one? i'll send a dozen. let us select them now." but at this moment the other men entered and she whispered hurriedly, "will you select and send them? any--any--i don't care what." the doctor came toward them full of good wine and laughter. the books meant nothing to him. he had forgotten his wife's inexplicable taste for serious literature. he now found her quite perfect but was worried about her health. the tonics and horseback riding he had prescribed seemed to have little effect. "i am going to take you away and send you to bed," he said jovially. "no sitting up after nine o'clock until you are yourself again, and not another ball this winter. a wife is a great responsibility, masters. any other woman is easier to prescribe for, but the wife of your bosom knows you so well she can fool you, as no woman who expects a bill twice a year would dare to do. still, she's pretty good, pretty good. she's never had an attack of nerves, nor fainted yet. and as for 'blues' she doesn't know the meaning of the word. come along, sweetheart." madeleine smiled half cynically, half wistfully, shook hands with her host and made him a pretty little speech, nodded to the others and went obediently to bed. the doctor, whose manners were courtly, escorted her to the door of their parlor and returned to masters' rooms. the other women left immediately afterward, and as it was saturday night, he and his host and mr. mclane talked until nearly morning. xi by the first of june fashion had deserted the city with its winds and fogs and dust, and madeleine was one of the few that remained. her husband had intended to send her to congress springs in the mountains of the santa clara valley, but she seemed to be so much better that he willingly let her stay on, congratulating himself on the results of his treatment. she was no longer listless and was always singing at the piano when he rushed in for his dinner. if he had been told that the cure was effected by books he would have been profoundly skeptical, and perhaps wisely so. but although madeleine felt an almost passionate gratitude for masters, she gave him little thought except when a new package of books arrived, or when she discussed them briefly with him in society. he had never called. but her mind flowered like a bit of tropical country long neglected by rain. she had thought that the very seeds of her mental desires were dead, but they sprouted during a long uninterrupted afternoon and grew so rapidly they intoxicated her. masters had sent her in that first offering poets who had not become fashionable in boston when she left it: browning, matthew arnold and swinburne; besides the byron and shelley and keats of her girlhood. he sent her letters and essays and memoirs and biographies that she had never read and those that she had and was glad to read again. he sent her books on art and she re-lived her days in the galleries of europe, understanding for the first time what she had instinctively admired. it was not only the sense of mental growth and expansion that exhilarated her, after her long drought, but the translation to a new world. she lived in the past in these lives of dead men; and as she read the biographies of great painters and musicians she shared their disappointments and forgot her own. her emotional nature was in constant vibration, and this phenomenon was the more dangerous, as she would have argued--had she thought about it at all--that having been diverted to the intellect it must necessarily remain there. if she had belonged to a later generation no doubt she would have taken to the pen herself, and artistic expression would--possibly--have absorbed and safe-guarded her during the remainder of her genetic years; but such a thing never occurred to her. she was too modest in the face of master work, and only queer freakish women wrote, anyhow, not ladies of her social status. although her thoughts rarely strayed to masters, he hovered a sort of beneficent god in the background of her consciousness, the author of her new freedom and content; but it was only after an unusually long talk with him at a large dinner given to a party of distinguished visitors from europe, shortly before society left town, that she found herself longing to discuss with him books that a week before would have been sufficient in themselves. the opportunity did not arise however until she had been for more than a fortnight "alone" in san francisco. she was returning from her daily brisk walk when she met him at the door of the hotel. they naturally entered and walked up the stairs together. she had immediately begun to ply him with questions, and as she unlocked the door of her parlor she invited him to enter. he hesitated a moment. nothing was farther from his intention than to permit his interest in this charming lonely woman to deepen; entanglements had proved fatal before to ambitious men; moreover he was almost an intimate friend of her husband. but he had no reasonable excuse, he had manifestly been sauntering when they met, and he had all the fine courtesy of the south. he followed her into the hotel parlor she had made unlike any other room in san francisco, with the delicate french furniture and hangings her mother had bought in paris and given her as a wedding present. a log fire was blazing. she waved her hand toward an easy chair beside the hearth, threw aside her hat and lifted her shining crushed hair with both hands, then ran over to a panelled chest which the doctor had conceded to be handsome, but quite useless as it was not even lined with cedar. "i keep them in here," she exclaimed as gleefully as a naughty child; and he had the uneasy sense of sharing a secret with her that isolated them on a little oasis of their own in this lawless waste of san francisco. she had opened the chest and was rummaging. "what shall it be first? how i have longed to talk with you about a dozen. on the whole i think i'd rather you'd read a poem to me. do you mind? i know you are not lazy--oh, no!--and i am sure you read delightfully." "i don't mind in the least," he said gallantly. (at all events he was in for it.) "and i rather like the sound of my own voice. what shall it be?" and, alas, she chose "the statue and the bust." xii he was disconcerted, but his sense of humor come to his rescue, and although he read that passionate poem with its ominous warning to hesitant lovers, with the proper emphasis and as much feeling as he dared, he managed to make it a wholly impersonal performance. when he finished he dropped the book and glanced over at his companion. she was sitting forward with a rapt expression, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming unevenly. but there was neither challenge nor self-consciousness in her eyes. the sparkle had left them, but it was their innocence, not their melting, that stirred him profoundly. with her palimpsest mind she was a poet for the moment, not a woman. her manners never left her and she paid him a conventional little compliment on his reading, then asked him if he believed that people who could love like that had ever lived, or if such dramas were the peculiar prerogative of the divinely gifted imagination. he replied drily that a good many people in their own time loved recklessly and even more disastrously, and then asked her irresistibly (for he was a man if a wary one) if she had never loved herself. "oh, of course," she replied simply. "i love my husband. but domestic love--how different!" "but have you never--domestic love does not always--well--" she shrugged her shoulders and replied with the same disconcerting simplicity, "oh, when you are married you are married. and now that your books have made me so happy i never find fault with howard any more. i know that he cannot be changed and he loves me devotedly in his fashion. mrs. mclane is always preaching philosophy and your books have shown me the way." "and do you imagine that books will always fill your life? after the novelty has worn off?" "oh, that could never be! even if you went away and took your books with you i should get others. i am quite emancipated now." "this is the first time i ever heard a young and beautiful woman declare that books were an adequate substitute for life. and one sort of emancipation is very likely to lead to another." she drew herself up and all her puritan forefathers looked from her candid eyes. "if you mean that i would do the things that a few of our women do--not many (she was one of the loyal guardians of her anxious little circle)--if you think--but of course you do not. that is so completely out of the question that i have never given it consideration. if my husband should die--and i should feel terribly if he did--but if he should, while i was still young, i might, of course, love another man whose tastes were exactly like my own. but i'd never betray howard--nor myself--even in thought." the words and all they implied might have been an irresistible challenge to another man. but to masters, whose career was inexorably mapped out,--he was determined that his own fame and that of california should be synchronous--and who fled at the first hint of seduction in a woman's eyes, they came as a pleasurable reassurance. after all, mental companionship with a woman was unique, and it was quite in keeping that he should find it in this unique city of his adoption. moreover, it would be a very welcome recreation in his energetic life. if propinquity began to sprout its deadly fruit he fancied that she would close the episode abruptly. he was positive that he should, if for no other reason than because her husband was his friend. he might elope with the wife of a friend if he lost his head, but he would never dishonor himself in the secret intrigue. and he had not the least intention of leaving san francisco. for the time being they were safe. it was like picking wild flowers in the field after a day's hot work. "now," she said serenely, "read me 'pippa passes.'" xiii nevertheless, he stayed away from her for a week. at the end of that time he received a peremptory little note bidding him call and expound newman's "apologia" to her. she could not understand it and she must. he smiled at the pretty imperiousness of the note so like herself; for her circle had spoiled her, and whatever her husband's idiosyncrasies she was certainly his petted darling. he went, of course. and before long he was spending every afternoon in the charming room so like a french salon of the eighteenth century that the raucous sounds of san francisco beyond the closed and curtained windows beat upon it faintly like the distant traffic of a great city. masters had asked himself humorously, why not? and succumbed. there was no other place to go except the club, and mrs. talbot was an infinitely more interesting companion than men who discussed little besides their business, professional, or demi-monde engrossments. it was a complete relaxation from his own driving work. he was writing the entire editorial page of his newspaper, the demand for his articles from eastern magazines and weekly journals was incessant; which not only contributed to his pride and income, but to the glory of california. he was making her known for something besides gold, gamblers, and sierra pines. but above all he was instructing and expanding a feminine but really fine mind. she sat at his feet and there was no doubt in that mind, both naive and gifted, that his was the most remarkable intellect in the world and that from no book ever written could she learn as much. he would have been more than mortal had he renounced his pedestal and he was far too humane for the cruelty of depriving her of the stimulating happiness he had brought into her lonely life. there was no one, man or woman, to take his place. nor was there any one to criticize. the world was out of town. they lived in the same hotel, and he rarely met any one in their common corridor. at first she mentioned his visits casually to her husband, and howard grunted approvingly. several times he took masters snipe shooting in the marshes near ravenswood, but he accepted his friend's attitude to his wife too much as a matter of course even to mention it. to him, a far better judge of men than of women, langdon masters was ambition epitomized, and if he wondered why such a man wasted time in any woman's salon, he concluded it was because, like men of any calling but his own (who saw far too much of women and their infernal ailments) he enjoyed a chat now and then with as charming a woman of the world as madeleine. if anyone had suggested that langdon masters enjoyed madeleine's intellect he would have told it about town as the joke of the season. madeleine indulged in no introspection. she had suffered too much in the past not to quaff eagerly of the goblet when it was full and ask for nothing more. if she paused to realize how dependent she had become on the constant society of langdon masters and that literature was now no more than the background of life, she would have shrugged her shoulders gaily and admitted that she was having a mental flirtation, and that, at least, was as original as became them both. they were safe. the code protected them. he was her husband's friend and they were married. what was, was. but in truth she never went so far as to admit that masters and the books she loved were not one and inseparable. she could not imagine herself talking with him for long on any other subject, save, perhaps, the politics of the nation--which, in truth, rather bored her. as for small talk she would as readily have thought of inflicting the almighty in her prayers. nor was it often they drifted into personalities or the human problems. one day, however, he did ask her tentatively if she did not think that divorce was justifiable in certain circumstances. she merely stared at him in horror. "well, there is your erstwhile friend, sibyl geary. she fell in love with another man, her husband was a sot, she got her divorce without legal opposition, and married forbes--finest kind of fellow." "divorce is against the canons of church and society. no woman should break her solemn vows, no matter what her provocation. look at maria groome. do you think she would divorce alexander? she has provocation enough." "you are both high church, but all women are not. mrs. geary is a mere presbyterian. and at least she is as happy as she was wretched before." "no woman can be happy who has lost the respect of society." "i thought you were bored with society." "yes, but it is mine to have. being bored is quite different from being cast out like a pariah." "oh! and you think love a poor substitute?" "love, of course, is the most wonderful thing in the world. (she might be talking of maternal or filial love, thought masters.) but it must have the sanction of one's principles, one's creed and one's traditions. otherwise, it weighs nothing in the balance." "you are a delectable little puritan," said masters with a laugh that was not wholly mirthful. "i shall now read you tennyson's 'maud,' as you approve of sentiment, at least. tennyson will never cause the downfall of any woman, but if you ever see lightning on the horizon don't read 'the statue and the bust' with the battery therof." xiv when people returned to town they were astonished at the change in madeleine talbot, especially after a summer in the city that would have "torn their own nerves out by the roots." more than one had wondered anxiously if she were going into the decline so common in those days. they had known the cause of the broken spring, but none save the incurably sanguine opined that howard talbot had mended it. but mended it was and her eyes had never sparkled so gaily, nor her laugh rung so lightly since her first winter among them. mrs. mclane suggested charitably that her tedium vitae had run its course and she was become a philosopher. but madeleine _reviva_ did not suggest the philosopher to the most charitable eye (not even to mrs. mclane's), particularly as there was a "something" about her--was it repressed excitement?--which had been quite absent from her old self, however vivacious. it was mrs. abbott, a lady of unquenchable virtue, whose tongue was more feared than that of any woman in san francisco, who first verbalized what every friend of madeleine's secretly wondered: was there a man in the case? many loyally cried, impossible. madeleine was above suspicion. above suspicion, yes. no one would accuse her of a liaison. but who was she or any other neglected young wife to be above falling in love if some fascinating creature laid siege? love dammed up was apt to spring a leak in time, even if it did not overflow, and--well, it was known that water sought its level, even if it could not run uphill. mrs. abbott had lived for twenty years in san francisco, and in new orleans for thirty years before that, and she had seen a good many women in love in her time. this climate made a plaything of virtue. "virtue--you said?--precisely. she's _not there_ or we'd see the signs of moral struggle, horror, in fact; for she's not one to succumb easily. but mark my words, _she's on the way_." that point settled, and it was vastly interesting to believe it (madeleine talbot, of all people!), who was the man? duty to mundane affairs had kept many of the liveliest blades and prowling husbands in town all summer; but madeleine had known them all for three years or more. besides, so and so was engaged to so and so, and so and so quite reprehensibly interested in mrs. so and so. the young gentlemen were discreetly sounded, but their lack of anything deeper than friendly interest in the "loveliest of her sex" was manifest. husbands were ordered to retail the gossip of the club, but exploded with fury when tactful pumping forced up the name of madeleine talbot. they were harridans, harpies, old-wives, infernal scandalmongers. if there was one completely blameless woman in san francisco it was howard talbot's wife. no one thought of langdon masters. he appeared more rarely at dinners, and had never ventured in public with madeleine even during the summer. when his acute news sense divined they were gossiping and speculating about her he took alarm and considered the wisdom of discontinuing his afternoon visits. but they had become as much a part of his life as his daily bread. moreover, he could not withdraw without giving the reason, and it was a more intimate subject than he cared to discuss with her. whether he was in love with her or not was a question he deliberately refused to face. if the present were destroyed there was no future to take its place, and he purposed to live in his fool's paradise as long as he could. it was an excellent substitute for tragedy. but society soon began to notice that she no longer honored kettledrums or the more formal afternoon receptions with her presence, and her calls were few and late. when attentive friends called on her she was "out." the clerk at the desk had been asked to protect her, as she "must rest in the afternoon." he suspected nothing and her word was his law. when quizzed, madeleine replied laughingly that she could keep her restored health only by curtailing her social activities; but she blushed, for lying came hardly. as calling was a serious business in san francisco, she compromised by the ancient clearing-house device of an occasional large "at home," besides her usual dinners and luncheons. when masters was a dinner guest he paid her only the polite attentions due a hostess and flirted elaborately with the prettiest of the women. madeleine, who was unconscious of the gossip, was sometimes a little hurt, and when he avoided her at other functions and was far too attentive to sally ballinger, or annette mclane, a beautiful girl just out, she had an odd palpitation and wondered what ailed her. jealous? well, perhaps. friends of the same sex were often jealous. had not sally been jealous at one time of poor sibyl geary? and masters was the most complete friend a woman ever had. she thought sadly that perhaps he had enough of her in the afternoon and welcomed a change. well, that was natural enough. she found herself enjoying the society of other bright men at dinners, now that life was fair again. nevertheless, she experienced a sensation of fright now and again, and not because she feared to lose him. xv there is nothing so carking as the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity. they may not cause the acute distress of love and hate, but no tooth ever ached more incessantly nor more insistently demanded relief. that doughty warrior, mrs. abbott, in her own homely language determined to take the bull by the horns. she sailed into the occidental hotel one afternoon and up the stairs without pausing at the desk. the clerk gave her a cursory glance. mrs. abbott went where she listed, and, moreover, was obviously expected. when she reached the talbot parlor she halted a moment, and then knocked loudly. madeleine, who often received parcels, innocently invited entrance. mrs. abbott promptly accepted the invitation and walked in upon masters and his hostess seated before the fire. the former had a book in his hand, and, judging from the murmur that had penetrated her applied ear before announcing herself, had been reading aloud. ("as cozy as two bugs in a rug," she told her friends afterward.) "oh, mrs. abbott! how kind of you!" madeleine was annoyed to find herself blushing, but she kept her head and entered into no explanation. masters, with his most politely aloof air, handed the smiling guest to the sofa, and as she immediately announced that the room was too warm for her, madeleine removed her dolman. mrs. abbott as ever was clad in righteous black satin trimmed with bugles and fringe, and a small flat bonnet whose strings indifferently supported her chins. she fixed her sharp small eyes immediately on madeleine's beautiful house gown of nile green camel's hair, made with her usual sweeping lines and without trimming of any sort. "charming--charming--and so becoming with that lovely color you have. new york, i suppose--" "oh, no, a seamstress made it. you must let me get you cake and a glass of wine." the unwilling hostess crossed over to the hospitable cupboard and mrs. abbott amiably accepted a glass of port, the while her eyes could hardly tear themselves from the books on the table by the fire. there were at least a dozen of them and her astute old mind leapt straight at the truth. "i thought you had given all your books to the mercantile library," she remarked wonderingly. "we all thought it so hard on you, but howard is set in his ways, poor old thing. he was much too old for you anyhow. i always said so. but i see he has relented. have you been patronizing c. beach? nice little book store. i go there myself at christmas time--get a set in nice bindings for one of the children every year." "oh, these are borrowed," said madeleine lightly. "mr. masters has been kind enough to lend them to me." "oh--h--h, naughty puss! what would howard say if he found you out?" masters, who stood on the hearth rug, looked down at her with an expression, which, she afterward confessed, sent shivers up her spine. "talbot is a great friend of mine," he said with deliberate emphasis, "and not likely to object to his wife's sharing my library." "don't be too sure. the whole town knows that howard detests bluestockings and would rather his wife had a good honest flirtation than stuffed her brains.... pretty little head." she tweaked madeleine's scarlet ear. "mustn't put too much in it." "i'm afraid it doesn't hold much," said madeleine smiling; and fancied she heard a bell in her depths toll: "it's going to end! it's going to end!" and for the first time in her life she felt like fainting. she went hurriedly over to the cupboard and poured herself out a glass of port wine. "i had almost forgotten my tonic," she said. "it has made me quite well again." "your improvement is nothing short of miraculous," said the old lady drily. "it is the talk of the town. but you are ungrateful if you don't give all those interesting books some of the credit. i hope howard is properly grateful to mr. masters.... by the way, my young friend, the men complain that you are never seen at the club during the afternoon any more. that is ungrateful, if you like!--for they all think you are the brightest man out here, and would rather hear you talk than eat--or drink, which is more to the point. now, i must go, dear. i won't intrude any longer. it has been delightful, meeting two such clever people at once. you are coming to my 'at home' tomorrow. i won't take no for an answer." there was a warning note in her voice. her pointed remarks had not been inspired by sheer felinity. it was her purpose to let madeleine know that she was in danger of scandal or worse, and that the sooner she scrambled back to terra firma the better. of course she could not refrain from an immediate round of calls upon impatient friends, but she salved her conscience by asserting roundly (and with entire honesty) that there was nothing in it as yet. she had seen too much of the world to be deceived on _that_ point. xvi after masters had assisted mrs. abbott's large bulk into her barouche, resisting the impulse to pitch it in headfirst, he walked slowly up the stairs. he was seething with fury, and he was also aghast. the woman had unquestionably precipitated the crisis he had hoped to avoid. to use her favorite expression, the fat was in the fire; and she would see to it that it was maintained at sizzling point. he ground his teeth as he thought of the inferences, the innuendos, the expectations, the constant linking of his name with madeleine's. madeleine! it was true, of course, that the gossip might stop short of scandal if she entered the afternoon treadmill once more and showed herself so constantly that the most malignant must admit that she had no time for dalliance; it was well known that he spent the morning and late afternoon hours at the office. but that would mean that he must give her up. she was the last woman to consent to stolen meetings, even were he to suggest them, for the raison d'etre of their companionship would be gone. and that phase could end in but one way. what a dreamer he had been, he, a man of the world, to imagine that such an idyll could last. perhaps four perfect months were as much as a man had any right to ask of life. nevertheless, he experienced not the slightest symptom of resignation. he felt reckless enough to throw his future to the winds, kidnap madeleine, and take the next boat to south america. but his unclouded mind drove inexorably to the end: her conscience and unremitting sense of disgrace would work the complete unhappiness of both. divorce was equally out of the question. as he approached her door he felt a strong inclination to pass it and defer the inevitable interview until the morrow. he must step warily with her as with the world, and he needed all his self-control. if he lost his head and told her that he loved her he would not save a crumb from his feast. moreover, there was the possibility of revealing her to herself if she loved him, and that would mean utter misery for her. did she? he walked hastily past her door. his coolly reasoning brain felt suddenly full of hot vapors. then he cursed himself for a coward and turned back. she would feel herself deserted in her most trying hour, for she needed a reassuring friend at this moment if never before. he had rarely failed to keep his head when he chose and he would keep it now. but when he entered the room his self-command was put to a severe test. she was huddled in a chair crying, and although he scoffed at woman's tears as roundly as dr. talbot, they never failed to rain on the softest spot in his nature. but he walked directly to the hearth rug and lit a cigarette. "i hope you are not letting that old cat worry you." he managed to infuse his tones with an amiable contempt. but madeleine only cried the harder. "come, come. of course you are bruised, you are such a sensitive little plant, but you know what women are, and more especially that old woman. but even she cannot find much to gossip about in the fact that you were receiving an afternoon caller." "it--is--is--n't--only that!" "what, then?" "i--i'll be back in a moment." she ran into her bedroom, and masters took a batch of proofs from his pocket and deliberately read them during the ten minutes of her absence. when she returned she had bathed her eyes, and looked quite composed. in truth she had taken sal volatile, and if despair was still in her soul her nerves no longer jangled. he rose to hand her a chair, but she shook her head and walked over to the window, then returned and stood by the table, leaning on it as if to steady herself. "shall i get you a glass of port wine?" "no; more than one goes to my head." he threw the proofs on the table and retreated to the hearth-rug. "i suppose this means that you must not come here any more?" "does it? are you going to turn me adrift to bore myself at the club?" "oh, men have so many resources! and it is you who have given all. i had nothing to give you." "you forget, my dear mrs. talbot, that man is never so flattered as when some woman thinks him an oracle. besides, although yours is the best mind in any pretty woman's head i know of--in any woman's head for that matter--you still have much to learn, and i should feel very jealous if you learned it elsewhere." "oh, i could learn from books, i suppose. there are many more in the world than i shall ever be able to read. but--well, i had a friend for the first time--the kind of friend i wanted." "you are in no danger of losing him. i haven't the least intention of giving you up. real friendships are too rare, especially those founded on mental sympathy, and a man's life is barren indeed when his friends are only men." "have you had any woman friends before?" her eyelids were lowered but she shot him a swift glance. "well--no--to be honest, i cannot say i have. flirtations and all that, yes. during the last eight years, between the war and earning my bread, i've had little time. everything went, of course. i wrote for a while for a richmond paper and then went to new york. that was hard sledding for a time and southerners are not welcome in new york society. if i bore you with my personal affairs it is merely to give you a glimpse of a rather arid life, and, perhaps, some idea of how pleasant and profitable i have found our friendship." she drooped her head. he ground his teeth and lit another cigarette. his hand trembled but his tones were even and formal. "i shall go to mrs. abbott's tomorrow." "quite right. and if a man strays in flirt with him--if you know how." "there are four other at homes and kettledrums this week and i shall go to those also. i don't know that i mind silly gossip, but it would not be fair to howard. i shouldn't like to put him in the position of some men in this town; although they seem to console themselves! but howard is not like that." "not he. the best fellow in the world. i think your program admirable." he saw that he was trying her too far and added hastily: "it would be rather amusing to circumvent them, and it certainly would not amuse me to lose your charming companionship. i have fallen into the habit of imposing myself upon you from three until five or half-past. perhaps you will admit me shortly after lunch and let me hang round until you are ready to go out?" she looked up with faintly sparkling eyes; then her face fell. "there are so many luncheons." "but surely not every day. you could refuse the informal affairs on the plea of a previous engagement, and give me the list of the inevitable ones the first of the week. and at least you are free from impertinent intrusion before three o'clock." "yes, i'll do that! i will! it will be better than nothing." "oh, a long sight better. and nothing can alter the procession of the seasons. summer will arrive again in due course, and if your friends are not far more interested in something else by that time it is hardly likely that even mrs. abbott will sacrifice the comforts of alta to spy on any one." "not she! she has asthma in san francisco in summer." madeleine spoke gaily, but she avoided his eyes. whether he was maintaining a pose or not she could only guess, but she had one of her own to keep up. "you must have thought me very silly to cry--but--these people have all been quite angelic to me before, and mrs. abbott descended upon me like the day of judgment." "i should think she did, the old she-devil, and if you hadn't cried you wouldn't have been a true woman! but we have a good half hour left. i'd like to read you--" at this moment dr. talbot's loud voice was heard in the hall. "all right. see you later. sorry--" xvii madeline caught at the edge of the table. had he met mrs. abbott? but even in this moment of consternation she avoided a glance of too intimate understanding with masters. she was reassured immediately, however. the doctor burst into the room and exclaimed jovially: "you here? what luck. thought you would be at some infernal at home or other. just got a call to san jose--consultation--must take the next train. come, help me pack. hello, masters. if i'd had time i'd have looked you up. got some news for you. wait a moment." he disappeared into his bedroom and madeleine followed. he had not noticed the books and masters' first impulse was to gather them up and replace them in the chest. but he sat down to his proofs instead. the doctor returned in a few moments. "madeleine will finish. she's a wonder at packing. hello! what's this?" he had caught sight of the books. "some of mine. mrs. talbot expressed a wish--" "why in thunder don't you call her madeleine? you're as much her friend as mine.... well, i don't mind as much as i did, for i find women are all reading more than they used to, and i'm bound to say they don't have the blues while a good novel lasts. ouida's a pretty good dose and lasts about a week. but don't give her too much serious stuff. it will only addle her brains." "oh, she has very good brains. mrs. abbott was here just now, and although she is not what i should call literary--or too literate--she seemed to think your wife was just the sort of woman who should read." "mrs. abbott's a damned old nuisance. you must have been overjoyed at the interruption. but if madeleine has to put on pincenez--" "oh, never fear!" madeleine was smiling radiantly as she entered. her volatile spirits were soaring. "my eyes are the strongest part of me. what did you have to tell mr. masters?" "jove! i'd almost forgotten, and it's great news, too. what would you say, masters, to editing a paper of your own?" "what?" "there's a conspiracy abroad--i won't deny i had a hand in it--no light under the bushel for me--to raise the necessary capital and have a really first-class newspaper in this town. san francisco deserves the best, and if we've had nothing but rags, so far--barring poor james king of william's _bulletin_--it's because we've never had a man before big enough to edit a great one." "i have no words! it is almost too good to be true!" madeleine watched him curiously. his voice was trembling and his eyes were flashing. he was tall but had drawn himself up in his excitement and seemed quite an inch taller. he looked about to wave a sword and lead a charge. establishing a newspaper meant a hard fight and he was eager for the fray. she had had but few opportunities to study him in detail unobserved. she had never thought him handsome, for he was clean shaven, with deep vertical lines, and he wore his black hair very short. her preference was for fair men with drooping moustaches and locks sweeping the collar; although her admiration for this somewhat standardized type had so far been wholly impersonal. even the doctor clipped his moustache as it interfered with his soup, and his rusty brown hair was straight, although of the orthodox length. but she had not married howard for his looks! she noted the hard line of jaw and sharp incisive profile. his face had power as well as intellect, yet there was a hint of weakness somewhere. possibly the lips of his well-cut mouth were a trifle too firmly set to be unselfconscious. and his broad forehead lacked serenity. there was a furrow between the eyes. it was with the eyes she was most familiar. they were gray, brilliant, piercing, wide apart and deeply set. she had noted more than once something alert, watchful, in their expression, as if they were the guardians of the intellect above and defied the weakness the lower part of his face barely hinted to clash for a moment with his ambitions. she heard little of his rapid fire of questions and howard's answers; but when the doctor had pulled out his watch, kissed her hurriedly, snatched his bag and dashed from the room, masters took her hands in his, his eyes glowing. "did you hear?" he cried. "did you hear? i am to have my own newspaper. my dream has come true! a hundred thousand dollars are promised. i shall have as good a news service as any in new york." madeleine withdrew her hands but smiled brightly and made him a pretty speech of congratulation. she knew little of newspapers and cared less, but there must be something extraordinary about owning one to excite a man like langdon masters. she had never seen him excited before. "won't it mean a great deal harder work?" "oh, work! i thrive on work. i've never had enough. come and sit down. let me talk to you. let me be egotistical and talk about myself. let me tell you all my pent-up ambitions and hopes and desires--you wonderful little egeria!" and he poured himself out to her as he had never unbosomed himself before. he stayed on to dinner--she had no engagement--and left her only for the office. he had evidently forgotten the earlier episode, and he swept it from her own mind. that mind, subtle, feminine, yielding, melted into his. she shared those ambitions and hopes and desires. his brilliant and useful future was as real and imperative to her as to himself. it was a new, a wonderful, a thrilling experience. when she went to bed, smiling and happy, she slammed a little door in her mind and shot the bolt. a terrible fear had shaken her three hours before, but she refused to recall it. once more the present sufficed. xviii madeleine went to mrs. abbott's reception, but there was nothing conciliatory nor apologetic in her mien. she had intended to be merely natural, but when she met that battery of eyes, amused, mocking, sympathetic, encouraging, and realized that mrs. abbott's tongue had been wagging, she was filled with an anger and resentment that expressed itself in a cold pride of bearing and a militant sparkle of the eye. she was gracious and aloof and mrs. mclane approved her audibly. "exactly as i should feel and look myself," she said to mrs. ballinger and guadalupe hathaway. "she's a royal creature and she has moved in the great world. no wonder she resents the petty gossip of this village." "well, i'll acquit her," said mrs. ballinger tartly. "a more cold-blooded and unattractive man i've never met." "langdon masters is by no means unattractive," announced miss hathaway out of her ten years' experience as a belle and an unconscionable flirt. "i have sat in the conservatory with him several times. it may be that mrs. abbott stepped in before it was too late. and it may be that she did not." "oh, call no woman virtuous until she is dead," said mrs. mclane lightly. "but i won't hear another insinuation against madeleine talbot." mrs. abbott kissed the singed brand it had been her mission to snatch in the nick of time and detained her in conversation with unusual empressement. madeleine responded with an excessive politeness, and mrs. abbott learned for the first time that sweet brown eyes could glitter as coldly as her own protuberant orbs when pronouncing judgment. madeleine remained for two hours, bored and disgusted, the more as masters' name was ostentatiously avoided. even sally ballinger, who kissed her warmly, told her that she looked as if she hadn't a care in the world and that it was because she had too much sense to bother about men! she had never been treated with more friendly intimacy, and if she went home with a headache it was at least a satisfaction to know that her proud position was still scandal-proof. she wisely modified her first program and drifted back into afternoon society by degrees; a plan of defensive campaign highly approved by mrs. mclane, who detested lack of finesse. the winter was an unsatisfactory one for madeleine altogether. society would not have bored her so much perhaps if that secret enchanting background had remained intact. but her intercourse with masters was necessarily sporadic. her conscience had never troubled her for receiving his visits, for her husband not only had expressed his approval, but had always urged her to amuse herself with men. but she felt like an intriguante when she discussed her engagement lists with masters, and she knew that he liked it as little. his visits were now a matter for "sandwiching," to be schemed and planned for, and she dared not ask herself whether the persistent sense of fear that haunted her was that they both must betray self-consciousness in time, or that the more difficult order would bore him: their earlier intimacy had coincided with his hours of leisure. after all, he was not her lover, to delight in intrigue; and in time, it might be, he would not think the game worth the candle. she dreaded that revived gossip might drive him from the hotel, and that would be the miserable beginning of an unthinkable end. there were other interruptions. he paid a flying visit to richmond to visit the death-bed of his mother, and he took a trip to the sandwich islands to recover from a severe cold on the chest. moreover, his former placidity had left him, for one thing and another delayed the financing of his newspaper. one of its founders was temporarily embarrassed for ready money, another awaited an opportune moment to realize on some valuable stock. there was no doubt that the entire amount would be forthcoming in time, but meanwhile he fumed, and expressed himself freely to madeleine. that he might have a more poisonous source of irritation did not occur to her. fortunately she did not suspect that gossip was still rife. madeleine might have a subtle mind but she had a candid personality. it was quite patent to sharp eyes that she was unhappy once more, although this time her health was unaffected. and society was quite aware that she still saw langdon masters, in spite of her perfunctory appearances; for suspicion once roused develops antennae that traverse space without effort and return with accumulated minute stores of evidence. masters had been seen entering or leaving the talbot parlor by luncheon guests in the hotel. old ben travers, who had chosen to ignore his astonishing and humiliating experience and always treated madeleine with exaggerated deference, called one afternoon on her (in company with mrs. ballinger) and observed cigarette ends in the ash tray. talbot smoked only cigars. masters was one of the few men in san francisco who smoked cigarettes and there was no mistaking his imported brand. mr. travers paid an immediate round of visits, and called again a fortnight later, this time protected by mrs. abbott. there were several books on the table which he happened to know masters had received within the week. when the new wave reached mrs. mclane she announced angrily that all the gossip in san francisco originated in the union club, and refused to listen to details. but she was anxious, nevertheless, for she knew that madeleine, whether she recognized the fact or not, was in love with langdon masters, and she more than suspected that he was with her. he went little into society, even before his mother's death, pleading press of work, but mr. mclane often brought him home quietly to dinner and she saw more of him than any one did but madeleine. men had gone mad over her in her own time and she knew the stamp of baffled passions. it was on new year's day, during masters' absence in richmond, that an incident occurred which turned society's attention, diverted for the moment by an open divorce scandal, to madeleine talbot once more. xix new year's day in san francisco was one of pomp and triumphs, and much secret heart-burning. every woman who had a house threw it open and the many that lived in hotels were equally hospitable. there was a constant procession of family barouches, livery stable buggies and hacks. the "whips" drove their mud-bespattered traps with as grand an air as if on the cliff house road in fine weather; and while none was ignored whose entertaining was lavish, those who could count only on admiration and friendship compared notes eagerly during the following week. but young men in those days were more gallant or less snobbish than in these, and few pretty girls, however slenderly dowered, were forgotten by their waltzing partners. the older men went only to the great houses, and frankly for eggnog. mrs. abbott's was famous and so was mrs. mclane's. ladies who lived out of town the year round, that their husbands might "sleep in the country!" received with their more fortunate friends. it had been madeleine's intention to have her own reception at the hotel as usual, but when mrs. mclane craved her assistance--marguerite was receiving with mrs. abbott, now her mother-in-law--she consented willingly, as it would reduce her effort to entertain progressively illuminated men to the minimum. she felt disinclined to effort of any sort. mrs. mclane, after her daughter's marriage, had tired of the large house on rincon hill and the exorbitant wages of its staff of servants, and returned to her old home in south park, furnishing her parlors with a red satin damask, which also covered the walls. she had made a trip to paris meanwhile and brought back much light and graceful french furniture. the long double room was an admirable setting for her stately little figure in its trailing gown of wine-colored velvet trimmed with mellowed point lace (it had been privately dipped in coffee) and her white high-piled hair. there was no watchful anxiety in mrs. mclane's lofty mien. she knew that the best, old and young, would come to her new year's day reception as a matter of course. mrs. ballinger had also gratefully accepted mrs. mclane's invitation, for sally had recently married harold abbott and was receiving on rincon hill, and maria was in modest retirement. she wore a long gown of silver gray poplin as shining as her silver hair; and as she was nearly a foot taller than her hostess, the two ladies stood at opposite ends of the mantelpiece in the front parlor with annette mclane and two young friends between. the reception was at its height at four o'clock. the rooms were crowded, and the equipages of the guests packed not only south park but third street a block north and south. madeleine sat at the end of the long double room behind a table and served the eggnog. the men hovered about her, not, as commonly, in unqualified admiration, or passed on the goblets, slices of the monumental cakes, and peter job's famous cream pie. she had taken a glass at once and raised her spirits to the necessary pitch; but its effect wore off in time and her hand began to tremble slightly as she ladled out the eggnog. she had not heard from masters since he left and her days were as vacant as visible space. she had felt nervous and depressed since morning and would have spent the day in bed had she dared. mr. mclane, mr. abbott, colonel "jack" belmont, alexander groome, mr. ballinger, amos lawton and several others were chatting with her when ben travers sauntered up to demand his potion. he had already paid several visits, and although he carried his liquor well, it was patent to the eyes of his friends he was in that particular stage of inebriation that swamped his meagre stock of good nature and the superficial cleverness which made him an agreeable companion, and set free all the maliciousness of a mind contracted with years and disappointments: he had never made "his pile" and it was current history that he had been refused by every belle of his youth. he made madeleine a courtly bow as he took the goblet from her hands, not forgetting to pay her a well-turned compliment on those hands, not the least of her physical perfections. then he balanced himself on the edge of the table with a manifest intention of joining in the conversation. madeleine felt an odd sense of terror, although she knew nothing of his discoveries and communications; there was a curious hard stare in his bleared eyes and it seemed to impale her. he began amiably enough. "best looking frocks in this house i've seen today. at least five from paris. mrs. mclane brought back four of them besides her own. seen some awful old duds today. 'lupie hathaway had on an old black silk with a gaping placket and three buttons off in front. some of the other things were new enough, but the dressmakers in this town need waking up. of course yours came from new york, mrs. talbot. charming, simply charming." madeleine wore a gown of amber-colored silk with a bertha of fine lace and mousseline de soie, exposing her beautiful shoulders. the color seemed reflected in her eyes and the bright waving masses of her hair. "madame deforme made it," she said triumphantly. "now don't criticize our dressmakers again." "never criticize anybody but can't help noticing things. got the observing eye. nothing escapes it. how are you off for books now that masters has deserted us?" madeleine turned cold, for the inference was unmistakable, and she saw mr. mclane scowl at him ferociously, but she replied smilingly that there was always the mercantile library. "never have anything new there, and even c. beach hasn't had a new french novel for six months. if masters were one of those considerate men, now, he'd have left you the key of his rooms. nothing compromising in that. but it would be no wonder if he forgot it, for i hear it wasn't his mother's illness that took him to richmond, but betty thornton who's still a reigning toast. old flame and they say she's come round. had a letter from my sister." madeleine, who was lifting a goblet, let it fall with a crash. she had turned white and was trembling, but she lifted another with an immediate return of self-control, and said, "how awkward of me! but i have had a headache for three days and the gas makes the room so warm." and then she fainted. mr. mclane, who was more impulsive than tactful, took travers by the arm and pushed him through the crowd surging toward the table, and out of the front door, almost flinging him down the front steps. "damn you for a liar and a scandalmonger and a malicious old woman!" he shouted, oblivious of many staring coachmen. "never enter my house again." but the undaunted travers steadied himself and replied with a leer, "well, i made her give herself dead away, whether you like it or not. and it'll be all over town in a week." mr. mclane turned his back, and ordering the astonished butler to take out the man's hat and greatcoat, returned to a scene of excitement. madeleine had been placed full length on a sofa by an open window, and was evidently reviving. he asked the men who had overheard travers' attack to follow him to his study. "i want every one of you to promise me that you will not repeat what that little brute said," he commanded. "fortunately there were no women about. fainting women are no novelty. and if that cur tells the story of his dastardly assault, give him the lie. swear that he never said it. persuade him that he was too drunk to remember." "i'll follow him and threaten to horsewhip him if he opens his mouth!" cried colonel belmont, who had been a dashing cavalry officer during the war. he revered all women of his own class, even his wife, who rarely saw him; and he was so critical of feminine perfections of any sort that he changed his mistresses oftener than any man in san francisco. "i'll not lose a moment." and he left the room as if charging the enemy. "good. will the rest of you promise?" "of course we'll promise." but alas, wives have means of extracting secrets when their suspicions are alert and clamoring that no husband has the wit to elude, man being too ingenuous to follow the circumlocutory methods of the subtler sex. not that there was ever anything subtle about mrs. abbott's methods. mr. abbott had a perpetual catarrh and it had long since weakened his fibre. it was commonly believed that when mrs. abbott, her large bulk arrayed in a red flannel nightgown, sat up in the connubial bed and threatened to pour hot mustard up his nose unless he opened his sluices of information he ingloriously succumbed. at all events, how or wherefore, travers' prediction was fulfilled, although he shiveringly held his own tongue. the story was all over town not in a week but in three days. but of this madeleine knew nothing. the doctor, who feared typhoid fever, ordered her to keep quiet and see no one until he discovered what was the matter with her. her return to society and masters' to san francisco coincided, but at least her little world knew that dr. talbot had been responsible for her retirement. it awaited future developments with a painful and a pleasurable interest. xx the rest of the season, however, passed without notable incident. but it was known that madeleine saw masters constantly, and she was so narrowly observed during his second absence that the nervousness it induced made her forced gaiety almost hysterical. during the late spring her spirits grew more even and her migraines less frequent; sustained as she was by the prospect of her old uninterrupted relations with masters. but more than mrs. abbott divined the cause of her ill-suppressed expectancy and never had she received so many invitations to the country. mrs. mclane spent her summers at congress springs, but even she pressed madeleine to visit her. sally abbott lived across the bay on lake merritt and begged for three days a week at least; while as for mrs. abbott and mr. and mrs. tom, who lived with her, they would harken to no excuses. madeleine was almost nonplussed, but if her firm and graceful refusals to leave the doctor had led to open war she would have accepted the consequences. she was determined that this summer she had lived for throughout seven long tormented months should be as unbroken and happy as the other fates would permit. she had a full presentiment that it would be the last. masters glided immediately into the old habit and saw her oftener when he could. of course no phase ever quite repeats itself. the blithe unconsciousness of that first immortal summer was gone for ever; each was playing a part and dreading lest the other suspect it. moreover, masters was irritated almost beyond endurance at the constant postponement of the financial equipment for his newspaper. the man who had promised the largest contribution had died suddenly, and although his heir was more than eager to be associated with so illustrious an enterprise he must await the settlement of the estate. "i am beginning to believe i never shall have that newspaper," masters said gloomily to madeleine. "it looks like fate. when the subject was first broached there was every prospect that i should get the money at once. it has an ugly look. any man who has been through a war is something of a fatalist." they were less circumspect than of old and were walking out the old mission road. in such moods it was impossible for him to idle before a fire and read aloud. madeleine had told her husband she would like to join masters in his walks occasionally, and he had replied heartily: "do you good. he'll lead you some pretty tramps! i can't keep up with him. you don't walk half enough. neither do these other women, although my income would be cut in half if they did." it was a cool bracing day without dust or wind and madeleine had started out in high spirits, induced in part by a new and vastly becoming walking suit of forest green poplin and a hat of the same shade rolled up on one side and trimmed with a drooping grey feather. her gloves and shoes were of grey suede, there was soft lace about her white throat and a coquettish little veil that covered only her eyes. she always knew what to say when masters was in one of his black moods, and today she reminded him of the various biographies of great men they had read together. had not all of them suffered every disappointment and discouragement in the beginning of their careers? overcome innumerable obstacles? many had been called upon to endure grinding poverty as well until they forced recognition from the world, and he at least was spared that. if life took with one hand while she gave with the other, the reverse was equally true; and also no doubt it was a part of her beneficence that she not only strengthened the character by preliminary hardships, but amiably planned them that success might be all the sweeter when it came. masters laughed. "incontrovertible. mind you practice your own philosophy when you need it. all reverses should be temporary if people are strong enough." she lost her color for a moment, but answered lightly: "that is an easy philosophy for you. if one thing failed you would simply move on to another. men like you never really fail, for your rare abilities give you the strength and resource of ten men." "i wonder! the roots of strength sometimes lie in slimy and corrupting waters that spread their miasma upward when life frowns too long and too darkly. sometimes misfortunes pile up so remorselessly, this miasma whispers that a man's chief strength consists in going straight to the devil and be done with it all. a resounding slap on life's face. an insolent assertion of the individual will against society. or perhaps it is merely a disposition to run full tilt, hoping for the coup de grace--much as i felt when i lay neglected on the battlefield for twenty-four hours and longed for some yank to come along and blow out my brains." "that is no comparison," she said scornfully. "when the body is whole nothing is impossible. i should feel that the universe was reeling if i saw you go down before adversity. i could as readily imagine myself letting go, and i am only a woman." "oh, i should never fear for you," he said bitterly. "what with your immutable principles, your religion, and your proud position in the society of san francisco to sustain you, you would come through the fiery furnace unscathed." "yes, but the furnace! the furnace!" she threw out her hands with a gesture of despair, her high spirits routed before a sudden blinding vision of the future. "does any woman ever escape that?" one of her hands brushed his and he caught it irresistibly. but he dropped it at once. there was a sound of horses' hoofs behind them. he had been vaguely aware of cantering hoof-beats in the distance for several minutes. two men passed, and one of them took off his hat with a low mocking sweep and bowed almost to the saddle. it was old ben travers. "what on earth is he doing in town?" muttered masters in exasperation. no one had told him of the new year's day episode, but he knew him for what he was. madeleine was fallowing the small trim figure on the large chestnut with expanded eyes, but she answered evenly enough: "he has some ailment and is remaining in town under howard's care." "liver, no doubt," said masters viciously. "too bad his spleen doesn't burst once for all." he continued unguardedly, "well, if he tries to make mischief, howard will tell him bluntly that we walk together with his permission and invite him to go to the devil." her own guard was up at once, although it was not any gossip carried to howard she feared. "he has probably already forgotten us," she said coldly. "have you finished that paper for _putnam's?_" "three days ago, and begun another for the _edinburgh review_. that is the first time i have been invited to write for an english review." "you see!" she cried gaily. "you are famous already. and ambitious! you were once thinking of writing for our _overland monthly_ only. bret harte told me you had promised him three papers this year." "i shall write them." "perfunctory patriotism. you'd have to write the entire magazine and bring it out weekly to get rid of all your ideas and superfluous energy." "well, and wouldn't the good californians rather read any magazine but their own? even harte is far better known in the east than here. i doubt if i've heard one of his things mentioned but 'the heathen chinee.' he has been here so long they regard him as a mere native. if i am advancing my reputation in the east i am making it much faster than if i depended upon the local reputation alone. san francisco is remarkably human." "when i first came here--it seems a lifetime ago!--i never saw an eastern magazine of the higher class and rarely a book. i believe you have done as much to wake them up as even the march of time. they read newspapers if they won't read their own poor little _overland_. and you are popular personally and inspire a sort of uneasy emulation. you are a sort of illuminated bridge. now tell me what your new paper is about." xxi a while later they came to the old mission dolores, long ago the center of a flourishing colony of native indians, who, under the driving energy of the padres, manufactured practically every simple necessity known to spain. there was nothing left but the crumbling church and its neglected graveyard, alone in a waste of sand. the graves of the priests and grandees were overrun with periwinkle, and the only other flower was the indestructible castilian rose. the heavy dull green bushes with their fluted dull pink blooms surrounded by tight little buds, were as dusty as the memory of the spaniard in california. they went into the church to rest. madeleine had never taken any interest in the history of her adopted state, and as they sat in a pew at the back, surrounded by silence and a deep twilight gloom, masters told her the tragic story of rezanov and concha arguello, who would have married before that humble altar and the history of california changed if the ironic fates had permitted. the story had been told him by mrs. hathaway, who was the daughter of one of the last of the grandees, and whose mother had lived in the presidio when rezanov sailed in through the golden gate and concha arguello had been la favorita of alta california. the little church was very quiet. the rest of the world seemed far away. madeleine's fervid yielding imagination swept her back to that long-forgotten past when a woman to whom the earlier fates had been as kind as to herself had scaled all but the highest peaks of happiness and descended into the profoundest depths of despair. her sympathies, enhanced by her own haunting premonition of disaster, shattered her guard. she dropped her head into her hands and wept hopelessly. masters felt his own moorings shake. he half rose to flee. but he too had been living in the romantic and passionate past and he too had been visited by moments of black forebodings. love had tormented him to the breaking point before this and his ambition had often been submerged in his impatience for the excess of work which his newspaper would demand, exhausting to body and imagination alike. he had long ceased to doubt that she loved him, but her self-command had protected them both. he had believed it would never desert her and when it did his pulses had their way. he took her in his arms and strained her to him as if with the strength of his muscles and his will he would defy the blundering fates. madeleine made no resistance. she was oblivious of everything but the ecstasy of the moment. when he kissed her she clung to him as ardently, and felt as mortals may, when, in dissolution, they have the vision of unmortal bliss. she had the genius for completion and neither the past nor the future intruded upon the perfect moment when love was all. but the moment was brief. a priest entered and knelt before the altar. she disengaged herself and adjusted her hat with hands that trembled violently, then almost ran out of the church. masters followed her. as they descended the steps travers and his companion passed again, after their short canter down the peninsula. he stared so hard at madeleine's revealing face that he almost forgot to take off his hat, and half reined in as if he would pause and gratify his curiosity; but thought better of it and rode on. masters and madeleine did not exchange a word until they had walked nearly a mile. but his brain was working as clearly as if passion had never clouded it, and although he could see no hope for the future he was determined to gain time and sacrifice anything rather than lose what little he might still have of her. he said finally, in a matter-of-fact voice: "i want you to use your will and imagination and forget that we ever entered that church." "forget! the memory of it will scourge me as long as i live. i have been unfaithful to my husband!" "oh, not quite as bad as that!" "what difference? i had surrendered completely and forgotten my vows, my religion, every principle that has guided my life. if--if--circumstances had been different that would not have been the end. i am a bad wicked woman." "oh, no, you are not. you are a terribly good one. if you were not you would take your life in your hands and make it over." he did not dare mention the word divorce, and lest it travel from his mind to hers and cause his immediate repudiation, he added hastily: "you were immortal for a moment and it should be your glory, not a whip to scourge you. the time will come when you will remember it with gratitude and without a blush. you know now what you could be and feel. if we part at least you will have been saved from the complete aridity--" "part?" she looked at him for the first time, and although she had believed she never could look at him again without turning scarlet, there was only terror in her eyes. "i have been afraid of banishment." "it was my fault as much as yours." "i am not so sure. we won't argue that point. is anything perfect arguable? but if i am to stay in san francisco i must see you." "i'll never see you alone again." "i have no intention of pressing that point! but the open is safe and you must walk with me every day." "i don't know! oh--i don't know! and i think that i should tell howard." "you will not tell howard because you are neither cowardly nor cruel. nor will you ruin a perfect memory that belongs to us alone. you do love me and that is the end of it--or the beginning of god knows what!" "love!" she shivered. "yes, i love you. why do poets waste so many beautiful words over love? it is the most terrible thing in the world." "let us try to forget it for the present," he said harshly. "forget everything we cannot have--" "you have your work. you have only to work harder than ever. what have i?" "we will walk together every day. we can take a book out on the beach and sit on the rocks. read more fiction. that is its mission--to translate one for a time from the terrible realities of life. your religion should be of some use to you. it is almost a pity there is no poverty out here. sink your prejudices and seek out poor sibyl forbes. every woman in town has cut her. in healing her wounds you could forget your own. above all, use your will. we are neither of us weaklings, and it could be a thousand times worse. nothing shall take from us what we have, and there may be a way out." "there is none," she said sadly. "but i will do as you tell me. and i'll forget--not remember--if i can." xxii the end came swiftly. the next day ben travers drove down to rincona. mrs. abbott listened to his garnished tale with bulging eyes and her three chins quivering with excitement. she had heard no gossip worth mentioning since she left town, and privately she hated the summer and alta. "you should have seen her face when she came out of that church," cried travers for the third time; he was falling into the senile habit of repeating himself. "it was fairly distorted and she looked as if she had been crying for a week. mark my words, masters had been making the hottest kind of love to her--he was little more composed than she. bet you an eagle to a dime they elope within a week." "serve howard talbot right for marrying a woman twenty years younger than himself and a northerner to boot. do you think he suspects?" "not he. now, i must be off. if i didn't call on the hathaways and montgomerys while i'm down here they'd never forgive me." "both have house parties," said mrs. abbott enviously. "just like you to get it first! i'd go with you but i must write to antoinette mclane. she'll _have_ to believe that her paragon is headed for the rocks this time." mrs. mclane was having an attack of the blues when the letter arrived and did not open her mail until two days later. then she drove at once to san francisco. she was too wise in women to remonstrate with madeleine, but she went directly to dr. talbot's office. it was the most unpleasant duty she had ever undertaken, but she knew that talbot would not doubt his wife's fidelity, and she was determined to save madeleine. she had considered the alternative of going to masters, but even her strong spirit quailed before the prospect of that interview. besides, if he were as deeply in love with madeleine as she believed him to be, it would do no good. she had little faith in the self-abnegation of men where their passions were concerned. dr. talbot was in his office and saw her at once, and they talked for an hour. his face was purple and she feared a stroke. but he heard her quietly, and told her she had proved her friendship by coming to him before it was too late. when she left him he sat for another hour, alone. xxiii it was six o'clock. san francisco was enjoying one of its rare heat waves and madeleine had put on a frock of white lawn made with a low neck and short sleeves, and tied a soft blue sash round her waist. as the hour of her husband's reasonably prompt homing approached she seated herself at the piano. she could not trust herself to sing, and played the "adelaide." the past three days had not been as unhappy as she had expected. she had visited sibyl forbes, living in lonely splendor, and listened enthralled to that rebellious young woman (who had received her with passionate gratitude) as she poured out humiliations, bitter resentment, and matrimonial felicity. madeleine had consoled and rejoiced and promised to talk to the all-powerful mrs. mclane. twice she had gone to hear john mccullough at his new california theatre, with another dutiful doctor's wife who lived in the hotel, and she had walked for three hours with masters every afternoon. he had always found it easy to turn her mind into any channel he chose, and he had never exerted himself to be more entertaining even with her. today he had been jubilant and had swept her with him on his high tide of anticipation and triumph. another patriotic san franciscan had come to the rescue and the hundred thousand dollars lay to masters' credit in the bank of california. he had taken his offices an hour after the deposit was made; his business manager was engaged, and every writer of ability on the other newspapers was his to command. "masters' newspaper" had been the talk of the journalistic world for months. he had picked his staff and he now awaited only the presses he had ordered that morning from new york. madeleine had sighed as she listened to him dilate upon an active brilliant future in which she had no place, but she was in tune with him always and she could only be happy with him now. moreover, it was an additional safeguard. he would be too busy for dreams and human longings. as for herself she would go along somehow. tears, after all, were a wonderful solace. fear had driven her down a light romantic by-way of her nature. even if days passed without a glimpse of him she could dwell on the pleasant thought that he was not far away, and now and then they would take a long walk together. the door opened and dr. talbot entered. his face was no longer purple. it was sallow and drawn. her hands trailed off the keys, her arms fell limply. not even during an epidemic, when he found little time for sleep, had his round face lost its ruddy brightness, his black eyes their look of jovial good-fellowship, his mouth its amiable cynicism. "something has happened," she said faintly. "what is it?" "would you mind sitting here?" he fell heavily into a chair and motioned to one opposite. she left the shelter of the piano with dragging feet, her own face drained of its color. ben travers! she knew what was coming. his arms lay limply along the arms of his chair. as she gazed at him fascinated it seemed to her that he grew older every minute. and she had never seen any one look as sad. "i have been a bad husband to you," he said. and the life had gone out of even his voice. "oh! no! no! you have been the best, the kindest and most indulgent of husbands." "i have been worse than a bad husband," he went on in the same monotonous voice. "i have been a failure. i never tried to understand you. i didn't want to understand what might interfere with my own selfish life. you have a mind and i ordered you to feed it husks. you asked me for the companionship that was your right and i told you to go and amuse yourself as best you could. i fooled myself with the excuse that you were perfect as you were, but the bald truth was that i liked the society of men better, and hated any form of mental exertion unconnected with my profession. i plucked the rarest flower a good-for-nothing man ever found and i didn't even remember to give it fresh water. it is a wonder you didn't wilt before you did. you were wilting--dying mentally--when masters came along. you found in him all that i had denied you. and now i have the punishment i deserve. you no longer love me. you love him." "oh--oh--" madeleine twisted her hands in her lap and stared at them. "you--you--cannot help being what you are. i long since ceased to find fault with you--" "yes, when you ceased to love me! when you found that we were hopelessly mismated. when you gave up." "i--i'm very fond of you still. how could i help it when you are so good to me?" "i have no doubt of your friendship--or of your fidelity. but you love masters. can you deny it?" "no." "are you preparing to elope with him?" "oh! no! no! how could you dream of such a thing?" "i am told that every one is expecting it." "i would no more elope than i would ask for a divorce. i may be sinful enough to love a man who is not my husband, but i am not bad enough for that. and people are very stupid. they know that langdon masters' future lies here. if i were as wicked a woman as that, at least he is not a fool. why, only today he received the capital for his newspaper." "and do you know so little of men and women as to imagine that you two could go on indefinitely content with the mere fact that you love each other? i may not have known my own wife because i chose to be blind, but a doctor knows as much about women in general as a father confessor. men and women are not made like that! it seems that every one but myself has known for months that masters is in love with you; and masters is a man of strong passions and relentless will. he has used his will so far to curb his passions, principally, no doubt, on my account; he is my friend and a man of honor. but there are moments in life when honor as well as virtue goes overboard." "but--but--we have agreed never to see each other alone again--except out of doors." "that is all very well, but there are always unexpected moments of isolation. the devil sees to that. and while i have every confidence in your virtue--under normal conditions--i know the helpless yielding of women and the ruthless passions of men. it would be only a question of time. i may have been a bad husband but i am mercifully permitted to save you, and i shall do so." he rose heavily from his chair. "do you know where i can find masters?" she sprang to her feet and for the first time in her life her voice was shrill. "you are not going to kill him?" "oh, no. i am not going to kill him. there has been scandal enough already. and i have no desire to kill him. he has behaved very well, all things considered. i am almost as sorry for him as i am for you--and myself! do you know where he is?" "he is probably dining at the union club--or he may be at his new offices. they are somewhere on commercial street." he went out and madeleine sat staring at the door with wide eyes and parted lips. she felt no inclination to tears, nor even to faint, although her body could hardly have been colder in death. she felt suspended in a vacuum, awaiting something more dreadful than even this interview with her husband had been. xxiv dr. talbot turned toward the stairs, but it occurred to him that masters might still be in his rooms and he walked to the other end of the hall. a ringing voice answered his knock. he entered. masters grasped him by the hand, exclaiming, "i was going to look you up tonight and tell you the good news. has madeleine told you? i have my capital! and i have just received a telegram from new york saying that my presses will start by freight tomorrow. that means we'll have our newspaper in three weeks at the outside--but what is the matter, old chap? i never saw you look seedy before. suppose we take a week off and go on a bear hunt? it's the last vacation i can have in a month of sundays." "i have come to tell you that you must leave san francisco." "oh!" masters' exuberance dropped like a shining cloak from a figure of steel. he walked to his citadel, the hearth rug, and lit a cigarette. "i suppose you have been listening to the chatter of that infernal old gossip, ben travers." "ben travers knows me too well to bring any of his gossip to me. but he has carried his stories up and down the state; not only his--more recent discoveries, but evidence he appears to have been collecting for months. but he is only one of many. it seems the whole town has known for a year or more that you see madeleine for three or four hours every day, that you have managed to have those hours together, no matter what her engagements, that you are desperately in love with each other. the gossip has been infernal. i do not deny that a good deal of the blame rests on my shoulders. i not only neglected her but i encouraged her to see you. but i thought her above scandal or even gossip, and i never dreamed it was in her to love--to lose her head over any man. she was sweet and affectionate but cold--my fault again. any man who had the good fortune to be married to madeleine could make her love him if he were not a selfish fool. well, i have been punished; but if i have lost her i can save her--and her reputation. you must go. there is no other way." "that is nonsense. you exaggerate because you are suffering from a shock. you know that i cannot leave san francisco with this great newspaper about to be launched. if it is as bad as you make out i will give you my word not to see madeleine again. and as i shall be too busy for society it will quickly forget me." "oh, no, it will not. it will say that you are both cleverer than you have been in the past. if you leave san francisco--california--for good and all--it may forget you; not otherwise." "do you know that you are asking me to give up my career? that i shall never have such an opportunity in my life again? my whole future--for usefulness as well as for the realization of my not ignoble ambitions--lies in san francisco and nowhere else?" "don't imagine i have not thought of that. and san francisco can ill afford to spare you. you are one of the greatest assets this city ever had. but she will have to do without you even if you never can be replaced. i had the whole history of the affair from mrs. mclane this afternoon. no one believes--yet--that things have reached a climax between you and madeleine. on the contrary, they are expecting an elopement. but if you remain, nothing on god's earth can prevent an abominable scandal. madeleine's name will be dragged through the mud. she will be cut, cast out of society. even i could not protect her; i should be regarded as a blind fool, or worse, for it will be known that mrs. mclane warned me. no woman can keep her mouth shut. she and other powerful women--even that damned old cut-throat, mrs. abbott--are standing by madeleine loyally, but they are all alert for a denouement nevertheless. if you go, that will satisfy them. madeleine will be merely the heroine of an unhappy love-affair, and although nothing will stop their damned clacking tongues for a time, they will pity her and do their best to make her forget." "i cannot go. it is impossible. you are asking too much. and, i repeat, i'll never see her again. mrs. mclane can be made to understand the truth. i'll leave the hotel tomorrow." "you love madeleine, do you not?" "yes--i do." "then will you save her from ruin in the only way possible. it is not only her reputation that i fear. you know yourself, i fancy. you may avoid her, but you will hardly deny that if circumstances threw you together, alone, temptation would be irresistible--the more so as you would have ached for the mere sound of her voice every minute. i know now what it means to love madeleine." masters turned his back on talbot and leaned his arms on the mantel-shelf. he saw hideous pictures in the empty grate. the doctor had not sat down. not a muscle of his big strong body had moved as he stood and pronounced what was worse than a sentence of death on langdon masters. he averted his dull inexorable eyes, for he dared not give way to sympathy. for the moment he wished himself dead--and for more reasons than one! but he was far too healthy and practical to contemplate a dramatic exit. no end would be served if he did. madeleine's sensitive spirit would recoil in horror from a union haunted by the memory of the crime and anguish of the husband she had vowed to love and obey. not madeleine! his remorseless solution was the only one. masters turned after a time and his face looked as old as talbot's. "i'll go if you are quite sure it is necessary. if you have not spoken in the heat of the moment." "if i thought for a month it would make no difference. if you remain, no matter what your circumspection madeleine will rank in the eyes of the world with those harlots over on dupont street. and be as much of an outcast. you know this town. you've lived in it for a year and a half. it's not london, nor even new york. nothing is hidden here. it lives on itself; it has nothing else to live on. it is almost fanatically loyal to its own until its loyalty is thrown in its face. then it is bitterer than the wrath of god. you understand all this, don't you?" "yes, i understand. but--couldn't you send madeleine to her parents in boston for six months--she has never paid them a visit--but no, i suppose the scandal would be worse--" "far worse. it would look either as if she had run away from me or as if i had packed her off in disgrace. if i could leave my practice i'd take her abroad for two years, but i cannot. nor--to be frank--do i see why i should be sacrificed further." "oh, assuredly not." masters' tones were even and excessively polite. "you will take the train tomorrow morning for new york?" "i cannot leave san francisco until after the opening of the banks. the money must be refunded. besides, i prefer to go by steamer. there is one leaving tomorrow, i believe. i want time to think before i arrive in new york." "and you will promise to have no correspondence with madeleine whatever?" "you might leave us that much!" "the affair shall end here and now. do you promise?" "very well. but i should like to see her once more." "that you shall not! i shall not leave her until you are outside the golden gate." "very well. if that is all--" "good-by. you have behaved--well, as our code commands you to behave. i expected nothing less. don't imagine i don't appreciate what this means to you. but you are a man of great ability. you will find as hospitable a field for your talents elsewhere. san francisco is the chief loser. i wish you the best of luck." and he returned to madeleine. xxv madeleine came of a brave race and she was a woman of intense pride. she spent a week at congress springs and she took her courage in her teeth and spent another at rincona. there was a house party and they amused themselves in the somnolent way peculiar to alta. bret harte was there, a dapper little man, whose shoes were always a size too small, but popular with women as he played an excellent game of croquet and talked as delightfully as he wrote. his good humor could be counted on if no one mentioned "the heathen chinee." he had always admired madeleine and did his best to divert her. both mrs. mclane and mrs. abbott were disappointed that they were given no opportunity to condole with her; but although she gave a fair imitation of the old madeleine talbot, and even mentioned masters' name with a casual indifference, no one was deceived for a moment. that her nerves were on the rack was as evident as that her watchful pride was in arms, and although it was obvious that she had foresworn the luxury of tears, her eyes had a curious habit of looking through and beyond these good ladies until they had the uncomfortable sensation that they were not there and some one else was. they wondered if langdon masters were dead and she saw his ghost. the summer was almost over. after a visit to sally abbott on lake merritt, she returned to town with the rest of the fashionable world. people had never been kinder to her; and if their persistent attentions were strongly diluted with curiosity, who shall blame them? it was not every day they had a blighted heroine of romance, who, moreover, looked as if she were going into a decline. she grew thinner every day. her white skin was colorless and transparent. they might not have her for long, poor darling! how they pitied her! but they never wished they had let her alone. it was all for the best. and what woman ever had so devoted a husband? he went with her everywhere. he, too, looked as if he had been through the mill, poor dear, but at least he had won a close race, and he deserved and received the sympathy of his faithful friends. as for that ungrateful brute, langdon masters, he had not written a line to any one in san francisco since he left. not one had an idea what had become of him. did he secretly correspond with madeleine? (they would have permitted her that much.) would he blow out his brains if she died of consumption? he was no philanderer. if he hadn't really loved her nothing would have torn him from san francisco and his brilliant career; of course. duelling days were over, and the doctor was not the man to shoot another down in cold blood, with no better excuse than the poor things had given him. it was all very thrilling and romantic. even the girls talked of little else, and regarded their complacent prosperous swains with disfavor. "the long long weary day" was their favorite song. they wished that madeleine lived in a moated grange instead of the occidental hotel. madeleine had had her own room from the beginning of her married life in san francisco, as the doctor was frequently called out at night. when howard had returned and told her that masters would leave on the morrow and that she was not to see him again, she had walked quietly into her bedroom and locked the door that led to his; and she had never turned the key since. talbot made no protest. he had no spirit left where madeleine was concerned, but it was his humble hope to win her back by unceasing devotion and consideration, aided by time. he not only never mentioned masters' name, but he wooed her in blundering male fashion. not a day passed that he did not send her flowers. he bought her trinkets and several valuable jewels, and he presented her with a victoria, drawn by a fine sorrel mare, and a coachman in livery on the box. madeleine treated him exactly as she treated her host at a dinner. she was as amiable as ever at the breakfast table, and when he deserted his club of an evening, she sat at her embroidery frame and told him the gossip of the day. xxvi one evening at the end of two long hours, when he had heroically suppressed his longing for a game of poker, he said hesitatingly, "i thought you were so fond of reading. i don't see any books about. all the women are reading a novel called 'quits.' i'll send it up to you in the morning if you haven't read it." for the first time since masters' departure the blood rose in madeleine's face, but she answered calmly: "thanks. i have little time for reading, as i have developed quite a passion for embroidery and i practice a good deal. this is a handkerchief-case for mrs. mclane. of course i must read 'quits,' however, and also 'the initials.' one mustn't be behind the times. if you'll step into beach's tomorrow and order them i'll be grateful." "of course i will. should--should--you like me to read to you? i'm a pretty bad reader, i guess, but i'll do my best." "oh--is there an earthquake?" "no! but your nerves are in a bad state. i'll get you a glass of port wine." he went heavily over to the cupboard, but his hand was shaking as he poured out the wine. he drank a glass himself before returning to her. "thanks. you take very good care of me." and she gave him the gracious smile of a grateful patient. "i don't think you'd better go out any more at night for a while. you are far from well, you know, and you're not picking up." "a call for you, i suppose. too bad." there had been a peremptory knock on the door. a coachman stood without. would dr. talbot come at once? a new san franciscan was imminent via mrs. alexander groome on ballinger hill. the doctor grumbled. "and raining cats and dogs. why couldn't she wait until tomorrow? we'll probably get stuck in the mud. damn women and their everlasting babies." she helped him into his overcoat and wished him a pleasant good-night. it was long since she had lifted her cheek for his old hasty kiss, and he made no protest. he had time on his side. she did not return to her embroidery frame but stood for several moments looking at the chest near the fireplace. she had not opened it since masters left. his library had been packed and sent after him by one of his friends, but no one had known of the books in her possession. masters certainly had not thought of them and she was in no condition to remember them herself at the time. she had not dared to look at them! tonight, however, she moved slowly toward the chest. she looked like a sleep-walker. when she reached it she knelt down and opened it and gathered the books in her arms. when her husband returned two hours later she lay on the floor in a dead faint, the books scattered about her. xxvii it was morning before he could revive her, and two days before she could leave her bed. then she developed the hacking cough he dreaded. he took her to the sandwich islands and kept her there for a month. the even climate and the sea voyage seemed to relieve her, but when they returned to san francisco she began to cough again. do women go into a decline these days from corroding love and hope in ruins? if so, one never hears of it and the disease is unfashionable in modern fiction. but in that era woman was woman and little besides. if a woman of the fashionable world she had society besides her family and housekeeping. she rarely travelled, certainly not from california, and if one of her band fell upon evil days and was forced to teach school, knit baby sacques, or keep a boarding-house, she was pitied but by no means emulated. madeleine had neither house nor children, and more money than she could spend. she had nothing to ask of life but happiness and that was for ever denied her. masters had never been out of her mind for a moment during her waking hours, and she had slept little. she ate still less, and kept herself up in society with punch in the afternoon and champagne at night. only in the solitude of her room did she give way briefly to excoriated nerves; but the source of her once ready tears seemed dry. there are more scientific terms for her condition these days, but she was poisoned by love and despair. her collapse was only a matter of time. dr. talbot knew nothing about psychology but he knew a good deal about consumption. he had also arrested it in its earlier stages more than once. he plied madeleine with the good old remedies: eggnog, a raw egg in a glass of sherry, port wine, mellow bourbon whiskey and cream. she had no desire to recover and he stood over her while she drank his potions lest she pour them down the washstand; and some measure of her strength returned. she fainted no more and her cough disappeared. the stimulants gave her color and her figure began to fill out again. but her thoughts, save when muddled by her tonics, never wandered from masters for a moment. the longing to hear from him grew uncontrollable with her returning vitality. she had hoped that he would break his promise and write to her once at least. he knew her too well not to measure the extent of her sufferings, and common humanity would have justified him. but his ship might have sunk with all on board for any sign he gave. others had ceased to grumble at his silence; his name was rarely mentioned. if she had known his address she would have written to him and demanded one letter. she had given no promise. her husband had commanded and she had obeyed. she had always obeyed him, as she had vowed at the altar. but she had her share of feminine guile, and if she had known where to address masters she would have quieted her conscience with the assurance that a letter from him was a necessary part of her cure. she felt that the mere sight of his handwriting on an envelope addressed to herself would transport her back to that hour in dolores, and if she could correspond with him life would no longer be unendurable. but although he had casually alluded to his club in new york she could not recall the name, if he had mentioned it. she went to the mercantile library one day and looked over files of magazines and reviews. his name appeared in none of them. it was useless to look over newspaper files, as editorials were not signed. but he must be writing for one of them. he had his immediate living to make. what should she do? as she groped her way down the dark staircase of the library she remembered the newspaper friend, ralph holt, who had packed his books--so the chambermaid had informed her casually--and whom she had met once when walking with masters. he, if any one, would know masters' address. but how meet him? he did not go in society, and she had never seen him since. she could think of no excuse to ask him to call. nor was it possible--to her, at least--to write a note and ask him for information outright. but by this time she was desperate. see holt she would, and after a few moments' hard thinking her feminine ingenuity flashed a beacon. holt was one of the sub-editors of his newspaper and although he had been about to resign and join masters, no doubt he was on the staff still. madeleine remembered that masters had often spoken of a french restaurant in the neighborhood of the _alta_ offices, patronized by newspaper men. the cooking was excellent. he often lunched there himself. she glanced at her watch. it was one o'clock. she walked quickly toward the restaurant. xxviii she entered in some trepidation. she had never visited a restaurant alone before. and this one was crowded with men, the atmosphere thick with smoke. she asked the fat little proprietor if she might have a table alone, and he conducted her to the end of the room, astonished but flattered. a few women came to the restaurant occasionally to lunch with "their boys," but no such lady of the haut ton as this. a fashionable woman's caprice, no doubt. her seat faced the room, and as she felt the men staring at her, she studied the menu carefully and did not raise her eyes until she gave her order. in spite of her mission and its tragic cause she experienced a fleeting satisfaction that she was well and becomingly dressed. she had intended dropping in informally on sibyl forbes, still an outcast, in spite of her intercession, and wore a gown of dove-colored cashmere and a hat of the same shade with a long lilac feather. she summoned her courage and glanced about the room, her eyes casual and remote. would it be possible to recognize any one in that smoke? but she saw holt almost immediately. he sat at a table not far from her own. she bowed cordially and received as frigid a response as mrs. abbott would have bestowed on sibyl forbes. madeleine colored and dropped her eyes again. of course he knew her for the cause of masters' desertion of the city that needed him, and the disappointment of his own hopes and ambitions. moreover, she had inferred from his conversation the day they had all walked together for half an hour that he regarded masters as little short of a god. he was several years younger, he was clever himself, and nothing like masters had ever come his way. he had declared that the projected newspaper was to be the greatest in america. she had smiled at his boyish enthusiasm, but without it she would probably have forgotten him. she had resented his presence at the time. of course he hated her. but she had come too far to fail. he passed her table a few moments later and she held out her hand with her sweetest smile. "sit down a moment," she said with her pretty air of command; and although his face did not relax he could do no less than obey. "i feel more comfortable," she said. "i had no idea i should be the only lady here. but mr. masters so often spoke to me of this restaurant that i have always meant to visit it." she did not flutter an eyelash as she uttered masters' name, and her lovely eyes seemed wooing holt to remain at her side. "heartless, like all the rest of them," thought the young man wrathfully. "well, i'll give her one straight." "have you heard from him lately?" she asked, as the waiter placed the dishes on the table. "he hasn't written to one of his old friends since he left, and i've often wondered what has become of him." "he's gone to the devil!" said holt brutally. "and i guess you know where the blame lies--oh!--drink this!" he hastily poured out a glass of claret. "here! drink it! brace up, for god's sake. don't give yourself away before all these fellows." madeleine swallowed the claret but pushed back her chair. "take me away quickly," she muttered. "i don't care what they think. take me where you can tell me--" he drew her hand through his arm, for he was afraid she would fall, and as he led her down the room he remarked audibly, "no wonder you feel faint. there's no air in the place, and you've probably never seen so much smoke in your life before." at the door he nodded to the anxious proprietor, and when they reached the sidewalk asked if he should take her home. "no. i must talk to you alone. there is a hack. let us drive somewhere." he handed her into the hack, telling the man to drive where he liked as long as he avoided the cliff house road. madeleine shrank into a corner and began to cry wildly. he regarded her with anxiety, and less hostility in his bright blue eyes. "i'm awfully sorry," he said. "i was a brute. but i thought you would know--i thought other things--" "i knew nothing, but i can't believe it is true. there must be some mistake. he is not like that." "that's what's happened. you see, his world went to smash. that was the opportunity of his life, and such opportunities don't come twice. he has no capital of his own, and he can't raise money in new york. besides, he didn't want a newspaper anywhere else. and--and--of-course, you know, newspaper men hear all the talk--he was terribly hard hit. i couldn't help feeling a little sorry for you when i heard you were ill and all the rest; but today you looked as if you had forgotten poor masters had ever lived--just a society butterfly and a coquette." "oh, i'm not blaming you! perhaps it is all my fault. i don't know!--but _that_! i can't believe it. i never knew a man with as strong a character. he--he--always could control himself. and he had too much pride and ambition." "i guess you don't know it, but he had a weak spot for liquor. that is the reason he drank less than the rest of us--and that did show strength of character: that he could drink at all. i only saw him half-seas over once. he told me then he was always on the watch lest it get the best of him. his father drank himself to death after the war, and his grandfather from mere love of his cups. nothing but a hopeless smash-up, though, would ever have let it get the best of him.... he was terribly high-strung under all that fine repose of his, and although his mind was like polished metal in a way, it was full of quicksilver. when a man like that lets go--nothing left to hold on to--he goes down hill at ten times the pace of an ordinary chap. i--i--suppose i may as well tell you the whole truth. he never drew a sober breath on the steamer and he's been drunk more or less ever since he arrived in new york. of course he writes--has to--but can't hold down any responsible position. they'd be glad to give him the best salary paid if he'd sober up, but he gets worse instead of better. he's been thrown off two papers already; and it's only because he can write better drunk than most men sober that he sells an article now and again when he has to." madeleine had torn her handkerchief to pieces. she no longer wept. her eyes were wide with horror. he fancied he saw awful visions in them. fearing she might faint or have hysterics, he hastily extracted a brandy flask from his pocket. "do you mind?" he asked diffidently. "sorry i haven't a glass, but this is the first time i've taken the cork out." she lifted the flask obediently and took a draught that commanded his respect. she smiled faintly as she met his wide-eyed regard. "my husband makes me live on this stuff. i was threatened with consumption. it affects me very little, but it helps me in more ways than one." "well, don't let it help you too much. i suppose the doctor knows best--but--well, it gets a hold on you when you are down on your luck." "if it ever 'gets a hold' on me it will because i deliberately wish it to," she said haughtily. "if langdon masters--has gone as far as you say, i don't believe it is through any inherited weakness. he has done it deliberately." "i grant that. and i'm sorry if i offended you--" "i am only grateful to you. i feel better now and can think a little. something must be done. surely he can be saved." "i doubt it. when a man starts scientifically drinking himself to death nothing can be done when there is nothing better to offer him. may i be frank?" "i have been frank enough!" "masters told me nothing of course, but i heard all the talk. old travers let out his part of it in his cups, and news travels from the clubs like water out of a sieve. we don't publish that sort of muck, but there were innuendoes in that blackguard sheet, _the boom_. they stopped suddenly and i fancy the editor had a taste of the horsewhip. it wouldn't be the first time.... when masters sent for me and told me he was leaving san francisco for good and all, he looked like a man who had been through dore's hell--was there still, for that matter. of course i knew what had happened; if i hadn't i'd have known it the next day when i saw the doctor. he looked bad enough, but nothing to masters. he had less reason! of course masters threw his career to the winds to save your good name. noblesse oblige. too bad he wasn't more of a villain and less of a great gentleman. it, might have been better all round. this town certainly needs him." "if he were not a great gentleman nothing would have happened in the first place," she said with cool pride. "but i asked you if there were no way to save him." "i can think of only two ways. if your husband would write and ask him to return to san francisco--" "he'd never do that." "then you might--you might--" he was fair and blushed easily. being secretly a sentimental youth he was shy of any of the verbal expressions of sentiment; but he swallowed and continued heroically. "you--you--i think you love him. i can see you are not heartless, that you are terribly cut up. if you love him enough you might save him. a man like masters can quit cold no matter how far he has gone if the inducement is great enough. if you went to new york--" he paused and glanced at her apprehensively, but although she had gasped she only shook her head sadly. "i'll never break my husband's heart and the vows i made at the altar, no matter what happens." "oh, you good women! i believe you are at the root of more disaster than all the strumpets put together!" "it may be. i remember he once said something of the sort. but he loved me for what i am and i cannot change myself." "you could get a divorce." "i have no ground. and i would not if i had. he knows that." "no wonder he is without hope! but i don't pretend to understand women. you'll leave him in the gutter then?" "don't!--don't--" "well, if he isn't there literally he soon will be. i've seen men of your set in the gutter here when they'd only been on a spree for a week. take alexander groome and jack belmont, for instance. and after the gutter it is sometimes the calaboose." "you are cruel, and perhaps i deserve it. but if you will give me his address i will write to him." "i wouldn't. he might be too drunk to read your letter, and lose it. or he might tear it up in a fury. i don't fancy even drink could make langdon masters maudlin, and the sight of your handwriting would be more likely to make him empty the bottle with a curse than to awaken tender sentiment. anyhow, it would be a risk. some blackguard might get hold of it." "very well, i'll not write. will you tell the man to drive to the occidental hotel?" he gave the order and when he drew in his head she laid her hand on his and said in her sweet voice and with her soft eyes raised to his (he no longer wondered that masters had lost his head over her), "i want to thank you for the kindness you have shown me and the care you took of me in that restaurant. what you have told me has destroyed the little peace of mind i had left, but at least i'm no longer in the dark. i will confess that i went to that restaurant in the hope of seeing you and learning something about masters. nor do i mind that i have revealed myself to you without shame. i have had no confidant throughout all this terrible time and it has been a relief. i suppose it is always easier to be frank with a stranger than with even the best of friends." "thanks. but i'd like you to know that i am your friend. i'd do anything i could for you--for masters' sake as well as your own. it's an awful mess. perhaps you'll think of some solution." "i've thought of one as far as i am concerned. i shall drink myself to death." "what?" he was sitting sideways, embracing his knees, and he just managed to save himself from toppling over. "have you gone clean out of your head?" "oh, no. not yet, but i shall do as i said. if i cannot follow him i can follow his example. why should he go to the dogs and i go through life with the respect and approval of the world? he is far greater than i--and better. i can at least share his disgrace, and i shall also forget--and, it may be, delude myself that i am with him at times." "my god! the logic of women! how happy do you think _that_ will make your husband? good old sport, the doctor--and as for religion--and vows!" "one can stand so much and no more. i have reached the breaking point here in this carriage. it is that or suicide, and that would bring open disgrace on my husband. the other would only be suspected. and i'll not last long." the hack stopped in front of the hotel. she gave him her hand after he had escorted her to the door. "thank you once more. and i'd be grateful if you would come and tell me if you have any further news of him--no matter what. will you?" "yes," he said. "but i feel like going off and getting drunk, myself. i wish i hadn't told you a thing." "it wouldn't have made much difference. if you know it others must, and i'd have heard it sooner or later. i hope you'll call in any case." he promised; but the next time he saw her it was not in a drawing-room. xxix madeleine had reached the calmness of despair once more, and this time without a glimmer of hope. life had showered its gifts sardonically upon her before breaking her in her youth, and there was still a resource in its budget that it had no power to withhold. she was a firm believer in the dogmas of the church and knew that she would be punished hereafter. well, so would he. it might be they would be permitted to endure their punishment together. and meanwhile, there was oblivion, delusions possibly, and then death. it was summer and there were no engagements to break. the doctor was caught in the whirlwind of another small-pox epidemic and lived in rooms he reserved for the purpose. he did not insist upon her departure from town as he knew her to be immune, and he thought it best she should remain where she could pursue her regimen uninterrupted; and tax her strength as little as possible. if he did not dismiss her from his mind at least he had not a misgiving. she had never disobeyed him, she appeared to have forgotten masters at last, she took her tonics automatically, and there were good plays in town. in a few months she would be restored to health and himself. he returned to the hotel at the end of six weeks. it was the dinner hour but his wife was not at the piano. he tapped on the door that led from the parlor to her bedroom, and although there was no response he turned the knob and entered. madeleine was lying on the bed, asleep apparently. he went forward anxiously; he had never known her to sleep at this hour before. he touched her lightly on the shoulder, but she did not awaken. then he bent over her, and drew back with a frown. but although horrified he was far from suspecting the whole truth. he had been compelled to break more than one patient of too ardent a fidelity to his prescriptions. he forced an emetic down her throat, but it had no effect. then he picked her up and carried her into the bath room and held her head under the shower. the blood flowed down from her congested brain. she struggled out of his arms and looked at him with dull angry eyes. "what do you mean?" she demanded. "how dared you do such a thing to me?" "you had taken too much, my dear," he said kindly. "or else it affects you more than it did--possibly because you no longer need it. i shall taper you off by degrees, and then i think we can do without it." "without it? i couldn't live without it. i need more--and more--" she looked about wildly. "oh, that is all right. they always think so at first. in six months you will have forgotten it. remember, i am a doctor--and a good one, if i say so myself." she dropped her eyes. "very well," she said humbly. "of course you know best." "now, put on dry clothes and let us have dinner. it seems a year since i dined with you." "i haven't the strength." he went into the parlor and returned with a small glass of cognac. "this will brace you up, and, as i said, you must taper off. but i'll measure the doses myself, hereafter." she put on an evening gown, but with none of her old niceness of detail. she merely put it on. her wet hair she twisted into a knot without glancing at the mirror. as she entered the parlor she staggered slightly. talbot averted his eyes. he may have had similar cases, and, as a doctor, become hardened to all manifestations of human weakness, but this patient was his wife. it was only temporary, of course, and a not unnatural sequel. but madeleine! he felt as a priest might if a statue of the virgin opened its mouth and poured forth a stream of blasphemy. then he went forward and put his arm about her. "brace up," he said. "i hear the waiters in the dining-room. they must not see you like this. where--where have you taken your meals?" "in my bedroom." "i hoped so. has any one seen you?" "i don't know--no. i think not. i have been careful enough. i do not wish to disgrace you." he was obliged to give her another glass of cognac, and she sat through the dinner without betraying herself, although she would eat nothing. she was sullen and talked little, and when the meal was over she went directly to bed. dr. talbot followed her, however, and searched her wardrobe and bureau drawers. he found nothing. when he returned to the parlor he locked the cupboard where he kept his hospitable stores and put the key in his pocket. but he did not go out, and toward midnight he heard her moving restlessly about her room. she invited him eagerly to enter when he tapped. "i'm nervous, horribly nervous," she said. "give me some more cognac--anything." "you'll have nothing more tonight. i shall give you a dose of valerian." she swallowed the noxious mixture with a grimace and was asleep in a few moments. xxx the doctor was still very busy but he returned to the hotel four times a day and gave her small doses of whatever liquor she demanded. in a short time he diluted them with napa soda water. she was always pacing the room when he entered and looked at him like a wild animal at bay. but she never mentioned masters' name, even when her nerves whipped her suddenly to hysterics; and although he sometimes thought he should go mad with the horror of it all, he had faith in his method, and in her own pride, as soon as the first torments wore down. she refused to walk out of doors or to wear anything but a dressing gown; she took her slender meals in her room. but madeleine's sufferings were more mental than physical, although she was willing the doctor should form the natural conclusion. she was possessed by the fear that a cure would be forced upon her; she was indifferent even to the taste of liquor, and had merely preferred it formerly to bitter or nauseous tonics; in society it had been a necessary stimulant, when her strength began to fail, nothing more. after her grim decision she had forced large quantities down her throat by sheer strength of will. but she had found the result all that she had expected, she had alternated between exhilaration and oblivion, and was sure that it was killing her by inches. now, she could indulge in neither wild imaginings nor forget. and if he cured her!--but her will when she chose to exert it was as strong as his, and her resource seldom failed her. one day in her eternal pacing she paused and stared at the keyhole of the cupboard, then took a hairpin from her head and tried to pick the lock. it was large and complicated and she could do nothing with it. she glanced at the clock. the doctor would not return for an hour. she dressed hastily and went out and bought a lump of soft wax. she took an impress of the keyhole and waited with what patience she could summon until her husband had come and gone. then she went out again. the next day she had the key and that night she needed no valerian. doctor talbot paced the parlor himself until morning. but he did not despair. he had had not dissimilar experiences before. he removed his supplies to the cellar of the hotel and carried a flask in his pocket from which he measured her daily drams. the same chambermaid had been on her floor for years, and was devoted to her. she sent her out for gin on one pretext or another, although the woman was not deceived for a moment; she had "seen how it was" long since. but she was middle-aged, irish, and sympathetic. if the poor lady had sorrows let her drown them. madeleine was more wary this time. she told her husband she was determined to take her potions only at noon and at night; in the daytime she restrained herself after four o'clock, although she took enough to keep up her spirits at the dinner-table to which she had thought it best to return. the doctor, thankful, no longer neglected his practice, and left immediately after dinner for the club as she went to her room at once and locked the door. there was no doubt of her hostility, but that, too, was not unnatural, and he was content to wait. society returned to town, but she flatly refused to enter it. nor would she receive any one who called. the doctor remonstrated in vain. he trusted her perfectly and a glass of champagne at dinner would not hurt her. if she expected to become quite herself again she must have diversions. she was leading an unnatural life. she deigned no answer. he warned her that tongues would wag. he had met several of the women during the summer and told them her lungs were healed.... no doubt he had been over-anxious, mistaken--in the beginning. he wished he had given her a tonic of iron arsenic and strychnine, alternated with cod-liver oil. but it was too late for regrets, and at least she was well on the road to recovery; if she snubbed people now they would take their revenge when she would be eager for the pleasures of society again. madeleine laughed aloud. "but, my dear, this is only a passing phase. of course your system is depressed but that will wear off, and what you need now, even more than brandy twice a day, is a mental tonic. by the way, don't you think you might leave it off now?" "no, i do not. if my system is depressed i'd go to pieces altogether without it." "i'll give you a regular tonic--" "i'll not take it. you are not disposed to use force, i imagine." "no, i cannot do that. but you'll accept these invitations--some of them?" he indicated a pile of square envelopes on the table. he had opened them but she had not given them a passing glance. "society would have the effect of arresting my 'cure.' i hate it. if you force me to go out i'll drink too much and disgrace you." "but what shall i tell them?" he asked in despair. "i see some of them every day and they'll quiz my head off. they can't suspect the truth, of course, but--but--" he paused and his ruddy face turned a deep brick red. he had never mentioned masters' name to her since he announced his impending departure, but he was desperate. "they'll think you're pining, that's what! that you won't go out because you take no interest in any one but langdon masters." she was standing by the window with her back to him, looking down into the street. she turned and met his eyes squarely. "that would be quite true," she said. "you do not mean that!" "i have never forgotten him for a moment and i never shall as long as i live." she averted her eyes from his pallid face but went on remorselessly. "if you had been merciful you would have let me die when i was so ill. but you showed me another way, and now you would take even that from me." "do--do you mean to say that you tried to drink yourself to death?" "yes, i mean that. and if you really cared for me you would let me do it now." "that i'll never do," he cried violently. "i'll cure you and you'll get over this damned nonsense in time." "i never shall get over it. don't delude yourself for an instant." he stared at her with a sickening sense of impotence--and despair. he thought she had never looked more beautiful. she wore a graceful wrapper of pale blue camel's hair and her long hair in two pendent braids. she was very white and she looked as cold and remote as the moon. "madeleine! madeleine! you have changed so completely! i cannot believe that you'll never be the same madeleine again. why--you--you look as if you were not there at all!" "only my shell is here. the real me is with him." "curse the man! curse him! curse him! i wish i'd blown out his brains!" he threw his arms about wildly and she wondered if he would strike her. but he threw himself into a chair and burst into heavy sobbing. madeleine ran out of the room. xxxi "i tell you it's true. you needn't pooh-pooh at me, antoinette mclane. i have it on the best authority." "old ben travers, i suppose!" "no, it's not ben travers, although he'll find it out soon enough. her chambermaid knows my cook. she is devoted to madeleine, evidently, and cried after she had told it, but--well, i suppose it was too good for any mere female to keep." "servants' gossip," replied mrs. mclane witheringly. "i should think it would be beneath your self-respect to listen to it. fancy gossiping with one's cook." "i didn't," replied mrs. abbott with dignity. "she told my maid, and if we didn't listen to our maids' gossip how much would we really know about what goes on in this town?" mrs. mclane, mrs. ballinger, guadalupe hathaway and sally abbott were sitting in mrs. abbott's large and hideous front parlor after luncheon, and she had tormented them throughout the meal with a promise of "something that would make their hair stand on end." she had succeeded beyond her happy expectations. mrs. mclane's eyes were flashing. mrs. ballinger looked like a proud silver poplar that had been seared by lightning. sally burst into tears, and miss hathaway's large cold spanish blue eyes saw visions of nina randolph, a brilliant creature of the early sixties, whom she had tried to save from the same fate. "be sure the bell boys will find it out," continued mrs. abbott unctuously. "and when it gets to the union club--well, no use for us to try to hush it up." "as you are trying to do now!" "you needn't spit fire at me. i feel as badly as you do about it. if i've told just you four it's only to talk over what can be done." "i don't believe there's a word of truth in the story. probably that wretched servant is down on her for some reason. madeleine talbot! why, she's the proudest creature that ever lived." "she might have the bluest blood of the south in her veins," conceded mrs. ballinger handsomely. "i pride myself on my imagination but i simply cannot _see_ her in such a condition." "if it's true, it's masters, of course," said miss hathaway. "the only reason i didn't fall in love with him was because it was no use. but he's the sort of man--there are not many of them!--who would make a woman love him to desperation if he loved her himself. and she'd never forget him." "i don't believe it," said mrs. ballinger coldly. "i never believed that madeleine was in love with langdon masters. a good woman loves only her husband." "oh, mamma!" wailed sally. "madeleine is young, and the doctor's a dear but he wasn't the sort of a man for her at all. he just attracted her when she was a girl because he was so different from the men she knew. but langdon is exactly suited to her. i guessed it before any of you did. it worried me dreadfully, but i sympathized--i always admired langdon--if he'd looked at me before i fell in love with hal i believe i'd have married him--but i wish, oh, how i wish, madeleine could get a divorce." "sally ballinger!" her mother's voice quavered. "this terrible california! if you had been brought up in virginia--" "but i wasn't. and i mean what i say. and--and--it's true about madeleine. i went there the other day and she saw me--and--oh, i never meant to tell it--it's too terrible!" "so," said mrs. mclane. "so," she added thoughtfully after a moment. "it's a curious coincidence. langdon masters is drinking himself to death in new york. jack belmont returned the other day--he told mr. mclane." she had been interrupted several times, madeleine for the moment forgotten. "why didn't alexander groome know? he's his cousin and bad enough himself, heaven knows." "oh, poor langdon! poor langdon! i knew he could love a woman like that--" "he has remarkable powers of concentration!" "i'll wager mr. abbott heard it himself at the club, the wretch! he'll hear from me!" "oh, it's too awful," wailed sally again. "what an end to a romance. it was quite perfect before--in a way. and now instead of pitying poor madeleine and wishing we were her--she--which is it?--we'll all be despising her!" "it's loathsome," said mrs. ballinger. "i wish i had not heard it. i prefer to believe that such things do not exist." "good heavens, mamma, i've heard that gentlemen in the good old south were as drunk as lords, oftener than not." "as lords, yes. langdon masters is in no position to emulate his ancestors. and madeleine! no one ever heard of a lady in the south taking to drink from disappointed love or anything else. when life was too hard for them they went into a beautiful decline and died in the odor of sanctity." "they get terribly skinny and yellow in the last stages--" "sally!" "well, i don't care anything about langdon masters," announced mrs. abbott. "he's left here anyway, and like as not we'll never see him again. this is what i want to know: can anything be done about madeleine talbot? of course howard poured whiskey down her throat until it got the best of her. but he should know how to cure her. that is if he knows the worst." "you may be sure he knows the worst," said mrs. mclane. "how could he help it?" "that maid said she bought it on the sly all the time. don't you suppose he'd put a stop to that if he knew it?" "well, he will find it out. and i'll not be the one to tell him. one ordeal of that sort is enough for a lifetime." "why not give her a talking to? she has always seemed to defer more to you than to any one else." mrs. abbott made the admission grudgingly. "i am willing to try, if she will see me. but--if she knows what has happened to masters--and ten to one she does--he may have written to her--i don't believe it will do any good. alas! why does youth take life so tragically? when she is as old as i am she will know that no man is worth the loss of a night's sleep." "yes, but madeleine isn't old!" cried sally. "she's young--young--and she can't live without him. i don't know whether she's weaker or stronger than sibyl, but at any rate sibyl is happy--" "how do you know?" "can't you see it in her face at the theatre? oh, i don't care! i'll tell it! madeleine asked me to lunch to meet her one day last winter and i went. we had a splendid time. after lunch we sat on the rug before the fire and popped corn. oh, you needn't all glare at me as if i'd committed a crime. it's hard to _be_ hard when you're young, and sibyl was my other intimate friend. but that's not the question at present. i've had an idea. perhaps i could persuade madeleine to stay with me. now that i know, perhaps she won't mind so much. i only got in by accident. there's a new man at the desk and he let me go up--" "well, what is your idea?" asked mrs. mclane impatiently. "what could you do with her if she did visit you--which she probably will not." "i might be able to cure her. she wouldn't see anything to drink. hal has sworn off. there's not a drop in sight, and not only on his account but because the last butler got drunk and fell in the lake. we'll not have any company while she's there. and i'd lock her in at night and never leave her alone in the daytime." "that is not a bad idea at all," said mrs. mclane emphatically. "but don't waste your time trying to persuade her. go to howard. tell him the truth. he will give her a dose of valerian and take her over in a hack at night." "i don't like the idea of sally coming into contact with such a dreadful side of life--" "but if i can save her, mamma?" "maria is alexander groome's wife and she has no influence over him." "oh, maria! if he were my husband i'd lead him such a dance that he'd behave himself in self-defence. maria is too much like you--" "sally ballinger!" "i only meant that you are an angel, mamma dear. and of course you are so enchanting and beautiful papa has always toed the mark. but maria is good without being any too fascinating--" "sally is right," interrupted mrs. mclane. "i am not sure that her plan will succeed. but no one has thought of a better. if madeleine has a deeper necessity for stupefying her brain than shattered nerves, i doubt if any one could save her. but at least sally can try. we'd be brutes if we left her to drown without throwing her a plank." "just what i said," remarked mrs. abbott complacently. "was i not justified in telling you? and when you get her over there, sally, and her mind is quite clear, warn her that while she may do what she chooses in private, if she elects to die that way, just let her once be seen in public in a state unbecoming a lady, and that is the end of her as far as we are concerned." "yes," said mrs. mclane with a sigh. "we should have no choice. poor madeleine!" xxxii madeleine awoke from a heavy drugged sleep and reached out her hand automatically for the drawer of her commode. it fumbled in the air for a moment and then she raised herself on her elbow. she glanced about the room. it was not her own. she sprang out of bed. a key turned and sally abbott entered. "what does this mean?" cried madeleine. "what are you doing here, sally? why did howard move me into another room?" "he didn't. you are over at my house. he thought the country would be good for you for a while and i was simply dying to have you--" "where are my clothes? i am going back to the city at once." "now, madeleine, dear." sally put her arm round the tall form which was as rigid as steel in her embrace. but she was a valiant little person and strong with health and much life in the open. "you are going to stay with me until--until--you are better." "i'll not. i must get back. at once! you don't understand--" "yes, i do. and i've something for you." she took a flask from the capacious pocket of her black silk apron and poured brandy into a glass. madeleine drank it, then sank heavily into a chair. "that is more than he has been giving me," she said suspiciously. "how often did he tell you to give me that?" "four times a day." "he's found out! he's found out!" "that chambermaid blabbed, and of course he heard it. i--i--saw him just after. he felt so terribly, madeleine dear! your heart would have ached for him. and when i asked him to let you come over here he seemed to brighten up, and said it was the best thing to do." madeleine burst into tears, the first she had shed in many months. "poor howard! poor howard! but it will do no good." "oh, yes, it will. now, let me help you dress. or would you rather stay in bed today?" "i'll dress. and i'm not going to stay, sally. i give you fair warning." "oh, but you are. i've locked up your outdoor things--and my own! i'll only let you have them when we go out together." "so you have turned yourself into my jailer?" "yes, i have. and don't try to look like an outraged empress until your stays are covered up. put on your dress and we'll have a game of battledore and shuttlecock in the hall. it's raining. then we'll have some music this afternoon. my alto used to go beautifully with your soprano, and i'll get out our duets. i haven't forgotten one of the accompaniments--what are you doing?" madeleine was undressing rapidly. "i haven't had my bath. i seldom forget that, even--where is the bath room? i forget." "across the hall. and leave your clothes here. although you'd break your bones if you tried to jump out of the window. when you've finished i'll have a cup of strong coffee ready for you. run along." xxxiii lake merritt, a small sheet of water near the little town of oakland, was surrounded by handsome houses whose lawns sloped down to its rim. most them were closed in summer, but a few of the owners, like the harold abbotts, lived there the year round. at all times, however, the lawns and gardens were carefully tended, for this was one of fashion's chosen spots, and there must be no criticism from outsiders in oakland. the statues on the lawns were rubbed down after the heavy rains and dusted as carefully in summer. there were grape-vine arbors and wild rose hedges, and the wide verandas were embowered. in summer there were many rowboats on the lake, and they lingered more often in the deep shade of the weeping willows fringing the banks. the only blot on the aristocratic landscape was a low brown restaurant kept by a frenchman, known as "old blazes." it was a resort for gay parties that were quite respectable and for others that were not. behind the public rooms was a row of cubicles patronized by men when on a quiet spree (women, too, it was whispered). there were no cabinet particuliers. old blazes had his own ideas of propriety; and no mind to be ousted from lake merritt. madeleine had found sally abbott's society far more endurable, when she paid her round of visits after masters' departure, than that of the older women with their watchful or anxious eyes, and she had no suspicion that sally had guessed her secret long since. if love had been her only affliction she would have been grateful for her society and amusing chatter, for they had much in common. but in the circumstances it was unthinkable. not only was she terrified once more by the prospect of being "cured," but her shattered nerves demanded far more stimulation and tranquilizing than these small daily doses of brandy afforded. her will was in no way affected. she controlled even her nerves in sally's presence, escaped from it twice a day under pretext of taking a nap, and went upstairs immediately after dinner. she had a large room at the back of the house where she could pace up and down unheard. she pretended to be amiable and resigned, played battledoor and shuttlecock in the hall, or on the lawn when the weather permitted, sang in the evenings with sally and harold, and affected not to notice that she was locked in at night. she refused to drive, as she would have found sitting for any length of time unendurable, but she was glad to take long walks even in the rain--and was piloted away from the town and the railroad. sally wrote jubilant letters to dr. talbot, who thought it best to stay away. the servants were told that mrs. talbot was recovering from an illness and suspected nothing. it lasted two weeks. sally had inexorably diminished the doses after the seventh day. madeleine's mind, tormented by her nerves, never ceased for a moment revolving plans for escape. as they returned from a walk one afternoon they met callers at the door and it was impossible to deny them admittance. madeleine excused herself and went up to her room wearing her coat and hat instead of handing them to sally as usual. she put them in her wardrobe and locked the door and hid the key. at dinner it was apparent, however, that sally had not noticed the omission of this detail in her daily espionage, for the visitors had told her much interesting gossip and she was interested in imparting it. moreover, her mind was almost at rest regarding her captive. madeleine, some time since, had found that the key of another door unlocked her own, and secreted it. she had no money, but she had worn a heavy gold bracelet when her husband and sally dressed her and they had pinned her collar with a pearl brooch. sally followed her to her room after she had had time to undress and gave her the nightly draught, but did not linger; she had no mind that her husband should feel neglected and resent this interruption of an extended honeymoon. madeleine waited until the house was quiet. then she went down the heavily carpeted stairs and let herself out by one of the long french windows. she had made her plans and walked swiftly to the restaurant. she knew "old blazes," for she had dined at his famous hostelry more than once with her husband or friends. there was a party in the private restaurant. she walked directly to one of the cubicles and rang for a waiter and told him to send m'sieu to her at once. "old blazes" came immediately, and if she expected him to look astonished she was agreeably disappointed. nothing astonished him. she held out her bracelet and brooch. "i want you to lend me some money on these," she said. "my husband will redeem them." "very well, madame." (he was far too discreet to recognize her.) "i will bring you the money at once." "and i wish to buy a quart of bourbon, which i shall take with me. you may also bring me a glass." "very well, madame." he left the room and returned in a moment with a bottle of bourbon, from which he had drawn the cork, a glass, and a bottle of napa soda. he also handed her two gold pieces. he had been a generous friend to many patrons and had reaped his reward. "i should advise you to leave by the back entrance," he said. "shall i have a hack there--in--" "send for it at once and i will take it when i am ready. tell the man to drive on to the boat and to the occidental hotel." "yes, madame. good-night, madame." he closed the door. madeleine left the restaurant three quarters of an hour later. xxxiv colonel belmont, alexander groome, amos lawton, ogden bascom and several other worthy citizens, were returning from a pleasant supper at blazes'. they sat for a time in the saloon of the ferry boat el capitan with the birds of gorgeous plumage they had royally entertained and then went outside to take the air; the ladies preferring to nap. "hello! what's that?" exclaimed groome. "something's up. let's investigate." at the end of the rear deck was a group of men and one or two women. they were crowding one another and those on the edge stood on tiptoe. belmont was very tall and he could see over their heads without difficulty. "it's a woman," he announced to his friends. "drunk--or in a dead faint--" a man laughed coarsely. "drunk as they make 'em. no faint about that--hi!--quit yer shovin'--" belmont scattered the crowd as if they had been children and picked up the woman in his arms. "my god!" he cried to his staring companions, and as he faced them he looked about to faint himself. "do you see who it is? where can we hide her?" "whe-e-ew!" whistled groome, and for the moment was thankful for his maria. "what the--" "i've got my hack on the deck below," said one of the gaping crowd. "she came in it. better take her right down, sir. i never seen her before but i seen she was a lady and tried to prevent her--" "lead the way.... i'll take her home," he said to the others. "and let's keep this dark if we can." when the hack reached the occidental hotel he gave the driver a twenty-dollar gold piece and the man readily promised to "keep his mouth shut." he told the night clerk that mrs. talbot had sprained her ankle and fainted, and demanded a pass key if the doctor were out. a bell boy opened the parlor door of the talbot suite and colonel belmont took off madeleine's hat, placed her on the bed, and then went in search of the doctor. when madeleine opened her eyes her husband was sitting beside her. he poured some aromatic spirits of ammonia into a glass of water and she drank it indifferently. "how did i get here?" she asked. he told her in the bitterest words he had ever used. "you are utterly disgraced. some of those men may hold their tongues but others will not. by this time it is probably all over the union club. you are an outcast from this time forth." "that means nothing to me. and i warned you." "it is nothing to you that you have disgraced me also, i suppose?" "no. you made an outcast of langdon masters. you wrecked his life and will be the cause of his early death. meanwhile he is in the gutter. i am glad that i am publicly beside him.... still, i would have spared you if i could. you are a good man according to your lights. if you had heeded my warning and made no foolish attempts to cure me, no one would have been the wiser." "several of the women knew it. and if you had taken advantage of the opportunity given you by sally i think they would have guarded your secret. you have publicly disgraced them as well as yourself and your husband." "well, what shall you do? throw me into the street? i wish that you would." "no, i shall try to cure you again." "and have a wife that your friends will cut dead? you'd be far better off if i _were_ dead." "perhaps. but i shall do my duty. and if i can cure you i'll sell my practice and go elsewhere. to south america, perhaps." "scandal travels. you would never get away from it. better stay here with your friends, who will not visit my sins on your head. they will never desert you. and you cannot cure me. did you ever know any one to be cured against his will?" "i shall lock you in these rooms and you can't drink what you haven't got." "i've circumvented you before and i shall again." "then," he cried violently, "i'll put you in the home for inebriates!" she laughed mockingly. "you'll never do anything of the sort. and i shouldn't care if you did. i should escape." "have you no pride left?" "it is as dead as everything else but this miserable shell. as dead as all that was great in langdon masters. won't you let me die in my own way?" "i will not." she sighed and moved her head restlessly on the pillow. "you mean to do what is right, i suppose. but you are cruel, cruel. you condemn me to live in torment." "i shall give you more for a while than i did before. i was too abrupt. i wouldn't face the whole truth, i suppose." "i'll kill myself." "i have no fear of that. you are as superstitious as all religious women--although much good your religion seems to do you. and you have the same twisted logic as all women, clever as you are. you would drink yourself to death if i would let you, but you'd never commit the overt act. if you are relying on your jewels to bribe the servants with, you will not find them. they are in the safe at the club. and i shall discontinue your allowance." "very well. please go. i should like to take my bath." he was obliged to attend an important consultation an hour later, but he did not lock the doors as he had threatened. he wanted as little scandal in the hotel as possible, and he believed her to be helpless without money. the barkeeper was an old friend of his, and when he instructed him to honor no orders from his suite he knew, that the man's promise could be relied on. the chambermaid was dismissed. as soon as she was alone madeleine wrote to her father and asked him for a thousand dollars. it was the first time she had asked him for money since her marriage; and he sent it to her with a long kindly letter, warning her against extravagance. she had given no reason for her request, but he inferred that she had been running up bills and was afraid to tell her husband. was she ill, that she wrote so seldom? he understood that she had quite recovered. but she must remember that he and her mother were old people. several days after her return she had sold four new gowns, recently arrived from new york and unworn, to sibyl forbes. xxxv ralph holt ran down the steps of a famous night restaurant in north montgomery street on the edge of chinatown. it was a disreputable place but it had a certain air of brilliancy, although below the sidewalk, and was favored by men that worked late on newspapers, not only for its excellent cuisine but because there was likely to be some garish bit of drama to refresh the jaded mind. the large room was handsomely furnished with mahogany and lit by three large crystal chandeliers and many side brackets. it was about two thirds full. a band was playing and on a platform a woman in a spanish costume of sorts was dancing the can-can, to the noisy appreciation of the male guests. along one side of the room was a bar with a large painting above it of bathing nymphs. the waiters were chinese. holt found an unoccupied table and ordered an oyster stew, then glanced about him for possible centres of interest. there were many women present, gaudily attired, but they were not the elite of the half-world. neither did the gentlemen who made life gay and care-free for the haughty ladies of the lower ten thousand patronize anything so blatant. they were far too high-toned themselves. their standards were elevated, all things considered. but the women of commerce, of whatever status, had no interest for young holt save as possible heroines of living drama. he had a lively news sense, and although an editor, and of a highly respectable sheet at that, he could become as keen on the track of a "story" as if he were still a reporter. but although the night birds were eating little and drinking a great deal, at this hour of two in the morning, the only excitement was the marvellous high kicking of the black-eyed scantily clad young woman on the stage and the ribald applause of her admirers. his eye was arrested by the slender back of a woman who sat at a table alone drinking champagne. she was so simply dressed that she was far more noticeable than if she had crowned herself with jewels. his lunch arrived at the moment, and it was not until he had satisfied his usual morning appetite that he remembered the woman and glanced her way again. two men were sitting at her table, apparently endeavoring to engage her in conversation. they belonged to the type loosely known as men about town, of no definite position, but with money to spend and a turn for adventure. it was equally apparent that they received no response to their amiable overtures, for they shrugged their shoulders in a moment, laughed, and went elsewhere. more than one woman sat alone and these were amenable enough. they came for no other purpose. holt paid his account and strolled over to the table. when he took one of the chairs he was shocked but not particularly surprised to see that the woman was mrs. talbot. the town had rung with her story all winter, and he had heard several months since that she had obtained money in some way and left her husband. the report was that dr. talbot had traced her to lodgings on the plaza, but she had not only refused to return to him but to tell him where she had obtained her funds. she had informed him that she had sufficient money to keep her "long enough," but the doctor had his misgivings and directed his lawyers to pay the rent of the room and make an arrangement with a neighboring restaurant to send in her meals. then he had gone off on a sea voyage. holt had seen him driving his double team the day before, evidently on a round of visits. the sea, apparently, had done him little good. nothing but age, no doubt, would shatter that superb constitution, but he had lost his ruddy color and his face was drawn and lined. madeleine had not raised her eyes. she looked like an effigy of well-bred contempt, and holt did not wonder that she suffered briefly from the attentions of predatory males in search of amusement. moreover, she was very thin, and the sirens of that day were voluptuous. they fed on cream and sweets until the proper curves of bust and hips were achieved, and those that appeared in the wrong place were held flat with a broad "wooden whalebone." holt was surprised to find her so little changed. it was evident she was one of those drinkers whom liquor made pallid not red; her skin was still smooth and her face had not lost its fine oval. but it was only a matter of time! "mrs. talbot." she raised her eyes with a faint start and with an expression of haughty disdain. but as she recognized him the expression faded and she regarded him sadly. "you see," she said. "it's a crime, you know." "have you any news of him?" "nothing new. it takes time to kill a man like that." "i hope he is more fortunate than i am! it hasn't the effect that it did. it keeps my nerves sodden, but my brain is horribly clear. i no longer forget! and death is a long time coming. i am tired always, but i don't break." "you shouldn't come to such places as this. if a man was drunk enough you couldn't discourage him." "oh, i have been spoken to in places like this and on the street by men in every stage of intoxication and by men who were quite sober. but i am able to take care of myself. this sort of man--the only sort i meet now--likes gay clothes and gay women." "all the same it's not safe. do you only go out at night?" "yes--i--i sleep in the daytime." "look here--i have a plan--i won't tell you what it is now--but meanwhile i wish you would promise me that you will not go out alone--to hells of this sort--again. i can make an arrangement for a while at the office to get off earlier, and i'll take you wherever you want to go. is it a bargain?" "very well," she said indifferently. then she smiled for the first time, and her face looked sweet and almost girlish once more. "you are very kind. why do you take so much interest? i am only one more derelict. you must have seen many." "well, i'm just built that way. i took a shine to you the day in that old ark we ambled about in, and then i'm as fond of masters as ever. d'you see? now, let's get out of this. i'm going to see you home." "home!" "well, i'm glad the word gives you a shock, anyway. it's where you ought to be." they left the restaurant and although, when they reached the sidewalk, she took his arm, he noticed that she did not stagger. they walked up the hill past the north side of the plaza. the gambling houses of the fifties and early sixties had moved elsewhere, and although there were low-browed shops on the east side with flaring gas jets before them even at this hour, the other three sides, devoted to offices and rooming-houses, were respectable. there were a few drunken sailors on the grass, who had wandered too far from barbary coast, but they were asleep. "i never am molested here," she said. "i don't think i have ever met any one. sometimes i have stood in the shadow up there and looked down dupont street. what a sight! respectable montgomery street is never so crowded at four in the afternoon. and the women! sometimes i have envied them, for life has never meant anything to them but just that. i never saw one of those painted harlots who looked as if she had even the remnants of a mind." "well, for heaven's sake keep your distance from dupont street. if some drunken brute caught you lurking in the shadows it might appeal to his sense of humor to toss you on his shoulder and run the length of the street with you--possibly fling you through one of the windows of those awful cottages into some harlot's lap, if she happened to be soliciting at the moment. then she'd scratch your eyes out.... you know a lot about taking care of yourself," he fumed. "oh, i never go there any more," she said indifferently. "i'm tired of it." "i can understand you leaving your husband and wishing to live alone--natural enough!--but what i cannot understand is that you, the quintessence of delicate breeding, should walk the streets at night and sit in dives. i wonder you can stand being in the room with such women, to say nothing of the men." "it has been my hope to forget all i represented before, and danger means nothing to me. moreover, there are other reasons. i must have exercise and air. i do not care to risk meeting any of my old friends. i must get away from myself--from solitude--during some part of the twenty-four hours. and--well--the die was cast. i was publicly disgraced. it doesn't matter what i do now, and when i sit in that sort of place i can imagine that he is in similar ones on the other side of the continent. i told you that i intended to be no better than he--and of course as i am a woman i am worse." "i suppose you would not be half so charming if you were not so completely feminine. but just how many of these night hells have you been to?" "i can't tell. i've been to far worse dives than that. i've even been in saloons over on barbary coast. but although i've been hurt accidentally several times in scuffles, and a bullet nearly hit me once, i seem to bear a charmed life. i suppose those do that want to die. and although they treat me with no respect they seem to regard me as a harmless lunatic, and--and--i take very little when i am out. i have just enough pride left not to care to be taken to the calaboose by a policeman." "good god! how can you even talk of such things? some day you will regret all this horribly." "i'll never regret anything except that i was born." "well, here we are. i'll not take you up to your rooms. don't give them a chance at that sort of scandal whatever you do. it's lucky for you that alcohol doesn't send you along a still livelier road to perdition. it does most women." "i see him every moment. even if i did not, i do not think--well, of course if things were different i should not be an outcast of any sort. and don't imagine that my refinement suffers in these new contacts. the underworld interests me; i had never even tried to imagine it before. i am permitted to remain aloof and a spectator. at times it is all as unreal as i seem to myself, sitting there. but i never feel so close to vice as to complete honesty. i have often had glimpses of blacker sins in society." "well, i'm glad it's no worse. to tell you the truth, i've avoided looking you up, for i didn't know--well, i didn't want to see you again if you were too different. good-night. i'll meet you at this door tonight at twelve sharp." xxxvi there were doctors' offices on the first floor and madeleine climbed wearily the two flights to her room. her muscles felt as tired as her spirit, but she had an odd fancy that her skeleton was of fine flexible steel and not only indestructible but tenacious and dominant. it defied the worst she could do to organs and soul. she unlocked her door and lit the gas jet. it was a decent room, large, with the bed in an alcove, and little uglier than those grim double parlors of her past that she had graced so often. but her own rooms at the hotel had been beautiful and luxurious. they had sheltered and pampered her body for five years, and her father's house was a stately mansion, refurnished, with the exception of old colonial pieces, after the grand tour in europe. this room, although clean and sufficiently equipped, was sordid and commonplace, and the bed was as hard as the horsehair furniture. her body as well as her aesthetic sense had rebelled more than once. but she would never return; although she guessed that the complete dissociation from her old life and its tragic reminders had more than a little to do with the loathing for drink that had gradually possessed her. she had not admitted it to holt, but it required a supreme effort of will to take a glass of hot whiskey and water at night, the taste disguised as much as possible by lime juice, and another in the daytime. she had no desire to reform! and she longed passionately to drown not only her heart but her pride. now that her system was refusing its demoralizing drug she felt that horror of her descent only possible to a woman who has inherited and practised all the refinements of civilization. she longed to return to those first months of degraded oblivion, and could not! the champagne or brandy she was forced to order in the dives she haunted, in order to secure a table, merely gave her tone for the moment. her nerves were less affected than her spirits. she had hours of such black depression that only the faint glimmering star of religion kept her from suicide. she had longer seasons for thought on masters and his ruin--and of the hours they had spent together. one night she went out to dolores and sat in the dark little church until dawn. she had nothing of the saint in her and felt no impulse to emulate concha arguello, who had become the first nun in california; moreover, razanov had died an honorable death through no fault of his or his concha's. she and langdon masters were lost souls and must expiate their sins in the eyes of the world that heaped on their heads its pitiless scorn. madeleine threw off her hat and dropped into the armchair, oblivious of its bumps. she began to cry quietly with none of her former hysteria. holt was nearer to masters than any one she knew, and she was grateful that he had not seen her in her hours of supreme degradation. if he ever saw masters again he would tell him of her downfall, of course--and the reason for it; but at least he could paint no horrible concrete picture. for the first time she felt thankful that she had not sunk lower; been compelled, indeed, against her will, to retrace her steps. she even regretted the hideous episode of the ferry boat, although she had welcomed the exposure at the time. her pride was lifting its battered head, and although she felt no remorse, and was without hope, and her unclouded consciousness foreshadowed long years of spiritual torment and longing with not a diversion to lighten the gloom, she possessed herself more nearly that night than since holt had given her what she had believed to be her death blow. if she could only die. but death was no friend of hers. xxxvii that afternoon holt called on dr. talbot in his office. half an hour later, looking flushed and angry, he strolled frowning down bush street, then turned abruptly and walked in the direction of south park. he did not know mrs. mclane but he believed she would see him. he called at midnight--and on many succeeding nights--for madeleine and took her to several of the dives that seemed to afford her amusement. he noticed that she drank little, and had a glimmering of the truth. newspaper men have several extra senses. it was also apparent that the life she had led had not made her callous. as he insisted upon "treating" her she would have none of champagne but ordered ponies of brandy. now that she had a cavalier she was stared at more than formerly, and there was some audible ribald comment which holt did his best to ignore; but as time wore on those bent on hilarity or stupor ceased to notice two people uninterestingly sober. holt talked of masters constantly, relating every incident of his sojourn in san francisco he could recall, and of his past that had come to his knowledge; expatiating bitterly upon his wasted gifts and blasted life. the more madeleine winced the further he drove in the knife. one night they were sitting on a balcony in chinatown. in the restaurant behind them a banquet was being given by a party of chinese merchants, and holt had thought the scene might amuse her. the round table was covered with dishes no larger than those played with in childhood and the portions were as minute. the sleek merchants wore gorgeously embroidered costumes, and behind them were women of their own race, dressed plainly in the national garb, their stiff oiled hair stuck with long pins lobed with glass. they were evidently an orchestra, for they sang, or rather chanted, in high monotonous voices, as mournful as their gray expressionless faces. in two recesses, extended on teakwood couches, were chinamen presumably of the same class as the diners, but wearing their daily blue silk unadorned and leisurely smoking the opium pipe. the room was heavily gilded and decorated and on the third floor as befitted its rank. chinamen of humbler status dined on the floor below, and the ground restaurant accommodated the coolies. on the little balcony, their chairs wedged between large vases of growing plants, madeleine could watch the function without attracting attention; or lean over the railing and look down upon the narrow street hung with gay paper lanterns above the open doors of shops that flaunted the wares of the orient under strange gilt signs. there were many little balconies high above the street and they were as brilliantly lit as for a festival. from several came the sound of raucous instrumental music or that same thin chant as of lost souls wandering in outer darkness. the street was thronged with chinamen of the lower caste in dark blue cotton smocks, pendent pigtails, and round coolie hats. it was eight o'clock, but it was holt's "night off" and as he had told her that morning he could get a pass for the dinner, and that it was time she "changed her bill," she had risen early and met him at her door. it was apparent that she took a lively interest in this bit of shanghai but a step out of the occident, for her face had lost its heavy brooding and she asked him many questions. it was an hour before masters' name was mentioned, and then she said abruptly: "you tell me much of his life out here and before he came, but you hardly ever say anything about the present." "that sort of life is much of a muchness." "how do you hear?" "one of the _bulletin_ men--tom lacey--went east just after masters did. he is on the _times_. several of us correspond with him." "has--has he ever been--literally, i mean--in the gutter?" "probably. he was in a hospital for a time and when he came out several of his friends tried to buck him up. but it was no use. he did work on one of the newspapers--the _tribune_, i believe--about half sober until he had paid his hospital bill with something to spare. then he went to work in the same old steady painstaking way to drink himself to death." "wh--why did he go to the hospital? was he very ill?" "busted the crust of a policeman and got his own busted at the same time." "how is it you spared me this before?" he pretended not to see her tears, or her working hands. "didn't want to give you too heavy doses at once, but you are so much stronger that i chanced it. he's been in more than one spectacular affair. one night, in front of the city prison, he tossed the driver off a van as if the man had been a dead leaf, and before the guard had time to jump to his seat he was on the box and had lashed the horses. he drove like mad all over new york for hours, the prisoners inside yelling and cursing at the top of their lungs. they thought it was a new and devilishly ingenious mode of punishment. when the horses dropped he left the van where it stood and went home. there was a frightful row over the affair. masters was arrested, of course, but bailed out. he has friends still and some of them are influential. the trial was postponed a few times and then dropped. his rows are too numerous to mention. when he was here and sober he betrayed anger only in his eyes, which looked like steel blades run through fire, and with the most caustic tongue ever put in a man's head. but when he's in certain stages of insobriety his fighting instincts appear to take their own sweet way. at other times, lacey writes, he is as interesting as ever and men sit round eagerly and listen to him talk. at others he simply disappears. did i tell you he had come into a little money--just recently?" "no, you did not. why doesn't he start a newspaper?" "he's probably forgotten he ever wanted one--no, i don't fancy he ever forgets anything. only death will destroy that brain no matter how he may obfuscate it. and i guess there are times when he can't, poor devil. but he couldn't start a newspaper on what he's got. it's just enough to buy him all he wants without the necessity for work." "how did he get it?" "his elder brother--only remaining member of the immediate family--died and left him the old plantation in virgina--what there is left of it; and a small income from two or three old houses in richmond. masters told me once that when the war left them high and dry he agreed to waive his share in the estate provided his brother would take care of his mother and the old place. the estate comes to him now, but in trust. at his death, without legal heir, it goes to a cousin." "oh, take me home, please. i can't stand those wailing women any longer." xxxviii a month later there was a tap on madeleine's door. she rose earlier these days and opened it at once, assuming that it was a message from holt. but mr. mclane stood there. "how are you, madeleine? may i come in?" he shook her half-extended hand as if he were paying her an afternoon call at the occidental hotel, and sat down on the horsehair sofa with a genial smile; placing his high silk hat and gold-headed cane beside him. "glad to see you looking so well. i've wanted to call for a long time, but as you dropped us all like so many hot potatoes, i hesitated, and was delighted today when howard gave me an excuse." "howard?" "yes, he wants you to go back to him." "that i'll never do." "don't be hasty. he is willing to forget everything--he asked me to make you understand that he would never mention the subject. he will also put your share of your father's estate unreservedly in your hands as soon as the usual legal delays are over. you knew that your father was dead, did you not? and your mother also?" "oh yes, i knew. it didn't seem to make any difference. i knew i never should see them again anyhow." "howard was appointed trustee of your inheritance, but as i said, he does not mean to take advantage of the fact. i am informed, by the way, that your brother never told your parents that you had left howard. he knew nothing beyond the fact, of course." "well, i am glad of that." she had no intention of shedding any tears before mr. mclane. let him think her callous if he must. "about howard?" "i'll never go back to him. i never want to see him again." "not if he would take you to europe to live? there is an opening for an american doctor in paris." "i never want to see him again. i know he is a good man but i hate him. and if i did go back it would be worse. you may tell him that." "is your decision irrevocable?" "yes, it is." "then i must tell you that if there is no prospect of your return he will divorce you." "divorced--i divorced?" her eyes expanded with horrified astonishment. but only for a moment. she threw back her head and laughed. "that was funny, wasn't it? well, let him do as he thinks best. and he may be happy once more if i am out of his life altogether. he won't have much trouble getting a divorce!" "he will obtain it on the ground of desertion." "oh! well, he was always a very good man. poor howard! i hope he'll marry again and be happy." "better think it over. i--by the way--i'm not sure the women wouldn't come round in time; particularly if you lived abroad for a few years." she curled her lip. "and i should have my precious position in society again! how much do you suppose that means to me? have the fatted calf killed and coals of fire poured on my humbled head! do you think i have no pride?" "you appear to have regained it. i wish you could regain the rest and be the radiant creature you were when you came to us. god! what a lovely stunning creature you were! it hurts me like the devil, i can tell you. and it's hurt the women too. they were fond of you. do you know that sally is dead?" "yes. she had everything to live for and she died. life seems to amuse herself with us." "she's a damned old hag." he rose and took up his hat and cane. "well, i'll wait a week, and then if you don't relent the proceedings will begin. i shan't get the divorce. not my line. but he asked me to talk to you and i was glad to come. good-by." she smiled as she shook hands with him. as he opened the door he turned to her again. "that young holt is a good fellow and has a head on his shoulders. better be guided by him if he offers you any advice." xxxix almost insensibly and without comment madeleine fell into the habit of sleeping at night and going abroad with holt in the daytime. nor did he take her to any more dives. they went across the bay, either to oakland or sausalito, and took long walks, dining at some inn where they were sure to meet no one they knew. she had asked him to buy her books, as she did not care to venture either into the bookstores or the mercantile library. she now had a part of her new income to spend as she chose, and moved into more comfortable rooms, although far from the fashionable quarter. she was restless and often very nervous but holt knew that she drank no longer. there had been another revolution of the wheel: she would have a large income, freedom impended, the future was hers to dispose of at will. her health was excellent; she had regained her old proud bearing. "what are you going to do with it?" he asked her abruptly one evening. they were sitting in the arbor of a restaurant on the water front at sausalito and had just finished dinner. the steep promontory rose behind them a wild forest of oak and pine, madrona and chaparral. across the sparkling dark green water san francisco looked a pale blue in the twilight and there was a banner of soft pink above her. lights were appearing on the military islands, the ferry boats, and yachts. "you will be free in about a month now. have you made any plans? you will not stay here, of course." "stay here! i shall leave the day the decree is granted, and i'll never see california again as long as i live." "but where shall you go?" "oh--it would be interesting to live in europe." "whether you have admitted it to yourself or not you have not the remotest idea of going to europe." "oh?" "you are going to langdon masters. nothing in the world could keep you away from him--or should." "i wish women smoked. you look so placid. and i am glad you smoke cigarettes." "why not try one?" "oh, no!" she looked scandalized. "i never did that--before. the other was for a purpose, not because i liked it." "i am used to your line of ratiocination. but you haven't answered my question." "did you ask one?" "in the form of an assertion, yes." "you know--the church forbids marriage after divorce." "look here, madeleine!" holt brought his fist down on the table with such violence that she half started to her feet. "do you mean to tell me you are going to let any more damn foolishness wreck your life a second time?" "you must not speak of the church in that way." "let that pass. i am not going to argue with you. you've argued it all out with yourself unless i'm much mistaken. are you going to let masters kill himself when you can save him? are you going to condemn yourself to a miserably solitary, wandering, aimless life, in which you are no good to yourself, your church, or any one on earth--and with a crime on your soul?" i--i--haven't admitted to myself what i shall do. it has seemed to me that when i am free i shall simply go--" "and straight to masters. as well for a needle to try to run away from a magnet." "oh, i wonder! i wonder!" but she did not look distressed. her face was transfigured as if she saw a vision. but it fell in a moment, that inner glowing lamp extinguished. "he may no longer want me. he may have forgotten me. or if he remembers it must only be to remind himself that i have ruined his life. he may hate me." "that is likely! if he hated you he'd have pulled up long ago. he knows he still has it in him to make a name for himself, whether he owns a newspaper or not. if he's gone on making a fool of himself it's because his longing for you is insupportable; he can forget you in no other way." "can men really love like that?" the inner lamp glowed again. "a few. not many, perhaps. langdon's one of them. case of a rare whole being chopped in two by fate and both halves bleeding to death without the other. there are a few immortal love affairs in the world's history, and that's just what makes 'em immortal." she did not answer, but sat staring at the rosy peaceful light above the fiery city that had burnt out so many lives. then her face changed suddenly. it was set and determined, almost hard. he thought she looked like a beautiful medusa. "yes," she said. "i am going to him. i suppose i have known it all along. at all events i know it now." "and what is your plan?" "i have had no time to make one yet." "will you listen to mine?" "do not i always listen to you with the greatest respect?" she was the charming woman again. "mr. mclane told me that i was to follow your advice--i have an idea you have engineered this whole affair!--but if he hadn't--well, i have every reason to be humbly grateful to you. if this terrible tangle ever unravels i shall owe it to you." "then listen to me now. what i said--that his actions prove that he cares for you as much as ever--is true. but--you might come upon him in a condition where he would not recognize you, or was morose from too much drink or too little; and for the moment he would hate you, either because you reminded him too forcibly of what he had been and was, or because it degraded him further to be seen by you in such a state. he could make himself excessively disagreeable sober. drunk, panic stricken, reckless, i should think he might achieve a masterpiece in that line that would make you feel like ten cents.... this is my plan. i'll go on at once and prepare him. get him down to his home in virginia on one pretence or another, sober him up by degrees, and then tell him all you have been through for his sake, and that as soon as you are free you will come to him. he'll be a little more like himself by that time and can stand having you look at him.... it'll be no easy task at first; and i'll have to taper him off to prevent any blow to his heart. there may be relapses, and the whole thing to do over; but i shall use the talisman of your name as soon as he is in a condition to understand, and shall succeed in the end. once let the idea take hold of him that he can have you at last and it is only a question of time." she made no reply for a moment. she sat with her eyes on his as he spoke. at first they had opened widely, melted and flashed. but they narrowed slowly. as he finished she turned her profile toward him and he had never seen a cameo look harder. "that would be an easy way out," she said. "but it does not appeal to me. nothing easy appeals to me these days. i'll fight my own battles and overcome my own obstacles. besides, he's mine. he shall owe nothing to any one but to me. i'll find him and cure him myself." "but you'll have a hard time finding him. he disappears for weeks at a time. even tom lacey might not be able to help you." "i'll find him." "you may have to haunt the most abominable places." "you seem to forget that i have haunted a good many abominable places. and if they are good enough for him they are good enough for me." "new york has the worst set of roughs in the world. our hoodlums are lambs beside them." "i have no fear of anything but not finding him in time." "but that is not the worst. you should not see him in that state. you might find him literally in the gutter. he might be a sight you never could forget. no matter what you made of him you never could obliterate such a hideous memory. and he might say things to you that your outraged pride would never forgive." "i can forget anything i choose. nor could anything he said, nor anything he may have become, horrify me. don't you think i have pictured all that? i think of him every moment and i am not a coward. i have imagined things that may be worse than the reality." "hardly. but there is another danger. you might kidnap him and get him sobered up, only to lose him again. he might be so overcome with shame that he would cut loose and hide where you would never find him. remember, his pride was as great as yours." "i'd track him to the ends of the earth. he's mine and i'll have him." holt stared at her for a moment in perplexity, then laughed. "you are a liberal education, madeleine. just as i think i really know you at last you break out in a new place. masters will have an interesting life. you must be a sort of continued-in-our-next story for any one who has the right to love and live with you. but for any one else who has loved you it must be death and damnation." she stole a glance at him, wondering if he loved her. if he did he had never made a sign, and at the moment he seemed to be appraising her with his sharp cool blue eyes. "i was thinking of the doctor," he said calmly. "although, of course, there must have been a good many in a more or less idiotic state over the reigning toast." "the reigning toast!... well, i'll never be that again. but it won't matter if--when--you are to promise me you will not write to him!" "oh, yes, i promise." holt had been rapidly formulating his own plans. "but you'll let me give you a letter to lacey? it's a wild goose chase but a little advice might help." "i should have asked you for a line to mr. lacey. i don't wish to waste time if i can help it." he rose. "well, there's a pile of blank paper and a soft pencil waiting for me. i've an editorial to write on the low-lived politics of san francisco, and another on the increasing number of murders in our fair city. look at the fog sailing in through the golden gate, pushing itself along like the prow of a ship. you'll never see anything as beautiful as california again. but i suppose that worries you a lot." she smiled, a little mysterious smile, but she did not reply, and they walked down to the ferry slip in silence. xl madeline went directly from the train to printing house square and had a long talk with "tom" lacey. he had been advised of her coming and her quest and had already made a search for masters, but without result. this he had no intention of imparting, however, but told her a carefully prepared story. masters had been writing regularly for some time and it was generally believed among his friends that he had pulled up in a measure, but where he was hiding himself no one knew. cheques and suggestions were sent to the post office, but he had no box, nor did he call for his mail in person. he appeared no more at the restaurants in nassau or fulton streets, or in park row, and it would be idle to look for him up town. it was apparent that he wished to avoid his friends, and to do this effectually he had probably hidden himself in one of the rabbit warrens of nassau street, where the king of england or the czar of all the russias might hide for a lifetime and never be found. but masters could be "located," no doubt of that. "it only needs patience and alertness," said lacey, looking straight into madeleine's vigilant eyes. "i have a friend on the police force down there who will spot him before long and send for me hot-foot." it was lacey's intention to sublet a small office in one of the swarming buildings, put a cot in it and a cooking stove, and transfer masters to it as soon as he was found. he knew what some of masters' haunts were and had no intention that this delicate proud woman should see him in any of them. when she told him that she should never leave masters again after his whereabouts had been discovered, he warned her not to take rooms in a hotel. there would be unpleasant espionage, possibly newspaper scandal. there was nothing for it but bleecker street. it was outwardly quiet, the rooms were large and comfortable in many of those once-fashionable houses, and it was the one street in new york where no questions were asked and no curiosity felt. it was no place for her, of course--but under the circumstances--if she persisted in her idea of keeping masters with her until his complete recovery-- "my neighbors will not worry me," she said, smiling for the first time. "it seems to be just the place. i already feel bewildered in this great rushing noisy city. i have lived in a small city for so long that i had almost forgotten there were great ones; and i should not know what to do without your advice. i am very grateful." "glad to do anything i can. when holt wrote me you were coming and there was a chance to pull masters out of the--put him on his legs again, i went right up in the air. you may count on me. always glad to do anything i can for a lady, too. i used to see you at the theatre and driving, mrs. talbot, and wished i were one of the bloods. seems like a fairy tale to be able to help you now." he had red hair and slate-colored eyes, a snub nose and many freckles, but she thought him quite beautiful; he was her only friend in this terrifying city, and there was no doubt she could count on him. "how shall i go about finding a lodging in bleecker street?" she asked. "i stayed at the fifth avenue hotel when i visited new york with my mother, and as i know nothing of the other hotels, i left my luggage at the depot until i should have seen you. i didn't dare go where i might run into any one. californians are beginning to visit new york. moreover, my brother and his family live here and i particularly wish to avoid them." "a theatrical troupe is just leaving town--so there should be several empty rooms. a good many of them hang out there when in new york. there is one thing in your favor. your--pardon me--beauty won't be so conspicuous in bleecker street as it would be in hotels. it isn't only actresses that lodge there, but--well--those ladies so richly dowered by nature they command the longest pocketbooks, and the owners thereof sometimes have a pew in trinity church and a seat on the stock exchange. the great world averts its eyes from bleecker street, and you will be as safe in there as the most respectable sinner. nor will you be annoyed by rowdyism in the street, although you may hear echoes of high old times going on in some of the houses patronized by artists and students--it's a sort of latin quarter, too. little of everything, in fact. now, come along. we'll take a hack, get your luggage, and fix you up." "and you'll vow--" "to send for you the moment masters is located? just rely on tom lacey." xli madeline took two floors of a large brown stone house in bleecker street, and the accommodating landlady found a colored wench to keep her rooms in order and cook her meals. a room at the back and facing the south was fitted up for masters. it was a masculine-looking room with its solid mahogany furniture, and as his books were stored in the cellar of the times building she had shelves built to the ceiling on the west wall. lacey obtained an order for the books without difficulty, and madeleine disposed of several of her long evenings filling the shelves. when she had finished, one side of the large room at least looked exactly like his parlor in the occidental hotel. she also hung the windows with green curtains and draped the mantelpiece with the same material. green had been his favorite color. she had rebelled at giving up her original purpose of making a personal search for masters, but one look at new york had convinced her that if lacey would not help her she must employ a detective. nevertheless, she went every mid-day to one or other of the restaurants below chambers street; and, although nothing had ever terrified her so much, she ventured into nassau street at least once a day and struggled through it, peering into every face. nassau street was only ten blocks long and very narrow, but it would seem as if, during the hours of business, a cyclone gathered all the men in new york and hurled them in compact masses down its length until they were met by another cyclone that drove them back again. they filled the street as well as the narrow sidewalks, they poured out of the doorways as if impelled from behind, and madeleine wondered they did not jump from the windows. no one sauntered, all rushed along with tense faces; there were many collisions and no one paused to apologize, nor did any one seem to expect it. there were hundreds, possibly thousands, of offices in those buildings high for their day, and every profession, every business, every known or unique occupation, was represented. there were banks and newspaper buildings, hotels, restaurants, auction rooms, the treasury and the old dutch church that had been turned into the general post office. there were shops containing everything likely to appeal to men, although one wondered when they found time for anything so frivolous as shopping; second-hand book stores, and street hawkers without number. in addition to the thousands of men who seemed to be hurrying to and from some business of vital import, there were the hundred thousand or more who surged through that narrow thoroughfare every day for their mail. the old church looked like a besieged fortress and madeleine marvelled that it did not collapse. she was thankful that she was never obliged to enter it. holt and her lawyer had been instructed to send their letters to lacey's care, and lacey when obliged to communicate with her, either called or sent his note by a messenger. madeleine was so hustled, stepped on, whirled about, that she finally made friends with an old man who kept one of the secondhand shops, and, comparatively safe, used the doorway as her watch tower. one day she thought she saw masters and darted out into the street. there she fought her way in the wake of a tall stooping man with black hair as mercilessly as if she were some frantic woman who had risked her all on the stock exchange. he entered the door of one of the tall buildings, and when she reached it she heard the sound of footsteps rapidly mounting. she followed as rapidly. the footsteps ceased. when she arrived at the fourth floor she knocked on every door in turn. it was evidently a building that housed men of the dingiest social status. every man who answered her peremptory summons looked like a derelict. these were mere semblances of offices, with unmade beds, sometimes on the floor. in some were dreary looking women, partners, no doubt, of these forlorn men, whose like she sometimes saw down in the street. but her breathless search was fruitless. she knew that one of the men who grudgingly opened his door--looking as if he expected the police--was the man she had followed, and she was grateful that it was not masters. she went slowly down the rickety staircase feeling as if she should sink at every step. it had been her first ray of hope in two weeks and she felt faint and sick under the reaction. she found a coupe in broadway and was driven to her lodgings. the maid was waiting for her in the doorway, evidently perturbed. "there's a strange gentleman upstairs in the parlor, ma'am," she said. "not mr. lacey. i didn't want to let him in but he would. he said--" she thrust the girl aside and ran up the steps. but when she burst into the parlor the man waiting for her was ralph holt. she dropped into a chair and began to cry hysterically. he had dealt with her in that state before, and amanda had lived in bleecker street for many years. she was growing bored with the excessive respectability of her place, and was delighted to find that her mistress was human. cold water, sal volatile, and hartshorn soon restored madeleine's composure. she handed her hat to the woman and was alone with holt. "i thought--perhaps you understand--" "i understand, all right. i hope you are not angry with me for following you." "i am only too glad to see you. i never knew a city could be so big and heartless. i have felt like a leaf tossed about in a perpetual cold wind. when did you arrive?" "the day after you did." "what? and you--you--have been looking for him?" "that is what i came for--partly. yes, lacey and i have combed the town." madeleine sprang to her feet. "you've found him! i know it! why don't you say so?" "well, we know where he is. but it's no place for you." "take me at once. i don't care what it is." "but i do. so does lacey. his plan was to shanghai him and sober him up. but--well--it is your right to say whether he shall do that or not. you wanted to find him yourself. but five points is no place for you, and i want your permission to carry out lacey's program." "what is five points?" "the worst sink in new york. just imagine the barbary coast of san francisco multiplied by two thousand. there is said to be nothing worse in london or paris." "if you and mr. lacey do not take me there i shall go alone." "be reasonable." "my reason works quite as clearly as if my heart were chloroformed. langdon will know, when i track him to a place like that, what he means to me." "he probably will be in no condition to recognize you." "i'll make him recognize me. or if i cannot you may use your force then, but he shall know later that i went there for him. have you seen him?" holt moved uneasily and looked away. "yes, i have seen him." "you need not be so distressed. i shall not care what he looks like. i shall see _him_ inside. did you speak to him?" "he either did not recognize me or pretended not to." "well, we go now." "won't you think it over?" "i prefer your escort to that of a policeman. i shall not be so foolish as to go alone." "then we'll come for you at about eleven tonight. it would be useless to go look for him now. people who lead that sort of life sleep in the day time. i have not the faintest idea where he lives." "very well, i shall have to wait, i suppose." holt rose. "lacey and i will come for you, and we'll bring with us two of the biggest detectives we can find. it's no joke taking a woman--a woman like you--good god!--into a sewer like that. even lacey and i got into trouble twice, but we could take care of ourselves. better dine with me at delmonico's and forget things for a while." "i could not eat, nor sit still. nor do i wish to run the risk of meeting my brother; or any one else i know. come for me promptly at eleven or you will not find me here." xlii langdon masters awoke from a sleep that had lasted all day and glowered out upon the room he occupied in baxter street. it was as wretched as all tenements in the five points, but it had the distinguishing mark of neatness. drunk as he might be, the drab who lived with him knew that he would detect dirt and disorder, and that her slender hold on his tolerance would be forfeited at once. there were too many of her sort in the five points eager for the position of mistress to this man who treated them as a sultan might treat the meanest of his concubines, rarely throwing them a word, and alternately indulgent and brutal. they regarded him with awe, even forgetting to drink when, in certain stages of his cups, he entertained by the hour in one or other of the groggeries a circle of the most abandoned characters in new york--thieves, cracksmen, murderers actual or potential, "shoulder-hitters," sailors who came ashore to drink the fieriest rum they could find, prostitutes, dead-beats, degenerates, derelicts--with a flow of talk that was like the flashing of jewels in the gutter. he related the most stupendous adventures that had ever befallen a mortal. if any one of his audience had heard of munchausen he would have dismissed him as a poor imitation of this man who would seem to have dropped down into their filthy and lawless quarter from a sphere where things happened unknown to men on this planet. they dimly recognized that he was a fallen gentleman, for at long intervals good churchmen from the foreign territory of broadway or fifth avenue came to remonstrate and plead. they never came a second time and they usually spent the following week in bed. but masters was democratic enough in manner; it was evident that he regarded himself as no better than the worst, and nothing appeared to be further from his mind than reform of them or himself. he had now been with them for six months and came and went as he pleased. in the beginning his indestructible air of superiority had subtly irritated them in spite of his immediate acceptance of their standards, and there had been two attempts to trounce him. but he was apparently made of steel rope, he knew every trick of their none too subtle "game," and he had knocked out his assailants and won the final respect of five points. and if he was finical about his room he took care to be no neater in his dress than his associates. although he had his hair cut and his face shaved he wore old and rough clothes and a gray flannel shirt. masters, after his drab had given him a cup of strong coffee and a rasher, followed by a glass of rum, lost the horrid sensations incident upon the waking moment and looked forward to the night with a sardonic but not discontented grin. he knew that he had reached the lowest depths, and if his tough frame refused to succumb to the vilest liquor he could pour into it, he would probably be killed in some general shooting fray, or by one of the women he infatuated and cast aside when another took his drunken but ever ironic fancy. only a week since the cyprian at present engaged in washing his dishes had been nearly demolished by the damsel she had superseded. she still wore a livid mark on her cheek and a plaster on her head whence a handful of hair had been removed by the roots. he had stood aloof during the fracas in the dirty garish dance house under the sidewalk, laughing consumedly; and had awakened the next night to find the victor mending her tattered finery. she made him an excellent cup of coffee, and he had told her curtly that she could stay. if, in his comparatively sober moments, the memory of madeleine intruded, he cast it out with a curse. not because he blamed her for his downfall; he blamed no one but himself; but because any recollection of the past, all it had been and promised, was unendurable. whether he had been strong or weak in electing to go straight to perdition when life had scourged him, he neither knew nor cared. he began to drink on the steamer, determined to forget for the present, at least; but the mental condition induced was far more agreeable than those moments of sobriety when he felt as if he were in hell with fire in his vitals and cold terror of the future in his brain. in new york, driven by his pride, he had made one or two attempts to recover himself, but the writing of unsigned editorials on subjects that interested him not at all was like wandering in a thirsty desert without an oasis in sight--after the champagne of his life in san francisco with a future as glittering as its skies at night and the daily companionship of a woman whom he had believed the fates must give him wholly in time. he finally renounced self-respect as a game not worth the candle. moreover, the clarity of mind necessary to sustained work embraced ever the image of madeleine; what he had lost and what he had never possessed. and, again, he tormented himself with imaginings of her own suffering and despair; alternated with visions of madeleine enthroned, secure, impeccable, admired, envied--and with other men in love with her! some depth of insight convinced him that she loved him immortally, but he knew her need for mental companionship, and the thought that she might find it, however briefly and barrenly, with another man, sent him plunging once more. his friends and admirers on the newspaper staffs had been loyal, but not only was he irritated by their manifest attempts to reclaim him, but he grew to hate them as so many accusing reminders of the great gifts he was striving to blast out by the roots; and, finding it difficult to avoid them, he had, as soon as he was put in possession of his small income, deliberately transferred himself to the five points, where they would hardly be likely to trace him, certainly not to seek his society. and, on the whole, this experience in a degraded and perilous quarter, famous the world over as a degree or two worse than any pest-hole of its kind, was the most enjoyable of his prolonged debauch. it was only a few yards from broadway, but he had never set foot in that magnificent thoroughfare of brown stone and white marble, aristocratic business partner of fifth avenue, since he entered a precinct so different from new york, as his former world knew it, that he might have been on a convict island in the south seas. the past never obtruded itself here. he was surrounded by danger and degradation, ugliness unmitigated, and a complete indifference to anything in the world but vice, crime, liquor and the primitive appetites. even the children in the swarming squalid streets looked like little old men and women; they fought in the gutters for scraps of refuse, or stood staring sullenly before them, the cry in their emaciated bodies dulled with the poisons of malnutrition; or making quick passes at the pocket of a thief. the girls had never been young, never worn anything but rags or mean finery, the boys were in training for a career of crime, the sodden women seemed to have no natural affection for the young they bore as lust prompted. men beat their wives or strumpets with no interference from the police. the sixth ward was the worst on manhattan, and the police had enough to do without wasting their time in this congested mass of the city's putrid dregs; who would be conferring a favor on the great and splendid and envied city of new york if they exterminated one another in a grand final orgy of blood and hate. the irony in masters' mind might sleep when that proud and contemptuous organ was sodden, but it was deathless. when he thought at all it was to congratulate himself with a laugh that he had found the proper setting for the final exit of a man whom life had equipped to conquer, and fate, in her most ironic mood, had challenged to battle; with the sting of death in victory if he won. he had beaten her at her own game. he had always aimed at consummation, the masterpiece; and here, in his final degradation, he had accomplished it. this morning he laughed aloud, and the woman--or girl?--her body was young but her scarred face was almost aged--wondered if he were going mad at last. there was little time lost in the five points upon discussion of personal peculiarities, but all took for granted that this man was half mad and would be wholly so before long. "is anything the matter?" she asked timidly, her eye on the door but not daring to bolt. "oh, no, nothing! nothing in all this broad and perfect world. life is a sweet-scented garden where all the good are happy and all the bad receive their just and immediate deserts. you are the complete epitome of life, yourself, and i gaze upon you with a satisfaction as complete. i wouldn't change you for the most silken and secluded beauty in bleecker street, and you may stay here for ever. the more hideous you become the more pleased i shall be. and you needn't be afraid i have gone mad. i am damnably sane. and still more damnably sober. go out and buy me a bottle of lethe, and be quick about it. this is nearly finished." "do you mean rum?" she was reassured, somewhat, but he had a fashion of making what passed for her brain feel as if it had been churned. "yes, i mean rum, damn you. clear out." he opened an old wallet and threw a handful of bills on the floor. "go round into broadway and buy yourself a gown of white satin and a wreath of lilies for your hair. you would be a picture to make the angels weep, while i myself wept from pure joy. get out." xliii madeleine had forced herself to eat a light dinner, and a few minutes before eleven she drank a cup of strong coffee; but when she entered upon the sights and sounds and stenches of worth street she nearly fainted. the night was hot. the narrow crooked streets of the five points were lit with gas that shone dimly through the grimy panes of the lamp posts or through the open doors of groggeries and fetid shops. the gutter was a sewer. probably not one of those dehumanized creatures ever bathed. some of the children were naked and all looked as if they had been dipped in the gutters and tossed out to dry. the streets swarmed with them; and with men and women between the ages of sixteen and forty. one rarely lived longer than that in the five points. some were shrieking and fighting, others were horribly quiet. men and women lay drunk in the streets or hunched against the dripping walls, their mouths with black teeth or no teeth hanging loosely, their faces purple or pallid. screams came from one of the tenements, but neither of the two detectives escorting the party turned his head. madeleine had imagined nothing like this. her only acquaintance with vice had been in the dens and dives of san francisco, and she had pictured something of the same sort intensified. but there was hardly a point of resemblance. san francisco has always had a genius for making vice picturesque. the outcasts of the rest of the world do their worst and let it go at that. moreover, in san francisco she had never seen poverty. there was work for all, there were no beggars, no hungry tattered children, no congested districts. vice might be an agreeable resource but it was forced on no one; and always the atmosphere of its indulgence was gay. she had witnessed scenes of riotous drunkenness, but there was something debonair about even those bent upon extermination, either of an antagonist or the chandeliers and glass-ware, and she had never seen men sodden save on the water front. even then they were often grinning. but this looked like plain hell to madeleine, or worse. the hell of the bible and dante had a lively accompaniment of writhing flames and was presumably clean. this might be an underground race condemned to a sordid filthy and living death for unimaginable crimes of a previous existence. even the children looked as if they had come back to earth with the sins of threescore and ten stamped upon their weary wicked faces. madeleine's strong soul faltered, and she grasped holt's arm. "well, you see for yourself," he said unsympathetically. "better go back and let me bring him to you. one of our men can easily knock him out--" "i'm here and i shall go on. i'll stay all night if necessary." lacey looked at her with open adoration; he had fallen truculently in love with her. if masters no longer loved her he felt quite equal to killing him, although with no dreams for himself. he hoped that if masters were too far gone for redemption she would recognize the fact at once, forget him, and find happiness somewhere. he was glad on the whole that she had come to five points. "what's the program?" asked one of the detectives, kicking a sprawling form out of the way. "do you know where he hangs out?" "no," said lacey. "he seems to go where fancy leads. we'll have to go from one groggery to another, and then try the dance houses, unless they pass the word in time. the police are supposed to have closed them, you know." "yes, they have!" the man's hearty irish laugh startled these wretched creatures, unused to laughter, and they forsook their apathy or belligerence for a moment to stare. "they simply moved to the back, or to the cellar. they know we believe in lettin' 'em go to the devil their own way. might as well turn in here." they entered one of the groggeries. it was a large room. the ceiling was low. the walls were foul with the accumulations of many years, it was long since the tables had been washed. the bar, dripping and slimy, looked as if about to fall to pieces, and the drinks were served in cracked mugs. the bar-tender was evidently an ex-prize-fighter, but the loose skin, empty of muscle, hung from his bare arms in folds. the air was dense with vile tobacco smoke, adding to the choice assortment of stenches imported from without and conferred by time within. men and women, boys and girls, sat at the tables drinking, or lay on the floor. there they would remain until their drunken stupor wore off, when they would stagger home to begin a new day. a cracked fiddle was playing. the younger people and some of the older were singing in various keys. many were drinking solemnly as if drinking were a ritual. others were grinning with evident enjoyment and a few were hilarious. the party attracted little general attention. investigating travellers, escorted by detectives, had visited the five points more than once, curious to see in what way it justified its reputation for supremacy over the east end of london and the montmartre of paris; and although pockets usually were picked, no violence was offered if the detectives maintained a bland air of detachment. they did not even resent the cologne-drenched handkerchiefs the visitors invariably held to their noses. as evil odors meant nothing to them, they probably mistook the gesture for modesty. madeleine preferred her smelling salts, and at holt's suggestion had wrapped her handkerchief about the gold and crystal bottle. but she forgot the horrible atmosphere as she peered into the face of every man who might be masters. she wore a plain black dress and a small black hat, but her beauty was difficult to obscure. her cheeks were white and her brown eyes had lost their sparkle long since, but men not too drunk to notice a lovely woman or her manifest close scrutiny, not only leered up into her face but would have jerked her down beside them had it not been for their jealous partners and the presence of the detectives. there was a rumor abroad that the new city administration intended to seek approval if not fame by cleaning out the five points, tearing down the wretched tenements and groggeries, and scattering its denizens; and none was too reckless not to be on his guard against a calamity which would deprive him not only of all he knew of pleasure but of an almost impregnable refuge after crime. the women, bloated, emaciated with disease, few with any pretension to looks or finery, made insulting remarks as madeleine examined their partners, or stared at her in a sort of terrible wonder. she had no eyes for them. when she reached the end of the room, looking down into the faces of the men she was forced to step over, she turned and methodically continued her pilgrimage up another lane between the tables. "good god!" exclaimed holt to lacey. "there he is! i hoped we should have to visit at least twenty of these hells, and that she'd faint or give up." "how on earth can you distinguish any one in this infernal smoke?" "got the eyes of a cat. there he is--in that corner by the door. god! what a female thing he's got with him." "hope it'll cure her--and that we can get out of this pretty soon. strange things are happening within me." there was an uproar on the other side of the room. one man had made up his mind to follow this fair visitor, and his woman was beating him in the face, shrieking her curses. a party of drunken sailors staggered in, singing uproariously, and almost fell over the bar. but not a sound had penetrated madeleine's unheeding ears. she had seen masters. his drab had not taken his invitation to bedeck herself too literally, nor had she ventured into broadway. but after returning with the rum she had gone as far as fell street and bought herself all the tawdry finery her funds would command. she wore it with tipsy pride: a pink frock of slazy silk with as full a flowing skirt as any on fifth avenue during the hour of promenade, a green silk mantle, and a hat as flat as a plate trimmed with faded roses, soiled streamers hanging down over her impudent chignon. she was attracting far more attention than the simply dressed lady from the upper world. the eyes of the women in her vicinity were redder with envy than with liquor and they cursed her shrilly. one of the younger women, carried away by a sudden dictation of femininity, made a dart for the fringed mantle with obvious intent to appropriate it by force. she received a blow in the face from the dauntless owner that sent her sprawling, while the others mingled jeers with their curses. masters was leaning on the table, supporting his head with his hands and laughing. he had passed the stage where he wanted to talk, but it would be morning before his brain would be completely befuddled. madeleine's body became so stiff that her heels left the floor and she stood on her toes. holt and lacey grasped her arms, but she did not sway; she stood staring at the man she had come for. there was little semblance of the polished, groomed, haughty man who had won her. his face was not swollen but it was a dark uniform red and the lines cut it to the bone. the slight frown he had always worn had deepened to an ugly scowl. his eyes were injected and dull, his hair was turning gray. his mouth that he had held in such firm curves was loose and his teeth stained. she remembered how his teeth had flashed when he smiled, the extraordinary brilliancy of his gray eyes.... the groggery vanished ... they were sitting before the fire in the occidental hotel.... the daze and the vision lasted only a moment. she disengaged herself from her escorts and walked rapidly toward the table. xliv masters did not recognize her at once. her face lay buried deep in his mind, covered with the debris of innumerable carouses, forgotten women, and every defiance he had been able to fling in the face of the civilization he had been made to adorn. as she stood quite still looking at him he had a confused idea that she was a madonna, and his mind wandered to churches he had attended on another planet, where pretty fashionable women had commanded his escort. then he began to laugh again. the idea of a madonna in a groggery of the five points was more amusing than the fracas just over. "langdon!" she said imperiously. "don't you know me?" then he recognized her, but he believed she was a ghost. he had had delirium tremens twice, and this no doubt was a new form. he gave a shaking cry and shrank back, his hands raised with the palms outward. "curse you!" he screamed. "it's not there. i _don't_ see you!" he extended one of his trembling hands, still with his horrified eyes on the apparition, filled his mug from a bottle and drank the liquor off with a gulp. then he flung the mug to the floor and staggered to his feet, his eyes roving to the men behind her. "what does this mean?" he stammered. "are you here or aren't you--dead or alive?" "we're here all right," said holt, in his matter-of-fact voice. "and this really is she. she has come for you." "come for me--for me!" his roar of laughter was drunken but its note was even more ironic than when his mirth had been excited by the mean drama of the women. he fell back in his chair for he was unable to stand. "well, go back where you came from. there's nothing here for you. tout passe, tout lasse, tout casse.... here--what's your name?" he said brutally to his companion. "go and get me another mug." but the young woman, who had been gaping at the scene, suddenly recovered herself. she ran round the table and flung her arms about his neck. "he's my man!" she shrieked. "you can't have him." and she sputtered obscenities. madeleine reached over, tore her from masters, dragged her across the table, whirled her about, and flung her to the floor. the neighborhood shrieked its delight. the rest of the room took no notice of them. the drunken sailors were still singing and many took up the refrain. "no," said madeleine. "he's mine and i'll have him." "now i know you are not madeleine," cried masters furiously, and trying to rise again. "she never was your sort, you damned whore, to fight over a man in a groggery. she was a lady--" "she was also a woman," said madeleine coolly. "and never more so than now. you are coming with me." "i'll see you in hell first." "well, i'll go there with you if you like. but you'll come home with me first." "even if you were she, i've no use for you, i'd forgotten your existence. if i'd remembered you at all it was to curse you. i'll never--never--" his voice trailed off although his eyes still held their look of hard contempt. his companion had pulled herself to her feet with the aid of an empty chair. she made a sudden dart at madeleine, her claws extended, recognizing a far more formidable rival than the harlot she had hammered and displaced. but madeleine had not forgotten to give her the corner of an eye. she caught the threatening arm in her strong hand, twisted it nearly from its socket, and the woman with a wild shriek of pain collapsed once more. masters began to laugh again, then broke off abruptly and began to shudder violently. he stared as if the nightmare of his terrible years were racing across his vision. "now," said madeleine. "i've fought for you on your own field and won you. you are mine. come." "i'll come," he mumbled. he tried to rise but fell back. "i'm very drunk," he said apologetically. "sorry." he made no resistance as holt and lacey took him by his arms and supported him out of the groggery and out of the five points to a waiting hack; madeleine and the detectives forming a body-guard in the rear. xlv it was two months before madeleine saw him again. he was installed in his room, two powerful nurses attended him day and night, and holt slept on a cot near the bed. he was almost ungovernable at first, in spite of the drugs the doctor gave him, but these had their effect in time; and then the tapering-off process began, combined with hotly peppered soups and the vegetable most inimical to alcohol; finally food in increasing quantity to restore his depleted vitality. in his first sane moment he had made holt promise that madeleine should not see him, and she had sent word that she would wait until he sent for her. madeleine took long walks, and drives, and read in the astor library. she also replenished her wardrobe. the color came back to her cheeks, the sparkle to her eyes. she had made all her plans. the house in virginia was being renovated. she would take him there as soon as he could be moved. when he was strong again he would start his newspaper. holt and lacey were as overjoyed at the prospect of being his assistant editors as at the almost unbelievable rescue of langdon masters. he had remained in bed after the worst was over, sunk in torpor, with no desire to leave it or to live. but strength gradually returned to his wasted frame, the day nurse was dismissed, and he appeared to listen when holt talked to him, although he would not reply. one day, however, when he believed himself to be alone, he opened his eyes and stared at the wall covered with his books, as he had done before through half-closed lids. then his gaze wandered to the green curtains. but his mind was clear. he was visited by no delusions. this was not the occidental hotel. it was long since he had read a book! he wondered, with his first symptom of returning interest in life, if he was strong enough to cross the room and find one of his favorite volumes. but as he raised himself on his elbow holt bent over him. "what is it, old fellow?" "those books? how did they get here?" "lacey brought them. you remember, you left them in the _times_ cellar." "are these your rooms?" "no, they are madeleine talbot's." he made no reply, but he did not scowl and turn his back as he had done whenever holt had tentatively mentioned her name before. the sight of his familiar beloved books had softened his harsh spirit, and the hideous chasm between his present and his past seemed visibly shrinking. his tones, however, had not softened when he asked curtly after a moment: "what is the meaning of it all? why is she here? is talbot dead?" "no, he divorced her." "divorced her? madeleine?" he almost sat upright. mrs. abbott could not have looked more horrified. "is this some infernal joke?" "are you strong enough to hear the whole story? i warn you it isn't a pretty one. but i've promised her i would tell you--" "what did he divorce her for?" "desertion. there was worse behind." "do you mean to tell me there was another man? i'll break your neck." "there was no other man. i'll give you a few drops of digitalis, although you must have the heart of an ox--" "give me a drink. i'm sick of your damn physic. don't worry. i'm out of that, and i shan't go back." holt poured him out a small quantity of old bourbon and diluted it with water. masters regarded it with a look of scorn but tossed it off. "what was the worse behind?" "when she heard what had become of you--she got it out of me--she deliberately made a drunkard of herself. she became the scandal of the town. she was cast out, neck and crop. every friend she ever had cut her, avoided her as if she were a leper. she left the doctor and lived by herself in one room on the plaza. i met her again in one of the worst dives in san francisco--" "stop!" masters' voice rose to a scream. he tried to get out of bed but fell back on the pillows. "you are a liar--you--you--" "you shall listen whether you relish the facts or not. i have given her my promise." and he told the story in all its abominable details, sparing the writhing man on the bed nothing. he drew upon his imagination for scenes between madeleine and the doctor, of whose misery he gave a harrowing picture. he described the episode on the boat after her drinking bout at blazes', of the futile attempts of sally abbott and talbot to cure her. he gave graphic and hideous pictures of the dives she had frequented alone, the risks she had run in the most vicious resorts on barbary coast. not until he had seared masters' brain indelibly did he pass to madeleine's gradual rise from her depths, the restoration of her beauty and charm and sanity. it was when she was almost herself again that talbot had offered to forgive her and take her to europe to live, offering divorce as the alternative. "of course she accepted the divorce," holt concluded. "that meant freedom to go to you." masters had grown calm by degrees. "i should never have dreamed even madeleine was capable of that," he said. "and there was a time when i believed there was no height to which she could not soar. she is a great woman and a great lover, and i am no more worthy of her now than i was in that sink where you found me. nor ever shall be. go out and bring in a barber." holt laughed. "at least you are yourself again and i fancy she'll ask no more than that. shall i tell her you will see her in an hour?" "yes, i'll see her. god! what a woman." xlvi madeleine made her toilette with trembling hands, nevertheless with no detail neglected. her beautiful chestnut hair was softly parted and arranged in a mass of graceful curls at the back of the head. she wore a house-gown of white muslin sprigged with violets, and a long marie antoinette fichu, pale green and diaphanous. where it crossed she fastened a bunch of violets. she looked like a vision of spring, a grateful vision for a sick room. when holt tapped on her door on his way out the second time, muttering characteristically: "coast clear. all serene," she walked down the hall with nothing of the primitive fierce courage she had exhibited in five points. she was terrified at the ordeal before her, afraid of appearing sentimental and silly; that he would find her less beautiful than his memory of her, or gone off and no longer desirable. what if he should die suddenly? holt had told her of his agitation. this visit should have been postponed until he had slept and recuperated. she had sent him word to that effect but he had replied that he had no intention of waiting. she stood still for a few moments until she felt calmer, then turned the knob of masters' door and walked in. he was sitting propped up in bed and she had an agreeable shock of surprise. in spite of all efforts of will her imagination had persisted in picturing him with a violent red face and red injected eyes, a loose sardonic mouth and lines like scars. his face was very pale, his eyes clear and bright, his hair trimmed in its old close fashion, his mouth grimly set. although he was very thin the lines in his cheeks were less pronounced. he looked years older, of course, and the life he had led had set its indelible seal upon him, but he was langdon masters again nevertheless. his eyes dilated when he saw her, but he smiled whimsically. "so you want what is left of this battered old husk, madeleine?" he asked. "you in the prime of your beauty and your youth! better think it over." she smiled a little, too. "do you mean that?" "no, i don't! come here! come here!" xlvii in the winter of - mrs. ballinger gave a luncheon in honor of mrs. mclane, who had arrived in san francisco the day before after a long visit in europe. the city was growing toward the west, but ballinger house still looked like an outpost on its solitary hill and was almost surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees. mrs. abbott grumbled as she always did at the long journey, skirting far higher hills, and through sand dunes still unsubdued by man and awaiting the first dry wind of summer to transform themselves into clouds of dust. but a sand storm would not have kept her away. the others invited were her daughter-in-law, who had met mrs. mclane at sacramento, guadalupe hathaway, now mrs. ogden bascom, mrs. montgomery, mrs. yorba, whose husband had recently built the largest and ugliest house in san francisco, perched aloft on nob hill; several more of mrs. mclane's favorites, old and young, and maria groome, born ballinger, now a proud pillar of san francisco society. the dining-room of ballinger house was long and narrow and from its bow window commanded a view of the bay. it was as uncomely with its black walnut furniture and brown walls as the rest of that aristocratic abode, across whose threshold no loose fish had ever darted; but its dingy walls were more or less concealed by paintings of the martial virginia ancestors of mrs. ballinger and her husband, the table linen had been woven for her in ireland, the cut glass blown for her in england; the fragile china came from sevres, and the massive silver had travelled from england to virginia in the reign of elizabeth. the room may have been ugly, nay, ponderous, but it had an air! the women who graced the board were dressed, with one or two exceptions, in the height of the mode. save maria groome each had made at least one trip to europe and left her measurements with worth. maria did not begin her pilgrimages to europe until the eighties, and then it was old carved furniture she brought home; dress she always held in disdain, possibly because her husband's mistresses were ever attired in the excess of the fashion. mrs. ballinger was now in her fifties but still one of the most beautiful women in san francisco; and she still wore shining gray gowns that matched the bright silver of her hair to a shade. her descendants had inherited little of her beauty (alexina groome as yet roaming space, and, no doubt, having her subtle way with ghosts old and new). mrs. mclane had discharged commissions for every woman present except maria, and their gowns had been unpacked on the moment, that they might be displayed at this notable function. they wore the new long basque and overskirt made of cloth or cashmere, combined with satin, velvet or brocade, and with the exception of mrs. abbott they had removed their hats. chignons had disappeared. hair was elaborately dressed at the back or arranged in high puffs with two long curls suspended. marguerite abbott and annette wore the new plaids. mrs. abbott had graduated from black satin and bugles to cloth, but her bonnet was of jet. "now!" exclaimed mrs. mclane, who had been plied with eager questions from oysters to dessert. "i've told you all the news about the fashions, the salon, the plays, the opera, all the scandals of paris i can remember but you'll never guess my _piece de resistance_." "what--what--" tea was forgotten. "well--as you know, i was in berlin during the congress--" "did you see bismark--disraeli--" "i did and met them. but they are not of half as much interest to you as some one else--two people--i met." "but who?" "can't you guess?" "i know!" cried guadalupe bascom. "langdon and madeleine masters." "no! what would they be doing in berlin?" demanded mrs. ballinger. "i thought he was editing some paper in new york." "'lupie has guessed correctly. it's evident that you don't keep up. we're just the same old stick-in-the-muds. 'lupie, how did you guess? i'll wager you never see a new york newspaper yourself." "not i. but one does hear a little eastern news now and again. i happen to know that masters has made a success of his paper and it would be just like him to go to the congress of berlin. what was he doing there?" "oh, nothing in particular. merely corresponding with his paper, and, in the eyes of many, eclipsing blowitz." "who is blowitz?" "mon dieu! mon dieu! but after all london is farther off than new york, and i don't fancy you read the _times_ when you are there--which is briefly and seldom. paris is our mecca. well, blowitz--" "but madeleine? madeleine? it is about her we want to hear. what do we care about tiresome political letters in solemn old newspapers? how did she look? how dressed? was she ahead of the mode as ever? does she look much older? does she show what she has been through.... oh, antoinette--mrs. mclane--mamma--how tiresome you are!" mrs. abbott had not joined in this chorus. she had emitted a series of grunts--no less primitive word expressing her vocal emissions when disgusted. she now had four chins, her eyes were alarmingly protuberant, and her face, what with the tight lacing in vogue, much good food and wine, and a pious disapproval of powder or any care of a complexion which should remain as god made it, was of a deep mahogany tint; but her hand still held the iron rod, and if its veins had risen its muscles had never grown flaccid. "abominable!" she ejaculated when she could make herself heard. "to think that a man and a woman like that should be rewarded by fame and prosperity. they were thoroughly bad and should have been punished accordingly." "oh, no, they were not bad, ma chere," said mrs. mclane lightly. "they were much too good. that was the whole trouble. and you must admit that for their temporary fall from grace they were sufficiently punished, poor things." "antoinette, i am surprised." mrs. ballinger spoke as severely as mrs. abbott. she looked less the southerner for the moment than the puritan. "they disgraced both themselves and society. i was glad to hear of their reform, but they should have continued to live in sackcloth for the rest of their lives. for such to enjoy happiness and success is to shake the whole social structure, and it is a blow to the fundamental laws of religion and morality." "but perhaps they are not happy, mamma." maria spoke hopefully, although the fates seemed to have nothing in pickle for her erratic mate. "mrs. mclane has not yet told us--" "oh, but they are! quite the happiest couple i have ever seen, and likely to remain so. that's a case of true love if ever there was one. i mislaid my skepticism all the time i was in berlin--a whole month!" "abominable!" rumbled mrs. abbott. "and when i think of poor howard--dead of apoplexy--" "howard ate too much, was too fond of burgundy, and grew fatter every year. madeleine could reclaim masters, but she never had any influence over howard." "well, she could have waited--" "masters was pulled up in the nick of time. a year more of that horrible life he was leading and he would have been either unreclaimable or dead. it makes me believe in fate--and i am a good churchwoman." "it's a sad world," commented mrs. ballinger with a sigh. "i confess i don't understand it. when i think of sally--" mrs. montgomery, a good kind woman, whose purse was always open to her less fortunate friends, shook her head. "i do not like such a sequel. i agree with alexina and charlotte. they disgraced themselves and our proud little society; they should have been more severely punished. possibly they will be." "i doubt it," said mrs. bascom drily. "and not only because i am a woman of the world and have looked at life with both eyes open, but because masters had success in him. i'll wager he's had his troubles all in one great landslide. and madeleine was born to be some man's poem. the luxe binding got badly torn and stained, but no doubt she's got a finer one than ever, and is unchanged--or even improved--inside." "oh, do let me get in a word edgeways," cried young mrs. abbott. "tell me, mamma--what does madeleine look like? has she lost her beauty?" "she looked to me more beautiful than ever. i'd vow masters thinks so." "has she wrinkles? lines?" "not one. have we grown old since she left us? it's not so many years ago?" "oh, i know. but after all she went through.... how was she dressed?" "what are her favorite colors?" "who makes her gowns?" "has she as much elegance and style as ever?" "did she get her mother's jewels? did she wear them in berlin?" "is she in society there? is her grand air as noticeable among all those court people as it was here?" "oh, mamma, mamma, you are so tiresome!" mrs. mclane had had time to drink a second cup of tea. "my head spins. where shall i begin? the gowns she wore in berlin were made at worth's. where else? she still wears golden-brown, and amber, and green--sometimes azure--blue at night. she looked like a fairy queen in blue gauze and diamond stars in her hair one night at the american legation--" "how does she wear her hair?" "there she is not so much a la mode. she has studied her own style, and has found several ways of dressing it that become her--sometimes in a low coil, almost on her neck, sometimes on top of her head in a braid like a coronet, sometimes in a soft psyche knot. there never was anything monotonous about madeleine." "i'm going to try every one tomorrow. has she any children?" "one. she left him at their place in virginia. i saw his picture. a beauty, of course." mrs. ballinger raised her pencilled eyebrows and glanced at maria. mrs. abbott gave a deep rumbling groan. "poor howard!" "he dreed his weird," said mrs. mclane indifferently. "he couldn't help it. neither could madeleine." "well, i'd like to hear something more about langdon masters," announced guadalupe bascom. "that is, if you have all satisfied your curiosity about madeleine's clothes. he is the one man i never could twist around my finger and i've never forgotten him. how does he look? he certainly should carry some stamp of the life he led." "oh, he looks older, of course, and he has deeper lines and some gray hairs. but he's thin, at least. his figure did not suffer if his face did--somewhat. he looks even more interesting--at least women would think so. you know we good women always have a fatal weakness for the man who has lived too much." "speak for yourself, antoinette." mrs. ballinger looked like an effigy of virtue in silver. "and at your age you should be ashamed to utter such a sentiment even if you felt it." "my hair may be as white as yours," rejoined mrs. mclane tartly. "but i remain a woman, and for that reason attract men to this day." "is masters as brilliant as ever--in conversation, i mean? is he gay? lively?" "i cannot say that i found him gay, and i really saw very little of him except at functions. he was very busy. but mr. mclane was with him a good deal, and said that although he was rather grim and quiet at times, at others he was as brilliant as his letters." "does he drink at all, or is he forced to be a teetotaller?" "not a bit of it. he drinks at table as others do; no more, no less." "then he is cured," said mrs. bascom contentedly. "well, i for one am glad that it's all right. still, if he had fallen in love with me he would have remained an eminent citizen--without a hideous interval he hardly can care to recall--and become the greatest editor in california. have they any social position in new york?" "probably. i did not ask. they hardly looked like outcasts. you must remember their story is wholly unknown in fashionable new york. scarcely any one here knows any one in new york society; or has time for it when passing through.... but i don't fancy they care particularly for society. in berlin, whenever it was possible, they went off by themselves. but of course it was necessary for both to go in society there, and she must have been able to help him a good deal." "european society! i suppose she'll be presented to the queen of england next!--but no! thank heaven she can't be. good queen victoria is as rigid about divorce as we are. nor shall she ever cross my threshold if she returns here." and mrs. abbott scalded herself with her third cup of tea and emitted terrible sounds. mrs. yorba, a tall, spare, severe-looking woman, who had taught school in new england in her youth, and never even powdered her nose, spoke for the first time. her tones were slow and portentious, as became one who, owing to her unfortunate nativity, had sailed slowly into this castellated harbor, albeit on her husband's golden ship. "we may no longer have it in our power to punish mrs. langdon masters," she said. "but at least we shall punish others who violate our code, even as we have done in the past. san francisco society shall always be a model for the rest of the world." "i hope so!" cried mrs. mclane. "but the world has a queer fashion of changing and moving." mrs. ballinger rose. "i have no misgivings for the future of our society, antoinette mclane. our grandchildren will uphold the traditions we have created, for our children will pass on to them our own immutable laws. shall we go into the front parlor? i do so want to show it to you. i have a new set of blue satin damask and a crystal chandelier." the end the lure of san francisco a romance amid old landmarks by elizabeth gray potter and mabel thayer gray illustrated by audley b. wells paul elder & company publishers san francisco copyright, , by paul elder & co. san francisco to our mother preface the average visitor considers california's claim to historic recognition as dating from the discovery of gold. her children, both by birth and adoption, have a hazy pride in her spanish origin but are too busy with today's interests to take much thought of it. they know that somewhere over in the mission is the old adobe church. they rejoice that it escaped the fire but have no time to visit it. they will proudly tell their eastern friends of its existence and that the presidio received its name from the spaniards but further narration of the heritage is lost in exclamations over the beauty of the drives and the views, while the historic significance of portsmouth square is smothered in the delight over chinese embroideries, bronzes and cloisonné. may this little book aid in the general awaking of the dormant love of every californian for his possessions and be a suggestion to the casual visitor that we are entitled to the dignity of age. contents preface the mission and its romance a view from twin peaks--the city with its historic crosses. a visit to the old church--its past, and the romance of lüis argüello. the presidio, past and present the spanish fortifications and the love story of concepcion and rezánov. the plaza and its echoes a chinese restaurant. yerba buena and the reminiscences of a forty-niner. telegraph hill of unique fame the latin quarter. the signal station of ' and a view of the city as it was. the golden gate. list of illustrations the mission "the modern structures crowd upon the low adobe building." prayer book cross "a granite cross just visible above the trees in golden gate park." at lotta's fountain "we watched the people purchasing flowers on the corner." the officer's club house at the presidio "of a different generation from its neighbors." a street in chinatown "we must take a look at the spot where the first house stood." portsmouth square "the entire history of san francisco was made around this plaza." a fountain in the latin quarter "stooping to drink from his hand on the edge of a little pool." a sunset thro' the golden gate "the last rays gilded the cliffs on either side." the mission a view from twin peaks--the city with its historic crosses. a visit to the old church--its past, and the romance of lüis argüello. the mission and its romance "tickets to the city, sir?" the conductor's voice sounded above the rumble of the train. as my companion's hand went to his pocket he glanced at me with a quizzical smile. "i should think you oaklanders would resent that. hasn't your town put on long skirts since the fire?" there was an unpleasant emphasis on the last phrase, but i passed it over unnoticed. "of course we have grown up," i assured him. "we're a big flourishing city, but we are not the city. san francisco always has been, and always will be the city to all northern california; it was so called in the days of forty-nine and we still cling affectionately to the term." "i believe you californians have but two dates on your calendar," he exclaimed, "for everything i mention seems to have happened either 'before the fire' or 'in the good old days of forty-nine!' 'good old days of forty-nine,'" he repeated, amused. "in boston we date back to the revolution, and 'in colonial times' is a common expression. we have buildings a hundred years old, but if you have a structure that has lasted a decade, it is a paragon and pointed out as built 'before the fire.' do you remember the pilgrimage we made to the historic shrines of boston, just a year ago?" "shall i ever forget it!" i exclaimed. he smiled appreciatively. "faneuil hall and the old state house are interesting." "oh, i wasn't thinking about the buildings! i don't even recall how they look. but i do remember the weather. i was so cold i couldn't even speak." "impossible!" he cried, "you not able to talk!" "but it's true! my cheeks were frozen stiff. i wore a thick dress, a sweater, a heavy coat and my furs, and, still i was cold while all the time i was thinking that the fruit trees and wild flowers were in blossom in california. if it hadn't been for the symphony concerts and the opera, i never could have endured an eastern winter." "a fine compliment to me when i spent days taking you to points of historic interest." i sent him an appreciative glance. "it was good of you," i acknowledged, "and do you remember that i promised to take you on a similar pilgrimage when you came to san francisco?" he laughed. "and i was foolish enough to believe you, since i had never been to the pacific coast." the train came to a stop in the ferry building and we followed the other passengers onto the boat. "san francisco is modern to the core," he continued. "boston dates back generations, but you have hardly acquired your three score years and ten." "if you don't like fine progressive cities, why did you come to california?" his fault-finding with san francisco hurt me as if it had been a personal criticism. "you know why i came," he said gently, with his eyes on my face. i felt the blood creeping to my cheeks and turned quickly to look for an out-of-doors seat. in the crowd we were jostled by a little slant-eyed man of the orient, resplendent in baggy blue silk trousers tied neatly at the ankles and a loose coat lined with lavender, whose flowing sleeves half concealed his slender brown hands. "there's a man who has centuries at his back." my companion's eyes traveled from the soft padded shoes to the little red button on the top of the black skull cap. "even his costume is the same as his forefathers'." "if you are interested in the chinese, i'll show you oriental san francisco. it lies in the heart of the city and its very atmosphere is saturated with eastern customs. it is much more sanitary but not as picturesque as it was before the fire." i flushed as i saw his amusement, and quickly called his attention to the receding shores where the encircling green hills had thrown out long banners of yellow mustard and blue lupins. to the right was mt. tamalpais, a sturdy sentinel looking out to the ocean, its summit pressed against the sky's blue canopy and its base lost in a network of purple forests. in front of the golden gate was alcatraz island, like a huge dismantled warship, guarding the entrance to the bay, and before us, san francisco rested upon undulating hills, its tall buildings piercing the sky at irregular intervals. we made our way to the forward deck in order to have the full sweep of the waterfront. "you should see it at night!" i said, "it is a marvelous tiara. the red and green lights on these wharves close to the water's edge are the rubies and emeralds, while above, sweeping the hills, the lights of the residences sparkle like rows and rows of diamonds." a crowd of passengers surged around us as the boat poked its nose into the slip. "there was nothing left of this part of the city but a fringe of wharves, after the fire." i bit the last word in two, for it was evident the expression was getting on his nerves. i was thankful that the clanging chains of the descending gang plank and the tramp of many feet made further conversation impossible. "hurry," he urged, "there's the exposition car." we were in front of the ferry building and the crowd was jostling us in every direction. "you surely are not going to the exposition!" i exclaimed in mock surprise. "of course i am. where else should we go?" "but, my dear antiquary, those buildings are only a few months old!" he laughed good naturedly. "it ought to suit you westerners, anyway," he retaliated. then taking my arm, "let us hurry! look, the car is starting!" "i am going to take the one behind," i announced. "there must be something old in san francisco and i am going to find it." "you'll have a long hunt," rejoined the skeptic, and with his eyes still on the tail of the disappearing exposition car, he reluctantly followed me. "lots of strangers in san francisco for the fair," he remarked, as from the car window he watched the big turban of a hindoo bobbing among the crowd on the sidewalk; then his eyes wandered to a japanese arrayed in a new suit of american clothes and finally rested on a bright yellow lei wound about the hat of a swarthy hawaiian. i smiled as i nodded to the japanese who had worked in my kitchen for three years, and recognized in the dusky hawaiian one of the regular singers in a popular café. the train had now left commercial san francisco behind and was climbing the hills to where the nature loving citizens had perched their houses in order to obtain a better view of the bay. we abandoned the car and following an upward path, finally stood on the lower shoulder of twin peaks. tired from our exertions we sank upon the soft grass. the hills had put on their festival attire, catching up their emerald gowns with bunches of golden poppies and veiling their shoulders in filmy scarfs of blue lupins. the air was filled with spring and the delicate blush of an apple-tree told of the approach of summer. below, the city, noisy and bustling a few moments ago, now lay hushed to quiet by the distance and beyond, the sun-flecked waters of the bay stretched to a girdle of verdant hills, up whose sides the houses of the towns were scrambling. to the left, resting on the top of mt. tamalpais, could be seen the "sleeping maiden" who for centuries had awaited the awakening kiss of her indian lover. "what a glorious play-ground for san francisco." his voice rang with enthusiasm. "look at the ferryboats plowing up the bay in every direction. a man could escape from the factory grime on the water front and in an hour be asleep under a tree on a grassy hillside." "it is a splendid country to tramp through, but if a man wants to sleep, why not spend less time and money by selecting a nearer place? there are plenty of trees and grassy mounds in the presidio and golden gate park." his eyes followed mine to the green patch edging the entrance to the bay and then ran along the tree-lined avenue to the parked section extending almost from the center of the city to the pacific ocean. suddenly he stood up and took his field glasses from his pocket. "there's a granite cross just visible above the trees in golden gate park." he focused his glasses for a better view. "it's quite elaborate in design and seems to be raised on a hill." he offered me the glasses but i did not need them. "it's the prayer-book cross and commemorates the first church of england service held on this coast by sir francis drake in . i think it is a shame that we haven't also a monument for cabrillo, the real discoverer, who was here nearly forty years earlier. if sir francis hadn't stolen a spanish ship's chart, he would never have found the gulf of the farallones. cabrillo sailed along the coast more than half a century before massachusetts bay was discovered," i added maliciously. "i had forgotten the old duffer," he smiled back at me. raising his glasses again, he scanned the sombre roofs to the right. "there's another monument," he volunteered, "rising out of the heart of the city." i followed the direction indicated to where the outstretched arms of a white wooden cross were silhouetted against the sky. "if i were in europe," he continued, "i should call it a shrine, for the sides of the hill on which it stands are seamed with paths running from the net-work of houses to the foot of the cross." "it is a shrine at which all san francisco worships. wrapped in mystery it stands, for when it was placed there no one knows. it comes to us out of the past--a token left by the spanish padres. three times it has fallen into decay, but always loving hands have reached forward to restore it, and as long as san francisco shall last, a cross will rise from the summit of lone mountain." "the spanish padres!" the ring in his voice bespoke his interest. "are there any other relics left?" i pointed to the level section below. "do you see that low red roof almost hidden by its towering neighbors? that is the old mission san francisco de asis, colloquially called dolores, from the little rivulet on whose bank it was built." through his field glasses he scrutinized the expanse of substantial houses and paved streets. "i can't find the rivulet," he announced. "of course you can't, you stupid man!" i laughed. "if you'll use your imagination instead of your glasses you will see it easily. the stream arose, we are told, between the summits of twin peaks, and tumbling down the hill-side, made its way east, emptying into the laguna." "i don't see a laguna!" again the skeptic surveyed the field of roofs. "put down your glasses and close your eyes," i commanded. "when you open them the houses from here to the bay will have disappeared and the ground will be covered with a carpet of velvety green, dappled here and there by groves of oak trees and relieved by patches of bright poppies." "and fields of yellow mustard," he supplemented. "no, your imagination is too vivid. the padres brought the mustard seed later. a little south of the present mission," i continued, "you will see a group of willows bending to drink the crystal waters of the arroyo de los dolores, so named because anza and his followers discovered it on the day of our mother of sorrows, and to the east is the shining laguna." "it's clear as a san francisco fog," he laughed. "i'd like to take a look at the old building! is there a car line?" "let's follow in the footsteps of the padres," i begged. "they used often to climb this hill and it isn't very far." he looked dubiously down the rugged side and mentally measured the distance from the base to the low tiled roof. "all right," he said at last, "if you'll let me take a ten minutes nap before we start." he stretched himself at full length on the soft grass and pulled his hat low over his eyes. i was glad to be quiet for a time and let my imagination have full sweep. i seemed to see, toiling up the peninsula, a little band of foot-sore travelers, the leathern-clad soldiers on the alert for hostile indians, the brown-robed friars encouraging the women and children, and the sturdy colonists bringing up the rear with their flocks and herds. at last the little company come to a sparkling rivulet and stoop to drink eagerly of the cool water. the commander examines his chart and nods to the tonsured priest who falls on his knees and raises his voice in thanksgiving. stretching out his arms in blessing to his flock, he exclaims: "rest now, my children. our journey is at an end. here on the arroyo de nuestra señora de los dolores, we will establish the mission to our father san francisco de asis." "if we want to see the old building before lunch time, we shall have to be moving," said a sleepy voice at my elbow. "come on, then, i'll be your pathfinder," and we raced down the hill-side until the paved streets reminded us that city manners were expected. we followed the former course of the arroyo de los dolores down eighteenth to church street, then turned north. two, blocks further on i laid a detaining hand on my companion's arm. "hold, skeptic," i whispered, "thou art on holy ground." he looked up at the two-story dwelling house before us, let his eyes wander down the row of modest residences and linger on the pavements where a tattered newsboy was shying stones at a stray cat; then his glance came back to my face with a smile. "my belief in your veracity is unlimited. i uncover." he stood for an instant with bared head. "just when did this sanctification take place, was it before the fire or--" "it was on october th, ," i tried to speak impressively, "the year the colonies made their declaration of independence. the procession began over there at the presidio," i pointed to the north. "a brown-robed friar carrying an image of st. francis led the little company of men, women and children over the shifting sand-dunes to this very spot where a rude church had been erected. its sides were of mud plastered over a palisade wall of willow poles and its ceiling a leaky roof of tule rushes but it was the beginning of a great undertaking and father paloú elevated the cross and blessed the site and all knelt to render thanks to the lord for his goodness." "but i thought you said the church still existed." his eyes again sought the row of dwelling houses. "this was only for temporary use and later was pulled down. six years after the fathers arrived, a larger and more substantial church was built one block farther east. but before you see that you must get into the spirit of the past by imagining a square of four blocks lying between fifteenth and seventeenth streets and church and guerrero, swept clean of these modern structures and filled with mission buildings. at the time when you new englanders were pushing the indians farther and farther into the wilderness, killing and capturing them, we californians were drawing them to our missions with gifts and friendship. while you were leaving them in ignorance we were teaching them--" he stooped to get a full look at my eyes. "i never knew a spaniard to have eyes the color of violets. look up your family tree, my dear enthusiast, and i think you will find that you are we." "i'm not," i declared indignantly. "i'm a californian. i was born here and even if i haven't spanish blood in my veins, i have the spirit of the old padres." "but the spirit has not left a lasting impression. indeed civilization whether dealt out with friendly hands or thrust upon the natives at the point of the bayonet seems to have been equally poisonous on both sides of the continent." "true, philosopher, but would you call the work of these padres impressionless, when it has permeated all california? the open-hearted hospitality of the spaniards is a canonical law throughout the west, and their exuberant spirit of festivity still remains, impelling us to celebrate every possible event, present and commemorative." we had reached dolores street, a broad parked avenue where automobiles rushed by one another, shrieking a warning to the pedestrian. suddenly i found myself alone. my companion had darted across the crowded street to a little oasis of grass where a mission bell hung suspended on an iron standard. "it marks 'el camino real,'" he reported as he rejoined me. "the king's highway," i translated. "it must have been wonderful at this season of the year, for as the padres traveled northward, they scattered seeds of yellow mustard and in the spring a golden chain connected the missions from san francisco to san diego. over there nearer the bay," i nodded toward the east where a heavy cloud of black smoke proclaimed the manufacturing section of the city, "lay the potrero--the pasture-land of the padres--and the name still clings to the district. beyond was mission cove, now filled in and covered with store-houses, but formerly a convenient landing place for the goods of yankee skippers who, contrary to spanish law, surreptitiously traded with the padres." we turned to the massive façade of the old church, where hung the three bells, of which bret harte wrote. "bells of the past, whose long forgotten music still fills the wide expanse; tingeing the sober twilight of the present, with the color of romance." as we entered the low arched doorway, we seemed to step from the hurry of the twentieth century into the peace of a by-gone era. outside, the modern structures crowd upon the low adobe building, staring down upon it with unsympathetic eyes and begrudging it the very land it stands on, while inside, hand-hewn rafters, massive grey walls, and a red tiled floor slightly depressed in places by years of service, point mutely to the past, to the days when padres and neophytes knelt at the sound of the angelus. within still stand the elaborate altars brought a century ago from mexico, before which junipero serra held mass during his last visit to san francisco. on the massive archway spanning the building, can be seen the dull red scroll pattern, a relic of indian work. "sing something," my companion suggested. "it needs music to make the spell complete." "it does," i assented, "but you must stay where you are," and climbing to a balcony at the end of the building, i concealed myself in the shadow. he glanced up at the first notes, then sat with bowed head. i filled the old church with an ave maria, then another. as i sang, the candles seemed to have been lighted on the gilded altars, and the brown friars and dusky indians took form in the dim enclosure. "more," he urged, but i would not, for i feared that the spell might be broken. so he came up to see why i lingered, and found me mounted on a ladder peering up at the old mission bells and the hand-hewn rafters tied with ropes of plaited rawhide. my song must have attracted a passer-by, for a voice greeted us as we descended. "did you see the bells?" he asked eagerly. "they're a good deal like some of us old folks, out of commission because of age and disuse, but nevertheless they have their value. one has lost its tongue, another is cracked and the third sags against the side wall, so they're useless as church bells, but still they seem to speak of the days of the padres and the indians." "were there many indians here?" questioned the bostonian. "often more than a thousand. i was born in the shadow of this building, in the year when the mission was secularized, but my father knew it in its glory and used to tell me many stories about the good old padres." seeing the interest in our faces, the dark eyes brightened and he patted the thick adobe wall affectionately. "this church was only a small part of the mission in those days. the buildings formed an inner quadrangle and two sides of an outer one, all a beehive of industry. there were the work rooms of the indians, where blankets and cloth were woven; great vats for trying out tallow and curing hides, and also huge storehouses for grain and other foodstuffs, all built and cared for by the indians." "quite a change from their lazy roving life," suggested the easterner. "still the padres were not hard taskmasters," insisted the stranger. "the work lasted only from four to six hours a day and the evenings were devoted to games and dancing. all were required to attend religious services, however, and at the sound of the angelus, they gathered within these walls. there was no sleeping through long prayers in those days," he added with an amused smile, "for a swarthy disciple paced the aisles and with a long pointed stick aroused the nodding ones, or quieted the too hilarious spirits of the small boys." "a good example for some of our modern churches," remarked my companion, as we followed our guide to the altar at the end of the chapel. the light streaming through the mullioned window fell full upon the carved figure of a tonsured monk clad in a loose robe girdled with a cord. "it is our father, st. francis," explained the old man. "it was in accordance with his direct wish that this mission was founded." "yes?" questioned the skeptic. "when father junípero serra received orders from galvez for the establishment of the missions in alta california, and found that there was none for st. francis, he ex-claimed: 'and is the founder of our order, st. francis, to have no mission?' thereupon the visitador replied: 'if st. francis desires a mission, let him show us his port,' and the saint did!" the old face with its fringe of soft white hair was transformed with religious enthusiasm. "he blinded the eyes of portolá and his men so that they did not recognize monterey and led them on to his own undiscovered bay. and in spite of the fact that the mission has been stripped of its lands, we know that it is still under the special protection of st. francis, for it was not ten years ago that the second miracle was performed." "the second miracle!" we wonderingly repeated. "yes, it was at the time of the fire of . the heart of san francisco was a raging furnace. the fireproof buildings melted under the tremendous heat and collapsed as if they had been constructed of lead; the devouring flames swept over the potrero; they fell upon the brick building next door and crept close to the walls of this old adobe, when suddenly, as if in the presence of a sacred relic, the fire crouched and died at its very doors." we passed the altar and the old man crossed himself, while in our hearts we, too, gave thanks for the preservation of this monument of the past. "you must not go until you have seen the cemetery," said our guide as we moved toward the entrance, and throwing open a door to the right he admitted us to the neglected graveyard. here and there a rude cross marked the resting place of an early indian convert and an almost obliterated inscription on a broken headstone revealed the name of a spanish grandee. shattered columns, loosened by the hand of time and overthrown in recent years, lay upon the ground, while great willow and pepper trees spread out protecting arms, as if to shield the silent company from the inroads of modern enterprise. we picked our way along vine-latticed paths, past graves over which myrtle and roses wandered in untrimmed beauty, to where a white shaft marked the resting place of don luis argüello, comandante of the san francisco presidio for twenty-three years and the first mexican governor of california. "how splendidly strong he looms out of the past," i said. "his keen insight into the needs of this western outpost and his determined efforts for the best interests of california will forever place him in the front rank of its rulers. i wonder if his young wife, rafaela, is buried here also?" i drew aside the tangled vines from the near-by headstones. "she was always a little dearer to me than his second wife, the proud dona maria ortega, perhaps because rafaela belonged pre-eminently to san francisco. her father, ensign sal, was acting comandante of the presidio when vancouver visited the coast, and rafaela and luis argüello grew up together in the little adobe settlement." "go on," said the skeptic, leaning comfortably against a tree trunk. "this old mexican governor seems to have had an interesting romance." "he wasn't old," i protested, "only forty-six when he died. he was a splendid type of a young spanish grandee, tall and lithe of form, with the dark skin and hair of his race. he combined the freedom born of an out-of-door life with the courtly manners inherited from generations of spanish ancestry. to rafaela sal, watching the soldiers file out of the mud-walled presidio, it seemed that none sat his horse so straight nor so bravely as did don luis argüello. and at night to the young soldier dozing before the campfire in the forest, the billowy smoke seemed to shape itself into the soft folds of a lace mantilla from which looked out the smiling face of a lovely grey-eyed girl, framed in an exquisite mist of copper-colored hair. "there was no opposition on the part of the parents to the union of these young people. the elder argüello loved the sweet rafaela as if she were his own daughter, and ensign sal was proud to claim the splendid young soldier as a son-in-law. so the betrothal was solemnized, but since don luis was a spanish officer, the marriage must await the consent of the king, and forthwith papers were dispatched to the court of madrid. california was an isolated province in those days and the packet boat, touching on the shore but twice a year, frequently brought papers from spain dated nine months previous, so the older people affirmed that permission could not be received for two years, while luis and rafaela declared that if the king answered at once--and surely he would recognize the importance of haste--word might be received in eighteen months. "after a year and a half had passed the young people could talk of little besides the expected arrival of the boat with an order from the king. frequently luis would climb the hills back of the presidio where the wide expanse of the ocean could be seen. at last a sail was discovered on the horizon and the little settlement was thrown into a turmoil of excitement. luis was first at the beach and impatiently watched the ship make its way between the high bluffs that guarded the entrance to the bay, and nose along the shore until it came to anchor in the little cove in front of the presidio. had the king's permission come? he eagerly asked his father, who was running through the papers handed him by the captain. but the elder man shook his head, and luis turned with lagging steps to tell rafaela that they must wait another six months. it seemed a long time to the impatient lovers and yet there was much to make the days pass quickly at the presidio. the door of the commodious sala at the home of the comandante always stood wide open, and almost nightly the feet of the young people which had danced since their babyhood tripped over the floor of the old adobe building. picnics were planned to the woods near the mission and frequently longer excursions were undertaken; for el camino real was not only, the king's highway to church and military outposts, but also the royal road to pleasure, and when a wedding or a fiesta was at the end of a journey, no distance was counted too great. luis watched his betrothed blossom to fuller beauty, fearful lest someone else might steal her away before word from the king should arrive. "a year passed, then another. packet boats came and went every six months, bringing orders to the comandante in regard to the administration of the military forces, concerning the treatment of foreign vessels, and of numerous other matters, but still the king remained silent on the one subject which, to the minds of the two young people, overshadowed all else. luis rashly threatened to run away with his betrothed, while rafaela, frightened, reminded him that there was not a priest in california or mexico who would marry them without the king's order. and so each time the packet boat entered the harbor their hearts beat with renewed hope and then, disappointed, they watched it disappear through the gulf of the farallones, knowing that months would pass before another would arrive. "thus six years had gone by since permission had been asked of the king; six interminable years, they seemed to the lovers. again the packet boat was sighted on the distant horizon. luis saw the full white sails sweep past the fort guarding the entrance; he heard the salute of the guns and watched the anchor lowered into the water before he made his way slowly down to the shore. it would be the same answer he had received so many times, he was, sure, and he dreaded to put the question again. ten minutes later he was racing over the sand-dunes to the presidio, his face radiant and his hand tightly clasping an official document. it had come at last--the order from the king! where was rafaela? he hurried to her house and, folding her close in his arms, be whispered that their long waiting was at an end; that she was his as long as life should last. "but, oh, such a little span of happiness was theirs! only two brief years, and then the cold hand of death was laid upon the sweet rafaela." for a moment my companion did not move. a bird sang in the tree above us and the wind sent a shower of pink petals over the green mound. then, stooping, he picked a white castilian rose from a tangle of shrubbery and laid it at the base of the granite shaft. "in memory of the lovely rafaela," he said softly; i unpinned a bunch of fragrant violets from my jacket and placed, them beside his offering, then we silently followed the shaded path to the white picket gate and were once more on the noisy thoroughfare. "a fitting resting place for the first mexican governor of california," he said, glancing back at the heavy façade of the church, "so simple and dignified. yet if luis argüello had lived in new england, we should have considered his house of equal importance with his grave and have placed a bronze tablet on the front, but you westerners have, so little regard for old--" "if you would like to see the home of luis argüello, i will show it to you. it is at the presidio." "a hopeless mass of neglected ruins, i suppose. but still i should like to see the old walls, if you can find them." "shall we take the camino real on foot, just as the old padres used to?" "not if i have my way. i'll acknowledge that the spanish friars have left you californians one legacy that no easterner can vie with, that is your love of tramping over these hills. i've seen streets in san francisco so steep that teams seldom attempt them, as is evident from the grass between the cobblestones, and yet they are lined with dwellings." "houses that are never vacant," i assured him. "we like to get off the level, and value our residence real estate by the view it affords." noticing that the sun was now high, my companion drew out his watch. "luncheon time," he announced. "shall it be the palace or st. francis hotel?" "let's keep in the spirit of the times and go to a spanish restaurant," i suggested, and soon we were on a car headed for the latin quarter. "may i replace the violets you left at the mission?" he asked, as stepping from the car at lotta's fountain, we lingered before the gay flower stands edging the sidewalk. before i had a chance to reply a fragrant bunch was thrust into his hands by an urchin who announced: "two for two-bits." "two-bits is twenty-five cents," i interpreted, seeing the easterner's mystified look. "i'll take three bunches." his eyes rested admiringly on the big purple heads as he held out a dollar bill. "ain't you got any real money?" asked the boy, not offering to touch the currency. again the man's hand went to his pocket and drew out some small change, from which he selected a quarter, a dime and three one-cent pieces. the urchin turned the coppers over in his palm, then, diving below the heap of violets, he pulled out several california poppies. "we always give these to easterners," he announced as he tucked them in among the violets. "i wonder how that boy knew i was an easterner?" the bostonian reflected as we turned away. then gently touching the golden petals, he asked: "where did you get the odd name 'eschscholtzia' for this lovely flower?" "it was given by the french-born poet-naturalist, chamisso, in honor of the german botanist, dr. eschscholz, who came together to san francisco on a russian ship in . however, i like better the spanish names, dormidera--the sleepy flower--or copa de oro--cup of gold," i added as i pinned the flowers to my coat. the man's glance wandered around newspaper corners, when suddenly his look of surprise told me that he had discovered on this crowded section of commercial san francisco a duplicate of the old bell hung in front of the mission san francisco de asís. "we are following el camino real from the mission to the presidio," i reminded him. we turned toward the shopping district, but the lure of the place made our feet lag. we watched the people purchasing flowers at the corner, and the little newsboys drinking from lotta's fountain. "a tablet," he exclaimed delightedly, examining the bronze plate fastened to the fountain. "i didn't know you westerners ever indulged in such things. 'presented to san francisco by lotta, ,'" he read. "little lotta crabtree," i explained, "the sweet singer who bewitched the city at a time when gold was still more plentiful than flowers, and her song was greeted by a shower of the glittering metal flung to her feet by enthusiastic miners. but read the second tablet," i suggested. "it was placed there with the permission of lotta." "tetrazzini!" his voice rang with surprise. "can you picture this place surging with people as it was on christmas night five years ago, when tetrazzini sang to san francisco?" i asked. "the crowd began to gather long before the appointed time--the wealthy banker from his spacious home on pacific heights, the grimy laborer from the potrero and the little newsboy with the badge of his profession slung over his shoulder. flushed with excitement, the courted debutante drew back to give her place to a tired factory girl and close to the platform an old italian, who had tramped all the way from telegraph hill, patiently waited to hear the sweet voice of his country woman. 'tetrazzini is here,' they said to one another; tetrazzini, who had been discovered and adored by the people of san francisco when, as an unknown singer, she appeared in the old tivoli opera house. at last she came, wrapped in a rose-colored opera coat, and was greeted with shouts of joy from a quarter of a million throats. she was radiant; smiling and dimpling she waved her handkerchief with the abandonment of a child. the storm of applause increased, rolling up the street to the very summit of twin peaks. suddenly the soft liquid notes of a clear soprano fell upon the air, and instantly the great multitude was wrapped in silence. out over the heads of the people the exquisite tones floated, mounting upward to the stars. it was the 'last rose of summer,' and as she sang her opera coat slipped from her, leaving her bare shoulders and white filmy gown silhouetted against the sombre background. she sang again and again, while the vast throng seemed scarcely to breathe. then she began the familiar strains of 'old lang syne,' and at a sign, two hundred and fifty thousand people joined in the refrain." "there is not a city in all the world except san francisco which could have done such a thing," enthusiastically rejoined my companion, but the next instant the eccentricities of the place struck him afresh. "furs and apple blossoms!" he exclaimed, observing a woman opposite. "what a ridiculous combination!" then, turning, he scrutinized me from the top of my flower-trimmed hat to the bottom of my full skirt until my cheeks burned with embarrassment. "why, you have on a thin summer silk, while that woman is dressed for mid-winter!" "of course," i assented. "she's on the shady side of the street." but still his face did not lighten. "we've been in the sun all morning," i continued to explain. "people talk about san francisco being an expensive place to live in, but really it is the cheapest in the world. if a woman has a handsome set of furs, she wears them and keeps in the shadow, or if her new spring suit has just come home, she puts that on and walks on the sunny side of the street, being comfortably and appropriately, dressed in either." "great heavens!" he cried, "what a city!" we passed through the shopping district and lingered for a moment at the edge of portsmouth square. my eyes rested affectionately on the clean-cut lawns and blossoming shrubs. then i turned to the skeptic, but before i could speak, he had dismissed it with a nod. "too modern," he commented. "looks as if it had been planted yesterday. now the boston common--" a rasping discordant sound burst from a near-by store and the easterner sent me a questioning glance. "a chinese orchestra," i replied. "we are in oriental san francisco." "that park was doubtless made as a breathing place for this congested chinese quarter," he glanced back at the green square. "a good civic improvement." "that park is a relic of old spanish days and one of the most historic spots in san francisco," i said severely. he stopped short. "you don't mean--i didn't suppose there was anything old in commercial san francisco." "portsmouth square was once the plaza of the little spanish town of yerba buena, and the public meeting place of the community when there were not half a dozen houses in san francisco." "let's go back." he wheeled about abruptly and started in the direction of the square, but i protested. "i am hungry and i want some luncheon!" "then we'll return this afternoon." there was determination in his voice. "we will hardly have time if we visit luis argüello's home at the presidio," i objected. "all right, we'll take it in tomorrow, then." hastening on, we were soon in the midst of the huddled houses of the latin quarter. tucked away between two larger buildings, we found a quaint spanish restaurant. as we opened our tamales, my companion again referred to portsmouth square. "tell me about it," he demanded. "does it date with the mission and presidio?" "no, it is of later birth, but still of equal interest in the history of san francisco. the city grew up from three points--the mission"--i pulled a poppy from my bouquet and placed it on the table to mark the old adobe--"the presidio"--i moved a salt cellar to the right of the flower--"and the town of yerba buena," this i indicated by a pepper box below the other two. "roads connected these points like the sides of a triangle and gradually the intervening spaces were filled with houses." "go on." he leaned back in his chair, but i had already risen. "it will be more interesting to hear the story on the spot tomorrow," i assured him as i drew on my gloves. the presidio the spanish fortifications and the love story of concepcion and rezánov the presidio past and present we hailed a car marked "exposition" and were soon climbing the hills to the west. between the houses, we had fleeting glances of the bay with its freight of vessels. here waved the tri-color of france, while next to it the black, white and red flag of germany was flung to the breeze, and within a stone's throw, johnny bull had cast out his insignia. at a little distance the ships of austria and russia rested side by side, and between the vessels the bustling little ferry-boats were churning up the blue water. "it is difficult to picture this bay as it was in early spanish days," i said, "destitute of boats and so full of otter that when the russians and alaskan aleuts began plundering these waters, they had only to lean from the canoes and kill hundreds with their oars." "but what right had the russian here? why didn't the spaniards stop them? otter must have brought a good price in those days." there was a ring of indignation in his voice, that told his interest had been aroused. "san francisco was helpless. there was not a boat on the bay, except the rude tule canoes of the indians--'boats of straw'--vancouver called them, and these were no match for the swift darting bidarkas of the alaskan natives." "and luis argüello in command!" "i saw my idol falling, and hastened to assure him that the comandante had built a boat a short time before, but the result was so disastrous that he never tried it again. the presidio was in great need of repair and the government at mexico had paid no heed to the constant requests for assistance, so comandante argüello had determined to take matters into his own hands. the peninsula was destitute of large timber, but ten miles across the bay were abundant forests, if he could but reach them. he, therefore, secured the services of an english carpenter to construct a boat, while his men traveled two hundred miles by land, down the peninsula to san jose, along the contra costa, across the straits of carquinez and touching at the present location of petaluma and san rafael, finally arrived at the spot selected. in the meantime the soldiers were taught to sail the craft, and the first ferryboat, at length started across the bay. but a squall was encountered, the land-loving men lost their heads, and it was only through argüello's presence of mind that the boat finally reached its destination. for the return trip, the services of an indian chief were secured, a native who had been seen so often on the bay in his raft of rushes, that the spaniards called him 'el marino,' the sailor, and this name, corrupted into marin, still clings to the land where he lived. many trips were made in this ferry, but the comandante's subordinates were less successful than he, for one, being swept out to sea, drifted about for a day or two until a more favorable wind and tide brought him back to san francisco. the spaniards called the land where the trees were felled 'corte madera,' the place of hewn-wood, and a little town on the site still bears the name." "but what became of the boat? you said--" "governor sola was furious that any one should dare to build a boat without his orders. he called it 'insubordination.' how did he know what was the real purpose of the craft? might it not have been built to aid the russians in securing otter or to help the 'boston nation' in their nefarious smuggling?" my companion straightened with interest, "the boston nation?" "yes, even in those days the yankee skippers, who occasionally did a little secret trading with the padres, told such marvelous stories of boston that the spaniards thought it must be a nation instead of a little town. in fact, the united states does not seem to have been considered of much importance by spain, for when the american ship 'columbia' was expected to touch on this coast it was referred to as 'general washington's vessel.'" "go on with your boat story," a smile played about the corners of his mouth. "what became of the craft?" "the governor ordered it sent to monterey and commanded argüello to appear before him. the comandante was surprised to have his work thus suddenly interrupted but hastened to obey orders. on the way his horse stumbled and fell, injuring his rider's leg so seriously that when argüello reached monterey, he was hardly able to stand. without stopping to have his injury dressed, he limped into the governor's presence, supporting himself on his sword. "'how dared you build a launch and repair your presidio without my permission?' exclaimed the exasperated governor. "'because i and my soldiers were living in hovels, and we were capable of bettering our condition,' was the reply. "governor sola, not noted for his genial temper, raised his cane with the evident intention of using it, when he noticed that the young comandante had drawn himself erect and was handling the hilt of his naked sword. "'why did you do that?' the governor demanded. "'because i was tired of my former position, and also because i do not intend to be beaten without resistance,' argüello answered. "for a moment the governor was taken back, then he held out his hand. 'this is the bearing of a soldier and worthy of a man of honor,' he said. 'blows are only for cowards who deserve them.' "argüello took the outstretched hand and from this time he and the governor were close friends. but the boat proved so useful at monterey, that it was never returned." the jeweled tower of the exposition came into view. "so it is to be the three months' old world's fair, after all, instead of the home of the first mexican governor of california?" but i did not rise. "the presidio is just beyond," i explained. then seeing him glancing admiringly at the green domes: "perhaps you would rather--" "no," he answered me, "i'm an antiquary and i want to see the old adobe house." leaving the car at the presidio entrance, we passed down the shaded driveway and along the winding path that led to the old parade ground. "this military reservation covers about the same ground as the old spanish presidio," i explained. "at that time, however, it was a sweep of tawny sand-dunes, for the spaniards had neither the ability nor the money to beautify the place. after it came into possession of the americans, lupins were scattered broadcast as a first means of cultivation and for a time the undulating hills were veiled in blue. later, groves of pine and eucalyptus trees together with grass and flowers were planted, until now it may be regarded as one of the parks of san francisco. this was the original plaza of the old spanish presidio," i continued, as we emerged onto the quadrangle, "and it was then lined with houses as it is today, only at that time they were crude adobe structures. surrounding these was a wall fourteen feet high, made of huge upright and horizontal saplings plastered with mud, and as a further means of protection, a wide ditch was dug on the outside. here luis argüello was comandante for twenty-three years." our eyes wandered over the substantial structures with their well-trimmed gardens and rested on a low rambling building opposite, protected from the gaze of the curious by an old palm and guarded by a quaint spanish cannon. the building's simple outlines, even at a distance, bespoke it as of a different generation from its more aggressive neighbors, even though its red-tiled roof had been replaced by sombre brown shingles, and its crumbling walls replastered. we crossed over the parade ground, and peering within, found that the building had been converted into an officers' club house. "did you see the bronze tablet on the front?" i demanded. "yes," he admitted rather sheepishly, turning to examine the deep window embrasure that showed the width of the walls. "there's an atmosphere of romance about the old place--" "and well there may be," i broke in, "for it was here that rafaela sal came as a bride, and that rezánov met luis argüello's beautiful sister, concepcion, and a love story began which may well take place with that of miles standish and priscilla." "rezánov," he repeated, searching his memory. "i recall that there was a romance connected with his visit to san francisco but the details have escaped me. please sit down on this bench and tell me the story just as if i had never heard it before." "more than a century ago there dwelt in this old adobe house a beautiful maiden," i began. "her father was comandante of the presidio, 'el santo,' the people termed him, because of his goodness. concepcion, or concha, as she was affectionately called by her parents, was only fifteen years old when our story begins--a tall, slender girl with masses of fine black hair and the fair castilian skin, inherited from her mother. so lovely was she that many a caballero had already sung at her grating, but she would listen to none of them. her lover would come from over the sea, she declared, someone who could tell her about the wide outside world. "'then you will die unmarried,' said her mother, kissing the soft cheek, 'for travelers seldom come as far as san francisco.' "'a ship! a ship!' sounded a cry from the plaza. a vessel had been sighted off cantil blanco, the first foreign ship seen since vancouver's visit fourteen years before. "'it is the russian expedition which spain has ordered us to treat courteously,' exclaimed don luis, bursting into the house, his face aglow with excitement. 'since father is in monterey and i am acting comandante, i must receive these strangers,' he continued as he threw his serape over his shoulders, his eyes flashing with his first taste of command. "'be careful,' cautioned his mother, 'we have had no word from europe for nine months and the last packet boat from mexico brought a rumor of war with russia.' "but the foreign vessel had come only with friendly intentions. the russian chamberlain rezánov, in charge of the czar's northwestern possessions, had found a starving colony at sitka and had brought a cargo of goods to the more productive southland with the hope of exchanging it for foodstuffs. to be sure, he knew the spanish law strictly forbidding trade with foreign vessels, but it seemed the only means of saving his famishing people and he trusted much to his skill in diplomacy. "a few hours later, concha, on the qui vive with excitement, saw her brother approaching with a little company of men, among whom was a tall well-built russian officer, whose keen eyes seemed to take in every detail of the little settlement. "don luis conducted his guests to the old adobe building, draped in pink castilian roses, and into the cool sala, which, although provided with slippery horse-hair chairs and plain whitewashed walls ornamented with pictures of the virgin and saints, was a pleasing contrast to the ship's cabin. here he presented his guests to his mother, a woman whose face still reflected much of the beauty of her youth in spite of her cares which had come in the rearing of her thirteen children. beside her stood concepcion. her long drooping lashes swept her cheeks, but when she raised her eyes in greeting rezánov saw that they were dark and joyous. he was a widower of many years, a man of forty-two, who had given little thought to women during his wandering life, but now he found himself keenly alive to the charms of this radiant girl. simple and artless in her manners, yet possessing the early maturity of her race, she set her guests at ease and entertained them with stories of life on the great ranchos, while her mother was busy with household duties. "it was ten days before don josé argüello returned from monterey and in the meantime no business could be transacted. during these days rezánov saw much of concepcion, for there was dancing every afternoon at the home of the comandante and frequent picnics into the neighboring woods. it was not long before the russian learned that concepcion was not only la favorita of the presidio, but also of all california, for although born at san francisco, she had spent much time in her childhood at santa barbara, where her father had been comandante. with a chain of missions and ranchos extending from san diego to san francisco, there was much interchange of hospitality, and concha was a favorite guest at all fiestas. so the dark eyed spanish girl had danced her way into the heart of many a youth as she was now doing into that of this powerful russian. "often he would stand in the shadow of the deep window casement and watch her lithe young figure bend in the graceful borego, occasionally catching a glance from beneath the sweeping lashes that would send his blood surging through his veins and make him almost forget the purpose of his voyage. sometimes he would draw her aside to talk of his hope that the spaniards would furnish him bread-stuffs for his starving colony and he marveled at her keen insight into the affairs of state, while his heart beat the quicker for her warm sympathy. often their talk would wander to other things and as she occasionally flashed a smile in his direction, showing a row of pearly teeth, his blood tingled and he thought that the flush on her cheek was not unlike the pink castilian rose that was nightly tucked in the soft coils of her shadowy hair. at times he imagined her clad in rich satin, with a rope of pearls about her delicate throat, and as he drew the picture he saw her as a star among the ladies of the russian court. "when don josé argüello returned, rezánov asked him for the hand of his daughter in marriage, but the comandante indignantly refused. although liking the distinguished russian for himself, he would not listen to such--a proposal. give his daughter to a foreigner and a heretic! never! it was not to be thought of for an instant. concha must be sent away. she must not see this russian again! he would have her taken to the home of his brother, who lived near the mission, until the foreign ship was out of the bay. while the father talked, the mother hurried to the padres to beg the good priests to forbid such a union. "but concha was no longer the docile girl of a month ago. she was a woman and her heart was in the keeping of this sturdy russian. she would have him or none, and nothing the padres or her parents could say would change her. don josé had never crossed his daughter before, and now as she flung her arms about his neck and begged for her happiness he weakened. after all, this russian was a splendid fellow, and perhaps it might be an advantage to spain, rather than a detriment to have an ally at petrograd. in the end the pleading of concha and the arguments of rezánov won. comandante argüello yielded and the betrothal was solemnized, but there were many obstacles before the marriage could be consummated. the permission of the czar of russia and the king of spain must be obtained, and this would take time, as well as involve a long and dangerous trip. but nothing could daunt the spirits of the lovers. concepcion's brother, luis, had already waited six years for permission to marry rafaela sal and if rezánov traveled with haste he could return in two. he must go first to petrograd to ask the consent of the czar and then to the court of madrid to promote more friendly relations between the two countries, finally returning to claim his bride, by way of mexico. but before he could start on his journey, his starving alaskan colony must be provided for, and after considerable discussion, arrangements were made for an interchange of commodities, and the hold of the russian ship, 'juno' was packed with foodstuffs for the sitkans, while the ladies at the presidio were resplendent in soft russian fabrics and the padres were rejoicing in new cooking utensils for their large indian family. "at length the 'juno' weighed anchor and the white sails filled with the afternoon breeze. as the russians came opposite cantil blanco, the fort which had scowled so menacingly upon them on their entrance forty-four days before, now smiled with friendly faces. there was much waving of hats and many shouts of farewell from the little group on the shore, but rezánov saw only the figure of a tall graceful girl with the soft folds of a mantilla billowing about her head and shoulders and heard only the murmur of love from the rosy lips. 'two years,' he whispered back to her, as the ship passed out through the gulf of the farallones and became but a speck on the sunset sky. "the two years passed and still there was no sign of the returning vessel. luis argüello had been married to the lovely rafaela and a little son had come to bless their household, and yet concepcion looked out over the ocean watching for the white sail of a foreign ship. the sweet grey eyes of luis' young wife were closed in death and concha's heart and hands went out in sympathetic love and deeds to the stricken family, all the while trying to still in her own breast the fear that a like fate had overtaken her loved one. the verdant hills were again streaked with golden poppies and once more turned to tawny brown and still no ship nor word came from over the sea. "it was eight or ten years before even a rumor of the fate of her lover reached concepcion, and not until she met the englishman, sir george simpson, twenty-five years after rezánov sailed out of san francisco bay, did she learn the details of his death. it was almost winter when, leaving alaska, he crossed the ocean and began his perilous trip through siberia. frequently drenched to the skin and undergoing terrible privations, he traveled for thousands of miles on horseback, now lying at some wayside inn burning with fever and again pushing on until he dropped prostrate at the next village. a fall from his horse added to his already serious condition, which resulted in his death in the little village of krasnoiark, and he lies now buried beneath the snows of siberia. "although many sought her hand in marriage, concepcion remained faithful to her russian lover. there being no convent for women in the country at that time, she donned the grey habit of the 'third order of st. francis in the world,' devoting her life to the care of the sick and the teaching of the poor. later when a dominican convent was established," i added, rising, "she became not only its first nun, but also its mother superior." "a romance that may well take a place with such world-famed love stories as those of abèlard and hèloïse; and alexandre and thäis. i should like to make a pilgrimage to her grave," he added as we left the old adobe house. "you can," i replied. "it's tucked away in a corner of the benicia cemetery, marked by a marble slab carved with her name and a simple cross." we entered a grove of eucalyptus trees, which now and again divided, giving marvelous views of the bay and the marin shore. but my companion's mind still dwelt on the story he had heard. "so concepcion suffered in the uncertainty of hope and despair for ten years," he said, "but ten months of it brought me to the limit of endurance. do you think if rezánov had returned and concepcion had married him and gone to petrograd she would have been happy?" "of course she would." "still petrograd is a cold, dreary place compared to california." "but what difference would that make? a woman would give up everything and count it no sacrifice for the man she loved." "and you said only yesterday--" "oh, but that was different," i assured him, my cheeks burning under his gaze. "rezánov loved california. he thought it so wonderful that he wanted it for a russian province, and he would have brought concepcion back to visit--" "boston is nearer than petrograd and not so cold. don't you think you could teach me to love california, too?" "perhaps," i acknowledged. then anxious to turn the conversation, i asked: "would you like to see the location of the old spanish fort?" he nodded and we took the road leading to the present fort point. "i can't show you the exact location," i confessed, "because the united states cut down the bold promontory, cantil blanco, in order to place the present fortification close to the water's edge, but if you will use your imagination and picture a white cliff towering a hundred feet above the water at the point where fort winfield scott now stands, you will see the entrance to the bay as it was in spanish days. here was located the old fort, called castilla san joaquin, which guarded the harbor for many years. made of adobe in the shape of a horseshoe, so perishable that the walls crumbled every time a shot was fired, still it answered its purpose, as it was never needed for anything but friendly salutes, and even these were at times, perforce, omitted. the russian, kotzebue, states that when he entered the harbor he was impressed by the old fort and the soldiers drawn up in military array, but wondered that no return was made to his salute. a little later, however, the omission of the courtesy was explained when a spanish officer boarded the vessel and asked to borrow sufficient powder for this purpose. moreover, robinson tells us that frequently during the afternoon's siesta a foreign ship would pass the fort, drop anchor in yerba buena cove, and spend several days in the bay before the presidio officers would know of its presence. but this was after the time of luis argüello." one by one the palaces of light in the exposition grounds below us burst into radiance. the horticultural dome turned to a wonderful iridescent bubble and the tower of jewels caught and reflected the light that played upon it. wide bands of color streaked the sombre sky, transforming the clouds to shades of violet, yellow and rose. "the rainbow colors of promise," he said gently as he drew closer. "i shall take them as a message of hope that i shall win the love of the woman who is dearer to me than all else in life!" the plaza a chinese restaurant. yerba buena and the reminiscences of a forty-niner the plaza and its echoes "be careful," i warned, "you'll get your feet wet." we stood on the corner of montgomery and commercial streets, having carried out our resolution of the day previous to continue our search for old landmarks. the bostonian moved uncomfortably under the warmth of the noonday sun, and glanced down at the dry, glaring pavement; then he stooped to turn up his trousers. "all right," he announced, "is it an arroyo or has the hose used in putting out 'the fire' suddenly burst?" "neither. the arroyo was a block further south. it ran down what is now sacramento street, and you ought to know enough about the fire to realize that we couldn't use our fire hose, because the earthquake broke the water mains." "then there was an earthquake!" he shot an amused glance at me. "you're the first californian i've heard acknowledge it." "oh yes, there was an earthquake--but it didn't do much damage," i hastened to add. "just 'knocked down a few chimneys and rickety buildings that the city was going to pull down anyway. it was the fire that destroyed the city." "so mother nature was just favoring 'frisco by lending a helping hand to the city officials," he laughed. "well, you see i'm prepared for the deluge." he indicated his upturned trousers. "but if it isn't an arroyo--" "it's the bay," i explained. "it used to touch the shore about where we are standing, forming a little inlet called yerba buena cove." "but," objected the man, mentally measuring the distance down the straight paved street to where the slender shaft-like tower of the ferry building broke the sky line, "it must be seven blocks from here to the present waterfront, two thousand feet at least." "yes, fully that," i agreed. "a large part of the business section of san francisco stands on made-land. the water along the shore, here at montgomery street, was very shallow, and at the time of the gold rush, when seven or eight hundred vessels were waiting in the bay to discharge their freight and passengers, a corporation of energetic americans built a long wharf from here to the deep water, where the ships were anchored. look down commercial street to the ferry building and, instead of the houses on either side, imagine it open to the water. then you will see central wharf as it was in 'forty-nine.'" "central wharf!" the name had caught his interest. "yes, it was called that from the one you have in bost." "bost?" he repeated, mystified. "bost?" "yes, bost!" i answered. "you called our, city 'frisco, not five minutes ago, so why shouldn't i--" "i beg your pardon," he said humbly. "i will never offend in that way again." "but the building of the wharves and the filling in of the waterfront belong to a later time and we are back in spanish days. when vancouver landed he tells us that he cast anchor within a small inlet surrounded by green hills, on which herds and cattle were grazing. historians say that his ship lay about where the ferry building now stands and that the crew put off for the shore in small boats. this place was a waste of sand-dunes and chaparral but the englishmen were refreshed by the cool waters of the arroyo and spent a pleasant morning shooting quail and grouse." "quail, grouse and chaparral," he repeated, as his eyes traveled up and down the solidly built blocks and rested on the pedestrians hurrying in and out of the buildings. "let's take a look at the bed of the arroyo." we paused at the corner and for a moment watched the car laboriously climb the sacramento street hill and disappear over the crest; then we turned for another look at the mass of buildings now resting on the solid ground which had taken the place of the shining waters of yerba buena cove. "it was about here," i announced, "that the arroyo opened out into the laguna dulce, a little fresh water pool where richardson's indians delighted to take a cold plunge on leaving their steaming temescal." "richardson? hardly a spanish name!" "no, but a spaniard by naturalization and marriage. he was an englishman who had come to the coast in the whaler 'orion,' and being fascinated by the country and the carefree spanish life, had married a lovely little señorita, the daughter of lieutenant martinez, later comandante of the presidio. richardson settled on a ranch at sausalito and in , when governor figueroa decided to establish a commercial city on the shore of yerba buena cove, he appointed as harbor master, this englishman, who was already carrying on a small business with the yankee skippers, and the future town was made a port of entry for all vessels trading up and down the coast. richardson built the first house in the little settlement of yerba buena, afterwards san francisco." "since this is an historic pilgrimage, we must take a look at the spot where the first house stood. is it far?" "only a few blocks," i assured him. "but we shall have to venture into the heart of chinatown." we made our way up sacramento street, where the straight-lined grey business blocks gave way to fantastic pagoda-like buildings gaily decorated in green, red, and yellow. bits of carved ivory, rich lacquer ware and choice pieces of satsuma and cloisonné appeared in the windows. in quiet, padded shoes, the sallow-faced, almond-eyed throng shuffled by, us; here a man with a delicate lavender lining showing below his blue coat, there a slant-eyed woman with her sleek black hair rolled over a brilliant jade ornament, leading by the hand a little boy who looked as if he had stepped out of a picture book with his yellow trousers and pink coat. we turned to the right at grant avenue, passing a building conspicuous on account of its elaborately carved balconies hung with yellow lanterns and ornamented with plants growing in large blue and white china pots. the bostonian looked curiously at the orientals lounging about the door, then his face brightened as he read the words, "chop suey." "it's a chinese restaurant," he exclaimed delightedly. "let's go in for a cup of tea, as soon as we have taken a look at your historic landmarks." on the northwest corner of grant avenue and clay street, we paused before a dingy four-story brick building on whose sides were pasted long strips of red paper ornamented with quaint chinese characters. i secretly wished that the building had been designed as a gay pagoda with bright colored, turned-up eaves like many of those in chinatown and that its windows had displayed the choice embroideries and carved ivories of some of its neighbors, but as we peered through the glass, we saw only utilitarian articles for the coolie chinaman. "rather a sordid setting for my story," i bemoaned. "the first house in commercial san francisco stood here. it was only a sail stretched around four pine posts, but two years later was replaced by a picturesque, red-tiled adobe, so commodious that the spaniards called it the casa grande. i am afraid the building now occupying the spot where the second house stood will be equally disappointing," i said ruefully, as we recrossed the street to where a chinese butcher and vegetable vender was displaying his wares. we gazed curiously at the dangling pieces of dried fish, strings of sausage-like meat, unfamiliar vegetables, lichee nuts and sticks of green sugar cane. "somewhat different from the silks, satins and laces displayed on this spot by jacob leese in spanish days," i reflected. "he was a bostonian, who like richardson had become an adopted son of california and settled at yerba buena for the purpose of trading with the american vessels." "this must have been a lively business center." the man raised his voice above the rumble of the wagons and cars. "two little houses in the midst of a sea of sand-dunes and no settlement nearer than the mission." "oh, it didn't take the american long to make things hum," i assured him. "he arrived here on july second. two days later he had built a house and was entertaining all the spaniards from miles around, at a grand fourth of july celebration." "quick work even for a yankee," laughed my companion. "but rather hard on his english neighbor, i should think. did richardson attend?" "of course he did! delivered the invitations, too! leese was busy building his house, so the englishman, in his little launch, called at all the ranchos and settlements about the bay and invited the spaniards to come to yerba buena for a fourth of july fandango." we retraced our steps and a few doors beyond entered the gay, balconied restaurant, in quest of a cup of tea served in oriental style. climbing the steep stairs, we passed the first floor where laborers were being served with steaming bowls of rice; then mounted to the more aristocratic level where we were seated at elaborately carved teakwood tables, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. while waiting for our tea, we stepped onto the balcony which we had regarded with so much interest from the street. above us hung the gorgeous lanterns, swaying like bright bubbles in the breeze, and below moved the silent blue-coated throng. "so there was a fourth of july celebration here even in spanish times?" said the man. "somewhat prophetic of the american days to come, wasn't it?" we caught a glint of color in the street and leaned far over the balcony to watch a violet-coated chinese girl thread her way among the sombre crowd. "it must have been just below us that the early festivities were held," i suggested. "leese's house was not large enough to accommodate his guests, so a big marquee surmounted by mexican and american flags, and gaily decorated with bunting, was spread about where the street now runs. can't you picture it all? the dainty little señoritas in their silk and satin gowns, with filmy mantillas thrown over their heads and shoulders, and the men not less gorgeous in lace-trimmed velvet suits and elaborate serapes. i can almost hear the applause and the booming of the cannon that followed general vallejo's glowing tribute to washington, and see the graceful spanish dancers as they assembled for the evening ball. it was doubtless at this time that leese met general vallejo's fascinating sister, whom he married after a short and business-like courtship." "short, and she a californian?" he sent me an amused glance. "perhaps leese thought delay dangerous," i suggested, "for señorita maría rosalia was one of the belles of the new military outpost at sonomá and more than one gaily clad caballero was suing for her hand." "no wonder the american pushed the matter," laughed my companion. "did many boston men marry spanish señoritas?" "nearly all who came to the coast," i answered. "the california women were among the most fascinating in the world and held a peculiar charm for these sturdy new englanders." "i can understand that," he said, bending for a better look at my face. "but what could the dainty señoritas see in these crude; raw-boned yankees?" "just what any woman would see," i declared. "men of sterling character, working against terrible odds, with that courage which does not know the word failure. they saw men of perseverance, energy and brains who were bringing into the country the indomitable spirit of new england." "i am glad you have a good word for the early yankees," he said, "and i wish your enthusiasm extended to a later generation." he turned toward me and i felt the telltale color sweep my cheeks as i became conscious that i was thinking less of leese and his compatriots than of the bostonian at my side. "it wasn't the new england spirit," he declared, "that gave these early settlers the strength and determination to succeed. it was the women who had faith in them. a man can accomplish anything if the woman he loves-- " my companion had moved close to my side, and his voice was low as he bent over me. "little girl," he began, "last year in boston when you came into my life--" the harsh jangle of a chinese orchestra broke the dull murmur of the street and in an instant the little balcony was crowded with gazers eager to catch a glimpse of the musicians through the windows opposite. my companion and i moved aside for the new corners and turned again toward the interior. through the open door we could see the waiter placing steaming cups of tea upon the table we had deserted, and re-entering the room, we seated ourselves in the big carved arm-chairs. sipping the delicious beverage, we glanced toward the other tables, where groups of chinamen were talking in a curious jargon and dexterously handling the thin ebony chop-sticks. on the wide matting-covered couches extending along the sidewalls, lounged sallow-faced orientals, while in and out among the diners noiselessly moved the waiters, balancing on their heads, large brown straw trays. snowy rice cakes, shreds of candied cocoanut, preserved ginger and brown paper-shell nuts with the usual chinese eating utensils were placed before us. we tried the slender chop-sticks with laughable failure and then, declaring that fingers were made first, we had no further trouble. we took a farewell look at the gilt carved screens and long banners, which in quaint chinese characters wished us health and happiness. then following our smiling attendant to the door, we were bowed down the stairway. a chinaman leaned over the railing and called the amount of our bill to the attendant on the second floor, who like an echo took it up and sent it on to the main entrance, where we settled our account. again on the sidewalk, we mingled with the oriental throng whose expressionless yellow faces gave no hint of joy or sorrow. at the corner we turned east and made our way toward portsmouth square. i paused and let my eyes run over my companion, from his emaculate linen collar to his well-polished shoes. "you'll look sadly out of place here," i warned. "no artist would ever take such a well-groomed person for a model, nor would you be suspected of belonging to the great army of the unemployed." "are they the only classes allowed? then i speak now for the purchasing right of your portrait." "oh, i'll pose very well as the 'amelican' teacher of those little chinese butterflies fluttering after that kite. aren't they attractive in their lavender, pink, and blue sahms?" i said, as we seated ourselves on the bench. "to be honest, to be kind, to earn a little, to spend a little less,'" he read from the face of the fountain standing against a clump of trees whose soft foliage drooped caressingly over it. "why, that's from stevenson's christmas sermon. look at that unappreciative brute! he drank without reading a word!" exclaimed the man indignantly. "yes, but he feels the better for coming here. he received the refreshment most needed and that is what stevenson would have wished. some other may need and will receive the spiritual help." "why is it here?" he asked. "because stevenson loved this place and came often to sit on the benches and study the wrecked and drifting lives of the men who lounged in the square." "and the gilded ship on top with its full blown sails--that must suggest his treasure island, doesn't it?" "yes, and also the manila galleon, that splendid treasure-ship ladened with silk, wax and spices from the philippines and china, which once each year made its landfall near cape mendocino and followed the line of the coast down to mexico." he leaned with arm outstretched along the back of the bench and surveyed the park. "this, you said, was the old spanish plaza. what was here then?" "at first just a sweep of tawny sand-dunes, surrounded by scrub oak and chaparral." i dropped my eyes to the gravel walk, that i might shut out the emerald green lawns, and flowering shrubs. "over the shifting hillocks wandered a little minty vine bearing a delicate white and lavender flower not unlike your trailing arbutus. it was from the medicinal qualities of this plant that the little settlement was named yerba buena, the good herb. over there on the northwest corner where that dingy chinese restaurant now floats the flag of chop suey stood the old adobe custom house, the first building erected on the plaza, and it was in front of this that the stars and stripes were run up when general montgomery, who had arrived in the sloop-of-war portsmouth, took possession in the name of the united states." "so that is where the square got its name--from the ship 'portsmouth?'" his voice rang with the joy of discovery. "yes, but the new name never completely replaced the old. we love the terms which come to us from spanish days, and so, to many of us, this is still the plaza." "i presume there was a great outcry when montgomery pulled down the mexican flag and ran up the american. but i understand the country was helpless." "yes, it was poorly fortified, and the californians had known for some time that mexico was losing its hold, so the event was not unexpected. but there was no flag to pull down for the receiver of customs, realizing that resistance was useless, had packed the mexican flag in a trunk with his official papers for safe keeping, so without opposition general montgomery marched with seventy men accompanied by fife and drum from the waterfront to the plaza, and raised the stars and stripes on the vacant flag pole. thus the country came into the possession of the americans and our historic pilgrimage is at an end," i concluded, rising. but my companion seemed loath to leave the place. we sauntered by dark-eyed italian girls lolling on the benches, shaggy bearded old sailors, whose scarred faces told of fierce battles with the elements, and stopped to examine the plaster casts presented for our inspection by a weary-eyed street vender. at a distance, a laughing gypsy girl in a white waist and much beruffled red plaid skirt was enticing the crowd to cross her hand with silver that she might tell their fortunes. "what need have we for gypsies?" he demanded pulling me down on a bench. "i'll, read your palm." "can you tell fortunes?" i questioned as i drew off my glove. "i can tell yours," he declared straightening out my fingers in his big strong hand, and examining the lines. "he's a tall dark man, wearing glasses--" instinctively i looked up into the uncovered brown eyes, then dropped mine in confusion as i met his laughing gaze. "only when he reads," added the bostonian, holding on to my fingers, as i tried to withdraw my hand. an angry voice broke the silence and we sprang to our feet to see an old man shaking his fist in the face of a young irish policeman. "you let me alone!" he shouted. "you let me alone!" for a moment the officer hesitated. then he seized the old man by the collar. "come along quietly! there ain't no use making a howl. there's a vagrancy law in this city and i'll show you it ain't to be sniffed at. i've been watching you ever since i've been on this beat and you ain't done nothing but sit around this plaza." "and ain't i a right to sit 'round this plaza?" the man pulled himself free and again defied the officer of the law with a clenched fist. "didn't i help make it? when you were playing with a rattle in your crib over in dublin, i was a-stringing up a man to the eaves of the old custom house over there on the corner. and now you try to arrest me--me a vigilante of ' --" his fury choked him, and with a quick turn of the hand, the officer again had him by the collar. but the old man wrenched himself loose. "you keep your hands off me." he raised his angry voice in warning. then drawing a bundle of papers from his pocket he thrust them into the officer's face. "look at that--and that--and that--biggest business blocks in san francisco. if i choose to wear a loose shirt and sit 'round the plaza it isn't any business of yours. in the good old days of forty-nine--" i touched the bostonian on the arm. "let's go to the exposition," i suggested. "we've seen everything here." "there's no need to hurry! we've all the afternoon before us." he edged a little closer to the old man, about whom a crowd was gathering. "in the good old days of forty-nine," rang out again and i glanced nervously at my companion. "we didn't have any dipper-dapper policemen making mistakes." he snapped his fingers in the officer's face. "we had good red-shirted miners who knew their business." the policeman moved uneasily and handed back the papers. "i guess they're all right," he acknowledged. "the law doesn't seem to touch you." "touch me! well, i guess not!" the officer moved off and the old man returned to his bench. before i realized my companion's intention, we were seated beside the miner. he was still muttering maledictions on the head of the irish policeman. "the scoundrel!" he dug his stick into the gravel path. "had the nerve to arrest me! me, who strung up jenkins in the first vigilante committee, and casey and cora in the second." "you must have come here in early days," remarked the bostonian. "early days," echoed the miner, "well, i guess i did. i'm a forty-niner." he straightened himself proudly and looked to see the effect of his words. "i think we had better go." again i touched the antiquary's arm but he gave no heed to my signal. "there must have been some stirring times here in the days of the gold rush." "you bet there were," agreed the forty-niner, "and the entire history of san francisco was made around this plaza. here were built the first hotel, the first school-house, the first bank; within a stone's throw the first protestant sermon was preached, the first newspaper was printed and the first post office was opened. it was through the plaza that sam brannan ran with a bottle of yellow dust in one hand, waving his hat with the other and shouting, 'gold! gold! from the american river!' it was here that the big gambling houses sprang up, where fortunes were made and lost in a night, and here the first vigilance committee met and executed justice." the old man paused for breath. i was on the edge of the bench ready for flight. all my good work of the last two days was rapidly being undermined. i heard again the skeptic's contemptuous tone of yesterday. "it's either before the fire" or "in the good old days of forty-nine." "we--we must go," i stammered, "it's getting very late." the bostonian looked at his watch. "not three o'clock yet." he leaned back comfortably. "you ought to be interested in this. your grandfather was a forty-niner." i looked at him searchingly. i ought to be interested! i, who cherished every memory of pioneer days! i, who had bitten my lips a dozen times that afternoon, and was glorying in the tact and strength of mind which had avoided this period of our history! the miner, apparently aware of my presence for the first time, sent me a piercing glance from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. "so your grandfather--" "he wasn't exactly a forty-niner," i acknowledged. "he arrived outside the heads the night of december thirty-first but there was a heavy fog and the vessel didn't get inside until the next morning." "hard luck," sympathized the old man, "coming near to being a forty-niner and missing it." "but it's practically the same thing," persisted the bostonian. "only a few hours." "the same thing!" scornfully repeated the miner. "there's as much difference as between christmas and fourth of july. a forty-niner's a forty-niner, and a man that came in fifty--well, he might as well have come in sixty or seventy, or even in the twentieth century. it's the forty-niner that counts in this community." he drew himself up proudly. then plunging his hand deep into his pocket, drew out a nugget. "picked that up off my first claim," he explained, "but the dirt didn't pan out so well. i've carried it in my pocket all these years, just for the sentiment of the thing, i suppose. many a time i was tempted to throw it on a table in the el dorado, but i hung on to it." "the el dorado?" questioned the easterner. "yes, one of the big gambling places here on the plaza. everybody took a chance in those days, even some of the preachers. you met all your friends there, and heard the best music and the latest news." "did they gamble with nuggets?" my companion led the old man on. "well, i guess they did! and gold dust in piles. the few children in town used to pan out the dirt of the plaza in front of the temples of chance every morning after the places were swept out. the californians put up parts of their ranchos, too, sometimes." "how high did the stakes run?" evidently this descendant of the pilgrims had not lost all the sporting blood of his earlier english ancestors. "often as high as five hundred or a thousand dollars. the largest stake i ever saw change hands was forty-five thousand. many a miner went back to the placers in the spring without a dollar in his pockets. but everybody was doing it and you could almost count the nationalities in the crowd around the table by the kinds of coins in the stacks. there were french francs, english crowns, east indian rupees, spanish pesos and united states dollars. the dress was as different as the money. we miners wore red and blue shirts, slouch hats and wide belts to carry our dust. the californians were gorgeous in coats trimmed in gold lace, short pantaloons and high deer-skin boots, and the chinese ran a close second in their colored brocaded silks. you knew the professional gamblers by their long black coats and white linen--real gentlemen, many of 'em and the most honest in the country. "ever see a picture of the plaza in forty-nine," he asked abruptly. "never." the miner drew a square on the gravel path with his stick. "the el dorado was here, the veranda here and the bella union here," he said, punching holes on the three corners of kearny and washington. "they were the finest and they had the best locations in town. the el dorado paid forty thousand dollars a year for a tent and twenty-five thousand a month for a building on the same site later." the end of his stick deepened the hole on the southeast corner. my eyes wandered from the plan to the real location. "why, there is the name 'veranda' over there now," i exclaimed as the black letters on a white awning caught my eye. "yes, it is pretty near the old site, but it's a poor substitute for its predecessor," he added scornfully. "there was great style in those days --fine bars, lots of glass and mirrors and pictures worth thousands of dollars. the doors were always open from eleven in the morning 'til daylight the next morning, and a steady stream of people were pouring in and out all the time. everybody was there. there weren't no special inducement to stay home nights, when your residence was a bunk on the wall of a shanty and the fellers over you and under you and across the room weren't even acquaintances. i got a pretty good room after awhile in the parker house"--he drew a small oblong south of the el dorado-- "for a hundred dollars a week, but i didn't stay long." "i should think not--at that price." "oh, it wasn't the price. one of my friends paid two hundred and fifty. but you see it got pretty warm at the parker house, that christmas eve, and so we all moved. they cleared away the hot ashes of the hotel and built the jenny lind theatre on the spot. that was the first big fire. we had them right along after that, every few weeks. six big ones in eighteen months, with lots' of little ones in between." "then the last fire wasn't a new experience for you," the bostonian suggested. "lord, no! rebuilding was a habit with us early san franciscans. we didn't begin to feel sorry for a man 'til he'd lost everything he owned three times. the jenny lind theatre went down six times and the seventh building was sold for the city hall. it stood right there"--he pointed to the handsome new hall of justice--"until it went up in the last fire." "you are sure it wasn't the earthquake that finished it?" inquired the skeptic. "certainly not," i flared. "the relief committee met there that morning to lay their plans while the fires were raging south of market street." he acknowledged defeat by changing the subject. "was the old spanish custom house here?" he asked, pointing to the western side of the diagram. "yes," assented the miner, and he traced an oblong on the northern end, "and just behind it, on washington street, was sam brannan's house. he was the mormon leader, you know, and brought a shipload of his followers to establish a settlement in forty-six. he published our first newspaper, the 'california star,' in his house." "was it where that little green chinese building with the bracketed columns and turned-up eaves is?" i interposed. "the telephone exchange, you mean? exact spot. they used to ring a hand bell in the plaza on sunday mornings to call the mormons to hear brannan preach in the casa grande." "richardson's house!" my companion sent me an appreciative glance. "sure, but that was before most of 'em, including sam, went back on their faith. next to the custom house on the south," he continued, "was the public institute. it wasn't much to look at--just pine boards--but it was considerable useful. they held the public school there and had preaching on sundays 'til the teacher, the preacher and all the audience went off to the mines. they tried the hounds there, too." "the hounds?" my friend looked dazed. "yes, the sidney coves that lived in sidneyville, along there on kearny near pacific." light had failed to dawn. "here on the corner of kearny," continued the forty-niner, "was an old adobe building with a red-tiled roof and a veranda around it." "the city hotel!" i exclaimed delightedly. "how did you know?" he eyed me curiously. "my grandfather was a near-forty-niner," i reminded him. "oh yes. too bad! too bad!" he added sympathetically. "it was the house and store of a fellow named leidesdorff," he continued, "who did a lot of trading with the yankee skippers in mexican days, and it was turned into a hotel in the gold rush. it was always the swell place for blowouts. they had a big banquet and ball there for governor stockton, i'm told, after the procession and speeches in the plaza, and another the next year for governor kearny; the first relief committee met here, called by brannan, howard and vallejo, to send rescuers to the sierras for the survivors of the donner party. there wasn't much of any importance in the way of gathering that didn't happen there." we instinctively looked across at the square, three-story, pressed-brick home of the chinese consulate and bank. "every big fire took at least one side of the plaza, and the sixth, in june of fifty-one, wiped out the whole square. that adobe was the last link between the spanish village of yerba buena and its american successor, san francisco," he regretted, "but it was a good thing for the city, for they began to build with stone and brick after that. did you see the parrott building, as you came along, on california and montgomery?" he asked. the easterner turned to me. "you didn't show me that," he said, reprovingly. "no, why should i? it wasn't built until fifty-two." he ignored my insinuation and turned back to his informer. "what about the parrott building? it sounds like an aviary." "not exactly," he smiled. "it was made of granite blocks, cut and dressed and marked in china and then shipped over and set up by the 'china boys,' as the orientals here called themselves." "it's a curious coincidence," i ventured, "that the hong kong bank now occupies the lower floor. what a freak of the winds it was that swept the big fire around that and the montgomery block, and left them both for posterity!" "your fire seemed to have had a special veneration for historic structures," the easterner commented. "it respected the mission in like manner." "yes, somewhat," returned the miner, "but it might have had a little more respect and spared the tehama house and the what cheer house. i hated to see them go." "and the niantic hotel and fort gunnybags," i added. "here! here! i rise for a point of information," cried the alien. "did the cheer inebriate and what is the technical difference between gunny-sacks and carpet bags?" "oh, that was our vigilance headquarters of fifty-six, where we hung casey and cora," elucidated the forty-niner. "help," gasped the bostonian, sinking upon the bench. "tell him," i nodded to the miner. "the tehama house, on the waterfront at california and sansome, was the swell hotel for army and navy people and all the spanish rancheros when they came to town. you couldn't keep even your thoughts to yourself in that house, for it had thin board sidings and cloth and paper partitions, but it had lots of style, and rafael set a great table. they moved it over to montgomery and broadway to make room for the bank of california, and the fire caught it there. the what cheer house," the old man's eyes brightened, "was on sacramento and leidesdorff, and that's where we miners went, if we could get in. woodward was a queer chap. took you in whether you could pay or not. but it was only a man's hotel. there wasn't a woman allowed about the place. he had the only library in town and everybody was welcome to use it. i've often seen mark twain and bret harte reading at the table." "and the sacks?" queried the bostonian. but the old man had leaned back on the bench and his eyes wandered over the green grass and trees of the square. "it's much prettier than it used to be," he admitted, "but nothing happens here now. the chinese children fly kites and the unemployed loaf on the benches and the grass, and i'm one of them. i wish you could have seen it in the early days." his eyes kindled with excitement. "it was only a barren hillside, but there was always something doing then. all the town meetings were held here in the open air and all the parades ended here for the speeches. the biggest celebration was in , when the october steamer, flying all her flags, brought the news that california was admitted to the union. we went wild, for we had waited for that word for more than a year. every ship in the harbor displayed all her bunting and at night every house was as brilliant as candles and coal oil could make it. bonfires blazed on all the hills and the islands and we had music and dancing all over the town 'til morning." he paused in reminiscence. "but it wasn't so gay that moonlight night, the next february, when we hung jenkins. he was a sidney cove and had just stole a safe, but that was the least of his crimes and of the whole gang. when we vigilantes heard the taps on the firebell here in the plaza, we gathered in front of the committee rooms. nobody was excited; we just had to drive out the sidney coves and put an end to crime. we marched jenkins here and hung him over there to the beam on the south end of the custom house. forty of us pulled on the rope, while a thousand more stood 'round as solemn as a prayer meeting to give us moral support and shoulder the responsibility. it wasn't no joke hanging a man, but it had to be done, if decent men was to live here." he shook off his depression. "everybody was in the plaza sometime in the day, and once a month when telegraph hill signaled a steamer, everybody was here." "telegraph hill? i never heard of it," he cast an accusing glance in my direction. "it belongs to forty-nine," i retorted. "all the shops closed immediately," continued the miner, "and postmaster geary was the most important man in town. the post-office was a block up the hill at clay and pike streets, but the lines from the windows stretched down into the plaza, and over among the tents and chaparral on california street hill. men stood for hours, sometimes all night, in the pouring rain, and many a time i sold my place for ten dollars, and even twenty, to some fellow who had less patience or less time than i. "but you should have been here on election day in fifty-one." the miner threw back his head and laughed aloud. "colonel jack hays was running for sheriff," he resumed, "and his opponent hired a band to play in front of his store here on the plaza as an advertisement. it worked fine! he was polling all the votes and the colonel was about out of the running, 'til he got on his horse that he'd used on the texas ranges and came cavorting into the square. he showed 'em some fancy turns they weren't used to and kept it up 'til the polls closed." "did he win?" i asked excitedly. "well, i guess he did! hands down. but a sheriff ain't no use when the laws won't stick. that's why we had to have the vigilance committees." i arose. that was a long story and the afternoon was fast going. my companion took the hint. he extended his hand and grasped the old miner's heartily. "i thank you," he said, "you have opened up a new epoch to me and i shall not soon forget you. i shall come again and the place will have lost much of its interest if you are not here." "oh, i'll be here," laughed the old fellow. "it's home to me." telegraph hill the latin quarter. the signal station of ' and a view of the city as it was. the golden gate. telegraph hill of unique fame "would you like to go up 'crazy owld, daisy owld telegraft hill'," i asked in a softened mood as we moved away. "there is just about time." "indeed i should," he answered. "can we take in some of the other things you archaeologists were mentioning on the way? i don't want to miss anything." "we must leave the parrott and niantic buildings until some other day, but you can see the montgomery block if you wish," and we turned down washington street. "it was built on piles, by general halleck's law firm. william tecumseh sherman's bank was nearby, but i suppose most of boston's business men were generals-in-chief of the united states army." my irony was ignored and as we reached the corner of montgomery, i continued: "it was on this spot that james king of william, editor of the 'bulletin,' was shot down by james p. casey, the ballot-box stuffer. the newspaper office was at the other end of the block on merchant alley, and that evening's editorial accused casey of electing himself supervisor and stated that he was an ex-convict from sing sing. within an hour after the paper appeared, mr. king was carried dying to his room in the same building. it was this murder that brought the second vigilance committee into existence. while the immense funeral cortège, the largest san francisco has ever known, escorted the body of mr. king up this street toward lone mountain cemetery, casey and cora, another criminal, were hung in front of the vigilance, headquarters on sacramento near front." "you called it fort gunnybags ?" he queried. "yes, it was so named from the precautionary bulwark of sand-filled sacks piled up in a hollow square in front to protect the entrance. a bronze plate marked the old building before the fire." we turned into columbus avenue. "your beloved stevenson used to live at no. , there on the gore where the italian bank is," i said. "we are coming to the latin quarter, a section that has always been given over to foreigners, for in early days 'sidneyville,' peopled by ticket-of-leave men from the penal colony of australia, and 'little chile' of the peruvians and chileans, clustered close around the base of telegraph hill." "the very place stevenson would choose, where life was flavored with history and the mystery of the foreign. but where are you going?" he exclaimed, stopping short as i began to ascend the steps by which kearny street climbs the hill. "i thought you wished to see the site of the marine signal station." i looked down at him from the fourth stair with feigned surprise. "i do, indeed, but--can't we go up by a funicular and come down this way?" he compromised. "my boston calves protest." "oh well, we can go by the level a little farther, but i thought you liked the 'flavor of the foreign.' anyway, we ought to see earl cummings' old man," i remembered. "what is his fatherland and his business?" he asked as his eye traveled over the shop signs "sanguinetti, farmacia italiana," "molinari & cariani, grocers;" "oliva & brizzolara, real estate." "his birthplace is the world universal, and his profession-leading us back to nature," i answered. then, as we passed the spick and span concrete façade of the patronal church of st. francis, with its rear of burned brick: "this is the direct descendent of the old mission," i told him, "the first parish church of san francisco. it was gutted by the fire and is being very gradually restored. a notice within administers an implied rebuke: 'the first erected--the last restored.'" we paused at the iron fence of the small green triangle cut off from washington square by the slant of columbus avenue, and peered at the fine bronze figure of a sinewy old man stooping to drink from his hand on the edge of the little pool. "mr. cummings' message to his universal brothers," he commented. "none could fail to be refreshed by it. my strength is renewed. let us ascend," and he turned up filbert street. dark-eyed women lounged in the doorways of the houses that cling to the perpendicular sides of the hill. "the italian pervades," i volunteered, "but there are greek, sicilians, spaniards and french." the whole was reminiscent of the south of europe, but the neapolitan scene of cleated walks and steep steps lacked the enlivening color notes of the homeland. "not even a red shirt on a clothes line," i regretted, but a flood of soft voweled italian from a woman in a third story window, musically answered by a man in the street below, brought consolation. "the opera's own tongue," the bostonian commented. "well, you leave it to me," finished the man in the street. "sure, mike, i will," responded the woman. my companion halted in consternation. "we make american citizens of them all," i asserted. "les petits enfants aussi," i added as a child ran past, shouting a response in irreproachable english to the parisian command of her mother. we turned through the rude stone wall into pioneer park and along the unkept paths shaded by eucalyptus, cypress and acacia trees and came upon the open height where the mountain-hemmed bay lay in broad expanse before us, dotted with islands and with ferries streaking their way across its blue-gray surface. "wonderful," he exclaimed under his breath. '"o, telegraft hill, she sits proud as a queen, and th' docks lie below in th' glare,'" i quoted from wallace irwin. he lowered his gaze to the numerous wharves running out into the water, with teams appearing and disappearing at the entrances of the covered docks, like lines of busy ants. "'and th' bay runs beyant her, all purple and green wid th' gingerbread island out there,'" i continued the quotation. "what are those terraced buildings?" he queried. "it has been the military prison for years. it is alcatraz island." he looked his inquiry. "spanish for pelican," i answered, seating myself on a rock. "ayala, the captain of the 'san carlos,' the first ship to enter the bay, named it from the large number of the birds he found on it, and the big island to the right that looks like a portion of the main land is angel island, abbreviated from ayala's isla de nuestra señora de los angeles." "and goat island?" he questioned as he threw himself down on the grass. "yerba buena," i corrected. "the other name was colloquially applied when nathan spear, being given some goats and kids by a yankee skipper, put them over there. there were several thousand on the island in forty-nine, but the americans killed them all off by night in spite of spear's protests." "not all of them," he denied as he shied a stick at a white head reaching from below for a grassy clump. "'and th' goats and chicks and brickbats and sticks is joombled all over the face of it, av telegraft hill, telegraft hill, crazy owld, daisy owld telegraft hill,'" i laughed. "i suppose the spaniards must have had a name for this sightly hill," said the bostonian, his eye tracing the rugged skyline across the bay, along the tamalpais range on the north, and the san antonio hills on the east. "yes, anza christened it in when he climbed up here for a view after selecting the sites for the presidio and the mission. he called it la loma alta, and the high hill it remained until the americans put it to commercial use in forty-nine. the little town on the edge of the cove in the hollow of the hills was unconscious of a ship entering the harbor until she rounded clark's point, the southeast corner of this hill, and dropped anchor in full view--" "any relation to champ?" he interrupted. "no, clark was a mormon, although he afterward denied it, who had built a wharf in the deep water along the precipitous bluff, where ships could always disembark even when the ebb-tide uncovered mud-flats elsewhere along the shore of the cove. "the american miners and merchants, eager for the earliest news of the approaching mails and merchandise, erected a signal station on the top of loma alta, about where that flag-pole is. when a vessel was seen entering the golden gate, the black arms of the semaphore on top of the building were raised in varying positions indicating to the watching town below, where every one knew the signals, whether it was a bark, a brig, a steamer or other kind of craft. this was the first wireless station on the coast. "there comes a side-wheeler," i exclaimed, raising my arms upward in a slanting position, as a big liner from yokohama entered the channel. "now fancy every office and bank closed, every law-court adjourned, every gaming table deserted; the shore black with people and long lines forming from the post-office windows to await the anchoring of the vessel, the landing of friends and freight, and the sorting of the mail by postmaster geary." my companion made a telescope of his two hands and examined the nippon maru. "you are discharged for inefficiency," he said. "you are reporting a side-wheeler for a screw-propeller." "there is no signal in the code for such modern inventions," i retorted. "i suppose the fog of your practical realism is too obscuring for you to see that clipper just coming in," i continued, as a full-rigged ship spread its filled sails against the glowing sky of the late afternoon. "the lady is a bit sarcastic, billy," he addressed the goat, "but we'll examine it." then peering through his telescoped hands again, "it's the clipper ship eclipse," he announced, "built especially for speed, in the exigencies of the san francisco trade, with long, narrow hull, and carrying an extra amount of canvas. she has made the trip from new york in three-quarters of the time required by any other kind of craft, and demands, therefore, nearly double the price for freight." he looked at me for approval. "what a whetstone for the imagination the business sense is!" i commented. "perhaps if your grandfather owned shares in the eclipse, you will be able to see the second signal station erected the next year on point lobos, just beyond the fort. from there a vessel could be decried many miles outside the heads and the signal repeated by the station here on telegraph hill, relieved the inhabitants of several more hours of anxiety." "anxiety is a mild term if one couldn't hear for a whole month from the girl who had his heart," he commented. "it's bad enough when she won't write, even with a telegraph and railroad between." he was tracing some characters in the ground at my feet, with a stick. "thirty-four days," i made out. "if you've sufficiently recovered from the climb, shall we see how the city looks from up here?" i asked. for answer he sprang up and assisted me to my feet. we walked to the opposite side of the park, where the city lay extended before us. "imagine a forest of masts here in the bay, about seven or eight hundred; the water laying montgomery street beyond the merchants' exchange--that yellow brick building with the little arched cupola; and wharves running out from every street to reach the ships lying in deep water, every one swarming with teams and men hurrying to and fro. connect them with piled walks over the water on the lines of sansome and battery streets and you have a picture of yerba buena cove in forty-nine. heap up freight and baggage on the shore, erect thousands of tents on the sand dunes around the edges of a town of shanties and adobes climbing over the hills and you have our miner's metropolis," i sketched for him. "i see it," he said, shutting his eyes. "now a wave of the magic wand and the scene is changed." he opened them again. "the magic wand is a steam-paddy, working day and night leveling off the sand-hills and shoveling them into the bay. the wharves are converted into streets and many good ships, whose crews having deserted for the mines, being pulled up and used as storage ships, are caught by the rising tide of sand and converted into foundations for buildings. such was the 'niantic' at clay and sansome." "oh yes, the 'niantic!" "the third building on the site still retains the name." "what was the case of assault that gave the belligerent name to battery street?" "it was a precaution against assault," i corrected. "captain montgomery erected a fortification of five confiscated spanish guns on the side of this hill overlooking the harbor after he had taken possession of the mexican town. it was known as fort montgomery, or the battery. it was on the bluff just where battery street joins the embarcadero down there, for the hill came out to that point." "did the earthquake shake it down?" his question was tinged with triumph. i crushed him with a look. "the ships that came loaded with freight and passengers took it away with them as ballast," i explained, "and of recent years some contractors blasted it off and paved streets with it until it was rescued from further demolition by some appreciative landmark lovers of a women's club." "what a fortunate interference! but the despoilers got a good slice of it, didn't they? there wouldn't have been much of it left in a few years." "no more than there is of rincon hill, over there at the southern corner of yerba buena cove." i was considerably mollified by his appreciation. "it was the best residence quarter of the fifties, but the 'unkindest cut' of second street, which brought no good to anyone, not even its commercial promoters, left it a place of the 'butt ends of streets,' as stevenson says, and inaccessible, square-edged, perpendicular lots whose only value lies buried underneath them. i fear its scars can never be remedied." "you have several hills left," he consoled me as his eye traveled along the broken western skyline. "what is their role in this historic drama?" "the ridge running down the peninsula is the san miguel range, crowned by twin peaks, with the mission at its foot. nob hill, next, acquired its name in the sixties, when the bonanza and railroad kings erected their residences there. before the fire"--i felt my color rising, but there was no shade of change in my companion's expression--"the mansions of the 'big four' of the central pacific--huntington, hopkins, stanford and crocker--and the comstock millionaires--flood, fair and others--filled with magnificent works of craftsmen and artists, had more than local fame." "from this distance, with three of the largest buildings in the city, the hill hardly seems to have fallen from its high estate," he observed. "you are quite right. it still lives up to its name, for the fairmont hotel and the stanford apartments, christened for two of its former magnates, and the brown-stone flood mansion, remodeled for the pacific-union club, are no whit less nobby than their predecessors." "the next hill?" he turned his gaze to the houses perched on the top and clinging part way down its steep sides. "a little graveyard where the russian gold-seekers were laid to rest gave its name. it is now the home of the artists and the artistic." "a city built on the water and the hills, and rebuilt on the ashes of seven fires," he commented. "it is almost incomprehensible." after a moment's pause: "how much of the city was burned by the last fire?" i glanced sharply at him. there was no shade of irony in his tone and his face showed only sincerity. "all that you can see, from the fringe of wharves at the waterfront to the top of the hills and down into the valley beyond, except these houses here at our feet, saved by the italians with wine-soaked blankets, and a few on the heights of russian hill." "it was colossal!" he exclaimed. "think of it! a whole city wiped out." i lowered my eyes to the goat nibbling beside us. "the courage and energy that rebuilt it is herculean." his enthusiasm was cumulative. "and rebuilt it in practically three years! no wonder you date all things from the fire." billy flickered his tail and solemnly winked at me. "it is getting late," i said, "but the sun is just setting. shall we watch it before we go?" without speaking, he followed me back to our first point of view. the crimson ball was sinking into the sea, with its midas touch turning the water and sky to molten gold. the last rays gilded the cliffs on either side of the entrance to the bay, and burnished the heads of the nodding poppies at our feet. from the presidio came the muffled boom of the sunset gun. "could frémont have chosen a better name?" exclaimed the man at my side. "the golden gate it is, indeed!" "it certainly is well named," i agreed, "for everyone can interpret its meaning according to his mood and character. some see only what frémont saw, an open door to commerce; to others it is the entrance to hoards of gold, stowed away in hills and streams; to the poet it speaks of the golden poppies that streak the hillsides, but i like to think of it as did the indians, who called it 'yulupa,' the sunset strait." silently we watched the lights of the city come out, one by one, until it seemed as if the heavens lay beneath us. "i hoped when i left boston that you would return with me," he said gently, "but i can't ask you to leave this. i didn't understand then, but now--" the lights became blurred and the night seemed suddenly to have grown cold. "of course, you couldn't be happy--" the voice did not sound like his. i had been in a dream for two days. i had thought he cared just as i did, but he couldn't, or he would realize that nothing counted but--i bit my lips to keep from crying out. "boston is too cold for a girl with the warmth of california in her heart." cold! didn't he know that life with him would make an iceberg paradise? didn't he realize--? but, of course, he didn't care as i did! this was only a subterfuge. i straightened proudly. "i can't ask you to go back with me," he was saying, "but i can stay here with you." his hand crept over mine. "our business needs a manager on this coast. will you help me make a home in san francisco, dear?" below, the lights of the city danced with happiness and a glad new song rang in my heart. here ends 'the lure of san francisco. a romance amid old landmarks." written by elizabeth gray potter and mabel thayer gray and illustrated from sketches in charcoal by audley b. wells. done into a book by paul elder and company at their tomoye press in san francisco under the supervision and care of h. a. funke, in july, nineteen hundred and fifteen. (stanford university, sul books in the public domain) secret service. the bradys after a chinese princess or the yellow fiends of 'frisco _by a new york detective_. frank tousey publisher · union square. new-york. secret service old and young king brady, detectives issued weekly--by subscription $ . per year. entered as second class matter at the new york, n. y., post office, march , . entered according to act of congress, in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c, by frank tousey, publisher, union square, new york. no. . new york, september , . price cents. chapter i. the mystery that came out of the mist. one foggy night a few years since at something after two o'clock, a good-sized motor boat containing five men might have been seen cruising close in to the water-front line of lower san francisco. three of the occupants were big, husky fellows, who sat idly in the boat looking like men waiting to be called upon to act and prepared for any emergency. a good-looking young fellow in his twenties was attending to engineer's duty, while astern sat an elderly man of striking appearance and peculiar dress. he wore a long, blue coat with brass buttons, an old-fashioned stock and stand-up collar, and a big white hat with an unusually broad brim. clearly he was the leader of this outfit, whatever their business might be out there on the silent bay in the early morning hours. he was a man accustomed to command, being none other than the world-famous detective, old king brady, chief of the brady detective bureau of union square, new york. and having made this statement, we need scarcely add that the young man in charge of the boat was his partner, young king brady, second in skill as a detective only to his great chief. the detective had been ordered to san francisco on special duty by the united states secret service bureau. information had been received of the intention of certain chinamen to run in opium on a large scale, dodging the duty due to uncle sam. the information, while definite and reliable, was still vague. details were lacking, yet it was known that there was surely going to be something doing in the line during this particular week, and that whatever was done would take place in the neighborhood of the india basin. this made the fourth night the bradys had been on the watch with three local secret service men as their aides. it was discouraging work. nothing had happened. the weak point of the undertaking was the lack of knowledge as to the particular ship or steamer on which the opium was expected to arrive. two steamers had arrived from china this week, one regular liner and one tramp. three sailing vessels had also come in, all from chinese ports. yet it was by no means certain that the opium would enter the harbor of san francisco in that way. it is quite the custom with captains of english tramp steamers, and also with those of sailing vessels, to drop opium overboard in sealed rubber bags while off the farraleone islands. such bags are picked up by fishing schooners on hand for the purpose, and by them landed as best they can. a close watch for such operations in this particular instance was being kept by a special revenue cutter outside the golden gate. the bradys' orders had to do only with the landing. it was supposed that the people connected with some storage warehouse in this vicinity were and had been for some time standing in with the smugglers. it was particularly desired by the government to learn who these people were; to catch them red-handed and make an example of them. that chinese capital was back of this crooked enterprise was certain, but there was reason to believe that they were being substantially aided by others who were not of their race. "if the fog would only lift we might be able to do something," remarked one of the secret service men, "but as it is i see little use in remaining here." "patience," replied old king brady. "we have to do the best we can, my friend. i admit that the fog is a nuisance, but i am not giving up yet by any means. harry, work in a little nearer. we must be close upon the india basin by this time." the order was obeyed by young king brady. after a few moments the wharf line became visible, the fog lifting a bit. then suddenly came a break. "the basin," said the secret service man. "i think not," replied old king brady. "i think it is only the islais creek channel. stop the boat, harry. we will lie off here for a few minutes. perhaps we are banking too much on these hop smugglers running into the basin. it may be one of the warehouses on the channel here after all." harry stopped the launch accordingly. the ebb tide took them back and the fog closed in on the islais channel. the boat ran against a wharf and the movement was stopped. "shall i pull up, governor?" inquired young king brady. "no. we will rest as we are," said the old detective. "quiet, now. let us listen. i shall not remain long idle here." "it isn't the least use," growled the secret service man. "there won't be nothing doing to-night." old king brady made no reply. this man was a chronic kicker. he had been at it right along. but for the fact that he was also known to be a good fighter, old king brady would have dropped him. silence and fog! such was the situation now. for fully twenty minutes they remained thus, and the old detective was just about to order a move on to the india basin when voices were heard at no great distance, speaking in some foreign tongue. "at last!" breathed old king brady. "i told you there would be something doing to-night, boss. is that chinese they are talking, harry?" "sounds so." "sure it is," added the kicker. "i'll wake up alice, then," said the old detective. "this is her job." we have not mentioned a woman who, wrapped in a heavy shawl, sat half reclining at old king brady's feet with her head resting on a corner of the stern seat. this was the noted female detective, alice montgomery, who is a full partner in the brady bureau. the daughter of a missionary, born and brought up in china, alice, besides several other foreign languages, such as german, french and italian, both speaks and reads chinese. of course, such an accomplishment was likely to prove invaluable in a situation like this. old king brady now aroused his female partner and explained. but by this time the voices had ceased. "must be that they are in a sailboat," observed the kicker, half aloud. "will you kindly keep quiet," breathed the old detective. "this mist is as good as a telephone. i want to do business to-night if i can." after a moment the voices in the mist were heard again. alice listened attentively. "chinese?" whispered harry. "yes; hush." the voices ceased. chinese never hold continuous conversation like other people. they say what they have to say and let it go at that. this time the voices seemed to come from a greater distance. "what are they talking about?" the old detective asked. "they are trying to find the islais channel," whispered alice. "they think they have missed their bearings." "therein they are quite mistaken. the islais channel is right here. didn't catch the name of any street or warehouse?" "no." "or person?" "the name volckman was mentioned." "good! it may prove a valuable clew. let us wait and listen. to attempt to overhaul them in the open bay would be useless, but once they enter the channel, we have them bottled up." "i wonder what sort of a craft they are in?" queried harry. "it can't be either a rowboat or a launch," replied the old detective, "and it is hard to see how they can get around with a sailboat on a night like this, yet that must be what it is." "there is a breeze springing up now," observed the kicker. he had scarcely spoken when the voices were heard close to them. evidently the ebb tide was taking the smugglers, if such they were, their way. they were now speaking loud and rapidly. "draw your revolvers, boys, and be ready," breathed old king brady. "we are liable to be discovered at any moment." alice sat listening. "they are the smugglers, all right," she presently whispered. "sure?" asked old king brady. "yes. they say----" "never mind, alice, unless it is something important." still the voices continued. the smugglers appeared to be passing the launch in the direction of the channel. "listen!" whispered alice, as they presently ceased. "this is important. one said: 'we must hurry if we expect to save the princess. she can't stand it much longer.'" "what can that mean?" "the name of their boat, perhaps." "do you think so?" "frankly, i don't. it seemed to me as if they were speaking of a person." "then they must have a woman with them. perhaps some chinese woman they are smuggling in." suddenly a loud voice exclaimed in english: "here's your channel now, you chinks!" "allee light! allee light! hully up now," came the reply. the breeze had increased. the fog was lifting a little. certain sounds were heard that indicated a sailboat going about. "shall i start up?" asked harry. "not yet," was the reply. "let them get well into the channel, then we will close in on them." the voices died away; the time to move had come. "now," said old king brady. immediately the "chug-chug" of the motor made itself heard. "bear right down upon them," ordered the old detective; "a little brisk action will put us on the right side of this outfit, i hope. alice, you get down in the boat." alice, brave girl that she is, protested that she was willing to take her chances with the rest, but old king brady sternly repeating the order, it was obeyed. a few moments of anxious suspense and a large sailboat loomed up out of the mist right ahead of them. instantly old king brady turned a powerful electric flashlight upon it. in the boat were several boxes and bales. one box seemed particularly large. if this was filled with opium, old king brady knew that it must be very valuable. there were three chinamen in the boat and one white man. "lower your sail and surrender!" thundered old king brady. the white man appeared about to obey, but one of the chinamen interfered. the other two immediately discharged their revolvers at the launch. the shots flew harmlessly past them, but it made the old detective vexed to think that he had not been the first to open fire, which he and the others by his command now instantly did. whether any one was hit or not it was impossible to tell, but all four men at once sprang overboard and, abandoning their boat, struck out for the south bulkhead of the channel, which was no great distance away. "we win!" cried the old detective. "no more firing, boys. i had just as soon they would escape." they pushed on to the abandoned boat. the mist closed in on them and the swimmers were lost to view. making fast to the boat, the kicker sprang aboard and lowered the sail. "a good haul, mr. brady," he exclaimed. "there are thousands of pounds of hop here, but what do you suppose is in this big box?" "that remains for us to discover," replied old king brady. "is it heavy?" "very," replied the kicker, weighting the box. "never mind now. make fast and we will pull around to the indian basin. i shall touch nothing until we are at the government stores." the kicker obeyed, and was just about to step back into the launch, when old king brady, ordering him to remain where he was, he sat down on the big tin box. instantly he jumped up again, exclaiming: "good heavens! there is some one alive in this box!" "ah! the princess!" cried alice. "what did you hear?" demanded old king brady. "some one spoke. there it goes again! it's a chinaman." "or a woman! alice, do you think you can get aboard the sailboat without tumbling into the bay?" "why, certainly," replied alice, and she stepped aboard the sailboat with the kicker's aid. "is any one in the box?" she called. "yes. help! save me! i am dying in here!" came the answer in chinese. alice instantly repeated the words. "we must make a landing right here on the bulkhead in front of these warehouses," declared old king brady, and he gave harry orders accordingly. loaded down as the sailboat was, it would have been both difficult and dangerous to attempt to open the bulky box on board. indeed, in order to get at it properly, a good portion of the contents of the boat would have to be removed in any case. "ask her who she is and how she came to be there, alice," the old detective called; adding: "i am assuming that it is a woman." "yes, it's a woman," replied alice, and she put the question. "she says she is the princess skeep hup," alice called. "ask her how she came to be in the box." but when alice put the question there came no reply. "i'm afraid she has fainted!" said alice, "or, indeed, she may be dead." "a mystery!" cried harry. "the mystery that came out of the mist." chapter ii. alice and the chinese princess. to make a quick opening of the box containing the chinese princess was quite impossible. besides the difficulties already explained, there were others. the box was not nailed. examination showed that it was put together with screws, and that the boards were of some hard wood. air-holes bored in the sides at regular intervals showed that the imprisoned princess certainly ought to have no difficulty in breathing, and made it seem that her present unconsciousness was probably nothing more than a faint. the landing at the bulkhead had now been made. there appeared to be no watchman here--at least no one challenged the secret service party. behind the bulkhead extended a row of storage warehouses. the boat had been tied up opposite a break in this row formed by a street extending back towards amador street, the first of which parallels the islais creek channel on the south. the bradys had plenty of rope, and the work of unloading now began. harry got into the sailboat along with the kicker and remained there. old king brady, alice and the other two secret service men ascended to the bulkhead. such boxes and opium bales as were piled on the larger box were transferred to the launch, and a rope made fast around the box, which was then hauled up, but not without considerable difficulty, and carried in front of the first warehouse of the row, where it was placed on the board platform. alice now called again to the imprisoned princess, but received no answer. "i'll be blest if i see how we are ever going to get this thing open without a screw-driver," grumbled one of the secret service men. "i can supply that want," replied the old detective, who usually has a few tools concealed in some of the many pockets of that wonderful blue coat. he hastily produced it and went to work. the screw-driver was not only a small affair, but the blade folded into a slot in the handle. the joint being loose, it made the tool wobbly. old king brady soon discovered that he had attempted the impossible. he could not start a single screw. "this is a bad job," he exclaimed. "we shall have to lower the box again. i greatly fear that we are up against a murder case. if the woman was alive, she would surely have revived before this." "she said she was dying," replied alice. "it begins to look as if she spoke the truth." "get back to the boat," called harry. "we may as well run around to the india basin warehouse. we shall be able to open the box there." "i see no other way," replied old king brady, and once again he started to make fast the rope, when suddenly harry called that he could hear the sound of oars. "which way?" demanded the old detective. "up the channel. don't seem to be far off, either." "come, boys," said old king brady, "we'll sneak along the bulkhead and see who it is. crouch low, now. if it is the chinamen prowling about, we may be able to bag them. alice, you better go aboard the launch." "i'll stay here and watch the box," replied alice. the old detective and the two secret service men now crept along the line of the bulkhead with their revolvers drawn. alice quickly lost sight of them in the fog, which was now thicker than ever. "alice, are you all right up there?" called harry. "of course," she replied. "why not?" "i wish you would come down." "and abandon my imprisoned princess? i won't." harry and alice are lovers, and practically engaged. long ago they would have been married if alice would only consent to give up her work. but alice is perfectly fascinated with the life of a detective, so the marriage day is forever being postponed, for harry insists that alice shall give up the business before becoming his wife. but even under their present relations he sometimes tries to force her to yield to his ideas more than she cares for, although he has long ago learned that she is a difficult person to drive. harry knew by her tone now that alice had made up her mind to stay just where she was, so he let the matter drop and was sitting in the launch in silence when suddenly a shot rang out. it was followed by another, and others still. then old king brady shouted something in the distance, but harry could not make out what he said. "alice!" he called, "can you hear what the governor is saying?" there was no answer. "she don't seem to hear you," observed the kicker. "alice!" shouted harry again. still no answer. "can she have gone forward to see what that shooting is about?" he exclaimed. "it would be just like her. i'm going up to see." "i hear somebody running," cried the kicker. just then old king brady was heard calling out: "lay for them, harry! chinks in a boat! coming your way!" young king brady listened, catching the sound of oars. but it was only for a minute. "they have either stopped or muffled their oars!" he said when he heard old king brady right above him exclaim: "good heavens! what's this?" "anything the matter with alice?" cried harry, and he went up the standing ladder flying. old king brady was peering about in the fog. the two secret service men were just coming up. "what is it?" cried harry. "where's alice? i have called her several times, but she don't answer." "why, i left her right here, and that box with her; both seem to have vanished," old king brady answered in a tone which fully betrayed his anxiety. but it was easy to mistake the exact position in the fog. a moment's search revealed the puzzling fact that nowhere on the bulkhead alice and the heavy box containing the imprisoned princess was to be found. the bradys and the secret service men pushed about everywhere. one of the first things they did was to turn the corner of the end warehouse and look there along the street. "she has been captured and carried off. she must have gone this way," harry exclaimed. "or into one of the warehouses," said old king brady. "i'll get up the street. you get along by the warehouses," cried harry, and he started away on the run. it was ten minutes before he returned. "learned anything?" demanded old king brady, anxiously. "nothing. i went two blocks. didn't see a soul; no need to ask you if you had better luck, i suppose?" "i had none at all. i have tried the different doors, but i can't find any that is open now, whatever the case may have been a few minutes ago." and such are the circumstances of the most mysterious disappearance alice has ever made, and she has made many, for, of course, troubles form a part of the life of a detective. poor harry was in despair. old king brady exceedingly anxious and also vexed with himself to think that he had not insisted upon alice going aboard the boat. "and you heard no noise of any kind?" he asked for the third time. "not a sound," replied harry. "i was sitting quiet in the boat, too." "when was the last you heard her speak?" "just before the firing began. was it you who fired?" "we fired back at three chinamen who fired on us from a boat." "sailboat--rowboat?" "rowboat. didn't you hear the sound of oars?" "yes, yes! i am so rattled that i hardly know what i'm saying. what on earth shall we do?" "we have to look after our captured opium, too. you remain here, harry, and leggett can stop with you. i'll run the stuff around into the india basin and make sure of it. don't you go doing the disappearance act now." "same to you, governor. oh, these chinks! i wish we might never have another mix-up with them." old king brady made no reply, but hastily descended to the launch, which towed the captured sailboat to a bonded warehouse on the india basin, where secret service men were waiting to receive them. it was daybreak before he got back to the islais creek channel again. the fog had vanished with the night, and a hot august wind was blowing the sand about after the usual san francisco style. harry and the secret service man were standing on the bulkhead. "have you learned anything?" demanded old king brady as the launch drew near. "not a thing, worse luck," replied harry. "if ever there was a mystery it is this." "it is certainly a bad job," replied the old detective, "but such as it is we must make the best of it. let us wait for the opening up of these warehouses. information of some sort may come from a quarter we least suspect." seven o'clock came, bringing with it the men connected with the warehouses. among them was the dock foreman, who demanded the bradys' business. he seemed slightly startled when he saw the secret service shield. "who is volckman?" demanded the old detective, abruptly. "i am volckman," was the reply. "what's your position here?" "i am dock foreman." "which means that you have charge of the laborers?" "yes." "who is superintendent of these stores?" "mr. renshaw." "when is he due here?" "eight o'clock." "will he remain here right along after that?" "yes; all day." "i want to see mr. renshaw. tell him old king brady was speaking to you, and that he will return in about an hour." the bradys went away in their launch then, going to breakfast at the palace hotel, where they were staying. the first thing old king brady did upon their arrival at the hotel was to call up secret service commissioner narraway and tell him of their partial success. he did not mention alice's disappearance nor the matter of the chinese princess, leaving these things to be communicated by word of mouth later on when, it was to be hoped, he would understand them better himself. breakfast over, the bradys lost no time in keeping their appointment with mr. renshaw, who proved to be a civil, intelligent gentleman. old king brady at once explained the whole situation. "this certainly seems to be a serious piece of business," said mr. renshaw after hearing the old detective through. "i can't understand what brought these chinamen here or how they came to use mr. volckman's name. is there no possibility of miss montgomery being mistaken?" "i don't think so. her knowledge of chinese is excellent." "and her disappearance a serious matter for you, i realize. i can't imagine that she and this singular box can have been taken into any of our warehouses." "you have perfect confidence in volckman?" "always have had. would you like to question him? i will send for him if you wish." "no; i think not. i certainly do suspect the man of being mixed up in this business, but it will do no good to make him aware of it; still i should like to be given the opportunity to search these warehouses in every part." "and so you shall. i will go with you myself. if there is any crooked work going on here i want to know it." the search was made accordingly, but nothing came of it. "listen, mr. renshaw," said the old detective as they were about to part. "to-day a laboring man will apply for work at this office. he wants to be hired and given a job, which will enable him to watch volckman." "i understand," was the reply, "and so it shall be." and so it was. secret service man leggett, an excellent detective in his way, was the person selected, but three days passed, and at the end of that time he had nothing to report. nor had a word been heard of alice. this time her disappearance seemed to be a serious matter. the bradys exhausted every effort to find her, but in vain. chapter iii. lung & lung. it is needless to dwell upon the anxiety of the bradys over the strange vanishing of their accomplished partner. they were otherwise very seriously inconvenienced. the secret service people, satisfied with the very valuable haul the detectives had made in the line of smuggled opium, now called them off. the bradys are not regular secret service men. they have, however, an arrangement with the government under which their services can be claimed at any time. the day after alice's disappearance old king brady was notified by mr. narraway that the regular force would finish up the matter, inasmuch as he felt satisfied that the heavy loss they had sustained must have bankrupted the smugglers. thus under ordinary circumstances the detectives would have made haste to cross the continent and get back to their own business in new york. as it was, they had no idea of leaving san francisco yet awhile, of course. each day was devoted to the search for alice. even the police took a hand in the game, much as old king brady dislikes to have them mix up in his affairs, but as we have said before, it was all in vain. on the morning of the fourth day before the bradys had yet left the hotel, a page announced that a chinaman wished to speak to the old detective, and at the same time he handed in a business card printed in english on one side, and in chinese on the other. the english side read thus: lung & lung, general importers, dupont street, san francisco, cal. ah lung gee lung wun lung. "the whole lung family," remarked the old detective, looking at the card. "show the man up." it proved to be ah lung who came. he was a very much americanized proposition, california born and college educated. in short, both in dress, intelligence and manner he was as perfect a specimen of a chinese gentleman as the bradys had ever seen. before proceeding further we must pause to explain that while the bradys through their influence had been able to keep the matter of alice's disappearance and the boxed-up princess off the police blotter, and so out of the papers, it was an open secret among the force. consequently it was no surprise to the detectives to have this chinaman at once allude to it. "mr. brady," he began, "i want you if you will to take up an important matter for our firm, which you will find upon investigation, if you are not already aware of it, stands high in san francisco commercial circles." old king brady had heard of the firm of lung & lung, and said so. he doubted, however, if he cared to take up a case for them. "it is work you are already engaged in," replied ah lung quickly. "it concerns the chinese princess, skeep hup, who disappeared along with your miss montgomery the other day." "what do you know about that?" demanded old king brady, "and who told you?" "my information comes through my cousin, who is interpreter at police headquarters," replied ah lung. "i am prepared to tell you what i know of the chinese princess. i suppose the information will interest you in any case." "it certainly will," said the old detective. "fire away, mr. lung. this puts altogether a different face on the matter." "it is this way," continued ah lung. "i have had frequent occasion in the course of business to visit china, and, being a merchant, am allowed to come and go as i please. when in pekin, some three years ago, i was introduced to this chinese princess, as you have called her. she is not actually a member of the imperial family, but the daughter of a very wealthy mandarin. i fell in love with her, and it was finally arranged that we should marry. it was my intention to go to china after her, but the illness of my brother wun prevented it, so she started to come to me. i supposed her to be a passenger on the manchuria, the last steamer in from china. i was so informed by letters i received, but when i went to meet her at the wharf, i was surprised to learn that her name was not on the passenger list. both the purser and the steward informed me that she had not been seen on the steamer. "i immediately cabled to china, but it was only to be told that she had started for shanghai with the intention of taking passage on the manchuria, and that it was supposed by the family that she had done so. she traveled from pekin in company of a man named wang foo, a cousin of hers. this person was to return to pekin after seeing the princess off. he had failed to put in an appearance at the time the answer to my cablegram was sent, nor had anything been heard from him. "you can imagine my anxiety, gentlemen. i was quite at a loss to know what to do when my cousin told me the story of your adventures with that bunch of opium smugglers. that was late last night, and not wishing to disturb you, i put off my call until this morning. if you can find my intended, you will probably also solve the mystery of the disappearance of your partner. it is up to you." "oh we will take up your case, of course, mr. lung," said old king brady. "have you any idea what the motive for all this can be? any starting clew to give us?" "none whatever. i am just as much in the dark over the matter as you are." "suppose this wang foo wanted to marry the princess?" "would he box her up and treat her as he has if he loved her?" put in harry, speaking for the first time. "listen," said ah lung, "chinamen are not all fiends, as you may think." "i don't think so," retorted harry. "there are white fiends as well as yellow fiends." "you are more liberal-minded than most of your race," replied the chinaman, "but we will leave the white fiends out of the question. yellow ones there certainly are in this town, and i greatly fear that it is into their hands the princess has fallen." "is there money coming to the man who marries her?" demanded old king brady, abruptly. "that's just it. there was $ , of what you call dowry to go with the princess. as you are probably aware, among my people women rarely carry with them dowry. on the other hand, men who want to marry have to pay for their wives--buy them, you call it, though i never could understand where the difference comes in between paying for husbands, as is done right along in america. however, that is not the point. in this case it is different. the princess skeep hup had in her own right $ , , given to her by her mother. as our women do not take care of their own money matters, that money was to come to me. it was sent to me by mail in the form of a draft on the bank of california, and i have it now, so that can't be the reason for kidnaping the princess, you see." "all of which makes the mystery additionally puzzling," said old king brady. "but now listen, you, mr. lung. there is but just one thing certain in this case outside of the fact that a voice from that box told miss montgomery that the princess skeep hup was inside, which i, knowing her knowledge of chinese, believe." "so do i," declared ah lung, emphatically. "i know miss montgomery by reputation, and can well believe it. but this one thing you speak of!" "is the fact that the matter was managed by opium smugglers. if we can catch on to who these people were we may stand some chance of success in our chase after this chinese princess." ah lung sat silent for some time. "what you say is true," he said at last. "i could help you in that if----" "well, if?" "if i could feel sure that the secret service people would not interfere with me." "in other words, lung & lung sometimes deal in smuggled hop." "i make no statements. what i want is a guarantee." "assure me upon your honor that you are not mixed up with this gang and you shall have it." "oh, i do, mr. brady; indeed i do. the worst lung & lung have ever done is to buy cheap opium without asking questions." "very well, i accept that. do what you will. i want to help you out and to help myself out at the same time. now then, what do you propose?" "listen here," said ah lung, lowering his voice. "you secret service men captured a lot of that opium the other night, but you didn't get it all by any means. there was another boat load which ran in ahead of the one you captured." "i can well believe it. the people in that boat fired at me in the fog." "i am told that young king brady is very successful in masquerading as a chinaman." "who told you that?" demanded harry. "my cousin at police headquarters." "and what about it?" "can you meet me to-night at eight o'clock at our store on dupont street so disguised?" "i could, of course. but why?" "i must not tell, but you can guess. i have an appointment. i want you with me." "i'll go, but there is one thing you must understand, i can't speak chinese. i always play the dummy when i disguise that way." "that will be all right. i was born in san francisco, and, as it happens, brought up in a part of the city where i associated only with english-speaking children. my own knowledge of the chinese language is very poor. i never speak it unless i am obliged to. i won't speak it in this interview. you can and shall be a witness to all that is said. i know you play the dummy when in chinese disguise. i want you to play it to-night." "settled then," said harry, "i will be on hand." there was some further talk, but as it developed nothing, it is not worth recording. soon after ah lung left. "a lucky thing this matter came up, governor," observed harry. "it promises well," replied the old detective. "that's about all we can say for it, but we must work ahead just as though it had not come up." it was a busy day the bradys put in, but nothing came of it. towards five o'clock harry turned up at the hotel, where he found a note from old king brady, reading: "dear harry: i have just had a call over the 'phone from leggett. he wants to see me at the harper house, on mission street, and that's where i am going now. don't know what for, but i suppose it relates to volckman. don't wait for me. be very careful of yourself to-night. "o. k. b." was the caution needed? it certainly was. for a detective to mix up with chinese opium smugglers in chinatown, san francisco, is always dangerous. but young king brady felt confidence in ah lung. not only had he taken a liking to the man, personally, but having gone to the trouble to look him up in a business way, he found that the standing of the firm in white circles was very high. "half a million capital invested," one person stated. "good for anything they want to buy here," another firm declared. "squarest chinese house in san francisco," said another, and so on. so harry made his chinese disguise, and at eight o'clock turned up at the handsome new store on dupont street, near sacramento, where the lung brothers held forth. inquiring for ah lung, he came up against his brother wun, who was quite a different proposition, being in native dress and speaking broken english. "ah, him go joss house," he said. "say, you comee longer me. meetee him dlere." harry assented, and to the new jackson street joss house, the most important chinese temple of america, they went. the big hall contained many chinamen, most of them standing around with their hats on talking business, for this joss house has a good deal of the character of a chinese commercial exchange. but there were worshipers there before the idols, if they can be so called. really, it bears no resemblance to christian worship. when a chinaman gets down on his knees before the idols and throws joss sticks out of a box just as a gambler would throw dice, he is consulting the spirits of his ancestors as to what course to take in business, love or pleasure. just this and nothing more. there were about twenty chinamen thus engaged when harry entered the jackson street joss house, and among them he spied ah lung throwing the sticks for all he was worth. "dlere he be. we waitee," said wun lung. "him findee out what go to happen to-night." so harry stood waiting while the joss stick throwing went merrily on. chapter iv. alice passes through the door of death. what then had happened to alice? what did happen never could have happened but for the fog, which it will be remembered blew in more thickly just about the time she disappeared. alice stood watching the box, never thinking of danger, when suddenly a cloth of some sort was thrown over her head from behind, and by a strong hand gathered in about her throat. no doubt she had been closely watched previous to this by sharp eyes peering out of the mist. the thing was done so suddenly that alice was taken wholly unawares, and when a voice said in chinese: "there are two revolvers covering you, miss montgomery; utter a sound and you will be instantly shot," all she could do was to submit, especially as the voice added: "and young king brady as well." "no shooting," she said. "i yield." her voice was sadly muffled under the big piece of burlap which had been thrown over her head. her arm was now clutched and she was drawn forward, the hand still retaining its grip on her throat. she was so startled and mixed up that she could not tell in which direction she was being led, but they did not take her far. suddenly the clutch at her throat was released. "step up," said the voice. "i am about to assist you into an auto. be careful. there! all right now. sit down and behave yourself and you will slip through this trial easy enough." was it a chinaman who was speaking? certainly the voice was that of an oriental of some sort, but to alice it sounded more like the voice of an educated japanese, although the language was that of the other race. "may i have my head free now?" she asked. "i am stifling." "just a moment," was the reply. "they are bringing the box. when we start you shall be relieved." she heard them come; the box was lifted into the car, which seemed to be a long, three-seated affair, as near as alice could judge. then the start was made, and so noiselessly was it all managed that there had scarce been a sound. immediately the burlap was withdrawn from alice's head. the car proved to be a closed one. by the light of its lamps alice was able to get an uncertain view of her companion. she shuddered as she recognized him. "so it is you, dr. garshaski!" she breathed. "yes, miss montgomery, it is i," replied the man, speaking now in english. "i trust you will pardon this step on my part. it all came about by accident. i saw you standing there and i could not resist the temptation to at once seize upon the opportunity, and the woman of all others whom i devotedly love." alice's heart sank. there were three other men in the car. the chauffeur was white, but the two seated on the box, which was crowded in front of the middle seat, were chinese in american dress. they sat on the seat with their feet on the box, silent and stolid looking. certainly there was nothing to be hoped for from an appeal to them. did alice know this dr. garshaski? she did, indeed. harry's anxiety would have been more intense even than it was could he have suspected the truth. but there was no possible reason why he should suspect it. he believed this man to be in china or japan. the story is this: about two years before it became necessary in a certain case to engage a detective who could speak both chinese and japanese. such a combination is much rarer than might be supposed. old king brady applied to the secret service people, for it was on their work that the man was needed. they had such a person in stock, it seemed, and dr. garshaski, born of a japanese father and a chinese mother in the city of shanghai, was sent to new york to co-operate with the brady bureau. they won out in the case all right, but they got more than they bargained for in this man, who really was a doctor and a graduate of a new england medical college. from the very outset he began making love to alice, and in the most extravagant fashion. after the case was over he threw up his position as a secret service detective and remained in new york, pestering alice beyond endurance. harry threw him out of the office at an early stage of the game. he then wrote letters, threatening harry's life. alice was deluged with silly love epistles; he dogged her in the streets and waylaid her when she came and went from her rooms on waverly place. in short, he made himself such a nuisance that old king brady had him arrested and bound over to keep the peace. his next and last move was to make a pretended attempt at suicide on alice's door-step. again he was arrested and got the usual penalty. then he wrote a whining letter to old king brady, asking help to get out, and promising to go to shanghai. alice interceded. he was released. the bradys thought they had good reason for believing that he had kept his word. but if he went he must have come back again, for here he was, sitting beside alice in the automobile. no wonder her heart failed her, but to the doctor's latest declaration of love she calmly replied: "once you told me you were the son of a japanese gentleman, doctor. don't forget it now." "never, alice! never! i intend that you shall marry me. a man could not act otherwise than as a gentleman towards a woman whom he hopes to make his wife." "well spoken," said alice, with a sigh. "do these men understand english?" she added, trying to speak in her ordinary tone. "not a word." "and the chauffeur?" "is a french-canadian; but he can't hear. did old king brady get that boat load of opium?" "yes. are you interested in it?" "i am." "did you go to china?" "certainly; i have made two trips to china since i last saw you." "what is it about this unfortunate chinese woman in the box?" "that's a private matter. were you my wife, as you soon will be, you should know. as it is, i can't tell you--at least not yet." "i am afraid she is dead, doctor." "not the least danger, alice." she did not correct this familiar form of speech. "were you speaking to her in chinese?" he asked. "yes." "what did she tell you?" "nothing except that she was the princess skeep hup." "that is so." "why have you captured her?" "it is not my business. it was done for another." "and you are taking her to chinatown?" "yes; that is where we are going." "speak to her, or let those men speak. i am sure she is in trouble. after the first she would not answer me." "she is drugged. i suppose for the moment she came out from under the influence. i am surprised that she did." "but, doctor, i heard some one say before we captured the boat that if they didn't hurry up the princess would die. what about that?" "the man didn't know what he was talking about. i am an expert chemist. it is no morphine sleep the woman is in. i have used a chinese drug of which chemists in this country know nothing. i should hate to have to use it on you." "don't you dare try it, doctor." "listen. we have to leave this auto soon. i warn you, alice, not to attempt to make me trouble. just so sure as you do, you will get your dose." alice was silent. she preferred dr. garshaski's threats to his love-making. it was a relief to find that he was not disposed to try the latter now. they were rapidly approaching chinatown. at last they hit dupont street and ran on to washington, where they turned up the hill, stopping in front of china alley. the chinamen jumped out and stood for a moment. "all right, the coast is clear, doctor," one said in chinese. "take the box out and be quick," replied the doctor. this was done. staggering under their load, the two chinamen disappeared down the alley. "now, alice!" said the doctor, when presently they returned. "dr. garshaski, be sensible and let me go about my business," said alice, in her calmest fashion, for she realized that it would be more than useless to display excitement now. "no," replied the doctor. "no, it cannot be. i have begun, and i am going to see the thing through. that's all there is about it." he got out and extended his hand to alice, who accepted it and alighted. the two chinks closed in behind her. in a few seconds they had vanished down china alley, where there was no hope of rescue, for although the alley is not the dark, mysterious affair it used to be before the great fire, it still retains much of its old character, and is a mighty dangerous place at night. they did not have far to go; the doctor retained his hold on alice's arm. she had heard the click of cocking revolvers behind her, so knew what to expect. suddenly the doctor turned in at a dark doorway and hurried alice up an equally dark flight of stairs. this brought them to a long hall, which appeared to run through to dupont street. much of this property is now owned by american-born chinese. the new structures erected on it were built to suit themselves. just how true it it we cannot tell, but there are those who claim that the underground dens of chinatown are not wiped out by any means; even that some of them have been reconstructed on more extensive lines. the doctor halted before a door at what seemed about midway in the long hall and proceeded to unlock it with a key. "in with you, alice," he said, and he pushed her gently into what seemed to be a small elevator. following her, the chinaman crowded in behind her. the doctor clutched the wire rope, and the machine started to descend. "you see i'm letting you into all our secrets, alice," he said with a grin. "i haven't required you to blindfold." if this was an attempt to start a flirtation it failed, for alice made no reply. this elevator descended three stories; they had ascended but one flight of stairs, consequently they must be under ground, alice reasoned. it stopped, and the doctor opened a door. here there was a long passage little resembling the ugly secret passages of old chinatown. this one was plastered, and from the walls hung chinese mottoes. there were lights at intervals, and many doors opening off from it. alice saw that it must extend through from china alley to dupont street. the doors all had chinese characters on them. these were not numbers. each carried with it the word "door"; each was modified in some way. thus there was the "door of hope," the "door of knowledge," the "door of wisdom," and so on. alice, who could read the characters, found herself quite at a loss to imagine why they should be thus applied. at last they came to one bearing a character which signified the "door of death." here the doctor paused. determined not to give him the satisfaction of displaying any curiosity, alice stood waiting for the doctor to speak. he pointed to the character and said in english: "i suppose you haven't forgotten how to read your chinese?" "no; i haven't forgotten." "you see what that says?" "yes; i see." "it may or may not apply to you, alice." "i suppose you are about to add, 'all depends upon yourself.'" "exactly." "dr. garshaski, i tried to treat you well. while another would have left you in prison, i induced old king brady to get you out. i must say i don't think you are treating me well to-night." "better than you think for. another situated as i was when i suddenly met you would surely have shot your lover, young king brady. i spared his life." "i thank you for that." "waste no time in thanking me. look at the character on the door directly behind us. what does it say?" "the door of love." "well, alice, which door shall it be? it is for you to decide." "nonsense, doctor. don't be ridiculous. i am in your power. get ahead and let us end all this." "will you marry me, alice? i will make you a good husband. what is more, i am in a good paying business now. if my schemes succeed i am in a fair way to become rich." "no, i won't. that's final." "once again i ask you, alice." "and once again i refuse!" cried alice, stamping her foot, for she was beginning to lose patience at last. the two chinamen stood grinning at each other. if they did not understand english they at least must have had a pretty good idea of what was going on. they seemed to be highly amused. "and now for the third time i ask you," continued the doctor, "will you marry me?" "never!" cried alice. "not if you were the last man on earth!" "then that settles it, alice montgomery!" he said, sternly. "the door you enter shall be the door of death!" he unlocked it and threw it open. inside alice could see nothing. it appeared to be just across the passage. but before she had time to think twice about it the two chinamen gave her a sudden push. the doctor jumped aside and poor alice went flying through the door of death. chapter v. old king brady gets down to business. harper's hotel, on mission street, both before and since the fire was always a great resort for secret service men. in fact, the proprietor himself was formerly one. as it happened, this was one of the few buildings in that part of the city which escaped the fire, so the public house at which old king brady turned up late that afternoon was the same old harper's hotel. detective leggett, disguised as a dock laborer, sat in the cafe playing dominoes with another secret service man. the minute he saw old king brady, without waiting to finish the game, he pushed the dominoes aside and made a sign for the old detective to follow, then leading him upstairs. "i'm living here just now," he said. "i don't know as you know it." "no; i didn't know," was the reply. "have you caught on to anything?" "i think so. volckman's a sly one, but i have had a good chance to watch him. he quit an hour earlier than usual to-night. so did i, and i trailed him to china alley and saw him go into a crib there." "good for you! what kind of a crib?" "oh, there is supposed to be about everything that is crooked going on there. mock ting's restaurant is on the ground floor of the dupont street side. there's a fan-tan joint on the third floor. i understand there are underground rooms. i don't actually know any of them to be opium joints, but i have no doubt that some of them are." "it's enough that you have tracked volckman there. what do you propose?" "it's up to you, mr. brady. i have no pull in chinatown. that is what we want." "it surely is. i used to have a lot, but times have changed. i hardly know who to apply to now. i hate to ring in a wardman." "i wouldn't," said leggett, with a shrug of his shoulders. "i don't believe it would pay. i'm ready to bust ahead with you and take our chances." "i have little faith in that, either. volckman doesn't look like a man who used opium. he must have had special business to call him there. but let us get down there, anyway." this conversation took place in leggett's room upstairs. "better drop this rig, hadn't i?" he asked. "i think so." "if we only had some one who could speak chinese." "get ready," said the old detective, impatiently. "we'll go ahead and do the best we can." it was about six o'clock when they reached the house of the seven delights. "we'll take supper in the restaurant as a starter," said old king brady. "it is not impossible that i may strike somebody i know." they entered to find the place reasonably full. the old detective picked out a central table, from which they could see in all directions. supper was ordered, and they had almost finished when old king brady suddenly said: "there's a man i know. just sitting at the third table on the left as you come in from the door." leggett looked. "a jap, isn't he?" "half japanese and half chinese. don't you know him?" "no." "you will be surprised, then, when i tell you that he was once a secret service man." "is that so? he never operated in san francisco in my time, then. what's his name?" "dr. garshaski." "is he really a doctor?" "yes. i certainly ought to know him. he made me trouble enough. i don't like this. i thought the man was in china." an inkling of the truth dawned upon old king brady. the sight of dr. garshaski had stirred him more than he would have cared to own. "if alice fell into the clutches of that fellow, then heaven help her!" he thought. he hardly knew whether he ought to show himself to the doctor or attempt to trail him. but the matter promptly settled itself. dr. garshaski saw him. old king brady, who was watching him closely, did not fail to note the start he gave. he immediately got up, and the old detective thought it was with the intention of leaving the restaurant, but instead of that he came forward to their table and, putting out both hands, exclaimed: "mr. brady! i am rejoiced! my best friend! my savior, i may say! well, well!" old king brady shook hands and invited the doctor to sit down, introducing leggett as a secret service man. "do you mind if i take my supper at this table?" asked the doctor. "not at all," was the reply. having come up with the man, it seemed to the old detective that he might as well listen to anything he had to say. "i thought you were going to china, doctor?" he began. "did go," replied the doctor. "i have been across twice since i saw you. how is young king brady?" "well." "in san francisco?" "i don't know where he is just now. he is working for a man on a private matter. it is some little time since i heard from him." "and--i almost hesitate to ask for reasons such as you--you know, mr. brady. how is that loveliest of her sex, miss montgomery?" old king brady's eyes were right upon him as he quietly answered: "i cannot tell you, doctor." "cannot tell! has the partnership been dissolved, then?" "temporarily, yes." "you speak strangely, mr. brady. i hope and trust that nothing has gone wrong in that direction. you need not fear to trust me. i have quite recovered from my mad folly, i assure you." "something has gone very wrong, doctor. it is now several days since miss montgomery disappeared right here in san francisco." the doctor threw up his hands dramatically. "don't tell me that!" he cried. "under what circumstances?" "the circumstances belong to secret service business. i cannot state them. it may be, however, that she has fallen into the hands of your people." "now, don't call the chinese my people. i am the son of a japanese gentleman, as you well know. you touch me deeply. if there is anything i can do to help, command me." "you are very kind. and your address?" the doctor produced a card. the address it bore was a number on stockton street. "i have a room in that house just at present," he said. leggett sat quiet through all this. still engaging the doctor in conversation, the old detective trod on his toe. the signal was returned. old king brady felt that he had been understood, when the secret service man suddenly arose and said: "will you excuse me, mr. brady? i have to keep that appointment with holes." "go on," said old king brady. "you are a bit late for it now." he left himself as soon as the doctor's supper was served. going around on to china alley, he found leggett somewhat disguised watching the rear entrance to the house of the seven delights. "that man must be shadowed," he said. "it is useless for me to undertake it other than in a general way. he has worked for me and knows my methods of disguising. he is as keen as a razor. some time ago he fell madly in love with miss montgomery, and we had all kinds of trouble with him. i am afraid he is at the bottom of her disappearance." "i'm on the job. where shall i lay for him? here or in front?" "in front." "will i do as i am?" "it's the best you can do at short notice. listen. you saw him give me his card. i am going to his room on stockton street. if i can get in i shall not hesitate to give it a good overhauling. i must be quick. do the best you can for me, leggett." the secret service man gave his promise and old king brady hurried away. the stockton street house proved to be a four-story brick tenement filled with japanese. there was a bell-board with names on it, but that of dr. garshaski did not appear. old king brady had just finished studying the names when a jap came out through the open door. the old detective showed the doctor's card. "know him?" he asked. but the man appeared to be short on english. "no know," he said. then pointing inside he made the old detective understand that he was to inquire at the last door on the right, which he did. this proved to be the janitor, whose english was quite understandable. "top floor," he said. "he only hire room of 'nother man. las' door left." old king brady traveled up the stairs. he felt that he was running every risk of discovery by the doctor. encountering no one in the upper hall, he knocked lightly on the door. there was no answer. producing his skeleton keys, he easily mastered the lock. it was only a bedroom. there was but little furniture. on the top of a chiffonier was alice's picture in an elaborate gilt frame, which did not bear out the doctor's assurance that he had got over being love-sick. without losing an instant the old detective opened the drawers of this chiffonier and began disturbing things as little as possible. it was not until the lower drawer was reached that he found anything to interest him. the first was a bunch of three letters fastened by a rubber band. there were other letters, some in japanese and some in chinese. these, however, were in english, and when old king brady caught the signature, "r. volckman," he knew that he had made a discovery. this letter was brief enough. it read: "dear sir: yours receipted. i shall be ready for you at thirty. all serene. r. volckman." "this settles it," muttered the old detective. "volckman has been standing in with these opium smugglers all right, and the doctor is in the deal. i shall arrest the man on sight." he ran over the other letters. all related to the landing of the smuggled opium. in one volckman agreed to furnish boats to the chinese smugglers, with men to take charge of them. the other was a demand to know when and where he could meet dr. garshaski. there was no mention of the chinese princess nor of alice. old king brady pocketed the letters and proceeded to examine a trunk, which he opened with a skeleton key. here he found other letters and photographs of several chinese and japanese women. all the letters appeared to be in these languages, as the old detective hastily ran over them. there was one photograph of a very peculiar looking young woman who was not altogether unhandsome. she was dressed in a fancy mexican costume. to the old detective she looked as if she might be of mixed stock, mexican and chinese, or mexican and japanese. but as none of these things interested the old detective, he returned them to the trunk and closed it. scarce had he done so when there came a knock on the door, which had not been locked. of course, this could not be the doctor. thinking that it might lead to some further discovery, old king brady slipped into a closet and remained on the watch through the crack of the door. again came the knocking, a little more insistent, and then the door opened and a young woman very stylishly dressed walked into the room. a glance was sufficient to identify her as the original of the photograph the old detective had just been looking at. she stood peering about as if expecting dr. garshaski to jump out at her from the closet or under the bed. then suddenly she made a rush for the chiffonier, seized the gilt frame, pulled alice's picture out of it, spit on it, tore it to pieces, and stamped it under her feet, her eyes blazing with jealous rage and hate. it was easy now to see that the girl--she was little more--was a mexican-chinese half-breed. "ah ha, my lady!" thought old king brady, "i see how the case stands! it's to be hoped that you speak english. you may prove a very valuable ally. i'm glad now that i came here." he stepped out into full view. the young woman gave a scream and made a bolt for the door. "stay, daughter! a word with you," the old detective said. chapter vi. heard in the house of the seven delights. harry did not have long to wait before ah lung got up and came to him. his brother wun, making a few remarks in chinese, excused himself and left. "you will pardon me, mr. brady, for making it necessary for you to follow me here," said the merchant. "i wanted to find out whether the gods were propitious to our undertaking, as you would say. i have been so busy to-day that i got no chance until now." "and the result?" asked harry. "we shall win out in the end, but not without trouble." "yon believe in your joss sticks, i see, mr. lung?" "firmly; and why should i not? for untold ages my people have employed them to predict the future." "does it always come out true as they say?" "by no means. just about as often as what is told us by people in this world comes true." "of what use to consult them then?" "listen! if you have a friend upon whom you rely, who you have known for years, and who has never lied to you, then you unhesitatingly believe him, do you not?" "most assuredly." "it is precisely the same with me. i believe that the movement of the joss sticks in my case is controlled by the spirit of my dead father. he never lied to me living. why should he do so now that he has dropped the body and is living in the world of spirits?" "it is too deep for me. it would seem, though, that you must be a spiritualist." ah lung shrugged his shoulders. "i know very little about your american spiritualists," he replied, "but we will not continue the subject. i am ready." "where do we go?" "we will talk of that outside." "am i made up to suit you?" "yes, yes. as i look at you i fail to see how any one could see through your disguise." they passed out of the joss house and walked down jackson street hill. "one thing," said harry. "you must pretend to talk to me with your fingers deaf and dumb fashion when we come into the presence of others." "oh, i can actually do it," replied wun lung. "i have a sister who is deaf and dumb. we were able to put her through the deaf and dumb school. she knows only english. i am the only one who can talk to her. but i suppose you cannot do the deaf and dumb finger speech?" "indeed i can," replied harry, with his fingers. "then let us begin now," responded ah lung in the same fashion, "for we are liable to be seen by some one whom we may meet in the house of the seven delights." "and what may that be?" "a sort of club. a secret society. but i must say no more. you promised not to press me, you know." "all right. i am in your hands, but i just want to ask have you spoken of the princess to any of the members of this club?" "why yes, to one or two whom i can trust." harry shook his head. "i am afraid you are the author of your own troubles, then, mr. lung," he said. "i shouldn't wonder. it is a matter i should not have spoken about to any one. i see it now." they turned up china alley at last, entering the long building into which alice had been taken on the night of her capture. harry now traveled over the same ground. they ascended one flight, entered that elevator, and ah lung let them down to the long corridor under ground. harry wondered at the many doors. "what new organization am i up against?" he asked himself. but of ah lung he asked no questions, feeling that he was in the man's hands for better or for worse. "now i don't know whether anything is going to come out of this or not," lung said with his fingers. "i am expecting to meet a certain party on business. i shall bring the conversation around to the princess. the man is supposed to be my friend. if he has betrayed me i want to know it. at all events, it is my only chance of giving you a clew on which to start your search." "right," said harry. "lead on." lung stopped before a door, on which he knocked three times. it was immediately opened by a young chinaman in a white native dress. the room was quite a large one, well fitted up with comfortable american furniture. it looked what it actually was, a club-room. several chinamen, mostly in american dress, were sitting or standing in groups. one came forward looking questioningly at harry. lung said something, apparently vouching for him as a friend, and the man walked away. nobody else spoke to them. going up to a handsome buffet, lung poured out tea for himself and harry, helping him also to sweetmeats and chinese cakes. "is this just a business club?" asked young king brady. "just that and nothing else," was the reply; "there are several clubs meeting down here. while the members are all part of one grand organization, these clubs are organized for different purposes, and a man may belong to one without belonging to another or knowing anything about the others. that's the way we work it." "is your man here?" "not yet. he is expected, however. i must hurry and get you placed." they now left the club-room, ah lung, opening the next door beyond with a latch-key. this ushered them into a narrow corridor lighted by colored red lanterns. from it opened several small alcoves before which fancy-colored curtains hung. harry saw that they were intended for opium smokers, and that each would hold two persons. they were provided with soft couches instead of the usual chinese wooden bunks. an attendant in white came forward. ah lung spoke to him in chinese and gave him money. "i have engaged two of these rooms," he said. "you must take one now and pretend to smoke and go to sleep. watch and listen for me, for i shall come into the next alcove with my man. i never smoke opium myself, but he does, and he always prefers to talk business over a pipe." and this programme was carried out. ah lung left harry, who lost no time in pretending to go to sleep. the curtain was drawn before the alcove. harry waited an hour and grew so drowsy that at last he actually did drop off, to be suddenly awakened by hearing somebody give a loud cough. as he opened his eyes he saw a hand draw his curtain shut. he was on the alert instantly, for he could hear two men entering the next alcove. "and now for business," one said. harry recognized the voice of ah lung. "wait till i get my pipe going," replied the second person. the voice and accent were peculiar. it seemed to young king brady that he recognized both. "surely i have heard that voice before," he said to himself. "but where?" this was a question that as harry lay listening he found himself unable to decide. the pipe filling was so quickly completed and the smell which arose so different from ordinary opium that harry concluded the man must be merely smoking some sort of opium saturated tobacco. the talk then began. it was precisely what ah lung had hinted at, a transaction in cheap opium. the word smuggled was not used. ah lung bought a thousand dollars worth, which was to be delivered next day at the store. there was considerable haggling, the talk lasting all of twenty minutes, and all this time young king brady was puzzling his brains to know where he had heard that voice before, but memory refused to serve him. as for the man's english, it was almost as good as ah lung's, which amounts to saying that it was nearly perfect. harry heard, although their voices were keyed low. it vexed him to think that ah lung could not have spoken the man's name, but he never did once. now suddenly the conversation took a different turn. "ah, my good friend," said ah lung with a sigh, "i am in deep trouble. i know you will sympathize with me when i tell you what it is." "of course," was the reply. "i always have sympathy for those in trouble. what is the matter now?" "my princess." "ah, ha! she is ill?" "not that. she failed to arrive on the manchuria." "is it so? did she not sail then?" ah lung told the story he had given the bradys. "it must be very hard for you, lung," replied the other. "i wish i could help you. perhaps i can." "you? how can that be possible?" "listen! i heard it rumored--only rumored by men--you know who--that there was a chinese woman of high rank who was a passenger on the dover castle. with her was a man who claimed to be her cousin. the man was smuggled in, lung. i saw and talked with him. his name was wang foo!" "you don't mean it!" cried ah lung, excitedly. "hush! we shall be heard." "no, no! i tell you the man in the next bunk is deaf and dumb. besides, he is a good friend of mine." "but on the other side?" "it is empty." "sure? some one may have come in." "i'll look and see." ah lung did so and reported the alcove empty. "go on!" he said eagerly. "you are interesting me greatly. what became of this woman of high rank?" "ah! that i do not know, my friend, but i do know that she did not land openly. then she must have been smuggled ashore. probably she is concealed somewhere in chinatown now." "i must find out. i will employ detectives." "do nothing of the sort. if the woman is here, if she really is the princess skeep hup, then i am the man who can get her for you. what will you pay, ah lung?" "pay! i thought you were my friend." "i am out for the dollars, brother. out for the dollars every time." "what is it worth to you then to go to the trouble to make these inquiries?" "nothing to make inquiries, but if this chinese woman should prove to be the princess skeep hup, and i am the means of delivering her up to you, i shall expect half of that money you told me you were going to get with her, or, in other words, $ , ." harry heard ah lung give an angry exclamation, and he feared that he was going to say something which would spoil everything, but the chinaman controlled himself. "why, this is almost as bad as blackmail," he said, sarcastically. "i don't mind paying a thousand dollars, but five thousand! it is nonsense!" "it has to be or i won't work." "come, i'll be liberal with you. i'll make it two thousand. go ahead and find out for me." "not a cent less than $ , , brother lung." "dr. garshaski, i believe you know something definite, that this is a deal to blackmail me." dr. garshaski! harry almost jumped off the couch. now he knew whose voice he had been listening to. he wondered at himself. how could he ever have forgotten? "that scoundrel!" he thought. "alice in his hands? this is terrible, but it explains her disappearance, all right." meanwhile the talk was going right on. "have it your own way, mr. lung," said the doctor, "but you want to decide. do i work or don't i work? which?" "i will give up no more than i said. i won't be swindled." "very well. then i won't do anything about your chinese princess. your opium will be delivered. i am going now. good-night." "go," replied lung. "i shall not forget this, doctor." "no, i don't think you will," replied the doctor, and harry heard him leave the room. instantly ah lung drew aside the curtain. but harry did not wait for him to speak. "after him!" he whispered. "i know that fellow! he is a scoundrel! no doubt he is at the bottom of this whole business, and of the disappearance of miss montgomery, too." chapter vii. in a torture chamber. alice felt that her situation was bad enough as she passed through the "door of death" without dr. garshaski adding to it by clap-trap. this she was sure he had done, for while the chinese characters on the other doors were painted directly on the woodwork, in this case it was a piece of red paper, upon which the character had been written with a chinese pen. that it had been put there for her special benefit alice did not doubt. it was just like dr. garshaski, who was forever doing something dramatic in the old days. he hurried alice along the empty corridor and down a short flight of stairs. coming to a door, he let go his hold and knocked. it was instantly opened by a very chinese-looking chinaman wearing a rich native dress. the room was rather small, but well fitted up as a bed chamber, partly in chinese and partly in american style. in the middle of the floor stood the box which was supposed to contain the chinese princess. "so you have come at last!" exclaimed the chinaman in his own language. "i thought you never would." "patience, wang foo," replied the doctor. "we can't get there all in a moment." "but the princess may die. she may be dead now. i believe it. she ought to have been released long ago." "patience, i tell you. i know my business. she is in no danger of death whatever." "and the woman you were to bring to look after her. she must have an attendant. she is not to be ill treated. she is of my own blood." "the woman is here." "what, a white woman?" "yes." "of what use can she be?" "i know her of old. she is an excellent nurse. none better." "but she cannot talk to the princess." "there you are quite mistaken. better be careful what you say to her. she speaks chinese as well as you do." wang foo stared at alice and asked her name. he managed to grasp the alice part, but the rest was quite beyond him. "hurry! hurry," he cried. "alice," said the doctor, "i am going to resurrect the princess now. sit down in that easy-chair and make yourself at home." alice silently obeyed. thus far there seemed nothing so terrible coming out of the passage through the door of death. the doctor asked for a screw-driver, and wang foo produced one, with which he made short work of opening the box. there, apparently, in a deep sleep, lay a little doll of a chinese woman upon blankets carefully fitted into the box. she was in plain native dress, and her feet were not bigger than those of a good-sized doll. this alone proved that she belonged to a good family. the ordinary chinese women do not compress their feet. the doctor bent over the box and listened at her heart. "she's all right," he said. "i'll have her out of this in no time." he produced a leather medicine case, and, taking a tumbler from the washstand, proceeded to mix small portions of the contents of two different vials. the result was a reddish liquid, of which he administered a few drops to the princess. "now, alice," he said, "we can talk freely before this man, who is just from china and can't speak a word of english. our love affairs can hang over a few days. just now i am going to explain about this woman. she is the daughter of a rich pekin mandarin, who has sold her to an equally rich merchant here in chinatown. they are really in love with each other, and the woman came to california of her own accord, although not in just the way she set out to do. she is also the granddaughter of a rich old chink on her mother's side, who died in san francisco at the time of the great fire. he left a pile of ready cash behind him, but no one knows where he hid it. that he did hide it somewhere on the night of the fire is certain. just before his death, as i have the best of reason for believing, old gong schow wrote out this secret of the buried money and sent it to a man in china with instructions for him to deliver the letter containing the secret to his granddaughter on her twentieth birthday. it was done. this funny little midget alone knows where gong schow's wealth is buried. she has kept her secret well. she promised her lover to reveal it to him on their marriage day. wang foo knows all this. he is my partner in certain business transactions. he is her cousin. he started to escort her to shanghai from her home in pekin. there she was to sail on the manchuria for san francisco. but wang foo deceived her and took her aboard an english tramp steamer, the dover castle. he has delivered her to me. she must be made to give up her secret, fair alice. that was another reason why i kidnaped you. i want you to do the detective act. get the secret out of the princess as best you can, only get it. make her understand that if she don't give it up she will surely die. you have followed me in all this, i hope?" "i certainly have," replied alice, adding: "at your old tricks, doctor. forever plotting and scheming. am i to be kept alone with this chinese princess then?" "that's what you are, and it's up to you to work my schemes out to success, for it is i and not wang foo who must have this hidden treasure----but she is waking; my drug has done it's work." it was so. inside of a few minutes the chinese princess had fully revived. she was little, but she made it hot for those around her. such a temper alice never saw displayed in any chinawoman. she began by screaming, demanding to know where she was and why she was there. she turned on wang foo with all the fury of a tigress, accused him of drugging her, of kidnaping her, and then began yelling to be taken to ah lung. as for dr. garshaski, she did not appear to know him. she seemed to feel an instinctive hatred for him, however. she clawed at his face and tried to hit him when he started to help her out of the box. she got out herself, however, and promptly tumbled over on her little feet. like many another chinawoman of her class, she could scarcely walk. wang foo did not attempt to reply. at last he and dr. garshaski left the room, taking the box away with them. after a while they returned with two trunks containing the belongings of the princess, whom they found crying in alice's arms. "that's right, alice, that's right," said the doctor, delightedly. "i see you know your business as well as ever. keep it up, my dear, and see here, i have determined to make you a promise. if you succeed in worming the secret out of that horrid little fright, you shan't marry me unless you really want to--so there!" "that's certainly kind of you," said alice with a half sneer. "all right, doctor, i'll see what i can do." she did nothing of the sort, of course. during the days of her unexplained absence, alice remained shut in that room with skeep hup, the chinese princess, an old chinawoman serving them with their meals and otherwise attending to their wants. two chinamen with drawn revolvers stood outside the door every time it was opened. there was no possibility of escape. during this time alice got very close to the princess. little skeep hup seemed to take a great liking to her from the first, which increased as the days dragged by. she told alice about everything she knew except the secret of the hiding-place of her grandfather's buried treasure, which she claimed she knew. she confirmed dr. garshaski's story in every particular, and upbraided herself bitterly for having been foolish enough to listen to the lies of wang foo. but where was wang foo? they saw no more of him. dr. garshaski came every day towards night asking as to alice's success. she put him off as best she could. "the princess will not reveal her secret," she said at last, "and who can blame her? the best thing you can do, doctor, is to go and blackmail ah lung out of a few thousand and set her free." this was on the night the bradys had the call from ah lung. the doctor's face grew dark as alice said it. "do you say so?" he exclaimed. "well, we shall see!" he turned on the princess and said: "now look here, little woman, to-night you have to tell your secret or take the consequences. understand?" then skeep hup flew into one of her rages, and the doctor was getting it good and plenty when he abruptly left the room, saying in english to alice as he went out: "this is played out. she shall be made to tell, and you, who i believe have put her up to this, shall see the job done. you will find out that it is no joke to have passed through the door of death." and this alice translated for the benefit of skeep hup, asking her what she supposed it meant. "it means torture, that's what it means," replied the princess, promptly. "no matter. they will never get the secret out of me. i will never reveal it to any one but ah lung." and here is what followed: no supper came that night. alice and the princess waited until they were tired, and were just preparing to go to bed when the door was suddenly thrown open and two men wearing hideous paste-board masks after the chinese style entered the room. dr. garshaski and another followed them, an old chinaman with a long, drooping mustache. a person alice had never seen. "young women," said the doctor, "you are to follow us to the torture room, unless you, princess skeep hup, instantly reveal what i wish to know, or, rather, give me your promise to do so, for it must be revealed to me alone." the princess set her lips together, and, throwing intense scorn into her speech, defied him. they were then led along the passage, through a door at its end, up steps and through another passage, winding up in a room all draped in black, which was dimly lighted by a solitary candle placed within a human skull resting on an old-fashioned coffin, which looked as if it may have been made to fit the princess, judging from its size. beyond this was a low table provided with an arrangement of ropes attached at one end to a post at the other to a large wooden jackscrew. it was a wicked-looking engine. alice shuddered. "we have fallen into the hands of a bunch of yellow fiends," she thought. "i wonder if there is anything too wicked for dr. garshaski to do?" the two masks now seized the princess and laid her down upon the table on her back. they then proceeded to tie her hands to the ropes attached to the post, while her feet were made fast to those attached to the screw. the brave little woman never let out a whimper--never said one word. "you see, alice," said the doctor, taking his place beside her. "don't you think of interfering, or you shall get your dose." "you yellow fiend!" breathed alice, feeling that such cruelty was beyond endurance. "wouldn't i like to have the turning of that screw with you on the table! how dare you resort to such barbarous methods as this?" "have a care!" hissed the doctor. "that's the rack--the old-fashioned rack, such as your white holy men used to resort to when they wanted to make a man holy in some other way than his own. it is still in use in china for extorting confessions from thieves. nice contrivance, isn't it? but its use has been by no means confined to the chinese." "what you allude to happened two hundred years ago, and you know it," retorted alice. "it takes yellow fiends like you and your friends here to torture a woman in these days!" "bah! they would rack people to death for religion's sake to-day if they dared," answered the doctor. "but you have your warning, so heed it," he added, and advancing to the princess, he again asked her if she was ready to reveal the secret. "never!" she cried. "you can torture me all you will, but you will never learn from me that which will place in your hands what i choose shall belong to my husband, ah lung." "ah lung is not your husband nor will he ever be unless you yield to my request," declared the doctor. she gave him one look and turned her head away. "give the screw a twist!" cried the doctor, and the old chinaman obeyed, the two masks standing on each side reciting something in old chinese which alice could make nothing of. skeep hup bore the pain thus inflicted unflinchingly. she shut her eyes, set her lips, and never uttered a sound. "will you tell?" demanded the doctor. no answer. "give it another turn!" he thundered. the screw was turned again. the masks chanted louder than ever. the chinese princess groaned in her misery. alice was forced to turn her head away. they let her lie so for a few minutes before the doctor again put the question. this time she answered, declaring that never would she tell. "you fool!" cried the doctor. "do you realize that i mean to continue to order that screw turned until your limbs are wrenched off?" "i believe you," replied the princess, "but i shall never tell." he let her lie there in agony for a few minutes, and then put the request again. this time there was no answer. the victim of this yellow fiend was almost past speech. "go it again!" thundered the doctor. "you fiend!" cried alice. "release that woman or i'll do something desperate. in the name of humanity! in the name of your mother! dr. garshaski, forbear!" "interfere at your peril!" thundered the doctor, and as he spoke the screw was turned once again. if alice had been in possession of her revolver she surely would have shot the fiend, but that had long ago been taken from her. helplessly she turned her head away, stopping her ears that she might not hear the cries which the wretched chinese woman could no longer keep back. but the cries suddenly _ceased_. "she has fainted," said the torturer. "you have killed her, poor soul!" moaned alice. "oh, you yellow fiends!" chapter viii. old king brady blunders ahead as best he can. it was undoubtedly the mildness with which the old detective spoke which influenced the young woman to stand her ground. "who are you? what are you doing in this room?" she faltered. "i might put the same question to you, young woman," old king brady replied. "i was a witness to your display of rage against a picture. you must be in love with dr. garshaski, then?" "in love with him!" she cried with a hysterical laugh. "i hate him! i am his wife." "so? in that case i may as well introduce myself. did you ever happen to hear him speak of old king brady, the detective?" "yes; many a time. he also was a detective. he once worked for you in new york." "yes, for a short time. were you his wife then, may i ask?" "sure i was. i married him five years ago. he deserted me. he has never provided for my support since. i have been living in los angeles. i only came to san francisco day before yesterday. i happened to meet him in the street. i tell you i made it hot for him. he gave me the slip or i would have had him arrested. i learned that he was living here. i have been here again and again, but this is the first time i have been able to get into the room." "do you know whose picture that was which you destroyed?" "sure i do. a woman he married in new york two years ago. he is living with her here now, but i'll have him arrested. i am his lawful wife." "you are quite mistaken. he never married her." "he told me he did. he showed me her picture one time about a year ago." "he lied. that lady is my partner. dr. garshaski so pestered her with his attentions that i had to have him arrested. then i was told that he went to china." "so he did. twice since then. mr. brady, i begin to believe you are telling me the truth." "i certainly am, but let us leave this house. i don't wish the doctor to know i have been here. i should like to talk with you further, mrs. garshaski." "i'll go, but you needn't call me that. i go now by my mother's maiden name. i am known as inez reyes." "mrs. or miss?" "miss." "very well, miss reyes. let us get out; that is if you have accomplished your purpose here." "my purpose!" she replied, grimly. "my purpose is to catch my husband and make him give me money to live on. he is an opium smuggler. he is rolling in wealth. i don't care what he does so long as he gives me money to live on." "perhaps i may be able to help in that, but we won't talk any more about it till we get on the street." they then hurriedly left the house. as they walked along, old king brady explained about the disappearance of alice. "you say you heard that dr. garshaski had her in his power," he added. "who told you this?" "a chinese woman i know. she is my aunt." "you are chinese on your father's side?" "yes, i am, and i'm not ashamed of it, either. my father was a good man." "he is dead?" "yes, and so is my mother. she was a mexican woman. i was born and brought up in mexico. i wish i had never left it." "listen, miss reyes," said the old detective. "you say you need money. if through your means i can rescue miss montgomery from the clutches of dr. garshaski, i am going to give you $ ." "and you will arrest him and send him up?" "i most certainly shall." "then i'll help. my aunt told me that the doctor had miss montgomery at the house of the seven delights, but she did not say he was holding her a prisoner. she lives there herself. she ought to know." "where is this house of the seven delights?" "it runs through from dupont street to china alley," was the reply, and the woman named the block. "and what is it?" persisted old king brady. "oh, a sort of club-house. a lot of different chinese clubs meet there. there is a big restaurant on the ground floor; there are opium joints and fan-tan joints in it." "same place," thought the old detective. "but where are the dungeons of this house of delights, i wonder?" "can you find out in just what part of the house the doctor has miss montgomery concealed?" he asked. "listen here," replied the woman. "the only thing i can do is to see my aunt and tell her that you have promised to aid me. she hates my husband as much as i do. still, you know how helpless chinese women are, so just what she will do i cannot say. "but we must not be seen together on chinese alley, mr. brady. where can i find you? appoint a place." "how long shall you probably be gone?" asked the old detective. "not over half an hour. i will keep on the block on the dupont street side. meet me there." they parted at the alley, old king brady pushing on to dupont street. he had scarcely turned the corner when he ran into detective leggett. "well?" he demanded. "what about volckman?" "i haven't seen him since," was the reply. "evidently he has given me the slip somehow." "let him go. i have secured evidence against him which will enable us to arrest him at any time," and the old detective went on to explain. "i want your help in this new business," he said. "right," replied leggett. "can't we go it alone, thin?" "i'm going to try it that way, anyhow. you follow me right after i make the start. if i want you to join me i'll let you know." they separated then, and for more than half an hour old king brady paced the block; finally he was joined by inez reyes. she did not stop to talk to him, but merely said as she walked slowly past the doorway in which the old detective was standing: "we must not be seen together. you follow me." old king brady fell in behind. looking back he caught sight of leggett on the other side of the street, and made a sign for him to join the procession. the woman rounded the corner and entered the alley, slipping in at the door of the house of the seven delights. she did not ascend the stairs, but passed along the dimly lighted hall till she came to a door under the main stairway. there appeared to be nobody but themselves in the hall. looking sharply up and down, the woman halted and waited for old king brady to come up in response to her signal. "all i could get out of my aunt," she whispered, "is that this door is one way of getting into the private rooms in this building. it is not the way used by the club members; there are several other ways in and out. she says that miss montgomery was still there this evening; she is locked in one of the secret rooms. she won't tell me which one nor how to find it. there seems to be some mystery about it all which i can't fathom, and she is evidently afraid to reveal it. but she says that what you tell me is true, mr. brady. miss montgomery hates my husband.--it is such a relief to know it. i tried every way i knew to persuade my aunt to help up, but she is afraid to make a move. i don't know what more to do." "there is nothing more you can do," replied the old detective. "go and leave me to do the best i can. you will probably see a tall man standing just outside the door. tell him i want him, please. i am staying at the palace hotel. call there to-morrow and i will give you your money in case i succeed. i shall be glad to do what i can to help you in any case." she thanked him and left; in a moment leggett joined the old detective who in the meantime had unlocked the door with his skeleton keys. three chinamen came shuffling through the hall from the dupont street end, evidently diners from the restaurant going out that way. old king brady with his back to the door talked aloud to leggett on a different subject. the men, paying no attention to them, passed on. "all the young woman has been able to learn is that this stairway leads down to the private rooms," old king brady then explained. "i have managed to unlock the door. let us push right ahead." he opened it and a long, dark, narrow stairway was revealed. "this is probably intended for a way of escape in case of fire," said the old detective. "shut the door, leggett, i'll get out my flash light and we will go on down." "it's mighty dangerous business, mr. brady." "of course. come on!" he led the way and they descended the stairs, ending up at a door covered with sheet iron which had neither lock nor knob. "balked," breathed leggett. "balked nothing," replied old king brady. "this door is controlled by a spring which works in the simplest sort of fashion." he pressed it and the door flew open. the long, lighted corridor already described lay beyond. old king brady surveyed its many doors in silent dismay. "now we are balked," he whispered. "this is more than a chinese puzzle. which door to choose?" "you may search me," replied leggett. "what can be the object of all these doors?" "stand back!" breathed old king brady, and he allowed the iron door which was self-closing to swing almost to. for out of one of the doors a man now came and that man was dr. garshaski. hastily closing the door behind him he walked on rapidly along the corridor, opened another door and disappeared. old king brady carefully noted the door and was about to venture in, when the first door opened and two chinamen emerged. both were in american dress. one pointed along the corridor in the direction taken by the doctor. they halted at the door through which garshaski vanished. it was too far off to enable the watching detectives to see their faces plainly, the dim red lights making it additionally obscure. the two men stood talking for a few seconds then one of them got out what seemed to be a bunch of keys and began fumbling with the lock. as their backs were now turned to the detectives it was impossible to make out just exactly what they were doing. in a moment the door was opened and they disappeared inside. old king brady was about to press forward, but now came other delays. a different door opened and four chinamen came out. they shuffled along the corridor, talking, and entered at still a different door. at the same time five others came out of that door and for fully ten minutes stood talking in the corridor, vanishing at last through the door out of which the others came. again old king brady thought he had got his chance, but once more he was balked in the same way. at last his chance really did come and finding that they had the corridor to themselves he and leggett pushed on. now at the start the old detective had been at particular pains to identify that door. but did he still remember it? was the question. he could not feel by any means certain and the worst of it was a quick decision was absolutely necessary. "i think this is it," he said, pausing before a certain door. "you want to be sure," replied leggett. "i am as sure as i can be. yes. i think this is it." the door was locked and the old detective getting out his skeleton keys went at the job of opening it vigorously. he quickly succeeded. a narrow, dark staircase leading up lay beyond; leaving the door unlocked, old king brady pressed on to the top flight, no great distance, coming out upon a semi-circular platform where there were three doors. there was no light here. the old detective flashed his electric lantern around. "your chinese puzzle isn't it, mr. brady," whispered leggett. "is there any end to the mysteries with which these chinks like to surround themselves?" "none, absolutely none," replied the old detective. "it makes one tired to try to follow their curves. but listen a moment. we may catch on to something." "it's a blame sight more likely that someone will catch on to us," growled leggett. "hush! hush! listen!" he had scarcely spoken when someone behind the middle door called out in a loud voice in english: "now, ah lung, i've got you. you scoundrel! it was i myself who kidnapped your princes! the secret of gong schow's hidden treasure is mine! now you die!" bang! bang! bang! three shots were instantly fired. "this is murder!" cried old king brady, and he threw himself against the middle door from behind which the shots came. chapter ix. the bradys get together once again. but the princess slips through their fingers. urged by harry, ah lung jumped to the outer door of the smoking room as this part of the house of the seven delights was called. young king brady hastily adjusting his clothes--he had taken off his coat and vest after the manner of opium smokers--prepared to follow him, but ah lung was back before he could get ready. "well?" he demanded. "i know where he went," replied lung. "are you ready?" "yes." "then come with me." they passed out into the corridor. there were the "two chinamen" seen by old king brady and leggett. "where did he go?" demanded harry. "listen," replied lung. "we--the organization, i mean--don't make use of all this big building. our part is only on this side. there are rooms on the other side which we rent, some to secret societies, others to individuals; most of them are vacant just now. the doctor went in through a door leading to a suite of these supposed-to-be vacant rooms and here it is." he paused before the door which dr. garshaski had called the "door of death." it carried no red paper on it now, but a chinese character painted on the panel. "what does that say?" asked harry, pointing to it. "flat to let," replied ah lung, "but i strongly suspect that our janitor is allowing the doctor to use it for purposes of his own. otherwise why should he be going through that door? still it may have been rented to him for all i know. anyhow that's where he went. what do you think of it? shall we attempt to follow him up?" "by all means," replied harry. "let me tell you something. i know this dr. garshaski. he is an infamous scoundrel." ah lung shrugged his shoulders. "we meet all kinds," he replied. "they are necessary to make up the world. but you heard what was said; you heard him try to blackmail me. do you believe he really knows anything about the princess, or is it all bluff? there was nothing that he said he had not heard from me before." "i don't believe it was bluff and i do believe he has the princess," replied harry, "and i'll tell you why." he went on to explain about alice, and this while he was trying his skeleton keys. "i believe he has miss montgomery a prisoner in the rooms you speak of," he declared, "and it would not surprise me a bit if the princess was there too. hello! i've got the door open now. shall we go exploring and see what we find?" "surely. if that is your belief. i am with you, of course," replied ah lung. "but lock the door behind you," he added. "we don't want anybody prowling after us." harry scarcely saw the necessity of it, but he locked the door. the long corridor was dimly lighted by a solitary gas jet. "why this is strange," said ah lung. "i never was in this part of the building before." "this corridor surely leads in under the next building," said harry. "of course, it does, i never knew of its existence. i shall inquire into this." "sure you've got the right door?" "positive. come on." at the end of the corridor they made the same turns alice took and at last found themselves up against three doors. the ones on the right and the left were locked, but the middle one stood slightly open. harry pushed it wide open and flashed his light inside, having already drawn his revolver in case of emergency. the room was entirely unfurnished. ah lung stepped in and looked around. "nothing here," he remarked, when the door shut with a bang. harry sprang to it, but all too late. somebody must have been watching them, for now somebody had bolted that door on the other side. "well, upon my word!" cried ah lung, "we have walked right into a trap." "that is certainly what we have done," replied harry disgustedly, "and the worst of it is here i've been talking. i suppose every word we have spoken has been overheard." "every word, mr. young king brady," spoke a voice above them. "garshaski, you villain! what do you mean by this?" shouted ah lung, recognizing the doctor's voice. "business," was the reply. "you would not accede to my very modest request so i have to do the best i can for myself. so young king brady was your deaf and dumb friend in the next alcove, was he? say, lung, i'm going to read you a lesson. i'm going to teach you how dangerous it is to muss with me. as for little brady he knows how i love him and what good reasons i have for my extreme affection. but you are dead wrong if you think the fair alice is here, harry." "did you kidnap her, garshaski?" demanded harry. "did i? why sure i did," was the reply. "who else? and i bagged your princess, too, my bold lung. listen, brother chink; the plot was all mine. it was i who put up the job with wung foo. he brought your little would-be bride over to the boat on the dover castle. same boat we brought that hop on, lungy, old man! to avoid trouble, for wang foo had to be smuggled in as well as the hop, i drugged your pretty princess and boxed her up. then in butted the bradys after their usual fashion, but i watched my chance and got there and, harry, i got your alice, too. that pleased me more than all." from where was the man speaking? the sound of his voice seemed to be from above. at the beginning of it harry shut off his flash light and they had been standing there in the dark, but now he turned it on again and flashed it around. there was no one to be seen. he could see no opening in the ceiling overhead. "hide and seek! you can't find me!" cried the voice with a chuckle. "say, lungy, old man. i know why you were so stuck on marrying skeep hup. i know her secret! did you think i'd sell out for any $ , ? no, not for five times five. i'm out for bigger game." "has she betrayed the secret to you?" cried ah lung quickly. there was no answer. again and again the merchant repeated the demand, but it was just the same until all at once the voice fairly shouted: "now, ah lung, i've got you! it was myself who kidnapped your princess! the secret of gong schow's hidden treasure is mine. now you die!" as he spoke these ominous words three shots were fired in quick succession through some hole in the ceiling. instantly harry shut off the light. probably he was not quick enough to prevent the would-be murderer from taking some sort of aim, for ah lung with a deep groan dropped to the floor. at the same time a violent banging was heard overheard. harry held his breath and waited, not daring to turn on the light. "lung, are you badly hurt?" he breathed. there was no reply. "lung! speak! where are you hit?" persisted harry. still no answer. the banging kept right up. "he is dead," thought young king brady. "merciful heavens! what about alice's fate in the hands of that yellow fiend?" just then came a crash. hurrying footsteps were heard overhead. "why there is nobody here, leggett!" old king brady's voice exclaimed. "upon my word!" thought harry. "and just in the nick of time! "governor! oh, governor!" he shouted. "harry, my dear boy, where are you?" cried old king brady, for like harry and ah lung, he and the secret service man had penetrated into a seemingly vacant room. "i fancy i am in the room below you!" replied harry. "so? who fired those shots? you?" "no, that yellow fiend, garshaski!" "as i supposed. you are not hurt, i judge from the way you speak." "i am not, governor, but poor ah lung who is here with me got it in the neck and i greatly fear he is dead." "well, well, that's a bad job. do you know anything of alice?" "only that garshaski said she is far enough away if you can believe him, which is more than i can. can't you come down here?" "i must try to get there. are you locked in?" "bolted in, most securely." "there seems to be but one door here; i daresay there is another, a secret door. but i am going to take the back track and try it another way." "i don't care what way you try it as long as you get here. i'm in a bad enough fix. i have no doubt ah lung is dead." all this talk took place in the dark. harry was so rattled that he did not turn on his flash light. he never even thought of it until now, and he flashed it on ah lung. evidently the chinaman had been hit in the head for his face was all covered with blood. he was breathing, however. there seemed to be some slight hope. meanwhile old king brady, who had broken the door down after several attempts, returned to the semi-circular hall outside. "this is a great piece of business, leggett!" he exclaimed. "we must make haste and get harry out." as he said it there came a loud pounding on the door at their left and alice's voice called: "mr. brady! oh, mr. brady!" "well, upon my word!" exclaimed leggett. "alice, are you all right?" cried the old detective with deep anxiety in his tone. "as right as i can be under the circumstances," replied the voice behind the door, "but they have taken the poor little princess away. this is garshaski's work. perhaps you don't know? "oh, i know. i had as soon see you in the clutches of the arch fiend himself as in that man's power." "yes, he's a fiend, all right, and don't you forget it," replied alice, "and a yellow one at that. i have a lot to tell you, mr. brady, but if harry needs you, do attend to him first." "he can wait. patience a moment. i have unbolted the door. i shall soon find a key to fit." the old detective was trying his skeletons and in a moment he had the door open. it was the same room in which alice had passed those dreary days with the princess. but now she was alone and the room was all in disorder. as for alice herself she was tied in her chair, being bound hand and foot. she had been gagged also, she explained, a handkerchief having been tied over her mouth, but this she managed to work off. "i heard you when you called murder," she said, "but i couldn't speak then. who fired? who was killed?" "ah lung," replied the old detective, and he explained as he cut alice's bonds. "as for my story, it is too long to tell now," she said. "go for harry." "if we can get there. we seem to have taken another door than the one we intended." "from that long corridor?" "yes." "i came in at the door of death as they call it. it has nearly been the death of me." she shuddered at the recollection of the cruelties she had witnessed in the torture room. they hurried down stairs and passed out into the corridor again. alice could see no "door of death" now. "this next door says to let," she said. "suppose you try that." "yes, and i think it is the one," replied old king brady, again working his skeleton keys. fortunately they found themselves with the corridor at their own disposal. in a moment they had the door open. "this is the road i travelled," alice instantly declared. this lengthy cross corridor seemed certain to lead them away from the room in which harry was confined, but alice explaining its windings they determined to try it. they were a story lower than the room in which they had been before and when they came to the semi-circular hall with the three doors exactly like the arrangement above old king brady felt that they must be right. "harry!" he called in a low voice, for he had no desire to bring the chinks down upon him. "here," replied harry instantly. "behind the middle door." old king brady shot the bolt and threw back the door, which was not locked. ah lung was sitting up leaning on harry. he certainly was a horrible looking object with his face all bathed in blood. "not dead!" exclaimed old king brady. "not dead, but in a mighty bad way," gasped lung. "the princess!" he added. "i see you have miss montgomery all right." "i'm sorry to say we have seen nothing of the princess," replied the old detective. "i haven't had time to ask miss montgomery about her yet. what has become of her, alice?" "dr. garshaski carried her off," replied alice. "did--did she give away what he wanted to know?" asked ah lung. "i'm afraid she did. they tortured the poor creature terribly." "we must get you out of here without delay, ah lung," interrupted the old detective. "as for the rest it will have to keep. where shall we take you--home?" "wait," said ah lung. "connected with this place is a club of which i am a member. i have a room here where i sometimes sleep. take me there first and go for dr. gim suey on sacramento street." "oh, you better have an american doctor," protested harry. "not at all," replied ah lung, decidedly. "i have doctored both ways, i greatly prefer the chinese treatment. dr. gim suey will save my life if it can be saved." chapter x. treasure hunting. harry and detective leggett carried ah lung out into the long corridor head and heels. here they ran into a bunch of chinks just coming out of the main club room. there were friends of ah lung's among them, and a tremendous pow-wow and excitement followed, all in chinese. alice explained that it was partly sympathy, partly indignation against dr. garshaski, who was a club member, and partly about the presence of detectives in the house of the seven delights. ah lung quieted them, however. "leave me now," he said. "i am in the hands of my friends. they will do all for me that can be done. they are not willing that you should enter the club room." so the detectives were escorted back to earth by the way old king brady and leggett had come down into these lower regions and glad enough they were to find themselves safe on china alley. parting from leggett, they started, reaching it shortly before midnight. alice was so exhausted that old king brady insisted that she should postpone her story till morning. "i don't know that it will do any good to tell it now," she said. "but i must give you a hint. there is buried or hidden money at the bottom of all this business." "yes, yes, i know," said old king brady. "i heard garshaski call out about it. do you know where the hiding place is?" "in an old house down by the north beach." "does he know?" "he does. he has had plenty of time to get there and get the treasure if it still exists." "if that is the case," said the old detective, "then i think the best thing that all of us can do is to go to bed." they did so and it was not until the next morning at breakfast in the private parlor of the detective's suite that alice's story was told. we need only take it up at the scene in the torture room when the princess fainted and alice thought her dead. "they ran me out then," she said, "so i don't know exactly what the yellow fiends did to her after that. "they tied me to the chair and i think garshaski meant mischief. "after a little he brought the princess into the room and laid her on the bed. she was in a dreadful condition, but she was game still. she had not given the secret away. i begged garshaski to untie me and allow me to attend to her, but he wouldn't hear to it. "'she'll come around all right,'" he declared; adding: "'and for your interference you have to suffer, alice. i will make you feel sorry you ever insulted me in the way you did.' he then left us, and i tried to question the princess, but she would not talk about herself. "'listen, alice,' she said. 'that fiend has killed my cousin wang foo. he told me so. he means to kill me, i know it, but i will never tell him where my grandfather hid his money. i will tell you, though, for you may live to get out of this and i want you, if you do, to go and get that money and give it to ah lung. promise me that.' "i gave her the promise and asked how much the money amounted to. "she declared that her grandfather's letter did not state. "she then went on to tell me that it was hidden under the headstone of an old house near the north beach, the location of which she described so carefully that i am sure i can find it. it appears that her grandfather, although he lived in chinatown, carried on business in this house selling cigars, soda water and so on, probably doing a little opium smuggling on the sly." "let's see!" exclaimed old king brady. "what was the old fellow's name again? i heard garshaski speak it, but i forget." "his name was gong schow," alice replied. "why, i knew him!" cried the old detective. "of course, he smuggled opium. the cigar and soda water business was only a blind. i can locate that house if you can't alice. but do you suppose it is still standing?" "the princess thinks so at all events. that is all i know about it." "very likely it is then. we must go down there at once. on the way we will look in at lung & lung's and learn how it fares with garshaski's unfortunate victim." "go on with your story," said harry. "there is little more to tell," replied alice. "garshaski must have had his ear at some listening hole, for he now burst in on us and, gagging me carried skeep hup off, declaring that he had heard all." and this ended what alice had to say. they started away right after breakfast. meanwhile old king brady called up mr. narraway on the telephone and suggested--for he was in no position to order it--the immediate arrest of volckman. "that has already been attended to," replied the secret service commissioner over the wire, "leggett was at my house early this morning and told me what happened last night." at lung & lung's they ran into wun lung. "ah was still at his club," he said. "he had seen him that morning. dr. gim suey thought he would recover." that was all he could say. the bradys and alice now went to the north beach. here they met with disappointment. they passed on to a point at some distance from the bathing houses to a place where there had once been quite a little grouping of little shacks where various kinds of small business had once been carried on. but these, owing to certain changes, had all been abandoned since the fire. many of them had been pulled down and carried away for firewood. the few which still remained were all unoccupied and fast going to ruin. skeep hup's description of the place would have fitted either one of those remaining. even old king brady was at fault, sure as he had been that he could easily identify the house. they returned to the north beach proper and started to inquire. they could not find any one who remembered old gong schow, strange as it seemed, for the man had been there for several years. "it looks as though we should have to give it up altogether," remarked harry when this stage of the game was reached. "it does," replied old king brady, "and it don't give us the chinese princess either. there is but one way to solve the mystery that i can think that is to get hold of some old chink who knew and had business with gong schow." "but it is doubtful if such a person can be made to tell." "very." "do you know such a man?" "i think i do." "who is he?" "now, harry, i feel under obligations not to tell you. he is a chinaman who was at one time largely engaged in opium smuggling. i knew it, but i was never called upon to proceed against him, so as he once did me an important service i made no move. i found out that he was in the hop business by the merest accident and i swore to him that i would never tell." and harry knew that this was final. so they gave it up and went back to town, leaving old king brady to look up his man. alice was still suffering from the effects of what she had been through in those underground rooms, so she remained at the hotel while harry started out to see what he could do towards locating dr. garshaski. he called first at the stockton street house and entered the doctor's room with a skeleton key. it was a case of no doctor, but there was evidence that he had recently been there. hardly knowing what to do or where to go, harry bent his steps towards the north beach again. when he got there the water looked good to him, so he went in swimming. the day was cool and there were few bathers. one old white-haired man, a splendid swimmer, particularly attracted young king brady's attention and he fell into conversation with him. he learned that the old fellow suffered terribly from insomnia. "why i often come down here and go in alone at midnight," he said, "and sometimes in the early morning hours. i was here this morning at a quarter to one." "is the place deserted then?" harry asked. "i don't believe the north beach baths are ever deserted," replied the old man. "there are always a few old cranks like myself paddling about; sometimes we see strange sights." "i suppose so. suicides for instance?" "yes, i have seen more than i like to think of. i have personally prevented three. last night i saw something which interested me, but, of course, i didn't butt in. i never do. i learned long ago to mind my own business in my nightly wanderings." "what was that?" inquired harry carelessly, for he was not paying very close attention to the old man's talk. "see those old shacks away down there where the pavilion used to be," pointing to the very place which interested young king brady most. "why, yes. what about them?" "last night, just as i came here and before i had undressed--it was about a quarter to one, i should say--i saw an old-fashioned hack drive up on the top of the bank and stop. a man got out and then lifted out what i took to be a little girl, and the hack drove away. next thing i knew he was coming down the long steps carrying the girl in his arms." "going to drown her!" cried harry. "i thought so," replied the old man. "there was nobody here but me. i determined to prevent it if i could so i sneaked along under the bank making as good time as possible and managed to get where i could see what was going on, just as the fellow reached the bottom of the steps. you can judge of my surprise when i tell you that i saw that he was a chinaman, and that what i had taken to be a little girl was actually a very small chinese woman, one of the kind with little feet. i hid under the bank ready to jump on him if he attempted any funny business, but i now saw that he had no notions of drowning the woman. he wandered about among the old shacks talking to her in chinese. they seemed to be trying to find something." "and did they succeed?" asked harry quickly. "they did not as far as i could judge," replied the swimmer. "they hung around for half an hour. the chinawoman apparently could not walk; he had to carry her all the time. at last they seemed to give it up. he carried her up the steps again and they got into the hack and were driven away." "garshaski and the princess," thought harry. "it could have been no one else. what can it mean? has he given up the treasure hunt then?" he asked the old fellow his name and was told that it was abner dawson. they went out of the water now after that and while they were dressing an idea suddenly occurred to young king brady. "mr. dawson," he asked, "is there any other place around san francisco which goes by the name of north beach?" "there might be, over the bay," said dawson. "they have a lot of our san francisco names duplicated over there." harry left him wondering if there could be anything in his idea. chapter xi. too late. old king brady had two good reasons for keeping his mouth shut about the chinaman whom he hoped might furnish him information about gong schow. in the first place this man, who went by the name of ed. woo, had once saved his life during a mix-up in a dupont street opium joint, a service which the old detective was not the kind to forget, and in the next place the man had long since given up his crooked ways and now held a position in a certain prominent bank on montgomery street where he had charge of all chinese business, commanded a good salary and was highly respected. old king brady was not the man to throw a stone in the way of such a character, for which who can blame him? business of importance prevented the old detective from calling at once on ed woo, but during the morning he went to the bank and calling him out into the hall briefly explained the situation in part. he told him about the princess, but made no mention of the supposed-to-be-hidden money. "i have every reason to believe that gong schow before his death hid papers of importance in the little shack where he used to carry on business near the north beach," he said. "this man ah lung is most anxious to recover those papers as well as the princess. i have been there, but everything seems to be in ruins. i can't even locate the spot where the shack stood. i am afraid the case is hopeless, but i thought that perhaps you could help me out, woo." "i will if i can, you may be sure," replied the chinese bank clerks, "but i must say, mr. brady, you are rather indefinite." "i know it," answered the old detective, "but to tell the truth, i have to be. the affair concerns only ah lung." "and you are the best man in the world for keeping others people's secrets. but i did not refer to that. which gong schow do you mean?" "what! was there more than one of that name in chinatown?" "there were four." "bless me! that certainly complicates matters. but surely there was only one who ran a business at the north beach and engaged in hop smuggling on the side." "there again you are wrong. there were two; what is more, there was another place called north beach in those days." the chinaman named the location. it was over the bay above saucelito. there, ed woo explained, a certain cove was once called north beach and enjoyed a short-lived popularity as a sunday bathing resort, but had now been entirely abandoned for several years. "and was there a gong schow in business over there?" asked the old detective. "there was," replied ed woo, "there was one out there and one at the old north beach in san francisco. both took a hand at hop smuggling. i knew them both, so you see, mr. brady, it is important that i should know which one you mean." "well, under the circumstances i should say so," exclaimed the old detective. "the man i refer to died shortly after the fire." "then he was the gong schow over the bay," was the reply. "the other one so far as i know is living still." here was information of real value. hurrying back to the hotel old king brady found harry had just come in. "have you accomplished anything?" he asked. "nothing, i may say," replied harry, "except that by mere accident i learned that dr. garshaski took the princess to the north beach last night and made a hunt for gong schow's house, but failed to find it." "which north beach?" "what? are there two?" "sure." "you don't mean it. do you know that is just what i was wondering. you certainly know san francisco better than i do, governor." old king brady smiled. "oh, i can't lay claim to have been in possession of the knowledge for any length of time," he said, and went on to explain. "singular that i should have been seized with the same idea," remarked harry. "alice, how does it strike you? can this and not the regulation north beach be the place?" "easily," replied alice. "skeep hup knows nothing of san francisco, remember. when she said north beach, she was only repeating what she had read in her grandfather's letter. she told me that the letter stated that the house was a little frame affair standing back under the bluff, and that it had a green door; that there were other houses near it and that all had been abandoned." "hello!" exclaimed harry. "you did not mention the green door before." "didn't i? then it must have slipped my mind. but when one comes to think of it, no chinaman in his senses would ever think of hiding money anywhere around north beach, san francisco." "dr. garshaski seems to have been as badly deceived as ourselves," observed harry. "yes, but he may have become undeceived by this time," replied old king brady. "we want to get across the bay at once and do our investigating there." they lost no time in putting this plan into effect, starting for the foot of clay street where, as old king brady knew, there was a man who had naphtha launches to rent. as they were about to enter the little office of this individual who should they run into but detective leggett. "volckman has given us the slip," said leggett. "i am going across the bay after him." "you started to arrest him?" "i didn't; narraway sent a man to do it; some one must have tipped volckman off, for he didn't come to business this morning nor send any word. i happened to be at the office when the man came in with this report; narraway told me to go to volckman's house and see if i could nail him there." "and you failed?" "failed because he wasn't there. wasn't any one there? the house was shut up. i managed to get in all the same. found most everything packed up. i prowled about and came across some letters in an old desk which are mighty interesting. want to see them?" "what are they about?" "opium smuggling. five names are mentioned. the gang has had a bad scare through our operations. they have changed their base. there's another lot of hop expected in to-night it seems and the landing is to be made at a lonely spot over the bay. i'm bound for there now. want to size up the place and report to narraway. i shall recommend that you be put in charge of the raid, mr. brady." "i am not sure that i want the contract," replied the old detective. "got the princess yet?" "no. we are still hunting garshaski; but where is this place you speak of?" "it's above saucelito; used to be called north beach." the bradys and alice glanced at each other. "how are you going, leggett?" the old detective asked. "why, i was going to hire a launch." "then you may as well come along with us, for that's just the place we are bound for." and thus it came about that once again detective leggett came to be associated with the bradys in their chase after the chinese princess. the launch was engaged and with the detectives on board and harry running the motor, it started in the direction of the golden gate. it now became necessary to take leggett fully into their confidence, for the secret service man had not understood about the hidden money. he grew quite excited and talked of little else the rest of the trip. it made matters easier for the bradys that leggett knew the exact location of this other north beach. in due time they ran into the shallow cove under the green hills where there was a small pier, sort of boat-house on piles and several frame shacks which had once been devoted to such business as is usually found about a bathing place. all happened to be deserted. the bradys instead of landing at the pier ran further down and tied up at a float from which they passed to the shore. the bradys walked up the beach surveying the different shacks. "there's your green door, alice," harry suddenly exclaimed, as he pointed on ahead. it was attached to a one-story building scarcely larger than a good sized hencoop, that green door. "looks as if it might be the place," observed old king brady, adding: "but who owns the sailboat tied up at the pier, i wonder?" they had not observed it as they approached the pier from the other side. "suggests garshaski," said harry. they pushed on to the green door. "go on in, harry and alice," said the old detective. "leggett and i will watch that house on the piles. the owner of the sailboat may be inside." harry and alice then pushed on into the shack. "too late!" cried alice, "garshaski has been here ahead of us!" and indeed it looked so, for there in the middle of the floor lay a flat stone broken in two pieces. evidently it had served as a hearth stone and beneath where it had lain at the foot of the chimney was a newly dug hole. chapter xii. conclusion. "just in time to be too late!" exclaimed harry, pointing at the hole. "so it would seem. but it may not be so. that sailboat!" said old king brady. "that's what's the matter!" cried harry. "that boat-house, you may say. who is inside? that's what we want to know now." "mr. brady! oh, mr. brady!" called leggett excitedly. all hurried outside. "look!" said leggett, pointing up the bay. a good-sized launch was rapidly approaching, evidently heading for this abandoned beach. "can it be the hop gang?" asked leggett. "who can tell?" replied the old detective. "sneak on beyond the boat-house and get a sight of them. if you find they are chinks hold up two fingers and get back as fast as you can. don't show yourself any more than you have to." "right. what about the treasure?" harry hastily explained and leggett hurried away, passing behind the boat-house. the bradys approached it leisurely. the building was much larger than an ordinary boat-house. indeed, perhaps it had never been intended for a boat-house at all, but for the office of the proprietors of the beach. it had a door opening on the pier, also a window. they stepped upon the pier and were just about to pass around to the front of the building when suddenly they heard the door open noisily. "stop!" breathed old king brady, "we want to know what that means." he was about to peer around the corner of the building when a harsh voice called out something in chinese. "mercy!" whispered alice. "garshaski! he says 'now i'm going to be rid of you, princess!'" before alice finished speaking, old king brady knew. peering around the corner of the building, he saw dr. garshaski starting down the pier carrying the princes skeep hup in his arms crossing a sort of runway or gang plank which connected the pier with the house. "stop where you are, doctor!" shouted the old detective, as all three showed themselves now. the old detective ran to head him off. harry and alice were now on the side platform separated from the runway by considerable space. instantly the doctor saw them. with an exclamation of surprise and disgust he turned and took the back track. old king brady rushed after the flying chinaman who was carrying the princess. he crossed a gang plank and entered the house on the piles. the next instant part of the runway flew up, closing the doorway, while harry and alice looked on. "you scoundrel!" shouted old king brady. "harm that woman at your peril!" "leggett is signalling!" cried harry. "there are chinks in the launch!" "save the princess!" exclaimed alice. "that yellow fiend has unearthed the treasure and now he will kill her." "but how to get at him!" cried old king brady. "you two keep guard here. there must be a rear entrance. i'll tackle him there." he ran around to where they were standing. "let harry go too!" cried alice. "if he comes out with the princess i'll shoot him." "come, harry," said the old detective, and around the house they went. meanwhile leggett was hurrying along the beach. there proved to be a back door to the house, but it was shut. there was no window here, thus it was impossible to tell what garshaski was about, but as they drew nearer they could hear him fumbling with the lock of the door. "stand in close, harry," whispered the old detective. the order was a wise one, for the next instant the door slightly opened and garshaski peered out. he jumped back, closing the door, but before the bradys had time to think twice it was opened again on the crack and a revolver was fired. the shot went through old king brady's hat. the instant the crack of the revolver was heard, harry, who had drawn his weapon, fired. his aim was true, the shot flew in through the crack of the door. there was a yell of pain and something was heard to fall. "forward!" cried the old detective. as he said it a succession of queer little squeals began inside the house and a woman's voice chattered in chinese. it was the princess! the bradys rushed inside. harry's shot had taken dr. garshaski in the right hand. he dropped the revolver and starting back had stumbled over a chair and fallen. the princess lost no time in improving her opportunity. she could not stand on her little feet owing to the damage done those nearly useless members by that terrible rack, but she had free use of her hands as she sat there on the floor. garshaski, as we should have mentioned, was now in full chinese costume even to a false pigtail, but his natural hair was long enough for skeep hup to get a good hold, and there she was yanking it for all she was worth. the scene was a comical one, but it might have been a tragedy, for the doctor had just managed to get hold of the princess with his unwounded left hand, when the bradys burst into the room. harry covered the doctor, old king brady managed to make the princess let go her hold on his hair, but not without some difficulty. quickly they tied his legs together, searched and captured another revolver. meanwhile garshaski had not spoken a word. his face was deathly white, the sight of his own blood which flowed freely had apparently turned him faint, for by the time the bradys succeeded in securing him he had relapsed into unconsciousness. "call alice!" ordered the old detective. "we want to find out about the treasure while we have so good a chance." alice came. the princess almost fell over herself in her delight, chattering eagerly in chinese. "well?" demanded the old detective. "well?" "oh, he got the treasure all right," said alice. "it is in here." she led the way into the front room, which was fitted up with a bar and upon this stood an old dress-suit case. "that's it!" cried alice. "they have but just finished their work. garshaski was going to drown her and make off with the money. the princess says that he found it under the hearth stone and that there is a lot of it." leggett now burst into the roam. "that launch is full of chinks!" he said, "but they have shoved off. i think they saw mr. brady's big hat and were scared away." perhaps it was so, for they did not return. the suit-case, being opened, was found stuffed with yellow-backs with some gold. when counted later the amount proved to be a little over $ , . garshaski was rounded up in san francisco jail, later going to a hospital. the princess skeep hup was turned over to the lung brothers with the treasure. some weeks later she married ah lung, who made a quick recovery. that night the bradys with leggett and other secret service men returned to the abandoned beach. here they went into hiding, waiting for the opium smugglers. and again it proved a foggy night, which greatly aided them in their work. two boats landed between one and two o'clock. meanwhile volckman, five chinamen and a white representative of the crooked commercial house were on land to receive the cargo. at the right moment the bradys rounded up the whole outfit; thus that incident was closed. dr. garshaski went to san quentin for ten years. the opium smugglers received various short sentences. volckman's was five years. but what became of wang foo? this was never known. mysteriously he seemed to have vanished. garshaski denied all knowledge of the man, but alice is firmly of the opinion that he was murdered in the torture room connected with the house of the seven delights. the police raided the place and cleaned out all its occupants. old king brady looked up inez reyes and not only gave her $ , but paid her way back to mexico. ah lung treated the bradys most liberally and leggett came in for his share. well could ah lung afford it, for, thanks to skillful detective work, he had secured old gong schow's hidden treasure and his chinese princess. next week's issue will contain "the bradys and 'old dangerous'; or, after the king of the bank breakers." * * * * * special notice:--all back numbers of this weekly, except the following, are in print: to , , , , , , to , , . if you cannot obtain the ones you want from any newsdealer, send the price in money or postage stamps by mail to frank tousey, publisher, union square, new york city, and you will receive the copies you order by return mail. * * * * * ayvad's water-wings learn to swim by one trial price cents, postpaid these water-wings take up no more room than a pocket-handkerchief. they weigh ounces, and support from to pounds. with a pair anyone can learn to swim or float. for use, you have only to wet them, blow them up, and press together the two ring-marks under the mouthpiece. frank robinson, w. th st., n. y. * * * * * laughing camera.--everybody grotesquely photographed: stout people look thin, and vice versa. price, c., postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * false noses change your face! have a barrel of fun! they are lifelike reproductions of funny noses, made of shaped cloth, waxed, and colored. when placed over your nose, they remain on securely, and only a close inspection reveals their false character. all shapes, such as bugs, hooks, short horn lemons, and rum blossoms. better than a false face can be carried in the vest pocket price cents each by mail frank robinson, west th st., n. y. * * * * * look backward wonder of the th century the greatest novelty out enjoy yourself own one when placed to the eye, you can see what is taking place in back and front of you at the same time. no need to wish for eyes in the back of your head, as with this article you can observe all that occurs in that direction without even turning your head. how often are you anxious to see faces in back of you or observe who is following without attracting attention by turning around. this instrument does the trick for you. lots of fun in owning a seeback scope. price cents each in money or postage stamps wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * we ship on approval _ without a cent deposit_, prepay the freight and allow days free trial. it only costs one cent to learn and _unheard of prices_ and _marvelous offers_ on highest grade model bicycles. factory prices _do not buy_ a bicycle or a pair of tires from _anyone_ at _any price_ until you write for our large art catalog and learn our _wonderful proposition_ sample bicycle going to your town. rider agents everywhere are making big money exhibiting and selling our bicycles. we sell cheaper than any other. tires, coaster-brake rear wheels, lamps, repairs and all sundries at _half usual prices_. do 'not' wait; write _to-day_ for our _special offer_. mead cycle co., dept. p- chicago * * * * * i will send as long they last my c book strong arms for c in stamps or coin illustrated with full-page half-tone cuts, showing exercises that will quickly develop, beautify, and gain great strength in shoulders, arms, and back without any apparatus. prof. anthony barker barker bldg., w. nd st., new york * * * * * camera and complete outfit for c takes pictures . × . inches. with plates, paper, chemicals, etc.; leatherette covered, full instructions so that any small boy or girl can take pictures. the complete outfit will be sent you securely packed and delivered for only c or for c. w. e. mcneil & co. dept. chicago * * * * * magic skull c. shines in dark; funny. catalog free. klein, broadway, new york. * * * * * lots of fun for a dime ventriloquists double throat! fits roof of mouth & always invisible; greatest thing yet. astonish and mystify your friends. neigh like a horse; whine like a puppy; sing like a canary and imitate birds and beasts of field and forest. loads of fun. wonderful invention. price only cents; for cents or for cents. double throat co. dept. k frenchtown, n. j. * * * * * asthma & hay fever remedy sent by experts to you on free trial. if it cures send $ ; if not, don't. give express office. write to-day. national chemical co., poplar st., sidney, ohio * * * * * the crown stylo made of aluminum, satin finish, guaranteed not to leak price c. each, postpaid this stylographic ink pencil is made on a new plan. it cannot corrode and will outlast and outclass any similar pencil on the market. it is a splendid writer, and is easily kept in order. each one packed with a clip to hold it in your vest pocket. frank robinson, w. th st., n.y. * * * * * the magnetic top price cents, postpaid a handsome metal, highly magnetized toy. a horseshoe, and a spiral wire furnished with each top. when spun next to the wires, they make the most surprising movements. you can make wires of different shapes and get the most peculiar effects. l. senarens, winthrop st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * remington umc nº . rifle do you want a rifle as accurate and reliable as the world-renowned _remington-umc_ big game rifle that the famous hunters use? the no. single shot has tapered barrel, case-hardened frame, genuine walnut stock and fore-end, rifle butt plate, rear and tang peep sight. shoots . short, . long and . long rifle cartridges. also made to shoot . short rim-fire cartridges. you'll actually be surprised at its moderate price. ask your dealer. _free--set of targets. write to-day_ _remington-umc_ --the perfect shooting combination remington arms--union metallic cartridge co. broadway new york city the new . "lesmok" cartridges * * * * * "humantone" u.s. pat. nos. trade mark other patents pending. humanatone.--the improved humanatone. this flute will be found as the most enjoyable article ever offered, nickel plated, finely polished; each put up in box with full instruction how to use them. price, c., postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y * * * * * "secret service" new york, september , . terms to subscribers single copies . cents one copy three months . cents one copy six months $ . one copy one year $ . postage free. how to send money--at our risk send p. o. money order, check, or registered letter: remittances in any other way are at your risk. we accept postage stamps the same as cash. when sending silver wrap the coin in a separate piece of paper to avoid cutting the envelope. _write your name and address plainly. address letters to_ sinclair tousey, president } n. hastings, treasurer } owen e. nylander, secretary } frank tousey, publisher union sq., new york * * * * * items worth reading the superintendent of an orphan asylum in oxford, n. c., lately received the following letter, offering a good education to some deserving boy: "dear doctor, i wants to git a gude boye from the assylim to hep mee in mye farm wurk. i will treet him cindely and giv him as gude edicatin as i hev got myself. your truly," etc. by way of reply to the -inch gun which has been adopted, by some other navies, the british admiralty are constructing, we understand, a -inch, -caliber gun. if the present rate of increase continues, it will not be long before we are back to the -inch caliber, which was used in a few monster weapons of years ago that were mounted in certain italian warships. for conniving at the crimes of notorious robbers, eleven of the detective officers of moscow have been sentenced to various terms of imprisonment--five of them to hard labor in the siberian mines. the detectives were denounced in a private letter to the czar, written by a thief who had refused to operate with the officers and divide his plunder with them. one hundred dollars for one standing white pine tree was the stiff price paid to george burgess of clark county, wis. the tree was cut and scaled slightly over , feet when cut into six logs, making a good profit for the buyer at the present price of lumber. at that rate a quarter section of pine would make a man a millionaire many times over. according to cable dispatches from gibraltar, the new battleship "neptune" has recently made a test of a new system of aiming the main battery, which has been originated by percy scott, the father of the modern system of target firing. it is stated that while the "neptune" was steaming at -knots she fired two broadsides in quick succession at a target moving at the same speed at a distance of , yards, and that every shot went home. the aiming and firing of the guns is done entirely from the conning tower, the duties of the gun crews being merely to load the guns. if this be true, scott has made an advance second only in importance to his famous improvements of five or six years ago. at douen, in france, on the river seine, there is a bridge that is a sort of aerial ferry. in order to avoid interference with shipping at this point, it was determined to place no structure in the stream or near its surface. instead of a bridge in any of the ordinary forms, a horizontal flooring, sustained by steel towers and suspension cable, was stretched across the river at an elevation of feet. on this flooring run electrically-driven rollers, from which is suspended, by means of steel ropes, a car that moves at the level of the wharves on the river banks. the car is feet wide and feet long, and is furnished, like a ferryboat, with accommodations for carriages and foot passengers. the ropes that carry the hanging car are interlaced diagonally in such a manner that the support is rigid, and a swinging motion is avoided. to secure sound rock for the entire length of the catskill aqueduct tunnel it has been necessary to go down over one thousand feet below the river surface. investigation was made by wash borings, by diamond drills operated from scows on the river, and by inclined diamond borings started from the bottom of shafts sunk feet on each side of the river. one of these inclined holes was over , feet long. the inclination was determined by sinking the shaft glass tubes filled with hydrofluoric acid, which etched a true horizontal line on the interior surface. * * * * * with the funny fellows. shockit--does learning the bicycle require any particular application? sprockitt--no; none in particular. but arnica is about as good as anything. visitor--what makes you so ugly, tommy? don't you love your baby brother? tommy (viciously)--well, i did till somebody came in and said he looked like me. waiter (seeing dissatisfaction on guest's face)--wasn't the dinner cooked to suit you, sir? guest--yes; all but the bill. just take that back and tell them to boil it down a little. "george, i wish you'd leave this little package at the express office." me carry a bundle? i guess not. besides, i've got to lug both my tires and a handle bar down to the repair shop. lawyer--i'll defend you, sambo, in this bigamy case, but what defense have you? sambo--i kin prove an alibi. lawyer--an alibi? how will you prove it? sambo--by two odder wives whut i had. miss smart (after an hour of patient listening to a tortured violin)--do you play a great deal, mr. sawton? mr. sawton (modestly)--oh, not a great deal, i assure you. i play only to kill time. miss s. (enthusiastically)--how well you succeed! judge--have you anything to say, prisoner? prisoner--yes. i'm engaged to be married. i've been engaged for the last ten years. judge--why aren't you married? prisoner--because we've never been out of jail together. she comes out to-morrow. the pupils in a school in boston were asked to give in writing the difference between a biped and a quadruped. one boy gave the following: "a biped has two legs and a quadruped has four legs, therefore, the difference between a biped and a quadruped is two legs." mistress--oh, briget! briget! what an awful numbskull you are! you've put the potatoes on the table with their skins on, right in front of our visitors, too. you--you--what shall i call you? briget (affably)--call me "agnes," if ye loike, mum; 'tis me other name. a real joke was sprung by a student at the western reserve university last week. this student suffers from the stigma of obesity; it appears that even professors do not love a fat man. after a particularly unsuccessful recitation in english iii., the professor said: "alas, mr. blank! you are better fed than taught." "that's right, professor," sighed the youth, subsiding heavily. "you teach me--i feed myself." a writer in the philadelphia saturday evening post tells of a big, overgrown, bashful booby of a farmer's boy who was afraid even to speak to a girl, and whose father one day finally lost patience and scolded him roundly for not looking about and finding some girl to marry. "why," he said, "at your age i had been married three years and had a house and farm of my own!" "well, but, dad," complained the boy, "that ain't the same thing at all. you only had to marry mother, while i've got to go and hunt up some strange girl and ask her to marry me!" * * * * * the marshlea tragedy by col. ralph fenton three years ago i went down to marshlea to spend the summer. it is a sea-breezy, bird-singing country, and the ocean house, having been taken by a friend of mine for the season, i knew i should have unexceptionable quarters, and "rust" as my friend charley williard says, to my heart's content. change of scene is a good thing, but utter solitude, under the names of rustication and rest, is a penalty i never willingly undergo. i knew that there would be plenty of people at marshlea--people in undress and holiday tempers--fashionables exhibiting, scholars seeking, invalids languishing, flirts flirting, and many good people simply enjoying relief from care and the salubrious situation. i expected as much of the people as i did of the place, and accepted them quite as willingly. my quarters were comfortable, a cool northeast room and a little east bedroom looking upon the sea, both rooms furnished freely in bamboo and india matting. i wheeled my bed so that i could see the sun rise in the morning, quite comfortable, and with no thanks to mr. bierstadt, and heard the gong sound two hours later, while i was reading thackeray. i never took morning sea-baths--they did not agree with my constitution--but at noon, when the tide lapped the shingles, full of a soft wash and warm swells, i took a stretch of half a mile, and felt the better for my tonic. but of a morning, as the tide came in, it was pleasant to watch the bathers--men swimming with fearless little boys, mothers dipping astonished babies, and acres of scarlet-clad figures tripping along the sand, or waltzing in the surf, like blossoms blown about--while the sky lay low and fleecy and warm over the scene. i remember the sand-piper's cry, the peals of laughter, and lowing of the cattle in the marshes. i recollect the saxifrage that grew among the rocks, the spring that pushed its way over the salt pebbles to the waters of the cove, and the sweet notes of the little brown shore birds. i recall a day when the sunshine was very bland; glittering carriage loads of dolce far niente pleasure-seekers rolled slowly down the sands. staniels' canopied boat, its silken flag fluttering, softly rocked at his moorings, little white tents, the mushroom dwellings of sportsmen, dotted the rocks, and the sea glittered and tossed under the serene blueness of the sky. it was all enjoyable then, but an element of tragedy entered into it afterwards which makes me recall the place with a pang of sorrow. i seem to hear a woman's shrieks ringing out over that blue, smiling water. i was smoking in the bowling alley one evening, when a light coupe came dashing over the sands, and stopped at the door of the hotel. john saunders, my good friend and host, came out to meet a singularly handsome man, who alighted, and entered into conversation with him. "by jingo!" exclaimed a volatile voice in my ear. "colonel staniels!" and my mercurial friend, walt summers, finished his exclamation of surprise with a prolonged whistle. "are you sure?" i asked, for i knew the name, though not the man then. "yes; know his carriage. and then no one could ever see eben staniels and mistake him afterwards." i was certain of that when i saw the gentleman at supper. he was about the medium height, with a magnificent chest, a handsome head covered with curling brown hair, and a prompt, military bearing. his eyes were gray, bright, unflinching and very handsome. he wore a closely-trimmed dark beard, and his regular features, straight brows and bold white forehead made his face as fine as it was fearless. he seemed entirely indifferent to the sensation he produced. it was generally known that he had been divorced from his wife two years previous, and this fact, together with his wealth, standing and personal appearance, made him an object of attention to everybody. his manner was unexceptionable, and his bearing perfectly cool, to an ordinary observer; but as i passed him on the porch, late in the evening, smoking, i saw him looking silently over the moon-lighted sea, and wincing at his secret thoughts. his room adjoined mine. he was at marshlea three weeks before i made his acquaintance. he knocked at my door one evening just at sunset. "mr. cathmor, would you like to drive in town with me to-night? the sunset promises us a fine evening." i had planned a sail by the moonlight, but an impulse to accept colonel staniels' invitation instantly seized me. i admired the colonel, was glad to know more of him, as this opportunity suggested, and i liked fine horses, and the colonel's were very fine. i accepted the invitation. when we went out the sun had just set, and a boy was holding the horses. as soon as he left their heads we sailed away. the animals were magnificent, wanting nothing but guiding. in town we went to the postoffice and bank, and then turned homewards. the colonel talked well. we touched briefly on a score of standard subjects, and momentarily my respect for the man beside me increased. he made many remarks worth recording, among these this: "it is a very common mistake among men that they must rule their wives." this was nearly four years ago, before the diffusion of the woman's rights question, now so generally discussed. the words, and his manner of saying them, gave me a clew to the track of his observations, if not his experience. i glanced at the stern contour of his face, the unquiet glance of his eye, and chose to believe the latter. suddenly his manner changed. "mr. cathmor, i have a fancy to receive your congratulations first. i am to be married in a few days, and bring my wife to the ocean house," he said. i expressed the pleasure his manner conveyed to me. "my little girl will like this place, i think," he said. the singular sweetness of his smile charmed me. after a moment he took a little oval miniature case from his breast and handed it to me. it contained a sweet, pure, earnest face--a sparkle in the modest eyes, too, that told of exuberant life. "that is what i call lovable," i exclaimed, in enthusiasm. my praise seemed to touch him to the quick. "i think so, too," he answered, quietly, putting the picture back in its hiding-place, with a moment's happy abstraction. we drove fleetly up to the door. a little knot of men gathered about the horses as usual. i went up to my room with a new item for thought. the next day colonel staniels took the boat for new york. in three days he was back with his wife. brides are not generally to my taste, they are usually too suggestive of clothes, and plume themselves to a fatiguing extent. they are too demonstrative and important, too publicly tender, and too generally oppressive. but i liked mrs. staniels the moment i heard her glad laugh. it was a laugh, and her face was like a sunbeam. she was not overdressed or burdened with the consciousness of her position; she did not caress her husband in public, or betray any unusual excitement. she talked in an arch, merry little way with everybody she won to her side, telling of places, things, people, anybody but herself and the colonel. she had just returned from europe. she was pretty, and an heiress, but she was not spoiled. i admired the colonel more than ever at that time. he received the ladies' congratulations and compliments on his wife with a grave sweetness; i noticed that the men did not jest with him, and that their appearance did not suggest any of the stale jokes and comments on matrimony, common to a mixed company. more than all this, their composed and friendly demeanor when together, and the quiet system of their glances, pleased me. but i knew that staniels was very happy. his face unbent--its only fault had been a little coldness and sternness--and revealed a warmth and geniality that made him quite resistible. he formed the habit of coming into my room to smoke, remarking that: "say did not like tobacco smoke." i never saw him smoke in her presence. the name on her wedding cards was sarah fay pomfret, but this stately appellation the colonel abbreviated to the diminutive title, "say," and it seemed to quite suit her. one day, about three weeks after their arrival, a party of us went down the shore gunning, colonel staniels was of the number. my luck was unusually good. my game bag became heavy. towards noon i flung myself down under a tree to rest. in a few minutes staniels appeared and took a seat beside me. he was out of spirits. "what is the matter?" i asked. he tried to smile, ruthlessly, but i saw a tear flash in his eye. "my cursed obstinacy! i was cross to say this morning." he arose restlessly, and walked away. i saw that he was far from being happy, but it was a matter requiring no interference of mine. "who breaks--pays," i muttered, and lay flat on my back for a full hour before the rest came up. i reached home first. the day had been unusually hot, but a cooling breeze had sprung up as the sun set. i entered the house, and passing up to my room met say spaniels, all in white, in the hall. "mr. cathmor, is eben coming?" she asked. "he has come; he will be up directly," i answered. "keep still as a mouse," she whispered, "i am going to play a trick on him. don't tell where i am--hush!" as a step sounded on the stair. she turned and fled noiselessly into an alcove of the hall. staniels came rather slowly up the stairs. i thought he was deliberating what kind of a reception might greet him, fearing, perhaps, tears, pouts or frowns. but i, seeing the merry, peeping face, knew that the matter to which he was probably keenly sensible was utterly disregarded by the sweet, healthy nature of his wife. he entered the room, closed the door. all was silent after he crossed the floor. say tiptoed down the hall and stood listening, her head with its glossy waves of chestnut hair bent, her red lips parted, her cheek dimpling. suddenly we heard the report of a pistol. she started bewildered. i leaped from my seat, and sprang past her into the room. staniels lay dead on the floor, shot through the heart. beside him lay the innocent paper which had caused the deed. it was a little note saying: "you do not love me. i have gone away. good-by. say." the cheat had been too certain. with a sore conscience, and a heart in which memories of a hidden past had probably rankled all day, the husband had been thoroughly duped. the thoughts that rushed upon him maddened him; the first act was self-destruction. and so, when i think of beautiful marshlea, i always hear above the murmur of the sea and the songs of the birds, the dreadful shrieks of an agonized woman, whose innocent, childlike love had been the cause of so terrible a tragedy. * * * * * a wildcat full of fight. a fierce fight between a monster wildcat and two dogs was witnessed the other day by henry t. frankelfield on saw creek, a tributary of the bushkill, in lower pike county, pa. mr. frankelfield is the landlord of the falls house at resaca, pa. he had been hearing the cries of the wildcat for several nights. a recent snowfall made excellent tracking and he started out in pursuit of the animal in company with his dogs, sport and watch. the hunter had not gone far when sport struck the trail of the wildcat. the two dogs started off with a yelp and followed the scent almost to saw creek and then stopped. when frankelfield came up he found one of the dogs smelling around an old tree stump. it was evident that the cat had been there recently, but had left again, after watch found the trail again, and the animal was traced into little pine swamp. frankelfield remained at the edge of the swamp while the dogs entered it. he heard them bark and knew that they had found their game, and he made his way to the spot. he found both dogs at the foot of an old tamarack stump which had fallen against another tree, and in the top of the stump was the wildcat eying them both. frankelfield took deliberate aim and discharged both barrels of his gun at the animal, but failed to kill it outright. wounded and maddened with pain, the cat gave a loud screech, sprang from the tree stump to the ground, and landed on the back of one of the dogs. the infuriated beast got one of its paws in on sport and almost scalped the dog, while watch planted his teeth in the cat. then began one of the liveliest scrapping matches frankelfield has ever seen. snarling and snapping, the cat fought both animals, the blood from the gunshot wounds dyeing the snow a deep red. frankelfield watched the battle some time, and tried to shoot the animal, but the combatants seemed to be all in a snarl, and he was afraid to fire lest he should hit the dogs. it was nip-and-tuck for a long time, and the wildcat, although fighting against odds, clawed and chewed first one dog and then the other, as the trio rolled over and over. at last the cat, exhausted from loss of blood, gave up the fight and was killed by its opponents. frankelfield carried the animal home, and intends having it mounted. it weighed forty pounds, and is the largest cat that has been killed in poke county in many years. * * * * * a clerk in belgrade, servia, named vellslaw simmonovitch, on the strength of an increase of salary, recently telegraphed to a young woman of losnitsa and asked her to share his fortunes. the regulation tax allows ten words for the minimum fee, and her answer ran: "yes, gladly, willingly, joyfully, delightfully, gratefully, lovingly, yes, yes, yes." * * * * * the dissolving penny.--a genuine penny is held by the fingertips. you offer it to your friend, and when he attempts to take it, the penny suddenly vanishes without any trace and is immediately reproduced from some quite unexpected place. price, c chas. unger, union st., jersey city, n. j. * * * * * mossberg wrench dco. attleboro mass. u.s.a. deviline's whistle.--nickel plated, polished; it produces a near-piercing sound, large seller; illustration actual size. price, c., by mail. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * microscope.--by use of this wonderful little microscope you can magnify a drop of stagnant water until you see thousands of crawling insects; is also useful for inspecting grain, pork, linen and numerous other articles. this little instrument does equally as good work as the best microscopes and is invaluable to the household. is made of best finished brass; size when closed one inch by two and a half inches. price, c. l. senarens, winthrop st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * many tool key ring. the wonder of the age. the greatest small tool in the world. in this little instrument you have in combination seven useful tools embracing key ring, pencil sharpener, nail cutter and cleaner, watch opener, cigar clipper, letter opener and screw driver. it is not a toy, but a useful article, made of cutlery steel, tempered and highly nickeled. therefore will carry an edge the same as any piece of cutlery. as a useful tool, nothing has ever been offered to the public to equal it. price, cents, mailed, postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * vanishing cigar.--this cigar is made an exact imitation of a good one. it is held by a rubber cord, which with the attached safety pin, is fastened on the inside of the sleeve. when offered to a friend, as it is about to be taken, it will instantly disappear. price by mail, postpaid, c. each. chas. unger, union st., jersey city, n. j. * * * * * link the link puzzle. the sensation of the day. pronounced by all, the most baffling and scientific novelty out. thousands have worked at it for hours without mastering it, still it can be done in two seconds by giving the links the proper twist, but unless you know how, the harder you twist them the tighter they grow. price, cents; for cents; one dozen, cents, by mail, postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * cachoo or sneezing powder.--the greatest fun-maker of them all. a small amount of this powder, when blown in a room, will cause everyone to sneeze without anyone knowing where it comes from. it is very light, will float in the air for some time, and penetrate every nook and corner of a room. it is perfectly harmless. cachoo is put up in bottles, and one bottle contains enough to be used from to times. price by mail, c. each; for c. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * rough and ready tumblers. these lively acrobats are handsomely decorated with the u. s. flag and with gold and silver stars and hearts. upon placing them upon any flat surface they at once begin a most wonderful performance, climbing and tumbling over each other and chasing each other in every direction, as if this evil spirit was after them, causing roars of laughter from the spectators. they actually appear imbued with life. what causes them to cut up such antics is a secret that may not be known even to the owner of the unruly subjects. if you want some genuine fun send for a set of our tumblers. price, per set, cents; mailed postpaid. a. a. warford, hart st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * the german ocarino. a handsome metal instrument, made in germany, from which peculiar but sweet music can be produced. its odd shape, which resembles a torpedo boat, will attract much attention. we send instructions with each instrument, by the aid of which any one can in a short time play any tune and produce very sweet music on this odd looking instrument. price cents by mail postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * trick puzzle purse.--the first attempt usually made to open it, is to press down the little knob in the centre of purse, when a small needle runs out and stabs them in the finger, but does not open it. you can open it before their eyes and still they will be unable to open it. price by mail, postpaid, c. each. frank robinson, w. th st., n. y. * * * * * the joker's cigar. the biggest sell of the season. a real cigar made of tobacco, but secreted in center of cigar about one-half inch from end is a fountain of sparklets. the moment the fire reaches this fountain hundreds of sparks of fire burst forth in every direction, to the astonishment of the smoker. the fire is stage fire, and will not burn the skin or clothing. after the fireworks the victim can continue smoking the cigar to the end. price, cents; for cents; dozen, cents, mailed, postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * japanese trick knife.--you can show the knife and instantly draw it across your finger, apparently cutting deep into the flesh. the red blood appears on the blade of the knife, giving a startling effect to the spectators. the knife is removed and the finger is found in good condition. quite an effective illusion. price by mail, c. each. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * good luck banks _price cents_ ornamental as well as useful. made of highly nickeled brass. it holds just one dollar. when filled it opens itself. remains locked until refilled. can be used as a watchcharm. money refunded if not satisfied. l. senarens winthrop st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * happy hooligan joker with this joker in the lappel of your coat, you can make a dead shot every time. complete, with rubber ball and tubing. price, cents, by mail, postpaid. chas. unger, union st., jersey city, n. j. * * * * * the great fire eater. _a great sensational trick of the day!_ with the fire eater in his possession any person can become a perfect salamander, apparently _breathing fire_ and ejecting _thousands_ of brilliant sparks from his mouth, to the horror and consternation of all beholders. harmless fun for all times, seasons and places. if you wish to produce a _decided sensation_ in your neighborhood don't fail to procure one. we send the fire eater with all the materials, in a handsome box, the cover of which is highly ornamented with illustrations in various colors. price of _all_ complete only cents, or boxes for cents, mailed postpaid; one dozen by express $ . . n. b.--full printed instructions for performing the trick accompany _each_ box, which also contains sufficient material for giving _several_ exhibitions. frank robinson, w. th st., n. y. * * * * * the surprise bouquet. the best practical joke of the season. this beautiful button-hole bouquet is made of artificial flowers and leaves which so closely resemble natural flowers that not one person in a thousand would detect the difference. after placing the bouquet in your button-hole you call the attention of a friend to its beauty and fragrance. he will very naturally step forward and smell of it, when, to his utter astonishment, a fine stream of water will be thrown into his face. where the water comes from is a mystery, as you can have your hands at your side or behind you, and not touch the bouquet in any manner. you can give one dozen or more persons a shower bath without removing the bouquet from your button-hole, and after the water is exhausted it can be immediately refilled without removing it from your coat. cologne can be used in place of water when desired. we have many funny things in our stock, but nothing that excels this. price, complete in a beautiful box, with full printed instructions, cents, or three for cents; by mail post paid. chas. unger, union st., jersey city, n. j. * * * * * imitation gold teeth.--gold plated tooth, shape made so that it will fit any tooth. price, c., postpaid wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * carter aeroplane no. will fly on a horizontal line feet! can be flown in the house, and will not injure itself nor anything in the room. the most perfect little aeroplane made. the motive power is furnished by twisted rubber bands contained within the tubular body of the machine. it is actuated by a propeller at each end revolving in opposite directions. variation in height may be obtained by moving the planes and the balance weight. it can be made to fly either to the right or the left by moving the balance sidewise before it is released for flight. price cents each, delivered. l. senarens, winthrop st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * snakes in the grass. something entirely new, consisting of six large cones, each one nearly one inch in height. upon lighting one of these cones with a match, you see something similar to a th of july exhibition of fireworks. sparks fly in every direction, and as the cone burns down it throws out and is surrounded with what appears to be grass; at the same time a large snake uncoils himself from the burning cone, and lazily stretches out in the grass, which at last burns to ashes, but the snake remains as a curiosity unharmed. they are not at all dangerous, and can be set off in the parlor if placed on some metal surface that will not burn. an ordinary dust pan answers the purpose nicely. price of the six cones, packed in sawdust, in a strong wooden box, only cents, boxes for cents, dozen boxes cents, sent by mail post paid. m. o'neill, w. th st., n. y. * * * * * comical rubber stamps. a complete set of five grotesque little people made of indestructible rubber mounted on black walnut blocks. the figures consist of policeman, chinaman, and other laughable figures as shown in pictures. as each figure is mounted on a separate block, any boy can set up a regular parade or circus by printing the figures in different positions. with each set of figures we send a bottle of colored ink, an ink pad and full instructions. children can stamp these pictures on their toys, picture books, writing paper and envelopes, and they are without doubt the most amusing and entertaining novelty gotten up in years. price of the complete set of rubber stamps, with ink and ink pad, only cents, sets for cents, one dozen cents, by mail postpaid. l. senarens, winthrop st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * electric push button.--the base is made of maple, and the center piece of black walnut, the whole thing about - / inches in diameter, with a metal hook on the back so that it may be slipped over edge of the vest pocket. expose to view your new electric bell, when your friend will push the button expecting to hear it ring. as soon as he touches it, you will see some of the liveliest dancing you ever witnessed. the electric button is heavily charged and will give a smart shock when the button is pushed. price c., by mail, postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * the flutophone.--a new musical instrument, producing the sweetest dulcet tones of the flute. the upper part of the instrument is placed in the mouth, the lips covering the openings in the centre. then by blowing gently upon it you can play any tune desired as easily as whistling. but little practice is required to become a finished player. it is made entirely of metal, and will last a lifetime. we send full instructions with each instrument. price, c., or for c., by mail, postpaid. a. a. warford, hart st., brooklyn, n. y. * * * * * good luck puzzle it consists of three horseshoes fastened together. only a very clever person can take off the closed horseshoe from the two linked horseshoes. but it can be done in a moment when the secret is known. price by mail, cents each frank robinson, w. th st., n. y. * * * * * the magic card box. one of the best and cheapest tricks for giving parlor or stage exhibitions. the trick is performed as follows: you request any two persons in your audience to each select a card from an ordinary pack of cards, you then produce a small handsome box made to imitate pebbled leather, which anyone may examine as closely as they will. you now ask one of the two who have selected cards to place his or her card inside the box, which being done, the lid is shut, and the box placed on the table. you then state that you will cause the cards to disappear and upon opening the box the card has vanished and the box found empty. the other card is now placed in the box; the lid is again closed and when the box is opened the first card appears as strangely as it went. other tricks can be performed in various ways. you may cause several cards to disappear after they are placed in the box, and then you can cause them all to appear at once. you may tear a card up, place it in the box, and on lifting the cover it will be found whole and entire. in fact, nearly every trick of appearance and disappearance can be done with the magic card box. full printed instructions by which anyone can perform the different tricks sent with each box. price cents, by mail postpaid. wolff novelty co., w. th st., n. y. * * * * * latest issues "work and win" fred fearnot's three-bagger; or, the hit that won the game. fred fearnot's border scouts; or, after mexican outlaws. fred fearnot's best pitching; or, putting them right over. fred fearnot and the saloonkeeper; or, working for temperance. fred fearnot's ninth inning rally; or, turning defeat into victory. fred fearnot at new era; or, a week among old friends. fred fearnot and the cave men; or, lost in the mountains. fred fearnot's game for life; or, taking the last chance. fred fearnot and "scrapper sam"; or, always in a fight. "the liberty boys of ' " the liberty boys with morgan's riflemen; or, dick slater's best shot. the liberty boys as privateers; or, the taking of the "reward." the liberty boys' redcoat enemy; or, driving howe from boston. the liberty boys and widow moore; or, the fight at creek bridge. the liberty boys saving the colors; or, dick slater's bravest deed. the liberty boys' swamp angels; or, out with marion and his men. the liberty boys' young spy; or, learning the enemy's plans. the liberty boys' runaway battle; or, foiling a tory plot. the liberty boys' march to death; or, escaping a terrible fate. "wild west weekly" young wild west and the ropers; or, a finish fight on the range. young wild west trailing the express thieves; or, arietta's golden reward. young wild west trimming the toughs; or, making music for a dance. young wild west's bandit shake-up; or, arietta's daring deception. young wild west's red hot fight; or, the hidalgo's hidden haunt. young wild west's lariat swing; or, arietta and the broken bridge. young wild west and the redskin road agents; or, trouble at the double six ranch. young wild west shooting for his life; or, arietta's able assistance. "fame & fortune weekly" clear grit; or, the office boy who made good. dealing in stocks; or, saved by a wall street ticker. the sailor's secret; or, the treasure of dead man's rock. capturing the coin; or, the deals of a boy broker. (a wall street story.) on his own hook; or, making a losing business pay. lucky jim; or, $ , from stocks. (a wall street story.) "millions in it"; or, a boy with ideas. the mystery of the mining chart, and the wall street boy who solved it. grasping his chance; or, the boy merchant of melrose. "pluck and luck" fighting for greece; or, three yankee boys against the turks. by gen. jas. a. gordon. the winning nine; or, batting for a fortune. by h. k. shackleford. lost hope mines; or, the boy of the haunted diamond claim. by jas. c. merritt. a paper of his own; or, how phil bright became an editor. by allan arnold. the lost schoolship; or, twenty boys afloat. by capt. thos. h. wilson. wall street will; or, winning a fortune in a week. by a retired banker. , miles from home; or, the boy ivory hunters of the congo. by richard r. montgomery. toney, the boy clown; or, across the continent with a circus. by berton bertrew. for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by frank tousey, pub., union sq., n. y. * * * * * secret service --latest issues-- the bradys best trick; or, the clew in the glass jar. the bradys and the cracksmen; or, a desperate game for millions. the bradys in the coal mines; or, the mystery of shaft no. . the bradys and the voodoo queen; or, a dark case from san juan hill. the bradys and the boy spy; or, solving a secret of seven years. the bradys and the missing money; or, shadowing a suspected man. the bradys' chinatown case; or, the hidden den of pell street. the bradys and the double daggers; or, the secret sign of vengeance. the bradys and "old breaklock"; or, trapping a desperate crook. the bradys on a raid; or, rounding up the circus fakirs. the bradys and the snake charmer; or, the search for the hindoo idol. the bradys after the bronx burglars; or, nabbing the gas house gang. the bradys and the dumb boy; or, the fate of messenger no. . the bradys and the blind chinaman; or, the white slaves of mott street. the bradys tracking a skeleton arm; or, the clew in the tree. the bradys and the factory boy; or, the mystery of the mill pond. the bradys and the poisoned pen; or, foiling a desperate plot. the bradys chasing the black crook; or, solving a fifth avenue mystery. the bradys and the banker's boy; or, the kidnappers of mulberry bend. the bradys after the gold brick men; or, chasing a gang of swindlers. the bradys and the diamond heart; or, the mystery of a mummy. the bradys' red glove clew; or, the secret band of seven. the bradys and the man next door; or, the mystery house on high street. the bradys' case in chinatown; or, tracking the hip sing tong. the bradys and the mad barber; or, solving a singular secret. the bradys' six days' chase; or, running down a clever crook. the bradys and the black dwarf; or, working up a poison clew. the bradys' masked foe; or, the man with the missing finger. the bradys and the sneak thieves; or, running down the red hook gang. the bradys working a "blind"; or, the secret of the sealed room. the bradys and the laundry check; or, a dangerous hunt in chinatown. the bradys on a hot trail; or, the boy who escaped from sing sing. the bradys and the conspirators; or, the case that came from mexico. the bradys after the second story men; or, tracking a box of treasure. the bradys and the mad student; or, the mystery of the medical college. the bradys' desperate deal; or, foiling a slick bunch. the bradys and the brass-bound chest; or, the case which came out of the sea. the bradys leather locket clew; or, the secret of the old grave yard. the bradys after a chinese princess; or, the yellow fiends of frisco. for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by frank tousey, publisher, union square, n. y. if you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be obtained from this office direct. write out and fill in your order and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. postage stamps taken the same as money. frank tousey, publisher, union square, n. y. * * * * * our ten-cent hand books no. . how to become a magician.--containing the grandest assortment of magical illusions ever placed before the public. also tricks with cards, incantations, etc. no. . the boys of new york minstrel guide and joke book.--something new and very instructive. every boy should obtain this book, as it contains full instructions for organizing an amateur minstrel troupe. no. . how to build and sail canoes.--a handy book for boys, containing full directions for constructing canoes and the most popular manner of sailing them. fully illustrated. no. . how to debate.--giving rules for conducting debates, outlines for debates, questions for discussion, and the best sources for procuring information on the questions given. no. . how to stuff birds and animals.--a valuable book, giving instructions in collecting, preparing, mounting and preserving birds, animals and insects. no. . how to do tricks with cards.--containing explanations of the general principles of sleight-of-hand applicable to card tricks; of card tricks with ordinary cards, and not requiring sleight-of-hand; of tricks involving sleight-of-hand, or the use of specially prepared cards. illustrated. no. . how to play cards.--giving the rules and full directions for playing euchre, cribbage, casino, forty-five, rounce, pedro sancho, draw poker, auction pitch, all fours, and many other popular games of cards. no. . how to write letters.--a wonderful little book, telling you how to write to your sweetheart, your father, mother, sister, brother, employer; and, in fact, everybody and anybody you wish to write to. no. . how to keep and manage pets.--giving complete information as to the manner and method of raising, keeping, taming, breeding, and managing all kinds of pets; also giving full instructions for making cages, etc. fully explained by twenty-eight illustrations. no. . how to collect stamps and coins.--containing valuable information regarding the collecting and arranging of stamps and coins. handsomely illustrated. no. . how to become an engineer.--containing full instructions how to become a locomotive engineer; also directions for building a model locomotive; together with a full description of everything an engineer should know. no. . how to be a detective.--by old king brady, the well-known detective. in which he lays down some valuable rules for beginners, and also relates some adventures of well-known detectives. no. . how to make a magic lantern.--containing a description of the lantern, together with its history and invention. also full directions for its use and for painting slides. handsomely illustrated. no. . how to become a photographer.--containing useful information regarding the camera and how to work it; also how to make photographic magic lantern slides and other transparencies. handsomely illustrated. no. . how to become a west point military cadet.--explains how to gain admittance, course of study, examinations, duties, staff of officers, post guard, police regulations, fire department, and all a boy should know to be a cadet. by lu senarens. no. . how to become a naval cadet.--complete instructions of how to gain admission to the annapolis naval academy. also containing the course of instruction, description of grounds and buildings, historical sketch, and everything a boy should know to become an officer in the united states navy. by lu senarens. no. . how to make electrical machines.--containing full directions for making electrical machines, induction coils, dynamos, and many novel toys to be worked by electricity. by r. a. r. bennett. fully illustrated. no. . muldoon's jokes.--the most original joke book ever published, and it is brimful of wit and humor. it contains a large collection of songs, jokes, conundrums, etc., of terrence muldoon, the great wit, humorist, and practical joker of the day. no. . how to do puzzles.--containing over three hundred interesting puzzles and conundrums, with key to same. a complete book. fully illustrated. no. . how to do electrical tricks.--containing a large collection of instructive and highly amusing electrical tricks, together with illustrations. by a. anderson. no. . how to do chemical tricks.--containing over one hundred highly amusing and instructive tricks with chemicals. by a. anderson. handsomely illustrated. no. . how to do sleight-of-hand.--containing over fifty of the latest and best tricks used by magicians. also containing the secret of second sight. fully illustrated. no. . how to make magic toys.--containing full directions for making magic toys and devices of many kinds. fully illustrated. no. . how to do mechanical tricks.--containing complete instructions for performing over sixty mechanical tricks. fully illustrated. no. . how to do sixty tricks with cards.--embracing all of the latest and most deceptive card tricks, with illustrations. no. . how to do tricks with numbers.--showing many curious tricks with figures and the magic of numbers. by a. anderson. fully illustrated. no. . how to write letters correctly.--containing full instructions for writing letters on almost any subject; also rules for punctuation and composition, with specimen letters. no. . how to become a conjurer.--containing tricks with dominoes, dice, cups and balls, hats, etc. embracing thirty-six illustrations. by a. anderson. no. . how to tell fortunes by the hand.--containing rules for telling fortunes by the aid of lines of the hand, or the secret of palmistry. also the secret of telling future events by aid of moles, marks, scars, etc. illustrated. no. . how to do forty tricks with cards.--containing deceptive card tricks as performed by leading conjurers and magicians. arranged for home amusement. fully illustrated. no. . how to do the black art.--containing a complete description of the mysteries of magic and sleight-of-hand, together with many wonderful experiments. by a. anderson. illustrated. no. . how to become an actor.--containing complete instructions how to make up for various characters on the stage; together with the duties of the stage manager, prompter, scenic artist and property man. no. . gus williams' joke book.--containing the latest jokes, anecdotes and funny stories of this world-renowned german comedian. sixty-four pages; handsome colored cover containing a half-tone photo of the author. no. . how to mesmerize.--containing the most approved methods of mesmerism; animal magnetism, or, magnetic healing. by prof. leo hugo koch, a.c.s., author of "how to hypnotize," etc. no. . how to do palmistry.--containing the most approved methods of reading the lines on the hand, together with a full explanation of their meaning. also explaining phrenology, and the key for telling character by the bumps on the head. by leo hugo koch, a.c.s. fully illustrated. no. . how to hypnotize.--containing valuable and instructive information regarding the science of hypnotism. also explaining the most approved methods which are employed by the leading hypnotists of the world. by leo hugo koch, a.c.s. no. . how to become an author.--containing information regarding choice of subjects, the use of words and the manner of preparing and submitting manuscript. also containing valuable information as to the neatness, legibility and general composition of manuscript. for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by frank tousey, publisher union square, n. y. proofreading team. html version by al haines. the works of kathleen norris saturday's child volume iv "friday's child is loving and giving; but saturday's child must work for her living." to c. g. n. how shall i give you this, who long have known your gift of all the best of life to me? no living word of mine could ever be without the stirring echo of your own. under your hand, as mine, this book has grown, and you, whose faith sets all my musing free, you, whose true vision helps my eyes to see, know that these pages are not mine alone. not mine to give, not yours, the happy days, the happy talks, the hoping and the fears that made this story of a happy life. but, in dear memory of your words of praise, and grateful memory of four busy years, accept her portion of it, from your wife. part one poverty saturday's child chapter i not the place in which to look for the great adventure, the dingy, narrow office on the mezzanine floor of hunter, baxter & hunter's great wholesale drug establishment, in san francisco city, at the beginning of the present century. nothing could have seemed more monotonous, more grimy, less interesting, to the outsider's eye at least, than life as it presented itself to the twelve women who were employed in bookkeeping there. yet, being young, as they all were, each of these girls was an adventuress, in a quiet way, and each one dreamed bright dreams in the dreary place, and waited, as youth must wait, for fortune, or fame, or position, love or power, to evolve itself somehow from the dulness of her days, and give her the key that should open--and shut--the doors of hunter, baxter & hunter's offices to her forever. and, while they waited, working over the unvaried, stupid columns of the company's books, they talked, confided, became friends, and exchanged shy hints of ambition. the ill-ventilated, neglected room was a little world, and rarely, in a larger world, do women come to know each other as intimately as these women did. therefore, on a certain sober september morning, the fact that miss thornton, familiarly known as "thorny," was out of temper, speedily became known to all the little force. miss thornton was not only the oldest clerk there, but she was the highest paid, and the longest in the company's employ; also she was by nature a leader, and generally managed to impress her associates with her own mood, whatever it might be. various uneasy looks were sent to-day in her direction, and by eleven o'clock even the giggling kirk sisters, who were newcomers, were imbued with a sense of something wrong. nobody quite liked to allude to the subject, or ask a direct question. not that any one of them was particularly considerate or reserved by nature, but because miss thornton was known to be extremely unpleasant when she had any grievance against one of the younger clerks. she could maintain an ugly silence until goaded into speech, but, once launched, few of her juniors escaped humiliation. ordinarily, however, miss thornton was an extremely agreeable woman, shrewd, kindly, sympathetic, and very droll in her passing comments on men and events. she was in her early thirties, handsome, and a not quite natural blonde, her mouth sophisticated, her eyes set in circles of a leaden pallor. an assertive, masterful little woman, born and reared in decent poverty, still thorny claimed descent from one of the first families of maryland, and talked a good deal of her birth. her leading characteristic was a determination never, even in the slightest particular, to allow herself to be imposed upon, and she gloried in stories of her own success in imposing upon other people. miss thornton's desk stood at the inner end of the long room, nearest the door that led out to the "deck," as the girls called the mezzanine floor beyond, and so nearest the little private office of mr. george brauer, the arrogant young german who was the superintendent of the front office, and heartily detested by every girl therein. when miss thornton wanted to be particularly annoying to her associates she would remark casually that "she and mr. brauer" thought this or that, or that "she suggested, and mr. brauer quite agreed" as to something else. as a matter of fact, she disliked him as much as they did, although she, and any and every girl there, would really have been immensely pleased and flattered by his admiration, had he cared to bestow it. but george brauer's sea-blue eyes never rested for a second upon any front office girl with anything but annoyed responsibility. he kept his friendships severely remote from the walls of hunter, baxter & hunter, and was suspected of social ambitions, and of distinguished, even noble connections in the fatherland. this morning miss thornton and mr. brauer had had a conference, as the lady called it, immediately after his arrival at nine o'clock, and miss murray, who sat next to miss thornton, suspected that it had had something to do with her neighbor's ill-temper. but miss thornton, delicately approached, had proved so ungracious and so uncommunicative, that miss murray had retired into herself, and attacked her work with unusual briskness. next to friendly, insignificant little miss murray was miss cottle, a large, dark, morose girl, with untidy hair, and untidy clothes, and a bad complexion. miss cottle was unapproachable and insolent in her manner, from a sense of superiority. she was connected, she stated frequently, with one of the wealthy families of the city, whose old clothes, the girls suspected, she frequently wore. on saturday, a half-day, upon which all the girls wore their best clothes to the office, if they had matinee or shopping plans for the afternoon, miss cottle often appeared with her frowsy hair bunched under a tawdry velvet hat, covered with once exquisite velvet roses, and her muscular form clad in a gown that had cost its original owner more than this humble relative could earn in a year. miss cottle's gloves were always expensive, and always dirty, and her elaborate silk petticoats were of soiled pale pinks and blues. miss cottle's neighbor was miss sherman, a freckled, red-headed, pale little girl, always shabby and pinched-looking, eager, silent, and hard-working. miss sherman gave the impression--or would have given it to anyone who cared to study her--of having been intimidated and underfed from birth. she had a keen sense of humor, and, when susan brown "got started," as susan brown occasionally did, miss sherman would laugh so violently, and with such agonized attempts at suppression, that she would almost strangle herself. nobody guessed that she adored the brilliant susan, unless miss brown herself guessed it. the girls only knew of miss sherman that she was the oldest of eight brothers and sisters, and that she gave her mother all her money every saturday night. miss elsie kirk came next, in the line of girls that faced the room, and miss violet kirk was next to her sister. the kirks were pretty, light-headed girls, frivolous, common and noisy. they had a comfortable home, and worked only because they rather liked the excitement of the office, and liked an excuse to come downtown every day. elsie, the prettier and younger, was often "mean" to her sister, but violet was always good-natured, and used to smile as she told the girls how elsie captured her--violet's--admirers. the kirks' conversation was all of "cases," "the crowd," "the times of their lives," and "new crushes"; they never pinned on their audacious hats to go home at night without speculating as to possible romantic adventures on the car, on the street, everywhere. they were not quite approved by the rest of the front office staff; their color was not all natural, their clothes were "fussy." both wore enormous dry "rats," that showed through the thin covering of outer hair, their stockings were quite transparent, and bows of pink and lavender ribbon were visible under their thin shirt-waists. it was known that elsie had been "spoken to" by old mr. baxter, on the subject of a long, loose curl, which had appeared one morning, dangling over her powdered neck. the kirks, it was felt, never gave an impression of freshness, of soapiness, of starched apparel, and front office had a high standard of personal cleanliness. miss sherman's ears glowed coldly all morning long, from early ablutions, and her fingertips were always icy, and miss thornton and susan brown liked to allude casually to their "cold plunges" as a daily occurrence--although neither one ever really took a cold bath, except, perhaps, for a few days in mid-summer. but all of cleanliness is neither embraced nor denied by the taking of cold baths, and the front office girls, hours and obligations considered, had nothing on this score of which to be ashamed. manicuring went on in every quiet moment, and many of the girls spent twenty minutes daily, or twice daily, in the careful adjustment of large sheets of paper as cuffs, to protect their sleeves. two elastic bands held these cuffs in place, and only long practice made their arrangement possible. this was before the day of elbow sleeves, although susan brown always included elbow sleeves in a description of a model garment for office wear, with which she sometimes amused her associates. "no wet skirts to freeze you to death," susan would grumble, "no high collar to scratch you! it's time that the office women of america were recognized as a class with a class dress! short sleeves, loose, baggy trousers--" a shriek would interrupt her. "yes, i see you wearing that in the street, susan!" "well, i would. overshoes," the inventor would pursue, "fleece-lined leggings, coming well up on your--may i allude to limbs, miss wrenn?" "i don't care what you allude to!" miss wrenn, the office prude, a little angry at being caught listening to this nonsense, would answer snappily. "limbs, then," susan would proceed graciously, "or, as miss sherman says, legs---" "oh, miss brown! i didn't! i never use that word!" the little woman would protest. "you don't! why, you said last night that you were trying to get into the chorus at the tivoli! you said you had such handsome--" "oh, aren't you awful!" miss sherman would put her cold red fingers over her ears, and the others, easily amused, would giggle at intervals for the next half hour. susan brown's desk was at the front end of the room, facing down the double line. at her back was a round window, never opened, and never washed, and so obscured by the great cement scrolls that decorated the facade of the building that it gave only a dull blur of light, ordinarily, and no air at all. sometimes, on a bright summer's morning, the invading sunlight did manage to work its way in through the dust-coated ornamental masonry, and to fall, for a few moments, in a bright slant, wheeling with motes, across the office floor. but usually the girls depended for light upon the suspended green-hooded electric lights, one over each desk. susan though that she had the most desirable seat in the room, and the other girls carefully concealed from her the fact that they thought so, too. two years before, a newcomer, she had been given this same desk, but it faced directly against the wall then, and was in the shadow of a dirty, overcrowded letter press. susan had turned it about, straightened it, pushed the press down the room, against the coat-closet, and now, like all the other girls, she faced the room, could see more than any of them, indeed, and keep an eye on mr. brauer, and on the main floor below, visible through the glass inner wall of the office. miss brown was neither orderly nor industrious, but she had an eye for proportion, and a fine imagination. she loved small, fussy tasks, docketed and ruled the contents of her desk scrupulously, and lettered trim labels for boxes and drawers, but she was a lazy young creature when regular work was to be done, much given to idle and discontented dreams. at this time she was not quite twenty-one, and felt herself to be distressingly advanced in years. like all except a few very fortunate girls of her age, susan was brimming with perverted energy--she could have done a thousand things well and joyously, could have used to the utmost the exceptional powers of her body and soul, but, handicapped by the ideals of her sex, and lacking the rare guidance that might have saved her, she was drifting, busy with work she detested, or equally unsatisfied in idleness, sometimes lazily diverted and soothed by the passing hour, and sometimes stung to her very soul by longings and ambitions. "she is no older than i am--she works no harder than i do!" susan would reflect, studying the life of some writer or actress with bitter envy. but how to get out of this groove, and into another, how to work and fight and climb, she did not know, and nobody ever helped her to discover. there was no future for her, or for any girl here, that she knew. miss thornton, after twelve years of work, was being paid forty-five dollars, miss wrenn, after eight years, forty, and susan only thirty dollars a month. brooding over these things, susan would let her work accumulate, and endure, in heavy silence, the kindly, curious speculations and comments of her associates. but perhaps a hot lunch or a friendly word would send her spirits suddenly up again, susan would forget her vague ambitions, and reflect cheerfully that it was already four o'clock, that she was going with cousin mary lou and billy oliver to the orpheum to-night, that her best white shirtwaist ought by this time to have come back from the laundry. or somehow, if depression continued, she would shut her desk, in mid-afternoon, and leave front office, cross the long deck--which was a sort of sample room for rubber goods, and was lined with long cases of them--descend a flight of stairs to the main floor, cross it and remount the stairs on the other side of the building, and enter the mail-order department. this was an immense room, where fifty men and a few girls were busy at long desks, the air was filled with the hum of typewriters and the murmur of low voices. beyond it was a door that gave upon more stairs, and at the top of them a small bare room known as the lunch-room. here was a great locker, still marked with the labels that had shown where senna leaves and tansy and hepatica had been kept in some earlier stage of hunter, baxter & hunter's existence, and now filled with the girls' lunch-boxes, and rubber overshoes, and hair-brushes. there was a small gas-stove in this room, and a long table with benches built about it. a door gave upon a high strip of flat roof, and beyond a pebbled stretch of tar were the dressings-rooms, where there were wash-stands, and soap, and limp towels on rollers. here susan would wash her hands and face, and comb her bright thick hair, and straighten belt and collar. there were always girls here: a late-comer eating her luncheon, two chatter-boxes sharing a bit of powdered chamois-skin at a mirror, a girl who felt ill drinking something hot at the stove. here was always company, and gossip, susan might stop for a half-cup of scalding hot tea, or a chocolate from a striped paper bag. returning, refreshed and cheered, to the office, she would lay a warm, damp hand over miss thornton's, and give her the news. "miss polk and miss french are just going it up there, thorny, mad as hops!" or "miss o'brien is going to be in mr. joe hunter's office after this." "'s'at so?" miss thornton would interestedly return, wrinkling her nose under the glasses she used while she was working. and perhaps after a few moments she would slip away herself for a visit to the lunch-room. mr. brauer, watching front office through his glass doors, attempted in vain to discourage these excursions. the bolder spirits enjoyed defying him, and the more timid never dared to leave their places in any case. miss sherman, haunted by the horror of "losing her job," eyed the independent miss brown and miss thornton with open awe and admiration, without ever attempting to emulate them. next to susan sat severe, handsome, reserved little miss wrenn, who coldly repelled any attempts at friendship, and bitterly hated the office. except for an occasional satiric comment, or a half-amused correction of someone's grammar, miss wrenn rarely spoke. miss cashell was her neighbor, a mysterious, pretty girl, with wicked eyes and a hard face, and a manner so artless, effusive and virtuous as to awaken the basest suspicions among her associates. miss cashell dressed very charmingly, and never expressed an opinion that would not well have become a cloistered nun, but the girls read her colorless face, sensuous mouth, and sly dark eyes aright, and nobody in front office "went" with miss cashell. next her was mrs. valencia, a harmless little fool of a woman, who held her position merely because her husband had been long in the employ of the hunter family, and who made more mistakes than all the rest of the staff put together. susan disliked mrs. valencia because of the jokes she told, jokes that the girl did not in all honesty always understand, and because the little widow was suspected of "reporting" various girls now and then to mr. hunter. finishing the two rows of desks, down opposite miss thornton again were miss kelly and miss garvey, fresh-faced, intelligent irish girls, simple, merry, and devoted to each other. these two took small part in what did not immediately concern them, but went off to confession together every saturday, spent their sundays together, and laughed and whispered together over their ledgers. everything about them was artless and pure. susan, motherless herself, never tired of their talk of home, their mothers, their married sisters, their cousins in convents, their church picnics and concerts and fairs, and "joshes"--"joshes" were as the breath of life to this innocent pair. "joshes on ma," "joshes on joe and dan," "joshes on cecilia and loretta" filled their conversations. "and ma yells up, 'what are you two layin' awake about?'" miss garvey would recount, with tears of enjoyment in her eyes. "but we never said nothing, did we, gert? well, about twelve o'clock we heard leo come in, and he come upstairs, and he let out a yell--'my god!' he says--" but at the recollection of leo's discovery of the sheeted form, or the pail of water, or whatever had awaited him at the top of the stairs, miss garvey's voice would fail entirely, and miss kelly would also lay her head down on her desk, and sob with mirth. it was infectious, everyone else laughed, too. to-day susan, perceiving something amiss with miss thornton, sauntered the length of the office, and leaned over the older woman's desk. miss thornton was scribbling a little list of edibles, her errand boy waiting beside her. tea and canned tomatoes were bought by the girls every day, to help out the dry lunches they brought from home, and almost every day the collection of dimes and nickels permitted a "wreath-cake" also, a spongy, glazed confection filled with chopped nuts and raisins. the tomatoes, bubbling hot and highly seasoned, were quite as much in demand as was the tea, and sometimes two or three girls made their entire lunch up by enlarging this list with cheese, sausages and fruit. "mad about something," asked susan, when the list for to-day was finished. miss thornton, under " wreath" wrote hastily, "boiling! tell you later," and turned it about for susan to read, before she erased it. "shall i get that?" she asked, for the benefit of the attentive office. "yes, i would," answered her fellow-conspirator, as she turned away. the hour droned by. boys came with bills, and went away again. sudden sharp pangs began to assert themselves in susan's stomach. an odor of burning rubber drifted up from below, as it always drifted up at about this time. susan announced that she was starving. "it's not more than half-past eleven," said miss cottle, screwing her body about, so that she could look down through the glass walls of the office to the clock, on the main floor below. "why, my heavens! it's twelve o'clock!" she announced amazedly, throwing down her pen, and stretching in her chair. and, in instant confirmation of the fact, a whistle sounded shrilly outside, followed by a dozen more whistles, high and low, constant and intermittent, sharp on the silent noon air. the girls all jumped up, except miss wrenn, who liked to assume that the noon hour meant nothing to her, and who often finished a bill or two after the hour struck. but among the others, ledgers were slammed shut, desk drawers jerked open, lights snapped out. miss thornton had disappeared ten minutes before in the direction of the lunch-room; now all the others followed, yawning, cramped, talkative. they settled noisily about the table, and opened their lunches. a joyous confusion of talk rose above the clinking of spoons and plates, as the heavy cups of steaming tea were passed and the sugar-bowl went the rounds; there was no milk, and no girl at hunter, baxter & hunter's thought lemon in tea anything but a wretched affectation. girls who had been too pale before gained a sudden burning color, they had been sitting still and were hungry, now they ate too fast. without exception the front office girls suffered from agonies of indigestion, and most of them grew used to a dull headache that came on every afternoon. they kept flat bottles of soda-mint tablets in their desks, and exchanged them hourly. no youthful constitution was proof against the speed with which they disposed of these fresh soft sandwiches at noon-time, and gulped down their tea. in ten minutes some of them were ready to hurry off into sunny front street, there to saunter past warehouses, and warehouses, and warehouses, with lounging men eyeing them from open doorways. the kirks disappeared quickly to-day, and some of the others went out, too. when miss thornton, miss sherman, miss cottle and miss brown were left, miss thornton said suddenly: "say, listen, susan. listen here--" susan, who had been wiping the table carefully, artistically, with a damp rag, was arrested by the tone. "i think this is the rottenest thing i ever heard, susan," miss thornton began, sitting down at the table. the others all sat down, too, and put their elbows on the table. susan, flushing uncomfortably, eyed miss thornton steadily. "brauer called me in this morning," said miss thornton, in a low voice, marking the table with the handle of a fork, in parallel lines, "and he asked me if i thought--no, that ain't the way he began. here's what he said first: he says, 'miss thornton,' he says, 'did you know that miss wrenn is leaving us?'" "what!" said all the others together, and susan added, joyfully, "gee, that means forty for me, and the crediting." "well, now listen," miss thornton resumed. "i says, 'mr. brauer, miss wrenn didn't put herself out to inform me of her plans, but never mind. although,' i says, 'i taught that girl everything she ever knew of office work, and the day she was here three weeks mr. philip hunter himself came to me and said, "miss thornton, can you make anything of her?" so that if it hadn't been for me--'" "but, thorny, what's she leaving for?" broke in susan, with the excited interest that the smallest change invariably brought. "her uncle in milwaukee is going to pay her expenses while she takes a library course, i believe," miss thornton said, indifferently. "anyway, then brauer asked--now, listen, susan--he asked if i thought violet kirk could do the crediting--" "violet kirk!" echoed susan, in incredulous disappointment. this blow to long-cherished hopes gave her a sensation of actual sickness. "violet kirk!" the others broke out, indignant and astonished. "why, she can't do it! is he crazy? why, joe hunter himself told susan to work up on that! why, susan's done all the substituting on that! what does she know about it, anyway? well, wouldn't that honestly jar you!" susan alone did not speak. she had in turn begun to mark the table, in fine, precise lines, with a hairpin. she had grown rather pale. "it's a rotten shame, susan," said rose murray, sympathetically. miss sherman eyed susan with scared and sorrowful eyes. "don't you care--don't you care, susan!" said the soothing voices. "i don't care," said susan presently, in a hard, level voice. she raised her somber eyes. "i don't care because i simply won't stand it, that's all," said she. "i'll go straight to mr. baxter. yes, i will, thorny. brauer'll see if he can run everything this way! is she going to get forty?" "what do you care if she does?" miss thornton said, hardily. "all right," susan answered. "very well. but i'll get forty next month or i'll leave this place! and i'm not one bit afraid to go straight to old 'j. g.' and tell him so, too! i'll--" "listen, susan, now listen," urged miss thornton. "don't you get mad, susan. she can't do it. it'll be just one mistake after another. brauer will have to give it to you, inside of two months. she'll find," said miss thornton, with a grim tightening of the lips, "that precious few mistakes get by me! i'll make that girl's life a burden, you trust me! and meantime you work up on that line, sue, and be ready for it!" susan did not answer. she was staring at the table again, cleaning the cracks in its worn old surface with her hairpin. "thorny," she said huskily, "you know me. do you think that this is fair?" "aw--aw, now, susan, don't!" miss thornton jumped up, and put her arm about susan's shoulders, and susan, completely unnerved by the sympathy in the other's tone, dropped her head upon her arm, and began to cry. a distressed murmur of concern and pity rose all about her, everyone patted her shoulder, and bitter denunciations of mr. brauer and miss kirk broke forth. even hunter, baxter & hunter were not spared, being freely characterized as "the rottenest people in the city to work for!" "it would serve them right," said more than one indignant voice, "if the whole crowd of us walked out on them!" presently susan indicated, by a few gulps, and by straightening suddenly, that the worst of the storm was over, and could even laugh shakily when miss thornton gave her a small, fringed lunch napkin upon which to wipe her eyes. "i'm a fool to cry this way," said susan, sniffing. "fool!" miss cottle echoed tenderly, "it's enough to make a cow cry!" "not calling susan a cow, or anything like that," said miss thornton humorously, as she softly smoothed susan's hair. at which susan began to laugh violently, and the others became almost hysterical in their delight at seeing her equilibrium restored. "but you know what i do with my money, thorny," began susan, her eyes filling again. "she gives every cent to her aunt," said miss thornton sternly, as if she accused the firm, mr. brauer and miss kirk by the statement. "and i've--worked--so hard!" susan's lips were beginning to tremble again. but with an effort she controlled herself, fumbled for a handkerchief, and faced the group, disfigured as to complexion, tumbled as to hair, but calm. "well, there's no help for it, i suppose!" said she hardily, in a tone somewhat hoarsened by tears. "you're all darlings, and i'm a fool. but i certainly intend to get even with mr. brauer!" "don't give up your job," miss sherman pleaded. "i will the minute i get another," said susan, morosely, adding anxiously, "do i look a perfect fright, thorny? do my eyes show?" "not much--" miss cottle wavered. "wash them with cold water, and powder your nose," advised miss thornton briskly. "and my hair--!" susan put her hand to the disordered mass, and laughed helplessly. "it's all right!" thorny patted it affectionately. "isn't it gorgeous, girls? don't you care, susan, you're worth ten of the kirks!" "here they come now!" miss murray whispered, at the head of the stairs. "beat it, susan, don't let 'em see you!" susan duly fled to the wash-room, where, concealed a moment later by a towel, and the hanging veil of her hair, she could meet the kirks' glances innocently enough. later, fresh and tidy, she took her place at her desk, rather refreshed by her outburst, and curiously peaceful in spirit. the joys of martyrdom were susan's, she was particularly busy and cheerful. fate had dealt her cruel blows before this one, she inherited from some persecuted irish ancestor a grim pleasure in accepting them. afternoons, from one o'clock until half-past five, seemed endless in front office. mornings, beside being exactly one hour shorter by the clock, could be still more abbreviated by the few moments gained by the disposal of hats and wraps, the dusting of desks, sharpening of pencils, and filling of ink-wells. the girls used a great many blocks of yellow paper called scratch-pads, and scratch-pads must be gotten down almost daily from the closet, dusted and distributed, there were paper cuffs to adjust, and there was sometimes a ten or fifteen-minute delay before the bills for the day began to come up. but the afternoons knew no such delays, the girls were tired, the air in the office stale. every girl, consciously or not, sighed as she took her seat at one o'clock. the work in front office was entirely with bills. these bills were of the sales made in the house itself the day before, and those sent by mail from the traveling salesmen, and were accompanied by duplicate bills, on thin yellow sheets. it was mrs. valencia's work, the easiest in the office, to compare originals and duplicates, and supply to the latter any item that was missing. hundreds of the bills were made out for only one or two items, many were but one page in length, and there were several scores of longer ones every day, raging from two to twenty pages. the original bills went downstairs again immediately, and miss thornton, taking the duplicates one by one from mrs. valencia, marked the cost price of every article in the margin beyond the selling price. thorny, after twelve years' experience, could jot down costs, percentages and discounts at an incredible speed. drugs, patent medicines, surgical goods and toilet articles she could price as fast as she could read them, and, even while her right hand scribbled busily, her left hand turned the pages of her cost catalog automatically, when her trained eye discovered, half-way down the page, some item of which she was not quite sure. susan never tired of admiring the swiftness with which hand, eye and brain worked together. thorny would stop in her mad flight, ponder an item with absent eyes fixed on space, suddenly recall the price, affix the discounts, and be ready for the next item. susan had the natural admiration of an imaginative mind for power, and the fact that miss thornton was by far the cleverest woman in the office was one reason why susan loved her best. miss thornton whisked her finished duplicates, in a growing pile, to the left-hand side of miss munay's desk. her neighbor also did "costing," but in a simpler form. miss murray merely marked, sometimes at cost, sometimes at an advance, those articles that were "b. o." or "bought out," not carried in hunter, baxter & hunter's regular stock. candy, postal-cards, cameras, sporting-goods, stamps, cigars, stationery, fruit-sirups, all the things in fact, that the firm's customers, all over the state, carried in their little country stores, were "b. o." miss murray had invoices for them all, and checked them off as fast as she could find their places on the duplicates. then miss cottle and susan brown got the duplicates and "extended" them. so many cases of cold cream at so much per case, so many ounces of this or that at so much the pound, so many pounds at so much per ounce, and forty and ten and ten off. two-thirds of a dozen, one hundredweight, one eighth of a gross, twelve per cent, off, and twenty-three per cent. on for freight charges; the "extenders" had to keep their wits about them. after that the duplicates went to miss sherman, who set down the difference between cost and selling price. so that eventually every article was marked five times, its original selling price, extended by the salesman, its cost price, separately extended, and the difference between the two. from miss sherman the bills went to the misses kirk, who gave every item a red number that marked it in its proper department, drugs or rubber goods or soaps and creams and colognes. the entire stock was divided into ten of these departments, and there were ten great ledgers in which to make entries for each one. and for every one of a hundred salesmen a separate great sheet was kept for the record of sales, all marked with the rubber stamp "b. o.," or the number of a department in red ink. this was called "crediting," and was done by miss wrenn. finally, miss garvey and miss kelly took the now limp bills, and extracted from them bewildering figures called "the percentages," into the mysteries of which susan never dared to penetrate. this whole involved and intricate system had originated, years before, in the brain of one of the younger members of the firm, whose theory was that it would enable everyone concerned to tell "at a glance" just where the firm stood, just where profits and losses lay. theoretically, the idea was sound, and, in the hands of a few practiced accountants, it might have been practically sound as well. but the uninterested, untrained girls in front office never brought their work anywhere near a conclusion. several duplicates on miss thornton's desk were eternally waiting for special prices, several more, delayed by the non-appearance of invoices, kept miss murray always in arrears, and susan brown had a little habit of tucking away in a desk drawer any duplicate whose extension promised to be unusually tedious or difficult. girls were continually going into innocent gales of mirth because long-lost bills were discovered, shut in some old ledger, or rushing awe-struck to miss thornton with accounts of others that had been carried away in waste-baskets and burned. "sh-sh! don't make such a fuss," miss thornton would say warningly, with a glance toward mr. brauer's office. "perhaps he'll never ask for them!" and perhaps he never did. if he did, the office presented him a blank and innocent face. "miss brown, did you see this bill mr. brauer speaks of?" "beg pardon? oh, no, miss thornton." "miss cashell, did you?" "just-one-moment-miss-thornton-until-i-foot-up-this-column. thank you! no. no, i haven't seen it, miss thornton. did you trace it to my desk, mr. brauer?" baffled, mr. brauer would retire to his office. ten silent, busy minutes would elapse before miss cottle would say, in a low tone, "bet it was that bill that you were going to take home and work on, miss murray!" "oh, sure!" miss murray would agree, with a startled smile. "sure. mamma stuck it behind the clock--i remember now. i'll bring it down to-morrow." "don't you forget it, now," miss thornton would perhaps command, with a sudden touch of authority, "old baxter'd jump out of his skin if he knew we ever took 'em home!" "well, you do!" miss murray would retort, reddening resentfully. "ah, well," susan brown would answer pompously, for miss thornton, "you forget that i'm almost a member of the firm! me and the baxters can do pretty much what we like! i'll fire brauer to-morrow if he--" "you shut up, susan!" miss thornton, her rising resentment pricked like a bubble, would laugh amiably, and the subject of the bill would be dismissed with a general chuckle. on this particular afternoon miss thornton delayed susan brown, with a significant glance, when the whistle blew at half-past five, and the girls crowded about the little closet for their wraps. "s'listen, susan," said she, with a look full of import. susan leaned over miss thornton's flat-topped desk so that their heads were close together. "listen," said miss thornton, in a low tone, "i met george banks on the deck this afternoon, see? and i happened to tell him that miss wrenn was going." miss thornton glanced cautiously about her, her voice sank to a low murmur. "well. and then he says, 'yes, i knew that,' he says, 'but do you know who's going to take her place?' 'miss kirk is,' i says, 'and i think it's a dirty shame!'" "good for you!" said susan, grateful for this loyalty. "well, i did, susan. and it is, too! but listen. 'that may be,' he says, 'but what do you know about young coleman coming down to work in front office!'" "peter coleman!" susan gasped. this was the most astonishing, the most exciting news that could possibly have been circulated. peter coleman, nephew and heir of old "j. g." himself, handsome, college-bred, popular from the most exclusive dowager in society to the humblest errand boy in his uncle's employ, actually coming down to front office daily, to share the joys and sorrows of the brauer dynasty--it was unbelievable, it was glorious! every girl in the place knew all about peter coleman, his golf record, his blooded terriers, his appearances in the social columns of the sunday newspapers! thorny remembered, although she did not boast of it, the days when, a little lad of twelve or fourteen, he had come to his uncle's office with a tutor, or even with an old, and very proud, nurse, for the occasional visits which always terminated with the delighted acceptance by peter of a gold piece from uncle josiah. but susan only knew him as a man, twenty-five now, a wonderful and fascinating person to watch, even, in happy moments, to dream about. "you know i met him, thorny," she said now, eager and smiling. "'s'at so?" miss thornton said, politely uninterested. "yes, old baxter introduced me, on a car. but, thorny, he can't be coming right down here into this rotten place!" protested susan. "he'll have a desk in brauer's office," miss thornton explained. "he is to learn this branch, and be manager some day. george says that brauer is going to buy into the firm." "well, for heaven's sake!" susan's thoughts flew. "but, thorny," she presently submitted, "isn't peter coleman in college?" miss thornton looked mysterious, looked regretful. "i understand old j. g.'s real upset about that," she said discreetly, "but just what the trouble was, i'm not at liberty to mention. you know what young men are." "sure," said susan, thoughtfully. "i don't mean that there was any scandal," miss thornton amended hastily, "but he's more of an athlete than a student, i guess--" "sure," susan agreed again. "and a lot he knows about office work, not," she mused. "i'll bet he gets a good salary?" "three hundred and fifty," supplied miss thornton. "oh, well, that's not so much, considering. he must get that much allowance, too. what a snap! thorny, what do you bet the girls all go crazy about him!" "all except one. i wouldn't thank you for him." "all except two!" susan went smiling back to her desk, a little more excited than she cared to show. she snapped off her light, and swept pens and blotters into a drawer, pulling open another drawer to get her purse and gloves. by this time the office was deserted, and susan could take her time at the little mirror nailed inside the closet door. a little cramped, a little chilly, she presently went out into the gusty september twilight of front street. in an hour the wind would die away. now it was sweeping great swirls of dust and chaff into the eyes of home-going men and women. susan, like all san franciscans, was used to it. she bent her head, sank her hands in her coat-pockets, and walked fast. sometimes she could walk home, but not to-night, in the teeth of this wind. she got a seat on the "dummy" of a cable-car. a man stood on the step, holding on to the perpendicular rod just before her, but under his arm she could see the darkened shops they passed, girls and men streaming out of doors marked "employees only," men who ran for the car and caught it, men who ran for the car and missed it. her bright eyes did not miss an inch of the crowded streets. susan smiled dreamily. she was arranging the details of her own wedding, a simple but charming wedding in old saint mary's. the groom was of course mr. peter coleman. chapter ii the mcallister street cable-car, packed to its last inch, throbbed upon its way so jerkily that susan, who was wedged in close to the glass shield at the front of the car, had sometimes to cling to the seat with knees and finger-tips to keep from sliding against her neighbor, a young man deep in a trade-journal, and sometimes to brace herself to withstand his helpless sliding against her. they both laughed presently at the absurdity of it. "my, don't they jerk!" said the friendly susan, and the young man agreed fervently, in a bashful mumble, "it's fierce, all right," and returned to his book. susan, when she got down at her corner, gave him a little nod and smile, and he lifted his hat, and smiled brightly in return. there was a little bakery on this corner, with two gaslights flaring in its window. several flat pies and small cakes were displayed there, and a limp curtain, on a string, shut off the shop, where a dozen people were waiting now. a bell in the door rang violently, whenever anyone came out or in. susan knew the bakery well, knew when the rolls were hot, and just the price and variety of the cookies and the pies. she knew, indeed, every inch of the block, a dreary block at best, perhaps especially dreary in this gloomy pitiless summer twilight. it was lined with shabby, bay-windowed, three-story wooden houses, all exactly alike. each had a flight of wooden steps running up to the second floor, a basement entrance under the steps, and a small cemented yard, where papers and chaff and orange peels gathered, and grass languished and died. the dining-room of each house was in the basement, and slatternly maids, all along the block, could be seen setting tables, by flaring gas-light, inside. even the nottingham lace curtains at the second-story windows seemed akin, although they varied from the stiff, immaculate, well-darned lengths that adorned the rooms where the clemenceaus--grandmother, daughter and granddaughter, and direct descendants of the comte de moran--were genteelly starving to death, to the soft, filthy, torn strips that finished off the parlor of the noisy, cheerful, irrepressible daleys' once-pretentious home. poverty walked visibly upon this block, the cold, forbidding poverty of pride and courage gone wrong, the idle, decorous, helpless poverty of fallen gentility. poverty spoke through the unobtrusive little signs over every bell, "rooms," and through the larger signs that said "costello. modes and children's dressmaker." still another sign in a second-story bay said "alice. milliner," and a few hats, dimly discernible from the street, bore out the claim. upon the house where susan brown lived with her aunt, and her aunt's three daughters, there was no sign, although mrs. lancaster, and mary lou, virginia and georgianna had supported themselves for many years by the cheerless process known as taking boarders. sometimes, when the lancasters were in especially trying financial straits, the possibility of a little sign was discussed. but so far, the humiliating extreme had been somehow avoided. "no, i feel that papa wouldn't like it," mrs. lancaster persisted. "oh, papa! he'd have died first!" the daughters would agree, in eager sympathy. and the question of the sign would be dismissed again. "papa" had been a power in his day, a splendid, audacious, autocratic person, successful as a pioneer, a miner, a speculator, proud of a beautiful and pampered southern wife and a nurseryful of handsome children. these were the days of horses and carriages, when the eddy street mansion was built, when a score of servants waited upon ma and the children. but terrible times came finally upon this grandeur, the stock madness seized "papa," he was a rich man one day, a millionaire the next,--he would be a multi-millionaire next week! ma never ceased to be grateful that papa, on the very day that his fortune crashed to ruin, came home too sick and feverish to fully comprehend the calamity, and was lying in his quiet grave before his widow and her children did. mrs. lancaster, in her fresh expensive black, with her five black-clad children beside her, thus had the world to face, at thirty-four. george, the first-born, destined to die in his twentieth summer, was eighteen then, mary lou sixteen, helpless and feminine, and alfred, at thirteen, already showed indications of being entirely spoiled. then came conscientious, gentle little virginia, ten years old, and finally georgianna, who was eight. out of the general wreckage, the fulton street house was saved, and to the fulton street house the spoiled, terrified little family moved. mary lou sometimes told susan with mournful pride of the weeping and wailing of those days, of dear george's first job, that, with the check that ma's uncle in albany sent every month, supported the family. then the uncle died, and george died, and ma, shaken from her silent and dignified retirement, rose to the occasion in a manner that mary lou always regarded as miraculous, and filled the house with boarders. and enjoyed the new venture thoroughly, too, although mary lou never suspected that. perhaps ma, herself, did not realize how much she liked to bustle and toil, how gratifying the stir and confusion in the house were, after the silent want and loneliness. ma always spoke of women in business as unfortunate and hardened; she never spoke of her livelihood as anything but a temporary arrangement, never made out a bill in her life. upon her first boarders, indeed, she took great pride in lavishing more than the luxuries for which their board money could possibly pay. ma reminded them that she had no rent to pay, and that the girls would soon be married, and alfie working. but papa had been dead for twenty years now, and still the girls were unmarried, and alfred, if he was working, was doing it in so fitful and so casual a manner as to be much more of a burden than a help to his mother. alfred lost one position after another because he drank, and ma, upon whose father's table wine had been quite a matter of course, could not understand why a little too much drinking should be taken so seriously by alfie's employers, and why they could not give the boy another--and another, and another--chance. ma never alluded, herself, to this little weakness of alfie's. he was still her darling, the one son she had left, the last of the lancasters. but, as the years went on, she grew to be less of the shrinking southern lady, more the boarding-house keeper. if she wrote no bills, she kept them pretty straight in her head, and only her endless courage and industry kept the crazy enterprise afloat, and the three idle girls comfortable and decently dressed. theoretically, they "helped ma." really, one well-trained servant could have done far more than mary lou, virginia and georgie did between them. this was, of course, primarily her own fault. ma belonged to the brisk and bustling type that shoves aside a pair of eager little hands, with "here, i can do that better myself!" she was indeed proud of the fact that mary lou, at thirty-six, could not rent a room or receipt a bill if her life were at stake. "while i'm here, i'll do this, dear," said ma, cheerfully. "when i'm gone you'll have quite enough to do!" susan entered a small, square entrance-hall, papered in arabesques of green against a dark brown, where a bead of gas flickered dispiritedly in a red glass shade over the newel post. some fly-specked calling cards languished in the brass tray of an enormous old walnut hat-rack, where several boarders had already hung wraps and hats. the upper part of the front door was set with two panels of beveled glass, decorated with a scroll design in frosted glass. when susan brown had been a very small girl she would sometimes stand inside this door and study the passing show of fulton street for hours at a time. somebody would come running up the street steps, and pull the bell! susan could hear it tinkle far downstairs in the kitchen, and would bashfully retire to the niche by the hat-rack. minnie or lizzie, or perhaps a japanese schoolboy,--whoever the servant of the hour might be, would come slowly up the inside stairs, and cautiously open the street door an inch or two. a colloquy would ensue. no, mrs. lancaster wasn't in, no, none of the family wasn't in. he could leave it. she didn't know, they hadn't said. he could leave it. no, she didn't know. the collector would discontentedly depart, and instantly mary lou or georgie, or perhaps both, would hang over the railing in the upper hall. "lizzie, who was it?" they would call down softly, impatient and excited, as lizzie dragged her way upstairs. "who was it, mary lou?" "why, how do i know?" "here, give it to me, lizzie!" a silence. then, "oh, pshaw!" and the sound of a closing door. then lizzie would drag downstairs again, and susan would return to her silent contemplation of the street. she had seen nothing particularly odd or unattractive about the house in those little-girl days, and it seemed a perfectly normal establishment to her now. it was home, and it was good to get home after the long day. she ran up the flight of stairs that the gas-bead dimly lighted, and up another, where a second gas-jet, this one without a shade, burned unsteadily and opened the door, at the back of the third-floor hall, that gave upon the bedroom that she shared with mary lou and georgianna. the boarding-house was crowded, at this particular time, and georgie, who flitted about as a rule to whatever room chanced to be empty, was now quartered here and slept on a narrow couch, set at an angle from the bay-window, and covered with a worn strip of chenille. it was a shabby room, and necessarily crowded, but it was bright, and its one window gave an attractive view of little tree-shaded backyards below, where small tragedies and comedies were continually being enacted by dogs and babies and cats and the crude little maids of the neighborhood. susan enjoyed these thoroughly, and she and georgie also liked to watch the girl in the house just behind theirs, who almost always forgot to draw the shades when she lighted her gas. whatever this unconscious neighbor did they found very amusing. "oh, look, georgie, she's changing her slippers. don't miss this--she must be going out to-night!" susan would quiver with excitement until her cousin joined her at the window. "well, i wish you could have seen her trying her new hat on to-day!" georgie would contribute. and both girls would kneel at the window as long as the bedroom in the next house was lighted. "gone down to meet that man in the light overcoat," susan would surmise, when the light went out, and if she and georgie, hurrying to the bakery, happened to encounter their neighbor, they had much difficulty in suppressing their mirth. to-night the room that the cousins shared was empty, and susan threw her hat and coat over the foot of the large, lumpy wooden bed that seemed to take up at least one-half of the floor-space. she sat down on the side of the bed, feeling the tension of the day relax, and a certain lassitude creep over her. an old magazine lay nearby on a chair, she reached for it, and began idly to re-read it. beside the bed and georgie's cot, there was a walnut bureau in the room, two chairs and one rocking chair, and a washstand. one the latter was a china basin, half-full of cold, soapy water, a damp towel was spread upon the pitcher that stood beside it on the floor. the wet pink soap, lying in a blue saucer, scented the room. on the bureau were combs and brushes, powders and cold creams, little brass and china trays filled with pins and buttons, and an old hand-mirror, in a loosened, blackened silver mounting. there was a glazed paper candy-box with hairpins in it, and a little liqueur glass, with "hotel netherlands" written upon it in gold, held wooden collar buttons and odd cuff-links. a great many hatpins, some plain, some tarnished and ornate, all bent, were stuck into a little black china boot. a basket of china and gold wire was full of combings, some dotted veils were folded into squares, and pinned into the wooden frame of the mirror, and the mirror itself was thickly rimmed with cards and photographs and small souvenirs of all sorts, that had been stuck in between the glass and the frame. there were dance cards with dangling tiny pencils on tasseled cords, and score cards plastered with tiny stars. there were calling cards, and newspaper clippings, and tintypes taken of young people at the beach or the chutes. a round pilot-biscuit, with a dozen names written on it in pencil, was tied with a midshipman's hat-ribbon, there were wooden plates and champagne corks, and toy candy-boxes in the shapes of guitars and fire-crackers. miss georgie lancaster, at twenty-eight, was still very girlish and gay, and she shared with her mother and sisters the curious instinctive acquisitiveness of the woman who, powerless financially and incapable of replacing, can only save. moments went by, a quarter-hour, a half-hour, and still susan sat hunched up stupidly over her book. it was not an interesting magazine, she had read it before, and her thoughts ran in an uneasy undercurrent while she read. "i ought to be doing my hair--it must be half-past six o'clock--i must stop this--" it was almost half-past six when the door opened suddenly, and a large woman came in. "well, hello, little girlie!" said the newcomer, panting from the climb upstairs, and turning a cold, fresh-colored cheek for susan's kiss. she took off a long coat, displaying beneath, a black walking-skirt, an elaborate high collar, and a view of shabby corset and shabby corset-cover between. "ma wanted butter," she explained, with a pleasant, rueful smile, "and i just slipped into anything to go for it!" "you're an angel, mary lou," susan said affectionately. "oh, angel!" miss lancaster laughed wearily, but she liked the compliment for all that. "i'm not much of an angel," she said with a sigh, throwing her hat and coat down beside susan's, and assuming a somewhat spotted serge skirt, and a limp silk waist a trifle too small for her generous proportions. susan watched her in silence, while she vigorously jerked the little waist this way and that, pinning its torn edges down firmly, adjusting her skirt over it, and covering the safety-pin that united them with a cracked patent-leather belt. "there!" said mary lou, "that doesn't look very well, but i guess it'll do. i have to serve to-night, and i will not wear my best skirt into the kitchen. ready to go down?" susan flung her book down, yawned. "i ought to do my hair--" she began. "oh, you look all right," her cousin assured her, "i wouldn't bother." she took a small paper bag full of candy from her shopping bag and tucked it out of sight in a bureau drawer. "here's a little sweet bite for you and me, sue," said she, with childish, sweet slyness, "when jinny and ma go to the lecture to-night, we'll have our little party, too. just a little secret between you and me." they went downstairs with their arms about each other, to the big front dining-room in the basement. the lower hall was dark and draughty, and smelled of boiling vegetables. there was a telephone on a little table, close by the dining-room door, and a slender, pretty young woman was seated before it. she put her hand over the transmitter, as they came downstairs, and said in a smiling whisper, "hello, darling!" to susan. "shut the door," she added, very low, "when you go into the dining-room." susan nodded, and georgianna lancaster returned at once to her telephoned conversation. "yes, you did!" said she, satirically, "i believe that! ... oh, of course you did! ... and i suppose you wrote me a note, too, only i didn't get it. now, listen, why don't you say that you forgot all about it, i wouldn't care ... honestly, i wouldn't ... honestly, i wouldn't ... yes, i've heard that before ... no, he didn't either, rose was furious. ... no, i wasn't furious at all, but at the same time i didn't think it was a very gentlemanly way to act, on your part ..." susan and mary lou went into the dining-room, and the closing door shut off the rest of the conversation. the household was quite used to georgie's quarrels with her male friends. a large, handsome woman, who did not look her sixty years, was moving about the long table, which, spread with a limp and slightly spotted cloth, was partially laid for dinner. knives, spoons, forks and rolled napkins were laid in a little heap at each place, the length of the table was broken by salt shakers of pink and blue glass, plates of soda crackers, and saucers of green pickles. "hello, auntie!" susan said, laying an arm about the portly figure, and giving the lady a kiss. mrs. lancaster's anxious eye went to her oldest daughter. "who's georgie talking to?" she asked, in a low tone. "i don't know, ma," mary lou said, sympathetically, pushing a chair against the table with her knee, "fred persons, most likely." "no. 'tisn't fred. she just spoke about fred," said the mother uneasily. "this is the man that didn't meet them sunday. sometimes," she complained, "it don't seem like georgie has any dignity at all!" she had moved to the china closet at one end of the room, and now stood staring at it. "what did i come here for?" she asked, helplessly. "glasses," prompted susan, taking some down herself. "glasses," mrs. lancaster echoed, in relief. "get the butter, mary lou?" "in the kitchen, ma." miss lancaster went into the kitchen herself, and susan went on with the table-setting. before she had finished, a boarder or two, against the unwritten law of the house, had come downstairs. mrs. cortelyou, a thin little wisp of a widow, was in the rocker in the bay-window, major kinney, fifty, gray, dried-up, was on the horsehair sofa, watching the kitchen door over his paper. georgia, having finished her telephoning, had come in to drop idly into her own chair, and play with her knives and forks. miss lydia lord, a plain, brisk woman, her upper lip darkened with hair, her figure flat and square, like a boy's, had come down for her sister's tray, and was talking to susan in the resolutely cheerful tone that susan always found annoying, when she was tired. "the keiths are off for europe again, susan,--dear me! isn't it lovely for the people who can do those things!" said miss lord, who was governess in a very wealthy household, and liked to talk of the city's prominent families. "some day you and i will have to find a million dollars and run away for a year in italy! i wonder, sue," the mild banter ceased, "if you could get mary's dinner? i hate to go into the kitchen, they're all so busy--" susan took the tray, and went through the swinging door, and into the kitchen. two or three forms were flitting about in the steam and smoke and flickering gas-light, water was running, gravy hissing on the stove; alice, the one poor servant the establishment boasted, was attempting to lift a pile of hot plates with an insufficient cloth. susan filled her tray silently. "anything i can do, mary lou?" "just get out of the way, lovey--that's about all--i salted that once, ma. if you don't want that table, sue--and shut the door, dear! the smoke--" susan was glad to get out of the kitchen, and in a moment mrs. lancaster and mary lou came into the dining-room, too, and alice rang the dinner bell. instantly the boarders streamed downstairs, found their places with a general murmuring of mild little pleasantries. mrs. lancaster helped the soup rapidly from a large tureen, her worried eyes moved over the table-furnishings without pause. the soup was well cooled before the place next to susan was filled by a tall and muscular young man, with very blue eyes, and a large and exceptionally charming mouth. the youth had teeth of a dazzling whiteness, a smile that was a bewildering irish compound of laughter and tears, and sooty blue-black hair that fitted his head like a thick cap. he was a noisy lad, this william oliver, opinionated, excitable, a type that in its bigness and broadness seemed almost coarse, sometimes, but he had all a big man's tenderness and sweetness, and everyone liked him. susan and he quarreled with and criticized each other, william imitating her little affectations of speech and manner, susan reviling his transparent and absurd ambitions, but they had been good friends for years. young oliver's mother had been mrs. lancaster's housekeeper for the most prosperous period in the history of the house, and if susan naturally felt that the son of a working housekeeper was seriously handicapped in a social sense, she nevertheless had many affectionate memories of his mother, as the kindly dignified "nellie" who used to amuse them so delightfully on rainy days. nellie had been long dead, now, and her son had grown up into a vigorous, enthusiastic young person, burning his big hands with experiments in physics and chemistry, reading the scientific american late into the night, until his broad shoulders were threatened with a permanent stoop, and his eager eyes blinked wearily at breakfast, anxious to disprove certain accepted theories, and as eager to introduce others, unaffected, irreverent, and irresistibly buoyant. william could not hear an opera praised without dragging susan off to gallery seats, which the lady frankly characterized as "smelly," to see if his opinion agreed with that of the critics. if it did not, susan must listen to long dissertations upon the degeneracy of modern music. his current passion was the german language, which he was studying in odd moments so that he might translate certain scientific treatises in a manner more to the scientific mind. "hello, susan, darling!" he said now, as he slipped into his chair. "hello, heart's delight!" susan answered composedly. "well, here--here--here!" said an aged gentleman who was known for no good reason as "major," "what's all this? you young folks going to give us a wedding?" "not unless i'm chloroformed first, major," susan said, briskly, and everybody laughed absently at the well-known pleasantry. they were all accustomed to the absurdity of the major's question, and far more absorbed just now in watching the roast, which had just come on. another pot-roast. everybody sighed. "this isn't just what i meant to give you good people to-night," said mrs. lancaster cheerfully, as she stood up to carve, "but butchers can be tyrants, as we all know. mary lou, put vegetables on that for mrs. cortelyou." mary lou briskly served potatoes and creamed carrots and summer squash; susan went down a pyramid of saucers as she emptied a large bowl of rather watery tomato-sauce. "well, they tell us meat isn't good for us anyway!" piped mrs. kinney, who was rheumatic, and always had scrambled eggs for dinner. "--elegant chicken, capon, probably, and on sundays, turkey all winter long!" a voice went on in the pause. "my father ate meat three times a day, all his life," said mrs. parker, a dark, heavy woman, with an angelic-looking daughter of nineteen beside her, "and papa lived to be--let me see--" "ah, here's jinny!" mrs. lancaster stopped carving to receive the kiss of a tall, sweet-faced, eye-glassed young woman who came in, and took the chair next hers. "your soup's cold, dear," said she tenderly. miss virginia lancaster looked a little chilly; her eyes, always weak, were watery now from the sharp evening air, and her long nose red at the tip. she wore neat, plain clothes, and a small hat, and laid black lisle gloves and a small black book beside her plate as she sat down. "good evening, everybody!" said she, pleasantly. "late comers mustn't complain, ma, dear. i met mrs. curry, poor thing, coming out of the league rooms, and time flew, as time has a way of doing! she was telling me about harry," miss virginia sighed, peppering her soup slowly. "he knew he was going," she resumed, "and he left all his little things--" "gracious! a child of seven?" mrs. parker said. "oh, yes! she said there was no doubt of it." the conversation turned upon death, and the last acts of the dying. loretta parker related the death of a young saint. miss lord, pouring a little lime water into most of her food, chewed religiously, her eyes moving from one speaker's face to another. "i saw my pearl to-day," said william oliver to susan, under cover of the general conversation. "eleanor harkness? where?" "on market street,--the little darling! walking with anna carroll. going to the boat." "oh, and how's anna?" "fine, i guess. i only spoke to them for a minute. i wish you could have seen her dear little laugh--" "oh, billy, you fatuous idiot! it'll be someone else to-morrow." "it will not," said william, without conviction "no, my little treasure has all my heart--" "honestly," said susan, in fine scorn, "it's cat-sickening to hear you go on that way! especially with that snapshot of anna carroll still in your watch!" "that snapshot doesn't happen to be still in my watch, if it's any business of yours!" the gentleman said, sweetly. "why, it is too! let's see it, then!" "no, i won't let you see it, but it's not there, just the same." "oh, billy, what an awful lie!" "susan!" said mrs. lancaster, partly in reproof, partly to call her niece's attention to apple-pie and tapioca pudding. "pudding, please, auntie." susan subsided, not to break forth again until the events of the day suddenly rushed into her mind. she hastily reviewed them for william's benefit. "well, what do you care?" he consoled her for the disappointment, "here's your chance to bone up on the segregating, or crediting, or whatever you call it." "yes, and then have someone else get it!" "no one else could get it, if you understood it best!" he said impatiently. "that shows just about how much you know about the office!" susan retorted, vexed at his lack of sympathy. and she returned to her pudding, with the real cream of the day's news yet untold. a few moments later billy was excused, for a struggle with german in the night school, and departed with a joyous, "auf wiedersehen, fraulein brown!" to susan. such boarders as desired were now drinking their choice between two dark, cool fluids that might have been tea, or might have been coffee, or might have been neither. "i am going a little ahead of you and georgie, ma," said virginia, rising, "for i want to see mamie evans about tickets for saturday." "say, listen, jin, i'm not going to-night," said miss georgie, hastily, and with a little effort. "why, you said you were, georgie!" the older sister said reproachfully. "i thought you'd bring ma." "well, i'm not, so you thought wrong!" georgie responded airily. "somebody coming to see you, dear?" asked her mother. "i don't know--maybe." miss georgie got up, brushing the crumbs from her lap. "who is it, dear?" her mother pursued, too casually. "i tell you it may not be anyone, ma!" the girl answered, suddenly irritated. a second later they heard her running upstairs. "i really ought to be early--i promised miss evans--" virginia murmured. "yes, i know, lovey," said her mother. "so you run right along. i'll just do a few little things here, and come right after you." virginia was mrs. lancaster's favorite child, now she kissed her warmly. "don't get all tired out, my darling!" said she, and when the girl was gone she added, "never gives one thought to herself!" "she's an angel!" said loretta parker fervently. "but i kind of hate to have you go down to league hall alone, ma," said mary lou, who was piling dishes and straightening the room, with susan's help. "yes, let us put you on the car," susan suggested. "i declare i hate to have you," the older woman hesitated. "well, i'll change," mary lou sighed wearily. "i'll get right into my things, a breath of air will do us both good, won't it, sue?" presently they all walked to the mcallister street car. susan, always glad to be out at night, found something at which to stop in every shop window; she fairly danced along at her cousin's side, on the way back. "i think fillmore street's as gay as kearney, don't you, mary lou? don't you just hate to go in. don't you wish something exciting would happen?" "what a girl you are for wanting excitement, sue. i want to get back and see that georgie hasn't shut everyone out of the parlor!" worried mary lou. they went through the basement door to the dining room, where one or two old ladies were playing solitaire, on the red table-cloth, under the gas-light. susan drew up a chair, and plunged into a new library book. mary lou, returning from a trip upstairs, said noiselessly, "gone walking!" and susan looked properly disgusted at georgie's lack of propriety. mary lou began a listless game of patience, with a shabby deck of cards taken from the sideboard drawer, presently she grew interested, and susan put aside her book, and began to watch the cards, too. the old ladies chatted at intervals over their cards. one game followed another, mary lou prefacing each with a firm, "now, no more after this one, sue," and a mention of the time. it was like many of their evenings, like three hundred evenings a year. the room grew warm, the gas-lights crept higher and higher, flared noisily, and were lowered. mary lou unfastened her collar, susan rumpled her hair. the conversation, always returning to the red king and the black four-spot, ranged idly here and there. susan observed that she must write some letters, and meant to take a hot bath and go early to bed. but she sat on and on; the cards, by the smallest percentage of amusement, still held them. at ten o'clock mrs. lancaster and virginia came in, bright-eyed and chilly, eager to talk of the lecture. mrs. lancaster loosened her coat, laid aside the miserable little strip of fur she always wore about her throat, and hung her bonnet, with its dangling widow's veil, over the back of her deep chair. she drew susan down to sit on her knee. "all the baby auntie's got," she said. georgie presently came downstairs, her caller, "that fresh kid i met at sallie's," had gone, and she was good-natured again. mary lou produced the forgotten bag of candy; they all munched it and talked. the old ladies had gone upstairs long ago. all conversations led mrs. lancaster into the past, the girls could almost have reconstructed those long-ago, prosperous years, from hearing her tell of them. "--papa fairly glared at the man," she was saying presently, won to an old memory by the chance meeting of an old friend to-night, "i can see his face this day! i said, 'why, papa, i'd just as soon have these rooms!' but, no. papa had paid for the best, and he was going to have the best--" "that was papa!" laughed his daughters. "that was papa!" his widow smiled and sighed. "well. the first thing i knew, there was the proprietor,--you may imagine! papa says, 'will you kindly tell me why i have to bring my wife, a delicate, refined southern woman--'" "and he said beautiful, too, ma!" mrs. lancaster laughed mildly. "poor papa! he was so proud of my looks! 'will you tell me,' he says, 'why i have to put my wife into rooms like these?' 'sir,' the landlord says, 'i have only one better suite--'" "bridal suite, he said, ma!" "yes, he did. the regular bridal suite. i wasn't a bride then, that was after poor george was born, but i had a very high color, and i always dressed very elegantly. and i had a good figure, your father's two hands could meet around my waist. anyway, then papa--dear me, how it all comes back!--papa says, fairly shouting, 'well, why can't i have that suite?' 'oh, sir,' the landlord says, 'a mr. george lancaster has engaged that for his wife, and they say that he's a man who will get what he pays for--'" another mild laugh interrupted the narrative. "didn't you nearly die, ma?" "well, my dear! if you could have seen the man's face when papa--and how well he did this sort of thing, deary me!--whips out a card--" they all laughed merrily. then mrs. lancaster sighed. "poor papa, i don't know what he would have done if he could have seen us to-day," she said. "it's just as well we couldn't see ahead, after all!" "gee, but i'd like to see what's coming," susan said thoughtfully. "bed is coming next!" mary lou said, putting her arm about the girl. upstairs they all filed sleepily, lowering the hall gases as they went. susan yawningly kissed her aunt and virginia good-night, on the second floor, where they had a dark and rather colorless room together. she and the other girls went on up to the third-story room, where they spent nearly another hour in dilatory undressing. susan hesitated again over the thought of a hot bath, decided against it, decided against even the usual brushing of her hair to-night, and sprang into bed to lie flat on her tired back, watching mary lou make up georgie's bed with dislocating yawns, and georgie, wincing as she put her hair into tight "kids." susan slept in a small space bounded by the foot of the bed, the head of the bed, the wall, and her cousin's large person, and, as mary lou generally made the bed in the morning by flapping the covers back without removing them, they were apt to feel and smell unaired, and to be rumpled and loose at the foot. susan could not turn over in the night without arousing mary lou, who would mutter a terrified "what is it--what is it?" for the next ten minutes. years before, susan, a timid, country-bred child, had awakened many a time in the night, frightened by the strange city noises, or the fire-bells, and had lain, with her mouth dry, and her little heart thundering, through lessening agonies of fright. but she never liked to awake mary lou. now she was used to the city, and used to the lumpy, ill-made bed as well; indeed susan often complained that she fell asleep too fast, that she wanted to lie awake and think. but to-night she lay awake for a long time. susan was at twenty-one no more than a sweet and sunny child, after all. she had accepted a rather cheerless destiny with all the extraordinary philosophy and patience of a child, thankful for small pleasures, enduring small discomforts gaily. no situation was too hopeless for susan's laughter, and no prospect too dark for her bright dreams. now, to-night for the first time, the tiny spark of a definite ambition was added to this natural endowment. she would study the work of the office systematically, she would be promoted, she would be head girl some day, some day very soon, and obliged, as head girl, to come in and out of mr. peter coleman's office constantly. and by the dignity and gravity of her manner, and her personal neatness, and her entire indifference to his charms--always neat little cuffs and collars basted in her tailor-made suit--always in her place on the stroke of half-past eight-- susan began to get sleepy. she turned over cautiously, and bunched her pillow comfortably under one cheek. hazy thoughts wheeled through her tired brain. thorny--the man on the dummy--the black king-- chapter iii among mrs. lancaster's reminiscences susan had heard none more often than the one in which the first appearance of billy oliver and his mother in the boarding-house was described. mrs. oliver had been newly widowed then, and had the round-faced, square-shouldered little billy to support, in a city that was strange and unfriendly. she had gone to mrs. lancaster's intending merely to spend a day or two, until the right work and the right home for herself and billy should be found. "it happened to be a bad time for me," mrs. lancaster would say, recalling the event. "my cook had gone, the house was full, and i had a quinsy sore throat. but i managed to find her a room, and alfie and george carried in a couch for the little boy. she borrowed a broom, i remember, and cleaned out the i room herself. i explained how things were with me, and that i ought to have been on my back then! she was the cleanest soul i ever saw, she washed out the very bureau drawers, and she took the little half-curtain down, it was quite black,--we used to keep that window open a good deal. well, and we got to talking, and she told me about her husband's death, he was a surveyor, and a pretty clever man, i guess. poor thing, she burst right out crying--" "and you kept feeling sicker and sicker, ma." "i began to feel worse and worse, yes. and at about four o'clock i sent ceely,--you remember ceely, mary lou!--for the doctor. she was getting dinner--everything was upset!" "was that the day i broke the pitchers, ma?" "no. that was another day. well, when the doctor came, he said bed. i was too wretched then to say boo to a goose, and i simply tumbled in. and i wasn't out of bed for five weeks!" "ma!" "not for five weeks. well. but that first night, somebody knocked at my door, and who should it be but my little widow! with her nice little black gown on, and a white apron. she'd brought me some gruel, and she began to hang up my things and straighten the room. i asked about dinner, and she said she had helped ceely and that it was all right. the relief! and from that moment she took hold, got a new cook, cleaned house, managed everything! and how she adored that boy! i don't think that, in the seven years that she was with me, nellie ever spent an evening away from him. poor nellie! and a witty, sweet woman she was, too, far above that sort of work. she was taking the public library examinations when she died. nellie would have gone a long way. she was a real little lady. billy must be more like his father, i imagine." "oh, now, ma!" there was always someone to defend billy. "look how good and steady billy is!" "steady, yes, and a dear, dear boy, as we all know. but--but very different from what i would wish a son of mine to be!" mrs. lancaster would say regretfully. susan agreed with her aunt that it was a great pity that a person of billy's intelligence should voluntarily grub away in a dirty iron foundry all the days of his youth, associating with the commonest types of laboring men. a clerkship, an agency, a hundred refined employments in offices would have seemed more suitable, or even a professional vocation of some sort. but she had in all honesty to admit that alfred's disinclination to do anything at all, and alfred's bad habits, made billy's industry and cleanness and temperance a little less grateful to mrs. lancaster than they might otherwise have been. alfred tried a great many positions, and lost them all because he could not work, and could not refrain from drinking. the women of his family called alfred nothing more unkind than "unfortunate," and endured the drunkenness, the sullen aftermath, the depression while a new job was being found, and alfie's insufferable complacency when the new job was found, with tireless patience and gentleness. mary lou carried alfie's breakfast upstairs to his bed, on sunday mornings, mrs. lancaster often gave him an early dinner, and hung over him adoringly while he ate it, because he so hated to dine with the boarders. susan loaned him money, virginia's prayers were all for him, and georgie laughed at his jokes and quoted him as if he had been the most model of brothers. how much they realized of alfie's deficiencies, how important the matter seemed to them, even susan could not guess mrs. lancaster majestically forbade any discussion of alfie. "many a boy has his little weakness in early youth," she said, "alfie will come out all right!" she had the same visionary optimism in regarding her daughters' futures. the girls were all to marry, of course, and marry well, far above their present station, indeed. "somehow i always think of mary lou's husband as a prominent officer, or a diplomat," mrs. lancaster would say. "not necessarily very rich, but with a comfortable private income. mary lou makes friends very easily, she likes to make a good appearance, she has a very gracious manner, and with her fine figure, and her lovely neck, she would make a very handsome mistress for a big home--yes, indeed you would, dear! where many a woman would want to run away and hide, mary lou would be quite in her element--" "well, one thing," mary lou would say modestly, "i'm never afraid to meet strangers, and, don't you know you've spoken of it, ma? i never have any trouble in talking to them. do you remember that woman in the grocery that night, georgie, who said she thought i must have traveled a great deal, i had such an easy way of speaking? and i'd love to dress every night for dinner." "of course you would!" her mother always said approvingly. "now, georgie," she would pursue, "is different again. where mary lou only wants the very nicest people about her, georgie cares a good deal more for the money and having a good time!" "the man i marry has got to make up his mind that i'm going to keep on the go," georgie would admit, with an independent toss of her head. "but you wouldn't marry just for that, dear? love must come, too." "oh, the love would come fast enough, if the money was there!" georgie would declare naughtily. "i don't like to have you say that even in fun, dear! ... now jinny," and mrs. lancaster would shake her head, "sometimes i think jinny would be almost too hard upon any man," she would say, lovingly. "there are mighty few in this world good enough for her. and i would certainly warn any man," she usually added seriously, "that jinny is far finer and more particular than most women. but a good, good man, older than she, who could give her a beautiful home--" "i would love to begin, on my wedding-day, to do some beautiful, big, charitable thing every day," virginia herself would say eagerly. "i would like to be known far and wide as a woman of immense charities. i'd have only one handsome street suit or two, each season, beside evening dresses, and people would get to know me by sight, and bring their babies up to me in the street--" her weak, kind eyes always watered at the picture. "but mama is not ready yet to let you go!" her mother would say jealously. "we'll hope that mr. right will be a long time arriving!" then it was susan's turn. "and i want some fine, good man to make my sue happy, some day," her aunt often said, affectionately. susan writhed in spirit under the implication that no fine, good man yet had desired the honor; she had a girl's desire that her affairs--or the absence of affairs--of the heart should not be discussed. susan felt keenly the fact that she had never had an offer of marriage; her one consolation, in this humiliation, was that no one but herself could be quite sure of it. boys had liked her, confided in her, made her small christmas presents,--just how other girls led them from these stages to the moment of a positive declaration, she often wondered. she knew that she was attractive to most people; babies and old men and women, servants and her associates in the office, strangers on ferryboats and sick people in hospitals alike responded to her friendliness and gaiety. but none of these was marriageable, of course, and the moment susan met a person who was, a subtle change crept over her whole personality, veiled the bright charm, made the friendliness stiff, the gaiety forced. susan, like all other girls, was not herself with the young unmarried men of her acquaintance; she was too eager to be exactly what they supposedly wanted her to be. she felt vaguely the utter unnaturalness of this, without ever being able to analyze it. her attitude, the attitude of all her sex, was too entirely false to make an honest analysis possible. susan, and her cousins, and the girls in the office, rather than reveal their secret longings to be married, would have gone cheerfully to the stake. nevertheless, all their talk was of men and marriage, and each girl innocently appraised every man she met, and was mentally accepting or refusing an offer of marriage from him before she had known him five minutes. susan viewed the single state of her three pretty cousins with secret uneasiness. georgie always said that she had refused "dozens of fellows," meeting her mother's occasional mild challenge of some specific statement with an unanswerable "of course you didn't know, for i never told you, ma." and virginia liked to bemoan the fact that so many nice men seemed inclined to fall in love with herself, a girl who gave absolutely no thought to such things at all. mrs. lancaster supported virginia's suspicions by memories of young men who had suddenly and mysteriously appeared, to ask her to accept them as boarders, and young attorneys who had their places in church changed to the pews that surrounded the lancaster pew. but susan dismissed these romantic vapors, and in her heart held mary lou in genuine admiration, because mary lou had undoubtedly and indisputably had a real lover, years ago. mary lou loved to talk of ferd eastman still; his youth, his manly charms, his crossing an empty ball-room floor, on the memorable evening of their meeting, especially to be introduced to her, and to tell her that brown hair was his favorite color for hair. after that the memories, if still fondly cherished, were less bright. mary lou had been "perfectly wretched," she had "cried for nights and nights" at the idea of leaving ma; ma had fainted frequently. "ma made it really hard for me," said mary lou. ma was also held to blame for not reconciling the young people after the first quarrel. ma might have sent for ferd. mary lou, of course, could do nothing but weep. poor mary lou's weeping soon had good cause. ferd rushed away, rushed into another marriage, with an heiress and a beauty, as it happened, and mary lou had only the dubious consolation of a severe illness. after that, she became cheerful, mild, unnecessary mary lou, doing a little bit of everything about the house, appreciated by nobody. ferd and his wife were the great people of their own little town, near virginia city, and after a while mary lou had several pictures of their little boy to treasure,--robbie with stiff curls falling over a lace collar, and plaid kilts, in a swing, and robbie in velvet knickerbockers, on a velocipede. the boarding-house had a younger affair than mary lou's just now in the attachment felt for lovely loretta parker by a young mission doctor, joseph o'connor. susan did not admire the gentleman very much, with his well-trimmed little beard, and his throaty little voice, but she could not but respect the dreamy and indifferent loretta for his unquestionable ardor. loretta wanted to enter a convent, to her mother's bitter anguish, and susan once convulsed georgie by the remark that she thought joe o'connor would make a cute nun, himself. "but think of sacrificing that lovely beard!" said georgie. "oh, you and i could treasure it, georgie! love's token, don't you know?" loretta's affair was of course extremely interesting to everyone at mrs. lancaster's, as were the various "cases" that georgie continually talked of, and the changing stream of young men that came to see her night after night. but also interesting were all the other lives that were shut up here together, the varied forms which sickness and money-trouble can take for the class that has not learned to be poor. little pretenses, timid enjoyments and mild extravagances were all overshadowed by a poverty real enough to show them ever more shadowy than they were. susan grew up in an atmosphere where a lost pair of overshoes, or a dentist's bill, or a counterfeit half-dollar, was a real tragedy. she was well used to seeing reddened eyes, and hearing resigned sighs at the breakfast table, without ever knowing what little unforeseen calamity had caused them. every door in the dark hallways shut in its own little story of suffering and privation. susan always thought of second-floor alcoved bedrooms as filled with the pungent fumes of miss beattie's asthma powder, and of back rooms as redolent of hot kerosene and scorched woolen, from the pressing of old mr. keane's suits, by mrs. keane. she could have identified with her eyes shut any room in the house. a curious chilliness lurked in the halls, from august to may, and an odor compounded of stale cigarette smoke, and carbolic acid, and coal-gas, and dust. those women in the house who did not go to business every day generally came down to the breakfast table very much as they rose from bed. limp faded wrappers and "juliet" slippers were the only additions made to sleeping wear. the one or two men of the house, with susan and jane beattie and lydia lord, had breakfasted and gone long before these ladies drifted downstairs. sometimes mrs. parker and loretta made an early trip to church, but even then they wore only long cloaks over very informal attire, and joined the others, in wrappers, upon their return. loitering over coffee and toast, in the sunny dining-room, the morning wasted away. the newspapers were idly discussed, various scraps of the house gossip went the rounds. many a time, before her entrance into the business world, susan had known this pleasant idleness to continue until ten o'clock, until eleven o'clock, while the room, between the stove inside and the winter sunshine outside, grew warmer and warmer, and the bedrooms upstairs waited in every stage of appalling disorder and confusion. nowadays susan ran downstairs just before eight o'clock, to gulp down her breakfast, with one eye on the clock. the clatter of a cable car passing the corner meant that susan had just time to pin on her hat, seize her gloves and her lunch, and catch the next cable-car. she flashed through the dreary little entrance yard, past other yards, past the bakery, and took her seat on the dummy breathless with her hurry, exhilarated by the morning freshness of the air, and filled with happy expectation for the new day. on the monday morning that mr. peter coleman made his appearance as a member of the front office staff, susan brown was the first girl to reach the office. this was usually the case, but to-day susan, realizing that the newcomer would probably be late, wished that she had the shred of an excuse to be late herself, to have an entrance, as it were. her plain suit had been well brushed, and the coat was embellished by a fresh, dainty collar and wide cuffs of white linen. susan had risen early to wash and press these, and they were very becoming to her fresh, unaffected beauty. but they must, of course, be hung in the closet, and susan, taking her place at her desk, looked quite as usual, except for the spray of heliotrope pinned against her lavender shirtwaist. the other girls were earlier than was customary, there was much laughing and chatting as desks were dusted, and inkwells filled for the day. susan, watching soberly from her corner, saw that miss cottle was wearing her best hat, that miss murray had on the silk gown she usually saved for saturdays, that thorny's hair was unusually crimped and puffed, and that the kirks were wearing coquettish black silk aprons, with pink and blue bows. susan's face began to burn. her hand unobtrusively stole to her heliotrope, which fell, a moment later, a crushed little fragrant lump, into her waste-basket. presently she went into the coat closet. "remind me to take these to the french laundry at noon," said susan, pausing before thorny's desk, on her way back to her own, with a tight roll of linen in her hand. "i left 'em on my coat from yesterday. they're filthy." "sure, but why don't you do 'em yourself, susan, and save your two bits?" "well, maybe i will. i usually do." susan yawned. "still sleepy?" "dying for sleep. i went with my cousin to st. mary's last night, to hear that mission priest. he's a wonder." "not for me! i've not been inside a church for years. i had my friend last night. say, susan, has he come?" "has who come?" "oh, you go to, susan! young coleman." "oh, sure!" susan's eyes brightened intelligently. "that's so, he was coming down to-day, wasn't he?" "girls," said miss thornton, attracting the attention of the entire room, "what do you know about susan brown's trying to get away with it that she's forgotten about peter coleman!" "oh, lord, what a bluff!" somebody said, for the crowd. "i don't see why it's a bluff," said susan hardily, back at her own desk, and turning her light on, full above her bright, innocent face. "i intended to wear my grandfather's gray uniform and my aunt's widow's veil to make an impression on him, and you see i didn't!" "oh, susan, you're awful!" miss thornton said, through the general shocked laughter. "you oughtn't say things like that," miss garvey remonstrated. "it's awful bad luck. mamma had a married cousin in detroit and she put on a widow's veil for fun--" at ten o'clock a flutter went through the office. young mr. coleman was suddenly to be seen, standing beside mr. brauer at his high desk. he was exceptionally big and broad, handsome and fresh looking, with a look of careful grooming and dressing that set off his fine head and his fine hands; he wore a very smart light suit, and carried well the affectation of lavender tie and handkerchief and hose, and an opal scarf-pin. he seemed to be laughing a good deal over his new work, but finally sat down to a pile of bills, and did not interrupt mr. brauer after that oftener than ten times a minute. susan met his eye, as she went along the deck, but he did not remember her, or was too confused to recognize her among the other girls, and they did not bow. she was very circumspect and very dignified for a week or two, always busy when peter coleman came into front office, and unusually neat in appearance. miss murray sat next to him on the car one morning, and they chatted for fifteen minutes; miss thornton began to quote him now and then; miss kirk, as credit clerk, spent at least a morning a week in mr. brauer's office, three feet away from mr. coleman, and her sister tripped in there now and then on real or imagined errands. but susan bided her time. and one afternoon, late in october, returning early to the office, she found mr. coleman loitering disconsolately about the deck. "excuse me, miss brown," said he, clearing his throat. he had, of course, noticed this busy, absorbed young woman. susan stopped, attentive, unsmiling. "brauer," complained the young man, "has gone off and locked my hat in his office. i can't go to lunch." "why didn't you walk through front office?" said susan, leading the way so readily and so sedately, that the gentleman was instantly put in the position of having addressed her on very slight provocation. "this inner door is always unlocked," she explained, with maternal gentleness. peter coleman colored. "i see--i am a bally ass!" he said, laughing. "you ought to know," susan conceded politely. and suddenly her dimples were in view, her blue eyes danced as they met his, and she laughed too. this was a rare opportunity, the office was empty, susan knew she looked well, for she had just brushed her hair and powdered her nose. she cast about desperately in her mind for something--anything!--to keep the conversation going. she had often thought of the words in which she would remind him of their former meeting. "don't think i'm quite as informal as this, mr. coleman, you and i have been properly introduced, you know! i'm not entirely flattered by having you forget me so completely, mr. coleman!" before she could choose either form, he said it himself. "say, look here, look here--didn't my uncle introduce us once, on a car, or something? doesn't he know your mother?" "my mother's dead," said susan primly. but so irresistible was the well of gaiety bubbling up in her heart that she made the statement mirthful. "oh, gosh, i do beg your pardon--" the man stammered. they both, although susan was already ashamed of herself, laughed violently again. "your uncle knows my aunt," she said presently, coldly and unsmilingly. "that's it," he said, relieved. "quite a french sentence, 'does the uncle know the aunt'?" he grinned. "or 'has the governess of the gardener some meat and a pen'?" gurgled susan. and again, and more merrily, they laughed together. "lord, didn't you hate french?" he asked confidentially. "oh, hate it!" susan had never had a french lesson. there was a short pause--a longer pause. suddenly both spoke. "i beg your pardon--?" "no, you. you were first." "oh, no, you. what were you going to say?" "i wasn't going to say anything. i was just going to say--i was going to ask how that pretty, motherly aunt of yours is,--mrs. baxter?" "aunt clara. isn't she a peach? she's fine." he wanted to keep talking, too, it was obvious. "she brought me up, you know." he laughed boyishly. "not that i'd want you to hold that against her, or anything like that!" "oh, she'll live that down!" said susan. that was all. but when peter colernan went on his way a moment later he was still smiling, and susan walked to her desk on air. the office seemed a pleasant place to be that afternoon. susan began her work with energy and interest, the light falling on her bright hair, her fingers flying. she hummed as she worked, and one or two other girls hummed with her. there was rather a musical atmosphere in front office; the girls without exception kept in touch with the popular music of the day, and liked to claim a certain knowledge of the old classics as well. certain girls always hummed certain airs, and no other girl ever usurped them. thus thorny vocalized the "spring song," when she felt particularly cheerful, and to miss violet kirk were ceded all rights to carmen's own solos in "carmen." susan's privilege included "the rosary" and the little hawaiian fare-well, "aloha aoi." after the latter thorny never failed to say dreamily, "i love that song!" and susan to mutter surprisedly, "i didn't know i was humming it!" all the girls hummed the toreador's song, and the immediate favorites of the hour, "just because she made those goo-goo eyes," and "i don't know why i love you but i do," and "hilee-hilo" and "the mosquito parade." hot discussions as to the merits of various compositions arose, and the technique of various singers. "yes, collamarini's dramatic, and she has a good natural voice," miss thornton would admit, "but she can't get at it." or, "that's all very well," miss cottle would assert boldly, "but salassa sings better than either plancon or de reszke. i'm not saying this myself, but a party that knows told me so." "probably the person who told you so had never heard them," miss thornton would say, bringing the angry color to miss cottle's face, and the angry answer: "well, if i could tell you who it is, you'd feel pretty small!" susan had small respect for the other girls' opinions, and almost as little for her own. she knew how ignorant she was. but she took to herself what credit accrued to general quoting, quoting from newspapers, from her aunt's boarders, from chance conversations overheard on the cars. "oh, puccini will never do anything to touch bizet!" susan asserted firmly. or, "well, we'd be fighting spain still if it wasn't for mckinley!" or, "my grandmother had three hundred slaves, and slavery worked perfectly well, then!" if challenged, she got very angry. "you simply are proving that you don't know anything about it!" was susan's last, and adequate, answer to questioners. but as a rule she was not challenged. some quality in susan set her apart from the other girls, and they saw it as she did. it was not that she was richer, or prettier, or better born, or better educated, than any or all of them. but there was some sparkling, bubbling quality about her that was all her own. she read, and assimilated rather than remembered what she read, adopted this little affectation in speech, this little nicety of manner. she glowed with varied and absurd ambitions, and took the office into her confidence about them. wavering and incomplete as her aunt's influence had been, one fact had early been impressed upon her; she was primarily and absolutely a "lady." susan's forebears had really been rather ordinary folk, improvident and carefree, enjoying prosperity when they had it with the uneducated, unpractical serenity of the old south, shiftless and lazy and unhappy in less prosperous times. but she thought of them as most distinguished and accomplished gentlefolk, beautiful women environed by spacious estates, by exquisite old linen and silver and jewels, and dashing cavaliers rising in gay gallantry alike to the conquest of feminine hearts, or to their country's defense. she bore herself proudly, as became their descendants. she brought the gaze of her honest blue eyes frankly to all the other eyes in the world, a lady was unembarrassed in the presence of her equals, a lady was always gracious to her inferiors. her own father had been less elevated in rank than his wife, yet susan could think of him with genuine satisfaction. he was only a vague memory to her now, this bold heart who had challenged a whole family's opposition, a quarter of a century before, and carried off miss sue rose ralston, whose age was not quite half his forty years, under her father's very eyes. when susan was born, four years later, the young wife was still regarded by her family as an outcast. but even the baby susan, growing happily old enough to toddle about in the santa barbara rose-garden that sheltered the still infatuated pair, knew that mother was supremely indifferent to the feeling toward her in any heart but one. martin brown was an irishman, and a writer of random essays. his position on a los angeles daily newspaper kept the little family in touch with just the people they cared to see, and, when the husband and father was found dead at his desk one day, with his wife's picture over the heart that had suddenly and simply ceased to serve him, there were friends all about to urge the beautiful widow to take up at least a part of his work, in the old environment. but sue rose was not quite thirty, and still girlish, and shrinking, and helpless. beside, there was lou's house to go to, and five thousand dollars life insurance, and three thousand more from the sale of the little home, to meet the immediate need. so susan and her mother came up to mrs. lancaster, and had a very fine large room together, and became merged in the older family. and the eight thousand dollars lasted a long time, it was still paying little bills, and buying birthday presents, and treating alfie to a "safety bicycle," and mary lou to dancing lessons when, on a wet afternoon in her thirteenth summer, little susan brown came in from school to find that mother was very ill. "just an ugly, sharp pain, ducky, don't look so scared!" said mother, smiling gallantly, but writhing under the bed covers. "dr. forsythe has been here, and it's nothing at all. ah-h-h!" said mother, whimsically, "the poor little babies! they go through this, and we laugh at them, and call it colic! never-laugh-at-another-baby, sue! i shan't. you'd better call auntie, dear. this--this won't do." a day or two later there was talk of an operation. susan was told very little of it. long afterward she remembered with certain resentment the cavalier manner in which her claims were dismissed. her mother went to the hospital, and two days later, when she was well over the wretchedness of the ether, susan went with mary lou to see her, and kissed the pale, brave little face, sunk in the great white pillows. "home in no time, sue!" her mother said bravely. but a few days later something happened, susan was waked from sleep, was rushed to the hospital again, was pressed by some unknown hand into a kneeling position beside a livid and heavily breathing creature whom she hardly recognized as her mother. it was all confusing and terrifying; it was over very soon. susan came blinking out of the dimly lighted room with mary lou, who was sobbing, "oh, aunt sue rose! aunt sue rose!" susan did not cry, but her eyes hurt her, and the back of her head ached sharply. she cried later, in the nights, after her cousins had seemed to be unsympathetic, feeling that she needed her mother to take her part. but on the whole the cousins were devoted and kind to susan, and the child was as happy as she could have been anywhere. but her restless ambition forced her into many a discontented hour, as she grew, and when an office position was offered her susan was wild with eagerness to try her own feet. "i can't bear it!" mourned her aunt, "why can't you stay here happily with us, lovey? my own girls are happy. i don't know what has gotten into you girls lately, wanting to rush out like great, coarse men! why can't you stay at home, doing all the little dainty, pretty things that only a woman can do, to make a home lovely?" "don't you suppose i'd much rather not work?" susan demanded impatiently. "i can't have you supporting me, auntie. that's it." "well, if that's it, that's nonsense, dear. as long as auntie lives all she asks is to keep a comfortable home for her girls." "why, sue, you'll be implying that we all ought to have taken horrid office positions," virginia said, in smiling warning. susan remained mutinously silent. "have you any fault to find with auntie's provision for you, dear?" asked mrs. lancaster, patiently. "oh, no, auntie! that's not it at all!" susan protested, "it's just simply that i--i can't--i need money, sometimes--" she stopped, miserably. "come, now!" mrs. lancaster, all sweet tolerance of the vagary, folded her hands to await enlightenment. "come, now! tell auntie what you need money for. what is this special great need?" "no one special thing, auntie--" susan was anything but sure of her ground. as a matter of fact she did not want to work at all, she merely felt a frantic impulse to do something else than settle down for life as mary lou and virginia and georgie had done. "but clothes cost money," she pursued vaguely. "what sort of a gown did you want, dear?" mrs. lancaster reached for her shabby purse. susan refused the gift of a gown with many kisses, and no more was said for a while of her working. this was in her seventeenth summer. for more than a year after that she drifted idly, reading a great many romantic novels, and wishing herself a young actress, a lone orphan, the adored daughter of an invalid father or of a rich and adoring mother, the capable, worshiped oldest sister in a jolly big family, a lovely cripple in a bright hospital ward, anything, in short, except what she was. then came the offer of a position in front office, and susan took it on her own responsibility, and resigned herself to her aunt's anger. this was a most unhappy time for all concerned. but it was all over now. auntie rebeled no more, she accepted the fact as she had accepted other unwelcome facts in her life. and soon susan's little salary came to be depended upon by the family; it was not much, but it did pay a gas or a laundry bill, it could be "borrowed" for the slippers georgie must have in a hurry, or the ticket that should carry alfie to sacramento or stockton for his new job. virginia wondered if sue would lend her two dollars for the subscription to the "weekly era," or asked, during the walk to church, if susan had "plate-money" for two? mary lou used susan's purse as her own. "i owe you a dollar, sue," she would observe carelessly, "i took it yesterday for the cleaner." or, on their evening walks, mary lou would glance in the candy-store window. "my! don't those caramels look delicious! this is my treat, now, remind me to give it back to you." "oh, ma told me to get eggs," she would remember suddenly, a moment later. "i'll have to ask you to pay for them, dearie, until we get home." susan never was repaid these little loans. she could not ask it. she knew very well that none of the girls ever had a cent given her except for some definite and unavoidable purchase. her aunt never spent money. they lived in a continual and agonizing shortage of coin. lately, however, susan had determined that if her salary were raised she would save the extra money, and not mention the fact of the raise at home. she wanted a gray feather boa, such as peter coleman's girl friends wore. it would cost twenty dollars, but what beauty and distinction it lent to the simplest costume! since young mr. coleman's appearance in front office certain young girls very prominent in san francisco society found various reasons for coming down, in mid-afternoon, to the establishment of hunter, baxter & hunter, for a chat with old mr. baxter, who appeared to be a great favorite with all girls. susan, looking down through the glass walls of front office, would suddenly notice the invasion of flowered hats and smart frocks, and of black and gray and white feather-boas, such as her heart desired. she did not consciously envy these girls, but she felt that, with their advantages, she would have been as attractive as any, and a boa seemed the first step in the desired direction. she always knew it when mr. baxter sent for peter, and generally managed to see him as he stood laughing and talking with his friends, and when he saw them to their carriages. she would watch him wistfully when he came upstairs, and be glad when he returned briskly to his work, as if the interruption had meant very little to him after all. one day, when a trio of exquisitely pretty girls came to carry him off bodily, at an early five o'clock, miss thornton came up the office to susan's desk. susan, who was quite openly watching the floor below, turned with a smile, and sat down in her place. "s'listen, susan," said miss thornton, leaning on the desk, "are you going to the big game?" "i don't know," said susan, suddenly wild to go. "well, i want to go," pursued miss thornton, "but wally's in los angeles." wally was miss thornton's "friend." "what would it cost us, thorny?" "two-fifty." "gosh," said susan thoughtfully. the big intercollegiate game was not to be seen for nothing. still, it was undoubtedly the event of the sporting year. "hat come?" asked thorny. "ye-es." susan was thinking. "yes, and she's made it look lovely," she admitted. she drew a sketch of a little face on her scratch pad. "who's that?" asked miss thornton, interestedly. "oh, no one!" susan said, and scratched it out. "oh, come on, susan, i'm dying to go!" said the tempter. "we need a man for that, thorny. there's an awful crowd." "not if we go early enough. they say it's going to be the closest yet. come on!" "thorny, honest, i oughtn't to spend the money," susan persisted. "s'listen, susan." miss thornton spoke very low, after a cautious glance about her. "swear you won't breathe this!" "oh, honestly i won't!" "wait a minute. is elsie kirk there?" asked miss thornton. susan glanced down the office. "nope. she's upstairs, and violet's in brauer's office. what is it?" "well, say, listen. last night--" began miss thornton, impressively, "last night i and min and floss and harold clarke went into the techau for supper, after the orpheum show. well, after we got seated--we had a table way at the back--i suddenly noticed violet kirk, sitting in one of those private alcoves, you know--?" "for heaven's sake!" said susan, in proper horror. "yes. and champagne, if you please, all as bold as life! and all dressed up, susan, i wish you could have seen her! well. i couldn't see who she was with--" "a party?" "a party--no! one man." "oh, thorny--" susan began to be doubtful, slowly shook her head. "but i tell you i saw her, sue! and listen, that's not all. we sat there and sat there, an hour i guess, and she was there all that time. and when she got up to go, sue, i saw the man. and who do you suppose it was?" "do i know him?" a sick premonition seized susan, she felt a stir of agonizing jealousy at her heart. "peter coleman?" she guessed, with burning cheeks. "peter coleman! that kid! no, it was mr. phil!" "mr. phil hunter!" but, through all her horror, susan felt the warm blood creep back to her heart. "sure." "but--but thorny, he's married!" miss thornton shrugged her shoulders, and pursed her lips, as one well accustomed, if not reconciled, to the wickedness of the world. "so now we know how she can afford a velvet tailor-made and ostrich plumes," said she. susan shrank in natural cleanness of heart, from the ugliness of it. "ah, don't say such things, thorny!" she said. her brows contracted. "his wife enjoying europe!" she mused. "can you beat it?" "i think it's the limit," said miss thornton virtuously, "and i think old j. b. would raise the roof. but anyway, it shows why she got the crediting." "oh, thorny, i can't believe it! perhaps she doesn't realize how it looks!" "violet hunter!" thorny said, with fine scorn. "now you mark my words, susan, it won't last--things like this don't--" "but--but don't they sometimes last, for years?" susan asked, a little timidly, yet wishing to show some worldly wisdom, too. "not like her, there's nothing to her," said the sapient miss thornton. "no. you'll be doing that work in a few months, and getting forty. so come along to the big game, sue." "well--" susan half-promised. but the big game was temporarily lost sight of in this horrid news of violet kirk. susan watched miss kirk during the remainder of the afternoon, and burst out with the whole story, to mary lou, when they went out to match a piece of tape that night. "dear me, ma would hate to have you coming in contact with things like that, sue!" worried mary lou. "i wonder if ma would miss us if we took the car out to the end of the line? it's such a glorious night! let's,--if you have carfare. no, sue, it's easy enough to rob a girl of her good name. there were some people who came to the house once, a man and his wife. well, i suppose i was ordinarily polite to the man, as i am to all men, and once or twice he brought me candy--but it never entered my head--" it was deliciously bracing to go rushing on, on the car, past the children's hospital, past miles of sandhills, out to the very shore of the ocean, where the air was salt, and filled with the dull roaring of surf. mary lou, sharing with her mother a distaste for peanuts, crowds, tin-type men, and noisy pleasure-seekers, ignored susan's hints that they walk down to the beach, and they went back on the same car. when they entered the close, odorous dining-room, an hour later, georgie, lazily engaged with fan-tan, had a piece of news. "susan, you sly thing! he's adorable!" said georgie. "who?" said susan, taking a card from her cousin's hand. dazedly she read it. "mr. peter coleman." "did he call?" she asked, her heart giving a great bound. "did he call? with a perfect heart-breaker of a puppy--!" "london baby," susan said, eagerly. "he was airing the puppy, he said" georgie added archly. "one excuse as well as another!" mary lou laughed delightedly as she kissed susan's glowing cheek. "he wouldn't come in," continued georgie, "which was really just as well, for loretta and her prize idiot were in the parlor, and i couldn't have asked him down here. well, he's a darling. you have my blessing, sue." "it's manners to wait until you're axed," susan said demurely. but her heart sang. she had to listen to a little dissertation upon the joys of courtship, when she and mary lou were undressing, a little later, tactfully concealing her sense of the contrast between their two affairs. "it's a happy, happy time," said mary lou, sighing, as she spread the two halves of a shabby corset upon the bed, and proceeded to insert a fresh lacing between them. "it takes me back to the first time ferd called upon me, but i was younger than you are, of course, sue. and ferd--!" she laughed proudly, "do you think you could have sent ferd away with an excuse? no, sir, he would have come in and waited until you got home, poor ferd! not but what i think peter--" he was already peter!--"did quite the correct thing! and i think i'm going to like him, sue, if for no other reason than that he had the sense to be attracted to a plainly-dressed, hard-working little mouse like my sue--" "his grandfather ran a livery stable!" said susan, smarting under the role of the beggar maiden. "ah, well, there isn't a girl in society to-day who wouldn't give her eyes to get him!" said mary lou wisely. and susan secretly agreed. she was kept out of bed by the corset-lacing, and so took a bath to-night and brushed and braided her hair. feeling refreshed in body and spirit by these achievements, she finally climbed into bed, and drifted off upon a sea of golden dreams. georgie's teasing and mary lou's inferences might be all nonsense, still, he had come to see her, she had that tangible fact upon which to build a new and glorious castle in spain. thanksgiving broke dull and overcast, there was a spatter of rain on the sidewalk, as susan loitered over her late holiday breakfast, and georgie, who was to go driving that afternoon with an elderly admirer, scolded violently over her coffee and rolls. no boarders happened to be present. mrs. lancaster and virginia were to go to a funeral, and dwelt with a sort of melancholy pleasure upon the sad paradox of such an event on such a day. mary lou felt a little guilty about not attending the funeral, but she was responsible for the roasting of three great turkeys to-day, and could not be spared. mrs. lancaster had stuffed the fowls the night before. "i'll roast the big one from two o'clock on," said mary lou, "and give the little ones turn and turn about. the oven won't hold more than two." "i'll be home in time to make the pudding sauce," her mother said, "but open it early, dear, so that it won't taste tinny. poor hardings! a sad, sad thanksgiving for them!" and mrs. lancaster sighed. her hair was arranged in crisp damp scallops under her best bonnet and veil, and she wore the heavy black skirt of her best suit. but her costume was temporarily completed by a light kimono. "we'll hope it's a happy, happy thanksgiving for dear mr. harding, ma," virginia said gently. "i know, dear," her mother said, "but i'm not like you, dear. i'm afraid i'm a very poor, weak, human sort!" "rotten day for the game!" grumbled susan. "oh, it makes me so darn mad!" georgie added, "here i've been working that precious idiot for a month up to the point where he would take his old horse out, and now look at it!" everyone was used to georgie's half-serious rages, and mrs. lancaster only smiled at her absently. "but you won't attempt to go to the game on a day like this!" she said to susan. "not if it pours," susan agreed disconsolately. "you haven't wasted your good money on a ticket yet, i hope, dear?" "no-o," susan said, wishing that she had her two and a half dollars back. "that's just the way of it!" she said bitterly to billy, a little later. "other girls can get up parties for the game, and give dinners after it, and do everything decently! i can't even arrange to go with thorny, but what it has to rain!" "oh, cheer up," the boy said, squinting down the barrel of the rifle he was lovingly cleaning. "it's going to be a perfect day! i'm going to the game myself. if it rains, you and i'll go to the orpheum mat., what do you say?" "well--" said susan, departing comforted. and true to his prediction the sky really did clear at eleven o'clock, and at one o'clock, susan, the happiest girl in the world, walked out into the sunny street, in her best hat and her best gown, her prettiest embroidered linen collar, her heavy gold chain, and immaculate new gloves. how could she possibly have hesitated about it, she wondered, when she came near the ball-grounds, and saw the gathering crowds; tall young men, with a red carnation or a shaggy great yellow chrysanthemum in their buttonholes; girls in furs; dancingly impatient small boys, and agitated and breathless chaperones. and here was thorny, very pretty in her best gown, with a little unusual and unnatural color on her cheeks, and billy oliver, who would watch the game from the "dollar section," providentially on hand to help them through the crowd, and buy susan a chrysanthemum as a foil to thorny's red ribbons. the damp cool air was sweet with violets; a delightful stir and excitement thrilled the moving crowd. here was the gate. tickets? and what a satisfaction to produce them, and enter unchallenged into the rising roadway, leaving behind a line of jealously watching and waiting people. with billy's help the seats were easily found, "the best seats on the field," said susan, in immense satisfaction, as she settled into hers. she and thorny were free to watch the little tragedies going on all about them, people in the wrong seats, and people with one ticket too few. girls and young men--girls and young men--girls and young men--streamed in the big gateways, and filed about the field. susan envied no one to-day, her heart was dancing. there was a racy autumnal tang in the air, laughter and shouting. the "rooters" were already in place, their leader occasionally leaped into the air like a maniac, and conducted a "yell" with a vigor that needed every muscle of his body. and suddenly the bleachers went mad and the air fluttered with banners, as the big teams rushed onto the field. the players, all giants they looked, in their clumsy, padded suits, began a little practice play desperately and violently. susan could hear the quarter's voice clear and sharp, "nineteen-four-eighty-eight!" "hello, miss brown!" said a voice at her knee. she took her eyes from the field. peter coleman, one of a noisy party, was taking the seat directly in front of her. "well!" she said, gaily, "be you a-follering of me, or be i a-follering of you?" "i don't know!--how do you do, miss thornton!" peter said, with his delighted laugh. he drew to susan the attention of a stout lady in purple velvet, beside him. "mrs. fox--miss brown," said he, "and miss thornton--mrs. fox." "mrs. fox," said susan, pleasantly brief. "miss brown," said mrs. fox, with a wintry smile. "pleased to meet any friend of mr. coleman's, i'm sure," thorny said, engagingly. "miss thornton," mrs. fox responded, with as little tone as is possible to the human voice. after that the newcomers, twelve or fourteen in all, settled into their seats, and a moment later everyone's attention was riveted on the field. the men were lining up, big backs bent double, big arms hanging loose, like the arms of gorillas. breathless attention held the big audience silent and tense. "don't you love it?" breathed susan, to thorny. "crazy about it!" peter coleman answered her, without turning. it was a wonderful game that followed. susan never saw another that seemed to her to have the same peculiar charm. between halves, peter coleman talked almost exclusively to her, and they laughed over the peanuts that disappeared so fast. the sun slipped down and down the sky, and the air rose chilly and sweet from the damp earth. it began to grow dark. susan began to feel a nervous apprehension that somehow, in leaving the field, she and thorny would become awkwardly involved in mrs. fox's party, would seem to be trying to include themselves in this distinguished group. "we've got to rush," she muttered, buttoning up her coat. "oh, what's your hurry?" asked thorny, who would not have objected to the very thing susan dreaded. "it's so dark!" susan said, pushing ahead. they were carried by the crowd through the big gates, out to the street. lights were beginning to prick through the dusk, a long line of street cars was waiting, empty and brightly lighted. suddenly susan felt a touch on her shoulder. "lord, you're in a rush!" said peter coleman, pushing through the crowd to join them. he was somehow dragging mrs. fox with him, the lady seemed outraged and was breathless. peter brought her triumphantly up to susan. "now what is it that you want me to do, you ridiculous boy!" gasped mrs. fox,--"ask miss brown to come and have tea with us, is that it? i'm chaperoning a few of the girls down to the palace for a cup of tea, miss brown,--perhaps you will waive all formality, and come too?" susan didn't like it, the "waive all formality" showed her exactly how mrs. fox regarded the matter. her pride was instantly touched. but she longed desperately to go. a sudden thought of the politely interested thorny decided her. "oh, thank you! thank you, mr. coleman," she smiled, "but i can't, to-night. miss thornton and i are just--" "don't decline on my account, miss brown," said thorny, mincingly, "for i have an engagement this evening, and i have to go straight home--" "no, don't decline on any account!" peter said masterfully, "and don't tell wicked lies, or you'll get your mouth washed out with soap! now, i'll put miss thornton on her car, and you talk to hart here--miss brown, this is mr. hart--gordon, miss brown--until i come back!" he disappeared with thorny, and susan, half terrified, half delighted, talked to mr. hart at quite a desperate rate, as the whole party got on the dummy of a car. just as they started, peter coleman joined them, and during the trip downtown susan kept both young men laughing, and was her gayest, happiest self. the palace hotel, grimy and dull in a light rainfall, was nevertheless the most enchanting place in the world to go for tea, as susan knew by instinct, or hearsay, or tradition, and as all these other young people had proved a hundred times. a covered arcade from the street led through a row of small, bright shops into the very center of the hotel, where there was an enormous court called the "palm-garden," walled by eight rising tiers of windows, and roofed, far above, with glass. at one side of this was the little waiting-room called the "turkish room," full of oriental inlay and draperies, and embroideries of daggers and crescents. to susan the place was enchanting beyond words. the coming and going of strange people, the arriving carriages with their slipping horses, the luggage plastered with labels, the little shops,--so full of delightful, unnecessary things, candy and glace fruits, and orchids and exquisite chinese embroideries, and postal cards, and theater tickets, and oranges, and paper-covered novels, and alligator pears! the very sight of these things aroused in her heart a longing that was as keen as pain. oh, to push her way, somehow, into the world, to have a right to enjoy these things, to be a part of this brilliant, moving show, to play her part in this wonderful game! mrs. fox led the girls of her party to the turkish room to-night, where, with much laughter and chatter, they busied themselves with small combs, mirrors powder boxes, hairpins and veils. one girl, a miss emily saunders, even loosened her long, thin, silky hair, and let it fall about her shoulders, and another took off her collar while she rubbed and powdered her face. susan sat rather stiffly on a small, uncomfortable wooden chair, entirely ignored, and utterly miserable. she smiled, as she looked pleasantly from one face to another, but her heart was sick within her. no one spoke to her, or seemed to realize that she was in the room. a steady stream of talk--such gay, confidential talk!--went on. "let me get there, connie, you old pig, i'm next. listen, girls, did you hear ward to-day? wasn't that the richest ever, after last night! ward makes me tired, anyway. did margaret tell you about richard and ward, last sunday? isn't that rich! i don't believe it, but to hear margaret tell it, you'd think--wait a minute, louise, while i pin this up! whom are you going with to-night? are you going to dinner there? why don't you let us call for you? that's all right, bring him along. will you? all right. that's fine. no, and i don't care. if it comes i'll wear it, and if it doesn't come i'll wear that old white rag,--it's filthy, but i don't care. telephone your aunt, con, and then we can all go together. love to, darling, but i've got a suitor. you have not! i have too! who is it? who is it, i like that! isn't she awful, margaret? mother has an awful crush on you, mary, she said--wait a minute! i'm just going to powder my nose. who said joe chickering belonged to you? what nerve! he's mine. isn't joe my property? don't come in here, alice, we're just talking about you--" "oh, if i could only slip out somehow!" thought susan desperately. "oh, if only i hadn't come!" their loosened wraps were displaying all sorts of pretty little costumes now. susan knew that the simplest of blue linen shirtwaists was under her own coat. she had not courage to ask to borrow a comb, to borrow powder. she knew her hair was mussed, she knew her nose was shiny-- her heart was beating so fast, with angry resentment of their serene rudeness, and shame that she had so readily accepted the casual invitation that gave them this chance to be rude, that she could hardly think. but it seemed to be best, at any cost, to leave the party now, before things grew any worse. she would make some brief excuse to mrs. fox,--headache or the memory of an engagement-- "do you know where mrs. fox is?" she asked the girl nearest her. for mrs. fox had sauntered out into the corridor with some idea of summoning the men. the girl did not answer, perhaps did not hear. susan tried again. "do you know where mrs. fox went to?" now the girl looked at her for a brief instant, and rose, crossing the little room to the side of another girl. "no, i really don't," she said lightly, civilly, as she went. susan's face burned. she got up, and went to the door. but she was too late. the young men were just gathering there in a noisy group. it appeared that there was sudden need of haste. the "rooters" were to gather in the court presently, for more cheering, and nobody wanted to miss the sight. "come, girls! be quick!" called mrs. fox. "come, louise, dear! connie," this to her own daughter, "you and peter run ahead, and ask for my table. peter, will you take connie? come, everybody!" somehow, they had all paired off, in a flash, without her. susan needed no further spur. with more assurance than she had yet shown, she touched the last girl, as she passed, on the arm. it chanced to be miss emily saunders. she and her escort both stopped, laughing with that nervous apprehension that seizes their class at the appearance of the unexpected. "miss saunders," said susan quickly, "will you tell mrs. fox that my headache is much worse. i'm afraid i'd better go straight home--" "oh, too bad!" miss saunders said, her round, pale, rather unwholesome face, expressing proper regret. "perhaps tea will help it?" she added sweetly. it was the first personal word susan had won. she felt suddenly, horrifyingly--near to tears. "oh, thank you, i'm afraid not!" she smiled bravely. "thank you so much. and tell her i'm sorry. good-night." "good-night!" said miss saunders. and susan went, with a sense of escape and relief, up the long passageway, and into the cool, friendly darkness of the streets. she had an unreasoning fear that they might follow her, somehow bring her back, and walked a swift block or two, rather than wait for the car where she might be found. half an hour later she rushed into the house, just as the thanksgiving dinner was announced, half-mad with excitement, her cheeks ablaze, and her eyes unnaturally bright. the scene in the dining-room was not of the gayest; mrs. lancaster and virginia were tired and depressed, mary lou nervously concerned for the dinner, georgie and almost all of the few boarders who had no alternative to dining in a boarding-house to-day were cross and silent. but the dinner was delicious, and susan, arriving at the crucial moment, had a more definite effect on the party than a case of champagne would have had. she chattered recklessly and incessantly, and when mrs. lancaster's mild "sue, dear!" challenged one remark, she capped it with another still less conventional. her spirits were infectious, the gaiety became general. mrs. parker laughed until the tears streamed down her fat cheeks, and mary lord, the bony, sallow-faced, crippled sister who was the light and joy of lydia lord's drudging life, and who had been brought downstairs to-day as a special event, at a notable cost to her sister's and william oliver's muscles, nearly choked over her cranberry sauce. susan insisted that everyone should wear the paper caps that came in the bonbons, and looked like a pretty witch herself, under a cone-shaped hat of pink and blue. when, as was usual on all such occasions, a limited supply of claret came on with the dessert, she brought the whole company from laughter very close to tears, as she proposed, with pretty dignify, a toast to her aunt, "who makes this house such a happy home for us all." the toast was drunk standing, and mrs. lancaster cried into her napkin, with pride and tender emotion. after dinner the diminished group trailed, still laughing and talking, upstairs to the little drawing-room, where perhaps seven or eight of them settled about the coal fire. mrs. lancaster, looking her best in a low-necked black silk, if rather breathless after the hearty dinner, eaten in too-tight corsets, had her big chair, georgia curled girlishly on a footstool at her feet. miss lydia lord stealthily ate a soda mint tablet now and then; her sister, propped with a dozen pillows on the sofa, fairly glowed with the unusual pleasure and excitement. little mrs. cortelyou rocked back and forth; always loquacious, she was especially talkative after to-night's glass of wine. virginia, who played certain simple melodies very prettily, went to the piano and gave them "maryland" and "drink to me only with thine eyes," and was heartily applauded. mary lou was finally persuaded to sing tosti's "farewell to summer," in a high, sweet, self-conscious soprano. susan had disappeared. just after dinner she had waylaid william oliver, with a tense, "will you walk around the block with me, billy? i want to talk to you," and william, giving her a startled glance, had quietly followed her through the dark lower hall, and into the deserted, moonlighted, wind-swept street. the wind had fallen: stars were shining. "billy," said susan, taking his arm and walking him along very rapidly, "i'm going away--" "going away?" he said sympathetically. this statement always meant that something had gone very wrong with susan. "absolutely!" susan said passionately. "i want to go where nobody knows me, where i can make a fresh start. i'm going to chicago." "what the deuce are you raving about?" mr. oliver asked, stopping short in the street. "what have you been doing now?" "nothing!" susan said, with suddenly brimming eyes. "but i hate this place, and i hate everyone in it, and i'm simply sick of being treated as if, just because i'm poor--" "you sound like a bum second act, with somebody throwing a handful of torn paper down from the wings!" billy observed. but his tone was kinder than his words, and susan, laying a hand on his coat sleeve, told him the story of the afternoon; of mrs. fox, with her supercilious smile; of the girls, so bitterly insulting; of peter, involving her in these embarrassments and then forgetting to stand by her. "if one of those girls came to us a stranger," susan declared, with a heaving breast, "do you suppose we'd treat her like that?" "well, that only proves we have better manners than they have!" "oh, bill, what rot! if there's one thing society people have, it's manners!" susan said impatiently. "do you wonder people go crazy to get hold of money?" she added vigorously. "nope. you've got to have it. there are lots of other things in the world," he agreed, "but money's first and foremost. the only reason _i_ want it," said billy, "is because i want to show other rich people where they make their mistakes." "do you really think you'll be rich some day, billy?" "sure." susan walked on thoughtfully. "there's where a man has the advantage," she said. "he can really work toward the thing he wants." "well, girls ought to have the same chance," billy said generously. "now i was talking to mrs. carroll sunday--" "oh, how are the carrolls?" asked susan, diverted for an instant. "fine. they were awfully disappointed you weren't along.--and she was talking about that very thing. and she said her three girls were going to work just as phil and jim do." "but billy, if a girl has a gift, yes. but you can't put a girl in a foundry or a grocery." "not in a foundry. but you could in a grocery. and she said she had talked to anna and jo since they were kids, just as she did to the boys, about their work." "wouldn't auntie think she was crazy!" susan smiled. after a while she said more mildly: "i don't believe peter coleman is quite as bad as the others!" "because you have a crush on him," suggested billy frankly. "i think he acted like a skunk." "very well. think what you like!" susan said icily. but presently, in a more softened tone, she added, "i do feel badly about thorny! i oughtn't to have left her. it was all so quick! and she did have a date, at least i know a crowd of people were coming to their house to dinner. and i was so utterly taken aback to be asked out with that crowd! the most exclusive people in the city,--that set." "you give me an awful pain when you talk like that," said billy, bluntly. "you give them a chance to sit on you, and they do, and then you want to run away to chicago, because you feel so hurt. why don't you stay in your own crowd?" "because i like nice people. and besides, the fox crowd isn't one bit better than i am!" said the inconsistent susan, hotly. "who were their ancestors! miners and servants and farmers! i'd like to go away," she resumed, feverishly, "and work up to be something great, and come back here and have them tumbling over themselves to be nice to me--" "what a pipe dream!" billy observed. "let 'em alone. and if coleman ever offers you another invitation--" "he won't!" interposed susan. "--why, you sit on him so quick it'll make his head spin! get busy at something, susan. if you had a lot of work to do, and enough money to buy yourself pretty clothes, and to go off on nice little trips every sunday,--up the mountain, or down to santa cruz, you'd forget this bunch!" "get busy at what?" asked susan, half-hopeful, half in scorn. "oh, anything!" "yes, and thorny getting forty-five after twelve years!" "well, but you've told me yourself how thorny wastes time, and makes mistakes, and conies in late, and goes home early---" "as if that made any difference! nobody takes the least notice!" susan said hotly. but she was restored enough to laugh now, and a passing pop-corn cart made a sudden diversion. "let's get some crisps, bill! let's get a lot, and take some home to the others!" so the evening ended with billy and susan in the group about the fire, listening idly to the reminiscences that the holiday mood awakened in the older women. mrs. cortelyou had been a california pioneer, and liked to talk of the old prairie wagons, of indian raids, of flood and fire and famine. susan, stirred by tales of real trouble, forgot her own imaginary ones. indians and wolves in the strange woods all about, a child at the breast, another at the knee, and the men gone for food,--four long days' trip! the women of those days, thought susan, carried their share of the load. she had heard the story of the hatch child before, the three-year-old, who, playing about the wagons, at the noontime rest on the plains, was suddenly missing! of the desperate hunt, the half-mad mother's frantic searching, her agonies when the long-delayed start must be made, her screams when she was driven away with her tinier child in her arms, knowing that behind one of those thousands of mesquite or cactus bushes, the little yellow head must be pillowed on the sand, the little beloved mouth smiling in sleep. "mrs. hatch used to sit for hours, strainin' her eyes back of us, toward st. joe," mrs. cortelyou said, sighing. "but there was plenty of trouble ahead, for all of us, too! it's a life of sorrow." "you never said a truer word than that," mrs. lancaster agreed mournfully. and the talk came about once more to the harding funeral. chapter iv "good-morning!" said susan, bravely, when miss thornton came into the office the next morning. miss thornton glanced politely toward her. "oh, good-morning, miss brown!" said she, civilly, disappearing into the coat closet. susan felt her cheeks burn. but she had been lying awake and thinking in the still watches of the night, and she was the wiser for it. susan's appearance was a study in simple neatness this morning, a black gown, severe white collar and cuffs, severely braided hair. her table was already piled with bills, and she was working busily. presently she got up, and came down to miss thornton's desk. "mad at me, thorny?" she asked penitently. she had to ask it twice. "why should i be?" asked miss thornton lightly then. "excuse me--" she turned a page, and marked a price. "excuse me--" this time susan's hand was in the way. "ah, thorny, don't be mad at me," said susan, childishly. "i hope i know when i am not wanted," said miss thornton stiffly, after a silence. "i don't!" laughed susan, and stopped. miss thornton looked quickly up, and the story came out. thorny was instantly won. she observed with a little complacence that she had anticipated just some such event, and so had given peter coleman no chance to ask her. "i could see he was dying to," said thorny, "but i know that crowd! don't you care, susan, what's the difference?" said thorny, patting her hand affectionately. so that little trouble was smoothed away. another episode made the day more bearable for susan. mr. brauer called her into his office at ten o'clock. peter was at his desk, but susan apparently did not see him. "will you hurry this bill, miss brown?" said mr. brauer, in his careful english. "al-zo, i wished to say how gratifite i am wiz your work, before zese las' weeks,--zis monss. you work hardt, and well. i wish all could do so hardt, and so well." "oh, thank you!" stammered susan, in honest shame. had one month's work been so noticeable? she made new resolves for the month to come. "was that all, mr. brauer?" she asked primly. "all? yes." "what was your rush yesterday?" asked peter coleman, turning around. "headache," said susan, mildly, her hand on the door. "oh, rot! i bet it didn't ache at all!" he said, with his gay laugh. but susan did not laugh, and there was a pause. peter's face grew red. "did--did miss thornton get home all right?" he asked. susan knew he was at a loss for something to say, but answered him seriously. "quite, thank you. she was a little--at least i felt that she might be a little vexed at my leaving her, but she was very sweet about it." "she should have come, too!" peter said, embarrassedly. susan did not answer, she eyed him gravely for a few seconds, as one waiting for further remarks, then turned and went out, sauntering to her desk with the pleasant conviction that hers were the honors of war. the feeling of having regained her dignity was so exhilarating that susan was careful, during the next few weeks, to preserve it. she bowed and smiled to peter, answered his occasional pleasantries briefly and reservedly, and attended strictly to her affairs alone. thus thanksgiving became a memory less humiliating, and on christmas day joy came gloriously into susan's heart, to make it memorable among all the christmas days of her life. easy to-day to sit for a laughing hour with poor mary lord, to go to late service, and dream through a long sermon, with the odor of incense and spicy evergreen sweet all about her, to set tables, to dust the parlor, to be kissed by loretta's little doctor under the mistletoe, to sweep up tissue-paper and red ribbon and nutshells and tinsel, to hook mary lou's best gown, and accompany virginia to evening service, and to lend georgie her best gloves. susan had not had many christmas presents: cologne and handkerchiefs and calendars and candy, from various girl friends, five dollars from the firm, a silk waist from auntie, and a handsome umbrella from billy, who gave each one of the cousins exactly the same thing. these, if appreciated, were more or less expected, too. but beside them, this year, was a great box of violets,--susan never forgot the delicious wet odor of those violets!--and inside the big box a smaller one, holding an old silver chain with a pendant of lapis lazuli, set in a curious and lovely design. susan honestly thought it the handsomest thing she had ever seen. and to own it, as a gift from him! small wonder that her heart flew like a leaf in a high wind. the card that came with it she had slipped inside her silk blouse, and so wore against her heart. "mr. peter webster coleman," said one side of the card. on the other was written, "s.b. from p.--happy fourth of july!" susan took it out and read it a hundred times. the "p" indicated a friendliness that brought the happy color over and over again to her face. she dashed him off a gay little note of thanks; signed it "susan," thought better of that and re-wrote it, to sign it "susan ralston brown"; wrote it a third time, and affixed only the initials, "s.b." all day long she wondered at intervals if the note had been too chilly, and turned cold, or turned rosy wondering if it had been too warm. mr. coleman did not come into the office during the following week, and one day a newspaper item, under the heading of "the smart set," jumped at susan with the familiar name. "peter coleman, who is at present the guest of mrs. rodney chauncey, at her new year's house party," it ran, "may accompany mr. paul wallace and miss isabel wallace in a short visit to mexico next week." the news made susan vaguely unhappy. one january saturday she was idling along the deck, when he came suddenly up behind her, to tell her, with his usual exuberant laughter, that he was going away for a fortnight with the wallaces, just a flying trip, "in the old man's private car." he expected "a peach of a time." "you certainly ought to have it!" smiled susan gallantly, "isabel wallace looks like a perfect darling!" "she's a wonder!" he said absently, adding eagerly, "say, why can't you come and help me buy some things this afternoon? come on, and we'll have tea at the club?" susan saw no reason against it, they would meet at one. "i'll be down in j.g.'s office," he said, and susan went back to her desk with fresh joy and fresh pain at her heart. on saturdays, because of the early closing, the girls had no lunch hour. but they always sent out for a bag of graham crackers, which they nibbled as they worked, and, between eleven and one, they took turns at disappearing in the direction of the lunch-room, to return with well scrubbed hands and powdered noses, fresh collars and carefully arranged hair. best hats were usually worn on saturdays, and susan rejoiced that she had worn her best to-day. after the twelve o'clock whistle blew, she went upstairs. on the last flight, just below the lunch-room, she suddenly stopped short, her heart giving a sick plunge. somebody up there was laughing--crying--making a horrible noise--! susan ran up the rest of the flight. thorny was standing by the table. one or two other girls were in the room, miss sherman was mending a glove, miss cashell stood in the roof doorway, manicuring her nails with a hairpin. miss elsie kirk sat in the corner seat, with her arm about the bowed shoulders of another girl, who was crying, with her head on the table. "if you would mind your own affairs for about five minutes, miss thornton," elsie kirk was saying passionately, as susan came in, "you'd be a good deal better off!" "i consider what concerns front office concerns me!" said miss thornton loftily. "ah, don't!" miss sherman murmured pitifully. "if violet wasn't such a darn fool--" miss cashell said lightly, and stopped. "what is it?" asked susan. her voice died on a dead silence. miss thornton, beginning to gather up veil and gloves and handbag scattered on the table, pursed her lips virtuously. miss cashell manicured steadily. miss sherman bit off a thread. "it's nothing at all!" said elsie kirk, at last. "my sister's got a headache, that's all, and she doesn't feel well." she patted the bowed shoulders. "and parties who have nothing better to do," she added, viciously turning to miss thornton, "have butted in about it!" "i'm all right now," said violet suddenly, raising a face so terribly blotched and swollen from tears that susan was genuinely horrified. violet's weak eyes were set in puffy rings of unnatural whiteness, her loose, weak little mouth sagged, her bosom, in its preposterous, transparent white lace shirtwaist, rose and fell convulsively. in her voice was some shocking quality of unwomanliness, some lack of pride, and reserve, and courage. "all i wanted was to do like other girls do," said the swollen lips, as violet began to cry again, and to dab her eyes with a soaked rag of a handkerchief. "i never meant nothing! 'n' mamma says she knows it wasn't all my fault!" she went on, half maudlin in her abandonment. susan gasped. there was a general gasp. "don't, vi!" said her sister tenderly. "it ain't your fault if there are skunks in the world like mr. phil hunter," she said, in a reckless half-whisper. "if papa was alive he'd shoot him down like a dog!" "he ought to be shot down!" cried susan, firing. "well, of course he ought!" miss elsie kirk, strong under opposition, softened suddenly under this championship, and began to tremble. "come on, vi," said she. "well, of course he ought," thorny said, almost with sympathy. "here, let's move the table a little, if you want to get out." "well, why do you make such a fuss about it?" miss cashell asked softly. "you know as well as--as anyone else, that if a man gets a girl into trouble, he ought to stand for--" "yes, but my sister doesn't take that kind of money!" flashed elsie bitterly. "well, of course not!" miss cashell said quickly, "but--" "no, you're doing the dignified thing, violet," miss thornton said, with approval, "and you'll feel glad, later on, that you acted this way. and, as far as my carrying tales, i never carried one. i did say that i thought i knew why you were leaving, and i don't deny it--use my powder, right there by the mirror--but as far as anything else goes--" "we're both going," elsie said. "i wouldn't take another dollar of their dirty money if i was starving! come on, vi." and a few minutes later they all said a somewhat subdued and embarrassed farewell to the misses kirk, who went down the stairs, veiled and silent, and out of the world of hunter, baxter & hunter's forever. "will she sue him, thorny?" asked susan, awed. "sue him? for what? she's not got anything to sue for." miss thornton examined a finger nail critically. "this isn't the first time this has happened down here," she said. "there was a lovely girl here--but she wasn't such a fool as violet is. she kept her mouth shut. violet went down to phil hunter's office this morning, and made a perfect scene. he's going on east to meet his wife you know; it must have been terribly embarrassing for him! then old j.g. sent for violet, and told her that there'd been a great many errors in the crediting, and showed 'em to her, too! poor kid--" susan went wondering back to front office. the crediting should be hers, now, by all rights! but she felt only sorry, and sore, and puzzled. "she wanted a good time and pretty things," said susan to herself. just as susan herself wanted this delightful afternoon with peter coleman! "how much money has to do with life!" the girl thought. but even the morning's events did not cloud the afternoon. she met peter at the door of mr. baxter's office, and they went laughing out into the clear winter sunshine together. where first? to roos brothers, for one of the new folding trunks. quite near enough to walk, they decided, joining the released throng of office workers who were streaming up to kearney street and the theater district. the trunk was found, and a very smart pigskin toilet-case to go in the trunk; susan found a sort of fascination in the ease with which a person of peter's income could add a box of silk socks to his purchase, because their color chanced to strike his fancy, could add two or three handsome ties. they strolled along kearney street and post street, and susan selected an enormous bunch of violets at podesta and baldocchi's, declining the unwholesome-looking orchid that was peter's choice. they bought a camera, which was left that a neat "p.w.c." might be stamped upon it, and went into shreve's, a place always fascinating to susan, to leave mr. coleman's watch to be regulated, and look at new scarf-pins. and finally they wandered up into "chinatown," as the chinese quarter was called, laughing all the way, and keenly alert for any little odd occurrence in the crowded streets. at sing fat's gorgeous bazaar, peter bought a mandarin coat for himself, the smiling oriental bringing its price down from two hundred dollars to less than three-quarters of that sum, and susan taking a great fancy to a little howling teakwood god; he bought that, too, and they named it "claude" after much discussion. "we can't carry all these things to the university club for tea," said peter then, when it was nearly five o'clock. "so let's go home and have tea with aunt clara--she'd love it!" tea at his own home! susan's heart raced-- "oh, i couldn't," she said, in duty bound. "couldn't? why couldn't you?" "why, because auntie mightn't like it. suppose your aunt is out?" "shucks!" he pondered; he wanted his way. "i'll tell you," he said suddenly. "we'll drive there, and if aunt clara isn't home you needn't come in. how's that?" susan could find no fault with that. she got into a carriage in great spirits. "don't you love it when we stop people on the crossings?" she asked naively. peter shouted, but she could see that he was pleased as well as amused. they bumped and rattled out bush street, and stopped at the stately door of the old baxter mansion. mrs. baxter fortunately was at home, and susan followed peter into the great square hall, and into the magnificent library, built in a day of larger homes and more splendid proportions. here she was introduced to the little, nervous mistress of the house, who had been enjoying alone a glorious coal fire. "let in a little more light, peter, you wild, noisy boy, you!" said mrs. baxter, adding, to susan, "this was a very sweet thing of you to do, my dear, i don't like my little cup of tea alone." "little cup--ha!" said peter, eying the woman with immense satisfaction. "you'll see her drink five, miss brown!" "we'll send him upstairs, that's what we'll do," threatened his aunt. "yes, tea, burns," she added to the butler. "green tea, dear? orange-pekoe? i like that best myself. and muffins, burns, and toast, something nice and hot. and jam. mr. peter likes jam, and some of the almond cakes, if she has them. and please ask ada to bring me that box of candy from my desk. santa barbara nougat, peter, it just came." "isn't this fun!" said susan, so joyously that mrs. baxter patted the girl's arm with a veiny, approving little hand, and peter, eying his aunt significantly, said: "isn't she fun?" it was a perfect hour, and when, at six, susan said she must go, the old lady sent her home in her own carriage. peter saw her to the door, "shall you be going out to-night, sir?" susan heard the younger man-servant ask respectfully, as they passed. "not to-night!" said peter, and, so sensitive was susan now to all that concerned him, she was unreasonably glad that he was not engaged to-night, not to see other girls and have good times in which she had no share. it seemed to make him more her own. the tea, the firelight, the fragrant dying violets had worked a spell upon her. susan sat back luxuriously in the carriage, dreaming of herself as peter coleman's wife, of entering that big hall as familiarly as he did, of having tea and happy chatter ready for him every afternoon before the fire---- there was no one at the windows, unfortunately, to be edified by the sight of susan brown being driven home in a private carriage, and the halls, as she entered, reeked of boiling cabbage and corned beef. she groped in the darkness for a match with which to light the hall gas. she could hear loretta barker's sweet high voice chattering on behind closed doors, and, higher up, the deep moaning of mary lord, who was going through one of her bad times. but she met nobody as she ran up to her room. "hello, mary lou, darling! where's everyone?" she asked gaily, discerning in the darkness a portly form prone on the bed. "jinny's lying down, she's been to the oculist. ma's in the kitchen--don't light up, sue," said the patient, melancholy voice. "don't light up!" susan echoed, amazedly, instantly doing so, the better to see her cousin's tear-reddened eyes and pale face. "why, what's the matter?" "oh, we've had sad, sad news," faltered mary lou, her lips trembling. "a telegram from ferd eastman. they've lost robbie!" "no!" said susan, genuinely shocked. and to the details she listened sympathetically, cheering mary lou while she inserted cuff-links into her cousin's fresh shirtwaist, and persuaded her to come down to dinner. then susan must leave her hot soup while she ran up to virginia's room, for virginia was late. "ha! what is it?" said virginia heavily, rousing herself from sleep. protesting that she was a perfect fright, she kept susan waiting while she arranged her hair. "and what does verriker say of your eyes, jinny?" "oh, they may operate, after all!" virginia sighed. "but don't say anything to ma until we're sure," she said. not the congenial atmosphere into which to bring a singing heart! susan sighed. when they went downstairs mrs. parker's heavy voice was filling the dining-room. "the world needs good wives and mothers more than it needs nuns, my dear! there's nothing selfish about a woman who takes her share of toil and care and worry, instead of running away from it. dear me! many of us who married and stayed in the world would be glad enough to change places with the placid lives of the sisters!" "then, mama," loretta said sweetly and merrily, detecting the inconsistency of her mother's argument, as she always did, "if it's such a serene, happy life--" loretta always carried off the honors of war. susan used to wonder how mrs. parker could resist the temptation to slap her pretty, stupid little face. loretta's deep, wise, mysterious smile seemed to imply that she, at nineteen, could afford to assume the maternal attitude toward her easily confused and disturbed parent. "no vocation for mine!" said georgianna, hardily, "i'd always be getting my habit mixed up, and coming into chapel without my veil on!" this, because of its audacity, made everyone laugh, but loretta fixed on georgie the sweet bright smile in which susan already perceived the nun. "are you so sure that you haven't a vocation, georgie?" she asked gently. "want to go to a bum show at the 'central' to-night?" billy oliver inquired of susan in an aside. "bartlett's sister is leading lady, and he's handing passes out to everyone." "always!" trilled susan, and at last she had a chance to add, "wait until i tell you what fun i've been having!" she told him when they were on the car, and he was properly interested, but susan felt that the tea episode somehow fell flat; had no significance for william. "crime he didn't take you to the university club," said billy, "they say it's a keen club." susan, smiling over happy memories, did not contradict him. the evening, in spite of the "bum" show, proved a great success, and the two afterwards went to zinkand's for sardine sandwiches and domestic ginger-ale. this modest order was popular with them because of the moderateness of its cost. "but, bill," said susan to-night, "wouldn't you like to order once without reading the price first and then looking back to see what it was? do you remember the night we nearly fainted with joy when we found a ten cent dish at tech's, and then discovered that it was chili sauce!" they both laughed, susan giving her usual little bounce of joy as she settled into her seat, and the orchestra began a spirited selection. "look there, bill, what are those people getting?" she asked. "it's terrapin," said william, and susan looked it up on the menu. "terrapin parnasse, one-fifty," read susan, "for seven of them,--gee! gracious!" "gracious" followed, because susan had made up her mind not to say "gee" any more. "his little supper will stand him in about fifteen dollars," estimated billy, with deep interest. "he's ordering champagne,--it'll stand him in thirty. gosh!" "what would you order if you could, bill?" susan asked. it was all part of their usual program. "planked steak," answered billy, readily. "planked steak," susan hunted for it, "would it be three dollars?" she asked, awed. "that's it." "i'd have breast of hen pheasant with virginia ham," susan decided. a moment later her roving eye rested on a group at a nearby table, and, with the pleased color rushing into her race, she bowed to one of the members of the party. "that's miss emily saunders," said susan, in a low voice. "don't look now--now you can look. isn't she sweet?" miss saunders, beautifully gowned, was sitting with an old man, an elderly woman, a handsome, very stout woman of perhaps forty, and a very young man. she was a pale, rather heavy girl, with prominent eyes and smooth skin. susan thought her very aristocratic looking. "me for the fat one," said billy simply. "who's she?" "i don't know. don't let them see us looking, bill!" susan brought her gaze suddenly back to her own table, and began a conversation. there were some rolls on a plate, between them, but there was no butter on the table. their order had not yet been served. "we want some butter here," said billy, as susan took a roll, broke it in two, and laid it down again. "oh, don't bother, bill! i don't honestly want it!" she protested. "rot!" said william. "he's got a right to bring it!" in a moment a head-waiter was bending over them, his eyes moving rapidly from one to the other, under contracted brows. "butter, please," said william briskly. "beg pardon?" "butter. we've no butter." "oh, certainly!" he was gone in a second, and in another the butter was served, and susan and billy began on the rolls. "here comes miss---, your friend," said william presently. susan whirled. miss saunders and the very young man were looking toward their table, as they went out. catching susan's eye, they came over to shake hands. "how do you do, miss brown?" said the young woman easily. "my cousin, mr. brice. he's nicer than he looks. mr. oliver? were you at the columbia?" "we were--how do you do? no, we weren't at the columbia," susan stammered, confused by the other's languid ease of manner, by the memory of the playhouse they had attended, and by the arrival of the sardines and ginger-ale, which were just now placed on the table. "i'm coming to take you to lunch with me some day, remember," said miss saunders, departing. and she smiled another farewell from the door. "isn't she sweet?" said susan. "and how well she would come along just as our rich and expensive order is served!" billy added, and they both laughed. "it looks good to me!" susan assured him contentedly. "i'll give you half that other sandwich if you can tell me what the orchestra is playing now." "the slipper thing, from 'boheme'," billy said scornfully. susan's eyes widened with approval and surprise. his appreciation of music was an incongruous note in billy's character. there was presently a bill to settle, which susan, as became a lady, seemed to ignore. but she could not long ignore her escort's scowling scrutiny of it. "what's that?" demanded mr. oliver, scowling at the card. "twenty cents for what?" "for bread and butter, sir," said the waiter, in a hoarse, confidential whisper. "not served with sandwiches, sir." susan's heart began to thump. "billy--" she began. "wait a minute," billy muttered. "just wait a minute! it doesn't say anything about that." the waiter respectfully indicated a line on the menu card, which mr. oliver studied fixedly, for what seemed to susan a long time. "that's right," he said finally, heavily, laying a silver dollar on the check. "keep it." the waiter did not show much gratitude for his tip. susan and billy, ruffled and self-conscious, walked, with what dignity they could, out into the night. "damn him!" said billy, after a rapidly covered half-block. "oh, billy, don't! what do you care!" susan said, soothingly. "i don't care," he snapped. adding, after another brooding minute, "we ought to have better sense than to go into such places!" "we're as good as anyone else!" susan asserted, hotly. "no, we're not. we're not as rich," he answered bitterly. "billy, as if money mattered!" "oh, of course, money doesn't matter," he said with fine satire. "not at all! but because we haven't got it, those fellows, on thirty per, can throw the hooks into us at every turn. and, if we threw enough money around, we could be the rottenest man and woman on the face of the globe, we could be murderers and thieves, even, and they'd all be falling over each other to wait on us!" "well, let's murder and thieve, then!" said susan blithely. "i may not do that--" "you mayn't? oh, bill, don't commit yourself! you may want to, later." "i may not do that," repeated mr. oliver, gloomily, "but, by george, some day i'll have a wad in the bank that'll make me feel that i can afford to turn those fellows down! they'll know that i've got it, all right." "bill, i don't think that's much of an ambition," susan said, candidly, "to want so much money that you aren't afraid of a waiter! get some crisps while we're passing the man, billy!" she interrupted herself to say, urgently, "we can talk on the car!" he bought them, grinning sheepishly. "but honestly, sue, don't you get mad when you think that about the only standard of the world is money?" he resumed presently. "well, we know that we're better than lots of rich people, bill." "how are we better?" "more refined. better born. better ancestry." "oh, rot! a lot they care for that! no, people that have money can get the best of people who haven't, coming and going. and for that reason, sue," they were on the car now, and billy was standing on the running board, just in front of her, "for that reason, sue, i'm going to make money, and when i have so much that everyone knows it then i'll do as i darn please. and i won't please to do the things they do, either!" "you're very sure of yourself, bill! how are you going to make it?" "the way other men make it, by gosh!" mr. oliver said seriously. "i'm going into blue-printing with ross, on the side. i've got nearly three thousand in panhandle lots--" "oh, you have not!" "oh, i have, too! spence put me onto it. they're no good now, but you bet your life they will be! and i'm going to stick along at the foundry until the old man wakes up some day, and realizes that i'm getting more out of my men than any other two foremen in the place. those boys would do anything for me--" "because you're a very unusual type of man to be in that sort of place, bill!" susan interrupted. "shucks," he said, in embarrassment. "well," he resumed, "then some day i'm going to the old man and ask him for a year's leave. then i'll visit every big iron-works in the east, and when i come back, i'll take a job of casting from my own blue-prints, at not less than a hundred a week. then i'll run up some flats in the panhandle--" "having married the beautiful daughter of the old man himself--" susan interposed. "and won first prize in the louisiana lottery--" "sure," he said gravely. "and meanwhile," he added, with a business-like look, "coleman has got a crush on you, sue. it'd be a dandy marriage for you, and don't you forget it!" "well, of all nerve!" susan said unaffectedly, and with flaming cheeks. "there is a little motto, to every nation dear, in english it's forget-me-not, in french it's mind your own business, bill!" "well, that may be," he said doggedly, "but you know as well as i do that it's up to you--" "suppose it is," susan said, satisfied that he should think so. "that doesn't give you any right to interfere with my affairs!" "you're just like georgie and mary lou," he told her, "always bluffing yourself. but you've got more brains than they have, sue, and it'd give the whole crowd of them a hand up if you made a marriage like that. don't think i'm trying to butt in," he gave her his winning, apologetic smile, "you know i'm as interested as your own brother could be, sue! if you like him, don't keep the matter hanging fire. there's no question that he's crazy about you--everybody knows that!" "no, there's no question about that," susan said, softly. but what would she not have given for the joy of knowing, in her secret heart, that it was true! two weeks later, miss brown, summoned to mr. brauer's office, was asked if she thought that she could do the crediting, at forty dollars a month. susan assented gravely, and entered that day upon her new work, and upon a new era. she worked hard and silently, now, with only occasional flashes of her old silliness. she printed upon a card, and hung above her desk, these words: "i hold it true, with him who sings to one clear harp in divers tones, that men may rise on stepping-stones of their dead selves, to higher things." on stepping-stones of her dead selves, susan mounted. she wore a preoccupied, a responsible air, her voice softened, her manner was almost too sweet, too bright and gentle. she began to take cold, or almost cold, baths daily, to brush her hair and mend her gloves. she began to say "not really?" instead of "sat-so?" and "it's of no consequence," instead of "don't matter." she called her long woolen coat, familiarly known as her "sweater," her "field-jacket," and pronounced her own name "syusan." thorny, georgianna, and billy had separately the pleasure of laughing at susan in these days. "they should really have a lift, to take the girls up to the lunch room," said susan to billy. "of course they should," said billy, "and a sink to bring you down again!" peter coleman did not return to san francisco until the middle of march, but susan had two of the long, ill-written and ill-spelled letters that are characteristic of the college graduate. it was a wet afternoon in the week before holy week when she saw him again. front office was very busy at three o'clock, and miss garvey had been telling a story. "'don't whistle, mary, there's a good girl,' the priest says," related miss garvey. "'i never like to hear a girl whistle,' he says. well, so that night aggie,"--aggie was miss kelly--"aggie wrote a question, and she put it in the question-box they had at church for questions during the mission. 'is it a sin to whistle?' she wrote. and that night, when he was readin' the questions out from the pulpit, he come to this one, and he looked right down at our pew over his glasses, and he says, 'the girl that asks this question is here,' he says, 'and i would say to her, 'tis no sin to do anything that injures neither god nor your neighbor!' well, i thought aggie and me would go through the floor!" and miss kelly and miss garvey put their heads down on their desks, and laughed until they cried. susan, looking up to laugh too, felt a thrill weaken her whole body, and her spine grow cold. peter coleman, in his gloves and big overcoat, with his hat on the back of his head, was in mr. brauer's office, and the electric light, turned on early this dark afternoon, shone full in his handsome, clean-shaven face. susan had some bills that she had planned to show to mr. brauer this afternoon. six months ago she would have taken them in to him at once, and been glad of the excuse. but now she dropped her eyes, and busied herself with her work. her heart beat high, she attacked a particularly difficult bill, one she had been avoiding for days, and disposed of it in ten minutes. a little later she glanced at mr. brauer's office. peter was gone, and susan felt a sensation of sickness. she looked down at mr. baxter's office, and saw him there, spreading kodak pictures over the old man's desk, laughing and talking. presently he was gone again, and she saw him no more that day. the next day, however, she found him at her desk when she came in. they had ten minutes of inconsequential banter before miss cashell came in. "how about a fool trip to the chutes to-morrow night?" peter asked in a low tone, just before departing. "lent," susan said reluctantly. "oh, so it is. i suppose auntie wouldn't stand for a dinner?" "pos-i-to-ri-ly not!" susan was hedged with convention. "positorily not? well, let's walk the pup? what? all right, i'll come at eight." "at eight," said susan, with a dancing heart. she thought of nothing else until friday came, slipped away from the office a little earlier than usual, and went home planning just the gown and hat most suitable. visitors were in the parlor; auntie, thinking of pan-gravy and hot biscuits, was being visibly driven to madness by them. susan charitably took mrs. cobb and annie and daisy off mrs. lancaster's hands, and listened sympathetically to a dissertation upon the thanklessness of sons. mrs. cobb's sons, leaving their mother and their unmarried sisters in a comfortable home, had married the women of their own choice, and were not yet forgiven. "and how's alfie doing?" mrs. cobb asked heavily, departing. "pretty well. he's in portland now, he has another job," susan said cautiously. alfred was never criticized in his mother's hearing. a moment later she closed the hall door upon the callers with a sigh of relief, and ran downstairs. the telephone bell was ringing. susan answered it. "hello miss brown! you see i know you in any disguise!" it was peter coleman's voice. "hello!" said susan, with a chill premonition. "i'm calling off that party to-night," said peter. "i'm awfully sorry. we'll do it some other night. i'm in berkeley." "oh, very well!" susan agreed, brightly. "can you hear me? i say i'm---" "yes, i hear perfectly." "what?" "i say i can hear!" "and it's all right? i'm awfully sorry!" "oh, certainly!" "all right. these fellows are making such a racket i can't hear you. see you to-morrow!" susan hung up the receiver. she sat quite still in the darkness for awhile, staring straight ahead of her. when she went into the dining-room she was very sober. mr. oliver was there; he had taken one of his men to a hospital, with a burned arm, too late in the afternoon to make a return to the foundry worth while. "harkee, susan wench!" said he, "do 'ee smell asparagus?" "aye. it'll be asparagus, gaffer," said susan dispiritedly, dropping into her chair. "and i nearly got my dinner out to-night!" billy said, with a shudder. "say, listen, susan, can you come over to the carrolls, sunday? going to be a bully walk!" "i don't know, billy," she said quietly. "well, listen what we're all going to do, some thursday. we're going to the theater, and then dawdle over supper at some cheap place, you know, and then go down on the docks, at about three, to see the fishing fleet come in? are you on? it's great. they pile the fish up to their waists, you know--" "that sounds lovely!" said susan, eying him scornfully. "i see jo and anna carroll enjoying that!" "lord, what a grouch you've got!" billy said, with a sort of awed admiration. susan began to mold the damp salt in an open glass salt-cellar with the handle of a fork. her eyes blurred with sudden tears. "what's the matter?" billy asked in a lowered voice. she gulped, merely shook her head. "you're dead, aren't you?" he said repentantly. "oh, all in!" it was a relief to ascribe it to that. "i'm awfully tired." "too tired to go to church with mary lou and me, dear?" asked virginia, coming in. "friday in passion week, you know. we're going to st. ignatius. but if you're dead--?" "oh, i am. i'm going straight to bed," susan said. but after dinner, when mary lou was dressing, she suddenly changed her mind, dragged herself up from the couch where she was lying and, being susan, brushed her hair, pinned a rose on her coat lapel, and powdered her nose. walking down the street with her two cousins, susan, storm-shaken and subdued, still felt "good," and liked the feeling. spring was in the air, the early darkness was sweet with the odors of grass and flowers. when they reached the church, the great edifice was throbbing with the notes of the organ, a careless voluntary that stopped short, rambled, began again. they were early, and the lights were only lighted here and there; women, and now and then a man, drifted up the center aisle. boots cheeped unseen in the arches, sibilant whispers smote the silence, pew-doors creaked, and from far corners of the church violent coughing sounded with muffled reverberations. mary lou would have slipped into the very last pew, but virginia led the way up--up--up--in the darkness, nearer and nearer the altar, with its winking red light, and genuflected before one of the very first pews. susan followed her into it with a sigh of satisfaction; she liked to see and hear, and all the pews were open to-night. they knelt for awhile, then sat back, silent, reverential, but not praying, and interested in the arriving congregation. a young woman, seeing virginia, came to whisper to her in a rasping aside. she "had st. joseph" for easter, she said, would virginia help her "fix him"? virginia nodded, she loved to assist those devout young women who decorated, with exquisite flowers and hundreds of candles, the various side altars of the church. there was a constant crisping of shoes in the aisle now, the pews were filling fast. "lord, where do all these widows come from?" thought susan. a "brother," in a soutane, was going about from pillar to pillar, lighting the gas. group after group of the pendent globes sprang into a soft, moony glow; the hanging glass prisms jingled softly. the altar-boys in red, without surplices, were moving about the altar now, lighting the candles. the great crucifix, the altar-paintings and the tall candle-sticks were swathed in purple cloth, there were no flowers to-night on the high altar, but it twinkled with a thousand candles. the hour began to have its effect on susan. she felt herself a little girl again, yielding to the spell of the devotion all about her; the clicking rosary-beads, the whispered audible prayers, the very odors,--odors of close-packed humanity,--that reached her were all a part of this old mood. a little woman fluttered up the aisle, and squeezed in beside her, panting like a frightened rabbit. now there was not a seat to be seen, even the benches by the confessionals were full. and now the organ broke softly, miraculously, into enchanting and enveloping sound, that seemed to shake the church bodily with its great trembling touch, and from a door on the left of the altar the procession streamed,--altar-boys and altar-boys and altar-boys, followed through the altar-gate by the tall young priest who would "say the stations." other priests, a score of them, filled the altar-stalls; one, seated on the right between two boys, would presently preach. the procession halted somewhere over in the distant: arches, the organ thundered the "stabat mater." susan could only see the candles and the boys, but the priest's voice was loud and clear. the congregation knelt and rose again, knelt and rose again, turned and swayed to follow the slow movement of the procession about the church. when priest and boys had returned to the altar, a wavering high soprano voice floated across the church in an intricate "veni creator." susan and mary lou sat back in their seats, but virginia knelt, wrapped in prayer, her face buried in her hands, her hat forcing the woman in front of her to sit well forward in her place. the pulpit was pushed across a little track laid in the altar enclosure, and the preacher mounted it, shook his lace cuffs into place, laid his book and notes to one side, and composedly studied his audience. "in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost, amen. 'ask and ye shall receive---'" suddenly the clear voice rang out. susan lost the sermon. but she got the text, and pondered it with new interest. it was not new to her. she had "asked" all her life long; for patience, for truthfulness, for "final perseverance," for help for virginia's eyes and auntie's business and alfie's intemperance, for the protection of this widow, the conversion of that friend, "the speedy recovery or happy death" of some person dangerously ill. susan had never slipped into church at night with mary lou, without finding some special request to incorporate in her prayers. to-night, in the solemn pause of benediction, she asked for peter coleman's love. here was a temporal favor, indeed, indicating a lesser spiritual degree than utter resignation to the divine will. susan was not sure of her right to ask it. but, standing to sing the "laudate," there came a sudden rush of confidence and hope to her heart. she was praying for this gift now, and that fact alone seemed to lift it above the level of ordinary, earthly desires. not entirely unworthy was any hope that she could bring to this tribunal, and beg for on her knees. chapter v two weeks later she and peter coleman had their evening at the chutes, and a wonderful evening it was; then came a theater trip, and a sunday afternoon that they spent in idly drifting about golden gate park, enjoying the spring sunshine, and the holiday crowd, feeding the animals and eating peanuts. susan bowed to thorny and the faithful wally on this last occasion and was teased by thorny about peter coleman the next day, to her secret pleasure. she liked anything that made her friendship for peter seem real, a thing noticed and accepted by others, not all the romantic fabric of her own unfounded dreams. tangible proof of his affection there was indeed, to display to the eyes of her world. but it was for intangible proof that susan's heart longed day after day. in spite of comment and of envy from the office, in spite of the flowers and messages and calls upon which auntie and the girls were placing such flattering significance, susan was far too honest with life not to realize that she had not even a thread by which to hold peter coleman, that he had not given an instant's thought, and did not wish to give an instant's thought to her, or to any woman, as a possible sweetheart and wife. she surprised him, she amused him, she was the company he liked best, easiest to entertain, most entertaining in turn, this she knew. he liked her raptures over pleasures that would only have bored the other girls he knew, he liked the ready nonsense that inspired answering nonsense in him, the occasional flashes of real wit, the inexhaustible originality of susan's point-of-view. they had their own vocabulary, phrases remembered from plays, good and bad, that they had seen together, or overheard in the car; they laughed and laughed together at a thousand things that susan could not remember when she was alone, or, remembering, found no longer amusing. this was all wonderful, but it was not love. but, perhaps, she consoled herself, courtship, in his class, was not the serious affair she had always known it to be in hers. rich people took nothing very seriously, yet they married and made good husbands for all that. susan would blame herself for daring to criticize, even in the tiniest particular, the great gift that the gods laid at her feet. one june day, when susan felt rather ill, and was sitting huddled at her desk, with chilled feet and burning cheeks, she was sent for by old mr. baxter, and found miss emily saunders in his office. the visitor was chatting with peter and the old man, and gaily carried susan off to luncheon, after peter had regretted his inability to come too. they went to the palace hotel, and susan thought everything, miss emily especially, very wonderful and delightful, and, warmed and sustained by a delicious lunch, congratulated herself all during the afternoon that she herself had risen to the demand of the occasion, had really been "funny" and "nice," had really "made good." she knew emily had been amused and attracted, and suspected that she would hear from that fascinating young person again. a few weeks later a letter came from miss saunders asking susan to lunch with the family, in their san rafael home. susan admired the handsome stationery, the monogram, the bold, dashing hand. something in mary lou's and georgianna's pleasure in this pleasure for her made her heart ache as she wrote her acceptance. she was far enough from the world of ease and beauty and luxury, but how much further were these sweet, uncomplaining, beauty-starved cousins of hers! mary lou went with her to the ferry, when the sunday came, just for a ride on the hot day, and the two, being early, roamed happily over the great ferry building, watching german and italian picnics form and file through the gateways, and late-comers rush madly up to the closing doors. susan had been to church at seven o'clock, and had since washed her hair, and washed and pressed her best shirtwaist, but she felt fresh and gay. presently, with a shout of pleasure that drew some attention to their group, peter coleman came up to them. it appeared that he was to be miss saunders' guest at luncheon, too, and he took charge of the radiant susan with evident satisfaction, and much laughter. "dear me! i wish i was going, too," said mary lou mildly, as they parted. "but i presume a certain young man is very glad i am not," she added, with deep finesse. peter laughed out, but turned red, and susan wished impatiently that mary lou would not feel these embarrassing inanities to be either welcome or in good taste. but no small cloud could long shadow the perfect day. the saunders' home, set in emerald lawns, brightened by gay-striped awnings, fragrant with flowers indoors and out, was quite the most beautiful she had ever seen. emily's family was all cordiality; the frail, nervous, richly dressed little mother made a visible effort to be gracious to this stranger, and emily's big sister, ella, in whom susan recognized the very fat young woman of the zinkand party, was won by susan's irrepressible merriment to abandon her attitude of bored, good-natured silence, and entered into the conversation at luncheon with sudden zest. the party was completed by mrs. saunders' trained nurse, miss baker, a placid young woman who did not seem, to susan, to appreciate her advantages in this wonderful place, and the son of the house, kenneth, a silent, handsome, pale young man, who confined his remarks during luncheon to the single observation, made to peter, that he was "on the wagon." the guest wondered what dinner would be, if this were luncheon merely. everything was beautifully served, smoking hot or icy cold, garnished and seasoned miraculously. subtle flavors contended with other flavors, whipped cream appeared in most unexpected places--on the bouillon, and in a rosette that topped the salad--of the hot bread and the various chutneys and jellies and spiced fruits and cheeses and olives alone, susan could have made a most satisfactory meal. she delighted in the sparkling glass, the heavy linen and silver, the exquisite flowers. together they seemed to form a lulling draught for her senses; susan felt as if undue cold, undue heat, haste and worry and work, the office with its pencil-dust and ink-stains and her aunt's house, odorous, dreary and dark, were alike a half-forgotten dream. after luncheon they drove to a bright, wide tennis-court, set in glowing gardens, and here susan was introduced to a score of noisy, white-clad young people, and established herself comfortably on a bench near the older women, to watch the games. this second social experience was far happier than her first, perhaps because susan resolutely put her thoughts on something else than herself to-day, watched and laughed, talked when she could, was happily silent when she could not, and battled successfully with the thought of neglect whenever it raised its head. bitter as her lesson had been she was grateful for it to-day. peter, very lithe, very big, gloriously happy, played in one set, and, winning, came to throw himself on the grass at susan's feet, panting and hot. this made susan the very nucleus of the gathering group, the girls strolled up under their lazily twirling parasols, the men ranged themselves beside peter on the lawn. susan said very little; again she found the conversation a difficult one to enter, but to-day she did not care; it was a curious, and, as she was to learn later, a characteristic conversation, and she analyzed it lazily as she listened. there was a bright insincerity about everything they said, a languid assumption that nothing in the world was worth an instant's seriousness, whether it was life or death, tragedy or pathos. susan had seen this before in peter, she saw him in his element now. he laughed incessantly, as they all did. the conversation called for no particular effort; it consisted of one or two phrases repeated constantly, and with varying inflections, and interspersed by the most trivial and casual of statements. to-day the phrase, "would a nice girl do that?" seemed to have caught the general fancy. susan also heard the verb to love curiously abused. "look out, george--your racket!" some girl said vigorously. "would a nice girl do that? i nearly put your eye out, didn't i? i tell you all i'm a dangerous character," her neighbor answered laughingly. "oh, i love that!" another girl's voice said, adding presently, "look at louise's coat. don't you love it?" "i love it," said several voices. another languidly added, "i'm crazy about it." "i'm crazy about it," said the wearer modestly, "aunt fanny sent it." "can a nice girl do that?" asked peter, and there was a general shout. "but i'm crazy about your aunt," some girl asserted, "you know she told mother that i was a perfect little lady--honestly she did! don't you love that?" "oh, i love that," emily saunders said, as freshly as if coining the phrase. "i'm crazy about it!" "don't you love it? you've got your aunt's number," they all said. and somebody added thoughtfully, "can a nice girl do that?" how sure of themselves they were, how unembarrassed and how marvelously poised, thought susan. how casually these fortunate young women could ask what friends they pleased to dinner, could plan for to-day, to-morrow, for all the days that were! nothing to prevent them from going where they wanted to go, buying what they fancied, doing as they pleased! susan felt that an impassable barrier stood between their lives and hers. late in the afternoon miss ella, driving in with a gray-haired young man in a very smart trap, paid a visit to the tennis court, and was rapturously hailed. she was evidently a great favorite. "see here, miss brown," she called out, after a few moments, noticing susan, "don't you want to come for a little spin with me?" "very much," susan said, a little shyly. "get down, jerry," miss saunders said, giving her companion a little shove with her elbow. "look here, who you pushing?" demanded the gray-haired young man, without venom. "i'm pushing you." "'it's habit. i keep right on loving her!'" quoted mr. phillips to the bystanders. but he got lazily down, and susan got up, and they were presently spinning away into the quiet of the lovely, warm summer afternoon. miss saunders talked rapidly, constantly, and well. susan was amused and interested, and took pains to show it. in great harmony they spent perhaps an hour in driving, and were homeward bound when they encountered two loaded buckboards, the first of which was driven by peter coleman. miss saunders stopped the second, to question her sister, who, held on the laps of a girl and young man on the front seat, was evidently in wild spirits. "we're only going up to cameroncourt!" miss emily shouted cheerfully. "keep miss brown to dinner! miss brown, i'll never speak to you again if you don't stay!" and susan heard a jovial echo of "can a nice girl do that?" as they drove away. "a noisy, rotten crowd," said miss saunders. "mamma hates emily to go with them, and what my cousins--the bridges and the eastenbys of maryland are our cousins, i've just been visiting them--would say to a crowd like that i hate to think! that's why i wanted emily to come out in washington. you know we really have no connections here, and no old friends. my uncle, general botheby hargrove, has a widowed daughter living with him in baltimore, mrs. stephen kay, she is now,--well, i suppose she's really in the most exclusive little set you could find anywhere--" susan listened interestedly. but when they were home again, and ella was dressing for some dinner party, she very firmly declined the old lady's eager invitation to remain. she was a little more touched by emily's rudeness than she would admit, a little afraid to trust herself any further to so uncertain a hostess. she went soberly home, in the summer twilight, soothed in spite of herself by the beauty of the quiet bay, and pondering deeply. had she deserved this slight in any way? she wondered. should she have come away directly after luncheon? no, for they had asked her, with great warmth, for dinner! was it something that she should, in all dignity, resent? should peter be treated a little coolly; emily's next overture declined? she decided against any display of resentment. it was only the strange way of these people, no claim of courtesy was strong enough to offset the counter-claim of any random desire. they were too used to taking what they wanted, to forgetting what it was not entirely convenient to remember. they would think it absurd, even delightfully amusing in her, to show the least feeling. arriving late, she gave her cousins a glowing account of the day, and laughed with georgie over the account of a call from loretta's doctor o'connor. "loretta's beau having the nerve to call on me!" georgie said, with great amusement. almost hourly, in these days when she saw him constantly, susan tried to convince herself that her heart was not quite committed yet to peter coleman's keeping. but always without success. the big, sweet-tempered, laughing fellow, with his generosity, his wealth, his position, had become all her world, or rather he had become the reigning personage in that other world at whose doorway susan stood, longing and enraptured. a year ago, at the prospect of seeing him so often, of feeling so sure of his admiration and affection, of calling him "peter," susan would have felt herself only too fortunate. but these privileges, fully realized now, brought her more pain than joy. a restless unhappiness clouded their gay times together, and when she was alone susan spent troubled hours in analysis of his tones, his looks, his words. if a chance careless phrase of his seemed to indicate a deepening of the feeling between them, susan hugged that phrase to her heart. if peter, on the other hand, eagerly sketched to her plans for a future that had no place for her, susan drooped, and lay wakeful and heartsick long into the night. she cared for him truly and deeply, although she never said so, even to herself, and she longed with all her ardent young soul for the place in the world that awaited his wife. susan knew that she could fill it, that he would never be anything but proud of her; she only awaited the word--less than a word!--that should give her the right to enter into her kingdom. by all the conventions of her world these thoughts should not have come to her until peter's attitude was absolutely ascertained. but susan was honest with herself; she must have been curiously lacking in human tenderness, indeed, not to have yielded her affection to so joyous and so winning a claimant. as the weeks went by she understood his ideals and those of his associates more and more clearly, and if peter lost something of his old quality as a god, by the analysis, susan loved him all the more for finding him not quite perfect. she knew that he was young, that his head was perhaps a little turned by sudden wealth and popularity, that life was sweet to him just as it was; he was not ready yet for responsibilities and bonds. he thought miss susan brown was the "bulliest" girl he knew, loved to give her good times and resented the mere mention of any other man's admiration for her. of what could she complain? of course--susan could imagine him as disposing of the thought comfortably--she didn't complain. she took things just as he wanted her to, had a glorious time whenever she was with him, and was just as happy doing other things when he wasn't about. peter went for a month to tahoe this summer, and wrote susan that there wasn't a fellow at the hotel that was half as much fun as she was. he told her that if she didn't immediately answer that she missed him like hannibal he would jump into the lake. susan pondered over the letter. how answer it most effectively? if she admitted that she really did miss him terribly--but susan was afraid of the statement, in cold black-and-white. suppose that she hinted at herself as consoled by some newer admirer? the admirer did not exist, but peter would not know that. she discarded this subterfuge as "cheap." but how did other girls manage it? the papers were full of engagements, men were proposing matrimony, girls were announcing themselves as promised, in all happy certainty. susan decided that, when peter came home, she would allow their friendship to proceed just a little further and then suddenly discourage every overture, refuse invitations, and generally make herself as unpleasant as possible, on the ground that auntie "didn't like it." this would do one of two things, either stop their friendship off short,--it wouldn't do that, she was happily confident,--or commence things upon a new and more definite basis. but when peter came back he dragged his little aunt all the way up to mr. brauer's office especially to ask miss brown if she would dine with them informally that very evening. this was definite enough! susan accepted and planned a flying trip home for a fresh shirtwaist at five o'clock. but at five a troublesome bill delayed her, and susan, resisting an impulse to shut it into a desk drawer and run away from it, settled down soberly to master it. she was conscious, as she shook hands with her hostess two hours later, of soiled cuffs, but old mr. baxter, hearing her apologies, brought her downstairs a beautifully embroidered turkish robe, in dull pinks and blues, and susan, feeling that virtue sometimes was rewarded, had the satisfaction of knowing that she looked like a pretty gipsy during the whole evening, and was immensely gratifying her old host as well. to peter, it was just a quiet, happy evening at home, with the pianola and flashlight photographs, and a rarebit that wouldn't grow creamy in spite of his and susan's combined efforts. but to susan it was a glimpse of paradise. "peter loves to have his girl friends dine here," smiled old mrs. baxter in parting. "you must come again. he has company two or three times a week." susan smiled in response, but the little speech was the one blot on a happy evening. every happy time seemed to have its one blot. susan would have her hour, would try to keep the tenderness out of her "when do i see you again, peter?" to be met by his cheerful "well, i don't know. i'm going up to the yellands' for a week, you know. do you know clare yelland? she's the dandiest girl you ever saw--nineteen, and a raving beauty!" or, wearing one of peter's roses on her black office-dress, she would have to smile through thorny's interested speculations as to his friendship for this society girl or that. "the chronicle said yesterday that he was supposed to be terribly crushed on that washington girl," thorny would report. "of course, no names, but you could tell who they meant!" susan began to talk of going away "to work." "lord, aren't you working now?" asked william oliver in healthy scorn. "not working as hard as i could!" susan said. "i can't--can't seem to get interested--" tears thickened her voice, she stopped short. the two were sitting on the upper step of the second flight of stairs in the late evening, just outside the door of the room where alfred lancaster was tossing and moaning in the grip of a heavy cold and fever. alfred had lost his position, had been drinking again, and now had come home to his mother for the fiftieth time to be nursed and consoled. mrs. lancaster, her good face all mother-love and pity, sat at his side. mary lou wept steadily and unobtrusively. susan and billy were waiting for the doctor. "no," the girl resumed thoughtfully, after a pause, "i feel as if i'd gotten all twisted up and i want to go away somewhere and get started fresh. i could work like a slave, bill, in a great clean institution, or a newspaper office, or as an actress. but i can't seem to straighten things out here. this isn't my house, i didn't have anything to do with the making of it, and i can't feel interested in it. i'd rather do things wrong, but do them my way!" "it seems to me you're getting industrious all of a sudden, sue." "no." she hardly understood herself. "but i want to get somewhere in this life, bill," she mused. "i don't want to sit back and wait for things to come to me. i want to go to them. i want some alternative. so that--" her voice sank, "so that, if marriage doesn't come, i can say to myself, 'never mind, i've got my work!'" "just as a man would," he submitted thoughtfully. "just as a man would," she echoed, eager for his sympathy. "well, that's mrs. carroll's idea. she says that very often, when a girl thinks she wants to get married, what she really wants is financial independence and pretty clothes and an interest in life." "i think that's perfectly true," susan said, struck. "isn't she wise?" she added. "yes, she's a wonder! wise and strong,--she's doing too much now, though. how long since you've been over there, sue?" "oh, ages! i'm ashamed to say. months. i write to anna now and then, but somehow, on sundays--" she did not finish, but his thoughts supplied the reason. susan was always at home on sundays now, unless she went out with peter coleman. "you ought to take coleman over there some day, sue, they used to know him when he was a kid. let's all go over some sunday." "that would be fun!" but he knew she did not mean it. the atmosphere of the carrolls' home, their poverty, their hard work, their gallant endurance of privation and restriction were not in accord with susan's present mood. "how are all of them?" she presently asked, after an interval, in which alfie's moaning and the hoarse deep voice of mary lord upstairs had been the only sounds. "pretty good. joe's working now, the little darling!" "joe is! what at?" "she's in an architect's office, huxley and huxley. it's a pretty good job, i guess." "but, billy, doesn't that seem terrible? joe's so beautiful, and when you think how rich their grandfather was! and who's home?" "well, anna gets home from the hospital every other week, and phil comes home with joe, of course. jim's still in school, and betsey helps with housework. betsey has a little job, too. she teaches an infant class at that little private school over there." "billy, don't those people have a hard time! is phil behaving?" "better than he did. yes, i guess he's pretty good now. but there are all jim's typhoid bills to pay. mrs. carroll worries a good deal. anna's an angel about everything, but of course betts is only a kid, and she gets awfully mad." "and josephine," susan smiled. "how's she?" "honestly, sue," mr. oliver's face assumed the engaging expression reserved only for his love affairs, "she is the dearest little darling ever! she followed me out to the porch on sunday, and said 'don't catch cold, and die before your time,'--the little cutie!" "oh, bill, you imbecile! there's nothing to that," susan laughed out gaily. "aw, well," he began affrontedly, "it was the little way she said it--" "sh-sh!" said mary lou, white faced, heavy-eyed, at alfred's door. "he's just dropped off... the doctor just came up the steps, bill, will you go down and ask him to come right up? why don't you go to bed, sue?" "how long are you going to wait?" asked susan. "oh, just until after the doctor goes, i guess," mary lou sighed. "well, then i'll wait for you. i'll run up and see mary lord a few minutes. you stop in for me when you're ready." and susan, blowing her cousin an airy kiss, ran noiselessly up the last flight of stairs, and rapped on the door of the big upper front bedroom. this room had been mary lord's world for ten long years. the invalid was on a couch just opposite the door, and looked up as susan entered. her dark, rather heavy face brightened instantly. "sue! i was afraid it was poor mrs. parker ready to weep about loretta," she said eagerly. "come in, you nice child! tell me something cheerful!" "raw ginger is a drug on the market," said susan gaily. "here, i brought you some roses." "and i have eleven guesses who sent them," laughed miss lord, drinking in the sweetness and beauty of the great pink blossoms hungrily. "when'd they come?" "just before dinner!" susan told her. turning to the invalid's sister she said: "miss lydia, you're busy, and i'm disturbing you." "i wish you'd disturb us a little oftener, then," said lydia lord, affectionately. "i can work all the better for knowing that mary isn't dying to interrupt me." the older sister, seated at a little table under the gaslight, was deep in work. "she's been doing that every night this week," said miss mary angrily, "as if she didn't have enough to do!" "what is it?" asked susan. miss lydia threw down her pen, and stretched her cramped fingers. "why, mrs. lawrence's sister is going to be married," she explained, "and the family wants an alphabetic list of friends to send the announcements to. this is the old list, and this the new one, and here's his list, and some names her mother jotted down,--they're all to be put in order. it's quite a job." "at double pay, of course," miss mary said bitterly. "i should hope so," susan added. miss lydia merely smiled humorously, benevolently, over her work. "all in the day's work, susan." "all in your grandmother's foot," susan said, inelegantly. miss lydia laughed a little reproachfully, but the invalid's rare, hearty laugh would have atoned to her for a far more irreverent remark. "and no 'halma'?" susan said, suddenly. for the invalid lived for her game, every night. "why didn't you tell me. i could have come up every night--" she got out the board, set up the men, shook mary's pillows and pushed them behind the aching back. "come on, macduff," said she. "oh, susan, you angel!" mary lord settled herself for an hour of the keenest pleasure she ever knew. she reared herself in her pillows, her lanky yellow hand hovered over the board, she had no eyes for anything but the absurd little red and yellow men. she was a bony woman, perhaps forty-five, with hair cut across her lined forehead in the deep bang that had been popular in her girlhood. it was graying now, as were the untidy loops of hair above it, her face was yellow, furrowed, and the long neck that disappeared into her little flannel bed-sack was lined and yellowed too. she lay, restlessly and incessantly shifting herself, in a welter of slipping quilts and loose blankets, with her shoulders propped by fancy pillows,--some made of cigar-ribbons, one of braided strips of black and red satin, one in a shield of rough, coarse knotted lace, and one with a little boy printed in color upon it, a boy whose trousers were finished with real tin buttons. mary lord was always the first person susan thought of when the girls in the office argued, ignorantly and vigorously, for or against the law of compensation. here, in this stuffy boarding-house room, the impatient, restless spirit must remain, chained and tortured day after day and year after year, her only contact with the outer world brought by the little private governess,--her sister--who was often so tired and so dispirited when she reached home, that even her gallant efforts could not hide her depression from the keen eyes of the sick woman. lydia taught the three small children of one of the city's richest women, and she and mary were happy or were despondent in exact accord with young mrs. lawrence's mood. if the great lady were ungracious, were cold, or dissatisfied, lydia trembled, for the little sum she earned by teaching was more than two-thirds of all that she and mary had. if mrs. lawrence were in a happier frame of mind, lydia brightened, and gratefully accepted the occasional flowers or candy, that meant to both sisters so much more than mere carnations or mere chocolates. but if lydia's life was limited, what of mary, whose brain was so active that merely to read of great and successful deeds tortured her like a pain? just to have a little share of the world's work, just to dig and water the tiniest garden, just to be able to fill a glass for herself with water, or to make a pudding, or to wash up the breakfast dishes, would have been to her the most exquisite delight in the world. as it was she lay still, reading, sometimes writing a letter, or copying something for lydia, always eager for a game of "halma" or "parchesi," a greater part of the time out of pain, and for a certain part of the twenty-four hours tortured by the slow-creeping agonies that waited for her like beasts in the darkness of every night. sometimes susan, rousing from the deep delicious sleep that always befriended her, would hear in the early morning, rarely earlier than two o'clock or later than four, the hoarse call in the front room, "lyddie! lyddie!" and the sleepy answer and stumbling feet of the younger sister, as she ran for the merciful pill that would send miss mary, spent with long endurance, into deep and heavenly sleep. susan had two or three times seen the cruel trial of courage that went before the pill, the racked and twisting body, the bitten lip, the tortured eyes on the clock. twice or three times a year miss mary had very bad times, and had to see her doctor. perhaps four times a month miss lydia beamed at susan across the breakfast table, "no pill last night!" these were the variations of the invalid's life. susan, while mary considered her moves to-night, studied the room idly, the thousand crowded, useless little possessions so dear to the sick; the china statuettes, the picture post-cards, the photographs and match-boxes and old calendars, the dried "whispering-grass" and the penwipers. her eyes reached an old photograph; susan knew it by heart. it represented an old-fashioned mansion, set in a sweeping lawn, shaded by great trees. before one wing an open barouche stood, with driver and lackey on the box, and behind the carriage a group of perhaps ten or a dozen colored girls and men were standing on the steps, in the black-and-white of house servants. on the wide main steps of the house were a group of people, ladies in spreading ruffled skirts, a bearded, magnificent old man, young men with heavy mustaches of the sixties, and some small children in stiff white. susan knew that the heavy big baby on a lady's lap was lydia, and that among the children mary was to be found, with her hair pushed straight back under a round-comb, and scallops on the top of her high black boots. the old man was her grandfather, and the house the ancestral home of the lords... whose fault was it that just a little of that ease had not been safely guarded for these two lonely women, susan wondered. what was the secret of living honestly, with the past, with the present, with those who were to come? "your play. wake up. sue!" laughed mary. "i have you now, i can yard in seven moves!" "no skill to that," said susan hardily, "just sheer luck!" "oh you wicked story-teller!" mary laughed delightedly, and they set the men for another game. "no, but you're really the lucky one, sue," said the older woman presently. "_i_ lucky!" and susan laughed as she moved her man. "well, don't you think you are?" "i think i'm darned unlucky!" the girl declared seriously. "here--here! descriptive adjectives!" called lydia, but the others paid no heed. "sue, how can you say so!" "well, i admit, miss mary," susan said with pretty gravity, "that god hasn't sent me what he has sent you to bear, for some inscrutable reason,--i'd go mad if he had! but i'm poor--" "now, look here," mary said authoritatively. "you're young, aren't you? and you're good-looking, aren't you?" "don't mince matters, miss mary. say beautiful," giggled susan. "i'm in earnest. you're the youngest and prettiest woman in this house. you have a good position, and good health, and no encumbrances--" "i have a husband and three children in the mission, miss mary. i never mentioned them--" "oh, behave yourself, sue! well! and, more than that, you have--we won't mention one special friend, because i don't want to make you blush, but at least a dozen good friends among the very richest people of society. you go to lunch with miss emily saunders, and to burlingame with miss ella saunders, you get all sorts of handsome presents--isn't this all true?" "absolutely," said susan so seriously, so sadly, that the invalid laid a bony cold one over the smooth brown one arrested on the "halma" board. "why, i wasn't scolding you, dearie!" she said kindly. "i just wanted you to appreciate your blessings!" "i know--i know," susan answered, smiling with an effort. she went to bed a little while later profoundly depressed. it was all true, it was all true! but, now that she had it, it seemed so little! she was beginning to be popular in the saunders set,--her unspoiled freshness appealed to more than one new friend, as it had appealed to peter coleman and to emily and ella saunders. she was carried off for saturday matinees, she was in demand for one sunday after another. she was always gay, always talkative, she had her value, as she herself was beginning to perceive. and, although she met very few society men, just now, being called upon to amuse feminine luncheons or stay overnight with emily when nobody else was at home, still her social progress seemed miraculously swift to thorny, to billy and georgie and virginia, even sometimes to herself. but she wanted more--more--more! she wanted to be one of this group herself, to patronize instead of accepting patronage. slowly her whole nature changed to meet this new hope. she made use of every hour now, discarded certain questionable expressions, read good books, struggled gallantly with her natural inclination to procrastinate. her speech improved, the tones of her voice, her carriage, she wore quiet colors how, and became fastidious in the matter of belts and cuffs, buttons and collars and corsets. she diverted mary lou by faithfully practicing certain beautifying calisthenics at night. susan was not deceived by the glittering, prismatic thing known as society. she knew that peter coleman's and emily saunders' reverence for it was quite the weakest thing in their respective characters. she knew that ella's boasted family was no better than her own, and that peter's undeniable egoism was the natural result of peter's up-bringing, and that emily's bright unselfish interest in her, whatever it had now become, had commenced with emily's simple desire to know peter through susan, and have an excuse to come frequently to hunter, baxter & hunter's when peter was there. still, she could not divest these three of the old glory of her first impressions. she liked emily and ella none the less because she understood them better, and felt that, if peter had his human weaknesses, he was all the nearer her for that. mrs. lancaster would not allow her to dine down-town with him alone. susan laughed at the idea that she could possibly do anything questionable, but kept the rule faithfully, and, if she went to the theater alone with peter, never let him take her to supper afterward. but they had many a happy tea-hour together, and on sundays lunched in sausalito, roamed over the lovely country roads, perhaps stopped for tea at the carrolls', or came back to the city and had it at the quiet palace. twice peter was asked to dine at mrs. lancaster's, but on the first occasion he and susan were begged by old mrs. baxter to come and amuse her loneliness instead, and on the second susan telephoned at the last moment to say that alfie was at home and that auntie wanted to ask peter to come some other time. alfie was at home for a dreadful week, during which the devoted women suffered agonies of shame and terror. after that he secured, in the miraculous way that alfie always did secure, another position and went away again. "i can stand alfie," said susan to billy in strong disgust. "but it does make me sick to have auntie blaming his employers for firing him, and calling him a dear unfortunate boy! she said to me to-day that the other clerks were always jealous of alfie, and tried to lead him astray! did you ever hear such blindness!" "she's always talked that way," billy answered, surprised at her vehemence. "you used to talk that way yourself. you're the one that has changed." winter came on rapidly. the mornings were dark and cold now when susan dressed, the office did not grow comfortably warm until ten o'clock, and the girls wore their coats loose across their shoulders as they worked. sometimes at noon miss thornton and susan fared forth into the cold, sunny streets, and spent the last half of the lunch-hour in a brisk walk. they went into the high-vaulted old post street library for books, threaded their way along kearney street, where the noontide crowd was gaily ebbing and flowing, and loitered at the flower market, at lotta's fountain, drinking in the glory of violets and daffodils, under the winter sun. now and then they lunched uptown at some inexpensive restaurant that was still quiet and refined. the big hotels were far too costly but there were several pretty lunchrooms, "the bird of paradise," "the london tearoom," and, most popular of all, "the ladies exchange." the girls always divided a twenty-five-cent entree between them, and each selected a ten-cent dessert, leaving a tip for the waitress out of their stipulated half-dollar. it was among the unwritten laws that the meal must appear to more than satisfy both. "thorny, you've got to have the rest of this rice!" susan would urge, gathering the slender remains of "curried chicken family style" in her serving spoon. "honestly, susan, i couldn't! i've got more than i want here," was the orthodox response. "it'll simply go to waste here," susan always said, but somehow it never did. the girls loitered over these meals, watching the other tables, and the women who came to the counters to buy embroidered baby-sacques, and home-made cakes and jellies. "wouldn't you honestly like another piece of plum pie, sue?" thorny would ask. "i? oh, i couldn't! but you have one, thorny--" "i simply couldn't!" so it was time to ask for the check. they were better satisfied, if less elegantly surrounded, when they went to one of the downtown markets, and had fried oysters for lunch. susan loved the big, echoing places, cool on the hottest day, never too cold, lined with long rows of dangling, picked fowls, bright with boxes of apples and oranges. the air was pleasantly odorous of cheeses and cooked meats, cocks crowed unseen in crates and cages, bare-headed boys pushed loaded trucks through the narrow aisles. susan and miss thornton would climb a short flight of whitewashed stairs to a little lunch-room over one of the oyster stalls. here they could sit at a small table, and look down at the market, the shoppers coming and going, stout matrons sampling sausages and cheeses, and chinese cooks, bareheaded, bare-ankled, dressed in dark blue duck, selecting broilers and roasts. their tablecloth here was coarse, but clean, and a generous management supplied several sauces, a thick china bowl of crackers, a plate heaped with bread, salty yellow butter, and saucers of boiled shrimps with which guests might occupy themselves until the arrival of the oysters. presently the main dish arrived, some forty small, brown, buttery oysters on each smoking hot plate. no pretense was necessary at this meal, there was enough, and more than enough. susan's cheeks would burn rosily all afternoon. she and thorny departing never tailed to remark, "how can they do it for twenty-five cents?" and sometimes spent the walk back to the office in a careful calculation of exactly what the meal had cost the proprietor. "did he send you a christmas present?" asked thorny one january day, when an irregular bill had brought her to susan's desk. "who? oh, mr. coleman?" susan looked up innocently. "yes, yes indeed he did. a lovely silver bureau set. auntie was in two minds about letting me keep it." she studied the bill. "well, that's the regular h. b. & h. talcum powder," she said, "only he's made them a price on a dozen gross. send it back, and have mr. phil o. k. it!" "a silver set! you lucky kid! how many pieces?" "oh, everything. even toilet-water bottles, and a hatpin holder. gorgeous." susan wrote "mr. p. hunter will please o. k." in the margin against the questioned sale. "you take it pretty coolly, sue," miss thornton said, curiously. "it's cool weather, thorny dear." susan smiled, locked her firm young hands idly on her ledger, eyed miss thornton honestly. "how should i take it?" said she. the silver set had filled all mrs. lancaster's house with awed admiration on christmas day, but susan could not forget that peter had been out of town on both holidays, and that she had gained her only knowledge of his whereabouts from the newspapers. a handsome present had been more than enough to satisfy her wildest dreams, the year before. it was not enough now. "s'listen, susan. you're engaged to him?" "honestly,--cross my heart!--i'm not." "but you will be when he asks you?" "thorny, aren't you awful!" susan laughed; colored brilliantly. "well, wouldn't you?" the other persisted. "i don't suppose one thinks of those things until they actually happen," susan said slowly, wrinkling a thoughtful forehead. thorny watched her for a moment with keen interest, then her own face softened suddenly. "no, of course you don't!" she agreed kindly. "do you mind my asking, sue?" "no-o-o!" susan reassured her. as a matter of fact, she was glad when any casual onlooker confirmed her own secret hopes as to the seriousness of peter coleman's intention. peter took her to church on easter sunday, and afterward they went to lunch with his uncle and aunt, spent a delightful rainy afternoon with books and the piano, and, in the casual way that only wealth makes possible, were taken downtown to dinner by old mr. baxter at six o'clock. taking her home at nine o' clock, peter told her that he was planning a short visit to honolulu with the harvey brocks. "gee, i wish you were going along!" he said. "wouldn't it be fun!" susan agreed. "well, say! mrs. brock would love it--" he began eagerly. "oh, peter, don't talk nonsense!" susan felt, at a moment like this, that she actually disliked him. "i suppose it couldn't be worked," he said sadly. and no more of it was said. he came into the office but once that week. late in a summer-like afternoon susan looked down at mr. baxter's office to see peter spreading his steamer tickets on the desk. he looked up and laughed at her, and later ran up to the deck for a few minutes to say good-bye. they said it laughingly, among the hot-water bags and surgical accessories, but when susan went back to her desk the laughter had died from her eyes. it was an unseasonably warm spring day, she was wearing the first shirtwaist of the year, and had come downtown that morning through the fresh early air on the dummy-front. it was hard to-day to be shut up in a stuffy office. outside, the watercarts were making the season's first trip along front street and pedestrians chose the shady side to-day. susan thought of the big oriental liner, the awnings that shaded the decks, the exquisitely cool and orderly little cabins, the green water rushing alongside. and for her the languorous bright afternoon had lost its charm. she did not see peter coleman again for a long time. summer came, and susan went on quiet little sunday picnics to the beach with auntie and mary lou, or stayed at home and pressed her collars and washed her hair. once or twice she and billy went over to the carrolls' sausalito home, to spend a happy, quiet week-end. susan gossiped with the busy, cheerful mother over the dish-pan, played "parchesi" with fifteen-year-old jim and seventeen-year-old betsey, reveled in a confidential, sisterly attitude with handsome phil, the oldest of the half-dozen, and lay awake deep into the warm nights to talk, and talk, and talk with josephine, who, at her own age, seemed to susan a much finer, stronger and more developed character. if anna, the lovely serious oldest daughter, happened to be at home on one of her rare absences from the training-hospital, susan became her shadow. she loved few people in the world as she loved anna carroll. but, in a lesser degree, she loved them all, and found these hours in the shabby, frugal little home among the very happiest of a lonely summer. about once a month she was carried off by the saunders, in whose perfectly appointed guest-room she was by this time quite at home. the fourth of july fell on a friday this year, and mr. brauer, of his own volition, offered susan the following day as a holiday, too. so that susan, with a heart as light as sunshine itself, was free to go with ella saunders for a memorable visit to del monte and santa cruz. it was one of the perfect experiences only possible to youth and irresponsibility. they swam, they went for the seventeen-mile drive, they rode horseback. ella knew every inch of the great hotels, even some of the waiters and housekeepers. she had the best rooms, she saw that susan missed nothing. they dressed for dinner, loitered about among the roses in the long twilight, and susan met a young englishman who later wrote her three letters on his way home to oxfordshire. ella's exquisite gowns had a chapter all to themselves when susan was telling her cousins about it, but susan herself alternated contentedly enough between the brown linen with the daisy-hat and the black net with the pearl band in her hair. miss saunders' compliments, her confidences, half-intoxicated the girl. it was with a little effort that she came back to sober every-day living. she gave a whole evening to mary lord, in her eagerness to share her pleasure. the sick woman was not interested in gowns, but she went fairly wild when susan spoke of monterey,--the riotous gardens with their walls of white plaster topped with red pipe, the gulls wheeling over the little town, the breakers creaming in lazy, interlocking curves on the crescent of the beach, and the little old plaster church, with its hundred-year-old red altar-cloth, and its altar-step worn into grooves from the knees of the faithful. "oh, i must see the sea again!" cried mary. "well, don't talk that way! you will," lydia said cheerfully. but susan, seeing the shadow on the kind, plain face, wished that she had held her tongue. chapter vi it was late in july that georgianna lancaster startled and shocked the whole boarding-house out of its mid-summer calm. susan, chronically affected by a wish that "something would happen," had been somewhat sobered by the fact that in poor virginia's case something had happened. suddenly virginia's sight, accepted for years by them all as "bad," was very bad indeed. the great eye-doctor was angry that it had not been attended to before. "but it wasn't like this before!" virginia protested patiently. she was always very patient after that, so brave indeed that the terrible thing that was coming swiftly and inevitably down upon her seemed quite impossible for the others to credit. but sometimes susan heard her voice and mrs. lancaster's voice rising and falling for long, long talks in the night. "i don't believe it!" said susan boldly, finding this attitude the most tenable in regard to virginia's blindness. georgie's news, if startling, was not all bad. "perhaps it'll raise the hoodoo from all of us old maids!" said susan, inelegantly, to mr. oliver. "o'connor doesn't look as if he had sense enough to raise anything, even the rent!" answered billy cheerfully. susan heard the first of it on a windy, gritty saturday afternoon, when she was glad to get indoors, and to take off the hat that had been wrenching her hair about. she came running upstairs to find virginia lying limp upon the big bed, and mary lou, red-eyed and pale, sitting in the rocking-chair. "come in, dear, and shut it," said mary lou, sighing. "sit down, sue." "what is it?" said susan uneasily. "oh, sue---!" began virginia, and burst into tears. "now, now, darling!" mary lou patted her sister's hand. "auntie--" susan asked, turning pale. "no, ma's all right," mary lou reassured her, "and there's nothing really wrong, sue. but georgie--georgie, dear, she's married to joe o'connor! isn't it dreadful?" "but ma's going to have it annulled," said virginia instantly. "married!" susan gasped. "you mean engaged!" "no, dear, married," mary lou repeated, in a sad, musical voice. "they were married on monday night--" "tell me!" commanded susan, her eyes flashing with pleasurable excitement. "we don't know much, sue dear. georgie's been acting rather odd and she began to cry after breakfast this morning, and ma got it out of her. i thought ma would faint, and georgie just screamed. i kept calling out to ma to be calm--" susan could imagine the scene. "so then ma took georgie upstairs, and jinny and i worked around, and came up here and made up this room. and just before lunch ma came up, and--she looked chalk-white, didn't she, jinny?" "she looked-well, as white as this spread," agreed virginia. "well, but what accounts for it!" gasped susan. "is georgie crazy! joe o'connor! that snip! and hasn't he an awful old mother, or someone, who said that she'd never let him come home again if he married?" "listen, sue!--you haven't heard half. it seems that they've been engaged for two months--" "they have!" "yes. and on monday night joe showed georgie that he'd gotten the license, and they got thinking how long it would be before they could be married, what with his mother, and no prospects and all, and they simply walked into st. peter's and were married!" "well, he'll have to leave his mother, that's all!" said susan. "oh, my dear, that's just what they quarreled about! he won't." "he--won't?" "no, if you please! and you can imagine how furious that made georgie! and when ma told us that, she simply set her lips,--you know ma! and then she said that she was going to see father birch with georgie this afternoon, to have it annulled at once." "without saying a word to joe!" "oh, they went first to joe's. oh, no, joe is perfectly willing. it was, as ma says, a mistake from beginning to end." "but how can it be annulled, mary lou?" susan asked. "well, i don't understand exactly," mary lou answered coloring. "i think it's because they didn't go on any honeymoon--they didn't set up housekeeping, you know, or something like that!" "oh," said susan, hastily, coloring too. "but wouldn't you know that if any one of us did get married, it would be annulled!" she said disgustedly. the others both began to laugh. still, it was all very exciting. when georgie and her mother got home at dinner-time, the bride was pale and red-eyed, excited, breathing hard. she barely touched her dinner. susan could not keep her eyes from the familiar hand, with its unfamiliar ring. "i am very much surprised and disappointed in father birch," said mrs. lancaster, in a family conference in the dining-room just after dinner. "he seems to feel that the marriage may hold, which of course is too preposterous! if joe o'connor has so little appreciation--!" "ma!" said georgie wearily, pleadingly. "well, i won't, my dear." mrs. lancaster interrupted herself with a visible effort. "and if i am disappointed in joe," she presently resumed majestically. "i am doubly disappointed in georgie. my baby--that i always trusted--!" young mrs. o'connor began silently, bitterly, to cry. susan went to sit beside her, and put a comforting arm about her. "i have looked forward to my girls' wedding days," said mrs. lancaster, "with such feelings of joy! how could i anticipate that my own daughter, secretly, could contract a marriage with a man whose mother--" her tone, low at first, rose so suddenly and so passionately that she was unable to control it. the veins about her forehead swelled. "ma!" said mary lou, "you only lower yourself to her level!" "do you mean that she won't let him bring georgie there?" asked susan. "whether she would or not," mrs. lancaster answered, with admirable loftiness, "she will not have a chance to insult my daughter. joe, i pity!" she added majestically. "he fell deeply and passionately in love--" "with loretta," supplied susan, innocently. "he never cared for loretta!" her aunt said positively. "no. with georgie. and, not being a gentleman, we could hardly expect him to act like one! but we'll say no more about it. it will all be over in a few days, and then we'll try to forget it!" poor georgie, it was but a sorry romance! joe telephoned, joe called, father birch came, the affair hung fire. georgie was neither married nor free. dr. o'connor would not desert his mother, his mother refused to accept georgie. georgie cried day and night, merely asseverating that she hated joe, and loved ma, and she wished people would let her alone. these were not very cheerful days in the boarding-house. billy oliver was worried and depressed, very unlike himself. he had been recently promoted to the post of foreman, was beginning to be a power among the men who associated with him and, as his natural instinct for leadership asserted itself, he found himself attracting some attention from the authorities themselves. he was questioned about the men, about their attitude toward this regulation or that superintendent. it was hinted that the spreading of heresies among the laborers was to be promptly discouraged. the men were not to be invited to express themselves as to hours, pay and the advantages of unifying. in other words, mr. william oliver, unless he became a little less interested and less active in the wrongs and rights of his fellow-men in the iron-works, might be surprised by a request to carry himself and his public sentiments elsewhere. susan, in her turn, was a little disturbed by the rumor that front office was soon to be abolished; begun for a whim, it might easily be ended for another whim. for herself she did not very much care; a certain confidence in the future was characteristic of her, but she found herself wondering what would become of the other girls, miss sherman and miss murray and miss cottle. she felt far more deeply the pain that peter's attitude gave her, a pain that gnawed at her heart day and night. he was home from honolulu now, and had sent her several curious gifts from hawaii, but, except for distant glimpses in the office, she had not seen him. one evening, just before dinner, as she was dressing and thinking sadly of the weeks, the months, that had passed since their last happy evening together, lydia lord came suddenly into the room. the little governess looked white and sick, and shared her distress with susan in a few brief sentences. here was mrs. lawrence's check in her hand, and here mrs. lawrence's note to say that her services, as governess to chrissy and donald and little hazel, would be no longer required. the blow was almost too great to be realized. "but i brought it on myself, sue, yes i did!" said lydia, with dry lips. she sat, a shapeless, shabby figure, on the side of the bed, and pressed a veined hand tightly against her knobby temples, "i brought it on myself. i want to tell you about it. i haven't given mary even a hint! chrissy has been ill, her throat--they've had a nurse, but she liked me to sit with her now and then. so i was sitting there awhile this morning, and mrs. lawrence's sister, miss bacon, came in, and she happened to ask me--oh, if only she hadn't!--if i knew that they meant to let yates operate on chrissy's throat. she said she thought it was a great pity. oh, if only i'd held my tongue, fool, fool, fool that i was!" miss lydia took down her hand, and regarded susan with hot, dry eyes. "but, before i thought," she pursued distressedly, "i said yes, i thought so too,--i don't know just what words i used, but no more than that! chrissy asked her aunt if it would hurt, and she said, 'no, no, dear!' and i began reading. and now, here's this note from mrs. lawrence saying that she cannot overlook the fact that her conduct was criticized and discussed before christina--! and after five years, sue! here, read it!" "beast!" susan scowled at the monogrammed sheet, and the dashing hand. miss lydia clutched her wrist with a hot hand. "what shall i do, sue?" she asked, in agony. "well, i'd simply--" susan began boldly enough. but a look at the pathetic, gray-haired figure on the bed stopped her short. she came, with the glory of her bright hair hanging loose about her face, to sit beside lydia. "really, i don't know, dear," she said gently. "what do you think?" "sue, i don't know!" and, to susan's horror, poor lydia twisted about, rested her arm on the foot of the bed, and began to cry. "oh, these rich!" raged susan, attacking her hair with angry sweeps of the brush. "do you wonder they think that the earth was made for them and heaven too! they have everything! they can dash you off a note that takes away your whole income, they can saunter in late to church on easter sunday and rustle into their big empty pews, when the rest of us have been standing in the aisles for half an hour; they can call in a doctor for a cut finger, when mary has to fight perfect agonies before she dares afford it--don't mind me," she broke off, penitently, "but let's think what's to be done. you couldn't take the public school examinations, could you, miss lydia? it would be so glorious to simply let mrs. lawrence slide!" "i always meant to do that some day," said lydia, wiping her eyes and gulping, "but it would take time. and meanwhile--and there are mary's doctor's bills, and the interest on our piedmont lot--" for the lord sisters, for patient years, had been paying interest, and an occasional installment, on a barren little tract of land nine blocks away from the piedmont trolley. "you could borrow--" began susan. but lydia was more practical. she dried her eyes, straightened her hair and collar, and came, with her own quiet dignity, to the discussion of possibilities. she was convinced that mrs. lawrence had written in haste, and was already regretting it. "no, she's too proud ever to send for me," she assured susan, when the girl suggested their simply biding their time, "but i know that by taking me back at once she would save herself any amount of annoyance and time. so i'd better go and see her to-night, for by to-morrow she might have committed herself to a change." "but you hate to go, don't you?" susan asked, watching her keenly. "ah, well, it's unpleasant of course," lydia said simply. "she may be unwilling to accept my apology. she may not even see me. one feels so--so humiliated, sue." "in that case, i'm going along to buck you up," said susan, cheerfully. in spite of lydia's protests, go she did. they walked to the lawrence home in a night so dark that susan blinked when they finally entered the magnificent, lighted hallway. the butler obviously disapproved of them. he did not quite attempt to shut the door on them, but susan felt that they intruded. "mrs. lawrence is at dinner, miss lord," he reminded lydia, gravely. "yes, i know, but this is rather--important, hughes," said lydia, clearing her throat nervously. "you had better see her at the usual time to-morrow," suggested the butler, smoothly. susan's face burned. she longed to snatch one of the iron japanese swords that decorated the hall, and with it prove to hughes that his insolence was appreciated. but more reasonable tactics must prevail. "will you say that i am here, hughes?" miss lord asked quietly. "presently," he answered, impassively. susan followed him for a few steps across the hall, spoke to him in a low tone. "too bad to ask you to interrupt her, mr. hughes," said she, in her friendly little way, "but you know miss lord's sister has been having one of her bad times, and of course you understand--?" the blue eyes and the pitiful little smile conquered. hughes became human. "certainly, miss," he said hoarsely, "but madam is going to the theater to-night, and it's no time to see her." "i know," susan interposed, sympathetically. "however, ye may depend upon my taking the best moment," hughes said, before disappearing, and when he came back a few moments later, he was almost gracious. "mrs. lawrence says that if you wish to see her you'll kindly wait, miss lord. step in here, will you, please? will ye be seated, ladies? miss chrissy's been asking for you the whole evening, miss lord." "is that so?" lydia asked, brightening. they waited, with fast-beating hearts, for what seemed a long time. the great entrance to the flower-filled embrasure that led to the dining-room was in full view from where they stood, and when mrs. lawrence, elegantly emacinated, wonderfully gowned and jeweled, suddenly came out into the tempered brilliance of the electric lights both girls went to meet her. susan's heart burned for lydia, faltering out her explanation, in the hearing of the butler. "this is hardly the time to discuss this, miss lord," mrs. lawrence said impatiently, "but i confess i am surprised that a woman who apparently valued her position in my house should jeopardize it by such an extraordinary indiscretion--" susan's heart sank. no hope here! but at this moment some six or seven young people followed mrs. lawrence out of the dining-room and began hurriedly to assume their theater wraps, and susan, with a leap of her heart, recognized among them peter coleman, peter splendid in evening dress, with a light overcoat over his arm, and a silk hat in his hand. his face brightened when he saw her, he dropped his coat, and came quickly across the hall, hands outstretched. "henrietta! say that you remember your percy!" he said joyously, and susan, coloring prettily, said "oh, hush!" as she gave him her hand. a rapid fire of questions followed, he was apparently unconscious of, or indifferent to, the curiously watching group. "well, you two seem to be great friends," mrs. lawrence said graciously, turning from her conversation with miss lord. "this is our cue to sing 'for you was once my wife,' susan!" peter suggested. susan did not answer him. she exchanged an amused, indulgent look with mrs. lawrence. perhaps the girl's quiet dignity rather surprised that lady, for she gave her a keen, appraising look before she asked, pleasantly: "aren't you going to introduce me to your old friend, peter?" "not old friends," susan corrected serenely, as they were introduced. "but vurry, vurry de-ah," supplemented peter, "aren't we?" "i hope mrs. lawrence knows you well enough to know how foolish you are, peter!" susan said composedly. and mrs. lawrence said brightly, "indeed i do! for we are very old friends, aren't we, peter?" but the woman's eyes still showed a little puzzlement. the exact position of this girl, with her ready "peter," her willingness to disclaim an old friendship, her pleasant unresponsiveness, was a little hard to determine. a lady, obviously, a possible beauty, and entirely unknown-- "well, we must run," mrs. lawrence recalled herself to say suddenly. "but why won't you and miss lord run up to see chrissy for a few moments, miss brown? the poor kiddy is frightfully dull. and you'll be here in the morning as usual, miss lord? that's good. good-night!" "you did that, sue, you darling!" exulted lydia, as they ran down the stone steps an hour later, and locked arms to walk briskly along the dark street. "your knowing mr. coleman saved the day!" and, in the exuberance of her spirits, she took susan into a brightly lighted little candy-store, and treated her to ice-cream. they carried some home in a dripping paper box for mary, who was duly horrified, agitated and rejoiced over the history of the day. through susan's mind, as she lay wakeful in bed that night, one scene after another flitted and faded. she saw mrs. lawrence, glittering and supercilious, saw peter, glowing and gay, saw the butler, with his attempt to be rude, and the little daughter of the house, tossing about in the luxurious pillows of her big bed. she thought of lydia lord's worn gloves, fumbling in her purse for money, of mary lord, so gratefully eating melting ice-cream from a pink saucer, with a silver souvenir spoon! two different worlds, and she, susan, torn between them! how far she was from peter's world, she felt that she had never realized until to-night. how little gifts and pleasures signified from a man whose life was crowded with nothing else! how helpless she was, standing by while his life whirled him further and further away from the dull groove in which her own feet were set! yet susan's evening had not been without its little cause for satisfaction. she had treated peter coolly, with dignity, with reserve, and she had seen it not only spur him to a sudden eagerness to prove his claim to her friendship, but also have its effect upon his hostess. this was the clue, at last. "if ever i have another chance," decided susan, "he won't have such easy sailing! he will have to work for my friendship as if i were the heiress, and he a clerk in front office." august was the happiest month susan had ever known, september even better, and by october everybody at mrs. lancaster's boarding-house was confidently awaiting the news of susan brown's engagement to the rich mr. peter coleman. susan herself was fairly dazed with joy. she felt herself the most extraordinarily fortunate girl in the world. other matters also prospered. alfred lancaster had obtained a position in the mission, and seemed mysteriously inclined to hold it, and to conquer his besetting weakness. and georgie's affair was at a peaceful standstill. georgie had her old place in the house, was changed in nothing tangible, and, if she cried a good deal, and went about less than before, she was not actively unhappy. dr. o'connor came once a week to see her, an uncomfortable event, during which georgie's mother was with difficulty restrained from going up to the parlor to tell joe what she thought of a man who put his mother before his wife. virginia was bravely enduring the horrors of approaching darkness. susan reproached herself for her old impatience with jinny's saintliness; there was no question of her cousin's courage and faith during this test. mary lou was agitatedly preparing for a visit to the stricken eastmans, in nevada, deciding one day that ma could, and the next that ma couldn't, spare her for the trip. susan walked in a golden cloud. no need to hunt through peter's letters, to weigh his words,--she had the man himself now unequivocally in the attitude of lover. or if, in all honesty, she knew him to be a little less than that, at least he was placing himself in that light, before their little world. in that world theatre-trips, candy and flowers have their definite significance, the mere frequency with which they were seen together committed him, surely, to something! they paid dinner-calls together, they went together to week-end visits to emily saunders, at least two evenings out of every week were spent together. at any moment he might turn to her with the little, little phrase that would settle this uncertainty once and for all! indeed it occurred to susan sometimes that he might think it already settled, without words. at least once a day she flushed, half-delighted, half-distressed,--under teasing questions on the subject from the office force, or from the boarders at home; all her world, apparently, knew. one day, in her bureau drawer, she found the little card that had accompanied his first christmas gift, nearly two years before. why did a keen pain stir her heart, as she stood idly twisting it in her fingers? had not the promise of that happy day been a thousand times fulfilled? but the bright, enchanting hope that card had brought had been so sickeningly deferred! two years!--she was twenty-three now. mrs. lancaster, opening the bedroom door a few minutes later, found susan in tears, kneeling by the bed. "why, lovey! lovey!" her aunt patted the bowed head. "what is it, dear?" "nothing!" gulped susan, sitting back on her heels, and drying her eyes. "not a quarrel with peter?" "oh, auntie, no!" "well," her aunt sighed comfortably, "of course it's an emotional time, dear! leaving the home nest--" mrs. lancaster eyed her keenly, but susan did not speak. "remember, auntie is to know the first of all!" she said playfully. adding, after a moment's somber thought, "if georgie had told mama, things would be very different now!" "poor georgie!" susan smiled, and still kneeling, leaned on her aunt's knees, as mrs. lancaster sat back in the rocking chair. "poor georgie indeed!" said her mother vexedly. "it's more serious than you think, dear. joe was here last night. it seems that he's going to that doctor's convention, at del monte a week from next saturday, and he was talking to georgie about her going, too." susan was thunderstruck. "but, auntie, aren't they going to be divorced?" mrs. lancaster rubbed her nose violently. "they are if _i_ have anything to say!" she said, angrily. "but, of course, georgie has gotten herself into this thing, and now mama isn't going to get any help in trying to get her out! joe was extremely rude and inconsiderate about it, and got the poor child crying--!" "but, auntie, she certainly doesn't want to go!" "certainly she doesn't. and to come home to that dreadful woman, his mother? use your senses, susan!" "why don't you forbid joe o'connor the house, auntie?" "because i don't want any little whipper-snapper of a medical graduate from the mission to dare to think he can come here, in my own home, and threaten me with a lawsuit, for alienating his wife's affections!" mrs. lancaster said forcibly. "i never in my life heard such impudence!" "is he mad!" exclaimed susan, in a low, horrified tone. "well, i honestly think he is!" mrs. lancaster, gratified by this show of indignation, softened. "but i didn't mean to distress you with this, dear," said she. "it will all work out, somehow. we mustn't have any scandal in the family just now, whatever happens, for your sake!" pursuant to her new-formed resolutions, susan was maintaining what dignity she could in her friendship with peter nowadays. and when, in november, peter stopped her on the "deck" one day to ask her, "how about sunday, sue? i have a date, but i think i can get out of it?" she disgusted him by answering briskly, "not for me, peter. i'm positively engaged for sunday." "oh, no, you're not!" he assured her, firmly. "oh, truly i am!" susan nodded a good-by, and went humming into the office, and that night made william oliver promise to take her to the carrolls' in sausalito for the holiday. so on a hazy, soft november morning they found themselves on the cable-car that in those days slipped down the steep streets of nob hill, through the odorous, filthy gaiety of the chinese quarter, through the warehouse district, and out across the great crescent of the water-front. billy, well-brushed and clean-shaven, looked his best to-day, and susan, in a wide, dashing hat, with fresh linen at wrists and collar, enjoyed the innocent tribute of many a passing glance from the ceaseless current of men crossing and recrossing the ferry place. "if they try to keep us for dinner, we'll bashfully remain," said billy, openly enchanted by the prospect of a day with his adored josephine. but first they were to have a late second breakfast at sardi's, the little ramshackle sausalito restaurant, whose tables, visible through green arches, hung almost directly over the water. it was a cheap meal, oily and fried, but susan was quite happy, hanging over the rail to watch the shining surface of the water that was so near. the reflection of the sun shifted in a ceaselessly moving bright pattern on the white-washed ceiling, the wash of the outgoing steamer surged through the piles, and set to rocking all the nearby boats at anchor. after luncheon, they climbed the long flights of steps that lead straight through the village, which hangs on the cliff like a cluster of sea-birds' nests. the gardens were bare and brown now, the trees sober and shabby. when the steps stopped, they followed a road that ran like a shelf above the bay and waterfront far below, and that gave a wonderful aspect of the wide sweep of hills and sky beyond, all steeped in the thin, clear autumn haze. billy pushed open a high gate that had scraped the path beyond in a deep circular groove, and they were in a fine, old-fashioned garden, filled with trees. willow and pepper and eucalyptus towered over the smaller growth of orange and lemon-verbena trees; there were acacia and mock-orange and standard roses, and hollyhock stalks, bare and dry. only the cosmos bushes, tall and wavering, were in bloom, with a few chrysanthemums and late asters, the air was colder here than it had been out under the bright november sun, and the path under the trees was green and slippery. on a rise of ground stood the plain, comfortable old house, with a white curtain blowing here and there at an open window and its front door set hospitably ajar. but not a soul was in sight. billy and susan were at home here, however, and went through the hallway to open a back door that gave on the kitchen. it was an immaculate kitchen, with a fire glowing sleepily behind the shining iron grating of the stove, and sunshine lying on the well-scrubbed floor. a tall woman was busy with plants in the bright window. "well, you nice child!" she exclaimed, her face brightening as susan came into her arms for her motherly kiss. "i was just thinking about you! we've been hearing things about you, sue, and wondering--and wondering--! and billy, too! the girls will be delighted!" this was the mother of the five carrolls, a mother to whom it was easy to trace some of their beauty, and some of their courage. in the twelve long years of her widowhood, from a useless, idle, untrained member of a society to which all three adjectives apply, this woman had grown to be the broad and brave and smiling creature who was now studying susan's face with the insatiable motherliness that even her household's constant claims failed to exhaust. manager and cook and houseworker, seamstress and confidante to her restless, growing brood, still there was a certain pure radiance that was never quite missing from her smile, and susan felt a mad impulse to-day to have a long comforting cry on the broad shoulder. she thoroughly loved mrs. carroll, even if she thought the older woman's interest in soups and darning and the filling of lamps a masterly affectation, and pitied her for the bitter fate that had robbed her of home and husband, wealth and position, at the very time when her children needed these things the most. they two went into the sitting-room now, while billy raced after the young people who had taken their luncheon, it appeared, and were walking over the hills to a favorite spot known as "gioli's" beach. susan liked this room, low-ceiled and wide, which ran the length of the house. it seemed particularly pleasant to-day, with the uncertain sunlight falling through the well-darned, snowy window-curtains, the circle of friendly, shabby chairs, the worn old carpet, scrupulously brushed, the reading-table with a green-shaded lamp, and the old square piano loaded with music. the room was in sunday order to-day, books, shabby with much handling, were ranged neatly on their shelves, not a fallen leaf lay under the bowl of late roses on the piano. susan had had many a happy hour in this room, for if the carrolls were poor to the point of absurdity, their mother had made a sort of science of poverty, and concentrated her splendid mind on the questions of meals, clothes, and the amusements of their home evenings. that it had been a hard fight, was still a hard fight, susan knew. philip, the handsome first-born, had the tendencies and temptations natural to his six-and-twenty years; anna, her mother's especial companion, was taking a hard course of nursing in a city hospital; josephine, the family beauty, at twenty, was soberly undertaking a course in architecture, in addition to her daily work in the offices of huxley and huxley; even little betsey was busy, and jimmy still in school; so that the brunt of the planning, of the actual labor, indeed, fell upon their mother. but she had carried a so much heavier burden, that these days seemed bright and easeful to mrs. carroll, and the face she turned to susan now was absolutely unclouded. "what's all the news, sue? auntie's well, and mary lou? and what do they say now of jinny? don't tell me about georgie until the girls are here! and what's this i hear of your throwing down phil completely, and setting up a new young man?" "please'm, you never said i wasn'ter," susan laughed. "no, indeed i never did! you couldn't do a more sensible thing!" "oh, aunt jo!" the title was only by courtesy. "i thought you felt that every woman ought to have a profession!" "a means of livelihood, my dear, not a profession necessarily! yes, to be used in case she didn't marry, or when anything went wrong if she did," the older woman amended briskly. "but, sue, marriage first for all girls! i won't say," she went on thoughtfully, "that any marriage is better than none at all, but i could almost say that i thought that! that is, given the average start, i think a sensible woman has nine chances out of ten of making a marriage successful, whereas there never was a really complete life rounded out by a single woman." "my young man has what you'll consider one serious fault," said susan, dimpling. "dear, dear! and what's that?" "he's rich." "peter coleman, yes, of course he is!" mrs. carroll frowned thoughtfully. "well, that isn't necessarily bad, susan!" "aunt josephine," susan said, really shaken out of her nonsense by the serious tone, "do you honestly think it's a drawback? wouldn't you honestly rather have jo, say, marry a rich man than a poor man, other things being equal?" "honestly no, sue," said mrs. carroll. "but if the rich man was just as good and brave and honest and true as the poor one?" persisted the girl. "but he couldn't be, sue, he never is. the fibers of his moral and mental nature are too soft. he's had no hardening. no," mrs. carroll shook her head. "no, i've been rich, and i've been poor. if a man earns his money honestly himself, he grows old during the process, and he may or may not be a strong and good man. but if he merely inherits it, he is pretty sure not to be one." "but aren't there some exceptions?" asked susan. mrs. carroll laughed at her tone. "there are exceptions to everything! and i really believe peter coleman is one," she conceded smilingly. "hark!" for feet were running down the path outside. "there you are, sue!" said anna carroll, putting a glowing face in the sitting-room door. "i came back for you! the others said they would go slowly, and we can catch them if we hurry!" she came in, a brilliant, handsome young creature, in rough, well-worn walking attire, and a gipsyish hat. talking steadily, as they always did when together, she and susan went upstairs, and susan was loaned a short skirt, and a cap that made her prettier than ever. the house was old, there was a hint of sagging here and there, in the worn floors, the bedrooms were plainly furnished, almost bare. in the atmosphere there lingered, despite the open windows, the faint undefinable odor common to old houses in which years of frugal and self-denying living have set their mark, an odor vaguely compounded of clean linen and old woodwork, hot soapsuds and ammonia. the children's old books were preserved in old walnut cases, nothing had been renewed, recarpeted, repapered for many years. still talking, the girls presently ran downstairs, and briskly followed the road that wound up, above the village, to the top of the hill. anna chattered of the hospital, of the superintendent of nurses, who was a trial to all the young nurses, "all superintendents are tyrants, i think," said anna, "and we just have to shut our teeth and bear it! but it's all so unnecessarily hard, and it's wrong, too, for nursing the sick is one thing, and being teased by an irritable woman like that is another! however," she concluded cheerfully, "i'll graduate some day, and forget her! and meantime, i don't want to worry mother, for phil's just taken a real start, and bett's doctor's bills are paid, and the landlord, by some miracle, has agreed to plaster the kitchen!" they joined the others just below the top of the hill, and were presently fighting the stiff wind that blew straight across the ridge. once over it, however, the wind dropped, the air was deliciously soft and fresh and their rapid walking made the day seem warm. there was no road; their straggling line followed the little shelving paths beaten out of the hillside by the cows. far below lay the ocean, only a tone deeper than the pale sky. the line of the cliff house beach was opposite, a vessel under full sail was moving in through the golden gate. the hills fell sharply away to the beach, gioli's ranch-house, down in the valley, was only one deeper brown note among all the browns. here and there cows were grazing, cotton-tails whisked behind the tall, dried thistles. the carrolls loved this particular walk, and took it in all weathers. sometimes they had a guest or two,--a stray friend of philip's, or two or three of anna's girl friends from the hospital. it did not matter, for there was no pairing off at the carroll picnics. oftener they were all alone, or, as to-day, with susan and billy, who were like members of the family. to-day billy, jimmy and betsey were racing ahead like frolicking puppies; up banks, down banks, shrieking, singing and shouting. phil and josephine walked together, they were inseparable chums, and susan thought them a pretty study to-day; josephine so demurely beautiful in her middy jacket and tam-o-shanter cap, and philip so obviously proud of her. she and anna, their hands sunk in their coat-pockets, their hair loosening under the breezes, followed the others rather silently. and swiftly, subtly, the healing influences of the hour crept into susan's heart. what of these petty little hopes and joys and fears that fretted her like a cloud of midges day and night? how small they seemed in the wide silence of these brooding hills, with the sunlight lying warm on the murmuring ocean below, and the sweet kindly earth underfoot! "i wish i could live out here, nance, and never go near to people and things again!" "oh, don't you, sue!" there was a delay at the farmhouse for cream. the ranchers' damp dooryard had been churned into deep mud by the cows, strong odors, delicious to susan, because they were associated with these happy days, drifted about, the dairy reeked of damp earth, wet wood, and scoured tinware. the cream, topping the pan like a circle of leather, was loosened by a small, sharp stick, and pushed, thick and lumpy, into the empty jam jar that josephine neatly presented. a woman came to the ranch-house door with a grinning portuguese greeting, the air from the kitchen behind her was close, and reeked of garlic and onions and other odors. susan and anna went in to look at the fat baby, a brown cherub whose silky black lashes curved back half an inch from his cheeks. there were half a dozen small children in the kitchen, cats, even a sickly chicken or two. "very different from the home life of our dear queen!" said susan, when they were out in the air again. the road now ran between marshy places full of whispering reeds, occasional crazy fences must be crossed, occasional pools carefully skirted. and then they were really crossing the difficult strip of sandy dead grasses, and cocoanut shells, and long-dried seaweeds that had been tossed up by the sea in a long ridge on the beach, and were racing on the smooth sand, where the dangerous looking breakers were rolling so harmlessly. they shouted to each other now, above the roar of the water, as they gathered drift-wood for their fire, and when the blaze was well started, indulged in the fascinating pastime of running in long curves so near to the incoming level rush of the waves that they were all soon wet enough to feel that no further harm could be done by frankly wading in the shallows, posing for philip's camera on half-submerged rocks, and chasing each other through a frantic game of beach tag. it was the prudent josephine,--for anna was too dreamy and unpractical to bring her attention to detail,--who suggested a general drying of shoes, as they gathered about the fire for the lunch--toasted sandwiches, and roasted potatoes, and large wedges of apple-pie, and the tin mugs of delicious coffee that crowned all these feasts. only sea-air accounted for the quantities in which the edibles disappeared; the pasteboard boxes and the basket were emptied to the last crumb, and the coffee-pot refilled and emptied again. the meal was not long over, and the stiffened boots were being buttoned with the aid of bent hairpins, when the usual horrifying discovery of the time was made. frantic hurrying ensued, the tin cups, dripping salt water, were strung on a cord, the cardboard boxes fed the last flicker of the fire, the coffee-pot was emptied into the waves. and they were off again, climbing up--up--up the long rise of the hills. the way home always seemed twice the way out, but susan found it a soothing, comforting experience to-day. the sun went behind a cloud; cows filed into the ranch gates for milking; a fine fog blew up from the sea. "wonderful day, anna!" susan said. the two were alone together again. "these walks do make you over," anna's bright face clouded a little as she turned to look down the long road they had come. "it's all so beautiful, sue," she said, slowly, "and the spring is so beautiful, and books and music and fires are so beautiful. why aren't they enough? nobody can take those things away from us!" "i know," susan said briefly, comprehending. "but we set our hearts on some silly thing not worth one of these fogs," anna mused, "and nothing but that one thing seems to count!" "i know," susan said again. she thought of peter coleman. "there's a doctor at the hospital," anna said suddenly. "a german, doctor hoffman. of course i'm only one of twenty girls to him, now. but i've often thought that if i had pretty gowns, and the sort of home,--you know what i mean, sue! to which one could ask that type of really distinguished man---" "well, look at my case---" began susan. it was almost dark when the seven stormed the home kitchen, tired, chilly, happy, ravenous. here they found mrs. carroll, ready to serve the big pot-roast and the squares of yellow cornbread, and to have betsey and billy burn their fingers trying to get baked sweet potatoes out of the oven. and here, straddling a kitchen chair, and noisily joyous as usual, was peter coleman. susan knew in a happy instant that he had gone to find her at her aunt's, and had followed her here, and during the meal that followed, she was the maddest of all the mad crowd. after dinner they had josephine's violin, and coaxed betsey to recite, but more appreciated than either was miss brown's rendition of selections from german and italian opera, and her impersonation of an inexperienced servant from erin's green isle. mrs. carroll laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks, as indeed they all did. the evening ended with songs about the old piano, "loch lomond," "love's old sweet song," and "asthore." then susan and peter and billy must run for their hats and wraps. "and peter thinks there's money in my window-washer!" said mrs. carroll, when they were all loitering in the doorway, while betts hunted for the new time-table. "mother's invention" was a standing joke with the young carrolls, but their mother had a serene belief that some day something might be done with the little contrivance she had thought of some years ago, by which the largest of windows might be washed outside as easily as inside. "i believe i really thought of it by seeing poor maids washing fifth-story windows by sitting on the sill and tipping out!" she confessed one day to susan. now she had been deeply pleased by peter's casual interest in it. "peter says that there's no reason---" she began. "oh, mother!" josephine laughed indulgently, as she stood with her arm about her mother's waist, and her bright cheek against her mother's shoulder, "you've not been taking peter seriously!" "jo, when i ask you to take me seriously, it'll be time for you to get so fresh!" said peter neatly. "your mother is the lady edison of the pacific coast, and don't you forget it! i'm going to talk to some men at the shop about this thing---" "say, if you do, i'll make some blue prints," billy volunteered. "you're on!" agreed mr. coleman. "you wouldn't want to market this yourself, mrs. carroll?" "well--no, i don't think so. no, i'm sure i wouldn't! i'd rather sell it for a lump sum---" "to be not less than three dollars," laughed phil. "less than three hundred, you mean!" said the interested peter. "three hundred!" mrs. carroll exclaimed. "do you suppose so?" "why, i don't know--but i can find out" the trio, running for their boat, left the little family rather excited, for the first time, over the window-cleaner. "but, peter, is there really something in it?" asked susan, on the boat. "well,--there might be. anyway, it seemed a good chance to give them a lift, don't you know?" he said, with his ingenuous blush. susan loved him for the generous impulse. she had sometimes fancied him a little indifferent to the sufferings of the less fortunate, proof of the contrary warmed her to the very heart! she had been distressed one day to hear him gaily telling george banks, the salesman who was coughing himself to death despite the frantic care of his wife, a story of a consumptive, and, on another occasion, when a shawled, shabby woman had come up to them in the street, with the whined story of five little hungry children, susan had been shocked to hear peter say, with his irrepressible gaiety, "well, here! here's five cents; that's a cent apiece! now mind you don't waste it!" she told herself to-night that these things proved no more than want of thought. there was nothing wrong with the heart that could plan so tactfully for mrs. carroll. on the following saturday susan had the unexpected experience of shopping with mrs. lancaster and georgie for the latter's trousseau. it was unlike any shopping that they had ever done before, inasmuch as the doctor's unclaimed bride had received from her lord the sum of three hundred dollars for the purpose. georgie denied firmly that she was going to start with her husband for the convention at del monte that evening, but she went shopping nevertheless. perhaps she could not really resist the lure of the shining heap of gold pieces. she became deeply excited and charmed over the buying of the pretty tailor-made, the silk house dresses, the hat and shoes and linen. georgie began to play the bride, was prettily indignant with clerks, pouted at silks and velvets. susan did not miss her cousin's bright blush when certain things, a linen suit, underlinen, a waist or two, were taken from the mass of things to be sent, and put into georgie's suitcase. "and you're to have a silk waist, ma, i insist." "now, baby love, this is your shopping. and, more than that, i really need a pair of good corsets before i try on waists!" "then you'll have both!" mrs. lancaster laughed helplessly as the bride carried her point. at six o'clock the three met the doctor at the vienna bakery, for tea, and georgie, quite lofty in her attitude when only her mother and cousin were to be impressed, seemed suddenly to lose her powers of speech. she answered the doctor's outline of his plans only by monosyllables. "yes," "all right," "that's nice, joe." her face was burning red. "but ma--ma and i--and sue, too, don't you, sue?" she stammered presently. "we think--and don't you think it would be as well, yourself, joe, if i went back with ma to-night---" susan, anxiously looking toward the doctor, at this, felt a little thrill run over her whole body at the sudden glimpse of the confident male she had in his reply,--or rather, lack of reply. for, after a vague, absent glance at georgie, he took a time-table out of his pocket, and addressed his mother-in-law. "we'll be back next sunday, mrs. lancaster. but don't worry if you don't hear from georgie that day, for we may be late, and mother won't naturally want us to run off the moment we get home. but on monday georgie can go over, if she wants to. perhaps i'll drive her over, if i can." "he was the coolest---!" susan said, half-annoyed, half-admiring, to mary lou, late that night. the boarding-house had been pleasantly fluttered by the departure of the bride, mrs. lancaster, in spite of herself, had enjoyed the little distinction of being that personage's mother. "well, she'll be back again in a week!" virginia, missing her sister, sighed. "back, yes," mrs. lancaster admitted, "but not quite the same, dear!" georgie, whatever her husband, whatever the circumstances of her marriage, was nearer her mother than any of the others now. as a wife, she was admitted to the company of wives. susan spent the evening in innocently amorous dreams, over her game of patience. what a wonderful thing, if one loved a man, to fare forth into the world with him as his wife!---- "i have about as much chance with joe carroll as a dead rat," said billy suddenly. he was busied with his draughting board and the little box of draughts-man's instruments that susan always found fascinating, and had been scowling and puffing over his work. "why?" susan asked, laughing outright. "oh, she's so darn busy!" billy said, and returned to his work. susan pondered it. she wished she were so "darned" busy that peter coleman might have to scheme and plan to see her. "that's why men's love affairs are considered so comparatively unimportant, i suppose," she submitted presently. "men are so busy!" billy paid no attention to the generality, and susan pursued it no further. but after awhile she interrupted him again, this time in rather an odd tone. "billy, i want to ask you something---" "ask away," said billy, giving her one somewhat startled glance. susan did not speak immediately, and he did not hurry her. a few silent minutes passed before she laid a card carefully in place, studied it with her head on one side, and said casually, in rather a husky voice: "billy, if a man takes a girl everywhere, and gives her things, and seems to want to be with her all the time, he's in love with her, isn't he?" billy, apparently absorbed in what he was doing, cleared his throat before he answered carelessly: "well, it might depend, sue. when a man in my position does it, a girl knows gosh darn well that if i spend my good hard money on her i mean business!" "but--it mightn't be so--with a rich man?" hazarded susan bravely. "why, i don't know, sue." an embarrassed red had crept into william's cheeks. "of course, if a fellow kissed her---" "oh, heavens!" cried susan, scarlet in turn, "he never did anything like that!" "didn't, hey?" william looked blank. "oh, never!" susan said, meeting his look bravely. "he's--he's too much of a gentleman, bill!" "perhaps that's being a gentleman, and perhaps it's not," said billy, scowling. "he--but he--he makes love to you, doesn't he?" the crude phrase was the best he could master in this delicate matter. "i don't--i don't know!" said susan, laughing, but with flaming cheeks. "that's it! he--he isn't sentimental. i don't believe he ever would be, it's not his nature. he doesn't take anything very seriously, you know. we talk all the time, but not about really serious things." it sounded a little lame. susan halted. "of course, coleman's a perfectly decent fellow---" billy began, with brotherly uneasiness. "oh, absolutely!" susan could laugh, in her perfect confidence. "he acts exactly as if i were his sister, or another boy. he never even--put his arm about me," she explained, "and i--i don't know just what he does mean---" "sure," said billy, thoughtfully. "of course, there's no reason why a man and a girl can't be good friends just as two men would," susan said, more lightly, after a pause. "oh, yes there is! don't you fool yourself!" billy said, gloomily. "that's all rot!" "well, a girl can't stay moping in the house until a man comes along and says, 'if i take you to the theater it means i want to marry you!'" susan declared with spirit. "i--i can't very well turn to peter now and say, 'this ends everything, unless you are in earnest!'" her distress, her earnestness, her eagerness for his opinion, had carried her quite out of herself. she rested her face in her hands, and fixed her anxious eyes upon him. "well, here's the way i figure it out," billy said, deliberately, drawing his pencil slowly along the edge of his t-square, and squinting at it absorbedly, "coleman has a crush on you, all right, and he'd rather be with you than anyone else---" "yes," nodded susan. "i know that, because---" "well. but you see you're so fixed that you can't entertain him here, sue, and you don't run in his crowd, so when he wants to see you he has to go out of his way to do it. so his rushing you doesn't mean as much as it otherwise would." "i suppose that's true," susan said, with a sinking heart. "the chances are that he doesn't want to get married at all yet," pursued billy, mercilessly, "and he thinks that if he gives you a good time, and doesn't--doesn't go any further, that he's playing fair." "that's what i think," susan said, fighting a sensation of sickness. her heart was a cold weight, she hoped that she was not going to cry. "but all the same, sue," billy resumed more briskly, "you can see that it wouldn't take much to bring an affair like that to a finish. coleman's rich, he can marry if he pleases, and he wants what he wants---you couldn't just stop short, i suppose? you couldn't simply turn down all his invitations, and refuse everything?" he broke off to ask. "billy, how could i? right in the next office!" "well, that's an advantage, in a way. it keeps the things in his mind. either way, you're no worse off for stopping everything now, sue. if he's in earnest, he'll not be put off by that, and if he's not, you save yourself from--from perhaps beginning to care." susan could have kissed the top of billy's rumpled head for the tactful close. she had thrown her pride to the winds to-night, but she loved him for remembering it. "but he would think that i cared!" she objected. "let him! that won't hurt you. simply say that your aunt disapproves of your being so much with him, and stop short." billy went on working, and susan shuffled her pack for a new game. "thank you, bill," she said at last, gratefully. "i'm glad i told you." "oh, that's all right!" said william, gruffly. there was a silence until mary lou came in, to rip up her old velvet hat, and speculate upon the clangers of a trip to virginia city. chapter vii life presented itself in a new aspect to susan brown. a hundred little events and influences combining had made it seem to her less a grab-bag, from which one drew good or bad at haphazard, and more a rational problem, to be worked out with arbitrarily supplied materials. she might not make herself either rich or famous, but she could,--she began dimly to perceive,--eliminate certain things from her life and put others in their places. the race was not to the swift, but to the faithful. what other people had done, she, by following the old copybook rules of the honest policy, the early rising, the power of knowledge, the infinite capacity of taking pains that was genius, could do, too. she had been the toy of chance too long. she would grasp chance, now, and make it serve her. the perseverance that anna brought to her hospital work, that josephine exercised in her studies, susan, lacking a gift, lacking special training, would seriously devote to the business of getting married. girls did marry. she would presumably marry some day, and peter coleman would marry. why not, having advanced a long way in this direction, to each other? there was, in fact, no alternative in her case. she knew no other eligible man half as well. if peter coleman went out of her life, what remained? a somewhat insecure position in a wholesale drug-house, at forty dollars a month, and half a third-story bedroom in a boarding-house. susan was not a calculating person. she knew that peter coleman liked her immensely, and that he could love her deeply, too. she knew that her feeling for him was only held from an extreme by an inherited feminine instinct of self-preservation. marriage, and especially this marriage, meant to her a great many pleasant things, a splendid, lovable man with whom to share life, a big home to manage and delight in, a conspicuous place in society, and one that she knew that she could fill gracefully and well. marriage meant children, dear little white-clad sons, with sturdy bare knees, and tiny daughters half-smothered in lace and ribbons; it meant power, power to do good, to develop her own gifts; it meant, above all, a solution of the problems of her youth. no more speculations, no more vagaries, safely anchored, happily absorbed in normal cares and pleasures, susan could rest on her laurels, and look about her in placid content! no more serious thought assailed her. other thoughts than these were not "nice." susan safe-guarded her wandering fancies as sternly as she did herself, would as quickly have let peter, or any other man, kiss her, as to have dreamed of the fundamental and essential elements of marriage. these, said auntie, "came later." susan was quite content to ignore them. that the questions that "came later" might ruin her life or unmake her compact, she did not know. at this point it might have made no difference in her attitude. her affection for peter was quite as fresh and pure as her feeling for a particularly beloved brother would have been. "you're dated three-deep for thursday night, i presume?" "peter--how you do creep up behind one!" susan turned, on the deck, to face him laughingly. "what did you say?" "i said--but where are you going?" "upstairs to lunch. where did you think?" susan exhibited the little package in her hand. "do i look like a person about to go to a browning cotillion, or to take a dip in the pacific?" "no," gurgled peter, "but i was wishing we could lunch together. however, i'm dated with hunter. but what about thursday night?" "thursday." susan reflected. "peter, i can't!" "all foolishness. you can." "no, honestly! georgie and joe are coming. the first time." "oh, but you don't have to be there!" "oh, but yes i do!" "well---" mr. coleman picked a limp rubber bathing cap from the top of a case, and distended it on two well-groomed hands. "well, evangeline, how's sat.? the great american pay-day!" "busy saturday, too. too bad. i'm sorry, peter." "woman, you lie!" "of course you can insult me, sir. i'm only a working girl!" "no, but who have you got a date with?" peter said curiously. "you're blushing like mad! you're not engaged at all!" "yes, i am. truly. lydia lord is taking the civil service examinations; she wants to get a position in the public library. and i promised that i'd take mary's dinner up and sit with her." "oh, shucks! you could get out of that! however----i'll tell you what, susan. i was going off with russ on sunday, but i'll get out of it, and we'll go see guard mount at the presidio, and have tea with aunt clara, what?" "i don't believe they have guard mount on sundays." "well, then we'll go feed the gold-fish in the japanese gardens,--they eat on sundays, the poor things! nobody ever converted them." "honestly, peter---" "look here, susan!" he exclaimed, suddenly aroused. "are you trying to throw me down? well, of all gall!" susan's heart began to thump. "no, of course i'm not!" "well, then, shall i get tickets for monday night?" "not monday." "look here, susan! somebody's been stuffing you, i can see it! was it auntie? come on, now, what's the matter, all of a sudden?" "there's nothing sudden about it," susan said, with dignity, "but auntie does think that i go about with you a good deal---" peter was silent. susan, stealing a glance at his face, saw that it was very red. "oh, i love that! i'm crazy about it!" he said, grinning. then, with sudden masterfulness, "that's all rot! i'm coming for you on sunday, and we'll go feed the fishes!" and he was gone. susan ate her lunch very thoughtfully, satisfied on the whole with the first application of the new plan. on sunday afternoon mr. coleman duly presented himself at the boarding-house, but he was accompanied by miss fox, to whom susan, who saw her occasionally at the saunders', had taken a vague dislike, and by a mr. horace carter, fat, sleepy, and slightly bald at twenty-six. "i brought 'em along to pacify auntie," said peter on the car. susan made a little grimace. "you don't like con? oh, she's loads of sport!" he assured her. "and you'll like carter, too, he's loads of fun!" but susan liked nobody and nothing that day. it was a failure from beginning to end. the sky was overcast, gloomy. not a leaf stirred on the dripping trees, in the silent park, fog filled all the little canons. there were very few children on the merry-go-rounds, or in the swings, and very few pleasure-seekers in the museum and the conservatories. miss fox was quite comfortable in white furs, but susan felt chilly. she tried to strike a human spark from mr. carter, but failed. attempts at a general conversation also fell flat. they listened to the band for a little while, but it was too cold to sit still very long, and when peter proposed tea at the occidental, susan visibly brightened. but the shamed color rose in her face when miss fox languidly assured him that if he wanted her mother to scalp her, well and good; if not, he would please not mention tea downtown. she added that mama was having a tea herself to-day, or she would ask them all to come home with her. this put susan in an uncomfortable position of which she had to make the best. "if it wasn't for an assorted bunch of boarders," said susan, "i would ask you all to our house." miss fox eyed her curiously a moment, then spoke to peter. "well, do let's do something, peter! let's go to the japanese garden." to the japanese garden they went, for a most unsatisfactory tea. miss fox, it appeared, had been to japan,--"with dolly ripley, peter," said she, carelessly mentioning the greatest of california's heiresses, and she delighted the little bowing, smiling tea-woman with a few words in her native tongue. susan admired this accomplishment, with the others, as she drank the tasteless fluid from tiny bowls. only four o'clock! what an endless afternoon it had been! peter took her home, and they chatted on the steps gaily enough, in the winter twilight. but susan cried herself to sleep that night. this first departure from her rule had proven humiliating and disastrous; she determined not to depart from it again. georgie and the doctor came to the house for the one o'clock christmas dinner, the doctor instantly antagonizing his wife's family by the remark that his mother always had her christmas dinner at night, and had "consented" to their coming, on condition that they come home again early in the afternoon. however, it was delightful to have georgie back again, and the cousins talked and laughed together for an hour, in mary lou's room. almost the first question from the bride was of susan's love-affair, and what peter's christmas gift had been. "it hasn't come yet, so i don't know myself!" susan said readily. but that evening, when georgie was gone and her aunt and cousins were at church, she sat down to write to peter. my dear peter (wrote susan): this is a perfectly exquisite pin, and you are a dear to have remembered my admiring a pearl crescent months ago. i never saw a pin that i liked better, but it's far too handsome a gift for me to keep. i haven't even dared show it to auntie and the girls! i am sending it back to you, though i hate to let it go, and thank you a thousand times. always affectionately yours, susan brown. peter answered immediately from the country house where he was spending the holidays. susan read his letter in the office, two days after christmas. dear pansy irene: i see auntie's fine italian hand in this! you wait till your father gets home, i'll learn you to sass back! tell mrs. lancaster that it's an imitation and came in a box of lemon drops, and put it on this instant! the more you wear the better, this cold weather! i've got the bulliest terrier ever, from george. show him to you next week. peter. frowning thoughtfully, her eyes still on the scribbled half-sheet, susan sat down at her desk, and reached for paper and pen. she wrote readily, and sent the letter out at once by the office boy. dear peter: please don't make any more fuss about the pin. i can't accept it, and that's all there is to it. the candy was quite enough--i thought you were going to send me books. hadn't you better change your mind and send me a book? as ever, s. b. to which peter, after a week's interval, answered briefly: dear susan: this fuss about the pin gives me a pain. i gave a dozen gifts handsomer than that, and nobody else seems to be kicking. be a good girl, and love the giver. peter. this ended the correspondence. susan put the pin away in the back of her bureau-drawer, and tried not to think about the matter. january was cold and dark. life seemed to be made to match. susan caught cold from a worn-out overshoe, and spent an afternoon and a day in bed, enjoying the rest from her aching head to her tired feet, but protesting against each one of the twenty trips that mary lou made up and downstairs for her comfort. she went back to the office on the third day, but felt sick and miserable for a long time and gained strength slowly. one rainy day, when peter coleman was alone in mr. brauer's office, she took the little jeweler's box in and laid it beside him on the desk. "this is all darn foolishness!" peter said, really annoyed. "well---" susan shrugged wearily, "it's the way i feel about it." "i thought you were more of a sport!" he said impatiently, holding the box as if he did not quite know what to do with it. "perhaps i'm not," susan said quietly. she felt as if the world were slowly, dismally coming to an end, but she stood her ground. an awkward silence ensued. peter slipped the little box into his pocket. they were both standing at his high desk, resting their elbows upon it, and half-turned, so that they faced each other. "well," he said, discontentedly, "i've got to give you something or other for christmas. what'll it be?" "nothing at all, peter," susan protested, "just don't say anything more about it!" he meditated, scowling. "are you dated for to-morrow night?" he asked. "yes," susan said simply. the absence of explanation was extremely significant. "so you're not going out with me any more?" he asked, after a pause. "not--for awhile," susan agreed, with a little difficulty. she felt a horrible inclination to cry. "well, gosh, i hope somebody is pleased at the trouble she has made!" peter burst out angrily. "if you mean auntie, peter," indignation dried susan's tears, "you are quite mistaken! anyway, she would be quite right not to want me to accept expensive gifts from a man whose position is so different from my own---" "rot!" said peter, flushing, "that sounds like servants' talk!" "well, of course i know it is nonsense---" susan began. and, despite her utmost effort, two tears slipped down her cheeks. "and if we were engaged it would be all right, is that it?" peter said, after an embarrassed pause. "yes, but i don't want you to think for one instant---" susan began, with flaming cheeks. "i wish to the lord people would mind their own business," peter said vexedly. there was a pause. then he added, cheerfully, "tell 'em we're engaged then, that'll shut 'em up!" the world rocked for susan. "oh, but peter, we can't--it wouldn't be true!" "why wouldn't it be true?" he demanded, perversely. "because we aren't!" persisted susan, rubbing an old blot on the desk with a damp forefinger. "i thought one day we said that when i was forty-five and you were forty-one we were going to get married?" peter presently reminded her, half in earnest, half irritated. "d-d-did we?" stammered susan, smiling up at him through a mist of tears. "sure we did. we said we were going to start a stock-ranch, and raise racers, don't you remember?" a faint recollection of the old joke came to her. "well, then, are we to let people know that in twenty years we intend to be married?" she asked, laughing uncertainly. peter gave his delighted shout of amusement. the conversation had returned to familiar channels. "lord, don't tell anyone! we'll know it, that's enough!" he said. that was all. there was no chance for sentiment, they could not even clasp hands, here in the office. susan, back at her desk, tried to remember exactly what had been said and implied. "peter, i'll have to tell auntie!" she had exclaimed. peter had not objected, had not answered indeed. "i'll have to take my time about telling my aunt," he had said, "but there's time enough! see here, susan, i'm dated with barney white in berkeley to-night--is that all right?" "surely!" susan had assured him laughingly. "you see," peter had explained, "it'll be a very deuce of a time before we'll want everyone to know. there's any number of things to do. so perhaps it's just as well if people don't suspect---" "peter, how extremely like you not to care what people think as long as we're not engaged, and not to want them to suspect it when we are!" susan could say, smiling above the deep hurt in her heart. and peter laughed cheerfully again. then mr. brauer came in, and susan went back to her desk, brain and heart in a whirl. but presently one fact disengaged itself from a mist of doubts and misgivings, hopes and terrors. she and peter were engaged to be married! what if vows and protestations, plans and confidences were still all to come, what if the very first kiss was still to come? the essential thing remained; they were engaged, the question was settled at last. peter was not, at this time, quite the ideal lover. but in what was he ever conventional; when did he ever do the expected thing? no; she would gain so much more than any other woman ever had gained by her marriage, she would so soon enter on a life that would make these days seem only a troubled dream, that she could well afford to dispense with some of the things her romantic nature half expected now. it might not be quite comprehensible in him, but it was certainly a convenience for her that he seemed to so dread an announcement just now. she must have some gowns for the entertainments that would be given them; she must have some money saved for trousseau; she must arrange a little tea at home, when, the boarders being eliminated, peter could come to meet a few of the very special old friends. these things took time. susan spent the dreamy, happy afternoon in desultory planning. peter went out at three o'clock with barney white, looking in to nod susan a smiling good-by. susan returned to her dreams, determined that she would find the new bond as easy or as heavy as he chose to make it. she had only to wait, and fate would bring this wonderful thing her way; it would be quite like peter to want to do the thing suddenly, before long, summon his aunt and uncle, her aunt and cousins, and announce the wedding and engagement to the world at once. lost in happy dreams, she did not see thorny watching her, or catch the intense, wistful look with which mr. brauer so often followed her. susan had a large share of the young german's own dreams just now, a demure little susan in a checked gingham apron, tasting jelly on a vine-shaded porch, or basting a chicken in a sunny kitchen, or pouring her lord's coffee from a shining pot. the dream susan's hair was irreproachably neat, she wore shining little house-slippers, and she always laughed out,--the ringing peal of bells that henry brauer had once heard in the real susan's laugh,--when her husband teased her about her old fancy for peter coleman. and the dream susan was the happy mother of at least five little girls--all girls!--a little susan that was called "sanna," and an adelaide for the gross-mutter in the old country, and a henrietta for himself---- clean and strong and good, well-born and ambitious, gentle, and full of the love of books and music and flowers and children, here was a mate at whose side susan might have climbed to the very summit of her dreams. but she never fairly looked at mr. brauer, and after a few years his plump dark little dumpling of a cousin linda came from bremen to teach music in the western city, and to adore clever cousin heinrich, and then it was time to hunt for the sunny kitchen and buy the shining coffee-pot and change little sanna's name to linchen. for susan was engaged to peter coleman! she went home on this particular evening to find a great box of american beauty roses waiting for her, and a smaller box with them--the pearl crescent again! what could the happy susan do but pin on a rose with the crescent, her own cheeks two roses, and go singing down to dinner? "lovey, auntie doesn't like to see you wearing a pin like that!" mrs. lancaster said, noticing it with troubled eyes. "didn't peter send it to you?" "yes'm," said susan, dimpling, as she kissed the older woman. "don't you know that a man has no respect for a girl who doesn't keep him a little at a distance, dear?" "oh,--is--that--so!" susan spun her aunt about, in a mad reel. "susan!" gasped mrs. lancaster. her voice changed, she caught the girl by the shoulders, and looked into the radiant face. "susan?" she asked. "my child---!" and susan strangled her with a hug, and whispered, "yes--yes--yes! but don't you dare tell anyone!" poor mrs. lancaster was quite unable to tell anyone anything for a few moments. she sat down in her place, mechanically returning the evening greetings of her guests. her handsome, florid face was quite pale. the soup came on and she roused herself to serve it; dinner went its usual way. but going upstairs after dinner, mary lou, informed of the great event in some mysterious way, gave susan's waist a girlish squeeze and said joyously, "ma had to tell me, sue! i am so glad!" and virginia, sitting with bandaged eyes in a darkened room, held out both hands to her cousin, later in the evening, and said, "god bless our dear little girl!" billy knew it too, for the next morning he gave susan one of his shattering hand-grasps and muttered that he was "darned glad, and coleman was darned lucky," and georgie, who was feeling a little better than usual, though still pale and limp, came in to rejoice and exclaim later in the day, a sunday. all of this made susan vaguely uneasy. it was true, of course, and yet somehow it was all too new, too strange to be taken quite happily as a matter of course. she could only smile when mary lou assured her that she must keep a little carriage; when virginia sighed, "to think of the good that you can do"; when georgie warned her against living with the old people. "it's awful, take my word for it!" said georgie, her hat laid aside, her coat loosened, very much enjoying a cup of tea in the dining-room. young mrs. o'connor did not grow any closer to her husband's mother. but it was to be noticed that toward her husband himself her attitude was changed. joe was altogether too smart to be cooped up there in the mission, it appeared; joe was working much too hard, and yet he carried her breakfast upstairs to her every morning; joe was an angel with his mother. "i wish--of course you can explain to peter now--but i wish that i could give you a little engagement tea," said georgie, very much the matron. "oh, surely!" susan hastened to reassure her. nothing could have been less to her liking than any festivity involving the o'connors just now. susan had dined at the gloomy mission street house once, and retained a depressing memory of the dark, long parlor, with only one shutter opened in the bay window, the grim elderly hostess, in mourning, who watched georgie incessantly, the hard-faced elderly maid, so obviously in league with her mistress against the new-comer, and the dinner that progressed from a thick, sad-looking soup to a firm, cold apple pie. there had been an altercation between the doctor and his mother on the occasion of susan's visit because there had been no fire laid in georgie's big, cold, upstairs bedroom. susan, remembering all this, could very readily excuse georgie from the exercise of any hospitality whatever. "don't give it another thought, georgie!" said she. "there'll be entertaining enough, soon!" said mary lou. "but we aren't going to announce it for ever so long!" susan said. "please, please don't tell anyone else, auntie!" she besought over and over again. "my darling, not for the world! i can perfectly appreciate the delicacy of feeling that makes you wish to leave all that to peter! and who knows? only ourselves, and billy, who is as close to you as a dear brother could be, and joe---" "oh, is georgie going to tell joe?" susan asked, dismayed. "well, now, perhaps she won't," mrs. lancaster said soothingly. "and i think you will find that a certain young gentleman is only too anxious to tell his friends what a lovely girl he has won!" finished auntie archly. susan was somehow wretchedly certain that she would find nothing of the kind. as a matter of fact, it chanced to be a week when she had no engagements made with peter, and two days went by--three--and still she did not hear from him. by thursday she was acutely miserable. he was evidently purposely avoiding her. susan had been sleeping badly for several nights, she felt feverish with anxiety and uncertainty. on thursday, when the girls filed out of the office at noon, she kept her seat, for peter was in the small office and she felt as if she must have a talk with him or die. she heard him come into front office the moment she was alone, and began to fuss with her desk without raising her eyes. "hello!" said peter, sitting on a corner of the desk. "i've been terribly busy with the gerald theatricals, and that's why you haven't seen me. i promised mary gerald two months ago that i'd be in 'em, but by george! she's leaving the whole darn thing to me! how are you?" so gay, so big, so infinitely dear! susan's doubts melted like mist. she only wanted not to make him angry. "i've been wondering where you were," she said mildly. "and a little bit mad in spots?" queried peter. "well---" susan took firm grip of her courage. "after our little talk on saturday," she reminded him, smilingly. "sure," said peter. and after a moment, thoughtfully staring down at the desk, he added again rather heavily, "sure." "i told my aunt--i had to," said susan then. "well, that's all right," peter responded, after a perceptible pause. "nobody else knows?" "oh, nobody!" susan answered, her heart fluttering nervously at his tone, and her courage suddenly failing. "and auntie will keep mum, of course," he said thoughtfully. "it would be so deuced awkward, susan," he began. "oh, i know it!" she said eagerly. it seemed so much, after the unhappy apprehensions of the few days past, to have him acknowledge the engagement, to have him only concerned that it should not be prematurely made known! "can't we have dinner together this evening, sue? and go see that man at the orpheum,--they say he's a wonder!" "why, yes, we could. peter,---" susan made a brave resolution. "peter, couldn't you dine with us, at auntie's, i mean?" "why, yes, i could," he said hesitatingly. but the moment had given susan time to reconsider the impulsively given invitation. for a dozen reasons she did not want to take peter home with her to-night. the single one that the girls and auntie would be quite unable to conceal the fact that they knew of her engagement was enough. so when peter said regretfully, "but i thought we'd have more fun alone! telephone your aunt and ask her if we can't have a pious little dinner at the palace, or at the occidental--we'll not see anybody there!" susan was only too glad to agree. auntie of course consented, a little lenience was permissible now. "... but not supper afterwards, dear," said auntie. "if peter teases, tell him that he will have you to himself soon enough! and sue," she added, with a hint of reproach in her voice, "remember that we expect to see peter out here very soon. of course it's not as if your mother was alive, dear, i know that! still, even an old auntie has some claim!" "well, auntie, darling," said susan, very low, "i asked him to dinner to-night. and then it occurred to me, don't you know?---that it might be better---" "gracious me, don't think of bringing him out here that way!" ejaculated mrs. lancaster. "no, indeed. you're quite right. but arrange it for very soon, sue." "oh, surely i will!" susan said, relievedly. after an afternoon of happy anticipation it was a little disappointing to find that she and peter were not to be alone, a gentle, pretty miss hall and her very charming brother were added to the party when peter met susan at six o'clock. "friends of aunt clara's," peter explained to susan. "i had to!" susan, liking the halls, sensibly made the best of them. she let miss katharine monopolize peter, and did her best to amuse sam. she was in high spirits at dinner, laughed, and kept the others laughing, during the play,--for the plan had been changed for these guests, and afterwards was so amusing and gay at the little supper party that peter was his most admiring self all the way home. but susan went to bed with a baffled aching in her heart. this was not being engaged,--something was wrong. she did not see peter on friday; caught only a glimpse of him on saturday, and on sunday learned, from one of the newspapers, that "mr. peter coleman, who was to have a prominent part in the theatricals to take place at mrs. newton gerald's home next week, would probably accompany mr. forrest gerald on a trip to the orient in february, to be gone for some months." susan folded the paper, and sat staring blankly ahead of her for a long time. then she went to the telephone, and, half stunned by the violent beating of her heart, called for the baxter residence. burns answered. mr. coleman had gone out about an hour ago with mr. white. burns did not know where. mr. coleman would be back for a seven o'clock dinner. certainly, burns would ask him to telephone at once to miss brown. excited, troubled, and yet not definitely apprehensive, susan dressed herself very prettily, and went out into the clear, crisp sunshine. she decided suddenly to go and see georgie. she would come home early, hear from peter, perhaps dine with him and his uncle and aunt. and, when she saw him, she would tell him, in the jolliest and sweetest way, that he must make his plans to have their engagement announced at once. any other course was unfair to her, to him, to his friends. if peter objected, susan would assume an offended air. that would subdue him instantly. or, if it did not, they might quarrel, and susan liked the definiteness of a quarrel. she must force this thing to a conclusion one way or the other now, her own dignity demanded it. as for peter, his own choice was as limited as hers. he must agree to the announcement,--and after all, why shouldn't he agree to it?--or he must give susan up, once and for all. susan smiled. he wouldn't do that! it was a delightful day. the cars were filled with holiday-makers, and through the pleasant sunshine of the streets young parents were guiding white-coated toddlers, and beautifully dressed little girls were wheeling dolls. susan found georgie moping alone in the big, dark, ugly house; aggie was out, and dr. o'connor and his mother were making their annual pilgrimage to the grave of their husband and father. the cousins prepared supper together, in aggie's exquisitely neat kitchen, not that this was really necessary, but because the kitchen was so warm and pleasant. the kettle was ticking on the back of the range, a scoured empty milk-pan awaited the milk-man. susan contrasted her bright prospects with her cousin's dull lot, even while she cheerfully scolded georgie for being so depressed and lachrymose. they fell to talking of marriage, georgie's recent one, susan's approaching one. the wife gave delicate hints, the wife-to-be revealed far more of her secret soul than she had ever dreamed of revealing. georgie sat, idly clasping the hands on which the wedding-ring had grown loose, susan turned and reversed the wheels of a dover egg-beater. "marriage is such a mystery, before you're into it," georgie said. "but once you're married, why, you feel as if you could attract any man in the world. no more bashfulness, sue, no more uncertainty. you treat men exactly as you would girls, and of course they like it!" susan pondered this going home. she thought she knew how to apply it to her attitude toward peter. peter had not telephoned. susan, quietly determined to treat him, or attempt to treat him, with at least the frank protest she would have shown to another girl, telephoned to the baxter house at once. mr. coleman was not yet at home. some of her resolution crumbled. it was very hard to settle down, after supper, to an evening of solitaire. in these quiet hours, susan felt less confident of peter's attitude when she announced her ultimatum; felt that she must not jeopardize their friendship now, must run no risks. she had worked herself into a despondent and discouraged frame of mind when the telephone rang, at ten o'clock. it was peter. "hello, sue!" said peter gaily. "i'm just in. burns said that you telephoned." "burns said no more than the truth," said susan. it was the old note of levity, anything but natural to to-night's mood and the matter in hand. but it was what peter expected and liked. she heard him laugh with his usual gaiety. "yes, he's a truthful little soul. he takes after me. what was it?" susan made a wry mouth in the dark. "nothing at all," she said, "i just telephoned--i thought we might go out somewhere together." "great heaven, we're engaged!" she reminded her sinking heart, fiercely. "oh, too bad! i was at the gerald's, at one of those darn rehearsals." a silence. "oh, all right!" said susan. a writhing sickness of spirit threatened to engulf her, but her voice was quiet. "i'm sorry, sue," peter said quickly in a lower tone, "i couldn't very well get out of it without having them all suspect. you can see that!" susan knew him so well! he had never had to do anything against his will. he couldn't understand that his engagement entailed any obligations. he merely wanted always to be happy and popular, and have everyone else happy and popular, too. "and what about this trip to japan with mr. gerald?" she asked. there was another silence. then peter said, in an annoyed tone: "oh, lord, that would probably be for a month, or six weeks at the outside!" "i see," said susan tonelessly. "i've got forrest here with me to-night," said peter, apropos of nothing. "oh, then i won't keep you!" susan said. "well," he laughed, "don't be so polite about it!--i'll see you to-morrow?" "surely," susan said. "good-night." "over the reservoir!" he said, and she hung up her receiver. she did not sleep that night. excitement, anger, shame kept her wakeful and tossing, hour after hour. susan's head ached, her face burned, her thoughts were in a mad whirl. what to do--what to do--what to do----! how to get out of this tangle; where to go to begin again, away from these people who knew her and loved her, and would drive her mad with their sympathy and curiosity! the clock struck three--four--five. at five o'clock susan, suddenly realizing her own loneliness and loss, burst into bitter crying and after that she slept. the next day, from the office, she wrote to peter coleman: my dear peter: i am beginning to think that our little talk in the office a week ago was a mistake, and that you think so. i don't say anything of my own feelings; you know them. i want to ask you honestly to tell me of yours. things cannot go on this way. affectionately, susan. this was on monday. on tuesday the papers recorded everywhere mr. peter coleman's remarkable success in mrs. newton gerald's private theatricals. on wednesday susan found a letter from him on her desk, in the early afternoon, scribbled on the handsome stationery of his club. my dear susan: i shall always think that you are the bulliest girl i ever knew, and if you throw me down on that arrangement for our old age i shall certainly slap you on the wrist. but i know you will think better of it before you are forty-one! what you mean by "things" i don't know. i hope you're not calling me a thing! forrest is pulling my arm off. see you soon. yours as ever, peter. the reading of it gave susan a sensation of physical illness. she felt chilled and weak. how false and selfish and shallow it seemed; had peter always been that? and what was she to do now, to-morrow and the next day and the next? what was she to do this moment, indeed? she felt as if thundering agonies had trampled the very life out of her heart; yet somehow she must look up, somehow face the office, and the curious eyes of the girls. "love-letter, sue?" said thorny, sauntering up with a bill in her hand. "valentine's day, you know!" "no, darling; a bill," answered susan, shutting it in a drawer. she snapped up her light, opened her ledger, and dipped a pen in the ink. part two wealth chapter i the days that followed were so many separate agonies, composed of an infinite number of lesser agonies, for susan. her only consolation, which weakened or strengthened with her moods, was that, inasmuch as this state of affairs was unbearable she would not be expected to bear it. something must happen. or, if nothing happened, she would simply disappear,--go on the stage, accept a position as a traveling governess or companion, run away to one of the big eastern cities where, under an assumed name, she might begin life all over again. hour after hour shame and hurt had their way with her. susan had to face the office, to hide her heart from thorny and the other girls, to be reminded by the empty desk in mr. brauer's office, and by every glimpse she had of old mr. baxter, of the happy dreams she had once dreamed here in this same place. but it was harder far at home. mrs. lancaster alternated between tender moods, when she discussed the whole matter mournfully from beginning to end, and moods of violent rebellion, when everyone but susan was blamed for the bitter disappointment of all their hopes. mary lou compared peter to ferd eastman, to peter's disadvantage. virginia recommended quiet, patient endurance of whatever might be the will of providence. susan hardly knew which attitude humiliated and distressed her most. all her thoughts led her into bitterness now, and she could be distracted only for a brief moment or two from the memories that pressed so close about her heart. ah, if she only had a little money, enough to make possible her running away, or a profession into which she could plunge, and in which she could distinguish herself, or a great talent, or a father who would stand by her and take care of her---- and the bright head would go down on her hands, and the tears have their way. "headache?" thorny would ask, full of sympathy. "oh, splitting!" and susan would openly dry her eyes, and manage to smile. sometimes, in a softer mood, her busy brain straightened the whole matter out. peter, returning from japan, would rush to her with a full explanation. of course he cared for her--he had never thought of anything else--of course he considered that they were engaged! and susan, after keeping him in suspense for a period that even auntie thought too long, would find herself talking to him, scolding, softening, finally laughing, and at last--and for the first time!--in his arms. only a lovers' quarrel; one heard of them continually. something to laugh about and to forget! she took up the old feminine occupation of watching the post, weak with sudden hope when mary lou called up to her, "letter for you on the mantel, sue!" and sick with disappointment over and over again. peter did not write. outwardly the girl went her usual round, perhaps a little thinner and with less laughter, but not noticeably changed. she basted cuffs into her office suit, and cleaned it with benzine, caught up her lunch and umbrella and ran for her car. she lunched and gossiped with thorny and the others, walked uptown at noon to pay a gas-bill, took virginia to the park on sundays to hear the music, or visited the carrolls in sausalito. but inwardly her thoughts were like whirling web. and in its very center was peter coleman. everything that susan did began and ended with the thought of him. she never entered the office without the hope that a fat envelope, covered with his dashing scrawl, lay on the desk. she never thought herself looking well without wishing that she might meet peter that day, or looking ill that she did not fear it. she answered the telephone with a thrilling heart; it might be he! and she browsed over the social columns of the sunday papers, longing and fearing to find his name. all day long and far into the night, her brain was busy with a reconciliation,--excuses, explanations, forgiveness. "perhaps to-day," she said in the foggy mornings. "to-morrow," said her undaunted heart at night. the hope was all that sustained her, and how bitterly it failed her at times only susan knew. before the world she kept a brave face, evading discussion of peter when she could, quietly enduring it when mrs. lancaster's wrath boiled over. but as the weeks went by, and the full wretchedness of the situation impressed itself upon her with quiet force, she sank under an overwhelming sense of wrong and loss. nothing amazing was going to happen. she--who had seemed so free, so independent!--was really as fettered and as helpless as virginia and mary lou. susan felt sometimes as if she should go mad with suppressed feeling. she grew thin, dyspeptic, irritable, working hard, and finding her only relief in work, and reading in bed in the evening. the days slowly pushed her further and further from those happy times when she and peter had been such good friends, had gone about so joyfully together. it was a shock to susan to realize that she had not seen him nor heard from him for a month--for two months--for three. emily saunders was in the hospital for some serious operation, would be there for weeks; ella was abroad. susan felt as if her little glimpse of their world and peter's had been a curious dream. billy played a brother's part toward her now, always ready to take her about with him when he was free, and quite the only person who could spur her to anything like her old vigorous interest in life. they went very often to the carrolls, and there, in the shabby old sitting-room, susan felt happier than she did anywhere else. everybody loved her, loved to have her there, and although they knew, and she knew that they knew, that something had gone very wrong with her, nobody asked questions, and susan felt herself safe and sheltered. there was a shout of joy when she came in with phil and jo from the ferryboat. "mother! here's sue!" betsey would follow the older girls upstairs to chatter while they washed their hands and brushed their hair, and, going down again, susan would get the motherly kiss that followed jo's. later, when the lamp was lit, while betsey and jim wrangled amicably over their game, and philip and jo toiled with piano and violin, susan sat next to mrs. carroll, and while they sewed, or between snatches of reading, they had long, and to the girl at least, memorable talks. it was all sweet and wholesome and happy. susan used to wonder just what made this house different from all other houses, and why she liked to come here so much, to eat the simplest of meals, to wash dishes and brush floors, to rise in the early morning and cross the bay before the time she usually came downstairs at home. of course, they loved her, they laughed at her jokes, they wanted this thing repeated and that repeated, they never said good-by to her without begging her to come again and thought no special occasion complete without her. that affected her, perhaps. or perhaps the carrolls were a little nicer than most people; when susan reached this point in her thoughts she never failed to regret the loss of their money and position. if they had done this in spite of poverty and obscurity, what mightn't they have done with half a chance! in one of the lamplight talks peter was mentioned, in connection with the patent window-washer, and susan learned for the first time that he really had been instrumental in selling the patent for mrs. carroll for the astonishing sum of five hundred dollars! "i begged him to tell me if that wasn't partly from the washer and partly from peter coleman," smiled mrs. carroll, "and he gave me his word of honor that he had really sold it for that! so--there went my doctor's bill, and a comfortable margin in the bank!" she admitted susan into the secret of all her little economies; the roast that, cleverly alternated with one or two small meats, was served from sunday until saturday night, and no one any the worse! susan began to watch the game that mrs. carroll made of her cooking; filling soups for the night that the meat was short, no sweet when the garden supplied a salad, or when susan herself brought over a box of candy. she grew to love the labor that lay behind the touch of the thin, darned linen, the windows that shone with soapsuds, the crisp snowy ruffles of curtains and beds. she and betts liked to keep the house vases filled with what they could find in the storm-battered garden, lifted the flattened chrysanthemums with reverent fingers, hunted out the wet violets. susan abandoned her old idea of the enviable life of a lonely orphan, and began to long for a sister, a tumble-headed brother, for a mother above all. she loved to be included by the young carrolls when they protested, "just ourselves, mother, nobody but the family!" and if phil or jimmy came to her when a coat-button was loose or a sleeve-lining needed a stitch, she was quite pathetically touched. she loved the constant happy noise and confusion in the house, phil and billy oliver tussling in the stair-closet among the overshoes, betts trilling over her bed-making, mrs. carroll and jim replanting primroses with great calling and conference, and she and josephine talking, as they swept the porches, as if they had never had a chance to talk before. sometimes, walking at anna's side to the beach on sunday, a certain peace and content crept into susan's heart, and the deep ache lifted like a curtain, and seemed to show a saner, wider, sweeter region beyond. sometimes, tramping the wet hills, her whole being thrilled to some new note, susan could think serenely of the future, could even be glad of all the past. it was as if life, into whose cold, stern face she had been staring wistfully, had softened to the glimmer of a smile, had laid a hand, so lately used to strike, upon her shoulder in token of good-fellowship. with the good salt air in their faces, and the gray march sky pressing close above the silent circle of the hills about them, she and anna walked many a bracing, tiring mile. now and then they turned and smiled at each other, both young faces brightening. "noisy, aren't we, sue?" "well, the others are making noise enough!" poverty stopped them at every turn, these carrolls. susan saw it perhaps more clearly than they did. a hundred delightful and hospitable plans came into mrs. carroll's mind, only to be dismissed because of the expense involved. she would have liked to entertain, to keep her pretty daughters becomingly and richly dressed; she confided to susan rather wistfully, that she was sorry not to be able to end the evenings with little chafing-dish suppers; "that sort of thing makes home so attractive to growing boys." susan knew what anna's own personal grievance was. "these are the best years of my life," anna said, bitterly, one night, "and every cent of spending money i have is the fifty dollars a year the hospital pays. and even out of that they take breakage, in the laboratory or the wards!" josephine made no secret of her detestation of their necessary economies. "did you know i was asked to the juniors this year?" she said to susan one night. "the juniors! you weren't!" susan echoed incredulously. for the "junior cotillion" was quite the most exclusive and desirable of the city's winter dances for the younger set. "oh, yes, i was. mrs. wallace probably did it," josephine assured her, sighing. "they asked anna last year," she said bitterly, "and i suppose next year they'll ask betts, and then perhaps they'll stop." "oh, but jo-why couldn't you go! when so many girls are just crazy to be asked!" "money," josephine answered briefly. "but not much!" susan lamented. the "juniors" were not to be estimated in mere money. "twenty-five for the ticket, and ten for the chaperone, and a gown, of course, and slippers and a wrap--mother felt badly about it," josephine said composedly. and suddenly she burst into tears, and threw herself down on the bed. "don't let mother hear, and don't think i'm an idiot!" she sobbed, as susan came to kneel beside her and comfort her, "but--but i hate so to drudge away day after day, when i know i could be having gorgeous times, and making friends---!" betts' troubles were more simple in that they were indefinite. betts wanted to do everything, regardless of cost, suitability or season, and was quite as cross over the fact that they could not go camping in the humboldt woods in midwinter, as she was at having to give up her ideas of a new hat or a theater trip. and the boys never complained specifically of poverty. philip, won by deep plotting that he could not see to settle down quietly at home after dinner, was the gayest and best of company, and jim's only allusions to a golden future were made when he rubbed his affectionate little rough head against his mother, pony-fashion, and promised her every luxury in the world as soon as he "got started." when peter coleman returned from the orient, early in april, all the newspapers chronicled the fact that a large number of intimate friends met him at the dock. he was instantly swept into the social currents again; dinners everywhere were given for mr. coleman, box-parties and house-parties followed one another, the club claimed him, and the approaching opening of the season found him giving special attention to his yacht. small wonder that hunter, baxter & hunter's caught only occasional glimpses of him. susan, somberly pursuing his name from paper to paper, felt that she was beginning to dislike him. she managed never to catch his eye, when he was in mr. brauer's office, and took great pains not to meet him. however, in the lingering sweet twilight of a certain soft spring evening, when she had left the office, and was beginning the long walk home, she heard sudden steps behind her, and turned to see peter. "aren't you the little seven-leagued booter! wait a minute, susan! c'est moi! how are you?" "how do you do, peter?" susan said pleasantly and evenly. she put her hand in the big gloved hand, and raised her eyes to the smiling eyes. "what car are you making for?" he asked, falling in step. "i'm walking," susan said. "too nice to ride this evening." "you're right," he said, laughing. "i wish i hadn't a date, i'd like nothing better than to walk it, too! however, i can go a block or two." he walked with her to montgomery street, and they talked of japan and the carrolls and of emily saunders. then peter said he must catch a california street car, and they shook hands again and parted. it all seemed rather flat. susan felt as if the little episode did not belong in the stormy history of their friendship at all, or as if she were long dead and were watching her earthly self from a distance with wise and weary eyes. what should she be feeling now? what would a stronger woman have done? given him the cut direct, perhaps, or forced the situation to a point when something dramatic--satisfying--must follow. "i am weak," said susan ashamedly to herself; "i was afraid he would think i cared,--would see that i cared!" and she walked on busy with self-contemptuous and humiliated thoughts. she had made it easy for him to take advantage of her. she had assumed for his convenience that she had suffered no more than he through their parting, and that all was again serene and pleasant between them. after to-night's casual, friendly conversation, no radical attitude would be possible on her part; he could congratulate himself that he still retained susan's friendship, and could be careful--she knew he would be careful!--never to go too far again. susan's estimate of peter coleman was no longer a particularly idealized one. but she had long ago come to the conclusion that his faults were the faults of his type and his class, excusable and understandable now, and to be easily conquered when a great emotion should sweep him once and for all away from the thought of himself. as he was absorbed in the thought of his own comfort, so, she knew, he could become absorbed in the thought of what was due his wife, the wider viewpoint would quickly become second nature with him; young mrs. peter coleman would be among the most indulged and carefully considered of women. he would be as anxious that the relationship between his wife and himself should be harmonious and happy, as he was now to feel when he met her that he had no reason to avoid or to dread meeting miss susan brown. if susan would have preferred a little different attitude on his part, she could find no fault with this one. she had for so many months thought of peter as the personification of all that she desired in life that she could not readily dismiss him as unworthy. was he not still sweet and big and clean, rich and handsome and popular, socially prominent and suitable in age and faith and nationality? susan had often heard her aunt and her aunt's friends remark that life was more dramatic than any book, and that their own lives on the stage would eclipse in sensational quality any play ever presented. but, for herself, life seemed deplorably, maddeningly undramatic. in any book, in any play, the situation between her and peter must have been heightened to a definite crisis long before this. the mildest of little ingenues, as she came across a dimly lighted stage, in demure white and silver, could have handled this situation far more skillfully than susan did; the most youthful of heroines would have met peter to some purpose,--while surrounded by other admirers at a dance, or while galloping across a moor on her spirited pony. what would either of these ladies have done, she wondered, at meeting the offender when he appeared particularly well-groomed, prosperous and happy, while she herself was tired from a long office day, conscious of shabby gloves, of a shapeless winter hat? what could she do, except appear friendly and responsive? susan consoled herself with the thought that her only alternative, an icy repulse of his friendly advances, would have either convinced him that she was too entirely common and childish to be worth another thought, or would have amused him hugely. she could fancy him telling his friends of his experience of the cut direct from a little girl in front office,--no names named--and hear him saying that "he loved it--he was crazy about it!" "you believe in the law of compensation, don't you, aunt jo?" asked susan, on a wonderful april afternoon, when she had gone straight from the office to sausalito. the two women were in the carroll kitchen, susan sitting at one end of the table, her thoughtful face propped in her hands, mrs. carroll busy making ginger cakes,--cutting out the flat little circles with an inverted wine-glass, transferring them to the pans with the tip of her flat knife, rolling the smooth dough, and spilling the hot cakes, as they came back from the oven, into a deep tin strainer to cool. susan liked to watch her doing this, liked the pretty precision of every movement, the brisk yet unhurried repetition of events, her strong clever hands, the absorbed expression of her face, her fine, broad figure hidden by a stiffly-starched gown of faded blue cotton and a stiff white apron. beyond the open window an exquisite day dropped to its close. it was the time of fruit-blossoms and feathery acacia, languid, perfumed breezes, lengthening twilights, opening roses and swaying plumes of lilac. sausalito was like a little park, every garden ran over with sweetness and color, every walk was fringed with flowers, and hedged with the new green of young trees and blossoming hedges. susan felt a delicious relaxation run through her blood; winter seemed really routed; to-day for the first time one could confidently prophesy that there would be summer presently, thin gowns and ocean bathing and splendid moons. "yes, i believe in the law of compensation, to a great extent," the older woman answered thoughtfully, "or perhaps i should call it the law of solution. i truly believe that to every one of us on this earth is given the materials for a useful and a happy life; some people use them and some don't. but the chance is given alike." "useful, yes," susan conceded, "but usefulness isn't happiness." "isn't it? i really think it is." "oh, aunt jo," the girl burst out impatiently, "i don't mean for saints! i dare say there are some girls who wouldn't mind being poor and shabby and lonesome and living in a boarding-house, and who would be glad they weren't hump-backed, or blind, or siberian prisoners! but you can't say you think that a girl in my position has had a fair start with a girl who is just as young, and rich and pretty and clever, and has a father and mother and everything else in the world! and if you do say so," pursued susan, with feeling, "you certainly can't mean so---" "but wait a minute, sue! what girl, for instance?" "oh, thousands of girls!" susan said, vaguely. "emily saunders, alice chauncey---" "emily saunders! susan! in the hospital for an operation every other month or two!" mrs. carroll reminded her. "well, but---" susan said eagerly. "she isn't really ill. she just likes the excitement and having them fuss over her. she loves the hospital." "still, i wouldn't envy anyone whose home life wasn't preferable to the hospital, sue." "well, emily is queer, aunt jo. but in her place i wouldn't necessarily be queer." "at the same time, considering her brother kenneth's rather checkered career, and the fact that her big sister neglects and ignores her, and that her health is really very delicate, i don't consider emily a happy choice for your argument, sue." "well, there's peggy brock. she's a perfect beauty---" "she's a wellington, sue. you know that stock. how many of them are already in institutions?" "oh, but aunt jo!" susan said impatiently, "there are dozens of girls in society whose health is good, and whose family isn't insane,--i don't know why i chose those two! there are the chickerings---" "whose father took his own life, sue." "well, they couldn't help that. they're lovely girls. it was some money trouble, it wasn't insanity or drink." "but think a moment, sue. wouldn't it haunt you for a long, long time, if you felt that your own father, coming home to that gorgeous house night after night, had been slowly driven to the taking of his own life?" susan looked thoughtful. "i never thought of that," she admitted. presently she added brightly, "there are the ward girls, aunt jo, and isabel wallace. you couldn't find three prettier or richer or nicer girls! say what you will," susan returned undauntedly to her first argument, "life is easier for those girls than for the rest of us!" "well, i want to call your attention to those three," mrs. carroll said, after a moment. "both mr. wallace and mr. ward made their own money, started in with nothing and built up their own fortunes. phil may do that, or billy may do that--we can't tell. mrs. ward and mrs. wallace are both nice, simple women, not spoiled yet by money, not inflated on the subject of family and position, bringing up their families as they were brought up. i don't know mrs. ward personally, but mrs. wallace came from my own town, and she likes to remember the time when her husband was only a mining engineer, and she did her own work. you may not see it, sue, but there's a great difference there. such people are happy and useful, and they hand happiness on. peter coleman's another, he's so exceptionally nice because he's only one generation removed from working people. if isabel wallace,--and she's very young; life may be unhappy enough for her yet, poor child!--marries a man like her father, well and good. but if she marries a man like--well, say kenneth saunders or young gerald, she simply enters into the ranks of the idle and useless and unhappy, that's all." "she's beautiful, and she's smart too," susan pursued, disconsolately, "emily and i lunched there one day and she was simply sweet to the maids, and to her mother. and german! i wish you could hear her. she may not be of any very remarkable family but she certainly is an exceptional girl!" "exceptional, just because she isn't descended from some dead, old, useless stock," amended mrs. carroll. "there is red blood in her veins, ambition and effort and self-denial, all handed down to her. but marry that pampered little girl to some young millionaire, sue, and what will her children inherit? and what will theirs, in time?--peel these, will you?" went on mrs. carroll, interrupting her work to put a bowl of apples in susan's hands. "no," she went on presently, "i married a millionaire, sue. i was one of the 'lucky' ones!" "i never knew it was as much as that!" susan said impressed. "yes," mrs. carroll laughed wholesomely at some memory. "yes; i began my married life in the very handsomest home in our little town with the prettiest presents and the most elaborate wardrobe--the papers were full of miss josie van trent's extravagances. i had four house servants, and when anna came everybody in town knew that her little layette had come all the way from paris!" "but,--good heavens, what happened?" "nothing, for awhile. mr. carroll, who was very young, had inherited a half-interest in what was then the biggest shoe-factory in that part of the world. my father was his partner. philip--dear me! it seems like a lifetime ago!--came to visit us, and i came home from an eastern finishing school. sue, those were silly, happy, heavenly days! well! we were married, as i said. little phil came, anna came. still we went on spending money. phil and i took the children to paris,--italy. then my father died, and things began to go badly at the works. phil discharged his foreman, borrowed money to tide over a bad winter, and said that he would be his own superintendent. of course he knew nothing about it. we borrowed more money. jo was the baby then, and i remember one ugly episode was that the workmen, who wanted more money, accused phil of getting his children's clothes abroad because his wife didn't think american things were good enough for them." "you!" susan said, incredulously. "it doesn't sound like me now, does it? well; phil put another foreman in, and he was a bad man--in league with some rival factory, in fact. money was lost that way, contracts broken---" "beast!" said susan. "wicked enough," the other woman conceded, "but not at all an uncommon thing, sue, where people don't know their own business. so we borrowed more money, borrowed enough for a last, desperate fight, and lost it. the day that jim was three years old, we signed the business away to the other people, and phil took a position under them, in his own factory." "oo-oo!" susan winced. "yes, it was hard. i did what i could for my poor old boy, but it was very hard. we lived very quietly; i had begun to come to my senses then; we had but one maid. but, even then, sue, philip wasn't capable of holding a job of that sort. how could he manage what he didn't understand? poor phil---" mrs. carroll's bright eyes brimmed with tears, and her mouth quivered. "however, we had some happy times together with the babies," she said cheerfully, "and when he went away from us, four years later, with his better salary we were just beginning to see our way clear. so that left me, with my five, sue, without a cent in the world. an old cousin of my father owned this house, and she wrote that she would give us all a home, and out we came,--aunt betty's little income was barely enough for her, so i sold books and taught music and french, and finally taught in a little school, and put up preserves for people, and packed their houses up for the winter---" "how did you do it!" "sue, i don't know! anna stood by me,--my darling!" the last two words came in a passionate undertone. "but of course there were bad times. sometimes we lived on porridges and milk for days, and many a night anna and phil and i have gone out, after dark, to hunt for dead branches in the woods for my kitchen stove!" and mrs. carroll, unexpectedly stirred by the pitiful memory, broke suddenly into tears, the more terrible to susan because she had never seen her falter before. it was only for a moment. then mrs. carroll dried her eyes and said cheerfully: "well, those times only make these seem brighter! anna is well started now, we've paid off the last of the mortgage, phil is more of a comfort than he's ever been--no mother could ask a better boy!--and jo is beginning to take a real interest in her work. so everything is coming out better than even my prayers." "still," smiled susan, "lots of people have things comfortable, without such a terrible struggle!" "and lots of people haven't five fine children, sue, and a home in a big garden. and lots of mothers don't have the joy and the comfort and the intimacy with their children in a year that i have every day. no, i'm only too happy now, sue. i don't ask anything better than this. and if, in time, they go to homes of their own, and we have some more babies in the family--it's all living, sue, it's being a part of the world!" mrs. carroll carried away her cakes to the big stone jar in the pantry. susan, pensively nibbling a peeled slice of apple, had a question ready for her when she came back. "but suppose you're one of those persons who get into a groove, and simply can't live? i want to work, and do heroic things, and grow to be something, and how can i? unless---" her color rose, but her glance did not fall, "unless somebody marries me, of course." "choose what you want to do, sue, and do it. that's all." "oh, that sounds simple! but i don't want to do any of the things you mean. i want to work into an interesting life, somehow. i'll--i'll never marry," said susan. "you won't? well; of course that makes it easier, because you can go into your work with heart and soul. but perhaps you'll change your mind, sue. i hope you will, just as i hope all the girls will marry. i'm not sure," said mrs. carroll, suddenly smiling, "but what the very quickest way for a woman to marry off her girls is to put them into business. in the first place, a man who wants them has to be in earnest, and in the second, they meet the very men whose interests are the same as theirs. so don't be too sure you won't. however, i'm not laughing at you, sue. i think you ought to seriously select some work for yourself, unless of course you are quite satisfied where you are." "i'm not," said susan. "i'll never get more than forty where i am. and more than that, thorny heard that front office is going to be closed up any day." "but you could get another position, dear." "well, i don't know. you see, it's a special sort of bookkeeping. it wouldn't help any of us much elsewhere." "true. and what would you like best to do, sue?" "oh, i don't know. sometimes i think the stage. or something with lots of traveling in it." susan laughed, a little ashamed of her vagueness. "why not take a magazine agency, then? there's a lot of money---" "oh, no!" susan shuddered. "you're joking!" "indeed i'm not. you're just the sort of person who would make a fine living selling things. the stage--i don't know. but if you really mean it, i don't see why you shouldn't get a little start somewhere." "aunt jo, they say that broadway in new york is simply lined with girls trying---" "new york! well, very likely. but you try here. go to the manager of the alcazar, recite for him---" "he wouldn't let me," susan asserted, "and besides, i don't really know anything." "well, learn something. ask him, when next some manager wants to make up a little road company---" "a road company! two nights in stockton, two nights in marysville--horrors!" said susan. "but that wouldn't be for long, sue. perhaps two years. then five or six years in stock somewhere---" "aunt jo, i'd be past thirty!" susan laughed and colored charmingly. "i--honestly, i couldn't give up my whole life for ten years on the chance of making a hit," she confessed. "well, but what then, sue?" "now, i'll tell you what i've often wanted to do," susan said, after a thoughtful interval. "ah, now we're coming to it!" mrs. carroll said, with satisfaction. they had left the kitchen now, and were sitting on the top step of the side porch, reveling in the lovely panorama of hillside and waterfront, and the smooth and shining stretch of bay below them. "i've often thought i'd like to be the matron of some very smart school for girls," said susan, "and live either in or near some big eastern city, and take the girls to concerts and lectures and walking in the parks, and have a lovely room full of books and pictures, where they would come and tell me things, and go to europe now and then for a vacation!" "that would be a lovely life, sue. why not work for that?" "why, i don't know how. i don't know of any such school." "well, now let us suppose the head of such a school wants a matron," mrs. carroll said, "she naturally looks for a lady and a linguist, and a person of experience---" "there you are! i've had no experience!" susan said, instantly depressed. "i could rub up on french and german, and read up the treatment for toothache and burns--but experience!" "but see how things work together, sue!" mrs. carroll exclaimed, with a suddenly bright face. "here's miss berrat, who has the little school over here, simply crazy to find someone to help her out. she has eight--or nine, i forget--day scholars, and four or five boarders. and such a dear little cottage! miss pitcher is leaving her, to go to miss north's school in berkeley, and she wants someone at once!" "but, aunt jo, what does she pay?" "let me see---" mrs. carroll wrinkled a thoughtful brow. "not much, i know. you live at the school, of course. five or ten dollars a month, i think." "but i couldn't live on that!" susan exclaimed. "you'd be near us, sue, for one thing. and you'd have a nice bright sunny room. and miss berrat would help you with your french and german. it would be a good beginning." "but i simply couldn't--" susan stopped short. "would you advise it, aunt jo?" she asked simply. mrs. carroll studied the bright face soberly for a moment. "yes, i'd advise it, sue," she said then gravely. "i don't think that the atmosphere where you are is the best in the world for you just now. it would be a fine change. it would be good for those worries of yours." "then i'll do it!" susan said suddenly, the unexplained tears springing to her eyes. "i think i would. i'll go and see miss berrat next week," mrs. carroll said. "there's the boat making the slip, sue," she added, "let's get the table set out here on the porch while they're climbing the hill!" up the hill came philip and josephine, just home from the city, escorted by betsey and jim who had met them at the boat. susan received a strangling welcome from betts, and josephine, who looked a little pale and tired after this first enervating, warm spring day, really brightened perceptibly when she went upstairs with susan to slip into a dress that was comfortably low-necked and short-sleeved. presently they all gathered on the porch for dinner, with the sweet twilighted garden just below them and anchor lights beginning to prick, one by one, through the soft dusky gloom of the bay. "well, 'mid pleasures and palaces---" philip smiled at his mother. "charades to-night!" shrilled betts, from the kitchen where she was drying lettuce. "oh, but a walk first!" susan protested. for their aimless strolls through the dark, flower-scented lanes were a delight to her. "and billy's coming over to-morrow to walk to gioli's," josephine added contentedly. that evening and the next day susan always remembered as terminating a certain phase of her life, although for perhaps a week the days went on just as usual. but one morning she found confusion reigning, when she arrived at hunter, baxter & hunter's. front office was to be immediately abolished, its work was over, its staff already dispersing. workmen, when she arrived, were moving out cases and chairs, and mr. brauer, eagerly falling upon her, begged her to clean out her desk, and to help him assort the papers in some of the other desks and cabinets. susan, filled with pleasant excitement, pinned on her paper cuffs, and put her heart and soul into the work. no bills this morning! the office-boy did not even bring them up. "now, here's a soap order that must have been specially priced," said susan, at her own desk, "i couldn't make anything of it yesterday---" "let it go--let it go!" mr. brauer said. "it iss all ofer!" as the other girls came in they were pressed into service, papers and papers and papers, the drift of years, were tossed out of drawers and cubby-holes. much excited laughter and chatter went on. probably not one girl among them felt anything but pleasure and relief at the unexpected holiday, and a sense of utter confidence in the future. mr. philip, fussily entering the disordered room at ten o'clock, announced his regret at the suddenness of the change; the young ladies would be paid their salaries for the uncompleted month--a murmur of satisfaction arose--and, in short, the firm hoped that their association had been as pleasant to them as it had been to his partners and himself. "they had a directors' meeting on saturday," thorny said, later, "and if you ask me my frank opinion, i think henry brauer is at the bottom of all this. what do you know about his having been at that meeting on saturday, and his going to have the office right next to j. g.'s--isn't that the extension of the limit? he's as good as in the firm now." "i've always said that he knew something that made it very well worth while for this firm to keep his mouth shut," said miss cashell, darkly. "i'll bet you there's something in that," miss cottle agreed. "h. b. & h. is losing money hand over fist," thorny stated, gloomily, with that intimate knowledge of an employer's affairs always displayed by an obscure clerk. "brauer asked me if i would like to go into the big office, but i don't believe i could do the work," susan said. "yes; i'm going into the main office, too," thorny stated. "don't you be afraid, susan. it's as easy as pie." "mr. brauer said i could try it," miss sherman shyly contributed. but no other girl had been thus complimented. miss kelly and miss garvey, both engaged to be married now, miss kelly to miss garvey's brother, miss garvey to miss kelly's cousin, were rather congratulating themselves upon the turn of events; the other girls speculated as to the wisest step to take next, some talking vaguely of post-office or hospital work; miss cashell, as miss thornton later said to susan, hopelessly proving herself no lady by announcing that she could get better money as a coat model, and meant to get into that line of work if she could. "are we going to have lunch to-day?" somebody asked. miss thornton thoughtfully drew a piece of paper toward her, and wet her pencil in her mouth. "best thing we can do, i guess," she said. "let's put ten cents each in," susan suggested, "and make it a real party." thorny accordingly expanded her list to include sausages and a pie, cheese and rolls, besides the usual tea and stewed tomatoes. the girls ate the little meal with their hats and wraps on, a sense of change filled the air, and they were all a little pensive, even with an unexpected half-holiday before them. then came good-bys. the girls separated with many affectionate promises. all but the selected three were not to return. susan and miss sherman and thorny would come back to find their desks waiting for them in the main office next day. susan walked thoughtfully uptown, and when she got home, wrote a formal application for the position open in her school to little miss berrat in sausalito. it was a delightful, sunshiny afternoon. mary lou, mrs. lancaster and virginia were making a mournful trip to the great institution for the blind in berkeley, where virginia's physician wanted to place her for special watching and treatment. susan found two or three empty hours on her hands, and started out for a round of calls. she called on her aunt's old friends, the langs, and upon the bony, cold throckmorton sisters, rich, nervous, maiden ladies, shivering themselves slowly to death in their barn of a house, and finally, and unexpectedly, upon mrs. baxter. susan had planned a call on georgie, to finish the afternoon, for her cousin, slowly dragging her way up the last of the long road that ends in motherhood, was really in need of cheering society. but the throckmorton house chanced to be directly opposite the old baxter mansion, and susan, seeing peter's home, suddenly decided to spend a few moments with the old lady. after all, why should she not call? she had had no open break with peter, and on every occasion his aunt had begged her to take pity on an old woman's loneliness. susan was always longing, in her secret heart, for that accident that should reopen the old friendship; knowing peter, she knew that the merest chance would suddenly bring him to her side again; his whole life was spent in following the inclination of the moment. and today, in her pretty new hat and spring suit, she was looking her best. peter would not be at home, of course. but his aunt would tell him that that pretty, happy miss brown was here, and that she was going to leave hunter, baxter & hunter's for something not specified. and then peter, realizing that susan had entirely risen above any foolish old memory---- susan crossed the street and rang the bell. when the butler told her, with an impassive face, that he would find out if mrs. baxter were in, susan hoped, in a panic, that she was not. the big, gloomy, handsome hall rather awed her. she watched burns's retreating back fearfully, hoping that mrs. baxter really was out, or that burns would be instructed to say so. but he came back, expressionless, placid, noiseless of step, to say in a hushed, confidential tone that mrs. baxter would be down in a moment. he lighted the reception room brilliantly for susan, and retired decorously. susan sat nervously on the edge of a chair. suddenly her call seemed a very bold and intrusive thing to do, even an indelicate thing, everything considered. suppose peter should come in; what could he think but that she was clinging to the association with which he had so clearly indicated that he was done? what if she got up and went silently, swiftly out? burns was not in sight, the great hall was empty. she had really nothing to say to mrs. baxter, and she could assume that she had misunderstood his message if the butler followed her---- mrs. baxter, a little figure in rustling silk, came quickly down the stairway. susan met her in the doorway of the reception room, with a smile. "how do you do, how do you do?" mrs. baxter said nervously. she did not sit down, but stood close to susan, peering up at her shortsightedly, and crumpling the card she held in her hand. "it's about the office, isn't it?" she said quickly. "yes, i see. mr. baxter told me that it was to be closed. i'm sorry, but i never interfere in those things,--never. i really don't know anything about it! i'm sorry. but it would hardly be my place to interfere in business, when i don't know anything about it, would it? mr. baxter always prides himself on the fact that i don't interfere. so i don't really see what i could do." a wave of some supreme emotion, not all anger, nor all contempt, nor all shame, but a composite of the three, rose in susan's heart. she had not come to ask a favor of this more fortunate woman, but--the thought flashed through her mind--suppose she had? she looked down at the little silk-dressed figure, the blinking eyes, the veiny little hand, and the small mouth, that, after sixty years, was composed of nothing but conservative and close-shut lines. pity won the day over her hurt girlish feeling and the pride that claimed vindication, and susan smiled kindly. "oh, i didn't come about front office, mrs. baxter! i just happened to be in the neighborhood---" two burning spots came into the older woman's face, not of shame, but of anger that she had misunderstood, had placed herself for an instant at a disadvantage. "oh," she said vaguely. "won't you sit down? peter---" she paused. "peter is in santa barbara, isn't he?" asked susan, who knew he was not. "i declare i don't know where he is half the time," mrs. baxter said, with her little, cracked laugh. they both sat down. "he has such a good time!" pursued his aunt, complacently. "doesn't he?" susan said pleasantly. "only i tell the girls they mustn't take peter too seriously," cackled the sweet, old voice. "dreadful boy!" "i think they understand him." susan looked at her hostess solicitously. "you look well," she said resolutely. "no more neuritis, mrs. baxter?" mrs. baxter was instantly diverted. she told susan of her new treatment, her new doctor, the devotion of her old maid; emma, the servant of her early married life, was her close companion now, and although mrs. baxter always thought of her as a servant, emma was really the one intimate friend she had. susan remained a brief quarter of an hour, chatting easily, but burning with inward shame. never, never, never in her life would she pay another call like this one! tea was not suggested, and when the girl said good-by, mrs. baxter did not leave the reception room. but just as burns opened the street-door for her susan saw a beautiful little coupe stop at the curb, and miss ella saunders, beautifully gowned, got out of it and came up the steps with a slowness that became her enormous size. "hello, susan brown!" said miss saunders, imprisoning susan's hand between two snowy gloves. "where've you been?" "where've you been?" susan laughed. "italy and russia and holland!" "don't be an utter little hypocrite, child, and try to make talk with a woman of my years i i've been home two weeks, anyway." "emily home?" miss saunders nodded slowly, bit her lip, and stared at susan in a rather mystifying and very pronounced way. "emily is home, indeed," she said absently. then abruptly she added: "can you lunch with me to-morrow--no, wednesday--at the town and country, infant?" "why, i'd love to!" susan answered, dimpling. "well; at one? then we can talk. tell me," miss saunders lowered her voice, "is mrs. baxter in? oh, damn!" she added cheerfully, as susan nodded. susan glanced back, before the door closed, and saw her meet the old lady in the hall and give her an impulsive kiss. chapter ii the little town and country club, occupying two charmingly-furnished, crowded floors of what had once been a small apartment house on post street, next door to the old library, was a small but remarkable institution, whose members were the wealthiest and most prominent women of the fashionable colonies of burlingame and san mateo, ross valley and san rafael. presumably only the simplest and least formal of associations, it was really the most important of all the city's social institutions, and no woman was many weeks in san francisco society without realizing that the various country clubs, and the junior cotillions were as dust and ashes, and that her chances of achieving a card to the browning dances were very slim if she could not somehow push her name at least as far as the waiting list of the town and country club. the members pretended, to a woman, to be entirely unconscious of their social altitude. they couldn't understand how such ideas ever got about, it was "delicious"; it was "too absurd!" why, the club was just the quietest place in the world, a place where a woman could run in to brush her hair and wash her hands, and change her library book, and have a cup of tea. a few of them had formed it years ago, just half a dozen of them, at a luncheon; it was like a little family circle, one knew everybody there, and one felt at home there. but, as for being exclusive and conservative, that was all nonsense! and besides, what did other women see in it to make them want to come in! let them form another club, exactly like it, wouldn't that be the wiser thing? other women, thus advised and reassured, smiled, instead of gnashing their teeth, and said gallantly that after all they themselves were too busy to join any club just now, merely happened to speak of the town and country. and after that they said hateful and lofty and insulting things about the club whenever they found listeners. but the town and country club flourished on unconcernedly, buzzing six days a week with well-dressed women, echoing to christian names and intimate chatter, sheltering the smartest of pigskin suitcases and gold-headed umbrellas and rustling raincoats in its tiny closets, resisting the constant demand of the younger element for modern club conveniences and more room. no; the old members clung to its very inconveniences, to the gas-lights over the dressing-tables, and the narrow halls, and the view of ugly roofs and buildings from its back windows. they liked to see the notices written in the secretary's angular hand and pinned on the library door with a white-headed pin. the catalogue numbers of books were written by hand, too--the ink blurred into the shiny linen bands. at tea-time a little maid quite openly cut and buttered bread in a corner of the dining-room; it was permissible to call gaily, "more bread here, rosie! i'm afraid we're a very hungry crowd to-day!" susan enormously enjoyed the club; she had been there more than once with miss saunders, and found her way without trouble to-day to a big chair in a window arch, where she could enjoy the passing show without being herself conspicuous. a constant little stream of women came and went, handsome, awkward school-girls, in town for the dentist or to be fitted to shoes, or for the matinee; debutantes, in their exquisite linens and summer silks, all joyous chatter and laughter; and plainly-gowned, well-groomed, middle-aged women, escorting or chaperoning, and pausing here for greetings and the interchange of news. miss saunders, magnificent, handsome, wonderfully gowned, was surrounded by friends the moment she came majestically upstairs. susan thought her very attractive, with her ready flow of conversation, her familiar, big-sisterly attitude with the young girls, her positiveness when there was the slightest excuse for her advice or opinions being expressed. she had a rich, full voice, and a drawling speech. she had to decline ten pressing invitations in as many minutes. "ella, why can't you come home with me this afternoon?--i'm not speaking to you, ella saunders, you've not been near us since you got back!--mama's so anxious to see you, miss ella!--listen, ella, you've got to go with us to tahoe; perry will have a fit if you don't!" "mama's not well, and the kid is just home," miss saunders told them all good-naturedly, in excuse. she carried susan off to the lunch-room, announcing herself to be starving, and ordered a lavish luncheon. ella saunders really liked this pretty, jolly, little book-keeper from hunter, baxter & hunter's. susan amused her, and she liked still better the evidence that she amused susan. her indifferent, not to say irreverent, air toward the sacred traditions and institutions of her class made susan want to laugh and gasp at once. "but this is a business matter," said miss saunders, when they had reached the salad, "and here we are talking! mama and baby and i have talked this thing all over, susan," she added casually, "and we want to know what you'd think of coming to live with us?" susan fixed her eyes upon her as one astounded, not a muscle of her face moved. she never was quite natural with ella; above the sudden rush of elation and excitement came the quick intuition that ella would like a sensational reception of her offer. her look expressed the stunned amazement of one who cannot credit her ears. ella's laugh showed an amused pleasure. "don't look so aghast, child. you don't have to do it!" she said. again susan did the dramatic and acceptable thing, typical of what she must give the saunders throughout their relationship. instead of the natural "what on earth are you talking about?" she said slowly, dazedly, her bewildered eyes on ella's face: "you're joking---" "joking! you'll find the saunders family no joke, i can promise you that!" ella said, humorously. and again susan laughed. "no, but you see emily's come home from fowler's a perfect nervous wreck," explained miss ella, "and; she can't be left alone for awhile,--partly because her heart's not good, partly because she gets blue, and partly because, if she hasn't anyone to drive and walk and play tennis with, and so on, she simply mopes from morning until night. she hates mama's nurse; mama needs miss baker herself anyway, and we've been wondering and wondering how we could get hold of the right person to fill the bill. you'd have a pretty easy time in one way, of course, and do everything the kid does, and i'll stand right behind you. but don't think it's any snap!" "snap!" echoed susan, starry-eyed, crimson-cheeked. "---but you don't mean that you want me?" "i wish you could have seen her; she turned quite pale," miss saunders told her mother and sister later. "really, she was overcome. she said she'd speak to her aunt to-night; i don't imagine there'll be any trouble. she's a nice child. i don't see the use of delay, so i said monday." "you were a sweet to think of it," emily said, gratefully, from the downy wide couch where she was spending the evening. "not at all, kid," ella answered politely. she yawned, and stared at the alabaster globe of the lamp above emily's head. a silence fell. the two sisters never had much to talk about, and mrs. saunders, dutifully sitting with the invalid, was heavy from dinner, and nearly asleep. ella yawned again. "want some chocolates?" she finally asked. "oh, thank you, ella!" "i'll send fannie in with 'em!" miss ella stood up, bent her head to study at close range an engraving on the wall, loitered off to her own room. she was rarely at home in the evening and did not know quite what to do with herself. susan, meanwhile, walked upon air. she tasted complete happiness for almost the first time in her life; awakened in the morning to blissful reality, instead of the old dreary round, and went to sleep at night smiling at her own happy thoughts. it was all like a pleasant dream! she resigned from her new position at hunter, baxter & hunter's exactly as she resigned in imagination a hundred times. no more drudgery over bills, no more mornings spent in icy, wet shoes, and afternoons heavy with headache. susan was almost too excited to thank mr. brauer for his compliments and regrets. parting with thorny was harder; susan and she had been through many a hard hour together, had shared a thousand likes and dislikes, had loved and quarreled and been reconciled. "you're doing an awfully foolish thing, susan. you'll wish you were back here inside of a month," thorny prophesied when the last moment came. "aw, don't you do it, susan!" she pleaded, with a little real emotion. "come on into main office, and sit next to me. we'll have loads of sport." "oh, i've promised!" susan held out her hand. "don't forget me!" she said, trying to laugh. miss thornton's handsome eyes glistened with tears. with a sudden little impulse they kissed each other for the first time. then susan, a full hour before closing, went down from the lunch-room, and past all the familiar offices; the sadness of change tugging at her heart-strings. she had been here a long time, she had smelled this same odor of scorching rubber, and oils and powders through so many slow afternoons, in gay moods and sad, in moods of rebellion and distaste. she left a part of her girlhood here. the cashier, to whom she went for her check, was all kindly interest, and the young clerks and salesmen stopped to offer her their good wishes. susan passed the time-clock without punching her number for the first time in three years, and out into the sunny, unfamiliar emptiness of the streets. at the corner her heart suddenly failed her. she felt as if she could not really go away from these familiar places and people. the warehouses and wholesale houses, the wholesale liquor house with a live eagle magnificently caged in one window, the big stove establishment, with its window full of ranges in shining steel and nickel-plate; these had been her world for so long! but she kept on her way uptown, and by the time she reached the old library, where mary lou, very handsome in her well-brushed suit and dotted veil, with white gloves still odorous of benzine, was waiting, she was almost sure that she was not making a mistake. mary lou was a famous shopper, capable of exhausting any saleswoman for a ten-cent purchase, and proportionately effective when, as to-day, a really considerable sum was to be spent. she regretfully would decline a dozen varieties in handkerchiefs or ribbons, saying with pleasant plaintiveness to the saleswoman: "perhaps i am hard to please. my mother is an old southern lady--the ralstons, you know?--and her linen is, of course, like nothing one can get nowadays! no; i wouldn't care to show my mother this. "my cousin, of course, only wants this for a little hack hat," she added to susan's modest suggestion of price to the milliner, and in the white house she consented to susan's selections with a consoling reminder, "it isn't as if you didn't have your lovely french underwear at home, sue! these will do very nicely for your rough camping trip!" compared to mary lou, susan was a very poor shopper. she was always anxious to please the saleswoman, to buy after a certain amount of looking had been done, for no other reason than that she had caused most of the stock to be displayed. "i like this, mary lou," susan would murmur nervously. and, as the pompadoured saleswoman turned to take down still another heap of petticoats, susan would repeat noiselessly, with an urgent nod, "this will do!" "wait, now, dear," mary lou would return, unperturbed, arresting susan's hand with a white, well-filled glove. "wait, dear. if we can't get it here we can get it somewhere else. yes, let me see those you have there---" "thank you, just the same," susan always murmured uncomfortably, averting her eyes from the saleswoman, as they went away. but the saleswoman, busily rearranging her stock, rarely responded. to-day they bought, besides the fascinating white things, some tan shoes, and a rough straw hat covered with roses, and two linen skirts, and three linen blouses, and a little dress of dotted lavender lawn. everything was of the simplest, but susan had never had so many new things in the course of her life before, and was elated beyond words as one purchase was made after another. she carried home nearly ten dollars, planning to keep it until the first month's salary should be paid, but auntie was found, upon their return in the very act of dissuading the dark powers known as the "sewing-machine men" from removing that convenience, and susan, only too thankful to be in time, gladly let seven dollars fall into the oily palm of the carrier in charge. "mary lou," said she, over her fascinating packages, just before dinner, "here's a funny thing! if i had gone bad, you know, so that i could keep buying nice, pretty, simple things like this, as fast as i needed them, i'd feel better--i mean truly cleaner and more moral--than when i was good!" "susan! why, susan!" her cousin turned a shocked face from the window where she was carefully pasting newly-washed handkerchiefs, to dry in the night. "do you remember who you are, dear, and don't say dreadful things like that!" in the next few days susan pressed her one suit, laundered a score of little ruffles and collars, cleaned her gloves, sewed on buttons and strings generally, and washed her hair. late on sunday came the joyful necessity of packing. mary lou folded and refolded patiently, georgie came in with a little hand-embroidered handkerchief-case for susan's bureau, susan herself rushed about like a mad-woman, doing almost nothing. "you'll be back inside the month," said billy that evening, looking up from carlyle's "revolution," to where susan and mary lou were busy with last stitches, at the other side of the dining-room table. "you can't live with the rotten rich any more than i could!" "billy, you don't know how awfully conceited you sound when you say a thing like that!" "conceited? oh, all right!" mr. oliver accompanied the words with a sound only to be described as a snort, and returned, offended, to his book. "conceited, well, maybe i am," he resumed with deadly calm, a moment later. "but there's no conceit in my saying that people like the saunders can't buffalo me!" "you may not see it, but there is!" persisted susan. "you give me a pain, sue! do you honestly think they are any better than you are?" "of course they're not better," susan said, heatedly, "if it comes right down to morals and the commandments! but if i prefer to spend my life among people who have had several generations of culture and refinement and travel and education behind them, it's my own affair! i like nice people, and rich people are more refined than poor, and nobody denies it! i may feel sorry for a girl who marries a man on forty a week, and brings up four or five little kids on it, but that doesn't mean i want to do it myself! and i think a man has his nerve to expect it!" "i didn't make you an offer, you know, susan," said william pleasantly. "i didn't mean you!" susan answered angrily. then with sudden calm and sweetness, she resumed, busily tearing up and assorting old letters the while, "but now you're trying to make me mad, billy, and you don't care what you say. the trouble with you," she went on, with sisterly kindness and frankness, "is that you think you are the only person who really ought to get on in the world. you know so much, and study so hard, that you deserve to be rich, so that you can pension off every old stupid german laborer at the works who still wants a job when they can get a boy of ten to do his work better than he can! you mope away over there at those cottages, bill, until you think the only important thing in the world is the price of sausages in proportion to wages. and for all that you pretend to despise people who use decent english, and don't think a bath-tub is a place to store potatoes; i notice that you are pretty anxious to study languages and hear good music and keep up in your reading, yourself! and if that's not cultivation---" "i never said a word about cultivation!" billy, who had been apparently deep in his book, looked up to snap angrily. any allusion to his efforts at self-improvement always touched him in a very sensitive place. "why, you did too! you said---" "oh, i did not! if you're going to talk so much, sue, you ought to have some faint idea what you're talking about!" "very well," susan said loftily, "if you can't address me like a gentleman, we won't discuss it. i'm not anxious for your opinion, anyway." a silence. mr. oliver read with passionate attention. susan sighed, sorted her letters, sighed again. "billy, do you love me?" she asked winningly, after a pause. another silence. mr. oliver turned a page. "are you sure you've read every word on that page, bill,--every little word?" silence again. "you know, you began this, bill," susan said presently, with childish sweet reproach. "don't say anything, bill; i can't ask that! but if you still love me, just smile!" by some miracle, billy preserved his scowl. "not even a glimmer!" susan said, despondently. "i'll tell you, bill," she added, gushingly. "just turn a page, and i'll take it for a sign of love!" she clasped her hands, and watched him breathlessly. mr. oliver reached the point where the page must be turned. he moved his eyes stealthily upward. "oh, no you don't! no going back!" exulted susan. she jumped up, grabbed the book, encircled his head with her arms, kissed her own hand vivaciously and made a mad rush for the stairs. mr. oliver caught her half-way up the flight, with more energy than dignity, and got his book back by doubling her little finger over with an increasing pressure until susan managed to drop the volume to the hall below. "bill, you beast! you've broken my finger!" susan, breathless and dishevelled, sat beside him on the narrow stair, and tenderly worked the injured member, "it hurts!" "let papa tiss it!" "you try it once!" "sh-sh! ma says not so much noise!" hissed mary lou, from the floor above, where she had been summoned some hours ago, "alfie's just dropped off!" on monday a new life began for susan brown. she stepped from the dingy boarding-house in fulton street straight into one of the most beautiful homes in the state, and, so full were the first weeks, that she had no time for homesickness, no time for letters, no time for anything but the briefest of scribbled notes to the devoted women she left behind her. emily saunders herself met the newcomer at the station, looking very unlike an invalid,--looking indeed particularly well and happy, if rather pale, as she was always pale, and a little too fat after the idle and carefully-fed experience in the hospital. susan peeped into miss ella's big room, as they went upstairs. ella was stretched comfortably on a wide, flowery couch, reading as her maid rubbed her loosened hair with some fragrant toilet water, and munching chocolates. "hello, susan brown!" she called out. "come in and see me some time before dinner,--i'm going out!" ella's room was on the second floor, where were also mrs. saunders' room, various guest-rooms, an upstairs music-room and a sitting-room. but emily's apartment, as well as her brother's, were on the third floor, and susan's delightful room opened from emily's. the girls had a bathroom as large as a small bedroom, and a splendid deep balcony shaded by gay awnings was accessible only to them. potted geraniums made this big outdoor room gay, a thick indian rug was on the floor, there were deep wicker chairs, and two beds, in day-covers of green linen, with thick brightly colored pueblo blankets folded across them. the girls were to spend all their days in the open air, and sleep out here whenever possible for emily's sake. while emily bathed, before dinner, susan hung over the balcony rail, feeling deliciously fresh and rested, after her own bath, and eager not to miss a moment of the lovely summer afternoon. just below her, the garden was full of roses. there were other flowers, too, carnations and velvety shasta daisies, there were snowballs that tumbled in great heaps of white on the smooth lawn, and syringas and wall-flowers and corn-flowers, far over by the vine-embroidered stone wall, and late persian lilacs, and hydrangeas, in every lovely tone between pink and lavender, filled a long line of great wooden japanese tubs, leading, by a walk of sunken stones, to the black wooden gates of the japanese garden. but the roses reigned supreme--beautiful standard roses, with not a shriveled leaf to mar the perfection of blossoms and foliage; san rafael roses, flinging out wherever they could find a support, great sprays of pinkish-yellow and yellowish-pink, and gold and cream and apricot-colored blossoms. there were moss roses, sheathed in dark-green film, glowing jacqueminot and papagontier and la france roses, white roses, and yellow roses,--susan felt as if she could intoxicate herself upon the sweetness and the beauty of them all. the carriage road swept in a great curve from the gate, its smooth pebbled surface crossed sharply at regular intervals by the clean-cut shadows of the elm trees. here and there on the lawns a sprinkler flung out its whirling circles of spray, and while susan watched a gardener came into view, picked up a few fallen leaves from the roadway and crushed them together in his hand. on the newly-watered stretch of road that showed beyond the wide gates, carriages and carts, and an occasional motor-car were passing, flinging wheeling shadows beside them on the road, and driven by girls in light gowns and wide hats or by grooms in livery. presently one very smart, high english cart stopped, and mr. kenneth saunders got down from it, and stood whipping his riding-boot with his crap and chatting with the young woman who had driven him home. susan thought him a very attractive young man, with his quiet, almost melancholy expression, and his air of knowing exactly the correct thing to do, whenever he cared to exert himself at all. she watched him now with interest, not afraid of detection, for a small head, on a third story balcony, would be quite lost among the details of the immense facade of the house. he walked toward the stable, and whistled what was evidently a signal, for three romping collies came running to meet him, and were leaping and tumbling about him as he went around the curve of the drive and out of sight. then susan went back to her watching and dreaming, finding something new to admire and delight in every moment. the details confused her, but she found the whole charming. indeed, she had been in san rafael for several weeks before she found the view of the big house from the garden anything but bewildering. with its wings and ells, its flowered balconies and french windows, its tiled pergola and flower-lined spanish court, it stood a monument to the extraordinary powers of the modern architect; nothing was incongruous, nothing offended. susan liked to decide into which room this casement window fitted, or why she never noticed that particular angle of wall from the inside. it was always a disappointment to discover that some of the quaintest of the windows lighted only linen-closets or perhaps useless little spaces under a sharp angle of roof, and that many of the most attractive lines outside were so cut and divided as to be unrecognizable within. it was a modern house, with beautifully-appointed closets tucked in wherever there was an inch to spare, with sheets of mirror set in the bedroom doors, with every conceivable convenience in nickel-plate glittering in its bathrooms, and wall-telephones everywhere. the girl's adjectives were exhausted long before she had seen half of it. she tried to make her own personal choice between the dull, soft, dark colors and carved circassian walnut furniture in the dining-room, and the sharp contrast of the reception hall, where the sunlight flooded a rosy-latticed paper, an old white colonial mantel and fiddle-backed chairs, and struck dazzling gleams from the brass fire-dogs and irons. the drawing-room had its own charm; the largest room in the house, it had french windows on three sides, each one giving a separate and exquisite glimpse of lawns and garden beyond. upon its dark and shining floor were stretched a score of silky persian rugs, roses mirrored themselves in polished mahogany, and here and there were priceless bits of carved ivory, wonderful strips of embroidered chinese silks, miniatures, and exquisite books. four or five great lamps glowing under mosaic shades made the place lovely at night, but in the heat of a summer day, shaded, empty, deliciously airy and cool, susan thought it at its loveliest. at night heavy brocaded curtains were drawn across the windows, and a wood fire crackled in the fireplace, in a setting of creamy tiles. there was a small grand-piano in this room, a larger piano in the big, empty reception room on the other side of the house, susan and emily had a small upright for their own use, and there were one or two more in other parts of the house. everywhere was exquisite order, exquisite peace. lightfooted maids came and went noiselessly, to brush up a fallen daisy petal, or straighten a rug. not the faintest streak of dust ever lay across the shining surface of the piano, not the tiniest cloud ever filmed the clear depths of the mirrors. a slim chinese houseboy, in plum-color and pale blue, with his queue neatly coiled, and his handsome, smooth young face always smiling, padded softly to and fro all day long, in his thick-soled straw slippers, with letters and magazines, parcels and messages and telegrams. "lizzie-carrie--one of you girls take some sweet-peas up to my room," ella would say at breakfasttime, hardly glancing up from her mail. and an hour later susan, looking into miss saunders' apartment to see if she still expected emily to accompany her to the holmes wedding, or to say that mrs. saunders wanted to see her eldest daughter, would notice a bowl of the delicately-tinted blossoms on the desk, and another on the table. the girls' beds were always made, when they went upstairs to freshen themselves for luncheon; tumbled linen and used towels had been spirited away, fresh blotters were on the desk, fresh flowers everywhere, windows open, books back on their shelves, clothes stretched on hangers in the closets; everything immaculately clean and crisp. it was apparently impossible to interrupt the quiet running of the domestic machinery. if susan and emily left wet skirts and umbrellas and muddy overshoes in one of the side hallways, on returning from a walk, it was only a question of a few hours, before the skirts, dried and brushed and pressed, the umbrellas neatly furled, and the overshoes, as shining as ever, were back in their places. if the girls wanted tea at five o'clock, sandwiches of every known, and frequently of new types, little cakes and big, hot bouillons, or a salad, or even a broiled bird were to be had for the asking. it was no trouble, the tray simply appeared and chow yew or carrie served them as if it were a real pleasure to do so. whoever ordered for the saunders kitchen--susan suspected that it was a large amiable person in black whom she sometimes met in the halls, a person easily mistaken for a caller or a visiting aunt, but respectful in manner, and with a habit of running her tongue over her teeth when not speaking that vaguely suggested immense capability--did it on a very large scale indeed. it was not, as in poor auntie's case, a question of selecting stewed tomatoes as a suitable vegetable for dinner, and penciling on a list, under "five pounds round steak," "three cans tomatoes." in the saunders' house there was always to be had whatever choicest was in season,--crabs or ducks, broilers or trout, asparagus an inch in diameter, forced strawberries and peaches, even pomegranates and alligator pears and icy, enormous grapefruit--new in those days--and melons and nectarines. there were crocks and boxes of cakes, a whole ice-chest just for cream and milk, another for cheeses and olives and pickles and salad-dressings. susan had seen the cook's great store-room, lined with jars and pots and crocks, tins and glasses and boxes of delicious things to eat, brought from all over the world for the moment when some member of the saunders family fancied russian caviar, or chinese ginger, or italian cheese. other people's brains and bodies were constantly and pleasantly at work to spare the saunders any effort whatever, and as susan, taken in by the family, and made to feel absolutely one of them, soon found herself taking hourly service quite as a matter of course, as though it was nothing new to her luxury-loving little person. if she hunted for a book, in a dark corner of the library, she did not turn her head to see which maid touched the button that caused a group of lights, just above her, to spring suddenly into soft bloom, although her "thank you!" never failed; and when she and emily came in late for tea in the drawing-room, she piled her wraps into some attendant's arms without so much as a glance. yet susan personally knew and liked all the maids, and they liked her, perhaps because her unaffected enjoyment of this new life and her constant allusions to the deprivations of the old days made them feel her a little akin to themselves. with emily and her mother susan was soon quite at home; with ella her shyness lasted longer; and toward a friendship with kenneth saunders she seemed to make no progress whatever. kenneth addressed a few kindly, unsmiling remarks to his mother during the course of the few meals he had at home; he was always gentle with her, and deeply resented anything like a lack of respect toward her on the others' parts. he entirely ignored emily, and if he held any conversation at all with the spirited ella, it was very apt to take the form of a controversy, ella trying to persuade him to attend some dance or dinner, or kenneth holding up some especial friend of hers for scornful criticism. sometimes he spoke to miss baker, but not often. kenneth's friendships were mysteries; his family had not the most remote idea where he went when he went out every evening, or where he was when he did not come home. sometimes he spoke out in sudden, half-amused praise of some debutante, she was a "funny little devil," or "she was the decentest kid in this year's crop," and perhaps he would follow up this remark with a call or two upon the admired young girl, and ella would begin to tease him about her. but the debutante and her mother immediately lost their heads at this point, called on the saunders, gushed at ella and emily, and tried to lure kenneth into coming to little home dinners or small theater parties. this always ended matters abruptly, and kenneth returned to his old ways. his valet, a mournful, silent fellow named mycroft, led rather a curious life, reporting at his master's room in the morning not before ten, and usually not in bed before two or three o'clock the next morning. about once a fortnight, sometimes oftener, as susan had known for a long time, a subtle change came over kenneth. his mother saw it and grieved; ella saw it and scolded everyone but him. it cast a darkness over the whole house. kenneth, always influenced more or less by what he drank, was going down, down, down, through one dark stage after another, into the terrible state whose horrors he dreaded with the rest of them. he was moping for a day or two, absent from meals, understood to be "not well, and in bed." then mycroft would agitatedly report that mr. kenneth was gone; there would be tears and ella's sharpest voice in mrs. saunders' room, pallor and ill-temper on emily's part, hushed distress all about until kenneth was brought home from some place unknown by mycroft, in a cab, and gotten noisily upstairs and visited three times a day by the doctor. the doctor would come downstairs to reassure mrs. saunders; mycroft would run up and down a hundred times a day to wait upon the invalid. perhaps once during his convalescence his mother would go up to see him for a little while, to sit, constrained and tender and unhappy, beside his bed, wishing perhaps that there was one thing in the wide world in which she and her son had a common interest. she was a lonesome, nervous little lady, and at these times only a little more fidgety than ever. sometimes she cried because of kenneth, in her room at night, and ella braced her with kindly, unsympathetic, well-meant, uncomprehending remarks, and made very light of his weakness; but emily walked her own room nervously, raging at ken for being such a beast, and mama for being such a fool. susan, coming downstairs in the morning sunlight, after an evening of horror and strain, when the lamps had burned for four hours in an empty drawing-room, and she and emily, early in their rooms, had listened alternately to the shouting and thumping that went on in kenneth's room and the consoling murmur of ella's voice downstairs, could hardly believe that life was being so placidly continued; that silence and sweetness still held sway downstairs; that ella, in a foamy robe of lace and ribbon, at the head of the table, could be so cheerfully absorbed in the day's news and the maryland biscuit, and that mrs. saunders, pottering over her begonias, could show so radiant a face over the blossoming of the double white, that emily, at the telephone could laugh and joke. she was a great favorite with them all now, this sunny, pretty susan; even miss baker, the mouse-like little trained nurse, beamed for her, and congratulated her upon her influence over every separate member of the family. miss baker had held her place for ten years and cherished no illusions concerning the saunders. susan had lost some few illusions herself, but not many. she was too happy to be critical, and it was her nature to like people for no better reason than that they liked her. emily saunders, with whom she had most to do, who was indeed her daily and hourly companion, was at this time about twenty-six years old, and so two years older than susan, although hers was a smooth-skinned, baby-like type, and she looked quite as young as her companion. she had had a very lonely, if extraordinarily luxurious childhood, and a sickly girlhood, whose principal events were minor operations on eyes or ears, and experiments in diets and treatments, miserable sieges with oculists and dentists and stomach-pumps. she had been sent to several schools, but ill-health made her progress a great mortification, and finally she had been given a governess, miss roche, a fussily-dressed, effusive frenchwoman, who later traveled with her. emily's only accounts of her european experience dealt with miss roche's masterly treatment of ungracious officials, her faculty for making emily comfortable at short notice and at any cost or place, and her ability to bring certain small possessions through the custom-house without unnecessary revelations. and at eighteen the younger miss saunders had been given a large coming-out tea, had joined the two most exclusive cotillions,--the junior and the browning--had lunched and dined and gone to the play with the other debutantes, and had had, according to the admiring and attentive press, a glorious first season. as a matter of fact, however, it had been a most unhappy time for the person most concerned. emily was not a social success. not more than one debutante in ten is; emily was one of the nine. before every dance her hopes rose irrepressibly, as she gazed at her dainty little person in the mirror, studied her exquisite frock and her pearls, and the smooth perfection of the hair so demurely coiled under its wreath of rosebuds, or band of shining satin. to-night, she would be a success, to-night she would wipe out old scores. this mood lasted until she was actually in the dressing-room, in a whirl of arriving girls. then her courage began to ebb. she would watch them, as the maid took off her carriage shoes; pleasantly take her turn at the mirror, exchange a shy, half-absent greeting with the few she knew; wish, with all her heart, that she dared put herself under their protection. just a few were cool enough to enter the big ballroom in a gale of mirth, surrender themselves for a few moments of gallant dispute to the clustered young men at the door, and be ready to dance without a care, the first dozen dances promised, and nothing to do but be happy. but emily drifted out shyly, fussed carefully with fans or glove-clasps while looking furtively about for possible partners, returned in a panic to the dressing-room on a pretense of exploring a slipper-bag for a handkerchief, and made a fresh start. perhaps this time some group of chattering and laughing girls and men would be too close to the door for her comfort; not invited to join them, emily would feel obliged to drift on across the floor to greet some gracious older woman, and sink into a chair, smiling at compliments, and covering a defeat with a regretful: "i'm really only looking on to-night. mama worries so if i overdo." and here she would feel out of the current indeed, hopelessly shelved. who would come looking for a partner in this quiet corner, next to old mrs. chickering whose two granddaughters were in the very center of the merry group at the door? emily would smilingly rise, and go back to the dressing-room again. the famous browning dances, in their beginning, a generation earlier, had been much smaller, less formal and more intimate than they were now. the sixty or seventy young persons who went to those first dances were all close friends, in a simpler social structure, and a less self-conscious day. they had been the most delightful events in ella's girlhood, and she felt it to be entirely emily's fault that emily did not find them equally enchanting. "but i don't know the people who go to them very well!" emily would say, half-confidential, half-resentful. ella always met this argument with high scorn. "oh, baby, if you'd stop whining and fretting, and just get in and enjoy yourself once!" ella would answer impatiently. "you don't have to know a man intimately to dance with him, i should hope! just go, and have a good time! my lord, the way we all used to laugh and talk and rush about, you'd have thought we were a pack of children!" ella and her contemporaries always went to these balls even now, the magnificent matrons of forty showing rounded arms and beautiful bosoms, and gowns far more beautiful than those the girls wore. jealousy and rivalry and heartaches all forgot, they sat laughing and talking in groups, clustered along the walls, or played six-handed euchre in the adjoining card-room, and had, if the truth had been known, a far better time than the girls they chaperoned. after a winter or two, however, emily stopped going, except perhaps once in a season. she began to devote a great deal of her thought and her conversation to her health, and was not long in finding doctors and nurses to whom the subject was equally fascinating. emily had a favorite hospital, and was frequently ordered there for experiences that touched more deeply the chords of her nature than anything else ever did in her life. no one at home ever paid her such flattering devotion as did the sweet-faced, low-voiced nurses, and the doctor--whose coming, twice a day, was such an event. the doctor was a model husband and father, his beautiful wife a woman whom ella knew and liked very well, but emily had her nickname for him, and her little presents for him, and many a small, innocuous joke between herself and the doctor made her feel herself close to him. emily was always glad when she could turn from her mother's mournful solicitude, kenneth's snubs and ella's imperativeness, and the humiliating contact with a society that could get along very well without her, to the universal welcome she had from all her friends in mrs. fowler's hospital. to susan the thought of hypodermics, anesthetics, antisepsis and clinic thermometers, charts and diets, was utterly mysterious and abhorrent, and her healthy distaste for them amused emily, and gave emily a good reason for discussing and defending them. susan's part was to listen and agree, listen and agree, listen and agree, on this as on all topics. she had not been long at "high gardens" before emily, in a series of impulsive gushes of confidence, had volunteered the information that ella was so jealous and selfish and heartless that she was just about breaking mama's heart, never happy unless she was poisoning somebody's mind against emily, and never willing to let emily keep a single friend, or do anything she wanted to do. "so now you see why i am always so dignified and quiet with ella," said emily, in the still midnight when all this was revealed. "that's the one thing that makes her mad!" "i can't believe it!" said susan, aching for sleep, and yawning under cover of the dark. "i keep up for mama's sake," emily said. "but haven't you noticed how ella tries to get you away from me? you must have! why, the very first night you were here, she called out, 'come in and see me on your way down!' don't you remember? and yesterday, when i wasn't dressed and she wanted you to go driving, after dinner! don't you remember?" "yes, but---" susan began. she could dismiss this morbid fancy with a few vigorous protests, with a hearty laugh. but she would probably dismiss herself from the saunders' employ, as well, if she pursued any such bracing policy. "you poor kid, it's pretty hard on you!" she said, admiringly. and for half an hour she was not allowed to go to sleep. susan began to dread these midnight talks. the moon rose, flooded the sleeping porch, mounted higher. the watch under susan's pillow ticked past one o'clock, past half-past one-- "emily, you know really ella is awfully proud of you," she was finally saying, "and, as for trying to influence your mother, you can't blame her. you're your mother's favorite--anyone can see that--and i do think she feels--" "well, that's true!" emily said, mollified. a silence followed. susan began to settle her head by imperceptible degrees into the pillow; perhaps emily was dropping off! silence--silence--heavenly delicious silence. what a wonderful thing this sleeping porch was, susan thought drowsily, and how delicious the country night-- "susan, why do you suppose i am mama's favorite?" emily's clear, wide-awake voice would pursue, with pensive interest. or, "susan, when did you begin to like me?" she would question, on their drives. "susan, when i was looking straight up into mrs. carter's face,--you know the way i always do!--she laughed at me, and said i was a madcap monkey? why did she say that?" emily would pout, and wrinkle her brows in pretty, childish doubt. "i'm not a monkey, and _i_ don't think i'm a madcap? do you?" "you're different, you see, emily. you're not in the least like anybody else!" susan would say. "but why am i different?" and if it was possible, emily might even come over to sit on the arm of susan's chair, or drop on her knees and encircle susan's waist with her arms. "well, in the first place you're terribly original, emily, and you always say right out what you mean--" susan would begin. with ella, when she grew to know her well, susan was really happier. she was too honest to enjoy the part she must always play with emily, yet too practically aware of the advantages of this new position, to risk it by frankness, and eventually follow the other companions, the governesses and trained nurses who had preceded her. emily characterized these departed ladies as "beasts," and still flushed a deep resentful red when she mentioned certain ones among them. susan found in ella, in the first place, far more to admire than she could in emily. ella's very size made for a sort of bigness in character. she looked her two hundred and thirty pounds, but she looked handsome, glowing and comfortable as well. everything she wore was loose and dashing in effect; she was a fanatic about cleanliness and freshness, and always looked as if freshly bathed and brushed and dressed. ella never put on a garment, other than a gown or wrap, twice. sometimes a little heap of snowy, ribboned underwear was carried away from her rooms three or four times a day. she was dictatorial and impatient and exacting, but she was witty and good-natured, too, and so extremely popular with men and women of her own age that she could have dined out three times a night. ella was fondly nicknamed "mike" by her own contemporaries, and was always in demand for dinners and lunch parties and card parties. she was beloved by the younger set, too. susan thought her big-sisterly interest in the debutantes very charming to see and, when she had time to remember her sister's little companion now and then, she would carry susan off for a drive, or send for her when she was alone for tea, and the two laughed a great deal together. susan could honestly admire here, and ella liked her admiration. miss saunders believed herself to be a member of the most distinguished american family in existence, and her place to be undisputed as queen of the most exclusive little social circle in the world. she knew enough of the social sets of london and washington and new york society to allude to them casually and intimately, and she told susan that no other city could boast of more charming persons than those who composed her own particular set in san francisco. ella never spoke of "society" without intense gravity; nothing in life interested her so much as the question of belonging or not belonging to it. to her personally, of course, it meant nothing; she had been born inside the charmed ring, and would die there; but the status of other persons filled her with concern. she was very angry when her mother or emily showed any wavering in this all-important matter. "well, what did you have to see her for, mama?" ella would irritably demand, when her autocratic "who'd you see to-day? what'd you do?" had drawn from her mother the name of some caller. "why, dearie, i happened to be right there. i was just crossing the porch when they drove up!" mrs. saunders would timidly submit. "oh, lord, lord, lord! mama, you make me crazy!" ella would drop her hands, fling her head back, gaze despairingly at her mother. "that was your chance to snub her, mama! why didn't you have chow yew say that you were out?" "but, dearie, she seemed a real sweet little thing!" "sweet little--! you'll have me crazy! sweet little nothing--just because she married gordon jones, and the st. johns have taken her up, she thinks she can get into society! and anyway, i wouldn't have given rosie st. john the satisfaction for a thousand dollars! did you ask her to your bridge lunch?" "ella, dear, it is my lunch," her mother might remind her, with dignity. "mama, did you ask that woman here to play cards?" "well, dearie, she happened to say--" "oh, happened to say--!" a sudden calm would fall upon miss ella, the calm of desperate decision. the subject would be dropped for the time, but she would bring a written note to the lunch table. "listen to this, mama; i can change it if you don't like it," ella would begin, kindly, and proceed to read it. high gardens. my dear mrs. jones: mother has asked me to write you that her little bridge lunch for friday, the third, must be given up because of the dangerous illness of a close personal friend. she hopes that it is only a pleasure deferred, and will write you herself when less anxious and depressed. cordially yours, ella cornwallis saunders. "but, ella, dear," the mother would protest, "there are others coming--" "leave the others to me! i'll telephone and make it the day before." ella would seal and dispatch the note, and be inclined to feel generously tender and considerate of her mother for the rest of the day. ella was at home for a few moments, almost every day; but she did not dine at home more than once or twice in a fortnight. but she was always there for the family's occasional formal dinner party in which events susan refused very sensibly to take part. she and miss baker dined early and most harmoniously in the breakfast-room, and were free to make themselves useful to the ladies of the house afterward. ella would be magnificent in spangled cloth-of-gold; emily very piquante in demure and drooping white, embroidered exquisitely with tiny french blossoms in color; mrs. saunders rustling in black lace and lavender silk, as the three went downstairs at eight o'clock. across the wide hall below would stream the hooded women and the men in great-coats, silk hats in hand. ella did not leave the drawing-room to meet them, as on less formal occasions, but a great chattering and laughing would break out as they went in. susan, sitting back on her knees in the upper hall, to peer through the railing at the scene below, to miss baker's intense amusement, could admire everything but the men guests. they were either more or less attractive and married, thought susan, or very young, very old, or very uninteresting bachelors. red-faced, eighteen-year-old boys, laughing nervously, and stumbling over their pumps, shared the honors with cackling little fifty-year-old gallants. it could only be said that they were males, and that ella would have cheerfully consigned her mother to bed with a bad headache rather than have had one too few of them to evenly balance the number of women. the members of the family knew what patience and effort were required, what writing and telephoning, before the right number was acquired. the first personal word that kenneth saunders ever spoke to his sister's companion was when, running downstairs, on the occasion of one of these dinners, he came upon her, crouched in her outlook, and thoroughly enjoying herself. "good god!" said kenneth, recoiling. "sh-sh--it's only me--i'm watching 'em!" susan whispered, even laying her hand upon the immaculate young gentleman's arm in her anxiety to quiet him. "why, lord; why doesn't ella count you in on these things?" he demanded, gruffly. "next time i'll tell her--" "if you do, i'll never speak to you again!" susan threatened, her merry face close to his in the dark. "i wouldn't be down there for a farm!" "what do you do, just watch 'em?" kenneth asked sociably, hanging over the railing beside her. "it's lots of fun!" susan said, in a whisper. "who's that?" "that's that bacon girl--isn't she the limit!" kenneth whispered back. "lord," he added regretfully, "i'd much rather stay up here than go down! what ella wants to round up a gang like this for--" and, sadly speculating, the son of the house ran downstairs, and susan, congratulating herself, returned to her watching. indeed, after a month or two in her new position, she thought an evening to herself a luxury to be enormously enjoyed. it was on such an occasion that susan got the full benefit of the bathroom, the luxuriously lighted and appointed dressing-table, the porch with its view of a dozen gardens drenched in heavenly moonlight. at other times emily's conversation distracted her and interrupted her at her toilet. emily gave her no instant alone. emily came up very late after the dinners to yawn and gossip with susan while gerda, her mother's staid middle-aged maid, drew off her slippers and stockings, and reverently lifted the dainty gown safely to its closet. susan always got up, rolled herself in a wrap, and listened to the account of the dinner; emily was rather critical of the women, but viewed the men more romantically. she repeated their compliments, exulting that they had been paid her "under ella's very nose," or while "mama was staring right at us." it pleased emily to imagine a great many love-affairs for herself, and to feel that they must all be made as mysterious and kept as secret as possible. it was the old story, thought susan, listening sympathetically, and in utter disbelief, to these recitals. mary lou and georgie were not alone in claiming vague and mythical love-affairs; emily even carried them to the point of indicating old bundles of letters in her desk as "from bob brock--tell you all about that some time!" or alluding to some youth who had gone away, left that part of the country entirely for her sake, some years ago. and even georgie would not have taken as seriously as emily did the least accidental exchange of courtesies with the eligible male. if the two girls, wasting a morning in the shops in town, happened to meet some hurrying young man in the street, the color rushed into emily's face, and she alluded to the incident a dozen times during the course of the day. like most girls, she had a special manner for men, a rather audacious and attractive manner, susan thought. the conversation was never anything but gay and frivolous and casual. it always pleased emily when such a meeting occurred. "did you notice that peyton hamilton leaned over and said something to me very quickly, in a low voice, this morning?" emily would ask, later, suddenly looking mischievous and penitent at once. "oh, ho! that's what you do when i'm not noticing!" susan would upbraid her. "he asked me if he could call," emily would say, yawning, "but i told him i didn't like him well enough for that!" susan was astonished to find herself generally accepted because of her association with emily saunders. she had always appreciated the difficulty of entering the inner circle of society with insufficient credentials. now she learned how simple the whole thing was when the right person or persons assumed the responsibility. girls whom years ago she had rather fancied to be "snobs" and "stuck-up" proved very gracious, very informal and jolly, at closer view; even the most prominent matrons began to call her "child" and "you little susan brown, you!" and show her small kindnesses. susan took them at exactly their own valuation, revered those women who, like ella, were supreme; watched curiously others a little less sure of their standing; and pitied and smiled at the struggles of the third group, who took rebuffs and humiliations smilingly, and fell only to rise and climb again. susan knew that the thayers, the chickerings and chaunceys and coughs, the saunders and the st. johns, and dolly ripley, the great heiress, were really secure, nothing could shake them from their proud eminence. it gave her a little satisfaction to put the baxters and peter coleman decidedly a step below; even lovely isabel wallace and the carters and the geralds, while ornamenting the very nicest set, were not quite the social authorities that the first-named families were. and several lower grades passed before one came to connie fox and her type, poor, pushing, ambitious, watching every chance to score even the tiniest progress toward the goal of social recognition. connie fox and her mother were a curious study to susan, who, far more secure for the time being than they were, watched them with deep interest. the husband and father was an insurance broker, whose very modest income might have comfortably supported a quiet country home, and one maid, and eventually have been stretched to afford the daughter and only child a college education or a trousseau as circumstances decreed. as it was, a little house on broadway was maintained with every appearance of luxury, a capped-and-aproned maid backed before guests through the tiny hall; connie's vivacity covered the long wait for the luncheons that an irate chinese cook, whose wages were perpetually in arrears, served when it pleased him to do so. mrs. fox bought prizes for connie's gay little card-parties with the rent money, and retired with a headache immediately after tearfully informing the harassed breadwinner of the fact. she ironed connie's gowns, bullied her little dressmaker, cried and made empty promises to her milliner, cut her old friends, telephoned her husband at six o'clock that, as "the girls" had not gone yet, perhaps he had better have a bite of dinner downtown. she gushed and beamed on connie's friends, cultivated those she could reach assiduously, and never dreamed that a great many people were watching her with amusement when she worked her way about a room to squeeze herself in next to some social potentate. she had her reward when the mail brought constance the coveted dance-cards; when she saw her name in the society columns of the newspapers, and was able to announce carelessly that that lucky girlie of hers was really going to honolulu with the cyrus holmes. dolly ripley, the heiress, had taken a sudden fancy to connie, some two years before susan met her, and this alone was enough to reward mrs. fox for all the privations, snubs and humiliations she had suffered since the years when she curled connie's straight hair on a stick, nearly blinded herself tucking and embroidering her little dresses, and finished up the week's ironing herself so that her one maid could escort connie to an exclusive little dancing-class. susan saw connie now and then, and met the mother and daughter on a certain autumn sunday when ella had chaperoned the two younger girls to a luncheon at the burlingame club-house. they had spent the night before with a friend of ella's, whose lovely country home was but a few minutes' walk from the club, and susan was elated with the glorious conviction that she had added to the gaiety of the party, and that through her even emily was having a really enjoyable time. she met a great many distinguished persons to-day, the golf and polo players, the great eastern actress who was the center of a group of adoring males, and was being entertained by the oldest and most capable of dowagers, and dolly ripley, a lean, eager, round-shouldered, rowdyish little person, talking as a professional breeder might talk of her dogs and horses, and shadowed by connie fox. susan was so filled with the excitement of the occasion, the beauty of the day, the delightful club and its delightful guests, that she was able to speak to miss dolly ripley quite as if she also had inherited some ten millions of dollars, and owned the most expensive, if not the handsomest, home in the state. "that was so like dear dolly!" said mrs. fox later, coming up behind susan on the porch, and slipping an arm girlishly about her waist. "what was?" asked susan, after greetings. "why, to ask what your first name was, and say that as she hated the name of brown, she was going to call you susan!" said mrs. fox sweetly. "don't you find her very dear and simple?" "why, i just met her--" susan said, disliking the arm about her waist, and finding mrs. fox's interest in her opinion of dolly ripley quite transparent. "ah, i know her so well!" mrs. fox added, with a happy sigh. "always bright and interested when she meets people. but i scold her--yes, i do!--for giving people a false impression. i say, 'dolly,'--i've known her so long, you know!--'dolly, dear, people might easily think you meant some of these impulsive things you say, dear, whereas your friends, who know you really well, know that it's just your little manner, and that you'll have forgotten all about it to-morrow!' i don't mean you, miss brown," mrs. fox interrupted herself to say hastily. "far from it!----now, my dear, tell me that you know i didn't mean you!" "i understand perfectly," susan said graciously. and she knew that at last she really did. mrs. fox was fluttering like some poor bird that sees danger near its young. she couldn't have anyone else, especially this insignificant little miss brown, who seemed to be making rather an impression everywhere, jeopardize connie's intimacy with dolly ripley, without using such poor and obvious little weapons as lay at her command to prevent it. standing on the porch of the burlingame club, and staring out across the gracious slopes of the landscape, susan had an exhilarated sense of being among the players of this fascinating game at last. she must play it alone, to be sure, but far better alone than assisted as connie fox was assisted. it was an immense advantage to be expected to accompany emily everywhere; it made a snub practically impossible, while heightening the compliment when she was asked anywhere without emily. susan was always willing to entertain a difficult guest, to play cards or not to play with apparently equal enjoyment--more desirable than either, she was "fun," and the more she was laughed at, the funnier she grew. "and you'll be there with emily, of course, miss brown," said the different hostess graciously. "emily, you're going to bring susan brown, you know!--i'm telephoning, miss brown, because i'm afraid my note didn't make it clear that we want you, too!" emily's well-known eccentricity did not make susan the less popular; even though she was personally involved in it. "oh, i wrote you a note for emily this morning, mrs. willis," susan would say, at the club, "she's feeling wretchedly to-day, and she wants to be excused from your luncheon to-morrow!" "oh?" the matron addressed would eye the messenger with kindly sharpness. "what's the matter--very sick?" "we-ell, not dying!" a dimple would betray the companion's demureness. "not dying? no, i suppose not! well, you tell emily that she's a silly, selfish little cat, or words to that effect!" "i'll choose words to that effect," susan would assure the speaker, smilingly. "you couldn't come, anyway, i suppose?" "oh, no, mrs. willis! thank you so much!" "no, of course not." the matron would bite her lips in momentary irritation, and, when they parted, the cause of that pretty, appreciative, amusing little companion of emily saunders would be appreciably strengthened. one winter morning emily tossed a square, large envelope across the breakfast table toward her companion. "sue, that looks like a browning invitation! what do you bet that he's sent you a card for the dances!" "he couldn't!" gasped susan, snatching it up, while her eyes danced, and the radiant color flooded her face. her hand actually shook when she tore the envelope open, and as the engraved card made its appearance, susan's expression might have been that of cinderella eyeing her coach-and-four. for browning--founder of the cotillion club, and still manager of the four or five winter dances--was the one unquestioned, irrefutable, omnipotent social authority of san francisco. to go to the "brownings" was to have arrived socially; no other distinction was equivalent, because there was absolutely no other standard of judgment. very high up, indeed, in the social scale must be the woman who could resist the temptation to stick her card to the brownings in her mirror frame, where the eyes of her women friends must inevitably fall upon it, and yearly hundreds of matrons tossed through sleepless nights, all through the late summer and the fall, hoping against hope, despairing, hoping again, that the magic card might really be delivered some day in early december, and her debutante daughter's social position be placed beyond criticism once more. only perhaps one hundred persons out of "brownie's" four hundred guests could be sure of the privilege. the others must suffer and wait. browning himself, a harassed, overworked, kindly gentleman, whose management of the big dances brought him nothing but responsibility and annoyance, threatened yearly to resign from his post, and yearly was dragged back into the work, fussing for hours with his secretary over the list, before he could personally give it to the hungrily waiting reporters with the weary statement that it was absolutely correct, that no more names were to be added this year, that he did not propose to defend, through the columns of the press, his omission of certain names and his acceptance of others, and that, finally, he was off for a week's vacation in the southern part of the state, and thanked them all for their kindly interest in himself and his efforts for san francisco society. it was the next morning's paper that was so anxiously awaited, and so eagerly perused in hundreds of luxurious boudoirs--exulted over, or wept over and reviled,--but read by nearly every woman in the city. and now he had sent susan a late card, and susan knew why. she had met the great man at the hotel rafael a few days before, at tea-time, and he had asked susan most affectionately of her aunt, mrs. lancaster, and recalled, with a little emotion, the dances of two generations before, when he was a small boy, and the lovely georgianna ralston was a beauty and a belle. susan could have kissed the magic bit of pasteboard! but she knew too well just what emily wanted to think of browning's courtesy, to mention his old admiration for her aunt. and emily immediately justified her diplomatic silence by saying: "isn't that awfully decent of brownie! he did that just for ella and me--that's like him! he'll do anything for some people!" "well, of course i can't go," susan said briskly. "but i do call it awfully decent! and no little remarks about sending a check, either, and no chaperone's card! the old duck! however, i haven't a gown, and i haven't a beau, and you don't go, and so i'll write a tearful regret. i hope it won't be the cause of his giving the whole thing up. i hate to discourage the dear boy!" emily laughed approvingly. "no, but honestly, sue," she said, in eager assent, "don't you know how people would misunderstand--you know how people are! you and i know that you don't care a whoop about society, and that you'd be the last person in the world to use your position here--but you know what other people might say! and brownie hates talk--" susan had to swallow hard, and remain smiling. it was part of the price that she paid for being here in this beautiful environment, for being, in every material sense, a member of one of the state's richest families. she could not say, as she longed to say, "oh, emily, don't talk rot! you know that before your own grandfather made his money as a common miner, and when isabel wallace's grandfather was making shoes, mine was a rich planter in virginia!" but she knew that she could safely have treated emily's own mother with rudeness, she could have hopelessly mixed up the letters she wrote for ella, she could have set the house on fire or appropriated to her own use the large sums of money she occasionally was entrusted by the family to draw for one purpose or another from the bank, and been quickly forgiven, if forgivness was a convenience to the saunders family at the moment. but to fail to realize that between the daughter of the house of saunders and the daughter of the house of brown an unspanned social chasm must forever stretch would have been, indeed, the unforgivable offense. it was all very different from susan's old ideals of a paid companion's duties. she had drawn these ideals from the english novels she consumed with much enjoyment in early youth--from "queenie's whim" and "uncle max" and the novels of charlotte yonge. she had imagined herself, before her arrival at "high gardens," as playing piano duets with emily, reading french for an hour, german for an hour, gardening, tramping, driving, perhaps making a call on some sick old woman with soup and jelly in her basket, or carrying armfuls of blossoms to the church for decoration. if one of emily's sick headaches came on, it would be susan's duty to care for her tenderly, and to read to her in a clear, low, restful voice when she was recovering; to write her notes, to keep her vases filled with flowers, to "preside" at the tea-table, efficient, unobtrusive, and indispensable. she would make herself useful to ella, too; arrange her collections of coins, carry her telephone messages, write her notes. she would accompany the little old mother on her round through the greenhouses, read to her and be ready to fly for her book or her shawl. and if susan's visionary activities also embraced a little missionary work in the direction of the son of the house, it was of a very sisterly and blameless nature. surely the most demure of companions, reading to mrs. saunders in the library, might notice an attentive listener lounging in a dark corner, or might color shyly when ken's sisters commented on the fact that he seemed to be at home a good deal these days. it was a little disillusioning to discover, as during her first weeks in the new work she did discover, that almost no duties whatever would be required of her. it seemed to make more irksome the indefinite thing that was required of her; her constant interested participation in just whatever happened to interest emily at the moment. susan loved tennis and driving, loved shopping and lunching in town, loved to stroll over to the hotel for tea in the pleasant afternoons, or was satisfied to lie down and read for an hour or two. but it was very trying to a person of her definite impulsive briskness never to know, from one hour or one day to the next, just what occupation was in prospect. emily would order the carriage for four o'clock, only to decide, when it came around, that she would rather drag the collies out into the side-garden, to waste three dozen camera plates and three hours in trying to get good pictures of them. sometimes emily herself posed before the camera, and susan took picture after picture of her. "sue, don't you think it would be fun to try some of me in my mandarin coat? come up while i get into it. oh, and go get chow yew to get that chinese violin he plays, and i'll hold it! we'll take 'em in the japanese garden!" emily would be quite fired with enthusiasm, but before the girls were upstairs she might change in favor of her riding habit and silk hat, and susan would telephone the stable that miss emily's riding horse was wanted in the side-garden. "you're a darling!" she would say to susan, after an exhausting hour or two. "now, next time i'll take you!" but susan's pictures never were taken. emily's interest rarely touched twice in the same place. "em, it's twenty minutes past four! aren't we going to tea with isabel wallace?" susan would ask, coming in to find emily comfortably stretched out with a book. "oh, lord, so we were! well, let's not!" emily would yawn. "but, em, they expect us!" "well, go telephone, sue, there's a dear! and tell them i've got a terrible headache. and you and i'll have tea up here. tell carrie i want to see her about it; i'm hungry; i want to order it specially." sometimes, when the girls came downstairs, dressed for some outing, it was miss ella who upset their plans. approving of her little sister's appearance, she would lure emily off for a round of formal calls. "be decent now, baby! you'll never have a good time, if you don't go and do the correct thing now and then. come on. i'm going to town on the two, and we can get a carriage right at the ferry--" but susan rarely managed to save the afternoon. going noiselessly upstairs, she was almost always captured by the lonely old mistress of the house. "girls gone?" mrs. saunders would pipe, in her cracked little voice, from the doorway of her rooms. "don't the house seem still? come in, susan, you and i'll console each other over a cup of tea." susan, smilingly following her, would be at a loss to account for her own distaste and disappointment. but she was so tired of people! she wanted so desperately to be alone! the precious chance would drift by, a rich tea would presently be served; the little over-dressed, over-fed old lady was really very lonely; she went to a luncheon or card-party not oftener than two or three times a month, and she loved company. there was almost no close human need or interest in her life; she was as far from her children as was any other old lady of their acquaintance. susan knew that she had been very proud of her sons and daughters, as a happy young mother. the girl was continually discovering, among old mrs. saunders' treasures, large pictures of ella, at five, at seven, at nine, with straight long bangs and rosetted hats that tied under her chin, and french dresses tied with sashes about her knees, and pictures of kenneth leaning against stone benches, or sitting in swings, a thin and sickly-looking little boy, in a velvet suit and ribboned straw hat. there were pictures of the dead children, too, and a picture of emily, at three months, sitting in an immense shell, and clad only in the folds of her own fat little person. on the backs of these pictures, mrs. saunders had written "kennie, six years old," and the date, or "totty, aged nine"--she never tired of looking at them now, and of telling susan that the buttons on ella's dress had been of sterling silver, "made right from papa's mine," and that the little ship kenneth held had cost twenty-five dollars. all of her conversation was boastful, in an inoffensive, faded sort of way. she told susan about her wedding, about her gown and her mother's gown, and the cost of her music, and the number of the musicians. mrs. saunders, susan used to think, letting her thoughts wander as the old lady rambled on, was an unfortunately misplaced person. she had none of the qualities of the great lady, nothing spiritual or mental with which to fend off the vacuity of old age. as a girl, a bride, a young matron, she had not shown her lack so pitiably. but now, at sixty-five, mrs. saunders had no character, no tastes, no opinions worth considering. she liked to read the paper, she liked her flowers, although she took none of the actual care of them, and she liked to listen to music; there was a mechanical piano in her room, and susan often heard the music downstairs at night, and pictured the old lady, reading in bed, calling to miss baker when a record approached its finish, and listening contentedly to selections from "faust" and "ernani," and the "chanson des alpes." mrs. saunders would have been far happier as a member of the fairly well-to-do middle class. she would have loved to shop with married daughters, sharply interrogating clerks as to the durability of shoes, and the weight of little underflannels; she would have been a good angel in the nurseries, as an unfailing authority when the new baby came, or hushing the less recent babies to sleep in tender old arms. she would have been a judge of hot jellies, a critic of pastry. but bound in this little aimless groove of dressmakers' calls, and card-parties, she was quite out of her natural element. it was not astonishing that, like emily, she occasionally enjoyed an illness, and dispensed with the useless obligation of getting up and dressing herself at all! invitations, they were really commands, to the browning dances were received early in december; susan, dating her graceful little note of regret, was really shocked to notice the swift flight of the months. december already! and she had seemed to leave hunter, baxter & hunter only last week. susan fell into a reverie over her writing, her eyes roving absently over the stretch of wooded hills below her window. december--! nearly a year since peter coleman had sent her a circle of pearls, and she had precipitated the events that had ended their friendship. it was a sore spot still, the memory; but susan, more sore at herself for letting him mislead her than with him, burned to reestablish herself in his eyes as a woman of dignity and reserve, rather than to take revenge upon him for what was, she knew now, as much a part of him as his laughing eyes and his indomitable buoyancy. the room in which she was writing was warm. furnace heat is not common in california, but, with a thousand other conveniences, the saunders home had a furnace. there were winter roses, somewhere near her, making the air sweet; the sunlight slanted in brightly across the wide couch where emily was lying, teasing susan between casual glances at her magazine. a particularly gay week had left both girls feeling decidedly unwell. emily complained of headache and neuralgia; susan had breakfasted on hot soda and water, her eyes felt heavy, her skin hot and dry and prickly. "we all eat too much in this house!" she said aloud, cheerfully. "and we don't exercise enough!" emily did not answer, merely smiled, as at a joke. the subject of diet was not popular with either of the misses saunders. emily never admitted that her physical miseries had anything to do with her stomach; and ella, whose bedroom scales exasperated her afresh every time she got on them, while making dolorous allusions to her own size whenever it pleased her to do so, never allowed anyone else the privilege. but even with her healthy appetite, and splendid constitution, susan was unable to eat as both the sisters did. every other day she resolved sternly to diet, and frequently at night she could not sleep for indigestion; but the saunders home was no atmosphere for spartan resolutions, and every meal-time saw susan's courage defeated afresh. she could have remained away from the table with far less effort than was required, when a delicious dish was placed before her, to send it away untouched. there were four regular meals daily in the saunders home; the girls usually added a fifth when they went down to the pantries to forage before going to bed; and tempting little dishes of candy and candied fruits were set unobtrusively on card-tables, on desks, on the piano where the girls were amusing themselves with the songs of the day. it was a comfortable, care-free life they led, irresponsible beyond any of susan's wildest dreams. she and emily lounged about their bright, warm apartments, these winter mornings, until nine o'clock, lingered over their breakfast--talking, talking and talking, until the dining-room clock struck a silvery, sweet eleven; and perhaps drifted into miss ella's room for more talk, or amused themselves with chow yew's pidgin english, while he filled vases in one of the pantries. at twelve o'clock they went up to dress for the one o'clock luncheon, an elaborate meal at which mrs. saunders plaintively commented on the sauce bechamel, ella reviled the cook, and kenneth, if he was present, drank a great deal of some charged water from a siphon, or perhaps made lizzie or carrie nearly leap out of their skins by a sudden, terrifying inquiry why miss brown hadn't been served to salad before he was, or perhaps growled at emily a question as to what the girls had been talking about all night long. after luncheon, if kenneth did not want the new motor-car, which was supposed to be his particular affectation, the girls used it, giggling in the tonneau at the immobility of flornoy, the french chauffeur; otherwise they drove behind the bays, and stopped at some lovely home, standing back from the road behind a sweep of drive, and an avenue of shady trees, for tea. susan could take her part in the tea-time gossip now, could add her surmises and comment to the general gossip, and knew what the society weeklies meant when they used initials, or alluded to a "certain prominent debutante recently returned from an eastern school." as the season ripened, she and emily went to four or five luncheons every week, feminine affairs, with cards or matinee to follow. dinner invitations were more rare; there were men at the dinners, and the risk of boring a partner with emily's uninteresting little personality was too great to be often taken. her poor health served both herself and her friends as an excuse. ella went everywhere, even to the debutante's affairs; but emily was too entirely self-centered to be popular. she and susan were a great deal alone. they chattered and laughed together through shopping trips, luncheons at the clubs, matinees, and trips home on the boat. they bought prizes for ella's card-parties, or engagement cups and wedding-presents for those fortunate girls who claimed the center of the social stage now and then with the announcement of their personal plans. they bought an endless variety of pretty things for emily, who prided herself on the fact that she could not bear to have near her anything old or worn or ugly. a thousand little reminders came to emily wherever she went of things without which she could not exist. "what a darling chain that woman's wearing; let's go straight up to shreve's and look at chains," said emily, on the boat; or "white-bait! here it is on this menu. i hadn't thought of it for months! do remind mrs. pullet to get some!" or "can't you remember what it was isabel said that she was going to get? don't you remember i said i needed it, too?" if susan had purchases of her own to make, emily could barely wait with patience until they were completed, before adding: "i think i'll have a pair of slippers, too. something a little nicer than that, please"; or "that's going to make up into a dear wrapper for you, sue," she would enthusiastically declare, "i ought to have another wrapper, oughtn't i? let's go up to chinatown, and see some of the big wadded ones at sing fat's. i really need one!" just before christmas, emily went to the southern part of the state with a visiting cousin from the east, and susan gladly seized the opportunity for a little visit at home. she found herself strangely stirred when she went in, from the bright winter sunshine, to the dingy, odorous old house, encountering the atmosphere familiar to her from babyhood, and the unaltered warm embraces of mary lou and her aunt. before she had hung up her hat and coat, she was swept again into the old ways, listening, while she changed her dress, to mary lou's patient complaints and wistful questions, slipping out to the bakery just before dinner to bring home a great paper-bag of hot rolls, and ending the evening, after a little shopping expedition to fillmore street, with solitaire at the dining-room table. the shabbiness and disorder and a sort of material sordidness were more marked than ever, but susan was keenly conscious of some subtle, touching charm, unnoticed heretofore, that seemed to flavor the old environment to-night. they were very pure and loving and loyal, her aunt and cousins, very practically considerate and tender toward each other, despite the flimsy fabric of their absurd dreams; very good, in the old-fashioned sense of the term, if not very successful or very clever. they made much of her coming, rejoiced over her and kissed her as if she never had even in thought neglected them, and exulted innocently in the marvelous delights of her new life. georgie was driven over from the mission by her husband, the next day, in susan's honor, and carried the fat, loppy baby in for so brief a visit that it was felt hardly worth while to unwrap and wrap up again little myra estelle. mrs. lancaster had previously, with a burst of tears, informed susan that georgie was looking very badly, and that, nursing that heavy child, she should have been spared more than she was by the doctor's mother and the old servant. but susan, although finding the young mother pale and rather excited, thought that georgie looked well, and admired with the others her heavy, handsome new suit and the over-trimmed hat that quite eclipsed her small face. the baby was unmanageable, and roared throughout the visit, to georgie's distress. "she never cries this way at home!" protested young mrs. o'connor. "give her some ninny," mrs. lancaster suggested, eagerly, but georgie, glancing at the street where joe was holding the restless black horse in check, said nervously that joe didn't like it until the right time. she presently went out to hand myra to susan while she climbed into place, and was followed by a scream from mrs. lancaster, who remarked later that seeing the black horse start just as susan handed the child up, she had expected to see them all dashed to pieces. "well, susan, light of my old eyes, had enough of the rotten rich?" asked william oliver, coming in for a later dinner, on the first night of her visit, and jerking her to him for a resounding kiss before she had any idea of his intention. "billy!" susan said, mildly scandalized, her eyes on her aunt. "well, well, what's all this!" mrs. lancaster remarked, without alarm. william, shaking out his napkin, drawing his chair up to the table, and falling upon his dinner with vigor, demanded: "come on, now! tell us all, all!" but susan, who had been chattering fast enough from the moment of her arrival, could not seem to get started again. it was indeed a little difficult to continue an enthusiastic conversation, unaffected by his running fire of comment. for in these days he was drifting rapidly toward a sort of altruistic socialism, and so listened to her recital with sardonic smiles, snorts of scorn, and caustic annotations. "the carters--ha! that whole bunch ought to be hanged," billy remarked. "all their money comes from the rents of bad houses, and--let me tell you something, when there was a movement made to buy up that jackson street block, and turn it into a park, it was old carter, yes, and his wife, too, who refused to put a price on their property!" "oh, billy, you don't know that!" "i don't? all right, maybe i don't," mr. oliver returned growlingly to his meal, only to break out a moment later, "the kirkwoods! yes; that's a rare old bunch! they're still holding the city to the franchise they swindled the government out of, right after the civil war! every time you pay taxes--" "i don't pay taxes!" susan interrupted frivolously, and resumed her glowing account. billy made no further contribution to the conversation until he asked some moments later, "does old brock ever tell you about his factories, while he's taking you around his orchid-house? there's a man a week killed there, and the foremen tell the girls when they hire them that they aren't expected to take care of themselves on the wages they get!" but the night before her return to san rafael, mr. oliver, in his nicest mood, took susan to the orpheum, and they had fried oysters and coffee in a little fillmore street restaurant afterward, billy admitting with graceful frankness that funds were rather low, and susan really eager for the old experience and the old sensations. susan liked the brotherly, clumsy way in which he tried to ascertain, as they sat loitering and talking over the little meal, just how much of her thoughts still went to peter coleman, and laughed outright, as soon as she detected his purpose, as only an absolutely heart-free girl could laugh, and laid her hand over his for a little appreciative squeeze before they dismissed the subject. after that he told her of some of his own troubles, the great burden of the laboring classes that he felt rested on his particular back, and his voice rose and he pounded the table as he talked of the other countries of the world, where even greater outrages, or where experimental solutions were in existence. susan brought the conversation to josephine carroll, and watched his whole face grow tender, and heard his voice soften, as they spoke of her. "no; but is it really and truly serious this time, bill?" she asked, with that little thrill of pain that all good sisters know when the news comes. "serious? gosh!" said the lover, simply. "engaged?" "no-o. i couldn't very well. i'm in so deep at the works that i may get fired any minute. more than that, the boys generally want me to act as spokesman, and so i'm a sort of marked card, and i mightn't get in anywhere else, very easily. and i couldn't ask jo to go with me to some eastern factory or foundry town, without being pretty sure of a job. no; things are just drifting." "well, but bill," susan said anxiously, "somebody else will step in if you don't! jo's such a beauty--" he turned to her almost with a snarl. "well, what do you want me to do? steal?" he asked angrily. and then softening suddenly he added: "she's young,--the little queen of queens!" "and yet you say you don't want money," susan said, drily, with a shrug of her shoulders. the next day she went back to emily, and again the lazy, comfortable days began to slip by, one just like the other. at christmas-time susan was deluged with gifts, the holidays were an endless chain of good times, the house sweet with violets, and always full of guests and callers; girls in furs who munched candy as they chattered, and young men who laughed and shouted around the punch bowl. susan and emily were caught in a gay current that streamed to the club, to talk and drink eggnog before blazing logs, and streamed to one handsome home after another, to talk and drink eggnog before other fires, and to be shown and admire beautiful and expensive presents. they bundled in and out of carriages and motors, laughing as they crowded in, and sitting on each other's laps, and carrying a chorus of chatter and laughter everywhere. susan would find herself, the inevitable glass in hand, talking hard to some little silk-clad old lady in some softly lighted lovely drawing-room, to be whisked away to some other drawing-room, and to another fireside, where perhaps there was a stocky, bashful girl of fourteen to amuse, or somebody's grandfather to interest and smile upon. everywhere were holly wreaths and lights, soft carpets, fires and rich gowns, and everywhere the same display of gold picture frames and silver plates, rock crystal bowls, rugs and cameras and mahogany desks and tables, furs and jeweled chains and rings. everywhere were candies from all over the world, and fruitcake from london, and marrons and sticky candied fruit, and everywhere unobtrusive maids were silently offering trays covered with small glasses. susan was frankly sick when the new year began, and emily had several heart and nerve attacks, and was very difficult to amuse. but both girls agreed that the holidays had been the "time of their lives." it was felt by the saunders family that susan had shown a very becoming spirit in the matter of the browning dances. ella, who had at first slightly resented the fact that "brownie" had chosen to honor emily's paid companion in so signal a manner, had gradually shifted to the opinion that, in doing so, he had no more than confirmed the family's opinion of susan brown, after all, and shown a very decent discrimination. "no earthly reason why you shouldn't have accepted!" said ella. "oh, duchess," said susan, who sometimes pleased her with this name, "fancy the talk!" "well," drawled ella, resuming her perusal of a scandalous weekly, "i don't know that i'm afraid of talk, myself!" "at the same time, el," emily contributed, eagerly, "you know what a fuss they made when vera brock brought that miss de foe, of new york!" ella gave her little sister a very keen look, "vera brock?" she said, dreamily, with politely elevated brows. "well, of course, i don't take the brocks seriously--" emily began, reddening. "well, i should hope you wouldn't, baby!" answered the older sister, promptly and forcibly. "don't make an utter fool of yourself!" emily retired into an enraged silence, and a day or two later, ella, on a sunday morning late in february, announced that she was going to chaperone both the girls to the browning dance on the following friday night. susan was thrown into a most delightful flutter, longing desperately to go, but chilled with nervousness whenever she seriously thought of it. she lay awake every night anxiously computing the number of her possible partners, and came down to breakfast every morning cold with the resolution that she would make a great mistake in exposing herself to possible snubbing and neglect. she thought of nothing but the browning, listened eagerly to what the other girls said of it, her heart sinking when louise chickering observed that there never were men enough at the brownings, and rising again when alice chauncey hardily observed that, if a girl was a good dancer, that was all that mattered, she couldn't help having a good time! susan knew she danced well-- however, emily succumbed on thursday to a heart attack. the whole household went through its usual excitement, the doctor came, the nurse was hurriedly summoned, susan removed all the smaller articles from emily's room, and replaced the bed's flowery cover with a sheet, the invalid liking the hospital aspect. susan was not very much amazed at the suddenness of this affliction; emily had been notably lacking in enthusiasm about the dance, and on wednesday afternoon, ella having issued the casual command, "see if you can't get a man or two to dine with us at the hotel before the dance, emily; then you girls will be sure of some partners, anyway!" emily had spent a discouraging hour at the telephone. "hello, george!" susan had heard her say gaily. "this is emily saunders. george, i rang up because--you know the browning is friday night, and ella's giving me a little dinner at the palace before it--and i wondered--we're just getting it up hurriedly--" an interval of silence on emily's part would follow, then she would resume, eagerly, "oh, certainly! i'm sorry, but of course i understand. yes, indeed; i'll see you friday night--" and the conversation would be ended. and, after a moment of silence, she would call another number, and go through the little conversation again. susan, filled with apprehensions regarding her own partners, could not blame emily for the heart attack, and felt a little vague relief on her own account. better sure at home than sorry in the dreadful brilliance of a browning ball! "i'm afraid this means no dance!" murmured emily, apologetically. "as if i cared, emmy lou!" susan reassured her cheerfully. "well, i don't think you would have had a good time, sue!" emily said, and the topic of the dance was presumably exhausted. but when ella got home, the next morning, she reopened the question with some heat. emily could do exactly as emily pleased, declared ella, but susan brown should and would come to the last browning. "oh, please, duchess--!" susan besought her. "very well, sue, if you don't, i'll make that kid so sorry she ever--" "oh, please!--and beside--" said susan, "i haven't anything to wear! so that does settle it!" "what were you going to wear?" demanded ella, scowling. "em said she'd lend me her white lace." "well, that's all right! gerda'll fix it for you--" "but emily sent it back to madame leonard yesterday afternoon. she wanted the sash changed," susan hastily explained. "well, she's got other gowns," ella said, with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "what about that thing with the persian embroidery? what about the net one she wore to isabel's?" "the net one's really gone to pieces, duchess. it was a flimsy sort of thing, anyway. and the persian one she's only had on twice. when we were talking about it monday she said she'd rather i didn't--" "oh, she did? d'ye hear that, mama?" ella asked, holding herself in check. "and what about the chiffon?" "well, ella, she telephoned madame this morning not to hurry with that, because she wasn't going to the dance." "was she going to wear it?" "well, no. but she telephoned madame just the same--i don't know why she did," susan smiled. "but what's the difference?" she ended cheerfully. "quite a flora mcflimsey!" said mrs. saunders, with her nervous, shrill little laugh, adding eagerly to the now thoroughly aroused ella. "you know baby doesn't really go about much, totty; she hasn't as many gowns as you, dear!" "now, look here, mama," ella said, levelly, "if we can manage to get susan something to wear, well and good; but--if that rotten, selfish, nasty kid has really spoiled this whole thing, she'll be sorry! that's all. i'd try to get a dress in town, if it wasn't so late! as it is i'll telephone madame about the persian--" "oh, honestly, i couldn't! if emily didn't want me to!" susan began, scarlet-cheeked. "i think you're all in a conspiracy to drive me crazy!" ella said angrily. "emily shall ask you just as nicely as she knows how, to wear--" "totty, she's sick!" pleaded emily's mother. "sick! she's chock-full of poison because she never knows when to stop eating," said kenneth, with fraternal gallantry. he returned to his own thoughts, presently adding, "why don't you borrow a dress from isabel?" "isabel?" ella considered it, brightened. "isabel wallace," she said, in sudden approval. "that's exactly what i'll do!" and she swept magnificently to the little telephone niche near the dining-room door. "isabel," said she, a moment later, "this is mike--" so susan went to the dance. miss isabel wallace sent over a great box of gowns from which she might choose the most effective, and emily, with a sort of timid sullenness, urged her to go. ella and her charge went into town in the afternoon, and loitered into the club for tea. susan, whose color was already burning high, and whose eyes were dancing, fretted inwardly at ella's leisurely enjoyment of a second and a third sup. it was nearly six o'clock, it was after six! ella seemed willing to delay indefinitely, waiting on the stairs of the club for a long chat with a passing woman, and lingering with various friends in the foyer of the great hotel. but finally they were in the big bedrooms, with clemence, ella's maid, in eager and interested attendance. clemence had laid susan's delicious frills and laces out upon the bed; susan's little wrapper was waiting her; there was nothing to do now but plunge into the joy of dressing. a large, placid person known to susan vaguely as the mrs. keith, who had been twice divorced, had the room next to ella, and pretty mary peacock, her daughter, shared susan's room. the older ladies, assuming loose wrappers, sat gossiping over cocktails and smoking cigarettes, and mary and susan seized the opportunity to monopolize clemence. clemence arranged susan's hair, pulling, twisting, flinging hot masses over the girl's face, inserting pins firmly, loosening strands with her hard little french fingers. susan had only occasional blinded glimpses of her face, one temple bare and bald, the other eclipsed like a gipsy's. "look here, clemence, if i don't like it, out it comes!" she said. "mais, certainement, ca va sans dire!" clemence agreed serenely. mary peacock, full of amused interest, watched as she rubbed her face and throat with cold cream. "i wish i had your neck and shoulders, miss brown," said miss peacock. "i get so sick of high-necked gowns that i'd almost rather stay home!" "why, you're fatter than i am!" susan exclaimed. "you've got lovely shoulders!" "yes, darling!" mary said, gushingly. "and i've got the sort of blood that breaks out, in a hot room," she added after a moment, "don't look so scared, it's nothing serious! but i daren't ever take the risk of wearing a low gown!" "but how did you get it?" ejaculated susan. "are you taking something for it?" "no, love," mary continued, in the same, amused, ironic strain, "because i've been traveling about, half my life, to get it cured, germany and france, everywhere! and there ain't no such animal! isn't it lovely?" "but how did you get it?" susan innocently persisted. mary gave her a look half exasperated and half warning; but, when clemence had stepped into the next room for a moment, she said: "don't be an utter fool! where do you think i got it? "the worst of it is," she went on pleasantly, as clemence came back, "that my father's married again, you know, to the sweetest little thing you ever saw. an only girl, with four or five big brothers, and her father a minister! well--" "voici!" exclaimed the maid. and susan faced herself in the mirror, and could not resist a shamed, admiring smile. but if the smooth rolls and the cunning sweeps and twists of bright hair made her prettier than usual, susan was hardly recognizable when the maid touched lips and cheeks with color and eyebrows with her clever pencil. she had thought her eyes bright before; now they had a starry glitter that even their owner thought effective; her cheeks glowed softly-- "here, stop flirting with yourself, and put on your gown, it's after eight!" mary said, and clemence slipped the fragrant beauty of silk and lace over susan's head, and knelt down to hook it, and pushed it down over the hips, and tied the little cord that held the low bodice so charmingly in place. clemence said nothing when she had finished, nor did mary, nor did ella when they presently joined ella to go downstairs, but susan was satisfied. it is an unfortunate girl indeed who does not think herself a beauty for one night at least in her life; susan thought herself beautiful tonight. they joined the men in the lounge, and susan had to go out to dinner, if not quite "on a man's arm," as in her old favorite books, at least with her own partner, feeling very awkward, and conscious of shoulders and hips as she did so. but she presently felt the influence of the lights and music, and of the heating food and wine, and talked and laughed quite at her ease, feeling delightfully like a great lady and a great beauty. her dinner partner presently asked her for the "second" and the supper dance, and susan, hoping that she concealed indecent rapture, gladly consented. by just so much was she relieved of the evening's awful responsibility. she did not particularly admire this nice, fat young man, but to be saved from visible unpopularity, she would gladly have danced with the waiter. it was nearer eleven than ten o'clock when they sauntered through various wide hallways to the palm-decorated flight of stairs that led down to the ballroom. susan gave one dismayed glance at the brilliant sweep of floor as they descended. "they're dancing!" she ejaculated,--late, and a stranger, what chance had she! "gosh, you're crazy about it, aren't you?" grinned her partner, mr. teddy carpenter. "don't you care, they've just begun. want to finish this with me?" but susan was greeting the host, who stood at the foot of the stairs, a fat, good-natured little man, beaming at everyone out of small twinkling blue eyes, and shaking hands with the debutantes while he spoke to their mothers over their shoulders. "hello, brownie!" ella said, affectionately. "where's everybody?" mr. browning flung his fat little arms in the air. "i don't know," he said, in humorous distress. "the girls appear to be holding a meeting over there in the dressing-room, and the men are in the smoker! i'm going to round 'em up! how do you do, miss brown? gad, you look so like your aunt,--and she was a beauty, ella!--that i could kiss you for it, as i did her once!" "my aunt has black hair and brown eyes, miss ella, and weighs one hundred and ninety pounds!" twinkled susan. "kiss her again for that, brownie, and introduce me," said a tall, young man at the host's side easily. "i'm going to have this, aren't i, miss brown? come on, they're just beginning--" off went susan, swept deliciously into the tide of enchanting music and motion. she wasn't expected to talk, she had no time to worry, she could dance well, and she did. kenneth saunders came up in the pause before the dance was encored, and asked for the "next but one,"--there were no cards at the brownings; all over the hall girls were nodding over their partners' shoulders, in answer to questions, "next, louise?" "next waltz--one after that, then?" "i'm next, remember!" kenneth brought a bashful blonde youth with him, who instantly claimed the next dance. he did not speak to susan again until it was over, when, remarking simply, "god, that was life!" he asked for the third ensuing, and surrendered susan to some dark youth unknown, who said, "ours? now, don't say no, for there's suicide in my blood, girl, and i'm a man of few words!" "i am honestly all mixed up!" susan laughed. "i think this is promised--" it didn't appear to matter. the dark young man took the next two, and susan found herself in the enchanting position of a person reproached by disappointed partners. perhaps there were disappointed and unpopular girls at the dance, perhaps there was heart-burning and disappointment and jealousy; she saw none of it. she was passed from hand to hand, complimented, flirted with, led into the little curtained niches where she could be told with proper gravity of the feelings her wit and beauty awakened in various masculine hearts. by twelve o'clock susan wished that the ball would last a week, she was borne along like a feather on its glittering and golden surface. ella was by this time passionately playing the new and fascinating game of bridge whist, in a nearby room, but browning was still busy, and presently he came across the floor to susan, and asked her for a dance--an honor for which she was entirely unprepared, for he seldom danced, and one that she was quick enough to accept at once. "perhaps you've promised the next?" said browning. "if i have," said the confident susan, "i hereby call it off." "well," he said smilingly, pleased. and although he did not finish the dance, and they presently sat down together, she knew that it had been the evening's most important event. "there's a man coming over from the club, later," said mr. browning, "he's a wonderful fellow! writer, and a sort of cousin of ella saunders by the way, or else his wife is. he's just on from new york, and for a sort of rest, and he may go on to japan for his next novel. very remarkable fellow!" "a writer?" susan looked interested. "yes, you know him, of course. bocqueraz--that's who it is!" "not stephen graham bocqueraz!" ejaculated susan, round-eyed. "yes--yes!" mr. browning liked her enthusiasm. "but is he here?" susan asked, almost reverently. "why, i'm perfectly crazy about his books!" she confided. "why--why--he's about the biggest there is!" "yes, he writes good stuff," the man agreed. "well, now, don't you miss meeting him! he'll be here directly," his eyes roved to the stairway, a few feet from where they were sitting. "here he is now!" said he. "come now, miss brown---" "oh, honestly! i'm scared--i don't know what to say!" susan said in a panic. but browning's fat little hand was firmly gripped over hers and she went with him to meet the two or three men who were chatting together as they came slowly, composedly, into the ball-room. chapter iii from among them she could instantly pick the writer, even though all three were strangers, and although, from the pictures she had seen of him, she had always fancied that stephen bocqueraz was a large, athletic type of man, instead of the erect and square-built gentleman who walked between the other two taller men. he was below the average height, certainly, dark, clean-shaven, bright-eyed, with a thin-lipped, wide, and most expressive mouth, and sleek hair so black as to make his evening dress seem another color. he was dressed with exquisite precision, and with one hand he constantly adjusted and played with the round black-rimmed glasses that hung by a silk ribbon about his neck. susan knew him, at this time, to be about forty-five, perhaps a little less. if her very first impression was that he was both affected and well aware of his attractiveness, her second conceded that here was a man who could make any affectation charming, and not the less attractive because he knew his value. "and what do i do, mr. br-r-rowning," asked mr. bocqueraz with pleasant precision, "when i wish to monopolize the company of a very charming young lady, at a dance, and yet, not dancing, cannot ask her to be my partner?" "the next is the supper dance," suggested susan, dimpling, "if it isn't too bold to mention it!" he flashed her an appreciative look, the first they had really exchanged. "supper it is," he said gravely, offering her his arm. but browning delayed him for a few introductions first; and susan stood watching him, and thinking him very distinguished, and that to study a really great man, so pleasantly at her ease, was very thrilling. presently he turned to her again, and they went in to supper; to susan it was all like an exciting dream. they chose a little table in the shallow angle of a closed doorway, and watched the confusion all about them; and susan, warmed by the appreciative eyes so near her, found herself talking quite naturally, and more than once was rewarded by the writer's unexpected laughter. she asked him if mrs. bocqueraz and his daughter were with him, and he said no, not on this particular trip. "julie and her mother are in europe," he said, with just a suggestion of his spanish grandfather in his clean-clipped speech. "julie left miss bence's school at seventeen, had a coming-out party in our city house the following winter. now it seems europe is the thing. mrs. bocqueraz likes to do things systematically, and she told me, before julie was out of the nursery, that she thought it was very nice for a girl to marry in her second winter in society, after a european trip. i have no doubt my daughter will announce her engagement upon her return." "to whom?" said susan, laughing at his precise, re-signed tone. "that i don't know," said stephen bocqueraz, with a twinkle in his eye, "nor does julie, i fancy. but undoubtedly her mother does!" "here is somebody coming over for a dance, i suppose!" he said after a few moments, and susan was flattered by the little hint of regret in his tone. but the newcomer was peter coleman, and the emotion of meeting him drove every other thought out of her head. she did not rise, as she gave him her hand; the color flooded her face. "susan, you little turkey-buzzard--" it was the old peter!--"where've you been all evening? the next for me!" "mr. bocqueraz, mr. coleman," susan said, with composure, "peter, mr. stephen graham bocqueraz." even to peter the name meant something. "why, susan, you little grab-all!" he accused her vivaciously. "how dare you monopolize a man like mr. bocqueraz for the whole supper dance! i'll bet some of those women are ready to tear your eyes out!" "i've been doing the monopolizing," mr. bocqueraz said, turning a rather serious look from peter, to smile with sudden brightness at susan. "when i find a young woman at whose christening all the fairies came to dance," he added, "i always do all the monopolizing i can! however, if you have a prior claim--" "but he hasn't!" susan said, smilingly. "i'm engaged ten deep," she added pleasantly to peter. "honestly, i haven't half a dance left! i stole this." "why, i won't stand for it," peter said, turning red. "come, it seems to me mr. coleman deserves something!" stephen bocqueraz smiled. and indeed peter looked bigger and happier and handsomer than ever. "not from me," susan persisted, quietly pleasant. peter stood for a moment or two, not quite ready to laugh, not willing to go away. susan busied herself with her salad, stared dreamily across the room. and presently he departed after exchanging a few commonplaces with bocqueraz. "and what's the significance of all that?" asked the author when they were alone again. susan had been wishing to make some sort of definite impression upon mr. stephen graham bocqueraz; wishing to remain in his mind as separated from the other women he had met to-night. suddenly she saw this as her chance, and she took him somewhat into her confidence. she told him of her old office position, and of her aunt, and of peter, and that she was now emily saunders' paid companion, and here only as a sort of cinderella. never did any girl, flushing, dimpling, shrugging her shoulders over such a recital, have a more appreciative listener. stephen bocqueraz's sympathetic look met hers whenever she looked up; he nodded, agreed, frowned thoughtfully or laughed outright. they sat through the next dance, and through half the next, hidden in one of the many diminutive "parlors" that surrounded the ball-room, and when susan was surrendered to an outraged partner she felt that she and the great man were fairly started toward a real friendship, and that these attractive boys she was dancing with were really very young, after all. "remember stephen bocqueraz that brownie introduced to you just before supper?" asked ella, as they went home, yawning, sleepy and headachy, the next day. ella had been playing cards through the supper hour. "perfectly!" susan answered, flushing and smiling. "you must have made a hit," ella remarked, "because--i'm giving him a big dinner on tuesday, at the palace--and when i talked to him he asked if you would be there. well, i'm glad you had a nice time, kiddy, and we'll do it again!" susan had thanked her gratefully more than once, but she thanked her again now. she felt that she truly loved ella, so big and good natured and kind. emily was a little bit cold when susan told her about the ball, and the companion promptly suppressed the details of her own successes, and confined her recollections to the girls who had asked for emily, and to generalities. susan put her wilting orchids in water, and went dreamily through the next two or three days, recovering from the pleasure and excitement. it was almost a week before emily was quite herself again; then, when isabel wallace came running in to emily's sick-room to beg susan to fill a place at their dinner-table at a few hours' notice, susan's firm refusal quite won emily's friendship back. "isabel's a dear," said emily, contentedly settling down with the indian bead-work in which she and susan had had several lessons, and with which they filled some spare time, "but she's not a leader. i took you up, so now isabel does! i knew--i felt sure that, if ella let you borrow that dress, isabel would begin to patronize you!" it was just one of emily's nasty speeches, and emily really wasn't well, so susan reminded herself, when the hot, angry color burned in her face, and an angry answer came to her mind. what hurt most was that it was partly true; emily had taken her up, and, when she ceased to be all that emily required of sympathy and flattery and interest, emily would find someone else to fill miss brown's place. without emily she was nobody, and it did not console susan to reflect that, had emily's fortune been hers and emily in her position, the circumstances would be exactly reversed. just the accident of having money would have made miss brown the flattered and admired, the safe and secure one; just the not having it would have pushed emily further even than susan was from the world of leisure and beauty and luxury. "this world is money!" thought susan, when she saw the head-waiter come forward so smilingly to meet ella and herself at the palm garden; when leonard put off a dozen meekly enduring women to finish miss emily saunders' gown on time; when the very sexton at church came hurrying to escort mrs. saunders and herself through the disappointed crowds in the aisles, and establish them in, and lock them in, the big empty pew. the newspapers gave half a column of blame to the little girl who tried to steal a two-dollar scarf from the emporium, but there was nothing but admiration for ella on the day when she and a twenty-year-old boy, for a wager, led a woolly white toy lamb, a lamb costing twenty-five dollars, through the streets, from the club to the palace hotel. the papers were only deeply interested and amused when miss elsa chisholm gave a dinner to six favorite riding-horses, who were entertained in the family dining-room after a layer of tan-bark had been laid on the floor, and fed by their owners from specially designed leather bags and boxes; and they merely reported the fact that miss dolly ripley had found so unusual an intelligence in her gardener that she had deeded to him her grandfather's eighty-thousand-dollar library. "he really has ever so much better brains than i have, don't you know?" said miss ripley to the press. in return for the newspapers' indulgent attitude, however, they were shown no clemency by the saunders and the people of their set. on a certain glorious, golden afternoon in may, susan, twisting a card that bore the name of miss margaret summers, representing the chronicle, went down to see the reporter. the saunders family hated newspaper notoriety, but it was a favorite saying that since the newspapers would print things anyway, they might as well get them straight, and susan often sent dinner or luncheon lists to the three morning papers. however, the young woman who rose when susan went into the drawing-room was not in search of news. her young, pretty face was full of distress. "miss saunders?" asked she. "i'm miss brown," susan said. "miss saunders is giving a card-party and i am to act for her." miss summers, beginning her story, also began to cry. she was the society editor, she explained, and two weeks before she had described in her column a luncheon given by miss emily saunders. among the list of guests she had mentioned miss carolyn seymour. "not carolyn seymour!" said susan, shocked. "why, she never is here! the seymours---" she shook her head. "i know people do accept them," said susan, "but the saunders don't even know them! they're not in the best set, you know, they're really hardly in society at all!" "i know now," miss summers said miserably. "but all the other girls--this year's debutantes--were there, and i had to guess at most of the names, and i chanced it! fool that i was!" she interrupted herself bitterly. "well, the next day, while i was in the office, my telephone rang. it was thursday, and i had my sunday page to do, and i was just rushing, and i had a bad cold,--i've got it yet. so i just said, 'what is it?' rather sharply, you know, and a voice said, in a businesslike sort of way, 'how did you happen to put miss carolyn seymour's name on miss emily saunders' lunch list?' i never dreamed that it was miss saunders; how should i? she didn't say 'i' or 'me' or anything--just that. so i said, 'well, is it a matter of international importance?'" "ouch!" said susan, wincing, and shaking a doubtful head. "i know, it was awful!" the other girl agreed eagerly. "but--" her anxious eyes searched susan's face. "well; so the next day mr. brice called me into the office, and showed me a letter from miss ella saunders, saying--" and miss summers began to cry again. "and i can't tell mamma!" she sobbed. "my brother's been so ill, and i was so proud of my position!" "do you mean they--fired you?" susan asked, all sympathy. "he said he'd have to!" gulped miss summers, with a long sniff. "he said that saunders and babcock advertise so much with them, and that, if she wasn't appeased somehow--" "well, now, i'll tell you," said susan, ringing for tea, "i'll wait until miss saunders is in a good mood, and then i'll do the very best i can for you. you know, a thing like that seems small, but it's just the sort of thing that is really important," she pursued, consolingly. she had quite cheered her caller before the tea-cups were emptied, but she was anything but hopeful of her mission herself. and ella justified her misgivings when the topic was tactfully opened the next day. "i'm sorry for the little thing," said ella, briskly, "but she certainly oughtn't to have that position if she doesn't know better than that! carolyn seymour in this house--i never heard of such a thing! i was denying it all the next day at the club and it's extremely unpleasant. besides," added ella, reddening, "she was extremely impertinent about it when i telephoned---" "duchess, she didn't dream it was you! she only said that she didn't know it was so important---" susan pleaded. "well," interrupted miss saunders, in a satisfied and final tone, "next time perhaps she will know who it is, and whether it is important or not! sue, while you're there at the desk," she added, "will you write to mrs. bergess, mrs. gerald florence bergess, and tell her that i looked at the frames at gump's for her prizes, and they're lovely, from fourteen up, and that i had him put three or four aside---" after the dance peter began to call rather frequently at "high gardens," a compliment which emily took entirely to herself, and to escort the girls about on their afternoon calls, or keep them and ella, and the old mistress of the house as well, laughing throughout the late and formal dinner. susan's reserve and her resolutions melted before the old charm; she had nothing to gain by snubbing him; it was much pleasanter to let by-gones be by-gones, and enjoy the moment. peter had every advantage; if she refused him her friendship a hundred other girls were only too eager to fill her place, so she was gay and companionable with him once more, and extracted a little fresh flavor from the friendship in emily's unconsciousness of the constant interchange of looks and inflections that went on between susan and peter over her head. susan sometimes thought of mrs. carroll's old comment on the popularity of the absorbed and busy girl when she realized that peter was trying in vain to find time for a personal word with her, or was resenting her interest in some other caller, while she left emily to him. she was nearer to peter than ever, a thousand times more sure of herself, and, if she would still have married him, she was far less fond of him than she had been years ago. susan asked him some questions, during one idle tea-time, of hunter, baxter & hunter. his uncle had withdrawn from the firm now, he told her, adding with characteristic frankness that in his opinion "the old guy got badly stung." the baxter home had been sold to a club; the old people had found the great house too big for them and were established now in one of the very smartest of the new apartment houses that were beginning to be built in san francisco. susan called, with emily, upon mrs. baxter, and somehow found the old lady's personality as curiously shrunk, in some intangible way, as was her domestic domain in actuality. mrs. baxter, cackling emphatically and disapprovingly of the world in general, fussily accompanying them to the elevator, was merely a rather tiresome and pitiful old woman, very different from the delicate little grande dame of susan's recollection. ella reported the baxter fortune as sadly diminished, but there were still maids and the faithful emma; there were still the little closed carriage and the semi-annual trip to coronado. nor did peter appear to have suffered financially in any way; although mrs. baxter had somewhat fretfully confided to the girls that his uncle had suggested that it was time that peter stood upon his own feet; and that peter accordingly had entered into business relations with a certain very wealthy firm of grain brokers. susan could not imagine peter as actively involved in any very lucrative deals, but peter spent a great deal of money, never denied himself anything, and took frequent and delightful vacations. he took emily and susan to polo and tennis games, and, when the season at the hotel opened, they went regularly to the dances. in july peter went to tahoe, where mrs. saunders planned to take the younger girls later for at least a few weeks' stay. ella chaperoned them to burlingame for a week of theatricals; all three staying with ella's friend, mrs. keith, whose daughter, mary peacock, had also dolly ripley and lovely isabel wallace for her guests. little constance fox, visiting some other friends nearby, was in constant attendance upon miss ripley, and susan thought the relationship between them an extraordinary study; miss ripley bored, rude, casual, and constance increasingly attentive, eager, admiring. "when are you going to come and spend a week with me?" drawled miss ripley to susan. "you'll have the loveliest time of your life!" connie added, brilliantly. "be sure you ask me for that week, dolly!" "we'll write you about it," miss ripley said lazily, and constance, putting the best face she could upon the little slight, slapped her hand playfully, and said: "oh, aren't you mean!" "dolly takes it so for granted that i'm welcome at her house at any time," said constance to susan, later, "that she forgets how rude a thing like that can sound!" she had followed susan into her own room, and now stood by the window, looking down a sun-steeped vista of lovely roads and trees and gardens with a discontented face. susan, changing her dress for an afternoon on the tennis-courts, merely nodded sympathetically. "lord, i would like to go this afternoon!" added constance, presently. "aren't you going over for the tennis?" susan asked in amazement. for the semi-finals of the tournament were to be played on this glorious afternoon, and there would be a brilliant crowd on the courts and tea at the club to follow. "no; i can't!" miss fox said briefly. "tell everyone that i'm lying down with a terrible headache, won't you?" "but why?" asked susan. for the headache was obviously a fiction. "you know that mustard-colored linen with the black embroidery that dolly's worn once or twice, don't you?" asked connie, with apparent irrelevancy. susan nodded, utterly at a loss. "well, she gave it to me to-day, and the hat and the parasol," said constance, with a sort of resigned bitterness. "she said she had got the outfit at osbourne's, last month, and she thought it would look stunning on me, and wouldn't i like to wear it to the club this afternoon?" "well--?" susan said, as the other paused. "why not?" "oh, why not!" echoed connie, with mild exasperation. "don't be a damned fool!" "oh, i see!" susan said, enlightened. "everybody knows it's miss ripley's, of course! she probably didn't think of that!" "she probably did!" responded connie, with a rather dry laugh. "however, the fact remains that she'll take it out of me if i go and don't wear it, and mamma never will forgive me if i do! so, i came in to borrow a book. of course, susan, i've taken things from dolly ripley before, and i probably will again," she added, with the nearest approach to a sensible manner that susan had ever seen in her, "but this is going a little too far!" and, borrowing a book, she departed, leaving susan to finish her dressing in a very sober frame of mind. she wondered if her relationship toward emily could possibly impress any outsider as connie's attitude toward dolly ripley impressed her. with isabel wallace she began, during this visit, the intimate and delightful friendship for which they two had been ready for a long time. isabel was two years older than susan, a beautiful, grave-eyed brunette, gracious in manner, sweet of voice, the finest type that her class and environment can produce. isabel was well read, musical, traveled; she spoke two or three languages besides her mother tongue. she had been adored all her life by three younger brothers, by her charming and simple, half-invalid mother, and her big, clever father, and now, all the girls were beginning to suspect, was also adored by the very delightful eastern man who was at present mrs. butler holmes' guest in burlingame, and upon whom all of them had been wasting their prettiest smiles. john furlong was college-bred, young, handsome, of a rich eastern family, in every way a suitable husband for the beautiful woman with whom he was so visibly falling in love. susan watched the little affair with a heartache, not all unworthy. she didn't quite want to be isabel, or want a lover quite like john. but she did long for something beautiful and desirable all her own; it was hard to be always the outsider, always alone. when she thought of isabel's father and mother, their joy in her joy, her own pleasure in pleasing them, a thrill of pain shook her. if isabel was all grateful, all radiant, all generous, she, susan, could have been graceful and radiant and generous too! she lay awake in the soft summer nights, thinking of what john would say to isabel, and what isabel, so lovely and so happy, would reply. "sue, you will know how wonderful it is when it comes to you!" isabel said, on the last night of their burlingame visit, when she gave susan a shy hint that it was "all right," if a profound secret still. the girls did not stay for the theatricals, after all. emily was deeply disgusted at being excluded from some of the ensembles in which she had hoped to take part and, on the very eve of the festivities, she became alarmingly ill, threw mrs. keith's household into utter consternation and confusion, and was escorted home immediately by susan and a trained nurse. back at "high gardens," they settled down contentedly enough to the familiar routine. emily spent two-thirds of the time in bed, but susan, fired by isabel wallace's example, took regular exercises now, airing the dogs or finding commissions to execute for emily or mrs. saunders, made radical changes in her diet, and attempted, with only partial success, to confine her reading to improving books. a relative had sent emily the first of the new jig-saw puzzles from new york, and emily had immediately wired for more. she and susan spent hours over them; they became in fact an obsession, and susan began to see jig-saw divisions: in everything her eye rested on; the lawn, the clouds, or the drawing-room walls. sometimes kenneth joined them, and susan knew that it was on her account. she was very demure with him; her conversation for emily, her eyes all sisterly unembarrassment when they met his. mrs. saunders was not well, and kept to her room, so that more than once susan dined alone with the man of the house. when this happened kenneth would bring his chair down from the head of the table and set it next to hers. he called her "tweeny" for some favorite character in a play, brought her some books she had questioned him about, asked her casually, on the days she went to town for emily, at what time she would come back, and joined her on the train. susan had thought of him as a husband, as she thought of every unattached man, the instant she met him. but the glamour of those early views of kenneth saunders had been somewhat dimmed, and since her arrival at "high gardens" she had tried rather more not to displease this easily annoyed member of the family, than to make a definite pleasant impression upon him. now, however, she began seriously to consider him. and it took her a few brief moments only to decide that, if he should ask her, she would be mad to refuse to become his wife. he was probably as fine a match as offered itself at the time in all san francisco's social set, good-looking, of a suitable age, a gentleman, and very rich. he was so rich and of so socially prominent a family that his wife need never trouble herself with the faintest thought of her own standing; it would be an established fact, supreme and irrefutable. beside him peter coleman was a poor man, and even isabel's john paled socially and financially. kenneth saunders would be a brilliant "catch" for any girl; for little susan brown--it would be a veritable triumph! susan's heart warmed as she thought of the details. there would be a dignified announcement from mrs. saunders. then,--babel! telephoning, notes, telegrams! ella would of course do the correct thing; there would be a series of receptions and dinners; there would be formal affairs on all sides. the newspapers would seize upon it; the family jewels would be reset; the long-stored silver resurrected. there would be engagement cups and wedding-presents, and a trip east, and the instant election of young mrs. saunders to the town and country club. and, in all the confusion, the graceful figure of the unspoiled little companion would shine serene, poised, gracious, prettily deferential to both the sisters-in-law of whom she now, as a matron, took precedence. kenneth saunders was no hero of romance; he was at best a little silent and unresponsive; he was a trifle bald; his face, susan had thought at first sight, indicated weakness and dissipation. but it was a very handsome face withal, and, if silent, kenneth could be very dignified and courteous in his manner; "very much the gentleman," susan said to herself, "always equal to the situation"! other things, more serious things, she liked to think she was woman of the world enough to condone. he drank to excess, of course; no woman could live in the same house with him and remain unaware of that; susan had often heard him raging in the more intense stages approaching delirium tremens. there had been other things, too;--women, but susan had only a vague idea of just what that meant, and kenneth's world resolutely made light of it. "ken's no molly-coddle!" ella had said to her complacently, in connection with this topic, and one of ella's closest friends had added, "oh, heaven save me from ever having one of my sons afraid to go out and do what the other boys do. let 'em sow their wild oats, they're all the sooner over it!" so susan did not regard this phase of his nature very seriously. indeed his mother often said wailingly that, if kenneth could only find some "fine girl," and settle down, he would be the steadiest and best fellow in the world. it was mrs. saunders who elucidated the last details of a certain episode of kenneth's early life for susan. emily had spoken of it, and ella had once or twice alluded to it, but from them susan only gathered that kenneth, in some inexplicable and outrageous way, had been actually arrested for something that was not in the least his fault, and held as a witness in a murder case. he had been but twenty-two years old at the time, and, as his sisters indignantly agreed, it had ruined his life for years following, and ken should have sued the person or persons who had dared to involve the son of the house of saunders in so disgraceful and humiliating an affair. "it was in one of those bad houses, my dear," mrs. saunders finally contributed, "and poor ken was no worse than the thousands of other men who frequent 'em! of course, it's terrible from a woman's point of view, but you know what men are! and when this terrible thing happened, ken wasn't anywhere near--didn't know one thing about it until a great big brute of a policeman grabbed hold of his arm---! and of course the newspapers mentioned my poor boy's name in connection with it, far and wide!" after that kenneth had gone abroad for a long time, and whether the trained nurse who had at that time entered his life was really a nurse, or whether she had merely called herself one, susan could not quite ascertain. either the family had selected this nurse, to take care of kenneth who was not well at the time, or she had joined him later and traveled with him as his nurse. whatever it was, the association had lasted two or three years, and then kenneth had come home, definitely disenchanted with women in general and woman in particular, and had settled down into the silent, cynical, unresponsive man that susan knew. if he ever had any experiences whatever with the opposite sex they were not of a nature to be mentioned before his sisters and his mother. he scorned all the women of ella's set, and was bitingly critical of emily's friends. one night, lying awake, susan thought that she heard a dim commotion from the direction of the hallway--kenneth's voice, ella's voice, high and angry, some unfamiliar feminine voice, hysterical and shrill, and mrs. saunders, crying out: "tottie, don't speak that way to kennie!" but before she could rouse herself fully, mycroft's soothing tones drowned out the other voices; there was evidently a truce. the episode ended a few moments later with the grating of carriage wheels on the drive far below, and susan was not quite sure, the next morning, that it had been more than a dream. but kenneth's history, summed up, was not a bit less edifying, was not indeed half as unpleasant, as that of many of the men, less rich and less prominent than he, who were marrying lovely girls everywhere, with the full consent and approval of parents and guardians. susan had seen the newspaper accounts of the debauch that preceded young harry van vleet's marriage only by a few hours; had seen the bridegroom, still white-faced and shaking, lead away from the altar one of the sweetest of the debutantes. she had heard rose st. john's mother say pleasantly to rose's promised husband, "i asked your chinese boy about those little week-end parties at your bungalow, russell; i said, 'yoo, were they pretty ladies mr. russ used to have over there?' but he only said 'no can 'member!'" "that's where his wages go up!" the gentleman had responded cheerfully. and, after all, susan thought, looking on, russell lord was not as bad as the oldest gerald boy, who married an eastern girl, an heiress and a beauty, in spite of the fact that his utter unfitness for marriage was written plain in his face; or as bad as poor trixie chauncey's husband, who had entirely disappeared from public view, leaving the buoyant trixie to reconcile two infant sons to the unknown horrors and dangers of the future. if kenneth drank, after his marriage, mycroft would take care of him, as he did now; but susan honestly hoped that domesticity, for which kenneth seemed to have a real liking, would affect him in every way for good. she had not that horror of drink that had once been hers. everybody drank, before dinner, with dinner, after dinner. it was customary to have some of the men brighten under it, some overdo it, some remain quite sober in spite of it. susan and emily, like all the girls they knew, frequently ordered cocktails instead of afternoon tea, when, as it might happen, they were in the palace or the new st. francis. the cocktails were served in tea-cups, the waiter gravely passed sugar and cream with them; the little deception was immensely enjoyed by everyone. "two in a cup, martini," emily would say, settling into her seat, and the waiter would look deferentially at susan, "the same, madam?" it was a different world from her old world; it used a different language, lived by another code. none of her old values held here; things she had always thought quite permissible were unforgivable sins; things at which auntie would turn pale with horror were a quietly accepted part of every-day life. no story was too bad for the women to tell over their tea-cups, or in their boudoirs, but if any little ordinary physical misery were alluded to, except in the most flippant way, such as the rash on a child's stomach, or the preceding discomforts of maternity, there was a pained and disgusted silence, and an open snub, if possible, for the woman so crude as to introduce the distasteful topic. susan saw good little women ostracized for the fact that their husbands did not appear at ease in evening dress, for their evident respect for their own butlers, or for their mere eagerness to get into society. on the other hand, she saw warmly accepted and admired the beautiful mrs. nokesmith, who had married her second husband the day after her release from her first, and pretty beulah garrett, whose father had swindled a hundred trusting friends out of their entire capital, and mrs. lawrence edwards, whose oldest son had just had a marriage, contracted with a barbary coast woman while he was intoxicated, canceled by law. divorce and disease, and dishonesty and insanity did not seem so terrible as they once had; perhaps because they were never called by their real names. the insane were beautifully cared for and safely out of sight; to disease no allusion was ever made; dishonesty was carried on in mysterious business avenues far from public inspection and public thought; and, as ella once pointed out, the happiest people in society were those who had been married unhappily, divorced, and more fortunately mated a second time. all the married women ella knew had "crushes"--young men who lounged in every afternoon for tea and cigarettes and gossip, and filled chairs at dinner parties, and formed a background in a theater box. sometimes one or two matrons and their admirers, properly chaperoned, or in safe numbers, went off on motoring trips, and perhaps encountered, at the del monte or santa cruz hotels their own husbands, with the women that they particularly admired. nothing was considered quite so pitiful as the wife who found this arrangement at all distressing. "it's always all right," said ella, broadly, to susan. chapter iv in the autumn susan went home for a week, for the lancaster family was convulsed by the prospect of alfie's marriage to a little nobody whose father kept a large bakery in the mission, and susan was needed to brace alfred's mother for the blow. mary lou's old admirer and his little, invalid wife, were staying at the house now, and susan found "ferd" a sad blow to her old romantic vision of him: a stout, little, ruddy-cheeked man, too brilliantly dressed, with hair turning gray, and an offensive habit of attacking the idle rich for susan's benefit, and dilating upon his own business successes. georgie came over to spend a night in the old home while susan was there, carrying the heavy, lumpy baby. myra was teething now, cross and unmanageable, and georgie was worried because a barley preparation did not seem to agree with her, and joe disapproved of patent foods. joe hoped that the new baby--susan widened her eyes. oh, yes, in may, georgie announced simply, and with a tired sigh,--joe hoped the new baby would be a boy. she herself hoped for a little girl, wouldn't it be sweet to call it may? georgie looked badly, and if she did not exactly break down and cry during her visit, susan felt that tears were always close behind her eyes. billy, beside her somewhat lachrymose aunt and cousins, shone out, during this visit, as susan had never known him to do before. he looked splendidly big and strong and well, well groomed and erect in carriage, and she liked the little compliment he paid her in postponing the german lesson that should have filled the evening, and dressing himself in his best to take her to the orpheum. susan returned it by wearing her prettiest gown and hat. they set out in great spirits, susan chattering steadily, in the relief it was to speak her mind honestly, and billy listening, and now and then shouting out in the laughter that never failed her spirited narratives. he told her of the carrolls,--all good news, for anna had been offered a fine position as assistant matron in one of the best of the city's surgical hospitals; betts had sold a story to the argonaut for twelve dollars, and philip was going steadily ahead; "you wouldn't believe he was the same fellow!" said billy. jimmy and betts and their mother were to go up in a few days for a fortnight's holiday in the little shooting-box that some eastern friends had built years ago in the humboldt woods. the owners had left the key with mrs. carroll, and she might use the little cabin as much as she liked. "and what about jo?" susan asked. this was the best news of all. jo was to go east for the winter with one of her mother's friends, whose daughter was jo's own age. they were to visit boston and washington, new york for the opera, palm beach in february, and new orleans for the mardi gras. mrs. frothingham was a widow, and had a son at yale, who would join them for some of the holidays. susan was absolutely delighted at the news, and alluded to it over and over again. "it's so different when people deserve a thing, and when it's all new to them," she said to billy, "it makes it seem so much more glorious!" they came out of the theater at eleven, cramped and blinking, and susan, confused for a moment, was trying to get her bearings, when billy touched her arm. "the earl of somerset is trying to bow to you, sue!" she laughed, and followed the direction of his look. it was stephen bocqueraz who was smiling at her, a very distinguished figure under the lamp-post, with his fur-lined great-coat, his round tortoise-shell eye-glasses and his silk hat. he came up to them at once, and susan, pleasantly conscious that a great many people recognized the great man, introduced him to billy. he had just gotten back from a long visit in the southern part of the state, he said, and had been dining to-night with friends at the bohemian club, and was walking back to his hotel. susan could not keep the pleasure the meeting gave her out of her eyes and voice, and billy showed a sort of boyish and bashful admiration of the writer, too. "but this--this is a very felicitous occasion," said mr. bocqueraz. "we must celebrate this in some fitting manner!" so he took them to supper, dismissing their hesitation as unworthy of combat; susan and billy laughed helplessly and happily as they sat down at the little table, and heard the german waiter's rapture at the commands stephen bocqueraz so easily gave him in his mother tongue. billy, reddening but determined, must at once try his german too, and the waiter and bocqueraz laughed at him even while they answered him, and agreed that the young man as a linguist was ganz wunderbar. billy evidently liked his company; he was at his best to-night, unaffected, youthful, earnest. susan herself felt that she had never been so happy in her life. long afterward she tried to remember what they had talked about. she knew that the conversation had been to her as a draught of sparkling wine. all her little affections were in full play to-night, the little odds and ends of worldly knowledge she had gleaned from ella and ella's friends, the humor of emily and peter coleman. and because she was an irishman's daughter a thousand witticisms flashed in her speech, and her eyes shone like stars under the stimulus of another's wit and the admiration in another's eyes. it became promptly evident that bocqueraz liked them both. he began to call billy "lad," in a friendly, older-brotherly manner, and his laughter at susan was alternated with moments of the gravest, the most flattering attention. "she's quite wonderful, isn't she?" he said to billy under his breath, but susan heard it, and later he added, quite impersonally, "she's absolutely extraordinary! we must have her in new york, you know; my wife must meet her!" they talked of music and musicians, and bocqueraz and billy argued and disputed, and presently the author's card was sent to the leader of the orchestra, with a request for the special bit of music under discussion. they talked of authors and poets and painters and actors, and he knew many of them, and knew something of them all. he talked of clubs, new york clubs and london clubs, and of plays that were yet to be given, and music that the public would never hear. susan felt as if electricity was coursing through her veins. she felt no fatigue, no sleepiness, no hunger; her champagne bubbled untouched, but she emptied her glass of ice-water over and over again. of the lights and the music and the crowd she was only vaguely conscious; she saw, as if in a dream, the hands of the big clock, at the end of the room, move past one, past two o'clock, but she never thought of the time. it was after two o'clock; still they talked on. the musicians had gone home, lights were put out in the corners of the room, tables and chairs were being piled together. stephen bocqueraz had turned his chair so that he sat sideways at the table; billy, opposite him, leaned on his elbows; susan, sitting between them, framing her face in her hands, moved her eyes from one face to the other. "and now, children," said the writer, when at last they were in the empty, chilly darkness of the street, "where can i get you a carriage? the cars seem to have stopped." "the cars stop at about one," said william, "but there's a place two blocks up where we can get a hack. don't let us take you out of your way." "good-night, then, lad," said bocqueraz, laying his hand affectionately on billy's shoulder. "good-night, you wonderful little girl. tell my wife's good cousins in san rafael that i am coming over very soon to pay my respects." he turned briskly on his heel and left them, and susan stood looking after him for a moment. "where's your livery stable?" asked the girl then, taking billy's arm. "there isn't any!" billy told her shamelessly. "but i've got just a dollar and eighty cents, and i was afraid he would put us into a carriage!" susan, brought violently to earth, burst out laughing, gathered her skirts up philosophically, and took his arm for the long walk home. it was a cool bright night, the sky was spattered thickly with stars, the moon long ago set. susan was very silent, mind and heart swept with glorious dreams. billy, beyond the remark that bocqueraz certainly was a king, also had little to say, but his frequent yawns indicated that it was rather because of fatigue than of visions. the house was astir when they reached it, but the confusion there was too great to give anyone time to notice the hour of their return. alfie had brought his bride to see his mother, earlier in the evening, and ma had had hysterics the moment that they left the house. these were no sooner calmed than mrs. eastman had had a "stroke," the doctor had now come and gone, but mary lou and her husband still hovered over the sufferer, "and i declare i don't know what the world's coming to!" mrs. lancaster said despairingly. "what is it-what is it?" mary lord was calling, when susan reached the top flight. susan went in to give her the news, mary was restless to-night, and glad of company; the room seemed close and warm. lydia, sleeping heavily on the couch, only turned and grunted occasionally at the sound of the girls' voices. susan lay awake until almost dawn, wrapped in warm and delicious emotion. she recalled the little separate phases of the evening's talk, brought them from her memory deliberately, one by one. when she remembered that mr. bocqueraz had asked if billy was "the fiance," for some reason she could not define, she shut her eyes in the dark, and a wave of some new, enveloping delight swept her from feet to head. certain remembered looks, inflections, words, shook the deeps of her being with a strange and poignantly sweet sense of weakness and power: a trembling joy. the new thrill, whatever it was, was with her when she wakened, and when she ran downstairs, humming the toreador's song, mary lou and her aunt told her that she was like a bit of sunshine in the house; the girl's eyes were soft and bright with dreams; her cheeks were glowing. when the postman came she flew to meet him. there was no definite hope in her mind as she did so, but she came back more slowly, nevertheless. no letter for her. but at eleven o'clock a messenger boy appeared with a special delivery letter for miss susan brown, she signed the little book with a sensation that was almost fear. this--this was beginning to frighten her---- susan read it with a fast-beating heart. it was short, dignified. mr. bocqueraz wrote that he was sending her the book of which he had spoken; he had enjoyed nothing for a long time as much as their little supper last evening; he hoped to see her and that very fine lad, billy, very soon again. his love to them both. he was her faithful friend, all ways and always, stephen graham bocqueraz. she slipped it inside her blouse, ignored it for a few moments, returned to it from other thoughts with a sense of infinite delight, and read it again. susan could not quite analyze its charm, but in her whole being she was conscious of a warmth, a lightness, and a certain sweet and heady happiness throughout the entire day and the next day. her thoughts began to turn toward new york. all young californians are conscious, sooner or later in their growth, of the call of the great city, and just now susan was wrapped in a cloud of dreams that hung over broadway. she saw herself one of the ebbing and flowing crowd, watching the world from her place at the breakfast table in a great hotel, sweeping through the perfumed warmth and brightness of a theater lobby to her carriage. stephen bocqueraz had spoken of her coming to new york as a matter of course. "you belong there," he decided, gravely appraising her. "my wife will write to ask you to come, and we will find you just the niche you like among your own sort and kind, and your own work to do." "oh, it would be too wonderful!" susan had gasped. "new york is not wonderful," he told her, with smiling, kindly, disillusioned eyes, "but you are wonderful!" susan, when she went back to san rafael, was seized by a mood of bitter dissatisfaction with herself. what did she know--what could she do? she was fitted neither for the stage nor for literature, she had no gift of music or of art. lost opportunities rose up to haunt her. ah, if she had only studied something, if she were only wiser, a linguist, a student of poetry or of history. nearing twenty-five, she was as ignorant as she had been at fifteen! a remembered line from a carelessly read poem, a reference to some play by ibsen or maeterlinck or d'annunzio, or the memory of some newspaper clipping that concerned the marriage of a famous singer or the power of a new anaesthetic,--this was all her learning! stephen bocqueraz, on the sunday following their second meeting, called upon his wife's mother's cousin. mrs. saunders was still at the hospital, and emily was driven by the excitement of the occasion behind a very barrier of affectations, but kenneth was gracious and hospitable, and took them all to the hotel for tea. here they were the center of a changing, admiring, laughing group; everybody wanted to have at least a word with the great man, and emily enjoyed a delightful feeling of popularity. susan, quite eclipsed, was apparently pleasantly busy with her tea, and with the odds and ends of conversation that fell to her. but susan knew that stephen bocqueraz did not move out of her hearing for one moment during the afternoon, nor miss a word that she said; nor say, she suspected, a word that she was not meant to hear. just to exist, under these conditions, was enough. susan, in quiet undertones, laughed and chatted and flirted and filled tea-cups, never once directly addressing the writer, and never really addressing anyone else. kenneth brought "cousin stephen" home for dinner, but emily turned fractious, and announced that she was not going down. "you'd rather be up here just quietly with me, wouldn't you, sue?" coaxed emily, sitting on the arm of susan's chair, and putting an arm about her. "of course i would, old lady! we'll send down for something nice, and get into comfortable things," susan said. it hardly disappointed her; she was walking on air. she went demurely to the library door, to make her excuses; and bocqueraz's look enveloped her like a shaft of sunlight. all the evening, upstairs, and stretched out in a long chair and in a loose silk wrapper, she was curiously conscious of his presence downstairs; whenever she thought of him, she must close her book, and fall to dreaming. his voice, his words, the things he had not said ... they spun a brilliant web about her. she loved to be young; she saw new beauty to-night in the thick rope of tawny hair that hung loosely across her shoulder, in the white breast, half-hidden by the fold of her robe, in the crossed, silk-clad ankles. all the world seemed beautiful tonight, and she beautiful with the rest. three days later she came downstairs, at five o'clock on a gloomy, dark afternoon, in search of firelight and tea. emily and kenneth, peter coleman and mary peacock, who were staying at the hotel for a week or two, were motoring. the original plan had included susan, but at the last moment emily had been discovered upstairs, staring undecidedly out of the window, humming abstractedly. "aren't you coming, em?" susan had asked, finding her. "i--i don't believe i will," emily said lightly, without turning. "go on, don't wait for me! it's nothing," she had persisted, when susan questioned her, "nothing at all! at least," the truth came out at last, "at least, i think it looks odd. so now go on, without me," said emily. "what looks odd?" "nothing does, i tell you! please go on." "you mean, three girls and two men," susan said slowly. emily assented by silence. "well, then, you go and i'll stay," susan said, in annoyance, "but it's perfect rubbish!" "no, you go," emily said, pettishly. susan went, perhaps six feet; turned back. "i wish you'd go," she said, in dissatisfaction. "if i did," emily said, in a low, quiet tone, still looking out of the window, "it would be simply because of the looks of things!" "well, go because of the looks of things then!" susan agreed cheerfully. "no, but you see," emily said eagerly, turning around, "it does look odd--not to me, of course! but mean odd to other people if you go and i don't-don't you think so, sue?" "ye-es," drawled susan, with a sort of bored and fexasperated sigh. and she went to her own room to write letters, not disappointed, but irritated so thoroughly that she could hardly control her thoughts. at five o'clock, dressed in a childish black velvet gown--her one pretty house gown--with the deep embroidered collar and cuffs that were so becoming to her, and with her hair freshly brushed and swept back simply from her face, she came downstairs for a cup of tea. and in the library, sunk into a deep chair before the fire, she found stephen bocqueraz, his head resting against the back of the chair, his knees crossed and his finger-tips fitted together. susan's heart began to race. he got up and they shook hands, and stood for too long a moment looking at each other. the sense of floating--floating--losing her anchorage--began to make susan's head spin. she sat down, opposite him, as he took his chair again, but her breath was coming too short to permit of speech. "upon my word i thought the woman said that you were all out!" said bocqueraz, appreciative eyes upon her, "i hardly hoped for a piece of luck like this!" "well, they are, you know. i'm not, strictly speaking, a saunders," smiled susan. "no; you're nobody but yourself," he agreed, following a serious look with his sudden, bright smile. "you're a very extraordinary woman, mamselle suzanne," he went on briskly, "and i've got a nice little plan all ready to talk to you about. one of these days mrs. bocqueraz--she's a wonderful woman for this sort of thing!--shall write to your aunt, or whoever is in loco parentis, and you shall come on to new york for a visit. and while you're there---" he broke off, raised his eyes from a study of the fire, and again sent her his sudden and sweet and most disturbing smile. "oh, don't talk about it!" said susan. "it's too good to be true!" "nothing's too good to be true," he answered. "once or twice before it's been my extraordinary good fortune to find a personality, and give it a push in the right direction. you'll find the world kind enough to you--lillian will see to it that you meet a few of the right people, and you'll do the rest. and how you'll love it, and how they'll love you!" he jumped up. "however, i'm not going to spoil you," he said, smilingly. he went to one of the bookcases and presently came back to read to her from phillips' "paolo and francesca," and from "the book and the ring." and never in later life did susan read either without hearing his exquisite voice through the immortal lines: "a ring without a poesy, and that ring mine? o lyric love! ..." "o lord of rimini, with tears we leave her, as we leave a child, be gentle with her, even as god has been...." "some day i'll read you pompilia, little suzanne," said bocqueraz. "do you know pompilia? do you know alice meynell and some of patmore's stuff, and the 'dread of height'?" "i don't know anything," said susan, feeling it true. "well," he said gaily, "we'll read them all!" susan presently poured his tea; her guest wheeling his great leather chair so that its arm touched the arm of her own. "you make me feel all thumbs, watching me so!" she protested. "i like to watch you," he answered undisturbed. "here, we'll put this plate on the arm of my chair,--so. then we can both use it. your scones on that side, and mine on this, and my butter-knife between the two, like prosper le gai's sword, eh?" susan's color heightened suddenly; she frowned. he was a man of the world, of course, and a married man, and much older than she, but somehow she didn't like it. she didn't like the laughter in his eyes. there had been just a hint of this--this freedom, in his speech a few nights ago, but somehow in billy's presence it had seemed harmless-- "and why the blush?" he was askingly negligently, yet watching her closely, as if he rather enjoyed her confusion. "you know why," susan said, meeting his eyes with a little difficulty. "i know why. but that's nothing to blush at. analyze it. what is there in that to embarrass you?" "i don't know," susan said, awkwardly, feeling very young. "life is a very beautiful thing, my child," he said, almost as if he were rebuking her, "and the closer we come to the big heart of life the more wonderful things we find. no--no--don't let the people about you make you afraid of life." he finished his cup of tea, and she poured him another. "i think it's time to transplant you," he said then, pleasantly, "and since last night i've been thinking of a very delightful and practical way to do it. lillian--mrs. bocqueraz has a very old friend in new york in mrs. gifford curtis--no, you don't know the name perhaps, but she's a very remarkable woman--an invalid. all the world goes to her teas and dinners, all the world has been going there since booth fell in love with her, and patti--when she was in her prime!--spent whole sunday afternoons singing to her! you'll meet everyone who's at all worth while there now, playwrights, and painters, and writers, and musicians. her daughters are all married to prominent men; one lives in paris, one in london, two near her; friends keep coming and going. it's a wonderful family. well, there's a miss concannon who's been with her as a sort of companion for twenty years, but miss concannon isn't young, and she confided to me a few months ago that she needed an assistant,--someone to pour tea and write notes and play accompaniments---" "a sort of julie le breton?" said susan, with sparkling eyes. she resolved to begin piano practice for two hours a day to-morrow. "i beg pardon? yes--yes, exactly, so i'm going to write lillian at once, and she'll put the wheels in motion!" "i don't know what good angel ever made you think of me," said susan. "don't you?" the man asked, in a low tone. there was a pause. both stared at the fire. suddenly bocqueraz cleared his throat. "well!" he said, jumping up, "if this clock is right it's after half-past six. where are these good people?" "here they are--there's the car coming in the gate now!" susan said in relief. she ran out to the steps to meet them. a day or two later, as she was passing ella's half-open doorway, ella's voice floated out into the hall. "that you, susan? come in. will you do your fat friend a favor?" ella, home again, had at once resumed her despotic control of the household. she was lying on a couch at this moment, lazily waving a scribbled half sheet of paper over her head. "take this to mrs. pullet, sue," said she, "and ask her to tell the cook, in some confidential moment, that there are several things written down here that he seems to have forgotten the existence of. i want to see them on the table, from time to time. while i was with the crewes i was positively mortified at the memory of our meals! and from now on, while mr. bocqueraz's here, we'll be giving two dinners a week." "while--?" susan felt a delicious, a terrifying weakness run like a wave from head to feet. "he's going to be here for a month or two!" ella announced complacently. "it was all arranged last night. i almost fell off my feet when he proposed it. he says he's got some work to finish up, and he thinks the atmosphere here agrees with him. kate stanlaws turned a lovely pea-green, for they were trying to get him to go with them to alaska. he'll have the room next to mamma's, with the round porch, and the big room off the library for a study. i had them clear everything out of it, and ken's going to send over a desk, and chair, and so on. and do try to do everything you can to make him comfortable, sue. mamma's terribly pleased that he wants to come," finished ella, making a long arm for her novel, "but of course he and i made an instant hit with each other!" "oh, of course i will!" susan promised. she went away with her list, pleasure and excitement and a sort of terror struggling together in her heart. pleasure prevailed, however, when stephen bocqueraz was really established at "high gardens," and the first nervous meeting was safely over. everybody in the house was the happier and brighter for his coming, and susan felt it no sin to enjoy him with the rest. meal times became very merry; the tea-hour, when he would come across the hall from his workroom, tired, relaxed, hungry, was often the time of prolonged and delightful talks, and on such evenings as ella left her cousin free of dinner engagements, even emily had to admit that his reading, under the drawing-room lamp, was a rare delight. sometimes he gave himself a half-holiday, and joined emily and susan in their driving or motoring. on almost every evening that he did not dine at home he was downstairs in time for a little chat with susan over the library fire. they were never alone very long, but they had a dozen brief encounters every day, exchanged a dozen quick, significant glances across the breakfast table, or over the book that he was reading aloud. susan lived in a dazed, wide-eyed state of reasonless excitement and perilous delight. it was all so meaningless, she assured her pretty vision in the mirror, as she arranged her bright hair,--the man was married, and most happily married; he was older than she; he was a man of honor! and she, susan brown, was only playing this fascinating game exceptionally well. she had never flirted before and had been rather proud of it. well, she was flirting now, and proud of that, too! she was quite the last girl in the world to fall seriously in love, with her eyes wide open, in so extremely undesirable a direction! this was not falling in love at all. stephen bocqueraz spoke of his wife half a dozen times a day. susan, on her part, found plenty of things about him to dislike! but he was clever, and--yes, and fascinating, and he admired her immensely, and there was no harm done so far, and none to be done. why try to define the affair by cut-and-dried rules; it was quite different from anything that had ever happened before, it stood in a class quite by itself. the intangible bond between them strengthened every day. susan, watching him when ella's friends gathered about him, watching the honest modesty with which he evaded their empty praises, their attempts at lionizing, could not but thrill to know that her praise stirred him, that the deprecatory, indifferent air was dropped quickly enough for her! it was intoxicating to know, as she did know, that he was thinking, as she was, of what they would say when they next had a moment together; that, whatever she wore, he found her worth watching; that, whatever her mood, she never failed to amuse and delight him! her rather evasive beauty grew more definite under his eyes; she bubbled with fun and nonsense. "you little fool!" ella would laugh, with an approving glance toward susan at the tea-table, and "honestly, sue, you were killing tonight!" emily, who loved to be amused, said more than once. one day miss brown was delegated to carry a message to mr. bocqueraz in his study. mrs. saunders was sorry to interrupt his writing, but a very dear old friend was coming to dinner that evening, and would cousin stephen come into the drawing-room for a moment, before he and ella went out? susan tripped demurely to the study door and rapped. "come in!" a voice shouted. susan turned the knob, and put her head into the room. mr. bocqueraz, writing at a large table by the window, and facing the door across its shining top, flung down his pen, and stretched back luxuriously in his chair. "well, well!" said he, smiling and blinking. "come in, susanna!" "mrs. saunders wanted me to ask you---" "but come in! i've reached a tight corner; couldn't get any further anyway!" he pushed away his papers. "there are days, you know, when you're not even on bowing acquaintance with your characters." he looked so genial, so almost fatherly, so contentedly lazy, leaning back in his big chair, the winter sunshine streaming in the window behind him, and a dozen jars of fragrant winter flowers making the whole room sweet, that susan came in, unhesitatingly. it was the mood of all his moods that she liked best; interested, interesting, impersonal. "but i oughtn't--you're writing," said susan, taking a chair across the table from him, and laying bold hands on his manuscript, nevertheless. "what a darling hand you write!" she observed, "and what enormous margins. oh, i see, you write notes in the margins--corrections?" "exactly!" he was watching her between half-closed lids, with lazy pleasure. "'the only,' in a loop," said susan, "that's not much of a note! i could have written that myself," she added, eying him sideways through a film of drifting hair. "very well, write anything you like!" he offered amusedly. "oh, honestly?" asked susan with dancing eyes. and, at his nod, she dipped a pen in the ink, and began to read the story with a serious scowl. "here!" she said suddenly, "this isn't at all sensible!" and she read aloud: "so crystal clear was the gaze with which he met her own, that she was aware of an immediate sense, a vaguely alarming sense, that her confidence must be made with concessions not only to what he had told her--and told her so exquisitely as to indicate his knowledge of other facts from which those he chose to reveal were deliberately selected--but also to what he had not--surely the most significant detail of the whole significant episode--so chosen to reveal!" "oh, i see what it means, when i read it aloud," said susan, cheerfully honest. "but at first it didn't seem to make sense!" "go ahead. fix it anyway you like." "well---" susan dimpled. "then i'll--let's see--i'll put 'surely' after 'also,'" she announced, "and end it up, 'to what he had not so chosen to reveal!' don't you think that's better?" "clearer, certainly.--on that margin, baby." "and will you really let it stay that way?" asked the baby, eying the altered page with great satisfaction. "oh, really. you will see it so in the book." his quiet certainty that these scattered pages would surely be a book some day thrilled susan, as power always thrilled her. just as she had admired thorny's old scribbled prices, years before, so she admired this quiet mastery now. she asked stephen bocqueraz questions, and he told her of his boyhood dreams, of the early struggles in the big city, of the first success. "one hundred dollars for a story, susan. it looked a little fortune!" "and were you married then?" "married?" he smiled. "my dear child, mrs. bocqueraz is worth almost a million dollars in her own right. no--we have never faced poverty together!" there was almost a wistful look in his eyes. "and to whom is this book going to be dedicated?" asked susan. "well, i don't know. lillian has two, and julie has one or two, and various men, here and in london. perhaps i'll dedicate this one to a bold baggage of an irish girl. would you like that?" "oh, you couldn't!" susan said, frightened. "why couldn't i?" "because,--i'd rather you wouldn't! i--and it would look odd!" stammered susan. "would you care, if it did?" he asked, with that treacherous sudden drop in his voice that always stirred her heart so painfully. "no-o---" susan answered, scarcely above a whisper. "what are you afraid of, little girl?" he asked, putting his hand over hers on the desk. susan moved her hand away. "because, your wife---" she began awkwardly, turning a fiery red. bocqueraz abruptly left his seat, and walked to a window. "susan," he said, coming back, after a moment, "have i ever done anything to warrant--to make you distrust me?" "no,--never!" said susan heartily, ashamed of herself. "friends?" he asked, gravely. and with his sudden smile he put his two hands out, across the desk. it was like playing with fire; she knew it. but susan felt herself quite equal to anyone at playing with fire. "friends!" she laughed, gripping his hands with hers. "and now," she stood up, "really i mustn't interrupt you any longer!" "but wait a moment," he said. "come see what a pretty vista i get--right across the japanese garden to the woods!" "the same as we do upstairs," susan said. but she went to stand beside him at the window. "no," said stephen bocqueraz presently, quietly taking up the thread of the interrupted conversation, "i won't dedicate my book to you, susan, but some day i'll write you a book of your own! i have been wishing," he added soberly, his eyes on the little curved bridge and the dwarfed shrubs, the pond and the stepping-stones across the garden, "i have been wishing that i never had met you, my dear. i knew, years ago, in those hard, early days of which i've been telling you, that you were somewhere, but--but i didn't wait for you, susan, and now i can do no more than wish you god-speed, and perhaps give you a helping hand upon your way! that's all i wanted to say." "i'm--i'm not going to answer you," said susan, steadily, composedly. side by side they looked out of the window, for another moment or two, then bocqueraz turned suddenly and catching her hands in his, asked almost gaily: "well, this is something, at least, isn't it--to be good friends, and to have had this much of each other?" "surely! a lot!" susan answered, in smiling relief. and a moment later she had delivered her message, and was gone, and he had seated himself at his work again. how much was pretense and how much serious earnest, on his part, she wondered. how much was real on her own? not one bit of it, said susan, fresh from her bath, in the bracing cool winter morning, and walking briskly into town for the mail. not--not much of it, anyway, she decided when tea-time brought warmth and relaxation, the leaping of fire-light against the library walls, the sound of the clear and cultivated voice. but what was the verdict later, when susan, bare-armed and bare-shouldered, with softened light striking brassy gleams from her hair, and the perfumed dimness and silence of the great house impressing every sense, paused for a message from stephen bocqueraz at the foot of the stairs, or warmed her shining little slipper at the fire, while he watched her from the chair not four feet away? when she said "i--i'm not going to answer you," in the clear, bright morning light, susan was enjoyably aware of the dramatic value of the moment; when she evaded bocqueraz's eye throughout an entire luncheon she did it deliberately; it was a part of the cheerful, delightful game it pleased them both to be playing. but not all was posing, not all was pretense. nature, now and then, treacherously slipped in a real thrill, where only play-acting was expected. susan, laughing at the memory of some sentimental fencing, was sometimes caught unaware by a little pang of regret; how blank and dull life would be when this casual game was over! after all, he was the great writer; before the eyes of all the world, even this pretense at an intimate friendship was a feather in her cap! and he did not attempt to keep their rapidly developing friendship a secret; susan was alternately gratified and terrified by the reality of his allusions to her before outsiders. no playing here! everybody knew, in their little circle, that, in the nicest and most elder-brotherly way possible, stephen bocqueraz thought susan brown the greatest fun in the world, and quoted her, and presented her with his autographed books. this side of the affair, being real, had a tendency to make it all seem real, and sometimes confused, and sometimes a little frightened susan. "that a woman of emily's mental caliber can hire a woman of yours, for a matter of dollars and cents," he said to susan whimsically, "is proof that something is radically wrong somewhere! well, some day we'll put you where values are a little different. anybody can be rich. mighty few can be susan!" she did not believe everything he said, of course, or take all his chivalrous speeches quite seriously. but obviously, some of it was said in all honesty, she thought, or why should he take the trouble to say it? and the nearness of his bracing personality blew across the artificial atmosphere in which she lived like the cool breath of great moors or of virgin forests. genius and work and success became the real things of life; money but a mere accident. a horrible sense of the unreality of everything that surrounded her began to oppress susan. she saw the poisoned undercurrent of this glittering and exquisite existence, the selfishness, the cruelties, the narrowness. she saw its fundamental insincerity. in a world where wrongs were to be righted, and ignorance enlightened, and childhood sheltered and trained, she began to think it strange that strong, and young, and wealthy men and women should be content to waste enormous sums of money upon food to which they scarcely ever brought a normal appetite, upon bridge-prizes for guests whose interest in them scarcely survived the moment of unwrapping the dainty beribboned boxes in which they came, upon costly toys for children whose nurseries were already crowded with toys. she wondered that they should think it worth while to spend hours and days in harassing dressmakers and milliners, to make a brief appearance in the gowns they were so quickly ready to discard, that they should gratify every passing whim so instantly that all wishes died together, like little plants torn up too soon. the whole seemed wonderful and beautiful still. but the parts of this life, seriously analyzed, seemed to turn to dust and ashes. of course, a hundred little shop-girls might ache with envy at reading that mrs. harvey brock was to give her debutante daughter a fancy-dress ball, costing ten thousand dollars, and might hang wistfully over the pictures of miss peggy brock in her dresden gown with her ribbon-tied crook; but susan knew that peggy cried and scolded the whole afternoon, before the dance, because teddy russell was not coming, that young martin brock drank too much on that evening and embarrassed his entire family before he could be gotten upstairs, and that mrs. brock considered the whole event a failure because some favors, for which she had cabled to paris, did not come, and the effect of the german was lost. somehow, the "lovely and gifted heiress" of the newspapers never seemed to susan at all reconcilable with dolly ripley, vapid, overdressed, with diamonds sparkling about her sallow throat, and the "jolly impromptu" trip of the st. johns to new york lost its point when one knew it was planned because the name of young florence st. john had been pointedly omitted from ella saunders dance list. boasting, lying, pretending--how weary susan got of it all! she was too well schooled to smile when ella, meeting the honorable mary saunders and sir charles saunders, of london, said magnificently, "we bear the same arms, sir charles, but of course ours is the colonial branch of the family!" and she nodded admiringly at dolly ripley's boyish and blunt fashion of saying occasionally "we ripleys,--oh, we drink and gamble and do other things, i admit; we're not saints! but we can't lie, you know!" "i hate to take the kiddies to new york, mike," perhaps some young matron would say simply. "percy's family is one of the old, old families there, you know, shamelessly rich, and terribly exclusive! and one doesn't want the children to take themselves seriously yet awhile!" "bluffers!" the smiling and interested miss brown would say to herself, as she listened. she listened a great deal; everyone was willing to talk, and she was often amused at the very slight knowledge that could carry a society girl through a conversation. in hunter, baxter & hunter's offices there would be instant challenges, even at auntie's table affectation met its just punishment, and inaccuracy was promptly detected. but there was no such censorship here. "looks like a decent little cob!" some girl would say, staring at rider passing the hotel window, at teatime. "yes," another voice would agree, "good points. looks thoroughbred." "yes, he does! looks like a kentucky mount." "louisa! not with that neck!" "oh, i don't know. my grandfather raised fancy stock, you know. just for his own pleasure, of course, so i do know a good horse!" "well, but he steps more like a racer," somebody else would contribute. "that's what i thought! loose-built for a racer, though." "and what a fool riding him--the man has no seat!" "oh, absolutely not! probably a groom, but it's a shame to allow it!" "groom, of course. but you'll never see a groom riding a horse of mine that way!" "rather not!" and, an ordinary rider, on a stable hack, having by this time passed from view, the subject, would be changed. or perhaps some social offense would absorb everybody's attention for the better part of half-an-hour. "look, emily," their hostess would say, during a call, "isn't this rich! the bridges have had their crest put on their mourning-stationery! don't you love it! mamma says that the girls must have done it; the old lady must know better! execrable bad taste, i call it." "oh, isn't that awful!" emily would inspect the submitted letter with deep amusement. "oh, mary, let's see it--i don't believe it!" somebody else would exclaim. "poor things, and they try so hard to do everything right!" kindly pity would soften the tones of a fourth speaker. "but you know mary, they do do that in england," somebody might protest. "oh, peggy, rot! of course they don't!" "why, certainly they do!" a little feeling would be rising. "when helen and i were in london we had some friends--" "nonsense, peggy, it's terribly vulgar! i know because mamma's cousin--" "oh honestly, peggy, it's never done!" "i never heard of such a thing!" "you might use your crest in black, peg, but in color--!" "just ask any engraver, peg. i know when frances was sending to england for our correct quarterings,--they'd been changed--" "but i tell you i know," miss peggy would say angrily. "do you mean to tell me that you'd take the word of a stationer--" "a herald. you can't call that a stationer--" "well, then a herald! what do they know?" "why, of course they know!" shocked voices would protest. "it's their business!" "well," the defender of the bridges would continue loftily, "all i can say is that alice and i saw it--" "i know that when we were in london," some pleasant, interested voice would interpose, modestly, "our friends--lord and lady merridew, they were, you know, and sir henry phillpots--they were in mourning, and they didn't. but of course i don't know what other people, not nobility, that is, might do!" and of course this crushing conclusion admitted of no answer. but miss peggy might say to susan later, with a bright, pitying smile: "alice will roar when i tell her about this! lord and lady merridew,--that's simply delicious! i love it!" "bandar-log," bocqueraz called them, and susan often thought of the term in these days. from complete disenchantment she was saved, however, by her deepening affection for isabel wallace, and, whenever they were together, susan had to admit that a more lovely personality had never been developed by any environment or in any class. isabel, fresh, unspoiled, eager to have everyone with whom she came in contact as enchanted with life as she was herself, developed a real devotion for susan, and showed it in a hundred ways. if emily was away for a night, isabel was sure to come and carry susan off for as many hours as possible to the lovely wallace home. they had long, serious talks together; susan did not know whether to admire or envy most isabel's serene happiness in her engagement, the most brilliant engagement of the winter, and isabel's deeper interest in her charities, her tender consideration of her invalid mother, her flowers, her plan for the small brothers. "john is wonderful, of course," isabel would agree in a smiling aside to susan when, furred and glowing, she had brought her handsome big lover into the saunders' drawing-room for a cup of tea, "but i've been spoiled all my life, susan, and i'm afraid he's going right on with it! and--" isabel's lovely eyes would be lighted with an ardent glow, "and i want to do something with my life, sue, something big, in return for it all!" again, susan found herself watching with curious wistfulness the girl who had really had an offer of marriage, who was engaged, openly adored and desired. what had he said to her--and she to him--what emotions crossed their hearts when they went to watch the building of the beautiful home that was to be theirs? a man and a woman--a man and a woman--loving and marrying--what a miracle the familiar aspects of approaching marriage began to seem! in these days susan read old poems with a thrill, read "trilby" again, and found herself trembling, read "adam bede," and shut the book with a thundering heart. she went, with the others, to "faust," and turned to stephen bocqueraz a pale, tense face, and eyes brimming with tears. the writer's study, beyond the big library, had a fascination for her. at least once a day she looked in upon him there, sometimes with emily, sometimes with ella, never, after that first day, alone. "you can see that he's perfectly devoted to that dolly-faced wife of his!" ella said, half-contemptuously. "i think we all bore him," emily said. "stephen is a good and noble man," said his wife's old cousin. susan never permitted herself to speak of him. "don't you like him?" asked isabel. "he seems crazy about you! i think you're terribly fine to be so indifferent about it, susan!" on a certain december evening emily decided that she was very unwell, and must have a trained nurse. susan, who had stopped, without emily, at the wallaces' for tea, understood perfectly that the youngest miss saunders was delicately intimating that she expected a little more attention from her companion. a few months ago she would have risen to the occasion with the sort of cheerful flattery that never failed in its effect on emily, but to-night a sort of stubborn irritation kept her lips sealed, and in the end she telephoned for the nurse emily fancied, a miss watts, who had been taking care of one of emily's friends. miss watts, effusive and solicitous, arrived, and susan could see that emily was repenting of her bargain long before she, susan, had dressed for dinner. but she ran downstairs with a singing heart, nevertheless. ella was to bring two friends in for cards, immediately after dinner; kenneth had not been home for three days; miss baker was in close attendance upon mrs. saunders, who had retired to her room before dinner; so susan and stephen were free to dine alone. susan had hesitated, in the midst of her dressing, over the consideration of a gown, and had finally compromised with her conscience by deciding upon quite the oldest, plainest, shabbiest black silk in the little collection. "most becoming thing you ever put on!" said emily, trying to reestablish quite cordial relations. "i know," susan agreed guiltily. when she and stephen bocqueraz came back into one of the smaller drawing-rooms after dinner susan walked to the fire and stood, for a few moments, staring down at the coals. the conversation during the softly lighted, intimate little dinner had brought them both to a dangerous mood. susan was excited beyond the power of reasonable thought. it was all nonsense, they were simply playing; he was a married man, and she a woman who never could by any possibility be anything but "good," she would have agreed impatiently and gaily with her own conscience if she had heard it at all--but just now she felt like enjoying this particular bit of foolery to the utmost, and, since there was really no harm in it, she was going to enjoy it! she had not touched wine at dinner, but some subtler intoxication had seized her, she felt conscious of her own beauty, her white throat, her shining hair, her slender figure in its clinging black, she felt conscious of stephen's eyes, conscious of the effective background for them both that the room afforded; the dull hangings, subdued lights and softly shining surfaces. her companion stood near her, watching her. susan, still excitedly confident that she controlled the situation, began to feel her breath come deep and swift, began to wish that she could think of just the right thing to say, to relieve the tension a little-began to wish that ella would come in-- she raised her eyes, a little frightened, a little embarrassed, to his, and in the next second he had put his arms about her and crushed her to him and kissed her on the mouth. "susan," he said, very quietly, "you are my girl--you are my girl, will you let me take care of you? i can't help it--i love you." this was not play-acting, at last. a grim, an almost terrible earnestness was in his voice; his face was very pale; his eyes dark with passion. susan, almost faint with the shock, pushed away his arms, walked a few staggering steps and stood, her back turned to him, one hand over her heart, the other clinging to the back of a chair, her breath coming so violently that her whole body shook. "oh, don't--don't--don't!" she said, in a horrified and frightened whisper. "susan"--he began eagerly, coming toward her. she turned to face him, and breathing as if she had been running, and in simple entreaty, she said: "please--please--if you touch me again--if you touch me again--i cannot--the maids will hear--bostwick will hear--" "no, no, no! don't be frightened, dear," he said quickly and soothingly. "i won't. i won't do anything you don't want me to!" susan pressed her hand over her eyes; her knees felt so weak that she was afraid to move. her breathing slowly grew more even. "my dear--if you'll forgive me!" the man said repentantly. she gave him a weary smile, as she went to drop into her low chair before the fire. "no, no, mr. bocqueraz, i'm to blame," she said quietly. and suddenly she put her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. "listen, susan--" he began again. but again she silenced him. "just--one--moment--" she said pleadingly. for two or three moments there was silence. "no, it's my fault," susan said then, more composedly, pushing her hair back from her forehead with both hands, and raising her wretched eyes. "oh, how could i--how could i!" and again she hid her face. stephen bocqueraz did not speak, and presently susan added, with a sort of passion: "it was wicked, and it was common, and no decent woman--" "no, you shan't take that tone!" said bocqueraz, suddenly looking up from a somber study of the fire. "it is true, susan, and--and i can't be sorry it is. it's the truest thing in the world!" "oh, let's not--let's not talk that way!" all that was good and honest in her came to susan's rescue now, all her clean and honorable heritage. "we've only been fooling, haven't we?" she urged eagerly. "you know we have! why, you--you--" "no," said bocqueraz, "it's too big now to be laughed away, susan!" he came and knelt beside her chair and put his arm about her, his face so close that susan could lay an arresting hand upon his shoulder. her heart beat madly, her senses swam. "you mustn't!" said susan, trying to force her voice above a hoarse whisper, and failing. "do you think you can deceive me about it?" he asked. "not any more than i could deceive you! do you think i'm glad--haven't you seen how i've been fighting it--ignoring it--" susan's eyes were fixed upon his with frightened fascination; she could not have spoken if life had depended upon it. "no," he said, "whatever comes of it, or however we suffer for it, i love you, and you love me, don't you, susan?" she had forgotten herself now, forgotten that this was only a sort of play--forgotten her part as a leading lady, bare-armed and bright-haired, whose role it was to charm this handsome man, in the soft lamplight. she suddenly knew that she could not deny what he asked, and with the knowledge that she did care for him, that this splendid thing had come into her life for her to reject or to keep, every rational thought deserted her. it only seemed important that he should know that she was not going to answer "no." "do you care a little, susan?" he asked again. susan did not answer or move. her eyes never left his face. she was still staring at him, a moment later, ashen-faced and helpless, when they heard bostwick crossing the hall to admit ella and her chattering friends. somehow she stood up, somehow walked to the door. "after nine!" said ella, briskly introducing, "but i know you didn't miss us! get a card-table, bostwick, please. and, sue, will you wait, like a love, and see that we get something to eat at twelve--at one? take these things, lizzie. now. what is it, stephen? a four-spot? you get it. how's the kid, sue?" "i'm going right up to see!" susan said dizzily, glad to escape. she went up to emily's room, and was made welcome by the bored invalid, and gladly restored to her place as chief attendant. when emily was sleepy susan went downstairs to superintend the arrangements for supper; presently she presided over the chafing-dish. she did not speak to bocqueraz or meet his look once during the evening. but in every fiber of her being she was conscious of his nearness, and of his eyes. the long night brought misgivings, and susan went down to breakfast cold with a sudden revulsion of feeling. ella kept her guest busy all day, and all through the following day. susan, half-sick at first with the variety and violence of her emotions, had convinced herself, before forty-eight hours were over, that the whole affair had been no more than a moment of madness, as much regretted by him as by herself. it was humiliating to remember with what a lack of self-control and reserve she had borne herself, she reflected. "but one more word of this sort," susan resolved, "and i will simply go back to auntie within the hour!" on the third afternoon, a sunday, peter coleman came to suggest an idle stroll with emily and susan, and was promptly seized by the gratified emily for a motor-trip. "we'll stop for isabel and john," said emily, elated. "unless," her voice became a trifle flat, "unless you'd like to go, sue," she amended, "and in that case, if isabel can go, we can--" "oh, heavens, no!" susan said, laughing, pleased at the disgusted face peter coleman showed beyond emily's head. "ella wants me to go over to the hotel, anyway, to talk about borrowing chairs for the concert, and i'll go this afternoon," she added, lowering her voice so that it should not penetrate the library, where ella and bocqueraz and some luncheon guests were talking together. but when she walked down the drive half an hour later, with the collies leaping about her, the writer quietly fell into step at her side. susan stopped short, the color rushing into her face. but her companion paid no heed to her confusion. "i want to talk to you, susan," said he unsmilingly, and with a tired sigh. "where shall we walk? up behind the convent here?" "you look headachy," susan said sympathetically, distracted from larger issues by the sight of his drawn, rather colorless face. "bad night," he explained briefly. and with no further objection she took the convent road, and they walked through the pale flood of winter sunshine together. there had been heavy rains; to-day the air was fresh-washed and clear, but they could hear the steady droning of the fog-horn on the distant bay. the convent, washed with clear sunlight, loomed high above its bare, well-kept gardens. the usual sunday visitors were mounting and descending the great flight of steps to the doorway; a white-robed portress stood talking to one little group at the top, her folded arms lost in her wide sleeves. a three-year-old, in a caped white coat, made every one laugh by her independent investigations of arches and doorway. "dear lord, to be that size again!" thought susan, heavy-hearted. "i've been thinking a good deal since tuesday night, susan," began bocqueraz quietly, when they had reached the shelved road that runs past the carriage gates and lodges of beautiful private estates, and circles across the hills, above the town. "and, of course, i've been blaming myself bitterly; but i'm not going to speak of that now. until tuesday i hoped that what pain there was to bear, because of my caring for you, would be borne by me alone. if i blame myself, sue, it's only because i felt that i would rather bear it, any amount of it, than go away from you a moment before i must. but when i realize that you, too--" he paused, and susan did not speak, could not speak, even though she knew that her silence was a definite statement. "no--" he said presently, "we must face the thing honestly. and perhaps it's better so. i want to speak to you about my marriage. i was twenty-five, and lillian eighteen. i had come to the city, a seventeen-year-old boy, to make my fortune, and it was after the first small success that we met. she was an heiress--a sweet, pretty, spoiled little girl; she is just a little girl now in many ways. it was a very extraordinary marriage for her to wish to make; her mother disapproved; her guardians disapproved. i promised the mother to go away, and i did, but lillian had an illness a month or two later and they sent for me, and we were married. her mother has always regarded me as of secondary importance in her daughter's life; she took charge of our house, and of the baby when julie came, and went right on with her spoiling and watching and exulting in lillian. they took trips abroad; they decided whether or not to open the town house; they paid all the bills. lillian has her suite of rooms, and i mine. julie is very prettily fond of me; they like to give a big tea, two or three times a winter, and have me in evidence, or lillian likes to have me plan theatricals, or manage amateur grand-opera for her. when julie was about ten i had my own ideas as to her upbringing, but there was a painful scene, in which the child herself was consulted, and stood with her mother and grandmother-- "so, for several years, susan, it has been only the decent outer shell of a marriage. we sometimes live in different cities for months at a time, or live in the same house, and see no more of each other than guests in the same hotel. lillian makes no secret of it; she would be glad to be free. we have never had a day, never an hour, of real companionship! my dear sue--" his voice, which had been cold and bitter, softened suddenly, and he turned to her the sudden winning smile that she remembered noticing the first evening they had known each other. "my dear sue," he said, "when i think what i have missed in life i could go mad! when i think what it would be to have beside me a comrade who liked what i like, who would throw a few things into a suit case, and put her hand in mine, and wander over the world with me, laughing and singing through italy, watching a sudden storm from the doorway of an english inn--" "ah, don't!" susan said wistfully. "you have never seen the canadian forests, sue, on some of the tropical beaches, or the color in a japanese street, or the moon rising over the irish lakes!" he went on, "and how you would love it all!", "we oughtn't--oughtn't to talk this way--", susan said unsteadily. they were crossing a field, above the town, and came now to a little stile. susan sat down on the little weather-burned step, and stared down on the town below. bocqueraz leaned on the rail, and looked at her. "always--always--always," he pursued seriously. "i have known that you were somewhere in the world. just you, a bold and gay and witty and beautiful woman, who would tear my heart out by the roots when i met you, and shake me out of my comfortable indifference to the world and everything in it. and you have come! but, susan, i never knew, i never dreamed what it would mean to me to go away from you, to leave you in peace, never guessing--" "no, it's too late for that!" said susan, clearing her throat. "i'd rather know." if she had been acting it would have been the correct thing to say. the terrifying thought was that she was not acting; she was in deadly, desperate earnest now, and yet she could not seem to stop short; every instant involved her the deeper. "we--we must stop this," she said, jumping up, and walking briskly toward the village. "i am so sorry--i am so ashamed! it all seemed--seemed so foolish up to--well, to tuesday. we must have been mad that night! i never dreamed that things would go so far. i don't blame you, i blame myself. i assure you i haven't slept since, i can't seem to eat or think or do anything naturally any more! sometimes i think i'm going crazy!" "my poor little girl!" they were in a sheltered bit of road now, and bocqueraz put his two hands lightly on her shoulders, and stopped her short. susan rested her two hands upon his arms, her eyes, raised to his, suddenly brimmed with tears. "my poor little girl!" he said again tenderly, "we'll find a way out! it's come on you too suddenly, sue--it came upon me like a thunderbolt. but there's just one thing," and susan remembered long afterward the look in his eyes as he spoke of it, "just one thing you mustn't forget, susan. you belong to me now, and i'll move heaven and earth--but i'll have you. it's come all wrong, sweetheart, and we can't see our way now. but, my dearest, the wonderful thing is that it has come---- "think of the lives," he went on, as susan did not answer, "think of the women, toiling away in dull, dreary lives, to whom a vision like this has never come!" "oh, i know!" said susan, in sudden passionate assent. "but don't misunderstand me, dear, you're not to be hurried or troubled in this thing. we'll think, and talk things over, and plan. my world is a broader and saner world than yours is, susan, and when i take you there you will be as honored and as readily accepted as any woman among them all. my wife will set me free---" he fell into a muse, as they walked along the quiet country road, and susan, her brain a mad whirl of thoughts, did not interrupt him. "i believe she will set me free," he said, "as soon as she knows that my happiness, and all my life, depend upon it. it can be done; it can be arranged, surely. you know that our eastern divorce laws are different from yours here, susan---" "i think i must be mad to let you talk so!" burst out susan, "you must not! divorce---! why, my aunt---!" "we'll not mention it again," he assured her quickly, but although for the rest of their walk they said very little, the girl escaped upstairs to her room before dinner with a baffled sense that the dreadful word, if unpronounced, had been none the less thundering in her brain and his all the way. she made herself comfortable in wrapper and slippers, rather to the satisfaction of emily, who had brought peter back to dinner, barely touched the tray that the sympathetic lizzie brought upstairs, and lay trying to read a book that she flung aside again and again for the thoughts that would have their way. she must think this whole thing out, she told herself desperately; view it dispassionately and calmly; decide upon the best and quickest step toward reinstating the old order, toward blotting out this last fortnight of weakness and madness. but, if susan was fighting for the laws of men, a force far stronger was taking arms against her, the great law of nature held her in its grip. the voice of stephen bocqueraz rang across her sanest resolution; the touch of stephen bocqueraz's hand burned her like a fire. well, it had been sent to her, she thought resentfully, lying back spent and exhausted; she had not invited it. suppose she accepted it; suppose she sanctioned his efforts to obtain a divorce, suppose she were married to him--and at the thought her resolutions melted away in the sudden delicious and enervating wave of emotion that swept over her. to belong to him! "oh, my god, i do not know what to do!" susan whispered. she slipped to her knees, and buried her face in her hands. if her mind would but be still for a moment, would stop its mad hurry, she might pray. a knock at the door brought her to her feet; it was miss baker, who was sitting with kenneth to-night, and who wanted company. susan was glad to go noiselessly up to the little sitting-room next to kenneth's room, and sit chatting under the lamp. now and then low groaning and muttering came from the sick man, and the women paused for a pitiful second. susan presently went in to help miss baker persuade him to drink some cooling preparation. the big room was luxurious enough for a sultan, yet with hints of kenneth's earlier athletic interests in evidence too. a wonderful lamp at the bedside diffused a soft light. the sufferer, in embroidered and monogrammed silk night-wear, was under a trimly drawn sheet, with a fluffy satin quilt folded across his feet. he muttered and shook his head, as the drink was presented, and, his bloodshot eyes discovering susan, he whispered her name, immediately shouting it aloud, hot eyes on her face: "susan!" "feeling better?" susan smiled encouragingly, maternally, down upon him. but his gaze had wandered again. he drained the glass, and immediately seemed quieter. "he'll sleep now," said miss baker, when they were back in the adjoining room. "doesn't it seem a shame?" "couldn't he be cured, miss baker?" "well," the nurse pursed her lips, shook her head thoughtfully. "no, i don't believe he could now. doctor thinks the south of france will do wonders, and he says that if mr. saunders stayed on a strict diet for, say a year, and then took some german cure--but i don't know! nobody could make him do it anyway. why, we can't keep him on a diet for twenty-four hours! of course he can't keep this up. a few more attacks like this will finish him. he's going to have a nurse in the morning, and doctor says that in about a month he ought to get away. it's my opinion he'll end in a mad-house," miss baker ended, with quiet satisfaction. "oh, don't!" susan cried in horror. "well, a lot of them do, my dear! he'll never get entirely well, that's positive. and now the problem is," the nurse, who was knitting a delicate rainbow afghan for a baby, smiled placidly over her faint pinks and blues, "now the question is, who's going abroad with him? he can't go alone. ella declines the honor," miss baker's lips curled; she detested ella "emily--you know what emily is! and the poor mother, who would really make the effort, he says gets on his nerves. anyway, she's not fit. if he had a man friend---! but the only one he'd go with, mr. russell, is married." "a nurse?" suggested susan. "oh, my dear!" miss baker gave her a significant look. "there are two classes of nurses," she said, "one sort wouldn't dare take a man who has the delirium tremens anywhere, much less to a strange country, and the other---! they tried that once, before my day it was, but i guess that was enough for them. of course the best thing that he could do," pursued the nurse lightly, "is get married." "well," susan felt the topic a rather delicate one. "ought he marry?" she ventured. "don't think i'd marry him!" miss baker assured her hastily, "but he's no worse than the gregory boy, married last week. he's really no worse than lots of others!" "well, it's a lovely, lovely world!" brooded susan bitterly. "i wish to god," she added passionately, "that there was some way of telling right from wrong! if you want to have a good time and have money enough, you can steal and lie and marry people like kenneth saunders; there's no law that you can't break--pride, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy and sloth! that is society! and yet, if you want to be decent, you can slave away a thousand years, mending and patching and teaching and keeping books, and nothing beautiful or easy ever comes your way!" "i don't agree with you at all," said miss baker, in disapproval. "i hope i'm not bad," she went on brightly, "but i have a lovely time! everyone here is lovely to me, and once a month i go home to my sister. we're the greatest chums ever, and her baby, marguerite, is named for me, and she's a perfect darling! and beek--that's her husband--is the most comical thing i ever saw; he'll go up and get mrs. tully--my sister rents one of her rooms,--and we have a little supper, and more cutting-up! or else beek'll sit with the baby, and we girls go to the theater!" "yes, that's lovely," susan said, but miss baker accepted the words and not the tone, and went on to innocent narratives of lily, beek and the little marguerite. "and now, i wonder what a really good, conscientious woman would do," thought susan in the still watches of the night. go home to auntie, of course. he might follow her there, but, even if he did, she would have made the first right step, and could then plan the second. susan imagined bocqueraz in auntie's sitting-room and winced in the dark. perhaps the most definite stand she took in all these bewildering days was when she decided, with a little impatient resentment, that she was quite equal to meeting the situation with dignity here. but there must be no hesitation, no compromise. susan fell asleep resolving upon heroic extremes. just before dinner, on the evening following, she was at the grand piano in the big drawing-room, her fingers lazily following the score of "babes in toyland," which ella had left open upon the rack. susan felt tired and subdued, wearily determined to do her duty, wearily sure that life, for the years to come, would be as gray and sad as to-day seemed. she had been crying earlier in the day and felt the better for the storm. susan had determined upon one more talk with bocqueraz,--the last. and presently he was leaning on the piano, facing her in the dim light. susan's hands began to tremble, to grow cold. her heart beat high with nervousness; some primitive terror assailed her even here, in the familiar room, within the hearing of a dozen maids. "what's the matter?" he asked, as she did not smile. susan still watched him seriously. she did not answer. "my fault?" he asked. "no-o." susan's lip trembled. "or perhaps it is, in a way," she said slowly and softly, still striking almost inaudible chords. "i can't--i can't seem to see things straight, whichever way i look!" she confessed as simply as a troubled child. "will you come across the hall into the little library with me and talk about it for two minutes?" he asked. "no." susan shook her head. "susan! why not?" "because we must stop it all," the girl said steadily, "all, every bit of it, before we--before we are sorry! you are a married man, and i knew it, and it is all wrong--" "no, it's not all wrong, i won't admit that," he said quickly. "there has been no wrong." it was a great weight lifted from susan's heart to think that this was true. ended here, the friendship was merely an episode. "if we stop here," she said almost pleadingly. "if we stop here," he agreed, slowly. "if we end it all here. well. and of course, sue, chance might, might set me free, you know, and then--" again the serious look, followed by the sweet and irresistible smile. susan suddenly felt the hot tears running down her cheeks. "chance won't," she said in agony. and she began to fumble blindly for a handkerchief. in an instant he was beside her, and as she stood up he put both arms about her, and she dropped her head on his shoulder, and wept silently and bitterly. every instant of this nearness stabbed her with new joy and new pain; when at last he gently tipped back her tear-drenched face, she was incapable of resisting the great flood of emotion that was sweeping them both off their feet. "sue, you do care! my dearest, you do care?" susan, panting, clung to him. "oh, yes--yes!" she whispered. and, at a sound from the hall, she crushed his handkerchief back into his hand, and walked to the deep archway of a distant window. when he joined her there, she was still breathing hard, and had her hand pressed against her heart, but she was no longer crying. "i am mad i think!" smiled susan, quite mistress of herself. "susan," he said eagerly, "i was only waiting for this! if you knew--if you only knew what an agony i've been in yesterday and to-day--! and i'm not going to distress you now with plans, my dearest. but, sue, if i were a divorced man now, would you let it be a barrier?" "no," she said, after a moment's thought. "no, i wouldn't let anything that wasn't a legal barrier stand in the way. even though divorce has always seemed terrible to me. but--but you're not free, mr. bocqueraz." he was standing close behind her, as she stood staring out into the night, and now put his arm about her, and susan, looking up over her shoulder, raised childlike blue eyes to his. "how long are you going to call me that?" he asked. "i don't know--stephen," she said. and suddenly she wrenched herself free, and turned to face him. "i can't seem to keep my senses when i'm within ten feet of you!" susan declared, half-laughing and half-crying. "but sue, if my wife agrees to a divorce," he said, catching both her hands. "don't touch me, please," she said, loosening them. "i will not, of course!" he took firm hold of a chair-back. "if lillian--" he began again, very gravely. susan leaned toward him, her face not twelve inches away from his face, her hand laid lightly for a second on his arm. "you know that i will go with you to the end of the world, stephen!" she said, scarcely above a whisper, and was gone. it became evident, in a day or two, that kenneth saunders' illness had taken a rather alarming turn. there was a consultation of doctors; there was a second nurse. ella went to the extreme point of giving up an engagement to remain with her mother while the worst was feared; emily and susan worried and waited, in their rooms. stephen bocqueraz was a great deal in the sick-room; "a real big brother," as mrs. saunders said tearfully. the crisis passed; kenneth was better, was almost normal again. but the great specialist who had entered the house only for an hour or two had left behind him the little seed that was to vitally affect the lives of several of these people. "dr. hudson says he's got to get away," said ella to susan, "i wish i could go with him. kenneth's a lovely traveler." "i wish i could," emily supplemented, "but i'm no good." "and doctor says that he'll come home quite a different person," added his mother. susan wondered if she fancied that they all looked in a rather marked manner at her. she wondered, if it was not fancy, what the look meant. they were all in the upstairs sitting-room in the bright morning light when this was said. they had drifted in there one by one, apparently by accident. susan, made a little curious and uneasy by a subtle sense of something unsaid--something pending, began to wonder, too, if it had really been accident that assembled them there. but she was still without definite suspicions when ella, upon the entrance of chow yew with mr. kenneth's letters and the new magazines, jumped up gaily, and said: "here, sue! will you run up with these to ken--and take these violets, too?" she put the magazines in susan's hands, and added a great bunch of dewy wet violets that had been lying on the table. susan, really glad to escape from the over-charged atmosphere of the room, willingly went on her way. kenneth was sitting up to-day, very white, very haggard,--clean-shaven and hollow-eyed, and somehow very pitiful. he smiled at susan, as she came in, and laid a thin hand on a chair by the bed. susan sat down, and as she did so the watching nurse went out. "well, had you ordered a pillow of violets with shaky doves?" he asked, in a hoarse thin echo of his old voice. "no, but i guess you were pretty sick," the girl said soberly. "how goes it to-day?" "oh, fine!" he answered hardily, "as soon as i am over the ether i'll feel like a fighting cock! hudson talked a good deal with his mouth," said kenneth coughing. "but the rotten thing about me, susan," he went on, "is that i can't booze,--i really can't do it! consequently, when some old fellow like that gets a chance at me, he thinks he ought to scare me to death!" he sank back, tired from coughing. "but i'm all right!" he finished, comfortably, "i'll be alright again after a while." "well, but now, honestly, from now on---" susan began, timidly but eagerly, "won't you truly try--" "oh, sure!" he said simply. "i promised. i'm going to cut it out, all of it. i'm done. i don't mean to say that i've ever been a patch on some of the others," said kenneth. "lord, you ought to see some of the men who really drink! at the same time, i've had enough. it's me to the simple joys of country life--i'm going to try farming. but first they want me to try france for awhile, and then take this german treatment, whatever it is. hudson wants me to get off by the first of the year." "oh, really! france!" susan's eyes sparkled. "oh, aren't you wild!" "i'm not so crazy about it. not paris, you know, but some dinky resort." "oh, but fancy the ocean trip--and meeting the village people--and new york!" susan exclaimed. "i think every instant of traveling would be a joy!" and the vision of herself in all these places, with stephen bocqueraz as interpreter, wrung her heart with longing. kenneth was watching her closely. a dull red color had crept into his face. "well, why don't you come?" he laughed awkwardly. something in his tone made susan color uncomfortably too. "that did sound as if i were asking myself along!" she smiled. "oh, no, it didn't!" he reassured her. "but--but i mean it. why don't you come?" they were looking steadily at each other now. susan tried to laugh. "a scandal in high life!" she said, in an attempt to make the conversation farcical. "elopement surprises society!" "that's what i mean--that's what i mean!" he said eagerly, yet bashfully too. "what's the matter with our--our getting married, susan? you and i'll get married, d'ye see?" and as, astonished and frightened and curiously touched she stood up, he caught at her skirt. susan put her hand over his with a reassuring and soothing gesture. "you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, beginning to cough again. "you said you would. and i--i am terribly fond of you--you could do just as you like. for instance, if you wanted to take a little trip off anywhere, with friends, you know," said kenneth with boyish, smiling generosity, "you could always do it! i wouldn't want to tie you down to me!" he lay back, after coughing, but his bony hand still clung to hers. "you're the only woman i ever asked to undertake such a bad job," he finished, in a whisper. "why--but honestly---" susan began. she laughed out nervously and unsteadily. "this is so sudden," said she. kenneth laughed too. "but, you see, they're hustling me off," he complained. "this weather is so rotten! and el's keen for it," he urged, "and mother too. if you'll be so awfully, awfully good--i know you aren't crazy about me--and you know some pretty rotten things about me--" the very awkwardness of his phrasing won her as no other quality could. susan felt suddenly tender toward him, felt old and sad and wise. "mr. saunders," she said, gently, "you've taken my breath away. i don't know what to say to you. i can't pretend that i'm in love with you--" "of course you're not!" he said, very much embarrassed, "but if there's no one else, sue--" "there is someone else," said susan, her eyes suddenly watering. "but--but that's not going--right, and it never can! if you'll give me a few days to think about it, kenneth--" "sure! take your time!" he agreed eagerly. "it would be the very quietest and quickest and simplest wedding that ever was, wouldn't it?" she asked. "oh, absolutely!" kenneth seemed immensely relieved. "no riot!" "and you will let me think it over?" the girl asked, "because--i know other girls say this, but it's true!--i never dreamed--" "sure, you think it over. i'll consider you haven't given me the faintest idea of how you feel," said kenneth. they clasped hands for good-by. susan fancied that his smile might have been an invitation for a little more affectionate parting, but if it was she ignored it. she turned at the door to smile back at him before she went downstairs. chapter v susan went straight downstairs, and, with as little self-consciousness as if the house had been on fire, tapped at and opened the door of stephen bocqueraz's study. he half rose, with a smile of surprise and pleasure, as she came in, but his own face instantly reflected the concern and distress on hers, and he came to her, and took her hand in his. "what is it, susan?" he asked, sharply. susan had closed the door behind her. now she drew him swiftly to the other side of the room, as far from the hall as possible. they stood in the window recess, susan holding tight to the author's hand; stephen eyeing her anxiously and eagerly. "my very dear little girl, what is it?" "kenneth wants me to marry him," susan said panting. "he's got to go to france, you know. they want me to go with him." "what?" bocqueraz asked slowly. he dropped her hands. "oh, don't!" susan said, stung by his look. "would i have come straight to you, if i had agreed?" "you said 'no'?" he asked quickly. "i didn't say anything!" she answered, almost with anger. "i don't know what to do--or what to say!" she finished forlornly. "you don't know what to do?" echoed stephen, in his clear, decisive tones. "what do you mean? of course, it's monstrous! ella never should have permitted it. there's only one thing for you to do?" "it's not so easy as that," susan said. "how do you mean that it's not easy? you can't care for him?" "care for him!" susan's scornful voice was broken by tears. "of course i don't care for him!" she said. "but--can't you see? if i displease them, if i refuse to do this, that they've all thought out evidently, and planned, i'll have to go back to my aunt's!" stephen bocqueraz, his hands in his coat-pockets, stood silently watching her. "and fancy what it would mean to auntie," susan said, beginning to pace the floor in agony of spirit. "comfort for the rest of her life! and everything for the girls! i would do anything else in the world," she said distressfully, "for one tenth the money, for one twentieth of it! and i believe he would be kind to me, and he says he is positively going to stop--and it isn't as if you and i--you and-i---" she stopped short, childishly. "of course you would be extremely rich," stephen said quietly. "oh, rich--rich--rich!" susan pressed her locked hands to her heart with a desperate gesture. "sometimes i think we are all crazy, to make money so important!" she went on passionately. "what good did it ever bring anyone! why aren't we taught when we're little that it doesn't count, that it's only a side-issue! i've seen more horrors in the past year-and-a-half than i ever did in my life before;--disease and lying and cruelty, all covered up with a layer of flowers and rich food and handsome presents! nobody enjoys anything; even wedding-presents are only a little more and a little better than the things a girl has had all her life; even children don't count; one can't get near them! stephen," susan laid her hand upon his arm, "i've seen the horribly poor side of life,--the poverty that is worse than want, because it's hopeless,--and now i see the rich side, and i don't wonder any longer that sometimes people take violent means to get away from it!" she dropped into the chair that faced his, at the desk, and cupped her face in her hands, staring gloomily before her. "if any of my own people knew that i refused to marry kenneth saunders," she went on presently, "they would simply think me mad; and perhaps i am! but, although he was his very sweetest and nicest this morning,--and i know how different he can be!--somehow, when i leaned over him, the little odor of ether!--" she broke off short, with a little shudder. there was a silence. then susan looked at her companion uncomfortably. "why don't you talk to me?" she asked, with a tremulous smile. bocqueraz sat down at the desk opposite her, and stared at her across folded arms. "nothing to say," he said quietly. but instantly some sudden violent passion shook him; he pressed both palms to his temples, and susan could see that the fingers with which he covered his eyes were shaking. "my god! what more can i do?" he said aloud, in a low tone. "what more can i do? you come to me with this, little girl," he said, gripping her hands in his. "you turn to me, as your only friend just now. and i'm going to be worthy of your trust in me!" he got up and walked to the window, and susan followed him there. "sweetheart," he said to her, and in his voice was the great relief that follows an ended struggle, "i'm only a man, and i love you! you are the dearest and truest and wittiest and best woman i ever knew. you've made all life over for me, susan, and you've made me believe in what i always thought was only the fancy of writers and poets;--that a man and woman are made for each other by god, and can spend all their lives,--yes, and other lives elsewhere--in glorious companionship, wanting nothing but each other. i've seen a good many women, but i never saw one like you. will you let me take care of you, dear? will you trust me? you know what i am, sue; you know what my work stands for. i couldn't lie to you. you say you know the two extremes of life, dear, but i want to show you a third sort; where money isn't paramount, where rich people have souls, and where poor people get all the happiness that there is in life!" his arm was about her now; her senses on fire; her eyes brimming. "but do you love me?" whispered susan. "love you!" his face had grown pale. "to have you ask me that," he said under his breath, "is the most heavenly--the most wonderful thing that ever came into my life! i'm not worthy of it. but god knows that i will take care of you, sue, and, long before i take you to new york, to my own people, these days will be only a troubled dream. you will be my wife then--" the wonderful word brought the happy color to her face. "i believe you," she said seriously, giving him both her hands, and looking bravely into his eyes. "you are the best man i ever met--i can't let you go. i believe it would be wrong to let you go." she hesitated, groped for words. "you're the only thing in the world that seems real to me," susan said. "i knew that the old days at auntie's were all wrong and twisted somehow, and here--" she indicated the house with a shudder. "i feel stifled here!" she said. "but--but if there is really some place where people are good and simple, whether they're rich or poor, and honest, and hard-working--i want to go there! we'll have books and music, and a garden," she went on hurriedly, and he felt that the hands in his were hot, "and we'll live so far away from all this sort of thing, that we'll forget it and they'll forget us! i would rather," susan's eyes grew wistful, "i would rather have a garden where my babies could make mud-pies and play, then be married to kenneth saunders in the cathedral with ten brides-maids!" perhaps something in the last sentence stirred him to sudden compunction. "you know that it means going away with me, little girl?" he asked. "no, it doesn't mean that," she answered honestly. "i could go back to auntie, i suppose. i could wait!" "i've been thinking of that," he said, seriously. "i want you to listen to me. i have been half planning a trip to japan, susan, i want to take you with me. we'll loiter through the orient--that makes your eyes dance, my little irishwoman; but wait until you are really there; no books and no pictures do it justice! we'll go to india, and you shall see the taj mahal--all lovers ought to see it!" "and the great desert--" susan said dreamily. "and the great desert. we'll come home by italy and france, and we'll go to london. and while we're there, i will correspond with lillian, or lillian's lawyer. there will be no reason then why she should hold me." "you mean," said susan, scarlet-cheeked, "that--that just my going with you will be sufficient cause?" "it is the only ground on which she would," he assented, watching her, "that she could, in fact." susan stared thoughtfully out of the window. "then," he took up the narrative, "then we stay a few months in london, are quietly married there,--or, better yet, sail at once for home, and are married in some quiet little jersey town, say, and then--then i bring home the loveliest bride in the world! no one need know that our trip around the world was not completely chaperoned. no one will ask questions. you shall have your circle--" "but i thought you were not going to japan until the serial rights of the novel were sold?" susan temporized. for answer he took a letter from his pocket, and with her own eyes she read an editor's acceptance of the new novel for what seemed to her a fabulous sum. no argument could have influenced her as the single typewritten sheet did. why should she not trust this man, whom all the world admired and trusted? heart and mind were reconciled now; susan's eyes, when they were raised to his, were full of shy adoration and confidence. "that's my girl!" he said, very low. he put his arm about her and she leaned her head on his shoulder, grateful to him that he said no more just now, and did not even claim the kiss of the accepted lover. together they stood looking down at the leafless avenue, for a long moment. "stephen!" called ella's voice at the door. susan's heart lost a beat; gave a sick leap of fear; raced madly. "just a moment," bocqueraz said pleasantly. he stepped noiselessly to the door of the porch, noiselessly opened it, and susan slipped through. "don't let me interrupt you, but is susan here?" called ella. "susan? no," susan herself heard him say, before she went quietly about the corner of the house and, letting herself in at the side-door, lost the sound of their voices. she had entered the rear hall, close to a coat-closet; and now, following a sudden impulse, she put on a rough little hat and the long cloak she often wore for tramps, ran down the drive, crossed behind the stables, and was out in the quiet highway, in the space of two or three minutes. quick-rising clouds were shutting out the sun; a thick fog was creeping up from the bay, the sunny bright morning was to be followed by a dark and gloomy afternoon. everything looked dark and gloomy already; gardens everywhere were bare; a chilly breeze shook the ivy leaves on the convent wall. as susan passed the big stone gateway, in its close-drawn network of bare vines, the angelus rang suddenly from the tower;--three strokes, a pause, three more, a final three,--dying away in a silence as deep as that of a void. susan remembered another convent-bell, heard years ago, a delicious assurance of meal-time. a sharp little hungry pang assailed her even now at the memory, and with the memory came just a fleeting glimpse of a little girl, eager, talkative, yellow of braids, leading the chattering rush of girls into the yard. the girls were pouring out of the big convent-doors now, some of them noticed the passer-by, eyed her respectfully. she knew that they thought of her as a "young lady." she longed for a wistful moment to be one of them, to be among them, to have no troubles but the possible "penance" after school, no concern but for the contents of her lunch-basket! she presently came to the grave-yard gate, and went in, and sat down on a tilted little filigree iron bench, near one of the graves. she could look down on the roofs of the village below, and the circle of hills beyond, and the marshes, cut by the silver ribbons of streams that went down to the fog-veiled bay. cocks crowed, far and near, and sometimes there came to her ears the shouts of invisible children, but she was shut out of the world by the soft curtain of the fog. not even now did her breath come evenly. susan began to think that her heart would never beat normally again. she tried to collect her thoughts, tried to analyze her position, only to find herself studying, with amused attention, the interest of a brown bird in the tip of her shoe, or reflecting with distaste upon the fact that somehow she must go back to the house, and settle the matter of her attitude toward kenneth, once and for all. over all her musing poured the warm flood of excitement and delight that the thought of stephen bocqueraz invariably brought. her most heroic effort at self-blame melted away at the memory of his words. what nonsense to treat this affair as a dispassionate statement of the facts might represent it! whatever the facts, he was stephen bocqueraz, and she susan brown, and they understood each other, and were not afraid! susan smiled as she thought of the romances built upon the histories of girls who were "led astray," girls who were "ruined," men whose promises of marriage did not hold. it was all such nonsense! it did not seem right to her even to think of these words in connection with this particular case; she felt as if it convicted her somehow of coarseness. she abandoned consecutive thought, and fell to happy musing. she shut her eyes and dreamed of crowded oriental streets, of a great desert asleep under the moonlight, of new york shining clean and bright, the spring sunlight, and people walking the streets under the fresh green of tall trees. she had seen it so, in many pictures, and in all her dreams, she liked the big city the best. she dreamed of a little dining-table in a flying railway-train-- but when stephen bocqueraz entered the picture, so near, so kind, so big and protecting, susan thought as if her heart would burst, she opened her eyes, the color flooding her face. the cemetery was empty, dark, silent. the glowing visions faded, and susan made one more conscientious effort to think of herself, what she was doing, what she planned to do. "suppose i go to auntie's and simply wait--" she began firmly. the thought went no further. some little memory, drifting across the current, drew her after it. a moment later, and the dreams had come back in full force. "well, anyway, i haven't done anything yet and, if i don't want to, i can always simply stop at the last moment," she said to herself, as she began to walk home. at the great gateway of the wallace home, two riders overtook her; isabel, looking exquisitely pretty in her dashing habit and hat, and her big cavalier were galloping home for a late luncheon. "come in and have lunch with us!" isabel called gaily, reining in. but susan shook her head, and refused their urging resolutely. isabel's wedding was but a few weeks off now, and susan knew that she was very busy. but, beside that, her heart was so full of her own trouble, that the sight of the other girl, radiant, adored, surrounded by her father and mother, her brothers, the evidences of a most unusual popularity, would have stabbed susan to the heart. what had isabel done, susan asked herself bitterly, to have every path in life made so lovely and so straight, while to her, susan, even the most beautiful thing in the world had come in so clouded and distorted a form. but he loved her! and she loved him, and that was all that mattered, after all, she said to herself, as she reentered the house and went upstairs. ella called her into her bed-room as she passed the door, by humming the wedding-march. "tum-tum-ti-tum! tum tum-ti-tum!" sang ella, and susan, uneasy but smiling, went to the doorway and looked in. "come in, sue," said ella, pausing in the act of inserting a large bare arm into a sleeve almost large enough to accommodate susan's head. "where've you been all this time? mama thought that you were upstairs with ken, but the nurse says that he's been asleep for an hour." "oh, that's good!" said susan, trying to speak naturally, but turning scarlet. "the more he sleeps the better!" "i want to tell you something, susan," said ella, violently tugging at the hooks of her skirt,--"damn this thing!--i want to tell you something, susan. you're a very lucky girl; don't you fool yourself about that! now it's none of my affair, and i'm not butting in, but, at the same time, ken's health makes this whole matter a little unusual, and the fact that, as a family--" ella picked up a hand-mirror, and eyed the fit of her skirt in the glass--"as a family," she resumed, after a moment, "we all think it's the wisest thing that ken could do, or that you could do, makes this whole thing very different in the eyes of society from what it might be! i don't say it's a usual marriage; i don't say that we'd all feel as favorably toward it as we do if the circumstances were different," ella rambled on, snapping the clasp of a long jeweled chain, and pulling it about her neck to a becoming position. "but i do say that it's a very exceptional opportunity for a girl in your position, and one that any sensible girl would jump at. i may be ken's sister," finished ella, rapidly assorting rings and slipping a selected few upon her fingers, "but i must say that!" "i know," said susan, uncomfortably. ella, surprised perhaps at the listless tone, gave her a quick glance. "mama," said miss saunders, with a little color, "mama is the very mildest of women, but as mama said, 'i don't see what more any girl could wish!' ken has got the easiest disposition in the world, if he's let alone, and, as hudson said, there's nothing really the matter with him, he may live for twenty or thirty years, probably will!" "yes, i know," susan said quickly, wishing that some full and intelligent answer would suggest itself to her. "and finally," ella said, quite ready to go downstairs for an informal game of cards, but not quite willing to leave the matter here. "finally, i must say, sue, that i think this shilly-shallying is very--very unbecoming. i'm not asking to be in your confidence, _i_ don't care one way or the other, but mama and the kid have always been awfully kind to you--" "you've all been angels," susan was glad to say eagerly. "awfully kind of you," ella pursued, "and all i say is this, make up your mind! it's unexpected, and it's sudden, and all that,--very well! but you're of age, and you've nobody to please but yourself, and, as i say--as i say--while it's nothing to me, i like you and i hate to have you make a fool of yourself!" "did ken say anything to you?" susan asked, with flaming cheeks. "no, he just said something to mama about it's being a shame to ask a girl your age to marry a man as ill as he. but that's all sheer nonsense," ella said briskly, "and it only goes to show that ken is a good deal more decent than people might think! what earthly objection any girl could have i can't imagine myself!" ella finished pointedly. "nobody could!" susan said loyally. "nobody could,--exactly!" ella said in a satisfied tone. "for a month or two," she admitted reasonably, "you may have to watch his health pretty closely. i don't deny it. but you'll be abroad, you'll have everything in the world that you want. and, as he gets stronger, you can go about more and more. and, whatever hudson says, i think that the day will come when he can live where he chooses, and do as he likes, just like anyone else! and i think---" ella, having convinced herself entirely unaided by susan, was now in a mellowed mood. "i think you're doing much the wisest thing!" she said. "go up and see him later, there's a nice child! the doctor's coming at three; wait until he goes." and ella was gone. susan shut the door of ella's room, and took a deep chair by a window. it was perhaps the only place in the house in which no one would think of looking for her, and she still felt the need of being alone. she sat back in the chair, and folded her arms across her chest, and fell to deep thinking. she had let ella leave her under a misunderstanding, not because she did not know how to disabuse ella's mind of the idea that she would marry kenneth, and not because she was afraid of the result of such a statement, but because, in her own mind, she could not be sure that kenneth saunders, with his millions, was not her best means of escape from a step even more serious in the eyes of the world than this marriage would have been. if she would be pitied by a few people for marrying kenneth, she would be envied by a thousand. the law, the church, the society in which they moved could do nothing but approve. on the other hand, if she went away with stephen bocqueraz, all the world would rise up to blame her and to denounce her. a third course would be to return to her aunt's house,--with no money, no work, no prospects of either, and to wait, years perhaps---- no, no, she couldn't wait. rebellion rose in her heart at the mere thought. "i love him!" said susan to herself, thrilled through and through by the mere words. what would life be without him now--without the tall and splendid figure, the big, clever hands, the rich and well-trained voice, without his poetry, his glowing ideals, his intimate knowledge of that great world in whose existence she had always had a vague and wistful belief? and how he wanted her---! susan could feel the nearness of his eagerness, without sharing it. she herself belonged to that very large class of women for whom passion is only a rather-to-be-avoided word. she was loving, and generous where she loved, but far too ignorant of essential facts regarding herself, and the world about her, to either protect herself from being misunderstood, or to give even her thoughts free range, had she desired to do so. what knowledge she had had come to her,--in heaven alone knows what distorted shape!--from some hazily remembered passage in a play, from some joke whose meaning had at first entirely escaped her, or from some novel, forbidden by auntie as "not nice," but read nevertheless, and construed into a hundred vague horrors by the mystified little brain. lately all this mass of curiously mixed information had had new light thrown upon it because of the sudden personal element that entered into susan's view. love became the great adventure, marriage was no longer merely a question of gifts and new clothes and a honeymoon trip, and a dear little newly furnished establishment. nothing sordid, nothing sensual, touched susan's dreams even now, but she began to think of the constant companionship, the intimacy of married life, the miracle of motherhood, the courage of the woman who can put her hand in any man's hand, and walk with him out from the happy, sheltered pale of girlhood, and into the big world! she was interrupted in her dreaming by ella's maid, who put her head into the room with an apologetic: "miss saunders says she's sorry, miss brown, but if mrs. richardson isn't here, and will you come down to fill the second table?" downstairs went susan, to be hastily pressed into service. "heaven bless you, sue," said ella, the cards already being dealt. "kate richardson simply hasn't come, and if you'll fill in until she does----you say hearts?" ella interrupted herself to say to her nearest neighbor. "well, i can't double that. i lead and you're down, elsa--" to susan it seemed a little flat to sit here seriously watching the fall of the cards, deeply concerned in the doubled spade or the dummy for no trump. when she was dummy she sat watching the room dreamily, her thoughts drifting idly to and fro. it was all curiously unreal,--stephen gone to a club dinner in the city, kenneth lying upstairs, she, sitting here, playing cards! when she thought of kenneth a little flutter of excitement seized her; with stephen's memory a warm flood of unreasoning happiness engulfed her. "i beg your pardon!" said susan, suddenly aroused. "your lead, miss brown---" "mine? oh, surely. you made it---?" "i bridged it. mrs. chauncey made it diamonds." "oh, surely!" susan led at random. "oh, i didn't mean to lead that!" she exclaimed. she attempted to play the hand, and the following hand, with all her power, and presently found herself the dummy again. again serious thought pressed in upon her from all sides. she could not long delay the necessity of letting kenneth, and kenneth's family, know that she would not do her share in their most recent arrangement for his comfort. and after that---? susan had no doubt that it would be the beginning of the end of her stay here. not that it would be directly given as the reason for her going; they had their own ways of bringing about what suited them, these people. but what of stephen? and again warmth and confidence and joy rose in her heart. how big and true and direct he was, how far from everything that flourished in this warm and perfumed atmosphere! "it must be right to trust him," susan said to herself, and it seemed to her that even to trust him supremely, and to brave the storm that would follow, would be a step in the right direction. out of the unnatural atmosphere of this house, gone forever from the cold and repressing poverty of her aunt's, she would be out in the open air, free to breathe and think and love and work---- "oh, that nine is the best, miss brown! you trumped it---" susan brought her attention to the game again. when the cards were finally laid down, tea followed, and susan must pour it. after that she ran up to her room to find emily there, dressing for dinner. "oh, sue, there you are! listen, mama wants you to go in and see her a minute before dinner," emily said. "i am dead!" susan began flinging off her things, loosened the masses of her hair, and shook it about her, tore off her tight slippers and flung them away. "should think you would be," emily said sympathetically. she was evidently ready for confidences, but susan evaded them. at least she owed no explanation to emily! "el wants to put you up for the club," called emily above the rush of hot water into the bathtub. "why should she?" susan called back smiling, but uneasy, but emily evidently did not hear. "don't forget to look in on mama," she said again, when susan was dressed. susan nodded. "but, lord, this is a terrible place to try to think in!" the girl thought, knocking dutifully on mrs. saunders' door. the old lady, in a luxurious dressing-gown, was lying on the wide couch that miss baker had drawn up before the fire. "there's the girl i thought had forgotten all about me!" said mrs. saunders in tremulous, smiling reproach. susan went over and, although uncomfortably conscious of the daughterliness of the act, knelt down beside her, and squeezed the little shell-like hand. miss baker smiled from the other side of the room where she was folding up the day-covers of the bed with windmill sweeps of her arms. "well, now, i didn't want to keep you from your dinner," murmured the old lady. "i just wanted to give you a little kiss, and tell you that i've been thinking about you!" susan gave the nurse, who was barely out of hearing, a troubled look. if miss baker had not been there, she would have had the courage to tell kenneth's mother the truth. as it was, mrs. saunders misinterpreted her glance. "we won't say one word!" she whispered with childish pleasure in the secret. the little claw-like hands drew susan down for a kiss; "now, you and doctor cooper shall just have some little talks about my boy, and in a year he'll be just as well as ever!" whispered the foolish, fond little mother, "and we'll go into town next week and buy all sorts of pretty things, shall we? and we'll forget all about this bad sickness! now, run along, lovey, it's late!" susan, profoundly apprehensive, went slowly out of the room. she turned to the stairway that led to the upper hall to hear ella's voice from her own room: "sue! going up to see ken?" "yes," susan said without turning back. "that's a good child," ella called gaily. "the kid's gone down to dinner, but don't hurry. i'm dining out." "i'll be down directly," susan said, going on. she crossed the dimly lighted, fragrant upper hall, and knocked on kenneth's door. it was instantly opened by the gracious and gray-haired miss trumbull, the night nurse. kenneth, in a gorgeous embroidered mandarin coat, was sitting up and enjoying his supper. "come in, woman," he said, smiling composedly. susan felt warmed and heartened by his manner, and came to take her chair by the bed. miss trumbull disappeared, and the two had the big, quiet room to themselves. "well," said kenneth, laying down a wish-bone, and giving her a shrewd smile. "you can't do it, and you're afraid to say so, is that it?" a millstone seemed lifted from susan's heart. she smiled, and the tears rushed into her eyes. "i--honestly, i'd rather not," she said eagerly. "that other fellow, eh?" he added, glancing at her before he attacked another bone with knife and fork. taken unawares, she could not answer. the color rushed into her face. she dropped her eyes. "peter coleman, isn't it?" kenneth pursued. "peter coleman!" susan might never have heard the name before, so unaffected was her astonishment. "well, isn't it?" susan felt in her heart the first stirring of a genuine affection for kenneth saunders. he seemed so bright, so well to-night, he was so kind and brotherly. "it's stephen," said she, moved by a sudden impulse to confide. he eyed her in blank astonishment, and susan saw in it a sort of respect. but he only answered by a long whistle. "gosh, that is tough," he said, after a few moments of silence. "that is the limit, you poor kid! of course his wife is particularly well and husky?" "particularly!" echoed susan with a shaky laugh. for the first time in their lives she and kenneth talked together with entire naturalness and with pleasure. susan's heart felt lighter than it had for many a day. "stephen can't shake his wife, i suppose?" he asked presently. "not--not according to the new york law, i believe," susan said. "well--that's a case where virtue is its own reward,--not," said kenneth. "and he--he cares, does he?" he asked, with shy interest. a rush of burning color, and the light in susan's eyes, were her only answer. "shucks, what a rotten shame!" kenneth said regretfully. "so he goes away to japan, does he? lord, what a shame---" susan really thought he was thinking more of her heart-affair than his own, when she finally left him. kenneth was heartily interested in the ill-starred romance. he bade her good-night with real affection and sympathy. susan stood bewildered for a moment, outside the door, listening to the subdued murmurs that came up from the house, blinking, after the bright glow of kenneth's lamps, in the darkness of the hall. presently she crossed to a wide window that faced across the village, toward the hills. it was closed; the heavy glass gave back only a dim reflection of herself, bare-armed, bare-throated, with spangles winking dully on her scarf. she opened the window and the sweet cold night air came in with a rush, and touched her hot cheeks and aching head with an infinite coolness. susan knelt down and drank deep of it, raised her eyes to the silent circle of the hills, the starry arch of the sky. there was no moon, but tamalpais' great shoulder was dimly outlined against darker blackness, and moving, twinkling dots showed where ferryboats were crossing and recrossing the distant bay. san francisco's lights glittered like a chain of gems, but san rafael, except for a half-concealed household light, here and there under the trees, was in darkness. faint echoes of dance-music came from the hotel, the insistent, throbbing bass of a waltz; susan shuddered at the thought of it; the crowd and the heat, the laughing and flirting, the eating and drinking. her eyes searched the blackness between the stars;--oh, to plunge into those infinite deeps, to breathe the untainted air of those limitless great spaces! garden odors, wet and sweet, came up to her; she got the exquisite breath of drenched violets, of pinetrees. susan thought of her mother's little garden, years ago, of the sunken stone ale-bottles that framed the beds, of alyssum and marigolds and wall-flowers and hollyhocks growing all together. she remembered her little self, teasing for heart-shaped cookies, or gravely attentive to the bargain driven between her mother and the old chinese vegetable-vendor, with his loaded, swinging baskets. it went dimly through susan's mind that she had grown too far away from the good warm earth. it was years since she had had the smell of it and the touch of it, or had lain down in its long grasses. at her aunt's house, in the office, and here, it seemed so far away! susan had a hazy vision of some sensible linen gardening dresses--of herself out in the spring sunshine, digging, watering, getting happier and dirtier and hotter every minute---- somebody was playing walther's song from "die meistersinger" far downstairs, and the plaintive passionate notes drew susan as if they had been the cry of her name. she went down to find emily and peter coleman laughing and flirting over a box of chocolates, at the inglenook seat in the hall, and stephen bocqueraz alone in the drawing-room, at the piano. he stopped playing as she came in, and they walked to the fire and took opposite chairs beside the still brightly burning logs. "anything new?" he asked. "oh, lots!" susan said wearily. "i've seen kenneth. but they don't know that i can't--can't do it. and they're rather taking it for granted that i am going to!" "going to marry him!" he asked aghast. "surely you haven't equivocated about it, susan?" he asked sharply. "not with him!" she answered in quick self-defense, with a thrill for the authoritative tone. "i went up there, tired as i am, and told him the absolute truth," said susan. "but they may not know it!" "i confess i don't see why," bocqueraz said, in disapproval. "it would seem to me simple enough to---" "oh, perhaps it does seem simple, to you!" susan defended herself wearily, "but it isn't so easy! ella is dreadful when she's angry,--i don't know quite what i will do, if this ends my being here---" "why should it?" he asked quickly. "because it's that sort of a position. i'm here as long as i'm wanted," susan said bitterly, "and when i'm not, there'll be a hundred ways to end it all. ella will resent this, and mrs. saunders will resent it, and even if i was legally entitled to stay, it wouldn't be very pleasant under those circumstances!" she rested her head against the curved back of her chair, and he saw tears slip between her lashes. "why, my darling! my dearest little girl, you mustn't cry!" he said, in distress. "come to the window and let's get a breath of fresh air!" he crossed to a french window, and held back the heavy curtain to let her step out to the wide side porch. susan's hand held his tightly in the darkness, and he knew by the sound of her breathing that she was crying. "i don't know what made me go to pieces this way," she said, after a moment. "but it has been such a day!" and she composedly dried her eyes, and restored his handkerchief to him. "you poor little girl!" he said tenderly. "---is it going to be too cold out here for you, sue?" "no-o!" said susan, smiling, "it's heavenly!" "then we'll talk. and we must make the most of this too, for they may not give us another chance! cheer up, sweetheart, it's only a short time now! as you say, they're going to resent the fact that my girl doesn't jump at the chance to ally herself with all this splendor, and to-morrow may change things all about for every one of us. now, sue, i told ella to-day that i sail for japan on sunday---" "oh, my god!" susan said, taken entirely unawares. he was near enough to put his arm about her shoulders. "my little girl," he said, gravely, "did you think that i was going to leave you behind?" "i couldn't bear it," susan said simply. "you could bear it better than i could," he assured her. "but we'll never be separated again in this life, i hope! and every hour of my life i'm going to spend in trying to show you what it means to me to have you--with your beauty and your wit and your charm--trust me to straighten out all this tangle! you know you are the most remarkable woman i ever knew, susan," he interrupted himself to say, seriously. "oh, you can shake your head, but wait until other people agree with me! wait until you catch the faintest glimpse of what our life is going to be! and how you'll love the sea! and that reminds me," he was all business-like again, "the nippon maru sails on sunday. you and i sail with her." he paused, and in the gradually brightening gloom susan's eyes met his, but she did not speak nor stir. "it's the only way, dear!" he said urgently. "you see that? i can't leave you here and things cannot go on this way. it will be hard for a little while, but we'll make it a wonderful year, susan, and when it's over, i'll take my wife home with me to new york." "it seems incredible," said susan slowly, "that it is ever right to do a thing like this. you--you think i'm a strong woman, stephen," she went on, groping for the right words, "but i'm not--in this way. i think i could be strong," susan's eyes were wistful, "i could be strong if my husband were a pioneer, or if i had an invalid husband, or if i had to--to work at anything," she elucidated. "i could even keep a store or plow, or go out and shoot game! but my life hasn't run that way, i can't seem to find what i want to do, i'm always bound by conditions i didn't make---" "exactly, dear! and now you are going to make conditions for yourself," he added eagerly, as she hesitated. susan sighed. "not so soon as sunday," she said, after a pause. "sunday too soon? very well, little girl. if you want to go sunday, we'll go. and, if you say not, i'll await your plans," he agreed. "but, stephen--what about tickets?" "the tickets are upstairs," he told her. "i reserved the prettiest suite on board for miss susan bocqueraz, my niece, who is going with me to meet her father in india, and a near-by stateroom for myself. but, of course, i'll forfeit these reservations rather than hurry or distress you now. when i saw the big liner, susan, the cleanness and brightness and airiness of it all; and when i thought of the deliciousness of getting away from the streets and smells and sounds of the city, out on the great pacific, i thought i would be mad to prolong this existence here an unnecessary day. but that's for you to say." "i see," she said dreamily. and through her veins, like a soothing draught, ran the premonition of surrender. delicious to let herself go, to trust him, to get away from all the familiar sights and faces! she turned in the darkness and laid both hands on his shoulders. "i'll be ready on sunday," said she gravely. "i suppose, as a younger girl, i would have thought myself mad to think of this. but i have been wrong about so many of those old ideas; i don't feel sure of anything any more. life in this house isn't right, stephen, and certainly the old life at auntie's,--all debts and pretense and shiftlessness,--isn't right either." "you'll not be sorry, dear," he told her, holding her hands. an instant later they were warned, by a sudden flood of light on the porch, that mr. coleman had come to the open french window. "come in, you idiots!" said peter. "we're hunting for something to eat!" "you come out, it's a heavenly night!" stephen said readily. "nothing stirring," mr. coleman said, sauntering toward them nevertheless. "don't you believe a word she says, mr. bocqueraz, she's an absolute liar!" "peter, go back, we're talking books," said susan, unruffled. "well, i read a book once, susan," he assured her proudly. "say, let's go over to the hotel and have a dance, what?" "madman!" the writer said, in indulgent amusement, as peter went back. "we'll be in directly, coleman!" he called. then he said quickly, and in a low tone to susan. "shall you stay here until sunday, or would you rather be with your own people?" "it just depends upon what ella and emily do," susan answered. "kenneth may not tell them. if he does, it might be better to go. this is tuesday. of course i don't know, stephen, they may be very generous about it, they may make it as pleasant as they can. but certainly emily isn't sorry to find some reason for terminating my stay here. we've--perhaps it's my fault, but we've been rather grating on each other lately. so i think it's pretty safe to say that i will go home on wednesday or thursday." "good," he said. "i can see you there!" "oh, will you?" said susan, pleased. "oh, will i! and another thing, dear, you'll need some things. a big coat for the steamer, and some light gowns--but we can get those. we'll do some shopping in paris---" he had touched a wrong chord, and susan winced. "i have some money," she assured him, hastily, "and i'd rather--rather get those things myself!" "you shall do as you like," he said gravely. silently and thoughtfully they went back to the house. chapter vi susan lay awake almost all night, quiet and wide-eyed in the darkness, thinking, thinking, thinking. she arraigned herself mentally before a jury of her peers, and pleaded her own case. she did not think of stephen bocqueraz to-night,--thought of him indeed did not lead to rational argument!--but she confined her random reflections to the conduct of other women. there was a moral code of course, there were commandments. but by whose decree might some of these be set aside, and ignored, while others must still be observed in the letter and the spirit? susan knew that ella would discharge a maid for stealing perfumery or butter, and within the hour be entertaining a group of her friends with the famous story of her having taken paste jewels abroad, to be replaced in london by real stones and brought triumphantly home under the very eyes of the custom-house inspectors. she had heard mrs. porter pitts, whose second marriage followed her divorce by only a few hours, addressing her respectful classes in the correction home for wayward girls. she had heard mrs. leonard orvis congratulated upon her lineage and family connections on the very same occasion when mrs. orvis had entertained a group of intimates with a history of her successful plan for keeping the orvis nursery empty. it was to the ellas, the pitts, the orvises, that susan addressed her arguments. they had broken laws. she was only temporarily following their example. she heard the clock strike four, before she went to sleep, and was awakened by emily at nine o'clock the next morning. it was a rainy, gusty morning, with showers slapping against the windows. the air in the house was too warm, radiators were purring everywhere, logs crackled in the fireplaces of the dining-room and hall. susan, looking into the smaller library, saw ella in a wadded silk robe, comfortably ensconced beside the fire, with the newspapers. "good-morning, sue," said ella politely. susan's heart sank. "come in," said ella. "had your breakfast?" "not yet," said susan, coming in. "well, i just want to speak to you a moment," said ella, and susan knew, from the tone, that she was in for an unpleasant half-hour. emily, following susan, entered the library, too, and seated herself on the window-seat. susan did not sit down. "i've got something on my mind, susan," ella said, frowning as she tossed aside her papers, "and,--you know me. i'm like all the roberts, when i want to say a thing, i say it!" ella eyed her groomed fingers a moment, bit at one before she went on. "now, there's only one important person in this house, sue, as i always tell everyone, and that's mamma! 'em and i don't matter,' i say, 'but mamma's old, and she hasn't very much longer to live, and she does count!' i--you may not always see it," ella went on with dignity, "but i always arrange my engagements so that mamma shall be the first consideration, she likes to have me go places, and i like to go, but many and many a night when you and em think that i am out somewhere i'm in there with mamma---" susan knew that they were in the realm of pure fiction now, but she could only listen. she glanced at emily, but emily only looked impressed and edified. "so--" ella, unchallenged, went on. "so when i see anyone inclined to be rude to mamma, sue---" "as you certainly were---" emily began. "keep out of this, baby," ella said. susan asked in astonishment; "but, good gracious, ella! when was i ever rude to your mother?" "just--one--moment, sue," ella said, politely declining to be hurried. "well! so when i realize that you deceived mamma, sue, it--i've always liked you, and i've always said that there was a great deal of allowance to be made for you," ella interrupted herself to say kindly, "but, you know, that is the one thing i can't forgive!--in just a moment---" she added, as susan was about to speak again. "well, about a week ago, as you know, ken's doctor said that he must positively travel. mamma isn't well enough to go, the kid can't go, and i can't get away just now, even," ella was deriving some enjoyment from her new role of protectress, "even if i would leave mamma. what ken suggested, you know, seemed a suitable enough arrangement at the time, although i think, and i know mamma thinks, that it was just one of the poor boy's ideas which might have worked very well, and might not! one never can tell about such things. be that as it may, however---" "oh, ella, what on earth are you getting at!" asked susan, in sudden impatience. "really, sue!" emily said, shocked at this irreverence, but ella, flushing a little, proceeded with a little more directness. "i'm getting at this--please shut up, baby! you gave mamma to understand that it was all right between you and ken, and mamma told me so before i went to the grahams' dinner, and i gave eva graham a pretty strong hint! now ken tells mamma that that isn't so at all,--i must say ken, for a sick boy, acted very well! and really, sue, to have you willing to add anything to mamma's natural distress and worry now it,--well, i don't like it, and i say so frankly!" susan, angered past the power of reasonable speech, remained silent for half-a-minute, holding the back of a chair with both hands, and looking gravely into ella's face. "is that all?" she asked mildly. "except that i'm surprised at you," ella said a little nettled. "i'm not going to answer you," susan said, "because you know very well that i have always loved your mother, and that i deceived nobody! and you can't make me think she has anything to do with this! it isn't my fault that i don't want to marry your brother, and emily knows how utterly unfair this is!" "really, i don't know anything about it!" emily said airily. "oh, very well," susan said, at white heat. she turned and went quietly from the room. she went upstairs, and sat down crosswise on a small chair, and stared gloomily out of the window. she hated this house, she said to herself, and everyone in it! a maid, sympathetically fluttering about, asked miss brown if she would like her breakfast brought up. "oh, i would!" said susan gratefully. lizzie presently brought in a tray, and arranged an appetizing little meal. "they're something awful, that's what i say," said lizzie presently in a cautious undertone. "but i've been here twelve years, and i say there's worse places! miss ella may be a little raspy now, miss brown, but don't you take it to heart!" susan, the better for hot coffee and human sympathy, laughed out in cheerful revulsion of feeling. "things are all mixed up, lizzie, but it's not my fault," she said gaily. "well, it don't matter," said the literal lizzie, referring to the tray. "i pile 'em up anyhow to carry 'em downstairs!" breakfast over, susan still loitered in her own apartments. she wanted to see stephen, but not enough to risk encountering someone else in the halls. at about eleven o'clock, ella knocked at the door, and came in. "i'm in a horrible rush," said ella, sitting down on the bed and interesting herself immediately in a silk workbag of emily's that hung there. "i only want to say this, sue," she began. "it has nothing to do with what we were talking of this morning, but--i've just been discussing it with mamma!--but we all feel, and i'm sure you do, too, that this is an upset sort of time. emily, now," said ella, reaching her sister's name with obvious relief, "em's not at all well, and she feels that she needs a nurse,--i'm going to try to get that nurse betty brock had,--em may have to go back to the hospital, in fact, and mamma is so nervous about ken, and i---" ella cleared her throat, "i feel this way about it," she said. "when you came here it was just an experiment, wasn't it?" "certainly," susan agreed, very red in the face. "certainly, and a most successful one, too," ella conceded relievedly. "but, of course, if mamma takes baby abroad in the spring,--you see how it is? and of course, even in case of a change now, we'd want you to take your time. or,--i'll tell you, suppose you go home for a visit with your aunt, now. monday is christmas, and then, after new year's, we can write about it, if you haven't found anything else you want to do, and i'll let you know---" "i understand perfectly," susan said quietly, but with a betraying color. "certainly, i think that would be wisest." "well, i think so," said ella with a long breath. "now, don't be in a hurry, even if miss polk comes, because you could sleep upstairs---" "oh, i'd rather go at once-to-day," susan said. "indeed not, in this rain," ella said with her pleasant, half-humorous air of concern. "mamma and baby would think i'd scared you away. tomorrow, sue, if you're in such a hurry. but this afternoon some people are coming in to meet stephen--he's really going on sunday, he says,--stay and pour!" it would have been a satisfaction to susan's pride to refuse. she knew that ella really needed her this afternoon, and would have liked to punish that lady to that extent. but hurry was undignified and cowardly, and stephen's name was a charm, and so it happened that susan found herself in the drawing-room at five o'clock, in the center of a chattering group, and stirred, as she was always stirred, by stephen's effect on the people he met. he found time to say to her only a few words, "you are more adorable than ever!" but they kept susan's heart singing all evening, and she and emily spent the hours after dinner in great harmony; greater indeed than they had enjoyed for months. the next day she said her good-byes, agitated beyond the capacity to feel any regret, for stephen bocqueraz had casually announced his intention to take the same train that she did for the city. ella gave her her check; not for the sixty dollars that would have been susan's had she remained to finish out her month, but for ten dollars less. emily chattered of miss polk, "she seemed to think i was so funny and so odd, when we met her at betty's," said emily, "isn't she crazy? do you think i'm funny and odd, sue?" stephen put her in a carriage at the ferry and they went shopping together. he told her that he wanted to get some things "for a small friend," and susan, radiant in the joy of being with him, in the delicious bright winter sunshine, could not stay his hand when he bought the "small friend" a delightful big rough coat, which susan obligingly tried on, and a green and blue plaid, for steamer use, a trunk, and a parasol "because it looked so pretty and silly," and in shreve's, as they loitered about, a silver scissors and a gold thimble, a silver stamp-box and a traveler's inkwell, a little silver watch no larger than a twenty-five-cent piece, a little crystal clock, and, finally, a ring, with three emeralds set straight across it, the loveliest great bright stones that susan had ever seen, "green for an irish gir-rl," said stephen. then they went to tea, and susan laughed at him because he remembered that orange pekoe was her greatest weakness, and he laughed at susan because she was so often distracted from what she was saying by the flash of her new ring. "what makes my girl suddenly look so sober?" susan smiled, colored. "i was thinking of what people will say." "i think you over-estimate the interest that the world is going to take in our plans, susan," he said, gravely, after a thoughtful moment. "we take our place in new york, in a year or two, as married people. 'mrs. bocqueraz'"--the title thrilled susan unexpectedly,--"'mrs. bocqueraz is his second wife,' people will say. 'they met while they were both traveling about the world, i believe.' and that's the end of it!" "but the newspapers may get it," susan said, fearfully. "i don't see how," he reassured her. "ella naturally can't give it to them, for she will think you are at your aunt's. your aunt---" "oh, i shall write the truth to auntie," susan said, soberly. "write her from honolulu, probably. and wild horses wouldn't get it out of her. but if the slightest thing should go wrong---" "nothing will, dear. we'll drift about the world awhile, and the first thing you know you'll find yourself married hard and tight, and being invited to dinners and lunches and things in new york!" susan's dimples came into view. "i forget what a very big person you are," she smiled. "i begin to think you can do anything you want to do!" she had a reminder of his greatness even before they left the tea-room, for while they were walking up the wide passage toward the arcade, a young woman, an older woman, and a middle-aged man, suddenly addressed the writer. "oh, do forgive me!" said the young woman, "but aren't you stephen graham bocqueraz? we've been watching you--i just couldn't help--" "my daughter is a great admirer---" the man began, but the elder woman interrupted him. "we're all great admirers of your books, mr. bocqueraz," said she, "but it was helen, my daughter here!--who was sure she recognized you. we went to your lecture at our club, in los angeles---" stephen shook hands, smiled and was very gracious, and susan, shyly smiling, too, felt her heart swell with pride. when they went on together the little episode had subtly changed her attitude toward him; susan was back for the moment in her old mood, wondering gratefully what the great man saw in her to attract him! a familiar chord was touched when an hour later, upon getting out of a carriage at her aunt's door, she found the right of way disputed by a garbage cart, and mary lou, clad in a wrapper, holding the driver in spirited conversation through a crack in the door. susan promptly settled a small bill, kissed mary lou, and went upstairs in harmonious and happy conversation. "i was just taking a bath!" said mary lou, indignantly. mary lou never took baths easily, or as a matter of course. she always made an event of them, choosing an inconvenient hour, assembling soap, clothing and towels with maddening deliberation, running about in slippered feet for a full hour before she locked herself into, and everybody else out of, the bathroom. an hour later she would emerge from the hot and steam-clouded apartment, to spend another hour in her room in leisurely dressing. she was at this latter stage now, and regaled susan with all the family news, as she ran her hand into stocking after stocking in search of a whole heel, and forced her silver cuff-links into the starched cuffs of her shirtwaist. ferd eastman's wife had succumbed, some weeks before, to a second paralytic stroke, and mary lou wept unaffectedly at the thought of poor ferd's grief. she said she couldn't help hoping that some sweet and lovely girl,--"ferd knows so many!" said lou, sighing,--would fill the empty place. susan, with an unfavorable recollection of ferd's fussy, important manner and red face, said nothing. georgie, mary lou reported, was a very sick woman, in ma's and mary lou's opinion. ma had asked the young o'connors to her home for christmas dinner; "perhaps they expected us to ask the old lady," said mary lou, resentfully, "anyway, they aren't coming!" georgie's baby, it appeared, was an angel, but joe disciplined the poor little thing until it would make anyone's heart sick. of alfie the report was equally discouraging: "alfie's wife is perfectly awful," his sister said, "and their friends, sue,--barbers and butchers! however, ma's asked 'em here for christmas dinner, and then you'll see them!" virginia was still at the institution, but of late some hope of eventual restoration of her sight had been given her. "it would break your heart to see her in that place, it seems like a poorhouse!" said mary lou, with trembling lips, "but jinny's an angel. she gets the children about her, and tells them stories; they say she's wonderful with them!" there was really good news of the lord sisters, susan was rejoiced to hear. they had finally paid for their lot in piedmont hills, and a new trolley-car line, passing within one block of it, had trebled its value. this was lydia's chance to sell, in mary lou's opinion, but lydia intended instead to mortgage the now valuable property, and build a little two-family house upon it with the money thus raised. she had passed the school-examinations, and had applied for a berkeley school. "but better than all," mary lou announced, "that great german muscle doctor has been twice to see mary,--isn't that amazing? and not a cent charged---" "oh, god bless him!" said susan, her eyes flashing through sudden mist. "and will she be cured?" "not ever to really be like other people, sue. but he told her, last time, that by the time that piedmont garden was ready for her, she'd be ready to go out and sit in it every day! lydia fainted away when he said it,--yes, indeed she did!" "well, that's the best news i've heard for many a day!" susan rejoiced. she could not have explained why, but some queer little reasoning quality in her brain made her own happiness seem the surer when she heard of the happiness of other people. the old odors in the halls, the old curtains and chairs and dishes, the old, old conversation; mrs. parker reading a clean, neatly lined, temperate little letter from loretta, signed "sister mary gregory"; major watts anxious to explain to susan just the method of building an army bridge that he had so successfully introduced during the civil war,--"s'ee, 'who is this boy, cutter?' 'why, sir, i don't know,' says captain cutter, 'but he says his name is watts!' 'watts?' says the general, 'well,' s'ee, 'if i had a few more of your kind, watts, we'd get the yanks on the run, and we'd keep 'em on the run.'" lydia lord came down to get mary's dinner, and again susan helped the watery vegetable into a pyramid of saucers, and passed the green glass dish of pickles, and the pink china sugar-bowl. but she was happy to-night, and it seemed good to be home, where she could be her natural self, and put her elbows on the table, and be listened to and laughed at, instead of playing a role. "gosh, we need you in this family, susie!" said william oliver, won from fatigue and depression to a sudden appreciation of her gaiety. "do you, willie darling?" "don't you call me willie!" he looked up to say scowlingly. "well, don't you call me susie, then!" retorted susan. mrs. lancaster patted her hand, and said affectionately, "don't it seem good to have the children scolding away at each other again!" susan and william had one of their long talks, after dinner, while they cracked and ate pine-nuts, and while mary lou, at the other end of the dining-room table, painstakingly wrote a letter to a friend of her girlhood. billy was frankly afraid that his men were reaching the point when a strike would be the natural step, and as president of their new-formed union, and spokesman for them whenever the powers had to be approached, he was anxious to delay extreme measures as long as he could. susan was inclined to regard the troubles of the workingman as very largely of his own making. "you'll simply lose your job," said susan, "and that'll be the end of it. if you made friends with the carpenters, on the other hand, you'd be fixed for life. and the carpenters are perfectly lovely people. mrs. carpenter is on the hospital board, and a great friend of ella's. and she says that it's ridiculous to think of paying those men better wages when their homes are so dirty and shiftless, and they spend their money as they do! you know very well there will always be rich people and poor people, and that if all the money in the world was divided on monday morning---" "don't get that old chestnut off!" william entreated. "well, i don't care!" susan said, a little more warmly for the interruption. "why don't they keep their houses clean, and bring their kids up decently, instead of giving them dancing lessons and white stockings!" "because they've had no decent training themselves, sue---" "oh, decent training! what about the schools?" "schools don't teach anything! but if they had fair play, and decent hours, and time to go home and play with the kids, and do a little gardening, they'd learn fast enough!" "the poor you have always with you," said mary lou, reverently. susan laughed outright, and went around the table to kiss her cousin. "you're an old darling, mary lou!" said she. mary lou accepted the tribute as just. "no, but i don't think we ought to forget the immense good that rich people do, billy," she said mildly. "mrs. holly's daughters gave a christmas-tree party for eighty children yesterday, and the saturday morning club will have a tree for two hundred on the twenty-eighth!" "holly made his money by running about a hundred little druggists out of the business," said billy, darkly. "bought and paid for their businesses, you mean," susan amended sharply. "yes, paid about two years' profits," billy agreed, "and would have run them out of business if they hadn't sold. if you call that honest!" "it's legally honest," susan said lazily, shuffling a pack for solitaire. "it's no worse than a thousand other things that people do!" "no, i agree with you there!" billy said heartily, and he smiled as if he had had the best of the argument. susan followed her game for awhile in silence. her thoughts were glad to escape to more absorbing topics, she reviewed the happy afternoon, and thrilled to a hundred little memories. the quiet, stupid evening carried her back, in spirit, to the susan of a few years ago, the shabby little ill-dressed clerk of hunter, baxter & hunter, who had been such a limited and suppressed little person. the susan of to-day was an erect, well-corseted, well-manicured woman of the world; a person of noticeable nicety of speech, accustomed to move in the very highest society. no, she could never come back to this, to the old shiftless, penniless ways. any alternative rather! "and, besides, i haven't really done anything yet," susan said to herself, uneasily, when she was brushing her hair that night, and mary lou was congratulating her upon her improved appearance and manner. on saturday she introduced her delighted aunt and cousin to mr. bocqueraz, who came to take her for a little stroll. "i've always thought you were quite an unusual girl, sue," said her aunt later in the afternoon, "and i do think it's a real compliment for a man like that to talk to a girl like you! i shouldn't know what to say to him, myself, and i was real proud of the way you spoke up; so easy and yet so ladylike!" susan gave her aunt only an ecstatic kiss for answer. bread was needed for dinner, and she flashed out to the bakery for it, and came flying back, the bread, wrapped in paper and tied with pink string, under her arm. she proposed a stroll along filmore street to mary lou, in the evening, and they wrapped up for their walk under the clear stars. there was a holiday tang to the very air; even the sound of a premature horn, now and then; the shops were full of shoppers. mary lou had some cards to buy, at five cents apiece, or two for five cents, and they joined the gently pushing groups in the little stationery stores. insignificant little shoppers were busily making selections from the open trays of cards; school-teachers, stenographers, bookkeepers and clerks kept up a constant little murmur among themselves. "how much are these? thank you!" "she says these are five, lizzie; do you like them better than the little holly books?" "i'll take these two, please, and will you give me two envelopes?--wait just a moment, i didn't see these!" "this one was in the ten-cent box, but it's marked five, and that lady says that there were some just like it for five. if it's five, i want it!" "aren't these cunnin', lou?" "yes, i noticed those, did you see these, darling?" "i want this one--i want these, please,--will you give me this one?" "are you going to be open at all to-morrow?" mary lou asked, unwilling to be hurried into a rash choice. "isn't this little one with a baby's face sweet?" said a tall, gaunt woman, gently, to susan. "darling!" said susan. "but i want it for an unmarried lady, who isn't very fond of children," said the woman delicately. "so perhaps i had better take these two funny little pussies in a hat!" they went out into the cold street again, and into a toy-shop where a lamb was to be selected for georgie's baby. and here was a roughly dressed young man holding up a three-year-old boy to see the elephants and horses. little three, a noisy little fellow, with cold red little hands, and a worn, soiled plush coat, selected a particularly charming shaggy horse, and shouted with joy as his father gave it to him. "do you like that, son? well, i guess you'll have to have it; there's nothing too good for you!" said the father, and he signaled a saleswoman. the girl looked blankly at the change in her hand. "that's two dollars, sir," she said, pleasantly, displaying the tag. "what?" the man stammered, turning red. "why--why, sure--that's right! but i thought---" he appealed to susan. "don't that look like twenty cents?" he asked. mary lou tugged discreetly at susan's arm, but susan would not desert the baby in the plush coat. "it is!" she agreed warmly. "oh, no, ma'am! these are the best german toys," said the salesman firmly. "well, then, i guess---" the man tried gently to disengage the horse from the jealous grip of its owner, "i guess we'd better leave this horse here for some other little feller, georgie," said he, "and we'll go see santa claus." "i thess want my horse that dad gave me!" said georgie, happily. "shall i ask santa claus to send it?" asked the saleswoman, tactfully. "no-o-o!" said georgie, uneasily. "doncher letter have it, dad!" "give the lady the horse, old man," said the father, "and we'll go find something pretty for mamma and the baby!" the little fellow's lips quivered, but even at three some of the lessons of poverty had been learned. he surrendered the horse obediently, but susan saw the little rough head go down tight against the man's collar, and saw the clutch of the grimy little hand. two minutes later she ran after them, and found them seated upon the lowest step of an out-of-the-way stairway; the haggard, worried young father vainly attempting to console the sobbing mite upon his knee. "here, darling," said susan. and what no words could do, the touch of the rough-coated pony did for her; up came the little face, radiant through tears; georgie clasped his horse again. "no, ma'am, you mustn't--i thank you very kindly, ma'am, but----" was all that susan heard before she ran away. she would do things like that every day of her life, she thought, lying awake in the darkness that night. wasn't it better to do that sort of thing with money than to be a mary lou, say, without? she was going to take a reckless and unwise step now. admitted. but it would be the only one. and after busy and blameless years everyone must come to see that it had been for the best. every detail was arranged now. she and stephen had visited the big liner that afternoon; susan had had her first intoxicating glimpse of the joy of sea-travel, had peeped into the lovely little cabin that was to be her own, had been respectfully treated by the steward as the coming occupant of that cabin. she had seen her new plaid folded on a couch, her new trunk in place, a great jar of lovely freesia lilies already perfuming the fresh orderliness of the place. nothing to do now but to go down to the boat in the morning. stephen had both tickets in his pocket-book. a careful scrutiny of the first-cabin list had assured susan that no acquaintances of hers were sailing. if, in the leave-taking crowd, she met someone that she knew, what more natural than that miss brown had been delegated by the saunders family to say good-bye to their charming cousin? friends had promised to see stephen off, but, if ella appeared at all, it would be but for a moment, and susan could easily avoid her. she was not afraid of any mishap. but three days of the pure, simple old atmosphere had somewhat affected susan, in spite of herself. she could much more easily have gone away with stephen bocqueraz without this interval. life in the saunders home stimulated whatever she had of recklessness and independence, frivolity and irreverence of law. she would be admired for this step by the people she had left; she could not think without a heartache of her aunt's shame and distress. however there seemed nothing to do now but to go to sleep. susan's last thought was that she had not taken the step yet,--in so much, at least, she was different from the girls who moved upon blind and passionate impulses. she could withdraw even now. the morning broke like many another morning; sunshine and fog battling out-of-doors, laziness and lack of system making it generally characteristic of a sunday morning within. susan went to church at seven o'clock, because mary lou seemed to expect it of her, and because it seemed a good thing to do, and was loitering over her breakfast at half-past-eight, when mrs. lancaster came downstairs. "any plan for to-day, sue?" asked her aunt. susan jumped nervously. "goodness, auntie! i didn't see you there! yes, you know i have to go and see mr. bocqueraz off at eleven." "oh, so you do! but you won't go back with the others, dear? tell them we want you for christmas!" "with the others?" "miss ella and emily," her aunt supplied, mildly surprised. "oh! oh, yes! yes, i suppose so. i don't know," susan said in great confusion. "you'll probably see lydia lord there," pursued mrs. lancaster, presently. "she's seeing mrs. lawrence's cousins off." "on the nippon maru?" susan asked nervously. "how you do remember names, sue! yes, lydia's going down." "i'd go with you, sue, if it wasn't for those turkeys to stuff," said mary lou. "i do love a big ship!" "oh, i wish you could!" susan said. she went upstairs with a fast-beating heart. her heart was throbbing so violently, indeed, that, like any near loud noise, it made thought very difficult. mary lou came in upon her packing her suitcase. "i suppose they may want you to go right back," said mary lou regretfully, in reference to the saunders, "but why don't you leave that here in case they don't?" "oh, i'd rather take it," said susan. she kissed her cousin good-bye, gave her aunt a particularly fervent hug, and went out into the doubtful morning. the fog-horn was booming on the bay, and when susan joined the little stream of persons filing toward the dock of the great nippon maru, fog was already shutting out all the world, and the eaves of the pier dripped with mist. between the slow-moving motor-cars and trucks on the dock, well-dressed men and women were picking their way through the mud. susan went unchallenged up the gang-plank, with girls in big coats, carrying candy-boxes and violets, men with cameras, elderly persons who watched their steps nervously. the big ship was filled with chattering groups, young people raced through cabins and passageways, eager to investigate. stevedores were slinging trunks and boxes on board; everywhere were stir and shouting and movement. children shrieked and romped in the fitful sunlight; there were tears and farewells, on all sides; postal-writers were already busy about the tables in the writing-room, stewards were captured on their swift comings and goings, and interrogated and importuned. fog lay heavy and silent over san francisco; and the horn still boomed down the bay. susan, standing at the rail looking gravely on at the vivid and exciting picture, felt an uneasy and chilling little thought clutch at her heart. she had always said that she could withdraw, at this particular minute she could withdraw. but in a few moments more the dock would be moving steadily away from her; the clock in the ferry-tower, with gulls wheeling about it, the ferry-boats churning long wakes in the smooth surface of the bay, the stir of little craft about the piers, the screaming of a hundred whistles, in a hundred keys, would all be gone. alcatraz would be passed, black point and the golden gate; they would be out beyond the rolling head-waters of the harbor. no withdrawing then. her attention was attracted by the sudden appearance of guards at the gang-plank, no more visitors would be allowed on board. susan smiled at the helpless disgust of some late-comers, who must send their candy and books up by the steward. twenty-five minutes of twelve, said the ferry clock. "are you going as far as japan, my dear?" asked a gentle little lady at susan's shoulder. "yes, we're going even further!" said friendly susan. "i'm going all alone," said the little lady, "and old as i am, i so dread it! i tell captain wolseley---" "i'm making my first trip, too," said susan, "so we'll stand by each other!" a touch on her arm made her turn suddenly about; her heart thundering. but it was only lydia lord. "isn't this thrilling, sue?" asked lydia, excited and nervous. "what wouldn't you give to be going? did you go down and see the cabins; aren't they dear? have you found the saunders party?" "are the saunders here?" asked susan. "miss ella was, i know. but she's probably gone now. i didn't see the younger sister. i must get back to the jeromes," said lydia; "they began to take pictures, and i'd thought i run away for a little peep at everything, all to myself! they say that we shore people will have to leave the ship at quarter of twelve." she fluttered away, and a second later susan found her hand covered by the big glove of stephen bocqueraz. "here you are, susan," he said, with business-like satisfaction. "i was kept by ella and some others, but they've gone now. everything seems to be quite all right." susan turned a rather white and strained face toward him, but even now his bracing bigness and coolness were acting upon her as a tonic. "we're at the captain's table," he told her, "which you'll appreciate if you're not ill. if you are ill, you've got a splendid stewardess,--mrs. o'connor. she happens to be an old acquaintance of mine; she used to be on a cunarder, and she's very much interested in my niece, and will look out for you very well." he looked down upon the crowded piers. "wonderful sight, isn't it?" he asked. susan leaned beside him at the rail, her color was coming back, but she saw nothing and heard nothing of what went on about her. "what's he doing that for?" she asked suddenly. for a blue-clad coolie was working his way through the crowded docks, banging violently on a gong. the sound disturbed susan's overstrained nerves. "i don't know," said stephen. "lunch perhaps. would you like to have a look downstairs before we go to lunch?" "that's a warning for visitors to go ashore," volunteered a bright-faced girl near them, who was leaning on the rail, staring down at the pier. "but they'll give a second warning," she added, "for we're going to be a few minutes late getting away. aren't you glad you don't have to go?" she asked susan gaily. "rather!" said susan huskily. visitors were beginning now to go reluctantly down the gang-plank, and mass themselves on the deck, staring up at the big liner, their faces showing the strained bright smile that becomes so fixed during the long slow process of casting off. handkerchiefs began to wave, and to wipe wet eyes; empty last promises were exchanged between decks and pier. a woman near susan began to cry,--a homely little woman, but the big handsome man who kissed her was crying, too. suddenly the city whistles, that blow even on sunday in san francisco, shrilled twelve. susan thought of the old lunch-room at hunter, baxter & hunter's, of thorny and the stewed tomatoes, and felt the bitter tears rise in her throat. various passengers now began to turn their interest to the life of the ship. there was talk of luncheon, of steamer chairs, of asking the stewardess for jars to hold flowers. susan had drawn back from the rail, no one on the ship knew her, but somebody on the pier might. "now let us go find mrs. o'connor," stephen said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "then you can take off your hat and freshen up a bit, and we can look over the ship." he led her cleverly through the now wildly churning crowds, into the comparative quiet of the saloon. here they found mrs. o'connor, surrounded by an anxious group of travelers. stephen put susan into her charge, and the two women studied each other with interest. susan saw a big-boned, gray-haired, capable-looking irishwoman, in a dress of dark-blue duck, with a white collar and white cuffs, heard a warming, big voice, and caught a ready and infectious smile. in all the surrounding confusion mrs. o'connor was calm and alert; so normal in manner and speech indeed that merely watching her had the effect of suddenly cooling susan's blood, of reducing her whirling thoughts to something like their old, sane basis. travel was nothing to mrs. o'connor; farewells were the chief of her diet; and her manner with stephen bocqueraz was crisp and quiet. she fixed upon him shrewd, wise eyes that had seen some curious things in their day, but she gave susan a motherly smile. "this is my niece, mrs. o'connor," said stephen, introducing susan. "she's never made the trip before, and i want you to help me turn her over to her daddy in manila, in first-class shape." "i will that," agreed the stewardess, heartily. "well, then i'll have a look at my own diggings, and mrs. o'connor will take you off to yours. i'll be waiting for you in the library, sue," stephen said, walking off, and susan followed mrs. o'connor to her own cabin. "the very best on the ship, as you might know mr. bocqueraz would get for anyone belonging to him," said the stewardess, shaking pillows and straightening curtains with great satisfaction, when they reached the luxurious little suite. "he's your father's brother, he tells me. was that it?" she was only making talk, with the kindliest motives, for a nervous passenger, but the blood rushed into susan's face. somehow it cut her to the heart to have to remember her father just at this instant; to make him, however distantly, a party to this troubled affair. "and you've lost your dear mother," mrs. o'connor said, misunderstanding the girl's evident distress. "well, my dear, the trip will do you a world of good, and you're blessed in this--you've a good father left, and an uncle that would lay down and die for you. i leave my own two girls, every time i go," she pursued, comfortably. "angela's married,--she has a baby, poor child, and she's not very strong,--and regina is still in boarding-school, in san rafael. it's hard to leave them---" simple, kindly talk, such as susan had heard from her babyhood. and the homely honest face was not strange, nor the blue, faded eyes, with their heartening assurance of good-fellowship. but suddenly it seemed to susan that, with a hideous roaring and rocking, the world was crashing to pieces about her. her soul sickened and shrank within her. she knew nothing of this good woman, who was straightening blankets and talking--talking--talking, three feet from her, but she felt she could not bear--she could not bear this kindly trust and sympathy--she could not bear the fear that some day she would be known to this woman for what she was! a gulf yawned before her. she had not foreseen this. she had known that there were women in the world, plenty of them, stephen said, who would understand what she was doing and like her in spite of it, even admire her. but what these blue eyes would look when they knew it, she very well knew. whatever glories and heights awaited susan brown in the days to come, she could never talk as an equal with ann o'connor or her like again, never exchange homely, happy details of babies and boarding-school and mothers and fathers again! plenty of women in the world who would understand and excuse her,--but susan had a mad desire to get among these sheltering women somehow, never to come in contact with these stupid, narrow-visioned others---! "leo--that's my son-in-law, is an angel to her," mrs. o'connor was saying, "and it's not everyone would be, as you know, for poor angela was sick all the time before raymond came, and she's hardly able to stir, even yet. but leo gets his own breakfasts----" susan was at the washstand busy with brush and comb. she paused. life stretched before her vision a darkened and wearisome place. she had a sudden picture of mrs. o'connor's daughter,--of georgie--of all helpless women upon whom physical weakness lays its heavy load. pale, dispirited women, hanging over the little cradles, starting up at little cries in the night, comforted by the boyish, sympathetic husbands, and murmuring tired thanks and appreciations---- she, susan, would be old some day, might be sick and weak any day; there might be a suffering child. what then? what consolation for a woman who set her feet deliberately in the path of wrong? not even a right to the consolation these others had, to the strong arm and the heartening voice at the day's end. and the child--what could she teach a child of its mother? "but i might not have one," said susan to herself. and instantly tears of self-pity bowed her head over the little towel-rack, and turned her heart to water. "i love children so--and i couldn't have children!" came the agonized thought, and she wept bitterly, pressing her eyes against the smooth folds of the towel. "come now, come now," said ann o'connor, sympathetic but not surprised. "you mustn't feel that way. dry your eyes, dear, and come up on deck. we'll be casting off any moment now. think of meeting your good father---" "oh, daddy!---" the words were a long wail. then susan straightened up resolutely. "i mustn't do this," she said sensibly. "i must find mr. bocqueraz." suddenly it seemed to her that she must have just the sight and touch of stephen or she would lose all self-control. "how do i get to the library?" she asked, white lipped and breathing hard. sympathetic mrs. o'connor willingly directed her, and susan went quickly and unseeingly through the unfamiliar passageway and up the curving staircase. stephen--said her thoughts over and over again--just to get to him,--to put herself in his charge, to awaken from the nightmare of her own fears. stephen would understand--would make everything right. people noticed her, for even in that self-absorbed crowd, she was a curious figure,--a tall, breathless girl, whose eyes burned feverishly blue in her white face. but susan saw nobody, noticed nothing. obstructions she put gently aside; voices and laughter she did not hear; and when suddenly a hand was laid upon her arm, she jumped in nervous fright. it was lydia lord who clutched her eagerly by the wrist, homely, excited, shabbily dressed lydia who clung to her, beaming with relief and satisfaction. "oh, sue,--what a piece of good fortune to find you!" gasped the little governess. "oh, my dear, i've twisted my ankle on one of those awful deck stairways!" she panted. "i wonder a dozen people a day don't get killed on them! and, sue, did you know, the second gong has been rung? i didn't hear it, but they say it has! we haven't a second to lose--seems so dreadful--and everyone so polite and yet in such a hurry--this way, dear, he says this way--my! but that is painful!" dashed in an instant from absolute security to this terrible danger of discovery, susan experienced something like vertigo. her senses seemed actually to fail her. she could do only the obvious thing. dazed, she gave lydia her arm, and automatically guided the older woman toward the upper deck. but that this astounding enterprise of hers should be thwarted by lydia lord! not an earthquake, not a convulsed conspiracy of earth and sea, but this little teacher, in her faded little best, with her sprained ankle! that lydia lord, smiling in awkward deprecation, and giving apologetic glances to interested bystanders who watched their limping progress, should consider herself the central interest of this terrible hour!---it was one more utterly irreconcilable note in this time of utter confusion and bewilderment. terror of discovery, mingled in the mad whirl of susan's thoughts with schemes of escape; and under all ran the agonizing pressure for time--minutes were precious now--every second was priceless! lydia lord was the least manageable woman in the world. susan had chafed often enough at her blunt, stupid obstinacy to be sure of that! if she once suspected what was susan's business on the nippon maru--less, if she so much as suspected that susan was keeping something, anything, from her, she would not be daunted by a hundred captains, by a thousand onlookers. she would have the truth, and until she got it, susan would not be allowed out of her arm's reach. lydia would cheerfully be bullied by the ship's authorities, laughed at, insulted, even arrested in happy martyrdom, if it once entered into her head that mrs. lancaster's niece, the bright-headed little charge of the whole boarding-house, was facing what miss lord, in virtuous ignorance, was satisfied to term "worse than death." lydia would be loyal to mrs. lancaster, and true to the simple rules of morality by which she had been guided every moment of her life. she had sometimes had occasion to discipline susan in susan's naughty and fascinating childhood; she would unsparingly discipline susan now. mary lou might have been evaded; the saunders could easily have been silenced, as ladies are easily silenced; but lydia was neither as unsuspecting as mary lou, nor was she a lady. had susan been rude and cold to this humble friend throughout her childhood, she might have successfully defied and escaped lydia now. but susan had always been gracious and sympathetic with lydia, interested in her problems, polite and sweet and kind. she could not change her manner now; as easily change her eyes or hair as to say, "i'm sorry you've hurt your foot, you'll have to excuse me,--i'm busy!" lydia would have stopped short in horrified amazement, and, when susan sailed on the nippon maru, lydia would have sailed, too. guided by various voices, breathless and unseeing, they limped on. past staring men and women, through white-painted narrow doorways, in a general hush of shocked doubt, they made their way. "we aren't going to make it!" gasped lydia. susan felt a sick throb at her heart. what then? "oh, yes we are!" she murmured as they came out on the deck near the gang-plank. embarrassment overwhelmed her; everyone was watching them--suppose stephen was watching--suppose he called her---- susan's one prayer now was that she and lydia might reach the gang-plank, and cross it, and be lost from sight among the crowd on the dock. if there was a hitch now!---- "the shore gong rang ten minutes ago, ladies!" said a petty officer at the gang-plank severely. "thank god we're in time!" lydia answered amiably, with her honest, homely smile. "you've got to hurry; we're waiting!" added the man less disapprovingly. susan, desperate now, was only praying for oblivion. that lydia and stephen might not meet--that she might be spared only that--that somehow they might escape this hideous publicity--this noise and blare, was all she asked. she did not dare raise her eyes; her face burned. "she's hurt her foot!" said pitying voices, as the two women went slowly down the slanting bridge to the dock. down, down, down they went! and every step carried susan nearer to the world of her childhood, with its rigid conventions, its distrust of herself, its timidity of officials, and in crowded places! the influence of the saunders' arrogance and pride failed her suddenly; the memory of stephen's bracing belief in the power to make anything possible forsook her. she was only little susan brown, not rich and not bold and not independent, unequal to the pressure of circumstances. she tried, with desperate effort, to rally her courage. men were waiting even now to take up the gang-plank when she and lydia left it; in another second it would be too late. "is either of you ladies sailing?" asked the guard at its foot. "no, indeed!" said lydia, cheerfully. susan's eye met his miserably--but she could not speak. they went slowly along the pier, susan watching lydia's steps, and watching nothing else. her face burned, her heart pounded, her hands and feet were icy cold. she merely wished to get away from this scene without a disgraceful exposition of some sort, to creep somewhere into darkness, and to die. she answered lydia's cheerful comments briefly; with a dry throat. suddenly beside one of the steamer's great red stacks there leaped a plume of white steam, and the prolonged deep blast of her whistle drowned all other sounds. "there she goes!" said lydia pausing. she turned to watch the nippon maru move against the pier like a moving wall, swing free, push slowly out into the bay. susan did not look. "it makes me sick," she said, when lydia, astonished, noticed she was not watching. "why, i should think it did!" lydia exclaimed, for susan's face was ashen, and she was biting her lips hard to keep back the deadly rush of faintness that threatened to engulf her. "i'm afraid--air--lyd---" whispered susan. lydia forgot her own injured ankle. "here, sit on these boxes, darling," she said. "well, you poor little girl you! there, that's better. don't worry about anyone watching you, just sit there and rest as long as you feel like it! i guess you need your lunch!" part three service chapter i december was unusually cold and bleak, that year, and after the holidays came six long weeks during which there were but a few glimpses of watery sunlight, between long intervals of fogs and rains. day after day broke dark and stormy, day after day the office-going crowds jostled each other under wet umbrellas, or, shivering in wet shoes and damp outer garments, packed the street-cars. mrs. lancaster's home, like all its type, had no furnace, and moisture and cold seemed to penetrate it, and linger therein. wind howled past the dark windows, rain dripped from the cornice above the front door, the acrid odor of drying woolens and wet rubber coats permeated the halls. mrs. lancaster said she never had known of so much sickness everywhere, and sighed over the long list of unknown dead in the newspaper every morning. "and i shouldn't be one bit surprised if you were sickening for something, susan," her aunt said, in a worried way, now and then. but susan, stubbornly shaking her head, fighting against tears, always answered with ill-concealed impatience: "oh, please don't, auntie! i'm all right!" no such welcome event as a sudden and violent and fatal illness was likely to come her way, she used bitterly to reflect. she was here, at home again, in the old atmosphere of shabbiness and poverty; nothing was changed, except that now her youth was gone, and her heart broken, and her life wrecked beyond all repairing. of the great world toward which she had sent so many hopeful and wistful and fascinated glances, a few years ago, she now stood in fear. it was a cruel world, cold and big and selfish; it had torn her heart out of her, and cast her aside like a dry husk. she could not keep too far enough away from it to satisfy herself in future, she only prayed for obscurity and solitude for the rest of her difficult life. she had been helped through the first dreadful days that had followed the sailing of the nippon maru, by a terrified instinct of self-protection. having failed so signally in this venture, her only possible course was concealment. mary lord did not guess--mrs. saunders did not guess--auntie did not guess! susan spent every waking hour, and many of the hours when she was supposedly asleep, in agonized search for some unguarded move by which she might be betrayed. a week went by, two weeks--life resumed its old aspect outwardly. no newspaper had any sensational revelation to make in connection with the news of the nippon maru's peaceful arrival in honolulu harbor, and the reception given there for the eminent new york novelist. nobody spoke to susan of bocqueraz; her heart began to resume its natural beat. and with ebbing terror it was as if the full misery of her heart was revealed. she had severed her connections with the saunders family; she told her aunt quietly, and steeled herself for the scene that followed, which was more painful even than she had feared. mrs. lancaster felt indignantly that an injustice had been done susan, was not at all sure that she herself would not call upon miss saunders and demand a full explanation. susan combated this idea with surprising energy; she was very silent and unresponsive in these days, but at this suggestion she became suddenly her old vigorous self. "i don't understand you lately, sue," her aunt said disapprovingly, after this outburst. "you don't act like yourself at all! sometimes you almost make auntie think that you've got something on your mind." something on her mind! susan could have given a mad laugh at the suggestion. madness seemed very near sometimes, between the anguished aching of her heart, and the chaos of shame and grief and impotent rebellion that possessed her soul. she was sickened with the constant violence of her emotions, whether anger or shame shook her, or whether she gave way to desperate longings for the sound of stephen bocqueraz's voice, and the touch of his hand again, she was equally miserable. perhaps the need of him brought the keenest pang, but, after all, love with susan was still the unknown quantity, she was too closely concerned with actual discomforts to be able to afford the necessary hours and leisure for brooding over a disappointment in love. that pain came only at intervals,--a voice, overheard in the street, would make her feel cold and weak with sudden memory, a poem or a bit of music that recalled stephen bocqueraz would ring her heart with sorrow, or, worst of all, some reminder of the great city where he made his home, and the lives that gifted and successful and charming men and women lived there, would scar across the dull wretchedness of susan's thoughts with a touch of flame. but the steady misery of everyday had nothing to do with these, and, if less sharp, was still terrible to bear. desperately, with deadly determination, she began to plan an escape. she told herself that she would not go away until she was sure that stephen was not coming back for her, sure that he was not willing to accept the situation as she had arranged it. if he rebelled,--if he came back for her,--if his devotion were unaffected by what had passed, then she must meet that situation as it presented itself. but almost from the very first she knew that he would not come back and, as the days went by, and not even a letter came, however much her pride suffered, she could not tell herself that she was very much surprised. in her most sanguine moments she could dream that he had had news in honolulu,--his wife was dead, he had hurried home, he would presently come back to san francisco, and claim susan's promise. but for the most part she did not deceive herself; her friendship with stephen bocqueraz was over. it had gone out of her life as suddenly as it had come, and with it, susan told herself, had gone so much more! her hope of winning a place for herself, her claim on the life she loved, her confidence that, as she was different, so would her life be different from the other lives she knew. all, all was gone. she was as helpless and as impotent as mary lou! she had her moods when planning vague enterprises in new york or boston satisfied her, and other moods when she determined to change her name, and join a theatrical troupe. from these some slight accident might dash her to the bitterest depths of despondency. she would have a sudden, sick memory of stephen's clear voice, of the touch of his hand, she would be back at the browning dance again, or sitting between him and billy at that memorable first supper---- "oh, my god, what shall i do?" she would whisper, dizzy with pain, stopping short over her sewing, or standing still in the street, when the blinding rush of recollection came. and many a night she lay wakeful beside mary lou, her hands locked tight over her fast-beating heart, her lips framing again the hopeless, desperate little prayer: "oh, god, what shall i do!" no avenue of thought led to comfort, there was no comfort anywhere. susan grew sick of her own thoughts. chief among them was the conviction of failure, she had tried to be good and failed. she had consented to be what was not good, and failed there, too. shame rose like a rising tide. she could not stem it; she could not even recall the arguments that had influenced her so readily a few months ago, much less be consoled by them. over and over again the horrifying fact sprang from her lulled reveries: she was bad--she was, at heart at least, a bad woman--she was that terrible, half-understood thing of which all good women stood in virtuous fear. susan rallied to the charge as well as she could. she had not really sinned in actual fact, after all, and one person only knew that she had meant to do so. she had been blinded and confused by her experience in a world where every commandment was lightly broken, where all sacred matters were regarded as jokes. but the stain remained, rose fresh and dreadful through her covering excuses. consciousness of it influenced every moment of her day and kept her wakeful far into the night. susan's rare laughter was cut short by it, her brave resolves were felled by it, her ambition sank defeated before the memory of her utter, pitiable weakness. a hundred times a day she writhed with the same repulsion and shock that she might have felt had her offense been a well-concealed murder. she had immediately written stephen bocqueraz a shy, reserved little letter, in the steamship company's care at yokohama. but it would be two months before an answer to that might be expected, and meanwhile there was great financial distress at the boarding-house. susan could not witness it without at least an effort to help. finally she wrote ella a gay, unconcerned note, veiling with nonsense her willingness to resume the old relationship. the answer cut her to the quick. ella had dashed off only a few lines of crisp news; mary peacock was with them now, they were all crazy about her. if susan wanted a position why didn't she apply to madame vera? ella had heard her say that she needed girls. and she was sincerely susan's, ella cornwallis saunders. madame vera was a milliner; the most popular of her day. susan's cheeks flamed as she read the little note. but, meditating drearily, it occurred to her that it might be as well to go and see the woman. she, susan, had a knowledge of the social set that might be valuable in that connection. while she dressed, she pleased herself with a vision of mademoiselle brown, very dignified and severely beautiful, in black silk, as madame vera's right-hand woman. the milliner was rushing about the back of her store at the moment that susan chanced to choose for her nervously murmured remarks, and had to have them repeated several times. then she laughed heartily and merrily, and assured susan in very imperfect and very audible english, that forty girls were already on her list waiting for positions in her establishment. "i thought perhaps--knowing all the people--" susan stammered very low. "how--why should that be so good?" madame asked, with horrible clearness. "do i not know them myself?" susan was glad to escape without further parley. "see, now," said madame vera in a low tone, as she followed susan to the door, "you do not come into my workshop, eh?" "how much?" asked susan, after a second's thought. "seven dollars," said the other with a quick persuasive nod, "and your dinner. that is something, eh? and more after a while." but susan shook her head. and, as she went out into the steadily falling rain again, bitter tears blinded her eyes. she cried a great deal in these days, became nervous and sensitive and morbid. she moped about the house, restless and excited, unwilling to do anything that would take her away from the house when the postman arrived, reading the steamship news in every morning's paper. yet, curiously enough, she never accepted this experience as similar to what poor mary lou had undergone so many years ago,--this was not a "disappointment in love,"--this was only a passing episode. presently she would get herself in hand again and astonish them with some achievement brilliant enough to sweep these dark days from everyone's memory. she awaited her hour, impatiently at first, later with a sort of resentful calm. susan's return home, however it affected them financially, was a real delight to her aunt and mary lou. the cousins roomed together, were together all day long. susan presently flooded the house with the circulars of a new york dramatic school, wrote mysterious letters pertaining to them. after a while these disappeared, and she spent a satisfied evening or two in filling blanks of application for admission into a hospital training-school. in february she worked hard over a short story that was to win a hundred dollar prize. mary lou had great confidence in it. the two loitered over their toast and coffee, after the boarders' breakfast, made more toast to finish the coffee, and more coffee to finish the toast. the short winter mornings were swiftly gone; in the afternoon susan and mary lou dressed with great care and went to market. they would stop at the library for a book, buy a little bag of candy to eat over their solitaire in the evening, perhaps pay a call on some friend, whose mild history of financial difficulties and helpless endurance matched their own. now and then, on sundays, the three women crossed the oakland ferry and visited virginia, who was patiently struggling back to the light. they would find her somewhere in the great, orderly, clean institution, with a knot of sweet-faced, vague-eyed children clustered about her. "good-bye, miss 'ginia!" the unearthly, happy little voices would call, as the uncertain little feet echoed away. susan rather liked the atmosphere of the big institution, and vaguely envied the brisk absorbed attendants who passed them on swift errands. stout mrs. lancaster, for all her panting and running, invariably came within half a second of missing the return train for the city; the three would enter it laughing and gasping, and sink breathless into their seats, unable for sheer mirth to straighten their hats, or glance at their fellow-passengers. in march georgie's second little girl, delicate and tiny, was born too soon, and the sturdy myra came to her maternal grandmother for an indefinite stay. georgie's disappointment over the baby's sex was instantly swallowed up in anxiety over the diminutive helen's weight and digestion, and susan and mary lou were delighted to prolong myra's visit from week to week. georgie's first-born was a funny, merry little girl, and susan developed a real talent for amusing her and caring for her, and grew very fond of her. the new baby was well into her second month before they took myra home,--a dark, crumpled little thing susan thought the newcomer, and she thought that she had never seen georgie looking so pale and thin. georgie had always been freckled, but now the freckles seemed fairly to stand out on her face. but in spite of the children's exactions, and the presence of grim old mrs. o'connor, susan saw a certain strange content in the looks that went between husband and wife. "look here, i thought you were going to be george lancaster o'connor!" said susan, threateningly, to the new baby. "i don't know why a boy wouldn't have been named joseph aloysius, like his father and grandfather," said the old lady disapprovingly. but georgie paid no heed. the baby's mother was kneeling beside the bed where little helen lay, her eyes fairly devouring the tiny face. "you don't suppose god would take her away from me, sue, because of that nonsense about wanting a boy?" georgie whispered. susan's story did not win the hundred dollar prize, but it won a fifth prize of ten dollars, and kept her in pocket money for some weeks. after that mary lord brought home an order for twenty place-cards for a child's easter party, and susan spent several days happily fussing with water colors and so earned five dollars more. time did not hang at all heavily on her hands; there was always an errand or two to be done for auntie, and always a pack of cards and a library book with which to fill the evening. susan really enjoyed the lazy evenings, after the lazy days. she and mary lou spent the first week in april in a flurry of linens and ginghams, making shirtwaists for the season; for three days they did not leave the house, nor dress fully, and they ate their luncheons from the wing of the sewing-machine. spring came and poured over the whole city a bath of warmth and perfume. the days lengthened, the air was soft and languid. susan loved to walk to market now, loved to loiter over calls in the late after-noon, and walk home in the lingering sunset light. if a poignant regret smote her now and then, its effect was not lasting, she dismissed it with a bitter sigh. but constant humiliation was good for neither mind nor body; susan felt as pinched in soul as she felt actually pinched by the old cheerless, penniless condition, hard and bitter elements began to show themselves in her nature. she told herself that one great consolation in her memories of stephen bocqueraz was that she was too entirely obscure a woman to be brought to the consideration of the public, whatever her offense might or might not be. cold and sullen, susan saw herself as ill-used, she could not even achieve human contempt--she was not worthy of consideration. just one of the many women who were weak---- and sometimes, to escape the desperate circling of her thoughts, she would jump up and rush out for a lonely walk, through the wind-blown, warm disorder of the summer streets, or sometimes, dropping her face suddenly upon a crooked arm, she would burst into bitter weeping. books and pictures, random conversations overheard, or contact with human beings all served, in these days, to remind her of herself. susan's pride and self-confidence and her gay ambition had sustained her through all the self-denial of her childhood. now, failing these, she became but an irritable, depressed and discouraged caricature of her old self. her mind was a distressed tribunal where she defended herself day and night; convincing this accuser--convincing that one--pleading her case to the world at large. her aunt and cousin, entirely ignorant of its cause, still were aware that there was a great change in her, and watched her with silent and puzzled sympathy. but they gave her no cause to feel herself a failure. they thought susan unusually clever and gifted, and, if her list of actual achievements were small, there seemed to be no limit to the things that she could do. mary lou loved to read the witty little notes she could dash off at a moment's notice, lydia lord wiped her eyes with emotion that susan's sweet, untrained voice aroused when she sang "once in a purple twilight," or "absent." susan's famous eggless ginger-bread was one of the treats of mrs. lancaster's table. "how do you do it, you clever monkey!" said auntie, watching over susan's shoulder the girl's quick fingers, as susan colored easter cards or drew clever sketches of georgie's babies, or scribbled a jingle for a letter to amuse virginia. and when susan imitated mrs. patrick campbell as paula, or mrs. fiske as becky sharp, even william had to admit that she was quite clever enough to be a professional entertainer. "but i wish i had one definite big gift, billy," said susan, on a july afternoon, when she and mr. oliver were on the ferry boat, going to sausalito. it was a sunday, and susan thought that billy looked particularly well to-day, felt indeed, with some discomfort, that he was better groomed and better dressed than she was, and that there was in him some new and baffling quality, some reserve that she could not command. his quick friendly smile did not hide the fact that his attention was not all hers; he seemed pleasantly absorbed in his own thoughts. susan gave his clean-shaven, clear-skinned face many a half-questioning look as she sat beside him on the boat. he was more polite, more gentle, more kind that she remembered him--what was missing, what was wrong to-day? it came to her suddenly, half-astonished and half-angry, that he was no longer interested in her. billy had outgrown her, he had left her behind. he did not give her his confidence to-day, nor ask her advice. he scowled now and then, as if some under-current of her chatter vaguely disturbed him, but offered no comment. susan felt, with a little, sick pressure at her heart, that somehow she had lost an old friend! he was stretched out comfortably, his long legs crossed before him, his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets, and his half-shut, handsome eyes fixed on the rushing strip of green water that was visible between the painted ropes of the deck-rail. "and what are your own plans, sue?" he presently asked, unsmilingly. susan was chilled by the half-weary tone. "well, i'm really just resting and helping auntie, now," susan said cheerfully. "but in the fall---" she made a bold appeal to his interest, "--in the fall i think i shall go to new york?" "new york?" he echoed, aroused. "what for?" "oh, anything!" susan answered confidently. "there are a hundred chances there to every one here," she went on, readily, "institutions and magazines and newspapers and theatrical agencies--californians always do well in new york!" "that sounds like mary lou," said billy, drily. "what does she know about it?" susan flushed resentfully. "well, what do you!" she retorted with heat. "no, i've never been there," admitted billy, with self-possession. "but i know more about it than mary lou! she's a wonder at pipe-dreams,--my lord, i'd rather have a child of mine turned loose in the street than be raised according to mary lou's ideas! i don't mean," billy interrupted himself to say seriously, "that they weren't all perfectly dandy to me when i was a kid--you know how i love the whole bunch! but all that dope about not having a chance here, and being 'unlucky' makes me weary! if mary lou would get up in the morning, and put on a clean dress, and see how things were going in the kitchen, perhaps she'd know more about the boarding-house, and less about new york!" "it may never have occurred to you, billy, that keeping a boarding-house isn't quite the ideal occupation for a young gentlewoman!" susan said coldly. "oh, darn everything!" billy said, under his breath. susan eyed him questioningly, but he did not look at her again, or explain the exclamation. the always warm and welcoming carrolls surrounded them joyfully, susan was kissed by everybody, and billy had a motherly kiss from mrs. carroll in the unusual excitement of the occasion. for there was great news. susan had it from all of them at once; found herself with her arms linked about the radiant josephine while she said incredulously: "oh, you're not! oh, jo, i'm so glad! who is it--and tell me all about it--and where's his picture---" in wild confusion they all straggled out to the lawn, and susan sat down with betsey at her feet, anna sitting on one arm of her low chair, and josephine kneeling, with her hands still in susan's. he was mr. stewart frothingham, and josephine and his mother and sister had gone up to yale for his graduation, and "it" had been instantaneous, "we knew that very day," said josephine, with a lovely awe in her eyes, "but we didn't say anything to mrs. frothingham or ethel until later." they had all gone yachting together, and to bar harbor, and then stewart had gone into his uncle's new york office, "we shall have to live in new york," josephine said, radiantly, "but one of the girls or mother will always be there!" "jo says it's the peachiest house you ever saw!" betsey contributed. "oh, sue--right down at the end of fifth avenue--but you don't know where that is, do you? anyway, it's wonderful---" it was all wonderful, everybody beamed over it. josephine already wore her ring, but no announcement was to be made until after a trip she would make with the frothinghams to yellowstone park in september. then the gallant and fortunate and handsome stewart would come to california, and the wedding would be in october. "and you girls will all fall in love with him!" prophesied josephine. "fall?" echoed susan studying photographs. "i head the waiting list! you grab-all! he's simply perfection--rich and stunning, and an old friend--and a yacht and a motor---" "and a fine, hard-working fellow, sue," added josephine's mother. "i begin to feel old and unmarried," mourned susan. "what did you say, william dear?" she added, suddenly turning to billy, with a honeyed smile. they all shouted. but an hour or two later, in the kitchen, mrs. carroll suddenly asked her of her friendship with peter coleman. "oh, we've not seen each other for months, aunt jo!" susan said cheerfully. "i don't even know where he is! i think he lives at the club since the crash." "there was a crash?" "a terrible crash. and now the firm's reorganized; it's hunter, hunter & brauer. thorny told me about it. and miss sherman's married, and miss cottle's got consumption and has to live in arizona, or somewhere. however,---" she returned to the original theme, "peter seems to be still enjoying life! did you see the account of his hiring an electric delivery truck, and driving it about the city on christmas eve, to deliver his own christmas presents, dressed up himself as an expressman? and at the bachelor's dance, they said it was his idea to freeze the floor in the mapleroom, and skate the cotillion!" "goose that he is!" mrs. carroll smiled. "how hard he works for his fun! well, after all that's peter--one couldn't expect him to change!" "does anybody change?" susan asked, a little sadly. "aren't we all born pretty much as we're going to be? there are so many lives---" she had tried to keep out the personal note, but suddenly it crept in, and she saw the kitchen through a blur of tears. "there are so many lives," she pursued, unsteadily, "that seem to miss their mark. i don't mean poor people. i mean strong, clever young women, who could do things, and who would love to do certain work,--yet who can't get hold of them! some people are born to be busy and happy and prosperous, and others, like myself," said susan bitterly, "drift about, and fail at one thing after another, and never get anywhere!" suddenly she put her head down on the table and burst into tears. "why sue--why sue!" the motherly arm was about her, she felt mrs. carroll's cheek against her hair. "why, little girl, you musn't talk of failure at your age!" said mrs. carroll, tenderly. "i'll be twenty-six this fall," susan said, wiping her eyes, "and i'm not started yet! i don't know how to begin. sometimes i think," said susan, with angry vigor, "that if i was picked right out of this city and put down anywhere else on the globe, i could be useful and happy! but here i can't! how---" she appealed to the older woman passionately, "how can i take an interest in auntie's boarding-house when she herself never keeps a bill, doesn't believe in system, and likes to do things her own way?" "sue, i do think that things at home are very hard for you," mrs. carroll said with quick sympathy. "it's too bad, dear, it's just the sort of thing that i think you fine, energetic, capable young creatures ought to be saved! i wish we could think of just the work that would interest you." "but that's it--i have no gift!" susan said, despondingly. "but you don't need a gift, sue. the work of the world isn't all for girls with gifts! no, my dear, you want to use your energies--you won't be happy until you do. you want happiness, we all do. and there's only one rule for happiness in this world, sue, and that's service. just to the degree that they serve people are happy, and no more. it's an infallible test. you can try nations by it, you can try kings and beggars. poor people are just as unhappy as rich people, when they're idle; and rich people are really happy only when they're serving somebody or something. a millionaire--a multimillionaire--may be utterly wretched, and some poor little clerk who goes home to a sick wife, and to a couple of little babies, may be absolutely content--probably is." "but you don't think that the poor, as a class, are happier than the rich?" "why, of course they are!" "lots of workingmen's wives are unhappy," submitted susan. "because they're idle and shiftless and selfish, sue. but there are some among them who are so busy mixing up spice cake, and making school-aprons, and filling lamps and watering gardens that they can't stop to read the new magazines,--and those are the happiest people in the world, i think. no, little girl, remember that rule. not money, or success, or position or travel or love makes happiness,--service is the secret." susan was watching her earnestly, wistfully. now she asked simply: "where can i serve?" "where can you serve--you blessed child!" mrs. carroll said, ending her little dissertation with a laugh. "well, let me see--i've been thinking of you lately, sue, and wondering why you never thought of settlement work? you'd be so splendid, with your good-nature, and your buoyancy, and your love for children. of course they don't pay much, but money isn't your object, is it?" "no-o, i suppose it isn't," susan said uncertainly. "i--i don't see why it should be!" and she seemed to feel her horizon broadening as she spoke. she and billy did not leave until ten o'clock, fare-wells, as always, were hurried, but josephine found time to ask susan to be her bridesmaid, betsey pleaded for a long visit after the wedding, "we'll simply die without jo!" and anna, with her serious kiss, whispered, "stand by us, sue--it's going to break mother's heart to have her go so far away!" susan could speak of nothing but josephine's happiness for awhile, when she and billy were on the boat. they had the dark upper deck almost to themselves, lights twinkled everywhere about them, on the black waters of the bay. there was no moon. she presently managed a delicately tentative touch upon his own feeling in the matter. "he--he was glad, wasn't he? he hadn't been seriously hurt?" bill, catching her drift, laughed out joyously. "that's so--i was crazy about her once, wasn't i?" billy asked, smilingly reminiscent. "but i like anna better now. only i've sort of thought sometimes that anna has a crush on someone--peter coleman, maybe." "no, not on him," susan hesitated. "there's a doctor at the hospital, but he's awfully rich and important---" she admitted. "oh." billy withdrew. "and you--are you still crazy about that mutt?" he asked. "peter? i've not seen him for months. but i don't see why you call him a mutt!" "say, did you ever know that he made a pretty good thing out of mrs. carroll's window washer?" billy asked confidentally, leaning toward her in the dark. "he paid her five hundred dollars for it!" susan flashed back. "did you know that?" "sure i knew that," billy said. "well--well, did he make more than that?" susan asked. "he sold it to the wakefield hardware people for twenty-five thousand dollars," billy announced. "for what!" "for twenty-five thousand," he repeated. "they're going to put them into lots of new apartments. the national duplex, they call it. yep, it's a big thing, i guess." "bill, you mean twenty-five hundred!" "twenty-five thousand, i tell you! it was in the 'scientific american,' i can show it to you!" susan kept a moment's shocked silence. "billy, i don't believe he would do that!" she said at last. "oh, shucks," billy said good-naturedly, "it was rotten, but it wasn't as bad as that! it was legal enough. she was pleased with her five hundred, and i suppose he told himself that, but for him, she mightn't have had that! probably he meant to give her a fat check---." "give her? why, it was hers!" susan burst out. "what did peter coleman have to do with it, anyway!" "well, that's the way all big fortunes are built up," billy said. "you happen to see this, though, and that's why it seems so rotten!" "i'll never speak to peter coleman again!" susan declared, outraged. "you'll have to cut out a good many of your friends in the saunders set if you want to be consistent," billy said. "this doesn't seem to me half as bad as some others! what i think is rotten is keeping hundreds of acres of land idle, for years and years, or shutting poor little restless kids up in factories, or paying factory girls less than they can live on, and drawing rent from the houses where they are ruined, body and soul! the other day some of our men were discharged because of bad times, and as they walked out they passed carpenter's eighteen-year-old daughter sitting in the motor, with a chauffeur in livery in front, and with her six-hundred-dollar pekingese sprawling in her lap, in his little gold collar. society's built right on that sort of thing, sue! you'd be pretty surprised if you could see a map of the bad-house district, with the owners' names attached." "they can't be held responsible for the people who rent their property!" susan protested. "bocqueraz told me that night that in new york you'll see nice-looking maids, nice-looking chauffeurs, and magnificent cars, any afternoon, airing the dogs in the park," said billy. the name silenced susan; she felt her breath come short. "he was a dandy fellow," mused billy, not noticing. "didn't you like him?" "like him!" burst from susan's overcharged heart. an amazed question or two from him brought the whole story out. the hour, the darkness, the effect of josephine's protected happiness, and above all, the desire to hold him, to awaken his interest, combined to break down her guard. she told him everything, passionately and swiftly, dwelling only upon the swift rush of events that had confused her sense of right and wrong, and upon the writer's unparalleled devotion. billy, genuinely shocked at her share of the affair, was not inclined to take bocqueraz's protestations very seriously. susan found herself in the odious and unforeseen position of defending stephen bocqueraz's intentions. "what a dirty rotter he must be, when he seemed such a prince!" was william's summary. "pretty tough on you, sue," he added, with fraternal kindly contempt, "of course you would take him seriously, and believe every word! a man like that knows just how to go about it,--and lord, you came pretty near getting in deep!" susan's face burned and she bit her lip in the darkness. it was unbearable that billy should think bocqueraz less in earnest than she had been, should imagine her so easily won! she wished heartily that she had not mentioned the affair. "he probably does that everywhere he goes," said billy, thoughtfully. "you had a pretty narrow escape, sue, and i'll bet he thought he got out of it pretty well, too! after the thing had once started, he probably began to realize that you are a lot more decent than most, and you may bet he felt pretty rotten about it---" "do you mean to say that he didn't mean to---" began susan hotly, stung even beyond anger by outraged pride. but, as the enormity of her question smote her suddenly, she stopped short, with a sensation almost of nausea. "marry you?" billy finished it for her. "i don't know--probably he would. lord, lord, what a blackguard! what a skunk!" and billy got up with a short breath, as if he were suffocating, walked away from her, and began to walk up and down across the broad dark deck. susan felt bitter remorse and shame sweep her like a flame as he left her. she felt, sitting there alone in the darkness, as if she would die of the bitterness of knowing herself at last. in beginning her confidence, she had been warmed by the thought of the amazing and romantic quality of her news, she had thought that bocqueraz's admiration would seem a great thing in billy's eyes. now she felt sick and cold and ashamed, the glamour fell, once and for all, from what she had done and, as one hideous memory after another roared in her ears, susan felt as if her thoughts would drive her mad. billy came suddenly back to his seat beside her, and laid his hand over hers. she knew that he was trying to comfort her. "never you mind, sue," he said, "it's not your fault that there are men rotten enough to take advantage of a girl like you. you're easy, susan, you're too darned easy, you poor kid. but thank god, you got out in time. it would have killed your aunt," said billy, with a little shudder, "and i would never have forgiven myself. you're like my own sister, sue, and i never saw it coming! i thought you were wise to dope like that---" "wise to dope like that!" susan could have risen up and slapped him, in the darkness. she could have burst into frantic tears; she would gladly have felt the boat sinking--sinking to hide her shame and his contempt for her under the friendly, quiet water. for long years the memory of that trip home from sausalito, the boat, the warm and dusty ferry-place, the jerking cable-car, the grimy, wilted street, remained vivid and terrible in her memory. she found herself in her room, talking to the aroused mary lou. she found herself in bed, her heart beating fast, her eyes wide and bright. susan meant to stop thinking of what could not be helped, and get to sleep at once. the hours went by, still she lay wakeful and sick at heart. she turned and tossed, sighed, buried her face in her pillow, turned and tossed again. shame shook her, worried her in dreams, agonized her when she was awake. susan felt as if she would lose her mind in the endless hours of this terrible night. there was a little hint of dawn in the sky when she crept wearily over mary lou's slumbering form. "ha! what is it?" asked mary lou. "it's early--i'm going out--my head aches!" susan said. mary lou sank back gratefully, and susan dressed in the dim light. she crept downstairs, and went noiselessly out into the chilly street. her head ached, and her skin felt dry and hot. she took an early car for north beach, sat mute and chilled on the dummy until she reached the terminal, and walked blindly down to the water. little waves shifted wet pebbles on the shore, a cool wind sighed high above her. susan found a sheltered niche among piles of lumber--and sat staring dully ahead of her. the water was dark, but the fog was slowly lifting, to show barges at anchor, and empty rowboats rocking by the pier. the tide was low, piles closely covered with shining black barnacles rose lank from the water; odorous webs of green seaweed draped the wooden cross-bars and rusty iron cleats of the dock. susan remembered the beaches she had known in her childhood, when, a small skipping person, she had run ahead of her father and mother, wet her shoes in the sinking watery sand, and curved away from the path of the waves in obedience to her mother's voice. she remembered walks home beside the roaring water, with the wind whistling in her ears, the sunset full in her eyes, her tired little arms hooked in the arms of the parents who shouted and laughed at each other over the noisy elements. "my good, dear, hungry, little, tired mouse!" her mother had called her, in the blissful hour of supper and warmth and peace that followed. her mother had always been good--her father good. every one was good,--even impractical, absurd mary lou, and homely lydia lord, and little miss sherman at the office, with her cold red hands, and her hungry eyes,--every one was good, except susan. dawn came, and sunrise. the fog lifted like a curtain, disappeared in curling filaments against the sun. little brown-sailed fishing-smacks began to come dipping home, sunlight fell warm and bright on the roofs of alcatraz, the blue hills beyond showed soft against the bluer sky. ferry boats cut delicate lines of foam in the sheen of the bay, morning whistles awakened the town. susan felt the sun's grateful warmth on her shoulders and, watching the daily miracle of birth, felt vaguely some corresponding process stir her own heart. nature cherishes no yesterdays; the work of rebuilding and replenishing goes serenely on. punctual dawn never finds the world unready, april's burgeoning colors bury away forever the memories of winter wind and deluge. "there is some work that i may still do, in this world, there is a place somewhere for me," thought susan, walking home, hungry and weary, "now the question is to find them!" early in october came a round-robin from the carrolls. would susan come to them for thanksgiving and stay until josephine's wedding on december third? "it will be our last time all together in one sense," wrote mrs. carroll, "and we really need you to help us over the dreadful day after jo goes!" susan accepted delightedly for the wedding, but left the question of thanksgiving open; her aunt felt the need of her for the anniversary. jinny would be at home from berkeley and alfred and his wife freda were expected for thanksgiving day. mrs. alfred was a noisy and assertive little person, whose complacent bullying of her husband caused his mother keen distress. alfred was a bookkeeper now, in the bakery of his father-in-law, in the mission, and was a changed man in these days; his attitude toward his wife was one of mingled fear and admiration. it was a very large bakery, and the office was neatly railed off, "really like a bank," said poor mrs. lancaster, but ma had nearly fainted when first she saw her only son in this enclosure, and never would enter the bakery again. the alfreds lived in a five-room flat bristling with modern art papers and shining woodwork; the dining-room was papered in a bold red, with black wood trimmings and plate-rail; the little drawing-room had a gas-log surrounded with green tiles. freda made endless pillows for the narrow velour couch, and was very proud of her mission rocking-chairs and tasseled portieres. her mother's wedding-gift had been a piano with a mechanical player attached; the bride was hospitable and she loved to have groups of nicely dressed young people listening to the music, while she cooked for them in the chafing-dish. about once a month, instead of going to "mama's" for an enormous sunday dinner, she and alfred had her fat "mama" and her small wiry "poppa" and little augusta and lulu and heinie come to eat a sunday dinner with them. and when this happened stout mrs. hultz always sent her own cook over the day before with a string of sausages and a fowl and a great mocha cake, and cheese and hot bread, so that freda's party should not "cost those kits so awful a lot," as she herself put it. and no festivity was thought by freda to warrant alfred's approach to his old habits. she never allowed him so much as a sherry sauce on his pudding. she frankly admitted that she "yelled bloody murder" if he suggested absenting himself from her side for so much as a single evening. she adored him, she thought him the finest type of man she knew, but she allowed him no liberty. "a doctor told ma once that when a man drank, as alfie did, he couldn't stop right off short, without affecting his heart," said mary lou, gently. "all right, let it affect his heart then!" said the twenty-year-old freda hardily. ma herself thought this disgustingly cold-blooded; she said it did not seem refined for a woman to admit that her husband had his failings, and mary lou said frankly that it was easy enough to see where that marriage would end, but susan read more truly the little bride's flashing blue eyes and the sudden scarlet in her cheeks, and she won freda's undying loyalty by a surreptitious pressure of her fingers. chapter ii one afternoon in mid-november susan and mary lou chanced to be in the dining-room, working over a puzzle-card that had been delivered as an advertisement of some new breakfast food. they had intended to go to market immediately after lunch, but it was now three o'clock, and still they hung over the fascinating little combination of paper angles and triangles, feeling that any instant might see the problem solved. suddenly the telephone rang, and susan went to answer it, while mary lou, who had for some minutes been loosening her collar and belt preparatory to changing for the street, trailed slowly upstairs, holding her garments together. outside was a bright, warm winter day, babies were being wheeled about in the sunshine, and children, just out of school, were shouting and running in the street. from where susan sat at the telephone she could see a bright angle of sunshine falling through the hall window upon the faded carpet of the rear entry, and could hear mrs. cortelyou's cherished canary, bobby, bursting his throat in a cascade of song upstairs. the canary was still singing when she hung up the receiver, two minutes later,--the sound drove through her temples like a knife, and the placid sunshine in the entry seemed suddenly brazen and harsh. susan went upstairs and into mary lou's room. "mary lou---" she began. "why, what is it?" said mary lou, catching her arm, for susan was very white, and she was staring at her cousin with wide eyes and parted lips. "it was billy," susan answered. "josephine carroll's dead." "what!" mary lou said sharply. "that's what he said," susan repeated dully. "there was an accident,--at yellowstone--they were going to meet poor stewart--and when he got in--they had to tell him--poor fellow! ethel frothingham's arm was broken, and jo never moved--phil has taken mrs. carroll on to-day--billy just saw them off!" susan sat down at the bureau, and rested her head in her hands. "i can't believe it!" she said, under her breath. "i simply cannot believe it!" "josephine carroll killed! why--it's the most awful thing i ever heard!" mary lou exclaimed. her horror quieted susan. "billy didn't know anything more than that," susan said, beginning hastily to change her dress. "i'll go straight over there, i guess. he said they only had a wire, but that one of the afternoon papers has a short account. my goodness--goodness--goodness--when they were all so happy! and jo always the gayest of them all--it doesn't seem possible!" still dazed, she crossed the bay in the pleasant afternoon sunlight, and went up to the house. anna was already there, and the four spent a quiet, sad evening together. no details had reached them, the full force of the blow was not yet felt. when anna had to go away the next day susan stayed; she and betsy got the house ready for the mother's home-coming, put away josephine's dresses, her tennis-racket, her music---- "it's not right!" sobbed the rebellious little sister. "she was the best of us all--and we've had so much to bear! it isn't fair!" "it's all wrong," susan said, heavily. mrs. carroll, brave and steady, if very tired, came home on the third day, and with her coming the atmosphere of the whole house changed. anna had come back again; the sorrowing girls drew close about their mother, and susan felt that she was not needed. "mrs. carroll is the most wonderful woman in the world!" she said to billy, going home after the funeral. "yes," billy answered frowningly. "she's too darn wonderful! she can't keep this up!" georgie and joe came to mrs. lancaster's house for an afternoon visit on thanksgiving day, arriving in mid-afternoon with the two babies, and taking myra and helen home again before the day grew too cold. virginia arrived, using her own eyes for the first time in years, and the sisters and their mother laughed and cried together over the miracle of the cure. when alfie and freda came there was more hilarity. freda very prettily presented her mother-in-law, whose birthday chanced to fall on the day, with a bureau scarf. alfred, urged, susan had no doubt, by his wife, gave his mother ten dollars, and asked her with a grin to buy herself some flowers. virginia had a lace collar for ma, and the white-coated o'connor babies, with much pushing and urging, bashfully gave dear grandma a tissue-wrapped bundle that proved to be a silk gown. mary lou unexpectedly brought down from her room a box containing six heavy silver tea-spoons. where mary lou ever got the money to buy this gift was rather a mystery to everyone except susan, who had chanced to see the farewells that took place between her oldest cousin and mr. ferd eastman, when the gentleman, who had been making a ten-days visit to the city, left a day or two earlier for virginia city. "pretty soon after his wife's death!" susan had accused mary lou, vivaciously. "ferd has often kissed me--like a brother---" stammered mary lou, coloring painfully, and with tears in her kind eyes. and, to susan's amazement, her aunt, evidently informed of the event by mary lou, had asked her not to tease her cousin about ferd. susan felt certain that the spoons were from ferd. she took great pains to make the holiday dinner unusually festive, decorated the table, and put on her prettiest evening gown. there were very few boarders left in the house on this day, and the group that gathered about the big turkey was like one large family. billy carved, and susan with two paper candle-shades pinned above her ears, like enormous rosettes, was more like her old silly merry self than these people who loved her had seen her for years. it was nearly eight o'clock when mrs. lancaster, pushing back an untasted piece of mince pie, turned to susan a strangely flushed and swollen face, and said thickly: "air--i think i must--air!" she went out of the dining-room, and they heard her open the street door, in the hall. a moment later virginia said "mama!" in so sharp a tone that the others were instantly silenced, and vaguely alarmed. "hark!" said virginia, "i thought mama called!" susan, after a half-minute of nervous silence, suddenly jumped up and ran after her aunt. she never forgot the dark hall, and the sensation when her foot struck something soft and inert that lay in the doorway. susan gave a great cry of fright as she knelt down, and discovered it to be her aunt. confusion followed. there was a great uprising of voices in the dining-room, chairs grated on the floor. someone lighted the hall gas, and susan found a dozen hands ready to help her raise mrs. lancaster from the floor. "she's just fainted!" susan said, but already with a premonition that it was no mere faint. "we'd better have a doctor though---" she heard billy say, as they carried her aunt in to the dining-room couch. mrs. lancaster's breath was coming short and heavy, her eyes were shut, her face dark with blood. "oh, why did we let joe go home!" mary lou burst out hysterically. her mother evidently caught the word, for she opened her eyes and whispered to susan, with an effort: "georgia--good, good man--my love---" "you feel better, don't you, darling?" susan asked, in a voice rich with love and tenderness. "oh, yes!" her aunt whispered, earnestly, watching her with the unwavering gaze of a child. "of course she's better--you're all right, aren't you?" said a dozen voices. "she fainted away!--didn't you hear her fall?--i didn't hear a thing!--well, you fainted, didn't you?--you felt faint, didn't you?" "air---" said mrs. lancaster, in a thickened, deep voice. her eyes moved distressedly from one face to another, and as virginia began to unfasten the pin at her throat, she added tenderly, "don't prick yourself, bootsy!" "oh, she's very sick--she's very sick!" susan whispered, with white lips, to billy who was at the telephone. "what do you think of sponging her face off with ice-water?" he asked in a low tone. susan fled to the kitchen. mary lou, seated by the table where the great roast stood in a confusion of unwashed plates and criss-crossed silver, was sobbing violently. "oh, sue--she's dying!" whispered mary lou, "i know it! oh, my god, what will we do!" susan plunged her hand in a tall pitcher for a lump of ice and wrapped it in a napkin. a moment later she knelt by her aunt's side. the sufferer gave a groan at the touch of ice, but a moment later she caught susan's wrist feverishly and muttered "good!" "make all these fools go upstairs!" said alfie's wife in a fierce whisper. she was carrying out plates and clearing a space about the couch. virginia, kneeling by her mother, repeated over and over again, in an even and toneless voice, "oh god, spare her--oh god, spare her!" the doctor was presently among them, dragged, susan thought, from the faint odor of wine about him, from his own dinner. he helped billy carry the now unconscious woman upstairs, and gave susan brisk orders. "there has undoubtedly been a slight stroke," said he. "oh, doctor!" sobbed mary lou, "will she get well?" "i don't anticipate any immediate change," said the doctor to susan, after a dispassionate look at mary lou, "and i think you had better have a nurse." "yes, doctor," said susan, very efficient and calm. "had you a nurse in mind?" asked the doctor. "well, no," susan answered, feeling as if she had failed him. "i can get one," said the doctor thoughtfully. "oh, doctor, you don't know what she's been to us!" wailed mary lou. "don't, darling!" susan implored her. and now, for the first time in her life, she found herself really busy, and, under all sorrow and pain, there was in these sad hours for susan a genuine satisfaction and pleasure. capable, tender, quiet, she went about tirelessly, answering the telephone, seeing to the nurse's comfort, brewing coffee for mary lou, carrying a cup of hot soup to virginia. susan, slim, sympathetic, was always on hand,--with clean sheets on her arm or with hot water for the nurse or with a message for the doctor. she penciled a little list for billy to carry to the drugstore, she made miss foster's bed in the room adjoining auntie's, she hunted up the fresh nightgown that was slipped over her aunt's head, put the room in order; hanging up the limp garments with a strange sense that it would be long before auntie's hand touched them again. "and now, why don't you go to bed, jinny darling?" she asked, coming in at midnight to the room where her cousins were grouped in mournful silence. but billy's foot touched hers with a significant pressure, and susan sat down, rather frightened, and said no more of anyone's going to bed. two long hours followed. they were sitting in a large front bedroom that had been made ready for boarders, but looked inexpressibly grim and cheerless, with its empty mantel and blank, marble-topped bureau. georgie cried constantly and silently, virginia's lips moved, mary lou alone persisted that ma would be herself again in three days. susan, sitting and staring at the flaring gas-lights, began to feel that in the midst of life was death, indeed, and that the term of human existence is as brief as a dream. "we will all have to die too," she said, awesomely to herself, her eyes traveling about the circle of faces. at two o'clock miss foster summoned them and they went into the invalid's room; to susan it was all unreal and unconvincing. the figure in the bed, the purple face, the group of sobbing watchers. no word was said: the moments slipped by. her eyes were wandering when miss foster suddenly touched her aunt's hand. a heavy, grating breath--a silence--susan's eyes met billy's in terror--but there was another breath--and another--and another silence. silence. miss foster, who had been bending over her patient, straightened up, lowered the gray head gently into the pillow. "gone," said dr. o'connor, very low, and at the word a wild protest of grief broke out. susan neither cried nor spoke; it was all too unreal for tears, for emotion of any kind. "you stay," said miss foster when she presently banished the others. susan, surprised, complied. "sorry to ask you to help me," said miss foster then briskly, "but i can't do this alone. they'll want to be coming back here, and we must be ready for them. i wonder if you could fix her hair like she wore it, and i'll have to get her teeth---" "her what?" asked susan. "her teeth, dear. do you know where she kept them?" appalled, sickened, susan watched the other woman's easy manipulation of what had been a loving, breathing woman only a few hours before. but she presently did her own share bravely and steadily, brushing and coiling the gray-brown locks as she had often seen her aunt coil them. lying in bed, a small girl supposedly asleep, years before, she had seen these pins placed so--and so--seen this short end tucked under, this twist skilfully puffed. this was not auntie. so wholly had the soul fled that susan could feel sure that auntie--somewhere, was already too infinitely wise to resent this fussing little stranger and her ministrations. a curious lack of emotion in herself astonished her. she longed to grieve, as the others did, blamed herself that she could not. but before she left the room she put her lips to her aunt's forehead. "you were always good to me!" susan whispered. "i guess she was always good to everyone," said the little nurse, pinning a clever arrangement of sheets firmly, "she has a grand face!" the room was bright and orderly now, susan flung pillows and blankets into the big closet, hung her aunt's white knitted shawl on a hook. "you're a dear good little girl, that's what you are!" said miss foster, as they went out. susan stepped into her new role with characteristic vigor. she was too much absorbed in it to be very sorry that her aunt was dead. everybody praised her, and a hundred times a day her cousins said truthfully that they could not see how these dreadful days would have been endurable at all without susan. susan could sit up all night, and yet be ready to brightly dispense hot coffee at seven o'clock, could send telegrams, could talk to the men from simpson and wright's, could go downtown with billy to select plain black hats and simple mourning, could meet callers, could answer the telephone, could return a reassuring "that's all attended to, dear," to mary lou's distracted "i haven't given one thought to dinner!" and then, when evening came again, could quietly settle herself in a big chair, between billy and dr. o'connor, for another vigil. "never a thought for her own grief!" said georgie, to a caller. susan felt a little prick of guilt. she was too busy and too absorbed to feel any grief. and presently it occurred to her that perhaps auntie knew it, and understood. perhaps there was no merit in mere grieving. "but i wish i had been better to her while she was here!" thought susan more than once. she saw her aunt in a new light through the eyes of the callers who came, a long, silent stream, to pay their last respect to louisianna ralston. all the old southern families of the city were represented there; the chamberlains and the lloyds, the duvals and fairfaxes and carters. old, old ladies came, stout matrons who spoke of the dead woman as "lou," rosy-faced old men. some of them susan had never seen before. to all of them she listened with her new pretty deference and dignity. she heard of her aunt's childhood, before the war, "yo' dea' auntie and my fanny went to they' first ball togethah," said one very old lady. "lou was the belle of all us girls," contributed the same fanny, now stout and sixty, with a smile. "i was a year or two younger, and, my laws, how i used to envy miss louis'anna ralston, flirtin' and laughin' with all her beaux!" susan grew used to hearing her aunt spoken of as "your cousin," "your mother," even "your sister,"--her own relationship puzzled some of mrs. lancaster's old friends. but they never failed to say that susan was "a dear, sweet girl--she must have been proud of you!" she heard sometimes of her own mother too. some large woman, wiping the tears from her eyes, might suddenly seize upon susan, with: "look here, robert, this is sue rose's girl--major calhoun was one of your mama's great admirers, dear!" or some old lady, departing, would kiss her with a whispered "knew your mother like my own daughter,--come and see me!" they had all been young and gay and sheltered together, susan thought, just half a century ago. now some came in widow's black, and some with shabby gloves and worn shoes, and some rustled up from carriages, and patronized mary lou, and told susan that "poor lou" never seemed to be very successful! "i sometimes think that it would be worth any effort in the first forty years of your life, to feel sure that you would at least not be an object of pity for the last twenty!" said susan, upon whom these callers, with the contrasts they presented, had had a profound effect. it was during an all-night vigil, in the room next to the one in which the dead woman lay. dr. o'connor lay asleep on a couch, susan and billy were in deep chairs. the room was very cold, and the girl had a big wrapper over her black dress. billy had wrapped himself in an indian blanket, and put his feet comfortably up on a chair. "you bet your life it would be!" said billy yawning. "that's what i tell the boys, over at the works," he went on, with awakening interest, "get into something, cut out booze and theaters and graphophones now,--don't care what your neighbors think of you now, but mind your own affairs, stick to your business, let everything else go, and then, some day, settle down with a nice little lump of stock, or a couple of flats, or a little plant of your own, and snap your fingers at everything!" "you know i've been thinking," susan said slowly, "for all the wise people that have ever lived, and all the goodness everywhere, we go through life like ships with sealed orders. now all these friends of auntie's, they thought she made a brilliant match when she married uncle george. but she had no idea of management, and no training, and here she is, dying at sixty-three, leaving jinny and mary lou practically helpless, and nothing but a lot of debts! for twenty years she's just been drifting and drifting,--it's only a chance that alfie pulled out of it, and that georgie really did pretty well. now, with mrs. carroll somehow it's so different. you know that, before she's old, she's going to own her little house and garden, she knows where she stands. she's worked her financial problem out on paper, she says 'i'm a little behind this month, because of jim's dentist. but there are five saturdays in january, and i'll catch up then!'" "she's exceptional, though," he asserted. "yes, but a training like that needn't be exceptional! it seems so strange that the best thing that school can give us is algebra and caesar's commentaries," susan pursued thoughtfully. "when there's so much else we don't know! just to show you one thing, billy,--when i first began to go to the carrolls, i noticed that they never had to fuss with the building of a fire in the kitchen stove. when a meal was over, mrs. carroll opened the dampers, scattered a little wet coal on the top, and forgot about it until the next meal, or even overnight. she could start it up in two seconds, with no dirt or fuss, whenever she wanted to. think what that means, getting breakfast! now, ever since i was a little girl, we've built a separate fire for each meal, in this house. nobody ever knew any better. you hear chopping of kindlings, and scratching of matches, and poor mary lou saying that it isn't going to burn, and doing it all over---- "gosh, yes!" he said laughing at the familiar picture. "mary lou always says that she has no luck with fires!" "billy," susan stated solemnly, "sometimes i don't believe that there is such a thing as luck!" "sometimes you don't--why, lord, of course there isn't!" "oh, billy," susan's eyes widened childishly, "don't you honestly think so?" "no, i don't!" he smiled, with the bashfulness that was always noticeable when he spoke intimately of himself or his own ideas. "if you get a big enough perspective of things, sue," he said, "everybody has the same chance. you to-day, and i to-morrow, and somebody else the day after that! now," he cautiously lowered his voice, "in this house you've heard the civil war spoken of as 'bad luck' and alf's drinking spoken of as 'bad luck'"---- susan dimpled, nodded thoughtfully. "--and if phil carroll hadn't been whipped and bullied and coaxed and amused and praised for the past six or seven years, and anna pushed into a job, and jim and betsy ruled with an iron hand, you might hear mrs. carroll talking about 'bad luck,' too!" "well, one thing," said susan firmly, "we'll do very differently from now on." "you girls, you mean," he said. "jinny and mary lou and i. i think we'll keep this place going, billy." billy scowled. "i think you're making a big mistake, if you do. there's no money in it. the house is heavily mortgaged, half the rooms are empty." "we'll fill the house, then. it's the only thing we can do, billy. and i've got plenty of plans," said susan vivaciously. "i'm going to market myself, every morning. i'm going to do at least half the cooking. i'm going to borrow about three hundred dollars---" "i'll lend you all you want," he said. "well, you're a darling! but i don't mean a gift, i mean at interest," susan assured him. "i'm going to buy china and linen, and raise our rates. for two years i'm not going out of this house, except on business. you'll see!" he stared at her for so long a time that susan--even with billy!--became somewhat embarrassed. "but it seems a shame to tie you down to an enterprise like this, sue," he said finally. "no," she said, after a short silence, turning upon him a very bright smile. "i've made a pretty general failure of my own happiness, bill. i've shown that i'm a pretty weak sort. you know what i was willing to do---" "now you're talking like a damn fool!" growled billy. "no, i'm not! you may be as decent as you please about it, billy," said susan with scarlet cheeks, "but--a thing like that will keep me from ever marrying, you know! well. so i'm really going to work, right here and now. mrs. carroll says that service is the secret of happiness, i'm going to try it. life is pretty short, anyway,--doesn't a time like this make it seem so!--and i don't know that it makes very much difference whether one's happy or not!" "well, go ahead and good luck to you!" said billy, "but don't talk rot about not marrying and not being happy!" presently he dozed in his chair, and susan sat staring wide-eyed before her, but seeing nothing of the dimly lighted room, the old steel-engravings on the walls, the blotched mirror above the empty grate. long thoughts went through her mind, a hazy drift of plans and resolutions, a hazy wonder as to what stephen bocqueraz was doing to-night--what kenneth saunders was doing. perhaps they would some day hear of her as a busy and prosperous boarding-house keeper; perhaps, taking a hard-earned holiday in europe, twenty years from now, susan would meet one of them again. she got up, and went noiselessly into the hall to look at the clock. just two. susan went into the front room, to say her prayers in the presence of the dead. the big dim room was filled with flowers, their blossoms dull blots of light in the gloom, their fragrance, and the smell of wet leaves, heavy on the air. one window was raised an inch or two, a little current of air stirred the curtain. candles burned steadily, with a little sucking noise; a clock ticked; there was no other sound. susan stood, motionless herself, looking soberly down upon the quiet face of the dead. some new dignity had touched the smooth forehead, and the closed eyes, a little inscrutable smile hovered over the sweet, firmly closed mouth. susan's eyes moved from the face to the locked ivory fingers, lying so lightly,--yet with how terrible a weight!--upon spotless white satin and lace. virginia had put the ivory-bound prayer-book and the lilies-of-the-valley into that quiet clasp, georgie, holding back her tears, had laid at the coffin's foot the violets tied with a lavender ribbon that bore the legend, "from the grandchildren." flowers--flowers--flowers everywhere. and auntie had gone without them for so many years! "what a funny world it is," thought susan, smiling at the still, wise face as if she and her aunt might still share in amusement. she thought of her own pose, "never gives a thought to her own grief!" everyone said. she thought of virginia's passionate and dramatic protest, "ma carried this book when she was married, she shall have it now!" and of mary lou's wail, "oh, that i should live to see the day!" and she remembered georgie's care in placing the lettered ribbon where it must be seen by everyone who came in to look for the last time at the dead. "are we all actors? isn't anything real?" she wondered. yet the grief was real enough, after all. there was no sham in mary lou's faint, after the funeral, and virginia, drooping about the desolate house, looked shockingly pinched and thin. there was a family council in a day or two, and it was at this time that susan meant to suggest that the boarding-house be carried on between them all. alfred and his wife, and georgie and the doctor came to the house for this talk; billy had been staying there, and mr. ferd eastman, in answer to a telegram, had come down for the funeral and was still in the city. they gathered, a sober, black-dressed group, in the cold and dreary parlor, ferd eastman looking almost indecorously cheerful and rosy, in his checked suit and with his big diamond ring glittering on his fat hand. there was no will to read, but billy had ascertained what none of the sisters knew, the exact figures of the mortgage, the value of the contents of mrs. lancaster's locked tin box, the size and number of various outstanding bills. he spread a great number of papers out before him on a small table; alfred, who appeared to be sleepy, after the strain of the past week, yawned, started up blinking, attempted to take an intelligent interest in the conversation; georgie, thinking of her nursing baby, was eager to hurry everything through. "now, about you girls," said billy. "sue feels that you might make a good thing of it if you stayed on here. what do you think?" "well, billy--well, ferd---" everyone turned to look at mary lou, who was stammering and blushing in a most peculiar way. mr. eastman put his arm about her. part of the truth flashed on susan. "you're going to be married!" she gasped. but this was the moment for which ferd had been waiting. "we are married, good people," he said buoyantly. "this young lady and i gave you all the slip two weeks ago!" susan rushed to kiss the bride, but upon virginia's bursting into hysterical tears, and georgie turning faint, mary lou very sensibly set about restoring her sisters' composure, and, even on this occasion, took a secondary part. "perhaps you had some reason---" said georgie, faintly, turning reproachful eyes upon the newly wedded pair. "but, with poor ma just gone!" virginia burst into tears again. "ma knew," sobbed mary lou, quite overcome. "ferd--ferd---" she began with difficulty, "didn't want to wait, and i wouldn't,--so soon after poor grace!" grace had been the first wife. "and so, just before ma's birthday, he took us to lunch--we went to swains---" "i remember the day!" said virginia, in solemn affirmation. "and we were quietly married afterward," said ferd, himself, soothingly, his arm about his wife, "and mary lou's dear mother was very happy about it. don't cry, dear---" susan had disliked the man once, but she could find no fault with his tender solicitude for the long-neglected mary lou. and when the first crying and exclaiming were over, there was a very practical satisfaction in the thought of mary lou as a prosperous man's wife, and virginia provided for, for a time at least. susan seemed to feel fetters slipping away from her at every second. mr. eastman took them all to lunch, at a modest table d'hote in the neighborhood, tipped the waiter munificently, asked in an aside for a special wine, which was of course not forthcoming. susan enjoyed the affair with a little of her old spirit, and kept them all talking and friendly. georgie, perhaps a little dashed by mary lou's recently acquired state, told susan in a significant aside, as a doctor's wife, that it was very improbable that mary lou, at her age, would have children; "seems such a pity!" said georgie, shrugging. virginia, to her new brother-in-law's cheerful promise to find her a good husband within the year, responded, with a little resentful dignity, "it seems a little soon, to me, to be joking, ferd!" but on the whole it was a very harmonious meal. the eastmans were to leave the next day for a belated honeymoon; to susan and virginia and billy would fall the work of closing up the fulton street house. "and what about you, sue?" asked billy, as they were walking home that afternoon. "i'm going to new york, bill," she answered. and, with a memory of the times she had told him that before, she turned to him a sudden smile. "--but i mean it this time!" said susan cheerfully. "i went to see miss toland, of the alexander toland settlement house, a few weeks ago, about working there. she told me frankly that they have all they need of untrained help. but she said, 'miss brown, if you could take a year's course in new york, you'd be a treasure!' and so i'm going to borrow the money from ferd, bill. i hate to do it, but i'm going to. and the first thing you know i'll be in the potrero, right near your beloved iron works, teaching the infants of that region how to make buttonholes and cook chuck steak!" "how much money do you want?" he asked, after a moment's silence. "three hundred." "three hundred! the fare is one hundred!" "i know it. but i'm going to work my way through the course, bill, even if i have to go out as a nurse-girl, and study at night." billy said nothing for awhile. but before they parted he went back to the subject. "i'll let you have the three hundred, sue, or five hundred, if you like. borrow it from me, you know me a good deal better than you do ferd eastman!" the next day the work of demolishing the boarding-house began. susan and virginia lived with georgie for these days, but lunched in the confusion of the old home. it seemed strange, and vaguely sad, to see the long-crowded rooms empty and bare, with winter sunlight falling in clear sharp lines across the dusty, un-carpeted floors. a hundred old scars and stains showed on the denuded walls; there were fresher squares on the dark, faded old papers, where the pictures had been hung; susan recognized the outline of mary lord's mirror, and mrs. parker's crucifix. the kitchen was cold and desolate, a pool of water on the cold stove, a smooth thin cake of yellow soap in a thick saucer, on the sink, a drift of newspapers on the floor, and old brooms assembled in a corner. more than the mortgage, the forced sale of the old house had brought only a few hundreds of dollars. it was to be torn down at once, and susan felt a curious stirring of sadness as she went through the strange yet familiar rooms for the last time. "lord, how familiar it all is!" said billy, "the block and the bakery! i can remember the first time i saw it." the locked house was behind them, they had come down the street steps, and turned for a last look at the blank windows. "i remember coming here after my father died," susan said. "you gave me a little cologne bottle filled with water, and one of those spools that one braids worsted through, do you remember?" "do you remember miss fish,--the old girl whose canary we hit with a ball? and the second-hand type-writer we were always saving up for?" "and the day we marked up the steps with chalk and auntie sent us out with wet rags?" "lord--lord!" they were both smiling as they walked away. "shall you go to nevada city with the eastmans, sue?" "no, i don't think so. i'll stay with georgie for a week, and get things straightened out." "well, suppose we go off and have dinner somewhere, to-morrow?" "oh, i'd love it! it's terribly gloomy at georgie's. but i'm going over to see the carrolls to-morrow, and they may want to keep me---" "they won't!" said billy grimly. "won't?" susan echoed, astonished. "no," billy said with a sigh. "mrs. carroll's been awfully queer since--since jo, you know---" "why, bill, she was so wonderful!" "just at first, yes. but she's gone into a sort of melancholia, now, phil was telling me about it." "but that doesn't sound a bit like her," susan said, worriedly. "no, does it? but go over and see them anyway, it'll do them all good. well--look your last at the old block, sue!" susan got on the car, leaning back for a long, goodbye look at the shabby block, duller than ever in the grimy winter light, and at the dirt and papers and chaff drifting up against the railings, and at the bakery window, with its pies and bread and nottingham lace curtains. fulton street was a thing of the past. chapter iii the next day, in a whirling rainstorm, well protected by a trim raincoat, overshoes, and a close-fitting little hat about which spirals of bright hair clung in a halo, susan crossed the ferry and climbed up the long stairs that rise through the very heart of sausalito. the sky was gray, the bay beaten level by the rain, and the wet gardens that susan passed were dreary and bare. twisting oak trees gave vistas of wind-whipped vines, and of the dark and angry water; the steps she mounted ran a shallow stream. the carrolls' garden was neglected and desolate, chrysanthemum stalks lay across the wet flagging of the path, and wind screamed about the house. susan's first knock was lost in a general creaking and banging, but a second brought betsey, grave and tired-looking, to the door. "oh, hello. sue," said betsey apathetically. "don't go in there, it's so cold," she said, leading her caller past the closed door of the sitting-room. "this hall is so dark that we ought to keep a light here," added betsey fretfully, as they stumbled along. "come out into the dining-room, sue, or into the kitchen. i was trying to get a fire started. but jim never brings up enough wood! he'll talk about it, and talk about it, but when you want it i notice it's never there!" everywhere were dust and disorder and evidences of neglect. susan hardly recognized the dining-room; it was unaired, yet chilly; a tall, milk-stained glass, and some crumbs on the green cloth, showed where little betsey had had a lonely luncheon; there were paper bags on the sideboard and a litter of newspapers on a chair. nothing suggested the old, exquisite order. the kitchen was even more desolate, as it had been more inviting before. there were ashes sifting out of the stove, rings of soot and grease on the table-top, more soot, and the prints of muddy boots on the floor. milk had soured in the bottles, odds and ends of food were everywhere, betsey's book was open on the table, propped against the streaked and stained coffee-pot. "your mother's ill?" asked susan. she could think of no other explanation. "doesn't this kitchen look awful?" said betsey, resuming operations with books and newspapers at the range. "no, mother's all right. i'm going to take her up some tea. don't you touch those things, sue. don't you bother!" "has she been in bed?" demanded susan. "no, she gets up every day now," betsey said impatiently. "but she won't come downstairs!" "won't! but why not!" gasped susan. "she--" betsey glanced cautiously toward the hall door. "she hasn't come down at all," she said, softly. "not--since!" "what does anna say?" susan asked aghast. "anna comes home every saturday, and she and phil talk to mother," the little sister said, "but so far it's not done any good! i go up two or three times a day, but she won't talk to me.--sue, ought this have more paper?" the clumsy, roughened little hands, the sad, patient little voice and the substitution of this weary little woman for the once-radiant and noisy betsey sent a pang to susan's heart. "well, you poor little old darling, you!" she burst out, pitifully. "do you mean that you've been facing this for a month? betsey--it's too dreadful--you dear little old heroic scrap!" "oh, i'm all right!" said betsey, beginning to tremble. she placed a piece or two of kindling, fumbled for a match, and turned abruptly and went to a window, catching her apron to her eyes. "i'm all right--don't mind me!" sobbed betsey. "but sometimes i think i'll go crazy! mother doesn't love me any more, and everybody cried all thanksgiving day, and i loved jo more than they think i did--they think i'm too young to care--but i just can't bear it!" "well, you poor little darling!" susan was crying herself, but she put her arms about betsey, and felt the little thing cling to her, as they cried together. "and now, let me tackle this!" said susan, when the worst of the storm was over a few moments later. she started the fire briskly, and tied an apron over her gown, to attack the disorder of the table. betsey, breathing hard, but visibly cheered, ran to and fro on eager errands, fell upon the sink with a vigorous mop. susan presently carried a tea-tray upstairs, and knocked on mrs. carroll's door. "come in," said the rich, familiar voice, and susan entered the dim, chilly, orderly room, her heart beyond any words daunted and dismayed. mrs. carroll, gaunt and white, wrapped in a dark wrapper, and idly rocking in mid-afternoon, was a sight to strike terror to a stouter heart than susan's. "oh, susan?" said she. she said no more. susan knew that she was unwelcome. "betsey seems to have her hands full," said susan gallantly, "so i brought up your tea." "betts needn't have bothered herself at all," said mrs. carroll. susan felt as if she were in a bad dream, but she sat down and resolutely plunged into the news of georgie and virginia and mary lou. mrs. carroll listened attentively, and asked a few nervous questions; susan suspected them asked merely in a desperate effort to forestall the pause that might mean the mention of josephine's name. "and what are your own plans, sue?" she presently asked. "well, new york presently, i think," susan said. "but i'm with georgie now,--unless," she added prettily, "you'll let me stay here for a day or two?" instant alarm darkened the sick eyes. "oh, no, dear!" mrs. carroll said quickly. "you're a sweet child to think of it, but we mustn't impose on you. no, indeed! this little visit is all we must ask now, when you are so upset and busy--" "i have nothing at all to do," susan said eagerly. but the older woman interrupted her with all the cunning of a sick brain. "no, dear. not now! later perhaps, later we should all love it. but we're better left to ourselves now, sue! anna shall write you--" susan presently left the room, sorely puzzled. but, once in the hall, she came quickly to a decision. phil's door was open, his bed unaired, an odor of stale cigarette smoke still in the air. in betsey's room the windows were wide open, the curtains streaming in wet air, everything in disorder. susan found a little old brown gingham dress of anna's, and put it on, hung up her hat, brushed back her hair. a sudden singing seized her heart as she went downstairs. serving these people whom she loved filled her with joy. in the dining-room betsey looked up from her book. her face brightened. "oh, sue--you're going to stay overnight!" "i'll stay as long as you need me," said susan, kissing her. she did not need betsey's ecstatic welcome; the road was clear and straight before her now. preparing the little dinner was a triumph; reducing the kitchen to something like its old order, she found absorbing and exhilarating. "we'll bake to-morrow--we'll clean that thoroughly to-morrow--we'll make out a list of necessities to-morrow," said susan. she insisted upon philip's changing his wet shoes for slippers when the boys came home at six o'clock; she gave little jim a sisterly kiss. "gosh, this is something like!" said jim simply, eyes upon the hot dinner and the orderly kitchen. "this house has been about the rottenest place ever, for i don't know how long!" philip did not say anything, but susan did not misread the look in his tired eyes. after dinner they kept him a place by the fire while he went up to see his mother. when he came down twenty minutes later he seemed troubled. "mother says that we're imposing on you, sue," he said. "she made me promise to make you go home tomorrow. she says you've had enough to bear!" betsey sat up with a rueful exclamation, and jimmy grunted a disconsolate "gosh!" but susan only smiled. "that's only part of her--trouble, phil," she said, reassuringly. and presently she serenely led them all upstairs. "we've got to make those beds, betts," said susan. "mother may hear us," said betsey, fearfully. "i hope she will!" susan said. but, if she did, no sound came from the mother's room. after awhile susan noticed that her door, which had been ajar, was shut tight. she lay awake late that night, betts' tear-stained but serene little face close to her shoulder, betts' hand still tight in hers. the wind shook the casements, and the unwearied storm screamed about the house. susan thought of the woman in the next room, wondered if she was lying awake, too, alone with sick and sorrowful memories? she herself fell asleep full of healthy planning for to-morrow's meals and house-cleaning, too tired and content for dreams. anna came quietly home on the next saturday evening, to find the little group just ready to gather about the dinner-table. a fire glowed in the grate, the kitchen beyond was warm and clean and delightfully odorous. she said very little then, took her share, with obvious effort at first, in their talk, sat behind betsey's chair when the four presently were coaxed by jim into a game of "hearts," and advised her little sister how to avoid the black queen. but later, just before they went upstairs, when they were all grouped about the last of the fire, she laid her hands on susan's shoulders, and stood susan off, to look at her fairly. "no words for it, sue," said anna steadily. "ah, don't, nance--" susan began. but in another instant they were in each other's arms, and crying, and much later that evening, after a long talk, betsey confided to susan that it was the first time anna had cried. "she told me that when she got home, and saw the way that you have changed things," confided betsey, "she began to think for the first time that we might--might get through this, you know!" wonderful days for susan followed, with every hour brimming full of working and planning. she was the first one up in the morning, the last one in bed at night, hers was the voice that made the last decision, and hers the hands for which the most critical of the household tasks were reserved. always conscious of the vacant place in their circle, and always aware of the presence of that brooding and silent figure upstairs, she was nevertheless so happy sometimes as to think herself a hypocrite and heartless. but long afterward susan knew that the sense of dramatic fitness and abiding satisfaction is always the reward of untiring and loving service. she and betsey read together, walked through the rain to market, and came back glowing and tired, to dry their shoes and coats at the kitchen fire. they cooked and swept and dusted, tried the furniture in new positions, sent jimmy to the white house for a special new pattern, and experimented with house-dresses. susan heard the first real laughter in months ring out at the dinner-table, when she and betsey described their experiences with a crab, who had revived while being carried home in their market-basket. jimmy, silent, rough-headed and sweet, followed susan about like an affectionate terrier, and there was another laugh when jimmy, finishing a bowl in which cake had been mixed, remarked fervently, "gosh, why do you waste time cooking it?" in the evening they played euchre, or hearts, or parchesi; susan and philip struggled with chess; there were talks about the fire, and they all straggled upstairs at ten o'clock. anna, appreciative and affectionate and brave, came home for almost every saturday night, and these were special occasions. susan and betsey wasted their best efforts upon the dinner, and filled the vases with flowers and ferns, and philip brought home candy and the new magazines. it was anna who could talk longest with the isolated mother, and susan and she went over every word, afterwards, eager to find a ray of hope. "i told her about to-day," anna said one saturday night, brushing her long hair, "and about billy's walking with us to the ridge. now, when you go in tomorrow, betsey, i wish you'd begin about christmas. just say, 'mother, do you realize that christmas is a week from to-morrow?' and then, if you can, just go right on boldly and say, 'mother, you won't spoil it for us all by not coming downstairs?'" betsey looked extremely nervous at this suggestion, and susan slowly shook her head. she knew how hopeless the plan was. she and betsey realized even better than the absent anna how rooted was mrs. carroll's unhappy state. now and then, on a clear day, the mother would be heard going softly downstairs for a few moments in the garden; now and then at the sound of luncheon preparations downstairs she would come out to call down, "no lunch for me, thank you, girls!" otherwise they never saw her except sitting idle, black-clad, in her rocking-chair. but christmas was very close now, and must somehow be endured. "when are you boys going to mill valley for greens?" asked susan, on the saturday before the holiday. "would you?" philip asked slowly. but immediately he added, "how about to-morrow, jimsky?" "gee, yes!" said jim eagerly. "we'll trim up the house like always, won't we, betts?" "just like always," betts answered. susan and betsey fussed with mince-meat and frosted cookies; susan accomplished remarkably good, if rather fragile, pumpkin pies. the four decorated the down-stairs rooms with ropes of fragrant green. the expressman came and came and came again; jimmy returned twice a day laden from the post office; everyone remembered the carrolls this year. anna and philip and billy came home together, at midday, on christmas eve. betsey took immediate charge of the packages they brought; she would not let so much as a postal card be read too soon. billy had spent many a christmas eve with the carrolls; he at once began to run errands and carry up logs as a matter of course. a conference was held over the turkey, lying limp in the center of the kitchen table. the six eyed him respectfully. "oughtn't this be firm?" asked anna, fingering a flexible breast-bone. "no-o--" but susan was not very sure. "do you know how to stuff them, anna?" "look in the books," suggested philip. "we did," betsey said, "but they give chestnut and mushroom and sweet potato--i don't know how mother does it!" "you put crumbs in a chopping bowl," began susan, uncertainly, "at least, that's the way mary lou did--" "why crumbs in a chopping bowl, crumbs are chopped already?" william observed sensibly. "well--" susan turned suddenly to betsey, "why don't you trot up and ask, betts?" she suggested. "oh, sue!" betsey's healthy color faded. "i can't!" she turned appealing eyes to anna. anna was looking at her thoughtfully. "i think that would be a good thing to do," said anna slowly. "just put your head in the door and say, 'mother, how do you stuff a turkey?'" "but--but--" betsey began. she got down from the table and went slowly on her errand. the others did not speak while they waited for her return. "hot water, and butter, and herbs, and half an onion chopped fine!" announced betts returning. "did she--did she seem to think it was odd, betts?" "no, she just answered--like she would have before. she was lying down, and she said 'i'm glad you're going to have a turkey---'" "what!" said anna, turning white. "yes, she did! she said 'you're all good, brave children!'" "oh, betts, she didn't!" "honest she did, phil--" betsey said aggrievedly, and anna kissed her between laughter and tears. "but this is quite the best yet!" susan said, contentedly, as she ransacked the breadbox for crumbs. just at dinner-time came a great crate of violets. "jo's favorites, from stewart!" said anna softly, filling bowls with them. and, as if the thought of josephine had suggested it, she added to philip in a low tone: "listen, phil, are we going to sing to-night?" for from babyhood, on the eve of the feast, the carrolls had gathered at the piano for the christmas songs, before they looked at their gifts. "what do you think?" philip returned, troubled. "oh, i couldn't---" betts began, choking. jimmy gave them all a disgusted and astonished look. "gee, why not?" he demanded. "jo used to love it!" "how about it, sue?" philip asked. susan stopped short in her work, her hands full of violets, and pondered. "i think we ought to," she said at last. "i do, too!" billy supported her unexpectedly. "jo'd be the first to say so. and if we don't this christmas, we never will again!" "your mother taught you to," susan said, earnestly, "and she didn't stop it when your father died. we'll have other breaks in the circle some day, but we'll want to go right on doing it, and teaching our own children to do it!" "yes, you're right," said anna, "that settles it." nothing more was said on the subject; the girls busied themselves with the dinner dishes. phil and billy drew the nails from the waiting christmas boxes. jim cracked nuts for the christmas dinner. it was after nine o'clock when the kitchen was in order, the breakfast table set, and the sitting-room made ready for the evening's excitement. then susan went to the old square piano and opened it, and phil, in absolute silence, found her the music she wanted among the long-unused sheets of music on the piano. "if we are going to do this," said philip then, "we mustn't break down!" "nope," said betts, at whom the remark seemed to be directed, with a gulp. susan, whose hands were very cold, struck the opening chords, and a moment later the young voices rose together, through the silent house. "adeste, fideles, laeti triumphantes, venite, venite in bethlehem...." josephine had always sung the little solo. susan felt it coming, and she and betts took it together, joined on the second phrase by anna's rich, deep contralto. they were all too conscious of their mother's overhearing to think of themselves at all. presently the voices became more natural. it was just the carroll children singing their christmas hymns, as they had sung them all their lives. one of their number was gone now; sorrow had stamped all the young faces with new lines, but the little circle was drawn all the closer for that. phil's arm was tight about the little brother's shoulder, betts and anna were clinging to each other. and as susan reached the triumphant "gloria--gloria!" a thrill shook her from head to foot. she had not heard a footstep, above the singing, but she knew whose fingers were gripping her shoulder, she knew whose sweet unsteady voice was added to the younger voices. she went on to the next song without daring to turn around;--this was the little old nursery favorite, "oh, happy night, that brings the morn to shine above the child new-born! oh, happy star! whose radiance sweet guided the wise men's eager feet...." and after that came "noel,"--surely never sung before, susan thought, as they sang it then! the piano stood away from the wall, and susan could look across it to the big, homelike, comfortable room, sweet with violets now, lighted by lamp and firelight, the table cleared of its usual books and games, and heaped high with packages. josephine's picture watched them from the mantel; "wherever she is," thought susan, "she knows that we are here together singing!" "fall on your knees, o hear the angel voices! oh, night divine, oh night, when christ was born!" the glorious triumphant melody rose like a great rising tide of faith and of communion; susan forgot where she was, forgot that there are pain and loss in the world, and, finishing, turned about on the piano bench with glowing cheeks and shining eyes. "gee, moth', i never heard you coming down!" said jim delightedly, as the last notes died away and the gap, his seniors had all been dreading, was bridged. "i heard you," betts said, radiant and clinging to her mother. mrs. carroll was very white, and they could see her tremble. "surely, you're going to open your presents to-night, nance?" "not if you'd rather we shouldn't, mother!" "oh, but i want you to!" her voice had the dull, heavy quality of a voice used in sleep, and her eyes clung to anna's almost with terror. no one dared speak of the miracle; susan spoke with nervousness, but anna bustled about cheerfully, getting her established in her big chair by the fire. billy and phil returned from the cellar, gasping and bent under armfuls of logs. the fire flamed up, and jimmy, with a bashful and deprecatory "gosh!" attacked the string of the uppermost bundle. so many packages, so beautifully tied! such varied and wonderful gifts? susan's big box from virginia city was not for her alone, and from the other packages at least a dozen came to her. betts, a wonderful embroidered kimono slipped on over her house dress, looked like a lovely, fantastic picture; and susan must button her big, woolly field-coat up to her chin and down to her knees. "for once you thought of a dandy present, billy!" said she. this must be shown to mother; that must be shown to mother; mother must try on her black silk, fringed, embroidered chinese shawl. "jimmy, dear, no more candy to-night!" said mother, in just the old voice, and susan's heart had barely time for a leap of joy when she added: "oh, anna, dear, that is lovely. you must tell dr. and mrs. jordan that is exactly what you've been wanting!" "and what are your plans for to-morrow, girls?" she asked, just before they all went up-stairs, late in the evening. "sue and i to early ..." anna said, "then we get back to get breakfast by nine, and all the others to ten o'clock." "well, will you girls call me? i'll go with you, and then before the others get home we can have everything done and the turkey in." "yes, mother," was all that anna said, but later she and susan were almost ready to agree with betts' last remark that night, delivered from bed: "i bet to-morrow's going to be the happiest christmas we ever had!" this was the beginning of happier days, for mrs. carroll visibly struggled to overcome her sorrow now, and susan and betsey tried their best to help her. the three took long walks, in the wet wintry weather, their hats twisting about on their heads, their skirts ballooning in the gale. by the middle of march spring was tucking little patches of grass and buttercups in all the sheltered corners, the sunshine gained in warmth, the twilights lengthened. fruit blossoms scented the air, and great rain-pools, in the roadways, gave back a clear blue sky. the girls dragged mrs. carroll with them to the woods, to find the first creamy blossoms of the trillium, and scented branches of wild lilac. one sunday they packed a lunch basket, and walked, boys and girls and mother, up to the old cemetery, high in the hills. three miles of railroad track, twinkling in the sun, and a mile of country road, brought them to the old sunken gate. then among the grassy paths, under the oaks, it was easy to find the little stone that bore josephine's name. it was an april day, but far more like june. there was a wonderful silence in the air that set in crystal the liquid notes of the lark, and carried for miles the softened click of cowbells, far up on the ridges. sunshine flooded buttercups and poppies on the grassy slopes, and where there was shade, under the oaks, "mission bells" and scarlet columbine and cream and lavender iris were massed together. everywhere were dazzling reaches of light, the bay far below shone blue as a turquoise, the marshes were threaded with silver ribbons, the sky was high and cloudless. trains went by, with glorious rushes and puffs of rising, snowy smoke; even here they could hear the faint clang of the bell. a little flock of sheep had come up from the valley, and the soft little noises of cropping seemed only to underscore the silence. mrs. carroll walked home between anna and phil; susan and billy and the younger two engaged in spirited conversation on ahead. "mother said 'happiness comes back to us, doesn't it, nance!'" anna reported that night. "she said, 'we have never been happier than we have to-day!'" "never been so happy," susan said sturdily. "when has philip ever been such an unmitigated comfort, or betts so thoughtful and good?" "well, we might have had that, and jo too," anna said wistfully. "yes, but one doesn't, anna. that's just it!" susan had long before this again become a woman of business. when she first spoke of leaving the carrolls, a violent protest had broken out from the younger members of the family. this might have been ignored, but there was no refusing the sick entreaty of their mother's eyes; susan knew that she was still needed, and was content to delay her going indefinitely. "it seems unfair to you, sue," anna protested. but susan, standing at the window, and looking down at the early spring flood of blossoms and leaves in the garden, dissented a little sadly. "no, it's not, nance," she said. "i only wish i could stay here forever. i never want to go out into the world, and meet people again--" susan finished with a retrospective shudder. "i think coming to you when i did saved my reason," she said presently, "and i'm in no hurry to go again. no, it would be different, nance, if i had a regular trade or profession. but i haven't and, even if i go to new york, i don't want to go until after hot weather. twenty-six," susan went on, gravely, "and just beginning! suppose somebody had cared enough to teach me something ten years ago!" "your aunt thought you would marry, and you will marry, sue!" anna said, coming to put her arm about her, and lay her cheek against susan's. "ah, well!" susan said presently with a sigh, "i suppose that if i had a sixteen-year-old daughter this minute i'd tell her that mother wanted her to be a happy girl at home; she'd be married one of these days, and find enough to do!" but it was only a few days after this talk that one orville billings, the dyspeptic and middle-aged owner and editor of the "sausalito weekly democrat" offered her a position upon his editorial staff, at a salary of eight dollars a week. susan promptly accepted, calmly confident that she could do the work, and quite justified in her confidence. for six mornings a week she sat in the dingy little office on the water-front, reading proof and answering telephone calls, re-writing contributions and clipping exchanges. in the afternoons she was free to attend weddings, club-meetings or funerals, or she might balance books or send out bills, word advertisements, compose notices of birth and death, or even brew mr. billings a comforting cup of soup or cocoa over the gas-jet. susan usually began the day by sweeping out the office. sometimes betsey brought down her lunch and they picnicked together. there was always a free afternoon or two in the week. on the whole, it was a good position, and susan enjoyed her work, enjoyed her leisure, enormously enjoyed the taste of life. "for years i had a good home, and a good position, and good friends and was unhappy," she said to billy. "now i've got exactly the same things and i'm so happy i can scarcely sleep at night. happiness is merely a habit." "no, no," he protested, "the carrolls are the most extraordinary people in the world, sue. and then, anyway, you're different--you've learned." "well, i've learned this," she said, "there's a great deal more happiness, everywhere, than one imagines. every baby brings whole tons of it, and roast chickens and apple-pies and new lamps and husbands coming home at night are making people happy all the time! people are celebrating birthdays and moving into bigger houses, and having their married daughters home for visits, right straight along. but when you pass a dark lower flat on a dirty street, somehow it doesn't occur to you that the people who live in it are saving up for a home in the western addition!" "well, sue, unhappiness is bad enough, when there's a reason for it," william said, "but when you've taken your philanthropy course, i wish you'd come out and demonstrate to the women at the works that the only thing that keeps them from being happy and prosperous is not having the sense to know that they are!" "i? what could i ever teach anyone!" laughed susan brown. yet she was changing and learning, as she presently had reason to see. it was on a hot saturday in july that susan, leaving the office at two o'clock, met the lovely mrs. john furlong on the shore road. even more gracious and charming than she had been as isabel wallace, the young matron quite took possession of susan. where had susan been hiding--and how wonderfully well she was looking--and why hadn't she come to see isabel's new house? "be a darling!" said mrs. furlong, "and come along home with me now! jack is going to bring sherwin perry home to dinner with him, and i truly, truly need a girl! run up and change your dress if you want to, while i'm making my call, and meet me on the four o'clock train!" susan hesitated, filled with unreasoning dread of a plunge back into the old atmosphere, but in the end she did go up to change her dress,--rejoicing that the new blue linen was finished, and did join isabel at the train, filled with an absurd regret at having to miss a week-end at home, and anna. isabel, very lovely in a remarkable gown and hat, chatted cheerfully all the way home, and led the guest to quite the smartest of the motor-cars that were waiting at the san rafael station. susan was amazed--a little saddened--to find that the beautiful gowns and beautiful women and lovely homes had lost their appeal; to find herself analyzing even isabel's happy chatter with a dispassionate, quiet unbelief. the new home proved to be very lovely; a harmonious mixture of all the sorts of doors and windows, porches and roofs that the young owners fancied. isabel, trailing her frothy laces across the cool deep hallway, had some pretty, matronly questions to ask of her butler, before she could feel free for her guest. had mrs. wallace telephoned--had the man fixed the mirror in mr. furlong's bathroom--had the wine come? "i have no housekeeper," said isabel, as they went upstairs, "and i sha'n't have one. i think i owe it to myself, and to the maids, sue, to take that responsibility entirely!" susan recognized the unchanged sweetness and dutifulness that had marked the old isabel, who could with perfect simplicity and reason seem to make a virtue of whatever she did. they went into the sitting-room adjoining the young mistress' bedroom, an airy exquisite apartment all colonial white and gay flowered hangings, with french windows, near which the girls settled themselves for tea. "nothing's new with me," susan said, in answer to isabel's smiling inquiry. what could she say to hold the interest of this radiant young princess? isabel accordingly gave her own news, some glimpses of her european wedding journey, some happy descriptions of wedding gifts. the saunders were abroad, she told susan, ella and emily and their mother with kenneth, at a german cure. "and mary peacock--did you know her? is with them," said isabel. "i think that's an engagement!" "doesn't that seem horrible? you know he's incurable--" susan said, slowly stirring her cup. but she instantly perceived that the comment was not acceptable to young mrs. furlong. after all, thought susan, society is a very jealous institution, and isabel was of its inner circle. "oh, i think that was all very much exaggerated!" isabel said lightly, pleasantly. "at least, sue," she added kindly, "you and i are not fair judges of it!" and after a moment's silence, for susan kept a passing sensation of irritation admirably concealed, she added, "--but i didn't show you my pearls!" a maid presently brought them, a perfect string, which susan slipped through her fingers with real delight. "woman, they're the size of robins' eggs!" she said. isabel was all sweet gaiety again. she touched the lovely chain tenderly, while she told of jack's promise to give her her choice of pearls or a motor-car for her birthday, and of his giving her both! she presently called the maid again. "pauline, put these back, will you, please?" asked isabel, smilingly. when the maid was gone she added, "i always trust the maids that way! they love to handle my pretty things,--and who can blame them?--and i let them whenever i can!" they were still lingering over tea when isabel heard her husband in the adjoining room, and went in, closing the door after her, to welcome him. "he's all dirty from tennis," said the young wife, coming back and resuming her deep chair, with a smile, "and cross because i didn't go and pick him up at the courts!" "oh, that was my fault!" susan exclaimed, remembering that isabel could not always be right, unless innocent persons would sometimes agree to be wrong. mrs. furlong smiled composedly, a lovely vision in her loose lacy robe. "never mind, he'll get over it!" she said and, accompanying susan to one of the handsome guest-rooms, she added confidentially, "my dear, when a man's first married, anything that keeps him from his wife makes him cross! it's no more your fault than mine!" sherwin perry, the fourth at dinner, was a rosy, clean-shaven, stupid youth, who seemed absorbed in his food, and whose occasional violent laughter, provoked by his host's criticism of different tennis-players, turned his big ears red. john furlong told susan a great deal of his new yacht, rattling off technical terms with simple pride, and quoting at length one of the men at the ship-builders' yard. "gosh, he certainly is a marvelous fellow,--haley is," said john, admiringly. "i wish you could hear him talk! he knows everything!" isabel was deeply absorbed in her new delightful responsibilities as mistress of the house. "excuse me just a moment, susan----jack, the stuff for the library curtains came, and i don't think it's the same," said isabel or, "jack, dear, i accepted for the gregorys'," or "the wilsons didn't get their card after all, jack. helen told mama so!" all these matters were discussed at length between husband and wife, susan occasionally agreeing or sympathizing. lake tahoe, where the furlongs expected to go in a day or two, was also a good deal considered. "we ought to sit out-of-doors this lovely night," said isabel, after dinner. but conversation languished, and they began a game of bridge. this continued for perhaps an hour, then the men began bidding madly, and doubling and redoubling, and isabel good-naturedly terminated the game, and carried her guest upstairs with her. here, in susan's room, they had a talk, isabel advisory and interested, susan instinctively warding off sympathy and concern. "sue,--you won't be angry?" said isabel, affectionately "but i do so hate to see you drifting, and want to have you as happy as i am! is there somebody?" "not unless you count the proprietor of the 'democrat,'" susan laughed. "it's no laughing matter, sue---" isabel began, seriously. but susan, laying a quick hand upon her arm, said smilingly: "isabel! isabel! what do you, of all women, know about the problems and the drawbacks of a life like mine?" "well, i do feel this, sue," isabel said, just a little ruffled, but smiling, too, "i've had money since i was born, i admit. but money has never made any real difference with me. i would have dressed more plainly, perhaps, as a working woman, but i would always have had everything dainty and fresh, and father says that i really have a man's mind; that i would have climbed right to the top in any position! so don't talk as if i didn't know anything!" presently she heard jack's step, and ran off to her own room. but she was back again in a few moments. jack had just come up to find some cigars, it appeared. jack was such a goose! "he's a dear," said susan. isabel agreed. "jack was wonderful," she said. had susan noticed him with older people? and with babies---- "that's all we need, now," said the happy isabel. "babies are darling," agreed susan, feeling elderly and unmarried. "yes, and when you're married," isabel said dreamily, "they seem so--so sacred--but you'll see yourself, some day, i hope. hark!" and she was gone again, only to come back. it was as if isabel gained fresh pleasure in her new estate by seeing it afresh through susan's eyes. she had the longing of the bride to give her less-experienced friend just a glimpse of the new, delicious relationship. left alone at last, susan settled herself luxuriously in bed, a heap of new books beside her, soft pillows under her head, a great light burning over her shoulder, and the fragrance of the summer night stealing in through the wide-opened windows. she gave a great sigh of relief, wondered, between desultory reading, at how early an hour she could decently excuse herself in the morning. "i suppose that, if i fell heir to a million, i might build a house like this, and think that a string of pearls was worth buying," said susan to herself, "but i don't believe i would!" isabel would not let her hurry away in the morning; it was too pleasant to have so gracious and interested a guest, so sympathetic a witness to her own happiness. she and susan lounged through the long morning, susan admired the breakfast service, admired the rugs, admired her host's character. nothing really interested isabel, despite her polite questions and assents, but isabel's possessions, isabel's husband, isabel's genius for housekeeping and entertaining. the gentlemen appeared at noon, and the four went to the near-by hotel for luncheon, and here susan saw peter coleman again, very handsome and gay, in white flannels, and very much inclined toward the old relationship with her. peter begged them to spend the afternoon with him, trying the new motor-car, and isabel was charmed to agree. susan agreed too, after a hesitation she did not really understand in herself. what pleasanter prospect could anyone have? while they were loitering over their luncheon, in the shaded, delightful coolness of the lunch-room, suddenly dolly ripley, over-dressed, gay and talkative as always, came up to their table. she greeted the others negligently, but showed a certain enthusiasm for susan. "hello, isabel," said dolly, "i saw you all come in--'he seen that a mother and child was there!'" this last was the special phrase of the moment. susan had heard it forty times within the past twenty-four hours, and was at no pains to reconcile it to this particular conversation. "but you, you villain--where've you been?" pursued dolly, to susan, "why don't you come down and spend a week with me? do you see anything of our dear friend emily in these days?" "emily's abroad," said susan, and peter added: "with ella and mary peacock--'he seen that a mother and child was there!'" "oh, you devil!" said dolly, laughing. "but honestly," she added gaily to susan, "'how you could put up with em saunders as long as you did was a mystery to me! it's a lucky thing you're not like me, susan van dusen, people all tell me i'm more like a boy than a girl,--when i think a thing i'm going to say it or bust! now, listen, you're coming down to me for a week---" susan left the invitation open, to isabel's concern. "of course, as you say, you have a position, sue," said isabel, when they were spinning over the country roads, in peter's car, "but, my dear, dolly ripley and con fox don't speak now,--connie's going on the stage, they say!---" "'a mother and child will be there', all right!" said john furlong, leaning back from the front seat. isabel laughed, but went on seriously, "---and dolly really wants someone to stay with her, sue, and think what a splendid thing that would be!" susan answered absently. they had taken the sausalito road, to get the cool air from the bay, and it flashed across her that if she could persuade them to drop her at the foot of the hill, she could be at home in five minutes,--back in the dear familiar garden, with anna and phil lazily debating the attractions of a walk and a row, and betsey compounding weak, cold, too-sweet lemonade. suddenly the only important thing in the world seemed to be her escape. there they were, just as she had pictured them; mrs. carroll, gray-haired, dignified in her lacy light black, was in a deep chair on the lawn, reading aloud from the paper; betsey, sitting at her feet, twisted and folded the silky ears of the setter; anna was lying in a hammock, lazily watching her mother, and billy oliver had joined the boys, sprawling comfortably on the grass. a chorus of welcome greeted susan. "oh, sue, you old duck!" said betsey, "we've just been waiting for you to decide what we'd do!" chapter iv these were serene and sweet days for them all, and if sometimes the old sorrow returned for awhile, and there were still bitter longing and grieving for josephine, there were days, too, when even the mother admitted to herself that some new tender element had crept into their love for each other since the little sister's going, the invisible presence was the closest and strongest of the ties that bound them all. happiness came back, planning and dreaming began again. susan teased anna and betsey into wearing white again, when the hot weather came, billy urged the first of the walks to the beach without jo, and anna herself it was who began to extend the old informal invitations to the nearest friends and neighbors for the tea-hour on saturday. susan was to have her vacation in august; billy was to have at least a week; anna had been promised the fortnight of susan's freedom, and jimmy and betsey could hardly wait for the camping trip they planned to take all together to the little shooting box in the mountains. one august afternoon susan, arriving home from the office at one o'clock, found mrs. carroll waiting to ask her a favor. "sue, dear, i'm right in the middle of my baking," mrs. carroll said, when susan was eating a late lunch from the end of the kitchen table, "and here's a special delivery letter for billy, and billy's not coming over here to-night! phil's taking jimmy and betts to the circus--they hadn't been gone five minutes when this thing came!" "why a special delivery--and why here--and what is it?" asked susan, wiping buttery fingers carefully before she took the big envelope in her hands. "it's from edward dean," she said, examining it with unaffected interest. "oh, i know what this is--it's about that blue-print business!" susan finished, enlightened. "probably mr. dean didn't have billy's new address, but wanted him to have these to work on, on sunday." "it feels as if something bulky was in there," mrs. carroll said. "i wish we could get him by telephone! as bad luck would have it, he's a good deal worried about the situation at the works, and told me he couldn't possibly leave the men this week. what are the blue-prints?" "why, it's some little patent of billy's,--a deep-petticoat, double-groove porcelain insulator, if that means anyone to anyone!" laughed susan. "he's been raving about it for weeks! and he and mr. dean have to rush the patent, because they've been using these things for some time, and they have to patent them before they've been used a year, it seems!" "i was just thinking, sue, that, if you didn't mind crossing to the city with them, you could put on a special-delivery stamp and then billy would have them to-night. otherwise, they won't leave here until tomorrow morning." "why, of course, that'll do!" susan said willingly. "i can catch the two-ten. or better yet, aunt jo, i'll take them right out there and deliver them myself." "oh, dearie, no! not if there's any ugliness among the men, not if they are talking of a strike!" the older woman protested. "oh, they're always striking," susan said easily. "and if i can't get him to bring me back," she added, "don't worry, for i may go stay with georgie overnight, and come back with bill in the morning!" she was not sorry to have an errand on this exquisite afternoon. the water of the bay was as smooth as blue glass, gulls were flashing and dipping in the steamer's wake. sailboats, waiting for the breeze, drifted idly toward the golden gate; there was not a cloud in the blue arch of the sky. the little mcdowell whistled for her dock at alcatraz. on the prison island men were breaking stone with a metallic clink--clink--clink. susan found the ferry-place in san francisco hot and deserted; the tar pavements were softened under-foot; gongs and bells of cars made a raucous clamor. she was glad to establish herself on the front seat of a mission street car and leave the crowded water-front behind her. they moved along through congested traffic, past the big docks, and turned in between the great ware-houses that line mission street. the hot streets were odorous of leather and machine-oils, ropes and coffee. over the door of what had been hunter, baxter & hunter's hung a new bright sign, "hunter, hunter & brauer." susan caught a glimpse, through the plaster ornamentation of the facade, of old front office, which seemed to be full of brightly nickeled samples now, and gave back a blinking flash of light to the afternoon sun. "bathroom fixtures," thought susan. "he always wanted to carry them!" what a long two years since she had known or cared what pleased or displeased mr. brauer! the car clanged out of the warehouse district, past cheap flats and cheap shops, and saloons, and second-hand stores, boiling over, at their dark doorways, with stoves and rocking-chairs, lamps and china ware. this neighborhood was sordid enough, but crowded, happy and full of life. now the road ran through less populous streets; houses stood at curious angles, and were unpainted, or painted in unusual colors. great ware-houses and factories shadowed little clusters of workingmen's homes; here and there were country-like strips of brown palings with dusty mallow bushes spraying about them, or a lean cow grazing near a bare little wooden farmhouse. dumps, diffusing a dry and dreadful odor, blighted the prospect with their pyramids of cans and broken umbrellas; little grocery stores, each with its wide unrailed porch, country fashion, and its bar accessible through the shop, or by a side entrance, often marked the corners on otherwise vacant blocks. susan got off the car in the very shadow of the "works," and stood for a moment looking at the great foundries, the dark and dirty yards, with their interlacing tracks and loaded cars, the enormous brick buildings set with rows and rows of blank and dusty windows, the brick chimneys and the black pipes of the blast-furnaces, the heaps of twisted old iron and of ashes, the blowing dust and glare of the hot summer day. she had been here with billy before, had peeped into the furnace rooms, all a glare of white heat and silhouetted forms, had breathed the ashy and choking air. now she turned and walked toward the rows of workingmen's cottages that had been built, solidly massed, nearby. presenting an unbroken, two-story facade, the long buildings were divided into tiny houses that had each two flat-faced windows upstairs, and a door and one window downstairs. the seven or eight long buildings might have been as many gigantic german toys, dotted with apertures by some accurate brush, and finished with several hundred flights of wooden steps and several hundred brick chimneys. ugly when they first were built, they were even uglier now, for the exterior was of some shallow plaster that chipped and cracked and stained and in nearly every dooryard dirt and disorder added a last touch to the unlovely whole. children swarmed everywhere this afternoon; heavy, dirty-faced babies sat in the doorways, women talked and laughed over the low dividing fences. gates hung awry, and baby carriages and garbage tins obstructed the bare, trampled spaces that might have been little gardens. up and down the straight narrow streets, and loitering everywhere, were idle, restless men. a few were amusing babies, or joining in the idle chatter of the women, but for the most part they were silent, or talking in low tones among themselves. "strikers!" susan said to herself, with a thrill. over the whole curious, exotic scene the late summer sunshine streamed generously; the street was hot, the talking women fanned themselves with their aprons. susan, walking slowly alone, found herself attracting a good deal of attention, and was amazed to find that it frightened her a little. she was conspicuously a newcomer, and could not but overhear the comments that some of the watching young men made as she went by. "say, what's that song about 'i'd leave my happy home for you,' bert?" she heard them say. "don't ask me! i'm expecting my gurl any minute!" and "pretty good year for peaches, i hear!" susan had to pretend that she did not hear, but she heartily wished herself back on the car. however, there was nothing to do but walk senselessly on, or stop and ask her way. she began to look furtively about for a friendly face, and finally stopped beside a dooryard where a slim pretty young woman was sitting with a young baby in her arms. "excuse me," said susan, "but do you know where mr. william oliver lives, now?" the girl studied her quietly for a minute, with a closed, composed mouth. then she said evenly: "joe!" "huh?" said a tall young man, lathered for shaving, who came at once to the door. "i'm trying to find mr. oliver--william oliver," susan said smiling. "i'm a sort of cousin of his, and i have a special delivery letter for him." joe, who had been rapidly removing the lather from his face with a towel, took the letter and, looking at it, gravely conceded: "well, maybe that's right, too! sure you can see him. we're haying a conference up at the office tonight," he explained, "and i have to clean up or i'd take you to him myself! maybe you'd do it, lizzie?" he suggested to his wife, who was all friendliness to susan now, and showed even a hint of respect in her friendliness. "well, i could nurse him later, joe," she agreed willingly, in reference to the baby, "or maybe mama--mama!" she interrupted herself to call. an immense, gray-haired old woman, who had been an interested auditor of this little conversation, got up from the steps of the next house, and came to the fence. susan liked ellan cudahy at first sight, and smiled at her as she explained her quest. "and you're mr. oliver's sister, i c'n see that," said mrs. cudahy shrewdly. "no, i'm not!" susan smiled. "my name is brown. but mr. oliver was a sort of ward of my aunt's, and so we call ourselves cousins." "well, of course ye wud," agreed mrs. cudahy. "wait till i pin on me hat wanst, and i'll take you up to the hall. he's at the hall, joe, i dunno?" she asked. joseph assenting, they set out for the hall, under a fire of curious eyes. "joe's cleaning up for the conference," said mrs. cudahy. "there's a committee going to meet tonight. the old man-that's carpenter, the boss of the works, will be there, and some of the others." susan nodded intelligently, but saturday evening seemed to her a curious time to select for a conference. they walked along in silence, mrs. cudahy giving a brief yet kindly greeting to almost every man they met. "hello, dan, hello, gene; how are ye, jim?" said she, and one young giant, shouldering his scowling way home, she stopped with a fat imperative hand. "how's it going, jarge?" "it's going rotten," said george, sullenly evading her eyes. "well,--don't run by me that way--stand still!" said the old woman. "what d'ye mean by rotten?" "aw, i mean rotten!" said george ungraciously. "d'ye know what the old man is going to do now? he says that he'll give billy just two or three days more to settle this damn thing, and then he'll wire east and get a carload of men right straight through from philadelphia. he said so to young newman, and frank harris was in the room, and heard him. he says they're picked out, and all ready to come!" "and what does mr. oliver say?" asked mrs. cudahy, whose face had grown dark. "i don't know! i went up to the hall, but at the first word he says, 'for god's sake, george--none of that here! they'll mob the old man if they hear it!' they was all crowding about him, so i quit." "well," said mrs. cudahy, considering, "there's to be a conference at six-thirty, but befoor that, mr. oliver and clem and rassette and weidermeyer are going to meet t'gether in mr. oliver's room at rassette's house. ye c'n see them there." "well, maybe i will," said george, softening, as he left them. "what's the conference about?" asked susan pleasantly. "what's the--don't tell me ye don't know that!" mrs. cudahy said, eying her shrewdly. "i knew there was a strike---" susan began ashamedly. "sure, there's a strike," mrs. cudahy agreed, with quiet grimness, and under her breath she added heavily, "sure there is!" "and are mr. oliver's--are the men out?" susan asked. "there's nine hundred men out," mrs. cudahy told her, coldly. "nine hundred!" susan stopped short. "but billy's not responsible for all that!" she added, presently. "i don't know who is, then," mrs. cudahy admitted grimly. "but--but he never had more than thirty or forty men under him in his life!" susan said eagerly. "oh? well, maybe he doesn't know anything about it, thin!" mrs. cudahy agreed with magnificent contempt. but her scorn was wasted upon another irishwoman. susan stared at her for a moment, then the dimples came into view, and she burst into her infectious laughter. "aren't you ashamed to be so mean!" laughed susan. "won't you tell me about it?" mrs. cudahy laughed too, a little out of countenance. "i misdoubt me you're a very bad lot!" said she, in high good humor, "but 'tis no joke for the boys," she went on, sobering quickly. "they wint on strike a week ago. mr. oliver presided at a meeting two weeks come friday night, and the next day the boys went out!" "what for?" asked susan. "for pay, and for hours," the older woman said. "they want regular pay for overtime, wanst-and-a-half regular rates. and they want the chinymen to go,--sure, they come in on every steamer," said mrs. cudahy indignantly, "and they'll work twelve hours for two bits! bether hours," she went on, checking off the requirements on fat, square fingers, "overtime pay, no chinymen, and--and--oh, yes, a risin' scale of wages, if you know what that is? and last, they want the union recognized!" "well, that's not much!" susan said generously. "will they get it?" "the old man is taking his time," mrs. cudahy's lips shut in a worried line. "there's no reason they shouldn't," she resumed presently, "we're the only open shop in this part of the world, now. the big works has acknowledged the union, and there's no reason why this wan shouldn't!" "and billy, is he the one they talk to, the carpenters i mean--the authorities?" asked susan. "they wouldn't touch mr. william oliver wid a ten-foot pole," said mrs. cudahy proudly. "not they! half this fuss is because they want to get rid of him--they want him out of the way, d'ye see? no, he talks to the committee, and thin they meet with the committee. my husband's on it, and lizzie's joe goes along to report what they do." "but billy has a little preliminary conference in his room first?" susan asked. "he does," the other assented, with a chuckle. "he'll tell thim what to say! he's as smart as old carpenter himself!" said mrs. cudahy, "he's prisidint of the local; clem says he'd ought to be king!" and susan was amazed to notice that the strong old mouth was trembling with emotion, and the fine old eyes dimmed with tears. "the crowd av thim wud lay down their lives for him, so they would!" said mrs. cudahy. "and--and is there much suffering yet?" susan asked a little timidly. this cheery, sun-bathed scene was not quite her idea of a labor strike. "well, some's always in debt and trouble annyway," mrs. cudahy said, temperately, "and of course 'tis the worse for thim now!" she led susan across an unpaved, deeply rutted street, and opened a stairway door, next to a saloon entrance. susan was glad to have company on the bare and gloomy stairs they mounted. mrs. cudahy opened a double-door at the top, and they looked into the large smoke-filled room that was the "hall." it was a desolate and uninviting room, with spirals of dirty, colored tissue-paper wound about the gas-fixtures, sunshine streaming through the dirty, specked windows, chairs piled on chairs against the long walls, and cuspidors set at regular intervals along the floor. there was a shabby table set at a platform at one end. about this table was a group of men, talking eagerly and noisily to billy oliver, who stood at the table looking abstractedly at various letters and papers. at the entrance of the women, the talk died away. mrs. cudahy was greeted with somewhat sheepish warmth; the vision of an extremely pretty girl in mrs. cudahy's care seemed to affect these vociferous laborers profoundly. they began confused farewells, and melted away. "all right, old man, so long!" "i'll see you later, oliver," "that was about all, billy, i must be getting along," "good-night, billy, you know where i am if you want me!" "i'll see you later,--good-night, sir!" "hello, mrs. cudahy--hello, susan!" said billy, discovering them with the obvious pleasure a man feels when unexpectedly confronted by his womenkind. "i think you were a peach to do that, sue!" he said gratefully, when the special delivery letter had been read. "now i can get right at it, to-morrow!--say, wait a minute, clem---" he caught by the arm an old man,--larger, more grizzled, even more blue of eye than was susan's new friend, his wife,--and presented her to mr. cudahy. "---my adopted sister, clem! sue, he's about as good as they come!" "sister, is it?" asked mrs. cudahy, "whin i last heard it was cousin! what do you know about that, clem?" "well, that gives you a choice!" said susan, laughing. "then i'll take the irishman's choice, and have something different entirely!" the old woman said, in great good spirits, as they all went down the stairs. "i'll take me own gir'rl home, and give you two a chanst," said clem, in the street. "that'll suit you, wil'lum, i dunno?" "you didn't ask if it would suit me," sparkled susan brown. "well, that's so!" he said delightedly, stopping short to scratch his head, and giving her a rueful smile. "sure, i'm that popular that there never was a divvle like me at all!" "you get out, and leave my girl alone!" said william, with a shove. and his tired face brightened wonderfully, as he slipped his hand under susan's arm. "now, sue," he said contentedly, "we'll go straight to rassette's--but wait a minute--i've got to telephone!" susan stood alone on the corner, quite as a matter of course, while he dashed into a saloon. in a moment he was back, introducing her to a weak-looking, handsome young man, who, after a few wistful glances back toward the swinging door, walked away with them, and was presently left in the care of a busily cooking little wife and a fat baby. billy was stopped and addressed on all sides. susan found it pleasantly exciting to be in his company, and his pleasure in showing her this familiar environment was unmistakable. "everything's rotten and upset now," said billy, delighted with her friendly interest and sympathy. "you ought to see these people when they aren't on strike! now, let's see, it's five thirty. i'll tell you, sue, if you'll miss the seven-five boat, i'll just wait here until we get the news from the conference, then i'll blow you to zink's best dinner, and take you home on the ten-seventeen." "oh, bill, forget me!" she said, concerned for his obvious fatigue, for his face was grimed with perspiration and very pale. "i feel like a fool to have come in on you when you're so busy and so distressed! anything will be all right---" "sue, i wouldn't have had you miss this for a million, if you can only get along, somehow!" he said eagerly. "some other time---" "oh, billy, don't bother about me!" susan dismissed herself with an impatient little jerk of her head. "does this new thing worry you?" she asked. "what new thing?" he asked sharply. "why, this--this plan of mr. carpenter's to bring a train-load of men on from philadelphia," said susan, half-proud and half-frightened. "who said so?" he demanded abruptly. "why, i don't know his name, billy--yes i do, too! mrs. cudahy called him jarge---" "george weston, that was!" billy's eyes gleamed. "what else did he say?" "he said a man named edward harris---" "sure it wasn't frank harris?" "frank harris--that was it! he said harris overheard him--or heard him say so!" "harris didn't hear anything that the old man didn't mean to have him hear," said billy grimly. "but that only makes it the more probably true! lord, lord, i wonder where i can get hold of weston!" "he's going to be at that conference, at half-past five," susan assured him. he gave her an amused look. "aren't you the little foxy-quiller!" he said. "gosh, i do love to have you out here, sue!" he added, grinning like a happy small boy. "this is rassette's, where i'm staying," he said, stopping before the very prettiest and gayest of little gardens. "come in and meet mrs. rassette." susan went in to meet the blonde, pretty, neatly aproned little lady of the house. "the boys already are upstairs, mr. oliver," said mrs. rassette, and as billy went up the little stairway with flying leaps, she led susan into her clean little parlor. susan noticed a rug whose design was an immense brown dog, a lamp with a green, rose-wreathed shade, a carved wooden clock, a little mahogany table beautifully inlaid with white holly, an enormous pair of mounted antlers, and a large concertina, ornamented with a mosaic design in mother-of-pearl. the wooden floor here, and in the hall, was unpainted, but immaculately clean and the effect of the whole was clean and gay and attractive. "you speak very wonderful english for a foreigner, mrs. rassette." "i?" the little matron showed her white teeth. "but i was born in new jersey," she explained, "only when i am seven my mama sends me home to my grandma, so that i shall know our country. it is a better country for the working people," she added, with a smile, and added apologetically, "i must look into my kitchen; i am afraid my boy shall fall out of his chair." "oh, let's go out!" susan followed her into a kitchen as spotless as the rest of the house, and far more attractive. the floor was cream-white, the woodwork and the tables white, and immaculate blue saucepans hung above an immaculate sink. three babies, the oldest five years old, were eating their supper in the evening sunshine, and now fixed their solemn blue eyes upon the guest. susan thought they were the cleanest babies she had ever seen; through their flaxen mops she could see their clean little heads, their play-dresses were protected by checked gingham aprons worked in cross-stitch designs. marie and mina and ernie were kissed in turn, after their mother had wiped their rosy little faces with a damp cloth. "i am baby-mad!" said susan, sitting down with the baby in her lap. "a strike is pretty hard, when you have these to think of, isn't it?" she asked sympathetically. "yes, we don't wish that we should move," mrs. rassette agreed placidly, "we have been here now four years, and next year it is our hope that we go to our ranch." "oh, have you a ranch?" asked susan. "we are buying a little ranch, in the santa clara valley," the other woman said, drawing three bubbling saucepans forward on her shining little range. "we have an orchard there, and there is a town nearby where joe shall have a shop of his own. and there is a good school! but until my marie is seven, we think we shall stay here. so i hope the strike will stop. my husband can always get work in los angeles, but it is so far to move, if we must come back next year!" susan watched her, serenely beginning to prepare the smallest girl for bed; the helpful marie trotting to and fro with nightgowns and slippers. all the while the sound of men's voices had been rising and falling steadily in an upstairs room. presently they heard the scraping of chairs on a bare floor, and a door slammed. billy oliver put his head into the kitchen. he looked tired, but smiled when he saw susan with the sleepy baby in her lap. "hello, sue, that your oldest? come on, woman, the cudahys expect us to dinner, and we've not got much time!" susan kissed the baby, and walked with him to the end of the block, and straight through the open door of the cudahy cottage, and into the kitchen. here they found mrs. cudahy, dashing through preparations for a meal whose lavishness startled susan. bottles of milk and bottles of cream stood on the table, susan fell to stripping ears of corn; there were pop-overs in the oven; mrs. cudahy was frying chickens at the stove. enough to feed the carroll family, under their mother's exquisite management, for a week! there was no management here. a small, freckled and grinning boy known as "maggie's tim" came breathless from the grocery with a great bottle of fancy pickles; billy brought up beer from the cellar; clem cudahy cut a thick slice of butter from a two-pound square, and helped it into the serving-dish with a pudgy thumb. a large fruit pie and soda crackers were put on the table with the main course, when they sat down, hungry and talkative. "well, what do you think of the ironworks row?" asked billy, at about seven o'clock, when the other men had gone off to the conference, and susan was helping mrs. cudahy in the kitchen. "oh, i like it!" susan assured him, enthusiastically. "only," she added in a lowered tone, with a glance toward mrs. cudahy, who was out in the yard talking to lizzie, "only i prefer the rassette establishment to any i've seen!" "the rassettes," he told her, significantly, "are trained for their work; she just as much as he is! do you wonder i think it's worth while to educate people like that?" "but billy--everyone seems so comfortable. the cudahys, now,--why, this dinner was fit for a king--if it had been served a little differently!" "oh, clem's a rich man, as these men go," billy said. "he's got two flats he rents, and he's got stock! and they've three married sons, all prosperous." "well, then, why do they live here?" "why wouldn't they? you think that it's far from clubs and shops and theaters and libraries, but they don't care for these things. they've never had time for them, they've never had time to garden, or go to clubs, and consequently they don't miss them. but some day, sue," said billy, with a darkening face, "some day, when these people have the assurance that their old age is to be protected and when they have easier hours, and can get home in daylight, then you'll see a change in laborers' houses!" "and just what has a strike like this to do with that, billy?" said susan, resting her cheek on her broom handle. "oh, it's organization; it's recognition of rights; it's the beginning!" he said. "we have to stand before we can walk!" "here, don't do that!" said mrs. cudahy, coming in to take away the broom. "take her for a walk, billy," said she, "and show her the neighborhood." she laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "now, don't ye worry about the men coming back," said she kindly, "they'll be back fast enough, and wid good news, too!" "i'm going to stay overnight with mrs. cudahy," said susan, as they walked away. "you are!" he stopped short, in amazement. "yes, i am!" susan returned his smile with another. "i could no more go home now than after the first act of a play!" she confessed. "isn't it damned interesting?" he said, walking on. "why, yes," she said. "it's real at last--it's the realest thing i ever saw in my life! everything's right on the surface, and all kept within certain boundaries. in other places, people come and go in your lives. here, everybody's your neighbor. i like it! it could be perfect; just fancy if the carrolls had one house, and you another, and i a third, and phil and his wife a fourth--wouldn't it be like children playing house! and there's another thing about it, billy," susan went on enthusiastically, "it's honest! these people are really worried about shoes and rent and jobs--there's no money here to keep them from feeling everything! think what a farce a strike would be if every man in it had lots of money! people with money can't get the taste of really living!" "ah, well, there's a lot of sin and wretchedness here now!" he said sadly. "women drinking--men acting like brutes! but some day, when the liquor traffic is regulated, and we have pension laws, and perhaps the single tax---" "and the right-reverend william lord oliver, r. i., in the presidential chair, hooray and glory be to god---!" susan began. "oh, you dry up, susan," billy said laughing. "i don't care," he added contentedly. "i like to be at the bottom of things, shoving up. and my lord, if we only pull this thing off---!" "it's not my preconceived idea of a strike," susan said, after a moment's silence. "i thought one had to throw coal, and run around the streets with a shawl over one's head---" "in the east, where the labor is foreign, that's about it," he said, "but here we have american-born laborers, asking for their rights. and i believe it's all coming!" "but with ignorance and inefficiency on one hand, and graft and cruelty on the other, and drink and human nature and poverty adding their complications, it seems rather a big job!" susan said. "now, look at these small kids out of bed at this hour of night, bill! and what are they eating?--boiled crabs! and notice the white stockings--i never had a pair in my life, yet every kidlet on the block is wearing them. and look upstairs there, with a bed still airing!" "the wonder is that it's airing at all," billy said absently. "is that the boys coming back?" he asked sharply. "now, bill, why do you worry---?" but susan knew it was useless to scold him. they went quietly back, and sat on mrs. cudahy's steps, and waited for news. all ironworks row waited. down the street susan could see silent groups on nearly every door-step. it grew very dark; there was no moon, but the sky was thickly strewn with stars. it was after ten o'clock when the committee came back. susan knew, the moment that she saw the three, moving all close together, silently and slowly, that they brought no good news. as a matter of fact, they brought almost no news at all. they went into clem cudahy's dining-room, and as many men and women as could crowded in after them. billy sat at the head of the table. carpenter, the "old man" himself, had stuck to his guns, clem cudahy said. he was the obstinate one; the younger men would have conceded something, if not everything, long ago. but the old man had said that he would not be dictated to by any man alive, and if the men wanted to listen to an ignorant young enthusiast--- "three cheers for mr. oliver!" said a strong young voice, at this point, and the cheers were given and echoed in the street, although billy frowned, and said gruffly, "oh, cut it out!" it was a long evening. susan began to think that they would talk forever. but, at about eleven o'clock, the men who had been streaming in and out of the house began to disperse, and she and mrs. cudahy went into the kitchen, and made a pot of coffee. susan, sitting at the foot of the table, poured it, and seasoned it carefully. "you are going to be well cared for, mr. oliver," said ernest rassette, in his careful english. "no such luck!" billy said, smiling at susan, as he emptied his cup at a draught. "well! i don't know that we do any good sitting here. things seem to be at a deadlock." "what do they concede, bill?" susan asked. "oh, practically everything but the recognition of the union. at least, carpenter keeps saying that if this local agitation was once wiped out,--which is me!--then he'd talk. he doesn't love me, sue." "damn him!" said one of his listeners, a young man who sat with his head in his hands. "it's after twelve," billy said, yawning. "me to the hay! goodnight, everyone; goodnight, sue!" "and annywan that cud get a man like that, and doesn't," said mrs. cudahy when he was gone, "must be lookin' for a saint right out av the lit'ny!" "i never heard of any girl refusing mr. oliver," susan said demurely. she awoke puzzled, vaguely elated. sunshine was streaming in at the window, an odor of coffee, of bacon, of toast, drifted up from below. susan had slept well. she performed the limited toilet necessitated by a basin and pitcher, a comb somewhat beyond its prime, and a mirror too full of sunlight to be flattering. but it was evidently satisfactory, for clem cudahy told her, as she went smiling into the kitchen, that she looked like a streak of sunlight herself. sunlight was needed; it was a worried and anxious day for them all. susan went with lizzie to see the new conover baby, and stopped on the way back to be introduced to mrs. jerry nelson, who had been stretched on her bed for eight long years. mrs. nelson's bright little room was easily accessible from the street; the alert little suffering woman was never long alone. "i have to throw good soup out, the way it spoils on me," said mrs. nelson's daughter to susan, "and there's nobody round makes cake or custard but what mama gets some!" "i'm a great one for making friends," the invalid assured her happily. "i don't miss nothing!" "and after all i don't see why such a woman isn't better off than mary lord," said susan later to billy, "so much nearer the center of things! of course," she told him that afternoon, "i ought to go home today. but i'm too interested. i simply can't! what happens next?" "oh, waiting," he said wearily. "we have a mass meeting this afternoon. but there's nothing to do but wait!" waiting was indeed the order of the day. the whole colony waited. it grew hotter and hotter; flies buzzed in and out of the open doorways, children fretted and shouted in the shade. susan had seen no drinking the night before; but now she saw more than one tragedy. the meeting at three o'clock ended in a more grim determination than ever; the men began to seem ugly. sunset brought a hundred odors of food, and unbearable heat. "i've got to walk some of this off," said billy, restlessly, just before dark. "come on up and see the cabbage gardens!" susan pinned on her wide hat, joined him in silence, and still in silence they threaded the path that led through various dooryards and across vacant lots, and took a rising road toward the hills. the stillness and soft dusk were very pleasant to susan; she could find a beauty in carrot-tops and beet greens, and grew quite rapturous over a cow. "doesn't the darling look comfortable and countryish, bill?" billy interrupted his musing to give her an absent smile. they sat down on a pile of lumber, and watched the summer moon rise gloriously over the hills. "doesn't it seem funny to you that we're right in the middle of a strike, bill?" susan asked childishly. "funny--! oh, lord!" "well---" susan laughed at herself, "i didn't mean funny! but i'll tell you what i'd do in your place," she added thoughtfully. billy glanced at her quickly. "what you'd do?" he asked curiously. "certainly! i've been thinking it over, as a dispassionate outsider," susan explained calmly. "well, go on," he said, grinning indulgently. "well, i will," susan said, firing, "if you'll treat me seriously, and not think that i say this merely because the carrolls want you to go camping with us! i was just thinking---" susan smiled bashfully, "i was wondering why you don't go to carpenter---" "he won't see me!" "well, you know what i mean!" she said impatiently. "send your committee to him, and make him this proposition. say that if he'll recognize the union--that's the most important thing, isn't it?" "that's by far the most important! all the rest will follow if we get that. but he's practically willing to grant all the rest, except the union. that's the whole point, sue!" "i know it is, but listen. tell him that if he'll consent to all the other conditions--why," susan spread open her hands with a shrug, "you'll get out! bill, you know and i know that what he hates more than anything or anybody is mr. william oliver, and he'd agree to almost any terms for the sake of having you eliminated from his future consideration!" "i--get out?" billy repeated dazedly. "why, i am the union!" "oh, no you're not, bill. surely the principles involved are larger than any one man!" susan said pleasantly. "well, well--yes--that's true!" he agreed, after a second's silence. "to a certain extent--i see what you mean!--that is true. but, sue, this is an unusual case. i organized these boys, i talked to them, and for them. they couldn't hold together without me--they'll tell you so themselves!" "but, billy, that's not logic. suppose you died?" "well, well, but by the lord harry i'm not going to die!" he said heatedly. "i propose to stick right here on my job, and if they get a bunch of scabs in here they can take the consequences! the hour of organized labor has come, and we'll fight the thing out along these lines---" "through your hat--that's the way you're talking now!" susan said scornfully. "don't use those worn-out phrases, bill; don't do it! i'm sick of people who live by a bunch of expressions, without ever stopping to think whether they mean anything or not! you're too big and too smart for that, bill! now, here you've given the cause a splendid push up, you've helped these particular men! now go somewhere else, and stir up more trouble. they'll find someone to carry it on, don't you worry, and meanwhile you'll be a sort of idol--all the more influential for being a martyr to the cause!" billy did not answer. he got up and walked away from her, turned, and came slowly back. "i've been here ten years," he said then, and at the sound of pain in his voice the girl's heart began to ache for him. "i don't believe they'd stand for it," he added presently, with more hope. and finally, "and i don't know what i'd do!" "well, that oughtn't to influence you," susan said bracingly. "no, you're quite right. that's not the point," he agreed quickly. presently she saw him lean forward in the darkness, and put his head in his hands. susan longed to put her arm about him, and draw the rough head to her shoulder and comfort him. at breakfast time the next morning, billy walked into mrs. cudahy's dining-room, very white, very serious, determined lines drawn about his firm young mouth. susan looked at him, half-fearful, half-pitying. "how late did you walk, bill?" she asked, for he had gone out again after bringing her back to the house the night before. "i didn't go to bed," he said briefly. he sat down by the table. "well, i guess miss brown put her finger on the very heart of the matter, clem," said he. "and how's that?" asked clem cudahy. his wife, in the very act of pouring the newcomer a cup of coffee, stopped with arrested arm. susan experienced a sensation of panic. "oh, but i didn't mean anything!" she said eagerly. "don't mind what i said, bill!" but the matter had been taken out of her hands now, and in less than an hour the news spread over the entire settlement. mr. oliver was going to resign! the rest of the morning and the early afternoon went by in a confused rush. at three o'clock billy, surrounded by vociferous allies, walked to the hall, for a stormy and exhausting meeting. "the boys wouldn't listen to him at all at first," said clem, in giving the women an account of it, later. "but eventually they listened, and eventually he carried the day. it was all too logical to be ignored and turned aside, he told them. they had not been fighting for any personal interest, or any one person. they had asked for this change, and that, and the other,--and these things they might still win. he, after all, had nothing to do with the issue; as a recognized labor union they might stand on their own feet." after that the two committees met, in old mr. carpenter's office, and billy came home to susan and mrs. cudahy, and sat for a tense hour playing moodily with lizzie's baby. then the committee came back, almost as silently as it had come last night. but this time it brought news. the strike was over. very quietly, very gravely, they made it known that terms had been reached at last. practically everything had been granted, on the single condition that william oliver resign from his position in the iron works, and his presidency of the union. billy congratulated them. susan knew that he was so emotionally shaken, and so tired, as to be scarcely aware of what he was doing and saying. men and women began to come in and discuss the great news. there were some tears; there was real grief on more than one of the hard young faces. "i'll see all you boys again in a day or two," billy said. "i'm going over to sausalito to-night,--i'm all in! we've won, and that's the main thing, but i want you to let me off quietly to-night,--we can go over the whole thing later. "gosh, about one cheer, and i would have broken down like a kid!" he said to susan, on the car. rassette and clem had escorted them thither; mrs. cudahy and lizzie walking soberly behind them, with susan. both women kissed susan good-bye, and susan smiled through her tears as she saw the last of them. "i'll take good care of him," she promised the old woman. "he's been overdoing it too long!" "lord, it will be good to get away into the big woods," said billy. "you're quite right, i've taken the whole thing too hard!" "at the same time," said susan, "you'll want to get back to work, sooner or later, and, personally, i can't imagine anything else in life half as fascinating as work right there, among those people, or people like them!" "then you can see how it would cut a fellow all up to leave them?" he asked wistfully. "see!" susan echoed. "why, i'm just about half-sick with homesickness myself!" chapter v the train went on and on and on; through woods wrapped in dripping mist, and fields smothered in fog. the unseasonable august afternoon wore slowly away. betsey, fitting her head against the uncomfortable red velvet back of the seat, dozed or seemed to doze. mrs. carroll opened her magazine over and over again, shut it over and over again, and stared out at the landscape, eternally slipping by. william oliver, seated next to susan, was unashamedly asleep, and susan, completing the quartette, looked dreamily from face to face, yawned suppressedly, and wrestled with "the right of way." they were making the six hours' trip to the big forest for a month's holiday, and it seemed to each one of the four that they had been in the train a long, long time. in the racks above their heads were coats and cameras, suit-cases and summer hats, and a long cardboard box, originally intended for "gents' medium, ribbed, white," but now carrying fringed napkins and the remains of a luncheon. it had all been planned a hundred times, under the big lamp in the sausalito sitting-room. the twelve o'clock train--farwoods station at five--an hour's ride in the stage--six o'clock. then they would be at the cabin, and another hour--say--would be spent in the simplest of housewarming. a fire must be built to dry bedding after the long months, and to cook bacon and eggs, and just enough unpacking to find night-wear and sheets. that must do for the first night. "but we'll sit and talk over the fire," betsey would plead. "please, mother! we'll be all through dinner at eight o'clock!" the train however was late, nearly half-an-hour late, when they reached farwoods. the stage, pleasant enough in pleasant weather, was disgustingly cramped and close inside. susan and betsey were both young enough to resent the complacency with which jimmy climbed up, with his dog, beside the driver. "you let him stay in the baggage-car with baloo all the way, mother," betts reproached her, flinging herself recklessly into the coach, "and now you're letting him ride in the rain!" "well, stop falling over everything, for heaven's sake, betts!" susan scolded. "and don't step on the camera! don't get in, billy,--i say don't get in! well, why don't you listen to me then! these things are all over the floor, and i have to---" "i have to get in, it's pouring,--don't be such a crab, sue!" billy said pleasantly. "lord, what's that! what did i break?" "that's the suitcase with the food in it," susan snapped. "please wait a minute, betts!--all right," finished susan bitterly, settling herself in a dark corner, "tramp over everything, i don't care!" "if you don't care, why are you talking about it?" asked betts. "he says that we'll have to get out at the willows, and walk up the trail," said mrs. carroll, bending her tall head, as she entered the stage, after a conversation with the driver. "gracious sakes, how things have been tumbled in! help me pile these things up, girls!" "i was trying to," susan began stiffly, leaning forward to do her share. a sudden jolt of the starting stage brought her head against betts with a violent concussion. after that she sat back in magnificent silence for half the long drive. they jerked and jolted on the uneven roads, the rain was coming down more steadily now, and finally even jimmy and the shivering baloo had to come inside the already well-filled stage. it was quite dark when they were set down at the foot of the overgrown trail, and started, heavily loaded, for the cabin. wind sighed and swept through the upper branches of the forest, boughs creaked and whined, the ground underfoot was spongy with moisture, and the air very cold. the cabin was dark and deserted looking; a drift of tiny redwood branches carpeted the porch. the rough steps ran water. once inside, they struck matches and lighted a candle. cold, darkness and disorder everybody had expected to find. but it was a blow to discover that the great stone fireplace, the one real beauty of the room, and the delight of every chilly evening, had been brought down by some winter gale. a bleak gap marked its once hospitable vicinity, cool air rushed in where the breath of dancing flames had so often rushed out, and, some in a great heap on the hearth, and some flung in muddy confusion to the four corners of the room, the sooty stones lay scattered. it was a bad moment for everyone. betsey began to cry, her weary little head on her mother's shoulder. "this won't do!" mrs. carroll said perplexedly. "b-r-r-r-r! how cold it is!" "this is rotten," jimmy said bitterly. "and all the fellows are going to the orpheum to-night too!" he added enviously. "it's warm here compared to the bedroom," susan, who had been investigating, said simply. "the blankets feel wet, they're so cold!" "and too wet for a camp-fire--" mused the mother. "and the stage gone!" billy added. a cold draught blew open the door and set the candle guttering. "oh, i'm so cold!" susan said, hunching herself like a sick chicken. the rest of the evening became family history. how they took their camping stove and its long tin pipe from the basement, and set it up in the woodshed that, with the little bedroom, completed the cabin, how wood from the cellar presently crackled within, how suitcases were opened by maddening candle-light, and wet boots changed for warm slippers, and wet gowns for thick wrappers. how the kettle sang and the bacon hissed, and the coffee-pot boiled over, and everybody took a turn at cutting bread. deep in the heart of the rain-swept, storm-shaken woods, they crowded into the tiny annex, warm and dry, so lulled by the warm meal and the warm clothes that it was with great difficulty that mrs. carroll roused them all for bed at ten o'clock. "i'm going to sleep with you, sue," announced betsey, shivering, and casting an envious glance at her younger brother who, with billy, was to camp for that night in the kitchen, "and if it's like this to-morrow, i vote that we all go home!" but they awakened in all the fragrant beauty and stillness of a great forest, on a heavenly august morning. sunshine flooded the cabin, when susan opened her eyes, and the vista of redwood boughs beyond the window was shot with long lines of gold. everywhere were sweetness and silence; blots of bright gold on feathery layers of soft green. high-arched aisles stretched all about the cabin like the spokes of a great wheel; warm currents, heavy with piney sweetness, drifted across the crystal and sparkling brightness of the air. the rain was gone; the swelled creek rushed noisily down a widened course; it was cool now, but the day would be hot. susan, dressing with her eyes on the world beyond the window, was hastened by a sudden delicious odor of boiling coffee, and the delightful sound of a crackling wood fire. delightful were all the sights and sounds and duties of the first days in camp. there must be sweeping, airing, unpacking in the little domicile. someone must walk four miles to the general store for salt, and more matches, and pancake flour. someone must take the other direction, and climb a mile of mountain every day or two for milk and eggs and butter. the spring must be cleared, and a board set across the stream; logs dragged in for the fire, a pantry built of boxes, for provisions, and ship-shape disposition made of mugs and plates. billy sharpened cranes for their camp-kitchen, swung the kettles over a stone-lined depression, erected a protection of flat redwood boughs. and under his direction the fireplace was rebuilt. "it just shows what you can do, if you must!" said susan, complacently eying the finished structure. "it's handsomer than ever!" mrs. carroll said. the afternoon sunlight was streaming in across the newly swept hearth, and touching to brighter colors the navajo blanket stretched on the floor. "and now we have one more happy association with the camp!' she finished contentedly. "billy is wishing he could transfer all his strikers up here," said susan dimpling. "he thinks that a hundred miles of forest are too much for just a few people!" "they wouldn't enjoy it," he answered seriously, "they have had no practice in this sort of life. they'd hate it. but of course it's a matter of education---" "help! he's off!" said the irreverent susan, "now he'll talk for an hour! come on, betts, i have to go for milk!" exquisite days these for them all, days so brimming with beauty as to be forever memorable. susan awoke every morning to a rushing sense of happiness, and danced to breakfast looking no more than a gay child, in her bluejacket's blouse, with her bright hair in a thick braid. busy about breakfast preparations, and interrupted by a hundred little events in the forest or stream all about her, billy would find her. there was always a moment of heat and hurry, when toast and oatmeal and coffee must all be brought to completion at once, and then they might loiter over their breakfast as long as they liked. afterward, susan and mrs. carroll put the house in order, while the others straightened and cleaned the camp outside. often the talks between the two women ran far over the time their work filled, and betsey would come running in to ask mother and susan why they were laughing. laughter was everywhere, not much was needed to send them all into gales of mirth. usually they packed a basket, gathered the stiff, dry bathing suits from the grass, and lunched far up in the woods. fishing gear was carried along, although the trout ran small, and each fish provided only a buttery, delicious mouthful. susan learned to swim and was more proud of her first breathless journey across the pool than were the others with all their expert diving and racing. mrs. carroll swam well, and her daughters were both splendid swimmers. after the first dip, they lunched on the hot shingle, and dozed and talked, and skipped flat stones on the water, until it was time to swim again. all about them the scene was one of matchless beauty. steep banks, aquiver with ferns, came down on one side of the pool, to the very edge of the crystal water; on the other, long arcades, shot with mellow sunlight, stretched away through the forest. bees went by on swift, angry journeys, and dragon-flies rested on the stones for a few dazzling palpitating seconds, and were gone again. black water-bugs skated over the shallows, throwing round shadows on the smooth floor of the pool. late in the afternoon, the campers would saunter home, crossing hot strips of meadow, where they started hundreds of locusts into flight, or plunging into the cool green of twilight woods. back at the camp, there would be the crackle of wood again, with all the other noises of the dying forest day. good odors drifted about, broiling meat and cooking wild berries, chipmunks and gray squirrels and jays chattered from the trees overhead; there was a whisking of daring tails, a flutter of bold wings. daylight lasted for the happy meal, and stars came out above their camp-fire. and while they talked or sang, or sat with serious young eyes watching the flames, owls called far away through the wood, birds chuckled sleepily in the trees, and, where moonlight touched the stream, sometimes a trout rose and splashed. when was it that billy always began to take his place at susan's side, at the campfire, their shoulders almost touching in the dark? when was it that, through all the careless, happy companionship that bound them all, she began to know, with a thrill of joy and pain at her heart, that there were special looks for her, special glad tones for her? she did not know. but she did know that suddenly all the world seemed billy,--billy's arm to cross a stream, billy's warning beside the swimming pool, billy's laughter at her nonsense, and billy's eyes when she looked up from musing over her book or turned, on a trail, to call back to the others, following her. she knew why the big man stumbled over words, grew awkward and flushed when she turned upon him the sisterly gaze of her blue eyes. and with the knowledge life grew almost unbearably sweet. susan was enveloped in some strange golden glory; the mere brushing of her hair, or shaking out of her bathing-suit became a rite, something to be done with an almost suffocating sense of significance. everything she did became intensified, her laughter and her tears were more ready, her voice had new and sweeter notes in it, she glowed like a rose in the knowledge that he thought her beautiful, and because he thought her sweet and capable and brave she became all of these things. she did not analyze him; he was different from all other men, he stood alone among them, simply because he was billy. he was tall and strong and clean of heart and sunny of temper, yes--but with these things she did not concern herself,--he was poor, too, he was unemployed, he had neither class nor influence to help him,--that mattered as little. he was billy,--genial and clever and good, unconventional, eager to learn, full of simple faith in human nature, honest and unaffected whether he was dealing with the president of a great business, or teaching jim how to play his reel for trout,--and he had her whole heart. whether she was laughing at his arguments, agreeing with his theories, walking silently at his side through the woods, or watching the expressions that followed each other on his absorbed face, while he cleaned his gun or scrutinized the detached parts of mrs. carroll's coffee-mill, susan followed him with eyes into which a new expression had crept. she watched him swimming, flinging back an arc of bright drops with every jerk of his sleek wet head; she bent her whole devotion on the garments he brought her for buttons, hoping that he did not see the trembling of her hands, or the rush of color that his mere nearness brought to her face. she thrilled with pride when he came to bashfully consult her about the long letters he wrote from time to time to clem cudahy or joseph rassette, listened eagerly to his talks with the post-office clerk, the store-keeper, the dairymen and ranchers up on the mountain. and always she found him good. "too good for me," said susan sadly to herself. "he has made the best of everything that ever came his way, and i have been a silly fool whenever i had half a chance." the miracle was worked afresh for them, as for all lovers. this was no mere attraction between a man and a maid, such as she had watched all her life, susan thought. this was some new and rare and wonderful event, as miraculous in the eyes of all the world as it was to her. "i should be susan oliver," she thought with a quick breath. an actual change of name--how did other women ever survive the thrill and strangeness of itl "we should have to have a house," she told herself, lying awake one night. a house--she and billy with a tiny establishment of their own, alone over their coffee-cups, alone under their lamp! susan's heart went out to the little house, waiting for them somewhere. she hung a dream apron on the door of a dream kitchen, and went to meet a tired dream-billy at the door---- he would kiss her. the blood rushed to her face and she shut her happy eyes. a dozen times a day she involved herself in some enterprise from which she could not extricate herself without his help. billy had to take heavy logs out of her arms, had to lay a plank across the stretch of creek she could not cross, had to help her down from the crotch of a tree with widespread brotherly arms. "i thought--i--could--make--it!" gasped susan, laughing, when he swam after her, across the pool, and towed her ignominiously home. "susan, you're a fool!" scolded billy, when they were safe on the bank, and susan, spreading her wet hair about her, siren-wise, answered meekly: "oh, i know it!" on a certain saturday anna and philip climbed down from the stage, and the joys of the campers were doubled as they related their adventures and shared all their duties and delights. susan and anna talked nearly all night, lying in their canvas beds, on a porch flooded with moonlight, and if susan did not mention billy, nor anna allude to the great doctor hoffman, they understood each other for all that. the next day they all walked up beyond the ranch-house, and followed the dripping flume to the dam. and here, beside a wide sheet of blue water, they built their fire, and had their lunch, and afterward spent a long hour in the water. quail called through the woods, and rabbits flashed out of sight at the sound of human voices, and once, in a silence, a doe, with a bright-eyed fawn clinking after her on the stones, came down to the farther shore for a drink. "you ought to live this sort of life all the time, sue!" billy said idly, as they sat sunning themselves on the wide stone bulkhead that held back the water. "i? why?" asked susan, marking the smooth cement with a wet forefinger. "because you're such a kid, sue--you like it all so much!" "knowing what you know of me, bill, i wonder that you can think of me as young at all," the girl answered drily, suddenly somber and raising shamed eyes to his. "how do you mean?" he stammered, and then, suddenly enlightened, he added scornfully, "oh, lord!" "that---" susan said quietly, still marking the hot cement, "will keep me from ever--ever being happy, bill---" her voice thickened, and she stopped speaking. "i don't look at that whole episode as you do, sue," billy said gruffly after a moment's embarrassed silence. "i don't believe chance controls those things. i often think of it when some man comes to me with a hard-luck story. his brother cheated him, and a factory burned down, and he was three months sick in a hospital--yes, that may all be true! but follow him back far enough and you'll find he was a mean man from the very start, ruined a girl in his home town, let his wife support his kids. it's years ago now perhaps, but his fate is simply working out its natural conclusion. somebody says that character is fate, sue,--you've always been sweet and decent and considerate of other people, and your fate saved you through that. you couldn't have done anything wrong--it's not in you!" he looked up with his bright smile but susan could hear no more. she had scrambled to her feet while he was speaking, now she stopped only long enough to touch his shoulder with a quick, beseeching pressure. the next instant she was walking away, and he knew that her face was wet with tears. she plunged into the pool, and swam steadily across the silky expanse, and when he presently joined her, with anna and betts, she was quite herself again. quite her old self, and the life and heart of everything they did. anna laughed until the tears stood in her eyes, the others, more easily moved, went from one burst of mirth to another. they were coming home past the lumber mill when billy fell in step just beside her, and the others drifted on without them. there was nothing in that to startle susan, but she did feel curiously startled, and a little shy, and managed to keep a conversation going almost without help. "stop here and watch the creek," said billy, at the mill bridge. susan stopped, and they stood looking down at the foaming water, tumbling through barriers, and widening, in a ruffled circle, under the great wheel. "was there ever such a heavenly place, billy?" "never," he said, after a second. susan had time to think his voice a little deep and odd before he added, with an effort, "we'll come back here often, won't we? after we're married?" "oh, are we going to be married?" susan said lightly. "well, aren't we?" he quietly put his arm about her, as they stood at the rail, so that in turning her innocent, surprised eyes, she found his face very near. susan held herself away rigidly, dropped her eyes. she could not answer. "how about it, sue?" he asked, very low and, looking up, she found that he was half-smiling, but with anxious eyes. suddenly she found her eyes brimming, and her lip shook. susan felt very young, a little frightened. "do you love me, billy?" she faltered. it was too late to ask it, but her heart suddenly ached with a longing to hear him say it. "love you!" he said scarcely above his breath. "don't you know how i love you! i think i've loved you ever since you came to our house, and i gave you my cologne bottle!" there was no laughter in his tone, but the old memory brought laughter to them both. susan clung to him, and he tightened his arms about her. then they kissed each other. half an hour behind the others they came slowly down the home trail. susan had grown shy now and, although she held his hand childishly, she would not allow him to kiss her again. the rapid march of events had confused her, and she amused him by a plea for time "to think." "please, please don't let them suspect anything tonight, bill!" she begged. "not for months! for we shall probably have to wait a long, long time!" "i have a nerve to ask any girl to do it!" billy said gloomily. "you're not asking any girl. you're asking me, you know!" "but, darling, you honestly aren't afraid? we'll have to count every cent for awhile, you know!" "it isn't as if i had been a rich girl," susan reminded him. "but you've been a lot with rich people. and we'll have to live in some place in the mission, like georgie, sue!" "in the mission perhaps, but not like georgie! wait until you eat my dinners, and see my darling little drawing-room! and we'll go to dinner at coppa's and sanguinetti's, and come over to sausalito for picnics,--we'll have wonderful times! you'll see!" "i adore you," said billy, irrevelantly. "well," susan said, "i hope you do! but i'll tell you something i've been thinking, billy," she resumed dreamily, after a silence. "and pwhats dthat, me dar-r-rlin'?" "why, i was thinking that i'd rather---" susan began hesitatingly, "rather have my work cut out for me in this life! that is, i'd rather begin at the bottom of the ladder, and work up to the top, than be at the top, through no merit of my own, and live in terror of falling to the bottom! i believe, from what i've seen of other people, that we'll succeed, and i think we'll have lots of fun doing it!" "but, sue, you may get awfully tired of it!" "everybody gets awfully tired of everything!" sang susan, and caught his hand for a last breathless run into camp. at supper they avoided each other's eyes, and assumed an air of innocence and gaiety. but in spite of this, or because of it, the meal moved in an unnatural atmosphere, and everyone present was conscious of a sense of suspense, of impending news. "betts dear, do listen!--the salt," said mrs. carroll. "you've given me the spoons and the butter twice! tell me about to-day," she added, in a desperate effort to start conversation. "what happened?" but jimmy choked at this, betsey succumbed to helpless giggling, and even philip reddened with suppressed laughter. "don't, betts!" anna reproached her. "you're just as bad yourself!" sputtered betsey, indignantly. "i?" anna turned virtuous, outraged eyes upon her junior, met susan's look for a quivering second, and buried her flushed and laughing face in her napkin. "i think you're all crazy!" susan said calmly. "she's blushing!" announced jimmy. "cut it out now, kid," billy growled. "it's none of your business!" "what's none of his business?" carroled betsey, and a moment later joyous laughter and noise broke out,--philip was shaking william's hand, the girls were kissing susan, mrs. carroll was laughing through tears. nobody had been told the great news, but everybody knew it. presently susan sat in mrs. carroll's lap, and they all talked of the engagement; who had suspected it, who had been surprised, what anna had noticed, what had aroused jimmy's suspicions. billy was very talkative but susan strangely quiet to-night. it seemed to make it less sacred, somehow, this open laughter and chatter about it. why she had promised billy but a few hours ago, and here he was threatening never to ask betts to "our house," unless she behaved herself, and kissing anna with the hilarious assurance that his real reason for "taking" susan was because she, anna, wouldn't have him! no man who really loved a woman could speak like that to another on the very night of his engagement, thought susan. a great coldness seized her heart, and pity for herself possessed her. she sat next to mrs. carroll at the camp-fire, and refused billy even the little liberty of keeping his fingers over hers. no liberties to-night! and later, tucked by mrs. carroll's motherly hands into her little camp bed on the porch, she lay awake, sick at heart. far from loving billy oliver, she almost disliked him! she did not want to be engaged this way, she wanted, at this time of all times in her life, to be treated with dignity, to be idolized, to have her every breath watched. how she had cheapened everything by letting him blurt out the news this way! and now, how could she in dignity draw back---- susan began to cry bitterly. she was all alone in the world, she said to herself, she had never had a chance, like other girls! she wanted a home to-night, she wanted her mother and father---! her handkerchief was drenched, she tried to dry her eyes on the harsh hem of the sheet. her tears rushed on and on, there seemed to be no stopping them. billy did not care for her, she sobbed to herself, he took the whole thing as a joke! and, beginning thus, what would he feel after a few years of poverty, dark rooms and unpaid bills? even if he did love her, thought susan bursting out afresh, how was she to buy a trousseau, how were they to furnish rooms, and pay rent, "one always has to pay a month's rent in advance!" she thought gloomily. "i believe i am going to be one of those weepy, sensitive women, whose noses are always red," said susan, tossing restlessly in the dark. "i shall go mad if i can't get to sleep!" and she sat up, reached for her big, loose japanese wrapper and explored with bare feet for her slippers. ah--that was better! she sat on the top step, her head resting against the rough pillar of the porch, and felt a grateful rush of cool air on her flushed face. her headache lessened suddenly, her thoughts ran more quietly. there was no moon yet. susan stared at the dim profile of the forest, and at the arch of the sky, spattered with stars. the exquisite beauty of the summer night soothed and quieted her. after a time she went noiselessly down the dark pathway to the spring-house for a drink. the water was deliciously cool and fresh. susan, draining a second cup of it, jumped as a voice nearby said quietly: "don't be frightened--it's me, billy!" "heaven alive--how you scared me!" gasped susan, catching at the hand he held out to lead her back to the comparative brightness of the path. "billy, why aren't you asleep?" "too happy, i guess," he said simply, his eyes on her. she held his hands at arm's length, and stared at him wistfully. "are you so happy, bill?" she asked. "well, what do you think?" the words were hardly above a whisper, he wrenched his hands suddenly free from her, and she was in his arms, held close against his heart. "what do you think, my own girl?" said billy, close to her ear. "heavens, i don't want him to care this much!" said the terrified daughter of eve, to herself. breathless, she freed herself, and held him at arm's length again. "billy, i can't stay down here--even for a second--unless you promise not to!" "but darling--however, i won't! and will you come over here to the fence for just a minute--the moon's coming up!" billy oliver--the same old billy!--trembling with eagerness to have susan brown--the unchanged susan!--come and stand by a fence, and watch the moon rise! it was very extraordinary, it was pleasant, and curiously exciting, too. "well---" conceded susan, as she gathered her draperies about her, and went to stand at the fence, and gaze childlishly up at the stars. billy, also resting elbows on the old rail, stood beside her, and never moved his eyes from her face. the half-hour that followed both of them would remember as long as they lived. slowly, gloriously, the moon climbed up the dark blue dome of the sky, and spread her silver magic on the landscape; the valley below them swam in pale mist, clean-cut shadows fell from the nearby forest. the murmur of young voices rose and fell--rose and fell. there were little silences, now and then susan's subdued laughter. susan thought her lover magnificent in the moonlight; what billy thought of the lovely downcast face, the loose braid of hair that caught a dull gleam from the moon, the slender elbows bare on the rail, the breast that rose and fell, under her light wraps, with susan's quickened breathing, perhaps he tried to tell her. "but i must go in!" she protested presently. "this has been wonderful, but i must go in!" "but why? we've just begun talking--and after all, sue, you're going to be my wife!" the word spurred her. in a panic susan gave him a swift half-kiss, and fled, breathless and dishevelled, back to the porch. and a moment later she had fallen into a sleep as deep as a child's, her prayer of gratitude half-finished. chapter vi the days that followed were brightened or darkened with moods so intense, that it was a real, if secret, relief to susan when the forest visit was over, and sun-burned and shabby and loaded with forest spoils, they all came home again. jim's first position awaited him, and anna was assistant matron in the surgical hospital now,--fated to see the man she loved almost every day, and tortured afresh daily by the realization of his greatness, his wealth, his quiet, courteous disregard of the personality of the dark-eyed, deft little nurse. dr. conrad hoffman was seventeen years older than anna. susan secretly thought of anna's attachment as quite hopeless. philip and betts and susan were expected back at their respective places too, and billy was deeply interested in the outcome of the casual, friendly letters he had written during the month in camp to joseph rassette. these letters had been passed about among the men until they were quite worn out; clem cudahy had finally had one or two printed, for informal distribution, and there had been a little sensation over them. now, eastern societies had written asking for back numbers of the "oliver letter," and a labor journal had printed one almost in full. clement cudahy was anxious to discuss with billy the feasibility of printing such a letter weekly for regular circulation, and billy thought well of the idea, and was eager to begin the enterprise. susan was glad to get back to the little "democrat," and worked very hard during the fall and winter. she was not wholly happy, or, rather, she was not happy all the time. there were times, especially when billy was not about, when it seemed very pleasant to be introduced as an engaged girl, and to get the respectful, curious looks of other girls. she liked to hear mrs. carroll and anna praise billy, and she liked betts' enthusiasm about him. but little things about him worried her inordinately, sometimes she resented, for a whole silent evening, his absorption in other people, sometimes grew pettish and unresponsive and offended because he could keep neither eyes nor hands from her. and there were evenings when they seemed to have nothing to talk about, and billy, too tired to do anything but drowse in his big chair, was confronted with an alert and horrified susan, sick with apprehension of all the long evenings, throughout all the years. susan was fretted by the financial barrier to the immediate marriage, too, it was humiliating, at twenty-six, to be affected by a mere matter of dollars and cents. they quarreled, and came home silently from a dinner in town, susan's real motive in yielding to a reconciliation being her disinclination to confess to mrs. carroll,--and those motherly eyes read her like a book,--that she was punishing billy for asking her not to "show off" before the waiter! but early in the new year, they were drawn together by rapidly maturing plans. the "oliver letter," called the "saturday protest" now, was fairly launched. billy was less absorbed in the actual work, and began to feel sure of a moderate success. he had rented for his office half of the lower floor of an old house in the mission. like all the old homes that still stand to mark the era when valencia street was as desired an address as california street is to-day, it stood upon bulkheaded ground, with a fat-pillared wooden fence bounding the wide lawns. the fence was full of gaps, and the house, with double bay-windows, and with a porch over its front door, was shabby and bare. its big front door usually stood open; opposite billy, across a wide hall, was a modest little millinery establishment, upstairs a nurses' home, and a woman photographer occupied the top floor. the "protest," a slim little sheet, innocent of contributed matter or advertising, and written, proofed and set up by billy's own hands, was housed in what had been the big front drawing-room. billy kept house in the two back rooms that completed the little suite. susan first saw the house on a saturday in january, a day that they both remembered afterwards as being the first on which their marriage began to seem a definite thing. it was in answer to billy's rather vague suggestion that they must begin to look at flats in the neighborhood that susan said, half in earnest: "we couldn't begin here, i suppose? have the office downstairs in the big front room, and clean up that old downstairs kitchen, and fix up these three rooms!" billy dismissed the idea. but it rose again, when they walked downtown, in the afternoon sunlight, and kept them in animated talk over a happy dinner. "the rent for the whole thing is only twenty dollars!" said susan, "and we can fix it all up, pretty old-fashioned papers, and white paint! you won't know it!" "i adore you, sue--isn't this fun?" was william's somewhat indirect answer. they missed one boat, missed another, finally decided to leave it to mrs. carroll. mrs. carroll's decision was favorable. "loads of sunlight and fresh air, sue, and well up off the ground!" she summarized it. the decision made all sorts of madness reasonable. if they were to live there, would this thing fit--would that thing fit--why not see paperers at once, why not look at stoves? susan and billy must "get an idea" of chairs and tables, must "get an idea" of curtains and rugs. "and when do you think, children?" asked mrs. carroll. "june," said susan, all roses. "april," said the masterful male. "oh, doesn't it begin to seem exciting!" burst from betsey. the engagement was an old story now, but this revived interest in it. "clothes!" said anna rapturously. "sue, you must be married in another pongee, you never had anything so becoming!" "we must decide about the wedding too," mrs. carroll said. "certain old friends of your mother, sue---" "barrows can get me announcements at cost," philip contributed. after that susan and billy had enough to talk about. love-making must be managed at odd moments; billy snatched a kiss when the man who was selling them linoleums turned his back for a moment; susan offered him another as she demurely flourished the coffee-pot, in the deep recesses of a hardware shop. "do let me have my girl for two seconds together!" billy pleaded, when between anna, with samples of gowns, betts, wild with excitement over an arriving present, and mrs. carroll's anxiety that they should not miss a certain auction sale, he had only distracted glimpses of his sweetheart. it is an undeniable and blessed thing that, to the girl who is buying it, the most modest trousseau in the world seems wonderful and beautiful and complete beyond dreams. susan's was far from being the most modest in the world, and almost every day brought her beautiful additions to it. georgie, kept at home by a delicate baby, sent one delightful box after another; mary lou sent a long strip of beautiful lace, wrapped about ferd's check for a hundred dollars. "it was aunt sue rose's lace," wrote mary lou, "and i am going to send you a piece of darling ma's, too, and one or two of her spoons." this reminded georgie of "aunt sue rose's box," which, unearthed, brought forth more treasures; a thin old silver ladle, pointed tea-spoons connected with susan's infant memories of castor-oil. virginia had a blind friend from whom she ordered a wonderful knitted field-coat. anna telephoned about a patient who must go into mourning, and wanted to sell at less than half its cost, the loveliest of rose-wreathed hats. susan and anna shopped together, anna consulting a shabby list, susan rushing off at a hundred tangents. boxes and boxes and boxes came home, the engagement cups had not stopped coming when the wedding presents began. the spareroom closet was hung with fragrant new clothes, its bed was heaped with tissue-wrapped pieces of silver. susan crossed the bay two or three times a week to rush through some bit of buying, and to have dinner with billy. they liked all the little spanish and french restaurants, loitered over their sweet black coffee, and dry cheese, explored the fascinating dark streets of the chinese quarter, or went to see the "marionettes" next door to the old broadway jail. all of it appealed to susan's hunger for adventure, she wove romances about the french families among whom they dined,--stout fathers, thin, nervous mothers, stolid, claret-drinking little girls, with manes of black hair,--about the chinese girls, with their painted lips, and the old italian fishers, with scales glittering on their rough coats. "we've got to run for it, if we want it!" billy would say, snatching her coat from a chair. susan after jabbing in her hatpins before a mirror decorated with arabesques of soap, would rush with him into the street. fog and pools of rain water all about, closed warehouses and lighted saloons, dark crossings--they raced madly across the ferry place at last, with the clock in the tower looking down on them. "we're all right now!" billy would gasp. but they still ran, across the long line of piers, and through the empty waiting-room, and the iron gates. "that was the closest yet!" susan, reaching the upper deck, could stop to breathe. there were seats facing the water, under the engine-house, where billy might put his arm about her unobserved. their talk went on. usually they had the night boat to themselves, but now and then susan saw somebody that she knew on board. one night she went in to talk for a moment with ella saunders. ella was gracious, casual. ken was married, as susan knew,--the newspapers had left nothing to be imagined of the most brilliant of the season's matches, and pictures of the fortunate bride, caught by the cameras as she made her laughing way to her carriage, a white blur of veil and flowers, had appeared everywhere. emily was not well, said ella, might spend the summer in the east; mama was not very well. she asked susan no questions, and susan volunteered nothing. and on another occasion they were swept into the company of the furlongs. isabel was obviously charmed with billy, and billy, susan thought, made john furlong seem rather stupid and youthful. "and you must come and dine with us!" said isabel. obviously not in the month before the wedding, isabel's happy excuses, in an aside to susan, were not necessary, "---but when you come back," said isabel. "and you with us in our funny little rooms in the mission," susan said gaily. isabel took her husband's arm, and gave it a little squeeze. "he'd love to!" she assured susan. "he just loves things like that. and you must let us help get the dinner!" on sundays the old walks to the beach had been resumed, and the hills never had seemed to susan as beautiful as they did this year, when the first spring sweetness began to pierce the air, and the breeze brought faint odors of grass, and good wet earth, and violets. spring this year meant to the girl's glowing and ardent nature what it meant to the birds, with apple-blossoms and mustard-tops, lilacs and blue skies, would come the mating time. susan was the daughter of her time; she did not know why all the world seemed made for her now; her heritage of ignorance and fear was too great. but nature, stronger than any folly of her children, made her great claim none the less. susan thrilled in the sunshine and warm air, dreamed of her lover's kisses, gloried in the fact that youth was not to pass her by without youth's hour. by march all sausalito was mantled with acacia bloom, and the silent warm days were sweet with violets. the sunshine was soft and warm, if there was still chill in the shade. the endless weeks had dragged themselves away; susan and billy were going to be married. susan walked in a radiant dream, curiously wrapped away from reality, yet conscious, in a new and deep and poignant way, of every word, of every waking instant. "i am going to be married next week," she heard herself saying. other women glanced at her; she knew they thought her strangely unmoved. she thought herself so. but she knew that running under the serene surface of her life was a dazzling great river of joy! susan could not look upon it yet. her eyes were blinded. presents came in, more presents. a powder box from ella, candle-sticks from emily, a curiously embroidered tablecloth from the kenneth saunders in switzerland. and from old mrs. saunders a rather touching note, a request that susan buy herself "something pretty," with a check for fifty dollars, "from her sick old friend, fanny saunders." mary lou, very handsomely dressed and prosperous, and her beaming husband, came down for the wedding. mary lou had a hundred little babyish, new mannerisms, she radiated the complacency of the adored woman, and, when susan spoke of billy, mary lou was instantly reminded of ferd, the salary ferd made at twenty, the swiftness of his rise in the business world, his present importance. mary lou could not hide the pity she felt for susan's very modest beginning. "i wish ferd could find billy some nice, easy position," said mary lou. "i don't like you to live out in that place. i don't believe ma would!" virginia was less happy than her sister. the eastmans were too busy together to remember her loneliness. "sometimes it seems as if mary lou just likes to have me there to remind her how much better off she is," said virginia mildly, to susan. "ferd buys her things, and takes her places, and all i can do is admire and agree! of course they're angels," added virginia, wiping her eyes, "but i tell you it's hard to be dependent, sue!" susan sympathized, laughed, chattered, stood still under dressmakers' hands, dashed off notes, rushed into town for final purchases, opened gifts, consulted with everyone,--all in a golden, whirling dream. sometimes a cold little doubt crossed her mind, and she wondered whether she was taking all this too much for granted, whether she really loved billy, whether they should not be having serious talks now, whether changes, however hard, were not wiser "before than after"? but it was too late for that now. the big wheels were set in motion, the day was coming nearer and more near. susan's whole being was tuned to the great event; she felt herself the pivot upon which all her world turned. a hundred things a day brought the happy color to her face, stopped her heart-beats for a second. she had a little nervous qualm over the announcements; she dreamed for a moment over the cards that bore the new name of mrs. william jerome oliver. "it seems so--so funny to have these things here in my trunk, before i'm married!" said susan. anna came home, gravely radiant; betsy exulted in a new gown of flimsy embroidered linen; philip, in the character of best man, referred to a list of last-moment reminders. three days more--two days more--then susan was to be married to-morrow. she and billy had enough that was practical to discuss the last night, before he must run for his boat. she went with him to the door. "i'm going to be crazy about my wife!" whispered billy, with his arms about her. susan was not in a responsive mood. "i'm dead!" she said wearily, resting her head against his shoulder like a tired child. she went upstairs slowly to her room. it was strewn with garments and hats and cardboard boxes; susan's suitcase, with the things in it that she would need for a fortnight in the woods, was open on the table. the gas flared high, betsey at the mirror was trying a new method of arranging her hair. mrs. carroll was packing susan's trunk, anna sat on the bed. "sue, dear," said the mother, "are you going to be warm enough up in the forest? it may be pretty cold." "oh, we'll have fires!" susan said. "well, you are the coolest!" ejaculated betsey. "i should think you'd feel so funny, going up there alone with billy---" "i'd feel funnier going up without him," susan said equably. she got into a loose wrapper, braided her hair. mrs. carroll and betsey kissed her and went away; susan and anna talked for a few minutes, then susan went to sleep. but anna lay awake for a long time thinking,--thinking what it would be like to know that only a few hours lay between the end of the old life and the beginning of the new. "my wedding day." susan said it slowly when she awakened in the morning. she felt that the words should convey a thrill, but somehow the day seemed much like any other day. anna was gone, there was a subdued sound of voices downstairs. a day that ushered in the full glory of the spring. all the flowers were blooming at once, at noon the air was hot and still, not a leaf stirred. before susan had finished her late breakfast billy arrived; there was talk of tickets and train time before she went upstairs. mary lou had come early to watch the bride dress; good, homely, happy miss lydia lord must run up to susan's room too,--the room was full of women. isabel furlong was throned in the big chair, john was to take her away before the wedding, but she wanted to kiss susan in her wedding gown. susan presently saw a lovely bride, smiling in the depths of the mirror, and was glad for billy's sake that she looked "nice." tall and straight, with sky-blue eyes shining under a crown of bright hair, with the new corsets setting off the lovely gown to perfection, her mother's lace at her throat and wrists, and the rose-wreathed hat matching her cheeks, she looked the young and happy woman she was, stepping bravely into the world of loving and suffering. the pretty gown must be gathered up safely for the little walk to church. "are we all ready?" asked susan, running concerned eyes over the group. "don't worry about us!" said philip. "you're the whole show to-day!" in a dream they were walking through the fragrant roads, in a dream they entered the unpretentious little church, and were questioned by the small spanish sexton at the door. no, that was miss carroll,--this was miss brown. yes, everyone was here. the groom and his best man had gone in the other door. who would give away the bride? this gentleman, mr. eastman, who was just now standing very erect and offering her his arm. susan ralston brown--william jerome oliver--quite right. but they must wait a moment; the sexton must go around by the vestry for some last errand. the little organ wheezed forth a march; susan walked slowly at ferd eastman's side,--stopped,--and heard a rich italian voice asking questions in a free and kindly whisper. the gentleman this side--and the lady here--so! the voice suddenly boomed out loud and clear and rapid. susan knew that this was billy beside her, but she could not raise her eyes. she studied the pattern that fell on the red altar-carpet through a sun-flooded window. she told herself that she must think now seriously; she was getting married. this was one of the great moments of her life. she raised her head, looked seriously into the kind old face so near her, glanced at billy, who was very pale. "i will," said susan, clearing her throat. she reflected in a panic that she had not been ready for the question, and wondered vaguely if that invalidated her marriage, in the eyes of heaven at least. getting married seemed a very casual and brief matter. susan wished that there was more form to it; pages, and heralds with horns, and processions. what an awful carpet this red one must be to sweep, showing every speck! she and billy had painted their floors, and would use rugs---- this was getting married. "i wish my mother was here!" said susan to herself, perfunctorily. the words had no meaning for her. they knelt down to pray. and suddenly susan, whose ungloved hand, with its lilies-of-the-valley, had dropped by her side, was thrilled to the very depth of her being by the touch of billy's cold fingers on hers. her heart flooded with a sudden rushing sense of his goodness, his simplicity. he was marrying his girl, and praying for them both, his whole soul was filled with the solemn responsibility he incurred now. she clung to his hand, and shut her eyes. "oh, god, take care of us," she prayed, "and make us love each other, and make us good! make us good---" she was deep in her prayer, eyes tightly closed, lips moving fast, when suddenly everything was over. billy and she were walking down the aisle again, susan's ringed hand on the arm that was hers now, to the end of the world. "billy, you didn't kiss her!" betts reproached him in the vestibule. "didn't i? well, i will!" he had a fragrant, bewildered kiss from his wife before anna and mrs. carroll and all the others claimed her. then they walked home, and susan protested that it did not seem right to sit at the head of the flower trimmed table, and let everyone wait on her. she ran upstairs with anna to get into her corduroy camping-suit, and dashing little rough hat, ran down for kisses and good-byes. betsey--mary lou--philip--mary lou again. "good-bye, adorable darling!" said betts, laughing through tears. "good-bye, dearest," whispered anna, holding her close. "good-bye, my own girl!" the last kiss was for mrs. carroll, and susan knew of whom the mother was thinking as the first bride ran down the path. "well, aren't they all darlings?" said young mrs. oliver, in the train. "corkers!" agreed the groom. "don't you want to take your hat off, sue?" "well, i think i will," susan said pleasantly. conversation languished. "tired, dear?" "oh, no!" susan said brightly. "i wonder if you can smoke in here," billy observed, after a pause. "i don't believe you can!" susan said, interestedly. "well, when he comes through i'll ask him---" susan felt as if she should never speak spontaneously again. she was very tired, very nervous, able, with cold dispassion, to wonder what she and billy oliver were doing in this close, dirty train,--to wonder why people ever spoke of a wedding-day as especially pleasant,--what people found in life worth while, anyway! she thought that it would be extremely silly in them to attempt to reach the cabin to-night; far more sensible to stay at farwoods, where there was a little hotel, or, better yet, go back to the city. but billy, although a little regretful for the darkness in which they ended their journey, suggested no change of plan, and susan found herself unable to open the subject. she made the stage trip wedged in between billy and the driver, climbed down silently at the foot of the familiar trail, and carried the third suitcase up to the cabin. "you can't hurt that dress, can you, sue?" said billy, busy with the key. "no!" susan said, eager for the commonplace. "it's made for just this!" "then hustle and unpack the eats, will you? and i'll start a fire!" "two seconds!" susan took off her hat, and enveloped herself in a checked apron. there was a heavy chill in the room; there was that blank forbidding air in the dusty, orderly room that follows months of unuse. susan unpacked, went to and fro briskly; the claims of housekeeping reassured and soothed her. billy made thundering journeys for wood. presently there was a flare of lighted papers in the fireplace, and the heartening snap and crackle of wood. the room was lighted brilliantly; delicious odors of sap mingled with the fragrance from susan's coffee pot. "oh, keen idea!" said billy, when she brought the little table close to the hearth. "gee, that's pretty!" he added, as she shook over it the little fringed tablecloth, and laid the blue plates neatly at each side. "isn't this fun?" it burst spontaneously from the bride. "fun!" billy flung down an armful of logs, and came to stand beside her, watching the flames. "lord, susan," he said, with simple force, "if you only knew how perfect you seem to me! if you only knew how many years i've been thinking how beautiful you were, and how clever, and how far above me----!" "go right on thinking so, darling!" said susan, practically, escaping from his arm, and taking her place behind the cold chicken. "do ye feel like ye could eat a little mite, pa?" asked she. "well, i dunno, mebbe i could!" william answered hilariously. "say, sue, oughtn't those blankets be out here, airing?" he added suddenly. "oh, do let's have dinner first. they make everything look so horrid," said young mrs. oliver, composedly carving. "they can dry while we're doing the dishes." "you know, until we can afford a maid, i'm going to help you every night with the dishes," said billy. "well, don't put on airs about it," susan said briskly. "or i'll leave you to do them entirely alone, while i run over the latest songs on the piarno. here now, deary, chew this nicely, and when i've had all i want, perhaps i'll give you some more!" "sue, aren't we going to have fun--doing things like this all our lives?" "_i_ think we are," said susan demurely. it was strange, it had its terrifying phases, but it was curiously exciting and wonderful, too, this wearing of a man's ring and his name, and being alone with him up here in the great forest. "this is life--this is all good and right," the new-made wife said to herself, with a flutter at her heart. and across her mind there flitted a fragment of the wedding-prayer, "in shamefacedness grave." "i will be grave," thought susan. "i will be a good wife, with god's help!" again morning found the cabin flooded with sunlight, and for all their happy days there the sun shone, and summer silences made the woods seem like june. "billum, if only we didn't have to go back!" said william's wife, seated on a stump, and watching him clean trout for their supper, in the soft close of an afternoon. "darling, i love to have you sitting there, with your little feet tucked under you, while i work," said william enthusiastically. "i know," susan agreed absently. "but don't you wish we didn't?" she resumed, after a moment. "well, in a way i do," billy answered, stooping to souse a fish in the stream beside which he was kneeling. "but there's the 'protest' you know,--there's a lot to do! and we'll come back here, every year. we'll work like mad for eleven months, and then come up here and loaf." "but, bill, how do we know we can manage it financially?" said susan prudently. "oh, lord, we'll manage it!" he answered comfortably. "unless, of course, you want to have all the kids brought up in white stockings," grinned billy, "and have their pictures taken every month!" "up here," said susan dreamily, yet very earnestly too, "i feel so sure of myself! i love the simplicity, i love the work, i could entertain the king of england right here in this forest and not be ashamed! but when we go back, bill, and i realize that isabel wallace may come in and find me pressing my window curtains, or that we honestly can't afford to send someone a handsome wedding present, i'll begin to be afraid. i know that now and then i'll find myself investing in finger-bowls or salted almonds, just because other people do." "well, that's not actionable for divorce, woman!" susan laughed, but did not answer. she sat looking idly down the long aisles of the forest, palpitating to-day with a rush of new fragrance, new color, new song. far above, beyond the lacing branches of the redwoods, a buzzard hung motionless in a blue, blue sky. "bill," she said presently, "i could live at a settlement house, and be happy all my life showing other women how to live. but when it comes to living down among them, really turning my carpets and scrubbing my own kitchen, i'm sometimes afraid that i'm not big enough woman to be happy!" "why, but, sue dear, there's a decent balance at the bank. we'll build on the panhandle lots some day, and something comes in from the blue-prints, right along. if you get your own dinner five nights a week, we'll be trotting downtown on other nights, or over at the carrolls', or up here." billy stood up. "there's precious little real poverty in the world," he said, cheerfully, "we'll work out our list of expenses, and we'll stick to it! but we're going to prove how easy it is to prosper, not how easy it is to go under. we're the salt of the earth!" "you're big; i'm not," said susan, rubbing her head against him as he sat beside her on the stump. but his nearness brought her dimples back, and the sober mood passed. "bill, if i die and you remarry, promise me, oh, promise! that you won't bring her here!" "no, darling, my second wife is going to choose del monte or coronado!" william assured her. "i'll bet she does, the cat!" susan agreed gaily, "you know when elsie rice married jerry philips," she went on, in sudden recollection, "they went to del monte. they were both bridge fiends, even when they were engaged everyone who gave them dinners had to have cards afterwards. well, it seems they went to del monte, and they moped about for a day or two, and, finally, jerry found out that the joe carrs were at santa cruz,--the carrs play wonderful bridge. so he and elsie went straight up there, and they played every afternoon and every night for the next two weeks,--and all went to the yosemite together, even playing on the train all the way!" "what a damn fool class for any nation to carry!" billy commented, mildly. "ah, well," susan said, joyfully, "we'll fix them all! and when there are model poorhouses and prisons, and single tax, and labor pensions, and eight-hour days, and free wool--then we'll come back here and settle down in the woods for ever and ever!" chapter vii in the years that followed they did come back to the big woods, but not every year, for in the beginning of their life together there were hard times, and troubled times, when even a fortnight's irresponsibility and ease was not possible. yet they came often enough to keep fresh in their hearts the memory of great spaces and great silences, and to dream their old dreams. the great earthquake brought them home hurriedly from their honeymoon, and susan had her work to do, amid all the confusion that followed the uprooting of ten thousand homes. young mrs. oliver listened to terrible stories, while she distributed second-hand clothing, and filed cards, walked back to her own little kitchen at five o'clock to cook her dinner, and wrapped and addressed copies of the "protest" far into the night. with the deeper social problems that followed the days of mere physical need,--what was in her of love and charity rushed into sudden blossoming,--she found that her inexperienced hands must deal. she, whose wifehood was all joy and sanity, all sweet and mysterious deepening of the color of life, encountered now the hideous travesty of wifehood and motherhood, met by immature, ill-nourished bodies, and hearts sullen and afraid. "you ought not be seeing these things now," billy warned her. but susan shook her head. "it's good for me, billy. and it's good for the little person, too. it's no credit to him that he's more fortunate than these--he needn't feel so superior!" smiled susan. every cent must be counted in these days. susan and billy laughed long afterward to remember that on many a sunday they walked over to the little general post office in mission street, hoping for a subscription or two in the mail, to fan the dying fires of the "protest" for a few more days. better times came; the little sheet struck roots, carried a modest advertisement or two, and a woman's column under the heading "mary jane's letter" whose claims kept the editor's wife far too busy. as in the early days of her marriage all the women of the world had been simply classified as wives or not wives, so now susan saw no distinction except that of motherhood or childlessness. when she lay sick, feverish and confused, in the first hours that followed the arrival of her first-born, she found her problem no longer that of the individual, no longer the question merely of little martin's crib and care and impending school and college expenses. it was the great burden of the mothers of the world that susan took upon her shoulders. why so much strangeness and pain, why such ignorance of rules and needs, she wondered. she lay thinking of tired women, nervous women, women hanging over midnight demands of colic and croup, women catching the little forms back from the treacherous open window, and snatching away the dangerous bottle from little hands---! "miss allen," said susan, out of a silence, "he doesn't seem to be breathing. the blanket hasn't gotten over his little face, has it?" so began the joyous martyrdom. susan's heart would never beat again only for herself. hand in hand with the rapture of owning the baby walked the terror of losing him. his meals might have been a special miracle, so awed and radiant was susan's face when she had him in her arms. his goodness, when he was good, seemed to her no more remarkable than his badness, when he was bad. susan ran to him after the briefest absences with icy fear at her heart. he had loosened a pin--gotten it into his mouth, he had wedged his darling little head in between the bars of his crib---! but she left him very rarely. what susan did now must be done at home. her six-days-old son asleep beside her, she was discovered by anna cheerfully dictating to her nurse "mary jane's letter" for an approaching issue of the "protest." the young mother laughed joyfully at anna's concern, but later, when the trained nurse was gone, and the warm heavy days of the hot summer came, when fat little martin was restless through the long, summer nights with teething, susan's courage and strength were put to a hard test. "we ought to get a girl in to help you," billy said, distressedly, on a night when susan, flushed and excited, refused his help everywhere, and attempted to manage baby and dinner and house unassisted. "we ought to get clothes and china and linen and furniture,--we ought to move out of this house and this block!" susan wanted to say. but with some effort she refrained from answering at all, and felt tears sting her eyes when billy carried the baby off, to do with his big gentle fingers all the folding and pinning and buttoning that preceded martin's disappearance for the evening. "never mind!" susan said later, smiling bravely over the dinner table, "he needs less care every day! he'll soon be walking and amusing himself." but martin was only staggering uncertainly and far from self-sufficient when billy junior came laughing into the family group. "how do women do it!" thought susan, recovering slowly from a second heavy drain on nerves and strength. no other child, of course, would ever mean to her quite what the oldest son meant. the first-born is the miracle, brought from heaven itself through the very gates of death, a pioneer, merciless and helpless, a little monarch whose kingdom never existed before the day he set up his feeble little cry. all the delightful innovations are for him,--the chair, the mug, the little airings, the remodeled domestic routine. "pain in his poor little tum!" susan said cheerfully and tenderly, when the youthful billy cried. under exactly similar circumstances, with martin, she had shed tears of terror and despair, while billy, shivering in his nightgown, had hung at the telephone awaiting her word to call the doctor. martin's tawny, finely shaped little head, the grip of his sturdy, affectionate little arms, his early voyages into the uncharted sea of english speech,--these were so many marvels to his mother and father. but it had to be speedily admitted that billy had his own particular charm too. the two were in everything a sharp contrast. martin's bright hair blew in loose waves, billy's dark curls fitted his head like a cap. martin's eyes were blue and grave, billy's dancing and brown. martin used words carefully, with a nice sense of values, billy achieved his purposes with stamping and dimpling, and early coined a tiny vocabulary of his own. martin slept flat on his small back, a muscular little viking drifting into unknown waters, but drowsiness must always capture billy alive and fighting. susan untangled him nightly from his covers, loosened his small fingers from the bars of his crib. she took her maternal responsibilities gravely. billy senior thought it very amusing to see her, buttering a bowl for bread-pudding, or running small garments through her machine, while she recited "the pied piper" or "goblin market" to a rapt audience of two staring babies. but somehow the sight was a little touching, too. "bill, don't you honestly think that they're smarter than other children, or is it just because they're mine?" susan would ask. and billy always answered in sober good faith, "no, it's not you, dear, for i see it too! and they really are unusual!" susan sometimes put both boys into the carriage and went to see georgie, to whose group a silent, heavy little boy had now been added. mrs. o'connor was a stout, complacent little person; the doctor's mother was dead, and georgie spoke of her with sad affection and reverence. the old servant stayed on, tirelessly devoted to the new mistress, as she had been to the old, and passionately proud of the children. joe's practice had grown enormously; joe kept a runabout now, and on sundays took his well-dressed wife out with him to the park. they had a circle of friends very much like themselves, prosperous young fathers and mothers, and there was a pleasant rivalry in card-parties, and the dressing of little boys and girls. myra and helen, colored ribbons tying their damp, straight, carefully ringletted hair, were a nicely mannered little pair, and the boy fat and sweet and heavy. "georgie is absolutely satisfied," susan said wistfully. "do you think we will ever reach our ideals, aunt jo, as she has hers?" it was a summer saturday, only a month or two after the birth of william junior. susan had not been to sausalito for a long time, and mrs. carroll was ending a day's shopping with a call on mother and babies. martin, drowsy and contented, was in her arms. susan, luxuriating in an hour's idleness and gossip, sat near the open window, with the tiny billy. outside, a gusty august wind was sweeping chaff and papers before it; passers-by dodged it as if it were sleet. "i think there's no question about it, sue," mrs. carroll's motherly voice said, cheerfully. "this is a hard time; you and billy are both doing too much,--but this won't last! you'll come out of it some day, dear, a splendid big experienced woman, ready for any big work. and then you'll look back, and think that the days when the boys needed you every hour were short enough. character is the one thing that you have to buy this way, sue,--by effort and hardship and self-denial!" "but after all," susan said somberly, so eager to ease her full heart that she must keep her voice low to keep it steady, "after all, aunt jo, aren't there lots of women who do this sort of thing year in and year out and don't achieve anything? as a means to an end," said susan, groping for words, "as a road--this is comprehensible, but--but one hates to think of it as a goal!" "hundreds of women reach their highest ambitions, sue," the other woman answered thoughtfully, "without necessarily reaching yours. it depends upon which star you've selected for your wagon, sue! you have just been telling me that the lords, for instance, are happier than crowned kings, in their little garden, with a state position assured for lydia. then there's georgie; georgie is one of the happiest women i ever saw! and when you remember that the first thirty years of her life were practically wasted, it makes you feel very hopeful of anyone's life!" "yes, but i couldn't be happy as mary and lydia are, and georgie's life would drive me to strong drink!" susan said, with a flash of her old fire. "exactly. so your fulfilment will come in some other way,--some way that they would probably think extremely terrifying or unconventional or strange. meanwhile you are learning something every day, about women who have tiny babies to care for, about housekeeping as half the women of the world have to regard it. all that is extremely useful, if you ever want to do anything that touches women. about office work you know, about life downtown. some day just the use for all this will come to you, and then i'll feel that i was quite right when i expected great things of my sue!" "of me?" stammered susan. a lovely color crept into her thin cheeks and a tear splashed down upon the cheek of the sleeping baby. anna's dearest dream was suddenly realized that summer, and anna, lovelier than ever, came out to tell sue of the chance meeting with doctor hoffmann in the laboratory that had, in two short minutes, turned the entire current of her life. it was all wonderful and delightful beyond words, not a tiny cloud darkened the sky. conrad hoffmann was forty-five years old, seventeen years older than his promised wife, but splendidly tall and strong, and--anna and susan agreed--strikingly handsome. he was at the very top of his profession, managed his own small surgical hospital, and maintained one of the prettiest homes in the city. a musician, a humanitarian, rich in his own right, he was so conspicuous a figure among the unmarried men of san francisco that anna's marriage created no small stir, and the six weeks of her engagement were packed with affairs in her honor. susan's little sons were presently taken to sausalito to be present at aunt anna's wedding. susan was nervous and tired before she had finished her own dressing, wrapped and fed the beribboned baby, and slipped the wriggling martin into his best white clothes. but she forgot everything but pride and pleasure when betsey, the bride and "grandma" fell with shrieks of rapture upon the children, and during the whole happy day she found herself over and over again at billy's side, listening to him, watching him, and his effect on other people, slipping her hand into his. it was as if, after quiet months of taking him for granted, she had suddenly seen her big, clever, gentle husband as a stranger again, and fallen again in love with him. susan felt strangely older than anna to-day; she thought of that other day when she and billy had gone up to the big woods; she remembered the odor of roses and acacia, the fragrance of her gown, the stiffness of her rose-crowned hat. anna and conrad were going away to germany for six months, and susan and the babies spent a happy week in anna's old room. betsey was filling what had been susan's position on the "democrat" now, and cherished literary ambitions. "oh, why must you go, sue?" mrs. carroll asked, wistfully, when the time for packing came. "couldn't you stay on awhile, it's so lovely to have you here!" but susan was firm. she had had her holiday; billy could not divide his time between sausalito and the "protest" office any longer. they crossed the bay in mid-afternoon, and the radiant husband and father met them at the ferry. susan sighed in supreme relief as he lifted the older boy to his shoulder, and picked up the heavy suitcase. "we could send that?" submitted susan, but billy answered by signaling a carriage, and placing his little family inside. "oh, bill, you plutocrat!" susan said, sinking back with a great sigh of pleasure. "well, my wife doesn't come home every day!" billy said beaming. susan felt, in some subtle climatic change, that the heat of the summer was over. mission street slept under a soft autumn haze; the hint of a cool night was already in the air. in the dining-room, as she entered with her baby in her arms, she saw that a new table and new chairs replaced the old ones, a ruffled little cotton house-gown was folded neatly on the table. a new, hooded baby-carriage awaited little billy. "oh, billy!" the baby was bundled unceremoniously into his new coach, and susan put her arms about her husband's neck. "you oughtn't!" she protested. "clem and mrs. cudahy sent the carriage," billy beamed. "and you did the rest! bill, dear--when i am such a tired, cross apology for a wife!" susan found nothing in life so bracing as the arm that was now tight about her. she had a full minute's respite before the boys' claims must be met. "what first, sue?" asked billy. "dinner's all ordered, and the things are here, but i guess you'll have to fix things---" "i'll feed baby while you give mart his milk and toast," susan said capably, "then i'll get into something comfortable and we'll put them off, and you can set the table while i get dinner! it's been a heavenly week, billy dear," said susan, settling herself in a low rocker, "but it does seem good to get home!" the next spring all four did indeed go up to the woods, but it was after a severe attack of typhoid fever on billy senior's part, and susan was almost too much exhausted in every way to trust herself to the rough life of the cabin. but they came back after a month's gypsying so brown and strong and happy that even susan had forgotten the horrors of the winter, and in mid-summer the "protest" moved into more dignified quarters, and the olivers found the comfortable old house in oakland that was to be a home for them all for a long time. oakland was chosen because it is near the city, yet country-like enough to be ideal for children. the house was commonplace, shabby and cheaply built, but to susan it seemed delightfully roomy and comfortable, and she gloried in the big yards, the fruit trees, and the old-fashioned garden. she cared for her sweet-pea vines and her chickens while the little boys tumbled about her, or connived against the safety of the cat, and she liked her neighbors, simple women who advised her about her plants, and brought their own babies over to play with mart and billy. certain old interests susan found that she must sacrifice for a time at least. even with the reliable, capable, obstinate personage affectionately known as "big mary" in the kitchen, they could not leave the children for more than a few hours at a time. susan had to let some of the old friends go; she had neither the gowns nor the time for afternoon calls, nor had she the knowledge of small current events that is more important than either. she and billy could not often dine in town and go to the theater, for running expenses were heavy, the "protest" still a constant problem, and big mary did not lend herself readily to sudden changes and interruptions. entertaining, in any formal sense, was also out of the question, for to be done well it must be done constantly and easily, and the oliver larder and linen closet did not lend itself to impromptu suppers and long dinners. susan was too concerned in the manufacture of nourishing puddings and soups, too anxious to have thirty little brown stockings and twenty little blue suits hanging on the line every monday morning to jeopardize the even running of her domestic machinery with very much hospitality. she loved to have any or all of the carrolls with her, welcomed billy's business associates warmly, and three times a year had georgie and her family come to a one o'clock sunday dinner, and planned for the comfort of the o'connors, little and big, with the greatest pleasure and care. but this was almost the extent of her entertaining in these days. isabel furlong had indeed tried to bridge the gulf that lay between their manners of living, with a warm and sweet insistence that had conquered even the home-loving billy. isabel had silenced all of susan's objections--susan must bring the boys; they would have dinner with isabel's own boy, alan, then the children could all go to sleep in the furlong nursery, and the mothers have a chat and a cup of tea before it was time to dress for dinner. isabel's car should come all the way to oakland for them, and take them all home again the next day. "but, angel dear, i haven't a gown!" protested susan. "oh, sue, just ourselves and daddy and john's mother!" "i could freshen up my black---" mused susan. "of course you could!" triumphed isabel. and her enthusiasm carried the day. the olivers went to dine and spend the night with the furlongs, and were afterward sorry. in the first place, it was expensive. susan indeed "freshened up" the black gown, but slippers and gloves, a belt and a silk petticoat were new for the occasion. the boys' wardrobes, too, were supplemented with various touches that raised them nearer the level of young alan's clothes; billy's dress suit was pressed, and at the last moment there seemed nothing to be done but buy a new suitcase--his old one was quite too shabby. the children behaved well, but susan was too nervous about their behavior to appreciate that until the visit was long over, and the exquisite ease and order of isabel's home made her feel hopelessly clumsy, shabby and strange. her mood communicated itself somewhat to billy, but billy forgot all lesser emotions in the heat of a discussion into which he entered with isabel's father during dinner. the old man was interested, tolerant, amused. susan thought billy nothing short of rude, although the meal finished harmoniously enough, and the men made an engagement the next morning to see each other again, and thresh out the subject thoroughly. isabel kept susan until afternoon, and strolled with her across the road to show her the pretty house that had been the wallaces' home, in her mother's lifetime, empty now, and ready to lease. susan had forgotten what a charming house it really was, bowered in gardens, flooded with sunshine, old-fashioned, elegant, comfortable and spacious. the upper windows gave on the tree-hidden roofs of san rafael's nicest quarter, the hotel, the tennis-courts were but a few minutes' walk away. "oh, if only you dear people could live here, what bliss we'd have!" sighed isabel. "isabel--it's out of the question! but what's the rent?" "eighteen hundred---" submitted isabel dubiously. "what do you pay?" "we're buying, you know. we pay six per cent, on a small mortgage." "still, you could rent that house?" isabel suggested, brightening. "well, that's so!" susan let her fancy play with it. she saw mart and billy playing here, in this sheltered garden, peeping through the handsome iron fence at horsemen and motor-cars passing by. she saw them growing up among such princely children as little alan, saw herself the admired center of a group of women sensible enough to realize that young mrs. oliver was of no common clay. then she smiled and shook her head. she went home depressed and silent, vexed at herself because the question of tipping or not tipping isabel's chauffeur spoiled the last half of the trip, and absent-minded over billy's account of the day, and the boys' prayers. other undertakings, however, terminated more happily. susan went with billy to various meetings, somehow found herself in charge of a girls' dramatic club, and meeting in a bare hall with a score or two of little laundry-workers, waitresses and factory girls on every tuesday evening. sometimes it was hard to leave the home lamp-light, and come out into the cold on tuesday evenings, but susan was always glad she had made the effort when she reached the hall and when her own particular friends among the "swastika hyacinth club" girls came to meet her. she had so recently been a working girl herself that it was easy to settle down among them, easy to ask the questions that brought their confidence, easy to discuss ways and means from their standpoint. susan became very popular; the girls laughed with her, copied her, confided in her. at the monthly dances they introduced her to their "friends," and their "friends" were always rendered red and incoherent with emotion upon learning that mrs. oliver was the wife of mr. oliver of the "protest." sometimes susan took the children to see virginia, who had long ago left mary lou's home to accept a small position in the great institution for the blind. virginia, with her little class to teach, and her responsibilities when the children were in the refectory and dormitory, was a changed creature, busy, important, absorbed. she showed the toddling olivers the playroom and conservatory, and sent them home with their fat hands full of flowers. "bless their little hearts, they don't know how fortunate they are!" said virginia, saying good-bye to mart and billy. "but _i_ know!" and she sent a pitiful glance back toward her little charges. after such a visit, susan went home with a heart too full of gratitude for words. "god has given us everything in the world!" she would say to billy, looking across the hearth at him, in the silent happy evening. walking with the children, in the long spring afternoons, susan liked to go in for a moment to see lydia lord in the library. lydia would glance up from the book she was stamping, and at the sight of susan and the children, her whole plain face would brighten. she always came out from behind her little gates and fences to talk in whispers to susan, always had some little card or puzzle or fan or box for mart and billy. "and mary's well!" "well---! you never saw anything like it. yesterday she was out in the garden from eight o'clock until ten at night! and she's never alone, everyone in the neighborhood loves her---!" miss lord would accompany them to the door when they went, wave to the boys through the glass panels, and go back to her desk still beaming. happiest of all the times away from home were those susan spent with the carrolls, or with anna in the hoffmanns' beautiful city home. anna did not often come to oakland, she was never for more than a few hours out of her husband's sight, but she loved to have susan and the boys with her. the doctor wanted a glimpse of her between his operations and his lectures, would not eat his belated lunch unless his lovely wife sat opposite him, and planned a hundred delights for each of their little holidays. anna lived only for him, her color changed at his voice, her only freedom, in the hours when conrad positively must be separated from her, was spent in doing the things that pleased him, visiting his wards, practicing the music he loved, making herself beautiful in some gown that he had selected for her. "it's idolatry, mon guillaume," said mrs. oliver, briskly, when she was discussing the case of the hoffmanns with her lord. "now, i'm crazy enough about you, as you well know," continued susan, "but, at the same time, i don't turn pale, start up, and whisper, 'oh, it's willie!' when you happen to come home half an hour earlier than usual. i don't stammer with excitement when i meet you downtown, and i don't cry when you--well, yes, i do! i feel pretty badly when you have to be away overnight!" confessed susan, rather tamely. "wait until little con comes!" billy predicted comfortably. "then they'll be less strong on the balcony scene!" "they think they want one," said susan wisely, "but i don't believe they really do!" on the fifth anniversary of her wedding day susan's daughter was born, and the whole household welcomed the tiny josephine, whose sudden arrival took all their hearts by storm. "take your slangy, freckled, roller-skating, rifle-shooting boys and be off with you!" said susan, over the hour-old baby, to billy, who had come flying home in mid-morning. "now i feel like david copperfield's landlady, 'at last i have summat i can love!' oh, the mistakes that you won't make, jo!" she apostrophized the baby. "the smart, capable, self-sufficient way that you'll manage everything!" "do you really want me to take the boys away for a few days?" asked billy, who was kneeling down for a better view of mother and child. susan's eyes widened with instant alarm. "why should you?" she asked, cool fingers tightening on his. "i thought you had no further use for the sex," answered billy meekly. "oh---?" susan dimpled. "oh, she's too little to really absorb me yet," she said. "i'll continue a sort of superficial interest in the boys until she's eighteen or so!" sometimes echoes of the old life came to her, and susan, pondering them for an hour or two, let them drift away from her again. billy showed her the headlines one day that told of peter coleman's narrow escape from death, in his falling airship, and later she learned that he was well again and had given up aeronautics, and was going around the world to add to his matchless collection of semi-precious stones. susan was sobered one day to hear of emily saunders' sudden death. she sat for a long time wondering over the empty and wasted life. mrs. kenneth saunders, with a smartly clad little girl, was caught by press cameras at many fashionable european watering-places; kenneth spent much of his time in institutions and sanitariums, susan heard. she heard that he worshipped his little girl. and one evening a london paper, at which she was carelessly glancing in a library, while billy hunted through files nearby for some lost reference, shocked her suddenly with the sight of stephen bocqueraz's name. susan had a sensation of shame and terror; she shut the paper quickly. she looked about her. two or three young men, hard-working young men to judge from appearance, were sitting with her at the long, magazine-strewn table. gas-lights flared high above them, soft footfalls came and went in the warm, big room. at the desk the librarian was whispering with two nervous-looking young women. at one of the file-racks, billy stood slowly turning page after page of a heap of papers. susan looked at him, trying to see the kind, keen face from an outsider's viewpoint, but she had to give up the attempt. every little line was familiar now, every little expression. william looked up and caught her smile and his lips noiselessly formed, "i love you!" "me?" said susan, also without a voice, and with her hand on her heart. and when he said "fool!" and returned grinning to his paper, she opened her london sheet and turned to the paragraph she had seen. not sensational. mr. stephen bocqueraz, the well-known american writer, and mrs. bocqueraz, said the paragraph, had taken the house of mrs. bromley rose-rogers for the season, and were being extensively entertained. mr. and mrs. bocqueraz would thus be near their daughter, miss julia bocqueraz, whose marriage to mr. guy harold wetmore, second son of lord westcastle, would take place on tuesday next. susan told billy about it late that night, more because not telling him gave the thing the importance inseparable from the fact withheld than because she felt any especial pang at the opening of the old wound. they had sauntered out of the library, well before closing time, billy delighted to have found his reference, susan glad to get out into the cool summer night. "oysters?" asked william. susan hesitated. "this doesn't come out of my expenses," she stipulated. "i'm hard-up this week!" "oh, no--no! this is up to me," billy said. so they went in to watch the oyster-man fry them two hot little panfuls, and sat over the coarse little table-cloth for a long half-hour, contentedly eating and talking. fortified, they walked home, susan so eager to interrogate big mary about the children that she reached the orderly kitchen quite breathless. not a sound out of any of them was big mary's satisfactory report. still their mother ran upstairs. children had been known to die while parents and guardians supposed them to be asleep. however the young olivers were slumbering safely, and were wide-awake in a flash, the boys clamoring for drinks, from the next room, josephine wide-eyed and dewy, through the bars of her crib. susan sat down with the baby, while billy opened windows, wound the alarm clock, and quieted his sons. a full half-hour passed before everything was quiet. susan found herself lying wakeful in the dark. presently she said: "billy?" "what is it?" he asked, roused instantly. "why, i saw something funny in the london 'news' to-night," susan began. she repeated the paragraph. billy speculated upon it interestedly. "sure, he's probably gone back to his wife," said billy. "circumstances influence us all, you know." "do you mean that you don't think he ever meant to get a divorce?" "oh, no, not necessarily! especially if there was any reason for him to get it. i think that, if it had been possible, he would have gotten it. if not, he wouldn't have. selfish, you know, darned selfish!" susan pondered in silence. "i was to blame," she said finally. "oh, no, you weren't, not as much as he was--and he knew it!" billy said. "all sensation has so entirely died out of the whole thing," susan said presently, "that it's just like looking at a place where you burned your hand ten years ago, and trying to remember whether the burn hurt worst, or dressing the burn, or curing the burn! i know it was all wrong, but at the time i thought it was only convention i was going against--i didn't realize that one of the advantages of laws is that you can follow them blind, when you've lost all your moorings. you can't follow your instincts, but you can remember your rule. i've thought a lot about stephen bocqueraz in the past few years, and i don't believe he meant to do anything terribly wrong and, as things turned out, i think he really did me more good than harm! i'm confident that but for him i would have married kenneth, and he certainly did teach me a lot about poetry, billy, about art and music, and more than that, about the spirit of art and music and poetry, the sheer beauty of the world. so i've let all the rest go, like the fever out of a burn, and i believe i could meet him now, and like him almost. does that seem very strange to you? have you any feeling of resentment?" billy was silent. "billy!" susan said, in quick uneasiness, "are you angry?" after a tense moment the regular sound of deep and placid breathing answered her. billy lay on his back sound asleep. susan stared at him a moment in the dimness. then the absurdity of the thing struck her, and she began to laugh. "i wonder if, when we get to another world, everything we do here will seem just ridiculous and funny?" speculated susan. chapter viii for their daughter's first thanksgiving day the olivers invited a dozen friends to their oakland house for dinner; the first really large gathering of their married lives. "we have always been too poor, or i haven't been well, or there's been some other good reason for lying low," wrote mrs. oliver to mrs. carroll, "but this year the stork is apparently filling previous orders, and our trio is well, and we have been blessed beyond all rhyme and reason, and want to give thanks. anna and conrad and the o'connors have promised, jinny will be here, and i'm only waiting to hear from you three to write and ask phil and mary and pillsey and the baby. so do come--for next year anna says that it's her turn, and by the year after we may be so prosperous that i'll have to keep two maids, and miss half the fun--it will certainly break my heart if i ever have to say, 'we'll have roast turkey, jane, and mince pies,' instead of making them myself. please come, we are dying to see the little cousins together, they will be simply heavenly---" "there's more than wearing your best dress and eating too much turkey to thanksgiving," said susan to billy, when they were extending the dining-table to its largest proportions on the day before thanksgiving. "it's just one of those things, like having a baby, that you have to do to appreciate. it's old-fashioned, and homelike, and friendly. perhaps i have a commonplace, middle-class mind, but i do love all this! i love the idea of everyone arriving, and a big fire down here, and betts and her young man trying to sneak away to the sun-room, and the boys sitting in grandma's lap, and being given tastes of white meat and mashed potato at dinnertime. me to the utterly commonplace, every time!" "when you are commonplace, sue," said her husband, coming out from under the table, where hasps had been absorbing his attention, "you'll be ready for the family vault at holy cross, and not one instant before!" "no, but the consolation is," susan reflected, "that if this is happiness,--if it makes me feel like the lord mayor's wife to have three children, a husband whom most people think is either a saint or a fool,--i think he's a little of both, myself!--and a new sun-room built off my dining-room,--why, then there's an unexpected amount of happiness in this world! in me--a plain woman, sir, with my hands still odorous of onion dressing, and a safety-pin from my daughter's bathing-struggle still sticking into my twelve-and-a-half-cent gingham,--in me, i say, you behold a contented human creature, who confidently hopes to live to be ninety-seven!" "and then we'll have eternity together!" said the dusty billy, with an arm about her. "and not a minute too long!" answered his suddenly serious wife. "you absolutely radiate content, sue," anna said to her wistfully, the next day. anna had come early to oakland, to have luncheon and a few hours' gossip with her hostess before the family's arrival for the six o'clock dinner. the doctor's wife reached the gate in her own handsome little limousine, and susan had shared her welcome of anna with enthusiasm for anna's loose great sealskin coat. "take the baby and let me try it on," said susan. "woman--it is the most gorgeous thing i ever saw!" "conrad says i will need it in the east,--we go after christmas," anna said, her face buried against the baby. susan, having satisfied herself that what she really wanted, when billy's ship came in, was a big sealskin coat, had taken her guest upstairs, to share the scuffle that preceded the boys' naps, and hold josephine while susan put the big bedroom in order, and laid out the little white suits for the afternoon. now the two women were sitting together, susan in a rocker, with her sleepy little daughter in the curve of her arm, anna in a deep low chair, with her head thrown back, and her eyes on the baby. "radiate happiness?" susan echoed briskly, "my dear, you make me ashamed. why, there are whole days when i get really snappy and peevish,--truly i do! running from morning until night. as for getting up in the dead of night, to feed the baby, billy says i look like desolation--'like something the cat dragged in,' was his latest pretty compliment. but no," susan interrupted herself honestly, "i won't deny it. i am happy. i am the happiest woman in the world." "yet you always used to begin your castles in spain with a million dollars," anna said, half-wistfully, half-curiously. "everything else being equal, sue," she pursued, "wouldn't you rather be rich?" "everything else never is equal," susan answered thoughtfully. "i used to think it was--but it's not! now, for instance, take the case of isabel wallace. isabel is rich and beautiful, she has a good husband,--to me he's rather tame, but probably she thinks of billy as a cave-man, so that doesn't count!--she has everything money can buy, she has a gorgeous little boy, older than mart, and now she has a girl, two or three months old. and she really is a darling, nance, you never liked her particularly---" "well, she was so perfect," pleaded anna smiling, "so gravely wise and considerate and low-voiced, and light-footed---!" "only she's honestly and absolutely all of that!" susan defended her eagerly, "there's no pose! she really is unspoiled and good--my dear, if the other women in her set were one-tenth as good as isabel! however, to go back. she came over here to spend the day with me, just before jo was born, and we had a wonderful day. billy and i were taking our dinners at a boarding-house, for a few months, and big mary had nothing else to do but look out for the boys in the afternoon. isabel watched me giving them their baths, and feeding them their lunches, and finally she said, 'i'd like to do that for alan, but i never do!' 'why don't you?' i said. well, she explained that in the first place there was a splendid experienced woman paid twenty-five dollars a week to do it, and that she herself didn't know how to do it half as well. she said that when she went into the nursery there was a general smoothing out of her way before her, one maid handing her the talcum, another running with towels, and miss louise, as they call her, pleasantly directing her and amusing alan. naturally, she can't drive them all out; she couldn't manage without them! in fact, we came to the conclusion that you have to be all or nothing to a baby. if isabel made up her mind to put alan to bed every night say, she'd have to cut out a separate affair every day for it, rush home from cards, or from the links, or from the matinee, or from tea--jack wouldn't like it, and she says she doubts if it would make much impression on alan, after all!" "i'd do it, just the same!" said anna, "and i wouldn't have the nurse standing around, either--and yet, i suppose that's not very reasonable," she went on, after a moment's thought, "for that's conrad's free time. we drive nearly every day, and half the time dine somewhere out of town. and his having to operate at night so much makes him want to sleep in the morning, so that we couldn't very well have a baby in the room. i suppose i'd do as the rest do, pay a fine nurse, and grab minutes with the baby whenever i could!" "you have to be poor to get all the fun out of children," susan said. "they're at their very sweetest when they get their clothes off, and run about before their nap, or when they wake up and call you, or when you tell them stories at night." "but, sue, a woman like mrs. furlong does not have to work so hard," anna said decidedly, "you must admit that! her life is full of ease and beauty and power--doesn't that count? doesn't that give her a chance for self-development, and a chance to make herself a real companion to her husband?" "well, the problems of the world aren't answered in books, nance. it just doesn't seem interesting, or worth while to me! she could read books, of course, and attend lectures, and study languages. but--did you see the 'protest' last week?" "no, i didn't! it comes, and i put it aside to read--" "well, it was a corking number. bill's been asserting for months, you know, that the trouble isn't any more in any special class, it's because of misunderstanding everywhere. he made the boys wild by saying that when there are as many people at the bottom of the heap reaching up, as there are people at the top reaching down, there'll be no more trouble between capital and labor! and last week he had statistics, he showed them how many thousands of rich people are trying--in their entirely unintelligent ways!--to reach down, and--my dear, it was really stirring! you know himself can write when he tries!--and he spoke of the things the laboring class doesn't do, of the way it educates its children, of the way it spends its money,--it was as good as anything he's ever done, and it made no end of talk! "and," concluded susan contentedly, "we're at the bottom of the heap, instead of struggling up in the world, we're struggling down! when i talk to my girls' club, i can honestly say that i know some of their trials. i talked to a mothers' meeting the other day, about simple dressing and simple clothes for children, and they knew i had three children and no more money than they. and they know that my husband began his business career as a puddler, just as their sons are beginning now. in short, since the laboring class can't, seemingly, help itself, and the upper class can't help it, the situation seems to be waiting for just such people as we are, who know both sides!" "a pretty heroic life, susan!" anna said shaking her head. "heroic? nothing!" susan answered, in healthy denial. "i like it! i've eaten maple mousse and guinea-hen at the saunders', and i've eaten liver-and-bacon and rice pudding here, and i like this best. billy's a hero, if you like," she added, suddenly, "did i tell you about the fracas in august?" "not between you and billy?" anna laughed. "no-o-o! we fight," said susan modestly, "when he thinks mart ought to be whipped and i don't, or when little billums wipes sticky fingers on his razor strop, but he ain't never struck me, mum, and that's more than some can say! no, but this was really quite exciting," susan resumed, seriously. "let me see how it began--oh, yes!--isabel wallace's father asked billy to dinner at the bohemian club,--in august, this was. bill was terribly pleased, old wallace introduced him to a lot of men, and asked him if he would like to be put up---" "conrad would put him up, sue---" anna said jealously. "my dear, wait--wait until you hear the full iniquity of that old divil of a wallace! well, he ordered cocktails, and he 'dear boyed' bill, and they sat down to dinner. then he began to taffy the 'protest,' he said that the railroad men were all talking about it, and he asked bill what he valued it at. bill said it wasn't for sale. i can imagine just how graciously he said it, too! well, old mr. wallace laughed, and he said that some of the railroad men were really beginning to enjoy the way billy pitched into them; he said he had started life pretty humbly himself; he said that he wanted some way of reaching his men just now, and he thought that the 'protest' was the way to do it. he said that it was good as far as it went, but that it didn't go far enough. he proposed to work its circulation up into hundreds of thousands, to buy it at billy's figure, and to pay him a handsome salary,--six thousand was hinted, i believe,--as editor, under a five-year contract! billy asked if the policy of the paper was to be dictated, and he said, no, no, everything left to him! billy came home dazed, my dear, and i confess i was dazed too. mr. wallace had said that he wanted billy, as a sort of side-issue, to live in san rafael, so that they could see each other easily,--and i wish you could see the house he'd let us have for almost nothing! then there would be a splendid round sum for the paper, thirty or forty thousand probably, and the salary! i saw myself a lady, nance, with a 'rising young man' for a husband---" "but, sue--but, sue," anna said eagerly, "billy would be editor--billy would be in charge--there would be a contract--nobody could call that selling the paper, or changing the policy of the 'protest'---" "exactly what i said!" laughed susan. "however, the next morning we rushed over to the cudahys--you remember that magnificent old person you and conrad met here? that's clem. and his wife is quite as wonderful as he is. and clem of course tore our little dream to rags---" "oh, how?" anna exclaimed regretfully. "oh, in every way. he made it betrayal, and selling the birthright. billy saw it at once. as clem said, where would billy be the minute they questioned an article of his, or gave him something for insertion, or cut his proof? and how would the thing sound--a railroad magnate owning the 'protest'?" "he might do more good that way than in any other," mourned anna rebelliously, "and my goodness, sue, isn't his first duty to you and the children?" "bill said that selling the 'protest' would make his whole life a joke," susan said. "and now i see it, too. of course i wept and wailed, at the time, but i love greatness, nance, and i truly believe billy is great!" she laughed at the artless admission. "well, you think conrad is great," finished susan, defending herself. "yes, sometimes i wish he wasn't--yet," anna said, sighing. "i never cooked a meal for him, or had to mend his shirts!" she added with a rueful laugh. "but, sue, shall you be content to have billy slave as he is slaving now," she presently went on, "right on into middle-age?" "he'll always slave at something," susan said, cheerfully, "but that's another funny thing about all this fuss--the boys were simply wild with enthusiasm when they heard about old wallace and the 'protest,' trust clem for that! and clem assured me seriously that they'd have him mayor of san francisco yet!--however," she laughed, "that's way ahead! but next year billy is going east for two months, to study the situation in different cities, and if he makes up his mind to go, a newspaper syndicate has offered him enough money, for six articles on the subject, to pay his expenses! so, if your angel mother really will come here and live with the babies, and all goes well, i'm going, too!" "mother would do anything for you," anna said, "she loves you for yourself, and sometimes i think that she loves you for--for jo, you know, too! she's so proud of you, sue---" "well, if i'm ever anything to be proud of, she well may be!" smiled susan, "for, of all the influences of my life--a sentence from a talk with her stands out clearest! i was moping in the kitchen one day, i forget what the especial grievance was, but i remember her saying that the best of life was service--that any life's happiness may be measured by how much it serves!" anna considered it, frowning. "true enough of her life, sue!" "true of us all! georgie, and alfie, and virginia! and mary lou,--did you know that they had a little girl? and mary lou just divides her capacity for adoration into two parts, one for ferd and one for marie-louise!" "well, you're a delicious old theorist, sue! but somehow you believe in yourself, and you always do me good!" anna said laughing. "i share with mother the conviction that you're rather uncommon--one watches you to see what's next!" "putting this child in her crib is next, now," said susan flushing, a little embarrassed. she lowered josephine carefully on the little pillow. "best--girl--her--mudder--ever--did--hab!" said susan tenderly as the transfer was accomplished. "come on, nance!" she whispered, "we'll go down and see what bill is doing." so they went down, to add a score of last touches to the orderly, homelike rooms, to cut grape-fruit and taste cranberry sauce, to fill vases with chrysanthemums and ferns, and count chairs for the long table. "this is fun!" said susan to her husband, as she filled little dishes with nuts and raisins in the pantry and arranged crackers on a plate. "you bet your life it's fun!" agreed billy, pausing in the act of opening a jar of olives. "you look so pretty in that dress, sue," he went on, contentedly, "and the kids are so good, and it seems dandy to be able to have the family all here! we didn't see this coming when we married on less than a hundred a month, did we?" he put his arm about her, they stood looking out of the window together. "we did not! and when you were ill, billy--and sitting up nights with mart's croup!" susan smiled reminiscently. "and the thanksgiving day the milk-bill came in for five months--when we thought we'd been paying it!" "we've been through some times, bill! but isn't it wonderful to--to do it all together--to be married?" "you bet your life it's wonderful," agreed the unpoetic william. "it's the loveliest thing in the world," his wife said dreamily. she tightened his arm about her and spoke half aloud, as if to herself. "it is the great adventure!" said susan. gutenberg. (this file was produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) [transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. text that has been changed is noted at the end of this ebook.] the young vigilantes [illustration: walter and bill tramping across the isthmus.--_page ._] the young vigilantes a story of california life in the fifties by samuel adams drake author of "watch fires of ' ," "on plymouth rock," "decisive events in american history series," etc. _illustrated by l. j. bridgman_ [illustration] boston lee and shepard published august, copyright, , by lee and shepard _all rights reserved_ the young vigilantes norwood press berwick & smith co. norwood, mass. u. s. a. contents chapter page i. a narrow escape ii. walter tells his story iii. and charley tells his iv. what happened on board the "argonaut" v. one way of going to california vi. a black sheep in the fold vii. the flight viii. outward bound ix. across nicaragua x. the luck of yankee jim xi. seeing the sights in 'frisco xii. an unexpected meeting xiii. in which a man breaks into his own store, and steals his own safe xiv. charley and walter go a-gunning xv. the young vigilantes xvi. ramon finds his match xvii. a sharp rise in lumber xviii. a corner in lumber xix. hearts of gold xx. bright, seabury & company illustrations page walter and bill tramping across the isthmus (_frontispiece._) walter rescuing dora bright waiting for the opening of the mail the hunters hunted by a grizzly bear ramon made to give up his stealings arrival of the _southern cross_ at sacramento the young vigilantes i a narrow escape from the _morning post-horn_: "as passenger train number four was rounding a curve at full speed, ten miles out of this city, on the morning of october , and at a point where a deep cut shut out the view ahead, the engineer saw some one, man or boy, he could not well make out which, running down the track toward the train, frantically swinging both arms and waving his cap in the air as if to attract attention. the engine-man instantly shut off steam, whistled for brakes, and quickly brought the train to a standstill. "the engine-man put his head out of the cab window. the conductor jumped off, followed by fifty frightened passengers, all talking and gesticulating at once; while the person who had just given the warning signal slackened his breakneck pace, somewhat, upon seeing that he had succeeded in stopping the train. "'what's the matter?' shouted the impatient engine-man when this person had come within hearing. "'what do you stop us for?' called out the little conductor sharply, in his turn, at the same time anxiously consulting the face of the watch he held in his hand. "to both questions the young man seemed too much out of breath to reply, offhand; but turning and pointing in the direction whence he came, he shook his head warningly, threw himself down on the roadbed, as limp as a rag, and began fanning himself with his cap. after getting his breath a little, he made out to say, 'bridge afire--quarter mile back. tried put it out--couldn't. heard train coming--afraid be too late. couldn't run another step.' "'get aboard,' said the conductor to him. 'jake,' to the grinning engine-man, 'we'll run down and take a look at it. get out your flag!' to a brakeman. 'like as not thirteen'll be along before we can make brenton switch. all aboard!' the delayed train then moved on. "as it neared the burning bridge it was clear to every one that the young man's warning had prevented a disastrous wreck, probably much loss of life, because the bridge could not be seen until the train was close upon it. all hands immediately set to work with pails extinguishing the flames, which was finally done after a hard fight. to risk a heavy train upon the half-burned stringers was, however, out of the question. leaving a man to see that the fire did not break out again, the train was run back to the next station, there to await further orders. we were unable to learn the name of the young man to whose presence of mind the passengers on number four owed their escape from a serious, perhaps fatal disaster. but we are informed that a collection was taken up for him on the train, which he, however, refused to accept, stoutly insisting that he had only done what it was his duty to do under the circumstances." thus far, the _morning post-horn_. we now take up the narrative where the enterprising journal left off. while the delayed train was being held for orders, the young man whose ready wit had averted a calamity stood on the platform with his hands in his trousers pockets, apparently an unconcerned spectator of what was going on around him. the little pug-nosed conductor stepped up to him. "i say, young feller, what may i call your name?" "seabury." "zebra, zebra," repeated the conductor, in a puzzled tone, "then i s'pose your ancestors came over in the ark?" "i didn't say zebra; i said seabury plain enough," snapped back the young man, getting red in the face at seeing the broad grins on the faces around him. "don't fire up so. got any first name?" "walter." "walter seabury," the conductor repeated slowly, while scratching it down. "got to report this job, you know. say, where you goin'?" "i'm walkin' to boston." "shanks' mare, hey. no, you ain't. get aboard and save your muscle. you own this train to-day, and everything in it. lively now." the conductor then waved his hand, and the train started on. at the bridge a transfer was effected to a second train, and this one again was soon reeling off the miles toward boston, as if to make up for lost time. being left to himself, young seabury, whom we may as well hereafter call by his christian name of walter, could think of nothing else than his wonderful luck. instead of having a long, weary tramp before him, here he was, riding in a railroad train, and without its costing him a cent. this was a saving of both time and money. pretty soon the friendly conductor came down the aisle to where walter sat, looking out of the car window. after giving him a sharp look, the conductor made up his mind that here was no vagabond tramp. "it's none of my business, but all the same i'd like to know what you're walkin' to boston for, young feller?" he asked. "going to look for work." "what's your job?" "i'm a rigger." and his hands, tarry and cracked, bore out his story perfectly. "ever in boston?" "never." "know anybody there?" "nobody." "got any of this--you know?" slapping his pocket. at this question walter flushed up. he drew himself up stiffly, smiled a pitying smile, and said nothing. his manner conveyed the idea that he really didn't know exactly how much he was worth. "that's first-rate," the conductor went on. "now, look here. you'll get lost in boston. i'll tell you what. when we get in, i'll show you how to go to get down among the riggers' lofts. you're a rigger, you say?" walter nodded. "they're all in a bunch, down at the north end, riggers, sailmakers, pump- and block-makers, and all the rest. full of work, too, i guess, all on account of this californy business. everybody's goin' crazy over it. you will be, too, in a week." by this time, the train was rumbling over the long waste of salt-marsh stretching out between the mainland and the dome-capped city, and in five minutes more it drew up with a jerk in the station, with the locomotive puffing out steam like a tired racehorse after a hard push at the finish. the conductor was as good as his word. he told walter to go straight up tremont street until he came to hanover, then straight down hanover to the water, and then to follow his nose. "oh, you can't miss it," was the cheerful, parting assurance. "smell it a mile." but going straight up this street, and straight down that, was a direction not so easy to follow, as walter soon found. the crowds bewildered him, and in trying to get out of everybody's way, he got in everybody's way, and was jostled, shoved about, and stared at, as he slowly made his way through the throng, until his roving eyes caught sight of the tall masts and fluttering pennants, where the long street suddenly came to an end. walter put down his bundle, took off his cap, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. whichever way he looked, the wharves were crowded with ships, the ships with workmen, and the street with loaded trucks and wagons. casting an eye upward he could see riggers at work among the maze of ropes and spars, like so many spiders weaving their webs. here, at least, he could feel at home. ii walter tells his story walter's first want was to find a boarding house suited to his means. turning into a side street, walled in by a row of two-story brick houses, all as like as peas in a pod, he found that the difficulty would be to pick and choose, as all showed the same little tin sign announcing "board and lodging, by the day or week," tacked upon the door. after walking irresolutely up and down the street two or three times, he finally mustered up courage to give a timid pull at the bell of one of them. the door opened so suddenly that walter fell back a step. he began stammering out something, but before he could finish, the untidy-looking girl sang out at the top of her voice: "miss hashall, miss hashall, there's somebody wants to see you!" she then bolted off through the back door singing "i want to be an angel," in a voice that set walter's teeth on an edge. to make a long story short, walter soon struck a bargain with the landlady,--a fat, pudgy person in a greasy black poplin, wearing a false front, false teeth, and false stones in her breastpin. true, walter silently resented her demanding a week's board in advance, it seemed so like a reflection upon his honesty, but was easily mollified by the motherly interest she seemed to take in him--or his cash. bright and early the next morning walter sallied out in search of work. his landlady had told him to apply at the first loft he came to. "why, you can't make no mistake," the woman declared. "they're all drove to death, and hands is scurse as hens' teeth, all on account of this kalerforny fever what carries so many of 'em off. don't i wish i was a man! i'd jest like to dig gold enough to buy me a house on beacon street and ride in my kerridge. you just go and spunk right up to 'em, like i do. that's the way to get along in this world, my son." walter's landlady had told him truly. the demand for vessels for the california trade was so urgent that even worm-eaten old whaleships were being overhauled and refitted with all haste, and as walter walked along he noticed that about every craft he saw showed the same sign in her rigging, "for san francisco with dispatch." "well, i'll be hanged if there ain't the old _argonaut_ that father was mate of!" walter exclaimed quite aloud, clearly taken by surprise at seeing an old acquaintance quite unexpectedly in a strange place, and quickly recognizing her, in spite of a new coat of paint alow and aloft. the riggers were busy setting up the standing rigging, reeving new halliards, and giving the old barky a general overhauling. walter climbed on board and began a critical survey of the ship's rigging, high and low. "what yer lookin' at, greeny?" one of the riggers asked him, at seeing walter's eyes fixed on some object aloft. "i'm looking at that irish pennant[ ] on that stay up there," was the quick reply. this caused a broad smile to spread over the faces of the workmen. [ ] a strand of marline carelessly left flying by a rigger. "you a rigger?" "i've helped rig this ship." "want a job?" "yes." "well, here," tossing walter a marline-spike, "let's see you make this splice." it was neatly and quickly done. "i'll give you ten dollars a week." walter held out for twelve, and after some demurring on the part of the boss, a bargain was struck. walter's overalls were rolled up in a paper, under his arm, so that he was immediately ready to begin work. being, as it were, in the midst of the stream of visitors to the ship, hearing no end of talk about the wonderful fortunes to be made in the land of gold, walter did not wholly escape the prevailing frenzy, for such it was. but knowing that he had not the means of paying for his passage, walter resolutely kept at work, and let the troubled stream pass by. there was still another obstacle. he would have to leave behind him a widowed aunt, whose means of support were strictly limited to her actual wants. he had at once written to her of his good fortune in obtaining work, though the receipt of that same letter had proved a great shock to the "poor lone creetur," as she described herself, because she had freely given out among her neighbors that a boy who would run away from such a good home as walter had, would surely come to no good end. walter had struck up a rather sudden friendship with a young fellow workman of about his own age, named charley wormwood. on account of his name he was nicknamed "bitters." charley was a happy-go-lucky sort of chap, valuing the world chiefly for the amusement it afforded, and finding that amusement in about everything and everybody. though mercilessly chaffed by the older hands, charley took it all so good-naturedly that he made himself a general favorite. the two young men soon arranged to room together, and had come to be sworn friends. one pleasant evening, as the two sat in their room, with chairs tilted back against the wall, the following conversation was begun by charley: "i say, walt, we've been together here two months now, to a dot, and never a word have you said about your folks. mind now, i don't want to pry into your secrets, but i'd like to know who you are, if it's all the same to you. have you killed a man, or broke a bank, or set a fire, or what? folks think it funny, when i have to tell them i don't know anything about you, except by guess, and you know that's a mighty poor course to steer by. pooh! you're as close as an oyster!" walter colored to his temples. for a short space he sat eyeing charley without speaking. then he spoke up with an evident effort at self-control, as if the question, so suddenly put, had awakened painful memories. "there's no mystery about it," he said. "you want to hear the story? so be it, then. i'll tell mine if you'll tell yours. "i b'long to an old whaling port down on the cape. i was left an orphan when i was a little shaver, knee-high to a toadstool. uncle dick, he took me home. aunt marthy didn't like it, i guess. all she said was, 'massy me! another mouth to feed?' 'pooh, pooh, marthy,' uncle laughed, 'where there's enough for two, there's enough for three.' she shut up, but she never liked me one mite." "an orphan?" interjected charley. "no father nor mother?" "i'll tell you about it. you see, my father went out mate on a whaling voyage in the pacific, in this very same old _argonaut_ we've been patchin' and pluggin' up. it may have been a year we got a letter telling he was dead. boat he was in swamped, while fast to a whale--a big one. they picked up his hat. sharks took him, i guess. mother was poorly. she fell into a decline, they called it, and didn't live long. we had nothin' but father's wages. they was only a drop in the bucket. then there was only me left." "that was the time your uncle took you home?" "yes; uncle dick was a rigger by trade. he used to show me how to make all sorts of knots and splices evenings; and bimeby he got me a chance, when i was big enough, doin' odd jobs like, for a dollar a week, in the loft or on the ships. aunt marthy said a dollar a week didn't begin to pay for what i et. guess she knew. pretty soon, i got a raise to a dollar-half." "but what made you quit? didn't you like the work?" "liked it first-rate. like it now. but i couldn't stand aunt marthy's sour looks and sharp tongue. nothing suited her. she was either as cold as ice, or as hot as fire coals. when she wasn't scolding, she was groaning. said she couldn't see what some folks was born into this world just to slave for other folks for." a frown passed over walter's face at the recollection. "nice woman that," observed the sententious charley. "but how about the uncle?" he added. "couldn't he make her hold her yawp?" "oh, no better man ever stood. he was like a father to me--bless him!" (walter's voice grew a little shaky here.) "but he showed the white feather to aunt marthy. whenever she went into one of her tantrums, he would take his pipe and clear out, leaving me to bear the brunt of it. "a good while after mother died, father's sea-chest was brought home in the _argonaut_. there was nothing in it but old clothes, this watch [showing it], and some torn and greasy sea-charts, with the courses father had sailed pricked out on 'em. those charts made me sort o' hanker to see the world, which i then saw men traveled with the aid of a roll of paper, and a little knowledge, as certainly, and as safely, as we do the streets of boston. you better believe i studied over those charts some! anyhow, i know my geography." and walter's blue eyes lighted up with a look of triumph. "bully for you! then that was what started you out on your travels, was it?" "no: i had often thought of slipping away some dark night, but couldn't make up my mind to it. it did seem so kind o' mean after all uncle dick had done for me. but one day (one bad day for me, charley) a man came running up to the loft, all out of breath, to tell me that uncle dick had fallen down the ship's hatchway, and that they were now bringing him home on a stretcher. i tell you i felt sick and faint when i saw him lying there lifeless. he never spoke again. "shortly after the funeral, upon going to the loft the foreman told me that work being slack they would have to lay off a lot of hands, me with the rest. before i went to sleep that night i made up my mind to strike out for myself; for now that uncle dick was gone, i couldn't endure my life any longer. i set about packing up my duds without saying anything to my aunt, for i knew what a rumpus she would make over it, and if there's anything i hate it's a scene." "me too," charley vigorously assented. "rather take a lickin'." "well," walter resumed, "i counted up my money first. there was just forty-nine dollars. lucky number: it was the year ' too. i put ten of it in an envelope directed to my aunt, and put it on the chimney-piece where she couldn't help seeing it when she came into my room. then i took a piece of chalk and wrote on the table top: 'i'm going away to hunt for work. when i get some, i'll let you know. please take care of my chest. look on the mantelpiece. good-bye. from walter.' "then, like a thief, i slipped out of the house by a back way, in my stocking feet, and never stopped running till i was 'way out of town. there i struck the railroad. i knew if i followed it it would take me to boston. and it did. that's all." iii and charley tells his there was silence for a minute or two, each of the lads being busy with his own thoughts. apparently they were not pleasant thoughts. what a tantalizing thing memory sometimes is! but it was not in the nature of things for either to remain long speechless. walter first broke silence by reminding charley of his promise. "come now, you've wormed all that out of me about my folks, pay your debts. i should like to know what made you leave home. did you run away, too?" at this question, charley's mouth puckered up queerly, and then quickly broke out into a broad grin, while his eyes almost shut tight at the recollection walter's question had summoned up. "it was all along of 'rough on rats,'" he managed to say at last. "'rough on rats?'" "yes, 'rough on rats.' rat poison. you just wait, and hear me through. "i've got a father somewhere, i b'leeve. boys gen'ally have, i s'pose, though whether mine's dead or alive, not knowin', can't say. we were poor as job's turkey, if you know how poor that was. i don't. anyway, he put me out to work on a milk and chicken farm back here in the country, twenty miles or so, to a man by the name of bennett, and then took himself off out west somewhere." "and you've never seen him since?" "no; i ha'n't never missed him, or the lickin's he give me. well, my boss he raised lots of young chickens for market. we was awfully pestered with rats, big, fat, sassy ones, getting into the coops nights, and killing off the little chicks as soon's ever they was hatched out. you see, they was tender. besides eating the chicks they et up most of the grain we throw'd into the hens. the boss he tried everything to drive those rats away. he tried cats an' he tried traps. 'twan't no use. the cats wouldn't tech the rats nor the rats go near the traps. you can't fool an old rat much, anyhow," he added with a knowing shake of his head. "well, the boss was a-countin' the chicks one mornin', while ladling out the dough to 'em. 'confound those rats,' he sputtered out; 'there's eight more chicks gone sence i fed last night. i'd gin something to red the place on 'em, i would.' "'uncle,' says i (he let me call him uncle, seein' he'd kind of adopted me like)--'uncle,' says i, 'why don't you try rough on rats? they say that'll fetch 'em every time.' "'what's that? never heer'd on't. how do you know? who says so?' he axed all in one breath." "'anyhow, i seen a big poster down at the four corners that says so,' says i. 'the boys was a-talkin' about what it had done up to skillings' place. skillings allowed he'd red his place of rats with it. hadn't seen hide nor hair of one sence he fust tried it. everybody says it's a big thing.' "the old man said nothin' more just then. he didn't let on that my advice was worth a cent; but i noticed that he went off and bought some rough on rats that same afternoon, and when the old hens had gone to roost and the mother hens had gathered their broods under 'em for the night, uncle he slyly stirred up a big dose of the p'isen stuff into a pan of meal, which he set down inside the henhouse. "uncle's idea was to get up early in the mornin', so's to count up the dead rats, i s'pose. "but he did not get up early enough. when he went out into the henhouse to investigate, he found fifteen or twenty of his best hens lying dead around the floor after eatin' of the p'isen'd meal. "when i come outdoors he was stoopin' down, with his back to me pickin' 'em up." walter laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks, sobered down, and then broke out again. charley found the laugh infectious and joined in it, though more moderately. "go ahead. let's have the rest, do," walter entreated. "what next?" "i asked uncle bennett what he was goin' to do with all those dead hens. he flung one at my head. oh! but he was mad. 'just stop where you be, my little joker,' says he, startin' off for the stable; 'i've got somethin' that's rough on brats, an' you shall have a taste on't right off. don't you stir a step,' shakin' his fist at me, 'or i'll give you the worst dressin' down you ever had in all your life.' "while he was gone for a horsewhip, i lit out for the corners. you couldn't have seen me for dust. "i darsen't go back to the house and i had only a silver ninepence in my pocket and a few coppers, but i managed to beg my way to boston. oh! walt, it was a long time between meals, i can tell you. i slept one night in a barn, on the haymow. nobody saw me slip in after dark. i took off my neckerchief and laid it down within reach, for it was hot weather on that haymow, and i was 'most choked with the dust i swallowed. i overslept. in the morning i heard a noise down where the hosses were tied up. some one was rakin' down hay for 'em. i reached for my neckerchief, thinkin' how i should get away without being seen, when a boy's voice gave a shout, 'towser! towser!' and then i knew it was all up, for that boy had raked down my neckerchief with the hay, and he knew there was a tramp somewhere about. "the long and short of it is, that the dog chased me till i was ready to drop or until another and a bigger one came out of a yard and tackled him. then it was dog eat dog. "when i got to boston it was night. i had no money. i didn't know where to go. tired's no name for it. i was dead-beat. so i threw myself down on a doorstep and was asleep in a minnit. there was an alarm of fire. an ingine came jolting along. i forgot all about being tired and took holt of the rope, and ran, and hollered, with the rest. the fire was all out when we got there, so i went back to the ingine house, and the steward let me sleep in the cellar a couple of hours and wash up in the mornin'. but i'm ahead of my story. they had hot coffee and crackers and cheese when they got back from the fire. no cheese ever tasted like that before. give me a fireman for a friend at need. i hung round that ingine house till i picked up a job. the company was all calkers, gravers, riggers, and the like. tough lot! how they could wallop that old tub over the cobblestones, to be sure!" and here charley fell into a fit of musing from which walter did not attempt to rouse him. in their past experiences the two boys had found a common bond. iv what happened on board the "argonaut" seeing that walter also had fallen into a brown study, charley quickly changed the subject. "see here, walt!" he exclaimed, "the _argonaut's_ going to sail for californy first fair wind. to-morrow's sunday, and father taylor's goin' to preach aboard of her. he's immense! let's go and hear him. what do you say?" walter jumped at the proposal. "i want to hear father taylor ever so much, and i shouldn't mind taking a look at the passengers, too." sunday came. walter put on his best suit, and the two friends strolled down to the wharf where the _argonaut_ lay moored with topsails loosened, and flags and streamers fluttering gayly aloft. the ship was thronged not only with those about to sail for the land of gold, but also with the friends who had come to bid them good-bye; besides many attracted by mere curiosity, or, perhaps, by the fame of father taylor's preaching. there was a perfect babel of voices. as walter was passing one group he overheard the remark, "she'll never get round the horn. too deep. too many passengers by half. look at that bow! have to walk round her to tell stem from starn." "oh, she'll get there fast enough," his companion replied. "she knows the way. besides, you can't sink her. she's got lumber enough in her hold to keep her afloat if she should get waterlogged." "that ain't the whole story by a long shot," a third speaker broke in. "don't you remember the crack ship that spoke an old whaler at sea, both bound out for california? the passengers on the crack ship called out to the passengers on the old whaler to know if they wanted to be reported. when the crack ship got into san francisco, lo and behold! there lay the 'old tub' quietly at anchor. been in a week." strange sight, indeed, it was to see men who, but the day before, were clerks in sober tweeds, farmers in homespun, or mechanics in greasy overalls, now so dressed up as to look far more like brigands than peaceful citizens; for it would seem that, to their notion, they could be no true californians unless they started off armed to the teeth. so the poor stay-at-homes were given to understand how wanting they were in the bold spirit of adventure by a lavish display of pistols and bowie-knives, rifles and carbines. poor creatures! they little knew how soon they were to meet an enemy not to be overcome with powder and lead. between decks, if the truth must be told, many of the passengers were engaged in sparring or wrestling bouts, playing cards, or shuffleboard, or hop-scotch, as regardless of the day as if going to california meant a cutting loose from all the restraints of civilized life. the two friends made haste to get on deck. as they mingled with the crowd again, walter exchanged quick glances with a middle-aged gentleman on whose arm a remarkably pretty young lady was leaning. walter was saying to himself, "i wonder where i have seen that man before," when the full and sonorous voice of father taylor, the seaman's friend, hushed the confused murmur of voices around him into a reverential silence. with none of the arts and graces of the pulpit orator, that short, thick-set, hard-featured man spoke like one inspired for a full hour, and during that hour nobody stirred from the spot where he had taken his stand. father taylor's every word had struck home. the last hymn had been sung, the last prayer said. at its ending the crowd slowly began filing down the one long, narrow plank reaching from the ship's gangway to the wharf. nobody seemed to have noticed that the rising tide had lifted this plank to an incline that would make the descent trying to weak nerves, especially as there were five or six feet of clear water to be passed over between ship and shore. it was just as one young lady was in the act of stepping upon this plank that two young scapegraces ahead of her ran down it with such violence as to make it rebound like a springboard, causing the young lady first to lose her balance, then to make a false step, and then to fall screaming into the water, twenty feet below. everybody ran to that side, and everybody began shouting at once: "man overboard!" "a boat: get a boat!" "throw over a rope!--a plank!" "she's going down!" "help! help!" but nobody seemed to have their wits about them. with the hundreds looking on, it really seemed as if the girl might drown before help could reach her. both charley and walter had witnessed the accident: coats and hats were off in a jiffy. snatching up a coil of rope, it was the work of a moment for walter to make a running noose, slip that under his arms, sign to charley to take a turn round a bitt, then to swing himself over into the chains and be lowered down into the water on the run by the quick-witted charley. meantime, the young lady's father was almost beside himself. in one breath he called to his daughter, by the name of dora, to catch at a rope that was too short to reach her; in the next he was offering fifty, a hundred dollars to walter if he saved her. [illustration: walter rescuing dora bright.--_page ._] giving himself a vigorous shove with his foot, in two or three strokes walter was at the girl's side and with his arms around her. it was high time, too, as her clothes, which had buoyed her up so far, were now water-soaked and dragging her down. only her head was to be seen above water. at walter's cheery "haul away!" fifty nervous arms dragged them dripping up the ship's side. the young lady fell, sobbing hysterically, into her father's arms, and was forthwith hurried off into the cabin, while walter, after picking up his coat and hat, slipped off through the crowd, gained the wharf unnoticed, and with the faithful, but astonished, charley at his heels, made a bee-line for his lodgings. moreover, walter exacted a solemn promise from charley not to lisp one word of what had happened, on pain of a good drubbing. "my best suit, too!" he ruefully exclaimed, while divesting himself of his wet clothes. "no matter: let him keep his old fifty dollars. pretty girl, though. i'm paid ten times over. a coil of rope's a handy thing sometimes. so's a rigger--eh, charley?" charley merely gave a dissatisfied grunt. he was very far from understanding such refined sentiments. besides, half the money, he reflected, would have been his, or ought to have been, which was much the same thing to his way of thinking. and when he thought of the many things he could have done with his share, the loss of it made him feel very miserable, and more than half angry with walter. "fifty dollars don't grow on every bush," he muttered. "then, what lions we'd 'a' been in the papers!" he lamented. "you look here. can't you do anything without being paid for it? i'd taken thanks from the old duffer, but not money. can't you understand? now you keep still about this, i tell you." though still grumbling, charley concluded to hold his tongue, knowing that walter would be as good as his word; but he inwardly promised himself to keep his eyes open, and if ever he should see a chance to let the cat out of the bag without walter's knowing it, well, the mischief was in it if he, charley, didn't improve it, that was all. v one way of going to california the _argonaut_ affair got into the newspapers, where it was correctly reported, in the main, except that the rescuer was supposed to be one of the _argonaut's_ passengers, and as she was now many miles at sea, mr. bright, the father of dora, as a last resort, put an advertisement in the daily papers asking the unknown to furnish his address without delay to his grateful debtors. but as this failed to elicit a reply, there was nothing more to be done. walter, however, had seen the advertisement, and he had found out from it that mr. bright was one of the _argonaut's_ principal owners. he therefore felt quite safe from discovery when he found himself reported as having sailed in that vessel. time moved along quietly enough with walter until the fourth of july was near at hand, when it began to be noised about that the brand-new clipper ship then receiving her finishing touches in a neighboring yard would be launched at high water on that eventful day. what was unusual, the nameless ship was to be launched fully rigged, so that the riggers' gang was to take a hand in getting her off the ways. everybody was consequently on the tiptoe of expectation. the eventful morning came at last. it being a holiday, thousands had repaired to the spot, attracted by the novelty of seeing a ship launched fully rigged. at a given signal, a hundred sledges, wielded by as many brawny arms, began a furious hammering away at the blocks, which held the gallant ship bound and helpless to the land. the men worked like tigers, as if each and every one had a personal interest in the success of the launch. at last the clatter of busy hammers ceased, the grimy workmen crept out, in twos and threes, from underneath the huge black hull, and a hush fell upon all that vast throng, so deep and breathless that the streamers at the mast-head could be heard snapping like so many whiplashes in the light breeze aloft. "all clear for'ard?" sang out the master workman. "all clear, sir," came back the quick response. "all clear aft?" the voice repeated. "aye, aye, all clear." still the towering mass did not budge. it really seemed as if she was a living creature hesitating on the brink of her own fate, whether to make the plunge or not. there was an anxious moment. a hush fell upon all that vast throng. then, as the stately ship was seen to move majestically off, first slowly, and then with a rush and a leap, one deafening shout went up from a thousand throats: "there she goes! there she goes! hurrah! hurrah!" every one declared it the prettiest launch ever seen. just as the nameless vessel glided off the ways a young lady, who stood upon a tall scaffold at the bow, quickly dashed a bottle of wine against the stem, pronouncing as she did so the name that the good ship was to bear henceforth, so proudly, on the seas--the _flying arrow_. three rousing cheers greeted the act, and the name. the crowd then began to disperse. as walter was standing quite near the platform erected for this ceremony, his face all aglow with the vigorous use he had made of the sledge he still held in his hand, the young lady who had just christened the _flying arrow_ came down the stairs. in doing so, she looked master walter squarely in the face. lo and behold! it was the girl of the _argonaut_. the recognition was instant and mutual. walter turned all colors at once. giving one glance at his greasy duck trousers and checked shirt, his first impulse was to sneak off without a word; but before he could do so he was confronted by mr. bright himself. walter was thus caught, as it were, between two fires. oh, brave youth of the stalwart arm and manly brow, thus to show the white feather to that weak and timid little maiden! noticing the young man's embarrassment, mr. bright drew him aside, out of earshot of those who still lingered about. "so, so, my young friend," he began with a quizzical look at walter, "we've had some trouble finding you. pray what were your reasons for avoiding us? neither of us [turning toward his daughter] is a very dangerous person, as you may see for yourself." "now, don't, papa," pleaded dora. then, after giving a sidelong and reproachful look at walter, she added, "why, he wouldn't even let us thank him!" walter tried to stammer out something about not deserving thanks. the words seemed to stick in his throat; but he did manage to say: "fifty stood ready to do what i did. i only got a little wetting, sir." "just so. but they didn't, all the same. come, we are not ungrateful. can i depend on you to call at my office, state street, to-morrow morning about ten?" "you can, sir," bowing respectfully. "very good. i shall expect you. come, dora, we must be going." father and daughter then left the yard, but not until dora had given walter another reproachful look, out of the corner of her eye. "poor, proud, and sheepish," was the merchant's only comment upon this interview, as they walked homeward. mentally, he was asking himself where he had seen that face before. dora said nothing. her stolen glances had told her, however, that walter was good-looking; and that was much in his favor. to be sure, he was plainly a common workman, and he had appeared very stiff and awkward when her father spoke to him. still she felt that there was nothing low or vulgar about him. punctual to the minute, walter entered the merchant's counting room, though, to say truth, he found himself ill at ease in the presence of half a dozen spruce-looking clerks, who first shot sly glances at him, then at each other, as he carefully shut the door behind him. walter, however, bore their scrutiny without flinching. he was only afraid of girls, from sixteen to eighteen years old. mr. bright immediately rose from his desk, and beckoned walter to follow him out into the warehouse. "you are prompt. that's well," said he approvingly. "now then, to business. we want an outdoor clerk on our wharf. you have no objection, i take it, to entering our employment?" walter shook his head. "oh, no, sir." "very good, then. i'll tell you more of your duties presently. i hear a good account of you. the salary will be six hundred the first year, and a new suit of clothes, in return for the one you spoiled. here's a tailor's address [handing walter a card with the order written upon it]. go and get measured when you like, and mind you get a good fit." walter took a moment to think, but couldn't think at all. all he could say was: "if you think, sir, i can fill the place, i'll try my best to suit you." "that's right. try never was beat. you may begin to-morrow." walter went off feeling more happy than he remembered ever to have felt before. in truth, he could hardy realize his good fortune. this change in walter's life brought with it other changes. for one thing it broke off his intimacy with charley, although walter continued to receive occasional visits from his old chum. he also began attending an evening school, kept by a retired schoolmaster, in order to improve his knowledge of writing, spelling, and arithmetic, or rather to repair the neglect of years; for he now began to feel his deficiencies keenly with increasing responsibilities. he was, however, an apt scholar, and was soon making good progress. the work on the wharf was far more to his liking than the confinement of the warehouse could have been; and walter was every day storing up information which some time, he believed, would be of great use to him. time wore on, one day's round being much like another's. but once walter was given such a fright that he did not get over it for weeks. he was sometimes sent to the bank to make a deposit or cash a check. on this particular occasion he had drawn out quite a large sum, in small bills, to be used in paying off the help. not knowing what else to do with it, walter thrust the roll of bills into his trousers pocket. it was raining gently out of doors, and the sidewalks were thickly spread with a coating of greasy mud. there was another call or two to be made before walter returned to the store. at the head of the street walter stopped to think which call he should make first. mechanically he thrust his hand in his pocket, then turned as pale as a sheet, and a mist passed before his eyes. the roll of bills was not there. a hole in the pocket told the whole story. the roll had slipped out somewhere. it was gone, and through his own carelessness. after a moment's indecision walter started back to the bank, carefully looking for the lost roll at every step of the way. the street was full of people, for this was the busiest hour of the day. in vain he looked, and looked, at every one he met. no one had a roll of bills for which he was trying to find an owner. almost beside himself, he rushed into the bank. yes, the paying teller remembered him, but was quite sure the lost roll had not been picked up there, or he would have known it. so walter's last and faintest hope now vanished. go back to the office with his strange story, he dared not. the bank teller advised his reporting his loss to the police, and advertising it in the evening editions. slowly and sadly walter retraced his steps towards the spot where he had first missed his employer's money, inwardly scolding and accusing himself by turns. vexed beyond measure, calling himself all the fools he could think of, walter angrily stamped his foot on the sidewalk. presto! out tumbled the missing roll of bills from the bottom of his trousers-leg when he brought his foot down with such force. it had been caught and held there by the stiffening material then fashionable. walter went home that night thanking his lucky stars that he had come out of a bad scrape so easily. he was thinking over the matter, when charley burst into the room. "i say, walt, old fel, don't you want to buy a piece of me?" he blurted out, tossing his cap on the table, and falling into a chair quite out of breath. walter simply stared, and for a minute the two friends stared at each other without speaking. walter at length demanded: "are you crazy, charles wormwood? what in the name of common sense do you mean?" "oh, i'm not fooling. you needn't be scared. haven't you ever heard of folks buying pieces of ships? say?" "s'pose i have; what's that got to do with men?" "i'll tell you. look here. when a feller wants to go to californy awful bad, like me, and hasn't got the chink, like me, he gets some other fellers who can't go, like you, to chip in to pay his passage for him." "pooh! that's all plain sailing. when he earns the money he pays it back," walter rejoined. "no, you're all out. just you hold your hosses. it's like this. the chap who gets the send-off binds himself, good and strong, mind you, to divide what he makes out there among his owners, 'cordin' to what they put into him--same's owning pieces of a ship, ain't it? see? how big a piece'll you take?" finished charley, cracking his knuckles in his impatience. walter leaned back in his chair, and burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. charley grew red in the face. "look here, walt, you needn't have any if you don't want it." he took up his cap to go. walter stopped him. "there, you needn't get your back up, old chap. it's the funniest thing i ever heard of. why, it beats all!" "it's done every day," charley broke in. "you won't lose anything by me, walt," he added, anxiously scanning walter's face. "see if you do." walter had saved a little money. he therefore agreed to become a shareholder in charles wormwood, esquire, to the tune of fifty dollars, said wormwood duly agreeing and covenanting, on his part, to pay over dividends as fast as earned. so the ingenious charley sailed with as good a kit as could be picked up in boston, not omitting a beautiful colt's revolver (walter's gift), on which was engraved, "use me; don't abuse me." charles was to work his passage out in the new clipper, which arrangement would land him in san francisco with his capital unimpaired. "god bless you, charley, my boy," stammered walter, as the two friends wrung each other's hands. he could not have spoken another word without breaking down, which would have been positive degradation in a boy's eyes. "i'll make your fortune, see if i don't," was charley's cheerful farewell. "on the square i will," he brokenly added. the house of bright, wantage & company had a confidential clerk for whom walter felt a secret antipathy from the first day they met. we cannot explain these things; we only know that they exist. it may be a senseless prejudice; no matter, we cannot help it. this clerk's name was ramon ingersoll. his manner toward his fellow clerks was so top-lofty and so condescending that one and all thoroughly disliked him. some slight claim ramon was supposed to have upon the senior partner, mr. bright, kept the junior clerks somewhat in awe of him. but there was always friction in the counting-room when the clerks were left alone together. the truth is that ramon's father had at one time acted as agent for the house at matanzas, in cuba. when he died, leaving nothing but debts and this one orphan child, for he had buried his wife some years before, mr. bright had taken the little ramon home, sent him to school, paid all his expenses out of his own pocket and finally given him a place of trust in his counting-house. in a word, this orphaned, penniless boy owed everything to his benefactor. as has been already mentioned, without being able to give a reason for his belief, walter had an instinctive feeling that ramon would some day get him into trouble. fortunately walter's duties kept him mostly outside the warehouse, so that the two seldom met. one day ramon, with more than ordinary cordiality, asked walter to visit him at his room that same evening in order to meet, as he said, one or two particular friends of his. at the appointed time walter went, without mistrust, to ingersoll's lodgings. upon entering the room he found there two very flashy-looking men, one of whom was short, fat, and smooth-shaven, with an oily good-natured leer lurking about the corners of his mouth; the other dark-browed, bearded, and scowling, with, as walter thought, as desperately villainous a face as he had ever looked upon. "ah, here you are, at last!" cried ramon, as he let walter in. "this is mr. goodman," here the fat man bowed, and smiled blandly; "and this, mr. lambkin." the dark man looked up, scowled, and nodded. "and now," ramon went on, "as we have been waiting for you, what say you to a little game of whist, or high-low-jack, or euchre, just to pass away the time?" "i'm agreeable," said mr. goodman, "though, upon my word and honor, i hardly know one card from another. however, just to make up your party, i will take a hand." the knight of the gloomy brow silently drew his chair up to the table, which was, at least, significant of his intentions. walter had no scruples about playing an innocent game of whist. so he sat down with the others. the game went on rather languidly until, all at once, the fat man broke out, without taking his eyes off his cards, "bless me!--why, the strangest thing!--if i were a betting man, i declare i wouldn't mind risking a trifle on this hand." ramon laughed good-naturedly, as he replied in an offhand sort of way: "oh, we're all friends here. there's no objection to a little social game, i suppose, among friends." here he stole an inquiring look at walter. "besides," he continued, while carelessly glancing at his own hand, "i've a good mind to bet a trifle myself." though still quite unsuspicious, walter looked upon this interruption of the harmless game with misgiving. "all right," goodman resumed, "here goes a dollar, just for the fun of the thing." the taciturn lambkin said not a word, but taking out a well-stuffed wallet, quietly laid down two dollars on the one that goodman had just put up. "i know i can beat them," ramon whispered in walter's ear. "by jove, i'll risk it just this once!" "no, don't," walter whispered back, pleadingly, "it's gambling." "pshaw, man, it's only for sport," ramon impatiently rejoined, immediately adding five dollars of his own money to the three before him. walter laid down his cards, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms resolutely across his chest. "and the fat man said he hardly knew one card from another. how quick some folks do learn," he said to himself. "isn't our young friend going to try his luck?" smiled, rather than asked, the unctuous goodman. "no; i never play for money," was the quiet response. once the ice was broken the game went on for higher, and still higher, stakes, until walter, getting actually frightened at the recklessness with which ramon played and lost, rose to go. after vainly urging him to remain, annoyed at his failure to make walter play, enraged by his own losses, ramon followed walter outside the door, shut it behind them, and said in a menacing sort of way, "not a word of this at the store." "promise you won't play any more." "i won't do no such thing. who set you up for my guardian? if you're mean enough to play the sneak, tell if you dare!" walter felt his anger rising, but controlled himself. "oh, very well, only remember that i warned you," he replied, turning away. "don't preach, master innocence!" sneered ramon. "don't threaten, master hypocrite!" was the angry retort. quick as a flash, ramon sprang before walter, and barred his way. all the tiger in his nature gleamed in his eyes. "one word of this to mr. bright, and i'll--i'll fix you!" he almost shrieked out. with that the two young men clinched, and for a few minutes nothing could be heard but their heavy breathing. this did not last. walter soon showed himself much the stronger of the two, and master ramon, in spite of his struggles, found himself lying flat on his back, with his adversary's knee on his chest. ramon instantly gave in. choking down his wrath, he jerked out, "there, i promise. let me up." "oh, if you promise, so do i," said walter, releasing his hold on ramon. he then left the house without another word. he did not see ramon shaking his fist behind his back, or hear him muttering threats of vengeance to himself, as he went back to his vicious companions. walter did wish, however, that he had given ramon just one more punch for keeps. so they parted. satisfied that walter would not break his promise, ramon made all haste back to his companions, laughing in his sleeve to think how easily he had fooled that milksop seabury. his companions were two as notorious sharpers as boston contained. he continued to lose heavily, they luring him on by letting him win now and then, until they were satisfied he had nothing more to lose. at two in the morning their victim rose up from the table, hardly realizing, so far gone was he in liquor, that he was five hundred dollars in debt to lambkin, or that he had signed a note for that sum with the name of his employers, bright, wantage & company. he had found the road from gambling to forgery a natural and easy one. vi a black sheep in the fold leaving ingersoll to follow his crooked ways, we must now introduce a character, with whom walter had formed an acquaintance, destined to have no small influence upon his own future life. bill portlock was probably as good a specimen of an old, battered man-o'-war's man as could be scared up between montauk and quoddy head. while a powder-monkey, on board the _president_ frigate, he had been taken prisoner and confined in dartmoor prison, from which he had made his escape, with some companions in captivity, by digging a hole under the foundation wall with an old iron spoon. shipping on board a british merchantman, he had deserted at the first neutral port she touched at. he was now doing odd jobs about the wharves, as 'longshoreman; and as walter had thrown many such in the old salt's way a kind of intimacy had grown up between them. bill loved dearly to spin a yarn, and some of his adventures, told in his own vernacular, would have made the late baron munchausen turn green with envy. "why," he would say, after spinning one of his wonderful yarns, "ef i sh'd tell ye my adventers, man and boy, you'd think 'twas roberson crushoe a-talkin' to ye. no need o' lyin'. sober airnest beats all they make up." bill's castle was a condemned caboose, left on the wharf by some ship that was now plowing some distant sea. her name, the _orpheus_, could still be read in faded paint on the caboose; so that bill always claimed to belong to the _orpheus_, or she to him, he couldn't exactly say which. when he was at work on the wharf, after securing his castle with a stout padlock, he announced the fact to an inquiring public by chalking up the legend, "aboard the brig," or "aboard the skoner," as the case might be. if called to take a passenger off to some vessel in his wherry, the notice would then read, "back at eight bells." a sailor he was, and a sailor he said he would live and die. no one but a sailor, and an old sailor at that, could have squeezed himself into the narrow limits of the caboose, where it was not possible, even for a short man like bill, to stand upright, though bill himself considered it quite luxurious living. there was a rusty old cooking stove at one end, with two legs of its own, and two replaced by half-bricks; the other end being taken up by a bench, from which bill deftly manipulated saucepan or skillet. "why, lor' bless ye!" said bill to walter one evening, "i seed ye fish that ar' young 'ooman out o' the dock that time. 'bill,' sez i to myself, 'thar's a chap, now, as knows a backstay from a bullock's tail.'" "pshaw!" then after a moment's silence, while bill was busy lighting his pipe, walter absently asked, "bill, were you ever in california?" "kalerforny? was i ever in kalerforny? didn't i go out to sandy ager, in thirty-eight, in a hide drogher? and d'ye know why they call it sandy ager? i does. why, blow me if it ain't sandy 'nuff for old cape cod herself; and as for the ager, if you'll b'leeve me, our ship's crew shook so with it, that all hands had to turn to a-settin' up riggin' twict a month, it got so slack with the shakin' up like." "what an unhealthy place that must be," laughed walter. then suddenly changing the subject, he said: "bill, you know the _racehorse_ is a good two months overdue." bill nodded. "i know our folks are getting uneasy about her. no wonder. valuable cargo, and no insurance. what's your idea?" bill gave a few whiffs at his pipe before replying. "i know that ar' _racehorse_. she's a clipper, and has a good sailor aboard of her: but heavy sparred, an' not the kind to be carryin' sail on in the typhoon season, jest to make a quick passage." bill shook his head. "like as not she's dismasted, or sprung a leak, an' the lord knows what all." the next day happened to be saturday. as walter was going into the warehouse he met ramon coming out. since the night at his lodgings, his manner toward walter, outwardly at least, had undergone a marked change. if anything it was too cordial. "hello! seabury, that you?" he said, in his offhand way. "lucky thing you happened in. it's steamer day, and i'm awfully hard pushed for time. would you mind getting this check on the suffolk cashed for me? no? that's a good fellow. do as much for you some time. and, stay, on your way back call at the california steamship agency--you know?--all right. well, see if there are any berths left in the _georgia_. you won't forget the name? the _georgia_. and, oh! be sure to get gold for that check. it's to pay duties with, you know," ramon hurriedly explained in an undertone. "all right; i understand," said walter, walking briskly away on his errand. he quite forgot all about the gold, though, until after he had left the bank; when, suddenly remembering it, he hurried back to get the coin, quite flurried and provoked at his own forgetfulness. the cashier, however, counted out the double-eagles, for the notes, without remark. such little instances of forgetfulness were too common to excite his particular notice. on that same evening, finding time hanging rather heavily on his hands, walter strolled uptown in the direction of mr. bright's house, which was in the fashionable mt. vernon street. the truth is that the silly boy thought he might possibly catch a glimpse of a certain young lady, or her shadow, at least, in passing the brilliantly lighted residence. it was, he admitted to himself, a fool's errand, after walking slowly backwards and forwards two or three times, with his eyes fastened upon the lighted windows; and with a feeling of disappointment he turned away from the spot, heartily ashamed of himself, as well, for having given way to a sudden impulse. glad he was that no one had noticed him. walter's queer actions, however, did not escape the attention of a certain lynx-eyed policeman, who, snugly ensconced in the shadow of a doorway, had watched his every step. the young man had gone but a short distance on his homeward way, when, as he was about crossing the street, he came within an ace of being knocked down and run over by a passing hack, which turned the corner at such a break-neck pace that there was barely time to get out of the way. there was a gaslight on this corner. at walter's warning shout to the driver, the person inside the hack quickly put his head out of the window, and as quickly drew it in again; but in that instant the light had shone full upon the face of ramon ingersoll. the driver lashed his horses into a run. walter stood stupidly staring after the carriage. then, without knowing why, he ran after it, confident that if he had recognized ramon in that brief moment, ramon must also have recognized him. the best he could do, however, was to keep the carriage in sight, but he soon saw that it was heading for the railway station at the south end. out of breath, and nearly out of his head, too, walter dashed through the arched doorway of the station, just in time to see a train going out at the other end in a cloud of smoke. in his eagerness, walter ran headlong into the arms of the night-watchman, who, seeing the blank look on walter's face, said, as he had said a hundred times before to belated travelers, "too late, eh?" "yes, yes, too late," repeated walter, in a tone of deep vexation. while walking home he began to think he had been making a fool of himself again. after all, what business was it of his if ramon had gone to new york? he might have gone on business of the firm. of course that was it. and what right had he, walter, to be chasing ramon through the streets, anyhow? still, he was sure that ramon had recognized him, and just as sure that ramon had wished to avoid being recognized, else why had he not spoken or even waved his hand? walter gave it up, and went home to dream of chasing carriages all night long. walter went to the wharf as usual the next morning. in the course of the forenoon a porter brought word that he was wanted at the counting-room. when walter went into the office, mr. bright was walking the floor, back and forth, with hasty steps, while a very dark, clean-shaven, alert-looking man sat leaning back in a chair before the door. this person immediately arose, locked the office door, put the key in his pocket, and then quietly sat down again. walter's heart was in his mouth. he grew red and pale by turns. before he could collect his ideas mr. bright stopped in his walk, looked him squarely in the eye, and, in an altered voice, demanded sharply and sternly: "ingersoll--where is he? no prevarication. i want the truth and nothing but the truth. you understand?" walter tried hard to make a composed answer, but the words would not seem to come; and the merchant's cold gray eyes seemed searching him through and through. however, he managed to stammer out: "i don't know, sir, where he is--gone away, hasn't he?" "don't know. gone away," repeated the merchant. "now answer me directly, without any ifs or buts; where, and when, did you see him last?" "last night; at least, i thought it was ramon." the dark man gave his head a little toss. "well, go on? what then?" "it was about nine o'clock, in a close carriage, not far from the common." that, by the way, was as near to mr. bright's house as walter thought proper to locate the affair. mr. bright exchanged glances with the dark man, who merely nodded, but said never a word. thinking his examination was over, walter plucked up the courage to say of his own accord, "i ran after the carriage as tight as i could; but you see, sir, the driver was lashing his horses all the way, so i couldn't keep up with it; and when i got to the depot the train was just starting." "pray, what took _you_ to that neighborhood at that hour?" the silent man demanded so suddenly that the sound of his voice startled walter. if ever conscious guilt showed itself in a face, it now did in walter's. he turned as red as a peony. mr. bright frowned, while the dark-skinned man smiled a knowing little smile. "why, nothing in particular, sir. i was only taking a little stroll about town, before going home," walter replied, a word at a time. "yet your boarding place is at the other end of the city, is it not?" pursued mr. bright. "yes, sir, it is." "walter seabury, up to this time i have always had a good opinion of you. this is no time for concealments. the house has been robbed of a large sum of money--so large that should it not be recovered within twenty-four hours we must fail. do you hear--fail?" he repeated as if the word stuck in his throat and choked him. "robbed; fail!" walter faltered out, hardly believing his own ears. "yes, robbed, and as i must believe by a scoundrel warmed at my own fireside. and you: why did you not report ingersoll's flight before it was too late to stop him?" though shocked beyond measure by this revelation, walter made haste to reply: "because, sir, i was not sure it was ramon. it was just a look, and he was gone like a flash. besides----" "besides what?" "how could i know ramon was running away?" "why, then, did you run after him? are you in the habit of chasing every carriage you may chance upon in the street?" again interrupted the silent man. stung by the bantering tone of the stranger, walter made no reply. mr. bright was his employer and had a perfect right to question him; but who was this man, and by what right did he mix himself up in the matter? "quite right of you, young man, to say nothing to criminate yourself; but perhaps you will condescend to tell us, unless it would be betraying confidence [again that cunning smile], if you knew that this ingersoll was a gambler?" the tell-tale blood again rushed to walter's temples, but instantly left them as it dimly dawned upon him that he was suspected of knowing more than he was willing to tell. "gently, marshal, gently," interposed mr. bright. "he will tell all, if we give him time." "one moment," rejoined the chief, with a meaning look at the merchant. "you hear, young man, this firm has been robbed of twenty thousand dollars--quite a haul. the thief has absconded. you tell a pretty straight story, i allow, but before you are many hours older you will have to explain why you, who have nothing to do with that department, should draw two thousand dollars at the bank yesterday; why, after getting banknotes you went back after gold," the marshal continued, warming up as he piled accusation on accusation; "why, again, you went from there to secure a berth in the _georgia_, which sailed early this morning; and why you are seen, for seen you were, first watching mr. bright's house, and then arriving at the station just too late for the new york express. take my advice. make a clean breast of the whole affair. if you can clear yourself, now is the time; if you can't, possibly you may be of some use in recovering the money." walter felt his legs giving way under him. at last it was all out. now it was as clear as day how ingersoll had so craftily managed everything as to make walter appear in the light of a confederate. now he knew why ingersoll had wished to avoid being recognized. in a broken voice he told what he knew of ingersoll's wrong-doings, excusing his own silence by the pledge he had given and received. when he had finished, the two men held a whispered conference together. "clear case," observed the marshal; "one watched your house while the other was making his escape." "i'll not believe it. why, this young man saved my daughter's life." "think as you like. at any rate, i mean to keep an eye on him." so saying, the marshal went on his way, humming a tune to himself with as much unconcern as if he had just got up from a game of checkers which he had won handily. at the street corner he hailed an officer, to whom he gave an order in an undertone, and then walked on, smiling and nodding right and left as he went. left alone with mr. bright, walter stood nervously twisting his cap in both hands, like a culprit awaiting his sentence. it came at last. "until this matter is cleared up," mr. bright said, "we cannot retain you in our employ. get what is due you. you can go now." he then turned his back on walter, and began busying himself over the papers on his desk. walter went out of the office without another word. he was simply stunned. vii the flight walter walked slowly down the wharf, feeling as if the world had suddenly come to an end. nothing looked to him exactly as it looked one short hour ago. he did not even notice that a policeman was keeping a few rods behind him. as he walked along with eyes fixed on the ground, a familiar voice hailed him with, "why, what ails ye, lad? seen a ghost or what?" "bill," said walter, "would you believe it, that skunk of a ramon has run off with a lot of the firm's money--to california, they say? and, oh, bill! bill! they suspect me, _me_, of having helped him do it. and i'm discharged. that's all." it was no use trying to keep up longer. walter broke down completely at the sound of a friendly voice at last. bill silently led the way into the caboose. he first lighted his pipe, for, like the indians, bill seemed to believe that a good smoke tended to clear the intellect. he then, save for an occasional angry snort or grunt, heard walter through without interruption. when the wretched story was all told bill struck his open palm upon his knee, jerking out between whiffs: "my eye, here's a pretty kettle o' fish! ruin, failure, crash, and smash. ship ashore, and you all taken aback. ssh!" suddenly checking himself, as a shadow darkened the one little pane of glass that served for a window. a policeman was looking in at them. giving the two friends a careless nod, he walked slowly away. it slowly dawned upon walter that the man with the black rosette in his hat, whom he had seen at the office, had set a watch upon him. "bill, you mustn't be seen talking to me," said walter, rising to leave. "they'll think you are in the plot, too. oh! oh! they dog me about everywhere." the old fellow laughed scornfully. "that," he exclaimed, snapping his fingers, "for the hull b'ilin' on 'em. i've licked many a perleeceman in my time, and can do it again, old as i am. but we can be foxy, too, i guess. listen. when i sees you comin', i'll go acrost the wharf to where that 'ar brig lays, over there. you foller me." walter nodded. "i go up aloft. you follers. we has our little talk out in the maintop, free and easy like, and the perleeceman, he has his watch below." when walter reached his boarding house his landlady met him in the entry. she seemed quite flustered and embarrassed. "oh, mr. seabury," she began, "i'm so glad you've come! such a time! there has been an officer here tossing everything topsy-turvy in your room. he would do it, in spite of all i could say. i told him you were the best boarder of the lot; never out late nights, or coming home the worse for liquor, and always prompt pay. do you think, he told me to shut up, and mind my own business. oh, sir, what _is_ the matter? that ever a nasty policeman should came ransacking in my house. goodness alive! why, if it gets out, i'm a ruined woman. please, sir, couldn't you find another boarding place?" this was the last straw for poor walter. without a word he crept upstairs to his little bedroom, threw himself down on the bed, and cried as if his heart would break. walter was young. conscious innocence helped him to throw off the fit of despondency; but in so far as feeling goes, he was ten years older when he came out of it. it was quite dark. lighting a lamp, he hastily threw a few things into a bag, scribbled a short note to his aunt, inclosing the check received when he was discharged, settled with the landlady, who was in tears, always on tap; took his bag under his arm, and after satisfying himself that the coast was clear, struck out a roundabout course, through crooked ways and blind alleys, to the wharf. for the life of him, he could not keep back a little bitter laugh when he called to mind that this was the second time in his short life that he had run away. the wharf was deserted. there was no light in the caboose; but upon walter's giving three cautious raps, the door was slid back, and as quickly closed after him. "well," he said, wearily throwing himself down on a bench, "here i am again. i've been turned out of doors now. you are my only friend left. what would you do, if you were in my place? i can't bear it, and i won't," he broke out impulsively. "i see," said bill, meditatively shutting both eyes, to give emphasis to the assertion. "nobody will give me a place now, with a cloud like that hanging over me." bill nodded assent. "i can't go back to the loft where i worked before, to be pointed at and jeered at by every duffer who may take it into his head to throw this scrape in my face. would you?" as bill made no reply, but smoked on in silence, walter exclaimed, almost fiercely, "confound it, man, say something! can't you? you drive me crazy with all the rest." this time bill shook the ashes from his pipe. "what would i do? why, if it was me i'd track the rascal to the eends of the airth, and jump off arter him, but i'd have him. and arter i'd cotched him, i'd twist his neck just as quick as i would a pullet's," was bill's quiet but determined reply. walter simply stared, though every nerve in his body thrilled at the bare idea. "pshaw, you don't mean it. what put that silly notion into your head? why, what could i do single-handed and alone, against such a consummate villain as that? where's the money to come from, in the first place?" bill watched walter's sudden change from hot to cold. "jest you take down that 'ar coffee-pot over your head." walter handed it to him, as requested. first giving it a vigorous shake, which made the contents rattle again with a metallic sound, bill then raised the lid, showing to walter's astonished eyes a mixture of copper, silver, and even a few gold, coins, half filling the battered utensil. "thar's a bank as never busts, my son," chuckled the old man, at the same time turning the coffee-pot this way and that, just for the pleasure of hearing it rattle. "what do you think of them 'ar coffee-grounds, heh? single-handed, is it?" he continued, with a sniff of disdain. "i'll jest order my kerridge, and go 'long with ye, my boy." it took some minutes for walter to realize that bill was in real, downright, sober earnest. but bill was already shoving some odds and ends into a canvas bag to emphasize his decision. "strike while the iron's hot" was his motto. walter started to his feet with something of his old animation. "that settles it!" he exclaimed. "since i've been turned out of doors, i feel as if i wanted to put millions of miles between me and every one i've ever known. do you know, i think every one i meet is saying to himself, 'there's that walter seabury, suspected of robbing his employers'? go away i must, but i've found out from the papers that no steamer sails before saturday, and to-day is wednesday, you know. where shall i hide my face for a day or two? how do i know they won't arrest me, if they catch me trying to leave the city? oh, bill, i can never stand that disgrace, never!" having finished with his packing, bill blew out the light, pushed back the slide, and gave a rapid look up and down the wharf. as he drew in his head, he said just as indifferently as if he had proposed taking a short walk about town, "'pears to me as if the correck thing for folks in our sitivation like was to cut and run." "true enough for me. but how about you? they'll say that you were as deep in the mud as i am in the mire. give it up, bill. no, dear old friend, i mustn't drag you down with me. i can't." "bah! talk won't hurt old bill nohow. bill's about squar' with the world. he owes just as much as he don't owe." walter was deeply touched. he saw plainly that it was no use trying to shake the old fellow's purpose, so forbore urging him further. the old man waited a moment for walter to speak, and finding that he did not, laid his big rough hand on the lad's shoulder and asked impressively, "did you send off your chist to your aunt as i told ye to?" "i did, an hour ago." "an' did you kind o' explanify things to the old gal?" "how could i tell her, bill? didn't she always say i would come to no good end? i wrote her that i was going away--a long way off--and for a long time. i couldn't say just how long. a year or two perhaps. my head was all topsy-turvy, anyhow." "you didn't forgit she took keer on ye when ye war a kid?" "i sent her the check i got from the store, right away." "then i don't see nothin' to--hender us from takin' that 'ar little cruise we was a-talkin' about." it was pitch-dark when our two adventurers stepped out of the caboose. after securing the door with a stout padlock, bill silently led the way to the stairs where he kept his wherry. noiselessly the boat was rowed out of the dock, toward a light that glimmered in the rigging of an outward-bound brig that lay out in the stream waiting for the turning of the tide. bill did not speak again until they were clear of the dock. "yon brig's bound for york. i know the old man first-rate, 'cause i helped load her. he'll give us a berth if we take holt with the crew. here we are." as he climbed the brig's side he set the wherry adrift with a vigorous shove of his foot. a day or two after the events just described, mr. bright and the marshal met on the street, the former looking sober and downcast, the latter smiling and elate. "what did i tell you?" cried the marshal, evidently well pleased with the tenor of the news he had to relate; "your _protégé_ has gone off with an old wharf rat that i've had my eye on for some time." "to tell you the whole truth, marshal, my mind is not quite easy about that boy," the merchant replied. "opportunity makes the thief," the officer observed carelessly. "i'm afraid we've been too hasty." "perhaps so; but it's my opinion that when ramon is found, the other won't be far off. i honor your feelings in this matter, sir, but my experience tells me that every rascal asserts his innocence until his guilt is proved. i've notified the police of san francisco to be on the lookout for that precious clerk of yours. good-day, sir." when mr. bright returned to the store, on entering the office he saw an elderly woman, in a faded black bonnet and shawl, sitting bolt-upright on the edge of a chair facing the door, with two bony hands tightly clenched in her lap. there was fire in her eye. "that is mr. bright, madam," one of the clerks hastened to say. "what can i do for you, madam?" the merchant asked. the woman fixed two keen gray eyes upon the speaker's face, as she spoke up, quite unabashed by the quiet dignity of the merchant's manner of speaking. "well," she began breathlessly, "i'm real glad to see you if you have kept me waiting. here i've sot, an' sot, a good half-hour. 'pears to me you boston folks don't get up none too airly fer yer he'lth. i was down here before your shop was open this mornin'. better late than never, though." the merchant bent his head politely. his visitor caught her breath and went on: "i'm miss marthy seabury. what's all this coil about my nevvy? he's wrote me that he was goin' away. where's he gone? what's he done? that's what i'd like to know, right up an' down." she paused for a reply, never taking her eyes off the merchant's troubled face for an instant. "my good woman," mr. bright began in a mollifying tone, when she broke in upon him abruptly: "no palaverin', mister. no beatin' the bush, if ye please. come to the p'int. i left my dirty dishes in the sink to home, an' must go back in the afternoon keers." "then don't let me detain you," resumed mr. bright gravely. "there has been a defalcation. i'm sorry to say your nephew is suspected of knowing more than he was willing to tell about it. so we had to let him go. where he is now, is more than i can say." "what's a defalcation?" "a betrayal of trust, madam." "do you mean my boy took anything that didn't belong to him?" "not quite that. no, indeed. at least, i hope not. but, you see, walter is badly mixed up with the precious rascal who did." "well, you'd better not. i'd like to see the man who'd say my boy was a thief, that's all. why, i'd trust him long before the president of the united states!" the woman actually glared at every one in the office, as if in search of some one willing to take up her challenge. "if you'll try to listen calmly, madam," interposed the merchant, "i'll try to tell you what we know." he then went on to relate the circumstances already known to us. aunt martha gave an indignant sniff when the merchant had finished. "you call yourself smart, eh? why, an old woman sees through it with one eye. walter was just humbugged. so was you, warn't ye? an' goin' on right under your own nose ever so long, an' ye none the wiser for't. well, i declare to goodness, if i was you i sh'ld feel real downright small potatoes!" "i think, madam, perhaps we had better bring this interview to a close. it is a very painful subject, i do assure you." "very well, sir. i sh'ld think you'd want to. but mark my words. you'll be sorry for this some day, as i am now that walter ever laid eyes on you or--your darter." with this parting shot she bounced out of the office, shutting the door with a vicious bang behind her. but mr. bright's worries that day were not to be so easily set at rest. upon reaching his home for a late dinner, looking pale and careworn, it was dora who met him in the hallway, who put her arms round her father's neck, and who kissed him lovingly on both cheeks. "dear papa, i know all," she said with a little sob. "ah!" he ejaculated. "then you have heard----" "yes, papa; our next-door neighbor, mrs. pryor, has told me all about it. hateful old thing!" the merchant made a gesture of resignation. "she said you would have to discharge most of your clerks." mr. bright made a gesture of assent. "then i want to do something. i can give music lessons. i'll work my fingers off to help. i know i shall be a perfect treasure. but why _did_ you send mr. seabury away, papa?" "because he was unfaithful." "i don't believe a word of it." "appearances are strongly against him." "i don't care. i say it's a wicked shame. why, what has he done?" "what has he done? why, he knew ramon gambled, and wouldn't tell. he knew ramon had gone, and never lisped a syllable." "yes, but that's what he didn't do." "he was caught hanging around our house the night that ramon ran away. there, child, don't bother me with any more questions. guilty or not, both have gone beyond reach." dora came near letting slip a little cry of surprise. she knew that she was blushing furiously, but fortunately the hall was dark. a new light had flashed upon her. and she thought she could guess why walter had been lurking round their house on that, to him, most eventful night. although she had never exchanged a dozen words with him, he had won her gratitude and admiration fairly, and now she began to feel great pity and sorrow for the friendless clerk. hearing dora crying softly, her father put his arm around her waist and said soothingly: "there, child, don't cry; we must try to bear up under misfortune. but 'tis a thousand pities----" "well," anxiously. "well, if i had known all that in season, the worst might have been prevented." "and now?" "and now, child, your father is a ruined man." so saying, the merchant hung up his hat and walked gloomily away. dora ran upstairs to her own room and locked herself in, leaving the despondent merchant to eat his dinner solitary and alone. viii outward bound "beats boston, don't it?" said bill to walter, as the _susan j._ was slowly working her way up the east river past the miles of wharves and warehouses with which the shores are lined. "maybe it's bigger, but i don't believe it's any better," was walter's guarded reply. as soon as the anchor was down, the two friends hailed a passing boatman, who quickly put them on shore at the battery, whence they lost no time in making their way to the steamship company's office--bill to see if he could get a chance to ship for the run to the isthmus, walter to get a berth in the steerage just as soon as bill's case should be decided. so eager were they to have the matter settled that they would not stop even to look at the wonders of the town. while waiting their turn among the crowd in the office, bill's roving eye happened to fall on a big, square-shouldered, thick-set man who sat comfortably warming his hands over a coal fire in the fireplace, which he wholly monopolized, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. it was now the month of december, and the air was chilly. bill hailed him without ceremony. "mawnin', mister. fire feels kind o' good this cold mawnin', don't it?" the person thus addressed did not even turn his head. unabashed by this cool reception, bill added in a lower tone, "lookin' out for a chance to ship, heh, matey?" at this question, so squarely put, a suppressed titter ran round the room. the silent man gave bill a sidelong look, shrugged his shoulders, and absently asked, "what makes you think so?" "d'ye think i don't know a sailorman when i see one? mighty stuck up, some folks is. better get that ingy-ink out o' yer hands ef yer 'shamed on it." the silent man rose up, buttoned his shaggy buffalo-skin coat up to his chin, pulled his fur cap down over his bushy eyebrows, and strode out of the office without looking either to the right or the left. "i say, you!" a clerk called out to bill. "do you know who you were talking to? that's the old man." "i don't keer ef it's the old boy. ef that chap ha'n't hauled on a tarred rope afore now, i'm a nigger; that's all." "that was commodore vanderbilt, the owner of this line," the clerk retorted very pompously, quite as if he expected bill to drop. the general laugh now went against bill. "whew! was it, though? then i s'pose my cake's all dough," he grumbled to himself, but was greatly relieved when the shipping clerk, after a few questions, told him to sign the articles. walter was duly engaged, in his turn, as a cabin waiter. this being settled, the two friends sallied forth in high spirits to report on board the _prometheus_, bound for san juan del norte. nowhere, probably, since the days of noah was there ever seen such utter and seemingly helpless confusion as on one of those great floating arks engaged in the california trade by way of the isthmus, in the early fifties, just before sailing. bullocks were dismally lowing, sheep plaintively bleating, hogs squealing. men were wildly running to and fro, shouting, pushing, and elbowing each other about, as if they had only a few minutes longer to live and must therefore make the most of their time. women were quietly crying, or laughing hysterically, by turns, as the fit happened to take them. of human beings, upwards of a thousand were thus occupied on board the _prometheus_; while on the already crowded slip the shouting of belated hack drivers, who stormed and swore, the loud cries of peddlers and newsboys, who darted hither and thither among the surging throng, served to keep up an indescribable uproar. add to this, that the sky was dark and lowering, the black river swimming with floating ice, crushing and grinding against the slip, as it moved out to sea with the ebb; and possibly some idea may be formed of what was taking place on that bleak december afternoon. but all things must come to an end. all this confusion was hushed when the word was passed to cast off, the paddle wheels began slowly to turn, and the big ship, careening heavily to port under its human freight, who swarmed like bees upon her decks, forged slowly out into the stream, carrying with her, if the truth must be told, many a sorry and homesick one already. walter, however, drew a long breath of relief as the ship moved away from the shores. it was the first moment in which he had been able to shake off the fear of being followed. he therefore went about his duties cheerfully, if not very skillfully. oh, the unspeakable misery of that first night at sea! a stiff southeaster was blowing when the steamer thrust her black nose outside of sandy hook. and as the hours wore on, and the gale rose higher and higher, with every lurch the straining ship would moan and tremble like a human being in distress. now and then a big sea would strike the ship fairly, sending crockery and glassware flying about the cabin with a crash, then as she settled down into the trough, for one breathless moment it would seem as if she would never come up again. twenty times that night the affrighted passengers gave themselves up for lost. most of them lay in their berths prostrated by fear or seasickness. a few even put on life preservers. perhaps a score or more, too much terrified even to seek their berths, crouched with pallid faces on the cabin stairs, foolishly imagining that if the ship did go down they would thus have the better chance of saving themselves. some half-crazed women had even put on their bonnets, in order, as they sobbed out, to die decently. it was hardly light, if a blurred gray streak in the east could be called light, when walter crept up the slippery companionway. his head felt like a balloon, his eyes like two lumps of lead, his legs like mismatched legs. the ship was working her engines just enough to keep her head to the sea. the deck was all awash, and littered with the rubbish of a row of temporary, or "standee," bunks abandoned by their occupants, and broken up by the force of the gale. the paddle-boxes were stove, and tons of water were pouring in upon the decks with every revolution of the wheels. by watching his chance, when the ship steadied herself for another plunge, walter managed to work his way out to the forepart of the vessel. here he found bill, with half a dozen more, all wringing-wet, hastily swallowing, between lurches of the ship, a cupful of hot coffee, which the cook was passing out to them from the galley. if ever men looked completely worn out, then those men did. bill no sooner caught sight of walter, than he offered him his dipper. walter put it away from him with a grimace of disgust. "dirty night," said bill, cooling his coffee between swallows; "blowed fresh; nary watch below sence we left the dock; no life in her; steered like a wild bull broke loose in broadway. she's some easier now. better have some [again holding out his cup]; 't will do you good. no? well, here goes," tilting his head back and draining the cup to the last drop. just then the first officer came bustling along in oilskins and sou'wester. "here, you!" he called out, "lay for'ard there, and get the jib on her; come, bear a hand!" walter went forward with the men. hoisting the sail was no easy matter, with the ship plunging bows under every minute, but no sooner did the gale fill it fairly, than away it went with a report like a cannon, blown clean out of the bolt-rope, as if it had been a boy's kite held by a string. while the men were watching it disappear in the mist, crash came a ton or more of salt water pouring over the bow, throwing them violently against the deck-house. shaking himself like a spaniel, the mate darted off to give the steersman a dressing-down for letting the ship "broach to." two sailors had been lost overboard during the night. on a hint dropped by bill, walter was taken from the cabin, where there was little to do, and put to work with the carpenter's gang, repairing damages. the change being much to his liking, walter applied himself to his new duties with a zeal that soon won for him the good will of his mates. and when it came to doing a job on the rigging, though out of practice, walter was always the one called upon to do it. the captain, a quiet, gentlemanly man, who looked more like a schoolmaster than a shipmaster, told the purser to put walter in the ship's books. thoroughly tired out with his day's work, walter was going below when the mate called out to him: "i say, youngster, you're not going down into that dog-hole again. there's a spare bunk in my stateroom. get your traps and sail in. you can h'ist in as much sleep as you've storage room for." by noon of the second day out, the _prometheus_ had run into the gulf stream. the gale had sensibly abated, though it still blew hard. when the captain came on deck, after taking a long look at the clouds, he said to the mate, "mr. gray, i think you may give her the jib and mainsail, to steady her a bit." at break of day on the morning of the fourth day out, as walter was leaning over the weather rail, his eye caught sight of a dark spot rising out of the water nearly abeam. the mate was taking a long look at it through his glass. in reply to walter's inquiring look, the mate told him it was a low-lying reef called mariguana, one of the easternmost of the bahamas. it was not long before most of the passengers were crowding up to get sight of that little speck of dry land, the first they had laid eyes on since the voyage began. "now, my lad, you can judge something of how columbus felt when he made his first landfall hereabouts so long ago!" exclaimed the mate. "good for sore eyes, ain't it? we never try to pass it except in the daytime," he added; "if we did, ten to one we'd fetch up all standing." "san domingo to-morrow!" cried the mate, rubbing his hands as he came out of the chart room on the fifth day. as the word passed through the ship it produced a magical effect among the passengers, whose chief desire was once more to set foot on dry land, and next to see it. sure enough, when the sun rose out of the ocean next morning there was the lovely tropic island looming up, darkly blue, before them. there, too, were the hazy mountain peaks of cuba rising in the west. all day long the ship was sailing between these islands, on a sea as smooth as a millpond. every day she was getting in better trim, and going faster; and the spirits of all on board rose accordingly at the prospect of an early ending of the voyage. "this beats all!" was walter's delighted comment to bill, who was swabbing down the decks in his bare feet. "'tis kind o' pooty," bill assented, wiping his sweaty face with his bare arm. "that un," nodding toward cuba, "uncle sam ought to hev, by good rights; but this 'ere," turning on san domingo a look of contempt, "'z nothin' but niggers, airthquakes, an' harricanes. let 'em keep it, says bill;" then continuing, after a short pause, "porter prince is up in the bight of yon deep bay. i seen the old king-pin himself onct. coal-tar ain't a patchin' to him; no, nor day & martin nuther. hot? if you was ashore there, you'd think it was hot. why, they cook eggs without fire right out in the sun." a two-days' run across the caribbean sea brought the _prometheus_ on soundings, and a few hours more to her destined port. every one was now making hurried preparations to leave the ship, bag and baggage; every eye beamed with delight at the prospect of escaping from the confinement of what had seemed more like a prison than anything else. while the _prometheus_ was heading toward her anchorage there was time allowed for a brief survey of the town and harbor of san juan del norte, or, as it was then commonly called, greytown. these were really nothing more than an open roadstead, bounded by a low, curving, and sandy shore, along which half a hundred poor cabins lay half hid among tall cocoanut palms. from the one two-story building in sight the british flag was flying. the harbor, however, presented a very animated and warlike appearance, in consequence of the warm dispute then in progress between england and the united states as to who should control the transit from ocean to ocean. two american and two british warships lay within easy gunshot of each other, flying the flags of their respective nations, and no sooner were the colors of the starry banner caught sight of than a tremendous cheer burst from the thousand throats on board the _prometheus_. her anchor had hardly touched bottom when a boat from the _saranac_ came alongside, the officer in charge eagerly hailing the deck for the latest news from the states. as for the jackies, to judge from their looks they seemed literally spoiling for a fight. walter had no very clear idea upon the subject of this international dispute, still less of the importance it might assume in the future, but the evident anxiety shown on the faces around him led him to suppose that the matter was serious. he stood holding onto the lee rigging, watching the american tars in the boat alongside, and thinking what fine, manly fellows they looked, when two passengers near him began an animated discussion which set him to thinking. "sare," said one, with a strong french accent, "it was, _ma foi_, i shall recollect--_ah oui_--it was my countryman, one samuel champlain, who first gave ze idea of cutting--what you call him?--one sheep canal across ze eesmus. i shall not be wrong to-day." "excuse me, monsieur," the other returned, "i think cortez did that very thing long before him." "nevair mind, _mon ami_. i _gage_ you 'ave ze _histoire_ correct. eet only prove zat great minds 'ave always sometime ze same ideas. _mais_, your oncle sam, wiz hees sillee monroe doctreen, he eez like ze dog wiz his paw on ze bone: he not eat himself; he not let any oder dog: he just growl, growl, growl." "but, monsieur, wouldn't uncle sam, as you call him, be a big fool to let any foreign nation get control of his road to california?" the frenchman only replied by a shrug. even before the _prometheus_ dropped anchor she was surrounded by a swarm of native boatmen, of all shades of color from sour cream to jet-black, some holding up bunches of bananas, some screaming out praises of their boats to such as were disposed to go ashore, others begging the passengers to throw a dime into the water, for which they instantly plunged, head first, regardless of the sharks which could be seen lazily swimming about the harbor, attracted by the offal thrown over from the ships. "i don't know how 'tis," said bill in walter's ear, "but them sharks'll never tech a nigger. but come, time to wake up! anchor's down. all's snug aboard. now keep your weather eye peeled for a long pull across the isthmus." "good luck to ye," said the jolly mate, shaking walter heartily by the hand as he was about leaving the ship. "i'm right glad to see you've been trying to improve your mind a bit, instead of moonin' about like a catfish in a mudhole, as most of 'em do on board here. use your eyes. keep your ears open and don't be afraid to ask questions. that's the way to travel, my hearty!" and with a parting wave of the hand he strode forward. ix across nicaragua in the course of an hour or so three light-draught stern-wheel steamboats ("wheelbarrows," bill derisively called them) came puffing up alongside. into them the passengers were now unceremoniously bundled, like so many sheep, and in such numbers as hardly to allow room to move about, yet all in high glee at escaping from the confinement of the ship, at which many angrily shook their fists as the fasts were cast off. in another quarter of an hour the boats were steaming slowly up the san juan river, thus commencing the second stage of the long journey. for the first hour or two the travelers were fully occupied in looking about them with charmed eyes, as with mile after mile, and turn after turn, the wonders of a tropical forest, all hung about with rare and beautiful flowers, and all as still as death, passed before them. but bill, to whom the sight was not new or strange, declared that for his part he would rather have a sniff of good old boston's east wind than all the cloying perfumes of that wilderness of woods and blossoms. it was not long, however, before attention was drawn to the living inhabitants of this fairyland. first a strange object, something between a huge lizard and a bloated bullfrog, was spied clinging to a bush on the bank. no sooner seen than crack! crack! went a dozen pistol shots, and down dropped the dirty green-and-yellow creature with a loud splash into the river. "there's a tidbit gone," observed bill, in walter's ear. "what! eat that thing?" demanded walter with a disgusted look. "sartin. they eat um; eat anything. and what you can't eat, 'll eat you. if you don't b'leeve it, look at that 'ar reptyle on the bank yonder," said bill, pointing out the object in question with the stem of his pipe. walter followed the direction of bill's pipe. looking quite as much like a stranded log as anything else, a full-grown alligator lay stretched out along the muddy margin of the river at the water's edge. no sooner was he seen, than the ungainly monster became the target for a perfect storm of bullets, all of which glanced as harmlessly off his scaly back as hailstones from a slate roof. disturbed by the noise and the shouts, the hideous animal slid slowly into the water and disappeared from sight, churning up the muddy bottom as he went. bill put on a quizzical look as he asked walter if he knew why some barbarians worshiped the alligator. walter was obliged to admit that he did not. "'cause the alligator can swaller the man, but the man can't swaller the alligator," chuckled bill. now and then a native bongo would be overhauled, bound for san carlos, grenada, or leon, with a cargo of european goods. they were uncouth-looking boats, rigged with mast and sail, and sometimes thirty to forty feet long. many a hearty laugh greeted the grotesque motions of the jet-black rowers, who half rose from their seats every time they dipped their oars, and then sank back with a grunt to give their strokes more power. the _patrón_, or master, prefaced all his orders with a persuasive "now, gentlemen, a little faster, if you please!" "and so that's the way, is it, that all inland transportation has been carried on here for so many hundred years?" thought walter. "well, i never!" incidents such as these served, now and then, to cause a ripple of excitement, or until even alligators became quite too numerous to waste powder upon. as darkness was coming on fast, there being no twilight to speak of in this part of the world, a ship's yawl was seen tied up under the bank for the night. its occupants were nowhere in sight, but the dim light of a fire among the bushes showed that they were not far off. "runaway sailors," bill explained; "stole the boat, an' 'fraid to show themselves. poor devils! they've a long pull afore 'em ef they get away, an' a rope's-end behind 'em if they're caught." "why, how far is it across?" "it's more'n a hundred miles to the lake, and another hundred or so beyond." "whew! you don't say. well, i pity them." when darkness had shut down, the steamers also were tied up to trees on the bank, scope enough being given to the line to let the boats swing clear of the shores, on account of the mosquitoes, with which the woods were fairly alive. in this solitude the travelers passed their first night, without other shelter than the heavens above, and long before it was over there was good reason to repent of the abuse heaped upon the _prometheus_, since very few got a wink of sleep; while all were more or less soaked by the rain that fell in torrents, as it can rain only in the tropics, during the night. as cold, wet, and gloomy as it dawned, the return of day was hailed with delight by the shivering and disconsolate travelers. in truth, much of the gilding had already been washed off, or worn off, of their el dorado. and, as bill bluntly put it, they all looked "like a passel of drownded rats." bill made this remark while he and walter were washing their hands and faces in the roily river water, an easy matter, as they had only to stoop over the side to do so, the boat's deck being hardly a foot out of water. suddenly walter caught bill's arm and gave it a warning squeeze. bill followed the direction in which walter was looking, and gave a low whistle. a beautifully mottled black-and-white snake had coiled itself around the line by which the boat was tied to the shore, and was quietly working its way, in corkscrew fashion, toward the now motionless craft. seizing a boat-hook, bill aimed a savage blow at the reptile, but the rope only being struck, the snake dropped unharmed into the river. "do they raise anything here besides alligators, snakes, lizards, and monkeys?" walter asked the captain, who was looking on, while sipping his morning cup of black coffee. glancing up, the captain good-humoredly replied, "oh, yes; they raise plantains, bananas, oranges, limes, lemons, chocolate-nuts, cocoanuts----" "pardon me," walter interrupted; "those things are luxuries. i meant things of real value, sir." "a very proper distinction," the captain replied, looking a little surprised. "well, then, before you get across you will probably see hundreds of mahogany trees, logwood trees, fustic and brazil-wood trees, to say nothing of other dye-woods, more or less valuable, growing all about you." "oh, yes, sir, i've seen all those woods you tell of coming out of vessels at home, but never growing. somehow i never thought of them before as trees." "then there is cochineal, indigo, sugar, indian corn, coffee, tobacco, cotton, hides, vanilla, some india rubber----" walter looked sheepish. "i see now how silly my question was. please excuse my ignorance." "that's all right," said the captain pleasantly. "don't ever be afraid to ask about what you want to know. i suppose i've carried twenty thousand passengers across, and you are positively the first one to ask about anything except eating, sleeping, or when we are going to get there." the two succeeding days were like the first, except that the river grew more and more shallow in proportion as it was ascended, and the country more and more hilly and broken. this furnished a new experience, as every now and then the boats would ground on some sand-bar, when all hands would have to tumble out into the water to lighten them over the rift, or wade ashore to be picked up again at some point higher up, after a fatiguing scramble through the dense jungle. "whew! this is what i calls working your passage," was bill's quiet comment, as he and walter stood together on the bank, breathing hard, after making one of these forced excursions for half a mile. "is here where they talk of building a canal?" walter asked in amazement, casting an oblique glance into the pestilential swamps around him. "surely, they can't be in earnest." "they'll need more grave-diggers than mud-diggers, if they try it on," was bill's emphatic reply. "white men can't stand the climate nohow. and as for niggers--well, all you can git out o' 'em's clear gain, like lickin' a mule," he added, biting off a chew of tobacco as he spoke. on the afternoon of the third day the passengers were landed at the foot of the castillio rapids, so named from an old spanish fort commanding the passage of the river at this point, though many years gone to ruin and decay. walter and bill climbed the steep path leading up to it. the castle was of great age, they were told, going back to the time of the mighty philip ii of spain perhaps, who spent such vast sums in fortifying his american colonies against the dreaded buccaneers. walter could not help feeling awe-struck at the thought that what he saw was already old when the pilgrims landed on plymouth rock. some one asked if this was not the place where england's naval hero, lord nelson, first distinguished himself, when the castle was taken in . leaving these crumbling ruins to the snakes, lizards, and other reptiles which glided away at their approach, the two went back to the clump of rough shanties by the river, and it was here that walter made his first acquaintance with that class of adventurers who, if not buccaneers in name, had replaced them, to all intents, not only here but on all routes leading to the land of gold. there was a short portage around the rapids. a much larger and more comfortable boat had just landed some hundreds of returning californians at the upper end of this portage, and a rough-and-ready looking lot they were, betraying by their talk and actions that they had long been strangers to the restraints of civilized life. of course every word they dropped was greedily devoured by the newcomers, by whom the californians were looked upon as superior beings. the two sets of passengers were soon exchanging newspapers or scraps of news, while their baggage was being transferred around the portage. giving walter a knowing wink, bill accosted one of the californians with the question, "i say, mister, is it a fact, now, that you can pick up gold in the streets in san francisco?" "stranger," this individual replied, "you may bet your bottom dollar you can. it's done every day in the week. you see a lump in the street, pick it up, and put it in your pocket until you come across a bigger one, then you heave the first one away, same's you do pickin' up pebbles on the beach, _sabe_?" giving a nod to the half-dozen listeners, who were eagerly devouring every word, the fellow turned on his heel and walked off to join his companions. the run across lake nicaragua was made in the night. when the passengers awoke the next morning the steamer was riding at anchor at a cable's length from the shore, on which a lively surf was breaking. behind this was a motley collection of thatched hovels known as virgin bay. the passengers were put ashore in lighters, into which as many were huddled as there was standing-room for, were then hauled to the beach by means of a hawser run between boat and shore, and, with their hearts in their mouths while pitching and tossing among the breakers, at last scrambled upon the sands as best they might, thanking their lucky stars for their escape from drowning.[ ] [ ] the picture is by no means overdrawn, as on a subsequent occasion, by the capsizing of a lighter in the surf, many passengers were drowned. walter and bill found themselves standing among groups of chattering half-breeds, half-nude children, dried-up old crones, and hairless, dejected-looking mules, whose shrill hee-haws struck into the general uproar with horribly discordant note. it was here bargains were made for the transportation of one's self or baggage across the intervening range of mountains to the pacific. secure in their monopoly of all the animals to be had for hire, the avaricious owners did not hesitate to demand as much for carrying a trunk sixteen miles as its whole contents were worth--more indeed than a mule would sell for. walter was gazing on the novel scene with wide-open eyes. already their little store of cash was running low. "you talk to them, bill; you say you know their lingo," walter suggested, impatient at seeing so many of the party mounting their balky steeds and riding away. bill walked up to a sleepy-looking mule driver who stood nearby idly smoking his cigarette, and laying his hand upon the animal's flank, cleared his throat, and demanded carelessly, in broken spanish, "qui cary, hombre, por este mula?" the animal slowly turned his head toward the speaker, and viciously let go both hind feet, narrowly missing bill's shins. "wow! he's an infamous rhinoceros, este mula!" cried bill, drawing back to a safe distance from the animal's heels. "si, señor," replied the unmoved muleteer. "viente pesos, no mas," he added in response to bill's first question. "twenty devils!" exclaimed bill in amazement, dropping into forcible english; "we don't want to buy him." then resorting to gestures, to assist his limited vocabulary, he pointed to his own and walter's bags, again demanding, "quantos por este carga, vamos the ranch, over yonder?" "cinco pesos," articulated the impassive owner, between puffs. "robber," muttered bill under his breath. rather than submit to be so outrageously fleeced, bill hit upon the following method of traveling quite independently. he had seen it done in china, he explained, and why not here? getting a stout bamboo, the two friends slung their traps to the middle, lifted it to their shoulders, and in this economical fashion trudged off for the mountains, quite elated at having so cleverly outwitted the greasers, as bill contemptuously termed them. in fact, the old fellow was immensely tickled over the ready transformation of two live men into a quadruped. walter should be fore legs and he hind legs. when tired, they could take turn and turn about. if the load galled one shoulder, it could be shifted over to the other, without halting. "hooray!" he shouted, when they were clear of the village; "to-morrow we'll see the place where old bill boar watered his hoss in the pacific." "balboa, bill," walter corrected. "no horse will drink salt water, silly. you know better. besides, it wasn't a horse at all. 'twas a mule." night overtook the travelers before reaching the foothills, but after munching a biscuit and swallowing a few mouthfuls of water they stretched themselves out upon the bare ground, and were soon traveling in the land of dreams. the pair were bright and early on the road again, which was only a mule-track, deeply worn and gullied by the passing to and fro of many a caravan. it soon plunged into the thick woods, dropped down into slippery gorges, or scrambled up steep hillsides, where the pair would have to make a short halt to mop their brows and get their breath. then they would listen to the screaming of countless parroquets, and watch the gambols of troops of chattering monkeys, among the branches overhead. bill spoke up: "i don't believe men ever had no tails like them 'ar monkeys; some say they did: but i seen many a time i'd like to had one myself when layin' out on a topsail yard, in a dark night, with nothin' much to stan' on. a tail to kinder quirl around suthin', so's to let you use your hands and feet, is kind o' handy. just look at that chap swingin' to that 'ar branch up there by his tail, like a trapeze performer, an' no rush o' blood to the brain nuther." walter could hardly drag bill away from the contemplation of this interesting problem. for six mortal hours the travelers were shut up in the gloomy tropical forest; but just at the close of day it seemed as if they had suddenly stepped out of darkness into light, for far and wide before them lay the mighty pacific ocean, crimsoned by the setting sun. once seen, it was a sight never to be forgotten. walter and bill soon pushed on down the mountain into the village of san juan del sur, of which the less said the better. thoroughly tired out by their day's tramp, the wayfarers succeeded in obtaining a night's lodging in an old tent, at the rate of four bits each. it consisted in the privilege of throwing themselves down upon the loose sand, already occupied by millions of fleas, chigoes, and other blood-letting bedfellows. glad enough were they at the return of day. bill's eyes were almost closed, and poor walter's face looked as if he had just broken out with smallpox. san juan del sur was crowded with people anxiously awaiting the arrival of the steamship that was to take them on up the coast. the only craft in the little haven was a rusty-looking brigantine, which had put in here for a supply of fresh water. her passengers declared that she worked like a basket in a gale of wind. learning that the captain was on shore, our two friends lost no time in hunting him up, when the following colloquy took place: "mawnin', cap," said bill. "how much do you ax fur a cabin passage to 'frisco?" "a hundred dollars, cash in advance. but i can't take you; all full in the cabin." "well, s'pos'n i go in the hold; how much?" "eighty dollars; but i can't take you. hold's full, too." "jerusalem! why can't i go in the fore-peak? what's the price thar?" "eighty dollars; but i can't take you. full fore and aft." "'z that so? well, say, cap, can't i go aloft somewhere? what 'll you charge then?" "we charge eighty dollars to go anywhere; but can't carry you aloft. got to carry our provisions there." bill mused a minute. "hard case, ain't it?" appealing first to walter, then to the captain. "but as i want to go mighty bad, what 'll you tax to tow me?" the captain turned away, with a horselaugh and a shake of the head, to attend to his own affairs, leaving our two friends in no happy frame of mind at the prospect before them. with the utmost economy their little stock of money would last but little longer. the heat was oppressive and the place alive with vermin. hours were spent on the harbor headland watching for the friendly smoke of the overdue steamer. several days now went by before the delayed steamer put in an appearance. it was none too soon, for with so many mouths to feed, the place began to be threatened with famine. it was by the merest chance that walter secured a passage for himself in the steerage, and for bill as a coal-passer, on this ship. luckily for them, the captain's name happened to be the same as walter's. he also hailed from new bedford. he even admitted, though cautiously, that there might be some distant relationship. so walter won the day, with the understanding that he was to spread his blanket on deck, for other accommodations there were none; while before the ship was two days at sea, men actually fought for what were considered choice spots to lie down upon at night. the event of the voyage up the coast was a stay of several days at acapulco, for making repairs in the engine room and for coaling ship. what a glorious harbor it is! land-locked and so sheltered by high mountains, that once within it is difficult to discover where a ship has found her way in, or how she is going to get out. here, in bygone times, the great manila galleons came with their rich cargoes, which were then transported across mexico by pack-trains to be again reshipped to old spain. the arrival of a yankee ship was now the only event that stirred the sleepy old place into life. at the sound of her cannon it rubbed its eyes, so to speak, and woke up. bill even asserted that the people looked too "tarnation" lazy to draw their own breath. ample time was allowed here for a welcome run on shore; and the arrival of another steamer, homeward bound, made acapulco for the time populous. bill could not get shore leave, so walter went alone. there were a custom-house without custom, a plaza, in which the inhabitants had hurriedly set up a tempting display of fruits, shells, lemonade, and home-made nicknacks to catch the passengers' loose change, besides a moldy-looking cathedral, whose cracked bells now and again set a whole colony of watchful buzzards lazily flapping about the house-tops. and under the very shadow of the cathedral walls a group of native mexicanos were busily engaged in their favorite amusement of gambling with cards or in cock-fighting. after sauntering about the town to his heart's content, walter joined a knot of passengers who were making their way toward the dilapidated fort that commands the basin. on their way they passed a squad of barefooted soldiers, guarding three or four villainous-looking prisoners, who were at work on the road, and who shot evil glances at the light-hearted americanos. walter thought if this was a fair sample of the mexican army, there was no use in crowing over the victories won by scott and taylor not many years before. at the end of a hot and dusty walk in the glare of a noonday sun, the visitors seated themselves on the crumbling ramparts of the old fort, and fell to swapping news, as the saying is. one of the californians was being teased by his companions to tell the story of a man lost overboard on the trip down the coast; and while the others stretched themselves out in various attitudes to listen, he, after lighting a cheroot, began the story: "you know i can't tell a story worth a cent, but i reckon i can give you the facts if you want 'em. there was a queer sort of chap aboard of us who was workin' his passage home to the states. we know'd him by the name of yankee jim, 'cause he answered to the name of jim, and said as how he come from 'way down east where they pry the sun up every morning with a crowbar. he did his turn, but never spoke unless spoken to. we all reckoned he was just a little mite cracked in the upper story. hows'ever, his story came out at last." x the luck of yankee jim one scorching afternoon in july, --, the hangtown stage rumbled slowly over the plank road forming the principal street of sacramento city, finally coming to a full stop in front of the el dorado hotel. this particular stage usually made connection with the day boat for "the bay"; but on this occasion it came in an hour too late, consequently the boat was at that moment miles away, down the river. upon learning this disagreeable piece of news, the belated passengers scattered, grumbling much at a detention which, each took good care to explain, could never have been worse-timed or more inconvenient than on this particular afternoon. one traveler, however, stood a moment or two longer, apparently nonplused by the situation, until his eye caught the word "bank" in big golden letters staring at him from the opposite side of the street. he crossed over, read it again from the curbstone, and then shambled in at the open door. he knew not why, but once within, he felt a strange desire to get out again as quickly as possible. but this secret admonition passed unheeded. before him was a counter extending across the room, at the back of which rose a solid wall of brick. within this was built the bank vault, the half-open iron door disclosing bags of coin piled upon the floor and shelves from which the dull glitter of gold-dust caught the visitor's eye directly. the middle of the counter was occupied by a pair of tall scales, of beautiful workmanship, in which dust was weighed, while on a table behind it were trays containing gold and silver coins. a young man, who was writing and smoking at the same time, looked up as the stranger walked in. to look at the two men, one would have said that it was the bank clerk who might be expected to feel a presentiment of evil. really, the other was half bandit in appearance. although he was alone and unnoticed, yet the stranger's manner was undeniably nervous and suspicious. addressing the cashier, he said: "i say, mister, this yer boat's left; can't get to 'frisco afore to-morrow" (inquiringly). "that's so," the cashier assented. "well," continued the miner, "here's my fix: bound home for the states [dropping his voice]; got two thousand stowed away; don't know a live _hombre_ in this yer burg, and might get knifed in some fandango. see?" "that's so," repeated the unmoved official. then, seeing that his customer had come to an end, he said, "i reckon you want to deposit your money with us?" "that's the how of it, stranger. lock it up tight whar i kin come fer it to-morrow." "down with the dust then," observed the cashier, taking the pen from behind his ear and preparing to write; but seeing his customer cast a wary glance to right and left, he beckoned him to a more retired part of the bank, where the miner very coolly proceeded to strip to his shirt, in each corner of which five fifty-dollar "slugs" were knotted. an equal sum in dust was then produced from a buckskin belt, all of which was received without a word of comment upon the ingenuity with which it had been concealed. a certificate of deposit was then made out, specifying that james wildes had that day deposited with the mutual confidence and trust company, subject to his order, two thousand dollars. glancing at the scrap of crisp paper as if hardly comprehending how that could be an equivalent for his precious coin and dust, lying on the counter before him, jim heaved a deep sigh of relief, then crumpling the certificate tightly within his big brown fist, he exclaimed: "thar, i kin eat and sleep now, i reckon. blamed if i ever knew afore what a coward a rich man is!" our man, it seems, had been a sailor before the mast. when the anchor touched bottom, he with his shipmates started for the "diggings," where he had toiled with varying luck, but finding himself at last in possession of what would be considered a little fortune in his native town. he was now returning, filled with the hope of a happy meeting with the wife and children he had left behind. but while yankee jim slept soundly, and blissfully dreamed of pouring golden eagles into jane's lap, his destiny was being fulfilled. the great financial storm of -- burst upon the state unheralded and unforeseen. like a thief in the night the one fatal word flashed over the wires that shut the door of every bank, and made the boldest turn pale. suspension was followed by universal panic and dismay. yankee jim was only an atom swallowed up in the general and overwhelming disaster of that dark day. in the morning he went early to the bank, only to find it shut fast, and an excited and threatening crowd surging to and fro before the doors. men with haggard faces were talking and gesticulating wildly. women were crying and wringing their hands. a sudden faintness came over him. what did it all mean? mustering courage to put the question to a bystander, he was told to look and read for himself. two ominous words, "bank closed," told the whole story. for a moment or two the poor fellow could not seem to take in the full meaning of the calamity that had befallen him. but as it dawned upon him that his little fortune was swept away, and with it the hopes that had opened to his delighted fancy, the blood rushed to his head, his brain reeled, and he fell backward in a fit. the first word he spoke when he came to himself was "home." some kind souls paid his passage to 'frisco, where the sight of blue water seemed to revive him a little. wholly possessed by the one idea of getting home, he shipped on board the first steamer, which happened to be ours, going about his duty like a man who sees without understanding what is passing around him. my own knowledge of the chief actor in this history began at four o'clock in the morning of the third day out. the _california's_ engines suddenly stopped. there was a hurried trampling of feet, a sudden rattling of blocks on deck, succeeded by a dead silence--a silence that could be felt. i jumped out of my berth and ran on deck. how well i can recall that scene! the night was an utterly dismal one--cold, damp, and foggy. a pale light struggled through the heavy mist, but it was too thick to see a cable's length from the ship, although we distinctly heard the rattle of oars at some distance, with now and then a quick shout that sent our hearts up into our mouths. we listened intently. no one spoke. no one needed to be told what those shouts meant. how long it was i cannot tell, for minutes seemed hours then; but at last we heard the dip of oars, and presently the boat shot out of the fog within a biscuit's toss of the ship. i remember that, as they came alongside, the upturned faces of the men were white and pinched. one glance showed that the search had been in vain. the boat was swung up, the huge paddles struck the black water like clods, the huge hulk swung slowly round to her helm. but at the instant when we were turning away, awed by the mystery of this death-scene, a cry came out of the black darkness--a yell of agony and despair--that nailed us to the deck. may i never hear the like again! "save me! for god's sake, save me!" pierced through that awful silence till a hundred voices seemed repeating it. the cry seemed so near that every eye instinctively turned to the spot whence it proceeded--so near that it held all who heard it in breathless, in sickening suspense. had the sea really given up its dead? before one could count ten, the boat was again manned and clear of the ship. how well i recall the bent figure of the first officer as he stood in the stern-sheets, with the tiller-ropes in his hand, peering off into the fog! i can still see the men springing like tigers to their work again, and the cutter tossing on the seething brine astern like a chip. then the fog shut them from our view. but nevermore was that voice heard on land or sea. no doubt it was the last agonized shriek of returning consciousness as the ocean closed over yankee jim's head. at eight bells we assembled around the capstan at our captain's call, when the few poor effects of the lost man were laid out to view. his kit contained one or two soiled letters, a daguerreotype of two blooming children hand in hand, a piece of crumpled paper, and a few articles of clothing not worth a picayune. i took notice that while smoothing out the creases in this scrap of paper, the captain suddenly became deeply attentive, then thoughtful, then very red. clearing his throat he began as follows: "it's an old sea custom to sell by auction the kit of a shipmate who dies on blue water. you all know it's a custom of the land to read the will of a deceased person as soon as the funeral is over. the man we lost this morning shipped by his fo'castle or sea name--a very common thing among sailors; but i've just found out his true one since i stood here; and what's more i've found out that the man had been in trouble. an idea strikes me that he found it too heavy for him. god only knows. but it's more to the point that he has left a wife and two children dependent upon him for support. gentlemen and mates, take off your hats while i read you this letter." the letter, which bore evidence of having been read and read again, ran as follows: "oh, james! and are you really coming home, and with such a lot of money too? oh, i can't believe it all! how happy we shall be once more! it makes me feel just like a young girl again, when you and i used to roam in the berry pastures, and never coveted anything in the wide world but to be together. you haven't forgot that, have you, james? or the old cedar on the cliff where you asked me for your own wife, and the sky over us and the sea at our feet, all so beautiful and we so happy? do come quick. surely god has helped me to wait all this long, weary time, but now it seems as if i couldn't bear it another day. and the little boy, james, just your image; it's all he can say, 'papa, come home.' how can you have the heart to stay in that wicked place?" when the reading was finished some of the women passengers were crying softly. the men stood grimly pulling their long mustaches. after a short pause the captain read aloud the fatal certificate of deposit, holding it up so that all might see. "now, ladies and gentlemen," he went on, "you've heard the story and can put this and that together. when we get to panama i'm going to write a letter to the widow. it's for you to say what kind of a letter it shall be. now, purser, you may put up the certificate of deposit." "how much am i offered--how much?" said the purser, waving the worthless bit of paper to right and left. ten, twenty, forty, fifty dollars were bid before the words were fairly out of the purser's mouth. then a woman's voice said seventy, another's one hundred, and the men, accepting the challenge, ran the bidding up fifty more, at which price the certificate was knocked down to a red-shirted miner who laid three fifty-dollar pieces on the capstan, saying as he did so: "'tain't a patchin', boys. sell her agin, cap--sell her agin." so the purser, at a nod from the captain, put it up again, and the sale went on, each buyer in turn turning the certificate over to the purser, until the noble emulation covered the capstan with gold. "stop a bit, purser," interrupted captain m----, counting the money. "that will do," he continued. "the sale is over. here are just two thousand dollars. the certificate of deposit is redeemed." xi seeing the sights in 'frisco it was a fine, sunny afternoon when the _pacific_ turned her prow landward, and stood straight on for a break in the rugged coast line, like a hound with its nose to the ground. in an hour she was moving swiftly through the far-famed golden gate. a fort loomed up at the right, then a semaphore was seen working on a hilltop. in ten minutes more the last point was rounded, the last gun fired, and the city, sprung like magic from the bleak hillsides of its noble bay, welcomed the weary travelers with open arms. the long voyage was ended. the wharf was already black with people when the steamer came in sight. when within hailing distance a perfect storm of greetings, questions, and answers was tossed from ship to shore. our two friends scanned the unquiet throng in vain for the sight of one familiar face. no sooner did the gangplank touch the wharf than the crowd rushed pell-mell on board. women were being clasped in loving arms. men were frantically hugging each other. while this was passing on board, walter and bill made their escape to the pier, hale and hearty, but as hungry as bears. forty days had passed since their long journey began. what next? our two adventurers presently found themselves being hurried along with the crowd, without the most remote idea of where they were going. as soon as possible, however, bill drew walter to one side, to get their breath and to take their bearings, as he phrased it. "well," said he, clapping walter on the back, "here we be at last!" walter was staring every passer-by in the face. from the moment he had set foot on shore his one controlling thought and motive had come back to him with full force. "come, come, that's no way to set about the job," observed the practical-minded bill. "one thing to a time. let's get sumfin' t' eat fust; then we can set about it with full stomachs. how much have you got?" walter drew from his pocket a solitary quarter-eagle, which looked astonishingly small as it lay there in the palm of his hand. bill pulled out a handful of small change, amounting to half as much more. "but coppers don't pass here, nor anything else under a dime, i'm told," observed walter. "no matter, they'll do for ballast," was bill's reply, whose attention was immediately diverted to a tempting list of eatables chalked upon the door-post of a restaurant. beginning at the top of the list, bill began reading in an undertone, meditatively stroking his chin the while: "'oxtail soup, one dollar.' h'm, that don't go down. 'pigs' feet, one dollar each.' let 'em run. 'fresh californy eggs, one dollar each.' eggs is eggs out here. 'corned beef, one dollar per plate.' no salt horse for bill. 'roast lamb, one dollar.' baa! do they think we want a whole one? 'cabbage, squash, or beans, fifty cents.' will you look at that! move on, walt, afore they tax us for smellin' the cookin'. my grief!" he added with a long face, as they walked on, "i'm so sharp set that if a fun'ral was passin' along, i b'leeve i could eat the co'pse and chase the mo'ners." fortunately, however, bill was not driven to practice cannibalism, for just that moment a chinaman came shuffling along, balancing a trayful of pies on his head. bill was not slow in hailing the moon-eyed celestial in pigtail, to which the old fellow could not resist giving a sly tweak, just for the fun of the thing: "mawnin', john. be you a whig or know-nothin'?" at the same time helping himself to a juicy turn-over, and signing to walter to do the same. "me cakes. melican man allee my fliend. talkee true. you shabee, two bitee?" this last remark referred to the pie which bill had just confiscated. sauntering on, jostling and being jostled by people of almost every nation on the face of the earth, they soon reached the plaza, or great square of the city. not many steps were taken here, when the strains of delicious music floated out to them from the wide-open doors of a building at their right hand. attracted by the sweet sounds of "home, sweet home," our two wayfarers peered in, and to walter's amazement at least, brought up as he had been at home, for the first time in his life he found himself gazing into the interior of a gambling-house, in full swing and in broad daylight, like any legitimate business, courting the custom of every passer-by. "walk in, gentlemen," said a suave-looking individual who was standing at the door. "call for what you like. everything's free here. free lunch, free drinks, free cigars; walk in and try your luck." "'walk into my parlor, sez the spider to the fly,'" was bill's ironical comment upon this polite invitation. "walt," he continued, a moment later, "i'm 'feared we throw'd our money away on that chinee. here's grub for nothin'." if they had only known it, the person they were looking for was inside that gambling den at that very moment. after rambling about until they were tired, the two companions looked up a place in which to get a night's lodging--a luxury which cost them seventy-five cents apiece for the temporary use of a straw mattress, a consumptive pillow, and a greasy blanket. after making the most frugal breakfast possible, it was found that their joint cash would provide, at the farthest, for only one meal more. the case began to look desperate. they were sitting on the sill of the wharf, silently ruminating on the situation, when the booming of a cannon announced the arrival of a steamer which had been signaled an hour earlier from telegraph hill. a swarm of people was already setting toward the plaza. the movement of a crowd is always magnetic, so walter and bill followed on in the same direction. when within two blocks of the plaza they saw a long zigzag line of men and boys strung out for that distance ahead of them, some standing, some leaning against a friendly awning, some squatted on the edge of the plank sidewalk, while newcomers were every moment lengthening out the already long queue. "what a long tail our cat's got!" was bill's pithy remark. "be they takin' the census, or what?" it was learned that all these people were impatiently waiting for the opening of the post-office, but how soon that event was likely to happen nobody could tell. so the men smoked, whistled, chaffed every late arrival, and waited. [illustration: waiting for the opening of the mail.--_page ._] on the instant walter was struck with a bright idea. charley had never written him one word, it is true; but as it was ten to one everybody in the city would be at the post-office during the day, this seemed as likely a place as any to meet with him. shoving bill into a vacant place in the line, walter started toward the head of it, staring hard at every one, and being stared at in return, as he walked slowly along. when nearing the head, without seeing a familiar face, a man well placed in the line sang out, "i say, _hombre_, want a job?" "what job?" "hold my place for me till i kin go git a bite to eat." "i would in a minute, only i can't stop. i'm looking for some one," said walter, starting on. "you can't make five dollars no easier." this startling proposition to a young fellow who did not know where his next meal was coming from, hit walter in his weak spot. "talk fast. is it a whack?" the hungry man demanded. "i've been here two hours a'ready; be back before you can say jack robinson." this singular bargain being struck, walter stepped into line, when his file-leader turned to him with the remark, "fool you hadn't stuck out for ten. that man runs a bank." "does he?" walter innocently inquired. "what kind of a bank?" "faro-bank." a loud guffaw from the bystanders followed this reply. as soon as the hungry man came back to claim his place, and had paid over his five dollars, walter hurried off to where he had left bill, who stopped him in his story with the whispered words, "i seed him." "him? who? not charley?" "no; t'other duffer." walter gave a low whistle. "where? here? don't you see i'm all on fire?" "right here. breshed by me as large as life, and twice as sassy. oh, i know'd him in spite of his baird. sez i to myself, 'walk along, sonny, and smoke your shugarette. our turn's comin' right along.'" "too bad, too bad you didn't follow him." walter was starting off again, with a sort of blind purpose to find ramon, collar him, and make him disgorge his ill-gotten gains on the spot, when bill held him back. "tut, tut, walt," he expostulated, "if the lubber sees you before we're good and ready to nab him, won't he be off in a jiffy? now we know he's here, ain't that something? so much for so much. lay low and keep shady, is our best holt." to such sound reasoning walter was fain to give in. besides, bill now insisted upon staying in the line until he could sell out too. with a jerk of the thumb, he pointed to where one or two patient waiters were very comfortably seated on camp-stools, and in a husky undertone proposed finding out where camp-stools could be had. taking the hint, walter started off, instanter, in search of a dealer in camp-stools, with whom he quickly struck a bargain for as many as he could carry, by depositing his half-eagle as security. the stools went off like hot cakes, and at a good profit. bill, too, having got his price, by patient waiting, the two lucky speculators walked away to the first full meal they had eaten since landing, the richer by twenty dollars from the morning's adventure. bill called it finding money; "just like pickin' it up in the street." xii an unexpected meeting it was getting along toward the middle of the afternoon when the two newly fledged speculators turned their steps to the waterside, bill to have his after-dinner smoke in peace and quiet, while scanning with critical eye the various craft afloat in that matchless bay. something he saw there arrested his attention wonderfully, by the way he grasped walter's arm and stretched out his long neck. "will you look! ef that arn't the old _argonaut_ out there in the stream, i'm a nigger. the old tub! she's made her last v'y'ge by the looks--topmasts sent down, hole in her side big 'nuff to drive a yoke of oxen through. ain't she a beauty?" after taking a good look at the dismantled hulk, walter agreed that it could be no other than the ship on which he and charley met with their adventure just before she sailed. it did seem so like seeing an old friend that walter was seized with an eager desire to go on board. hailing a whitehall boatman, they were quickly rowed off alongside, and in another minute found themselves once more standing on the _argonaut's_ deck. a well-grown, broad-shouldered, round-faced young fellow, in a guernsey jacket and skull-cap, met them at the gangway. there were three shouts blended in one: "walter!" "charley!" "well, i'm blessed!" then there followed such a shaking of hands all round, such a volley of questions without waiting for answers, and of answers without waiting for questions, that it was some minutes before quiet was restored. charley then took up the word: "why, walt, old fel'," holding him off at arm's length, "i declare i should hardly have known you with that long hair and that brown face. yes; this is the _argonaut_. she's a storeship now; and i'm ship-keeper." he then went on to explain that most of the fleet of ships moored ahead and astern were similarly used for storing merchandise, some merchants even owning their own storeships. "you see, it's safer and cheaper than keeping the stuff on shore to help make a bonfire of some dark night." "don't you have no crew?" bill asked. "no; we can hire lightermen, same's you hire truckmen in boston. all those stores you see built out over the water get in their goods through a trap-door in the floor, with fall and tackle." it may well be imagined that these three reunited friends had a good long talk together that evening. charley pulled a skillet out of a cupboard, on which he put some sliced bacon. bill started a fire in the cabin stove, while walter made the coffee. presently the bacon began to sizzle and the coffee to bubble. then followed a famous clattering of knives and forks, as the joyous trio set to, with appetites such as only california air can create. walter told his story first. charley looked as black as a thundercloud, as ramon's villainy was being exposed. bill gave an angry snort or grunt to punctuate the tale. walter finished by saying bitterly, "i suppose it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." "not quite so bad as that," was charley's quick reply. "it's a pity if we three," throwing out his chest, "can't cook his goose for him. bill has seen him. didn't you say he gambled? thought so. oh, he won't be lonesome; there's plenty more here of that stripe. gamblers, thieves, and sharks own the town. they do. it ain't safe to be out late nights alone, unless you've got a colt or a derringer handy, for fear of the hounds." "the hounds!" echoed walter and bill. "yes, the hounds; that's what they call the ruff-scuff here. there's a storm brewing," he added mysteriously, then suddenly changing the subject, he asked, "where do you _hombres_ ranch?" "under the blue kannerpy, i guess," said bill in a heavy tragedian's voice. "not by a jugful! you'll both stop aboard here with me. i'm cap'n, chief cook, and bottle-washer. bill's cut out for a lighterman, so he's as good as fixed. something 'll turn up for walt." "what did you mean by ranching?" walter asked. "this is it. this is my ranch. you hire a room or a shanty, do your own cooking and washing, roll yourself up in your blanket at night and go it alone, as independent as a hog on ice. oh, you'll soon get used to it, never fear, and like it too; bet your life. women's as scarce as hens' teeth out here. you can't think it. why, man alive, a nice, well-dressed lady is such a curiosity that i've seen all hands run out o' doors to get a sight of one passin' by. come, bill, bear a hand, and pull an armful of gunny-bags out of that bale for both your beds. look out for that candle! that's a keg of blastin' powder you're settin' on, walt! if i'd only known i was goin' to entertain company i'd 'a' swep' up a bit. are you all ready? then one, two, three, and out she goes." and with one vigorous puff out went the light. when bill turned out in the morning he found charley already up and busying himself with the breakfast things. "what's this 'ere craft loaded with?" was his first question. "oh, a little of everything, assorted, you can think of, from gunny-bags to lumber." walter was sitting on a locker, with one boot on and the other in his hand, listening. at hearing the word lumber he pricked up his ears. "that reminds me," he broke in. "bright & company shipped a cargo out here; dead loss; they said it was rotting in the ship that brought it." charley stopped peeling a potato to ask her name. "the _southern cross_." "bark?" "yes, a bark." "well, p'r'aps now that ain't queer," charley continued. "that's her moored just astern of us. never broke bulk; ship and cargo sold at auction to pay freight and charges. went dirt cheap. my boss, he bought 'em in on a spec. and a mighty poor spec it's turned out. why, everybody's got lumber to burn." charley seemed so glum over it that walter was about to drop the subject, when charley resumed it. "you see, boys," he began, "here's where the shoe pinches. i had scraped together a tidy little sum of my own, workin' on ship work at big wages, sometimes for this man, sometimes for that. i was thinkin' all the while of buying off those folks at home who fitted me out (walt here knows who i mean), when along comes my boss and says to me, 'i say, young feller, you seem a busy sort of chap. i've had my eye on you some time. now, i tell you what i'll do with you. no nonsense now. got any dust?' 'a few hundreds,' says i. 'well, then,' says he, 'i don't mind givin' you a lift. here's this _southern cross_ goin' to be sold for the freight. i'll buy it in on halves. you pay what you can down on the nail, the rest when we sell out at a profit. _sabe?_' like a fool i jumped at the chance." "well, what ails you?" growled the irrepressible bill; "that 'ar ship can't git away, moored with five fathoms o' chain, can she? pine boards don't eat nor drink nothin', do they?" "who said they did?" charley tartly retorted. it was plain to see that with him the _southern cross_ was a sore subject. "waal, 'tain't ushil to cry much over bein' a lumber king, is it?" persisted bill, in his hectoring way. "down east, whar i come from, they laugh and grow fat." "you don't hear me through. listen to this: my partner went off to australia seven or eight months ago, to settle up some old business there, he said. i've not heard hide nor hair of him since. every red cent i'd raked and scraped is tied up hard and fast in that blamed old lumber. nobody wants it; and if they did, i couldn't give a clean bill o' sale. now, you know, walt, why i never sent you nothin'!" walter was struck with an odd idea. in a laughing sort of way, half in jest, half in earnest, he said, "you needn't worry any more about what you owe me, charley; i don't; but if it will ease your mind any, i'll take as much out in lumber as will make us square, and give you a receipt in full in the bargain." "you will?" charley exclaimed, with great animation. "by george!" slapping his knee, "it's a bargain. take my share for what i owe you and welcome." "pass the papers on't, boys. put it in black an' white; have everything fair and square," interjected the methodical bill. charley brought out pen and ink, tore a blank leaf out of an account book, and prepared himself to write the bill of sale. "hold on!" cried walter, who seemed to be in a reckless mood this morning. "put in that i'm to have the refusal of the other half of the cargo for ninety days at cost price. in for a penny, in for a pound," he laughed, by way of reply to charley's wondering look. for a minute or two nothing was heard except the scratching of charley's busy pen. walter's face was a study. bill seemed lost in wonder. "there. down it is," said charley, signing the paper with a flourish. "'pears to me as if we was doin' a big business on a small capital this morning. and now it's done, what on earth did you do it for, walt?" "oh, i've an idea," said walter, assuming an air of impenetrable mystery. "have your own way," rejoined charley, whose mind seemed lightened of its heavy load. "here, bill, you put these dirty dishes in that bread pan, douse some hot water over them--there! now look in that middle locker and you'll find a bunch of oakum to wipe 'em with. walter, you get a bucket of water from the cask with the pump in it, on deck, and fill up the b'iler." under charley's active directions the breakfast things were soon cleared away. walter then asked to be put on shore, giving as a reason that he must find something to do without delay. "whereabouts do they dig gold here?" he innocently asked. at this question charley laughed outright. he then told walter how the diggings were reached from there, pointing out the steamboats plying to "up-country" points, and then to distant monte diablo as the landmark of the route. "there ain't no actual diggin's here in 'frisco," he went on to say, "but there's gold enough for them as is willin' to work for it, and has sense enough not to gamble or drink it all away. mebbe you won't get rich quite so fast, and then again mebbe you will. _quien sabe?_" "queer sitivation for a lumber king," grumbled bill. "i didn't come out here to get rich; you know i didn't," said walter excitedly, rising and putting on his cap with an air of determination. "easy now," urged charley, putting an arm around walter; "now don't you go running all over town in broad daylight after that fellow. better send out the town crier, and done with it. that's not the way to go to work. do you s'pose a chap in his shoes won't be keepin' a sharp lookout for himself? bet your life. yes, sir-ee! now, look here. my idee is not to disturb the nest until we ketch the bird. this is my plan. we three 'll put in our nights ranging about town, lookin' into the gambling dens, saloons, and hotels. if the skunk is hidin' that's the time he'll come out of his hole, eh, bill?" "sartin sure," was the decided reply. "well, then, walt, hear to reason. don't you see that if there's anything to be done, the night's our best holt to do it in?" walter was not more than half convinced. "couldn't i have him arrested on the strength of the handbill marshal tukey got out, offering a reward, and describing ramon to a hair? see, here it is," drawing it out of an inside pocket and holding it up to view. "i could swear to him, you know, and so could bill." "on a stack of bibles," bill assented. "let me see it," charley demanded, rapidly running his eye over the precious document. "'five hundred dollars reward!' five hundred fiddlesticks! why, he'd go five hundred better and be off in a jiffy, with just a nod and a wink from the officers to keep out of the way a while." having expressed this opinion, charley tossed the handbill on the table with a disdainful sniff. walter was dumb. he had actually thought for a whole month that the mere sight of this accusing piece of paper would make the guilty wretch fall on his knees and beg for mercy. and to be told now that it was only so much waste paper struck him speechless. charley again came to the rescue. "come, come; don't stand there looking as if you'd lost every friend you had on earth, but brace up. if you'd wanted to have that robber arrested, you should have gone a different way to work--'cordin' to law." "what's to be done, then?" "my idee is like this. californy law is no good, anyhow. it's on the side that has most dust. but here's three of us and only one of him. we can lay for him, get him into some quiet corner, and then frighten him into doing what we say. how's that?" "capital! just the thing. i always said you had the best head of the three." "all right, then," cried charley in his old, sprightly way; "i give you both a holiday, so you can see the sights. walter, you take care that bill don't get lost or stolen." "me take care o' him, you mean," bill retorted. getting into the boat the two friends then pulled for the shore. walter's first remark, as they slowly sauntered along, was: "what a wooden-looking town! wooden houses, wooden sidewalks, plank streets. it looks as if everything had sprung up in a night." and so it had. at this time the city was beginning to work its way out from the natural beach toward deeper water; for as deep water would not come to the city, the city had to go out to deep water. and as many of the coming streets were as yet only narrow footways, thrust out over the shallow waters of the bay, the entire ragged waterfront seemed cautiously feeling its way toward its wished-for goal. cheap one-story frame buildings were following these extensions of new and old streets, as fast as piles could be driven for them, so that a famous clattering of hammers was going on on every side from morning to night. the two friends soon had an exciting experience. just ahead of them, a dray was being driven down the wharf at a rapid rate, making the loose planks rattle again. in turning out to let another dray pass him, the driver of the first went too near the edge of the wharf, when the weight of horse and dray suddenly tilted the loose planks in the air, the driver gave a yell, and over into the dock went horse, dray, and man with a tremendous splash. it was all done so quickly that walter and bill stood for a moment without stirring. fortunately their boat was only a few rods off, so both ran back for her in a hurry. a few strokes brought them to where the frightened animal was still helplessly floundering in the water, dragged down by the weight of the dray. the man was first pulled into the boat, dripping wet. bill then cut the traces with his sheath-knife, while the drayman held the struggling animal by the bit. he was then towed to the beach safe and sound. by this time a crowd had collected. seeing his rescuers pushing off, the drayman elbowed his way out of the crowd, and shouted after them, "i say, you, _hombres_, this ain't no place to take a bath, is it? this ain't no place to be bashful. come up to my stand, jackson and sansome, and ask for jack furbish." "is your name furbish?" asked bill, resting on his oars. "yes; why?" "oh, nothin', only we lost a man overboard onct off cape horn. his name was furbish." "well, 'twarn't me. i was lost overboard from pacific wharf. jackson and sansome! git up, jim!" bringing his blacksnake smartly down on his horse's steaming flanks. xiii in which a man breaks into his own store, and steals his own safe walter's idea, as far as he had thought it out, was to hold on to this lumber cargo until mr. bright could be notified just how the matter stood. should the merchant then choose to take any steps toward recovering the cargo of the _southern cross_, walter thought this act on his part might go far to remove the unjust suspicions directed against himself. for this reason he had secured, as we have seen, a refusal of the cargo long enough for a letter to go and return. walter now set about writing his letter, but he now found that what had seemed so simple at first was no easy matter. as he sat staring vacantly at the blank paper before him, tears came into his eyes; for again the trying scene in the merchant's counting-room rushed vividly upon his memory. an evil voice within him said, "why should i trouble myself about those who have so ill-used me and robbed me of my good name?" yet another, and gentler, voice answered, "do unto others as you would that they should do unto you." compressing his lips resolutely, he succeeded in writing a very formal letter, not at all like what he had intended. but the main thing was to make himself clearly understood. so he carefully studied every word before putting it down in black and white, as follows: "mr. bright, "_sir_: this is to inform you of my being here. i could not bear to be suspected of dishonesty when i knew i was innocent of wrongdoing. so i left. this is to inform you that the _southern cross_ is in charge of my friend mr. charles wormwood. you may recollect him. he is a fine young man. between us, we've got hold of half the cargo, and i have the refusal of the other half for ninety days. the man who owns it has gone away. if you think it worth while, send directions to somebody here what to do about it. this is a great country, only i'm afraid it will burn up all the time. "your true friend, "walter seabury." while on his way uptown to post his letter, walter heard a familiar voice call out, "hi, _hombre_! lookin' for a job?" it was the drayman of yesterday's adventure, placidly kicking his heels on the tail of his dray. walter candidly admitted that he would like something to do. the drayman spoke up briskly: "good enough. not afraid of dirty hands? no? good again. got some _plata_? no? cleaned out, eh? so was i. say, there's a first-rate handcart stand, on the next corner above here, i've had my eye on for some time. more people pass there in a day than any other in 'frisco. talk biz. that comer has been waiting for you, or it would 'a' been snapped up long ago. no job less than six bits. you can make anywhere from five to ten dollars a day. come, what do you say? do we hitch hosses or not?" walter had a short struggle with his pride. it did seem rather low, to be sure, to be pushing a handcart through the streets, like the rag-men seen at home, but beggars should not be choosers, he reflected. so, putting his pride in his pocket, the bargain was closed without more words. certainly walter's best friends would hardly have known him when he made his first appearance on the stand, bright and early next morning, rigged out in a gray slouch hat, red woolen shirt, and blue overalls tucked into a pair of stout cowhide boots. his face, too, was beginning to show signs of quite a promising beard which walter was often seen caressing as if to make sure it was still there overnight and which, indeed, so greatly altered his looks that he now felt little fear of being recognized by ramon, should they happen to meet some day unexpectedly in the street. walter ranched with his employer in a loft. with a hammer, a saw, and some nails, he had soon knocked together a bunk out of some old packing boxes. in this he slept on a straw mattress also of his own make, with a pair of coarse blankets for bedclothes. another packing box, a water pail, a tin wash-basin, towel, and soap comprised all necessary conveniences, with which the morning toilet was soon made. the bed required no making. rather primitive housekeeping, to be sure; yet walter soon learned, from actual observation, that a majority of the merchants, some of whom were reputed worth their hundreds of thousands, were no better lodged than himself. on the whole, walter rather liked his new occupation, as soon as his first awkwardness had worn off. here, at any rate, he was his own master, and walter had always chafed at being ordered about by boys no older than himself. then, he liked the hearty, democratic way in which everybody greeted everybody. it made things move along much more cheerfully. walter was attentive. business was good. at the close of each day he handed over his earnings to his employer, who kept his own share, punctually returning walter the rest. "you'll be buyin' out sam brannan one of these days, if you keep on as you're goin'," was furbish's encouraging remark, as he figured up walter's earnings at twenty-five dollars, at the end of the first week. "who's sam brannan?" "not know who sam brannan is?" asked the drayman, lifting his eyebrows in amazement. "he's reputed the richest man in 'frisco. owns a big block on montgomery street. income's two thousand a day, they tell me." walter could only gape, open-mouthed, in astonishment. the bare idea of any one man possessing such unheard-of wealth was something that he had never dreamed of. "fact," repeated the drayman, observing walter's look of incredulity. the restaurant at which walter took his meals, until circumstances suggested a change, was one of the institutions peculiar to the san francisco of that day. an old dismantled hulk had been hauled up alongside the wharf, the spar-deck roofed over, and some loose boards, laid upon wooden trestles, made to serve the purpose of a table, while the ship's caboose performed its customary office of scullery and kitchen. the restaurant keeper was evidently new to the business, for he was in the habit of urging his customers to have a second helping of everything, much to the annoyance of his wife, who did the cooking. this woman was one of the class locally known as sydney ducks, from the fact that she had come from australia under the sanction of a ticket-of-leave. she was fat, brawny, red-faced, and quick-tempered,--in fact, fiery,--and when out of sorts gave her tongue free license. the pair were continually quarreling at meal-times, regardless of the presence of the boarders, some of whom took a malicious pleasure in egging on the one or the other when words failed them. but it happened more than once that, when words failed, man and wife began shying plates, or cups and saucers, at each other's head, which quickly cleared the table of boarders. walter stood this sort of thing stoically until, one noon, when he was just entering the dining room, a flat-iron came whizzing by him, narrowly missing his head. the language that accompanied it showed madam to be mistress of the choicest billingsgate in profusion. by the time a second flat-iron sailed through the door walter was a block away, and still running. it was shrewdly surmised that man and wife had broken up housekeeping. meanwhile the search for ramon was faithfully kept up, yet so far with no better success than if the ground had opened and swallowed him up. nobody knew a person of the name of ingersoll. no doubt he had assumed another less incriminating. a decoy letter dropped in the post-office remained there unclaimed until sent to the dead-letter office. "fool if he hadn't changed his name," muttered bill, as walter and he stood at a street corner, looking blankly into each other's face. they were taking their customary stroll uptown in the evening, when the big bell on the plaza suddenly clanged out an alarm of fire. there was no appearance of fire anywhere,--no shooting flames, no smoke, no red glare in the sky,--yet every one seemed flocking, as if by a common understanding, toward the chinese quarter. catching the prevailing excitement, the three friends pressed forward with the crowd, which at every step was visibly increasing. upon reaching the point where the fire-engines were already hard at work, the crowd grew more and more dense, shouts and cries broke out here and there, lights were glancing hither and thither, and still no sign of fire could be detected. what could it all mean? it meant that by a secret understanding among the firemen, winked at by the city authorities, the fire department was "cleaning out" the chinese quarter, which had become an intolerable nuisance, dangerous to health on account of the filthy habits of the moon-eyed celestials. the fire lads were only too willing to undertake the job, which promised to be such a fine lark, and at the first tap of the bells they had rushed their machines to the indicated spot, run their hose into the houses, and, regardless of the screams and howlings of the frightened inmates, who were wildly running to and fro in frantic efforts to escape, a veritable deluge of water was being poured upon them from a dozen streams, fairly washing the poor devils out of house and home, some by the doors, some by leaping out of the windows, and some by the roofs. whenever one made his appearance, the shouts of the mob would direct the firemen where to point their powerful streams, which quickly sent the unresisting victim rolling in the dirt, from which he scrambled to his feet more dead than alive. meantime the chinese quarter had been thoroughly drenched, inside and out, the terrified inhabitants scattered in every direction, their belongings utterly ruined either by water or by being thrown into the street pell-mell, and they themselves chased and hunted from pillar to post like so many rats drowned out of their holes by an inundation, until the last victim had fled beyond the reach of pursuit. when the whole district had been thus depopulated the vast throng turned homeward in great good humor at having shown those miserable barbarians how things were done in civilized america. time slipped away in this manner, and gradually the edge was being taken off from the keenness of the search, though never completely lost sight of. not a nook or corner of the town had been left unvisited, and still no ramon. it was, even as walter had first described it, quite like looking for a needle in a haystack. one morning walter was called to help furbish move some goods from a downtown wharf to a certain warehouse uptown. the owner was found standing among his belongings, which were piled and tossed about helter-skelter, in a state of angry excitement, which every now and then broke forth in muttered threats and snappy monosyllables, directed to a small crowd of bystanders who had been attracted to the spot. "there'll be some hanging done round here before long," he muttered, scowling darkly at two or three rough-looking men, each armed with a brace of pistols, who stood with their backs against the door of the building from which the man's goods had been so hastily thrown out. this building stood on one of the new streets spoken of in a former chapter as built out over the water, or on what was then known as a water-lot. it seems that the title to this lot was claimed by two parties. the late occupant had taken a lease from one claimant for a term of years, and had built a store upon the lot, wholly ignorant that another party claimed it. he had punctually paid his rent to his landlord every month, and was therefore dumfounded when, late one afternoon, the second claimant, armed with an order of a certain judge and accompanied by a sheriff's posse, walked into his store, and after demanding payment of all back rents, which was stoutly refused, promptly ejected the unfortunate tenant, neck and heels, from his place of business. his goods were then thrown out into the street after him, and the door locked against him, with an armed guard keeping possession. this was the state of things when furbish and walter arrived on the ground. "it's a wicked shame," declared walter indignantly. "makes business good for us," was furbish's careless reply. then lowering his voice, he added, "talk low and keep shady. mark my words. there'll be hanging done before long," thus unconsciously echoing the very words of the dispossessed tenant. walter took the hint. he stared, it is true, but went to work without further comment, though he could see that the sympathy of the crowd was clearly with the unfortunate tenant. when the last load had been carted away, the crowd slowly dispersed, leaving only the surly-looking guards on the spot. "is all out?" demanded furbish of the merchant, nodding his head toward the empty building. "all but my safe. i want that bad; but you see these robbers won't let me in. it was too heavy for them to move, or they were too lazy, and now they won't even let me take my papers out of it. curse them!" "got the key?" "oh, yes! that's all safe in my pocket. but what's a man going to do with a key?" "you want that safe bad?" "i'd give a hundred dollars for it this minute; yes, two hundred." furbish now held a whispered colloquy with walter. "do you think your friends would take a hand?" "oh, i'll answer for them," was the ready reply. "enough said." a place of meeting was then fixed upon, after which the three conspirators went their several ways--furbish to mature his plan of action, the merchant to nurse his new-found hopes, walter to enlist his two friends in the coming adventure. charley was in high spirits at the prospect. bill thought it a risky piece of business, but if his boys were going to take a hand in it he would have to go too. charley put an end to further argument by declaring that it was a burning shame if a man couldn't go into his own store after his own property, law or no law. for his part, he was bound to see the thing through. walter stipulated that there should be no violence used, and that he should not be asked to enter the building if it was found to be still in the hands of the sheriff's men. just at midnight a row-boat, with an empty lighter in tow, put off from the _argonaut's_ side, care being taken to keep in the deep shadows as much as possible. not a word was exchanged as the tow was quietly brought to the place agreed upon, where it lay completely hidden from curious eyes, if any such had been abroad at that hour. as the lighter lightly grazed the wharf a dark figure stole cautiously out from the shadow cast by a neighboring warehouse, and dropped into the hands stretched out to receive it: still another followed, and the party, now complete, held a short council in whispers. furbish had reconnoitered the store, finding only one watchman on guard outside. yet he was positive that there were two or more inside, as he had seen a light shining through a crevice in the window-shutters, which suddenly disappeared while he was watching it. the evicted merchant then explained that this light must have come from the little office, at the right hand of the street door, where he usually slept. this information confirmed the belief that the men inside had turned in until their turn should come to relieve the guard outside. if this should prove true, the midnight intruders felt that they would have a more easy task than they had supposed. this, however, remained to be seen. after listening to a minute description of the store, inside and out, furbish gave the signal to proceed. making the boat fast to the scow's stern, the latter was poled along in the shadows of the wharves until, under bill's skillful guidance, she glided between the two piers which supported the building that the party was in search of. all listened intently for any sound indicating that their approach had been detected. as all seemed safe, the scow was quickly made fast directly underneath the trap-door contrived for hoisting up merchandise into the store by means of a block and tackle secured to a stout rafter overhead--an operation at which charley had often assisted. it was, therefore, through this same trap-door that the intruders now meant to effect an entrance. but a first attempt, very cautiously made, to raise it, proved it to be bolted on the inside. this contingency, however, had been provided against, for charley now produced a large auger, on which he rubbed some tallow to deaden the sound, while the merchant held a dark lantern in such a way as to show charley where to use his tool to advantage. very cautiously, and with frequent pauses to listen, a large hole was bored next to the place where the bolt shot into the socket. two or three minutes were occupied in this work. charley then succeeded in drawing back the bolt with his fingers, a little at a time, when the trap was carefully lifted far enough to let the merchant squeeze his body through it, and so up into the store. as this was felt to be the critical moment, those who were left below listened breathlessly for any sound from above, as the trap was immediately lowered after the merchant passed through it. it was, of course, pitch-dark in the store, but knowing the way as well in the dark as in the daytime, and being in his stocking-feet, the merchant stood only a moment to listen. out of the darkness the sleeping watchmen could be heard snoring heavily away in the little corner office. groping his way with cat-like tread, the merchant, with two or three quick turns of the wrist, screwed a gimlet into the woodwork of the office door, over the latch, thus securely fastening the sleepers in. observing the same precautions, he then felt for the lock on the front door, and finding the key in the lock he turned it softly, putting the key in his pocket. even should they awake, the watchmen inside the office could only get out by breaking down the door; while their comrade outside would be kept from coming to their assistance. the merchant had certainly shown himself not only to be a man of nerve, but no mean strategist. the merchant having signaled that all was safe, all the rest of the party, except walter, immediately joined him. the safe was speedily located, some loose gunny-bags were spread upon the floor to deaden the sound, two stout slings were quickly passed around the safe, the tackle hooked on, and in less than ten minutes the object of the adventure was safely lowered into the lighter. no time was lost in getting the scow clear of her dangerous berth, nor was it until they had put a long stretch of water behind them that the adventurers breathed freely. the daring midnight burglary was duly chronicled in the evening papers as one of the boldest and most successful known to the criminal annals of san francisco. would it be believed, it was asked, that with three heavily armed guards on the watch inside and outside of the building, the burglars had actually succeeded in carrying off so bulky an article as an iron safe under the very noses of these alleged guardians? connivance on their part was strongly hinted at. the police were on the track of the gang who did the job, and the public might rest assured that when caught they would be given short shrift. the burglars were supposed to have sunk the safe in the harbor after rifling it of its contents. xiv charley and walter go a-gunning charley frequently came ashore in the evening, leaving bill in charge of the ship. walter ranched at clark's point, near the waterside, and only a few steps from the landing place. the neighborhood, to tell the truth, did not bear a very good reputation, it being a resort for sailors of all nations, whose nightly carousals in the low dramshops generally kept the place in an uproar till morning, and often ended in bloodshed. walter was busily engaged in sewing up a rip in his overalls, meantime humming to himself snatches of "the old folks at home," when charley came stamping into the room. seating himself on an empty nail-keg, he proceeded to free his mind in the following manner: "you've been working pretty steady now for--how long?" "three months last monday," assisted walter, consulting a chalk mark on the wall. "long 'nuff to entitle you to a bit of a vacation, i'm a-thinkin'. what say to takin' a little gunnin' trip up country? bill knows the ropes now pretty well. a friend of mine 'll lend me the shootin' fixin's. couldn't you get off for a few days, think? come, get that ramon chap out of your head for a bit. it's wearin' on you." walter jumped at the offer. thus far he had never set foot out of the city, and charley, an enthusiast in anything that he had set his mind upon, now portrayed the delights of a tramp among the foothills of the coast range in glowing colors. walter easily found a substitute for the few days he expected to be away, while charley had nobody's permission to ask. so the very next afternoon saw the two sportsmen crossing the ferry to contra costa, charley carrying a rifle and walter a shotgun, the necessary traps for camping out being divided equally between them. "i only hope we may set eyes on a grizzly," charley remarked, slapping the breech of his rifle affectionately, as they stepped on shore. "that's why i chose this feller," he added. "better let grizzlys alone. from all i hear they're pretty tough customers," was walter's cautious comment. "i don't care. just you wait till i see one, that's all. i'm all fixed for him--lock, stock, and barrel." they soon struck into the well-beaten road leading to the coast range, and after steadily tramping until dark entered a small settlement where travelers, coming and going over this route, usually put up for the night. a night's lodging was soon arranged for at the only public house that the place could afford, and after eating a hearty supper, and leaving word with the landlord to call them up as soon as it was light in the morning, the two amateur hunters were glad to tumble into bed. the house was a two-story frame building, with the second-story windows in front opening upon a veranda, after the southern style of public houses. the air being hot and close in their room, walter threw up a window the first thing upon going into it. he saw that one might easily step out from the room onto the veranda, or in, for that matter. then, there was no lock on the door, but as neither he nor charley was afraid of being robbed, the want of a lock did not prevent their going to sleep as soon as they struck their beds. it is probable that they did not even turn over once during the night. walter was awakened by the sound of a gentle scratching, or tapping, at the door. upon opening his eyes he perceived that it was beginning to be quite light. he listened until the sound was repeated, sat up in bed, and being satisfied that it must be some one calling them to get up, slipped out of bed, yawning and stretching himself, went to the door, half opened it, and, still only half awake, peered out. what he saw made him start back in affright, and his hair to rise up on his head in an instant. standing erect on his hind feet, clumsily beating the air with his forepaws and lolling out a long red tongue, was an enormous, shaggy grizzly bear at least a foot taller than walter himself. one look was enough. giving one yell, walter made a dash for the open window, leaped out upon the veranda, vaulted over it, and grasping firm hold of the railing, let himself drop down into the street. imagining that the bear was close behind, he incontinently took to his heels, not even turning to look back over his shoulder to see what had become of charley. startled out of a sound sleep by walter's cry of alarm, charley threw off the bedclothes, rubbed his eyes, and, with their aid, saw the bear waddling with rolling gait into the room on all fours. he too made a dash for the window, adopting without hesitation the only route of escape open to him. the bear quickly followed suit, sliding with ease down an upright, and, on touching the ground, immediately set off after the fugitives, upon whom the discovery that the bear was after them acted like a spur upon a mettled charger. they no longer ran, they flew. [illustration: the hunters hunted by a grizzly bear.--_page ._] up to this hour the village had not shaken off its slumbers, but the frantic shouts of the fugitives, who saw that the faster they ran the faster ran the bear, quickly aroused other sleepers from their morning nap. dogs began to bark and give chase to the bear. windows began to be thrown up, and heads to appear at them. still the race for life continued. bruin was evidently gaining upon the fugitives, who could not much longer keep up the pace at which they were going. feeling his breath failing him, charley, who was a few rods behind walter, had even almost made up his mind to stop short in his tracks, face about, and let the bear work its will upon him, so giving his bosom friend a chance to escape. fortunately, however, this heroic self-sacrifice was not to be made. at the last house a street door was seen very cautiously to open, while a head protruded from it. ceremony here was quite out of the question. walter instantly dashed into this welcome haven of refuge, with charley, now quite spent, at his heels, overturning the man of the house in their mad rush for safety. it took but a moment to shut and bolt the door, and, as if that was not enough, walter braced his back against it, panting and breathless. only when this was done, did the two friends draw a free breath. both were completely done up. excited by the chase, enraged at seeing his victims escaping, the bear snuffed the air, pawed at the door, swayed his huge bulk to and fro, and gave vent to his rage in loud and unearthly roarings that could be heard by every inhabitant of the village. meantime the man into whose premises the two young men had so unceremoniously entered, after taking a good look at the bear out of the window, almost bent double in the effort to control his laughter. "why, boys," said he, between fits of choking, "that's jem stackpole's tame grizzly." he had recognized the animal now holding them besieged as one that had been taken when a cub, and brought up by the landlord of the public house from which the boys had made their sudden exit, as an object of curiosity to his guests. the iron collar which bruin still wore confirmed this account. it was all plain enough now. having contrived to free himself from his chain, the bear had easily gained access to the house by climbing up the before-mentioned veranda bear-fashion. he was considered quite harmless, the man explained, but on seeing the young men run away the bear had run after them, at first out of mere playfulness. so walter and charley had been running a race with a tame grizzly, through the public street of the village, in broad daylight, in their night clothes. by this time something of a crowd had collected, all tongues going at once. the laugh of course went against the boys, though some were in favor of shooting the bear, and so putting an end to his wild pranks. his master, however, who now came forward with a pitchfork in one hand and an earthenware dish containing a stiff mixture of whisky and honey in the other, objected to having the bear killed, although the creature was now so ferocious that no one dared to go near him. setting the dish down upon the ground, and silently waving the crowd back, the man began calling the bear by his pet name of "rusty" in a coaxing tone, and presently bruin, having scented the seductive mixture, marched toward it and began lapping it up, occasionally emitting a fierce growl by way of notifying the bystanders to keep their distance. by the time the dish was licked clean bruin was dead-drunk and rolling helplessly in the dirt. his chain was then securely fastened on, and the brute ignominiously dragged off to the stable to sleep off his potations. walter and charley were compelled to borrow a pair of trousers apiece before they could venture back to the public house, the observed of all observers. needless to say, they made all haste to leave the inhospitable spot. upon calling for their bill, the landlord declared there was nothing to pay, and, with a straight face, politely hoped they would recommend his house to their friends. walter insisted upon paying, but the landlord was firm. the fame of the tame-bear hunt would attract customers to his house, he said. under the circumstances he could not think of making any charge whatever. when they were well out of the village, charley, who had maintained a dogged silence, suddenly turned to walter and exclaimed, "i won't tell if you won't!" "don't be a ninny," was the curt reply. "if i'd only had my rifle!" muttered charley, who, all the same, could not forbear looking backward every few minutes as they trudged on. the disconsolate pair made their way up among the foothills, but neither seemed to be in the right mood for keen sportsmen, or else game was not so plenty as they had expected to find it. after charley had blown the nipple out of his rifle in firing at a coyote, and walter had shot half a dozen rabbits, which, though wounded, succeeded in reaching their holes and crawling into them, the twain willingly turned their faces homeward. footsore and weary, but with appetites sharpened by their long tramp, they were only too glad to set foot once again in the streets of the city. with a brief "so long, charley," "so long, walt," "mum, you know," "hope to die," they separated to go their respective ways. xv the young vigilantes while on his way to work on saturday morning, full of his own thoughts, walter could not help noticing the absence of the usual bustle and movement in the streets. if the shops had not been open, he would have thought it was sunday, instead of the last day of the week. all business seemed to be at a standstill. merchants stood outside their doors, glancing uneasily up and down the street and from time to time holding whispered talks with their neighbors. every one wore a sober face; every one seemed expecting something to happen. but what was it? what could it be? yesterday walter would have passed along the same streets hardly noticed. to-day he wondered why everybody stared at him so. furbish was about starting off on his dray when walter reached the stand. he, too, hardly replied when walter gave him the customary "good-morning." what could it all mean? suddenly the big bell on the plaza thundered out three heavy strokes--one, two, three, and no more--boom! boom! boom! to the last day of his life walter never forgot the sight that followed. at the first stroke of that deep-toned bell the strange quiet burst its bounds. those already in the streets started off on the run for the plaza. those who were indoors rushed out, buckling on their weapons as they ran. workmen threw down their tools to join in the race. furbish jumped off his dray, shouting to walter as he ran, "come on! don't you hear it?" there was no noise except the trampling of feet. nobody asked a question of his neighbor. but every eye wore a look of grim determination, as if some matter of life and death dwelt in the imperious summons of that loud alarm-bell. after gazing a moment in utter bewilderment, walter started off on the run with the rest. he, too, had caught the infection. the distance was nothing. he found the plaza already black with people. beyond him, above the heads of the crowd, he saw a glittering line of bayonets; nearer at hand men were pouring out of a building at the right, with muskets in their hands. walter stood on tiptoe. some one was speaking to the crowd from an open window fronting the plaza, but walter was too far off to catch a single word. the vast throng was as still as death. then as the speaker put some question to vote, one tremendous "aye" went up from a thousand throats. it was the voice of an outraged people pronouncing the doom of evil-doers. by the gleam of satisfaction on the faces around him, walter knew that something of unusual moment had just been decided upon. burning with curiosity he timidly asked his nearest neighbor what it all meant. first giving him a blank look the man addressed curtly replied, "get a morning paper," then moved off with the crowd, which was already dispersing, leaving the plaza in quiet possession of a body of citizen soldiers, with sentinels posted, and the strong arm of a new power uplifted in its might. that power was the dreaded vigilantes, organized, armed, and ready for the common protection. though terribly in earnest, it was by far the most orderly multitude walter remembered ever having seen, and he had seen many. in the newspaper he read what everybody else already knew, that one of the most prominent citizens had been brutally murdered in cold blood by a well-known gambler, in a crowded street and at an early hour of the previous evening. the victim's only provocation consisted in having spoken out like a man against the monstrous evils under which the law-abiding citizens had so long and so silently been groaning. this murder was the last straw. the murderer had been promptly taken by members of the secret committee of vigilance; the trial had been swift; and the hangman's noose was being made ready for its victim. the account closed with a burning appeal to all law-abiding citizens, at every cost, to rid the city of the whole gang of gamblers, thieves, and outlaws infesting it like a plague. "when the sworn officers of the law are so notoriously in league with such miscreants, nothing is left for the people but to rise in their might. _vox populi, vox dei!_ down with the hounds!" charley and bill were quietly eating their noonday meal, when walter burst into the _argonaut's_ cabin in a state of wild excitement. without stopping to take breath, he rapidly related what he had seen and heard that morning, while his listeners sat with wide-open eyes until the tale was finished. for a few moments the three friends stared at each other in silence. ever prompt, charley was the first to break it. jumping to his feet, he struck the haft of his knife on the table with such force as to set the dishes rattling, then waving it in the air he cried out exultingly, "now we've got him!" as the others made no reply except to look askance, he went on to say, "don't you see that, foxy as he is, ramon will be smoked out of his hole? didn't i tell you there would be hanging before long? why, there won't be one of his kidney left in 'frisco inside of a week." "you're right," said walter, "for as i came along i saw men putting up posters ordering all criminals out of the city, on pain of being put on board an outbound vessel and shipped off out of the country." "good enough for 'em, too. the heft of 'em is sydney ducks an' ticket-o'-leave men, anyhow," quoth bill, with a shake of the head. "hark!" commanded walter, holding up his hand for silence. even as he spoke, the deep tones of a bell came booming across the water. at that moment the bodies of two condemned murderers were swinging from crossbeams from an upper window of the plaza. "if we're ever going to catch that chap, we'd better set about it before it's too late. what's to hinder our working this vigilante business a little on our own hook? nothing. who's going to ask any questions? nobody. do you catch my idee?" questioned charley. without more words the three friends hastened on shore, walter leading the way to his stand. they had agreed not to separate again, and were busy talking over their plans when a chinaman came up to walter and slipped a paper in his hand. walter ran his eye over it, then crushed it in his hand. turning to the chinaman he simply said, "all right, john; i'll be there." "allee light," repeated the chinaman, making off into the crowd. walter drew the heads of his two friends close to his own. then he whispered: "what do you think? this is an order to take some things from a certain house on dupont street to a warehouse on long wharf, at ten o'clock to-night. (night work's double pay.) i can't be mistaken. the order is in _his_ handwriting; i could swear to it." "i consait we orter follow the chinee," bill suggested tentatively. "no," objected charley. "prob'ly he'd lead us a wild-goose chase all over town. if walter's right, we're hot on the scent now. don't muddy the water, i say. the eel's a slippery cuss, and might wiggle away. bill, let's you and i go take a look at that warehouse. walt, don't you let on that you suspicion a thing. why, you're all of a tremble, man! straighten out your face. anybody could read it like a book. pull yourself together. look at me! by jings, i feel like a fighting-cock just now!" "what a bantam!" muttered bill, following in charley's springing footsteps. at ten o'clock walter was at the door of the house on dupont street with his cart. his knock was answered by the same chinaman who had brought him the note in the morning. several parcels were brought out and placed in the cart, but still no sign of the owner. the chinaman then explained, in his pigeon english, that this person would meet walter at the warehouse on the wharf, for which place walter immediately started, revolving in his own mind whether this was not some trick of ramon's contriving to throw him, walter, off the scent. nobody appeared to answer walter's knock at the warehouse door. evidently it was deserted, but a low whistle gave notice that charley and bill were close at hand. indeed, so well had they concealed themselves that walter had passed on without seeing them. "have you got the rope all right, bill?" walter nervously whispered, as the three crouched in the friendly shadow of a narrow passageway, while waiting for their victim to show himself. "sartin," that worthy calmly replied, "and all i wish is that what's-his-name was on one end, and i on t'other." "i don't half like this way of doing things; looks too much like kidnapping," walter whispered, half to himself. "come, walt, you're not going to show the white feather now, after all this trouble, i hope," charley impatiently said. "ssh! here he comes. it's now or never." sure enough, the sound of approaching footsteps was now plainly heard. as ramon came nearer, walking fast, bill, stepping out of the shadows, slowly lurched along ahead, cleverly imitating the zigzag walk of a tipsy sailor--no unusual sight at that time of night. when ramon had passed a few rods beyond their hiding place, charley quietly slipped out behind him, taking care to tread as softly as one of cooper's indians on the warpath. this plan had been carefully devised, for fear that ramon might give an alarm if they attempted, all at once, to rush out upon him unawares. they now held their intended victim, as it were, between two fires. at that hour the street was so lonely and deserted that there was little fear of interruption, so charley did not hurry. when bill had reached the place agreed upon, where the street narrowed to a lane in which not more than two persons could walk abreast, he began to slacken his pace, so as to let ramon come up with him. as nothing could be seen, at a few rods off, in that uncertain light, the signal agreed upon was to be given by bill's striking a match, when walter and charley were to come up as rapidly as possible. as ramon tried to push on by bill, that worthy placed himself squarely in the way, pulled out his pipe, and gruffly demanded a light. he acted his part so well as completely to disarm ramon's suspicions, had he had any. at being thus suddenly brought to a stand, ramon attempted to shoulder bill out of his path, but on finding himself stoutly opposed, he instinctively drew back a step. "refuse a gen'leman a light, does yer? want a whole street to yourself, does yer?" sputtered bill, obstinately holding his ground. ramon made a threatening movement. "shove! i dare ye, ye lubber," continued the irate sailor, purposely raising his voice as his companion came in sight. "i'm a match for you any day in the week," he grumbled, striking a light as if to enforce the challenge. by the light of the match bill instantly recognized ramon. at the same moment ramon saw that the speaker was a total stranger. charley barred the way behind him. ramon's first thought had been that he was being waylaid by footpads and, instinctively his hand went to his pistol; but as no demand was made for his valuables, he quickly concluded it to be a chance encounter with a couple of tipsy sailors. a street row was the very thing he most dreaded. he was in a fever to be off. then the thought struck him that perhaps he might turn these fellows to his own advantage. so he altered his tone at once. "oh, it's all right, lads," he said apologetically, "but one must be careful in these times, you know; and you certainly did give me a start. never mind. if you've got a boat handy, i'll make this the best night's work you ever did in the whole course of your lives." charley, who had edged up closer, now nudged bill to hold his tongue. speaking thickly, charley said: "if you wants a boat we've got the one we was just goin' off in aboard ship. she lays right here, just ahead of us. if you come down han'some, we're the lads you want. 'nuff said." ramon was completely deceived. "all right, then. i've got some traps yonder. they're waiting for me, i see. we'll get them, and you can set me aboard the _flamingo_. hurry up! i've no time to lose." walter was nonplused when he saw the trio approaching in so friendly a manner. he was about to say something, when charley trod sharply on his foot to enforce silence. all four then went down to the boat with ramon's luggage. after handing walter a gold piece, ramon stepped lightly into the boat, bill shipped the oars, and charley took the tiller. walter first cast off the painter, gave the boat a vigorous shove, and then leaped on board himself. he could not make out what had happened to change their plans, but this was no time for explanations. seeing the supposed cartman get into the boat, it then first flashed upon ramon that he had been tricked. half rising from his seat, he made a movement as if to leap overboard, but a big, bony hand dragged him backward. maddened to desperation, ramon then reached for his revolver, but before he could draw it, walter threw his arms around him, and held him fast in spite of his struggles. meantime bill was taking two or three turns round ramon's body with a stout rope, brought along for that very purpose, and in a twinkling that worthy found himself bound and helpless. no word was spoken until the boat touched the _argonaut's_ side. thoroughly cowed, shivering with cold and fright, ramon's terror was heightened by the thought that he was being carried off to sea. as the black hull of the _argonaut_ loomed up before him the dreadful truth seemed to break upon him clearly. yes, there was no doubt of it: he was being shanghaied, as the forcible kidnaping of sailors was called. charley went up the side first. in a minute he reappeared with a lighted lantern. a dull numbness had seized ramon. he did not even attempt to cry out when charley called to the others, in a guarded undertone, to "pass him along." four stout arms then lifted, or rather boosted, ramon on board the vessel, as limp and helpless as a dead man. "i knew it," he groaned, with chattering teeth; "shanghaied, by all that's horrible!" xvi ramon finds his match charley at once led the way into the cabin. when all four had passed in he shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and set down the lantern on the table, when, by its dim light, ramon saw, for the first time, the faces of his abductors. stealing a quick glance around him he met walter's set face and stern eye. the faces of the others gave him as little encouragement. greatly relieved to find his worst fears unfounded, his courage began to rise again. he met walter's look with one of defiance, and inwardly resolved to brazen it out. his life, he knew, was safe enough. to show that he was not afraid, he assumed a careless tone, as if he looked upon the whole thing as a joke. "you've got me, boys. but now you've got me, what do you want with me?" he demanded, twisting a cigarette in his trembling fingers. "first," said walter, a trifle unsteadily, for the sight of his enemy was almost too much for him, "first we want you to sign this paper," taking it out of his pocket. "it is--you can read it--a full confession of your robbery of bright & company." in spite of his effrontery, ramon could not help wincing a little. walter went on without mercy, "and of your clever little scheme to throw suspicion on me as your accomplice." ramon merely gave a contemptuous little shrug. "and lastly, of what you've done with all the property you--you stole." ramon scowled and gnawed his mustache. now that he knew the worst, ramon began to bluster. "oh, you shall smart for this when i get on shore--yes, all of you," he declared hotly. "you've got the wrong pig by the ear this time; yes, you have. as for you," this to bill, "you hoary-headed old villain, i'll have you skinned alive and hung up by the heels for a scarecrow." bill could hold in no longer. "who said anything about your goin' ashore, i'd like to know?" he asked, in his bantering way. "you never'd be missed, nohow. here yer be, and here you stop till we've done with you. so none of your black looks nor cheap talk. they won't pass here." "stop me if you dare! it's abduction, kidnaping, felony!" cried ramon, glancing fiercely from one face to the other. "i despise you and your threats. where are your proofs? where is your authority?" "ugly words those, big words. you want proofs, eh? what do you say to this?" walter asked, in his turn, unfolding a handbill before ramon's eyes with one hand, while with the other he held the lantern up so that the accusing words, in staring print, might be the more easily read: stop thief!!! $ reward! the above reward will be paid for the apprehension of one ramon ingersoll, an absconding embezzler. this was followed by a detailed description of his personal appearance. "now will you sign?" walter again demanded of the branded thief and fugitive from justice. ramon smiled a sickly smile. "oh! it's the reward you're after, is it? hope you may get it, that's all." at this fresh insult two red spots flamed up on walter's cheeks. ramon's dark eyes sparkled at having so cleverly seen through the motives of his captors. "is that your last word?" "before i'll sign that paper i'll rot right here!" "you had better sleep on it," replied walter, turning away. "what! before s'archin' him for the stealin's?" bill asked, with well-feigned surprise, at the same time critically looking ramon over from head to foot. ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, as if already he felt the hangman's noose choking him, the observant bill meanwhile watching him as a cat does a mouse. "come, my lad, turn out your pockets," he commanded, in a most business-like way. pale with anger, ramon first pulled out a leather pocket-book, which he threw upon the table, with something that sounded very much like a muttered curse, after which he folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "now you've got it, much good may it do you," he sneered. the pocket-book contained only a few papers of little value to anybody. "what has become of all the money you took?" walter demanded. "gone," was the curt reply. "what! gone! you can't have spent it all so soon. think again. there must be a trifle left." ramon shrugged his shoulders by way of reply. "feel for his belt, bill," charley struck in. charley had been growing impatient for some time over so much waste of words. bill hastened to take the hint. "hands off! i tell you, i'll not be searched," shouted ramon, carrying his hands to the threatened spot like a flash. in spite of his struggles, however, the belt, which every one wore in that day, was secured, and in it ten new fifty-dollar gold pieces were found, and turned out upon the table. again ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, nervously, tremblingly. in a twinkling bill had twitched that article off and tossed it to walter. "good's a belt, hain't it?" asked bill in answer to walter's look. "i seed him grabbin' at it twicet. s'arch it! s'arch it!" [illustration: ramon made to give up his stealing's.--_page ._] rolled up in a little wad, in the folds of the neckerchief, they found two certificates of deposit of a thousand dollars each, and in another similar roll several notes of hand for quite large sums, made payable to bright & company, but with forged indorsements to a third party, who, it is needless to say, was no other than ramon himself, who had thus added forgery to his catalogue of crime. fortunately, his hurried departure had prevented the negotiating of these notes, which now furnished the most damning evidence of his misdeeds. "now, then," said walter, sweeping the money and papers together in a heap, "we've drawn his teeth, let him bite if he can." at this cutting taunt, ramon summoned to his aid the remains of his fast-waning assurance. "oho! my fine gentlemen, suppose i'm all you say i am, if you take my money you're as deep in the mud as i am in the mire; eh, my gallant highwaymen?" he hissed out. "enough of this. we shall take good care of you to-night; but to-morrow we mean to hand you over to the vigilantes. you can then plead your own cause, master embezzler." so saying, walter pointed to a stateroom opposite, to signify that the last word had been said. ramon's face instantly turned of a sickly pallor. as bill afterwards said, "walter's threat took all the starch out of him." in a broken voice he now pleaded for mercy. "i give it up. i'll confess. i'll sign all you say--anything--if you'll promise not to give me up to those bloodhounds," he almost whimpered. truly, his craven spirit had at last got the mastery. walter pretended to hesitate, but in truth he was only turning over in his own mind how best to dispose of ramon. hitherto the wish for revenge had been strong within him, had really gone hand-in-hand with that to see wrong made right. but ramon was now only an object of pity, of contempt. the confession was again placed before him with the addition of a clause stating that the money surrendered was the same he had taken from his employers. he himself added the words, "this is my free act and deed," after which he signed his full name as if in a hurry to have it over with. the two friends then witnessed it. walter put this precious document in his pocket with a feeling of real triumph. at last his good name would be vindicated before all the world. once again he could look any man in the face without a blush. it seemed almost too good to be true, yet there sat ramon cowering in a corner, while he, walter, held the damning proofs of the robbery in his possession. no, it was not a dream. right was might, after all. instead of asking to be set at liberty, ramon now begged to be kept hid from the dreaded vigilantes. "give me just money enough to get away with, set me on shore after dark, and i'll take my chances," he pleaded. only too glad to be well rid of him, the three friends willingly agreed to this proposal. after darkness had set in, bill pulled ramon to a distant spot above the town, among the sand dunes. handing the discomfited wretch his own pocket-book, with the contents untouched, bill gave him this parting shot: "take it, and go to guinea! if this is the last on ye, well an' good, but it's my 'pinion there's more rascality stowed away in that cowardly carkiss o' yourn." without replying, ramon stole away in the darkness, and was soon lost to sight. xvii a sharp rise in lumber "isn't that the sacramento boat?" asked charley, looking off in the direction of a rapidly approaching bank of lights. "how plainly we can hear the drumming of her big paddles. listen!" "if it is, she's all of two hours ahead of time," was walter's reply. "yes, it's the old _senator's_ day. she's a traveler all the time, and to-night she has the tide with her. do you know, they say she's made more money for her owners than she could carry on one trip?" "sho! you don't mean it." "true as you stand there." they stood watching the _senator_ work her way into her dock, when charley suddenly asked, "what are you so glum about to-night, walt?" "i was thinking what i would do if i had a boatload of money." "hope you may get it, that's all. hark! ah, here's bill back again." by the way that bill was rowing, he seemed in a great hurry. greatly to the surprise of the two friends, he was closely followed up the side by a stranger, to whom bill lent a helping hand as this person stumbled awkwardly to the deck. at first both walter and charley thought it must be ramon returning. "hello! what's up now?" both exclaimed in one breath. "what's up? lumber's up. got any?" answered a quick, sharp voice not at all like ramon's. as nobody spoke bill made a hurried explanation. "sacramento's all burnt up, lock, stock, and barrel. boat's goin' right back to-night. i seen her comin' lickety-split, fit to bust her b'iler; so i kinder waited round for the news. i heered this man askin' who had lumber, so i jest mittened onto him, and here he is." "whar's this yer lumber--afloat or on shore?" the newcomer impatiently demanded. "afloat," charley replied. "good enough! how's it stowed: so's it can be got at?" "it's a whole cargo. never been broken out." "good again! what sort is it? can i see it?" "come into the cabin and i'll get out the manifest. you can't see anything till daylight." "burn the manifest!" returned the stranger, still more impatiently. "daylight's wuth dollars now. show me the man can tell what that thar lumber is, or isn't." "i can," walter put in, "'cause i saw it loaded." "then you're the very man i want. talk fast. i'm bound to go back on that thar boat." thus urged, walter began the inventory on his fingers. "there's six two-story dwelling houses, all framed, ready to go up." "whoop-ee! how big?" "about x , high-studded, pitched roof, luthern windows. the rest is building stuff--all of it--sills, joists, rough and planed boards, matched boards----" "any shingles?" the impatient man broke in. "yes, a big lot; and clapboards too." "talk enough. whar's the owner?" "you're talking to him now," said charley quickly. "well, then, i reck'n we'd better have a little light on the subject, hadn't we?" the stranger suggested. upon this hint charley led the way to the cabin, where the parties took a good look at each other. the stranger glanced over the manifest, laid a big, brawny hand upon it, then, turning to walter, but without betraying surprise at his youthful appearance, said pointedly, "name your price, cash down, stranger, for the lot. i'm here for a dicker." walter began a rapid mental calculation. "those houses are worth all of twenty-five hundred apiece," he declared, glancing at charley. "more," charley assented positively. "wuth more for firewood," added bill. "houses and all; all or none. how much for the hull blamed cargo?" the stranger again demanded, getting up to expectorate in a corner. "lumber is lumber," observed charley, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought. "do i ask you to give it away? name your figure," the would-be purchaser insisted. "come up to the scratch. i've no time to waste here palavering. what do you take me for?" he added angrily. walter again had recourse to his mental arithmetic. "six times two fifty, fifteen; lump the rest at ten; freight money five, storage five more, insurance five. forty thousand dollars!" he exclaimed desperately at a venture, feeling the cold sweat oozing out all over him. "it's mine. i'll take it," said the stranger, coolly suiting the action to the word by dragging out of his coat pockets first one chuggy bag of gold dust and then another, which he placed before walter on the table. "here's something to bind the bargain." then, seeing bill critically examining a pinch of the dull yellow grains in the palm of his hand, he added: "oh! never fear! that's the real stuff. you get the rest when that lumber's delivered alongside sacramento levee at my expense. talk fast. is it a whack?" "hold on, stranger," cried the acute charley, pushing back the gold. "we don't agree to no such thing, mister. we deliver it right here from the ship." the stranger smote the table with his clenched fist. "can't waste no time loading and unloading," he declared; "that's half the battle. i must have this cargo ahead of everybody, up river. you say it's all loaded. that's why i pay high for it. i don't care shucks how you get it there; so fix it somehow; for it's make or break with me this time. _sabe?_" "why not tow her up and back, if he pays for it?" bill suggested. the buyer caught as eagerly at the idea as a drowning man does at a straw. "sartin. tow her up!" he exclaimed. "i hire the boat and pay all expenses. how many hands of you? three. all right. you get ten dollars apiece a day till the ship's unloaded." the man's eagerness to buy his way through all obstacles rather confused walter, who now turned inquiringly toward bill. "she draws nigh onto twenty feet this blessed minute," bill said in a doubtful undertone. "why, the river is booming!" cried the stranger, looking from one to the other, with eager, restless eyes, as this unforeseen difficulty presented itself to his mind. again bill came to the rescue. "i'll tell ye, mates, what we can do. lash an empty lighter on each side of her; that'll lift her some; then if she takes the ground, we might break out cargo into the lighters, till she floats agin." the lumber speculator listened like one who hears some one speaking in a strange tongue. he, however, caught at bill's idea. "yes, that's the how, shoah," he joyfully assented. "i'll hire a towboat to-night, if one's to be had in 'frisco for money. i don't know shucks 'bout these yer ships, but when it comes to steamboats i reck'n i kin tell a snag from a catfish." "i think we may risk it, then," observed charley, who, as ship-keeper, felt all his responsibility for her safety. walter then drew up the contract in proper form, after which it was duly signed, sealed, and witnessed. "now, then," resumed the stranger, "you boys get everything good and ready for a quick start. thar's your dust. you play fa'r with me, an' i'll play fa'r with you. shake." he then put off with bill for the shore. "dirt cheap," said charley, eying walter sidewise. "thrown away," groaned walter peevishly, by way of reply. and to think that only the day before the lumber would not have paid for the unloading! xviii a corner in lumber by dint of hard work the _southern cross_ was got ready to cast off her moorings by the time the tug came puffing up alongside, early in the morning. they were soon under weigh, but the ship's bottom was so foul that she towed like a log. bill steered, while charley and walter went forward to pass the word from the tug or tend the hawser, as might be necessary. it being smooth water here, in an hour or so the tow passed out into san pablo bay, where it met not only a stiff head wind, but a nasty little choppy sea. that made towing slow work, but by noon they were abreast of benicia and entering the straits of carquinez, with old monte diablo peering down upon them on the starboard hand. beyond this point the tow steamed across still another bay, for some fifteen miles more, without mishap. they had now left the coast mountains far behind, and were heading straight for what seemed an endless waste of tall reeds, through which both the sacramento and san joaquin wind their way out to the sea. so far plenty of water and plenty of sea room had been found. the worst was yet to come. the young navigators, however, pushed boldly on between the low mud-banks without delay, feeling much encouraged by their success thus far, and wishing to make the most of the short two hours of daylight remaining, after which the captain of the tug declared it would be unsafe to proceed. after seeing the ship tied up to the bank for the night, the tug pushed on in search of a wood-yard some miles farther on. it was quite ten o'clock the next morning before the boys saw her come puffing back around the next bend of the river above. she had run so far after wood, that the captain said he would not risk putting back before daylight again. all went smoothly until the middle of the afternoon, when, to their great annoyance, the ship suddenly brought up on a mud-bank, where she stuck hard and fast. a hawser was quickly carried out astern, at which the tug pulled and hauled for some time to no purpose. the _southern cross_ would not budge an inch. it being evident that the ship would not come off by that means, hatches were taken off, the boys threw off their coats, and, spurred on by bill's report that he believed the river was falling, all hands went to work breaking out cargo into the lighters, as if their very lives depended upon their haste. it was now that bill's foresight came in for the warmest commendations, as without the lighters the voyage must have ended then and there. they worked on like beavers all the rest of that afternoon, the tug giving an occasional pull at the hawser, without starting the ship from her snug berth. they, therefore, made themselves some coffee, and were talking the situation over in no very happy frame of mind, when a large, high-pressure steamboat was seen heading down the river, half of which she seemed pushing in front of her, and dragging the other half behind. "stand by to haul away!" shouted bill, with quick presence of mind, to the men on the tug, running aft to take another turn in the hawser. as the steamer passed by, churning the muddy water into big waves, the tug put on all steam, the hawser straightened out as tense as iron, the big ship gave a lazy lurch as a wave struck her, and to the unspeakable delight of all hands they found themselves once more afloat and in deep water. although the ship was aground several times after this, they were so lucky in getting her off, that by noon of the third day the _southern cross_ lay snugly moored, stem and stern, to a couple of live oaks at the sacramento levee. the first person to jump on board was the purchaser himself, followed by a gang of laborers, who had been waiting only for the ship's arrival to set to work at unloading her cargo. meantime the boys set about making all snug aboard, and then after seeing the balance of the purchase money weighed out, on a common counter-scale in the cabin, they took turns in mounting guard over what had been so fairly earned. in plain truth, all three were fairly dazed by the possession of so much wealth. [illustration: arrival of the _southern cross_ at sacramento.--_page ._] this duty of standing watch and watch kept the friends from leaving the ship even for a single moment, if indeed they had felt the least desire to do so. in fact all that there was left of the late bustling city was spread out stark and grim before their wondering eyes from the deck of the ship, and a dismal sight it was. acres of ground, so lately covered with buildings so full of busy life, were now nothing but a blackened waste of smoldering rubbish. here and there some solitary tree, scorched and leafless, lifted up its skeleton branches as if in silent horror at the surrounding desolation. men, singly, or in little groups, were moving about in the gray-white smoke like so many uneasy specters. others were carefully poking among the rubbish for whatever of value might have escaped the flames. but more strange than all, even while the ruins were ablaze about them, it was to see a gang of workmen busy laying down the foundations for a new building. there was to be no sitting down in sackcloth and ashes here. that was california spirit. all this time the lumber dealer was by great odds the busiest man there. he was fairly up to his ears in business, selling lumber, in small parcels or great, from the head of a barrel, to a perfect mob of buyers, who pushed and jostled each other in their eagerness to be first served. all were clamoring as loudly for notice as so many congressmen on a field-day to the speaker of the house. to this horde of hungry applicants the lumberman kept on repeating, "first come, first served. down with your dust." the man was making a fortune hand over fist. scarcely had our boys the time to look about them, when they were beset with offers to lease or even to buy the ship outright. one wanted her for a store, another for a hotel, another for a restaurant, a saloon, and so on. men even shook pouches of gold-dust in their faces, as an incentive to close the bargain on the spot. as such a transaction had never entered their heads, the three friends held a hurried consultation over it. charley firmly held to the opinion that he had no right to dispose of the ship without the owner's consent, and that was something which could not be obtained at this time. walter was non-committal. bill was nothing if not practical. bill was no fool. "ef she goes back, what does she do?" he asked, squinting first at one and then at the other. "why, she lays there to her anchors rottin', doin' nobody no good," he added. "she won't eat or drink anything if she does," charley said rather ambiguously. "seems as though we ought to put her back where we found her," walter suggested, in a doubtful sort of way. "settle it to suit yourselves," was bill's ready rejoinder. "but how does the case stand? here's a lot of crazy _hombres_ e'en a'most ready to fight for her. 'twould cost a fortin to get her ready for sea. her bottom's foul as a cow-yard; some of her copper's torn off; upper works rotten; she needs calkin', paintin', new riggin', new----" "there, hold on!" cried charley, laughing heartily at bill's truly formidable catalogue of wants; "i give in. i vote to lease the old barky by the month--that is, if walt here thinks as i do." "in for a penny, in for a pound," walter assented decisively. so the bargain was concluded before the cargo was half out of the ship, so eager was the lessee to get possession. walter drew up the lease, a month's rent was paid in advance, and the thing was done. "well, now, boys, that's off our minds," said charley gleefully; "my head's been turning round like a buzz-saw ever since this thing's been talked about." "and a good job, too, seein' as how we skipped without a clearance," bill put in quietly. the two friends looked at him blankly, then at each other. it was plain that no such matter had ever entered their minds. charley gave a long, low whistle. "by george, i never thought of that!" he exclaimed, in great ill humor with bill. "what'll they do to us?" "no use cryin' over spilt milk," said that worthy. "keep dark's our lay. didn't noah's ark sail without a clearance, without papers or flag, and for no port?" he added. "we 'cleared out,' as the sayin' is, with a vengeance," charley remarked, trying to turn the matter off with a joke. "there's only one thing for us to do," said walter, "and that is to go right up to the custom-house and explain matters to the collector, when we get back to the bay. perhaps he'll let us off with a fine, when he finds we didn't mean to run away with the ship and turn pirates." the idea of turning the old, water-logged _southern cross_ into a pirate was so comical that all three joined in a hearty laugh. what to do with all their money was the most perplexing question. they could neither eat nor sleep for thinking of it. in every face they saw a thief, every footstep startled them. in their dilemma it was determined that the safer way would be to divide it up between them. three miner's belts were therefore procured, and after locking themselves up in the cabin the three friends stuffed these belts as full as they would hold with the precious metal. but there was still a good-sized pile left to be disposed of when this was done, so bill suggested sewing the remainder in their shirts. at it they went, without more words, sitting meantime in their trousers and undershirts; and a truly comical sight was this original sewing circle, stitching away for dear life under lock and key. but even when this operation was finished, a heap of the shining metal still lay on the table before them. all were so weighed down with what they had about them that they waddled rather than walked. bill declared that if anything happened to the boat at their returning they would all sink to the bottom like so much lead. while thus at their wits' end, charley's eagle eye chanced to fall upon an old fowling piece hung up by some hooks in the cabin. this was quickly torn from its resting place, the charges drawn, and while the others looked on in silent wonder charley filled both barrels with gold dust, after which the muzzles were tightly fitted with corks. "she's loaded for big game. we take turns carryin' her, don't you see?" he remarked with a broad grin. towards dusk the trio took passage on board the first boat bound for the bay, nor did they feel themselves wholly safe with their treasure until they once more trod the deck of the old _argonaut_, fairly worn out with a week of such rapidly shifting fortunes as no one but an old californian has ever experienced. the three inseparables were snugly rolled up in their blankets, bill loudly snoring in his bunk, when the distant booming of a gun caused walter to raise his head and say drowsily, "hello! a steamer's in." "i don't care if there's twenty steamers," charley yawned, at the same time burying his nose still deeper under his blanket; "i was almost gone and now you've made me begin all over again. all ashore that's goin' ashore." xix hearts of gold mr. bright came in that steamer. as walter's letter seemed to hold out fair hopes of recovering some part of the _southern cross_ and her cargo, the merchant had decided to look into the matter himself, though in truth both he and his partners had long regarded the venture as a dead loss. had he suddenly dropped from the clouds, the _argonaut's_ little company could not have been more astonished than when the merchant stepped on deck, smiling benignantly at the evident consternation he thus created. after a hearty greeting all round, though poor walter turned all colors at the remembrance of how and where they had last met, mr. bright began by explaining that he had found them out through the consignee of the _southern cross_. "but where in the world is the _southern cross_?" he asked. "here has the boatman been rowing me around for the last hour, trying to find her. nothing has happened to her, i hope," he hastily added, observing the friends exchanging sly glances. this question, of course, led to an explanation from walter, during which the old merchant's face was a study. his first look of annoyance soon changed to one of blank amazement, finally settling down into a broad smile of complete satisfaction when the story was all told. then he shook his gray head as if the problem was quite too knotty for him to solve, how these boys, hardly out of their teens, should have dared, first to engage in such a brilliant transaction, and then have succeeded in carrying it through to the end without a hitch. "pretty well for beginners, i must say," he finally declared. "taken altogether that's about the boldest operation i ever heard of, and i've known a few in my experience as a business man. but," looking at walter, "where's all this money? quite safe, i hope." by way of answer, the young men brought out their treasure from various ingenious hiding-places, the fowling piece included. when all the belts and parcels of dust were piled in a heap on the table, mr. bright sat for some time with his hand over his eyes without speaking. what the merchant's thoughts were it were vain to guess. finally he said, "you seem to have done everything for the best. bill here was quite right about the ship. she is earning something where she is, at least. now about the cargo?" turning to walter; "i think you said in your letter that charley here bought half of that in?" walter gave a nod of assent. "why, then," resumed mr. bright, "as the other half belongs to his partner, i don't see that we've anything to do with this money. perhaps we may compromise as to the ship," he added, looking at charley. charley then explained his agreement with his partner, who had so mysteriously disappeared. "i sold out to walter. settle it with him," he finished, jamming his hands in his pockets and turning away. "well, then, walter, what do you say?" "i say that charley ought to have half the profits. why, when i wrote you, the lumber was worthless. besides, charley did all the business. settle it with him." "i see. the situation was changed from a matter of a few hundreds to thousands shortly after your letter was written." walter nodded. "and you don't care to take advantage of it?" walter simply folded his arms defiantly. "but between you you saved the cargo," the merchant rejoined. "we've no claim. you must come to terms. was there no writing?" walter scowled fiercely at charley, who, notwithstanding, immediately produced his copy of the agreement. the merchant glanced over it with a smile hovering on his lips. "why, this is perfectly good," he declared. "well, then, as neither of you has a proposition to make, i'll make you one. perhaps walter here felt under a moral obligation to look after our interests in spite of the unjust treatment he had received. that i can now understand, and i ask his pardon. but you, charles, had no such inducement." "no inducement!" charley broke out, with a quivering lip; "no inducement, heh, to see that boy righted?" he repeated, struggling hard to keep down the lump in his throat. "axin' pardons don't mend no broken crockery," observed bill gruffly. mr. bright showed no resentment at this plain speech. he sat wiping his glasses in deep thought. perhaps there was just a little moisture in his own eyes, over this evidence of two hearts linked together as in bands of steel. the silence was growing oppressive, when walter nerved himself to say: "you see, sir, charley and me, we are of one mind. as for me, i'm perfectly satisfied to take what i put in to fit charley out, provided you pay him back his investment, and what's right for his and bill's time and trouble." charley coughed a little at this liberal proposal, but walter signed to him to keep quiet. bill grunted out something that might pass for consent. but mr. bright was not the man to take advantage of so much generosity. in truth, he had already formed in his own mind a plan by which to come to an agreement. changing the subject for the moment, he suddenly asked, "by the way, have you never heard anything of ramon?" at this unexpected question a broad grin stole over the faces of the three kidnapers. "i was coming to that," walter replied, bringing out from his chest the money and papers which ramon had been so lately compelled to disgorge. the merchant took them in his hands, ran his eye rapidly over them, and exclaimed in astonishment, "what! did he make this restitution of his own accord? wonders will never cease, i declare." "well, no, sir, not exactly that; the truth is, he was a trifle obstinate about it at first, but we found a way to persuade him. that confession was signed in the very same chair you are now sitting in." mr. bright again said, with a sigh of deep satisfaction, "marvelous! we shall now pay everything we owe, except our debt to you, walter; that we can never pay." "if my good name is cleared, i'm perfectly satisfied," walter rejoined, a little nervously, yet with a feeling that this was the happiest day of his life. "and his good name, too, why don't you say?' interrupted the matter-of-fact bill, from his corner. "seems to me that's about the size of it," he finished, casting a meaning look at the dignified old merchant, who sat there twiddling his glasses, clearly oppressed by the feeling that, as between himself and walter, walter had acted the nobler part. he could hardly control a slight tremor in his voice when he began to speak again. "i see how it is," he said. "you return good for evil. it was nobly done, i grant you--nobly done. but you must not wonder at my surprise, for i own i expected nothing of the sort. still, all the generosity must not be on one side. by no means. since i've sat here i've been thinking that now we are embarked in the california trade, we couldn't do better than to start a branch of the concern in this city. now, don't interrupt," raising an admonitory hand, "until you hear me through. if you, walter, and you, charles, in whom i have every confidence--if you two will accept an equal partnership, your actual expenses to be paid at any rate, we will put all the profits of this lumber trade of yours into the new house to start with. suppose we call it bright, seabury & company. fix that to suit yourselves, only my name ought to stand first, i think, because it will set walter here right before the world." neither walter nor charley could have said one word for the life of him, so much were they taken by surprise. bill's eyes fairly bulged out of his shaggy head. mr. bright went on to say, "with our credit restored, we can send you all the goods you may want. suppose we now go and deposit this money--one-half to the new firm's credit, one half in trust for charles' former partner. i myself will put a notice of the copartnership in to-morrow's papers, and as soon as i get home in the boston papers, and i should greatly like to see the new sign up before i go." it was a long speech, but never was one listened to with more rapt attention. charley turned as red as a beet, walter hung his head, bill blew his nose for a full half-minute. "where does bill come in?" he demanded, with a comical side glance at the merchant. his question, with the long face he put on, relieved the strain at once. "oh, never fear, old chap; you shall have my place and pay on the old ship," charley hastened to assure him. "then you accept," said mr. bright, shaking hands with each of the new partners in turn. "something tells me that this is the best investment of my life. the papers shall be made out to-day, while we are looking up a store together. really, now, i feel as if i ought to give a little dinner in honor of the new firm--long life and prosperity to it! where shall it be?" "what ails this 'ere old ship where the old house came to life agin, an' the new babby wuz fust born inter the world?" was bill's ready suggestion. "capital! couldn't be better," exclaimed the merchant. "and now," taking out his notebook, "tell me what i can do for each of you personally when i get back to the states?" walter spoke first. "please look up my old aunty, and see her made comfortable." mr. bright jotted down the address with an approving nod, then looked up at charley. "send out a couple of donkey engines; horses are too slow." mr. bright then turned to bill. "me? oh, well, i've got no aunt, i've no use for donkeys. you might lick that sneakin' perleeceman on the wharf an' send me his resate." when the two young men took leave of mr. bright, on board the _john l. stephens_, after a hearty hand-shaking all round, that gentleman gave them this parting advice: "make all the friends you can, and keep them if you can. remember, nothing is easier than to make enemies." at a meaning look from walter, charley withdrew himself out of earshot. walter fidgeted a little, blushed, and then managed to ask, "have i your permission to write to miss dora, sir?" mr. bright looked surprised, then serious, then amused. "oho! now i begin to catch on. that's how the land lies, is it? so that was the reason why you were prowling around our house one night after dark, was it? well, well! certainly you may write to dora. and by the way, when next you pass through our street you may ring the doorbell." xx bright, seabury & company thus the new firm entered upon its future career with bright prospects. a suitable warehouse on the waterfront was leased for a term of years. true to their determination to stick together, the two junior partners fitted up a room in the second story, and on the day that the doors were first opened for business they moved in. the next thing was to get some business to do. charley had a considerable acquaintance among the ranchmen across the bay, which he now improved by making frequent trips to solicit consignments of country produce. the sight of an empty store and bare walls was at first depressing, but their first shipments from the east could not be expected for several months. there was a sort of tacit understanding that walter should attend to the financial end of the business, while charley took care of the outdoor concerns. they were no longer boys. the sense of assumed responsibilities had made them men. the two partners were busy receiving a sloop-load of potatoes, with their shirt sleeves rolled up, when a big, burly, bewhiskered individual dropped in upon them. scenting a customer, charley, always forward, briskly asked what they could do for him. "i want to see the senior partner." charley nodded toward walter, who was checking off the weights. the man gave a quick look at the tall, straight young fellow before him, then said, "can i speak to you in private for five minutes?" "come this way," walter replied, showing the stranger into the little office. the newcomer sat down, crossed one leg over the other, stroked his long beard reflectively a little, and said, "i've come on a very confidential matter. can i depend upon the strictest privacy?" "you may," said walter, quite astonished at this rather unexpected opening. "nobody will interrupt us here." the man cast an inquisitive look around, as if to make sure there were no eavesdroppers near, then, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, said pointedly, "you may have heard something about a plan to aid the poor, oppressed natives of nicaragua to throw off the tyrannical yoke of their present rulers?" "i've seen something to that effect in the papers," said walter evasively. "so much the better. that clears the way of cobwebs. i want your solemn promise that what passes between us shall not be divulged to a human being." "i have no business secrets from my partners," walter objected. "your partners! oh! of course not." "i've already promised," walter assented, more and more mystified by the stranger's manner. "nobody asked you for your secrets. you can do as you like about telling them," he continued rather sharply. "i'll trust you. you are a young concern. well connected. bang-up references. likely to get on top of the heap, and nat'rally want to make a strike. nothing like seizing upon a golden opportunity. 'there is a tide'--you know the rest. now, i'm just the man to put you in the way of doing it, as easy as rolling off a log." as walter made no reply, the visitor, after waiting a moment for his words to take effect, went on: "now, listen. i don't mind telling you, in the strictest confidence, then, that i'm fiscal agent for this here enterprise. i'm in it for glory and the _dinero_. we want some enterprising young firm like yours to furnish supplies for the emigrants we're sending down there," jerking his head toward the south. "there's a big pile in it for you, if you will take hold with us and see the thing through." walter kept his eyes upon the speaker, but said nothing. "you see, it's a perfectly legitimate transaction, don't you?" resumed the fiscal agent a little anxiously. "then why so much secrecy?" "oh! there's always a lot of people prying round into what don't concern them. busybodies! if it gets out that our people aren't peaceable emigrants before we're good and ready, the whole thing might get knocked into a cocked hat. they'd say--well, they even might call us filibusters," the man admitted with an injured air. walter smiled a knowing smile. "what do you want us to do?" he asked. "in the first place, we want cornmeal, hard bread, bacon, potatoes, an' sich, for a hundred and fifty men for two months. i can give you the figures to a dot," the agent rejoined, on whom walter's smile had not been lost. "see here." he drew out of his pocket a package of freshly printed bonds, purporting to be issued by authority of the republic of nicaragua, and passed them over for walter's inspection. "now, the fact is, we want all our ready funds for the people's outfit, advance money, vessel's charter, and so on. now, i'm going to be liberal with you. i'll put up this bunch of twenty thousand dollars in bonds, payable on the day nicaragua is free, for five thousand dollars' worth of provisions at market price. think of that! twenty thousand dollars for five thousand dollars. you can't lose. we've got things all fixed down there. why, man, there's silver and gold and jewels enough in the churches alone to pay those bonds ten times over!" "what! rob the churches!" walter exclaimed, knitting his brows. "why, no; i believe they call that merely a forced loan nowadays," objected the fiscal agent in some embarrassment. seeing that he paused for a reply, walter observed that he would consult his partner. charley was called in and the proposal gone over again with him. as soon as advised of its purport he turned on his heel. "not any in mine," was his prompt decision. "mine either," assented walter. the stranger seemed much disappointed, but not yet at the end of his resources. "well, then," he began again, "you take the bonds, sell them for a fair discount for cash, and use the proceeds towards those provisions?" "hadn't you better do that yourself? we're not brokers. we're commission merchants. if you come to us with cash in hand we'll sell you anything money will buy, and no questions asked; but nicaragua bonds, payable any time and no time, are not in our line." so said walter. "not much," echoed charley. "your line seems to be small potatoes," muttered the stranger testily. then quickly checking himself, he carelessly asked, "i suppose you'd have no objection to keeping these bonds in your safe for a day or two for me, giving me a receipt for them, or the equivalent? i don't feel half easy about carrying them about with me." "why, no," said charley, looking at walter, to see how he would take it. "yes," objected walter, "most decidedly." "'no;' 'yes;' who's boss here, anyhow?" sneered the agent, dismissing his wheedling tone, now that he had played his last card. even charley seemed a trifle nettled at being snubbed by walter in the presence of a stranger. after all, it seemed a trifling favor to ask of them. "my partner and i can settle that matter between ourselves. once for all, we don't choose to be mixed up in your filibustering schemes in any way. your five minutes have grown to three-quarters of an hour already. this is our busy day," he concluded, as a broad hint to the stranger to take leave, and at once. "very well," said the unmoved fiscal agent, buttoning up his coat. "but you'll repent, all the same, having thrown away the finest opportunity of making a fortune ever offered----" "this way out, sir," charley interrupted, throwing wide the office door. when the strange visitor had gone charley asked walter why he refused to let the bonds be put in the safe. "now we've made an enemy," he said resignedly. "to let him raise money on that receipt for twenty thousand dollars, _or equivalent_--on mr. bright's name? no, sir-ee. where were your wits, charles wormwood? that fellow's a sharper!" "guess i'd better attend to those potatoes," was all the junior partner could find to say, suiting the action to the word. as was quite natural, much curiosity was felt as to what had become of ramon, by his former business associates. in some way he had found out that mr. bright was in san francisco, and taking counsel of his fears of being sent back to boston as a confessed felon, he cast his lot among the most lawless adventurers of the day. learning that a filibustering expedition was being fitted out at san francisco against lower california, under command of walker, the "gray-eyed man of destiny," ramon joined it, keeping in hiding meanwhile, until the vessel was ready to sail. as is well known, the affair was a complete failure, walker's famished band being compelled to surrender to the united states officers at san diego. from this time ramon disappeared. * * * * * some five years later a young man, ruddy-cheeked, robust, and well though not foppishly dressed, drove up to the door of a pretty cottage in one of the most fashionable suburbs of boston. alighting from his buggy and hitching his horse, he walked quickly up the driveway to the house. the front door flew open by the time he had put his hand on the knob; and a young woman, with the matchless new england pink and white in her cheeks, called out, "why, walter, what brings you home so early to-day? has anything happened?" "yes, dora; charles wormwood is coming out to dine with us to-day. he only arrived to-day overland. i want to show him my wife." the end the transcriber made these changes to the text: . p. , "the the certificate" changed to "the certificate" . p. , "eend" changed to "end" . p. , "charlay" changed to "charley" . p. , "dimissing" changed to "dismissing" available by internet archive (https://archive.org/) note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/littlegirlinolds dougrich transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). a little girl in old san francisco * * * * * the "little girl" series a little girl in old new york hannah ann; a sequel a little girl in old boston a little girl in old philadelphia a little girl in old washington a little girl in old new orleans a little girl in old detroit a little girl in old st. louis a little girl in old chicago a little girl in old san francisco a little girl in old quebec * * * * * a little girl in old san francisco llby amanda m. douglas new york dodd, mead and company copyright, by dodd, mead & company all rights reserved published september, to martha redington to you who have enjoyed the charms and wonders of the newer city, the old and remarkable may have a charm. half a century is not much in which to rear the queen city of the western coast. with a friend's regard, the author. contents chapter page i from maine to california ii old san francisco iii making a new home iv a queer winter v pelajo vi a different outlook vii a taste of gayety viii girls and girls ix a party and an admirer x ethics and etiquette xi in the sunshine of youth xii new experiences xiii balder the beautiful xiv a wedding and a parting xv the enchantment of youth xvi in the balance xvii the decision of fate xviii to see you once again xix the guiding finger xx an enchanted journey chapter i from maine to california it was a long journey for a little girl, so long indeed that the old life had almost faded from her mind, and seemed like something done in another existence. when she was younger still she had once surprised her mother by saying, "mother, where did i live before i came here?" the pale, care-worn woman had glanced at her in vague surprise and answered rather fretfully, "why, nowhere, child." "oh, but i remember things," said the little girl with a confident air, looking out of eyes that seemed to take an added shade from her present emotions. "nonsense! you can't remember things that never happened. that's imagining them, and it isn't true. if you told them they would be falsehoods. there, go out and get me a basket of chips." she was afraid of telling falsehoods, most of those rigid people called them by their plain name, "lies," and whipped their children. so the little girl kept them to herself; she was a very good and upright child as a general thing and knew very little about her tricky father. but she went on imagining. especially when she studied geography, which she was extravagantly fond of, yet she could never quite decide which country she had lived in. through those months of journeying in the big vessel over strange waters, for she had been born in an inland hamlet with a great woods of hemlock, spruce, and fir behind the little cottage, and two or three small creeks wandering about, she had many strange thoughts. though at first she was quite ill, but uncle jason was the best nurse in the world, and presently she began to run about and get acquainted. there were only a few women passengers. one middle-aged, with a son sixteen, who was working his way; a few wives emigrating with their husbands, three women friends who were in the hope of finding an easier life and perhaps husbands, though they hardly admitted that to each other. she often sat in uncle jason's lap, hugged up to his breast. of course, her mother had been his sister, they had settled upon that, and he did not contradict. she was lulled by the motion of the vessel and often fell asleep, but in her waking moments these were the memories that were growing more vague and getting tangled up with various things. her father had taught school at south berwick the winter she could recall most readily, and came home on saturday morning, spending most of the time at the store. woodville was only a sort of hamlet, though it had a church, a school, and a general store. sometimes he would go back on sunday, but oftener early monday morning. then late in the summer he was home for a while, and went away after talks with her mother that did not always seem pleasant. he took very little notice of her, in her secret heart she felt afraid of him, though he was seldom really cross to her. and then he went away and did not appear again until the winter, when there seemed a great deal of talking and business, and he brought a boxful of clothes for them, and seemed in excellent spirits. he was in business in boston, and would move them all there at once, if grandmother would consent, but she was old, and had had a stroke, and could not get about without a cane. the old house was hers and she would finish out her days there. of course, then, her mother could not go. she had a new, warm woollen frock and a cloak that was the envy of the other children, and absolute city shoes that she could only wear on sunday, and, of course, were presently outgrown. she studied up everything she could concerning boston, but her mother would not talk about it. in the summer, grandmother had another stroke and then was bedridden. it was a poor little village, and everybody had hard work to live, summers were especially busy, and winters were long and hard. grandmother was fretful, and wandered a little in her mind. now and then a neighbor came in to spell mrs. westbury, and there was always some mysterious talking that her mother did not care for her to hear. grandmother lived more than a year and was a helpless burden at the last. after she had gone the poor mother sank down, overwhelmed with trouble. david westbury had persuaded the old lady to sign over the house for a business venture he was to make in boston that would put him on the road to fortune. and now it was found that he had decamped, that there had been no business but speculating, and she no longer had a home for herself and her child. they were very poor. people bore straits bravely in those days and suffered in silence. the poor mother grew paler and thinner and had a hard cough. in the spring they would be homeless. by spring she would be--and what would happen to the child! a little bound-out girl, perhaps. laverne was not taken into these sorrowful confidences. she did not go to school, her mother needed to be waited upon. one bright afternoon she went out to skate on the creek. the school children joined her, and it was almost dark when they started for home. the little girl's heart upbraided her, but she had carried in the last armful of wood, and had not told her mother. what would they do to-morrow! she went in hesitatingly. oh, how good and warm the room felt and two candles were burning. a man sat beside the stove with a sort of frank, bright, yet weather-beaten face, a mop of chestnut-colored hair, a beard growing up to his very mouth, but with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen, merry blue eyes, too, that looked as if there was just a twinkle back of the lashes. "this is my little girl, laverne," said her mother. "we have always called her verne, seeing there were three of the same name. and this is"--the mother's tone had a curious tremble in it, as if she caught her breath--"this is uncle jason." the first glance made them friends. they both smiled. she was like her mother in the young days, and had the same dimple in her cheek, and the one in her chin where the children used to hold a buttercup. she put out both hands. they had been so lonely, so poor, and she was glad all over with a strange feeling, just as if they had come to better times. what a supper they had! she was very hungry. she had been quite used to eating bread and molasses, or a little moist brown sugar. and here was a great chunk of butter on the edge of her plate, and the room was fragrant with the smell of broiled ham. if she had known anything about fairies she would have believed in enchantment at once. and there was part of a splendid cake, and orange jam, and she could hardly make it real. no neighbor had known all their straits, and the little girl had borne them as bravely as her mother. then, so many people had pinches in the winter, for crops were often poor. she helped her mother with the dishes and then she sat down on a stool beside uncle jason. presently, her head sank on his knee and she went fast asleep. she never heard a word of what her mother and uncle jason were saying. at nine o'clock he carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, and she never woke up while her mother undressed her. he went over to the store where he had bargained for a room. the storekeeper, mr. lane, had been as much surprised to see mr. chadsey as mrs. westbury. he had been born in the old town and his romance had blossomed and blighted here. "now, i tell you," seth lane said to his wife, when the store was shut and they were preparing for bed, "if that scalawag westbury was dead there'd be a weddin' in this town straight away. my, how chadsey was cut up over hearin' his mean villainy an' gettin' hold of the house! i never b'lieved the old woman knew what she was about. and chadsey's come back in the nick o' time, for i don't b'lieve she'll go through march." jason chadsey planned for their comfort, and went to boston the next day, but could find no trace of david westbury, dead or alive. as for the little girl, when she woke up in the morning she thought she had had the loveliest dream that could ever haunt one. but when she saw the bountiful breakfast she was amazed to the last degree. "was uncle jason really here?" she asked timidly. she was quite sure her mother had been crying. "yes, dear. he has gone to boston and will be back in a few days. oh, laverne, i hope you will learn to love him. some day, when you are older, you will understand why he came back, and he will be your best friend when"--when i am gone, she was about to say, but checked herself, and substituted "all your life. when i was a little girl he was a kind and generous big boy. then he went to sea, and was back only a few times. for years i had heard nothing from him--he has been round the world, everywhere. and he has a big, tender heart----" "oh, i am sure i shall be glad to love him. why, you seem to go right to his heart;" and the child's face glowed with enthusiasm. "yes, yes." she began to cough and sat down suddenly, putting her handkerchief to her mouth. "the salt, quick, verne," she gasped. she lay on the old wooden settee and stuffed her mouth full of salt. "oh, what can i do?" cried the child, in mild alarm. "run for aunt cynthy beers. tell her to come quick." the neighbor, who was the village nurse, came back with the child. then she was despatched for the doctor. he shook his head gravely. "doctor, you must keep me alive a little while longer," she pleaded. "oh, you are good for some time yet, only you must not make the slightest exertion. cynthy, how long can you stay?" "ten days or so. then i have to go over on the creek," she answered laconically. "that will do." then he gave sundry charges to miss beers, and left the remedies she was to use, but that lady knew what was meant. mrs. westbury beckoned the nurse to her when he had gone. "don't tell laverne," she said. "don't say anything about----" "that's cruel. why, she ought to know and be prepared." "no, no; i will not have a word said. i cannot explain, no one can. and if she took it hard, don't you see, it would drive me wild and shorten my days. i'm all worn out. and she will be provided for." everybody was kind and solicitous, sending in cooked food, offering to sit up at night, but miss beers was equal to all demands. the sick woman really did improve. laverne hovered about her mother, read to her out of her geography and peter parley's history, as well as the sweetest hymns out of the hymn book. jimmy cox came over and did the chores, provided the wood, took verne out on his sled, and the days passed along. jason chadsey returned. miss beers had to go her way, and a neighbor came in to do what was needed. one day, before the minister and the squire, she gave her child to jason chadsey, who promised to care for her and educate her, and keep her from all harm. "you both know that i loved her mother and would gladly have married her in the old days, but untoward fate intervened. i could find no trace of the child's father. she has no near relatives to care for her, so i shall be father to her, and heaven may judge me at the last." he was holding the child on his knee that evening, "you are to be my little girl always," he said, with tender solemnity. "you shall be made happy as a little bird. and if you will only love me----" "oh, i shall, i do. and will you stay here? mother will be so glad. she was longing so to have you come back. you will never go away again?" "never from you, my little girl;" and he kissed the child's trust into perfect belief. there were two more alarms, then the frail life went out peacefully. the child was stunned. it had seemed right for grandmother to leave a world that she was forgetting about, but laverne could not understand all the mystery. her mother had always been quiet and reserved, it was the fashion in those days, and the child could not miss the things she had never had. and neither could she ever have understood her sorrow over the great mistake in giving her such a father. but heaven had helped her to make amends, for the child was the embodiment of her own youth. it was all she had and she gave it to the man who had loved her sincerely, glad and thankful that she was not to be left to the uncertain charity of the world. the frightened child clung very closely to him. the worn furniture and bedding were distributed among the neighbors, a few keepsakes collected, a few good-bys said, and good wishes given, and they went first to boston and then to new york. then they were to go to the wonderful land of gold and sunshine, california. they found it on the map. and there was the long, long sail, and the little girl was going far away from the only sorrow of her life, that was so strangely mingled with the only dear love. for while the other had been hedged about with the severe training of the times, afraid of sinfulness in indulging in what was called carnal affections, even in loving a child, now she had the utmost tenderness lavished upon her. she had no one but him, and that was a continual joy and kept his heart at high tide. she was all his. later she was to know about the young love between them, and how when her mother was just fifteen he had shipped for three years aboard a merchantman. they had sailed about the eastern seas, bought and sold, and at last started for home, to be wrecked, and nearly all had perished. of the few saved there were no tidings of jason chadsey. laverne waited and hoped and came to her twentieth birthday. david westbury was considered a smart young man. he had been a clerk in a store, he had worked on a newspaper, and taught school, and could turn his hand to a good many things. he had a smooth tongue, too, and a certain polish in his manner above the country youths. grandmother espoused his cause at once. jason chadsey was dead, lovers were not so plentiful in these small places, where the enterprising young men went away. it was hard to stand out against one's own mother, and all the years to come to be taunted as an old maid. and so laverne married david westbury, and when her little girl was a month old he came back not altogether penniless, but it was too late. he had roamed about the world a good deal. he had made money, and spent it freely, lost some of it, helped friends in distress. now, he was going out to that wonderful land that had been the dream of the spaniard, and another nation had brought the dream true. he would visit the little old village once more, and see how it had fared with his early love and his old friends, and then say good-bye forever. and knowing she was near to death, laverne westbury told him her sad story, and he read between the broken sentences that he had been her early love, her only love. so they whiled the time away, the man's dreams growing more vivid, the child's fading. they passed strange countries, there were seas of peerless blue, seas of emerald green, then strange colors commingled. there were cloudless skies and broad sheets of sunshine that seemed to envelop the whole world in a blaze; there were nights of such glowing stars as one seldom sees on land, there were gray days with sullen winds, and storms that sent a thrill to the stoutest hearts, when the vessel groaned and creaked and the women cried in terror. but laverne only crept closer in uncle jason's arms and felt safe. they stopped here and there at a port, places they hunted up on the map, cities that seemed marvels to the little girl, shores with waving blooming forests and almost steaming fragrance. strange birds, strange many-hued fish, darting hither and thither, seaweed that in the sunshine looked like masses of bloom, or living things swimming about. curious people, too, speaking languages no little girl could understand, then leaving the warmth, and shivering with blasts of cold air, wonderful islands and capes jutting out--some bleak and bare and rocky, others shining in verdure and waving smiles of welcome, it seemed; going safely round the horn with half their journey done and finding more wonders, great mountain ranges, shores thickly studded with islands, natives swimming about like fishes, queer, half ruinous old spanish towns, and when they stopped at a port, such a clatter of tongues, such a screaming of voices, such a confusion, one was glad to get out of it to lovely, enchanting peace once more. warmer grew the air with a languorous, permeating fragrance. moonlight silvering the water that leaped softly up and down as if playing hide and seek with the next wave. all the boundless space lighted with it, going round the world, swelling, decreasing, a golden crescent, then a pale gibbous thing and afterward darkness when the ship crept softly along. if one came in near the shore it was like the blast of a furnace. then, passing the equator with the queer ceremony among the sailors, and looking across at the little neck of land joining the two countries, past central america, which the little girl insisted made three americas. she had listened to the tales of the early explorers and their cruel lust for gold until she had shuddered. "uncle jason, are you going for gold in california, and will the people murder whole nations and rob them? i would rather not have the gold." "no, my little girl; and the country that has the gold belongs to us. but it has many other delightful things as well. it is not like bleak maine." "what a strange journey it has been, and oh, how beautiful most of the time. i do not believe i shall ever be afraid of storms again." "you have made a most excellent sailor. it will seem queer to be on land again. you will keep your sea legs for some time to come." "sea legs?" she laughed inquiringly. "the faculty one acquires of walking with the roll of the ship. sailors always do it on land. and you will see that you have an inclination to go from side to side as if the street was hardly wide enough;" and he looked at her out of humorous eyes. he had a way of nearly shutting one eye, which gave an absolutely funny expression to his face. he had buffeted so many storms and narrow escapes that he looked fully ten years beyond his age, which was but thirty-five. he had a tall, vigorous frame, with a little stoop in the shoulders and a way of sitting down all in a heap. the little girl told him he made a cave for her to sit in. every day she loved him more dearly, and to him she was the one thing that brightened his way and gave him new aims. he had been going to california simply to see a strange and new land. he had not been won by the wonderful tales of gold, he had cared very little for wealth. but now he would make a fortune for her and have it so safely invested that she should not come to want if she lived to be old. he could never forget the afternoon he had come to laverne westbury's home, that she had been warned to leave in the spring, and found her almost on the verge of starvation, too proud to keep asking charity, worn out and disheartened, with only the county house looming before her. little verne should never know this, never suffer as her mother had done. and this was one reason he led her thoughts away from the old life. she was too young to know that he had loved her mother, she took the relationship for granted. and even on the long voyage there had been so much to entertain her. the only child on board, and a winsome one at that, she had been a universal favorite; and jason chadsey hardly less so. the trio, as the three single women had been dubbed, though the married ones often said "the old maids," after a little, established very friendly relations with mr. chadsey. miss holmes was past thirty, and had worn herself almost out teaching school. a sea voyage had been prescribed to avoid consumption, that scourge of the eastern towns. she had gained in health and strength, and certainly in looks. when she found the little girl and her uncle poring over their old map, she brought out some of her school books, to laverne's great delight. among them was the story of the argonauts that caught the young imagination, and even dick folsom became interested in the various explorers who had dreamed of gold and of the straight route to china. miss gaines had been a dressmaker until a troublesome pain in her side warned her to seek a different occupation, and miss alwood had kept house, done nursing, and they had planned to make better fortunes in the new country, where there were fewer women. mrs. dawson was going out to meet her husband, who had been among the "forty-miners," and now kept a sort of lodging ranch, that with her help could be transformed into a regular hotel, much in demand at that time. and so they had made quite a little colony on shipboard. slowly they came up the pacific coast, past the long peninsula of southern california, and there, fairly in sight, was the golden gate. chapter ii old san francisco was it any wonder the old explorers missed the narrow outlet from the great bay when the hills from the farther shore cast a great gloomy shadow, and dreary rocks flanked the shore, inhabited by cormorants and auks and gulls, screaming out their discordant music? what if the tide did run out sweeping like a torrent--were they going to breast the danger back of it? was the great rocky point worth their consideration? in the islands off the shore seals and sea lions had it all their own way and basked and frolicked in the sunshine. it had changed then, in the early fifties, but half a century has almost forgotten the bareness of it then. and yet it was magnificent in the october sunset as the old ship made its way, puffing from the strains of its long journey. they had nearly all huddled on deck to view their land of promise. there are few enthusiastic emigrants now, everything is viewed with commercial eyes. afar to the westward stretched the magnificent ocean, a sheet of billowy ranges tipped with molten gold, changing to a hundred iridescent tints and throwing up the gold again in prodigal fashion, sweeping it over to foreign seas. and, on the other hand, the mile-wide gap, the gateway to the wonderful land, tranquil enough now, with frowning rocks like the cave of scylla on the one hand, that was to be transformed into a wonderful city. they are piloted through to the great magnificent bay that seems endless at the first glance of its seventy miles. northward long lines of rolling hills, purple and blue and black, with glints of the setting sun fighting the shadows like some strange old gods with their fire-tipped arrows. at the south it fades into misty dreamland. red rock stands up defiant. and so they look at their new country and then at each other. there is shipping at the rude wharves, and they find a place to anchor, but it is too late to look for a home and so they make themselves content. but if they thought they were coming to great space, and semi-loneliness they were mistaken and confused by the noise and tumult, the crowds, the bustle of business, the people of all countries it seemed. "why, i had no idea," the women said to one another. "the place must be overcrowded." what chance was there then for women who had come to seek their fortunes? they soon found that san francisco was the stopping place of nearly every nation, and yet there was room for more, and work for those willing to do it. mr. dawson came down to meet his wife the next morning, and was made acquainted with the little party that had become such friends in their long journey. "we can take some of you in if you will accept the accommodations," he said cordially. "they might be worse," with a shrug of the shoulders. "luckily, i escaped being burnt out. will you come and take a view of our town?" what an odd place it was, built on the hills like rome. on the ocean side great frowning rocks that suggested fortresses. at the extreme end, the highest of hills, the city began, and it spread out over little valleys and other hills, sloping to the busy, beautiful bay. and it seemed right in the heart of it lay devastation, débris and ashes. hundreds of men were clearing, laying foundations again, rearing new structures. "it was an awful fire," explained their guide. "we had thought fireproof bricks and iron-bound structures would at least stay the devastating hand of destruction, and even that proved useless. but for the loss one might have enjoyed the magnificent spectacle of the immense fiery field. the fierce roar of the flames, the shouts and shrieks of the flying people, the glowing crackling mass sending spires up to the very sky, it seemed, was something we shall never forget. it was said to have been visible a hundred miles away." the ruins were startling even now. then the party turned, crossed market street and came into spear street. here there was a rambling frame building that had been added to several times, two stories for the most part, but a long ell of only one story. the main end bore the name of "dawson house." it was not a hotel, and had no bar, that usual accompaniment. round in the next street, mr. dawson had a clubhouse that supplied this want, and all games of chance, but this place was of the better sort. the farnsworths had gone to friends only a few squares from the wharf. mr. dawson made friends at once with young folsom and offered him a position. "i'm in for the gold fields," he declared with boyish eagerness. "you'd better consider a day or two," suggested his mother. "and i'll take the mother, too, if she is as good a housekeeper as she looks to be," mr. dawson subjoined laughingly. "if i don't, young fellow, some man will snap your mother up before you'll have a chance to see the color of his eyes." "well, here are four husbandless women," she retorted gayly. "he could have a choice." they were ushered into a spacious room with a painted floor and nondescript furnishing. in one corner was a large desk at which sat a clerk. this opened into a dining room, in which the long table was seldom without a guest. several were seated there now. on the other side were two smaller rooms tolerably well furnished, one a sleeping chamber. "you'll find we're suffering from the want of woman's hands and woman's wit. i could hardly believe my wife had consented to come. you see those who are worth anything are soon offered homes of their own, and the others----" he made a peculiar little gesture, that elicited a shrewd smile from jason chadsey. it was comforting to find a place of refuge so soon, they all thought. on the second floor were lodging rooms for the better class. the ell was fitted up with rows of bunks, and there was seldom a vacancy by midnight. laverne kept tight hold of uncle jason's hand, and when mr. dawson smiled over to her, half hid her face on uncle jason's ample frame. "are we all going to live here?" she asked in a low tone. "for a little while, i think. we would not want to go away alone. and there must be some one to keep the house when i get one." "but you know that i helped mother, oh, for a long while. sometimes i chopped up the wood. and in the autumn i dug the potatoes and husked the corn, but we had to kill the poor hens, after all," and she sighed. "i swept up the house, too. oh, i can do a great many things." he took the slim little hand in his and tried to smile over her eagerness, but his heart ached as he thought of her mother, and the hardships he could not save. "will it be winter soon?" she inquired. "not a maine winter, my child. i believe there is no real winter." "everything looks queer and dried up, yet it isn't cold. and what a great city, it is almost as large as new york." he laughed at that, then he was grave a moment. "it may be as great, some day. the pacific will be a big rival to the atlantic." "to think we are clear over here! why don't they build a railroad--just so?" and she made a mark with her small finger. "no doubt that will come also." they made arrangements about staying for the present. it seemed queer to the child that the friend she had known so long should be mr. dawson's wife. already she was giving some orders and telling what she wanted done, and did not seem a bit afraid of the portly man who could speak so sharply to the chinese servants. laverne thought them very odd. she had only seen pictures of them before. they walked so softly in their pointed slippers, and looked a little like women in their loose blue shirts with hanging sleeves. the long queue twisted around their heads, and their slanting eyes seemed weird enough. she saw many other queer people in their walk back to the boat. uncle jason thought it too long, but she pleaded so to go. there were other curious dark-eyed and dark-skinned men, small and bright japanese she came to know, and tall spaniards in picturesque attire with handsome sashes about their waists; indians, too, and a group of squaws girt about with blankets, two carrying their babies on their backs, and these made her think of the maine clear across the continent, for you occasionally saw them there. the old vessel seemed almost like home to her. they gathered up their luggage and that belonging to the ladies and ordered it sent to the dawson house. then they went up on telegraph hill, and half the world seemed spread out before them. the sun was shining in well-nigh blinding brilliancy. there was the narrow passageway that hardly looked its real width, there was the northern peninsula, mount tamalpais, belvidere, sausalito, and all the places she was to come to know so well. and there over the bay were the low spurs of the coast range, at whose feet were to spring up towns and cities. the bay looked to her like a smaller ocean. but boats were plying back and forth. and they could see the other hills about, and the town spreading here and there outside of the burned district. suddenly she said she was very tired, and her steps lagged a little. uncle jason would have been glad to carry her, he had occasionally carried greater burdens in times of peril, but that would be hardly admissible, they were going downhill too, which was easier. she had not seen all the strange people yet, for they met a group of portuguese sailors with big hoop earrings, who were gesticulating fiercely, and some russians with high caps and black, bushy beards. she was glad she had studied so much geography on shipboard, and she began to feel quite wise about different countries. when she reached their present home she begged that she might go to bed. she did not want to eat even a tempting bit of cake. mrs. dawson took her into her room and put a pillow on the lounge, and while the others talked and planned she slept soundly. "what a pretty child she is," mr. dawson said. "you will have to watch her closely that no one steals her." "oh!" uncle jason said thoughtfully. but in this wild, bustling life few would want to be burdened with a child not belonging to them. when laverne woke there was a queer, rushing, rustling sound, and it was dark like twilight. where was she? what was happening? then she sprang up and remembered. the ladies were talking in the next room. oh, it rained and the wind seemed blowing a gale. "oh, what a nice sleep you have had!" exclaimed mrs. dawson. "and now you must be hungry, though we shall have dinner in a very short time. you look rested," and she smiled cheerfully. "yes, i am. i don't know what made me so tired." she had not climbed a hill in a long while. "we didn't have any hills to climb on shipboard, and in all these months we did get out of practice," said miss holmes. "i was tired as well. and now the rainy season has begun, and mr. dawson has been saying that in a week or two the country will look like spring." "and won't there be any winter? though i don't like winter very much," she added naïvely. "only the sledding and skating." "i shouldn't care to live in maine," and miss gaines gave a little shiver. "all my life i have longed for a warm winter climate. and if this doesn't suit, i shall go further south." "you women without husbands are very independent," laughed mrs. dawson. "you certainly can go where you like if you have money enough to take you there," was the reply. "verne, come sit here and tell me if you like san francisco as well as the ship and the voyage." "it's queer and such lots of queer people, and how they can understand each other i can't see, for they all seem to talk different. i'd rather not live on a ship all my life." "then do not marry a sea captain. but your uncle may take a fancy to go to china or japan. it is not so far from here. grace, have you written any letters this afternoon?" "no," replied miss alwood. "i think my friends will not be immediately alarmed." "and this little girl has left no relatives behind, i heard her uncle say. haven't you any cousins?" "my mother had no brothers or sisters." then she remembered how little she had ever heard about her father. mrs. dawson brushed her hair and they were summoned to dinner. they had the upper end of the table. two other women came in with their husbands. there were some spaniards among the men, and a few very dark, peculiar-looking people. there was a great deal of talking in tongues unknown to the little girl, but some of the voices had a soft, musical sound. the little girl was really hungry and enjoyed her dinner. afterward most of the party played cards. the other lodgers were of the commoner sort, had a dining room to themselves, and generally sallied out in the evening. fights were not infrequent and the harmless phases of games degenerated into gambling. miss holmes had not mastered the art even on the long voyage. she took laverne under her wing now. "you and i will have to learn spanish," she said. "once spain owned all this country." "and will we have to learn all the other talk? i know some indian words, there were two old indian women in our town, and in the summer some of the tribes would come down. but chinese--that funny reading that comes on tea chests----" and a knot gathered in her forehead. "we will not take chinese the first. i have a friend who went out as a missionary and who can talk it fluently. but all down along the coast it is settled by spaniards, and they were in south america, you know, and it seems as if half the people here were talking it. then it is a stately and beautiful language. you know you learned some french on shipboard." "and there are so many things to learn. there were so few in our little place. they spun and knit and sewed, and you made bed quilts in case you were married. mother had two she had never used, and a great counterpane grandmother had knit." "yes. it is a pity they couldn't have been saved for you. i have a chest of heirlooms stored in the house of a cousin at dorchester, and some revolutionary relics. my grandfather fought in the war. and i have left them all behind." miss holmes gave a little sighing laugh. she could not tell whether she was glad or sorry that she had taken this long journey to a strange land. "what did spain want of america?" queried the little girl. "oh, don't you remember how they came to mexico for the gold. there was pizarro and cortez----" "and poor montezuma in south america. are there any real gold mines here?" "not just in the town." "then no one will come and fight us and take the gold away," she said with a sigh of relief. uncle jason gave a dry smile. there was fighting enough, he had found already. "would you care for the gold?" the child raised soft, inquiring eyes. "why, yes; i should like to have a share of it. but i do not think i shall go and work in the mines." "did they fight very much at the fort. and who did they drive away?" she asked in a rather awe-stricken voice. "oh, my child, they did not fight at all. the country belonged to us. the gold was free for any one willing to mine. we shall see the men coming in with their bags of gold dust and nuggets, and though they may talk fiercely and quarrel, they need not disturb us," and miss holmes smiled reassuringly. "uncle jason will not go," she said confidently, after quite a pause. then she glanced over to him and smiled, and was answered in return. he lost that trick and the next and mrs. dawson won his money. it did well enough to play for fun on shipboard, the captain had strictly forbidden gambling, but here one would not dream of such a thing. the stakes were not high, however. he was thinking of his little girl and whether he had done wisely to bring her here. he had planned this journey before he knew whether the little girl was dead or alive; at any rate he had supposed she would be in the keeping of her own father. and the pitiful story of the woman he had loved, and would have slaved for had she been his, had roused all the chivalrous feelings of his nature. and that she should give him the child who had her smile and her soft, appealing voice, and the pretty eagerness that had cropped out now and then, though it was the fashion to repress it, seemed so wonderful and so sacred to him, and occupied so much of his thoughts that he never dreamed of altering his plans, or whether they would be best for her. everything was so different, such a hurly-burly, that he wondered if a little girl could be brought up clean and wholesome and happy. a touch of uncertainty was creeping through every nerve. a man's life was so different. and there must be some one to guard her since he had to make the fortune for her. would miss holmes do? they had become great friends. then miss holmes had the eastern refinement and uprightness. he had not counted on sharing her with any one, his ideas had been vague and impractical and he would have to remodel them. "upon my word, i never knew you to play so poorly," laughed mrs. dawson teasingly; "i believe you are half asleep." "i think that must be it. i am a landlubber to-night, so i beg you to excuse me," and he rose. chapter iii making a new home it rained three days, not quite like sullen eastern storms, but in gusts and showers. at times the wind drove it along like a trampling army, then the fog came up and you could hardly see anything but the vaguest outlines. the rainy season had set in. "will it rain all the time?" asked laverne. "and i have no rubbers." "that is a sad oversight. i don't believe you will find any small ones here," answered mrs. dawson. "but i have interviewed some of the old residents, and they say it only rains by spells, but that the spells are rather frequent. i suppose we shall get used to it." it was mid-forenoon. laverne had asked questions about everything she could imagine, and heard many wonderful stories. the convent tales interested her deeply. they had found an old volume of the early days, and she had rejoiced in the legend of father francis, who had been left out of the list of missions that were to be named after the saints. "and no st. francis!" cried the good missionary, surprised at such neglect. "is not our own dear father francis to have a mission assigned to him?" the visitador replied loftily, "if st. francis wishes a mission let him show you a good port and it shall bear his name." they had been discouraged at the rough shores and rocky heights. but they went on and suddenly the gateway opened before them, and the bay came in view. so they entered it, and while they were waiting for the storeship, they cut down timber and began to make a settlement on a fertile plain surrounded by vine-clad hills. when the storeship arrived with cattle, provisions, and some more emigrants, they built some plain houses, and the mission, and on the day of st. francis it was blessed and consecrated with a mass, and for music they had a continual discharge of firearms, while the smoke answered for incense. then they set about converting the natives who were poor, wandering clans with no religion, but a great fear of sorcerers, and were very easily managed. and now the mission de los dolores was but a crumbling ruin, while the good st. francis lives in the noble name of bay and city. then there was the pathetic story of doña conceptione, daughter of the commandant of presidio. a russian official visited it, and fell deeply in love with the beautiful girl. but he not only had to return with business matters, but had to lay before the czar his earnest wish to espouse his sweetheart. doña conceptione waited at first in great joy and hope, but no word and no lover came. when her father tried to win her from her love by various devices, she would not be comforted with them. many a time she looked longingly over the ocean, straining her eyes to see the vague outline of his ship that never came, and so her sweet youth passed, her beauty began to fade, but she would not give up her faith. he was dead, or he would have come. he could not prove false. she went into a convent and prayed for his soul's rest. long afterward she heard he had been killed on his way home, and her sad heart was comforted by the thought that she had never doubted his love. and then another beautiful girl, whose lover had gone to battle with a fierce tribe of indians who had attacked one of the lower missions. his horse had found its way back unharmed, and some one who had seen him fall brought back his bloody scarf and his jewelled dagger, picked up from the ground, but the indians had mutilated his body horribly and cast it away in fragments. when doña eustacia recovered from her long illness she would take the veil in spite of her mother's protests, for there was another lover the elder had preferred. and so two years passed away when a poor, dishevelled, footsore man came back, who had not been killed but wounded and taken prisoner, and at last managed to escape. and when the señor roldan learned eustacia's sorrowful mistake he begged that she be released from her vows, and proffered his estate to the mission for her. but the padre was obdurate and would not listen. did some bird carry messages to her? there was no need to pray for his soul, and his faithful love was too sweet to give up. so the little bird comforted her, and though she knew she was perilling her soul's salvation she slipped out of the convent one night, and her lover lifted her on his horse and they went away in the storm and the darkness, whither no one ever knew, but the padre took his estate, and they were both laid under the ban of the church. "but did it really hurt them?" queried the young listener. "i should like to think they were very happy," declared miss holmes, closing the book, "and we will end it that way." "do see!" cried laverne, running to the window. "why, it is yellow and purple, and rolling up----" "the fog is lifting. and the sun is coming out," was the reply. "the cobwebs being swept from the sky," laughed the child. "but there is no old woman with a broom." yes, there was the sun out in all its glory, driving the fog into the ocean, tearing it into tatters, and suddenly everything was glorified. the evergreens had been washed free from dust and were in their metallic tints, other foliage that had seemed brown a few days ago, glowed and shimmered in the crystal-clear air. the change was marvellous. the newcomers glanced at each other in surprise, with no words to express their exhilaration. "and now we can go out!" cried laverne. "i want to climb a hill." uncle jason laughed. "come and see," he replied. alas! rivulets were running down the slopes and the wind was appalling. some of the streets were simply seas meandering along. "never mind, to-morrow it will be nice and you will see it dry up by magic." laverne went back to the book of legends and stories. the others had been considering plans. mrs. folsom had accepted mr. dawson's proposal and was installed as housekeeper to his wife's great satisfaction. "it would be folly for a young fellow like you to go out to the mines," mr. dawson said to richard. "there's gold enough to last ten years or i'll miss my guess. it's no place for a boy. and there is plenty to do right here. i'll take you as a clerk." "we certainly have fallen in a clover bed," exclaimed his mother; "i don't know how to thank you." "i guess i need you as much as you need me. and if the boy keeps honest and upright and doesn't take to gambling his fortune is made." "but i shall go to the gold fields in the end," dick said to his mother. she was satisfied to have it put off a while. the rain had not kept jason chadsey in the house. he had gone on several inspecting tours. there was work to be had everywhere. building up the burned district, draying around the bay in every conceivable branch. every week dozens of men threw up a job and started for the gold fields. three or four shipping houses almost fought for him when they learned he was a maine man, and had been half over the world, was indeed full of shrewd knowledge that had been discriminated by a wide experience, and neither drank nor gambled, the besetting sins of those early days. then there was the home. miss alwood had found a position. the other two had been friends for years. a needlewoman would readily gain employment, and no doubt teachers would be in demand. jason chadsey ruminated over the matter. women had hardly begun to make homes for themselves in that chaotic region. what if he made a home for them both and miss holmes took care of laverne? the child was very fond of her. he went about the matter in a straightforward fashion. miss holmes accepted at once. she had begun to wonder a little at her temerity in seeking her fortune in this new land. in the older cities it was different. and she had a motherly heart for laverne. indeed, if jason chadsey had offered her marriage she would have accepted it readily, though it would have been based on respect and friendship. "you will be head of the interior," he said, in a rather humorous tone. "we may find some one to do the rough part. and if miss gaines would like to make her home with you we shall be a cheerful and comfortable family, i fancy." it was not so easy to find a domicile ready made. too many of the houses, even among those offered for sale, were flimsy things and held at exorbitant prices. but he struck one presently. the man's wife had died and he wanted to go to the mines, but did not really care to sell. he would rent furniture and all for six months. the dawsons were sorry to have them leave. to be sure, their places could be filled easily enough, but they had all been so friendly. meanwhile the weather would have been amusing if it had not been so trying. it had come off very hot, and the north wind seemed to be bringing gusts from the desert that scorched the green things with its withering fury. the stars shone out pitiless like lesser suns. then splendid revivifying showers, and air as balmy as spring, laden with wafts of curious fragrance, touching the hillsides with magic, clothing them with daintiest verdure. was this winter? were not the seasons absolutely lost? the little girl was as much interested in the house as if she had been a decade older. it was rather out of the business region, and built on a side hill. downstairs, even with the street in front, which had a narrow plank sidewalk, there were two rooms; on the next floor four, and you stepped out on the level again at the back. there was a flat rock, then another declivity, but not so steep. up here there was a magnificent prospect. a little shrubbery grew about, but it was mostly a tangle of vines, where flowers were to run riot in the spring. it was quite as plain as the little cottage in the maine town though much less substantial. sometimes in a strong west wind it seemed as if it might slide to the street below. but houses seldom blew about that way. outside a series of rude steps had been laid. now and then they washed out in a heavy rain, but they could be relaid without much trouble, and sometimes the sticky clay hardened like stone and they remained for a long while. she liked to run up and down them, flying like a gull, stretching out her small arms, to the terror of miss holmes. "you will slip some day and break your neck or some of your limbs, and your uncle will think i was careless about you," she said anxiously. "oh, i will tell him that you were always cautioning me. and i do not believe i shall break easily," laughing with a child's glee. every day changed her it seemed. her eyes glowed with quivering lights like the bay, her cheeks rounded out, the dimple grew deeper and held a pink tint like the heart of a rose. uncle jason put uncounted kisses in it. she would be prettier than her mother, and that gave him a jealous pang. her father had been esteemed good-looking, but really she was not like him. the coloring and hair resembled her mother's. ah, if she could be here amid the splendor, and he shuddered, thinking of the bleak little town. the housekeeping was not arduous. even in those early days fruits were abundant and vegetables enough to surprise one. then jason chadsey went away in the morning and oftener took his lunch at the dawsons', not coming home until night. everything in a business way rushed. there were schools already, for the american plants his schoolhouse if there are a dozen children. they could see the one down on the plaza. there were churches, too. even in there had been sunday worship established on the plaza, and a year later, in spite of all the hubbub, churches were really organized. then they erected a substantial tent on dupont street, until one of their members ordered a church ready to be put together, from new york. there was beside a congregational society and this attracted miss holmes, for she had always been "orthodox" in boston. but the long sea voyage and the lawless life all about her were rather demoralizing. men and women broadened out, sharp corners of creeds were rubbed off. there was a very earnest endeavor among the better classes for the extension of higher moral purposes, and a purer rule, and all of that mind worked heartily together. marian holmes was much interested in her friend's welfare. miss gaines, with true yankee faculty, was meaning to make a place for herself and some money. her heart yearned for the intelligence and order of her native city. "i shall not spend all my life in this riotous, disorderly place where you cannot tell what will happen to you next. like the men, i want to make some money. it doesn't take so very much to be comfortable in boston, and there are all the appliances and enjoyments of civilization. i was talking to that mrs. latham who has come to the dawsons for a few weeks while their house is being finished. and she recommends that i shall start an establishment at once, while i am new to the town." miss gaines studied her compeer. she had been talking so rapidly she was out of breath. "well?" as miss holmes was silent. "why, it might be an excellent thing. only could you get girls to sew? i do not think the young women are of that type. they flock to the restaurants." "there are two catholic women mrs. latham spoke of--you know their priests keep stricter watch over them. they are of the old spanish californian stock. they have sewed for her and are neat as new pins, but have no style. they rent out the lower floor of their house, being in straitened circumstances. their tenant is to go next week, i believe i shall take the two rooms, and open a shop, emporium, establishment, whatever it is best to call it. they will work for me. and the more bizarre clothes are made the better. i think they will suit these people, who do not care how they spend their money if it is so their neighbors can see it. then we will all be provided for. though i think i could have had an offer of marriage last night. a man had just come in from the mines with a pile of gold. he was a boston man, but sadly demoralized by drink. i felt sorry for him at first, then disgusted." miss holmes laughed. "and thereby missed a chance that it is supposed no woman lets slip." "i certainly shall not take a chance like that. come with me to see the rooms." "i must find laverne. the child grows wild as the wildest thing in town, and yet she is sweet as a rose. there's something in the air that sets all your blood astir. i have not danced for years. i should like to dance. i feel curiously young." "marian holmes! you are in love! but i can't imagine jason chadsey dancing. though you are not compelled to dance with your husband in this lawless place." "i am afraid it would be love's labor lost if that were the case. he like you has his heart set on making money, but for the child." she ran out and looked at table rock, as they called a large, flattish boulder. laverne was not there. then she glanced around. some distance down the street was a group of little girls, but laverne's light hair made her distinctive. she walked a short distance and then called. the child hesitated, and the call was repeated. laverne came with the rush of a wild deer. "oh, can't i stay a little longer? i'm telling them about maine, and the snows and coasting. and it doesn't snow here, at least only a little bit. they are such nice girls, and i am so lonely with only big folks. they talk spanish and very broken english." "i want to take you out. your uncle wouldn't like me to leave you among strangers." "oh, but we're not strangers now. we know each other's names. carmencita,--isn't that pretty,--and juana, and anesta, and their voices are so soft, and such black eyes as they have!" "but you must come with me, dear," and there was a firmness in miss holmes' tone. the child looked irresolute. "well, i must tell them," and she was off again. these walks about the city always interested her. she made amends by promising to come in the afternoon. there was not much regularity in the streets save in the business section. some were little better than alleyways, others wound about, and like most new places, houses had been set anywhere, but there were a few pretty spots belonging to some of the older settlers before the irruption of the horde. and already the chinese had congregated together, the germans had a settlement, and the american was everywhere. this was really a pretty nook, with some wild olive trees about and almonds, while grape vines clambered over the rocks. it had been quite a fine estate, but its day was past. at one end was the adobe cottage of two stories, with a flat roof and small deep-set windows, that made it look like the spur of a mission. at the southern end was a great open porch, the adobe floor stained a dullish red, and vines were climbing over the columns. the little garden in front had some vegetables growing in it. the señora vanegas came down the outside stairs, she had seen the guests from her window. she spoke quite brokenly, falling into spanish when she was at loss for a word. then she called her daughter jacintha, who had mastered english, but spoke it with a charming accent, and translated into spanish that her mother more readily understood the desire of the visitors. mrs. latham had sent them. yes, they knew mrs. latham very well. oh, it would be charming to have some one to take the lead, they did not profess to understand all the art of costuming. but jacintha brought down some exquisite embroidery and drawn work, and the mother made cushion lace for some of the big ladies. her brother, it seemed, had owned the whole estate, which had come from their father, and drank and gambled it away, keeping racing horses. only this little spot was left to them, and they were very poor. the mother would gladly retire to a convent, but the daughters---- "i could not like the life," jacintha protested. "perhaps, when i am old and have had no lovers, i might be willing. but while i can work, and the world is so bright," smiling with youth and hope. "all three of you----" inquired the mother. "only miss gaines," explained jacintha. "the others have a home, and miss gaines will go there on sunday. oh, señorita, you will find plenty of work, and we will be glad to help. and it will be a great interest." the mother brought in a plate of crispy spiced cakes, and some sweet wine of berries that she always prepared. for berries grew almost everywhere, even if they were not of the choicest kind. a little cultivation worked wonders. so that was settled. they all went to dawson house and had luncheon. mrs. dawson was really in her glory. "i was a fool that i didn't come out before," she said, with her heartsome laugh. "several of my cousins went west and suffered everything, and i had no taste for emigrating. so i said to dawson when he was smitten with the gold craze, 'go out and make some money, and get a home to keep me in, and a servant to wait upon me, and then i will come.' but i might as well have been here a year ago. there is money to be paid for everything, no one haggles over the price. so, miss gaines, we will wish you success and a fortune." "thank you for your hand in it;" and miss gaines nodded merrily. "hillo!" cried a bright voice, as laverne stood talking to the beautiful big dog in the hall. "why, i've not seen you for ever so long. where have you been?" "home--i suppose that's home over there," and she nodded her head, while the dimple in her cheek deepened. "but it is all so queer. well, when you are over on the other side of the world,--turned upside down"----and she looked half funny, half perplexed. "are you homesick? do you want to go back to maine?" "but there isn't any one to care for me there," she said a little sadly. "uncle jason's all i have. it's so queer for winter, though. no snow, no sliding, no skating, no fun at snowballing. and between the rains things spring up and grow. i've tamed two funny little squirrels, so one of them will eat out of my hand. and the birds come to be fed." "you can see snow enough up on the mountain-tops. it never melts away. i like the fun and stir and strange people. it makes you believe in sir francis drake and the pirates and everything. but my! how they spend money and gamble it away! i hope your uncle will have a level head and hold on to what he gets." "i've found three spanish girls that are just lovely. there are so few little girls about," in a rather melancholy tone. "and miss holmes teaches me at home. i'd rather go to school, but it's too far, and uncle says wait until i get older." "i guess that's best," returned the experienced youth. "sometimes it is hardly safe for a little girl in the street. there are so many drunken rowdies." "oh, i never do go out alone, except over at the cedars. they are sort of scrubby and look like maine. the little girls live there. i don't quite like their mother; she has such sharp black eyes. why do you suppose so many people have black eyes?" dick considered a moment. "why, the tropical nations are darker, and the mexicans, and those queer people from hawaii and all the islands over yonder. your uncle will know all about them. when i am a few years older i mean to travel. i'll go up to the gold fields and make a pile, and you bet i won't come in town and gamble it away in a single night, the way some of them do. i'll go over to australia and china." laverne drew a long breath. what a wonderful world it was! if she could be suddenly dropped down into the small district school and tell them all she had seen! some one called dick. she sauntered back into the room, but the women were still talking business and clothes. there was a beautiful big hound who looked at her with wistful eyes, and she spoke to him. he nodded and looked gravely wise. "you've a most uncompromising name," mrs. latham was saying. "you can't seem to frenchify the beginning nor end. you must put a card in the paper." for the newspaper had been a necessity from the very first, and the _alta californian_ was eagerly scanned. "yes," miss gaines returned, "calista gaines. it has a sound of the old bay state. well, i'm not ashamed of it," almost defiantly. "and we shall have to get most of our fashions from the states for some time to come. we are not in the direct line from paris. and i really don't see why we shouldn't have fashions of our own. here are the picturesque spanish garments that can be adapted. oh, you will do, and we shall be glad enough to have you," giving a most hearty and encouraging laugh. "fortune-making is in the very air," declared miss gaines on the homeward way. "well, i think i like a new, energetic country. and what a delicious voice that jacintha has! i wonder if voices do not get toned down in this air. our east wind is considered bad for them. and it is said a foggy air is good for the complexion. we may end by being rich and beautiful, who knows!" laverne ran out to look after her squirrels, and chattered with them. then something bright caught her eye up among the tangles of vines and shrubs. why, flowers, absolutely in bloom in december! she gathered a handful of them and hurried back overjoyed. "oh, see, see!" she cried, out of breath. "they are up here on the hill, and everything is growing. isn't it queer! do you suppose the real winter will come in july?" "if stories are true we will hardly have any winter at all," was the reply. "and they are all snowed up in maine. oh, i wish there was some one to write me a letter." chapter iv a queer winter christmas and new year's brought a mad whirl. all that could, came in from the mines. the streets were thronged. banjo and guitar were thrummed to the songs and choruses of the day, and even the accordion notes floated out on the air, now soft and pathetic with "annie laurie", "home, sweet home," and "there's nae luck about the house," "the girl i left behind me," or a jolly song from fine male voices. then there were balls, and a great masquerade, until it seemed as if there was nothing to life but pleasure. miss gaines came in with some of the stories. but the most delightful were those of the three little estenega girls about the christmas eve at the church and the little child jesus in the cradle, the wise men bringing their gifts, the small plain chapel dressed with greens and flowers in vallejo street. laverne had not been brought up to christmas services and at first was quite shocked. but the child's heart warmed to the thought, and miss holmes read the simple story of bethlehem in judea, that touched her immeasurably. and then there seemed a curious awakening of spring. flowers sprang up and bloomed as if the rain had a magic that it scattered with every drop. the atmosphere had a startling transparency. there were the blue slopes of tamalpais, and far away in the san matteo range the redwood trees stood up in their magnificence. out through the golden gate one could discern the farallones forty miles away. the very air was full of exhilarating balm, and the wild oats sprang up in the night, it seemed, and nodded their lucent green heads on slender stems. and the wild poppies in gorgeous colors, though great patches were of an intense yellow like a field of the cloth of gold. sometimes jason chadsey of a sunday, the only leisure time he could find to devote to her, took his little girl out oceanward. there were the seals disporting themselves, there were flocks of ducks and grebes, gulls innumerable, and everything that could float or fly. ships afar off, with masts and sails visible as if indeed they were being submerged. what stores they brought from the orient! spices and silks, and all manner of queer things. and the others coming up from the pacific coast, where there were old towns dotted all along. or they took the bayside with its circle of hills, its far-off mountains, its dots of cities yet to be. angel island and yerba buena where the first settlement was made, growing so slowly that in ten years not more than twenty or thirty houses lined the beach. or they boarded the various small steamers, plying across or up and down the bay. miss holmes did object somewhat to this form of sunday entertainment. there was always a motley assemblage, and often rough language. men who had come from decent homes and proper training seemed to lay it aside in the rush and excitement. yet that there were many fine, earnest, strong men among those early emigrants was most true; men who saw the grand possibilities of this western coast as no eastern stay-at-home could. was the old legend true that some mighty cataclysm had rent the rocks apart and the rivers that had flowed into the bay found an outlet to the sea? up at the northern end was san pablo bay into which emptied the sacramento and its tributaries, and a beautiful fertile country spreading out in a series of brilliant pictures, which was to be the home of thousands later on. and from here one had a fine view of the city, fast rising into prominence on its many hills as it lay basking in the brilliant sunshine. irregular and full of small green glens which now had burst into luxuriant herbage and were glowing with gayest bloom, and diversified with low shrubbery; then from the middle down great belts of timber at intervals, but that portion of the city best known now was from yerba buena cove, from north beach to mission cove. already it was thriving, and buildings sprang up every day as if by magic, and the busy people breathed an enchanted air that incited them to purposes that would have been called wildest dreams at the sober east. the little girl looked out on the changeful picture and held tight to her uncle's hand as the throngs from all parts of the world, and in strange attire, passed and repassed her, giving now and then a sharp glance which brought the bright color to her face. for the spanish families kept their little girls under close supervision, as they went decorously to and from church on sunday; the dirty, forlorn indian and half-breed children hardly attracted a moment's notice, except to be kicked or cuffed out of the way. more than one man glanced at jason chadsey with envious eyes, and remembered a little girl at home for whom he was striving to make a fortune. jason chadsey did not enjoy the crowd, though the sails to and fro had been so delightful. miss holmes was shocked at the enormity of sabbath-breaking. "there is no other day," he said, in apology. "i shouldn't like you to go alone on a week-day, the rabble would be quite as bad." she sighed, thinking of orderly boston and its church-going people. not but what churches flourished here, new as the place was, and the ready giving of the people was a great surprise to one who had been interested, even taken part in providing money for various religious wants. it was a great mystery to her that there should be so many sides to human nature. "i wonder if you would like a pony?" he asked of the little girl, as they were picking their way up the irregularities of the pavement or where there was no pavement at all. "a pony?" there was a dubious expression in the child's face, and a rather amazed look in her eyes. "but--i don't know how to ride," hesitatingly. "you could learn," and he smiled. "but a horse is so large, and looks at you so--so curiously--i think i do feel a little bit afraid," she admitted, with a flush. "oh, i mean just a nice little pony that you could hug if you wanted to. and i guess i could teach you to ride. then we could have nice long journeys about. there are so many beautiful places and such fields and fields of wild flowers. you cannot walk everywhere. and i have not money enough to buy a boat of my own," with a humorous smile. "i suppose a boat does cost a good deal," she returned thoughtfully. "i love to be on the water. though at first i was afraid, and when that dreadful storm came. a ship is a queer thing, isn't it? one would think with all the people and all the cargo it must sink. i don't see _how_ it keeps up," and her face settled into lines of perplexity, even her sweet mouth betraying it. "that is in the building. you couldn't understand now." "do you know who made the first ship?" he laughed then. he had such a hearty, jolly laugh, though he had been tossed about the world so much. she had a mind to be a little offended. "it isn't in the geography," she said, with dignity. "and columbus knew all about ships. "yes, we can go back of columbus. the first one i ever really heard about was noah's ark." "oh, noah's ark! i never thought of that!" she laughed then, and the lines went out of her face. "i'm glad we didn't have a deluge on our long journey. and think of all the animals on board! was the whole world drowned out?" "i believe that has never been satisfactorily settled. and long before the time of christ there were maritime nations----" "maritime?" she interrupted. "sailors, vessels, traders. the old phoenicians and the nations bordering on the mediterranean sea. though they went outside the pillars of hercules, and there were seamen on the asian side of the world." "oh, dear, how much there is for me to learn," and she drew a long breath. "and they thought i was real smart in our little old school. but i could spell almost everything." "there are years in which you can learn it," he said encouragingly. "and you have been almost everywhere." there was a note of admiration in her voice. "the stories were so wonderful when you told them on shipboard. i didn't half understand them then because i didn't think the world could be such a great place, so you must tell them over to me." "yes. and some day you may go the rest of the way round the world. you've been nearly half round it and you are still in america." they paused at the little cottage. bruno, the great dog, lay on the doorstep, but he rose and shook himself, and put his nose in the little girl's hand. she had been rather afraid of him at first. even now when he gave a low growl at some tramp prowling round it sent a shiver down her spine. but he was a very peaceable fellow and now devoted to his new mistress. miss holmes prepared the supper. she had a fondness for housekeeping, and this life seemed idyllic to her. the old weariness of heart and brain had vanished. miss gaines told her she looked five years younger and that it would not take her long to go back to twenty. miss gaines had made some charming new friends and did not always spend sunday with them. laverne wiped the dishes for miss holmes. jason chadsey lighted his pipe, and strolled uptown. "i wish you would read all about noah's ark to me," laverne said, and miss holmes sat down by the lamp. the child had many new thoughts about it at this time. "people must have been very wicked then if there were not ten good ones. there are more than that now," confidently. "but the world will never be drowned again. we have that promise." "only it is to be burned up. and that will be dreadful, too. do you suppose--the people will be--burned?" hesitating awesomely. "oh, no, no! don't think of that, child." "i wonder why they saved so many horrid animals? did you ever see a tiger and a lion?" "oh, yes, at a menagerie." "tell me about it." she had an insatiable desire for stories, this little girl, and picked up much knowledge that way. miss holmes taught her, for there was no nearby school. she made friends with the estenega girls, though at first their mother, with true spanish reticence and pride held aloof, but interest in her children's welfare and a half fear of the americanos, beside the frankness of the little girl induced her to walk in their direction one day, and in a shaded nook she found miss holmes and her charge. perhaps the truth was that señora estenega had many lonely hours. friends and relatives were dead or had gone away, for there had been no little friction when california was added to the grasping "states." when she could sell her old homestead she meant to remove to monterey, which at this period was not quite so overrun with americanos. but she had been born here, and her happy childhood was connected with so many favorite haunts. here she had been wedded, her children born, in the closed room where there was a little altar her husband had died, and she kept commemorative services on anniversaries. and then no one had offered to buy the place--it was out of the business part, and though the town might stretch down there, it had shown no symptoms as yet. miss holmes was reading and laverne sewing. she had taken a decided fancy to this feminine branch of learning, and was hemming ruffles for a white apron. her mother had taught her long ago, when it had been a very tiresome process. but the estenega girls made lace and embroidered. laverne sprang up. "it is carmen's mother," she said. then she glanced up at the visitor, with her lace mantilla thrown over her high comb, her black hair in precise little curls, each side of her face, and her eyes rather severe but not really unpleasant. "i do not know how you say it," and she flushed with embarrassment. "it is not madame or mrs.----" "señora," answered the spanish woman, her face softening under the appealing eyes of the child. then laverne performed the introduction with an ease hardly expected in a child. miss holmes rose. "i am very glad to meet you. i was deciding to come to ask about the children. laverne is often lonely and would like playmates. and she is picking up many spanish words. you understand english." "somewhat. it is of necessity. these new people have possessed our country and you cannot always trust servants to interpret. yes, the children. i have a little fear. they are catholics. carmencita will go to the convent next year for her education. and i should not want their faith tampered with." "oh, no," miss holmes responded cheerfully. "you know we have different kinds of faith and yet agree as friends." and glancing at laverne she almost smiled. these spanish children would be much more likely to convert her to their faith. would her uncle mind, she wondered? he seemed to think they all stood on the same foundation. "you have not been here long?" and there was more assertion than inquiry in the tone. "no," returned the younger woman. and then she told a part of her story, how she had come from the east, the atlantic coast, and that she was governess to the child, and housekeeper. "did the señora know a family by the name of vanegas?" "ah, yes, they were old friends. two daughters, admirable girls, devoted to their mother, who had suffered much and whose husband had made away with most of the estates. there was an american lady in her house, she rented two rooms." "a friend of mine. she came from the same place, and we have known each other from girlhood." then the ice was broken, and miss holmes in a certain manner was vouched for, which rather amused her, yet she accepted the spanish woman's pride. many of them felt as if they had been banished from their own land by these usurpers. others accepted the new order of things, and joined heart and soul in the advancement of the place, the advancement of their own fortunes also. but these were mostly men. the prejudice of the women died harder. the children were in a group at one of the little hillocks, much amused it would seem by their laughter. and the two women patched up a bit of friendship which they both needed, seeing they were near neighbors, and interested in the education of young people, miss holmes listened to what the elder woman said and did not contradict or call the ideas old-fashioned. after all it was very like some of her old grandmother's strictures, and she was a staunch puritan. what would she have said to women who had not yet reached middle life, and had planned to go to a strange land to seek their fortunes! the señora was so well satisfied that she asked miss holmes to come and take coffee and sweetmeats with her the next afternoon. oh, how lovely the hills and vales were as they wandered homeward. for now it was the time of growth and bloom and such sweetness in the air that marian holmes thought of the gales of araby the blest. truly it was an enchanted land. the birds were filling the air with melody, here and there a farmer or gardener, for there was fine cultivated lands about the foothills, and even higher up there were great patches of green where some one would reap a harvest, garden stuff waving or running about rich with melon blooms, here the blue of the wild forget-me-nots and the lupines. and further on flocks of sheep nibbling the tufts of grass or alfalfa. some one was singing a song, a rich, young voice: "oh, susanna, don't you cry for me, i'm goin' to california with my banjo on my knee." here and there in a clump of trees was a dark shadow, and the long slant rays betokened the coming of evening. it gave one a luxurious emotion, as if here was the true flavor of life. miss holmes was feeling a little sorry for those swept off of their own land, as it were. "what have they been doing with it these hundreds of years?" asked jason chadsey. "even the indians they have pretended to educate are little better off for their civilization. and think how the gold lay untouched in the hills! spain still has the philippines with all her treasures." it rained the next morning with a musical patter on everything, and little rivulets ran down the steps. then it suddenly lighted up and all san francisco was glorified. pablo, an old mexican, came to work in the little garden patch. laverne said her lessons, then went out to find her squirrels and talk to her birds who came to enjoy the repast of crumbs, and then went hunting bugs and worms for their importunate babies. and at last they were making ready for their walk. "it is nice to go out visiting," laverne said, as she danced along, for the sunshine and the magnetic air had gotten into the child's feet. "we have been nowhere but at mrs. dawson's." "and miss gaines." "oh, that isn't really visiting. just a little cake and fruit on a plate. and now she is so busy she can hardly look at you. i wish we lived farther up in the town. don't you think uncle jason would move if you said you did not like it here?" "but i do like it. and there are so many dreadful things happening all about the town. and we might be burned out." "well, i am glad of the estenegas, anyhow." the old place was like some of the other old homes going to decay now, but it was so embowered with vines that one hardly noted it. the chimney had partly fallen in, the end of the porch roof was propped up by a pile of stones. but the great veranda was a room in itself, with its adobe floor washed clean, and the big jars of bloom disposed around, the wicker chairs, the piles of cushions, and the low seats for the children. little tables stood about with work, many of the women were very industrious, the mothers thinking of possible trousseaus, when laces and fine drawn work would be needed. carmencita had her cushion on her knees, and her slim fingers carried the thread over the pins in and out, in a fashion that mystified laverne. "it's like the labyrinth," she said. "what was that?" glancing up. "why, a place that was full of all kinds of queer passages and you did not know how to get out unless you took a bit of thread and wound it up when you came back." "but i know where i am going. now, this is round the edge of a leaf. i leave that little place for a loop, and then i come back so. the señorita felicia makes beautiful lace for customers. but mine will be for myself when i am married." "but i thought--you were going to a convent," said laverne, wide-eyed. "so i am. but that will be for education, accomplishments. and there are more spanish men there," lowering her voice, "more lovers. pepito martinez, who lived in the other end of the old place, down there," nodding her head southward, "found a splendid lover and was married in the chapel. her mother went on to live with her. they had no troublesome house to sell," and she sighed. "juana," exclaimed the mother, "get thy guitar. the guests may like some music." juana rose obediently. she, too, was older than laverne, but anesta younger. she seated herself on one of the low stools, and passed a broad scarlet ribbon about her neck, which made her look very picturesque. and she played well, indeed, for such a child. then she sang several little songs in a soft, extremely youthful voice. miss holmes was much interested. the children were sent to play. there was a little pond with several tame herons, there were two great cages of mocking birds that sang and whistled to the discomfiture of the brilliant green and scarlet parrot. the children ran races in the walk bordered with wild olive trees on the one side, and on the other a great tangle of flowers, with the most beautiful roses laverne had ever seen, and hundreds of them. "oh, i should like to live here," declared laverne. "then ask thy uncle to buy. the americanos have money in plenty. and see here. it is my tame stork. his leg was broken so he could not fly. diego bound it up and he staid here. but when he sees a gun he dashes away and hides." he had a number of amusing tricks, but he eyed the strange little girl suspiciously and would not let her come too near. they went back to the house and swung in the hammock, talking broken english and spanish and laughing merrily over the blunders. carmencita put away her lace and began to prepare two of the small tables, spreading over each a beautiful cloth. miss holmes had been taken through the apartments. there were three on the lower floor, the kitchen being detached. the walls were a dark faded red, the windows small, with odd little panes of glass. there was some fine old furniture, and a rug soft as velvet on the floor that long ago had crossed the ocean. family portraits were hung high on the wall, and looked down frowningly, the brilliancy of their garments faded and tarnished, but miss holmes noted that they were mostly all military men. in the next room were several portraits of the priests of the family, and hideous copies of the old madonnas. in this room a high cabinet of wonderful carving, filled with curios and one shelf of books. the third was evidently a sitting and sleeping chamber, with a spindle-post bedstead and canopy of faded yellow silk, edged with old lace; while the bedspread in its marvellous handiwork would have filled a connoisseur with envy. for two hundred years or more there had been estenegas here, and then the old part, now fallen down, had its ballroom and its long dining room where banquets and wedding feasts had been given. "there is another branch of the family at santa margarita who have not fallen into decay as we have, and as many old families do. i dare say they would be glad to have some of the heirlooms. they have young men, and it would be but right that they should propose to marry one of my daughters." carmen summoned her mother and the guest. the tables were daintily arranged with fruit and custards, some sweet fried cakes and bread covered with a sort of jelly compound that was very appetizing, with some shredded cold chicken highly spiced. for drink, tea for the elders, but fruit juice made of orange and berries for the young people. carmencita was at the table with her mother, the three others together, and they had a merry time. the señora and the children walked part of the way with them. miss holmes had proposed that they should come up in the morning for lessons with laverne. the distance to the sisters' school was too great, and now one dreaded to send young girls through the new part of the town. "it was very nice," declared laverne, "only i think i like the little maine girls better. they understand more quickly, and they have so many thoughts about everything, while you have to explain continually as you talk to these children." "perhaps it is because they do not understand the language," said miss holmes. chapter v pelajo laverne was about to reply, with the feeling of superior knowledge, "it's because they are not americans," when she caught sight of uncle jason, pablo, and a pile of rough timber, an excavation made in the side hill, a slope over which she had been training some blossoming vines. "oh, uncle jason," she cried, with eager forbiddance. "that's my garden. what are you going to do?" "build a house for a pony. this seemed most convenient, though he is such a cunning little fellow i think we could have trained him to go up the steps." his shrewd, humorous smile and her own curiosity disarmed her. "the pony? have you really----" "well, i had to take him or see him go to some one else. i was afraid he would get a hard master. and he is such a pretty intelligent fellow. he talks, his fashion. and he laughs, too." "oh, now you are making fun." "well, if you won't have him i can sell him again. he's just fit for a little girl, or some one hardly grown up." "but who had him before?" "a young lady. a delicate little body. i've had my eye on him some time." "if she loved him why did she want to sell him?" and laverne glanced up with a kind of incredulity. "she was going away." he had not the courage to say that she was dead, that she had made a vain struggle for recovery, and failed. "i suppose horses are not quite like people," she returned thoughtfully. "they like those who are good to them." "well--they're grateful, and as a general thing appreciate kind treatment. humans don't always do that." she had not gone very far in the philosophy of ingratitude, but she was wondering if the pony had been very fond of his mistress. "this place was the handiest. then he can go cropping the tufts of grass about here, and we shall not have to lug the feed up on the next round," viewing the sort of natural terraces with a squint in one eye. "i'm sorry about the posies." "oh, well--they grow so easily. and here was the spruce tree, and, oh, we ought to have a big veranda to the house, where we could sit and sew and i could study lessons and we could have supper." "but the place isn't really mine, you know. and i shouldn't want to spend a great deal of money. some day we may have a house in which we can truly settle ourselves." miss holmes, who had been looking on, smiled now. "the señora estenega is very anxious to sell," she said. "and it is so splendid all around. there are trees and trees and they are full of birds. oh, you never heard such singing. and the flowers! why, i wanted to dance all around the paths for very gladness. but it was dull and dark inside, and full of ugly portraits and virgins and hideous babies." "they wouldn't want to sell the pictures, they are old family relics," appended miss holmes. "and she asks a fortune for the estate. these old spanish people have caught on to values mighty quick. but a house for the pony is as much as we can compass now. in a few years you shall have a home to your liking." miss holmes went within, and soon there was a savory smell of fish frying and cakes baking on a bed of coals. "that will do for to-night, pablo," jason chadsey said. "come early to-morrow morning and i will show you about the posts." the mexican nodded slowly, and walked to the kitchen door, where miss holmes gave him a chunk of bread and a fish, and he went his way. uncle jason washed hands and face in true yankee fashion, with a great splurge. he had enlarged the rude cistern and led a rivulet of clear water down to it. in many of the outlying districts there were but few conveniences, and yet san francisco had flashed into existence as if a new kubla khan had decreed it. perhaps no city in the world could boast such rapid advances, or gain in population. those early years will always sound like a fairy tale. but it had some of the best and most energetic brain and brawn from the east, whose forefathers had settled other wildernesses much less promising. the pony shared interest with the visit and the promise of the estenega girls coming up every morning. she was a very happy little girl to-night; uncle jason thought she had not been quite so bright of late, but now her eyes flashed with an eager light, and her pretty lips melted from one curve to another, while her voice had a bird-like gayety. the day had been so full and taken so much energy, that she laid her head in miss holmes' lap and went fast asleep. jason chadsey read his paper by the light of the smoky lamp, and miss holmes dreamed of clean, orderly boston even if its streets did run crooked. the estenegas were certainly not bright scholars. but the yankee schoolma'am had seen obtuse children before. they were extremely narrow and incurious as to real knowledge, but anxious to get on with english. laverne flashed up and down the walk. pablo set up the frame, put on a rude roof, then filled in the chinks with a common kind of adobe. the pony would not live much indoors, to be sure, but he needed some shelter. "do you know what his name is, pablo?" the child asked. pablo shook his head. he was a dried-up specimen, with a skin like leather and small deep-set eyes, quite bowed in the shoulders, which made him no taller than some boys of a dozen years. he had a little hut of his own down in the wilds, and he often lay on the sand when the sun was too hot, and drowsed from pure laziness. uncle jason led the pony home at night. he had been well kept, for his coat was smooth, just far enough off of black to be a rich brown. shapely, with slender legs, a head not too large for his body, a flowing mane, now braided up in tails, flexible nostrils that quivered with every breath, and the most beautiful large, dark eyes that looked as if they could laugh and understand many things. she had been somewhat dubious all along. she had really felt afraid of bruno at first, but as she looked at the merry eyes she laughed. "yes, i _do_ like you," she said. "i'm glad you are not any larger. and his tail almost sweeps the ground," watching her uncle, who was patting his neck and smoothing down to his nose, and talking in a persuasive voice. "maybe you won't like his name. he comes of good stock, it seems, and if he was ten years younger would be worth a pile of money." "why, he doesn't look old. and his name--" "is pelajo." she repeated it, and he came a step nearer. she ventured to pat him, and then she reached up and put her arm over his neck. uncle jason handed her a lump of sugar, but she drew back as his soft nose touched her hand. "you must learn to give him tidbits, even a handful of grass or wild oats." "oh, i shall like you very much, i know," she declared, in a glad voice, and he seemed to understand, for he rubbed against her shoulder, and this time she did not shrink away. he was used to being caressed. perhaps he dumbly questioned what had become of his sweet young mistress who had petted him the last year. it was so warm they tethered him and set bruno to keep watch, for there were many prowlers and thieves about; not quite as many down here perhaps, since horses and money were the only desirable things in their estimation. he was all right in the morning. the first thing laverne did was to rush out and greet him, and he seemed quite as glad to see her. she did shake a little when she was perched up on his back, but uncle jason walked beside her up and down the gravelly path, and after a little it was really exhilarating. when she had taken two or three lessons she felt quite safe and began to enjoy it. uncle jason taught her to ride astride as well; it might be useful, he declared, and certainly was a common-sense view of the matter. so pelajo grew into the little girl's heart. on sunday morning she always went to church with miss holmes, and the churches were really well filled if the rest of the day was devoted to pleasure. the lovely spring was now over, though fruit trees were still blooming and laden with fruit. but there had been a few days that seemed to scorch up everything and dry up the small streams and cisterns. the church bells were ringing in a leisurely, devoted fashion. "come to church for rest and refreshment," they said, when suddenly there was a wild clangor and each one looked at his neighbor with frightened eyes, or stood motionless, not knowing which way to turn. then something shot up in the air, scarlet against the sunshine, and the cry of terror rang out, "fire! fire!" there had been a fear lest the gang of lawless desperadoes who had half threatened and half laughed about keeping the anniversary of the great fire the year before would make some endeavor. but june th had passed, though there had been unusual watchfulness. after a week the orderly part of the city breathed more freely. and this day seemed almost like a special thanksgiving for safety. before they had time to voice it the red terror began. crowds with hymn and prayer books in their hands paused paralyzed before the church they had made such efforts to gain and enjoyed so thoroughly, the brief five months they had worshipped in it. and now they fled up and down the streets, while the fire swept this way and that with a tremendous roar. from pacific over to jackson street, washington, stockton, dupont. goods and invalids were hurried out to the plaza, and then the wind swept the fire this way and that, and they had to fly again and save nothing. buildings were blown up with a horrid din like war. and so for four mortal hours of frantic endeavor with no reservoirs near. and when it had ceased to spread it lay a great mass of charred and smouldering ruins, and several lives had gone with it. that it was the work of incendiaries there could be no doubt. ruined men invoked the arm of speedy justice if they could not have law. in one way it was not so disastrous as the fire of the year before, which had taken the business part and immense stocks of goods. this was more of a residential section, but homeless people were running to and fro, wild with the agony of loss of all they had. parents and children separated, elderly people wandering about in a dazed condition, the scene one of the wildest confusion. miss holmes had decided to go over to hear mr. williams, instead of the church nearer by, which she usually attended. then they would go to mr. dawson's for lunch, and meet miss gaines and bring her home with them. at first she thought she could find a way through, but the fire spread so rapidly over to montgomery street, that she did not dare venture. it might go down to the very edge of the bay and on its march take in the dawsons. she held tight to laverne, and used strenuous efforts to force her way through, but throngs were coming up, drawn by a weird fascination such as a fire always exercises. the child began to cry. her hat was torn off. oh, if anything _should_ happen to her! after a while the way began to grow clearer, but it seemed as if she was in a new place. "oh, i'm so tired," cried laverne. "and my foot hurts. let us sit down." they were out of the well-built part. a tall old pine offered shelter. she sat down on the dry earth and took the child in her lap. "oh, do you think uncle jason will be burned up?" she moaned. "if we could only find him. and will our house go, too?" "oh, no, dear. it is in a different direction. that will be safe." "if we could only get there. do you think pelajo will be frightened? and everything looks so strange here. are you not afraid of all these wild men?" they seemed, indeed, inhabitants of every clime. and though they looked sharply at the woman and child, no one molested them. "are you rested now? shall we go home?" "oh, i do hope uncle jason is there. what if he had come to the fire and was killed!" "hush, dear! don't think of such a thing." what would she do alone with the child if any untoward accident happened to him? she shuddered! they picked their way over strange places, but they still saw the black smoke of the holocaust going skyward. miss holmes kept one or two objective points in mind. true, streets had been laid out, but they were overgrown with brush and the rampant cactus, with tangles of vines. in some places they had begun to wither. rabbits scurried hither and thither, amazed at the steps. birds were still carolling as if there was naught but joy in the world. "and i am so hungry! oh, when will we get home? suppose we are lost?" complained the child wearily. "i think we have been lost, but now i see where we are," the elder exclaimed, in a hopeful tone. "it is not far. and then we will have a nice supper. poor, tired little girl, i wish i could carry you." "oh, you couldn't," and there was a sound in her voice as if she had smiled. "but if it isn't much farther--my legs feel as if they would drop off." "we have come ever so much out of our way. i could not see in the crowd, and it pushed one about so. i never want to see another fire." "oh, now i know." laverne let go of the elder's hand, and in spite of fatigue gave two or three skips. "could i make bruno hear, i wonder? bruno! bru--no!" either she made him hear or he had a presentiment. he came bounding through the brush with short, sharp barks of joy, and lunged so against laverne that she nearly lost her balance. "oh, good doggie, good bruno!" she cried, in joy. "what if there were dogs burned up in the fire, and maybe horses?" miss holmes shuddered. she had seen some men carrying a mattress with a human body, when a fierce blazing brand had fallen in it, and though she turned her head then, she almost screamed now. they dropped down on the small porch steps and sat there a few moments. "i must go and see pelajo," laverne said, weary as she was. he whinnied with joy, and rubbed his nose on her small hand. "oh, pelajo, i am so glad you were not in the fire," and she could have kissed him for very thankfulness. uncle jason was nowhere to be seen. when miss holmes was a little rested she built a fire and put on the kettle. there was part of the leg of lamb they had had yesterday, and the pie she had baked early this morning. for in spite of all his wanderings, jason chadsey had preserved his new england fondness for such pies as a new england woman could make. and there was a great bowl of delicious berries. they had their meal, being puzzled just what to call it, since it was a little too early for supper. then they swung in the hammocks while old pablo came to look after pelajo, and talk about the fire, which he insisted was still burning. they waited and waited until the poor little girl begged to go to bed. "it hasn't seemed a bit like sunday," she murmured sleepily. then marian holmes swung drowsily in the hammock again. through the opening between two trees she could see the great glowing stars that seemed as gorgeous again as in the eastern skies. there were screams of night birds, the long note of the owl, the tree frog beseeching stridently for rain. now and then bruno would flip his ears or straighten them, and at last he gave a sudden rush down the street, and returned with his master, but the clock had struck ten. he dropped on the step as they had done. "were you alarmed when you came from church? of course you knew about the fire." "we were really in it," and miss holmes detailed her day, leaving out some of the most trying incidents. "thank god you came back safely," he returned, with deep feeling. "it was a most awful catastrophe. there has been an indignation meeting held, and some of the miscreants will be brought to justice. then, there must be better arrangements for fighting fires. it was a terrific sight, and there are hundreds of homeless people. the best provision that could be, was made for them. generous-hearted people took them in, supplied them with food. accidents were plentiful. yet it has been a terrible day, but if i had thought of you and the child being there--" "oh, you couldn't, you see. and we came safely out of it all, so don't feel distressed. will you have some supper?" "yes. though i was at the dawsons' and had a meal. they came mighty near going once or twice, if a dangerous gust of wind had lasted longer. and the crowds that poured in upon them! the courage of these people seems superhuman, but it has been severely tried now. i do not believe any city ever suffered so much by fire and had the pluck to go on again." she began to busy herself about the meal. he leaned against the flat post and went sound asleep, though he wakened easily. then leaving her dishes, an unusual thing for her, she retired herself. for days the fire was the uppermost subject. they had always planned rebuilding before with tremendous energy, but now courage seemed to wane in this direction. but it was taken up energetically in others. the great want of water in the fire department had to be remedied speedily, and at any cost. money was offered freely. the other was a more strenuous effort for the punishment of criminals, and a rigorous observance of law. among the immigrants had been convicts from different lands, lawless men who formed themselves into bands for plunder and maliciousness. clark's point, broadway, and one end of pacific street was called sydney town from its great number of convicts and ticket-of-leave men from the colonies; and to them were added the criminally inclined from the states, who had left their own cities for the city's good. and out of the earnest endeavor to put a stop to the lawlessness and crime the vigilance committee was formed. then an old mexican law was exhumed that forbade the emigration to california of criminals convicted of crime elsewhere. notices were served upon many vicious persons and they were compelled to leave the city. and with it all grew a greater regard for law and order. energy and perseverance did not fail, it is true, and the confidence born of the geographical knowledge that this must eventually be the great highway of trade, and the idea of a glorious future destiny, inspired the really solid portion of the community to continue their efforts to make it the city of the world. still, many of the middle classes, discouraged by misfortunes, returned to their native cities. others went further south in the more equable climate and became farmers. still others wooed by the endless forests further north, and the many advantages for starting new cities on a better industrial foundation, went to seek better fortunes. the city never could recover from all the evils it was said. but the splendid bay and the magnificent harbor were left, the gold fields were not exhausted. and now arose the demand for a railroad across the continent, which had a hard fight for many years, but succeeded at length. at clark's point a huge rock was quarried, and removed, and the hill excavated to make room for new streets. sansome and battery streets were carried out and filled up with the débris. the wharves were pushed further out, great warehouses built, and though it was a fact that fewer people came to seek their fortunes, more brought with them the idea of settling. wherever any tiny stream ran among the sand hills numerous vegetable gardens were laid out, and the fertility was remarkable. markets opened here and there, the new world market, enlarged and improved, where it seemed as if one might buy all the luxuries of the world. san francisco began to lose the characteristics of a spanish or mexican town, how could such drowsy ways be tolerated among the adventurous, hard-working people! there came to be an admixture of foreign races--musical germans; light-hearted, theatre and dance-loving french; some from different mongolian countries, who looked on with grave faces, seldom affiliating, and the chinese, who made a settlement of their own, many of them content to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, laundrymen and servants, but others aspiring to the rank of merchants, even bringing their wives later on. on the opposite side of the bay, settlements were changing into towns, and business seemed to run riot everywhere. there was no lack of employment for those willing to work. all these things were far away from the little girl's life. she studied because she loved to know about everything, that was a new england heritage. she acquired spanish rapidly, while the estenega girls were stumbling over english. the señora came up one afternoon and they had a sort of high tea, with game of several kinds, a bird pie, and a pudding that would have rejoiced the heart of a far easterner. it was a wonderful feast for the children, but the señora shook her head gravely over the superabundance of luxuries. "was not the little girl going to learn lace-making and drawn-work that she would want presently for her trousseau? and were not the catechism and the prayers, confirmation, music, and languages enough for any girl? and these new americanos, who dressed in silks and velvets, and trailed up and down the streets nodding and laughing to men!" and the señora shuddered. it was very true that stylishly attired women promenaded the two shopping streets where the windows were full of rich goods. for the early settlers had not to spin and weave in this golden country. vessels were coming in frequently laden with goods from almost everywhere. india and china sent treasures, france and england did not lag behind. so the women went gorgeously arrayed, leaned out of handsome private equipages, as if they were queens. for gold was found in most unexpected places, and miners came in only to waste and gamble it away. the old spanish residents shook their heads over this wild extravagance, and clung more closely to their church and the old ways. even the natives were often amazed. there were not a few who had spanish blood, and proud enough they were of it. the emigration of the french began to exercise an influence upon the heterogeneous society. the skilled workman gave a finer air to shops and buildings; the higher classes, lured by the wonderful reports, added their ease and refinement to the society, gradually crystallizing into settled classes. "it is not all the americans," miss holmes said, in answer to the señora's strictures. "all the eastern cities i have seen are quite unlike this. they grew slowly, and each from its own peculiar industry. we had no gold mines on the eastern coast, and you are likely to prize more highly the fortunes you have to struggle for. here we have every nation, it seems to me, and often the very liberty of choice degenerates into license. but it is hardly fair to blame it all on our people." "they have invaded us and taken away our land, our rights. years ago we were happy and content, and now it is all excitement, and if you do not join you are pushed to the wall, driven out. the gold in the hills was all ours." "but you let it lie there. yes, you could have discovered it. it was the wild dream of more than one explorer, and yet he never tapped the great secrets the land held." now that the hitherto placid spanish woman was roused she went over the ground with great bitterness, the war, the ceding of the country, the influx of the nations for greed. half her talk lapsed into her native tongue. miss holmes pitied her in a certain way, but was it not the old, old story since de soto had crossed the continent and tonti came down the mississippi? the weaker nation was always distanced by the stronger. and was supine content a virtue? meanwhile, the children had a merry time. carmen gained courage to mount pelajo and rode around in fine style. the younger ones wanted their turn. when they were called in to tea their cheeks glowed, their eyes were bright with excitement, and they chattered like a flock of birds. the señora looked on in surprise. "do you always allow so much wildness?" she asked, in a rather disapproving tone. if they had a little frolic their walk home always sobered them. "oh, no," returned miss holmes, with a smile. "they have lessons. this is a holiday. and i am glad for laverne to have companions. we sometimes think she gets too grave." "girls," and their mother rapped on the table. what with their laughing, the broken english, and the spanish they were in quite a whirl. laverne looked on more calmly. indeed, the señora was a little angry that she seemed rather to shame her girls. "oh, please, señora, do not scold them. we were so merry riding the pony. he is almost human. and he understood spanish. i did not know that before." laverne's face was a study, in its sweet pleading. the girls quieted down, and their mother looked less severe, but she was considering a proper penance. the moon came up early. how magnificently the soft light silvered all the open spaces, until one forgot the drought. each twig that swayed to and fro in the translucent air seemed alive. miss holmes and laverne walked some distance with their guests, leaving bruno to keep watch. they parted with the utmost cordiality. "we have had such a splendid time," whispered carmencita. "i wish i was an american girl and had a good indulgent uncle such as thou hast, little one. then i would not care to go to the convent." laverne was astonished at the outburst, for carmen had heretofore rather cavilled at americans. they walked back in silence until they met bruno's greeting. "didn't you have a nice time with the girls?" miss holmes asked. "oh, yes! carmen was--well, i think i have been not exactly afraid of her, but she seemed so much older, and this afternoon she was splendid. and she wished--what do you think--that she was an american girl! and i wish i knew some american girls." "you will go to school presently. your uncle was talking of it." the thought startled the little girl. she was not quite sure she liked it. "oh, there he is now," and she ran to meet him. the moon was up higher and it was lighter. her hands were outstretched, but he caught her under the arms and, lifting her up, gave her several kisses. it was so gratifying to have her always glad to see him. then he put her down and she caught his hand in both of hers and went a hop and a skip, giving short, soft laughs. "i'm late. did you eat up all the supper?" "oh, we had ours early. the estenegas were here, the mother and all. we had a good, good time," with emphasis. "they all rode pelajo. anesta fell off twice, but it didn't hurt any, she asked us not to tell. and oh, how hungry they were!" "little girls ought always to be hungry. that makes them grow." "and carmen wished she had an uncle like you." "why--she has scarcely seen me." "but then i talk about you," the child added, naïvely. "well--do you want to give me away?" "oh no, no." "or shall we adopt her?" a positive unwillingness sprang up in the child's heart. "i think her mother would not let her come," she replied evasively. "but you would like her? you are tired of being alone." "no, i don't want any one but you for all time," she admitted, a little jealously. he laughed. he was fond of this confession. miss holmes' supper was satisfactory to the hungry man as well. afterward they went out and sat on the flat stone step. that always made him think of his boyhood. "little one," he began, "how would you like to move? or are the estenegas too dear to give up?" "move!" in a tone of surprise. "yes. we haven't much worldly goods, as these traps do not belong to us. but we can take ourselves, bruno, and pelajo." "where would we go?" "quite far from here. up on telegraph hill." "oh, that would be splendid! we could always see the bay, and over the strait to all the mountains beyond. yes, i should like to go." "well, i am glad. it will be more convenient for me, but we would have to go, anyhow. this place has been sold." "is there a stable? and i think i would like a garden. and at least _one_ tree." he laughed. "they have been taking down part of the hill. no doubt some day they will take it all down. that is the fashion of cities. but our end not being so high will not be disturbed for some time to come." "this has been nice," she said retrospectively. "but i shall like the new place, and the bay, and--and----" "and the change," he laughed. then he called miss holmes, who had put away the last of her dishes. he had talked this over with her before, but he had not made his bargain until to-day. then they settled a few of the most important points. there were to be some repairs made, but they could go the next week. and to-morrow he would take them up to see it. "will you like to go?" laverne asked of miss holmes as they were preparing for bed. "yes, i think i shall. we shall be so much nearer everything. we can often walk down among the stores. and we shall be nearer miss gaines. you will miss the estenega girls." "but there may be other girls. i'd like to know some new ones," and there was a sound of delightful expectation in her voice. chapter vi a different outlook it was almost being in a new town, laverne thought. they had trotted all over this bluff, to be sure; they had looked over to sausalito, up and down the bay, and to the wonderful ocean that reached to china. but before they had been rather hidden away in a valley between the ridges, and from the windows you could see very little. she was quite wild at first, running from window to window, and calling on miss holmes to see this or that. then they had a chinaman to come in and help them settle, and that amused her very much. he understood, but could not speak much english, and she did wonder why he should tack another syllable to the short words by adding the double e. but he was very handy and obedient, quick to see, and the soft shoes that made no clatter allowed him to go about so quietly that he often surprised one. his name was ah ling. "i think i like pablo better," she said gravely. "then he knows so many things about the country and the missions and the priests, and the races of the spaniards, and they did have bull fights, you know, they have some now. uncle jason said he must not tell me about them, they were too cruel. do you suppose pablo will come?" jason chadsey had made the old mexican an offer to come and live with them, but he was loath to leave his little hut and his independence. he knew pablo could be trusted anywhere with the little girl, and that he was a good gardener. he had even offered him a new hut, and pablo was taking matters into consideration as he lolled in the sun and smoked his pipe. he did not want to be too hard worked, what good did so much money do these americanos; they went on working and working and hustling the life out of one. here was the old franciscan mission where the first settlement was made by the fathers. it might have had the semi-solitude in those early years, for all about was poetic enough. when it became a mexican province early in the century it had been stripped of its treasures, and was even now a poor unsightly ruin with its few padres eking out their subsistence and saying prayers for the living and the dead in the little campo santo. presently a modern cathedral was to overshadow it, but that had not come yet, with the shops and dwellings that were to crowd it still closer. but now there were outlying fields, tangles of shrubbery and vines run wild. not so many trees as farther down, but still some that withstood the ocean blasts. and there was alcatras and buena yerba; almost within a stone's throw, it seemed, in the clear air that often foreshortened space. laverne never wearied studying the marvellous pictures, and when her thoughts went back to the dreary little maine village she always gave a shiver. the house was a newer one, its first story of adobe, as so many were in the early days. it was not nearly so small, to begin with, and there was so much entertainment buying furniture and supplying household needs. jason chadsey had picked up a number of curious articles from the ships coming in from foreign ports, some that would have been the envy of a connoisseur. but the early spring was rushing on again and every leaf and spear and weed grew as if by magic. one morning they had a visitor who came in a carriage, and miss holmes glanced out in some surprise. "why, it's my friend miss alwood--you remember miss grace, laverne. i haven't seen her this long while," and the next instant she was welcoming her warmly. "we thought you had dropped out of existence. why, even the dawsons have heard nothing from you--let me see--you went down to santa cruz with an invalid lady----" "yes." miss alwood gave a short amused sound that was hardly a laugh, and continued: "well, there was plenty of money, but she was about as queer as they make them. she had come from baltimore, but she had some of the worst new england features, though i think they do not belong altogether to the puritan birthright. but it kept one on the alert attending to her whims. when she had been there a month her brother came to see her. he thought she had better go on farther south--i think she had consumption, the sort of wasting away without a cough. while we were making preparations she was taken down to her bed. mr. personette had to return here on urgent business matters. four weeks later she died. so he came back and there was the burial and all----" miss alwood paused and a flush with an amused expression passed over her face. "and so you were released from bondage," suggested miss holmes; and she, somehow, smiled, too. "and accepted another. mr. personette, being a widower, made me an offer of marriage. we are to be a not very far-away neighbor, as he owns a house on mason street, and is really well-to-do, as we say at home. there is a son of seventeen, a daughter two years younger, and one of twelve. i went to hunt you up, but found the place deserted, then looked up miss gaines and have been spending a week over wedding gowns, though it is to be just a quiet marriage in church. he has had housekeepers that were unsatisfactory, indeed, he was afraid the last one would marry him out of hand," and this time she did laugh heartily. "so you see i have made my fortune the first of the trio." "let me congratulate you on your good fortune. i suppose it _is_ that." "why, yes, as far as one can see. i'm not a romantic young girl, and he is just forty, has made one fortune and lost it, and now is--well, he spends money as if there would be no end to it. do you remember the old story of the bees that were taken to a place where the flowers bloomed all the year round, and ceased laying up honey? that seems the way with so many here. there were people who lost everything in the great fire and in no time were on their feet again. it is in the air, i think, or perhaps the fusion of so many people from everywhere. and now mr. personette is prospering, and i am to share the prosperity and have a home of my own, and like the bees, i'm not going to worry about the future. you see i am already a recreant yankee. where is your little girl?" the little girl had been sitting on the window ledge of the next room, and remembering the long journey round the horn, often cheered by the brightness of miss alwood. she sprang down now and came forward. "what a little dot she keeps! laverne, i am going to be your neighbor, and i am to have a little girl who will be a playmate for you. i can't answer about the other, girls begin to put on airs so soon. do you go to school?" "no, i have taught her thus far. but it is rather lonely for a child. there was no one about where we lived, but some distance below a spanish family which hardly knew whether to affiliate or not." "they are very brilliant farther down the coast. monterey is the place to see them in their glory. i wish we had gone there, but miss personette hated the strumming of a guitar and the click-clack of the language, as she termed it. and now, can't you leave household cares and come for a drive?" "i have a splendid pony," said laverne. "why, that is quite delightful. but you will not disdain my carriage, i hope." miss holmes rather hesitated, but miss alwood overruled all the objections. and she remembered that mr. chadsey said they need not expect him home to dinner. now that he was so much nearer he came back to an old-fashioned love for a midday dinner. first they went down to mason street. there was quite a fine finished block of houses, detached, with gardens on both sides. down below it was unfinished but the street had been straightened, the low places were being filled up, the hillocks levelled. "oh," miss holmes began, with a depth of feeling that touched her friend, "you can't think how glad i am this has happened to you. we have had some hard things in our lives, and now we have really gone into a new world." "and i wish you the same good luck. i did not quite like your being buried down in that out-of-the-way place." "there were so few houses to be had when we came." "yes; there were people living in tents. there are a few of them now on the outskirts. and building is going on everywhere. oh, what do you suppose it will be in twenty years?" that really brought a stretch to the imagination and they looked blankly at each other. improvements were going on everywhere with a rush startling to these new england women. there were new stores opened in the past two months. they passed russ garden, one of the public places near the mission road, devoted to amusements of various kinds, and thronged on saturday afternoons. down by the plaza the "steam paddys" were levelling the numerous sand hills that lay between that and happy valley. even the burned district of less than a year ago was rising rapidly from its ashes. "i've never had quite such a fine view of the town," miss holmes said. "heretofore we have only taken it in parts. what it will be when finished----" "only new england cities get finished. i think i have heard of some places that were fenced in and whitewashed, but they must have been mere country towns," declared miss alwood laughingly. they made a call on miss gaines, who now had a workroom full of girls and piles of dazzling material. nothing was too rich or too expensive for these california dames, whose husbands made fortunes in a month or cleared thousands of dollars in a day. those early years were an arabian nights' tale. the three friends had a genial time together, and then miss holmes and the little girl were set down at their own door. she was very quiet. "what are you thinking of?" miss holmes asked at length. "of the little girl miss alwood is to have, and whether i shall like her. of course, she will not be like the estenegas. and it seems queer to have a new mother who isn't a real mother." "you will understand that better by and by." laverne nodded. she could never have a new mother. she wondered a little about her father. uncle jason never spoke of him. of course he was dead also. mrs. dawson was very anxious to give miss alwood a wedding feast, and indeed was fain to have her married in the parlor, but she preferred the church. mr. personette was well known, and the church was crowded. the two daughters walked in front and strewed flowers in their path, there were congratulations and good wishes, and a luncheon at the dawson house, when the new husband and wife took a short journey, and ended the festivities by a reception at their own home. laverne thought it was very fine to have a new white frock, lace-trimmed, and a knot of blue ribbons on one shoulder, with long streamers. isabel personette was tall of her age, and quite a young lady, rather pretty. olive had large, dark eyes, and shining chestnut hair, was round, plump, and merry-looking. "our new mother has been telling us about you," she began, grasping laverne's hand. "and that you came from maine with her. what a long, long journey. weren't you awfully afraid? i looked up maine on the map. but you had to go round the horn. what did it look like?" "it's a cape, you know." "but--i supposed there was something," in a surprised tone. "perhaps they blew a horn?" "they didn't do anything as i remember," and laverne smiled a little. "i've never been farther than monterey. but father went up to british columbia once. it is desperately cold up there. and there is a russian country where it is colder still. and you have snows in maine." "oh, dreadful snows that do not go off all winter, and it seems so queer not to have any here. it was such fun to snowball and have sled-rides and build snowhouses." "you didn't live in them?" in surprise. "oh, no! but sometimes we brought in dry hemlock branches and brush, and had a fire. it looks so pretty." "didn't it melt the house?" "oh, yes, a little. but you see it froze again." "which do you like best--there or here?" "oh, this is the most beautiful, for there are so many flowers and lovely places. and--i think i like the pleasant weather best." "how many cousins have you?" "none," answered laverne rather regretfully. "oh, isn't that queer? i have four over to oaklands. and two in london. and one of father's sisters married a mexican, and lives way down to santa barbara. they have ever so many children with queer names. aunt amy died a little while ago, and as she hadn't any children, she left some money to us and the oakland cousins. but not to have any----" olive personette looked very sympathetic. presently she said, "how many little girls do you know?" "only three, and they are spanish. there were none where we lived before. it was a kind of wild place. i like this ever so much better." "did you love them?" laverne considered, while her eyes wandered off into space. "i think i didn't really _love_ them. i liked them. they came up to learn english, and miss holmes and i studied spanish. and we played about. they had a queer old house and a lovely garden, with fruit and flowers, and tame birds, and everything. and i had a squirrel i tamed. we brought him up here, and i kept him two weeks in a little pen, but when i let him out he ran away." "i'll tell you what i'll do. we'll make believe to ourselves that we are cousins. mother said she hoped i would like you a good deal. you see, isabel begins to go with big girls, and they just push you out when they tell secrets, and they have so many to tell. do you know any secrets?" laverne shook her head gravely. "but sometimes you do bad things and you don't want to tell anybody." "why, i tell uncle jason everything. and----" did she ever do anything very bad? she didn't always study when miss holmes told her to, and she sometimes tore her frocks scrambling up or down the hills. she had been brought up to be truthful and obedient, and now these traits were part of her nature. "well, it's this way--you must not tell your uncle the things i tell you, and you must find something to tell me--when miss holmes is cross to you." "but she isn't ever cross." "oh, yes, everybody has a cross streak in her, or him. i'm cross often. and i do hope our new mother won't scold. father said she was so good to aunt amy, and aunt amy was dreadful at times. then the mrs. barr we had for housekeeper was just awful. she said naughty words, too, like the men. no one is good always. you can't be. and when i get in a taking i'm a terror at school. miss carson once wrote a note to father, but i begged so she tore it up. i wanted a watch for christmas and i was afraid he would not give it to me if he knew. that was a secret i've kept until now, but he gave me the watch. i let it fall and it had to go away to be repaired. and i have three rings. see, are they not pretty? that garnet is getting tight. i'll have to give it away," and she laughed. her new mother came around to them. "are you making friends?" she asked. "that is right. laverne, are you having a nice time? come and see the dancing." they were waltzing up and down the spacious hall. there had been dancing on shipboard among the men, but this was something that fascinated the little girl. the beautiful dresses and sparkling jewels, the delicate laces that floated like clouds, and among the men were two or three young spaniards. one of them wore a beautiful fringed sash about his waist. "do you go to dancing school? "no," replied laverne. "but you will. i began last winter. isabel dances. see, some one has taken her out. oh, dear, i wish i could grow up in a night, just three years. wouldn't it be funny to have it happen in your sleep?" jason chadsey had been looking about for his little girl. he had insisted at first that he could not come, that he was too old, and such a plain fellow, that he would look queer among the fine people. but mrs. personette had written him a special invitation, and he had compromised with miss holmes by promising to come for them. he knew mr. personette a little in a business way, and he was really gratified at miss alwood's good fortune. so he had gone to the tailor's and treated himself to a new suit of clothes, and looked fully five years younger. laverne stared at him a moment, then a lovely smile illumined her face as she slipped her hand in his and rather bashfully introduced her new friend. "i have been making the acquaintance of your brother and your sister," he said. "i hope you and my little girl will be friends." "oh, we have promised to," declared olive. "i am coming to see her pony, and i am very glad to know her." he nodded and escorted the children about, or rather followed olive, who gracefully made herself mistress of the occasion and chatted with an ease that amused him. but it was getting late, and as he had performed his round of duties, he proposed now that they should return home. olive kissed her new friend with much fervor. "parties are just splendid," laverne said, as she danced alongside of uncle jason. "can't you have a party unless you are married?" "oh, yes, there are birthday parties and christmas parties and parties just for fun." "but you have to know a good many people, don't you?" "i think i have seen three or four little girls have a party." "i know four now." "and perhaps by christmas you will know four more," returned uncle jason. she was very tired and sleepy when she reached home, and they all retired. and it so happened she slept late the next morning and had her breakfast alone. pablo had found it very lonely without them and had decided to accept mr. chadsey's offer. so she ran out now to say good-morning to him and pelajo. something scampered along at her feet, and then made a sudden dash among the vines. two bright eyes peeped out and there was a peculiar little chatter. "why, if it isn't snippy," she cried. "snip, snip!" and she knelt down in the gravelly path. "snip!" there was a sudden rush, and the squirrel ran up her arm, across her shoulders, and fairly nestled in the little curve below her ear. and then he began to chatter as if he was telling over his journey and his tribulations and expressing his joy. surely no squirrel was ever more eloquent to his mate in love-making time. laverne laughed until the tears came into her eyes, and she had a vague suspicion that she was crying as well, but it was for very joy. snippy wriggled out of the warm embrace presently and questioned her with his bright beady eyes, as if the voice might have led him into a mistake. but no, this was his little mistress sure enough. she gathered him up and ran into the kitchen where miss holmes was making a pie. "oh," she cried, "snippy has come back, my dear, darling snippy." he had come by his name in a rather unexpected fashion. when laverne first had him tame enough to come into the house, throw his beautiful bushy tail up his back, and let the feathery end droop over his ears like a bit of spanish lace, a trick of the señoras, and eat a fragment of cracker, miss holmes said one day, "he looks so pert and snippy one has to smile at his daintiness." they had tried on several names that did not seem to fit. it was easy enough to get something for a dog or a horse. "oh, that will just do, snippy," and laverne danced around in delight. "then we can call him snip when we are in a hurry--he is such a dear little dot, too. his tail is as big as his body; snippy, snippy!" perhaps there was something in the sound that attracted him, for he glanced up out of brightest eyes and winked as if he approved it. he did soon come to know his name. perhaps it was because it became connected with some tidbit, for when the little girl called him she always had a dainty morsel for him. he glanced about the room now, and then thrust his head under laverne's arm. miss holmes spoke and he peered out. yes, he knew that voice surely, but the place was strange. "oh, snippy, you can't imagine how glad i am to have you. i've been homesick for you, though i like this place better, and we're nearer the grand ocean, and can look over into the golden gate, and golden it is in the sunset. oh, why did you run away?" snippy said something in his own language and struggled to get free. she let him run down her skirt and leap to the floor. he glanced round with sharp, inquiring eyes, then ran to one corner where, in the old place, he used to find nuts and perhaps a crust. oh, it wasn't the same place. he fairly scolded, up went his tail, and he scampered out of the door. laverne ran, calling him. over the path, the rockery uncle jason had built for her, plunging into the great ferns that grew as high as her head, and shook off an odorous fragrance at being disturbed. "oh, snippy! snippy!" in a beseeching tone. the little girl sat down on a stone and cried. sorrow had followed so on the heels of delight. bruno came and put his nose in her hand and looked comfort out of great wistful eyes. miss holmes came out presently. "i think he will come back," she said hopefully. "you see he found the way once and he can again. and now come in and study a lesson. there is nothing like work to lighten sorrow." "if he only would come back! bruno, if you see him, come and tell me at once." bruno nodded sagaciously. chapter vii a taste of gayety may was beautiful enough to make the heart leap for joy. rose-bushes sent up spikes of pink and blood-red blossoms or clambered over hillocks, lilies stood up among the ferns and bushes, and the poppies that grew everywhere seemed to dance with joy, as they flung out their silken leaves in a dazzle, wooed by the wind. bees were busy enough with their bustle and humming, birds were singing everywhere. squirrels and rabbits scudded about, little harmless lizards came out and sunned themselves on the stones, and great flying iridescent bugs that shot across the air with golden and green rays. oh, how enchanting it all was. it stirred the little girl with unutterable thoughts. "laverne," miss holmes called. oh, was it lesson time! "come, dear, mrs. personette has the carriage here, and we are going to take a look at the great german mayday festival. come quick, and slip in another frock." for what with building dams for waterfalls, making paths and rockeries and flower beds, the little girl was not always in company trim. "oh, uncle jason was talking about that, and he was so sorry he could not get away, but some vessels were coming in. oh, yes, i'll hurry." there were baths and sundry conveniences in many of the houses in this new city. perhaps no place in the world had ever worked such marvels in five years. but jason chadsey had not come to luxuries yet. however, the little girl did very well without them. she washed and dressed in a trice. mrs. personette and olive were in the big carriage. isabel and howard had taken the buggy. she greeted them cordially. olive made room for laverne, or rather beckoned her to her own seat. the germans were holding a grand festival at russ's garden. there was a big flag flying from the great marquee, and numerous lesser ones. there were the park of shade trees, the houses of refreshment, the arches wreathed with flowers, and german flags vying with the stars and stripes. gay beds of flowers were interspersed that lent richest coloring. the broad driveway was thronged with carriages already, but none were allowed inside. the _turner gesang verein_ was really the leader of the festivities. the members were dressed in brown linen, loose and baggy, and marched from their headquarters with banners flying and the band playing inspiriting airs from vaterland. and when they all assembled before the marquee, "_das deutsche vaterland_" swelled out on the balmy air in a most rapturous manner. they were in their home atmosphere again, they hardly remembered the land giving them shelter. the grand choruses went up in a shout. the instruments seemed fairly to beat waves of music on the air. it appeared, indeed, as if all the germans in the city had gathered there, and even at this time there were about two thousand. and then the games began. they leaped and balanced, they performed various athletic feats, the victor being crowned with shouts, as well as winning a prize. they danced, the boys and men with each other, many of them in native garments of the provinces from which they had emigrated, and some were amusing in motley array. outside there were booths with tables for refreshments, where wives and children congregated, and the place was patrolled by policemen to keep roughs away. the onlookers drove around or were on horseback; among them were the old californians in leggings, sash, and sombrero, and a few spaniards, who looked on haughtily at these people who were fast superseding the old stock. there were not many places of amusement really proper for women and children of the better class. the circus had been the pioneer entertainment, then the theatre. even at a concert of vocal music given by the favorite, stephen c. massett, where front seats were reserved for ladies, only four were present. a neat little theatre had been destroyed by fire; the jenny lind had shared the same fate, until a mr. maguire erected a large stone theatre destined for first-class amusements and that had been taken for the city hall. but the year before mr. and mrs. baker, fine actors, had succeeded in establishing a new era in the californian drama, and given it a style and excellence, and catered to the best class of people, who had begun to give tone to society. laverne hardly heeded olive's chatter, she was so interested in the gay scene. there had never been anything like it to her. and the music stirred her wonderfully. they drove slowly round and round, watched the athletes and held their breath at some of the daring feats. "oh, you should hear howard talk of the circus performers and what they do," exclaimed olive. "there's a flying leap when a man comes over the head of the audience, and catches a big hoop on the stage, and hangs suspended while the audience applauds, and a woman that rides on two horses, changing about, and sometimes stands up. she's a foreigner of some sort." "i should think they would be afraid;" and laverne shuddered. "oh, no; they're trained, you see. and the races are splendid. we can go to them. and they used to have bull-baits at the mission, but they don't allow it now." "bull-baits?" echoed laverne. "oh, bull-fights," laughed olive. "that's real spanish, you know. why, it seems all right to them, of course. and there are dog-fights and cock-fights here--i don't see much difference, only the bulls are bigger and stronger." then a turk halted at the carriage which had been stopped in the press. he had a great clapper, which made a hideous noise, and a voice that went through your ears. a tray was suspended from a leathern strap that passed around his neck. he wore a gay fez, and a jacket embroidered with gold thread much tarnished, and full turkish trousers of red silk so soiled one could hardly tell the color. his swarthy skin and long, waxed mustache gave him a fierce look. "oh, mother, get some candy," cried olive, "i'm just dying for some." fortunately it was done up in a kind of soft chinese paper, and so kept from the dust. then in a jar he had some curious shredded stuff that looked like creamy ravellings. "oh, we will drive around and get some at winn's," said her mother. "oh, laverne, don't you want some real turkish candy?" laverne looked undecided. "oh, do, do," pleaded olive, and mrs. personette yielded. the ravelly stuff was very funny and melted in your mouth, and the candy seemed saturated with all flavors. "of course, winn's is much better," declared olive, with an air. "oh, mother, can't we go to winn's and have some lunch!" "i've been considering that," returned her mother. the two friends had so much to talk about that the children's chatter had not really reached them. old times and beliefs that seemed of some bygone century rather than a decade or two, so utterly had this western coast outgrown them. "have you seen howard anywhere?" asked mrs. personette. "no," returned olive. then in a lower tone--"they're off, having a good time, i know. let isabel alone for that; mother needn't think she'll know everything," and the girl laughed. they drove around once more. now a good many were seated at the refreshment tables, smoking, drinking beer, and laughing over jokes of the old fatherland. of course, before night they would be rather uproarious. they had seen the best part of the celebration. "i do wish we could find the children," said mrs. personette. "we might have lunch together." at washington and montgomery streets was the new establishment of mr. winn, who had been twice burned out and had not lost his courage. it seemed the fate of nearly all of the old settlers, and would have ruined and discouraged a community with less pluck. for, after all, while there were no end of toughs and roughs and adventurers, there was still some of the best blood of the eastern cities, full of knowledge and perseverance. winn's was a large refectory of the highest order. it was furnished in the most elegant and tasteful manner, and the service was admirable. indeed, it had come to be quite a calling place for the real society people, where they could meet a friend and sit over their tea or coffee and exchange the news of the day, which meant more really than in any other city. for every twenty-four hours something stirring was happening. every fortnight now a steamship came in. new people, new goods, letters from the states, messages to this one and that from friends thousands of miles away. the large rooms were connected by arches with costly draperies. tables here and there for guests, sofas, easy-chairs, a stand for flowers, the papers of the day and magazines that had to be old before they reached these western readers. silks and satins rustled, skirts were beginning to be voluminous, bonnets had wreaths of flowers under the brim, and it was the day of shawls, india, cashmere, and lace. now and then a dark-eyed señorita wore hers in some graceful folds that made a point over the curls on her forehead. but women mostly had their hair banded madonna-wise that gave some faces a very serene and placid look. long ringlets were another style. demi-trains were also in vogue, and at winn's at luncheon time, it had the appearance of a fashionable reception. children wore stiffly starched skirts and gypsy hats with wreaths of flowers. laverne's were forget-me-nots, with streamers of blue ribbon, and her soft light hair was braided in two tails, tied with a blue ribbon about halfway, the rest floating loose. they had a dainty luncheon. mrs. personette received nods from this one and that one, for already she was becoming quite well known. "oh," she said presently, "do you know the school children are to have their walk on monday, a mayday walk, quite an institution, i believe. and laverne ought to go to school, do you not think so? and this is to be quite an event. she must see it, and you as well." "alice payne is to be queen of the may, and seven maids of honor from the different schools," said olive. "why, i could take laverne with me. you'd have to wear your white frock, that's all." laverne glanced up eagerly, with a dainty flush. could she really take part in it? it was true jason chadsey had not been very anxious to push his little girl forward. they had lived too far from schools before, and she was too much of a stranger to go around alone. "it will be just splendid! and you will see so many girls. of course, we have lived here a long while and know almost everybody." "of all the thousands," appended her mother, rather humorously. "then you must be a 'forty-niner.'" olive colored. "we're older than that," she answered, with some pride. "father is a real californian." "and you children will belong to the old aristocracy when birth begins to count. i suppose that will come in presently." "it always does," returned miss holmes. "think of the pride of boston over her early immigrants." they drove around the garden and then took the two guests home. miss holmes expressed her pleasure warmly. "oh," laughed mrs. personette, "when we were on our long journey, coming to a strange land, who could have imagined that in so short a time i should be riding round in my carriage! and i seemed to have no special gift or attraction. truly it is a golden state." laverne had a great deal to tell uncle jason. she was so bright and happy, and had seen so much. and then there was the procession for monday. could she go? certainly, it was not possible to deny the eager, appealing face and pleading voice. after supper, when she was in bed and uncle jason reading his papers, miss holmes broached the subject of school. the first schools, as happens in most new places, were private enterprises. the earliest of all had been among the old residents before the great influx, and in the old plain little schoolhouse was erected on portsmouth square. it was used for many purposes. religious bodies held their first meetings here, and the early public amusements were given, even political and benevolent assemblies. it was dignified as a court house under judge almond, and at length turned into a station house until it went the way of transitory things. to this effort for education succeeded a real public school, with a board of trustees of prominent men, there being sixty children of school age in a population of a little over eight hundred, including indians. then suddenly the gold fever swept the town like wildfire, the public-school project was dropped, and the rev. albert williams collected twenty-five pupils into a pay-school. in the spring of , mr. and mrs. pelton, who had succeeded the clergyman, and gathered in a large number of pupils, applied to the city for adequate recompense, and it was virtually made a public school. in january, a beautiful lot at spring valley, on the presidio road, was purchased, and a school was built in a delightful road of evergreens. soon after this the city started again and in time had seven schools, though several private schools were in a very flourishing condition. but many children were sent east to finishing academies, or to monterey and other southern towns to convent schools. still the cause of education began to demand more attention, as the necessity for good citizenship became more strenuous. uncle jason glanced up from his paper when miss holmes spoke of the school. "not that i find it at all troublesome to teach her, and she is the most tractable child i ever saw. then she is so eager to get to the very foundation of things. why, you would hardly believe how much she knows about botany. i found an old book--but the flowers here are so different. and i really love to teach now that i am well and strong. i could almost go in school again." "oh, don't think of such a thing. we couldn't do without you," he exclaimed earnestly. "but you think--a school----" and he paused, his eyes fixed on the floor as if he was ruminating. "laverne needs the companionship of children, comparing thoughts with them, playing, the harmless rivalry of studying together. when it comes to that, i could have a small school. you see she will be growing older all the time." "frankly, which would be best? you are more capable of deciding, since you have had a wider experience in this matter." "oh, the school. you see she must take a place with other people. she has no relatives, and friends must stand in their stead." he turned back to his paper, but he was not reading. the little girl was all his. he had a feeling when they left maine that nothing and no one should come between them. every thought, every desire should cluster about her. he would make a fortune for her. his first plan in going to california was to start to the gold fields for the sake of adventures. he would cut loose from all old recollections. he would leave laverne westbury a comfortable and satisfied wife and mother. he had no bitterness against his rival now. it had all been so different. many a night on shipboard he lived over those few sad weeks and hugged to his heart the consolation that she had loved him, and that fate had been cruel to both. and then, conscious of the finer strain of fatherhood that had so long lain fallow in his soul, the child slipped into the place, and aims were changed for him. there would be enough for him to do in the new town where everything was needed, and he could turn his hand to almost anything. but he must keep to her, she was the apple of his eye, and he would go groping in sorrowful darkness without her. he had a curious feeling at first that he must hide her away lest her father should start up from somewhere and claim her, and was glad to light on that out-of-the-way place. the long voyage had been like living in the same village with these people. the new england reticence of miss holmes appealed to him in a peculiar manner, he was reticent himself. then the child took the greatest fancy to her. she was rather timid about this new world while the others were ready for adventures. and when he offered her a home for the care of the child she was very willing to accept it for the present. her belief was that when she was rested and in her usual health she should teach school again. her two friends had teased her a little about finding a possible lover in jason chadsey. she had the fine feminine delicacy that shrank from the faintest suspicion of putting herself in the way of such a possibility. he was a sturdy, upright, plain-spoken fellow, not at all her ideal, and she still had the romance of girlhood. she came to know presently by her womanly intuition that marriage had no place in his thoughts, that were centred in the little girl. perhaps, her mother was his only sister, a deserted wife, she gathered from childish prattle of laverne's. she knew so little about her past. uncle jason had come when they were in great want, and her mother had died. and now, jason chadsey knew it would be best for this idea to gain credence. he would always be her uncle. but he had some duties toward her. she could not always remain a child, a plaything. that was the sorrow of it. there must be a rich, delightful life before her. she must have the joys her mother had missed, the prosperity that had not come to her. he looked up from the paper presently. "about the school," he began. "yes, i have been considering it. and you will have quite enough to do to keep the house and have the oversight of her; i will make it an object for you to stay. we get along comfortably together, though sometimes i feel i am a queer unsocial dick, much occupied now with business. but it is all for her. she is the only thing out of a life that has been all ups and downs, but, please god, there'll be some clear sailing now. i like san francisco. i like the rush and bustle and newness, the effort for a finer civilization that has strength and purpose in it. heaven knows there is enough of the other sort, but the dross does get sifted out and the gold is left. it will be so here, and these earnest men ten years hence will be proud of the city they are rearing." he glanced at her steadily, forgetting he had wandered from the main question. "you will not leave us----" "i? oh, no;" yet she colored a little. "there will be enough to do if the child does go to school. and you can walk down for her in the afternoon, wherever it is, and have little outings. i am glad you are so fond of her, and she loves you. she isn't the kind to strew her love broadcast." "yes, i am very fond of her," was the reply. chapter viii girls and girls they rambled over the hills on sunday, for miss holmes had given her ankle a little wrench and was applying hot fomentations. up there was the presidio, and over here the beautiful ocean, blue as the sky to-day, except where the swells drove up on the rocks and, catching the sun, made spray of all colors. the ground squirrels ran about, scudding at the slightest sound of human beings, which they seemed to distinguish from the rustling and whispering of the trees, or the tinkle of a little stream over the stones. it ran under a crevice in the rock that was splitting apart now by some of nature's handiwork and came out over west of their house where it dropped into a little basin. here was a blasted pine that had been struck by some freak of rare lightning, then piles of sand over which cactus crept. and here was a deer-trail, though civilization had pretty well scared them away. but the birds! here was the jay with his scolding tongue, the swallows darting to and fro in a swift dazzle, the martins in bluish purple, the tanager in his brilliant red, the robin, thrush, meadowlark, the oriole, and the mocking birds that filled the air with melody this may sunday. and nearly every foot of ground was covered with bloom. now and then the little girl hopped over a tuft that she might not crush the beautiful things. great clouds of syringas and clusters of white lilies filled the air with a delicious fragrance. and the wild lilac with its spikes of bloom nodding to the faintest breeze. wild barley and wild oats, and a curious kind of clover, and further down the coarse salt grass with its spear-like blades. they sat down on some stones and glanced over the ocean. there were two vessels coming up the coast and some seamews were screaming. it was all wild and strange, almost weird, and no little girl could have dreamed that in a few years streets would be stretching out here. as for trolleys going to and fro, even grown people would have laughed at such a thing. they talked of the great procession that was to be the next day. and then uncle jason wondered how she would like going to school regularly. "i shall like girls," she said. "there are no boys where olive goes. she thinks boys are more fun." "but you don't go to school for the mere fun." "they make so much noise in the street. and some times they sing such funny songs. but they were nice about sledding back home, only there's no snow here." "are you ever homesick?" "you know i was sick sometimes on the ship." "but to go back, i mean." "there wouldn't be any one--i've almost forgotten who were there. mother, you know----" with a pitiful sort of retrospection. "yes, yes," hurriedly. "would you want to go?" "oh, no, no!" with some vehemence. she came and leaned against his knee, put her arms about his neck, and her soft cheek against his weather-beaten one. "i should never want to go anywhere without you," she replied, with grave sweetness. "you are all i have, my little darling." "and i haven't any one else. olive has such a lot of cousins. she goes over to oaklands to see them." there was a long pause and the wind rushed by laden with perfumes. they heard the lapping of the surf against the rocks. the strange beauty penetrated both souls that were not so far apart after all. "uncle jason, did you ever have a wife?" she asked, with a child's innocence. "no, dear." sometime he would tell her the story of his love for her mother. "then you won't want to marry any one?" "marry! i?" had that personette girl put some nonsense into her head about miss holmes? he colored under the weather-browned skin. "you see, mr. personette's wife had died, and i suppose he had to marry some one again to look after the children." "would you like me to marry some one to look after you?" in a half humorous tone. "why, miss holmes can do that," she returned, in surprise. "she seems to do it very well." there was a lurking smile about the corners of his mouth. "i like her. no, i shouldn't like any one else coming in. perhaps she would not stay. no, uncle jason, i don't want you to marry any one," she said, simply. "and when i get old i shall not marry, though carmen means to. and we will live together always. oh," with a bright little laugh, "let's promise. put your little finger--so." she hooked hers in it. "now, you must say: honest and true, i love but you!" he uttered it solemnly. he had said it to one other little girl when he was a big boy. then she repeated it, looking out of clear, earnest eyes. after that she gathered a great armful of flowers and they rambled off home. "who do you think has been here?" inquired miss holmes, with a laugh in her very voice. "who--olive, perhaps. or, maybe, dick folsom." "no. guess again." she cudgelled her wits. "not snippy?" "yes, snippy. he actually came into the house and looked so sharply at me that i told him you would be home about noon. then i gave him a bit of cracker, and when he had eaten a little he scampered off with the rest. i think he has been planning a house near us." "oh, wouldn't that be splendid! i'm just going to scatter a path of cracker bits as hop o' my thumb did." "but if he eats them up how much wiser will you be?" laverne looked nonplussed. "well, he will have them at any rate," and she nodded her head with satisfaction. pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting some ducks out of doors. he was sure he couldn't do it any other way. "i must go and view the camping process," and uncle jason laughed. "how is your ankle?" "oh, quite on the mend," she answered. pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting the ducks over a great bed of coals that he was burning at one side. it might be wasteful, as when the chinaman first roasted his pig, but it was filling the air with a savory smell, and they were browned to a turn. "they look just delicious," announced laverne. she took the platter out and pablo carried them in with a proud air. and delicious they certainly were. the little girl was hungry, and uncle jason said he had not enjoyed anything so much in a long while. she insisted she should wash up the dishes while uncle jason took his usual nap. then she went out and dropped some cracker crumbs and strictly forbade bruno to touch them. "if you would like to go down to the estenegas i will get one of the horses," uncle jason said. his sundays were always devoted to her. so she went out and talked to pelajo while pablo harnessed him. he said very plainly that she had quite neglected him of late and he did not like it. he did not want to be thrown over for new friends. all along the road the beauty of the may met them, and it stirred both riders, making them respond to the joy of motion and the sweetness of all blooming things, the merriment of the birds, the touch of the wind in the trees as a voice playing on a flute. he thought it was all the delight of owning the little girl who would always be his. how he would care for her in old age, and he quite forgot that he would be there decades and decades first. but he suddenly felt so young, with all these signs of youth about him, the magnetism of the air in this wondrous land. here was the old house. they were straightening the road, digging away hills, filling up hollows, and a corner of it had tumbled down. there seemed a damp, marshy smell of the newly turned earth, and two trees had fallen and begun to wither up. the wood doves were calling plaintively. "oh, i wouldn't come back for anything!" cried laverne. "did we have nice times here, and did we really like it?" "this is the hand of improvement. sometime, when we are trotting over a nice level road, with pretty houses and grounds, we shall admire it again." but it was lovely enough at the estenegas, out of doors. the children were wild with delight. it seemed as if carmencita had suddenly shot up into a tall girl. and in the autumn she was to go to monterey, to the old convent, where doña conceptione de arguello had gone after her russian lover had been killed, and where she had finally become mother superior and lived to old age, always praying for his soul. "but i am going only for accomplishments. and it seems the distant cousin of the estenegas wishes a wife who will grace the great house and carry on the honors. mamacita is very proud that he made the offer. and the children will go up to the mission to stay all the week at the sisters' school." "and they must visit me sometimes. the new home is so much pleasanter. i am going to school also, and i have some new friends. it is splendid to be in the heart of the city." then she told them about the day at russ's garden, and that on to-morrow, monday, she was going out to walk with hundreds of children. the spanish girl's eyes grew larger and larger at all the wonders. they walked up and down with their arms about each other and were full of childish happiness. then señora estenega summoned them to refreshments on the balcony, now a wilderness of roses. uncle jason did not care much for the spanish sweetmeats and candied fruits, the freshly ripened ones were more to his taste and he had been quite spoiled again by new england living. but he knew how to be polite. it was quite dusk when they reached home. olive personette had been over. they would call for her to-morrow, and she was to be dressed in white, sure. it would be a greater thing than the german festival. and great it surely was! there had never been such an event in san francisco. there were over a thousand children, and each one carried a bouquet of flowers. miss holmes had found some white ribbon and trimmed her gypsy hat, and the little girl with her fair hair looked like a lily. there were crowds of people in the streets to see them, proud mothers and aunts. each school had a distinctive banner, and there was a band of music. the queen of may wore a wreath, and so did her maids of honor. when they had gone through the principal thoroughfares and been cheered enthusiastically, they moved to the schoolhouse on broadway, where they had a little sort of play dialogue, and sang some beautiful songs. a few brief addresses were made, and san francisco declared itself proud of its children that day, the children who were to be the future men and women of the city. then there was quite a feast, which the young people enjoyed mightily. how they laughed and talked and declared they would not have missed it for anything. afterward they dispersed. the personette carriage was waiting, with instructions to take home all it would hold, so they crowded in. and at the gate stood uncle jason. "oh," the little girl exclaimed, with a tired sigh, "it was just splendid. if you had only been there!" "do you think i would have missed it? i came up to see the procession and i picked you out, walking with olive. why, i was as proud of you as if you had been the queen." "but the queen was lovely. and the play! i couldn't hear all of it, there was such a crowd, and i had to stand up to see. wasn't it good of olive to ask me! and she wanted to take me home to dinner." "i couldn't have eaten dinner without you." he kissed her over and over again. he was so glad to see her happy. not that she was ever a sad little girl. miss holmes was very much improved and regretted she could not have gone out to see the procession. snippy had called, and all the cracker bits were gone, but she had seen the wood doves carrying off some of the crumbs. "i guess snippy has moved for good," said uncle jason. "it's rather funny, too. you must have charmed him." she gave a pleased laugh. nearly midnight of that happy day the bells rang out with their dreadful alarm. uncle jason sprang up, and before he was dressed he saw the blaze. citizens turned out _en masse_. the rassete house on sansome street was in a sheet of flame. a fine five-story hotel, full of lodgers, who had to flee for their lives. the firemen were quite well organized now and made great efforts to keep it from spreading, remembering the former big fires. in this they were quite successful. other generous people were taking in the four hundred homeless ones, and it was found the next day that no lives had been lost, which was a source of thanksgiving. a little later there were some imposing ceremonies near the presidio, just at the foot of the hill. this was the commencement of the mountain lake water works, a much-needed project. there were various artesian wells, and water was brought in tanks from sausalito, but the supply was inadequate in case of fires and the city was growing so rapidly. the rather curious mountain lake was not large, but a short distance from its northern margin a stream of water gushed through the ground, which was a great spring or a subterranean river from the opposite shores. it was begun with great rejoicing, but like all large undertakings it had progressed slowly. indeed, san francisco had so many things on its hands. there were plans for the state marine hospital and other benevolent institutions. churches too were urging demands on a generous people who felt they must make an effort to redeem the standing of the city. the toughs had been somewhat restrained, but the continual influx of miners with their pouches of gold, ready for any orgies after having been deprived of the amenities of social life, and the emigration from nearly all quarters of the globe constituted a class very difficult to govern, who drank, gambled, frequented dance houses, quarrelled, and scrupled not at murder. but of this side the little girl was to hear nothing, though uncle jason was often shocked in spite of all his experiences. he was having a warehouse down on the bay, fitting out vessels, disposing of cargoes, and keeping the peace with one of those imperturbable temperaments, grown wise by training of various sorts, and the deep settled endeavor to make a fortune for the little girl. it did not matter so much now, but when she grew up she should be a lady and have everything heart could desire. in a short street that came to be called pine afterward, and was at the head of the streets that were to be named after trees, there stood quite a substantial brick building with some fine grounds. here a mrs. goddart and her sister, miss bain, kept a school for young girls and smaller children, and had a few boarding scholars. the personette girls had gone there because it was near by, and out of the range of the noisier part of the city. howard was at the san francisco academy, kept by a mr. prevaux, in quite a different direction. there was a plan for a new public school on telegraph hill, but these were more largely filled with boys, as is often the case in the youth of towns. so the little girl went to mrs. goddart's and quite surprised her teachers by her acquirements and her love of study. perhaps, if she had not lived so much alone she would have been more interested in play and childish gossip. and her walks with uncle jason had brought her into companionship not only with trees and flowers, but with different countries of the world, and their products. uncle jason had grafted upon a boy's common education the intelligence that travel and business give, and though a quiet man he had taken a keen interest not only in the resources of countries, but their governments as well, and these things were the little girl's fairy stories. she would find the places on the map, the orient, the northern coast of africa, the country of the turks, arabia, india. a trading vessel goes from port to port. she liked her school very much, though she was rather shy of the girls. some of them called her a little prig because she would not talk and was correct in her deportment. she found in the course of a few days that olive "squirmed" out of some things and did not always tell the truth. back in maine children had been soundly whipped for telling falsehoods and it was considered shameful; miss holmes was a very upright person, of the old puritan strain. she was not finding fault, but she did want to know if a prig was something rather disgraceful. "it is never disgraceful to be honest in word and deed, to obey whatever rules are set before you, to study honestly and not shirk. i think the prig would set himself above his neighbors for this, but you see he would only be doing his duty, he would have no extra claim. but when he set himself up to be better than his neighbors and triumphed over them, he would be a prig." her delicately pencilled brows worked a little. "some of them are ever so much prettier than i am," she said innocently, "and they say such funny things, and their clothes are very nice. well, i like them. we have such fun playing at recess." he remembered about the clothes and spoke to miss holmes. "i do not think it best to dress a child so much for school. what will she have afterward? and it does fill their heads with vanity." he had given her a pretty ring for a birthday, and she had her grandmother's string of gold beads that had come over from london with some great, great-grandmother. snippy had settled himself quite comfortably, just where they could not tell, and he had evidently coaxed his wife to emigrate. she was not quite as handsome as he. dick folsom, who ran up every now and then, said he was what was called a hare squirrel, on account of his splendid feathery tail, though why, he couldn't see, as hares had scarcely any tail at all. snippy was so tame now, or else he was so glad to be near the little girl, that he was not much afraid of strangers if they did not offer to touch him. he would run around uncle jason, and nose in his pockets until he found nuts or crumbs. but he didn't like tobacco a bit and scolded in his funny way when he came across that. pelajo was not forgotten, though he sometimes complained a little. uncle jason said miss holmes must learn to ride. the big dray horse was not fit for a lady, and though the mexican and indian women rode mules and were very expert, they were not considered quite the thing. there was a stream coming out in a sort of split rock up above the place, and it made a kind of pool just below. in the autumn rains it ran along down the slope of the ground, tumbling over the stones that were in its way. pablo and the little girl had made quite a pretty waterfall and a new pond where the ducks could swim about. the upper one they covered over and had for family use. springs were not very plentiful, and uncle jason believed this a little underground spur of the mountain lake, as it never quite dried up. and one saturday, when laverne was working at her stream, meaning to make it more extensive when the rainy season set in, a great white something fell at her very feet and gave such a screech that she started and ran. it lay on the ground and fluttered and cried, so she knew it was some kind of a bird and came nearer. it looked up at her out of frightened black eyes, rose on one foot, flapped one wing, and fell over again. was it really a gull? she called pablo. "yes, señorita, it is a gull. i never could get nearby one unless it was shot. they are the wildest things. this have a leg broke," and he picked up the limp member. "oh, the poor thing," softly stroking it. "and wing too, see? better kill it." "oh, no, no! poor thing," she cried, full of sympathy. "what then? he must die. he starve." "no, we can feed him." "but he eat fish." "so do we. there is plenty of fish. and you catch so many. can't you do anything for him?" pablo lifted the leg again, and examined it. "no--shot!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "why couldn't you do it up in splints?" "not worth it," and he shook his head decisively. "and the wing too. yes, that's shot." laverne patted the poor thing, who screeched and tried to rise. how soft the feathers were and snowy white, except about the neck that had the faintest shade of blue. then, suddenly, she picked it up in her skirt, though it struggled. how light it was for such a large thing. she had taken off her shoes and stockings while she was paddling in the stream, and she ran down to the house not minding the rough path. "oh, see this poor gull!" she cried. "it just dropped down--out of the clouds, i guess. there were no others around." she laid it down on the patch of grass miss holmes took great pains with for a bleachery. "poor thing!" said the lady pityingly. "better end him," and pablo took hold of his neck. "no, no, no! you shall not kill him. poor fellow!" she cried. he was gasping now, and then he lay quite still, exhausted. "you could splint up his leg," said miss holmes. "you did the duck, you know." "that good for something. he squak and squak." "yes, you must splint it up," laverne said, with decision. "i can find some cord, and--what will you have?" pablo shrugged his shoulders and said something just under his breath in pure mexican, not quite the thing for a little girl to hear. "and when uncle jason comes home we will see about the wing. won't this old basket make splints?" pablo went about his job unwillingly. laverne wrapped him up so that he could not kick with the other leg, and presently they had the wounded member bandaged. the gull lay quite still, but laverne saw the frightened heart beat through the feathers. pablo raised the wing and shook his head dubiously. "uncle jason is coming home early with the horses, you know," she said to miss holmes. "oh, my shoes and stockings!" and off she ran to the spot where they had been at work. "pablo can go on clearing this out," she said to herself. "it will be all ready when the rainy season sets in. oh, the poor flowers! sun, why do you scorch them up so! and in maine the summer is so delightful. but the winter, oh!" and she made a half wry, half amused face. she was all ready when uncle jason came up the street on one horse and leading the other; and all eagerness, she was telling her story while he dismounted and fastened them both. "that's funny," he said. "next a black bear will come knocking at your door. or you might snare a silver-gray fox and have a tippet made of his skin." "as if i could be so cruel!" the gull had hardly moved. now, it seemed frightened at the strange face and struggled. uncle jason spoke softly, and lifted the wounded wing which was considerably shattered. "i suppose it _could_ be mended, but there are hundreds of gulls." "this one came straight to me. why, he fairly asked me to take pity on him;" and she drew an eager breath. she was a very sympathetic little girl, and he smiled. some shot had better be taken out. he opened the small blade of his knife. it was not a really fresh wound, for the blood was dry. he picked out the shot, scraped the pieces of bone a trifle, and studied how they were to go together, pablo holding the body tight. he pulled out some of the downy feathers, pinched the skin together, wound it with threads of soft silk and then bound it up with splints. "poor thing," he said. "don't you believe he will get over it? oh, what if he never could fly again." "then he will have to live with you." "oh, i should like that if he would only be content." then they put him in a tub so he could not flounder around much, and laid some bits of meat near him. pablo was to keep watch so that no evil would happen. miss holmes had hardly mounted a horse since girlhood. she did feel a little timid. "she's a lady's mount and very gentle. old knowledge soon comes back to one," uncle jason said, with an encouraging smile. they took their way up on the cliff, where there was a pretence of a road that long afterward was to be magnificent. from here the town was a succession of terraces to the bay. the houses were in many instances hidden, but here and there a high one, or a church, loomed up. on the ocean side it was simply magnificent. the wave-washed rocks glinting in the brilliant sunlight, the seals diving, swimming about as if they were at play, then coming up to sun themselves, the flocks of gulls, the terns, the murres, and the fulmars, who expertly catch fish from the gulls, the auks, diving and swimming about. to-day almost every variety seemed out. the air was like the wine of a new life and made the blood tingle in the veins. the midday heat was over, the west wind bore the tang of the broad ocean. miss holmes wondered if she had ever known before this just what life was, and the joy of living. chapter ix a party and an admirer when the sun dropped into the ocean the world for a time seemed ablaze. certainly, here was the place for sunsets. and as they went on they crushed the dying ferns and foot-high evergreens into penetrating fragrance. down below the estenegas they turned around and took a lower road that had little in it except the whispering trees and plaintive bird songs, until houses came into view, and human figures moving about. they did not go down in the city, there was always more or less carousing on saturday night. a strong young voice was shouting out a favorite song: "oh, sally, dearest sally; oh, sally, for your sake, i'll go to california and try to make a shake; says she to me, 'joe bowers, you are the man to win, here's a kiss to bind the bargain,' and she hove a dozen in." there were musical voices, too. a square below them a wagon load were singing to the accompaniment of an accordion. lights were flashing out, throngs began to gather in the streets, and they were glad to canter away to quiet. "it is the most splendid thing of my life," miss holmes said. "and you have done exceptionally well. you and laverne can take many an hour's enjoyment when i am busy." pablo took the horses down while miss holmes spread the supper, and the two went to look after the gull, who seemed very well content, and allowed his neck to be stroked without demur. "and we saw a great bird snatch a fish from one of your kind," laverne told him. "and such lots of your relations!" bruno looked on curiously. "don't you touch him. and don't you let any wild cat or fox come after him. mind, now." bruno beat his tail on the dry grass. if there were nations from almost every corner of the globe, they all joined in celebrating fourth of july. this year there was a fine military parade, and sutter's rifles from sacramento city came up and passed in review before the old true-hearted pioneer, major-general john h. sutter, rapturously applauded by the crowd. then they marched to the russ garden, where they were presented with a set of colors. irish and german were alike patriotic. there were singing and speeches; booths on corners dispensed simple refreshments to the weary and the children. carriages were ornamented with small flags, and filled with the better class, who cheered as heartily. it was really a gala day. they had been invited to the personettes, where tea was set out on the lawn, and as there was no moon it was hung with chinese lanterns. there were some schoolgirls, and they had a table to themselves, and some dancing. several of the young people gave the fancy dances they had learned at the classes the winter before. vacations had generally commenced. there were picnics to san josé and mountain climbs; there were excursions up and down the bay and to the towns opposite up to san pablo and mare's island, over to sausalito. and on sunday, the road to the old mission dolores was always thronged with pleasure-seekers, elegant open carriages filled with finely-dressed ladies, equestrians of all kinds, and the spanish señors often disported themselves in all their bravery. miss holmes was rather startled at first, and to her it was sabbath-breaking, but jason chadsey was so used to the cosmopolitan order of the day, and she met the people who had been to church in the morning. the hot sun and lack of rain had not dried up everything. there were fogs on the coast that dripped like fine rain, and fairly drenched bush and faded grass. there were fine green hills and fields of flowers, and the new crop of wild oats and barley. and then autumn came in again, schools opened, business stirred up, there were blessed rains, and it was like a later summer. the little girl had been much interested in her gull and he had grown very fond of her, eating out of her hand, and hiding his head under her arms as the squirrel did. she had traced snippy to his home, and sure enough he had a companion. there was an old scrubby dead pine in which there was a hollow, or they had gnawed it, and thither they carried nuts and crusts of bread that laverne pretended to lose. "uncle jason," she said one day, "did you ever see an albatross?" "yes. not very often. they are in the northern pacific." "they are not like gulls." "oh, much larger." "there is a story about one. miss bain has it in a beautiful book. one day she read it." "oh, 'the ancient mariner.'" "do you know about it?" her face was alight with pleasure. "and is it true? did he kill the bird: "'who, every day for food or play, came to the mariner's hollo.'" "it's a queer story. no, i don't suppose it was really true. but it is always considered bad luck to kill one. i must get the book for you." "oh, if you would," in her pretty, coaxing way. "pablo wanted to kill the gull. then we might have had bad luck. and now we can't find any name for him." "that's bad, too." his leg had mended nicely and the splints were off, though it must be confessed he had tugged a great deal at them, and could not be brought to understand their benefit, though it was explained over and over again. but his wing did not seem to be just right, and his efforts to fly were not successful. "but i wish he could. he would look so lovely sailing about." "and fly away!" "oh, i don't really believe he would." uncle jason brought home a fine illustrated copy of the "ancient mariner" from an english press. in the early fifties, even in vaunted new york, boston, and philadelphia illustrating had not reached the high point of art it was destined to later on. she was delighted and in a little while knew it all by heart. she grew very fond of poetry. she used to read to the gull until he seemed hypnotized, and presently would nod, sometimes put his head under his wing. in september, there was another great celebration on the opening of the first electric telegraph. this was between san francisco and point lobos, and was erected by messrs. sweeny and baugh to give early information of shipping arrivals. they had a station on telegraph hill in which they used various signals, but this was of immeasurably greater service. early in november, there was the anniversary of the founding of the mission of dolores. there were a number of catholic children in the school, and a holiday was given. "oh, come, go," olive coaxed. "eulogia garfias and her mother are going, and we are great friends. you've never been in a catholic church?" "no; but i know some catholic girls, and one has gone to a convent to be educated. oh, and the two little ones were to come up to the sisters' school." "why, maybe they will be there." she had not been to the estenegas in a long, long time; since the day she and uncle jason had ridden down there. miss holmes made no objection. people grew broader in this grand air. there were many points in which all denominations worked together for the city's welfare. it was constructed of adobe, partly whitewashed. it had been very grand in its day, and had a capacious interior. the walls and roof roughly painted still held saints and angels and sacred subjects much faded by the seventy-five years. the damp earthen floor struck a chill to one. some of the ornaments of the great altar had been carried away, and those left were of no great value. but on this occasion every year there was a large accession of worshippers, even spanish and mexican men as well as women, kneeling reverently on the floor, and that seemed strange to laverne, who glanced up with great awe to the figure of the christ on the cross between the two oriel windows. at the side was a female figure with hands clasped, the virgin. tall candles were burning on each side of the altar. the service was mostly in latin. the congregation went out reverently, some to walk in the small graveyard. yes, there were juana and anesta and several other girls, attended by a sister. they were delighted to meet laverne, and were full of confidences as they walked out to the street. the house was shut up, their mother had gone to monterey, and they were staying at school all the time. they liked it so much. and, if they were allowed, they would be so glad to visit laverne. eulogia garfias knew the sister and introduced her schoolmates; that made the sister soften somewhat to them, and listen to their plea. so laverne had quite an eventful morning. "but the little girls look sad, i think," she commented. "and the old church isn't a bit pretty, it looks faded. and no seats to sit on. it didn't seem at all like church." what with lessons, her pets, and her rides, the days were all too short. her gull still remained and now could fly a short distance. it really seemed to love the shelter of the house, and this amused uncle jason very much. then it never flapped its wings, but seemed to rise slowly and float about with a serene air. it enjoyed the stream and the new lake pablo and laverne had made. for now the frequent rains swelled all the streams, and the bright bracing northwest winds brought the fragrance of spring. everything grew by bounds. the little girl could hardly believe it was winter. the bluest skies, the golden sunshine that flashed in streams of brilliance, the bay a sea of silver bearing on its bosom treasures of every land. and so came in a merry christmas, with pleasure in every home; a children's festival, with not so much religious significance as now. they went to a grand dinner at mrs. personette's, miss gaines with them, who looked splendid in her satin gown, and who was coining money rapidly. lines were not very closely drawn; the aristocrat of to-day riding round in his carriage was the workman of last year. the poor mechanic lucky enough to find a nugget of gold brought his wife in the front rank and dressed her in velvet, loaded her with jewels. the keeper of an ordinary restaurant branched out presently in a very respectable hotel. it was difficult to keep up with all the changes. then, it must be admitted, that many of these people were from the east and had good educations, had, indeed, been accustomed to the refinements of civilized life, but the thought of making a fortune in a few years had given them courage to breast the vulgarity and rough life until they could advance themselves to the old standard. the children had a party in the evening. howard had gone to a preparatory school in the east, as his keen-eyed stepmother found he was in a rather dangerous circle of young men--girls, too, for that matter--who were likely to lead one astray, and this had also influenced isabel and was bringing her forward much more rapidly than was judicious. so they were principally schoolgirls, with the cousin from oaklands and the young sons of a few friends and neighbors. at first isabel was rather stiff and important, but she thawed presently. mrs. personette remembered her own youth and how much these pleasures had been to her, and really exerted herself in a delightful manner to keep them well entertained. victor savedra, one of the cousins from oaklands, took a great fancy to the shy little girl, and asked her to dance. "i don't know how," she said, flushing and drawing back. "why--don't you dance?" in surprise. "just a little, with the girls at school. but--i am afraid----" "why, i'll take you through. this is just the plainest quadrille. oh, aunt grace, don't you think this--" little girl, he was about to say--"your name is laverne, isn't it--can't she dance? she looks as if she could--she's as light as a feather." "oh, you can never learn younger. all the children dance here. i think it comes natural. but you are too late for that. and, victor, you might be explaining the figures to her and be ready for the next one." victor led her a little to one side. "aunt grace is just a trump," he said. "we thought at first we shouldn't like her, some of the yankees are so queer, and talk so outlandish and all that, through their noses, you know, but she is just a lady all through, and full of fun. now, look at this--it's an easy figure--balancing to corners, turning your partner and a galop down the middle----" "why, it's like the fairy rings you read about--i have a splendid fairy book uncle brought me, and on moonlight nights the little people go out and dance on the green. the irish stories are just enchanting. they love the little people." her eyes had been following the dances and she moved her head faintly as if she was keeping time. then the fiddles gave a sharp staccato and stopped. "oh," she exclaimed, in bewilderment. he laughed at the startled look. "they'll tune up and begin again." oh, what eager eyes she had. why, she was really very pretty, with that soft rose flush and fair hair. olive had called her "a plain little thing." sure enough that was long ago, remember, before we heard of strauss and sousa. many a quadrille has begun with "life let us cherish." victor took her hand and fairly impelled her out on the floor. "now, i'll tell you everything, and you just mind and don't feel afraid." she never knew whether she minded or not. she was thinking of nora of the mill when she stepped in the magic ring, and laudeen, with the blue coat and a firefly for each button all the way down, just whisked her around until the air was full of fireflies. it was splendid. "oh, you've done very well," victor said, in a delighted tone. "you didn't mind the mistakes at all, but just kept on, and that's the way to do. but you must learn to dance regularly. and i hope we shall dance together often. you are just like a fairy. that larkin girl trod on my foot about every other step. oh, that is the cheat. that's rare fun. now, see--when it is 'all hands round,' and your partner turns the other girls, come straight back to him, to _me_, will you? the fellows left out get laughed at. now, you'll see." when the cheat came he told her again. she turned away from the outstretched arms and looked for victor, whose face was flushed. for he felt he had been really rude to one of the best dancers in the room. and in the next cheat some one picked up laverne, almost lifting her off her feet, while esta collins paid him back with interest and a triumphant smile. "i didn't do it right," laverne said ruefully. "he was so big and strong, and i never saw him----" "oh, that's a good deal of the fun when you know all about it. the girls flirt awfully, but now and then one gets left in the lurch. the next is the spanish galop, and then the refreshments. who is going to take you in?" "why--i don't know----" hesitatingly. "then i will, and we will have this galop." "victor," isabel said, rather sharply, in the pause. "you take miss payne in for refreshments." "can't, my dear cousin. i wouldn't dare poach on leon sturges' manor." "victor!" but he had gone. "just see how that little thing holds on to victor! olive, you put a stop to it as soon as supper is over. i didn't think victor would make such a fool of himself. he's danced three times with her. and she's just crazy over it. she's making a sight of herself." olive nodded. she had had all the attention she wanted, and had never once thought of laverne, or victor either. victor was asking if laverne didn't most blow away up on the hill where she lived, and if she didn't get lost in the dreadful fogs. and she told him about her squirrel and the gull. "why, i thought they were the shyest, wildest things, and that you couldn't touch them while they were alive. and he really stays with you?" in amaze. "he can't fly very far. you see, his wing isn't quite right, though he can raise it, but it doesn't seem strong. still he flies so beautifully a short distance it is a pleasure to see him. sometimes i make believe he is an albatross. and i tell him about the 'ancient mariner.'" "oh, do you know that queer old thing! and do you love verses? we're reading the iliad at school. it isn't verse exactly, but it's poetry all the same. there are some splendid heroes in it." she didn't know exactly what it was, but she liked reading about heroes and her eyes kindled. "do you think i might come to visit you and the gull? are there any more pets?" "oh, yes, a splendid big dog; and i never feel afraid with him. and the loveliest mexican pony. then the birds are very tame. there is the sauciest mocking bird, and we whistle to each other. he will come for crumbs, and when the weather is very dry we put out a pan of water and it is fun to see them bathe. and the jays chatter and scold so." "how much you must love everything!" "well--there are no children near by. though now i go to school." "and you came from maine, aunt grace said, all the way round the horn. do you know they are talking of a railroad across the continent? oh, what lots of things we would have to talk about. i'll ask father to let me come over here and then i'll come up and see you--some saturday." "oh, i shall be just delighted." the little face was all rosy eagerness. "you're not eating anything. oh, here are the mottoes. now, we'll have some fun." they were prizes to children in those days. a candy in a pretty colored fringed paper, with two or four printed rhymes, sometimes very funny, at others sentimental. victor had numbers sent to him by different girls, who were beginning to think the little maine damsel was getting more than her share of him. olive stood ready to pounce upon him. but miss holmes was there at the doorway. "uncle jason has come," she said, in a low tone. "are you not tired and almost ready to go home?" laverne took the outstretched hand. "remember," victor said, "i shall come before long." "really," began olive tauntingly, "you seem very fond of small fry." "why--she is your friend. you have told us ever so much about her. and she's a nice little thing." "oh, a mere child! a flower of the field sort of thing," rather disdainfully. he thought her very ungracious when she had been quite eloquent over laverne at oaklands. she leaned against miss holmes' shoulder and talked of the dancing, while two or three men discussed the prospect of a road across the continent. the hardships of the overland journey were almost incredible. congress could hardly be roused on the subject. daniel webster, broad statesman as he was, opposed it with energy. the great american desert was a formidable thing. and there were the rocky mountains. the gold fields might give out--it was not an agricultural region--how could manufactures ever be established so remote from every centre! spain and mexico had tried their hands. there was enough to do nearer home. the little girl listened with a curious interest. it was a wonderful country to her. maine had nothing to compare with it. and though she began to feel sleepy now that she was quiet, she winked her eyes hard so as not to lose a word. "we must go," miss holmes said at length; so they rose and wished their host good-night. what a glorious night it was! there was no moon, but the wide blue vault was studded so thick with stars, great golden, twinkling globes, that seemed to keep christmas as truly as when they sang to the shepherds on the plains of judea. all the air was spicily fragrant, for there was just enough fog over on the ocean side to make a dew and distil sweetness. some of the newly whitewashed houses glistened like marble, and the brick ones threw a weird kind of shade. there were clumps of trees, and the little girl half suspected indians or wolves lurking behind them. "did you have a nice time, little one?" asked her uncle, in a fond tone. the cool, fresh, inspiriting air had wakened her. "oh, it was splendid! and i danced. don't you think i might go to dancing school? all the children do. olive's cousin was so nice to me, and he wants to come and see the gull. and he has a pony, too. he is going to ride over some day. he's nicer than dick folsom; that is--he is polite and gentle, and has such a sweet voice. oh, i liked him so much. and there were so many pretty and finely dressed girls--maybe it was because i didn't have any brother or cousin that he was so good to me." jason chadsey gave a soft little sigh. chapter x ethics and etiquette it was midnight, and the bells rang out for . the streets were full of people. banjos were being strummed, accordions lent their music. singers really made bedlam, but above all you heard every little while the refrain from a chorus of voices: "the days of old, the days of gold, the days of forty-nine." was san francisco getting old in its scarcely more than childhood? for in august of that year, john w. geary, who had been the last alcalde of the town, was elected its first mayor, and the city had her charter in due american form. it had stretched up and down the bay, the wharves were crowded with shipping. had ever any other city such a marvellous story! yet in , the world was still a little old-fashioned and friendly. never was there a more peerless day. over the hilltops came streams of brilliance with the rising sun that drove the fog before it into the ocean. the lowlands were alive with the slant rays that wavered and wandered about like seas of gold. flowers seemed to have sprung up in the night. flags were flying. the streets were full of men and boys; one would have thought it a grand procession. for new year's calls were then the great fashion. the day was given over to the renewals of friendships. men put on their sunday best, and went from house to house with joyous greetings. and within doors were groups of women to welcome them, and rooms presented a gala aspect. lovers found an opportunity to say sweet things, friends clasped hands, business was laid aside. no doubt there were orgies here and there, quarrels over cups, and fights, but even among the lower ranks there was a great deal of jollity. then everybody went back to business. the great express building was opened, having been more than a year under way, and a big banquet given in the evening. the weather underwent a sudden change. ice froze in the pools about the streets. icicles hung from the roofs of the houses and children thrashed them down, and went about eating them like sticks of candy. there was veritable snow on some of the hills, and those at contra costa were white and glittering in the sun. the old californians, who were fond of lazing about in the sun, and smoking a pipe, laid it to those yankee devils who had turned everything upside down. there would be no more good times in "californy." even the miners came in and grumbled. the rains in the fall and winter had been slight, then a sort of freshet had swollen the rivers, which were too full for "wet diggings," as the hill sides had been too dry for "dry diggings." it seemed as if a series of misfortunes happened. the fine new clipper ship _san francisco_ missed her bearings and struck on the rocks on the north side of the channel. some lives were lost, and a storm coming up, scattered much of the cargo. added to this was a very general depression in business, but in all new cities there are lean years as well as fat ones. the little girl had said nothing more about dancing school, although there was a very nice class that met twice a week not far from the school. she and olive had a little "tiff," and now hardly spoke. she would have liked to consult some one, but miss holmes and mrs. personette were now very cordial friends, and she was not sure that she had been exactly right herself. she could not quite make up her mind to be blamed. she had said to uncle jason that she had changed her mind, she did not want to go to dancing school just yet. "there's plenty of time for that," he responded cheerfully. "and i guess dancing comes kind of natural to little girls. you can put on the fancy touches by and by." then he gave her such a hug that she knew he was pleased with her decision, though down in the depths of her heart she really would have liked it. sometimes she danced around out of doors, going through whatever figures she could recall. this was what had happened: she had spoken cordially to olive the first morning school had begun again, and olive had given her head a toss, and mumbled something. then at recess she had joined some of the larger girls. the personette girls went home to luncheon; laverne brought hers. there were several smaller children that she liked very much, and they had a nice play together. olive generally claimed her, but for several days she took very little notice of her. she had a feeling that laverne would feel hurt and want to know the reason. but the latter was too much afraid of a rebuff to advert to it. "i suppose you think it's queer that i'm acting this way," olive began, when her indifference seemed to pass unnoticed. "but, really, you were so forward at my party----" "forward!" laverne gasped. "why, i--i was almost frightened at first. i had never been to a real party before." "well, you made yourself very conspicuous. esta collins thought you bold enough." laverne's face was scarlet. "what did i do?" she asked in a tremulous tone, trying to keep down a great throb that wanted to rise in her throat. "what did you do, miss innocence? well, i declare! you didn't dance three times with my cousin, and then march in to supper with him, and talk and laugh just as if you didn't mean to let him look at another girl. and you had never met him before! it was shameful!" "but--he asked me!" the tears did come now. she tried very hard to wink them away. "oh, yes! but he never supposed you were going to hang on him that way. and there were girls who had known him long before, just waiting to be asked. you see, as he was _my_ cousin, he was--well, almost like the host, and should have gone around. you're a regular flirt, laverne chadsey, and you will never get asked to any party of mine again." "you didn't ask me this time," said laverne, with spirit. "it was your mother. and it wasn't altogether your party." "well, it was _my_ cousin." "she is isabel's cousin also." "well, she did not like it, either." laverne wanted to say she was sorry. no one had ever quarrelled with her before. but was she really at fault? there came a sudden flash of spirit. "it was mean in your cousin to ask me to dance so many times when he knew it wasn't quite proper. he was used to parties, i wasn't. i shall never want to go to parties again; i just hate them." with that laverne turned away, holding her head very high. she missed in one lesson that afternoon, and asked miss bain if she might not stay in and go over it; she knew it then, but she was confused by something else. her uncle was always so proud of her marks that she did not want to disappoint him. "why, yes," returned miss bain smilingly. "i wish all little girls were as careful." she was rather grave at home that afternoon. she told bruno about it and he gave her a world of sympathy out of large, loving eyes. then there were several smaller girls that she found very companionable. one of them discovered a way to walk together for some distance by making the circuit just a little longer. her mother was french and had been born in new orleans. there were five children; she, lucie, was the oldest. her father was one of the old california residents, and had fought in the war. last summer they had gone down to santa cruz and had a lovely time. she had only one little sister, the baby. so they made quite a friendship. after the cold snap it seemed as if spring had come in earnest. everything took to growing. miss holmes and laverne had delightful rides about on saturdays. and one morning the child watched a lad coming up the somewhat crooked road. he waved his hand--yes, he smiled, too. why, it couldn't be victor savedra! but it was, though. laverne hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. but she was glad down in the bottom of her heart, and ran a few steps to meet him, then paused in pure bashfulness. "are you glad to see me? don't you remember that i told you i would come? i was at uncle's a fortnight ago and meant to beg olive to come up with me, but behold!" and he laughed. it was such a gay, infectious sort of laugh, and he slid down from his pony and threw the rein over his neck, then took both of her hands, while she colored scarlet, and her eyes had merry lights in them. "i dragged it all out of olive. did you have much of a fuss with her? girls are so queer! it was because i danced two or three times with you. why, i thought you were such a dainty little thing. i liked you. some of the girls are so--well, so sentimental--silly. olive has a temper, though. and now--_are_ you glad. father knows your uncle a little. and he said i might come over; father, i mean. i always tell him where i go on saturdays." "yes, i am glad," laverne replied. "oh, we were going out to ride." "we? who?" and the bright young face fell a little. "why, miss holmes--who takes care of us." "oh, yes, that's all right. girls always do have some one, you know. and i remember her. she is aunt grace's friend." "yes, pablo is bringing the horses." she led the way with a springing step and smiled without knowing just what made her happy. "and the gull! father thinks it really odd, that you should tame him and he should want to stay." "and he can fly quite well. just a bit of the wing droops down. oh, here he is! we had such a time to find a name for him. and once uncle jason was up the coast of norway and learned about the gods, and i liked the story of balder so much, balder the beautiful, and then i called him that. but uncle jason calls him jim." "did your uncle come for the golden fleece?" "i think they find it here, if anywhere," she returned, smiling. "here, balder," and she held out her hand. he was not exactly graceful in his walk. but he came and put his head in his little mistress's hand. she stroked his neck, "pretty balder," she said. "did pablo get you some fish?" balder glanced rather suspiciously at the newcomer. and just then miss holmes came down. after the first glance she remembered the young fellow, who explained a certain amount of curiosity had drawn him hither, and since they were ready for a ride he begged to accompany them. "oh," she said, "why didn't you bring the girls and we should have had quite a party." "i am afraid if i had gone there first i should have missed you, they would have had so many plans. and this excursion has been in my mind some time. i wanted to see these remarkable pets." "snippy seems quite busy in these days providing for his family; i think, too, he is rather jealous of jim." "there are some such cunning little squirrels, but snippy keeps them closely at home, down in the hollow of the tree." "if you would like to walk about a little--the rains have given us quite a picturesque aspect, and the weather has brought us into spring." "will miss laverne be my guide?" "that sounds just like school. when you get in the highest class, where your cousin isabel is, you are called miss--whatever your last name happens to be. i don't like it so well." "but you will when you get to be a young lady." "i like girls the best," she said simply. he thought they would be quite charming if they all resembled her. they took the winding path up to the spring, if it were that; pablo, under uncle jason's direction, had made quite a basin of it. then it trickled down to the next level, and this was balder's pool. it was arranged so that it irrigated quite a little garden. there were some orange trees, but they had been nipped by the frosts. "they are rather bitter and sour and full of seeds," said laverne, "only they are beautiful with their glossy leaves, and the blossoms are sweet. everything is wonderful here." "it truly is." he was glancing about. "father ought to see this. but you know we think oaklands the garden spot of all as you go on down the bay. it's much wilder going up, and here it doesn't seem a bit promising, but you have made it so. i wonder what about it charmed your uncle?" she remembered the old home in maine was rather rocky and wild. she rarely thought of it now. "here is where snippy lives. though there are plenty of squirrels about and rabbits and everything, it seems to me. snippy," she called, "snippy." a sharp nose and two bright eyes appeared above the hollow and dropped down at once. "snippy! oh! you needn't be afraid." she threw some bits of hardtack down. then there was a sudden gray flash, and he was out on the ground, caught on her frock and ran up to her shoulder. he looked saucily over to victor savedra as if he questioned what business he had there. the boy laughed. "we have some fine birds, and beautiful tame deer. i suppose i could tame a squirrel. but the funny thing is that he should have decided to move up here." "we brought him first, you know. i didn't think about his having any folks then. and there is getting to be quite a colony of them. uncle jason will not have them shot. though pablo shot a wildcat not long ago. and the birds do not seem afraid any more. i know where there are several quails' nests." "i expect you understand bird language." they turned to go down. pablo had given victor's pony a drink. miss holmes stood patting her horse's neck. "i've done up a little lunch," she announced. "are you quite sure you have time to devote to our picnic?" "oh, yes! i have a whole day to spend. and i am delighted that you permit me to accompany you. i hope you will come to oaklands and allow me to be the host." they went down on the westerly path. part of the way it was a rather rough road, and they had the ocean at their side. here was a kind of depression in the rocky barricade, and down by the shore a herd of deer were sniffing the ocean breezes. how pretty and graceful they looked, startled, too, as the wind wafted the sound of voices to them. then they suddenly vanished as if the ocean had swallowed them up, and the three looked at each other with surprised and laughing eyes. miss holmes found young savedra a very entertaining companion. he expected presently to go to england for his education. there was a rather delicate girl next in age to him, who had not been strong enough to come over to the christmas party. then a rollicking hoyden, and last of all a second son. it was evident he cared a great deal for his mother. his sister had one of the nervous musical temperaments, and was fond of solitude. the personette girls were very different, more like their father. he was really entertaining for so young a person. he knew many of the older stories of the country, the missions, the indians, and the lower-class mexicans. they turned into quite a new road for them, that seemed hidden away by an edge of woods, and presently came to a charming spot where he tethered the horses, and they ate their lunch. little did they dream that one day even this solitude would be invaded by the resistless hand of improvement. shy, wild things were running about, birds sang in every sort of key. gulls swooped down for fish, a great cormorant went sailing slowly along, and seals frolicked almost like children. "i suppose we could go across here and come up to the eastward," miss holmes said. "this has been delightful. we keep to the beaten paths when we are alone, but on sunday, with mr. chadsey, we make farther ventures. we must bring him here, laverne, if we can remember the way." "i'll make a diagram for you," he laughed. "i might have 'blazed a trail,'--isn't that what you yankees call it? but there are so many beautiful roads. and farther down everything is lovelier still. i suppose the eastern world is quite different, with its long, cold winters." "but to the southward we have pleasant lands, where there is not much winter, and where vegetation is almost as wonderful as here, where roses bloom and tropical fruit ripens. oh, the atlantic has many fine points and great cities." "i should like to see them. i hope some day to travel round the whole world. miss laverne, don't you want to go to india?" "i don't know," and she made a little gesture of aversion. "uncle jason has been to many of the seaport towns. and he did not like the natives over well. he thinks them indolent and cruel and all that. and there are tigers and poisonous snakes--no, i do not think i want to go." "i should like to talk with your uncle. you know we larger boys are studying up curious vestiges of the old civilizations and races. there were people here before the indians, and it is supposed they came across behring strait from asia." she opened her eyes wide. "why, i thought the indians were the first race." "they must have driven out some other people, or driven them down to mexico, perhaps. but i suppose girls don't need to know all this;" and he laughed. "oh, look at this picture before we go." the curve of the path down toward the rocky shore made a striking perspective. there was no wind, but the far-off waves had a golden crest that came nearer and nearer, as if bearing the treasures of the orient; the air was full of spice and sweetness; wild grape, fern, cedar, and pine, fluttering butterflies, almost like small birds, made swift dazzles, or seemed to hang poised in the still air as if considering which way to take. the sea was marvellously blue, so was the sky overhead, but round the edges where it touched the sea there was a soft gray mistiness, here whitening, there taking on an azure tint. he was mysteriously touched by beauty, though he was a whole-hearted boy, and occasionally dipped into fun of the unorthodox sort. who could help it in such a wild country? miss holmes nodded, she, too, was deeply moved. they turned about, the road was narrow and carpeted, one might say, with countless wild roses, flaming lilies, others as yellow as the palest sulphur color; little juniper trees, with their pale green shoots that had never yet seen sunshine; blackberry vines, that were in bloom at least six months of the year, with their starry crowns, and berries of all ripening colors. the horses kicked them aside, they were meet food for the birds. they came farther inland through tall woods, great stretches of wild oats and barley, meadows that would presently be brown with burnt roots of vanished things. here and there an adobe house, small children playing about in cotton shirts, and shouting with the same riotous glee that informed the bird's song. pelajo gave a whinny as they came in sight of the house that looked as if set among the rocks. bruno rushed out. balder gave a cry of welcome. they had all missed the little girl, who talked to them in a language they understood and loved. "i hardly know how to thank you for such a delightful day," victor savedra said, in his refined manner that was hearty as well. "i had not thought of so much pleasure when i came. and i do hope to return it. you see, i haven't felt quite like a stranger, aunt grace has talked of you so often. we all like her so much. and at first we felt quite startled at the thought of uncle marrying a yankee woman," and he smiled, with a sort of gay retrospection. "yet, she had been so good to the aunt that died. but it is largely in the cultivation, don't you think? many of those first eastern people were of good birth, and they were fine pioneers, we can't deny that. and we shall plan for you to come over on some saturday with her and the girls, for i want you to see mother." miss holmes thanked him cordially, and the little girl said the same thing with her eyes and her smile. yet, after she had made the round of her pets, had a splendid drink of water, and seen pelajo munching his wisps of alfalfa--pablo would not give him too much at a time--she came in and sat down in her favorite low chair, while miss holmes was making some supper preparations, beating-up an old-fashioned cake of which uncle jason was very fond, and that suggested to him the weekly bakings in the old ovens back in maine. the little girl was quiet so long that miss holmes said presently: "are you very tired?" "oh, no; i was thinking," and for an instant the rosy lips were compressed. "is it--do you think it wrong to have secrets?" miss holmes was alarmed and studied her anxiously. "it depends on what they are, and with whom," she answered gravely. "long ago, when we first knew her, olive personette said girls always had secrets. they were mostly about other girls. and i only knew the estenegas, and there wasn't anything about them except the queer old house and carmen going to a convent. she didn't care about that. then there was the party." "yes," encouragingly. "olive was very angry because--because her cousin was so nice to me." then the whole story came out, how olive had scarcely taken any notice of her, and had her seat changed and played with the larger girls. but, after awhile, it had blown over, and now they were good friends again. miss holmes had remarked an estrangement, but she was not in love with olive herself, and had made no comment. "i didn't want to tell uncle jason----" "oh, no, no," interrupted miss holmes quickly. "and--i should have liked to know whether it was quite right to dance so much with victor, but you see it was all done, and--and----" "on the whole, you were a very discreet little girl. you did not know, of course. olive should have been more attentive to her guests. that wasn't a very harmful secret, but i think your uncle would have been quite vexed with olive." "i was afraid he would," she returned gravely. "it is better to keep a secret than to stir up strife," miss holmes remarked. "but now there's another secret," and a look of distress clouded the fair face. "it's been such a lovely day. i didn't ever suppose he would come without the girls, but he has, and they do not know. olive will be angry, i am afraid." miss holmes smiled inwardly, so as not to pain laverne. even these little girls began to have troubles and jealousies about the boys. she had been in it herself during childhood, she had seen a great deal of it later on. and childhood should be such a sweet and simple thing--a season of pure enjoyment. "i think you had better say nothing about to-day. i'll explain the matter sometime to mrs. personette." "oh, that will be splendid! it was just a glorious time, wasn't it? and i should be sorry to have it spoiled." her face was joyous again with relief. "but i can tell uncle jason?" "oh, yes." she would have felt much relieved if she had known that the young fellow went straight to the personettes and found his aunt home alone. the girls were out driving with some friends. "aunt grace," he said frankly, after the first courtesies had passed, "i've been up there on the hill where the chadseys live, getting acquainted with the pets; and what an odd, pretty place it is. i like miss holmes very much. i wish isola had just such a friend instead of that half-french governess. and miss laverne is a very charming little child, isn't she? can't you bring them over some saturday and i'll do my best to entertain you. i've told mother a good deal about them--well, so have you;" and he laughed with boyish gayety. "yes, i've been thinking of it. and now everything is at its best. i'll be over in a day or two and we will settle upon the time. i should like your mother to know miss holmes. and, oh, what a treat it will be for that little laverne. she might almost as well be in a convent, but she is happy and bright as a lark. she's a really charming child, but it would be a pity to make an early girl out of her when we are passed the middle of the century." they both laughed at the idea. chapter xi in the sunshine of youth there was a great talk about hard times. some discouraged people returned east, convinced there was just as good a chance for prosperity there. but the city went on laying out streets, paving some, erecting large business buildings, discarding old oil lamps, for now gas was introduced. and in april, a branch mint was opened by the government on commercial street, which had been a great necessity, though there had been allowed a private coining establishment. the payment of many transactions had been in gold dust or nuggets. there was also an earnest endeavor to awake interest in a through railroad service. the overland route was hazardous, painful, and expensive, that round the horn tedious, and across the isthmus difficult. there were also several filibustering expeditions that came to grief, and some quite noted citizens were tried and punished. riots, too, were of frequent occurrence, but, on the whole, a spirit of improvement was visible everywhere. the long-neglected plaza was regraded, a fence placed around it, a flagstaff raised, and it became quite a favorite resort, the drive around it being thronged by carriages on pleasant afternoons. the vigilance committee had done good work and rendered the city much safer. manufactures were started. true, coal had to be brought from some distance, and there was a great need of really skilled labor. the little party that had taken the "hazard of new fortunes" were prospering. now and then dick folsom had been seized with a mining fever that had required all the ingenious arguments of his mother to combat. then, seeing an opportunity, and having good backers in the dawsons, she had opened a sort of home hotel that at once became a great favorite on account of its excellent bread and rolls, and now dick had business enough on his hands, though it did not quench his longing for a more adventurous life. miss gaines, too, had extended her borders. she had taken a place on an attractive street and opened a real business of dressmaking and millinery, and was largely patronized, boston being considered really higher style than new york. jacintha vanegas had married, and miss gaines had persuaded the mother to sell her old house as the lot was needed for an important improvement. so señora vanegas came to keep house for her, and felicia to be her right-hand woman. "it's worlds better than teaching school," she explained to miss holmes. "when you once rise to a positive dictum in style, people give in to you and pay you any price. i'm not going to spend all my time on furbelows. after a few years i shall retire and take some journeys about the world. one of my cousins is anxious to come out and i shall send for her. as for marrying--i certainly shall not take a man to hang on to me, as one might easily every month in the year." the hard times had touched jason chadsey rather severely, but he held up his head bravely. for he saw that san francisco must be the brain of the outlying country. the treaty with japan would open up new ventures. there was to be a line of mail steamers from san francisco to shanghai. and all up and down the coast from puget sound to the isthmus vessels were plying, bringing the treasures of other lands. the visit to oaklands had been beautifully arranged. mrs. savedra had sent a written invitation to her sister-in-law, enclosing a note to miss holmes. they were to come early in the morning, at least the big carriage would meet the boat at ten. it was across the bay, to be sure, but only like a ferry. olive took upon herself the real significance of the visit. they were _her_ relatives, not even her stepmother's. her aunt was quite french still and talked with a pretty accent, and was really very charming, though she did not go much into society. "of course, you've seen victor--you can't help liking him, you know. isola is only a year younger, but she's a queer, fretful sort of girl, who always has a headache if she doesn't want to do the things you choose. elena is a little witch, good and bad, sweet and sour all in a minute. then some children died, and andrea is a sweet, big, spoiled baby." laverne laughed. "if isola was like most girls we could have lots of fun. i hate half-sick people, don't you? i want them to be ill enough to stay in bed, or else able to have some fun. she plays beautifully on the organ, though, and the piano." "oh, i do love music," declared laverne. "i could listen forever." "then you and she will get along. victor will entertain isabel, of course. you can't have him all the time," with a touch of malice. laverne turned scarlet. up and down the bay seemed alive with vessels of every kind and degree, and some sailboats keeping out of the way of the larger craft. victor had the big family carriage with its three seats. "i'm going to sit with the driver," announced olive. victor assisted the ladies in, expressing his pleasure that it was a fine day and that they could all come. the two handsome horses flung up their heads and pawed the ground a little. they went somewhat south-easterly, passed the streets that already had quite a city aspect, and then turned into a road bordered with magnificent trees and almost paved with great violets of all colors, and farther back a wild profusion of bloom. geraniums like small trees, brilliant in scarlet, rose, and pink. magnificent palms, shining olive trees, and oranges that had been cultivated to perfection. laverne drew long breaths of the perfumed air. all at the southern side was an immense garden. at the north it was protected by a great belt of woods. how different from their rocky mound, but she recalled the fact that victor had found some points to admire. the mansion was broad and low, the centre reaching up two stories with a sharp peak, the wings but one story. a porch ran the whole length of it, shaded by heliotrope trained as a vine and full of purple bloom, and passion flowers in lavender, purplish red and white, with touches of grayish purple. these climbed over lattices, leaving spaces between that looked like french windows reaching to the ground. it was really a succession of rooms. easy chairs, lounging chairs (one on wheels for isola when she felt indisposed for walking), small tables with books and papers, or a work-basket, and down one end a large one with various dishes of fruit. mrs. savedra welcomed them in a most cordial manner. she was hardly medium height; indeed, she looked short beside these taller women. her black hair was a bed of ripples with curling ends, her eyes a soft dusky black, and her complexion a rather pale sort of olive with a dash of color in the cheeks. victor could hardly be said to resemble her, and yet he had taken some of her best points. isola stood beside her mother, almost as tall, but slim as a willow wand, and sallow as to complexion, with a deep shade under the eyes. her hair was a duller tint, and her eyes a gleam that in some lights would have a suggestion of yellow. there were also two young gentlemen--one a visitor who had come with his father on some business, the other a schoolmate of victor's that the personette girls had met before, vance lensam. louis alvarado was older than either of them, a handsome young fellow, with blue black hair and eyes that seemed to look through one. victor had asked his friend vance, so that, he said laughingly, his cousins would not pull him to pieces. "and this is the little girl we have heard about, who took the long, long journey around cape horn," mrs. savedra said, holding her small fair hand and glancing smilingly into the deep blue eyes. "i took one journey from new orleans with my husband, and it seemed endless, though we had many pleasures by the way and some dangers. once we lost our way and had to sleep in the woods, and we heard the wolves howl." "there were no wolves on shipboard and we couldn't get lost," returned the child, in a soft tone. "oh, you might have been blown out of your course by a storm," commented victor. "i think we were once or twice. but they all said it was an exceptional passage," returned his aunt. then they were seated on the porch while the maids took their hats and mantles, for one never quite knew when a strong west wind would come up. and for a few moments there was a confusion of pleasant voices. the servant brought a great stone pitcher of delightful fruit beverage and filled the glasses. it was ice-cold and most grateful. there were some queer crispy cakes with scalloped edges that were very nice, laverne thought. the elders began to talk on the subjects of the day. there was never any lack of news in the various papers, though there were few telegraph connections and no cables to flash around the world. vance lensam came round to isabel's side. he had been to the theatre a few nights before and seen a remarkable young actress, miss heron, in the play of "fazio," and it was superb. "i want so to go to the theatre," declared isabel. "father will not allow us, he declares it is no place for young people." "anybody might see this play, i think. and the audiences have grown more respectful and respectable. we are getting to be quite a staid and orderly city," and he laughed with a little irony. "and just as soon as a girl is married she can go anywhere," isabel declared. "with her husband--yes." "and i want to go to a real ball. i have outgrown children's parties. oh, there are to be some splendid picnics when school closes. i hope we can go. mother has so many engagements all the time. we ought to have a summer governess." "that would be a good idea. one as manageable as the señorita's," and he half nodded in isola's direction. "but she never wants to do anything worth while. oh, dear, it isn't a nice thing never to be real well." "no, i wouldn't like it." "do you know that mr. alvarado?" "i only met him yesterday. they are spanish cubans, i believe." "come down and talk to him. oh, i do get on so slowly with french and spanish. mother wishes she could send me to a good eastern school, where they make girls study." "you wouldn't like it?" enquiringly. "do they lock them up and keep them on bread and water, or beat them? i'd like to see the teacher who could make me study." "are you so very obstreperous?" he laughed. "i don't see the use of so much of it. you marry, and that's the end of learning. but i wish i was a good french scholar. i was quite ashamed the other night. father had a french visitor come in about something, and he didn't understand english very well, so he asked me to translate, and i couldn't." "moral!" vance said sententiously. they had been moving slowly down to the young man, who now gave them a nod of welcome, and began to air his rather lame english. the nurse brought out the baby, a charming child of four, and laverne's face lighted up with joy. "you are fond of babies," said the mother, in a glad tone. "oh, yes, and there are so few of them, except the dirty street children." "where is lena?" asked olive. "one can never tell for five minutes where she is," said the mother. "i'm going to hunt her up; she's such fun." but olive went no further than the group shaded by the passion vine, and the four were in the midst of something amusing, to judge by their merry laughs. "why, i didn't know alvarado could be so gay," declared victor. "he doesn't talk very well, and last night i hardly knew how to entertain him. his father is to send him north to one of the cities in the autumn. we need some of this work here, high schools and colleges." "that will come. think how young you are. i am amazed at the progress," declared mrs. personette. "i suppose san francisco is an old, young city. the americanos have really overpowered us. but, aunt grace, did you ever stand in the street a few moments and listen to the jargon? you can imagine what the tower of babel must have been. i think we have gathered all the nations of the earth within our borders. and the chinese are the oddest. oh, mother, i am glad you were not a chinese woman." "i think your father would not have been allowed to marry me," she said smilingly. "and i did not know a word of english then. i had been in a convent. we thought it a barbarous tongue." "it's going to conquer the world some day." "will everybody speak english, do you think?" and laverne glanced up. the baby's arms were tight about her neck. "oh, baby!" cried the mother. "nurse, you had better take him." it was funny to hear the baby scold in french. "victor, you might take the little girl--laverne, is it not? and show her the garden. i heard about your pets. you must have a charm." laverne smiled. they walked down the porch and victor paused a moment to invite his friends to join them. they did not at once, but the two kept on. they turned down a wide alley, under some orange trees. the late blossoms had fruited, the early ones been killed by the unusual frost of the winter. "oh, it is so beautiful, so very beautiful!" she exclaimed, with almost the poignancy of joy. "i never supposed there was all this beauty such a little distance from us. why didn't they come over here and build the city?" "you will not ask that twenty years from this time. san francisco will be one of the great cities of the world, the gateway of the western coast, the link of everything splendid! think of the golden gate, of the magnificent bay, where no enemy could touch a ship. and that rocky coast, a defence in itself." "twenty years," she repeated musingly. "why, i shall be quite an old woman," and a look almost of terror flashed up in her face. he laughed at her dismay. "i am not quite seventeen. then i shall be thirty-seven, and i hope to have a home and be just as happy as my father is, and shall endeavor to be just as prosperous. but i wouldn't want you to call me an old man." she flushed under his eager eyes. "everything grows finer here than in san francisco. even at the estenegas it was not luxuriant like this." "for fifteen years father has had it cultivated. there are two gardeners working all the time. he is so fond of beautiful things--trees, and flowers, and birds. no one is allowed to molest them. oh, listen!" they both stood still. she clasped her hands, and her eyes were lucent with mistiness. "oh," she cried, "it is like this: "'how they seemed to fill the sea and air, with their sweet jargoning.'" certainly they were a gay and happy lot, singing for the very love of melody, it seemed. then they passed masses of flowers, beautiful groups of trees again, wound around unexpected corners. "i wonder you found anything to praise up there on the hill," she said in a low, rather disheartened tone. "oh, i came to see you, and the gull, and snippy, and to have the nice ride. and i did have a fine day. now, you are not going to envy your neighbor's garden!" "why, no; i wouldn't want to take it away if i could, for there are so many of you to enjoy it, you see, and only so few of us." "and your uncle will be rich enough to give you everything you want some day." she had never thought about his being that. a sudden shower of olives dropped down upon them like a great pelting rain. "oh, elena, where are you, you little witch! ah, i see you. shall i shake you down out of the tree?" a gay, rippling laugh mocked him. "lena, come down. the little girl is here who has the squirrel named snippy, and the gull." "i thought it was olive. i was going to crown her with her namesakes. why did they give her that name, like hard, bitter fruit?" "why are girls named rose and lily?" "oh, they are pretty names, and sweet." "well, you see, no one consulted me about it. please, come down." she laughed again, like the shivering of glass that made a hundred echoes. then there was a rustling among the branches, and a lithe figure stood before them, looking as if she might fly the next moment. "lena! lena!" and victor caught her by the shoulder. "what did you promise this very morning--that you wouldn't torment olive, but behave discreetly." "this isn't olive," and she gave her elfin laugh. "but you meant it for olive. this is the little girl who lives over on the rock, where we go to see the seals and the great flocks of birds. you know i told you of her." elena stared at the visitor. she had a curious, gypsy-like brilliance, with her shining, laughing mischievous eyes and the glow in her cheeks. she was very dark, a good deal from living in the sun, and not a bad-looking child either. and now an odd, coquettish smile flashed over the eyes, mouth, and chin, and was fascinating in its softness. she held out her hand. "victor likes you so much," she said, and victor flushed at the betrayal of confidence he had used to persuade her into cordiality. "i think i shall like you, too. let us run a race. if i beat you, you must like me the most and do just as i say, and if you beat i will be just like your slave all day long." "no, lena. you must not do any such thing." "she is like a little snail then! she is afraid!" and the black eyes flashed mirth as well as insolence. "i am not afraid." laverne stood up very straight, a bright red rose blooming on each cheek. "where to?" she asked briefly. "down to the fig trees." "will you count three?" laverne asked of victor. he smiled and frowned. "count!" she insisted authoritatively. they started like a flash, the shadows dancing on the path. elena gained. victor grew angry, and came after them; then laverne gave a sudden swift swirl and turned on her antagonist. lena stopped with a laugh. she was not angry. "how you can run!" she exclaimed. "i wish you lived here. we would have races twenty times a day. and--can you climb trees?" "oh, yes." "and swim?" "no," admitted laverne frankly. "then you can't do everything that i can." "and she can do something you cannot. she can read french and spanish, while you really can't read english; she can do sums and write letters, and--and sew," he was guessing at accomplishments now. "there are the women to sew." "but you might be wrecked on an island where there were no women, and tear your frocks, as you generally do." laverne smiled. how find a needle and thread on a desolate island? lena did not see the point, and looked rather nonplussed. "oh, well, i shouldn't care then," she retorted. "come, let us go to the aviary. miss laverne will like to see the birds." there was a large space netted in from tree to tree in which there were many rare birds of most exquisite plumage, and quantities of tiny south american love birds, gossiping with each other in low, melodious tones. "oh, how wonderful!" laverne exclaimed. "it's a great fancy of father's. sea captains bring him birds from all countries. after a while, when they get really acclimated and can protect themselves, he lets them out to settle in the woods about. do you see those two with the beautiful long tails? they came from the island of java. do you know where that is?" "oh, it is one of the sunda islands down by the indian ocean. uncle jason has been to borneo and sumatra. and coffee comes from java." "how do you know? have you been there?" questioned elena. "father knows, and he has not been there," returned victor. "he could tell you a good many things if you did not like to learn them out of books." laverne walked round the inclosure in a trance of delight. and though the voices now and then made discord, on the whole it was a fascinating orchestra. "couldn't you tame some of them?" "it would take a long time, i think. those bright brazilian birds are very wild. every one cannot charm birds, and father is a pretty busy man." elena soon tired of the birds, and inquired if laverne had a pony. then they might ride after luncheon. "and it must be nearly that now. come, let us go up to the house." elena chattered like a magpie, and danced about, now and then hopping on one foot, and running to and fro. "you will think we are a rather queer lot," victor said, half in apology. "oh, _you_ are not queer. i like you very much." she raised her clear, innocent eyes, and it seemed a very sweet compliment to him. "there isn't much training. mamacita could not govern a cat, though, for that matter, i don't believe cats are easily governed. cats are queer things. but school straightens up one, i suppose. elena will go to a convent to be trained presently. isola cannot, so she has a governess to teach her music and a few things. you must hear her play on the organ. all she cares about is music." "is she very ill?" "oh, not very, i think. but she won't ride, which the doctor thinks would be good for her, and she goes about in that wheeling chair when she ought to walk, and lies in the hammock. mamacita would like her to be gay and bright and entertaining to the young men, as isabel is, because all girls are expected to marry. mamacita was only fifteen when papa met her at a ball at new orleans. that must be a very gay place, without the crime and rough life that san francisco has. i do hope sometime we will be civilized, and not have to take in the off-scourings of all lands. i want it to be a splendid city, like rome on its seven hills. and there is the grand sea outlook that rome did not have, though she made herself mistress of the seas." the little girl watched him with such intelligent eyes that it was a great satisfaction to talk to her. she was different from any one he had known. for those of the southern blood were coquettes from their very cradle, and wanted to talk of pleasure only. of course, she was being brought up by a great traveller, even if he had never risen higher than mate of a trading vessel. and then the eastern women were somehow different. elena ran on, and announced with a shout "that they were coming." the porch was set out with little tables. mrs. personette was the matron of the one that had her daughters and the two young men. mrs. savedra took charge of elena and isola, and left miss holmes to laverne and victor. there were flowers and fruits, dainty summer viands, and much gay chatting, since they were near enough to interchange with each other. laverne was very enthusiastic about the aviary. "oh, you must go out and see it," she said eagerly. victor was thinking of the great difference between miss holmes and mam'selle claire. of course, she could talk about musicians, she seemed to have them at her tongue's end, and some french writers. he was not of an age to appreciate them; young, energetic souls were quoting carlyle, even emerson had crept out here on the western coast. in a way there was a good deal of politics talked, and a rather bitter feeling against the east for turning so much of the cold shoulder to them. even the suggestion of war with england over the northern boundary did not seem very stirring to these people. it was their own advancement, the appreciation of all they held in their hands, the wonderful possibilities of the oriental trade. and though it seemed quite necessary to study french, when there were so many french citizens, the young fellow considered the literature rather effeminate. but miss holmes was conversant with the march of the carthaginian general over the alps, and later, that of napoleon, and the newer scheme that had set their wisdom at naught, and that the railroad was a necessity if the union was not to part in the middle. he liked miss holmes' admiration of california. mam'selle claire thought it rude and rough. there was lounging in the hammocks afterward, the sun was too hot to drive about. isola went in the room presently, and played some soft, low chords on the organ. laverne crept in, enchanted. she liked the voluntaries in church when they had no grand crushes in them. victor was talking with miss holmes, so she slipped away, for elena had found the quiet irksome, and there were always dogs to play with. the dogs she thought better company than most people. laverne had never been near an organ. this was not a very large one, but sweet-toned for parlor use. she crept nearer and nearer, and almost held her breath, while the tears came to her eyes. it seemed the sad story of some one, the story the ocean waves told at times, or the wind in the trees, when twilight was falling, and now it was darkness, and you could almost hear the stars pricking through the blue. then one faint call of a bird, and a far-off answer, and lower, lower, until the sound wandered away and was lost. "oh," she breathed, "oh!" "you like it?" laverne drew a long breath. "oh, that isn't the word," she said. "we may like a good many things, but they do not all go to your heart." isola took the fair face in both hands, which were cold, but the child did not shrink, she was still so impressed with the melody. "let me look at you. oh, what beautiful eyes you have--sometimes you find that color in the sky. but music goes to the soul, the brain, and i wish i could see yours. did you feel as if you could swoon away?" "i wanted to cry," laverne said, in a tremulous tone. "but it was not from sorrow nor joy; you sometimes do cry when you are full of delight, but--at times when i hear the right music in church, i think that is what heaven will be like." "what was that like--not heaven?" "it was night when i am sitting out on the step, and not thinking, but just watching the stars come out." "oh, you little darling. i wish you could stay here always. i wish they, your people, would fancy elena, and we could change. she laughs, and it goes through me like a bolt of lightning, and leaves me numb. i'd like to have some one who listens that way. mam'selle declares the playing is wrong because i do not follow the notes, and one day when she insisted, i flung myself down on the floor and cried until i was sick. and now i am let to play what i like most of the time. i hate books--do you like to study dry, prosy things? what does it matter whether the world is round or square?" "why, it might not revolve in quite the right way, and i guess the ships couldn't sail as well." she smiled at the thought of the corners. "now, we will have morning." first it was a wind rustling among the trees. the sort of metallic swish of the evergreens, the whisper of the pines, the patter of the oaks; then a bird singing somewhere, another answering, hardly awake; young ones peeping a hungry cry, then a gay, swinging, dashing chorus, with a merry lark going higher and higher, until he was out of hearing. sounds growing discordant, impatient, harsh. "that's the world," she explained; "morning down on the bay; the people working, scolding, swearing; don't you hate all that?" "we are not near enough to hear it." "but if you have heard it once you can imagine it. and some music isn't much better. mam'selle plays things that set my teeth on edge. do you know what your soul is?" laverne was startled. "why," hesitatingly, "it is the part that goes to heaven." "well--heaven must be sweet and soft and fair, if it is full of angels. and why don't we keep to the soft and lovely sides of everything if we are to go there. is kneeling on a hard stone floor in a convent at all like heaven?" "i should think not." "mam'selle considers it useful discipline. why, it is being dead to be shut up in a cold, dark cell. and i think you are taken up in strong, tender arms, and wafted above the clouds, like this----" then she began to play again. the sound stole along softly, halting a little, murmuring, comforting, entreating, floating on and on to sounds so sweet that the tears did overflow laverne's eyes, and yet she was not crying. victor glanced through the wide doorway. "why, that child has even found a way to isola's heart," he said. "i have been listening. your sister is really a musical genius," miss holmes replied. chapter xii new experiences mr. savedra came home early to have a share in the guests. it was pleasant now for riding and driving, for the wind was coming from the ocean, and wafting with it the inspiration that started the pulses afresh. there were ponies and saddle horses. laverne must ride. "i will go if she can sit by me in the carriage," said isola. laverne gave a quick breath. she would rather have had the mount, but the almost melancholy eyes decided her. she held out her hand with a smile, and she saw that it pleased mr. savedra also. victor had a little of his mother, but he had taken most of his good looks from his father. "aunt grace, won't you go with them?" he said persuasively. "i want miss holmes. both of us will be needed to keep watch of this monkey." "as if i didn't go alone often and often!" elena retorted, wrinkling up her face in a funny fashion. they took their way to the eastward, and were soon in the open country, with the great sierra range towering in the distance. summer had not scorched up the fields or the woods. hill and valley were spread out before them, here glowing with flowers, there still green with herbage, where mexican shepherds were letting their flocks browse. some pastures had been eaten off to the roots and glinted in golden bronze. tangles of wild grapes, with their pungent fragrance, reaching up and climbing over clumps of trees. the far-off points seemed to touch the very sky that was like a great sea with drifts one could imagine were an array of ships bound to some wondrous port. laverne thought of the weird experiences of the "ancient mariner." yellow wings, blues of every shade, black and gold and iridescent, dashed here and there or floated lazily as if the butterfly had no body. isola held the child's hand, but did not say anything, she hated exclamations. mrs. savedra smiled to herself, she knew her daughter was enjoying her companion. laverne felt half mesmerized by the hand that had been cold at first, and was now gently throbbing with some human warmth. she seemed to have gone into a strange country. the sun set gorgeously as they were returning. there was a tempting supper spread for them, and some lanterns were lighted at the edge of the porch. then mr. savedra insisted upon sending the party home in the carriage. "i hope you have had a nice time, laverne," mrs. personette said, in a most cordial tone. "i don't know what the savedras will do with that daughter. i'd like to shake her up out of that dreaminess. she'll be in a consumption next. as for you two girls, i think you have had your fill of attention to-day," and she laughed. "you have a stepmother out of a thousand, and i hope you will never do her any discredit." they certainly had enjoyed their day wonderfully, never imagining victor had planned it so that he could be left at liberty. the little girl sat out under the rose vine that trailed over their little porch, thinking of the beautiful house, the garden, the grounds, the birds, and, oh, the organ with its bewildering music. "an organ must cost a good deal," she said, in a grave tone, but there was no longing in it. "and then if you couldn't play--i like the things that are not tunes, that just go on when you don't know what is coming next, and the voices of the birds and the sound of the waves and all sweet things. it was like fairyland, only i don't believe fairyland could be quite so satisfying, and this is all real and won't vanish when you wake up." she laughed tenderly in her joy. "mr. savedra must be very rich," she continued. "yes, he is," said uncle jason. she leaned her head down on the broad breast where the heart beat for her alone. "and you had a happy day?" "oh, so happy. if you had been there!" she should have all these things some day. he was working and saving for her. and times had changed very much. he and her mother could have been happy in a little cottage where the sharp north winds rushed down, and the drifts of snow hedged one in half the winter. she busy about household work, he wresting scanty crops from the grudging earth. yet if she could have seen a world like this! well, the little one should have it all, and see strange lands and no end of beautiful things, for the world kept improving all the time. he began to feel a good deal more secure about her. at first, when he saw men from every state in the union, men who had committed various crimes, tramps, and scamps, he had a vague fear that somewhere among them david westbury would come to light. he would not know him, only the name. and he wished now he had changed his in this new western world. but he would know nothing about the child unless he went to the old home, and that was hardly likely. but if some day, stepping off a vessel or wandering around the docks, a man should clap him on the shoulder and say, "hello, chadsey, old man, i never thought to find you here!" he would shake him off, or pay his way somewhere else. it had never happened, and was not likely to now. he could go on planning this delightful life for the little girl. presently they would make another move, have a better house and finer furniture. he had lost nothing through this snap of hard times, neither had he made, but business looked brighter. occasionally he had a longing to go to the mines. several times he had dreamed of finding a great nugget, and once he dreamed that in stumbling over rocks and wilds, he had lost her. night came on and all through the darkness he called and called, and woke with great drops of cold perspiration streaming down his brow. no, he could not go to the gold fields and leave her behind. the weeks and months passed on. there was vacation when she went over to oaklands, and had splendid times again, and was fascinated by isola and her music, and they took up a peculiar friendship that seemed to rouse the dreamy girl and delight mrs. savedra. then mrs. personette was going down to monterey with her two girls for a fortnight, and nothing would do but miss holmes and laverne should accompany them. it was not the monterey of forty years later, but a queer old spanish town with its convent, where they found carmencita estenega, who did not look like a joyous, happy girl, though next year she was to be married. "dear me!" exclaimed mrs. personette; "it seems the same thing everywhere, just lovers and marriage. there is really no career for girls here but that, and the convent people are as anxious to marry them off as any one else. to be sure, they can become sisters, which covers the obloquy of old maidism. and so many of the husbands are not worth having, and desert their wives on the slightest pretext. i'd counted on taking some comfort with my girls, but here is isabel considering every young man as a matrimonial subject, wanting to leave school and go into society, and her father saying, 'why not?'" miss holmes smiled a little. "we used to think a girl ought to look at marriage in a serious light, and get ready for the important step; now it is fine clothes, an engagement ring, and a wedding gown. but i suppose in this wonderful land where your fruit buds, and blossoms, and ripens in a night, girls do mature sooner." some weeks later she saw her friend again and announced that she had been compelled to yield. "isabel would not go to school," she said. "if there had been a good boarding school anywhere near, i should have pleaded hard for that. but her father would not listen to her being sent east. she has a smattering of several branches. she can converse quite fluently in french and spanish, she dances with grace and elegance, she has correct ideas of the fitness of things that are certainly attractive, and is quick at repartee. she reads the fashion magazines when they arrive, and the newspaper bits of arranging a table, cooking odd dishes, giving luncheons and dinners. she is really a fashionable young lady. and we are to give a ball for her, and after that i must see that she is properly chaperoned. my dear marian, we _do_ belong to the past generation, there is no denying it. and i half envy you that you can live out of the hurly-burly." "i am glad myself," miss holmes returned. "so far as most things go, we could be living in some quaint old puritan town. i don't know whether it is really best for the child, but it suits her uncle to have it so. now she is going over to the savedras two afternoons a week to study piano music. they think isola improves by the companionship. and those french children, the verriers, are very nice and trusty. they are up here quite often. she likes some of her schoolmates very well, and she and olive have friendly spells," laughing. "olive blows hot and cold. she takes up a girl with a certain vehement preference and for a while can think of no one else. then she finds her friend has some faults, or fails in two or three points, and she is on with a new admiration. girls are crude, funny creatures! do you suppose we were like them?" she questioned with laughing, disavowing eyes. "no, we were not," returned marian. "times have changed. life and its demands have changed. we were taught to sew, to darn, to do fine needlework; here a mexican or a spanish woman will do the most exquisite work for a trifle. every country lays its treasures at our feet; it would be folly to spin and to weave. and there is money to buy everything with. how careful we were of a bit of lace that our grandmother had! the women of the street flaunt in yards and yards of it, handsomer than we could ever have achieved. we are on the other side of the country, and are topsy-turvy. we have begun at the big end of everything. whether we are to come out at the little end----" and she paused, her eyes indecisive in their expression. "would you like to go back?" "i'd like to see dear old, proper boston, and really feel how much we had changed. but the breadth and freedom here are fascinating. it has not the hardships of new settlers. even the men who sleep out on the foothills with the blue sky for covering may be rich six months hence, and putting up fine buildings. and when you come to that there is no lack of intelligence. haven't we some of the best brain and blood of the east, as well as some of the worst? our papers are teeming with news, with plans, with business schemes, that would craze an eastern man. no, i do not believe i should be satisfied to take up the old life there again." "and now i must consider my daughter's entrée into society. think of the mothers in the old novels, who took their daughters to bath or to london, and looked over the list of eligibles and made two or three selections. our young women will select for themselves in a half-mercenary fashion, and one can't altogether blame them. poverty is not an attractive subject." miss holmes was out for a little shopping expedition, and went in her friend's carriage. every year saw great changes. fire destroyed only to have something grander rise from the ashes. there was already an imposing line of stores, and a display of fabrics that roused envy and heart-burning. where there had been one-story shanties filled with the miscellany of a country store, only a few years ago, now all things were systematized and compared well with some eastern towns, not as much, but certainly as great a variety. it had taken san francisco only a few years to grow up. she sprang from childhood to full stature. then one drove round the plaza to russ's, mingling in the gay cavalcade until a stranger might have considered it a gala day of some sort. then to winn's for luncheon, tickets, perhaps, to the theatre where laura keene was drawing full houses of better-class people. the little girl was not in much of this. she went to school regularly; she found some very congenial friends. she never could tell how much she liked olive, and she was accustomed to be taken up with fervor and then dropped with a suddenness that might have dislocated most regards, and would if she had set her heart on olive. she had a serene sort of temperament not easily ruffled; she had brought that from maine with her. she talked over her lessons with uncle jason, who seemed to know so many things, more she thought than miss holmes, though she had taught school in boston. she had a host of squirrel friends now, though snippy was amusingly jealous, and at times drove the others off. there were flocks of birds, too, who would hop up close or circle round her and occasionally light on her shoulder, and sing deafeningly in her ear, trills and roulades, such as mam'selle played on the piano--she was not so fond of the organ, it was fit only for church and convents in the frenchwoman's estimation. it was funny to see balder follow her about. during the rainy season he found so many puddles in which to stop and rest and disport himself, but in the dry times they filled a tub for him, and he was content. pablo caught fish for him, and it was his opinion that balder lived like some grand señor. she never tired of the flowers, and was always finding stray nooks where they bloomed. she and miss holmes often went over to the ocean and sat on the rocks, looking, wondering. "sometime uncle jason is going to take me way over yonder," nodding her head. "we shall go to the sandwich islands, which he says are still more beautiful than california. and then to china. perhaps then all the gates of japan will be open and they will let us in. i'd like to see the little girls in japan; they don't drown them there, they never have too many. and then there will be india, and all those queer islands. you wouldn't think there would be room for australia, which is almost a continent by itself, would you? the world is very wonderful, isn't it?" sometimes they watched magnificent sunsets when the whole pacific seemed aflame with gorgeous tints, for which there could be no name, for they changed as quick as thought. then they noted a faint pearl-gray tint just edging the horizon line, it seemed, and then spreading out in filmy layers, growing more distinct and yet darker, marching on like an army. gulls circled and screamed, great loons and murres gave their mournful cry, cormorants swept on, hardly stirring a wing until, with one swift lurch, they went down and came up triumphant. then the sky and sea faded, though you knew the sea was there because it dashed upon the rocks, though its tone was curiously muffled. "come," miss holmes would say, "we shall be caught in the fog." "i'd just like to be damp and cold. it has been so dry that one wants to be wet through and through." "we shall have to pick our way." it would sometimes come up very fast, woolly, soft to the skin, at others like a fine cutting mist, when the west wind drove it in. and now it was all gray like a peculiar twilight that made ghosts out of the rocks, piled about and shut out the golden gate and the peaks beyond, but they drew long breaths of the sea fragrance that were reviving. the ponies stepped carefully down this way, and across that level, and then on the road pablo was making for his mistress. the ponies shook their heads and whinnied for very gladness. bruno gave his cheerful bark. balder made a funny grumbling noise as if he were scolding. "oh, you know you like the fog. you are dripping wet," with a hug of tenderness. they were dripping wet, too, but they soon found dry clothes. miss holmes kindled up the fire, for pablo kept them well supplied, though sometimes he went long distances and came home with a great bundle on his back that almost bent him double. "now you look just like a german peasant," laverne would declare; and pablo would shake his head mysteriously. the young missy had seen so many wonderful things. wood was a rather scarce article in this vicinity, and was expensive. coal likewise, though now some had been discovered nearer home. the charcoal venders were familiar figures in the streets. wild indeed would he have been who had ventured to predict a gas range, even the useful kerosene stove. the fog storms were all they would have for a time in the summer, and it was wonderful how in a night vegetation would start up. then uncle jason would come in puffing and blowing, fling off his long, wet coat, and stand before the fire and declare that maine people said: "an august fog would freeze a dog," which always made laverne laugh. miss holmes did not go to the ball given in honor of miss isabel personette, but miss gaines was among the grown people. it was at one of the fine halls used for such purposes, and was beautifully decorated with vines and flowers and american flags. the greatest curiosity was the really splendid chandelier with its branching burners and glittering prisms. few of the real boy friends were invited--there were enough young men very glad to come and dance their best. no one had to entreat them in those days. indeed, dancing parties were the great entertainment for young people. true, women played cards and lost and won real money, but it was done rather privately and not considered the thing for any but the seniors. it was very gay and delightful, quite an ovation to miss personette, and the banquet part eminently satisfactory to the elders. of course, victor savedra was included, being a cousin, and went, and it brought freshly to his mind the party when he had danced with the sweet, fair-haired, little girl, who had no knowledge, but infinite grace, and how happy she had been. even with politics, city improvements, vigilance committees, quarrels, and crimes, there was found space in the papers of the day for the social aspects of life, and though "sweet girl graduates" had not come in fashion, débutantes were graciously welcomed. miss isabel felt much elated. she had shot up into a tall girl and was very well looking. miss gaines had transformed her into beauty. olive considered it very hard and cruel that she could not go, but she was quite a heroine at school for several days. it was truly the next thing to a wedding. "and to think of all the splendid things that come to real young ladies!" she complained, yet there was a kind of pride in her tone as well. "two theatre parties, and she goes to sausalito to a birthday ball, and stays three days with some very stylish english people, friends of father's. i just hate being thought a little schoolgirl! and i want to go to the seminary." and then she said to laverne: "i don't see what you find in isola to be so devoted to her. i wouldn't go over there twice a week and bother with her for all the music in the world. and those cold hands of hers make you shiver. they're like a frog." "they have grown warmer. she goes to ride every day now. and we read french and english, and--verses. i like the music so much." olive was still secretly jealous of victor. but presently he was going away to finish his education. and she knew several boys who went to the academy that she thought much more fun. victor was growing too sober, too intellectual. they had all become very fond of the little girl at the savedras. even wild elena, in a half-bashful way, copied her. she could run races and climb and ride the pony with the utmost fearlessness, she did not squeal over bugs and mice and the little lizards that came out to sun themselves. lena had thrown one on her, and she had never told of it. she was not a bit like isola, although she could sit hours over the music and reading of verses. and she knew so much of those queer countries where tigers and lions and elephants lived. "but you have never been there," the child said with severe disbelief. "you study it in books and at school." "i hate to study!" "you will love it when you are older. some day your father may take you to france, and then you will want to know the language." "i know a little of it, enough to talk." "mam'selle will be glad to teach you the rest." "and spanish--i knew that first." "and i had to learn it, and french, with a good deal of trouble." "but you knew english," rather jealously. "just as you knew spanish--in my babyhood." that seemed very funny, and lena laughed over it. "then you really were a baby, just like andrea, only whiter. will your hair always be goldy like that?" "i think so. uncle jason likes it." she asked dozens of inconsequent questions. "you must not let her trouble you so much," mrs. savedra said. "she will have more sense as she grows older." laverne only smiled a little. isola found her such a companion, such a listener as she had never known before. isabel did not care for music; olive teased her, and she put her stolid side out. she would not get angry and satisfy them. and then it seemed as if victor suddenly cared more for her, and she half unconsciously did some of the things he suggested. she did not know that laverne had said to him, "oh, you ought to do the things that please her, and then she will love you. i wish i had a sister." she wondered a little whom she would want her like? it was a serious matter to have a sister who would be with one continually. she was used to miss holmes, and that was more like--well, like an aunt. sometimes she tried to think of her mother, but the remembrance was vague. she could seem to see her old grandmother much easier, fretting and scolding. victor was glad and proud that she had found a way to all their hearts. there were christmas and new year's with all their gayety. and in a month spring, that had run away from the tropics. "it goes on too fast," she said to uncle jason. "and do you see how i am growing? miss holmes says something has to be done to my frocks all the time. i don't want to be big and grown up." he studied her in amazement. he did not want her to be big and grown up either. these years were so satisfying. chapter xiii balder the beautiful they were planning at the school for a may celebration. they would go clear up the bay in a boat to san pablo, and have a picnic and a dance out of doors, and come home in the moonlight. so it was a little late, and bruno stood watching out for her. "good old fellow!" she said, with a pat. miss holmes had a visitor, she saw through the open window. she went round by the kitchen. bruno tugged at her skirt. "what is it, bruno?" his eyes had a sorrowful look, she thought. "what is it, what do you want?" he tugged again at her skirt. "well, come on. though i've stacks of lessons to learn. look at all those books." she dropped them on the step, and followed the dog. up the winding path, and now there was water enough for a musical trickle over the stones. there was balder's basin, where he was so fond of disporting himself after the rains filled it up. oh, what was that lying on the side, that still white thing glistening in the sunshine! "bruno?" she stamped her foot and looked upbraidingly at him. had he been playing roughly with her pet? oh, what was the meaning of these blood-stained feathers about his neck! she flung herself down beside him. the eyes were dull and partly closed. she stroked the white feathers with tender hands. "bruno, i shall never love you again, never! oh, how could you!" he took a few steps away. then he dragged some tumbled gray thing to her feet. why, that was a fox, with his bushy tail. they had been hunted a good deal and were giving civilization a rather wide berth. she looked at the dog, who told the story with his eyes as he glanced from one to the other. she reached up and put her arms about his neck. "oh, bruno, i'm sorry i blamed you. i thought perhaps you were a little rough, but you cared so for my beautiful balder that i might have known you couldn't hurt him! and that wicked, wretched fox! well, i am glad he has his deserts. but that will not bring back my dear balder. oh, have you gone to join the old heroes in valhalla? for i can't think you were just a common bird. you would have gone back to your kind if you had been. i ought to write a lament for you." pablo was coming up the road with a back load of brush. but he dropped it in dismay as she called. bruno pawed the fox, then gave it a push, and glanced up at pablo. "you see--the fox must have crept up here, and seized my dear balder by the neck and killed him. and bruno made him pay for it." when pablo was deeply moved or amazed, he went back to his mexican patois, that bruno had come to understand very well, and nodded sagaciously. "the thief! the murderer! last year, you know, your uncle and i shot two of the bloody thieves over the ridge there, and i've not seen one since. bruno seized him by the throat, and has torn him well. look at the brush--why, a lady could put it on her tippet. and the skin--i'll have that. we'll throw him out to feed the hawks. oh, the poor gull! he was like folks, missy, you had all trained him so much. oh, don't cry so, missy." bruno came up and rubbed her shoulder, licked her hand, and gave a low, mournful lament of sympathy. laverne rose and took the dead bird in her arms. the visitor had gone, and miss holmes stood out by the door, wondering. the procession took their way thither. "the mean, sneaking brute, that he should have come just when i had gone. the bird was so fond of paddling round there. strange that he never wanted to go with his kind, but most things want to keep by you, missy." they told the sad story over. laverne laid the gull down tenderly on a bit of matting. "pablo, will you wash his neck and have him all clean and white?" "my dear," miss holmes said, and clasped the child in her arms, letting her cry out her sorrow. she and bruno went down to meet uncle jason presently. no grief, hardly a disappointment, had come near her until now. how could he comfort his darling? and he felt with pablo that the bird had been almost human. "i wonder," he said in the evening, "if you would like to have him mounted. there's an old frenchman down in rincon street who does this to perfection. the birds look alive." laverne considered. "no, i believe i would rather have him buried. i should think how the sly fox crept up and dragged him out before he could turn to defend himself. we will put him in a box and bury him. oh, balder, i shall miss you so much." "i think i could capture one easily." "to be sure you could. they're stupid things," subjoined pablo. "but he wasn't. uncle jason, i think some wicked fairy changed him from something else, for he used to look at times as if he had a story in his eyes. no, i don't want another. and i should always be afraid of a fox." he snuggled her up with his arm close about her. so they sat until the stars came out, twinkling like live spirits in the cloudless blue. it was warm, with all manner of odors in the air, and the hum of the city, lying below them, came up faintly. oh, how he loved her. and he prayed there might never come any deeper sorrow to touch her tender heart. pablo dug a grave the next morning, and they buried balder the beautiful. all day she dreamed of the norse gods, and of hermod, who took the journey to the barred gates of hell, at frigga's earnest persuasion, and how every rock, and tree and all living things wept for him, except one old hag, sitting in the mouth of a cavern, who refused because she hated him, and so balder could not return. she was a little absent, and missed two or three questions, and miss bain asked her if her head ached, she made such an effort to keep the tears from her eyes. so balder slept under a straight young pine near the little lake they had made for him. pablo skinned the fox with great zest, and made of it a fine rug, with a strip of black bearskin for a border. she wondered whether she ought to feel merry enough to go on the may party. but the children insisted. the boat was a fine strong one, and there really was no danger; uncle jason was assured of that. then it was such a glorious day. there was a fog early in the morning, and the fight between the golden arrows of the sun and the gray armor that came up out of the sea. sometimes it did conquer, and came over the city, but this morning it was pierced here and there, and then torn to tatters, driven out beyond the strait, into the ocean. miss bain took supervision of her scholars, and miss holmes had many charges not to let the little girl out of her sight a moment. there were a number of schools, but some of the children preferred the may walk, and the treat afterward. they started off with flags flying, and the young geary band had volunteered their services. there were a drum, two fifes, a cornet, and a french horn, and the boys began with the stirring patriotic tunes. but even here the old negro melodies had found their way, many of them pathetic reminders of the cotton fields of the south, that seemed to gain melody from the stretch of bay. they passed fort point and alcatraz island, where the government was beginning magnificent defences, its high point looming up grandly. angel island, then almost covered with a forest of oak, yet oddly enough containing a fine quarry, where laborers were at work, hewing into the rock, almost under the shadow of the waving trees. yerba buena, with its fragrant odors blown about by the wind, smaller islands, big rocks rising out of the sea, the inhabitants being chiefly birds; vessels of nearly every description, and intent mostly upon trade, plied hither and thither. here was another strait opening into san pablo bay, into which emptied creeks and rivers, the sacramento washing down golden sands; and the san joaquin. and up there was the wonderful land where the argonauts were searching for treasure with less toil and anxiety than the elder jason, though here, too, there were treachery and murder. almost by the strait there was a beautiful point of land jutting out in the water, and nearly covered with magnificent trees, that had grown so close together that the branches interlaced and made arches, while underneath were aisles, carpeted with fallen leaves and moss, that made you feel as if you were walking over velvet. you could see san raphael and san quentin, and the mountain range with the one high peak, as you looked westward; eastward there was, after the woodland, meadows of richest verdure, with their thousand blooms nodding gayly to each other, and softly gossiping, perhaps about these strange newcomers, who were presently to disturb their long, long possessorship. there the great, grand sierras, that looked so near in the marvellously clear air. they found a choice spot, and built a fire--it would not have been a picnic without that. there were boys, of course, though a girl was restricted to a brother or cousin. i fancy some cousins were smuggled in. they ran about; they were even young enough to play "tag," and "blind man in a ring," and "fox and geese," which was the greatest fun of all. then they spread out their tablecloths on a level space, and though real paper plates and thin wooden ones had not come in yet, they had made some for themselves that answered the purpose. they were merry enough with jests and laughter. olive personette was quite the heroine of the day. miss isabel's engagement to captain gilbert, who had been appointed to take some charge at alcatraz, and had come of an old californian family, beside being educated at west point, was still a topic of interest, because there had been two other aspirants for her hand who had quarrelled and fought a duel, which was quite an ordinary matter in those days, though frowned upon by the best people. so neither had won her heart. one was lying in the hospital, the other had fled northward. but it had made quite a stir. of course, she had asked victor, importuned him, though he had meant all the time to come. he was a fine, manly fellow now, and the girls _did_ flock about him. he had such a grave, courteous manner, and never descended into rudeness, though he was quick enough at fun, and it does not need an intricate order of wit to amuse before one is twenty. olive picked out the most prominent girls for him, and kept him busy enough. but he managed now and then to pass laverne and say a word to show that she was in his mind. "i think isola wanted to come very much," he announced to her once. "she's taking such an interest in the pleasures that girls have, and she has grown stronger. father is planning some day to take a sail all around the bay, just a little party of us, and we want you and miss holmes." that was such a delight. she did not refuse to talk to other boys, but she liked the girls better. her rather secluded life had not given her so much interest in hunting and fishing and ball-playing and race-running. then on sunday there was always horse-racing up on the track by the old mission. church-going people, not really members, but those who considered it the proper thing to pay a decorous attention to religion, went to church in the morning and drove out in the afternoon. throngs of fine carriages, and handsomely dressed ladies, men on horseback, with enough of the old-style attire to stamp them as mexican, spanish, or the more than half old californian. many of the more successful ones began to plume themselves on a sort of aristocracy. the boys knew the favorite horses, some of their fathers owned a fast trotter. but somehow she did not care much to talk about them, though she had gone out occasionally with uncle jason, and it was exciting to witness the trials of speed. but she liked better to jog about on pelajo and talk in the lovely by-paths they were always finding. after the repast they swung in hammocks and talked over plans, or rambled about, then the band played for dancing. no gathering would have been perfect without that. of course, they flirted a little, that was in the young blood, but they came home merry, and had not disputed unduly about their respective admirers. victor found time to say that he should come over next saturday. "we'll have a nice time, all to ourselves," he whispered, and she glanced up with delighted eyes. all her life thus far had been very quiet, in spite of the fact that she was in such a turbulent place, and with all sorts of people, gathered from the ends of the earth; where seldom a day passed without some tragedy. and it seemed as if the city was coming nearer and nearer, though it went southward, too, and all along the bay, docks and wharves and warehouses were springing up in a night. victor came over the following saturday as he had promised. they sat under the pine tree and wrote verses to balder's memory. victor had found a volume of scandinavian legends and poems, and they were fascinated with it. "of course, we can't write anything like that," she said simply, "but you notice these do not rhyme. do you not think it really grander, tenderer?" "i heard a voice that cried 'balder the beautiful is dead, is dead! and through the misty air, passed like the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.'" "you repeat poetry so beautifully," he exclaimed, enchanted with the pathetic voice, that could express so much, yet was so simply sweet. they were not born poets. he had great trouble about his latin hexameters. he could feel it floating through his brain, but it was very elusive, vanishing before it was caught. she made a few little lines without rhyming. then he told her of the other god that had ruled a realm of lovely thoughts, until, as the legend ran, when christ, the redeemer of mankind, was born, a great groan was heard all over the isles of greece, the rushes bowed their heads, and the waves shuddered when it was proclaimed that olympus was dethroned, and pan was dead. "and that dismal cry rose slowly, and sank slowly through the air, full of spirit's melancholy and eternity's despair as they heard the words it said-- pan is dead, great pan is dead-- pan, pan is dead." and then, as they listened, the gulls' cry came to them, toned by the distance, softened by the murmur of the wind into a requiem for the dead balder. after all he did not tell her what he had meant to. he would put off the evil day. everybody--children, i mean--was anxious about examinations. very few really longed for them, but there was the vacation beyond. she had been wandering about one afternoon, bruno keeping close to her side, though there was little to call strangers up this way. the view was finer from the presidio, and the principal fishing ground was farther down below. so, when bruno gave a growl, she started and glanced about, and saw some one toiling over the rocks with a cane. a very old woman it seemed, as she leaned upon her stick, and hardly knew which way to go. "hush, bruno, hush!" she commanded. the figure came nearer. bruno was not at all pleased with it. the rough hair was a grayish white. a flowered handkerchief was tied over it with a knot that hid the chin. the garments were coarse and faded, the short skirt of a mexican woman, and clumsy shoes. "it is laverne chadsey." something in the voice connected it with the past. and now that she straightened herself up, she was quite tall. "but i don't know you," laverne said, rather hesitatingly. "then the disguise must be very good. i am an old--shall i say, old friend? we were not very warm friends when i knew you." was it a school friend playing a prank? "i am so tired." she dropped down on a stone. "i wanted to see you first--i am a little afraid of miss holmes." then she pulled off the headgear, afterward the gray wig. laverne stood astounded. "it isn't, it surely isn't carmen estenega!" "why--yes; you know you saw me last at the convent." "and you were going to be married." "oh, what a blind idiot i was! but it was considered a great thing, and i didn't know how any one might love then. i know now. i have run away. i would kill myself sooner than marry pascuel estenega." laverne drew a long breath. yes, this really was carmen. the eyes, the mouth, when she talked, but there was a fire in the face that had not been there in childhood, and a spirit that half frightened laverne. "i want to see your uncle. i have a note to him, from--from a person he has confidence in. and i want to tell him my story. i think men take a different view, of some things, at least i believe he will, and another person thinks so." she blushed as she uttered this. "you ran away--from the convent?" "yes. it was very skilfully planned. they were not quite so strict--i was to be married in a month, there in the chapel, and they allowed me time to myself. i had a--a girl devoted to me, who did embroidery and sewing, and she carried notes. then there was a place in the old garden where the railing was broken, but it was hidden by the shrubbery. a girl had seen a snake there, and no one would go near it. we used to meet there when his vessel came in. and it was all planned." "he--who? not----" and laverne hardly knew how to put her question. "oh, not pascuel estenega. he love a girl!" the face seemed to quiver with scornful indignation, and the eyes fairly blazed. "he is an american. he is in the employ of your uncle, and he will be good to us both. perhaps in his youth he knew what love was. we are going to trust him. he comes up with the trading vessel on saturday. he put me on another, the _lulita_, an old spanish thing, and i was an old mexican woman. no one suspected. we came in at noon, and i walked off. gracious! how the world has changed. i had to ask the way; no one paid any attention to an old woman with a stick, and bent in the shoulders." she gave a triumphant laugh. "but--your marriage----" she seemed to study laverne from head to foot, and the girl shrank a little. "holy mother, what a child you are! not in long skirts yet! and you know nothing about love; but you may some day. not like the heat that is in the spanish blood, when it is roused, but many a woman is given in marriage who knows no more about it than a child. papa estenega came to see me when i had been in the convent some months. i do not understand, but mamacita has some old portraits and archives and jewels, that came from spain, and we are the last of the two houses. he was very anxious for these, and mamacita had no son. so when she came they signed a marriage contract. pascuel had been ill, and the doctor had taken him away for his health. we went out to the estate. it is a splendid old place. i was very proud then of being chosen as its mistress. well, perhaps i held my head too lofty. then i heard that years before pascuel had wedded a young girl, and when her baby was born dead, he treated her very bitterly, and one night she threw herself down an old well, though it was said she had gone out of her mind. he came to the convent after a while, and i thought i should faint when i saw him. he was a shrunken-up thing, a good head shorter than his father. oh, i do believe i could have married papa estenega more willingly. his eyes were small and cruel, he had a great mustache, over a hanging lip, and his hair was already turning white. then i began to place some credence in what one of the girls said, and repeated it to mamacita. panchita was sent away from school the next week, and no one knew just why. mamacita would not hear a word, and said it was sheer envy; that any girl would be proud of reigning there, and being the mother of an estenega heir. and then i saw señor josé hudson, the american, and my heart seemed to go out of me at once. we talked with our eyes, and then he sent me a note. he came to church two or three times, but of course we hardly dared look at each other. he found this broken place, and i used to steal down there. oh, it was delicious! i told him all the story, and he said we would run away and that i should be his wife. he had no estate, but he could make enough money to take care of me, and that we would go farther north, and be, oh, so happy with each other. so i seemed to give in, and fretted mamacita no more, and they began with the trousseau. señor hudson planned it all, and brought me the wig and the garments. and one day, just dusk, i slipped out, a lame old woman, and a servant took me to the boat. he was waiting there, and we had a talk. you see, it would not have been best for me to come on his boat. when he asked me if i had any trusty friend in san francisco, i spoke of you, and he said, 'oh, that is my master. jason chadsey owns the boat. i have worked for him two years. go straight to him and he will befriend you.' so he wrote the letter i have in my hand. i could not seek him in that busy place, where there were crowds of men around, so i found my way up here. juana had written me about it, though i was frightened at every step. and i found you. i saw you up here with the dog. you know in that old time i did not care much for you, we were taught that the americanos were interlopers, and would sweep us out of our homes, drive us, heaven only knew where, but now, because i have found one so sweet and noble and tender, i can see the virtues and graces in you all. and i know you will befriend me." she knelt suddenly at laverne's feet, and snatching her hands, covered them with kisses. isola savedra sometimes did this. the child was confused, helpless. "and the señor chadsey will be good to me for the sake of señor hudson. it will be only two days. and will you beseech your señora to be kind and pitiful, and to pardon this attire, as if i was a beggar?" a bell rang then. it was miss holmes' call for a return home, a warning that it was near supper time. "come," laverne said. she was still bewildered, but led the way. and there, turning round the corner, she saw uncle jason, so she ran forward with outstretched arms, her light hair flying like a cloud. "well, little one!" smiling fondly. "something so queer has happened." she was out of breath, and flushed, for her heart was beating tremendously. "carmen estenega is here and she is going to marry the man you have talked about, joseph hudson." "why, the vessel has not come in, will not be in until saturday." "yes. she wants to wait here for him. oh, uncle jason, you will be good to her. she has run away from the convent, and it is like a story from a book. come!" carmencita stood where laverne had left her. for the first time she began to feel frightened. "oh," she cried, "have pity on me; do not send me away until señor hudson comes, and you will see that my story is true." "what is all this?" he looked from one to the other. miss holmes came out. then carmen turned scarlet, remembering her attire. "it is--" miss holmes looked her over. "carmencita estenega, who asks shelter for two days, and prays that you will not betray her to a cruel life. oh, like the other poor lady, i should drown myself." "you have run away from a convent?" "oh, let me explain!" she told the story over again as they stood there, now her voice athrill with love, now piteous with entreaty. and it did move jason chadsey's heart. besides, he had found the young fellow trusty, and liked him, and his note was very straightforward. "we will talk more at length about it," he said gravely, "and i dare say supper is ready." chapter xiv a wedding and a parting miss holmes led her guest to her room, where she might refresh herself, and provided her with some garments, as they were nearly of a size. carmen was too excited to be hungry. she did not attempt to disguise her dislike and fear for the man chosen to be her husband, but chadsey knew family fortunes were often united that way, and girls had little voice in the matter. that she loved young hudson was quite apparent. miss holmes smiled. she had thought carmen a rather proud, stolid girl, quite captious about americans. jason and miss holmes considered after the girls had gone to bed. it was a rather risky thing to harbor her and consent to a marriage, but the escape had been so well managed, they would hardly look for her in the city. telegraphs did not flash news from everywhere then. "but suppose this young man is not quite trustworthy?" said prudent miss holmes. "oh, you don't know hudson. he is straight as a yardstick. and, somehow, i hate to spoil the romance and the love. we can wait until saturday. yes, i think that will be better." laverne was not to go to school the next day, lest she might inadvertently touch upon the adventure. and so the two girls steeped themselves in romance. carmen had heard more than one confidence within the cloistered walls that had never gone to confession. there were girls with their destinies mapped out before them as hers had been, sent there to keep them from the grasp of another love which had already caught them, girls praying for husbands with the life of a nun before them. they went out and sat under the pine tree. "oh," said carmen, "if you have had no greater love and no greater sorrow than that for a bird, your life has flowed evenly enough. but you americanos are so much colder of blood." in the main, it was a wonderful day to laverne, but she felt that she did not need any other love than that of uncle jason. "you are such a child," carmen said almost pityingly. yet it was an unknown childhood to her. miss holmes brought down one of her frocks, that, with a spasm of economy, she had meant to make over for the child. she had grown a little stouter in this wonderful climate, and could not wear it. she glanced at the slender virginal form, and decided what could be done. carmen was handy with her needle, there had been need enough in her straitened life. no one came near them. pablo had forgotten about the estenegas, or thought of them vaguely as children, and this was a friend of missy's. jason chadsey was much puzzled what course to pursue. the right way seemed to be to send word to the señora estenega. but the tidings could just as well be sent if he found joseph hudson untrustworthy. the vessel came in saturday afternoon. the master was watching out, and saw mr. chadsey on the pier. he waved his broad-fronted tarpaulin, and was answered by the return wave of a hand. there were some orders to give, the boat was made fast, and hudson sprang ashore. and as the elder man looked full into the young, trusty face, his heart went out to the lovers, and he resolved to befriend them. so he brought him home to supper, and it was planned that they would go over to sausalito on the morrow and find a priest to marry them. then he must secure a vessel going northward, and be out of the way some months at least, for he knew spanish vengeance was quick and sharp. he had heard a few stories about pascuel estenega's treatment of servants that were rather chilling. the matter had been so well managed that he had not been suspicioned at all, and when the vessel left monterey, the disappearance had not been whispered outside the convent walls. but that was not to say no search had been made. jason chadsey accompanied them, and stood as sort of sponsor for the marriage. the priest was old and not inquisitive, or perhaps the fee in hand convinced him that all things were right. the sponsor was curiously touched by the unalloyed delight of the young couple, who seemed now so perfectly content that they made love in the most unabashed fashion, while before, carmen had appeared shy and in terror. they returned to the home that had sheltered them, and hudson thought it best to take some trip up northward, perhaps settle there for a while. already there was much trading up to the columbia river. chadsey hated to give up so trusty and capable a man. he might fit out a vessel with miscellaneous stores; indeed, that was the way to carry trade to strange places. he would put joseph hudson in as captain, and leave the bargain-making in his hands. miss holmes did some shopping for the young wife, as it was not deemed prudent for carmen to venture out. she longed ardently to see her little sisters, and begged that laverne might go and call on them. the latter had not seen them for a long while, the watchful sister had discouraged any intimacy. laverne had begun school on monday with many injunctions from miss holmes to be most watchful over herself. she had a wonderful secret now. olive personette never had had anything like it, for her sister's engagement had been announced at once. and she was so full of that, and the marriage in the early autumn, that she could hardly steady her mind sufficiently to pass her examinations. then she was going to the academy next year. they were all young ladies in the department, you had nothing to do with little girls. there were to be three bridesmaids, and their attendants were to wear full military costumes. "don't you think i might go over to the sisters?" laverne pleaded. "i would be very, very cautious. carmen wants so to hear about them." miss holmes was almost afraid, but the pleading eyes conquered. she went after school. there was the long, bare corridor, with one table and a big registry book, two wooden benches, and a few chairs. the adobe floor had been painted gray, like the walls, and it looked cheerless to the american girl. sister anasticia was not quite sure. the children were busy with the study hour. but laverne pleaded with the same eyes that she had won miss holmes, and presently the sister brought the children in, and seated herself at the table with some needlework. they were full of quiet joy, and squeezed laverne's hands with the old friendliness. and they had so much to tell her. carmen was to be married soon, the wedding gowns were being made, and they were beautiful. the old home had been dismantled, the city was to cut streets through it. they did not care, it was a lonely old place. they were going to monterey to live, and they were so glad. carmen would be a great lady, and live on a fine estate, ride around in her carriage, and give balls, and they would all be so happy. juana resembled her mother in face and figure. but anesta had shot up into a tall girl, and suggested carmencita, carried her head rather haughtily. the sister rapped on the table with her thimble, raising her eyes. "you are too noisy and too frivolous," she said, with severity. they kissed each other good-by. "i wish we could come over and see you," juana whispered. "we always had such a good time. perhaps you will come to monterey," wistfully. "oh, i think i shall," was the hopeful reply. carmen was so glad to hear about them, and how they looked, and if they seemed happy. she had considered writing letters to them a great hardship, now she felt she could fill pages and pages. she wondered how it was that her heart was so overflowing with love. and the thought that she might never see them again filled her eyes with tears. "oh, i do wonder if pascuel will desire to marry either of the girls?" she cried in half affright. "but if he is so old----" "that doesn't seem to matter where there is money. and papa estenega wanted both branches of the family united. and if i had not had a son!" she shuddered, thinking of the poor wife who had drowned herself. it was not until the last of the week that captain hudson was ready to start with his venture. carmen packed her plain trousseau, and was most grateful for all the kindness. "i shall see you sometime again," she said, in a broken voice, "but not in quite a while. it will be best to stay until they have forgotten about me. i shall be cast out, you know. they will take my name off the books, and excommunicate me, i think. but i shall be an american, and you do not fear such things, so i will try not to. oh, how good you have all been to me. i can never repay, but i shall pray night and morning, and you will live in my thoughts." they started out saturday afternoon. jason chadsey pressed a roll of money in the bride's hands. in those days wedding gifts were pure friendship. there would be a full moon, and they could sail all night, for a full moon on the pacific coast was something really beyond description. jason chadsey sat out on the step enjoying it. he always felt beauty keenly, though he had no words for it. this was why he delighted in the child's prattle. she had so much imagination. had he been young once and loved like that? young people of to-day put their love in passionate words, rapturous kisses. they were not afraid of making it the best thing of life, as it was. and his love had only sipped the dregs. was laverne crying? "what is it, dear?" he asked. "the house seems so lonely, just as if some one had been buried, as it did when balder was killed. uncle jason, couldn't we go somewhere? or if something would happen again. i liked captain hudson so much. and carmencita has grown so sweet. oh, it has been such a lovely week, but it went so rapidly. does the time pass quickly when you are happy, and slowly when you are a little dull?" "but you have me," he said jealously. "i couldn't live without you." she nestled closer. "i want you always, always." "and sometime we might go up north. it is a queer, wild country, grand, but not as beautiful as the southland, with its millions of flowers. something like maine, i reckon." "i've almost forgotten about maine." "up there the mountain peaks are covered with snow the year round." "then it is like the alps." "and the great columbia river. no towns to speak of, but stations, hunters, and trappers, and fur animals, and wildness of every kind, game of every kind." something of the old adventurous life stirred within him. but he had the little girl. and when they began their travels, she would be older and have a taste for beautiful things. yes, the house _did_ seem lonesome, but laverne was very busy, and events began to happen. mrs. folsom made another move, this time to quite a fine family hotel, and she gave a housewarming on going in. old friends, there were not many of them, and new friends, of whom there was an abundance, for she was a favorite as a householder. dick had grown up into a jaunty, well-looking young fellow, and had not plunged into ruinous excesses, partly because his mother had kept a sharp oversight, and the rest his clean new england stamina, the wrecks had filled him with disgust and repulsion. all the old friends met, of course. mrs. dawson was rosy and plump, and had retired to a stylish house with servants and carriage. the dawson café was one of the better-class institutions of the town, and coining money. miss gaines stood at the head of fashionable modistes, and there was no appeal from her dictum. you could accept her style or go elsewhere. there had been offers of marriage, too, she laughingly admitted to her friends. "ten years ago i should have accepted one of them gratefully; now i value my independence." dick folsom went over to laverne. "i haven't seen you in so long and you have grown so, i hardly knew you," he said. "may i beg the honor of your hand for this quadrille?" she was quite longing to dance and accepted. "we oughtn't forget each other after that five months' journey together," he remarked in one of the pauses. "does it ever seem queer to you, as if it was something you dreamed? i can't make it real. but they've improved the overland so much, and when we get the railroad--presto; you will see a change! if we were only nearer england. but there's china, if we are not swamped by the pigtails and pointed slippers! how queer they are! we don't need to go to foreign lands to study the nations. i sometimes wonder what the outcome of all this conglomeration will be!" "we are so far off," she replied in a sort of tentative fashion. "it's almost like another town." "yes. they'll tumble you down presently, as they did before. you wouldn't know the old place, would you? they've carted away stones and débris to fill up the marshy edges of the bay. and there's a long, straight street, a drive out to fine country ways. is there any other land so full of flowers, i wonder!" "and they are so royally lovely. think of great patches of callas in blossom nearly all the time. miss holmes said when she was at home she used to nurse up one to blossom about easter. if she had two flowers she thought it quite a marvel." what a soft, musical laugh the child had! they used to run races on the boat, he remembered, and he had enough boyish gallantry to let her win. they ought to be dear old friends. "do you ever go out to drive on sunday afternoon?" "it's uncle jason's day, the only leisure he has. and we spend it together." "he's had stunning luck, too. getting to be a rich man." "is he?" she said simply. "is he? well, you ought to know," laughing. "he doesn't talk much about business." "a great country this is for making fortunes! the trouble is that you can spend them so easily. but i'm bound to hold on to mine, when i get it made." some one else took her. he looked after her. she would be a pretty girl presently and quite worth considering. he had a good opinion of himself, and was not going to be lightly thrown away. they trudged up the hill just after midnight. laverne was gay and chatty, recounting her good times. it seemed as if she had as much attention as olive from the younger men, and olive was always so proud of that. uncle jason gave a sigh. "oh," she cried, "you look tired. don't you like parties? i thought it splendid!" "i'm getting old, dear----" "oh, you mustn't get old!" she interrupted impulsively. "why can't people turn back a little somewhere along, and be young again? for, you know, i can't get old very fast, and i think--yes, i am quite sure i don't want to. i'm having such a splendid time since you were so lovely to carmen, and made her happy. i sometimes think if you had sent her back to monterey--but you couldn't have done that, could you?" "no, dear," he answered softly. he had heard a point discussed this evening that did trouble him a little. they were talking of lowering telegraph hill again. he was not ready to go yet. in two years maybe. she would not have any lovers by that time, and then they could start off together. he must not grow old too fast. the next happening in their little circle did interest her a good deal. howard personette had finished his year's term at college, and come home quite unexpectedly, when his father had intended him to finish and take a degree. "i'm not a student, i'm convinced of that," he announced rather doggedly. "i don't see any sense in keeping at what you don't like, and don't mean to follow. i want the stir and rush of business instead of splitting hairs about this and that. i've been awfully homesick the last year, and dissatisfied, but i knew you would not agree to my coming home, so i just came. and if there's nothing else for me to do, i'll go to work on the streets." students were expected to study in those days. athletics had not come in for their diversion. mr. personette was disappointed. he wanted to make a lawyer out of his son, and to lay a good foundation for the years to come. mrs. personette rather sympathized with the eager young fellow, who was ready to take up any active life. "the east is so different," he explained. "perhaps if i hadn't been born here and breathed this free, exhilarating air all my life, i might have toned myself down and stayed. but i had begun to hate books, and what was the use maundering away several years?" olive thought him quite a hero. captain franklin said if there was any lack of employment in the city he could come out to alcantraz. they would be very glad to have a fellow who was not afraid to work. "why, i should feel proud of him, shouldn't you?" laverne asked of uncle jason. "that depends," he answered, with a shake of the head. but if one came home from an indifference to study, another was going to take a greater absence. four years without coming home at all! the journey was long and expensive, and there seemed a better use for vacations. this was victor savedra, who had many student longings. and so one afternoon the two sat out under the pine, their favorite place, and he was explaining to laverne his plans for a few years to come. "father wanted me to go to paris," he said. "if i meant to be a physician, i think i would. but first and last and always i mean to be an american citizen. i suppose i might go to yale or harvard, but that seems almost as far away, and my choice appears more satisfactory all around," smiling a little. "we like the new, but we have a hankering for the old civilizations, and the accretions of knowledge." they both looked out over the golden gate, the ocean. there were dancing sails, jungles of masts, cordage like bits of webs, tossing whitecaps in strong contrast to the blue, and over beyond, the green, wooded shores. the old semaphore's gaunt arms were dilapidated, and it was to come down. but it had thrilled hundreds of hearts with its tidings that friends, neighbors, and greatest joy of all, letters from loved ones in lands that seemed so distant then. now the lack of rain had dried up vegetation, except the cactus and some tufts of hardy grass. the little rivulet was spent, there was only a bed of stones. but they had managed to keep something green and inviting about the house. a riotous madeira vine flung out long streamers of fragrant white blooms that seemed to defy fate laughingly. down below they were levelling again, this time for a last grade, it was said. "it will all be so changed when i return. i wonder where you will go? for you cannot climb up to this eyrie. you would be perhaps a hundred feet up. they want the sand and the débris to fill in the big piers they are building. why, they will almost sweep the great hill away, but they will have to leave the rocks by the sea. it will be a new san francisco." "why, it is almost new now," and she smiled. "everything will have changed. and we shall change, too. i shall be twenty-three when i come back." laverne looked at him wonderingly. they had all been big boys to her, and she had been a little girl. true, he had grown to man's estate in height, and there was a dainty line of darkness on his upper lip. it had been so imperceptible that just now it seemed new to her. "and i shall be--why, i shall be past nineteen then," she commented in surprise. "and--and married," he hazarded. the thought gave him a pang, for that was new, too. "no," she returned, looking up at him out of innocent eyes, while the faint rose tint in her cheek never deepened. "no, i shall not be married in a long, long time. presently uncle jason and miss holmes and i are to set out on a journey, just as they do in some of the stories. we shall go to the strange lands he tells me about, we shall see the people in their native element," and she smiled at the conceit, "where we see only a dozen or two here. what do you suppose draws them to california?" "why, the stories of gold, of course." their coming and going did not interest him. "i wonder if you will be in london?" he inquired. "oh, of course. i want to see the queen and the palaces, and edinburgh, and holyrood, and all the places those proud old scots fought over, and poor marie stuart! and sweden and norway, and the midnight sun, and the neva, and st. petersburg----" she paused, out of breath. "london is what interests me," he interposed. "and if you could come over next summer----" she shook her head. "no, it won't be next summer, but it may be the year after," she returned gravely. "and if it was my vacation. then i might join you for a few weeks." "that would be splendid." her soft eyes glowed. "i shall keep thinking of that." "oh, will you? then i will think of it, too. and it is queer how time runs away. you hardly notice it until the bells ring out for new year's." "i wonder--if you will miss me any?" and his voice fell a trifle, though he tried to keep anxiety out of it. "miss you? why, of course!" she was full of wondering, and to him, delicious surprise. "we have been such friends, haven't we? ever since that night you showed me about the dancing? i've been amazed since that i had the courage, when i hardly knew a step, but after all it was very much like dancing to the singing of the birds, and i had often done that. olive didn't like it. we were not good friends for ever so long afterwards." "olive wants to be head and front of everything, and have the main attention. i'm sorry not to stay to the wedding--it will be a grand affair. and no doubt next year olive will go off. you haven't many girl friends, have you?" "well,"--she hesitated delicately and smiled in a half absent but adorable fashion,--"i do not believe i have. you see, we seem to live a little apart up on this hill, and there have been lessons, and riding about on the pony, and going over to your house, and most of the girls are larger----" "the children all adore you. oh, i hope you will go over often. i don't know what isola would do without you." "yes, i shall," she said. "i'm so fond of music. if i were a poet, a real poet, you know," and she flushed charmingly, "i should write little songs to her music. they go through my brain with lovely words, and i can see them, but they don't stay long enough to be written down. oh, yes, i shall go over often. and we shall talk about you. of course, you will write to your father, and we shall hear." "yes." something, perhaps not quite new, but deeper and stronger than any emotion he had ever known before, stirred within him. if he were going to stay here he would insist upon being her best friend, her admirer, her---- he choked down some poignant pain that was delicious in spite of the hurt. he hated to think of leaving her behind, two long years. she would be seventeen then; yes, old enough for any man to marry--but she did not mean to marry, that was the comfort. and he believed it because he wanted to so very much. she was such an innocent child. if this tumult within him was love, it would frighten her, she would not know what it meant. she slipped her hand in his. "we shall all be so sorry to have you go, but then you _will_ return. and perhaps--oh, yes, i shall beg to go to london first," she cried eagerly. he was different from an impulsive american. he had been trained to have great respect for the sacredness of young girls, and he owed a duty to his father, who had planned out a prosperous life for him. the sun was dropping down into the ocean, and the fog, creeping along, sent gray and soft purplish dun tints to soften and almost hide the gold. and, oh, how the birds sang, freed most of them from family cares. the meadowlark, the oriole, the linnets, and the evening grosbeak, with a clear whistling chorus after the few melodious notes of his song. they both rose, and went scrambling down the winding path that defied pablo's efforts to keep in order. the shifting sand and the stones so often loosened and made rough walking, so he held her up, and she skipped from one solid place to another. down below they were moving some houses on the newly cut street, so as to prepare for the next. "they ought to begin at the top," she said, "but i am glad they didn't. what a great city it is!" "and if one could see the little town it was twenty years ago!" he would not stay to supper--he did sometimes. he wanted to be alone, to disentangle his tumultuous thoughts, and wonder if this thing that had swept over him was the romance of love. the next fortnight was very full. they went over to alcantraz to view the foundations for the new fortress. they went up to mare's island, where, in days to come, was to be the splendid navy yard, and then on a day's excursion down the bay. there was no railroad all along the coast line, though it was talked of. and after a little they left the shipping and the business behind them. all along were little clusters of houses that were some day to be thriving cities. then long stretches of field where sheep were browsing, the wheat and oats having been cut long before, clumps of timber reaching back to the mountain ridge, clothed in a curious half shade from the slanting sun. they left the boat at the little cove, and found a fine level where they spread out the luncheon, and decorated it with flowers, wild geranium, or rather geraniums growing wild, some of it in tall trees. vines creeping everywhere, grapes ripening, figs and fruits of various kinds, that later, under cultivation, were to be the marvels of the world. isabel and her betrothed, olive and a young lieutenant, were chaperoned by mrs. personette. mrs. savedra, the governess, and all the children, with the two from "the hill," and isabel's dearest friend and chosen first bridesmaid. and now olive cared very little for her cousin, if he was a handsome young man. he was going away, and she would be married before his return, then he was too much of a student, although an elegant dancer. so he could well be apportioned to his sister and laverne, neither in the realm of real womanhood, or society. they sailed up the western side of the bay, following some of the indentations, and in the clear air the pacific did not seem so far away. the elders had enjoyed the converse with each other. the young people were merry, not even the lovers were unduly sentimental. mrs. savedra watched her daughter and noted a great improvement. "if we could have miss holmes and laverne all the time," she thought. chapter xv the enchantment of youth they went to wish victor _bon voyage_. laverne was learning to play on the guitar, and another event happened to interest her very much. mr. chadsey had used his influence to obtain a position of first mate on a vessel bound for shanghai for joseph hudson, who was expected in daily with his wife. no word had come from the estenegas. the two children had been sent to monterey, the old house dismantled, and now swallowed up by the fine street that would some day make a great driveway. for anything else the world might have swallowed them up. mrs. hudson had been quite americanized, but was more deeply in love than ever. there was a certain piquancy and dainty freedom that was very attractive, quite unlike her former stiffness. she was not afraid to go anywhere with josé now--to the very ends of the earth if there was need. captain blarcom was delighted to secure the services of so trusty a man and good seaman as joseph hudson for his first mate. being a trading vessel, they might be gone two years or more. "i shall send mamma a letter, and tell her the whole story," said carmen. "i have been so happy i think she will soften her anger and not curse me as mothers sometimes do. and perhaps, when i come back, she may admit me to her again, since i was married lawfully and by a priest of our holy church. for in quiet moments one longs for the mother of all one's earlier years. only the life here is so much broader and earnest, and every one seems working to some end, not trifles that become monotonous." "yes," miss holmes returned, "i should write by all means." they kept her very close; indeed, she was rather afraid to venture down in the town. and at last, the ship was laden and ready, and another friend went out of laverne's life for a while at least. nearly a year later they heard the sequel of the estenegas' fortunes. pascuel estenega had been most savagely angry that this young bride should have slipped out of his reach, and left no clew. he blamed the convent superior, he threatened vengeance on any daring lover who had circumvented him. but no lover or maiden was found, they had covered their flight so securely. he grew more and more ill-tempered, until hardly a servant would accept a position with him. and on one occasion, for some trifling fault, he had beaten his coachman so severely that he himself had fallen into a fit, and never recovered consciousness, dying a few days after. then the señora and her daughters had gone to care for the elder man, who had been made quite ill from the shock. isabel personette's marriage was one of the events of the early season. even major barnard honored the occasion with his presence, and the younger military men were in their most notable array. there was an elegant reception afterward, and olive was in her glory as the only miss personette. howard's bent was mechanical, and his father presently admitted that he had chosen wisely. indeed, there was much call for ability in every direction. a railroad had been projected to sacramento. congress had established a line of mail steamers between san francisco and shanghai. between the city and the hawaiian islands there was frequent communication. coal was being brought now from bellingham bay, gas was furnished about the city, there were rows of handsome dwellings. the new merchants' exchange was begun, the custom house would be massive and beautiful. the shipping and mercantile part of the city seemed to settle itself about clark's point, on account of the great advantages it offered for wharves. then there were several fine theatres and a large music hall, erected by a mr. henry meiggs, where people of the more quiet and intellectual order could patronize concerts, oratorios, and lectures. private balls were quite the thing, and people struggled to get within the charmed circle, where an invitation could be secured. if the little girl had lost one friend, two came in his place. howard personette constituted himself her knight when they met at any gathering, and brought them tickets for concerts, and new books or magazines, when he found miss holmes was much interested in them. there was indeed a library association that readers found very useful, and the daily papers were good news purveyors. richard folsom felt he had something of a claim on her friendship, and was importuning them both to come to dinner and go to some entertainment. "you show the result of your quiet life and freedom from care," mrs. folsom said to miss holmes. "you're younger looking to-day than when we met on shipboard. i half envy you your easy time, and i occasionally wonder if the money one piles up is worth the hard work and anxiety. only i had a son to look after and place in the world. he was crazy to go to the gold fields, but i think he saw enough at the dawsons. it's hard work to keep a boy from going to the bad in a place like this, but dick has grown up into a pretty nice fellow. now, if he can only marry a sensible girl, one of the home kind, who isn't all for show and pleasure! i wouldn't mind if she hadn't anything but her wedding clothes. an early marriage steadies a fellow." but dick wasn't thinking particularly about marriage. he couldn't have told just why he liked to climb telegraph hill an hour or so before sundown and chat a while, bringing some rare fruit, or a new kind of flower, and have a talk and a ramble about. there were girls that were lots more fun, girls who jumped at a chance for a drive behind his fine trotter, hero, and who didn't even disdain the sunday drive to the races. miss holmes never went to these. sometimes of a sunday they all went over to oaklands. mr. savedra was much interested in the quaint, intelligent man who was not only making a reputation for honesty and fair dealing, but fortune as well. the place was so lovely and restful. the agricultural resources of the outlying places were beginning to be appreciated. gardens and farms were found to be largely profitable since people must be fed. fruit, too, could be improved upon and bring in abundant returns. after several conversations with miss holmes, it was deemed advisable to have an english governess, since french and spanish were as native tongues to the children. isola was improving in health, but quite backward for her age, except for her really wonderful gift in music. "i can't seem to make up my mind to send either of them away," she said to miss holmes. "we miss victor so much. and a mother's joy centres largely in her children. i could not live without them. if i could find some one like you." "there are some still better adapted to the undertaking than i should be," miss holmes returned with a half smile. "i sometimes feel that i have been out of the world of study so long, that i am old-fashioned." "that is what i like. the modern unquiet flurry and ferment annoys me. and pleasure continually. as if there were no finer graces to life, no composure, nothing but dress and going about. and you have made such a charming child of miss laverne. how pretty she grows." and now she was growing tall rapidly. miss holmes wondered occasionally what would happen in a year or two, if, indeed, the idea of travel was a settled purpose. mr. chadsey seldom spoke of it, except to the child. he was very much engrossed with his business. but presently she would need different environment. she could not always remain a little girl. and she _was_ pretty with a kind of modest fairness that had an attractive spirituality in it, yet it did not savor of convent breeding. it was the old new england type. she seemed to take so little from her surroundings, she kept so pure to the standard. they were at mrs. folsom's to dinner one day. uncle jason had found it necessary to be away late on business, and would come for them. he did not quite like to leave them alone in pablo's care, though bruno was a good keeper. but an evil-disposed person might shoot the dog. he began to realize that it was more exposed up on the hill now that there were so many rough workmen about. another year of it, and then---- they had a delightful little dinner in a "tea room," there was a great deal of coming and going in the large dining room. and mrs. folsom said: "i'm going to ask a guest in to share your company. she's rather lonely, as her husband is away on some business. they have been here a fortnight or so. laverne will like to hear her talk. she's been most all over." so she brought in mrs. westbury, and introduced her. "i hope i haven't intruded," the newcomer said, in a peculiarly attractive voice. in a young girl it would have been pronounced winsome. "i have been taking some meals in my own room; i tired of going to the public table when mr. westbury was not here. but i do get so lonely. i generally go with him, but this was up to the mines, where the roughness and wickedness of the whole world congregates, i believe." "you are quite welcome," miss holmes replied, with a certain new england reserve in her voice. "you came from the east?" with an appreciative smile, as if that was in her favor. "from boston; yes." miss holmes was always proud of that. "and i from southern new hampshire; we're not so very far apart. i married mr. westbury in new york, but we have been about--almost everywhere," in a tired voice. "i had wanted to travel, and i've had it." laverne's eyes kindled. "and were you abroad?" she asked rather timidly. "well--yes," smiling. "i've lived longest in london. and there's been paris and berlin, and, oh, ever so many german towns, where they're queer and slow, and wouldn't risk a dollar a month if they could make ten by it. most of the eastern cities, too, but i think this is the strangest, wildest, most bewildering place i ever was in; as if the whole town was seething and had no time to settle." "i think that is it. you see, we are used to age in our new england towns; permanent habits, and all that. yet, one would hardly believe so much could have been done towards a great city in a dozen years." mrs. westbury raised her brows. "is it as young as that?" "and we have people from everywhere who will presently settle into a phase of americanism, different from all other cities. most places begin poor and accumulate slowly. san francisco has begun rich." "and the newly rich hardly know what to do with their money. you have some fine buildings, and queer old ones, that look as if they had stood hundreds of years." there was something peculiar in the voice, and that had been born with the girl, and had needed very little training. it had an appealing quality; it indicated possibilities, that fixed it in one's memory. she might have suffered, had strange experiences, but one deeply versed in such matters would have said that she had come short of entire happiness, that hers was not the tone of rich content. she had a delicate enunciation that charmed you; she passed from one subject to another with a grace that never wearied the listener. mrs. folsom came in to see if all was agreeable. she had taken a fancy to mrs. westbury, she had such an air of refinement and good-breeding. mr. westbury seemed a fine, hearty, wholesome man, prosperous yet no braggart. that was apt to be the fault out here. he had commended his wife to mrs. folsom's special care, and paid liberally in advance, besides depositing money at a banker's for his wife's needs. they were having a pleasant, social time. when the dinner was through they retired to mrs. folsom's private parlor. in the large one there were card playing and piano drumming and flirtations going on. perhaps mrs. westbury did most of the talking, but she made sundry halts to give her listeners opportunity to answer, and she never seemed aggressive. laverne listened, charmed over the delightful experiences. she had learned that these were more attractive than one's troubles or perplexities, and she had set out to be a charming woman. there was only one terror to her life now--she was growing so much older every year. she had kept her youth uncommonly, but alas, no arts could bring the genuine article back. some lives go purling along like a simple stream that encounters nothing much larger than pebbles in its course, others wind in and out, tumble over rocks, widen and narrow, and take in every variety. she had been a mill hand, pretty, graceful, modest. after having been a widower two years and married to a woman older than himself, a bustling, busy worker who lived mostly in her kitchen, mr. carr, the mill owner, married this pretty girl, installed her in the big, gloomy mansion, and made her the envy of the small town where many of the families were related to him. he had some peculiar views in this marriage. he meant to rule, not to be ruled; he hoped there would be children to heir every dollar of his estate. he succeeded in the first, but in the twelve years there were no children. she was miserable and lonely; there were times when she would have preferred the old mill life. her only solace came to be reading. there was a fine library, histories, travels, and old english novels, and it really was a liberal education. then mr. carr died suddenly, having made a will that tied up everything just as far as the law allowed. she was to live in the house, a brother and a cousin were to run the mill on a salary that was made dependent on the profits. a shrewd lawyer discovered flaws, and it was broken. the heirs paid her very well to step out of it all and have no litigation. she was extremely glad. she took her money and went to new york, and for three years had a really enjoyable time. she was thirty-seven when she married david westbury, who was thirty-five. she set herself back five years and no one would have questioned. after several years of ill-luck, fortune had smiled on him and whatever he touched was a success. he bought up some valuable patents and exploited them, he formed stock companies, he had been sent abroad as an agent, he was shrewd, sharp, long-headed, and not especially tricky. honesty paid in the long run. and now she had enjoyed seven happy, prosperous years. she had proved an admirable co-partner, she had a way of attracting men that he wanted to deal with and not lowering her dignity by any real overt act. her flirtations never reached off-color. but of late she felt she had lost a little of her charm. she was not inclined to play the motherly to young men, nor to flatter old men. those between went to the charming young girls. "oh, dear, i'm so sorry to go," laverne exclaimed, when word was sent up that mr. chadsey was waiting for them. "i've had such a splendid time listening to you. it's been like travelling. and to see so many celebrated people and places, and queens." "i'm glad you enjoyed it. i hope you will come again. oh, i like you very much," and she leaned over and kissed her, though she was not an effusive woman. jason chadsey had been sorely bothered. a young fellow he had had high hopes of had proved recreant and gone off with considerable money. he had been straightening accounts, and trying to decide whether to set the officers on his track or let him go--to do the trick over again on some one else. so he only half listened, glad to have his darling gay and full of delight. he really did not notice when she said "mrs. westbury." that lady had a talk with dick the next morning. he thought she was "quite nice for an old girl," so far off does youth remove itself. could she get a carriage and ask miss holmes and her young charge to go out with her? "why, i'll take you, ma'am, and be glad to. oh, yes, we're such old friends. it's odd, but we may be called old settlers, really. a party of us came round the horn just at the last of ' . she was such a little thing, the only child on board. and we all stayed and are settled just about here. tell you what i'll do. we'll stop at school for her and take her home, and then go on." "but, miss holmes"--hesitatingly--"she ought to have notice," smiling deprecatingly. "oh, that won't count. you just take my word, laverne will be glad enough." he was glad enough. he had a vague idea somehow that miss holmes rather fenced him out. this time he would have laverne on the front seat with him. not that he really was in love with her now, but in time to come---- his plan worked admirably. laverne was delighted and greeted her new friend cordially. they drove around a little at first, then up to the hill, and now the road was broken up unless one went a long way round. "i can run up," laverne said eagerly. "i won't be many minutes," and she sprang out. "they're going to lower this hill," dick explained. "they started it once, but land! only a goat can climb it now." "say a deer or an antelope," with a light laugh, as both watched the child threading her way in a zig-zag fashion, the shortest. "it must be awfully lonely up there." "but the prospect is wonderful. and there is golden gate and the ocean. still, i should like to be more with folks. chadsey doesn't mind. he's a queer dick, and his mind is all on making money." "she is his niece. are there any others?" "no, i guess not. i never heard of any. all her folks--family are dead." "and miss holmes isn't related?" "oh, no." they watched and saw them coming down presently, but they took a better pathway. miss holmes seemed pleased with the plan. laverne sprang in beside mrs. westbury. "perhaps the ladies----" dick was disappointed. "i want to sit here," the girl said rather imperiously. "and you know you won't let me drive." "you'd be like that fellow you told of driving the chariot to the sun, i'm afraid. i don't dare trust any one except nervy, the jockey, to ride her. it was immense on sunday. you saw that she won. mother's against having me enter her, and i don't do it often. but jimini! i'd like to. and ride her myself." mrs. westbury had seen the derby, where all the style of london went, and fortunes were lost and won. dick was fascinated by the account. they turned oceanward. sandhills, stones, patches of verdure where one least expected, tangled depths of laurels and alder, manzanita, vines scrambling everywhere and such a wealth of bloom, then barren rocks and sand. now you could see the glorious ocean, the great flocks of sea birds swirling, diving, flying so straight and swiftly that not a wing moved. cries of all kinds, then from the landward side a strange, clear song that seemed to override the other. seals thrusting up their shiny black heads and diving again, sunning themselves lazily on the rocks. "is there another country in the world like this?" exclaimed mrs. westbury. "and all down the coast! i stayed at monterey before. we crossed the isthmus and came up. it is wonderful." dick kept them out quite late to see the gorgeous sunset, and then would fain have taken them home with him. laverne had her hands full of flowers that she had never seen before, and her eyes were lovely in their delight. "i shall be spoiled. i shall want to see you every day. i wish there was no school," mrs. westbury said. "oh, can't i come and visit you?" and the entreaty in her voice would have won a harder heart. "our home is so very simple, and now the streets are in such a state, almost impassable. but if you have the courage we shall be glad to see you," responded miss holmes, curiously won. "i shall come, most assuredly, although i have rather begged the invitation. but you are so different from the women of the hotel. i do tire of their frivolity. i even go out alone to walk, though at first i was afraid. could i meet my little friend at her school and come up?" "oh, yes, she will be glad to pilot you." it was late that evening when jason chadsey came home. he looked tired and worn. indeed, the farther he went in the matter the worse it appeared. and the culprit had made his escape. so there was nothing to do but to pocket the loss. "shall i make you a cup of tea?" inquired miss holmes. "if you please--yes. then i shall go straight to bed; i must be up betimes in the morning. is laverne in bed?" she answered in the affirmative. friday mrs. westbury sent a little note to laverne, asking if saturday would do for the visit. every other saturday the child spent at oaklands. so it was the next week when the visit was made. she stopped at the school for laverne, and dick folsom was to come for her in the evening. "it is very queer," she declared, laughing. "it seems a little like swiss châlets built in the mountain sides where you go up by wooden steps. only--the sand. i should think you would slip away." "they are not going to take another street until next year. of course, we shall move; i think down in the town. but it has been so delightful up here. and it did not seem so queer at first. but since they have been putting up such splendid buildings in the town, and making such fine streets, it has given us a wild appearance. presently there will not be anything of old san francisco left. a good part of it has burned down already." miss holmes welcomed her guest warmly and brought her a glass of delightful fruit sherbet. the place was plain enough, and yet it gave evidence of refined and womanly tastes in its adornments. and the clustering vines and bloom made a complete bower of it. mrs. westbury espied the guitar. she was really glad there was no piano. was laverne musical? "i've been learning the guitar. and i sing some. but you should hear my friend at oaklands. her voice is most beautiful. if mine was not a contralto i shouldn't venture to sing with her." "you don't look like a contralto. a pure blonde should be a soprano." "perhaps i'm not a very pure blonde," with a merry light in her eyes. "i've heard concert singers who could not compare with miss savedra, but her people would be shocked at the idea of her singing in public. i was telling her about you. we are great friends. she is odd in some ways and foreign; they are spanish people, but i love her better than any girl i know." "and this olive?" questioningly. "oh, olive. she took a great liking to me in the beginning--we were quite children. she and the savedras are cousins. and her father married a friend of miss holmes, but she is a delightful stepmother. only now olive seems so much older and has lovers. yes, we are friends in a way, but we do not really love each other." "and you haven't any lovers?" "oh, no." she flushed at that. "i don't want any. why, i am not through school." mrs. westbury found that she could not only read, but talk french and spanish, and that she was being sensibly educated. but that was not the chief charm. it was a simplicity that defied art, a straightforwardness that was gentle, almost deprecating, yet never swerved from truth, a sweetness that was winning, a manner shy but quite captivating. and though she told many things about her life up here on the hill, there were no indiscreet or effusive confidences such as she had often listened to in young girls. when mr. chadsey met the guest as they were coming in from the arbor, he simply stared at the name, not realizing that he had heard it mentioned before. a fair, somewhat faded woman, so well made up that she could still discount a few years. her attire and her jewels betokened comfortable circumstances, indeed wealth, for besides some fine diamonds she had two splendid rubies. twice since he had been in california he had been startled by the name. once by a young fellow of two or three and twenty, looking for a chance at clerking. the other had been a miserable, disreputable fellow, who had failed at mining and was likely through drunkenness to fail at everything else. he questioned him closely. the man had left a wife and family at vincennes, and would be only too glad to get back to them. he had been born and raised in indiana. so he had helped him on his way, praying that he might reach there. and here it had cropped up again. it sent a shiver through him. he questioned the guest adroitly, carefully. she was proud of her husband and his successes. she had met him in new york; she thought him a native of that state. surely the david westbury he knew could never have had all this good fortune. so he dismissed this case from his mind, and smiled over laverne's new friend, who would be one of the transient guests of the heart. mr. westbury sent word by a messenger that he would be detained longer than he expected. he hoped she found her quarters satisfactory, and that she would take all the entertainment she could. he had struck a new opening that would in all probability make a millionaire of him. when he returned they must go at once to london, and they might remain there for years, since it was one of the places she liked. yes, she did like it, and had made some very nice friends there. but--if she had a daughter like this girl to draw young men; she should always yearn for the young life that had never been hers, and a girl to dress beautifully, to take out driving in the "row," to have one and another nod to her, to take her calling--that was the way mothers did in england, to give dainty parties for her, to let her tend stalls at fairs, to have her some day presented to the queen, and at last to marry well. her daughter might have such a fortune. david westbury had been lucky in a good many things and he seldom made a mistake. she dreamed this over and over again. she had never cared for babies or little children, and she had felt glad there had been no children to tie her to the old new hampshire town, where she must then have spent her life. she had had so much more enjoyment, larger liberty, and oh, worlds more money. travelling, hotels, meeting delightful people. but now her day was about over. if there was a young blossom growing up beside her to shed a charm around, to attract, to fill a house with gayety, so she could go through with it all again. then lovers and marriage. she should want a pretty girl, one with a winsome manner. a little training would do wonders with this one, who was just the right age to be moulded into success. of course, her uncle would never give her up, and one could not coax her away. a man's journeying about would have no society advantages. miss holmes was very nice and sensible, but there were some old-maidish traits. she was rather narrow. she really pitied the girl's life between them. it would lose the exquisite flavor of enjoyment that by right belonged to youth. of course, all this was folly. but she did like the child so much. and she wanted a new adoration, which she believed she could win easily. chapter xvi in the balance agnes westbury had listened all the early part of the evening to her husband's enthusiastic plans. good fortune expanded him in every direction. it was true that quicksilver had been discovered at alameda, also that the new process of separating gold was a great saving. working mines had been most extravagant and wasteful. some of the old ones had been deserted that no doubt would pay again. he had taken options for the london company, he had two or three for himself. luck had surely come his way. now they must leave as soon as possible. had she enjoyed herself? had the landlady been satisfactory? had she gone about and seen much, made any pleasant friends? san francisco was a strange and wonderful place. it had risen up in a night, as it were. it was in the line of the eastern trade, it would be the great mart of the world. what was congress thinking about not to establish a through route, but depend on this miserable overland accommodation for the crowds who would come! its very wildness and sublimity outdid europe. some day it would be a worldwide attraction for tourists. such mountains, such a range of climate, such a profusion of everything, such a seacoast line. david westbury was pacing up and down the apartment with a light, springy step. he had been in his youth a tall and rather lanky down-easter. now he had filled out, was fine and robust, with a good clear skin. in those days his nose had been too large, his mouth wide, with rather loose lips. now the rest of his face had rounded out, his lips had grown firm-set, decisive, and his mustache was trimmed in the latest style. just at the corners of his mouth his beard had begun to whiten a little, his lightish hair had turned darker. prosperity had made a man of him. he had grown sharp, far-sighted, but he had an amiability that was more than pleasing--attractive. he had learned to use his own phrase, "not to buck against the world." where he had been rather credulous and lax in early life, he had become wary and shrewd, and did not hesitate if he could turn the best of the deal his way. "yes, she had enjoyed herself very much. mrs. folsom and her son had been most attentive, there had been some star players at the theatres and a noted singer or two. she had met some nice people, there was a good deal of crudeness and display, but on the whole it was very fair for a new place. and some odd, quaint individuals, some really refined women from boston, and such a charming young girl that she coveted; she wished she had her for a daughter." "that's a queer wish; too, i thought you were not fond of children." "well, i am not generally. i'd like them full-grown, and attractive," laughing. "i wouldn't mind a fine, upright, sober, honorable son that one could trust in all things, but they are scarce." "david, what will you do with your money?" "well,"--he laughed a little. "let me see--endow a hospital perhaps, or build a college. but we must have all the pleasure we desire." she gave a little sigh. "about this girl, now?" he queried. "she's the dearest, sweetest, simplest body, not foolish, not sentimental, but like water in a ground glass globe, if you can understand. she's one of the old settlers, and that's laughable, came in ' , round the horn, from maine, i believe, with an uncle and some friends. he is a mr. chadsey, and keeps a big warehouse, shipping stores and what not, and is, i believe, making a fortune--to take her journeying round the world." "chadsey," he said thoughtfully. "chadsey. what is the girl's name?" "oh, chadsey, too." "ah!" nodding, yet he drew his brows a little. "i suppose he was her mother's brother. her mother died just before they came out here." he made a brief calculation. "yes, it was in ' that _she_ died. and jason chadsey was there, he took the little girl away. at boston all trace was lost, though he had _not_ searched very exhaustively for her. he had a feeling that she would be well cared for." david westbury glanced at his wife. her elbow was on the window sill and her cheek rested on her hand. there was a touch of sadness in her face, a longing in her eyes. he loved her more now than when he had married her. she was a little exacting then. she had been very fond of pleasure, theatres, balls, fine dinners at hotels, journeys, dress, jewels. he enjoyed them, too, with the zest that generally comes to one who has been deprived of them in early life, and whose training has been to consider them reprehensible. they had taken their fill. now his mind was all on business; he liked to surmount difficulties, to bring success out of chaos. he had to leave her alone a good deal. she used to find entertainment in conquering the admiration of young men, but these last few years she had found herself less attractive, except as she listened to their love troubles and begged her for advice. he did not understand this at all, only he felt he had an engrossing business and she had nothing but looking on. "you like this girl very much?" "yes, i can't tell just why, except that she is so honestly sweet, so ready to give of her best without expecting any return. do you remember lady westmere and her two daughters? they were fine girls and devoted to her. i had not considered it much before, but i understood then what an interest and solace a young girl of the right sort would be. you know i had gladys wynne to stay a month with me when you were over to paris. i had half a mind to engage her as a sort of companion, and she would have been glad enough to come. but i found she had some mean, underhand tricks, and was looking out for her own advantage while she was trying to persuade you that it was yours. and she told little fibs. so i gave up the idea. a maid, you know, is no company, though one must have her abroad. but we couldn't coax or kidnap this girl," and she sighed in the midst of a sad smile. he still paced up and down. how long since he had thought of that old life. he had always said to himself that he had been a fool to marry laverne dallas, but he had taken a good deal of satisfaction then in "cutting out" jason chadsey. what fools young fellows were! "agnes," he began, "before i married you i did not tell you my whole story. i said i had lost my wife and child, that ill luck had dragged me through those early years. she had another lover, jason chadsey, a seafaring man, of whom she had not heard in a long time, when she married me. some years later i was at a low ebb and away, trying to make money for them as well as myself. when i had a little success i went back. she was dead and buried. chadsey had come back, it seems, and taken the child, since there were no near relatives to say him nay. at boston i lost trace of them." "oh, david!" she sprang up and flung both arms about him. "you don't think--this laverne--why, what if she should be yours!" "she came here late in ' . her mother died early in the spring before. she must have been about eight. why, it's quite a romance for this prosaic world." "if you are her father, you have the best right. oh, david, i should love her and be so good to her. she should have everything, and i would be so happy. oh, you _must_ see to-morrow." there was a hysterical catch in her voice, and a great throb at her heart. "there, don't get into a fit. why, i didn't suppose you could care so much. yes, i know you will be good to her. chadsey may kick about giving her up, but i doubt if he took any steps toward legal adoption. oh, i think there will not be any real trouble unless she will not come." "but she ought to have some regard for her father! and he isn't really her uncle or guardian. why, it wouldn't be quite the thing for her to travel round the world with him." they talked it over until their plans seemed most reasonable. and then they wondered at the strangeness of it. he had no real compunctions of conscience about the past, though of course he would have accepted the responsibility of his daughter if he could have found her. he had a practical business way of looking at matters. and while agnes westbury lay awake, and had vague visions, dropping now and then into snatches of dreams, he slept soundly and awoke with a resolve to settle the question with just the same purpose as if he had resolved to buy his wife thousands of dollars' worth of jewels. they had begun the necessary sea wall that was to safeguard the piers and the shipping that grew more extensive every year. here was the old fisherman's pier, then steamers, trading vessels, queer foreign ships, business places of all sorts, many of them quite dilapidated, fringed east street. here, where clay street ran down, almost meeting sacramento, there were warehouses, packing houses, boxes and bales and general confusion. the one-story place with the sign "j. chadsey" over the wide doorway, not much handsomer than that of a barn, but strengthened with iron bars and great bolts, had stretched out and out, and now they were packing in stores from the orient, stores from the isthmus, that were being unloaded from two vessels. jason chadsey had been giving orders here and there, setting men at work, and was warm and tired when word came that a gentleman wanted to see him in the office. they made distinctions in those days, even if the country was new and rough. that was no strange summons. he pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped the sweat and grime from his face, listened a moment to the wrangling, swearing, strange chinese chatter, songs in various languages, then turned and went in, hardly able to see at first from the glitter of the sun that had drenched him. this was a place just now with two big desks and a clerk writing at one. the inner office had a window on the street side and two wooden stools, one dilapidated leathern chair before another desk. a man rose up and faced him. a well-dressed, well-kept man, with a certain air of prosperity and authority, and if he had any scheme to exploit it would no doubt have some advantage in it. but he was a stranger. "you are jason chadsey?" westbury would have known him anywhere. except to grow older, to be a little more wrinkled,--weatherbeaten, he had always been,--and his hair slightly grizzled at the temples, he was the same. there was honesty, truth, and goodness in the face that had not changed either. "yes," chadsey replied briefly. "and you don't remember me?" chadsey tried to consider the voice, but that had grown rounder, fuller, and lost all the maine twang. there had been so many faces between youth and this time. "well, i am david westbury." jason chadsey dropped on a stool and stared, then mopped his face again, while a shiver passed over him that seemed to wring his very vitals, turn him stone-cold. "it's odd how things come about." the man of the world had his rival at a disadvantage. "i'd had runs of hard luck," in an easy, almost indifferent tone, being where he could laugh at the past, "and i'd tried about everything in vain. i was too proud to come back to laverne empty-handed. then, when i had made something, i turned, hoping to ease up her hard life, and found she was dead and buried. you had befriended her; thank you for that. but you took my child. i traced you to boston. after that my search was vain. i have looked over lists of vessels, thinking to strike your name as captain or mate, and finally given up search. business brought me here, perhaps fate, too, had a hand in it. my wife has seen and known the child, and already loves her. i am grateful for your care all these years, but i would rather have had her in my keeping. i am a rich man--if i was a poor devil i would put in no claim, no matter how dear she was to me, but a father has the best right." jason chadsey rose. for a moment he had murder in his heart. the man's evident prosperity and effrontery stung him so. the past came rushing over him. "do you know how i found her?" he began hoarsely. "i had resolved to come out here. i was getting tired of seafaring. i went to munro to say good-by to a few old friends. i expected to find her a happy wife and mother, with little ones about her. instead it was a virtually deserted wife, who had heard nothing of her husband in a long while, who had used up all her little store and was in debt besides, who was suffering from cold, want, heartbreak, and dying, knowing no refuge for her child except the poor farm or to be bound out to some neighbor." "no, she would not have been," was the almost fierce interruption. "the dying woman did not know that. she had some comfort in her last moments," and his voice softened curiously with remembered pathos. "she gave me the child. i have been father and mother to her. you cannot have her." "i believe the law gives the parent the right to the child until she is of age. you had no consent of mine. you could not legally adopt her, at least, it would not hold in law." jason chadsey turned pale under the tan of years. why, he had not even thought of any legal protection for his claim. it rested only on love and care. "you see," continued the confident voice, "that my right has been in no way jeopardized. i am laverne westbury's father, amply able to care for her in an attractive and refined manner, place her in the best society, to give her whatever education and accomplishment she needs, the protection of a mother, the standing of a father, travel--we are to go to england shortly--and it would be worse than folly to stand in her way." "she will not go," jason chadsey said sturdily. "she will if the law directs." "she will not when she knows the struggle of the last year of her mother's life. why, you robbed _her_ mother, the poor, old, helpless woman, of the little she had. you persuaded her to take up money on the house--it was not worth much, but it was a home to shelter them." "laverne was as anxious to get out of the place as i. what could i do there? she was willing that i should try. i was unfortunate. other men have been--you find wrecks everywhere. i struggled hard to recover, and did, even if it was too late for her. we thank providence for our successes--doesn't the same power direct reverses? it wasn't my fault. luck runs against a man his whole life sometimes." "you could have written. that would have cheered her solitary hours. she would have told you she was dying, and begged you to come. when i think of what that dreary winter was to her----" "you were there to comfort her." there was a half sneer on the face. "see here, jason chadsey, you were her first lover, not a very ardent one, i fancy, either. i was a fool to persuade her to marry me, though i think her grandmother had a strong hand in it. you were there those last weeks. did she confess her mistake, and admit that you had held her heart all these years? what confidences took place?" "none that you might not hear. nothing but some truths that i guessed, and wrung out of her--your neglect. you would not dare to stain the mother's memory to the child. if you did i think i could kill you. any one who knows aught about those new england women, brought up among the snowy hills like nuns, would know it was a base lie!" "come, come, we won't slop over into melodrama. we will leave it to the law if you agree to abide by the decision." "the law will not force her to go." "i think she will be convinced. you are no kin to her. now that she is grown, it is hardly the thing for her to go on living in this fashion. you may mean to marry her. that would be monstrous!" "go your way, go your way, david westbury," and he made an indignant gesture as if he would sweep him out of the place. "i have other matters on hand. i have no time to parley." then chadsey turned and, being near the door, made a rush for the street, plunging the next minute into the thick of business. westbury laughed a moment, lighted a cigar, and sauntered out at his leisure. up in a more respectable street he glanced about, finding a lawyer's office, and though he guessed the opinion must be in his favor he wanted an assurance. "if there had been an assignment under belief that the father was dead, he could recover, if it was proved he was the proper person to have the care of the child, and amply able to support it." jason chadsey worked furiously. he would not think. it was high noon before he found a respite. then he went in the office instead of going to lunch. he could not eat. the shadow that would hang over him now and then, that he had always managed to drive away, had culminated at length in a storm that would sweep from its moorings the dearest thing he held on earth, that he had toiled for, that he had loved with the tenderness of a strong, true heart, that had been all his life. without her it would only be a breathing shell of a body, inert, with no hope, no real feeling. ah, if they had been ready to go away a few months ago! if laverne was of age! if he had a legal adoption, they might make a fight on that. he had nothing. but she would not go, she would not go. ah, how could he tell her? perhaps her father and yes, that soft-spoken, insinuating woman, was her stepmother, and laverne had a young girl's fancy for her--perhaps they would go and lay the case before her, persuade, entreat--oh, no, they could not win, he felt sure of that. how could he ever go home! what would the home be without her! what would life be--the money--anything! it was quite late when he climbed the ascent, growing worse and worse. there had been two landslides. why, presently they would be swept away. "oh, how late you are!" cried the soft, girlish voice. "how did you get up? isn't it dreadful! have you had a hard day? was there a steamer in? do you suppose we shall ever have a letter from the hudsons?" nothing had happened. perhaps david westbury did not dare. he almost crushed the slim figure in his arms. "oh, what a bear hug!" she cried, when she could get her breath. "and you are so late. we had such a splendid big fish that pablo caught and cooked, and it was delicious. and i made a berry cake, but you like that cold, and we will have the fish heated up. was it an awful busy day?" "yes, a vessel in, and another to be loaded up." his voice shook a little. "oh, you dear old darling, you are tired to death. here's a cup of nice tea. and if you were a young lover, i would sing you the daintiest little spanish song. isola and i made it up. you see, things don't sound quite so bare and bald in spanish, and you can make the rhymes easier. the music is all hers. we are supposed to sing it to some one gone on a journey that we want back with us." "well, i'm an old lover; sing it to me!" then she would not notice that he was not eating much supper. the guitar had a blue ribbon, and she threw it over her shoulder and shook her golden hair about. tinkle, tinkle, went the soft accompaniment. she had a sweet parlor voice, with some sad notes in it, wistful, longing notes. he wondered if she was thinking of any one miles and miles across the water. "it is tender and beautiful," he said, "sing something else." "you are not eating your cake." "but i shall." he must choke down a little. afterward they strolled about the hill. there was no moon, but the stars were like great golden and silver globes, and the air was sweet with a hundred fragrances. nothing had happened, and he wondered a little at it. suddenly she said: "oh, you must go to bed after such a hard day's work. and i am cruel dragging you about." he could not tell her. oh, what if he should never need to tell her! how could he give her up? was life all sacrifice? something odd had happened to her. she sat by the window living it over. she had gone around by folsom house to see mrs. westbury, thinking how she should miss her when they went back to england. she ran up to her room. there was a thin lace drapery in the doorway to bring a breeze through and yet shield the occupant from the passer-by. "oh, you sweet little darling! did you dream that i was wishing for you? i've been just crazy to see you all day." she was in a dainty white silk négligée, with cascades of lace and some pale pink bows. she wore such pretty gowns, laverne thought. "do you know that in about a week we shall go away? and i shan't know how to live without you. i love you so! why do you suppose i should be always longing for you, thinking about you? last night----" she gave her a rapturous embrace and kissed lips and brow and eyelids. sometimes isola savedra caressed her this way. but isola was just a girl, musical, vehement, spanish. "i couldn't sleep for thinking of you, longing for you. shall i steal you and take you away? oh, if you loved me well enough to come, you should have everything heart could desire. i am so lonesome at times." "i shouldn't come for the things," she returned, coloring. "and if i loved you ever so much----" "no, don't say you wouldn't. oh, to-morrow i shall have something strange to tell you, but now i say over and over again i want you, i want you!" laverne drew a long breath. she was half magnetized by the intensity, by the strange expression in the face, the eager eyes. "i shall be sorry to have you go." she hardly knew what to say. sorrow did not half express it. "don't mind me--yes, it is true, too. but i heard a story last night that suggested such a splendid possibility. i couldn't sleep. and i can't tell you just yet, but when you hear it--oh, you'll be tender and not break my heart that is so set upon it. something you can do for me." "i will do anything in my power." "remember that when i ask you." she was fain to keep her longer, but laverne had a curious feeling that she could not understand, a half fear or mystery. and then she had some translation to make for to-morrow. she was studying german now. she worked steadily at her lessons. then she had a race with bruno, and waited out on the steps for uncle jason. what would happen to her to-morrow? it might be an elegant parting gift. how strange mrs. westbury had been. no one had influenced her in just that way before. then she went to bed and fell asleep with the ease of healthy youth. jason chadsey tossed and tumbled. what would to-morrow bring? how would laverne take it? must she go? would she go? how could he endure it? "one," the solemn old clock downstairs said. "two." he had half a mind to get up. hark, what was that? or was he dreaming? oh, again, now a clang sharp enough to arouse any one. fire! fire! he sprang out of bed and went to the window. was it down there on the bay? he stood paralyzed while the clamor grew louder, and flames shot up in great spires, yellow-red against the blue sky. and now an immense sheet that seemed to blot out the middle of the bay, as if it could run across. "clang, clang," went the bells. "oh, what is it, fire?" cried miss holmes. "fire down on the docks. i must go. do not disturb laverne." let her sleep now. she would know sorrow soon enough. he dressed hurriedly and went out. the stars were still shining in the blue sky, though round the edges toward the eastward there were faint touches of grayish white. but the zenith seemed aflame. up went the great spires grandly, a thing to be admired if it brought no loss. he went stumbling down the rough ways in the semi-darkness. once a stone rolled and he fell. then he hurried on. other people were out--you could discern windows crowded with heads. was san francisco to have another holocaust? there were shrieks and cries. the noise of the engines, blowing of horns, whistles, boats steaming up, others being towed out in the bay, wooden buildings hastily demolished to stay the progress of the red fiend. crowds upon crowds, as if the sight were a new one. on the corner of davis street he sat down on a barrel, close by a stoop, overwhelmed by the certainty. why go any nearer? the rigging of a vessel had caught, the flames twisted this way and that by their own force, as there was no wind, fortunately. all the labor of years was swallowed up, her fortune, her luxuries, her pleasures. another twelve months and it would have been secured. but, alas! she would not be here to share it. did it matter so very much? his soul within him was numb. since he had lost her, what need he care for a prosperity she could not share? the hot air swept his face. pandemonium sounded in his ears. men ran to and fro, but he sat there in a kind of dumb despair that all his life should have gone for nought, labor, and love as well. chapter xvii the decision of fate pablo told them the heart-breaking news. but about eight o'clock uncle jason returned. the fire was out, there were only heaps of smoking ashes and smouldering brands. jason chadsey had been warmly sympathized with, proffered assistance to rebuild, to recommence business, and would have been deluged with whiskey if he had accepted. that was still a panacea for all ills and troubles. but he refused, and wandered about in dogged silence. no one knew the whole loss. in the farther office desk he had slipped a box with a string of pearls for his darling's birthday. some one had said pearls were for blondes, and in spite of much out-of-door living, she had kept her beautiful complexion. then crushed by the astounding news, he had forgotten about it. "oh, uncle jason!" grimed as he was with smoke and cinders, she flew to his arms, and sobbed out her sorrow. "there, there, dear." his voice had the stress of fatigue and great emotion. "i am not fit to touch. and i can't talk now. i am tired to death. give me a cup of coffee." "i don't believe i will go to school to-day," she said, with fine disregard of rules. "and yet i ought. there are the translations to be handed in." "yes, do go. i must get some rest." "i'll come home at noon," kissing him fondly. he nodded. he was a broken old man in what should have been the prime of life. he drank his coffee, then took the whiskey he had refused down on the dock, went to his room, and after a good cool wash, threw himself on the bed. the fire was on everybody's tongue. not that fires were a rarity. but this might have been much worse, yet it was bad enough for jason chadsey. the air was still full of smoke, there was a dense fog and a cloudy sky. everywhere you heard the same talk. the lessons at school went on well enough, though laverne's nerves were all of a tremble. just after eleven as recess began she was summoned to the reception room. david westbury had been out to the fire and come in again. "gad!" he exclaimed. "it's that chadsey's place! and he had a tremendous stock, a new shipload just in, some others waiting to be loaded up. this is a queer town where every so often there's a big fire. the only amends is that it is rebuilt better. half of the old rookeries ought to come down, they look so forlorn and ancient." "oh, david. well, if he has lost everything he will be the more willing to give up the girl." "he will give her up, anyhow," in a determined tone. some things chadsey had said still rankled in david westbury's mind. he went downtown again. yes, it was ruin sure enough. being prosperous now, he could afford to pity the unfortunate ones. chadsey had gone home. the police were in charge, to keep off the roughs and the thieves. "we must have the matter settled to-day," he declared to his wife. "i know where she is at school. let us go there." "excellent. i should like to see her alone. it is right that she should hear my story." so to the school they went. laverne came in a little flurried, and yet bewitching in her simple girlhood. her bodice was rather low about the throat, with some edging around, and a band of black velvet encircled her white neck. her skirt was ankle length, and the man noted her trim, slender feet, with the high arch of the instep. mrs. westbury kissed her with warmth and tenderness. her eyes were luminous this morning, and the flushes showed above the delicately tinted cheeks; her whole air was pleading, enchanting. "you know i said there was a strange story for you to hear," she exclaimed, when they had talked at length about the fire. "mr. westbury will tell you." he began to pace up and down, as was his habit, so slowly that it gave him an air of thoughtfulness. mrs. westbury had her arm around laverne. "yes, a rather curious story, yet numbers of these instances crop out along life. friends, often relatives are reunited, tangled threads are straightened, mysteries explained. in a little village in maine lived a girl and her two friends, they were a little too old for real schoolmates. her name was laverne dallas." why, that was her mother's name. and maine. she began to listen attentively, just as one pieces out a dream that has nearly escaped from memory. and westbury! why, she had forgotten she ever had any other name than chadsey--it was her story as well, and now she looked at the man, who certainly had nothing repellant about him, and the story of those early years was pathetic as he lent it several appealing embellishments. she really could not remember him with any distinctness. the death of her grandmother, the pale, reserved mother, coughing and holding on to her side, the coming of uncle jason, who it seemed was no uncle at all, her mother's death, and all the rest was school and play. "oh! oh!" she cried, and hid her face on mrs. westbury's shoulder. "so you see you are my little daughter. your own mother is not here to care for you and make you happy, but here is a new mother, who has learned to love you unaware. and now we are returning to london, and will take you with us, and give you the life that rightly belongs to you----" "oh, no, no," she interrupted with poignant pathos. "i cannot go. i could not leave uncle jason in this sad loss and trouble. he has been so good, so kind, so tender----" "as if an own father could not be that! laverne, my darling, my own little girl!" if he had been poor he would have thought any child a great burden. he was not the sort of man to make sacrifices for any one. they would have irked him terribly. but in prosperity he was very indulgent. there are many such people. jason chadsey would have shared his last dollar, his last crust, ungrudgingly. they began to set the matter before her in a reasonable, practical light. henceforward she would be a burden on mr. chadsey, who had already done so much for her. she would have in her parents' care accomplishments, travel, society, a lovely home, pleasures of all kinds, and now she was old enough to enjoy them. and they wanted her. her father had the lawful right, would have until she was of age. "i must go home," she said at length. "it is so strange. i must think it over. and if uncle jason wants me----" "and we want you." agnes westbury gave her a tender embrace, as she wiped the tears from her own eyes. they could not be allowed to run riot down the cheeks as laverne's were doing. she rose unsteadily. "have you no word for me, your father?" she went to the outstretched arms and hid her face on his breast. she could not love all at once. she could not break uncle jason's heart. "i know it must seem strange, but i think mr. chadsey will recognize my right in you. we must see him----" "to-morrow, then," she interrupted. "let me have this afternoon to consider, to talk." her voice trembled from exhaustion. she took a few unsteady steps. the noon bells began to ring, and again she said she must go. they importuned her to accompany them to the folsom house to dinner, but she would not consent. then her father insisted that she should have a hack, but she refused that strenuously. they walked together some distance. "arrangements must be made to-morrow morning," her father said authoritatively. she felt as if she had been metamorphosed into some other person. laverne westbury! it made her shiver. she liked the old personality so much better. must she go away? this was all the real home she had ever known, this strange, odd, ever-changing old san francisco. why, over here there was a row of tents when they first came. and the queer little one-room and two-room adobe houses, and the tangled-up streets that ended at some one's house. how plainly she could see it all! she began to climb the hill wearily. then some one came to meet her, helped her tenderly over the rough places. they did not pause at the house, but took the winding path up to the pine tree that grew more beautiful every year, with its shining needles and gray-green, fuzzy buds, almost like little kittens rolling and tumbling in the wind. balder the beautiful was resting here. here victor had really said good-by to her. why, victor was in london. and suddenly london seemed to emerge from the gloom of the tower, and the execution of king charles and a hundred other melancholy reminiscences. "laverne!" her uncle began. "oh, i know! i know! they both came to school. they told me everything. but i shall not go. do you think i could be so ungrateful, so heartless now in all this trouble? and i love you. it is years of love between us, and only a few weeks with them. oh, no, no!" there was a long silence. a vireo came and sang his merry lilt in the tree overhead. the fog and a good deal of the smoke had cleared away, and the sun was shining. he was very glad of the love. it would comfort him all the rest of the weary way. "listen, child," he said at length, and he went carefully over the ground. the strongest point of all was that the law would give her to her father the next four years. and now he would have to start in anew and make another fortune. "i am not too old," he declared, with a little pride. a word had caught her, just as one catches a ball with a chain at careless throw. "four years," she said. "why, then when i am twenty-one i could come back. four years only! will you be waiting for me? i shall surely come." she would be married before that. a pretty young girl with a fortune was not likely to be left on the bush. he caught at it, too. it would smooth the way since the parting had to be. he had nothing; westbury had it all. "oh," she cried impulsively, "i can think how you loved my mother. was she happy there at the last with you? but you two should have been married, and i should have been your child. why do things, wishes, events go at cross-purposes?" alas! no one could tell. it was one of the great world's mysteries. miss holmes summoned them to dinner presently. she had heard the story, and though it was hard, they had to admit that the child belonged to her father while she was under age. half the night laverne thought she would defy them all and stay. would her father want to drag her away a prisoner? what was a father's love like? wasn't the playing at it better and holier; the sense of loss somewhere else making it diviner, giving it a yearning that a full right could never quite embody? she did not like the full right to be taken, she would rather be coaxed a little and led along. and she could not positively decide about mrs. westbury. some girls she found were quite extravagant in their protestations and then forgot. olive was one; there was another very sweet girl in school who wanted always to be caressing the one she liked. isola was not always demonstrative. they did have some delightful quiet times. were not women girls grown larger and older? it was strange, laverne thought, how nearly every one was ranged on mr. westbury's side. the personettes admired him, mrs. folsom considered him a gentleman, and at that time the term was a compliment. the schoolgirls envied her the romance and the going abroad. even miss holmes thought it the right and proper thing to do. uncle jason did not discuss the right, with him there was nothing else to do. other matters troubled him. property had been queerly held in the city. there had been squatters, there had been old mexican deeds, claims coming up every now and then to be settled with difficulty. jason chadsey had leased the ground and the waterfront when it had not been very valuable. he had bought one building, erected others. in a year more the lease would expire. already large prices had been offered for it. he could not rebuild, though generous friends had proffered him any amount of money. he felt unable to take the stir and struggle for no end, that he could not explain. like a wounded animal, he wanted to go off in quiet and seclusion and nurse his hurts. he had been worsted everywhere, let him give up. mrs. westbury had wisdom enough not to make her claim at all onerous. there would be plenty of time on the long journey. every day her old friends seemed dearer to laverne. at oaklands they bewailed the separation, but recognized its rightfulness, its necessity. to isola it was a joy that she would see victor, and she sent no end of messages. mrs. savedra said to miss holmes, "if you desire to make a change, we shall be more than glad to have you." david westbury drove his wife and pretty daughter about with a proud, satisfied air. agnes shopped for her, "just enough to make her presentable," she said when laverne protested. but, after all, the parting was very hard. "you must not come and see me off, uncle jason." she could not renounce the dear, familiar name. "if you did, i should give one wild leap and land on the wharf, and you would have to keep me. four years--it's a long, long while, and there will be room for a great many heartaches in it, but one day they will be healed." he obeyed her, and did not come. there were many friends who did. so she went sailing out of the golden gate on as fair a day as she had first entered it. oh, how the sun shone and tipped the waves with molten gold. never were skies bluer. even the rocks, and the clefts, and the crannies brought out their indescribable colors, browns that deepened through every shade into purple and black, grays that were pink and mauve and dun, blues that ran into sapphire, and green and chrysoprase. telegraph hill and the old, time-worn semaphore. oh, farewell, farewell, dear old san francisco! there was some trouble getting insurance matters straightened up and paying debts. jason chadsey had lost the spring of ambition and life. he would take a voyage up north with some of the explorers, then he would think of the next thing. four years. oh, no, she would never return. the bright, laughing, gay world would swallow her up. marian holmes pitied the man profoundly through this time. they had been excellent, sensible friends. there had been two or three occasions when she would have married him if he had been really in love with her. she knew now why his love-day had passed. she enjoyed her own life, her own neat ways, her liberty. she and miss gaines were still very warm friends, and the latter would have liked her to come with her. "i have a fancy to try it at oaklands, and help americanize these charming people, perhaps spoil them. it will be very easy and delightful. the daughter will be a rather curious study. if she were poor, she would have a fortune in her voice. she has quite a gift of poetry. i shall try to keep her from morbidness and a convent, now that she has lost her friend. and her mother wants her fitted for marriage. how these foreigners harp on that!" laughing a little. laverne westbury cried herself to sleep many a night, though in the daytime she took a warm interest in all about her, and tried to be agreeable, tried to draw near to her father. he was proud of her prettiness, of her refined ways, the delicacy that had come down to her from the new england strain. it was english, and she would "take" over there. then he was glad to have agnes so happy. it was like a girl with her first doll. often laverne would rather have been left alone, but she tried not to be ungracious. they crossed the isthmus, quite a new experience. they went up to washington, where david westbury had an excellent scheme to exploit that did get taken up afterward. then to liverpool. the little girl never dreamed there would come a time when one could cross the continent in a week, the ocean in another, and her father's expectations seemed quite wild to her. there was a visit over to paris. eugénie was at the height of her popularity, but now she had to take a little pains with her beauty. still she was the mother of a future emperor, she was a favorite daughter of the church, she set the fashions and the manners of the day and did it most admirably. it was not possible for a girl to be unhappy or cry herself to sleep amid such charming surroundings. her french was very useful, she had been so in the habit of using it at home that she did not take it up awkwardly. then they must go to london and get settled. they would have a real home, an attractive place where they could entertain. mr. westbury would be away a good deal on flying trips, and now he would not mind leaving his wife with her pleasant companion. he really grew fond of laverne in a proud sort of way. he liked women to have attractions. he was not jealous, he had found his wife too useful to spoil it by any petty captiousness. laverne was really amazed. a simple little home, mrs. westbury had said, but it seemed to her quite grand. a pretty court, the house standing back a little, a plot of flowers and some vines, a spacious hall with rooms on both sides, a large drawing room, smaller delightful apartments, sleeping and dressing rooms upstairs, a man and several maids, and a carriage kept on livery. on one side of the hall were an office and a smoking room devoted to the gentlemen who called on business, and there were many of them, but they did not disturb the ladies. some old friends came to welcome mrs. westbury back, and this was miss westbury, who had been at school in the "states" while they were travelling about, and now would remain permanently with them. mrs. westbury sent out cards for a sunday reception and presented her daughter to the guests. she was something delightfully fresh and new, a pretty, modest girl who might have been reared in any english family, and who was not handsome enough to shine down the daughters of other mammas. it was her very naturalness that proved her greatest charm. and mrs. westbury found she had not made any mistake in desiring her. young men sought her favor again. older men lingered for a bit of bright talk. laverne felt at times as if she were in an enchanted world. how could youth remain blind to the delight? then all the wonderful journeys about to famous places, art galleries, concerts, drives in the parks. it seemed as if there was no end to the money. since prosperity had dawned upon david westbury he had made it a rule never to want twice for a thing be it indulgence of any reasonable sort, once when he had, and once when he had not. his plans were working admirably. a golden stream was pouring in and he was in his element. a few years of this and he could retire on his competency. she wrote to miss holmes and heard from her the current news about every one. olive personette was well married. isola had a music master, an enthusiastic german, who insisted such a voice should not be hidden out of sight and hearing. her father had been persuaded to allow her to sing in st. mary's church, recently completed in a very fine manner, on ascension sunday and there had been great enthusiasm over the unknown singer. elena was growing up into a bright, eager girl who rode magnificently and danced to perfection, and was already drawing crowds of admirers, much to her mother's satisfaction, and would make amends for isola's diffidence and distaste of society. dick folsom was still flirting with pretty girls. nothing had been heard from mr. chadsey, except that he had gone up to the wild russian possessions. there was inclosed a letter from mrs. hudson, who was a happy mother, and josé was the best of husbands. laverne wondered at times how it was possible to hear anything of victor savedra. girls were so hedged about here, everything they did inquired into. it would not be proper for her to write, and if she had an answer mrs. westbury would know it. she kept an excellent watch over her pretty daughter. she was really glad no one heard from jason chadsey. in this round of pleasure laverne would soon forget that crude life, and not care to go back to it. she did find many things to interest. but the westbury society was not of the intellectual type. then there were no stirring questions about one's own town. london seemed a great agglomeration of small places, and was to a degree finished. there was no especial steamer day, there was no influx of miners, no great bay with its shipping at hand, and, oh, no great ocean with its multitude of denizens to watch. yet, of course, there were other wonderful things, the galleries, with their pictures and statues, only it seemed to her that people went quite as much to see each other's fine clothes. there were the churches, the palaces, the great piles of learning that had trained englishmen hundreds of years. mr. westbury took them to the house of commons to a debate that he was interested in, but she felt a little disappointed. somewhere at oxford was victor savedra, but what was one amid the great multitude? they went over on the french coast for a summering and laverne found herself quite a favorite at once. she was so modest and unassuming. american tourists had not invaded every corner of europe. and a young american who knew french and spanish people at home, where no one supposed they could be found, where they looked only for wild indians, was indeed an unusual personage. mrs. westbury was proud of her stepdaughter. she was so tractable, it was so easy to keep her out of the reach of undesirable admirers. indeed, she thought she should be jealous when laverne came to have lovers. then back to london again, visiting at country houses where there were hunts and much fine riding, pretty evening balls, queer old women, titled and bejewelled, to whom every one seemed to bow. and it was while they were at thorley that lord wrexford came home from the continent, where he had been trying to live cheaply for a while. he was five and thirty, very well looking and agreeable, and though he had taken on some flesh he was not too stout for dancing, so he was invited out considerably, though he was not esteemed a catch in the matrimonial market. for it was well known that wrexford grange was nearly covered with mortgages. the old lord was helpless from paralysis, not able to sign his name, and too infirm in mind to consent lawfully to any measures looking to the disposal of the old place. indeed, his death was looked for almost any time. he came with a purpose beside dancing. a friend had said: "see if westbury can't do something for you, or put you in a way to help yourself. he has some companies under way that are simply coining money." "why, i thought he went to america." "he did and has been back a year perhaps. lord elsden is in one company. it has something to do with quicksilver, and there's a gold mine. you used to be quite cronies." "yes, he was a good fellow. he helped me out of one difficulty." so he went to thorley wold not only to dance, but the day after the ball he took david westbury over to wrexford grange and they went through papers and debts, some to the jews that had been ruinous and were now pressing. "you see," the younger man said, "if i stood alone i should let the place go. you must know of chances to make money out there in the new countries. i'd start off to-morrow if i could, and hunt up a gold mine." "they are not always to be found," smiling with a touch of shrewdness. "and mining isn't just the thing for----" "a scion of nobility. what did i read the other day?--some lucky fellow unearthed a nugget worth thousands." "yes--that does happen," nodding rather incredulously. "well, if you want me to, i will take these papers to london with me and see what i can do for you. it's a fine old estate." "and nothing to keep it on. oh, i shall get out of it fast enough when the poor old governor is gone. it's a good thing he's past worrying over it, or knowing it, for that matter." so they returned to thorley in time for dinner, and in the small dance that evening among the house guests, he took laverne westbury out twice, and heard part of her story. mrs. westbury did not think particularly of the matter until lord wrexford had been at the house several times and paid her some marked attention, invited her and her daughter to visit grosvenor gallery and see an especially handsome portrait, the work of a friend of his who was coming rapidly up to fame. "the fur on her wrap is so beautifully done that it seems as if you might blow it about with a breath. and she is an extremely handsome woman, was one of the court beauties a few years ago." mrs. westbury was very much pleased with her escort. a title did go some distance in her favor, though she never made any vulgar snatch at it. "what about that lord wrexford?" she asked of her husband one of the evenings they happened to be alone. he looked up from the stock list he was going over. "the man or the estate?" with a short, rather brusque laugh. "well--both." her smile might have been that of an arch conspirator. a sudden thought occurred to him. there were many business proffers made to him in these days. "he's trying to stave off some business until his father has gone. he was willing to cut off the entail, but the question arose as to whether his father was capable, and the lawyers declare he is not. some parties are to bring suit unless certain claims are met. the indebtedness is enough to swallow up the whole thing. a fine old estate, too." "it is a pity the title cannot go with it," she remarked longingly, with a meaning look. "the young man can," and he laughed. "i wonder some one hasn't----" and she made a suggestive pause. "he might marry the daughter of a rich tradesman, i suppose. he is really a better class fellow, and would shrink from a lot of vulgar relations. most of these commoners have such large families, and the other class seldom have fortunes for their daughters. the jews will get the estate in the end, i think, and i am really sorry for him." "and he wants some help from you?" "to tide over the present, he imagines. but it will be for all time. now, if you want a handsome estate right in among good old families. you know we heard about it at thorley. it wouldn't be a bad speculation if one wanted to live there. it's not such a great distance from london." "if one could buy the title," and she sighed. he gave a short laugh and then returned to his list. she leaned back in her luxurious chair and dreamed. they really had something wherewith to purchase the title. chapter xviii to see you once again mr. and mrs. westbury had gone to wrexford grange. laverne was glad to have a few days to herself. at first she wrote a long homesick letter to miss holmes. already she was tired of her new life. yet more than a year had passed--three years more and she would be free. but how long it looked! after uncle jason's tender love she was cruelly hurt by her father's indifference. he was deeply immersed in business and proud of his successes. indeed, why should he not be? he was shrewd enough to take no honor in coming up from the ranks. he preferred to have his patrons think he had always been quite high on the ladder of fortune. making money was now his chief enjoyment, his one ambition. laverne was a pretty enough girl, but not the sort that drew men irresistibly to her side. his wife was much more attractive. and then laverne brought some remembrances that he wished strenuously to forget, that he had once dismissed from his mind. he had made a little romance of it for his wife's ears, and he had a vague fear that laverne might recall some disagreeable fact that it would not be so easy to disavow. she never had, but he was not sure how much might linger in her memory. there was always a gulf between the father and the child. he had demanded her mostly to please his wife, the rest to satisfy a little grudge against jason chadsey that he had happened to possess himself of the episode not at all to his, westbury's, credit. from the bottom of his heart he wished chadsey had come back in time to marry laverne. it had been a most unfortunate step for him, he reasoned. laverne had been in a way fascinated by mrs. westbury's protestations of affection. she had appealed to all that was sweetest and finest in the girl's nature, all these years she had been studying men and women on the emotional side, she was not capable of any intellectual analysis. and though she could assume so much, at heart she had very little faith in her fellow beings, as she measured them mostly by herself. an attractive young girl would draw young people, and she sunned herself in the enthusiasms of youth, they were a tonic to her. she did not mean to grow old, but she had a quality rare in the people who cling to youth, she made no silly assumption further than to use all the arts and aids that she persuaded herself were quite as necessary as a good diet to conserve health. she enjoyed her world, her wealth, her little elusive pretexts and inventions, and was amused to see how easily people who pretended to discrimination were ensnared. at first laverne had been a new toy, a plaything, a puppet that she could draw in any fashion that she thought best. but presently she was amazed at the child's utter honesty, her shrinking from dissimulation, the surprise at some things she read in the clear eyes. it had been pleasant, but now she was tiring of her toy. would she be the sort of girl who would draw lovers to her feet and dismiss them with a wave of her fan? there was marriage, of course. this was really her first season. the daughter of a rich man would not lack offers. she wished she was a little less cold, self-contained, indifferent. and now a new scheme had presented itself. why should not laverne be lady wrexford? if her father became the virtual owner of wrexford grange, why would it not be a fine dowry? and they could manage that lord wrexford should be judicious in expenditures. it might be best that the entail should not be meddled with. laverne did enjoy the solitude. she was coming to feel that she was watched continually, criticised gently, of course, but often it hurt. and she had not gone down to the real heart of anything. was there a heart or was it all surface living? she went out to take her drive each day with her maid. several young friends had called. one afternoon preston brought up a card. "mr. victor savedra," laverne read. "he requested especially to see you," preston said. "i was not sure----" and she glanced inquiringly. "it is all right, quite right," the girl made answer, but her heart was in her throat, her voice husky. she stood there some seconds, fingering the card. truth to tell, she felt hurt that victor had made no effort to see her through all this time, knowing from his own family she was in london. it was hardly her place to appeal to him. indeed, she had soon learned her old friends were not subjects of pleasure to her new relatives. and now she had quite given up hope with a sad heartache. laverne walked slowly down the broad staircase, lingered a moment, while she felt her color coming and going in great bounds. then there was a step, a figure emerged from the reception room, and caught both hands in his. neither of them spoke, but simply glanced in each other's eyes. he had changed, matured, and was a really handsome young man in the somewhat brilliant spanish style. but the soft eyes had not lost their olden tenderness. "oh," he began, "i was afraid i should never see you again," and the glance seemed almost to devour her. "you have been in london all this time." there was the faintest touch of reproach in her tone. "and you? it seems to me if one can credit society news you have been very gay." she flushed, and her eyes were downcast, the brown lashes making a shadow on her cheek. "you must not upbraid me. i made some effort to find you. i was so amazed at the strange turn of affairs. isola and mother wrote to me and begged me to call on you. at last i did learn where you were and sent you a note, directed to your father's care. it was answered by mrs. westbury, who explained that you were not in society, a gentle suggestion that i might have been rather forward, also that you were going to some french watering place, but no hint that i might be welcome on your return," and he half smiled. "i never saw the note--i never heard. oh, did you think i could forget an old friend when all things were so strange and i so lonely?" now the lashes were gemmed with tears. he longed to kiss them away. an infinite pity stirred his heart. "have you been lonely and unhappy? forgive me, but i thought of you as gay and full of pleasure. i have not been much in ladies' society. i have made some fine friends among men, and it has been study, study, but i have achieved most of my plans and pleased the best of fathers. last summer with some friends i made a walking tour of switzerland. this summer i return home. i like america best. and how san francisco will look after four years' absence! nothing of the kind could happen in this staid old world. i wonder sometimes if i have not dreamed part of it. and if i have not dreamed about you! oh, what a brute i am. come and sit down and let us talk it all over. and your poor uncle--what do you hear from him?" she wiped the tears from her eyes and in a broken voice said: "nothing." "oh, poor child!" all his heart went out to her. he had thought nothing of love before. he had been but a boy, but he knew he loved her now with a man's love, and with a sudden resolve he determined to take her back with him even if it had to be his wife without his parents' blessing and god speed. "no one hears, i believe," she replied when she had recovered her voice. "only--i promised to come back to him when i was twenty-one and free, and he will be waiting for me, i know." then this new relationship had not been happy. he had besought miss holmes to tell him about it, but she had been very non-committal. he gathered from that she had not been favorably impressed with either mrs. or mr. westbury, although under the circumstances there was nothing else to be done. when they had recovered self-possession a little they began to talk of the old times, the old days that had been full of delight, it appeared, now touched by the enchanter, memory. the first time they had danced together when she was a little girl, his saturday at the old house, and the ride they had taken down the coast. snippy, and the verses they had tried to make for the dead balder. how he had hated to tell her _he_ was going away for four long years, and how glad he had been to get isola's extravagant letters, "for you know she simply adored you," he confessed, with a smile. "it has all changed," she said mournfully, "there will be no more san francisco. the hill has been lowered so much, and our old house has gone with it. olive was married in the autumn, you know." "and howard is turning into a fine young business fellow, father writes. uncle personette may well be proud of his children, who have had the kindest of stepmothers. i always liked aunt grace and your miss holmes. mother thinks she couldn't do without her. and it's queer," laughing a little, "she declined a very nice offer of marriage that a friend of father's made her, the captain of a vessel going up and down to the isthmus. she was very fond of you." the sweet eyes filled with tears again. had she left all love behind in the grand city guarded by the golden gate? the room grew dusky. the maid came in to light up, and glanced sharply at them. "oh, what an unconscionable visit i have been making," and yet he laughed lightly, not at all troubled by the proprieties that he had really outraged--and he knew better. how very charming he was, standing up there, just medium height, with one of the figures that is often likened to mercury or ganymede. the rich tinted spanish complexion, the dark melting eyes, when he smiled--could they ever look fierce? the narrow mustache, leaving the red line on the short upper lip, the chin rounded out with youth and health, the hands dainty enough for a lady. they reached over and held hers, the eyes smiled into hers, but all the same there came a sharp pang at his going. "for the next two weeks i shall be awfully busy," he explained. "then come the christmas holidays. i didn't have any last year. i just stayed and ground in the mill. i was bound to reach a certain point. but now i shall spend a week in london. i think i can persuade mrs. westbury to admit me." why should she not? laverne thought. a happy girl sat down to her solitary meal. she was no longer lonely. christmas was near. of next summer she would not think. a letter came from mrs. westbury with news that scarcely touched laverne, and perhaps after all had not much of real sadness in it. they had gone to wrexford grange to settle some important business, and before it was finished the poor old paralytic, who for the last year had been scarcely conscious of anything but breathing, had passed out of life. lord wrexford had insisted upon their staying until after the funeral. would she mind if she gave up the liscombes' dance? mrs. leigh would be pleased to chaperon her, but it would be in better taste to remain at home. laverne did this cheerfully. to be sure, the days were rather lonely, but the driving and a little shopping and going to some picture exhibitions with mrs. leigh filled them up. there was a pile of notes and invitations on mrs. westbury's desk when she returned. laverne often answered the least important. between them she sandwiched wrexford grange. it was an old, old estate, the title dating back for more than three hundred years, and though it had been neglected of late could be put in excellent order again. such grand rooms, such a splendid hall, such a great stone stairway with oaken railing. family portraits and a copy of the first charles,--the wrexfords had been royalists,--but all these things had been hidden away until the accession of the son, with the old family silver, rather clumsy, she thought, but she was wise enough to know that age redeemed it. "oh," she began suddenly, "the doncasters want you for their christmas bazaar. the thorleys are coming up--yes, i think you must go. it is for the doctor's pet charity, those crippled babies. i think it would be a mercy if the lord took some of the poor things out of the world, but while they are here they must be taken care of. it is only one day and evening. we must give a luncheon to florence and claire thorley. i'm sorry lord wrexford must be counted out of the christmas gayeties. yes, write an acceptance." when she came down to the bottom she glanced over the cards, smiling, then frowning, not sorry to have missed some of the calls. "victor savedra," she exclaimed, "why----" "it is those spanish people at home, at least, the son is here at oxford, and he called." she confessed it very quietly, without a change of color or embarrassment. "oh, yes--let me see--he asked permission to call--i think i told you--sometime in the early summer--we were going away." these little half truths annoyed laverne, but she made no comment. mrs. westbury had accomplished one step toward what she thought would be the crowning point of her life, and she was amazed that it had been done so easily. as laverne was an important factor in it she was prepared to be very sweet. "he is still at oxford?" "yes, he will be through in june, and then he will return to america." she was not even troubled when preston told her the young man had stayed two good hours. in fact, laverne was rather surprised at her amiability and indulgence. she saw very little of her father, but he, too, seemed awakening to a new interest in her. there were business and board meetings and dinners of directors, but he was always in excellent spirits. he sometimes wondered himself how it was that fate seemed to send everything his way. he was very lavish with christmas money to his wife and daughter. so she went to the bazaar in the best of spirits. she really liked amy doncaster, though she was finding that the type of olive personette was by no means an uncommon one. amy was deeply interested in her brother's hospital, and often visited it and made garments for the poorer patients. it was quite a pet charity in one circle. there were hundreds of other things in the great city, but they had their share of patronage. the hall was dressed with evergreens, and though some of the half-hidden flowers were paper they looked quite as pretty and did not wither in the heat and light. tastefully arranged tables, with handiwork both useful and ornamental, attractive for christmas gifts; young girls in simple white attire, the fashion of those days, older ones with more elegance keeping supervision and adding dignity. carriages came and went before the broad doorway, and visitors seemed generously inclined. she was very happy, this charming american girl. at the middle of the century there were not so many of them to share and often fight for triumphs. then, mr. westbury had won a standing of his own and was paving a golden path. it was not trade, something that was held in higher esteem. miss westbury might be quite an heiress. there was no older brother to demand a share. for we had not outgrown the idea that the brothers must be provided for first of all. when the hall was lighted up and the young men began to throng in, the scene was brilliant and the moneychangers brought out their best charms and sweetest smiles. mrs. westbury had been in during the afternoon and had gone to a "high tea" at old lady carcroft's. so in the early evening she came again. fred doncaster, who had elected the church for a profession, since there was a very excellent living in the other branch of the family, and he being a second son, brought in his friend victor savedra. "he is a spaniard," explained amy doncaster to a group of girls. "and isn't he handsome! fred brought him over once, they are great chums, and he has the most charming manners. oh, miss westbury, he lives--well--it isn't far from that wonderful san francisco where you came from, and they must be very rich, fred thinks, though he never boasts of it, but it must be something like a big english estate. oh, they are coming over here." they made their way through, and victor's face lighted with intense satisfaction. laverne flushed "celestial rosy red." he reached over and took her hand, exclaiming, "what a pleasure! i am so glad to see you here." "hillo!" and fred gazed from one to the other. "we have been friends from childhood--isn't it?" smiling out of his delight. "and miss doncaster--i came almost purposely to buy some of your wares," glancing at that lady. "oh, thank you," she returned gayly. the rest of the introductions were given and the party fell into a social chat. mrs. westbury entered the hall at that juncture with mrs. doncaster. a spasm of something like anger shot over her. yes, she was quite sure that must be victor savedra. was laverne making secret engagements with him? "oh," mrs. doncaster began, "there is fred's friend, a young spaniard, who has been over here for his education. we were all charmed with him when fred brought him to dinner one night, and wished we had made his acquaintance earlier, since he leaves us in the summer. the spaniards, i believe, were some of the old settlers on the western coast. i don't quite understand all the distinctions of american people." mrs. westbury recalled the fact that she had met the elder mr. savedra, who had come to say farewell to laverne and to assure her that they would do their best to make miss holmes happy. then she was formally introduced to the young man, who had a notably distinctive charm, partly due no doubt to his foreign air. fred certainly was in high spirits, and helped the girls in their sales, even if he did call them shopkeepers. then he insisted that miss westbury should accompany him around to "spy out the nakedness of the land," he said, which in this case meant an accession of funds for the hospital. "my brother _would_ study surgery," he said, with a half protest. "minturn is a born philanthropist, so between us both we shall care for bodies and souls. i'd worlds rather have my profession." amy and savedra were talking just in front of them, now and then pausing at a booth, where the girl proudly introduced her companion. some stalls were already sold out; indeed, every one seemed jubilant over the success. in a little rather private corner groups were having some refreshments, and at one they found miss doncaster and an admirer, who made room for them, and they had a merry time. victor sat on one side of laverne, and they exchanged bits of talk mostly satisfactory to each. savedra had accepted an invitation from the doncasters. it was true londoners were rushing out to country homes, or to holiday house parties, but there were hosts of them left. "i had no idea the doncasters knew you," victor said. "i am glad we have a mutual friend. i shall spend all the holidays in town, and we must see a good deal of each other to make up for the lost time." her eyes drooped and a delicious flush overspread her face. how shy and sweet she was! he would not think of the time when he must go away and leave her behind. mrs. doncaster accepted a seat in mrs. westbury's brougham. the young people would walk home, as the doctor headed the party. the girls had planned to have a little dance the night after christmas, just an informal, suddenly arranged matter, and laverne must be sure to come. they were to go to a christmas dinner, but there was no engagement for friday evening. after they had set their companion down at her own door, mrs. westbury still commented on the success of the bazaar and the prettiness of the girls. "and i thought that young savedra quite _épris_ with miss amy, didn't you? he was devoted to her." "they all like him very much." she was so happy there was no room in her heart for jealousy. indeed, gladness forbade the thought of possessorship. "and english girls don't mind marrying and going to the ends of the earth. that miss morven went to canada to marry her betrothed, who was in some government position, and couldn't leave. and lady estee's daughter went out to india. of course, laverne, you will not give a second thought to fred doncaster. it will be two years before he can be ordained. and there's such a family, six children!" "oh, no," returned laverne cheerfully. she had it in her mind to say: "your father has other views for you," but caution intervened. still, when she glanced her over in the light of her room as she was saying good-night, she thought how really pretty the girl looked to-night, her soft eyes shining, her mouth settled in the curves of a half smile that would tempt any lover to kiss, the clear, beautiful complexion, the long bronze lashes that seemed to play with the dainty color on her cheek, as the sun over dimpling waters. yes, she wanted the excitement of pleasure. laverne went to the dance with great gladness of heart and a strange freedom. victor danced with the doncaster girls first, they were the hostesses. then it came laverne's turn, and they had a delightful time between the figures. "oh, do you remember how frightened you were that night at uncle personette's? i really made you dance, didn't i? i wonder that you were not vexed. was i worse than importunate?" laughing. "oh, i thought you were so good, so delightful, to take the trouble. and i was such a child. there were so many big girls. how could i have been vexed? that would have been ungrateful." "we have always been such friends. and now i shall venture to call on you. i had a fancy that mrs. westbury didn't quite like--well, of course, you were not in society. customs are different." "you are going back so soon." she said it with a most adorable little sigh. "there will be the easter vacation, and we must make the best of this. when i am away i shall think of you half the time. let us see. can't we make a plan--just at twilight, let us say. no matter where we are we will send a thought to each other. there's a queer new belief, magnetism or some such thing, that you _can_ send an influence to your friends across any space, that if you sit still a few moments and think of them they will respond." "oh, that is a most felicitous thought!" could she make uncle jason or any one think of her in that manner? "let _us_ promise--just at twilight." some one took her in the next figure. what a slim, graceful girl she was. how like a bird she skimmed along when she ran races with elena! and how they had scrambled over rocks and sat on the summits overlooking the ocean! there were no such fascinating memories with any other human being. there was no one quite like her. and they did have a merry, delightful time. a week of going somewhere every day, of chances to slip in bits of charming confidences, of strolls in the old museum and other famous places, and then it came to an end. fred and savedra, friends as they were, dropped in to say good-by. mrs. westbury was present. he went over and took her hand--what magnificent rubies those were! "i want to thank you for a great deal of courtesy," he said, "and much pleasure. and now we must both return to our old pastures and dig away at the dry roots and forget about everything but the exams." he shook hands quietly with both ladies. chapter xix the guiding finger agnes westbury watched her stepdaughter closely when the two young men were gone. she did not droop. she was happy and serene, compliant with whatever was proposed. she made some visits to the hospital with miss doncaster; that was safe enough. charity had not come to be a fad then, though there were many earnest workers. mr. westbury and lord wrexford took a run over to paris. after that he was a frequent visitor. mrs. westbury had a curious charm for him. she was so intelligent that he sometimes forgot it was like talking to a man. "you american women know about your husband's business and never seem to think it a bore," he said one evening. "ours do take an interest in politics when their husbands are up. and you have the art of making attractive homes. now, the average person would have a certain stiffness about this place----" the belongings were of the regulation sort, and individual taste was hardly comprehended. she had added some easy chairs, an odd and pretty table, with a series of shelves to hold books of engravings, and portraits of celebrated authors and artists, several fine vases disposed around, and these articles announced with an air "we belong to the present mistress," the furniture belongs to the house. "i like to take some comfort and not be continually fretted with surroundings. as we are living in furnished houses mostly, i can't suit myself. i don't pretend to. i just have a little and dream of what will be when we are permanently settled." "i wonder if that will be here--in london?" tentatively. "i think i shall not go back to america, 'the states,' as you call it," smiling a little. "i shall have laverne to keep me company if mr. westbury has to take a business journey. i confess to a fondness for the older civilization. our land is still in an undeniably crude state. but so were you a few centuries back." this woman had a curious charm in her frankness, that was never rude even in its most truthful moments. there was something about her that he could not define, and that kept him studying and full of interest, watching the next turn. if it was art, it was the most judiciously managed. if it was due to temperament, then, indeed, she had a many-sided nature. she kept young, but it was not the shy simplicity of her daughter, she seemed to have a wide range of knowledge, but she was not pedantic, not obtrusive. there were dainty concessions that flattered a man, little embellishments that seemed an understanding of a man's mood, too delicate for him to pick to pieces, if he could. then there was a mysterious charm about her attire, a french adaptiveness of style, of something made different from most women, with a touch of color, a bow or a flower. she was a pleasant study. now and then she delicately drew laverne into the talk. she asked her to bring over the portfolio of albert dürer's engravings they had bought only a few days before, and draw up the small buhl stand. then they discussed them and holland; she had been reading up a volume of travels that very morning, and was as fresh as if she had just come from there. laverne was appealed to for this or that. she was not kept in the background, but she seemed always flying there with adorable shyness. afterward in his own room, smoking his pipe, he thought the matter over, as he often did. he had been rescued from an _esclandre_, his father had been buried as became one of the old line of wrexfords. he could go back to the grange with a certain prestige. he might be asked to stand for chediston. there would be no more straits and pinches of poverty, and he had suffered a good many during the last three years. all this smooth sailing was conditioned on his marrying laverne westbury. she was a nice enough young girl, but he had had a surfeit of young girls. it would be hard to bridge over the seventeen years between them, very hard for her. if it was the mother instead! not being her own daughter she was hardly likely to resemble her more as time went on. he had a vague feeling that the child was something less than money-making in her father's life. all this matter was largely in her mother's hands, and if the threads were not wisely pulled, wrexford grange would be in her hands, too. yes, if _she_ were single. for the present he was out of society proper. he went to his club, he called on a few old friends, and he was taking a rather curious interest in one of the new companies. he really might be a rich man again. so passed away a month or two. mrs. westbury had meant to push laverne into society, perhaps have her "presented" at some court drawing room in the season. but as lady wrexford it would have a much greater effect. there could be a marriage four or five months after the old lord's death. was laverne ignorant of the trend of all this? she was thinking that at easter she should see victor again, and that would be another bit of the old life to sustain her exile. so she listened with only half attention to hints and suggestions. she knew her father had invested a good deal of money in wrexford grange, and that her mother liked lord wrexford, that as they were not very gay he enjoyed dropping in, that he was their attendant on various occasions of the soberer sort. david westbury said to his wife: "you had better state the case to her. she has some of that new england obtuseness. well, she is very young. we have grown much wiser in the world's ways since that early period of our lives. it is the gain of experience," with a short, brusque laugh. then he kissed her. she always exacted that, and it was generally freely given. "i may not be back until late to-night," he said. it was a miserable day, with a blinding fog that had better have been a rain. laverne practiced two hours instead of one, then she read aloud in a novel of the day. there was luncheon; some dawdling and scolding about the weather. once mrs. westbury put her arms about laverne and looked into her eyes with an intense expression. "i wonder how much you love me?" in a caressing, pleading tone. "i'm trying to do all the nice things i can for you; what would you do for me?" "why--there is nothing i _could_ do," with a delicate emphasis. surely she could not spend all her life with mrs. westbury--making that mental reservation. "you _could_ do something that would repay, that would give your father and myself the greatest happiness." she was not destined to hear it just then. some styles had been sent from the dressmaker's, would mrs. westbury look them over and choose which suited her? she was having a lavender satin made, and here were also patterns of lace for the trimming. so they discussed them. then the postman, a few invitations to answer. it was so dark the house was lighted up. laverne went to the piano again and tried to catch some of the elusive things she had learned from isola savedra. she could see the lovely, half-tropical home, hear the sweet voices, smell the fragrances of a hundred blooms. ah, how lovely it must be on that pacific slope. she could have cried with rapture and pain. dinner, then a long evening. no one came in. laverne read, hardly taking in an impression. "put up the book, laverne." the voice was persuasive, but it struck a chord of fear in the girl's soul. "your father wished me to lay a subject before you that is very near his heart, that would really crown his endeavors for wealth and standing. and it is _my_ desire as well. i think i have always studied your welfare from the time i snatched you out of that crude, half-barbarous life. and a third person's happiness is at stake." laverne shivered. a sudden light broke in upon her. she had half fancied that she had been used as a sort of blind that her mother might enjoy lord westbury's society, but if it should be---- "what an odd girl you are, not a bit curious? so i must put my story in plain terms." it was embellished. in business statements mrs. westbury could come to the point quickly, but she did somehow dread this a little, for she began to mistrust the girl she had fancied would be easily convinced. she went briefly over the commercial side, and suggested this had been done because lord wrexford had taken a great fancy to her the first evening he had met her at the thorleys. for her sake and for her advantage her father had rescued wrexford grange. any girl would be proud of such an opportunity. lord wrexford was getting impatient, and desired to make his proposal, though the marriage would not be hurried unduly. "i saw you were not dreaming of such a thing, and your father thought i had better prepare you a little. think, laverne, a simple american girl becoming lady wrexford!" laverne threw herself at mrs. westbury's feet, and buried her face on the elder's lap, shuddering in every limb. "oh, i cannot! i cannot!" she cried passionately. "no, do not ask me. i cannot love him, he does not love me. why, it is like being sold----" "hush, you silly girl. there is no being sold about it. he has asked for your hand honorably. it is a chance out of a thousand. any girl would jump at it. your father put his money in the grange for you, and you will be a most ungrateful daughter not to accede to his wishes. when you have made up your mind you will find lord wrexford most agreeable. it can be a late spring marriage, and you really will be the envy of many a high-born girl when you step among them. you can be presented at the last drawing room, lady wrexford! why, you would be worse than an idiot to refuse it." laverne rose. "no, i cannot--i cannot," shuddering. "your father will have his say to-morrow. there, no words. you can go to your room, and resolve that you will pay due respect to your father. you are under age." she was glad to go. oh, yes, she had been blind. for the last month lord wrexford had really been _their_ devoted admirer. most of his conversation had been addressed to mrs. westbury. yet he had watched her closely, she recalled that now. he had shown a delicate solicitude in many things. oh, could it be possible that he really cared for her! that would make it so much harder. and how could she meet her father, how defy him! yes, she was really afraid of him. oh, if he would only be angry and send her back to california! she opened the window as if she could look across to the old home. the fog was absolute blackness, chilling, penetrating every nerve. she shut it down again, but the breath of it seemed to strangle her. she did not cry, her terror and dread were too deep for tears. she would hear him come home presently, his full, strong voice, and they would talk it over. so she listened and listened. the clocks inside struck midnight, then the small hours. would she never get to sleep! somewhere toward dawn there was a sharp clang of the bell, and strange voices. then hurried steps up and down, mrs. westbury giving a shriek, crying out confusedly, calling the maid, going downstairs, then a carriage driving away, and the servants still talking. she opened her door. "oh, what is it, what is it?" she asked. "we were not to disturb you, miss laverne." "but i was awake. i heard--has mrs. westbury gone away? oh, did something happen to father?" "yes, miss. he was hurt, knocked down somehow, and taken to the hospital. but i guess it will all be right. it's natural he would want mrs. westbury." laverne threw herself down on the bed, shocked. one would never think of associating death with that active, robust physique. oh, no, it would not be that, only some hurt. and if he should be ill and ask this great sacrifice of her! there was no word the next morning. the butler had even forgotten to inquire what was the name of the hospital. laverne did not want any breakfast, she wandered from room to room, she sat down at the piano and played a few melancholy tunes. how hard the uncertainty was! her very fingers grew nerveless. at noon lord wrexford came. he was so gentle and sympathetic that her heart almost went out to him. he told the story with a tender gravity. whether in the dense fog mr. westbury had missed his carriage or slipped and fallen no one knew. an oncoming horse had stepped on him, and the injury was severe. there had been an operation---- "but he will not die! he cannot die! he is so strong--oh, surely, surely----" and her voice broke. "my dear child, we must wait and see. i am going back. mrs. westbury will stay----" he had not the courage to say that a few hours would end it all. the young, grief-stricken face touched his heart. yes, he would make her a good, kind husband. if he were free to choose he would not select her from all the women he knew, but now the marriage would be imperative, and he would do his best. that evening he brought mrs. westbury home. she would not see laverne, but went at once to her room. he told the child the story as far as any one could learn the particulars. a horse's hoof had injured the skull, crushed it in so that there was only a very faint hope from the first, but he worded it delicately, and stayed in the library all day, receiving the body when it came, seeing various people, and having one interview with mrs. westbury. after that she sent for laverne, and they wept together in each other's arms. laverne thought she must have loved him, she was so shocked by his fate. it was a distressing occurrence to all his friends, and he had won many. beside there was the great question of what the two companies were to do without the working head. lord wrexford proved himself invaluable through these troublous days. a sad easter it was. the doncasters and others brought their warmest sympathy. victor savedra came, and the pale girl in her deep mourning went at once to the heart that had thought of her daily and kept tryst. ah, how should she tell him that since that fatal night she had not! for now she began to understand the great reason why she could never come to care for lord wrexford. he had not asked her to marry him, but somehow he had taken a lover's authority. mrs. westbury had many subjects to revolve in her mind, and was alarmed at first lest matters might go wrong. so she accepted and acted upon the fact that lord wrexford should be her son-in-law. she would not give up the chance of this connection with nobility. besides lord wrexford was necessary. affairs were found in excellent order, and mr. westbury gained in the esteem of the directors. but now the company must assume the responsibility. the new method of separating ore had been patented in both countries, and was invaluable. lord wrexford, it was assumed, had been a kind of confidential secretary and his knowledge must be devoted to the company. mrs. westbury had large interests, he was made her agent at once. now, it was found that he had willed everything to his wife, who was to make such settlements on his daughter as she considered best. and she held the right to wrexford grange. she demanded the utmost affection and sympathy from laverne. "of course, you cannot understand all that he was to me. marriage interprets one to the other. and you have only known him such a brief while. then, i think these placid natures cannot love and suffer like the more intense ones. the shock has nearly killed me. oh, do comfort me! you are all i have left." laverne tried earnestly. but she noted that she quickly overcame a paroxysm of grief when lord wrexford or the lawyer came, and could spend hours over the business. "of course," she said, a few weeks afterward, "the marriage must be put off a while, but it is more necessary than ever. your father felt you were too young to be made independent. the grange was to be your dowry on your wedding day--to you and your children. the marriage can be rather a quiet one, and in six months, under the circumstances, you can lay your mourning aside. meanwhile we may be considering the trousseau. we can go to paris----" laverne threw herself at her stepmother's feet, and clasped her hands in entreaty. "oh, do not, do not compel me," she cried, in anguish. "i do not care for the grange nor the money. if you will only send me back to america----" "i shall not send you back. i am your natural, lawful guardian now. i shall do what i consider best for you, and in the years to come you will thank me for it. there, we will have no discussion." what should she do? a dozen plans came and went through her brain. she remembered how carmen estenega had run away from a hateful marriage. but she had an ardent lover. this would be such a long journey, and she would have no friends on the way. should she appeal to victor? oh, no, she could not. yet she had a consciousness that he would respond at once. she was coming to have a strange fear of mrs. westbury, as if she might dominate all her life. surely she would if this marriage should take place. oh, it could not. she would not consent even at the last moment. no one was forced to marry. ah, would not carmen have been forced? lord wrexford came and went. there were visits from lawyers and directors, and calls of condolence. a certain kind of peace, but it seemed like an armed truce. and laverne realized more thoroughly every day that there had never been any true and tender love for her in mrs. westbury's heart. she was older now, and could see more clearly, had more discrimination, yet she did wonder why her father's wife had been so exigent. she could not understand the vanity, the selfish desire for the admiration of this young soul. and she also saw that mrs. westbury sought her own advantage in this marriage. to be allied to the higher orders, to be the mother-in-law to lord wrexford, to have the entrée into the charmed circles. how had she grown so wise! she thought of her father with infinite pity, that he should have been wrenched out of the life he enjoyed so much. she felt that he had never truly loved her, and that she had not succeeded in loving him. always her heart was turning back to uncle jason. yes, that was the sweet, tender, and true life, finer and nobler than this striving and subterfuge, this greediness for wealth and high places. lord wrexford came one afternoon, quite a custom with him now. mrs. westbury had been sent for to some important meeting. he walked in with the easy familiarity that characterized him, and passed a few pleasant conventionalities. how many times she had thought if she could see him alone, and now that the opportunity had come she trembled with a certain kind of fear and shame. what could she say to a man who had not yet asked her to marry him? he began to perceive that she was unduly excited. the color wavering over her face and the quivering lips touched him. he was not a heartless man, and every day he was feeling this was more of a dilemma for him. "my child," he began, rather blunderingly, realizing all the years between them, and then he saw that her eyes were overflowing. "lord wrexford," she tried to steady her voice, but it trembled noticeably, "i believe i have been offered to you as--as--an equivalent----" "no, don't put it that way," he interrupted quickly. "your father was very honorable." "i do not know much about marriage, but it seems as if----" "as if youth and love should go hand in hand? middle age and money may make a dicker. but if there were love, or if the title won you in any degree," and he knew there were some who would have been won even by poverty and a title with the background of the grange. "i do not love you," she said simply. "it seems ungrateful when you have been both kind and patient. indeed, i have been trying----" there was such a wistful cadence to her tremulous voice that it touched him, man of the world as he was. the slow tears dropped from her lashes, but she could not raise her eyes, though there was entreaty in every line of her slight figure, even in the limp hands that hung by her side. "and a love that is forced is no love at all. but you must realize the sacrifice you will make, and consider. it will be more than giving up a title. everything is in your mother's hands----" "oh, i have told her that i do not care for the money. i remembered so little of papa that he seemed an utter stranger to me, and--some one had loved and adopted me before. she knows i wish to go back home----" her voice faltered and broke. "you are a brave little girl," he exclaimed admiringly. "an honest and true one, and you deserve to be happy, to love some one who has love and youth to give in return." did she know such a one? "i think you are not taking root here." "you know mamma is not any real relation," she began as if in apology. "she has been very kind and indulgent to me. i would like to please her. but, oh, i would so much rather have been left in san francisco. my dear uncle would not have gone away. we should have been poor, for he had just lost everything in a dreadful fire, but i wouldn't have minded----" "my dear child, you shall not be sacrificed." he wanted to take the drooping figure in his arms, and kiss away the tears that rolled silently over the softly rounded cheeks. she looked so fragile in her black frock. if she could be his little sister! but he had nothing to dower her with, he would even lose the grange himself. but he said, "do not give yourself any further uneasiness, i will see mrs. westbury." "oh, thank you a thousand times!" she did not know how adorably her face lighted up. yes, if she had loved him it might have done. and if the race of wrexford died out with him what matter? laverne felt so much more friendly toward him that she could not help showing it. mrs. westbury hailed this with delight. "have you asked, and has she accepted?" she inquired one afternoon when they were alone. it was a warm day, and she defied custom sufficiently to lay aside heavy crapes indoors. her gown was of some thin black stuff, trailing and cloud-like. her arms, that were well shaped, showed through in their whiteness, and she often used them in a caressing sort of manner. her throat had the delicate prettiness of art, and she looked really younger in this half simplicity. the fragrance and quiet of the room seemed to be a perfect setting for her, and it made her suggestive, attractive to the verge of fascination. "neither," he said, drawing nearer. "we understand each other. when the time comes, a year hence or less, perhaps, i am going to ask you to accept the title to wrexford grange. it will suit me worlds better. i have outgrown the bread and butter period." she was very little rouged, and a color flushed up in her face. she had cultivated the trick of this. she was versed in men's meanings and knew this was no idle compliment. but she was surprised. "yes, a year or so," in a slow charming manner with becoming hesitation. "meanwhile be good to the poor little thing." "since you plead for her. i confess i have been somewhat disappointed in her. perhaps no child can be quite like your own. she wants to go back to america--shall i send her?" she did not care for a daughter now. as lady wrexford she would rather have all the homage. the girl had been useful. there are people who can drop one easily when no longer needed. laverne westbury was too honest to be a comfortable companion. and then--what if lord wrexford should come to consider a younger wife preferable? men _did_ change in many of their views, she had learned by experience. in a way she had loved david westbury. he was fond of caresses, but she had never tired him of them. she was proud of his successes, yet she had a conviction that it was her money that had been the keynote of prosperity. he was one of the men who dropped an unsuccess very soon, and did not spend his energies fighting his way through. for the first weeks she had been crushed by the loss, and this she said to herself was because of her deep love for him. when she found that affairs were in a good shape, that she was a rich woman, to be consulted by the directors, that she still held many things in her hands, and that she would have still more prestige by being the mother-in-law of a lord, who had about sown all his wild oats, and found the crop unprofitable; laverne was of use to her. and now with a better understanding the child had become something of a trial. she was no longer a half-blind worshipper. "what friends has she there?" he asked after some consideration. "oh, i suppose the man who adopted her is somewhere--he was a lover of her own mother. and there was another family connected with the savedras--why, there _is_ the young man. i half suspected he was a rival about christmas time. and i'm not sure now----" "he was here at the easter holidays. well, that would be more appropriate. may and december, you know," with a vague smile. "you have a long later summer and autumn before you reach december," and she raised her eyes with a look of appreciation, and that admiration which always touches a man's vanity. "i will not have you growing old too fast. and i think almost any young girl would fall in love with you, unless there was some prior claim. perhaps there was." "he returns home in july. well, why not give him the opportunity?" smiling softly. she looked undecided. "at least give her a choice. i _do_ admire her sincerely. many girls would not have refused a title." she knew that. and laverne's refusal was going to bring her the best of good fortune. so she could afford to pardon her high conscientiousness. "i will have a talk with her. if we cannot make her happy here, and i think she is not suited to this sort of life, it would be cruel to keep her." the reluctance betokened some affection on mrs. westbury's part, he thought, though he could not divine the secret joy this new aspect had brought her. she was not desirous of sharing her right in him with anybody. laverne waited in a state of tremulous fear and expectation. mrs. westbury was quietly gracious at dinner. afterward they retired to the library. "lord wrexford came to me this afternoon when you had dismissed him," she began rather severely. she did not mean to be too lenient with the girl. "you have been most foolish and short-sighted," she said. "and knowing that it was your father's dearest wish, his plan for a splendid future. the money he put in wrexford grange was for you. he would not have risked his money merely for the young man." "i--i couldn't have married him. oh, you do not understand----" "you are a little fool. i suppose that young savedra stood in the way?" laverne was silent. she was glad she had her scarlet face turned away. "you pride yourself on truthfulness and honor, yet you have been underhand and deceitful. you have carried on an intrigue with a lover while you assumed a sort of ultra conscientiousness toward lord wrexford----" laverne rose and came forward in the light. now she was very pale, but her face wore a high, serene expression. "you accuse me unjustly, mrs. westbury," she began with quiet dignity, that awed the older woman. "i have carried on no intrigue. no word of love has been uttered between us. he has not asked me anything that you and lord wrexford might not hear. he wrote me a letter of condolence--if you would like you can see it. it called for no answer. we had been friends since childhood. the home at oaklands was like a second home to me. if victor savedra had been engaged to amy doncaster i should have felt just the same toward lord wrexford. oh, i think he understands it better than you do." "you needn't be so tragic about it. i _am_ disappointed in you. i hoped to have a daughter who would love me tenderly, sincerely. if i had been opposed to the plan, your father would have left you there in that wild land among barbarians, who do not know what to do with their gold, when they have dug it out of the ground." no, it was not for any real love for her, she had known that this long while. and now she understood that she and her stepmother were on lines that were too dissimilar for friendship even. she was an alien and a stranger, she would drift farther and farther away. "you seem to have made up your mind that you cannot be happy here, that my regard is worth very little. matters have changed with me somewhat. i shall not keep this house, i must get away from the remembrance that my dear husband has lain dead in it, after the awful tragedy. and if you have any choice----" "oh, i have, i have! send me back home, that is all i ask. and--i do not want the money. my father's wish that you should have it all was right enough. you see, i never seemed like a real child to him. i do not think he cared much for my mother. yes, let me go----" the voice with its pathos did pierce agnes westbury's heart, but there were so many motives ranged on the other side, and she persuaded herself that the child really had been ungrateful and was incapable of any ardent or sustained feeling. it would be much better for them to part. "i will consider," she said languidly. "now go, i have a headache, and these scenes are too much for me in my weak and excited state. i have had so much sorrow to bear." "good-night," laverne said. she did not offer the kiss that after it had failed to be tenderness, remained a perfunctory duty, but now had ceased to be even that. "good-night, to you. mine will be wretched enough, they always are." but after a few moments' thought, and when laverne had dismissed the maid on the upper landing, she stepped briskly over to the desk, turned up the light, and wrote a letter to victor savedra. fate or providence had played into her hands always. she would be very decorous and observe the strictest propriety, but she counted up the months that must elapse before she could be lady wrexford. she had her lover in her own hands. chapter xx an enchanted journey was it a happy dream laverne savedra kept asking herself, out on the broad ocean with no land in sight and the great vault overhead, that by night filled up with myriads of stars, that by day was a great unknown country over which other ships went drifting to ports beyond mortal ken. it was a much longer journey then, but going round the world would not have been too long for all the confidences she and her husband never wearied of exchanging. she felt a little confused that he should have appeared so suddenly, with such a brave air, and in the long talk told all his doubts and fears, the whisper he had heard that she was likely to marry lord wrexford, and that he found he had loved her since that first evening they had danced together. and when he heard that, he felt he had no right to keep a tryst with her in the twilight, but still he could not put her out of his thoughts. and to him lord wrexford seemed quite a middle-aged man, and he wondered if the grange, said to be one of the fine old estates in that shire, had won her with perhaps the persuasion of her parents. then her father's sudden and terrible death had deterred him from a wild dream of coming to press his claim, for he was not sure her regard was more than a childish preference. and he, too, had been brought up to respect parental authority. then, there were so many regulations in english society that he feared to transgress, and he was desperately busy with examination papers, and now all that trouble was ended, and he should rejoice his father's heart by his degrees. but there never would be any place to him like his beloved california, so rich in treasures of the god-sent kind, if she could not boast great universities and picture galleries and libraries. they would all come in time. mrs. westbury had insisted upon one condition. he was to destroy her letter and never make any mention of it. for laverne, with her ultra delicate notions, might resent being offered to another lover. he was to come as any friend might and learn for himself. she had thought of the difficulty of sending the child on such a long journey with only a maid. it was not merely crossing the ocean--for then there was no cable and even telegraph communications were apt to be interrupted. but if she could be really married and in a husband's care, the way would be clear. victor savedra had hesitated a little. they would hardly fail to accord laverne a warm welcome; but when his father had been so indulgent to him, to take such an important step without his knowledge! but there was no other course. "i'll give you a generous trousseau, laverne," she said, "but your father's property is so tied up in stocks and various things that i hardly know where to turn for money for myself." "oh, please do not think about the money. i am glad you are not displeased about--about----" and she colored deeply. "indeed, i never thought of mr. savedra as a lover. we had been such friends----" "to have you lady wrexford would have been very flattering to me, seeing that you were hardly in society. but your refusal was so decided, and i must say, he took it in a very gentlemanly manner. it might have cost me my friend, even, and i should hardly have known what to do. he has been most kind and useful." "i do not think he really loved me," laverne answered, with some spirit. "the acquaintance had hardly been long enough for that. and a man at his time of life has lost the impetuosity of youth," the elder returned rather dryly. laverne had made one protest about the marriage. she wanted to see uncle jason first. in a way she belonged to him. if he were poor and unfortunate he would need her so much the more. "but you see you could not search for him alone. we will both try to find him. and i think he is dearer than your father was. i always liked him so much. and his home shall be with us always." "how good you are," laverne murmured with deep feeling. it was not merely crossing the ocean, that was done by even an unattended woman, it would be the remainder of the journey, and that would prove simply impossible. but mrs. westbury was determined to have some reflected distinction in her stepdaughter. this marriage had an aureole of romance about it. she could wash her hands of laverne in a very satisfactory manner. so it was a very pretty wedding in church, with the doncaster girls for bridesmaids and a quiet reception to say farewell to friends as they were to sail on the morrow. mrs. westbury was modest in her white crêpe dress with the plainest of adornment. the bride was charming, the groom a proud and handsome young fellow. lord wrexford bestowed upon her a handsome necklace of pearls and gave her the best of wishes. mrs. westbury parted with some jewels she cared little about, but to enhance their value she said with well-assumed emotion: "they may be dear to you, laverne, as mementoes of your father. he was a good judge of such articles, and would have the best or none. and in times of prosperity he was most generous. of course, he had not always been as successful as during these last few years." the parting was very amicable, tender, indeed, with the hope that laverne and her husband would find their way abroad again. it was hardly likely _she_ would ever visit america. they began their new life as lovers indeed, but the hopes of both were centred in the old place where they had first met. dozens of fresh recollections came to light every day. his memory went back farther than hers, and now they said "old san francisco." he wondered how much it had changed in the four years, and she supposed telegraph hill had been cut down still more. probably the old house was no more. pelajo had been sent over to oaklands--would he be alive? and had the squirrels all been driven to other wilds by the march of improvement? a long, long journey it proved. all her life she was to be a great traveller, but she thought then these two journeys were enough to satisfy any one. and at last the golden gate came in view. oh, had it ever been so grand and imposing before! here was the rocky frowning coast line with its few breaks. the sun was not shining, but the soft, low clouds floating in silvery gray, turning to mauve with here and there a high light just edging them, gave the gray brown rocks all manner of indescribable tints that blended with the gray green lapping waves. there was no stormy aspect about it, but a splendid, serene peace. even the gulls seemed to float in the mysterious ether, the under side of their wings matching the prevailing tint. and nothing screamed, or cried, or disputed. clusters were settled sleepily in the recesses of the rocks. and way up above they could see mount tamalpais with vales and woods and great sandheaps between, and here was sausalito, point bonito, point lobos, as they entered in. they had reached the promised land. laverne glanced up with eyes full of tears. the joy was too deep for words. here were streets running out to the newly begun sea wall. here were new piers, the old fisherman's pier made over. why, telegraph hill had stepped from its lofty estate, though there were still some terraces left, some houses perched up high with winding paths. streets straightened down to market street, which seemed to cut the city diagonally in two. the old islands, the opposite shores, the towns that had sprung up. how strange and yet how familiar. but now going and returning was such an ordinary occurrence that there were no great crowds to welcome travellers. and every one seemed so intent upon business that it almost confused laverne. there were three who came to greet them. mr. savedra, miss holmes, and elena, a tall girl now, with flashing black eyes, a saucy scarlet mouth, and brilliant complexion. and miss holmes was no longer young, to laverne's surprise, who had always held her in mind as she had appeared on that first voyage, and who had never noted any change in her when she saw her day by day. victor had apprised his father of his marriage and laverne found herself tenderly welcomed, as a foretaste of what was awaiting her on the opposite side of the bay. so a little of the luggage was collected, to follow them the next day, and they left the fine, new mail ship for the ferry boat. the same old diversity of people that looked strange now to the young girl. and the whirl, the bustle, the confusion of tongues, the jostling of rough and refined, how queer it seemed. "you have hardly changed," miss holmes said when she had studied her for some time. "haven't i?" with the old girlish smile. "sometimes i feel as if i had lived a hundred years in these two. oh, i shall have so much to tell you." and yet she had an oddly pretty air and self-possession of wifehood gained in these months when the world of travel had held only each other, when every day had brought new revelations. the remainder of the family were out on the porch with open arms and kisses that it was worth crossing the ocean to win. for it was early spring again, with everything a vision of beauty, though they had left midwinter behind somewhere. oh, the fragrance in the air, had she ever breathed anything so delicious since she said good-by to the old place! they were very glad to have her, if the marriage had been out of the usual order. isola had a mind to be quite jealous of victor, and that amused him greatly. she had improved a great deal under miss holmes' sensible care and training, and had an exalted, spiritual kind of grace and expression. laverne felt as if she had gone into a new world, and the atmosphere was enchanting. there was so much to say that midnight came before they had half said it. and it was not until the next day she had the courage to inquire if anything had been heard of uncle jason. miss holmes smiled. "mr. savedra has a story for you," she answered. "i will not spoil it." he was walking up and down the path with victor when she ran out to him, eager-eyed and breathless. "if you have missed one fortune, you seem in a fair way for another," he began smilingly. "i have been telling victor." he put his arm about her and drew her close. "jason chadsey's love for you is one of the rare affections seldom met with. you know we were all surprised to learn that you were no kin to him. but your mother did wisely when she bequeathed you to him." "oh, you have heard, you know----" she interrupted vehemently. "he is living. i--we," coloring, "must go and find him. he was more than a father to me. oh, tell me," and he felt her pulse tremble. "you need not go. he will be only too glad to come to you. two months ago i was surprised when he entered my office. at first i could not place him. but his voice and his eyes recalled him. he had gone through a variety of adventures. he admitted that he had been eager to get away from the town and forget his losses, though friends would have been ready enough to help him in business again. he wandered up to british columbia, and all the land between he thinks marvellous in its capabilities. it is like a romance to hear him talk. then he came down again, sometimes trying the wilds and forests, and at last returning to an old resolve that had taken possession of him before he saw you--to go to the gold fields. and thither he found his way about six months ago. at first he was not much prepossessed. it seemed as if everything worth while had been claimed. then he fell in with a poor young man dying with consumption, whose claim had been very promising in the beginning, but some way had failed, but he had not lost faith in it from certain scientific indications. they worked together for a while. this jarvis, it seems, had been at the school of mines in new york. but at the last he went very rapidly, and bequeathed his claim to your uncle. a week after he had buried the poor fellow he unearthed the secret again, and it was just as he was about to give it up. he made no comment, but worked steadily, burying his gold every night instead of taking it to his cabin, and adroitly hiding the real lode. his companions laughed and jeered, one after another left the gulch. then, as i said, he came down to me with two or three small bags of gold nuggets hidden about his person. upon assaying, they turned out first-class. so he left them in my possession and went back again, delighted that he was at last on the sure track of your fortune. he had the utmost confidence that you would return to him when you were of age----" "oh, poor, dear uncle jason! his life has been devoted to me! but he must not take all this toil and trouble. i do not care for the fortune. oh, you must believe that if i had not been compelled to go, i should never have left him in adversity. it almost broke my heart," and she paused in tears. "my dear child, no one could blame you. there was no other course then. i understand how he felt about it." "and now i must go to him at once----" raising her lovely eyes, full of entreaty. "my child, it will be better to send for him. it is a rough journey, and a miner's cabin will not afford much accommodation for a lady," he returned, with gentle firmness. "but, i cannot wait. why, i could fly to him," and she looked in her beautiful eagerness as if she might. "and victor promised----" glancing at him. "we can send a messenger at once, to-day, and a man can travel more rapidly, put up with hardships. neither can we lose you, when we have hardly seen you. think how patiently he is waiting, almost two years more, he believes." laverne did yield to persuasion at length. for that matter not half the experiences had been told over. they were all so glad to have her that she felt it would be ungracious not to be joyous and happy. elena wanted to hear about london. yes, she had seen the queen and some of the princesses, but she had not been presented. "she would have been, as lady wrexford," said victor laughingly. "and you can't think all that a title counts for there. i wonder she wasn't tempted. for i had not asked her then." "but i had promised uncle jason." isola's music was a greater delight than ever. she had improved very much under her careful training, though her soul's desire was still improvising. "oh, how you would be admired in london," laverne cried enthusiastically. "such a gift is really wonderful. why some one ought to write it down." "professor gerhart has tried some things. but you see i never play them twice quite alike, and that bothers. i want to turn this way and that," smiling, yet flushing a little. "yes," victor added, "you could make fame and fortune abroad." "but she could not play in public," said the mother. then they must take new views of the town. "there is no more old san francisco," victor declared. "one would hardly credit the changes if he were told." there were streets now running out to islais creek, where the marsh was being filled up. and the queer little corner, where the streets ran a block or two in every direction by channel creek, still held some adobe houses. some day the southern pacific railroad would run along here and build its immense freight houses and stations. market street was creeping along. sandhills had been toppled over into depressions. great buildings had been reared. kearny street was running up over telegraph hill. the lower end was given over to handsome stores, that displayed goods which could stand comparison with any other city. telegraph hill was to be lowered, even after this revolution, that had left the topmost crest fifty or sixty feet above sea level. it had a rather curious aspect now. some of the quaint old houses had been lowered, and smart new ones formed a striking contrast. a few scrubby oaks, firmly rooted, had defied removal, it would seem, and were left in sandy backyards. the beautiful pine was gone, the old house had not been worth any trouble, and so had shared destruction. "i can't make it seem real," laverne said piteously, with tears in her eyes. "there is no more old san francisco." there was no more little girl either. but farther down the aspect was more natural. here was the new presbyterian church, where she had seen the old one burn down. and here was saint mary's, with its fine spire still unfinished. the mission on vallejo street, and st. patrick's in happy valley, and the fine school of mission de dolores, they had all improved, though she found some familiar features. and the little nucleus of china town had spread out. while the old californian and the spaniard relinquished the distinguishing features of the attire, the chinaman in his blue shirt, full trousers, white stockings, and pointed toes set way above the soles, and the black pigtail wound about his head, looked just as she had seen them in her childhood, and they had not grown appreciably older, or had they always been old? mr. dawson had died, and his wife had retired to a handsome private dwelling, and kept her carriage. the folsom house was much grander, and dick, a "young blood," whom girls were striving in vain to captivate. mrs. folsom wanted to hear about her father's death, and if her stepmother had lived up to her promises. "i do suppose your father died a rich man. or, did it all take wings and vanish?" laverne answered that the business had not been settled, and that mrs. westbury had proved very kind to her. "i never could quite make up my mind about her. queer, wasn't it, that she should take such a fancy to you and insist upon having you, for second wives' fancies don't often run that way. i had an idea she would marry you to some lord, with all the money, they expected to have. and here you've married that mr. savedra and come back. does any one hear what has become of that old uncle of yours?" "oh yes, he keeps in touch with victor's father." "it was too bad he should have lost all by that dreadful fire. fires have been the bane of the town, but we do not have as many now. oh, didn't the place look queer when we first came. there were rows of tents still, and such shanties, and now great four-story bricks and stone, and banks and business places. one would hardly believe it if he had not seen it." mr. personette was in a large real estate business, and even yet was hardly reconciled that howard had not gone into the law. but he was very well satisfied with what he called "real business." mrs. personette was stout and rosy, and had been made a grandmother twice. miss gaines had taken a husband, though she still kept up a very stylish establishment. sometimes the three old friends met and talked over their adventures. laverne was very happy and added a great charm to the household. elena would have had her talk continually about her life abroad. "why do you not make victor describe some of the places where _he_ has been? every summer he took a journey away," she said, rather amused. "he talks about places. you always put in the people, and they are more interesting." jason chadsey was startled by this message. his little girl really here--but, after all, another's. at first it gave him a sharp pang. yes, he must fly to her. so he picked up his nuggets again. norcross gulch was about deserted. better mining had been found up on a little stream emptying into the sacramento. cabins had mostly been carried off, shacks had fallen down. certainly, nothing could look more dreary than a deserted mining region. but in a month or two another horde would doubtless invade it. he came in town and "spruced up," in his old maine vernacular, was trimmed as to beard and hair, and purchased a suit of new clothes. his little girl! he ought to take some great treasure to her. what if she were changed; but no, they would love each other to the very end of life. he had sent her away in that desperate time, but no, he could not have kept her. ah, what a meeting it was! a pretty girl with the air of a princess, he thought, sweeter than some of the princesses he had seen, coming back to his arms with all the old love, nay, more than the old love. for now she realized what his affection had been, and how he had soothed her mother in those last sad days. and she confessed to him much that she had not even told victor; how, by degrees, she had learned the hollowness of the lavish professions that had put on the semblance of love as the present whim had swayed mrs. westbury, and, at the last, she had been really relieved to dismiss her, because she could not bend her to her desires. for even laverne had not suspected her of aiming at the title for herself. "and she takes everything!" he said indignantly. "he was concerned with a company that will make some tremendous fortunes in quicksilver--an english company. and it is said that he managed by underhand ways to get possession of the tract while he was here. they have just sent out a new agent, and that you, his only child, should have no part nor lot in this!" "oh, don't mind," she cried, "i would rather belong to you in poverty than to live with them in luxury. it was dreadful to have him die that way; he was so fond of life, and business, and plans. it makes me feel quite free not to be under any obligation to them. and i do not care about the money. i would a hundred times rather have stayed with you and helped you, and comforted you, if i could have been any comfort." they would fain have kept jason chadsey for a longer stay, but he was a little restless and would go back. he had not secured all the golden fleece, he declared, and he must live up to his name. but he would see them often now. to himself he said, he must get used to sharing his little girl's heart with another, and, since it must be, he would rather have it victor than a stranger. they were all very happy at the savedras. the house was large, and they gave them room and the heartiest of welcomes. and there was room in the rapidly growing town, and need for young men of culture and integrity and all the earnest purposes of life that mould men into fine citizens. for there was much work to do in this glorious land, even if nature had dealt bountifully by it. and then came the terrific struggle that swept through the country, with its four years of hopes and fears, sacrifices and sorrows, and the loss of human lives. california took her share bravely. gold mines missed the rapid influx, the city had to call a halt in improvements. but a great interest in agriculture was awakened, and now they understood that this might be the most bountiful garden spot of the world. through this time of anguish to many, laverne savedra felt that she had been singled out for good fortune and some of the choicest blessings of life. her little son was born, and to none did it give greater joy than to jason chadsey. he kept at his lode with varying fortunes, and at length struck his aim in a splendid nugget that for a while was the town's marvel. now the place swarmed again, and he was offered a fabulous price for his claim. he listened at length to his earnest advisers, and retired from the field. for, though he was not an old man, he had borne much of the heat and burden of life, and won a resting time. and, after years of trading about and buying a boat of his own, captain hudson sailed in to san francisco one fine day with his wife and three babies, bright rosy children, and she with content written in every line of her face. he had a cargo of valuables consigned to several san francisco firms, and they were overjoyed to meet old friends. when her first baby was born, carmen had written a long, tender letter to her mother, and was glad to have a reply, even if it did upbraid her dreadful disobedience. after that matters softened. the old papa estenega died, and, though there were still some distant cousins, he left the estate to those who had cared for him in his last days. juana had married well, and anesta had a nice lover. she was to go to monterey to see them all as soon as captain hudson could be spared. and then, the last spike in the line that united california with the east, was driven by leland stanford in may, . railroads were being built elsewhere, but this was the dream and desire of the old san francisco that had almost passed away. but nothing could take away the beautiful bay and the golden gate, the entrance to the golden land that had been the dream of centuries. afterward they did go round the world. some of the old ports had changed greatly. some just as jason chadsey had seen them thirty or more years agone. and there was wonderful japan, which was some day to startle the world with its marvellous capacities. strange india, with its old gods and old beliefs; arabia, the holy land, with its many vicissitudes; great, barbarous russia, germany, the conqueror, and the beautiful eugénie a sorrowful widow. in europe, isola savedra joined them, and did make a name as a remarkable improvisatrice. she did not court publicity, but the higher circles of music were really enchanted with her marvellous gift, and invitations came from crowned heads to play at palaces. lady wrexford had achieved most of her ambitions, and was a social success. if she could only have kept off old age! they came back well content. and, lo! again san francisco had changed, stretched out up and down, with the hill-encircled bay on one side and the ocean-fretted rocks on the other. is this old market street, and this montgomery, with its splendid buildings? whole blocks taken up by spacious hotels. california street, with its palaces; kearny street, with its glittering stores and throngs of handsome shoppers or promenaders--everywhere a marvellous city. but the old "forty-niners" are gone, the mexican in his serape and sombrero, the picturesque californian on horseback, and nearly all the wandering indians. tents and shacks and two-roomed adobe houses have disappeared before the march of improvement. the savedras are prosperous and happy, and have a lovely home out of the turmoil and confusion, where beautiful nature reigns supreme. and an old, white-haired man, rather bent in the shoulders, tells a group of pretty, joyous children about the old san francisco of half a century before, and the long search of jason after the golden fleece and the little girl that he loved so well. they go up telegraph hill and say, "was it here she and pablo made the little lake for balder, was it here she climbed up the crooked paths and tamed birds and squirrels, and here that bruno killed the cruel fox?" it is more wonderful than any fairy story to them. * * * * * transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. the island currently called alcatraz is variously spelled alcatras, alcantraz, and alcatraz. belvidere on page should possibly be belvedere. matteo on page should possibly be mateo. the san francisco fairy. a tale of early times. down came the fish's lower jaw upon her light canoe, and he asked her if that ladder would answer for her shoe-; then tripping up it lightly, she spied a splendid seat, with wampum it was covered---her lover's it would beat. san francisco published by c. p. kimball, and for sale by all booksellers. d. e. appleton & co., and montgomery street, general agents. the san francisco fairy a tale of early times. at such a sight she fainted, yet still she did not fall, but straightway told her sorrows, she told him of them all. the fish he wagged his little fin, and shook his pointed nose, and said, "my darling maiden, into my mouth you goes!" san francisco: published by c. p. kimball, and for sale by all booksellers. d. e. appleton & co., and montgomery street, general agents. preface this little tale is founded upon the well-known tradition, prevalent among the old inhabitants, that where the golden gate now is was once dammed up by a rock or rocks, and the whole valley was a great inland sea with its entrance to the ocean down near monterey. the writer has seen, on ohio street, in this city, (which in was quite an elevated spot of ground,) the black sedimentary earth, at least two feet thick, which abounds in greater or less degree throughout the valley, and which readily accounts for the wonderful fertility of the soil. san francisco, december, . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by chas. p. kimball, in the clerk's office of the district court for the northern district of california. the san francisco fairy long years ago, ere spaniards lived on california soil, an indian of the digger tribe was resting from his toil; he lived beside an inland sea, or lake, so wondrous large no one could look from shore to shore--a day's sail for a barge. this indian was a happy dog, of threescore years and eight, of children he had half a score, also an aged mate; his youngest was li-lamboni, a petit laughing cit-- who kept the wigwam happy by her fund of ready wit. a blooming maid of twenty, perhaps of two years more, her lovers might be counted at wholesale by the score; but there was one--a comely lad--a chieftain's only son, this one alone of all the crowd her youthful love had won. so tall, so straight, so beautiful, an eye like diamonds bright, not one could beat him in the chase, by night or broad daylight; and when upon the war-path with the braves he started out, the death-song of his enemies would plainly mark his route. but, ah, alas! the wampum to make him all her own. she did not have the needful, for she had poorly grown; and often on the placid lake, within her log canoe. she pondered long and deeply on just what she should do. one day, when very sad indeed, a long way out from shore, she sighed--she felt just then more sad than e'er she felt before; just then a fish of monstrous size jumped from the water out. and, balanc'd nicely on his tail, asked what she was about. at such a sight she fainted, yet still she did not fall, but straightway told her sorrows, she told him of them all, the fish he wagged his little fin, and shook his pointed nose, and said, "my darling maiden, into my mouth you goes!" now, who would think a maiden of two and twenty years, would step into a fish's mouth without the slightest fears! but so great was her desire her object to attain, that she treated anything like fear with feelings of disdain. down came the fish's lower jaw upon her light canoe, he asked her if that ladder would answer for her shoe; then tripping up it lightly, she spied a splendid seat, with wampum it was cover'd--her lover's it would beat. back came that self same lower jaw, without the slightest jar, no one could treat her better, not e'en her dear papa; the fish he told her plainly to his mistress she must go, she was a lovely fairy, and she lived right down below. he said that she was very kind, and beautiful, and great. and dwelt within her watery home in rich and royal state. that she wanted li-lamboni her dominions all to know. so she sent her dear fish monster, to bring her down below. scarcely was she seated in the regal wampum chair. thinking of the fairy queen, when she was almost there; and soon her fine fish monster drew down his under jaw a sea-lion from ocean deep held out his ugly paw. she tripped down quite gracefully and took the lion's paw, but i really cannot tell you all the riches that she saw: on her right, there was a grotto with gates of solid gold, guarded by a devil fish--to meet him would be bold. on her left, a fairy palace, its walls of silver bright, its windows set with diamonds, which shone both day and night; its doors were made of jasper, its steps of onyx fine-- a worker up of cameo would think he'd found a mine. the lion touched her lightly, and she took his shaggy arm. she felt while she was with him he'd shield her from all harm; they tripped nimbly up the steps--he touched a little slide, and almost in an instant the door was open'd wide. a water-lily met them and passed her through the hall,-- so rich i'd fain describe it, but can't do so at all;-- then to the audience chamber, with all things bright and airy, there, right upon a golden throne, sat san francisco fairy. a lovely figure, tall and straight, in elegant attire, looking for all the world like gold refined by fire; she greeted li-lamboni in an off-hand, easy style. was tickled that she came, and would have her stay awhile. with a motion of her hand for li-lamboni to draw near, she spoke unto the lily to bring for her a chair. when seated near the throne, what should the fairy do but wave again her hand, and up through the floor they flew! here was a room of wampum, the ceiling, walls, the floor and furniture were lined with it, as also was the door. says the fairy to li-lamboni, "this wampum's all your own; you see it's only lining, and you can easy take it down. you can pack it in a compass small, and show it to your pa, who never saw the like before, nor neither did your ma; and also when your chosen fish shall take you to the air, when stepping down the ladder you can take the wampum chair. you wonder why i do this? i'll make it all quite plain: once, while running as a rabbit, you saved me from all harm; the coyotes and the wolves had nearly run me dead. when you threw them off the scent and took me to your bed. and since that time i've look'd for you that action to repay, but no good chance e'er offered till i heard you cry to-day. we shortly move away from here--this lake is to be drained-- for out quite near the farallones another home we've gained. the water will be drained away--a city here will rise, here will be marts of commerce, and wealth which men do prize; here'll be temples of the living god, and of heathen idols, too, showing how christians worship, and what barbarians do. this city great for me they'll name, the world will know it well, and when it will stop growing, no one, i'm sure, can tell; no london can to it compare, or canton, i am sure, for while the world does stand this city will endure. and when at home you're settled and your chieftain calls on you, just lay these out quite nicely and give him a good view; if that don't melt his stony heart and bring him to his knees, cast him quickly from your heart, and marry whom you please." then at a word the wampum came quickly from the wall, and from the door and ceiling, and soon she had it all; no indian maiden e'er so rich as li-lamboni that day, and she thought that with the fairy she could no longer stay. then the fairy waved her little wand and they passed down below, when the maiden, having kissed her, said that she must go; and through the hall the lily was again her pleasant guide, and without the slightest effort the door swung open wide. and right beyond the portal stood her lion, as before, waiting very patiently her exit through the door; then he bent his ugly paw with the manners of a beau, she put her hand within it, and down the steps did go. she found her old fish monster with everything all right, down came his handy under jaw,--she mounted to the height; and scarcely was she seated in that splendid wampum chair. when they were on the water and she breathed the nice fresh air. again came down that lower jaw upon her light canoe, with the chair upon her arm she bade the fish adieu; and seizing quick the paddle, she drove the boat along, and she really felt so happy she burst into a song. right to her father's wigwam she quickly brought her prize. who fitted up for her own use one of much larger size; the wampum used for lining--the chair in center stood, her chieftain soon did see it, and said 'twas very good. 'twas amazing how his love increas'd while gazing on her wealth. for soon he quite forgot himself, and seized a kiss by stealth; and no one now more anxious the marriage to fulfil. indeed so much excitement he really was quite ill. her heart was warm--she pitied him, and soon became his wife, and they travel'd on together through this world of strife; the wealth she brought along with her unto her lord and master, was greater in comparison than that of j. j. astor. their married life ran smoothly, and to them a babe was born. but li-lamboni oft wonder'd if her fairy friend was gone. one day while at her wigwam door, the baby in her arms, the earth began to tremble and it filled her with alarms. anon it trembled more and more, and then a sudden shock, as she looked out towards the ocean she saw the elfin rock, 'twas lifted from its base, and was swinging towards the sea, and this immense lake of water from its bondage now was free. then she saw her old fish monster swimming gracefully along, although the water flowed with a tide both full and strong; he raised himself upon his tail, as he had done before, and dropping down his under jaw as one would drop a door. there sat the graceful fairy, brought fully into view, and she waved her tiny finger to bid her friend adieu: "we're going to farrallone isles there to build a home, and if you need our help again you have out there to come." then up again that lower jaw went snugly into place, and having cut a caper with the sea-lion ran a race, who had the lily on his back to take a pleasant ride, they moved along quite rapidly, both swimming with the tide. li-lamboni felt sad to bid her friend good-bye. she sank right down upon the floor and ended with a cry; but with them passed the waters, leaving only our fine bay, on which rises san francisco as we see it here to-day. know thy neighbor by elisabeth r. lewis illustrated by tom beecham [transcriber note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction february . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: _the terrors that inhabit the night may be even more awful in deceitful broad daylight!_] [illustration] it began with the dead cat on the fire escape and ended with the green monster in the incinerator chute, but still, it wouldn't be quite fair to blame it all on the neighborhood.... the apartment house was in the heart of the district that is known as "the tenderloin"--that section of san francisco from ellis to market and east from leavenworth to mason street. not the best section. to ellen's mind, it was an unsavory neighborhood, but with apartments so hard to get and this one only $ . a month and in a regular apartment building with an elevator and all--well, as she often told the girls at the office, you can't be too particular these days. nevertheless, it was an ordeal to walk up the two blocks from market street, particularly at night when the noise of juke boxes dinned from the garish bars, when the sidewalks spilled over with soldiers and sailors, with peroxided, blowsy-looking women and the furtive gamblers who haunted the back rooms of the innocent-appearing cigar stores that lined the street. she walked very fast then, never looking to left or right, and her heart would pound when a passing male whistled. [illustration] but once inside the apartment house lobby, she relaxed. in spite of its location, the place seemed very respectable. she seldom met anyone in the lobby or the elevator and, except on rare occasions like last night, the halls were as silent as those in the swanky apartment houses on nob hill. she knew by sight only two of her neighbors--the short, stocky young man who lived in , and mrs. moffatt, in . mrs. moffatt was the essence of lavender and old lace, and the young man--he was all right, really; you couldn't honestly say he was shady-looking. * * * * * on this particular morning, the man from was waiting for the elevator when ellen came out to get her paper. he glanced up at the sound of the door and stared. quickly, she shut the door again. she didn't like the way he looked at her. she was wearing a housecoat over her nightgown, and a scarf wrapped around her head to cover the bobbypins--a costume as unrevealing as a nun's--but she felt as though he had invaded her privacy with his stare, like surprising her in the bathtub. she waited until she heard the elevator start down before opening her door again. the boy must have aimed from the stairs; her paper was several yards down the hall, almost in front of . she went down to get it. mrs. moffatt must have heard ellen's footsteps in the hall. an old lady with a small income (from her late husband, as she had explained to ellen) and little to do, she was intensely interested in her neighbors. she opened the door of her apartment and peered out. her thin white hair was done up in tight kid curlers. with her round faded-blue eyes and round wrinkled-apple cheeks, she looked like an inquisitive aged baby. "good morning," said ellen pleasantly. "good morning, my dear," the old lady answered. "you're up early for a saturday." "well, i thought i might as well get up and start my house-cleaning. i didn't sleep a wink after four o'clock this morning anyway. did you hear all that racket in the hall?" "why, no, i didn't." the old lady sounded disappointed. "i don't see how i missed it. i guess because i went to bed so late. my nephews--you've seen them, haven't you?--they're such nice boys. they took me to a movie last night." "well, i'm surprised you didn't hear it," said ellen. "thumping and scratching, like somebody was dragging a rake along the floor. i just couldn't get back to sleep." the old lady clicked her tongue. "i'll bet somebody came home drunk. isn't that terrible? i wonder who it was." "i don't know," said ellen, "but it was certainly a disgrace. i was going to call mrs. anderson." with the door open, the hall seemed filled with the very odd odor of mrs. moffatt's apartment--not really unpleasant, but musty, with the smell of antiques. the apartment itself was like a museum. ellen had been inside once when the old lady invited her in for a cup of tea. its two rooms were crammed with a bizarre assortment of furniture, bric-a-brac and souvenirs. "oh, how's your bird this morning?" ellen asked. in addition to being a collector, mrs. moffatt was an animal fancier. she owned three cats, a pair of love-birds, goldfish, and even a cage of white mice. one of the love-birds, she had informed ellen yesterday, was ailing. "oh, buzzy's much better today," she beamed. "the doctor told me to feed him whisky every three hours--with an eyedropper, you know--and you'd be surprised how it helped the little fellow. he even ate some bird-seed this morning." "i'm so glad," said ellen. she picked up her paper and smiled at mrs. moffatt. "i'll see you later." the old woman closed her door, shutting off the musty smell, and ellen walked back to her own apartment. she filled the coffee pot with water and four tablespoons of coffee, then dressed herself while the coffee percolated. standing in front of the medicine cabinet mirror, she took the bobbypins out of her hair. her reflection looked back at her from the mirror, and she felt that unaccountable depression again. i'm not bad-looking, she thought, and young, and not too dumb. what have other women got that i haven't? she thought of the days and years passing, the meals all alone, and nothing ever happening. that kind of thinking gets you nowhere; forget it. she combed her hair back, pinned it securely behind her ears, ran a lipstick over her mouth. then she went into the kitchenette, turned off the gas flame under the coffee pot, and raised the window shade to let in the sun that was just beginning to show through morning fog. a dead cat lay on the fire escape under the window. * * * * * she stared at it, feeling sick to her stomach. it was an ordinary gray cat, the kind you see in every alley, but its head was twisted back so that its open eyes and open mouth leered at her. she pulled the blind down, fast. sit down, light a cigarette. it's nothing, just a dead cat, that's all. but how did it get on the fire escape? fell, maybe, from the roof? and how did it get on the roof? besides, i thought cats never got hurt falling. isn't there something about landing on your feet like a cat? maybe that's just a legend, like the nonsense about nine lives. well, what do i do, she thought. i can't sit here and drink coffee with _that_ under the window. and god knows i can't take it away myself. she shuddered at the thought. call the manager. she got up and went to the telephone in the foyer. she found the number scribbled on the back of the phone book. her hand was shaking when she dialed. "this is ellen tighe in . mrs. anderson, there's a dead cat on the fire escape outside my window. you'll have to do something about it." mrs. anderson sounded half-asleep. "what do you mean, a dead cat? are you sure it's dead? maybe it's sleeping." "of course i'm sure it's dead! can't you send pete up to take it away? it's a horrible thing to have under my window." "all right, i'll tell pete to go up. he's washing down the lobby now. as soon as he's finished, i'll send him up." ellen set the phone back on its stand. she felt a little silly. what a fuss to make over a dead cat. but really, outside one's window--and before breakfast--who could blame me? she went back into the kitchenette, carefully not looking toward the window, even though the shade was drawn, and poured herself a cup of coffee. then she sat at the table in the little nook, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette and leafing through the paper. the front page was all about a flying saucer scare in marin county. she read the headline, then thumbed on through the paper, stopping to read the movie reviews and the comic page. * * * * * at the back section, she was attracted by a headline that read: "liquor strong these days--customer turns green, says bartender." it was a brief item, consciously cute. "john martin, , a bartender of mason street, was arrested early this morning, charged with drunkenness and disturbing the peace, after firing several shots from a . revolver on the sidewalk in front of his address. no one was injured. martin's defense, according to police records, was that he was attempting to apprehend a 'pale-green, claw-handed' customer who fled after eating a live mouse and threatening martin. "upon questioning, martin admitted that the unidentified customer had been in the bar for several hours and appeared perfectly normal. but he insisted, 'when i refused to serve him after he ate the mouse, he turned green and threatened to claw me to death.' martin has a permit to carry the gun and was dismissed with a fifty dollar fine and a warning by judge greely against sampling his own stock too freely." drunken fool, thought ellen. with fresh indignation, she remembered the disturbance in her own hall this morning. nothing but drunks and gangsters in this neighborhood. she thought vaguely of looking at the "for rent" section of the want ads. there was a noise on the fire escape. ellen reached over and lifted up the shade. the janitor was standing there with a big paper sack in his hand. ellen opened the window and asked, "how do you think it got there, pete?" "i dunno. maybe fall offa the roof. musta been in a fight." "what makes you think so?" "neck's all torn. big teeth marks. maybe dog get him." "up here?" "somebody find, maybe throw here--i dunno." pete scratched his head. "you don't worry any more, though. i take away now. no smell, even." he grinned at her and scuttled to the other end of the fire escape where he climbed through the window to the fourth floor corridor. ellen poured herself a second cup of coffee and lighted another cigarette, then turned to the woman's page in the paper. she read the advice column and the psychology and glanced through the "help wanted--women" in the classifieds. that finished the morning's reading. she looked at her watch. almost ten. she carried her coffee cup to the sink, rinsed it out and set it on the drainboard. there was still a cup or more coffee left in the pot. that could be warmed over later, but she took out the filler and dumped the grounds into the paper bag that held garbage. the bag was almost full. i'll throw it in the incinerator now, she thought, before i straighten the apartment. she emptied the ashtrays--the one beside her bed and the other on the breakfast table--then started down the hall with the garbage bag in her hand. * * * * * the incinerator chute was at the rear of the hall, next to the service stairs. ellen could see the door standing slightly open. she hesitated. might be there. it was bad enough to ride in the elevator with him, feeling his eyes on her, but there was something unbearably intimate about standing beside him, emptying garbage. the door seemed to move a little, but nobody came out. she waited another minute. oh, well, maybe the last person out there just forgot to shut the door tight. she opened it wider, stepped out on the stair landing. no one was there. the chute was wide, almost three feet around. ellen opened the top and started to throw the bag down. something was stuck in there. her eyes saw it, but her brain refused to believe. what was there, blocking the chute, looked like--looked like--a chicken's foot, gnarled, clawed, but as large as a human foot--and an ugly, sickly green! automatically, she reached in and clutched it. her stomach turned at the cold feel of the thing, but still she tugged at it, trying to work it loose. it was heavy. she pulled with all her strength, felt it start to slide back up the chute. then it was free! she gaped in sick horror at the thing she held. her hand opened weakly and she sat down on the floor, her head swimming and her throat muscles retching. dimly, she heard the thing rattle and bump down to the incinerator in the basement. the full horror of it gradually hit home. ellen stood up, swaying, and ran blindly down the hall. her feet thudded on the carpeted floor. as she passed , she was vaguely conscious of mrs. moffatt's concerned face poking around the door. "is there something wrong, miss tighe?" "no," ellen managed to gasp "it's all right--really--all right." she kept on running, burst through the apartment door, slammed it behind her, fell on her knees in the bathroom and became thoroughly, violently ill. she continued to kneel, unable to think, her head against the cool porcelain bowl. finally, she stood up weakly, ran cold water, washed her face and streaming eyes. thank god the wall bed was still down! she fell on it, shaking. * * * * * what was that unbelievable ghastly, impossible thing? it was the size of a man, but thin, skeleton thin, and the color of brackish water. it had two legs, two arms, like a man ... but ending with those huge, birdlike claws. heaven alone knew what its face was like. she had let go before it was that far clear of the chute. she thought of the story in the paper. so that was what the bartender saw! he wasn't drunk at all, and what happened when he told the police? they laughed at him. they'd laugh at me, too, she thought. the proof is gone, burned up in the incinerator. why did this happen to me? dead cats on the fire escape, dead monsters in the incinerator chute ... it's this terrible neighborhood! she tried to think coherently. maybe the cat had something to do with it. the bartender said the thing ate a mouse--maybe it had tried to eat the cat, too. a monster like that might eat anything. her stomach started churning again at the thought. but what was it doing in the incinerator chute? someone in the building must have put it there, thinking it would slide all the way down and be burned up. who? one of _them_, probably. but there couldn't be any more green monsters around. they can't live in an apartment house, walk the streets like anyone else, not even in this neighborhood. she remembered something else in the bartender's story. he said it looked perfectly normal at first. that meant they could look like humans if they wanted to. hypnotism? then any man could be.... suddenly another thought struck her. supposing they find out i saw--what will they do to me? she jumped up from the bed, white with fear, her faintness forgotten in the urge to escape. she snatched her bag from the dresser, threw on her brown coat. at the door, she hesitated, afraid to venture into the hall, yet afraid to stay inside. finally, she eased open the door, peered out into the corridor. it was deserted. she ran to the elevator, punched the bell, heard the car begin its creaky, protesting ascent. the elevator door had an automatic spring closing. the first time she tried it, her hands shook and the door sprang closed before she got in. she tried it again. this time she managed to hold it open long enough to get inside. she pushed the button, felt the elevator shake and grind and move slowly down. out into the lobby. out into the street. * * * * * the fog was completely gone now. the sun shone on the still-damp street. there were very few people around--the tenderloin sleeps late. she went into the restaurant next door, sat down at the white-tiled counter. she was the only customer. a sleepy-eyed waitress, her black hair untidily caught into a net, waited, pad in hand. "just coffee," ellen mumbled. she drank it black and it scalded her throat going down. the waitress put a nickel in the juke box and then bing crosby was singing "easter parade." everything was so normal. listening to bing crosby, how could you believe in things like green monsters? in this sane, prosaic atmosphere, ellen thought, i must be batty. she said to herself, "i'm ellen tighe, bookkeeper, and i just saw the body of a green man with claws on his feet...." no, that didn't help a bit. put it this way: "i'm ellen tighe and i'm years old and i'm not married. let's face it, any psychiatrist will tell you that's enough cause for neurosis. so i'm having delusions." it made more sense that way. i read that story in the paper, ellen thought, and it must have registered way down in my subconscious. that had to be it. any other way, it was too horrible, too impossible to be borne. i'll go back to the apartment and call dr. clive, thought ellen. she had the feeling, no doubt held over from the days of measles and mumps, that a doctor could cure anything, even green monsters on the brain. she drank the last of the coffee and fished in her coin purse for change. picking up the check, she walked over to the cash register at the end of the counter, facing the street. the untidy waitress came from the back of the restaurant to take the money. ellen looked out at the street through the glass front. the man from was standing out there, smoking a cigarette, watching her. when their eyes met, he abruptly threw away the cigarette and started walking toward the apartment house. again she felt that faint dread she had experienced in the hall earlier. the waitress picked up her quarter, gave her back a nickel and a dime. ellen put the change into her purse, got out her key chain and held it in her hand while she walked quickly next door. was just ahead of her in the lobby; he held the front door open for her. she kept her head down, not looking at his face, and they walked, indian file, across the lobby to the elevator. he opened the elevator doors, too, and she stepped in ahead of him. * * * * * when the doors clanged shut, she had a feeling of panic. alone with him ... cut off from help. he didn't pretend not to know her floor, but silently pressed the proper button. while the car moved slowly upward, her heart was beating wildly. i'm not convinced, she thought, i'm not convinced. i saw it so plainly ... i felt it, cold in my hands. the elevator stopped. the man held the door open and for a moment she thought he was going to say something. his free hand made a swift, involuntary movement as though he were going to catch her arm. she shrank away, but he stepped back and let her through. ellen almost ran down the hall. behind her, she heard his footsteps going in the opposite direction toward his apartment. she was panting when she reached her door. she fumbled for the right key--front door, office--and then she froze. there was a scratching sound in the apartment. she put her ear close to the door, listened. there was a rasping noise, like somebody dragging a rake ... or like claws, great heavy claws, moving over the hardwood floors! ellen backed away from the door. it was true, then. she retreated, inch by inch, silently. get away, leave before it catches you! she turned, ready to make a dash for the elevator ... and faced the man from . down at the end of the hall, in front of his apartment, he was watching her. the way he lingered outside the restaurant, the way he looked at her. one of _them_ ... maybe underneath that homely, ordinary face, his skin was green and clammy. maybe there were long, sharp claws on his feet. she was breathing unevenly now. trapped! the thing in the apartment, the man in the hall. her eyes darted to the elevator, then back, down the hall, past the door marked ... the door marked ! she covered the few yards in a mad dash, flung herself at the door, pounding wildly. "please, please!" she sobbed. "mrs. moffatt, open, please!" the door opened at once. mrs. moffatt's round, wrinkled face beamed at her. "come in, my dear, come in." she almost fell over the landing. the door closed behind her. she stumbled to the davenport, sank down, gasping. two cats rubbed against her legs, purring. two cats? she heard herself say stupidly, "mrs. moffatt, where's the other cat?" and wondered why she said it. then she understood. the old lady's face quivered, altered, melted into something ... something green. * * * * * outside in the hall, the man from slowly returned to his apartment. pushing open the door, he thought, i'll never get the nerve to ask her out. well, probably wasn't a chance, anyhow. what would a girl like her have to do with a lousy cop like me? an american hobo in europe by windy bill a true narrative of the adventures of a poor american at home and in the old country press of the calkins publishing house san francisco, cal. copyright by b. goodkind contents chapter. page. i. billy and me ii. frisco iii. the journey overland iv. new york city v. them bloomin' publishers vi. the ocean voyage vii. the steerage viii. glasgow ix. getting a square meal x. the glasgow green (or common) xi. hunting for a furnished room xii. dancing in the green xiii. taking in a glasgow show xiv. robert burns, the poet xv. sir walter scott chapter i. billy and me. stranger, will you please permit me to give you an introduction to a particular friend of mine, little billy. little billy and i had long been friends and had become so intimate that we were more like brothers than friends. some brothers indeed do not stick to each other as closely as billy and i did for we never quarreled and the worst that ever happened between us was a little growl which we soon got over. billy and i had been on the bum together a long while and had prospected for gold and other things in utah, nevada and california. the adventures we had if i were to relate them would fill several such volumes as this. and many of them were worth relating, too, but i will merely give a general outline of our experiences, for his experiences were mostly mine. while hiking it along the railroad one day between ogden and salt lake city which is a distance of about thirty-seven miles, we ran across a couple of pretty mormon girls about half a mile from town and they made goo-goo eyes at us. billy, who is rather reserved with strangers, was for moving on, but i, who am a friendly and sociable cuss, was in for having a little time with them. "what's the harm, billy?" said i to my chum; "let's see what kind of stuff the girls are made of." "oh, what's the use, windy," responded billy; "we might get into trouble." "trouble be blowed," said i; "they ain't agoing to make any trouble so why should _we_. let's see what their game is anyway." we approached the ladies, tipped our hats, and passed the compliments of the day. they responded pleasantly enough, entered into a conversation with us and soon we all strolled further on from the town and sat down on a viaduct spanning a rushing irrigation ditch. billy was as chipper as anyone when once he got started and held his end down in the conversation first class. the girls were merry and talkative and seemed to like to talk to the fellers. they told us all about the mormons, how they live, act, and what they do, and billy wanted to know how mormons got married. "why don't you get married and find out?" asked one of the girls. "i ain't no mormon," spoke up billy. "you can be if you want to," says the girl, "religion is free." "all right," says billy, "i'll think it over." the girls were giving us a game i thought, but we could stand it if they could. we chinned away there for hours until it began to grow late, when the girls concluded they would have to go. we were sorry to part from such elegant company but it was a case of have to. after they had gone we wondered what their little game was, whether it was merely a case of flirtation or whether they were looking for converts to their religion. billy put the question to me and i told him he could search me; i didn't know. anyway, neither of us wanted to get married just then, so after the girls left us we troubled our heads no more about them. we stopped in ogden, utah, a few days, and then beat our way to virginia city, nevada, where we did some laboring work at the old bonanza mines. neither of us were miners, although we had prospected some without results. we found the miners to be a good-hearted set of fellows and liked to be among them. grub and booze could be had for the asking in virginia city when we were broke, but handouts were more plentiful than work. not many strangers wander to virginia city these days, for the town is off the main line and no bums visit it. it is on the decay order. its streets are in ruins, ditto the sidewalks and houses, and over the whole place there is a musty odor. it is away high up in the air about eight thousand feet above sea level and the wealth that once was brought up from several thousand feet below the surface amounted to billions, not millions of dollars. today the big mill houses still stand in their usual place in good order but little mining is done there. some of the big plants, such as the ophir, savage, norcross and hale, consolidated virginia and best & belcher are still there, but where there were a thousand miners working before there are not ten working today. the place is strictly on the bum, just like me and my little pardner. once there were forty or fifty thousand people in virginia city, but today there are not five thousand, or anyways near that number and the ruins and scenes of desolation make a fellow feel sad. the old international hotel where the nobs used to stop and spent a fortune every day, is now run by a chinaman at a cheap rate. there is plenty of fine scenery around virginia city, however, and plenty of piute indians, but the piutes don't enhance the scenery any. they are a dirty crowd and sit around on decaying lumber piles and hillsides within the town, playing cards and other gambling games. the miners are mostly cornishmen, englishmen from cornwall, england, and as billy is english he took to them very readily. carson was our next stopping place and we found it to be a nice little town. it isn't far from virginia city and is the capital of nevada. it contains a few thousand people, lots of tall poplar trees which stand along the streets, sage-brush and alkali covered hills and plains, a large stone railroad roundhouse, the state capitol building (which is enclosed in a park several acres in extent), a u. s. mint and that's about all. no work to speak of is going on around there and as billy and me could not get anything to do we lived on hand-outs mostly. one evening we saw a hen wandering about rather aimlessly, so to put her out of misery we caught her, wrung her neck and took her out of town where we roasted her over a slow fire. we rubbed her while she was cooking with a little sage to make us think of christmas and devoured her by starlight. bill said she reminded him of home and felt kind of blue for a few moments. but he munched away and soon cheered up. it may be the proper thing here to give a short description of billy. billy was a little fellow, about five foot two, and was a britisher, a native of the city of york, in yorkshire, after which new york is named. he was what you might call a strawberry blonde, for he had light hair and a moustache that was halfway between golden and red. it wasn't one of your straggly kind of moustaches with big hairs sticking out all over it, but small, neat and compact with just the cutest little turned up spit-curls at each end of it you ever saw. maybe billy wasn't proud of that moustache! he was dead stuck on it and was nearly always fussing with it and fondling it. quite often he trimmed it with the aid of a little looking glass which he carried in his kit. whenever the kit was unrolled billy got the glass and admired himself with it. and yet i can't say the little cuss was vain, for whenever he met females he seemed indifferent to their charms and looked another way. his eyes were blue and his hands and feet small. taken all together he wasn't a bad looking chap. billy had some folks in the old country, a mother and two sisters but no father or brothers, and they lived in old york. billy was born and raised in york and at a very early age was apprenticed to a harness-maker. his folks probably thought that the sooner he got out and rustled the better for himself and all concerned. apprentices don't get much in old england, billy told me, and have to serve long years at their trade before they can become a journeyman. billy worked seven or eight years for his clothes and board and an occasional ha-'penny with which he bought a meat pie or lollipops. one day the idea struck him that he wasn't getting rich very fast. he had been working a long time and hadn't a bean to show for it, so he began to grow dissatisfied. he had heard some tales of how easy it is to get rich in america and he thought that it might be a good thing if he went there. his mother and sisters didn't agree with his notions but billy didn't seem to care for that. he just laid low for awhile and said nothing. but the more he thought things over the more dissatisfied he became and the more determined to flit. he slept in the back room of his boss's shop and had to arise early every morning to take down the shutters, sweep out, dust off, and get things in shape generally for business. one day the boss came down and found the shutters still up, the place unswept and no billy. the boss probably wondered where little billy was but he had to take it out in wondering, for billy had flown the coop and was over the hills and far away on his way to london. the boss went to billy's folks and asked them if they knew where billy was, but they told him he could search them. they didn't know anything about billy. the boss probably did some pretty tall cussing just then and made up his mind that something would happen to billy when he turned up, but he never did turn up and never will until he (billy) gets rich. then he'll go back to visit his folks and settle with his master, he told me. billy says the boss don't owe him any money and he don't owe the boss any, so it's a standoff financially between them; but billy owes him a few years of service which he says he is willing to put in if the boss can catch him. billy says he had a hard time of it in london and found it difficult to secure passage to this country. finally, after many heart-breaking experiences he secured a job as steward on an ocean liner by a fluke, merely because another chap who had previously been engaged failed to show up. billy was in luck, he thought. he landed in new york with a little tip-money, for the steamship company would pay him no wages unless he made the round trip according to an agreement previously made in london and with this small sum of money he managed to live until he found work. he secured a job as dishwasher in a restaurant and received five dollars a week and his chuck as wages. out of this big sum he paid room rent and managed to save a little money which he sent home to his mother. compared with what he had been getting in the old country billy considered that he was on the road to fortune and he felt elated. he held down his job for some months but got into a difficulty one day with his boss over something or other and got fired. he took his discharge much to heart and concluded to leave new york. he made his way to philadelphia, about one hundred miles west, and there secured work in a small restaurant as a hashslinger. when he left this place because of a little argument with another waiter, he concluded to go out west where he was told the opportunities were great. i met him in a camp seated at a fire one evening surrounded by a lot of 'bos in wyoming. he didn't look wealthy just then. we scraped up an acquaintance and i took to the young fellow at the first go-off as i saw he was not a professional vag, and we joined forces and have been together ever since. our trip from carson in nevada over the mountains into california was a delightful one. from carson to reno the scenery is no great shakes (although it was over hill and dale), for the hills looked lone and barren. the crops had just been gathered from these hills and dales. the leaves were turning color on the trees and it was the melancholy season of the year when nature looks blue. me and billy weren't melancholy, however, for we were good company to each other and never felt lonely. at reno early one morning we crept into an unsealed boxcar and rode upward to the high sierras. the scenery when day broke was so fine that we were enchanted. no barren mountains were here and no sage-brush covered plains, but well-timbered mountains whereon grew trees and bushes of all kinds. to us it seemed like wakening from autumn to spring. billy and me couldn't understand this. a few miles away were leaves that were turning in their autumn tints whilst here everything was green and fresh like the dawning of life. it astonished us but made us feel good all over. we were both as happy and joyous as if we were millionaires. here was a beautiful sheet of water with a big paper-mill near it; further along was a little railroad station entirely surrounded by hills. nothing but lofty mountains towered all around us, with a canyon running through them, along which we rode. ice-ponds were there with no ice in them just then, for it was the wrong season for ice, but numerous huge ice-houses were there, which showed us what the ponds were for. the iron horse wound around and around these lofty mountains and the keen, pure air made us feel as good as if we had been taking a nip. we sure felt gay and happy as larks. by-and-by we reached a place called truckee which seemed to be quite a town. we hopped off to reconnoiter for we knew the freight train would be there some little time, and noticed that there was only one street in the town, which contained several stores, a butcher-shop or two, several restaurants, two hotels and about a dozen or more saloons. as we walked along the street we noticed a sign over a stairway leading into a cellar which read, "benny's gray mule." we started to go down the steps but found that "benny's gray mule" was shut up tight. too bad! a saloon with such a romantic name as that ought to thrive. we went into another saloon and i ordered two beers and threw a dime upon the counter in payment. "come again," said mr. barkeep, giving me an evil glance. i hesitated. "another dime, pardner, all drinks are ten cents here," says barkeep. "all right," says i, "don't get huffy; i didn't know the price." i laid down another dime and this mr. barkeep swept into his till nonchalantly. the place seemed tough and so did the barkeeper. toward the rear of the large room was a lunch counter where a square meal could be had for two bits ( cents), or coffee and hot cakes for fifteen cents; sandwiches for a dime each; a piece of pie and coffee, ten cents. in convenient places were gambling layouts where a fellow could shoot craps, play roulette or stud-horse poker. it was too early in the day for gambling but a few tough-looking nuts were there sitting around and waiting for a chance to try their luck. we saw all we wanted of this place and sloped. truckee is the last big town in california going eastward, and it is a lumber camp, railroad division and icing station (refrigerator cars are iced there). a pretty rough old place it is. me and billy bought a couple of loaves of bread and some cheese and then made tracks for our box-car. we found it all right and climbed aboard. our train had done a lot of switching at truckee and a good many cars had been added to the train. two big engines now were attached to the train instead of one and soon with a "toot toot" we were off. it was uphill all the way and the locomotives seemed to be having a hard time of it for their coughs were loud and deep and the hissing of steam incessant. to billy and me the work was easy for all we had to do was to listen to the laboring engines and look out at the pretty scenery. the scenery was fine and no mistake, for the higher we went the prettier it got. mountains we saw everywhere with spruce, fir, pine and cedar trees upon them. the views were ever changing but soon we came to a lot of snow-sheds that partly shut off the views. they must have been a hundred miles in length, for it took us an awful long time to get through them. the sheds were huge affairs of timber built over the track to keep off the snow in winter, and i felt like stopping and counting how many pieces of timber were in each shed. it must have taken a forest to build these sheds. along in the afternoon we began to get hungry, so we jumped off at a place called dutch flat, to see what we could scare up in the shape of a handout. the outlook didn't seem promising to us for all we could see of dutch flat was a lot of chinese shacks strung along one side of the railroad track. "billy, i guess we're up against it here," i remarked; "i don't see any signs of a white man's house around. where can we get anything to eat?" "let's try the chinks; we've got to have something to eat, you know; we can't starve," ruefully responded billy. we were both pretty hungry by this time for the bracing mountain air had given us a hearty appetite. i stepped up to the first hut we came to, rapped at the door and when a chink opened it told him we were very hungry and would like something to eat. "no sabee," says the chink, slamming the door. i tried other huts with the same result. it was "no sabee" with all of them. i told billy that my errand was a failure and his jaw dropped. "how much money have you got, billy?" i asked. billy dug down and brought up a lone nickel. i had a dime. i asked billy to give me his nickel and told him that as we couldn't beg any grub maybe we might be able to buy fifteen cents' worth of something. with the fifteen cents i strode forth to try my luck once more. i saw a very old chinaman in front of his hut and asked him if he would sell me fifteen cents worth of grub. "no gotee anything; only law (raw) meat." "what kind of meat?" "pork chop," answered the old man, briefly. "all right, here's fifteen cents; give me some meat." i handed him the money and he went inside and brought out two fair sized chops. "you sabee cookee?" asked the aged celestial. "heap sabee, you bet; me cookee before," remarked i. "all lightee," said the celestial, giving me a little salt and pepper. the country around dutch flat was hilly so billy and me hunted up some secluded spot where we could eat our chops in peace and quietness. we built a rousing fire, for wood around there was plentiful, and put the chops upon long sticks which we hung over the fire. the grass around our camp was pretty dry and the first thing we knew the fire began to spread all over the country. when we stamped it out on one side it made good headway on the other side, and do all we could we couldn't stop it. we got scared, dropped our meat and sloped. it wasn't long before the chinamen saw the fire and then there was a whole lot of loud talk in chinese. the whole village was out in a jiffy with buckets, pails, empty oil cans and any old thing that would hold water and at it they went, trying to put out the fire. not a few of the chinamen procured wet sacks with which they tried to beat out the flames, but it was no go. me and billy returned and grabbed a sack each, wet it and aided all we could in putting out the fire, but it had gained too much headway and defied us all. i concluded that it was going to burn down all the sierra mountains before it got through. there was a laundry in the chinese village for i noticed a lot of white man's underwear and white shirts hanging on lines to dry, and near by was the washerman's horse tethered to a stake. when the horse saw and smelt the flames he became frantic and was a hard horse to hold. his owner ran up and yelled and shouted at him in chinese but the horse either did not or would not understand what was said to him for he tried to kick the stuffing out of his boss and everything else that came near him. he kicked down every wash line that he could, one after another, and did his best to break loose from his halter, but it was no go. he wouldn't let his boss get anyway near him for his heels flew in every direction and it made us laugh to hear the chinamen swear in chinese. after the brute kicked down every line within reach of his heels he finally broke loose and galloped over the hills at a breakneck pace. for all that billy and i know to the contrary he is galloping yet. billy and me concluded that it was about time for us to skip out, too, so we did so. we had done all we could to help put out the fire and lost our grub in the operation, so we felt that we had done our duty. i have often thought of that fire since and wondered what the result was, whether it ended in great damage to the country and the destruction of the chinese village, or whether the horse had ever showed up again. there is no rainfall in california during the summer months, i am told, and in consequence the grass and much of the vegetation dries up and one has to be very careful where to light a fire. we didn't know that, hence the disaster. we climbed into our car again, and were ready to move on whenever the train did. we lit our pipes, indulged in a smoke, and laughed over our recent experience. we must have laughed pretty loud, for a head was suddenly thrust into the car doorway and a stern visage confronted us. it was the brakeman's. "what you fellers doin' there?" asked brakey. "only taking a ride," responded billy. "where to?" asked brakey. "down the line a little way." "what are you riding on?" asked mr. brakeman. "on a freight train," innocently answered billy. i guffawed, for i knew billy had given the wrong answer, but brakey never cracked a smile. "got any money or tickets?" asked he, gravely. "no," answered billy. "get off then and be quick about it," was the stern command. off we hopped and quite crestfallen, too, for our journey for the time being was ended. we wandered back to the railroad station to ascertain when the next train would leave. there would be nothing until early the next morning we learned, so there was nothing for us to do but to unroll our blankets and lay off somewhere near by where we could catch a train as it came by. we were very hungry, but turned in supperless, and chewed tobacco to satisfy the cravings of our stomachs. we soon fell asleep but kept one ear open to catch the sound of any freight train coming our way. wayfarers are wonderfully acute, even in their sleep, as regards noticing the approach of trains. no matter how sound their sleep may be, they will wake up at the proper time to board a train nine times out of ten, unless they are too badly boozed. during the early hours of the morning a long train full of empty cars came our way and we made it easily. it was mighty chilly at that time of the day, but as we had on heavy overcoats, our bodies did not suffer much. our feet, however, did. fellows who beat their way, though, must put up with such little inconveniences without kicking. it belongs to the business. they must bear hunger, cold, thirst, dust, dirt and other trifles of that kind and get used to it. those who travel in pullman and tourist cars pay their money and sleep on feathers, but we slept just as well and nearly as warmly, wrapped in our blankets in a box car. during our wanderings we slept on the ground, in old shacks, barns, sidetracked cars or any old place and got along fairly well. we didn't have washbasins to wash in, but we carried soap, brushes and hand-glasses with us, and could make our toilet at any place where there was running water. water was plentiful in the sierra mountains. we pulled out of dutch flat when the train got ready and flew down the mountain side at great speed. we could go as lively as the train could in our car, however, and the speed was exhilarating, but the morning breeze was mighty keen and cutting. we would have given a great deal for a cup of hot coffee just then, but of course it wasn't to be had. when we neared a place called auburn we saw a grove of trees, the leaves of which were a deep green, and among them hung little balls of golden yellow fruit that looked good to us. "hi, billy," exclaimed i, "look at them yellow balls hanging on the trees, will you? wonder what they are?" billy looked at them fixedly for quite a while and then suddenly made a shrewd guess. "them's oranges, windy, as sure as we're alive." these were the first oranges billy or i had ever seen growing on trees and they surely looked good to us. they reminded us of christmas trees. we would liked to have jumped out to get some oranges for breakfast, but they were so near and yet so far that we desisted. how tantalizing it was to see a tempting breakfast before you and not be able to eat it. but the train didn't stop anywhere for refreshments, so that let us out. when we got down to a place called roseville, which was a junction, we noticed several orange trees standing near the depot with plenty of oranges hanging amid the leaves, and oh, how we did long to make a rush for them. the train crew was on that side of the train, however, and there were plenty of people near the depot so we dared not make the venture. oh, if this train would only stop twenty minutes for refreshments maybe we could get a handout, but it didn't stop, so we had to go hungry till we reached sacramento. we got to sacramento, the capital of california, before noon, and jumped off the train in the railroad yard, keeping an eye on the bulls and fly-cops that buzzed around there. no one got on to us so we walked leisurely along with our blankets slung over our shoulders. the railroad yards were quite extensive and it took us quite a while to traverse them. in them were car shops, foundries and all kinds of buildings and things pertaining to railroads. sacramento is a railroad division, the first out of frisco, i believe, and we noticed a good deal doing in the way of railroad manufacturing, but we were too hungry to care for such things just then. we got to the passenger train shed which was a large housed-over building of glass and iron, and outside of it came upon a broad street which led into the town. alongside of this street i noticed a slough with green scum upon it which didn't look good to me for swimming or any other purpose. on the other side of this pond was a big chinatown and billy and me thought we might as well see what it looked like. we entered it and saw a young workingman come out of a ten-cent restaurant. billy stepped up to him and boned him for the price of a square meal. he listened to billy's hungry tale of woe and coughed up a dime with which we bought two loaves of bread. we then wandered through the streets looking for a retired spot where we could sit down and eat but the streets in that locality were so filthy and the mongolians so plentiful that we concluded to keep a moving. we came to j and then to k street, which were broad business thoroughfares full of stores and then we walked along k street until we saw a shady green park. to it we wandered and found a comfortable rustic seat under the shade of a spreading oak tree. we threw our blankets behind our seat and sat down and blew off steam. we were tired, hot, dusty and hungry. while eating we looked about us. the park wasn't a large one but it was a trim one. the lawns were shaved down close, the winding walks were well-kept, there were flowers to be seen, palm trees, pampas-plume bushes and, oh ye gods! orange trees with oranges on them. "say billy," remarked i with my mouth full of bread, "get on to the orange trees, will you?" "where?" asked billy, with wide-staring eyes. "why, right along the walk up that way," said i, pointing. "sure enough," says billy, "keep an eye on my grub, will you, while i get a hatful," said he excitedly. "keep your eyes peeled for cops," admonished i, as billy rushed off. billy made the riffle all right and came back with four or five nice looking oranges, which were all he could carry. he remarked that they would do for the present. after stowing the bread and getting a drink of muddy water from a fountain near by, we tackled the oranges and found them dry and tasteless and bitter as gall. "call them things oranges!" sneered billy, as he threw his portion away with disgust; why they're bitter as gall. i've bought many a better orange than that in the old country for a penny. "i thought they raised good oranges in california," said i, "but if they're all like these, then i don't want any of them," whereupon i threw mine over my shoulder, too, into the shrubbery behind me. oh, weren't they bitter; boo! "billy, we've been misinformed," said i, "the oranges in california are n. g." "right you are, windy, but as they didn't cost us anything we oughtn't to kick." after eating and resting, we took in the town. we found sacramento to be a sizeable place, containing about fifty thousand people, and the people to us seemed sociable, chatty and friendly. we both liked the place first class, and as we were broke, concluded to try our luck there for awhile. we struck a street cleaning job and held it down for a week. the water used in sacramento comes from the sacramento river, we were told, and as it wasn't at all good, we took to beer, as did many others. we were told about a class of people in sacramento called native sons, who monopolized all the good things in the way of jobs. native sons are native born californians who take a great deal of pride in their state and have an organization which they call the native sons of the golden west. the aim of this organization is to beautify california, plant trees, keep up the old missions, preserve the giant redwood trees, forests, and the like. lots of fellows spoke ill of the native sons, but we didn't, for they weren't hurting us any. the native californians we met in sacramento to us seemed a genial sort of people who are willing to do strangers or anyone a good turn, if they can. lots of them were hustlers and full of business and their city surely is a snorter. there are several large parks in sacramento, fruit and vegetable markets, and any number of swell saloons where a schooner of beer and a free lunch can be had for a nickel. then there is the western hotel, state house and capitol hotels, all of which are big ones, and any number of fine stores and lots of broad, well-shaded residence streets, traction cars, electric lights, etc. the city is right up to date. after we had been there about a week, billy suddenly got a severe attack of the shakes and seemed in a bad way. his lips turned blue, his eyes burned with fever, his teeth rattled like clappers, and his body shook as if he had the jim-jams. i went to a dispensary and had some dope fixed up for him, but it didn't seem to do him any good. i then bought a quart bottle of whiskey, and poured the whole of it down his throat. he took to it as naturally as a kid does to its mother's milk, but every day the poor little cuss got worse. "let's hike out of this place, billy," said i; "the best cure for the shakes is to go where there isn't any, for as long as we stay here you'll be sick." billy, as usual, was willing to do as i said (and i was always willing to do as he said), so we made tracks out of sacramento in pretty short order. we crossed the sacramento river, which is about a half a mile across, on a wooden bridge, and it was all billy could do to walk across it. he was as weak as a kitten and so groggy on his pins that he could hardly stand up. some people who saw him probably thought he was boozed, but he wasn't, any more than i was. i took hold of his arm and led him along, but the little cuss sat down on a string piece of the bridge and told me to let him die in peace. "die nothing, you silly little britisher: you ain't any nearer death than i am," said i. "sit down and rest yourself and then we'll take another little hike. we'll make a train somewhere on the other side of the river, then ho! for 'frisco, where our troubles will soon be ended. brace up, old man, and never say die." i jollied the little cuss along in that way until we got to a little station where we could catch a train and we soon did catch one. we rode on to davis, which was a junction, and close to the station i saw a large vineyard. i pointed it out to billy. "stay where you are, billy, and i'll get you some grapes," said i. grapes were ripe just then. i jumped over the fence and secured a big hatful of fine big, flaming tokay grapes. they were delicious and did billy a world of good. we were now fairly on our way to 'frisco, the mecca of all bums. we never saw a bum yet who hadn't been in 'frisco or who didn't know all about the city. billy and me had heard about it, but hadn't seen it, and though we were on the tramp, didn't consider ourselves bums. we worked when we could find something to do, but when there was nothing to do, of course we couldn't do it. work is something a bum will never do. lots of the bums we met along the road were criminals and some of them pretty desperate ones at that. a few were chaps who were merely traveling to get somewhere and had no money to pay their way. others had money and would not pay. some were honest laboring men flitting from point to point in search of work, and not a few were unfortunates who had held high positions and were down and out through drink or misfortune of some sort. there were all sorts beating their way, and there always will be. the professional vag is a low down fellow who has few redeeming qualities. he is agreeable with his chums and that is about all. neither billy nor i were low, base born fellows, or criminals, and our parents were respectable, so that is why we took to each other. we were fellow mortals in distress, that is all. we did not think it very wrong to take a chicken if we were very hungry, but that was the extent of our evil doing. we bought our own clothes, blankets, etc., and never broke into a house to steal anything. one outfit that we were with at one time in utah, one night stole a suit case that was standing on the platform of a railroad station and they divided up its contents among themselves. it consisted of a coat, vest, pants, collars, ties, handkerchiefs, brush, combs, etc., and had we been caught the whole bunch of us might have been pinched, but the gang made tracks in a hurry and got as far away from the scene of the robbery as they could. some of the characters we met in our travels would have contaminated a saint almost, for their looks, actions and words revealed their disposition. the higher up in crime some of these chaps were, and the abler and more desperate, the more were they admired by some of their fellows. this kind of chaps were generally the captains of the camp, and gave orders that were readily obeyed by the others. one bum was generally commanded by the captain to go and rustle up bread, another was sent for meat, a third for coffee, a fourth for sugar, a fifth for pepper and salt, etc. no matter how things were obtained, if they were obtained no questions were asked. one fellow returned to camp with a quarter of a lamb one night and boastfully told how he had got it. it had hung up outside a butcher shop and he stole it. the captain mumbled his approval in low tones, for he was too mighty to praise loudly or in many words. the ways of hobos are various, and it would take up a great deal of space to describe them in detail. it was along toward sundown when we made a train out of davis. davis, like sacramento, was a pretty hard town to get out of, and the best we could do was to ride the rods. that was easy enough, even for billy, who was rather delicate at that time. the rods under some freight cars are many and well arranged for riding purposes. they are fairly thick bars of iron set close together, stretching from one side of the car to the other, underneath the body of the car, and though not very often soft, when an overcoat is strung across them, with rolled up blankets for a pillow, they are the next best thing to a berth in a pullman car. when one side of our body ached, we just turned over to the other side, and it beat riding on the bumpers or brake-beams all hollow. a berth in a pullman costs about five dollars per night, fare extra, so we were saving lots of money. beating our way on a railroad we considered no crime at all, for to judge from what i can read in the newspapers, the railroads rob the people, so why shouldn't the people rob them? that's a good argument, ain't it? the measly old train must have been a way-freight, for she made long stops at every little excuse of a town she came to. about ten o'clock at night she came to a place called benicia, and there the train was cut in two, so i hopped off to see what the difficulty was. on both sides and ahead of us was water. i rushed back to billy and told him to get off in a hurry. "what's the matter?" asked billy. "there's water all around us, and i guess they're going to carry the cars over on a ferry boat. i suppose our journey for the night will end here." "not much, windy," replied billy; "i want to get to 'frisco tonight and maybe we can pay our way across on the boat." we walked boldly on a boat that we saw the cars being pulled onto by a locomotive, and when we got near a cabin a ship's officer stepped up to us and wanted to know where we were going. "to 'frisco," said i. "to 'frisco?" said he with a grin. "well, you'll have to pay your way across the ferry on this boat." "what's the fare?" asked billy. "seeing that you two are good-looking fellows, i'll only charge you ten cents apiece," said the captain, or officer, jokingly. we both drew a long breath of relief, for we thought the boat was going to 'frisco and that we'd have to pay a big price. i handed the good-natured officer two dimes for us both and we felt happy once more. the boat wasn't long making the trip, only about ten minutes or so, and on the other side we found no difficulty in making our train again, after she was made up. we held her down until she reached oakland, which is opposite 'frisco. there we learned there was one more ferry to cross before we could get into 'frisco, so billy and i decided to remain where we were for the night, for it was late. we prowled around until we found an open freight car, and turned in for a snooze. the next morning was a beautiful one, and we were up and out by daylight. the weather wasn't cold, the sun was bright and cheery, but over 'frisco we could see a sort of fog hanging. it was easy enough to see across the bay of san francisco, for the distance is only about five miles, but the length of the bay we could not determine, for it stretched further than the eye could reach. we noticed an island in the bay not far from oakland, and from oakland a long wharf extended far out into the harbor, maybe a mile or so. we walked along this wharf until we came to a big train-shed and ferry house combined, where we coughed up two more dimes and got upon a large ferry-boat. as it was very early in the morning, very few passengers were on the boat. we walked to the front of the boat and drank in the delicious morning breeze. the ferry-boat was as large and fine a one as i had ever seen. it was a double-decker with large cabins below and aloft, and with runways for vehicles between. the cabins were very spacious and handsomely fitted up. at about half past five the boat started on her way across, and now we were making a straight shoot for 'frisco. talking of 'frisco, by the way, permit me to say a word about the name. the people of san francisco don't like to have their city called 'frisco, but prefer to have it called by its full title. they think the abbreviation is a slur. i can't see it in that light. 'frisco is short and sweet and fills the bill; life is too short to call it san francisco. the ride across the bay was fine and lasted about half an hour. we passed an island which someone told us was goat island, and billy and me wondered whether there were any billies or nannies on it. we didn't get close enough to see any. further on we saw another island which was hilly like goat island. it was called alcatraz. it contained an army post and was fortified. it looked formidable, we thought. not very far away, and straight out, was the golden gate, which had no gates near it that we could see, but just two headlands about a mile or so apart. outside of the golden gate is the pacific ocean. we were now nearing 'frisco, which lay right ahead of us. nothing but steep hills could we see. they were built up compactly with houses. as we got close to the shore we saw plenty of level streets and wharves, and alongside of the wharves, ships. we steered straight for a tall tower on which there was a huge clock, which told us the time--six o'clock. we entered the ferry slip, moored fast and soon set foot in 'frisco. chapter ii. 'frisco. our first glimpse of 'frisco made us like the place. near the ferry slip were eating joints by the bushel, more saloons than you could shake a stick at, sailors' boarding houses, fruit stands containing fruit that made our teeth water; oyster-houses, lodging-houses--in fact there was everything there to make a fellow feel right at home. 'frisco is all right and everyone who has been there will tell you so. what she ain't got ain't worth having. every bum that i ever saw spoke well of the town and gave it a good name. it is a paradise for grafters. you can get as good a meal there for ten cents as you will have to pay double for anywhere else. fruit is fine, plentiful and cheap; vegetables are enormous in size and don't cost anything, hardly; any and every kind of fish is there; meats are wonderful to behold, and not dear; and say, it's an all-around paradise, sure enough. every kind of people can be found there--greasers, greeks, scandinavians, spanish, turks, armenians, hebrews, italians, germans, chinese, japanese, negroes and all sorts. it is a vast international city. bums are there in unlimited quantities, any number of criminals, bunco-men, "chippies" till you can't rest, highbinders by the score up in chinatown, and lots of bad people. the town is noted for being pretty lively. it surely is wide open and you can sit in a little game at any time. californians in particular and westerners generally take to gambling as naturally as a darky does to watermelons and pork chops. the 'frisco gambling houses are never closed. efforts have been made to close them but they were futile. might as well try to sweep back the ocean with a broom. there are lots of good people in 'frisco, but the bad ones are more than numerous. i think 'frisco is about the liveliest, dizziest place on the continent today, of its size. it has more restaurants, saloons, theaters, dance halls, pull-in-and-drag-out places, groceries with saloon attachments to them, than any place i ever struck. money is plentiful, easy to obtain and is spent lavishly. a dollar seems less to a californian than a dime to an easterner. he will let it go quicker and think less of it. if he goes into a restaurant or saloon and buys a drink or meal which does not suit him, he pays the price and makes no kick, but don't go there again. he don't believe in kicking. he was not brought up that way. he will lose his money at the races and try his luck again. "better luck next time," says he, and his friends to him. he will take his girl out and blow in his money for her on the very best of everything. the best theater, the best wine supper are none too good for his girl. what if he does go broke, there's plenty more money to be had. money is no object to a 'friscoite. billy and i weren't in 'frisco long before we got onto these things. californians are sociable and will talk to anyone. billy concluded to live and die there, the place suited him so well. work was plentiful, wages were high, and the working hours few. billy said it beat the old country all hollow. ha'-pennies or tup-pennies didn't go here; the least money used was nickels and dimes. nothing could be purchased for less than a nickel (five cents) for even a newspaper of any kind cost that much. no wonder the newsboys could shoot craps or play the races. even the servant girls gambled in something or other. 'frisco is all right. bet your sweet life! the rest of america ain't in it with her. lots of britishers live there, too; that is why billy liked it so well. everyone who ain't sick or got the belly ache, or some other trouble, likes 'frisco. as regards climate! they have it in 'frisco. about sixty degrees by the thermometer all the year round. no snow, ice, cyclones or mosquitoes; but bed-bugs, fleas, earthquakes and fogs. as for fleas, they are thick in 'frisco and mighty troublesome. when you see a lady or gent pinch his or her leg that means a bite--flea. as 'frisco is built on a sandy peninsula, that may be the reason why fleas are so plentiful, for it is said they like sandy spots. billy and i had a little money which we earned in sacramento, so we concluded that the first thing to do was to get a square meal. we sought out a likely looking restaurant along the water front where a good meal could be had for ten cents and in we went. i ordered a steak and billy ordered mutton chops; billy wanted tea and i wanted coffee. each of us had a bowl of mush first, then potatoes, bread and butter, hot cakes, tea or coffee, and meat. more than we could eat was put before us and i had a horse-like appetite. billy was a little off his feed. the meal was as good as it was cheap. the next thing to be done was to hunt up a lodging place. there were any number of them in the vicinity, and we soon found a joint where the two of us could room together for a dollar and a half per week. the place was over a saloon, and though it wasn't high-toned, it seemed neat enough. the next event on the program was sight-seeing. we left our things under lock and key in our room and leisurely strolled along the water front to see what we could see. while strolling along the street facing the wharves, we were passing a clothing store when a hebrew gentleman stepped out and asked us if we wanted to buy a suit of clothes. we told him no, but he didn't seem to want to take "no" for an answer. "shentlemens, i got some mighty fine clothes inside and i'll sell them very cheap." "ain't got no money, today," said i, as we tried to pass on. "don't be in der hurry," said the hebrew gentleman; "come in and take a look, it won't cost you noddings." i was for moving on, but billy said, "what's the harm? let's go in and see what he's got." in we went, slowly and cautiously, but we knew the old jew couldn't rob us in open daylight. "what size do you wear?" asked he of billy. "damfino," says billy; "i didn't come in to buy any clothes today." "let me measure you," says the israelite, "i got some clothes here that will make your eyes water when you see dem." billy stood up and let his measure be taken. this done, the vender of clothes made an inspection of the clothing-piles, calling out to jakie in a back room to come forth and assist. jakie appeared, and seemed a husky chap of twenty-five or so. jakie had been eating his breakfast. the two storekeepers went through the clothing piles. "aha!" triumphantly exclaimed the old hebrew. "i've got a fine suit here. dey'll make you look like a gentleman. try 'em on," turning to billy. he brought forth the clothes where billy could examine them, but after examination billy shook his head. "you don't like 'em?" exclaimed the old gent; "what's de matter with 'em?" "oh, i don't fancy that kind of cloth," said billy. it looked like gray blotting paper. "what kind do you like?" asked the hebrew, rather aggressively. "oh, i don't know," answered billy. the jew was getting mad, but he brought forth another suit after a short search. "here is something fine; you kin wear 'em for efery day or sunday." billy examined the clothes, but shook his head. "dry 'em on! dry 'em on! you'll see they'll fid you like der paper on der vall!" "what's the use trying 'em on?" said billy, quietly; "i don't like 'em and they wouldn't fit me anyway." "not like 'em!" exclaimed the now thoroughly enraged clothing merchant; "i don't think you want to buy no clothes at all; you couldn't get a finer suit of clothes in san francisco, and look at der price, too; only ten dollars, so hellup me isaac!" "the price is all right, but i don't like the cut of the clothes," said billy. "you don't like der style?" the angry man now got the thought through his noddle that billy wasn't going to buy any clothes, whereupon he grew furious. "what you come in here for, you dirty tramp. get out of here, or i trow you out." here i stepped up and told the miserable duffer what i thought of him. i expected there was going to be a knock down and drag out scene, but as there were two of us, the two israelites thought better of it than to tackle us. the young feller hadn't said a word, but the old man was mad clear through. if he had been younger i would have swiped him one just for luck. we got out of the place all right, the old man and i telling each other pretty loud what we thought of each other. i told billy he ought not to have gone in there at all for he didn't intend to buy any clothes. "he wanted me to go in, didn't he, whether i wanted to or not?" asked billy. "of course, he did. you should have given him a kick in the rump and skipped out. that's what i would have done." "i'm glad it didn't end in a row. we might have got into trouble," concluded billy. we strolled along the wharves to see the shipping. the ferry-house at the foot of market street is a huge granite building (with a lofty clock-tower on top) wherein are to be found the various ticket offices of the southern pacific, santa fe, the north shore, california & north western and other railroads. up stairs in the second story is an extensive horticultural exhibit, where are displayed the products of california; there are the offices of various railroad and other officials, there, too. to take a train on any railroad one must cross the bay on a ferry-boat. each railroad line has its own line of ferry-boats and slips. one line of boats crosses to oakland, alameda and berkeley; another to tiburon; a third to sausalito; a fourth to point richmond, etc. every boat is a fine one and those of the santa fe railroad plying to point richmond are all painted yellow. the traffic at the ferry building is considerable at all hours of the day and night. the next wharf, which is also a covered one like the ferry-house, is the landing-place of the stockton steamboats. there are two lines of these boats plying between 'frisco and stockton, and they are rivals. the distance between stockton and 'frisco by water is about one hundred miles, yet the fare is only fifty cents. there are sleeping berths aboard, if one cares to use them, at fifty cents each, and meals may be had for twenty-five cents. fifty cents in western lingo is called four bits, and twenty-five cents, two bits. a dime is a short bit and fifteen cents a long bit; six bits is seventy-five cents, and a dollar is simply called a dollar. a few of the wharves we noticed were roofed over, but some were not. the folsom street wharf is devoted to the united states army transport service, and a huge transport ship going to manila and other eastern countries can be seen there at any time, almost. no one is allowed on this wharf, except on business. as we hadn't any particular business on this wharf we didn't care to go upon it. there was a watchman at the gate. at a wharf or two from this one all the whaling vessels dock, and 'frisco today is the greatest whaling port in america, we were told. there was one whaling vessel there at the time, but she didn't look good to us. she was short, squat, black and grimy, and smelled loudly of oil. billy and i concluded we wouldn't care to sail in such a ship for a hundred dollars per month. near by was a long uncovered wharf which extended quite a way out into the water. at either side of it were moored big deep-sea going vessels. one was the dumbarton, of glasgow, another the selkirk, a third the necker--all foreigners. the selkirk was british, and billy's heart warmed to her. when he saw an english flag flying on one of the masts tears came to his eyes and he got homesick. he walked up the gang-plank and wanted to go on board, but a sailor on deck told him there was no admittance. billy marched down again much crestfallen. there are lots of evil characters in 'frisco, so that is why the mariners are wary. we slowly sauntered along the wharf, and at a string piece at the end of it we came across other idlers, several of whom were engaged in fishing. we saw several young sharks pulled up and several other kinds of fish that we didn't know the names of. after watching the fishing for a while we moved on and went into some of the side streets. they were full of saloons, some of which were fitted up very handsomely with plate-glass, fine woodwork, marble floors and elaborate bars with free lunch counter. other saloons were mere groggeries in which we could see and hear sailors and longshoremen singing and dancing. steam beer and lager was five cents a glass and whiskey ten cents. sailors' boarding-houses were numerous in these localities, as were hotels, stores of all kinds, ship-outfitting shops, lumber yards, coal offices, foundries, iron works and the like. we now strolled up market street, which is the main thoroughfare of 'frisco. it is a broad street, flanked on either side by wholesale and retail commercial establishments, high-toned saloons and restaurants. many street car lines traverse this street by means of cables, and there are one or two horse-car lines. the street was a lively one, and thronged with people and vehicles. billy and i had heard a great deal about the golden gate park, the cliff house, the seal rocks and the sutro baths, so we concluded to take a little jaunt out that way to see what those places were like. the first things we wanted to see were the seals. we boarded a street-car running out to the cliff house, and found the ride a long and interesting one. the distance was many miles and the fare only five cents. there was much to be seen. long stretches of unfamiliar streets rolled by, residence and business sections, strange looking houses, hills and valleys, and the like. the air was wonderfully balmy and bracing and not a bit cold. the car whirled us along very rapidly and revealed to us a great deal of golden gate park, and further on lofty tree-covered hills, bare sand hills, and a very extensive public building of some sort which was perched on a tree clad hillside, and then it skimmed along parallel with the ocean. we saw no ships on the ocean, but it was a grand sight nevertheless. we rushed by a life-saving station at railroad speed, which we regretted, for we should like to have seen more of it, and after riding about a mile or so more, finally stopped alongside a shed, which was the end of the car line. here we hopped off with the rest of the crowd, and walked along a wooden sidewalk which was laid over the sands. two or three restaurants and saloons were to be seen in the vicinity, and about a half dozen booths. there was a picture gallery or two, and fruit and peanut stands. we bought some candy and peanuts to keep from getting hungry, and then followed the crowd to the beach. we walked along the beach and then up a hill leading to the cliff house. the views along this road were fine. we came to the cliff house and saw it was nothing more nor less than a large hotel built on a cliff. it looked pretty high-toned to us, so me and billy hesitated about going in. "they'll soak us when we get in there, windy," warned billy. "nary time, billy," retorted i. "we'll go in and if they try to hold us up we'll skip." "all right, then; let's try our luck," said billy. in we went, and saw a barroom, which we didn't enter. further on was a glass covered porch, along which were disposed tables and chairs, and which invited us to sit down and have something. we were not hungry or thirsty just then, so we kept a-walking, and through an open window facing the sea we saw some tall rocks in the water, about a quarter of a mile distant, upon which were a whole lot of seals that were barking to beat the band. "there's the seals, billy, large as life, sure enough," remarked i. billy stared. "i'll be blowed if they ain't cheeky beggars," said he, with a face full of astonishment. "it's a wonder they'd come so near to the shore." some of the animals were snoozing on the rocks, others were crawling up the rocky sides of the islet, a few were bellowing, and the whole place seemed covered with them. a wonderful sight it was! we looked until we grew tired, and i wanted to drag billy away, but he didn't seem to want to go. "there's other things to be seen, billy," said i; "we can't stay here all day." billy tore himself away reluctantly and then we wandered over to the sutro heights, which is a tall hill with fine and extensive gardens upon it. from this hill a fine view of the ocean may be obtained. there are fine drives in these gardens bordered with flowers, shady walks, statues, fountains, rustic arbors and seats, cosy niches where one could sit and view the ocean, roads built terrace-like upon the cliffs, and other very pretty features. a lovely spot indeed, it was. it was built by mr. adolph sutro, a millionaire. it was free to all. we walked in the gardens until we grew tired, and then sat down and contemplated the ocean. afterward we strolled toward golden gate park and inspected it. it was close by and we found it a very extensive one. it seemed endless, indeed, to us, for long before we reached an entrance where we could take a car, we were dead tired. we took another route going cityward, for we wanted to see as much of the city as we could. the more we saw of 'frisco, the better we liked it. it must be seen to be appreciated. we reached market street all right, and then we knew where we were. we strolled down toward the ferry-house, near which we knew our lodging-house to be, and after having a good supper, we went to our room to lay off until evening, when there would be more sight-seeing. "what do you think of 'frisco, windy?" asked billy. "suits me to a t, billy. believe i'll camp here for a while." "same here, windy. i never struck a place i like better. i think a fellow can get on here. i'm going to try it, anyway." "i'm with you, billy," said i. "where'll we go this evening?" "i've heard a lot about chiney town. suppose we go there." "good idea! let's take it in." accordingly, about eight o'clock that evening we strolled forth, bent on seeing 'frisco by gaslight. the streets were well lighted, and we found no difficulty in moving about. by making inquiries we readily found our way to the mongolian district. what we saw there filled us with amazement. street after street we saw (and long ones at that) inhabited solely by slanty-eyed asiatics. there were thousands of them, and it seemed to us that we were transplanted into a chinese city. all kinds of chinese establishments were located in this quarter; barber shops, drug stores, furnishing goods stores, butcher shops, cigar manufacturing establishments, restaurants (chop suey), temples, theaters, opium joints in back alleys and basements, street venders who sold fruits, street cobblers, open air fortune tellers, newspapers, bookbinderies, vegetable stores, and not a few high-class curio establishments. any number of chinese children were noisily playing in the streets, chinese women were walking about the streets and all over the quarter was an oriental atmosphere. it made us feel mighty foreign-like. billy wanted to know whether he was in asia or america, and i told him asia. the chinese women and children interested us considerably. the women were habited in loose flowing robes and trousers, and their lips and faces were painted scarlet. their hair was done up in thick folds, with long golden pins stuck through them. they were mighty gaudy, i thought. the kids were noisy but interesting. they played all kinds of games like white children. of course the games they played were chinese, and what kind of games they were, i don't know. the articles of food and wear displayed were very curious. so were the books, photographs, etc. billy and i took in the sights, and felt mighty interested in it all. it was better than a circus to us. at about ten o'clock we meandered homeward. we talked late that night about what we had seen, and it was after midnight before we fell asleep. billy was unaccountably restless that night and kept a-tossing and a-rolling. he kept this up so long that finally i got huffy and asked him what the trouble was. he kept quiet for a while but suddenly he rose up and said he'd be ---- if he didn't think there were bugs in the bed. i felt a bite or two myself, but didn't mind it. "i'm going to get up and see what's in this bed," said billy. he got up, lit a candle, and i hopped out too, so as to give him a chance to examine things. billy threw back the clothes and saw three or four good-sized fleas hopping about and trying to escape to a safe shelter. we both went for them bodily, but they were too swift for us. we did a pile of cussing and swearing just then, but the fleas were probably laughing at us from some safe retreat. we couldn't catch a one of them. we went to bed again and i slept soundly, but billy put in a bad night. i told billy the next morning he oughtn't to mind such trifling things as fleas. "trifles, are they?" snorted he, and showed me his bare white skin, which was all eaten up. "look at that; call them trifles?" "what are you going to do about it, billy?" inquired i. "do?" retorted he, with disgust, "why, grin and bear it, of course; what else can i do; but those bites itch like blazes." billy had to do what all 'frisco people do when they are bitten--grin and bear it, or cuss and scratch. the 'frisco fleas sure are lively, and the best way to catch them is to wet your finger and bear down on them suddenly. they'll wiggle away from a dry finger. the next morning was a fine one, balmy and sunny. we arose, dressed, breakfasted, and then felt happy. "how are we going to put in the day, windy?" asked billy, after we emerged from a restaurant and stood picking our teeth in front of the place. "blest if i know," responded i. "suppose we put it in sight-seeing?" "i'll go you," said billy. "we haven't seen much of 'frisco yet. suppose we take a stroll up market street and see what there is to see up that way." accordingly, up market street we leisurely strolled, taking in the sights by the wayside. market street, as i said before, is the main thoroughfare of 'frisco, and is a broad one. the sidewalks are wide enough for a dozen or more people to walk abreast along them and the driveway in the middle of the street contains two or three sets of street-car tracks, and sufficient room on either side for vehicles. the lower portion of the street, toward the ferry-house, is taken up with wholesale business establishments, and the upper portion toward which we were now walking contains retail shops, high-class saloons, restaurants, newspaper buildings, sky-scrapers, banks, department stores, etc. we came to market and third street, and turned down third street. it, too, was rather a broad thoroughfare, but not nearly so wide as market street. it wasn't high-toned like market street, nor were the buildings on it of a high class, for they were mostly of frame, one and two stories in height. the ground floors of these buildings were used as stores and the upper portions as dwellings. fruit, fish and vegetable stores abounded, and saloons were more than numerous. the size and varieties of the fruit, fish and vegetables in the stores pleased the eye. fine crabs and clams were there, but the california oysters seemed small. we stepped into a saloon called "the whale," where a fine free lunch was set out on a side table. there were huge dishes of cheese on the table, tripe, various kinds of sausage sliced up thin, pickled tongue, radishes, cold slaw, pickles, sliced tomatoes and big trays of bread of various kinds. the layout was generous. having had breakfast but a short time before, all these dainties did not tempt us, but we sat down for awhile and indulged in a smoke, in the meanwhile observing the ways of the patrons of the place. some seedy looking bums were lined up against the bar chinning whilst others were sipping beer and paying their best respects to the lunch counter. they were a dirty lot, and if some of them weren't hobos, i miss my guess. we didn't remain in the place long, but strolled into a similar establishment further on. in one saloon we noticed a sign over the lunch counter which informed the hungry one to-- "please regulate your appetite according to your thirst; this is not a restaurant." notwithstanding the gentle hint conveyed on the sign, the place did a roaring trade, for the liquids as well as the solids were excellent. beginning from market and running parallel with market were mission, howard, folsom, bryant, brannan, bluxome, townsend, channel and other streets. nearly all of them were broad, but a few were narrow, such as stevenson, jessie, minna, natoma, tehama, etc., being hardly more than alleys. this was the poorer residence section, inhabited by the working classes. some of the alleys were tough and contained cheap lodging-houses wherein dwelt many a hard case and criminal. we walked down third street as far as the railroad depot and saw lots of things to interest us. all the goods displayed in the store windows seemed dirt cheap. how they did tempt us, but as we were not overburdened with wealth just then we didn't feel like buying. silk pocket handkerchiefs, dandy hats, elegant trousers, mouth harmonicas, pistols, knives, razors, accordions were there in great variety. why were we born poor? had we been rich we would have blowed ourselves for fair. the display was too tempting. we walked to fourth street, which is the next one to third, and then slowly sauntered up toward market again. the blocks along third and fourth streets were long ones, and from market street down to the railroad depot the distance is a mile or more. but we were not tired, so on we kept. fourth street was about like third street, and afforded many interesting sights. billy and me liked everything we saw. when we finally reached market street again we crossed it and took in another quarter of the city. where we had been was called south of market; so this must be north of market. we didn't like it half as well as we did south of market. here were pretentious shops and restaurants, and a fine class of dwellings, but even here the buildings were all of wood and hardly two were alike. in this quarter is located what is called "the tenderloin," which means gambling joints, fast houses and the like. we, being strangers, could not locate them. it was now nearing noon and as we had become hungry, we concluded to step into a saloon to have a beer and a free lunch, but the free lunch establishments in that neighborhood seemed few and far between. some saloons had signs on them which stated that free clam chowder, beef stew, roasted clams, or a ham sandwich with every drink was to be had today, but those were not the kind of a place we were after. we were looking for some place like "the whale," but couldn't find one. we finally got tired of hunting for such a place, and stepped into a ten-cent restaurant, where we had a bum meal. after dining we strolled back to our lodging-house, where we laid off the rest of the day. "what'll it be tonight; a ten-cent show or chinatown once more?" "a ten-cent show," answered billy; "we did chinatown last night, and can do it again some other night, so let's take in a show." accordingly we went to a fine big theater that evening where the prices ranged from ten to fifty cents, and went up to "nigger heaven" (price ten cents), from whence we saw a pretty fair variety show. the show consisted of singing, dancing, moving pictures, a vaudeville play, negro act, monologue speaker and an acrobatic act. the performance lasted about two hours. the negro act made billy laugh until he nearly grew sick, and we both enjoyed ourselves hugely. one singer, an australian gentleman, sang the "holy city," and he sang it so well that he was recalled many times. the little vaudeville play was good, and so were the moving pictures. it was about ten o'clock when the play let out, and it was after midnight when billy and i turned in. we continued our sightseeing tour about a week and saw about all worth seeing of 'frisco, and then as funds began to run low, we concluded it was about time for us to look for work. i struck a job as helper in a foundry the very next day, but billy was not so fortunate. he did not find a job for several days. of course i went "snucks" with him when he wasn't working, and saw to it that he had a bed to sleep in and something to eat, for he would have done as much for me. billy struck a job a few days afterward and it was one that seemed to please him mightily. it was in a swell hotel run by an englishman and billy was installed as pantryman. his duties were to take good care of and clean the glassware and silverware. the job was an easy one, with the pay fairly good. billy said it was like getting money from home. he worked from seven o'clock in the morning until eight at night, and had three hours off in the afternoon. the waiters took a shine to him, for they, like himself, were english, and brought him all kinds of good things to eat in the pantry, which was his headquarters. they brought him oysters, roast fowl of various kinds, game, ice cream, water ices, plum pudding, the choicest of wines, etc., and were sociable enough to help billy eat and drink these things. no one molested them so long as they did their work, for the cast-off victuals would have gone into the swill-barrel, anyway. billy was in clover and had the best opportunity in the world to grow stout on "the fat of the land." i was glad to know that he was getting along so well for he sure was a true and steady little pard. one night, several weeks after this, when we were in our room chinning, i remarked to billy: "say, billy, you have told me so much about the old country that i've a notion to go there." billy looked at me keenly to see if i was joking, but i wasn't. "i mean it, billy," said i. "i've always had a notion that i'd like to see the old country, and if you can get along here i guess i can get along over there." "you're way off, windy," replied billy, "the old country is different from this, in every way." "in what way." "why, you can't beat your way over there as you can here, and you couldn't earn as much there in a week as you can here in a day. and the ways of people are different, too. stay where you are, windy; that's my advice to you." "you say i can't beat my way in the old country, billy; why not?" asked i. "you'll get pinched the first thing, if you try it. in the first place there are no railroad trains running across to europe, so how are you going to cross the little duck pond; swim across?" "how do others cross it; can't i ride over in a boat?" "of course you can but it will cost you lots of money, and where are you going to get it?" "what's the matter with earning it or getting a job on a steamer; didn't you do it?" "of course i did; but the steamship companies hire their help on the other side of the ocean, not on this side." "go on, billy; you are giving me a fairy tale." "no, i'm not," earnestly responded billy; "it's true as preaching." i doubted just the same. "you say i can't beat my way when i get across to europe; why not?" "because they won't let you. the towns are close together, for the country is small, and if you beat your way on a train you'd be spotted before you traveled ten miles. and another thing, there are no brake-beams on the other side, no blind baggage and no bumpers, so where are you going to ride? and another thing, too; the railway cars over there are totally different from those here. the coaches are different, the engines are different, the freight cars are different; everything is so different," said billy with a reminiscent smile. "go on, billy; you're only talking to hear yourself talk," said i, thinking he was romancing. "you say, billy," continued i, "that the ways of the people are different over there; in what way?" "in every way. i couldn't begin to explain it all to you, if i tried six months." "they talk english over there, don't they? can't i talk english?" "of course you can," laughed billy; "but their language is different from yours and so are their ways. their victuals are different; their dress, their politics--" "cut out the politics, billy; i ain't going over there to run for office. they must be a queer lot on the other side of the pond to judge from what you say." "not a bit queer," warmly responded billy. "they are just different, that is all. we will suppose you are over there, windy. what will you do?" "do the britishers, of course; what else?" "better stay at home and do your own countrymen. you'll find it easier," gravely admonished billy. "you are on your own ground and know the country and the ways of the people. you'd have a hard time of it over there; mind now, i'm giving it to you straight. i don't think you're serious about going." "serious and sober as a judge, billy. i've been thinking about this thing for a long time. let me tell you something else, billy, that i haven't told you before. i intend to keep a diary when i get on the other side and write down everything i see worth noting." "the hell you are," profanely responded billy; "what are you going to do with it after it is written down?" "have it printed in a book," calmly responded i. billy regarded me intently, as a dog does a human being whom he is trying to understand and cannot, and then when the full force of my revelation struck him he dropped on the bed and laughed and laughed until i thought he'd split his sides. "what's tickling you, billy?" asked i, grinning, for his antics made me laugh. "you--you--" here he went off into another fit. "_you_ write a book? say, windy, i've been traveling with you a long while but i never suspected you were touched in the upper story." "no more touched than you are, billy," said i indignantly. billy rose up. "so you're going to write a book, eh?" asked billy, still laughing. "do you know anything about grammar, geography or composition?" "you bet i do, billy; i was pretty fair at composition when i was at school, but i always hated grammar and don't know much about it." "that settles it," said billy. "how could you write a book if you don't know anything about grammar?" "that stumps me, billy, but i guess the printer can help me out." "the printer ain't paid for doing that sort of thing; he won't help you out." "the h---- he won't," responded i, angrily; "that's what he's paid for, isn't it?" "i don't think," said billy. "say, windy, you're clean off. better turn in and sleep over it." "sleep over nothing," quickly retorted i; "am i the first man who ever wrote a book?" "no, you ain't the first, nor the last damn fool who has tried it." "now, see here, billy," said i, getting heated, "let me tell you something. i've read a whole lot of books in my time, and a good many of them weren't worth hell room. i've read detective stories that were written by fellows that didn't know anything about the detective business. look at all the blood-and-thunder novels will you, that are turned out every year by the hundred. not a word in them is true, yet lots of people read them. why? because they like them. see what kids read, will you? all about cowboys, indians, scalping, buffalo hunting, the wild west, etc. after the kids read such books they get loony and want to go on scalping expeditions themselves, so they steal money, run away from home, buy scalping knives, pistols and ammunition, and play hell generally. my book ain't that kind. when i write a book it will contain the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." "so help you ----," irreverently put in billy. "no foolishness, billy; i'm serious." "oh, you are, are you?" answered billy; "well, let's hear something serious, then." "did you ever read the life of the james boys, billy?" "no, i never did? who were they?" "they were outlaws and robbers, and the book i read about them was the most interesting one i ever read. it was all facts, solid facts, and no nonsense about it. that's what i want to write, solid facts." "about the james boys?" "no, you little ignoramus; about what i see in the old country." "there are many smarter men than you are that have written books about the old country, windy, and some of these writers were english and some were american. are you going to go in opposition to them?" "opposition your grandmother! haven't i got as good a right to write a book as anyone else?" "who says you haven't? after you get the book printed who's going to sell it for you; going around peddling it?" "no, i expect the printer to print what i write, and buy the book from me." "who gets all the money from the sale of the book?" asked billy, with a huge grin on his face. "why, i expect that the printer and me'll go snucks. he gets half for printing it, and i get half for writing it." "oh, that's the game, is it? i think you'll have a sweet time of it finding a printer on that sort of a deal." "don't you think that would be a fair divvy?" "no, the printer is taking all the chances and you're taking none. he puts up the dough and what do you put up?" "my time and ability." "your _ability_!" shouted billy as he went off into a spasm; "well, you've got lots of time, but i never know'd you had any ability." "laugh away, old boy," said i, considerably nettled; "it takes ability to write a book." "of course it does," said billy, meaningly. "maybe you think i ain't got any?" "maybe you have, but you'll have to show me." "well, billy," said i, "we've discussed this matter long enough; suppose we go to bed." nothing more was said on the subject that night. the next morning we went to our separate jobs as usual, and i did a good deal of thinking during the day over some of the information billy had given me about the old country. it made me waver at times about going, but at other times it did not. that night, after we came home from work, billy and me took a stroll as usual through chinatown, and every time we went through it we found something new to see. the streets were always thronged with celestials and sightseers, the stores of the chinese and japanese were all lit up, the queer goods in the windows still riveted our attention and the ways of the orientals proved a source of never-ending interest to us. there were several chinese theaters in the quarter, too, in which the beating of gongs and the "high-toned" singing could plainly be heard by us, but as the admission fees to these theaters to the "melican man" was fifty cents, we didn't go in. some of the plays lasted about six weeks. we were strolling along quietly enjoying ourselves, when suddenly billy banteringly remarked: "by the way, windy, when are you going to take that little flier across the duck-pond?" "don't know, billy; haven't decided yet." "what are you going to do with all the money you make out of that book of yourn?" "never you mind, billy; i'm going to write the book just the same; don't you worry about that." "i suppose you'll get rich some day, and cut me the first thing. fellers who write books make lots of money. i suppose you'll buy a mansion on nob hill, have a coach and four with a coachman in livery on the box and the regulation flunkey behind. maybe you'll drive tandem and handle the ribbons yourself?" "stop roasting me, billy; let up!" but billy continued mercilessly; "of course you'll have a box at the opera, wear a claw hammer coat and a plug hat, put on white kids and take your lady-love to a little supper after the play is over. be lots of champagne flowing about that time, eh?" "let up, you darned little britisher," said i laughing. "greater things than that have come to pass. i'll cut you, the first thing, billy." "i knew it. rich people ain't got any use for their poor friends or relations. "which bank will you put your money in?" "haven't decided yet; ain't going to let that worry me." "maybe you'll fall in love with some girl and get married. when a feller has money he'll do fool things." "the girl i marry will have to be a pretty good looker, and will have to have a little money of her own," responded i. "of course, windy; i'm glad to see you've got some sense. after that old country trip yarn of yours i didn't think you had any." "no yarn about it, billy; i'm going." "where to?" "to the old country." "when?" "oh, you're asking me too many questions. better go to the old country with me, billy." "not i, windy; i've been there and know what it is. i'll never return to it until i'm rich." "hope that'll be soon, billy." "so do i, windy; but it don't look that way now." "can you blame me for trying to make a stake?" asked i. "blame you, no; but you'll never make a stake writing a book." "faint heart never won a fair lady, my boy, and i'm going to try it, if it takes a leg off." "i believe you are serious, windy; i thought you were kiddin'!" "kiddin' nothing; i was serious from the go-off." "well, windy, old pard, i wish you luck but it don't look to me as if you'd make it. too big a contract." "time will tell." we had many another talk on the subject, billy bantering me every time, for he either couldn't or wouldn't believe i was serious. we had been together so long, that he was loath to believe i would desert him. one evening when i came home from work i informed billy that i had made up my mind positively to start out on my trip at the end of the week. you should have seen him when i told him this. at first he argued, then, seeing that did no good, he called me all kinds of a fool, and cursed and fumed. he finally told me to go to hades if i wished, for he had no strings on me. he didn't care a tinker's damn how soon i went, or what became of me. he hoped i'd get drowned, or, if not that, then pinched as soon as i set foot on british soil. the little fellow was badly wrought up. i informed him it was my intention to beat my way to new york and that when i got that far, i would plan the next move. i told him also that i didn't believe in crossing a river until i got to it, and that i would find some means of crossing the ocean. he sarcastically advised me again to swim across, but i took no heed. we parted the next morning and i knew billy felt sore, but he didn't show it. he told me that he should remain in 'frisco, and that i would find him there when i came back, that is, if i ever came back. "oh, i'll come back, my boy; never fear." "and mind what i told you about my folks. if you go to london they live only a short way from there, and if you see them tell them all about me." "i'll do it, old pard, and write you everything," responded i. "good-bye, then, windy, and don't take in any bad money while you're gone," was billy's parting bit of advice. i felt bad, too, but didn't show it. i was leaving the true-heartedest little fellow that ever lived, but the best of friends must part sometimes. chapter iii. the journey overland. the distance from 'frisco to new york overland, is over three thousand miles, and by water it is much more than that, but such little trips are a trifle to me, as they are to every well-conditioned wayfarer. i started out happily enough one fine day at dawn to make the long journey and though i did feel a qualm or two the first few days after leaving billy, the feeling soon wore off. i chose the central route, which is the shortest via sacramento, reno, ogden, omaha, chicago, niagara falls and new york, and i anticipated having lots of fun along the way. i was out for sight-seeing and adventure and believed i would have a good time. i didn't have any money to speak of, for, though i had worked several months i had saved nothing. anyway, it wasn't safe to travel hobo style with money, for if anyone suspects you have any, it may be possible that you'll get knocked on the head or murdered outright for it. such things are a common occurrence. i got as far as sacramento in good shape and when the freight train i was riding on got to newcastle, which is a town in the foothills of the sierra mountains, a long halt was made to attach a number of refrigerator cars to it. these cars were laden with fruit. had i wished i could have crawled into one of them and made the journey east in ten days, or less, for they are laden with perishable goods and travel as fast, almost, as a passenger train, but i didn't care to travel that way, for the reason that i didn't like it. these refrigerator cars have heavy air-tight doors at the sides which are hermetically sealed when the cars are loaded, making the cars as dark as a pocket. when in them one can't see anything and can hardly turn around. there are no conveniences whatever. one must take a sufficiency of supplies with him to last during the trip in the shape of food and water, and one must go unwashed and unkempt during the journey. lots of hobos travel that way, and think nothing of it, but i didn't care to do so. it is almost as bad, if not worse, than being in jail, for one can take little or no exercise, and the only light and ventilation afforded is from the roof, where there is an aperture about two feet wide, over which there is a sliding door. this can be shoved up or down, but it is usually locked when the train is en route. the cars must be kept at an even temperature always, and must not be too hot or too cold. a certain number of tons of ice is put into a compartment at either end of the car, which keeps the temperature even. the side doors, as i said, are hermetically closed and sealed. thus the fruits, meats, vegetables or whatever the car may contain, are kept fresh and sweet. i slipped into one of these loaded cars and had a look around, but one survey was enough for me. i didn't like the prospect at all. ten days of imprisonment was too much. any hobo may ride over the sierra nevada mountains as far as reno without being molested, for it is a rule of the southern pacific railroad company not to incur their ill-will. some hobos have been known to set fire to the snow sheds in revenge for being put off a train in the lonely mountains. fires occur in the snow-sheds every year, but of course it is hard to tell who or what starts a fire. the sheds are of wood and have always had to be rebuilt, for without them the road would be blocked every winter and traffic stopped. there are miles of them and wonderful creations they are. they are roofed over and very strongly built. i held down the freight train until we reached reno, where i was glad to hop off for rest and refreshment. refreshments of all kinds are plentiful in reno. the railroad runs through the main street of the town and the town is a wide open one. across the track along the main street are restaurants, saloons and gambling houses. the gambling is not done secretly for it is licensed and anyone may play who wishes. one may step into, at least, one of these places from the street, for the gambling room is on the ground floor. it is a handsomely appointed apartment. the floors are of marble, the drinking bar is elaborate, the fittings superb. in front, as you enter, is the bar and behind it a back bar with the finest of glassware. the liquors are of excellent quality. opposite the bar, near the wall, are faro and crap tables. at the rear of the long apartment is a horseshoe shaped lunch counter, where the best the market affords can be had at reasonable rates. the bar and restaurant are patronized by gamblers and by outsiders who never gamble. anyone over the age of twenty-one may step inside and play, and no questions are asked. the crap game is interesting. it is played with dice and anyone may throw the dice. the way some fellows throw them would make a horse laugh. some throw them with a running fire of conversation, their eyes blazing with excitement. others, like the coons, keep a saying as they throw the dice, "come seben, come eleben!" "what you doin' dar?" "roll right dis time for me you son of--" etc., etc. it is interesting to watch the players. many refined men visit these places and sometimes take a little flyer. these men are quiet, open-handed fellows, who seem to regard their little indulgence in the play as a joke, whether they win or lose. they seem to have plenty of money and don't care--at least one would judge so from their manner. while observing them i thought it must be a fine thing to have plenty of money, so as not to care whether you win or lose. westerners, as a rule, are free and generous, and seem to be just as ready to spend their money as they are to earn it. bootblacks, waiters, cooks, newsboys and all sorts of men are always ready and willing to take a chance in the games. sometimes they win and sometimes they lose, but win or lose they are always ready to try their luck again. another gaming place i went into was situated on the first floor above the street in a building facing the railroad, and it, too, was palatial. on the ground floor was the saloon and above were the gambling rooms. a pretty tough crowd was in them at the time of my visit and the crowd was so dense it was rather difficult to move about. i was jostled considerably and found it difficult to get near the gaming tables. craps and roulette were the main games here, too. fights and shooting scrapes are common in the gambling places, but the reno officers are alert and fearless, and soon put obstreperous people where the dogs won't bite them. notwithstanding its gambling and recklessness, reno is a good business town, and full of orderly, respectable people. there are many wholesale and retail establishments in the town; ice plants, machine shops, breweries, ore reduction works and lumber yards. besides, it is a great cattle shipping center. many of the streets are broad and well-shaded, and the truckee river, in which are any number of speckled beauties in the shape of mountain trout, flows through the town. surrounding reno are tall mountains which form a part of the sierra nevada range, but they seem bare and lonely. i landed in reno during the afternoon and steered straight for the truckee river, as i needed a bath. i quickly espied a sequestered nook under a wagon-bridge on the outskirts of the town, and from the looks of things in the vicinity could tell that it was a hobo camping place. old tin cans were strewn about, and down the bank near the water was a fireplace made of stones. one lone wandering willie was in camp and he greeted me as effusively as if i were a long-lost brother. a hobo can tell another hobo at a glance. "hello, pardner; how's tricks?" was the greeting of my fellow wayfarer. "fair to middlin'," responded i. "where you bound for?" "just got to reno; and i am going to hold the town down for a while," said i. i was cautious and didn't want this chance acquaintance to know too much about my affairs. "where'd you come from?" inquired i. "me? oh, i've been hittin' the line all the way from bloomington, illinoi', and i'm going to take a flier to the coast." "you are, hey? i just came from there." "the hell you did; how's things out that way?" "fine and dandy; ever been there?" "no," laconically answered the chap and began to question me about the coast. i gave him all the information i could and then told him i was going to take a wash-down. he had just done the same and as he seemed anxious to go to town he soon left me. i stripped and had a glorious bath in the cool, swift-flowing river. the river was neither broad nor very deep but so clear that i could see every stone at the bottom of it. not a fish could i see but doubtless they were plentiful. after the clean-up i leisurely strolled along the railroad track into town and steered for a restaurant, where i had a good supper for twenty-five cents. i then lit my pipe and strolled about taking in the sights. i remained in reno a day or two, and did not find time hanging heavy on my hands. there are extensive cattle corrals about half a mile from the town where i put in a whole afternoon watching the loading of cattle into cars. it was better than seeing a circus. a chute ran from the corral to the car to be loaded and the animals were made to walk the plank in great shape. no harm was done them unless they grew obstreperous, in which case there was a great deal of tail twisting done, punching in the ribs with long poles, yelling and shouting, which soon brought a refractory animal to terms. the railroad depot in reno is a lively spot, too. the s. p. r. r. trains and the virginia & truckee railroad use the same depot, and at train times there is always a sizeable crowd on hand. the virginia & truckee road, which goes from reno to virginia city, a distance of about sixty miles, is said to be the crookedest road in the country. it winds around bare mountain sides to a great height and is continually going upward. it was built in the early bonanza mining days when times were flush and is said to have cost a lot of money. it has paid for itself many times over and was a great help to gold hill, carson and virginia city. although it has been in existence over a quarter of a century and though it winds over almost inaccessible mountain peaks, not a human life up to the writing of this book ( ) has ever been lost on this road. indians may ride on the road free, and as they are aware of the fact, hardly a day passes but they may be seen in the smoking car or on the platform of a car taking a little flier to carson, virginia city, washoe, steamboat springs or any other place along the line they care to go to. there is a state law in nevada which permits any indian to ride free on any railroad. what the object of this law is, i don't know. i noticed that the passenger trains going eastward over the s. p. r. r. leave reno between eight and nine o'clock at night, so i concluded to beat my way out of town on one of them. i noticed that others did it and that it was easy. all a fellow had to do was to let the train get a good move on, then swing underneath to the rods, or jump the blind baggage. "the blind baggage is good enough for you, windy," says i to myself. accordingly, one very fine evening i permitted a passenger train to get a good move on, and then boarded her a little way out, before she began to go too fast. i was onto my job pretty well. i made it all right, but as soon as i swung onto the steps of the blind baggage i found i wasn't the only pebble on the beach for a number of other non-paying passengers were there who must have got on before the train pulled out. there were just seven deadheads on the car, excluding myself, and they were not a bit glad to see me. seven on the platform of a car is a good many, but eight is one too many; so my fellow voyagers assured me by black looks. they were greasers, every one of them, and cow punchers at that, most likely. i was an american. there was no welcome for me. the greasers jabbered among themselves about me, but what they said i could not understand, for i don't understand spanish. finally one of them said to me in fairly good english: "it's too much crowded here; you better jump off." "jump off while the train is going like this; not much! jump off yourself and see how you like it," said i angrily. not only was i angry but apprehensive, for i felt there was going to be trouble. i was not armed and had only a pocket knife with me. even had i been armed what could i have done against seven men in close quarters? nothing was said to me for quite a while after that and the train clattered along at a great rate. the cold, swift-rushing night wind blew keenly against us, making the teeth of some of the greasers chatter. they could stand any amount of heat but a little cold made them feel like hunting their holes. after riding along for an hour or so through the bare, cheerless plains of nevada, the engine whistle blew for the town. the cow-puncher who had addressed me before spoke up and said: "it is more better you get off at the next station." "no, i won't; get off yourself," said i. before i knew what had happened two of the greasers grabbed me around the throat so i couldn't holler, and two others pulled off my coat, which they threw from the train. the fellow who had spoken to me told me that if i didn't jump off the train as soon as she slacked up they'd throw me off. i knew they would do so when opportunity offered, so off i hopped, mad as blazes. as i didn't want to lose my coat i walked back to get it and i had to walk a mile or so to do so. luckily, i found my coat not far from the track and after putting it on, i faced eastward again toward the station. it is no joke to hike through an unfamiliar wilderness at night with no habitation or human being in sight or anyways near. the night was a fine one, clear, cold and star-lit, so i managed to walk along the ties without serious mishap. in the sage brush, as i walked along, i could hear the sudden whirr of birds as they flew off startled, and the suddenness of the noise startled me at first for i didn't know what made the noise. but i quickly caught on. in the distance i could hear the melancholy yelp of a coyote which was quickly answered from all points by other animals of the same species. one or two coyotes can make more noise than a pack of wolves or dogs. they are animals of the wolf species and are death to poultry, sheep, little pigs and small animals generally. i got to the little town safe and sound but it must have been after midnight when i reached it, for there wasn't a soul to be seen in the streets and all was quiet. the town was wadsworth. i walked to the pump-house of the railroad, which was situated along the tracks and where i could hear the pump throbbing, and talked to the engineer, who didn't seem averse to a chat. his vigil was a lonely one, and anything to him was agreeable to vary the monotony. during the course of the conversation i learned that an eastbound freight would be along in a few hours. i made the freight all right by riding the brakes. the train was made up of closed box-cars and there was no other way to ride except on the bumpers. i preferred the brakes. it was pretty cold riding during the early morning hours, but luckily i had my overcoat with me once more, which helped to keep me warm. beating one's way is a picnic sometimes, but not always. during the summer time there is dust and heat to contend with, according to how one rides, and in winter time there are cold winds, snow and frost. i rode the brakes all night and was glad when day broke. i was quite numbed. the scenery was still the same--plains and alkali. at lovelock i had time to get a bite of breakfast and a cup of hot coffee, and then the train was off for humboldt. the distances between towns were great, about a hundred miles or so. finally the train stopped at winnemucca, a town which, for short and sweet, is called "winnemuck" by the knowing ones. at this place i concluded to hop off for a rest. winnemucca is quite a sizeable town, and is the county seat of some county. it contains about two thousand inhabitants, and used to be as wild and woolly a place as any in the west, but it has tamed down some since. saloons are plentiful and all drinks are ten cents straight, with no discount for quantity. a pretty good meal can be had for two bits, but short orders and such things as life preservers, sinkers, or a bit of "mystery" with coffee, are all the same price--two bits. i found no place where i could get anything for less. there was a river or creek at the further end of town wherein i wished to bathe, but the water was so intolerably filthy that i deemed it wise to wait until i found a more suitable place along the route. i noticed a bank in winnemucca and was informed that it had been robbed recently of many thousands of dollars by bandits. soon after the robbery a trellis-work of structural iron was put up from the money-counters clear to the ceiling with mere slots for the receiving and paying out of money, so that the next set of bandits who call there will have to crawl through mighty small holes to make a raise. the next town along the line which amounted to anything was elko and i made it that same day on a freight. i found it a pretty little town with good people in it, who treated me well. i learned there were some wonderful natural hot springs about a mile or so from town, so that afternoon i hiked out to see them. i shall never regret having seen them for they are one of nature's wonders. out in the wilderness, near where they were situated, i came upon an amphitheater of hills, at the base of which was a little lake about yards in diameter. the hills were bare and lonely and near them was no house or habitation. all was wild, lone, still. i climbed down one of these hills to the lake and had a good survey of it. the water was clear and pure as crystal but near the banks were sulphur springs which bubbled up now and then. the water was so hot it was impossible to put a finger in it. i walked around the banks and at one end of the lake there was a hole so deep i couldn't see bottom. this is a crater-hole so deep that bottom has never been found, although it has been sounded to a depth of several thousand feet. the entire place looks like the crater of an extinct volcano. a single glance would lead anyone to suppose so. indian men, women, boys and girls go to the lake during the warm seasons to bathe, and many a daring buck who has swum across the crater was drowned in it and his body has never been recovered. i needed a bath myself so i disrobed and plunged in. the water was neither too hot nor too cold but half way between the two. it was just right. where i swam was not in the crater but near it. the water there was part crater water and part sulphur water from the springs. the bath was delicious. the ride eastward from elko was uneventful. there was nothing to see but bare plains and mountains and a few border towns. the towns were very small, and hardly more than railroad stations. they were composed of a general store or two, several saloons, a blacksmith shop, drug store, bakery, butchershop, barbershop, and that is all. i boarded a freight train at wells and rode the brakes through the lucin cutoff to ogden. the trains used to run around salt lake, but now a trestle has been built through it, which saves many miles. the trestle is forty or fifty miles long, i should judge, and as i clung tightly to my perch on the brakebeam and looked down into the clear blue water through the ties i got kind of dizzy, but met with no disaster. after a long and tedious ride of several hours i reached ogden, the end of the s. p. line. as funds were low i remained in ogden several days and went to work. ogden is in utah and full of mormons. it is a beautiful city, surrounded by lofty mountains, the wasatch range, and contains about , people. it has a mormon tabernacle, tithe-house, broad streets, fine stores, elegant public buildings and is quite a railroad center. i happened to discover a mormon lady who had a wood-pile in her back yard and she was needing a man to chop the wood, so we struck a bargain. i was to receive a dollar and a half per day and my board for my work and was given a room in an outhouse to bunk in. the terms suited me. the board was plentiful and good, and the sleeping quarters comfortable. i never saw a man about the place and wondered whether the lady was married or not. she was old enough to be. i knew she was a mormon because she told me so, and possibly she was the plural wife of some rich old mormon. i didn't like to ask too many questions for i might have got fired for being too nosy. the lady was sociable and kind-hearted and treated me well. the mormons like apples, cider and ladies, and they are an industrious people. the bible says they can have all the wives they want, but the united states law says they can't have 'em, so what are the poor fellows to do? sh! they have 'em on the sly. don't give me away. can you blame a rich old mormon for having a big bunch of wives if he can support them? if i had the price i'd have two, at least, one for week days and one for sundays, but if the mother-in-law is thrown in, i pass. one good healthy mother-in-law of the right sort can make it mighty interesting for a fellow, but a bunch of them; whew! excuse me! during my stay in ogden i didn't see any funny business going on, and wouldn't have suspected there was any, but from what i could learn on the outside, there was something doing. i saw lots of rosy-cheeked mormon girls in the tabernacle one day when i was there, but they behaved just like other girls. the tabernacle is a church and it ain't. it is an immense egg-shaped building arranged very peculiarly, yet it is snug and cosy inside. it can hold thousands of people. it must be seen to be appreciated. i liked ogden very much and would like to linger there longer but i deemed it best to keep a moving. after leaving ogden the scenery became interesting. the country is mountainous going eastward, and we struck a place called weber canyon, which is a narrow pass between high mountains through which the railroad winds. the mountains were pretty well wooded. in one spot i saw a place called the devil's slide, which was made by nature and consists of two long narrow ledges of rocks that begin high up on a mountain side and run down almost to the bottom of the mountain where the car tracks are. these rocks form two continuous lines that run down side by side with a space of several feet between them, and they are rough and raggedy on top. imagine two rails with about four or five feet of space between them running down a mountain side several hundred feet and then you will have some idea of the formation of the slide. how in the devil the devil rode it, gets me. he must have been pretty broad in the beam, and i would like to have seen him when he performed the act. he must have come down a-flying, for the slide is nearly perpendicular. this kind of scenery, though wild, was a relief from the bare and lonely plains of nevada, and i appreciated it. a little variety is the spice of life, they say, and after seeing dullness it is nice to see beauty. i was now on the union pacific railroad and was in an empty cattle car, through the slats of which i could see the scenery on both sides of me. during the daytime it was nice, but at night the weather grew cold and the long watches of the night were dreary. a companion then would have been agreeable. i missed little billy. at a small station in wyoming called rock creek, i was put off the train one afternoon and as i hadn't a dime left, i felt it was incumbent on me to go to work. i saw a bunch of cattle in a corral near the railroad station that had probably been unloaded from a train, and as there were some bull-whackers with them i struck them for a job. "kin you ride?" asked a chap who looked like the boss. "ride anything with hair on," replied i. "ever herd cattle?" asked the boss. "i'm an old hand at the business," answered i. "where'd you do your herding?" "in california." i never herded cattle in my life, but i could ride all right, and as i didn't consider bull-whacking much of a job, i thought i could hold it down easily. the boss hired me then and there at twenty dollars per month and chuck, and while on the range my bedroom was to be a large one--all wyoming. it didn't take the cowboys long to get on to the fact that i was a tenderfoot, but as i was a good rider they said nothing. they were a whole-souled, rollicking, devil-may-care set of fellows, and the best they had was none too good for me. they treated me like a lord. they knew, and the boss soon found out that i didn't know any more about roping a steer than a baby did, but as they were not branding cattle just then, that didn't matter so much. i got on to their way of herding quickly enough, and that was all that was necessary just then. i didn't ask where the outfit was bound for, nor did i care much, for all i was after was to earn a few dollars. there were a good many hundred head of cattle in the bunch and many of the them were steers, but there were also many dried-up cows among them and some yearlings. they had all to be herded carefully so they wouldn't stray away, and to accomplish this we had to keep riding around them all day long. at night after feeding, the cattle rested. on dark nights they generally squatted down contentedly and chewed the cud, but on a moonlit night they would keep on their feet and feed. the very first moonlit night i was put on watch i got into trouble. the cattle arose to feed, and do what i would, i could not keep them together. when riding along on one side of the herd to keep them in, a few ignorant brutes on the other side would wander away and at such times some hard riding had to be done to keep them in. i could do it, but i couldn't ride everywhere at once. i did some pretty fast riding and kept yelling and hallooing at the cattle, but one of the brutes got so far away from me that when he saw me coming he raised his tail and bolted outright. by the time i got him in others were scattered far and wide. i now saw that i was helpless, so i went to camp and aroused the sleeping cowboys. they knew instinctively what the trouble was and got out of their warm blankets cussing to beat the band. they mounted their ponies and off we all rode to gather the scattered herd. it was no picnic. there were four of us, and as the cattle had strayed off in all directions, it is easy to imagine what our task was. one of the boys and myself traveled together in one direction and made for an ornery brute that shook his head when we gently told him to "git in there." off he shot like a rocket with a bellow of defiance, and his tail in the air. "i'll fix the ugly son of--!" yelled my comrade, as he uncoiled his rope from his saddle and got it ready for a throw. his pony was after the steer like a shot, for it knew its business, and got in range in a jiffy. out flew the rope and settled around the steer's neck. quick as a flash the steer flew in the air, turned a complete somersault and landed on the turf with a jar that shook the earth. "you will run away, you ----!" exclaimed the irate cowboy. "i guess you won't do it in a hurry again, gol darn your ugly hide." the animal got up meek as a lamb, trembled in every limb, shook his head in a dazed way, and probably wondered what had struck him. we had no trouble with him after that, and made off after the rest. it was long after midnight before all the cattle were rounded up. the boss was mad clear through. the next day he politely told me that i didn't understand my business; that i didn't know any more about herding cattle than a kid; that i had lied to him about being a cowboy and that i had better skip. he cursed me up and down and kept up his abuse so long that i finally got tired of it and fired back. that made matters worse. we soon were at it, tooth and nail. he struck me with his fist and it was a hard blow. i was taller and longer in the reach than he and kept him off from me. the first blow was the only one he struck me, but it was a good one and dazed me for a moment. "i knowed you was a greaser," yelled he as he danced around me, "and i'm going to put you out of business." "come on, you--," yelled i. he wasn't in the mix-up at all. i was younger, stronger and longer in the reach than he, and one of the blows i put in was a tremendous one, for it knocked him down and he lay still for awhile. when he got up i knocked him down again. i saw he was my meat. "now, pay me off, you--, and i'll get out of here pretty darn quick; if you don't, i'll beat the life out of you," yelled i. the cowboys stood by and said nothing. it wasn't their funeral. the boss paid me off and i got out. at cheyenne, wyoming, i ran across a gassy little red-headed hebrew who put me on to a good, money-making scheme. he had a lot of paste-board signs with him on which were neatly printed such things as: "our trusting department is on the roof; take the elevator"; "every time you take a drink things look different"; "in god we trust; all others must pay cash"; "we lead; others follow"; "razors put in order good as new," etc., etc. the young fellow told me that he was beating his way to the coast and that he sold enough of these signs to pay expenses. he told me also that the signs by the quantity cost him only five cents each, and that he sold them readily for twenty-five cents each. i thought the little chap was lying for i didn't think anyone would pay twenty-five cents for such a sign, but he solemnly assured me on his word of honor that he had no trouble selling them at the price. he further told me that he would sell me a hundred of the signs at cost price, adding that if i bought a hundred of them, he would give me the address of the wholesaler in omaha where i could obtain all the signs i wanted. the little scheme looked good to me but unfortunately i had only two dollars in my possession. this i offered him for forty signs with the name of the wholesaler thrown in. he accepted. i soon found that the little israelite had told me the truth, for the signs sold readily for two bits each, though in some places i had to do a deal of talking to sell a sign, and in other places they laughed at me, when i told them the price was twenty-five cents, and offered me ten cents. as i wasn't sure whether i could purchase any more signs at the price i paid for them, i was loath to sell them for ten cents each. when i reached omaha i found the address of the sign man, and learned that i could buy all the signs i wanted in hundred lots at three cents each. the little cuss had done me after all. i bought a hundred signs and now felt that i had struck a good thing, for i would have to do no more hard work. i sold many of the signs in small towns and cities, and found little difficulty in doing so. no more handouts for yours truly, no more wood-chopping, no more cow-punching. i was a full-fledged merchant and able to hold my own with any of them. it was easier sailing now. the trip from omaha to chicago was interesting, but uneventful. at omaha i crossed the muddy-looking missouri river on a bridge while riding the bumpers of a freight, but was detected and put off on the other side of the river. that night i did rather a daring thing. along toward nine o'clock there came along a passenger train and as i had made up my mind to get on to chicago as fast as i could, i stepped upon the platform of one of the passenger coaches and climbed upon the roof of the car, where i rode along for many a mile. bye-and-bye, however, the wind became so keen, cold and cutting, and the rush of air so strong, that i became numbed and was obliged to climb down for warmth. i walked boldly into the passenger coach and sat down in a vacant seat near the door. i knew the conductor would not be round again for some time, for he had made his round, so for the present i felt safe. when taking up tickets the conductor of a train usually starts at the front end and moves along to the rear. after his work is ended he will rarely sit down in any of the middle coaches, especially if every seat has an occupant, but he and the brakeman usually go to the smoker and sit down there. i was in the coach next to the smoker, and later on, i saw the conductor coming around again for tickets, i leisurely strolled to the rear platform of the car i was in and climbed on top again. i watched the conductor and waited until he had made his rounds, and then i returned to my seat in the coach. in this way i traveled a long distance. i kept up these tactics for hours, but bye-and-bye i noticed a young woman who was traveling with her husband (a young fellow of about twenty-five), watch me suspiciously. she put her husband on to my little racket, and he, most likely, told the conductor, who laid a cute little trap to catch me. after he had been through all the coaches on his next round he went to the smoker, as usual, but when he came to the rear coach i was in he locked the rear door behind him. it was through this door i had been making my exit. he then passed slowly through the train again from the front looking at the hat checks. when i saw him coming and the brakeman following in the rear i tried the usual tactics but found the door locked. i was trapped. the conductor came up to me and seeing no hat-check asked me for my ticket. i pretended to look for it, but couldn't find it. the conductor eyed me coldly and told me to follow him to the baggage car. the brakeman acted as a rear guard. when we stepped into the baggage car the conductor asked me a few questions which to him did not seem satisfactory, whereupon he sternly warned me to get off at the next station. "if i catch you on here again, i'll throw you off," threatened he. i knew he dared not legally throw me off a train while it was in motion, and that he was bluffing, but i got off at the next station just the same. i concluded i had ridden far enough that night, anyway. my journey to chicago was soon completed. i remained in chicago several days selling the signs for a living but found it difficult work. the sign that seemed to sell best in chicago was the one reading: "every time you take a drink, things look different," and it made quite a hit in the saloons, but i could only get ten cents for it. the chicago saloon keepers wanted all the money to come their way. in the smaller towns this sign sold readily for twenty-five cents, and no questions asked. i concluded to shake the dust of chicago off my feet in a hurry, for the grafting was too hard for me. i had got onto it that there were easier places. it was the michigan central that had the honor to yank me out of chicago and a hard old road she was to beat. spotters were everywhere--fly cops and bulls--and they gave me a run for my money. i gave some of them a cock-and-bull story about trying to get to a sick relative in new york city, and showed them the signs i was selling to help pay expenses. some laughed, and told me to "git," but one or two sternly told me they had a mind to run me in. they didn't, though. i got along all right as far as detroit, where i crossed over to windsor, canada, on a boat which ferried the whole train over at once. i was now in a foreign country, but everything there looked pretty much as it did in the united states. the michigan central took me clear through canada to niagara falls, where i concluded to remain a few days, for much as i had heard of the falls, i had never seen them. i found that there is a big city of about , people at the falls called "niagara falls," and it is a beautiful place. on the canadian side there is a little city, too, the name of which i forget. it is not nearly so large as the city on the american side, but it is a quaint and pretty little place. niagara falls city is something like coney island, only it is on an all-the-year-round scale. ordinary electric cars run through the place, electric tourist cars that will take one over the gorge route for a dollar are there, and so are hotels, boarding and rooming houses, plenty of stores, an extensive government reservation called prospect park, a ferris wheel, shoot-the-chutes, candy and ice cream booths, a hot frankfurter booth, picture galleries, beer gardens, etc. the place is lively and pretty, but full of grafters. why wouldn't it be, when suckers by the million flock there every year from all over the world? i got to like the place so well that i remained there nearly a week and learned a whole lot of things. i wasn't a sucker and didn't get catched for i wasn't worth catching. small fry ain't wanted. did i see the falls? did i? well, you can bet your sweet life i did. i saw them early, late and often, and every time i saw them they made my hair rise higher and higher. they are stupendous, tremendous--well, i can't say all i feel. they will awe anyone and fill him chock full of all kinds of thoughts. i'll try to give you an idea of them. niagara river is a stream about half a mile wide and about a hundred miles long. it connects lake erie with lake ontario, and as the waters of these great lakes form the river, the volume of its waters is great. about twenty-five miles from buffalo the niagara river enters rocky canyons, which are formed by goat island, and which divide the river. the rushing, roaring and leaping of the waters on either side of the island is tremendous. these rushing, roaring waters are called the upper rapids. the waters rush along at cannon-ball speed almost until they reach a hill about feet in height. down this they tumble. that constitutes the falls. the river, as i said, is divided by goat island, so that one part of the stream shoots along the american shore and the other part along the canadian. by far the greater part of the river rushes along the canadian side, hence the falls on that side are much greater than on the american. in fact, the american falls ain't a marker to the canadian. i saw the falls from both sides, and when viewed from the canadian side they are indescribably grand. no words of mine can describe them. you can hear the thunder of the rushing, roaring, falling waters a mile off, and the spray that arises from the depths below after the fallen waters have struck the rocks can be seen at a great distance. while the great lakes flow and the niagara river runs, this scene of rushing, roaring, tumbling waters will never cease. after the waters take their tumble they flow on placidly enough until they strike another narrow gorge or canyon, about a mile below the falls, which is called the lower rapids. in them may be seen a wicked whirlpool, the devil's hole, and other uncanny things. niagara is great, but the grafters who are there are greater. they will fool the stranger who goes there so slick that he won't know he has been fooled. the majority of visitors don't care, for they go there to spend their money, anyway. some do care, however, for their means are limited. the grafters, who are not only hackmen, but storekeepers and others, lie awake nights studying how to "do" you. it is their business to make money, but how they make it don't worry them. if you go to the falls, beware of them. people from every nation under the sun flock to the falls every year, as i said, and a million visitors a year is a low estimate, i am sure. there are some people who believe that this great work of nature ought to be preserved intact, but there are others who do not think so. the latter think the falls were created for their benefit, so they can make money. i am not now speaking of the grafters, but the manufacturers who have established factories along the banks of the niagara river and utilize its waters for running their machinery, etc. these people would drain the river dry were they permitted to do so, and were doing so until stopped by the government. i make no comments on this but simply state the facts and let others do the commenting. after i had done the falls pretty thoroughly i concluded to go to buffalo, the beautiful city by the lake (erie). it can be reached in several ways from niagara falls by trolley and by several lines of railroads. it cannot be reached by water, however, for the reason that the upper rapids in the river extend a mile or so from the falls toward buffalo, rendering navigation impracticable. the trolley line running from buffalo to the falls is one of the best patronized roads in the country, and is crowded every day and overcrowded on holidays and sundays. the fare is fifty cents the round trip and the scenery, through which a part of the road passes, is very fine. the road runs pretty close to the niagara river for quite a distance, and along the banks of the river may be seen manufacturing establishments, such as cyanide plants, paper mills, chemical works, etc., nearly all of which empty their refuse into the stream, polluting its waters considerably. all of these establishments can easily be seen near the river as you ride along in the trolley. in the town of niagara falls itself are quite a number of very large manufacturing plants, which use the waters of the river for their purposes. buffalo is one of the handsomest cities in the united states, to my notion. its water front along the business section of the town is pretty punky, for there is a vile-smelling canal in the vicinity, and malodorous streets and alleys, but otherwise the town is away up in g. she's a beaut, and no mistake. delaware avenue is a corker. imagine a thoroughfare about to feet wide, with driveways in the center shaded by fine old trees, and ample sidewalks also shaded by fine trees. along the sidewalks, but set far back, are roomy mansions that are set in ample gardens, and then you will have a faint idea of the beauty of delaware avenue. and there are many other streets in the vicinity of delaware avenue that are just as beautiful. boulevards and fine streets abound in this fair city. the people of buffalo are quite like the westerners in disposition, for they are sociable and free, and not too busy or too proud to talk to you. they are like their city, lovely, and i speak of them as i found them. there are many canadians in the city (for canada is only across the niagara river and can be reached by ferry-boat) and i think they are a very desirable class of citizens. there are all sorts among them, of course, as is the case with americans. my signs went well in buffalo, especially the one reading, "every time you take a drink, etc." it went well in the saloons along the water front and on main street, the leading thoroughfare. lots of people laughed when they read it and said it was a good one. there is nothing like a laugh to put people in good humor. i liked some of the canadians very well and loved to listen to their queer accent. it is nothing like the american, but peculiarly their own. i thought some of the canadian ladies were very nice. i liked buffalo so well that i concluded to remain there until i grew tired of it. after i had been there a day or so i became acquainted with a young girl whose front name was rose. she was of an auburn type and very artless. she had a decided penchant for milk chocolates. she was as pretty as a rose and it was awful hard for me to resist her. she was a poor, but good, honest, hardworking girl. she had been hurt in a street car collision and was just recovering from its effects. she craved chocolates but was too poor to buy them herself. i pitied her. she told me in her frank and artless way that she had thought a great deal of a certain young fellow, but he was in another city at present, working, and that she hadn't seen him for a long time. she didn't know whether she ever would see him again, but she hoped to, for he was a very sweet fellow, she said. "if he thinks anything of me don't you think he'll come back to me?" she asked, turning up her soulful blue eyes at me. "he would be a brute if he didn't, rose," responded i, with considerable warmth. the girl surely loved him. "why don't he write to me?" "maybe he hasn't got the time or ain't much of a writer," said i. "some people don't like to write." "i guess that's true," said she, sadly. though she had a sneaking regard for the young fellow, she didn't object to me buying milk chocolates for her, nor to going to a show with me, nor to taking a ride to crescent beach on a cosy little lake steamer. in fact, rosie was out for a good time, and evidently wasn't particular who furnished the funds. as i fancied the poor girl i was not averse to giving her a good time. we went to delaware park and spent several whole afternoons rowing on the little lake. we fed the ducks, walked in shady groves, and the time flew swiftly by in her company. during the morning i sold signs and in the afternoon i went with rosie. i put in a whole lot of time in buffalo with her, more than i should have done. one day i told her that i would have to go and then there was a kick. she wouldn't have it. she could not and she would not let me go, she said. i argued the case with her, but she wasn't open to argument. she was one of these kind of girls who are apt to forget the absent one when the present charmer is nigh. it was the hardest job in the world for me to leave her, but i finally did so. rosie, farewell; and if forever, then forever, fare thee well. chapter iv. new york city. i have heard it stated that "a great city is a great solitude" and so it is if you are a stranger. new york seemed a big solitude to me, for i didn't know anyone and no one knew me. i landed in the grand central depot in a swell quarter of the city one day, and felt utterly lost, for i didn't know which way to turn. as i was poor, that swell neighborhood was no place for me, but where was i to find a poorer locality? i concluded to walk and find one. i kept a walking and a walking and a walking, but the more i walked the more high-toned did the streets seem. nothing but fine houses and well-paved streets met my view and they made me tired. i did not like to address any of the people walking along these streets for they seemed hurried, cold and distant. says i to myself: "windy, you've struck a cold place. chicago was bad, but this place is worse. if you are going to europe, this will have to be your headquarters for awhile, though." bye-and-bye i struck a street called eighth avenue, which was a long and wide one. it was full of people and stores. the sidewalks were so crowded that locomotion was difficult, and i saw more coons there than i had ever seen in my life before. they were dressed up to kill and considered they owned the town. from their manner one would suppose they had no use for white trash. i had walked so much that i was pretty well tired out, and i also was hungry and thirsty. i concluded i would seek some saloon where i could obtain a rest, a drink and a free lunch, all for a nickel. there are such places everywhere in the cities, plenty of them, and all you have to do is to find them. i walked along and kept my eyes peeled for one. i saw lots of stylishly fitted-up stores along the avenue, and as there was so much style i thought there ought to be lots of money. everyone i met was dressed to kill, and it seemed to me that no one was poor. finally i came to a saloon which was bejeweled and be-cut-glassed outside, and swell inside, having marble floors and fancy fixtures. into this saloon i stepped and strode up to the bar, where i ordered a schooner of beer. i laid down a nickel on the bar and then leisurely strolled over to the lunch counter, which contained a pretty good spread of free lunch. i tackled a fistful of bread and cheese, and then wound up with bologna, pickles, crackers and pickled tripe. i ordered another schooner and hit the free lunch again real hard. no one said anything to me. after a good long rest i hit the "avenue" again to see the sights. there was plenty to be seen for the avenue was jammed with people, trolley cars and trucks. the buildings were of brick, as a rule, and old-fashioned in appearance. on the ground floor were stores and over head dwellings. everyone was a hustling and a bustling and didn't seem to have much time for anything except to sell you something. no one knew me or seemed to care a cuss for me. i felt lonely. the din was so great and the crowd so dense that i couldn't hear myself think. i was swept along with the crowd and kept my eyes and ears open. the stores were very fine, and the signs upon them handsome. though eighth avenue is by no means in a rich section of the city, it seemed to me that there was a whole lot of wealth and style there. i felt quite out of place for i wasn't well dressed. some of the free lunch i had eaten--i believe it was the bologna--had given me a thirst, so i stepped into an ice cream saloon and had a "schooner" of ice cream soda, which quenched my thirst admirably. things were cheap and good in new york, i quickly learned, and if one only had the price, one could live well there. one could have all kinds of fun, too, for there are so many people. the city is like an overgrown bee-hive--it more than swarms with people. i believe that new york city today has over four millions of people, with more a coming every year--thousands of them. i had heard a great deal about the bowery in new york, so i concluded to see it. i knew the song about it, the chorus of which was: the bowery, the bowery, they say such things, and they do such things, on the bowery, the bowery-- oh! i'll never go there any more. and i was wondering what kind of things they said there and what they did. well, they didn't say much when i struck it and there was nothing doing to speak of, except people rushing along minding their own business. it may have been wicked, but it isn't now. it is a business street and that is all. there is an "elevated" over the street, which makes noise enough to raise the dead, and a lot of cheap-looking stores and restaurants. there is any number of "hat-blocking" establishments run by hebrews, and the whole street in fact, seems like a section of jerusalem. jews till you can't rest. there may be some knock-down-and-drag-out places, but these are not confined to the bowery. there are other streets far worse. no, the bowery today is a peaceful, quiet street, and there isn't "anything doing" worth speaking about. new york has some fine streets, such as broadway, fifth avenue, madison square, twenty-third street, fourteenth street, etc. broadway is the main business street and begins at bowling green and runs up to central park and thence beyond. it is several miles long, its lower portion from bowling green to fourteenth street being lined on either side by many sky-scrapers and massive wholesale business establishments, and from fourteenth street up, by retail stores. rents are high on this street and the buildings fine. fifth avenue is not so long as broadway and contains the residences of many millionaires and less rich people. there is lots of style and wealth on that street. the central park is a beautiful spot. it runs from fifty-ninth street to one hundred and tenth street, and from fifth to eighth avenue. it is two and a half miles long by about two miles wide, and isn't big enough sometimes to contain the crowds of people that flock into it. it contains shady walks and trees, lawns, baseball grounds, lakes, casinos, stately malls (avenues), a large zoological collection, a great art gallery, an immense natural history building, extensive drives, secluded nooks for love-making, and lots of other nice things. around its grand entrance at fifth avenue are some of the largest and swellest hotels in new york. as everyone knows, of course, new york is the largest city in the country and the most cosmopolitan. it is the center of art, trade and finance, and its population is composed of all sorts. there are as many irish as in the largest city in ireland, as many germans, almost, as in hamburg, as many jews as in jerusalem, and a big crowd of almost every nationality under the sun. the main part of the city is situated on manhattan island, and it is overcrowded, compelling the overplus to seek the suburbs and other near-by localities. even these are becoming too well populated. jersey city, newark, brooklyn, paterson, kearney, harrison, staten island, coney island, etc., are increasing in population all too rapidly. new york is one of the "step lively" towns, and you are expected to hustle there, whether you want to or not. it is all your life is worth sometimes to cross a street, and a car won't stop long enough to enable you to get on or off. the tenement sections are studies in human life, and malodorous ones at that. the throngs are wonderful to behold. if you have plenty of money new york is an interesting place to live in. you will never feel dull there. you can live in some pretty suburb and go back and forth every morning and evening, as thousands do; or you can live in the city and ride out into the country every day by carriage, train or boat. in the good old summer time, if you live in the city, you can go to manhattan or brighton beach, coney island, north beach, south beach, rockaway, fire island, long branch, the highlands, shrewsbury river and a thousand and one other resorts in the vicinity. there is no lack of amusement or pleasure places. even the very poor can find lots of pleasant places to go, around new york, for the fares are low. for ten cents one can ride from new york to coney island, a distance of over twenty miles; to fort george for five cents, fifteen miles or more; to manhattan beach, south beach, staten island, newark, up the hudson, and lots of other places. in the city itself, and free for all, are the aquarium, art galleries, public squares, parks, roof gardens along the two rivers (the hudson and east rivers), the animals in bronx and central parks, the museums and other things. there is always something to hear and see in new york city at all hours of the day and night. new york surely is quite a sizeable village, and to judge from the way it has been growing, ten years from now it will extend a hundred miles or more up the hudson, to albany, maybe. chapter v. them bloomin' publishers. before i say much more about new york i want to say a word about the book publishers of that city, for i got to know a little something about them. i will relate my experiences among them, which will enable others to judge what they are like. i wanted to find a publisher for this book, and was told that new york is the proper place to do business of that kind. the first publisher i attempted to do business with has a large establishment on vandewater street, which is not far from the brooklyn bridge. i asked an elevator man who stood in the hallway of this building where i could find the boss. "which boss?" asked he, with a huge grin, for he probably deemed me some country jay looking for a job. my appearance was not very respect-inspiring, to say the truth; not for new york, anyway. "the head of this establishment," answered i, placidly. "what do you want to see him about? are you looking for a job?" "no, i'm not; i want to have some printing done." "oh, that's the ticket, is it? the superintendent is the man _you_ want to see. he's on the top-floor. come with me and i'll take you up to him." i stepped into the elevator and up we shot. we never stopped until we struck the top landing, where a door confronted us which opened into a huge apartment that was full of type-stands, presses, paper-cutters and printing machinery of all sorts. at the furthest end of this huge apartment were some offices. upon my entrance into the large apartment a man stepped up to me and wanted to know what i wanted. "i'd like to see the superintendent." "looking for a job, cully?" asked this gentleman. "well, hardly," responded i. "i want to have some printing done." "oh, you do, eh? you'll find the super in the rear office; away in the back," and he waved his hand toward the rear. i walked toward the rear and was met by a small boy, who came out of an office and wanted to know my business. "i want to see the superintendent, sonny," said i. "what do you want to see him about?" asked the kid. "never you mind; i want to see him." "will you please let me have your card?" "my card? what do you want my card for?" "so as to let the boss know who you are." "he don't know me; anyway, i haven't got a card." "will you please write your name and the nature of your business on this tablet? and i'll take it to him," said the boy, handing me a writing tablet and pencil. i didn't understand this method of doing business but i did as requested. the boy took the card in and presently the superintendent appeared. his name was axtell. "what can i do for you?" promptly asked mr. axtell, without any preliminaries. probably he was a busy man. "i have written a book, sir, and i want to have it printed." the gent looked at me contemplatively. what his thoughts were i don't know. "what kind of a book is it you've written? history, travel, poetry, novel or what?" i told him it was a novel. "how many pages will the book contain?" asked the superintendent. "there will be four or five hundred pages, i guess, as near as i can figure it," responded i. "how many copies will you want?" "i'll leave that to you, sir, for you know best. this is my first book, and though i don't think it is going to set the world on fire," said i modestly, "i think a first edition of about ten thousand copies would be the thing. don't you think that would do for a starter?" "it might," said he contemplatively. "excuse me," continued he as he sat down at his desk and began to do some figuring. when he got through he turned to me and said: "ten thousand copies of the book in paper cover will cost you in the neighborhood of $ ." "cost _me_ $ ," almost shrieked i. "i wanted to know what you'll give me for the manuscript and print it yourself." a cold glare froze in the gent's eye. "we only print 'reprint' here; we do not buy manuscripts." i did not understand, and the gent judged so from my demeanor, for he added: "you want to see a publisher. go up to twenty-third street; you'll find lots of them up that way." i did not know the difference between a printer and a publisher at that time, so that is how i came to make the mistake. up twenty-third street way i went. twenty-third street was a pretty swell one, far too swell for rather a seedy-looking chap like me. i came upon the establishment of messrs. graham & sons, which was one of the swellest on the street. it was contained in a six-story marble building, all ornaments and furbelows in front, and it was so swell that it made me feel small. the store must have been at least feet long and nearly as wide as it was long. a small part of this vast space was divided off into offices, but by far the greater portion was devoted to the exposure of books. books were piled around till you couldn't rest--on counters, shelves, in elaborate glass cases, and on the floor, even. all were handsomely bound and good to look at. when i saw the conglomeration my heart sank. "look at all this array, windy," said i to myself; "where are you going to get off at? you want to add another book to this little pile, do you? you are all kinds of a fool." for a few moments i was discouraged, but the feeling did not last long. i am an optimist, a fellow who never gets discouraged. instantly i mustered courage and walked up to a white-haired old gentleman whom i told that i would like to see the proprietor. the old gentleman told me that he was in his office on the top floor of the building. up i went to see him. when i reached the top floor, which was a sort of literary symposium and printing office combined, a small boy came forward and asked me my business. i told him, whereupon he asked me for my card. as i hadn't any, i wrote my name and the nature of my business on a tablet, and the boy took it into an office. a well-groomed and handsome young gentleman came forward and asked me to be seated. it was in an outer, not walled-in office, but even the furniture in it was swell. after exchanging airy compliments and discussing the weather a bit, the gentleman remarked _en passant_, "you have written a book?" that broke the ice. i told him i had and then we proceeded to business. he wanted to know the nature of the book and such other things as were well for him to know. i then asked a few questions myself. "what do you pay authors for their books, mr. graham?" "that depends," replied he. "we usually pay a royalty of $ down and ten per cent on every book sold, after that." i thought that was a pretty fair rattle out of the box. i concluded to leave my writings with mr. graham on those terms and he consented to receive them. i knew he had but to read to accept. i always was optimistic, as i said before. mr. graham requested me to leave my address, so he could communicate with me. he informed me i would hear from him in a few days. i did. in a few days i got a note from him in a high-toned, crested envelope, which stated that "the first reader" of the house had read the book and found good points in it, but that "the second reader" was dubious. to make sure he, mr. graham, had read the book himself and wasn't certain whether there was any money in it. under these circumstances he was constrained to forego the pleasure of publication, etc., etc., etc. these were not his exact words, but their substance. after reading the kind note i concluded to jump off the brooklyn bridge, but thought better of it. messrs. graham & sons were not the only pebbles on the beach, so why not see what i could do elsewhere. that's what i did--tried my luck elsewhere. there were other publishers on twenty-third street and if graham & sons did not know a good thing when they saw it, others might. on the same block, only a few doors distant, was another large firm. to them i went. a small little man with a scotch accent sat in the ante-room and asked me what i was after. he wanted my card, too, but didn't get it. he went in to see mr. phillips, the editor of the publishing house, and this gentleman turned me down in short order. he told me that there are too many books published nowadays, and that books of travel were a drug on the market. the cuss told me everything in the world to discourage me, but he couldn't do it. i just went around to see some of the other publishers, but none of them would "touch" the story at any price and each one had a different reason for refusing. i was unknown, poor and obscure, and that settled it. there was no show there for me. to get along one must be rich or have "a pull." chapter vi. the ocean voyage. i put in the winter in new york working at berry's, one of the swellest catering houses in the city. it is situated on fifth avenue and is a rival of the great delmonico establishments. the nobs of new york, when they want to give a little dinner or supper at home, see berry, who furnishes all the fine grub, cooks, waiters, dishes, plates, etc., or if they want to eat at his place they can do so, for he has private dining-rooms, ball-rooms, etc., where they can have anything they want, providing they have the price to pay for it. he employs a lot of people in his establishment, in the shape of a housekeeper, chambermaids, male chefs and assistants, waiters, omnibuses, porters, head-waiters, superintendents and a window-cleaner. i was the window-cleaner. it was the softest snap i had ever struck. i worked from in the morning until about dusk, and all i had to do was to keep every window in the house as bright and shiny as a new dollar. the building is a large one and the windows are many, but it was no trick at all to keep them clean. i cleaned a few windows every day and put in a whole lot of unnecessary time at it. i got twenty-five dollars a month for the job with board thrown in. the board was extra fine. roast goose and chicken for dinner every day (left over victuals, of course), crab, shrimp and potato salads, oysters in any style, rich puddings, pies and cakes, wines of all vintages--say, sonny, we lived there and no mistake. i had struck a home. i held the job down all winter and saved a little money. i told some of my fellow-workers, both male and female, that i intended to take a little flyer to the old country in the spring, and they laughed at me and guyed me unmercifully. one fine spring day "when fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love" as i once saw it stated in a novel, i strolled down bowling green where the steamship offices are located and got pointers for my little trip. i learned that i could go to london direct, to amsterdam, rotterdam and several other dams; to hamburg, southampton, liverpool, havre, glasgow and to so many other places that i grew bewildered. as i stood in front of the cunard line office a young fellow stepped up to me and asked: "say, mister, are you thinking of going to yurrup?" i didn't think it was any of his business, so i said: "what do you want to know for?" "who, me?" replied he, taking time to gather his wits. "i'm connected with a ticket agency around on greenwich street, and if you want a ticket cheap, come with me and i'll get you one." "how cheap?" asked i. "that'll depend on where you want to go to. we sell tickets to all places mighty cheap. where do you want to go?" "don't know yet; haven't decided." "let me sell you a ticket to glasgow on the anchor line. that line will take you to ireland and scotland and is the finest trip in the world." "what's the fare?" inquired i. "only thirty dollars," answered he, "and you will get your money's worth." i didn't think i'd see much of ireland or scotland if i bought a ticket from him, so i told him i'd see him later. i wandered into the anchor line office and asked the ticket agent what the price of a ticket to glasgow would be. "cabin or steerage?" inquired he. "steerage, of course; i'm no vanderbilt." the agent looked at me quizzingly and then remarked: "from twenty-seven dollars upward, according to accommodation." i didn't know what he meant by "accommodation" but i thought twenty-seven dollars was enough for me. "do you want a ticket?" asked the agent, as if he were in a hurry. "i haven't the price with me now," said i. "what did you come here for then," snapped he. "for information," snapped i. he saw that i was getting huffy so he pulled in his horns and said: "we can take you to scotland in pretty good shape for twenty-seven dollars. you will have a good berth and the best of food, and we'll land you in glasgow in less than ten days from the time you leave here. what do you say; shall i give you a ticket?" i cogitated. the prospect looked good to me. "yes," said i impulsively, "give me a ticket!" i gave him my name, as he requested, answered all the questions he put to me, and in a jiffy he had the ticket made out for me. "what's the name of the ship i'm going to sail on?" asked i. "the furnessia," answered he, adding, "she will leave from the foot of west twenty-fourth street on saturday morning at nine o'clock sharp. be on hand at that time, or you'll get left." "don't you worry about me getting left," retorted i; "i'll be there all right." was i happy after i bought the ticket? i can't say that i was, for i wasn't at all positive whether i had better go. i didn't know what the old country would be like, so that visions of all kinds of trouble floated through my noddle, but faint heart never won a fair lady. i might as well be found dead in europe as in any other place. what's the dif? this was thursday and the ship was to sail on saturday. it seemed to me a long time to wait for when i go anywhere i like to go in a hurry. saturday morning came and i arose bright and early. i slept very little that night, for i was thinking, thinking, thinking. after arising and having a cup of coffee i took my time strolling down toward the steamship pier. after i arrived there i was about to enter the long covered shed, when an official strode up to me and asked me where i was going. i carried no baggage of any sort and didn't think i needed any. i am too old a traveler to encumber myself with baggage. all i carried was on my person. i told the official i was bound for europe on the furnessia and showed him my ticket. he looked at it and let me pass. i went on board. when i reached the deck a young man dressed in a white jacket and peaked cap asked me if i were a married man. i didn't think it was any of his business, so i asked him what he wanted to know for. the young fellow frowned and exclaimed: "don't give me no language, young feller; i want to know if yer married or single." i told him i was a single man, whereupon he said: "you go forward to the quarters for single men!" "where's that?" queried i. "for'ard of the main hatch," responded he. i didn't know the difference between a main hatch and a chicken hatch, but i went up to the front part of the vessel where i saw several sailors slinging trunks down a hole by means of a rope. i walked up to them and asked one of them who wasn't too busy to answer a question, where the main hatch was. "it's in the fo'-castle," says jack, with a wink at his mates; "do you want it?" "no," said i. "i don't; where's the quarters for the single men." "oh, that's what you're after, is it? you follows your nose till you gets to the bows, and then you'll see a companionway down which you goes." "all right," says i; "thank you." the directions weren't clear, but i guessed i could find my way. i went forward through rows of boxes, trunks, valises, ropes and other impediments, and finally came to a stairway over which was a hood or sliding cover. this stairway was almost straight up and down, with rough brass plates on each step to prevent one from slipping. at either side of it was a rope in lieu of a balustrade. that stairway did not look good to me. chapter vii. the steerage. as soon as i tried to go down the stairway there was trouble, trouble of the worst kind. i could get down all right, but when i got down a few steps an odor came up that made me pause. the odor was not of stale onions, a rotting steer or anything like that, but an indefinable one. i never smelt anything like it before and it conquered me at once. it caught me right in the throat and though i tried to swallow i couldn't do so to save my life. i began to chew as if i were chewing tobacco, and the lump rose in my throat and wouldn't go up nor down. i hadn't drunk a drop that morning excepting a cup of coffee, so it couldn't have been liquor that upset me. it must have been the smell and nothing else. i stood on a step holding to the side rope to steady myself and hesitated about going down. i grew dizzy and thought i was going to fall but held on like grim death. "come windy," says i to myself, "your bunk is below, and you'll have to go down to it or someone else will get it. this won't do." i went down slowly and the further down i got the stronger the smell became. suddenly i got very sick. i felt like giving up the enterprise right then and there but as my friends would have had the laugh on me if i did so, i concluded to see the thing out. i had to go down the stairway, though, there was no getting around that; i had to select a berth, and to do that i had to go below. i kind of fooled around and hesitated to make the plunge but finally i mustered courage and made the attempt once more. i went down very slowly, holding my hand over my nose and mouth. i got down a few steps and then i stopped again. i just couldn't. i just laid down where i was and fired away like a good fellow. i was more than willing to die. as i lay there a jacky suddenly came down, airy-fairy fashion, as if he were dancing on eggs, and in his hands he carried a long, black tin pan in which was his mate's breakfast, consisting of meat, gravy and potatoes. i caught a whiff of the mess and oh mercy! when jacky got down to the bottom and saw me sitting there and the muss i had made he became very indignant and wanted to know what i meant by mussing up the ship like that. "why don't you go on deck if you want to be sick?" said he. had i been well i would have swiped the heartless cuss one just for luck, but i was too weak to speak, even. i fired away again and seeing this, jacky flew away as if the devil was after him. after a good long time i got down in the steerage and saw the steerage steward who was a scotchman with a broad accent, and he gave me a berth. he noticed that i had been sick and advised me to go upstairs and get all the fresh air i could. i acted on his advice and made my way up the stairway again as quickly as i could, but that wasn't very quick. when i got on deck the fresh air revived me somewhat, but it seemed to me as if my stomach were all gone. there was an "all gone" feeling there, sure enough. the ship was getting ready to start by this time. an officer mounted a raised deck over the forecastle and gave orders to heave the hawsers off. the captain, who stood on the bridge, signalled to the engineer below to let her go, and off we were. slowly we moved out from the pier, to the farewells of the multitudes on shore and on deck. some blubbered, but ne'er a blubber from me. i wasn't caring whether school kept or not. the vessel's prow after she got out of her dock was turned down the hudson toward the battery, and she went well out into the middle of the stream. this afforded us a good view of the river. on one side was the new york shore, and on the other, the jersey. panoramas of houses and docks on either side swept by us as we moved along, and sky-scrapers loomed up prominently. we passed pretty close to the goddess of liberty, and saw plainly governor's island, ellis island, fort hamilton, fort wordsworth, bath beach, staten island and coney island. quickly enough we were abreast of sandy hook, which was the last point of land we would see until we reached europe. straight ahead of us was nothing but sky and water. it was now nearly noon. i had eaten nothing that morning and what i had eaten yesterday was mostly downstairs in the hallway. the fresh sea-breeze had revived me a little and now i felt that i could eat something. none of the passengers had eaten anything since they came on board, and probably they, too, must have been hungry, for when the dinner bell rang there was a mighty stampede. some of them didn't take time to rush downstairs, they just dropped down. the dinner was good. there was plenty of nourishing soup on hand, a liberal allowance of meat, vegetables, bread, butter and coffee. no one need have gone hungry. all the other meals were satisfactory, though an occasional one was punky. of course there were kickers, but those kind of people will be found everywhere. the second day out was sunday, and it was a fine spring day, but on monday morning clouds began to gather and tried to work up a storm. they succeeded all too speedily. the sky became black, the wind roared up aloft, the masts hummed, timbers creaked, the ship rolled from side to side and then rose and fell; the cordage whipped against the masts and everything looked lovely for a first-class storm. i got scared. i hated to die so young, but what's the odds? the waves were high as mountains and to me seemed about as mean looking as anything i ever saw. they were white on top and made straight for us. we could not run away from them. i was on deck waiting to see the storm out, for what was the use going below and being drowned there? if i was to die i would die game and at the front. it didn't seem to me that anything built by human hands could withstand the buffeting of those waves. the force of the sky-scraping billows was awful. they kind of made me wilt when i looked at them. i survived that storm or i wouldn't be writing this. if you catch me on the sea again though, you'll have to be a fast runner. i was told that we would see land again by the following sunday and i was sort of pining to see it. it was a wait of several long days, but i didn't have much else to do than wait. there was nothing to do on board except to eat, sleep and wait. i got pretty badly drenched during the storm. a huge comber made a leap for me and broke right over me, spilling a few tons of water on top of me. it was a soaker, sure enough, and i didn't dry out until several days afterward. i had only one suit of clothes with me and they were on my back so they had no chance to dry. i slept in them to keep them warm. a life on the ocean wave is a gay thing. it is awful nice to be spun around like a cork and then see-sawed up and down with a possibility of touching bottom. the heel over from side to side is also very funny, for there is a good chance of being shot overboard when the ship jams suddenly away over. you hold on wondering whether the ship is going to right herself or not. if she does, you're in luck, and if she don't it's good-bye lisa jane. how many ships do tip over? several thousand of them every year. luckily, the furnessia wasn't one of the unlucky ones this trip. the worst that happened to me was a bad scare and a shower-bath. maybe the water wasn't cold when that wave struck me! ugh! it knocked the wind out of me for a moment and i didn't know where i was at. i dripped like a drowned rat and when my fellow passengers saw me they roared. on tuesday morning of the second week we saw the shores of europe. we had now been out about ten days. i have read that columbus and his crew felt pretty good when they saw land again after their eventful voyage but i'll bet a dollar to a doughnut they didn't feel half as good as i felt when i saw land again. i was more than pining to see it. ten days of sloppiness was a whole lot for me. if there is any fun wandering around with one's clothing sticking to one's back i fail to see it. i was feeling all right and my general health was good, but the lack of sleep and the fetid odors down below helped to daze me. i was in a sort of pipe dream and hardly knew whether i was afoot or on horseback. there was land ahead, though, and i felt like shouting. the land ahead of us was the coast of ireland and it looked good to me. the name of ireland was familiar to me since my boyhood days, and i had seen irishmen on the stage and off it, had heard songs sung about it and had heard it spoken of a million times. here was the real thing right before me. i became mightily interested in it as did almost everyone else. the irish passengers aboard, and there were plenty of them, became frantic with joy. ireland surely is a beautiful country. rocky headlands we saw, capes, bays, towering mountains in the background, green trees and farms. an air of romance seemed to hang over the place and the blue skies of the spring above looked down on it kindly. we steered straight in for the shore and then sailed northward along the coast. we kept off shore only a few miles. when we got to tory island we steamed between it and the mainland, and had a close view of this little islet. it was only a mile or two long with a quaint looking light-house at one end of it and a vegetable garden in bloom near by. those green things growing, how they did entrance me! at the other end of the isle were rocks that towered up higher than the masts of our ship, and they were scarred, seamed and causewayed by the elements. they had taken the strangest shapes imaginable. we steamed through the strait between the island and the mainland swiftly, for though the strait was narrow the channel was deep; then we skirted southward along the east coast of ireland until we came to a broad bay, where we anchored. this bay was shallow close in to the shore, so we anchored far out. on the shore was the town of moville, where the irish passengers were to disembark for points in ireland. a little tender came steaming up and when she was loaded with baggage and passengers, there was hardly room enough to swing a cat in but as the irish passengers were happy, we had no kick coming. the warm-hearted irish bade us farewell with many a thrown kiss and handkerchief flutter. they were off. so we were soon, for scotland. the scenes along the east coast of ireland were no whit inferior to those on the west coast. it did not take us long to reach scotland, where the scenery was enchanting. words are entirely inadequate to give one a proper idea of it. to be appreciated it must be seen and _felt_, for reading about it don't do much good. here, right before us, were the highlands of scotland and many a place famous in song and story. in due course of time we reached the firth of clyde and anchored off greenock. this was the disembarking point for all the passengers. a little steamer shot out from greenock and landed us, bag and baggage, at the princess pier, which reminded me somewhat of a mississippi levee, for it was stone paved and sloping. on the pier cabbies stood about, touching their hats respectfully, but saying never a word. they were seeking "fares," and giving us the tip noiselessly. newsboys were there, too, yelling in strange accents, "morning nip!" "daily bladder," etc., and some of them when they got on to my presence and saw that i was a greenhorn, made loud uncomplimentary remarks about me in language that i couldn't understand. this rather embarrassed me, for i didn't like to be made a show of. them kids ought to have got a kick in the pants for their freshness but the more you fool with some kids the worse they get, so i just walked on minding my business and said nothing. all we third-raters were steered into the custom house where the baggage was to be examined. it didn't take the authorities long to examine mine. a quiet, lynx-eyed official asked me where my baggage was and when i told him i hadn't any, he jerked his head upward and backward, giving me a quiet hint to skip. i waited a few moments and then followed some of the other passengers to the railroad station, which was close by. our destination was glasgow, and greenock was twenty-five miles distant, so we were compelled to make the rest of the journey by rail. when i entered the railroad station i stood stock still for a moment and stared. on one side of the station was a blank wall and on the other a "buffet," waiting-room, ticket office, "luggage" room and telegraph office. what stumped me was the cars and locomotive. the cars were stage-coaches strung on wheels with no bumpers to speak of; no blind baggage, no brake-beams, no nothing. where was a fellow to ride when he was beating his way? one couldn't beat it in any shape, form or manner. to say that i was disappointed won't express my feelings. i was totally discouraged. i felt like going back home again on the return trip of the furnessia but i didn't have the price. i had less than fifteen dollars in my possession and was up against it. i had no idea how big a country scotland was or how the walking would be, so i did some pretty lively thinking. i now remembered what little billy had told me and found out that he had told me the truth. no, there was no way of "beating it" on those kind of cars. i mixed in with the push on the platform and began looking for a comfortable seat in a car. there were only two seats in a car, facing each other, and each seat was capable of holding four persons. thus when there were eight persons in a coach it was full. i made a rush for a seat where i could view the scenery comfortably, and after the coaches were all filled and "all set," the doors were slammed shut, somebody outside blew a tin-horn and with a ratlike squeak from the engine we were off. the engine had seemed like a toy to me but she was speedy and powerful and could go like a streak. away we clattered through tunnels, past fields and meadows, villages and towns. the scenery looked mighty foreign-looking to me and i was uneasy. i sure felt that i wasn't at home. on our right hand side as we sped up to glasgow were the fields and meadows i just spoke of, and on the other side was a bare prairie through which wound the river clyde. along the banks of the clyde were shipyards which are famous the world over. i believe these shipyards are so famous because ships can be built cheaper and better there than anywhere else. to be a clyde-built ship is usually a recommendation. the scenery was interesting and would have been more so had i been happier. i was still half-dazed from the want of sleep during ten nights on board ship, my clothes didn't feel right on me from the soaking they had got and then the disappointment of not being able to "beat it," affected me, too. but it was all in the game, so i had no kick coming. after journeying about an hour we came upon the town of paisley, which has been famous for centuries for the manufacture of "paisley shawls." large spool-cotton factories we could see in the place too, and it seemed to be a city of some size and consequence. in a little while after that we rushed into st. enoch's station, glasgow. this was our jumping-off place. the station was a very large and fine one, almost as much so as the grand central station in new york. to judge from the station, glasgow must be a sizeable place, for it was first-class in every respect and right up to date. chapter viii. glasgow. "all out for glasgow," was the cry, so out we tumbled. i made my way out of the station and soon found myself upon the street, where i stood perplexed and bewildered. it seemed to me i had landed in some other world. everything was so different--the houses, the stores, the streets, the sidewalks, the driveways, the people, the vehicles, the dogs, the horses, the skies, the clouds, everything. how or where will i begin to describe these things? i have a pretty big contract on my hands, one that i am unequal to. i had never seen so many scotch people in a bunch before and had no idea there were so many alive. there were thousands of them, tens of thousands of them. if glasgow hasn't got a million of people then i miss my guess sadly. scotchmen till you can't rest, anywhere and everywhere. even the names on all the stores were scotch. there was macpherson and blair, mactevish, macdonald, brown, alexander, macfeely. shetland ponies came trotting by that were about knee-high to a grasshopper and though so small they dragged after them carriages in which were seated grown persons. why, a grown man could have picked up pony, rig and all, and carried them. i felt like telling the people in those rigs to get out and walk, and not disgrace themselves by making such a little creature in the shape of a horse drag them about. oh, my! oh, my! what queer things a fellow can see. here came a two-wheeled cart clattering along which was hauled by a melancholy-looking little donkey and it was called a "sweet-milk cart." i kept my eyes peeled to see if a "sour-milk" cart would come along, but i didn't see any. they designate their stores in a curious way. a butcher shop is called a "flesher's," a furnishing goods store is called a "haberdashery," a dry goods store a "draper's," etc., etc. say, pardner, pinch me, will you? i wonder whether i am alive. by this time i had stopped gazing standing still, and walked along, for the people were getting on to the fact that i was a greenhorn. my dress and appearance, and the way i stared gave me away. as i walked along unsteadily, still feeling that the ship was under me, i saw things. the houses were of gray stone several stories in height, with tall chimney tiles on top all in a cluster; stores on the ground floor and dwellings overhead. nearly all of them had mansard roofs. they were nearly all alike and their exterior seemed plain and dull to me. but the stores riveted and held my attention. they were rather dingy, but the show windows were fitted up fine. here was a fish store in the window of which were displayed salmon, grilse, lemons, plaice, megrins, haddock, cod, herrings; labels upon the platters designating what they were. in a candy store i saw toffie balls, chocolate bouncers, pomfret cakes, voice pastiles, and frosty nailrods. i laughed and wondered if they had any railroad spikes and rails. frosty nailrods and bouncers, hey! well, i was getting a pretty good show for my money. i looked into a tobacco store and there i saw a vast array of cigars, tobacco and smokers' articles. the brands of tobacco had curious names, such as baillie nicol jarvey, starboard navy, tam o'shanter, aromatic mixture, english birdseye and many others. the tobacco and cigars were dear, tobacco being eight cents an ounce, and funny-looking cigars four cents each. in the clothing store windows i noticed clothes made of excellent cloth in all varieties, that sold for eight and ten dollars the suit. they were fine and made me feel sad, for i hadn't the price to buy one, though i needed a suit badly. shoes, too, were cheap and good. the windows of all the stores were heaped to profusion with goods, and it seemed to me there was more stock in the windows than there was in the stores. the wares were displayed very temptingly with a price tag on everything. the jewelry displayed was more than tasteful, i thought; i wanted a few diamonds awful bad. i wandered along argyle street, which seemed a broad and busy thoroughfare. the sidewalks were jammed and so was the roadway. i sauntered along slowly, taking in the circus, for it was better than a circus to me. it was a continuous performance. lots of people gazed at me, nudged each other and made remarks, but i couldn't catch what they said. probably they took me for some animal that had escaped from a menagerie. i wasn't caring, though, what they thought. i was having as much fun out of them as they were having out of me. i saw so many queer sights that i couldn't describe a tithe of them. many fine people drove by in fine rigs, and some of these wealthy ones were probably out on shopping expeditions. there were grand ladies and gentlemen in multitudes, and i figured it out that wealth and nobility must be pretty prevalent in scotland. many of the ladies were beauties of the blond type and the gentlemen were well-dressed and elegant in appearance. they carried themselves nobly and proudly and seemed stern yet manly. the ladies surely were engaging and i noticed several of them alight from moving street cars gracefully. they didn't wait for the car to stop, but swung off, alighting in the right direction every time. had they been american ladies it is more than likely they would have landed on top of their heads. the glasgow ladies have mastered the trick, all right, and mastered it well, for you can't down them, nohow. as i sauntered along slowly, two young girls came along with plaid shawls thrown over their shoulders and when they got near me one of the girls collapsed and fell on the sidewalk. none of the crowd stopped, whereat i wondered, but i stopped to see what the trouble was. if the girl wasn't as full as a goat you may smother me. she must have been imbibing too much hot scotch. the girl was in her teens, and quite pretty, and so was her companion. i felt sorry that so young and pretty a girl would make a spectacle of herself, so i strode up and asked if i could be of any assistance. the fallen one glared at me and the one standing on her feet trying to help her companion stared at me. my american accent may have been too much for her for she made no reply. i remained standing there, whereupon the sober one got angry and turned on me with the remark: "did yer never see ah lassie fou?" from her indignant tones and manner i saw that she was huffy, so i made tracks in a hurry, for i wasn't looking for trouble. after seeing as much as i wanted to of argyle street, i walked toward the embankment of the clyde river, which i could see not far away, and had a look at the shipping. the ships were as curious to me as everything else i saw in glasgow, for they were distinctly foreign-looking and odd. glasgow seemed a great port, for there were ships of all nations there. the banks along the water front were high and walled up with stone, forming fine promenades. quite a number of very fine bridges spanned the stream and they must have cost a lot of money. they were of stone, iron and wood, and were equal to structures of their kind anywhere. i noticed that the water was of a dark chocolate color, which means--mud. the stream isn't very broad, but it is deep. i was speaking of the vessels! well, they took my time. i had read of low, black-hulled, rakish crafts in pirate stories and these looked like them. wonder if they were pirates? i didn't go aboard any of them to investigate. along the water front street opposite the embankment were hotels, stores, lodging-houses, ship-outfitting establishments, taverns, inns, and all manner of places catering to seafaring men. all of them seemed curiosity shops to me. my little pen isn't able to describe them. what's the use of trying? i came upon a spot called for short and sweet "the broomielaw," which was a section of the water front given up to the landing of "up-country" steamboats, which came down the various lochs, rivers, bays, "the minch," and other waters of northern scotland, and it was more than interesting to observe the little steamers when they came in. they were laden with cattle and people from the highlands and elsewhere, and with produce and merchandise. many of the people were dressed in togs that i never saw outside of a comic opera show and when cattle were unloaded from these long, narrow piratical-looking craft i had more fun watching them than i ever had in my life before. the cattle were mostly black like the ships, and a whole lot of tail-twisting and scotch language had to be used before they would take the hint and go ashore. they didn't like the looks of things and bucked. the sights of the city bewildered them, no doubt, for they were used to quieter scenes. the cowboys had on tam o'shanter caps and wore not describable togs. they punched the cattle, twisted their tails and shouted words that the cattle maybe could understand, but i couldn't. highland scotch was too high for my nut. excursion boats came to the broomielaw and dumped their passengers on the landing from the harris, skye, stormaway, fladda, the dutchman and all the other places so renowned in scottish stories. after dumping one lot of passengers and freight they took another load back to the same places. had i had the price i would have gone up country sure, for there are a whole lot of things to be seen up that way. but by this time it was nearing noon and i was getting hungry, so i concluded that a good, square meal would do me good. the broomielaw and the other places weren't going to run away, and i would have plenty of opportunities of seeing them. chapter ix. getting a square meal. i drifted along salt market street and then came upon a street which, for want of a better name, was called sauchiehall street, in the neighborhood of which i saw a restaurant called the "workingman's restaurant," on the side-wall of which was painted in large letters the following bill of fare: tea, cents. coffee, cents. porridge and milk, cents. sandwiches, and cents. eggs, cents. ham and eggs, cents. broth, cents. pea soup, cents. potato soup, cents. beefsteak pudding, cents. sausage, cents. collops, and cents. dessert puddings, cents. fish suppers, and cents. tripe suppers, and cents. the bill of fare and the prices looked good to me and i concluded that this would be my dining place. in front of the restaurant were two large show windows in one of which was displayed all kinds of bakery goods, such as large flapjacks, big as elephant ears, labeled "scones." they looked like flapjacks to me, but were bigger and thicker, and could be had for two cents each. one of them was enough for a square meal. i wanted something better than that, though, just then. there were big biscuits in the window, too, cakes of various kinds, tarts, etc. in the other window were huge joints of beef and mutton, meat pies, hog-meat in various shapes and styles, and other dainties. my teeth began to water as i eyed the display and a drop trickled down my chin. "lemme see, now; what'll i tackle?" says i to myself. some of the hog meat looked good to me and so did the beef and mutton. i was willing to spend two bits or so for a good square meal. while i stood gazing and deliberating a young girl with a shawl around her shoulders came up to me and addressed me: "hoo air ye?" asked she. i thought she had made a mistake and had taken me for someone she knew, so i asked her if she wasn't mistaken in the person. either she did not understand pure english or else she did not want to, for she kept up the conversation. it didn't take me long to catch on to the fact that she was bent on making a mash. she didn't know me from adam, nor i her. she was light haired and pretty, and had a slight, graceful figure, which was not well hidden by a shawl, which she kept opening and closing in front of her. i concluded that i was in for joy the first thing. to tell the real, honest truth, i wasn't hankering for fun just then, for i was too hungry, but of course it wouldn't do to be discourteous to a stranger, and a pretty one at that. to her inquiry how i was, i told her "tiptop," which she didn't seem to understand. she did catch on to it, though, that i was a stranger. "where'd ye come from, the noo?" "the noo, the noo," thinks i. "what does she mean by that?" i caught on suddenly. "oh, i just landed this morning from new york." "ho, yer a yankee, then?" says she. "no, i'm not," answered i. "i'm a westerner." "ooh eye, ooh eye," repeated she twice, as if she didn't understand. "what air ye going to do in glesgie?" asked she in clear, bell-like accents. she came up pretty close to me and now i could detect from her breath that she had been indulging in scotch bug-juice. this displeased me. i gave her a hint that i had had no dinner and that i was pretty hungry, but it was evident that something stronger than a hint would be needed to cut me loose from her. she began to coax and then suddenly she called me a bully. that got me off. i told her in pretty plain language that she was a trifle fresh and that i hadn't said or done anything to warrant her in calling me names. she didn't understand what i said, but i guess she could tell from my manner that i was angry, so her soft eyes gazed down to the ground sadly. i excused myself, left her and went into the restaurant. the unexpected interview had agitated me somewhat, but i soon got over it. the front part of the restaurant was a sort of store, where edibles were displayed on counters and which could be bought and carried away, or eaten on the premises, as one chose. the rest of the apartment was divided off into cabinets having sliding doors to them. in each cabinet was a rough wooden table with backless, wooden benches, close up to it, and on either side of it. the cabinet wasn't big enough to turn around in, but it served the purpose for which it was built. a young waitress came to the cabinet i had chosen as my retreat and asked me what i would have. when she heard my foreign accent it was all she could do to keep from sniggering. i asked for pea soup for the first course. it was brought to me and it was nice. while eating it, the door slid back quietly, and who do you think entered it? guess! i'll bet you never could guess. why, it was no one else than the young girl who had addressed me outside the restaurant. she had probably watched from the outside and seen in which cabinet i had gone and there she was, large as life. tell _me_ scotch girls aren't cute. for a moment i was so flabbergasted you could have knocked me down with a feather, but i soon recovered my equanimity. the girl asked me if she might sit down beside me. what could i say? of course, i said yes. i kept on eating my soup and cogitated. if this was the custom of the country i didn't like it. where i came from strangers were not in the habit of inviting themselves to dinner. the lassie (that's what girls are called in scotland) chinned away to me, but i didn't understand her, nor did i care to very much just then. after the pea soup had disappeared i asked the lassie if she was hungry and she gave me to understand that she was not. probably she had only come in for a social chat. the waitress soon came in again and sniffed scornfully when she saw my companion there. she probably took me for a naughty man. all this goes to show how a poor, innocent fellow can get into trouble when he isn't looking for it. i next ordered some roast mutton, potatoes and bread and butter. to the waitress's inquiry what i would drink i said "water." the lassie looked at me reproachfully. i divined that _she_ wouldn't have ordered water. while i ate the lassie chinned and seemed to stick to me as faithfully as a dutch uncle to a rich relative. i don't think that she was fully aware of what she was doing or saying. after i had finished the second course, the waitress made her appearance again and wanted to know what further would be wanted. i told her, nothing, whereupon she began to gather up the dishes and her manner proclaimed that the cabinet might be wanted for the next customer. i took the hint and withdrew and the lassie followed me out. outside of the restaurant the lassie gave me a gentle hint that she knew of a snug place where we could have "a little smile" together, but i wasn't drinking just then and told her so. i was leery of her, in fact. how did i know who she was or what her little game was. i didn't know the language of the country, the laws, the customs or anything, so i proposed to proceed carefully. i shook the lassie firmly but politely as soon as i could and went my way. chapter x. glasgow green (or common.) i concluded to go down toward the clyde again but had some difficulty finding my way, for the streets were tortuous and winding, though quaint and old-fashioned. i had seen pictures of such streets on the stage and in plays. after much walking i came upon a thoroughfare called stockwell street which led direct to the quays. i walked to the albert bridge and contemplated its strength and solidity, and then walked in the direction of a park which i saw not far distant. i was informed by someone whom i asked that this was the glasgow common, or green. the park, i should judge, is about two miles long by about half a mile wide, and is almost destitute of trees or plants. it is, in fact, nothing more than a bare public playground fitted up with tennis courts, cricket grounds, apparatus for gymnastic exercises, swings, a music-stand, etc. it surely is an interesting spot. the walks are long and numerous, resting-places are plentiful and near the river is a building used by the humane society--a hospital, most likely. a little way in from the entrance is a fountain that is worth describing. the "glesgie" people seem to have a grudge against it for some reason or other, but it is a nice and elaborate work of art for all that. it is a large structure with a broad basin and many other basins that diminish in diameter as they near the top. the top basin is quite small. around the largest basin are groups of life-sized figures representing the various races of man, such as africans, asiatics, europeans, australians and americans. the figures are exceedingly well done. on the topmost pinnacle of the fountain is a heroic image of lord nelson, the great english admiral. i thought the whole work was a most elaborate and fine one. being tired, i sat down on a bench to rest. there were not very many people in the park just then and i had a good view of everything. clear over on the other side of the park there wasn't a single person to be seen except a couple that sat on a bench making love in strenuous fashion. it was a workingman and a lassie. did you ever watch a calf when it sucks its mother, how it makes a grab for a teat, rest awhile, then make another grab? that is the way that man made love. suddenly he would throw his arm around the girl's waist, press her to him, then let go and take a breathing spell. the lassie sat quiet taking it all in and saying never a word. in a few minutes the man would make another grab, take a fresh hold and then let go again. it was a queer way of making love, i thought. the couple wasn't bashful a bit and evidently didn't care who saw them. i thought to myself that i would have to find some lassie to give me a few lessons in the art of making love in scotch fashion, for i wasn't on to the game at all. after a good long rest i strolled through the city to see some more of it. it was quiet in the park just then and nothing doing. i came upon the old glasgow cathedral which is by far the oldest structure in the city and the most thought of by glasgowites, but i was not much impressed by it. it is a thousand years old or more, is great in extent, is surrounded by ample grounds and is made of stone. it contains flying buttresses and some other gim-crackery but the whole thing is rather plain, black and dull. sir walter scott in one of his novels describes it faithfully, and if any one wants to know more about it i politely request them to look up sir walter scott. i ain't equal to the task of describing architecture in detail and such things. not far from the cathedral is the necropolis, a very ancient burial ground right in the heart of the city, almost. it is as ancient as the cathedral, maybe. it is a pretty spot and i went all through it. it is built around a hillside and is of considerable extent. along the street level are walks bordered by trees, shrubs and flowers, and as you ascend the hillside you will see elaborate tombs, monuments, shady nooks and bosky bowers. on the highest portion of the rather steep and lofty hill a fine view of glasgow may be had, and here lies buried, beneath a fine monument, john knox, the reformer. the scotch think a heap about mr. knox, but as i don't know much about him i can't say much. he must have been a wonderful man and he surely lies buried in a grand spot. as a rule i don't like to wander about in bone-yards, but as this one was so pretty i was impelled to do so. let me say a few words about glasgow in a general way before i continue my story. glasgow is the commercial metropolis of scotland. it contains about , people, and in most respects is a modern city. it is the center of art, finance and trade, and what new york is to the united states, glasgow is to scotland. there is much wealth, style and fashion there, the people are workers and full of business. wholesale and retail establishments abound, ship-building yards are numerous, as are foundries and manufacturing shops of many kinds. chief of all the great industries in glasgow is the ship-building. the business of the port of glasgow is great and the volume of the shipping immense. these few pointers will reveal to you that glasgow is not a jay town by any means. chapter xi. hunting for a furnished room. as i said before, when i landed in glasgow i had only a few dollars in my possession, therefore i deemed it wise to make them go as far as possible, for i didn't know what i was up against or how i would get along. the country was strange and new to me, i didn't know a soul this side the water, i knew nothing of the ways of the country or the people, and hadn't the faintest idea as yet how i was going to get through the country. that i could not beat my way i had already learned, and as i am not very partial to hiking it over long distances, i cogitated. but what was the use of thinking or worrying? didn't i have some money in my inside pocket? of course i had, and it was time enough to worry when i was broke. "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," has always been my motto, and i had been on the turf long enough to know that there is always some way out of a scrape when one gets into it. what was the next event on the program? i had dined and seen considerable of the city and it was "more better" that i go and look up a furnished room. i had to have some place to sleep and the cheapest and most comfortable way, i thought, was to rent a room in a private family. i have slept in lodging houses time without number but they are too public and sometimes too noisy. for a good, honest sleep give me a private dwelling. i knew that i was looking shabby but good clean money looks good to a whole lot of people. i wandered through buchanan and argyle streets, the trongate and gallowgate street, but couldn't find a "to let" sign anywhere. this kind of stumped me. i asked some one if there were no furnished rooms to let in glasgow and he informed me that there were lots of them but that i would have to look in the upper stories of the houses for the signs. i did so but saw very few of them. i tackled the first place where i saw one. it was in a three-story building along the trongate and the structure didn't look good to me. there was a narrow, stone-paved hallway leading through the building and at the rear of it was a cork-screw-like stairway that wound upward. the hallway was as dim and dark as a dungeon and made me feel funny. but i was there for a purpose so there was no use getting scared of bugaboos. up the stairway i went, slowly and cautiously, keeping my eyes peeled for obstructions. i came to the first landing, where there was a single strongly made wooden door. i saw a knocker on the door and rapped at it rather faintly for admittance. an elderly woman came to the door and demanded to know what i wanted. i told her i was looking for a furnished room. from my accent she gathered that i was a foreigner for she asked at once: "yer a furriner, ain't ye?" i can't describe the scotch accent just right for it ain't my language, but i will try to set down what the lady said to me as well as i can. "yes, ma'am," said i; "i arrived from new york today." "yer a yankee, i believe." "no, ma'am," responded i, "i'm a westerner." this evidently puzzled the lady for she murmured "ooh eye! ooh eye!" in the same tone somewhat as the boozy lassie at the workingman's restaurant had done. "what will ye be doin' in glasgie?" asked the lady. i was stumped for a moment. i assured her i was going to look for a job. "what's yer trade?" "oh, i work at anything," i answered. "ah, then yer jack of all trades and maister of none." i assured the lady that was about the size of it and she then asked me how much i wanted to pay for a room. i told her about a dollar a week. as things were cheaper on this side of the water than on the other side, i figured it out that i ought to get things at about half price. evidently the lady didn't think so, for she scanned me scornfully and wanted to know if i took her place for a tramp's lodging house. that was putting it rather plain which caused me to kind of wilt. i assured the landlady i had no such idea. i asked her what she charged for a room and she said two dollars and a half per week. too much for yours truly, i thought, and told her so. we couldn't make a deal so i groped my way down stairs and tried my luck elsewhere. rents probably were high in that part of the city so i crossed the clyde and wandered into the gorbals district. this is a section of the city inhabited by the poorer classes of working people and i had my eye on it while wandering along the broomielaw. i saw warehouses along the waterfront over there and stone-paved streets full of houses. the houses were ancient-looking and grimy but i would probably find what i sought there. the first house i entered in that district had the same kind of a hallway with a spiral stairway at the end of it as the house i had been in on the other side of the river, and when i rapped at the door on the first floor a lady answered the summons. when i told her that i wanted a furnished room she wanted to know how much i was willing to pay. she did not tell me her price but wanted to size up my pile. her little racket wouldn't work. i told her that if she had a room that suited me and if the price was right we could make a deal, otherwise not. whereupon she opened her hall door, let me in and led me to a fair-sized room and asked me how i liked it. it contained a table, sofa and two chairs, but nothing else. i told her i wanted a bed-room, not a sitting-room. "this is a bed-room," said she, opening a closet in the room in which was a bunk. holy jerusalem! what did the lady take me for; a chinaman, to put me in a china closet? nay, nay, pauline! i'm no chinaman. here was another case where the deal fell through. i like plenty of fresh air and light where i sleep when i can get it, and enough room to kick in. here there was none of these things. i kept a-moving. i came to a house opposite a theater where i met two young ladies who occupied a flat and had a spare room. i believe they were actresses. they told me that their vacant room was rented by an actor who was now making a tour of the cities and that they didn't know just when he would be home. in the meanwhile i could occupy his room if i wished and when the actor returned i could share the room with him. i did not feel as if i would like to sleep with an actor, for he might have been a snorer or a high kicker, and i didn't know when he would be back anyway. that sort of an arrangement did not suit me. no deal was made here, either. the next place i went to and where i finally located, was a flat occupied by an old man and his daughter. the father was over seventy years of age and the daughter about thirty. they rented me a neat room for one dollar a week which contained an ample bed, chairs, rocker, a wash-stand, soap, towel, a window, lace curtains and a shade. my patience and perseverance had been rewarded at last. as soon as my landlady left me i stripped and took a wash from head to foot, the first good clean-up i had since i left new york. it was great. i rented the room for a week and concluded to hike out of town when the week was up. during the week that i remained in this house i became quite well acquainted with the old man and his daughter and learned that he was from the north of ireland and that his wife who was dead had been scotch. the daughter, therefore, was half-and-half. she was an amiable, good-tempered young woman, though far from pretty, and the devotion she showed to her father astonished me. he wasn't in the best of health and often was crabbed and cross, but no matter how crusty he was the daughter petted and humored him, and crowed and goo-ed and gaa-ed to him and never got out of patience. she treated him as a mother does her child and never wearied of soothing him. the old man didn't seem to appreciate these attentions for his daughter got no thanks from him and not even a kind word. one day when the daughter had gone out on an errand the father suspected that she was in my room, so he rushed into my room, looked under the bed and into the corners to see if she were there. the old man had not the slightest reason or cause to suspect his daughter and i watched his maneuvers with anger but said nothing. he deserved a good tongue-lashing and i felt like giving it to him but his great age held me back. had he been a younger man i would have told him what i thought of him in short order. chapter xii. dancing in the green. i slept well that night, better than i had slept since i left new york, for there was nothing to disturb me. a good rub down and a good night's rest had done me a world of good. those who have traveled know what my feelings were. after a cheap breakfast in a municipal restaurant, where i had two big, thick slices of bread with excellent butter and a cup of good coffee for two cents, i bummed around the clyde again, taking in the sights. i liked glasgow first rate. the people were as friendly and sociable as they were out west, and their accent and ways were a never-ending source of interest to me. everything that i saw interested me, for it was all so new and strange. no one can have the faintest idea what there is to be seen abroad unless he or she goes there and hears and sees for himself. word-pictures are inadequate to give one a proper idea, for there is something even in a foreign _atmosphere_ that must be felt before it can be appreciated. i bought a morning paper and sat down on a bench along the embankment to read it. it was interesting from start to finish with nothing "yellow" about it. the articles were written in an able, scholarly way, and besides giving the news there were columns devoted to giving useful hints, such as "master and man," "husbands and wives," and such like things, that were well to know. they were in the shape of "answers and queries," somewhat. even the advertisements were interesting to me but "the want" ads were mostly incomprehensible, for there were too many scotch colloquialisms in them. i saw an announcement in the paper stating that there would be dancing in the green that afternoon, and i concluded instantly that i would take it in. it was to be a free show and when there is anything of that sort going on you may count me in, every time. in the meanwhile i just loafed around the banks of the clyde, watching them load and unload vessels, taking in the foreigners' ways of doing things, peering into the shop-windows along the water-front, etc. the time passed quickly enough. i wasn't homesick a bit but felt right at home. there was something about the people and the place that made me feel quite at home. after dinner, at about two o'clock, i strolled into the green. people were slowly sauntering into it in groups, and walking up toward the music stand where the dancing was to be done. the music stand was about half a mile from the park entrance. it was early, so i sat down on a bench and made myself comfortable. little boys came along handing out programs and i secured one of them. here is what it said: _glasgow green._ no. --march; glendaurel highlanders. no. --strathspey; marquis of huntley. no. --reel; the auld wife ayont the fire. no. --march; brian boru. no. --strathspey; sandy king. no. --reel; abercairney highlanders. no. --dance; reel o' tullock. no. --waltz; the pride of scotland. no. --highland fling. no. --march; loch katrine highlanders. no. --strathspey; when you go to the hill. no. --reel; over the isles to america. no. --dance; sword dance. no. --march; d's farewell to edinburgh. no. --strathspey; kessock ferry. no. --reel; mrs. mcleod's. no. --slow march; lord leven. _choir._ no. --glee; hail, smiling morn. no. --part song; rhine raft song. no. --part song; maggie lauder. no. --part song; let the hills resound. no. --scottish medley, introducing favorite airs. no. --we'll hae nane but hielan bonnets here. no. --part song; hail to the chief. no. --part song; the auld man. no. --part song; awake aeolian lyre. no. --part song; night, lovely night. no. --god save the king. the program was a good long one and sure looked good to me. i imagined there would be something doing. at about half past two there was a big crowd congregated about the music stand but as there were few seats near it most of the people had to stand. as i wanted to see all i could i mingled with the throng and patiently waited for the performance to begin. the band hadn't made its appearance yet and there was no one on the band stand. to relieve the tedium some of the young fellows who were in the crowd began to chaff some of the lassies in a flirty way. three pretty girls in a group were the especial target of the laddies. if i could only get off the scotch right i would jot down some of their badinage for it was very amusing, to me, at least, but i couldn't do the theme justice. after what to me seemed an interminable long wait we heard some yelling and snarling away down toward the entrance of the park i took to be dog-fighting. too bad it was so far away, for anything would have been agreeable just then to relieve the monotony, even a dog-fight. i noticed the people near the entrance scattering to either side of the walk and forming a lane through which to give the dogs a show. the yelping and snarling came nearer and finally i perceived that it was a band of men approaching dressed in highland costume and playing the bagpipes. i had heard the bagpipes played many a time and knew what they were but i had never heard a whole lot of them played at once. i now knew that it wasn't a dog-fight that had caused the noise. the bag-pipers came along quickly with long strides, their heads erect, stern of visage with petticoats flying from side to side like those of a canteen-girl when she marches with her regiment. the men were husky fellows, broad-shouldered, lithe and active, but they wore no pants. the whole lot of them were bare-legged and upon their heads was perched a little plaid cap with a feather in it, and over their shoulders was thrown a plaid shawl. stockings came up to their knees, but their legs a little way further up beyond the stockings were entirely bare. although there were lots of the girls present i didn't notice any of them blush at this exposure of the person. maybe they were used to such spectacles. what tune do you think these highlanders were playing as they marched along? nothing more nor less than-- "where, oh where has my little dog gone, where, oh where can he be? with his hair cut short and his tail cut long, where, oh where can he be?" this was a mighty nice little tune and i had heard it before, but i had never heard it played by such instruments. the people liked the tune and seemed to like the highlanders too, for when they went by, the people closed in after them in a solid body, and marched behind them, a pushing, elbowing, struggling mass. when the music stand was reached the band did not go upon it but marched around it playing that same little old tune. i wondered why they didn't change it and play something else but as the crowd didn't kick there was no use of me kicking. they kept a marching and a marching around the stand for quite a little while but the tune never changed. the musicians took a good fresh hold on the air every minute or two, some note rising a little shriller than the others but that is all the variation there was. do you want to know the honest truth? well i wasn't stuck on the tune or the bagpipes either. the noise they made would have made a dog howl. it was nothing but a shrieking, yelling, and squeaking. call that music? from the pleased faces of the people you would have judged it was fine. after what seemed a coon's age the band quit playing and marching, and mounted the platform, upon which they had been preceded by a lot of boys and girls who formed the choir. number one on the program was a march, the glendaurel highlanders. i couldn't see anything in it except more marching to a different tune. the crowd seemed to like it and applauded frantically. there was a whole lot of pushing and shoving by the crowd in my neighborhood and i wasn't comfortable at all. a sturdy dame behind me made herself especially obnoxious by wanting to get right up front and she didn't seem to care how she got there or who she shoved out of the way to accomplish her purpose. she dug her elbow into my side in no gentle fashion, and was bent on getting in front of me, whether i was agreeable or not. well, she didn't make the riffle. i planted my elbow in her rib to see how she liked it. she scuttled away from me then quickly enough. number two on the program was marquis of huntley. i didn't know who the marquis of huntley was but evidently the crowd did for they went wild over the tune and dancing. the dancing was fine, tip-top, but i can't say as much for the tune. the way them highlanders could dance was a caution, for they were graceful and supple as eels. no flies on them. number three was a corker, a reel called "the auld wife ayont the fire." there was something doing this time. the highlanders turned themselves loose and they hopped, skipped, jumped and yelled like a tribe of sioux indians on the war path. how they did carry on and how the crowd whooped it up in sympathy! the whole push was frantic, highlanders and all. my hair riz but i don't know why. if any one tells me that those bare-legged highlanders can't dance i will surely tell them they are mistaken. they were artists and no mistake, every one of them. brian boru was the next event on the program, a march. i was getting tired of marches but the mob wasn't. they applauded the brian boru wildly and saw a whole lot in it that i couldn't see. number five was another strathspey, sandy king. i was wondering who sandy was and if he were a king, but i didn't like to ask questions. no use letting the "hoi-polloi" get on to it that i was a greenhorn. there might have been something doing had they known it, for it takes but a little thing to set a mob a-going. next came a reel, abercairney highlanders. i wondered how many different clans of highlanders there were in scotland. the woods seemed full of them. this was another wild indian affair, worse than the first reel. them chaps were good yellers and jumpers, and i think could hold their own with any wild indian, no matter what tribe he belonged to. their lungs were leathery, their limbs tireless, and their wind excellent. the reel of tullock came next and then a waltz, "the pride of scotland." both were excellent. number nine was a highland fling. that was a great number. it aroused everyone to enthusiasm. i could not help but admire the grace of the dancers. so quick they were, so unerring. their wind was so good that i felt i would have hated to tackle any one of them in a scrap. number thirteen was a sword-dance, danced by one man only. crossed swords were laid on the platform and the highlander danced between them slowly, rapidly, any old way, and never touched. he never looked down while dancing, and how he managed to avoid these swords was a marvel to me. the sword blades were placed close together and the dance was kept up a long time. that chap was an artist of a high class, and could have made a whole lot of money on the stage had he chosen to do so. maybe he was a celebrity in glasgow and scotland. he never touched a sword. his dancing was marvelous. it was evident these highlanders could do something besides squeezing wind out of a bag and playing "where, oh where." yes, they were all right. their performance was a good one and worth anyone's while to see. when i returned to my lodgings that evening i told my landlady that i had attended the dance in the green and she wanted to know how i liked it. i told her truly that it was the best i had ever seen. and it was, by long odds. chapter xiii. taking in a glasgow show. the evening of my second day's stay in glasgow i put in by taking in a show at the theater. it was the gayety theater i intended to go to, where vaudeville plays were given, but as the theater was a long distance from the gorbals district, i had some trouble finding it. the theatrical performances in glasgow begin early, some at half-past five and some at six o'clock, and let out at about nine o'clock, which gives those so inclined a chance to go to bed early. the days were long at that season of the year, so that i arrived in front of the theater while the evening sun was still high in the heavens. the theater building was an immense one of stone and very lofty. in front of it was a long line of people waiting to make a rush for good seats in the gallery, and i joined the throng. there was a good deal of rough horse-play among some of the fellows waiting there and a whole lot of chaffing. a chap behind me gave me a kick in the rump and tipped my hat over my eyes, which he deemed a very good joke. i didn't think it was and told him not to get too gay, whereupon he roared with laughter. he told his neighbors that they had a greenhorn among them, whereupon many in the crowd made life a burden for me for a while. they made all kinds of chaffing remarks, they jeered me, they hooted me and groaned. they were having a whole lot of fun at my expense but i never said another word, for what was the use? i was mad clear through, though. had i only had a gang with me there might have been a different tale to tell. i was alone and friendless. a fellow thinks all kinds of things when a crowd gets after him. the line was growing longer rapidly, and before the doors were opened a couple of hundred people must have been on the street waiting. as soon as the doors were opened there was a grand rush and scramble to secure tickets. i held my own in the push, though i was nearly suffocated and squeezed flat, but managed to secure a ticket after a little while, for which i paid twelve cents--six pence. cheap enough if the show is any good. i rushed up the spiral stairway after the crowd, but before i got half way up i was obliged to stop and blow off steam. the steps were many and winding. i did not notice anyone else stopping for a breather which led me to conclude that the scots are a long-winded race. two or three times did i have to stop before i reached nigger-heaven, my destination. the gallery was so high up and so close to the ceiling that i could have touched the ceiling with my hand when standing up. below, clear to the orchestra seats, or "pit," as it is called, was gallery after gallery. some of these were divided off into queer contrivances called "stalls." to me the stalls seemed like huge dry-goods boxes, with the part facing outward, toward the stage, open, from the middle to the top. the lower part was boarded in. they were queer-looking contrivances, and the people in them looked as if they were caged. the stalls were supposed to be private and exclusive--in a word, private boxes. some little boys in livery were wandering about on the various floors crying out "program" with the accent on the first syllable, and as i wanted one, i hailed a boy who gave me one and charged me a penny for it (two cents). printing must be dear in glasgow, i thought, to charge a fellow two cents for a printed piece of paper. i said nothing but scanned the program. here is what it said: no. --la puits d'amour, balfe; band. no. --mr. john robertson, baritone vocalist. no. --drew and richards in their specialty act, old fashioned times. no. --mr. billy ford, negro comedian. no. --the alaskas--ben and frank--comic horizontal bar experts. no. --mr. edward harris, london comedian. no. --miss josie trimmer, child actress, and the forget-me-nots, vocalists and dancers. no. --selection, yeoman of the guard. no. --sallie adams, american serpentine dancer. no. --the gees, in their musical oddity, invention. no. --collins and dickens, in their refined specialty act. no. --mr. charles russell, comedian and descriptive vocalist. no. --national anthem. quite a lengthy program this and it looked to me as if it might be good, especially the serpentine dancer, who was a countrywoman of mine, and the darkies, who were probably countrymen. after a moderate wait the lights were turned up, the orchestra tuned up and soon the band gave us a selection by balfe called "la puits d'amour." i didn't know what "la puits d'amour" was but it didn't make any difference to me. it was some kind of music. the selection was a long one and the band sawed away at it as if they were never going to stop. it was so long drawn out in fact that my wits went a wool gathering and i nearly fell asleep, for tedious music is apt to make me snooze. when the music stopped i woke up and was ready for business. the first event on the program was mr. john robertson, baritone vocalist. the band played a preliminary flourish when out walked mr. robertson dressed in a spike-tail coat, black vest and biled shirt. hanging in front of his vest was a long, thick watch-chain which must have been a valuable one, for it looked like gold. mr. robertson sang a song and kept a hold on his watch chain. the song was hum-drum and so was mr. robertson's voice. mr. robertson made no great hit and when he left us he took his chain with him. number two was drew and richards in their specialty act, "old fashioned times." a lady and gent came upon the stage dressed in very old-fashioned garb, and sang. just as soon as the lady opened her mouth to sing i knew she was a gentleman and she couldn't sing any more like a lady than i could. i have seen female impersonators on the stage many a time and they carried out the illusion perfectly, but this chap wasn't in it at all. he gave me a pain. i wasn't sorry when this couple made their exit. mr. billy ford, the negro comedian, next came to the front. now there'll be a little something doing, anyway, thought i. mr. billy ford was not a negro at all but a britisher with a cockney accent. maybe i wasn't astonished! holy smoke! he sang out bold as you please just as if he were singing like a darkey and the gallery gods went into ecstacies over him. they laughed, roared, and chirruped. they seemed to think a heap of mr. ford, but i felt like going somewhere to lay off and die. a nigger with a cockney accent! oh my! oh my! will wonders never cease? the comic horizontal bar experts, the alaskas, were very tame turners, and to my view, anything but funny. i had seen better stunts than they performed in free shows on the bowery at coney island. the sixth number on the program was mr. edward harris, london comedian. here at last was someone who could sing and act. mr. harris was from the london music halls and was evidently a favorite, for he was given a great reception. he was greeted with roars of welcome and shouts and calls from the gallery gods that seemed unfamiliar and queer to me. even the people in the pit and stalls applauded loudly. mr. harris turned himself loose and impersonated london characters in a way that brought forth the wildest enthusiasm. some of the gods nearly died laughing at his comicalities and a man away down in the pit laughed out loud in such a way that it made me think of a dream i once had when i saw ghosts playing leap-frog over a graveyard fence and having an elegant time of it. the noise this man made was a high sepulchral shriek, like theirs. it was wild and weird. the comedian was first class and the audience was loath to let him go. they recalled him several times and he responded. number seven was miss josie trimmer, child actress, and the two forget-me-nots, vocalists and dancers. this was another tame affair for the two forget-me-nots were scottish lassies who got off coon songs with a scotch accent and had acquired an improper idea of coon dancing. their act was a caricature and a-- well, never mind. it isn't right to be too critical. they were doing the best they could and were appreciated by the audience, so it may be well for me not to say too much. the next number was a selection by the band, "yeoman of the guard," which was played after a long intermission. i was getting rather weary by this time and had half a mind to go home, but i wanted to see the serpentine dancer, sallie adams, who was a countrywoman of mine. it seemed to me i hadn't seen a countryman or countrywoman for a coon's age, and i felt as if i just couldn't go until i saw sallie. when the time came for miss adams to appear on the stage, all the lights in the theater were turned out and a strong calcium light was thrown upon the stage. sallie hopped into view chipper as you please, never caring a whoop who saw her, countryman or foreigner, and she began to throw diaphanous folds of cheese-cloth all over herself and around herself. different colored lights were thrown upon her draperies as she danced, and the effect was thrilling and made my hair stand up. sallie was all right. she was onto her job in good shape. maybe i didn't applaud? i roared, i stamped and whistled, and my neighbors must have thought i was clean off. the gorgeous spectacle reminded me of the fourth of july at home, when sky-rockets go up with a hiss and a roar, roman candles color the black skies, sissers chase through the air like snakes, bombs explode and fall in stars of all colors. siss! boom! ah! when sallie made her exit i made mine, for i had got my money's worth and was satisfied. chapter xiv. mr. robert burns, the poet. one thing that struck me very forcibly before i had been in glasgow any length of time was the fact that the people thought a great deal of mr. burns, the poet. streets and lanes were named after him, inns and taverns, shoes, hats, caps, clothing, tobacco, bum-looking cigars, bad whiskey, in fact his name was attached to all kinds of articles to make them sell, and in some cases merely as a mark of respect or affection. it was plain to the most casual observer that mr. burns was thought a great deal of. he had been dead a hundred years or more, yet his personality pervaded the place, and his picture was to be seen on signs, posters, in the stores and elsewhere. for mr. burns most scotchmen will die, scotch ladies sigh, scotch babies cry, scotch dogs ki-yi. he was a good-looking chap, and highly gifted, but the poor fellow died before he had reached his thirty-eighth year, which was a national calamity. had he lived there is no telling what he might have accomplished, for during the short span of his life he did wonderful things. he took the old scotch songs that had been written before his day and gave them a twist of his own which improved them vastly, and made them immortal; he portrayed scottish life in a way that no poet has ever imitated or will imitate maybe, and he loved his country deeply and fervently. his father was a rancher, and a poverty-stricken one at that, and the poet was born in a shack on the farm. the house was a little old one of stone, and a rich man of the day would have used it for a chicken house. in this house and in a china closet in the kitchen was born the greatest poet scotland ever produced. when bobbie grew up the old man set him a-plowing, and while at this work the boy composed rhymes which were so good that some of his friends induced him to print them. old man burns didn't see any good in the verses, for he knew more about poultry than he did about poetry, and told his son to cut it out. bobbie couldn't, for it just came natural. before he was twenty-one the boy had written lots of good poetry and it was put in book form and printed at kilmarnock, a town not far from his birthplace. the birthplace of the poet was on the farm near the town of ayr, in ayrshire, and that whole county (or shire) is now called "the burns country," because it was the poet's stamping-ground. the poet knew lots of people throughout the county and his writings have immortalized many a place in it. after his book had been printed he sprang into fame at once and was made much of by man, woman and child. being a good-looking chap, the girls began to run after him, and poor burnsie had the time of his life. he wanted to steer clear of 'em, but he couldn't, for the girls liked and admired him too much. the result was that a few of them got into trouble, and soon some wild-eyed fathers and brothers went gunning for him. the fault was not the poet's wholly, for he couldn't have kept these girls away from him with a cannon. to avoid such troubles in the future he finally married a blond, buxom young lassie called jean armour, by whom he had twins, the first rattle out of the box. not long after that he had two at a throw again. bobbie could do something besides write poetry, evidently. he was a thoroughbred any way you took him, though the people at that time did not know it and did not fully appreciate his great qualities. it was only after he had been dead a long time that the world fully realized his worth. at the present day they estimate him properly and their affection and reverence for him are boundless. some of his countrymen call him simply burns, others call him rabbie, and still others, "puir rabbie," puir meaning poor. the country that he lived in, ayrshire, is visited by a million strangers or more every year, who visit the shack he was born in and the places he made immortal by his writings. the shack has been fixed up and improved somewhat since he lived in it, and is now a sort of museum where are displayed various editions of the books, manuscripts and other things, that once were his. among the things is a walking-cane that a new york lawyer named kennedy somehow got hold of. how kennedy got the cane i don't know, but he returned it to the burns collection in the cottage. mr. kennedy is a rare exception to new york lawyers in general, for they rarely return anything that they once get their hands on. mr. kennedy must have had a whole lot of regard for the great poet. lots of people have never read any of burns' poems. i wonder would they appreciate it if i showed them a few samples? i will not print the long ones, but only the shorter ones, for even they will show, i am sure, the greatness of "puir rabbie." as i said in a previous chapter, when i first set foot in scotland it was at greenock, about miles from glasgow, where a tender took us ashore from the furnessia. greenock is quite a city, for it contains a good many factories and other establishments, but the city has become famous the world over just because of one little circumstance connected with the great poet, namely: a young girl named highland mary lived there who loved, and was beloved by the poet, and they were engaged to be married. sad to relate, the young girl died while she was engaged to the poet, which saddened him considerably. years afterward he married jean armour. the poet wrote some lines to the memory of highland mary which almost any scotchman or scotch lady can recite by heart. here they are: highland mary. ye banks and braes and streams around the castle o' montgomery, green be your woods, and fair your flowers, your waters never drumlie; there summer first unfauld her robes, and there the langest tarry; for there i took the last farewell o' my sweet highland mary. how sweetly bloomed the gay green birk how rich the hawthorn's blossom! as, underneath their fragrant shade i clasped her to my bosom! the golden hours, on angels' wings flew o'er me and my dearie; for dear to me as light and life was my sweet highland mary. wi' mony a vow and locked embrace our parting was fu' tender; and pledging oft to meet again we tore oursels asunder; but, o! fell death's untimely frost, that nipt my flower sae early! now green's the sod and cauld's the clay that wraps my highland mary. o pale, pale now those rosy lips i oft ha'e kissed sae fondly! and closed for aye the sparkling glance, that dwelt on me sae kindly! and mouldering now in silent dust that heart that lo'ed me dearly! but still within my bosom's core shall live my highland mary. was there anything ever written more sad, pathetic and sweet? following is a little poem written in a different vein which may serve as a sort of temperance lesson to some husbands who stay out late at night having a good time. the recreant husband's name in the poem is mr. jo, and mrs. jo sends it in to him good and hard. says mr. jo: o let me in this ae night, this ae, ae, ae night; for pity's sake this ae night, o rise and let me in, jo! thou hear'st the winter wind and weet; nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet. tak' pity on my weary feet, and shield me frae the rain, jo. the bitter blast that 'round me blaws unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; the cauldness o' thine heart's the cause of a' my grief and pain, jo. o let me in this ae, ae night, this ae, ae, ae night; for pity's sake this ae night o rise and let me in, jo. mr. jo's pleadings were in vain, to judge from mrs. jo's answer, which is as follows: o tell na me o' wind and rain! upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain! gae back the gate ye came again-- i winna let you in, jo. i haven't the least idea where jo spent the night, but it surely wasn't with mrs. jo. there are lots of husbands who get full and don't know when to go home. let them paste this poem in their hats. it may do them good. here is an old song revised by puir rabbie, whose magic touch has made it better and more famous than it ever was before. it is entitled: "will ye go to the highlands, leezie lindsay?" will ye go to the hielands, leezie lindsay, will ye go to the hielands wi' me? will ye go to the hielands, leezie lindsay, my pride and my darling to be? to gang to the hielands wi' you, sir, i dinna ken how that may be; for i ken na the land that ye live in, nor ken i the lad i'm gaun wi'. o leezie, lass, ye maun ken little, if sae that ye dinna ken me; my name is lord ronald mcdonald, a chieftain o' high degree. she has kilted her coats o' green satin, she has kilted them up to the knee; and she's off wi' lord ronald mcdonald his bride and his darling to be. a whole lot of human nature about this little poem and a fine swing to it. burns had a touch that no one has ever imitated or ever can imitate. it is a twist, which for want of a better name, i would call "a french twist." imitate it, ye who can! everyone knows "auld lang syne." it is an old song that didn't amount to much until burns got a hold of it and put his twist to it. here it is: auld lang syne. should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to min'? should auld acquaintance be forgot and days o' auld lang syne? for auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, well tak' a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne. we twa ha'e run about the braes and pu'd the gowans fine; but we've wandered many a weary foot sin' auld lang syne; we two ha'e paid'lt i' the burn frae mornin' sun till dine; but seas between us braid ha'e roar'd sin auld lang syne. chorus. and here's a hand, my trusty fren, and gie us a hand o' thine; and we'll take a right good wallie-waught for auld lang syne. chorus. and surely ye'll be your pint stoup, and surely i'll be mine; and we'll take a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne. following is a composition that is famous the world over and is used as a recitation, not only in this country but in every other english-speaking country. it is entitled: "bruce at bannockburn": bruce at bannockburn. scots, wha ha'e wi' wallace bled; scots, whom bruce has often led; welcome to your gory bed, or to glorious victorie! now's the day, and now's the hour; see the front o' battle lower; see approach proud edward's power-- edward! chains and slaverie! wha will be a traitor knave? wha can fill a coward's grave? wha sae base as be a slave? traitor! coward! turn and flee. wha for scotland's king and law freedom's sword will strongly draw, freemen stand or freemen fa', caledonian! on wi' me! by oppression's woes and pains! by your sons in servile chains! we will drain our dearest veins, but they shall--they shall be free! lay the proud usurper low! tyrants fall in every foe! liberty's in every blow! forward! let us do or die. here is a love song to jennie, entitled, "come, let me take thee!" come, let me take thee. come, let me take thee to my breast and pledge we ne'er shall sunder; and i shall spurn as vilest dust the world's wealth and grandeur; and do i hear my jennie own that equal transports move her? i ask for dearest life alone that i may live to love her. thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, i clasp my countless treasure; i'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share than sic a moment's pleasure; and by thy een sae bonnie blue i swear i'm thine forever! and on thy lips i seal my vow, and break it i shall never. one day burns was called upon for a toast during a dinner which was given by the dumfries volunteers, in honor of their anniversary. the poet got up and spoke the following lines extempore: instead of a song, boys, i'll give you a toast-- here is the memory of those on the th that we lost! that we lost, did i say; nay, by heaven, that we found; for their fame it shall last while the world goes around. the next in succession i'll give you--the king! whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing! and here's the grand fabric, our free constitution, as built on the base of the great revolution. and longer with politics not to be crammed, be anarchy cursed and be tyranny damned; and who would to liberty e'er be disloyal, may his son be a hangman and he his first trial. a grace before meat. some ha'e meat and canna eat it, and some wad eat that want it; but we ha'e meat and we can eat, and sae the lord be thankit. to a hen-pecked country squire. as father adam first was fooled, a case that's still too common, here lies a man a woman ruled-- the devil ruled the woman. the poet's father, william burness, lies buried in a graveyard at alloway. the following lines were written by his son to his memory: lines to his father. o ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, draw near with pious reverence and attend. here lie the loving husband's dear remains, the tender father and the generous friend. the pitying heart that felt for human woe; the dauntless heart that feared no human pride; the friend of man, to vice alone a foe; "for e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side." i believe there are some husbands who grow tired of the married state after they have been in it a while. they came to find out that it isn't all "beer and skittles," as they first imagined it would be. even "puir rabbie" had troubles of his own, as the following will show, for it is written about himself: "oh, that i had n'er been married! i would never had nae care; now i've gotten wife and bairns, and they cry crowdie ev'ry mair; ance crowdie, twice crowdie, three times crowdie in a day; gin ye crowdie ony mair, ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. waefu' want and hunger fley me, glowrin' by the hallan en'; sair i fecht them at the door, but aye i'm eerie the come ben." the poet had lots of cronies and friends, and he was as loyal to some of them as they were to him. he was a good boon companion and liked "a wee drappie" (nip) himself as well as anyone. many an alehouse proudly proclaims that he visited it and preserves the chair or bench that he sat on, the glass he drank out of or the table he sat at, to this day, and any and every thing that is familiar with his presence is sacred and treasured. william muir of tarbolton is the friend to whom the following lines were written: on a friend. an honest man here lies at rest, as e'er god with his image blest; the friend of man, the friend of truth; the friend of age, the guide of youth; few hearts like his with virtue warmed, few heads with knowledge so informed; if there's another world, he lives in bliss; if there is none he made the best of this. mr. john dove kept an inn at mauchline called the "whiteford arms," and the poet pays his respects to him in the following fashion: on john dove, innkeeper. here lies johnny pidgeon; what was his religion? whae'er desires to ken, to some other warl' maun follow the carl, for here johnny pidgeon had nane. strong ale was ablution-- small beer persecution-- a dram was momento mori; but a full flowing bowl was the saving his soul, and port was celestial glory. to judge from the following, the poet did not have a great respect for all ruling elders of the church. souter hood was a miserly one. to a celebrated ruling elder. here souter hood in death doth sleep; to hell, if he's gone thither; satan, gie him thy gear to keep, he'll hand it weel thegither. to another hen-pecked husband. o death, hadst thou but spared his life whom we this day lament, we freely wad exchanged the wife an' a' been weel content. the poet was hospitably entertained at a place one day called for short and sweet dahna cardoch. in appreciation he got off the following: when death's dark stream i ferry o'er, a time that surely shall come-- in heaven itself i'll ask no more than just a highland welcome. one sunday while in the northern part of scotland with nicol, a friend of his, he visited the carron works which they had traveled some distance to see. there was a sign on the gate: "no admittance to strangers," which barred the poet and his friend. here is an apostrophe by burns in regard to the matter: no admittance to strangers. we cam' na here to view your warks in hopes to be mair wise, but only, lest we gang to hell, it may be nae surprise; but when we tirled at your door, your porter dought na hear us; sae may, should we to hell's yetts come, your billy satan serve us. lord gregory. o, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, and loud the tempest roar; a waeful wanderer seeks thy tower-- lord gregory, ope the door. an exile frae her father's ha', and a' for loving thee; at least some pity on me show, if love it may na be. lord gregory, mind'st thou not the grove by bonnie irwine side, where first i owned that virgin love i lang, lang had denied! how often didst thou pledge and vow thou wad for aye be mine; and my fond heart, itself sae true, it ne'er mistrusted thine. hard is thy heart, lord gregory, and flinty is thy breast-- thou dart of heaven that flashed by, o, wilt thou give me rest! ye mustering thunders from above, your willing victim see! but spare and pardon my fause love his wrangs to heaven and me! mary morison. o, mary, at thy window be, it is the wished, the trysted hour! those smiles and glances let me see that makes the miser's treasure poor. how blithely wad i bide the stoure a weary slave frae sun to sun, could i the rich reward secure-- the lovely mary morison. jestreen, when to the trembling string the dance gaed through the lighted ha', to thee my fancy took its wing-- i sat, but neither heard nor saw; though this was fair, and that was braw, and you the toast of a' the town, i sighed and said amang them a' "ye are na mary morison." o mary, canst thou wreck his peace, wha for thy sake wad gladly die; or canst thou break that heart of his whose only faut is loving thee? if love for love thou wilt na gi'e at least be pity to me shown, a thought ungentle canna be the thought o' mary morison. to a laird. when ---- deceased to the devil went down 'twas nothing would serve him but satan's own crown; thy fool's head, quoth satan, that crown shall wear never, grant thou'rt wicked but not quite so clever. open the door to me, o! o, open the door some pity to show, o, open the door to me, o! though thou has been fause, i'll ever prove true, o, open the door to me, o! cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, but caulder thy love for me, o! the frost that freezes the life at my heart is naught to my pains frae thee, o! the wan moon is setting behind the white wave, and time is setting with me, o! false friends, false love, farewell! for mair i'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, o! she has opened the door, she has opened it wide; she sees his pale corse on the plain, o! my true love! she cried, and sank down by his side never to rise again, o! to cardoness. bless the redeemer, cardoness, with grateful lifted eyes; who said that not the soul alone but body, too, must rise. for had he said, "the soul alone from death i shall deliver," alas! alas! o cardoness, then thou hadst slept forever. young jessie. true hearted was he, the said swain o' the yarrow, and fair are the maids on the banks o' the ayr, but by the sweet side of the nith's winding river are lovers as faithful and maidens as fair; to equal young jessie seek scotland all over, to equal young jessie you seek it in vain; grace, beauty and elegance fetter her lover, and maidenly modesty fixes the chain. o, fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning, and sweet is the lily at evening close; but in the fair presence o' lovely young jessie unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring, enthroned in her een, he delivers his law; and still to her charms she alone is a stranger, her modest demeanor's the jewel of a'. down the burn, davie. as down the burn they took their way and thro' the flowery dale, his cheek to hers he aft did lay, and love was aye the tale. "o, mary, when shall we return sic pleasure to renew?" quoth mary, "love, i like the burn, and aye shall follow you." a bit of advice. deluded swain, the pleasure the fickle fair can give thee is but a fairy treasure-- thy hopes will soon deceive thee. the billows on the ocean, the breezes idly roaming, the clouds' uncertain motion-- they are bu t types of women. o! art thou not ashamed to doat upon a feature? if man thou wouldst be named, despise the silly creature. go, find an honest fellow-- good claret set before thee-- hold on till thou'rt mellow-- and then to bed in glory. my spouse nancy. husband, husband, cease your strife, no longer idly rave, sir; though i am your wedded wife, yet i am not your slave, sir. "one of two must still obey, nancy, nancy; is it man or woman, say? my spouse nancy!" "if it is still the lordly word, service and obedience; i'll desert my sovereign lord-- and so, good by, allegiance!" "sad will i be, so bereft; nancy, nancy! yet i'll try to make a shift, my spouse nancy!" "my poor heart, then break it must, my last hour i am near it; when you lay me in the dust, think, think how you will bear it." o, can ye sew cushions? o, can ye sew cushions and can ye sew sheets, and can ye sing bal-lu-loo when the bairn greets? and hee and baw birdie, and hee and baw lamb! and hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee lamb! hee, o, wee! o, what would i do wi' you; black is the life that i lead wi' you! money o' you--little for to gie you! hee, o, wee! o, what would i do wi' you? woman, complain not! let not woman e'er complain of inconstancy in love; let not woman e'er complain fickle man is apt to rove. look abroad through nature's range-- nature's mighty law is change; ladies, would it not be strange, man should then a monster prove? mark the winds and mark the skies, ocean's ebb and ocean's flow; sun and moon but set to rise-- round and round the seasons go. why, then, ask of silly man to oppose great nature's plan? we'll be constant while we can-- you can be no more, you know. jennie. the following was written to jean jeffrey, daughter of a minister, who afterward became mrs. renwick, and emigrated to new york with her husband: when first i saw fair jennie's face i couldna tell what ailed me; my heart went fluttering pit-a-pat-- my een, they almost failed me. she's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight all grace does 'round her hover, ae look deprived me o' my heart and i became a lover. had i dundas' whole estate or hopetown's wealth to shine in-- did warlike laurels crown my brow or humbler bays entwining-- i'd lay them a' at jennie's feet, could i but hope to move her and prouder than a belted knight, i'd be my jennie's lover. but sair i fear some happier swain has gained sweet jennie's favor; if so, may every bliss be hers, tho' i maun never have her. but gang she east or gang she west, 'twixt forth and tweed all over, while men have eyes, or ears, or taste she'll always find a lover. the poet one day was taking a ride through the country on horseback and when he got to the town of carlisle became thirsty and stopped at a tavern for a drink. he tethered his horse outside in the village green where it was espied by the poundmaster, who took it to the pound. when burnsie came out he was mad clear through and this is what he wrote: was e'er puir poet sae befitted? the maister drunk--the horse committed, puir harmless beast, tak thee nae care, thou'lt be a horse when he's nae mair (mare). andrew turner was not highly appreciated by the poet, if we may judge from the following: in seventeen hundred and forty-nine satan took stuff to make a swine and cuist it in a corner; but wilely he changed his plan and shaped it something like a man and called it andrew turner. a mothers address to her infant. my blessing upon thy sweet wee lippie, my blessing upon thy bonnie e'e brie! thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me. national thanksgiving on a naval victory. ye hypocrites! are these your pranks, to murder men and gi'e god thanks? for shame gi'e o'er! proceed no further-- god won't accept your thanks for murther. to folly. the graybeard, old wisdom, may boast of his treasures-- give me with gay folly to live; grant him calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures but folly has raptures to give. to lord galloway. what dost thou in that mansion fair? flit, galloway, and find some narrow, dirty dungeon cave, the picture of thy mind! no stewart art thou, galloway-- the stewarts all were brave; besides, the stewarts were but fools, not one of them a knave. bright ran thy line, o galloway! through many a far-famed sire; so ran the far-famed roman way-- so ended--in a mire! spare me thy vengeance, galloway-- in quiet let me live; i ask no kindness at thy hand, for thou hast none to give. the poet subscribed for a paper which he didn't receive regularly, so he told the editor about it in this fashion: dear peter, dear peter, we poor sons of meter are aften negleckit, ye ken; for instance, your sheet, man, tho' glad i'm to see it, man, i get no ae day in ten. honest poverty. is there for honest poverty, that hangs its head and a' that; the coward slave, we pass him by, we dare be poor for a' that; for a' that and a' that! our toil's obscure and a' that, the rank is but the guinea's stamp the man's the gowd for a' that. what though on hamely fare we dine wear hoddin grey and a' that; give fools their silks and knaves their wine a man's a man for a' that! for a' that and a' that, their tinsel show and a' that; the honest man, though e'er sae poor, is king o' men for a' that! ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, wha' struts and stares and a' that? though hundreds worship at his word, he's but a coof for a' that; for a' that and a' that; his riband, star and a' that, the man of independent mind he looks and laughs at a' that! a prince can mak' a belted knight, a marquis, duke and a' that; but an honest man's aboon his might-- guid faith he maunna fa' that; for a' that and a' that, their dignities and a' that. the pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, are higher ranks than a' that. then let us pray that come it may, as come it will for a' that, that sense and worth, o'er a' the earth may bear the gree, and a' that! for a' that and a' that it's coming yet for a' that, that man to man, the warld o'er, shall brothers be for a' that. here are a few facts concerning the personal and family history of the poet: his father's name was william burness, and was born november , , at clockenhill, scotland. i suppose that burness was the old-fashioned way of spelling burns, hence the difference in the names of the son and father. the poet's name was robert burns and the father's william burness, or burns. his mother's name was agnes brown and she was born in the carrick district, scotland, march , . robert burns, the great poet, was born january , , and died july , , being therefore not thirty-eight years of age at the time of his death. he was the eldest of seven children who were named consecutively robert, gilbert, agnes, arabella, william, john and isabel. the wife of the poet, as i have previously stated in this volume, was jean armour, and she was born at mauchline in and died at dumfries in . she survived the poet many years and died at the ripe old age of . she was a national character and was made much of, as was everyone else intimately or even remotely connected with the national bard. this is the reward of greatness, and thus any man or woman who achieves honorable greatness, leaves distinction behind them and throws a halo of glory over those with whom they have been connected or associated. the following children were born to the great poet and his wife: twins in . the boy, robert, lived, but the girl died in infancy. twins in . both died in infancy. francis wallace died at the age of . william nicol, born in . elizabeth riddell, born in . died at the age of two years. james glencairne, born in , died in . maxwell, born in , died at the age of two. it will be seen that the poet was the father of quite a number of children, some of whom lived to a ripe old age. whether he was the father of any more children i am sure i don't know. if he was, almost any scot will know it and can tell you more about it than i can. bobbie was a very handsome man and was greatly admired by almost everyone, including the ladies. some of his poems would lead one to believe that, like byron, he was unskilled to cozen, and shared his love among a dozen. but that may be mere poetic license. poets, you know, have an eye for the _beautiful_, whether it be in landscape scenery, flowers, architecture, painting, statuary, the human form or what not. at any rate "puir rabbie" was the daddy of the children whose names i have given, for that is a matter of history. to show that the poet loved a joke himself, no matter on what subject, i here quote a little rhyme of his gotten off on a friend named james smith who lived at mauchline: lament him, mauchline husbands a' he aften did assist ye; for had ye stayed whole weeks awa' your wives they n'er had missed ye. in my short career i have run up against lots of folks who cannot take a joke or see the point of one and these poor people i pity, but do not blame, for they were born that way. i have always been poor but never proud and could take a joke--that is, when i could see the point of it. when i couldn't see the point of it i did not get angry. burnsie was a farmer and lived on ranches the most of his life. he was a hayseed from way back but as soon as he got celebrated high society began to run after him and the poor fellow couldn't keep away from it if he tried. it didn't take him long to learn how to make a bow without upsetting the table, but he was out of his element among the grand folks. did he need polish to make him shine? i trow not. wasn't his genius just as great before he struck society? sure! but just to please folks he hobnobbed with them though he was as much out of his element as a fish when out of water. no doubt he wore a biled shirt and black claw-hammer coat and made his coat tails fly around pretty lively as he skipped around in a dance, but as society wanted him it got him. had he lived long enough he might have been a baron, marquis, duke or count. who can tell? while a plowman he scorned titles, but i wonder whether he would have rejected a patent of nobility had it been tendered him. genius is a complex quality. samuel smiles in his great work, "self help," says that genius is nothing more nor less than a capacity for taking infinite pains, and the world in general seems to have accepted his definition or explanation, but i, windy bill, an untutored savage from the wild west, beg to differ wholly from sam and i will "show you" why, and permit you to judge for yourself. had samuel defined _art_ instead of genius as "an infinite capacity for taking pains" he might have been nearer the truth. let us take the case of burns. while plowing he wrote rhymes, but as he knew little or nothing of the art of versification he set his thoughts in mellifluous language of his own. was it his thoughts or their setting that captivated people? his thoughts, of course, though the jingle made them more harmonious. genius is the thought; art the setting. tell me then that genius is a capacity for taking pains. nary time. it comes forth spontaneous, natural, can't help itself. it is a god-given quality which lots of people possess to a greater or less degree. musicians have it, as have painters, architects, writers, sculptors and people in all walks of life. lots of poets in scotland had genius long before our great friend rabbie was born, and lots since them have had more or less of a share of the "divine afflatus," as some writers call it, but were any of them gifted as highly as puir rabbie? not a one. will another like him arise? search me! there hasn't yet. notwithstanding that rabbie was so highly gifted, he didn't know it. don't you believe me? if you don't you needn't take my word for it, for i have evidence here that will prove it. i quote the preface that he wrote to the first book of his that ever was printed. here it is: "the following trifles are not the production of the poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art and perhaps amid the elegancies and idleness of upper life looks down for a rural theme with an eye to theocritus or virgil. unacquainted with the necessary requisites for commencing poetry by rule, he sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him, in his and their native language. though a rhymer from his earlier years it was not till very lately that the applause (perhaps the partiality) of friendship awakened his vanity so as to make him think anything of his worth showing, for none of the poems were composed with a view to the press. to amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy amid the toil and fatigue of a laborious life, these were his motives for courting the muses. now that he appears in the public character of an author, he does it with fear and trembling. so dear is fame to the rhyming tribe that even he, an obscure, nameless bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as an impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world; and because he can make shift to jingle a few doggerel scottish rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet of no small consequence, forsooth! if any critic catches at the word genius, the author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise the publishing, in the manner he has done, would be a maneuver below the worst character his worst enemy will ever give him. but to the genius of an allan ramsay or a robert ferguson he has not the least pretension, nor ever had, even in his highest pulse of vanity. these two justly admired scottish poets he has often had in his eye but rather to kindle in their flame than for servile imitation. "to his subscribers the author returns his most sincere thanks--not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, conscious how much he owes to benevolence and friendship for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom--to be distinguished. he begs his readers, particularly the learned and the polite who may honor him with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for education and circumstances of life; but if, after a fair, candid and impartial criticism he shall stand convicted of dullness and nonsense let him be done by as he would in that case do by others--let him be condemned without mercy, to contempt and oblivion." it is a queer fact that those mortals who possessed the greatest genius were always the most simple and diffident, and dubious about their own powers. they had a feeling in them that they were born to soar but they were hesitating, doubtful and did not know their very simplicity was a part of their greatness. they didn't appreciate their own capacities at first any more than are their capabilities appreciated by less gifted mortals. before burns' time allan ramsay and robert ferguson were looked upon as the greatest poets scotland had ever produced, and so great were they that even burns looked upon them with awe; and yet, unknown to himself, he was far greater than they. his generation may not have known it, but this generation does. was shakespeare appreciated in his generation? he was not. was any truly great man? hardly. the earliest book of burns that ever was put in print consisted of his minor poems which were written while he was in the fields plowing. of course he wasn't plowing always, so some were written while he was outdoors, here, there and everywhere in the vicinity of his country home. they were put into book-form by the advice of his friends and john wilson at kilmarnock, was the man who volunteered to do the printing. the book was a thin one, about half as thick as the ordinary novel of to-day, and it was agreed that only books be struck off as a first edition. mr. john wilson was a long-headed printer and would not agree to print a single volume until at least of the books had been subscribed for beforehand. he figured it out this way: "suppose the book fails, where do i get off at? i set it up in type, do the binding, furnish the paper, pay the devil and the compositors, do the press work, make-up and all, so can i afford to take all the chances of getting any money out of this blooming poetry?" mr. wilson was a canny scot and didn't propose to take any chances. he surely didn't lose anything in this venture, but whether he made anything i am unable to say. now, all of this is a very imperfect sketch of my old pard burnsie, and if you care to know more about him i can refer you to quite a few biographies that have been written about him and are still being written about him by the score to this day. no less a personage than sir walter scott has written a life history of him and so has the poet's own brother, gilbert. here is a list you can choose from: appeared . robert heron (life of burns) . dr. james currie (life and works, vols works and sketch of life) . james stover and john grieg (illustrated) . robert hartley cromek (reliques of burns) . lord francis jeffrey (edinburgh review) . sir walter scott (quarterly review) . dr. david irving (life of burns) . prof. josiah walker (life and poems, vols) . rev. hamilton paul (life and poems) . gilbert burns . hugh ainslie (pilgrimage to the land of burns) . archibald constable (life and works, vols) . alex. peterkin (life and works, vols) . john g. lockhart (life of burns) . thomas carlyle (edinburgh review) . allan cunningham (life and works, vols) . james hogg and william motherwell (memoirs and works, vols.) . prof. john wilson (essay on genius) . w. c. mclehose (correspondence) . samuel tyler (burns as a poet and man) . robert chambers (life and works) . george gilfillan (memoirs and works, vols) . rev. james white (burns and scott) . rev. p. h. waddell (life and works) . william michael (life and works) chapter xv. sir walter scott. although robert burns is the idol of the scotch people nowadays, it must not be supposed that he is the only one worshipped, for there is another man who is greatly revered, honored and loved. this man is sir walter scott. the scotch people affectionately call him sir walter and he did as much for his country as did puir rabbie. both were scotch to the backbone and loved their country as fondly and devotedly as any patriot can, but in their work they were totally dissimilar. sir walter started out as a writer of ballads, and chose for his themes historical subjects, mainly those connected with the ancient and modern history of his country. burns, as i said before, remodeled and improved the old scotch folk songs and in his democratic way described life around him in tuneful periods. had he not been cut off in the flower of his prime he, too, might have been a great novelist for his great genius was capable of anything. he sprang from the masses and his heart was with the masses, but sir walter, who came from the classes had a heart for all, and described the lowly and humble as well as the great. sir walter's delineations of human character stand unrivalled today. he surely was proud of the fact that he was of gentle birth, which well he might have been, for that was no disgrace to him, any more than it is disgraceful to be of lowly birth, although in the old country blood counts for something. to show what sir walter thought of himself i here quote an extract from one of his works which he wrote himself: "my birth was neither distinguished nor sordid. according to the prejudices of my country, it was esteemed gentle, as i am connected, though remotely, with ancient families both by my father's and mother's side. my father's grandfather was walter scott, well known by the name of beardie. he was the second son of walter scott, first lord of raeburn, who was the third son of sir walter scott and the grandson of walter scott, commonly called in tradition auld watt of harden. i am therefore lineally descended from that chieftain, whose name i have made to ring in many a ditty, and from his fair dame, the flower of yarrow, no bad genealogy for a border minstrel." well, my poor friend rabbie didn't spring from any border minstrel, but he was a born minstrel himself and could concoct a tune with the best of them. mind you, i am not decrying sir walter, for that would be sacrilege, but burnsie had nothing to brag of in the way of ancestry. would sir walter have been less great had he sprung from common stock or would robbie have been greater had he been blue-blooded? i am an american, an ex-member of coxey's unwashed army, so i don't want to say yes or nay to this question. let others decide. sir walter's earliest success as a writer was won by discarding the conventionalities of art and creating a style of art his own. it takes a genius to do that. his style was simple, plain, and direct and won followers very quickly because it gained favor. this goes to show that if one has anything to say it is not necessary to say it in involved language, but just simply. sir walter's good common sense told him this was the fact and he acted accordingly. to say the honest truth some of sir walter's novels here and there are a little prolix, but there was a reason for it. sir walter was getting paid for space-writing. you don't believe me? i'll prove it. he went broke and to pay his debts--or rather those of the publishing house he unfortunately was connected with--he ground out "copy" as fast as he could, for every word of his was worth money. he begged his financial friends not to treat him like "a milch cow" but like a man, but as he was a money-maker they staid with him until all his money and property were gone and all he could earn until he died was swallowed up, too. his was another case like general ulysses simpson grant. sir walter was the ninth child in a very large family. his father was a methodical and industrious lawyer, and his mother a woman of much culture, refinement and imagination. of delicate health and lame from his second year, sir walter spent much of his childhood in the country with his relatives. at the fireside of neighbors he listened to the old ballads and stories of border warfare, which caused him at a very early age to acquire a taste for reading ancient history and to become imbued with a love for antiquarian research. when seven years of age he entered the high school of edinburgh and attended it until twelve. when thirteen he entered the university of edinburgh and decided on the profession of law. at the age of he was admitted to the bar. he didn't like his profession, however, and spent much of his time in antiquarian research. when about years of age he married charlotte margaret carpenter, the daughter of a french royalist, whose family after the death of the father had removed to england. sir walter and his wife lived first at edinburgh and three years later rented a cottage at lasswade. they remained at lasswade six years and then took up their abode at ashestiel. in , when about years of age, sir walter was made deputy sheriff of selkirkshire to which was attached a salary of $ , per annum, and seven years afterward he was appointed a clerk of session with a salary of $ , . he held down both jobs for years, which proved he was a stayer. as his income was $ for years it can be figured out about how much he earned. but sir walter wasn't a money-saver; he was a spender and a good provider. he kept open house and anyone who called received an old-fashioned scotch welcome, and i know from my sojourn in scotland what that means. it means you're welcome to stay or welcome to go, but while you do stay the best is none too good for you. sir walter's hospitality was of that sort and while holding down both jobs he was doing a little literary work on the side. first came ballads, then poems of romance and later novels. he was getting along first rate financially so he concluded to take up his residence at abbottsford, a palatial mansion. by this time he had already gained fame and much lucre and was run after by the "hoi-polloi," the "would-be could-be's" and the great. the doors of abbottsford opened wide for all. even the poor were given "a hand-out" of some kind. too bad billy and me wasn't alive then. but this was before our time, about a hundred years or so. oh what a place for grafters abbottsford must have been! sir walter was easy. so easy was he, in fact, that the publishing house of ballantyne & co., which roped him in as a side partner, went flewy and left sir walter to foot all the bills. sir walter was an honorable man and prized honor above wealth, so he turned over everything he had, including abbottsford, to the alleged creditors, but there was not enough to satisfy claims. the debt amounted to several hundred thousand dollars. thereupon he continued writing novels and wrote as he never wrote before. he ground out ten novels in six years and had paid up about $ , , when his health began to fail. the pace was too swift for a man sixty years of age, which he was then. the creditors were insatiable and were greedy for the last farthing. business is business, said they. when a little over sixty years of age sir walter had a stroke of paralysis caused by overwork and worry, and was recommended by his physicians to take a sea voyage. he embarked for italy in a frigate which was placed at his disposal by the english government, but sad to relate, the trip benefited him but little. he visited rome, venice and other places, but came home a few months afterward to die. "man's inhumanity to man" killed sir walter before his time. sir walter's manner was that of a gentleman and he was amiable, unaffected and polished. he was simple and kindly and approachable by all. much of his literary work was done at ashestiel, but more at abbottsford. he kept open house everywhere. he arose at five o'clock in the morning and wrote until eight o'clock. he then breakfasted with his family and after putting in an hour or so with them returned to his writings. he worked until noon and then was his own man, to do as he liked. during the afternoon he put in some time with his guests, gave reporters interviews, was snap-shotted by cameras, saw that the dogs got enough to eat, gave orders to the servants that if too many 'bos came around to sick the dogs on them and then he went a horseback or a carriage riding. in the evening there was some social chat, after which sir walter retired early. that was the routine. this master in the art of novel writing was fully six feet in height, well proportioned and well built with the exception of a slight deformity in the ankle, which i have alluded to before. his face was of a scotch cast, heavy and full; the forehead was high and broad, the head lofty, the nose short, the upper lip long, and the expression of his features kindly. i have seen dead loads of pictures, images and statues of sir walter, yet hardly two of them were alike. i consider sir walter a handsome man and to me there seems to be something grand and noble in the cast of his countenance. i _know_ the light of genius was there, and maybe that is why he so impresses me, but with it all his features have a noble cast. he is goodly to look upon, surely. to tell the truth, i don't read much poetry, but some competent critic who has read sir walter's has this to say of it: "the distinctive features of the poetry of scott are ease, rapidity of movement, a spirited flow of narrative that holds our attention, an out-of-door atmosphere and power of natural description, an occasional intrusion of a gentle personal sadness and but little more. the subtle and mystic element so characteristic of the poetry of wordsworth and coleridge is not to be found in that of scott, while in lyrical power he does not approach shelley. we find instead an intense sense of reality in all his natural descriptions; it surrounds them with an indefinable atmosphere, because they are so transparently true. scott's first impulse in the direction of poetry was given to him from the study of the german ballads, especially burger's lenore, of which he made a translation. as his ideas widened, he wished to do for scottish border life what goethe had done for the ancient feudalism of the rhine. he was at first undecided whether to choose prose or verse as the medium; but a legend was sent him by the countess of dalkeith with a request that he would put it in ballad form. having thus the framework for his purpose, he went to work, and "the lay of the last minstrel" was the result. the battle scene in marmion has been called the most homeric passage in modern literature, and his description of the battle of beal au duine from "the lady of the lake" is an exquisite piece of narration from the gleam of the spears in the thicket to the death of roderick dhu at its close. in the deepest sense scott is one with the spirit of his time in his grasp of fact, in that steadily looking at the object which wordsworth had fought for in poetry, which carlyle had advocated in philosophy. he is allied, too, to that broad sympathy for man which lay closest to the heart of the age's literary expression. wordsworth's part is to inspire an interest in the lives of men and women about us; scott's to enlarge the bounds of our sympathy beyond the present, and to people the silent centuries. shelley's inspiration is hope for the future; scott's is reverence for the past." i have read a few of sir walter's novels, and some of them several times, and every time i read them it is with renewed interest. his delineation of human character is so true to nature and so graphic that i feel the living, speaking person before me as i read. if that ain't writing i would like to know what is. whether it be peasant, servant, knight, esquire, king, lord, lady or girl, all are shown up on the screen so plainly that i take it all as a matter of course and say nothing. it is all so plain and simple that there is nothing to say. that is art and the highest form of it. it is next to nature. art and genius are closely allied. it is not everyone who loves the "altogether" or the "realistic," which may be well. were it not so, many poets, painters, sculptors, musicians and other handicraftsmen would be left out in the cold, with none to do him reverence. all tastes happily are catered to, so everyone is happy. as i am neither a critic nor a biographer i shall endeavor to give my readers an idea what sir walter was thought of by others and will quote the language they used. george tichnor, the author, says that scott repeated to him the english translations of two long spanish ballads which he had never seen, but which had been read to him twice. scott's college friend, john irving, in writing of himself and scott, says: "the number of books we thus devoured was very great. i forgot a great part of what i read; but my friend, notwithstanding he read with such rapidity, remained, to my surprise, master of it all, and could even, weeks and months afterwards, repeat a whole page in which anything had particularly struck him at the moment." washington irving remarked: "during the time of my visit he inclined to the comic rather than to the grave in his anecdotes and stories; and such, i was told, was his general inclination. he relished a joke or a trait of humor in social intercourse, and laughed with right good will.... his humor in conversation, as in his works, was genial and free from causticity. he had a quick perception of faults and foibles, but he looked upon human nature with an indulgent eye, relishing what was good and pleasant, tolerating what was frail and pitying what was evil.... i do not recollect a sneer throughout his conversation, any more than there is throughout his works." lord byron said: "i think that scott is the only very successful genius that could be cited as being as generally beloved as a man as he is admired as an author; and i must add, he deserves it, for he is so thoroughly good-natured, sincere and honest, that he disarms the envy and jealousy his extraordinary genius must excite." leslie stephen remarked: "scott could never see an old tower, or a bank, or a rush of a stream without instantly recalling a boundless collection of appropriate anecdotes. he might be quoted as a case in point by those who would explain all poetical imagination by the power of associating ideas. he is the _poet of association_." lockhart, who married the daughter of sir walter and who was therefore his son-in-law, wrote a biography of his father-in-law wherein he says that: "the love of his country became indeed a passion; no knight ever tilted for his mistress more willingly than he would have bled and died to preserve even the airiest surviving nothing of her antique pretensions for scotland. but the scotland of his affections had the clan _scott_ for her kernel." i believe the son-in-law is inclined to be facetious, but is he _just_ to his immortal father-in-law? i don't believe he is--therefore his criticisms are not worth a whoop. thomas carlyle, the cynical philosopher and mugwump, condescended to give sir walter a sort of recommendation of character, which it renders me extremely happy to quote. here it is. read it carefully and ponder: "the surliest critic must allow that scott was a genuine man, which itself is a great matter. no affectation, fantasticality or distortion dwelt in him; no shadow of cant. nay, withal, was he not a right brave and strong man according to his kind? what a load of toil, what a measure of felicity he quietly bore along with him! with what quiet strength he both worked on this earth and enjoyed in it, invincible to evil fortune and to good!" this cynic, this philosopher, this mugwump says sir walter was a _genuine man_. good for mr. carlyle. everyone was proud to call sir walter "friend," and he was just great enough to be happy to call those who were worthy, his friend. among his great friends were the following: john irving, who was an intimate college friend. i have quoted him in regard to the number of books read by sir walter. robert burns came to edinburgh when sir walter was fifteen years of age, and sir walter's boyish admiration for the national bard was great. in after life, when sir walter became great, he wrote a great deal concerning puir rabbie. and it is worth reading. james ballantyne, sir walter's partner in the publishing business, was a good friend. so was james hogg, the poet peasant, sometimes called "the ettrick shepherd." and so was thomas campbell, the poet, author of "the pleasures of hope." the poet william wordsworth was a lifelong friend. robert southey, the poet, visited sir walter at ashestiel and was admired by him greatly. joanna baillie, the poetess, was a warm friend. so was lord byron. sir humphry davy, the philosopher, visited sir walter and was well liked by him. goethe, the german poet, was a warm admirer and friend of sir walter. so was henry hallam, the historian; crabbe, the poet; maria edgeworth, the novelist; george ticknor, the author; dugald stewart, archibald alison, sydney smith, lord brougham, lord jeffrey, thomas erskine, william clerk, sir william hamilton, etc., etc. last but not least among those who regarded sir walter as a friend and who were so regarded by him was our own countryman, washington irving. our own "washy" was an author, too, and one not to be sneezed at. sir walter regarded him highly and washy dropped in on him, casual like, at abbottsford. washy had written some good things himself, but had found it difficult to win recognition. sir walter stood sponsor for him and told the world it ought to be ashamed of itself not to recognize merit of so high an order. thereupon the world promptly did recognize our washy. did our washy need a sponsor? well, hardly. no american ever lived who was an abler or more polished writer than he. will you please show me a man who can beat our washy. you can't do it. smile at me if you will, but i doubt if even sir walter himself was so much superior to him. have you read irving's astoria, a true and lifelike history of the northwest? or his rip van winkle, or his sketches, the alhambra, etc.? irving's is another case where a great man failed of appreciation at first. well, my countrymen, our washy is dead, but we appreciate him now just the same. the united states never produced a writer more polished and able than he, and it is rather humiliating to think that a great foreigner had to apprise us of his merits. to wind up this chapter on sir walter scott i will give you a list of his writings, arranged in chronological order: ballads. glenfinlas, . eve of st. john, . the grey brothers, . border minstrelsy, - . cadyow castle, . english minstrelsy, . the battle of sempach, . the noble moringer, . the lay of the last minstrel, . marmion, . the lady of the lake, . vision of don roderick, . rokeby, . the bridal of triermain, . the lord of the isles, . prose works. waverley, . guy mannering, . the antiquary, . the black dwarf, . old mortality, . rob roy, . the heart of mid-lothian, . the bride of lammermoor, . the legend of montrose, . ivanhoe, . the monastery, . the abbott, . kenilworth, . the pirate, . the fortunes of nigel, . peveril of the peak, . quentin durward, . st. ronan's well, . red gauntlet, . the betrothed, . the talisman, . woodstock, . the two drovers, . the highland widow, . the surgeon's daughter, . the fair maid of perth, . anne of geierstein, . count robert of paris, . castle dangerous, . transcriber's note footnotes have been gathered at the end of each chapter. there are numerous apparent spelling or typographical errors, including those that appear in the copious quoted material. these have been corrected, and are noted in the detailed notes at the end of this text. italics are represented here using the underscore character as _italic_. bold text uses the equal character as =bold=. "the system" as uncovered by the san francisco graft prosecution by franklin hichborn (author of "the story of the california legislature of "; "the story of the california legislature of "; and "the story of the california legislature of .") "it is well enough, my fellow-citizens, to meet as we do to-night, and to applaud the sentiments of patriotism, and to echo the voice of indignation uttered upon this rostrum. but another and more imperative duty devolves upon every one of us individually, and that is to give his and her moral support to the officers of the law. we must not content ourselves by merely adopting a set of resolutions, and then going home and forgetting about it, placing all responsibility upon the constituted authorities. this is not a case of the constituted authorities. it is the case of the people of san francisco. and unless the people of san francisco do their individual duty in supporting the prosecution, the officials of the courts and of the law must fail in their efforts."--_walter macarthur at the mass meeting called at the time of the attempted assassination of heney._ copyright, by franklin hichborn san francisco press of the james h. barry company franklin hichborn's books on california politics story of the california legislature of $ . story of the california legislature of . story of the california legislature of . "the system," as uncovered by the san francisco graft prosecution . contents chapter page i. the union labor party movement ii. the ruef board of supervisors iii. the san francisco ruef ruled iv. san francisco after the fire of v. graft prosecution opens vi. ruef's fight to take the district attorney's office vii. oliver grand jury impaneled viii. ruef loses fight for district attorney's office ix. ruef and schmitz indicted x. fight to evade trial xi. ruef a fugitive xii. the trapping of the supervisors xiii. confessions of the bribe-taking supervisors xiv. the source of the bribe money xv. ruef pleads guilty to extortion xvi. schmitz convicted of extortion xvii. schmitz ousted from office xviii. the real fight begins xix. the glass trials and conviction xx. the ford trials and acquittals xxi. the san francisco election of xxii. higher courts free schmitz and ruef xxiii. the defense becomes arrogant xxiv. jury fixing uncovered xxv. the shooting of heney xxvi. the calhoun trial xxvii. the san francisco election of xxviii. dismissal of the graft cases xxix. ruef's last refuge fails xxx. conclusion appendix. judge lawlor's ruling in motion to dismiss graft cases i how the supervisors were bribed vii gallagher's order removing langdon from office of district attorney xii the ruef "immunity contract" xix "immunity contract" given supervisors xxi district attorney langdon's plan for reorganizing the municipal government xxii roosevelt's letter to spreckels on the graft situation xxv governor johnson's statement regarding ruef's imprisonment xxviii schmitz's attempt to control san francisco's relief funds xxxiii receipts and disbursements of the graft prosecution xxxiv preface. a tethered bull does not know that he is tied until he attempts to go beyond the rope's limits. a community does not feel the grip of the "system" until it attempts resistance. then it knows. san francisco during the ruef-schmitz regime was no more under the heel of the "system" than when other "bosses" dominated; no more so than to-day; no more so than other communities have been and are. the political "boss" is merely the visible sign of the "system's" existence. however powerful he may appear, he is, after all, but agent for the "system." the "boss" develops power, does the "system's" work until he is repudiated by the people, when another "boss," usually in the name of "reform," takes his place. but the second "boss" serves the same "system." ruef entered san francisco politics as a "reformer." he supplanted other "bosses." but ruef in his turn served the "system" they had served. san francisco, when ruef had reached his point of greatest possible power, rose against him. the "system" was not immediately concerned. ruef had lived his day; the hour for another "boss" to succeed him had come. but san francisco proposed to get at those back of the "boss"; to get at the "system." and then san francisco found the "system" more powerful than herself; more powerful than the state of california. and san francisco was beaten down, humiliated, made to understand that within her borders the laws could not be enforced against those to whom the "system" granted immunity from punishment. to secure evidence against bribe-givers, the state granted immunity to bribe-takers who confessed their crimes and joined with the state to bring larger criminals to justice. and the "system's" agents cried outrage that bribe-takers should go free of punishment. but the "system" granted immunity from punishment to those who had bribed. and the apologists for the "system" will tolerate no criticism of this sort of immunity. other communities have risen against the "system's" agents, the "bosses," and the "bosses" have given place to other agents. but few communities, if any, have attacked the "system" as did san francisco. had they done so, unquestionably they would have found themselves as ineffective against corruption as san francisco has been shown to be. the "system" is confined to no particular state or locality; it permeates our entire public life. judge lindsey in colorado calls it "the beast." in california we call it "the southern pacific machine," for in california the southern pacific company was its chief beneficiary. other communities call it the "organization." the bull does not discover his rope until he strains at it; the community knows little or nothing of the overpowering "system" until it resists. san francisco resisted and discovered. the mere bribing of a board of supervisors was not extraordinary. our newspapers furnish us daily with sorry recital of bribe-taking public officials discovered in other communities. but the effective, searching resistance to bribe-giving which san francisco offered was extraordinary. it was a new thing in american politics. it compelled the "system" to show its real strength, and that, too, was new in american politics, and extraordinary, also. the "system" at san francisco had taken the usual precautions which ordinarily ensure it against successful opposition, or even question. it had, through its agents, selected the candidates for public office, including the district attorney. with the district attorney loyal to the "system" the "system" was secure against attack. and even were the district attorney to resist the "system," still was the "system" secure, for the "system" could deny the district attorney, through the public officials it controlled, the funds necessary for successful opposition. but here again extraordinary circumstances worked for the "system's" confusion. not only had the "system" been mistaken in the caliber of the man whom it had permitted to be nominated for district attorney, but patriotic citizens guaranteed the expenses of effective attack through the district attorney's office. nevertheless, the "system" would ordinarily have been able to laugh at the attack, and render it abortive, by compelling the citizens who were backing the district attorney to withdraw their support. even at san francisco, the supporters of the district attorney felt the force of such attack. those who supported the prosecution found themselves harassed in their business ventures, and snubbed in the social circles in which they had moved. when heney, stricken down in the discharge of his duty, lay at the point of death, a minister of the gospel prayed for the wounded prosecutor's recovery. immediately from the pews came silent expression of disapproval. that pastor refused to be intimidated, refused to join with his fashionable congregation against the prosecution. he was eventually compelled to resign his pastorate. rudolph spreckels, while accounting for every dollar that the graft prosecution had expended, asked to be excused from naming those who had subscribed to the fund, lest they be attacked. ordinarily, those citizens whose instincts had led them to guarantee the district attorney their support, would have been forced to abandon him. but at san francisco, a few citizens, in spite of ridicule, abuse, social ostracism and business opposition, stood firm for civic righteousness. this made san francisco's attack upon the "system" possible and stirred the "system" to extraordinary resistance. the "system," seeing itself threatened, went to the relief of the "boss," its agent, whom even its chief beneficiaries despised. the "boss," through his puppet in the mayor's chair, declared the office of the district attorney vacant, and appointed himself to fill the vacancy. the boldness of the move startled the whole community. but the act merely demonstrated the extremes to which the "system" was prepared to go. it was not extraordinary in comparison with what was to follow. later on, witnesses were to be concealed, intimidated, gotten out of the state; their kidnaping even being attempted. the managing editor of a newspaper opposing the "system" was to be taken on the street in daylight, hurried across the country to a suburban town, forced into a stateroom of an outgoing train, and sent on his way to a distant city. the home of the pivotal witness against the "system"-protected defendants was to be dynamited, the witness and other inmates of the building miraculously escaping with their lives. a public prosecutor was, while conducting one of the "system"-attacking trials, to be shot down in open court. a prisoner at the bar was to arise to denounce the judge on the bench as a partisan and a scoundrel. thugs were to invade court-rooms while trials were going on, to intimidate "system"-threatening prosecutors and witnesses; men were to be trapped as they offered bribes to trial jurors; agents of the prosecution were to be bribed to turn over to the defending element the prosecution's papers and reports. an agent of the prosecution in the employ of the defense, working in the interest of the defense, was to sit at the prosecutor's side during the selection of a trial jury, to advise the prosecutor of the character of the men under examination for jurors, and with such advice mislead and confuse. no; bribe-giving at san francisco was not so extraordinary as the events which grew out of attempt to punish for bribe-giving. and now, as we look upon san francisco beaten, and retarded in her development because of that beating, the hopelessness of her opposition to the "system" is the most startling thing of all. we see now, that with a district attorney intent upon doing his duty, with funds ample for vigorous prosecution guaranteed, with trial judges of integrity and ability on the bench, none of the accused, so long as he remained loyal to the "system"--so long as he did not "snitch"--was in real danger of suffering the law-provided punishment for the crimes uncovered against him. ruef carefully weighed the ability of the prosecution to save him, against the power of the "system" to punish or to save, and knowing the power of the "system" as few other men knew it, ruef betrayed the prosecution and cast his lot with the "system." the outcome would have justified his judgment but for a series of unusual events which none could have foreseen. the most extraordinary incident of the whole graft prosecution, we can now, with the "system" uncovered before us, see, was that abe ruef went to the penitentiary. with full knowledge of the power, resources and methods of the "system," it is not at all extraordinary that guilty men under its protection should escape punishment. but it is extraordinary--due only to a chain of extraordinary happenings--that one of its agents, who continued faithful, who didn't "snitch," finds himself in prison and unable to get out. the san francisco graft prosecution uncovered the "system" as it has been uncovered in no other american city, for san francisco made the hardest, most persistent, and longest continued attack that a municipality has ever made upon it. california has profited greatly because of the uncovering, for while uncovered, the "system" may be proceeded against intelligently, not in the courts, but at the ballot-box. california has been quick to profit by the opportunity which the uncovering of the "system" has offered. in preparing this volume for the press it is my purpose--so far as lies in my power to do so--_to keep the cover off_. _franklin hichborn._ santa clara, calif., dec. , . chapter i. the union labor party movement. eugene e. schmitz[ ] was elected mayor of san francisco in november, . he had been nominated by the union-labor party. this party was organized after labor disturbances which had divided san francisco into militant factions, with organized labor on the one side and organized capital on the other.[ ] the convention which had nominated schmitz was made up in the main of delegates who had affiliations with labor unions and were in close sympathy with the labor-union movement. but this did not mean that the new party had the unanimous approval of the labor unions, or of the rank and file of organized labor. a considerable faction, with p. h. mccarthy, president of the state building trades council, even then a dominating figure in san francisco labor circles, at its head, advised against the movement, and opposed the new party candidates not only in , but in when schmitz was a candidate for re-election. on the other hand, the new party had in the beginning the support of the coast seamen's journal, published at san francisco, and one of the most influential labor publications on the pacific coast. it had, too, the advocacy of several earnest labor leaders. very frankly, such leaders questioned the ultimate consequences of the movement, expressing fears which time was to justify. but to them the situation offered no alternative. their support and influence went to the new party as an expedient of the times, not as the beginning of a permanent political organization. but the movement, once started, got beyond their control. during the first five years of union-labor party activities in san francisco many of these original supporters were forced, first into silence and finally into open repudiation of the methods of the union-labor party administration. in the meantime, members of the mccarthy faction, which had resisted the organization of the party, and had opposed it at the and elections, became its strong partisans. this element supported the party ticket at the election; and in , and again in , when mccarthy was himself the union-labor party candidate for mayor. but the union-labor party ticket which mccarthy headed did not have the united support of labor leaders who had organized the movement. indeed, labor leaders whom the mccarthy faction in called "scabs" for organizing the union-labor party, were, by the same men who had condemned them in , denounced as "scabs" during the campaign for not supporting the union-labor party candidates. from the beginning, the union-labor party had the support of elements outside the labor-union movement. much of this support came from citizens who, regardless of their attitude on trade-unionism, were dissatisfied with the old parties. the situation offered exceptional opportunity for the political manipulator. but the one man with the political vision to see the possibilities of the third-party movement, was not a member of a labor union. he was a lawyer who had already attained some prominence in san francisco politics--abraham ruef.[ ] ruef was quick to see the potentialities of the political frankenstein which groping labor leaders had brought into being. he knew that _they_ could not control their creation; he knew that _he_ could. he did not overestimate his powers. he managed the new party's campaign.[ ] under his direction, success was won for a cause that had been deemed hopeless. the genius of abraham ruef made eugene e. schmitz mayor of san francisco.[ ] in practical acknowledgment of ruef's services, schmitz issued an open letter, in which he stated himself privileged to consider ruef his friendly counsellor.[ ] the issuance of that letter made ruef the recognized political representative of the union-labor party administration, a position which he held until the estrangement of himself and schmitz under the strain of the graft prosecution.[ ] but the government of san francisco did not pass entirely under control of the union-labor party until four years after schmitz's elevation to the mayoralty. during the era of union-labor party power in san francisco, the mayor and the eighteen members of the board of supervisors were elected every two years.[ ] schmitz, under ruef's management, was re-elected in . but the union-labor party failed at that election, as it had in , to elect a majority of the board of supervisors. many of the commissions, on the other hand, through appointments by the mayor, had, by , passed completely under union-labor party control. gradually, the opinion grew in san francisco that the management of the departments was unsatisfactory, if not corrupt. this opinion, in , when schmitz was for a third time the union-labor party candidate for mayor, found expression in fusion of the republican and democratic parties to bring about the defeat of the union-labor party nominees. this fusion was in the name of municipal reform. the organizers of the movement were in the main opposed to machine political methods. when, however, the movement gave evidence of vitality and strength, the political agents of public service corporations became identified with its leadership.[ ] the new leaders were soon in practical control. public-service corporations were largely instrumental in financing the movement. testimony was brought out before the grand jury which conducted the graft investigations, that nearly every public-service corporation in san francisco contributed to the fusion fund, the average of the contributions being $ , for each corporation.[ ] on the other hand, the public-service corporations contributed liberally toward the election of the ruef-backed, union-labor party candidates.[ ] ruef was already on the pay-roll of the law departments of many of them. thus, generally speaking, it made little difference to the corporations whether the "reform" fusion candidates or the ruef union-labor party candidates were elected. the corporations had captained each side, and in a large measure had financed each side. the inevitable difficulties of a campaign, financed and officered by public-service corporations, to correct municipal ills for which the corporations were in large measure responsible, were encountered from the beginning. for the head of the reform or fusion ticket, men who had been prominent in the organization of the anti-ruef crusade were suggested, only to be rejected by the corporation allies who had after the reform group's preliminary successes become identified with the movement. finally, after several names had been canvassed, john s. partridge, an attorney of good ability, and repute, but scarcely known outside the immediate circle in which he moved, was agreed upon as mr. schmitz's opponent. both the democrat and the republican party nominated mr. partridge, and with him a complete fusion ticket, including supervisors. partridge had a clear field against schmitz, but his candidacy failed to carry the confidence, or to awake the enthusiasm which brings success at the polls. the union-labor administration was openly denounced as corrupt. francis j. heney,[ ] fresh from his success in prosecuting the oregon land fraud cases, went so far as to declare in a speech before one of the largest political gatherings ever assembled in san francisco that he knew ruef to be corrupt,[ ] and, given opportunity, could prove it. the public generally believed heney's charges to be justified. but of approximately , registered voters only , voted for mayor, and of these, , voted for schmitz. partridge received only , [ ] votes, being defeated by a majority of , . not only was schmitz re-elected by overwhelming majority, but the entire ruef-selected union-labor party ticket was elected with him. ruef, as mayor schmitz's recognized political adviser, and political agent for the union-labor party, found himself in control of every branch and department of the san francisco municipal government. footnotes: [ ] schmitz, previous to his election, was employed as a musician in a san francisco theater. his connection with organized labor came through membership in the musicians' union. he had no intention of aspiring to the mayor's chair until ruef suggested it to him. [ ] the san francisco labor strike of arose out of the refusal of the organized teamsters to deliver goods to a non-union express agency. the employers' association refused to treat with the men collectively. other organizations went out in sympathy. james d. phelan, who was then mayor, was the intermediary between the teamsters and their employees. he advocated recognition. the negotiations failed. during the progress of the strike there were constant disturbances. a steamship company, for example, employed prizefighters in the guise of workingmen to seek positions as strikebreakers, and when interfered with to belabor the pickets. assaults were made upon non-union teamsters carrying supplies to and from railway stations. the chief of police, in order to preserve peaceful traffic, placed two policemen upon each truck. labor leaders asked not only that the police be withdrawn from the trucks, but from the waterfront. this action the mayor refused to take, on the ground that it was his duty to preserve public order, and that it was in the interest of all to avert rather than suppress trouble. a meeting of representatives of the several factions was held at the mayor's office, september , . the story was circulated that the mayor had said at the meeting that if the workmen did not want to be clubbed let them go to work. both sides now admit the statement was not made. joseph s. tobin, henry u. brandenstein, lawrence j. dwyer and peter j. curtis, who were present, have set forth in affidavit that "mayor phelan did not say at said conference, as has been alleged, referring to the workingmen's strike, that 'if they don't want to be clubbed let them go to work,' nor did he make any statement of like import." at the time, however, feeling was running so high at san francisco that the most extravagant stories were believed. opponents of the administration--those representing capital as well as those advocating recognition of the unions--seized upon every opportunity to discredit. crafty adventurers of the type of abe ruef lost no chance to work distrust and confusion. out of the turmoil came the union labor party. [ ] ruef graduated from the university of california and from the university of california law school with exceptional honors. he was at twenty-one a practicing attorney. with franklin k. lane, the present secretary of the interior, dean john h. wigmore of the northwestern university, and others, he organized a club for civic reform. his first political convention, he tells us in his confessions, showed him that representative government was a farce. he resolved to devote himself to his law practice. but almost immediately we find him an "errand boy" for martin kelly and phil crimmins, powerful "bosses" in their day, but now practically forgotten. ruef continued with kelly and crimmins for ten years. he drifted with the machine, securing excellent training for his future career. his opportunity came in , when, in its effort to throw off the yoke of the bosses, the state secured the enactment of a new primary law. under this law ruef took his first step to secure control of the state political machine. he seized upon the new law as a vehicle to organize a "reform" movement. his organization took the name republican primary league. he secured a large following. he was becoming powerful. he tells us in his confessions that during this period he was invited to dine at the homes of men of political and social importance, among them william f. herrin, chief counsel of the southern pacific company, and patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads. but as yet, ruef had little real influence in the "organization." then came the labor unrest, and the union labor party movement. ruef managed to combine the republican primary league with the union labor party movement. this combination was the basis of his campaign for the election of schmitz. [ ] ruef also provided much of the funds employed in the first schmitz campaign. in a statement published may , , ruef said: "when schmitz first ran for mayor i made his campaign for him, and put up $ , . my friends told me i was a fool. i guess i was." [ ] out of the , votes cast for mayor, at the election, schmitz received , . his opponents--wells (republican) and tobin (democrat)--divided , between them, wells receiving , and tobin , . up to the present time ( ) the union-labor party has four times been successful in san francisco mayoralty elections. but only once, in , has its candidate been elected by majority vote. changes in the san francisco charter, ratified at the session of the state legislature, place the election of municipal officials on a non-partisan basis, and prevent election by plurality vote. henceforth all officials must be elected by majority vote. [ ] schmitz's letter announcing his obligation to ruef was as follows: "my dear ruef: now that the election is over and i am to be the mayor of our native city, i wish to express to you and through you to all your loyal friends and the faithful republicans who supported my cause, my profound appreciation of the generous, whole-souled, substantial and effective support accorded me in the exciting campaign which has just closed. viewed from your prominent position in the republican party, i know the seriousness of the step which you took when you voluntarily and unconditionally offered me your valuable aid, and i cannot in words properly give utterance to my deep feeling in this regard. i can only say that your action is worthy of yourself, and that no higher praise can be accorded you. "i have now for some fifteen years enjoyed your acquaintance and friendship and your services as my attorney in many capacities, and i say without hesitation or flattery that i have yet to find a more honorable, a more loyal, a more able attorney, or a truer friend. "i feel that i owe a great deal of my success in this campaign to you and your friends, and i shall not permit myself at any time to forget it. "though you have never asked or even suggested it, i shall, with the utmost confidence and with a sentiment of absolute security, feel myself privileged at all times to consider you as my friendly counsellor and to call upon you whenever i may require assistance in the solution of any of the perplexing and complicated questions which must necessarily arise in the conduct of so vast and important an office. "i trust that you will not hesitate to say that i may do so. again and again thanking you and your friends, i am, "very sincerely yours, "e. e. schmitz." [ ] ruef at once availed himself of the opportunities which his position offered. he accepted regular "retainers" from public-service corporations. he testified before the grand jury that he was employed by the united railroads through tirey l. ford, just after the first election of schmitz, at $ per month, and that he gave receipts to ford for this money, during schmitz's first term of office, but received the money always in ford's office in currency; but that after the second election of schmitz, he (ruef) refused to give any more receipts for this money, although he continued to receive it from ford the same as before with receipts, and that after the third election his salary was increased to $ , per month, which was paid in the same way by ford without any receipts. ruef further testified that he was employed by the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, immediately after schmitz's first election, through t. v. halsey, and that halsey paid him $ , per month in currency without any receipt. e. s. pillsbury, general counsel of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, testified that he never heard of ruef's employment until after the indictments were returned against halsey, and that he, pillsbury, attended to all of the legal business of the company during the entire time ruef was under employment. pillsbury received only $ , per month for his own services, and testified that he would have objected to the payment to ruef of a larger salary than he was getting. pillsbury was a stockholder to the amount of $ , in his own right, and was a member of the executive committee of the board of directors of the company. at the trial of the people vs. tirey l. ford, no. , i. w. hellman, one of the most prominent of california bankers and at one time a director of the united railroads, testified: "some five years ago (the ford trial was in , which would make the date about ) mr. holland, who was then the president of the united railways, came to me to ask my advice whether mr. ruef should be employed as an attorney for the united railways, stating that by employing him peace could be secured with the labor unions, that he had great influence with them, and there would be general peace, and it was to the benefit of the railways company to have such peace. mr. ruef then was an attorney of high repute, recognized as a good lawyer, and i said if that could be accomplished it would be for the benefit of the railway company as well as for the public, and i advised yes. whether he has been employed or not i do not know, because i afterward sold my interest in the company and i never have inquired whether he had been employed or not." in this connection, it is interesting to note that ruef in his latest confession, the publication of which was begun in the san francisco bulletin in may, , states that his employment by corporations as attorney did not begin until after the second schmitz election--that is to say, in . hellman's testimony would indicate that his employment by the united railroads dates from . compare with footnote , page . [ ] under amendments to the san francisco charter, ratified by the legislature of , the mayor and supervisors are now elected to four-year terms. [ ] george f. hatton, southern pacific lobbyist and politician, and political manager for united states senator george c. perkins, was one of the principal leaders of the "reform" movement. he was at one time retained as an attorney by the empire construction company, affiliated with the home telephone company, which was seeking a franchise to establish a telephone system in san francisco in competition with the pacific states telephone and telegraph company. the home telephone company contributed to the "reform" campaign fund. through the "reform" board of supervisors, who were to be elected, and whose campaign was thus financed, the home company was to get its franchise. but the "reform" candidates were defeated, the schmitz-ruef union-labor party candidates were elected. the home telephone company thereupon proceeded to secure its franchise by employing ruef. [ ] william thomas, of the law firm of thomas, gerstle & frick, attorneys for the home telephone company, testified before the grand jury that his company had contributed $ , to the "reform" campaign fund. the testimony indicated that this money was used at the primaries. louis sloss, one of the leaders of the "reform" movement, testified that after the primaries, detweiler, who was at the head of the home telephone company enterprise, sent his personal check for $ additional. fairfax h. wheelan, one of the leaders of the "reform" movement, testified before the grand jury that the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, in the name of t. v. halsey, subscribed $ , to the fund; and the united railroads, concealing its identity under the name "cash," $ , more. [ ] dr. charles boxton was one of the union-labor party supervisors elected in . at the second trial of louis glass, vice-president of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, for bribery, boxton testified that during the campaign, t. v. halsey, political agent for the company, met him on the street and gave him a sealed envelope, saying: "if that will be of any use to you use it." boxton found the envelope to contain $ , in united states currency. [ ] francis j. heney when five years old went to san francisco with his parents. he was educated at the public schools of that city, the university of california, and hastings law school. after being admitted to practice he lived for a time in arizona, where he served as attorney-general. on his return to san francisco in , he confined himself to civil practice until, at the solicitation of united states attorney-general knox, he undertook the prosecution of the oregon land fraud cases. he was at the close of successful prosecution of these cases, when invited by rudolph spreckels, phelan and others, to participate in the prosecution of the san francisco graft cases. [ ] heney's statement was prophetic. the published account of his speech (see chronicle, november , ) was as follows: "if i had control of the district attorney's office, i would indict abe ruef for felony and send him to the penitentiary, where he belongs, for i have personal knowledge that he is corrupt. "if you elect these people, the graft of this city will become so great that the citizens of san francisco will ask me to come back and prosecute him. when the time comes i will do as the people request as a matter of civic duty." heney's charge brought caustic reply from ruef. in an open letter to heney, published november , , ruef said: "francis j. heney:--in the published reports of your speech at mechanics pavilion last saturday night you are represented as saying: 'i say to you, moreover, that i personally know that abraham ruef is corrupt, and i say to you that whenever he wants me to prove it in court i will do so.' "i am not a candidate for office, but as a man i do not propose to leave your false statement undenied. "in the past i have paid little attention to anything said by hostile papers concerning myself, feeling that the public fully understood the despicable motives underlying the utterances of their proprietors. in your case a different situation presents itself. you have recently acquired considerable repute as a prosecuting attorney for the united states government. your statements, if unchallenged, may be given some credence by those not familiar with the true condition of affairs. "in making the statement that you personally know that i am corrupt you lied. you cannot personally know that which does not exist. "in making the statement at a time and place which allowed no opportunity for a legal showing before the date of the election which you seek to influence, you showed the same courage which put a bullet into the body of dr. j. c. handy of tucson, ariz., in , for whose killing you were indicted for murder, and upon trial were acquitted because you were the only witness to the deed. "you say whenever i want you to prove it in court you will do so. "i want you to try to prove it, and at once. i demand that you begin at once. i know you cannot prove what does not exist. why you should wait upon my desire, why you should depend upon my wish to proceed with the performance of what must be to every good citizen a public duty, i do not know. "but as you declare that you will proceed only with my consent, i give you here and now full consent and authority to proceed, and i go further and ask that you do so. "i regret that your recent identification with the citizens' alliance and with the corporations anxious to encompass the defeat of a candidate in a political campaign should have made you so far forget the regard for truth, justice and decency which should characterize men in our profession, as to have induced you to take the chance of ruining for life the reputation and standing of one who is not rightfully amenable to your charge, and who has not otherwise heretofore given you the slightest private or personal provocation for your savage and mendacious attack. "a. ruef. "san francisco, november th." [ ] to hold that only , electors of san francisco wished a change in the administration of san francisco would be unjust. many who were opposed to ruef's domination remained away from the polls, through dissatisfaction with the management of the fusion movement. of the more than , who voted for the union labor ticket, were thousands of union men who were opposed to the schmitz-ruef element. but ruef cleverly injected the citizens' alliance issue, and the organized labor element was, because of this, made to vote practically solidly for the ruef-selected candidates. the fact that voting machines were used in every precinct in san francisco for the first time contributed to this. members of labor unions did not understand the working of the machines, and were afraid to attempt to vote anything but the straight ticket. this dissatisfied organized labor element, two years later, contributed in no small degree to the election of mayor e. r. taylor and the re-election of district attorney william h. langdon, thereby making possible continuation until of the graft prosecution. chapter ii. the ruef board of supervisors. no observer of san francisco politics, not even ruef himself, had expected the entire union-labor party ticket to be elected. the election of the supervisors was the greatest surprise of all. ruef, with his political intimates, had selected the supervisorial candidates, but more with a view to hold the organized labor vote for schmitz than with idea of the fitness of the candidates for the duties involved in managing the affairs of a municipality of , population.[ ] not one of the eighteen elected was a man of strong character.[ ] several were of fair, but by no means exceptional ability. of this type were gallagher, an attorney of some prominence who acted as go-between between ruef and the supervisors; wilson, who was a sort of second man to gallagher, and boxton, a dentist. but for the most part they were men who had led uneventful lives as drivers of delivery wagons, bartenders and clerks. without an exception, they saw in their unexpected elevation to the board of supervisors opportunity to better their condition. some of them would not, perhaps, have sought bribes; few of them knew just how they could employ their office to their best advantage; but from the hour of their election the idea of personal advancement was uppermost in the minds of the majority of the members of the schmitz-ruef board of supervisors.[ ] their ignorance of the requirements of their office, their failure to appreciate their large responsibilities, and above all their ill-defined ambitions made them promise of easy prey for the agents of the public-service corporations, who were playing for special privileges worth millions. none realized this better than ruef. from the beginning, he recognized that the likelihood of individual members of the board yielding to temptation to petty gain[ ] threatened his own larger purposes. he let it be known that he would himself personally prosecute any one of them whom he discovered to be "grafting." ruef was emphatic in his position that the supervisors should have no financial dealings with those seeking special-privilege advantages. he even defined regular procedure for dealing with persons and corporations that might elect to catch the easiest way to accomplish their purposes by the use of bribe money. to this end he arranged: ( ) that supervisor james l. gallagher[ ] should represent him on the board. the supervisors at once accepted gallagher, and dealt with him as ruef's recognized agent. ( ) finally ruef arranged for a regular weekly caucus[ ] to be held each sunday night, on the eve of the regular meeting day of the board, monday. the public was not admitted to these caucuses. those who were admitted were ruef, mayor schmitz, george b. keane,[ ] clerk of the board of supervisors, who also acted as secretary of the caucus, and the eighteen supervisors. at these meetings, which were held every sunday evening, ruef was the dominating figure. supervisor wilson, testifying at the graft trials, stated that ruef took the position of "chief counsel and adviser for the board in matters that were to come before the board." keane, as secretary of the caucus, took full notes[ ] of the proceedings and sent written notices[ ] of the meetings to each of those who were admitted. the first of these caucuses was held shortly before the schmitz-ruef board took office. the organization of the board was provided by the supervisors authorizing ruef and schmitz to make up the committees. ruef undertook the task. he prepared the committee lists, and submitted his selections to schmitz and gallagher. schmitz and gallagher suggested unimportant changes. the committees were then announced to the supervisors at the next caucus. there were objections raised, but these objections, with one exception, were denied in all important particulars. the organization of the schmitz-ruef board of supervisors was thus perfected. ruef's way seemed clear. the committee organization of the board of supervisors was his own. the supervisors were to hold no open meeting until they had met with him in secret caucus to ascertain his wishes. the official clerk of the board, who was also secretary of the caucus, was his tried henchman. gallagher, the ablest of the supervisors, flattered at being made his representative, and further bound by mercenary ties, was ready to do his slightest bidding. and never had entrenched boss more fruitful field for exploitation. but scarcely had the new administration been installed, than a weak point developed in ruef's position. district attorney william h. langdon, who had been elected on the ruef ticket, gave evidence that he proposed to enforce the law, regardless of the effect upon the administration of which he was a part, or upon ruef's plans and interests. the first intimation the public had of langdon's independent attitude came when gambling games in which ruef was popularly supposed to be interested were raided under the personal direction of the district attorney. langdon had first attempted to close the places through the police department. failing, he had attended to the matter himself.[ ] the gamblers appealed to ruef, but ruef was helpless. langdon would not be turned from his purpose. the gamblers and capitalists interested in gambling establishments charged langdon with political ingratitude. but those who were laboring for the development, and were opposing the exploitation of san francisco, saw in langdon's course the first sign that abraham ruef was not to have undisputed sway in san francisco.[ ] with langdon in the district attorney's office it was still possible that the laws could be enforced--even against abraham ruef. the raiding of the gambling dens marked the beginning of the division in san francisco, with those who approached the ruef administration with bribe money on the one side, and those who resisted with the check of law enforcement on the other. footnotes: [ ] at ruef's trial for offering a bribe to supervisor furey, supervisor james l. gallagher testified that conferences for selecting the union labor party ticket, from sheriff down, were held at ruef's office. gallagher testified of one of these conferences: "the matter of the nominees for supervisors was mentioned, and all that i recollect about it is that it was stated that there should be a good representation of prominent union-labor men on the ticket, and mr. ruef stated that he had that in mind, and that that would be done, and it was also stated that the members on the board of supervisors that were union-labor adherents should be nominated." see the people vs. abraham ruef, no. --transcript on appeal, part , vol. , page . [ ] the eighteen members of the ruef-schmitz board of supervisors were james l. gallagher, attorney at law; cornelius j. harrigan, grocer; james t. kelly, piano polisher; thomas f. lonergan, driver of a bakery delivery wagon; max mamlock, electrician; p. m. mcgushin, saloonkeeper; f. p. nicholas, carpenter; jennings j. phillips, employed in newspaper circulation department; l. a. rea, painter; w. w. sanderson, employed in grocery store; e. i. walsh, shoemaker; andrew m. wilson, employing drayman; george duffey, contracting plumber; charles boxton, dentist; m. w. coffey, hackman; daniel g. coleman, clerk; sam davis, orchestra musician; john j. furey, blacksmith and saloonkeeper. at the time the graft prosecution opened, wilson had resigned his position as supervisor to take up his work as state railroad commissioner, an office to which he was elected in ; and duffey to be president of the municipal commission of public works, to which office he was appointed by mayor schmitz. [ ] supervisor e. i. walsh in a sworn statement made to heney, march , , testified: "q. and what was agreed upon there (in caucus) as to programme? a. i couldn't say what was agreed upon with them. "q. wasn't it arranged that every man should be treated alike as to money? a. it wasn't openly suggested that way; it might have been said among the members that way. "q. that was the understanding you had. a. yes, sir. "q. that you would be all treated equally and fairly? a. i presume that was the way it was understood." supervisor lonergan had been promised by supervisor wilson $ for voting to give the united railroads a permit to operate its lines under the trolley system. at a second meeting wilson stated the amount would be $ only. of the scene on this occasion, lonergan testified at the trial in the case of the people vs. ford. no. : "q. what did he (wilson) say on that occasion? a. there was only $ in it for me. "q. what did you say. a. i asked him what the hell kind of work that was and what did he mean by it. and he shook his head and said that if i didn't like it, all right; something to that effect." [ ] evidence of ruef's distrust of his supervisors was brought out at many points in the graft trials. when he discovered that individual supervisors were, without his knowledge, taking bribes from the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, he stated to dr. joseph s. poheim: "i see they have been trying to take my supervisors away from me, but i have fixed them; i would like to see one of them throw me down." (see transcript, people vs. ruef, , part , vol. , p. .) in the midst of the troubles brought upon him by the graft prosecution, ruef complained that "these fellows (the supervisors) would eat the paint off a house, and in order to hold them together i had to descend to their level and take them in with me." ruef was also jealous of schmitz's activity. when he learned that schmitz had promised franchises independent of him, he directed supervisor wilson to oppose them. "butt in on this parkside business," he said to wilson. "mr. schmitz has promised the ocean shore and the parkside; he is destroying my political influence; these people ought to be made to come and see me." [ ] gallagher was by far the ablest member of the ruef-schmitz board of supervisors. he was by profession an attorney at law. in that capacity he had served first as assistant city attorney, and finally as city attorney. for a time he was law partner with hon. james g. maguire, whose opposition, as member of congress from california, to the pacific railroads refunding measures, won him a national reputation. maguire was candidate for governor on the democratic ticket in , but was defeated. gallagher had served as supervisor previous to his election in , and was one of the most experienced members of the schmitz-ruef board. at ruef's trial on the charge of offering a bribe to supervisor furey, gallagher testified that soon after his election in , ruef told him there would be a number of matters coming before the board of supervisors in which the corporations and other large concerns would be interested; that there would be a number of large deals coming before the board in which he wanted him (gallagher) to represent him on the board. gallagher accepted the agency. [ ] gallagher testified before the oliver grand jury of the nature of these caucuses. from his testimony the following is taken: "q. they (the supervisors) voted in the caucus and you knew how the vote would be. a. yes, sir. "q. and they would be bound by the caucus vote. a. that was understood that a man would vote at the caucus in the way he would vote at the meeting. "q. you were understood to represent mr. ruef and mr. ruef's views. a. that was generally understood by members of the board. "q. and whatever way you went meant programme. a. i believe mr. ruef told a number of them so, and that circulated among the others; it was generally understood by them." [ ] keane's lasting loyalty to ruef makes him one of the most interesting characters of the graft cases. he entered ruef's employ in as a law clerk. he remained in ruef's office until january, , when mayor schmitz took office. keane was then made secretary to the mayor. he served in that capacity until january, , when ruef gained control of the board of supervisors. ruef then made him clerk of the board. at ruef's trial for offering a bribe to supervisor furey, gallagher testified that ruef told him that keane should be clerk. gallagher notified the other members of ruef's decision, and that closed the incident. keane was, however, much more than a mere clerk. supervisor wilson testified at the ruef trial for offering a bribe to furey, that he (wilson) owed his nomination to keane. keane was elected to the state senate where his loyalty to ruef in foul as well as fair weather made him a conspicuous and somewhat notorious character. at present writing, keane is foremost in the movement to bring about ruef's release from state prison. [ ] at ruef's trial on the charge of offering a bribe to supervisor furey, keane testified that these notes had been destroyed in the great fire of april - - , . keane testified further that ruef was a constant attendant at the caucuses; that schmitz was an occasional visitor; that supervisor gallagher presided. [ ] notices of the caucus meetings were sent to ruef precisely as though he had been a member of the board of supervisors. at ruef's trial for offering a bribe to supervisor furey, the following letter of notification was introduced as evidence: "san francisco, june st, . "hon. a. ruef, san francisco--dear sir: i respectfully beg leave to notify you that the board of supervisors will meet in caucus on sunday evening, june th, at o'clock p. m., at hamilton hall, steiner street, near geary. your attendance is respectfully requested. "yours truly, george b. keane, clerk." [ ] the san francisco chronicle in its issue of march , , said of the district attorney's raids on the gamblers: "the political push and the underworld generally are astonished at district attorney langdon's unexpected outbreak. he has descended upon them like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. for the moment even wrath is less in evidence than surprise. it was not expected. it is not what was paid for. it is like being murdered by one's dearest friend. there is a complete reversal of the usual experience of mankind. in most cities the lid is on and weighed down before election but lifted and thrown away as soon as the votes are counted. to be allowed to run wide open before election and to be closed down and nailed up as soon as the new official is fairly seated is outside of all precedent. and all that after the most liberal contributions. there is a feeling in criminal circles that somebody is guilty of obtaining money under false pretenses. the district attorney is the one official for whose friendship the lawbreakers have the most earnest longings, and behind their closed doors the idle gamblers are trying to figure out what 'lay' this dreadful langdon is really on, and by what trade he has been induced to ignore all the promises expressed or implied, which those assumed to be able to speak for him dispersed so freely when votes were in demand. "as for the public, it was for none of these things. among the decent portion of society the 'motives' of the district attorney do not arouse even passing curiosity. what does interest them is the present vigor of his work, and the probability of his keeping it up." [ ] ruef had consented to langdon's nomination for district attorney, because he considered that langdon's intimate acquaintance with the teachers and pupils of the san francisco public schools would help the ticket. for the three years preceding the campaign langdon had been superintendent of schools at san francisco. ruef told langdon after the election that he had no idea that any one other than schmitz could be elected on the union-labor party ticket that year. when during the campaign langdon began to develop strength in the contest for district attorney, ruef sent him a check for $ for "campaign expenses," saying that the money had been contributed by tirey l. ford of the united railroads. langdon returned the check to ruef with the statement that he preferred to pay his own campaign expenses. during the campaign at every meeting he addressed, langdon made the statement: "the laws are on the statute books; all may know them. i pledge myself to the enforcement of these laws." to be sure, few if any paid much attention to what langdon meant, but that was no fault of langdon's. everybody was to learn from the hour that he assumed the duties of his office that he meant just what he said. rudolph spreckels testified at the calhoun trial that when langdon's raids on the gambling dens were made public he felt that "we had a district attorney who was desirous of doing his duty." the raids were made in february, . spreckels, heney, phelan, older and others were already considering plans for the exposure and check of the reign of ruef. chapter iii. the san francisco ruef ruled. the decade ending was for california an era of extraordinary enterprise and development. a third transcontinental railroad, the western pacific, was completed; vast land-holdings as large as , acres in a body were cut up into small tracts and sold to settlers; waters brought to the land by vast irrigation enterprises increased the land's productiveness three and even ten fold; petroleum fields, enormously rich, were opened up and developed; the utilization of the falling waters of mountain streams to generate electric power, brought cheap light and power and heat to farm as well as to city factory. the spanish war had brought thousands of troops to the coast. practically all of them passed through san francisco. this particular activity had its influence on local conditions. the state's population increased from , , in to , , in . up to the time of the san francisco fire, april , , san francisco, of the cities of the state, profited most by this development. san francisco bank clearances, for example, increased from $ , , , . for the year ending december , , to $ , , , . for the year ending december , , a gain of per cent. san francisco's increase in population during those five years, can, of course, only be estimated. on the basis of the registration for the municipal election, approximately , , san francisco had, at the time of the disaster, a population of about , , an increase from the population of , shown by the census of practically per cent. in five years.[ ] the rapid increase in population, the sustained prosperity of the community, and its prospective development made san francisco one of the most promising fields for investment in the country. the public service corporations were quick to take advantage of the san francisco opportunity. those corporations already established sought to strengthen their position; new corporations strove for foothold in the promising field. thus, we find the home telephone company, financed by ohio and southern california capitalists, seeking a franchise to operate a telephone system in opposition to the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, which was already established. and we find the pacific states company taking active part in municipal politics to prevent the home franchise or any other opposition telephone franchise being granted. the corporation holding the light and power monopoly, the pacific gas and electric company, had by the time of the third schmitz inaugural, practical control of the san francisco field. but it was face to face with a clamor for reduction of gas rates. the company was charging one dollar a thousand for gas. the union-labor party platform of pledged the board of supervisors to a seventy-five-cents-per-thousand rate. another matter of tremendous importance to the growing municipality was that of the supply of water. the spring valley water company had a monopoly of this necessity, but demand for municipal water to be brought from the sierras was strong. a committee of experts had been appointed to pass upon the various sources of supply. ruef appeared before them as spokesman for the supervisors. the experts resigned when it was made clear to them that instead of being permitted to make an adequate study of all available sources of supply they were to report upon the bay cities project alone.[ ] after the ousting of the schmitz-ruef administration the bay cities project was ignored and bonds authorized to bring water from hetch-hetchy valley. the spring valley water company, however, has been successful in blocking this project, and in , san francisco seems almost as far away from realizing her ambition for a supply of pure water as in - when ruef and his followers were at the height of their power. the public-service problem which was attracting the most attention at the time of the great fire, was that of street-car transportation. the principal lines had passed into the hands of the united railroads.[ ] the corporation had, at the time of schmitz's election in , practically a monopoly of the san francisco street-car service. the company's principal lines were operated by the cable system. but fully five years before the fire, all traction officials as well as the general public, recognized that san francisco had outgrown the cable road. it was admitted that electric lines must be substituted for the cable, but there was sharp division as to the character of the electric lines which should be installed. the officials of the united railroads proposed the overhead trolley method of propulsion; the public, so far as it could find expression, declared for the underground conduit system.[ ] in taking this position, the public was in reality backing up the municipal engineers, who had been sent to eastern states to investigate electric transportation systems, and who had found in favor of the conduit and against the trolley.[ ] the san francisco merchants' association, however, apparently dissatisfied with the reports of the engineers employed by the municipality, employed mr. william barclay parsons to report on the relative merits of the trolley and the conduit systems. mr. parsons took issue with the city's engineers, and recommended the trolley as against the conduit.[ ] the directors of the merchants' association thereupon declared for the trolley system. criticism of this action of the directors was followed by submission of the question to a referendum vote of the association membership. the members voted in opposition to the directors, declaring against the trolley and for the conduit.[ ] but the most determined opposition to the installation of the trolley system came from improvement clubs, whose purpose was to promote the best development of san francisco. prominent among these organizations were the improvement and adornment association,[ ] the sutter street improvement club[ ] and the pacific avenue improvement club. the membership of these organizations consisted of some of the largest owners of san francisco properties. the leaders were comparatively young men, natives of san francisco, whose interests were inseparably wrapped up in the community, and who aimed to promote the best possible development of the city of their birth and fortunes. prominent in this group were rudolph spreckels[ ] and james d. phelan,[ ] rated among the heaviest property-owners of san francisco. these men were ready to join with the united railroads in any plan which proposed the highest development of the street-car service.[ ] on the other hand, they were prepared to oppose any attempt to exploit the service to the detriment of san francisco.[ ] a conference of the directors of the improvement and adornment association with officials of the united railroads was finally arranged.[ ] the meetings were held in march, , less than a month before the great fire. there were, before the attempted adjustment was abandoned, several sessions. the citizens urged patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads, to give up his trolley design for market and sutter streets. as a compromise, he substantially agreed to build the underground conduit as far as powell on sutter, and as far as valencia on market, picking up the trolley on valencia, mcallister, hayes and haight streets. the adornment committee directors wanted the conduit system on sutter street extended as far as possible, and held out for van ness avenue. calhoun would not consent to install the conduit beyond powell. in the midst of this deadlock, the san francisco chronicle published what purported to be reports of the several conferences. up to that time there had been no publication of the meetings. following the chronicle publication, calhoun, in a letter to members of the adornment association, declared the information contained in the chronicle article to be inaccurate,[ ] and offered to let the people decide whether they wanted a conduit system on market street to valencia, and on sutter street to powell, or a uniform all-trolley system throughout the city. mr. calhoun's suggestion seemed reasonable until he stated in an interview that by the people he meant the board of supervisors. he was asked how he proposed to ascertain the wishes of the people. "i should suggest," he is reported as replying, "that the matter be referred to the decision of the board of supervisors. the board of supervisors is a public body selected by the people, and represents the ideas and wishes of the people of the city." the reply was not well received. the supervisors were even then under suspicion of corruption. less than a fortnight before, march , the examiner had called the board's action on an ordinance which was supported by the home telephone company "suspicious," and had stated that the board had "made the mistake of acting as a bribed board of supervisors would have acted."[ ] later on, the supervisors themselves confessed to having been bribed to grant the telephone franchise. the public, not at all blind to what was going on, believed, even at the time mr. calhoun made his suggestion, although there was no proof, that the supervisors had been bribed. san francisco was opposed to any plan that would put trolley cars on the city's best streets. submission of the issue to the people would have been popular. mr. calhoun's proposal that it be left to the supervisors was met with suspicion, and open distrust of mr. calhoun's motives. in answer to the criticism which mr. calhoun's suggestion had aroused, mr. calhoun, in a second letter to the adornment association, withdrew his offer to submit the question to the people, and announced the intention of his company to proceed with preparation of a plan for a uniform trolley system to be installed wherever the grades would permit.[ ] this second letter was made public in march, , less than a month before the fire. the position taken by the united railroads was generally condemned.[ ] but the opposition took more practical form than mere denunciation. a group of capitalists, headed by claus spreckels, father of rudolph spreckels, rudolph spreckels and james d. phelan, announced their intention to organize a street-railroad company, to demonstrate the practicability of operating electric cars in san francisco, under the conduit system. the plan was given immediate endorsement both by press and general public. the project was explained in detail to mayor schmitz, who in a published statement gave the enterprise his unqualified approval.[ ] but when the incorporators sought further interview with mayor schmitz, they found themselves unable to secure a hearing. the company, under the name of the municipal street railways of san francisco, was formed with claus spreckels, james d. phelan, george whittell, rudolph spreckels and charles s. wheeler as incorporators. the capital stock of the company was fixed at $ , , . of this, $ , , was subscribed, ten per cent. of which, $ , , was paid over to the treasurer.[ ] with this $ , an experimental line, under the conduit system, was to be built on bush street.[ ] the articles of incorporation provided that the franchises acquired under them should contain provisions for the acquisition by the city and county of san francisco of the roads thus built.[ ] the new company filed its articles of incorporation with the secretary of state at sacramento on april , . in the early morning of the day following, april , came the san francisco earthquake and fire. for the moment the public forgot all differences in the common disaster. but the lines of division between exploiter and builder could not be wiped out, not even by the destruction of the city. the contest, which had, without any one realizing its full significance, been fast coming to a head before the fire, was to take definite shape after the disaster. footnotes: [ ] patrick calhoun, in a letter to the press, dated march , --less than a month before the great fire--stated that the time was near when the san francisco street-car system would have to serve a million people. the census, taken four years after the fire, gave san francisco a population of , . [ ] ruef testified before the grand jury that the water deal would have been the most important pulled off by the board of supervisors. he testified that he had told gallagher to tell the members of the board there would be more money in it than had been received in any other deal. ruef gave gallagher to understand that the amount to be divided would be as much as $ , , . [ ] the united railroads was controlled by eastern capital. before the entrance of the united railroads into the san francisco field, california capital had dominated in purely local public utilities. [ ] the public's opposition to the overhead trolley system was that the poles and wires would be a disfigurement of what were regarded as the best streets; that the wires were dangerous, and would interfere with the work of firemen in fighting fires; that san francisco was as much entitled as washington and new york to the best system. rudolph spreckels at the trial of patrick calhoun for offering a bribe, testified as to his own opposition: "i believed that the overhead trolley was unsightly; that it increased the risk of fire; that it was dangerous; that it was noisy and unsightly. i believed from my own observation of the operation of the underground conduit system in other cities that it was preferable, that it was more sightly, just as rapid, and in every way more in keeping with a city of the size and importance of san francisco. having been born here, and having large property interests i felt it my duty, as i always have, and hope i always shall, to protect the interests of this community and to protect the interests of its citizens and its property owners. that was my purpose in opposing that franchise and that grant." [ ] as early as , c. e. grunsky, at that time city engineer, was directed by the board of supervisors to gather data on the operation of electric roads under the conduit system. grunsky's findings were to the effect that conduit-electric roads were rapidly replacing other types of street railroads. the city also employed j. c. h. stutt as consulting engineer, and sent him to new york and washington to inspect and report upon the conduit systems in operation in those cities. he reported that the system was giving satisfaction in both cities, and in many cases was being substituted for the trolley. engineer stutt in comparing the two systems said: "as between the overhead system and the conduit-electric system, it is natural for private corporations to prefer the overhead trolley system on account of the first cost of roadbed construction, which is more than twice as great for the conduit system. the conduit system leaves the street open with the view unobstructed by poles, conductors, feed, guard and supporting wires and without the menace to the public and especially to the firemen, always inherent in the bare overhead electric conductor." this report was widely quoted during the overhead-trolley-conduit agitation that was a feature of a greater part of mayor schmitz's administrations. [ ] mr. parsons found for the overhead trolley on the following general grounds: ( ) that a uniform system was necessary. ( ) that the lines must be extended to the suburbs. ( ) that operation by overhead trolley is more satisfactory than by the conduit system. ( ) that the greater part of the roads could be operated under trolley only. [ ] several questions were presented. the following is the vote as given in the merchants' association review, the organization's official publication, for february, : "total vote of members, . " --do you favor mr. parsons's view of a uniform system of overhead trolley lines throughout the entire city, including a central line of ornamental trolley poles, with lights furnished by the railroad company between the tracks on market street, and a trolley line with ornamental poles and lights furnished by the railroad upon sutter street? "votes received--yes, ; no, . " --do you favor an overhead trolley system throughout the city except on market street? "votes received--yes, ; no, . " --do you favor an underground conduit system for market street and for the streets with cable lines leading into market street in the central downtown district and in the adjacent residence district, the remainder of the system to be overhead trolley? "votes received--yes, ; no, . " --irrespective of what shall be done on any other streets, which system do you favor for sutter street: (a) an underground conduit, or (b) an overhead trolley line if equipped with ornamental poles and lights furnished free by the railroad company, or (c) an improved cable system? underground conduit trolley cable "first choice "second choice "third choice " --do you favor changing the cable lines on nob hill to electric lines by tunneling the hill and constructing a winding driveway with parks on california street, as proposed in mr. parsons's report? "votes received--yes, ; no, ." this vote was taken after an extended debate at a banquet given by the association in which patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads, argued for the trolley system, and frank j. sullivan, president of the sutter street improvement club, spoke for the conduit. [ ] the improvement and adornment association employed d. h. burnham to draw plans for the development of san francisco. these plans, while drawn to attain a maximum of utility, were intended to secure a maximum of beauty as well. streets were to be widened, boulevards built, parks established. the carrying out of these plans would have made san francisco one of the most beautiful cities of the world. their preparation cost the association $ , . mr. burnham volunteered his own services. [ ] the objection of the sutter street improvement club to the overhead trolley was set forth in the following statement, issued less than a month before the great fire of : "the sutter street improvement club is unalterably opposed to the construction of an overhead trolley line on the sutter street system. we desire that the public should have no misconception of our position. we propose to contest to the end any attempt to get an overhead trolley on the entire sutter street system, and for that purpose we pledge ourselves, and promise to provide the necessary counsel to maintain our position in the courts. we want the public with us in this fight, as the fight is being made in the interests of the whole people. "our own investigations make us absolutely certain that if the public understands the true situation, it will not be misled by the specious arguments of the united railroads. the conduit electric system, despite what the united railroads and its representatives may say, is practicable, safe, efficient and superior to an overhead trolley. we are further satisfied that the company is seeking, by an offer of $ , which they offer to the people, to save itself an expense of several million dollars, which the conduit electric system would cost, if it should be required to reconstruct all its lines using the conduits; but we believe--and we are certain that the citizens of san francisco will agree with us in this--that since the united railroads, through the watering of its stock, has already made many millions of dollars out of its properties, and is now taking, and will take many millions of profits from our people, that it can afford to contribute to san francisco the cost of the most attractive and efficient system of electric railroads. the united railroads has put forward many arguments which have been and are easily met: "first: it contended, as the public will remember, that the conduit electric system was impracticable on account of the accumulation of rain water in its conduits. this claim it has been forced to abandon. "second: it proclaimed loudly that the added cost of construction of an electric conduit was such that the life of its franchise would not justify the outlay. now, they have abandoned this claim, and assert that it is not the cost of construction, but that there are other reasons. "third: they have declared that a uniform system was desirable. they now admit that a completely uniform system is impracticable, owing to grades, making it necessary to operate some lines by cable. their only contention now is that the overhead trolley system is more efficient than either the cable or conduit electric system. "mr. c. e. grunsky is our authority for the statement that in making the change from the conduit electric to the trolley, in passing from city to suburbs, there are no objectionable features, nor danger. sir alex. b. w. kennedy, consulting engineer to the london county council, in recommending the adoption of the conduit electric system for london's municipal street railways, said: 'there is no difficulty in arranging the cars so that they can be run from the underground (conduit) to the overhead and vice versa, either with no stoppage at all at the point of change, or with a stopping of only a few seconds. there is no engineering difficulty whatever in using a mixed tramway system, i.e., partly underground (conduit) and partly overhead.' "we would suggest that the public compare the present overhead trolley system, operated by the united railroads these many years in this city and county, with the service rendered by the california cable railway. there is no overhead trolley system in san francisco to-day which surpasses the service given by the california street company. "it is claimed that the public will be given a speedier and more efficient service if the overhead trolley is permitted. we ask the thousands of citizens who have been compelled to wait for overhead trolley cars, and to stand up in those overhead vehicles, whether or not the overhead trolley has thus afforded them satisfactory service? if we may judge the future by the experience with the overhead trolley of the past, it means fewer cars (hence less expense to the united railroads), overcrowding and discomfort of passengers. the only advantage which thus far has come from the system seems to be to the company itself. it employs fewer men as a result of that system, but the comfort and convenience of the public have not been substantially bettered by it as against the cable. "before asking our people to give them an overhead trolley system throughout the whole city, the united railroads would do well to show on some one of their overhead trolley lines now in operation a frequent, efficient and satisfactory service to the public. we do not want for san francisco an extension and perpetuation of the unsightly, noisy, dangerous, uncomfortable and inefficient system of overhead trolleys as operated by the united railroads to-day. "citizens of san francisco: be not deceived by the selfish and specious arguments put forward by the united railroads. if the public will stand together, we will win out in this fight; and, if it should be necessary to that end, the supporters of our organization will put before our citizens a plan for building a complete conduit electric system of railroads for san francisco, to be built, in the first instance, by our people, but with a provision giving to the city an option to purchase the same at any time in the future at actual cost and interest, so that municipal ownership of the said system may result just as soon as the city is ready for it. "all that we ask is that the people stand fast, and save their city from what we believe would be a calamity from which it would not recover in the next twenty-five years. "respectfully. "frank j. sullivan, rudolph spreckels, julius rosenstirn, geo. w. merritt, w. d. mccann, houghton sawyer. edward p. e. troy, secretary." [ ] rudolph spreckels is a native of san francisco. at seventeen he was employed in his father's (claus spreckels) sugar refinery at philadelphia. the spreckels refinery was at the time in a life-and-death struggle with the "sugar trust." young spreckels was given his first lessons in the methods employed by the "trust" elements to crush competition. his philadelphia training in large degree prepared him for the work which later he was to do at san francisco. at twenty-two he became president of the hawaiian commercial and sugar company, owners of one of the largest sugar plantations of the hawaiian islands. the venture had been a losing one. spreckels put it on a paying basis within a year, and sold it at large profit. before he was twenty-five he had become a millionaire in his own right. he has been engaged in business at san francisco for many years, but only when moved by corrupt conditions to take up the fight for honest government did he become active in politics. he financed the graft prosecution. he has since taken active part in california politics, but has steadfastly refused to accept public office, preferring to do his work as a private citizen. [ ] james d. phelan is a native of san francisco. he is one of the largest owners of real estate in san francisco and in california. from his youth he has taken keen interest in public affairs. he was chairman of the charter convention of which framed san francisco's present municipal charter. he was mayor of san francisco from to . after the san francisco fire he headed the relief committee and was largely instrumental in directing the work of rehabilitation. president roosevelt designated him by proclamation to receive funds for the relief work, and to use the united states mint as depository. in the democratic minority in the state legislature gave him complimentary vote for united states senator. in he was elected to the united states senate, being the first federal senator from california to be elected by direct vote of the people. senator phelan has for many years been close friend and business associate of rudolph spreckels. he was one of the heaviest backers of the graft prosecution. [ ] rudolph spreckels testified at the trial of patrick calhoun: "i suggested to mr. calhoun one thing, that if it was a question of the length of the franchise, of the length of life of the present franchise, standing between the people getting the system which i believed it was entitled to, i would personally be glad to do whatever was in my power to have the charter amended so that they might enjoy a longer term of franchise, to work out the difference in cost; but that i believed it was all important that san francisco should have the very best of street-car service obtainable." united railroads officials objected to the conduit system on the ground that the conduits would fill with water. spreckels suggested that property owners agree to drain the conduits without expense to the united railroads, thus demonstrating their practicability, on the understanding that if the conduit system were found to be practical it should be installed. but in this the united railroad officials would not acquiesce. (see testimony taken at the calhoun trial.) the following is taken from charles s. wheeler's testimony given at the calhoun trial: "mr. heney: q. did not the property owners on sutter street and the property owners on pacific avenue, mr. rudolph spreckels and mr. phelan in particular, state that they would not oppose the united railroads obtaining a franchise or permit for the underground conduit on sutter street? "mr. stanley moore: that is objected to, if your honor please, as calling for the conclusion of the witness and the mental mind and statement and hearsay of other persons. "mr. heney. i am not asking for their mental mind. i am asking about direct statements at these meetings of committees of the board of supervisors. "the court: i will overrule the objection. "mr. stanley moore. we take an exception. "a. i have [heard] both of them make such statements; mr. phelan in substance before the board of supervisors, and i have heard mr. spreckels make it in the supervisors' chambers." (see transcript of testimony, page .) [ ] patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads, had several conferences with rudolph spreckels on the questions involved in the street-car situation. of these conferences spreckels testified at the calhoun trial: "mr. calhoun stated that he was very anxious to obtain the overhead trolley privilege, that he understood that i was actively opposing it, and he wanted to know whether i was open to conviction on the subject. i told him that my mind was entirely free, that if he could prove to my satisfaction that the underground conduit was not feasible that i would have no objection. i told him that the arguments that he had presented, namely, that the sutter street system could not be converted into an underground conduit system because of the accumulation of water at some number of points--i think were mentioned--was hardly worth while urging since mr. holland, a former president of the united railroads, had, together with mr. chapman, urged that reason, and i related to mr. calhoun that i had questioned mr. chapman and mr. holland at length in regard to it and had satisfied myself that their reasons then urged were not legitimate or reasonable; that during the conversation with mr. holland i had asked him to state all of the reasons that he had for desiring the overhead and urging against the installation of the underground conduit; that mr. holland and mr. chapman had both assured me that the only reason was the fact that it was an engineering impossibility; that the accumulation of water in the conduits during the rainy season would prevent the successful operation of the cars, that there would be repeated interruptions and general dissatisfaction as the result. i then proposed to mr. holland, i said: 'if that is the only reason and you can convince me that that is true i have no objection to withdrawing my opposition, but i want to propose this: suppose i, or the property owners on the system involved, agree to pay the expense of the proper drainage of those conduits, and succeed for a period of twelve months in treating the conduit drained at those points you indicate, and succeed during that entire term to keep them free from water, so that you and your engineers will be obliged to admit that there was not one hour during the twelve months during which you could not successfully operate an underground system, will you then agree to install that system?' mr. holland and mr. chapman looked at one another and finally said 'well, no, we cannot do that.' then i said: 'gentlemen, you are wasting my time and your own because your argument is not the truth and is not the only reason you are urging, or that is prompting you to object to putting in that system.' "mr. holland then proceeded and asked me how i proposed to insure that result and i told him i was not an engineer, but that common sense told me and indicated to me that it might be possible to carry off the water at those points through an ordinary stone sewer-pipe and distribute the accumulated waters to the various streets running parallel to sutter street, and in that way carrying it off and keeping the conduits free from water. mr. calhoun said: 'well, there are other reasons--the question of a uniform system.' he urged very strongly that it would be a very desirable thing to avoid transferring, or it would be an exceedingly nice thing if a man could go to his home without transferring, and have a uniform system of cars operating over all of the system. i told mr. calhoun it was hardly a possible thing, that no man would want to stand at any street corner and wait for fifteen or twenty cars to go by until some one car of a particular brand would come along which would take him to the particular part of the city he cared to go to. then mr. calhoun wanted to know if the matter couldn't be compromised, whether i would be satisfied, if the united railroads would agree to construct an underground conduit system on sutter street from market to powell. he wanted to know also about constructing an underground conduit on market street, and i told him no, that this did not enter into my calculations, that i was looking to the welfare of the city of san francisco, that it did not involve merely getting what i wanted in front of the particular properties in which i was personally interested, and i told him that the reasons that had been urged against the granting of an overhead trolley--that it was unsightly, dangerous and noisy and not the most modern system, was my objection, and that it held good for the entire city and not alone on the streets in which i was interested as a property owner. mr. calhoun urged further the desirability of the overhead trolley, that it had given satisfaction elsewhere, and i suggested that he might first make the street cars then operated by the overhead trolley in san francisco a success and satisfactory to the people; that i felt that it was far from a success, and personally, as one of the largest property-owners on ellis street, i would emphatically prefer the ordinary cable system to the electric lines that they were then operating. mr. calhoun asked for another appointment and it was had i think on the following morning, a meeting at the same place, at the canadian bank of commerce; i think our meeting on that occasion was held in the office of the manager, mr. kains. "q. what was said there? a. i will not be absolutely certain as to whether all that i have related occurred at the first interview, or whether some that i will relate as having occurred now, did not occur on the first interview. the two meetings were close together, and the subjects that i will relate may have occurred, some of them in the previous meeting and some in the latter. mr. calhoun proceeded to ask me about pacific avenue. he said: 'would you be satisfied if we agreed to operate the underground conduit system on sutter to powell, on market to valencia, running it, if we changed the system on the pacific avenue line--to agree to put in the conduit there, otherwise maintaining the cable?' and he also proposed that it might be a nice thing to withdraw the entire street railway system from pacific avenue, making of that street a boulevard, and placing overhead trolley on broadway where there was no car line. he said, 'of course, mr. spreckels, you are an owner of carriages and automobiles, and i suppose you don't use the street-cars, and it would be more desirable from the standpoint of a property owner to have your residence under those circumstances on a boulevard than on a street having a street-car service with the attending objections.' i told mr. calhoun that my fight was not a selfish one, that i did have carriages and automobiles, that i did not use the street-cars and had no need for them, but that i had in mind the rights of other people living on the street--that there were many people living on the street who were not so fortunate as i, who did not own carriages and did not own automobiles and had undoubtedly been brought to buy their property on pacific avenue because of the fact that it had a street-car service there. mr. calhoun also in one of these interviews said that he would tunnel powell street hill commencing at sutter and make that the most important transferring point in san francisco. i asked mr. calhoun at the time whether it was because i was interested in property at the corner of sutter and powell. mr. calhoun expressed surprise and said he didn't know that i was an owner of property there. i think that in substance was the conversation as i remember it." [ ] patrick calhoun, tirey l. ford and thornwell mullally were among the officials representing the united railroads at the conference. at the meeting, first mention of $ , in connection with the proposed chance in the street-car system was made. citizens had contended that the objection of the united railroads in opposing the conduit system was the difference in the initial cost of installation. this point came up, and president calhoun stated that he would, if the trolley system were allowed, give the difference between the cost of installing the two systems, for any public purpose. this difference, calhoun stated, would be about $ , . turning to james d. phelan, of the adornment committee, calhoun stated that the money could be used in extending the so-called park panhandle, part of the burnham plans, and a matter in which phelan was greatly interested. phelan replied that san francisco would not accept money for any such purpose, and was able to construct the park panhandle if the people wanted it. (see testimony of james d. phelan at the trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun for offering a bribe, page .) [ ] the chronicle in its issue of march , in referring to mr. calhoun's letter practically charged him with lack of good faith. the chronicle said: the alleged 'inaccuracy' of the chronicle's interesting report of the compromise reached by the united railroads and the society for the adornment of the city proves to be that the electric conduit in sutter street is to stop at powell street instead of extending to polk street, as proposed, and which is the least which should have been accepted if any compromise whatever was to be made. we shall be greatly surprised if when the changes are finally made there is not a great deal less conduit than mr. calhoun now seems to agree to. we gravely doubt whether mr. calhoun expects to construct a foot of conduit in this city. however, he does agree to do so under certain conditions and we shall see what we shall see.... it does look as though some settlement of the matter would be reached, as the united railroads have receded from their iron-clad determination not to consider the electric conduit at all. when that is accomplished we shall speedily see the last of the cables south of california street, a consummation as devoutly wished by the people as was the introduction of the cable in place of the horse-car a quarter of a century ago." [ ] it was openly charged that money had been used to put this franchise through the preliminary steps necessary for its granting. the examiner in its issue of march , some five weeks before the fire, said: "the supervisors owe it to themselves to bring back the telephone franchise order for further consideration. since the hasty vote on the ordinance last monday ugly rumors have been the measure. the regard of the supervisors for the good name of the board demands that they should clear the record of the suspicious circumstances that surround the vote on the order. "the present board of supervisors was elected on a platform that pledged its members to a municipal ownership programme. among the purposes specifically announced was the acquisition of a telephone plant to be owned and operated by the city. "yet the first act of the board in dealing with a public utility question is to favor an ordinance granting a franchise for fifty years to a private corporation without proper compensation to the city and without any contract that would enable the city to buy out the plant at a just appraisement when the time comes to acquire a municipal telephone system. "the bill was introduced after a brief hearing and passed to print on the th of february. on the th of march it was passed to a vote in the board of supervisors without discussion. one of the members of the board who rose to explain his vote was shut off with such indignity that he left the supervisors' chamber. nor, indeed, did all the members know what they were voting on; for one of the supervisors later in the session asked if the telephone franchise was not to be called up, and was surprised to be told that it had already been passed upon. "this sort of 'gum-shoe' legislation will not do for san francisco. it inevitably rouses the suspicions of crookedness that have been hawked about the streets since monday last. "a telephone franchise is not a matter to be treated lightly. it is an affair of more moment than passing a street or even of fixing a water rate. it deserves the deepest consideration, for the division of service between two companies creates a confusion in business that should be taken carefully into account. it is only the wretched service given by the old company that has brought the backing of a certain popular support to the advent of a new company. the manner in which the obvious evils of a division of service can be lessened requires much more thought than has yet been given, and many changes in the ordinance should be made unless the last state of the san francisco telephone service is to be worse than the first. "it is the duty of the supervisors to recall the ordinance, answer the rumors of crooked work by seeing that everything is carried on above board and in the open, and treat the franchise in accordance with their anti-election pledges to the people. they cannot afford to rest under appearance of evil that now surrounds the late vote on the order. "we do not wish to believe that any undue influence was used, but the supervisors must have heard the rumors that are frequent in the streets, and they must realize that they have made the mistake of acting as a bribed board of supervisors would have acted. they have broken their pledge, but happily it is not too late for them to correct the gross error." [ ] mr. calhoun's second letter, as introduced as evidence at his trial for offering a bribe (page , transcript, the people vs. calhoun), was as follows: "san francisco, march .--messrs. james d. phelan, r. b. hale, herbert e. law, rufus p. jennings and others--my dear sirs: you will recall that the only condition on which i consented to even consider the introduction of an underground conduit on market street from the ferries to valencia, and on sutter from market to powell, was to secure harmony and unanimity of action in the development of san francisco. you will further recall that i distinctly stated that 'if all sides to this controversy are not willing to faithfully and loyally abide by what the people of san francisco may determine on this subject, the united railroads prefers to urge, in the interest of the development of san francisco, a uniform system of overhead trolley operation.' "the development of the last few days, the threatened litigation against my company, and the action of the sutter-street improvement club, demonstrate that harmony and unanimity of action, so much to be desired, cannot be obtained, and that the united railroads cannot expect all parties to the controversy 'to faithfully and loyally abide by what the people of san francisco may determine on this subject.' on the contrary, if the people should elect to put an overhead on sutter street, the address of the sutter-street improvement club distinctly states 'we pledge ourselves and promise to provide the necessary counsel to maintain our position in the courts.' "in view of these facts, i desire to inform you that the united railroads will proceed to prepare a plan for the improvement of the transportation of san francisco. the essential feature of which plan will be a modern, up-to-date, efficient and uniform system of electric propulsion, through the introduction of the overhead trolley system wherever the grades of the streets of the city will permit. when this plan is perfected it will be presented to the proper authorities of the city for their consideration. we will be very glad to go over it with you. under the circumstances, it will be useless for me now to furnish the preliminary plan of which we spoke. "in conclusion, permit me to express my appreciation of the motives which led you to seek a conference with me, and the earnest desire of every gentleman who participated in that conference to reach a basis of harmonious action in order that the development of san francisco might not be obstructed and delayed. "very truly yours, patrick calhoun, president." [ ] the chronicle commented upon mr. calhoun's new position as follows: "the letter written by patrick calhoun of the united railroads to the committee of citizens who have sought to induce him to change his attitude on the subject of overhead trolleys was not in good taste. it exhibited corporative arrogance in its most exasperating form. mr. calhoun is too well bred, or perhaps too cautious a man to tell the public to be damned, but every line of his communication breathes the spirit of the insolent utterance of william k. vanderbilt, and the community will take it that way.... "there is an ill-concealed menace in mr. calhoun's declaration that the united railroads has a plan in preparation which, when perfected, 'will be presented to the proper authorities of the city for their consideration.' as he plainly tells us that this plan provides for an 'efficient and uniform system of electric propulsion through the introduction of the overhead trolley system wherever the grades of the city will permit,' the announcement is equivalent to a notification that 'the proper authorities of the city' will be appealed to for permission to carry out such a scheme, whether the people like it or not. his defiant attitude suggests that he feels pretty sure that the authorities will be on the side of the united railroads against the people, but he may be mistaken on that score. there is a point beyond which even complaisant authorities would not wish to press the matter to oblige a corporation which shows so little regard for the desires and needs of a community from which it extracts over eight million dollars annually." (see san francisco chronicle, march , .) [ ] mayor schmitz in his statement, said: "if claus spreckels can see his way clear to carry out his great purpose, the fact stands that he must be known more than ever as he has been known in the past, as the greatest public benefactor of the west. i will say, if he can see his way clear, reservedly, for i doubt that any citizen of this city or state can point to any understanding that he has announced he would accomplish, that he has failed to accomplish. not only is his determination, but within his control is the money to carry out his determination, and i have yet failed to find the man that can say that any object can fail of accomplishment when determination and money walk hand in hand. "if mr. spreckels can carry out his announced desire to network san francisco with railroads operated by the underground conduit system, i can only say that through his wonderful ambitions of purpose san francisco will take a stride forward that is wonderful to contemplate. such action upon the part of mr. spreckels would place san francisco not only in advance of any city in america, but would place it in advance of any city in the world in the battle for public control of utilities operated for the public benefit. the offer of mr. spreckels is not only one that must awaken the amazement, but the approbation of every public-spirited citizen. while the rest of the great cities of the world (as well as san francisco before mr. spreckels made his offer) are puzzling to find means through which they can accomplish the great purpose of municipal ownership, mr. spreckels has come forward and has offered, for the good of the people, to demonstrate the efficiency of a system that will mean that not only shall the beauty of san francisco be not sacrificed, but that the public desire for rapid transit shall be fulfilled. backed with the millions he controls, his offer is significant, and is one that we cannot contemplate lightly. "as chief executive of the city i can only express the hope that something will happen that will permit mr. spreckels to carry out his object. at one stride this would place san francisco at the head of the world in the titanic struggle now waging between the people and the corporations for the control of those utilities in which the people are interested for comfort and the corporations for profit. great as is his offer, it adds not only enthusiasm, but rekindles hope in my always expressed desire that my administration would mark the first victory of the municipality in its fight to control those things that are theirs. "the people are on the eve of winning for themselves those things that are theirs. if the offer of mr. spreckels can be carried out, and i see no reason why it cannot, the battle is ended. not only will san francisco be the victor, but from the battle she will emerge, her beauty unmarred and her railways standing as exemplifications of the fact that what in science is possible is capable of actual and practical accomplishment." (see san francisco call, march , .) but in spite of this approval, after the organization of the new company was assured, rudolph spreckels found the mayor's door closed to him when he attempted to secure an interview. (see rudolph spreckels' testimony at the calhoun trial.) [ ] the purposes of the incorporators were brought out at the graft trials. at the calhoun trial, when james d. phelan, former mayor of san francisco, and one of the incorporators, was under cross-examination, calhoun's attorney referred to other public utility ventures in which claus spreckels had been interested, and asked: "q. you knew of the matter of the rival gas or competing gas lines, and the rival and competing electric lines, and the rival and competing steam railroads down the valley at the time you went into the corporation to put in the people's street railroad? a. i knew, and i know the effect they had; they reduced rates in both cases; and if our system accomplished the purpose of bringing mr. calhoun's railroad to a realization of the public desire to have a conduit system, our purpose would have been accomplished. it was the last resort. i looked upon it, as an incorporator, as the last resort. we had negotiated in a friendly way for months, and i saw the fruit of all the conferences fade away and believed that arrangements had been made by mr. calhoun with the city administration, and the only resort left to us to do was to build a road of our own to demonstrate that it was practicable and possibly profitable--a conduit system." [ ] as early as april , , a petition was circulated for signatures among residents and property owners on bush street, asking the board of supervisors to grant a franchise to operate street-cars on bush street under the electric-conduit system. [ ] the san francisco examiner of march , , set forth that "an important feature (of the plans for competing street railways) was that the city should have the right at the end of ten years or any shorter period that might be preferred, to take over the system and operate the same itself, the terms of the transfer to be such as would be just both to the builders and to the municipality." among the purposes for which the municipal street railways of san francisco was formed, was set forth in the articles of incorporation the following: "to accept and acquire franchises for street railroads, elevated railroads and subways, containing provisions for the acquisition thereof by the city and county of san francisco, or such other conditions as may be lawfully inserted therein." chapter iv. san francisco after the fire. the great san francisco fire was brought under control friday, april , . the sunday following, the first step was taken toward getting the scattered board of supervisors together. george b. keane, clerk of the board, is authority for the statement that the meeting place was in a room back of supervisor mcgushin's saloon.[ ] the ashes of the burned city were still hot; the average citizen was thinking only of the next meal and shelter for the night for himself and dependents. but the public-service corporations were even then active in furthering plans which had been temporarily dropped while san francisco was burning. at the mcgushin-saloon meeting, keane found with the supervisors mr. frick of the law firm of thomas, gerstle & frick. mr. frick was on hand to represent the petitioners for the home telephone franchise, which, at the time of the disaster was pending before the board. for months previous to the fire, no subject affecting a san francisco public-service corporation had, with the single exception of the united railroads' scheme for substituting electric for cable service, created more discussion than the home telephone application for franchise. there had been allegations that the progress which, previous to the fire, the home company had made toward securing its franchise, had been paid for,[ ] but for weeks after the fire few citizens had time to think about it. the people forgot for the time the issues which had before the disaster divided the city. but the agents for the public-service corporations did not forget. we find a representative of the home telephone company picking his way over the hot ashes of the burned city to mcgushin's saloon to meet the supervisors that the interests of his company might be preserved. the developments of the graft prosecution indicate that even as the home company was seeking out the supervisors, the united railroads was getting into touch with ruef.[ ] but if the corporations were quick to avail themselves of the situation to secure privileges denied them before the fire, they were also active in the work of rehabilitation--so far as such activity served their plans and purposes. this was well illustrated by the course of the united railroads. within a fortnight after the fire, that corporation had established efficient service over a number of its electric lines. for a time, passengers were carried without charge. on april and , however, fares were collected from men, but not from women and children. with the beginning of may, fares were collected from all persons. for a time, in a glare of much publicity, the united railroads contributed these collections to the fund for the relief of the stricken city. the home telephone company had no plant to restore nor authority to establish one; but on ruef's suggestion it, too, contributed to the fund for the relief of the stricken city--$ , .[ ] the united railroads' activity in restoring its electric roads, was in curious contrast to its failure to take advantage of the possibilities offered by its cable systems. as some excuse for this inactivity, the corporation's representatives alleged that the cable slots had been closed by the earthquake, making restoration of the cable roads impractical. the alleged closing of the slots was even used as argument against the conduit electric system.[ ] but as a matter of fact, there were many to testify that the damage done the cable slots was not from the earthquake, although the slots in the burned district had been warped more or less by the heat of the fire. but this damage was easily remedied. on the geary-street road, for example, cars were run for an hour or more after the earthquake. the fire warped the geary-street cable slot, but this was easily and cheaply remedied by a force of men with cold chisels and hammers.[ ] statements from officials of the united railroads, now of record, indicate that the company's cable lines suffered no greater damage than did other cable systems. an affidavit of frank e. sharon, for example, who before the fire was superintendent of cables and stables belonging to the united railroads, made in the adjustment of fire losses sustained by that corporation, sets forth that the company's principal cable power house and repair shops situate on valencia street were damaged but little by the earthquake.[ ] although the buildings were damaged by the fire, the damage to the contents, including the machinery by which the cable cars were operated, was, according to statements made by the united railroads in fire-loss adjustment, comparatively small. the company placed the sound value upon this machinery and contents, after the earthquake, but preceding the fire, at $ , . . the salvage was placed at $ , . , leaving a total fire loss of $ , .[ ] the cable cars, with few exceptions, were saved. the most serious loss of cars was on the powell-street system, where sixty-four were destroyed. only one valencia-street car was burned. after both earthquake and fire, the united railroads had available at least cable cars for its market and powell-street systems. this does not include the cable cars available on the hayes and mcallister roads. the power-houses of these two last-named systems were not destroyed by fire. the allegation has been made that the mcallister-street cable was kept running for several hours after the earthquake. but whatever the possibilities for the restoration of the united railroads' cable properties, no steps were taken toward that end. instead, trolley wires were strung over the tracks of cable systems. street-car service was one of the greatest needs of the first few weeks following the fire. statements that cable properties could not be restored were generally believed; the trolley service was accepted as a matter of expediency; few thought, however, that it was to be permanent.[ ] within two weeks after the fire, the united railroads had trolley wires strung over the cable tracks on market street. the little objection made to this course went unheeded. the market-street trolley cars, two weeks after the fire, were as welcome to the people of san francisco as were the temporary shacks which were being erected upon the sites of the old city's finest buildings. market-street trolley cars gave as sorely-needed transportation as the shacks gave needed shelter. the opening of the market-street trolley line was made subject for rejoicing throughout the city. in the midst of this good feeling toward his company, president calhoun gave out that if allowed to place overhead wires on sutter and larkin streets, he would place , men at work and have both these lines in operation within thirty days.[ ] but the era of good feeling was not of long duration. on may , less than a month after the fire, the supervisors received a communication signed by president calhoun as president of the united railroads, setting forth that if the board would permit the use on the cable lines of the standard electric system in use on the company's other lines, the united railroads would be glad to put all of their lines in commission as rapidly as could be accomplished by the most liberal expenditure of money and the largest possible employment of men.[ ] that very day, the supervisors took the initial step toward granting to the united railroads a blanket permit, authorizing that corporation to substitute the trolley system for all its cable lines. immediately, san francisco's opposition to the trolley system was revived. all classes joined in condemning the action of the board. the sutter street improvement club, representing large down-town interests and property holders, adopted resolutions demanding that the supervisors refuse to grant the permit. the san francisco labor council, representing over affiliated unions, with a membership of more than , wage earners, declared as strongly against such action. the press charged the united railroads with taking advantage of the city's distress to force the trolley upon her.[ ] then came explanations and defense. mayor schmitz in public interviews set forth that the proposed permit was not a permanent measure, nor under its provisions could the united railroads indefinitely operate trolley cars in market street.[ ] the labor council which had at first adopted resolutions condemning the policy of granting the permit, adopted resolutions of confidence in the "present city administration." president calhoun himself solicited citizens to attend the meeting of the board at which a vote was to be taken on the proposed permit, to urge action favorable to the united railroads.[ ] long before the board met to take final action it was recognized that in spite of opposition the permit would be granted.[ ] and it was granted. on may , the supervisors passed the ordinance which gave the united railroads authority to convert its cable systems, wherever grades would permit, into trolley lines. for this privilege, no money compensation, nor promise of compensation, was made the city.[ ] demand that mayor schmitz veto the ordinance granting these extraordinary privileges followed. nevertheless, the mayor affixed his signature to the trolley permit-granting ordinance. fair expression of the feeling this action engendered will be found in the san francisco papers of the latter part of may, . "mayor eugene e. schmitz," said the examiner, for example, "has betrayed the trust reposed in him by the people, violated his solemn pledge in favor of an underground conduit system, and joined abe ruef and the united railroads in the shameless work of looting the city at the time of her greatest need." the ruef-schmitz administration protested at the criticism. the eighteen supervisors, seventeen of whom were within a year to confess that they had accepted bribes and all of whom were to be involved in the scandal, joined in a letter[ ] to the examiner, announcing that such criticism was unwarranted, and injured the city. the letter contained veiled threat that questioning of the supervisors' motives would not be tolerated. the threat, however, intimidated nobody. criticism of ruef and the administration continued. but in spite of the hostility toward him, ruef controlled the san francisco delegates who were named that year to attend the republican state convention. the convention met at santa cruz. ruef held the balance of power. he was the most sought man there. he had the nomination for governor in his hands. he gave it to james n. gillett.[ ] while the convention was in session, a dinner was given the state leaders of the republican party at the home of major frank mclaughlin, then chairman of the republican state central committee. ruef was one of the select few present. a flash-light picture of that banquet board shows him seated in the place of honor at the center of the table, the remaining guests with the exception of the host, mclaughlin, who is seated at ruef's side, standing. at ruef's back stands james n. gillett, who had just received, with ruef's assistance, the party nomination for governor, his hand resting upon ruef's shoulder. others in this flash-light group are george hatton, political manipulator, whose connection with the mayoralty campaign in san francisco has already been noted; j. w. mckinley, head of the southern pacific law department at los angeles, who was chairman of the convention; rudolph herold, a politician prominent in the counsels of the old "southern pacific machine"; justice f. w. henshaw of the california supreme bench, who was nominated at the convention for re-election;[ ] walter f. parker, political agent for the southern pacific company; warren r. porter, who had just received the nomination for lieutenant-governor; congressman j. r. knowland, prominent in the counsels of the "machine" that at the time dominated the state, and judge f. h. kerrigan of the appellate bench, whose decision in favor of the southern pacific company while on the superior bench, in the so-called san joaquin valley railroad rate case, made him a conspicuous figure in california public life.[ ] the group represented the most effective forces at the time in california politics. ruef, at the santa cruz convention, reached the height of his power. he left santa cruz planning a state organization that would make him as great a factor in state politics as he was at the metropolis. but on his return to san francisco, ruef found himself harassed by criticism and beset by opposition. at every point in the municipal administration, with the exception of the district attorney's office, was suggestion of graft and incompetency. the police department could not, or would not, control the criminal element. merchants, in the middle of the day, were struck down at their places of business and robbed. several were fatally injured in such attacks, being found dying and even dead behind their counters. street robberies were of daily occurrence. in the acres of ash-strewn ruins, was junk worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. the police seemed utterly powerless to protect this property. it became the loot of unchecked bands of thieves. a reign of terror prevailed. citizens feared to appear on the streets at night. merchants charged that their business was seriously injured by these conditions. on all sides, blame was placed upon the schmitz administration which ruef was known to control.[ ] then again, ruef's toll from the tolerated gambling, saloon and social evil interests was getting too heavy for his own safety.[ ] the public was given hint of this when the newspapers quoted george renner, a prominent businessman, as asserting that a liquor license could be secured if the applicant "put the matter into ruef's hands and paid a fat little fee." ruef, in his reply, stated that the liquor people were nuisances anyhow. ruef had long acted as attorney for the california liquor dealers' association. the association, after ruef's flippant characterization of the liquor people, boldly dispensed with his services and employed another attorney, herbert choynski, in his stead. choynski made no effort to placate ruef. on the contrary, he gave out interviews to the press charging that ruef had received $ , for the trolley permit, and that each supervisor had been given $ or $ for his vote. this story was given some credit, although few realized the amount of truth it contained. the supervisors were spending money freely. men, who in private life had earned less than $ a month, and as supervisors were receiving only that amount, gave evidence of being generously supplied with funds. supervisor coffey, a hack driver, took a trip to chicago. lonergan, driver of a delivery wagon, announced plans for a tour of ireland with his wife and children. wilson planned a trip through the eastern states. the official head of the administration, mayor schmitz, left on a trip to europe, leaving supervisor gallagher as acting mayor.[ ] reports printed in san francisco papers of schmitz, the orchestra player, as guest of the most expensive european hotels, did not tend to lessen the opposition to the administration. the general dissatisfaction with the administration finally found expression in a mass meeting intended to inaugurate a movement to rid the community of ruef's influence.[ ] the meeting was called in the name of various promotion associations and improvement clubs. it was to have been held in the rooms of the california promotion association, a temporary shack that had been erected in union square, a public park in the business district. but the crowd which gathered was so great that the meeting had to be held in the park itself. when the committee in charge met to complete final preparations, preliminary to calling the meeting to order, ruef and acting mayor gallagher, with astonishing assurance, appeared before the committee and offered their co-operation in the work in hand. their presence does not appear to have been welcome. nevertheless, before the resolutions which the committee had under consideration were read before the crowd, all harsh references to ruef and the municipal administration had been expurgated. in effect, the expurgated resolutions called upon commercial organizations, clubs, labor unions and similar bodies to form a committee of for public safety. in the meeting which followed the expurgation of the resolutions, the organizers of the movement lost control. their counsel was for moderation in a situation where all elements were at work. the crowd was made up of ruef claquers who shouted everybody down; members of labor unions who had been led to believe that the purpose of the gathering was to break down the unions; and of radicals who were for proceeding immediately to clean up the town. those responsible for the gathering appeared appalled at its magnitude, and showed themselves unable to cope with the situation. william a. doble presided. samuel m. shortridge, an attorney who was to play a prominent part in the graft trials, stood at doble's side and acted as a sort of director of the proceedings. the expurgated resolutions were read by the president of the merchants' association, e. r. lillienthal. the ayes were called for and the resolutions declared to have been adopted. the next moment announcement was made that the meeting stood adjourned. an angry demonstration followed. the people had met to discuss lawlessness. they refused to be put off. the adjourned meeting refused to adjourn. there were cries of =drive ruef out of town=. one speaker, a. b. truman, denounced ruef as a grafter. for the moment an outbreak seemed imminent. at this crisis, acting mayor gallagher appeared. "i would suggest," he announced,[ ] "that you disperse to your respective homes." citizens who did not care to participate in what threatened to become a riot began leaving the park. but ruef's henchmen did not leave. ruef, who had cowered in fright when the crowd was denouncing him, was concealed in a room in the so-called little st. francis hotel, which after the fire had been erected in union square park. from his hiding place he could see the crowd without being seen. at the right time, he appeared on the steps of the building which were used for the speaker's stand. his followers, now in a majority, cheered him wildly. the next moment, ruef was in control of the meeting which had been called to protest against the conditions in san francisco, for which the administration, of which he was the recognized head, was held to be accountable.[ ] the first serious attempt to oust ruef from his dictatorship had failed. but while the protestants against prevailing conditions were hot with the disappointments of this failure, district attorney langdon issued a statement that he had determined to seize the opportunity presented by the impanelment of a new grand jury to inaugurate a systematic and thorough investigation into charges of official graft and malfeasance in office. to assist in this work, he announced, francis j. heney had been requested to become a regular deputy in the district attorney's office, and had accepted. that the investigation might not be handicapped by lack of funds, mr. langdon stated rudolph spreckels had guaranteed that he would personally undertake the collection from public-spirited citizens of a fund to provide for the expenses necessary to make the investigation thorough.[ ] it became known that william j. burns, who had been associated with heney in the oregon land-fraud cases, had been retained to direct the investigation, and that for several months his agents had been quietly at work. the effect of these announcements was immediate. all talk of "vigilante committee" and "lynching" ceased. the case of the people of san francisco vs. the schmitz-ruef administration was to be presented in an orderly way in the courts. and the united press of san francisco, legitimate business interests, and a great majority of the people welcomed the alternative. footnotes: [ ] see keane's testimony in the people vs. ruef, no. , part , vol. , page . [ ] see footnote , page . [ ] supervisor gallagher testified in the case of the people vs. ruef, no. , that about a week before the fire "mr. ruef stated that the united railroads wanted to secure a permit to use electricity upon their lines and asked me to speak to the members of the board of supervisors about it and let him know whether it could go through the board, and about what amount of money it would take. i told him that i would do so." (see transcript on appeal, page .) similar testimony, to show that the united railroads was dealing with ruef during the month preceding the fire, was brought out at trials of other defendants in the "graft" cases. this would make the date of ruef's activity on behalf of the united railroads about the time of mr. calhoun's announcement that he would proceed to present plans for the trolley system, to the "proper representatives" of the people (the supervisors), who were even then, through ruef, receiving bribe money from public-service corporations. gallagher testified further (see same transcript, page ) that within a week after the fire ruef stated to him that the united railroads still wanted its electric permit, and directed that gallagher find out whether such a permit could be put through the board. gallagher testified that he saw members, put the question to them, and reported back to ruef that in his judgment the permit could be put through by paying each member of the board the amount which ruef had specified, $ , . [ ] supervisor gallagher testified at graft trials that ruef had told him the payment of this $ , to the relief fund was a good thing, as it would tend to shut off adverse criticism. but the home company people had asked that the money be not turned over to the relief fund until such time as the ordinance granting the franchise had been approved or the matter definitely determined. [ ] as early as may , c. e. loss, a railroad contractor, came out with the proposition that the city should abandon all idea of conduit systems, because the cable slots had been closed by the earthquake. in this, loss was disputed by city engineer thomas p. woodward. woodward, in an interview printed in the examiner on may , , said: "i think mr. loss was mistaken when he said the earthquake closed the cable slots. i have not made a careful examination of the various roadbeds in san francisco, but from what i have seen as i have gone about the city, i am inclined to think that no injury was done the cable slots by the earthquake. "the lines on sacramento, california, geary, sutter and haight streets appear to be all right outside the burned district. where the metal was subjected to the intense heat, the slots are warped out of shape, and in some places closed." loss's allegations called forth the following editorial comment in the examiner of may th: "even an earthquake shock and a conflagration do not long obscure the vision of certain wealthy gentlemen where there is a chance to turn a calamity to their individual account. "before the catastrophe, san francisco had indicated with great emphasis to the united railroads that it would not permit the reconstruction of the cable system into an overhead trolley, but would insist upon a modern up-to-date conduit electric railroad, the safety, utility and efficiency of which had been demonstrated in new york and other eastern cities. "the emergency created by the destruction of the traffic systems in the city has compelled permission for a temporary trolley line because it could be constructed more quickly than any other. "it is not intended, and the united railroads must be made to realize that it will not be permitted, that the unsightly poles and dangerous wires will be allowed to cumber the new and more beautiful san francisco, any more than it will be permitted that the rough shacks and sheds which temporarily shelter the people in parks and streets and otherwise vacant lots shall remain after the emergency which called them into being has ceased." [ ] a. d. shepard, vice-president and secretary of the geary-street railroad company, gave the following statement to the examiner as to the condition of the geary-street roadbed: "we can run cars as far as the road goes, but the power-house is not ready for business. the smokestack at geary and buchanan streets must be built up to comply with the ordinance of the city before we can get a permit to build fires under the boilers. the smokestack should be repaired by the end of this week, and cars will probably be run over the road then. i cannot say just what day we will begin to run cars. all depends upon the smokestack and the board of public works. "our line was not injured by the earthquake, and we ran cars for some time after the shake. it was the fire that drove us out of business. the heat warped the slot, making it narrow in places and wide in other spots, but this is easily remedied." (see examiner, may , .) [ ] sharon's affidavit was introduced at the graft trials. it was as follows: "state of california, city and county of san francisco--ss. "frank e. sharon, being first duly sworn according to law, deposes and says: that he was for many years prior to april , , the superintendent of cables and stables belonging to the united railroads of san francisco, and situate at the corner of market and valencia streets; that on the property situate at said market and valencia streets were located what is known as the market and valencia power house and shops, consisting of power-house, stables, machine shops, special machine shops, mill, offices, store-rooms, sheds, etc.; that he was such superintendent on april , ; that on the morning of april , , immediately following the earthquake he proceeded to the above described premises, arriving there at about a. m.; that none of the buildings above described were materially damaged by the earthquake; that the walls of all the buildings were standing and intact; that the roofs of all the buildings were on and uninjured by the earthquake, with the exception of the roof of a portion of what is known as the power-house, which was damaged by reason of a small portion of the chimney adjoining the power-house on the west falling thereon; that the greater portion of said brick from the top of said chimney fell toward the south or east into the driveway; that extending from the base of said chimney to the crown thereof and on the east and west side thereof are cracks which were in said chimney for many years prior to the earthquake of april , , which cracks were opened somewhat by said earthquake; and the boilers in said power-house were not injured to any extent and steam was kept under said boilers for some time after the earthquake; that in his judgment the building as a whole was intact and the machinery not injured in any material part of the earthquake; that the building caught fire from the adjoining buildings on the east and southeast late in the afternoon of april , ; said buildings were not dynamited nor backfired for any purpose. "f. e. sharon. "subscribed and sworn to before me this th day of august, a. d. . "charles r. holton. "notary public in and for the city and county of san francisco, state of california." [ ] the loss included $ damage to two engines which cost new $ , ; $ , damage to six boilers, new cost $ , ; $ water-tank, cost new $ ; $ damage to pipes, valves and fittings, which cost new $ , ; material in store-room worth $ , , a total loss; $ , loss of two tension carriages used for taking up slack of the cable. these tension carriages could very easily have been restored. this loss, $ , , and the $ , stock loss, deducted from the total of $ , , leaves a total loss of $ , to the machinery of a plant estimated to have cost $ , . [ ] as late as november , , seven months after the fire, the san francisco call published an editorial article on the trolley permits which showed that even then their nature was not fully understood. the call said: "the insolent disregard of public rights in the streets by the united railroads is inspired, of course, by ulterior purpose to entrench the corporation in the possession of privileges, permits or franchises granted at a time of stress and confusion whose legality may and probably will be questioned later. "the call does not desire to assume an attitude of hindering or hampering progress. we recognize fully that every new street-car line adds materially to the value of property within its tributary territory. in a word, the growth of a city or a neighborhood is, to a considerable degree, dependent on facilities for urban transit. "but it does not follow from these considerations that franchises should be granted for nothing to any and every applicant who is able to construct a street railway. the right to use the streets is the most valuable privilege possessed by a municipality. it should be made to yield a corresponding revenue. "all this might seem so obvious as scarcely to require statement, but in practice the principles here laid down have been virtually disregarded in san francisco. in no instance was there more flagrant disregard of public rights than in the wholesale grants of permits or franchises to construct overhead trolley lines made after the fire. "the united railroads at the time professed to regard these permits as merely temporary, but that profession was not very long maintained. the company now declares that many, if not all, of these permits amount to absolute franchises in view of the capital invested in making the necessary changes. that is the explanation of the outrageous disregard of public rights shown in tearing up some five or six miles of streets at once and in different parts of town. this process is obviously wasteful as a financial proposition, and is calculated besides to arouse general indignation. we find these weighty considerations disregarded on the advice of the corporation's lawyers, to bolster up an invalid claim to the possession of franchises obtained by trick and device in an hour of public confusion. "what the extent of the corporation's claim under these permits may be we are not advised, and there is no immediate means of finding out as long as the administration which granted these hole-and-corner permits remains in power. the same influences that made the mayor and supervisors so complaisant to the will of the united railroads are still operative. it was only the other day that another permit for a street-car line was granted, and granted illegally. this administration stays bought. "therefore, the streets are torn up in a dozen different parts of town and left in that condition untouched for months with the full consent of the administration. but this political condition is not permanent. some of these people will go to jail. they will all be ousted at the next election. san francisco has had enough of them. "the united railroads is endeavoring to fortify one wrong by committing another. these things will not be forgotten in a hurry. we are convinced that the corporation is pursuing a shortsighted policy. costly litigation must ensue to test the validity and extent of the overhead trolley permits. the people will not consent to see their most valuable property traded away by a lot of conscienceless boodlers, and if it should prove that the united railroads has been able to make two wrongs constitute one right, it is very certain that a movement of irresistible force will follow for a reduction of street-car fares. "we are convinced that it will pay the united railroads to be fair and decent with the people of san francisco. the present policy is neither fair nor decent. the service is bad, public rights in the streets are outraged, and, worst of all, the corporation is the most malign, corrupting influence in the politics of our municipal government. there will come a reckoning." [ ] see statement printed in san francisco examiner, may , . [ ] calhoun's letter to the supervisors read: "united railroads of san francisco. "president's office. "san francisco, may , . "to the honorable board of supervisors of the city of san francisco--gentlemen: the united railroads of san francisco respectfully represents that, notwithstanding its urgent and earnest efforts to provide adequate street railway transportation on the lines being operated, constant pressure is being applied and innumerable requests are being presented to it to increase its transportation facilities. "the company is anxious to please the people, and is willing to do its part in the immediate upbuilding of the greater san francisco, but owing to the unavailability of material and machinery for operating its cable systems, as well as the great length of time necessary to rebuild destroyed power-houses and reconstruct its cable conduits, a long time would necessarily elapse before the cable systems could be operated so as to give the required relief to traffic congestion. "if your honorable board will permit the use on the cable lines of a standard electric system such as is now used on the company's other lines, we will be glad to put all of our lines in commission, and will agree to have them in complete operation wherever grades will permit as rapidly as the most liberal expenditure of money and the largest possible employment of men will accomplish. the necessary expenditure for labor and materials to do this work will run into the millions, and will afford much-needed employment to several thousand deserving men. "we believe the prompt reconstruction of your lines of transportation will inspire confidence in all investing capital and greatly aid in the prompt rebuilding of your city. "we submit these suggestions for your consideration at the request of many of our citizens from every walk of life. "respectfully, "pat. calhoun, president." [ ] the trolley permit was passed to print on may . the examiner, in its issue of may , said: "the united railroads, with the rapacity for which it has ever been noted, is seeking to capitalize the city's woe to its own advantage. "before the disaster of april it had been balked in its purpose to make san francisco a trolley town. the protests of citizens who knew that the underground system is better than the cheap, unsightly trolley system and had been proved safer, had blocked the united railroads project. and it seemed certain that the scheme to cumber market street and sutter street with poles and wires was definitely stopped. "the emergency which demanded the swiftest possible establishment of a transportation system, gave the united railroads its opportunity to revive the discreditable scheme. as an emergency service nobody could object to the overhead trolleys. but it was understood that the service was absolutely temporary in its character and should only obtain during the pendency of present conditions. "yesterday, however, there appeared out of the void of forbidden things an ordinance that was hastily passed to print, granting a franchise to the united railroads to trolleyize its whole system. "it was expected evidently that this iniquitous measure could be sneaked through under cover of the present stress and excitement without people realizing until it was too late what had been done. "when the scheme was flushed it was still attempted to make it appear that this was a temporary measure, a representation absolutely varying with the language of the ordinance. "but the scheme has not succeeded yet. "it was to be expected that, like the looters who have to be kept from other people's property by soldiers and police, san francisco's misfortune would bring out a horde of corporate ghouls eager to snatch privileges during the time of disorder. but it was likewise to be expected that the city administration, which has been so alert to protect private property, would be equally alert to protect the precious possessions of the city. "the railroads can only do what the city permits, and a strong official scrutiny of the ordinance which was yesterday passed to print should result in its final defeat. "no matter what other claims an administration may have to the gratitude and respect of the citizens of san francisco, it cannot afford to be known as the administration that put trolley poles on market street." [ ] the day that the ordinance granting the trolley permit was ordered printed, mayor schmitz stated in an interview as published in the examiner: "the proposed franchise is merely a temporary measure. it does not mean that the united railroads can indefinitely operate their cars by the overhead trolley in market street, or in the streets formerly occupied by cable roads. it is necessary now to have transportation. the cable roads cannot be repaired, i am told, for some time. meanwhile, the franchise to string overhead wires has been granted. it can be revoked." [ ] at the calhoun trial, william h. sanderson testified to having been introduced to calhoun by ruef at a public meeting, a few days before the trolley permit was granted. he was then asked: "q. what, if any, conversation then ensued between yourself, mr. ruef and mr. calhoun? a. well, i stated--mr. calhoun was at that time sitting at a large table in the room, where the committee had held its session, and he rose out of his seat, and the three of us held a conversation following that introduction. i stated to mr. calhoun--i asked him when the people of north beach were or might expect railroad facilities, that the population was coming back to that portion of the city, and that other portions of the city were provided with facilities, and that we were compelled to walk through miles of burned district in order to get anywhere; and mr. calhoun said in reply, that if the people of san francisco desired railroad facilities, they should co-operate with the railroad company that was here to provide them with the same; and i said to mr. calhoun that i thought that we were ready to do anything that the company desired us to do, and asked him what in particular he wished us to do, and he said: 'there is that trolley privilege matter before the supervisors; that comes up next monday, and you people of san francisco ought to come down before that board, that the people of san francisco, or you, are vitally interested in the matter of this trolley permit.' mr. ruef then said: 'come down before the board next monday, sanderson, and make a talk on behalf of your organization in favor of the trolley permit. we will see that you get the privilege of the floor. a number of citizens of san francisco will be there, and we propose to show the press that the people of san francisco are behind this permit.' i said to mr. calhoun: 'the papers tell me that this is a very valuable franchise and you ought to pay the city something for it.' and mr. calhoun said in substance that he thought that the company would be paying all that the privileges was worth if it built the road. then i suggested to him that perhaps that sentiment which objected to the disfigurement of market street and sutter street by the erection of poles and wires, ought to be placated to some extent, and i asked him why he would not at least put the feed-wires under ground; and he said that that would entail an expense which the company at that time was not or did not think it advisable to meet. and then i asked him why he would not put the poles feet apart instead of as--or feet apart, as was done in european cities, and he said that the -foot system was the more advisable in his opinion. and then mr. ruef said to me: 'the passage of this permit will mean immediate work for , men. we will be able to take them out of the camps and put them at work.' and i said to mr. ruef: 'that is all very well, mr. ruef, but it seems to me that there is another side to this question--a political side. the people of san francisco are at last all behind your administration. what they need in this crisis is leadership, and we will have to take such leadership as you give us; and now that everybody is with you, and even the bulletin has quit, it is not good policy on your part to stir up another newspaper war. the examiner has been your friend ever since schmitz was first elected, and it will not swallow the trolley proposition in its present form, and it is charging your administration with corruption. if it persists in its fight it will eventually break your back. it seems to me that it would be a comparatively easy matter to placate this opposition by exacting some compensation for this permit, either in the way of cash or by way of a percentage of the proceeds of the road, or you might limit it as to time; give them a permit for five or ten years. you have them at your mercy and they are bound to accept whatever terms you prescribe.' mr. ruef then said: 'to hell with the examiner, no public man can afford to swallow that paper. this thing will go through on monday. it is all settled.' and then i said: 'you don't need me then,' and mr. calhoun said: 'i don't think we do, mr. sanderson.' that is all the conversation, or that is substantially all the conversation that took place in regard to that matter." [ ] said the examiner in its issue of may , : "it looks very much as if patrick calhoun, thornwell mullally and their pals of the united railroads had sneaked up behind san francisco just as she lay wounded from earthquake and conflagration. in the guise of helping her, they were caught picking her pocket. if the supervisors aid and abet them, the people will be warranted in setting up their effigies in lasting bronze, a group of everlasting infamy, with the inscription: 'these men looted san francisco at the time of the great fire of .'" [ ] of the failure to exact pay for the franchise, the examiner of may , , said: "mayor schmitz and the board of supervisors must know, and if they do not know they are now informed, that the franchises they propose to give away to the united railroads are worth a great deal of money to the city of san francisco, and they certainly do know that the city never was so greatly in need of money as now. to give away so much of value at such a time is so hideous a crime that it will leave a scar upon the reputation of everybody concerned in it, no matter what that reputation has been up to the time of the infamy." [ ] the supervisors' letter to the examiner was as follows: "san francisco, cal., may , . "to 'the san francisco examiner,' city--gentlemen: the board of supervisors of the city and county of san francisco, regretting the hostile stand which your journal has in these distressing times assumed toward the rebuilding of our destroyed city, by indiscriminately attacking every vested interest and all intending investments of capital in this city, respectfully submits for your consideration the propriety of joining with instead of assailing those who are in good faith and with their energy and ability striving to restore and rebuild our beloved city. "irrespective of any personal feeling caused by your wanton attacks on his honor the mayor, and on this board, we ask of you, as citizens of san francisco and as the legislative branch of our government, to cease your thoughtless and dangerous efforts to drive away from our city every interest which has expressed its intention to assist in our rebuilding and which has manifested a practical confidence in our future. otherwise, the day will certainly not be far distant when the people, realizing the result of your course, will seek to protect the city against its further continuance. "in all good faith for the city's interests and without any personal rancor, these suggestions are submitted to your careful attention. "respectfully, james l. gallagher, max mamlock, chas. boxton, l. a. rea, f. p. nicholas, andrew m. wilson, geo. f. duffey, j. j. furey. m. w. coffey, daniel g. coleman, c. j. harrigan, j. j. phillips, p. m. mcgushin, e. i. walsh, sam davis, jas. t. kelly, thomas f. lonergan, w. w. sanderson." [ ] ruef, in his story of his political career, "the road i traveled," states that in an interview with william f. herrin, chief of the southern pacific law department, previous to the primary campaign, the necessary expenses of the primary campaign and of the primary election were discussed. herrin, according to ruef's account, agreed not to oppose the ruef tickets. "as agreed prior to the primary," ruef goes on to say in his narrative: "herrin paid me $ , for the purpose of securing for his organization the certainty of the votes of the san francisco delegation." see san francisco bulletin, august , . [ ] henshaw was re-elected. after ruef had been convicted and the appellate court had refused to grant him a new trial, henshaw, before the briefs had been filed in the matter of the appeal from the appellate to the supreme court, signed an order granting ruef a new hearing. see chapter xxix. [ ] see decisions in edson vs. the southern pacific co., cal. reports and cal. reports. [ ] nor was this criticism confined to san francisco; it was general throughout the state. the sacramento bee, in describing the conditions prevailing at san francisco, said: "in the hold-ups which are now terrorizing the people of san francisco the citizens are seeing the effects of a loose or dishonest municipal administration. the form of lawlessness now prevailing in san francisco follows upon bad local government as inevitably as night follows day." [ ] definite figures, alleged to be the graft schedule enforced in the san francisco tenderloin after the fire, were published. the chronicle of april , , said on this score: "after the great disaster of last april, or so soon as the new tenderloin began to build up and the barbary coast district began to establish itself, a schedule of prices for protected vice was formulated. this schedule has been rigidly adhered to. in the case of houses of ill-fame, the proprietors were required to pay the policemen on the beat the sum of $ , the sergeants $ , the captains $ , and the chief of police $ to $ every week for the privilege of conducting their nefarious business. the gambling houses were assessed according to their ability to pay, but the average price for police protection, according to heney, was about the same as the houses of prostitution. the dives along pacific street and in the barbary coast district were required to pay $ every week to the police captain and the chief, those two functionaries presumably dividing the money. the sporting saloons where women of the night life congregate were taxed a similar amount." [ ] ruef advised strongly against schmitz leaving san francisco. in an interview printed in the san francisco call, may , , the day after he had plead guilty to a charge of extorting money from french restaurant dives, ruef said: "the great mistake of this whole thing began with the mayor's trip to europe. the mayor had been proclaimed as the man of the hour after the disaster of last april. he was suddenly seized with the desire of making a trip to europe, where he expected to be received as one of the crowned heads. he thought his fame would spread throughout the world and he hoped to be lionized abroad and, incidentally, gain social prestige. the whole thing was a mistake. i begged him not to go. i pointed out to him that the city was in ruins and the place for the mayor was at home. he persisted, and all my pleadings were in vain." [ ] at a preliminary meeting of the organizers of this movement, held in the office of the california canners, october , , responsibility for the state of affairs in san francisco was charged to ruef. it was stated at this meeting, and given out to the press, that convincing evidence had been secured against ruef which warranted his prosecution. [ ] acting mayor gallagher was emphatic in declaring that no vigilance committee should disgrace san francisco. the interior press, which was following the san francisco situation closely and from an independent standpoint, advised mayor gallagher that the best way to prevent organization of such a committee would be to enforce the laws. said the stockton record: "if acting mayor gallagher and his associates wish to abate the agitation in favor of a committee of safety for san francisco, they should do less talking and take more energetic action against the thug element. the police department of the afflicted city is now virtually on trial. it is even under suspicion of offenses graver than that of inefficiency. one or two more crimes of violence with well-known people as victims will fire the public indignation of san francisco to a point where incapable officers will be forced aside and an authority created to meet the grave emergency confronting respectable citizenry." the stockton independent went even further. said that paper of the san francisco situation: "acting mayor gallagher of san francisco declares there shall be no vigilance committee and no lynching in san francisco. if he and the police are unable to prevent daily murders, or attempted murders, by single criminals, how can he prevent good citizens in hundreds of thousands from lynching those criminals if they catch them? perhaps some of the purblind members of the police force may be among the first to be lynched." [ ] after ruef's capture of the union square meeting, rev. p. c. macfarlane, pastor of the first christian church at alameda, said in a sermon (october , ) of the san francisco situation: "let a few resolute, clean-handed business men of san francisco who are not cowards, who are not quitters or grafters, get together and make a purse of twenty, fifty or a hundred thousand dollars, then employ the ablest attorney to be had and set quietly to work to find the graft and punish the grafters. they could make chapel exercises on sunday afternoon in san quentin look like a political rally in san francisco inside of two years. "thus eugene e. schmitz stands before the world as a man who tried to reform and could not. he is a moral inebriate. he is a welcher. he is a wanderer on the face of the globe, a man without country, expatriated by his own cowardice. this is dr. jekyll. "but there are some who see in schmitz mr. hyde. these do not give the mayor credit for even a spasm of virtue and say that the great work of the morning of april was done by general funston and prominent citizens of their own volition. these people say that he has now gone from san francisco, taking with him vast sums of money gained through the granting of the trolley franchise, plotted even while the embers smoldered, and that he will never return. "the united railroads is universally believed to have acquired its trolley franchises by corrupt means. it is said that prominent merchants will crane and crook and bow and scrape to get a nod of recognition from abe ruef. ruef has used the advantages given him by the state of affairs to corrupt the greatest city in california. ruef owns the board of supervisors. the police commissioners belong to him. the saloon-keeper who wants a license, a corporation that wants a favor from the board of supervisors, has only to retain ruef as an attorney at a fee sufficiently large." dr. macfarlane gave expression to what many thoughtful men were thinking, but of which few with interests at san francisco dared to admit openly. [ ] mr. langdon's statement was published october , . it was in full as follows: "in view of the present extraordinary conditions prevalent in the city and county of san francisco, the unusual increase in crime, which threatens to grow worse as the winter sets in, and in view of the numerous charges of official graft and malfeasance in office, i have determined to seize the opportunity presented, by the impanelment of a new grand jury, which has been set down for next wednesday by hon. thomas f. graham, the presiding judge of the superior court in the city and county of san francisco, to inaugurate a systematic and thorough investigation into these conditions. it is my official duty to do so, and in pursuance of that duty and in view of the magnitude of the task, i have decided to seek the best assistance obtainable. it is my purpose to set at rest these charges of official graft by either proving them false or convicting those who are guilty. if the charges be untrue, their falsity should be demonstrated to the world, so as to remove the impressions which have been circulated to the injury of the credit and fair name of the city. if they be true we should show to the country that there is enough strength, virtue and civic pride in our people to enable the regularly constituted machinery of justice to re-establish conditions on a clean, righteous and just basis, without resort to any extraordinary expedients outside the law. this is to be an honest, fair, thorough and searching investigation. we shall protect no man. we shall persecute no man, but we shall prosecute every man who is guilty, regardless of position or standing in the city. in order that we may have the benefit of expert services in this work i have requested mr. francis j. heney, who has won national fame for his work in the prosecution of the oregon land fraud cases, to become a regular deputy in my office. mr. heney has accepted. it is unfortunate that this work should be commenced during a political campaign, but the conditions in san francisco to-day require that radical action be taken at once, and though i may be charged with instituting this investigation at this particular juncture for political advantage, i must ask the public to judge me by the results attained, which will be the best answer. "i am not unmindful of the great difficulties involved in this investigation. it will be both laborious and costly. the money available under the appropriations made to the district attorney's office and the grand jury is, of course, utterly inadequate. often previous investigations by other grand juries have been made abortive because of this lack of necessary funds to meet expenses. in the present instance we shall not suffer this severe handicap. i am authorized to announce that mr. rudolph spreckels has guaranteed that he will personally undertake the collection from public-spirited citizens of a fund to provide for the expenses necessary to make the investigation thorough and so that good results may ensue. the city is in deep affliction consequent upon the dreadful calamities of last spring; it is in danger from certainly increasing invasion of desperate criminals from all over the world; some of the public departments are undoubtedly in bad hands, and i appeal to my fellow-citizens to give this investigation their moral support, so that the innocent may be protected, so that the guilty may be punished, and so that san francisco may be helped to her feet and started again on the high road of prosperity in her material conditions, and have restored decency, efficiency, honesty and honor in her public affairs. "william h. langdon, district attorney." chapter v. graft prosecution opens. three days after the announcement of his plans, district attorney langdon appointed heney to a regular deputyship. but even before langdon had taken office, as early as december, , fremont older, editor of the san francisco bulletin, had suggested to heney that he undertake the prosecution of those responsible for conditions in san francisco. the bulletin had been the most fearless and consistent of the opponents of the schmitz-ruef regime.[ ] after ruef's complete triumph at the november election in , he boasted that he would break the bulletin with libel suits. with every department of government in his control, ruef appeared to be in a position where, even though he might not be able to make good his threat, he could cause the bulletin much annoyance if not great financial loss. older went on to washington to engage heney to defend the paper, should ruef attempt to make his boast good. heney gave ruef's threats little credence. "i would be very glad to defend you," he told older, "but i am afraid i'll never get a chance to earn that fee."[ ] incidentally older stated that he believed a fund could be raised to prosecute the corrupters of the san francisco municipal government, and asked heney if he would undertake the prosecution, if such a fund could be secured. heney replied that he would be glad to undertake it, but stated that at least $ , would be required. and even with this amount, heney pointed out to older, all efforts would be futile, unless the district attorney were genuinely in sympathy with the movement to better conditions. on heney's return to california early in , older brought him and rudolph spreckels[ ] and james d. phelan together. heney and spreckels met for the first time. phelan vouched for langdon's[ ] integrity and honesty of purpose. indeed, langdon was already giving evidence of his independence of the ruef organization. up to that time no attempt had been made to raise the funds necessary to conduct a practical investigation. phelan stated that he would subscribe $ , and spreckels agreed to give a like amount. spreckels undertook to look the field over and expressed confidence that he could get twenty men who would subscribe $ each, making the $ , which heney had declared to be necessary for the undertaking. the question of heney's fee was then raised.[ ] "if there be anything left out of the $ , we will talk about fee," heney replied. "but i don't think there will be anything left and i will put up my time against your money." it was practically settled at this meeting that heney should devote himself to the prosecution of corruptionists against whom evidence might be secured. he returned to washington early in march to wind up his affairs there. before he could return to san francisco, came the earthquake and fire. heney got back to san francisco april , one week after the disaster. he had another conference with spreckels.[ ] spreckels told him that he wanted the investigation begun at the earliest possible moment, and that he (spreckels) would himself guarantee the expenses which might be incurred.[ ] heney notified burns, and as early as june[ ] burns had begun the investigation that was to result in the downfall of ruef, and the scattering of his forces. by the middle of the following october, heney had so arranged his affairs as to be free to devote himself to the san francisco investigation. his appointment as deputy district attorney followed. in view of one of the principal defenses advanced by ruef and his allies, namely, that the graft prosecution was undertaken to injure the united railroads, these dates are important. the services for which the bribe money which got the united railroads into difficulties was paid, were not rendered until may , , long after final arrangements had been made for burns to conduct the investigation and heney to assist in the prosecution. the actual passing of the united railroads bribe money was not completed until late in august[ ] of that year. burns was at work, and had received pay for his services before the bribe-giving for which united railroad officials were prosecuted had taken place.[ ] langdon's announcement that he would appoint heney as a deputy district attorney, to assist in investigating into charges of official corruption, brought upon him the condemnation of the municipal administration and of the leaders of the union-labor party. p. h. mccarthy and o. a. tveitmoe, who, from opposing the union-labor party movement in - had, by the time the graft prosecution opened, become prominent in its councils, were particularly bitter in their denunciations. at a ruef-planned mass meeting held at the largest auditorium in the city october , , for the purpose of organizing a league for the protection of the administration, langdon was dubbed "traitor to his party," a man "who has gone back on his friends," "the benedict arnold of san francisco." heney was denounced as "the man from arizona." on the other hand mayor schmitz was called "the peerless champion of the people's rights," and ruef, "the mayor's loyal, able and intrepid friend." thomas egan, one of the organizers of the union-labor party, stated of the graft prosecution: "this movement, led by rudolph spreckels and engineered by james d. phelan, conceived in iniquity and born in shame, is for the purpose of destroying the labor organizations and again to gain control of the government of our fair city." ruef, in an earnest address, insisted upon his innocence of wrongdoing. "as sure as there is a god in heaven," he announced solemnly, "they have no proof as they claim."[ ] acting mayor gallagher issued a statement in which he took the same ground as had egan at the dreamland rink mass meeting, that the prosecution was a movement on the part of the citizens' alliance to disrupt the labor unions.[ ] from another angle, officials of public service corporations charged those identified with the investigation with being in league with the labor unions. in one of his statements to the public, patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads, set forth that, "i confidently expect to defeat alike the machinations of rudolph spreckels, his private prosecutor, with his corps of hired detectives, and mr. cornelius, president of the carmen's union, the leader of anarchy and lawlessness, and to see fairly established in this community the principles of american liberty, and the triumphs of truth and justice."[ ] then, too, there were points at which the two supposed extremes, corporation magnates and labor-union politicians, touched in their opposition to the prosecution. at a meeting held on november , , less than two weeks after heney's appointment, john e. bennett, representing the bay cities water company, read a paper in which heney and langdon were denounced as the agents of the spring valley water company. the chronicle, in its issue of november , charged that the paper read by mr. bennett was type proof of a pamphlet that was to be widely distributed, and that the proof sheets had been taken to the meeting by george b. keane, secretary of the board of supervisors.[ ] on the other hand, practically the entire press of the city,[ ] the general public and many of the labor unions gave the prosecution unqualified endorsement, welcoming it as opportunity, in an orderly way, either to establish beyond question, or to disprove, the charges against the administration of incompetency and corruption.[ ] rudolph spreckels's statement, that "this is no question of capital and labor, but of dishonesty and justice,"[ ] was generally accepted as true expression of the situation. those directly connected with allegations or suggestion of irregular practices, issued statements disclaiming any knowledge of irregularity or corruption. general tirey l. ford, chief counsel of the united railroads, in a published interview,[ ] stated that no political boss nor any person connected with the municipal administration had benefited financially to the extent of one dollar in the trolley permit transaction, and that had any one profited thereby, he (ford) in his official capacity would have known of it. those connected with the administration were as vigorous in their denials.[ ] many of them expressed satisfaction at the prospect of an investigation. supervisor kelly went so far as to suggest that the municipality give $ to assist in the inquiry. "let us," said supervisor lonergan, "get to the bottom of this thing. these cracks about graft have been made right along, and we should have them proved or disproved at once." but in spite of this brave front, the developments of the years of resistance of the graft prosecution show the few days following heney's appointment as assistant district attorney to have been a period of intense anxiety to ruef and his immediate advisers. ruef held daily consultations with acting mayor gallagher, clerk keane, and his attorney, henry ach. the public knew little of these consultations, but a rumor became current that mayor gallagher would suspend district attorney langdon from office. little credence was given this, however. nevertheless, on the night of october acting mayor gallagher suspended langdon from office, and appointed abraham ruef to be district attorney to conduct the graft investigations.[ ] the following morning the san francisco call, under a large picture of ruef, printed the words: "this man's hand grips the throat of san francisco." footnotes: [ ] the persecution of the bulletin during this period was characteristic of ruef's methods and reflected the state of lawlessness which prevailed in san francisco. r. a. crothers, proprietor of the paper, was assaulted and badly beaten. the newsboys organized into a union. the boys were sincere enough, but the movement was in reality engineered from the tenderloin. soon a strike of newsboys against the bulletin was inaugurated. copies of the paper were snatched from the hands of citizens who purchased it. bulletin carriers and agents were assaulted. tugs of its delivery wagons were cut. when the paper was delivered to stores, sticks and stones were thrown in after it. the police did not interfere. the manifestations of lawlessness went unchecked. libel suits were brought against the bulletin. business boycotts were attempted against it. [ ] see address made by heney before citizens' league of justice in october, . [ ] rudolph spreckels, although connected with large enterprises, had steadfastly refused to employ ruef as an attorney, or to join with him in any way. given control of the san francisco gas company, for example, although he was importuned to do so, spreckels refused to employ ruef as attorney for that company. spreckels testified at the trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun, that he had first realized the necessity of proceeding against ruef and the ruef-schmitz administration when ruef proposed to him to organize a syndicate to purchase san francisco municipal bonds. spreckels testified that ruef set forth his plan as follows: "he (ruef) asked me if i would get together a syndicate for the purpose of bidding on these bonds; that he would guarantee that if i did get up such a syndicate, our bid would be a successful bid; that we would not be obliged to bid above par, and that he would guarantee that we would be the successful bidders. my reply to mr. ruef was that i could not understand how anybody could make such an agreement or promise, and how did he propose to make such a statement--to carry out what he had stated. he said: 'why, that is a simple matter. you know my connection with the labor unions and the labor union party. just at the time that the bids are about to come in, i will arrange to tie up this town; we will have the biggest strike that the community has ever known, and i would like to see any of your bankers or your capitalistic friends bid on the bonds under those circumstances, excepting yourself, those that are in the know'--words to that effect, was his expression. i said to mr. ruef: 'do you mean to say, mr. ruef, that for the purpose of making money you would bring about a strike which might entail even bloodshed, for the mere sake of making money?' and mr. ruef flushed up and said: 'oh, no; i was only joking.' and he soon withdrew from my office." it is interesting to compare spreckels' attitude toward ruef with that of i. w. hellman, as shown by hellman's testimony at the trial of tirey l. ford. see footnote , page . [ ] heney, in his address on the work of the graft prosecution, october, , paid langdon the following high tribute: "mr. langdon, as soon as we laid the matter before him and convinced him it was in good faith and not to serve private interests, said: 'yes, i will appoint mr. heney assistant in my office and give him full sway to make a thorough investigation, on one condition, and that is that i am kept personally in touch with everything going on at all times. i am district attorney and i propose to be district attorney and to act upon my own judgment.' and there never has been a time that mr. langdon didn't have absolute sway over all matters, and did not wholly consent to what was done, and he has had the final say in everything, and i wish to say that there is more credit due to him than to any of us. he had a greater personal sacrifice to make. "the first thing he had to take into consideration was that he had gone into office as the candidate of the labor party, and he knew he would be called a traitor and denounced if it appeared that any man who had been on the same ticket as he had been elected upon had been grafting. he had to possess more moral than physical courage, and a higher kind of moral courage, and that courage was exercised to the credit of san francisco as well as to the credit of mr. langdon." [ ] the graft defense labored without success to make it appear that heney was compensated for his service. out of the prosecution fund, the expenses--rental, clerical hire, etc.--of offices, so far as they were maintained especially for the work of the graft prosecution, were paid. these were known as "heney's offices." when rudolph spreckels was on the stand at the calhoun trial, he testified under heney's announcement that the defense could ask him any question it chose and no objection would be made. earl rogers, for calhoun, endeavored to make it appear that heney was getting pay. "mr. spreckels," rogers asked, "in addition to paying mr. heney's office expenses, amounting to five or six hundred dollars a month, have you paid other expenses for mr. heney?" "no, sir," spreckels replied. heney, the testimony all through shows, received not a dollar to compensate him for his services to the city; moreover, it shows that he had given up business which would have brought him large fees, that he might be free to conduct the graft prosecution. see transcript calhoun trial, pages and on, , , etc. the efforts of well-compensated attorneys for the defense to make it appear that heney was paid for his work, furnish one of the amusing features of the graft trials. [ ] the conference was held on may or . this was four days before the supervisors took the preliminary steps toward granting the united railroads its overhead trolley permit, and several months before the bribe money was paid. [ ] see testimony of rudolph spreckels at trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. . [ ] al mckinley was the first detective put to work for the graft prosecution. on may , , chief burns detailed him to watch ruef. later, june , , burns directed robert perry to shadow ruef. perry did so until nearly a year later, when ruef was placed in the custody of an elisor. [ ] that prosecution of officials of the united railroads was not thought of when the graft prosecution was begun, was brought out at the trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. . the following, for example, is taken from rudolph spreckels' testimony: "mr. heney--q. at the time that mr. phelan agreed to contribute the $ , , mr. spreckels, what did you say, if anything, about contributing yourself? a. that was in the first meeting, i think, mr. heney, and i told him that i was ready and willing to contribute a similar amount: that i believed it would be possible to get others to join and contribute. "q. at that time was anything said by any person about prosecuting mr. calhoun? a. absolutely no. "q. or any person connected with the united railroads company? a. the discussion was entirely confined to the administration, the corrupt "q. at that time did you have any purpose or intention of prosecuting mr. calhoun? a. i had not. "q. did you have any reason to believe that mr. calhoun at that time had committed any crime? a. i had no indication of such a crime. "mr. moore--was that time fixed, mr. heney? "mr. heney--yes, it was fixed; the first conversation, and he has fixed it as nearly as he could. "the court--have you in mind the testimony on that point, mr. moore? there was some reference to it in an earlier part of the examination. "mr. heney--q. when you had the talk with mr. heney in april, , did you say anything about prosecuting mr. calhoun, or anybody connected with the united railroads? a. i did not. "q. did you at any time tell mr. heney that you desired to have him prosecute mr. patrick calhoun? a. i did not, at any time. "q. did you tell him at any time that you desired to have him prosecute any person connected with the united railroads company? a. i did not." see transcript the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. , page . [ ] rudolph spreckels testified at the trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. : "mr. perry was employed to get information in regard to mr. abraham ruef and the city administration as early as june, , and his efforts and of one other man employed at that time were directed toward that and that only." [ ] see san francisco newspapers, november , . [ ] gallagher's statement was in full as follows: it seems to me that these assaults that are being made upon mayor schmitz are exceedingly reprehensible. it is strange that the gentlemen who are making the attacks did not see fit to make them while mayor schmitz was here. especially does this apply to langdon, who, by reason of past association with mayor schmitz, and favors received by him from the mayor, should have been the last man to attempt to besmirch the mayor in his absence. i am satisfied that all these attacks upon the administration officials have their origin in the long-continued attempt on behalf of the citizens' alliance to disrupt the labor organizations of the city. an administration that is friendly to organized labor is an impassable obstacle in the way of such a purpose. the enormous amount of labor of all kinds that will have to be performed in this city during the next few years has undoubtedly prompted the organizers of the old citizens' alliance to renew their assaults upon the officials elected by the union labor party in the hope that they may thereby themselves secure control of the municipal administration and thus work out their own will in the matter of the conditions under which labor shall perform the task of rebuilding this city. "so far as i am concerned personally, i consider that the disruption of the labor organization would be a great sacrifice of the interests of all of the people. the city must be built up; but the citizens' alliance and all organizations and individuals in sympathy with it may as well understand, first as last, that the work will only be done through organized labor, and not by the employment of pauper labor in competition with the mechanics and artisans of the labor unions. "that this view of the situation is well recognized by the labor organizations of the city is shown by the action of the building trades council last night in approving and indorsing my action in removing mr. langdon." [ ] contained in a statement published may , . see san francisco papers of that date. [ ] the nature of the attacks upon the supporters of the prosecution is shown by the proceedings in the libel suit brought by the san francisco first national bank against the oakland tribune. rudolph spreckels was president of the bank; the tribune was one of the stanchest of the opponents of the prosecution. the tribune charged that the graft prosecution had for one of its objects the unloading of the spring valley water company's plant upon san francisco, and that the first national bank was burdened with spring valley securities. among other things the article set forth: "the recent disclosures of the methods by which it was sought to unload spring valley's old junk, called a distributing system, together with its inadequate supply of inferior water, on the city at an outrageous figure by the swinging of the 'big stick' has not enhanced the value of the securities of the corporation in the view of the national examiners. even the efforts to cloud the real purposes of the promoters of the spring valley job by calling it a civic uprising to stamp out municipal graft is said to have failed to mislead the federal experts. the suggestion that the 'big stick' would force the city to purchase the plant of the decrepit corporation for $ , , after its real estimate was appraised by an expert at $ , , and held by the bondholders to be worth, as realty speculation, $ , , , has not enthused the federal bank examiners in relation to the value of spring valley bonds as security for a national bank." the first national bank did not hold spring valley company securities. as the tribune's charges were calculated to injure the bank, action for libel followed. at the hearings, it developed that the articles had been furnished the tribune by the political editor of the san francisco chronicle, who testified that he was paid fifty dollars a week for his tribune articles. this was more than his salary as political editor of the chronicle. he admitted on the stand that he had heard what he stated in his article, "only as a matter of gossip." [ ] the san francisco call, in an editorial article, printed october , expressed the general sentiment in san francisco. the call said: "san francisco will welcome the undertaking by mr. francis j. heney of the duty to search out and bring to justice the official boodlers and their brokers that afflict the body politic. public opinion is unanimous in the belief that supervisors have been bribed and that administrative functions such as those of the board of works and the health board have been peddled in secret market. even the board of education is not exempted from suspicion. "these convictions, prevailing in the public mind, call for verification or refutation. the sudden affluence of certain members of the board of supervisors, the current and generally credited reports that the united railroads paid upward of $ , in bribes to grease the way of its overhead trolley franchise, the appearance of public officials in the guise of capitalists making large investments in skating rinks and other considerable enterprises--these and other lines of investigation demand the probe. if there has been no dishonesty in office the officials should be the first to insist on a thorough inquiry. "if it is true, as we believe, that official boodling has been the practice, a systematic inquiry will surely uncover the crimes. it is impossible to commit such offenses where so many are concerned without leaving some trace that can be followed and run to earth. the crimes of the gaspipe thugs seemed for the moment hidden in impenetrable mystery, but patient search discovers the trail that leads to conviction. criminals are rarely men of high intelligence. they betray themselves at one or other turn of their windings. we are convinced that some of our supervisors and not a few of the executive officials appointed by schmitz are in no degree superior in point of intelligence and moral sense to the gaspipe robbers. "mr. heney's record as a remorseless and indefatigable prosecutor of official rascals is known. he will have the assistance in his new work of mr. william j. burns, who did so much to bring to light the oregon land frauds. those crimes were surrounded and protected by fortifications of political influence that were deemed impregnable. when the inquiry was first undertaken nobody believed it would ever come to anything. it was a slow business, even as the mills of the gods grind slowly, but if fine the grist of the criminal courts of oregon is large and satisfying. "the people of san francisco have been sorely tried. fire and earthquake we cannot help, but the unhappy city has been made the prey of a set of conscienceless thieves who have done nothing since our great calamity beyond promoting schemes to fill their own pockets. our streets, our sewers, our schools and our public buildings have been neglected, but the sale of permits and franchises, the working of real estate jobs and the market for privileges of every variety have been brisk and incessant. officials have grown rich: some of them are spending money like a drunken sailor. it is time for housecleaning and a day of reckoning. heney and burns will put the question: 'where did they get it?'" [ ] bishop montgomery, of the roman catholic church, in an interview in the san francisco call, october , , said in reference to the san francisco graft prosecution: "mere accusations have been so long and so persistently made that the public has a right to know the truth; and, above all, those who are innocently so charged have a right to a public and complete vindication. nothing now but a thorough and honest investigation can clear the atmosphere and set us right before the world and with ourselves. "i have such confidence in the courts of california that i believe no innocent man needs to fear that he will suffer from them, and no guilty man has any just right to complain. "i believe the investigation has been undertaken in good faith for the best interests of the city, and that it will be conducted thoroughly and honestly." [ ] mr. spreckels' statement was contained in an interview printed in the san francisco call, october , . it was as follows: "this is no question of capital and labor," he said, "but of dishonesty and justice. there is no association of men, capitalists or others, behind what we have undertaken, and it cannot be made a class question. no one knows that better than ruef. and it will be impossible for him to fool the workingman by these insinuations. "i want the workingmen of this city to recall that meeting which was recently held in union square. i was asked to attend that meeting and be its chairman. i refused to preside, to speak or go there unless i could be assured that it was not to be a movement of the capitalistic class on the one hand against the workingmen on the other. and because i did not receive that assurance i did not attend. mr. heney stayed away for the same reason. "now, who was it that originated that meeting? sam shortridge. who was it who drew the resolutions; who was it who prompted the speakers and the chairman? it was sam shortridge. "mr. ruef says that meeting was dominated and arranged by the citizens' alliance. very well. then let mr. ruef explain to the workingmen why it was that a few days afterward he hired sam shortridge as his attorney. "i believe that it is impossible to fool the laboring men of this city now. absolutely and definitely i want to say to them that there is nothing behind this movement but the desire for a clean city. it is absolutely regardless of class. every man who owns a home, who has a family, is as much interested in what we have undertaken as is the wealthiest citizen." [ ] see san francisco examiner, october , , from which the following is taken: "=of course there was no bribery= (said general ford), =nor offer to bribe, nor was there anything done except upon clean and legitimate lines=." "q. general, if any bribe, or offer to bribe, had been made by your company to any person connected with the san francisco municipal administration, or to any political boss having control of the same, or if any member of the board of supervisors, or of the municipal government had benefited to the extent of one dollar financially by the agreement to grant to the united railroads the privilege desired, you, in your official capacity, would undoubtedly be aware of it, would you not? a. i am certain that i would; i am, therefore, equally certain that no such thing was ever done or contemplated." [ ] the following are excerpts from interviews published in the san francisco examiner, october , : abraham ruef: "i am satisfied that if mayor schmitz had known that this investigation was afoot he would have postponed his trip abroad and would have remained here to disprove all allegations of graft." supervisor andrew wilson: "i shall be glad to welcome any investigation as to my official acts or as to my official conduct. i never took a dishonest dollar in my life." supervisor patrick mcgushin: "the more they investigate, the better i shall like it. i do not believe mr. heney has any evidence of graft. speaking for myself, he can investigate me or my bank account if he likes." acting mayor james l. gallagher: "so far as the administration is concerned from the statements i have received, everything is straight. so far as the police department is concerned no one can tell. i can not tell." supervisor jennings phillips: "this investigation will be a good thing. there has been so much talk of graft and so many accusations that it all will be settled once and for all. if mr. heney has any evidence i know nothing of its nature nor against what part of the administration it is directed." supervisor edward walsh: "as a supervisor i have tried to do my best. i court an investigation. i do not pay much attention to mr. heney's statements. i have been here thirty-seven years and i can hold up my head, as can every other member of this board." supervisor michael coffey: "nothing would afford me more pleasure than to have them investigate my integrity and my official acts. i hope they'll make a full and thorough investigation and clear us all of the slurs that have been cast upon us." supervisor s. davis: "i think there is nothing to this whole thing. if mr. heney can find out anything let him do it. it is hard to have insinuations cast at you. my personal connection with the administration has been straight." supervisor f. p. nicholas: "there has been so much noise about graft that it will be a good thing to go thoroughly into the matter. personally i court an investigation of my official acts. if mr. heney has any evidence of corruption i know nothing of it." supervisor daniel coleman: "these loud cries of graft that have been current of late will be silenced through this investigation. it should be thoroughly gone into so that the purity of the administration cannot hereafter be questioned." supervisor max mamlock: "i do not think it is worth my while to think about this investigation. i do not see where mr. burns or mr. heney could get any evidence of graft." [ ] acting-mayor gallagher's order removing langdon is printed in full in the appendix. one of the charges alleged against langdon was that he had appointed francis j. heney to be his deputy for ulterior purposes. of heney it was alleged that he had "in a public speech in said city and county (san francisco), aspersed the character and good name of a prominent citizen of this community (abe ruef), and stated that he knew him to be corrupt, etc." acting-mayor gallagher's order of removal was made in persuance of sections and of article xvi of the san francisco charter, which read as follows: "sec. . any elected officer, except supervisor, may be suspended by the mayor and removed by the supervisors for cause; and any appointed officer may be removed by the mayor for cause. the mayor shall appoint some person to discharge the duties of the office during the period of such suspension. "sec. . when the mayor shall suspend any elected officer he shall immediately notify the supervisors of such suspension and the cause therefor. if the board is not in session, he shall immediately call a session of the same in such manner as shall be provided by ordinance. the mayor shall present written charges against such suspended officer to the board and furnish a copy of the same to said officer, who shall have the right to appear with counsel before the board in his defense. if by an affirmative vote of not less than fourteen members of the board of supervisors, taken by ayes and noes and entered on its record, the action of the mayor is approved, then the suspended officer shall thereby be removed from office; but if the action of the mayor is not so approved such suspended officer shall be immediately reinstated." chapter vi. ruef's fight to take the district attorney's office. the impaneling of the grand jury was to have been completed on october . heney was appointed assistant district attorney on october . ruef, to secure control of the district attorney's office before the grand jury could be sworn, had little time to act. but he was equal to the emergency. gallagher removed langdon and named ruef as district attorney the day after heney's appointment and the day before the impaneling of the grand jury was to have been completed. ruef had, however, considered langdon's suspension from the day of the district attorney's announcement of his plans for investigating graft charges. gallagher testified at the graft trials that ruef had, several days before langdon's suspension, notified him it might be necessary to remove langdon from office[ ]. the acting mayor expressed himself as ready to carry out whatever ruef might want done. gallagher testified that the names of several attorneys, including that of henry ach, ruef's attorney and close associate, were canvassed as eligible for appointment as langdon's successor. nothing definite was decided upon, however, until the day that langdon's position was declared vacant. on that day, gallagher received word from ruef to call at his office. there, according to gallagher's statement, he found thomas v. cator, a member of the municipal board of election commissioners. henry ach came in later. ruef told gallagher that he had decided it was necessary to remove langdon, and that he had decided to take the place himself. gallagher assured ruef that whatever ruef decided in the matter he, the acting mayor, would stand by. the papers removing langdon had already been prepared. gallagher read them over, for typographical errors, he states in his testimony, and signed them. the board of supervisors was to have met that day at : p. m. in regular weekly session. gallagher, as acting mayor, was to preside. but it was well after p. m. when gallagher arrived, from ruef's office, at the council chamber. he appeared worried and disturbed. the supervisors, who had been waiting for him for nearly four hours, were called to order. the communication removing langdon was read and adopted without debate or opposition.[ ] gallagher then announced that he had appointed ruef to be langdon's successor. how completely ruef dominated the municipal departments was shown by the fact that he filed his bond, his oath of office, and his certificate of appointment at the various municipal offices without hint of what was going on reaching the public. ruef had commanded secrecy, and secrecy was observed. after gallagher had announced ruef's appointment in open meeting of the supervisors, the filing of the papers was made public. although the supervisors, in open board meeting, endorsed gallagher's action without apparent hesitation, nevertheless the abler among them did so with misgivings. supervisor wilson went straight from the meeting of the board to ruef's office. he told ruef that in his judgment a mistake had been made; that the papers would call the removal of langdon confession of guilt.[ ] but ruef laughed at his fears, and to cheer him up, took him to a popular restaurant for dinner. but before leaving his office, ruef performed his first act as district attorney. he wrote a curt note to heney, dismissing him from the position of assistant.[ ] later in the evening he appointed as heney's successor marshall b. woodworth. the order of dismissal was delivered to heney within ten minutes. heney's answer reached ruef as he sat at dinner with supervisor wilson and henry ach, who had joined the group. heney's reply was quite as pointed as ruef's letter of dismissal. heney stated he did not recognize ruef as district attorney. the battle between the two forces was fairly on. ruef and his associates, as they sat at dinner, discussed the advisability of taking possession of the district attorney's office that night, but concluded to wait until morning. in this ruef suffered the fate of many a general who has consented to delay. when morning came, district attorney langdon had his office under guard, and san francisco was aroused as it had not been in a generation. supervisor wilson had not misjudged the interpretation that would be placed upon langdon's suspension. the call the following morning denounced ruef as "district attorney by usurpation; a prosecuting officer to save himself from prosecution." the chronicle set forth, in a biting editorial article, that "as long as they (the ruef-schmitz combine) felt safe from prosecution, they jauntily declared that they would like to see the accusations fully justified, but the instant they began to realize the possibility of being sent to san quentin, they turned tail and resorted to a trick which every man in the community with gumption enough to form a judgment in such matters will recognize as a confession of guilt." the examiner called the removal of langdon and the appointment of ruef, "the last stand of criminals hunted and driven to bay." "they have," said the examiner, "come to a point where they will stop at nothing.... william h. langdon, the fearless district attorney, and francis j. heney, the great prosecutor, have driven the bribe-seekers and the bribe-takers to a condition of political madness. in hysterical fear they last night attempted their anarchistic method of defense." the bulletin devoted its entire editorial page to ruef's new move, heading the article, "ruef's illegal action is confession of guilt." "nothing," said the bulletin, "in the history of anarchy parallels in cool, deliberate usurpation of authority this latest exhibition of lawlessness in san francisco.... government is seized to overthrow government. authority is exercised in defiance of authority. the office of the district attorney is seized deliberately, with malice aforethought, with strategy and cunning and used as a fort for thieves to battle down the forces of citizenship. the criminals, accused of felony, after inviting investigation and pretending to assist, have shown their hypocrisy by committing an act of anarchy which, while it might be tolerated for the time being in san francisco, would result in the execution of these men in any government of europe." gallagher's action, while upheld by the union-labor party leaders, and by the unions which these leaders dominated, was condemned by independent labor organizations. the building trades council, with which all the building trades unions were affiliated, dominated by p. h. mccarthy, promptly endorsed gallagher's action in removing langdon. but many of the affiliated unions not only withheld endorsement, but some of them repudiated the action of the central body. the bricklayers and masons' union, for example, with members present, and without a dissenting vote, adopted resolutions declaring that "the president and secretary[ ] of the building trades council are not fit persons to be at the head of the union movement in san francisco," and denouncing the course of the municipal administration, which the building trades council had approved, as "high-handed defiance of the law."[ ] in spite of this repudiation by the unions, ruef issued a statement in which he denounced the prosecution as a movement "to destroy the union labor organization and to control the situation in san francisco in the interest of those who are opposed to the success of the wage-earning classes." he announced further, "i have accepted this office, the first political position i ever held in my life, because i believe it to be my duty to the public to bring to an end this constant defamation and to stop the publication of matter detrimental to the city's growth and material interest." "i do not intend," he said, "to make any changes in the personnel of the district attorney's office until it is determined what fate mr. langdon shall meet, with the exception that mr. heney will not be retained. i will not have mr. heney in my office because i do not believe that his moral standing is equal to the position."[ ] district attorney langdon was out of the city when acting mayor gallagher announced his suspension from office. langdon hurried back prepared to resist the executive's action.[ ] even while ruef and his associates were debating the advisability of taking possession of the district attorney's office that night, attorneys for the prosecution were at work on papers in injunction proceedings to restrain acting mayor gallagher, the supervisors and ruef from interfering with the district attorney in the discharge of his duties. the papers were not ready before o'clock of the morning of the th. at that hour, superior judge seawell signed an order temporarily restraining ruef from installing himself as district attorney, and from interfering with langdon in the discharge of his duties as district attorney. by eight o'clock that morning, presiding judge graham of the superior court had assigned the case to judge seawell's department; a police officer and two deputy sheriffs had been installed in the district attorney's office with instructions to enforce the restraining order. for the time, at least, district attorney langdon was secure in his office. ruef appeared two hours later. he was that morning to have represented the defendant in a murder trial, the people vs. denike, but began the day by formally withdrawing from the case on the ground that as district attorney he could not appear for the defense. he appeared in the police courts ready to prosecute a libel suit which he had brought against the proprietor of the san francisco bulletin, but the justice had been served with judge seawell's restraining order and the libel-case hearing was postponed. in judge dunne's department of the superior court, ruef received something of a setback. the court made a special order permitting one of langdon's deputies to prosecute in a criminal action then pending, regardless of who might be district attorney. the restraining order kept ruef and woodworth out of the district attorney's office. by noon it was evident that at the big event of that eventful day, the impaneling of the grand jury, langdon, and not ruef, would, as district attorney, represent the people. footnotes: [ ] gallagher testified at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , to the conversation at ruef's law offices when ruef first broached the matter of langdon's removal, as follows: "the substance of the conversation was that mr. ruef stated that it might become necessary to remove mr. langdon from the office of district attorney, and to appoint somebody else. i replied that that was a matter for him to make up his mind on; if he determined it had to be done. i would do it; words to that effect. i cannot give the exact language." [ ] the san francisco chronicle, in its issue of october , thus describes the proceedings attending langdon's removal: "gallagher took the chair at : p. m. and there was ten minutes' perfunctory business. "his honor seemed uneasy, but at the careful prompting of secretary keane, he called for 'communications from executive officers.' "keane then announced, 'from his honor, the mayor,' and read gallagher's letter suspending district attorney langdon 'for neglect of duty' and sundry other charges. "during the reading of the long document there was no sound in the hall save the hoarse voice of secretary keane, and on its completion supervisor sanderson arose. "gallagher explained that langdon would 'be given an opportunity next thursday afternoon at : o'clock to appear before the board and defend himself against the charges.' "he then recognized sanderson, who offered a motion accepting the communication from the mayor and directing that langdon be directed to appear to answer. "supervisor wilson seconded the motion. "upon the call for the 'ayes,' although the supervisors usually let silence indicate their consent, there was a chorus of approval, and upon the call for the 'noes' there was dead silence. "supervisors l. a. rea and j. j. furey were not present." [ ] at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , page of transcript , wilson testified: "i told him (ruef) that i thought it was a bad move at this time and that the papers in the morning would state it was simply a confession of guilt; and i said that i had stood there and taken my program on the matter, but i felt it would ruin my chances in the face of an election, running for railroad commissioner, and he said i would feel better after i had something to eat, and we went over to tait's and had supper. on the way over he (ruef) sent charlie hagerty in to notify mr. heney of his removal." [ ] ruef's order dismissing heney was as follows: "mr. francis j. heney: you are hereby removed from the position of assistant district attorney of the city and county of san francisco. "dated. october , . "(signed) a. ruef, "acting district attorney." [ ] p. h. mccarthy and o. a. tveitmoe, respectively president and secretary of the building trades council. [ ] the resolutions adopted by bricklayers' and masons' international union no. , were as follows: "whereas, the office of district attorney of san francisco county has been declared vacant by the acting mayor and supervisors at a time when the said district attorney was preparing an investigation into the official acts of the said supervisors and others; and "whereas, one of the persons accused by the said district attorney of being guilty of criminal acts, has been appointed by the acting mayor and supervisors to fill the office thus vacated; and "whereas, the building trades council of san francisco has indorsed the action of the administration, and the president and secretary of said council has aided and abetted said usurpation of power to the utmost of their ability; therefore, be it "resolved, that this union condemn the action of the council in this matter, and that we condemn the president and secretary of the council for lending or selling their aid to help to prevent the investigation of the public acts of officials who have thrown themselves open to suspicion, and thereby placing the honest union men of san francisco in the false light of indorsing such high-handed defiance of the law; and be it "resolved, that we deny that the proposed prosecution of the present administration is an attack on organized labor; and further, be it "resolved, that it is the sense of this union that the president and secretary of the building trades council are not fit persons to be at the head of the union movement in san francisco, and that the delegates representing this union in the council are hereby instructed to use every honorable means to carry out the spirit of this resolution; and further, be it "resolved, that a copy of these resolutions be furnished by the corresponding secretary to each and every union affiliated with the council, so that they will consider this an invitation from this union to assist in ridding the central body of officers whom we believe have done all in their power to bring unionism into disrepute." similar resolutions were adopted by journeymen plumbers, gas and steam fitters' local, no. . [ ] see ruef's statement as published in the san francisco chronicle, october , . [ ] mr. langdon, on arriving in san francisco, issued the following statement: "no person in california believes that my alleged suspension is due to neglect or inefficiency. no dissent is necessary before the people. it is plain that my removal is deemed necessary by ruef and gallagher to prevent an honest, searching investigation of conditions that prevail in municipal affairs in san francisco. their plan will come to naught, however. "as district attorney i shall pursue this investigation to the end. i deny the legal right of the mayor or the board of supervisors to suspend or dismiss me. the provision of the charter purporting to give that authority is clearly unconstitutional. the citizens must determine whether or not they will countenance this high-handed proceeding in a community which is supposed to be governed by the law, and not by the will of a boss and his puppet." chapter vii. oliver grand jury impaneled. the hard fight of the morning of october th to prevent ruef taking possession of the district attorney's office had been carried on practically without the general public being aware of the proceedings. langdon had been suspended early in the evening of the previous day. the temporary order restraining ruef from interfering with the district attorney had been signed at o'clock in the morning. the general public found by the morning papers that ruef had attempted to seize the office, but of the steps taken to stay his hand the papers had nothing. the question on every man's lip was: will judge graham recognize ruef or langdon as district attorney at the impaneling of the grand jury? the court was to meet at o'clock. long before that hour arrived, the halls of temple israel, a jewish synagogue in which several departments of the superior court met during the months following the great fire, were packed with citizens. the street in front of the building soon became jammed with a struggling mass of men demanding entrance. the crowd became so great that none could enter or leave the building. plain-clothes men were on all sides, and succeeded in clearing a space about the entrance. the work of clearing the building of all who could not show that they had business there, then began. in this work, deference was shown ruef's adherents. notorious saloon-keepers, ex-prize fighters and strong-arm men friendly to ruef were permitted to remain. opponents of the administration who protested against removal were unceremoniously thrown out. although little groups of partisans of the administration appeared in the crowd, the citizens assembled were in the main clearly in sympathy with the prosecution.[ ] the arrival of langdon, heney and spreckels was signal for outbursts of applause. ruef apparently appreciated the feeling against him. he appeared guarded by two detectives of the regular police department,[ ] and a body-guard of partisans. the crowd began to press about him. several of his followers made motions as though to draw revolvers. ruef hurried into the building. to add to the confusion, there was, planned or without planning, misunderstanding as to the room in which the hearing was to be held. the representatives of district attorney langdon's office finding themselves misinformed as to the meeting place, forced their way from hall to hall seeking reliable information. when the room was finally located, it was found to be packed with ruef followers. the sheriff ordered the doors closed. the court's attention was called to this. district attorney langdon insisted that the doors be opened and the crowd permitted to enter to the capacity of the room. he pointed out that some had been admitted and others kept out, and insisted there should be no discrimination. this course was taken. the crowd poured in until every available foot of standing room was occupied.[ ] eighteen of the nineteen citizens required under the california law for grand jury service had already been drawn at former sessions of the court. as soon as order had been secured, the name of the nineteenth was taken from the jury box. this detail over, heney called the court's attention to the provision of the california law, that no person whose name does not appear on the assessment roll of the county in which he serves is eligible for grand jury service, and that the courts have held further, that bias or prejudice of a grand juror against a person indicted is sufficient grounds for setting aside the indictment. heney then stated that he wished to examine the nineteen men as to their qualifications as grand jurors. ruef, announcing himself as an officer of the court, arose to speak. heney objected to ruef appearing, if by officer of the court he meant district attorney or acting district attorney. ruef answered that he appeared only in his capacity as member of the bar. on this showing he was allowed to proceed. ruef contended that the procedure proposed by heney was irregular; that if followed the validity of the grand jury would be imperiled. he stated that he did not want to see the grand jury made an illegal body. heney replied that he intended, as assistant district attorney, to present felony charges against ruef, and desired to examine the prospective grand jurors as to their bias for or against ruef. furthermore, heney insisted, the court had authority to excuse a juror if he were not on the assessment roll. to accept as grand jurors men whose names were not on the assessment roll, or men biased or prejudiced against ruef would, heney insisted, make the proceedings a farce.[ ] in reply to heney, ruef defied him to produce any evidence "in open court before an untutored grand jury for an indictment." ruef charged heney further with employing abuse "to make the grand jury illegal so that nothing might come of any indictment." at this point, the attorney general of the state, u. s. webb,[ ] addressed the court. at his suggestion the grand jurors were excused for the day. general webb then stated that he knew of no law for the procedure which mr. heney suggested. he admitted, however, that such procedure would be desirable, and advised that no hasty action be taken in coming to a decision. heney in reply read from california decisions to show that the people have the authority to make examination of grand jurors, and continued: "the only question remaining is as to when this examination shall be made. suppose the foreman of the grand jury is biased or prejudiced. does it require any argument that now is the time to make this examination instead of waiting until we have presented our evidence to the grand jury? shall we first have to give those whom we accuse time to bribe witnesses and get them out of the country? shall we let the defendant come in and quash the indictment, if there is any bias or prejudice, and then be enabled to protect himself against prosecution? "after the miserable fiasco (the attempted removal of langdon) which occurred last night," heney went on, "what more important duty for this court to perform than to say immediately that the law is more powerful than any man or any set of men in san francisco?" as heney concluded, the packed courtroom burst into applause. the crowd outside heard, took it up and cheered wildly. as soon as order was restored, henry ach, one of the attorneys appearing for ruef, suggested that heney, the attorney general and himself, get together to present the question of whether langdon or ruef were district attorney to the supreme court. ach stated that he feared if langdon or heney attended a session of the grand jury and ruef were to be found to be district attorney, then the acts of the grand jury might be invalidated. heney replied that in acting as prosecutor it had been his rule "to have no conferences, treaties or alliances with persons charged with crime, or with their attorneys." on this ground, heney declined mr. ach's proposition. judge graham made no rulings that day on any of the points raised, but ordered a continuance until the following monday. after adjournment of court, the appearance of langdon and heney at the entrance of the building brought forth cheers from the crowd that all through the proceedings had waited outside. a speech was demanded of langdon. "my friends," he replied, "we have no speeches to make. we have a duty to perform and we will perform that duty." immediately behind langdon came ruef, closely guarded by police and detectives. he was pale and worn and clearly frightened. the crowd pressed about him. threats came from his followers to shoot into the crowd if it pressed too closely. ruef finally reached his automobile and was driven away.[ ] the topic of discussion of the two days that elapsed before judge graham decided the questions that had been raised by heney's proposal to proceed with the examination of the grand jurors, was whether graham would allow such examination. it was alleged that no less than four of the citizens drawn for grand jury service were not on the assessment roll. there were, too, charges that ruef controlled several of them. some of the papers printed the names of those whom it was alleged were either under obligations to ruef or connected with his political organization. a second crowd filled courtroom, building and street when judge graham's court was called to order the following monday. mounted policemen, plain-clothes men and detectives, directed by two captains of police, were, however, on hand to preserve order.[ ] there were no demonstrations. judge graham announced from the bench that after due deliberation, he had concluded that the district attorney had the right to interrogate the grand jurors as to their qualifications. he stated further that inasmuch as langdon was the de facto district attorney, langdon would conduct the examination. the prosecution had won the first skirmish in the years-long fight upon which san francisco was entering for the enforcement of the law. the next move came from attorney samuel m. shortridge. shortridge appeared with ruef's attorney, henry ach, and marshall b. woodworth. ruef had named woodworth, it will be remembered, as heney's successor in the district attorney's office. mr. shortridge read acting mayor gallagher's order suspending langdon and appointing ruef, and also called the court's attention to the fact that ruef had filed his official bond as district attorney. shortridge stated that the matter was pending before judge seawell, and asked the court, "in deference to judge seawell," to postpone proceedings until the district-attorney controversy should be decided. shortridge expressed himself as fearful that, if the examination of the grand jurors went on, judge seawell's decision might invalidate the grand jury proceedings. w. t. baggett, assistant city attorney,[ ] followed shortridge. mr. baggett read a letter from the acting mayor, setting forth the fact of langdon's removal, and joined with shortridge in pleading for delay. but the pleas of both gentlemen were denied. judge graham repeated his opinion given earlier in the day that langdon should be recognized as the de facto district attorney, and ordered the impaneling of the grand jury to continue. shortridge thereupon announced his desire to participate in the examination of the grand jurors. heney objected to shortridge appearing as a representative of the district attorney's office. shortridge replied that he respected judge seawell's order, and had no intention of violating it. he asked if he would be permitted to act in the capacity of amicus curiæ[ ] in examining jurors. this privilege was accorded him. the examination of the grand jurors occupied more than a week. several of the nineteen were excused, it being found that their names were not on the assessment roll. the examination was concluded[ ] on november th and the grand jurors sworn. b. p. oliver was appointed foreman. from him the body received its name of oliver grand jury. the grand jury organized by electing c. g. burnett secretary. but one important question remained to be decided, namely--was ruef or langdon to represent the people at the investigation into graft charges which the grand jury was ready to begin? footnotes: [ ] the san francisco chronicle in its issue of october thus described the crowd: "every man the police put out of the building was cheered by the crowd and every time policemen laid hands on anyone they were hissed. however, it was evident that the citizens who gathered outside the temple israel yesterday afternoon did not come prepared to fight with the police force. in the crowd standing outside almost every man prominent in the business and professional life of the city could be seen. manufacturers, merchants, lawyers, doctors, men engaged in all the various lines of wholesale and retail business, and all the professions, included among the latter being many protestant ministers, catholic priests and jewish rabbis. here and there in the great concourse of people were scattered little groups of men of the type that may be seen hanging around the tenderloin." [ ] detectives steve bunner and tim riordan. these men accompanied ruef for nearly a month. late in november, after ruef had been indicted, they were sent back to active duty. [ ] while the crowd was pressing into the room, a deputy sheriff undertook to search heney for concealed weapons. heney complained of the officer's conduct, protested vigorously. "that is the man standing there," cried heney, "he did so at the request of abe ruef." "who was informed that mr. heney was armed," responded ruef. it developed that heney was not armed, and the incident went no further. but it indicated the sharpness of the division between the two factions. [ ] the chronicle of october , , contains the following account of heney's reply to ruef: "'i now announce to the court,' said heney fervently, 'that i intend as assistant district attorney, to present charges of felony and misdemeanor against abraham ruef, and i desire to examine the members of this panel to determine if any member entertains bias or prejudice for or against abraham ruef in the matter of the charges which are to be presented by the district attorney's office. i understand that there is no question as to abraham ruef's right to have the indictment set aside if any member of the grand jury is biased or prejudiced against him. it would be a farce,' heney went on, his voice swelling, 'it would be adding to the comedy of errors enacted last night (the attempted removal of langdon from office), if we have a grand jury which is biased or prejudiced. it has become public through the newspapers--to some extent, at least--that abraham ruef is to be investigated. the people have the same right as the defendant to examine the members of the panel as to their qualifications. i know that a number of the members do not possess the qualifications provided by the statute, as they are not on the assessment roll, and i desire to question them on that point. the court has the right to excuse a juror if he is not on the assessment roll. the supreme court has decided that a man has the right to be investigated by a grand jury of nineteen men who are qualified according to the statute and none others. it is not necessary to take for grand jurors the nineteen whose names are first drawn from the box. we should examine them, so that a member who has a bias or prejudice as to a particular person may be instructed that he shall not participate in the investigation of that person.'" [ ] under the california law, the attorney-general may at his discretion, take the prosecution of a criminal case out of the hands of a district attorney. it was within general webb's province to have taken charge of the san francisco graft trials. in a statement given wide publicity at the time, general webb stated that he had no intention of taking charge of the graft trials unless ruef succeeded in seizing the district attorney's office. long after, however, heney, in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun, thornwell mullally, tirey l. ford, william m. abbott, abraham ruef and eugene e. schmitz, no. , set forth a statement made to him by ruef when ruef was pleading for immunity, in which webb's presence at the impaneling of the grand jury was touched upon as follows: "ruef said in reply in substance, 'you are prejudiced against me, heney, ever since we had that quarrel during last election. you know that the public-service corporations are responsible for the conditions which exist in san francisco and that i can help you send some of the officials of those corporations to the penitentiary, and i can also help you to clean up this city and make it impossible for corruption to get a foothold here again for a long time. you are afraid to trust me, but you are making a mistake. the moment it becomes known that i have gone over to the prosecution the most powerful influences in this state will all be arrayed against us, and particularly against me. the moment you attack pat calhoun you in fact attack herrin. you don't know the relation between these parties and the corporation as well as i do. i am very fond of tirey ford, but i don't care a rap about pat calhoun, and would just as soon testify against him as not. but the moment it becomes known that i am ready to do so my life will no longer be safe. i will have to stick to the prosecution from the moment i start in with it. you don't know what desperate means these people are capable of resorting to. my life will not be safe. if they keep me in the county jail with o'neil as sheriff they will kill me to a certainty. you don't know how many influential people are involved in this thing. you and burns think you know, but there are a lot of people whom you don't know anything about who are mixed up in it. i tell you that the combined influence of all these people will make it next to impossible to secure convictions, and will make it very dangerous for all of us. it will not do to lessen the weight of my testimony any by having me plead guilty in that extortion case. besides that, the court would not allow me bail after i had pleaded guilty, and the supreme court may knock out the elisor, and then i would be absolutely in the hands of the other people, and they would surely kill me. sheriff o'neil is loyal to me now, but the moment he knew i was going to testify against schmitz he would be very bitter against me, and would do whatever those people wanted him to do. moreover, herrin will get attorney-general webb to come down and take these cases out of the hands of langdon and yourself, and he will declare the immunity contract off upon the ground that the district attorney has no power to make one and will prosecute me on some of the bribery cases now pending against me, and if they convict me herrin will see to it that i am not pardoned by the governor. he now controls the governor and the chances are he will continue to name the governor and control him for the next twenty years. webb was a deputy in ford's office when ford was attorney-general, and it was ford who got him to come down here and 'butt in' at the time you were impaneling the grand jury. i know you fellows thought it was i who got him to come down here, but as a matter of fact i did not know any more about it than you did until he appeared there, and i am sure it was ford who did it." [ ] while ruef was struggling through the crowd to reach his automobile dr. shadwick o. beasley, instructor in anatomy at the cooper medical college, was assaulted by some unidentified person. dr. beasley turned, shook his fist at ruef and hissed him. the doctor was immediately placed under arrest. dr. beasley, on his part, swore out a warrant charging an unknown deputy sheriff with battery. beasley was then made subject of petty persecution. he was, for example, held up on the street by a deputy sheriff and charged with carrying a concealed weapon. he was searched by two men, but nothing more deadly than a case of surgical instruments was found upon him. dr. beasley complained bitterly of the rough treatment from the officers. the san francisco chronicle, in its issue of october , , thus describes the scene which followed ruef's appearance before the crowd: "with fists and clubs chief of police dinan and his squad from the central police station fought off the crowd of angry citizens assembled about the temple israel who sought to lay violent hands on abe ruef when the curly-headed usurper of the functions of the municipal government was leaving the scene of the grand jury meeting yesterday afternoon. and in the wake of the police were the ruef heelers from the tenderloin with their hands on their pistols, threatening to shoot down the citizens of the city of san francisco who should dare to approach too near the sacred person of their tenderloin idol. "it was one of the most remarkable scenes ever witnessed in any city of this country. stung with the outrageous assumption of the powers of the public prosecutor when he was about to be placed on trial himself for crime, the citizens of the city, among whom are names that stand highest in business and professional circles, sought to make him realize the impudence of his conduct. that he escaped a swift punishment for his arrogant seizure of the office of the district attorney is solely due to the presence and strenuous efforts of the police." [ ] in sending his officers to handle this crowd, chief of police dinan gave the following instructions: "the captains, sergeants and officers so detailed are instructed that they are sent to the place designated for the purpose of doing strict police duty. they will see that the streets and sidewalks are not obstructed, and that no violations of the law are permitted." [ ] under the san francisco municipal charter, the district attorney has charge of criminal cases, and the city attorney of civil cases in which the city is concerned. the city attorney also acts as adviser to the mayor and board of supervisors. the two are independent offices. [ ] shortridge stated that as amicus curiae, it was his duty to see that the proceedings were without flaw. heney refused to take him seriously, however, referred to him facetiously as the "curious friend of the court." and suggested that the court unassisted might be able to determine what was competent evidence. [ ] the following nineteen citizens composed the grand jury that conducted the investigation of san francisco "graft" charges: e. j. gallagher, photographic supply dealer; frank a. dwyer, real estate; herman h. young, baker and restaurant proprietor; mendle rothenburg, liquor dealer; james e. gordon, merchant; alfred greenebaum, merchant; wallace wise, haberdasher; jeremiah deasy, insurance agent; rudolph mohr, brewer; c. g. burnett, capitalist; charles sonntag, merchant; morris a. levingston, liquor dealer; b. p. oliver, real estate; w. p. redington, druggist; christian p. rode, drayman; ansel c. robinson, merchant; dewey coffin, real estate; f. g. sanborn, law book publisher; maurice block, merchant. chapter viii. ruef loses the district attorney's office. while the impaneling of the grand jury was going on before judge graham, ruef was disputing langdon's title to the office of district attorney before judge seawell. in these proceedings samuel m. shortridge appeared with ruef's attorney, ach, and deputy city attorney baggett, not as amicus curiæ, but as ach's associate in the legal contest to force langdon out of office. the principal feature of ruef's case was the introduction of affidavits, signed by sixteen members[ ] of the board of supervisors, in which the supervisors denied committing felony of any character. later, after the supervisors had confessed, these affidavits were to be used by the defense at practically all the graft trials in efforts to break down their testimony against the bribe-givers. during the examination, ach endeavored to force from langdon and his deputies a statement of what evidence they had against ruef. in this ach failed. on the other hand, the prosecution sought to bring out testimony that ruef had directed gallagher to suspend langdon.[ ] to this end heney placed ruef on the stand. but judge seawell stated[ ] that he did not at that time wish to go into question of motive and the point was not pressed. the outcome of the proceedings was a second victory for the prosecution. the injunction against ruef was granted;[ ] langdon was left in peaceful possession of the district attorney's office.[ ] later, judge seawell issued a permanent writ of prohibition against the board of supervisors restraining that body from removing langdon from office. langdon and his deputies, after a three-weeks fight, were free to proceed with the graft investigation. footnotes: [ ] the supervisors who signed the affidavits exonerating ruef and themselves were: charles boxton, jennings j. phillips, w. w. sanderson, f. p. nicholas, l. a. rea, edward i. walsh, andrew m. wilson, j. j. furey, sam davis, c. j. harrigan, james t. kelly, p. m. mcgushin, thomas f. lonergan, daniel g. coleman, max mamlock and m. w. coffey. each of them made declaration as follows: "this affiant has never committed a felony of any kind or character, and has never been a party thereto, and there is not and can be no evidence presented of or concerning any felony committed by the undersigned or threatened by the undersigned. it is not true that this affiant has ever been party to the commission of any crime or any misdemeanor. "this affiant further says that any and all charges, assertions and innuendoes contained in the complaint and contained in the public press of and concerning any alleged felonies, misdemeanors or wrongful acts committed or alleged to have been committed by this defendant are absolutely untrue and false, and this affiant has never been guilty of any violation of the law, and, so far as the knowledge of this affiant is concerned, each and all of the other defendants named herein are absolutely innocent of the commission of any crime or felony or offense against the laws of the state of california; and this affiant further says that he has no knowledge, direct or indirect, of the commission of any felony or of any misdemeanors or of any violations of the laws of the state of california, or any thereof, or of the city and county of san francisco, by either or any of the defendants named herein." at the graft trials it developed that the supervisors had signed this affidavit without reading it. at the trial of the people vs. glass, no. , supervisor michael coffey testified that "on the afternoon that affidavit was signed, i came down late to a meeting of the board and the members of the board were in the notary public's office. i went over there and met mr. keane, and mr. keane produced that paper and asked me to sign it, and i signed it and gave him a dollar to pay the notary fees. i did not read the affidavit at that time. it was not read aloud to me while i was there. i did not talk with any person about what was in this affidavit before it was prepared. i did not know who prepared it." see page of transcript on appeal. supervisor wilson testified: "mr. ruef got up that affidavit, i believe. i signed it because there was a rumor going about that some of the supervisors had gone over to the prosecution. it was so stated in the public press and there was a little excitement among the members of the board and we understood this was sent down by mr. ruef to stiffen them up and to find out if that was so. it was not read at the notary's office while i was there. i did not read it before signing it." see transcript on appeal the people vs. glass, page . supervisor boxton testified: "i signed the affidavit just shown me at the request of the clerk of the board of supervisors, mr. george keane. i do not know who prepared the affidavit. no one had talked with me as to the facts that were to be put in it. i knew nothing about its contents at all. it was supposed generally amongst the members there was some talk about it, that there was some of the members there that were a bit weak-kneed, and would probably tell all they knew, so this affidavit was framed up, as i understand it, to tie them down a little tighter." see transcript on appeal, the people vs. glass, page . practically the same testimony was given by other supervisors at the various graft trials. [ ] see footnote , page . [ ] the passage between heney and ruef's lawyers which followed judge seawell's ruling is thus set forth in the san francisco chronicle of november rd: "'you can ask mr. ruef if he is guilty of any crimes or felonies,' ach suggested to heney. "'i suppose he'll plead guilty here?' responded heney skeptically. "samuel m. shortridge, of ruef's legal staff, took this remark to heart and hotly said to heney, 'you'll plead guilty before he does.' the judge informed shortridge that heney obviously spoke in jest, but shortridge thought it a poor joke. ruef considered heney's whole proceeding a joke." [ ] judge seawell in his decision said: "i am clearly of the opinion that the charter, in so far as it relates to removal and suspension, does not apply to the district attorney. i am firmly convinced that neither the mayor nor the board of supervisors has any power to remove or suspend him. the district attorney should not be left to the investigation of the municipal authorities. i can conceive how he might be compelled to proceed against the very persons who might be conducting an inquiry. i will grant the injunction as prayed for against mr. ruef." [ ] a movement to secure heney's dismissal from the district attorney's office, on the ground that he had accepted a fee in addition to his salary as assistant district attorney, to act as prosecutor was started. but the allegation was not sustained and another failure was scored by the defense. chapter ix. ruef and schmitz indicted. within twenty-four hours after organizing, the grand jury had begun investigation into graft charges. tenderloin extortion, especially in connection with the so-called "french restaurants," was the first matter taken up. the inquiry involved both schmitz and ruef. the term "french restaurant" in san francisco is used in connection with a particular type of assignation house. these establishments contain a restaurant on the ground floor, and sometimes banquet hall and private rooms without assignation accompaniments. the stories overhead are devoted to private supper bedrooms. some of these assignation places are several stories in height. before the fire, among the establishments alleged to be "french restaurants" were marchand's, delmonico's, the new poodle dog, the bay state and the pup. the extent of the business conducted by these places is indicated by the testimony of a. b. blanco, who stated under oath at the graft trials that he had $ , invested in the new poodle dog, while joe malfanti testified that he had about $ , invested in delmonico's.[ ] french restaurants had long been a scandal in san francisco. toward the close of , the police commission, then absolutely under domination of schmitz and ruef, gave evidence of proceeding against such places. the commission, as a beginning, revoked the liquor license of a "french restaurant" known as tortoni's. without a license to sell liquor a "french restaurant" could not continue in business. these licenses had to be renewed once every three months. the police commission had arbitrary power to grant, or to refuse, application for renewal. one by one renewal applications of other french restaurants were held up. it became a matter of common report that all the "french restaurants" were to be treated as tortoni's had been, namely, driven out of business by having their licenses to sell liquors revoked. and then abe ruef appeared before the police commissioners as attorney for the "french restaurant" keepers.[ ] ruef asked that consideration of the french restaurant cases be postponed for two weeks. this was accorded him. but his request that during those two weeks the places be permitted to conduct their business as before, namely, that they be allowed to sell liquors in the private supper bedrooms, was denied by a tie vote, two commissioners of the four voting for ruef and two against him. before the two weeks' extension of time which ruef had secured had expired, mayor schmitz had removed from office one of the commissioners who had opposed[ ] ruef's request that the sale of liquors in "french restaurant" bedrooms be continued. the opposing commissioner out of the way, the board by a vote of two to one, adopted certain rules submitted by ruef for the management of french restaurants.[ ] by the same vote, the commission then granted the french-restaurant licenses, action upon which had so long been delayed. all this was done before the public. there were, of course, charges of graft and extortion, which most people, although without definite proof, believed. heney, nearly a year later, in his speech in the partridge campaign, referred to in a previous chapter, charged graft. a grand jury had made[ ] an honest attempt to get to the bottom of the scandal. the efforts of this early grand jury came to nothing. the oliver grand jury had not been in session a fortnight, however, before the whole miserable story of ruef's connection with the french restaurant cases had been spread before it. thomas regan, who had served as police commissioner during the schmitz administration, testified that as early as the summer of schmitz had told him that the "french restaurants" were bad places and should not be permitted to exist. when tortoni's was closed, schmitz stated to regan, according to regan's testimony, that the french restaurants were all run alike, and should all be closed. acting upon the mayor's suggestion, the police commission ordered the investigation into the methods of the french restaurants which created such a sensation in san francisco during the closing months of . licenses were denied in some cases. in others, hearings of applications for renewals were postponed from time to time. some proprietors were called upon to show cause why their licenses should not be revoked. of all of which, commissioner regan testified, he kept mayor schmitz informed. the course of the commission threw the keepers of the french restaurants into a panic. their attorneys found themselves helpless and could give their clients no encouragement. marcus rosenthal, for example, who appeared before the commission on january , , on behalf of the bay state restaurant, testified at the schmitz trial, that he was not permitted to say anything; that the commissioners would not listen to him, nor hear testimony. after that meeting he had advised his client, and a little group of "french restaurant" keepers who had gathered about him, that it would be useless for them to appeal to any court, because under the law there could be no review of the action of the police commissioners; that the commission could arbitrarily dispose of any saloon-keeper, and he could not seek remedy in the courts. and then, having explained the situation fully, rosenthal told them, what every observer in san francisco knew, "there is only one man who could help you, and that is mr. ruef."[ ] the french restaurant keepers received this advice from all sides. joe malfanti testified at the schmitz trial that "numerous friends advised me to see ruef." and to mr. ruef the "french restaurant" keepers finally found themselves compelled to go--at the urgent suggestion of a fellow french restaurant keeper, jean loupy. loupy was proprietor of the french restaurant known as the "pup." at loupy's place ruef maintained a sort of headquarters. there he took his dinner practically every night, entertained friends and received his henchmen. ruef had from time to time acted as loupy's attorney. he had also loaned loupy money. at the time of the french restaurant troubles, loupy, according to his testimony, owed ruef $ . when the closing of the french restaurants seemed inevitable, this loupy brought word to the french restaurant proprietors that ruef would represent them all before the police commission for $ a year,[ ] on a contract for two years. the sum was finally cut to $ ,[ ] $ , for the two years. for the first year "marchand's," "delmonico's," "the new poodle dog" and the "bay state" paid $ each. loupy for the "pup," on the grounds that he had been put to considerable expense and was a poorer man than the others, paid only $ .[ ] the money being paid over to ruef,[ ] ruef appeared before the police commissioners, as has already been told, with his plan for regulating the french restaurant business in san francisco. ruef's arrangements with the french restaurant keepers were concluded during the first week in january. police commissioner regan testified that sometime after january , mayor schmitz asked him to vote to restore the french restaurant licenses.[ ] regan objected on the ground that it was not right to ask him to vote first one way and then another. with commissioners regan and hutton voting against issuing the licenses, the licenses could not be granted. either hutton or regan had to change their attitude, or one of them had to be removed from office. police commissioner f. f. poheim testified at the schmitz trial that at a conference on the french restaurant problem held early in january, , which he and schmitz attended, schmitz announced: "we will have to give these people (the french restaurant proprietors) their licenses if we can. if we cannot do anything else we will have to remove hutton." and during the week following ruef's first appearance before the commissioners as representative of the french restaurants, mayor schmitz removed hutton.[ ] the licenses were then issued to the "french restaurant" keepers.[ ] much of the story of these transactions was presented to the grand jury. but the evidence was not secured without effort. many of the witnesses were unfriendly; others afraid of the consequences of frank statement of facts. witnesses disappeared and could not be found. several known to have testified were threatened and even assaulted. one french restaurant keeper, before the investigation had been concluded, had been indicted for perjury. three attorneys who were more or less in touch with the tenderloin situation had been cited for contempt for refusing to answer questions put to them in the grand jury room. but point by point the evidence was presented. the grand jury, on the evidence, indicted schmitz and ruef on five counts for extortion.[ ] bonds were fixed at $ , on each charge, $ , for each defendant. ruef[ ] was released on $ , bail. schmitz, the day after the indictments were brought, was reported to have started for home from europe. schmitz's probable reception on his arrival at new york apparently gave keen anxiety at san francisco. heney states that justice f. w. henshaw called at his (heney's) office and asked heney, as a favor, to tell him whether schmitz would be arrested upon his arrival in new york, as william j. dingee of the contra costa water company, wanted to arrange for schmitz's bail in new york city. william f. herrin of the southern pacific company is credited with interesting himself in schmitz's behalf in arranging for the bond that was furnished when schmitz reached san francisco. schmitz's bond was furnished by dingee and thomas williams, president of the new california jockey club. the new california jockey club operated the notorious emeryville racing and gambling establishment. mr. dingee was at the time one of california's most prominent capitalists. footnotes: [ ] see transcript on appeal the people of the state of california vs. eugene e. schmitz, pp. and . [ ] ruef stated that he appeared as attorney for the french restaurant keepers' association. but those who paid him the money for his efforts in this instance testified at the trial of the people vs. eugene e. schmitz that they held membership in no such organization, nor had they heard of it. in may, , ruef stated to heney that he had closed the bargain with the french-restaurant keepers to represent them on january , . he insisted that he had at first flatly refused to represent them; that he had had no intention whatever of so doing until the san francisco bulletin denounced him for having had the licenses held up and challenged him to take the cases and to attempt to defend himself upon the theory that the money so obtained by him was received as an attorney's fee. heney examined the bulletin files and found that the first time the bulletin had mentioned the french-restaurant hold-up as an attempt on the part of ruef to extort money from the restaurant proprietors was in the last edition of the bulletin for january . . (see heney's affidavit in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun, et als., no. , pp. to , inclusive.) [ ] commissioner harry w. hutton. [ ] these ruef-provided rules directed that no liquors be served in supper bedrooms on the first and second floors of the establishments, and required the french restaurants to take out hotel licenses and to keep registers the same as hotels. what the keepers of the places thought of the regulations came out at the schmitz trial. joe malfanti of delmonico's, for example, testified: "they (the ruef rules) made no change in the running of my business--not a single change. i had a hotel license for years before and i always had a register, so there was no change in my place whatever." [ ] the andrews grand jury, named from its foreman, t. p. andrews. the work of the andrews grand jury was not lost, however. it served as basis for much of the investigation conducted by the oliver grand jury. [ ] rosenthal testified at the schmitz trial: "i told them from my observations and how things were going in the city and had been going for some years, that there was only one man who could help them--it was a question of life and death with them--and i said there is only one man who could help you, and that is mr. ruef." rosenthal, when examined on this point before the grand jury, refused to testify on the ground that conversation between attorney and client was privileged. adler got into trouble with the grand jury over his testimony on this point. both rosenthal and adler, however, testified at schmitz's trial. [ ] n. m. adler, proprietor of the bay state restaurant, testified at the schmitz trial as to loupy's negotiations. loupy called upon him twice. "the first time he came," adler testified, "he told me that things were very serious, and we would have to put up some money and hire mr. ruef; that he was the only man that could help us. i told him that i could not understand the proposition; that i had run my business for twenty years, and didn't think that they could do me any harm. at that time ruef was making his headquarters at the pup restaurant. i could see that from my place across the street. he went there regularly." then adler testified to the meeting before the police commissioners at which his attorney, rosenthal, had not been permitted to speak, and continued: "afterwards, loupy came to me again, and told me that tortoni had closed up, and that we should put up the money or we would be all closed. this was after we had been to the meeting of the police commissioners." [ ] the testimony brought out at the graft trials showed that ruef received $ from the french restaurants, $ the first year from the five in the combine; $ the second, and $ additional from camille mailhebeau. ruef stated to heney later and so testified at the schmitz trial, that half of the $ received from the combine he turned over to schmitz. [ ] the five restaurant keepers were asked at the schmitz trial whether they had employed ruef because he was a lawyer or because of his recognized power as political boss. they testified as follows: a. b. blanco of the "new poodle dog"--"well, being a political boss we thought he had influence enough to get our licenses." n. m. adler, of the "bay state"--"well, the way i took it, mr. ruef is a boss. he had an influence over the commission. he was the only man who could help us." on cross-examination: "i understood that if i did not employ ruef i would not get my license. i understood that mr. ruef was the only man who could get my license." michel debret of "marchand's"--"well, i agreed to (pay the money to ruef) because having consulted we saw we had no way to get out of it unless we paid ruef, as he was a political boss, to protect ourselves." "because we thought--we thought if we didn't pay the money we would be treated like tortoni's, we would be closed; we had no way to get out of it." "i believed that ruef and the mayor controlled the police commissioners." joe malfanti of "delmonico's"--"i did not pay this $ for fun; i had to save my license. i had about $ , invested there. i never figured on what effect it would have upon my business if i did not get a license. if it was for myself alone i would close the place, but i figured on my partners, what they had paid. they had a lease for five years and could not go through with it and i did it as a favor. if i was alone i would close. i would not make any fight. numerous friends advised me to see ruef." "i went to ruef--ruef was the man that controlled the administration--ruef was the one that could do the thing. his relation with the mayor was so he could do what he pleased." jean loupy was asked by heney: "did you go to him (ruef) because he was a lawyer or because he was a political boss?" "because he was a political boss," replied loupy. [ ] ruef would not take a check, neither would he accept gold--he insisted upon having currency--neither would he give a receipt. the money was taken to him by pierre priet, a french-restaurant keeper. regarding the transfer of the money, joe malfanti, at the schmitz trial, gave the following testimony: "mr. heney--q. what did he say you were to get for the five thousand dollars, priet? a. yes. "q. yes, what did priet say you were to get for your money? a. we were going to get the license. "q. for two years? a. no, we were going to have no trouble for two years about a license. "q. five thousand dollars a year? a. yes, sir. "q. now, then, what was said about how the money was to be paid? what did priet say about how the money was to be paid? a. in currency. "mr. campbell--that is under the same objection and exception. "the witness--and that two people, not three, only two people, not three. "mr. heney--q. what do you mean, that no one was to go with him to ruef? a. yes. "the witness--priet said the money should be brought there in currency and paid with two people. "q. did priet get you a receipt? a. i don't think he ever looked for any. i asked him about that when he came back. he said: 'well, you should be glad to get his word of honor.' that is what i got from priet." [ ] regan testified at the schmitz trial: "the mayor asked me to vote for the french liquor licenses. the first time he did so he put it on political grounds. he requested me to vote for them, saying it would hurt him politically if the license was not granted; and that they had so many friends and so many rich people frequented those places that it would be a very unpopular thing to take the licenses away, and he requested me to vote for them. that it would be unpopular to take them, the licenses, away, as they, the restaurants, had so many friends and so many rich people frequented the places. i said i didn't think it was right, that he knew he got me to close those places up. that i could not vote for them, as they were immoral and should be closed. the second conversation was all of the same tenor." [ ] commissioner poheim took papers from ruef's office to the mayor on the day of hutton's removal. poheim testified at the schmitz trial: "i took papers from mr. ruef's office that i believe were the papers of removal. he told me that they were. that was the day of hutton's removal." [ ] the chronicle in its issue of february , , thus summarized the evidence against schmitz and ruef, and the nature of their defense: "those operations are these: there are in this as in all other cities certain dens of vice, ranging from the very fashionable down to those patronized by the dregs of society, which can exist only when licensed to sell liquor. to give or withhold the license is within the discretion of the police commissioners, and from their action there is no effectual appeal. since ruef got control of the majority of these commissioners they have been mere puppets, giving or withholding the licenses of these places as directed by schmitz. that being the case, when renewals of licenses were necessary, the applicants were refused. that meant the ruin of their business. in the end, either from their general knowledge, or because as advised, they applied to ruef. when the fee was settled and paid--in the case of the french restaurants $ , a year--ruef notified schmitz, who, as the prosecution is evidently prepared to prove, then directed the licenses to issue, and they were issued. in the aggregate, enormous sums were annually collected from these places by ruef or his agents, and without that payment they could not have continued business. the revenues thus obtained were evidently the sources of schmitz's suddenly acquired wealth. presumably some small share was paid to the subordinates. "certainly that is extortion, and extortion of the most villainous kind. to the ordinary reader it is completely covered by the language of the statute. the contention of ruef and schmitz is not that they did not get the money, or that it was not a villainous thing, but merely that it was not a villainy expressly forbidden by statute, and that therefore to indict them for it is 'persecution.' if there are any people in the city who uphold or condone such things they are no better than ruef or schmitz themselves." [ ] the press throughout the state was a unit in approving the grand jury's action. the san francisco chronicle fairly expressed the general sentiment. it said: "every decent man in san francisco breathes freer to-day. the fact cannot be concealed that there was an uneasy feeling in the community that the machinations of the boss would again secure immunity for himself and those who were with him in the grafting business. the facility with which he turned the grand jury preceding the present one into an instrument to accomplish his own purposes inspired the fear that by hook or crook he may have obtained control of the one now sitting; but the promptitude with which the first indictment was brought allays all apprehension and converts it into confidence that the body now in session is in deadly earnest and that it will earn the gratitude of its fellow citizens and cover itself with glory by striking an effective blow which will put an end to flagrant venality in office and restore the good name of san francisco." the san francisco examiner said of the indictment of schmitz and ruef: "the light breaks, the reign of political terror seems at an end. mayor eugene e. schmitz and abe ruef, his mentor and master, have been indicted for extortion. the move of political regeneration and civic reform that has been sweeping the country has hit san francisco with the force of all the other successes behind it. in other cities and other states the powerful rascals as well as their satellites have been sent to prison. evidently san francisco and california are to rid themselves of the arch political criminals.... thursday, november , (the day on which ruef and schmitz were indicted), is a day to be remembered. it marks the beginning of san francisco's regeneration. it is a day of heroic events to be told to children and grandchildren. it is the day of the declaration of independence of california's great metropolis." [ ] ruef denounced his indictment as absurd, insisting that he had merely taken fees for services rendered. in an interview published in the san francisco chronicle of november , , he said: "the whole thing is absurd. i was simply acting in the relation of attorney to a client. i took my fee for rendering legal services. i was retained by a contract as attorney by the restaurant keepers. if it is extortion for an attorney to accept a fee from his client, we all might as well go out of business. this is exactly the same charge that was made against me once before and was found baseless. i have nothing to fear." on november the chronicle, touching upon ruef's defense, said: "every branch of the city government which is controlled by ruef men is known to be utterly rotten. the only question has been whether under the advice and direction of low legal cunning, the grafters have kept themselves immune from the law. and the question is about to be settled." chapter x. fight to evade trial. the indictments against schmitz and ruef were returned november . schmitz reached san francisco on his return from europe on november .[ ] he at once joined with ruef in the fight to prevent the issue raised by his indictment being presented to a trial jury. the two defendants were to have been arraigned on december , but at their earnest solicitation arraignment[ ] was continued until december . on that day the plans of the defendants became apparent. it was seen that they would divide the defense, demanding separate trials; and it was quite as evident that their first move would be an attack upon the validity of the grand jury. attorneys frank c. drew and john j. barrett appeared for schmitz, while ruef was represented by samuel m. shortridge and henry ach. at the close of the proceedings, ach asked that subpoenas be issued for the members of the grand jury to appear in court the following monday to testify for the defendants. this meant the examination of the grand jurors for bias. the long technical fight to disqualify the grand jury had opened.[ ] in the attack upon the grand jury, joseph c. campbell joined with schmitz's attorneys, drew and barrett, while frank j. murphy and charles h. fairall appeared with shortridge and ach for ruef. ach, in moving to set aside or quash the indictments, stated that the motion was made for schmitz and ruef jointly, but that the defendants reserved the right to plead and to be tried separately. ach's motion was based on nineteen counts. the point most insisted upon was that grand juror wallace wise was disqualified because of his having been on a petty trial jury panel during the current year. wise, being thus disqualified, ach argued, the whole indictment failed as much as though the whole nineteen grand jurors were disqualified.[ ] judge dunne, after a three days' hearing, swept aside the multitude of technical objections which the various attorneys for the defense had advanced. in particular did he refuse to declare the whole nineteen grand jurors disqualified, because of the alleged disqualification of juror wise. the prosecution had gained another point in its fight to bring the defendants to trial on the merits of their cases. but the attack upon the grand jury had scarcely begun. after judge dunne's ruling, the nineteen grand jurors were to be put on the stand and examined one by one for bias.[ ] the defense went further, and had rudolph spreckels up to question him as to his motives in guaranteeing a fund for the investigation of graft conditions.[ ] district attorney langdon was also placed on the stand to be examined as to his motive in appointing heney his assistant. he denied most emphatically that he had appointed heney for the sole purpose of instituting criminal proceedings against ruef and schmitz. the examination of grand jurors, prosecutors and citizens lasted from december until january . on the last named date, judge dunne denied the motion to set aside the indictments for bias. the prosecution had gained another step toward bringing the defendants to trial. judge dunne stated that he was ready to set the cases for trial the next day. but the defendants had another delaying play. they demurred to the indictments. the demurrers were not disposed of until february . in the meantime, the defense had made several complicating moves. the first of these was an application to judge graham to have the case against schmitz transferred from judge dunne's court. at the same time schmitz surrendered himself to the sheriff, and applied to the supreme court for a writ of habeas corpus, and a writ of prohibition, setting up the points already raised in judge dunne's court against the indictments. the supreme court finally decided against schmitz. but there remained another way of having the case transferred from judge dunne's court. the law governing changes of venue could be changed by the legislature. the legislature had convened early in january. a measure was introduced in both senate and assembly under the terms of which a defendant in a criminal action was permitted to secure a transfer of his case from one court to another by merely filing affidavit of his belief that he could not get fair trial in the court in which his case was pending.[ ] the measure was known as the "change of venue bill." its chief supporter in the legislature was george b. keane. keane was not only clerk of the board of supervisors, but he was a member of the state senate representing a san francisco district. keane championed the "change of venue bill."[ ] the measure passed the assembly, but failed of passage in the senate. ruef in his efforts to escape trial before judge dunne had lost again. early in february, when the efforts of schmitz and ruef to evade trial were being pressed the hardest, agitation against the japanese gave schmitz opportunity not only to absent himself from the state, thus bringing the proceedings so far as they applied to him, to a standstill, but to restore his prestige. schmitz was quick to avail himself of the situation. the question of admitting japanese to california schools was then under consideration at washington. a request was extended the san francisco board of education, through california congressmen, that the members of the board go to washington for conference with the government authorities. members of the board held consultation with schmitz, after which word was circulated about the state that in defense of the public schools against the japanese, schmitz must, on behalf of san francisco and california, go to washington. a telegram was received from congressman julius kahn, a close supporter of ruef and schmitz, who represented a san francisco district in congress, stating that "at the request of the president and secretary of state we ask you to come here immediately for a conference with them and the california delegation." schmitz started for washington on february .[ ] he was absent from san francisco until march . he did not, however, as had been predicted, return amid popular acclaim. the outcome of the washington negotiations was not satisfactory to california. there was popular belief that the mayor's mission had failed. at the state line schmitz received the startling word that ruef was a fugitive from justice; that sheriff o'neil had failed to discover the fugitive's whereabouts and had been disqualified. during the month of his absence from san francisco, the mayor was soon to learn, events of tremendous importance to himself and to his administration had occurred. footnotes: [ ] on his arrival in new york after being indicted for extortion in the french restaurant cases, mayor schmitz in an interview widely published at the time gave his attitude toward the french restaurants. the mayor explained that these restaurants had existed so long in the city that they had become a recognized adjunct of a gay life of a gay town. he had not favored their suppression, and whenever the police commissioners agitated the revoking of their liquor licenses, he had opposed them. "the french restaurants did no great harm," he is quoted as saying, "and to destroy them would be to ruin the men who had invested money in them." the character of some of the heavy investors in these establishments was brought out in the report of the commission appointed by mayor e. r. taylor to ascertain causes of municipal corruption in san francisco, as disclosed by the investigations of the oliver grand jury. the report set forth: "the business (of the french restaurants) is very prosperous, and, as is usual, the landlord shares in its prosperity. people of social prominence were known to accept a portion of the profits of such establishments, through the extremely liberal rentals paid, and the system is received with easy toleration. one of the largest of these assignation places was located on a prominent corner of the downtown shopping district where hundreds of women daily passed its doors. the building, five stories in height, had four stories devoted to the private supper bedrooms. the land was owned in trust by one of the largest, if not the largest, trust company in the west. a lease was sought and obtained by a man notorious in the line of business above described; the building was constructed by the trust company according to plans satisfactory to him for this purpose, and the enterprise was conducted there for seven years until the building was destroyed by fire. the significant thing about such a transaction is, not that there are people who are willing to accept money from such a source, or financiers willing to put trust moneys to such uses, but that the facts, though well known, did not seem to detract in the slightest from the social recognition accorded to the persons so taking a share of the profits, while the officer of the trust company which made the lease of that particular house situated in the shopping district, was appointed a regent of the state university." [ ] during the reading of the first of the five indictments, schmitz stood, but ruef remained seated. when the second indictment was read, both the defendants kept their seats. heney demanded to know what was going on. judge dunne announced that the arraignment must proceed as in ordinary cases. during the reading of the remaining indictments both defendants remained standing, but ruef kept his back turned toward the court. commenting upon this incident, the chronicle, in its issue of december , , said in an editorial article: "in judge dunne's court a rogue on trial insolently refused to stand and be arraigned like any other criminal, apparently on the assumption that a political boss was above the courts. he was finally compelled to stand and let his shame be seen. he sat, however, through one arraignment, and the people have reason to complain that the trial judge did not earlier enforce the respect due to the majesty of the law. in another instance there is a more grave offense. a lawyer presumed to bandy words with the judge on the bench, and is reported to have said to the court in a loud and insolent tone, evincing evident disrespect, 'and i have heard considerable oratory from you.' nothing was done about it, and judge dunne owes it to the people to explain why he did not promptly commit the insolent fellow to jail. the judge on the bench represents the majesty of the law. he sits for the people in solemn judgment on offenders. he is expected to enforce due respect for the tribunal, and for that purpose is invested with the power of summary punishment for contempt. our alleged administration of criminal justice is disgraceful, and the evil permeates the entire machinery, from the policeman on his beat to the highest tribunal." [ ] the attack upon the grand jury had, however, been begun the day before, and was progressing in another department of the court even as ruef and schmitz were arraigned. investigation into graft conditions had by this time got beyond the tenderloin. several minor indictments had been brought. supervisor fred p. nicholas had been indicted for accepting a bribe of $ . . as chairman of the public building and grounds committee, the grand jury found he had accepted a per cent. commission on $ worth of furniture purchased for the city. several witnesses had been indicted for perjury in connection with the graft investigation. that the investigation was going far was now conceded. the defense concentrated to disqualify the grand jury. on behalf of nicholas and duffy, the grand jurors were haled into judge william p. lawlor's court december , the day before schmitz and ruef were arraigned. the defendants were represented by frank j. murphy, who was to play a prominent part in the graft defense. the following taken from the examination of foreman b. p. oliver, as printed in the san francisco chronicle of december , is a fair sample of the nature of the inquiry: "did you say to anyone that this is just the beginning of the investigation of municipal corruption?" "i have said that from the statements i have heard in the grand jury room that the corruption of the municipal administration was so great that the present grand jury could hardly expect to make any impression upon it. as to when and where i made that statement i cannot tell," replied oliver, who proceeded: "as to myself, the mere testimony i have heard in the grand jury room has filled me with horror and disgust." "does it fill you with such horror that you believe everyone connected with the administration is corrupt?" asked lawyer fairall of counsel for the defense. "i do not believe anyone to be corrupt until he is proved to be so." "could you act fairly and impartially, as a grand juror, while having your present feeling of horror and disgust?" "yes, absolutely so, for i have a conscience." "you feel that your conscience would enable you to act fairly?" "i do. if i erred at all it would be on the other side, so as to be sure that i did the accused no injustice." this examination went on for several days. the same examination of the grand jurors followed in the case of ruef and schmitz, and was repeated for the third time on behalf of public-service corporation agents who were indicted later. [ ] the question of the eligibility of grand juror wise was finally decided by the state supreme court in the matter of the application of a. ruef for a writ of habeas corpus ( california, p. .) the court held that the presence on the grand jury of a member who had served and been discharged as a juror by a court of record within a year of the time that he had been summoned and impaneled to act as a grand juror does not affect the validity of an indictment found by the grand jury. [ ] the chronicle, in its issue of december , , said of the attack upon the grand jury: "the fact that the felons whom we are trying to convict are officials has nothing to do with their demonstration of the fact that it is impossible, under the laws, to put thieves in the penitentiary, when there is a large band rounded up at one time and they all fight. under our laws the half-dozen rascals who have already been indicted for their share in the orgy of official plunder in this city can block our criminal courts. the disgraceful farce of putting the grand jurors and the district attorney on trial instead of the scoundrels who have been indicted can apparently be protracted for weeks. happily the legislature meets early next month, and if it does not put a speedy end to it we are mistaken. we are getting an object lesson which, perhaps, was needed. the whole miserable machinery of obstruction must be swept away. whoever is indicted by a grand jury must go to trial, unless, in the opinion of the trial judge, extraordinary conditions indicate that some inquiry should be made to be conducted solely by himself. the public will be satisfied with nothing short of that, nor will it be satisfied with that. the abuses of appeal must be ended." [ ] mr. spreckels testified in part as follows: "i am not interested in the downfall of any man, either eugene e. schmitz or abraham ruef. i did guarantee the sum of $ , to detect any wrongdoing whatsoever in the city of san francisco. i indicated that to mr. heney. i cannot recollect as to dates, but i think it was a short while before the commencement of these proceedings. it was since the calamity of april . i had been interested for a long while before that in starting an investigation.... i did not guarantee to mr. heney $ , , but i did guarantee that for the purpose of investigation for the collection of evidence, i would personally guarantee $ , for the expenses.... my object was merely to ascertain the truth or falsity of things that had been generally stated. some of the things i had known of myself. i knew there was an effort made in the city here of doing things in the past. mr. ruef, himself, had had a conversation with me which indicated that he was in a position to do certain things, and knowing these things i was willing that an investigation should proceed to the bottom, and to furnish the money necessary to collect the evidence. i have stated publicly relative to this fund of $ , ." [ ] the san francisco chronicle, in its issue of january , , said of the change of venue bill: "assemblyman grove l. johnson of sacramento, and senator l. a. wright of san diego, have introduced identical bills which provide in brief, that in any criminal trial the accused may displace the judge upon his mere affidavit that he 'believes he cannot have a fair and impartial trial.' upon the filing of such an affidavit the services of some other judge must be secured, provided that in counties having more than one department of the superior court the case shall be transferred to some other department of the same county. the bill provides that the act shall take effect immediately upon its passage. the obvious intent of the law is to enable the indicted boodlers of this city to select the judge who shall try them, to set aside all that has thus far been done to get them before a jury and have their cases retried from the beginning." [ ] ruef had, as early as , secured a hold on the state legislature, by putting up and electing a union labor party legislative ticket. "i told the legislators," said ruef in a statement published after he had entered san quentin prison, "to vote on all labor questions and legislation directly involving labor interests always for the labor side. i told them on all other questions to follow the herrin program. herrin was appreciative. he expressed his sense of obligation."--abraham ruef's "the road i traveled," published in san francisco bulletin, july , . keane, at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , admitted that he had supported "the assembly bill providing for changes of place of trial in certain cases," at the special request of ruef. see transcript on appeal, part , book , pages - . keane was also active in the advocacy of other measures changing the law governing criminal cases. one of these practically forbade public comment on a criminal trial from the impaneling of the grand jury until the rendering of the verdict. commenting upon this anti-publicity bill, e. h. hamilton, in a dispatch from sacramento to the san francisco examiner, published in that paper march , , said: "this bill had been sneaked through the senate the other night when no one was paying any attention, but senator boynton moved to reconsider the vote by which the bill was passed, and brought up the matter to-day, asking that the bill be given a free discussion before it was acted upon. he showed that it was directly in opposition to the constitution of the united states and the constitution of the state, because it was aimed directly at the freedom of the press and intended to prevent newspapers from publishing accounts of criminal trials. "senator sanford of mendocino said that it was an attempt to muzzle the press and to prevent people from ascertaining what was going on in criminal lawsuits, but the senate refused to reconsider the vote by which it had passed the unconstitutional bill." keane also pressed an amendment to the codes to prevent stenographers and bookkeepers testifying against their employers. during the discussion in the senate committee on the change of venue bill, keane offered an amendment to make this measure take effect immediately. [ ] on the way across san francisco bay to take the train at oakland, in the words of newspaper reports of the incident, members of mayor schmitz's personal following who accompanied him, "were frankly delighted with the prospect of the indicted mayor returning from the national capital covered with glory, and acclaimed the savior of the country from a war with japan." ruef regarded the incident cynically. "as soon as schmitz got aboard that train," said ruef on the day of the mayor's departure, "the nation was saved." chapter xi. ruef a fugitive. three months[ ] after his indictment in the "french restaurant" extortion cases--three months of continuous fighting to evade the issue--ruef found his last technical obstruction, as far as the state courts were concerned, swept away, and was forced to enter his plea to the charge contained in the indictment. he pleaded "not guilty." his trial was set for march . up to the day before the date fixed for the trial to begin, nothing had come up to indicate further delay. on march , however, ruef's bondsmen surrendered him into the custody of the sheriff. ruef then applied to superior judge j. c. b. hebbard for a writ of habeas corpus. the application was based on the allegation dealt with in a previous chapter, that grand juror wise was ineligible, because he had been drawn as a trial juror within a year before the impanelment of the grand jury of which he was a member. on the ground that wise was ineligible for grand jury service, ruef's attorneys contended, their client's restraint was in violation of the fifth and fourteenth amendments to the federal constitution, thereby raising a federal issue and paving the way for appeal to the federal courts. in opposing ruef's new move, hiram w. johnson,[ ] who had been employed to assist the district attorney in the "graft" prosecution, pointed out that the cases named in the petition were pending in a co-ordinate branch of the superior court; that they were set for trial the following day; that the points, including the federal points, had been made subject of extensive arguments before hebbard's colleague, judge dunne, and in the course of those arguments every question presented in the proceedings had been passed upon. ach, representing ruef, denied that the federal question had been presented. johnson insisted that it had. an unfortunate scene followed.[ ] hebbard showed symptoms of intoxication. johnson, langdon and heney finally refused to participate further in the proceedings and walked out of the courtroom.[ ] the withdrawal of the district attorney and his assistants did not delay judge hebbard's decision. he denied the writ ruef prayed for, but he allowed an appeal from his order to the supreme court of the united states, and admitted ruef to bail pending that appeal. one of ruef's attorneys filed the writ of error issued by judge hebbard with the clerk of the federal circuit court. may was set as the date for the appearance on the writ of error before the united states supreme court at washington.[ ] the aetna indemnity company had furnished ruef's bond. this company surrendered ruef to the sheriff in the forenoon. in the afternoon it furnished the bail that had been imposed by judge hebbard. ruef, in hebbard's order granting him opportunity to take his case to the federal courts, had basis for further struggle in the courts to evade trial. but he undertook a new move. after leaving hebbard's courtroom on the afternoon of march , ruef dropped out of sight as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him. for three days the regular peace officers of san francisco searched san francisco for him but they did not find him. when ruef's case was called for trial in judge dunne's department on the morning following the proceedings in judge hebbard's court, ruef's attorney, samuel m. shortridge, was present, but not the defendant. shortridge was in the position of an attorney in court without a client.[ ] after a wait of four hours, to give ruef every opportunity to make his appearance, heney moved that the bonds of the absent defendant be declared forfeited, specifying the bonds originally given as well as those furnished in the proceedings before hebbard. judge dunne, in ruling upon heney's motion, stated that he was proceeding as though the proceedings before judge hebbard had not occurred. those proceedings, he announced, he felt were under a species of fraud. he ordered ruef's original bonds forfeited and took the question of the forfeiture of the bonds in the proceedings before judge hebbard under advisement. he considered it his duty, he said, to proceed with the trial of the case until ordered to desist by the supreme court or by the court of appeals. attorney shortridge announced to judge dunne that in proceeding with the hearing he might find himself in contempt of the supreme court of the united states. judge dunne stated that that would not embarrass him, and in any event, he would not proceed with the matter until the defendant was in court. the day passed without the defendant's whereabouts being discovered. sheriff o'neil reported that he had been unable to find the fugitive, but expressed his belief that he would be able to do so eventually. with that understanding court adjourned for the day. the day following, ruef's attorneys appealed to the state appellate court[ ] for a writ of prohibition to prevent judge dunne and others from further proceeding against ruef in the extortion cases, and to show cause why the writ should not be made permanent. ruef being in hiding, the application was not signed by the petitioner. the appellate court, after twenty-four hours, denied the petition. ruef's representatives then went before the state supreme court with the same representations. and here, again, eventually, ruef lost. in the meantime, ruef had not been found. the day following his disappearance, judge dunne disqualified the sheriff and named the next officer in authoritative sequence in such matters, the coroner, w. j. walsh, as elisor, to arrest ruef and bring him into court. coroner walsh had no better success than had sheriff o'neil. ruef had disappeared on the night of monday, march . on friday, march , after three days of unavailing search by o'neil and walsh,[ ] judge dunne disqualified walsh and appointed william j. biggy[ ] as elisor to arrest the fugitive. within two hours biggy, accompanied by detective william j. burns, had located ruef at a road-house in the san francisco suburbs and had placed him under arrest.[ ] having taken his man,[ ] the elisor was at a loss to know what to do with him. to put him in the city prison was to turn him over to the police; to put him in the county jail was to turn him over to the sheriff. the chief of police was even then under indictment with ruef, a co-defendant; the sheriff had been disqualified. the only alternative was for biggy himself to hold ruef until the court could act. biggy accordingly secured suitable quarters at the hotel st. francis, and there held ruef a prisoner until the following monday, when he was taken before judge dunne. judge dunne refused to admit ruef to bail, remanded him to elisor biggy's custody, and continued his trial until the following morning, tuesday, march . ruef immediately made application to the supreme court for a writ of habeas corpus, asking to be released from the custody of elisor biggy and placed in charge of the sheriff. but here again ruef was defeated. elisor biggy continued his keeper for many months following. ruef, after his appeal to the federal supreme court, had exhausted every legal device known to himself and his attorneys to escape trial in the extortion case pending before judge dunne.[ ] his last recourse gone, ruef found himself brought face to face with trial before a jury. on march the selecting of jurors to try ruef began in judge dunne's court. but events of far greater moment than petty extortion had the attention of san francisco. even as ruef was in hiding, detective burns and his assistants had trapped three members of the board of supervisors in bribery. this opened up the most fruitful field of the graft prosecution, and immediately the extortion cases became of comparative unimportance. the trapping of the three supervisors led to confessions from fourteen others, which involved not only ruef in enormous bribery transactions, but also prominent members of the bar, and leaders in the social, financial and industrial life of california. footnotes: [ ] ruef and schmitz were indicted november , . the date of ruef's plea of "not guilty" was february , . [ ] hiram w. johnson is a native of california, having been born at sacramento. he was educated at the sacramento public schools and the university of california. at twenty-one he had been admitted to practice at the california bar. he was active for years against the corrupt political conditions in california before he came into prominence as one of the prosecutors at the graft trials. in he was selected to lead the movement against the political machine which dominated the state. as primary candidate for republican nomination for governor, he visited practically every community in california, making one pledge to be carried out in the event of his election, "to kick the southern pacific out of political control of the state." he was nominated and elected. his election resulted in political revolution in california. (see "story of the california legislature of " and "story of the california legislature of .") he was one of the founders of the progressive party at chicago in , and was that year candidate for vice-president with roosevelt on the national progressive ticket. in he was re-elected governor of california with overwhelming vote. johnson is the first governor since to secure re-election in california. [ ] see heney's affidavit in the people vs. ruef, no. . [ ] "again we protest," said johnson when the final break came, "in behalf of the district attorney of this city and county, and in the name of the people of california. we do not believe in this; we will not participate in it; and we take our leave of this court. we will not participate in any proceeding which does not, according to our ideas, comport with the dignity of justice, the dignity of this court, or our own dignity." [ ] on march , , ruef's appeal in the habeas corpus matter was dismissed by the supreme court of the united states. of this move, frank j. murphy, one of ruef's attorneys, is quoted in a published interview: "we have instructed our representative in washington to withdraw the writ of error filed by us. this decision was reached on account of the decision of the state supreme court to the effect that the participation of an incompetent juror does not affect the validity of an indictment." this action left the prosecution free to proceed with ruef's trial without any possibility of the proceedings being questioned later. [ ] judge dunne ruled that ruef, being a fugitive from justice, and his trial one for felony, at which the defendant must be present at every stage of the proceedings, there was no trial before the court. shortridge was in the position of counsel without a client. during the examination of coroner walsh, after his failure to find ruef, shortridge insisted upon interrupting the examination. judge dunne after repeated warnings, found shortridge guilty of contempt of court, and sentenced him to serve twenty-four hours in jail. the chronicle of march , , contains the following account of the incident: "have you not said," walsh was asked by heney, "that you hoped he (ruef) would be acquitted and that you would do all you could for him? are you not in sympathy with him?" again the coroner quibbled and judge dunne ordered: "answer the question. do you sympathize with him or not?" still the witness hesitated, and again the judge asked with vigor: "are you in sympathy with him?" "if he is innocent i am in sympathy with him, if he is guilty i am not." "i suppose you wish it to appear that you are not in sympathy with him so that you may take charge of the jury," suggested heney. samuel m. shortridge, one of ruef's lawyers, here said that he objected on behalf of his client to the line of examination. heney proceeded without paying any attention to shortridge's interruption. shortridge again entered an objection, and judge dunne ordered him to take his seat. "but i wish to be heard on behalf of my client," persisted shortridge. "take your seat, mr. shortridge, or i will order the sheriff to cause you to do so or remove you from the court room," declared judge dunne. "am i to understand that i am not to be heard in this court?" demanded shortridge with play of great indignation. "mr. shortridge, your conduct is boisterous and offensive and tends to interfere with the orderly conduct of the court. i declare you guilty of contempt and sentence you to be confined in the county jail for twenty-four hours. mr. sheriff, take him into custody." [ ] the two principal points on which the defense based their applications for writs of habeas corpus and of prohibition were: ( ) that juror wise, having sat on a petty jury within a year, was disqualified to act as a grand juror, and hence the indictments were fatally defective. ( ) that the matter was before the supreme court of the united states on a writ of error. [ ] heney, in his affidavit in contention that an elisor should be appointed to bring ruef into court, indicated the conditions which were handicapping the prosecution. [ ] biggy afterwards became chief of police of san francisco. [ ] ruef was with one of his henchmen, myrtile cerf, when arrested. long after, when he had plead guilty to one of the extortion charges, ruef stated in an interview published in the san francisco call, may , , that it had been his purpose "to wait until the legislature had acted on the change of venue bill," which was considered in a previous chapter, and which at the time of ruef's flight was being engineered through the senate by george keane in his capacity as senator. ruef, in his interview, stated further: "we had expected that this bill would go through. naturally we were surprised when we learned that campbell, the mayor's (schmitz's) attorney, was at sacramento lobbying against the bill. what his object was i do not know. he even went to george keane, who had charge of the bill, and tried to switch him to the other side." during the period of ruef's disappearance, his attorneys had insisted that they were unaware of his whereabouts. myrtile cerf, his companion in flight, refused to say before the grand jury with whom he had telephonic communication while at the roadhouse, on the ground that such testimony might incriminate him. [ ] ruef's arrest threw the administration into the greatest confusion. supervisor wilson testified at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , part , vol. , p. , that at o'clock of the morning following ruef's capture, he went down to henry ach's apartment to ascertain if the rumor that ruef had been found were true. [ ] of the procedure which made possible ruef's long technical fight to escape trial, the san francisco chronicle on november , , said: "the disgraceful condition of our criminal laws permits guilty men to put off their doom almost without limit. where money makes unscrupulous talent available that course is invariably taken by those caught in the toils of justice. there are many objects to be gained by these delays. witnesses may die or be spirited away. most important of all the public becomes wearied and finally forgets or loses its zest for the enforcement of the law. when that stage is reached the 'pull' comes into play. by the connivance of the district attorney, and especially of the judge, continuance after continuance can be granted until proof becomes impossible and the case is dismissed. the adoption of such a course by any accused person of bad reputation is moral evidence of guilt which is conclusive with the public. we have had in this city many disgraceful criminal trials. we have had many obvious miscarriages of justice. there have been wealthy men whom everybody feels should be in the penitentiary who have hardly ceased for a day to flaunt their faces in decent society. we have never had a case in which the obstruction to the cause of justice began so early as ruef began it, or was conducted with such brazen effrontery. it is not within our recollection that any accused person of whose guilt there was reasonable doubt had adopted such a course. its adoption is the recognized sign of guilt. "but while our laws affecting court practice are very bad, they do afford the means of ultimately bringing criminals to trial and convicting them if the evidence is sufficient and the jury unbiased and uncorrupted. it only requires that the public maintains its interest and thereby sustains its officials in their efforts to secure justice. in this case the advantage is with the public. there is no possibility of a 'pull' with the district attorney. his assistant, mr. heney, is himself a master of the criminal law and in notable cases elsewhere has triumphed over similar efforts for delay made in behalf of criminals of far higher social and political standing than ruef. in fact ruef has no standing of any kind in the community in any way different from that possessed by other political bosses supposed to be corrupt. the indignation of this community is a righteous indignation and it will never abate until under the due processes of law the truth in respect to ruef and his roustabouts is dragged out in open court." chapter xii. trapping of the supervisors. months before the oliver grand jury was convened, it was common gossip in san francisco that the members of the board of supervisors were taking money from the public service corporations.[ ] belief of this had got beyond the stage of mere newspaper accusation. it had become the firmly-settled conviction of the law-abiding element of the community. for this reason, as the months wore away in technical wrangling in the "french restaurant" extortion cases, the public became impatient that time and energy should be expended in comparatively unimportant matters, while big graft went unprobed. partisans of the administration took advantage of this sentiment to belittle the prosecution. under this sort of hammering, the prosecution, during the months of february and march, , unquestionably lost ground in public opinion. but with ruef holding the supervisors to rigid accounting, and agents of public-service corporations lynx-eyed[ ] to detect any weakness in their position, and quick to report with warning and advice to ruef at any suggestion of danger, burns and his associates were able to make little headway in securing evidence of big graft that would justify indictment or warrant trial. the supervisors looked to ruef absolutely. some of them took bribe money from others than himself in spite of his warning, but when they scented a trap they hurried to ruef for advice. when he directed them to return the bribe money they promised to do so, and in some cases actually returned it. ruef was a competent captain over men who had all confidence in his ability to keep them out of trouble. so long as he was in touch with the supervisors his position so far as the supervisors was concerned was almost impregnable. when, however, ruef was caught in a position where he could no longer consult freely with his men, advise them and reassure them, his organization went to pieces in a wild scramble of every member thereof to save himself. this occurred when ruef was placed in the custody of elisor biggy. ruef fully appreciated this weak point in his position. he realized from the beginning of the graft prosecution the danger of members of the board of supervisors being trapped in independent bribery, and himself becoming involved through their confessions. even before his flight from trial in the extortion case, he knew that his fears bade fair to be realized. some fortnight before ruef's flight, supervisor lonergan had been to ruef with confession of having taken $ from golden m. roy. roy was proprietor of a well-known cafe and was counted by men in lonergan's position as one of the supporters of the administration. but the more astute ruef at once suspected betrayal. ruef bluntly informed lonergan that he had been trapped, directed him to return the money roy had given him and warned him of the risk he ran in accepting bribes. ruef's fears were well founded. roy, in his dealings with lonergan, was acting for detective william j. burns. the trap which burns had prepared for the eager lonergan was plausibly baited. roy was a restaurant keeper with several side enterprises, among them interests in a skating-rink. an ordinance regulating skating-rinks was pending before the supervisors. roy, acting under direction of the district attorney, approached lonergan with a statement that he wished the ordinance defeated. lonergan accordingly met roy at the skating-rink office. in an adjoining room, placed so they could see and hear, were detective william j. burns and two others. from their places of concealment the three men heard the bargain, and saw roy pay lonergan $ to defeat the skating-rink ordinance. roy, acting for the district attorney, then attempted to trap gallagher. he offered gallagher $ for his work on the skating-rink ordinance. gallagher refused to take any money and said that roy was a friend of the administration and it should not cost him anything. roy urged gallagher to accept the money, alleging that it came from a pool; that gallagher was entitled to it; that he, roy, had given money to several supervisors already. gallagher asked him to tell which ones. roy refused, saying, "you would not expect me to tell on you." gallagher immediately suspected lonergan and told his suspicions to wilson, and the two hunted up lonergan and charged him with getting the money. gallagher hurried lonergan to ruef much the same as they would have rushed a man showing the symptoms of a deadly malady to a physician. ruef warned him and advised him. the thoroughly frightened supervisor assured ruef that he would be careful in the future, and that he would return the money he had received from roy.[ ] but even as ruef was dealing with lonergan, supervisor edward i. walsh was walking into a trap set in duplication of that into which lonergan had fallen. walsh, at the skating-rink, with the eyes of burns and others upon him, accepted $ from roy--who was working as before under direction of the district attorney--as the price of his vote on the skating-rink ordinance. the third supervisor to fall into the district attorney's trap was dr. charles boxton. dr. boxton[ ] was a different type from lonergan and walsh. he had had the advantage of superior education and training. a specially prepared trap was set for him at roy's house. boxton was introduced into the front room separated from the dining-room by folding doors. the dining-room had been darkened, and the folding doors left slightly ajar. burns, with his assistants, was concealed in the dining-room, where they could see all that took place in the front room, as well as hear what was said. they saw roy offer boxton the money; heard him tell boxton that the ordinance was to be defeated; saw boxton take the money. the trap was to be sprung once more, with lonergan, for the second time,[ ] the victim. lonergan, instead of returning the $ he had accepted in the skating-rink transaction, as he had promised ruef he would do, accepted an additional $ from roy. as before, burns and his men witnessed the transaction. roy had told lonergan of an ordinance authorizing the establishing of an oil refinery in which roy claimed to be interested. he promised lonergan $ to support the measure. the ordinance had been cleverly prepared, with an acrostic in the title, spelling the word "fake."[ ] roy had interested boxton in the measure as well as lonergan. boxton had introduced it at a regular meeting of the board of supervisors. on march , while ruef was a fugitive, lonergan went to roy's house to get the money to be paid him for the support of the "fake" ordinance. the same arrangements had been made for lonergan as for boxton. burns and his men were concealed in the darkened dining-room; the folding doors were ajar. lonergan took the money. "what," he demanded of roy, "have you in the next room?" and advanced toward the partially-open folding doors. at that burns threw the doors open. "you see," said burns, "what he has in there." "i want you to arrest this man," cried lonergan, indicating roy. "he bribed a supervisor." "yes, i saw him do it," replied burns. "but you did not tell me to arrest him when he bribed you down at the skating-rink." lonergan at first denied the skating-rink incident, but finally admitted it. langdon and heney were sent for, and joined the party at roy's house. lonergan was urged to tell what he knew of graft of the schmitz-ruef administration. he finally consented. it was not a long story. supervisor james l. gallagher had acted as go-between, lonergan stated, from ruef to the supervisors. from gallagher, lonergan testified, he had received $ to influence his vote in the ordinance granting permits to the organized prize fight promoters to hold fights once a month; $ to influence his vote in fixing gas rates at cents per thousand instead of cents, as had been pledged in the union labor party platform on which he had been elected; $ in the matter of granting the home telephone company's franchise; $ for his vote in granting the united railroads its permit to establish the overhead trolley system. lonergan stated further that gallagher had promised him $ , and later $ , to influence his vote in the matter of passing an ordinance for the sale of a franchise applied for by the parkside realty company, with the "biggest thing yet" to come, when the deal was consummated, by which the city would accept the plans of the bay cities water company. in addition to the sums received from gallagher, lonergan confessed to receiving $ from t. v. halsey, representing the pacific states telephone and telegraph company. halsey had paid lonergan the money, the supervisor said, to oppose the granting of a franchise to the home telephone company. walsh and boxton were sent for. on their arrival at roy's house they were closely questioned, and urged to confess, but neither would make a statement that night. boxton insisted that he would admit nothing unless the other supervisors made statements. but on the following day, march , walsh made a statement under oath to the district attorney and heney, in which he confessed to receiving bribes from gallagher, except in the home telephone bribery, in the same amount and under like conditions that lonergan had stated bribes had been paid him. startling as these confessions were, they as a matter of fact involved none but lonergan, walsh, gallagher and halsey. at no point did they touch ruef, or schmitz, or those who had furnished the bribe money. boxton with walsh and lonergan had been trapped in bribery. two had confessed to receiving money from gallagher, but even though the third, boxton, added his confession to theirs, it would not have provided sufficient to convict. the confessions of the three were uncorroborated as to each bribe. the remaining fifteen supervisors would to a certainty have sworn they voted for the several measures without inducement. with such testimony from the fifteen, no motive could have been shown for gallagher to bribe lonergan, walsh and boxton; the measures could, with the votes of the fifteen, have been passed without the votes of the three supervisors trapped. to make out even a fairly good case against ruef, it was absolutely essential to have gallagher's testimony, and in addition thereto, the testimony of a majority of the members of the board of supervisors.[ ] the prosecution had made progress in trapping the three supervisors, and in getting confession out of two of them. but at best it was only an opening wedge. the least slip would have lost all the ground gained. the three trapped supervisors might be sent to state prison. had they been, schmitz with the fifteen supervisors remaining would have filled their places by appointment. the situation would then be more difficult for the prosecution than ever. while the agents of the district attorney were dealing with the complicated problems which the first break in the line of the graft defense brought upon them, ruef continued a fugitive. gallagher, ruef's immediate representative, realized the seriousness of the situation. he had no real loyalty for ruef. his one thought was for gallagher. he could for the moment see no hope for himself, except in the defeat of the prosecution. he accordingly exerted himself to block burns, and to prevent the conditions of graft in the board of supervisors from becoming public.[ ] supervisor wilson was assisting him. as encouragement, the anxious ruef had sent gallagher word by his sister to remain firm. but the leader was gone; ruef's grip was loosened. from gallagher down to the wretched lonergan, the supervisors were thinking of saving themselves alone. ruef's word, sent by his sister to gallagher, was for gallagher "to sit on the lid." gallagher soon after observed to wilson that "the lid was getting a little warm"; that he thought he would get in touch with the prosecution to see what could be done with the other side. wilson assured gallagher that he considered such a move would be a wise one. gallagher's first definite word that as many as three supervisors had been trapped reached him through dr. boxton's attorney, h. m. owens. owens told gallagher that boxton had made full statement of the situation to him and that he was convinced, and so was boxton, that if boxton went to trial he would be convicted. the effect of this information upon gallagher can be appreciated when it is realized that gallagher, acting as ruef's go-between, had himself paid boxton money. owens stated further that the question of giving the supervisors immunity, provided they made complete confession, had been broached, and the suggestion had been made that gallagher meet some member of the prosecution to discuss this point. the names of langdon and burns were suggested, but gallagher did not care to meet them. he finally agreed, however, to an appointment with rudolph spreckels. before the meeting between gallagher and spreckels took place, langdon, heney, spreckels and burns had a conference. it was suggested that spreckels might indicate to gallagher that the prosecution would like to have his confession and statement, and that the district attorney would unquestionably be able to extend to him immunity[ ] on the strength of his giving full and free, truthful testimony concerning crimes in which he was involved while acting as a supervisor in connection with the public service corporations and others. three meetings were held between spreckels and gallagher before the matter was concluded. the meeting-place was in the grounds of the presidio, the military reservation at san francisco. the first of the three meetings was preliminary only. spreckels explained to gallagher the aims and purposes of the prosecution.[ ] gallagher would make no admissions, and indicated that under no circumstances would he consider the district attorney's immunity proposition unless all the supervisors were included within its provisions. after this preliminary meeting, spreckels conferred with langdon and heney. it was agreed that gallagher's testimony was essential. he was, indeed, the pivotal witness. the confessions of lonergan, boxton and walsh showed that he had carried the bribe money from ruef to the supervisors. furthermore, the testimony of a majority of the supervisors would be necessary. under the circumstances it was decided that immunity could very properly be extended to all the supervisors. this decision spreckels took back to gallagher. gallagher called his leaderless associates together. by this time it was generally known among the supervisors that lonergan, walsh and boxton had been trapped, that at least two of them had made statements to the prosecution. furthermore, there were rumors that other members had been to the prosecution and made confessions. gallagher explained the seriousness of the situation.[ ] he explained to them the immunity proposition which the prosecution had made, and stated that the matter rested in their hands. he said that he was willing to sacrifice himself, if necessary, but that the whole matter was with them to decide. wilson and boxton urged that the terms offered by the prosecution be accepted.[ ] the supervisors present were at first divided. some of them announced that they would take the attitude of denying all graft. "very well," replied gallagher, "any one who wants to take that attitude will be excused from further discussion." but none of the troubled officials left the room. boxton stated that he would involve gallagher in a statement, and that gallagher would have to testify to all the money transactions he had had with the board. the supervisors knew, even then, that gallagher had already been involved by the confessions of walsh and lonergan. under the urging of gallagher, wilson and boxton, they finally decided to make confession. ruef was not present at that last secret caucus of the schmitz-ruef board of supervisors. gallagher took back word to spreckels that he had communicated to the supervisors the message which spreckels had delivered to him from the district attorney, to the effect that immunity would be granted to the supervisors, provided they would make sworn declaration of the crimes in which they were involved, giving a truthful account of all matters. the supervisors, gallagher told spreckels, had decided to accept the proposition, and would meet the district attorney for the purpose of making their statements. gallagher rather tardily asked immunity for ruef, but spreckels stated that he had not discussed this feature with the district attorney, and that gallagher would himself have to take the matter up with the authorities directly. in considering this immunity arrangement with the bribed supervisors, the fact should not be overlooked that during the five months which had passed since the opening of the graft prosecution, spreckels and heney had been meeting officials of the public service corporations involved practically every day at luncheon. but the corporation officials would give no assistance in exposing the corruption which was undermining the community.[ ] footnotes: [ ] at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , supervisor andrew m. wilson testified to a conversation which he had had with ruef at ruef's office early in september, . he was asked to state what he had said to ruef on that occasion. wilson replied: "a. i told him mr. choynski was across the street; i pulled the blind aside at his office, and showed him mr. choynski talking to jesse marks; that he had stated to marks the exact amount on the trolley proposition. "mr. sullivan: q. who had stated to marks the exact amount on the trolley proposition? a. mr. choynski, and that i had advised him a few weeks before that not to continue that fight for the attorneyship of the liquor dealers. "q. advised who? a. mr. ruef; and that mr. choynski was telling him what he had said to mcgushin at one of the meetings regarding the $ , on the trolley. "q. that who had said what he had told mr. mcgushin? a. yes, sir. "q. that who had said it? a. that mr. choynski had said that mcgushin looked paralyzed when he mentioned the exact amount, but denied it; and i says to mr. ruef, 'he has the correct amount on the trolley,' and he stated that there must be a leak somewhere in the board; and i told him i thought---- "q. (interrupting). who stated that there must be a leak somewhere in the board? a. mr. ruef; and i stated that i thought it came through morris levy, and that possibly he got his information through supervisor kelly, as they were very friendly. "mr. ach: q. who said that, you or ruef? "mr. sullivan: q. who said that? a. i stated that to mr. ruef, that i thought the source of the leak was through supervisor kelly telling morris levy, and morris levy telling choynski."--see transcript, page . [ ] supervisor james l. gallagher testified at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , of a note which had been delivered to him by mr. abbott, attorney for the united railroads, from tirey l. ford, head of the united railroads law department, to be delivered to ruef. the substance of the note, gallagher testified, was that "the grand jury is taking up the investigation of the charges concerning the united railroads permit; not much headway has been made; it is intended to endeavor to trap some of the supervisors." gallagher, unable to find ruef, went back to ford, according to gallagher's testimony, and asked if the note were so important that ruef should be hunted up. ford had directed him to open the envelope and read the note. gallagher did this, made a shorthand memorandum of it, and read the message to ruef later. see transcript, the people vs. ruef, part , vol. , pp. to . [ ] an interesting incident of this transaction grew out of word being carried to roy, that ruef had told lonergan that roy was a stool pigeon for burns. roy went to ruef's office with a show of great indignation, demanding to know what ruef meant by such a charge. ruef apologized and denied. [ ] boxton is thus described by ruef, in his account of the graft cases: "dr. boxton was a dentist; he held the position of dean and professor of dentistry in an established medical and dental college. he was a popular man about town; had been one of the grand officers of the native sons' organization; an officer of the first california regiment in the philippines, and had been several times elected supervisor by large and popular votes." [ ] the reason for springing the trap on lonergan the second time was that the plan of burns's had miscarried on the first trap. burns had put a man in partnership with lonergan, who was to induce lonergan to cash a draft for $ , shortly after lonergan had received the $ in marked currency. when lonergan was asked to cash the draft, he said all right, but that he would have to go home and get the money. he went home and brought back gold. about this time the chronicle published a story to the effect that several supervisors had been trapped. [ ] the acrostic was made by skipping two lines to the third, the first word of which began with "f," then skipping two lines to the sixth, skipping two lines to the ninth, and finally skipping two lines to the twelfth; the first letter of the first word of each of these lines spelt the word "fake." [ ] with the testimony of all the supervisors, including gallagher, the prosecution subsequently found great difficulty in convicting ruef. in the parkside case, all the supervisors testified in regard to two promises made to them, and all the officials of the parkside company testified to negotiations with ruef and to the payment of money to him. in addition thereto, william j. dingee, who was an entirely disinterested party, testified to a conversation with ruef, which was highly incriminating in its character, and which amounted to an admission on the part of ruef that he was receiving money in the parkside matter. with all this evidence before it, the jury stood six for acquittal and six for conviction. [ ] wilson testified at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , of the anxiety of the supervisors during this period. although wilson had resigned from the board to accept the office of state railroad commissioner to which he had been elected, he went to a conference of the supervisors to decide what should be done. the following is from wilson's testimony: "q. you were not then a supervisor, were you? a. no, sir. "q. who told you to go there? a. i was helping mr. gallagher. "q. helping gallagher do what? don't you know? a. sit on the lid, that is what we called it. "q. helping gallagher sit on the lid? a. yes, sir. "q. what does 'sitting on the lid' mean? that is a bit of the vernacular that i am not acquainted with. "mr. dwyer: that is vernacular authorized by the president-elect of the united states, i suppose it is good english? "mr. ach: well, he is a big man; i suppose he might sit on something that might be a lid. the court: finish your answer. "mr. ach: q. what do you mean? a. trying to keep the facts of the condition of the board of supervisors from becoming public. "q. what do you mean by that? a. the condition of the board, the graft matters." [ ] at the trial of the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. , spreckels testified to his own attitude on the question of immunity. he said: "i would be willing to grant immunity to any man who would bring to bar a man of great wealth who would debauch a city government, and who would use his wealth to corrupt individuals and tempt men of no means to commit a crime in order that he might make more money."--see transcript of testimony, page . [ ] at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , gallagher testified that spreckels told him in substance as follows: "mr. spreckels then stated that he was not actuated by vindictiveness in the matter, that he did not wish to make any more trouble or cause any more distress than was necessary in carrying out what he had undertaken, and that his purpose was to endeavor to stop the unlawful transactions,--dealings of corporations and large interests in this city with public officials; that his reason, that his view of the matter was that in order to accomplish that, that it would be necessary, or that he did not desire unnecessarily to injure anyone, and that the members of the board of supervisors and those who were engaged with them in the matter, outside of those who represented the corporations and big interests, were not as important from his standpoint as those who had, as those in control of those interests, because the members of the--the public officials and political bosses would come and go, but that the corporations and big interests remained; that they were, as he thought, the source of the trouble, and therefore, he did not consider it important, or so important, to punish the officials as to reach those that were in his judgment primarily responsible for the conditions, that he felt that the district attorney would grant immunity to the members of the board of supervisors if they would tell the whole truth of their transactions with the corporations and other persons, large interests, that had had any dealings with them of an unlawful character. i think i then said to him i would consider the matter and would talk with the members of the board of supervisors about it." [ ] gallagher at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , made the following statement of what he said to the supervisors: "my best recollection of the statement is that i said to them that some of the members of the board of supervisors had been trapped in accepting money on some matters before the board, and that they had made statements to the prosecution, as i understood, or were about to do so, and that i had seen mr. spreckels and talked with him concerning the other members of the board of supervisors, and that mr. spreckels had stated to me that the purpose was not to prosecute the members of the board of supervisors provided they would make statements, full and true statements, of their relations in the transactions with the quasi-public corporations and large interests in the city that they may have had unlawful dealings with; that mr. spreckels had stated that the public officials were coming and going, and that the political bosses were coming and going; his object was to reach the source of the condition that he was trying to eradicate; that the corporations and these other interests remained all the time, and that he felt that they were the ones that should be the object of his efforts at eradicating that condition in the city. mr. spreckels stated that he was not actuated by vindictiveness in the matter; in other words, mr. ach, as nearly as i could, i repeated the statements of mr. spreckels to me." see transcript on appeal, page . [ ] "i told them," said wilson in his testimony in the case of the people vs. ruef, no. , "that i had always taken orders from mr. ruef, that i looked upon him as the political captain of the ship, that i had followed out his orders; that i did not feel that i should sacrifice myself, or ask mr. gallagher to sacrifice himself through the condition that had been brought about; that i thought it would be unreasonable for any supervisor to ask mr. gallagher to sacrifice himself, that some of the others might walk the streets and feel that they were honest men; that i did not feel he should be sacrificed alone in the matter." [ ] the public service corporation officials were encouraged by spreckels and heney to give information which would lead to the indictment and conviction of ruef and schmitz, and thus clean up the city. instead of giving such information, they pretended that the rumors in regard to bribery were all baseless. at the pacific union club, where they generally lunched, spreckels and heney were the recipients of many kind words of encouragement and of congratulation, up to the time that ruef plead guilty in the french-restaurant case. immediately thereafter the atmosphere commenced to change. the indictment of some of the prominent members of the club was not pleasing. during the first trial of glass, he and his attorneys constantly lunched at the pacific union club, and many men, prominent in finance, would stop and chat ostentatiously with glass and his lawyers, and would then ignore spreckels and heney, who would be sitting at a near-by table. an attempt to keep rudolph spreckels out of membership in the bohemian club was almost successful about this time, while drum was elected a director of the pacific union club while still under indictment, and thomas williams, of the new california jockey club, one of the bondsmen for schmitz, was elected president. chapter xiii. confessions of the supervisors. the resignation of supervisor duffey to take charge of the municipal department of public works, and of supervisor wilson[ ] to take the office of state railroad commissioner, left sixteen members of the elected schmitz-ruef board of supervisors at the time of the exposures of the graft prosecution. the sixteen, after the surrender at their last secret caucus, made full confession of their participation in the gains of the organized betrayal of the city. supervisor wilson added his confession to the sixteen. thus, of the eighteen union labor party supervisors elected in , four years after the organization of that party, seventeen[ ] confessed to taking money from large combinations of capital, the very interests which the party had been brought into being to oppose. the public service corporations, confronting a party organized primarily to control municipal government to the end that equitable conditions in san francisco might be guaranteed those who labor, by the simple process of support before election and bribery after election, secured as strong a hold upon the community as their most complete success at the polls could have given. these large interests, approaching the new order with bribe-money, found politicians operating in the name of organized labor, ostensibly to promote the best interests of labor, to be not at all formidable. and when the exposure came, and the bribe-giving corporation magnates were placed on their defense, their most potent allies in the campaign which they carried on to keep out of the penitentiary, were found in the entrenched leaders of the union-labor party. the supervisors' confessions corroborated the statements previously made by lonergan, walsh and boxton. the bribery transactions to which the seventeen supervisors confessed, came naturally under two heads: the first class included the briberies carried on through ruef, who dealt directly with those who furnished the bribe money. ruef employed gallagher as agent to deal with the supervisors. thus gallagher did not come in contact with those who furnished the money, while the supervisors were removed still further from connection with them. ruef, on his part, in passing the money, did not come into immediate contact with the supervisors except in gallagher's case. it was bribery reduced to a fine art. in this group of transactions were included the bribery of the supervisors to grant to the united railroads its trolley permit; to the home telephone company, its franchise; to the pacific gas and electric company, an -cent gas rate; to the prize fight combine, monopoly of the pugilistic contests in san francisco. in this class, too, is properly included the parkside transit company, which had, at the time the exposure came, paid ruef $ , to secure a street railroad franchise, with a promise of $ , more when the franchise had been actually granted. the supervisors received nothing in this transaction, but they had been told by ruef's agent, gallagher, there would be, first $ each for them in the parkside matter. later on they were told the sum would be $ each. the second class of bribes included those which were paid directly to the supervisors. they included the bribes paid by t. v. halsey, agent of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company to a majority of the supervisors to prevent their awarding the home telephone company its franchise. gallagher did not participate in these bribery transactions, and could only indirectly throw light upon them. but in the other cases gallagher was the pivotal witness. he received the bribe money from ruef, and, after taking out his share, he paid the balance to the other supervisors. with a wealth of detail, gallagher told how he had received the money, when and where, and went into the particulars of its distribution among his associates. he had received from ruef in all, $ , .[ ] of this, he had retained $ , for himself; the balance, $ , , he had divided among his associates on the board. this enormous corruption fund which gallagher divided with the supervisors had come from four sources. the so-called prize-fight trust had furnished $ , of it; the pacific gas and electric company, $ , ; the home telephone company, $ , , and the united railroads, $ , . the first money that passed from ruef to gallagher and from gallagher on to the supervisors, the confessions showed, was for the prize-fight monopoly. this particular bribery seems to have been intended as a trying-out of the several members to ascertain which of them would take money in connection with the discharge of their duties as supervisors. every member of the board accepted the package of bills which gallagher tendered him. indeed, several of them displayed surprising alertness to secure all that was their due. ruef, it became known among them, had given gallagher $ , which evenly divided, meant $ for each of the eighteen supervisors. but gallagher gave them only $ each. an explanation was demanded of him. he stated that he had taken out per cent. as his commission. so strong was the dissatisfaction created by the holding out of this per cent. that ruef arranged to pay gallagher a larger amount than the others received to compensate him, no doubt, for his extra services as bribe-carrier. the new arrangement for the compensation of gallagher was followed when the supervisors were paid after fixing gas rates at cents per thousand cubic feet, instead of cents,[ ] the sum pledged in their party platform. one of the supervisors, mcgushin, refused to break his platform pledge, and held out for the -cent rate. in distributing the gas money, gallagher paid nothing to mcgushin.[ ] but to each of the remaining sixteen supervisors, gallagher confessed to giving $ . following the new rule that he was to have extra compensation, gallagher kept for himself $ . at the time of the gas-rate bribery, supervisor rea was making it unpleasant for his associates. mr. rea had accepted $ prize-fight money from gallagher, without, he testified before the grand jury, knowing what it was for. a few days later he told schmitz of the matter. schmitz contended that no such work was going on. rea, when he received his $ in the gas-rate case, went to schmitz with a statement that money was used to have the gas rate fixed at cents. rea asked schmitz what he was to do with the money. he testified before the grand jury that schmitz replied: "you keep quiet. i will let you know." that was the last rea heard from schmitz on the subject. rea testified before the grand jury that he still had the money gallagher had paid him in the prize-fight and gas-rate cases. rea's trip to schmitz seems to have kept him out of the division of the telephone and the united railroads money. the telephone bribery was somewhat complicated by the fact that rival companies were in the field bidding for supervisorial favor. it developed that eleven of the supervisors[ ] had accepted from t. v. halsey, representing the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, bribes to block the granting of a franchise to the home telephone company. on the other hand, the home telephone company had paid ruef $ , [ ] to be used in getting favorable action on its application for a franchise. ruef gave gallagher $ , for the supervisors. ruef states that he divided the remainder with schmitz. in this way, the administration was bribed to grant the home telephone franchise, while eleven[ ] of the supervisors, a majority of the board, were bribed not to grant it. the complications which this created almost disrupted the ruef-schmitz combine. the difficulty was threshed out in a sunday night caucus. those who had received money from the pacific states people, with supervisor boxton at their head, insisted that the home franchise should not be granted. on the other hand, ruef and schmitz, with the thousands of the home company in view, insisted that it should be. both ruef and schmitz warned the supervisors that they were perhaps at the dividing of the ways. "well," replied boxton significantly, "if men cannot get a thing through one way they might try and get it through in another." mayor schmitz demanded of boxton what he meant by that. "well," boxton replied vaguely but defiantly, "you know there are other ways of reaching the matter."[ ] but boxton was unable to prevail against the support which ruef and schmitz were giving the home telephone company. although eleven of the supervisors had taken money from the pacific states company to oppose the granting of a franchise to the rival home telephone company, all but four of those present at the caucus decided to stand by ruef and schmitz, and voted in caucus to grant the home company its franchise.[ ] the next day, in open board meeting, with boxton still leading the opposition, the franchise was awarded to the home telephone company. the division of the money received from the home telephone company people was one of the hardest problems in bribe distribution which ruef and gallagher were called upon to face. the first plan was to pay the supervisors who had at the last supported the home telephone franchise, $ . at once those supervisors who had, from the beginning remained faithful to the administration's support of the home company and had refused to accept money from halsey, pointed out that they would receive $ only, while the supervisors whom halsey had bribed would get in all $ ; that is to say, $ from gallagher for voting to grant the franchise and $ from halsey not to grant it. it was, those who had remained true contended, inequitable that supervisors who had been faithful to ruef and schmitz from the beginning should receive only $ ; while those who had been temporarily bought away from the administration received $ . the "justness" of this contention appealed to all. a compromise was finally arranged, under which those who had stood out to the end against granting the home franchise, should receive no part of the home telephone bribe money; those who had received $ from halsey but finally voted for the home franchise, were to return $ of the $ to halsey, and receive $ from gallagher, making the total of the telephone bribe money for each $ ; those who had received nothing from halsey were each to be allowed $ of the home telephone money. in this way each supervisor who had voted for the home franchise would get $ for his vote. in the case of four of the supervisors the entire $ came from the home company. gallagher, too, was one of this class, all his compensation being home telephone money. but gallagher received $ , . eight of the supervisors had received money from halsey, and yet voted to give the home company its franchise. these received $ home company money from gallagher and were allowed to keep $ of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company money that halsey had given them. thus the pacific states was forced to pay the supervisors part of the bribe money they received for granting its rival a franchise. incidentally, some of the supervisors did not return half the $ to halsey. but this is a phase of the ethics of bribery upon which it is unnecessary to touch. ruef regarded this unique discipline of the pacific states as just punishment for its offense of trying to buy his supervisors away from him.[ ] following the telephone bribery, came that of the united railroads to secure the much-opposed over-head trolley permit. on account of this permit, gallagher testified, ruef had given him $ , to be distributed among the supervisors. of this $ , , gallagher kept $ , for himself, gave wilson $ , ,[ ] and to each of the other supervisors with the exception of rea,[ ] $ . gallagher's testimony relative to the offer of a bribe in the matter of the parkside realty company franchise was quite as explicit. he swore that ruef had stated to him there ought to be $ for each supervisor in this. later on, with a change in the proposed route,[ ] ruef had told gallagher that the amount would be $ to each supervisor. gallagher had conveyed this information to the supervisors. at the time of ruef's flight, arrest and the attending breaking up of his organization, the supervisors were impatiently waiting for this money to be paid.[ ] one by one, sixteen of gallagher's associates went before the district attorney and made full confession. in every detail they bore out gallagher's statements. when they had done, the district attorney had statements from seventeen[ ] of the eighteen supervisors, that they had received large sums of bribe money to influence their votes in matters in which public service corporations were concerned; he knew the purposes for which the bribe money had been paid; he had a statement from gallagher, corroborated at many points by the testimony of the other supervisors, that the money had been furnished by ruef. ruef's testimony would bring the bribery transactions directly to the doors of those who had bribed. this testimony could have been had, had the prosecution agreed to give ruef complete immunity. ruef was a prisoner in charge of an elisor. he knew that the supervisors had confessed. in an agony of indecision he sent for gallagher and wilson to learn from them all that had occurred.[ ] they told him that full statements had been made to the district attorney. ruef complained that gallagher should have tried to get into touch with him before making statements. to which gallagher replied that such a course would have been impossible.[ ] both gallagher and wilson advised ruef to make terms with the district attorney. ruef replied that he would think it over. little came of the conference. the statements of the two supervisors, however, must have shown ruef how thorough the undoing of his organization had been, and how hopeless was his own case. but ruef, sparring for time, and pleading for complete immunity, did not make immediate confession and, as a matter of fact has not, up to the present writing, told the full story of his connection with the public service corporations.[ ] after the confessions of the supervisors, the district attorney left ruef to himself and hastened the supervisors before the grand jury, where they repeated their miserable stories.[ ] and then the grand jury took up the task of tracing the bribe money from those who had received it, to those who had paid it. footnotes: [ ] to the places thus vacated, mayor schmitz appointed o. a. tveitmoe and j. j. o'neil. tveitmoe and o'neil assumed their duties as supervisors after the bribery transactions were completed. they did not become involved in the graft exposures, but served to the end of the terms for which they had been appointed. [ ] the eighteenth supervisor, who made no confession, was duffey. duffey, according to gallagher's confession, participated with the others in the graft distributions. in the hurry of the final arrangements for the confessions, however, gallagher gained the impression that confession was not to be required of duffey. rather than give appearance of lack of good faith, the prosecution decided to abide by the impression which gallagher claimed he had formed. [ ] this was the amount that ruef turned over to the supervisors. it represented a comparatively small part of what he received from the public service corporations. from the united railroads alone, because of the granting of the trolley permit, he received $ , . in addition he was drawing a regular fee of $ , a month from the united railroads. the supervisors were not always satisfied with the amount gallagher gave them. there were times when they entertained the idea that ruef had sent more than gallagher gave. they accordingly delegated supervisor wilson to ascertain from ruef whether all the money intended for them was reaching them. ruef refused to discuss the matter with wilson. wilson, at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , testified: "i told him (ruef) that the supervisors had asked me to call and see him; that they wanted other information to confirm mr. gallagher's reports to the board on these money matters. he said that he did not care to discuss that with anyone other than mr. gallagher; that it took up time and that whatever mr. gallagher did on the board was with his full knowledge and consent; that the matters were being handled satisfactorily by mr. gallagher, and when anything arose, any other condition confronted him, he would look elsewhere for a leader, but he did not want to go in at that time and discuss those matters with anyone." [ ] about the time the -cent gas rate was fixed, one of the pacific gas and electric company's stations was burned. ruef stated to gallagher that the fire would be used as one of the reasons for fixing the -cent rate: that it would probably appeal to the public as an excuse for fixing the rate at cents when the platform of the party had mentioned cents. see transcript, the people vs. ruef, no. , page . [ ] when mcgushin refused to follow directions and give the pacific gas and electric company an -cent gas rate, gallagher went to ruef about it. at the trial of the people vs. ruef, no. , gallagher testified: "i told him (ruef) that mcgushin was rather demurring at receiving the money, at taking the money, and that i had told mr. mcgushin that he had better go down and talk with mr. ruef. he (ruef) said, 'all right, if he comes around i will talk with him.'" [ ] the supervisors who accepted money from halsey, acting for the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, to prevent a franchise being awarded an opposition company were: boxton, walsh, wilson, coleman, nicholas, furey, mamlock, phillips, lonergan, sanderson and coffey. the amount paid in each instance was $ , . halsey promised several of the bribed members from $ , to $ , in addition to be paid them, if they remained faithful, after their terms had expired. the money, the several members testified, had been paid to them by halsey in an unfurnished room in the mills building which had been temporarily engaged for mr. halsey's use by frank c. drum, a director of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company. examples of the methods employed to corrupt the laboringmen supervisors who suddenly found themselves placed in a position of trust and responsibility will be found in the appendix. [ ] this is the amount given by ruef in his "confession." he states that he received $ , when he agreed that the home telephone company should have the franchise; and $ , when the franchise was granted. according to his statement he gave $ , to gallagher for the supervisors; $ , he gave schmitz; $ , he kept himself. gallagher testified on several occasions that he received but $ , from ruef. the details of ruef's confessions are not dependable. on ruef's own statement of the basis of division of this particular bribe money among the supervisors, gallagher received only $ , of home telephone money from him. [ ] ruef was himself to blame for the complication, for he had given certain of the supervisors to understand that the purpose of the pacific telephone and telegraph company was to prevail, and that the home telephone company would not be granted its franchise. the supervisors in taking the pacific telephone and telegraph company's money, not unreasonably supposed they were taking from the favored of the administration. supervisor wilson in his confession said: "the first conversation i had with mr. ruef, affecting money matters, was on the pacific states telephone matters. i told him that i had been out to dinner with mr. halsey, and i understood that everything was going to be satisfactory with their company. he (ruef) said that it would terminate that way." acting upon this hint, wilson accepted $ , from halsey. later he told ruef of having got the money. ruef told him that he should not have taken it. wilson has testified that he offered to return it. "no," he claims ruef replied, "don't do that just now. wait and see. i will let you know later. you might get into a trap by giving it back; you had better wait." ruef claims, however, that he advised wilson to return the money. [ ] for description of this "dividing of the ways" scene, see testimony of supervisor wilson, transcript on appeal, the people vs. ruef, page . [ ] gallagher in his confession said of the decision of the supervisors to stand by ruef and schmitz: "mr. wilson talked to a number of those boys (supervisors who had taken money from the pacific states's agent), he being one of those who had taken this money, and he told me that notwithstanding the fact that they had taken this money that he didn't feel that he wanted to stand out from the leadership of mr. ruef and wanted to act with him and myself in the matter and said that he would talk to the other boys about it, and see how they felt about the proposition of voting for the home telephone franchise anyhow." [ ] in his confession, gallagher stated that under this arrangement he paid $ , each to coffey, coleman, furey, lonergan, mamlock, nicholas, phillips and wilson; $ , each to davis, duffey, harrigan and kelley, reserving $ , for himself. those who received no part of the home telephone company money were boxton, sanderson, walsh, mcgushin and rea. of the five, boxton and sanderson received $ , each from halsey of the pacific company, and walsh, according to his recollection, $ , . mcgushin and rea received none of the bribe money paid by the two telephone companies. [ ] gallagher testified before the grand jury, that the additional compensation had been given wilson because he was more useful than any other member, besides himself, in keeping the supervisors in line and in passing information regarding prospective bribe money. [ ] gallagher testified before the grand jury that he had paid rea nothing, because he had no confidence in rea's judgment and self-control. "i told mr. ruef," gallagher testified, "i did not care to, that i wouldn't take the responsibility of dealing with mr. rea. i believe he was talking and had talked about matters dealing with me and did not care to have any dealings with him. he (ruef) said, 'very well, i'll attend to him,' or 'i will see to that myself,' or some such expression as that." [ ] the original plan was to have this road on twentieth avenue. but to grade twentieth avenue would take time, and cost upwards of $ , . on the other hand, nineteenth avenue had been graded, macadamized, and accepted as a boulevard. the parkside people asked a change in the purchased franchise, to give them the boulevard. but the charter prohibited grants of franchises over declared boulevards. ruef concluded this provision could be overcome by ordinance. he feared criticism, but finally yielded to the parkside people's request. then went word to the supervisors of increase in compensation in this particular transaction. [ ] gallagher's testimony before the grand jury regarding the promised bribes in the parkside franchise undertaking was as follows: "q. now, then, the parkside trolley, was there an understanding in regard to money being paid on that? a. the parkside realty company's franchise for street railway on twentieth avenue, that is what you refer to--on nineteenth avenue, that is correct; it was originally intended for twentieth, afterward changed to nineteenth; that is right there was nothing paid to any member of the board upon that that i know of. there were some rumors about it and mr. ruef spoke to me about it and said there ought to be a payment of $ to each member on it and afterward said that if the thing was changed from twentieth avenue to the nineteenth avenue, that there ought to be $ , each paid. "q. about when did he say it ought or he would be able to pay them? a. he said that he expected to, yes, sir. he did not say he was ready to do so, on the contrary, has always denied that he had the money to pay it with. "q. he never said he had the money before on the other matters? a. no. "q. he would just say there will be this much coming? a. yes, sir. "q. and the same way in regard to this also? a. yes, sir. "q. $ , ? a. yes, sir. "q. and you passed it out in the same way? a. yes, sir. "q. and it was put through with that understanding? a. yes, sir. "q. the only definite, was it, it hasn't come? a. not yet. "q. do you know why the money hasn't been given to you yet by ruef? a. no, sir. "q. has he given you any reason? a. mr. ruef said that the amount has not been paid to him. "q. you heard complaints from the members that they had been so long about coming through? a. yes, indeed. "q. did you make complaint to ruef about it? a. yes, sir. "q. what did he say? a. he made that excuse consequently that he didn't have it. "q. never said that he did not expect it? a. did not." [ ] the anxiety on the part of the confessing supervisors to tell the truth was pathetic. when mcgushin began his story he was asked: "of course this statement you make is free and voluntary." "yes," replied mcgushin, simply, "mr. gallagher himself told me to tell the truth." [ ] "i want to learn from your own lips," he told wilson, "if what i have already heard is true regarding your making a statement to the prosecution." "i have been thoroughly informed," said ruef in an interview given out later, "of everything that the members of the board of supervisors are reported to have told the grand jury, and i have no comment to make upon their alleged confessions at this time. later, however, i will issue a statement which will furnish more sensations in connection with municipal graft than anything that has been made public." [ ] gallagher left the conference first. wilson testified at the graft trials that after gallagher had gone ruef stated that "had he been in gallagher's place he wouldn't have made those statements to the prosecution." "you can never tell what one will do until he is placed in mr. gallagher's position," replied wilson, "we discussed the matter fully for two or three days before he took that step." [ ] the nearest ruef has come to a statement of his connection with the public service corporations is contained in his story, "the road i traveled," which appeared in the san francisco bulletin. the account is inaccurate and incomplete. nothing, for example, is told by mr. ruef, of the proposed bay cities water company deal, which at one time he claimed to be the most important of all he had in view. [ ] the supervisors were all examined before the grand jury on the same day. heney in an affidavit, filed in the case of the people vs. calhoun et al., no. , states that "one of the reasons which actuated me to examine all of said supervisors on the same day was that the newspapers had discovered that they had made confessions on the preceding saturday, and i wanted to make sure that no one of them was tampered with by anyone who might be interested in changing his testimony before i succeeded in getting his testimony recorded by a stenographer in the grand jury room." chapter xiv. the source of the bribe money. after the confessions of the supervisors, the grand jurors had definite, detailed knowledge of the corruption of the union-labor party administration. the grand jurors knew: ( ) that bribes aggregating over $ , had been paid the supervisors. ( ) that of this large amount, $ , passed from ruef to gallagher and by gallagher had been divided among members of the board. the balance, the evidence showed, had been paid to the supervisors direct by t. v. halsey of the pacific states telephone company. ( ) the amount of each bribe; the circumstances under which it was paid; even the character of the currency used in the transaction. ( ) the names of the corporations benefited by the bribery transactions, as well as the character of the special privileges which their money had bought. with the exception of the home telephone company, the names of the directors of these benefiting corporations were readily obtainable.[ ] with this data before them, the grand jurors proceeded to trace the source of the bribe money. naturally, men who had long held places of respectability in the community were slow to admit having given ruef vast sums, even under the transparent subterfuge of paying him attorney's fees.[ ] some of them, when haled before the grand jury, testified reluctantly, and only under the closest questioning. others frankly stood upon their constitutional rights, and with pitiful attempt to smooth out with studied phrases the harshness of the only acceptable reason for their refusal, declined to testify on the ground that their testimony would tend to incriminate them. nevertheless, the grand jury succeeded in wringing from the officials of the several corporations involved, damaging admissions; admissions, in fact, quite as startling as had been the confessions of the supervisors. the refusal of some of those not unreasonably under suspicion, to testify was, too, quite as significant. in the matter of the bribery of the supervisors by t. v. halsey, agent of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, the grand jury had information that eleven supervisors had been paid over $ , to oppose the granting of a franchise to the home telephone company. a majority of the payments were made in an unfurnished suite of three rooms in the mills building. frank drum, a director of the company, admitted having engaged the rooms at halsey's request. e. j. zimmer, auditor for the company, testified that halsey held the position of general agent of the company. halsey's duties, the testimony showed, were assigned him by louis glass, vice-president and general manager, and for a time acting president of the company. halsey, under the company's organization, reported to glass. zimmer testified that halsey could not spend the company's money except on the proper approval of the executive officer of the company. from october, , when president sabin of the company died, until february, , when henry t. scott, sabin's successor, was elected, glass acted as president and as executive officer. he had, according to auditor zimmer, authority to approve expenditures made by halsey. after scott's elevation to the presidency, either glass or scott could have approved such expenditures. zimmer testified further to giving halsey, at glass's order,[ ] as high as $ , at a time. halsey[ ] gave no vouchers for these large sums; they did not appear on the books;[ ] they were carried on tags. zimmer stated that he did not know for what the funds were used; had merely followed out glass's instruction, and given halsey the money. the testimony of thomas sherwin threw some light upon the bookkeeping methods followed. sherwin had been traveling auditor for the american bell telephone company, which concern owned per cent. of the stock of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company. later he took zimmer's place as auditor of the pacific states company. mr. sherwin admitted that some of mr. halsey's "special expenses," at least, were finally charged to the company's legal department.[ ] passing from the investigation of the bribery transactions of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company to the activities of the home telephone company, the grand jury examined prominent business men of los angeles as well as of san francisco. the plan of operation followed by the capitalists behind this enterprise was to organize a construction company, whose part was to establish the plants, put them into operation and turn them over to the operating companies, taking their pay in the securities of the local operating company. thus, at san francisco, the empire construction company played an important part in the home telephone company enterprise. as heney put it, the empire construction company received the most benefit from the granting of the home telephone franchise. the empire construction company furnished at least part of the money that went into the fusion campaign fund in . investigation showed that per cent. of the stock of the empire construction company belonged to men who were in the construction solely, while per cent. was in the hands of men who were financing the enterprise. this last block of stock at the time of the investigation was divided among james h. adams and thomas w. phillips of the adams-phillips company, a. b. cass, gerald s. torrance and a. k. detweiler. detweiler could not be found. adams, cass and torrance, after answering some of the questions put to them, availed themselves of their constitutional privilege, and refused to make further answers. the books of the adams-phillips company disappeared and employees of that company undertook to evade answering questions regarding the disappearance, on the ground that they might incriminate themselves. but a sharp order from the superior court brought out their testimony. however, none of them gave testimony that led to the discovery of the missing volumes. but the general trend of the testimony went to show that the responsible agent for the empire construction company and the home telephone company in san francisco was a. k. detweiler. the testimony showed detweiler to have been at ruef's office in consultation with ruef and supervisor gallagher; he was active in every move that was made on behalf of the empire construction company and of the home telephone company in san francisco, and had the disbursing of the funds. incidentally, through the testimony of dr. fred butterfield, a representative of adolphus busch, the brewer, the grand jury learned that a third telephone company, the united states independent, seeking a franchise to do business in san francisco, would have bid for the franchise which the home company received, had not the franchise been so worded that only the telephone system controlled by the home people could be operated under it. butterfield stated that his company, made up of responsible capitalists, considered the franchise worth something over a million dollars, and was prepared to bid up to a million dollars, if necessary, to get it. the home company paid san francisco $ , for the franchise. butterfield testified that his company had intended to invest $ , , in the san francisco enterprise, and that ruef knew of the extent of the company's plans. with such testimony, the assertions of ruef's partisans that opposition to the ruef-schmitz administration retarded development of the community compare curiously.[ ] the grand jury could not secure the attendance of mr. detweiler, for about the time of the investigation mr. detweiler mysteriously disappeared. the investigation into the affairs of the home company had, therefore, to be concluded without mr. detweiler's testimony. following the policy of the stockholders of the empire construction company, the officials of the united railroads refused to testify. president patrick calhoun[ ] and thornwell mullally, assistant to the president, when given opportunity to state their side of the case under oath, stood upon their constitutional rights, and declined to give evidence that might incriminate them.[ ] they were accordingly excused from the grand jury room. but the employees of the company did not escape so easily. when, for example, george francis, william m. abbott, george b. willcutt and celia mcdermott refused to answer questions put to them in the grand jury room, they were haled before the superior court, where they were informed that they must testify. in spite of the hostility of these witnesses, the prosecution succeeded in securing a wealth of data regarding $ , which passed into the hands of tirey l. ford and, according to the theory of the prosecution, from ford to ruef. the prosecution established the fact that two days before mayor schmitz signed the trolley permit, that is to say, on may , , patrick calhoun, as president of the united railroads, received by telegraphic transfer from the east to the united states mint at san francisco, $ , .[ ] two days later, the day the trolley permit was signed, president calhoun took ford to the mint and instructed superintendent of the mint leach to give ford $ , of the $ , . ford told leach that he wanted currency. the currency was finally secured by exchanging gold for bills at the mint headquarters of the relief work then being carried on in san francisco. these bills, it was shown, were all in small denominations, having been sent to san francisco from all parts of the country by individual subscribers to the relief fund. this money was taken away from the mint, the testimony showed, by ford and william m. abbott. soon after, ruef loaned supervisor rea[ ] $ . by a curious trick of fate rea had leased a piece of property from rudolph spreckels. in payment on this lease he used the money that ruef had loaned him. this money was all in bills of small denominations. late in july ruef gave gallagher $ , , all in bills of small denominations, as partial settlement with the supervisors for granting the trolley permit. gallagher gave wilson of this money $ , and the other supervisors with the exception of rea $ each. they all understood that it was because of the trolley franchise deal. the balance gallagher retained for himself. the confessing supervisors, with the exception of wilson and rea, testified that their first payment on account of the trolley permit was $ each, in bills of small denominations. wilson testified to having received $ . later, ford, making two trips to the mint, drew out the $ , balance of the $ , that had been telegraphed to calhoun's credit. as before, the mint paid him in gold, and as before, ford exchanged the gold for currency. but instead of getting bills of small denomination, on the two trips which ford made for that $ , , he secured fifty and one hundred-dollar bills. on the day that ford drew the last of that $ , from the mint, an agent in the employ of the prosecution followed ruef from his office to the car barns in which ford's office was then located. a few days later ruef gave gallagher $ , in fifty and one hundred-dollar bills, the greater part of which gallagher distributed among the supervisors as second and final payment on account of the granting of the trolley permit. in the parkside deal, the grand jury had little difficulty in tracing the money involved. william h. crocker,[ ] a capitalist of large affairs, who owned the largest interest in the company, showed astonishing ignorance of the management. the grand jury learned little from him. but those interested in the enterprise with crocker not only told how half the money was paid ruef, but how the books had been manipulated to conceal the payment. ruef, according to the testimony of officials of the company, had first demanded $ , as price for his employment to put the franchise through, but had finally agreed to take $ , . this amount, officials of the company testified, was provided by drawing two checks, one in favor of h. p. umbsen and the second in the name of douglass s. watson, secretary of the parkside company. umbsen and watson thereupon deeded to the parkside company two parcels of land. the transaction was then charged to the purchase of property.[ ] the property was deeded back to umbsen and watson at the same time, but these last deeds were not immediately recorded. watson cashed the checks at the crocker-woolworth bank, of which william h. crocker was president. he testified that he received currency for them. the $ , he took to g. h. umbsen. half the $ , umbsen paid ruef. at the time of the exposure, umbsen[ ] testified he was withholding the second payment until the franchise should be put through.[ ] in the gas-rate case, the grand jury found that the corporation that would, in the final analysis, benefit by the increase in gas rates, was the pacific gas and electric company. the four responsible men in this company were found to be n. w. halsey, john martin, eugene de sabla and frank g. drum. halsey was out of the state for the greater part of the time and cyrus bierce, acting as treasurer of the corporation, looked after his interests. this narrowed the responsibility down to de sabla, martin and drum. de sabla testified before the grand jury that ruef was not, to his knowledge, at any time on the pay roll of the company. martin swore that he knew of no money that had been expended in connection with the fixing of the gas rates, and expressed himself as being as surprised as anyone at the confessions of the supervisors to having received money after the gas rates had been fixed. later, after ruef had plead guilty to extortion, both de sabla and martin refused to testify further before the grand jury.[ ] mr. frank g. drum, when called before the grand jury, stated that he had had no conversation with ruef in reference to the fixing of the gas rates.[ ] but later ruef told the grand jury that the money which he had turned over to gallagher in the gas-rate transaction had come from drum.[ ] the first to be indicted because of these transactions was ruef. sixty-five indictments were on march returned against him. eighteen were based upon the bribing of supervisors in the so-called fight trust matter; seventeen upon the bribing of supervisors in fixing the gas rates; thirteen upon the bribing of supervisors in the matter of the sale of the home telephone company franchise; seventeen in the matter of granting the over-head trolley permit. on the same day, ten indictments were returned against theodore v. halsey, of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, for the bribery of supervisors to prevent the sale of a franchise to a competing telephone company. a number of indictments were found against a. k. detweiler, for bribing supervisors in the matter of the sale of the home telephone franchise. the detweiler indictments, thirteen in number, were based upon payments of money by ruef to gallagher, and by gallagher to different members of the board. on march , the grand jury returned nine indictments against louis glass, vice-president of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, based upon the bribing, through halsey, of supervisors to prevent the granting of a competing telephone franchise. during the two months that followed, the grand jury continued at the steady grind of graft investigation. finally, on may , one additional indictment[ ] was brought against halsey and two against glass. on that date, fourteen indictments were returned against patrick calhoun, thornwell mullally, tirey l. ford, william m. abbott,[ ] abraham ruef and mayor e. e. schmitz, indicted jointly, for the bribery in connection with the granting of the over-head trolley permit. the day following, may , g. h. umbsen, j. e. green, w. i. brobeck and abraham ruef were jointly indicted fourteen times on charges of offering a bribe to fourteen supervisors in the parkside franchise matter. the same day, fourteen indictments were returned against frank g. drum, abraham ruef, eugene e. schmitz, eugene de sabla and john martin on charges of giving and offering bribes to fourteen supervisors in the matter of fixing the gas rates. still another series of graft indictments were to be found. three prize-fight promoters, w. britt, "eddie" graney and "jimmie" coffroth were, on nine counts, indicted jointly with schmitz and ruef for bribery in connection with the awarding to them of virtually a monopoly of the promotion of prize fighting in san francisco. footnotes: [ ] the following persons sat on the boards of directors of the several corporations involved in the graft disclosures, either during when the briberies were committed, or during when the exposures came: pacific gas and electric company--n. w. halsey, e. j. de sabla, john martin, frank g. drum, wm. h. crocker, n. d. rideout, frank b. anderson, john a. britton, henry e. bothin, louis f. monteagle, jos. s. tobin, g. h. mcenerney, cyrus pierce, carl taylor, f. w. m. mccutcheon. pacific states telephone and telegraph company--henry t. scott, louis glass, f. w. eaton, timothy hopkins, homer s. king, f. g. drum, e. s. pillsbury, percy t. morgan, all of san francisco; j. c. ainsworth, p. bacon, j. h. thatcher, c. h. chambreau, e. h. mccracken, c. b. mcleod, c. e. hickman, j. p. mcnichols, r. w. schmeer, all of portland. parkside company--w. h. crocker, wellington gregg, jr., c. e. green, j. j. mahony, w. h. cope, a. f. morrison, hugh keenan, wm. matson, j. m. o'brien, douglas s. watson. j. e. green. united railroads--patrick calhoun, g. f. chapman, geo. h. davis, tirey l. ford, benj. s. guiness, i. w. hellman, chas. holbrook, a. c. kains, j. henry meyer, thornwell mullally, jos. s. tobin. the names of the board of directors of the home telephone company, during the period of the bribery transactions, has not, so far as the writer knows, been made public. a. c. kains resigned from the directorate of the united railroads, and jos. s. tobin from the directorates of the united railroads and the pacific gas and electric company, about the time of the disclosures. [ ] the inconsistency of the "attorney fee plea" is well illustrated in the united railroads transaction. ruef received $ , from the united railroads because of the trolley permit. general tirey l. ford, head of the united railroads law department, to which he devoted all his time, was credited with receiving a salary of $ , a year. thus ruef's single "fee" was as much as the united railroads would have paid its head lawyer in twenty years, almost a lifetime of professional service. and ruef, it must be remembered, in addition was getting $ , a month from the united railroads--more than the chief of that corporation's legal department was receiving. [ ] zimmer insisted at first that the total of the amounts which he turned over to halsey would not exceed $ , . later he admitted that he had not kept track of the amounts, and the total might have been $ , . this he increased to $ , , and finally stated that it was "not over $ , , if it was that." he admitted that it would have been possible for executive officer glass to have paid out $ , without his knowledge. "checks," he said, "could have been signed without going through me; could have been carried just the same as this tag account was." william j. kennedy, cashier and assistant treasurer of the company, who had charge of the "tags," stated that during february, , considerable amounts were drawn out in this way, which might have totalled as high as $ , . [ ] regarding the manner in which money was furnished to halsey, zimmer testified before the grand jury as follows: "q. this $ , that you gave him (halsey) under direction of mr. glass, in what shape did you hand it to him? a. currency. "q. did you have the currency on hand or send out and get it? a. sent out and got it. i went out and got it. "q. where did you get it? a. i don't remember, i had to go to several banks. "q. did mr. glass tell you he wanted you to give it to him in currency? a. yes, sir." [ ] these admissions led to close questioning of mr. zimmer. the following is taken from his testimony given before the grand jury: "q. now, in what way did that money appear in the books? a. didn't appear in the books. "q. how was it taken care of? a. no voucher was ever made for it. "q. how would your cash account for it? a. it wasn't taken out of the cash account, so far as i know. "q. what was it taken from? a. by check issued on the regular bank account. "q. who was the check made payable to? a. eaton, treasurer, the same as other coin checks are issued, coin or currency. "q. it would have appeared somewhere in the books, that check, that amount would be deducted from the bank account? a. yes, sir; but carried in the expense account of the cash suspense. "q. leave a tag with you? leave a tag, would you? a. yes." [ ] before the grand jury, sherwin was closely questioned as to one of mr. halsey's "special expense" claims. the following is from his testimony: "q. now, then, that shows that it was charged against what fund? a. that got in the legal expense finally, we charged it to reserve for contingent liabilities, and each month we credit that account, i have forgotten maybe $ , , and charge it to legal to make it run even in the expense each month. "q. why does it go to legal? a. because--instead--to what else would it go? "q. what makes it legal? a. oh, that's just a subdivision of our expense. "q. was this $ legal expenses? a. i don't know what it was. "q. who told you to put it under legal expenses? a. you mean who told us to put it in that account? "q. there is nothing on that paper that indicates that it goes into legal expense? a. no. "q. now, then, you say it was finally charged to the legal department. why? a. simply because everything that is charged to that reserve finally gets into legal expense. "q. everything that is charged to that reserve fund? a. yes, that reserve fund is charged off for legal expense. "q. and what is the reason for that? a. for charging it to legal? "q. yes. a. for charging it to legal--because--i don't know the reason--it is always done that way." [ ] see supervisors' letter to the examiner, footnote , page . [ ] calhoun returned to san francisco april . in interviews published in the san francisco papers of april , calhoun emphatically denied all knowledge of the bribery transactions. in his interview in the chronicle he said: "i wish to go on record before the people of san francisco as stating that not one of the officers or legal counsel of the united railroads of san francisco or the united railroads investment company of new jersey ever paid, authorized to be paid, approved of paying or knew that one dollar was paid to secure the passage of the trolley franchise ordinance by the board of supervisors, and if i had known that one dollar was paid for the purpose of securing this franchise i would not have accepted it." [ ] the refusal of calhoun and mullally to testify created a sensation, even in those sensational times. the chronicle in its issue of may , , printed the following account of the incident: "for the first time in the history of the examination of witnesses before this grand jury, heney was careful not to instruct the prospective witnesses as to their legal rights. instead he merely asked them if they were already familiar with their rights under the law. "'i am aware,' said calhoun, who was the first to be called, 'that anything i might tell this body might be used against me.' "'with that understanding are you willing to become a witness before this grand jury?' asked heney. "'i am not,' was calhoun's response. "the jurymen who had leaned forward as the reply of the president hung on his lips sank back in their seats. "'that is all, mr. calhoun,' said heney to the president, and then going to the door he said to the bailiff, 'call mr. mullally.' "mullally's examination was identical with that of his superior's and he was permitted to go. neither president calhoun nor assistant mullally will be called again to the jury room." calhoun issued the following statement of his refusal to testify: "when called before the grand jury this afternoon and informed that it had under investigation the alleged bribery of public officials by the united railroads, we declined to be sworn and in order that our action may not be misconstrued, i call your attention to these facts: "for months past the public prints have been full of charges traceable to certain persons connected with the prosecution that they had positive evidence that the united railroads had spent not less than $ , in bribing the officials of this city. i have repeatedly stated that neither i nor the united railroads, nor any official of the united railroads, had bribed anyone, authorized any bribery, knew of any bribery or approved of any bribery. this statement i now fully reaffirm. it is not for us nor any officer of our company to disprove these grave charges. it is for those making them to prove them. we do not now care to discuss their motives. we know that they cannot produce any truthful evidence connecting us or any officer of the united railroads with this alleged crime. "we relied, in declining to be sworn, upon the broad constitutional right of every american citizen that a defendant cannot be called as a witness, and upon the justice, fairness and common sense of the grand jury, to whom we look for complete vindication without offering one word in our own behalf." [ ] for several weeks after the great fire of april - - , , the banks were closed at san francisco. money could, however, during this period, be transferred to san francisco, through the united states mint. [ ] gallagher had notified ruef that he would not deal with rea in the trolley transaction. ruef, gallagher alleged, had agreed to attend to rea's case himself. see chapter xiii. [ ] crocker testified before the grand jury, however, that he had known ruef for many years. "he (ruef) and my brother-in-law, prince poniatowski," said crocker, "both being french, and both being pretty clever men, struck up quite a friendship together and through that means i used to see more or less of ruef and that was one of those peculiar friendships that spring up with people who are not identified and not connected in any way whatever in any business enterprise, sprang up between ruef and myself, and when he told me that in my office it didn't surprise me a bit." crocker had testified that ruef had promised to do all he could to get him his franchise, and wouldn't want a dollar from crocker, or from the institution with which crocker was connected. [ ] of this manipulation of the books, president j. e. green, of the parkside company, testified before the grand jury as follows: "q. how was the transaction to appear in the books? how was the property account to be charged with it? it would have to show some property. a. it was charged for a block that was purchased from watson and umbsen, a block of land. "q. did you tell watson to do that? a. i believe i did. "q. how did they get paid for the land? a. they deeded this block which they had to the company and the company in turn executed a deed to them, returning the land to them, simply a matter of bookkeeping. "q. was the company's deed put on record? from them to the company? a. i rather think so. "q. what was the purpose of that? a. to get a charge to the property account for the expenditure of that amount of money. "q. what was the reason for charging it to property account? a. every expenditure that was made was charged to property account with the idea the property had to pay it back. "q. did you always go through the form with every expense that wasn't actually a piece of property, did you go through a form of deeding a piece of property and then deeding it back? a. no, sir. "q. what was the reason of doing it in this instance? a. because--other things--there was a case--grading, sewering or fencing the blocks when they spoke for itself. "q. i don't see how it helped you; it went to the property account and the property went right out; don't see how it helped you any. a. it had to be charged to something, mr. heney. "q. why couldn't it be charged to what it was, attorneys' fees? a. because attorneys' fees were charged against property account. "q. were morrison & cope's fees charged up as a piece of property and did they go through a rigmarole of deeding a piece of property too? a. no; their fees or any other expense against the property interests. "q. didn't they go into the books as a fee for morrison & cope and charged as expenses against property? a. charged direct to property. "q. as expense? a. don't know as expense; it was charged to property, showing that we had that much money in property; when we got through selling anything over, that was profit in our favor. "q. it appeared on the books as having been paid to morrison & cope for attorneys' fees? a. can't say without seeing the books. "q. ordinary way of keeping books? a. yes. "q. you didn't cover up anything you paid to morrison & cope by putting through the hands of the secretary? a. no, sir. "q. why did you cover up this in connection with ruef? a. i don't know; suppose the property account is probably the proper one to charge it to. "q. only explanation of it? a. yes, sir." [ ] early in the graft investigation detective william j. burns, with studied carelessness, dropped a remark in the presence of a salesman of the parkside company, that he had heard money was being used in the parkside case. soon after, thomas l. henderson, secretary of the company, received word from william i. brobeck, of the law firm of morrison, cope & brobeck, attorney for the parkside company, to call at that firm's law office. of the incident. henderson testified before the grand jury as follows: "q. his first question to you was what? a. we went in there. he said, mr. henderson, i am going to talk to you about parkside and he said, have you an attorney? i said, no. i have no attorney. he says, it might be well for you to get an attorney. i said, all right. mr. brobeck, i will take you for an attorney. he said, all right, i will take you for a client. "q. then what was said? a. then he spoke, he said, you know about that remark made by mr. burns at nineteenth and h. i replied how i got the remark from hooper who was the salesman out there and i had passed it off, saying i did not want to talk about it. then he said to me, i can't remember just the words, but his advice to me was not to say anything about it. i told him certainly, i would not. then he spoke about umbsen. could i communicate with gus? and i told him i could on the th of the month, he was then between havana and florida, and would arrive in new york about the th. do you think it would be advisable to telegraph or write to him not to say anything? i said: oh, no, i don't see any necessity for doing that. "q. what was the remark as you heard it that burns made? a. we were coming down on the sutter street car, mr. kernan and myself, when ed hooper, salesman, spoke to us and said: i had a distinguished visitor yesterday. i said, who; he said, mr. burns, the detective. he said, i knew something about the telephone cases. i say what he said, a little something. he asked me about that and started for the automobile and when he got there, he turned around and said, another thing, i want to ask you about, i heard ruef got $ , from parkside. who would be the man to see. i am only out here selling land and don't know anything about that. i had been here with watson when he was agent and when umbsen took charge he kept me in the same job. he was the salesman out there, that was at that time they had this automobile race and i turned around and said: i see the oldsmobile won the race in los angeles, because i didn't want to continue the conversation with him. "q. did brobeck, in his conversation, tell you where he got the information that burns had been out there? a. no sir, he did not. "q. did he tell you that he knew what burns had said? a. the impression i got was that he knew. i don't remember his saying in just so many words. "q. he referred to the statement made by burns? a. he may have made the remark that you know about what was said out there. "q. at the time you talked about your having an attorney did he tell you to send him some money? a. after we finished he said, 'mr. henderson, you had better send me pay for this interview.' i said what? and he said five or ten dollars and when i got to the office, i mailed him a check for $ ." [ ] ruef's version of the affair, as ruef gave it before the grand jury, was: "mr. umbsen stated to me that with a great deal of difficulty, he had been able to persuade the people interested to allow me this fee. i thereupon told mr. gallagher that i had made arrangements to secure for myself an attorney's fee in the matter and i would allow him something over $ , as his proportion of the fee. mr. gallagher estimated what it would require for his services in the matter and we had discussed would the supervisors accept that amount." [ ] john martin's statement, when he refused to testify, furnishes fair example of the attitude of those who became involved in the graft scandal. the grand jury record shows: "john martin recalled. "foreman (to witness). you have already been sworn, so you can consider yourself under oath. mr. martin: i desire to stand on my constitutional right and not to testify further. "mr. heney: if you feel that your testimony might have a tendency to subject you to prosecution--. a. (interrupting). no, not that. i am not so advised that that is necessary. my constitutional rights are broader than that, i am advised. "q. then you don't desire to testify? a. no, sir. "mr. heney: all right." [ ] mr. frank g. drum testified as follows: "q. do you know abraham ruef? a. met him. "q. did you have any conversation with him about that time? a. no, sir. "q. i mean a conversation with reference to the rates? a. no, not that i know anything about." [ ] ruef on this point testified before the grand jury as follows: "i received from mr. frank g. drum, $ , as an attorney's fee as spoken of between ourselves, about the time that the gas rates were being fixed. of that money, i gave to mr. gallagher for the board of supervisors about, as i remember it now, $ , . it may have been a few hundred dollars more or less. i think about $ , . mr. drum spoke to me about employing me in the service of the company some month or two before, i believe, and engaged me as attorney to represent the interests, as i understood it from him, which he represented in the company, at $ a month, of which i received, i believe, for two or three months. at the time of the fixing of the gas rates some of the supervisors, as i was informed by supervisor gallagher, insisted upon fixing an extremely low rate, such a rate as would have been ruinous to the business of the company, a rate which neither i nor any one who had looked up the question would have considered under any circumstances to be reasonable, proper or maintainable, and said they were determined absolutely to reduce those rates. the matter was brought up at one of the sunday evening caucuses and some of the members of the board of supervisors insisted that the board had been pledged by its platform to a rate of c. per thousand feet; they thought that was even too much and made some strong speeches and others maintained the c. rate and they contemplated fixing the c. rate that evening, that is to say, agreeing to do it at the proper time which i suppose was a week thereafter. in the meantime, the company sustained a heavy fire loss, not the fire of april th, but the previous fire, which caused them a great deal of damage, and i told mr. drum that it would be necessary for me, in order to protect the interests of the company and the interests which he represented, to have an additional attorney's fee and i told him that i thought it would require $ , . he considered the matter and one day, a day or two afterward, he agreed to pay me the additional attorney's fee of $ , which i thereafter received. "q. where did the conversation take place in which you told him about the necessity of having the $ , ? a. at his office in the mills building." [ ] although the graft prosecution was to be effectively opposed by union labor party leaders, the san francisco labor council, made up of representatives of practically every san francisco labor union, on the night of march , , adopted resolutions declaring for the prosecution of bribe-givers as follows: "whereas, the indictments issued during the past few days by the san francisco grand jury against certain individuals involve specific charges of flagrant and widespread corruption on the part of many members of the present city government; and whereas, said government, having adopted the name of 'union labor' has professed particular concern for the welfare of the working class, as represented by organized labor, and has sought and secured election upon pledges of loyalty to the principles, economic and political, to which organized labor everywhere is committed; and whereas, the alleged conduct of the city government is not only grossly repugnant to the principles of organized labor, but violates every rule of common honesty; and whereas, the conduct of the 'union labor' government and the inevitable association thereof with the character of the labor movement is calculated to lead to public misconception of the latter and thus to injure it and lessen its efficiency in its chosen field, therefore be it "resolved, by the san francisco labor council, that we declare that every corruptionist, briber and bribed, should be prosecuted and punished according to law, and hereby pledge our co-operation to that end; further "resolved, that we reassert the position of the san francisco labor council as a body organized and conducted for purely economic purposes, having no connection, direct or implied, with the union labor party or any other political party or organization, and therefore being in no way responsible for the conduct or misconduct of any such party or organization; further "resolved, that we also reaffirm our belief that the private ownership of public utilities constitutes the chief source of public corruption, and is in fact a premium thereon, and therefore ought to be displaced by the system of public ownership of public utilities." [ ] at the time patrick calhoun held the office of president of the united railroads; mullally was assistant to the president; ford general counsel for the corporation. abbott was ford's assistant. chapter xv. ruef pleads guilty to extortion.[ ] while the supervisors were making full confessions of their participation in the bribery transactions, and the grand jury was dragging from unwilling promoters, capitalists and corporation employees information as to the source of the corruption funds, ruef's days and nights were devoted to consideration of plans for his own safety. ruef, after his arrest and confinement under elisor biggy, became one of the scramblers of his broken organization to save himself. but ruef was more clever, more far-seeing than any of the supervisors. his course from the beginning indicates that, in considering confession, he carefully weighed against the power of the regularly constituted authorities of san francisco to protect him if he testified for the state, the ability of organized corruptionists to punish for betrayal. ruef realized that although the all-powerful state "machine," labeled republican, of which the san francisco organization labeled union labor, which he had built up, was but a part, had for the moment lost control of the san francisco district attorney's office, but the "machine" still dominated the other departments of the municipal government, as well as of the state government[ ]. ruef realized that langdon might die; that the state attorney general might set langdon aside and himself conduct the graft prosecution. and he realized that some day a district attorney other than langdon would be prosecutor in san francisco. in any of these events, what would be the lot of the man who had betrayed the scarcely-known captains of the powerful machine? on the other hand, the hour when the evidence which the district attorney had accumulated against him would be presented before a trial jury, approached with deadly certainty. such considerations led to ruef devoting his days to resistance of the proceeding against him in the trial court, where a jury to try him on one of the five extortion charges on which he had been indicted, was being impaneled, while his nights were given to scheming to wring from the district attorney immunity from punishment for the extortions and briberies which had been brought to his door. the period was one of activity for both district attorney and ruef. on the whole, however, the district attorney had the liveliest time of it. to be sure, ruef had been brought before the trial judge; that is to say, the impaneling of a trial jury had begun, but ruef's technical fight had not been abandoned for a moment. the appearance of ruef under arrest was signal for a fight to have him admitted to bail. but release under bonds judge dunne denied him on the ground of the immediate approach of his trial, and because he had attempted to put himself beyond the process of the court. ruef's attorneys appealed to the united states district court for a writ of habeas corpus, but this was denied them. his attorneys filed affidavits alleging bias and prejudice on the part of judge dunne against ruef, and demanding a change of venue. and with these various motions, all of which the district attorney was called upon to meet, was the appeal from judge hebbard's order to the federal supreme court, which was considered in a previous chapter. the actual work of drawing a jury to try ruef began on march ,[ ] eight days later than the date originally set for trial. the state was represented by district attorney langdon, francis j. heney and hiram w. johnson. at the defense end of the table with schmitz and ruef were attorneys joseph c. campbell, samuel m. shortridge, henry ach, charles a. fairall and j. j. barrett. but it developed that one of the four citizens drawn for jury service was not in the courtroom. the defense objected to proceeding during the absence of the venireman. the hearing was accordingly postponed. because of one technical obstruction and another, the work of impaneling the trial jury was delayed until april . even after that date there were interruptions, but the work of securing the jury[ ] went on until may , when the twelfth man to try ruef was accepted. but while ruef was making this brave fight in public to head off trial on the extortion charge, behind the scenes he was imploring representatives of the prosecution to grant him immunity from punishment in return for such confession as he might see fit to make. as early as march , ruef sent word to heney through burns[ ] that he was willing to make confession, provided he were given immunity from punishment for all crimes which he had committed or in which he had participated. heney refused absolutely to consider any arrangement which involved complete immunity for ruef. negotiations on the basis of partial immunity followed.[ ] heney, on the ground that he did not trust any of ruef's lawyers, refused to discuss the matter with them, but stated that he would meet any lawyer in whom he had confidence to negotiate terms of partial immunity, provided that ruef's representative were permitted: ( ) to give the names of ruef's accomplices who would be involved by his testimony. ( ) to give the general nature of the offenses in which the various accomplices were involved. ( ) to be prepared to assure heney that ruef's evidence against his accomplices could be corroborated, and was sufficient to sustain a conviction. ruef at first appeared to be well satisfied with the plan. he sent for a list of san francisco attorneys, and set himself enthusiastically to the work of selecting a list of the names of attorneys to be submitted to heney. but he failed to make a selection, urging all the time to burns that heney accept henry ach. ruef's insistence that he deal with ach convinced heney that ruef was not acting in good faith, and he refused to yield to burns's urging that he give way to ruef in this particular and accept ach as ruef's representative.[ ] under ruef's temporizing, negotiations dragged until april , the day that, ruef's technical obstructions in the main set aside, his trial was to be resumed before judge dunne. on that day, a new actor appeared in the person of dr. jacob nieto, a jewish rabbi of some prominence in san francisco. nieto, according to burns's statement to heney, asked the detective if he had any objection to his (nieto's) calling upon ruef. nieto stated further that he believed that he could get ruef to confess, and volunteered the theory that the "higher-ups" were endeavoring to make ruef a scapegoat for all the boodling that had been committed. burns reported to heney that he not only replied to nieto that he had no objection to nieto's visiting ruef, but would be glad to have the rabbi endeavor to get ruef to tell the truth. when burns told heney of this conversation, heney did not show himself so well pleased with the arrangements as burns might have expected. the prosecutor took occasion to warn burns against nieto. heney had already had unpleasant experience with rabbi nieto.[ ] nevertheless, nieto visited ruef. members of ruef's family were called into consultation. conferences were held between ach, ruef and burns. heney states in his affidavit that he did not attend these meetings. finally burns brought heney word that ach and ruef wanted citations to show that the district attorney had authority to grant immunity. heney sent back word that he was confident that the district attorney had no such power, but with the further statement that if the terms of the immunity agreement were reasonable and in the interest of justice, that the court, provided it had confidence in the district attorney, would unquestionably follow such recommendation as that official might make. burns brought back word to heney that ruef and ach continued to insist upon complete immunity. heney sent back an ultimatum to the effect that ruef must plead guilty to the extortion case then on trial before judge dunne[ ] and take his chances with the sentence that would be given him; that if ruef did this, heney was willing to arrange for complete immunity in all the other cases, provided ruef showed to heney's satisfaction that his testimony could be sufficiently corroborated and would sustain a conviction of his accomplices other than supervisors, in cases where members of the board of supervisors had been bribed. in the meantime, the work of selecting a jury to try ruef on the extortion charge was going on with the deadly certainty of the slide of the knife of a guillotine. the second week of the examination of prospective jurors brought dr. nieto to heney's office. burns accompanied the rabbi. nieto[ ] described himself as no particular friend of ruef. he expressed the opinion that ruef should be punished; that he should restore his ill-gotten gains. heney stated to nieto his attitude toward ruef, as he had expressed it many times before. from that time on dr. nieto was a frequent caller at heney's office, always for the purpose of discussing the question of ruef's confession. during all these meetings heney did not depart a jot from his original position that the extortion charge against ruef should not be dismissed. later on, a second rabbi, dr. bernard m. kaplan, joined nieto in these visits to heney's office. kaplan continued active in the negotiations to secure immunity for the fallen boss.[ ] finally nieto, kaplan and ach sent word to heney and langdon by burns that they desired to meet the district attorney and his assistant at heney's office to discuss the immunity question. heney and langdon consented and the meeting was held in the latter part of april. ach insisted upon complete immunity, but admitted that he had advised ruef to take the best he could get.[ ] neither langdon[ ] nor heney would consent to complete immunity, nor to material change in the stand which heney had taken. ach wanted assurance that the judges before whom the bribery cases were pending would, on motion of the district attorney, dismiss them as to ruef, and suggested to heney that he go to the judges and get them to consent to the proposed agreement. to this heney made emphatic refusal, stating that the utmost he would do would be to go with ach to judges dunne and lawlor and ask each of them whether he had confidence in him (heney) and what the judge's general practice was in relation to matters of this kind, generally, when they came before his court. other conferences[ ] were held, at which ach continued to urge complete immunity for ruef, which finally brought out emphatic statement from heney that he did not trust ruef and would enter into no agreement with him which did not leave it in the power of the district attorney to send him to the penitentiary if at any time the district attorney and himself concluded that during the progress of the matters ruef was acting in bad faith, or that the information which he might give was not of sufficient importance to the people of the city and the state equitably to entitle him to go without punishment. heney takes pains all through his affidavit to make it clear that he treated with nieto and kaplan at all times upon the theory that they were ruef's special pleaders and special representatives, who believed that ruef was sure to be convicted upon as many of the felony bribery charges as the district attorney tried him on, and that he would go to the penitentiary for a term of years equivalent to life. on the night of april ,[ ] when the work of selecting a jury to try ruef was nearing completion, ach, kaplan and nieto visited heney's office with assurance that ruef had about concluded to accept heney's terms. but, they explained, a new difficulty had come up. rabbi nieto was to leave san francisco the next morning for a trip to europe. neither he nor dr. kaplan was familiar with the practices of the courts, and while the judges would no doubt consider favorably any recommendation which was made by mr. langdon or by mr. heney, nevertheless, the two rabbis would like to hear from judge dunne and judge lawlor statement as to what the practice of each of these judges was in that respect before they urged ruef any further to accept the terms which had been offered him. as dr. nieto was to leave for europe early in the morning, they wanted to see the judges that night. heney assured his visitors that owing to the lateness of the hour, he was afraid it would be impossible for them to see the judges before morning. but they insisted. burns was finally sent out to find the judges if he could. he succeeded in locating judge lawlor at the theater. judge lawlor at first refused to see nieto and heney that night, stating that they could appear at his chambers the next morning. but burns explained that nieto had to leave for europe the next morning, adding that he was sure that both nieto and heney would consider it a great favor if the judge would see them that night, as the matter was very important. lawlor finally consented to see them, but stated that he would do so only at his chambers, if, as he understood it, heney and nieto wanted to see him about his duties as judge. burns took word back to heney's office that they could go to judge lawlor's chambers, where the judge would go as soon as the theater was over. heney, kaplan and nieto met lawlor at his chambers. heney went straight at the purpose of the meeting. "judge," heney sets forth in his affidavit he said in substance, "we come up here tonight to ask you what the practice of your court is in criminal cases in relation to recommendations which may be made by the district attorney?" judge lawlor replied in effect that the district attorney represents the public in the prosecution of crime, and that under the law it was the practice for that official to submit to the court recommendations concerning persons who turn state's evidence; that the law vests the authority in the court to determine all such recommendations and that it is proper for the district attorney to make them; that such recommendations should be carefully considered by the court; and if they are in the interests of justice they should be followed, otherwise not. judge lawlor stated further that he would not consider or discuss any cause or case of any individual except upon a full hearing in open court, and that it would be determined alone upon what was so presented. final decision, he said, would in every case rest with the court, and if the application was in the interest of justice, it would be granted, but if not it would be denied. immediately after having made this statement judge lawlor excused himself and left the building. judge dunne, when finally found by burns, objected as strongly as had judge lawlor to going to the courtroom that night, but finally yielded to the same representations as had been made to judge lawlor. all parties at the meeting with judge dunne at the courtroom were agreed and the incident was quickly over. heney asked the judge, in effect, to state for the benefit of nieto and kaplan the practice of his court in criminal matters in relation to any recommendations which may be made by the district attorney's office in the interest of justice when the defendant becomes a witness on behalf of the state against his accomplices. heney stated further that the two rabbis would also like to know whether or not judge dunne had confidence in district attorney langdon and himself. judge dunne replied in substance: "i have confidence in you, mr. heney, and in the district attorney, and while i have confidence in the district attorney, whenever a recommendation or suggestion is made by him in a case pending in my department, it is my practice to entertain and be guided by it, provided, of course, it is in the interest or furtherance of justice." kaplan wanted to know what the course would be should a man plead guilty and afterwards ask to change his plea. "you have heard what i have said, gentlemen, as to my practice," replied judge dunne. "of course, in all cases of such recommendations, and which i insist shall always be made in open court, whenever the district attorney fails to convince me that he is well advised, or that good and sufficient grounds exist for his motions, it must be remembered that the final determination must always rest with me. but, of course, i would give great weight to any recommendation either you, mr. heney, or mr. langdon might make." from the courtroom nieto, kaplan and burns went to ruef, but ruef still insisted that he should not plead guilty to the extortion charge, "backed and filled," as burns expressed it. ruef sent word to heney by burns, asking an interview. but this heney refused to grant, bluntly stating that should he meet ruef, ruef would misrepresent anything that he might say. heney instructed burns to tell ruef that he could accept the proposition that he had made to him or let it alone as he pleased, that no more time would be wasted on him; that trial of the extortion charge would be pressed to conclusion and regardless of whether conviction were had or not, ruef would be tried immediately on one of the bribery charges. nevertheless, the persistent ruef got an interview with heney. he secured it in this way: after heney had retired on the night of may st, burns called him up on the telephone, to state that if heney would give ruef a moment's interview that burns was confident that ruef would accept heney's proposition. heney granted the hearing. ruef plead for complete immunity. he argued that for him to plead guilty to the extortion charge would weaken his testimony in the bribery cases. he urged that public opinion would approve his release. he charged heney with being prejudiced against him. heney listened to him patiently, but refused to consider any suggestion that he alter the original proposition. by this time ten jurors had been secured to try ruef. ruef begged for an interview with langdon. it was granted, with heney and others present. the same ground was gone over again; the same denials made. and then heney bluntly told ruef in substance: "you must plead guilty in case no. and take your chances on the sentence which will be imposed in that case. this is our ultimatum and you must agree to this before the first witness is sworn in case no. , or we will withdraw our proposition and will never again renew it, or any other proposition looking to any sort of leniency or immunity for you."[ ] the day following, burns brought word to heney that ruef had concluded to accept the prosecution's proposition, and had begun his confession by reciting the particulars of the united railroad's bribery. burns recited what ruef had told him. burns's enthusiasm suffered a shock from heney's cool analysis of ruef's statement.[ ] heney pointed out that ruef had made no revelation which the prosecution had not known before, and further that ruef was certainly concealing part at least of what had occurred between him and general ford. heney was now convinced of ruef's treachery.[ ] ruef's future course tended to strengthen this conviction. having agreed to make full statement of his connection with the bribing of the supervisors, ruef haggled over the form of immunity contract. he endeavored to force upon the prosecution a contract of his own drawing. failing in that he tried to persuade heney and langdon to enter into a stipulation that he might withdraw his plea of guilty in the extortion case. in neither move was he successful. heney refused to depart a jot from his original proposition. ruef finally accepted the immunity contract which heney had submitted.[ ] even after the immunity contract had been signed, ruef continued to urge burns that he be not required to plead guilty. the prosecution was not sure what ruef would do. the examination of jurors to try him went on. the jury was completed on may ,[ ] and was sworn. but the actual taking of testimony was delayed by ruef demanding change of venue from judge dunne's court. this motion after the filing of numerous affidavits by both sides, was denied. however, ruef's last motion delayed the taking of testimony for two days more. upon judge dunne's ruling the next move would have been the placing of witnesses on the stand. but before this could be done, ruef whispered to his attorney, ach. ach arose and addressed the court. "i am requested by our client, your honor," ach said in substance, "that it is his desire to have a conference with his counsel. i would like to draw your honor's attention to the fact that up to this time mr. ruef has not had a single opportunity to confer with his counsel alone. if the elisor, or the guards, were not in the same room they were quite close by. i think, in view of this fact, that we might be granted an adjournment until say two o'clock of this afternoon so that mr. ruef may have this privilege of conferring with us." heney promptly denied ach's statement. "what mr. ach has stated is not a fact," said heney. "mr. ruef has always been granted privacy in his conference with counsel." on langdon's suggestion, a half hour's recess was granted to allow ruef to confer with counsel. with his attorneys, henry ach, samuel m. shortridge, frank j. murphy and judge fairall, ruef went into judge dunne's chambers for conference. on their return to the courtroom, ach and shortridge, with ruef's consent, withdrew from the case on the ground that they could not agree with ruef as to the manner in which the case should be conducted. fairall and murphy remained by their client. and then ruef, the tears streaming down his face, addressed the court. he stated his intent to acknowledge whatever there may have been of wrong or mistake in his record, and pledged himself, so far as it lay in his power to make it right.[ ] "i desire," concluded ruef, "to withdraw my plea of not guilty heretofore entered, and to enter the contrary plea, and at the proper time submit to the court further suggestions for its consideration.[ ] "if the defendant wishes to change his plea of 'not guilty' to 'guilty,'" said heney, "the prosecuting attorney will consent to the discharge of the jury, as he requests, but we think the indictment should first be re-read so that he may enter the plea as he wishes." the indictment was read. "what is your plea?" asked judge dunne of the prisoner. and ruef replied, "guilty."[ ] footnotes: [ ] the statements contained in this chapter are based on affidavits filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. . many of the statements are qualified, and in many instances denied, in affidavits filed by ruef, his friends, associates and attorneys, in the same proceedings. [ ] in this connection, in discussing the difficulties in the way of bringing criminals to trial, the san francisco chronicle, in its issue of march , , said: "the penal laws of california are admirable, and cover almost every transaction deserving moral reprobation. the only reason why all our people are not either virtuous or in jail is that the same legislatures which have so carefully defined crimes and prescribed punishments have been still more careful to enact codes of criminal procedure that nobody can be convicted of any crime if he has the cash to pay for getting off. and what the legislatures have failed to do in this direction the courts have usually made good." [ ] four years later to a day, march , , ruef was taken to the penitentiary at san quentin to begin service of his fourteen-year term for bribing a supervisor. [ ] as the impaneling of the ruef jury proceeded, that ruef's nerve was breaking became apparent to all who saw him. the chronicle, in its issue of march , , thus describes his condition: "ruef's nerve is breaking down. he is a prey to doubts and fears which never troubled him in those days when he could see his political henchmen every day and bolster up their confidence in his ability to fight off the prosecution. reports reach his ears of confessions of guilt on the part of some of his official puppets, of the sinister activities of burns and his agents and treachery on the part of those whom he considered his most devoted adherents, and fill him with alarm. "it was different when he could hold his sunday evening caucus with the members of the board of supervisors, and reassure them that all would be well. he knows the men he used in his political schemes and their weaknesses." [ ] heney, in instructing burns as to his policy regarding ruef, took occasion to state to the detective his attitude toward the broken boss. in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. calhoun et al., no. , heney sets forth that he told burns: "ruef was not a mere accessory or tool in the commission of these briberies. he is a man of extraordinary brain power, keen intelligence, fine education, with the choice of good environment, great power of persuasion over men, dominating personality, great shrewdness and cunning, coupled with a greedy and avaricious disposition. he has not been led into the commission of these crimes through weakness, but on the contrary has aided in the initiation of them and has joined hands with the most vicious and depraved elements in the city to secure unlawful protection for them in conducting their resorts of vice, and has joined hands with the special privilege seeking classes to place improper burdens upon the people of this city by granting franchises to public service corporations which ought never to have been granted, and by fixing rates which may be charged by them in excess of the amounts which such rates ought to be, and thus indirectly robbing the poor people of this city of a large part of their meagre earnings, and that to let ruef go free of all punishment under such circumstances would be a crime against society." [ ] running through the affidavits which resulted from the differences between the forces of the prosecution and the defense concerning these negotiations, is a thread of suggestion that individual members of the prosecution differed as to the policy that should be followed toward ruef. burns, the detective, leaned toward granting him complete immunity. heney was unalterably opposed to this course. langdon, on the whole, sided with heney. [ ] see heney's affidavit in the matter of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. . [ ] nieto, according to heney, had endeavored to make it appear that race prejudice entered into the prosecution of ruef. heney, in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. calhoun et al., no. , tells of nieto's interference even when the oliver grand jury was being impaneled. heney says: "during the latter part of october or the first week in november, , while said grand jury was being impaneled, dr. jacob nieto introduced himself to me in the court room of department no. , where i had noticed that he was a constant attendant and close observer of the proceedings connected with the impaneling of the grand jury. "some days after he had introduced himself to me he stepped up to me, just as court had adjourned and after i had been examining some of the grand jurors as to their qualifications, and said in substance: "'mr. heney, it seems to me that you discriminate somewhat against the jews in examining jurors, and i think that in your position you ought to be more careful not to exhibit any prejudice against a man on account of his religion.' "i asked what in particular i had done to cause him to criticise my conduct in that way, and he referred to some question which i had asked a grand juror, but which i cannot now recollect. i then said to him in substance: "'why, doctor, you are supersensitive. some of the best friends i have in the world are jews, and some of the best clients i ever had in my life were jews, and i have no prejudice against any man merely on account of his religious belief. i am sorry that you have so misapprehended the purpose and motives of my questions to jurors.' "on a subsequent day, during the time the grand jury was being impaneled, dr. nieto again approached me after an adjournment of the court and again reproached me for having again shown prejudice or discrimination against some grand juror of the jewish faith by the questions which i asked him * * * and i said to him in substance, in a very emphatic tone of voice: 'dr. nieto, i have heretofore told you that i have no prejudice against any man whatever on account of his religion. all i am trying to do in this matter is to get fair grand jurors, and i am just as willing to trust honest jews as honest christians, but i want to make sure that a man is honest, whether a jew or christian, and it looks to me as if you are trying to find some excuse to line up in opposition to this prosecution. i do not see why you need to seek for excuses if that is what you want to do. i am conscious of my own singleness of purpose and purity of purpose in examining grand jurors, and it is wholly immaterial to me, therefore, what you or anybody else may think of my method of questioning them.'" as a matter of fact jews not only sat on the oliver grand jury, but were among the most earnest and effective in sifting the graft scandal to the bottom. but that the false cry that ruef was persecuted because he was a jew influenced many of his fellow jews in his favor is unquestionably true. [ ] this case was numbered from the indictment, . schmitz was indicted jointly with ruef in this indictment, and later was convicted under it and sentenced to five years in the penitentiary. see chapter xvi. the testimony at the schmitz trial showed that ruef had taken the extortion money from the french-restaurant keepers, after schmitz had acted with him to imperil the french-restaurant keepers' liquor licenses, and had given part of the proceeds of the enterprise to schmitz. [ ] in his affidavit, heney quotes rabbi nieto as saying in substance: "i do not care to get publicly mixed up in the ruef case, because among other things, i am not a particular friend of ruef's, and am not interested in the matter as an individual but only in the welfare of this community. i think that ruef has grievously sinned against this community and that he can do a great deal to undo the wrongs which he has committed and to clear up the situation, and i have told him that it is his duty to himself and to his family and to the city of his birth to do so. i want you to understand, mr. heney, that i have not come here to ask you to let ruef go free and without punishment. i think he ought to be punished, and i think he ought to give a large part of the money which he obtained from these corporations to the city to improve its streets. he ought to give $ , for that purpose, but ruef thinks more of money than he does of his family, or even of his liberty, and i think he would rather go to the penitentiary than give up any very large amount of it." [ ] heney, in his affidavit, makes the following statement of his impression of kaplan: "dr. kaplan appeared to be far more interested in finding out just what would be done to ruef, provided he plead guilty in the french restaurant case than he was in the moral issue which was involved in the discussion, or in the beneficial effect which the testimony of ruef might have upon the deplorable situation then existing in san francisco on account of its municipal corruption. "this was evidenced more from his manner and form of questioning than by anything which he said. i immediately became convinced that he was influenced by no motive or purpose other than that of getting ruef off without any punishment if possible; but i also formed the opinion that he was honest and unsophisticated." [ ] heney, in his affidavit, states: "during the conversation ach stated, in substance: 'you can't convict ruef in this french restaurant case, but i realize that you are sure to convict him in some of the bribery cases, and i think it is useless for him to stand out and fight any longer, he had better take the best he can get, and i have told him so. he insists, however, that he ought not to be required to plead guilty in the french restaurant case, or to submit to any punishment.'" [ ] in the course of the interview, langdon stated to ach and the two rabbis that he had authorized heney to conduct the negotiations for him, but that he wanted it to be distinctly understood by everybody that he had the final say in the matter and would exercise it, and that no agreement could be concluded without his personal sanction. [ ] heney, in his affidavit describing these meetings, states that ach, kaplan and nieto habitually came in the back way so they would not be seen by newspaper reporters who at the time frequented the front halls of the private residence in which heney, after the fire, had his offices. ach, heney states, was desirous of not being known as party to the negotiations. heney in his affidavit says: "in this same conversation (at the first conference) ach said in substance: 'i want everybody here to agree that the fact that i participated in this conference, or had anything to do with advising ruef to turn state's evidence, shall never be made known; it would absolutely ruin my business if it became known. a lot of the people whom ruef will involve as accomplices are close friends of clients of mine. of course i do not know just whom he will involve, but i do have a general idea. for instance, while he has never told me so in so many words, i understand that he will involve william f. herrin. now just to illustrate to you how it would affect me in business if it was known that i participated in urging ruef to do this i will tell you that i am attorney for one company, an oil company, that pays me ten thousand dollars a year as a salary for attending to its business, and herrin is one of the directors of the company and undoubtedly has sufficient influence with the other directors to take this client away from me. this is only one instance, and there are many others.'" [ ] see affidavits of francis j. heney and judge william p. lawlor on file in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. . [ ] see heney's affidavit in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et als., no. . [ ] ruef in this confession to burns stated that he had received $ , from general tirey l. ford, head of the united railroads law department. of this amount, he said $ , he had given to schmitz and retained $ , for himself. ruef, five years later, in his story "the road i traveled," published in the san francisco bulletin, again stated that he had received $ , from ford, of which he gave to schmitz $ , , to gallagher his share for the supervisors, and retained $ , for himself. gallagher received $ , . this leaves a balance of $ , which mr. ruef does not account for. [ ] it is significant to note in this connection that heney did not call ruef as a witness before the grand jury in the united railroads cases until after the grand jury had found indictments against the officials of that corporation. in the opinion of the grand jurors, the testimony, exclusive of that of ruef, justified these indictments. [ ] the immunity contract signed by ruef and the district attorney will be found in full in the appendix. [ ] at the completion of the ruef jury, the chronicle, issue of may , , said: "the ruef jury is complete and we are now in a way to learn all the truth about the particular crime for which ruef is this time on trial, but which, compared with most other crimes for which he has been indicted, is a mere peccadillo. that ruef got the money is proved, for he has confessed. his defense, of course, will be that the french-restaurant proprietors voluntarily presented him with it. the state will have to prove, in order to secure a conviction, that they did not give the money voluntarily, but yielded it up under threats which they believed it to be in his power to execute. if the state fails to prove that ruef will stand before the community merely as a moral leper, loathsome to be sure, and despicable almost beyond human conception, but yet not proved guilty of that for which the law prescribes punishment in state's prison. if proper proof cannot be made he must, of course, be acquitted of this crime and at once put on trial for another. nothing is gained by society by the conviction even of the most unmitigated scoundrel on insufficient testimony. but when the proof is sufficient the salvation of society demands punishment, and more particularly of punishment of the rich criminal." [ ] ruef's statement was in full as follows: "if your honor please, with the permission of the court, i desire to make a statement. i do so after only a short consultation with my attorneys, to whom i have only within the last half hour disclosed my determination, and against their express protest. i take this occasion to thank them for their services, fidelity and friendship. notwithstanding the court's finding yesterday that this trial might safely be carried on without serious injury to my health, physical or mental, i wish to assure you that my personal condition is such that i am at the present time absolutely unable to bear for two or three months daily the strain of an actual trial of this case, the constant, continual, nightly preparations therefor, the necessary consultation and conversation with my attorneys in regard thereto, to say nothing of other cares and responsibilities. "moreover, the strain of these proceedings upon those whom i hold nearest and dearest of all on earth has been so grave and severe that as a result of these prosecutions their health has all been undermined, they are on the verge of immediate collapse and their lives are indeed now actually in the balance. "i have occupied a somewhat prominent position in this city of my birth, in which i have lived all my life, where are all my ties and interests, whence, when the time shall come, i hope to pass into the eternal sleep. i have borne an honored name. in my private and in my professional life there has been no stain. in my public affiliations, until after the municipal campaign of and the election of the present board of supervisors, the abhorrent charges of the press to the contrary notwithstanding, no action of mine ever gave just ground for adverse criticism or deserved censure; but the assaults of the press and its failure to credit honesty of purpose, a desire to hold together a political organization which had been built up with much effort, the means of otherwise holding them, did after the election of this board of supervisors in a measure influence me and the high ideals for which i had heretofore striven. "during the past few weeks i have thought deeply and often of this situation, its causes and conditions. to offer excuses now would be folly. to make an effort at some reparation for the public good is, however, more than possible; to assist in making more difficult, if not impossible, the system which dominates our public men and corrupts our politics will be a welcome task. "i have decided that whatever energy or abilities i possess for the future shall be devoted even in the humblest capacity to restoring the ideals which have been lowered; shall, as soon as opportunity be accorded, be re-enlisted on the side of good citizenship and integrity. may it be allotted to me at some time hereafter to have at least some small part in re-establishment on a clear, sane basis, a plane of high civic morality, just reciprocal relations between the constantly struggling constituent element of our governmental and industrial life. "in the meantime i begin by earnestness of purpose, a purpose to make the greatest sacrifice which can befall a human being of my disposition to make, to acknowledge whatever there may have been of wrong or mistake and so far as may be within my power to make it right. "i reached this final determination last night after careful reflection and deliberation. where duty calls i intend to follow, whither hereafter the path of my life may lead and however unpleasant and painful may be the result. i make this statement so that the court and the whole world may know at least the motives which have guided me in the step i am about to take. "as an earnest i have determined to make a beginning, i am not guilty of the offense charged in this indictment. i ask now, however, that this jury be dismissed from further consideration of this case. i desire to withdraw my plea of not guilty heretofore entered and to enter the contrary plea, and at the proper time submit to the court further suggestions for its consideration." [ ] the chronicle, to its issue of may , said of ruef's confessions: "abraham ruef should have thought of his family before he entered upon his career of crime. they are innocent and the public need not, as indeed it cannot, withhold its sympathy for them. the most terrible punishment which is inflicted on such criminals is the distress which their crimes brings upon the innocent persons who have been accustomed to respect and honor them. but it is the inexorable doom which crime brings upon itself. "for ruef himself the only sympathy possible is that which one might feel for a wolf which, having devastated the sheep fold, has been pursued, brought to bay and, after a long fight, finally disposed of. it is not a case in which the safety of society permits leniency to be shown. ruef has corrupted every branch of the city government which he could get hold of and brought the city almost to the verge of ruin. seldom has a man occupying an unofficial station in life been able to achieve so much evil. it will be many a year before san francisco can outlive the shame which the man ruef has brought upon her. "he has not been ingenuous even in his confession, for while pleading guilty as charged, he professes to be not guilty of this particular crime--meaning merely by that that he did not extort the money by threats within the meaning of the law. witnesses, however, would have sworn that he did so. it is unthinkable that such sums should have been paid him voluntarily by the restaurant keepers. all that ruef can mean by his profession of 'innocence' while pleading guilty, is a claim that he succeeded in terrifying the restaurant men into submitting to blackmail without the use of words which the law would construe as a threat. there is no moral difference between what ruef would claim that he did and the crime to which he has pleaded guilty. "ruef also shows his disingenuousness by attributing his situation to 'the assaults of the press.' doubtless he has been assaulted by the press. but the press has accused him of nothing but what he has confessed and intimated. what fault has he to find with that? shall the press remain silent while thieves plunder a distressed city and rob it of its good name? ruef fought the forces of decency until he could fight no longer. no man is strong enough to stand up against the wrath of an outraged community. his physical collapse was inevitable and the only mantle which charity can throw over him is that his physical weakness broke down his mental faculties and caused the self-contradictions in what is a virtual confession of all that he has been charged with." [ ] the position of the prosecution was most difficult. every department of the municipal government, with the exception of the district attorney's office, was controlled by the corrupt administration, of which schmitz was the official head. the necessity of dealing with ruef, and the question of immunity arose primarily and almost entirely, from the fact that there was practically no evidence against schmitz, except in the french restaurant case, and that there was no evidence in that case that schmitz received any of the money which was collected by ruef. consequently without ruef's testimony no conviction of schmitz was possible at all except in the french restaurant case, and in that case his conviction was not at all certain. union labor party adherents were naturally unwilling to believe schmitz guilty until he had been so proven. the big public service corporations and herrin of the southern pacific were all still in sympathy with him and ready to back him for re-election. an election was approaching early in november. the redemption of the city depended upon taking its control away from schmitz. the police commission and the board of public utilities were part of the corrupt and discredited administration. during the rebuilding of san francisco it was of vital importance to have these two boards honest. hence the prosecution felt justified in going to unusual length to secure the additional testimony against schmitz, which ought to make his conviction certain in the french restaurant case, and thus immediately depose him from office and place the entire city government in the hands of honest men. the new mayor could appoint a new board of supervisors, new police commission and new board of public works, as well as many other important officials; and such new mayor and supervisors would be reasonably sure of re-election. agents of the public service corporations realized to the full extent the importance of preventing the conviction of schmitz, and of forcing the prosecution to submit to the appointment of a new board of supervisors before any conviction of schmitz could possibly be secure so that the new board of supervisors, so selected through schmitz by themselves, would have the power of appointing the new mayor in case schmitz were convicted. this new mayor could appoint a new police commission and it in turn a new chief of police, and the new officials would be controlled by the same interests which controlled the old ones. chapter xvi. schmitz convicted of extortion. one week after ruef had plead guilty to the charge of extortion, his co-defendant, mayor eugene e. schmitz, indicted jointly with ruef, was brought to trial, under indictment no. , to which ruef had entered his plea of guilty. hiram w. johnson and j. j. dwyer appeared with heney and langdon for the prosecution. the defense was represented by the firm of campbell, metson & drew, assisted by john j. barrett and charles fairall, all prominent at the san francisco bar. the preliminaries were not unlike those of the ruef trial, which, at the point where testimony would have been taken, was stopped by ruef's plea of guilty. there were the same allegations of bias, the same attempts to secure change of venue, the same appeals to the higher courts in habeas corpus proceedings. but these moves availed schmitz as little as they had ruef. point by point the upper courts found against the indicted mayor; step by step he was dragged to proceedings before a trial jury. the selection of the jury occupied two weeks. but with the swearing of the twelfth juror, schmitz did not stop proceedings with tearful confession and a plea of guilty. doggedly the troubled mayor let the trial go on. the prosecution called its witnesses to the stand. one by one schmitz's former associates as well as the restaurant men from whom, through ruef, he had received money, took the stand and told the sordid story of the corruption of the schmitz-ruef administration. the specific charge under which schmitz was tried was that of extortion from joseph malfanti, charles kelb and william lafrenz, proprietors of delmonico's restaurant, of $ , . the sum was delmonico's share of the $ , paid to ruef in , by the french-restaurant keepers to prevent the liquor licenses, without which their establishments could not be successfully conducted, being taken from them. the testimony showed: ( ) that schmitz had used his power as mayor over the police commissioners to compel them in the first instance, to withhold french-restaurant liquor licenses, and that later in the latter part of january, , he had exerted himself as actively and effectively to have the licenses granted, even removing from office police commissioner hutton, who was standing out against the french restaurants. ( ) that attorneys, appearing before the police commissioners, to present the claims of the french-restaurant keepers for licenses, were unable to secure a hearing. one of these testified to having advised his client, and other french-restaurant keepers that "there is only one man who can help you, and that is mr. ruef." ( ) that a french-restaurant keeper who owed ruef money, and at whose establishment ruef had his headquarters, approached his fellow french-restaurant keepers and told them that for $ , a year ruef would represent them and keep them secure in their business for two years. the $ , demand was finally reduced to $ , , $ , for the two years. ( ) that the french-restaurant keepers raised $ , of the $ , demanded, and sent it to ruef, $ , the first year and $ , the next. ( ) that ruef refused to receive anything but currency, would give no receipt for the money, and would deal with one man only. ( ) that ruef claimed to receive the money as a fee from the "french restaurant keepers' association," but that no such association existed in san francisco. ( ) that after the french-restaurant keepers had satisfied ruef, ruef appeared for them before the police commissioners and, after commissioner hutton had been removed from office by mayor schmitz, secured for them their licenses.[ ] having established its case thus far, the prosecution rested. the move was unlooked for. ruef was known to have confessed; it had been confidently expected that he would be placed on the stand to answer the question, in whatever form it could be forced into the record: did you divide the money which you received from the french-restaurant keepers with mayor schmitz? but ruef was not put on the stand. the public marveled, but those behind the scenes knew that ruef was not the willing witness for the prosecution that the public thought. ruef had confessed to heney that he had given half the $ , which he had received from the french-restaurant keepers to mayor schmitz. but heney, having trapped ruef in deception, had very good reason for being distrustful of him. ruef, forever seeking to justify himself, had told heney that he had refused to appear before the police commissioners on behalf of the french-restaurant keepers, until the san francisco bulletin had challenged him to dare represent them, and claim the money he received from them was a fee. ruef insisted that the bulletin's challenge led him to take the case. in this heney trapped ruef in his trickery. ruef's purported contract with the mythical "french restaurant keepers' association," under which the french restaurant keepers had paid him $ , bore date of january . ruef insisted to heney that january was the true date upon which the contract was signed. the oral agreement had been made january . heney then confronted ruef with files of the bulletin which showed that the bulletin had not mentioned ruef as appearing on behalf of the french-restaurant keepers until january . this was one day after ruef had signed the purported contract with the mythical french restaurant keepers' association. a stormy scene between ruef and heney followed this exposure.[ ] heney charged ruef with falsehood and deception, and declared the immunity agreement canceled. heney then ordered ruef from the room, and did not, until long after the schmitz trial had closed, have conversation with him again. when schmitz's trial opened, district attorney langdon, hiram johnson, all the rest of heney's associates, urged that ruef be put on the stand, insisting that the case would be greatly strengthened if it could be proved by ruef that schmitz had received half the extortion money. heney conceded the strength of this contention, but held, on the other hand, that ruef would lie so much about other things that he would do more harm than good to the case. personally, heney insisted, he wanted nothing to do with him. thus, in making his opening statement to the jury in the schmitz case, heney refrained from stating that he expected to prove schmitz received any part of the money which had been paid to ruef. but of the break between heney and ruef, the public knew nothing. san francisco looked to see ruef put on the stand. when the prosecution rested without calling this supposedly star witness, even the defense was taken by surprise and had to ask continuance until the following day before calling witnesses. schmitz took the stand in his own behalf. he denied the statements which his former police commissioners had made against him. the mayor's story of denial was soon told. heney, on cross-examination asked: "did ruef pay you any part of the $ , that has been testified he received from the french restaurants?" and schmitz replied: "i didn't know that mr. ruef got any $ , , nor did i receive any part of it."[ ] and then, in detail, schmitz denied that he had received any money from ruef, or had had any conversation with him regarding a "fee" which ruef had received from the french-restaurant keepers. in rebuttal, ruef was called to the stand.[ ] "did you," questioned heney, "in january or february, , in this city and county of san francisco, at the house of eugene e. schmitz, the defendant, at number fillmore street, give to eugene e. schmitz any money, and if so how much, and in what kind of money?" "i did," answered ruef, "$ in currency." "did you, then and there, tell him," pursued heney, "that it was his share of the money you had received from the five french-restaurant keepers?" "i didn't say to him," replied ruef, "that it was his share of the money which i had received from the french restaurants. i did say to him that i had received from the french restaurants the sum of $ , , and that if he would accept half of it i should be glad to give it to him. thereupon i gave it to him." ruef testified further to paying schmitz $ early in , half of the second payment made to him by the french-restaurant keepers. the jurors before whom mayor schmitz was tried took one ballot only. they found the defendant guilty of extortion as charged in the indictment. following the verdict, schmitz, who eighteen months before had, for the third time been elected mayor of san francisco, was, as a convicted felon, confined in the county jail.[ ] footnotes: [ ] for fuller discussion of this testimony see chapter "ruef and schmitz indicted." [ ] "you have not," said heney to the trapped boss, "told us all the truth in the united railroads case. you have not told us all the truth in the case of the gas rate matter. you have not told us all the truth in the bay cities water deal. you have not told us all the truth about the deal with herrin in relation to the delegates from this city to the santa cruz convention. you have not told us all the truth in the telephone franchise matter. you lied to us in the parkside matter, and i caught you at it before the grand jury. you tried to protect will crocker in that matter and told burns before you went into the grand jury room that you had never spoken to him on the subject. you swore to the same thing in the grand jury room until you cunningly guessed from my questions that will crocker himself had told the truth to the grand jury, and that i was getting you in a bad hole; you then suddenly pretended to just remember that you had held one conversation with will crocker on the trolley franchise matter at the crocker national bank that lasted a half an hour, and that you had held another conversation on the street with will crocker on the same subject at the corner of california and kearny streets, which lasted an hour. you had not forgotten either of those talks, but you did not think will crocker would testify to them and you wanted to curry favor with him by thus making him think you wanted to protect him, and you did it because he is rich and powerful. you wanted his influence hereafter to help keep you out of trouble, because you have no idea of acting in good faith with the prosecution. i don't believe you ever acted in good faith with anybody in your life, but you have over-reached yourself this time."--see affidavit of francis j. heney, in the people vs. patrick calhoun et als., no. . [ ] this answer came in the face of strong objection from schmitz's counsel. mr. campbell went so far as to direct schmitz not to answer. mr. barrett's objection was expressed in a way that caused judge dunne to order him to his seat. the several objections were overruled and the witness was directed to answer the question. [ ] heney, in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. , says of ruef's appearance: "i did not at any time see or speak to ruef, except when he was on the witness stand, and then only from a distance and in open court in the regular course of the trial and in the performance of my duty as a prosecuting officer." [ ] where schmitz spent the night of thursday, june , the night of his conviction, is a matter of dispute. sheriff o'neil insists that he spent the night in jail. this has been denied. the statement has been made, apparently on good authority, that all of friday following, schmitz, accompanied by dominic beban, a deputy sheriff and state senator from san francisco, was about town in an automobile. but on saturday, judge dunne warned the sheriff that schmitz was to be treated as any other prisoner. after that day, pending his appeal to the higher courts, schmitz was confined in the county jail. attorney j. c. campbell made a hard fight to keep his client out of jail. among other things, mr. campbell held that the mayor had so much official business to attend to that it was practically necessary for him to be in his office all the time for the next month. schmitz, under this conviction, was sentenced to serve five years in the penitentiary. chapter xvii. schmitz ousted from office. the confession of the supervisors to bribery had no sooner become known than angling for control of the municipal government under its prospective reorganization began.[ ] the public-service corporation that had during the municipal campaign contributed to the campaign funds of both the union labor party and the opposing "reform" fusion organization, had no care as to who reorganized, or in what name the reorganization was accomplished, so long as they continued in control. these corporations had larger interest in public affairs than ever; there was prospect of their officials being indicted for felonies. but so long as schmitz continued to be mayor, neither those who aimed to reorganize for the best interests of san francisco, nor those who were plotting to continue the old order with new men, in the interests of the corporations, could act. the old order controlled schmitz; the opposition, having whipped confessions out of the supervisors, controlled the board. neither element could undertake reorganization until in control of both mayor's office and supervisors. this deadlock was brought about by charter provisions empowering the board of supervisors to fill vacancies occurring in the mayoralty office, and providing that the mayor shall fill vacancies on the board of supervisors. had mayor schmitz resigned, the supervisors, controlled by district attorney langdon, would have elected his successor. this would have given the prosecution the mayor as well as the supervisors. on the other hand, had the supervisors resigned, then mayor schmitz would have appointed as their successors men in accord with him and with his policies. schmitz could then have resigned and the supervisors of his appointment would have named his successor. this would have permitted the corrupt element to continue the old order in defiance of the prosecution. thus, so long as schmitz held the office of mayor, the prosecution, laboring for good government, could not permit the bribe-taking supervisors to resign. on the other hand, those who had furnished the bribe money did not dare permit schmitz to give up his office. in this astonishing situation, that bribe-givers might not gain the upper hand, it was necessary that the sixteen confessed bribe-taking supervisors should continue in the offices which they had betrayed, so long as schmitz's power to appoint their successors continued.[ ] there were, too, further complications. the prosecution could and did secure the discharge from municipal positions of ruef's satellites who held their places under the board of supervisors. thus, soon after the supervisors had confessed, charles keane,[ ] clerk of the board, was forced from his position. on the other hand, the old-time schmitz-ruef followers who owed their appointments to the mayor, continued secure in their jobs. thus, former supervisor duffey, appointed by schmitz to head the board of public works, continued in that position, although involved by gallagher in gallagher's confession of the bribery transactions. the chief of police held office under the appointment of the board of police commissioners. but schmitz controlled the commissioners. the chief had been indicted with schmitz and ruef. the city was clamoring for his removal. but in spite of protests, schmitz's influence kept the indicted chief in his place at the head of the police department.[ ] the situation could not but cause confusion. to the average man on the street, the supervisors had confessed to bribery. why, then, were they permitted to remain an hour in office? why were they not indicted, placed on their defense and sent to the penitentiary? the graft defense naturally took advantage of this sentiment. "government by the big stick," as the hold of the district attorney's office over the supervisors was called, was condemned and ridiculed. one heard, however, little reference to the hold of the beneficiaries of the ruef administration upon the mayor's office. from all sides the prosecution was importuned to oust the "boodle supervisors." but the fact that a "boodle mayor" would then appoint their successors was not given such wide publicity. in addition to the complications in the municipal government, due to the schmitz faction's dogged resistance to the prosecution, combined with the unqualified yielding of the supervisors and the partial confession of ruef, san francisco was in a condition of confusion and discord. at the time ruef entered his plea of guilty to extortion, a year had passed since the great fire of . thousands were still living in shacks erected in the ruins of the old city. the principal business streets were littered with building materials. there had come the depression following the activity of rehabilitation and the pouring into san francisco of millions of insurance money. titles to real property were confused if not in doubt, much of the records having been destroyed in the fire. thousands found themselves forced into court to establish their titles. a little later, the community was to suffer a visitation of bubonic plague. there were many authentic plague cases and some deaths. for months the city was in dread of quarantine. there were labor disturbances which for weeks at a time paralyzed industry. at one period between , and , iron-trades workers were out on strike. at the time schmitz was finally convicted of extortion the telephone girls had been on strike since may rd. this alone threw the complex organization of a modern city into extraordinary confusion. the linemen struck. on june , telegraph operators in san francisco and oakland left their keys. but by far the most serious labor disturbance was the strike of the street-car conductors and motormen. for weeks the entire street-car system was paralyzed. the first attempt to move a car resulted in riot in which one man was killed outright and twenty-six wounded. a number of the wounded died. president calhoun of the united railroads rejected all offers to compromise, announcing his intention to break the street carmen's union. he succeeded; in the end the union was broken and scattered, but at frightful cost to mr. calhoun's company and to san francisco. during the strike of the carmen the city was filled with gunfighters and thugs admittedly in the employ of the united railroads. indeed, there was no attempt made to disguise the fact that the united railroads had brought them into the city. clashes between the two factions were of daily occurrence. aside from horse-drawn vehicles which had been pressed into service, street transportation was, for a considerable period, practically at an end. the inability of the people to go from place to place paralyzed industry and business. merchants, hotel keepers, manufacturers, all suffered. there were many failures. citizens in all walks of life implored mr. calhoun to arbitrate his difference with his men. he refused absolutely.[ ] henry t. scott, president of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, as doggedly refused to submit to arbitration the questions involved in the telephone girls' strike. the police seemed utterly unable to deal with the situation, governor gillett threatened to call out the militia, and companies at los angeles were actually directed to be in readiness to enter san francisco. but this move was finally abandoned. and through it all, president calhoun refusing to arbitrate or to compromise, issued numerous proclamations[ ] in which he intimated that the graft prosecution had brought on the trouble which confronted san francisco. the prosecution's object, mr. calhoun held, was to injure him and his railroad company. in this connection, it may be said, that during the searching investigation of the graft trials, not one word of testimony was produced to indicate basis for mr. calhoun's insinuations and open charges that the carmen's strike was part of a plot to injure him and his company.[ ] on the contrary, the strike might have been averted had the united railroads adopted a more tactful policy in dealing with its men. and, in addition to this, a more conciliatory attitude on the part of president calhoun would, during the progress of the strike, have brought it to a close at any time. the fact remains, too, that during the municipal campaign, which opened even while the united railroads was crushing the carmen's union, the support of the united railroads went to the union labor party candidate for district attorney. heading the union labor party ticket was p. h. mccarthy, one of the strongest opponents of the graft prosecution, and at the same time ardent backer of the striking carmen. the efforts of the united railroads to crush the carmen's union, while at the same time exerting itself to elect the union labor party candidate for district attorney, indicates the confusion that existed in san francisco following the confessions of the supervisors and the revelations made by ruef. and the efforts of the various factions to seize the municipal government increased this confusion materially. the day following ruef's confession, a committee of businessmen, representing the merchants' association, the board of trade, the chamber of commerce, the manufacturers' and producers' association and the merchants' exchange waited upon spreckels and heney to enlist the co-operation of the prosecution in restoring normal conditions. the committee--called the committee of seven because of its numbers--[ ] already had the endorsement of mayor schmitz. the chronicle, which acted from the start in the capacity of special pleader for this committee, announced in startling headlines in its issue of may , that "mayor schmitz practically turns reins of government over to citizens. committee of seven may run this city."[ ] "with the exception of the administration of merely routine affairs," said the chronicle of that date, "the committee, by mayor schmitz's written agreement, is to all intents and purposes, the mayor of san francisco." governor james n. gillett[ ] was reported to be heartily in accord with the committee's purposes. finally, in an editorial article, the chronicle announced that "the public looks to this committee to restore the good name of the city, and to the prosecuting authorities to stand solidly behind them while they do it." but in spite of the chronicle's insistence, the public gave no evidence of spontaneous outburst in favor of the committee. instead, there was a general turning to the leaders of the prosecution to note their attitude. the prosecution gave no evidence of enthusiastic support; quite the contrary. "the district attorney," announced langdon, "will not act with any committee that is named by mayor schmitz to take charge of the government of san francisco." after several conferences with the committee, rudolph spreckels refused to join with it on the ground that it had placed itself in a position "to directly or indirectly accomplish results very much desired by calhoun, herrin and the coterie who are inimical to the prosecution." mr. spreckels also expressed his belief that a majority of the committee were sincere men who went on the committee with proper motives, but, spreckels suggested, "if this committee really has its origin in an honest motive, i do not see why it cannot act on its own volition. i do not see the necessity of this committee demanding that i co-operate with it. if its members want to have a change in the municipal offices and the members of the various municipal commissions, let them go ahead and outline their own programme. i have no desire to dictate who shall constitute the membership of the various city offices. i started out in this graft prosecution to bring all guilty municipal officials to the bar of justice and have them punished. that is my single motive. i have no ulterior designs in this matter regardless of whatever anyone may say to the contrary."[ ] in spite of the chronicle's statement that the public looked to the prosecution to stand solidly behind the committee, and the protestations of governor gillett, the public was content to accept the judgment of mr. langdon, mr. spreckels and mr. heney as final. without popular demand for it, there was nothing for the committee to do but resign. and it did resign.[ ] the resignation of the committee of seven brought from governor gillett a statement urging the appointment of "a strong governing body to take charge of affairs."[ ] acting upon the governor's suggested plan, the five commercial bodies decided upon the appointment of a committee of seventy-five, or, as the chronicle, mouthpiece for the advocates of this course, put it, "seventy-five prominent citizens are to be appointed to restore order." the chronicle went on to say that "it is understood that mayor schmitz is ready to agree to act in accordance with the recommendations of the new committee as he did when the committee of seven was formed. he would be glad, it is believed, to have the assistance of such a body of men in meeting some of the conditions which he has to face."[ ] at the time (may ) of the publication of the chronicle's belief that mayor schmitz would be glad to have the assistance of such a body of men as had been proposed, the mayor's trial was drawing to its close. a fortnight later he was convicted of one of the gravest felonies that can be charged against an executive. mayor schmitz's conviction brought complete change in the situation. it made possible the ousting of the entire corrupt administration. in the ousting, the commercial bodies, as well as the representative labor union organizations, were given opportunity to co-operate. the refusal of the majority of them to participate threw the obligation upon the district attorney's office. when the jury returned its verdict finding mayor schmitz guilty of felony, district attorney langdon found himself in an extraordinary position. upon him, as district attorney, fell the responsibility of naming the chief executive of san francisco to succeed the discredited mayor. there was no question about a vacancy existing in the mayor's office. under the california laws, a vacancy in office exists upon conviction of the incumbent of felony. the courts had held repeatedly that a jury's verdict of guilty in a felony case carries conviction. a vacancy, therefore, existed in the mayor's office. under the municipal charter the supervisors alone were empowered to fill it. but sixteen of the supervisors, having confessed to felonies, were taking no steps without the approval of the district attorney. they would name for mayor, him whom the district attorney approved and no other. naturally, langdon consulted those associated with him in the graft prosecution. no better earnest of the sincerity and disinterestedness of langdon and those who were assisting him is furnished than in this crisis. they had it within their power to select first mayor and then supervisors who would be utterly subservient to them. instead, they proposed a plan by which representative associations were given opportunity to reorganize the municipal government by naming mayor schmitz's successor. nor was there any hasty action. the office of mayor was not declared vacant until after schmitz had been sentenced to the penitentiary. but schmitz was in the county jail and incompetent to act. it was of immediate necessity that a temporary successor be substituted. until this were done, san francisco would be without a chief executive. to meet the emergency, the supervisors named supervisor gallagher to be acting mayor.[ ] after the sentencing of schmitz the rapidly developing situation made it necessary that the convicted official's office be declared vacant and his successor appointed. but the successor had not been named, nor had plans for the change in administration been formulated.[ ] in this further emergency, it was decided to name one of the supervisors to be mayor to serve until a permanent successor of mayor schmitz could be named. the unhappy boxton[ ] was decided upon. the supervisors, by resolution, definitely declared the office of mayor vacant and elected supervisor boxton to be mayor. on the day that boxton was named mayor of san francisco, district attorney langdon made public a plan for a convention to select a mayor to serve until the successor of mayor schmitz could be elected and qualified. mr. langdon proposed that the convention should be made up of thirty members, fifteen to be appointed by organized labor and fifteen by the organized commercial bodies. on the side of labor were apportioned eight delegates to the labor council and seven to the building trades council. the five commercial bodies, the chamber of commerce, merchants' association, board of trade, real estate board and merchants' exchange, were allowed three delegates each. that the convention might proceed in its choice unhampered, the district attorney pledged that he and his associates would wholly refrain from participation after the convention had assembled.[ ] but this did not suit the several factions at all. admittedly, the prosecution could name the mayor. each faction wanted its man named, and while there remained a chance for its man to be named, did not care to see the extraordinary power in the hands of the district attorney delegated to the uncertainties of a convention. in the scramble for advantage, the self-control and self-forgetting attitude of the members of the prosecution, instead of exciting admiration, was condemned. the examiner, referring to langdon's associates, for example, announced: "their failure to agree on anyone has led to some alarm for fear their divergent political ambitions are making each of them endeavor to secure a place for his personal puppet." had the prosecution named the examiner's "personal puppet," this particular source of criticism would undoubtedly have been silenced and the examiner's vilification and abuse of the prosecution during the years that followed averted. what is true of the examiner in this regard is true of the other institutions and interests which, in this crisis of the city's history, were clamoring for "recognition."[ ] district attorney langdon's plan, on the whole, was not received in the spirit in which it was offered. the building trades council, under the influence of p. h. mccarthy and o. a. tveitmoe, promptly rejected the district attorney's proposal and refused to name delegates.[ ] this action influenced the labor council, which, on the ground that in the absence of delegates from the building trades council the labor council representatives might be outvoted, refused to participate. of the five commercial bodies, the real estate board alone promptly accepted the district attorney's invitation. the board named its three delegates and so notified the district attorney. the merchants' exchange demanded that the number of delegates be increased from thirty to forty-five by the addition of fifteen professional men, and proposed that the convention name a new board of supervisors as well as mayor.[ ] the board of trade refused to co-operate unless the delegates be increased in number by the addition of "professional men and others." the chamber of commerce and the merchants' association finally accepted, but stipulated that a two-thirds vote of the thirty delegates should be required for a choice. the failure of the several organizations to join in the selection of a mayor, made it necessary for langdon himself to proceed with the reorganization. all that langdon and his associates required was that the new executive should be independent of political control and free of the influence of those public-service corporations that had been trapped in bribe-giving. it was also the aim of the prosecutor to name as mayor one whose standing was such that none could be so unfair as to charge him with being in the slightest degree under the influence of the prosecution. langdon and his associates agreed that dr. john gallwey was independent of corrupting influences and to dr. gallwey the appointment was offered. but dr. gallwey declined to accept the responsibilities of the mayor's office on the ground that he could not afford to devote his time to the duties of the office to the extent that would be required in order to conduct it properly, and on the further ground that he could be of more service to humanity in the practice of medicine than in the discharge of the duties of mayor. the place was then offered to ralph harrison, a former member of the supreme bench. but judge harrison declined on the ground that he thought the duties of the office, under the conditions existing[ ] would be too onerous for him to undertake at his time of life. dr. edward r. taylor,[ ] dean of the hastings college of law, was then consulted. dr. taylor agreed to accept the position. in tendering dr. taylor the mayoralty, the prosecution left him entirely free to conduct the office according to his own judgment. he was assured that no one connected with the prosecution would expect or ask him to be guided or controlled or influenced in any way by all or any of them. boxton, after taylor had agreed to serve, resigned his office. the supervisors then elected dr. taylor to fill the vacancy.[ ] the next step in the reorganization of the municipal government was the resignation of the sixteen supervisors who had confessed to bribery and the appointment of their successors. when mayor taylor[ ] had found sixteen representative citizens willing to serve, the change was made. one by one the discredited officials resigned their positions. after each resignation had been accepted mayor taylor named the resigning member's successor.[ ] the scene was as painful as it was extraordinary. when it was over, the schmitz-ruef administration, so far as the legislative and executive branches were concerned, had passed. footnotes: [ ] as early as march , , two days after the supervisors gave their confession to the grand jury, the chronicle touched upon the growing resistance to the prosecution. it said: "in the leading political clubs there is talk of governor gillett removing mayor schmitz and appointing a successor. this is in the line of gossip, however, for there is a legal question involved, the framers of the municipal charter having provided no means for the removal of the head of the municipal government should he be found criminally derelict. there is also some talk of schmitz resigning if heney will vaccinate him and render him immune from punishment for his offenses, as he is said to have done with the supervisors. another angle of the gossip in this regard is that the mayor will appoint a board of supervisors picked by prominent merchants and professional men who have organized for the purpose of redeeming san francisco from the toils of the grafters." [ ] the chronicle, in its issue of april , in discussing this phase of the situation, said: "the spectacle of the entire legislative body of a city confessing to the acceptance of great bribes is astonishing. their continuance in office and consultation with the good citizens as to the best methods of restoring good government is unique. in many parts of the country there is outspoken disapproval of the course which is being taken, and loud declarations that if there were any good citizenship in san francisco the confessed rogues would be driven out of office and hustled into the penitentiary. it is declared that in granting 'immunity' to these supervisors the city is again disgraced. of course, all this is absurd. in the first place, there is no evidence and little probability that immunity has been promised to anybody. secondly, if the present supervisors should resign schmitz would promptly fill their places with men whom he can more implicitly trust but who would not be subject to indictment or in any way amenable to decent influence. as for schmitz, he will remain mayor until he is convicted of crime. the public does not know how that conviction is to be got. it is supposed that some supervisor can give part of the necessary evidence, but no supervisor can be compelled to give any evidence at all, and they probably would give none, if driven out. they are not obliged to criminate themselves. as for schmitz, he is still defiant. he apparently does not believe that under the legal rules of evidence he can be convicted of what he evidently did. the journals which contrast our slow movement with the swift punishment which befell briber and bribed when the broadway street railroad franchise was purchased doubtless do not understand that the laws and court procedure in california are designed not to convict criminals, but to aid their escape from justice, and that when jake sharp bought the new york aldermen he did not also buy the authority which filled vacancies in the board. as the situation in this city is unique, so, also, must be our methods of dealing with it. it may be that every supervisor ought to be promptly indicted but it is certain that that is the one thing most ardently desired by the innumerable company of grafters outside the board. and it may not be but to help them." [ ] keane had two champions on the board, however. supervisors j. j. o'neil and o. a. tveitmoe. they resisted keane's discharge, denouncing it as unwarranted and cowardly. mayor schmitz vetoed the resolution removing keane. the supervisors, however, adopted the resolution over the mayor's veto. [ ] the san francisco call, in its issue of june , , said of schmitz's continued hold on the police department: "the call has never attached much importance to the well meant efforts of the various citizens' committees to persuade mayor schmitz to reorganize the police force and the governing commission of that body. it is easy to understand that schmitz might engage in some such transaction or bargain if he could be shown his own advantage therein, but that he would surrender control of his most valuable personal asset at this time or, indeed at any other time, was scarcely conceivable in view of the character of the man. this is said advisedly. it is notorious that schmitz all through his long session in office has treated his control of the police not as a public trust for the common good, but as so much personal property to be used to the limit for his private advantage. therefore, when schmitz, in the first instance, gave a committee some sort of pledge that he would comply with its desire or requests, there was a very natural suspicion that the terms of the bargain as a whole had not been disclosed. there was the insistent inquiry, 'what does schmitz get by the bargain?' "that question has never been answered from the inside and probably will not be answered, but the committee very shortly quit in disgust, realizing, doubtless, that schmitz wanted something it could not grant as a consideration for his abandonment of power. "a second committee that took up the work now finds that schmitz is deaf to its requests for a reorganization of the police force. the lack of discipline in that body has become a public scandal. at its head is seen a man under indictment for felony, the associate of criminals and accused of tampering with veniremen called to try schmitz--an accusation whose truth he admits. governor gillett has expressed the common knowledge that the chief of police is incompetent. he might have used a harsher word. but dinan suits schmitz. he is the ready and unscrupulous tool. an honest man in the same place would be of no use to schmitz!" [ ] when, through the good offices of a committee of citizens, the difficulties of the iron trades were finally adjusted, the call took occasion to urge an ending of the stiff-necked policy which kept other employers and employees apart. "in the car strike," said the call in its issue of june st, "in the telephone strike, in the laundry strike, there is nothing that cannot be disposed of by the same method and through the same agency as those that ended the iron trades controversy. there is no reason why all those disputes cannot be settled reasonably. the conciliation committee stands for public opinion. it voices the demand of the public for peace. no employer can afford to refuse its offices, nor can any representative of the employed afford to decline its offers of mediation. and if this committee, standing as it does for public opinion, could speak with conviction to the iron masters and their striking workmen, it should be able to deal even more effectively with the car strike and with the telephone strike. those disputes concern public utilities. street-cars are run and telephones are operated under and by virtue of grants and privileges made by the people, wherefore the people have the right to intervene when the grantees of those privileges are at war with their employes. the people have the right, at least, to mediate for peace. mr. cornelius and mr. calhoun, mr. scott and the leader of the telephone strikers may refuse to listen to the pacific overtures of the conciliation committee, but if they do they must understand that the price of refusal is the loss of public sympathy and support--elements without which ultimate victory is impossible. "san francisco has had about enough industrial warfare. the city wants peace, lasting peace. no sane man wants a fight to a finish between labor and capital, or if he does he is san francisco's enemy. the adjustment of the iron-workers' strike is a hopeful sign. it points the way to an end of all bitterness and contention. it augurs an early return to the harmonious relations of those who earn and those who pay wages, relations which are essential to the progress and prosperity of any community. it is the best news of this stormy, stressful month." [ ] the following, issued on may , is a fair sample of the statements which mr. calhoun gave out during the period of confusion in san francisco, in the spring and summer of : "to the american people--the newspapers of this city published yesterday afternoon and this morning contain sensational statements purporting to give the testimony of mr. abraham ruef before the grand jury yesterday afternoon. it is alleged that he confessed that the united railroads, through some of its officials, bribed the supervisors to grant the permit for the overhead trolley over certain of its roads. i do not know if mr. ruef made any such statements. if he did, they are untrue. i repeat with renewed emphasis my former declaration that no official of this company ever bribed any one, authorized mr. ruef or any one else to bribe anybody, knew of any bribery, or approved of any bribery. "i charge the prosecution with having prostituted the great office of the district attorney to further the plans of private malice in the interest of a man who organized the municipal street railways of san francisco on the th day of april, , the day before the earthquake and fire with a capital stock of $ , , , of which $ , , were subscribed for as follows: claus spreckels subscribed $ , , , james d. phelan subscribed $ , , , george whittell subscribed $ , , rudolph spreckels subscribed $ , , , charles s. wheeler subscribed $ , . ten per cent of the amount subscribed, or $ , , was paid in cash, as shown by the affidavit of the treasurer of the company, james k. moffitt, duly filed in the county clerk's office. "i charge that, in furtherance of the plans of the private prosecutor to assure evidence that would involve the united railroads, the district attorney has been willing to purchase testimony with immunity contracts, purporting to grant immunity to self-confessed criminals, which contracts i am informed were placed in escrow with the private prosecutor, and through which he controls a majority of the board of supervisors who, as a member of the prosecution has declared, are 'dogs' to do his bidding. "i charge that the district attorney was in consultation with the members of the self-confessed criminals on the board of supervisors in regard to the passage of the resolution holding up the geary street railroad company, providing for the forfeiture of its license, unless it yielded to the demands of its striking employes. "i charge that while the best element in this community was seeking to preserve law and order the district attorney was in secret conference with self-confessed criminals, giving aid and comfort to the strikers. shall his great office be prostituted to the support of lawlessness? "the officials of this company are ready to meet their enemies in the open, and before they are through, they expect to show to the whole country the infamy of the methods of the prosecution, the baseness of the motives of the private prosecutor, his readiness to grant immunity to self-confessed criminals, and the willingness of the prosecution to aid the strikers, even if it involved this community in disorder and bloodshed, provided it furthered the private prosecutor's personal ends. "the organization of the municipal street railways of san francisco, the attacks upon the officials of the united railroads, the immunity granted to self-confessed criminals, the strike of the carmen, the hold-up of the geary-street railroad company, the forfeiture of its license to operate, all seek one common end, the injury of the united railroads and its officials, and the advancement of the personal schemes of the private prosecutor. "i ask from the american people fair play, and a patient consideration. i ask them to withhold their judgment, freed from the bias naturally created by sensational charges. the contest in which i am engaged is grave, and i cannot afford now to disclose the whole strength of my hand, but before this contest is over, i confidently expect to defeat alike the machinations of rudolph spreckels, the private prosecutor, with his corps of hired detectives, and mr. cornelius, president of the carmen's union, the leader of anarchy and lawlessness, and to see firmly established in this community the principles of american liberty, and the triumph of truth and justice." on may calhoun issued a statement directly charging the lawlessness in san francisco to the prosecution. he said: "the drama is now unfolding itself and the citizens of this city will have an opportunity to fix the responsibility for existing conditions. the prosecution has said that the supervisors would be 'good dogs' and do its bidding. the resolutions concerning the geary-street line and the united railroads are on a par with the neglect of the board to see that order is preserved. the prosecution is now responsible for the government of the city: therefore it is responsible for existing conditions, including the failure to suppress violence and to protect life and property." [ ] although representatives of the defense had intimated repeatedly that the supporters of the graft prosecution had brought on the strike for the purpose of injuring the united railroads, when the prosecution attempted to introduce evidence to the contrary, calhoun's attorneys resisted. [ ] the seven members of the committee were: f. b. anderson, manager of the bank of california; percy t. morgan, president of the california wine association and a director in the pacific states telephone and telegraph company; f. w. van sicklen, president of dodge sweeney & co.; f. w. dohrmann, president of nathan, dohrmann & co.; henry rosenfeld, a shipping and commission merchant; c. h. bentley, president of the chamber of commerce, and judge charles w. slack, who, in , was to be one of the principal supporters of the opposition to the prosecution candidate for district attorney. illness compelled mr. dohrmann to sever his connection with the committee. mr. william a. magee served in his stead. [ ] the chronicle, in its issue of may , printed the following as the committee's declaration of principles: "declaration of principles by the committee of seven and what it intends to do: "we propose to carry out our duty, irrespective of who is affected. "we have adopted the constitution of the united states as the fundamental basis for our final action. "we intend to bring about a clean condition of affairs in this community and make it safe for habitation by human beings and for the investment of capital. "we shall do nothing in the nature of class legislation and recognize that every element in the community has a right to representation in the government." [ ] in a published statement printed may , , governor gillett said: "the good citizens of san francisco are for preserving order and the good name of this city, and protecting the constitutional rights of its people. the committee of seven, as i understand it, were appointed for this purpose, and every law-abiding citizen and every loyal paper in this city, the bulletin with the rest, are expected to strengthen their hands and encourage them in their work." [ ] the failure to enlist spreckels with the committee of seven brought down upon him the condemnation of leaders of the state machine. "my surprise at this attitude of mr. spreckels," said governor gillett in an interview printed in the examiner, may , , "is great. it means a bad moral effect on the local industrial disturbance. if a banker like mr. spreckels will not act in harmony with the committee from the leading commercial organizations of this city, then i can readily account for the friction all down the line in this city. there ought to be unity of action to get the city out of its present plight, but evidently the leading business men of the town, for reasons i certainly cannot understand, are not in a mood to act in harmony." [ ] when the committee of seven retired, may , committeeman slack issued the following statement: "the committee of seven yesterday decided that nothing could be accomplished by it, in view of the attitude of mr. spreckels and mr. heney. we met those gentlemen for the fourth time yesterday morning and were informed that they could not act with us. mr. spreckels declared, in spite of assurances to the contrary from every member of the committee, that he believed herrin and calhoun to be behind us. we had agreed, in the first place, that nothing should be done which would interfere in any way with the work of mr. spreckels and mr. heney. when we went to them and asked their co-operation they declined to co-operate. under the circumstances we felt that the committee could not be of any further value and asked to be discharged. "i think mr. spreckels was sincere in his belief that we represented interests opposed to him, and i have nothing but the kindest feelings toward him, although i believe that he was mistaken. i believe the other members of the committee are with me in this. "my acquaintance with mr. herrin is only of the most casual sort, and i should be more likely to act against rather than for him. i do not know mr. calhoun at all. "it is with great regret that the committee has abandoned the work which it felt called upon to undertake, and only the belief that without the assistance of mr. spreckels its work would be valueless led it to take this step." [ ] governor gillett's suggestions were contained in a statement published in the san francisco papers on may th. it was as follows: "mr. cornelius, as president of the carmen's union, and the other labor leaders of san francisco can bring an end to the acts of violence that are committed daily in this city if they will, and in the event that they don't they will be held morally responsible for what happens in the future, if anything of a serious nature does happen. "san francisco does not want to see the state troops enter the city. it is better for the labor unions, the citizens, the city and the state that they should not take charge of affairs, but i will say, if this violence continues and increases the militia will be brought in and will take charge of affairs. nothing along that line has been planned as yet and the state will wait a reasonable length of time for conditions to be adjusted. "something must be done. there must be a strong governing body to take charge of affairs, and along this line i have one suggestion to make. let the various civic bodies of san francisco get together and appoint a committee of twenty-five or fifty from their members, a committee of strong-minded men who will not allow politics to enter into the question, and who will fight for san francisco as plain citizens interested in the welfare of the city. "such a committee could accomplish much. the first step to be taken would be to demand the appointment of a new police commission, the removal of officers in charge of districts who are incompetent, and the substitution of competent, firm men. "mayor schmitz would not dare to refuse to accede to the demands of such a committee, and if the body acted with a firm hand the citizens would soon see an improvement in conditions. "the executive committee, which appointed the committee of seven can bring about the organization of such a body as i suggest. it was noticeable that when the committee of seven took hold of affairs there was less violence for a couple of days, but as soon as the body tendered its resignation there was an increase in these acts of violence. "acts of violence must cease. no self-respecting community will permit a reign of crime day after day, the throwing of bricks and other missiles, the use of vile and abusive language, and the beating of men walking along the streets peaceably. then, too, we have our wives and daughters to think of. conditions are certainly deplorable when they cannot go upon the streets of a great city like san francisco without being compelled to hear obscene language and witness acts of violence such as have been committed within the last three weeks. "there are strong men here, and if they set about the matter in the right way there will be no occasion for the entrance of the state troops into the city." [ ] see footnote , page . [ ] of the eighteen supervisors, two, o'neil and tveitmoe, had been appointed by mayor schmitz to fill vacancies after the bribery transactions. they were in no way involved in the briberies. they were, therefore, independent of the district attorney. o'neil put tveitmoe in nomination against gallagher. "what is the difference," demanded o'neil, "between eugene e. schmitz and james l. gallagher?" gallagher's face went red with rage, but there was no way of silencing the critic. [ ] this tardiness of appointment was not due to any lack of candidates. practically every faction in san francisco had its choice for schmitz's successor. [ ] the election of boxton to be mayor may be called the refinement of cruelty. his elevation to high executive office but emphasized the shame of his position. from taking his oath of office he was rushed to the witness stand to testify against louis glass on trial for participation in bribing him to oppose the granting of the home telephone company franchise. d. m. delmas was conducting the case for the defense. delmas suavely turned boxton's elevation to account. he scrupulously addressed boxton as the "mayor." and, in comparison, he wrung from the new mayor's lips: "i took bribes and was a spy for halsey." nor did delmas confine his refined ridicule to the unhappy mayor boxton. heney had, for example, asked the court to take judicial notice of the fact that while schmitz was in europe, gallagher had served as acting mayor. "i don't think," interrupted delmas, "your honor will extend your judicial knowledge that far, because that would be to keep track of the change of mayors here, and it would keep you too busy to discharge your duties." a grim party surrounded boxton while he took his oath of office. boxton gave no evidence of pride of his new station. "when i think," he said during a lull in the proceedings, "of the things that have come into my life in the last ten years, i realize how few of them were of my own planning. when we came back from manila, i had no idea of politics, but they insisted in making heroes of us, and i had to run for supervisor. now i wish i had not done it." later on he gave out the following interview: "this has come to me as a great surprise. i very much regret the circumstances which have led up to this appointment. i hope the people will bear with me for the few weeks that i am in office. as to my official policy, i cannot discuss that at present. "you know, it is with a feeling of sadness i take the office. i am glad it is a temporary appointment and will last only a short time. i didn't know when i told you this morning that i was willing to do whatever was thought best, either to remain in office or to resign from the board, that this would be put upon me. i am sorry they have asked me to take the office, and will be glad when it is over. the only thing i can say is that i believe during the short time i will hold the office the people will have no cause to----" boxton halted for his words--"again find fault with me." the examiner commenting upon boxton's elevation, said "having put our bribe-taking mayor in jail, and having put in his place a taker of smaller bribes, we have now substituted for gallagher, boxton, who differs from gallagher principally in having sold his vote for still less of the bribing corporations' money." [ ] the district attorney's statement of his plan to the various organizations concerned will be found in full on page xxii of the appendix. [ ] the chronicle, however, endorsed langdon's plan, and urged the several labor and industrial bodies to participate. "as the matter appears at present," said the chronicle, "the prosecution has resorted to the only safe and reasonable plan of restoring good government, and fault-finding with the method adopted will be confined to the hyper-critical and those who imagine that they would find profit in a continuance of unsettled conditions." [ ] the resolutions adopted by the building trades council rejecting langdon's plan for reorganization of the municipal government, were as follows: "whereas, an invitation has been received by this council from the district attorney of this city and county, requesting this council appoint seven delegates to participate in a convention composed of thirty delegates, made up of fifteen representatives from the labor organizations of this city and fifteen representatives from the civic organizations outside of the labor organizations; and whereas, said convention is to be called for the purpose of selecting a person to be appointed mayor of the city and county of san francisco; and whereas, at this time this council is not possessed of sufficient information upon the subject to determine whether or not the action proposed to be taken by the convention would be legal, and whether or not such action, if taken, would not lead to a multiplicity of suits by reason of the appointment to an office where a doubt as to the vacancy in said office exists, and as a result lead to endless litigation and regrettable confusion; and whereas, those who have arrogated to themselves the duty of guiding the destinies of the entire municipality of san francisco only last tuesday, by the exercise of assumed power, through the board of supervisors, placed in the mayor's chair one who is to their own knowledge legally disqualified, to the exclusion of one or the other of two gentlemen who are members of that board in the personnel of o. a. tveitmoe and j. j. o'neil, whose characters, both public and private, are above reproach; and whereas, the building trades council was organized and is maintained for the purpose of directing, protecting and conducting the building industry from the standpoint of the journeymen with justice alike to the owner, contractor and artisan, and not for the purpose of making mayors through the instrumentality of star chamber conventions, thereby usurping the rights and prerogatives of the people; therefore, be it "resolved, that this building trades council, in regular meeting assembled, instruct its secretary to acknowledge the receipt of the said invitation, and decline to act thereon for the reasons herein stated." [ ] langdon's reply to the objections of the merchants' exchange was as follows: "we cannot entertain any such proposition at this date. we have already had submitted to us, and have considered at least one hundred plans for calling an electoral convention, and after carefully deliberating on all these plans, decided upon the plan which we have announced. this plan gives the opposing factions of labor and capital each an equal representation in the electoral body. the responsibility of deciding who shall be the mayor is distinctly imposed on the two most important factions in the community, and as far as giving a square deal to everybody, we do not see how our announced plan can be improved upon. certainly the addition of fifteen delegates appointed by any special committee cannot improve the plan. in our announcement it has been clearly stated that all the commercial and labor organizations called have until saturday to name their delegates, and these delegates will assemble next monday to nominate the new mayor. the plan announced will not be modified in any way. it places the issue squarely before the people and if they do not wish to act upon it we cannot help it. "in regard to the proposition to permit the electoral convention to name sixteen new supervisors, i will say that while there is no objection to it, we do not think it is wise to incorporate it in our present plan." [ ] schmitz's resistance of the elevation of gallagher no doubt influenced the aged justice in his refusal. from the county jail schmitz continued to insist that he was still the de facto mayor of san francisco. the chief of police, himself under indictment, sided with schmitz. gallagher during his eventful term blocked by the police, was not permitted to enter the mayor's office. when boxton was made mayor, langdon went with him to the mayor's office and seized the furniture. schmitz's partisans boasted that the mayor would be released on bail, march with his followers to the meeting place of the supervisors, and, with the aid of the police, oust gallagher by force. schmitz's resistance made itself felt in many ways. for example, an athletic club had arranged for a boxing match, for which a permit signed by the mayor had to be issued. gallagher had signed the permit. chief of police dinan, however, refused to recognize it unless it were signed by schmitz. the manager of the affair was compelled to go to the county jail for schmitz's signature. schmitz notified the bondsmen of city treasurer charles a. bantel that he would hold them responsible for any moneys paid out by bantel without his (schmitz's) signature. the bondsmen notified bantel that as a matter of precaution he must have the signature of schmitz as well as that of gallagher as authorization for paying out funds. this precautionary course was followed to its logical conclusion. on july , a contractor by the name of j. j. dowling cashed a municipal warrant which bore the signatures of no less than three mayors, schmitz, gallagher and boxton. late in june, schmitz sent to the auditor warrants signed by himself for june salaries for himself, his secretary, his stenographer and his usher. the auditor decided to allow these warrants for that part of the month up to the date of schmitz's conviction. san francisco allows its mayor $ a month for contingent expenses. both schmitz and gallagher claimed this $ for july. the auditor decided to recognize neither claim. in answer to schmitz's demand that gallagher be ignored as mayor, the auditor sent the imprisoned executive a soothing or grimly humorous letter, as one may view it, in which he recognized schmitz as the de jure mayor, possessing "the honor and the title," and gallagher "simply as a de facto mayor," possessing the office. when the bribe-taking supervisors resigned, schmitz, from the county jail, appointed their successors. seven of these schmitz appointees actually took the oath of office. on the night of taylor's election to succeed boxton as mayor, one of schmitz's appointees, samuel t. sawyer, appeared before the board and demanded that he be sworn in as supervisor. gallagher, who was presiding refused to recognize schmitz as mayor and refused sawyer a seat. even after taylor had been elected, chief of police dinan continued to recognize schmitz as mayor. dinan, for example, placed the automobile maintained by the city for the use of the mayor, under guard of a policeman and for several days prevented mayor taylor securing it. mayor taylor gave effective check to this harassing opposition by refusing to sign warrants upon the treasury which bore schmitz's signature. gradually schmitz's resistance to the new order died out. schmitz contented himself with issuing a statement through the associated press that he would be a candidate for re-election. he said: "you may announce that i will be a candidate for re-election this fall, and that i expect to win. i have already begun my campaign in a preliminary way, and shall carry it forward steadily from this time. i have no fear of the race. i am willing to make it without the aid of the ruef organization, whose support i had in each of the three campaigns since . presumably that organization no longer exists, but its component parts, though scattered, are as much in existence as ever. it is up to me to gather them together and cement them into an organization of my own--a task i am prepared to undertake." [ ] dr. edward robeson taylor was born at springfield, ill., sept. , . he came to california in , in he graduated from the toland medical college. in , he was admitted to the california bar. he served as dean of the hastings college of law. for thirty years he was vice-president and president of the cooper medical college. he was one of the freeholders who framed the present san francisco municipal charter, and at the time of his selection as mayor, had served san francisco and the state in many important public capacities. [ ] dr. taylor's selection gave general satisfaction. "my belief is," said governor gillett in a published interview, "that joe will make an able and trustworthy executive. it is particularly fortunate that he is identified with no factional politics and can work for a clean reorganized administration of the city government." "the most important feature connected with the selection," said the chronicle, "is the doctor's absolute freedom from alliances with any particular interest. he is free from all entanglements, and his ability and firmness of character give assurance that his efforts will be wholly directed to bettering the condition and restoring the confidence of the community. we repeat that san francisco owes the doctor a debt of gratitude for sinking considerations of personal comfort and devoting himself to the general welfare, and that the prosecution has acted wisely in selecting and inducing him to act." on the other hand, the examiner ridiculed the selection. labor union party leaders of the type of p. h. mccarthy were loud in expressions of their disapproval. [ ] mayor taylor, the day of his election, issued the following statement: "i accepted this office with much reluctance, and only because i believed that any man who was requested to serve the city in this capacity in the hour of her need should heed the request, no matter what the personal sacrifice might be. "had any pledges been exacted of me by those who tendered the office, i would not have considered the tender for one-thousandth part of a second. "i would not submit to any dictation in the administration of the office, nor do i believe that any one who knows me would attempt to dictate to me. "if i am called upon to appoint a board of supervisors, i will select the very best men who can be induced to accept the offices, and i shall exercise my own judgment as to who are the best men. "i am going to do the best i can for the city without regard to partisan politics, and, so far as i am concerned, there will be no partisan politics. "as mayor of this city, every man looks just as tall to me as every other man. "the first essential to good government is perfect order, and i shall employ every arm of the law to the end that such order shall prevail. "i believe in autonomy in every department of the city government, and i believe that commissioners should be permitted to administer the affairs of their respective departments, free from dictation, as long as they demonstrate by their acts that they are honest and competent." [ ] the citizens named by dr. taylor to act as supervisors were: dr. a. a. d'ancona, dean of the medical faculty of the university of california; harry u. brandenstein, attorney and former supervisor; gustave brenner, capitalist and retired merchant; james p. booth, newspaperman and former supervisor; a. comte, jr., attorney and former supervisor; george l. center, real estate; bernard faymonville, vice-president firemen's fund insurance company; e. j. molera, civil engineer and president of the academy of science; w. g. stafford, president of the w. g. stafford & co., coal merchants; henry payot, retired merchant and former supervisor; matt i. sullivan, attorney; thomas magee, real estate; lippman sachs, capitalist and retired merchant; l. p. rixford, architect; c. a. murdock, printing and bookbinding; d. c. murphy, attorney. a. comte, jr., successor of supervisor mcgushin, did not take office until several days after his associates on the new board. this was due to mcgushin's hesitation about resigning. mr. mcgushin finally resigned, however, and comte was named in his stead. of the taylor board of supervisors, the chronicle, in its issue of july th, said: "mayor taylor's choice of men for the new board of supervisors will fortunately not meet universal approval. it will satisfy all honest men who regard public office as a public trust and not as a private snap, but it will not satisfy those who are accustomed either to actually corrupt public servants or to use a secret pull to obtain private and undue advantage. it will not satisfy the criminal element who thrive by the wide-open town, and who abhor a board of supervisors who will back up an honest and capable mayor. "the board which the mayor has selected may be safely accepted as the leaders of the people. all interests are recognized except that of the boodlers. the city has many knotty problems to solve. somebody must work them out. probably no two capable and honest men would resolve the various doubts which will arise in precisely the same way, and yet out of all the possible ways in each case some particular way must be chosen. and it will be the duty of the mayor and supervisors, in the light of much more information than the majority of us can obtain, to select that way. and when it has been determined all patriotic citizens must get behind them." chapter xviii. the real fight begins. nine months after heney assumed his duties as assistant district attorney, mayor taylor named the successors of the ruef-schmitz board of supervisors. in those nine months much had been accomplished. ruef had plead guilty to extortion and had made partial confession of his relations with the public-service corporations. the schmitz-ruef supervisors had made full and free confession, and had been removed from office. mayor schmitz had been convicted of extortion, ousted from office, and pending his appeal to the upper courts was confined in the county jail. the back of the schmitz-ruef political organization was broken, and its forces scattered. had the prosecution stopped here, the men whose devotion and self-sacrifice had made the undoing of the corrupt administration possible, would have retired with nothing more serious confronting them than the condemnation of the impotent puppets of large interests whom they had brought to grief. but those behind the prosecution were not content to leave their work at a point where the regeneration of san francisco had scarcely begun. they proposed to go to the bottom of the graft scandal. it was not sufficient, they held, to punish poor men who were without friends or influence, while their rich and powerful associates went unpunished. the bribe-taking supervisors might be put in the penitentiary, but other bribe-taking supervisors would eventually take their places. ruef, punished by imprisonment, would serve as an example for political bosses that would cause them to hesitate for long before embarking in corrupt enterprises such as had brought the discredited boss to grief. this would make it hard for bribe-giving corporations to secure agents for bribe-passing, and make bribe-giving correspondingly difficult. but the conviction of high corporation officials, responsible for the bribe-giving of public-service corporations, was regarded as more important than all, for this would demonstrate bribe-giving to be unsafe, and check the practice at its very fountain-head. such conviction, the prosecution held, would have greater deterrent effect against bribery of public officials than the confinement of bribe-taking supervisors in the penitentiary.[ ] "i would be willing," rudolph spreckels testified at the calhoun trial, "to grant immunity to any man who would bring to bar a man of great wealth who would debauch a city government, and who would use his wealth to corrupt individuals and tempt men of no means to commit crime in order that he might make more money." such was the stand taken by district attorney langdon and his associates. the announced policy of the prosecution, therefore, included the prosecution of the bribe-giver to the end. in pursuing this policy, mr. langdon and his associates aroused the astonishingly effective opposition of interests representing hundreds of millions of capital. every indictment of capitalist charged with bribe-giving was signal for a new group of financial leaders, their satellites, beneficiaries and dependents, to array themselves on the side of the graft defense.[ ] with every indictment came a new group of attorneys to raise technical objections to the proceedings, all of which the attorneys for the prosecution were obliged to meet. the first attack was upon the validity of the grand jury. the attorneys for ruef and schmitz had apparently exhausted every point that could be raised for the disqualification of the grand jurors, but this did not prevent the heads of corporations who found themselves under indictment making similar attacks. and between them, in this new move to quash the indictments, the defendants enlisted the ablest members of the california bar.[ ] in this new opposition an astonishing number of technical points were raised by one or the other of the groups of defending lawyers. nothing was overlooked. just before the principal indictments were brought, for example, the san francisco merchants had given a banquet to celebrate the progress which san francisco had made during the first year following the fire.[ ] langdon and heney were given places of honor. they were the heroes of the occasion. every reference to their work was signal for tremendous demonstration. there was no suggestion then that the pursuit of criminals would "hurt business." "a severe earthquake," observed frank j. symmes, president of the merchants' association, "is a serious misfortune, and a great conflagration a great trial, and each awake the sympathy of the nation, but a corrupt government is at once a crime and a disgrace and brings no sympathy." "we foresee," said bishop william ford nichols, another of the speakers of the evening, "the greater san francisco. we mean to make it fairer to the eye. but how about making it better? size and sin may go together. rehabilitated buildings may house debilitated character." a month later, after indictments had been brought against some of the most prominent business men of the city, word went out that steps would be taken to disqualify every member of the grand jury who had attended that merchants' banquet. the grand jurors were again called to the witness stand and put through a grilling to determine whether or not they were biased. rudolph spreckels was under examination for hours in efforts to show that his motives in backing the prosecution were bad.[ ] every step of the proceedings at the organization of the grand jury was scrutinized. the question of the method of employing the stenographer to the grand jury was made subject of hours of argument. if she were irregularly employed, it was held, she was an unauthorized person in the grand jury room and her unwarranted presence sufficient to invalidate the indictments. garret mcenerney, representing eugene de sabla, jr., frank drum and john martin, whose indictments grew out of the bribery of the supervisors to fix the gas rate at cents per cubic feet instead of cents, was the first to raise this question. but attorneys for other defendants took it up and seriously considered it as valid objection to the sufficiency of the indictments. a further point was raised by several of the defendants that the stenographer had not been properly sworn. the question was seriously debated, whether she had looked at prosecutor heney or foreman oliver at the moment she was sworn to secrecy.[ ] another point was brought up by the defendants in the united railroads bribery case, that inasmuch as the defendants calhoun, mullally and ford, had been called to the grand jury room and compelled to fall back upon their constitutional rights to avoid testifying, that they had been placed in a prejudicial position before the grand jury, which constituted reversible error.[ ] another objection was that the grand jury box had been destroyed in the great fire of , and that no order had come from any department of the superior court ordering its restoration. again, it was asserted, that grand juror james e. gordan was a member of the grand jury panel of , while the other grand jurors were chosen from the list. indictments brought by a grand jury thus constituted were claimed to be without effect. had any one of these and many other similar objections been sustained, all indictments against the graft defendants would have been invalidated. every objection had to be met. days and weeks were spent by the district attorney's office in meeting, or preparing to meet objections which to the layman appear trifling and ridiculous. in the midst of this technical fight to have the indictments against them set aside, the graft defendants received aid from an unlooked-for source. sympathizers with the united railroads conductors and motormen, then on strike, whose union patrick calhoun was at the time endeavoring to crush--and finally did crush--started an independent attack upon the grand jury. four union sympathizers had been indicted in connection with street riots. their attorneys, before superior judge cook, raised the point that as the oliver grand jury had continued in service after a new panel had been drawn in the office of the clerk and put on file, the term of the grand jury's service had expired. it was, therefore, no longer part of the machinery of the court and had no power as an inquisitorial body. under this interpretation, not only would the indictments against the strikers be invalidated, but those against the alleged bribe-givers also.[ ] thus four of mr. calhoun's striking carmen, in their efforts to evade trial on charges growing out of opposition to the united railroads, were making stronger fight to release mr. calhoun from indictment than mr. calhoun, although enjoying the ablest legal counsel that money could secure, had been able to make for himself. eventually, these technical objections were decided adversely to the defense; the validity of the oliver grand jury was never successfully attacked. but the technical objections raised caused delays which the defense was able to put to good account. while the prosecution was battling to force the graft cases to trial on their merits, the graft defense was conducting a publicity campaign to misrepresent and undermine the prosecution. the astonishing success of these efforts were to appear later. by , for example, in the city which when the graft prosecution opened, the practically universal sentiment was for the crushing out of corruption, there was strong opinion that the prosecution of influential offenders had gone too far, had been injudiciously conducted, was "hurting business," and that for the good of the community the graft cases should be dropped.[ ] the evident policy of the defense was to undermine the prosecution and create public opinion against it, until both prosecution and community should be worn out, and made to quit. the principal attack was through the newspapers. the prosecution had not been long at work before the weekly papers, with few exceptions, were devoting the bulk of their space to ridiculing and vilifying all who were in any way responsible for the graft exposures and impuning their motives. what these publications received for their work is indicated by the subsidies paid one of the least of san francisco weekly papers--a publication since suspended--the mission times. in january, , a man by the name of williams purchased the times for seventy-five dollars, giving his unsecured note for that amount. in less than a month the new proprietor had received $ from an agent of the united railroads. later on, he received a regular subsidy of $ a week, something more than $ , a month, which continued for thirteen weeks. the subsidy was later reduced to fifty dollars a week. but during the interim between the weekly subsidy contracts, lump sums were paid. it is estimated that in little over a year, williams received from agents of the united railroads upwards of $ , . the times at first covertly, and later openly, opposed the prosecution. if the unimportant mission times, which at the opening of the year had changed hands for seventy-five dollars, received upwards of $ , from agents of the defense, the not unreasonable question may be asked, what did more important weekly papers, whose graft prosecution policy was practically the same as that of the times, receive? in this connection it is pertinent to say that the majority of these publications gave evidence during , of a prosperity that was quite as mysterious, if not as suggestive, as had been the prosperity of the schmitz-ruef supervisors during . as has been seen, the entire daily press of san francisco was, in the beginning, heartily in accord with the prosecution. gradually, however, the examiner and the chronicle[ ] shifted their policy. even while the chronicle was backing the prosecution in its editorial columns, its reports of the proceedings at the various hearings were colored in a way well-calculated to undermine langdon and his associates.[ ] gradually the covert opposition of its news columns became the open editorial policy of the paper. but the most effective opposition came from the examiner. the examiner supported the prosecution until the conviction of schmitz and the change in the municipal administration. failure to dictate the selection of mayor and supervisors may have had more or less influence in the change of policy. at any rate, the invention of the examiner's writers and artists was tortured to make the prosecution appear to disadvantage. the most tawdrily clever of the examiner's efforts were the so-called "mutt cartoons." the cartoons appeared from day to day, a continuous burlesque of the work of the prosecutors, and of the graft trials. heney was pictured as "beaney;" detective burns, as detective "tobasco;" james d. phelan as "j. tired feeling;" rudolph spreckels, as "pickles;" superior judges dunne and lawlor, before whom the graft cases were heard, as judge "finished" and judge "crawler," respectively. in these "mutt cartoons" every phase of the prosecution was ridiculed. for example, when the excitement over the graft trials was at its height, there were rumors that the assassination of heney or langdon would be attempted. in ridiculing this, the examiner pictured "beaney" with a cross on his neck where the bullet was to strike. a few weeks later, during the progress of one of the graft trials, heney was shot down in open court, the bullet taking practically the same course which in the "mutt" cartoon the examiner had pictured. after the shooting of heney, the examiner discontinued the anti-prosecution "mutt cartoons." mr. william randolph hearst's san francisco examiner did effective service in discrediting the graft prosecution. but mr. hearst, with curious inconsistency, outside california, gave the prosecution his personal endorsement. in his labor day address at the jamestown exposition, september , , for example, mr. hearst among other pleasing observations on the work of the san francisco graft prosecution, said: "you hear much today of how a mayor of san francisco has fallen, but you hear little of how powerful public service corporations tempted a wretched human being with great wealth and brought a once respected man to ruin and disgrace. you hear much of how a mayor elected on a union labor ticket is in jail, but little of the fact that it was an honest district attorney, elected on the same union labor ticket, who put him there, an honest district attorney, who is doing his best to put beside the mayor the men really responsible for all this debauchery and dishonor. while it is the fashion to criticise san francisco just now, i venture to assert that the only difference between san francisco and some other cities is that san francisco is punishing her corruptionists. there is many an official elsewhere who has stolen office or dealt in public properties who would fare like schmitz if there were more honest and fearless district attorneys like union labor langdon." later on, after ruef had been sent to the penitentiary, an article on the san francisco graft prosecution appeared in one of mr. hearst's magazines.[ ] the article was printed under the signature of mr. edward h. hamilton, one of the ablest of mr. hearst's employees. mr. hamilton gave the credit for the work of the graft prosecution to mr. hearst and the examiner. the men whose steadfastness of purposes and high integrity had made even approach to the prosecution of influential offenders possible, upon whom mr. hearst's examiner had poured ridicule and abuse, were more or less favorably mentioned in the article, but mr. hearst was given the bulk of the credit for what the prosecution had accomplished. in california, where the examiner's treatment of the prosecution was well known, mr. hamilton's article was received with some amusement and not a little resentment.[ ] although, with few exceptions, the policy of the san francisco press was adverse to the prosecution, the principal interior papers gave langdon and his associates loyal support. but eventually a chain of papers covering the greater part of the interior of northern and central california was enlisted on the side of the defense. the papers were started or purchased by a newspaper publishing company known as the calkins syndicate. the calkins people had for several years been identified with a number of unimportant papers, printed in the interior. suddenly, from publishing obscure weeklies and dailies, the calkins syndicate became one of the most important, if not the most important, publishing concern in california. a modern printing plant, one of the finest on the pacific coast, was installed at san francisco. the establishment took over much of the printing of the southern pacific railroad company, including the printing of the railroad corporation's monthly, the sunset magazine. the sacramento union, the most important california morning newspaper printed north of san francisco, and the fresno herald, an afternoon daily, were purchased outright. a bid was made for the san francisco post,[ ] but terms could not be made. the calkins people accordingly started the san francisco globe, an afternoon daily newspaper. less important papers were established at various points. in an incredibly short period, the calkins syndicate had a chain of newspapers covering the greater part of northern and central california. the distinctive feature of these publications was their opposition to the san francisco graft prosecution. but the abuse of the calkins newspapers was not so cleverly presented as in the examiner, nor so adroitly handled as in the chronicle. so violent were the calkins papers' attacks, in fact, that they injured rather than assisted the defendants' cause. this was generally recognized. the calkins syndicate, after losing whatever effectiveness it may have had, eventually went into bankruptcy.[ ] almost as effective as the newspaper publicity against the prosecution, was the opposition of fashionable social circles and of the clubs. the graft defendants became much in evidence at the best clubs in the city. to be sure, their persistent appearance all but disrupted some of the clubs, members in sympathy with the enforcement of the law openly objecting to their presence.[ ] but in the end, the defendants prevailed and were loudly apparent at the principal clubs of the city even while under the inconvenience of indictment. san francisco's so-called fashionable society was, during the graft trials, practically organized as an adjunct of the defense. those in accord with the prosecution were cut off visiting lists. some of the non-resident indicted ones brought their families to san francisco. their wives and daughters at once became prominent in social matters. it was the refinement of the custom of bringing in "the wife and innocent children" of the defendant at a criminal trial. this character of defense was most effective. the charming entertainment of those wives and daughters of indicted magnates who engaged in the social publicity campaign in the interests of their troubled male relations, went far toward building up public opinion against their prosecutors. the supporters of the prosecutors were treated with scant ceremony. to be a supporter of the prosecution was not regarded as "good form." all in all, the social side was one of the cleverest and most effective features of the publicity campaign carried on by the graft defense.[ ] the boycott of those in sympathy with the prosecution extended to the larger business world as well as to exclusive social circles. when, for example, the american battleship fleet visited san francisco on its tour around the world in , the committee appointed by the mayor to arrange fitting reception and entertainment of its visitors, organized by making james d. phelan, prominently associated with mr. spreckels in the graft prosecution, chairman. that mr. phelan should be made head of the committee, or even identified with it, gave serious offense to the large business and financial interests that did not approve the prosecution.[ ] the large interests thus offended refused to contribute to the reception fund. william c. ralston, united states sub-treasurer at san francisco, and treasurer of the fleet reception committee, reported to the committee that several large banks and public service corporations would not contribute to the reception of the fleet unless mr. phelan left the reception committee.[ ] the committee, refusing to submit to this arrogant dictation, accordingly proceeded to the entertainment of the fleet without assistance from the anti-prosecution financiers and institutions. the smaller merchants, assisted by those banks and enterprises which had not been offended by the proceedings against the corrupters of the municipal government, contributed upwards of $ , . the reception to the fleet was thus carried to successful conclusion without the assistance of the graft defense element. in the work of undermining the prosecution, the humbler circles of municipal life were not neglected. the claquer in labor union, and wherever groups of laboring men and women met, was quite as active as his prototype at club and exclusive function. in labor circles the prosecution was described as a movement to discredit labor and to disrupt the unions. here, rudolph spreckels was described as the unrelenting foe of labor organizations. at club and function, on the other hand, the prosecution was condemned as agent of "labor organization and anarchy," and mr. spreckels denounced as a man who had "gone back on his class." in all quarters stories were circulated, questioning spreckels' motives. the most persistent charge against him was that he had started a street-car system of his own, and had instituted the graft prosecution to drive the united railroads out of business. this story was told and retold, although the purposes for which mr. spreckels had contemplated engaging in the street-car business were well known.[ ] it was quite as well known, too, that the briberies alleged against officials of the united railroads were committed long after the graft prosecution had been inaugurated. heney[ ] was also made target for criticisms. his whole life was gone over in the search for flaws. it was discovered that in self-defense he had, years before, shot a man in arizona.[ ] this was made basis of a charge that heney had committed murder. the new version of the arizona incident was fairly shouted from san francisco housetops. heney was denounced as a "special prosecutor, a human bloodhound, engaged in hounding of men to the penitentiary." it was charged against him that he had received excessive fees from corporations; that he had accepted fees from the federal government while acting as deputy to the san francisco district attorney, and that therefore his san francisco employment was illegal;[ ] that he had been a drunkard. a most effective attack consisted in charging connection of the graft prosecution with the california safe deposit and trust company. this institution closed its doors during the panic. it had carried an enormous volume of deposits. thousands of homes were affected. the california safe deposit and trust company was, as a result, very unpopular. stories were circulated that the company had backed the prosecution, and had contributed funds for its work. j. dalzell brown, one of the leading spirits of the company, was also described as one of the prosecution's backers. it was shown at the calhoun[ ] trial that neither brown nor his company had contributed a dollar toward the prosecution fund. nevertheless, persistent reports that the prosecution had had this support, unquestionably had its effect upon the losing depositors. hiram w. johnson had acted as brown's attorney. johnson had appeared as assistant to the district attorney at a number of the graft trials. johnson was condemned for taking the case of a criminal guilty of the offenses charged against brown. mr. johnson's critics did not, however, condemn the attorneys who had taken the cases of the alleged bribe-givers. another charge was that the prosecution was hurting business; that the material prosperity of california demanded that the proceedings be stopped; that capital would not seek investment in california until the disturbance caused by the prosecution had subsided. every move of the prosecution was made subject of criticism. announcement, for example, that immunity had been given the supervisors was received by the anti-prosecution press with a storm of protest, and used by the pro-defense claque most effectively. the treatment accorded ruef was subject of constant objection and criticism. during the period of ruef's apparent co-operation with the prosecution, when he was in custody of the elisor, the pro-defense press harped on the uselessness of the expense of keeping ruef in the luxury of a private jail.[ ] the chronicle even went so far as to say it would be well if ruef forfeited his bail, provided the bail were set high enough. ruef was, at the time, thought to be a willing witness for the prosecution. that the case of the people would be weakened were he to leave the state did not seem to appeal to the chronicle. later on, when it became evident that ruef was not assisting the prosecution, there were outcries against the alleged cruel treatment that had been imposed upon him during his confinement in the custody of the elisor. but this potent and far-reaching opposition did not cause a moment's hesitation on the part of the prosecution. the work of bringing influential offenders before trial juries went steadily on. as soon as the schmitz extortion case had been disposed of, louis glass of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company, the first of the indicted capitalists to face a jury, was brought to trial. footnotes: [ ] heney's attitude toward the bribe-givers is expressed in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. calhoun et als., no. . heney in setting forth a statement made to rabbi nieto says: "i consider that the greatest benefit which we will have done this city and this country by these prosecutions will be the insight which we will have given them into the causes of corruption in all large cities, and into the methods by which this corruption is maintained. the testimony of the members of the board of supervisors throws great light on this question, and ruef could aid considerably in making it an object lesson to the world, if he would do so. the only way we can stop this kind of corruption is by enlightening the people as to its causes and by thereafter endeavoring to remove the temptation which causes evil by proper remedial legislation, and in order to impress this object lesson on the people strongly enough to accomplish much good we must punish the principal men who have been involved in it. do not imagine this is a pleasant task to me. it is far from being so. it involves men like frank drum, whom i liked and respected as a friend for years, and who has quite recently paid me a good attorney's fee for services performed for a company represented by him. i have met patrick calhoun socially, and greatly admire his ability and found him to be a man of very agreeable, attractive manners. i wish there was some other way to secure a proper deterrent effect without causing these men and their innocent families to suffer, but unless the laws are enforced, doctor, our republican form of government cannot continue very long. it is not sufficient to punish the poor man who has no friends or influence. the people will lose respect for the courts and for the law unless the rich and powerful can be made to obey the laws. it has a greater deterrent effect, in my opinion, to put one rich and influential man in prison than to put a thousand poor ones there. it would do no good to send a few miserable, ignorant supervisors to the penitentiary. others of the same kind would soon take their places, and the carnival of crime would continue as before. if we can put ruef in the penitentiary it will have a wholesome effect upon other political bosses for the next decade at least. and if we can put a few captains of industry there with him, and particularly a few of the head officials of public service corporations, it will have a greater deterrent effect against bribery of public officials than putting five hundred of such officials in the penitentiary." [ ] "i subscribed to the graft prosecution fund," said one capitalist whose own skirts were clean of the graft scandal, "but before the investigation was over i had to exert myself to prevent my own attorney going to jail." the manner in which every indictment increased the circle of opposition to the prosecution is well illustrated by the following selection from the san francisco chronicle of march , : "the indictment of louis glass, former vice-president of the pacific states telephone company, for bribery, on testimony given to the grand jury by e. j. zimmer, who was the auditor of the company under glass, and is now vice-president of the reorganized corporation, has caused consternation in certain fashionable circles, in which glass was one of the most popular men. "at the clubs of which the indicted telephone magnate was a member, much sympathy is expressed for him. he was extremely popular because of his affability and good-fellowship, and he has a host of friends, who are loth to believe that he has committed a crime which may put him behind the bars of san quentin for fourteen years. "attorney george knight, who, it is expected, will be retained as counsel for glass, voiced the sentiment of many of his friends, yesterday, when he said: "'louis glass is one of the best fellows in a social way that ever lived. he is proud, high-spirited and in all his personal relations with others he has always been most particular. i cannot imagine what has led him into doing what he is said to have done in the telephone bribery, and i am sure that in spite of the indictment, when the truth is known, he will not appear in such a discreditable light.'" [ ] among those who challenged the validity of the grand jury were: patrick calhoun, thornwell mullally, tirey l. ford and william abbott of the united railroads, represented by a. a. moore and stanley moore; louis glass of the pacific states telephone company, represented by delmas and coogan; john martin, eugene de sabla and frank drum of the san francisco gas and electric company, represented by garret mcenerney; t. v. halsey, represented by bert schlesinger, william p. humphries and d. m. delmas. the several attorneys represented the best legal ability obtainable in san francisco. no less than fifty-two attorneys, all working to the same end, were employed by the several graft defendants. [ ] the merchants' association banquet, april , , the first anniversary of the great earthquake and fire. [ ] at one of the examinations of spreckels, attorney a. a. moore, representing the united railroads, is reported as demanding: "can it be that we have got to a point where a private prosecution, hiring a lawyer, hiring an attorney, hiring a detective--and then when indictments are found that you cannot set them aside? that is the line of testimony i intend to pursue." "in addition," said attorney stanley moore, a. a. moore's associate in the defense, "we expect to show that mr. spreckels is the head and shoulders of a large street railroad company, organized by himself for the purpose of putting the united railroads out of business.' "i will say this again," went on moore, "we will prove the statement that we have made, to wit: that mr. heney was an unauthorized person before the grand jury by reason of the fact that he was during all that time privately employed by rudolph spreckels, who was entertaining a plan to destroy the property of the united railroads, and to carry out that plan they gave immunity to the board of supervisors to carry out their bidding." [ ] the chronicle, in its issue of june , , in discussing the delaying tactics of the defendants, said: "it cannot be too often repeated that in connection with the boodle cases there are but two questions which are of importance, and those are, first: did the accused commit bribery within the meaning of the statute? and secondly, if not, did they commit bribery in such a way that the law cannot reach them? both these questions will be settled by the evidence in the trials. if the verdict is that the accused committed bribery within the meaning of the statute, they will go to state's prison. if the evidence shows that they committed bribery so skilfully that it cannot be legally proved, they will not go to the penitentiary, but they will stand disgraced men and unconvicted felons. in either case all that an honest man prizes most highly is at stake, and as all claim to be as innocent as unborn babes, one would expect the band to be tumbling over each other in their eagerness to be first to face a jury and rehabilitate their damaged reputations by a public demonstration of their untarnished character. "quite the contrary. so far from their taking this obvious course to secure justification the aid of a shining and costly array of legal talent is invoked to prevent, if it may be possible, any show-down whatever of the evidence in any court. they object to even coming into court and pleading whether they are guilty or not. it is declared that it will be alleged that the purported grand jury, which went through the form of indicting them, is an illegal body, with no standing whatever in court, and that, therefore, there is no indictment at all. it will not, apparently, be claimed that the members of the alleged grand jury were not discreet citizens, legally competent to serve as grand jurors; that they were not regularly appointed as such according to law; that they were not duly sworn into office, or that, having listened to sworn evidence delivered under the forms of law, these reputable citizens, upon that evidence, accuse them of felony. none of these things, it is supposed, will be alleged. what is to be alleged, it is said, is that the number of names from which the grand jury was drawn was , instead of , which, by the way, is promptly denied. what earthly bearing could that have, if it were true, on the guilt or innocence of the men accused of felony? can it be conceived as possible, even if that were proved, that our laws are drawn so completely in the interest of criminals as to enable men accused of felony to escape trial? "the personal character and qualifications of the grand jurors were fully brought out in the ruef case. for weeks they were subjected to a grilling which it was a disgrace to our laws to permit. that was not repeated in the schmitz case. in that the counsel of the accused have seemed to be relying for overturning a conviction on the alleged over-zealousness of the prosecuting officer. again, what has that to do with the guilt or innocence of the accused, even if it has occurred? a district attorney is in possession of all the evidence, and if that is such as to arouse his indignation, shall the people thereby be deprived of all remedy? obvious misconduct of an attorney is more likely to injure the people than the accused. it could hardly have any other influence on the verdict of a jury. if no crimes are to be punished in which there is energetic prosecution, which may occasionally involve expressions which the law discountenances, we may about as well shut up our criminal courts. almost any attorney may be baited into making uncourteous remarks. happily the supreme court has recently decided that no matter what the district attorney does, a felon duly convicted upon sufficient evidence shall not thereby be turned loose. and that is as it should be." [ ] heney in court made caustic answer to this argument: "after the supervisors had confessed," he began, "and sixteen of them had testified that they had been paid $ , apiece to vote for the trolley franchise, these defendants thought in their own minds that they were so connected with the crime that patrick calhoun, thornwell mullally and tirey l. ford each made a public explanation in the press, denying that they had bribed a city official. a crime had been committed, and the first question to be asked was, who had the motive? the supervisors had testified that they received the money from gallagher, and gallagher had testified that he received it from ruef. did abraham ruef own the trolley lines? the question arose as to who had the motive. ford and mullally came to me personally and told me they had not bribed a city official. wasn't that an explanation? will it not be an explanation when these defendants are put on trial that they will say it was an attorney's fee? if, under these circumstances, the grand jury cannot call the officers of the company to learn who authorized the giving of the bribe money, what would an investigation be worth? if we had not called them, then you would have heard the other cry, that this was a conspiracy to destroy the good name of patrick calhoun. "if it had been a poor, ignorant man, or a helpless woman--if the grand jury had dragged her from the jail and compelled her to testify against herself, and she had not known what her constitutional right was, it would have been a different picture. but these four gentlemen are learned in the law. one of them had been attorney-general of this state, another had been his assistant in that office for four years. mullally is an attorney and patrick calhoun is an attorney whose mind is equal to that of any man's in california. "advised of their rights! why, they came in there on a subpoena which general ford has declared in his own affidavit was faulty and ineffective. they came on a defective process, which they knew to be defective. they refused to be sworn, and they were not sworn, and they left the grand jury room without having answered a question, for the purpose of coming solemnly here to get these indictments set aside on the grounds that their constitutional rights have been invaded. that's trifling with the law. laws weren't made to juggle with. laws were made for the protection of the innocent. "they knew they didn't have to go, but they went, and they refused to testify; and now they want the indictments set aside because their great constitutional rights have been tampered with. "they say he could have waived the point and testified, but because he refused and walked out he has been deprived of his constitutional right." [ ] in commenting upon the point raised by the indicted carmen, the chronicle, in its issue of july , , said: "in attacking the legality of the grand jury the attorneys of the carmen indicted for making assaults with deadly weapons and throwing bricks at street cars may have played into the hands of their arch enemy, the president of the united railroads. if the supreme court should hold that the oliver grand jury passed out of legal existence when the new names were selected by the twelve superior judges, the indictments against those connected with the telephone, gas, trolley and parkside briberies would be set aside and all the work of the prosecution would have to be done over. it would be a curious outcome to the efforts of an attorney to free men charged with crimes which the unions condemn, but it would not be the first instance of a miscarriage of the purposes of organized labor." [ ] some went so far when examined for jury service at the later graft trials as to say they would not vote to convict. [ ] the graft investigation uncovered something of the curious ethics governing this sort of publicity. for example, mark l. gerstle of the law firm of thomas, gerstle and frick, who acted as attorneys for the home telephone company, testified before the grand jury that the company paid the san francisco chronicle $ , to educate the people to the idea of a competing telephone system. the testimony was as follows: "q. during that time in , were any newspapers paid to help the good cause? a. yes. "q. what papers? a. only one. "q. what paper was that? a. chronicle. "q. how much was paid to it? a. $ , . "q. what were the terms of that employment? a. the object of paying that money was to educate the people to the idea of a competitive telephone system. there seemed to be a prejudice among everybody, or a great many people, as to the value or necessity of another telephone system, and we could not obtain the assistance of any newspaper in that work without paying for it. some required it in the shape of advertising which we did not need--don't do any good--others wouldn't take it in that way; the chronicle wouldn't take it that way and we were forced in order to have some newspaper assist us in that work, to pay the price which was $ , . "q. did they give editorial work for that? a. no. they were supposed when the matters came up before the board of supervisors to write it up favorably, that is to say, talk about the advantage of a competitive telephone system in the way of keeping out a monopoly, and doing away with the poor system of the pacific states." [ ] the chronicle's reports of the work of the graft prosecution are models of the journalism which strikes in the dark. when, for example, the defense called rudolph spreckels to the stand in its efforts to disqualify the grand jury, the chronicle, while in its editorial columns condemning such proceedings, reported the incident in its news columns as follows: "spreckels, who had been keeping in the background, came forward, glancing furtively at heney, whose lips were moving nervously." in the column from which this quotation is taken, heney is represented as replying "nervously" to charges made by attorneys for the defense, and spreckels, when a question was put to him as looking "appealingly" to the attorney representing the prosecution. but observers of the proceedings recall no perceptible nervousness on heney's part, nor "furtive" nor "appealing" glances from spreckels. [ ] the cosmopolitan, issue of july, . [ ] the sacramento bee, in an editorial article, "laureling the brow of a harlequin 'reformer'," said of mr. hamilton's claims for hearst: "the san francisco examiner is advertising an article by edward h. hamilton in the july cosmopolitan--an article which is a tissue of the most shameless misrepresentations from beginning to end--an article which falsely and most mendaciously credits the conviction and imprisonment of abraham ruef to william randolph hearst. "the cosmopolitan is a hearst magazine; hamilton, a hearst writer. undoubtedly in new york many will believe hamilton has written the truth. every man in california knows otherwise. "it is strange that a writer with the ability and the reputation of edward h. hamilton would for any consideration write an article so brazenly false that one marvels at the audacity alike of the eulogist and the laureled. "for hearst had no more to do with the fate of ruef than ruef's own lawyers. he labored on the same side--to make the graft prosecution so unpopular that no conviction of the guilty could result. day in and day out the examiner reeked with slanders aimed at the men who were endeavoring to place ruef behind the bars. "day in and day out, the most malicious cartoons were published against spreckels, heney, phelan, burns and all who were battling for the punishment of public and semi-public scoundrels. day in and day out in the examiner judge wm. p. lawlor was referred to as 'crawler.' "day in and day out the reports of the trials were so colored, so exaggerated in favor of the defense and so emasculated when the prosecution scored a point, that the examiner was ranked with the gutter weeklies as a friend, champion and defender of the indicted, and a most venomous traitor to good government and to public honor. "the examiner knew the feeling against it in san francisco. for, when heney was shot and there was danger of mob violence, the editorial rooms of the examiner were barricaded and the examiner men were supplied with rifles. "and their fears were to a certain extent justified. one of the vilest cartoons against heney pictured 'beany' in danger of his life from imaginary assassins. on 'beany's' neck was a mark to show where the bullet was to strike. by an extraordinary coincidence, the bullet that struck heney down at the ruef trial found almost the identical spot that a few days before had been marked on 'beany's' neck in hearst's humorous cartoon. "on the night of the day that heney was shot, indignant san francisco in an immense mass meeting thundered its denunciation of hearst and the examiner. and graft-prosecution leaders found it necessary to plead with an inflamed populace to attempt no violence. "no more 'beany' cartoons made their appearance. the examiner wrote of all connected with the graft prosecution in terms of respect. but this repentance born of fear did not prevent californians by the thousands stopping the examiner. "the cosmopolitan eulogy of hearst in the graft-prosecution matter is a long line of known misstatements from beginning to end. "it is humiliating to have to record that a man of ned hamilton's talents could so debase them as to present in the light of a militant paul of the graft prosecution one who was its most contemptible judas iscariot. "regrettable indeed is it that "poor ned 'must torture his invention to flatter rogues or lose his pension.'" [ ] after the failure of the calkins syndicate its successors to the ownership of "the globe," purchased the post and combined the two in one publication under the name of post-globe. the policy of the paper was not changed. [ ] the astonishing business conditions under which the calkins syndicate was conducted were brought out during the proceedings in bankruptcy. for example: the union trust company, closely connected financially with the southern pacific company, and the united railroads, advanced the syndicate $ , . to secure this loan, the syndicate gave the union trust company as collateral shares of the shares of the capital stock of the sacramento publishing company, , shares of the , shares of the capital stock of the calkins publishing house, the majority of the capital stock of the fresno publishing company, which published the fresno "herald" and bonds of the company publishing the san francisco "globe," valued at $ , . this loan remained unpaid at the time of the syndicate's failure. the stock of the fresno publishing company sold under the hammer for $ , . the shares of the sacramento publishing company were estimated to be worth $ , . the stock of the calkins publishing house was of doubtful value. the union trust company, before the failure, released the globe bonds without payment of the note or consideration of other security. this left the stock of the sacramento publishing company, valued at perhaps $ , , as sure security for the $ , loan. but this stock was curiously involved. the entire stock of the company consisted of shares of a par value of $ a share. the corporation's property consisted of the sacramento union newspaper and the real property where the paper was published. soon after purchasing the sacramento stock, the calkins syndicate organized a second sacramento publishing company. the first company--that of the shares--was organized as the sacramento publishing company. the calkins people in organizing the second company dropped the "the," calling it "sacramento publishing company." the second company was organized with a capital stock of , shares,-- , shares common stock and , shares preferred. the syndicate took , shares of this preferred stock to the london, paris and american bank, and used it with certain stock of the nevada county publishing company, another calkins concern, as collateral to secure a loan of $ , . of the , (preferred) shares remaining, the calkins people sold , shares for money. the , shares remaining, mr. willard p. calkins, head of the calkins syndicate, took to compensate him for his peculiar labors in the transaction. this disposed of the , shares of preferred stock in the second company. the , shares of common stock still remained to be disposed of. mr. calkins, as president of the calkins syndicate, wanting more money, took the , shares to the london, paris and american bank, and pledged them as part collateral for a second loan. he did more--he pledged the "union's" associated press franchise as further security for this second loan. eventually, the second loan was paid off, but the london, paris and american bank continued to hold the , shares of common stock and the associated press franchise, under an alleged collateral agreement, as further security for the first loan of $ , . the first loan was eventually reduced to $ , . . when the crash came, two sacramento publishing companies, one with a "the" and one without a "the," claimed ownership of the sacramento "union." a majority of the stock of the first company was pledged to the union trust company as part collateral for a loan of $ , ; , shares of the common stock of the second company and , shares of its preferred stock, together with the paper's associated press franchise, were in the hands of the successor of the london, paris and american bank, the anglo & london, paris national bank, to secure a balance of $ , . due on an original loan of $ , . but there were further complications. the first sacramento publishing company, the directors and officers of which were the directors and officers of the second company, transferred the corporation's office building to the second corporation. the second corporation thereupon mortgaged this real estate to the people's bank of sacramento to secure a second loan of $ , . when mr. i. w. hellman, jr., manager of the union trust company--also one of the prominent managers of the hellman movement in local politics--was on the witness stand, at the time of the calkins investigation, he was asked to whom he looked for the payment of the $ , . "to the calkins syndicate," replied mr. hellman. [ ] the presence of president calhoun at an olympic club dinner in july, , met with strong objection. calhoun was not a member of the club. he had, it was charged, been brought there by one of the employees of the southern pacific company, who was a member. his appearance led to open protest. it was finally arranged that objection should not be made to him, on condition that he would not attempt to make an address. but the defense claque had evidently planned otherwise. a demonstration was started for calhoun. he began a speech which brought members to their feet in protest. "i object," said dr. charles a. clinton, one of the oldest members of the club, "to the presence here of mr. calhoun and i protest against his making a speech on the ground that the gentleman has been indicted by the grand jury for a most heinous offense; that he has been charged with bribing and debauching public officials, and should not be a guest of the club until he can come with clean hands. i do not pass upon this man's innocence or guilt, but feel that until his hands are clean he should not come to the club." the outcome was that, by action of the board of directors, dr. clinton was expelled from the club. the course was generally denounced. "the olympic club of san francisco," said the sacramento bee, "has shamed itself in the eyes of every decent, honest, manly, self-respecting citizen in this state by its recent act, through its board of directors, in expelling dr. charles a. clinton from membership. the offense of dr. clinton was merely that he protested, as every other honorable member of the olympic club should have protested, not so much against the plotted appearance in that club at a banquet, of patrick calhoun, indicted for high crimes, as against the subsequent effort on the part of some members of the olympic club to force calhoun to make a speech and become the hero of the affair." when the american battleship fleet visited san francisco in , much opposition developed over the efforts of upholders of the defense to have calhoun invited to the banquet given in honor of the visitors. calhoun's representatives finally overcame the resistance, and calhoun was invited. calhoun's social and other activities during this period resulted in much newspaper discussion. "the action of patrick calhoun," said the examiner, "in appointing himself, thornwell mullally and william abbott, all under indictment on bribery charges, as delegates to the industrial peace conference caused such indignation and protest on the part of the other delegates that a committee on arrangements last evening demanded that calhoun withdraw the names of himself and his two subordinates and substitute others." mrs. eleanor martin gave a dinner in honor of congressman and mrs. nicholas longworth on the occasion of the visit of president roosevelt's daughter to san francisco. mrs. martin ranked as highest of san francisco's so-called social leaders. the alleged fact that neither calhoun nor mullally was present on that important occasion was made subject of much curious newspaper comment. the "social side" of the graft defense not infrequently furnished saving comedy for an overstrained situation. it was, however, most effective in breaking down the prosecution. "socially" the defense had decidedly the better of the situation. calhoun, for example, became a member of the olympic club. there was a deal of newspaper protest at the club's action in admitting him, and defense of the club and other comedy. but calhoun wore the "winged o" emblem of the olympic club on his automobile, nevertheless. [ ] one of the most amusing experiences which the writer had during this period was in listening to a woman, prominent in episcopalian church affairs, as she voiced her indignation because of a slight put upon her at an important social event of her church, at which daughters of one of the graft defendants had place in the receiving line. [ ] some of the letters of refusal to contribute are of curious interest. for example, timothy hopkins, a capitalist of large affairs, wrote curtly: "yours of the th in reference to contributions for the entertainment of the united states fleet has been received. i am not contributing. yours truly, timothy hopkins." e. e. calvin, for the southern pacific, wrote "that under present conditions we cannot afford to contribute money to any purpose other than charity or a pressing public necessity." a. h. payson, for the santa fe, wrote that under his instructions he "was not able to make a subscription for this purpose in behalf of the atchison company." [ ] mr. ralston, in an interview printed in the san francisco examiner, september , , said of this incident: "the true facts of the case are that when p. n. lilienthal and myself called on many of the banks and all of the public utility corporations they came out boldly and stated that they would not give one dollar while phelan was chairman of the executive committee, or connected with the reception of the fleet. "some of the banks that refused are the crocker national bank and the wells-fargo national. some of the other banks only gave $ when they would have given much larger amounts. they disliked phelan. among the corporations were the telephone company, the spring valley water company, and the gas and electric light company. the southern pacific and santa fe refused to subscribe and it is presumed their reasons were the same as the other corporations. "when i learned the true situation," mr. ralston went on, as he widened the mouth of the bag for the certain escape of the cat, "i went before the executive committee, at a meeting at which mr. phelan was present, and guaranteed the sum of $ , more if mr. phelan resign or step out. i even went further and said that besides guaranteeing $ , , i felt assured that the sum of $ , could be easily collected if mr. phelan would drop out. this mr. phelan refused to do. these matters all came up in executive meetings." in this connection it is interesting to note that at the election in california, mr. phelan was elected to represent the state in the united states senate, while mr. ralston was defeated at the republican primaries for nomination for governor. [ ] see chapter iii. [ ] president calhoun's denunciation of heney was scarcely consistent with the high regard in which heney was at the opening of the prosecution, held by the united railroads' executives. so well did they think of heney that they selected him to sit on the board of arbitration which met late in to adjust differences between the united railroads and its employees. this fact was given by acting mayor gallagher as one of the reasons for removing langdon from office, in october, , when the graft prosecution opened. specification of gallagher's order removing langdon because of the appointment of heney reads: "specification , that said francis j. heney at and prior to the time of his appointment as assistant district attorney was the representative of the corporation controlling the street-car system of said city and county (the united railroads), in a certain dispute between said corporation and its employees. that the appointment of said heney to said office will, in regard to the enforcement of law against said corporation, be prejudicial and detrimental to the interests of said city and county." heney resigned his position as arbitrator in the united railroads controversy soon after the prosecution opened. [ ] the graft defendants sent men to arizona to have heney indicted, charging murder of a dr. handy. years before, heney had taken the case of handy's wife in divorce proceedings, after other attorneys had declined it because of fear of handy. handy had boasted that he would kill the man who took his wife's case. after heney had agreed to represent mrs. handy, handy announced that he would kill heney with heney's own gun. he actually attempted this, and heney, in self-defense, shot him. heney was exonerated at the time. when the graft trials opened, first representatives of ruef, and then representatives of the united railroads went to arizona for the purpose of working up this case against heney, and if possible secure his indictment for murder. ruef's representatives even went so far as to attempt to secure the services of handy's son to get heney indicted. young handy went to heney, told him what was going on, and offered to go to arizona to protect heney. but heney declined to permit this sacrifice. young handy expressed gratitude for what heney had done for his mother. heney's brother, ben heney, with full knowledge of what was going on, watched the efforts of those who were endeavoring to make this case, long since disposed of, a matter of embarrassment to the prosecutor. as the graft defense investigators found nothing upon which to base a charge this move against the graft prosecution failed. [ ] dean john h. wigmore of the northwestern school of law at chicago, author of wigmore on evidence, made sharp reply to this contention. in a letter to president calhoun, dated august , , dean wigmore said: "chicago, lake street, august, . "mr. patrick calhoun, san francisco. "sir:--recently there arrived in my hands by mail, with no sender's address, a pamphlet of ninety pages, entitled 'some facts regarding francis j. heney.' on page your name appears as a printed signature. i am assuming that you caused the contents to be prepared and mailed. "the pamphlet contains assertions reflecting on the conduct of francis j. heney and the federal department of justice, in taking part in the prosecution of a criminal charge of bribery in the state court of california against yourself. the pamphlet contains no defense of yourself; it does not even mention your name, except as its signer and in the title of exhibits; much less does it allege or attempt to show your innocence. it merely asks an answer to 'three important constitutional and moral questions' affecting mr. heney and the department of justice. "before answering those questions, let me say that this does not appear to be the method of an innocent man. the public press has made notorious the charge against you and its prosecution by mr. heney. thoughtful citizens everywhere have discussed it. many (not including myself) had assumed that you were guilty. you now appear to have spent a large sum to print and circulate widely a pamphlet concerning the case. anyone would expect to find the pamphlet devoted to showing your innocence; and thus to removing unfavorable opinions based on casual press dispatches. an honest man, desiring to stand well with honest fellow-citizens, and possessing means to print, would naturally take that course. you do not. your pamphlet merely attacks the technical authority of one of the attorneys for the prosecution, incidentally abusing two judges. this is not the course of an innocent man. it is the course of a guilty man who desires to divert the attention of the tribunal of public opinion. the tradition is here fulfilled of the attorney's instructions to the barrister acting for his guilty client, 'no case; abuse the opposing counsel.' i am compelled now to assume that you have no case, because all that your expensive pamphlet does is to abuse one of the counsel for the prosecution. until now i have supposed it proper to suspend judgment. i do so no longer. "and what are your three 'constitutional and moral' questions,--since you have sent me a pamphlet asking an answer to them? i will answer them frankly. " . was mr. heney's payment by the department of justice covertly for the california prosecution but nominally for other and federal services? "answer: i do not know. but i and other honest citizens will presume in favor of the honesty, in this act, of a president, an attorney-general, and an assistant attorney-general who proved in all other public acts that they were honest and courageous beyond example, especially as against a man like yourself who publishes a pamphlet based throughout on anonymous assertions. " . can a federal assistant attorney-general, under federal salary, lawfully act at the same time as state assistant district attorney? "answer: as to this 'constitutional' question, i leave this to the courts, as you should. as to this 'moral' question, i say that it is moral for any federal officer to help any state officer in the pursuit of crime, and that only guilty lawbreakers could be imagined to desire the contrary. " . can a private citizen contribute money to help the state's prosecuting officers in the investigation and trial of a criminal charge? "answer: he can; and it is stupid even to put the question. under the original english jury-system (of which you received the benefit) and until the last century, the private citizen was usually obliged to pay the prosecuting expenses; for the state did not, and crime went unpunished otherwise. if nowadays, in any community, crime is again likely to go unpunished without the help of private citizens, there is no reason why we should not revert to the old system. as for mr. spreckels (the private citizen here named by you), his name should be held in honor, and will ever be, as against anything your pamphlet can say. as for mr. heney and his receipt of $ , officially and 'large sums of money additionally' from mr. spreckels, it may be presumed that he spent most of it on trial expenses, and did not keep it as a personal reward. but even if he did so keep it, let me register the view that he is welcome to all this--and to more--if anybody will give it; that no money compensation is too high for such rare courage; that the moral courage displayed by him is as much entitled to high money compensation as the unprincipled commercial skill displayed by yourself--and this solely by the economic test of money value,--viz., demand and supply. "apart from this, the high sums said to have been paid by you to abraham ruef solely for his legal skill estop you from questioning the propriety of lesser sums said to have been paid to francis j. heney for his legal skill. "just twenty-five years ago i sat in an upper room on kearny street, with five other young men, and helped to organize a municipal reform league. two or three others, still living, will recall the occasion. abraham ruef was one of them. "fate separated all of us within a short time. ruef went his own way,--the way we all know. it is the memory of those earlier days, in contrast with the recent course of events in my old home, that has interested me to give you these answers to the questions asked in the pamphlet you purport to have sent me. "john h. wigmore." [ ] see rudolph spreckels' testimony in the people, etc., vs. patrick calhoun. [ ] as early as april , , the chronicle began its objection to ruef's confinement. the chronicle on that date said, in an editorial article: "it appears that it is costing the city about $ a day to keep ruef in jail. that expense should be shut off and shut off now. there is no reason why ruef should be treated differently from any other criminal who jumped his bail. incidentally the public is getting impatient to hear that the $ , bail already forfeited has been collected. if that were in the treasury we should be more willing to incur this large expense. the public will very sharply criticise authorities who incur such expense for the care of ruef without promptly collecting the forfeited bail or beginning suit for it. perhaps it has already been collected and the public has not heard of it. "the city has provided a jail and a jailer. let him have ruef. of course, he will 'connubiate' with him, but what of it? the sheriff will be under the direction of the court and if, when otherwise ordered, he grants ruef privileges not proper, he can himself be put in jail, we suppose. we trust the trial judges will not be discouraged in their efforts to enforce respect to their courts. they will find the people behind them who are already sitting in critical judgment on the legal refinements of the higher courts. "we suppose that a criminal who has once jumped his bail may be kept in jail when caught. but we see no use of it. by once running away he has warranted the court in fixing new bail at such a rate that the public would gladly have it forfeited. we could afford to pay something handsome to clear ruef entirely out of the country and into honduras, and if we could extort from him a few hundred thousand dollars for the privilege it would be the best trade we ever made. but we do not believe he would run away if the bail were made right. but if he is not to be bailed, let him go to jail, where the total cost of his keep will not exceed or cents a day or whatever it is. and if the sheriff is not trustworthy--as, of course, he is not--let elisor biggy have a key to a separate lock on his dungeon. but there is no sense in spending $ a day for the keep of only one of our municipal reprobates." chapter xix. the glass trials and conviction. on the day that mayor schmitz was sentenced to serve five years in the penitentiary for extortion, six jurors were secured to try louis glass, for bribery. mr. glass had been indicted with t. v. halsey for alleged bribery transactions growing out of the opposition of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company to competition in the san francisco field. mr. halsey's business was to watch, and, so far as lay in his power, to block, such opposition telephone companies as might seek entrance into san francisco. mr. glass was mr. halsey's superior. to glass, halsey reported, and from glass, halsey took his orders. eleven supervisors had confessed that halsey had paid them large sums to oppose the granting of a franchise to the home telephone company. testimony given before the grand jury had brought the source of the bribe money close to halsey's superior, glass. glass was indicted. the specific charge on which he was brought to trial was that he had given supervisor charles boxton a bribe of $ . as in all the graft cases, there had been in mr. glass's defense technical attack upon the validity of the grand jury, demurrers, and other delaying moves. but point by point the prosecution had beaten down opposition, and by the time the schmitz extortion case had been disposed of, district attorney langdon and his associates were able to proceed with the trial of glass.[ ] the district attorney's office was represented by heney. d. m. delmas and t. c. coogan appeared for mr. glass. there were none of the difficulties in securing the jury, as were experienced in the later graft trials. the glass jury was sworn two days after the trial opened. dr. boxton took the stand and testified, with a minutia of detail, how the bribe had been paid to him. dr. boxton was the first of the supervisors to testify before trial jury and public, of his corruption. during the next year and a half san francisco was to hear the story repeated time after time from the lips of sixteen men who had occupied the supervisorial office. but boxton was the first. the spectacle of a man testifying that he had taken bribes and betrayed the city was new; it was astonishing, thrilling with sensation. boxton's position was emphasized by his elevation, on the day of the beginning of his testimony, to the mayoralty office. he was spared by neither prosecution nor defense. he was kept on the witness stand for hours. the prosecution treated him with coldness, making no attempt to palliate or excuse his conduct. the defense harassed him with subtle ridicule. during the greater part of boxton's examination, the board of supervisors was in session. as mayor of san francisco, boxton was supposed to preside over the board. he was repeatedly dragged from presiding desk to witness stand, and hustled back from witness stand to presiding desk, the whole city watching every move. "you were elected mayor of this city?" inquired delmas after one of the witness' shameful admissions. "through no fault of mine," replied boxton wearily. but in spite of the ridicule and the hammering, boxton testified positively to receiving money from halsey to influence him against casting his supervisorial vote to give the home telephone company a franchise. that halsey paid the money was not seriously disputed. the question raised by the defense was, did the bribe money necessarily come through halsey's superior, glass? this question the prosecution attempted to meet. halsey, it was shown, was employed under glass in an inferior position and had neither authority nor power to use the corporation's funds without authorization. mr. glass's position in the company was an important one. he had long been vice-president and general manager. after the death of john i. sabin, president of the company, in october, , glass became acting president, a position which he held until henry t. scott assumed the duties of that office late in february, or early in march, . the evidence went to show that at the time of the alleged bribery transactions, glass was serving as general manager and acting president. officials of the company testified that during sabin's administration checks had been signed by "john i. sabin by zimmer," or "e. j. zimmer for the president," and countersigned by the treasurer. zimmer was sabin's confidential clerk. during mr. glass's administration, after mr. sabin's death, up to the time that mr. scott took hold, the checks were signed by mr. glass, or mr. zimmer for mr. glass, bearing as well the treasurer's signature. zimmer had testified before the grand jury that at the direction of mr. glass, he had drawn large sums in currency from the banks, and given the money to halsey. halsey[ ] gave no vouchers for this money which he received from zimmer. the amounts were accounted for at the company's office by tags in the cash drawer. the testimony which zimmer had given before the grand jury connected glass directly with the large amounts which halsey, without giving vouchers, had received from the telephone company's treasury at the time of the bribery transactions. the prosecution depended upon zimmer's testimony to solidify their case. but when zimmer was called to the stand, he refused to testify. zimmer based his refusal upon the ground that in his opinion the grand jury had indicted a number of gentlemen upon evidence which mr. zimmer regarded as insufficient, and that he would not, to protect his own interests, testify.[ ] the court instructed mr. zimmer that his position was untenable. the witness continued obdurate. the court sentenced him to serve five days in the county jail for contempt. after his five-days' term had expired, zimmer was again called to the stand, and again did he refuse to testify; again was he sentenced to serve in the county jail, this time for one day. upon the expiration of this second sentence, zimmer was for the third time called to the stand, for the third time refused to testify. for the third time was he adjudged guilty of contempt. his third sentence was to serve five days in the county jail and pay a fine of $ . before he had served his time, the glass trial had been concluded. zimmer, therefore, escaped testifying against his associate, glass. but for his refusal, he served eleven days in the county jail and paid a fine of $ . the maximum penalty for the crime of bribery alleged against glass was fourteen years penal servitude. mr. zimmer thus served fewer days than mr. glass might have been sentenced to serve years had he been convicted. the testimony which zimmer[ ] gave before the grand jury, was not presented to the trial jury. nevertheless, the prosecution considered that it had made out a strong case, but mr. heney and his associates had reckoned without d. m. delmas, glass's chief counsel. the defense introduced no evidence, but delmas, in a masterful argument, raised the question of reasonable doubt. he insisted that glass had not necessarily given the money to halsey. he argued that several others of the officials of the company could have authorized the transaction. by an elaborate chain of reasoning, for example, delmas insisted that if the money had been given halsey at all, president henry t. scott[ ] could have provided for it. the jury, after being out forty-seven hours, failed to agree. at the final ballot it stood seven for conviction and five for acquittal. that delmas's argument had strong influence upon those who voted for acquittal was indicated by their published interviews. if these statements are to be credited, glass escaped conviction because a number of the jurors held to the opinion that some telephone company official other than glass could have authorized the passing of the bribe money.[ ] as soon as the prosecution could bring glass to second trial, impaneling of the jury began.[ ] glass, at this second trial, was tried for the alleged bribery of supervisor lonergan. the trial was in many particulars a repetition of the first. again, there was no serious attempt to dispute that halsey had paid lonergan the bribe money. zimmer again refused to testify against his superior, and was again committed for contempt. but the prosecution was careful at the second trial to show beyond the possibility of the question of a doubt that neither president henry t. scott, nor any other official of the pacific states telephone company, other than glass, could have authorized the payment of the bribe money. by the minute books of the corporation, the prosecution showed that checks drawn by the corporation on san francisco banks were to be signed "by the assistant treasurer or his deputy, and by the president, or his private secretary, e. j. zimmer, for him, or by the general manager." as for mr. scott, the prosecution showed by the testimony of assistant treasurer eaton[ ] of the telephone company that the corporation did not notify the banks to honor president scott's signature until february , which was after the alleged bribery of supervisor lonergan had been consummated. the jury, after being out less than a half hour, brought in a verdict of guilty. pending his appeal to the appellate court, glass was confined in the county jail. of the pacific states telephone bribing charges, those against t. v. halsey remained to be disposed of. even while the second glass trial was under way, halsey's trial for the bribery of supervisor lonergan was begun. there had been the same delaying tactics to ward off appearance before a jury which had characterized the other graft cases. the impaneling of the trial jury was, however, finally undertaken. but the proceedings were suddenly brought to a close. halsey, after eight jurors had been secured to try him, was stricken with appendicitis. on this showing, his trial was postponed. later on, mr. halsey was threatened with tuberculosis, which further delayed proceedings against him. until after the defeat of the graft prosecution in , mr. halsey's health did not permit of his being tried. his trials under the new administration of the district attorney's office, resulted in acquittals. mr. halsey, in august, , still survives both the appendicitis attack and the threatened tuberculosis. footnotes: [ ] glass's attorneys contended to the last moment that the trial judge had no jurisdiction to hear the case. after the district attorney's opening statement had been made, but before the taking of testimony had begun, mr. delmas for the defense, stated that in the opinion of the counsel for the defendant the court had no jurisdiction to try the case on the ground that the grand jury which returned the purported indictment was an illegal body, having no power to sit as a grand jury at the time it returned the indictment. [ ] see chapter xiv and footnotes and , page . [ ] mr. zimmer's statement to the court was as follows: "as previously stated, the grand jury has heretofore charged and indicted a number of gentlemen on evidence which i have read, and which seems to be insufficient, for which reason i have taken this stand to protect my own interests; the stand i refer to is not to testify in the case which i had intended and not knowing my rights in the matter. i was sworn, though my intention was not to be sworn." zimmer positively refused to place his declination on the ground that his testimony might tend to subject him to prosecution. [ ] zimmer was later tried before a justice of peace for contempt, found guilty and sentenced to three months in the county jail. he appealed to the higher courts. [ ] scott had been elected president before the alleged bribery transactions, but had left soon after for the east. the prosecution held that scott did not assume his duties as president until after his return from the east, when the alleged briberies had been completed. delmas concluded his argument on scott's possible responsibility as follows: "and then you are called again further on in this same process of elimination. 'we expect to prove to you that halsey had no power to expend moneys without a voucher, and that no person at that time in the telephone company had any power to expend money without the approval of the executive board of directors, except glass, and scott, who was away.' scott had gone, we were told, on the th or th. these transactions took place on the d, d and th. scott could not have authorized them from the simple fact that scott was then in the east, and he was not here in san francisco to direct or authorize the management of the affairs of this corporation. a true elimination, gentlemen, if the facts were true, but the facts are not true. mr. scott did not leave for the east--bear this in mind--mr. scott did not leave for the east until all these transactions were closed; he did not leave until the th of february when the last of these checks had been paid. who drew it? scott himself. i challenge contradiction. the assistant district attorney told you on the first day that he addressed you that scott left on the th or th. did he know that scott did not leave until the th? did he? if he did, then there are no words that would apply to the deception that was sought to be practiced upon you, and i do not charge any such deception. had mr. scott informed the district attorney that he left on the th or th? i do not know. there is no evidence before you that he had. how, then, did he get the idea which he made to you under the oath of his office as district attorney that scott left on the th or th, when in point of fact scott did not leave until the th? he came back from portland on monday or tuesday of the preceding week. he was here during the whole of these transactions; he remained until the last check had been paid. he remained until the ordinance had been passed on the th of february, and left the defeated camp on the next day. how, then, upon that evidence, is scott eliminated from this transaction? and i do not want you to understand that i am charging mr. scott with crime. that is no part of my business. it is no part of my office. i am assuming, upon the theory of this prosecution, that a crime was committed, and i say you, yourselves, mr. district attorney and your attendants, have undertaken by the process of elimination which you have selected, to show us that mr. scott could not have committed this crime. it is sufficient for us to show you that he could without charging that he did." [ ] the following are taken from interviews with the several jurors which appeared in the examiner of july , : juror jacob wertheimer--"i voted as i did (for acquittal) because there was a reasonable doubt in my mind as to whether or not glass had authorized the giving of the money. there were too many others that might have been the ones." juror charles p. fonda--"i voted not guilty. it was simply a question of whether glass paid over this money as charged. five of us did not believe that the prosecution produced sufficiently convincing evidence to find the defendant guilty." juror michael c. samuels--"the evidence did not link glass up. so far as the bribery went, it might have been done by another official of the company than glass." juror hugo schnessel--"there was always something lacking in the evidence to convince me beyond a reasonable doubt of the defendant's guilt. it seemed to me that possibly some one else other than glass might have paid over the money." [ ] of the delaying tactics in the glass case, the san francisco call in its issue of august , , said: "anything to delay trial and judgment is the policy of the accused bribe givers. every day's proceedings in the retrial of glass provides ample proof to convince the most skeptical citizen that the last thing desired by the men charged with debauching the boodle board of supervisors is prompt determination of the issues on their merits, and every pettifogging move for delay, every cunning attempt to betray the court into technical error is confession of a case too weak to be given to a fair jury on a plain showing of the facts. the attitude of the lawyers for glass is sufficient to indicate that he needs lawyers of their peculiar expertness--'distinguished attorneys,' heney calls them--'distinguished for their ability to defeat justice.' "judge lawlor's unhesitating denial of a motion to permit the lawyers for glass to shift their ground in the midst of the impaneling of the jury and hark back to an attack on the validity of the indictments, and his sharp reprimand to attorney coogan for his method of misleading talesmen by adroitly framed questions, ought to expedite this trial. lawlor has a reputation for dealing sternly with legal tricksters and for compelling counsel in the cases that he hears to get down to business and keep at it. at the same time his record on the bench is that of a just judge and always impartial. it is because he is impartial and stern that crooked lawyers, with crooked clients, deem it 'hard luck' when their cases are assigned to lawlor. "now judge lawlor has a rare opportunity to prove anew his worth as a jurist. he will please a patient and long suffering public and will satisfy the ends of the justice which he administers when he makes the lawyers quit trifling and forces them to let the trial go on. we may expect to see the trial made as tedious and as costly in time and money as high priced counselors can arrange. it is all part of the game--tire out the public, the jury and the prosecution; delay is the safest course for the man accused against whom the people's case is strong. but we may also expect to see judge lawlor trimming the matter of technicalities and pressing it to a conclusion. it was because the people had come to expect such things from judge lawlor that they re-elected him, when all the machines of municipal corruption were grinding against him." [ ] eaton testified at the second glass trial as follows: "mr. scott did not sign any checks between february , , and the latter part of march, , for the company; not to my knowledge. notices were sent out by me to the different banks in regard to the signatures that could be accepted upon checks after mr. scott was elected president. they were sent on the th of february, , to all the san francisco banks that we had an account with." eaton testified further that the day the banks were notified, mr. scott went east. mr. scott could, eaton said, previous to that date, have signed checks, but up to that time they would not have been honored at the banks. halsey, in the mills building, gave the supervisors, of whom lonergan was one, their bribe money not later than february . supervisor lonergan testified that to the best of his recollection he had been paid by halsey some time between february and february . chapter xx. the ford trials and acquittals. the conviction of glass, following immediately upon the overthrow of the schmitz-ruef municipal administration, and coupled with the pitiful position in which, all recognized, halsey would find himself before a jury, stirred the graft defense to astonishing activity. although it developed later that the defendants had had their agents at work even before the bringing of indictments,[ ] little was suspected of the extent of their labors until after the glass trials. during the trials of general tirey l. ford, who followed glass before trial jurors, however, the work of the defendants' agents and their methods became notorious. from the opening of the ford trials, the representatives of the various graft defendants who congregated in the courtroom ranged in social and professional standing from the highest priced lawyers of the character of alexander king, president calhoun's law partner, down through layers of the typical, criminal lawyer of the earl rogers-porter ashe[ ] grade, to characters of the type of harry lorenstzen,[ ] notoriously known throughout central california as the "banjo-eyed kid," and dave nagle, the gun-fighter, who numbered among his accomplishments the slaying of judge terry. nor were the defending corporations alone represented. the southern pacific, although none of its officials were under indictment, had men at work in the interest of the defense.[ ] with such motley array of attorneys, detectives, gunfighters and agents, district attorney langdon and his associates contended until, what was practically the ending of the graft prosecution, the defeat of heney for district attorney at the municipal election of . ford had been indicted for his alleged part in the bribery of the supervisors by the united railroads to secure its over-head trolley permit. at his first trial, ford answered to the charge of bribing former supervisor lonergan. lonergan had not been long on the stand before the defense demonstrated the astonishing effectiveness of the work of its agents. earl rogers, for the defendant, on cross-examination, presented a paper signed by lonergan within the month, in which lonergan set forth that when he voted for the trolley permit he had not been promised, nor did he understand, there would be any monetary consideration allowed him--nor any other member of the board--for voting in favor of the measure. lonergan had testified on direct examination that some time prior to the granting of the permit, supervisor wilson had brought word to him there would be $ for him in the passing of the trolley ordinance. later wilson had told him that the amount would be $ only. this amount, lonergan testified, gallagher had paid him. lonergan's statement, signed a few days before the opening of the trial, to the effect that when he voted to grant the united railroads its trolley permit no monetary consideration had been promised him, came as a surprise to the prosecution. the story of the manner in which the paper came to be in rogers's possession, however, was quite as sensational as the statement itself. lonergan, the driver of a bakery wagon, confronted by the keenest practitioners at the california bar, harassed and confused, stammered out explanation of the manner in which he had been induced to sign the paper in rogers's hands. long before he had signed it, one dorland had secured introduction to him. dorland had represented himself to be a magazine writer, who held that the ousted supervisors had been misused. dorland stated that his purpose was to set the supervisors right in the east. he represented that he was to prepare an article on the san francisco graft situation from an independent, unbiased standpoint. dorland made himself very agreeable to lonergan. he took the unhappy fellow to lunch. he gave him and members of his family automobile trips and expensive dinners. lonergan finally signed the statement which the agreeable "magazine writer" was to use in his behalf, and with which the graft defense[ ] confronted him on the witness stand. the statement which lonergan had signed was a rambling account of conditions in san francisco, the one pertinent paragraph touching upon the united railroads graft being buried in a multitude of words. "and you intended to say to all the readers of the magazine what you set forth over your signature there?" demanded general ford's attorney. "yes," replied lonergan, weakly, "but when i made that statement i was not under oath." then lonergan was confronted with the affidavit which he had signed at the opening of the graft prosecution when langdon was fighting against ruef, acting mayor gallagher and the schmitz-ruef supervisors to keep himself in the office of district attorney and ruef out. in that affidavit lonergan set forth that he had "never committed a felony of any kind or character," and had "never been a party thereto."[ ] "i didn't read that paper at the time i signed it," faltered the miserable witness. "i did not consider i was committing a crime when i signed that document." "if it be a crime to have me sign that," he continued in answer to general ford's attorney's merciless hammering, "then i must have (committed a felony)." then on re-direct examination lonergan testified as to how he had come to sign the affidavit. george b. keane, clerk of the board of supervisors, ruef's right-hand man, secretary of the sunday-night caucuses, had, lonergan testified, said to him, "tom, there is a document across the street there for you to go over and sign. all the boys are signing it." lonergan testified that he had gone over and signed it. "i am almost sure," lonergan continued, "that some of them said to me that it was a matter of form, merely eulogizing the board." "when proper inducements or circumstances occur," sneered general ford's attorney, "you will testify falsely concerning your offenses." "i will not testify falsely on this stand," replied the unhappy witness, "to whatever has happened during my term as supervisor." but complicated as the position in which the prosecution found its principal witness, it might have been more complicated had all the plans of the agents for the defense been carried out. on the night before lonergan was to take the stand against ford, dorland, the alleged magazine writer, called him up by telephone and invited him "to make a night of it." dorland stated two women would accompany them. before accepting the invitation, lonergan notified detective burns. burns instructed him not to go on the trip, but to meet dorland and to take mrs. lonergan with him. lonergan, with his wife, accordingly met dorland and the two women at the appointed place. dorland expressed his chagrin when he found lonergan not alone. "he said," lonergan testified, "he was sorry i was not alone; two nice young ladies were there." lonergan's testimony of dorland's dismay when the detective found that mrs. lonergan accompanied her husband, was received with amusement. the one-time supervisor went on no automobile ride that evening. thus tamely ended what the prosecution insisted was a plot to kidnap, or at least compromise, lonergan on the eve of his appearance as a witness against general ford.[ ] out of this attempt to involve lonergan, grew the scarcely less astonishing kidnaping of fremont older, managing editor of the san francisco bulletin. among those alleged to have participated in the lonergan affair was an employe of the graft defense by the name of brown. the defense had at the time two employes of that name, "luther" and "j. c.," the latter of whom is alleged to have been the one who co-operated with dorland in his attempt upon lonergan. the bulletin, in its account of the affair, confounded luther with j. c. brown. based on the bulletin's allegations against luther brown, warrants were sworn out at los angeles, charging managing editor older with criminal libel. the manner of serving these los angeles warrants was characteristic of the times. late in the afternoon of september , older, while at heney's office, received a telephone message that he was wanted at a prominent hotel. as he approached the hotel in response to the message, he was stopped by a number of men who claimed to be peace officers from los angeles. these displayed the warrant, and hustled older into an automobile. older demanded that he be taken before a local court. his captors promised him he should be. but instead they headed the machine for redwood city, a town some twenty miles south of san francisco on the line of the southern pacific. when older protested a revolver was pressed against his side, and he was ordered to keep silent. at redwood city, older was put on board a los angeles train. on the train were r. porter ashe and luther brown. older was not permitted to communicate with his friends nor with the passengers, but was confined in a stateroom which his captors had secured.[ ] in the meantime, the entire police force of san francisco was scouring the city for the missing man. there had been rumors that those prominent in the prosecution, older among them, were to be made away with. older's unaccountable disappearance tended to confirm these rumors. his alarmed friends were prepared to act promptly when word finally reached them that older was on the southbound train. the train was due to reach santa barbara early the following morning. arrangements were accordingly made to rescue older at that point. when the train arrived there, deputy sheriffs were awaiting its arrival. older was taken into court under habeas corpus proceedings. his release followed,[ ] another sensation of the graft defense thereby coming to sorry ending.[ ] there were other surprises for the representatives of the prosecution at the ford trials well calculated to confuse them. alex. latham, chauffeur for ruef, whose testimony connected ruef and ford, during the period of the alleged bribery transactions was, when his name was called as a witness, found to be missing. he was alleged to be in colorado. george starr, treasurer of the united railroads, whose testimony was needed in the tracing of the exact amount of the bribe money paid ruef in the overhead trolley deal, $ , , that had been placed in ford's hands under somewhat peculiar circumstances, went east about the date the trial opened. the united railroads' cash book was sent east about the same time, and could not be produced at the trial.[ ] then again, witnesses who had testified freely before the grand jury became forgetful. supervisor wilson, who had conveyed word to lonergan from gallagher that there would be $ in the trolley deal for lonergan, could, when brought to the witness stand, remember nothing of the incident. supervisor coffey also proved equally forgetful.[ ] in the midst of these extraordinary happenings, general ford's trial went on, marked by repeated attacks by attorneys for the defense upon those who had been instrumental in bringing about the graft prosecution. rudolph spreckels in particular, was made object of vicious denunciation. it was recognized from the beginning that the defense was battling not for general ford alone, but for president calhoun, and the other officials of the united railroads under indictment. the state's attorneys, target for constant abuse and ridicule at the hands of the defense, proceeded, however, to present the case of the people. in spite of sensations, the disappearance of witnesses and the forgetfulness of witnesses, the prosecution brought out testimony to show that the supervisors had received $ , for their votes granting the trolley permit. by the testimony of officials of the united states mint it was shown that patrick calhoun had, after the fire, but before the opening of the san francisco banks, created a fund of $ , at the mint. none of the directors of the united railroads who could be dragged to the stand knew anything about this $ , . other amounts, which the united railroads, during the days of stress following the fire, had received at the mint from the east, could be accounted for by the books and vouchers, but not this $ , .[ ] united railroads employes who could be made to testify could throw no light upon its final disposition. but the prosecution did show by the mint officials that president calhoun had ordered the $ , paid to general ford and that it was paid to general ford. the following dates, brought out by the testimony, showed the receipt and suggested the disposition of the money: may --overhead trolley franchise granted by the board of supervisors. may --$ , placed in the mint to the credit of patrick calhoun. may --general ford drew $ , from the mint which he exchanged for currency of small denominations. july --general ford drew $ , from the mint, which he exchanged for currency. august --the supervisors received from gallagher their first payment for voting to grant the overhead trolley permit. gallagher testified that he had received the money from ruef. the payments were in currency, the bills being of small denominations. august --general ford drew $ , from the mint, which he exchanged for currency, receiving bills of large denominations. august - --the supervisors received their final payments from gallagher for their votes on the trolley permit. these last payments were made in bills of large denominations. gallagher testified that he had received the money from ruef. the withdrawals from the mint had been made by general ford, on mr. calhoun's instructions to the mint officials that the payments should be made to the general. the testimony of the mint officials and employes was to the point and at times sensational. nathan selig, a clerk at the mint, for example, assisted eugene d. hawkins as assistant cashier,[ ] in making up a package of $ , in bills which were turned over to ford. selig fixed the time of the occurrence at "shortly after the mayor signed the franchise bill for the overhead wire." "what impressed that upon your mind?" was asked him. "because i made the remark to mr. hawkins, as he was going out," replied selig, "that that was--i thought it was, the supervisors' 'bit'." having traced this $ , from calhoun to the mint and from the mint to ford, the prosecution proved by charles hagerty, ruef's office boy, that during the weeks after the fire general ford and mr. mullally of the united railroads, had had conference with ruef at ruef's office. ruef was traced to ford's office. ford's stenographer testified, reluctantly, to ruef's presence there. ford was shown to have sent warning, through his assistant abbott, to ruef, at the opening of the graft investigation, that the grand jury was taking up the matter of the united railroads trolley privilege, that the prosecution had not made any headway, that it was thought the next step would be to lay some trap for the supervisors.[ ] that ruef and ford had more or less intimate relations during this period was fully established.[ ] the question raised was: did the $ , in currency which ruef gave gallagher to be paid to the supervisors for their votes on the overhead trolley permit pass from ford to ruef? did the money paid the supervisors come out of the unaccounted-for $ , which had disappeared into general ford's possession?[ ] a word from abe ruef would have lifted the case out of the plane of circumstantial to that of positive evidence. a word from general ford would have shown the manner in which the money had been disposed. those who took seriously ruef's protestations at the time of his plea of guilty to extortion, that his life would thereafter be devoted to undoing the wrong he had wrought, looked to see the prosecution put ruef on the stand. the many supporters of general ford--he was one of the most likable and popular men in the state--who still held belief in his innocence, looked to see him take the stand to clear his name by accounting for the disposition of that $ , which he had received, at the order of president calhoun, from the mint officials. but neither ruef nor ford took the stand. later developments in the graft cases showed why the prosecution did not call upon ruef to testify. but no satisfactory showing has been made why general ford did not take the stand to tell, under oath, of the disposition of that $ , last seen in his possession. heney, in an affidavit[ ] acknowledged march , , tells why ruef was not called upon to testify. some ten days before the taking of testimony in the first ford trial began, according to this affidavit, heney had gallagher and ruef at his office. the two men had told stories of the passage of the ordinance granting the trolley permit, which conflicted slightly. heney's purpose in confronting them, he tells us in the affidavit, was that he might determine in his own mind which was right. heney had not seen ruef, except as he had passed him in court or corridor, since he had proved that ruef had made misrepresentations to him in the french restaurant cases.[ ] the conversation between ruef and gallagher did not tend to change heney's opinion of the broken boss. indeed, heney became more firmly convinced than ever that ruef was not acting in good faith, that he was not telling the whole truth. a few days after this meeting, burns brought heney word that ruef would not testify at the ford trial at all, unless the prosecution allowed him to withdraw his plea of guilty in the extortion case, and dismissed all the indictments against him. heney refused to be coerced. he sent word back to ruef that the prosecution had had sufficient evidence to convict ford before ruef had told anything; that if ruef were called to the witness-stand it would be without further talk with him; that none of the cases against him would be dismissed, and that if called to the stand he could testify or not testify, as he saw fit. that night, according to heney, rabbis nieto and kaplan, with ruef's attorney, henry ach,[ ] appeared at heney's office. ach announced in substance, according to heney's affidavit, that inasmuch as heney and langdon had promised to permit ruef to withdraw his plea of guilty to the extortion charge, and then dismiss the case, as a condition upon which ruef signed the immunity contract,[ ] the time had arrived when, in justice to ruef, this ought to be done.[ ] heney let ach finish. "we might as well understand each other," heney then announced. "you know perfectly well that i did not at any time make any such promise to ruef or to you, or to any one present, or to any one else on earth." heney then recited the exact terms of his promise.[ ] both kaplan and nieto agreed with him that his statement was correct, but kaplan insisted that he had understood that ruef was to be allowed to withdraw his plea, arguing that he had told the truth and that his evidence was very important. "ruef lied to us," answered heney emphatically, "in the french restaurant case, and i proved it to him in this very room, and he simply laughed in my face. he also lied to us in all the other cases. he is not entitled to immunity in any case, and i not only will not permit him to withdraw his plea of guilty in case number , but on the contrary it is my present intention to ask the court in that case to give him no leniency whatever, but to sentence him for the maximum term which is prescribed by law." heney suggested that ruef's representatives take this word back to their principal. "ruef," heney concluded, "tried to job the prosecution and he has only succeeded in jobbing himself into the penitentiary." ten days later, when heney made his opening statement before the first ford jury, he carefully refrained from stating that the prosecution expected to prove any fact that necessarily depended in whole or in part upon ruef's testimony. and with all san francisco on tiptoe of expectancy,[ ] heney closed the case of the people without putting ruef on the stand.[ ] the defense offered no evidence. the case went to the jury on the evidence which the prosecution had presented. the jury failed to agree, eight standing for acquittal, and four for conviction. general ford was immediately brought to trial for the second time. the case selected was for the bribery of supervisor jennings phillips. heney, in his opening statement, announced that he did not intend to put ruef on the stand. the second case presented was, if anything, stronger than the first, but the jury brought in a verdict of "not guilty." general ford was tried on a third of the indictments against him, and again was the verdict of the jury "not guilty." long after, the prosecution discovered that agents for the united railroads had systematically corrupted members of its detective force. on the evidence in the hands of the prosecution, a search warrant was secured, and the offices of the united railroads raided in a search for stolen documents. copies of over documents belonging to the prosecution were found. it developed that men in the employ of the prosecution were receiving regular monthly salaries from agents of the united railroads to turn these reports over to agents of the defense for copying. the defense was in this way kept informed of all that had been reported to the prosecution regarding jurors, etc., by burns's own agents.[ ] at the time of the third ford trial, for example, heney was engaged with ruef's trial in the parkside case. the ford trial was conducted for the state by john o'gara. one of burns's men, platt by name, was appointed to assist o'gara by advising him of the character of the men drawn for jury service. o'gara repeatedly discovered platt's advice and suggestions to be unreliable. long after it was discovered that platt was at the time in the employ of agents for the united railroads. the reason for the character of his advice and suggestions was then apparent. at none of the ford trials did the defense attempt to meet the evidence which the prosecution presented. at the third trial, the prosecution called president calhoun and abe ruef[ ] to the stand. but both declined to answer. the disposition of the $ , in currency in small bills, and of the $ , in currency in large bills, which passed into general ford's hands, at the time that currency of this exact amount and description passed into the hands of abe ruef, $ , of which ruef distributed among the supervisors for voting for the united railroads trolley permit, continues as great a mystery as it was on the day that the first ford trial opened. ruef at the time of his plea of guilty to the extortion charge, and five years later in the story of his career published in the san francisco bulletin, admitted that the $ , that on calhoun's order was turned over to ford was soon after paid to him (ruef) because of the granting of the trolley permit. the $ , that gallagher divided among the supervisors on account of their granting this permit, ruef has stated in his several confessions, came out of this calhoun-to-ford, ford-to-ruef $ , . and in california there are many who hold that in this instance, at least, ruef is telling the truth. footnotes: [ ] john helms, a detective, testified at the trial of patrick calhoun that he had been employed by the united railroads as early as may , ; that his duties consisted of "mostly shadow work, watching out for things being done by the prosecution"; that patrick calhoun had himself authorized him (helms) to employ men to follow burns on motorcycles. later on automobiles were substituted for the motorcycles. if helms's employment began on may , as he testified, the united railroads was preparing for its defense at least three weeks before indictments were brought against its officials. the extent of that corporation's defense, or the details of it, are not known to those outside the corporation. at the calhoun trial the prosecution accounted for every dollar spent in the operations against the schmitz-ruef regime. the attorneys representing the united railroads were invited to make as frank statement of the expenditures made by the defense, but they declined. [ ] ashe participated in the first ford trials. at the time of the later trials he was involved in the scandal of the alleged kidnaping of fremont older. [ ] in referring to the men and women employed by the graft defense, the call, in an editorial article, in its issue of september , said: "the retinue of the trolley magnates, as exhibited in the ford case, makes a remarkable picture. behind the expert lawyers of last resort troops a motley train of gun fighters, professional plug-uglies, decoys, disreputable 'detectives,' thugs, women of the half world and the wolfish pack of gutter journalism. it must be, indeed, a hard case that needs such bolstering. "how will mr. calhoun square with his protestations of high-mindedness the presence and the efforts in his behalf of such creatures of the slums and stews as 'bogie' o'donnell and 'the banjo eyed kid'? are these and the others of their kidney laboring in the same behalf as friends and sympathizers of mr. calhoun or merely as his hired men?" [ ] at the ford trial, supervisor lonergan had testified that he had been followed during a recess of the court. the following testimony followed: "q. was that mr. melrose, a detective of the southern pacific, who is sitting there? a. i don't know mr. melrose. "q. is he the gentleman sitting immediately back of mr. ford? a. that is the gentleman; that is him. "q. he was following you around during the noon hour? a. yes, sir. "q. don't you know he is a detective of the southern pacific? a. i don't know anything about the gentleman." [ ] the call, in its issue of september , , stated in explanation of how the graft defense had come by the statement lonergan had made to dorland that: "after court adjourned (september ) attorney rogers offered an explanation for walter dorland, the man who was charged by the prosecution with having attempted to kidnap lonergan. rogers's story differed from that told by dorland. rogers stated that dorland was not a detective, but was in charge of a hospital in chicago. he came to san francisco, where he met luther brown, an associate of rogers. brown and dorland were old friends and the former induced dorland to get statements from the supervisors for him. dorland did this. rogers says he has statements from all the supervisors with the exception of gallagher." [ ] heney states in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et als., no. , that he had been informed that the reason given by ruef for securing the signatures of the supervisors to this affidavit was to find out which, if any of them, had confessed, upon the theory that any one of them who had confessed would refuse to sign an affidavit, and upon the further theory that if such a confessing member did sign the affidavit, he would thus be making a contradictory statement under oath, which could thus be further used against him by ruef or gallagher, upon the trial of either of them. but whatever ruef's far-seeing motive, this affidavit which he, through keane, induced the supervisors to sign, was used by the attorneys for the defense at the graft trials to show contradictory statements of the confessing supervisors. [ ] the san francisco call, in its issue of september , , in commenting on lonergan's testimony, says: "while lonergan's narrative tells a portion of the story, it is not all. in another automobile were detective luther brown and the 'banjo-eyed kid' of the united railroads. they followed close on the heels of the auto occupied by detective dorland. both machines sped to a resort near the park, where a meeting place had been arranged and where lonergan was to be turned over to the custody of the 'banjo-eyed kid.' the rest was to be left to the kid. if the plan had carried there would have been no lonergan at the trial yesterday, the defense would have flashed the statement secured by dorland and set up the cry that the entire prosecution of the united railroads was a plot set on foot by rudolph spreckels." [ ] several who participated in this affair were later indicted for kidnaping. there were no convictions. [ ] burns in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et als., , refers to a plot hatched about the time of the ford trials to kidnap ruef. burns charges that ruef was to have been taken into a mountain county and held there until the united railroads cases had been disposed of. he states his belief that ruef was party to the plot. [ ] the disinclination of the united railroads to produce its books continues to cause that corporation inconvenience and trouble. in , for example, the corporation applied to the california state board of railroad commissioners for permission to issue promissory notes to the amount of $ , , . that the commission might determine the necessity of such an issue, request was made for the corporation's books. this request was denied. the commission withheld authorization of the note issue. in commenting upon its refusal, the commission said: "it should be understood that the conclusions hereinbefore set out have been reached on the partial information which has been submitted to the commission, and that if an examination of the original books which the company has refused to supply should reveal a different condition, the responsibility for these conclusions, which we contend inevitably must be drawn from what evidence is before us, lies with the applicant because of its failure to submit its books for examination by the commission. "it is an axiom that evidence suppressed is deemed to be adverse, and having in mind this axiom certainly the commission is justified in concluding that the books which the applicant refuses to produce at least would not better its showing." following the defeat of the graft prosecution in november, , peculiar transactions are recorded against the united railroads. for example, the railroad commission found, and has so reported, that "in the minutes (of the united railroads) of may , , it appears that four years' 'back salary' was voted to patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads of san francisco, in the sum of $ , a year, or a total of $ , . no explanation is made of this item, but it at once suggests the necessity of a thorough investigation in order to determine the items claimed by applicant as operating expenses of the united railroads over a series of years." see decision no. railroad commission of california, in the matter of the application of the united railroads, etc., february , . [ ] both wilson and coffey were indicted for bribe-taking. wilson later on found his memory. at other graft trials he explained that his testimony at the first ford trial had been given after he had undergone an operation that had involved the use of large quantities of cocaine. he insisted that he did not know to what he was testifying. coffey was tried for bribe-taking and convicted. the supreme court, however, set aside the verdict on technicalities. [ ] it was shown at the ford trial that about $ , in addition to the unaccounted-for $ , was received by the united railroads through the united states mint. every dollar of this $ , except $ , loaned to ruef by mullally, was taken out by the treasurer of the company, and carried to the united railroads' office and there put in its safe and used as needed, that it was taken in gold and was paid out to its employees in gold. it was further shown that not one dollar of currency was ever put in any of the safes at the united railroads' office by any person during that period of time covered by ford's withdrawal of money from the mint, and that no currency was deposited to the credit of the company in any of its bank accounts nor to the credit of ford or mullally or abbott, and that no currency was turned over to the treasurer of the company during that time. thus by a process of exclusion this $ , was left in the hands of ford absolutely unaccounted for upon any theory consistent with an honest use of it. add these facts to the further facts that ruef was traced to ford's office on two of the days on which ford got the money, and that ruef on each occasion, within a day or two, paid the same kind of money to gallagher, that currency was not generally in circulation at all in san francisco. [ ] the two men were at the time detailed to handle the money of the relief fund. the mint officials could not accommodate ford with the currency he wanted. they gave him gold. the gold which ford secured at the mint was trucked across the hall to relief headquarters, where it was exchanged for the currency. selig and hawkins counted out the bills. [ ] see transcript of testimony, trial of the people vs. tirey l. ford, no. , taken september , , page . [ ] mr. mullally, assistant to mr. calhoun, and also mr. calhoun were known to have enjoyed friendly relations with mr. ruef during this period. [ ] the facts brought out at general ford's trial are interesting in connection with general ford's interview in the san francisco examiner of october , , soon after the graft prosecution opened. see footnote . ruef, in "the road i traveled," printed in the san francisco bulletin, states that he gave schmitz $ , and kept $ , for himself out of the $ , which was given to him by tirey l. ford from patrick calhoun to pay for the granting of the trolley permit. [ ] this affidavit deals with the graft prosecution from its beginning down to the spring of . this document was filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et als., no. . [ ] see chapter xvi, page , and footnote , page . [ ] this is the same ach who dramatically left the ruef defense at the time of ruef's plea of guilty to extortion. see chapter xv, page . [ ] for immunity contract see page xix of the appendix. for the negotiations upon which ach's claim was based see chapter xv. [ ] heney sets forth in his affidavit that ach's claim did not surprise him. he says of ach's statement: "i was not very much surprised by its substance as i had long before commenced to suspect that ruef, ach, dr. kaplan and dr. nieto would claim eventually that such agreement existed in regard to case number (the extortion case) if it became necessary to do so in order to keep ruef out of the penitentiary. in fact i would not have been greatly surprised by anything that ach might have claimed, as i have learned to know him pretty well and am sometimes at a loss to decide whether he or ruef is entitled to first place as an artistic and imaginative 'equivocator,' to use ruef's language." [ ] see chapter xv, pages - . heney states in his affidavit that both nieto and kaplan agreed that heney's statement of the arrangement was correct. "yes, you are right, mr. heney," the affidavit sets forth nieto said. "i understand it that way, and consequently i never told ruef anything about that. he never got that from me." the affidavit sets forth that kaplan said in substance: "yes, that is what you said, mr. heney, but i always understood that mr. ruef would be allowed to withdraw his plea of guilty in the french restaurant cases and would not receive any punishment." heney replied in substance: "you may have so understood, doctor, but you had no right so to understand from anything which i said." [ ] heney, in his closing argument, told the jury that ruef had not been put on the stand because the prosecution did not trust him. heney said: "nobody except mr. ford and mr. ruef could tell about it (the passing of the $ , ). they did not complain about my asking why they did not put mr. ruef on the stand. they asked why we didn't put him on the stand and vouch for his veracity and enable them to put words in his mouth, and i will answer now, because we did not trust him." [ ] heney, in his affidavit, describes the disappointment of ruef, ach and nieto when the case was closed without ruef being called. heney says: "i rested the case on behalf of the prosecution in the first ford trial in this department of this court on the nd day of october, , and the attorneys for the defendant asked for time to consider what they would do about putting in evidence, and court adjourned for the purpose of giving them such time. i had noticed henry ach and ruef sitting together next to the aisle, which was directly in front of where i sat, and could see that up to the time i closed the case they were anxiously waiting for me to call ruef as a witness. when court adjourned they remained sitting and as i passed them ach stopped me and said in substance, 'why didn't you put ruef on the stand as a witness? are you not going to dismiss these cases against him?' i replied in substance, 'there are a lot more cases to be tried. there will be plenty of opportunities to dismiss these cases if i want to do it.' ruef said, with one of his most winning smiles, in substance, 'i guess he is going to put me on in rebuttal just as he did in the schmitz case.' i replied in substance, 'oh, i don't know about that, ruef. i don't like to try all my cases the same way.' i started to leave and ach stopped me as i had taken only a couple of steps, and said in substance, 'there isn't any change in the situation, is there in regard to ruef?' i smilingly and meaningly replied, in substance, 'not a particle, henry, since our last talk,' meaning thereby the talk which ach and myself had on or about the th or th day of september, , at night in my office in the presence of dr. nieto, dr. kaplan, william j. burns and charles w. cobb, as hereinbefore set forth. as i made this statement i walked on out of the courtroom and someone stopped me somewhere between there and the entrance door of the building and dr. nieto came up to me, all smiles, and said in substance, 'you didn't put ruef on the stand, did you?' i replied, 'no, i did not, doctor.' dr. nieto then said in substance, 'there isn't any change in the situation, is there?' and i replied with a smile in substance, 'none whatever since our last talk, doctor,' meaning the talk at my office just hereinbefore referred to, at which dr. nieto, dr. kaplan and ach were present. the manner of ach and the manner of dr. nieto when i made this reply to each of them indicated plainly that each understood exactly what i meant." [ ] calhoun protested vigorously against the raiding of his offices. concerning the raid and mr. calhoun's protests, the interior press expressed general approval of the first and condemnation of the latter. "it is not a question," said the oroville register, "alone of graft in san francisco now. it is rather a question as to whether in america, where 'all men are free and equal,' there is a law for the rich and another law for the poor, and whether a little money can put our whole penal system at naught and make monkeys of judicial officers. unluckily in the calhoun case we can not in america resort to the czar-like methods which should be resorted to, but must fight it out by the long and slow process of law. luckily for the honor of america mr. heney and his associates are gifted with the courage, ability and tenacity to fight it out on this line even if it takes this summer and the whole of the next so to do." "the 'private sanctity' of calhoun's offices," said the santa barbara independent, "was violated, his defenders say, when the police entered to search for stolen goods. the fact that the goods were concealed in the offices--that the police unearthed there a 'fence' for the reception of stolen goods--doesn't seem to have destroyed the sanctity of the place. "recently the police in los angeles raided a cigar store, where they found concealed some of the money that three months ago had been stolen from the monrovia bank. the cigar dealer's lawyers should go into court and protest against violation of the 'private sanctity' of the thief's hiding place. "it is beyond understanding how men can view a similar circumstance in different lights. to an unprejudiced mind a thief is a thief, whether he has stolen an old pair of shoes or robbed the public through a municipal or other government. and the honest man rejoices in his capture, the recovery of the stolen goods and apprehension and punishment of persons who receive and conceal the fruits of theft." [ ] calhoun and ruef were placed on the stand april , . their refusal to answer will be found in the transcript of testimony taken that day. complete records of all the graft cases were in , when this review was written, in the possession of a. a. moore, prominently connected with the graft defense. chapter xxi. the san francisco election of . scarcely had the prosecution overcome the delaying tactics of the defense, and forced graft cases to trial, than district attorney langdon had to defend title to his office at the polls. langdon had taken office in january, . his term was to expire in january, . the municipal election, at which mr. langdon's successor was to be elected, was to be held in november. at that time was to be elected besides the district attorney, the mayor, supervisors and practically all the other municipal officials. the old convention system of naming candidates for office still prevailed in san francisco. however, california had even then entered upon the struggle of throwing off the yoke of machine domination through the convention system of naming candidates. the delegates to the several conventions had, under primary law provisions, to be elected at the polls. san francisco was divided upon one issue--that of the graft prosecution. the opposition which years of adverse publicity was to develop, did not then confront those who were standing for vigorous prosecution of the corrupters of the municipality. but under the hammering of an adverse press, and the claquer's systematic belittling, the graft defense had made gains sufficient to give it at least a fighting chance at the polls. on the side of the defense, too, was the solid support of the powerful southern pacific company, and of the various public service corporations, as well as the purchasable press. on the side of the prosecution stood the people of san francisco, not yet worn out, nor misled, nor yet alienated from the policy of vigorous prosecution of the corrupters of the municipality. the people recognized that effective continuance of the prosecution required that mr. langdon be re-elected. that the action of the prosecution in making taylor mayor, might be endorsed at the polls--thus receiving the stamp of public approval--mr. taylor's election became quite as important as that of mr. langdon. the same was true of those of the taylor-appointed supervisors who became candidates for election. but the contest waged about the election of taylor and langdon. such was the issue which confronted san francisco at the election. there was but one issue. there were, however, three prominent political parties, union labor, republican and democratic. none of the three could be called the prosecution party, nor for that matter, the defense party; nor had any faction of any of the parties the temerity to declare against the prosecution of those trapped in corruption, however vigorously opposed to the prosecution this or that faction might be. but each of the three parties did divide on the question of the election of langdon and taylor. broadly speaking, the supporters of the prosecution in all parties demanded that taylor and langdon be nominated. the opponents of the prosecution, while declaring loudly for the prosecution of all offenders against the law, labored for their defeat. on this issue, not always clearly defined, the intraparty factions met at the primary polls. the prosecution, therefore, had three independent political fights on its hands. langdon had been elected by the union labor party. taylor was a democrat. but in the confusion of the times the principal primary fight was within the republican party. the republican opposition to those roughly described as "pro-prosecution," found expression in the remnants of the old-time machine--generally called herrin--element. at its head were many of the experienced machine leaders. the republican pro-prosecution forces were at first without definite leadership. but in this emergency most effective leadership developed. daniel a. ryan, a young "irish-american," came to the fore as captain of the reform forces within the republican party. ryan is of the highest type of his race, as developed under the advantageous conditions to which the immigrant and his descendants have, in these united states, been admitted. well educated, forceful, a brilliant speaker, effective as an organizer, a lover of the political game, ryan was soon the recognized leader of the new movement. he was trusted implicitly. the selection of candidates for convention places was left largely in his hands. under mr. ryan's leadership the fight for effective continuation of the graft prosecution was carried on within the republican party. the division in the union labor party was scarcely less pronounced. the party, roughly speaking, divided with p. h. mccarthy heading the anti-prosecution side, and men of the type of walter macarthur, one of the founders of the party, leading the forces supporting langdon and his associates. but here again there was most confusing division. thomas f. eagan, chairman of the union labor party county committee, for example, was quoted within a week of the primaries, as announcing: "schmitz is an ideal candidate (for mayor). if available, he would be nominated by the delegates that will be elected on the regular union labor ticket." nevertheless, mr. eagan was unalterably opposed to mr. mccarthy heading the ticket. the democratic division was less pronounced than in either the republican or union labor party. the side favoring taylor, without much reference to langdon, went to the primary polls under the regular democratic leadership, with thomas w. hickey, chairman of the democratic county central committee, at its head. prominent in the opposition was lewis f. byington, who had preceded mr. langdon as district attorney. mr. byington was brother-in-law of general tirey l. ford, even then under trial for bribery, and one of general ford's attorneys. in the confusion of these many-sided contests, the defense had its best opportunity for success. but the result, so far as the democratic and republican parties were concerned, was overwhelmingly successful for the prosecution.[ ] of the delegates to the republican convention the ryan (pro-prosecution) forces elected , the "herrin" (anti-prosecution) forces only. of the delegates to the democratic convention, were elected by the regular (pro-prosecution) element, and by the byington (anti-prosecution) side. the popular vote within these parties was scarcely less pronounced.[ ] on the other hand, within the union labor party the anti-prosecution forces were overwhelmingly successful, the mccarthy faction electing delegates and the forces led by walter macarthur and his associates only. under the alignment, it was expected that the republicans and democrats would unite without hesitation upon taylor and langdon, leaving the cause of the indicted corporation managers to find expression in the union labor party platform and candidates.[ ] but scarcely had the primary returns been made public than the san francisco call, generally regarded as staunchly on the side of the prosecution, brought confusion upon the pro-prosecution element, by suggesting the candidacy of mr. ryan for mayor and belittling the candidacy of mayor taylor. "ryan," said the call through its political representative, mr. george van smith, "has not sought and is not seeking the republican nomination for mayor. he may have it forced upon him and find himself the recipient of similar endorsement of his powers as a boss-buster, from the democratic organization." the call, in the same issue, hinted that the democrats might not nominate taylor. without a democratic nomination, taylor could not expect nomination at the hands of the republicans. "that the democrats will nominate mayor taylor," said the call, "is more than doubtful. mayor taylor was drafted into the city's service. he has not given any indication of a desire to serve the city as the head of its government after the time when a popularly selected successor could be qualified. if the democrats do not nominate dr. taylor, the republicans would scarcely be expected to do so. the fact that the men who will make up an almost exclusive majority of the republican convention seem to be committed to the idea of nominating ryan appears to preclude the nomination of taylor by either party." the source of the call's information is not apparent. up to the time of the publication of its article, august , there was no sentiment in san francisco for the election of mr. ryan to the mayoralty. on the contrary, the understanding was that mr. ryan had entered the contest from motives of good citizenship only, and that he was in no sense a seeker of office for himself.[ ] such had been the understanding during the primary campaign; such was the sense of the community after the primary vote had been cast. all recognized, however, that mr. ryan was in a position of great power. he had been trusted implicitly. the selection of anti-herrin candidates for delegates had been left largely in his hands. few thought, however, that he had selected delegates for the purpose of giving himself the republican nomination for the mayoralty. then, again, aside from the confusion his candidacy would work in the ranks of the anti-herrin, pro-prosecution element, mr. ryan, while a pleasing young man and clever politician, it was generally recognized had few qualities usually looked for in the mayor of a community of half a million people. to add to the confusion, the examiner, which was now in active opposition to the prosecution, came out strongly against mr. ryan's candidacy, denouncing it as "a grotesque piece of effrontery." "for the primary leader," said the examiner, "to appropriate the office to himself, is like the agent of a charity fund determining that he is the most worthy object of the charity, and putting[ ] the money in his own pocket." but ryan's candidacy was not to be defeated by adverse criticism. mr. ryan had been largely instrumental in selecting the republican delegates who were to name the candidates. besides, he had the clever support, in its local columns at least, of the san francisco call. he had about him a number of enthusiastic young men who were ambitiously active in urging his candidacy. "every time the taylor boomers gain a man they lose one," announced perry newberry, secretary of mr. ryan's organization, and ryan's right-hand man. "as far as the republicans are concerned daniel a. ryan is as good as named. it will be ryan, not taylor, who will sweep the city." with the advocacy of ryan's candidacy, came quiet, systematic opposition to the nomination of langdon. with mr. ryan and his associates in control of the convention that was to nominate, it began to look as though the victory which the pro-prosecution republicans, under mr. ryan's leadership, had won at the primaries, was barren indeed. among the democrats, the opposition to langdon and taylor was even more discouraging. langdon had been candidate for governor two years before on the independence league ticket. theodore a. bell had had the democratic and union labor nominations. bell had been defeated by a plurality. bell ascribed his defeat to langdon. the so-called bell democrats accordingly made this an excuse for objecting to langdon.[ ] as to taylor, with the ability of the forces at work to defeat the prosecution considered, opinion gained daily that the failure of the republican convention to nominate taylor, would be followed by a refusal of the democrats to give him nomination. thus with the supporters of the prosecution overwhelmingly successful at the republican and democratic primaries, there was grave danger that their purposes would be set aside by political manipulation. but at this crisis a new element was injected into the situation. citizens who stood for enforcement of the law hastily formed a non-partisan organization to uphold the hands of the prosecution.[ ] they called their organization the good government league. taking for their motto "citizenship above partisanship," they boldly announced their support of langdon for district attorney, and of taylor for mayor. the attitude of san francisco toward the graft prosecution was shown by the reception given the new organization. citizens by the thousands sent in their application for membership. funds for the purposes of the campaign were forwarded by men in all walks of life. the democratic leaders were the first to appreciate the significance of the reception given the new movement. what was practically a combination between the two forces resulted. this insured the nomination of langdon and taylor by the democrats. it also assured the nomination of langdon by the republicans, for after the stand taken by the good government league, for either republican or democratic party to have rejected langdon would have been an exhibition of "poor politics." but ryan still controlled the republican convention. the republican convention nominated mr. ryan for mayor. mr. ryan's nomination was not accomplished without protest. the citizens who attended the convention as spectators were overwhelmingly for taylor. taylor received out of the convention votes, being cast for mr. ryan. the minority charged that in the nomination of mr. ryan, the republicans of san francisco had been betrayed, and that they would not be bound by the nomination nor support the nominee.[ ] the union labor party, following out its policy of opposition to the prosecution, nominated p. h. mccarthy[ ] for mayor, and frank mcgowan for district attorney. the planks of the several parties dealing with the prosecution were characteristic of the conventions from which they issued. the union labor plank definitely pledged its candidate for district attorney to prosecution of the supervisors who had confessed to bribe-taking although it had been clearly pointed out that such prosecution would bar effective prosecution of those responsible for the bribe-giving.[ ] the republican plank left the reader in doubt as to whether or not the delinquent supervisors were to be prosecuted. the democratic plank alone pledged unqualified support to the prosecution "in any effort it may make to convict any guilty person."[ ] the new alignment which followed the clearing of the atmosphere by the nomination of candidates, and the adoption of platforms, involved some astonishing changes. the examiner, which, on september , preceding the nominations, had described mr. ryan's candidacy as "a grotesque piece of effrontery," and compared him to the custodian of a trust fund who puts the money in his own pocket, announced its support of mr. ryan for mayor. on october , a month and a day after publication of the custodian-of-a-trust-fund editorial article, the examiner "unhesitatingly recommended to all the voters of san francisco," mr. ryan, "as the man best qualified to be the next mayor of the city." on the other hand, the call, which was the first to suggest mr. ryan's candidacy, describing him a heroic young "boss buster," to whom the democrats could logically turn for a mayoralty candidate, after his nomination, described him as "a cheap politician itching for office,"[ ] whose candidacy was the one element which threw a doubt upon the election of mayor taylor. following the conventions, the call supported taylor as against the field. the chronicle tactfully refrained from taking sides until after the nominations were announced.[ ] then the chronicle gave support to taylor. if the shifting policy of the newspapers had raised a doubt as to where the people of san francisco stood on the issue, that doubt was dispelled by the opening meeting of the taylor-langdon campaign. the largest auditorium in san francisco was packed to the doors,[ ] with citizens whose one purpose, expressed by approving cheers every time the subject was mentioned, was support of the prosecution which had broken up the schmitz-ruef organization, and which bade fair to bring to book the corrupters of the municipal government. the meeting was thoroughly representative. labor touched elbows with capital. among the speakers were representative labor union leaders, who had definitely broken with the union labor party. "it is inconceivable to me," said walter macarthur, one of the organizers of the union labor party, in a ringing address, "that any honest thinking labor man would stand for the proposition that those men who have debauched the officials of our city should go scot free while the victims of their cupidity be sent behind the prison bars alone. i believe that labor will join with all honest people in declaring that if the corrupt bribe-taker is punished the man who is at the head of this corruption must be punished also. that is the issue of this campaign and i believe that election day will prove the virtue of my faith." that the contest for the district attorney's office overshadowed in importance the mayoralty fight was fully recognized. the union labor party, which had nominated and elected langdon in , had repudiated him, and named frank mcgowan as langdon's only serious opponent. the republicans and democrats, who had under a fusion arrangement in opposed langdon's election; united, in , to fight for his continuance in office. the public service corporations, especially those whose officials were under indictment, generally opposed mr. langdon's election, and supported the candidacy of his union labor party opponent. this was particularly astonishing in the case of the united railroads, whose president, mr. patrick calhoun, was even then posing as a "labor union buster," while the united railroads was very effectively grinding to pieces the san francisco carmen's union.[ ] nevertheless, there was certain consistency in the political course taken by the united railroads. whatever the differences president calhoun, in his role as a "union buster," may have had with the labor union, there was much in common between him and the san francisco union labor party as headed by mr. mccarthy.[ ] president calhoun and his company opposed the prosecution vigorously. mr. mccarthy and his party went quite as far in this opposition. president calhoun was most emphatic in his denunciation of those who had made the graft prosecution possible. mr. mccarthy was scarcely less emphatic in his denunciation. indeed, mr. mccarthy opened his campaign with an attack upon the graft prosecution. inasmuch as the one issue before the people was the continuance of the graft prosecution along the lines that had proved so distasteful to mr. calhoun and those in the same predicament as himself, the support of the union labor party candidate for district attorney by a union-labor-busting corporation was not entirely inconsistent. and yet, mr. mcgowan, the union labor party candidate, definitely pledged himself to continue the prosecution, but he promised that the prosecution which he would carry on should not "disturb business," that heney[ ] should no longer be retained as special prosecutor, that the supervisors who had confessed to bribe-giving should be prosecuted[ ] as well as those who had given bribes. this last was one of the chief arguments advanced in support of mr. mcgowan's candidacy. on the ground that a mistake had been made, if a wrong had not been done, when the supervisors were granted immunity,[ ] it was urged that mr. langdon should not be continued in the district attorney's office. the election returns[ ] were conclusive of san francisco's attitude on the several issues raised. taylor was elected mayor, with a clear majority of over all his competitors. langdon's majority over all competitors, including the socialist candidate, was , , his plurality over mcgowan being , . and with the election of taylor and langdon[ ] were elected all the good government league candidates for supervisors. the graft prosecution had successfully passed another crisis. it had, too, received overwhelming endorsement of the people at the polls. footnotes: [ ] the outcome of the republican primaries was looked upon as a victory for good government. said the call, in discussing the returns: "two things stand out prominently in the returns of the primary elections yesterday. one is that the republicans of san francisco have had enough of herrin. the other is that they have not had enough of the graft prosecution. the victory for decency and for the independence of the party from the thralldom in which herrin has so long held it for the use and benefit of the southern pacific was complete, with a vote large enough to make it plain to herrin and to the interests exposed and to be exposed in the debauchery of public servants that they must look elsewhere than to the republicans of san francisco for the old corrupt conditions. the call takes to itself credit for some share in the accomplishment of this good work. it was this paper that spoiled herrin's infamous apportionment scheme by which he planned to fill the burned district with his dummies and thus control the municipal convention. it was this paper that began and carried on to the last moment a vigorous campaign in behalf of the decent element of the republican party, whose leadership was in the capable and clean hands of daniel a. ryan. the call has no candidates. it wants only honest, capable independent men. it made this winning fight because it wanted a clean government for san francisco and because it wanted the graft prosecution carried out to the end." [ ] the primary vote was the largest up to that time cast in san francisco. it was as follows: anti-herrin (ryan) republican , herrin republicans , irregular republicans , regular democratic , byington, democratic , mccarthy, union labor , macarthur, union labor , [ ] on the eve of the primary election, p. h. mccarthy, leader of the anti-prosecution faction of the union labor party, issued a warning to union men in which he said: "too much caution cannot be exercised by you, nor too much diligence displayed in order to protect your rights at the polls today. one of the most cunning, deceptive and vicious attacks ever made on organized labor in this city is now being launched in order that your wages may be cut and your working hours increased to suit the millionaires in this city. to do so, those millionaires have drawn to their side by what force we are unable to say, certain labor men (walter macarthur and his associates) with a view to shuffling, confusing and thoroughly misleading the labor union voters and their sympathizers in this city." [ ] many ryan republican district tickets contained the following printed statement: "the candidates on this ticket are pledged to use all their influence in the convention to secure the nomination of a ticket of capable men and hope that they will be indorsed by the conventions of all parties. they do not care who these men may be, but will vote for no man who can be suspected of peddling offices or jobs in return for support. they do not desire nor expect for themselves or for their friends any offices or jobs. no candidate on this ticket has ever sought or held a political office or job. the candidates on this ticket have all accepted the pledge of the regular republican league. daniel a. ryan, chairman; perry h. newberry, secretary." [ ] the examiner, in its issue of september , , in discussing mr. ryan's proposed candidacy said: "it is generally understood that mr. dan ryan proposes to nominate himself as the republican candidate for mayor of san francisco. that he has the power to do this thing is one of the curiosities of our political system. "the theory is that the delegates to a convention represent that part of the public which marches under the political banner of a political party. but mr. ryan evidently considers that the delegates to the republican convention were chosen to advance his personal political ambitions. "the people do not mean that the accidental leaders of a primary fight should put the offices in their own pockets. "they elect delegates as agents to select candidates from among the people. the delegates are the bearers of a trust and neither they nor the man who happens to captain them in the scramble between factions has a right to appropriate the nominations. "the trust is not fulfilled if the primary leader assumes that because the people elected his primary ticket they want him in office. they don't want him, for they don't want primary politicians in the mayor's chair. "the theory of any convention is that it is assembled to choose the best man in the party for its candidate. the spectacle of mr. dan ryan holding a caucus with himself, and deciding that he is better qualified to be mayor of san francisco than any other man in the republican party, is a grotesque piece of effrontery. "all sorts of men rise to the top in primary fights, but most of them have a sufficient sense of modesty, if not of the fitness of things, to abstain from making themselves the recipients of what the delegates have to give. "for the primary leader to appropriate the office to himself is like the agent of a charity fund determining that he is the most worthy object of the charity and putting the money in his own pocket." [ ] it was anything to defeat langdon, even though a pro-prosecution attorney be employed against him. hiram w. johnson, for example, was suggested as his opponent. but johnson let it be understood, and with characteristic positiveness, that under no considerations would he be a candidate against langdon. [ ] the members of the good government league executive committee were: e. l. baldwin, j. e. cutten, george renner, gen. samuel w. backus, george r. fletcher, sigmund bauer, b. h. gurnette, frank w. marvin, frank w. gale, l. c. mcafee, george uhl, rev. chas. n. lathrop, isidor jacobs, rudolph spreckels, edgar a. mathews. [ ] the minority which voted for taylor, in a memorial to the convention, charged "that the majority of the delegates to this convention have betrayed the confidence reposed in them by their constituents" and gave notice that it would not be bound by the nomination of the convention for mayor and would not support the nominee, but would do all in its power to further the election of dr. edward r. taylor. [ ] the union labor party convention also had its sensations. thomas f. eagan, for example, and his followers bolted the convention because of mccarthy's nomination. the carmen's union refused to accept the union labor party ticket because langdon had not been nominated for district attorney. [ ] heney, on the eve of election, in reply to mcgowan's argument that the bribe-takers should be prosecuted, effectively answered this contention. heney's communication read: "to frank mcgowan, esq. sir: you are reported by the newspapers as having stated that you will prosecute the boodling supervisors and that you will also prosecute patrick calhoun and the other rich bribers, and that you will grant immunity to no one. i invite you to answer specifically the following questions either in the newspapers or the next time you make a public speech: " . if you prosecute supervisor lonergan (or any other supervisor) for accepting a bribe to influence his vote in the matter of the trolley franchise, what witness, or witnesses, will you call to prove that he accepted the bribe? " . every child in town now knows that if lonergan received the money at all it was from supervisor gallagher. will you prove the fact by gallagher? if you call gallagher as a witness, how do you expect to induce him to testify without granting him immunity? " . when you prosecute james l. gallagher for giving a bribe to tom lonergan or to any other supervisor to influence his vote on the trolley franchise matter, by what witness or witnesses, will you prove that gallagher paid the money to lonergan or to any other supervisor? will you call lonergan or any other supervisor as a witness, and when you call him, how will you induce him to testify without granting him immunity? " . by what witness do you expect to convict gallagher of giving a bribe, or tom lonergan, or any other supervisor of accepting a bribe in the matter of fixing the gas rate, or in the home telephone company franchise matter? " . if you prosecute ruef for giving money to gallagher to distribute to the supervisors to influence their vote on the trolley franchise, by what witness, or witnesses, will you prove that ruef gave the money to gallagher? will you put gallagher on the stand to prove it, and if so, how will you induce him to testify without granting him immunity? will you put ford on the stand to prove that he gave the money to ruef, and if so, how will you get him to testify without giving him immunity? will you put fat calhoun on the stand to prove that he gave the money to ford to give ruef to give to the supervisors, and if so, how will you induce pat to testify without giving him immunity? " . you say that you will prosecute patrick calhoun for bribing the supervisors to influence their votes in the matter of the trolley franchise. by what witnesses will you prove that the money was given to gallagher or to any of the other supervisors to influence their votes in this matter? will you prove by ford that he gave the money to ruef, and if so, how will you induce ford to testify without giving him immunity? will you prove by ruef that he gave the money to gallagher to distribute to the other supervisors, and if so, how will you prove it by gallagher without giving him immunity? will you prove by the other supervisors that they received money from gallagher, and if so, how will you induce each of them to testify without giving each of them immunity? " . will you prosecute frank g. drum and the other officials of the gas company for bribing the supervisors for fixing the gas rates, and if so, how will you prove that the money was paid without granting immunity to ruef and to some or all of the supervisors? " . will you prosecute a. k. detweiler for bribing the supervisors in the home telephone franchise matter, and if so, how will you prove your case against him without granting immunity to ruef and to some or all of the members of the board of supervisors? " . can jurisdiction be conferred on a court by consent, and if so, how could you proceed with the ford trial on a legal holiday? " . if you found it necessary to grant immunity to either the bribe-taker or the bribe-giver in the trolley franchise matter to prevent an utter failure of justice and the escape of both the bribe-takers and the bribe-givers, to which side will you recommend the granting of immunity by the court? will you prosecute the friendless, insignificant supervisors and grant immunity to ex-attorney-general tirey l. ford and his employer, patrick calhoun, president of the united railroads of san francisco, or will you recommend that the court shall grant immunity to the friendless and insignificant supervisors in order to convict the rich, powerful and influential patrick calhoun and his general counsel, tirey l. ford? "yours, etc., francis j. heney." [ ] the republican convention "pledged its party and its nominees to assist and continue the vigorous prosecution of all persons guilty of crime, in whatever walk of life, high or low, in san francisco," and "to incessant and energetic war on graft in every form, to the end that this plague may be exterminated from the body politic." the union labor plank on the graft prosecution was as follows: "we demand the punishment of all offenders against the law, and we pledge our nominee for district attorney to prosecute vigorously all bribers, boodlers and grafters without distinction, and particularly do we pledge him to prosecute those public officials, confessed criminals, who have been guilty of the greatest crime in the city's history, but who have been permitted to go unwhipped of justice, and to remain outside the walls of the penitentiary behind which they should now be imprisoned. we further pledge our nominee for district attorney to abolish private prisons, wholesale 'immunity baths,' and all other institutions created for the benefit and protection of criminals." the democratic graft prosecution plank read: "we commend the work of the prosecution, which has removed from public office criminals who have dishonored and debauched our city and has secured convictions that must be forever a warning to official wrongdoers and those who participate with them in crime; and we pledge our support to the prosecution in any effort it may make to convict any guilty person." [ ] "there never would have been doubt anywhere about taylor's successor," said the call in its issue of november , "if it had not been for the grossly selfish and unpatriotic course of daniel a. ryan. the one possibility of mccarthy's election was opened to him by ryan. failing of other support, ryan turned renegade to all his party professions and went into an infamous alliance with that arch enemy of republicanism, hearst. for four weeks he has been scrambling for votes.... ryan has fully revealed himself as a cheap politician itching for office. he has boasted of his youth, and yet he was the first of the candidates to break down and go to bed. he has declaimed about his own honesty, until his voice is in tatters and has filled the air with promises of what he would do if elected. never has he explained or attempted to explain the nature of those 'certain concessions' that led him to nominate himself, although he knew that in so doing he was jeopardizing the future of his city." [ ] said the chronicle of mr. ryan's candidacy in its issue of october , : "the chronicle has neither apologies nor regrets for urging its readers to support the regular republican league movement headed by daniel a. ryan. we believed at the time, as others believed, that mr. ryan's sole desire was good government for san francisco and that such desire was unsmirched by personal ambition. general confidence in the sincerity of mr. ryan and his associates led to the triumphant election of the delegates to the republican convention named and approved by mr. ryan, which was accepted throughout the country as evidence that the people of san francisco were sound at heart. "when we urged the public to support the ryan primary tickets, we did so, not in the interest of mr. ryan, but in the interest of good government. we considered mr. ryan in the light of a useful and public-spirited citizen, upon whom, in due time, the people would delight to confer official honors should he be willing to accept them. those who voted the ryan ticket at the primaries did not vote for mr. ryan, but for the cause which he championed. as for considering him a candidate for mayor, nobody thought of it. it is no disparagement to a young man like mr. ryan to say that as yet he has no such standing in the community as justifies him in aspiring to such an honor." in its issue of october the chronicle said: "the moral collapse of daniel a. ryan is deeply regretted by every lover of san francisco. it is not a matter of the rise or fall of one man. it is a question of whether the people will ever again trust any man who appears as a leader of reform. few men ever get such an opportunity as mr. ryan has thrown away. doubtless the lesson is for the people never again to trust an unknown man. it is not too much to ask of any aspirant to leadership on an important scale that he shall have some record of honorable achievement of some kind as an earnest of what to expect of him should the confidence reposed in him place him in a position of power." [ ] the call, in speaking of the taylor-langdon meeting said: "young mr. ryan ought to have been at that meeting. we have nothing against mr. ryan except that he is not the man of the hour. we shall not even reproach him with his youth. that is not his fault and he will get over that. but he is not the man of the hour. the people have said it. mr. ryan embodies no principle. to the people of san francisco he means nothing in particular at this critical time. he might have read that message in the mighty roar that went up from the meeting in welcome of dr. taylor. mayor taylor stands for something, stands for much. mr. ryan has only his own ambition and a certain command of language." [ ] the san francisco call, in its issue of november , charged that orders had gone out from the united railroads to "vote for mccarthy and the union labor ticket--straight." in the cars of the united railroads appeared dodgers which read: "workingmen. workingmen--are you going to put a big stick into spreckels' hands to club you over the head with?" [ ] the same is true of the los angeles times, which has a national reputation as an opponent of organized labor. the times, while at issue with mr. mccarthy on the question of the desirability of unions, was scarcely less vehement than he in denunciation of the san francisco graft prosecution. [ ] one of the allegations made against heney was that he would not prosecute patrick calhoun, because heney's brother-in-law was employed by calhoun as a detective. this argument was intended to weaken heney and the prosecution with the union element that calhoun was endeavoring to crush. [ ] in a political advertisement which appeared in the san francisco call november , , mr. mcgowan said: "if elected district attorney i will prosecute every man accused of crime, regardless of his position in life. i will continue the present graft prosecution with more vigor, and the district attorney's office will not be used for politics, nor to disturb business. i will be the district attorney in law and in fact, and i will never allow any man or set of men to control the office for any purpose. i will honorably enforce the law without the aid of any millionaire's money." [ ] langdon, at the opening of the republican campaign, took up the question of the prosecution's policy in granting immunity to the supervisors. he said: "in this prosecution we have tried to be practical, to be effective. what would you have said if we had made a scapegoat of a petty criminal and let the giants go? what would you have said if in all this graft and corruption we had arrested and jailed two or three obscure supervisors you had never heard of before they came to office, and will never hear of them again now that they are retired to private life, and had let escape the giants in crime? "there have been graft exposures before in the history of american municipalities and the graft has gone on. and it was bound to go on so long as the prosecutions failed to stop the sources of evil, to gather into the fold of the penitentiary the corrupt men of business and the corrupt political leaders who have dared to use weak men for their own ends. these giants in crime are perfectly willing that the physical life of the weak men they use shall be fed into the jails of the state to appease public wrath exactly as they have been willing to use up the moral life of these men to satisfy their own greedy needs in the board of supervisors. profiting by the mistakes of previous prosecutions, this office has struck straight at the very roots of public graft: at the crooked public service corporations; but which of the criminals were to be allowed to give evidence for the state and enjoy its alluring protection; the giants of crime who have always been most responsible and who have always escaped or the petty, miserable fellows who have entered upon these things through ignorance and weakness? "immunity had to be given in order that crime might be punished and it was given to the supervisors that the very tap roots of political corruption might be torn from the soil in which they thrived. we did it because this prosecution has a moral as well as a legal significance. it is time to stop the cynicism of common men when they view democracy and say it is for the powerful and the rich: that the poor must go to jail for the theft of bread and the rich escape for the theft of privilege, the purchase of men's souls and the degradation of government. it is time to stop the brazen and confident effrontery of the irresponsible criminal rich, who commit crimes and rest back, thinking they can buy judges as they bought legislators and executives, and knowing they can buy legal talent to interpose every technicality in every courtroom until justice is a human travesty tangled in its own web. "we are after the 'men higher up' because they are the severest menace to our institutions, the enduring factors that program and bribe each board of supervisors as they come and go. we are after the 'men higher up' so as to make criminal acquisition unprofitable in terms of human desire. we are after the 'men higher up' so that young men and women growing up in this and other communities will once more believe with ardent fervor not only that dishonesty does not pay, but that of all the goods on this earth the greatest treasure is a straightforward life." [ ] the vote for mayor and for district attorney was as follows: for mayor-- taylor , ryan , mccarthy , reguin (soc.) , for district attorney-- langdon , mcgowan , kirk (soc.) , [ ] in commenting upon the outcome of the election, the examiner, in its issue of november , said: "and this revolt of union labor against misrepresentation in office began long ago. before the primaries, when most of the registering was done, it was observed that the number of republicans recorded was far in excess of the adherents of union labor. the story was told then. disgusted with the dishonesty of the men they had placed in office, finding the local democratic party a mere memory, they registered as republicans because they were determined to vote against the representatives of ruef and schmitz who had captured their organization. "langdon's majority will surprise no one. his election was a matter of course, for union labor, like all other decent elements in the community, was determined to sustain the prosecution of the grafters. "the swing of union labor to taylor will surprise the gentlemen who have been so fond of assuming that the working people would vote as a class regardless of principle. the fact that they set aside all class feeling, all personal preference, and rolled up a big majority in favor of the man considered most likely to defeat the zebra-striped bandits who had captured their organization proves that government in america is safe in the hands of the plain people. "it is union labor, and union labor chiefly, which has saved san francisco from mccarthy and mcgowan." "yesterday," said the chronicle the morning after the election, "was a great day for san francisco. it was the turn of the tide. it was the beginning of the ascent to nobler ideals and better days. the passions of the conflict will soon die away. with an honest government assured, capital will not shun us but seek us. and we can look back on the events of the last six years as we remember a nightmare from which we awake to find ourselves in security and peace." "the indicted bribe-givers," said the call, "may as well make up their minds that there is no way of escape for them except through trial and by the verdicts of the juries. the people have spoken and they have said that the clean-up must be thorough. the sweeping success of langdon means that the prosecution of the grafters will be pressed to its fitting conclusion upon the facts and under the law. there need be no delay now. soon all the cases should be settled and another chapter added to the history of san francisco--a chapter in which will have been written the means, the manner and the fullness of our atonement for schmitz-ruef chapter just before it, the vindication of the city's good name." chapter xxii. higher courts free schmitz and ruef. on january , , the municipal officials elected with mayor taylor assumed the duties of their office. that day, ruef was taken from the custody of the elisor and locked up in the county jail. in the jail with him were schmitz, convicted of the extortion charge to which ruef had pleaded guilty, and glass, who had been convicted of bribery. the following day, january , the appellate court, for the first district, handed down a decision in the schmitz extortion case, which, later sustained by the supreme court, unlocked the prison doors not only for schmitz, but for ruef also.[ ] the decision was the first serious setback in the graft cases that district attorney langdon's office had received. the prosecution had prevented ruef seizing the district attorney's office; had defeated the efforts of the defense to have the indicting grand jury declared an invalid body; had overcome the resistance of the defendants to facing trial jurors; had, after meeting the clever opposition of the best legal talent obtainable for money, forced trials before juries and secured convictions; and finally, the prosecution had met the defense before the larger jury of the people, and, at the polls, had won again. but, with a stroke of the pen, the appellate court swept aside the greater part of the accomplishment of fifteen-months struggle against corruption. the court found the indictment under which schmitz had been convicted of extortion to be insufficient and ordered the defendant to be discharged as to the indictment. in as much as ruef, schmitz's co-defendant, indicted jointly with him for extortion, had plead guilty to the same indictment as that under which schmitz had been convicted, the effect of the decision was to free ruef as well as schmitz. before passing upon the sufficiency of the indictment, the court took occasion to deal with the points of error as raised by the defense. on five principal points the court found that error had been committed.[ ] on this showing, the case could have been sent back to the superior court for re-trial. in that event, ruef's status would not have been affected. but the court went back of the trial to the indictment, on points raised in the defendant's demurrer, found for the defendant, and held the indictment to be insufficient. in the discussion of the decision which followed, criticism was confined almost exclusively to the court's rulings on the sufficiency of the indictment. the point raised was that the indictment did not state facts sufficient to show that any public offense had been committed. the court held in effect that the facts presented did not, under the definitions of the california codes, constitute the crime of extortion. in the california penal code[ ] extortion is defined as "the obtaining of property from another, with his consent, induced by a wrongful use of force, or fear or under color of official right." the section following[ ] defines "fear such as will constitute extortion may be induced by a threat either: ( ) to do an unlawful injury to the person or property of the individual threatened, or to any relative of his, or member of his family." the court found that the threat which induced the fear in the schmitz-ruef extortion cases, was a threat to prevent the parties from obtaining a liquor license, and thus to prevent them from carrying on the business of selling wines and liquors at retail. a license to sell liquor, the court showed, is not property in the ordinary sense of the word,[ ] but a mere permission, and the license is but the evidence that the permission has been given by the proper authorities. "there is grave doubt,"[ ] the court held, "as to whether a threat to prevent a party from obtaining a permission or license by one who has no authority in the premises, is a threat to injure property within the meaning of the sections quoted." but the court found it unnecessary to decide this question, for the reason it held the indictment insufficient "because it does not allege nor show that the specific injury threatened was an unlawful injury."[ ] to the man on the street, the reading of the opinion conveyed the impression at least, that according to the appellate court, when schmitz had shown his power to prevent the french restaurants getting their licenses, thus endangering investments valued as high as $ , , and ruef because of the fear engendered by this showing, acting with schmitz, had secured large sums of money from the enterprises thus threatened, the crime of extortion had not been committed. the decision was received with protest[ ] and denunciation. the call dubbed it "bad law, bad logic and bad morals." "any ordinary intelligence," said the examiner, "would construe the threat to take away a license to sell liquor from a restaurant unless a certain sum of money was paid as the plainest kind of extortion." "when," said dr. william rader of calvary presbyterian church, in a sermon preached on the evening of the sunday after the decision was made public, january , , "extortion is not a crime, when bribery is not even a wrong, when a confessed felon can learn that he is really righteous, and that his trial, confession and conviction have all been nothing but a mistake--a slight mistake--i repeat that however correct this may be legally and ethically, it has the effect of making us stand amazed at the rapid revolutions of the legal wheels. perhaps tomorrow we shall learn that this last decision has been a mistake, too. i hope so; i believe so." "we of this city," said rev. dr. evans at grace episcopal cathedral, "are dumbfounded by a judicial pronouncement which enables the high officials of our city to rob and plunder without any technical breaking of the law. it is enough--such an audacious mockery of the first principles of common sense--to justify the appointment of a lunacy commission to inquire into the sanity of men who could formulate such a judgment and it ought to provoke an explosion of righteous indignation from one end of the state to the other. we need not hesitate to declare that such an opinion as this has its inspiration in that place where public sentiment without a single dissenting note would give it its unanimous approval." the decision did not immediately release ruef and schmitz. the prosecution had still an appeal to the supreme court for a re-hearing and, pending such an appeal, the defendants remained behind the bars. this delay annoyed those interested in seeing the graft defendants go free. stories were circulated that the prosecution would not appeal. but the prosecution did appeal. three months later, the supreme court rendered its decision.[ ] the decision was against the prosecution. "the (supreme) court is unanimous in the opinion," the decision read, "that the district court of appeal was correct in its conclusion that the indictment was insufficient, in that it did not show that the specific injury to the property of the restaurant-keepers threatened by the defendant was an 'unlawful injury.'" the supreme court went a step further than the appellate court had done and attacked the indictment on the ground that it had not set forth that schmitz was mayor at the time of the alleged extortion, nor that ruef was a political boss practically in control of the municipal government. the prosecution in its application for a rehearing had set forth that "it will be found and decided by this court that levying blackmail upon licensed businesses by the mayor and the political boss of a metropolitan community is a crime under the law of california and should not go unwhipped of justice." this observation was denounced in the supreme court's decision as "a gross misstatement of the case and of the question to be decided as presented by the indictment." "we again emphasize the fact," reads the opinion, "that the indictment does not aver that schmitz was mayor, or that ruef was a political boss, or that either of them had any power, or influence, or control over the police commissioners, or that they threatened to use such power, influence or control in preventing the issuance of a license." the storm of protest with which this opinion was received was even greater than that which followed the appellate court decision. once more did press, pulpit and public, from one end of the state to the other, join in expression of indignation. the court in return insisted that it was misrepresented and misunderstood. chief justice w. h. beatty essayed the task of writing an explanation of the ruling, that "the man on the street" might understand. the chief justice's article appeared in the sacramento bee of april , .[ ] again was the omission from the indictment of the fact that schmitz was mayor and ruef a boss, emphasized.[ ] and again, it may be added, did the stupid man on the street fail to understand. in fact, disapproval of the decision continued. heney attacked it respectfully in tone, but with sharp criticism.[ ] james m. kerr,[ ] in his cyclopedia penal code of california, published in , declared in effect that in the schmitz decision the supreme court of california formulated bad law and advocated bad pleading. as for ruef's position as a political boss, kerr contended, it was merely a matter of evidence, and not a matter to be pleaded. "the supreme court," concludes the law writer, "seems to lose sight of the fact that the crime of extortion in this state is not confined to persons in office and exercising official influence." dean john h. wigmore of the northwestern university school of law, and author of the standard work, wigmore on evidence, in a crushing criticism of the decision and the various documents in the case, charged the chief justice with being "plainly inconsistent." "the truth is," said dean wigmore, "that the learned chief justice in endeavoring to support his decision weaves a logical web and then entangles himself in it."[ ] the moral of the schmitz decision is, dean wigmore concludes, "that our profession must be educated out of such vicious habits of thought." the extravagance of the criticism of the decision was more than equaled by the claims made by the opposition to the prosecution, of its effect upon the status of schmitz and ruef. "schmitz," said a writer in the chronicle, "is now thoroughly exonerated of the charge of having squeezed money from malfanti, the french-restaurant man." however this may have been, the practical result of the decision was that both schmitz and ruef, with no convictions against them, by furnishing bonds in the bribery cases, were able to walk out of prison. schmitz did not return as a prisoner. ruef enjoyed his liberty until november, . footnotes: [ ] the opinion was written by justice cooper and concurred in by justices hall and kerrigan. this is the same kerrigan who appears in the santa cruz banquet scene picture, in which ruef occupies the position of honor with the republican nominee for governor, j. m. gillett, standing at his back with hand resting on ruef's shoulder. (see chapter iv.) supreme justice henshaw, whose sensational action in ruef's favor will appear in another chapter, is also one of the santa cruz banquet group. [ ] the appellate court enumerated the following errors at the trial: ( ) that the trial court erred in allowing the peremptory challenge of a juror after he had been sworn to try the case; and the removal, after he had been sworn, of a second juror without cause. ( ) that error was committed in the appointment of the elisor that had charge of the jury. ( ) that the court erred in admitting hearsay evidence of witnesses, loupe, blanco, malfanti, debret and rosenthal. ( ) that error was committed when schmitz was required, under cross-examination, to answer question as to whether he had received from ruef part of the money extorted from the french restaurant keepers. ( ) that ruef's testimony that he had divided the money with schmitz was not proper rebuttal evidence. [ ] california penal code, sec. . [ ] california penal code, sec. . [ ] the general feeling regarding the schmitz decision was well expressed by attorney j. c. hutchinson, in a letter to justice cooper. the letter follows: "hon. james a. cooper, presiding justice of the district court of appeals, first district, sutter street, city. dear sir: yours of the th inst. received. i did not expect you to reply to mine of the th inst., which was more in the nature of an ejaculatory protest than a letter. nevertheless, i think you are right to reply, especially as i know you have replied to letters complimenting you on the same decision. "i have never before written a letter to a judge commenting upon a decision in which he had taken part, and i ordinarily would consider such a course highly unprofessional. during twenty-five years' practice, i have always remained silent in the face of decisions, however adverse, even in some cases where i was perfectly well aware that improper influences behind the scenes had prevented me from obtaining justice. but in this case the situation is different from anything i have ever experienced. the very air seems to be full of revolutionary feeling. at the universities, clubs, in the trains, on the streets and in the home, i find no one (except the friends, connections and lawyers of the grafters) speak with anything but emphatic protest against this decision so far as it relates to the validity of the indictment. "i have cast no personal reflection upon yourself. the attack is upon the atmospheric environment of a statement which could lead a man of your integrity and intelligence honestly to believe that such a decision could be correct; and if the supreme court should unanimously hold the same, that would, according to my view, only make the matter so much the worse. "very respectfully yours, "j. c. hutchinson." [ ] see cal. app. reports, page . [ ] the court, in discussing this point, said: "the indictment does use the words 'unlawful injury' in the first part of it; but when the facts are specifically set forth as to what the defendants threatened to do we find that the threat was that defendants 'would prevent the said joseph malfanti, charles kelb and william lafrenz from receiving said license or obtaining the same.' there is no allegation that any unlawful act was threatened, and the attorneys for the prosecution frankly admit that they rely upon the fact that the defendants obtained the money by threatening to do an injury, which they claim was unlawful solely for the reason that the threats were made with intent to extort money. in other words, it is claimed that even though the french-restaurant proprietors were violating the law, and conducting immoral places used as resorts by lewd women, and thus not legally entitled to a license to sell liquor, a threat to prevent the issuance of licenses to such places by laying the facts before the board of police commissioners in a legal manner, constitutes a crime if such threat was made with the intent to extort money. such, in our opinion, is not the law. the statute uses the words that the threat must be to do 'an unlawful injury'; and in order to charge a crime the indictment must aver in some way that the threat was to do an unlawful injury. it is apparent from the language of the statute which we have hereinbefore quoted, that it is not every kind of fear that will support a charge of extortion because of property obtained thereby. the fear must be induced by one of the threats enumerated in the statute. the legislature has seen fit to provide that the threatened injury to property upon which a charge of extortion may be predicated must be an unlawful injury to property. that is, the injury threatened must be, in itself, unlawful, irrespective of the purpose with which the threat is made. as the word 'unlawful' is used in the statute it qualifies the 'injury' and not the 'threat.' unlawful means contrary to law. it is true that from a high standard of ethics it could not be claimed that one could extort money by a threat to do a lawful act, if the intent was to get money by the use of the threat, but every wrong is not made a crime. there are many wrongs done every day that are not enumerated in the category of crimes contained in the penal code that are of much more serious consequence in their nature than others which are defined therein; but we must look to the statute to find whether or not an act is a public offense for which a prosecution will lie. to procure property from others by a mere threat to do a lawful act is not a crime. the object of the statute--or at least one of its objects--is to protect the party from whom the property is extorted; and if such party pays the money in order to secure protection in violating the law himself he cannot be heard to complain. he in such case would be a party to the violation of the law. in this case, if the parties as a fact paid the money in order to prevent the evidence as to the character of places they kept from being exposed to the board of police commissioners, they are not in a position to complain." [ ] the examiner, in its issue of january , , said of the decision: "the district court of appeal has overturned the conviction of mayor schmitz on the ground that threatening to prevent the french-restaurant keepers from getting a license to sell liquor does not constitute the crime of extortion, with which he is charged. this is one of the decisions that will aggravate the dissatisfaction of the public with the courts. "abe ruef, once political boss of san francisco, testified that he had divided with the mayor the 'fees' for getting the licenses which schmitz had held up until the money was paid. 'a license to sell liquor is not property in the ordinary sense of the word,' declares the court, making the point that the indictment 'does not allege any threat to injure property.' "any ordinary intelligence would construe the threat to take away a license to sell liquor from a restaurant unless a certain sum of money was paid as the plainest kind of extortion, particularly when the mayor was shown to have shared in the money thus exacted, and the fact that the contrary ruling of a court acts as a release of a man whose guilt was clearly established, will not change that view." "even the lay mind," said the call, "is competent to reach the conclusion that this decision is bad law, bad logic and had morals." the decision was generally condemned by the interior press. the sacramento bee denounced it as a "palpable evasion of justice." the oakland enquirer stated that it came as a "shock and a surprise to the law-respecting people of california and of the entire country." "san francisco in particular," said the los angeles evening news, "california in general and the republic at large have suffered great wrong by reason of this reprehensible decision." [ ] see california appellate reports, in which the supreme court decision is printed, vol. no. , page . [ ] the bee prefaced the chief justice's article with the following statement: "the decision of the supreme court of california in the case of eugene schmitz is one not only of state but even of national importance. it has been the fruitful topic of varied comment throughout the union. and yet, after all the discussion, there remains a prevailing ignorance as to what was decided; and even among those laymen who had a fair idea upon that point, there is certainly little if any knowledge as to why it was so decided. "having a very high idea of the granitic probity of chief justice beatty of the supreme court, and believing it to be the duty of that court to answer when citizens respectfully ask for light, the editor of this paper on march st last wrote to chief justice beatty and asked him to publicly explain just what the court had decided and just why it had so decided; to explain it so that the man in the street might easily understand. in that quite lengthy letter to the chief justice, the editor of the bee wrote: "'the ignorance of the general public as to what was decided and exactly why it was decided has undoubtedly given rise to considerable of a public suspicion that all is not as it should be--that injustice has triumphed where justice should have prevailed--that the good work of almost two years has been practically wiped out by a judicial obeisance to technicalities--that the guilty have been saved by the interposition of a judicial hand that could with more propriety and equally as much regard for the law have turned the scales to record the verdict of the highest tribunal on the side of good government.' "justice beatty answers the questions at length, but with such clearness that the 'man in the street' can understand. his explanation should be read by everybody, so that hereafter those who discuss the matter can do so with a full and thorough understanding of exactly what the supreme court decided in the schmitz case, and exactly why it considered it had so to decide." [ ] "i repeat," said the chief justice in his bee article, "that the only question presented for decision was the question of statutory construction here stated, for it was never seriously contended before the supreme court by the attorney general, or by the district attorney of san francisco, or by any of his assistants or deputies, or by the learned counsel, whose names are signed to the petition for a rehearing, that the indictment did allege a threat to do an unlawful injury of the character indicated. what it did allege on this point, and all that it alleged, was that one e. e. schmitz (without showing that he was mayor of the city, or that he had any official or other influence over the board of police commissioners greater than, or different from, that of the humblest private citizen), and one abraham ruef (without showing that he had any such power or influence) had told certain keepers of a restaurant that they could, and had threatened that they would, prevent them from obtaining a renewal of their license to sell liquors, etc. the indictment, in other words, had no more force in legal contemplation than if it had been directed against jack stiles and richard noakes, for though the facts that schmitz was mayor and ruef the political boss of the city may have been as notorious in san francisco as the fire or earthquake, no lawyer would contend for a moment that they were facts of which a court could take judicial notice in passing upon the sufficiency of the indictment." [ ] heney's reply to chief justice beatty was published in the sacramento bee. section of the california penal code expressly provides that no fact of which a court may take judicial notice, need be alleged in any indictment. the codes enumerate certain matters of which the courts are required to take judicial notice. among the matters are "state offices and their incumbents." the political code defines who are "state officers," and among them are included "mayors of cities." heney, in his reply, held chief justice beatty and the court to be wrong, even on the face of the statute. no lawyer in the state attempted to answer heney's reply, although many of them would have been glad to have earned recognition from the supreme court by doing so. [ ] james m. kerr is author of kerr's california cyclopedic codes. these works are accepted as standards throughout the country. "it is thought," says kerr in california cyclopedic codes for , "that ... the [schmitz] case cannot be safely relied upon as an authority outside of california. it is a flagrant violation of the spirit if not the letter of section ante, and the old rule that it is the duty of the court, where it is possible, so to construe the statute as to uphold the indictment and promote justice, instead of effecting a miscarriage of justice. several things occur in connection with a consideration of the foregoing quotation from the supreme court. " . if an indictment can lawfully be upheld, the court, as the judicial voice of the state, is bound so to uphold it. it is not the province of the court to seek some strained view of the law by which an indictment of one accused of crime can be quashed. " . the construction of the code provision on extortion is to be made, not technically, but according to the fair import of its terms, with a view to its object and to promote justice. " . it is not charged, and the statute does not require it to be charged, that the threat was made by schmitz, acting in his official capacity. the crime of extortion, under our statute, is not the old common-law crime of extortion, which could be committed only by an official acting in his official capacity. under our statute it is immaterial whether schmitz held any official position, or whether schmitz and ruef had any power or influence to carry out the threat; the only thing to be considered is, did the accused extort money by means of a threat? official position or power to carry out the threat is neither material nor proper. " . it is entirely immaterial by what means schmitz and ruef intended to accomplish their threat to have the liquor license withheld; whether by fair persuasion of the board of supervisors, or by menace, duress, fraud, or undue influence. the crime charged did not consist in the dealings with the board of supervisors, but in the threat made to the french restaurateurs, by means of which the fears of the latter were aroused, and were forced to pay to schmitz and ruef money to which the latter were not entitled, as a means of preventing schmitz and ruef from carrying out the threat. to require the indictment to contain an allegation of the means intended to be used by schmitz and ruef to accomplish their unlawful purpose--the means to be used with, or to influence, or to menace, or duress, or fraud in dealing with, the board of supervisors--is indubitably bad law and bad pleading. " . the declaration that the case 'is not one which is sufficient to charge an offense in the language of the statute defining it,' made by the court, needs some reason and good authorities to make it good law outside of this state, and also in this state under the system of criminal pleading provided for by the code--which should be the law by which criminal pleading is to be measured. " . it does not seem to have been suggested to the court, and it does not seem to have occurred to the learned judges thereof, that the trial court was required to take judicial notice of the head of department of a co-ordinate department of the government of the city and county of san francisco, and to take judicial notice of the fact that schmitz was at least de facto mayor. see kerr's cyc. code civ. proc., sec. , subd. . " . the position and practical control of ruef, as the 'political boss' of san francisco (a position unrecognized by law), and his undue influence over the board of supervisors (the exercise of which is contrary to public policy), was merely matter of evidence, and not a matter to be pleaded; the only thing that is important is, was the threat made? and did the defendants, schmitz and ruef, through such threat, extort money, and by means of the fear raised thereby? if they did, it is utterly immaterial whether schmitz was mayor, or ruef was a 'political boss,' and had or had not any influence with the board of supervisors. the supreme court seems to lose sight of the fact that the crime of extortion in this state is not confined to persons in office, and exercising official influence. " . a threat to do a lawful act, if made for the purpose of putting a person in fear, and thereby securing money or property which the person was not in law entitled to have and receive, renders such person guilty of extortion, under the weight of decision and the better doctrine; and taking the case in that view, the indictment is amply sufficient, and should have been upheld by the court. the case of boyson vs. thorn, cal., ; pac. rep., , has no application, and its citation by the court only tends to befog the issue." [ ] dean wigmore's criticism of the decisions in the schmitz case, and of the articles written in defense of them was as follows: "i have read the letter of mr. heney, and the letter of the chief justice, and have re-read the opinion of the court in people vs. schmitz, pac. rep. . the chief justice's letter and mr. heney's reply turn largely on the legal rule of judicial notice. the learned chief justice finds himself iron-bound by the rules of that subject. but the whole spirit of the rules is misconceived by him. their essential and sole purpose is to relieve the party from proof,--that is, from proof of facts which are so notorious as not to need proof. when a party has not averred or evidenced a fact which later turns out, in the supreme court's opinion, to be vital, the rule of judicial notice helps out the judge by permitting him to take the fact as true, where it is one so notorious that evidence of it would have been superfluous. now these helping rules are not intended to bind him, but the contrary, i.e., to make him free to take the fact as proved where he knows the proof was not needed. moreover, it follows that, since these rules cannot foresee every case that new times and new conditions will create, they can always receive new applications. the precedents of former judges, in noticing specific facts, do not restrict present judges from noticing new facts, provided only that the new fact is notorious to all the community. for example, the unquestioned election of william h. taft as president of the united states is notorious; but no man named william h. taft has ever been elected president, and no judicial precedent has noticed the fact. but no court would hesitate to notice this new notorious fact. "if, then, a man named schmitz was notoriously mayor of san francisco and a man named ruef was notoriously its political boss, at the time in question, that is all that any court needs; and the doctrine of judicial notice gives it all the liberty it needs. it is conceivable that a trial judge might sometimes hesitate in applying this doctrine of notoriety, because the trial court might fear that the supreme court would not perceive the notoriety. but there never need be any such hesitation in a supreme court, if that court does see the notoriety. "and this is just where the learned chief justice is to be criticised. he does not for a moment ask or answer the question, 'did we actually, as men and officers, believe these facts to be notoriously so?' but refers to certain mechanical rules, external to his mind. what that supreme court should have done was to decide whether they under the circumstances did actually believe the facts about the status of schmitz and ruef to be notorious. in not so doing, they erred against the whole spirit and principle of judicial notice. "and mr. heney's demonstration that there is nothing in the codes to forbid them is complete; for, of course, the code of procedure, in tellingto do the right thingto do the right thing them (section ) that 'the courts take judicial notice of the following facts,' simply gave them a liberty of belief as to those specified facts, and did not take away their liberty as to other unspecified facts. "but there is a deeper error than this in the learned chief justice's letter, and in the court's opinion. the letter says: 'if by means of these allegations or otherwise it had been made to appear that the defendants had caused the applicants to believe that they could and would influence the police commissioners to reject their application regardless of its merits i have never doubted that the indictment would have been sufficient.' he stakes his decision on this point. the point is that, in determining the fear caused by the threat, which constituted extortion, the belief of the restaurant-keeper as to schmitz's and ruef's power, and not their actual power, was the essential thing. if that is so, then of what consequence was it whether one or the other was mayor or boss? and of what consequence was it whether those facts were averred or judicially noticed. none at all. the indictment alleged that the threats were made to use influence or power over the commissioners, and that their purpose was to obtain money by means of (i.e., through fear of) such threats. obviously, then, the actual power or influence was immaterial; and the belief of the restaurant-keeper, the only material fact, was a question of the evidence on the trial, and not of the legal sufficiency of the indictment. all the lucubrations about judicial notice were therefore beside the point. "the inconsistency of the learned chief justice, in thus taking as essential the actual status of schmitz and ruef, is further seen in his next paragraph. there he declares 'it could not be assumed that such private persons could prevent the issuance of the license otherwise than by adducing good reasons.' but why does he assume that, on the contrary, a threat by a mayor or a boss could prevent the issuance of the license otherwise than by adducing good reasons? he says that if it had appeared that the threats were made by a mayor and a boss, then this would have sufficed, because, in his own words, their influence to reject the application would have been used 'regardless of its merits.' see what this means. suppose that two persons, a mayor and a private citizen, tell a restaurant-keeper that they will do all they can to induce a commissioner to revoke the license unless money is paid; for one of these persons, the learned chief justice immediately assumes that he can and will do this 'regardless of its merits'; for the other he says 'it cannot be assumed.' why not for one as much or as little as the other? he does not say that the private person could not possibly succeed in influencing the commissioner corruptly--he merely says that 'it cannot be assumed.' on the other hand, why assume it for the mayor? surely a mayor might fail in trying to influence an honest commissioner by a corrupt threat to remove him. in short, either assume that on the facts of the trial a private person might have power to influence corruptly the license; in which case an allegation of his mayoralty would be superfluous. or else refuse to assume that a mayor, merely as such, could and would inevitably influence a commissioner corruptly; in which case the mere allegation of his being mayor would not be enough, and judicial notice would not cure. but the chief justice says it would be enough! he is plainly inconsistent. "the truth is that the learned chief justice, in endeavoring to support his decision, weaves a logical web, and then entangles himself in it. "such disputations were the life of scholarship and of the law six hundred years ago. they are out of place today. there are enough rules of law to sustain them, if the court wants to do so. and there are enough rules of law to brush them away, if the court wants to do that. "all the rules in the world will not get us substantial justice if the judges have not the correct living moral attitude toward substantial justice. "we do not doubt that there are dozens of other supreme justices who would decide, and are today deciding, in obscure cases, just such points in just the same way as the california case. and we do not doubt there are hundreds of lawyers whose professional habit of mind would make them decide just that way if they were elevated to the bench tomorrow in place of those other anachronistic jurists who are now there. the moral is that our profession must be educated out of such vicious habits of thought. one way to do this is to let the newer ideas be dinned into their professional consciousness by public criticism and private conversation. "the schmitz-ruef case will at least have been an ill-wind blowing good to somebody if it helps to achieve that result. "december , . "john h. wigmore." chapter xxiii. the defense becomes arrogant. the prosecution's reverses in the appellate and the supreme courts were followed by startling changes of policy on the part of the defendants. the officials of public service corporations, who by every technical device within the ingenuity of the best legal talent that could be purchased, had for months resisted trial, suddenly became clamorous for their trials to begin. abe ruef, who had been counted, by the public at least, as friendly to the prosecution, openly broke with the district attorney and his associates. president calhoun of the united railroads, who had been in the east, returned to san francisco demanding trial. the san francisco examiner, now openly opposing the prosecution, announced this new move to be a bomb-shell thrown in the prosecution's camp. nevertheless, the examiner could not entirely conceal the astonishment caused by the defense's new policy. "just what has brought about this change in calhoun's attitude," said the examiner in its issue of january , , "was not explained yesterday. tactics of evasion, motions of obstruction, and every other artifice known to legal legerdemain to stay proceedings have heretofore been the accepted etiquette of the graft defendants, and conspicuously that of patrick calhoun." the call, supporting the prosecution, boldly charged that the graft defendants were in treaty with ruef.[ ] and this view the district attorney's office was finally forced to accept. no sooner had the decision of the appellate court been made public than ruef clamored for dismissal of the extortion charge to which he had plead guilty, but which the higher court had decided in the schmitz case did not constitute a public offense. in this ruef was backed by rabbis nieto and kaplan. ruef, after the schmitz-ruef officials had been swept out of office, had been confined in the county jail. from the day of his jail imprisonment the two rabbis besought the district attorney day and night[ ] not to force the broken boss to remain behind the bars.[ ] langdon, not having decided at the time to appeal from the appellate court decision to the supreme court, finally yielded to the importunities of the two clergy-men and stated to judge dunne that ruef wanted to make a motion to withdraw his plea of guilty in the extortion case. judge dunne replied that he would not consider such motion.[ ] this closed the incident so far as dismissal of the case before the supreme court could pass upon it, was concerned. but it did not stop ruef's insistence that not only should he be allowed to withdraw his plea of guilty, but that he be given complete immunity from prosecution of all the charges against him. langdon, even before he had spoken to judge dunne about permitting ruef to withdraw his plea, had become convinced, as heney had become convinced long before, that ruef was not playing fair with the prosecution. ruef, when confronted with charges of holding back evidence, shifted and evaded, until langdon, losing patience, charged him with falsehood. about the middle of january, evidence came into langdon's possession[ ] which convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that ruef, instead of observing the immunity contract, was, as a matter of fact, dealing with and assisting his co-defendants, advising them of every move. langdon[ ] at once called ruef before him and notified him that the immunity contract was canceled.[ ] the abrogation of the immunity contract brought open break between ruef and the prosecution. ruef set up claim that under his immunity contract all the graft cases were to be dismissed against him, including that under which he had plead guilty to extortion. he insisted that he had lived up to his part of the agreement and charged that the prosecution was breaking faith. in this position, ruef was backed up by rabbis kaplan and nieto, who for months had been clamorously active in his behalf. indeed, long before the open breach had come, so persistent had the rabbis become in their insistence that ruef be released, that heney had found it necessary to request kaplan to remain away from his office.[ ] when ruef finally broke with the prosecution, the two rabbis were to the fore backing up his contention that the prosecution was not keeping faith with him.[ ] kaplan soon after filed an affidavit setting forth that under the agreement with the prosecution, ruef was to have had complete immunity, and be allowed to withdraw his plea of guilty in the extortion case. later on, nieto, "ruef's diplomatic middle man," as he was called, filed an affidavit to the same effect. ruef, on his part, filed a voluminous affidavit, purporting to cover all his transactions with the prosecution, in which he not only set up the claim that he was to have been given complete immunity but alleged that langdon, heney and burns, were guilty of subornation of perjury in having endeavored to get him to swear falsely against schmitz and ford. rabbis kaplan and nieto, in their affidavits gave versions of the meetings with judges dunne and lawlor, when the judges stated their confidence in the district attorney and his assistants, which differed from the accounts contained in the affidavit of heney and the judges.[ ] this brought the trial judges as well as the assistant prosecuting attorney into the controversy. the members of the grand jury that had indicted the graft defendants had already had their trials in open court;[ ] petit jurors and witnesses had, in effect, been on trial also. and now district attorney and trial judges were placed on their defense.[ ] other graft defendants joined in the upholding of ruef and the denunciation of the prosecution. adverse newspapers joined in the cry of unfairness and hinted at worse. the story became current that no appeal would be made from the appellate court's decision in the schmitz case to the supreme court. another story had it that the prosecution was breaking down, that the situation had become so complicated that no other trials could be had.[ ] on the other hand, the outcry did not in the least shake the faith of the citizens who were insisting upon the crushing out of corruption at the state's metropolis. colonel harris weinstock, one of the largest merchants of the state, in a ringing address condemned the efforts made to discredit the prosecution.[ ] the same position was taken in pulpit, club room and street discussion. from all parts of the state resolutions and memorials were sent the prosecution approving and upholding its work.[ ] and doggedly the prosecution proceeded to justify the expressions of confidence in its singleness of purpose and in its ability to cope with the tremendous odds brought against it. the immediate indictments about which the controversy raised by ruef's claim for immunity centered were those in the united railroad cases. the prosecution accordingly went before the grand jury then sitting--the oliver grand jury which had brought the original indictments had long since adjourned--and secured three indictments against ruef, calhoun and ford for the bribery of three supervisors, furey, nicholas and coleman. in these indictments every technical error which the ingenuity of the defense had brought out was eliminated. the new indictments were not secured because the prosecution regarded the objections as having merit, but that the district attorney's office might be prepared to meet any emergency which might arise.[ ] the next step was to bring ruef to trial. the prosecution selected the indictment under which ruef had been brought to bar for offering a bribe to supervisor jennings phillips to vote for the parkside street railroad franchise.[ ] prospect of immediate trial made a different man of ruef. he was at once seized with the panic which had come upon him when the jury had been completed to try him on the extortion charge. he begged for time. he insisted that he was without counsel. he asked for three weeks, a week, even two days.[ ] then came an entirely new technical defense based upon the immunity contract. ruef alleged that he had been deprived of his constitutional rights as a defendant, by following the set program outlined in the contract. but here ruef had over-reached himself. he had on january entered a plea of not guilty in the parkside case, the case on trial. the district attorney had abrogated the immunity contract thirteen days before, on january . whatever technical advantage ruef may have had because of the immunity contract was forfeited by his plea of not guilty after its annulment. his attorney gravely contended, however, that ruef--one of the shrewdest practitioners at the san francisco bar--was without legal counsel when he had entered his plea, and that he had therefore innocently foregone his constitutional rights. this contention provoked a smile even from ruef's partisans. the point was not urged further. seeing that trial could not be warded off on technicalities, ruef endeavored to disqualify judge dunne, the trial judge. but this move proved premature. judge dunne was about to go on his vacation and judge dooling,[ ] a superior court judge from the interior, was called to sit in judge dunne's stead. ruef thereupon proceeded to disqualify judge dooling. he alleged that judge dooling, as grand president of the native sons of the golden west, had signed an order expelling him (ruef) from the order; he alleged further that judge dooling had attacked him in a speech at a banquet. judge dooling, placed on trial as judges lawlor and dunne had been, was forced to make defense. he denied in affidavits that he had ever specially mentioned ruef's name in any speech, but admitted that he might have said that any man guilty of crime should be expelled from the native sons order. ruef went to the appellate court for a writ of prohibition to prevent judge dooling trying the case. the appellate court denied his petition. then ruef went to the supreme court. here again his prayer was denied. thus, protesting as vigorously as a cat pulled over a carpet by the tail, was ruef for a second time dragged to trial. the work of securing a jury to try him began. gradually, the jury box filled. but before it was completed there occurred an incident of the prosecution even more startling than the sending of cash books out of the state, the trailing of members of the prosecution by agents of the defense,[ ] the disappearance of witnesses, the larceny of the prosecution's records, or the attempted kidnaping of witness lonergan and editor older. on the eve of taking testimony in the ruef case an attempt was made to murder james l. gallagher by dynamiting his residence. gallagher was the pivotal witness against ruef, as well as against ford, then on trial. in the ruef case, gallagher had taken word from ruef to the supervisors that there would be $ --later increased to $ --for each of them if they granted the parkside franchise. without gallagher's testimony the case against ruef would fall flat. general ford's third trial was then in progress and well advanced. here again, gallagher was the pivotal witness. he had taken the trolley bribe money from ruef to the supervisors. he supplied the link between those who had been bribed, and ruef. his testimony was indispensable if ruef and ford--then on trial--were to be convicted. his testimony was equally necessary in the cases against calhoun, drum, in fact all the graft defendants, except those who had dealt directly with the supervisors. the evening of the day following gallagher's testimony in the ford case, but before he appeared at the ruef trial, dynamite was exploded at the front doors of the house in which he was residing. the dynamite had been placed next to the dining room. gallagher was at the time living at the home of w. h. h. schenck at oakland. so violent was the explosion that the house, a frame building, was split in twain. a pillar from the porch was thrown feet. in the building on the adjoining premises, every window was broken. the family had just completed the evening meal and a number of them were still seated around the table. the table was split from end to end. at the moment of the explosion, one of those in the house was showing a curious watch guard and had the watch in his hand. the watch stopped, thus fixing the exact time of the explosion, : p. m. there were in the house at the time of the explosion, w. h. h. schenck and wife, and three children, the youngest seven years old; lieutenant guy brown of the national guard; and gallagher and his wife. every one in the building was thrown down by the force of the explosion, but extraordinary to say, none of them was seriously injured. gallagher and his wife were in an upper room of the building. the stairway was demolished, and gallagher was obliged to lower his wife to the ground, getting down himself the best way he could. a month later three buildings in oakland belonging to gallagher were destroyed by dynamite. soon after this second explosion a young greek, john claudianes, was arrested and charged with the outrage. claudianes made full confession, involving his brother peter as principal. peter claudianes was finally captured at chicago. on his return to san francisco he confessed,[ ] stating that he had been employed by a greek, one felix pauduveris,[ ] to murder gallagher. felix pauduveris fled the city and the police of the world have been unable to locate him. peter claudianes was convicted of the attempt upon gallagher's life, was sentenced to prison for life, and at present writing is confined in san quentin prison.[ ] quite as extraordinary as the attempted assassination of gallagher was the indifference with which the outrage was received by the press that was supporting the graft defense.[ ] the chronicle condemned the outrage, but took occasion to denounce gallagher.[ ] the weekly press, however, treated the affair as something of a joke on the confessed bribe-taker.[ ] in the face of the ridicule of the graft-defense press, the dynamiting of witnesses, and the continent-wide hunt for the dynamiters, the ruef trial went steadily on. one incident of the beginning of the trial, because of the event that grew out of it, eventually proved even more important than the trial itself. during the examination of jurors, an ex-convict, one morris haas, was discovered to have been sworn to try the case. heney exposed him and he was excused from service.[ ] the incident, compared with the other tremendous happenings of the time, was of small importance, but it was destined to lead to the greatest outrage of all the history of the prosecution, the shooting down of assistant district attorney heney in open court. but for the time, haas passed out of the graft cases and was forgotten. the ruef trial was not unlike the ford trials. the courtroom was packed with detectives, agents and thugs employed by the various graft defendants.[ ] there was the same hesitancy on the part of witnesses. at one stage of the proceedings ach, ruef's chief of counsel, sneered that the state was having trouble with its own witness. "yes," replied heney, "the people have no witness--no volunteer witnesses. we merely produce them." when j. e. green, president of the parkside company, who had authorized the payments to ruef, refused to testify on the ground that he might incriminate himself, it looked as though the case was going against the prosecution. but heney met this objection. he promptly moved the dismissal of the fourteen indictments pending against green.[ ] ach objected, but the motion was granted. green was left free to testify. green testified how he had sent his attorney,[ ] judge walter c. cope, to ruef to find out what ruef was after. ruef wanted $ , to put the franchise through. green testified that ruef finally agreed to take $ , , and was actually paid $ , on account. g. h. umbsen testified to having received $ , from the parkside company for ruef and had paid ruef $ , , the balance being held until the deal should be consummated. in addition to this, the sorry manner[ ] in which the company's books had been juggled to cover up the transaction was shown by witnesses connected with the parkside company. ruef's intimation through his attorney that the money had been paid as a fee was offset by testimony that the books had been juggled to cover up the payment to ruef because ruef was the political boss of the city, and it was believed that it would do the company no good if the fact of his employment were known. gallagher testified that he had been ruef's representative on the board; that ruef had told him that the parkside franchise was to be held up and delayed; that later ruef had stated that each supervisor would receive $ because of the parkside deal; that finally, after the fire, ruef had told witness that the parkside people wanted the franchise in a new form, and that the $ to each supervisor would be increased to $ , ; that he (gallagher) had conveyed this information to the supervisors. supervisors testified to having been given the information by gallagher. ruef offered no testimony. the jury was out forty-three hours. by a vote of to the jury failed to agree. again a graft trial had ended in discouraging failure for the prosecution.[ ] after the disagreement of the jury in the ruef parkside case, to judge from most of the san francisco public prints of the time, the prosecution was utterly discredited in san francisco. but there is a surer means of estimating public opinion--namely, by the votes of the people. much of the graft defense's abuse and vilification was heaped upon judges lawlor and dunne, who had stood firmly for enforcement of the law regardless of who might be affected. judge dunne's term as superior judge was to expire in . he was, at the november election of , a candidate for re-election. judge dunne was frankly fought by the graft defense, and supported by those who approved the work of the prosecution. the republican county convention refused to nominate him, and hissed his name. the union labor party convention received his name with a turmoil of hoots and jeers. a letter to the last-named convention from the good government league urging his nomination was thrown into the waste-paper basket. on the other hand, when given opportunity for expression the people gave judge dunne encouraging endorsement. the good government league proceeded to have his name put on the ballot by petition. for the petition , signatures were required. over , persons signed it the first day. the press--outside san francisco--following the graft trials closely, was practically a unit in urging judge dunne's return to the bench.[ ] and in spite of the costly contest of his election, the people of san francisco re-elected judge dunne. thus again were the contentions of the graft defense repudiated at the polls. another important endorsement of the prosecution came from the board of supervisors. the supervisors provided in their annual budget $ , to meet the extraordinary expenditures because of the graft cases. burns and the men who had theretofore been paid out of the fund controlled by rudolph spreckels, became regular municipal employees operating under the district attorney. the criticism of the defense had been that it was shameful that a privately-financed prosecution should be tolerated. their cry now was at the shame of wasting the public funds on burns and his staff. action was instituted, through william h. metson, to prevent the municipal officials paying burns and his associates out of this fund. for months the salaries of those affected were held up. although eventually the opposition to the prosecution lost in the contest, and the men were paid the amounts due them, the suit was an annoyance and a handicap. but in spite of the tremendous opposition which the graft defense was working up, the prosecution went steadily on with its work. ruef was put to trial for offering a bribe to supervisor furey to vote for the permit giving the united railroads its overhead trolley franchise. footnotes: [ ] when calhoun returned to san francisco demanding immediate trial, the examiner announced that he "threw a bombshell into the camp of the prosecution." the call, however, dealt with the incident as follows: "patrick calhoun has come back in a hurry, shouting for an immediate trial. he is certain that he has the prosecution on the hip. his men are in treaty with ruef. his organs in the press, the examiner, the chronicle and the gutter weeklies, begin to see ruef in a wholly new light. three weeks ago ruef was the vilest criminal. no immunity for him. indeed, immunity, in the lexicon of the calhoun press, was then a worse crime than bribery or graft. it is very different now that the new alliance between ruef and the bribe givers is in process of negotiation. ruef has at once become the persecuted sufferer, the victim of a heartless cabal, pushing one more unfortunate to his ruin and positively 'rushing' him to trial with indecent haste, with no lawyers but henry ach to hire. it is too bad. "why this astonishing and sudden change of front? it is simply that calhoun has made up his mind that this is the time for grafters and boodlers and bribe givers to stand together. he has persuaded himself that the prosecution is dazed by the extraordinary decision of the court of appeals, and that the same has put ruef in a receptive mood for a treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, among all varieties of boodlers, franchise grabbers, bribe givers and bribe takers. calhoun knows that ruef on trial or before trial is a very different person from ruef after conviction. he wants to keep ruef in his present state of mind. of course, he knows that he can not trust ruef. no man who has had dealings with the shifty boss knows on what side he will turn up next. at present ruef lends a responsive ear to calhoun's overtures. consultations are held without disguise between calhoun's lawyers and ruef. it is time for ruef and calhoun to stand together. the association is suggestive but natural." [ ] the graft prisoners unquestionably suffered greatly from their confinement. "no matter," said ruef, in an interview printed in the examiner january , , "how much effort is made, the place cannot be kept clean. filth accumulates and no running water has been provided. the gases from the drain pipes permeate the cells and are always present. no prisoner can keep himself clean, and it is no wonder that clothing and everything is uncleanly." schmitz, long of body, complained that he needed a long cell. "i would like a longer cell," he is reported as saying. "my legs are too long and i cannot stretch them out. the hole is beastly and no place for a clean man." louis glass declared that he would be dead in a few days if not permitted to remain outside his cell. [ ] see affidavit filed by district attorney langdon in the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. . [ ] see affidavits filed by district attorney langdon, and by judge dunne, in the case of patrick calhoun et al., no. . [ ] langdon does not state in his affidavit what this evidence was. but at the trial of ruef for offering bribes to jennings phillips to grant the parkside railroad franchise, former supervisor wilson testified that at the first ford trial ruef had asked him to bury his memory of the money transactions and discussions with ruef. ruef at the time was pretending to be assisting the prosecution in conformity with the terms of his immunity contract. [ ] district attorney langdon, in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. , states his attitude toward ruef. mr. langdon says: "affiant further avers and declares that if affiant believed that the defendant ruef had fully and fairly performed his part of the agreement, and had honestly rendered such service to the state as would have entitled him to the consideration set forth in the immunity contract, this affiant would have moved in open court to dismiss the indictments against defendant ruef, and if said motion were denied and affiant was directed by the court or any other official to proceed with the trial of said defendant, this affiant would have declined to do so, and after exhausting every resource at his command to carry out the terms and conditions of said immunity agreement, would have resigned his official position of district attorney of the city and county of san francisco, rather than prosecute the defendant ruef. "this affiant avers that it was only when he became convinced that the defendant ruef was still traitorous to the state he had debauched, and whose laws he had defied, and that instead of trying to make reparation for the wrong he had done, was endeavoring not only to save himself from the punishment he so richly deserved, but also was endeavoring to make certain the escape from punishment of his co-defendants, that affiant determined the immunity contract to have been broken by ruef, and no longer in force and effect." [ ] the examiner in its issue of january , , stated that the abrogation of the immunity contract, "means among other things that ruef will now have aligned in his defense, the massed influence of interests represented by the prosecution to command $ , , in wealth." [ ] heney, in an affidavit filed in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al., no. , states that he finally said to kaplan, "you only annoy and irritate me by coming here, doctor, and i wish you would stay away. i don't want to get mad at you, because i respect you and am satisfied that you are sincere, but ruef is making a fool of you, and i have wasted more time than i can spare in talking with you about these things. you will do me a great favor if you will stay away from my office." in spite of this suggestion, kaplan, a few days later, called heney up on the telephone. of the incident, heney says in his affidavit: "a few days later, however, he called me on the telephone. i was at my office at the time, and do not know where he was. he said over the telephone in substance, 'mr. heney, i don't like to trouble you any more, but i had a talk with mr. burns and i have since had another talk with mr. ruef, and i am sure that mr. ruef's testimony will now satisfy you. he says that when he is on the witness stand and you ask him'--i interrupted him at about this point and said in a very severe tone of voice, 'dr. kaplan, i don't want you talking such stuff to me over the phone, or anywhere else. i have asked you not to talk to me about this matter any more and not to come to my office, and i will now have to ask you not to call me any more on the telephone. i don't want to hear anything more about ruef's testimony.'" [ ] see affidavits filed by rabbis nieto and kaplan in the case of the people vs. patrick calhoun et al. [ ] see chapter xv. [ ] see chapter xv. [ ] a letter from w. h. payson, a leader of the san francisco bar, to rabbi nieto fairly expressed the public attitude on the rabbi's stand. mr. payson's letter read: "rabbi jacob nieto. dear sir:--as you have written a letter to the public explaining your connection with the ruef case, it may not be out of place for one of the public to reply. "when mr. ruef made his apparently frank statement admitting that he had betrayed his city into the hands of the spoilers, but promised to do all in his power to right the wrong, whatever the consequences might be to himself, the public believed him and believed that he was going to do right because it was right and for his own self-respect, and not at the price of saving his own skin. acting on this assumption many of us congratulated mr. ruef and assured him that he had gone far toward recovering his position in the public esteem. it now turns out from your letter of explanation that mr. ruef's public statement of his high and noble purpose was a mockery and hollow sham; that he had rejected any proposition to act the man, but like his contemptible associates, sought only to escape his just deserts. "we recognize the unfortunate necessity the prosecution was under of granting immunity in order to secure the evidence to convict the greater felons, but surely the officers of the law were fully qualified to attend to that miserable business. if you could have influenced mr. ruef to stand on the higher plane of honor and decency of which you are the advocate and representative, you would indeed have done a great public service and you might have saved him for better things, but it would seem that your services were directed chiefly to saving him from the just penalty of his crimes and that the arrangement with him was on the same sordid level as the immunity contracts with the supervisors, for which no ministerial services were necessary. from your position and religious heritage we had a right to expect that your distinguished services would have been put to a better use. i am still sufficiently credulous as to believe that with proper influence mr. ruef might have been induced to take the course we were led to believe he had taken. "your letter even leaves it to be inferred that mr. ruef is justified in his present attitude, and that the judges, who, from your statement, were ready to go to the extreme of mercy and consideration, are now to be censured for not carrying out an immunity contract which has been flagrantly broken by the other party to it. "the serious features of this unfortunate situation are not that officials should receive bribes, or that men of wealth and standing should bribe them, or that attorneys of reputation should engineer the filthy operation, but that not one of the army of bribed and bribers has been found of sufficient manliness or moral stamina to make a frank statement of the facts and give aid in the cause of justice, and that so many people are willing to shield the influential criminals for commercial motives, and that there is so low a state of public morals as to make these things possible. "the great body of the public is heart and soul back of this prosecution, because we believe it is an honest attempt, not merely to convict certain criminals, but to elevate the standard of public morality, and whatever may be the outcome and even though, through successive miscarriages of justice, every guilty man escape his legal punishment, the graft prosecution has, nevertheless, succeeded beyond our fondest hopes; nine-tenths of its work has been accomplished, and in the teeth of the most determined and desperate opposition perhaps ever known. "be assured that every guilty man will be convicted at the bar of public opinion, and from that conviction there will be no appeal and no escape; they will be known and branded for life, each and every one. the public is not a party to the immunity contracts. "very truly yours, "w. h. payson. "san francisco, january , ." [ ] district attorney langdon's statement in reply to these criticisms was as follows: "i have no answer at this time to make to the statements given out by patrick calhoun and made in behalf of other defendants in the graft cases with the intention of discrediting the prosecution and attempting to lead the public to believe that we have acted unfairly in the conduct of these cases. the time will come when such charges will be answered, but they will be answered only as events shall direct. "nothing that has occurred within the past few weeks has in any way complicated the situation as far as the prosecution is concerned or has tended to weaken our position. the original plans of the prosecution are to be carried out just as we have always intended to carry them out. the ruef case will be tried immediately, and every other defendant under indictment will be brought to trial just as quickly as the courts are able to dispose of the cases. we shall not falter in our duty. i can promise that while the present district attorney is in office this battle will be fought out to the end of the last case. "the fact is that at the present time we have the tactical advantage over all the defendants, who have allied their interests for mutual protection. they know we have this advantage and that is why they are shouting so loudly from the housetops. we do not answer the attacks that are made because we are trying law cases and our every energy is bent to the prosecution of those cases. we are entirely satisfied, however, with the position in which we stand at this time and are prepared to fight our battles in the courts to a finish." [ ] the following are extracts taken from mr. weinstock's address: "after all, the saddest thing is to find men who are rated as decent, law-abiding, intelligent, presumably high minded and moral, condoning the sins of the bribe givers and deploring their indictment and prosecution. "both the commercial and political bribe givers committed serious crimes, but by far the more serious was the crime of corrupting public officials, because the tendency of this crime is to undermine the very foundation of the state, thus leading to the ultimate destruction of democracy. "if the spirit of the respectables, fighting and condemning the graft prosecution, is to become the common spirit, then must we bid farewell to civic virtue, farewell to public morality, farewell to good government and in time farewell to our republican institutions and to civic liberty." [ ] a very good example of this is shown in a memorial from sonoma. the memorial read as follows: "sonoma, cal., march , . to william h. langdon, francis j. heney, rudolph spreckels and others engaged in the graft prosecution in san francisco. gentlemen: it appearing that a portion of the press of this state is engaged in belittling the efforts of those engaged in the prosecution of the graft cases in san francisco, and is endeavoring to impute improper and unjust motives to all who have such prosecution in charge; and we realizing that it is the duty of all honest people everywhere to uphold the hands of the prosecution, and to encourage them to proceed in all lawful ways to continue in their efforts to bring all law breakers to justice, "we, the undersigned citizens and residents of sonoma and vicinity, mindful of the good work you are all doing, wish to show our appreciation of your efforts, and encourage you in continuing to pursue the course you have marked out, to the end that all law breakers shall be punished and the majesty of the law vindicated." [ ] heney, in a published statement regarding these indictments, said: "we do not consider for a minute that there is a particle of merit to any of the claims made by the defendants that the former indictments were defectively drawn in any detail. it is wise, however, to be prepared for anything that might happen at any subsequent time, and so the present true bills have been found. these indictments are so drawn as to eliminate every technical objection that has been made by any of the defendants to the former indictments, and the action has been at this time so that the statute of limitations would not run against the crime charged. there is absolutely no significance to the fact that the name of abbott and mullally were omitted, except that we feel that the cases against the three defendants named are of far greater importance. our sole purpose has been to throw an anchor to windward to avoid possible trouble in the future." [ ] james d. phelan, at the mass meeting called after the attempted assassination of heney, summed up the parkside case tersely: "take the parkside case," he said. "there were some men who wanted a franchise which we were all willing to concede, but the boss said it would be advisable to pay for it. instead of making a demand upon the supervisors and an appeal to the citizens on the justice of their cause and the desirability of giving them the franchise, they continued their dickering with ruef, and for so much money, thirty thousand dollars, i believe, he said he would give it to them. then they 'doctored' their books and went down to the crocker national bank and got the money in green-backs, handed out to them by the teller of that institution, whose managers were stockholders in the parkside, among them a gentleman who told you the other day to vote against the hetch-hetchy proposition, mr. william h. crocker. "now, finding that they could get so easily a privilege by paying for it, what did they do? they asked mr. ruef to give them the franchise, not on twentieth avenue, an ungraded street, which they first wanted, but in nineteenth avenue, which had been dedicated as a boulevard for the use of the people, which was substantially paved, and which was the only avenue we had to cross from the park to ingleside. he said to them that that would take fifteen thousand dollars more, and they said 'it's a bargain.' and these gentlemen who sought the least objectionable franchise, tell you now that they were victims, tell you now that they could not get their franchise any other way. they were glad because they were a part of the system, a part of the 'other fellows' of the affiliated interests. they were glad to pay their money, which was a paltry sum to them, in order to perpetuate the rule of ruef; that they could go to him on any other occasion to get an extension, or a privilege or a franchise, or anything that they wanted, by simply paying for it. it would be the simplest form of government, my friends, to have somebody sitting in a place of power and pass out to you what you want. it would save you the expense of a campaign, it would save you the advertising in the newspapers, it would save you the cost of mailing a circular to every voter. it is indeed, a most economical and direct method of getting what you want from the government." [ ] the oakland tribune, in support of ruef's plea for delay, said: "now the question arises: is ruef now being prosecuted in good faith for the offenses alleged against him or is he being forced to trial without adequate preparation merely to coerce him into giving testimony he has repeatedly told heney, langdon and burns would be false? is not the summary process of law being invoked to compel ruef to tell to a trial jury a different story from the one he related under oath to the oliver grand jury? in other words, is not the prosecution now trying either to punish ruef for refusing to commit or convict himself of perjury or intimidate him into assisting, as a witness under duress, heney and langdon to make good the threat they reiterated on the stump last fall that they would send patrick calhoun to state prison? "admitting ruef to be guilty of all the crimes of which he stands accused, is he not now being proceeded against in a criminal spirit and with a criminal intent? having failed to get what they want by compounding the felonies of ruef and his followers, are not the prosecution resorting to compulsion under the forms of law to compel the commission of perjury?" [ ] judge m. t. dooling was at the time superior judge of san benito, one of the smaller of the interior counties. he had, however, already a state-wide reputation for integrity and ability. he left the san benito county bench to accept the appointment of president wilson as united states district judge. [ ] some of these trailers were arrested and forced into court. on one day four men, frank shaw, alias harry nelson, harry smith, alias harry zobler, j. r. johnson, alias j. r. hayes, and cliff middlemiss were placed under arrest for following detective burns. [ ] according to peter claudianes' confession to burns, he had been summoned from chico to san francisco by felix pauduveris early in march. pauduveris told him he had a hard piece of work for claudianes to do, namely, kill gallagher, the chief witness in the graft prosecution. pauduveris had told him there was $ apiece and three dollars a day for expenses in the job for them. the first proposition, according to claudianes' confession, was for claudianes to shoot poisoned glass into gallagher's face by means of an ordinary sling-shot. but this plan was abandoned on the ground that claudianes' capture would be sure to follow. a plan to poison gallagher was also abandoned. destruction by means of dynamite was finally decided upon. pauduveris had taken claudianes over to oakland and showed him where gallagher resided. after the failure of the dynamite plot, claudianes had arranged to secure apartments in the same building with gallagher and put poison into gallagher's milk. before this plot could be carried out, john claudianes had confessed and peter had become a fugitive from justice. in his confession to burns, peter claudianes stated: "pauduveris said the prosecution with heney, langdon, burns and spreckels had put about , men out of work. we must get rid of gallagher as he is their principal witness. if he is put out of the way the prosecution will end. there is about $ in it for us and about $ in it for your brother john. felix pauduveris was very angry because no one was killed in the explosion at the schenck house. he said it was not a clean job." in his confession, claudianes stated further: "i thought i was working for ruef, as i knew felix was a very intimate friend of his. when felix told me i had got to shadow gallagher i knew the word came from ruef. felix said that ruef would never go across the bay, as he had them all buffaloed. ruef was too smart for those fellows, felix said, and the gang was all behind ruef. the prosecution had no grudge against gallagher, but it had a grudge against ruef." [ ] pauduveris had been employed by the united railroads as a "spotter." at the time of the explosion he was still in that corporation's employ. he was at the same time a political follower of ruef. [ ] the attempt upon gallagher's life led the prosecution to take steps to secure his testimony in a form in which it could be used before a trial jury in the event of gallagher's death. under the california law, testimony taken at a preliminary hearing can, in the event of the death or disability of a witness, be used at the trial of the case. after the parkside case trial, ruef was arrested on a charge of bribery and given a preliminary examination at which gallagher testified against him. gallagher's testimony was thus made secure against poison or dynamite. [ ] the examiner following the explosion printed a series of ridiculing cartoons picturing the dynamiting of a bird cage and describing at length the escape of the parrot that had occupied it. [ ] the chronicle took advantage of the dynamite outrage to voice its condemnation of gallagher. "there is," said that paper in its issue of april , "no more undesirable citizen on earth than the contemptible boodler james l. gallagher, who is living on the profits of the shame which he brazenly flaunts in the face of mankind, but the effort to discover the miscreant who dynamited the house where he was living should be pushed as vigorously as if the intended victim was the most estimable citizen of california. society despises such boodlers as gallagher, but it does not seek their destruction by dynamite. the dynamiter is a coward who is even more contemptible than a boodler. he sneaks up in the dark, fires his explosive and runs, because in his craven soul he dare not stand up and meet his enemy. the punishment of the dynamiter--successful or unsuccessful--should be severe, but it should be solemnly inflicted after due process of law. "it is, of course, possible that some of the wretches with whom he was associated during his career of crime have taken that method of getting rid of his testimony, but it is not probable. among those against whom he has not yet given the testimony which he will give are the only persons who can be conceived of as having a motive to get gallagher out of the way, but no one that we hear of suspects any of them of having resorted to that atrocious method of defense, in which six persons besides gallagher himself came near being murdered. in the absence of any conceivable sufficient motive the dastardly act must be assumed the work of a wicked man gone crazy." [ ] the following from the san francisco argonaut of may , , is fairly expressive of the attitude of the san francisco weekly press on the attempt on gallagher's life: "mr. heney in so far as it lay in him to do it, 'placed' the 'crime' upon the 'minions' of calhoun. the other independent and all-seeing minds of the prosecution's staff fell in with this theory of the case. so far as the so-called graft prosecutors are concerned there is no mystery about the matter--the explosion in gallagher's house was nothing less than an attempt to assassinate that eminent worthy for the sake of 'getting him out of the way.' this theory has to face several embarrassing considerations. in the first place, gallagher's testimony has been given again and again, and stands as an official record in a half-dozen instances. getting gallagher out of the way would not, therefore, do away with his testimony. furthermore, there are other witnesses competent to testify to every vital fact in the gallagher story. so far as the immediate case is concerned, gallagher has already given his testimony and the effect of 'getting him out of the way' would be only to emphasize his statements. furthermore, if there had been any wish to get gallagher out of the way there has been plenty of chances to do it any time this year and a half past. if assassination has been part of the scheme of the defense, there have been ten thousand opportunities since the striking of that famous bargain between spreckels and gallagher inside the presidio gate. the thing might have been done, too, without hazarding the lives of half a dozen women and children." in view of the inability of mr. langdon's successor in the district attorney's office to make effective prosecution of the graft cases, on the ground that gallagher, who had left california, was absent from the state, and that his testimony was necessary to secure convictions, the argonaut article makes interesting reading. [ ] heney's exposure of haas was unquestionably warranted and necessary. the incident, however, has been made subject of much misrepresentation and attacks upon heney. [ ] heney in a speech made before mayor and supervisors showed how the prosecution was harassed by thugs. [ ] see transcript in the people vs. ruef (parkside case) for dismissal of these indictments and of other indictments against parkside officials. [ ] for additional data regarding this case, see chapter xiv, footnotes , , , , , . [ ] see footnote . [ ] months after, when men had been indicted for endeavoring to influence jurors to vote for ruef's acquittal in the united railroads case, isaac penny, who had acted as foreman of the jury that failed to agree in the parkside case, in a public statement denounced that jury as not honest. "had i known then," said penny in an interview printed in the san francisco call, september , , "what i have since learned about jury tampering, i would have sprung a sensation in judge dooling's court that would have resulted in the haling of numerous men before the court. * * * i have been turning this over again and again in my mind, and there is but one answer--that jury was not an honest one." later, penny gave sensational testimony along this line in judge lawlor's court. [ ] from one end of the state to the other, judge dunne was warmly commended as a jurist and a man. "the name of judge dunne," said the pasadena news, "stands in california honored among honest men because of the enemies he has made. every politician and every newspaper that has defended bribery and sought to embarrass the graft prosecution is against judge dunne. they stocked a political convention against him. judge dunne's defeat in san francisco would be a disgrace to that city and a reflection on the honor and intelligence of the people of california." "the corrupt corporation organs," said the sacramento bee, "and the servile journalistic tools of the predatory rich--such as the argonaut, for instance--are barking in unison at the heels of judge dunne in san francisco and declaring he is unfit to sit on the bench. dunne's crime in their eyes is that he did his simple, plain duty in the graft prosecution cases. if he had neglected that duty, to tip the scales of justice over to favor the 'higher ups,' the same gang, with the argonaut in the lead, would be praising him to the skies as a most just judge, a righteous judge, and would be clamoring for his re-election." chapter xxiv. jury-fixing uncovered. from the beginning of the graft trials rumors of efforts to tamper with the trial jurors had been current. the failures of juries to agree in the face of what to the man on the street appeared to be conclusive evidence, lent more or less color to these reports. but it was not until ruef's trial[ ] for offering a bribe in the over-head trolley transaction opened, that the jury-fixing scandal took definite shape. then, came sensational exposures, involving indictments and trials for jury-fixing which for a time over-shadowed in interest the graft trials themselves. ruef's trial for offering a bribe to supervisor furey to vote for the over-head trolley franchise, began august , .[ ] but nearly a month before, on july , district attorney langdon had been given definite information that an attempt had been made to bribe one of the talesmen who had been called for jury service at the ruef trial. the talesman in question was john martin kelly, a real estate salesman. the list of prospective jurors had been made public in july. late on the afternoon of july , mr. langdon received a telephone message from kelly requesting an interview, which was granted immediately. kelly told langdon[ ] that that afternoon he had been approached by a building contractor, e. a. s. blake, and offered $ if he would qualify on the ruef jury and vote for acquittal.[ ] langdon called in burns. burns advised kelly to pretend to listen to blake's overtures, to insist that $ was too little, and to demand $ , to the end that blake might be trapped and the jury-fixing, which all believed to be going on, be uncovered. kelly, co-operating with burns, followed these instructions. in his dealings with blake, kelly insisted upon $ as the price of his services in ruef's behalf, which blake finally consented should be paid him. the negotiations were carried on during august. finally on september , burns directed kelly to step up to the bar of judge lawlor's court where ruef's trial was proceeding, and tell his story. as kelly on that day approached the bar, during a lull in the proceedings, ach, it is alleged, was heard to ejaculate to the little group about ruef, "there she goes." frank j. murphy, one of ruef's attorneys, immediately jumped to his feet, and claimed the court's attention. "if your honor please," said murphy, "if that completes the examination of this panel and it is necessary to draw further from the box, there is a statement i desire to make to this court which is based upon some reflection and upon the advice of the presiding judge of this court. some several weeks ago, or about two weeks ago i should say, one of the jurors upon this panel sent to me indirectly and offered to accept money for his vote. charges of bribery, of course, have been numerous in connection with this case, but this is the first instance that i have ever heard of in connection with this case or in connection with any other case that any juror has solicited a bribe, or has been offered a bribe. i consulted with judge sturtevant[ ] about the matter on the st of september. i stated to him the facts in the case and he advised me that whenever the time became ripe for the juror to be called into the box that it was my duty to present it to this court. now, the juror's name is john martin kelly, and i was informed indirectly that mr. kelly solicited $ for his vote in this case, and the matter is of so much importance, your honor, that i think an investigation should be had by this court before this case proceeds further, and if necessary the grand jury should look into this matter and give it a thorough and exhaustive examination. now, if your honor please, i don't want to do mr. kelly an injustice. i would hesitate, if the court please, to make a charge of that kind, but my informant is a man whom i have known but a very short time, and after a thorough examination by me of him, after eliciting from him every fact i could in connection with the case, i am induced to believe that he came with authority from mr. kelly to make this proposition to myself and one of the attorneys who was connected with one of the other cases. now, if the court please, under the advice of judge sturtevant, whom i consulted on the subject twice, i deem it my duty to call that to the attention of your honor and if it is necessary to file any affidavit to set the machinery of this court in motion i am willing and ready to procure an affidavit to file so that a complete investigation may be had of this matter." murphy's statement created a sensation, which was more than duplicated by the statement made by heney the moment after. "if the court please," said heney, "before mr. murphy takes the stand i have a statement to make. mr. murphy says that he discussed this subject on the st. i have in my pocket a statement dictated by mr. kelly--this is one of the most audacious pieces of business i have yet met with--i have a statement made by this juror on august , , that is before mr. murphy bethought him to go and see judge sturtevant, in which this juror sets forth fully the fact that a man was sent to him to bribe him in this case, and this juror not only made that statement on august th, but this juror went to the district attorney's office, to mr. langdon, the other day, on july st, the day it was made, it is a long time now and he has been acting under the district attorney's advice ever since, and mr. murphy never saw fit to call your honor's attention to it until he saw mr. kelly come in the door there and anticipated from the fact that mr. blake was traced to mr. ach's office yesterday that mr. kelly was about to state to your honor that he wanted this matter investigated, and that an attempt had been made to bribe him, and that under the district attorney's advice he was going on to permit them to pay the money, if necessary, so that we might catch them in this act, and it is only because they have had occasion to suspect we knew it, that mr. murphy has the audacity to come in here and ask for an investigation. now, we ask that mr. kelly take the stand and make the statement to your honor that he came here for the purpose of making, and that mr. murphy didn't say anything about until he saw him standing there ready to make it to your honor. he jumped up as soon as he saw mr. kelly walk in here." after heney had made his statement, murphy took the stand and swore that kelly, through blake, had solicited a bribe of $ from murphy to vote for ruef's acquittal. nevertheless, mr. murphy, as well as mr. a. s. newburgh, another of ruef's attorneys, admitted under oath that they had suggested to blake that he interview kelly.[ ] kelly took the stand and testified in a straightforward manner that he had been approached by blake, that he had consulted with the district attorney, and that a trap had been set to catch the alleged jury-fixer. detectives were sent out to notify blake that he was wanted in court. but blake could not be found. later he was arrested as he was about to board an outgoing train. blake was found to be a poor man on the brink of bankruptcy. he had neither money, nor property. nevertheless, attorneys[ ] came forward to defend him; bonds were furnished him. the most powerful and wealthy defendant in the graft cases was not better served. but the best of legal service could not save blake from indictment. later, both newburgh and murphy,[ ] mr. ruef's attorneys, were indicted also, charged with corruptly attempting to influence a juror.[ ] kelly, at blake's trial, told the same straightforward story which he had given at the original investigation. he was corroborated by his employer, and others. his testimony was most sensational. he stated, for example, that blake had told him that it would be easy for him to qualify as a juror; that ruef's attorneys would try to make it appear that they did not want him, and that their examination would be so thorough that the prosecution would not ask a question. blake had also told him, kelly testified, that he need not worry; that some jurors had taken money for their votes in the former ruef trial and had not been caught. blake was convicted. he was later sentenced to serve four years in the penitentiary. after blake's conviction, but before sentence was passed upon him, he sought out attorney matt i. sullivan, one of the few prominent san francisco attorneys who had kept free from entangling alliances with the graft defense. to sullivan, blake made confession[ ] of his participation in the jury-fixing transaction. in his confession he involved attorneys murphy and newburgh. later, in open court, he made public statement of his participation.[ ] blake in his statement in court set forth that he had become acquainted with newburgh through having offices in the same building with him. he had, he said, met murphy in newburgh's office. newburgh had introduced them. murphy, he stated, had shown him a list of prospective jurors, and had asked him if he knew any of them. he had told the lawyers that he knew john martin kelly. they had, blake stated, got him to make an offer to kelly, which he did. he had offered kelly $ and finally $ . kelly (acting under instructions from district attorney langdon and burns) had finally agreed to take $ . blake testified that he had reported back to murphy that kelly would accept the money. following his arrest, blake testified, his lawyers had come to him without his solicitation,[ ] with the statement in explanation that they had come from a mutual friend. blake stated that he had heard afterward that the "mutual friend" was murphy and newburgh. his bonds had been furnished without his stir, through his attorneys. murphy and newburgh, he claimed, had assured him they would do everything they could for him; that he need not worry; that they would provide for him and provide for his wife in case he were convicted.[ ] continuing, blake stated that after his conviction he had had a talk with murphy. the general nature of the interview was that he had good ground for a new trial. "they said," blake testified, "'when we get up to the higher court, it will be thrown out,' or something of that kind." according to blake's statement, a fund of $ , was promised him and an agreement was made that his wife should be paid $ a month during his imprisonment. murphy, he said, showed him what purported to be promissory notes[ ] aggregating $ . the notes, he alleged, were made to murphy and signed with ruef's name with the endorsement of ruef's sister and father. blake was requested to select a representative to hold the notes. it was alleged that blake named martin stevens, an attorney, as such representative.[ ] after blake's confession came the trials of murphy and newburgh. they did not differ to any great extent from the principal graft trials. there were the delaying tactics that had been characteristic of the graft cases; failure of jurors to agree; acquittals. murphy's trial came first. there was against him the testimony of blake and kelly, corroborated at many points by other witnesses. murphy made denial. in his defense, too, many witnesses took the stand to testify to his good character.[ ] murphy was acquitted. newburgh's trial followed. the first jury failed to agree. it was stated at the time that the jury stood six for conviction and six for acquittal. at his second trial, newburgh was acquitted. but blake was in jail under a four years' sentence to the penitentiary. astonishing as the revelations in the blake jury-fixing case had been, they were to be overshadowed by the events of ruef's trial. even as the city stood aghast at the evidence of jury tampering, assistant district attorney heney was, during the progress of the trial, shot down in open court. footnotes: [ ] of the "fixing of juries," the chronicle in its issue of september , , said: "every move made in the ruef trials gives moral evidence that systematic bribery of juries is being practiced which is as convincing to the public as were the signs of corruption during the entire schmitz regime, but before the explosion. nobody doubted then that the mayor, the supervisors and all officials appointed by schmitz were thieves. nobody doubts now that all through these graft trials there has been systematic corruption of juries. in private conversation it is treated as a matter of course. nobody, of course, could 'prove' it. nobody needs legal proof to be convinced." of the incident, the call said in its issue of september , : "for a long time there has been every reason to believe that veniremen summoned to try ruef were being bribed or promised bribes to vote for acquittal. the dubious character of ruef's attorneys, or some of them, and their known affiliations were wholly consistent with this theory. circumstances not amounting to absolute proof, but giving cause for strong suspicion, came to the surface from time to time. the jury fixers grew bolder with impunity, and, in fine, the pitcher went to the well once too often." [ ] the trial had been delayed by ruef's preliminary hearing. the hearing was held in order that gallagher's testimony might become of record in a way that would permit of its being used at ruef's trial, in the event of gallagher's assassination. ruef's attorneys by lengthy cross-examinations and other delaying tactics, succeeded in dragging the case along for sixty-nine days. further delays were caused by the usual efforts made to disqualify judge lawlor as trial judge. in this way, the defense managed to keep the attorneys for the state engaged until late in august. then ruef was made to face another jury. [ ] kelly claimed to have telephoned langdon within a few minutes after blake had left him. in this he was borne out by his employer, samuel m. snyder. snyder testified that on his return to his office on the afternoon of july , he met blake leaving. kelly had followed him into his private office. of the interview which followed snyder testified at the hearing of the case as follows: "i said (to kelly) 'well, what is the matter now?' and he said that mr. blake was just in and wanted to give him $ . i said, 'what for?' 'well,' he said, 'to do the right thing on the jury.' he had been called on a jury case, the ruef case. he said, 'i had a notion to punch his head.' that is just the remark mr. kelly used. i said, 'oh, i would not get excited like that; that is foolishness.' he said, 'what do you advise doing? if i go out and do anything rash i am liable to get into trouble, ain't i?' i said, 'yes, you better not do that.' i said, 'if i were you'--this is the language i used to mr. kelly, i said, 'i would telephone to mr. langdon and tell him.' he said, 'well, that might hurt your business.' i said, 'well, i don't believe that would hurt my business any. i firmly believe that jurors should not be tampered with by anyone to try any case, no matter what it is.' and from there he did telephone to mr. langdon." the court: "when was this, mr. snyder?" "a. that was on the st of july, pretty close to o'clock in the afternoon. "q. did mr. kelly call up a telephone number from the office at that time? "a. he called up mr. langdon from the office at that time. i was sitting right by the side of him." [ ] of blake's negotiations kelly testified: "mr. blake began about this way: he said, 'now, john, i have got a proposition to make to you, and i don't know how you will take it. if you like it, all right, if you don't, just keep it quiet.' he says, 'there is a chance for you to make a little money.' he said, 'you are drawn to serve on the ruef jury.' i was surprised to hear that. i told him, 'i know i am on some panel in judge lawlor's court, but didn't know it was the ruef jury.' i said, 'how did you find out?' 'oh,' he said--i think he said a friend of his told him, or something like that; but anyhow he said, 'now, it is this way; there is $ in it for you if you will get on that jury and vote to acquit mr. ruef.' i says, 'well, mr. blake, i have never done anything like that, and it is a pretty big chance to take. i don't want anything like that'; and he began to urge it on me. i said, 'now, give me a chance to think it over.'" kelly testified that his first impulse was to denounce blake. but instantly he reflected that the denunciation would do no good. besides, he reflected, it was possible that blake might be trapped. as soon as blake left the office, kelly told what had occurred to his employer, snyder, and within an hour was in consultation with district attorney langdon and burns. [ ] judge sturtevant, at the investigation which followed, showed himself not at all clear as to details. finally murphy asked him: "q. judge, do you remember that i said to you that i had information that one of the jurors was willing to sell his vote for $ , and someone had come to me with that? "a. i remember, mr. murphy, you mentioned the amount of $ , regarding one of his statements, but i would not go further than that; i don't remember what this man had agreed to do for the thousand dollars. that is my general recollection that that is about the substance of the statement you made to me." [ ] murphy's testimony on this point was as follows: "on a day between the th of july and the st day of august, i went to the office of mr. newburgh. mr. newburgh was then engaged in defending mr. ruef on a preliminary examination had in one of the parkside cases. we were discussing generally the ruef cases and the graft prosecution, and a man came into the office who was introduced to me by mr. newburgh as e. a. s. blake. this present jury panel had been drawn, and we were discussing the ruef cases generally, and finally i made a remark that the trial of mr. ruef in one of these cases--referring to , and , would proceed as soon as the police court examination was finished, and i stated that a jury had been impaneled, or a jury had been drawn, i had a list of the jury in my pocket, and i pulled it out and said to both mr. newburgh and to mr. blake: 'perhaps you might know some of these people.' mr. blake glanced at the list, and he came down to the name of mr. kelly, and he said, 'i know mr. kelly; i have known him for a number of years; i used to work at shreve's jewelry store with him; and he is an intimate acquaintance of mine.' then i said, having in mind the decision of your honor in the contempt case of w. j. burns and others--" the court: (interruption): "did this occur after that decision?" "a. yes--no, your honor--i don't know--no, no. but having in mind--i will state what i had in mind--a statement your honor had made at some previous time, that either side had the right to find out how the jury stood; that is, if they used legitimate means. i said to mr. blake, i said, 'how do you think mr. kelly stands on the graft prosecution?' 'well,' he said, 'mr. kelly is a very liberal-minded fellow and i think he would give ruef a square deal.' so i then said, 'well, i would like to find out whether any of mr. burns' gumshoe men have interviewed him, or whether he belongs to the good government league or the league of justice or any kindred organizations.' he said he would find out the next time he met mr. kelly." see printed transcript on appeal the people vs. abraham ruef, part ii, vol. ii, p. . for newburgh's statement see same transcript, part and volume, pages and . [ ] in this there was remarkable similarity to the legal assistance given thugs who were from time to time arrested for interfering with the work of the prosecution. [ ] murphy had figured in the ruef trials, somewhat sensationally, from the beginning. when, for instance, ruef, early in march, , was a fugitive from justice, murphy was acting as one of his attorneys. he was placed on the stand in judge dunne's court. the chronicle, in its issue of march , , contained the following account of his testimony: "frank j. murphy, one of ruef's lawyers, testified that he had last seen ruef just outside hebbard's courtroom on monday. "have you been doing any business with him since?" "murphy declined to answer this under his privilege as an attorney. 'we are looking for an absconding and hostile defendant, and the witness should not be allowed to draw conclusions as to whether the business he is doing for him is privileged,' declared hiram johnson. "heney suggested that it was the request to do this business rather than the business itself, that was sought by the prosecution. "a compromise was effected on an answer by the witness that he had not communicated directly or indirectly with ruef during the past forty-eight hours." [ ] about the same time, captain john j. west became involved in a charge of being connected with an alleged attempt to corruptly influence a talesman named john r. foley to vote to acquit ruef. but the west case was so overshadowed in importance by the blake-murphy-newburgh proceedings that the public paid comparatively little attention to it. [ ] "confessing his crimes," said the call in its issue of october , , "blake, the jury briber, lays bare the ulcer that eats away the vitals of popular government. he explains why the san francisco graft prosecution has not yet put anybody in the penitentiary. he makes it clear why ruef is not in stripes. he shows why it is next to impossible to convict a rich man. he answers the familiar question, 'what's the matter with san francisco?' "on his way to prison blake pauses for a moment and gives the people of san francisco the most convincing argument in favor of the graft prosecution that they have had since the boodled supervisors told their story of shame, and ruef, in tears, delivered his confession, since recanted. blake's revelation is of inestimable value to the cause of decency. opportunely he tears away curtain and scenery and lets the people see what goes on behind the showy pretense of the graft defense. in the nick of time he exposes some of the actors in that satirical comedy which might very well be called 'to hell with the law--money is above it.'" [ ] members of the faculty of stanford university sent the following communication to rudolph spreckels, william h. langdon, francis j. heney, william j. burns and their associates: "we, the undersigned citizens of the state of california, realizing the far reaching significance of the sworn confession, as a jury briber, of e. a. s. blake, extend to you our earnest and sincere congratulations on having successfully demonstrated the nature of some of the obstacles blocking the way of the conviction of powerful criminals in our commonwealth. "believing that no stability of social relations, including normal business conditions, can be established on a less firm basis than incorruptible courts and honest juries, leading to the prompt and sure administration of justice, we wish to assure you of our continued confidence and moral support in the great work upon which you are engaged." the letter was signed by president david starr jordan and practically all the members of the faculty. [ ] similar testimony was given at murphy's trial. [ ] it developed later that the blakes had been living together under a contract marriage. later they went through the marriage ceremony. this phase of the case was made much of by the defense. mrs. blake, however, stood devotedly by her husband through all the trying events that followed his arrest and imprisonment. [ ] of these promissory notes blake, in his statement to the court as published at the time, testified as follows: "q. how much money were you to get? a. i was to get $ , . "q. for what? what were you to get that $ , for? a. well, i was to say nothing about this matter, and that my wife would-- "q. in other words--. a. she was to be provided for. she was to get $ a month. the court. how? a. to be taken care of when i was convicted, you know. "q. during your incarceration? a. yes, and i was to have the $ , ." mr. langdon: "q. who told you he would give you $ , ? a. mr. murphy. "q. what did he say? just tell us what he said about that. a. the money was to be placed in the hands of a third party, who i would select, provided the one i selected would be satisfactory to them and they felt they could always have confidence in, or something of that kind. that $ , was to be turned over to me immediately upon my sentence--just as soon as my sentence was passed the money was to be turned over. "q. as soon as the court sentenced you you would receive the $ , that murphy put into the hands of this third person? a. yes. "q. did he tell you what kind of money it was, or what representative value it was. did he show you any of that? did murphy show you anything? a. yes, he showed me $ , , but he did not show me the $ , that was put into the hands of the party that i selected. he told me that he had it. "q. what was this $ , that murphy showed you? in what form or shape? a. in notes. "q. promissory notes? a. yes. "q. signed by who? a. signed by mr. ruef. "q. abraham ruef? a. yes. "q. who else signed them, if any one? a. they were indorsed by his father and sister. "q. his father? "the court--promissory notes to you from abraham ruef, and indorsed? a. the promissory notes, your honor, were made out to mr. murphy, and he was to turn these over to the third party, indorsed, i presume, to the third party, who i might select. the notes read, 'one year after date i promise to pay to frank j. murphy,' that is the way the notes read. "q. and signed? a. and signed by mr. ruef, and then they were countersigned or indorsed by his father and sister." [ ] stevens denied this. stevens was called before the grand jury and questioned. he declined to answer on the ground that the relations of attorney toward client cannot be violated. blake exonerated stevens from this obligation. but stevens held that he acted for murphy as well as blake. the court held, however, that the communications were not privileged. stevens in his testimony which followed, denied everything that tended to implicate himself and murphy in any way with the attempted jury fixing, or with the alleged $ , fund. [ ] among those who testified to murphy's good character was rev. h. h. wyman, at that time the head of the paulist order at san francisco. another paulist priest, rev. stark, showed great interest in murphy's welfare. after murphy's acquittal a story was current in san francisco to the effect that at a dinner given soon after murphy's acquittal, murphy had promised a present to the paulist church, st. mary's, and that father stark had announced that a plate bearing murphy's name and the date of his acquittal should be placed upon the gift. however unjustified the story may have been, murphy did give st. mary's a present--a pulpit. on the pulpit was put a plate bearing murphy's name and a date. the incident so incensed priests of the paulist order who were not in sympathy with the course of fathers wyman and stark at murphy's trial, that they entered the church with a screw-driver, removed the plate, and threw it into san francisco bay. later a second plate was put upon the pulpit. so far as the writer knows, the second plate is still in its place. chapter xxv. the shooting of heney. in spite of the sensational events following the trapping of blake, the work of impaneling a jury to try ruef went steadily on. after months of effort,[ ] a jury was finally sworn to try the case. again the telling of the sordid story of the city's betrayal commenced. gallagher, the pivotal witness, had begun his sorry recital. in the midst of it occurred what those who had followed the methods of the graft defense had long predicted. assistant district attorney heney was shot down.[ ] the shooting occurred in open court during a brief recess. heney was seated at his place at the attorneys' table talking with an assistant. the jury had left the courtroom. gallagher had for the moment left the witness box and was standing a few feet from heney waiting opportunity to speak with him. a few feet further away was heney's body guard. in the room were something more than citizens waiting for the trial to be resumed. there was the usual confusion which attends a five-minute court recess. court attaches, officials, attorneys, citizens were passing to and fro without hindrance. the man who shot heney had no difficulty in gaining access to the courtroom. he walked deliberately to the attorneys' table, and before he was even noticed, had fired deliberately at the assistant prosecutor. the gun was held not more than six inches from heney's head. in an instant, heney's bodyguard was upon the assassin. but the bodyguard's efforts came late. heney, apparently mortally wounded, was lying unconscious on the floor, the blood gushing from a ragged hole in front of the right ear, just under the temple.[ ] heney's assailant was found to be one morris haas, an ex-convict, who had succeeded in securing a place on the jury at the former ruef trial. heney had exposed him.[ ] when it was demanded of him why he had attempted to kill heney, he murmured incoherently, that it was "for humanity's sake." although closely questioned haas would tell little of value to those who were seeking to get at the real motive behind the assault. he was thoroughly searched both by detective burns and captain of police thomas duke, and then taken to the county jail where he was closely guarded. a short time before the shooting of heney, judge lawlor had had attorneys of both sides before him to state that in his judgment, he should remand ruef, who was out of jail under heavy bonds, to the custody of the sheriff for the remainder of the trial. shortly after this conference heney had been shot down. when the court had re-convened, and the jury had been dismissed for the day, judge lawlor carried out his intention and ordered the sheriff to take charge of ruef. the shooting had occurred on friday afternoon, november . the court adjourned until the following monday.[ ] heney in the meantime had been taken to a hospital. there it was found that the wound was not necessarily fatal. the rumors current that heney had been killed were denied. this tended to calm the excitement. nevertheless, san francisco and all california were aroused as never before in the state's history. in a twinkling, the results of months of misrepresentation, ridicule and abuse of the prosecution were swept away. haas' bullet had not killed heney,[ ] but it had awakened the community to tardy realization of its responsibility.[ ] men who had laughed at the examiner's "mutt cartoons" ridiculing the prosecution, now threatened to mob the examiner office. patrons of the defense-supporting chronicle now voiced their utter condemnation of that paper. thousands withdrew their subscriptions from the two publications. the time was ripe for the demagogue. an unpolitic word from the defense just then, an incendiary speech from some unwise partisan of the prosecution, would have been sufficient to have sent a mob marching upon the jail in which haas and ruef were confined, or upon the residences of the indicted bribe-givers, or against the newspaper offices which for months had labored to make the graft prosecution unpopular. there was a feeling that the criminal element was too powerfully intrenched to be reached through the ordinary legal channels. the feeling, which had subsided when the graft prosecution opened,[ ] that the graft evil could not be corrected except by extra-legal means, was to some degree revived. in this emergency, the leaders of the graft prosecution, by counseling moderation and observance of the law, did yeoman service in the keeping of good order in san francisco. the citizens' league of justice[ ] called a mass meeting for the saturday evening following the shooting. even in the call, the league urged there be no breach of the peace. "francis j. heney," the league's call read, "has fallen by the hand of an assassin, shot from behind while fighting at his post in the cause of justice for the people of this city. he would be the first man to appeal to the calm reason of the citizens to preserve order and proceed only by the processes of law; to look not for vengeance, but to demand swift justice through the courts. we make the same appeal." mayor taylor presided at the meeting. long before the hour set for the opening, the auditorium was packed to the doors, with thousands on the outside clamoring for entrance. those in charge of the meeting were compelled to call it to order several minutes before they had intended. professor george h. boke of the university of california law school, and manager of the citizens' league of justice, was to introduce mayor taylor. several minutes before the time set for the meeting, the crowd started a cheer for heney. the demonstration lasted for fully five minutes. then some one started the cry, "throw the examiner out." hundreds half rose from their seats, their eyes bent upon the press table where representatives of the examiner were seated. professor boke at once grasped the significance of the movement, and acted on the instant. stepping to the fore, he made a brief address introducing mayor taylor, thereby checking the threatened demonstration. mayor taylor was quick to sound the keynote of the meeting. "let us," he said in introducing the first speaker, "see to it that no matter who else breaks the law, that we shall not break it."[ ] every speaker who followed the mayor emphasized this. "let us," said the rev. william rader, "have heads which are cool and minds which are rational." "we stand in this fight," said district attorney langdon, "for law and order. and i want to say to you and ask you to pass it on to your neighbors, that, as crimes have been committed, those crimes must be punished, but punished within the law. and i want to say further, that as the law officers of this city and county, we shall consider any man who expresses an opinion or sentiment that we ought to resort to measures extra-judicial, as an enemy of good government." "why," demanded james d. phelan, "should we take violent steps? is not san francisco a great, civilized community? are not our american institutions still intact? they are. and although in the early days of san francisco the vigilance committee, an extra-legal tribunal, was resorted to for the purpose of correcting such abuses, we must remember that at that time we were a border state, at that time we were a mining camp. only such a strenuous method would then have succeeded, because judges who were on the bench were elected by ballot-box stuffers, a council was elected in the same way. crime was rampant, nobody was punished. then the men of san francisco organized a tribunal and gave an orderly trial to every offender whom they apprehended, and as a result this city was cleansed of crime and remained a model community for twenty years. "but conditions now are different. it is true that within the last year there has been a feeling in this community that the criminal law had broken down, and that we could not, under the law, punish the offenders; and that the courts, the highest courts, abetted and aided criminals by the rankest interpretations, technical interpretations of the statutes. they refused to lean on the side of order and justice, and they have brought disgrace upon the judiciary of california, all over the world. "but our civilization and our institutions are safe. that vote the other day, and the election of judge dunne, the election two years ago of judge coffey and judge lawlor, give us courage and confidence to believe that, under the constitution and the laws, we can win our battle if you only give us time, without any resort to violence; and we are willing, though one hundred days have passed, to pursue that work, because that is the only way we can do it under the constitution and the laws." when rudolph spreckels entered the building he was greeted with demonstration. he, too, while expressing great sympathy for his friend who had been stricken down, joined in counseling that nothing be done outside the law. with the urging that no exhibition of mob-violence be added to the burden of the afflicted community, was given assurance that the graft prosecution should go on; that the laws should be upheld; that those responsible for the conditions which had been forced upon san francisco should be brought to justice. whatever danger there was of violence to members of the graft defense, vanished at that citizens' league of justice mass meeting. at its conclusion, resolutions were adopted condemning the methods of the defense, declaring unwavering allegiance of those present to law, and pledging support in the cleansing of the city of grafters and boodlers.[ ] another crisis had passed in san francisco. the situation was not unlike that of two years before, when the clamor that drastic means be taken to free the city of ruef's domination, was silenced by announcement that rudolph spreckels had guaranteed a fund for the investigation of municipal conditions, and to prosecute those found to be guilty of corruption.[ ] but even as the citizens met in mass meeting another tragedy of the graft prosecution was enacted. haas, under the eyes of policemen specially detailed to watch him, killed himself or was killed. with him died all hope of discovering who had urged him to avenge himself upon heney. haas' suicide, if it were suicide; or his murder, if it were murder; is one of the mysteries of the graft cases. he was shot with a derringer. the weapon was an inch through at the butt and - wide at the muzzle--certainly an easily discovered weapon by officers practiced in searching men. and yet, haas had, before he was put in his cell, been thoroughly searched both by captain duke[ ] of the police force and detective burns. the two officers are certain that haas had no weapon upon him. and yet, one theory advanced by his keepers is that haas had the derringer all the time concealed in his shoe. another theory is that the derringer was smuggled in to him. but, with haas under watchful eyes of special guards, by whom? another theory, popular at the time, was that haas had been murdered in his cell. but if murdered--or even if the derringer were smuggled in to him--what was the motive behind it? these are questions which, short of some death-bed confession, perhaps, are not likely to be answered. those who hurried to his cell at the report of the derringer found haas dead. whether he had shot himself or whether he had been shot, his lips were sealed forever. on the sunday following the shooting of heney, most of the protestant pastors of san francisco made the attempted assassination the subject of their sermons. the same course was taken throughout the state generally. in the afternoon mass meetings were held in all parts of the state, at which resolutions were adopted condemning the methods of the defense,[ ] and pledging support to the prosecution. telegrams[ ] of condolence and of encouragement poured in from all parts of the country. but in spite of this popular expression of sympathy, there were astonishing exhibitions on the part of the associates of those who had been indicted or nearly indicted because of the graft revelations, of feeling against heney. for example, rev. david j. evans, of grace episcopal church, on the sunday following the attempted assassination, offered prayer for the recovery of the stricken prosecutor. instantly there was commotion in the pews. members of the congregation, by frown and toss of head, indicated their profound disapproval of their pastor's petition.[ ] but frown and head-toss and open disapproval of the pews neither stopped the prayer, nor prevented its answer. the prayer was offered; heney did not die. within an hour after heney had been shot down, three of the foremost lawyers at the california bar, hiram w. johnson, matt i. sullivan and joseph j. dwyer, volunteered their services to take up the struggle for civic righteousness at the point to which heney had carried it. but the attorneys for ruef, having exhausted every other delaying move, saw in the shooting of heney opportunity for further delay. they accordingly moved for change of venue. failing here, a motion was made for thirty days' delay. this being denied, ruef's attorneys moved that the jury be dismissed. this move failing, an attempt was made to examine the twelve men in the jury box to determine whether the shooting had prejudiced them and unfitted them for jury service. these many motions were backed up with affidavits containing all that had been said at the public meetings, and all that had been printed in san francisco newspapers, since heney had been shot. the reading of the voluminous affidavits consumed hours. the prosecution filed answering affidavits which also consumed time. but judge lawlor finally denied all the contentions of the defense and ordered the trial to proceed. during these proceedings, the jury had been locked up in charge of the regular court officials. the jury had not been in the courtroom when heney was shot, and from the moment of the shooting had been shut away from the public. but lest the jury had learned something of the shooting, and to account for heney's absence, judge lawlor deemed it incumbent upon him to notify them that heney had been shot, and to admonish them that the transaction so far as the court, the jury, the defendant, the people of the state, the counsel, and all other interests interested or involved in the trial were concerned was to stand as though it had not occurred. this judge lawlor did.[ ] the trial itself was not unlike the other graft trials. the supervisors told the story of their bribery. gallagher told how ruef had given him the money, and how he had given it to supervisor furey. furey testified that he had received the money from gallagher because of his vote to grant the overhead trolley permit to the united railroads. the story had by this time become sadly familiar to the people of san francisco. the trouble experienced with witnesses at former trials characterized this trial as well. alex. lathem, for example, at one time ruef's chauffeur, disappeared from the state about the time the trial was to begin. he was brought back from oregon under extradition, charged with having accepted a bribe to leave the jurisdiction of the court. on the stand,[ ] lathem repudiated important evidence which he had given before the grand jury, and to which he had made affidavit. as a minor incident of the graft trials, lathem, because of this incident, was indicted for perjury. but in spite of the backwardness of certain of its witnesses, the prosecution succeeded in getting its case before the jury. the jury found ruef guilty as charged. he was sentenced to fourteen years' penal servitude at san quentin prison. footnotes: [ ] seventy-two days were required to impanel the jury before which ruef was tried, fifty days being devoted to actual court work. there were summoned , talesmen, of whom were examined. six jurors were denied their freedom for forty-two days before the jury was completed. blake, arrested for jury-fixing, was trapped, tried and convicted before the jury was completed. two of ruef's attorneys were, during the impaneling of the jury, indicted for alleged connection with blake's attempt to influence the jury in ruef's favor. [ ] there is, so far as the writer can find, no evidence that the graft defense or its agents employed haas to kill heney any more than there is evidence that the graft defense or its agents employed pauduveris to murder the pivotal witness, gallagher. but that haas was urged to kill heney because of the exposure of haas's previous record at the first ruef trial is well established. "i was urged frequently," said haas in a confession made to langdon and burns, "to kill heney by certain persons whose names i will not tell you, and i also talked to other people about killing heney and was advised by them not to do it. in addition to that, certain persons approached me several times and referred to the time i was thrown off the ruef jury, saying: 'i'd never stand that sort of a roast,' and 'i'd kill a man who did that to me,' and similar things." who urged haas to do this thing, and what was their motive? haas alone could have answered the first question. but the bullet that ended his life sealed his lips forever. of haas's purpose in getting on the first ruef jury we have some testimony. joseph brachman, a close associate of ruef, who had known haas for nearly a quarter of a century, said in an interview published in the san francisco call, november , : "when ruef was on trial in the parkside case, on the bribery charge, i heard that haas had been called on the jury panel. at that time i was frequently in consultation with ruef, every day, in fact. but i was afraid to go to ruef with what i knew of haas, so i went to one of his lawyers--i won't say which one--and told him of the record of haas. i told him that haas was a bad man and an ex-convict. i said that ruef should challenge him. "i was in court the day that haas qualified and passed into the jury. again i told his attorney that haas was a bad man, to get rid of him, but nothing was done. when heney produced the evidence showing that haas was an ex-convict i was in court, also. i met haas after he had been disqualified. haas told me the reason why he stayed on the jury and why his record was not made public by the defense of ruef. he told me that he expected $ , from ruef for his services on the parkside case jury. he said that he was hard up, that he was in debt, that he owed money on his saloon and that if he had been permitted to stay on the jury he would have been able, with the $ , to be paid him by ruef, to clear himself of debt. "he also told me, haas did, on the day that he was disqualified, that he was going to 'kill one of the prosecutors.' he did not say which one, but he frequently repeated to me, that he was 'going to get one of the prosecutors.' i met him many times and often, frequently he told me that he was 'going to get one of the prosecutors.'" [ ] physicians state that heney's escape from death was by a hair's breadth. had the bullet, striking as it did, taken any other course death would have been inevitable. [ ] see chapter xxiii. [ ] "will they," demanded the call the morning after heney had been shot down, "stop at nothing? are not stealing, perjury, bribery, dynamiting, murder, enough? must the course of justice in this community run the gamut of violence, as well as of slander and pettifogging obstruction? "apparently it must. but there is at least no longer any reason to doubt where the responsibility lies. a bare chance, the momentary tremor of an assassin's hand, may have saved the life of francis j. heney to this community. there will be no tremor in the finger of scorn that points past the miserable wretch that did the shooting to the men that inspired it. a worthless crank, of course. it always is. dirty hands for dirty work. but softer hands and keener brains plan it. and the community will waste no wrath on the miserable tool, now cowering in jail. it was not he who has dogged the steps of francis j. heney these two years with hired thugs. it was not he who has filled the courtrooms with professional ruffians. it was not he who dynamited gallagher--or hired it done. least of all was it he who made a joke of that crime and sought to make a joke and a byword of the heroic heney--'poor beany.'" [ ] while heney lay wounded at san francisco, and haas lay dead, another tragedy growing out of the graft prosecution was being enacted on the other side of the globe. john krause, who had been t. v. halsey's assistant at the time of the pacific states telephone briberies, killed himself on the steamer adriatic as it plied from cherbourg, france, to queenstown, ireland. krause had disappeared from san francisco in december, . it was never charged that krause was a principal to the bribery transactions, or that he had even guilty knowledge of them. his only possible connection with the graft cases was as a witness against the pacific states telephone and telegraph company officials. [ ] "a great work," said hiram w. johnson, in an interview printed in the san francisco call, november , , "undertaken and accomplished, though not yet wholly completed, has been retarded for a day by an assassin's bullet. when frank heney fell today while in the performance of his duty, decency and the right were stricken. for two years this one man has persevered in the right, for right's sake alone. without compensation, sacrificing a great legal practice, giving without complaint the best years of his life, francis j. heney, facing all the combined forces of evil in this community and state, has stood unflinchingly at his post, making the fight that is the fight of all of us. daily abuse and vilification have been his portion and reward. in spite of it, where a weaker man would have faltered, heney has persevered. he has done in seeking to make equality before the law an assurance in this state, all that a strong and a brave man could do. were he to pass away tonight he'd need no other monument than the work he has done. for generations his expose of rottenness in san francisco, his prosecutions of the criminal rich will live and make this city and state better. he has been shot simply because he was fighting for the right. not alone has he been wounded; but the community and the commonwealth have suffered the injury. "we who were with him in the early days of the struggle, and knew his every mood; who saw him at his work day and night, and loved the qualities that made it possible for him to accomplish what he has, can not express our horror and indignation and anger at his attempted assassination. may god speed his recovery." [ ] see chapter iv. [ ] the citizens' league of justice was organized immediately after the attempted assassination of witness gallagher by means of dynamite. those immediately connected with the prosecution, it had been amply demonstrated, were risking their lives. in the citizens' league of justice was proposed an organization, entirely separate and apart from the graft prosecution, to back the prosecution. the idea originated with bruce porter, the artist. rev. charles n. lathrop, of the church of the advent, became interested. the initial meeting was held at father lathrop's house. while the league had no connection with the prosecution, it became most effective in support of the prosecution group. professor george h. boke, of the university of california law school, accepted the hazardous position of the league's executive officer. in spite of the fact that he was jeopardizing his position at the state university by his course, professor boke did much effective work in bringing the conditions which confronted san francisco squarely before the public. matt i. sullivan, who afterwards became chief justice of the state supreme court, served as the league's president. [ ] dr. taylor's observations on this point were as follows: "let us see to it that no matter who else breaks the law, that we shall not break it. in this crisis, we must, above all things, keep our heads. we must, above all things, while resolute and determined, be self-restrained. "san francisco has had many afflictions. she now has this additional affliction of the assassination of one who stood for the people's rights; of one who was fearlessly engaged in the important and priceless business of civic regeneration, and who, while in the act of performing the greatest of all duties as a citizen, was laid low by the bullets of an assassin. "but let us not add to the affliction the affliction of breaking the peace. let us, above all things, as i have said, keep ourselves restrained. let us not add to the afflictions that are upon us the affliction of mob law. let us go about our business, whatever we may do in this matter, in a peaceful way, but in a resolute way, in a determined way. i am satisfied that the officers of the law will do their duty. i am satisfied that the judges will do their duty, and that our juries will do their duty. and if they, each one of them, perform faithfully the functions upon his part, we have nothing to fear, and we shall see that those who are guilty are punished and are rightfully punished." [ ] the following resolutions were adopted at the meeting: "whereas, following unparalleled disaster from the elements our unfortunate city fell upon times of unprecedented civic corruption, necessitating the tearing down of the wreckage of government, and the rebuilding of our civic structure on foundations of law and justice; and "whereas, the first labor necessary was the prosecution of criminals, bribe givers, bribe takers and brokers in corruption; and "whereas, the prosecution, beset with many difficulties, obtained its evidence in the only way that such evidence could be obtained; and "whereas, in the subsequent attempt to convict the guilty there was developed a vast conspiracy to thwart the ends of justice, which conspiracy has involved social boycott and unjust and coercive business pressure, has openly employed thugs to terrorize the officers of the law, has employed lawyers to browbeat and insult witnesses, prosecutors and the judges on the bench, and to waste the time and money and to exhaust the patience of the people by useless and technical delays, and which conspiracy has moreover involved so large a part of our public press that many of our people have been deprived of the truth and have been fed upon poisoned lies; and "whereas, up to the present time the law as administered has proved inadequate to secure that prompt and certain application of justice, which must be the basis of social order; and "whereas, out of this conspiracy grew plots to kidnap, and actual kidnapping; plots to bribe juries, and actual jury bribing; plots to assassinate witnesses and an attempt to assassinate a witness by dynamite; and out of it also grew plots to assassinate the prosecutors, and the attempted assassination of the bravest friend that san francisco has known, francis j. heney; "therefore be it resolved, that here and now we declare our unwavering allegiance to law, and that if the criminal law be found to be so framed as to permit the escape of civic malefactors we shall see to it that the law be amended; that if the lax administration of the criminal law be due to misinterpretation by judges, we shall see to it that men be placed upon the bench capable of construing the law. "be it further resolved, that we call upon the supervisors to provide adequate funds for the district attorney's office to secure the detection, prosecution and conviction of criminals, high or low, and the full protection of officers in the discharge of their duties; "be it further resolved, that we demand the truth from our public press, and shall see to it that our people are informed of the facts that they may judge of those who by lying and misrepresentation are perverting public opinion. "be it further resolved, that we solemnly assert our utmost confidence in the law-abiding character of our people; that we here declare our gratitude for the inestimable service rendered us by the office of the district attorney in the restoration of reputable and responsible government; and that we stand firm in our determination to indorse and to aid that office to the end that all persons accused of crime shall be fairly tried and their guilt or innocence be finally established in accordance with the provisions of law. "to these ends we pledge ourselves, that our beloved city may be purged of boodlers and grafters and be a better home for ourselves and our children. "be it further resolved, that we send word to our wounded champion, that his labors for us are appreciated and that his sufferings for our sake are not in vain." [ ] see chapter iv. [ ] captain duke, at an investigation which followed, testified: "at mr. burns's suggestion, we took haas into the room off the courtroom occupied by the stenographers. first we made a slight search, and then i said to mr. burns: 'are you sure we searched him thoroughly?' and we went over him again. i felt down to his shoes. i always search a man that way, for when i first went on the police force i had an experience with a chinaman, whom policeman helms, who was recently killed, and myself had arrested. we found a dagger in his shoe, and since then i have always examined a man's feet. i will state that i felt the man's shoes the other day after they had been put on the corpse and the derringer placed in them, and from the bulge i noticed then i am sure that i would have felt the weapon had it been in his shoe at the time of the arrest. we were looking for anything that we could find. from something the man said--that he didn't care if he lived or not--i thought that he might make an attempt to commit suicide. "it would have been an utter impossibility for the derringer to have been anywhere else than in the man's shoe," duke continued. "if it was in his shoe it would have been under the stocking and the man would have had it there hours before he killed himself. it would have made a mark on the flesh or interfered with his walking, and he did not even limp. if the cartridges had been in the shoe they could have got under the foot and the man could not have walked." [ ] neither press nor defending lawyers were spared in the criticism. "we have," said rev. bradford leavitt of the first unitarian church at san francisco, "dreamed that we were living under the government of laws, whereas we were living under the government of newspapers hired by corrupt corporations, and the enemies of civic decency." "the lawyers who are paid to thwart this graft prosecution," said charles s. wheeler, "have proceeded with deliberate plan to destroy the effectiveness of the prosecution by withdrawing the support of the people. in this way they have reached the home of every individual. they have brought cunningly into the home their hireling periodicals, and a press misguided or worse, has been largely instrumental in aiding their desire." [ ] president roosevelt's telegram to mr. spreckels was as follows: "white house, nov. , . "to rudolph spreckels, san francisco. "am inexpressibly shocked at the attempted assassination of heney and most earnestly hope he will recover. the infamous character of the would-be assassin no less than the infamous character of the deed call attention in a striking way to the true character of the forces against which heney and you and your associates have been struggling. every decent american who has the honor and interest of the country at heart should join not only in putting a stop to the cause of violent crime of which this man's act is but one of the symptoms, but also in stamping out the hideous corruption in which men like this would-be assassin are bred and flourish, and that can only be done by warring as heney has warred relentlessly against every man who is guilty of corrupt practices without any regard to his social standing and his prominence in the world of politics or the world of business. i earnestly hope that heney will recover, and i give utterance to what i know would be heney's wish when i say that i earnestly hope that whether he recovers or not there be no faltering in the work in which heney has been so gallant and efficient a leader. " : a. m. "theodore roosevelt." president roosevelt telegraphed mrs. heney as follows: "white house, nov. , . "mrs. francis j. heney:--am inexpressibly shocked at news of the attempted assassination of mr. heney and am greatly relieved at the news this morning that he is doing well and will probably recover. i hope you will accept my deepest sympathy. like all good american citizens, i hold your husband in peculiar regard for the absolutely fearless way in which he has attacked and exposed corruption without any regard to the political or social prominence of the offenders or to the dangerous character of the work. your husband has taken his life in his hands in doing this great task for our people and is entitled to the credit and esteem, and above all, to the heartiest support of all good citizens. the infamous character of the man who has assassinated him should add not only to the horror and detestation felt for the deed, but also to the determination of all decent citizens to stamp out the power of all men of his kind. "theodore roosevelt." [ ] grace episcopal church is attended by many of the most prominent citizens of san francisco. at the time of the shooting of heney, several prominent episcopalians were under indictment. in spite of the intense feeling in his congregation, against the prosecution, rev. mr. evans continued to give the work of the district attorney's office his approval. an era of petty persecutions for mr. evans followed. he was finally brought to resign his pastorate and accept a less important charge at palo alto. in this connection it is interesting to note that in spite of powerful opposition to the prosecution of prominent episcopalian laymen, the convocation of the church held at san francisco in august, , adopted the following resolutions unanimously: "whereas, our government is imperiled by the criminal use of wealth to influence legislation; and "whereas, existing conditions in san francisco present a moral issue; therefore be it "resolved, that, in the judgment of this convocation, bribery is always a crime deserving punishment, and, furthermore, that duty commands every christian man to exert himself to foster a public recognition of the quality of the crime." [ ] judge lawlor's statement to the jury was as follows: "gentlemen of the jury: i have a few words to say to you before this trial is resumed at this time. since you have been sworn as jurors the court has on many occasions, with elaborateness and repetition, sought to convey to your minds an understanding of your duties as jurors in this case. it has been pointed out to you that to the charge which is on trial here, the defendant, abraham ruef, has interposed a plea of not guilty. that charge, considered in connection with that plea, puts in issue, for the determination of this court and jury, the allegations of that charge. you have been sworn as jurors to pass upon the facts in the case and to apply those facts, when resolved from the evidence, to the rules of law which the court shall finally state to you to govern you in the rendition of your verdict. these many admonitions, as it has also been pointed out to you from time to time, are founded upon a provision of the law which makes it the duty of the court to administer those admonitions. "the purpose of the law requiring those admonitions to be given is that when a jury is sworn to try an action it shall divest itself of all matters which theretofore might have found lodgment in the minds of the members and to proceed to render a verdict solely upon the matters which shall be brought to the attention of the jury in the due course of judicial proceedings. these constant reminders of that duty are calculated to keep the sense of jurors alive to a full compliance therewith. "i doubt if anything i could say at this time would tend to amplify what has already been declared from time to time in that behalf, but in view of a transaction that occurred in the courtroom on the afternoon of friday, november , , the court deems it proper to re-emphasize with all the power that it may command the duty of the jury to proceed to the further discharge of its duty at this time in utter disregard of that transaction. the court realizes that the jurors may have heard or seen a part of that transaction, or that phases of that transaction may have been communicated to the jury. now, without regard to what extent that assumption may be justified, the court desires the jurors to in every manner relieve their minds of any impression or anything that they have heard, or anything that has been said, or anything that has been communicated, or that shall hereafter he communicated concerning that transaction; in other words, we are to resume this trial at this time at precisely the point that had been reached when the recess, during which the transaction occurred, was declared. "i may state to you generally, that on that occasion mr. francis j. heney, the assistant district attorney, was shot by a man bearing the name of morris haas; that mr. heney was wounded as a result of that assault. happily the injury was not a serious one, and at this time there is every indication that mr. heney will recover from that injury. "now, that transaction, so far as this court and the jury, the defendant at the bar, the people of the state of california, the counsel and all other interests interested or involved in this trial are concerned, is to stand as though it had not occurred; no person is to be charged with any responsibility for that transaction; this is not the place for the consideration of that transaction. "it may be stated also to you that the assailant afterward took his own life while he was confined in the county jail upon his arrest in connection with that transaction. "and neither matter, i repeat, should find any place in your minds. it should not in any manner form anything in the nature of bias or prejudice concerning anyone. "this court would despair of having the law administered upon the charge at bar if the jurors did not in every manner comply with the admonition of the court to exclude that transaction entirely from their minds." [ ] lathem testified before the grand jury that about the time the bribe money had been passed he had driven ruef to the hirsch bros. store, where ruef had obtained a shirt box. he had then driven ruef to the offices of the united railroads. ruef had entered the offices with the box. he had come out later with the box and a package. with box and package he had gone to his own office, and from there, taking the box and package with him, he had been driven to the safe deposit vaults of the western national bank. lathem did not testify before the grand jury until after ruef had confessed, and then lathem testified with ruef's consent. it is a significant fact that lathem was sent out of the state the first time not in the interest of ruef but of tirey l. ford, head of the united railroads law department. lathem went to colorado on an automobile trip with the father-in-law of luther brown, one of the united railroad detectives. lathem's wife was permitted to accompany them in the automobile. they stopped at the best hotels. lathem was paid $ a month. the importance of lathem's testimony lies in the fact that at the time he took ruef with the shirt-box to ford's office, ford had just received from the relief corporation officials $ , in small currency, which made two large bundles, which were carried to ford's office by abbott and himself and placed in ford's desk. this was at the noon hour. a little after one o'clock ruef went to the western pacific safety deposit vaults where he then had a deposit box. the cubic contents of this box was not sufficient to accommodate those two bundles. ruef at that time secured two additional boxes. the cubic contents of all three boxes together was just sufficient to nicely accommodate said two bundles. the theory of the prosecution was that ruef carried bribe money in box and package. at the trial, lathem stated that the story which he had told before the grand jury was not true. chapter xxvi. the calhoun trial. the trial of patrick calhoun for offering a bribe to supervisor fred nicholas began immediately after the holidays, following the ruef trials. the trial brought into play all the machinery of the opposition at its worst to the prosecution. at all points the defense was carried on on a larger scale than at the former trials. there were more and better lawyers employed by the defendant; there were more thugs in evidence in the courtroom; there was greater activity on the part of the detectives, spies and agents engaged to meet the efforts of the men working under detective burns. due largely to the activity of this army of opposition to the prosecution, the weakness of the methods of enforcing the criminal law was emphasized even more than at the other trials, and the defects shown up more glaringly. to secure a jury to try ruef, for example, talesmen were called. this was regarded as a record. but before a jury had been secured to try calhoun veniremen had been called into court, and no less than examined. thus, for every juror who sat at the calhoun trial, talesmen were called, and seventy-seven were questioned by the attorneys. the estimated number of words contained in the transcript of the examination of these talesmen was in millions. to conduct this examination three months were required. the securing of a jury to try ruef occupied the time of the court for two months only. but it must be noted that the securing of the calhoun and the ruef juries occupied five months--to try charges contained in two indictments, whereas in all the graft cases indictments had been brought. the defendants who preceded calhoun to trial had an army of attorneys to represent them. but calhoun's line of legal representatives was quite double that of any of his fellow graft defendants who had been caught in the prosecution drag-net. prominent in mr. calhoun's defense appeared a. a. moore, stanley moore, lewis f. byington, earl rogers, j. j. barrett and alexander king, supported by the giant of the california bar, garret mcenerney. that the master mind of garret mcenerney was directing many of the graft defense cases had been intimated from time to time, but there is no question about mcenerney's part in the defense of calhoun. and opposed to the strongest men of the california bar, the people had two representatives. one of them, heney, was serving without pay, was still a sick man not having fully recovered from his wound inflicted but a few months before, and worn out from the continued effort of a three-years' fight to get at the root of municipal corruption in san francisco. the second, a regularly employed deputy district attorney, john j. o'gara, was receiving $ a month for his services. it is not unlikely that some of the best of the attorneys for the defense, for defending mr. calhoun, received as much in a day. compared with the army of lawyers for the defense, the representation of the people was pitifully small. through the long, grueling contest of the trial, lasting for five months and eight days,[ ] heney and o'gara were kept under constant strain, while the defendant's attorneys relieved one another when their labors became irksome. the bulk of the hammering and of the technical quibbling was directed against heney. heney, still suffering from the effects of his wound, received at the ruef trial, worn-out, over-worked, harassed in the public prints, would at times become thoroughly exasperated. every indication of impatience on his part, or of temper, was made subject of attack in the opposing newspapers.[ ] these attacks, long persisted in, did their part in the general campaign to weary the public with the prosecution, and undermine confidence in heney. the examination of talesmen for jury service showed the results of this long-continued campaign. many talesmen announced their sympathy with the defendants, and deplored the prosecution, which they appeared to believe had brought shame upon and injured the city. some went so far as to call the prosecution of calhoun an outrage.[ ] others intimated that the giving of bribe money might have been justifiable.[ ] such expressions, coming from men of average intelligence and ordinarily law-abiding, showed conclusively that the persistent efforts of the defense to poison the public mind against the prosecution was at last bringing results. but after months of effort a jury was secured to hear the case and the trial began. heney, in his opening statement to the jury, set forth the prosecution expected to prove that ruef authorized james l. gallagher to offer the bribe to supervisor nicholas; that ruef afterwards gave the money to gallagher to pay nicholas; that calhoun authorized ruef, either through tirey l. ford, or personally, or both, to make the offer to gallagher and to authorize gallagher to make the offer to nicholas. the prosecution showed by gallagher that the offer had been made to nicholas and to every member of the board of supervisors with the exception of rea. in this, gallagher was corroborated by the supervisors. not only had the offer been made, but the bribe money had been paid. gallagher testified that he had received $ , from ruef to be distributed among the supervisors for their votes which gave the united railroads its overhead trolley permit, and that, after keeping out $ , for himself, he had distributed the money among them, giving to supervisor nicholas $ of the amount. supervisor nicholas testified that gallagher had offered him the bribe and had paid him the money. by the officials of the united states mint, the prosecution showed that $ , , about the time of the bribery, had been turned over to general tirey l. ford, on order from mr. calhoun. the $ , could not be accounted for by the available books of the united railroads. ruef and ford were shown to have been in close touch with each other during the period.[ ] but nobody could be found who had seen ford pass $ , to mr. ruef. here was, perhaps, a weak link in the prosecution's chain of evidence. mr. calhoun did not, however, put general ford on the stand to tell what he did with the money. neither did mr. calhoun put mr. ruef on the stand to testify as to the source of the $ , which ruef gave to gallagher to pay the supervisors for their votes by which the trolley permit was awarded to the united railroads. but, however weak the link between ford and ruef, there was no weakness in the link between calhoun and ford. by evidence that could not be disputed, the prosecution showed that ford got $ , through calhoun. frank a. leach, director of the united states mint at san francisco, testified that calhoun, with general ford, had called upon him at the mint sometime between may and may , .[ ] calhoun called, leach testified, to ascertain how $ , , which had been transferred from the east to his credit."[ ] could be drawn out in certain sums in favor of such persons as he might designate. leach testified he had furnished calhoun with the desired information. ford afterwards appeared at the mint with an order from mr. calhoun for $ , ,[ ] which was paid to him. later, calhoun telegraphed to leach from cleveland, ohio, to pay ford a second $ , ; and still later the $ , remaining.[ ] the mint officials paid ford the money in accordance with mr. calhoun's directions. mr. calhoun offered no evidence to show why this considerable sum was paid to general ford, or what general ford was supposed to have done with it. mr. calhoun, when the last of the $ , had been turned over to general ford, had given mr. leach a receipt[ ] in full for the amount. but what was quite as extraordinary as this direct evidence against mr. calhoun was the offer of the district attorney to meet the defense's charges and insinuations against the prosecution. rudolph spreckels was called to the stand. the attorneys for the defense were invited to ask him any questions they saw fit. "from the time we attempted to impanel this jury," said heney, in extending this invitation, "the attorneys for the defendant have been attempting to try rudolph spreckels, james d. phelan and god knows who else. by insinuations they have been endeavoring to get into the mind of this jury the idea that mr. spreckels was back of this prosecution for malicious purposes and for gain, for profit, to get hold of the united railroads. i told them when they were making those insinuations that i proposed to throw down the bars to them; that i proposed to force them to the proof; that i would put the witnesses upon the stand and would not object to a single question asked them. "the witness, spreckels, is now upon the stand, and we won't object to their asking him anything on earth, from the time he was born down to the present day, to the present minute." one of the most frequent charges which had been made against the prosecution was that it had expended money wrongfully. rogers asked for a statement of the prosecution's receipts and disbursements. mr. spreckels announced his willingness to account for every dollar expended, but refused, until he should be directed by the court, to give the names of the contributors to the fund.[ ] "will you," broke in heney addressing calhoun's lawyers, "produce an itemized account of moneys expended in the defense of these matters?" "i beg your pardon?" questioned rogers. "i say," said heney, "will you produce an itemized account of moneys expended in opposition to these prosecutions?" the defense did not seize this opportunity to clear itself of the not unreasonable suspicion that money had been used to influence jurors to vote for acquittals; to get witnesses out of the state; to corrupt agents of the prosecution; and perhaps to attempt murder. on the contrary, the attorneys for the defense denounced mr. heney's suggestion as "misconduct." mr. spreckels stated his willingness to furnish itemized statement of the prosecution's expenditures. this he did. furthermore, he submitted himself to rigorous cross-examination regarding the items of his account. but the clever attorneys for the defense uncovered nothing upon which charge of wrongful expenditure or questionable methods could be based.[ ] the charge that spreckels had engaged in the graft prosecution to injure the united railroads came to as sorry an ending. by competent witnesses it was shown that the prosecution had been planned, and the preliminary work done, before the bribe-money in the trolley deal had passed. furthermore, it was shown that spreckels had offered to assist calhoun to have the time of his franchises extended, if such extension were necessary for practical installation of the conduit electric system, asking only that the unsightly poles and overhead wires be not inflicted upon the city. it was only when calhoun, dealing with a board of supervisors suspected of corruption, showed conclusively that he proposed to install an over-head trolley system, whether the people wanted it or not, that spreckels and his associates organized their traction company. it was shown that the object of the organizers of the company was to demonstrate that the conduit system was practical for san francisco. and, finally, the articles of incorporation under which the company proposed to operate, provided for the transfer under equitable arrangements of the proposed new lines to the city, should the city wish at any time to take them over. mr. spreckels and his associates were shown not to have had desire or inclination to engage in the street-car business. but it was shown that they proposed to fight for what they considered the best interests of the city of their birth and residence. another frequently-made charge had been that heney was the attorney for rudolph spreckels, directing a privately-conducted prosecution.[ ] as a matter of fact, langdon, and not heney, headed the prosecution, and langdon let it be known at all times that he was the final arbitrator in all questions growing out of the prosecution. and at no time did he fail to assert himself. but at the calhoun trial, the fishing expeditions in which the defense indulged, brought the facts out convincingly that heney, far from being in spreckels' employ, or directly or indirectly receiving money from him for graft-prosecution services, or any other services, was giving his time to the city, without reward or hope of reward. thus, point by point, the allegations which the graft defense had for three years been making against the prosecution, were shown to be without foundation in fact. the bars were down, as heney put it. rudolph spreckels and others who had made the prosecution possible, were under oath, and were prepared to answer any question that might be put to them. the ablest lawyers, cunning in cross-examination, selected, indeed, for their craft and skill in searching out the innermost secrets of witnesses, were there to question. but not one statement reflecting upon the purposes of the prosecution, nor of its motives, nor of its methods, was brought out. the graft defense, free to question as it would, was unable to justify the insinuations of baseness of purpose and method; nor to justify its loosely-made charges against the prosecution.[ ] indeed, the attorneys for mr. calhoun even resisted full discussion of mr. spreckels' motives. the intimation, so broad as to approach positive declaration, had been made repeatedly that mr. spreckels had inaugurated the graft prosecution for the purpose of injuring mr. calhoun and the properties which he represented--the united railroads. on re-direct examination, mr. spreckels was asked by the attorney for the state whether, at the time he had first discussed investigation of graft conditions in san francisco with mr. heney, he had had any idea of investigating mr. calhoun. mr. barrett, representing the defendant, strongly objected to this line of questioning.[ ] after a wrangle between the attorneys as to the matter of the witness's motives, spreckels was permitted to make a brief statement to the court. "my motives," he said, "have been inquired into, and i have indicated to mr. rogers (calhoun's attorney) that as far as i am concerned the bars are absolutely down; i am willing to take the judgment of this community as to motives, as to my purposes and as to the truthfulness of my statements made here." mr. spreckels was finally permitted to answer the question. he answered in the negative.[ ] the defendant placed no witnesses on the stand. the explanation of their peculiar position which the united railroads officials were looked upon to make when opportunity offered was not made. the denials which they had for three years been indignantly making through the newspapers were not stated under oath.[ ] the trial resulted in a disagreement. according to published statements, purporting to come from members of the jury, on the first ballot four jurors stood for conviction, eight for acquittal; on the second, nine for acquittal, three for conviction. on all the other ballots the jurors stood ten for acquittal and two for conviction.[ ] immediately after announcement of the verdict,[ ] the district attorney attempted to bring calhoun to trial for the alleged offering of a bribe to supervisor john j. furey. this the defense resisted. the community was filled with the suggestion that the calhoun jury, having failed to agree, the costly graft trials should be brought to an end.[ ] nevertheless, calhoun's second trial was begun. but before a jury could be secured, francis j. heney had been defeated for election as district attorney. this meant the breaking down of the graft prosecution. the district attorney consented to continuance of the case until the new administration should take charge. the case was not pressed by mr. langdon's successor, and finally, with the other graft charges, was dismissed. footnotes: [ ] from january , , to june , . [ ] earl rogers showed himself particularly clever at goading. his ability in this line was shown to advantage also, at the trial of clarence darrow, charged with jury fixing at los angeles, whom rogers defended. the fresno republican in comparing the two cases said, in its issue of july , : "when heney tilted, as prosecutor against earl rogers as an apologist for crime, he was the 'wild man of borneo,' to the more staid and polished members of the san francisco bar. but now that fredericks and ford, prosecutors of los angeles, lost their tempers under the goadings of this same rogers in the darrow case, nothing is said about the wild man of borneo. fredericks and ford, unlike heney, are recognized as the socially elect of the profession, but heney in the wildest excitement of the calhoun trials, never tried to throw an ink bottle at rogers, as ford tried to do the other day. plainly, as a matter of social etiquette, it depends upon whose ox rogers gores." [ ] see footnote . [ ] the chronicle, as early as july , , punctured the theory that the bribing of public servants is justifiable. the chronicle said: "in the examination of a talesman in judge lawlor's court on monday an attorney for the defendant charged with the crime of bribing city officials made the statement that san francisco is divided on the subject of punishing men who have committed the offense named. he said: 'you know, of course, that san francisco is divided on this graft question. half in favor of the prosecution, and, say, half contrary minded.' possibly he believes that this is true, but there is absolutely no foundation for the assumption. there is no evidence on which to base such a statement, and it would not have been made if there was any possibility of determining its truth or falsity by some simple test. "it is doubtless true that there are plenty of men in this community who regard the crime of bribery lightly, and are ready to defend it on the ground that laxity in the conduct of municipal affairs made it necessary to resort to it or abandon all enterprise. but the great majority of citizens take the sound view that both briber and bribed are equally guilty and equally deserving of punishment, and utterly refuse to accept the excuse that the corporations which have been systematically debauching city officials were forced to that course. they know that the eager desire to secure advantages is at the bottom of the corrupt condition of our municipal affairs, and they feel that unless examples can be made of those who have shown a willingness to profit by the greed and turpitude of those elected to office the practice of bribing will be again resumed and continued as long as there is anything to be gained by the pursuit of criminal methods. "even if it were true that the community is evenly divided it would be outrageous to plead that fact as a justification for the commission of criminal acts. if san francisco should be so lost to shame that nine-tenths of her population regarded bribery with tolerance, it would be no less a crime, but there would be infinitely more reason for striving to punish offenders of that character to save the city from the moral degradation involved in the acceptance of the idea that it is excusable to defy the laws by debauching public officials." at the time of calhoun's trial, however, the chronicle read talesmen who sided with the defense no such lecture. [ ] see chapter xv, "the ford trials." [ ] the trolley-permit was granted may , . [ ] the letter placing $ , to calhoun's credit read as follows: "treasury department, washington, may , . superintendent of the united states mint, san francisco, cal. sir: confirmation is certified to a telegram sent you this day, in substance as follows: "'pay to patrick calhoun, president united railroads, $ , ; to lachman and jacobi, $ , ; to beech thompson, $ , ; to canadian bank of commerce, $ , ; on account of original certificates of deposit nos. , , and , issued by the assistant treasurer of the united states, new york city. in all amounting to $ , . "'pay to master california lodge. number . a. f. and a. m., $ . on account of original certificate of deposit no. , issued by the assistant treasurer of the united states, chicago.' respectfully, "charles h. treat, "treasurer of the united states." [ ] the telegrams directing the money to be paid ford read: "cleveland, ohio, july , . hon. frank a. leach, superintendent u. s. mint, san francisco. please pay to tirey l. ford, or order, fifty thousand dollars and charge same to my account. patrick calhoun, president united railroads of san francisco." [ ] calhoun's order placing the $ , to ford's credit read as follows: "cleveland, ohio, august , . hon. frank a. leach, superintendent united states mint, san francisco. please pay to general tirey l. ford, or order, one hundred thousand dollars, and charge the same to my account. patrick calhoun, president united railroads, san francisco." [ ] calhoun's final receipt for the $ , was as follows: "received from frank a. leach, superintendent u. s. mint, two hundred thousand dollars ($ , ) on c/d no. , with asst. treasurer u. s., new york. patrick calhoun, "president united railroads." [ ] "i want to protect those (the contributors) whom i promised to protect in this matter," said spreckels. "outside of that, the matter is entirely an open matter; i have no concern in it."--see spreckels's testimony, transcript of evidence in the matter of the people vs. patrick calhoun, page . [ ] the statement in full of the expenditures of the prosecution, as shown in the transcript of the calhoun trial, will be found on page xxxiv of the appendix. [ ] the charge of private prosecution was raised early. the chronicle of may , , printed as part of ford's statement why he did not testify before the grand jury, the following: "the private interests that are behind this attack upon the officers of the united railroads have free access to this juryroom through their chosen counsel who has assumed to exercise all the official authority of the district attorney of this city and who, by reason of the exercise of such authority, has become the legal counsellor and guide of this grand jury. "the officers of the united railroads are not unmindful of the tremendous power for harm that lies in this unusual and extraordinary situation. "they, therefore, protest against the consideration by this grand jury of any evidence whose legality and sufficiency cannot be judicially determined from a full, complete and correct transcript thereof. "second--the subpoena by which my attendance here was compelled was not only insufficient in both form and substance, but was served by a privately employed detective who is not a citizen of california and who is employed and paid by private interests notoriously hostile to the united railroads. "third--there is here present a person not permitted by the laws of this state to be present, namely, an attorney nominally representing the office of the district attorney, while, in fact, representing private interests in no manner connected officially with any of the governmental affairs of this city and state. "fourth--i am the general counsel and legal adviser of the united railroads and its officers, and whatever knowledge i possess of any of the affairs of the united railroads or of its officers, has come to me in professional confidence and, under the law of this state, every attorney is compelled to keep inviolate, and at every peril to himself, preserve the secrets of his clients. "fifth--under the statement of the representative of the district attorney's office in attendance before this grand jury, i feel it my duty to stand with the officers of the united railroads upon my constitutional rights, and the district attorney knows that he cannot in these proceedings compel me to testify, and he also knows that no unfavorable inference is permitted to be drawn from our declination in this regard." [ ] one of the most complete answers to the charges scattered nation-wide by the graft defense, came from dean john h. wigmore of the northwestern school of law at chicago, author of wigmore on evidence, (see footnote .) [ ] see transcript of testimony, the people vs. patrick calhoun, no. , page . [ ] mr. spreckels finally testified on this point as follows: "mr. heney. q. at the time that mr. phelan agreed to contribute the $ , , mr. spreckels, what did you say, if anything, about contributing yourself? a. that was in the first meeting. i think, mr. heney, and i told him that i was ready and willing to contribute a similar amount; that i believed it would be possible to get others to join and contribute. "q. at that time was anything said by any person about prosecuting mr. calhoun? a. absolutely no. "q. or any person connected with the united railroads company? a. the discussion was entirely confined to the administration, the corrupt administration as we termed it. "q. at that time did you have any purpose or intention of prosecuting mr. calhoun? a. i had not. "q. did you have any reason to believe that mr. calhoun at that time had committed any crime? a. i had no indication of such a crime. "mr. moore. was that time fixed, mr. heney? "mr. heney. yes, it was fixed; the first conversation, and he has fixed it as nearly as he could. "the court. have you in mind the testimony on that point, mr. moore? there was some reference to it in an earlier part of the examination. "mr. heney. q. when you had the talk with mr. heney in april, , did you say anything about prosecuting mr. calhoun, or anybody connected with the united railroads? a. i did not. "q. did you at any time tell mr. heney, that you desired to have him prosecute mr. patrick calhoun? a. i did not, at any time. "q. did you tell him at any time that you desired to have him prosecute any person connected with the united railroads company? a. i did not." [ ] the chronicle in its issue of march , , the day after the story of corruption of supervisors was made public, refers to the denials of united railroads officials as follows: "weeks ago, when the first charges of a corruption fund was published, patrick calhoun issued from his new york offices a typewritten statement, equivalent to about three-fourths of a chronicle column, in which he announced: "'i have just seen the san francisco papers, in which vague charges are made that the united railroads of san francisco paid or caused to be paid $ , for a permit to use electricity on the roads that it formerly operated with cable. there is no foundation for this rumor. the united railroads of san francisco never paid or authorized any one to pay on its behalf a single dollar to the mayor, supervisors or any public official of the city of san francisco or the state of california.' "late last night the following additional denial was issued from the office of the united railroads: "'i am authorized to state in the most positive way that neither mr. calhoun nor any officer of the united railroads ever paid or authorized anyone to pay one dollar to any official. 'thornwell mullally, 'assistant to the president united railroads.'" [ ] the following statement was published over the name of otto t. hildebrecht, one of the two jurors who had voted to convict: "as soon as we entered the jury room, i overheard a crowd of the jurors in the rear of the hall shouting 'acquit! acquit!' we then proceeded to name a foreman. this matter disposed of, the members began balloting. "in the first half hour three ballots were cast. on the first vote it stood to for acquittal. on the second ballot maguire succumbed to the pressure. i called upon him for his reasons for changing his vote and he replied: 'oh, these corrupt conditions have always prevailed in san francisco. the supervisors in this case are no different from the other men, who have filled those offices. it will always be like that.' to combat this attitude on maguire's part, i stated, 'well, it is time to stamp out the crimes in this, city. in order that the evil may be corrected we must put a stop to it.' this seemed to have no weight with maguire. "the next ballot showed that anthes had gone over to the others. from him i secured this information: 'oh, why i always vote with the majority.' i said, 'why, how can an honest man take that view of the matter?' i have taken an oath and at that time announced that i would try this case solely on the evidence. "it is plainly pointed out in the testimony of sanderson that calhoun was present when ruef said, 'this thing will go through on monday. it is all settled.' this produced no impression upon the others, although i argued that such testimony alone proved calhoun's guilty knowledge of the plan to put the deal through when he remarked in answer to sanderson's query, 'then you won't need me?' 'i don't think we do.' "i then asked the other jurors to come into court, they contending that ruef had carried on the conversation with sanderson and that calhoun was an innocent witness. we asked to have this testimony revealed and the jurors filed into court. upon returning to the jury room we renewed our deliberations. "the other ten jurors came at binner and myself and sought to induce me to stretch my imagination to the end that calhoun had paid the money to ruef, but only as a fee. they acknowledged right there that calhoun had paid over the money but they argued that he didn't know that the money was going to be used as a bribe to the supervisors,--only as a fee to ruef. after that i knew that these men had purposely taken the wrong view of the whole matter. i had called them to account for the remarks that the testimony throughout the case was all purchased and that heney had held the whip over the supervisors. thereupon they backed down on that stand and made their whole plea on the ground that calhoun had given the trolley money to ruef as a fee. "i disagreed on the ground that heney, spreckels and the other members of the prosecution were not on trial as they insisted, and that the other matters, such as the theft of reports and suppression of testimony, had only been touched upon during the trial to prove that calhoun knew that the bribery deal had been carried through. "'can't you give calhoun the benefit of the doubt, that he paid this money as a fee?' was the burden of the others' argument. 'i would be willing to extend him every chance,' i replied, 'but why has he not introduced these vouchers of the united railroads in court, then we might see what was paid to bribe the juries in the ford trials.' after this they dropped me like a red-hot stove. i seemed to have struck home. it was a terrifying ordeal to stand off these ten men for twelve hours, but i held firmly to my course and voted throughout upon my conscience. i should have been ashamed to have lifted my head in the future had i fallen down and voted for an acquittal. when the deputy, mr. coyle, called to convey the word to judge lawlor as to the clearness of an agreement being reached, i met him at the door that night. 'we shall never reach an agreement,' i replied, 'unless these men come over to my side. that i fear shall never come to pass.' the claim has been made in the globe that i asked for a secret ballot. that is an untruth, as is the statement that i am a socialist. not that i am opposed to socialism, but i have never been inclined to their views. our political outlooks differ. when i told coyle that there was no chance of a verdict being reached, the other jurors, one of those standing alongside of me, punched me in the ribs in an effort to make me shut up, as they figured that they ought to be able to convince me. i have received letters from all over the state; friends and acquaintances, even utter strangers, congratulating me upon my stand in the calhoun case and my vote for conviction." [ ] calhoun, after the disagreement of the jury that tried him, issued a statement to the press in which he bitterly denounced those who were responsible for the prosecution, and hinted at retaliation. he continued to insist that heney was a corrupt official: "there lies in the courtroom," said calhoun, "forty checks made by mr. rudolph spreckels to mr. francis j. heney since his alleged appointment as assistant district attorney. those checks were deposited in the american national bank to his private account. they aggregate $ , . the first of them amounted to $ , . they are the price of his infamy. he can not escape the fact that he is a corrupt public official by the contention that he has been engaged in a holy crusade. he can not defend the acceptance of money from a private citizen for the express purpose of enabling him to devote himself exclusively to the so-called graft prosecution without committing the crime of accepting a bribe. i here make the formal and specific charge that francis j. heney stands side by side with james l. gallagher as a corrupt public official. i charge him with having accepted bribes and i also charge rudolph spreckels and james d. phelan with having given him the bribes; and if we can get a fair district attorney in the city of san francisco i propose at the proper time and in the proper way to submit formal charges against heney for having received bribes and spreckels and phelan for having paid them." of calhoun's threat of prosecution, the call in its issue of june , , said: "in that soiled and motley retinue of strikers and heelers, jury fixers and gaspipe men that the head of the united railroads has gathered about him were many who made it a business to proclaim that when the indictments came to the test of fact in court the disposition of that $ , would be explained as a perfectly innocent matter in the simplest possible manner. how these promises have been fulfilled we know. the mystery of that $ , remains as dark as ever. not even the stockholders of the company are invited into the confidence of its president. it is not now the question, where did he get it? but what did he do with it? "as long as that question remains unanswered by or for calhoun and as long as he refuses to undergo cross examination and the ordinary legal tests of proof, just so long will the whole american public believe him guilty of bribery. as for his threat of some sort of vague legal proceedings against the prosecutors, that will merely provoke a laugh, as men do laugh at a cheap and obvious bluff." [ ] the free press, not only of california but of the entire nation, protested against such a course. "san francisco," said the pittsburgh times-gazette, "owes it to the nation to continue her fight against the big grafters of that town. if she lets up now the grafters the country over will take heart, and the next time it becomes necessary to go after the tribe, it will be more difficult even than it has been in san francisco to convict a briber." chapter xxvii. the san francisco election of . scarcely had the disagreeing jury in the calhoun case been discharged than the graft prosecution was again called upon to meet the graft defense at the polls. langdon's second term was to expire the following january. his successor was to be elected in november. mr. langdon refused positively to be a candidate to succeed himself. the supporters of the prosecution turned to heney as the most available candidate to oppose the elements united against them. heney did not want to be a candidate. the grueling contest of the calhoun trial, coupled with the nerve-shattering effects of the wound in his head, had brought him to the point of physical and nervous breakdown. but it was demonstrated to him that he had the largest personal following in san francisco; that the public had confidence in him; that he must make the fight. and heney, doubtful of his physical ability to continue to the end of the primary and final campaigns, consented to become a candidate. there followed the most astonishing campaign for municipal office ever held in san francisco, or probably in any other american city. california was at the time groping her way from the clutch of the southern pacific "machine." the california legislature of had adjourned after a session which had ended largely in disappointing failure for the anti-machine element. the anti-machine element had been in slight majority, but it had blunderingly permitted the machine minority to organize both houses. as a result, the "machine" had been able to defeat the passage of many anti-machine--now known as progressive--measures. in other instances progressive measures were before their passage,[ ] in the face of the earnest but unavailable protest of the well-intentioned but unorganized anti-machine majority, loaded with hampering amendments. two of these measures bore directly upon the san francisco situation. the first measure provided for the direct primary. the second provided for the elimination of the "party circle" from the election ballot. this last named measure, known as "the party circle bill," passed the senate, but was defeated by one vote in the assembly. the defeated measure was intended to restore the australian ballot to its original simplicity and effectiveness.[ ] under the machine's tinkering of the state's election laws, the australian ballot had become a device for encouraging partisan voting. the "party circle" was placed at the head of the column of party candidates. a cross placed in the circle registered a vote for every candidate nominated by the party designated by the circle. the question of "distinguishing marks" invalidating entire ballots was ruled upon so closely by the state courts, that many voters voted by means of the one cross in the party circle to avoid the risk of having their entire ballot denied counting because of technical defects that might creep in if a divided ticket were voted. had the "party circle bill" become a law it would have eliminated the "party circle" from the ballot, leaving the voter to select individual candidates of his choice. the one assembly vote that defeated this measure after it had passed the senate, went far toward bringing the san francisco graft prosecution to an end. the direct primary measure was not defeated, nor did the machine element succeed in amending it into complete ineffectiveness. the anti-machine republicans and democrats, by joining in non-partisan caucus on this measure, succeeded in forcing the passage of the direct primary bill, but they were not able to keep it free of defects. harassed by the machine at every turn, the anti-machine senators and assemblymen were compelled to accept many undesirable provisions.[ ] one of these provisions bore directly upon the san francisco election of , and contributed to a large extent to the outcome. this clause required a primary candidate to make affidavit giving "the name of his party and that of the office for which he desires to be a candidate; that he affiliated with said party at the last preceding general election, and either that he did not vote thereat or voted for a majority of the candidates of said party at said next preceding general election, and intends to so vote at the ensuing election." at the time this section was under consideration, anti-machine legislators and the unhampered press pointed out that under it, district attorney langdon could not, in all probability, have been nominated nor re-elected in ; that mayor taylor's election of that year would have been impracticable, if not impossible; that judge dunne would have been hampered to the point of defeat in ; that under it, both in and , the so-called "higher-up" element in the field of corruption would have been given an advantage which the better citizenship of the community would have had difficulty in overcoming.[ ] but the machine element denounced these not unreasonable objectors as "enemies of the direct primary bill," and under cover of the denunciation, and the fight for practical expression of popular choice for united states senators, the objectionable clause was permitted to remain in the bill. no sooner had the legislature adjourned than judicial interpretation of the partisan clause of the direct primary act became necessary. the san francisco primary election was at hand, and the partisan provisions of the new law proved the first snag which the various candidates encountered. although the members of the legislature, machine as well as anti-machine, voted for the bill, believing that the partisan clause restricted primary nominations to members of the party of the candidates' affiliation, the san francisco election commissioners held there was nothing in the law to prevent the name of a republican appearing on the democratic ticket, or of a democrat on the republican ticket, provided the candidate made affidavit of the party of his affiliation. under this ruling it appeared that, in spite of the objectionable partisan provision of the direct primary law, the san francisco election could be held on the non-partisan basis which had resulted in the election of taylor and langdon two years before. the one issue before the san francisco electors was continuance of the graft prosecution. the supporters of the prosecution, republicans as well as democrats, desired to vote for heney. mccarthy was the avowed labor union party candidate for mayor. the union labor party was considering the nomination for district attorney of charles m. fickert. the prospects were good that heney would receive the republican and democratic nominations, as langdon had two years before. he was supported by the better element of both parties, and opposed by the anti-prosecution element of both. this opposition found expression in the republican party in a committee of twenty-five, at the head of which was i. w. hellman, jr., of the union trust company.[ ] the better element of the party planned the nomination of heney, as did the better element of democrats. on a non-partisan basis, such as had prevailed in , the union labor party would have nominated mccarthy for mayor, and fickert for district attorney, while the anti-machine, pro-prosecution democrats and republicans would have nominated a strong candidate for mayor, and heney for district attorney. conditions were thus shaping themselves admirably for continuance of the non-partisan administration of municipal affairs, which had at least blocked corruption, even though it had not beaten down the barriers of technicality, which stood between the corruptors of the municipal government and law-provided penalties. but this developing non-partisan arrangement was suddenly overturned in an opinion rendered by the supreme court, reversing the ruling of the election commissioners. the court held that the partisan provisions of the direct primary law prohibited the name of a primary candidate appearing upon any primary ticket except that of the party of the candidate's affiliations. under this ruling, fickert's name could not go on the union labor party primary ticket, for fickert had affiliated with the republican party. the hellman committee of twenty-five (republican) immediately took up the union labor party candidate for district attorney, whose name could not go on the union labor party primary ticket, mr. fickert being apparently quite as satisfactory to mr. hellman and his associates as he was to mr. mccarthy. heney, under the supreme court's ruling, found himself in a more difficult position. with other california progressives, heney had in supported taft for the presidency. his political affiliations were therefore, under the provisions of the direct primary law, republican. his name could be placed on the republican primary ticket, but not on the democratic. but it soon became evident that if his name went on the republican ticket he would be defeated at the primaries. the registration of voters under their party designation to enable them to vote at the partisan primaries showed an astonishing condition. the machine, anti-prosecution element was discovered to be massing its strength in the republican party. two years before, daniel a. ryan, the republican candidate for mayor, had received only votes in san francisco, while taylor, the democratic candidate, had received , , and mccarthy, union labor, , . but for the primaries, no less than , registered as republicans, a gain of , over ryan's vote,[ ] while the democratic registration was , only, , less than taylor's vote, and the union labor registration, , , or less than mccarthy's vote in . heney's name could not go on the democratic ballot. if he permitted it to go on the republican ballot, the tremendous republican registration indicated that the anti-machine republicans would be outvoted by "machine" members of all parties who had registered as republicans. by another provision of the election laws, heney, should he be defeated at the primaries, could not become an independent candidate; defeat at the primaries barred him from running at the final election. heney was effectively shut out from participating as a primary candidate. and this, in face of the fact that the anti-machine republicans and the anti-machine democrats were striving to make him their candidate. had the primary law prevailed in , langdon's re-election could have been, and almost to a certainty would have been blocked, and the graft prosecution brought to an end two years before it was. at the primary election, heney's name, although he was the choice of the anti-machine element of all parties, did not appear on any of the primary ballots.[ ] nevertheless, republicans wrote heney's name on their primary ballots. but this was not sufficient to give him the nomination. fickert, whose name appeared on the republican ballot, as a regular candidate, received , votes, which gave him the republican nomination. on neither the democratic nor union labor primary tickets did the name of any candidate for district attorney appear. the mccarthy element urged that fickert's name be written in by union labor party voters. they carried their point, fickert being nominated by the union labor party by votes. but even here there was registered protest at what was going on. union labor party voters to the number of wrote heney's name on their ballots. in the same way, a determined effort was made to give fickert the democratic nomination also. he received votes. but the pro-prosecution democrats rallied to heney's support, and nominated him by a vote of . thus out of a total of , who voted for nomination of district attorney, no less than , or more than per cent., wrote heney's name on their ballots, in protest against the partisan conditions which made his regular nomination impractical. the law was new; the election, the first held in the state under the direct primary. it was difficult to make the electors understand they could vote to nominate heney by writing his name on the ballot. of the , who voted at the primaries only , voted for district attorney. unquestionably, a large percentage of those who did not vote at all, would have written heney's name on the ballot had they known that such a course was permissible. but they did not know, and more than per cent. of those voting did not vote for district attorney. as the rev. charles n. lathrop put it: "they have heney sewed up in a bag, and the bag is the partisan features of the direct primary."[ ] out of this confusing primary election, fickert came with two party nominations, the union labor and the republican, while heney had one nomination, the democratic. this meant that fickert's name would be printed twice on the final ballot under partisan designation, while heney's would be printed but once. thus, for every chance heney had for a "party circle" vote fickert had two. the prosecution forces had supported byron mauzy for republican nomination for mayor, but mr. mauzy[ ] was defeated by william crocker, who received the republican nomination. the democrats nominated thomas b. w. leland for the mayoralty office, while the union labor party named p. h. mccarthy. the mayoralty-district attorney tickets were, therefore: republican, crocker and fickert; union labor, mccarthy and fickert; democratic, leland and heney. but the issue before san francisco, continuance of the graft prosecution, had no partisan significance at all. it was supported and it was opposed by members of both parties. the whole fight was over the election of heney. but never had candidate for office opposition which had more at stake.[ ] men with apparently unlimited means at their disposal, realized that heney's election would in all probability mean for them a term in the state prison. they were fighting for their liberty. the commercial interests were warned that, in the words of i. w. hellman, sr., the banker, the graft prosecution was hurting business.[ ] the anti-graft prosecution press insisted day after day that bribery of public officials, while bad, is the most common of crimes and the most difficult to prove; that san francisco had tried to convict, had failed and might as well give up. so-called "improvement clubs" went so far as to adopt resolutions not only protesting against further prosecution, but demanding that the supervisors withdraw support given the district attorney's office in its efforts to land bribe-givers behind the bars.[ ] and finally, the large business interests opposed to the prosecution, threw strength to mccarthy; not that they liked mccarthy--they united against him two years later--but because the election of mccarthy would go far toward the defeat of heney. members of the labor unions were, to a large extent, supporters of the prosecution. their votes had made langdon's election sure in . during the campaign, and down to the very day of election, the sentiment among laboring men was to vote for mccarthy and heney. but heney's name did not appear on the union labor ticket. labor's support of heney was vigorously opposed. appeal was made to workingmen to stay by their class; to vote for the labor candidates, mccarthy and fickert. on the monday night before the election, the writer, with professor george h. boke of the university of california law school, joined a group of working men who were discussing the merits of the several candidates. apparently all but one of them were for mccarthy and heney. the exception was for leland and heney. he was defending himself, when the writer joined the group, against the charge that in voting for leland he was "voting outside his class." this leland advocate was a most noticeable young man. he declared himself to be a member of the electricians' union. well under thirty, clear-eyed and forceful, he was prepared to stand his ground. when his immediate opponent became personal, the electrical worker, without raising his voice, without excitement, or boast, or display, remarked quietly: "do not resort to personalities, for if it comes to personalities, what chance have you against me?" there were no more personalities. incidentally his argument was fast bringing out the fact that every worker in the crowd was going to vote for heney. the effect of it was important. suddenly from somewhere there appeared a new man to do his part in molding public opinion. the new-comer went through that crowd with the assurance of a practiced football player through an aggregation of amateurs. in less than five minutes he had addressed every man of the group. but he had none of the marks of a worker, and nobody thought to ask for his "card." his was the pasty face and the pudgy neck and the soft, unclean hand of the cadet. his argument was curious and even ridiculous, but it was most effective. it at least scattered the crowd. "of course calhoun is a grafter," he said in effect. "they are all grafters. spreckels is a grafter. of course, fickert is calhoun's man, just as heney is spreckels's man. they are all out for graft. but if we are to have grafting, let's keep the graft in our own class. why should you vote to let spreckels's men do the grafting? you have a candidate of your own. vote for him. it is only a fight between millionaires anyhow, and a toss-up which is right. let us vote for the man of our class." the effect of this running fire of words was immediate. the electrician lost the attention of his associates. the discussion came to an end with murmurs of approval of the newcomer's position. that he should have changed a vote with such argument seems incredible. but that he had created a doubt in the minds of those workingmen was apparent to all who saw. he left them well prepared for the anti-prosecution workers who would meet them at the polls the next morning. but the laboring element was not the only "class" forced into opposition to heney. at the exclusive clubs, fashionable hotels, social functions, support of heney was denounced as treason to the exclusive, fashionable, social class. it was quite amusing to hear first generation descendants of honest steerage immigrants decrying the prosecution of rich men trapped in bribe-giving on the theory that to do otherwise "would be treason to our class." thus, mr. heney was called upon to meet the "class" opposition of the laborer and the magnate. on the other hand, the unafraid, intelligent people of san francisco, who recognized no "class" issue, rallied to heney's support. but they were without the concerted plan of action which the other side had perfected. the san francisco press, with the exception of the bulletin and daily news, gave heney no editorial support, but the country press, which had no circulation in san francisco, earnestly urged his election.[ ] good citizens throughout the country wrote urging heney's election. "to rout the forces of the prosecution at this juncture in san francisco," wrote rabbi stephen s. wise of new york, "is to hoist the red flag of anarchy, to proclaim that law and order are not always enforceable, or that such enforcement is not always profitable." but rabbi wise was in new york. his influence did not, unfortunately, extend, in any important degree, to san francisco. on the day of election, the writer visited many voting places in the districts in which the labor vote was strong. working men by the scores were taking less than a minute to mark their ballots. it was evident that they were voting by means of the party circle. every labor union party vote of this kind was a vote against heney. the last hope that heney would get this support was gone. one did not need wait for the counting of the ballots. it was plain that heney was defeated. the election returns spoke eloquently of the means that had been employed to defeat heney. for the primary election , had registered as republicans, but crocker, the republican candidate for mayor, received only , votes at the final election. although but , had registered for the primaries as members of the union labor party, p. h. mccarthy received , votes, which, wherever voting was done by means of the party circle, carried a vote for fickert. fickert, with the two nominations, received , . heney, running on the democratic ticket, received , votes, more than leland, the candidate for mayor. but the combination against heney was too great for him or any man to overcome. fickert was elected.[ ] the graft prosecution had been defeated at the polls. footnotes: [ ] see "story of the california legislature of ," chapters viii, ix, x, xi. [ ] this reform was accomplished at the legislative session of . the undesirable provisions were also stricken by amendment from the direct primary law. see "story of the california legislature of ." [ ] "before voting on this matter," (the direct primary provisions) said senator stetson, an anti-machine leader in explaining his vote, "lest any one in the future may think that i have been passed something and didn't know it, i wish to explain my vote, and wish to say that this permission accorded a candidate to go on record to support that candidate for united states senate, who shall have the endorsement of the greatest number of districts, comes from nobody and goes to nobody. it means nothing--mere words--idle words. the only way in which a candidate could have been pledged would have been to provide a pledge or instructions to the legislature. the words 'shall be permitted' mean nothing and get nowhere. i shall vote for this report, not because i want to, but because i have to if we are at this session to have any direct primary law at all." senator stetson was referring particularly to the section which denied the people by state-wide vote the right to indicate their preference for united states senator, but his words would have applied as directly and as truly to other sections of the measure. other good government senators did, as a matter of fact, denounce the very partisan clause which later contributed so largely to heney's defeat. senators campbell, holohan and miller, for example, while voting for the bill, sent to the clerk's desk the following explanation of their vote: "we voted for the direct primary bill because it seems to be the best law that can be obtained under existing political conditions. we are opposed to many of the features of this bill, and believe that the people at the first opportunity will instruct their representatives in the legislature to radically amend the same in many particulars, notably in regard to the election of united states senators, and the provisions that prevent the endorsement of a candidate by a political party or organization other than the one that first nominated such candidate." [ ] see files of sacramento bee for february and march, , and senate journal for march , , page . [ ] the union trust company loaned $ , to the calkins' syndicate, which published papers in opposition to the prosecution. for the curious circumstances under which the loan was made, see footnote , page . the union trust company officials were among the most effective opponents of the prosecution, and most persistent in circulating the story that the prosecution hurt business. the head of the institution, i. w. hellman, sr., returning early in august from a trip to europe, when the campaign was opening, said in an interview, published in the chronicle, august , : "in new york i found that there is still a great difficulty in securing capital for san francisco on account of the graft prosecution, or the 'graft persecution,' as they call it there. of course, i do not know what changes have occurred in the situation here since i left six months ago, but i had an interview with certain people in new york and i found that they were unwilling to send capital here as long as this 'graft persecution' was continued." [ ] ryan did not receive his full party vote (see chapter xxi) while taylor received the anti-machine vote of all parties. nevertheless, this does not account for the extent of the astonishing changes in registration. [ ] it is interesting to note that the politicians responsible for this condition, and who regarded heney's position at the primaries with no attempt to conceal their amusement, were in , loudest in their insistence that they had been disfranchised because the names of taft electors did not appear on the california election ballot at the election. it is also to be noted that their representations were based on misrepresentation. they could, under the election laws, had they had any intention of giving taft genuine support in california, have placed the names on the ballot by petition, as was done in the case of the roosevelt electors, who, lest their regular nomination be questioned, were also nominated by petition. [ ] the california legislature of corrected the features of the election laws which blocked free expression of the will of the electors. san francisco, by amendment of its charter, has since placed all municipal elections on a strictly non-partisan basis, with provisions under which no candidate can be elected by a plurality vote. it is interesting to note that although opposed by mayor mccarthy and the group of politicians about him, these amendments correcting the weaknesses of the election laws, were adopted overwhelmingly. mccarthy's vote in was practically the same as the vote by which he was elected in . had the election been held under the same conditions in , as in , mccarthy would almost to a certainty have been re-elected. [ ] mr. mauzy had the active opposition of the anti-prosecution element, which proposed that old sores be forgotten, and the city be kept free of graft in the future. "if you think," said the chronicle, on august , , "san francisco is suffering injury from the fruitless effort to obtain convictions in cases in which evidence is lacking, vote the byron mauzy ticket. if you believe that the sane thing to do is to cease wasting money over the attempt to accomplish the impossible, vote for candidates who can be depended upon to give the city an administration from which graft will be eliminated in future." [ ] the platform expressions on the graft prosecution issue are interesting. the republican platform made no reference to it at all. there was some talk of providing that "the district attorney should do his duty," but not even this was provided. the union labor party plank on this question read as follows: "we believe in the principle of the equality of all men before the law; that every guilty person should be prosecuted with vigor, in accordance with the law of the land, and that the administration of the law should be free from any and all suspicion of private control. we condemn favoritism or leniency in behalf of any offender before the law, or any compromise with criminals. we demand that any and all offenders be dealt with alike, and to such end we pledge our nominees." the democratic plank alone pledged support to the graft prosecution. it read: "we pledge the democratic party absolutely and unequivocally to the support of the graft prosecution which for three years has valiantly battled for the principle of the equality of all men before the law, which has secured convictions against disheartening odds and has paved the way for the clean administration of public affairs which we now enjoy. "the people must declare at this critical election for or against municipal corruption; for the enforcement of the law, or for its abandonment; for or against not only a greater but a better san francisco. "francis j. heney, our candidate for district attorney, embodies these issues, and we pledge him the vigorous and loyal support of the democratic party." [ ] the "hurt business" argument was ably combated by businessmen who were free of the graft mire. "from all the available information at hand," said colonel harris weinstock, of the firm of weinstock-lubin & co., in replying to this argument, "i find that on the whole the volume of business is greater in san francisco than it ever was before. i am, therefore, unable to see how business has been hurt by the graft prosecution. "the burden of proof on this point properly rests with those making the charge. they should present facts and figures verifying their statement that business has been hurt by the graft prosecution before they can hope to have it accepted as fact. "so far as i have been able to find out, the graft prosecution has not hurt business, but even if it had seriously crippled business it would still be your duty and my duty and the duty of every lover and well-wisher of our free institutions to hold up the hands of those who are fighting your battle and my battle in an effort to bring public wrongdoers to justice, and thus prevent harm from coming to the republic. let the work go on." the american national bank of san francisco, in a financial letter issued august , , gave figures which disproved the hellman idea. "it is significant of san francisco's credit standing in the world at large," the letter read, "that the bonds of this city command prices that compare favorably with the issues of other large municipalities, as measured by the low interest return which investors are willing to accept. to illustrate: for every $ , put into municipal bonds at present figures, the purchaser would receive per annum: "from san francisco bonds $ . "from philadelphia bonds . "from cincinnati bonds . "from cleveland bonds . "from st. louis bonds . "from pittsburg bonds . "from chicago bonds . "from minneapolis bonds . "from milwaukee bonds . "from new york bonds . "considering these facts, and the readiness with which the san francisco bonds are being taken, it does not appear that this city is suffering in reputation, as some people affect to believe, by reason of certain trials which have engaged the attention of the criminal courts for two years past." "i have no patience," said heney, in discussing the hellman argument, "with this talk that we hear from merchants and bankers that the prosecution is hurting business. they heard the same talk in boston when our revolutionary sires threw tea overboard. it would hurt business, they said, to have a war with england. i can see the picture, when thomas jefferson was signing the declaration of independence, of a large man, who looked like the cartoonist's representation of a corporation official, coming through the door behind him and shouting, 'hold on, tom, you'll hurt business.' and when washington was spending that terrible winter with his army at valley forge, the same class of men who are now crying at us in san francisco were shouting for the war to stop. 'damn principle,' they were crying. 'it's hurting business. this war must stop.'" [ ] "it is," said the chronicle, commenting upon the adoption of such resolutions, "a matter of common knowledge that there is a widespread feeling among those whose good citizenship cannot be disputed that the city, having done its best for three years, without success, to find legal proof which would connect officials of the corporations which profited by the corruption of the schmitz administration with the crime of bribery, it is necessary to discontinue the effort. hitherto no one has been willing to formally approach the authorities in the matter lest he should appear to show sympathy with evildoers. the richmond club, however, has formally memorialized the supervisors to withdraw further support by appropriations on the ground that it has become apparent that success is impossible, and that further effort would be not only a waste of money and energy but serve to keep before the world the memory of a most disgraceful epoch in our history. "bribery of public officials is the most dangerous of crimes. it undermines the very foundation of government by the people. and yet it has been in this and all other large american cities the most common of crimes. in the public mind, and in common speech, any person or firm which has habitually done business with our city government has been held to have on himself the burden of proof that he was innocent of bribery. and then came the riot of debauchery under the schmitz administration, with corruption in all forms permeating every department of the city government. we have had nothing like that before, and yet until the election of the present board of supervisors this city has almost never had a board on which some members were not believed to be corrupt and constantly on the watch for opportunities to 'hold up' those seeking to do business with the city. it is not believed that any franchise now in existence has been obtained without bribery or operated without continuous bribery. it has been generally assumed that whoever undertook to do business with the city must buy his way in by some form of corruption. "bribery is a crime for which conviction is almost impossible. occasionally proof can be got through a decoy, as in the case of the schmitz supervisors. what was exposed in that way, however, was no legal proof against the higher officials of the beneficiary corporations. for that other proof must be had, and thus far, except in one case, no conviction has been had. and unless the courts reverse themselves that conviction will not stand. the question then arises as to the duty of the city. shall we continue to expend energy in striving to accomplish what we all see to be impossible, or shall the city, having done its best, turn its energies into more hopeful channels? as to that there will be differences of opinion, nor is it possible for anyone to know to what extent those differences are founded in reason, and how much on personal hatreds and a desire for notoriety. "there is doubtless a feeling that the continuance of these prosecutions is now doing great harm, which could only be counterbalanced by conviction based on clear legal proof, for which it is impossible to hope. in the first place, it is enormously costly and has introduced a universal system of spying which is exciting animosity against both sides of these cases. decent citizens are coming to resent secret efforts to induce them to compromise themselves on the one side or the other. secondly, the awful exhibitions of perjury in order to escape jury duty are shocking the moral sense of the community as severely as it was shocked by the exposure of the bribery. and the examination of the jurors are resulting in expressions of opinion by prospective jurors which do not do the city any good. finally, the conduct of these trials is turning into a farce processes which should be the most solemn exhibitions of the authority of the law. we must all recognize that it is common talk that society ought not to seek to imprison one possible criminal at the cost of the imprisonment for months at a time of innocent citizens dragged from their homes and compelled to listen to the interminable quarrels of counsel over matters having no legitimate bearing on the case and injected solely for the purpose of confusing jurymen. everybody sees that it will be impossible in the case now on trial to get a jury fit to be intrusted with the fate of a dog. every intelligent citizen has been 'disqualified' by reading the testimony before the grand jury. "it is a most difficult situation. no reputable citizen is willing to seem to impede the course of justice. but, now that an organized body has formally raised before the supervisors a question which has long been a daily subject of discussion whenever two men have met, it will be necessary to frankly face the situation and decide where duty lies." [ ] the following from the fresno republican is very good example of this excellent but unavailing newspaper support: "good people of san francisco, give heed and take notice, the way it looks in the clearer perspective of an outside view. "francis j. heney is a candidate for district attorney, and he is the issue. it is stop the graft prosecutions, or go on with them. your votes will determine it. "you are 'tired of the graft prosecutions.' how long did it take you to get tired of the graft? can you not be patient as long with militant honesty as you were with sneaking crime? "you may stop these prosecutions, if you so vote. but remember the whole civilized world is looking on, and will judge you by that vote. it is the good name of san francisco that you are voting up or down. "banker hellman says not. he has been to new york and he says 'new york' wants the prosecutions stopped, and 'new york' will not lend any more money until they are stopped. "what is banker hellman's 'new york?' it is certain banks and certain syndicates in new york. and it is the san francisco officials of precisely these syndicates that you are now prosecuting. of course, patrick calhoun, of new york, wants the prosecution of patrick calhoun of san francisco stopped. it is banker hellman's privilege to have a mere pendulum which swings from his san francisco office to his new york office and thinks it is in new york. but it is not incumbent on you to share that mental deficiency. if banker hellman should announce in new york that he was going to discuss the san francisco situation, his audience would consist of the new york partners of the san francisco grafters. he thinks that is 'new york.' the real new york would neither know nor care. it never heard of banker hellman. but if francis j. heney should be announced to discuss the san francisco situation in new york, there is not a place of assemblage in the city big enough to hold the people who would want to hear and see him. the whole nation knows heney and it has made up its mind about him. it is waiting to see what you do, before it makes up its mind about you, too. "'the prosecutions must stop, some time,' to be sure. but who has earned from san francisco the right to say when? when francis j. heney says it is time to quit, then it is time; not before. he has given his time, his strength, and almost his life for you. he has purified your politics and regulated your government. he has redeemed your city's name in the esteem of the world. he is making for you a fight which no one ever had the courage, the persistence or the ability to make before. he is not tired yet and he has not surrendered yet. suppose you leave it to him, when it is time to quit. "people of san francisco, the world is looking on. it cannot determine your decision. neither can you determine what it will think of that decision, when it is made." [ ] heney on the day after the election issued the following statement: "the first battle for equality before the law has been fought and lost, but the war against graft will continue to be waged by all true soldiers who have been fighting with me in the great cause of common honesty, common decency, and civic righteousness. "the fight between the forces of evil and the forces of good is and must be a perpetual one. the first battle of bull run cast gloom over the entire earth, but that disaster only inspired the immortal lincoln and his followers with stern resolution and fresh courage. "san francisco has received a sad blow and the cause of equality before the law a great setback, but be of good cheer and take fresh courage, you many thousands of good men and women who have joined in this fight for the maintenance of the purity and protection of our homes and the uplifting of the moral standards of our city! "we have been defeated in this election, but the sober moral sense of the community will again reassert itself and san francisco will vindicate herself before the world. "i retract nothing that i have said during the recent campaign. on the contrary, i reassert the truth of all that i have stated from the public platforms. i have no regrets except that for poor san francisco and the many thousands of people who fought shoulder to shoulder with me in the good fight. "let us all to-night firmly resolve that we will continue the battle for equality before the law with unabated vigor until success has crowned our efforts." * * * * * the following statement was issued by rudolph spreckels: "while the defeat at yesterday's election of the principles for which i have fought is regretted by me, it will speedily bring about a truer estimate of my real motives. "one of the compensations of this defeat is that i have so quickly been given an opportunity to disprove the charges so frequently made that i have been actuated by sordid or vindictive motives. the individuals against whom it is alleged that i have entertained malicious and selfish designs are entirely removed from the possibility of harm at the hands of the so-called prosecution. "attempting to punish was an unpleasant and incidental portion of the public work which i set out to do. i am glad that the people have taken that task off my hands and left me free to do the more important part of my undertaking. "feeling that the people will fully realize this, i desire to say that i shall continue the work of civic regeneration with undiminished hope and earnestness." chapter xxviii. dismissal of the graft cases. at the time of mr. fickert's election to the district attorney's office, the second trial of patrick calhoun for offering a bribe was well under way. as at the other graft trials, there had been delays [ ] so that after five months the jury was only half complete. that the trial could not be finished before mr. fickert assumed the duties of his office became evident. the case was, for that reason, on december , continued until january , in order that mr. fickert might participate in the selection of the trial jurors. but on that date, mr. fickert, who had been in office only two days, very frankly admitted himself to be unfamiliar with the facts, and not prepared to go to trial. further continuance was accordingly granted until january , and then until february . in the meantime former supervisor james l. gallagher, the pivotal witness in the case, had disappeared. gallagher was known to have been in san francisco for some three weeks after fickert's election. about december he dropped out of sight. he was supposed to have gone to europe.[ ] on february , mr. fickert moved the dismissal of the case pending against mr. calhoun on the ground that there was not sufficient legal and competent evidence to warrant him submitting the case to a jury.[ ] judge lawlor denied the motion. in denying it, judge lawlor stated that in the view of the court the action should be tried by a jury and a verdict should be rendered by a jury, if that were possible, in the full operation of the law. fickert stated in the discussion which followed that he wanted his motion to apply to all the other graft cases of the same class as calhoun's, with the exception of the defendants ruef and schmitz. but here again did the judge deny the district attorney's request. after judge lawlor's ruling, calhoun's attorneys announced themselves ready to proceed with the trial of the case. fickert stated that he would be ready in a week. judge lawlor thereupon questioned fickert very closely about the absent witness, gallagher. fickert gave assurance that diligent hunt was being made for the witness. the questioning of the district attorney was continued ten days later when the case again came up. judge lawlor asked fickert to tell definitely whether he proposed to put the issue before a jury in the absence of his material witness. fickert replied that gallagher's absence greatly weakened the state's case, and that in his belief certain facts could not be proved without gallagher being present. but as for that, fickert insisted that even with gallagher present he did not believe that the state could make out a case.[ ] nevertheless, he continued to insist that he was ready to proceed to try the action even in the absence of the witness gallagher. but judge lawlor announced that he did not propose to proceed with the trial of the action: ( ) if a material witness were without the jurisdiction of the court. ( ) if the court did not believe that the cause were to be prosecuted with the vigor and fidelity that the law contemplates.[ ] fickert also stated his position. he insisted that he did not believe that any evidence had ever existed against the trolley-graft defendants abbott and mullally, and did not believe it to be his duty as district attorney to prosecute men against whom there was no evidence. fickert even attempted to commit judge lawlor to this proposition, by stating that the judge in chambers had confessed as much. this judge lawlor denied. mr. fickert's assistant, mr. berry, had been present during the discussion in chambers between mr. fickert and judge lawlor, but mr. berry failed to sustain his chief's contention.[ ] "in these cases, the cases against mr. abbott and mr. mullally," said fickert, "i shall never proceed in them because there is absolutely no evidence which at all gives even a suspicion." in respect to the other cases, mr. fickert announced that he intended to take the same course that he had in those under discussion, and stated that if the judge so desired he would advise him before hand as to which of the cases he intended to make a motion for dismissal. "in view of the statement you made on february ,"[ ] replied judge lawlor, "the court will not feel called upon to grant any application looking to a dismissal of any of those cases. the court will finally deal with them in the manner prescribed by the law. and if that situation is not reached so that the court can proceed with the trial, the court will be under the solemn obligation of setting down in its minutes the reason why a trial has not been had in any particular instance, and why cases are dismissed or disposed of without the trial of the general issue. the court cannot escape its responsibilities. i have pointed out that under the law it is for the court to say finally what shall become of cases that are not pressed to conclusion, and when the court does that it must give its reasons--the law says so. in this state, since the formation of the government therein, the power has not for any considerable length of time lodged in the district attorney to dispose of actions; that matter is confided to the court. counsel will be doing injustice to his own position if he assumes that the court has any other attitude than to finally dispose of these matters according to the law without doing injustice to any person, either to the district attorney or any person who is unfortunate enough to be involved. but when the court comes to write down its action it will be based upon what it believes to be the fact and upon nothing else." fickert replied that he was ready to proceed with the matter. to this judge lawlor reiterated that the court was not going to permit the district attorney to proceed in the absence of a witness, who, according to the district attorney's own statement, was material.[ ] nor did the earnest plea of attorneys for the defense for dismissal move judge lawlor. in the absence of the material witness, gallagher, he continued the case, on the court's own motion, until april .[ ] on that date, calhoun's attorneys moved for dismissal of all the indictments pending against their client upon the ground that his trial had been postponed and continued for more than sixty days without his consent and over his objection and exception. fickert submitted the motion, fortifying it with a statement that he did not believe that the district attorney's office would be justified in asking continuance until gallagher's return. judge lawlor postponed determination of the motion until july .[ ] his ruling was announced on august . judge lawlor went exhaustively into the situation presented.[ ] he pointed out that a material and indispensable witness was absent from the state; he stated that the court was called upon to intervene "because the district attorney has at practically every turn followed the lead of these defendants"; he held that through the influence of unusual agencies, so far as the graft cases were concerned, the law had broken down, and that the crimes charged are of the most serious nature, "because such criminal activity tends to sap the very foundations of government"; he insisted that before the indictments should be finally disposed of every reasonable effort should be made to get at the truth of the situation. "the disposition of grave charges other than on their merits," he concluded, "is not to be encouraged and should not be allowed, except in the face of a strict legal necessity." he continued the cases until august . stanley moore, one of calhoun's attorneys, when judge lawlor had concluded, demanded that he be permitted to reply. this demand was refused. there followed one of the most extraordinary scenes ever recorded of a court of justice. the defendant's attorneys, the district attorney, and even the prisoner at bar, openly and contemptuously defied the judge on the bench. stanley moore charged him with "doing politics from the bench that you stultify in your occupancy." a. a. moore, another of calhoun's lawyers, accused him of being "a partisan, a bitter partisan, and doing dirty politics." "and," stanley moore hastened to add, "have been before these indictments were ever filed in this court, as the events of that midnight deal in which you participated on april amply demonstrate."[ ] district attorney fickert, in the face of the court's direction that he take his seat, denounced "the statements and aspersions you have tried to cast upon me" as "false in each and every particular." a third of mr. calhoun's attorneys added his denunciation. mr. john barrett decried the proceedings as "infamous." judge lawlor sentenced calhoun's three attorneys to serve five days each in the county jail for contempt and ordered the sheriff to take charge of them. but the extraordinary scene was not concluded. the prisoner at the bar had not yet been heard. calhoun took the floor to tell the judge on the bench that should the judge send him (calhoun) to jail for contempt "it will be heralded all over this country as an honor."[ ] the court attempted to interrupt the angry defendant. the interruption was ignored. the prisoner at the bar was exhibiting himself as more powerful in san francisco than the judge on the bench. when he had said his say, he took his seat. the trolley-graft cases dragged along for more than a year after this astonishing scene in judge lawlor's courtroom.[ ] the defendants applied to the supreme court in habeas corpus proceedings, but failed to secure interference. they then went to the state district court of appeal, where they secured a writ of mandate directing judge lawlor to dismiss the indictments in the cases of the trolley-graft defendants.[ ] the district attorney's office announced to judge lawlor that the district attorney had no intention of prosecuting an appeal from the judgment and order of the district court. judge lawlor thereupon dismissed the cases as directed. he also included the cases against frank g. drum, eugene de sabla and john martin, which were governed by much the same considerations as the trolley cases. four years and a half had passed since the indictments had been brought. little by little, the influence of those of the community who were for law and order and impartial law enforcement had been sapped and broken down. the prosecution had been worn out; the community had been worn out. the defense had shown greater staying qualities than either peace officers or community. it had been pretty thoroughly demonstrated that convictions could not be had.[ ] the dismissal of the trolley-graft and gas-graft cases was the final breaking down of san francisco's efforts to have the cases tried upon their merits. to be sure, the indictments against the telephone-graft defendants and the prizefight-graft defendants, and against schmitz and ruef still stood. glass, a telephone-graft defendant, had been convicted, but the supreme court had reversed the decision on technicalities.[ ] the absent witness, gallagher, was not a material witness in the glass case. but when along in august, , a year after the dismissal of the gas and trolley-graft cases, glass's case was called, it was found that important witnesses had disappeared. the incident was taken by the papers, not as a reflection upon the community, but as a joke on judge lawlor.[ ] the glass cases were finally dismissed. former mayor schmitz in february, , was brought to trial. ruef was brought over from san quentin prison to testify against him. but ruef refused to testify unless the ruef indictments were dismissed. this, judge dunne,[ ] before whom many ruef indictments were pending, refused to do. ruef did not testify. schmitz was acquitted. the other indictments against schmitz were eventually dismissed. the same course followed in the cases of the other graft defendants. the graft defense had beaten san francisco; its record of shameful success was complete. footnotes: [ ] the second trial of patrick calhoun (no. ) was begun july , . owing to the illness of one of mr. calhoun's counsel, the trial was suspended on august th, and resumed september th. the following day the defendant secured further continuance until november th, upon the ground of the pendency of a municipal political campaign. after the election the trial was resumed. on december th, it was, by agreement between the parties continued until january th, when the new district attorney should be in office. [ ] the motives which prompted gallagher to flee the city are among the undetermined elements of the graft cases. perhaps recollection of his attempted assassination had something to do with it. it may be that the defense, which had done so many extraordinary things during the course of the graft trials, made it worth his while to go. gallagher is known to have been plentifully supplied with money while he was away. an attempt was made to create the impression that agents of the prosecution had been instrumental in getting gallagher out of the state. but the attempt, while it confused the situation somewhat, was not taken seriously. when in august, , judge lawlor dismissed the indictments against the alleged bribe-givers in the trolley case, he took occasion to say: "i am more convinced now than i was when these same motions were urged more than a year ago, that james l. gallagher is remaining out of this jurisdiction for a specific purpose. the future will make that point entirely clear. when his importance as a witness in any of these so-called graft cases has ceased there is no doubt that james l. gallagher will be again in our midst. if i were able to lay the responsibility for that situation upon any individual or set of individuals i repeat that appropriate proceedings would have been instituted to have the law redressed in that behalf." judge lawlor was right. after the dismissal of the graft cases mr. gallagher returned to san francisco. to the intimation of district attorney fickert that gallagher left the state to embarrass the district attorney's administration, judge lawlor on one occasion said in an opinion: "that the former administration may have distrusted the official intentions of the district attorney toward these indictments might be assumed from all the surrounding circumstances. but it does not seem probable that the former administration would induce a material and indispensable witness to leave the state and thereby make it easy for the district attorney to secure a result which otherwise might entail serious embarrassment. so far as the showing is concerned there is no tangible proof tending to support the charge of the district attorney, nor is there any proof which would justify such an inference." [ ] fickert's motion had been prepared in advance and was read to the court. "since the calling of this case on january th," he said, "i have made a thorough and careful examination of the evidence left in the district attorney's office by my predecessor, mr. langdon, and he informed me on my accession to the office, that he had delivered to me all the evidence of every kind and character in his possession or under his control in this case. i have also examined the transcript of testimony given at the former trial of this defendant; besides this, i have made independent search for further evidence. these examinations convince me that there is not sufficient legal and competent evidence to justify me, as a sworn officer of the law, to present this case to a jury. "my opinion is confirmed by the fact that out of jurors sworn to try this defendant and the defendant, tirey l. ford, upon the same state of facts, voted 'not guilty.' i, therefore, 'in furtherance of justice,' move the dismissal of this indictment, on the grounds that the evidence is wholly insufficient to warrant another trial of this case." [ ] judge lawlor was also careful to make clear that if the court proceeded with the formation of a jury, jeopardy would attach to the case. he also pointed out that the statute of limitations had run against the alleged crimes. the following is from the transcript, the questions being directed to mr. fickert: the court: you are aware that if you proceed to form a jury to try this issue, and the witness does not appear, that jeopardy has nevertheless attached and that the defendant will be entitled to ask for his deliverance at the hands of that jury, whether that witness is produced or not. "mr. fickert: yes, i am aware of that, if your honor please. "the court: and you are aware further that the alleged criminal act set up in the indictment is outlawed within the meaning of section of the penal code; that is to say, that more than three years have intervened since it is claimed that that act was committed. "mr. fickert: that is correct, if your honor please. "the court: the witness, james l. gallagher, gave testimony in the trial of case against this defendant. you are aware that the testimony relating to an indictment cannot be read to a jury on a retrial of the action; in other words, that if james l. gallagher does not appear in this trial his testimony cannot be presented to the jury." fickert suggested that counsel might stipulate that the evidence be read. but counsel for mr. calhoun hastened to assure mr. fickert that counsel would stipulate to nothing of the kind. [ ] "at the present time," said judge lawlor in making this announcement, "it is the intention of the court to deal with this matter, so far as the absence of that material witness is concerned, and to suspend judgment as to the ultimate attitude of the district attorney in respect to this and other causes before the court. i do not intend to sit here and preside over a trial if for any reason, whether it seems sufficient to the district attorney or not, the court reaches the conclusion that the case is not being prosecuted in good faith. the court, in pointing out the duty of the district attorney on february th, was not inviting a suggestion that we should proceed to trial without regard to the outcome of that trial or to its particular features or the manner in which it should be tried. the court will try no case, it will not consume its own time, it will not consume the time of others, it will not allow the expenditure of public money for the mere purpose of going through the forms of a trial. the court must feel in the end that the people are represented. now, what its final view shall be as to the district attorney will be announced when the court deems that announcement pertinent and proper. the court has its own views as to what may be done within the exercise of its prerogative in the event that it does not feel that the people are represented, and will act upon its own judgment when that time arrives. at this time the witness being absent from the jurisdiction of the court, the court points out to the district attorney his duty under section of the penal code, to move for a proper continuance of this action until the court can be advised as to whether or not that witness can be produced." later, when fickert suggested that all criminal causes be transferred to some other department where the judge might be of a different opinion, judge lawlor said: "i have had no occasion to find fault with your acts in respect to any other causes that have been brought before this court. i am endeavoring to have your mind concentrated upon one thing, and that is the matters which are before this court, and for the prosecution of which you, under your sworn oath of office are required to give your full attention to. your own statement in support of your motion to dismiss this case evinces in my judgment a disposition not to do your duty. however, i still say that this matter i bring to your attention, and ask you to give full reflection upon the matter. i have no desire in any manner to hamper you. the process of this court is at your disposal at all times, in all causes, and if any person or set of persons be found to be interfering with the due administration of justice you will have a full hearing before this court in order that you shall not be so hampered. your statement concerning these cases is calculated not alone to affect the fortune of these undetermined cases, but it is well calculated to affect the disposition of the other causes and other charges wherein convictions were had against other persons growing out of this alleged transaction, and which cases are now on their way for a determination to the courts of appeal in this state." [ ] "i think your honor well knows," fickert had said, "that certain defendants in this particular class of cases, that there have not been produced here in court, and i do not think ever existed, any evidence against them. i allude to mr. abbott and mr. mullally. and i so informed you in your chambers, and you in words confessed that proposition." judge lawlor took this statement up. the following is from the transcript: "the court: now, before you pass to those other cases, in regard to these two cases do you make the statement that i made any statement to you, in the presence of mr. berry, that i said there was not sufficient evidence? "mr. fickert: i so informed you, and you, in effect, so stated. "the court: did you so understand it, mr. berry? "mr. fickert: that there was no evidence against those men? "mr. berry: i remember mr. fickert saying he did not consider there was any evidence against those men, but i do not remember the court's reply: i do not remember that the court did reply. "the court: i did not. it is not the province of the court to pass upon the facts in a criminal case. the facts are placed before a jury, and the jury pass on the facts. "mr. fickert: i am certainly not mistaken in that matter. "the court: you are certainly mistaken in that matter; i was careful not to make any such statement." [ ] see footnote , page . [ ] "in dealing with the attitude of the district attorney," said judge lawlor, "as is manifested by all that i have said upon that subject, i have endeavored to deal justly with him, to reach no conclusion myself definitely as to the attitude of the district attorney. i sincerely hope that in these cases, as in all cases that may come before the court, the district attorney will do his full duty. i desire it equally understood, however, that if the district attorney in any case fails of his duty the court is not going to be recreant and it is not going to sit here as a minister of justice and permit a travesty in any form, for any purpose, whatever the views of the district attorney may be. now, i have endeavored to make it clear that there are two considerations that will affect the court in the final disposition of this business: first, that it will not proceed with the trial of any action where material testimony is not forthcoming. that would be the disposition of the court in any case, but it is especially its attitude in this case in view of the sweeping statement of the district attorney made on february th that there is no sufficient evidence upon which to proceed to trial against any of these four defendants." [ ] the statement was made repeatedly that gallagher was not under subpoena when he left the state. the statement was even contained in the opinion of the appellate court, granting the writ of mandate that preceded the dismissal of the graft cases. judge lawlor at the proceedings when the cases were finally dismissed, touched upon this feature as follows: "the court: the statement has been made in the opinion that i am not able to account for its appearance in the showing. this statement was made that no service had been made upon james l. gallagher or that he was not under the order of the court. that is a proposition of fact which has never been resolved by this court and i am unable to determine how it could be determined elsewhere, how it could be declared elsewhere, in the absence of such testimony as i might be able to give on the subject. i expressly refrained, on an occasion when i made an extended statement covering these cases, from making any final word on that subject. i am not prepared now to say so, because i don't know. "mr. berry: i will state to the court that i have made a very careful inquiry in the district attorney's office, and of the records, and of the officials in that office in the previous administration, and i have been unable to secure or to get any definite information on that point." [ ] judge lawlor, in announcing this decision, said in part: "section of article i of the constitution provides in part: 'in criminal prosecutions in any court whatever the party accused shall have the right to a speedy and public trial. * * *.' section of the penal code declares in part: 'the court, unless good cause to the contrary is shown, must order the prosecution to be dismissed in the following cases: * * *. . if a defendant, whose trial has not been postponed upon his application, is not brought to trial within sixty days after the finding of the indictment, or filing of the information.' "this provision has repeatedly been declared to be a statutory expression with reference to the section of the constitution to which the court has referred. it has been held to mark the period within which a party accused of crime is to be brought to trial, unless good cause to the contrary is shown. about the general proposition of law involved in the determination of the present motion there can be little ground for contention. the perplexity usually arises in the determination of what the reserve language of subdivision of section of the penal code may be included to cover. an application of this character must be determined according to the peculiar circumstances surrounding the application." * * * "the court is of the view that so far as the determination of the motion itself is concerned the onus is on the people to show good cause, which would take the case out of the operation of the constitutional provision and the statute referred to. the court, in that view of the matter, has addressed the district attorney as to what his attitude is with respect to the motion, and the district attorney has made it plain that it is not his intention to take any step toward meeting the application of the defendant to have the causes dismissed. in the view which the court takes of the general attitude of the district attorney toward the four defendants at bar, the court feels it is a case where it must act, and to the extent that it may be needed, to protect the public interests. the court has judicial knowledge of the history of the charges against these four defendants. it knows judicially that a material, and, it is claimed, an indispensable witness to the prosecution of these charges is without the jurisdiction of the state. it is not prepared, on any evidence before it, to charge the responsibility of the absence of that witness either to the former administration or to the present administration in the district attorney's office. the fact, however, that the witness is absent from the state and not within reach of the process of the court, is a fact established before the court at this time. "it is not the intention of the court to disregard the rights of this or any other defendant, that may be urged before this court, but, it is likewise the disposition of the court, to see that the public interests are safeguarded, and that no arrangement between the defendants and the sworn officer of the law shall be suffered to direct and control the action of this court. and in that view of the matter the court has reached the conclusion that it is its duty to continue these causes further, in order to see whether or not the missing witness can be secured, and if he cannot be secured within such time as this court may deem to be proper and which would take the case out of the exception contained in the provision of the statute, and the constitutional provision, then to deal with this motion. "it is therefore ordered that the determination of the pending motion in the causes against the four defendants named be continued for further hearing until a. m., thursday, july , ." [ ] judge lawlor's decision will be found in full in the appendix, page i. [ ] see chapter xv. [ ] calhoun's denunciation of judge lawlor was as follows: "mr. calhoun: may it please your honor: i have been educated, sir, to have respect for the courts. i have sat in your court under circumstances that would have tried the patience of any american. throughout these trials i have sought, sir, to give you under most trying circumstances that respect to which your office entitles you. but, sir, i cannot sit quiet and listen to the vile insinuations which you yourself have stated there was no evidence before you to justify. there have been periods, sir, when the greatest honor that could come to a man was to go to jail; and as an american citizen i say to you that if you should send me for contempt it will be heralded all over this country as an honor. you have seen fit, sir, to send three of the most distinguished counsel of this state to jail. why? because they have sought to express in terms of respect, and yet in terms of strength, their protest against injustice---- "the court: mr. calhoun---- "mr. calhoun: there is a time--pardon me, your honor--when every man has a right to be heard---- "the court: mr. calhoun---- "mr. calhoun: now, before i take my seat, i desire further to say this, that any insinuation that implies either that i was a party to any obstruction of justice, or that i was a party to the absence of this witness, or that i have sought to control the district attorney's office of this city is untrue. there is no evidence before this court. you yourself know it." [ ] judge lawlor's term of office expired in january, . at the november elections he was a candidate for re-election. the force of the influence of the graft defense was thrown against him. nevertheless, he was re-elected to serve as superior judge of the city and county of san francisco until january, . in november, , however, he was elected to the supreme bench of the state, his term of office beginning in january, , and ending in january, . [ ] of the three appellate judges who granted this writ, one of them, kerrigan, was prominent in the flash-light picture taken at santa cruz during the state convention, in which ruef occupied the center position of honor. see chapter iv. [ ] assistant district attorney berry on the occasion of the dismissal of the indictments said on this point: "if the men who are involved in this transaction have transgressed the laws they are sowing the wind possibly which may reap the whirlwind by breaking down the institutions of the land. i regret exceedingly, if these men are guilty of the offense with which they have stood charged here, that they cannot be convicted. i assure the court and i state here that it would be my purpose to follow these cases, if these defendants are guilty and the evidence were had, to the uttermost in order to bring about the ends of justice. it is no doubt in the minds of the community that where men of prominence and where men of wealth are concerned, and are brought before the bar of justice and justice is not had, that those who are less fortunate in influence and means are thereby made to feel and believe that this is not a government for those who stand before the law equal with those who stand with the tremendous power of influence behind them." [ ] the seven justices of the supreme court took no less than four views of the points raised in the glass case. the majority opinion was written by justice henshaw, and concurred in by justices melvin and lorigan. chief justice beatty concurred in the judgment, but not in all the particulars of the opinion. in signing the decision, the chief justice adds: "i concur in the judgment of reversal and in most particulars in the opinion of justice henshaw. i shall, if other pressing duties permit, present my views in a separate opinion." (see pacific reporter, page .) the dissenting opinion was written by justice shaw and concurred in by justice angellotti. a third opinion was written by justice sloss. justice sloss, after defending the single point in the majority opinion in which he concurs, concludes: "on each of the other points discussed in the opinion of justice henshaw, i agree with the dissenting members of the court (shaw and angellotti) that no prejudicial error was committed." the fourth opinion, which the chief justice intimated he might file, was not filed. [ ] the following from the san francisco call of august , , indicates the completeness of the triumph of the defense campaign: "mrs. theodore halsey, wife of theodore v. halsey, appeared before superior judge lawlor yesterday morning on a bench warrant in the case of louis glass, indicted for bribery in the telephone cases growing out of the so-called graft prosecution. she was in court to explain the absence of her husband from the state, whose appearance is wanted if lawlor orders glass to trial. "attorney bert schlesinger appeared with mrs. halsey, explaining the bench warrant was void inasmuch as mrs. halsey was not a fugitive. he said he did not wish to impede the trial in any way and would allow her to answer any questions propounded by the court. "lawlor asked mrs. halsey, through her attorney, where her husband was. mrs. halsey was not compelled to take the stand. she said halsey left san francisco six weeks ago because of ill health, going to nevada, and that she has not heard from him in a week. "assistant district attorney berry said a motion was before the court to dismiss the indictments pending against glass and he wished to know the court's intention. lawlor said he believed halsey and emil j. zimmer, who is said to be in europe, were competent witnesses against glass, and it was his duty to try glass again. he said the result of the former glass trials showed halsey had knowledge of the source of the bribe money and who paid it to the supervisors. "lawlor continued the cases of glass until august th, to learn from the district attorney if the prosecution has exhausted all its resources in the matter. "schlesinger and mrs. halsey were about to leave the courtroom when lawlor said, 'i trust, mr. schlesinger, you will inform the court of the whereabouts of mr. halsey, if you learn in the meantime.' "'i will assist the court in any way possible,' replied schlesinger. 'but i regard all these graft prosecutions as corpses and the mourners have long since ceased to mourn.' "the judge said nothing in the record showed such a condition. detective sergeant prool took the stand and said he had learned nothing more of the whereabouts of either halsey or zimmer." [ ] judge dunne, until the last, stood as staunchly for effective prosecution of the graft cases as had judge lawlor. chapter xxix. ruef's last refuge fails. that a jury of twelve men had found ruef guilty of bribe-giving did not mean necessarily that the broken boss would be confined at san quentin, the prison to which he had been sentenced to serve his fourteen-year term. indeed, the probabilities were very much against his suffering any such indignity. ruef had, at the test, continued "true to his class"; he had not assisted the state in bringing the bribe-givers to account. men, powerful in financial, social and political circles were unquestionably under the greatest obligation to him. he had not "gone back on his class." his "class" owed it to him to save him from stripes, as ruef by his course had beyond question saved many of his "class" from stripes. having been convicted by a jury, the first move was for ruef to appeal to the trial judge for a new trial. this appeal was denied him. ruef then appealed from the judgment of the trial court to the district court of appeal. the three justices of the district court of appeal found nothing in ruef's contention to warrant the granting of a new trial.[ ] thus four judges found that ruef's trial had been fair, even technically fair. but ruef's possibilities were not exhausted. the supreme court could, if four of the seven members were so inclined, grant him a rehearing, and to the supreme court ruef applied. the california state constitution provides that "the supreme court shall have power to order any cause pending ... before a district court of appeal to be heard and determined by the supreme court. the order last mentioned may be made before judgment has been pronounced by a district court of appeal, or within thirty days after such judgment shall have become final therein." the district court of appeal found against ruef on november , ; this action became final thirty days later, or on december , . the supreme court had thirty days after december , that is to say, until january , , to grant ruef a rehearing, if a majority of the seven supreme justices so decided. if the supreme court failed to act before the close of january , ruef, unless pardoned or paroled, would have to go to state prison. ruef, on december , , petitioned the supreme court for a rehearing. on january , announcement was made that the supreme court, by a four to three decision, had decided to grant ruef's petition. the decision was received with protest from one end of the state to the other.[ ] the legislature was in session at the time. senator george w. cartwright of fresno introduced a resolution requesting the assembly--where impeachment proceedings must originate--to take such steps as might be deemed necessary for investigation of the supreme court's conduct. and finally there came the rumor--at first not generally believed, but later confirmed by the supreme justices themselves--that one of the justices at least had signed the order granting ruef his rehearing before the attorney-general had filed his brief in answer to ruef's petition. the justice who had thus acted was justice henshaw, the same supreme court justice who occupied prominent position in the picture of the banquet scene at the santa cruz convention, in which ruef appears in the central position of honor.[ ] the facts later brought out involved the following dates: december , --ruef's petition for rehearing was filed in supreme court. january --w. h. metson was granted permission to file a brief in the case as _amicus curiae_. january --justice henshaw signed the order granting ruef a rehearing. january --justice henshaw left the state and was absent until after the order granting ruef a rehearing had been filed. january --metson filed his brief as _amicus curiae_. january --the attorney-general filed his reply to ruef's petition for a rehearing. january --justice melvin signed the order granting ruef's petition. january --attorney-general filed reply to metson's brief. january --chief justice beatty, and justices shaw, angellotti, lorigan and sloss met in the chambers of the chief justice for consultation regarding ruef's petition. justice lorigan signed the order granting the petition. justices shaw, angellotti and sloss declined to concur in such order, and chief justice beatty reserved his decision in the matter until january , . january , --(sunday, the last day on which the order could be signed) chief justice beatty signed the order, his being the fourth name on the document, four signatures being necessary to make it effective. january --a typewritten copy of the order was filed with the clerk of the court, the original being retained in the office of the secretaries to the justices. up to this time, eleven judges had passed upon ruef's case. seven of them--one superior judge, three judges of the district court of appeal and three justices of the supreme court--had decided that ruef had had a fair trial, that no technicality could be invoked to save him. four of the eleven judges, in a way which, to the lay mind at least, was somewhat irregular, had decided to grant a rehearing. the public was not at all backward in expressing the opinion that this would mean a new trial; and that under conditions as they were at san francisco, ruef would not for a second time be convicted.[ ] as is usual in such cases, the public was dissatisfied, suspicious, indignant, but without plan or remedy. some demanded investigation at the hands of the legislature; others wanted impeachment[ ] proceedings instituted. mr. william denman, a leader of the california bar, urged before the senate judiciary committee that the legislature owed it to the supreme court, as well as to itself and to the public, to make thorough investigation, and demanded of the committee if the legislature on proper showing would declare the office of a supreme justice vacant. senator shanahan, a member of the committee, was quick to reply that under such a showing the legislature would certainly act. "but," added shanahan--and here he touched the weak point of impeachment proceedings--"it would take months if not years. that is why impeachment proceedings will not be instituted. impeachment proceedings from the trial of warren hastings to the present time have proved unsatisfactory." but, however individuals differed on the question of impeachment proceedings, the general attitude was that the attorney-general should take steps, if such course were practical, to have the order granting ruef a rehearing set aside. this the attorney-general did. he attacked the order before the tribunal which had made it, the highest tribunal in the state, the only one to which appeal could be made. and the supreme court set the order aside, declaring it to be "ineffectual for any purpose and void." but the supreme court did not set the order aside because justice henshaw had signed the document before the argument of the prosecution had been heard. the order was set aside on the ground that henshaw, being absent from the state when the signature of the fourth justice was attached thereto, was at the time, being absent from the state, unable to exercise any judicial function as a justice of the supreme court. without henshaw's signature, the signatures of but three of the supreme justices appeared on the order. as the signatures of four of the justices were required to make the order effective the court declared it to be worthless.[ ] thirty days from the time the judgment of the district court of appeal became final having expired, the supreme court could not interfere further. ruef had lost his last technical play on a technicality. he went to state prison. but ruef did not go to state prison because a jury of twelve men had found him guilty of offering a bribe to a supervisor; he did not go to state prison because seven out of eleven judges who passed upon the questions involved had found that he had had a fair trial. ruef went to state prison when he did because a member of the supreme court of california was absent from the state at a time inopportune for ruef. ordinarily, after his failure in the supreme court, ruef would have had two more chances for escaping the full penalty of his bribe-giving, namely, parole at the hands of the state board of prison directors, and pardon from the governor. but again was ruef unfortunate. hiram w. johnson, as governor of california, sat at sacramento. he had gone into office pledged "to kick the southern pacific machine out of the state government." he was keeping his pledge. there was no pressure which men of mr. ruef's "class" could bring upon governor johnson to move him to grant ruef freedom. the possibility of parole was as remote, although the state board of prison directors--who in california are appointed for ten-year terms--continued for a time under the old order. one of the five directors was tirey l. ford[ ] of the united railroads. ruef went to prison convicted of a charge of bribing a supervisor to vote to give the united railroads its overhead trolley permit. the evidence indicated, if it did not show, and mr. ruef has since confessed, that this money came to him from general ford. ruef, because of the crime, found himself confined in a prison of which general ford was one of the five governors, with power of parole in his hands. but it developed that governor johnson had power to set aside such parole. so ruef could expect little from even the board of prison directors. scarcely had ruef been placed behind the bars, however, than a state-wide campaign was inaugurated to compel his pardon or parole. the public was treated daily by the newspapers with descriptions of the discomfitures[ ] which ruef was suffering. when he was found, for example, smuggling sweet chocolates into prison, and was punished for it, the ruef-friendly press cried out at the cruelty and unreasonableness of such punishment.[ ] the suffering which his imprisonment has brought upon the members of his family is dwelt upon at length. letters from them, pleading for assistance for their imprisoned relative have been received by many whose assistance it was thought might prove effective in securing his release. but when ruef was brought back from san quentin prison to san francisco to testify at schmitz's trial, the pathetic story was published broadcast that these letter-writing relatives had been kept in ignorance of his imprisonment, and thought him to be traveling in europe.[ ] one of the most contemptible stories circulated to create public opinion for his release was that ruef had been made scapegoat because of his religion. ruef is a jew, circulators of this story insisted that he is in prison because he is a jew, while the gentile bribe-givers go free. as a matter of fact, the gentiles associated with ruef have gone free because of ruef's treachery to the graft prosecution, but this does not prevent the circulation of the story. a saner view, breathing of better citizenship, came from rabbi stephen s. wise of the new york free synagogue. "israel," said rabbi wise, "is not responsible for ruef's crimes any more than the roman or protestant church is responsible for the crimes of its communicants. but we of the house of israel in america would be in part answerable for ruef's misdeeds unless we made it clear, as we do, that israel is unutterably pained by this blot upon its record of good citizenship in america." by far the most astonishing support of the movement to free ruef came from the san francisco bulletin and fremont older, its managing editor. older was one of the strongest supporters of the graft prosecution, as was the paper under his management. but once the graft prosecution was concluded, older and the bulletin became the most persistent of the supporters of the movement to secure ruef his freedom.[ ] largely through older's influence, men of prominence throughout the country--with apparently no very clear knowledge of the situation--have been induced to express themselves as favorable to ruef's release. in the publicity campaign for ruef's release which gives no indication of abatement, ruef, and those who seek his release, are praised in the most extravagant terms, while those who will not enroll themselves in his interests are as extravagantly condemned.[ ] but in spite of all that is being done to create public opinion favorable to ruef's release, the sober expression of machine-free press and public is that ruef should be treated both on the score of parole and confinement precisely the same as any other prisoner.[ ] this attitude was clearly presented by the fresno republican at the time ruef was found smuggling chocolate sweets into the prison. in the attitude of prison officials toward ruef, the republican pointed out, there are two alternatives. "one," the republican went on to say, "is the course of warden hoyle, in treating ruef like any other prisoner, and disciplining him humanely but sternly, for any infraction of the necessary prison rules. the other is to let ruef have privileges which the other prisoners do not and can not have. news travels nowhere faster or surer than in prison. if ruef bribes guards, the officials may not know it, but the prisoners will. if ruef may have smuggled sweets, the other prisoner, whose every nerve-cell shrieks in agony for cocaine, but who knows he will be thrown in the dungeon if he smuggles it, will have no illusions about the smuggling privilege. if the very minions of justice do injustice, as between abe ruef and convict no. , , every man in that vast prison will be taught that he is the victim not of justice, but of force and favoritism. and if ruef, at the expiration of a bare year, were to be paroled out, every other convict, whose very application can not be heard until he has served half his term, will know that he is suffering the penalty, not of his crime, but of his poverty and friendlessness. shall abe ruef be suffered to teach that lesson? shall he corrupt san quentin prison as he did san francisco? or shall there be at last one place found where even abe ruef gets exact and equal justice?" ruef is getting equal justice at state prison, not because he corrupted san francisco, not because a jury of twelve citizens found him guilty, not because seven out of eleven judges declared against him, but because the political machine, of which ruef was one of the most powerful leaders, has been broken in california. under the old order, to have kept ruef jailed would have been impossible. footnotes: [ ] see cal. app. rpts., vol. , page . [ ] said the sacramento bee in an editorial article discussing this order, the day after it was made public, january , : it cannot be denied that this order, by a bare majority of the supreme court and--with the single exception of the chief justice, by the three of its members least esteemed and respected by the public--has excited disgust and exasperation throughout california. there is a strong popular feeling and belief that the supreme court should not thus have interposed to save from punishment the most notorious scoundrel and corruptionist in california, a man known to everybody as having enriched himself by systematic grafting and by the bribery of public servants in the interests of corporations, a man with many indictments resting against him, but convicted only on one. "what adds to this general disgust and indignation over the supreme court's order is apprehension that the rehearing before that tribunal may result in the grant of a new trial for ruef, a reversal which in all probability would be equivalent to a final discharge. such changes have taken place in san francisco in the last two years, especially in the office of the district attorney, that a new trial would have small chance of ending in conviction. "no reasons are given by the supreme court for its order for a rehearing, but presumably they are of a purely technical sort, for the fact of ruef's guilt was abundantly proved on the trial." [ ] the cartwright resolution was in full as follows: "whereas, the supreme court of this state on or about the rd of january, , rendered a decision in the case of the people of the state of california vs. abraham ruef, in which the defendant is granted a rehearing; and "whereas, various newspapers have published criticisms condemning said decision, and intimating that the justices participating therein were controlled by corrupt and unworthy motives; and "whereas, the integrity of our courts has been frequently assailed by public speakers and by many of our citizens, all of which tends to destroy the confidence of the people in the purity and integrity of our courts of justice; be it "resolved, by the senate, that the assembly be requested to appoint a committee of the assembly, such committee to be authorized, empowered and instructed to investigate the whole subject matter and particularly to investigate said decision, the grounds upon which the decision is based and the conduct of the justices of the supreme court in relation to said decision, and that the committee report to the assembly the results of such investigation, with such recommendations as to the committee may seem meet and proper in the premises; be it further "resolved, that said committee shall have power to summon witnesses, and to send for persons and papers and to issue subpoenaes and compel attendance of witnesses when necessary." [ ] see chapter iv. [ ] this view was entirely justified by the outcome in the coffey case. coffey was one of the boodle supervisors who had at the test refused "to go back on his class." he was tried for bribe-taking and convicted. in the court of appeal practically the same points were raised in his favor as were raised in the ruef case. the appellate court refused to interfere. the supreme court, by a three to four decision, granted coffey a rehearing and later a new trial. the line-up of the eleven judges was the same in coffey's case as in ruef's--seven found coffey had had a fair trial; four found that he had not. the four--under the rules of the legal game--were more potent than the seven. the jury verdict was nullified. the indictments against coffey were finally dismissed. had the supreme court's order for a rehearing of the ruef case stood, the outcome would have unquestionably been the same. [ ] some of the ablest men in the state urged impeachment proceedings. "if the charges," said united states senator john d. works in a letter to state senator hewitt, "made against judge henshaw by the attorney-general of this state, under oath, are true, why is it the legislature of this state before this has not commenced impeachment proceedings against him? "the legislature has no right to shrink from this duty and responsibility and relieve itself from taking such a step by relegating that duty and responsibility to the people of the state by the enactment of recall legislation. if judge henshaw, or any other judge, has violated his duty to the state and betrayed his office as the charges made against him indicate, the duty of the legislature is imperative, and that duty should be performed without hesitation and without delay." justice henshaw, in discussing judge works' letter, in an interview in the san francisco examiner, february , , is quoted as saying: "all the charges made by attorney general webb in his affidavit attacking the ruef rehearing order of january th are true. the orders were signed in the manner stated and i told him so when he visited my office. there was nothing unusual about it. it was done in accordance with the usual practice of this court. "we seldom meet in session to sign the orders. there may be twenty cases to be passed on in one week. each justice looks them over at his leisure and signs what orders he agrees to. "i was out of the state, as mr. webb says, and at the time that he says. i did not even imagine that there was a legal point involved. the practice never has been questioned before." [ ] the following is from the supreme court decision revoking the ruef order for a rehearing (see california app. reports, vol. , page ): "the moment justice henshaw left the state, in view of the authorities already referred to, he became unable to exercise any judicial function as a justice of the supreme court, in this state or out of it, and this disability continued during the whole period of his absence. during that time his situation was the same as if he had absolutely ceased to be a member of this court. it is true that there was a suspension, only, of his judicial power, instead of a final abrogation thereof, but the suspension, while it continued, was as absolute in its effect on his judicial power as would have been a complete vacancy in his office. assent to or concurrence in a decision or order of the court being the exercise of a purely judicial function, his previous proposal to concur in a proposed order, one that had not yet been made and one that had not yet received the assent of other justices making it an accomplished decision, temporarily ceased to be effectual for any purpose, and so continued ineffectual for any purpose during the whole period of his absence. such previously indicated willingness to concur could not accomplish that which the absent justice himself could not accomplish. the time having expired before he returned it follows that he never concurred with even a single other justice in the purported order. ( ) admittedly this order, if it ever did become effectual, did not become so until january , , when the fourth justice appended his name. at that time, however, justice henshaw could not effectually join therein, because of his absence from the state, and his previously indicated willingness to join therein could have no legal effect. the result is that only three justices of this court concurred in the purported order, and as such order could be made only by the concurrence of four justices, it was ineffectual for any purpose and void." [ ] ford's term as prison director expired january , . he continued in office until his term had expired and his successor had been appointed. after ruef had confessed that the trolley bribe money had come to him through ford, the sacramento bee of august , , after reciting the allegations of ruef's confession, said: "there, in brief, is the tale which abraham ruef tells with much particularity. it is now in order for the board of prison directors to ask the resignation of prison director ford. "undoubtedly, governor johnson would make a demand to that effect were he in the state. "much sorrow, if not sympathy, has been felt for tirey l. ford all over california. the bee has expressed some itself. the feeling has been that a man of naturally fine principles and honorable sentiments had been warped by his environments, and had done under instructions that at which his better nature rebelled. "it would be futile now to discuss what tirey l. ford should have done and should not have done; or to declare that no temptation should have led him to perform any other than legal work for the united railroads. "the bee will say as little as it can say conscientiously under the circumstances. human nature is human nature the world over. and the bee men cannot forget the long, long years of intimate friendship with and faith in tirey l. ford. but every consideration of the eternal fitness of things demands that he should no longer remain a member of the state board of prison directors." [ ] the following is a fair sample of the articles descriptive of ruef's suffering in prison, which have been inflicted upon the california public ever since ruef donned stripes; it appeared in the san francisco bulletin of december , : "ruef is an epicure. as discordant sounds do violence to the feelings of a musician gifted with an exquisite ear, so coarse, badly cooked or tasteless food does violence to the epicure who is gifted with exquisite nerves for inhaling, tasting and appreciating delicate flavors. the gastric juices of the epicure cannot become freely active on mere hunger as with men not so endowed. digestion with the epicure must wait upon the fine dictates of the palate; and a stomach so guarded cannot wantonly change to an extreme opposite without material suffering. to eat merely to be filled, to overeat, to eat hurriedly, is for the epicure, as one epicure puts it, 'to commit moral sins.' ruef since his imprisonment has been compelled to do all these things." [ ] to this complaint of cruelty to ruef, the fresno republican made sharp answer: "a visitor," said the republican, "smuggled articles to ruef--nothing more dangerous than sweet chocolate and newspaper clippings, to be sure, but still a covert violation of a necessary rule--so ruef is deprived of visitors and letters for two months, and the automatic application of a general rule postpones his application for parole for six months. whereat there is wailing and woe, and the san francisco call says that ruef's friends regard it as particularly unfortunate that he should be deprived of visitors just at the time when a movement for his parole is going on. "to all: let us be sympathetic. only let us make it general. ruef shall have his sweet chocolate. but all the other prisoners shall have it too. ruef shall sneak things into prison, inside his blouse, by bribing the guards. but all the other prisoners shall have all the like privileges, though it is known that some of them would prefer dope, daggers and dynamite to sweet chocolate." [ ] commenting upon this the sacramento bee, in its issue of february , , said: "in an effort to create sympathy for abraham ruef, a story was originated at san francisco, and has found wide publicity as news, that the aged mother of the felon has been kept in ignorance of his imprisonment, and does not even know of his conviction for bribery. "yet letters purporting to come from and to be signed by ruef's mother, and pleading for his parole, have been received by the bee and other newspapers for months past. either these letters were forgeries and fabrications, or this tale of the mother's ignorance of ruef's confinement is mere fiction. "in either case a contemptible trick has been played by some agency both active and unscrupulous in seeking to promote ruef's release. after this the public and the newspapers may well be suspicious of sympathetic stories respecting ruef and his confinement. if he is personally responsible for the effort to exploit his mother in the manner here related, he is even a more despicable specimen of humanity than the known facts of his career would indicate." [ ] older, in a letter to dr. s. w. hopkins, of lodi, gives his reasons for working for ruef's release as follows: "san francisco, september , . dr. s. w. hopkins, president board of health, lodi, cal. dear sir: if you read my article in the survey, i think there is much in it that you did not understand. perhaps i did not make myself clear. i tried to. i wanted those who read the survey article to believe that i at least no longer think we are going to better the world by punishing men individually. i do not feel that it is good for people or for the editor of the pacific christian to want vengeance administered to our brothers and sisters. i think vengeance, and by vengeance i mean punishment, makes us all worse rather than better. i have asked for mercy for ruef because i felt that i, above all others, had done most to bring about his downfall. if you have followed the long fight the bulletin has made during the past eight or nine years, you will recall that i was fighting ruef long years before the city woke up. you will also recall that i attacked him bitterly with all the invectives that i could personally command, and all that i could hire. i cartooned him in stripes. i described him on his way to san quentin; told how i thought he would act en route, and what his manner would be when the barber shaved his head, and how he would feel when locked up in a cell. i was vindictive, unscrupulous, savage. i went to washington and enlisted heney in the fight. burns came, and spreckels joined in the chase. then i pursued with the same relentless spirit in the wake of these men. at last, after eight years of a man-hunting and man-hating debauch, ruef crossed over and became what i had wanted him to be, what i had longed and dreamed that he might be--a convict, stripped of his citizenship, stripped of everything society values except the remnant of an ill-gotten fortune. it was then i said to myself: 'i have got him. he is in stripes. he is in a cell. his head is shaved. he is in tears. he is helpless, beaten, chained--killed, so far as his old life is concerned. you have won. how do you like your victory? do you enjoy the picture now that it is complete? you painted it. every savage instinct in your nature is expressed on the canvas.' "my soul revolted. i thought over my own life and the many unworthy things i had done to others, the injustice, the wrongs i had been guilty of, the human hearts i had wantonly hurt, the sorrow i had caused, the half-truths i had told, and the mitigating truths i had withheld, the lies i had allowed to go undenied. and then i saw myself also stripped, that is, stripped of all pretense, sham, self-righteousness, holding the key to another man's cell. i dropped the key. i never want to see it again. let it be taken up and held by those who feel they are justified in holding it. i want no more jail keys. for the rest of my life i want to get a little nearer to the forgiving spirit that christ expressed. "isn't what i am accusing myself of, true of all of us? think it over. think of your own life. think of the lives of those around you, and see if you cannot discern that we are all guilty. and then think whether or not you believe that society will be benefited by denying ruef a parole, which only gives him a half liberty and still holds him under the restrictions of the prison until his term is finished. "i am surprised at the tone of the article you sent me, published in the pacific christian. it reads like a chapter out of the old testament rather than the new. but i fear that the world is being governed more upon the lines of the old testament than the new. i agree with the article about the young men who have been sent to prison for years. i would release them all if i could. but i can't. i can't even release ruef, because society has not advanced far enough to make it possible. but i can at least be true to myself and express what i honestly feel. "i wish as a favor to me that you would send a copy of this letter to the pacific christian, as i am leaving for the east and will not have time. i should like them to know what i am writing you. sincerely yours, "fremont older." [ ] the san jose mercury, controlled by congressman e. a. hayes, in its issue of september , , published one of these ruef campaign articles. the following description of ruef occurs: "not many months have gone since ruef found domicile in states prison. but what changes time has wrought in that brief period. the little man sits in his cell, lonely and solemn, as he meditates on the singularities of mankind. with no bitterness in his soul, without a thought of revenge twisting his sense of peace and good will toward man, he passes the time planning the comforts of his fellow unfortunates and reading and rereading the letters that come so regularly from the loved ones whose burdens he so gladly carried and to whose joy he so gladly contributed. he is neither unhappy nor without hope." the same article contains another word picture--of francis j. heney. it reads: "but if older has turned 'right about face,' heney, the other member of the firm, has not. he remains the unforgiving, snarling, short-haired bulldog, with his hand against every man, and every man's hand against him." such is the character of the publicity campaign to release ruef from prison. [ ] when in governor johnson became candidate for re-election, extraordinary efforts were made to compel him to pardon, or to consent to the release of ruef on parole. so persistent were ruef advocates, that the governor found it necessary to issue a statement of his position regarding ruef. that statement will be found in full on page xxviii of the appendix. chapter xxx. conclusion. after the mccarthy-fickert election there were rumors that the graft defense, flushed with its successes in the overthrow of the prosecution, would resort to reprisals, by singling out persons prominent in the movement to enforce the law, for trumped-up charges and possible indictment. but aside from an abortive attempt to make it appear that former supervisor gallagher had fled the state at the behest of william j. burns, reprisals of this nature were not attempted. the reprisals came in more subtle form. members of the oliver grand jury which had brought the indictments against ruef and his associates, found themselves marked men in business, political and social circles. a member of the faculty of the state university who had been active in defending the cause of the prosecution, found his salary remaining practically stationary, while his associates received material advances. when the directorate of the panama-pacific international exposition company was formed, financiers who had supported the prosecution found themselves barred from directorships. it may be said, however, that the graft defense was well represented, one of the exposition directors at least, thornwall mullally, having been one of those indicted in the graft cases. when the suggestion was made that james d. phelan be made pacific coast representative in president wilson's cabinet, at once the graft defense pack was on his track, openly naming mr. phelan's assistance to the prosecution cause as reason sufficient why he should not be given the cabinet appointment.[ ] on the other hand, all danger of confinement in state prison being gone, the graft defense, through its various newspapers, urged incessantly that the past be forgotten, that san francisco interests get together for the good of san francisco. but this "getting together" meant the banishing from political, social, and, as far as practical, business circles, all who had sided with the prosecution, thereby giving control of all activities to sympathizers with the graft defense. this is well recognized throughout the state, and the exclusive "get-together" movements are received with general ridicule.[ ] the graft defense does not stand well in california. the "vindication" that was heralded throughout the country when the indictments were dismissed has not been accepted in california as generally as those most immediately affected could have wished. then again, the corporations involved in the scandals, have a heritage from the graft defense which seems destined to bring confusion upon them at every turn of their development. late in , for example, a year and a half after the trolley-graft indictments were dismissed, the united railroads attempted readjustment of its bonded indebtedness. this could be done only with the consent of the state railroad commission. the commission, willing to allow any proper adjustment upon competent showing, asked that the corporation's books be produced. the books had, during the days of the prosecution, been sent out of the state. the united railroads could not produce the books, and consent to its petition to readjust its financial affairs was withheld until the books should be forthcoming. unofficial assurance was given officials of the corporation that investigation would not be made of its graft defense expenditures,[ ] nor of any expenditures involved in the scandal of the alleged bribe-giving. but apparently even this assurance did not satisfy those connected with the united railroads whose reputations, at least, were at stake.[ ] the company's books were not opened for the commission's inspection. by far the greatest sufferer from the graft defense was san francisco. here it was demonstrated that even with a district attorney intent upon the discharge of his sworn duty, with upright trial judges on the bench, the machinery of the criminal law broke down when men with practically unlimited means were brought to bar. to accomplish this required a four years' contest, in which community resistance to political corruption was overcome, the people misled, their minds poisoned against that which is wholesome, and made tolerant of that which is base and bad. the unhappy effects of this are just beginning to be understood. the evil of the graft defense will live long in san francisco after the dismissal of the indictments. four years after the defeat of the graft prosecution, referendum petitions against state laws have been forged in san francisco, and the laws, which had been passed by the state legislature and signed by the governor, have been delayed from going into effect for nearly two years, because of the forgeries. and yet, although the forgers are known, their prosecution, except in one instance, has not even been attempted. governor johnson has called the attention of the attorney-general of the state to this condition, and has urged him to undertake the prosecution of these forgery cases. tenderloin interests at san francisco now indicate even greater power in the community than they exerted during the worst days of ruef-schmitz regime. the same is in a measure true of the public service corporations. when district attorney langdon announced in that public-spirited citizens would assist in meeting the expenses of running to earth the corruptionists that had san francisco by the throat, prospect of law-enforcement through the regular channels was welcomed, and ugly talk of lynch-law prevalent at the time, ceased. the success of the graft defense meant that the efforts to reach the corrupters of the municipal government through the courts had failed. san francisco was beaten. in the community's present inability to protect itself against the encroachments of the public service corporations, and to correct vice conditions which are far worse than in the worst days of the schmitz-ruef regime, the effects of that beating are seen. san francisco will be long in recovering from the effects of her defeat. because of the results of it, she finds herself handicapped in her race for pacific coast supremacy with los angeles, seattle and even oakland. and the prospects are at the close of the year , that the burden of this handicap will be increased before it is diminished. in the old days an invading army conquered a city and sacked it. the system conquered san francisco and is exploiting it. the defeat of the graft prosecution was a defeat for san francisco alone. it was not a defeat for the state of california. the evil influence of the graft defense did not reach beyond the metropolis. on the contrary, the success of the defense uncovered for the whole state the actual political conditions under which all california was laboring. the registration of , republicans at san francisco to defeat heney at the primaries, and the republican vote of , at the final election, demonstrated the emptiness of partisan pretense. one of the immediate results was a uniting of all good citizens regardless of political affiliations for good government, and hiram w. johnson, heney's associate in the graft trials, was in , elected governor of california. four years later, james d. phelan, rudolph spreckels's associate in financing the graft prosecution, was elected united states senator from california, while judge lawlor was that year elected to the state supreme bench. judge dunne was in re-elected to the superior bench to serve until . decisions from the higher courts--to the lay mind astonishing; to authorities on questions of law, vicious and unwarranted--which set free men who had been convicted of dangerous felonies; scandals which grew out of these decisions; the public's demonstrated helplessness against them, aroused the state. by overwhelming vote california added to her constitution a provision under which the people may by direct vote remove a corrupt or incompetent judge from the bench. the public had assumed that men trapped in bribe-giving would be measured by a fixed rule of the law, and their proper punishment in due course be meted out to them. that anything else could be had not occurred to the average citizen. but the astonishing performances at the graft trials, the extraordinary anti-prosecution publicity campaign, and, finally, the amazing technical defense, and the failure of the graft defendants to take the stand and manfully deny under oath the charges brought against them, opened the eyes of the public to the fact that the methods of criminal procedure were sadly inadequate. and the further fact was emphasized that while the weak points in the methods of bringing an offender to punishment could be used to advantage by the rich man, they were unavailable to the man without the means to employ a lawyer to present the technicalities governing his case. out of this conviction, came agitation for reform of the methods of criminal procedure. an elaborate plan for such reform was presented to the legislature.[ ] but the machine element controlled the committee organization of both houses, and the measures were defeated. at the session of the legislature, after johnson had been elected governor, measures for the reform of the criminal procedure similar to those defeated by indirection at the session, were introduced. many of them became laws. but, unfortunately, certain labor leaders were made to believe that the measures were aimed at labor. this led to opposition which resulted in the defeat of several of the proposed reforms. one important constitutional amendment was, however, presented to the people that goes far toward correcting the abuses which attended the graft trials. this amendment provides that "no judgment shall be set aside, or new trial granted in any criminal case on the ground of misdirection of the jury or the improper admission or rejection of evidence, or for error as to any matter of pleading or procedure, unless, after an examination of the entire cause including the evidence, the court shall be of the opinion that the error complained of has resulted in a miscarriage of justice." not a vote was cast against this amendment in either house of the legislature. the feeling against the use of trifling technicalities for the release of convicted criminals which the graft cases had displayed so glaringly, was shown in the popular vote on this amendment; , voted for the amendment, while only , voted against it.[ ] the san francisco graft prosecution succeeded in sending but one of the corrupters of the municipal government to state prison. he, too, would in all probability have escaped imprisonment but for the absence from the state of a single member of the supreme court at a critical moment. but the graft prosecution did something infinitely more important than the sending of a few corruptionists to cell and stripes. it awakened a state to its helplessness against a corrupt system. the people arose in rebellion against the "system," and is laboring to throw the "system" off. in and a political revolution was worked in california. but the revolution had its beginning back in , when rudolph spreckels guaranteed the expenses of the prosecution of the corrupters of the municipal government of san francisco, and francis j. heney, as his share in the campaign, pledged his services. had there been no san francisco graft prosecution, there would, in , have been no successful political uprising in california. hiram w. johnson would not have been a candidate for governor. the accomplished reforms which are the boast of the state, and the models which other states are adopting, would still be the unrealized dreams of "reformers." the "system" would still be in the saddle. the graft defense has left its mark of ill upon san francisco. that city has borne the brunt of the injury because of it. the graft prosecution, by forcing the "system" out in the open, where all its power for evil can be seen, worked california inestimable good. and here, san francisco, in common with the whole state, gains also. footnotes: [ ] the san francisco argonaut, one of the principal apologists for the graft defense, in its issue of november , , said of the suggestion of mr. phelan's name for the cabinet: "ex-mayor phelan, of san francisco, would be in line for cabinet honors if our local war of the roses were not so recent and if its unfragrant memories and resentments could be set aside. but this is not yet." [ ] the fresno republican in its issue of december , , pays the following tribute to the graft defense's "get-together" plans: "they are going to hold a 'burn the hammer' celebration in san francisco on new year's eve, for the cremation of knocking. "it is a good idea, and one worth going the limit on. by all means, burn the hammers! but the only effectual way to get that done is for each fellow to burn his own. unfortunately, when we begin knocking the knockers, the hammer we are after is usually the one with which the other fellow knocks us. there is no boosting way to dispose of the other fellow's hammer. if we go after it, we knock it, to the further multiplication of knocking. but if we begin at the other end, with our own hammer, that is real boosting. besides, it gets the thing done. what we do to the other fellow's hammer may not succeed, and if it does, it is merely more knocking. but when we burn or bury our own, then we know that at least our part of the knocking is ended. "the purpose of the 'burn the hammer,' or 'get-together,' is, of course, to bridge the breach left by the graft prosecutions. and to this end we suggest that---- "the higher-ups of the pacific union club give a dinner at which francis j. heney and rudolph spreckels are the guests of honor. "the directors of the panama-pacific exposition elect james d. phelan one of their number. "william h. crocker give a reception to such members of the oliver grand jury as have survived the boycott. "the san francisco post issue a congratulatory edition, commending the achievements of governor johnson's administration. "patrick calhoun offer to take abe ruef's place in san quentin for a year, and for alternate years hereafter, until they shall both be purged or pardoned of their joint guilt. "these suggestions are all purposely addressed to the side which is most clamorous for 'getting together.' since they shout the loudest for 'harmony,' presumably they are the ones who want it. the way to get it is first to put away their own implements of discord. and no better pledges of intent to do this could be conceived than are contained in the suggestions here offered." [ ] the machine-free press of the state, however, openly insisted that it would be a good thing if full publicity of the united railroads expenditures could be had. "what the missing books might contain of an interesting sort," said the sacramento bee in discussing the incident, "may be gathered from a 'list of expenses' submitted by calhoun in lieu of the books, including an item of $ , to patrick calhoun for 'services rendered.' "the character of these 'services' may be surmised by anybody familiar with the history of the recent bribery and graft prosecutions in san francisco. but surely the public and the stockholders and creditors of the united railroads are entitled to specifications. "it is largely that corporations may not bribe in secure secrecy, or otherwise commit criminal acts without detection, that the progressive states are bringing them under strict regulation and inspection by proper authority." [ ] the railroad commission of california, in its decision , made may , , held "that the methods pursued by the former officials of applicant in handling the funds in their care amounts to nothing more than a fraud, not only upon the public forced to use an inadequate and unserviceable system, but upon the bond and note holders of such company." of one transaction, in which president calhoun was permitted to take $ , , of the company's funds, which it was claimed he had invested in a land project in solano, in which mr. calhoun was interested, the commission said: "no proof was made to this commission that any part of this money was actually invested in the so-called solano project, but we are confronted by the fact that mr. calhoun, under authority of the board of directors, and ratified by the stockholders, took from the treasury of applicant $ , , , and whether he invested it in the solano project or not is unimportant in the consideration of this railroad company as a public utility. "it seems that upon the taking of office by mr. jesse lilienthal, the present president of the railroad company, mr. calhoun was forced to execute a promissory note for $ , , , payable one day after date, in favor of the railroad company, secured by stock of the solano project; but the judgment of the value of this promissory note is perhaps best indicated by the fact that mr. lilienthal immediately wrote this note down in the books of the company as of a value of $ . . "we hesitate to put in words a proper characterization of this transaction. in plain terms, mr. calhoun took from the funds of this public utility corporation over $ , , , when every available dollar was sorely needed properly to increase the facilities of this company so as to serve the community of san francisco, and at a time when this same company was urging upon this commission the necessity of issuing further bonds to pay off maturing obligations, and also at a time when admittedly the outstanding obligations could not be paid at maturity by approximately $ , , ." this enormous sum had been taken in gold at various times, ranging in amounts from $ to $ , . [ ] these measures are described in "the story of the california legislature of ." the methods employed to defeat them were told in detail. see chapter "defeat of the commonwealth club bills." [ ] under the provisions of measures which became laws at the session, it is held that it will be impossible hereafter to put grand jurors on trial as was done in the san francisco graft cases. hereafter, too, an indictment or information may be amended by the district attorney without leave of the court at any time before the defendant pleads; and at any time thereafter in the discretion of the court where it can be done without prejudice to the substantial rights of the defendant. another measure takes from a witness his privilege of refusing to give testimony on the grounds that it may incriminate him. the witness is safeguarded, however, by a provision that he shall not be liable thereafter to prosecution nor punishment with respect to the offense regarding which such testimony is given. appendix judge lawlor's ruling on motion to dismiss graft cases, august , . on april th, , an application was made by patrick calhoun, tirey l. ford, thornwell mullally and william m. abbott to dismiss the indictments against them. the application is before the court at this time for consideration. when the defendants pleaded not guilty they exercised their statutory right and each demanded severance from each other and from their co-defendants, abraham ruef and eugene e. schmitz. (sec. penal code.) there have been five trials--three of tirey l. ford and one each of abraham ruef and patrick calhoun. the second trial of patrick calhoun was commenced on july th, (case no. ). owing to the illness of one of his counsel the trial was suspended on august th, , and resumed on september th, . on the following day the trial was ordered continued until november th, , on motion of the defendant, upon the ground of the pendency of a municipal campaign. on january th, , mr. charles m. fickert assumed the office of district attorney. on february th, , the district attorney moved the court to dismiss the remaining charges against these defendants (sec. penal code), which motion was by the court ordered denied. (sec. , art. i, and sec. , art. vi of the constitution; secs. , , , , and penal code.) on february th, , the parties announced that they were ready to resume the trial in case no. against patrick calhoun, but the court continued the case for trial until february th, . on the last named day the cause was ordered continued for trial until april th, . on april th, , the four defendants interposed a motion to dismiss the remaining indictments against them. the further hearing of the motion was continued until july th, . on the latter day the causes were continued until this time. two things are chiefly responsible for the court's action in respect to the remaining indictments since the district attorney moved to dismiss them on february th, --first, the court's apprehensions based on the declared attitude of the said district attorney toward the remaining indictments, and, second, the absence from the state of james l. gallagher, a material and indispensable witness in the said causes. the second reason will now be considered. it was the theory of the people in the five trials referred to that abraham ruef represented the defendants in the alleged bribery of the members of the board of supervisors, and that james l. gallagher, one of its members, in turn represented abraham ruef in the transactions. in this way the court is able to determine that the testimony of this witness is material, and now holds, as a matter of law, that unless additional testimony is produced, it is indispensable to the establishment of the res gestae. in the early part of december, , it became known that the witness had departed from the state. up to the present time it has not been shown whether he had been formally subpoenaed or was otherwise under the authority of the court to appear as a witness in the trials of the remaining indictments. if he is subject to the authority of the court in any of these cases his absence would constitute a criminal contempt, and he could be extradited from any other state having provisions of law similar to those of this state. (sub. , sec. , and sec. penal code.) in this connection it may be proper to point out that practically ever since issue was joined on these indictments they have been on the calendar for trial, and that during the trials referred to the cases not actually on trial were from time to time called and the witnesses admonished by the court to appear on the deferred date. but it has not been ascertained whether on this manner the missing witness has been so admonished to appear so far as the remaining indictments are concerned. in the month of january, , the court directed that all persons who could give testimony concerning the absence of the witness be subpoenaed. on january th, , the first hearing was had, and on several occasions thereafter witnesses have been orally examined on the subject. from this oral testimony it is difficult to determine the intentions of the witness concerning his departure from and his return to the state. it seems that in the latter part of november, , he left for europe, accompanied by his wife. robert f. gallagher, a brother of the witness, testified in effect that the witness never stated he intended to absent himself as a witness in the graft cases and made no suggestion of that nature; that he, robert f. gallagher, gained no such impression from anything he did say, except that it was a disagreeable situation for him to be a witness; and that their talk proceeded along the line that there was not going to be any future trial in the graft prosecution. this brother testified further: "he did state on one occasion something to the effect that burns had disappeared and that heney had disappeared and that there wasn't any prosecution; that the incoming district attorney would not certainly be in earnest in the prosecution." other witnesses testified to a variety of facts touching the departure of the witness from san francisco and his declarations on the general subject. dr. alexander warner gave testimony to the effect that he went to europe on an atlantic steamer with the witness and his wife. thomas j. gallagher, another brother, among other things quoted the witness to the effect that he was going to europe, that he might settle in an eastern state, that he made no secret of his purpose, and that william j. burns, special agent of the former administration in the district attorney's office, knew of his intention to leave. nothing definite appears in the oral showing concerning his intentions on the subject of his return, and so far as that showing is concerned the point is more or less involved in conjecture. but on july th, , frederick l. berry, the assistant district attorney, assigned to this department of the court, filed an affidavit embodying clippings from the local newspapers of the previous month, which state that the witness was, at the time the articles were written, in vancouver, b. c. from these clippings it appears that the witness intended to permanently locate in vancouver. the only tangible evidence from the witness himself, however, is found in his letter to thomas j. gallagher under date of june th, , in which this excerpt appears: "in reply to your inquiry i cannot state when i shall return to san francisco, if at all. i may remain here." in my judgment a review of the showing up to this time leads to the inference that the witness left this jurisdiction and is remaining away because of some form of understanding or agreement. the circumstances under which he left california clearly show that he was acting guardedly, notwithstanding the testimony, which there is no reason to doubt, that he informed several persons of his intention to take a trip. when the quoted statement of robert f. gallagher was first made i was disposed to assume that the witness left the state principally because he believed the prosecution was at an end, and that he made his plans quietly so that the step would not occasion comment. in other words, that he did not believe there would be any further attempt to prosecute the so-called graft cases. but from a study of the entire showing i cannot adhere to that theory. i repeat that up to the time his presence was discovered in vancouver, the showing was uncertain as to whether he really intended to return to california, and if so, when he would return. it was to be seen that the action of the court would be influenced by this uncertainty, so when the exigencies of the situation called for a definite showing as to the witness' intentions, he seems to suddenly appear in vancouver, where, under the treaty conditions, he would be safe from extradition, and is promptly discovered by the reporter of a new york paper. in the clippings his quoted statements on the subject of his intentions are unequivocal. he is to make his home in vancouver. but his personal communication to thomas j. gallagher, already referred to, which he probably realized would be produced in court, is significant in tenor and he is apparently less certain of his intentions. this would tend to make his future action consistent should he hereafter return to california. from the entire showing i do not entertain any serious doubt as to what his real purpose is. i am inclined to believe that when the necessity for his presence as a witness has passed he will return. to entertain any other view, or be in serious doubt on the point, is to ignore the inherent probabilities of the showing and to deny a fair consideration to the known history of this litigation. now, it must follow that if the witness has left and is remaining away from the state because of an arrangement of some nature affecting these cases, the responsibility for his absence should be placed where it belongs. on april th, , the district attorney stated to the court: "... and it appearing also that james l. gallagher left with the consent and connivance of those who had preceded me in office, i at this time do not wish to assume any responsibility for his disappearance. whether he shall return or not i cannot say. some of the witnesses who were called here testified that he went away with the intent and with the purpose of embarrassing my administration and that he was supposed to keep away until such time as certain persons would request his return...." the foregoing fairly states the position of the district attorney on this point, as repeatedly expressed in court since he first moved the dismissal of these indictments. if the charge that the former administration entered into a bargain with the witness to default be true, there would be no alternative but to dismiss the indictments without delay. but i have found no evidence in the showing tending to support so grave a charge, and upon sound reasoning it would seem to be opposed to every reasonable probability. according to the showing, william j. burns left the state about three weeks in advance of the witness, and, so far as the court is advised, he has not since been in the state. that the former administration may have distrusted the official intentions of the district attorney toward these indictments might be assumed from all the surrounding circumstances. but it does not seem probable that the former administration would induce a material and indispensable witness to leave the state and thereby make it easy for the district attorney to secure a result which otherwise might entail serious embarrassment. so far as the showing is concerned there is no tangible proof tending to support the charge of the district attorney, nor is there any proof which would justify such an inference. nor, on the other hand, do i find any formal evidence in the showing which tends to bring the responsibility for the disappearance of the witness home to these defendants. in the absence of tangible proof neither side should be charged with so grave an act. but if there has been complicity on the part of either of the parties, every effort should be made before disposing of these cases finally to establish the facts. it has been pointed out that if the former administration entered into a bargain with the witness looking to his absence, the application should be granted without delay. and clearly, if the defendants are responsible for the absence of the witness, under a familiar maxim of the law, the application should be promptly denied. (sec. civil code.) there being no tangible proof, therefore, before the court, of the complicity of the parties, should the pending application be granted at this time? a person accused of crime is entitled to a speedy trial. (sec. , art. i, const.) this fundamental right has been made the subject of statutory provision. the second subdivision of section of the penal code provides that: "=unless good cause to the contrary is shown=, the court must order the prosecution to be dismissed if the indictment is not brought to trial within sixty days after the filing thereof." more than sixty days have run in favor of this application, and the question presented at this time is whether the showing touching the absence of james l. gallagher shall constitute "good cause" within the meaning of the law. this term must be construed and applied according to the peculiar circumstances of each case. it should be interpreted so that the rights of both parties shall be equally recognized. the absence of a material and indispensable witness for the people would, under proper circumstances, constitute good cause, provided that good faith and diligence are shown in the effort to produce the witness. in re bergerow ( cal., ) is a leading authority on this question and is almost invariably cited in support of applications of this character. it is proper to point out that in the prevailing opinion the court studiously eliminates from the pertinency of the authority the absence or illness of a witness for the prosecution. the conclusion i have reached is that under the law, and the surrounding circumstances, including the recent action of the witness, that another reasonable continuance should be directed in order, if possible, that the duty of the court in the premises shall be rendered more clear. at this time the court is not satisfied that the relief sought should be granted. on the other hand it is realized that a final decision should not much longer be delayed. in the determination of this matter the court, while fully recognizing the rights of the defendants, is mindful of the rights of the people and its own sense of responsibility, and is anxious to avoid a decision which will serve as a mischievous precedent. it is idle to attempt to ignore the inherent probabilities of the situation presented. a material and indispensable witness is absent from the state, and the court is called upon to intervene because the district attorney has at practically every turn followed the lead of these defendants. through the influence of unusual agencies the law has broken down, so far as these cases are concerned. the crimes charged are of the most serious nature, because such criminal activity tends to sap the very foundations of government. the statute of limitations has run against these charges and if the application is granted, therefore, there can be no further prosecution, no matter what developments may follow. (sec. penal code.) in the trial of patrick calhoun the court admitted evidence of a most extraordinary character on the theory of the people that it tended to show guilty consciousness on the part of the accused. this evidence was not contraverted. it included the dynamiting of the home of the witness under circumstances which threatened not only his life, but also the lives of several other persons. a certain other building, the property of the witness, was subsequently blown up by the use of dynamite. if the apparent design on the life of the witness had been successful, the court would be less perplexed in deciding a question of this character. it is possible that these experiences and not the suggested arrangement with the witness are responsible for his absence. the evidence also included an effort to suppress testimony by an attempt to induce a witness to leave the jurisdiction of the court, and other matters of a serious nature. and, finally, while the court is clear that it should not base any action at this time upon the assumption that either side is responsible for the absence of the witness, yet reason and the exercise of a sound discretion dictate that the court should act with prudence. before the indictments should be finally disposed of, every reasonable effort should be made to get at the truth of the situation. the disposition of grave charges other than on their merits is not to be encouraged and should not be allowed, except in the face of a strict legal necessity. let the cases be continued until a. m., monday, august th, . so ordered. how the supervisors were bribed. thomas f. lonergan, when elected to the schmitz-ruef board of supervisors, was a driver of a bakery wagon. he recited at the trial of the people vs. louis glass, the manner in which he had been bribed by agents of the pacific states telephone and telegraph company. lonergan's testimony was as follows: "i reside in sanchez street, san francisco. i have lived in san francisco since march, . i have a family composed of a wife and three children. i was in the bakery business. i was in that business quite a number of years. i worked latterly for mr. foley. i worked in a bake shop quite a while and also drove a wagon for him. i do not hold any official position now. i did hold the position of supervisor of the city and county of san francisco. i was elected supervisor in november, , and took office on january th or th, . i know john kraus. i first met him some time after my election at my home. i did not invite him to come there. "one morning, some time after my election, the doorbell rang, a gentleman was at the door and wanted to see me. i went downstairs. he asked me if i was mr. lonergan. i said yes. he says, 'the recently elected supervisor?' or words to that effect. i said yes. he says, 'i don't think you are the man i wanted. i came out here from the east a few years back with a mr. lonergan, and i thought he was the one that might have been elected.' i said, 'no, you are mistaken, it is the other one,' or something like that. he then incidentally told me he was connected with the pacific states telephone company, and would be pleased to take me around their works at any time that i would find it convenient. i answered him as well as i recall now, that i possibly would take it in some time. i subsequently went to the telephone company's office. to the best of my recollection i saw mr. kraus in the meantime before going there, and made an appointment with him. i don't well remember meeting him at the telephone company's office. i think where i met him was on the corner of mason and market or powell and market, one or the other, around there. that was by appointment. then i went with him to the telephone company's plant on bush street, i think, out in the western addition at that time. he took me through the works, showing me the works and the arrangements in connection with it, and how they treated their help, and stated to me they were installing another new plant, i forget now whether it was one or two or more. after we left there i had lunch with mr. kraus. i don't well remember where. he spoke about an opposition company in that talk. the opposition company was spoken of, considering the appliances they had, and the amount of work they were then doing, and the new switchboards they would put in, that it didn't appear necessary to have an opposition company here. mr. kraus paid for the lunch, i believe. "i am acquainted with mr. t. v. halsey. i first met him, i think, either on pine or bush street, to the best of my recollection. i. n. copus introduced me to him. to the best of my recollection it was some time after meeting kraus and before i took office as supervisor. that meeting was by appointment. mr. copus made the appointment i believe. to the best of my recollection that was my first meeting with mr. halsey. i think i was introduced to him by mr. copus at the time and place of the meeting. we adjourned to lunch at a restaurant that we were standing in front of. we went upstairs in the restaurant, had some lunch. nothing particular was spoken of there outside of the current topics. the room we lunched in was not a public dining room. it was a private room. copus went up to lunch with us. i believe mr. halsey paid for the lunch. we were there possibly an hour or an hour and a half. we had sauterne wine to drink, as well as i remember. the next time i saw halsey to the best of my recollection was at his office on bush street, in the telephone building there. it was some time between the th and th and the th of february, , i should judge. i think i went there on that occasion on the invitation of mr. kraus, as well as i remember, that mr. halsey would like to see me. i found halsey when i got there. i am not conversant with the building; i suppose the part of the building i met him in was his office. i don't remember whether there was any one else in the room. i had a talk with him in there. no one else was present while i was talking with him that i am aware of. mr. halsey, as well as i remember, spoke to me about the foolishness of having a second telephone system in san francisco. he told me the same as mr. kraus had told me--all they had accomplished, and that they were going to accomplish, and that it would cost merchants twofold for the other telephone, and they wanted to know if i would not be friendly toward them. i told him i was deeply impressed with the workings as i had seen them, and that i felt that i could be friendly to them. i cannot remember the exact words he then said at the time. the substance of it was that it would be to my interest to be friendly, or rather, that they would make it to my interest to be friendly to them, and i was told--i think it was at that meeting--that there would be five thousand dollars in it for my friendship down, and $ , the following year, provided i did not accept a commission, or any such thing as that while i remained a member of the board of supervisors. to the best of my recollection at that time i received from him one thousand dollars in currency. i put it in my pocket and took it home. the next time i saw mr. halsey was some few days later. it was the saturday previous to the passing to print of the ordinance relative to the home telephone company. that meeting was held in a room in the mills building. i cannot well recollect whether i was telephoned for or not; i possibly must have been. the meeting was up in the building some few stories. to the best of my recollection it was on the side of the building that looked out on bush street, and not very far from the corner of montgomery street. i found mr. kraus there when i went in. there was no one else in the room where kraus was. that room was furnished with a table and a couple of chairs. well, he asked me if he could depend upon me as to my friendship in regard to the pacific states telephone company, and i told him i saw no reason why he could not. i don't remember whether anything was said about the home telephone company franchise. there may have been. i can't recollect just at this moment. he told me that he had a sufficiency of the members of the board of supervisors, to the best of my recollection, who were friendly towards the pacific states, and that they did not particularly need mr. coffey, except that i had spoken well of him, and depending on my friendship, he gave me the four thousand dollars in currency. during our conversation i had mentioned mr. coffey as a friend of mine that i thought was particularly friendly towards them. i don't well remember whether he then said he would see mr. coffey, or not, or whether he made answer. i do remember that he said at the latter meeting that they did not particularly need him, that he had a sufficiency of the members. i took it home and gave it to my wife. "to the best of my recollection i next saw mr. halsey at my home the latter end of the following week after i got the money. no one else was present when he talked with me. it was in the front room of my house." supervisor michael w. coffey was a hack driver. at the glass trial he told the manner in which the bribe-givers approached him. he said: "i have lived in san francisco about forty years. i have been in the carriage business driving a hack. i own a hack of my own. my stand was on fifth street, right opposite the mint. i was elected a member of the board of supervisors in november, , and took office early in january, . i am a married man. my family consists of four girls and one boy. i am acquainted with t. v. halsey. i first met him some time in the month of december at my hackstand. i am acquainted with john kraus. i first met him about the same time. at the time that i met halsey at the hackstand, kraus was with him. i am not sure whether it was the first time, but probably the second time. i think mr. kraus came to see me first, and mr. halsey came with him afterwards. well, he, kraus, just came up merely to introduce himself to me, and asked me how business was. there was nothing said at the time that he brought halsey to me. there was nothing said pertaining to telephone matters at that time, neither; it was simply merely to give me an introduction and ask me up to have a drink on the corner of jessie and fifth streets. nothing was said about the telephone service at that time. i next met halsey a few days afterwards. both halsey and kraus were there together at that time, and we spoke--they spoke to me about my telephone service, both home and in the drugstore in front of which i had my hackstand, and asked me if the telephone service was satisfactory. i told them it certainly was, that i couldn't find any fault with either one. the drugstore 'phone i had nothing at all to do with, any more than i had the privilege of placing the number of the telephone upon my business cards so that my friends could know where to find me in case they wanted to telephone me. i paid for no service on that 'phone at all. my hackstand was right in front of the drugstore. i should judge halsey and kraus came around there to see me between three times and a half-a-dozen. i received telephone messages from mr. halsey several times. he called me by 'phone, he telephoned to the house, and to the stand, and wanted me to come down to see him. i went down to see him one time. he after that invited me around to the telephone company's offices, to view the system, but i never accepted his offer, i never went with him. the first occasion that i went down to the telephone company's office to see him he extended me an invitation to come around amongst the different branch offices there to see the system, how it was working, and show me the advantages of a one-system telephone. kraus was there on one occasion. somewhere around in the neighborhood of noon time, mr. kraus was there, and mr. halsey asked me if i had lunch. i told him no, not at that time, so he asked mr. kraus to take me out to lunch, excusing himself on the ground of a previous engagement, that he couldn't go to lunch, but he asked mr. kraus to take me out to lunch and mr. kraus did so. "i had a talk with halsey in the mills building. i can't exactly tell the date, but it was on a saturday, in and around noon time. i can't exactly fix the date. it was some time, i think, in the month of february. we caucused on the sunday night, and it was saturday, either the week prior to the caucus or the day before the caucus. this caucus was the sunday prior to the passing of the ordinance to print which was on a monday. i went to the mills building by telephone invitation of mr. halsey. when i got down there i took the elevator and went up on, i think, the seventh floor at the extreme end of the building, on one of the rooms facing on bush street, and the other on montgomery street. i found mr. halsey there and no one else with him. to the best of my recollection there was either a box or a chair and a table, and a telephone in there, and no other furniture at all in the room. mr. halsey when i went in, said, 'good day, mr. coffey.' said i, 'how do you do, mr. halsey?' i says, 'did you telephone for me?' he says, 'yes, i want you to be friendly with the company,' and stepped into another room, the door leading into the montgomery street entrance, and then came out with a parcel, a bundle, and handed it to me, and says, 'i would like to have your friendship for the company.' i did not open the package at that time. nothing was said then about the home telephone company's application for the franchise. i took this package that he handed me home and put it in a box in the room. i did not open it when i got home, not at that time. subsequently i did. when i opened it i found in it five thousand dollars in united states currency. that was very shortly after i had been in the mills building on that occasion. i think it was a few days after that. after putting this money in the box i kept it there." gallagher's order removing langdon from office of district attorney. (october , .) "to the board of supervisors of the city and county of san francisco: "gentlemen--pursuant to the provisions of the charter of the city and county of san francisco, and especially in pursuance of sections and of article xvi thereof, i, james l. gallagher, mayor of the city and county of san francisco, do hereby suspend william h. langdon, district attorney of the city and county of san francisco, and an elected officer thereof, for cause, as hereinafter assigned and specified, and i hereby notify you of such suspension and the causes therefor, which are as hereinafter assigned and specified. "said cause is contained in the following specifications, which specifications i hereby also present to you as the written charges against said william h. langdon, district attorney as aforesaid, and i hereby present said specifications of causes of such suspension as written charges against said william h. langdon, district attorney, suspended by me as aforesaid. "specification : ="neglect of duty.= "in this, that for a period of about days prior to the presentation of these charges the said william h. langdon, district attorney as aforesaid, has absented himself from the city and county of san francisco, without leave, and has neglected his official duties, being during that time engaged in the canvass and campaign for the office of governor of the state of california. "that during said time, owing to the recent disaster, a large number of acts of violence have occurred at the hands of criminals congregated in said city, resulting in an excessive and unusual number of murders, maimings, assassinations, assaults and other crimes of violence, tending to render the city unsafe and to injure its reputation, yet the said district attorney wilfully, without permission from any of the public authorities of said city and county, did absent himself a greater portion of said time from said city and county, and so negligently conducted and performed the duties of his said office as district attorney as to render no active or efficient assistance to said city and county in the proper prosecution, detection or preventing of any of said crimes, and during the main portion of said period did leave his said office without the aid of his superintendence, direction or service, thereby being guilty of inefficiency in such public office and being negligent and inattentive in the performance of his public duties at a time when the unusual activity of those engaged in crimes of violence demanded and required his personal presence and greatest personal activity to aid in preventing or attempting to prevent, detecting or attempting to detect or punish the said crimes or the persons guilty thereof. "specification : ="neglect and dereliction of duty.= "in this, that during the period of about days last past, the newspapers of the city and county of san francisco have published and proclaimed that the said william h. langdon, as district attorney, and others co-operating with him, were, and for months past had been, in the possession of evidence sufficient to convict certain officials of the city and county of serious crimes. these charges have been repeated daily and within the knowledge and cognizance of said district attorney, and yet notwithstanding said knowledge and said purposes, the said district attorney has failed to cause the arrest of any of said officials, and if the charges so publicly made are and were not true, the said district attorney had knowledge of said falsity and untruth, and yet notwithstanding said knowledge has failed to cause the arrest of the publishers or editors of the newspapers for publishing said statements for criminal libel. "specification : ="neglect and violation of duty.= "that under the provisions of the charter of the city and county of san francisco, it is part of the duty of the district attorney, when required, to advise the board of police commissioners, the chief of police, the board of health, or the coroner as to the matters relating to the duties of their respective offices, yet notwithstanding said official duty, the said william h. langdon, as such district attorney, has entered into a combination and conspiracy for political purposes and effect to bring unmerited discredit upon said officials or some of them, and has failed to advise them relative to their duties, and has assumed a position and attitude inconsistent with his duty to the police commissioners and the chief of police, thereby tending to impair and demoralize the police department of said city at a serious and critical time. "specification : "neglect and violation of duty. "that the said william h. langdon, being the district attorney of said city and county of san francisco, as aforesaid, during period above mentioned, in addition to neglecting his public duties, as above set forth, instead of aiding the authorities of said city and county, did on the contrary engage in and assist in a combination in the interest of certain insurance corporations and other persons to injure and defame the character of the chief executive of this city, mayor eugene e. schmitz, in substance as follows: "a large number of german insurance companies, having lost many millions of dollars by the conflagration of april , , having denied their liability, eugene e. schmitz, mayor of the city and county of san francisco, deemed it advisable in the interest of the upbuilding and rehabilitating of the city, to visit the german empire in his official capacity for the purpose of stating the true facts concerning said conflagration to the home officials of said companies and to use his personal influence wherever the same would be available in the german empire, with a view to cause the said insurance companies to pay the said losses; and deeming said matter one of great public interest, the said mayor did obtain from the board of supervisors a leave of absence from the city and county of san francisco for a period of days from october , ; and after he left on said mission, a combination, plot and plan was formed for the purpose of defaming and injuring and weakening the standing and reputation of said eugene e. schmitz, in order that his said attempts might be discredited and to destroy whatever influence the chief executive of this city might have in dealing with the said insurance companies at their home offices and in obtaining influence abroad to compel said companies to properly recognize their obligations; and that as a part of said scheme, it was determined to print and publish in the newspapers of san francisco charges against the said mayor which were false, malicious and slanderous and known so to be by the parties engaged in said scheme, and among other things said persons so engaged did cause it to be published that the chief executive of this city was a fugitive from justice and had absconded from the city and county of san francisco; and that the said william h. langdon, as district attorney of the city and county of san francisco, and acting in his capacity as such, did aid, assist and abet and further the said scheme as aforesaid, and has become and is an active party thereto to the end that said mayor should be induced to return to san francisco to defend himself against such charges before he could have time to accomplish the said purpose for which he went to said german empire. "specification : ="violation of duty and use of office for ulterior purposes.= "that during the fall of , one francis j. heney, in a public speech in said city and county, aspersed the character and good name of a prominent citizen of this community, and stated that he knew him to be corrupt, and said citizen having instantly demanded that said heney be compelled to make proof of said assertions and said heney having been compelled to appear before the grand jury of said city and county of san francisco with reference thereto, there admitted that he had made such statements without any personal knowledge regarding the same, which facts were widely published at the time, and brought said heney into obloquy and contempt, from which time said heney had been possessed of a purpose to effect a personal revenge both against the object of his false charges and against eugene e. schmitz, mayor of san francisco, and all of these facts were and are well known to said william h. langdon, as district attorney as aforesaid; yet notwithstanding said knowledge and within the month of october, , the said william h. langdon, in order to enable said heney to use public office, position and power to gratify his spirit of revenge and malice, did appoint said heney assistant district attorney of said city and county, and did turn over to him the powers of office of said district attorney in order that he might gratify his private revenge and malice. "specification : "that prior to such appointment as such assistant district attorney, said francis j. heney had publicly assailed the judges of the superior court of the city and county as corrupt and crooked, and had denounced all or nearly all of them as dishonest and corrupt, and yet has failed at any time to make proof of such charges, which facts were all well known to said william h. langdon, district attorney as aforesaid, from the time of the utterance, which was long anterior to the time of said heney's appointment by said langdon, and said langdon also knew that said heney frequently, while intoxicated, made grave and serious charges involving the personal character of citizens of this city, yet notwithstanding such knowledge said william h. langdon did appoint said heney to such office, knowing that the said heney in such office would be required to appear before the judges whose character he had thus aspersed, and to practice in their courts, did appoint said heney to said office, which appointment is not conducive to the proper co-operation which should exist between the judges of the superior court and the office of district attorney. "specification : "that said francis j. heney at and prior to the time of his appointment as assistant district attorney was the representative of the corporation controlling the street car system of said city and county in a certain dispute between said corporation and its employes, that the appointment of said heney to said office will, in regard to the enforcement of law against said corporation, be prejudicial and detrimental to the interests of said city and county. "specification : "that prior to the turning over of said district attorney's office and its powers to said francis j. heney, as hereinabove specified, the city and county of san francisco had intended to procure its own water supply and thereby to prevent the exorbitant charges for water now exacted by the private corporation controlling the city's water supply, and that it was about to take proceedings to provide a safe and secure supply of water for said city and county of san francisco for domestic use, extinction of conflagrations, etc., and that such purpose was greatly to the interest of said city and county of san francisco, that said corporation now supplying water to said city and county is bitterly opposed to the acquiring of a water supply to the city and county of san francisco on account of its present monopoly. "said francis j. heney has been and is attorney employed by said water company, and his attorneyship for such company is inconsistent with the holding of a place as assistant district attorney, and against the best interests of the people of san francisco. "specification : "that in the interest of the corporations and persons before mentioned, or some or all of them, together with persons unknown, large sums of money have been and are being raised for the purpose of slandering, defaming and injuring the reputation of said mayor eugene e. schmitz, and of suborning perjury against him, thereby injuring the interests of said city and county and its residents and inhabitants; and said william h. langdon as such district attorney, knowing said facts, by the appointment of said heney, is knowingly aiding and abetting the said plot and scheme. "specification : ="violation of duty and ulterior use of office.= "that since the appointment of said f. j. heney as an assistant district attorney of the city and county of san francisco by said william h. langdon, the said langdon and the said heney have caused to be published or have been parties to the publication of open and covert threats against the superior judges of the city and county of san francisco for the purpose of influencing the judicial action of said judges. "specification : "that the appointment of said heney as such assistant district attorney was made by said langdon in furtherance of the combination aforesaid, and at the dictation of certain newspaper influences and individuals, who have contributed many thousands of dollars to further the political ambitions and aspirations of said william h. langdon and other persons, and to secure through the appointment of said heney the consummation of a political plan and the wreaking of their private revenges against eugene e. schmitz, mayor of san francisco, and the board of supervisors and the police department of the city and county of san francisco and their political supporters, and to generally disrupt the business and proper government of this city, and also for the purpose of attempting to influence the ensuing election. and said combination is also in pursuance of a well-defined and organized plan for the purpose of controlling and subjugating the labor market and the wage-earners. "and the said william h. langdon turned over said office of district attorney as aforesaid to said francis j. heney with the intent and purpose and with the understanding that said francis j. heney would and should abuse such position, and use his said position as a deputy in a substantial control of said office of district attorney to gratify his own private and personal revenge, and also with the intent that said francis j. heney, through said office, should produce before the grand jury of said city and county illegal and hearsay evidence which by law said grand jury is forbidden to act upon, and procure such grand jury to return indictments against innocent citizens of said city and county upon such illegal and hearsay evidence for the purpose of gratifying the private revenge of said francis j. heney and the political ambitions of said william h. langdon. and said william h. langdon also further turned over said office and power to said francis j. heney with the intent and purpose that said francis j. heney in such position should advise such grand jury that matters and acts not constituting an offense at law were indictable offenses, and thus and thereby falsely and unlawfully procure indictments against innocent citizens of said city and county. "specification : "that in addition to the purposes hereinabove specified as a foundation and reason for the acts set forth, that all the acts hereinabove charged and set forth as having been done, aided, abetted, procured or assisted by said william h. langdon as said district attorney, were so done and performed by said william h. langdon as such district attorney to promote his own political ambitions and upon and at the eve of an election about to occur in the state of california, at which said william h. langdon is a candidate for governor, all with intent to deceive and mislead electors and voters and to procure an increased vote for himself as such candidate for governor. "inefficiency in the office of district attorney, and neglect on the part of the district attorney and his office to perform the duties of his office. "dated, san francisco, october , . "james l. gallagher, "mayor of the city and county of san francisco." the ruef "immunity contract." the "immunity contract" given ruef was as follows: "whereas, abraham ruef of the city and county of san francisco has agreed to impart to the district attorney of the city and county of san francisco, state of california, a full and fair statement and disclosure, so far as known to him, of all crimes and offenses involved in the so-called 'graft' prosecutions or investigations now and heretofore conducted by said district attorney by whomsoever such offenses or crimes may have been committed, and has agreed in making such disclosure and statement to state fully and wholly all the facts and circumstances known to him in, about, and surrounding the same, and in making such statement and disclosure to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth; "now, therefore, in consideration of the premises it is agreed by the undersigned that if said a. ruef shall do said things and immediately make such full and fair disclosure of all such crimes and offenses involved in the so-called 'graft' prosecutions and investigations above referred to, and known to him, and shall state and disclose to the undersigned the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and shall make full and fair disclosure of all said crimes and offenses known to him, and of all the facts and circumstances in, about and surrounding the same and known to him, and shall at all times whenever called upon, before any court, testify in regard thereto and to the whole thereof fully and fairly, together with all the facts and circumstances surrounding the same, so far as the same are known to him, and shall state, tell and testify on oath the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth therein, then and in that event the undersigned, deeming it to be in the interests of public justice, and believing that said a. ruef will thereby be equitably entitled to such consideration in accordance with the time-honored custom and practice of prosecuting officers in both state and federal jurisdictions throughout this country, and in line with common law precedents. " . will grant and obtain for said a. ruef full and complete immunity from prosecution or punishment for all and any of said offenses and crimes involved in said so-called 'graft' prosecutions or investigations, and will not prosecute him for any thereof. " . will cause said a. ruef to be jointly and not otherwise indicted with all and any others against whom indictments have heretofore been or may hereafter be returned or found for or upon any crimes or offenses in which said ruef has participated or is alleged to have participated to this date; provided, however, that the undersigned shall not be bound to include any of the present members of the board of supervisors in any such indictments. " . will, as any one of said joint indictments relating to a specific subject matter shall be taken up for trial, after the jury has been impaneled and sworn to try the same, dismiss the same and all other indictments and charges on the same general subject matter as against the said ruef, under the provisions of section of the penal code of the state of california, and will at the same time dismiss all indictments relating to the same general subject matter, which are now pending against said ruef singly. "any and all indictments or charges upon any general subject matter of which one shall not have been brought to trial before december st, , shall be dismissed as to said ruef and said ruef discharged on or before december st, , under the provisions of section of the penal code where applicable, or under provisions of other sections of said code in cases where said section shall not be applicable. "it is however expressly agreed that =in any event= all indictments and charges now pending or hereafter to be brought against said ruef (except action no. which is herein otherwise provided for) shall be dismissed as against said ruef under the provisions of section of the penal code where the same may be applicable and when said section is not applicable shall be dismissed under other provisions of the code, all prior to december st, ; provided, the undersigned district attorney shall not be re-elected as such district attorney in november, , and, in any event, prior to said district attorney resigning or otherwise surrendering or giving up his office or terminating his tenure thereof, it being the understanding and agreement that each and every indictment and charge now pending or hereafter to be brought against said ruef shall be absolutely dismissed. "provided, that said ruef shall have fully performed so far as may have been in his power the spirit and letter of his agreement herein. " . all and any indictments or charges which are to be found or returned against said ruef jointly or otherwise, shall be returned and found not later than october st, , unless hereafter otherwise mutually agreed. " . in the event of the prosecution of said ruef by any other officer or person on account of any of such crimes or offenses committed or participated in or alleged to have been committed or participated in by said ruef to this date, the undersigned will employ every legitimate influence and power to secure a dismissal thereof, and in the event that a conviction shall be had in any thereof, the undersigned hereby agree to apply to the governor of the state of california for the pardon of said ruef therefor or therein and to use all legitimate influence and power to secure such pardon. " . it is understood and agreed that, notwithstanding the scope and effect of the language used throughout this agreement, it does not and shall not be construed to apply in any respect or particular to that certain indictment no. , or the offense charged therein, which is now pending against said abraham ruef jointly with eugene e. schmitz, in the superior court of the city and county of san francisco, state of california, in department no. thereof. "dated, may th, . "wm. h. langdon, "district attorney of the city and county of san francisco. "francis j. heney, "assistant district attorney of the city and county of san francisco. "agreed to: "a. ruef." "immunity contract" given supervisors. "san francisco, cal., july , . "whereas, james l. gallagher, e. j. walsh, f. p. nicholas, c. j. harrigan, max mamlock, j. j. furey, jennings phillips, thomas f. lonergan, james f. kelly, l. a. rea, w. w. sanderson, daniel c. coleman, sam davis, a. m. wilson, m. f. coffey, all of the city and county of san francisco, state of california, have each made to me a disclosure of certain crimes and offenses committed by himself, and by himself jointly with others and by others, which he claims to be a full and fair disclosure thereof, so far as known to him. "now, therefore, in consideration of the premises, deeming it to be in the interest of public justice, and believing that each of the above-named parties will thereby become equitably entitled to such consideration, in accordance with the time-honored custom and practice of prosecuting officers, in both state and federal jurisdictions throughout this country, and in line with common law precedence, it is agreed by me that if he has made a full and fair disclosure of all of such crimes and offenses and has stated to me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and if he shall whenever called upon to do so by me, or by any other officer on behalf of the people of the state of california, to again make a full and fair disclosure of such crimes and offenses, together with the facts and circumstances surrounding the same and the persons therein involved, in any cause, action or proceeding whatever in regard thereto, fully and fairly, together with the facts and circumstances surrounding said crimes and offenses and the persons involved, and tell and testify the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, then, and in that event, each one of them who so does shall not be prosecuted, complained against or indicted for any of said crimes or offenses, or his connection therewith. "it is understood that the making or verifying of any affidavit or answer in the case of 'langdon vs. ruef, et al.,' heretofore brought in the superior court of this city and county, is included in this agreement; and it is further understood that fred p. nicholas shall not be further prosecuted in the case now pending against him in which he is under indictment in this city and county, upon the charge of accepting and agreeing to accept a bribe from one holmes. "signed: w. h. langdon, district attorney: francis j. heney, asst. dist. atty. witness: james l. gallagher." the people vs. ruef, page . district attorney langdon's plan for reorganizing the municipal government. =(see chapter xvii.)= "san francisco, july , .--to the san francisco labor council, the merchants' association, the building trades council, the chamber of commerce, the board of trade, the real estate board and the merchants' exchange: gentlemen--we respectfully submit to your consideration and ask your co-operation in the carrying out of the following proposed plan for the selection of a mayor of the city and county of san francisco for the unexpired term of eugene e. schmitz, who, having been elected mayor of the city and county of san francisco in november, , was on the th day of june, , convicted of a felony; to wit, of the crime of extortion, by a jury in department no. of the superior court of the city and county of san francisco, state of california. thereafter, upon the th day of july, , judgment upon the conviction was duly pronounced and entered, by which a sentence was imposed of five years' imprisonment in the state prison at san quentin. "the political code of this state, and the charter of the city and county of san francisco, both provide that the office becomes vacant when the incumbent is convicted of a felony, and in several decisions our supreme court has held that the words 'convicted of a felony,' signify the verdict of a jury. that court has also held that this provision of the code and charter is self-acting, and that the vacancy is created 'eo instanti,' upon the happening of the event, and that all that is necessary is for the appointing power to fill the vacancy thus created. by virtue of the conviction of eugene e. schmitz, the office of mayor of the city and county of san francisco became vacant. upon the th day of july, , the board of supervisors, pursuant to the charter, elected as mayor to fill the vacancy thus created dr. charles boxton. this action was taken to avoid legal complications in the interim, before a permanent selection of mayor could be made, and it is thoroughly well understood that the selection of dr. charles boxton is merely temporary. "the conditions surrounding the present board of supervisors have been so completely explained, through the public press, that it is unnecessary to go into further detail in that regard than to say that dr. boxton has offered to resign his office as mayor, as soon as a suitable successor has been found. in the present unprecedented condition of the municipal government, circumstances have made it the duty of the district attorney, in the interest of the public welfare, to take the initiative, in the endeavor to find such a successor. "it is the desire of the district attorney as speedily as possible to confine the operations of his office entirely to those duties ordinarily incumbent upon it. the next election for city officers takes place in november of this year, but the situation of the city government, and the material conditions obtaining in the city with regard to necessary public improvements, render it absolutely indispensable that we proceed with the utmost energy to obtain for the office of mayor a man of unblemished integrity and great executive ability. "the district attorney and his associates, realizing that the selection of a mayor to fill the unexpired term in question should be made by as representative a body of the people as possible, have deemed it wise to call together a convention that will be, as nearly as circumstances and the time at our disposal permit, fairly representative of the community at large. for that purpose they have decided to call together a convention composed of thirty delegates, fifteen of whom shall represent labor, and the remaining fifteen shall represent employers generally. "it is, of course, impossible on account of the limited time at our disposal to accord representation to all the organized bodies in the city entitled to the same. all that we can reasonably be expected to do is to make a sincere and earnest effort to have the convention composed of delegates from such well-known organized bodies, large and varied in membership, that the people generally will be satisfied that the plan of selection is fair, reasonable and democratic. "the prosecution in the graft cases feels that it is highly desirable to keep politics out of the organization of the city government as much as possible until the people, in the manner ordained by law, have an opportunity at the ballot-box again to express their will directly. "we address this communication and invitation to the following bodies, to wit: the san francisco labor council, the merchants' association, the building trades council, the chamber of commerce, the board of trade, the real estate board and the merchants' exchange. we respectfully request the foregoing associations to send delegates to the proposed convention on the following basis of apportionment, that is to say, that the two bodies representing labor shall select fifteen delegates, eight of whom shall be selected by the san francisco labor council and seven by the building trades council, and the remaining fifteen members of the convention shall be selected, three each, by the remaining five bodies above mentioned. "it will be appreciated that it is necessary to impose a time limit within which the selection of delegates shall be made, and the subsequent nomination of a mayor by the convention shall be accomplished. in that view we ask that a response to this invitation, containing the names of the delegates selected, be delivered to the district attorney's office, fillmore street, on or before saturday, july , , and that the mayor be nominated within five days thereafter. the success of this plan, in our judgment, depends absolutely upon the harmonious co-operation of all sections of our people, who, we believe, are fairly represented by one or more of the foregoing associations. consequently we deem it essential to prescribe as a condition for the assembling of the proposed convention that this invitation shall be accepted by all of these bodies. "this plan for the selection of a mayor is the result of most patient, thorough and anxious deliberation on the part of those associated in the graft prosecution, and its single purpose is to satisfy, so far as in our power, the desire of all good citizens to sink factional and political differences and choose for mayor a man who will be generally recognized and accepted as representative of the whole people, who will bring to all industrial disputes a spirit of conciliation and harmony, and who will be possessed of the capacity, energy and honesty needed in the great work of rehabilitating our city and restoring it to normal conditions. we desire that perfect freedom and independence of action shall govern the convention from its inception to its close, and accordingly the district attorney and his associates will wholly refrain from any participation after the convention has assembled. i have the honor to be, "yours very truly, "w. h. langdon, district attorney." roosevelt's letter to spreckels on the graft situation. "the white house, washington, june , . "my dear mr. spreckels--now and then you and mr. heney and the others who are associated with you must feel down-hearted when you see men guilty of atrocious crimes who from some cause or other succeed in escaping punishment, and especially when you see men of wealth, of high business and, in a sense, of high social standing, banded together against you. "my dear sir, i want you to feel that your experience is simply the experience of all of us who are engaged in this fight. there is no form of slander and wicked falsehood which will not as a matter of course be employed against all men engaged in such a struggle, and this not only on the part of men and papers representing the lowest type of demagogy, but, i am sorry to say, also on the part of men and papers representing the interests that call themselves pre-eminently conservative, pre-eminently cultured. "in such a struggle it is too often true that the feeling against those engaged in it becomes peculiarly bitter, not merely in the business houses of the great financiers who directly profit by the wrongdoing, but also in the clubs, in certain newspaper offices where business interests exercise an unhealthy control and, i regret to add, in other newspaper offices which like to be considered as to a marked degree the representatives of the cultivation and high social standing of the country. "now, i do hope that you and your colleagues will treat all this bitterness with entire disregard. it is of small consequence to you, or to any of us who are engaged in this work, whether men think well or ill of us personally; but it is of very great consequence that we should do the work without flinching, on the one hand, and on the other hand, without losing our good-humored common sense, without becoming angered and irritated to a degree that will in any way cause us to lose our heads. "therefore, i hope that you and heney and your associates will keep reasonably good-natured; but that above all things you will not lose heart. you must battle on valiantly, no matter what the biggest business men may say, no matter what the mob may say, no matter what may be said by that element which may be regarded as socially the highest element. you must steadfastly oppose those foolish or wicked men who would substitute class consciousness and loyalty to class interest, for loyalty to american citizenship as a whole, for loyalty to the immutable laws of righteousness, of just and fair dealing as between man and man. "it is just as bad to be ruled by a plutocracy as by a mob. it is profoundly un-american and, in a social sense, profoundly immoral, to stand for or against a given man, not because he is or is not a brave, upright and able man, but because he does or does not belong to a labor union or does or does not represent the big business interests. in their essence, down at the foundation of things, the ties that are all-important are those that knit honest men, brave men, square-dealing men, together, and it is a mighty poor substitute if we replace these ties by those that bind men together, whether they are good or bad, simply because they follow a particular business, have a given social standing or belong to a particular organization. it is an evil and a dreadful thing for laboring men to endeavor to secure the political dominance of labor unions by conniving at crookedness or violence, by being 'loyal' to crooked labor leaders, for to be 'loyal' to the fancied interests of the unions when they are against the laws of morality and the interests of the whole people means ultimately the destruction of the unions themselves, as an incident to the destruction of all good citizenship. "but it is, if anything, an even more evil and dreadful thing to have the merchants, the business men, the captains of industry accessories to crime and shielders and supporters of criminals; it is an even more dreadful thing to see the power of men high in state politics, high in finance, high in the social life of the rich and fashionable, united to stifle the prosecution of offenders against civic integrity if these offenders happen to be their friends and associates; and most evil of all is it when we see crooks of a labor party in offensive and defensive alliance with the crooks of a corporation party. labor unions and corporations alike should be heartily supported when they do good work, and fearlessly opposed when they stand for what is evil. the best kind of wage worker, the best kind of laboring man, must stand shoulder to shoulder with the best kind of professional man, with the best kind of business man, in putting a stop to the undermining of civic decency, and this without any regard to whether it is a labor union or a corporation which is undermining it, without any regard to whether the offender is a rich man or a poor man. "indeed, if there can be any degrees in the contemptuous abhorrence with which right thinking citizens should regard corruption, it must be felt in its most extreme form for the so-called 'best citizens,' the men high in business and social life, who by backing up or by preventing the punishment of wealthy criminals set the seal of their approval on crime and give honor to rich felons. the most powerful ally of lawlessness and mob violence is the man, whoever he may be, politician or business man, judge or lawyer, capitalist or editor, who in any way or shape works so as to shield wealthy and powerful wrongdoers from the consequences of their misconduct. "you have heart-breaking difficulties with which to contend. you have to fight not only the banded powers of evil, but, alas, that it should be said, the supineness and indifference of many good men upon whose zealous support you had a right to feel that you could rely. do not be discouraged; do not flinch. you are in a fight for plain decency, for the plain democracy of the plain people, who believe in honesty and in fair dealing as between man and man. do not become disheartened. keep up the fight. "very sincerely yours, "theodore roosevelt. "rudolph spreckels, esq., "san francisco, cal." governor johnson's statement regarding ruef's imprisonment. =(see chapter xxix, page .)= ever since abraham ruef was taken to san quentin an organized and systematic agitation has been carried on to effect his release, and all that power, influence and money and favorable publicity could do to manufacture public sentiment for him has been done. his case has ever been before the people, and never since his confinement at san quentin has he been permitted to be in the category of the ordinary prisoner. purposely have i heretofore refrained from any public utterance upon the subject, and this for reasons that may be obvious. ruef's partisans now charge his failure to obtain his release to me. in so far as i have expressed my views to certain members of the prison directors, and their views accord with mine, i accept the responsibility. i do not believe that ruef should be paroled at this time. i insist that he shall be treated just like any ordinary prisoner, neither more harshly nor more leniently. as vigorously as i am able, i demand that there shall be no special privilege in the prisons of the state of california, and that when special privilege has been banished from every department of government, it shall not be permitted, no matter what the power or threats, to creep into our penitentiary. the grossest injustice that could be committed against the other , men confined in our state prisons would be to single out the one rich, powerful and conspicuous offender and, because of his riches and his influence, grant him what is denied to the humble and friendless prisoner. if prisons are to be maintained, and the system in vogue continued, all prisoners most be treated exactly alike. since the parole law went into effect, the prison directors have continuously acted under a rule which required, save in exceptional cases, the service of half of the net sentence before an application can be heard. in the roberts case, recently decided, the supreme court held this rule to be illegal, but also held that paroles rested in the absolute discretion of the prison directors, and that in determining whether or not parole shall be granted, it was the right and duty of the board to take into account the length of sentence, the time served, etc. as i understand the attitude of the directors, they insist that in the matter of granting paroles, although applications may be made after one year, it is neither unjust nor unfair nor illegal that prisoners be required, save in exceptional cases, to serve half the net sentence. this rule is applicable to , prisoners, most of them unknown and unheard of. it is demanded that another rule be made for ruef. ruef's sentence was fourteen years. his net sentence will be eight years and ten months. half of the net sentence will be four years and five months. he was received in san quentin about march, . if required to serve half his net sentence, presumably he will be paroled about august, . purposely, apparently, misapprehension has been created about the recent parole of dalton. dalton desired to be liberated before half his net sentence had been served, and was not. he was granted a parole at the last meeting of the prison directors, which takes effect some months after the completion of half of his net sentence. the recent action of the prison board. in behalf of the parole of ruef it is insisted that any man is entitled as a matter of right to a parole after one year's imprisonment. i will not subscribe to this doctrine. it has been asserted that the supreme court has so decided. this is not true. the supreme court simply determined that after one year the prisoner had the right to make his application, but that his parole rested absolutely thereafter in the discretion of the prison board. at the last meeting of the prison directors men applied for parole, ruef among them. none of these had served half his net time and this fact was known to all the members of the prison board. to four members of the prison board before that time every application had been presented with the history of the case, and with all the facts that had been filed concerning it. every man, prison director or other, knows the facts of the ruef case. the were all denied parole. when the ruef people assert he had no hearing, they mean he had no such hearing as ruef desired. when they shout that his case was not considered, they mean not considered as ruef demanded. if the hearing had been as ruef and his partisans had staged it; if ruef had delivered an oration, taken down by the shorthand reporter, brought for the purpose; if ruef had dominated the entire situation, and the directors had yielded to his power and his influence; if ruef had been paroled, what a virtuous and glorious prison board it would have been! but the hearing being otherwise than had been staged, the determination being other than what the power of ruef demanded, the prison board is abused and denounced; not denounced or abused because other men were not paroled (they are unknown, poor, helpless, without friends), but abused and denounced because one man, ruef, was not paroled; because one man, ruef, was treated exactly as all others were treated. the charge of bitterness and vengeance. i resent any imputation of bitterness or revenge on my part toward ruef. i have neither. more than two years ago i expressed what i write to-day--that for the sake of society and the unfortunates confined in prison, ruef must be treated like all others similarly situated. to yield because of fear to the persuasion, cajolery or the threats of a powerful prisoner, is to cause the iron to enter the soul of every obscure and friendless prisoner, and to make every other one of the , men in our jails know that even in prisons class distinctions prevail, and to add to the bitterness and the hopelessness of men confined. the bitterness and revenge are on the other side of this controversy. it has become necessary to make this statement because of the unmerited abuse of the prison board, and because some individuals, while begging mercy for ruef, have without mercy sought ruef's release by threats of annihilation and destruction of all opposed. the plea that the past be forgotten. often we hear that ruef is the only one who has been punished of those guilty of the particular crimes of which he was a part, and that for this reason should be liberated. if three men committed a murder, two escape and are never found, and the third is convicted, ought he to be released because he is the only one punished? it is unnecessary, however, to discuss this phase of the case. after conviction and imprisonment, if clemency be asked, ordinarily the only question that can be considered is whether the prisoner is guilty or innocent. does any person claim ruef to be innocent? if guilty, then to him must apply the usual prison discipline and rules. there is to-day in the same prison with ruef a poor, uneducated, friendless greek, the product of the graft prosecution just as ruef is. claudianes is serving a life sentence for dynamiting gallagher's residence and almost murdering seven people. claudianes was paid to do the dynamiting that gallagher might be put out of the way. he was the ignorant, sodden instrument of men who would not stop even at murder; but he was only the miserable tool after all. no appeal has been made to me for claudianes. no petitions have been presented in his behalf, no organized effort for his release, no threats of political annihilation unless clemency be extended to him. why? is it because claudianes is unknown, ignorant, friendless, moneyless? the unjust charge of racial prejudice. every cheap politician has been quick to seize upon the ruef case and endeavor to make political capital for himself or create hostility to me out of it. among the baseless and outrageous things that have been published is that ruef is not granted special privileges and immunities because of racial prejudice. when ruef was denied parole, denied with him were men of many races. no one has claimed that these were denied parole because of race prejudice. in san quentin to-day are thirty-one jews. thirteen of these, for one reason or another, have at times lost their privileges. is it possible that ruef is the only man to be considered? no complaint is made for the thirty-one, or for the thirteen. since february , , twenty-seven jews have been paroled from san quentin. six of these have been returned for violations of parole. in relation to the twenty-seven or the six there has been neither outcry nor protest nor publicity nor effort of any sort. why the astounding, organized effort and publicity campaign for ruef alone? the appointments that have been made by this administration include rabbi meyer, h. weinstock, paul sinsheimer, simon lubin, miss steinhart, julius jacobs, e. franklin, louis frankenheimer, a. sapiro, jacob alexander, a. bonnheim, miss peixotto, judge cerf and many others. no list of more able and patriotic men and women in the service of any state could be furnished than this. is ruef the sole test of every question? to two young men of jewish faith lately have been granted pardons. no tremendous petitions loaded down with the names of politicians, no extraordinary publicity was presented in their behalf. is there no man in the list of appointees to whom in pride we may all yield our praise? is there no man among the , prisoners in san quentin and folsom who justly can arouse efforts in his behalf? or is the sole test of official action by the prison directors of california or the chief executive of the state to be the disregard of every other man's rights and the granting to ruef alone of a privilege that none other enjoys? california prisons to-day. in the discussion that has ensued from the ruef case and because of the ruef case, the prisons have been said to be the one part of the present administration that is not progressive, and that they are yet a relic of the herrin machine. nothing could be further from the fact. i challenge contradiction of the following statements: california is in the forefront of all the states in the management of her prisons. in matters of food, shelter, clothing, employment, recreation, medical attention, opportunities for education, general freedom consistent with discipline, encouragement of decent tendencies, and =in the number of paroles= (although these have been granted under the half term rule), no state has gone further. within the past three years the strait-jacket, the water-cure and the hooks, once so freely used, have not been tolerated. every form of corporal punishment has been abolished. when prisoners are received the effort is made to get the history of the crime and possible cause of it, and then to apply corrective measures intelligently. as soon as received, every newcomer is given a thorough physical examination and his teeth are looked after by a dentist. it not infrequently happens that the first place a man is quartered in is the hospital. special attention is given to tuberculars, alcoholics and dope fiends. wassermann tests are made for the slightest indication of blood taint, and the best treatment afforded. after the physician and dentist conclude their examinations, the newcomer is turned over to the director of education, who endeavors to take the man's mental measurement and get at his moral status. there are now pupils in the day school at san quentin, and three rooms of thirty each in the night school. the educational facilities are being constantly increased. two hundred and twenty-six are enrolled in the academic courses with the university of california and by correspondence are receiving their training from our great institutions of learning. the state use system, which was enacted in , furnishes work in industries for the state. in the matter of food the state purchases the best and the rations issued are abundant. sanitary conditions are a model in the newly constructed portions of the prison and the best possible in the old construction. in the last three years paroles have been granted by this harsh, cruel and outrageous prison board, as against granted in all the years from to inclusive. the paroles have been granted, however, justly. because one was not granted unjustly and unfairly, the record of the prison board counts for naught. i have purposely refrained from discussing the character of ruef's crimes or any matters extraneous to the one issue presented. i have tried to make clear that i believe ruef should be treated just as the least known prisoner is treated. that his advocates wish him to be treated otherwise because he is ruef will be clear to any who will reflect that had ruef been paroled and the other denied parole there would have been no agitation; if ruef were granted what others were denied, there would be no fulminations against the prison board and petty politicians would not have seized upon recent events to bow and scrape and bend and crawl to the organized power of ruef. schmitz's attempt to control san francisco relief funds. in the early part of june, , it was agreed that a committee consisting of benjamin ide wheeler, judge w. w. morrow and james d. phelan should go to washington, in order to interest congress in some project for financing the rebuilding of san francisco. before their departure, mayor schmitz invited them and other members of the committee of fifty to his residence, where a luncheon was served. during the luncheon he stated that the board of supervisors were about to resume their public functions for which they were elected by the people, and the private persons who were administering the affairs of the city doubtless would employ their abilities for the rehabilitation of their own business, and he suggested that the relief fund be turned over to the board of supervisors for distribution. judge morrow, mr. phelan and others protested that it was not the function of the supervisors to distribute relief, and that there was a trust relationship existing between the donors and the finance committee of the relief and red cross funds. after the luncheon, the mayor handed mr. phelan his transportation, but later in the afternoon mr. phelan, suspicious of his purpose, sent word to the mayor that he had decided to remain in the city. he remained behind to protect the funds. as subsequently developed in the graft investigations, the supervisors had accused the mayor of abandoning the city government to his enemies, and insisted upon the enjoyment of all the rights and privileges of their office, and that the work of distributing relief at that time was the principal business of the city. receipts and disbursements of prosecution from june, , to may , (as shown by testimony taken at trial of patrick calhoun.) receipts. subscription account $ , . subscription account r. spreckels , . cash received by w. j. burns , . refunded by the bulletin account older case . ----------- $ , . disbursements. w. j. burns account: w. j. burns account, personal, $ , . ; office expenses, $ , . ; office furniture, $ . ; carriage hire, $ . ; auto hire, $ , . ; auto expense, $ , . ; traveling expense, $ , . ; telegrams, $ . ; the bulletin, $ . ; incidentals, $ . ; paid for account city and county of san francisco, $ . ; detective services, $ , . ; detective expenses, $ , . ; extra salaries, $ . . total, $ , . . f. j. heney account: rent, $ , . ; office expense, $ , . ; private exchange and operator, $ , . ; telegrams, $ . ; postage and messenger expense, $ . ; traveling expense, $ . ; office salaries, $ , . ; office furniture, $ . ; auto and carriage hire, $ . ; stenographic and legal expense, $ , . ; detective expense, $ , . . total, $ , . . sundry disbursements: p. dolman, $ , . ; hiram w. johnson, $ , . ; j. j. dwyer, $ , . ; c. w. cobb, $ , . ; legal expense, official count for judges, $ . ; george j. cleary, $ . ; l. kavanaugh, $ . ; d. m. duffy, $ , . ; w. j. burns, $ , . ; jas. foley, $ , . ; miler & co., $ . ; automobiles, $ , . ; auto expense, $ . . total, $ , . . total disbursements $ , . balance, cash . ----------- $ , . items, w. j. burns account. =personal=: salary, $ , . ; subsistence, $ , . ; rent, $ , . . total, $ , . . =office expenses=: rent (r. l. radke co.), $ . ; telephone, p. s. t. & t. co., $ . ; light and heat--e. d. feil, $ . ; w. g. stafford, $ . ; mantels, $ . --$ . ; towels (star towel sup. co.), $ . ; newspapers, $ . ; p. o. box, u. s. a., $ . ; stamps, u. s. a., $ . ; purity water co., $ . ; advertising--call, $ . ; examiner, $ . --$ . ; car fare, $ . ; stationery--library bureau, $ . ; mysell-rollins, $ . ; barry co., $ . ; brown & power, $ . ; e. h. wobber and others, $ . --$ . ; typewriter expense-vaughn, $ . ; revalk, $ . ; underwood, $ . --$ . ; stenographic, $ . (l. f. hurlburt, et al.); incidentals--pans, $ . ; opening marchand's safe, $ . ; safe dep. crocker, $ . ; painting floor, $ . ; n. y. exchange, $ . ; express charges, $ . ; keys, $ . ; paint, $ . ; tel. directory, $ . ; stars (spec.), $ . ; city directories, $ . ; elect. buzzer, $ . ; show cards (a. unsworth), $ . ; show card frames (young & rhodes), $ . ; whetstone, $ . ; hauling, $ . ; moving safe (gorham & thomas), $ . --$ . . total office expenses, $ , . . =office furniture=: lamp, $ . ; two desk lamps, $ . ; j. breuner co., $ . ; water heater, $ . ; library bureau, $ . ; ladd's gun store, $ . ; safe (freeman, brewster, mccabe), $ . ; gas heaters, $ . ; spencer desk co., $ . ; geo. walcom (curtains) $ . ; e. emerson (desk), $ . ; olympic arms co., $ . ; library bureau, $ . ; l. & e. emanuel, $ . ; acme furn. co., $ . ; hale's, $ . ; c. p. stanton, $ . . total, $ . . =carriage hire=: kelly, $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . . total, $ . . =auto hire=: scott, $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . ; h. m. owens, $ . ; w. j. burns, $ . ; march th, $ . ; ruef's arrest, $ . ; f. j. heney, $ . ; w. j. burns, $ . ; april th, $ . ; l. heidinger, $ . ; auto livery co., $ . , $ . ; kelly, $ . ; otis patkhill, $ . ; auto l. co., $ . ; a. s. lathaw, $ . ; auto livery co., $ . , $ . , $ . ; m. mamlock, $ . ; auto livery, $ . ; cal. & coulter, $ . ; f. coulter, $ . ; auto livery co., $ . ; auto livery co., $ . ; zimmerline bros., $ . ; auto livery co., $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . , $ . ; broadway garage, $ . . total, $ , . . =auto expense=: goggles, $ . ; sundries, $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; geo. p. moore co., $ . ; geo. p. moore co., $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; chanslor lyon, $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; bauer lamp, $ . ; bauer lamp, $ . ; auto livery, $ . ; auto livery, $ . ; chans. & lyon, $ . ; chans. & lyon, $ . ; g. p. moore, $ . ; g. p. moore, $ . ; arcade garage, $ . ; towing auto, $ . ; irvine mch. wks., $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; franklin car, $ . ; gillig & son, $ . ; gillig & son, $ . ; arcade garage, $ . ; arcade garage, $ . ; g. p. moore co., $ . ; h. w. bogen, $ . ; h. w. bogen, $ . ; pioneer auto co., $ . ; pioneer auto co., $ . ; gorham rubber co., $ . ; berg auto supply co., $ . ; pioneer garage, $ . ; keenan bros., $ . ; keenan bros., $ . ; pioneer garage, $ . ; diamond rubber co., $ . ; pioneer auto co., $ . ; pioneer auto co., $ . ; auto livery co., $ . ; g. p. moore, $ . ; g. p. moore, $ . ; harris rubber co., $ . ; arcade, $ . ; arcade, $ . ; bogan, $ . ; bogan, $ . ; pioneer, $ . ; pioneer, $ . ; tire repair, $ . ; pacific gar., $ . ; pacific gar., $ . ; arcade, $ . ; keenan, $ . ; keenan, $ . ; chans. & l., $ . ; chans. & l., $ . ; bogen, $ . ; bogen, $ . ; osen & hunter, $ . ; pacific gar., $ . ; pacific gar., $ . ; irvington garage, $ . ; pioneer, $ . ; pioneer, $ . ; j. e. elkington & sons, $ . ; continental r. co., $ . ; schwartz & gotlieb, $ . ; c. & l., $ . ; pacific, $ . ; pacific, $ . ; spreckels garage, $ . ; sunset garage, $ . ; spreckels garage, $ . ; pioneer, $ . ; letcher, s. jose, $ . ; keenan, $ . ; pioneer auto co., $ . ; pacific, $ . ; halls auto rep., $ . ; studebaker, $ . ; arcade, $ . ; spreckels garage, $ . ; jerome garage, $ . ; miller bros., $ . ; goodyear, $ . ; cr. h. w. bogen, $ . . net total, $ , . . =traveling expense=: kendall to portland, $ . ; ferry, $ . ; halsey, $ . ; geo. burns, round trip home, $ . ; baggage transfer, $ . ; trip to oakland, auto, etc., $ . ; trip to oakland, auto, etc., $ . ; b. t. block to san jose, $ . ; ferryage auto, etc., $ . ; ferryage auto, etc., $ . ; f. a. leach, $ . ; b. a. libby, $ . ; ferryage, auto. etc., $ . ; ferryage auto, etc., $ . ; ferryage auto, etc., $ . ; w. j. burns to los angeles, $ . ; w. j. burns, $ . ; slater witness ford case, $ . ; trips okd. gallagher case, $ . ; marie ware mck. port. s. f. ret., $ . ; cr. f. h. leach, witness ford case, $ . . net total, $ , . . =telegrams=: $ . . =the bulletin=: , papers ( - , ) $ . . =incidentals=: christmas turkeys, $ . ; glove orders, $ . ; theater party, $ . ; c. p. stanton (burglar alarm), $ . ; s. f. call jones, $ . ; expense account blake case, $ . ; lunches, w. j. burns et al., $ . . total, $ . . =paid for account city and county of san francisco=: exchange on washington, d. c., sent to f. a. leach, witness, to cover expenses to s. f., $ . ; less amount refunded by city and county of san francisco, $ . --$ . . =detective services and expenses=: d. f. cecil, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; h. j. woolman, services $ . , expenses $ . ; r. j. bergen, services $ . , expenses $ . ; r. h. perry, $ , . , expenses $ , . ; i. h. henderson, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. s. spaulding, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; w. w. farrell, services $ . , expenses $ . ; l. g. carpenter, services $ . ; expenses, $ . ; r. s. spaulding, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; j. g. lawlor, services $ , . , expenses $ , . ; i. j. scott, expenses $ . ; e. g. borden, services $ . ; p. hendirard, services $ . , expenses $ . ; r. j. burns, $ , . , expenses $ , . ; s. s. simon, services $ . ; b. kohlman, services $ . , expenses $ . ; g. e. burns, services $ , . , expenses $ , . ; c. f. oliver, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; c. p. fox, services $ . , expenses $ . ; s. g. r. ollsen, $ . ; g. w. hess, $ , . , expenses $ , . ; j. mccarthy, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; j. c. saulman, services $ . , expenses $ . ; l. pring, services $ . ; l. cullen, services $ . ; m. c. doyle, services $ . ; d. m. duffy, services $ . ; chas. wyman, services $ . ; a. steffens, $ . ; a. greggains, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. h. shiner, services $ . , expenses $ . ; p. f. roller, $ . , expenses $ , ; p. e. sowers, services $ . , expenses $ . ; t. r. sullivan, services $ . , expenses $ . ; d. mccarthy, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. compton, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; r. ellis, services $ . , expenses $ . ; p. bergin, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. p. stanton, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; h. sullivan, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. s. hensley, services $ . ; james foley, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; j. f. severney, services $ . , expenses $ . ; a. hornberg, services $ . ; e. w. stow, services $ . , expenses $ . ; g. m. insley, $ , . , expenses $ . ; b. f. daman, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; l. c. caldwell, $ . , expenses $ . ; r. n. hamlin, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; f. kingsberg, services $ . ; w. bettiee, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; w. j. dewer, services $ . ; j. f. clark, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; w. j. biggy, jr., services $ . , expenses $ . ; m. c. perry, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. a. spaulding, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. t. newsome, services $ . , expenses $ . ; f. j. barry, services $ . ; j. h. hamilton, services $ . ; r. c. schindler, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; w. s. schindler, services, $ , . , expenses $ . ; o. g. schleicher, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. a. platt, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; w. h. russell, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; s. b. priest, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. j. whiskatchies, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; e. w. madden, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. m. creighton, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; g. e. madden, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. crawford, services $ . ; e. graf, services $ . ; expenses $ . ; w. duchion, services $ . ; j. v. thompson, services $ . , expenses $ . ; f. c. boden, expenses $ . ; f. f. mcgee, services $ . ; m. l. doyle, services $ . ; e. m. burgoyne, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. bernstein, services $ . ; e. goldstein, services $ . , expenses $ . ; h. c. willer, services $ . ; j. w. f. jackson, services $ . , expenses $ . ; d. l. chiles, services $ . ; mrs. may schindler, services $ . , expenses $ . ; l. gold, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. m. ullmache, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. p. snell, services $ . , expenses $ . ; w. c. heney, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; e. c. lange, services $ . ; expenses $ . ; e. emerson, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. mckenzie, services $ . ; o. hooper, services $ . , expenses $ . ; geo. mane, services $ . ; chas. cook, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. t. oliver, jr., services $ . , expenses $ . ; d. w. armstrong, services $ . ; f. a. neary, services $ . , expenses $ . ; p. d. code, services $ . , expenses $ . ; martin judge, services $ . ; j. d. silverthew, services $ . , expenses $ . ; g. hague, services $ . ; w. j. kelly, services $ . , expenses $ . ; s. g. whitney, services $ . , expenses $ . ; c. f. schneider, services $ . , expenses $ . ; l. r. mower, services $ . , expenses $ . ; g. l. doolittle, services $ . , expenses $ . ; w. a. conneau, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. s. newsome, services $ . ; j. m. creighton, services $ . , expenses $ . ; h. beasly, services $ . ; l. j. cass, services $ . ; l. murphy, services $ . ; ed. hornback, services $ . ; e. m. ----, services $ . , expenses $ . ; p. berr, services $ . ; s. j. rohan, services $ . ; geo. yearaner, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. vetisarator, services $ . ; f. c. boden, services $ . ; t. c. mcgiff, services $ . ; h. j. loventzen, services $ . , expenses $ . ; a. h. barr, services $ . , expenses $ . ; p. m. mcgee, expenses $ . ; n. komgold, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. gensler, services $ . , w. j. otts, services $ . , expenses $ . ; j. h. dewey, services $ . , expenses $ . ; w. c. knox, services $ . ; m. f. ----, services $ , . , expenses $ . ; j. m. kelly, services $ . ; r. h. schouatt, services $ . , expenses $ . ; d. s. hutchins, services $ . , expenses $ . ; chas. goff, services $ . ; c. p. morey, jr., services $ . ; s. f. ----, services $ ; jesse a. gahans, services $ . ; a. setrakian, services $ . , expenses $ . ; e. e. kam, services $ . ; j. walsh, services $ . . total services, $ , . ; expenses, $ , . . =extra salaries=: o. f. holmes, $ . ; s. s. simon, $ . ; o. f. holmes, $ . ; w. j. flynn and assts., $ . ; wyman, $ . ; steffen, $ . ; t. lonergan, $ . ; t. lonergan, $ . ; t. lonergan, $ . ; cullen-watchman, $ . ; a. fromberg, $ . ; g. h. knox, $ . ; a. b. lycaw, $ . ; w. j. flynn, $ . ; securing information at roys, $ . ; d. m. duffy, $ . ; c. a. sage, $ . ; b. bergen, $ . ; p. callender, $ . ; p. callender, $ . ; j. c. brown, $ . ; d. w. armstrong, $ . ; d. w. armstrong, $ . ; d. e. scales, $ . ; bob ellis, $ . ; d. w. armstrong, $ . ; s. hitchcock, $ . ; d. wilkie, $ . . total, $ . . items francis j. heney account. =rent of office=: $ , . . =office expenses=: water, light, heat (repairs gas fixtures, $ . ; purity water, $ . ; stafford & co., $ . ; s. f. g. & e. co., $ . ; gas regulator, $ . ; gas appliance co., $ . ; gas mantels, $ . ; bush & lind, $ . ); stationery (e. h. wobber & co., et al., $ . ; numbering machine, $ . ; i. upham co., $ . ; brown & power, $ . ; schmidt l. & l. co., $ . ; badescu prtg. co., $ . ); typewriter, rental and supplies (remington t. w. co., $ . ; smith premier, t. w., $ . ; typewritorium, $ . ); newspapers, $ . ; janitor supplies (scavenger, $ . ; towels, $ . ; c. brown & sons, $ . ; j. h. reardon, $ . ; w. e. johnson, $ . ; greenblatt & co., $ . ; newman & levinson, $ . ; brittain & co., $ . ; o'connor, moffatt, $ . ; w. t. wiley, $ . ; h. g. root, $ . ; s. p. co., $ . ; carpet-cleaning, $ . ; hill & co., $ . ); sundries, c. p. stanton et al., $ . ; glazing, $ . . total, $ , . . =private exchange, telephone and operator=: $ , . . =telegrams=: $ . . =postage and messenger service=: $ . . =traveling expenses=: $ . . =office salaries=: j. h. reardon, $ , . ; w. e. johnson, $ , . ; miss o. o. mcshane, $ , . ; mrs. smith, $ . ; mrs. l. e. russell, $ , . ; c. h. stanton, $ . ; janitress, $ . ; voucher no. , jany. , ; no detail, $ . . total, $ , . . =office furniture=: j. behrn & co., $ . ; fuller desk co., $ . ; rucker desk co., $ . ; j. breuner co., $ . ; o'connor, moffatt, $ . ; goodyear rubber co., $ . ; sloane & co., $ . ; g. lipman, $ . ; bush & lind, $ . ; c. brown & sons, $ . ; shelving $ . ; jewel gas appliance co., $ . . total, $ . . =auto and carriage hire=: united carriage co., $ . ; pacific garage, $ . ; auto livery, $ . ; kelly's, $ . ; arcade garage, $ . ; tom sawyer, $ . ; j. w. burke, $ . ; max mamlock, $ . ; t. white, $ . ; l. d. crane, $ . . total, $ . . =stenographic and legal expense=: l. kavanaugh, $ , . ; t. b. elderkin; $ . ; g. w. smith, $ . ; state of california, $ . ; h. hernon, $ . ; county clerk, $ . ; citation for codes, $ . ; express on briefs, $ . ; f. l. gauhey, $ . ; f. m. handy, $ . ; r. b. treat, $ . ; d. w. burchard, $ . ; s. potter, $ . ; notary fees, $ . ; h. harper, $ . ; c. bennett, $ . ; a. w. reynolds, $ . ; w. c. bristol, $ . ; h. c. finkler, $ . ; richards & carrier, $ . ; mrs. m. moore, $ . ; mr. webb, $ . ; mrs. c. jellison, $ . ; d. young, expert, $ . ; c. d. stewart, expert, $ . ; g. w. reynolds, expert, $ . . total, $ , . . =detective expense=: w. j. burns, $ , . ; i. rittenhouse et al., $ , . . total, $ , . . transcriber's note footnotes and are missing. footnote has duplicate anchors. the misnumbering is retained as printed. footnote refers to "chapter xv 'the ford trials'." chapter xx is entitled "the ford trials and acquittals". the apparent reference, however, may be to a separate volume, so it has been retained. some words are spelled multiple ways (e.g. 'indorse'/'endorse', 'employe'/'employee', 'beaney'/'beany'). these variants are retained. some words (e.g. 'increditably' for 'incredibly') are likely mistakes and are corrected and noted. the author regularly elides the second 'l' in words like 'wilfully' and 'skilfully'. where the word (e.g., 'subpoenaes') appears in quoted material, it appears as printed. 'pittsburg' (pa), without the ending 'h' is left as printed, since the letter had been officially removed in , but was restored only in as this text was being written. hyphenation is also somewhat irregular. occurrences of hyphens at line breaks are resolved according to other instances in the text, or if there are none, in accordance with modern usage. the following list includes apparent errors found in the original text. where there is an obvious typographical error, as opposed to a spelling variant, the correction has been made and appear in the text as like this. where the error occurs in a note, the page referred to is the location of the page where the note begins, though the error may appear in a continuation on a following page. the [] brackets are used to denote the error, either by changing, omitting, adding or reversing characters. a slash (/) denotes the change required to gain a correct usage. a[c]count ( n ); proper[t]y-owners ( , n ); fi[r]st ( , n ); any felony or [or/of] any misdemeanors ( , n ); commis[s]ioner ( n ); el[e]cting ( n ); intere[r/s]ts ( n ); convi[n]ction ( n ); bri[k/b]e-taking ( n ); incredi[ta]bly ( ); assoc[i]ates ( ); seriou[t/s] ( ); i though[t] it was ( ); sta[u]nchly ( ); dum[b]founded ( ); hundr[e]d ( , n ); offer[i]ng ( n ); dir[e]ct ( n ); kidnap[p]ing ( n ); advan[at/ta]ge ( n ); embar[r]assment ( n ); an[n]ouncement ( n ); parol[l]ed ( ); poli[ti]cal ( ); testimo[u/n]y (xxxiv); station[a/e]ry (xxxv); [a/a] uto livery (xxxv) the following is a list of punctuation corrections, where the printed image is ambiguous, or simply wrong, in favor of correct usage. court transcripts were not entirely consistent in the handling of quotations, especially hear-say quotations. p. n the people vs. patrick calhoun[./,] p. n pages and on[,] , p. n ['/"]butt in['/"] it was ford who did it.[']" p. n a writ of habeas corpus ( california, p. [.)/).] p. n he (ruef) said, ["/']all right, if he comes around i will talk with him.[']" p. a third telephone company[./,] p. n ten per cent[.] of the amount subscribed p. n putting the united railroads out of business.['/"] p. n notorious. [i/i]n not so doing p. n i don't want to hear anything more about ruef's testimony.[']" p. n he did telephone to mr. langdon.["] p. n have the $ , .["] ["/']one year after date the notes read, ["/']one year blix by frank norris chapter i it had just struck nine from the cuckoo clock that hung over the mantelpiece in the dining-room, when victorine brought in the halved watermelon and set it in front of mr. bessemer's plate. then she went down to the front door for the damp, twisted roll of the sunday morning's paper, and came back and rang the breakfast-bell for the second time. as the family still hesitated to appear, she went to the bay window at the end of the room, and stood there for a moment looking out. the view was wonderful. the bessemers lived upon the washington street hill, almost at its very summit, in a flat in the third story of the building. the contractor had been clever enough to reverse the position of kitchen and dining-room, so that the latter room was at the rear of the house. from its window one could command a sweep of san francisco bay and the contra costa shore, from mount diablo, along past oakland, berkeley, sausalito, and mount tamalpais, out to the golden gate, the presidio, the ocean, and even--on very clear days--to the farrallone islands. for some time victorine stood looking down at the great expanse of land and sea, then faced about with an impatient exclamation. on sundays all the week-day regime of the family was deranged, and breakfast was a movable feast, to be had any time after seven or before half-past nine. as victorine was pouring the ice-water, mr. bessemer himself came in, and addressed himself at once to his meal, without so much as a thought of waiting for the others. he was a little round man. he wore a skull-cap to keep his bald spot warm, and read his paper through a reading-glass. the expression of his face, wrinkled and bearded, the eyes shadowed by enormous gray eyebrows, was that of an amiable gorilla. bessemer was one of those men who seem entirely disassociated from their families. only on rare and intense occasions did his paternal spirit or instincts assert themselves. at table he talked but little. though devotedly fond of his eldest daughter, she was a puzzle and a stranger to him. his interests and hers were absolutely dissimilar. the children he seldom spoke to but to reprove; while howard, the son, the ten-year-old and terrible infant of the household, he always referred to as "that boy." he was an abstracted, self-centred old man, with but two hobbies--homoeopathy and the mechanism of clocks. but he had a strange way of talking to himself in a low voice, keeping up a running, half-whispered comment upon his own doings and actions; as, for instance, upon this occasion: "nine o'clock--the clock's a little fast. i think i'll wind my watch. no, i've forgotten my watch. watermelon this morning, eh? where's a knife? i'll have a little salt. victorine's forgot the spoons--ha, here's a spoon! no, it's a knife i want." after he had finished his watermelon, and while victorine was pouring his coffee, the two children came in, scrambling to their places, and drumming on the table with their knife-handles. the son and heir, howard, was very much a boy. he played baseball too well to be a very good boy, and for the sake of his own self-respect maintained an attitude of perpetual revolt against his older sister, who, as much as possible, took the place of the mother, long since dead. under her supervision, howard blacked his own shoes every morning before breakfast, changed his underclothes twice a week, and was dissuaded from playing with the dentist's son who lived three doors below and who had st. vitus' dance. his little sister was much more tractable. she had been christened alberta, and was called snooky. she promised to be pretty when she grew up, but was at this time in that distressing transitional stage between twelve and fifteen; was long-legged, and endowed with all the awkwardness of a colt. her shoes were still innocent of heels; but on those occasions when she was allowed to wear her tiny first pair of corsets she was exalted to an almost celestial pitch of silent ecstasy. the clasp of the miniature stays around her small body was like the embrace of a little lover, and awoke in her ideas that were as vague, as immature and unformed as the straight little figure itself. when snooky and howard had seated themselves, but one chair--at the end of the breakfast-table, opposite mr. bessemer--remained vacant. "is your sister--is miss travis going to have her breakfast now? is she got up yet?" inquired victorine of howard and snooky, as she pushed the cream pitcher out of howard's reach. it was significant of mr. bessemer's relations with his family that victorine did not address her question to him. "yes, yes, she's coming," said both the children, speaking together; and howard added: "here she comes now." travis bessemer came in. even in san francisco, where all women are more or less beautiful, travis passed for a beautiful girl. she was young, but tall as most men, and solidly, almost heavily built. her shoulders were broad, her chest was deep, her neck round and firm. she radiated health; there were exuberance and vitality in the very touch of her foot upon the carpet, and there was that cleanliness about her, that freshness, that suggested a recent plunge in the surf and a "constitutional" along the beach. one felt that here was stamina, good physical force, and fine animal vigor. her arms were large, her wrists were large, and her fingers did not taper. her hair was of a brown so light as to be almost yellow. in fact, it would be safer to call it yellow from the start--not golden nor flaxen, but plain, honest yellow. the skin of her face was clean and white, except where it flushed to a most charming pink upon her smooth, cool cheeks. her lips were full and red, her chin very round and a little salient. curiously enough, her eyes were small--small, but of the deepest, deepest brown, and always twinkling and alight, as though she were just ready to smile or had just done smiling, one could not say which. and nothing could have been more delightful than these sloe-brown, glinting little eyes of hers set off by her white skin and yellow hair. she impressed one as being a very normal girl: nothing morbid about her, nothing nervous or false or overwrought. you did not expect to find her introspective. you felt sure that her mental life was not at all the result of thoughts and reflections germinating from within, but rather of impressions and sensations that came to her from without. there was nothing extraordinary about travis. she never had her vagaries, was not moody--depressed one day and exalted the next. she was just a good, sweet, natural, healthy-minded, healthy-bodied girl, honest, strong, self-reliant, and good-tempered. though she was not yet dressed for church, there was style in her to the pointed tips of her patent-leather slippers. she wore a heavy black overskirt that rustled in delicious fashion over the colored silk skirt beneath, and a white shirt-waist, striped black, and starched to a rattling stiffness. her neck was swathed tight and high with a broad ribbon of white satin, while around her waist, in place of a belt, she wore the huge dog-collar of a st. bernard--a chic little idea which was all her own, and of which she was very proud. she was as trig and trim and crisp as a crack yacht: not a pin was loose, not a seam that did not fall in its precise right line; and with every movement there emanated from her a barely perceptible delicious feminine odor--an odor that was in part perfume, but mostly a subtle, vague smell, charming beyond words, that came from her hair, her neck, her arms--her whole sweet personality. she was nineteen years old. she sat down to breakfast and ate heartily, though with her attention divided between howard--who was atrociously bad, as usual of a sunday morning--and her father's plate. mr. bessemer was as like as not to leave the table without any breakfast at all unless his fruit, chops, and coffee were actually thrust under his nose. "papum," she called, speaking clear and distinct, as though to the deaf, "there's your coffee there at your elbow; be careful, you'll tip it over. victorine, push his cup further on the table. is it strong enough for you, papum?" "eh? ah, yes--yes--yes," murmured the old man, looking vaguely about him; "coffee, to be sure"--and he emptied the cup at a single draught, hardly knowing whether it was coffee or tea. "now i'll take a roll," he continued, in a monotonous murmur. "where are the rolls? here they are. hot rolls are bad for my digestion--i ought to eat bread. i think i eat too much. where's my place in the paper?--always lose my place in the paper. clever editorials this fellow eastman writes, unbiassed by party prejudice--unbiassed--unbiassed." his voice died to a whisper. the breakfast proceeded, travis supervising everything that went forward, even giving directions to victorine as to the hour for serving dinner. it was while she was talking to victorine as to this matter that snooky began to whine. "stop!" "and tell maggie," pursued travis, "to fricassee her chicken, and not to have it too well done--" "sto-o-op!" whined snooky again. "and leave the heart out for papum. he likes the heart--" "sto-o-op!" "unbiassed by prejudice," murmured mr. bessemer, "vigorous and to the point. i'll have another roll." "pa, make howard stop!" "howard!" exclaimed travis; "what is it now?" "howard's squirting watermelon-seeds at me," whined snooky, "and pa won't make him stop." "oh, i didn't so!" vociferated howard. "i only held one between my fingers, and it just kind of shot out." "you'll come upstairs with me in just five minutes," announced travis, "and get ready for sunday-school." howard knew that his older sister's decisions were as the laws of the persians, and found means to finish his breakfast within the specified time, though not without protest. once upstairs, however, the usual sunday morning drama of despatching him to sunday-school in presentable condition was enacted. at every moment his voice could be heard uplifted in shrill expostulation and debate. no, his hands were clean enough, and he didn't see why he had to wear that little old pink tie; and, oh! his new shoes were too tight and hurt his sore toe; and he wouldn't, he wouldn't--no, not if he were killed for it, change his shirt. not for a moment did travis lose her temper with him. but "very well," she declared at length, "the next time she saw that little miner girl she would tell her that he had said she was his beau-heart. now would he hold still while she brushed his hair?" at a few minutes before eleven travis and her father went to church. they were episcopalians, and for time out of mind had rented a half-pew in the church of their denomination on california street, not far from chinatown. by noon the family reassembled at dinner-table, where mr. bessemer ate his chicken-heart--after travis had thrice reminded him of it--and expressed himself as to the sermon and the minister's theology: sometimes to his daughter and sometimes to himself. after dinner howard and snooky foregathered in the nursery with their beloved lead soldiers; travis went to her room to write letters; and mr. bessemer sat in the bay window of the dining-room reading the paper from end to end. at five travis bestirred herself. it was victorine's afternoon out. travis set the table, spreading a cover of blue denim edged with white braid, which showed off the silver and the set of delft--her great and never-ending joy--to great effect. then she tied her apron about her, and went into the kitchen to make the mayonnaise dressing for the potato salad, to slice the ham, and to help the cook (a most inefficient irish person, taken on only for that month during the absence of the family's beloved and venerated sing wo) in the matter of preparing the sunday evening tea. tea was had at half-past five. never in the history of the family had its menu varied: cold ham, potato salad, pork and beans, canned fruit, chocolate, and the inevitable pitcher of ice-water. in the absence of victorine, maggie waited on the table, very uncomfortable in her one good dress and stiff white apron. she stood off from the table, making awkward dabs at it from time to time. in her excess of deference she developed a clumsiness that was beyond all expression. she passed the plates upon the wrong side, and remembered herself with a broken apology at inopportune moments. she dropped a spoon, she spilled the ice-water. she handled the delft cups and platters with an exaggerated solicitude, as though they were glass bombs. she brushed the crumbs into their laps instead of into the crumb-tray, and at last, when she had sat even travis' placid nerves in a jangle, was dismissed to the kitchen, and retired with a gasp of unspeakable relief. suddenly there came a prolonged trilling of the electric bell, and howard flashed a grin at travis. snooky jumped up and pushed back, crying out: "i'll go! i'll go!" mr. bessemer glanced nervously at travis. "that's mr. rivers, isn't it, daughter?" travis smiled. "well, i think i'll--i think i'd better--" he began. "no," said travis, "i don't want you to, papum; you sit right where you are. how absurd!" the old man dropped obediently back into his seat. "that's all right, maggie," said travis as the cook reappeared from the pantry. "snooky went." "huh!" exclaimed howard, his grin widening. "huh!" "and remember one thing, howard," remarked travis calmly, "don't you ever again ask mr. rivers for a nickel to put in your bank." mr. bessemer roused up. "did that boy do that?" he inquired sharply of travis. "well, well, he won't do it again," said travis soothingly. the old man glared for an instant at howard, who shifted uneasily in his seat. but meanwhile snooky had clambered down to the outside door, and before anything further could be said young rivers came into the dining-room. chapter ii for some reason, never made sufficiently clear, rivers' parents had handicapped him from the baptismal font with the prenomen of conde, which, however, upon anglo-saxon tongues, had been promptly modified to condy, or even, among his familiar and intimate friends, to conny. asked as to his birthplace--for no californian assumes that his neighbor is born in the state--condy was wont to reply that he was "bawn 'n' rais'" in chicago; "but," he always added, "i couldn't help that, you know." his people had come west in the early eighties, just in time to bury the father in alien soil. condy was an only child. he was educated at the state university, had a finishing year at yale, and a few months after his return home was taken on the staff of the san francisco "daily times" as an associate editor of its sunday supplement. for condy had developed a taste and talent in the matter of writing. short stories were his mania. he had begun by an inoculation of the kipling virus, had suffered an almost fatal attack of harding davis, and had even been affected by maupassant. he "went in" for accuracy of detail; held that if one wrote a story involving firemen one should have, or seem to have, every detail of the department at his fingers' ends, and should "bring in" to the tale all manner of technical names and cant phrases. much of his work on the sunday supplement of "the times" was of the hack order--special articles, write-ups, and interviews. about once a month, however, he wrote a short story, and of late, now that he was convalescing from maupassant and had begun to be somewhat himself, these stories had improved in quality, and one or two had even been copied in the eastern journals. he earned $ a month. when snooky had let him in, rivers dashed up the stairs of the bessemers' flat, two at a time, tossed his stick into a porcelain cane-rack in the hall, wrenched off his overcoat with a single movement, and precipitated himself, panting, into the dining-room, tugging at his gloves. he was twenty-eight years old--nearly ten years older than travis; tall and somewhat lean; his face smooth-shaven and pink all over, as if he had just given it a violent rubbing with a crash towel. unlike most writing folk, he dressed himself according to prevailing custom. but condy overdid the matter. his scarfs and cravats were too bright, his colored shirt-bosoms were too broadly barred, his waistcoats too extreme. even travis, as she rose to his abrupt entrance? told herself that of a sunday evening a pink shirt and scarlet tie were a combination hardly to be forgiven. condy shook her hand in both of his, then rushed over to mr. bessemer, exclaiming between breaths: "don't get up, sir--don't think of it! heavens! i'm disgustingly late. you're all through. my watch--this beastly watch of mine--i can't imagine how i came to be so late. you did quite right not to wait." then as his morbidly keen observation caught a certain look of blankness on travis' face, and his rapid glance noted no vacant chair at table, he gave a quick gasp of dismay. "heavens and earth! didn't you expect me?" he cried. "i thought you said--i thought--i must have forgotten--i must have got it mixed up somehow. what a hideous mistake, what a blunder! what a fool i am!" he dropped into a chair against the wall and mopped his forehead with a blue-bordered handkerchief. "well, what difference does it make, condy?" said travis quietly. "i'll put another place for you." "no, no!" he vociferated, jumping up. "i won't hear of it, i won't permit it! you'll think i did it on purpose!" travis ignored his interference, and made a place for him opposite the children, and had maggie make some more chocolate. condy meanwhile covered himself with opprobrium. "and all this trouble--i always make trouble everywhere i go. always a round man in a square hole, or a square man in a round hole." he got up and sat down again, crossed and recrossed his legs, picked up little ornaments from the mantelpiece, and replaced them without consciousness of what they were, and finally broke the crystal of his watch as he was resetting it by the cuckoo clock. "hello!" he exclaimed suddenly, "where did you get that clock? where did you get that clock? that's new to me. where did that come from?" "that cuckoo clock?" inquired travis, with a stare. "condy rivers, you've been here and in this room at least twice a week for the last year and a half, and that clock, and no other, has always hung there." but already condy had forgotten or lost interest in the clock. "is that so? is that so?" he murmured absent-mindedly, seating himself at the table. mr. bessemer was murmuring: "that clock's a little fast. i can not make that clock keep time. victorine has lost the key. i have to wind it with a monkey-wrench. now i'll try some more beans. maggie has put in too much pepper. i'll have to have a new key made to-morrow." "hey? yes--yes. is that so?" answered condy rivers, bewildered, wishing to be polite, yet unable to follow the old man's mutterings. "he's not talking to you," remarked travis, without lowering her voice. "you know how papum goes on. he won't hear a word you say. well, i read your story in this morning's 'times.'" a few moments later, while travers and condy were still discussing this story, mr. bessemer rose. "well, mr. rivers," he announced, "i guess i'll say good-night. come, snooky." "yes, take her with you, papum," said travis. "she'll go to sleep on the lounge here if you don't. howard, have you got your lessons for to-morrow?" it appeared that he had not. snooky whined to stay up a little longer, but at last consented to go with her father. they all bade condy good-night and took themselves away, howard lingering a moment in the door in the hope of the nickel he dared not ask for. maggie reappeared to clear away the table. "let's go in the parlor," suggested travis, rising. "don't you want to?" the parlor was the front room overlooking the street, and was reached by the long hall that ran the whole length of the flat, passing by the door of each one of its eight rooms in turn. travis preceded condy, and turned up one of the burners in colored globe of the little brass chandelier. the parlor was a small affair, peopled by a family of chairs and sofas robed in white drugget. a gold-and-white effect had been striven for throughout the room. the walls had been tinted instead of papered, and bunches of hand-painted pink flowers tied up with blue ribbons straggled from one corner of the ceiling. across one angle of the room straddled a brass easel upholding a crayon portrait of travis at the age of nine, "enlarged from a photograph." a yellow drape ornamented one corner of the frame, while another drape of blue depended from one end of the mantelpiece. the piano, upon which nobody ever played, balanced the easel in an opposite corner. over the mantelpiece hung in a gilded frame a steel engraving of priscilla and john alden; and on the mantel itself two bisque figures of an italian fisher boy and girl kept company with the clock, a huge timepiece, set in a red plush palette, that never was known to go. but at the right of the fireplace, and balancing the tuft of pampa-grass to the left, was an inverted section of a sewer-pipe painted blue and decorated with daisies. into it was thrust a sheaf of cat-tails, gilded, and tied with a pink ribbon. travis dropped upon the shrouded sofa, and condy set himself carefully down on one of the frail chairs with its spindling golden legs, and they began to talk. condy had taken her to the theatre the monday night of that week, as had been his custom ever since he had known her well, and there was something left for them to say on that subject. but in ten minutes they had exhausted it. an engagement of a girl known to both of them had just been announced. condy brought that up, and kept conversation going for another twenty minutes, and then filled in what threatened to be a gap by telling her stories of the society reporters, and how they got inside news by listening to telephone party wires for days at a time. travis' condemnation of this occupied another five or ten minutes; and so what with this and with that they reached nine o'clock. then decidedly the evening began to drag. it was too early to go. condy could find no good excuse for taking himself away, and, though travis was good-natured enough, and met him more than half-way, their talk lapsed, and lapsed, and lapsed. the breaks became more numerous and lasted longer. condy began to wonder if he was boring her. no sooner had the suspicion entered his head than it hardened into a certainty, and at once what little fluency and freshness he yet retained forsook him on the spot. what made matters worse was his recollection of other evenings that of late he had failed in precisely the same manner. even while he struggled to save the situation condy was wondering if they two were talked out--if they had lost charm for each other. did he not know travis through and through by now--her opinions, her ideas, her convictions? was there any more freshness in her for him? was their little flirtation of the last eighteen months, charming as it had been, about to end? had they played out the play, had they come to the end of each other's resources? he had never considered the possibility of this before, but all at once as he looked at travis--looked fairly into her little brown-black eyes--it was borne in upon him that she was thinking precisely the same thing. condy rivers had met travis at a dance a year and a half before this, and, because she was so very pretty, so unaffected, and so good-natured, had found means to see her three or four times a week ever since. they two "went out" not a little in san francisco society, and had been in a measure identified with what was known as the younger set; though travis was too young to come out, and rivers too old to feel very much at home with girls of twenty and boys of eighteen. they had known each other in the conventional way (as conventionality goes in san francisco); during the season rivers took her to the theatres monday nights, and called regularly wednesdays and sundays. then they met at dances, and managed to be invited to the same houses for teas and dinners. they had flirted rather desperately, and at times condy even told himself that he loved this girl so much younger than he--this girl with the smiling eyes and robust figure and yellow hair, who was so frank, so straightforward, and so wonderfully pretty. but evidently they had come to the last move in the game, and as condy reflected that after all he had never known the real travis, that the girl whom he told himself he knew through and through was only the travis of dinner parties and afternoon functions, he was suddenly surprised to experience a sudden qualm of deep and genuine regret. he had never been near to her, after all. they were as far apart as when they had first met. and yet he knew enough of her to know that she was "worth while." he had had experience--all the experience he wanted--with other older women and girls of society. they were sophisticated, they were all a little tired, they had run the gamut of amusements--in a word, they were jaded. but travis, this girl of nineteen, who was not yet even a debutante, had been fresh and unspoiled, had been new and strong and young. "of course, you may call it what you like. he was nothing more nor less than intoxicated--yes, drunk." "hah! who--what--wh--what are you talking about?" gasped condy sitting bolt upright. "jack carter," answered travis. "no," she added, shaking her head at him helplessly, "he hasn't been listening to a word. i'm talking about jack carter and the 'saturday evening' last night." "no, no, i haven't heard. forgive me; i was thinking--thinking of something else. who was drunk?" travis paused a moment, settling her side-combs in her hair; then: "if you will try to listen, i'll tell it all over again, because it's serious with me, and i'm going to take a very decided stand about it. you know," she went on--"you know what the 'saturday evening' is. plenty of the girls who are not 'out' belong, and a good many of last year's debutantes come, as well as the older girls of three or four seasons' standing. you could call it representative couldn't you? well, they always serve punch; and you know yourself that you have seen men there who have taken more than they should." "yes, yes," admitted condy. "i know carter and the two catlin boys always do." "it gets pretty bad sometimes, doesn't it?" she said. "it does, it does--and it's shameful. but most of the girls--most of them don't seem to mind." miss bessemer stiffened a bit. "there are one or two girls that do," she said quietly. "frank catlin had the decency to go home last night," she continued; "and his brother wasn't any worse than usual. but jack carter must have been drinking before he came. he was very bad indeed--as bad," she said between her teeth, "as he could be and yet walk straight. as you say, most of the girls don't mind. they say, 'it's only johnnie carter; what do you expect?' but one of the girls--you know her, laurie flagg--cut a dance with him last night and told him exactly why. of course, carter was furious. he was sober enough to think he had been insulted; and what do you suppose he did?" "what? what?" exclaimed condy, breathless, leaning toward her. "went about the halls and dressing-rooms circulating some dirty little lie about laurie. actually trying to--to"--travis hesitated--"to make a scandal about her." condy bounded in his seat. "beast, cad, swine!" he exclaimed. "i didn't think," said travis, "that carter would so much as dare to ask me to dance with him--" "did he? did--did--" "wait," she interrupted. "so i wasn't at all prepared for what happened. during the german, before i knew it, there he was in front of me. it was a break, and he wanted it. i hadn't time to think. the only idea i had was that if i refused him he might tell some dirty little lie about me. i was all confused--mixed up. i felt just as though it were a snake that i had to humor to get rid of. i gave him the break." condy sat speechless. suddenly he arose. "well, now, let's see," he began, speaking rapidly, his hands twisting and untwisting till the knuckles cracked. "now, let's see. you leave it to me. i know carter. he's going to be at a stag dinner where i am invited to-morrow night, and i--i--" "no, you won't, condy," said travis placidly. "you'll pay no attention to it, and i'll tell you why. suppose you should make a scene with mr. carter--i don't know how men settle these things. well, it would be told in all the clubs and in all the newspaper offices that two men had quarreled over a girl; and my name is mentioned, discussed, and handed around from one crowd of men to another, from one club to another; and then, of course, the papers take it up. by that time mr. carter will have told his side of the story and invented another dirty little lie, and i'm the one who suffers the most in the end. and remember, condy, that i haven't any mother in such an affair, not even an older sister. no, we'll just let the matter drop. it would be more dignified, anyhow. only i have made up my mind what i am going to do." "what's that?" "i'm not coming out. if that's the sort of thing one has to put up with in society"--travis drew a little line on the sofa at her side with her finger-tip--"i am going to--stop--right--there. it's not"--miss bessemer stiffened again--"that i'm afraid of jack carter and his dirty stories; i simply don't want to know the kind of people who have made jack carter possible. the other girls don't mind it, nor many men besides you, condy; and i'm not going to be associated with people who take it as a joke for a man to come to a function drunk. and as for having a good time, i'll find my amusements somewhere else. i'll ride a wheel, take long walks, study something. but as for leading the life of a society girl--no! and whether i have a good time or not, i'll keep my own self-respect. at least i'll never have to dance with a drunken man. i won't have to humiliate myself like that a second time." "but i presume you will still continue to go out somewhere," protested condy rivers. she shook her head. "i have thought it all over, and i've talked about it with papum. there's no half way about it. the only way to stop is to stop short. just this afternoon i've regretted three functions for next week, and i shall resign from the 'saturday evening.' oh, it's not the jack carter affair alone!" she exclaimed; "the whole thing tires me. mind, condy," she exclaimed, "i'm not going to break with it because i have any 'purpose in life,' or that sort of thing. i want to have a good time, and i'm going to see if i can't have it in my own way. if the kind of thing that makes jack carter possible is conventionality, then i'm done with conventionality for good. i am going to try, from this time on, to be just as true to myself as i can be. i am going to be sincere, and not pretend to like people and things that i don't like; and i'm going to do the things that i like to do--just so long as they are the things a good girl can do. see, condy?" "you're fine," murmured condy breathless. "you're fine as gold, travis, and i--i love you all the better for it." "ah, now!" exclaimed travis, with a brusque movement, "there's mother thing we must talk about. no more foolishness between us. we've had a jolly little flirtation, i know, and it's been good fun while it lasted. i know you like me, and you know that i like you; but as for loving each other, you know we don't. yes, you say that you love me and that i'm the only girl. that's part of the game. i can play it"--her little eyes began to dance--"quite as well as you. but it's playing with something that's quite too serious to be played with--after all, isn't it, now? it's insincere, and, as i tell you, from now on i'm going to be as true and as sincere and as honest as i can." "but i tell you that i do love you," protested condy, trying to make the words ring true. travis looked about the room an instant as if in deliberation; then abruptly: "ah! what am i going to do with such a boy as you are, after all--a great big, overgrown boy? condy rivers, look at me straight in the eye. tell me, do you honestly love me? you know what i mean when i say 'love.' do you love me?" "no, i don't!" he exclaimed blankly, as though he had just discovered the fact. "there!" declared travis--"and i don't love you." they both began to laugh. "now," added travis, "we don't need to have the burden and trouble of keeping up the pretences any more. we understand each other, don't we?" "this is queer enough," said condy drolly. "but isn't it an improvement?" condy scoured his head. "tell me the truth," she insisted; "you be sincere." "i do believe it is. why--why--travis by jingo! travis, i think i'm going to like you better than ever now." "never mind. is it an agreement?" "what is?" "that we don't pretend to love each other any more?" "all right--yes--you're right; because the moment i began to love you i should like you so much less." she put out her hand. "that's an agreement, then." condy took her hand in his. "yes, it's an agreement." but when, as had been his custom, he made as though to kiss her hand, travis drew it quickly away. "no! no!" she said firmly, smiling for all that--"no more foolishness." "but--but," he protested, "it's not so radical as that, is it? you're not going to overturn such time-worn, time-honored customs as that? why, this is a regular rebellion." "no, sire," quoted travis, trying not to laugh, "it is a revolution." chapter iii although monday was practically a holiday for the sunday-supplement staff of "the times," condy rivers made a point to get down to the office betimes the next morning. there were reasons why a certain article descriptive of a great whaleback steamer taking on grain for famine-stricken india should be written that day, and rivers wanted his afternoon free in order to go to laurie flagg's coming-out tea. but as he came into his room at "the times" office, which he shared with the exchange and sporting editors, and settled himself at his desk, he suddenly remembered that, under the new order of things, he need not expect to see travis at the flaggs'. "well," he muttered, "maybe it doesn't make so much difference, after all. she was a corking fine girl, but--might as well admit it--the play is played out. of course, i don't love her--any more than she loves me. i'll see less and less of her now. it's inevitable, and after a while we'll hardly even meet. in a way, it's a pity; but, of course, one has to be sensible about these things. . . . well, this whaleback now." he rang up the chamber of commerce, and found out that the "city of everett," which was the whaleback's name, was at the mission street wharf. this made it possible for him to write the article in two ways. he either could fake his copy from a clipping on the subject which the exchange editor had laid on his desk, or he could go down in person to the wharf, interview the captain, and inspect the craft for himself. the former was the short and easy method. the latter was more troublesome, but would result in a far more interesting article. condy debated the subject a few minutes, then decided to go down to the wharf. san francisco's water-front was always interesting, and he might get hold of a photograph of the whaleback. all at once the "idea" of the article struck him, the certain underlying notion that would give importance and weight to the mere details and descriptions. condy's enthusiasm flared up in an instant. "by jove!" he exclaimed; "by jove!" he clapped on his hat wrong side foremost, crammed a sheaf of copy-paper into his pocket, and was on the street again in another moment. then it occurred to him that he had forgotten to call at his club that morning for his mail, as was his custom, on the way to the office. he looked at his watch. it was early yet, and his club was but two blocks' distance. he decided that he would get his letters at the club, and read them on the way down to the wharf. for condy had joined a certain san francisco club of artists, journalists, musicians, and professional men that is one of the institutions of the city, and, in fact, famous throughout the united states. he was one of the younger members, but was popular and well liked, and on more than one occasion had materially contributed to the fun of the club's "low jinks." in his box this morning he found one letter that he told himself he must read upon the instant. it bore upon the envelope the name of a new york publishing house to whom condy had sent a collection of his short stories about a month before. he took the letter into the "round window" of the club, overlooking the street, and tore it open excitedly. the fact that he had received a letter from the firm without the return of his manuscript seemed a good omen. this was what he read: conde rivers, esq., bohemian club, san francisco, cal. dear sir: we return to you by this mail the manuscript of your stories, which we do not consider as available for publication at the present moment. we would say, however, that we find in several of them indications of a quite unusual order of merit. the best-selling book just now is the short novel--say thirty thousand words--of action and adventure. judging from the stories of your collection, we suspect that your talent lies in this direction, and we would suggest that you write such a novel and submit the same to us. very respectfully, the centennial co., new york. condy shoved the letter into his pocket and collapsed limply into his chair. "what's the good of trying to do anything anyhow!" he muttered, looking gloomily down into the street. "my level is just the hack-work of a local sunday supplement, and i am a fool to think of anything else." his enthusiasm in the matter of the "city of everett" was cold and dead in a moment. he could see no possibilities in the subject whatever. his "idea" of a few minutes previous seemed ridiculous and overwrought. he would go back to the office and grind out his copy from the exchange editor's clipping. just then his eye was caught by a familiar figure in trim, well-fitting black halted on the opposite corner waiting for the passage of a cable car. it was travis bessemer. no one but she could carry off such rigorous simplicity in the matter of dress so well: black skirt, black russian blouse, tiny black bonnet and black veil, white kids with black stitching. simplicity itself. yet the style of her, as condy rivers told himself, flew up and hit you in the face; and her figure--was there anything more perfect? and the soft pretty effect of her yellow hair seen through the veil--could anything be more fetching? and her smart carriage and the fling of her fine broad shoulders, and--no, it was no use; condy had to run down to speak to her. "come, come!" she said as he pretended to jostle against her on the curbstone without noticing her; "you had best go to work. loafing at ten o'clock on the street corners--the idea!" "it is not--it can not be--and yet it is--it is she," he burlesqued; "and after all these years!" then in his natural voice: "hello t.b." "hello, c.r." "where are you going?' "home. i've just run down for half an hour to have the head of my banjo tightened." "if i put you on the car, will you expect me to pay your car-fare?" "condy rivers, i've long since got over the idea of ever expecting you to have any change concealed about your person." "huh! no, it all goes for theatre tickets, and flowers, and boxes of candy for a certain girl i know. but"--and he glared at her significantly--"no more foolishness." she laughed. "what are you 'on' this morning, condy?" condy told her as they started to walk toward kearney street. "but why don't you go to the dock and see the vessel, if you can make a better article that way?" "oh, what's the good! the centennial people have turned down my stories." she commiserated him for this; then suddenly exclaimed: "no, you must go down to the dock! you ought to, condy. oh, i tell you, let me go down with you!" in an instant condy leaped to the notion. "splendid! splendid! no reason why you shouldn't!" he exclaimed. and within fifteen minutes the two were treading the wharves and quays of the city's water-front. ships innumerable nuzzled at the endless line of docks, mast overspiring mast, and bowsprit overlapping bowsprit, till the eye was bewildered, as if by the confusion of branches in a leafless forest. in the distance the mass of rigging resolved itself into a solid gray blur against the sky. the great hulks, green and black and slate gray, laid themselves along the docks, straining leisurely at their mammoth chains, their flanks opened, their cargoes, as it were their entrails, spewed out in a wild disarray of crate and bale and box. sailors and stevedores swarmed them like vermin. trucks rolled along the wharves like peals of ordnance, the horse-hoofs beating the boards like heavy drum-taps. chains clanked, a ship's dog barked incessantly from a companionway, ropes creaked in complaining pulleys, blocks rattled, hoisting-engines coughed and strangled, while all the air was redolent of oakum, of pitch, of paint, of spices, of ripe fruit, of clean cool lumber, of coffee, of tar, of bilge, and the brisk, nimble odor of the sea. travis was delighted, her little brown eyes snapping, her cheeks flushing, as she drank in the scene. "to think," she cried, "where all these ships have come from! look at their names; aren't they perfect? just the names, see: the 'mary baker,' hull; and the 'anandale,' liverpool; and the 'two sisters,' calcutta, and see that one they're calking, the 'montevideo,' callao; and there, look! look! the very one you're looking for, the 'city of everett,' san francisco." the whaleback, an immense tube of steel plates, lay at her wharf, sucking in entire harvests of wheat from the san joaquin valley--harvests that were to feed strangely clad skeletons on the southern slopes of the himalaya foot-hills. travis and condy edged their way among piles of wheat-bags, dodging drays and rumbling trucks, and finally brought up at the after gangplank, where a sailor halted them. condy exhibited his reporter's badge. "i represent 'the times,'" he said, with profound solemnity, "and i want to see the officer in charge." the sailor fell back upon the instant. "power of the press," whispered condy to travis as the two gained the deck. a second sailor directed them to the mate, whom they found in the chart-room, engaged, singularly enough, in trimming the leaves of a scraggly geranium. condy explained his mission with flattering allusions to the whaleback and the novelty of the construction. the mate--an old man with a patriarchal beard--softened at once, asked them into his own cabin aft, and even brought out a camp-stool for travis, brushing it with his sleeve before setting it down. while condy was interviewing the old fellow, travis was examining, with the interest of a child, the details of the cabin: the rack-like bunk, the washstand, ingeniously constructed so as to shut into the bulkhead when not in use, the alarm-clock screwed to the wall, and the array of photographs thrust into the mirror between frame and glass. one, an old daguerreotype, particularly caught her fancy. it was the portrait of a very beautiful girl, wearing the old-fashioned side curls and high comb of a half-century previous. the old mate noticed the attention she paid to it, and, as soon as he had done giving information to condy, turned and nodded to travis, and said quietly: "she was pretty, wasn't she?" "oh, very!" answered travis, without looking away. there was a silence. then the mate, his eyes wide and thoughtful, said with a long breath: "and she was just about your age, miss, when i saw her; and you favor her, too." condy and travis held their breaths in attention. there in the cabin of that curious nondescript whaleback they had come suddenly to the edge of a romance--a romance that had been lived through before they were born. then travis said in a low voice, and sweetly: "she died?" "before i ever set eyes on her, miss. that is, maybe she died. i sometimes think--fact is, i really believe she's alive yet, and waiting for me." he hesitated awkwardly. "i dunno," he said pulling his beard. "i don't usually tell that story to strange folk, but you remind me so of her that i guess i will." condy sat down on the edge of the bunk, and the mate seated himself on the plush settle opposite the door, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on a patch of bright sunlight upon the deck outside. "i began life," he said, "as a deep-sea diver--began pretty young, too. i first put on the armor when i was twenty, nothing but a lad; but i could take the pressure up to seventy pounds even then. one of my very first dives was off trincomalee, on the coast of ceylon. a mail packet had gone down in a squall with all on board. six of the bodies had come up and had been recovered, but the seventh hadn't. it was the body of the daughter of the governor of the island, a beautiful young girl of nineteen, whom everybody loved. i was sent for to go down and bring the body up. well, i went down. the packet lay in a hundred feet of water, and that's a wonder deep dive. i had to go down twice. the first time i couldn't find anything, though i went all through the berth-deck. i came up to the wrecking-float and reported that i had seen nothing. there were a lot of men there belonging to the wrecking gang, and some correspondents of london papers. but they would have it that she was below, and had me go down again. i did, and this time i found her." the mate paused a moment "i'll have to tell you," he went on, "that when a body don't come to the surface it will stand or sit in a perfectly natural position until a current or movement of the water around touches it. when that happens--well, you'd say the body was alive; and old divers have a superstition--no, it ain't just a superstition, i believe it's so--that drowned people really don't die till they come to the surface, and the air touches them. we say that the drowned who don't come up still have some sort of life of their own way down there in all that green water . . . some kind of life . . . surely . . . surely. when i went down the second time, i came across the door of what i thought at first was the linen-closet. but it turned out to be a little stateroom. i opened it. there was the girl. she was sitting on the sofa opposite the door, with a little hat on her head, and holding a satchel in her lap, just as if she was ready to go ashore. her eyes were wide open, and she was looking right at me and smiling. it didn't seem terrible or ghastly in the least. she seemed very sweet. when i opened the door it set the water in motion, and she got up and dropped the satchel, and came toward me smiling and holding out her arms. "i stepped back quick and shut the door, and sat down in one of the saloon chairs to fetch my breath, for it had given me a start. the next thing to do was to send her up. but i began to think. she seemed so pretty as she was. what was the use of bringing her up--up there on the wrecking float with that crowd of men--up where the air would get at her, and where they would put her in the ground along o' the worms? if i left her there she'd always be sweet and pretty--always be nineteen; and i remembered what old divers said about drowned people living just so long as they stayed below. you see, i was only a lad then, and things like that impress you when you're young. well, i signaled to be hauled up. they asked me on the float if i'd seen anything, and i said no. that was all there was to the affair. they never raised the ship, and in a little while it was all forgotten. "but i never forgot it, and i always remembered her, way down there in all that still green water, waiting there in that little state-room for me to come back and open the door. and i've growed to be an old man remembering her; but she's always stayed just as she was the first day i saw her, when she came toward me smiling and holding out her arms. she's always stayed young and fresh and pretty. i never saw her but that once. only afterward i got her picture from a native woman of trincomalee who was house-keeper at the residency where the governor of the island lived. somehow i never could care for other women after that, and i ain't never married for that reason." "no, no, of course not! exclaimed travis, in a low voice as the old fellow paused. "fine, fine; oh, fine as gold!" murmured condy, under his breath. "well," said the mate, getting up and rubbing his knee, "that's the story. now you know all about that picture. will you have a glass of madeira, miss?" he got out a bottle of wine bearing the genuine funchal label and filled three tiny glasses. travis pushed up her veil, and she and condy rose. "this is to her," said travis gravely. "thank you, miss," answered the mate, and the three drank in silence. as travis and condy were going down the gangplank they met the captain of the whaleback coming up. "i saw you in there talking to old mcpherson," he explained. "did you get what you wanted from him?" "more, more!" exclaimed condy. "my hand in the fire, he told you that yarn about the girl who was drowned off trincomalee. of course, i knew it. the old boy's wits are turned on that subject. he will have it that the body hasn't decomposed in all this time. good seaman enough, and a first-class navigator, but he's soft in that one spot." chapter iv "oh, but the story of it!" exclaimed condy as he and travis regained the wharf--"the story of it! isn't it a ripper. isn't it a corker! his leaving her that way, and never caring for any other girl afterward." "and so original," she commented, quite as enthusiastic as he. "original?--why, it's new as paint! it's--it's--travis, i'll make a story out of this that will be copied in every paper between the two oceans." they were so interested in the mate's story that they forgot to take a car, and walked up clay street talking it over, suggesting, rearranging, and embellishing; and condy was astonished and delighted to note that she "caught on" to the idea as quickly as he, and knew the telling points and what details to leave out. "and i'll make a bang-up article out of the whaleback herself," declared condy. the "idea" of the article had returned to him, and all his enthusiasm with it. "and look here," he said, showing her the letter from the centennial company. "they turned down my book, but see what they say. "quite an unusual order of merit!" cried travis. "why, that's fine! why didn't you show this to me before?--and asking you like this to write them a novel of adventure! what more can you want? oh!" she exclaimed impatiently, "that's so like you; you would tell everybody about your reverses, and carry on about them yourself, but never say a word when you get a little boom. have you an idea for a thirty-thousand-word novel? wouldn't that diver's story do?" "no, there's not enough in that for thirty thousand words. i haven't any idea at all--never wrote a story of adventure--never wrote anything longer than six thousand words. but i'll keep my eye open for something that will do. by the way--by jove! travis, where are we?" they looked briskly around them, and the bustling, breezy waterfront faded from their recollections. they were in a world of narrow streets, of galleries and overhanging balconies. craziest structures, riddled and honeycombed with stairways and passages, shut out the sky, though here and there rose a building of extraordinary richness and most elaborate ornamentation. color was everywhere. a thousand little notes of green and yellow, of vermilion and sky blue, assaulted the eye. here it was a doorway, here a vivid glint of cloth or hanging, here a huge scarlet sign lettered with gold, and here a kaleidoscopic effect in the garments of a passer-by. directly opposite, and two stories above their heads, a sort of huge "loggia," one blaze of gilding and crude vermilions, opened in the gray cement of a crumbling facade, like a sudden burst of flame. gigantic pot-bellied lanterns of red and gold swung from its ceiling, while along its railing stood a row of pots--brass, ruddy bronze, and blue porcelain--from which were growing red saffron, purple, pink, and golden tulips without number. the air was vibrant with unfamiliar noises. from one of the balconies near at hand, though unseen, a gong, a pipe, and some kind of stringed instrument wailed and thundered in unison. there was a vast shuffling of padded soles and a continuous interchange of singsong monosyllables, high-pitched and staccato, while from every hand rose the strange aromas of the east--sandalwood, punk, incense, oil, and the smell of mysterious cookery. "chinatown!" exclaimed travis. "i hadn't the faintest idea we had come up so far. condy rivers, do you know what time it is?" she pointed a white kid finger through the doorway of a drug-store, where, amid lacquer boxes and bronze urns of herbs and dried seeds, a round seth thomas marked half-past two. "and your lunch?" cried condy. "great heavens! i never thought." "it's too late to get any at home. never mind; i'll go somewhere and have a cup of tea." "why not get a package of chinese tea, now that you're down here, and take it home with you?" "or drink it here." "where?" "in one of the restaurants. there wouldn't be a soul there at this hour. i know they serve tea any time. condy, let's try it. wouldn't it be fun?" condy smote his thigh. "fun!" he vociferated; "fun! it is--by jove--it would be heavenly! wait a moment. i'll tell you what we will do. tea won't be enough. we'll go down to kearney street, or to the market, and get some crackers to go with it." they hurried back to the california market, a few blocks distant, and bought some crackers and a wedge of new cheese. on the way back to chinatown travis stopped at a music store on kearney street to get her banjo, which she had left to have its head tightened; and thus burdened they regained the "town," condy grieving audibly at having to carry "brown-paper bundles through the street." "first catch your restaurant," said travis as they turned into dupont street with its thronging coolies and swarming, gayly clad children. but they had not far to seek. "here you are!" suddenly exclaimed condy, halting in front of a wholesale tea-house bearing a sign in chinese and english. "come on, travis!" they ascended two flights of a broad, brass-bound staircase leading up from the ground floor, and gained the restaurant on the top story of the building. as travis had foretold, it was deserted. she clasped her gloved hands gayly, crying: "isn't it delightful! we've the whole place to ourselves." the restaurant ran the whole depth of the building, and was finished off at either extremity with a gilded balcony, one overlooking dupont street and the other the old plaza. enormous screens of gilded ebony, intricately carved and set with colored glass panes, divided the room into three, and one of these divisions, in the rear part, from which they could step out upon the balcony that commanded the view of the plaza, they elected as their own. it was charming. at their backs they had the huge, fantastic screen, brave and fine with its coat of gold. in front, through the glass-paned valves of a pair of folding doors, they could see the roofs of the houses beyond the plaza, and beyond these the blue of the bay with its anchored ships, and even beyond this the faint purple of the oakland shore. on either side of these doors, in deep alcoves, were divans with mattings and head-rests for opium smokers. the walls were painted blue and hung with vertical cantonese legends in red and silver, while all around the sides of the room small ebony tables alternated with ebony stools, each inlaid with a slab of mottled marble. a chandelier, all a-glitter with tinsel, swung from the centre of the ceiling over a huge round table of mahogany. and not a soul was there to disturb them. below them, out there around the old plaza, the city drummed through its work with a lazy, soothing rumble. nearer at hand, chinatown sent up the vague murmur of the life of the orient. in the direction of the mexican quarter, the bell of the cathedral knolled at intervals. the sky was without a cloud and the afternoon was warm. condy was inarticulate with the joy of what he called their "discovery." he got up and sat down. he went out into the other room and came back again. he dragged up a couple of the marble-seated stools to the table. he took off his hat, lighted a cigarette, let it go out, lighted it again, and burned his fingers. he opened and closed the folding-doors, pushed the table into a better light, and finally brought travis out upon the balcony to show her the "points of historical interest" in and around the plaza. "there's the stevenson memorial ship in the centre, see; and right there, where the flagstaff is, general baker made the funeral oration over the body of terry. broderick killed him in a duel--or was it terry killed broderick? i forget which. anyhow, right opposite, where that pawnshop is, is where the overland stages used to start in ' . and every other building that fronts on the plaza, even this one we're in now, used to be a gambling-house in bonanza times; and, see, over yonder is the morgue and the city prison." they turned back into the room, and a great, fat chinaman brought them tea on condy's order. but besides tea, he brought dried almonds, pickled watermelon rinds, candied quince, and "china nuts." travis cut the cheese into cubes with condy's penknife, and arranged the cubes in geometric figures upon the crackers. "but, condy," she complained, "why in the world did you get so many crackers? there's hundreds of them here--enough to feed a regiment. why didn't you ask me?" "huh! what? what? i don't know. what's the matter with the crackers? you were dickering with the cheese, and the man said, 'how many crackers?' i didn't know. i said, 'oh, give me a quarter's worth!'" "and we couldn't possibly have eaten ten cents' worth! oh, condy, you are--you are--but never mind, here's your tea. i wonder if this green, pasty stuff is good." they found that it was, but so sweet that it made their tea taste bitter. the watermelon rinds were flat to their western palates, but the dried almonds were a great success. then condy promptly got the hiccoughs from drinking his tea too fast, and fretted up and down the room like a chicken with the pip till travis grew faint and weak with laughter. "oh, well," he exclaimed aggrievedly--"laugh, that's right! i don't laugh. it isn't such fun when you've got 'em yoursel'--hulp." "but sit down, for goodness' sake! you make me so nervous. you can't walk them off. sit down and hold your breath while you count nine. condy, i'm going to take off my gloves and veil. what do you think?" "sure, of course; and i'll have a cigarette. do you mind if i smoke?" "well, what's that in your hand now?" "by jove, i have been smoking! i--i beg your pardon. i'm a regular stable boy. i'll throw it away." travis caught his wrist. "what nonsense! i would have told you before if i'd minded." "but it's gone out!" he exclaimed. "i'll have another." as he reached into his pocket for his case, his hand encountered a paper-covered volume, and he drew it out in some perplexity. "now, how in the wide world did that book come in my pocket?" he muttered, frowning. "what have i been carrying it around for? i've forgotten. i declare i have." "what book is it?" "hey? book? . . . h'm," he murmured, staring. travis pounded on the table. "wake up, condy, i'm talking to you," she called. "it's 'life's handicap,'" he answered, with a start; "but why and but why have i--" "what's it about? i never heard of it," she declared. "you never heard of 'life's handicap'?" he shouted; "you never heard--you never--you mean to say you never heard--but here, this won't do. sit right still, and i'll read you one of these yarns before you're another minute older. any one of them--open the book at random. here we are--'the strange ride of morrowbie jukes'; and it's a stem-winder, too." and then for the first time in her life, there in that airy, golden chinese restaurant, in the city from which he hasted to flee, travis bessemer fell under the charm of the little spectacled colonial, to whose song we all must listen and to whose pipe we all must dance. there was one "point" in the story of jukes' strange ride that condy prided himself upon having discovered. so far as he knew, all critics had overlooked it. it is where jukes is describing the man-trap of the city of the dead who are alive, and mentions that the slope of the inclosing sandhills was "about forty-five degrees." jukes was a civil engineer, and condy held that it was a capital bit of realism on the part of the author to have him speak of the pitch of the hills in just such technical terms. at first he thought he would call travis' attention to this bit of cleverness; but as he read he abruptly changed his mind. he would see if she would find it out for herself. it would be a test of her quickness, he told himself; almost an unfair test, because the point was extremely subtle and could easily be ignored by the most experienced of fiction readers. he read steadily on, working himself into a positive excitement as he approached the passage. he came to it and read it through without any emphasis, almost slurring over it in his eagerness to be perfectly fair. but as he began to read the next paragraph, travis, her little eyes sparkling with interest and attention, exclaimed: "just as an engineer would describe it. isn't that good!" "glory hallelujah!" cried condy, slamming down the book joyfully. "travis, you are one in a thousand!" "what--what is it?' she inquired blankly. "never mind, never mind; you're a wonder, that's all"--and he finished the tale without further explanation. then, while he smoked another cigarette and she drank another cup of tea, he read to her "the return of imri" and the "incarnation of krishna mulvaney." he found her an easy and enrapt convert to the little englishman's creed, and for himself tasted the intense delight of revealing to another an appreciation of a literature hitherto ignored. "isn't he strong!" cried travis. "just a little better than marie corelli and the duchess!" "and to think of having all those stories to read! you haven't read any of them yet?" "not a one. i've been reading only the novels we take up in the wednesday class." "lord!" muttered condy. condy's spirits had been steadily rising since the incident aboard the whaleback. the exhilaration of the water-front, his delight over the story he was to make out of the old mate's yarn, chinatown, the charming unconventionality of their lunch in the chinese restaurant, the sparkling serenity of the afternoon, and the joy of discovering travis' appreciation of his adored and venerated author, had put him into a mood bordering close upon hilarity. "the next event upon our interesting programme," he announced, "will be a banjosephine obligato in a-sia minor, by that justly renowned impresario, signor conde tin-pani rivers, specially engaged for this performance; with a pleasing and pan-hellenic song-and-dance turn by miss travis bessemer, the infant phenomenon, otherwise known as 'babby bessie.'" "you're not going to play that banjo here?" said travis, as he stripped away the canvas covering. "order in the gallery!" cried condy, beginning to tune up. then in a rapid, professional monotone: "ladies-and-gentlemen - with - your - kind - permission - i - will - endeavor - to - give - you - an - imitation - of - a - carolina - coon - song"--and without more ado, singing the words to a rattling, catchy accompaniment, swung off into-- "f--or my gal's a high-born leddy, she's brack, but not too shady." he did not sing loud, and the clack and snarl of the banjo carried hardly further than the adjoining room; but there was no one to hear, and, as he went along, even travis began to hum the words, but at that, condy stopped abruptly, laid the instrument across his knees with exaggerated solicitude, and said deliberately: "travis, you are a good, sweet girl, and what you lack in beauty you make up in amiability, and i've no doubt you are kind to your aged father; but you--can--not--sing." travis was cross in a moment, all the more so because condy had spoken the exact truth. it was quite impossible for her to carry a tune half a dozen bars without entangling herself in as many different keys. what voice she had was not absolutely bad; but as she persisted in singing in spite of condy's guying, he put back his head and began a mournful and lugubrious howling. "ho!" she exclaimed, grabbing the banjo from his knees, "if i can't sing, i can play better than some smart people." "yes, by note," rallied condy, as travis executed a banjo "piece" of no little intricacy. "that's just like a machine--like a hand-piano. "order in the gallery!" she retorted, without pausing in her playing. she finished with a great flourish and gazed at him in triumph, only to find him pretending a profound slumber. "o--o--o!" she remarked between her teeth, "i just hate you, condy rivers." "there are others," he returned airily. "talk about slang." "now what will we do?" he cried. "let's do something. suppose we break something--just for fun." then suddenly the gayety went out of his face, and he started up and clapped his hand to his head with a gasp of dismay. "great heavens!" he exclaimed. "condy," cried travis in alarm, "what is it"' "the tea!" he vociferated. "laurie flagg's tea. i ought to be there--right this minute." travis fetched a sigh of relief. "is that all?" "all!" he retorted. "all! why, it's past four now--and i'd forgotten every last thing." then suddenly falling calm again, and quietly resuming his seat: "i don't see as it makes any difference. i won't go, that's all. push those almonds here, will you, miss lady?--but we aren't doing anything," he exclaimed, with a brusque return of exuberance. "let's do things. what'll we do? think of something. is there anything we can break?" then, without any transition, he vaulted upon the table and began to declaim, with tremendous gestures: "there once was a beast called an ounce, who went with a spring and a bounce. his head was as flat as the head of a cat, this quadrupetantical ounce, ---tical ounce, this quadrupetantical ounce. "you'd think from his name he was small, but that was not like him at all. he weighed, i'll be bound, three or four hundred pound, and he looked most uncommonly tall, --monly tall, and he looked most uncommonly tall." "bravo! bravo!" cried travis, pounding on the table. "hear, hear--none, brutus, none." condy sat down on the table and swung his legs but during the next few moments, while they were eating the last of their cheese, his good spirits fell rapidly away from him. he heaved a sigh, and thrust both hands gloomily into his pockets. "cheese, condy?" asked travis. he shook his head with a dark frown, muttering: "no cheese, no cheese." "what's wrong, condy--what's the matter?" asked travis, with concern. for some time he would not tell her, answering all her inquiries by closing his eyes and putting his chin in the air, nodding his head in knowing fashion. "but what is it?" "you don't respect me," he muttered; and for a long time this was all that could be got from him. no, no, she did not respect him; no, she did not take him seriously. "but of course i do. why don't i? condy rivers, what's got into you now?" "no, no; i know it. i can tell. you don't take me seriously. you don't respect me." "but why?" "make a blooming buffoon of myself," he mumbled tragically. in great distress travis labored to contradict him. why, they had just been having a good time, that was all. why, she had been just as silly as he. condy caught at the word. "silly! there. i knew it. i told you. i'm silly. i'm a buffoon.--but haven't we had a great afternoon?" he added, with a sudden grin. "i never remember," announced travis emphatically, "when i've had a better time than i've had to-day; and i know just why it's been such a success." "why, then?" "because we've had no foolishness. we've just been ourselves, and haven't pretended we were in love with each other when we are not. condy, let's do this lots." "do what?" "go round to queer little, interesting little places. we've had a glorious time to-day, haven't we?--and we haven't been talked out once. "as we were last night, for instance," he hazarded. "i thought you felt it, the same as i did. it was a bit awful wasn't it?" "it was." "from now on, let's make a resolution. i know you've had a good time to-day. haven't you had a better time than if you had gone to the tea?'" "well, rather. i don't know when i've had a better, jollier afternoon." "well, now, we're going to try to have lots more good times, but just as chums. we've tried the other, and it failed. now be sincere; didn't it fail?" "it worked out. it did work out." "now from this time on, no more foolishness. we'll just be chums." "chums it is. no more foolishness." "the moment you begin to pretend you're in love with me, it will spoil everything. it's funny," said travis, drawing on her gloves. "we're doing a funny thing, condy. with ninety-nine people out of one hundred, this little affair would have been all ended after our 'explanation' of last night--confessing, as we did, that we didn't love each other. most couples would have 'drifted apart'; but here we are, planning to be chums, and have good times in our own original, unconventional way--and we can do it, too. there, there, he's a thousand miles away. he's not heard a single word i've said. condy, are you listening to me?" "blix," he murmured, staring at her vaguely. "blix--you look that way; i don't know, look kind of blix. don't you feel sort of blix?" he inquired anxiously. "blix?" he smote the table with his palm. "capital!" he cried; "sounds bully, and snappy, and crisp, and bright, and sort of sudden. sounds--don't you know, this way?"--and he snapped his fingers. "don't you see what i mean? blix, that's who you are. you've always been blix, and i've just found it out. blix," he added, listening to the sound of the name. "blix, blix. yes, yes; that's your name." "blix?" she repeated; "but why blix?" "why not?" "i don't know why not." "well, then," he declared, as though that settled the question. they made ready to go, as it was growing late. "will you tie that for me, condy," she asked, rising and turning the back of her head toward him, the ends of the veil held under her fingers. "not too tight. condy, don't pull it so tight. there, there, that will do. have you everything that belongs to you? i know you'll go away and leave something here. there's your cigarette case, and your book, and of course the banjo." as if warned by a mysterious instinct, the fat chinaman made his appearance in the outer room. condy put his fingers into his vest pocket, then dropped back upon his stool with a suppressed exclamation of horror. "condy!" exclaimed blix in alarm, "are you sick?"--for he had turned a positive white. "i haven't a cent of money," he murmured faintly. "i spent my last quarter for those beastly crackers. what's to be done? what is to be done? i'll--i'll leave him my watch. yes, that's the only thing." blix calmly took out her purse. "i expected it," she said resignedly. "i knew this would happen sooner or later, and i always have been prepared. how much is it, john?" she asked of the chinaman. "hefahdollah." "i'll never be able to look you in the face again," protested condy. "i'll pay you back to-night. i will! i'll send it up by a messenger boy." "then you would be a buffoon." "don't!" he exclaimed. "don't, it humiliates me to the dust." "oh, come along and don't be so absurd. it must be after five." half-way down the brass-bound stairs, he clapped his hand to his head with a start. "and now what is it?" she inquired meekly. "forgotten, forgotten!" he exclaimed. "i knew i would forget something." "i knew it, you mean." he ran back, and returned with the great bag of crackers, and thrust it into her hands. "here, here, take these. we mustn't leave these," he declared earnestly. "it would be a shameful waste of money;" and in spite of all her protests, he insisted upon taking the crackers along. "i wonder," said blix, as the two skirted the plaza, going down to kearney street; "i wonder if i ought to ask him to supper?" "ask who--me?--how funny to--" "i wonder if we are talked out--if it would spoil the day?" "anyhow, i'm going to have supper at the club; and i've got to write my article some time to-night." blix fixed him with a swift glance of genuine concern. "don't play to-night, condy," she said, with a sudden gravity. "fat lot i can play! what money have i got to play with?" "you might get some somewheres. but, anyhow, promise me you won't play." "well, of course i'll promise. how can i, if i haven't any money? and besides, i've got my whaleback stuff to write. i'll have supper at the club, and go up in the library and grind out copy for a while." "condy," said blix, "i think that diver's story is almost too good for 'the times.' why don't you write it and send it east? send it to the centennial company, why don't you? they've paid some attention to you now, and it would keep your name in their minds if you sent the story to them, even if they didn't publish it. why don't you think of that?" "fine--great idea! i'll do that. only i'll have to write it out of business hours. it will be extra work." "never mind, you do it; and," she added, as he put her on the cable car, "keep your mind on that thirty-thousand-word story of adventure. good-by, condy; haven't we had the jolliest day that ever was?" "couldn't have been better. good-by, blix." condy returned to his club., it was about six o'clock. in response to his question, the hall-boy told him that tracy sargeant had arrived a few moments previous, and had been asking for him. the saturday of the week before, condy had made an engagement with young sargeant to have supper together that night, and perhaps go to the theatre afterward. and now at the sight of sargeant in the "round window" of the main room, buried in the file of the "gil blas," condy was pleased to note that neither of them had forgotten the matter. sargeant greeted him with extreme cordiality as he came up, and at once proposed a drink. sargeant was a sleek, well-groomed, well-looking fellow of thirty, just beginning to show the effects of a certain amount of dissipation in the little puffs under the eyes and the faint blueness of the temples. the sudden death of his father for which event sargeant was still mourning, had left him in such position that his monthly income was about five times as large as condy's salary. the two had supper together, and sargeant proposed the theatre. "no, no; i've got to work to-night," asserted condy. after dinner, while they were smoking their cigars in a window of the main room, one of the hall-boys came up and touched condy on the arm. "mr. eckert, and mr. hendricks, and mr. george hands, and several other of those gentlemen are up in the card-room, and are asking for you and mr. sargeant." "why, i didn't know the boys were here! they've got a game going, condy. let's go up and get in. shall we?" condy remembered that he had no money. "i'm flat broke, tracy," he announced, for he knew sargeant well enough to make the confession without wincing. "no, i'll not get in; but i'll go up and watch you a few minutes." they ascended to the card-room, where the air was heavy and acrid with cigar smoke, and where the silence was broken only by the click of poker-chips. at the end of twenty minutes condy was playing, having borrowed enough money of sargeant to start him in the game. unusually talkative and restless, he had suddenly hardened and stiffened to a repressed, tense calm; speechless, almost rigid in his chair. excitable under even ordinary circumstances, his every faculty was now keyed to its highest pitch. the nervous strain upon him was like the stretching and tightening of harp-strings, too taut to quiver. the color left his face, and the moisture fled his lips. his projected article, his promise to blix, all the jollity of the afternoon, all thought of time or place, faded away as the one indomitable, evil passion of the man leaped into life within him, and lashed and roweled him with excitement. his world resolved itself to a round green table, columns of tri-colored chips, and five ever-changing cards that came and went and came again before his tired eyes like the changing, weaving colors of the kaleidoscope. midnight struck, then one o'clock, then two, three, and four. still his passion rode him like a hag, spurring the jaded body, rousing up the wearied brain. finally, at half-past four, at a time when condy was precisely where he had started, neither winner nor loser by so much as a dime, a round of jack-pots was declared, and the game broke up. condy walked home to the uptown hotel where he lived with his mother, and went to bed as the first milk-wagons began to make their appearance and the newsboys to cry the morning papers. then, as his tired eyes closed at last, occurred that strange trick of picture-making that the overtaxed brain plays upon the retina. a swift series of pictures of the day's doings began to whirl through rather than before the pupils of his shut eyes. condy saw again a brief vision of the street, and blix upon the corner waiting to cross; then it was the gay, brisk confusion of the water-front, the old mate's cabin aboard the whaleback, chinatown, and a loop of vermilion cloth over a gallery rail, the golden balcony, the glint of the stevenson ship upon the green plaza, blix playing the banjo, the delightful and picturesque confusion of the deserted chinese restaurant; blix again, turning her head for him to fasten her veil, holding the ends with her white-kid fingers; blix once more, walking at his side with her trim black skirt, her round little turban hat, her yellow hair, and her small dark, dancing eyes. then, suddenly, he remembered the promise he had made her in the matter of playing that night. he winced sharply at this, and the remembrance of his fault harried and harassed him. in spite of himself, he felt contemptible. yet he had broken his promises to her in this very matter of playing before--before that day of their visit to the chinese restaurant--and had felt no great qualm of self-reproach. had their relations changed? rather the reverse for they had done with "foolishness." "never worried me before," muttered condy, as he punched up his pillow--"never worried me before. why should it worry me now--worry me like the devil;--and she caught on to that 'point' about the slope of forty-five degrees." chapter v condy began his week's work for the supplement behindhand. naturally he overslept himself tuesday morning, and, not having any change in his pockets, was obliged to walk down to the office. he arrived late, to find the compositors already fretting for copy. his editor promptly asked for the whaleback stuff, and condy was forced into promising it within a half-hour. it was out of the question to write the article according to his own idea in so short a time; so condy faked the stuff from the exchange clipping, after all. his description of the boat and his comments upon her mission--taken largely at second hand--served only to fill space in the paper. they were lacking both in interest and in point. there were no illustrations. the article was a failure. but condy redeemed himself by a witty interview later in the week with an emotional actress, and by a solemn article compiled after an hour's reading in lafcadio hearn and the encyclopedia--on the "industrial renaissance in japan." but the idea of the diver's story came back to him again and again, and thursday night after supper he went down to his club, and hid himself at a corner desk in the library, and, in a burst of enthusiasm, wrote out some two thousand words of it. in order to get the "technical details," upon which he set such store, he consulted the encyclopedias again, and "worked in" a number of unfamiliar phrases and odd-sounding names. he was so proud of the result that he felt he could not wait until the tale was finished and in print to try its effect. he wanted appreciation and encouragement upon the instant. he thought of blix. "she saw the point in morrowbie jukes' description of the slope of the sandhill," he told himself; and the next moment had resolved to go up and see her the next evening, and read to her what he had written. this was on thursday. all through that week blix had kept much to herself, and for the first time in two years had begun to spend every evening at home. in the morning of each day she helped victorine with the upstairs work, making the beds, putting the rooms to rights; or consulted with the butcher's and grocer's boys at the head of the back stairs, or chaffered with urbane and smiling chinamen with their balanced vegetable baskets. she knew the house and its management at her fingers' ends, and supervised everything that went forward. laurie flagg coming to call upon her, on wednesday afternoon, to remonstrate upon her sudden defection, found her in the act of tacking up a curtain across the pantry window. but blix had the afternoons and evenings almost entirely to herself. these hours, heretofore taken up with functions and the discharge of obligations, dragged not a little during the week that followed upon her declaration of independence. wednesday afternoon, however, was warm and fine, and she went to the park with snooky. without looking for it or even expecting it, blix came across a little japanese tea-house, or rather a tiny japanese garden, set with almost toy japanese houses and pavilions, where tea was served and thin sweetish wafers for five cents. blix and snooky went in. there was nobody about but the japanese serving woman. snooky was in raptures, and blix spent a delightful half-hour there, drinking japanese tea, and feeding the wafers to the carp and gold-fish in the tiny pond immediately below where she sat. a chinaman, evidently of the merchant class, came in, with a chinese woman following. as he took his place and the japanese girl came up to get his order, blix overheard him say in english: "bring tea for-um leddy." "he had to speak in english to her," she whispered; "isn't that splendid! did you notice that, snooky?" on the way home blix was wondering how she should pass her evening. she was to have made one of a theatre party where jack carter was to be present. then she suddenly remembered "morrowbie jukes," "the return of imri," and "krishna mulvaney." she continued on past her home, downtown, and returned late for supper with "plain tales" and "many inventions." toward half-past eight there came a titter of the electric bell. at the moment blix was in the upper chamber of the house of suddhoo, quaking with exquisite horror at the seal-cutter's magic. she looked up quickly as the bell rang. it was not condy rivers' touch. she swiftly reflected that it was wednesday night, and that she might probably expect frank catlin. he was a fair specimen of the younger set, a sort of modified jack carter, and called upon her about once a fortnight. no doubt he would hint darkly as to his riotous living during the past few days and refer to his diet of bromo-seltzers. he would be slangy, familiar, call her by her first name as many times as he dared, discuss the last dance of the saturday cotillion, and try to make her laugh over carter's drunkenness. blix knew the type. catlin was hardly out of college; but the older girls, even the young women of twenty-five or six, encouraged and petted these youngsters, driven to the alternative by the absolute dearth of older men. "i'm not at home, victorine," announced blix, intercepting the maid in the hall. it chanced that it was not frank catlin, but another boy of precisely the same breed; and blix returned to suddhoo, mrs. hawksbee, and mulvaney with a little cuddling movement of satisfaction. "there is only one thing i regret about this," she said to condy rivers on the friday night of that week; "that is, that i never thought of doing it before." then suddenly she put up her hand to shield her eyes, as though from an intense light, turning away her head abruptly. "i say, what is it? what--what's the matter?" he exclaimed. blix peeped at him fearfully from between her fingers. "he's got it on," she whispered--"that awful crimson scarf." "hoh!" said condy, touching his scarf nervously, "it's--it's very swell. is it too loud?" he asked uneasily. blix put her fingers in her ears; then: "condy, you're a nice, amiable young man, and, if you're not brilliant, you're good and kind to your aged mother; but your scarfs and neckties are simply impossible." "well, look at this room!" he shouted--they were in the parlor. "you needn't talk about bad taste. those drapes--oh-h! those drapes!! yellow, s'help me! and those bisque figures that you get with every pound of tea you buy; and this, this, this," he whimpered, waving his hands at the decorated sewer-pipe with its gilded cat-tails. "oh, speak to me of this; speak to me of art; speak to me of aesthetics. cat-tails, gilded. of course, why not gilded!" he wrung his hands. "'somewhere people are happy. somewhere little children are at play--'" "oh, hush!" she interrupted. "i know it's bad; but we've always had it so, and i won't have it abused. let's go into the dining-room, anyway. we'll sit in there after this. we've always been stiff and constrained in here." they went out into the dining-room, and drew up a couple of armchairs into the bay window, and sat there looking out. blix had not yet lighted the gas--it was hardly dark enough for that; and for upward of ten minutes they sat and watched the evening dropping into night. below them the hill fell away so abruptly that the roofs of the nearest houses were almost at their feet; and beyond these the city tumbled raggedly down to meet the bay in a confused, vague mass of roofs, cornices, cupolas, and chimneys, blurred and indistinct in the twilight, but here and there pierced by a new-lighted street lamp. then came the bay. to the east they could see goat island, and the fleet of sailing-ships anchored off the water-front; while directly in their line of vision the island of alcatraz, with its triple crown of forts, started from the surface of the water. beyond was the contra costa shore, a vast streak of purple against the sky. the eye followed its sky-line westward till it climbed, climbed, climbed up a long slope that suddenly leaped heavenward with the crest of tamalpais, purple and still, looking always to the sunset like a great watching sphinx. then, further on, the slope seemed to break like the breaking of an advancing billow, and go tumbling, crumbling downward to meet the golden gate--the narrow inlet of green tide-water with its flanking presidio. but, further than this, the eye was stayed. further than this there was nothing, nothing but a vast, illimitable plain of green--the open pacific. but at this hour the color of the scene was its greatest charm. it glowed with all the sombre radiance of a cathedral. everything was seen through a haze of purple--from the low green hills in the presidio reservation to the faint red mass of mount diablo shrugging its rugged shoulder over the contra costa foot-hills. as the evening faded, the west burned down to a dull red glow that overlaid the blue of the bay with a sheen of ruddy gold. the foot-hills of the opposite shore, diablo, and at last even tamalpais, resolved themselves in the velvet gray of the sky. outlines were lost. only the masses remained, and these soon began to blend into one another. the sky, and land, and the city's huddled roofs were one. only the sheen of dull gold remained, piercing the single vast mass of purple like the blade of a golden sword. "there's a ship!" said blix in a low tone. a four-master was dropping quietly through the golden gate, swimming on that sheen of gold, a mere shadow, specked with lights red and green. in a few moments her bows were shut from sight by the old fort at the gate. then her red light vanished, then the mainmast. she was gone. by midnight she would be out of sight of land, rolling on the swell of the lonely ocean under the moon's white eye. condy and blix sat quiet and without speech, not caring to break the charm of the evening. for quite five minutes they sat thus, watching the stars light one by one, and the immense gray night settle and broaden and widen from mountain-top to horizon. they did not feel the necessity of making conversation. there was no constraint in their silence now. gently, and a little at a time, condy turned his head and looked at blix. there was just light enough to see. she was leaning back in her chair, her hands fallen into her lap, her head back and a little to one side. as usual, she was in black; but now it was some sort of dinner-gown that left her arms and neck bare. the line of the chin and the throat and the sweet round curve of the shoulder had in it something indescribable--something that was related to music, and that eluded speech. her hair was nothing more than a warm colored mist without form or outline. the sloe-brown of her little eyes and the flush of her cheek were mere inferences--like the faintest stars that are never visible when looked at directly; and it seemed to him that there was disengaged from her something for which there was no name; something that appealed to a mysterious sixth sense--a sense that only stirred at such quiet moments as this; something that was now a dim, sweet radiance, now a faint aroma, and now again a mere essence, an influence, an impression--nothing more. it seemed to him as if her sweet, clean purity and womanliness took a form of its own which his accustomed senses were too gross to perceive. only a certain vague tenderness in him went out to meet and receive this impalpable presence; a tenderness not for her only, but for all the good things of the world. often he had experienced the same feeling when listening to music. her sweetness, her goodness, appealed to what he guessed must be the noblest in him. and she was only nineteen. suddenly his heart swelled, the ache came to his throat and the smart to his eyes. "blixy," he said, just above a whisper; "blixy, wish i was a better sort of chap." "that's the beginning of being better, isn't it, condy?" she answered, turning toward him, her chin on her hand. "it does seem a pity," he went on, "that when you want to do the right, straight thing, and be clean and fine, that you can't just be it, and have it over with. it's the keeping it up that's the grind." "but it's the keeping it up, condy, that makes you worth being good when you finally get to be good; don't you think? it's the keeping it up that makes you strong; and then when you get to be good you can make your goodness count. what's a good man if he's weak?--if his goodness is better than he is himself? it's the good man who is strong--as strong as his goodness, and who can make his goodness count--who is the right kind of man. that's what i think." "there's something in that, there's something in that." then, after a pause: "i played monday night, after all, blix, after promising i wouldn't." for a time she did not answer, and when she spoke, she spoke quietly: "well--i'm glad you told me"; and after a little she added, "can't you stop, condy?" "why, yes--yes, of course--i--oh, blix, sometimes i don't know! you can't understand! how could a girl understand the power of it? other things, i don't say; but when it comes to gambling, there seems to be another me that does precisely as he chooses, whether i will or not. but i'm going to do my best. i haven't played since, although there was plenty of chance. you see, this card business is only a part of this club life, this city life--like drinking and--other vices of men. if i didn't have to lead the life, or if i didn't go with that crowd--sargeant and the rest of those men--it would be different; easier, maybe." "but a man ought to be strong enough to be himself and master of himself anywhere. condy, is there anything in the world better or finer than a strong man?" "not unless it is a good woman, blix." "i suppose i look at it from a woman's point of view; but for me a strong man--strong in everything--is the grandest thing in the world. women love strong men, condy. they can forgive a strong man almost anything." condy did not immediately answer, and in the interval an idea occurred to blix that at once hardened into a determination. but she said nothing at the moment. the spell of the sunset was gone and they had evidently reached the end of that subject of their talk. blix rose to light the gas. "will you promise me one thing, condy?" she said. "don't if you don't want to. but will you promise me that you will tell me whenever you do play?" "that i'll promise you!" exclaimed condy; "and i'll keep that, too." "and now, let's hear the story--or what you've done of it." they drew up to the dining-room table with its cover of blue denim edged with white cord, and condy unrolled his manuscript and read through what he had written. she approved, and, as he had foreseen, "caught on" to every one of his points. he was almost ready to burst into cheers when she said: "any one reading that would almost believe you had been a diver yourself, or at least had lived with divers. those little details count, don't they? condy, i've an idea. see what you think of it. instead of having the story end with his leaving her down there and going away, do it this way. let him leave her there, and then go back after a long time when he gets to be an old man. fix it up some way to make it natural. have him go down to see her and never come up again, see? and leave the reader in doubt as to whether it was an accident or whether he did it on purpose." condy choked back a whoop and smote his knee. "blix, you're the eighth wonder! magnificent--glorious! say!"--he fixed her with a glance of curiosity--"you ought to take to story-writing yourself." "no, no," she retorted significantly. "i'll just stay with my singing and be content with that. but remember that story don't go to 'the times' supplement. at least not until you have tried it east--with the centennial company, at any rate." "well, i guess not!" snorted condy. "why, this is going to be one of the best yarns i ever wrote." a little later on he inquired with sudden concern: "have you got anything to eat in the house?" "i never saw such a man!" declared blix; "you are always hungry." "i love to eat," he protested. "well, we'll make some creamed oysters; how would that do?" suggested blix. condy rolled his eyes. "oh, speak to me of creamed oysters!" then, with abrupt solemnity: "blix, i never in my life had as many oysters as i could eat." she made the creamed oysters in the kitchen over the gas-stove, and they ate them there--condy sitting on the washboard of the sink, his plate in his lap. condy had a way of catching up in his hands whatever happened to be nearest him, and, while still continuing to talk, examining it with apparent deep interest. just now it happened to be the morning's paper that victorine had left on the table. for five minutes condy had been picking it up and laying it down, frowning abstractedly at it during the pauses in the conversation. suddenly he became aware of what it was, and instantly read aloud the first item that caught his glance: "'personal.--young woman, thirty-one, good housekeeper, desires acquaintance respectable middle-aged gentleman. object, matrimony. address k. d. b., this office.'--hum!" he commented, "nothing equivocal about k. d. b.; has the heroism to call herself young at thirty-one. i'll bet she is a good housekeeper. right to the point. if k. d. b. don't see what she wants, she asks for it." "i wonder," mused blix, "what kind of people they are who put personals in the papers. k. d. b., for instance; who is she, and what is she like?" "they're not tough," condy assured her. "i see 'em often down at 'the times' office. they are usually a plain, matter-of-fact sort, quite conscientious, you know; generally middle-aged--or thirty-one; outgrown their youthful follies and illusions, and want to settle down." "read some more," urged blix. condy went on. "'bachelor, good habits, twenty-five, affectionate disposition, accomplishments, money, desires acquaintance pretty, refined girl. object, matrimony. mcb., this office.'" "no, i don't like mcb.," said blix. "he's too--ornamental, somehow." "he wouldn't do for k. d. b., would he?" "oh, my, no! he'd make her very unhappy." "'widower, two children, home-loving disposition, desires introduction to good, honest woman to make home for his children. matrimony, if suitable. b. p. t., box a, this office.'" "he's not for k. d. b., that's flat," declared blix; "the idea, 'matrimony if suitable'--patronizing enough! i know just what kind of an old man b. p. t. is. i know he would want k. d. b. to warm his slippers, and would be fretful and grumpy. b. p. t., just an abbreviation of bumptious. no, he can't have her." condy read the next two or three to himself, despite her protests. "condy, don't be mean! read them to--" "ah!" he exclaimed, "here's one for k. d. b. behold, the bridegroom cometh! listen." "'bachelor, thirty-nine, sober and industrious, retired sea captain, desires acquaintance respectable young woman, good housekeeper and manager. object, matrimony. address captain jack, office this paper." "i know he's got a wooden leg!" cried blix. "can't you just see it sticking out between the lines? and he lives all alone somewhere down near the bay with a parrot--" "and makes a glass of grog every night." "and smokes a long clay pipe." "but he chews tobacco." "yes, isn't it a pity he will chew that nasty, smelly tobacco? but k. d. b. will break him of that." "oh, is he for k. d. b.?" "sent by providence!" declared blix. "they were born for each other. just see, k. d. b. is a good housekeeper, and wants a respectable middle-aged gentleman. captain jack is a respectable middle-aged gentleman, and wants a good housekeeper. oh, and besides, i can read between the lines! i just feel they would be congenial. if they know what's best for themselves, they would write to each other right away." "but wouldn't you love to be there and see them meet!" exclaimed condy. "can't we fix it up some way," said blix, "to bring these two together--to help them out in some way?" condy smote the table and jumped to his feet. "write to 'em!" he shouted. "write to k. d. b. and sign it captain jack, and write to captain jack--" "and sign it k. d. b.," she interrupted, catching his idea. "and have him tell her, and her tell him," he added, "to meet at some place; and then we can go to that place and hide, and watch." "but how will we know them? how would they know each other? they've never met." "we'll tell them both to wear a kind of flower. then we can know them, and they can know each other. of course as soon as they began to talk they would find out they hadn't written." "but they wouldn't care." "no--they want to meet each other. they would be thankful to us for bringing them together." "won't it be the greatest fun?" "fun! why, it will be a regular drama. only we are running the show, and everything is real. let's get at it!" blix ran into her room and returned with writing material. condy looked at the note-paper critically. "this kind's too swell. k. d. b. wouldn't use irish linen--never! here, this is better, glazed with blue lines and a flying bird stamped in the corner. now i'll write for the captain, and you write for k. d. b." "but where will we have them meet?" this was a point. they considered the chinese restaurant, the plaza, lotta's fountain, the mechanics' library, and even the cathedral over in the mexican quarter, but arrived at no decision. "did you ever hear of luna's restaurant?" said condy. "by jove, it's just the place! it's the restaurant where you get mexican dinners; right in the heart of the latin quarter; quiet little old-fashioned place, below the level of the street, respectable as a tomb. i was there just once. we'll have 'em meet there at seven in the evening. no one is there at that hour. the place isn't patronized much, and it shuts up at eight. you and i can go there and have dinner at six, say, and watch for them to come." then they set to work at their letters. "now," said condy, "we must have these sound perfectly natural, because if either of these people smell the smallest kind of a rat, you won't catch 'em. you must write not as you would write, but as you think they would. this is an art, a kind of fiction, don't you see? we must imagine a certain character, and write a letter consistent with that character. then it'll sound natural. now, k. d. b. well, k. d. b., she's prim. let's have her prim, and proud of using correct, precise, 'elegant' language. i guess she wears mits, and believes in cremation. let's have her believe in cremation. and captain jack; oh! he's got a terrible voice, like this, row-row-row see? and whiskers, very fierce; and he says, 'belay there!' and 'avast!' and is very grandiloquent and orotund and gallant when it comes to women. oh, he's the devil of a man when it comes to women, is captain jack!" after countless trials and failures, they evolved the two following missives, which condy posted that night: "captain jack. "sir:--i have perused with entire satisfaction your personal in 'the times.' i should like to know more of you. i read between the lines, and my perception ineradicably convinces me that you are honest and respectable. i do not believe i should compromise my self-esteem at all in granting you an interview. i shall be at luna's restaurant at seven precisely, next monday eve, and will bear a bunch of white marguerites. will you likewise, and wear a marguerite in your lapel? "trusting this will find you in health, i am "respectfully yours, "k. d. b." "miss k. d. b. "dear miss:--from the modest and retiring description of your qualities and character, i am led to believe that i will find in you an agreeable life companion. will you not accord me the great favor of a personal interview? i shall esteem it a high honor. i will be at luna's mexican restaurant at seven of the clock p.m. on monday evening next. may i express the fervent hope that you also will be there? i name the locality because it is quiet and respectable. i shall wear a white marguerite in my buttonhole. will you also carry a bunch of the same flower? "yours to command, "captain jack." so great was her interest in the affair that blix even went out with condy while he mailed the letters in the nearest box, for he was quite capable of forgetting the whole matter as soon as he was out of the house. "now let it work!" she exclaimed as the iron flap clanked down upon the disappearing envelopes. but condy was suddenly smitten with nameless misgiving. "now we've done it! now we've done it!" he cried aghast. "i wish we hadn't. we're in a fine fix now." still uneasy, he saw blix back to the flat, and bade her good-by at the door. but before she went to bed that night, blix sought out her father, who was still sitting up tinkering with the cuckoo clock, which he had taken all to pieces under the pretext that it was out of order and went too fast. "papum," said blix, sitting down on the rug before him, "did you ever--when you were a pioneer, when you first came out here in the fifties--did you ever play poker?" "i--oh, well! it was the only amusement the miners had for a long time." "i want you to teach me." the old man let the clock fall into his lap and stared. but blix explained her reasons. chapter vi the next day was saturday, and blix had planned a walk out to the presidio. but at breakfast, while she was debating whether she should take with her howard and snooky, or "many inventions," she received a note from condy, sent by special messenger: "'all our fun is spoiled,' he wrote. 'i've got ptomaine poisoning from eating the creamed oysters last night, and am in for a solid fortnight spent in bed. have passed a horrible night. can't you look in at the hotel this afternoon? my mother will be here at the time.'" "ptomaine poisoning!" the name had an ugly sound, and condy's use of the term inferred the doctor's visit. blix decided that she would put off her walk until the afternoon, and call on mrs. rivers at once, and ask how condy did. she got away from the flat about ten o'clock, but on the steps outside met condy dressed as if for bicycling, and smoking a cigarette. "i've got eleven dollars!" he announced cheerily. "but i thought it was ptomaine poisoning!" she cried with sudden vexation. "pshaw! that's what the doctor says. he's a flapdoodle; nothing but a kind of a sort of a pain. it's all gone now. i'm as fit as a fiddle--and i've got eleven dollars. let's go somewhere and do something." "but your work?" "they don't expect me. when i thought i was going to be sick, i telephoned the office, and they said all right, that they didn't need me. now i've got eleven dollars, and there are three holidays of perfect weather before us: to-day, to-morrow, and monday. what will we do? what must we do to be saved? our matrimonial objects don't materialize till monday night. in the meanwhile, what? shall we go down to chinatown--to the restaurant, or to the water-front again? maybe the mate on the whaleback would invite us to lunch. or," added condy, his eye caught by a fresh-fish peddler who had just turned into the street, "we can go fishing." "for oysters, perhaps." but the idea had caught condy's fancy. "blix!" he exclaimed, "let's go fishing." "where?" "i don't know. where do people fish around here? where there's water, i presume." "no, is it possible?" she asked with deep concern. "i thought they fished in their back yards, or in their front parlors perhaps." "oh, you be quiet! you're all the time guying me," he answered. "let me think--let me think," he went on, frowning heavily, scouring at his hair. suddenly he slapped a thigh. "come on," he cried, "i've an idea!" he was already half-way down the steps, when blix called him back. "leave it all to me," he assured her; "trust me implicitly. don't you want to go?" he demanded with abrupt disappointment. "want to!" she exclaimed. "why, it would be the very best kind of fun, but--" "well, then, come along." they took a downtown car. "i've got a couple of split bamboo rods," he explained as the car slid down the terrific grade of the washington-street hill. "i haven't used 'em in years--not since we lived east; but they're hand-made, and are tip-top. i haven't any other kind of tackle; but it's just as well, because the tackle will all depend upon where we are going to fish." "where's that?" "don't know yet; am going down now to find out." he took her down to the principal dealer in sporting goods on market street. it was a delicious world, whose atmosphere and charm were not to be resisted. there were shot-guns in rows, their gray barrels looking like so many organ-pipes; sheaves of fishing-rods, from the four-ounce whisp of the brook-trout up to the rigid eighteen-ounce lance of the king-salmon and sea-bass; showcases of wicked revolvers, swelling by calibres into the thirty-eight and forty-four man-killers of the plainsmen and arizona cavalry; hunting knives and dirks, and the slender steel whips of the fencers; files of winchesters, sleeping quietly in their racks, waiting patiently for the signal to speak the one grim word they knew; swarms of artificial flies of every conceivable shade, brown, gray, black, gray-brown, gray-black, with here and there a brisk vermilion note; coils of line, from the thickness of a pencil, spun to hold the sullen plunges of a jew-fish off the catalina islands, down to the sea-green gossamers that a vigorous fingerling might snap; hooks, snells, guts, leaders, gaffs, cartridges, shells, and all the entrancing munitions of the sportsman, that savored of lonely canons, deer-licks, mountain streams, quail uplands, and the still reaches of inlet and marsh grounds, gray and cool in the early autumn dawn. condy and blix got the attention of a clerk, and condy explained. "i want to go fishing--we want to go fishing. we want some place where we can go and come in the same day, and we want to catch fair-sized fish--no minnows." the following half-hour was charming. never was there a clerk more delightful. it would appear that his one object in life was that condy and blix should catch fish. the affairs of the nation stood still while he pondered, suggested, advised, and deliberated. he told them where to go, how to get there, what train to take coming back, and who to ask for when they arrived. they would have to wait till monday before going, but could return long before the fated hour of p.m. "ask for richardson," said the clerk; "and here, give him my card. he'll put you on to the good spots; some places are a- to-day, and to-morrow in the same place you can't kill a single fish." condy nudged blix as the mentor turned away to get his card. "notice that," he whispered: "kill a fish. you don't say 'catch,' you say 'kill'--technical detail." then they bought their tackle: a couple of cheap reels, lines, leaders, sinkers, a book of assorted flies that the delightful clerk suggested, and a beautiful little tin box painted green, and stenciled with a gorgeous gold trout upon the lid, in which they were to keep the pint of salted shrimps to be used as bait in addition to the flies. blix would get these shrimps at a little market near her home. "but," said the clerk, "you got to get a permit to fish in that lake. have you got a pull with the water company? are you a stockholder?" condy's face fell, and blix gave a little gasp of dismay. they looked at each other. here was a check, indeed. "well," said the sublime being in shirt sleeves from behind the counter, "see what you can do; and if you can't make it, come back here an' lemmeno, and we'll fix you up in some other place. but lake san andreas has been bang-up this last week--been some great kills there; hope to the deuce you can make it." everything now hinged upon this permit. it was not until their expedition had been in doubt that condy and blix realized how alluring had been its prospects. "oh, i guess you can get a permit," said the clerk soothingly. "an' if you make any good kills, lemmeno and i'll put it in the paper. i'm the editor of the 'sport-with-gun-and-rod' column in 'the press,'" he added with a flush of pride. toward the middle of the afternoon blix, who was waiting at home, in great suspense, for that very purpose, received another telegram from condy: "tension of situation relieved. unconditional permission obtained. don't forget the shrimps." it had been understood that condy was to come to the flat on sunday afternoon to talk over final arrangements with blix. but as it was, saturday evening saw him again at the bessemers. he had been down at his club in the library, writing the last paragraphs of his diver's story, when, just as he finished, sargeant discovered him. "why, conny, old man, all alone here? let's go downstairs and have a cigar. hendricks and george hands are coming around in half an hour. they told me not to let you get away." condy stirred nervously in his chair. he knew what that meant. he had enough money in his pockets to play that night, and in an instant the enemy was all awake. the rowel was in his flank again, and the scourge at his back. sargeant stood there, the well-groomed clubman of thirty; a little cynical perhaps, but a really good fellow for all that, and undeniably fond of condy. but somewhere with the eyes of some second self condy saw the girl of nineteen, part child and part woman; saw her goodness, her fine, sweet feminine strength as it were a dim radiance; "what's a good man worth, condy," she had said, "if he's not a strong man?" "i suppose we'll have a game going before midnight," admitted sargeant resignedly, smiling good-humoredly nevertheless. condy set his teeth. "i'll join you later. wait a few moments," he said. he hurried to the office of the club, and sent a despatch to blix--the third since morning: "can i come up right away? it's urgent. send answer by this messenger." he got his answer within three-quarters of an hour, and left the club as hendricks and george hands arrived by the elevator entrance. sitting in the bay window of the dining-room, he told blix why he had come. "oh, you were right!" she told him. "always, always come, when--when you feel you must." "it gets so bad sometimes, blix," he confessed with abject self-contempt, "that when i can't get some one to play against i'll sit down and deal dummy hands, and bet on them. just the touch of the cards--just the feel of the chips. faugh! it's shameful." the day following, sunday, condy came to tea as usual; and after the meal, as soon as the family and victorine had left the pair alone in the dining-room, they set about preparing for their morrow's excursion. blix put up their lunch--sandwiches of what condy called "devilish" ham, hard-boiled eggs, stuffed olives, and a bottle of claret. condy took off his coat and made a great show of stringing the tackle: winding the lines from the spools on to the reels, and attaching the sinkers and flies to the leaders, smoking the while, and scowling fiercely. he got the lines fearfully and wonderfully snarled, he caught the hooks in the table-cloth, he lost the almost invisible gut leaders on the floor and looped the sinkers on the lines when they should have gone on the leaders. in the end blix had to help him out, disentangling the lines foot by foot with a patience that seemed to condy little short of superhuman. at nine o'clock she said decisively: "do you know what time we must get up in the morning if we are to have breakfast and get the seven-forty train? quarter of six by the latest, and you must get up earlier than that, because you're at the hotel and have further to go. come here for breakfast, and--listen--be here by half-past six--are you listening, condy?--and we'll go down to the depot from here. don't forget to bring the rods." "i'll wear my bicycle suit," he said, "and one of those golf scarfs that wrap around your neck." "no," she declared, "i won't have it. wear the oldest clothes you've got, but look fairly respectable, because we're to go to luna's when we get back, remember. and now go home; you need all the sleep you can get if you are to get up at six o'clock." instead of being late, as blix had feared, condy was absurdly ahead of time the next morning. for a wonder, he had not forgotten the rods; but he was one tremor of nervousness. he would eat no breakfast. "we're going to miss that train," he would announce from time to time; "i just know it. blix, look what time it is. we ought to be on the way to the depot now. come on; you don't want any more coffee. have you got everything? did you put the reels in the lunch-basket?--and the fly-book? lord, if we should forget the fly-book!" he managed to get her to the depot over half an hour ahead of time. the train had not even backed in, nor the ticket office opened. "i told you, condy, i told you," complained blix, sinking helplessly upon a bench in the waiting-room. "no--no--no," he answered vaguely, looking nervously about, his head in the air. "we're none too soon--have more time to rest now. i wonder what track the train leaves from. i wonder if it stops at san bruno. i wonder how far it is from san bruno to lake san andreas. i'm afraid it's going to rain. heavens and earth, blix, we forgot the shrimps!" "no, no! sit down, i've got the shrimps. condy, you make me so nervous i shall scream in a minute." some three-quarters of an hour later the train had set them down at san bruno--nothing more than a road-house, the headquarters for duck-shooters and fishermen from the city. however, blix and condy were the only visitors. everybody seemed to be especially nice to them on that wonderful morning. even the supercilious ticket-seller at the san francisco depot had unbent, and wished them good luck. the conductor of the train had shown himself affable. the very brakeman had gone out of his way to apprise them, quite five minutes ahead of time, that "the next stop was their place." and at san bruno the proprietor of the road-house himself hitched up to drive them over to the lake, announcing that he would call for them at "richardson's" in time for the evening train. "and he only asked me four bits for both trips," whispered condy to blix as they jogged along. the country was beautiful. it was hardly eight o'clock, and the morning still retained much of the brisk effervescence of the early dawn. great bare, rolling hills of gray-green, thinly scattered with live-oak, bore back from the road on either hand. the sky was pale blue. there was a smell of cows in the air, and twice they heard an unseen lark singing. it was very still. the old buggy and complacent horse were embalmed in a pungent aroma of old leather and of stables that was entrancing; and a sweet smell of grass and sap came to them in occasional long whiffs. there was exhilaration in the very thought of being alive on that odorous, still morning. the young blood went spanking in the veins. blix's cheeks were ruddy, her little dark-brown eyes fairly coruscating with pleasure. "condy, isn't it all splendid?" she suddenly burst out. "i feel regularly bigger," he declared solemnly. "i could do anything a morning like this." then they came to the lake, and to richardson's, where the farmer lived who was also the custodian of the lake. the complacent horse jogged back, and condy and blix set about the serious business of the day. condy had no need to show richardson the delightful sporting clerk's card. the old yankee--his twang and dry humor singularly incongruous on that royal morning--was solicitude itself. he picked out the best boat on the beach for them, loaned them his own anchor of railroad iron, indicated minutely the point on the opposite shore off which the last big trout had been "killed," and wetted himself to his ankles as he pushed off the boat. condy took the oars. blix sat in the stern, jointing the rods and running the lines through the guides. she even baited the hooks with the salt shrimp herself, and by nine o'clock they were at anchor some forty feet off shore, and fishing, according to richardson's advice, "a leetle mite off the edge o' the weeds." "if we don't get a bite the whole blessed day," said condy, as he paid out his line to the ratchet music of the reel, "we'll have fun just the same. look around--isn't this great?" they were absolutely alone. the day was young yet. the lake, smooth and still as gray silk, widened to the west and south without so much as a wrinkle to roughen the surface. only to the east, where the sun looked over a shoulder of a higher hill, it flamed up into a blinding diamond iridescence. the surrounding land lay between sky and water, hushed to a sunday stillness. far off across the lake by richardson's they heard a dog bark, and the sound came fine and small and delicate. at long intervals the boat stirred with a gentle clap-clapping of the water along its sides. from the nearby shore in the growth of manzanita bushes quail called and clucked comfortably to each other; a bewildered yellow butterfly danced by over their heads, and slim blue dragon-flies came and poised on their lines and fishing-rods, bowing their backs. from his seat in the bow, condy cast a glance at blix. she was holding her rod in both hands, absorbed, watchful, very intent. she was as trim as ever, even in the old clothes she had worn for the occasion. her round, strong neck was as usual swathed high and tight in white, and the huge dog-collar girdled her waist according to her custom. she had taken off her hat. her yellow hair rolled back from her round forehead and cool pink cheeks like a veritable nimbus, and for the fiftieth time condy remarked the charming contrast of her small, deep-brown eyes in the midst of this white satin, yellow hair, white skin, and exquisite pink cheeks. an hour passed. then two. "no fish," murmured condy, drawing in his line to examine the bait. but, as he was fumbling with the flies he was startled by a sharp exclamation from blix. "oh-condy-i've-got-a-bite!" he looked up just in time to see the tip of her rod twitch, twitch, twitch. then the whole rod arched suddenly, the reel sang, the line tautened and cut diagonally through the water. "you got him! you got him!" he shouted, palpitating with excitement. "and he's a good one!" blix rose, reeling in as rapidly as was possible, the butt of the twitching, living rod braced against her belt. all at once the rod straightened out again, the strain was released, and the line began to slant rapidly away from the boat. "he's off!" she cried. "off, nothing! he's going to jump. look out for him, now!" and then the two watching from the boat, tense and quivering with the drama of the moment, saw that most inspiriting of sights--the "break" of a salmon-trout. up he went, from a brusque explosion of ripples and foam--up into the gray of the morning from out the gray of the water: scales all gleaming, hackles all a-bristle; a sudden flash of silver, a sweep as of a scimitar in gray smoke, with a splash, a turmoil, an abrupt burst of troubled sound that stabbed through the silence of the morning, and in a single instant dissipated all the placid calm of the previous hours. "keep the line taut," whispered condy, gritting his teeth. "when he comes toward you, reel him in; an' if he pulls too hard, give him his head." blix was breathing fast, her cheeks blazing, her eyes all alight. "oh," she gasped, "i'm so afraid i'll lose him! oh, look at that!" she cried, as the trout darted straight for the bottom, bending the rod till the tip was submerged. "condy, i'll lose him--i know i shall; you, you take the rod!" "not for a thousand dollars! steady, there, he's away again! oh, talk about sport!" yard by yard blix reeled in until they began to see the silver glint of the trout's flanks through the green water. she brought him nearer. swimming parallel with the boat, he was plainly visible from his wide-opened mouth--the hook and fly protruding from his lower jaw--to the red, quivering flanges of the tail. his sides were faintly speckled, his belly white as chalk. he was almost as long as condy's forearm. "oh, he's a beauty! oh, isn't he a beauty!" murmured condy. "now, careful, careful; bring him up to the boat where i can reach him; e-easy, blix. if he bolts again, let him run." twice the trout shied from the boat's shadow, and twice, as blix gave him his head, the reel sang and hummed like a watch-man's rattle. but the third time he came to the surface and turned slowly on his side, the white belly and one red fin out of the water, the gills opening and shutting. he was tired out. a third time blix drew him gently to the boat's side. condy reached out and down into the water till his very shoulder was wet, hooked two fingers under the distended gills, and with a long, easy movement of the arm swung him into the boat. their exultation was that of veritable children. condy whooped like an apache, throwing his hat into the air; blix was hardly articulate, her hands clasped, her hair in disarray, her eyes swimming with tears of sheer excitement. they shook each other's hands; they talked wildly at the same time: they pounded on the boat's thwarts with their fists; they laughed at their own absurdity; they looked at the trout again and again, guessed at his weight, and recalled to each other details of the struggle. "when he broke that time, wasn't it grand?" "and when i first felt him bite! it was so sudden--why, it actually frightened me. i never--no, never in my life!" exclaimed blix, "was so happy as i am at this moment. oh, condy, to think--just to think!" "isn't it glory hallelujah?" "isn't it better than teas, and dancing, and functions?" "blix--how old are we?" "i don't care how old we are; i think that trout will weigh two pounds." when they were calm again, they returned to their fishing. the morning passed, and it was noon before they were aware of it. by half-past twelve blix had caught three trout, though the first was by far the heaviest. condy had not had so much as a bite. at one o'clock they rowed ashore and had lunch under a huge live-oak in a little amphitheatre of manzanita. never had a lunch tasted so delicious. what if the wine was warm and the stuffed olives oily? what if the pepper for the hard-boiled eggs had sifted all over the "devilish" ham sandwiches? what if the eggs themselves had not been sufficiently cooked, and the corkscrew forgotten? they could not be anything else but inordinately happy, sublimely gay. nothing short of actual tragedy could have marred the joy of that day. but after they were done eating, and blix had put away the forks and spoons, and while condy was stretched upon his back smoking a cigar, she said to him: "now, condy, what do you say to a little game of cards with me?" the cigar dropped from condy's lips, and he sat suddenly upright, brushing the fallen leaves from his hair. blix had taken a deck of cards from the lunch-basket, and four rolls of chips wrapped in tissue paper. he stared at her in speechless amazement. "what do you say?" she repeated, looking at him and smiling. "why, blix!" he exclaimed in amazement, "what do you mean?" "just what i say. i want you to play cards with me." "i'll not to do it," he declared, almost coldly. "listen to me, condy," answered blix; and for quite five minutes, while he interrupted and protested and pshawed and argued, she talked to him calmly and quietly. "i don't ask you to stop playing, condy," she said, as she finished; "i just ask you that when you feel you must play--or--i mean, when you want to very bad, you will come and play with me, instead of playing at your club." "but it's absurd, it's preposterous. i hate to see a girl gambling--and you of all girls!" "it's no worse for me than it is for you and--well, do you suppose i would play with any one else? maybe you think i can't play well enough to make it interesting for you," she said gayly. "is that it? i can soon show you, condy rivers--never mind when i learned how." "but, blix, you don't know how often we play, those men and i. why, it is almost every--you don't know how often we play." "condy, whenever you want to play, and will play with me, no matter what i've got in hand, i'll stop everything and play with you." "but why?" "because i think, condy, that this way perhaps you won't play quite so often at first; and then little by little perhaps--perhaps--well, never mind that now. i want to play; put it that way. but i want you to promise me never to play with any one else--say for six months." and in the end, whipped by a sense of shame, condy made her the promise. they became very gay upon the instant. "hoh!" exclaimed condy; "what do you know of poker? i think we had best play old sledge or cassino." blix had dealt a hand and partitioned the chips. "straights and flushes before the draw," she announced calmly. condy started and stared; then, looking at her askance, picked up his hand. "it's up to you." "i'll make it five to play." "five? very well. how many cards?" "three." "i'll take two." "bet you five more." blix looked at her hand. then, without trace of expression in her voice or face, said: "there's your five, and i'll raise you five." "five better." "and five better than that." "call you." "full house. aces on tens," said blix, throwing down her cards. "heavens! they're good as gold," muttered condy as blix gathered in the chips. an hour later she had won all the chips but five. "now we'll stop and get to fishing again; don't you want to?" he agreed, and she counted the chips. "condy, you owe me seven dollars and a half," she announced. condy began to smile. "well," he said jocosely, "i'll send you around a check to-morrow." but at this blix was cross upon the instant. "you wouldn't do that--wouldn't talk that way with one of your friends at the club!" she exclaimed; "and it's not right to do it with me. condy, give me seven dollars and a half. when you play cards with me it's just as though it were with another man. i would have paid you if you had won." "but i haven't got more than nine dollars. who'll pay for the supper to-night at luna's, and our railroad fare going home?" "i'll pay." "but i--i can't afford to lose money this way." "shouldn't have played, then. i took the same chances as you. condy, i want my money." "you--you--why you've regularly flimflammed me." "will you give me my money?" "oh, take your money then!" blix shut the money in her purse, and rose, dusting her dress. "now," she said--"now that the pastime of card-playing is over, we will return to the serious business of life, which is the catching--no, 'killing' of lake trout." at five o'clock in the afternoon, condy pulled up the anchor of railroad iron and rowed back to richardson's. blix had six trout to her credit, but condy's ill-luck had been actually ludicrous. "i can hold a string in the water as long as anybody," he complained, "but i'd like to have the satisfaction of merely changing the bait occasionally. i've not had a single bite--not a nibble, y' know, all day. never mind, you got the big trout, blix; that first one. that five minutes was worth the whole day. it's been glorious, the whole thing. we'll come down here once a week right along now." but the one incident that completed the happiness of that wonderful day occurred just as they were getting out of the boat on the shore by richardson's. in a mud-hole between two rocks they discovered a tiny striped snake, hardly bigger than a lead pencil, in the act of swallowing a little green frog, and they passed a rapt ten minutes in witnessing the progress of this miniature drama, which culminated happily in the victim's escape, and triumph of virtue. "that," declared blix as they climbed into the old buggy which was to take them to the train, "was the one thing necessary. that made the day perfect." they reached the city at dusk, and sent their fish, lunch-basket, and rods up to the bessemers' flat by a messenger boy with an explanatory note for blix's father. "now," said condy, "for luna's and the matrimonial objects." chapter vii luna's mexican restaurant has no address. it is on no particular street, at no particular corner; even its habitues, its most enthusiastic devotees, are unable to locate it upon demand. it is "over there in the quarter," "not far from the cathedral there." one could find it if one started out with that intent; but to direct another there--no, that is out of the question. it can be reached by following the alleys of chinatown. you will come out of the last alley--the one where the slave girls are--upon the edge of the mexican quarter, and by going straight forward a block or two and by keeping a sharp lookout to right and left you will hit upon it. it is always to be searched for. always to be discovered. on that particular monday evening blix and condy arrived at luna's some fifteen minutes before seven. condy had lost himself and all sense of direction in the strange streets of the quarter, and they were on the very brink of despair when blix discovered the sign upon an opposite corner. as condy had foretold, they had the place to themselves. they went into the back room with its one mirror, six tables, and astonishing curtains of nottingham lace; and the waiter, whose name was richard or riccardo, according to taste, began to officiate at the solemn rites of the "supper mexican." condy and blix ate with their eyes continually wandering to the door; and as the frijoles were being served, started simultaneously and exchanged glances. a man wearing two marguerites in the lapel of his coat had entered abruptly, and sat down to a table close at hand. condy drew a breath of suppressed excitement. "there he is," he whispered--"captain jack!" they looked at the newcomer with furtive anxiety, and told themselves that they were disappointed. for a retired sea captain he was desperately commonplace. his hair was red, he was younger than they had expected, and, worst of all, he did look tough. "oh, poor k. d. b.!" sighed blix, shaking her head. "he'll never do, i'm afraid. perhaps he has a good heart, though; red-headed people are sometimes affectionate." "they are impulsive," hazarded condy. as he spoke the words, a second man entered the little room. he, too, sat down at a nearby table. he, too, ordered the "supper mexican." he, too, wore marguerites in his buttonhole. "death and destruction!" gasped condy, turning pale. blix collapsed helplessly in her chair, her hands dropping in her lap. they stared at each other in utter confusion. "here's a how-do-you-do," murmured condy, pretending to strip a tamale that richard had just set before him. but blix had pushed hers aside. "what does it mean?" whispered condy across the table. "in heaven's name, what does it mean?" "it can only mean one thing," blix declared; "one of them is the captain, and one is a coincidence. anybody might wear a marguerite; we ought to have thought of that." "but which is which?" "if k. d. b. should come now!" "but the last man looks more like the captain." the last man was a sturdy, broad-shouldered fellow, who might have been forty. his heavy mustache was just touched with gray, and he did have a certain vaguely "sober and industrious" appearance. but the difference between the two men was slight, after all; the red-headed man could easily have been a sea captain, and he certainly was over thirty-five. "which? which? which?--how can we tell? we might think of some way to get rid of the coincidence, if we could only tell which the coincidence was. we owe it to k. d. b. in a way, condy, it's our duty. we brought her here, or we are going to, and we ought to help her all we can; and she may be here at any moment. what time is it now?" "five minutes after seven. but, blix, i should think the right one--the captain--would be all put out himself by seeing another chap here wearing marguerites. does either one of 'em seem put out to you? look. i should think the captain, whichever one he is, would kind of glare at the coincidence." stealthily they studied the two men for a moment. "no, no," murmured blix, "you can't tell. neither of them seems to glare much. oh, condy"--her voice dropped to a faint whisper. "the red-headed one has put his hat on a chair, just behind him, notice? do you suppose if you stood up you could see inside?" "what good would that do?" "he might have his initials inside the crown, or his whole name even; and you could see if he had a 'captain' before it." condy made a pretence of rising to get a match in a ribbed, truncated cone of china that stood upon an adjacent table, and blix held her breath as he glanced down into the depths of the hat. he resumed his seat. "only initials," he breathed--"w. j. a. it might be jack, that j., and it might be joe, or jeremiah, or joshua; and even if he was a captain he might not use the title. we're no better off than we were before." "and k. d. b. may come at any moment. maybe she has come already and looked through the windows, and saw two men with marguerites and went away. she'd be just that timid. what can we do?" "wait a minute, look here," murmured condy. "i've an idea. i'll find out which the captain is. you see that picture, that chromo, on the wall opposite?" blix looked as he indicated. the picture was a gorgeously colored lithograph of a pilot-boat, schooner-rigged, all sails set, dashing bravely through seas of emerald green color. "you mean that schooner?" asked blix. "that schooner, exactly. now, listen. you ask me in a loud voice what kind of a boat that is; and when i answer, you keep your eye on the two men." "why, what are you going to do?" "you'll see. try it now; we've no time to lose." blix shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. then: "what a pretty boat that is up there, that picture on the wall. see over there, on the wall opposite? do you notice it? isn't she pretty? condy, tell me what kind of a boat is that?" condy turned about in his place with great deliberation, fixed the picture with a judicial eye, and announced decisively: "that?--why, that's a barkentine." condy had no need to wait for blix's report. the demonstration came far too quickly for that. the red-headed man at his loud declaration merely glanced in the direction of the chromo and returned to his enchellados. but he of the black mustache followed condy's glance, noted the picture of which he spoke, and snorted contemptuously. they even heard him mutter beneath his mustache: "barkentine your eye!" "no doubt as to which is the captain now," whispered condy so soon as the other had removed from him a glance of withering scorn. they could hardly restrain their gayety; but their gravity promptly returned when blix kicked condy's foot under the table and murmured: "he's looking at his watch, the captain is. k. d. b. isn't here yet, and the red-headed man, the coincidence, is. we must get rid of him. condy, can't you think of something?" "well, he won't go till he's through his supper, you can depend upon that. if he's here when k. d. b. arrives, it will spoil everything. she wouldn't stay a moment. she wouldn't even come in." "isn't it disappointing? and i had so counted upon bringing these two together! and captain jack is a nice man!" "you can see that with one hand tied behind you," whispered condy. "the other chap's tough." "looks just like the kind of man to get into jail sooner or later." "maybe he's into some mischief now; you never can tell. and the mexican quarter of san francisco is just the place for 'affairs.' i'll warrant he's got pals." "well, here he is--that's the main point--just keeping those people apart, spoiling a whole romance. maybe ruining their lives. it's quite possible; really it is. just stop and think. this is a positive crisis we're looking at now." "can't we get rid of him somehow?" "o-oh!" whispered blix, all at once, in a quiver of excitement. "there is a way, if we'd ever have the courage to do it. it might work; and if it didn't, he'd never know the difference, never would suspect us. oh! but we wouldn't dare." "what? what? in heaven's name what is it, blix?" "we wouldn't dare--we couldn't. oh! but it would be such--" "k. d. b. may come in that door at any second." "i'm half afraid, but all the same--condy, let me have a pencil." she dashed off a couple of lines on the back of the bill of fare, and her hand trembled like a leaf as she handed him what she had written. "send him--the red-headed man--that telegram. there's an office just two doors below here, next the drug-store. i saw it as we came by. you know his initials: remember, you saw them in his hat. w. j. a., luna's restaurant. that's all you want." "lord," muttered condy, as he gazed upon what blix had written. "do you dare?" she whispered, with a little hysterical shudder. "if it failed we've nothing to lose." "and k. d. b. is coming nearer every instant!" "but would he go--that is, at once?" "we can only try. you won't be gone a hundred seconds. you can leave me here that length of time. quick, condy; decide one way or the other. it's getting desperate." condy reached for his hat. "give me some money, then," he said. "you won all of mine." a few moments later he was back again and the two sat, pretending to eat their chili peppers, their hearts in their throats, hardly daring to raise their eyes from their plates. condy was actually sick with excitement, and all but tipped the seltzer bottle to the floor when a messenger boy appeared in the outer room. the boy and the proprietor held a conference over the counter. then richard appeared between the portieres of nottingham lace, the telegram in his hand and the boy at his heels. evidently richard knew the red-headed man, for he crossed over to him at once with the words: "i guess this is for you, mr. atkins?" he handed him the despatch and retired. the red-headed man signed the receipt; the boy departed. blix and condy heard the sound of torn paper as the red-headed man opened the telegram. ten seconds passed, then fifteen, then twenty. there was a silence. condy dared to steal a glance at the red-headed man's reflection in the mirror. he was studying the despatch, frowning horribly. he put it away in his pocket, took it out again with a fierce movement of impatience, and consulted it a second time. his "supper mexican" remained untasted before him; condy and blix heard him breathing loud through his nose. that he was profoundly agitated, they could not doubt for a single moment. all at once a little panic terror seemed to take possession of him. he rose, seized his hat, jammed it over his ears, slapped a half-dollar upon the table, and strode from the restaurant. this is what the read-headed man had read in the despatch; this is what blix had written: "all is discovered. fly at once." and never in all their subsequent rambles about the city did blix or condy set eyes upon the red-headed man again, nor did luna's restaurant, where he seemed to have been a habitue, ever afterward know his presence. he disappeared; he was swallowed up. he had left the restaurant, true. had he also left that neighborhood? had he fled the city, the state, the country even? what skeleton in the red-headed man's closet had those six words called to life and the light of day. had they frightened him forth to spend the rest of his days fleeing from an unnamed, unknown avenger--a veritable wandering jew? what mystery had they touched upon there in the bald, bare back room of the quarter's restaurant? what dark door had they opened, what red-headed phantom had they evoked? had they broken up a plot, thwarted a conspiracy, prevented a crime? they never knew. one thing only was certain. the red-headed man had had a past. meanwhile the minutes were passing, and k. d. b. still failed to appear. captain jack was visibly growing impatient, anxious. by now he had come to the fiery liqueur called mescal. he was nearly through his supper. at every moment he consulted his watch and fixed the outside door with a scowl. it was already twenty minutes after seven. "i know the red-headed man spoiled it, after all," murmured blix. "k. d. b. saw the two of them in here and was frightened." "we could send captain jack a telegram from her," suggested condy. "i'm ready for anything now." "what could you say?" "oh, that she couldn't come. make another appointment." "he'd be offended with her. he'd never make another appointment. sea captains are always so punctilious, y' know." richard brought them their coffee and kirsch, and condy showed blix how to burn a lump of sugar and sweeten the coffee with syrup. but they were disappointed. captain jack was getting ready to leave. k. d. b. had evidently broken the appointment. then all at once she appeared. they knew it upon the instant by a brisk opening and shutting of the street door, and by a sudden alertness on the part of captain jack, which he immediately followed by a quite inexplicable move. the street door in the outside room had hardly closed before his hand shot to his coat lapel and tore out the two marguerites. the action was instinctive; blix knew it for such immediately. the retired captain had not premeditated it. he had not seen the face of the newcomer. she had not time to come into the back room, or even to close the street door. but the instant that the captain had recognized a bunch of white marguerites in her belt he had, without knowing why, been moved to conceal his identity. "he's afraid," whispered blix. "positively, i believe he's afraid. how absolutely stupid men are!" but meanwhile, k. d. b., the looked-for, the planned-for and intrigued-for; the object of so much diplomacy, such delicate manoeuvring; the pivot upon which all plans were to turn, the storm-centre round which so many conflicting currents revolved, and for whose benefit the peace of mind of the red-headed man had been forever broken up--had entered the room. "why, she's pretty!" was blix's first smothered exclamation, as if she had expected a harridan. k. d. b. looked like a servant-girl of the better sort, and was really very neatly dressed. she was small, little even. she had snappy black eyes, a resolute mouth, and a general air of being very quiet, very matter-of-fact and complacent. she would be disturbed at nothing, excited at nothing; blix was sure of that. she was placid, but it was the placidity not of the absence of emotion, but of emotion disdained. not the placidity of the mollusk, but that of a mature and contemplative cat. quietly she sat down at a corner table, quietly she removed her veil and gloves, and quietly she took in the room and its three occupants. condy and blix glued their eyes upon their coffee cups like guilty conspirators; but a crash of falling crockery called their attention to the captain's table. captain jack was in a tremor. hitherto he had acted the role of a sane and sensible gentleman of middle age, master of himself and of the situation. the entrance of k. d. b. had evidently reduced him to a semi-idiotic condition. he enlarged himself; he eased his neck in his collar with a rotary movement of head and shoulders. he frowned terribly at trifling objects in corners of the room. he cleared his throat till the glassware jingled. he pulled at his mustache. he perspired, fumed, fretted, and was suddenly seized with an insane desire to laugh. once only he caught the eye of k. d. b., calmly sitting in her corner, picking daintily at her fish, whereupon he immediately overturned the vinegar and pepper casters upon the floor. just so might have behaved an overgrown puppy in the presence of a sleepy, unperturbed chessy-cat, dozing by the fire. "he ought to be shaken," murmured blix at the end of her patience. "does he think she is going to make the first move?" "ha, ah'm!" thundered the captain, clearing his throat for the twentieth time, twirling his mustache, and burying his scarlet face in an enormous pocket handkerchief. five minutes passed and he was still in his place. from time to time k. d. b. fixed him with a quiet, deliberate look, and resumed her delicate picking. "do you think she knows it's he, now that he's taken off his marguerites?" whispered condy. "know it?--of course she does! do you think women are absolutely blind, or so imbecile as men are? and, then, if she didn't think it was he, she'd go away. and she's so really pretty, too. he ought to thank his stars alive. think what a fright she might have been! she doesn't look thirty-one." "huh!" returned condy. "as long as she said she was thirty-one, you can bet everything you have that she is; that's as true as revealed religion." "well, it's something to have seen the kind of people who write the personals," said blix. "i had always imagined that they were kind of tough." "you see they are not," he answered. "i told you they were not. maybe, however, we have been exceptionally fortunate. at any rate, these are respectable enough." "not the least doubt about that. but why don't he do something, that captain?" mourned blix. "why will he act like such a ninny?" "he's waiting for us to go," said condy; "i'm sure of it. they'll never meet so long as we're here. let's go and give 'em a chance. if you leave the two alone here, one or the other will have to speak. the suspense would become too terrible. it would be as though they were on a desert island." "but i wanted to see them meet," she protested. "you wouldn't hear what they said." "but we'd never know if they did meet, and oh--and who spoke first?" "she'll speak first," declared condy. "never!" returned blix, in an indignant whisper. "i tell you what. we could go and then come back in five minutes. i'll forget my stick here. savvy?" "you would probably do it anyhow," she told him. they decided this would be the better course. they got together their things, and condy neglected his stick, hanging upon a hook on the wall. at the counter in the outside room, blix, to the stupefaction of richard, the waiter, paid the bill. but as she was moving toward the door, condy called her back. "remember the waiter," he said severely, while richard grinned and bobbed. "fifty cents is the very least you could tip him." richard actually protested, but condy was firm, and insisted upon a half-dollar tip. "noblesse oblige," he declared with vast solemnity. they walked as far as the cathedral, listened for a moment to the bell striking the hour of eight; then as they remembered that the restaurant closed at that time, hurried back and entered the outside room in feigned perturbation. "did i, could i have possibly left my stick here?" exclaimed condy to richard, who was untying his apron behind the counter. but richard had not noticed. "i think i must have left it back here where we were sitting." condy stepped into the back room, blix following. they got his stick and returned to the outside room. "yes, yes, i did leave it," he said, as he showed it to richard. "i'm always leaving that stick wherever i go." "come again," said richard, as he bowed them out of the door. on the curb outside condy and blix shook hands and congratulated each other on the success of all their labors. in the back room, seated at the same table, a bunch of wilting marguerites between them, they had seen their "matrimonial objects" conferring earnestly together, absorbed in the business of getting acquainted. blix heaved a great sigh of relief and satisfaction, exclaiming: "at last k. d. b. and captain jack have met!" chapter viii "but," she added, as they started to walk, "we will never know which one spoke first." but condy was already worrying. "i don't know, i don't know!" he murmured anxiously. "perhaps we've done an awful thing. suppose they aren't happy together after they're married? i wish we hadn't; i wish we hadn't now. we've been playing a game of checkers with human souls. we've an awful responsibility. suppose he kills her some time?" "fiddlesticks, condy! and, besides, if we've done wrong with our matrimonial objects, we've offset it by doing well with our red-headed coincidence. how do you know, you may have 'foiled a villain' with that telegram--prevented a crime?" condy grinned at the recollection of the incident. "'fly at once,'" he repeated. "i guess he's flying yet. 'all is discovered.' i'd give a dollar and a half--" "if you had it?" "oh, well, if i had it--to know just what it was we have discovered." suddenly blix caught his arm. "condy, here they come!" "who? who?" "our objects, captain jack and k. d. b." "of course, of course. they couldn't stay. the restaurant shuts up at eight." blix and condy had been walking slowly in the direction of pacific street, and k. d. b. and her escort soon overtook them going in the same direction. as they passed, the captain was saying: "--jumped on my hatches, and says we'll make it an international affair. that didn't--" a passing wagon drowned the sound of his voice. "he was telling her of his adventures!" cried blix. "splendid! othello and desdemona. they're getting on." "let's follow them!" exclaimed condy. "should we? wouldn't it be indiscreet?" "no. we are the arbiters of their fate; we must take an interest." they allowed their objects to get ahead some half a block and then fell in behind. there was little danger of their being detected. the captain and k. d. b. were absorbed in each other. she had even taken his arm. "they make a fine-looking couple, really," said blix. "where do you suppose they are going? to another restaurant?" but this was not the case. blix and condy followed them as far as washington square, where the geodetic survey stone stands, and the enormous flagstaff; and there in front of a commonplace little house, two doors above the russian church with its minarets like inverted balloons k. d. b. and the captain halted. for a few moments they conversed in low tones at the gate, then said good-night, k. d. b. entering the house, the captain bowing with great deference, his hat in his hand. then he turned about, glanced once or twice at the house, set his hat at an angle, and disappeared across the square, whistling a tune, his chin in the air. "very good, excellent, highly respectable," approved blix; and condy himself fetched a sigh of relief. "yes, yes, it might have been worse." "we'll never see them again, our 'matrimonial objects,'" said blix, "and they'll never know about us; but we have brought them together. we've started a romance. yes, i think we've done a good day's work. and now, condy, i think we had best be thinking of home ourselves. i'm just beginning to get most awfully sleepy. what a day we've had!" a sea fog, or rather the sea fog--san francisco's old and inseparable companion--had gathered by the time they reached the top of the washington street hill. everything was wet with it. the asphalt was like varnished ebony. indistinct masses and huge dim shadows stood for the houses on either side. from the eucalyptus trees and the palms the water dripped like rain. far off oceanward, the fog-horn was lowing like a lost gigantic bull. the gray bulk of a policeman--the light from the street lamp reflected in his star--loomed up on the corner as they descended from the car. * * * * * * * * * * condy had intended to call his diver's story "a submarine romance," but blix had disapproved. "it's too 'twenty thousand leagues under the sea,'" she had said. "you want something much more dignified. there is that about you, condy, you like to be too showy; you don't know when to stop. but you have left off red-and-white scarfs, and i am very glad to see you wearing white shirt-fronts instead of pink ones." "yes, yes, i thought it would be quieter," he had answered, as though the idea had come from him. blix allowed him to think so. but "a victory over death," as the story was finally called, was a success. condy was too much of a born story-teller not to know when he had done something distinctly good. when the story came back from the typewriter's, with the additional strength that print lends to fiction, and he had read it over, he could not repress a sense of jubilation. the story rang true. "bully, bully!" he muttered between his teeth as he finished the last paragraph. "it's a corker! if it's rejected everywhere, it's an out-of-sight yarn just the same." and there condy's enthusiasm in the matter began to dwindle. the fine fire which had sustained him during the story's composition had died out. he was satisfied with his work. he had written a good story, and that was the end of it. no doubt he would send it east--to the centennial company--to-morrow or the day after--some time that week. to mail the manuscript meant quite half an hour's effort. he would have to buy stamps for return postage; a letter would have to be written, a large envelope procured, the accurate address ascertained. for the moment his supplement work demanded his attention. he put off sending the story from day to day. his interest in it had abated. and for that matter he soon discovered he had other things to think of. it had been easy to promise blix that he would no longer gamble at his club with the other men of his acquaintance; but it was "death and the devil," as he told himself, to abide by that promise. more than once in the fortnight following upon his resolution he had come up to the little flat on the washington street hill as to a place of refuge; and blix, always pretending that it was all a huge joke and part of their good times, had brought out the cards and played with him. but she knew very well the fight he was making against the enemy, and how hard it was for him to keep from the round green tables and group of silent shirt-sleeved men in the card-rooms of his club. she looked forward to the time when condy would cease to play even with her. but she was too sensible and practical a girl to expect him to break a habit of years' standing in a couple of weeks. the thing would have to be accomplished little by little. at times she had misgivings as to the honesty of the course she had adopted. but nowadays, playing as he did with her only, condy gambled but two or three evenings in the week, and then not for more than two hours at a time. heretofore hardly an evening that had not seen him at the round table in his club's card-room, whence he had not risen until long after midnight. condy had told young sargeant that he had "reformed" in the matter of gambling, and intended to swear off for a few months. sargeant, like the thoroughbred he was, never urged him to play after that, and never spoke of the previous night's game when condy was about. the other men of his "set" were no less thoughtful, and, though they rallied him a little at first upon his defection, soon let the matter drop. condy told himself that there were plenty of good people in the world, after all. every one seemed conspiring to make it easy for him, and he swore at himself for a weak-kneed cad. on a certain tuesday, about a week after the fishing excursion and the affair of the "matrimonial objects," toward half-past six in the evening, condy was in his room, dressing for a dinner engagement. young sargeant's sister had invited him to be one of a party who were to dine at the university club, and later on fill a box at a charity play, given by amateurs at one of the downtown theatres. but as he was washing his linen shirt-studs with his tooth-brush his eye fell upon a note, in laurie flagg's handwriting, that lay on his writing-desk, and that he had received some ten days previous. condy turned cold upon the instant, hurled the tooth-brush across the room, and dropped into a chair with a groan of despair. miss flagg was giving a theatre party for the same affair, and he remembered now that he had promised to join her party as well, forgetting all about the engagement he had made with miss sargeant. it was impossible at this late hour to accept either one of the young women's invitations without offending the other. "well, i won't go to either, that's all," he vociferated aloud to the opposite wall. "i'll send 'em each a wire, and say that i'm sick or have got to go down to the office, and--and, by george! i'll go up and see blix, and we'll read and make things to eat." and no sooner had this alternative occurred to him than it appeared too fascinating to be resisted. a weight seemed removed from his mind. when it came to that, what amusement would he have at either affair? "sit up there with your shirt-front starched like a board," he blustered, "and your collar throttling you, and smile till your face is sore, and reel off small talk to a girl whose last name you can't remember! do i have any fun, does it do me any good, do i get ideas for yarns? what do i do it for? i don't know." while speaking he had been kicking off his tight shoes and such of his full dress as he had already put on, and with a feeling of enormous relief turned again to his sack suit of tweed. "lord, these feel better!" he exclaimed, as he substituted the loose business suit for the formal rigidity of his evening dress. it was with a sensation of positive luxury that he put on a "soft" shirt of blue cheviot and his tan walking-shoes. "but no more red scarfs," he declared, as he knotted his black satin "club" before the mirror. "she was right there." he put his cigarettes in his pocket, caught up his gloves and stick, clapped on his hat, and started for the bessemers' flat with a feeling of joyous expectancy he had not known for days. evidently blix had seen him coming, for she opened the door herself; and it suited her humor for the moment to treat him as a peddler or book-agent. "no, no," she said airily, her head in the air as she held the door. "no, we don't want any to-day. we have the biography of abraham lincoln. don't want to subscribe to any home book of art. we're not artistic; we use drapes in our parlors. don't want 'the wives and mothers of great men.'" but condy had noticed a couple of young women on the lower steps of the adjacent flat, quite within ear-shot, and at once he began in a loud, harsh voice: "well, y' know, we can't wait for our rent forever; i'm only the collector, and i've nothing to do with repairs. pay your rent that's three months overdue, and then--" but blix pulled him within the house and clapped to the door. "condy rivers!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming, "those are our neighbors. they heard every word. what do you suppose they think?" "huh! i'd rather have 'em think i was a rent-collector than a book-agent. you began it. 'evenin', miss lady." "'evenin', mister man." but condy's visit, begun thus gayly, soon developed along much more serious lines. after supper, while the light still lasted, blix read stories to him while he smoked cigarettes in the bay window of the dining-room. but as soon as the light began to go she put the book aside, and the two took their accustomed places in the window, and watched the evening burning itself out over the golden gate. it was just warm enough to have one of the windows opened, and for a long time after the dusk they sat listening to the vague clamor of the city, lapsing by degrees, till it settled into a measured, soothing murmur, like the breathing of some vast monster asleep. condy's cigarette was a mere red point in the half-darkness. the smoke drifted out of the open window in long, blue strata. at his elbow blix was leaning forward, looking down upon the darkening, drowsing city, her round, strong chin propped upon her hand. she was just close enough for candy to catch the sweet, delicious feminine perfume that came indefinitely from her clothes, her hair, her neck. from where condy sat he could see the silhouette of her head and shoulders against the dull golden blur of the open window; her round, high forehead, with the thick yellow hair rolling back from her temples and ears, her pink, clean cheeks, her little dark-brown, scintillating eyes, and her firm red mouth, made all the firmer by the position of her chin upon her hand. as ever, her round, strong neck was swathed high and tight in white satin; but between the topmost fold of the satin and the rose of one small ear-lobe was a little triangle of white skin, that was partly her neck and partly her cheek, and that condy knew should be softer than down, smoother than satin, warm and sweet and redolent as new apples. condy imagined himself having the right to lean toward her there and kiss that little spot upon her neck or her cheek; and as he fancied it, was surprised to find his breath come suddenly quick, and a barely perceptible qualm, as of a certain faintness, thrill him to his finger-tips; and then, he thought, how would it be if he could, without fear of rebuff, reach out his arm and put it about her trim, firm waist, and draw her very close to him, till he should feel the satiny coolness of her smooth cheek against his; till he could sink his face in the delicious, fragrant confusion of her hair, then turn that face to his--that face with its strong, calm mouth and sweet, full lips-- the face of this dear young girl of nineteen, and then-- "i say--i--shall we--let's read again. let's--let's do something." "condy, how you frightened me!" exclaimed blix, with a great start. "no, listen: i want to talk to you, to tell you something. papum and i have been having some very long and serious talks since you were last here. what do you think, i may go away." "the deuce you say!" exclaimed condy, sitting suddenly upright. "where to, in heaven's name?" he added--"and when? and what for?" "to new york, to study medicine." there was a silence; then condy exclaimed, waving his hands at her: "oh, go right on! don't mind me. little thing like going to new york--to study medicine. of course, that happens every day, a mere detail. i presume you'll go back and forth for your meals?" then blix began to explain. it appeared that she had two aunts, both sisters of her father--one a widow, the other unmarried. the widow, a certain mrs. kihm, lived in new york, and was wealthy, and had views on "women's sphere of usefulness." the other, miss bessemer, a little old maid of fifty, condy had on rare occasions seen at the flat, where every one called her aunt dodd. she lived in that vague region of the city known as the mission, where she owned a little property. from what blix told him that evening, condy learned that mrs. kihm had visited the coast a few winters previous and had taken a great fancy to blix. even then she had proposed to mr. bessemer to take blix back to new york with her, and educate her to some woman's profession; but at that time the old man would not listen to it. now it seemed that the opportunity had again presented itself. "she's a dear old lady," blix said; "not a bit strong-minded, as you would think, and ever so much cleverer than most men. she manages all her property herself. for the last month she's been writing again to papum for me to come on and stay with her three, or four years. she hasn't a chick nor a child, and she don't entertain or go out any, so maybe she feels lonesome. of course if i studied there, papum wouldn't think of aunt kihm--don't you know--paying for it all. i wouldn't go if it was that way. but i could stay with her and she could make a home for me while i was there--if i should study--anything--study medicine." "but why!" he exclaimed. "what do you want to study to be a doctor for? it isn't as though you had to support yourself." "i know, i know i've not got to support myself. but why shouldn't i have a profession just like a man--just like you, condy? you stop and think. it seemed strange to me when i first thought of it; but i got thinking about it and talking it over with papum, and i should love it. i'd do it, not because i would have to do it, but because it would interest me. condy, you know that i'm not a bit strong-minded, and that i hate a masculine, unfeminine girl as much as you do." "but a medical college, blix! you don't know what you are talking about." "yes, i do. there's a college in new york just for women. aunt kihm sent me the prospectus, and it's one of the best in the country. i don't dream of practicing, you know; at least, i don't think about that now. but one must have some occupation; and isn't studying medicine, condy, better than piano-playing, or french courses, or literary classes and browning circles? oh, i've no patience with that kind of girl! and look at the chance i have now; and aunt kihm is such a dear! think, she writes, i could go to and from the college in her coupe every day, and i would see new york; and just being in a big city like that is an education." "you're right, it would be a big thing for you," assented condy, "and i like the idea of you studying something. it would be the making of such a girl as you, blix." and then blix, seeing him thus acquiescent, said: "well, it's all settled; papum and i both wrote last night." "when are you going?" "the first week in january." "well, that's not so awfully soon. but who will take your place here? however in the world would your father get along without you--and snooky and howard?" "aunt dodd is going to come." "sudden enough," said condy, "but it is a great thing for you, blix, and i'm mighty glad for you. your future is all cut out for you now. of course your aunt, if she's so fond of you and hasn't any children, will leave you everything--maybe settle something on you right away; and you'll marry some one of those new york chaps, and be great big people before you know it." "the idea, condy!" she protested. "no; i'm going there to study medicine. oh, you don't know how enthusiastic i am over the idea! i've bought some of the first-year books already, and have been reading them. really, condy, they are even better than 'many inventions.'" "wish i could get east," muttered condy gloomily. blix forgot her own good fortune upon the instant. "i do so wish you could, condy!" she exclaimed. "you are too good for a sunday supplement. i know it and you know it, and i've heard ever so many people who have read your stories say the same thing. you could spend twenty years working as you are now, and at the end what would you be? just an assistant editor of a sunday supplement, and still in the same place; and worse, you'd come to be contented with that, and think you were only good for that and nothing better. you've got it in you, condy, to be a great story-teller. i believe in you, and i've every confidence in you. but just so long as you stay here and are willing to do hack work, just so long you will be a hack writer. you must break from it; you must get away. i know you have a good time here; but there are so many things better than that and more worth while. you ought to make up your mind to get east, and work for that and nothing else. i know you want to go, but wanting isn't enough. enthusiasm without energy isn't enough. you have enthusiasm, condy; but you must have energy. you must be willing to give up things; you must make up your mind that you will go east, and then set your teeth together and do it. oh, i love a man that can do that--make up his mind to a thing and then put it through!" condy watched her as she talked, her brown-black eyes coruscating, her cheeks glowing, her small hands curled into round pink fists. "blix, you're splendid!" he exclaimed; "you're fine! you could put life into a dead man. you're the kind of girl that are the making of men. by jove, you'd back a man up, wouldn't you? you'd stand by him till the last ditch. of course," he went on after a pause--"of course i ought to go to new york. but, blix, suppose i went--well, then what? it isn't as though i had any income of my own, or rich aunt. suppose i didn't find something to do--and the chances are that i wouldn't for three or four months--what would i live on in the meanwhile? 'what would the robin do then, poor thing?' i'm a poor young man, miss bessemer, and i've got to eat. no; my only chance is 'to be discovered' by a magazine or a publishing house or somebody, and get a bid of some kind." "well, there is the centennial company. they have taken an interest in you, condy. you must follow that right up and keep your name before them all the time. have you sent them 'a victory over death' yet?" condy sat down to his eggs and coffee the next morning in the hotel, harried with a certain sense of depression and disappointment for which he could assign no cause. nothing seemed to interest him. the newspaper was dull. he could look forward to no pleasure in his day's work; and what was the matter with the sun that morning? as he walked down to the office he noted no cloud in the sky, but the brightness was gone from the day. he sat down to his desk and attacked his work, but "copy" would not come. the sporting editor and his inane jokes harassed him beyond expression. just the sight of the clipping editor's back was an irritation. the office boy was a mere incentive to profanity. there was no spring in condy that morning, no elasticity, none of his natural buoyancy. as the day wore on, his ennui increased; his luncheon at the club was tasteless, tobacco had lost its charm. he ordered a cocktail in the wine-room, and put it aside with a wry face. the afternoon was one long tedium. at every hour he flung his pencil down, utterly unable to formulate the next sentence of his article, and, his hands in his pockets, gazed gloomily out of the window over the wilderness of roofs--grimy, dirty, ugly roofs that spread out below. he craved diversion, amusement, excitement. something there was that he wanted with all his heart and soul; yet he was quite unable to say what it was. something was gone from him to-day that he had possessed yesterday, and he knew he would not regain it on the morrow, nor the next day, nor the day after that. what was it? he could not say. for half an hour he imagined he was going to be sick. his mother was not to be at home that evening, and condy dined at his club in the hopes of finding some one with whom he could go to the theatre later on in the evening. sargeant joined him over his coffee and cigarette, but declined to go with him to the theatre. "another game on to-night?" asked condy. "i suppose so," admitted the other. "i guess i'll join you to-night," said condy. "i've had the blue devils since morning, and i've got to have something to drive them off." "don't let me urge you, you know," returned sargeant. "oh, that's all right!" condy assured him. "my time's about up, anyways." an hour later, just as he, sargeant, and the other men of their "set" were in the act of going upstairs to the card-rooms, a hall-boy gave condy a note, at that moment brought by a messenger, who was waiting for an answer. it was from blix. she wrote: "don't you want to come up and play cards with me to-night? we haven't had a game in over a week?" "how did she know?" thought condy to himself--"how could she tell?" aloud, he said: "i can't join you fellows, after all. 'despatch from the managing editor.' some special detail or other." for the first time since the previous evening condy felt his spirits rise as he set off toward the washington street hill. but though he and blix spent as merry an evening as they remembered in a long time, his nameless, formless irritation returned upon him almost as soon as he had bidden her good-night. it stayed with him all through the week, and told upon his work. as a result, three of his articles were thrown out by the editor. "we can't run such rot as that in the paper," the chief had said. "can't you give us a story?" "oh, i've got a kind of a yarn you can run if you like," answered condy, his week's depression at its very lowest. "a victory over death" was published in the following sunday's supplement of the "times," with illustrations by one of the staff artists. it attracted not the least attention. just before he went to bed the sunday evening of its appearance, condy read it over again for the last time. "it's a rotten failure," he muttered gloomily as he cast the paper from him. "simple drivel. i wonder what blix will think of it. i wonder if i amount to a hill of beans. i wonder what she wants to go east for, anyway." chapter ix the old-fashioned union street cable car, with its low, comfortable outside seats, put blix and condy down just inside the presidio government reservation. condy asked a direction of a sentry nursing his krag-jorgensen at the terminus of the track, and then with blix set off down the long board walk through the tunnel of overhanging evergreens. the day could not have been more desirable. it was a little after ten of a monday morning, condy's weekly holiday. the air was neither cool nor warm, effervescent merely, brisk and full of the smell of grass and of the sea. the sky was a speckless sheen of pale blue. to their right, and not far off, was the bay, blue as indigo. alcatraz seemed close at hand; beyond was the enormous green, red, and purple pyramid of tamalpais climbing out of the water, head and shoulders above the little foothills, and looking out to the sea and to the west. the reservation itself was delightful. there were rows of the officers' houses, all alike, drawn up in lines like an assembly of the staff; there were huge barracks, most like college dormitories; and on their porches enlisted men in shirt sleeves and overalls were cleaning saddles, and polishing the brass of head-stalls and bridles, whistling the while or smoking corn-cob pipes. here on the parade-ground a soldier, his coat and vest removed, was batting grounders and flies to a half-dozen of his fellows. over by the stables, strings of horses, all of the same color, were being curried and cleaned. a young lieutenant upon a bicycle spun silently past. an officer came from his front gate, his coat unbuttoned and a briar in his teeth. the walks and roads were flanked with lines of black-painted cannon-balls; inverted pieces of abandoned ordnance stood at corners. from a distance came the mellow snarling of a bugle. blix and condy had planned a long walk for that day. they were to go out through the presidio reservation, past the barracks and officers' quarters, and on to the old fort at the golden gate. here they would turn and follow the shore-line for a way, then strike inland across the hills for a short half-mile, and regain the city and the street-car lines by way of the golf-links. condy had insisted upon wearing his bicycle outfit for the occasion, and, moreover, carried a little satchel, which, he said, contained a pair of shoes. but blix was as sweet as a rose that morning, all in tailor-made black but for the inevitable bands of white satin wrapped high and tight about her neck. the st. bernard dog-collar did duty as a belt. she had disdained a veil, and her yellow hair was already blowing about her smooth pink cheeks. she walked at his side, her step as firm and solid as his own, her round, strong arms swinging, her little brown eyes shining with good spirits and vigor, and the pure, clean animal joy of being alive on that fine cool western morning. she talked almost incessantly. she was positively garrulous. she talked about the fine day that it was, about the queer new forage caps of the soldiers, about the bare green hills of the reservation, about the little cemetery they passed just beyond the limits of the barracks, about a rabbit she saw, and about the quail they both heard whistling and calling in the hollows under the bushes. condy walked at her side in silence, yet no less happy than she, smoking his pipe and casting occasional glances at a great ship--a four-master that was being towed out toward the golden gate. at every moment and at every turn they noted things that interested them, and to which they called each other's attention. "look, blix!" "oh, condy, look at that!" they were soon out of the miniature city of the post, and held on down through the low reach of tules and sand-dunes that stretch between the barracks and the old red fort. "look, condy!" said blix. "what's that building down there on the shore of the bay--the one with the flagstaff?" "i think that must be the lifeboat station." "i wonder if we could go down and visit it. i think it would be good fun." "idea!" exclaimed condy. the station was close at hand. to reach it they had but to leave the crazy board walk that led on toward the fort, and cross a few hundred yards of sand-dune. condy opened the gate that broke the line of evergreen hedge around the little two-story house, and promptly unchained a veritable pandemonium of dogs. inside, the place was not without a certain charm of its own. a brick wall, bordered with shells, led to the front of the station, which gave directly upon the bay; a little well-kept lawn opened to right and left, and six or eight gaily-painted old rowboats were set about, half filled with loam in which fuchsias, geraniums, and mignonettes were flowering. a cat or two dozed upon the window-sills in the sun. upon a sort of porch overhead, two of the crew paced up and down in a manner that at once suggested the poop. here and there was a gleam of highly polished red copper or brass trimmings. the bay was within two steps of the front door, while a little further down the beach was the house where the surf-boat was kept, and the long runway leading down from it to the water. condy rapped loudly at the front door. it was opened by captain jack. captain jack, and no other; only now he wore a blue sweater and a leather-visored cap, with the letters u. s. l. b. s. around the band. not an instant was given them for preparation. the thing had happened with the abruptness of a transformation scene at a theatre. condy's knock had evoked a situation. speech was stricken from their mouths. for a moment they were bereft even of action, and stood there on the threshold, staring open-mouthed and open-eyed at the sudden reappearance of their "matrimonial object." condy was literally dumb; in the end it was blix who tided them over the crisis. "we were just going by--just taking a walk," she explained, "and we thought we'd like to see the station. is it all right? can we look around?" "why, of course," assented the captain with great cordiality. "come right in. this is visitors' day. you just happened to hit it--only it's mighty few visitors we ever have," he added. while condy was registering for himself and blix, they managed to exchange a lightning glance. it was evident the captain did not recognize them. the situation readjusted itself, even promised to be of extraordinary interest. and for that matter it made little difference whether the captain remembered them or not. "no, we don't get many visitors," the captain went on, as he led them out of the station and down the small gravel walk to the house where the surf-boat was kept. "this is a quiet station. people don't fetch out this way very often, and we're not called out very often, either. we're an inside post, you see, and usually we don't get a call unless the sea's so high that the cliff house station can't launch their boat. so, you see, we don't go out much, but when we do, it means business with a great big b. now, this here, you see," continued the captain, rolling back the sliding doors of the house, "is the surf-boat. by the way, let's see; i ain't just caught your names yet." "well, my name's rivers," said condy, "and this is miss bessemer. we're both from the city." "happy to know you, sir; happy to know you, miss," he returned, pulling off his cap. "my name's hoskins, but you can just call me captain jack. i'm so used to it that i don't kind of answer to the other. well, now, miss bessemer, this here's the surf-boat; she's self-rightin', self-bailin', she can't capsize, and if i was to tell you how many thousands of dollars she cost, you wouldn't believe me." condy and blix spent a delightful half-hour in the boat-house while captain jack explained and illustrated, and told them anecdotes of wrecks, escapes, and rescues till they held their breaths like ten-year-olds. it did not take condy long to know that he had discovered what the story-teller so often tells of but so seldom finds, and what, for want of a better name, he elects to call "a character." captain jack had been everywhere, had seen everything, and had done most of the things worth doing, including a great many things that he had far better have left undone. but on this latter point the captain seemed to be innocently and completely devoid of a moral sense of right and wrong. it was quite evident that he saw no matter for conscience in the smuggling of chinamen across the canadian border at thirty dollars a head--a venture in which he had had the assistance of the prodigal son of an american divine of international renown. the trade to peruvian insurgents of condemned rifles was to be regretted only because the ring manipulating it was broken up. the appropriation of a schooner in the harbor of callao was a story in itself; while the robbery of thirty thousand dollars' worth of sea-otter skins from a russian trading-post in alaska, accomplished chiefly through the agency of a barrel of rum manufactured from sugar-cane, was a veritable achievement. he had been born, so he told them, in winchester, in england, and-- heaven save the mark!--had been brought up with a view of taking orders. for some time he was a choir boy in the great winchester cathedral; then, while yet a lad, had gone to sea. he had been boat-steerer on a new bedford whaler, and struck his first whale when only sixteen. he had filibustered down to chili; had acted as ice pilot on an arctic relief expedition; had captained a crew of chinamen shark-fishing in magdalena bay, and had been nearly murdered by his men; had been a deep-sea diver, and had burst his ear-drums at the business, so that now he could blow tobacco smoke out of his ears; he had been shipwrecked in the gilberts, fought with the seris on the lower california islands, sold champagne--made from rock candy, effervescent salts, and reisling wine--to the coreans, had dreamed of "holding up" a cunard liner, and had ridden on the strand in a hansom with william ewart gladstone. but the one thing of which he was proud, the one picture of his life he most delighted to recall, was himself as manager of a negro minstrel troupe, in a hired drum-major's uniform, marching down the streets of sacramento at the head of the brass band in burnt cork and regimentals. "the star of the troupe," he told them, "was the lady with the iron jore. we busted in stockton, and she gave me her diamonds to pawn. i pawned 'em, and kept back something in the hand for myself and hooked it to san francisco. strike me straight if she didn't follow me, that iron-jored piece; met me one day in front of the bush street theatre, and horsewhipped me properly. now, just think of that"--and he laughed as though it was the best kind of a joke. "but," hazarded blix, "don't you find it rather dull out here-- lonesome? i should think you would want to have some one with you to keep you company--to--to do your cooking for you?" but condy, ignoring her diplomacy and thinking only of possible stories, blundered off upon another track. "yes," he said, "you've led such a life of action, i should think this station would be pretty dull for you. how did you happen to choose it?" "well, you see," answered the captain, leaning against the smooth white flank of the surf-boat, his hands in his pockets, "i'm lying low just now. i got into a scrape down at libertad, in mexico, that made talk, and i'm waiting for that to die down some. you see, it was this way." mindful of their experience with the mate of the whaleback, condy and blix were all attention in an instant. blix sat down upon an upturned box, her elbows on her knees, leaning forward, her little eyes fixed and shining with interest and expectation; condy, the story-teller all alive and vibrant in him, stood at her elbow, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his fingers dancing with excitement and animation as the captain spoke. and then it was that condy and blix, in that isolated station, the bay lapping at the shore within ear-shot, in that atmosphere redolent of paint and oakum and of seaweed decaying upon the beach outside, first heard the story of "in defiance of authority." captain jack began it with his experience as a restaurant keeper during the boom days in seattle, washington. he told them how he was the cashier of a dining-saloon whose daily net profits exceeded eight hundred dollars; how its proprietor suddenly died, and how he, captain jack, continued the management of the restaurant pending a settlement of the proprietor's affairs and an appearance of heirs; how in the confusion and excitement of the boom no settlement was ever made; and how, no heirs appearing, he assumed charge of the establishment himself, paying bills, making contracts, and signing notes, until he came to consider the business and all its enormous profits as his own; and how at last, when the restaurant was burned, he found himself some forty thousand dollars "ahead of the game." then he told them of the strange club of the place, called "the exiles," made up chiefly of "younger sons" of english and british-canadian families, every member possessed of a "past" more or less disreputable; men who had left their country for their country's good, and for their family's peace of mind--adventurers, wanderers, soldiers of fortune, gentlemen-vagabonds, men of hyphenated names and even noble birth, whose appellations were avowedly aliases. he told them of his meeting with billy isham, one of the club's directors, and of the happy-go-lucky, reckless, unpractical character of the man; of their acquaintance, intimacy, and subsequent partnership; of how the filibustering project was started with captain jack's forty thousand, and the never-to-be-forgotten interview in san francisco with senora estrada, the agent of the insurgents; of the incident of her calling-card--how she tore it in two and gave one-half to isham; of their outfitting, and the broken sextant that was to cause their ultimate discomfiture and disaster, and of the voyage to the rendezvous on a panama liner. "strike me!" continued captain jack, "you should have seen billy isham on that panama dough-dish; a passenger ship she was, and billy was the life of her from stem to stern-post. there was a church pulpit aboard that they were taking down to mazatlan for some chapel or other, and this here pulpit was lashed on deck aft. well, billy had been most kinds of a fool in his life, and among others a play-actor; called himself gaston maundeville, and was clean daft on his knowledge of shakespeare and his own power of interpretin' the hidden meanin' of the lines. i ain't never going to forgit the day he gave us portia's speech. we were just under the tropic, and the day was a scorcher. there was mostly men folk aboard, and we lay around the deck in our pajamas, while billy--gaston maundeville, dressed in striped red and white pajamas--clum up in that bally pulpit, with the ship's shakespeare in his hands, an' let us have--'the quality o' mercy isn't strained; it droppeth as the genteel dew from heavun.' laugh, i tell you i was sore with it. lord, how we guyed him! an' the more we guyed and the more we laughed, the more serious he got and the madder he grew. he said he was interpretin' the hidden meanin' of the lines." and so the captain ran through that wild, fiery tale--of fighting and loving, buccaneering and conspiring; mandolins tinkling, knives clicking; oaths mingling with sonnets, and spilled wine with spilled blood. he told them of isham's knife duel with the mexican lieutenant, their left wrists lashed together; of the "battle of the thirty" in the pitch dark of the custom house cellar; of senora estrada's love for isham; and all the roll and plunge of action that make up the story of "in defiance of authority." at the end, blix's little eyes were snapping like sparks; condy's face was flaming, his hands were cold, and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, like an excited thoroughbred horse. "heavens and earth, what a yarn!" he exclaimed almost in a whisper. blix drew a long, tremulous breath and sat back upon the upturned box, looking around her as though she had but that moment been awakened. "yes, sir," said the captain, rolling a cigarette. "yes, sir, those were great days. get down there around the line in those little, out-o'-the-way republics along the south american coast, and things happen to you. you hold a man's life in the crook of your forefinger, an' nothing's done by halves. if you hate a man, you lay awake nights biting your mattress, just thinking how you hate him; an' if you love a woman--good lord, how you do love her!" "but--but!" exclaimed condy, "i don't see how you can want to do anything else. why, you're living sixty to the minute when you're playing a game like that!" "oh, i ain't dead yet!" answered the captain. "i got a few schemes left that i could get fun out of." "how can you wait a minute!" exclaimed blix breathlessly. "why don't you get a ship right away--to-morrow--and go right off on some other adventure?" "well, i can't just now," returned the captain, blowing the smoke from his cigarette through his ears. "there's a good many reasons; one of 'em is that i've just been married." chapter x mum--mar--married! gasped condy, swallowing something in his throat. blix rose to her feet. "just been married!" she repeated, a little frightened. "why--why--why; how delightful!" "yes--yes," mumbled condy. "how delightful. i congratulate you!" "come in--come back to the station," said the captain jovially, "and i'll introduce you to m' wife. we were married only last sunday." "why, yes--yes, of course, we'd be delighted," vociferated the two conspirators a little hysterically. "she's a mighty fine little woman," declared the captain, as he rolled the door of the boat-house to its place and preceded them up the gravel walk to the station. "of course she is," responded blix. behind captain jack's back she fixed condy with a wide-eyed look, and nudged him fiercely with an elbow to recall him to himself; for condy's wits were scattered like a flock of terrified birds, and he was gazing blankly at the captain's coat collar with a vacant, maniacal smile. "for heaven's sake, condy!" she had time to whisper before they arrived in the hallway of the station. but fortunately they were allowed a minute or so to recover themselves and prepare for what was coming. captain jack ushered them into what was either the parlor, office, or sitting-room of the station, and left them with the words: "just make yourselves comfortable here, an' i'll go fetch the little woman." no sooner had he gone than the two turned to each other. "well!" "well!" "we're in for it now." "but we must see it through, condy; act just as natural as you can, and we're all right." "but supposing she recognizes us!" "supposing she does--what then. how are they to know that we wrote the letters?" "sh, blix, not so loud! they know by now that they didn't." "but it seems that it hasn't made any difference to them; they are married. and besides, they wouldn't speak about putting 'personals' in the paper to us. they would never let anybody know that." "do you suppose they could possibly suspect?" "i'm sure they couldn't." "here they come." "keep perfectly calm, and we're saved." "suppose it isn't k. d. b., after all?" but it was, of course, and she recognized them in an instant. she and the captain--the latter all grins--came in from the direction of the kitchen, k. d. b. wearing a neat blue calico gown and an apron that was really a marvel of cleanliness and starch. "kitty!" exclaimed captain jack, seized again with an unexplainable mirth, "here's some young folks come out to see the place an' i want you to know 'em. mr. rivers, this is m' wife, kitty, and--lessee, miss, i don't rightly remember your name." "bessemer!" exclaimed condy and blix in a breath. "oh!" exclaimed k. d. b., "you were in the restaurant the night that the captain and i--i--that is--yes, i'm quite sure i've seen you before." she turned from one to the other, beginning to blush furiously. "yes, yes, in luna's restaurant, wasn't it?" said condy desperately. "it seems to me i do just barely remember." "and wasn't the captain there?" blix ventured. "i forgot my stick, i remember," continued condy. "i came back for it; and just as i was going out it seems to me i saw you two at a table near the door." he thought it best to allow their "matrimonial objects" to believe he had not seen them before. "yes, yes, we were there," answered k. d. b. tactfully. "we dine there almost every monday night." blix guessed that k. d. b. would prefer to have the real facts of the situation ignored, and determined she should have the chance to change the conversation if she wished. "what a delicious supper one has there!" she said. "can't say i like mexican cooking myself," answered k. d. b., forgetting that they dined there every monday night. "plain united states is good enough for me." suddenly captain jack turned abruptly to condy, exclaiming: "oh, you was the chap that called the picture of that schooner a barkentine." "yes; wasn't that a barkentine?" he answered innocently. "barkentine your eye!" spluttered the captain. "why, that was a schooner as plain as a pie plate." but ten minutes later the ordeal was over, and blix and condy, once more breathing easily, were on their walk again. the captain and k. d. b. had even accompanied them to the gate of the station, and had strenuously urged them to "come in and see them again the next time they were out that way." "married!" murmured condy, putting both hands to his head. "we've done it, we've done it now." "well, what of it?" declared blix, a little defiantly. "i think it's all right. you can see the captain is in love with her, and she with him. no, we've nothing to reproach ourselves with." "but--but--but so sudden!" whispered condy, all aghast. "that's what makes me faint--the suddenness of it." "it shows how much they are in love, how--how readily they--adapted themselves to each other. no, it's all right." "they seemed to like us--actually." "well, they had better--if they knew the truth. without us they never would have met." "they both asked us to come out and see them again, did you notice that? let's do it, blix," condy suddenly exclaimed; "let's get to know them!" "of course we must. wouldn't it be fun to call on them--to get regularly acquainted with them!" "they might ask us to dinner some time." "and think of the stories he could tell you!" they enthused immediately upon this subject, both talking excitedly at the same time, going over the details of the captain's yarns, recalling the incidents to each other. "fancy!" exclaimed condy--"fancy billy isham in his pajamas, red and white stripes, reading shakespeare from that pulpit on board the ship, and the other men guying him! isn't that a scene for you? can't you just see it? "i wonder if the captain wasn't making all those things up as he went along. he don't seem to have any sense of right and wrong at all. he might have been lying, condy." "what difference would that make?" and so they went along in that fine, clear, western morning, on the edge of the continent, both of them young and strong and vigorous, the pacific under their eyes, the great clean trades blowing in their faces, the smell of the salt sea coming in long aromatic whiffs to their nostrils. young and strong and fresh, their imaginations thronging with pictures of vigorous action and adventure, buccaneering, filibustering, and all the swing, the leap, the rush and gallop, the exuberant, strong life of the great, uncharted world of romance. and all unknowingly they were a romance in themselves. cynicism, old age, and the weariness of all things done had no place in the world in which they walked. they still had their illusions, all the keenness of their sensations, all the vividness of their impressions. the simple things of the world, the great, broad, primal emotions of the race stirred in them. as they swung along, going toward the ocean, their brains were almost as empty of thought or of reflection as those of two fine, clean animals. they were all for the immediate sensation; they did not think--they felt. the intellect was dormant; they looked at things, they heard things, they smelled the smell of the sea, and of the seaweed, of the fat, rank growth of cresses in the salt marshes; they turned their cheeks to the passing wind, and filled their mouths and breasts with it. their life was sweet to them; every hour was one glad effervescence. the fact that the ocean was blue was a matter for rejoicing. it was good to be alive on that royal morning. just to be young was an exhilaration; and everything was young with them--the day was young, the country was young, and the civilization to which they belonged, teeming there upon the green, western fringe of the continent, was young and heady and tumultuous with the boisterous, red blood of a new race. condy even forgot, or rather disdained on such a morning as that, to piece together and rearrange captain jack's yarns into story form. to look at the sea and the green hills, to watch the pink on blix's cheek and her yellow hair blowing across her eyes and lips, was better than thinking. life was better than literature. to live was better than to read; one live human being was better than ten thousand shakespeares; an act was better than a thought. why, just to love blix, to be with her, to see the sweet, clean flush of her cheek, to know that she was there at his side, and to have the touch of her elbow as they walked, was better than the best story, the greatest novel he could ever hope to write. life was better than literature, and love was the best thing in life. to love blix and to be near her--what else was worth while? could he ever think of finding anything in life sweeter and finer than this dear young girl of nineteen? suddenly condy came to himself with an abrupt start. what was this he was thinking--what was this he was telling himself? love blix! he loved blix! why, of course he loved her--loved her so, that with the thought of it there came a great, sudden clutch at the heart and a strange sense of tenderness, so vague and yet so great that it eluded speech and all expression. love her! of course he loved her! he had, all unknowing, loved her even before this wonderful morning: had loved her that day at the lake, and that never-to-be-forgotten, delicious afternoon in the chinese restaurant; all those long, quiet evenings spent in the window of the little dining-room, looking down upon the darkening city, he had loved her. why, all his days for the last few months had been full of the love of her. how else had he been so happy? how else did it come about that little by little he was withdrawing from the society and influence of his artificial world, as represented by such men as sargeant? how else was he slowly loosening the grip of the one evil and vicious habit that had clutched him so long? how else was his ambition stirring? how else was his hitherto aimless enthusiasm hardening to energy and determination? she had not always so influenced him. in the days when they had just known each other, and met each other in the weekly course of their formal life, it had not been so, even though they pretended a certain amount of affection. he remembered the evening when blix had brought those days to an abrupt end, and how at the moment he had told himself that after all he had never known the real blix. since then, in the charming, unconventional life they had led, everything had been changed. he had come to know her for what she was, to know her genuine goodness, her sincerity, her contempt of affectations, her comradeship, her calm, fine strength and unbroken good nature; and day by day, here a little and there a little, his love for her had grown so quietly, so evenly, that he had never known it, until now, behold! it was suddenly come to flower, full and strong--a flower whose fragrance had suddenly filled all his life and all his world with its sweetness. half an hour after leaving the lifeboat station, condy and blix reached the old, red-brick fort, deserted, abandoned, and rime-incrusted, at the entrance of the golden gate. they turned its angle, and there rolled the pacific, a blue floor of shifting water, stretching out there forever and forever over the curve of the earth, over the shoulder of the world, with never a sail in view and never a break from horizon to horizon. they followed down the shore, sometimes upon the old and broken flume that runs along the seaward face of the hills that rise from the beach, or sometimes upon the beach itself, stepping from bowlder to bowlder, or holding along at the edge of the water upon reaches of white, hard sand. the beach was solitary; not a soul was in sight. close at hand, to landward, great hills, bare and green, shut off the sky; and here and there the land came tumbling down into the sea in great, jagged, craggy rocks, knee-deep in swirling foam, and all black with wet. the air was full of the prolonged thunder of the surf, and at intervals sea-birds passed overhead with an occasional piping cry. wreckage was tumbled about here and there; and innumerable cocoanut shards, huge, brown cups of fuzzy bark, lay underfoot and in the crevices of the rocks. they found a jellyfish--a pulpy translucent mass; and once even caught a sight of a seal in the hollow of a breaker, with sleek and shining head, his barbels bristling, and heard his hoarse croaking bark as he hunted the off-shore fish. blix refused to allow condy to help her in the least. she was quite as active and strong as he, and clambered from rock to rock and over the shattered scantling of the flume with the vigor and agility of a young boy. she muddied her shoes to the very tops scratched her hands, tore her skirt, and even twisted her ankle; but her little eyes were never so bright, nor was the pink flush of her cheeks ever more adorable. and she was never done talking--a veritable chatterbox. she saw everything and talked about everything she saw, quite indifferent as to whether or no condy listened. now it was a queer bit of seaweed, now it was a group of gulls clamoring over a dead fish, now a purple starfish, now a breaker of unusual size. her splendid vitality carried her away. she was excited, alive to her very finger-tips, vibrant to the least sensation, quivering to the least impression. "let's get up here and sit down somewhere," said condy, at length. they left the beach and climbed up the slope of the hills, near a point where a long arm of land thrust out into the sea and shut off the wind; a path was there, and they followed it for a few yards, till they had come to a little amphitheatre surrounded with blackberry bushes. here they sat down, blix settling herself on an old log with a little sigh of contentment, condy stretching himself out, a new-lighted pipe in his teeth, his head resting on the little handbag he had persistently carried ever since morning. then blix fell suddenly silent, and for a long time the two sat there without speaking, absorbed in the enjoyment of looking at the enormous green hills rolling down to the sea, the breakers thundering at the beach, the gashed pinnacles of rock, the vast reach of the pacific, and the distant prospect of the old fort at the entrance of the golden gate. "we might be a thousand miles away from the city, for all the looks of it, mightn't we, condy?" said blix, after a while. "and i'm that hungry! it must be nearly noon." for answer, condy sat up with profound gravity, and with a great air of nonchalance opened the handbag, and, instead of shoes took out, first, a pint bottle of claret, then "devilish" ham sandwiches in oiled paper, a bottle of stuffed olives, a great bag of salted almonds, two little tumblers, a paper-covered novel, and a mouth organ. blix fairly crowed with delight, clasping her hands upon her knees, and rocking to and fro where she sat upon the log. "oh, condy, and you thought of a lunch--you said it was shoes--and you remembered i loved stuffed olives, too; and a book to read. what is it--'the seven seas.' no, i never was so happy. but the mouth organ--what's that for?" "to play on. what did you think--think it was a can-opener?" blix choked with merriment over his foolery, and condy added proudly: "look there! i made those sandwiches!" they looked as though he had--great, fat chunks of bread, the crust still on; the "devilish" ham in thick strata between; and, positively, he had buttered the bread. but it was all one with them; they ate as though at a banquet, and blix even took off her hat and hung it upon one of the nearby bushes. of course condy had forgotten a corkscrew. he tried to dig out the cork of the claret bottle with his knife, until he had broken both blades and was about to give up in despair, when blix, at the end of her patience, took the bottle from him and pushed in the cork with her finger. "wine, music, literature, and feasting," observed condy. "we're getting regularly luxurious, just like sardine-apalus." but condy himself had suddenly entered into an atmosphere of happiness, the like of which he had never known or dreamed of before. he loved blix--he had just discovered it. he loved her because she was so genuine, so radiantly fresh and strong; loved her because she liked the things that he liked, because they two looked at the world from precisely the same point of view, hating shams and affectations, happy in the things that were simple and honest and natural. he loved her because she liked his books, appreciating the things therein that he appreciated, liking what he liked, disapproving of what he condemned. he loved her because she was nineteen, and because she was so young and unspoiled and was happy just because the ocean was blue and the morning fine. he loved her because she was so pretty, because of the softness of her yellow hair, because of her round, white forehead and pink cheeks, because of her little, dark-brown eyes, with that look in them as if she were just done smiling or just about to smile, one could not say which; loved her because of her good, firm mouth and chin, because of her full neck and its high, tight bands of white satin. and he loved her because her arms were strong and round, and because she wore the great dog-collar around her trim, firm-corseted waist, and because there emanated from her with every movement a barely perceptible, delicious, feminine odor, that was in part perfume, but mostly a subtle, vague aroma, charming beyond words, that came from her mouth, her hair, her neck, her arms, her whole sweet personality. and he loved her because she was herself, because she was blix, because of that strange, sweet influence that was disengaged from her in those quiet moments when she seemed so close to him, when some unnamed, mysterious sixth sense in him stirred and woke and told him of her goodness, of her clean purity and womanliness; and that certain, vague tenderness in him went out toward her, a tenderness not for her only, but for all the good things of the world; and he felt his nobler side rousing up and the awakening of the desire to be his better self. covertly he looked at her, as she sat near him, her yellow hair rolling and blowing back from her forehead, her hands clasped over her knee, looking out over the ocean, thoughtful, her eyes wide. she had told him she did not love him. condy remembered that perfectly well. she was sincere in the matter; she did not love him. that subject had been once and for all banished from their intercourse. and it was because of that very reason that their companionship of the last three or four months had been so charming. she looked upon him merely as a chum. she had not changed in the least from that time until now, whereas he--why, all his world was new for him that morning! why, he loved her so, she had become so dear to him, that the very thought of her made his heart swell and leap. but he must keep all this to himself. if he spoke to her, told her of how he loved her, it would spoil and end their companionship upon the instant. they had both agreed upon that; they had tried the other, and it had worked out. as lovers they had wearied of each other; as chums they had been perfectly congenial, thoroughly and completely happy. condy set his teeth. it was a hard situation. he must choose between bringing an end to this charming comradeship of theirs, or else fight back all show of love for her, keep it down and under hand, and that at a time when every nerve of him quivered like a smitten harp-string. it was not in him or in his temperament to love her calmly, quietly, or at a distance; he wanted the touch of her hand, the touch of her cool, smooth cheek, the delicious aroma of her breath in his nostrils her lips against his, her hair and all its fragrance in his face. "condy, what's the matter?" blix was looking at him with an expression of no little concern. "what are you frowning so about, and clinching your fists? and you're pale, too. what's gone wrong?" he shot a glance at her, and bestirred himself sharply. "isn't this a jolly little corner?" he said. "blix, how long is it before you go?" "six weeks from to-morrow." "and you're going to be gone four years--four years! maybe you never will come back. can't tell what will happen in four years. where's the blooming mouth-organ?" but the mouth-organ was full of crumbs. condy could not play on it. to all his efforts it responded only by gasps, mournfulest death-rattles, and lamentable wails. condy hurled it into the sea. "well, where's the blooming book, then?" he demanded. "you're sitting on it, blix. here, read something in it. open it anywhere." "no; you read to me." "i will not. haven't i done enough? didn't i buy the book and get the lunch, and make the sandwiches, and pay the car-fare? i think this expedition will cost me pretty near three dollars before we're through with the day. no; the least you can do is to read to me. here, we'll match for it." condy drew a dime from his pocket, and blix a quarter from her purse. "you're matching me," she said. condy tossed the coin and lost, and blix said, as he picked up the book: "for a man that has such unvarying bad luck as you, gambling is just simple madness. you and i have never played a game of poker yet that i've not won every cent of money you had." "yes; and what are you doing with it all?" "spending it," she returned loftily; "gloves and veils and lace pins--all kinds of things." but condy knew the way she spoke that this was not true. for the next hour or so he read to her from "the seven seas," while the afternoon passed, the wind stirring the chaparral and blackberry bushes in the hollows of the huge, bare hills, the surf rolling and grumbling on the beach below, the sea-birds wheeling overhead. blix listened intently, but condy could not have told of what he was reading. living was better than reading, life was better than literature, and his new-found love for her was poetry enough for him. he read so that he might not talk to her or look at her, for it seemed to him at times as though some second self in him would speak and betray him in spite of his best efforts. never before in all his life had he been so happy; never before had he been so troubled. he began to jumble the lines and words as he read, over-running periods, even turning two pages at once. "what a splendid line!" blix exclaimed. "what line--what--what are you talking about? blix, let's always remember to-day. let's make a promise, no matter what happens or where we are, let's always write to each other on the anniversary of to-day. what do you say?" "yes; i'll promise--and you--" "i'll promise faithfully. oh, i'll never forget to-day nor--yes, yes, i'll promise--why, to-day--blix--where's that damn book gone?" "condy!" "well, i can't find the book. you're sitting on it again. confound the book, anyway! let's walk some more." "we've a long ways to go if we're to get home in time for supper. let's go to luna's for supper." "i never saw such a girl as you to think of ways for spending money. what kind of a purse-proud plutocrat do you think i am? i've only seventy-five cents left. how much have you got?" blix had fifty-five cents in her purse, and they had a grave council over their finances. they had just enough for car-fare and two "suppers mexican," with ten cents left over. "that's for richard's tip," said blix. "that's for my cigar," he retorted. "you made me give him fifty cents. you said it was the least i could offer him--noblesse oblige." "well, then, i couldn't offer him a dime, don't you see? i'll tell him we are broke this time." they started home, not as they had come, but climbing the hill and going across a breezy open down, radiant with blue iris, wild heliotrope, yellow poppies, and even a violet here and there. a little further on they gained one of the roads of the reservation, red earth smooth as a billiard table; and just at an angle where the road made a sharp elbow and trended cityward, they paused for a moment and looked down and back at the superb view of the ocean, the vast half-moon of land, and the rolling hills in the foreground tumbling down toward the beach and all spangled with wild flowers. some fifteen minutes later they reached the golf-links. "we can go across the links," said condy, "and strike any number of car lines on the other side." they left the road and struck across the links, condy smoking his new-lighted pipe. but as they came around the edge of a long line of eucalyptus trees near the teeing ground, a warning voice suddenly called out: "fore!" condy and blix looked up sharply, and there in a group not twenty feet away, in tweeds and "knickers," in smart, short golfing skirts and plaid cloaks, they saw young sargeant and his sister, two other girls whom they knew as members of the fashionable "set," and jack carter in the act of swinging his driving iron. chapter xi as the clock in the library of the club struck midnight, condy laid down his pen, shoved the closely written sheets of paper from him, and leaned back in his chair, his fingers to his tired eyes. he was sitting at a desk in one of the further corners of the room and shut off by a great japanese screen. he was in his shirt-sleeves, his hair was tumbled, his fingers ink-stained, and his face a little pale. since late in the evening he had been steadily writing. three chapters of "in defiance of authority" were done, and he was now at work on the fourth. the day after the excursion to the presidio--that wonderful event which seemed to condy to mark the birthday of some new man within him--the idea had suddenly occurred to him that captain jack's story of the club of the exiles, the boom restaurant, and the filibustering expedition was precisely the novel of adventure of which the centennial company had spoken. at once he had set to work upon it, with an enthusiasm that, with shut teeth, he declared would not be lacking in energy. the story would have to be written out of his business hours. that meant he would have to give up his evenings to it. but he had done this, and for nearly a week had settled himself to his task in the quiet corner of the club at eight o'clock, and held to it resolutely until twelve. the first two chapters had run off his pen with delightful ease. the third came harder; the events and incidents of the story became confused and contradictory; the character of billy isham obstinately refused to take the prominent place which condy had designed for him; and with the beginning of the fourth chapter, condy had finally come to know the enormous difficulties, the exasperating complications, the discouragements that begin anew with every paragraph, the obstacles that refuse to be surmounted, and all the pain, the labor, the downright mental travail and anguish that fall to the lot of the writer of novels. to write a short story with the end in plain sight from the beginning was an easy matter compared to the upbuilding, grain by grain, atom by atom, of the fabric of "in defiance of authority." condy soon found that there was but one way to go about the business. he must shut his eyes to the end of his novel--that far-off, divine event--and take his task chapter by chapter, even paragraph by paragraph; grinding out the tale, as it were, by main strength, driving his pen from line to line, hating the effort, happy only with the termination of each chapter, and working away, hour by hour, minute by minute, with the dogged, sullen, hammer-and-tongs obstinacy of the galley-slave, scourged to his daily toil. at times the tale, apparently out of sheer perversity, would come to a full stop. to write another word seemed beyond the power of human ingenuity, and for an hour or more condy would sit scowling at the half-written page, gnawing his nails, scouring his hair, dipping his pen into the ink-well, and squaring himself to the sheet of paper, all to no purpose. there was no pleasure in it for him. a character once fixed in his mind, a scene once pictured in his imagination, and even before he had written a word the character lost the charm of its novelty, the scene the freshness of its original conception. then, with infinite painstaking and with a patience little short of miraculous, he must slowly build up, brick by brick, the plan his brain had outlined in a single instant. it was all work--hard, disagreeable, laborious work; and no juggling with phrases, no false notions as to the "delight of creation," could make it appear otherwise. "and for what," he muttered as he rose, rolled up his sheaf of manuscript, and put on his coat; "what do i do it for, i don't know." it was beyond question that, had he begun his novel three months before this time, condy would have long since abandoned the hateful task. but blix had changed all that. a sudden male force had begun to develop in condy. a master-emotion had shaken him, and he had commenced to see and to feel the serious, more abiding, and perhaps the sterner side of life. blix had steadied him, there was no denying that. he was not quite the same boyish, hairbrained fellow who had made "a buffoon of himself" in the chinese restaurant, three months before. the cars had stopped running by the time condy reached the street. he walked home and flung himself to bed, his mind tired, his nerves unstrung, and all the blood of his body apparently concentrated in his brain. working at night after writing all day long was telling upon him, and he knew it. what with his work and his companionship with blix, condy soon began to drop out of his wonted place in his "set." he was obliged to decline one invitation after another that would take him out in the evening, and instead of lunching at his club with sargeant or george hands, as he had been accustomed to do at one time, he fell into another habit of lunching with blix at the flat on washington street, and spending the two hours allowed to him in the middle of the day in her company. condy's desertion of them was often spoken of by the men of his club with whom he had been at one time so intimate, and the subject happened to be brought up again one noon when jack carter was in the club as george hands' guest. hands, carter, and eckert were at one of the windows over their after-dinner cigars and liqueurs. "i say," said eckert suddenly, "who's that girl across the street there--the one in black, just going by that furrier's sign? i've seen her somewhere before. know who it is?" "that's miss bessemer, isn't it?" said george hands, leaning forward. "rather a stunning-looking girl." "yes, that's travis bessemer," assented jack carter; adding, a moment later, "it's too bad about that girl." "what's the matter?" asked eckert. carter lifted a shoulder. "isn't anything the matter as far as i know, only somehow the best people have dropped her. she used to be received everywhere." "come to think, i haven't seen her out much this season," said eckert. "but i heard she had bolted from 'society' with the big s, and was going east--going to study medicine, i believe." "i've always noticed," said carter, with a smile, "that so soon as a girl is declassee, she develops a purpose in life and gets earnest, and all that sort of thing. "oh, well, come," growled george hands, "travis bessemer is not declassee." "i didn't say she was," answered carter; "but she has made herself talked about a good deal lately. going around with rivers, as she does, isn't the most discreet thing in the world. of course, it's all right, but it all makes talk, and i came across them by a grove of trees out on the links the other day--" "yes," observed sargeant, leaning on the back of carter's armchair; "yes; and i noticed, too, that she cut you dead. you fellows should have been there," he went on, in perfect good humor, turning to the others. "you missed a good little scene. rivers and miss bessemer had been taking a tramp over the reservation--and, by the way, it's a great place to walk, so my sister tells me; she and dick forsythe take a constitutional out there every saturday morning--well, as i was saying, rivers and miss bessemer came upon our party rather unexpectedly. we were all togged out in our golfing bags, and i presume we looked more like tailor's models, posing for the gallery, than people who were taking an outing; but rivers and miss bessemer had been regularly exercising; looked as though they had done their fifteen miles since morning. they had their old clothes on, and they were dusty and muddy. "you would have thought that a young girl such as miss bessemer is--for she's very young--would have been a little embarrassed at running up against such a spick and span lot as we were. not a bit of it; didn't lose her poise for a moment. she bowed to my sister and to me, as though from the top of a drag, by jove! and as though she were fresh from redfern and virot. you know a girl that can manage herself that way is a thoroughbred. she even remembered to cut little johnnie carter here, because johnnie forced himself upon her one night at a dance when he was drunk; didn't she, johnnie? johnnie came up to her there, out on the links, fresh as a daisy, and put out his hand, with, 'why, how do you do, miss bessemer?' and 'wherever did you come from?' and 'i haven't seen you in so long'; and she says, 'no, not since our last dance, i believe, mr. carter,' and looked at his hand as though it was something funny. "little johnnie mumbled and flushed and stammered and backed off; and it was well that he did, because rivers had begun to get red around the wattles. i say the little girl is a thoroughbred, and my sister wants to give her a dinner as soon as she comes out. but johnnie says she's declassee, so may be my sister had better think it over." "i didn't say she was declassee," exclaimed carter. "i only said she would do well to be more careful." sargeant shifted his cigar to the other corner of his mouth, one eye shut to avoid the smoke. "one might say as much of lots of people," he answered. "i don't like your tone!" carter flared out. "oh, go to the devil, johnnie! shall we all have a drink?" on the friday evening of that week, condy set himself to his work at his accustomed hour. but he had had a hard day on the "times," supplement, and his brain, like an overdriven horse, refused to work. in half an hour he had not written a paragraph. "i thought it would be better, in the end, to loaf for one evening," he explained to blix, some twenty minutes later, as they settled themselves in the little dining-room. "i can go at it better to-morrow. see how you like this last chapter." blix was enthusiastic over "in defiance of authority." condy had told her the outline of the story, and had read to her each chapter as he finished it. "it's the best thing you have ever done, condy, and you know it. i suppose it has faults, but i don't care anything about them. it's the story itself that's so interesting. after that first chapter of the boom restaurant and the exiles' club, nobody would want to lay the book down. you're doing the best work of your life so far, and you stick to it." "it's grinding out copy for the supplement at the same time that takes all the starch out of me. you've no idea what it means to write all day, and then sit down and write all evening." "i wish you could get off the 'times,'" said blix. "you're just giving the best part of your life to hack work, and now it's interfering with your novel. i know you could do better work on your novel if you didn't have to work on the 'times,' couldn't you?" "oh, if you come to that, of course i could," he answered. "but they won't give me a vacation. i was sounding the editor on it day before yesterday. no; i'll have to manage somehow to swing the two together." "well, let's not talk shop now. condy. you need a rest. do you want to play poker?" they played for upward of an hour that evening, and condy, as usual, lost. his ill-luck was positively astonishing. during the last two months he had played poker with blix on an average of three or four evenings in the week, and at the close of every game it was blix who had all the chips. blix had come to know the game quite as well, if not better, than he. she could almost invariably tell when condy held a good hand, but on her part could assume an air of indifference absolutely inscrutable. "cards?" said condy, picking up the deck after the deal. "i'll stand pat, condy." "the deuce you say," he answered, with a stare. "i'll take three." "i'll pass it up to you," continued blix gravely. "well--well, i'll bet you five chips." "raise you twenty." condy studied his hand, laid down the cards, picked them up again, scratched his head, and moved uneasily in his place. then he threw down two high pairs. "no," he said; "i won't see you. what did you have? let's see, just for the fun of it." blix spread her cards on the table. "not a blessed thing!" exclaimed condy. "i might have known it. there's my last dollar gone, too. lend me fifty cents, blix." blix shook her head. "why, what a little niggard!" he exclaimed aggrievedly. "i'll pay them all back to you." "now, why should i lend you money to play against me? i'll not give you a chip; and, besides, i don't want to play any more. let's stop." "i've a mind to stop for good; stop playing even with you." blix gave a little cry of joy. "oh, condy, will you, could you? and never, never touch a card again? never play for money? i'd be so happy--but don't unless you know you would keep your promise. i would much rather have you play every night, down there at your club, than break your promise." condy fell silent, biting thoughtfully at the knuckle of a forefinger. "think twice about it, condy," urged blix; "because this would be for always." condy hesitated; then, abstractedly and as though speaking to himself: "it's different now. before we took that--three months ago, i don't say. it was harder for me to quit then, but now--well, everything is different now; and it would please you, blixy!" "more than anything else i can think of, condy." he gave her his hand. "that settles it," he said quietly. "i'll never gamble again, blix." blix gripped his hand hard, then jumped up, and, with a quick breath of satisfaction, gathered up the cards and chips and flung them into the fireplace. "oh, i'm so glad that's over with," she exclaimed, her little eyes dancing. "i've pretended to like it, but i've hated it all the time. you don't know how i've hated it! what men can see in it to make them sit up all night long is beyond me. and you truly mean, condy, that you never will gamble again? yes, i know you mean it this time. oh, i'm so happy i could sing!" "good heavens, don't do that!" he cried quickly. "you're a nice, amiable girl, blix, even if you're not pretty, and you--" "oh, bother you!" she retorted; "but you promise?" "on my honor." "that's enough," she said quietly. but even when "loafing" as he was this evening, condy could not rid himself of the thought and recollection of his novel; resting or writing, it haunted him. otherwise he would not have been the story-writer that he was. from now on until he should set down the last sentence, the "thing" was never to let him alone, never to allow him a moment's peace. he could think of nothing else, could talk of nothing else; every faculty of his brain, every sense of observation or imagination incessantly concentrated themselves upon this one point. as they sat in the bay window watching the moon rise, his mind was still busy with it, and he suddenly broke out: "i ought to work some kind of a treasure into the yarn. what's a story of adventure without a treasure? by jove, blix, i wish i could give my whole time to this stuff! it's ripping good material, and it ought to be handled as carefully as glass. ought to be worked up, you know." "condy," said blix, looking at him intently, "what is it stands in your way of leaving the 'times'? would they take you back if you left them long enough to write your novel? you could write it in a month, couldn't you, if you had nothing else to do? suppose you left them for a month--would they hold your place for you?" "yes--yes, i think they would; but in the meanwhile, blix--there's the rub. i've never saved a cent out of my salary. when i stop, my pay stops, and wherewithal would i be fed? what are you looking for in that drawer--matches? here, i've got a match." blix faced about at the sideboard, shutting the drawer by leaning against it. in both hands she held one of the delft sugar-bowls. she came up to the table, and emptied its contents upon the blue denim table-cover--two or three gold pieces, some fifteen silver dollars, and a handful of small change. disregarding all condy's inquiries, she counted it, making little piles of the gold and silver and nickel pieces. "thirty-five and seven is forty-two," she murmured, counting off on her fingers, "and six is forty-eight, and ten is fifty-eight, and ten is sixty-eight; and here is ten, twenty, thirty, fifty-five cents in change." she thrust it all toward him, across the table. "there," she said, "is your wherewithal." condy stared. "my wherewithal!" he muttered. "it ought to be enough for over a month." "where did you get all that? whose is it?" "it's your money, condy. you loaned it to me, and now it has come in very handy." "i loaned it to you?" "it's the money i won from you during the time you've been playing poker with me. you didn't know it would amount to so much, did you?" "pshaw, i'll not touch it!" he exclaimed, drawing back from the money as though it was red-hot. "yes, you will," she told him. "i've been saving it up for you, condy, every penny of it, from the first day we played down there at the lake; and i always told myself that the moment you made up your mind to quit playing, i would give it back to you." "why, the very idea!" he vociferated, his hands deep in his pockets, his face scarlet. "it's--it's preposterous, blix! i won't let you talk about it even--i won't touch a nickel of that money. but, blix, you're--you're--the finest woman i ever knew. you're a man's woman, that's what you are." he set his teeth. "if you loved a man, you'd be a regular pal to him; you'd back him up, you'd stand by him till the last gun was fired. i could do anything if a woman like you cared for me. why, blix, i--you haven't any idea--" he cleared his throat, stopping abruptly. "but you must take this money," she answered; "your money. if you didn't, condy, it would make me out nothing more nor less than a gambler. i wouldn't have dreamed of playing cards with you if i had ever intended to keep one penny of your money. from the very start i intended to keep it for you, and give it back to you so soon as you would stop; and now you have a chance to put this money to a good use. you don't have to stay on the 'times' now. you can't do your novel justice while you are doing your hack work at the same time, and i do so want 'in defiance of authority' to be a success. i've faith in you, condy. i know if you got the opportunity you would make a success." "but you and i have played like two men playing," exclaimed condy. "how would it look if sargeant, say, should give me back the money he had won from me? what a cad i would be to take it!" "that's just it--we've not played like two men. then i would have been a gambler. i've played with you because i thought it would make a way for you to break off with the habit; and knowing as i did how fond you were of playing cards and how bad it was for you, how wicked it would have been for me to have played with you in any other spirit! don't you see? and as it has turned out, you've given up playing, and you've enough money to make it possible for you to write your novel. the centennial company have asked you to try a story of adventure for them, you've found one that is splendid, you're just the man who could handle it, and now you've got the money to make it possible. condy," she exclaimed suddenly, "don't you see your chance? aren't you a big enough man to see your chance when it comes? and, besides, do you think i would take money from you? can't you understand? if you don't take this money that belongs to you, you would insult me. that is just the way i would feel about it. you must see that. if you care for me at all, you'll take it." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the editor of the sunday supplement put his toothpick behind his ear and fixed condy with his eyeglasses. "well, it's like this, rivers," he said. "of course, you know your own business best. if you stay on here with us, it will be all right. but i may as well tell you that i don't believe i can hold your place for a month. i can't get a man in here to do your work for just a month, and then fire him out at the end of that time. i don't like to lose you, but if you have an opportunity to get in on another paper during this vacation of yours, you're at liberty to do so, for all of me." "then you think my chance of coming back here would be pretty slim if i leave for a month now?" "that's right." there was a silence. condy hesitated; then he rose. "i'll take the chance," he announced. to blix, that evening, as he told her of the affair, he said: "it's neck or nothing now, blix." chapter xii but did blix care for him? in the retired corner of his club, shut off by the japanese screen, or going up and down the city to and from his work, or sitting with her in the bay window of the little dining-room looking down upon the city, blurred in the twilight or radiant with the sunset, condy asked himself the question. a score of times each day he came to a final, definite, negative decision; and a score of times reopened the whole subject. beyond the fact that blix had enjoyed herself in his company during the last months, condy could find no sign or trace of encouragement; and for that matter he told himself that the indications pointed rather in the other direction. she had no compunction in leaving him to go away to new york, perhaps never to return. in less than a month now all their companionship was to end, and he would probably see the last of her. he dared not let her know that at last he had really come to love her--that it was no pretence now; for he knew that with such declaration their "good times" would end even before she should go away. but every day; every hour that they were together made it harder for him to keep himself within bounds. what with this trouble on his mind and the grim determination with which he held to his work, condy changed rapidly. blix had steadied him, and a certain earnestness and seriousness of purpose, a certain strength he had not known before, came swiftly into being. was blix to go away, leave him, perhaps for all time, and not know how much he cared? would he speak before she went? condy did not know. it was a question that circumstances would help him to decide. he would not speak, so he resolved, unless he was sure that she cared herself; and if she did, she herself would give him a cue, a hint whereon to speak. but days went by, the time set for blix's departure drew nearer and nearer, and yet she gave him not the slightest sign. these two interests had now absorbed his entire life for the moment--his love for blix, and his novel. little by little "in defiance of authority" took shape. the boom restaurant and the club of the exiles were disposed of, billy isham began to come to the front, the filibustering expedition and senora estrada (with her torn calling card) had been introduced, and the expedition was ready to put to sea. but here a new difficulty was encountered. "what do i know about ships?" condy confessed to blix. "if billy isham is going to command a filibustering schooner, i've got to know something about a schooner--appear to, anyhow. i've got to know nautical lingo, the real thing, you know. i don't believe a real sailor ever in his life said 'belay there,' or 'avast.' we'll have to go out and see captain jack; get some more technical detail." this move was productive of the most delightful results. captain jack was all on fire with interest the moment that condy and blix told him of the idea. "an' you're going to put billy isham in a book. well, strike me straight, that's a snorkin' good idea. i've always said that all billy needed was a ticket seller an' an advance agent, an' he was a whole show in himself." "we're going to send it east," said blix, "as soon as it's finished, and have it published." "well, it ought to make prime readin', miss; an' that's a good fetchin' title, 'in defiance of authority.'" regularly wednesday and sunday afternoons, blix and condy came out to the lifeboat station. captain jack received them in sweater and visored cap, and ushered them into the front room. "well, how's the yarn getting on?" captain jack would ask. then condy would read the last chapter while the captain paced the floor, frowning heavily, smoking cigars, listening to every word. condy told the story in the first person, as if billy isham's partner were narrating scenes and events in which he himself had moved. condy called this protagonist "burke cassowan," and was rather proud of the name. but the captain would none of it. cassowan, the protagonist, was simply "our mug." "now," condy would say, notebook in hand, "now, cap., we've got down to mazatlan. now i want to sort of organize the expedition in this next chapter." "i see, i see," captain jack would exclaim, interested at once. "wait a bit till i take off my shoes. i can think better with my shoes off"; and having removed his shoes, he would begin to pace the room in his stocking feet, puffing fiercely on his cigar as he warmed to the tale, blowing the smoke out through either ear, gesturing savagely, his face flushed and his eyes kindling. "well, now, lessee. first thing our mug does when he gets to mazatlan is to communicate his arrival to senora estrada--telegraphs, you know; and, by the way, have him use a cipher." "what kind of cipher?" "count three letters on from the right letter, see. if you were spelling 'boat,' for instance, you would begin with an e, the third letter after b; then r for the o, being the third letter from o. so you'd spell 'boat,' erdw; and senora estrada knows when she gets that despatch that she must count three letters back from each letter to get the right ones. take now such a cipher word as ulioh. that means rifle. count three letters back from each letter of ulioh, and it'll spell rifle. you can make up a lot of despatches like that, just to have the thing look natural; savvy?" "out of sight!" muttered condy, making a note. "then our mug and billy isham start getting a crew. and our mug, he buys the sextant there in mazatlan--the sextant, that got out of order and spoiled everything. or, no; don't have it a sextant; have it a quadrant--an old-fashioned, ebony quadrant. have billy isham buy it because it was cheap." "how did it get out of order, captain jack?" inquired blix. "that would be a good technical detail, wouldn't it, condy?" "well, it's like this. our mug an' billy get a schooner that's so bally small that they have to do their cooking in the cabin; quadrant's on a rack over the stove, and the heat warps the joints, so when our mug takes his observation he gets fifty miles off his course and raises the land where the government forces are watching for him." "and here's another point, cap.," said condy. "we ought to work some kind of a treasure into this yarn; can't you think up something new and original in the way of a treasure? i don't want the old game of a buried chest of money. let's have him get track of something that's worth a fortune--something novel." "yes, yes; i see the idea," answered the captain, striding over the floor with great thuds of his stockinged feet. "now, lessee; let me think," he began, rubbing all his hair the wrong way. "we want something new and queer, something that ain't ever been written up before. i tell you what! here it is! have our mug get wind of a little river schooner that sunk fifty years before his time in one of the big south american rivers, during a flood--i heard of this myself. schooner went down and was buried twenty feet under mud and sand; and since that time--you know how the big rivers act--the whole blessed course of the river has changed at that point, and the schooner is on dry land, or rather twenty feet under it, and as sound as the day she was chartered." "well?" "well, have it that when she sank she had aboard of her a cargo of five hundred cases of whiskey, prime stuff, seven thousand quart bottles, sealed up tight as drums. now our mug--nor billy isham either--they ain't born yesterday. no, sir; they're right next to themselves! they figure this way. this here whiskey's been kept fifty years without being moved. now, what do you suppose seven thousand quart bottles of fifty-year-old whiskey would be worth? why, twenty dollars a quart wouldn't be too fancy. so there you are; there's your treasure. our mug and billy isham have only got to dig through twenty feet of sand to pick up a hundred thousand dollars, if they can find the schooner." blix clapped her hands with a little cry of delight, and condy smote a knee, exclaiming: "by jove! that's as good as loudon dodds' opium ship! why, cap., you're a treasure in yourself for a fellow looking for stories." then after the notes were taken and the story talked over, captain jack, especially if the day happened to be sunday, would insist upon their staying to dinner--boiled beef and cabbage, smoking coffee and pickles--that k. d. b. served in the little, brick-paved kitchen in the back of the station. the crew messed in their quarters overhead. k. d. b. herself was not uninteresting. her respectability incased her like armor plate, and she never laughed without putting three fingers to her lips. she told them that she had at one time been a "costume reader." "a costume reader?" "yes; reading extracts from celebrated authors in the appropriate costume of the character. it used to pay very well, and it was very refined. i used to do 'in a balcony,' by mister browning, and 'laska,' the same evening! and it always made a hit. i'd do 'in a balcony' first, and i'd put on a louis-quinze-the-fifteenth gown and wig-to-match over a female cowboy outfit. when i'd finished 'in a balcony,' i'd do an exit, and shunt the gown and wig-to-match, and come on as 'laska,' with thunder noises off. it was one of the strongest effects in my repertoire, and it always got me a curtain call." and captain jack would wag his head and murmur: "extraordinary! extraordinary!" blix and condy soon noted that upon the occasion of each one of their visits, k. d. b. found means to entertain them at great length with long discussions upon certain subjects of curiously diversified character. upon their first visit she elected to talk upon the alps mountains. the sunday following it was bacteriology; on the next wednesday it was crystals; while for two hours during their next visit to the station, condy and blix were obliged to listen to k. d. b.'s interminable discourse on the origin, history, and development of the kingdom of denmark. condy was dumfounded. "i never met such a person, man or woman, in all my life. talk about education! why, i think she knows everything!" "in defiance of authority" soon began to make good progress, but condy, once launched upon technical navigation, must have captain jack at his elbow continually, to keep him from foundering. in some sea novel he remembered to have come across the expression "garboard streak," and from the context guessed it was to be applied to a detail of a vessel's construction. in an unguarded moment he had written that his schooner's name "was painted in showy gilt letters upon her garboard streak." "what's the garboard streak, condy?" blix had asked, when he had read the chapter to her. "that's where they paint her name," he declared promptly. "i don't know exactly, but i like the sound of it." but the next day, when he was reading this same chapter to captain jack, the latter suddenly interrupted with an exclamation as of acute physical anguish. "what's that? read that last over again," he demanded. "'when they had come within a few boat's lengths,'" read condy, "'they were able to read the schooner's name, painted in showy gilt letters upon her garboard streak.'" "my god!" gasped the captain, clasping his head. then, with a shout: "garboard streak! garboard streak? don't you know that the garboard streak is the last plank next the keel? you mean counter, not garboard streak. that regularly graveled me, that did!" they stayed to dinner with the couple that afternoon, and for half an hour afterward k. d. b. told them of the wonders of the caves of elephantis. one would have believed that she had actually been at the place. but when she changed the subject to the science of fortification, blix could no longer restrain herself. "but it is really wonderful that you should know all these things! where did you find time to study so much?" "one must have an education," returned k. d. b. primly. but condy had caught sight of a half-filled book-shelf against the opposite wall, and had been suddenly smitten with an inspiration. on a leaf of his notebook he wrote: "try her on the g's and h's," and found means to show it furtively to blix. but blix was puzzled, and at the earliest opportunity condy himself said to the retired costume reader: "speaking of fortifications, mrs. hoskins, gibraltar now--that's a wonderful rock, isn't it?" "rock!" she queried. "i thought it was an island." "oh, no; it's a fortress. they have a castle there--a castle, something like--well, like the old schloss at heidelberg. did you ever hear about or read about heidelberg university?" but k. d. b. was all abroad now. gibraltar and heidelberg were unknown subjects to her, as were also inoculation, japan, and kosciusko. above the g's she was sound; below that point her ignorance was benighted. "but what is it, condy?" demanded blix, as soon as they were alone. "i've the idea," he answered, chuckling. "wait till after sunday to see if i'm right; then i'll tell you. it's a dollar to a paper dime, k. d. b. will have something for us by sunday, beginning with an i." and she had. it was internal revenue. "right! right!" condy shouted gleefully, as he and blix were on their way home. "i knew it. she's done with ash--bol, bol--car, and all those, and has worked through cod--dem, and dem--eve. she's down to hor--kin now, and she'll go through the whole lot before she's done--kin--mag, mag--mot, mot--pal, and all the rest." "the encyclopaedia?" "don't you see it? no wonder she didn't know beans about gibraltar! she hadn't come to the g's by then." "she's reading the encyclopaedia." "and she gets the volumes on the installment plan, don't you see? reads the leading articles, and then springs 'em on us. to know things and talk about em, that's her idea of being cultured. 'one must have an education.' do you remember her saying that 'oh, our matrimonial objects are panning out beyond all expectation!" what a delicious, never-to-be-forgotten month it was for those two! there in the midst of life they were as much alone as upon a tropic island. blix had deliberately freed herself from a world that had grown distasteful to her; condy little by little had dropped away from his place among the men and the women of his acquaintance, and the two came and went together, living in a little world of their own creation, happy in each other's society, living only in the present, and asking nothing better than to be left alone and to their own devices. they saw each other every day. in the morning from nine till twelve, and in the afternoon until three, condy worked away upon his novel, but not an evening passed that did not see him and blix in the dining-room of the little flat. thursdays and sunday afternoons they visited the life-boat station, and at other times prowled about the unfrequented corners of the city, now passing an afternoon along the water front, watching the departure of a china steamer or the loading of the great, steel wheat ships; now climbing the ladder-like streets of telegraph hill, or revisiting the plaza, chinatown, and the restaurant; or taking long walks in the presidio reservation, watching cavalry and artillery drills; or sitting for hours on the rocks by the seashore, watching the ceaseless roll and plunge of the surf, the wheeling sea-birds, and the sleek-headed seals hunting the offshore fish, happy for a half-hour when they surprised one with his prey in his teeth. one day, some three weeks before the end of the year, toward two in the afternoon, condy sat in his usual corner of the club, behind the screen, writing rapidly. his coat was off and the stump of a cigar was between his teeth. at his elbow was the rectangular block of his manuscript. during the last week the story had run from him with a facility that had surprised and delighted him; words came to him without effort, ranging themselves into line with the promptitude of well-drilled soldiery; sentences and paragraphs marched down the clean-swept spaces of his paper, like companies and platoons defiling upon review; his chapters were brigades that he marshaled at will, falling them in one behind the other, each preceded by its chapter-head, like an officer in the space between two divisions. in the guise of a commander-in-chief sitting his horse upon an eminence that overlooked the field of operations, condy at last took in the entire situation at a glance, and, with the force and precision of a machine, marched his forces straight to the goal he had set for himself so long a time before. then at length he took a fresh penful of ink, squared his elbows, drew closer to the desk, and with a single swift spurt of the pen wrote the last line of his novel, dropping the pen upon the instant and pressing the blotter over the words as though setting a seal of approval upon the completed task. "there!" he muttered, between his teeth; "i've done for you!" that same afternoon he read the last chapter to blix, and she helped him to prepare the manuscript for expressage. she insisted that it should go off that very day, and herself wrote the directions upon the outside wrapper. then the two went down together to the wells fargo office, and "in defiance of authority" was sent on its journey across the continent. "now," she said, as they came out of the express office and stood for a moment upon the steps, "now there's nothing to do but wait for the centennial company. i do so hope we'll get their answer before i go away. they ought to take it. it's just what they asked for. don't you think they'll take it, condy?" "oh, bother that!" answered condy. "i don't care whether they take it or not. how long now is it before you go, blix?" chapter xiii a week passed; then another. the year was coming to a close. in ten days blix would be gone. letters had been received from aunt kihm, and also an exquisite black leather traveling-case, a present to her niece, full of cut-glass bottles, ebony-backed brushes, and shell combs. blix was to leave on the second day of january. in the meanwhile she had been reading far into her first-year text-books, underscoring and annotating, studying for hours upon such subjects as she did not understand, so that she might get hold of her work the readier when it came to class-room routine and lectures. hers was a temperament admirably suited to the study she had chosen--self-reliant, cool, and robust. but it was not easy for her to go. never before had blix been away from her home; never for longer than a week had she been separated from her father, nor from howard and snooky. that huge city upon the atlantic seaboard, with its vast, fierce life, where beat the heart of the nation, and where beyond aunt kihm she knew no friend, filled blix with a vague sense of terror and of oppression. she was going out into a new life, a life of work and of study, a harsher life than she had yet known. her father, her friends, her home--all these were to be left behind. it was not surprising that blix should be daunted at the prospect of so great a change in her life, now so close at hand. but if the tears did start at times, no one ever saw them fall, and with a courage that was all her own blix watched the last days of the year trooping past and the approach of the new year that was to begin the new life. but condy was thoroughly unhappy. those wonderful three months were at an end. blix was going. in less than a week now she would be gone. he would see the last of her. then what? he pictured himself--when he had said good-by to her and the train had lessened to a smoky blur in the distance--facing about, facing the life that must then begin for him, returning to the city alone, picking up the routine again. there would be nothing to look forward to then; he would not see blix in the afternoon; would not sit with her in the evening in the little dining-room of the flat overlooking the city and the bay; would not wake in the morning with the consciousness that before the sun would set he would see her again, be with her, and hear the sound of her voice. the months that were to follow would be one long ache, one long, harsh, colorless grind without her. how was he to get through that first evening that he must pass alone? and she did not care for him. condy at last knew this to be so. even the poor solace of knowing that she, too, was unhappy was denied him. she had never loved him, and never would. he was a chum to her, nothing more. condy was too clear-headed to deceive himself upon this point. the time was come for her to go away, and she had given him no sign, no cue. the last days passed; blix's trunk was packed, her half section engaged, her ticket bought. they said good-by to the old places they had come to know so well--chinatown, the golden balcony, the water-front, the lake of san andreas, telegraph hill, and luna's--and had bade farewell to riccardo and to old richardson. they had left k. d. b. and captain jack until the last day. blix was to go on the second of january. on new year's day she and condy were to take their last walk, were to go out to the lifeboat station, and then on around the shore to the little amphitheatre of blackberry bushes--where they had promised always to write one another on the anniversary of their first visit--and then for the last time climb the hill, and go across the breezy downs to the city. then came the last day of the old year, the last day but one that they would be together. they spent it in a long ramble along the water-front, following the line of the shipping even as far as meiggs's wharf. they had come back to the flat for supper, and afterward, as soon as the family had left them alone, had settled themselves in the bay window to watch the new year in. the little dining-room was dark, but for the indistinct blur of light that came in through the window--a light that was a mingling of the afterglow, the new-risen moon, and the faint haze that the city threw off into the sky from its street lamps and electrics. from where they sat they could look down, almost as from a tower, into the city's streets. here a corner came into view; further on a great puff of green foliage--palms and pines side by side--overlooked a wall. here a street was visible for almost its entire length, like a stream of asphalt flowing down the pitch of the hill, dammed on either side by rows upon rows of houses; while further on the vague confusion of roofs and facades opened out around a patch of green lawn, the garden of some larger residence. as they looked and watched, the afterglow caught window after window, till all that quarter of the city seemed to stare up at them from a thousand ruddy eyes. the windows seemed infinite in number, the streets endless in their complications: yet everything was deserted. at this hour the streets were empty, and would remain so until daylight. not a soul was stirring; no face looked from any of those myriads of glowing windows; no footfall disturbed the silence of those asphalt streets. there, almost within call behind those windows, shut off from those empty streets, a thousand human lives were teeming, each the centre of its own circle of thoughts and words and actions; and yet the solitude was profound, the desolation complete, the stillness unbroken by a single echo. the night--the last night of the old year--was fine; the white, clear light from a moon they could not see grew wide and clear over the city, as the last gleam of the sunset faded. it was just warm enough for the window to be open, and for nearly three hours condy and blix sat looking down upon the city in these last moments of the passing year, feeling upon their faces an occasional touch of the breeze, that carried with it the smell of trees and flowers from the gardens below them, and the faint fine taint of the ocean from far out beyond the heads. but the scene was not in reality silent. at times when they listened intently, especially when they closed their eyes, there came to them a subdued, steady bourdon, profound, unceasing, a vast, numb murmur, like no other sound in all the gamut of nature--the sound of a city at night, the hum of a great, conglomerate life, wrought out there from moment to moment under the stars and under the moon, while the last hours of the old year dropped quietly away. a star fell. sitting in the window, the two noticed it at once, and condy stirred for the first time in fifteen minutes. "that was a very long one," he said, in a low voice. "blix, you must write to me--we must write each other often." "oh, yes," she answered. "we must not forget each other; we have had too good a time for that." "four years is a long time," he went on. "lots can happen in four years. wonder what i'll be doing at the end of four years? we've had a pleasant time while it lasted, blix." "haven't we?" she said, her chin on her hand, the moonlight shining in her little, dark-brown eyes. well, he was going to lose her. he had found out that he loved her only in time to feel the wrench of parting from her all the more keenly. what was he to do with himself after she was gone? what could he turn to in order to fill up the great emptiness that her going would leave in his daily life? and was she never to know how dear she was to him? why not speak to her, why not tell her that he loved her? but condy knew that blix did not love him, and the knowledge of that must keep him silent; he must hug his secret to him, like the spartan boy with his stolen fox, no matter how grievously it hurt him to do so. he and blix had lived through two months of rarest, most untroubled happiness, with hardly more self-consciousness than two young and healthy boys. to bring that troublous, disquieting element of love between them--unrequited love, of all things--would be a folly. she would tell him--must in all honesty tell him that she did not love him, and all their delicious camaraderie would end in a "scene." condy, above everything, wished to look back on those two months, after she had gone, without being able to remember therein one single note that jarred. if the memory of her was all that he was to have, he resolved that at least that memory should be perfect. and the love of her had made a man of him--he could not forget that; had given to him just the strength that made it possible for him to keep that resolute, grim silence now. in those two months he had grown five years; he was more masculine, more virile. the very set of his mouth was different; between the eye-brows the cleft had deepened; his voice itself vibrated to a heavier note. no, no; so long as he should live, he, man grown as he was, could never forget this girl of nineteen who had come into his life so quietly, so unexpectedly, who had influenced it so irresistibly and so unmistakably for its betterment, and who had passed out of it with the passing of the year. for a few moments condy had been absent-mindedly snapping the lid of his cigarette case, while he thought; now he selected a cigarette, returned the case to his pocket, and fumbled for a match. but the little gun-metal case he carried was empty. blix rose and groped for a moment upon the mantel-shelf, then returned and handed him a match, and stood over him while he scraped it under the arm of the chair wherein he sat. even when his cigarette was lighted she still stood there, looking at him, the fingers of her hands clasped in front of her, her hair, one side of her cheek, her chin, and sweet, round neck outlined by the faint blur of light that came from the open window. then quietly she said: "well, condy?" "well, blix?" "just 'well'?" she repeated. "is that all? is that all you have to say to me?" he gave a great start. "blix!" he exclaimed. "is that all? and you are going to let me go away from you for so long, and say nothing more than that to me? you think you have been so careful, think you have kept your secret so close! condy, don't you suppose i know? do you suppose women are so blind? no, you don't need to tell me; i know--i've known it--oh, for weeks!" "you know--know--know what?" he exclaimed, breathless. "that you have been pretending that you did not love me. i know that you do love me--i know you have been trying to keep it from me for fear it would spoil our good times, and because we had made up our minds to be chums, and have 'no more foolishness.' once--in those days when we first knew each other--i knew you did not love me when you said you did; but now, since--oh, since that afternoon in the chinese restaurant, remember?--i've known that you did love me, although you pretended you didn't. it was the pretence i wanted to be rid of; i wanted to be rid of it when you said you loved me and didn't, and i want to be rid of it now when you pretend not to love me and i know you do," and blix leaned back her head as she spoke that "know," looking at him from under her lids, a smile upon her lips. "it's the pretence that i won't have," she added. "we must be sincere with each other, you and i." "blix, do you love me?" condy had risen to his feet, his breath was coming quick, his cigarette was flung away, and his hands opened and shut swiftly. "oh, blixy, little girl, do you love me?" they stood there for a moment in the half dark, facing one another, their hearts beating, their breath failing them in the tension of the instant. there in that room, high above the city, a little climax had come swiftly to a head, a crisis in two lives had suddenly developed. the moment that had been in preparation for the last few months, the last few years, the last few centuries, behold! it had arrived. "blix, do you love me?" suddenly it was the new year. somewhere close at hand a chorus of chiming church bells sang together. far off in the direction of the wharves, where the great ocean steamships lay, came the glad, sonorous shouting of a whistle; from a nearby street a bugle called aloud. and then from point to point, from street to roof top, and from roof to spire, the vague murmur of many sounds grew and spread and widened, slowly, grandly; that profound and steady bourdon, as of an invisible organ swelling, deepening, and expanding to the full male diapason of the city aroused and signaling the advent of another year. and they heard it, they two heard it, standing there face to face, looking into each other's eyes, that unanswered question yet between them, the question that had come to them with the turning of the year. it was the old year yet when condy had asked that question. in that moment's pause, while blix hesitated to answer him, the new year had come. and while the huge, vast note of the city swelled and vibrated, she still kept silent. but only for a moment. then she came closer to him, and put a hand on each of his shoulders. "happy new year, dear," she said. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * on new year's day, the last day they were to be together, blix and condy took "their walk," as they had come to call it--the walk that included the lifeboat station, the golden gate, the ocean beach beyond the old fort, the green, bare, flower-starred hills and downs, and the smooth levels of the golf links. blix had been busy with the last details of her packing, and they did not get started until toward two in the afternoon. "strike me!" exclaimed captain jack, as blix informed him that she had come to say good-by. "why, ain't this very sudden-like, miss bessemer? hey, kitty, come in here. here's miss bessemer come to say good-by; going to new york to-morrow." "we'll regularly be lonesome without you, miss," said k. d. b., as she came into the front room, bringing with her a brisk, pungent odor of boiled vegetables. "new york--such a town as it must be! it was called manhattan at first, you know, and was settled by the dutch." evidently k. d. b. had reached the n's. with such deftness as she possessed, blix tried to turn the conversation upon the first meeting of the retired sea captain and the one-time costume reader, but all to no purpose. the "matrimonial objects" were perhaps a little ashamed of their "personals" by now, and neither blix nor condy were ever to hear their version of the meeting in the back dining-room of luna's mexican restaurant. captain jack was, in fact, anxious to change the subject. "any news of the yarn yet?" he suddenly inquired of condy "what do those eastern publishin' people think of our mug and billy isham and the whiskey schooner?" condy had received the rejected manuscript of "in defiance of authority" that morning, accompanied by a letter from the centennial company. "well," he said in answer, "they're not, as you might say, falling over themselves trying to see who'll be the first to print it. it's been returned." "the devil you say!" responded the captain. "well, that's kind of disappointin' to you, ain't it?" "but," blix hastened to add, "we're not at all discouraged. we're going to send it off again right away." then she said good-by to them. "i dunno as you'll see me here when you come back, miss," said the captain, at the gate, his arm around k. d. b. "i've got to schemin' again. do you know," he added, in a low, confidential tone, "that all the mines in california send their clean-ups and gold bricks down to the selby smeltin' works once every week? they send 'em to san francisco first, and they are taken up to selby's wednesday afternoons on a little stern-wheel steamer called the "monticello." all them bricks are in a box--dumped in like so much coal--and that box sets just under the wheel-house, for'ard. how much money do you suppose them bricks represent? well, i'll tell you; last week they represented seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars. well, now, i got a chart of the bay near vallejo; the channel's all right, but there are mudflats that run out from shore three miles. enough water for a whitehall, but not enough for--well, for the patrol boat, for instance. two or three slick boys, of a foggy night--of course, i'm not in that kind of game, but strike! it would be a deal now, wouldn't it?" "don't you believe him, miss," put in k. d. b. "he's just talking to show off." "i think your scheme of holding up a cunard liner," said condy, with great earnestness, "is more feasible. you could lay across her course and fly a distress signal. she'd have to heave to." "yes, i been thinkin' o' that; but look here--what's to prevent the liner taking right after your schooner after you've got the stuff aboard--just followin' you right around an' findin' out where you land?" "she'd be under contract to carry government mails," contradicted condy. "she couldn't do that. you'd leave her mails aboard for just that reason. you wouldn't rob her of her mails; just so long as she was carrying government mails she couldn't stop." the captain clapped his palm down upon the gate-post. "strike me straight! i never thought of that." chapter xiv blix and condy went on; on along the narrow road upon the edge of the salt marshes and tules that lay between the station and the golden gate; on to the golden gate itself, and around the old grime-incrusted fort to the ocean shore, with its reaches of hard, white sand, where the bowlders lay tumbled and the surf grumbled incessantly. the world seemed very far away from them here on the shores of the pacific, on that first afternoon of the new year. they were supremely happy, and they sufficed to themselves. condy had forgotten all about the next day, when he must say good-by to blix. it did not seem possible, it was not within the bounds of possibility, that she was to go away--that they two were to be separated. and for that matter, to-morrow was to-morrow. it was twenty-four hours away. the present moment was sufficient. the persistence with which they clung to the immediate moment, their happiness in living only in the present, had brought about a rather curious condition of things between them. in their love for each other there was no thought of marriage; they were too much occupied with the joy of being together at that particular instant to think of the future. they loved each other, and that was enough. they did not look ahead further than the following day, and then but furtively, and only in order that their morrow's parting might intensify their happiness of to-day. that new year's day was to be the end of everything. blix was going; she and condy would never see each other again. the thought of marriage--with its certain responsibilities, its duties, its gravity, its vague, troublous seriousness, its inevitable disappointments--was even a little distasteful to them. their romance had been hitherto without a flaw; they had been genuinely happy in little things. it was as well that it should end that day, in all its pristine sweetness, unsullied by a single bitter moment, undimmed by the cloud of a single disillusion or disappointment. whatever chanced to them in later years, they could at least cherish this one memory of a pure, unselfish affection, young and unstained and almost without thought of sex, come and gone on the very threshold of their lives. this was the end, they both understood. they were glad that it was to be so. they did not even speak again of writing to each other. they found once more the little semicircle of blackberry bushes and the fallen log, half-way up the hill above the shore, and sat there a while, looking down upon the long green rollers, marching incessantly toward the beach, and there breaking in a prolonged explosion of solid green water and flying spume. and their glance followed their succeeding ranks further and further out to sea, till the multitude blended into the mass--the vast, green, shifting mass that drew the eye on and on, to the abrupt, fine line of the horizon. there was no detail in the scene. there was nothing but the great reach of the ocean floor, the unbroken plane of blue sky, and the bare green slope of land--three immensities, gigantic, vast, primordial. it was no place for trivial ideas and thoughts of little things. the mind harked back unconsciously to the broad, simpler, basic emotions, the fundamental instincts of the race. the huge spaces of earth and air and water carried with them a feeling of kindly but enormous force--elemental force, fresh, untutored, new, and young. there was buoyancy in it; a fine, breathless sense of uplifting and exhilaration; a sensation as of bigness and a return to the homely, human, natural life, to the primitive old impulses, irresistible, changeless, and unhampered; old as the ocean, stable as the hills, vast as the unplumbed depths of the sky. condy and blix sat still, listening, looking, and watching--the intellect drowsy and numb; the emotions, the senses, all alive and brimming to the surface. vaguely they felt the influence of the moment. something was preparing for them. from the lowest, untouched depths in the hearts of each of them something was rising steadily to consciousness and the light of day. there is no name for such things, no name for the mystery that spans the interval between man and woman--the mystery that bears no relation to their love for each other, but that is something better than love, and whose coming savors of the miraculous. the afternoon had waned and the sun had begun to set when blix rose. "we should be going, condy," she told him. they started up the hill, and condy said: "i feel as though i had been somehow asleep with my eyes wide open. what a glorious sunset! it seems to me as though i were living double every minute; and oh! blix, isn't it the greatest thing in the world to love each other as we do?" they had come to the top of the hill by now, and went on across the open, breezy downs, all starred with blue iris and wild heliotrope. blix drew his arm about her waist, and laid her cheek upon his shoulder with a little caressing motion. "and i do love you, dear," she said--"love you with all my heart. and it's for always, too; i know that. i've been a girl until within the last three or four days--just a girl, dearest; not very serious, i'm afraid, and not caring for anything else beyond, what was happening close around me--don't you understand? but since i've found out how much i loved you and knew that you loved me--why, everything is changed for me. i'm not the same, i enjoy things that i never thought of enjoying before, and i feel so--oh, larger, don't you know?--and stronger, and so much more serious. just a little while ago i was only nineteen, but i think, dear, that by loving you i have become--all of a sudden and without knowing it--a woman." a little trembling ran through her with the words. she stopped and put both arms around his neck, her head tipped back, her eyes half closed, her sweet yellow hair rolling from her forehead. her whole dear being radiated with that sweet, clean perfume that seemed to come alike from her clothes, her neck, her arms, her hair, and mouth--the delicious, almost divine, feminine aroma that was part of herself. "you do love me, condy, don't you, just as i love you?" such words as he could think of seemed pitifully inadequate. for answer he could only hold her the closer. she understood. her eyes closed slowly, and her face drew nearer to his. just above a whisper, she said: "i love you, dear!" "i love you, blix!" and they kissed each other then upon the mouth. meanwhile the sun had been setting. such a sunset! the whole world, the three great spaces of sea and land and sky, were incarnadined with the glory of it. the ocean floor was a blinding red radiance, the hills were amethyst, the sky one gigantic opal, and they two seemed poised in the midst of all the chaotic glory of a primitive world. it was new year's day; the earth was new, the year was new, and their love was new and strong. everything was before them. there was no longer any past, no longer any present. regrets and memories had no place in their new world. it was hope, hope, hope, that sang to them and called to them and smote into life the new keen blood of them. then suddenly came the miracle, like the flashing out of a new star, whose radiance they felt but could not see, like a burst of music whose harmony they felt but could not hear. and as they stood there alone in all that simple glory of sky and earth and sea, they knew all in an instant that they were for each other, forever and forever, for better or for worse, till death should them part. into their romance, into their world of little things, their joys of the moment, their happiness of the hour, had suddenly descended a great and lasting joy, the happiness of the great, grave issues of life--a happiness so deep, so intense, as to thrill them with a sense of solemnity and wonder. instead of being the end, that new year's day was but the beginning--the beginning of their real romance. all the fine, virile, masculine energy of him was aroused and rampant. all her sweet, strong womanliness had been suddenly deepened and broadened. in fine, he had become a man, and she woman. youth, life, and the love of man and woman, the strength of the hills, the depth of the ocean, and the beauty of the sky at sunset; that was what the new year had brought to them. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "it's good-by, dear, isn't it?" said blix. but condy would not have it so. "no, no," he told her; "no, blix; no matter how often we separate after this wonderful new year's day, no matter how far we are apart, we two shall never, never say good-by." "oh, you're right, you're right!" she answered, the tears beginning to shine in her little dark-brown eyes. "no; so long as we love each other, nothing matters. there's no such thing as distance for us, is there? just think, you will be here on the shores of the pacific, and i on the shores of the atlantic, but the whole continent can't come between us." "and we'll be together again, blix," he said; "and it won't be very long now. just give me time--a few years now." "but so long as we love each other, time won't matter either." "what are the tears for, blixy?" he asked, pressing his handkerchief to her cheek. "because this is the saddest and happiest day of my life," she answered. then she pulled from him with a little laugh, adding: "look, condy, you've dropped your letter. you pulled it out just now with your handkerchief." as condy picked it up, she noted the name of the centennial company upon the corner. "it's the letter i got with the manuscript of the novel when they sent it back," he explained. "what did they say?" "oh, the usual thing. i haven't read it yet. here's what they say." he opened it and read: "we return to you herewith the ms. of your novel, 'in defiance of authority,' and regret that our reader does not recommend it as available for publication at present. we have, however, followed your work with considerable interest, and have read a story by you, copied in one of our exchanges, under the title, 'a victory over death,' which we would have been glad to publish ourselves, had you given us the chance. "would you consider the offer of the assistant editorship of our quarterly, a literary and critical pamphlet, that we publish in new york, and with which we presume you are familiar? we do not believe there would be any difficulty in the matter of financial arrangements. in case you should decide to come on, we inclose r. r. passes via the a. t. & s. f., c. & a., and new york central. "very truly, "the centennial publishing company, "new york." the two exchanged glances. but blix was too excited to speak, and could only give vent to a little, quivering, choking sigh. the letter was a veritable god from the machine, the one thing lacking to complete their happiness. "i don't know how this looks to you," condy began, trying to be calm, "but it seems to me that this is--that this--this--" but what they said then they could never afterward remember. the golden haze of the sunset somehow got into their recollection of the moment, and they could only recall the fact that they had been gayer in that moment than ever before in all their lives. perhaps as gay as they ever were to be again. they began to know the difference between gayety and happiness. that new year's day, that sunset, marked for them an end and a beginning. it was the end of their gay, irresponsible, hour-to-hour life of the past three months; and it was the beginning of a new life, whose possibilities of sorrow and of trouble, of pleasure and of happiness, were greater than aught they had yet experienced. they knew this--they felt it instinctively, as with a common impulse they turned and looked back upon the glowing earth and sea and sky, the breaking surf, the beach, the distant, rime-incrusted, ancient fort--all that scene that to their eyes stood for the dear, free, careless companionship of those last few months. their new-found happiness was not without its sadness already. all was over now; their solitary walks, the long, still evenings in the little dining-room overlooking the sleeping city, their excursions to luna's, their afternoons spent in the golden chinese balcony, their mornings on the lake, calm and still and hot. forever and forever they had said good-by to that life. already the sunset was losing its glory. then, with one last look, they turned about and set their faces from it to the new life, to the east, where lay the nation. out beyond the purple bulwarks of the sierras, far off, the great, grim world went clashing through its grooves--the world that now they were to know, the world that called to them, and woke them, and roused them. their little gayeties were done; the life of little things was all behind. now for the future. the sterner note had struck--work was to be done; that, too, the new year had brought to them--work for each of them, work and the world of men. for a moment they shrank from it, loth to take the first step beyond the confines of the garden wherein they had lived so joyously and learned to love each other; and as they stood there, facing the gray and darkening eastern sky, their backs forever turned to the sunset, blix drew closer to him, putting her hand in his, looking a little timidly into his eyes. but his arm was around her, and the strong young force that looked into her eyes from his gave her courage. "a happy new year, dear," she said. "a very, very happy new year, blix," he answered. [the end] fascinating san francisco "o warder of two continents!"--bret harte san francisco foreword enthroned on hills, san francisco captivates the stranger who sees it from the bay by the vivacity of its landscape long before revealing any of its intimate lures. whether you approach in the early morning, when gulls arc wheeling above the palette of tones of the bay, or at night, when illuminated ferryboats glide by like the yellow-bannered halls of fable, the buoyancy of san francisco is manifest. it increases as you pass through the ferry building, the turnstile behind the golden gate, whose blithe tower of the four clock dials is reminiscent of the giralda in seville. in another moment you are in the surge of market street, the long bazaar and highroad of this port of all flags. an invisible presence dances before your footsteps as you sense the animation of the street. it is the spirit of san francisco, weaving its debonair spell. here tetrazzini turns street singer and jan kubelik is a wandering minstrel enchanting crowds at lotta's fountain under christmas eve stars. from dana to stevenson, from harte to mencken, san francisco has captured the hearts of a train of illustrious admirers. rudyard kipling, master of the terse, has tooled a brisk drypoint of the city in a few strokes. "san francisco has only one drawback," he writes. "'tis hard to leave." cradled as a drowsy spanish pueblo, reared as a child of the mines, and fed on all the exhilarants of the gold-spangled days of the argonauts, san francisco is like a dashing western beauty with the eyes of an exotic ancestry. bristling with contradictions, the city presents the paradox of being the most intensely american and yet the most cosmopolitan community on the continent, with aspects as variable as the medley of alien tongues heard on its streets. a festival of life is staged at this meeting place of the nations, farthest outpost of aryan civilization in its westward march. inez haynes irwin in her californiacs sounds a warning for the stranger in san francisco. "if you ever start for california with the intention of seeing anything of the state," she admonishes, "do that before you enter san francisco. if you must land in san francisco first, jump into a taxi, pull down the curtain, drive through the city, breaking every speed law, to third and townsend, sit in the station until a train--some train, any train-- pulls out, and go with it. if in crossing market street you raise that curtain as much as an inch, believe me, stranger, it's all off; you're lost. you'll never leave san francisco." this booklet aims to keep the curtain up. inside the gate if you turn a map showing the basin of san francisco bay so that the pacific ocean is nearest your eye, you see a peninsula thrust out from the california coast like a great boot. san francisco stretches for six or seven miles across the toe of the boot. dominated by hills, the city is flanked by the pacific on the west and by the bay on the north and east. to the northwest, joining ocean and bay, is the golden gate, the only gap in the coastal mountains. constantinople and rio de janeiro have been called the only maritime cities that approach the natural beauty of situation of san francisco. the basin of the bay, into which the sacramento and san joaquin rivers pour after watering the central garden valley of the state, is an amphitheatre rimmed with peaks and ridges. the bay spreads out below san francisco like an animated poster keyed in blue and silver, with yerba buena, alcatraz and angel islands tinted details in the foreground. across the gleaming water the roofs of oakland, berkeley and alameda are shingled with sun crystals, and in the distance tamalpais and mt. diablo bulk against a curtain of azure. suavities of outline accent the horizons of san francisco, where the skyscrapers take on fantasy as they pile up on hills and recede into vales. most visitors cross the bay and arrive at the city by way of the ferry building, the gala tower of which has a clock at each point of the compass. travelers also arrive at the third and townsend street railroad station, or, if they come by sea through the golden gate, at the piers along the waterfront. market street stretches diagonally across the peninsula from the ferry building to the base of twin peaks, the urban mountain which has been tunneled to get rapid transit to residence parks. twin peaks is practically the geographical center of san francisco. by keeping this in mind visitors will avoid the mistake of thinking that the end of market street is the western boundary of the city. from the sweep of market street radiate practically all of the city's important arteries. a resplendent thoroughfare by day, feet wide, market street takes on a sorcery all its own at night, when the electroliers designed by d'arcy ryan, light wizard of the panama-pacific exposition, flood it with radiance. market street is then the most dazzling of boulevards, every aspect of it in motion--crowds, taxis, cars and the colors of advertising displays. the junction formed by market, kearny, geary and third streets is the heart of downtown san francisco. it is the newspaper center, and close by are big and little hotels, shops, restaurants and sidewalk flower stalls. here traffic eddies around lotta's fountain, presented to the city by lotta crabtree, stage idol of the yesteryears. beside it is one of the bronze bells and iron standards that mark el camino real--the king's highway--which the padres trod in making their rounds of the early california missions. lotta's fountain has two tablets. one has its donor's name, and the other is inscribed to luisa tetrazzini, whose soprano was first acclaimed to the world from san francisco, and who crossed the continent to sing christmas carols to the people on this street corner in . one block east, montgomery street leads into the financial center of the pacific. to the west are union square and its shaft, commemorating dewey's victory at manila bay, and powell street, with its cafe and theatre crowds. a short walk out market street takes you to the civic center, with the city hall, library, auditorium and state building grouped about a formal garden. the war memorial, with its opera house and american legion museum, will face the city hall on van ness avenue. fronting the pacific, san francisco, which covers a trifle over square miles of territory, has an ocean beach extending for three miles on its western boundary and overlooked by automobile highways. street cars, starting at the ferry building, arrive at the beach after traversing residence districts and scenic routes, unfolding views of hills, forests, parks, forts, lighthouses and seals on rocks lashed by surf. between the ferry building and the ocean front--what a sweeping canvas it would take to suggest all this even in broad outline! the "ships, towers, domes, theatres" which wordsworth saw from westminster bridge in london are here, and so are the added motifs of san francisco's own song of seduction. sea glamour ever has the glamour of the sea enveloped san francisco. from the sea came don juan manuel ayala in the san carlos in , charting a course through the fog and opening the golden gate. from the, sea also came the argonauts, transforming the somnolent yerba buena into the city, of san francisco. and from the sea, up to the time of the railroad, came practically all of the goods with which the merchants of the city did business. today with the sea ebbs and flows the tide of wealth that makes san francisco the key port of the pacific. the banks and exchanges of california and montgomery streets, the foreign trade and insurance offices of pine street, the downtown skyscrapers--all reflect in some way san francisco's debt to the sea. from the sea also comes health. the breezes that blow from it and the fogs that drift down over the ridges combine to give san francisco a paradoxical climate--winters as warm as those in the south and summers that are matchless for their exhilarating coolness. san francisco shows a higher per capita industrial output than any other american city of its class because of its ideal working conditions. a city conscious of its obligation to the sea, san francisco has always been interested in its waterfront, which perpetuates spanish origins in its expressive name of embarcadero--the embarking place. the skyline of the city is no longer stenciled by the towering masts of sailing ships discharging or loading cargo, or lying in the stream or in richardson's bay awaiting charters, as in the days when wheat was king of california's great central valley. the virility of the waterfront of san francisco, however, is as persistent as in the age that provided frank norris with his epic themes. the masts and yards of older outline have given place to stubby cargo booms of liners, freighters and tramps of multiple flags and nationalities. along the embarcadero they disgorge upon massive concrete piers silk, rice and tea from the orient, coffee from central america, hemp and tobacco from the philippines, and all manner of odds and ends from everywhere. on the piers commodities are piled in apparent confusion, yet each lot moves with precision in or out of yawning holds at the shrill blast of the foreman's hoist whistle. along the embarcadero you may see craft of every rig under the sun from a chinese junk to a transpacific passenger liner. human types are even more contrasting, knots of chinese and singalese strolling behind south sea islanders, portuguese or cornishmen, whose speech recalls snatches you may have heard on the east india dock road in london. jack london heard and answered the call of the sea from the embarcadero of san francisco, and stevenson found the atmosphere of his wreckers there. sailors--trade winds--ships--what lurking thoughts of adventure, realized or denied, do they not summon in all of us? historic background in , before jamestown, the massachusetts bay colony, or new amsterdam were settled, sir francis drake, british explorer, careened and repaired his ship, the golden hind, on the shore of what is now drake's bay, an indentation on the california coast just north of the golden gate. this was nearly two hundred years before padre junipero serra led his band of zealots and soldiers up out of new spain into alta california. at drake's bay the chaplain of the golden hind held the first religious service in the english language on the american continent--a service that is commemorated by a celtic cross set up on a hill in golden gate park, san francisco. though close by, drake did not find the bay and site of san francisco. it was not until october , , that the peninsula and bay of san francisco were discovered by an expedition headed by don gaspar de portola, governor of baja or lower california. this expedition had set out overland from san diego for the purpose of locating monterey bay, discovered in by sebastian vizcaino, portuguese navigator in the service of spain. six years after the portola discovery, don juan manuel ayala sailed the first vessel, the san carlos, through the golden gate. the following year the first permanent settlement by white men on the site of san francisco was made when colonel juan bautista de anza established a military post at the presidio beside the golden gate. in this same month, july, , the liberty bell was ringing in philadelphia. but there was no thought then that the embattled farmers of the atlantic coast should inherit before many years this potential spanish settlement on the pacific. in october, , padre junipero serra founded the mission dolores, the third of the chain of missions extending from san diego. subsequently a settlement was made at yerba buena cove, and there was established the pueblo of yerba buena which has grown into the city of san francisco. things moved slowly in those days--so slowly that in the pueblo had but fourteen houses and sixty inhabitants. let us turn back the hands of the clock to the time when the pueblo straggled over the sand hills which faced the water of the bay of saint francis, under the shadow of loma alta. what do we see? where today the merchants exchange building, central office of san francisco's commercial life, heaves its bulk into the air was the cabin of jacob leese, trader. houses were few and far between, and business was something to be done when there was nothing else to do. from the plaza, then but a block or so from the waterside, two main roads trailed off through the sand dunes. one went to the southwest, winding among the hills toward the mission dolores, and the other in a generally northwesterly direction out past the lagoon of the washerwomen to the presidio of san francisco, the seat of the military government. sleepy, content to bask in the sunshine that flooded its sand hills and kept back the banks of fog that loomed above the higher eminence's separating the cove from the ocean, yerba buena dreamed, not of the future in store for it, but of the next fiesta, of the coming barbecue at miguel noe's rancho, or of the projected cock fight on sunday at the mission dolores. to this port came occasionally a yankee whale ship for fresh water, or some enterprising trader with shawls and combs and trinkets for the women, to barter for hides and tallow with the dons from the south and the great interior ranchos. up the coast some russians had established a settlement, much to the disquiet of the authorities, who looked upon this as an encroachment of barbarians menacing spanish power. rezanov, plenipotentiary of the czar, was a man of charming personality, however, and was able to lull the suspicions of the indolent spanish officials and lay his plans for a coup that never took place. from afar britain looked with interest upon this strip of coast with its matchless harbor, and regretted that drake had not discovered it when he wintered his ship close by in . thus yerba buena sprawled and dreamed in the sunshine, unmindful of the web of destiny being woven about it. followed then the war with mexico and the occupation by the officers and men of the united states sloop-of-war portsmouth under commodore john montgomery, who broke the american flag to the breeze in the plaza. in gold was discovered by james w. marshall in the tail-race of general sutter's mill, el dorado county, and almost overnight san francisco was transformed from a hamlet into a pulsing city, overcome with the rush of newcomers, the population in two years growing almost to twenty thousand. california became a state in without ever having gone through a probationary period as a territory. in the late sixties the great comstock lode, in nevada, poured a flood of wealth into san francisco, and in , one hundred years after the first white man looked upon san francisco bay, came the railroad, bringing an increasing influx of people from the east. the opening of the markets of china and japan led to the establishment of a trade that has made san francisco the focal port of the west. these were the beginnings of san francisco. burned to the ground three times in the early years of its existence, the city displayed an invincible fortitude and each time capitalized disaster to build anew with larger faith in its destiny. when again, in , earthquake and fire devastated the city its phoenix spirit came to life. the argonauts lived once more, magnificent in their resolution. the renaissance was a prodigy that made onlookers exclamatory. jules jusserand, ambassador of france to the united states, phrased the wonder of it in majestic prose: "the page written by the inhabitants of san francisco on the moving ashes of their city is not one that any wind will ever blow away." survivals of the past stand at the ferry building, looking up market street, and imagine the beginning of the city that spreads before you. first of all you must realize that this point of observation would, in those days, have been offshore, on the shallow water of yerba buena cove. to the right is the scarp of telegraph hill, from which ships coming through the golden gate were sighted, and to the left is the lesser rincon hill, which is being cut away to provide a light manufacturing district. these marked the headlands of the cove, and the waterfront curved inland as far as what is now the site of the donahue monument to mechanics at market and battery streets. seeking survivals of the past, you must realize that san francisco is one of the most modern of the comparatively old american cities. most of the area that saw its beginning and early history has been wiped clean by fire. the san francisco of today may be said to date from its rebuilding following , since which time something like a half billion dollars' worth of new construction has been done. yet something of early san francisco remains, either beyond the reach of the devastation of eighteen years ago or in miraculous islands of safety in that sea of fire. the presidio, beside the golden gate, is several miles from the area that burned. it is one of the largest military posts in the united states, , acres of forested hills between the inner and the outer harbor. the adobe building in which rezanov, envoy of the czar, wooed senorita arguello, daughter of the commandante of the presidio, is preserved in the center of the reservation. you can read about this sad romance in bret harte or in gertrude atherton. over the hills southward from the presidio, in a sheltered valley, where it was spared from the fire, stands mission dolores, with its ancient churchyard and headstones. the old mission, whose adobe walls are four feet thick, stands beside a new church of spanish architecture. near the entrance to mission dolores, set in red tiles on the floor, is a marble slab marking the tomb of the noe family, spanish grandees. interesting relics are in evidence. early mission bells hang in the facade of the old building. the tomb of don luis arguello, first governor of california under the mexican regime, is in the churchyard. inscriptions on many of the stones in this burial place are footnotes to san francisco's early history. within the burned area of , above the original waterfront of the days when the water came up to montgomery street, there are several blocks of buildings which were spared by freaks of fate. these buildings stand near the original plaza now called portsmouth square. it was here commodore john montgomery landed from the "portsmouth" and raised the stars and stripes on july , , almost the seventieth anniversary of the establishment of the spanish presidio. the site of his landing, at what is now clay and montgomery streets, has been marked by one of the bronze tablets on which the order of the native sons of the golden west has graven many of the historic episodes of california. not far away, on the south side of sacramento street, between davis and front, there is a brick building marked by a tablet as the site of fort gunnybags, headquarters of the vigilance committee, which in hanged casey and cora, two enemies of law and order, from its windows. in portsmouth square itself, token of a gentler spirit, there stands a drinking fountain in memory of robert louis stevenson. that prince of idlers and of prose spent many an hour on the sunny benches of this square. the streets nearby, where stand the few buildings that escaped the fire, echo the footsteps of stevenson, of mark twain and bret harte. the hall of justice faces the square. the parrott building, erected in by chinese labor with stone brought from china, remains standing at california and montgomery streets. around the plaza centered the life of the pueblo and of the early city of san francisco, but now on three sides of it is chinatown, the fashionable homes having long been gone from this section. in golden gate park, beside a lake reflecting their outline, stand marble columns that once flanked a doorway on nob hill, which rises above the oriental quarter. this relic has been named "portal of the past." it symbolizes the old san francisco that is gone save for a few traces, for this is, after all, a new city. it is in the san francisco of today, with a historic background that survives in spirit instead of in material reminders, that interest is dominant. cafes and bright lights "there's a diabolical mystery to your san francisco!" enrico caruso once exclaimed. "why isn't everyone fat in this city of such excellent cafes?" the argonauts who came to california in quest of the golden fleece were hearty, eaters, and they laid the foundation for a tradition of abundant table fare that has been handed down since the days of the bonanza kings. good things to eat have been provided by successive generations of chefs who have achieved virtuosity. by and large, the moderation of prices has been a matter of bewilderment to visitors. the cheapness of savory food was one of the outstanding traits of san francisco, in the opinion of the army of newspaper correspondents attracted to the democratic national convention in . maurice baring, the british author and globetrotter, goes into raptures over the cooking he discovered in a pine street restaurant. read his round the world in any number of days and satisfy yourself that a sophisticated observer from london town can become as ecstatic as a gaul in the presence of soup a l'oignon. there's a diversity to the restaurants of san francisco that makes it difficult to single out any one type. french and italian restaurants appear to predominate, but the number of other places, including spanish, greek, mexican, hungarian and slavonic--not to mention chinese--makes the array a long and polyglot one. in the vicinity of broadway, kearny and columbus avenue, streets that penetrate the heart of the latin quarter, and along upper montgomery street, there are sufficient individual cafes to keep any explorer after atmospheric epicurism busy for many days. neither soho nor montmartre is plagiarized in these places. they are foreign in tone, but they belong very much to san francisco. what affectation and posturing there may be in greenwich village are not in evidence here. joy was at times given boisterous expression in the days before the great drought came upon the land. but the eighteenth amendment and its restrictions have not deprived any of these places of their inherent buoyancy, even though they may not be as noisy as coffee dan's. table d'hote courses are customary not only in the french restaurants but in most of the italian as well. some of these places combine or interchange the menus of french, italian and swiss chefs, a piquant entree, or shellfish served bordelaise, being followed by a paste like lasagne, spaghetti or tagliarini, or by those geometric ravioli whose delights are in inverse ratio to their square. if you want fare of the realm the dining rooms and grills of the hotels are at your service, as are the restaurants along market, powell and other streets. the cafeteria has come northward and the tea-room and the southern inn westward by way of new york. the typical san francisco restaurant, however, is an institution as firmly imbedded in the life of the people as is mile rock in the current of the golden gate. the sea glamour is upon the dining places of san francisco. any impression of them would be lacking without some reference to sea food. every variety of fish is sold fresh in the markets daily. a number of so-called fish grottos specialize in fish caught the same morning, keeping them swimming in illuminated window-tanks. crabs, shrimps, oysters, clams and other varieties of shell fish, including the abalone with its rainbow-tinted shell, together with sanddabs, pompano and rex sole, serve to remind one that san francisco is washed on three sides by tides of the pacific. perhaps when bret harte referred to san francisco as "serene, indifferent of fate," he was thinking of sidney smith's declaration: "fate cannot harm me--i have dined today!" when you think of eating in san francisco you think of bright lights and dancing. in addition to the hotels, you may dance at innumerable cafes. influences of old spain dowered san francisco with an infatuation for the fiesta. the city has always been dance-minded. art hickman, virtuoso of jazz orchestration, was called to new york to have the follies on the roof dance to the exuberant strains he had evolved in san francisco. patterns of new dance forms were derived by pavlowa from the wild rhythms she found on the old barbary coast. the palais royal, marquard's, tait's-at-the-beach, the cliff house--but where is one to stop when he starts to name the san francisco cafes that attract dance crowds? let's leave it to the classified lists in the telephone directories. hotels wives and daughters of the men who awoke to find themselves millionaires in the days of the argonauts came to san francisco to explore the social thrills of the newly rich. it is easy to understand why the hotels became the scenes of elaborate gaiety unmatched even in new york, boston or the older communities. haunts of the battling giants of the comstock mines and the railroad magnates, the old palace, occidental, lick and baldwin hotels reflected their effulgent period. the palace, built by william c. ralston, has survived as a landmark of san francisco. like shepheard's in cairo, the palace is one of the gathering places of the traveling world. the present hotel, at market and new montgomery streets, occupies the site of the old palace, whose outer walls remained standing after the fire of and had to be blasted with dynamite to make room for the new structure--a tribute to the original builders. the palace retains the outstanding aspects of the old hotel, with added modern appointments. the palm court, which has decorative columns and a glass-domed roof, is the social center of the hotel. it is also the rendezvous of the political and business stalwarts of the city, the palace being a clearing-house for diversified activities. the rose bowl, which has maxfield parrish's pied piper of hamelin, attracts the set that dances when it dines. perched like a parthenon on nob hill, the acropolis of san francisco, is the fairmont hotel commanding a view of the bay and the contra costa hills. its venetian room, its terrace and its ball room are among the features of the fairmont in keeping with its individual environment. expansive lawns frame the renaissance architecture of the building, which seen from the bay looks like a citadel inside the golden gate. the hotel st. francis, fronting union square on powell street, has a thousand rooms and is one of the distinctive institutions of san francisco. the fire of damaged the building but left its steel frame and granite sheath intact, and a banquet of business men was held there to celebrate the beginning of reconstruction. when you think of the st. francis you think of beautiful wall arrangements. its garden court and fable room, where la fontaine's diverting inventions serve as the motifs for murals, attract the younger set for dancing and tea. the tapestry room is a distinguished example of decorative treatment. san francisco is the greatest hotel city in the world in proportion to population. these pages necessarily skim only the surface of this aspect of the city's life. there are some , hotels, records of the hospitality bureau of the chamber of commerce show, each having rates scaled to meet the guests to whom it caters. representatives of the hospitality bureau copy the names of arrivals at the hotels from the registers. these names are classified according to interests and given to a hospitality committee made up of business men who personally greet arrivals, bring them to the clubs, and dispense other courtesies. shops it was o. henry, caliph of phrases, who called san francisco the bagdad of the west. in doing so he must have had in mind its profusion of shops which stretch through the city like an endless bazaar. midweek shopping crowds in san francisco are comparable to saturday afternoon crowds in other american cities. this fact has been commented upon frequently by merchandising specialists, and it has significance. street population spells buying power, and san francisco has larger shopping crowds every day of the year than any other city west of new york. every day but sunday is a shopping day. constant shopping by san francisco women gives stimulus to the city's retailers to comb world markets for the newest and most attractive offerings. buyers are sent by the larger establishments not only to paris and other style centers, but to all of the larger international trade fairs. stocks in the shops reflect the enterprise of the retailers, who not only display the latest modes, but frequently create them. the downtown shopping district spreads from market to all the streets that radiate from it, from kearny westward, well above powell. market street itself is a continuous stretch of display windows. grant avenue, stockton, powell, o'farrell, geary, post and sutter streets are lined with department stores and intimate shops. the richmond, mission, sunset and other out lying districts have their own sub-centers, each crowded six days in the week with shoppers. otherwise the downtown streets would be congested. flower stands splash the street corners with color in the downtown shopping district, and the wares glow in the show windows like exotic blooms under glass. san francisco shows a market as complete and original in styles as any city in the country. the excessive seasonal changes demanded in the east are not needed here. san francisco is essentially an out-of-door city, with three hundred odd days of clement weather, made for the display of light raiment, whether it be organdie dresses, sports togs or afternoon frocks. women of the city insist on being modish, however, so they wear furs with the airiest of apparel on the warmest days, contradictory but vivacious apparitions. even the chinese girls ape their western sisters and appear in brocaded mandarins with fur neck pieces. the dash of san francisco women on the street, as well as in the hotels and cafes, is not a legend. you may read about it in hergesheimer's iridescent detail, but seeing is believing. the art shops and the book shops of san francisco evoke the admiration of every visitor. the art shops, on post, sutter and adjacent streets, close to union square, with their own galleries of paintings, bronzes and marbles, have showrooms that are more like museums than commercial establishments. the book shops are in this same neighborhood. they are well worth visiting, several of the dealers being publishers of the works of california authors. chinatown and foreign colonies from its beginning as a spanish trading post to the present time there has always been something essentially foreign about san francisco. always there have been foreign elements, with well-marked colonies, districts or haunts. to visitors chinatown appears to exercise the greatest appeal among the foreign colonies. the latin quarter, the spanish and mexican districts out toward the end of powell street at the bay, the japanese streets east of fillmore, and the greek settlement centering around third and folsom are all, however, highly expressive of their habitants. with its pagoda-like roofs, its bazaars, its restaurants of amazing orchestration and stranger east-west decoration, it is easy to. understand why chinatown sways the imagination of wayfarers in san francisco. every street and alley in it is obviously exotic. life appears here like a festival, and both the eye and the ear are beguiled by fantastic nuances. silks, ivories, porcelains and bronzes peer from the shop windows at hesitant purchasers like the articles of virtu flung before the bewildered gaze of readers by balzac in his wild ass's skin. you are diverted by the bizarre on all sides, grant avenue, the main artery of chinatown, stretching before you in a many-hued arabesque of shop fronts, no two quite alike in tone or in the stuff they have to sell. the shops of the jewelers, who perform miracles of craftsmanship in gold fliagree and in jade, are especially interesting, the sensitive-fingered artisans working at benches set in the windows in full view of passersby. the meat and fish stalls, the apothecaries, the cobblers who work on the sidewalks, the lily and the bird vendors, the telephone exchange where chinese girls operate the switchboard, the headquarters of the six companies, the joss house and the chinese theatre, spilled over into the latin quarter, are among the sights much written about by globe-trotting notetakers in the quarter. organized sightseeing tours may be made through chinatown with licensed guides, but visitors can wander securely about at will. it is no longer the subterranean chinatown of opium-scented years, but it is still the most interesting foreign quarter in america. charles dana gibson called it a bit of hongkong and canton caught in a western frame. by continuing out grant avenue to columbus avenue the stroller visiting chinatown reaches the street that places him in the heart of the latin quarter, its italian and french restaurants, and its manners and customs that make it an epitome of naples and rome. in the greek settlement in the vicinity of third and folsom streets you will see narghile water pipes displayed in the windows alongside russian brasses and byzantine ware. if you crave the cooking of attica and the honey-sweets of the grecian archipelago you can get them here. hills and vistas what city built on hills has not been exalted in song and legend? san francisco, like athens, jerusalem, rome and naples, has the spell that comes from setting one's house on a high place. those who can look out over the world are those who dominate it. history shows that every three hundred years a great city arises at some very necessary and strategic point on the international highway. such an inevitable world city is san francisco. whether it is the ragged slope of telegraph hill, the heights of twin peaks, the rolling green-brown softness of the potrero bluffs, or the contours of any of the other high places that confront the visitor approaching from the bay, the hills of san francisco arrest the eye and intrigue the imagination. to the visitor who would comprehend almost at a glance the cycloramic setting of san francisco the way is easy of access to half a dozen peaks. there are good automobile roads to all of them. let him for a start go to nob hill, crossed by california street, where the fairmont hotel, the pacific union club, grace cathedral and many distinctive residences and apartments will engage his attention when it is not occupied with the shipping in the harbor, goat and alcatraz islands, and the animated perspectives inside the golden gate. russian hill, of which nob hill is a southward shoulder, is the habitat of many of the writer and painter folk of san francisco. it affords superb panoramas of the city and bay. so does telegraph hill, whose sides have been scarred to provide rock for the sea wall along which the modern argosies of commerce discharge their cargoes. views northwesterly from these hilltops suggest the bay of naples. the most comprehensive close-up of the city is probably obtained from the crest of buena vista park, which is not the highest of the fourteen good-sized hills in san francisco but the one from which the most unobstructed views are to be obtained. tourists and other visitors to san francisco who enjoy walking will find, rambling over this height most interesting. street cars, nos. or , will take you to haight and broderick streets, from which point many paths lead to the top of the hill. at every turn there is an effective view. through a tunnel-like alley of shrubbery the towers of st. ignatius, with crosses pointing to the sky, loom like spires from one of the cathedral towns of france. as you swing 'round you obtain glimpses from different angles of the skyscrapers of san francisco, with every now and then a stretch of glistening water. from the summit of buena vista you see, on three sides, expanses of ocean and bay. to the left is the diamond of lake merced in its setting of bluegreen eucalyptus and its surrounding waves of sand, ribboned with roads extending to the ocean beach. beyond is the emerald stretch of golden gate park, with buildings in demi-outline through the changing tones of foliage. above and beyond are the rolling hills of the presidio, and in the distance tamalpais rears its friendly bulk, a dark blue shadow against a cerulean mantle, crowned at times with filmy gonfalons of cloud like a color print by hokusai. lone mountain and its cross, visible far out at sea, is here in conspicuous range. to see san francisco in a series of highly colored pictures suggestive of maxfield parrish or dulac go to the scenic boulevard that winds over twin peaks. you may motor there, walk or take a street car to the foot of this city mountain, the ascent either way being easy. you may scale twin peaks from the flank within view of market street, climbing along the side and over the shoulder by way of the boulevard. or if you prefer, you may climb up from sloat boulevard via portola drive through one of the city's restricted residence sections. on the summit of twin peaks you feel at the top of the world, and you see san francisco spread out below you as multicolored as a rug of kermanshah. no other city in the two americas, not excepting quebec or rio de janeiro, so overwhelms the beholder with its vistas--with its luminous enchantments. at night the lights of the city zigzag in patterns of distracting loveliness, and market street reaches from the foot of the mountain to the embarcadero like the tail of some flaming comet athwart a sea of stars. parks and open spaces surmounted by a freighted galleon, with streaming pennant and wind-filled sails, a granite pedestal "remembers" robert louis stevenson in portsmouth square, cradle of san francisco's civic history. this square, the plaza of the early city, was the forerunner of a chain of parks, children's playgrounds and open spaces that checkers san francisco with refreshing green. farther uptown is union square, in the center of the hotel and retail district. over on the other side toward north beach, at the foot of telegraph hill, is washington square, one of the recreation spots of the latin quarter, with church spires outlined above its willows. a park that will command the entire harbor is being built on top of telegraph hill. in the western addition, richmond, sunset and mission districts are many parks that provide resting places for mothers, their infants in go-carts, and romping children. golden gate park is the aureole of san francisco's recreational haunts. it was saved to the city in the beginning by frank mccoppin and c. r. dempster and made an area of living beauty by john mclaren, scotch landscape engineer, who is superintendent of parks. from the panhandle at baker street to the ocean beach, the park stretches like a massive gold-green buckler enameled with lustrous gems. there are acres in the park, its main drive, including the panhandle, being / miles long. whether you loiter along tree-shaded alleys, or stroll through rhododendron dells in the late spring, when the landscape fairly quivers with color, there is an ineffable loveliness about golden gate park. its opulence is heightened by its contrasts, as are all well-considered landscape designs. treading the expanse of daisy-starred emerald lawns, loitering under the elms in the band concourse, or wandering through the dwarf trees patterned against humpback bridges in the japanese tea garden, you find new lures in golden gate park with each successive visit. the de young memorial museum, the academy of sciences, the steinhart aquarium, stow lake, the dutch windmills, huntington falls, the aviary, the buffalo paddock, the bear pit, the children's playground with its goats and donkeys, the tennis courts, the harness racing in the stadium, the bowling on the green--almost every rod of the thousand odd acres in the park unfolds unexpected allurements. on a hill in the park is the granite cross which commemorates the first church service in the english language on the american continent, held in by sir francis drake's chaplain on the coast just north of the golden gate. a copy of rodin's bronze thinker is here. the "portal of the past," taken from a nob hill residence after the fire of , is seen in idyllic whiteness against a clump of irish yews across the luminous water of a lake that picks up their outline like a renaissance picture. statuary, classic and modern, arrests interest at every turn in the park. among the figures and busts are those of junipero serra, general grant, goethe, schiller, cervantes, general pershing and president garfield. at the extreme westerly end of the park, fronting the sea whose perils it braved, is the sloop gjoa in which captain roald amundsen cut one of the gordian knots of exploration and found and navigated the northwest passage. lincoln park, with a municipal golf course on a headland overlooking the golden gate, affords a distant but luring view of san francisco. in lincoln park is a replica of the palace of the legion of honor in paris, gift of mr. and mrs. a. b. spreckels as a memorial to san francisco's soldiers in the world war. in addition to its art treasures it was built to house trophies from all the fronts on which the american expeditionary forces fought, marshal foch and other commanders having interested themselves in the collection. the palace of fine arts on the marina close to the presidio, with its masterpieces from the phoebe a. hearst and other collections, is a short drive from lincoln park. the city's aquatic park is close by. sutro heights, with its gardens, classic marbles and outlook upon the sea, is near the cliff house above the ocean beach. the seal rocks and the sutro baths are in sight of these heights. san francisco has established a new playground for children at the end of sloat boulevard, with a second municipal golf course and the largest outdoor swimming pool in the world among its attractions. music and drama hasty reading of annals makes some people gather the mistaken impression that san francisco's dramatic and musical history had its genesis when miners threw gold nuggets at the feet of lotta crabtree. but it has been pointed out by one musical critic that the franciscan padres were chanting gregorian measures in the mission dolores when the battles of lexington and concord were being fought, and that the indians were intoning hymns and staging miracle-plays for their sun-god in california before the landing of the pilgrims at plymouth rock. san francisco not only discovered the gold in the soprano of luisa tetrazzini at the old tivoli opera house, but it has figured in the triumphs of many luminaries of the musical and dramatic stage--from adelina patti and tamagno to mary garden and galli-curci--from edwin booth and charles kean to john drew and henry miller. celebrities braved the discomforts of trips across the continent from the earliest days because of the city's repute as a place where the people were not only responsive but arrived at their own independent judgments. ysaye, kreisler and mischa elman have esteemed the acclaim of audiences here as much as ole bull and wieniawski did in earlier days. since the conversion of the tivoli into a motion picture theatre, and pending the construction of the memorial opera house opposite the city hall, the city hears most of its opera in the civic auditorium. performances of the san francisco opera company, with its local orchestra and chorus supporting international stars, and of visiting troupes from new york and chicago in this auditorium provide two spectacles one on the stage and the other in the assemblage itself. the auditorium seats , persons. to be present when a prima donna awes this audience into silence by her tones, and then to hear a triumphant roar of approval rend the silence, is an unforgettable adventure of the spirit. the symphony orchestra of san francisco is one of the ranking musical bodies of the united states. no better symphonic music is played anywhere. the concerts of this orchestra fill the civic auditorium to overflowing. close to fifty per cent of the audiences are people attracted from surrounding cities. the chamber music society has toured the united states and added to the musical prestige of the city. the concerts of the bohemian club, the pacific musical society, the san francisco musical society and the loring club have definite places in the musical life of the community. organ literature attracts many people to the recitals at the civic auditorium. the pipe organ here was built for the panama-pacific exposition. it was subsequently rebuilt and presented to the city. the theatres of san francisco that were famous in an earlier era are now names packed away in the lavender of remembrance. today the city has new theatres of imposing appearance and large seating capacity. the old stage personalities, however, troop through the writings of contemporary theatrical critics like deified shades. the first managers of the old california theatre were lawrence barrett and john mccullough. the foremost actors were drawn to the city, including charles kean and edwin forrest. the bush street theatre was conducted for fifteen years by m. b. leavitt. it is difficult to be brief with the list of famous names. david belasco, born in san francisco, was stage manager of the baldwin before he made theatrical history in new york. david warfield made his first professional appearance at the old wigwam. william a. brady began his theatrical career in the city, and so did al hayman. holbrook blinn was a boy star in amateur theatricals. at the alcazar, san francisco's stock house, many familiar players made their debuts, including blanche bates, frank bacon, frances starr, bert lytell and evelyn vaughn. the orpheum theatre of san francisco is the mother house of the vaudeville circuit of that name, which supplies entertainment to cities throughout the united states and has overseas affiliations. the orpheum developed from a music hall conducted by gustav walter and the first building on the present site in o'farrell street, off powell, was erected in . universities like a tower of enlightenment the campanile of the university of california, in berkeley, is seen by visitors to san francisco whether they come through the golden gate from asia or approach the city by ferry from the terminals of the transcontinental railroads on the east bay shore. it is likewise visible from the hills of san francisco. this white shaft is symbolic of the opportunity offered to the world to educate its youth in san francisco. within short motor rides from the city are three big universities. in addition to the university of california at berkeley, which has one of the largest enrollments of any institution of its kind in the united states, there is stanford university at palo alto, a privately endowed seat of learning with notably high standards of scholarship and a rigid limit on the number of its students, and the university of santa clara, which has trained many of california's public men and members of the bench and bar. california and stanford are co-educational. the university of california maintains in san francisco the hastings college of law, the medical school, the california school of fine arts, the george william hooper foundation for medical research, the california college of pharmacy and the museum of anthropology, the latter being one of the buildings of the affiliated colleges, overlooking golden gate park. the hearst greek theatre at berkeley has done much to make the name of the university familiar abroad. sarah bernhardt, maude adams, ben greet and margaret anglin have been among the notables to appear on its open air stage. stanford university, which numbers herbert hoover and many other famous men among its alumni, maintains in san francisco the medical school and stanford and lane hospitals. the campus in the santa clara valley is well worth seeing. the sandstone quadrangles, arcades and red tile roofs, which reproduce the feeling of the early mission buildings, are finely achieved examples of period motifs applied to collegiate architecture. the stanford memorial church is especially interesting for its richly carved stone and colored italian mosaics, on the exterior as well as within. the university of santa clara, conducted by the jesuits, is located on the site of one of the missions established by the franciscans under junipero serra, and its modern buildings incorporate the ancient structure. in addition to these universities is mills college in oakland, an institution for women of the type of wellesley, vassar and bryn mawr. the list of private schools and academies offering specialized instruction is a long one. building bridges of understanding across the seas, students attending the universities and other institutions in the san francisco bay region are playing roles in international relations that are just beginning to be realized. h. g. wells should study them in drafting his outlines for world amity. cliffs and beaches from fort scott west to fort miley and south to fort funston, a distance of something over eight miles, there is a line of cliffs and beach that is the ocean front of san francisco. driving up from the eucalyptus-lined avenues of the presidio along a road that reveals perspectives of bay and hills, you come out upon the cliffs that form the southern post of the golden gate and extend above the eastern and southern shore of the outer harbor, with yellow beaches at their feet and with homes, gardens and parks set along their edge. from these cliffs is spread a vista of coast line and ocean with a sweep that extends as far north as point arena and as far west as the farallon islands, rugged points of rock reaching out of the ocean depths twenty-three miles off shore, and as far south as the azure thrust of point pedro. drifting along the cliff highway, which runs back of the fortifications that defend the port of san francisco, you drop down past the dirigible hangar of the united states army flying corps. you rise through sea cliff, a residence section like a hanging garden over the ocean, and come to lincoln park, where the flagstaff that marks the terminus of the lincoln highway, the end of a transcontinental trail, is set. following now a detour through city streets, instead of the highway that will soon traverse the cliffs, to the cliff house, a resort foremost in the written and pictured annals of san francisco, you glimpse three miles of sandy beach stretching southward to the jutting headlands of point pedro and you drop down to the boulevard that flanks the esplanade, which the city is building as part of its playground plan. here is san francisco's little coney island, where the multitude comes on sundays by motor car and trolley, with lunch baskets and children, to frolic or rest on the sands that front the sea. gay booths and kiosks skirt the esplanade, where vendors are kept busy supplying their wares and where everyone appears as carefree as the gulls wheeling above the white breakers. as you continue south along the beach you pass the chalet of the olympic club, whose members sally forth on new year's day for their dip in the surf. presently you reach the great highway, which traverses the dykes of sand raised by wind and water as barriers against the ocean. ahead of you are sloat boulevard and the skyline boulevard, which, skirting lake merced, stretches south through the shore mountains, its objective santa cruz, on the blue bay of monterey. this expanse of three miles of glistening sandy beach is a playground where the people may watch the ever-shifting panorama of sea and sky and hills. seals can be seen sunning themselves on the rocks. beyond them, riding the swells, are fishing boats, and still farther out cargo carriers and passenger liners make for distant points or come seeking haven in the port of adventure--san francisco. clubs club life in san francisco has won the admiration of many men of letters and other visitors. kipling says appreciative things about the bohemian club in his american notes that exceed anything written by its own historians. julian street, in his abroad at home, says that with her hills san francisco is rome; with her harbor she is naples; with her hotels she is new york. "but with her clubs and her people she is san francisco, which to my mind comes near being the apotheosis of praise," he adds. the bohemian club's devotion to music and drama finds expression beyond the plays and concerts at its town clubhouse. in addition it owns a grove of redwoods in sonoma county, where "highjinks" are staged every midsummer. a grove play, the book and music of which are written by members, is the feature of the annual gathering which has spread the name of the bohemian club to many distant places. this distinctive type of country annex is likewise enjoyed by the family, a club which has in addition to its city quarters a redwood grove in san mateo county known as "the farm," where original drama and music are produced. a bronze tablet in memory of bret harte is on the post street facade of the bohemian club, near taylor. characters from the prose and verse of the author are shown in bas-relief, including salomy jane, yuba bill, tennessee's partner, john oakhurst and the heathen chinee. the olympic club, the pacific union club on nob hill, the university club, the commonwealth, the union league club, the commercial, the transportation, the concordia, the argonaut, the engineers, the army and navy, the old colony and the press clubs are among the other organizations with well appointed quarters. the knights of columbus, masons, elks and other fraternal orders have their own clubs. the olympic club also maintains the lakeside country club with a golf course and trapshooting facilities. the olympic is one of the oldest and largest athletic clubs in the country, having over members. women's organizations owning or now building their own club houses include the francisca, woman's athletic, the california, sequoia, century, sorosis, town and country, national league for woman's service, city and county federation of women's clubs and the y. w. c. a. san francisco is a paradise for golfers, and the courses of the various clubs have settings of exceptional natural beauty. among them are those of the presidio golf club, the california golf club, the san francisco golf and the lake merced golf and country club on the rancho laguna de la merced. the municipality maintains two golf courses, one at--lincoln park and one at lake merced. across the bay, in alameda and marin counties, and down the peninsula are any number of country clubs. the san francisco yacht club and the corinthian yacht club have club houses on the marin shore. homes and gardens surface impressions of san francisco assail the visitor like colors in a gypsy's scarf lustrous and salient. there is so much vivacity in the streets downtown, so much to see in the haunts talked about, that one is apt to overlook in a brief sojourn an outstanding characteristic of the city--its many distinctive homes. hardly a month passes that is not marked by pages of appreciation in national architectural journals about the creative originality shown in the landscape gardening and in the structural conceptions achieved in the residence parks of san francisco. in versatility of treatment the architects who have specialized in home building in the san francisco bay region have had their designs of contoured streets, parterres, terraces and plantings published more widely than those of their professional brethren in any other section of the country. tour leisurely by motor car or afoot through the city if you would convince yourself how lovely the homes of san francisco are. leave the traveled boulevards and journey out into the districts that lie along the hills north of washington street and west of van ness avenue as far as the presidio wall. skirting that dividing line, wander through the area between geary street and the military reservation. pacific avenue, broadway, vallejo and the cross streets leading into them are built up with splendid homes, outlined against inviting lawns and gardens. there are noteworthy residence tracts in this section-- presidio terrace, west clay park and sea cliff, where homes that look like villas and chateaux perch on heights that afford a sweeping range of ocean, hills and harbor entrance. the district west of twin peaks, which may be reached either by the municipal street cars that go out market street or by automobile, has restricted residential areas that are reminiscent of the illustrations on the satiny pages of de luxe architectural folios. rapid transit has brought country life to city dwellers in san francisco, third and market streets being only twenty minutes away from st. francis wood and its fountains and trees; ingleside terraces; westwood park, lying along the lower slopes of mt. davidson; forest hill and other verdant home areas, the tunnel through twin peaks making all this possible. coming back downtown over the shoulder of twin peaks your eyes are bewildered in trying to chart the sea of roofs and gables that stretch over the mission district. where once a few tiled adobes clustered around mission dolores, founded by padre junipero serra, now spread homes flooding the level places and gradually climbing up toward the tops of the hills that are like watchtowers over the golden gate. san francisco outlines and insights area: square miles. climate: cool summers and mild winters. average summer temperature, degrees. average winter temperature, degrees. population: , in city; , , in metropolitan area. tax rate: $ . per $ assessed value, rate of assessment to market value of property being per cent. per capita wealth: based on actual value of property, the per capita wealth of san francisco, $ , , is the highest of any large city in the country. foreign trade: trade with foreign countries passing through the golden gate during the fiscal year - totaled $ , , , of which exports amounted to $ , , and imports $ , , . industrial activity: san francisco leads the cities of the pacific coast in the value of manufactured products, the total annual volume of which is $ , , . labor efficiency: owing to equable climate, labor efficiency is higher than in any other large center in the country, the per capita output for san francisco being $ , . . money market of pacific: san francisco ranks fifth in bank clearings in the united states. total bank clearings for the year amount to $ , , , . deposits total $ , , . total resources of the five national and thirty-one state banks were $ , , , in . real estate and construction: realty sales for the past year totaled $ , , . building totaled $ , , . since new construction totals $ , , . sightseeing tours: descriptive folders and other literature may be obtained at the chamber of commerce and at the hotels and information bureaus in san francisco about trips supervised by licensed sightseeing companies. some of the outstanding attractions of the city are detailed briefly here. civic center: one of the most impressive groups of public buildings to be seen in this country or abroad. lands and buildings for this undertaking cost the people $ , , . the group includes the city hall, public library, state building and civic auditorium, the latter seating , persons and being in demand for national conventions. [easy walk from downtown, or by cars on market and polk streets, or taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] san francisco bay: discovered first from the land side by don gaspar de portola in . ferryboats, river steamers and launches may be taken by the visitor interested in becoming acquainted with the attractions of the bay, including yerba buena (goat) island, with its naval receiving station; alcatraz island, shaped like a massive battleship and used as a military prison; angel island, united states immigration and quarantine station; sausalito, belvedere and tiburon, towns framed against the brocade of hills; oleum, richmond, martinez, crockett and pittsburg, with their big industrial plants; the shipbuilding yards in san francisco, oakland and alameda. the golden gate: don juan manuel ayala piloted the san carlos through this portal in . it was named the golden gate by general fremont, "the pathfinder." sir francis drake landed in in a sheltered cove just outside the golden gate and his chaplain held the first religious service in the english language on the american continent. this incident is memorialized by a celtic cross on a hill in golden gate park. [by ferryboats from ferry depot, or via the presidio, which see.] the presidio: this is the largest military reservation within city boundaries in the united states. its , acres embrace many tree-bordered walks and driveways for motor cars. rezanov, plenipotentiary of the czar, here wooed senorita arguello, daughter of the spanish commandante of the presidio, in an adobe building still standing in the reservation. you may read about this tragic idyl in bret harte and gertrude atherton. ["d" car on geary street and union street car at ferry depot, or taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] portsmouth square: originally called the plaza, this place figured largely in the early history of san francisco. commodore john montgomery, after whom montgomery street is named, raised the flag here to herald american possession of california. the vigilance committee used the plaza for public gatherings in their struggle against lawlessness. the robert louis stevenson monument is here, with his oft-quoted message carved on its face, beginning "to be honest, to be kind, to earn a little, to spend a little less." stevenson loved this square greatly and loitered here much. [easy walk from any place downtown, or by kearny street car, tax, auto or sightseeing bus.] mission dolores: this mission was founded by father junipero serra in , and its adobe walls remain in a remarkable state of preservation. a new church of spanish architecture is beside it. adjoining the old building is a burial ground, the inscriptions on whose stones add to the interest of the paintings, carvings and other relics in the mission. ["j," "k" and no. cars on market street, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] telegraph hill: from the top of this height flags and semaphores signaled the approach of ships with the argonauts in the early days. the park commissioners are making it a recreation center. one of the best views of the city, its skyscrapers and the bay is obtained from the hill. [by cars on stockton and kearny street, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] russian hill: many of the writers and painters of san francisco have their homes here. there are also fine apartments, terraced gardens and compensating walks, unfolding views of the bay and distant hills. [by cars on stockton and union streets, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] fishermen's wharf: harbor of the italian fishing fleet, this has the aspect of a transplanted bit of the neapolitan coast even though it has been modernized with the employment of gasoline motor boats. [kearny and beach car to end of line and walk along the waterfront, or by taxi or auto.] california palace of legion of honor: a memorial to the soldiers of the world war, this replica of the palace of the legion of honor of paris was built by mr. and mrs. a. b. spreckels in lincoln park, overlooking the golden gate, to house art treasures and war relics. [by cars marked for ocean beach or cliff house, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] golden gate park memorial museum: one of the outstanding attractions of the recreation center described elsewhere in this booklet. [by marked golden gate park cars on market and geary streets, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] palace of fine arts: on the marina, close to the presidio, this handsomely proportioned building was preserved from the panama-pacific exposition. it houses an exhibition of painting, statuary and objects of arts from the phoebe a. hearst and other collections. [by "d" cars on geary street and union street car at ferry depot, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] ocean beach: this playground of san francisco fronting the sea, with the cliff house, the esplanade, sutro heights, the sutro salt water baths and the seal rocks with their barking sea lions, should be seen by every visitor to san francisco. [by marked cars on market, geary and sutter streets, or by taxi, auto or sightseeing bus.] twin peaks--its tunnel: this city mountain, nearly , feet high, is at the end of market street. a scenic boulevard, which may be traversed by motor or afoot, winds over it, affording a sweeping panorama of the city and bay. running beneath the mountain is a tunnel carrying a double track street railway line. this tunnel is the longest and deepest municipal bore in the world. it cost $ , , . the tunnel is two and one-fourth miles in length and was built to get rapid transit to residence districts. [by "k" tunnel car on market street, or by taxi or auto.] golf--sports: san francisco has seven golf courses reached quickly by motor cars and street railway lines. the region tributary to the city is one huge fish and game preserve. landing trout or bringing down ducks or a buck can be accomplished within tramping distance of city homes. three polo fields are on the peninsula. fly-casting on stow lake in golden gate park, regattas off the aquatic park and the marina, trap shooting, hiking, mountaineering in the sierra nevada range, and a diversity of other activities are directed by clubs and organized groups. horse racing has been revived at tanforan and attracts big crowds. the motor roads in and out of san francisco are among the finest in the country. out-of-town trips: visitors to san francisco should see mount tamalpais, with its crookedest railroad in the world, muir woods, and the ring around the mountain drive to stinson beach; oakland, alameda and berkeley, the university of california being at the latter city; the santa clara valley, with its orchards, and stanford university at palo alto; the spring valley lakes; la honda; del monte, carmel and historic monterey; santa cruz and the big trees; santa rosa, home of luther burbank; saratoga in blossom time; the petrified forest; the geysers; mare island navy yard; the lick astronomical observatory on mt. hamilton; the great sierra nevada range; mount whitney and snow-capped shasta; the yosemite, sequoia and general grant national parks; lake tahoe; mt. lassen and the sacramento and san joaquin valleys. information booths at the hotels will supply visitors with details about trips to these and other places. for detailed information about san francisco communicate with san francisco chamber of commerce merchants exchange building or with californian's inc. montgomery street san francisco this booklet written by fred brandt and andrew y. wood and produced by horne and livingston for the san francisco chamber of commerce independent pressroom san francisco subject to change by ron goulart illustrated by harman [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy magazine december . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] pendleton had been away from san francisco over two months. the airport taxi left him at his place, where he showered and shaved. then he decided he would walk, down through chinatown and over into north beach, to beth's apartment. it was a warm saturday afternoon and he unbuttoned his dacron blazer a block or so into chinatown. he smiled as he wandered by the bright restaurants and shops, the rows of ivory buddhas in window after window. on one corner pendleton stopped and took a deep breath, watching a scattering of tourists taking pictures of each other. someone had lost a half dozen fortune cookies on the sidewalk and they crackled and spread fragments and fortunes as people passed. while he was waiting for a signal to change, three small chinese boys charged a fourth who had ducked around pendleton. they all ran around the corner and pendleton looked after them. there was an old curio and toy shop there. he went toward its streaked window, trying to identify the objects. some kind of procession of tin soldiers made up the main display. the door of the shop opened and an old man with a flared white beard came out. his dark suit hung loose on him and his tie was coming untied as he hurried away. the old man brushed by pendleton, nudging him. "many pardons," he said, cutting across the street. he ran downhill, weaving a little, and into an alley. the bells over the toy shop door rattled again. "stop, thief!" shouted the fat chinese, who came running up to pendleton. the man shouted again and stopped on the corner, his hands on his hips, looking. pendleton crossed the street and turned down the alley the old man had used. this would cut off a block of the way to beth's. he had kept quiet about the thief because he didn't want to get involved in a lot of delaying questioning. * * * * * halfway down the alley he saw an arm dangling out of a garbage can. pendleton blinked and approached the shadowed area around the can. he flipped the lid up and the coat sleeve that had been tangled on the can edge slipped free and dropped into the can. if the old man was wandering around naked, they shouldn't have much trouble catching him. pendleton liked the pre-quake apartment house beth lived in. in almost any weather he liked to see its narrow brown wood front waiting there in the middle of the block. he smiled as a big blue-gray gull flew low overhead and then circled up and away behind beth's building. pendleton took the rough steps in twos and threes and swung at beth's bell. there was a folded note for him glued on her mail box lid with scotch tape. it told him she might be delayed a bit and to get her keys from under the rubber-plant pot on the porch and let himself in. he did that, thinking again that beth's notes always looked as though she wrote them on horseback. upstairs he dropped her keys on the small mantle over the small real fireplace. her bedroom door was slightly open. just as he noticed this, beth called out to him. "i hope that's you, ben?" she said from her room. "where'll i put the ice, lady?" he said. "you're supposed to be out." "welcome back. i just got here and i had to change so i left the keys down there in case you got here while i was changing. how was new york?" "okay, but i'm glad i'm with the agency out here. how'd you get in without keys?" he sat down in the soft tan sofa-chair he'd given her. "i have a key to the kitchen way. is the show all right now?" "i guess we fixed it for a while. how are you?" "fine. and, hey, i have a good part in alex' new play. it just happened and i couldn't write." "you have lousy handwriting, you know," pendleton called. grinning, he got out a cigarette and reached into his coat pocket for a book of matches. something jabbed into the palm of his hand. "it's because i'm so intense," beth said, near her bedroom door. pendleton winced and pulled a small toy chinese junk out of the pocket. the price stamp was still on the bottom of the boat, cents. the old man must have dropped it in his pocket when he nudged him. beth came up behind him. "it's warm in here. give me your coat. i have a whole new concept about making martinis. this fellow in actors' lab told me. you do it with zen." her hands rested on pendleton's shoulders. "i'll be damned," he said, rubbing his palm with the boat as he stood. beth slid her arms over his shoulders and locked her hands on his chest. "what's that, ben?" pendleton turned around in her hold. he tapped her tanned nose with the toy boat and told her about it. "i suppose i should take it back," he said finally. beth laughed. "makes you a receiver of stolen goods." she took the toy boat and walked to the fireplace. she put it next to her keys and turned to him. she was wearing a light blue dress with a flared skirt. no stockings, flat black shoes. she'd cut her blonde hair short since he'd seen her last. "welcome back," she said, smiling. * * * * * a light wind was starting up, tapping windows with tree branches, as pendleton let himself into beth's darkening apartment. he flipped the light switch on and started for the tan sofa chair, jiggling the keys in his hand. the bedroom door slammed. "you in there?" pendleton called. her note said she'd gone out for some forgotten groceries. pendleton opened the bedroom door and turned on the lights. the window beyond beth's low, blue-covered bed was open and the wind was flapping the curtains against her dressing table. a strong flap caught a lipstick and flipped it into the thick rug. edging around the bed, pendleton closed the window and picked up the lipstick. he left the bedroom door a bit open and went back to the chair. there was a paper back by eisenstein on the coffee table and he picked that up and read down the contents page. the wind got stronger and parts of the old building creaked, first something down under him, then something way up and to the right. now and then there would be a bang from out in back. pendleton dropped the book and got down on his knees in front of the fireplace and kindled a fire. as the fire took hold, bright sparks popped out into the room. something started tapping on the window behind pendleton's chair. at last, in a lull between creaking and banging, he became aware of a tapping. he looked at the window and the early night sky. the tapping went on. there was a gray cat sitting on the sill outside. the cat was tangled up in an orange and blue bead necklace. "lonely out there," pendleton said. he didn't much like cats, but this one looked sad. he opened the window and the cat jumped in, the necklace falling free and clattering against the wall. "we'll see if maybe beth's got something around to give to wandering cats." pendleton reached out to pick up the cat. sputtering, the animal raked at his fingers and dived between his legs. pendleton spun and saw the cat scoot through the open bedroom door. "hey, you little bastard, you'll knock over things." he was two steps from the door when it slammed and locked. pendleton stopped, wondering how the animal had managed to bang into the door hard enough to close it. he didn't think the cat should stay in there and anyway beth would want to get in when she got home. he'd pick the lock. crouching, he reached for the knob. something clicked and the door swung in. he recognized beth's terry robe and he looked up and saw her face, very pale. "okay," she said. "i guess i was too cute with the key bits. go away, ben, and leave me alone. please?" "what's the matter?" he was still squatting and her stepping forward sent him over. "just go away, ben. please, now." she brushed by him and sat in a bucket chair, putting both bare feet down hard on the floor. ben got himself up. "you drunk?" * * * * * beth brushed at her hair. "i thought if you were sitting out here and i showed up in the bedroom, you'd think i came in the back way. or that i was already in there and just hadn't heard you." she bit her thumb. "just another trick i wanted to try." "what are you talking about?" he bent and scooped up the bead necklace. "go away. that's all." "well, why?" he twisted the string of beads around his knuckles. "somebody else?" "yes. alex." she smiled. "alex? that fruiter who runs the actors' lab." the string broke and beads splattered away from him. three landed in the fire. "or maybe my uncle russ. did you know we lived with him for three years when i was a kid and i was always having odd fevers and things? he had some kind of quack x-ray business." pendleton took beth's shoulders. "you're sick, is that it?" "no. go away, ben." "well, what is it?" beth sighed, annoyed. "you know about method. you have to feel the parts, live them." "sure." beth shrugged her shoulders until pendleton let go. "one weekend afternoon--oh, about two or three weeks after the agency sent you off--i was here trying to be an old lady. for an exercise at the lab. and i was." pendleton blinked at her still pale fact. "that's swell, beth. a guy likes to know what his fiancee is up to while he's away." "i _was_ an old lady." she stood with her body thrust almost against him. "see? i changed." he backed a little. "how about a drink?" "don't you get it, ben? how the hell do you think i just came in?" "the back way." pendleton decided to try a drink on her and then find out who her doctor was these days. "i was the cat. now you know about it and can go away, ben." she let herself fall to the floor and she huddled there, crying. "how long have you had this idea?" he knelt beside her, running one hand over her back. "you know who put that silly damn boat in your pocket?" she asked. "sure. you were that little old man." beth rolled and sat up, her legs tangled in the robe. she took a deep breath. "listen, ben. i got a kick out of changing into different kinds of people. it was a help in my work at the actors' lab. then i got the idea it would be fun to try other things. animals, chairs, tables. one rainy night i was a footstool until it was time to go to bed." "i was a tea kettle as a boy. stop kidding." "i don't know, ben. it gets sort of vacant all around when you're away somewhere. i had this feeling that i wanted to see if i could just step into a store or someplace and try to swipe something. anything." * * * * * pendleton found himself starting to shake. he put his arms around beth. "that was you, then, taking junk from an old chinese." "i could change, you see, and take things as all sorts of odd characters. if i was spotted and followed, i'd try to duck in an alley or a doorway and change again. the clothes are extra. sometimes i could hide clothes in a lot. most of the time, though, i'd have to change into something new. a bird, a cat. then i'd carry what i had stolen in my beak or around my neck." she laughed softly. "once i copped an umbrella and changed into a big dog and went off with it in my mouth." she twisted slightly in his arms. "i'm sorry. it's all sort of odd and silly. i do it." "well, why?" "i don't know." "beth?" he inched up, lifting her with him. "yes?" she let him sit her in the sofa chair. "you have to go see somebody. you have to stop." she stiffened. "if it was as simple as insanity, i would." "please, beth." he wandered to the fireplace and threw in more wood. "the stealing _does_ bother me. i think the changing is good. i can use it to really go someplace in my acting career. quit the secretary business altogether. i actually changed to an old woman for one of alex's one-acters. he thought i'd just done a good job of makeup. i don't believe i want to simply stop, ben." "you have to!" "don't start shouting commands." pendleton sat across from her on the sofa. "will you promise to start seeing somebody? maybe i can find out about a good man. promise you'll see him." "you going to ask around? why don't you do a tv spot? 'we are happy to announce that beth gershwin is daffy.'" "relax, beth. you decide what you want to do. i won't talk to anybody." beth moved to the window. the wind had died. "i don't know, ben." "let it rest. let's have the drink." he came to her side. "i think i'd like to be alone for a while." "i'd like to stay." "i'd like you to go. please." "beth." "go on, ben." she stared at him, then walked into her bedroom. she didn't close the door and he followed. her robe was spread-eagled on the bed. pendleton looked around the room. before, there had been one carved stool at the vanity table. now there were two. pendleton left the apartment and ran down the hall, taking short, shallow breaths. but he couldn't just leave her. he bit his lip and went back through the still open door. "come on, beth. don't be stubborn," he said into the bedroom, watching the two stools. he waited an hour. then he turned off the lights and started to leave. going out this time, he stepped on one of the wooden beads and almost fell onto the coffee table. pendleton slammed beth's door and went out into the clear night. if she could be stubborn, so could he. * * * * * it was almost two weeks before she called him to apologize. she'd got him at the agency. he didn't stay in his apartment much. he kept talking to himself if he did. you could see the street from the little italian restaurant they'd agreed to meet in. pendleton sat at a round table close to the wide window and watched for beth. there was a slight haze in the afternoon air and most of the secretaries that passed were coatless. beth started smiling a quarter of a block from him. she was in a light cotton dress, weaving in and out of the noontime pedestrians. "nice day," pendleton said, standing. beth smiled and sat down. "i noticed that right off." they ordered and pendleton said, "how've you been?" "great." she clasped her hands together on the checkered table top. "you were right, ben. i'm sorry i was mean." pendleton moved his glass of water three inches. "good." "i've started seeing a very highly recommended analyst. things are starting to look up. i haven't even had an impulse to filch anything in days." the food arrived. "it'll take time." "i have a great part in alex's next play. it's really a challenge. by ionesco. being able to change will help." pendleton set his fork down. "huh?" "i tried changing into the character last night. it came off fine." "what are you seeing a psychiatrist for, then?" he asked, his voice low. "so i won't steal things any more." he held the edge of the table for a minute, not meeting her eyes. finally he said, "i see. well, that's fine, beth. how've things been at work?" beth grinned and told him. * * * * * the days were turning cool and the trees had started scattering dry leaves into the wind. on a sharp weekend afternoon pendleton was killing time in the produce district before driving over to beth's. there was a coffee shop open and pendleton thought about crossing over for a cup of coffee. the whitewashed door of the place shot open and a fat woman with an orange-fringed shawl came out. she was carrying something wrapped up in a paper napkin. she glanced at pendleton, hesitated a second and then went running off toward a closed warehouse. by the time she reached it, the short-order cook was on the street looking after her. he threw a gesture after her and went back inside. pendleton shivered once slightly. he started walking for his car and a block from it he found himself running. he got to beth's place ahead of the approaching dusk. the downstairs door wasn't locked, but beth's apartment door didn't open when he tried it. pendleton grunted, slapping his pockets for something to pick the lock with. the door opened. beth, in capris and a striped sweater, looked out at him, her head tilted slightly to one side. "did i hear applause? you're early." "you know why i'm here early." he pushed into the room. "i thought you were better. what the hell were you doing down there?" "where? what's the matter?" she backed across the rug to the fireplace. a small fire was going and she turned to warm her hands at it. "i just saw you steal something from that diner. silverware maybe. you want me to search the place?" facing him, her lips hardly parted, beth said, "i should think you would trust me, being we love each other and all. i was rehearsing until a half hour ago and alex dropped me off. i've been here since then." pendleton's hands fell to his sides. "well, nothing i guess is wrong. i'm just jumpy. this changing thing bothers me." beth reached out and patted his arm. "it's okay, ben?" "yeah." he sat down in the tan chair and looked up at her. "want to eat here tonight, by the fire? i'll have the flying something deliver food." "good. and send out for a bottle or two." beth bent and kissed him. "trust me again?" he brushed at her hair and nodded. * * * * * pendleton dropped too much wood into the fireplace and a stick snapped out onto the rug. he gingerly picked up the stick and poked it back into the flames. he went back to the low sofa beth was on. he found his glass in the dark and refilled it from the pitcher. beth reached out with one bare foot and stroked the side of his head. she had put on a dark blue dress with several stiff lace petticoats and whenever he tried to touch her she made crackling sounds. "you're really a nice fellow," beth said, finding his ear with her toe. "so are you," he said, finishing his drink. "maybe we should go ahead and get married." ben agreed and poured fresh drinks. "ben?" "yeah?" "i'm sorry." she was crying. "what is it?" "it _was_ me this afternoon. i _have_ been doing those things. i never went to any highly recommended man at all." pendleton felt tolerant. "so what? things will work out somehow." * * * * * beth sat up. "i can't stop it, ben." pendleton thought he heard an odd quaver in her voice. "you're not onstage now, kid. save the phony touches." her leg swung round, just missing his head, and she stood up. "that's your trouble. you're totally incapable of comprehending." "i comprehend you. you're loony and a liar." beth slapped him. "it'll be simpler if i stop being me!" pendleton had somehow gotten his arm stuck under the sofa. "take it easy." he was aware of a rustling sound and when he got loose and came up he saw beth naked by the window for an instant. as he looked she changed. then there were two tan sofa chairs in the room. pendleton called beth's name over and over, but she wouldn't come back. it got cold in the apartment after a time and he threw all the wood he could find in the fire. he crawled over to the martini pitcher and drank from it. he noticed that some sticks had fallen out and landed in the tangle of petticoats beth had left and he smiled at the disorder of everything and put his head back against the sofa. petticoats crackling woke him. even before he got his head up very high in the room, he was coughing. the room was turning bright, sparkling orange. "beth!" he said. "beth!" there were still the two tan sofa chairs. "beth, sober up now! come on, change! we've got to get out!" nothing happened. pendleton looked at the chairs a moment. the one on the left. he grabbed it up and wavered to the apartment door. to make sure, he'd have to come up for the other one. for several minutes it seemed the chair would stay wedged in the doorway. it came free finally and he went back with it and tumbled and twisted down the stairs. * * * * * a siren met him in the cold night outside. the engines were already there. the firemen were heading for the building. spray fell back across the street where pendleton took the chair. "beth, please," he said in a low voice. "change now." he tried to go get the other chair, to be sure, but they wouldn't let him. he fell into the one he'd picked and began crying softly. the sirens stopped. before he let the ambulance people look at him, he insisted that the chair be looked after. no trace of beth was found and pendleton couldn't explain what had happened. after they let him go, he had the chair sent to his apartment. he put it very carefully in the living room by the liquor cabinet and sat down near it to wait. the slave of the mine; or, jack harkaway in 'frisco. by bracebridge hemyng. [illustration: "the bullet struck nappa bill about the middle of the wrist, and, with a fearful oath, he allowed his knife to drop on the floor."] contents chapter i. the gambling-house. chapter ii. a surprise. chapter iii. maltravers's plot. chapter iv. the box at the california theatre. chapter v. vasquez, the bandit. chapter vi. the slave of the diamond mines. chapter vii. miss vanhoosen travels. chapter viii. the escape from the mines. chapter ix. the attack on the stage. chapter i. the gambling-house. "i rather like this game!" "well, i should smile if you didn't. luck's dead sot in for you now, you can bet." "perhaps," said the first speaker; "but i don't propose to follow it up." "what?" the second speaker sprang from his chair in amazement. "no. i flatter myself i know when to stop. i have played at baden and monaco, in the clubs of london and the hells of paris, as well as the gambling saloons of the west, and i'm not to be picked up for a flat." "that's sure; but look at here; as sure as my name is dan markham, and i'm known as a profesh at gambling from here to cheyenne and virginia city, and lettin' alone omaha, you're wrong." "why?" "when you've got a run of luck, play it for all it is worth." "you think so?" "my friend, fortune is within your grasp. play on the ace and copper the jack, i tell you," replied dan markham. "thank you. i don't want any one to dictate to me." with this quiet answer the first speaker piled up his checks and received an equally large pile of gold twenty-dollar pieces, which he placed in an inside pocket of his coat. then he laughed harshly. "i don't know why i do this sort of thing," he remarked. "it isn't because i want the money." "i'll tell you," replied the gambler. the lucky player rose from his seat and the game went on, there being a dozen or more men present who were intent upon it. the game was faro. slowly and solemnly the dealer took the cards out of the box, and with equal solemnity the players moved their checks as their fancy dictated. the first speaker was a man of a decided english cast of countenance, and the profusion of side whiskers which he wore strengthened his britannic look. he was well dressed, handsome, though somewhat haggard, as if he suffered from want of sleep, or had some cankering care gnawing at his heart. a gold ring, set with turquoise and diamonds, sparkled on his finger, and his watch chain was heavy and massive. the gambler was probably forty years of age, which was ten or twelve more than his companion, and his face bore traces of drink and dissipation; but there was a shrewd, good-natured twinkle in his eye which showed that he was not a bad-natured man in the main. in reality, dan markham was known all over the pacific slope as a good fellow. retiring to the lower end of the room, the first speaker accepted a glass of wine which was handed him by a negro waiter who attended on the supper-table. "you were saying, mr.--er--mr.----" he began. "markham," replied that individual. "ah, yes! thank you! well, you were observing----" "just this: i know why a man plays, even though he's well fixed and has got heaps of shug." "do you?" "yes, mr.--er--mr." continued markham, imitating his companion's tone in rather a mocking manner. "smith. call me smith." "all right, smith; you play because you want the excitement. that's the secret of it. you've got no home." "that's true." "no wife?" "no." "exactly. if a man's got a home, and the comforts, and the young ones, and in fact all that the word implies, he don't want to go to a gambling-saloon. no, sir. it's fellows like you and me that buck the tiger." the person who had designated himself as mr. smith smiled. "you are an observer of human nature?" he said. "well, i guess so. pete!" "yes, sah!" replied the negro. "give me some of that wine. darn your black skin, what do i keep you for?" "you don't keep me, sah!" replied the negro. "don't i, by gosh? it's me, and fellows like me, that keep this saloon a-going, and that keeps you." pete made no reply, but opened a new bottle and handed the gambler a glass of the sparkling wine. "going to play some more, stranger?" asked dan. "i may and i may not. as i feel at present i shall look on," replied mr. smith. "how long have you been in this country?" continued dan. "all my life." "hy?" "i was born here." "whereabouts?" "in maine." "oh, come now; you can't play that on me. you're a britisher." mr. smith colored a little and looked rather vexed. "doesn't it strike you, my friend," he said, "that you are a trifle inquisitive?" "it's my way." "then all i have to say is that it is a mighty unpleasant way, and i don't like it for a cent." "is that so?" "yes." "then you can lump it," replied dan markham, lighting a cigar and staring him in the face. mr. smith evidently did not want to have a quarrel, for he walked away and strolled through the rooms, of which there were four. these rooms were elegantly furnished, provided with sofas and easy-chairs. on the tables were all the best periodicals and magazines, so that frequenters of the gambling-house could while away their time without actually playing. but the tables possessed a fascination which smith, as he called himself, could not resist. he strolled back to the faro game and watched the play, which kept on incessantly. when one player fell out, another took his place, and so it went on, all night long, till the garish streaks of the gray dawn stole in through the shades of the windows, and the men who turned night into day thought it prudent to go home. a young and handsome man attracted mr. smith's attention. he was well dressed, and had an air of refinement about him. his eyes were bloodshot and his face haggard. his hands clutched the chips nervously, and he was restless, feverish and excited. he pushed the clustering chestnut locks from his fair brow, and watched the cards as they came out with an eagerness that showed he took more than an ordinary interest in the game. his luck was villainous. he lost almost every time, and when he tried to make a "pot" to recoup himself, it was all the same--the wrong card came out. at length he put his hand in his pocket and found no more money there. with a sigh he rose from the table, and with bowed head and bent back, his eyes lowered and his face wearing an expression which was the embodiment of despair, he walked away. mr. smith followed him. this was a type of character and a situation he evidently liked to study. "ruined! ruined!" he muttered. at this juncture he encountered dan markham, who had been paying his respects to some boned turkey, and making a very respectable supper. the professional gambler can always eat and drink, the fluctuations of the game having very little effect on his appetite. "hello! baby," he exclaimed; "you here again to-night?" "as you see," replied the young man, whose feminine cast of countenance justified the epithet of "baby" which the gambler had bestowed upon him. "i thought i told you to keep out of here." "i know it." "then why didn't you follow my orders?" "because i couldn't. it was here that i took the first downward step, and to-night i have taken the last." the gambler regarded him curiously. "clarence holt," he said, "have you been drinking?" "not a drop; but it is time i did. my lips are parched and dry. i am on fire, brain and body. is this a foretaste of the hereafter in store for me?" "weak-minded fool!" cried dan. "yes, i was weak-minded to trust you. i was a fool to listen to your rose-colored stories about fortunes made at a faro-bank." "come, come! no kicking." during this conversation mr. smith was leaning against the wall, half concealed in the shadow, and smoking a cigar, while he was ostensibly engaged in jotting down some memoranda with a pencil on a scrap of paper, yet not a word was lost upon him. "you can bully me as much as you please, dan markham!" exclaimed clarence holt. "but i warn you that i am getting tired of it." "tired, eh?" "yes, sir; there is a limit to human endurance." "is there? since when did you find that out?" sneered dan. "to-night. i have lost a whole month's salary." "what of that? i'll lend you money." "yes, on the terms you did before," replied clarence holt, bitterly. "you have made me forge the name of the manager of the bank in which i am employed to the extent of three thousand dollars." "that isn't much." "i can never pay it." dan markham lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "yes, you can," he said. "how?" "steal it. you have every opportunity." "and become a thief?" "yes." "never!" "why not? are you not already a forger? i hold three notes of mr. simpson, the manager of the bank of california, which he never signed, though you did it for him; and if those notes are presented for payment you will go right up to the state prison at stockton quicker than railroading." clarence holt groaned deeply. he was, indeed, in the power of this man, and, struggle as he could, he was unable to extricate himself. mr. smith gathered from this conversation that dan markham had got the young man in his power with some object in view. clarence holt was a clerk in the bank of california, and had forged the name of mr. simpson, the manager, to the extent of three thousand dollars, markham holding the forged notes. that evening clarence had risked his whole mouth's salary at faro, and lost. hence his despair and agitation were fully accounted for. "what do you want of me?" asked clarence. "my money." "what will you take for the notes?" "double their face-value, and then i'll hand them over to anybody." mr. smith stepped forward and bowed politely. "pardon me," said he. "did i understand you to say that you are anxious to sell some notes?" "oh! it's you, mr. smith," replied markham. "if you've got six thousand dollars to throw away on security which is only worth three, we can deal. i want to go to sacramento to-morrow, and i'll sell out." "i have overheard the entire conversation," said mr. smith, "and i sincerely commiserate this young man, who has fallen into the hands of a sharper!" "throwing bricks, eh?" "never you mind, my friend. hand over the notes and i will give you the money." markham produced a wallet which was filled with papers and bills, among which he searched until he found the documents of which he was in want. "here you are," he exclaimed. "i'd like to find a fool like you every day in the week." "would you?" "if i did, i'd die rich." laughing heartily at his own joke, markham handed over the notes and received the six thousand dollars in exchange. "thank you," he added, and extending his hand to clarence holt, he said: "good-by. take my advice. it's straight. never bet on a card again." nodding carelessly to mr. smith, he knocked the ash off his cigar and left the room. when he was gone, clarence holt grasped mr. smith's hand. "how can i thank you?" he exclaimed. "my dear fellow," replied mr. smith, "you have nothing to thank me for." "nothing!" "no, indeed." "but you have saved me," said clarence. "you are a whole-souled, generous-hearted man. give me the forged notes, that i may tear them up, begin again, and, leading a new life, bless you for ever." a cynical smile curled the lip of mr. smith. "not so fast, my young friend," he said. "what do you mean?" "simply that i am not your friend, and that i have not done anything of a particularly generous nature." "how?" clarence holt's countenance fell again as he ejaculated this monosyllable. "you have only exchanged one master for another," replied mr. smith. "really, sir," said clarence, "i am at a loss to understand you. i took you for a gentleman who, having by accident overheard a conversation which was not intended for his ears, endeavored to atone for his conduct by doing what lay in his power to help----" "don't catechise me, if you please," interrupted mr. smith. "i have no wish to be offensive." "if you had i would not allow you to gratify your inclination. mr. markham has handed you over to me, and i have bought you." "bought me?" "why, certainly." "may i ask your reason for acting in such an eccentric manner?" "yes; i like to buy men. it is a fancy of mine. i find them useful occasionally." clarence holt bit his lip. "where do you live?" a card containing an address in mission street was handed to him, and, glancing carelessly at it, he put it in his pocket. "when i want you," he said, "i shall know where to find you." a rebellious fire burnt in clarence's eye. "suppose i refuse to do your bidding?" he asked. "oh! well, in that case i should go to the bank and show the authorities the notes i have bought. i presume they would see that you were punished, and taken care of for a year or two." clarence pressed his hands together violently. "oh! have i come to this?" he cried. "would to god i had taken my dear wife's advice and never gambled!" mr. smith looked at him. "married, eh?" he remarked. "yes, sir." "pretty wife?" "the most divine creature you ever saw. i suppose i am a partial judge, and that my opinion is not to be relied on; but i assure you, sir, that no artist or poet ever conceived so lovely a specimen of womanhood as my darling elise." "humph! how long have you been married?" "three years." "and in love still?" "yes, indeed; more than ever." "odd way of showing your love, coming to a gambling-house. any children?" "one little girl. but allow me to explain. i came here with my month's salary to try and make money enough to pay off markham, who has been my ruin. now i have not a dollar to go home with, and how we are to live i do not know." mr. smith took a dozen twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his purse. "take these," he said. "you will lend them to me?" cried clarence, delightedly. "i give them to you. what is the use of lending money to a pauper? i give this to you just as i would give an alms to a beggar." "your words are very bitter," said the young man, as he shivered visibly. "there is no necessity for me to be silver-tongued with you," was the reply. "go home to your wife. i will call and see you soon." mr. smith threw himself into a chair, and appeared to take no further notice of clarence, but he was seated in a manner which permitted him to have a good view of the gambling-table. at first clarence holt hurried toward the door, as if full of virtuous resolution to return home. then he paused, and turned off toward the lunch table, where he ate a little salad and drank some wine. the gold pieces were burning a hole in his pocket. they were amply sufficient to live upon for a month; but if he could only double them! surely his bad luck could not stick to him all the evening. he would try again. "what time is it?"--he looked up at the clock--"only eleven!" elise, his little wife, has got the baby to sleep by this time and is probably reading, while eagerly expecting his return home. another hour will make no great difference. he goes to the table and buys some checks, with which he begins to speculate. mr. smith laughs with the air of mephisto, and says to himself: "i knew it. score one to me again for having some knowledge of character. he is a weak man and easily led. so much the better for me." presently a lady, thickly vailed, entered the saloon and looked timidly around her. evidently she was searching for some one. seldom, indeed, was a lady seen in the saloon, for it is not the custom for the fair sex to gamble in america, whatever they may do in europe. the negro in charge of the lunch-table advanced toward her. "what you want heah, ma'am?" he asked. "i am looking for a gentleman," she replied, in a nervous tone. "plenty ob gen'elmen come and go all night. it's as hard as de debble to find any one in dese ar rooms." "he is my husband. perhaps you know him. his name is clarence holt," continued the lady. "oh! yes, for suah. i know him." "then i implore you to tell me if he is here. where is the room in which they play?" "no place for ladies, dat; besides, marse holt him been gone an hour or more with marse markham." "is he with that bad man? ah, me! what future have i and my child now?" she pressed her hands to her face and sobbed, while the negro held the door open. suddenly there was a loud cry from the inner room, in which the game was progressing. "by heaven. i win! give it me. it is all mine. all--all," shouted a man. mrs. holt uttered a scream. "'tis he!" she cried. "wretch, you have deceived me. stand on one side. i heard my husband's voice, and i will see him." she pushed past the negro, who would fain have stopped her had he been able to do so, but her movements were too quick for him to intercept her. "this is becoming decidedly interesting," observed mr. smith; "elise has come after clarence. by jove!" he added, as she raised her vail, "she justifies his description of her. a prettier creature i never saw!" the luck had changed, and clarence had been fortunate enough to win largely, as a pile of gold by his side fully testified. the young wife tapped him on the shoulder. "clarence," she whispered. "you here?" he cried, while a flush of annoyance crossed his face. "oh, yes; forgive me. come home, will you not?" "how dare you follow me here?" "i was so lonely. i found a note from markham appointing a meeting here, and i knew you had your salary with you. we have no food in the house, and----" "confound you!" he interrupted, almost fiercely. "do you want every man here to know our private affairs?" "what are these men to you, clarence?" "go home. i will come when i am ready. you distract me. go!" he exclaimed. sadly she turned away. her tears flowed fast, and so broken-hearted was she that she did not bestow one glance at the feverish and excited face of her erring and misguided husband. at the door she was confronted by mr. smith, who bowed politely. "madame," he exclaimed, "permit me to have the honor of escorting you to your carriage." elise holt looked up in surprise. "i have no carriage, sir," she answered. "then i will get you one." "but i have no money to pay for one." "my purse is at your service." "oh, sir," she exclaimed, blushing, "it would not be right for me to accept a favor from a perfect stranger." "pardon me, i am a friend of your husband." "is that so? well, if you know clarence, will you not persuade him to come home?" she looked pleadingly at mr. smith. "i will do more than that," he rejoined. "how?" "i will see to it that he does come to you in half an hour. come, take my arm." elise did not hesitate any longer, but timidly placed her little delicately-gloved hand on the arm of the handsome stranger, who was so kind and generous. "ah!" she thought, "if i had married him instead of clarence!" they descended the stairs together, and her tears ceased to flow. chapter ii. a surprise. in the street they saw a carriage, which mr. smith hailed, and when it drove up he placed mrs. holt inside. "drive this lady to no. mission street," he exclaimed. elise opened her eyes wide with astonishment. "you know where we live!" she ejaculated. "certainly i do. good-evening. clarence shall be home in half an hour." he handed the driver two dollars, and elise was taken to her apartments in a luxurious style which was entirely new to her. mr. smith returned to the gambling-saloon, much impressed with the modesty and beauty of elise. "decidedly, she is too good for clarence," he muttered. once again in the gilded saloon of vice he looked in vain for clarence among the players. "where is the young man who was winning?" he asked of the dealer. "he has dropped out," was the answer. "a loser?" "yes. he staked his pile on one card, and somehow it didn't come up as he expected." "fool!" remarked mr. smith. he walked through the suite of handsomely-furnished rooms to see where clarence was, because he could not have left the place, or he would have been met on the stairs. in an inner apartment he saw a sight which startled, though it did not surprise him. mr. smith was a man of the world, whom it was difficult to surprise, as it was part of his education and temperament not to exhibit emotion at anything. kneeling before a large mirror, his face pale and haggard beyond expression, was clarence holt. in his right hand he held a pistol, and in his left a photograph of elise, which he was kissing passionately. it was a sad picture, and showed to what desperate straits drink and gambling can reduce their votaries. * * * * * suddenly he dropped the picture and placed the muzzle of the pistol to his temple. "god forgive me," he prayed, "and help the widow and the orphan. elise, my darling, my life, my all, farewell." mr. smith rushed forward and knocked up his arm, so that at this most critical moment in the young man's career the weapon went off without injuring him, and the ball lodged in the ceiling. it was a narrow escape. "idiot," cried smith, "what are you thinking of?" clarence holt looked repentant and abashed. "i have spent your money," he replied. "i repulsed my wife. i am a wretch, unworthy to live." "get up and go home." "alas! i have no home now. my money is gone and----" mr. smith interrupted him by allowing to flutter down at his side a one hundred-dollar bill, giving it to him as carelessly as one casts a bone to a dog. "for me!" asked clarence, eagerly snatching it. "no, for elise and your child," was the reply. "give it to her. a fellow like you deserves nothing but a good thrashing." "that's what i say," answered clarence, the old, despairing look coming over him again. "let me die." mr. smith looked disgusted. "if you don't leave off whining," he exclaimed, "i shall be strongly tempted to kick you!" clarence did not move; he picked up his hat and left the pistol where it had fallen. "be a man," continued mr. smith. "don't be afraid of the world and the world won't hurt you." humiliated, and with his head in a whirl, clarence quitted the room, and mr. smith re-entered the gambling-saloon, in which was a noisy party of miners who, having come into town with plenty of money, could not resist the fascinations of faro. all at once mr. smith was confronted by a man, who exclaimed: "so we have met sooner than i expected!" "harkaway," repeated the person who called himself smith. "at your service, my lord," was the reply. jack had met lord maltravers. this gentleman was an english nobleman of high rank and great wealth. they had met in new york, and both had fallen in love with a young lady named lena vanhoosen. lena's brother alfred wished her to marry jack, but her mother, mrs. vanhoosen, wished her to espouse the rich nobleman. jack and lord maltravers had quarreled about lena. the quarrel took place in a well-known up-town resort, and maltravers had fired a pistol at jack. the shot missed its mark, but the cowardly nobleman had to fly to avoid arrest. he retreated to san francisco, and jack, learning where he had gone, followed him. they met in the gambling-saloon. his lordship was perfectly collected after the first shock of surprise had passed away, and he did not attempt to escape. "so you have followed me?" he observed. "that is an unnecessary question to ask," replied jack. "you see i am here." "not at all. you might have been making a tour of california, but since you have declared that you followed me, may i ask your reason?" "to bring you to justice for attempting my life, after which i shall marry miss vanhoosen." "so you have gone into the detective business, mr. harkaway? i congratulate you," said his lordship, sarcastically. "it was time for me to do something." "well, you have found me. what next?" "i shall arrest you." "here?" "certainly, my lord. i shall be my own police officer, and not give you a chance to run away." lord maltravers laughed harshly. "my dear fellow," he replied, "what do you take me for?" "precisely for that which i know you to be." "and that is----" "an unmitigated scoundrel." "thank you; personality seems to be your forte," said maltravers. "and now let me tell you one thing: i am no child to be arrested by you." "we shall see," answered jack. the room, as we have said, was full of rough characters, who were noisy, and inclined to be riotous; wine was flowing freely. "boys!" cried maltravers, in a stentorian voice. instantly he was the centre of attraction. "do any of you want to make a stake of a hundred dollars?" "yes, yes!" replied a dozen men. "then put a head on this man for me." he held out five twenty-dollar gold-pieces in one hand and pointed to harkaway with the other. a big man, over six feet high, apparently strong as a horse, with a well-developed biceps muscle, stepped forward. he had several scars on his face, and had lost one eye, which gave him a ghastly appearance. "that money's mine," he exclaimed. "you can have it if you are my man." "hand it over." lord maltravers gave him the gold, and at the same time jack took a step in advance. "you shall not escape me in that way," he said. "hold on there," cried the volunteer. "oh, i'm not afraid of you," cried jack. "i'm nappa bill," said the man, "and if i can't make you squeal, i want to go home." "listen to me," said harkaway. "this fellow is a notorious murderer, and is wanted in new york." "new york be darned!" said nappa bill. "if he has killed his man, there are lots of us in this room who has done the same thing, and his money is as good to me as any other chap's. let him go, and then you an' me's got to talk." seeing that it would be useless to attempt to arrest his lordship after the turn affairs had taken, jack relinquished his idea. "gentlemen, i will leave you to amuse yourselves," exclaimed maltravers. jack was furiously indignant, and burned with rage as he saw his enemy make for the door. "stop!" he cried. "to oblige you? oh, dear, no. i rather think not. i shall be glad to meet you at foster's cliff house to-morrow at two, if you will promise to come unattended." "i will be there." "on my terms?" "yes." "very well; we can then discuss the situation; for the present, it will be enough to say good-night." always a polished villain, maltravers bowed and took his departure. jack was baffled, and was about to sit down to consider what he should do, when nappa bill made a furious lunge at him with a knife. seeing the movement, he stepped on one side and escaped being killed by almost a miracle. being armed, he drew a pistol. "keep off," he said, "or i'll shoot." "that's good enough. i like to see a man heeled. i'll have more pleasure in cutting you now," answered nappa bill. "what do you want to fight me at all for?" "wasn't i paid for it? why, look at here, i'd scorn to take the man's money and do nothing for it." "come on, then. the sooner this thing is settled the better." nappa bill did not want to be asked twice; he accepted the invitation and threw himself upon jack, who received a slight flesh-wound in his shoulder. drawing himself quickly back, he fired a snap-shot at the ruffian, not having time to take aim. the bullet struck nappa bill about the middle of the wrist, and with a fearful oath he allowed his knife to drop on the floor. "curse you!" he cried. "you've broken my wrist." "it's all your own fault," replied jack, coolly. "i did not provoke this contest, as all the gentlemen here present, i am sure, will testify. you have made a little money by your conduct, but i guess it will all go in doctor's bills." at this there was a laugh. nappa bill bound up his injured hand with a napkin, which he snatched from the arm of the negro waiter. looking earnestly at jack, he said: "i'm cornered this time, and i'll own up that you got the best of me, but by thunder, i'll get square with you, colonel, if it takes me all my life." "ah, pshaw! fellows like you can't harm me." "are you betting money on that?" "i never bet with your class," replied jack. "what's my class?" inquired nappa bill. "loafers, frauds and beats." "you're kind of high-toned, aren't you?" sneered nappa bill. "they're all gentlemen where you come from, i should imagine; don't have to work and look around for a living." "it matters very little who or what i am," replied jack, "but if you pick me up for a fool you'll find that you never made a greater mistake in your life." "that's all right, but remember that nappa bill is your open enemy." jack put his pistol back in his pocket, and with a careless laugh quitted the room. there were several men standing in his way, but they quickly made space for him. nappa bill did not attempt to injure him further. he contented himself with using some strong adjectives, which would not look well in print. harkaway had won the first move in the game. chapter iii. maltravers's plot. early on the following day maltravers presented himself at clarence holt's lodgings, on mission street. he found the husband and wife at breakfast. they both rose and welcomed him, though it was apparent that there was more fear than warmth in their reception. "go on with your breakfast," he said; "don't mind me." "thank you, i am through," replied clarence, who lost all appetite at the sight of the man who held him in his power; "it is time i started for the bank." "you need not trouble yourself about business to-day." "how?" "i want you to do a little work for me." elise looked reproachfully at her husband. "if you neglect your duties you will lose your situation!" she exclaimed. "i will find him another if that should happen," said his lordship. "can i talk with you alone, holt?" "certainly, sir." he handed the paper to his wife, and added: "go, my dear, to your room, and amuse yourself with the news until i am at liberty." elise, with an ill grace, quitted the room, wondering what secret business the two men were about to transact. with the quick instinct of a woman, who is always more or less of a disciple of lavater, and a judge of male character, she took a dislike to maltravers when she had a fair opportunity of studying his face. not that he was homely. far from it. he was just the sort of man to fascinate a woman, but there was a lurking devil in his features which betrayed the slumbering fire of wickedness within. her husband and mr. smith were closeted together for over an hour, when the latter left. "you fully understand?" said his lordship, at parting. "perfectly." "i leave for calistoga this afternoon, and depend upon you." "i will do my best, sir," replied clarence, respectfully. closing the door, he sank into a chair and wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "he is not a man," he muttered; "he is a fiend." elise had entered the room. "what is that you say?" she asked. "nothing," replied clarence, evasively. "i have to go out. this evening i shall take you to the theatre." "indeed!" her eyes sparkled with pleasure, for it was not often that her husband of late had invited her out. in happier days they were in the habit of going out together, but now clarence left her alone with her baby. he kissed her with some of the old-time tenderness, and the act brought the tears to her eyes. "oh, if you would always be like this," she said, "i should begin to feel happy again." "the time will come, darling," he answered. "god grant it. you have been so changed lately, clarry. i have thought that you had some terrible secret on your mind." "oh, no." "but tell me, will you not, what influence that man has over you?" "what man?" "mr. smith, he who was here with you. what were you talking about, and why has he kept you away from your work?" "little women should not ask questions," he replied. with a deep-drawn sigh, elise turned away to hide her tears, which flowed afresh, and clarence holt went out. she felt that there was some awful secret which he kept concealed from her. the brief happiness she had experienced was short-lived, and the heavy sensation which had oppressed her heart clung round it once more. clarence sent a note to the bank, excusing his absence on the plea of sickness, and going to a livery stable, hired a wagon and a pair of horses, with which he drove through the golden gate park to captain foster's cliff house. on his way he looked frequently at a photograph which maltravers had given him, underneath which was written the name "jack harkaway." when he reached the cliff house he put his horse under the shed and entered the bar-room. jack was already there, smoking a cigar by the window, and looking out at the seals on the rocks in the sea. "mr. harkaway, i believe," said clarence. "that is my name, sir," replied jack. "what is your business with me?" "i am commissioned to give you a letter." jack took the proffered epistle from his hand, and tearing open the envelope, read the contents, which were as follows: "i find it impossible to meet you to-day, as appointed, as i am making preparations to leave san francisco at once, but i should like to see you this evening at the california theatre. i have box b. i will formally give up all claims to a certain lady's hand, and if you will let me alone i will not molest you any more. "m." "thank you," said jack. "what answer shall i take back?" asked clarence holt. "say i will be at the theatre." he tore the note into fragments, and with a bow clarence left him. presently he was joined by a tall, stout, florid-looking man, well dressed, and apparently well-to-do, who said: "fine day." "is it?" replied jack, abstractedly. "i said it was a fine day, sir." "well, what of it?" asked jack. "you're a britisher, aren't you?" "i am." "guessed so. been here long?" "really, i don't see how the length of my residence in this country can possibly interest you," said jack. "don't see it, hey?' "no, i don't, and what is more, i am not in the habit of talking to strangers." "got to get cured of that. however, if you want an introduction, i'll give it to you. here's my card." jack glanced at it, and read the name of "captain blower." out of politeness he exchanged cards with him. "mr. harkaway, i'm glad to know you," said the captain. "i'm a forty-niner, and you can bet i'm solid." "indeed?" remarked jack, with a smile. "yes, sir. i own real estate, and i'm interested in a mine. how do you like our climate?" "pretty good in the morning, but rather cold and dusty in the afternoon." "what do you think of our seals?" these are the two first questions that san franciscans always ask strangers. "oh, the seals didn't strike me as being anything wonderful," replied jack. "aren't, eh?" "they seem quiet, inoffensive-looking creatures as they lie on the rocks basking in the sun." "i'll bet you wouldn't care to swim out and bring one back," exclaimed captain blower. "oh! that would be easy enough." "i'll bet you." "my dear sir, i don't want to make a show of myself, or i'd do it in a moment." "i'll bet you," said captain blower, a third time. harkaway grew irritated at his persistence. "what will you bet?" he asked. "five hundred dollars." "i don't like to take your money." "there is more where that came from. you dursn't do it." "put it up," said jack, promptly. the captain walked over to a military-looking gentleman, and producing a roll of bills, counted out five hundred dollars. "foster!" he exclaimed to the proprietor of the cliff house, "you know me?" "well, i should hope so," was the reply. "i've bet this gentleman, mr. harkaway, five hundred that he can't swim out to the rocks and bring back a seal, and i want you to hold the stakes." "i'll do it. but does the gentleman know that it's the breeding-season, and the seals are dangerous at this time of the year?" harkaway approached and handed over his money. "that doesn't matter!" he exclaimed. "i'm willing to accept the bet. all i want is a bathing-suit and a sharp knife. that's fair, i hope." "certainly," said mr. foster. "i don't object," replied captain blower. "you see that big fellow half way up the biggest rock?" continued jack, pointing to the sea. "yes; that is the one we call general butler." "all right, i'll undertake to bring him back, although i might win the bet by carrying off one of the small seals." foster admired his courage, but doubted his ability to carry out his determination. he took jack into a bedroom, where he donned a bathing-suit and was given a carving-knife, which was the most formidable weapon they had in the house. thus provided he walked down to the seaside by himself, while foster and captain blower, armed with opera-glasses, sat on chairs on the piazza and watched his progress. jack was an excellent swimmer, and plunging into the sea, swam rapidly toward the seal-rocks. he carried the knife between his teeth. the seals, who could be numbered by hundreds, had crept out of the sea and were lying in various places on the rocks, apparently asleep. some must have been awake, however, for every now and then a loud bark was heard. what captain foster had said about the seals being dangerous was perfectly true. they had been bearing young, and were perfectly ready to repel any invasion of their territory. this jack did not know. no one ever interfered with them, as it is a penal offense to shoot them, they being one of the shows of the city. what would san francisco be without its seals? a pleasant swim of from ten to fifteen minutes' duration brought him to the largest of the three rocks. the seals began to bark, and some dived into the water. to climb up was very difficult, as the seaweed was wet and slippery, it being ebb tide. one seal attempted to bite him, but a dexterous thrust with his knife gave the sea-lion his death-blow. with praiseworthy perseverance jack got up to where the big seal was disporting himself in the rays of the sun. the animal showed its gleaming tusks and snapped at jack's leg, missing it by half an inch. jack stooped down and tried to stab the huge beast, but his foot slipped, and he rolled over and over until he fell with a loud splash into the sea. the seal had also lost its balance, and came toppling over on the top of him. fortunately, jack had retained his hold of the knife. when he rose to the surface, he found himself confronted by a dozen angry seals, and for some time a lively fight ensued. the sea was stained with blood, and jack received some bites, more or less severe, but not serious enough to disable him. at length, by a dexterous thrust, he killed the huge seal he had at first singled out as his prey. it keeled over, and grasping one of its fins, he dragged it laboriously to the shore, swimming with one hand. "by thunder!" said captain blower, "i reckoned those critters would have chawed him up." "it's his good luck they did not," replied mr. foster, lowering his opera-glass. clarence holt had been one of the spectators of this singular scene. "you are five hundred dollars out," he remarked. "oh, i don't care for that. a friend of mine, mr. smith, gave it me to speculate with," replied captain blower, smiling significantly. clarence was much surprised at this declaration. "are you acquainted with mr. smith?" he asked. "yes. anything funny about that? it's not an uncommon name, is it?" "oh, no, but i happen to be employed by the same gentleman, that is all," answered clarence; "and all i can say is, if smith's agents are so numerous, i shouldn't like to be jack harkaway." "why, no," said captain blower. "it would tickle me to death to hold an insurance on his life." clarence, after this, drove off, more than ever impressed with the power and resources of his employer. in time jack appeared with his captive, which mr. foster said he would have stuffed in commemoration of the event. jack took a bath, plastered up his bites, and did not feel any the worse for his exploit. captain blower paid the money and hurried away, as if he had other work to attend to. jack had ridden over, and calling for his horse, mounted and rode toward the golden gate park. soon afterward a buggy came up behind him at a quick pace. in it was captain blower, who gave utterance to a whoop which would have done credit to a piute indian on the war-path. this cry startled jack's horse, which started off at top speed. jack endeavored to rein him in, but the bridle broke, and he was utterly powerless to control or guide the maddened animal. some one had evidently tampered with the rein, half cutting it in two. the gate of the park was drawing near, and jack became very nervous, for if he got thrown on the hard road he would be killed. fortunately, the horse swerved and dashed across the sand-hills on the left, plowing up to his knees, and greatly diminishing his speed. at length his rider saw a chance of throwing himself off in a soft place, and did so. the horse came to a stop a little further on. jack walked up and examined the bridle, which, as he suspected, had been cut. "lord maltravers's agents again. i cannot trust that man," he muttered. "it will be best to have him arrested to-night, at the theatre. i do not see why i should keep faith with him." mending the rein he walked the horse home, and at the hotel found his two old friends, mr. mole and harvey, whom he had left in new york, and who had just arrived. the professor walked with a stick, being yet a little lame. harvey was the bearer of a long letter and many kind messages from lena vanhoosen. it was a great pleasure to jack to see his friends, to whom he related what had happened since his arrival in san francisco. "by all means arrest maltravers at the theatre to-night," said harvey, "and put a stop to his intrigues, once for all." "i will," replied jack. "suppose i come in at the end of the first act and bring a police officer with me?" "that will do," answered jack. mr. mole had gone outside in the corridor, and all at once jack and harvey heard a great uproar. they rushed out, and found the professor attacking a man with his crutch. "hold on, sir!" cried jack. "what is all this about?" mr. mole stopped beating the man, who instantly ran away. "i can't stand it, jack," said mr. mole. "i'm an old man and my nerves are weak." "what has occurred to ruffle your feathers?" "i have only been half a day in san francisco, and this man whom i was chastising asked me, for the twentieth time, how i liked the climate and what i thought of the seals." "ha, ha!" laughed jack. "it may be very funny, but there is a limit to human endurance," replied the professor, shaking his head, dismally. "oh! it's nothing when you get used to it," jack said. mr. mole retired to his room, evidently laboring under the impression that he had been badly used, and harkaway went out with harvey to promenade on montgomery street. chapter iv. the box at the california theatre. it was quite a gala night at the theatre, and every seat was taken. the prima donna of an english opera company which had been delighting the town took a benefit. soon after the curtain rose harkaway, in evening dress, sought the seclusion of box b, to which he was shown by the usher. "any one inside?" asked jack. "only a lady, sir," replied the usher, with a sly smile. "a lady?" "yes, sir." "surely there must be some mistake. i expected to meet a gentleman." "this is box b," the usher said, opening the door. jack entered and bowed to a very pretty young lady, who was no other than elise holt. she had been placed in the box by her husband, who had gone away, telling her that he had a little business to attend to, but would return shortly. the opera was "faust," which elise liked very much, but she did not seem to be paying much attention to gounod's music. "i beg your pardon if i am intruding," exclaimed jack. "i was invited here by a gentleman." "you are expected, if you are mr. harkaway," replied elise. "i am that individual." elise rose and came hastily to the back of the box. "oh, sir," she said, "do not think ill of me. i owe a duty to my husband, and also one to you, though you are a stranger to me." "really, madam, i am at a loss to understand you," answered harkaway, in some perplexity. "you have an enemy." "yes, and a very bitter one." "i know all. let me be brief. if i do not make myself understood it is because i am agitated," said elise. "you are brought here to-night in order to be ruined. let me beg of you to fly." jack smiled. "oh, no," he replied. "that is not my way of doing things at all." "you refuse?" "most distinctly. i must see this thing out." "then i am powerless to help you," said elise, with a sigh. "my dear young lady," exclaimed jack, "i know i am living in the midst of danger, and you said so much that i have the strongest wish to hear more." "every moment is precious." "why waste any time, then? you seem to take an interest in me." "i do, indeed. oh! what shall i do?" cried elise. they were still standing at the back of the box, so that no one could see them, and the crash of the music prevented their voices from being heard. "speak! no one ever regretted telling the truth," said jack; "and i can see by your face that you are too good a young lady to wish to conceal anything you ought to reveal." elise suddenly made up her mind. "i will save you, if possible," she said. "listen. i have heard my husband talking to a stranger. my husband is a clerk in a bank; he has committed forgeries to enable him to gamble. these forgeries are held by mr. smith, alias lord maltravers, who is your enemy." "ha!" ejaculated harkaway. "you expected to meet lord maltravers here this evening," pursued elise. "candidly, you are right." "he is gone to the geysers to make terms with vasquez, the bandit, to kidnap you." "and then?" "you are to be shipped to rio de janeiro, where for the remainder of your days you will work as a slave in the diamond mines of brazil." "but how is all this to be done, my dear girl?" asked jack, smiling. "i know not; they have their plans all made up. it is horrible." "is that all?" "no. you love miss lena vanhoosen, in new york?" "i do." "well, my husband will come in presently." "in here?" "yes, in this box, and accuse you of flirting with me. he will raise a disturbance. you are to be arrested. the case will be in all the papers to-morrow, and miss vanhoosen will be told that you are unfaithful to your vows." jack whistled. though elise spoke quickly, and her story was disconnected in parts, it was, nevertheless, intelligible enough. his enemy was actively at work. "i thank you, very much," said he. "i am a thousand times obliged to you. good-night." "good-night. it is not safe for you to stay here." "no, indeed." "you will not reveal what i have told you?" pleaded elise. "not for worlds." "they would kill me if they only knew." jack went to the door of the box and was about to depart, when he saw elise's handkerchief lying on the floor. always gallant, and quite a ladies' man, he stooped and picked it up. "your handkerchief, i think," he said; "allow me to return it." "thank you!" replied elise. he was about to give it to her, when the door of the box opened and clarence holt entered. the latter pretended to be profoundly astonished. "elise!" he exclaimed, "who is this man?" the poor girl, terribly frightened, sank into a seat. "answer me!" continued clarence, "i insist upon it, for it is my right." jack stepped up to him. "you need not continue this farce, sir!" he said, "for you know perfectly well that my name is harkaway, for you met me at the cliff house this morning." "i deny it. i never saw you before in my life, and i want you to be good enough to explain how it is that i find you alone in a private box with my wife?" "i shall give you no explanation." "but i will have one," blustered clarence. "ask lord maltravers," said jack. clarence stepped back at this shot. "subterfuges will not avail you, sir," he replied. "this is my wife's handkerchief you hold in your hand. you are a villain and a trickster!" "no man shall call me that," cried jack. he raised his fist and knocked clarence down, which was precisely what that pliant tool of lord maltravers wanted. elise shrieked. the attention of the whole house was quickly transferred to the occupants of box b. "help! help!" shouted clarence. two policemen who had been stationed outside now entered and seized jack. at the same time a newspaper reporter, who had also been told to be on hand, made his appearance. "arrest that man!" said clarence. "i charge him with assaulting me, because i tried to protect my honor." "i protest," exclaimed jack. the policeman, already heavily bribed, dragged him away to the station-house. "what is it all about?" asked the reporter. "i will tell you presently," replied clarence. to add to the confusion, elise had fainted. chapter v. vasquez, the bandit. harkaway was merely taken to the station-house and kept there half an hour. this was all the indignity he was subjected to. after this he was discharged, as no one came to make any complaint against him. all lord maltravers wanted was the scene in the theatre, the scandal of which could be made into a very pretty story for the newspapers. harkaway's escapade, as it would be called, could be sent to miss vanhoosen, and her mind be poisoned by reading how jack was caught in a box at the theatre with another man's wife. this was part of his deep-laid plot. jack returned to the palace hotel, where mr. mole and harvey were awaiting him. they could not help laughing when they heard how maltravers had succeeded in tricking him, after all. "never mind; there will be no harm done," said the professor. "you can write to miss vanhoosen, and your word will go further than anything he can say." "it isn't what he can say," exclaimed jack; "it's what the papers will print." "hang the papers!" growled harvey. "of course," continued jack, "maltravers will send the papers to lena, and you all know what women think of anything in print." "it's a dirty, mean trick of maltravers," said harvey. "so it is; but what if he carries out the rest of his programme, as the girl in the box described it, and sends our friend jack to the brazils?" "i should look well as a galley slave," remarked jack, laughing. "it is no laughing matter," continued mr. mole. "we won't leave him," said harvey. "he shan't go out alone." this being settled, they retired to rest. the morning papers fully realized jack's expectations, for they contained full and sensational accounts of the disturbance at the california theatre. names were freely given, and the affair aroused the liveliest interest. in vain jack wrote letters explanatory of the occurrence. the papers would not insert them, so the lie went forth uncontradicted, and maltravers was triumphant. while jack was chewing the cud of bitter reflection, he received a letter bearing the calistoga postmark. it was signed "anonymous," and stated the following: "if mr. harkaway wishes to meet lord maltravers, he can find him at the geysers, in northern california. go to fossville from calistoga and you will find fresh instructions awaiting you, with four-in-hand foss." "look at this," said jack, handing the letter to harvey. dick read it and replied: "queer! who the deuce is four-in-hand foss?" "i'll find out, for i'll start for calistoga to-day." mr. mole entered at this juncture. "and what will you go to calistoga for?" he asked. jack read him the letter. "it's a trap, my dear friend," replied the professor. "trap or no trap, i'm going," answered jack. he rang the bell and called his black servant, monday. "what's in de wind now, sah?" asked monday. "pack up. we are going to start for the north." that afternoon they crossed the bay in the steamer, and taking the steam-cars, reached calistoga by nightfall. in the morning they were surprised to hear that "four-in-hand foss" was waiting outside their hotel. harkaway went down-stairs and asked to see mr. foss. he was shown a tall, handsome man, between fifty and sixty years of age, who is well-known to every tourist on the pacific slope. "well, mr. foss," said jack, after the introduction was effected, "to what am i indebted for the honor of this visit?" "i heard you had arrived," replied foss, "and that you intended to visit the geysers. i own the road over the mountains, and i reckoned i'd drive you myself." "much obliged, i'm sure." "you're welcome." "have you any message for me?" inquired jack. "you're harkaway, aren't you?" "yes." "then i was told to tell you that you would meet the man you are in search of in the hills." "is that all?" "all." "who told you?" "well," said foss, "he's a fellow i've met around considerable, and he is called nappa bill." "nappa bill!" repeated jack. "that's the fellow i shot in san francisco." "maybe--he wears one arm in a sling," replied foss, carelessly. "will you breakfast with me?" perused jack. "i'll take a cocktail. fact is, i'm not much on eating to-day." "why not? has anything occurred to take away your appetite, may i ask?" "i'm in mourning for a five-hundred dollar horse that died of the glanders, yesterday, and it isn't ten to one that i don't spill you out of the coach before i get you up the hill." jack invited him into the breakfast-room and introduced him to his companions. when they had eaten something they got into the stage, which was drawn by six horses. foss was the best driver in california, and the way in which he handled a team was quite fascinating to jack, who could "handle the ribbons" and "tool a pair of tits" as well as the next one. the distance between calistoga and fossville was completed in about twenty-five minutes, the stage rolling about in the most alarming manner. it was arranged they should stay for lunch, and mr. foss indulged in further demonstrations of grief for the five-hundred dollar horse. that is to say, he drank enough champagne to float an ordinary rowing-boat. at one o'clock they started to ascend the mountains on their way to the geysers. harkaway was perfectly charmed by the magnificent scenery which he saw on all sides. so engrossed was he in contemplating the wonders of nature that he did not see a man spring out in the middle of the road. nor did he notice half a dozen men form in line behind the stage. these held blocks of stone in their hands, and when foss brought his horses to a standstill, they placed the stones behind the wheels to prevent the stage slipping down hill. they were fully armed with rifles and pistols; knives peeped out of their belts, and their faces wore an air of ferocious determination. "halt!" cried the leader. it was at this command that foss stopped his horses. the leader wore his arm in a sling, and harkaway had no difficulty in recognizing the familiar features of nappa bill. "throw up your arms," continued the leader. jack looked round and saw that they were surrounded. "what shall we do?" he asked of foss. "got to weaken," replied foss. mr. mole appeared very indignant and drew a pistol, which he discharged at nappa bill. the bullet missed the mark, and bill laughed loudly. "put up your iron, you old fool," he said; "we only want jack harkaway out of your crowd, and if we don't have him step down and out, right away, there'll be a circus here, with some dead bodies in it, mighty quick." "look at here," replied foss. "i don't want people to think that i'm in this thing. you give me a message to take to calistoga for you to this gentleman, mr. harkaway, and that's all there is in it." "that is true, foss; you are as square as they make them." "let us go on, then." "not till harkaway gets out." harvey now leveled his pistol at nappa bill. "you scoundrel," he said; "take that." as before, the bullet flew wide of the mark. "ha, ha!" laughed nappa bill; "the ball isn't molded yet that can hit me." just then some one fired from behind, and harvey fell into the stage with a bullet in his shoulder. "my god, i'm hit!" he cried. jack rose up. "we are overpowered," he exclaimed. "i do not wish my friends to suffer for my sake." "surrender!" said nappa bill. jack deliberately walked over to the man and threw down his pistol. "this is a civilized state," he said. "you daren't murder me. let my friends go on, and i will become your prisoner, for i know that there will be such a hue and cry in a day or two that california will be too hot to hold you." "that's what you say," replied the robber, mockingly. harkaway folded his arms and stood his ground. "drive on, foss," said the robber. "who the deuce are you, anyway?" asked four-in-hand foss. "do you want to know, particularly?" "if i didn't i shouldn't ask." the robber drew himself up proudly to his full height. "i am vasquez, the bandit," he cried. foss indulged in a prolonged whistle. "jerusalem!" he said, hitting his horses. "git up thar. that settles it. i didn't count on meeting with vasquez." "no hard feelings, old man," cried vasquez, who had concealed his identity under the name of nappa bill. "not at all, pard. so long." the horses started, and the stage went on up the hill. harkaway was in the custody of vasquez and his men, while mr. mole, half frightened to death, and harvey, dangerously wounded, were slowly carried away, it not being in the power of foss to prevent this consummation. jack turned smilingly to his captor, and said: "now, mr. vasquez, if that is your name, what are you going to do with me?" "my dear sir," replied vasquez, the celebrated bandit, about whose crimes the whole of california was excited, "i will allow some one else to answer that question." a man stepped forward. he had been concealed in the bush hitherto, but directly jack saw him he recognized lord maltravers. "mr. harkaway," said maltravers, "you have kindly fallen into the little trap i laid for you. it is with great pleasure that i meet you again, and i shall now send you on a trip which will take you to south america." jack turned pale. he saw how foolish he had been to despise the power of his lordship. "what mean you?" he asked. "simply that you are on your way to the diamond mines of brazil." "you cannot be in earnest?" "never more so in my life, i assure you." "villain!" lord maltravers twirled his mustache. "yes," he replied, complacently, "i am all that the word implies." "but----" "i cannot waste time in talking to you. pray excuse me," interrupted maltravers. vasquez, the bandit, took hold of jack's arm and led him away. six men with pistols leveled followed on each side. escape was impossible. lower down in the road a stage was in waiting, and it conveyed the party in two days to the coast. jack was put on board a sailing vessel. the captain was named moreland. "you have your orders?" said vasquez to moreland. "yes," replied the captain; "my instructions are in writing." "see that they are fulfilled to the letter." "i will." vasquez left the ship, and harkaway was confined in the captain's cabin, where he could amuse himself with books and papers. that afternoon the ship sailed, and jack was bound for a long voyage. lord maltravers was triumphant again. jack now blamed himself for yielding so easily, but he reflected that if he had made any resistance his whole party would have been killed. the odds against them were too great. wondering if harvey was much hurt, and consoling himself with the reflection that his friends knew where to look for him, he lighted a cigar which he found on the table, and waited for captain moreland to come to him. chapter vi. the slave of the diamond mines. the ship on which jack harkaway was a prisoner took out a general cargo for the brazils. captain moreland at once put jack at his ease. he assured him that there was no reason why he should be treated harshly. the vessel had not been two hours at sea before he requested his presence in his cabin. jack was not in an enviable position, nor was he in an amicable frame of mind, but he felt that he was in the captain's power, and it would be advisable for him to treat him with civility. the colored steward placed a couple of bottles with glasses on the table, as well as a box of cigars, and retired. "be seated," said the captain. "you smoke, i presume?" "yes," replied jack. "help yourself," continued moreland, pushing the box of cigars over to him. "the wine is port and sherry; which do you prefer?" jack liked sherry, and they pledged one another. he now had a good opportunity of looking at moreland, who was a spare, short man, with reddish hair and small, twinkling eyes, which appeared to have a treacherous expression. "i wish to have you as my friend and companion during our voyage," began moreland. "nothing would give me greater pleasure," replied jack. "of course i need not conceal anything from you?" "it is useless." "well, i admit that i have been paid handsomely by vasquez, the bandit, to convey you to rio. he, i believe, was employed by some enemy of yours." "precisely. i know all that." "i shall enjoy your society during the voyage, for i see you are an educated gentleman, and your companionship cannot fail to be agreeable." "thank you for the compliment," exclaimed jack, who could not help thinking that there was something lurking behind this extraordinary civility. "when you arrive at rio our intimacy ceases, for i shall discharge cargo, take in another of bags of coffee, and return to 'frisco." "am i to be set free then?" "certainly," answered moreland. "i cannot understand that." "it is simple enough. your enemy wishes to get you out of the way for a time. that is all." "i heard," said jack, "that i was, in some mysterious way, to be sent as a slave to the diamond mines." "not by me, at all events," laughed the captain. "are you sure?" "perfectly. my instructions are simply to land you at rio, and there will end my duty as regards you." jack could not make this out. he was forced, however, to be content with the assurance given him by captain moreland, and there the conversation ended. there were plenty of books in the cabin. he messed with moreland. everything he wanted was placed at his service, and he really had a very pleasant voyage round cape horn. the captain succeeded in thoroughly gaining his confidence, and he soon voted him an excellent fellow, from whom he would be sorry to part when the time came. at length rio was reached, and as jack was almost without money, moreland volunteered to advance him some for current expenses, taking in return a sight draft on his agent in san francisco. when the ship swung into the dock, and the bills of lading had been given to the consignees, moreland invited jack to dine with him. "i know the city," he remarked, "and can take you to a good place." jack accepted the invitation, and they walked out together. as they quitted the ship, the captain slipped something into harkaway's pocket, without the action being perceived. they walked to the restaurant indicated by moreland, and jack's suspicions returned as he saw it was in a low part of the town. what was his professed friend's object in steering him toward the slums, as he was evidently doing? "not a very savory neighborhood, this," he ventured to observe. "no, but you will be amply compensated, my friend, by the cooking, at the little hotel we are in search of." "oh, i comprehend," said jack. "i am prepared to sacrifice a great deal for artistic cooking." they soon reached a dingy-looking inn, where the waiters and landlord nodded familiarly to the captain, as if he was an old customer. the room into which they were ushered was dark and dirty, the table-cloths uninviting, and directly jack saw the place he had an admonition of coming evil. "really," he remarked, "this is as bad as zola's _assommoir_. i can't congratulate you on your taste." "wait a while," responded moreland. "landlord, a bottle of wine, and the best dinner you can get ready." "si, signor," replied the proprietor, who was a swarthy, thick-set, beetle-browed spaniard. the wine was produced, and seemed to jack to have a peculiar flavor. being thirsty, he drank heartily of it, while moreland contented himself with sipping it. "you don't drink?" observed harkaway. "excuse me, i rarely do before eating; it takes away my appetite." a dizziness began to attack jack, and a soft, sensuous, dreamy feeling stole over him. what could it mean? had he been brought into the place by his kind friend, the captain, to be drugged and betrayed into some carefully set trap? indeed, it looked like it. "what is the time?" said the captain. "i have no watch," replied jack. "vasquez kindly relieved me of that trifle in the nappa valley." "i had mine when i left the ship," continued moreland, "and i have been with no one but you." "what do you mean by that?" asked jack. it appeared as if there was some latent accusation in this remark. "oh, nothing," answered the captain. "i have to report to the american consul at three, and it is necessary that i should know the time." he began to search in all his pockets. jack watched him with an abstracted air, while his stupor increased, and it seemed all the time as if it was too much trouble for him to speak. "very odd where that watch of mine is gone to," continued moreland. "very," ejaculated harkaway. "are you sure you have not taken it?" "i?" jack was dumbfounded with astonishment, and could only stare at moreland. "i must have this investigated," said the latter. "waiter!" "signor?" "call an officer--quick!" jack was like one in a dream. he could not believe that what he heard was real. some insidious drug had been mixed with the wine, and like the opium-eater, he was seeing and hearing things that did not exist. presently the waiter returned with a policeman. "who wants me?" he inquired. "i do. arrest and search that man. i accuse him of stealing my watch." he pointed to harkaway, whom the officer approached. jack endeavored to rise and strike his false friend, but he seemed to have lost all power over his limbs. obscured as his intellect was, however, by the drugged wine, he saw that he was the victim of an infamous plot, the depth of which, as yet, he could scarcely gauge. moreland had won his confidence to prevent his making a charge of abduction against him on their arrival in rio. that was clear enough. what was to follow remained for coming events to develop. the officer began to search jack, who laughed in a half imbecile manner, as if it was a good joke, and made no resistance. in his coat pocket were found a watch and chain. "is that yours?" asked the officer, holding it up. "yes. i will swear to it. besides, my name is on the case. it was a present to me. oh! the ingratitude of some people!" "shall i arrest the thief?" "yes; lock him up. i will follow and make the complaint." jack was dragged rudely from the room to the police court, which was not far off. captain moreland hastily settled the bill and followed his victim. a magistrate was sitting on the bench, and jack soon had a specimen of how swiftly justice is administered in brazil. moreland told his story, stating how he had given the prisoner a passage from san francisco, and how he had returned his kindness by stealing his watch, while under the influence of liquor. "he is drunk now," he added, "or perhaps he would not have done it." "do you press the charge?" asked the court. "it is my duty to society to do so." turning to the prisoner, the court asked him if he had anything to say. jack was more and more under the influence of the drug, whose effects made themselves felt in a greater degree every minute. he thought he was dreaming, and continued to laugh at what he thought was an excellent joke. "no," he replied. "i shall sentence you to five years' hard labor in the mines!" exclaimed the magistrate. "that's all right," replied jack; "i knew that was coming." he laughed louder than ever. the jailer took him to a cell and locked him up. he soon fell into a profound slumber, from which he did not awake until the following morning. captain moreland was perfectly satisfied, for he fulfilled his contract with his employer to the letter. there was no chance of his victim's being pardoned, and little of his escaping. practically, he was out of the way for five years, during which time lord maltravers could prosecute his plans with regard to miss vanhoosen. perhaps the hardships he would encounter in the mines might enfeeble his magnificent physique, and kill him before his sentence expired. when jack woke up in his cell he pressed his hand to his aching head and exclaimed: "where the deuce am i?" he sat up and reflected. "seems to me," he continued, "i had a dream. moreland invited me to dine; accused me of stealing his watch. hang his impudence! i was arrested, and got five years in the mines. _was_ it a dream?" a look at the cell convinced him that it was not so much a dream as a terrible reality. the perspiration broke out all over him, and he began to feel terribly alarmed. presently the jailer entered with a suit of convict's clothes and some breakfast. "eat and dress," he said. "certainly," replied jack; "but let me ask you a few questions." "be brief." "am i a convict?" "you are." "is there no appeal? cannot i communicate with the english or american consul?" "no time for that," replied the jailer. "in half an hour the chain-gang starts for the mines, and you are one of them." "for heaven's sake, do something for me!" the jailer shook his head. "i am innocent," asseverated jack. "the stolen property was found on you. it is a clear case. an angel could not save you." "but i assure you, my friend, that i am innocent. it is a base conspiracy of which i am the victim." "eat and dress!" said the jailer, harshly. "in half an hour i shall come and fix the chain on you." with these words he banged to the door with a hollow, sepulchral sound, which to jack sounded like the knell of doom. he recognized the fact that he was indeed a slave. "well," he muttered, "i must admit it was cleverly done; to repine is useless. i will make the best of the situation. harvey, if not mortally wounded, will come after me. thanks to what elise said, my friends know where i am." he deliberately ate his breakfast, and then attired himself in the hideous yellow suit of a convict sent to the mines. in the present there was no hope. it was to the future that he had to look for comfort, assistance and freedom. many were the wild tales he had heard of the sufferings in the mines by the poor creatures condemned to toil there. his heart sank within him as he recalled these stories. yet in the midst of all his misery the fairy-like form of lena vanhoosen would come before him. she seemed to be ever bidding him hope on, and telling him that it is always darkest before dawn. when the half hour was up the jailer, relentless as fate itself, appeared, and fastened a chain around his ankle. in the court-yard of the prison twenty unfortunates, similarly situated, were assembled. they were all chained together, and at the word "march," the gate was thrown open and they slowly filed out. part of the journey was performed by railway, the convicts having a special car, but a considerable distance had to be traversed on foot, and this was painful and toilsome. every week the ranks of the miners, depleted by sickness and death, were reinforced by fresh batches of criminals. it was seldom that a mine slave lasted longer than five years. the wretches, cruelly tasked and badly fed, broke down and perished miserably. the government worked the mines for its own benefit, entirely by convict labor, and made a handsome profit out of it, for the labor cost them nothing but what they paid for food, and often diamonds of large size, first water, and great value were found when the mines were reached. the prisoners were detailed to certain sections, and jack had to work underground with a desperate-looking ruffian whose name was alfonso. the most favored prisoners worked above ground, receiving the "dirt" as it came up the shafts, and washing it in the streams which flowed down from the sides of the mountains. these were watched by overseers, and the diamonds were, when found, handed to superintendents. the men worked in couples, and were allowed to talk. they had three meals a day of coarse food, and slept in wooden huts at night, laboring from dawn to dusk. jack and alfonso were supplied with a pickax, a shovel and a basket. they first picked down the earth or diamond-studded dirt, then shoveled it into the basket, afterward carrying it to the nearest shaft, where it was taken in hand by others, and sent up to the surface. "what are you in for?" asked alfonso. "they say i took a man's watch, and i got five years," replied jack. "that's nothing," continued alfonso; "i killed my man, and i was sent 'down' for life." jack shuddered. he was in the company of a murderer. "don't i wish i could get away!" continued the ruffian. "what would you do?" asked jack. "can you keep a secret?" "i guess so." "i tried to escape, but the soldiers, who are always on guard, night and day, saw me and fired. they brought me down. i've the bullet in my leg now." "is that so?" "yes; but they didn't get it," said alfonso, laughing. "it? what do you mean by 'it'?" "the diamond, my lad. i've got the biggest beauty that ever came out of the mines." "you have?" "yes, sir. it's worth a king's ransom. it ought to be in the crown of a royal personage. it's fit for an emperor." "is it so fine?" "magnificent. it's as big as the koh-i-noor, which is the largest in the world. i shall never get out, though, so what use is it?" he sighed deeply. "why don't you give it to the authorities?" inquired jack. "can you tell me why i should?" "no." "do they treat us too well?" "no, indeed." "aren't we slaves and dogs, and lead a life of utter and hopeless misery?" "very true." "they shall never have it. no, my lad. it's safe; but i've taken a fancy to you, and if anything happens to me, i want you to know where it is." jack expressed his thankfulness for this proof of the convict's good will. "where is it?" he asked, his curiosity being aroused. the convict bared his right leg and advanced to the lamp which gave them the light by which they were working. "any one around?" he asked. "i can't see any one," replied jack. "you never can tell when the overseers come around. they're on the spy all the time." "we are alone," jack said. "see here, then." alfonso took his hand and placed it on his flesh. jack felt a lump under the skin. "what's that?" he asked. "the diamond," replied alfonso, under his breath. "impossible! how could it get there?" jack asked, incredulously. "didn't i tell you they brought me down with a bullet?" "yes." "well, they saw it had lodged just under the skin, and the brutes didn't think it worth while to get the doctor to cut it out. a day or two afterward i found the diamond." "well?" "so i takes a knife and cuts it out myself, and seeing there was room for the bullet, i shoved the diamond into the hole and let the skin grow over it and there it is now." "in your body?" "in my living body," replied alfonso, "and no word of a lie about it." "didn't it hurt?" "i'll bet you it did. i suffered the tortures of the damned for weeks, and it hurts now if i strain myself or lie on that side." jack was overpowered with astonishment. "you've got grit in you," he remarked. "didn't i tell you i killed my man? any one who's got pluck enough to slay his enemy and risk the gallows can do anything," answered alfonso. "what do you want me to do?" inquired jack. "if i die, cut it out." "and then?" "hide it somewhere. i can't tell you where. we must think." suddenly a mine-boss came along, with gentle, cat-like footsteps. "what are you two skulking for?" he asked, exhibiting a rattan, his badge of office. "who's skulking?" asked alfonso, savagely. "you are." the murderer looked at him with a foreboding gleam in his eye. "pedro," he said, "i warned you once before not to interfere with me." "it is my duty." "let me alone; i'm a desperate man, and i'd just as soon be dead as working here. do you understand?" "i understand that you are threatening me," answered pedro, "and i shall report you." this "report" meant fifty lashes on the bare back of the prisoner, delivered publicly before retiring to rest. alfonso gnashed his teeth savagely. "take care," he said. "i shall report you twice if you do not instantly go to work." this was intended to convey the fact that the punishment would be doubled, and the number of lashes increased to one hundred. alfonso's eyes glared like those of a wild beast. jack shrank back, for he felt sure that some terrible tragedy was about to take place. in any case of disobedience reported by the overseers, the convicts were unmercifully flogged with a rawhide, and alfonso had been treated to that kind of discipline twice during his period of incarceration. what wonder that a man condemned for life to the most degrading drudgery, who had no hope of a commutation of his sentence, and who could only expect to die in his chains, should rebel when he thought himself persecuted by those in authority over him? "i have warned you," said alfonso, in a strangled voice. "and i have warned you," replied the keeper. "recollect that i have already killed one man." "bah!" replied pedro, the keeper, drawing a pistol. "if you were so much as to raise your little finger toward me, i would stretch you a corpse on this floor." "what should i be doing to let you?" asked pedro, with a sneer which was peculiarly aggravating. alfonso breathed heavily. "do you mean to report me?" he demanded. "certainly i do, and you know very well what that means." "yes--i--do," answered the convict--speaking with difficulty. "shall i tell you?" "no need of it; my back bears the record." "for two days in succession, my friend," exclaimed pedro, who seemed to take a pleasure in tormenting the convict, "you will be flogged in the presence of your companions." alfonso's herculean frame trembled, and he shook like an aspen leaf. "god!" he cried, uplifting his eyes to the dark rock above him, "my time has come--and his." with a wild gasp he sprang upon pedro. harkaway would have interfered, but he saw that it was useless to make any attempt to separate them. it was a duel to the death between these two men. he would only have endangered his own life and have done no good. pedro discharged his pistol, as he had threatened to do, but alfonso received the bullet in his left shoulder without flinching. with his right hand he drove the sharp point of his pick into the skull of the keeper. pedro fell with a groan. again and again the infuriated convict struck him until, in his mad frenzy, he had smashed his skull into a jelly. "what have you done?" asked jack. "settled him, any way. there is one mine-boss gone, and the world is rid of another petty tyrant," replied alfonso. "and what will become of you?" "i shall solve the great problem, my friend," said the convict, now a double murderer. he stooped and picked up the pistol which pedro had allowed to drop from his hand. "you do not mean that you will take your own life?" "that is precisely what i do mean." "how?" "look here!" exclaimed alfonso. "i take you to be a sensible man, though young. what have i, a slave, to live for? is it any pleasure to me to exist, as i have been existing for the last year, since i have been in this infernal place?" "no, i admit that; but----" "what?" "while there is life there is hope." "not for such as i. have i not killed this man, almost in self-defense, i may say?" "i admit it." "well, if i live a few hours more they will seize me, flog me till i am in a dying condition, and then hang me. why should i not die now?" harkaway could not see any valid reason why he should prolong his miserable and forfeited existence. "you are right," he said. "it is clear that suicide in your case is an atonement, if not a virtue." "comrade," exclaimed alfonso, "they say that those who are about to die see future events clearly." "i have heard that," replied jack. "i can see you free and happy." "ha!" cried jack. "when?" "before long. i congratulate you. do not forget what i told you about the diamond." "i will not." "cut it out as soon as i am dead, and then give the alarm at the mouth of the shaft." "i will; but where shall i put it?" alfonso looked wildly around him. "i don't know. i can't tell," he replied. "my brain is in a whirl. i hear strange voices ringing in my ears. angels are talking to me. i am conversing with the spirits of the mighty dead and they bid me come to them." jack saw now that the man was crazed. his troubles and his hard lot had weakened his mind, and he was no longer responsible for his actions. what ought he to do under the circumstances? if he snatched the pistol from his hand, he would run the risk of being shot, and it would be no charity to the poor wretch to save his life in order that, after cruelly torturing him, the authorities at the mines might take it in a few hours. holding out his hand, he said: "good-by." the murderer grasped it warmly. "you say good-by! have you anything to add?" he asked. "yes. god bless you and----" jack hesitated. "what?" "forgive you, for his son's sake." "good! _adios_, signor." these were the last words that alfonso spoke, for he placed the muzzle of the pistol against his right temple and fired. there was a loud report, which gave out cavernous echoes, a thick smoke, which nearly obscured the light of the lamp, and the murderer fell prostrate over the corpse of the mine boss. the bullet had done its work only too well. he died without a word, a sigh, or a groan. chapter vii. miss vanhoosen travels. lord maltravers took care that the papers, containing an account of harkaway's adventure in the private box at the california theatre with elise holt should reach miss vanhoosen. lena read the account with surprise and indignation. "he cannot love me," she said, "or he would not intrigue with a married woman." she tried to harden her heart against men in general, and jack in particular. it was singular that she could not succeed, however, for she had to confess to herself that she still loved him. a copy of the paper had also been sent to mrs. vanhoosen, who gloried in it. "my dear child," she exclaimed, "what did i always tell you about that man?" "i know you never liked him, mamma." "is not my judgment verified now?" "perhaps," replied lena, "though one ought not always to believe what one reads in the papers." "why not?" "oh, because they are untrustworthy nine times out of ten," said lena, who wished to defend her absent lover, no matter how strong the proofs might be against him. "you should have married maltravers." "how could i, when he has a wife alive? what nonsense you talk, mamma! he killed the poor creature, and if he is ever caught he will be hanged." "not at all," answered mrs. vanhoosen. "i have had a letter from him, in which he says that he is about to return to england. no one here cares to prosecute him. who will send after him? is the district-attorney going to the expense of extraditing him?" "really, mamma, i do not know, and i don't care to argue the point with you," said lena, with a weary air. "why not?" "it fatigues me." "you should marry lord maltravers." "i shall never marry now," answered lena. "i intend to devote myself to a life of single blessedness." "why so?" "because----" she paused abruptly. "i know what you would say," exclaimed mrs. vanhoosen. "this man harkaway, whom you love, has proved himself unworthy of you, as i always said he was, and therefore you close your heart against every one." "have it your own way." "are you not foolish?" "mamma," said lena, with sudden energy, "if you taunt me any more i will go into a convent." "indeed, you will not. i insist upon you visiting europe with me again," replied mrs. vanhoosen. "what if i refuse?" "i will disown you; turn you into the street, and you can shift for yourself, ungrateful girl," replied her mother, passionately. "you expect that i will meet maltravers and marry him, after all that has occurred?" "i do." "then you are greatly mistaken," said lena, obstinately. "my dear child," continued her mother, "consider all you are losing. if you meet maltravers in paris, you can get married, for he has no wife alive now, and go and live in switzerland, or some quiet place, till this affair has blown over." "never!" at this moment alfred vanhoosen, who had been absent in albany for some little time, entered the room. his presence was unexpected, but it was as welcome as the flowers in may to lena, who dearly loved her brother. she knew that he was at all times her friend and her protector. "alfred!" she exclaimed, grasping his hand, "i am so glad to see you!" "and i to see you, sis. mamma, how are you?" "ailing, my dear," replied mrs. vanhoosen. "my head has troubled me very much since you have been away." "sorry for that. what have you got in your hand, sissy?" "a california paper." "i thought as much. what is it about?" asked alfred. "that affair of mr. harkaway's, in san francisco," replied lena. "oho! is that all? you have not seen the _chronicle_ of a later date?" "no." he produced a paper, in which he pointed out to her a certain paragraph. "i presume," he exclaimed, "that lord maltravers sends you papers for his own purposes." "possibly," she answered, beginning to read. "who sends papers to you?" asked mrs. vanhoosen, sharply. "dick harvey keeps me posted, and i know just what is going on. this is a game of chess between harkaway and maltravers, and i am sorry to say that his lordship has won the first two moves in the game." "glad of it!" replied mrs. vanhoosen. "no, mother," said alfred, "you are not glad in your heart." "why not?" "because you are too much of a lady and a christian to wish to see a scoundrel triumph over an honest man." mrs. vanhoosen sat down on the lounge and fanned herself in a vigorous manner. she did not condescend to make any reply. lena read the paragraph which her brother had pointed out to her, and learnt from it some startling facts. it stated that harkaway and his friends had been stopped on their way to the geysers by vasquez the celebrated bandit, who had been the scourge of california for so long a time. harvey had been dangerously wounded, and jack had been carried off, nobody knew where. when she had fully mastered the contents of this news item, lena uttered a loud cry. her mother looked at her in astonishment. "my dear child!" she exclaimed, "what is the matter?" "jack has been captured by bandits," replied lena. "oh! what shall i--what ought i to do?" "shall i tell you, sis?" asked alfred. "oh! yes." mrs. vanhoosen rose and extended her hand. "allow me an opportunity to speak, if you please," she said. "certainly," replied alfred; "you are our mother, and we are bound to hear you, although i must say that if i were in lena's place i would go after jack." "insolent boy!" "no, mother, i am not insolent; but the girl loves the man, and what is the use of interfering between them?" "she shall not marry him!" "i don't want to be undutiful or go against the fifth commandment, mother, which tells us, very properly, to honor our father and mother; but, really, you are wrong in this case." "why, may i ask?" "mr. harkaway is an honorable and elegant gentleman in every sense of the word, and by no means a pauper. he can support lena just as well as you have supported her, and there is no reason why he should not marry her." mrs. vanhoosen tried to speak, but her rising temper rendered her speechless. lena began to cry, and put her handkerchief to eyes. "oh!" she sobbed; "i shall never see him again." alfred vanhoosen patted her on the cheek with brotherly affection. "yes, you will, sis," he replied. "oh, no! never, never!" "i beg your pardon. jack is not a man very easy to kill, and i don't think maltravers will get away with him so easily as he thinks." "god grant it." "at any rate," continued alfred, "i will proceed at once to san francisco and search for him." "you will?" "yes, indeed." lena seized him by the hand and looked imploringly in his face. "take me with you," she exclaimed. "i shall die if i stay here. this life is intolerable to me." alfred looked at his mother, as if he expected some reproach from that proud, ambitious woman. she was not really bad-hearted, but she was like so many other mothers in the united states who desire their daughters to marry some man from europe with a title rather than have one of their own race, or at least, one who has nothing but his face and his character to recommend him. "you are a thankless child, and your conduct is sharper than a serpent's tooth," said mrs. vanhoosen. lena held out her hand. "mamma," she exclaimed, "we must part." "what! am i to be deserted by my children?" "alas! yes. we cannot live together. there is no sympathy between us. my love calls me far away." mrs. vanhoosen became very angry. her face flushed. she tried to speak, and failed. suddenly she uttered a cry. something seemed to burst in her throat. she fell to the ground heavily. a stream of blood rushed from her mouth. in her anger she had broken a blood-vessel, and her life was in danger. lena, now greatly alarmed, knelt down and supported her parent's head. a doctor was sent for, and he did all he could for the unhappy woman, but there was internal hemorrhage, and after lingering for three days, she died. tho brother and sister were deeply grieved at their mother's death, but they could not blame themselves for her untimely end. by her will she had divided her fortune equally between them. after the funeral, which was largely attended by their numerous friends in new york, they decided to go to california and unravel the mystery which to them attended the fate of jack harkaway. the journey across the continent was delightful. everything was so new that they forgot their grief and were happy. chapter viii. the escape from the mines. alfonso, the desperate murderer, had effectually put an end to all his earthly sufferings. jack quickly recovered from the shock which his death had given him. taking a knife with which he was accustomed to eat his dinner, he searched for the spot in the man's leg where he claimed to have hidden the diamond. it was with very little hope of finding it that he did so. the whole story seemed like the delirious ravings of a madman. cutting away the skin, a hard substance fell out, which jack picked up. he had been at work in the mines long enough to know what a diamond was. holding it to the light, he uttered a cry of surprise, for he saw that he was the possessor of a jewel of the first water and of prodigious size. alfonso had not lied to him. the story was not the invention of a maniac, but a solemn fact. what should he do with it? this question could not be decided off-hand, so he slipped it in his pocket, with the reflection that he yet had half the day to think the matter out. the convicts were only searched at night, before retiring to their quarters. he was running a great risk, and he knew it. if a diamond was found upon the person of a convict he was instantly shot. not even a drum-head court-martial was held upon him. a squad of soldiers was ordered up with loaded rifles, and in less time than it takes to tell it the unlucky finder of the stone was dead. making his way to the shaft, where he knew a guard was always stationed, jack went to make his report. "what do you want, my man?" asked the officer of the guard. "come to report, sir," replied jack. "well?" "i worked with convict no. , alfonso by name. overseer pedro accused him of shirking his work, and an altercation ensued. pedro threatened to report him twice. alfonso attacked him with his pick. a shot was fired; but pedro was killed." "ha!" cried the officer; "an overseer slain?" "yes, captain." "what were you about, not to prevent it?" "i was powerless to interfere." "how so?" "the whole thing was so sudden, captain," said jack. "where is the assassin?" inquired the officer. "he is dead." "dead also?" "yes. he snatched up the pistol of pedro and shot himself dead." the officer turned to his men. "sergeant," he said, "take a file of the guard. go into that working and verify the truth of this man's statement." the sergeant saluted. "if there are any dead bodies, bring them to the shaft," continued the officer. he again bestowed his attention upon harkaway. "you will consider yourself under arrest," he added. jack nodded, and sat down on the ground between two soldiers. he wondered what would happen next. men who live an uncertain life enjoy an excitement similar to that experienced by gamblers. jack did not know whether he would live to see the sun set, and yet he felt more inclined to whistle than cry. at length the dead bodies were brought out and sent up to the surface in the cage. the officer followed with jack. on being informed of the tragedy, the governor of the mines held an examination. harkaway told his story with such a straightforward, truthful air, that he was instantly believed. no blame attached to him. "it wasn't your quarrel, my good fellow," said the governor, "and i do not see how you could have interfered successfully. these affairs must occur in such a population as ours. it was clearly pedro's own fault for not using his pistol with more celerity and not taking a better aim. you are discharged." "thank you, sir," replied jack. "might i ask you one favor?" "name it." "i should like to work in the open air." "would you? that is not extraordinary. most people would." "cannot i wash the dirt when it comes out of the mines?" "we have enough already." "if i go below i shall see those two men quarreling. it will be enough to drive me crazy, and if i become insane, the state will lose a valuable servant." the governor laughed. "i should think you had been a lawyer," he observed. "why so?" "you know how to plead your cause so well." he paused for a moment, as if reflecting. "your answer, excellency," exclaimed the officer. "to what?" "this man's prayer." "oh, yes. i had forgotten him. his request is granted. i was thinking of something else. send up the band of the regiment to my house. i have to entertain two strangers to-day. they come from rio with letters from the emperor himself." the governor went away, and jack was at once taken to a stream, where, standing up to his waist in water, he washed the dirt in a sieve as it was brought to him in a barrow, from the mouth of the mine, by another convict. the bank of the stream on one side was several feet above the water. jack had not been at work long before he heard voices. looking up, he saw the governor and two gentlemen. what was his surprise to see his friends, harvey and mr. mole? they had evidently lost no time in following him to the brazils. he was about to make an exclamation, when mr. mole's foot slipped and he fell into the water. splashing about like a huge fish, he seized jack and pulled him down. they rolled over and over. "help! i'm drowning!" cried mole. "never could swim a stroke in my life, you know. help me, you clumsy slave, or i'll have you whipped!" "no, you won't, mr. mole," said jack, helping him up. "ha! you know my name?" "yes; look at me." "jack!" the professor delightedly threw his arms round jack's neck, and hugged and kissed him with every demonstration of unbounded affection. the governor was astonished. "what is the matter with your friend?" he asked. "is he crazy?" "i don't know," replied harvey. the professor waved his hand. "i've found him," he exclaimed. "it's jack!" they speedily made their way to the bank, and harvey was as much pleased as mr. mole had been. "jack, my dear old fellow," he said; "thank god you are alive and well." turning to the governor, he added: "this, sir, is the gentleman whose pardon i have brought you from the emperor." the governor bowed. "one of our best prisoners," he replied. "i am sorry to lose him; but, of course, he is free." jack was profoundly affected. "we lost no time in following you," said harvey. "my wound was not a dangerous one, and as soon as i got well enough to travel, we were off." that day jack, in a new suit of clothes, dined with the governor and his friends. he kept the diamond, which he had cut in san francisco afterward, and handsomely set. "for lena," he said. they made their way to the city of rio and took the first steamer for aspinwall, where they crossed the isthmus to panama, and took ship again for 'frisco. on their arrival they bought the _chronicle_, and jack read a paragraph in the fashionable intelligence: "miss lena vanhoosen and mr. alfred vanhoosen are staying at black's hotel, in the yosemite valley." "dick," he exclaimed, "we must travel again." "how?" "lena is in california." that evening they were traveling toward merced, and the next day they took the stage for the far-famed valley, where they hoped to meet the vanhoosens. of lord maltravers they heard absolutely nothing. he seemed to have disappeared from the scene. chapter ix. the attack on the stage. the journey by stage to that wonderful valley which the indians named the yosemite has been so often described that we will not take up the time of our readers by dwelling on the marvelous scenery of the sierras. stopping for dinner at mariposa, which is the first resting-place after leaving merced, where the railway ends, the stage went on to clark's station. about ten miles from the hotel there is the wonderful grove of big trees, to see which is alone worth a journey of three thousand miles. when they were nearing the hotel they encountered two shepherds, who were walking in great haste. "take care," said one. "of what?" asked the driver, pulling up. "vasquez is on the road." "how do you know?" "he has just attacked the stage coming from clark's station. we heard the shots as we were tending our sheep hard by." "any one hurt?" "the driver's killed. there were a lady and a gentleman in the stage. they were carried off." "which way did the robbers go?" "toward the big trees. it is there vasquez has his camp." "and where are you going?" "to tell the sheriff of mariposa." jack looked at harvey. "it seems to me that we ought to go after these robbers," said he. "i'm willing," replied harvey. "my lads," said jack to the shepherds, "do you know the country about here?" "ed does," replied one, indicating his companion. "all right; you go and mind your sheep. the driver of the stage shall turn round and summon the sheriff of mariposa, while ed shall guide my friend and myself to the camp of the robbers." "and what am i to do?" asked mr. mole. "you, sir, can walk to the hotel and wait for us." "i'll do it," replied mole; "for i don't think my poor old legs are strong enough to carry me over hills and over mountains." everything was arranged in five minutes. jack had a way of organizing which would have done credit to a veteran general. ed, the shepherd, was armed with a pistol, and jack and harvey were similarly supplied. "i've got some cooked mutton and some bread close here," said ed; "and i guess we ought to take it with us, as we shall be hungry before morning." jack made no objection, and having put the provisions in a bag, he slung it over his shoulder. the stage was in the middle of the narrow roadway and the horses were cropping the rich grass which grew by the side. lying on the road was the body of the dead stage-driver, who had been shot through the heart. jack saw something white on a seat of the stage, and springing up on the wheel, seized it. it was a handkerchief, and embroidered in one corner was the name, "lena v." "hello!" cried jack. "what's up?" asked harvey. "my dear dick," replied jack, "there is somebody besides vasquez in this outrage." "how?" "here is lena vanhoosen's handkerchief, or i am very much mistaken." "is that so?" "yes, sir, and vasquez would not want to carry her off unless lord maltravers was with him." "true enough," said harvey. jack laughed in a quiet, satisfied manner. "they reckoned without one thing," he exclaimed. "they thought i was still working in the mines of brazil, and little imagined that jack harkaway was on their track." "they'll find it out, though, before long," said harvey, with a grin. "you bet." "now, let us go ahead. they haven't much the start of us." "i'm ready." jack turned to the shepherd. "can you follow a trail?" he asked. "i guess so, boss," was the reply. "i don't want you to 'guess.' say whether you can or not." "well, then, i can." "good enough!" "there isn't an indian that can beat me at tracking anything, whether it is man or beast." "start right away," said jack, "and you shall have a hundred dollars if we come up with vasquez before nightfall." the shepherd looked carefully around, and soon found the trail, heading off like a bloodhound who had got the scent. for six miles they toiled up-hill all the way until they reached the vicinity of the big trees. the gigantic monarchs of the forest struck them with awe. "look at this wilderness," said jack. "do not these solitary trees give you an idea of grandeur that you never had before?" "they do, indeed," replied harvey. the shepherd held up his hand warningly. "danger," he whispered. "where?" asked jack. "right here. look!" he pointed to the left, and jack saw a group which riveted his attention. a little way off was vasquez. near him were lord maltravers, lena, and alfred vanhoosen, the two latter with their arms bound behind their backs. two men, attendants of vasquez, guarded the prisoners, who leant disconsolately against the huge trunk of one of the trees. "do as i tell you!" exclaimed vasquez. "what?" asked maltravers. "shoot the brother." "but the girl will never forgive me." "ah, pshaw! i'll do it for you," said the robber. maltravers endeavored to restrain him, but he broke from him, and, presenting a pistol at alfred vanhoosen, fired. alfred fell bleeding at his sister's feet. but retribution, swift and sure, was at hand. jack aimed at him, and brought him down with a well-directed bullet. "fire, dick, fire!" he cried. "shoot every mother's son of them!" ed, the shepherd, and harvey were not slow to obey this injunction. the two attendant robbers were hit before they could realize that they were in the presence of enemies. in fact, the surprise was complete. lord maltravers took in the situation at a glance. "harkaway!" he exclaimed, while his knees trembled under him. "i am here," replied jack. "is it you, or your ghost?" he asked. "not much ghost about me." maltravers saw that resistance was useless, and at the same time he recognized the unpleasant fact that any attempt at escape would be futile. he was a doomed man. yet he made one effort to save himself. "will you let me go if i surrender?" he asked. "i will not." lena vanhoosen held out her hands, which she had separated from the bonds that bound her. "save me! oh, save me!" she cried. maltravers hesitated a moment. then he leveled his pistol at lena, as if his mind was fully made up. "if i cannot have her, you shall never possess her!" he cried, savagely. the next moment his pistol exploded, and lena, the blood flowing from a wound in her breast, fell to the ground. "villain and coward!" exclaimed jack, as he emptied his revolver in the wretch's body. maltravers staggered and sank on his knees. "curse you!" he said, as he feebly discharged his pistol at jack. the shot went wide of the mark, but it struck the shepherd, who was mortally wounded. it was a scene of carnage. alfred vanhoosen was dead, so was vasquez and his two followers, maltravers was dying, and lena was in a like condition, while the shepherd would never speak again. frantic with grief, jack threw himself on the body of his beloved. "my darling, my baby!" he exclaimed; "speak to me." lena raised her fast glazing eyes to him, but she could not utter a word. with bitter, scalding tears, jack watched her die. * * * * * let us draw a vail over this affecting scene. jack and harvey went back to the hotel at clark's station and sent men for the bodies. the funeral of the slain took place at mariposa. then harkaway, mr. mole and harvey returned to england by way of new york. it was long before he forgot his lost love, and for years the name of lena vanhoosen was as dear to him as that of lord maltravers was hateful. the end. transcriber's notes: this novel was originally serialized in frank leslie's boys & girls weekly from july - , . this text is derived from the original serialization. added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_. obvious punctuation errors have been corrected. added missing "to" ("giving it to him"). changed "day day" to "day" ("find a fool like you every day"). changed "eat" to "ate" ("ate a little salad"). changed "pursuade" to "persuade." changed "carrried" to "carried" ("carried the knife between"). changed "wan't" to "want" ("want to know"). corrected speaker from pedro to alfonso after "look here!" changed "too" to "to" ("and i to see you, sis."). transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. on page "phenicians" may be a typo for "phoenicians". on page "sterites" may be a typo for "stearites". on page "asisis" may be a typo for "assisi". in the index, hyphens indicate both a range of numbers ( - ) and a series of numbers ( - - ). inconsistent punctuation in the ads section has been retained as printed. the book uses both san josé, and san jose. bancroft's tourist's guide yosemite. san francisco and around the bay, (south.) san francisco: a. l. bancroft & company, . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by a. l. bancroft & co., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington, d. c. bancroft's steam printing, lithographing, engraving and book-binding establishment, san francisco, cal. contents. preface, introduction, routes and expenses, - yosemite valley, the big trees, calaveras, mariposa, other groves, bower cave, alabaster cave, index to san francisco, san francisco, excursion routes, sacramento, stockton, oakland, san jose, mt. diablo, lake tahoe, donner lake, preface. this is a pocket guide to yosemite valley and the big trees, with the best routes thither and thence. it also includes san francisco with the cities, towns, caves, mines and beaches within a hundred miles south and east of this city. we have tried to make it accurate and reliable in all statements of routes, distances, time required, conveyances, fares, hotels, rates, etc., making a snug, neat and tasteful book, to be sold at a low rate on all overland trains and ocean steamers bound hither, meeting all tourists, excursionists and travelers some hundreds of miles before they reach san francisco, posting them on all the most attractive spots in the state, and answering in advance all necessary questions, thus enabling them, before setting foot in the city, to plan their excursions, decide upon routes, choose conveyances, select hotels, and calculate expenses. and then, when they have actually been over the whole ground, and thoroughly tested it, find everything "_just as the book said_." true, we already have three or four costly volumes, written for a similar purpose, but we claim that for the ordinary use of the average tourist this is superior to any or all of them in at least three important particulars: st. it omits all tedious, long-drawn, and unnecessarily minute descriptions, which may occasionally suit some very critical or scientific tourist, but whose chief value is to _guide_ the traveler's money into the publisher's pocket. d. it contains brief descriptions of all the most notable curiosities and wonders of the state. its statements are drawn from the latest official scientific sources, or taken from the personal observation and actual measurements of the writer, made expressly for this work. d. it is compact and economical of time, space and money, none of which the tourist usually cares to waste or lose or throw away. the public have called for it, and we have done our best to respond, with the material, and in the time, at our command. that it contains _no_ mistakes we do not claim, but that it includes fewer than any similar book we confidently affirm. we have availed ourselves of every practicable source of reliable information up to date, june, . in a new and fast-growing state, like ours, where railroad companies sometimes lay nearly a league of track a day, it is simply impossible that any publication should remain perfectly accurate in every particular, even for twenty-four hours after its issue. we pledge ourselves to disappoint no reasonable expectation, and shall thankfully receive and gratefully appreciate any correction or later information which any traveler, railroad, stage or saddle-train agent, or hotel manager, will kindly communicate. in response to many calls, constantly repeated, and now pressingly urged, we offer this little common-sense hand-book guide, which truthfully tells tourists just where to go; how far it is; how to get there; when to start; whom to stop with; how long it takes; and, how much it costs. san francisco, cal., june, . yosemite. you are going to yosemite. of course you are. what else did you come to california for? the idea of a man in his right mind, having the slightest love of beauty, grandeur and sublimity, coming to california and _not_ going to yosemite! why, it's preposterous; it's incredible; it's impossible. we may as well dismiss the thought at once. of _course_ you go. so that's settled. now, _when_ will you go? if you have means and are sure of time to see all the wonders and beauties which the state offers, then might you wisely and safely leave the best until the last; that is, reserve yosemite for your final trip before you return. but, lest time or cash should fail, or sudden summons hasten your departure, it is wisest and safest to make sure of it at once while you may. it would never do to go back east, confront inquiring friends, and have to humbly confess that you _had_ been to california, but had _not_ seen yosemite. then, _how_ shall you go. if you are fresh and strong, with the nerve and muscle of a young and enthusiastic college pedestrian, you can do it on foot, as bayard taylor did europe. it's the most independent and enjoyable way of all if you have time and disposition, and no ladies in your party. if you _should_ wish to try that, get a copy of the overland monthly for july, , turn to the article "yosemite on foot," and you have your guide. if you haven't time or ambition to distinguish yourself by emulating weston, you may possibly contemplate an excursion on hoofs. several parties have done yosemite on all fours, and report a tough american nag, or a wiry little mexican mustang as an indispensable auxiliary. parties who wish to avoid the sense of dependence, as well as the pecuniary expense of hiring a stable horse, frequently buy a tough native horse for seventy-five or a hundred dollars, use him for the entire trip, with no expense beyond that of daily feeding, keep him until they have finished their tour, and then sell him for nearly as much, in some cases even more, than they paid. mounted in this way you accomplish a sort of vicarious pedestrianism, gladly substituting equine hoofs for human heels, while the animal himself rejoices in a responsible backer in the bifurcated person of your bestriding self; or, still again, it may be--it probably _does_ be, as our little four-year-old says--that you are too fashionably _lazy_,--i beg pardon, i meant to say, it is possible that you have inherited a constitutional aversion to protracted exertion, which, by long indulgence, has quite unfitted you for the thoroughly manly or womanly pursuit of grandeur, beauty, and pleasure in the saddle--chasing health on horseback. one other way remains, before you fall back upon the fashionable and feeble way of "being carried" in the regular, orthodox and popular style, which suffers you to attempt no personal exercise beyond "the heavy looking on." you may combine saddle and wagon: that is, take a strong wagon, carrying tent, provisions and cooking apparatus, with one or two of the more unskillful riders on the seat, while the others in the saddle revolve as equestrian satellites around. but if you decide, as most do, and as you probably will, to take no responsibility and cumber yourself with no care, you select one of the various public routes, seek out its agent, make your contract, give up all planning and providing on your own part, pay over your coin, take your tickets for the round trip, commit yourself to one of the various lines of public conveyances, dismiss all anxiety and give yourself up to receive and absorb all the pleasure that may lie along the route, or await you at its end. and if your object is simply enjoyment, untroubled by exertion, and unmixed with anxiety, that is, undoubtedly, the best way. you are in san francisco, at the grand, at the occidental, at the lick house or the cosmopolitan. in their luxurious beds you have slept off the fatigue of thirty-three hundred miles across the continent, and at their bountiful tables you have fed yourself into courage and spirit for new and further enterprise. you have come forth so fresh and brave that you feel ready for eight thousand miles more, straight across the tranquil pacific; or climbing, unaided, the loftiest vertebral peak of that spinal range which furnishes the backbone of the continent. your new vigor has let off its frothy effervescence in sundry spasmodic dashes about the city and around its suburbs. you have driven to the cliff house, interviewed the seals, climbed telegraph hill, rusticated at woodward's, spent an afternoon at bancroft's, crossed to oakland, inspected alcatraz and fort point, and, in short, completed the little day-trips and half-day tours which so restfully entertain the newly-arrived traveler, gradually acclimate him to our occidental air and familiarize him with our cosmopolitan people. you feel strong and fresh: ready for the grand excursion. all your drawing-room and dining-table suits are snugly packed in trunks, folded away in drawers or carefully hung in wardrobe or clothespress. the roughest, strongest and warmest suit in your possession you have donned. specially provide good stout, yet easy, boots or shoes, with the softest and most comfortable of socks or stockings. remember that every day brings two climates, a cool or even cold one for morning and evening, with a hot and dusty noon sandwiched between. umbrellas and rubber blankets you won't need, though a good traveling shawl will serve you frequently and well. stovepipe hats are an abomination--a hard hat of any shape, first cousin to it, and the extra wide brimmed ladies' picnic hat, closely akin to both. browns, drabs and grays are your best colors; linens and woolens your best materials; fine flannels next the skin, and especially provide plenty of something soft and thick to come between you and the horse, during the necessary miles in the saddle. this last is not a matter of choice, but of necessity. calculate to spend at least two weeks in the valley, and allow two or even three days each way for your trip in and out. of course you can go faster and quicker if you wish or must, but of all excursions imaginable, yosemite most needs deliberation and leisure. these are precisely the two things of which the average american tourist has the least. whence it has happened that very few indeed, especially of our own countrymen, have ever really _visited_ yosemite. hundreds have dashed in, plunged around and rushed out. horace greeley staid about as long as it would take him to rush off one of his patent chain-lightning, hieroglyphic tribune editorials. he rode in at midnight, reached his lodging at one o'clock in the morning, too tired to eat, and too sore to tell of it; went to bed, sick, sore and disgusted. up late next morning, so lame he could hardly sit in his saddle, hobbled hurriedly around three or four hours, and was on his way out again at a little after noon. many of the grandest sights he didn't even catch the remotest glimpse of; those he did see he just glanced at, too weary to appreciate their slightest beauty, and too hurried to allow himself time to begin to grow to the true scale of their grandeur; and having given to the whole valley about one quarter of the time necessary to thoroughly study, intelligently enjoy and heartily appreciate the least of its wonders, he has the presumption to fancy he has "been to yosemite." the fact is, he never really _saw_ a single object about the valley, except, possibly, the giant cliff, tu-toch-ah-nu-lah, which, as he says, looked as if it might have leaned over and buried him beneath its vastness, and which, as i say, _would_, doubtless, have done so speedily, had it known that the shabby rider who shambled along under its base that moonlight night, sore at one end, sleepy at the other, and sick all the way between, was going to rush off and talk so inadequately, unworthily and even untruthfully about objects which no human eye ever did see or could see in the condition of his sleep-oppressed optics on that slumbrous august morning. he has the cheek to declare that the fall of yosemite is a humbug. it would be interesting to know what the fall thought of greeley. one thing is sure, all earlier and later visitors unite in the opinion that the only humbug in the valley that year went out of it in his saddle about three o'clock on that drowsy august afternoon, and has never since marred the measureless realities which he sleepily slandered. the simple fact is, mr. greeley saw the little which he did see three or four months too late in the season. if he ever comes again, at the right time, and stays to really _see_ the wonders of the valley, he will be heartily ashamed of what he then wrote, and freely pardon his present critic. meantime, exit h. g. we bear thee no malice. the soul that can see and feel as little as thine did in yosemite provokes no anger, but only sorrow and compassion. for the sake of thy sore and raw and sadly-pummeled body, we freely forgive the terribly shaken soul that inhabited it on that memorable midnight when horse and saddle maliciously united in assault and battery on the most sensitive portion of thine editorial corporosity. vale, greeley, vale. the next time thou comest hither, wear what hat thou likest and match it with what suit may please thee best, but if thou lovest life, and wouldst see good days, tell, oh horace, tell the truth. pardon our digression to greeley. we have spent so much time on him, not because he occasionally scribbles illegible manuscript for a new and struggling paper in a small eastern village, but because he came faster, arrived sorer, stayed fewer hours, saw less of the valley, and slandered it more than any one else has ever attempted. olive logan spoke disparagingly of the yosemite fall, but the fall is still there. she adds some slanderous remarks about the conduct of the drivers along the route, to which the only fitting answer would be these questions: "when a man or a woman, all alone in a room, looks into a mirror, and doesn't see a gentleman or lady reflected therein--_whose fault is it?_ is the difficulty in the glass or in _front_ of it?" but let us start. from san francisco to yosemite there are three routes. all of them carry one, first, to or near stockton, which city we reach by rail or river, and all of them bring us, at last, into the valley by one of the only two trails which enter it. between the outer ends of these trails and stockton, or vicinity, lie the various intermediate places or way stations which have given name to the routes which pass through them, and concerning which the tourist chiefly needs reliable information. looking upon any good map, not drawn in the exclusive interest of some one of these rival routes, you can easily see for yourself, spite of all agents' representations, which is the most direct way, geographically or topographically. we now mention these in regular order, reckoning from north to south; that is, _down the map_, as we used to say at school. for convenience, we may distinguish the three routes as the upper or north route, the middle route, and the lower or south route. big oak flat route. the upper or north route is commonly called the big oak flat, or the hutchings route. if we go by this, we can either go directly into the valley, or make a detour by way of the calaveras big trees. the following table showing distances, times and conveyances, by the straight and quick way. to yosemite valley--direct. ========================================================== from | to | miles.| hours. | by ---------------+--------------+-------+--------+---------- san francisco | stockton | | | steamer. stockton | milton | | ¼ | car. milton | chinese camp | | | stage. chinese camp | garrote | | ½ | " garrote | tamarack | | | " tamarack | yosemite | | | saddle. | +-------+--------+ | | | ¾ | ---------------+--------------+-------+--------+---------- by the above way you leave san francisco at four o'clock p.m., from the wharf, at the foot of broadway, by one of the california pacific railroad company's steamers for stockton. you have a fine afternoon and sunset view of san francisco, the shipping, oakland, yerba buena and alcatraz islands, the golden gate, angel island, mount tamalpais, san quentin, san pablo bay, vallejo, mare island, suisun bay, benicia, martinez, and mount diablo. those who have crossed the continent by rail find this sail a pleasant change. they avoid the dust, get a good night's rest on the steamer, reach stockton at from two to three o'clock in the morning, breakfast at six, and at seven take the cars of the stockton and copperopolis railroad from the station near the landing. we reach milton, twenty-eight miles, at . , find the stage waiting, and immediately embark, and are off at once. the road lies through a mountainous country, well timbered. the air is clear and invigorating, and the scenery sublime. the road is good, the stages first-class, and the drivers obliging. about one we reach chinese camp, and after twenty-four miles staging are ready for a half-hour's rest and a good dinner; or, we may wait for both until we reach garrote, fourteen miles farther. here either of two good hotels will feed and lodge us. next morning we'd better dress for the horse-back ride in the afternoon. lay aside all superfluous luggage and pack your extra nice clothing, if you have been foolish enough to bring any, in your valise. a small hand-satchel you can pack behind you on the horse, or take it before you. let it be as small and snugly-packed as possible. one word further, and a most important one, especially to ladies. calculate to _ride astride_, and dress for it. you can wear a long skirt to tamarack, but beyond it is a nuisance. a woman who has only one leg, or has two on one side, may have some excuse for the unnatural, ungraceful, dangerous and barbarous side-saddle. the last word was prompted by remembering the raw back of the beautiful horse which carried miss dix into the valley, under the old, conventional, side-saddle. the lady is, unquestionably, a noted philanthropist, but that poor horse probably never suspected it. anna dickinson rode in man-fashion, arrived fresh and strong, and so did her horse. ask her animal if he wants to carry that lady again and he'll never say nay (neigh). on a trip like this the side-saddle is barbarous to the horse and dangerous to the rider. the only good thing about it is that it jolts and racks and strains and tires the rider so outrageously, that it is fast converting many women to the sensible and safe way. from tamarack flat the road dwindles to a trail, winds among pine trees, crosses an occasional rivulet, commands a fine outlook through the trees, now and then, and finally, almost before you know it, brings you to the brink of the valley. thence let your horse have his head. he'll take care of himself and you too--land you safely at the foot of the trail, and deposit you at hutchings' by five or six o'clock, in good time for the ample dinner which will be waiting. if you wish to take the calaveras big trees on your way, you can do so, either going or coming, by taking the same general route as far as milton, to which place the times, distances, and conveyances are the same as in the table already given. from milton you take stage through murphy's to sperry & perry's hotel, where you dine in the very shadows of the big tree grove. having stayed among the vegetable monsters as long as you can, you return thence by stage to sonora, twenty-nine miles; time six hours; from sonora to garrote, also by stage, twenty-five miles in five hours, and then you strike the same road which you would travel by going directly in, so that the conveyances, time and distances of the former table will also serve you hence. as we said a few paragraphs back, these two routes are not really separate and distinct routes, as nearly one hundred and twenty miles on the western end, and about fifty miles at the eastern end, are the same in both. the time occupied in going or coming by the way of the trees is twelve and one half hours more than by the direct route, and the fare is seven dollars more, besides, of course, the expense of one night's lodging and two meals more on the route, than will be necessary to one going directly in. the second route, the middle one, is the coulterville route, so named from the principal town through which it passes, which took its own name from general coulter, who still manages the business of the line. by this route you leave san francisco at four p.m., by cars on central pacific railroad; change cars at lathrop for modesto, arriving same evening. remain over night at the ross house, james cole, proprietor, and leave by stage at eight a.m. for coulterville, forty-eight miles, ten hours, arriving at six p.m. you dine at la grange, twenty-eight miles from modesto. stay all night at wagner's hotel, coulterville, where supper, lodging and breakfast cost you $ . . next morning rise early, take a good hot breakfast, leave coulterville at five o'clock for gobin's ranch at crane's flat, thirty miles, where you are due at twelve. dine at gobin's for $ . . at one o'clock leave gobin's by saddle train, arriving at black's hotel, in the valley, fifteen miles, at six p.m., thus taking it leisurely, especially down the mountain-side trail into the valley, where no animal can go fast and keep his feet, and no rider can hurry and save his neck. returning, leave the valley at six in the morning, and reach gobin's, crane flat, at eleven, taking five hours, the same time as when going in, as horses can go full as fast _up_ the trail as down. dine at gobin's, as when going in. leave crane flat at twelve, and reach coulterville at half past five, where the same hotel, wagner's, accommodates you with supper, lodging and breakfast, and at the same rates as before. leave coulterville at six next morning, and drive twenty-eight miles to roberts', where we dine, at noon. from roberts' to modesto is twenty miles. we are due at modesto at from four to half past four p.m. from modesto we may take cars for stockton and sacramento, at five, and go through direct to either of those places. but if we wish to return to san francisco, we stop at lathrop, in a station where an excellent dinner or supper can be had for or cents; and wait until eleven p.m., when a freight train, with sleeping car attached, comes along and bring us to san francisco at half past seven next morning. this route gives regular rest, takes one through a beautiful and picturesque country, from the fact that, after striking the foothills, it lies along the dividing ridge between the tuolumne and merced rivers. on the east lies the sierra nevada, with castle peak, mount dana, and other prominent points, while westward it commands a view of the san joaquin valley and the coast range. to this may be added the fact that as a good part of the road runs east and west, and as the prevailing winds are northerly, the dust is blown away to one side instead of along with you. another and very great advantage of this route is that, from and after the fifteenth of this month, june, , it will run stages to the very brink of the valley, leaving but two and a half miles of saddle riding to the valley below, and only seven miles on horseback to the hotels. this same advantage will then be true, also, of the big oak flat, or hutchings' route, which enters the valley by the same trail. mariposa route. this is the lower, or southern route, taking its name from that of its chief town, mariposa, once famous as the seat of fremont's famous "estate," with its gold mines of supposed exhaustless wealth. this route takes one by california pacific railroad from san francisco, through lathrop to modesto, one hundred and one miles; thence ninety-six miles of staging, through snelling's, hornitos, bear valley, and white & hatch's (stop over night) to clark & moore's, at the end of staging. from clark's to the brink of the valley, by saddle, is twenty-three miles, and thence to the hotels, seven miles; making a total of thirty miles horseback riding. as an offset to this the mariposa route claims the advantage of the view from inspiration point, which lies nearly a mile off the direct trail, and for grandeur and beauty is certainly all that can be claimed or desired. besides the view from inspiration point, this route also presents the attraction of the mariposa big trees, six miles from clark's, and requiring an additional expense of $ . for each horse, besides the cost of another day's board and the fee of the guide. the calaveras trees, while equally grand and beautiful and even loftier, have the great advantage of an excellent hotel in the very midst of them, so that the tourist can spend much more time in rambling among their monumental bulks. besides the three routes already named, two others have been opened during the present season. the first of these may be called the mokelumne hill route. parties of eight, leaving san francisco on the morning train, or sacramento on the noon train, can take stage at mokelumne station, at . p.m., reach mokelumne hill the same evening at seven o'clock, stay all night, and reach the calaveras big trees at noon next day. price, from san francisco to the trees, and return, $ . ; from sacramento to the trees and back, $ . . parties of four will be taken for $ . each from mokelumne station to the trees and back, in first class coaches and carriages. any wishing to try this route can address peck & co., mokelumne hill. from the trees one can go on to the valley by regular stages, and come out by any trail he likes, by making previous arrangements accordingly. the second additional route is known as hamilton's new route. by this route the tourist from either san francisco or stockton takes the western pacific railroad to galt, whence stages leaving at one p.m., carry him by the way of ione city and valley, through jackson to mokelumne hill, where he arrives at p.m., and stays over night. leave mokelumne hill at . next morning; take the direct route through railroad flat and reach the big trees at noon. fare, for the round trip from san francisco or sacramento, $ . . from either city to the big trees, $ . , leaving one free to go from the grove to yosemite, when and as he likes. independent trips, are commonly made in one of three ways: st. by private wagons, taking camping apparatus, cooking utensils and provisions along. d. in the saddle, taking apparatus, utensils and food along on pack horses. d. on foot, taking as little as possible, and depending mainly on hotels and wayside ranches or farm houses for the necessary meals and lodging, unless you choose to lodge in your own blankets. i. by private wagons. parties of from four to thirty try this method every season, and report themselves delighted with the enjoyment of it, and subjected to an average expense not exceeding $ . a day for each one of a party less than eight, or $ . , or even less, a day for a party of from twelve to thirty. ii. by saddle and pack animals. by this method the party is still more independent than by wagons, as hoofs can go where wheels cannot. the expense is about the same, as what is saved in the hire of wagons is balanced by the cost of the greater number of horses where there must be one animal for each person in the party, besides from one to four, or even six, animals to carry camp equipage and food. iii. on foot. for complete independence, combined with the ability to go where and as you please, unconfined by roads or trails, this is the best way of all. you can feed and lodge at hotels and wayside houses, or you can take along blankets and lodge where night overtakes you. to the untrained this may seem exceedingly rough and uncomfortable; to those who have fairly tried it, you will have no need to recommend it. hotel rates along these routes. the hotel rates vary but little by whatever route you may go or come. you will seldom find a meal or a lodging as low as fifty cents, especially among the mountains and at the places most frequented by summer travel. the more common price is seventy-five cents for either, and as we approach the valley, or the big trees, we may calculate on that figure as the usual cost. the reasonable tourist,--and those who have souls great enough to lead them to nature's wonders are supposed to be reasonable at least,--will readily see two good reasons why the charges along routes like these must be relatively higher than along the more frequently and permanently traveled routes of the thickly settled portions of the state: st, everything which requires transportation, furniture, carpets, and all articles of food which cannot be raised in the immediate vicinity, necessarily cost much more for transportation than where steamers or cars bring them almost to the door. nd, the travel along all such routes, and the consequent profit upon that travel, must be made within less than one third of the year. during the remaining two thirds, furniture must stand unused, and nearly the whole amount invested for the accommodation of tourists must remain idle, not only yielding no income, but actually becoming a source of additional expense until the opening of a new season. we have no disposition to apologize for any extortionate or unreasonable charges; for we are very happy to say that any such apology is rarely needed. every experienced and fair-minded traveler knows that his fellow passengers are unreasonable and extortionate in _their_ demands fully as often as the transportation companies and their agents are in theirs. the various lines into the valley and the big trees are managed by men who realize perfectly well that the amount of patronage they receive, and consequently, the profits which they make, must depend upon their gaining and keeping the good will of the traveling public. there is plenty of opposition; among the rival lines, no one has or can obtain any monopoly. the sensible and safe way, here, as everywhere, is to make a definite agreement beforehand. don't trust _any_ stranger's assurance that "we'll make _that all right_." that very fair sounding phrase has made more trouble than almost any other of equal length. the trouble is that it has two meanings. the speaker's "all right" means, for himself, and the hearer's "all right" means for _himself_, too; hence the frequent upshot of such loose understanding is, that it proves a complete _mis_understanding, when they come to settle. distinctly specify what is to be done; how it is to be done; by whom and when; and then add at least ten per cent. to the specified cost for those little extras which will inevitably force themselves upon you in almost every trip. thus you may escape adding yourself to the list of those improvident ones whose usual exclamation at the close of any pleasure trip is "it cost me a great deal more than i _expected_; _and i always thought it would_." valley hotels. there are three--hutching's, black's, and liedig's. any of them will keep you well for from $ . to $ . a day, or $ . a week. hutchings' is the farthest up the valley and nearer the greater number of points of interest. hutchings himself, as poor dan setchell used to make captain cuttle say of his friend "ole sol gills," is the "chuck-fulledest man o' science," in all matters pertaining to the valley and its history, that one can find in the state. he keeps an excellent house and usually entertains the more distinguished literary and scientific tourists. the yosemite branch of the western union telegraph now completed and working as far as garrote, will be extended into the valley and have its office at hutchings, by july st. black's is a new house, built expressly for the increased travel of late years--having excellent bath and other accommodations, with well-finished and furnished rooms. it stands three quarters of a mile nearer the west end of the valley. liedig's is also new, and is specially noted for the bountiful supply of well-cooked food which usually loads its hospitable table, under the immediate and personal superintendence of its obliging hostess. it is situated nearly in front of the base of sentinel rock. each of these houses, of course, has its warm friends, loud in its praises. all of them do their best for the satisfaction of guests and any one of them will provide the tourist with a comfortable home. horses and guides in the valley. for a good horse and saddle the charge is $ . a day, or for a trip, if it occupies such part of the day that the animal cannot go out on any other one the same day. if you propose to stay a week or more, and wish to engage the same horse for your regular and exclusive use every day during that time, you can do so for one fifth less; sometimes lower than that. the horses are good, trusty, serviceable beasts, trained to their business and generally safe and reliable. going into or coming out from the valley with any regular trip, over any route, you have nothing to do with providing or paying for a guide. one accompanies the saddle-train each way. in and about the valley, you can have the company and attention of a practiced and competent guide for $ . a day--or, a trip. the guide's fee is the same whether the party be small or large. no tourist who has the nerve and muscle of an average man or woman really _needs_ either horse or guide. the valley is only seven miles long and but a mile wide. the perpendicular walls, from three to five thousand feet high, shut you in all around. you certainly can't get _out_; and with so many prominent landmarks all about you, you can't get _lost_, unless you try very hard indeed. with a good guide-book before you and well-rested legs under you, a very moderate exercise of common sense will take you all about the valley, and enable you thoroughly to explore its wonders "on foot and alone" if you choose so to go. bear in mind, however, that you are nearly a mile--in some places more than a mile--above the sea; that the atmosphere is rare and light; that you need to restrain your impulse to _dash_ about, especially at first. for the first two or three days "go slow"--take it moderately; see _less_ than you think you might, rather than more. as you become more familiar with the character of the rocks and ravines and accustomed to the exertion of climbing about them, you can extend your excursions and attempt harder things. for the longer trips, such as the ascent of the sentinel rock, it may be safer and wiser to employ a good guide. expenses. the total necessary expenses by each route are: st. by big oak flat (hutchings') route: from san francisco to yosemite valley, _or_ return $ from san francisco to yosemite _and_ return from san francisco to the calaveras big trees, _or_ return from san francisco to the calaveras big trees and valley, _or_ return from san francisco to the calaveras big trees and valley, _and_ return thomas houseworth & co., agents, and montgomery street, san francisco. d. by the coulterville route: from san francisco to yosemite valley, _or_ return $ from san francisco to yosemite valley, _and_ return g. w. coulter, agent, montgomery street, san francisco. d. by mariposa route: from san francisco to yosemite valley, _or_ return $ from san francisco to yosemite valley, _and_ return ed. harrison, agent, grand hotel, san francisco. board and lodging en route, per day $ board and lodging in the valley, per day board and lodging at big trees, per day board and lodging in either place, per week horses in valley, or to big trees, per day guides in valley or to big trees, per day total expenses of excursion. . to yosemite valley, direct, by big oak or coulterville, stay one week in the valley, hiring guide and horse three days, and returning by same route $ . above excursion, including calaveras big trees . to yosemite valley direct, by mariposa, staying a week in the valley, hiring guide and horse three days, and coming out same way . above excursion, including mariposa big trees . in by big oak flat or coulterville, and out by mariposa, or _vice versa_, other conditions as above . in by mariposa, and out by big oak flat, visiting _both_ groves of big trees, same conditions as above in the above statement the expense for guide is based on the supposition that the party includes at least three persons. yosemite valley. the name is indian. pronounce it in four syllables, accenting the second. it means "big grizzly bear." the valley lies very near the centre of the state, reckoning north and south, about one fifth the way across from east to west, and almost exactly in the middle of the high sierras which inclose it. its direction from san francisco is a little south of east, and its distance about one hundred and forty miles in an air line. the valley itself lies nearly east and west. its main axis runs a little north of east by a little south of west. it consists of three parts: st. the surrounding wall of solid rock, nearly vertical, and varying in height from one thousand to four and even five thousand feet. d. the slope of rocky masses and fragments which have fallen from the face of the cliffs, forming a sort of _talus_ or escarpment along the foot of this wall, from seventy-five to three hundred and fifty feet high, throughout the greater part of its extent. d. the nearly level bottom land, lying between these slopes, forming the valley proper, and divided into two unequal parts by the merced river flowing through westerly, from end to end. the main valley is seven miles long; though one may make it longer if he estimates the branches or divisions at the upper or eastern end. its width varies from a few feet on either side of the stream, to a full mile and a quarter in its broadest part. it contains over a thousand acres; two thirds meadow, and the rest a few feet higher, somewhat sandy, gravelly, and, in places, covered with rocks and boulders from the surrounding cliffs. over the latter portion, at irregular intervals, trees, shrubs and ferns are sparsely sprinkled or set in irregular groups. the richer bottom supports several fine clumps and groves of graceful trees. the bottom of the valley is four thousand feet above the level of the sea, and has an average fall, towards the west, of about six feet to the mile. the river varies in width from fifty to seventy feet, and in depth from six to twelve feet. its bottom is gravelly, its current remarkably swift, its waters clear as crystal. trout, of delicious quality, abound, but seldom allow white men to catch them. the rocky wall which shuts it in, averages over three quarters of a mile in perpendicular height. nothing on wheels has ever gone up or down this tremendous precipice, and in only two places have the surest-footed horses or mules been able to find a safe trail. yosemite valley is really a huge sink or cleft in a tangle of rock-mountains; a gigantic trough, not scooped or hollowed out from above, but sunk straight down, as if the bottom had dropped plumb toward the centre, leaving both walls so high that if either should fall, its top would reach clear across the valley and crash against the opposite cliff several hundred feet above its base. in many places these cliffs rise into rock-mountains, or swell into huge mountainous domes, two or three of which have been split squarely in two, or cleft straight down from top to bottom, and the two halves, still standing straight up, have been heaved or thrown a half-mile asunder, whence each looks wistfully across at its old mate, or frowns sternly and gloomily down upon the beautiful valley which quietly keeps them apart. here and there they tower into lofty spires, shoot up in shattered or splintered needles, or solemnly stand in stately groups of massive turrets. high bastions surmount steep precipices, and both look down on awful chasms. back from the edge of the valley, behind these cliffs, the rock country stretches away in every direction through leagues of solid granite, rising irregularly into scattered hills, peaks and mountains, between which run the various snow-fed streams, whose final, sudden plunge over the valley's sharp and rocky brink makes the numerous falls of such wonderful height. coming in by either trail, one enters the western or lower end of the valley. we will suppose ourselves entering by the mariposa trail. we have clambered, or allowed our animals to clamber, safely down the rocky, steep, and crooked trail, which lands us finally at the foot of the precipitous slope of two thousand seven hundred feet. as we follow the trail up the valley, that is, bearing away to the right, going eastward along the foot of the south wall, we encounter the falls, mountains, spires and domes in the following order: one coming in by the coulterville, hardin's or big oak flat trail, finds himself at the same end of the valley, directly opposite the foot of the mariposa trail, having the river between; and as he bears away to the left, along the base of the north wall, he would, of course, meet all these wonders in exactly the reverse order. but to return to the foot of the mariposa or clark's trail: first, the bridal veil fall, indian name po-ho-no, meaning, "the spirit of the evil wind." the fall is over nine hundred feet high, and of indescribable beauty. the stream which forms it has an average width of some sixty-five feet at the edge of the cliff where it breaks over the brink. it is narrower in summer and wider in winter. for six hundred and thirty feet the stream leaps clear of the cliff in one unbroken fall. thence it rushes down the steep slope of broken rocks in a confusion of intermingled cascades nearly three hundred feet more. the varying pressure of the changeful wind causes a veil-like waving, swaying and fluttering, which readily suggests the obviously fitting and most appropriate name. what could a bride be made of, who would wear a veil like this? no sooner asked than answered, she must be "maid o' the mist." this fall presents its greatest beauty in may or june when the volume of water is not too great. the situation of pohono, added to its intrinsic beauty, waving a welcome as the tourist enters and fluttering a farewell as he leaves, make it the universal favorite. ladies especially love to linger at its foot, feasting their eyes with its marvelous and changeful beauty, and delighting their hearts with the delicious suggestiveness of its most appropriate name. the honeymoon can nowhere be more fittingly or happily spent than within sight of pohono. half a mile further the cliff rounds outward and swells upward into an enormous double, rocky bastion, the cathedral rocks. two thousand six hundred and sixty feet above the valley. indian name, po-see-nah choock-kah, meaning a large store or hoard of acorns. from certain points of sight the form of these rocks readily suggests the outline of a dilapidated gothic cathedral. only the superior grandeur of tu-toch-ah-nu-lah and the south dome, prevent this rock from greater fame. outside of yosemite it would quickly attain a world-wide celebrity. just beyond these rocks the cliff bears away to the southeast and sends up two slender, graceful pinnacles of splintered granite, rising five hundred feet above the main wall, which supports them. these are the cathedral spires. their summits are twenty-four hundred feet above the valley. seen from the northeast, a mile distant, these spires appear symmetrical, of equal height, squarely hewn and rising above the edge of the cliff behind, exactly like two towers of a gothic cathedral. one who doubts the appropriateness of their name, has only to view them from this point, whence a single glance will end his skepticism. beyond the spires the wall runs southeasterly a quarter of a mile, then curves through an easterly and northerly sweep into a north and south line. the whole sweep forms a sort of precipitous coast with its rocky headlands, inclosing the valley between like an emerald bay. beyond this bay the rocky wall gradually curves again, and resumes its easterly trend. an eighth of a mile further brings us to the fissure. this is a cleft or split in the rock, running back southeasterly at nearly a right angle with the face of the cliff. it is one thousand feet deep, five feet wide at the top and front, and grows gradually narrower as it extends downward and backward into the mountain. several boulders have fallen into it and lodged at different depths. a third of a mile east of this fissure, and a mile and three quarters from the cathedral rocks, another rocky promontory projects northwesterly, like a huge buttress, a third of a mile into the valley, crowned with a lofty granite obelisk, three hundred feet thick, and standing straight up twelve hundred feet above the giant cliff which supports it. this is the famous sentinel rock, so named from its resemblance to a gigantic watchtower or signal station, for which, the legends say, the indians formerly used it. the indian name was loya. its top is three thousand and forty-three feet above the river at its foot. the sides show plainly-marked perpendicular cleavages in the granite. although so steep in front and at the sides, a strong grasp, a sure foot, a cool nerve and a calm head can safely climb it from the rear, that is, the southwest side. at least they have done so more than once, and planted a flag to wave in triumph from its summit. by the unanimous and unquestioned verdict of all tourists, this rock is one of the grandest and most beautiful even in yosemite itself. its striking prominence has made it a favorite subject with all artists who have visited the valley. three quarters of a mile southeast of the sentinel tower, half a mile back from the brink of the precipice, and partially or totally hidden by it, according as the spectator stands nearer to or farther from the foot of the cliff, the sentinel dome lifts its hemispherical bulk four thousand one hundred and fifty feet. this is one of the most regularly formed of all of the peculiar dome-like peaks about the valley. the indian name was loy-e-ma. a horseman can reach the very summit by a trail up the eastern slope, and enjoy a most extensive view as his reward. from this dome, the profile of the south dome and strongly marked moraines of the too-loo-le-wack cañon appear to better advantage than from any other point. a mile east of sentinel rock the face of the cliff becomes less precipitous, bends sharply around to the south, and thence back towards the southwest, forming an angular and sloping rocky bluff known as glacier rock, called by the indians, oo-woo-yoo-wah, which means, the "great rock of the elk." the story has it that during one of the expeditions of troops into the valley, a party of soldiers, searching for indians, undertook to climb this rock, and while, slowly and with great labor, working their way up its smooth and steep slope, the hunted red men suddenly appeared upon its summit, and began to roll large stones down upon them. these came thundering down with terrific noise and frightful speed. the pale faces turned and fled with headlong haste, but the destructive missiles smote several of them with instant death. from the point of glacier rock one has a fine view of the valley. all the domes, with the yosemite, vernal and nevada falls are plainly visible thence. for nearly a mile southeast of glacier rock the cliff becomes steeper and more precipitous, forming the western wall of a wild, rough cañon, stretching away southeasterly for nearly a mile. over the cliff at the head of this cañon the south fork of the merced plunges six hundred feet in the illilouette fall. this is also called the too-loo-le-wack, or too-lool-we-ack fall. the meaning of either of these indian names is not certainly given. cunningham, one of the oldest and best guides of the valley, calls the cañon and the fall at the head of it, the el-lil-o-wit. the tourist who attempts this cañon must leave all hoofs behind, and, falling back to first principles, depend entirely upon his own understanding. among the enormous masses of rock which obstruct it, several extensive fissures and romantic caverns furnish additional stimulus to the wonder-loving pedestrian. as general coulter says: "rough is no name for it." it is one of the wildest places imaginable. few tourists accomplish it, but those who do are amply repaid. from the foot of the il-lil-ou-ette cañon make your way directly east, clamber along half a mile, or let your horse do it for you, then bear away to the right, slightly south of east, and you find yourself entering the cañon of the main merced itself. now pick your way carefully along, and, as soon as you feel sufficiently sure of your foothold, look about you, and look ahead. did you ever see finer boulder-scenery in your life? stop under the sheltering lee of this huge, church-like boulder, and don the oiled or rubber suit which awaits your hire. you can get on without it, but the spray will quickly wet you into a "dem'd damp, moist and disagreeable body," if you try it. now take a stout stick, a deep breath, hold firmly on to both and plunge sturdily along the ascending trail. the deepest, richest and greenest of moss lines the narrow foot-path on either hand. look quickly; enjoy it while you may, for presently you find breath and sight nearly taken away together by heavy spray-gusts, rushing, wind-driven, down the cañon. catching the intervals between, and catching your breath at the same time, you lift your nearly blinded eyes to the vernal fall, four hundred and fifty feet high, one hundred feet wide, and from three to five feet deep where it breaks over the square-cut edge of the solid granite beneath. the name vernal was given it on account of the greenness of its water as it plunges over the brink, as well as to distinguish it from the very white fall a mile above. the indian name was pi-wy-ack, which is differently translated to mean "a shower of crystals," or "the cataract of diamonds." this fall pours in one solid unbroken sheet of emerald green, flecked and fringed with creamy foam, and filling the whole cañon below with a thick, and fine and ceaseless spray, which keeps its moss, and grass and foliage of a rich, deep green nowhere surpassed in nature. this spray also combines with the sunshine to develop another and a marvelous beauty. at almost any point along the trail for several rods below the fall, the visitor who is climbing in the morning has only to turn square about to find himself glorified by an exquisitely beautiful circular rainbow surrounding his head like a halo. this rainbow forms a complete circle of so small a diameter that the tourist who views it for the first time involuntarily stretches out his hands to grasp it. the path is wet and slippery, and the ladder-stairs which carry one up the right-hand face of the cliff, just at the south edge of the fall, are steep and tiresome. but good oil or rubber suits keep out the wet, a good restful pause now and then keeps in the breath, while careful stepping and firm holding on rob the steepness and slipperiness of all their real danger. scores of ladies go up and come down every season without accident or harmful fatigue. arrived at the top of the singularly square-cut granite cliff, we turn to the left, walk to the very edge of the stream and the brink of the fall, and gaze into the misty chasm in which the foot of the fall disappears. one need not fear to do so, for nature, as if with special forethought for the gratification of future guests, has provided a remarkable parapet of solid granite running along the very edge of the brink for several yards south of the fall, just breast high, and looking as if made on purpose for timid tourists to lean over, and gaze with fearless safety into the seething chasm in whose foaming depths the foot of the cataract shrouds itself in impenetrable mist. this ceaseless mistiness makes it almost impossible to estimate or calculate the exact height of the fall with any satisfactory accuracy. another variable element which enters into all conjectures of its height is the fact that the rock on which it strikes slopes sharply down for upwards of a hundred and sixty feet. hence in late spring or early summer, when the volume and velocity of the river are greatest, the water, shooting further out, falls at the very base of this slope, and gives the fall a height of four hundred and seventy-five or even five hundred feet in may or june. in october, on the other hand, when the stream is at its lowest, the water, falling straight down, strikes upon the top of this slope, a hundred and sixty or seventy-five feet above its base, and thus diminishes the height of the fall by just that amount. in its volume, this fall resembles niagara more than any other in the valley. in width, of course, it falls far below, but its height is more than three times as great. it also resembles niagara in its greatening on the gaze with each successive visit. in its approaches, in its surroundings, and in itself, the vernal fall surpasses expectation and fully satisfies desire. half a mile above the vernal is a small but beautiful gem of a little fall, called the kachoomah, or wild cat fall. the reason of the name is obvious to one standing a hundred feet below, and noting how the impetuous stream, breaking over the sharp edge of a huge transverse boulder, dashes against the sloping side of another; lying angularly across; and is thrown, or seems to spring, diagonally across towards the northern bank, readily, though roughly, suggesting the sudden side-spring of the animal for whom the observing red man named it. another half mile, and the rocky walls close together, shut us in and bar our further progress. the cañon narrows to a point, over whose right hand wall, close to the very angle of meeting, the same river, the main merced, plunges its whole volume in the famous nevada fall, seven hundred feet high, seventy-five feet wide at the brink, and one hundred and thirty below. this fall is, in all respects, one of the grandest in the world. in height, in width, in purity and volume of water during the early summer, in graceful peculiarities and in grandeur of surrounding scenery, it is simply stupendous. other falls, though few, surpass it in the single element of height, but in surrounding grandeur, in the harmony of beauty and magnificence, none equal this. none brings the visitor oftener to its foot, detains him with greater delight, or sends him away with more profound satisfaction. the exact statement of the height of this fall is hindered by causes similar to those at the vernal, viz: the constant and blinding spray around the bottom, and the consequent uncertainty as to the exact spot where the water strikes. the rock beneath this fall is not vertical, but rather steeply inclined, having a slope of about eighty-five degrees through its upper half and not far from seventy-five degrees through its lower. hence in summer, when tourists usually see it, the diminished force of the current causes the water rather to slide down the slope, than to shoot out over and fall clear of it, as in the spring. thus, from june to november the nevada is more properly a chute or slide than a fall. during this season the friction of the rock breaks the stream into a white froth; hence the name, nevada, or snowy fall. when the water is very low, the fittest thing to which one could liken it would be to myriads of white lace or gauze veils hung over the face of the cliff, waving and fluttering in the wind. a party of ladies originated this figure, and it occurred also to mr. bowles in his fine descriptions of yosemite wonders. as one stands in the cañon below gazing at the nevada, the snowy fall, away upon his left, about a third of a mile back from the brink of the northeast wall of the cañon, rises mt. broderick, or the cap of liberty, whose general outline suggests its name. its rounded summit lifts its smooth, weather-polished granite two thousand feet above the fall and nearly five thousand above the main valley. it bears upon its crown a single juniper of enormous diameter. away to the right of the cañon, just peeping above the edge of the cliff, and nearly two miles south-southeast of the nevada fall, rises the steep, conical summit of the south dome, or mt. starr king, reaching an estimated height of one mile above the valley. next to the wonderful half-dome, this is the steepest and smoothest cone in the region. indian name, see-wah-lam, meaning not known. its exact height, like that of its great namesake, has never been satisfactorily settled. clambering back down this cañon, depositing our oiled or rubber suits, and experiencing an immediate sense of relief and lightness, we retrace the trail up which we came, bear away to the right, that is, going nearly northwest, proceed nearly or quite a mile round the base of a lofty buttress, and open the tenaya cañon, stretching away northeast nearly in a continuous line with the main valley itself. about one mile up this cañon towers yosemite's sheerest and loftiest isolated cliff, the half-dome itself. it is a bare crest of naked granite, four thousand seven hundred and forty feet high, cleft straight down in one vast vertical front on the tenaya, or northwest side, while on the back, that is, toward the southeast, it swells off and rounds away with a dome-like sweep that utterly dwarfs the grandeur of a thousand st. peters in one. following still on up the tenaya cañon, nearly two miles beyond the dome, and a thousand feet higher, rises the clouds' rest, a granite ridge, long, bare and steep, having its axis parallel with that of the valley, and falling away along its southeastern slope into the rocky mountain wilderness of the high sierras. this is one of the few points about the valley which the geological survey has not yet measured. they estimated its height one thousand feet above that of the half dome, which would make its summit ten thousand feet, or nearly two miles above the sea level. beyond this, little of note invites the traveler's delay, so we make our way northwesterly straight across this cañon from the base of its southeasterly wall toward that of the opposite cliff. on the way, however, mirror lake arrests and enchants us. surely water reflections were never more perfect. the indian name ke-ko-too-yem, sleeping water, was never more happily bestowed. imagine a perfect water mirror nearly eight acres in extent, and of a temperament so calm and deep and philosophic that it devotes its whole life to the profoundest reflection. a mile of solid cliff above, a mile of seeming solid cliff beneath; for though the mind knows the lower to be only an image, the eye cannot, by simple sight alone, determine which is the solid original and which the shadowy reflection. twin mountains, base to base, here meet the astonished eye; one towers toward heaven in substance vast, one looms below in shadow cast, as grand, as perfect as its peer on high. in early morning, when no breeze ripples the lake, its reflections are, indeed, marvelously life-like. so exactly is every line and point repeated that the photographic view has puzzled hundreds to tell which mountain is in the air and which is in the water. the spectator who takes the photogram in his hand for the first time often hesitates for several minutes before he can determine which side up the picture should be held. the depth of the lake is from eight to twenty feet. one sufficiently vigorous and persevering may push on up the tenaya creek till he finds the tenaya lake, over a mile long, snugly nestled in among the mountains. this lies beyond the usual limit of tourists' excursions, but well repays a visit. nearly a mile northwest of the lake, and about a third of a mile back from the edge of the cliff, the north dome lifts its rounded granite bulk three thousand five hundred and seventy feet above the valley. it looks as if built of huge, concentric, overlapping, hemispherical domes, piled one upon another, and having their overlapping edges irregularly broken away. on the valley side, that is, toward the south and southeast, it is so steep that no human foot has ever climbed it. in the rear, however, that is, toward the north and west, it falls away in a vast ridge or spine, along which one can easily gain the very summit of the dome itself. the indian name was to-coy-ah, meaning the shade of an indian baby basket. passing three quarters of a mile still down, we reach the angle or turn between the tenaya cañon and the valley proper. in this turn, in fact forming the angle, stands the washington column, a rounded, columnar rock tower, partially standing forth from the abutting cliff behind. this reaches the height of two thousand five hundred feet. immediately beyond this, large masses of the huge concentric, overlapping plates, have cracked off, slipped away and fallen, leaving rough bas-relief arches several hundred yards long, and projecting some scores of feet, like rudely-drawn gigantic eyebrows. these are commonly called the royal arches, or the arched rocks, but the indian name, hun-to, "the watching eye," will better satisfy the poetical visitor, unless, indeed, his masonic proclivities quite overpower his poetic appreciation, in which case he will undoubtedly prefer the former title. for the next mile and a half northwest nothing of special wonder for yosemite detains us. the relief is fitting and needful, not only that we may recover in some degree from the continued effect of the marvels already past, but, more especially, that we may rally in preparation for the most stupendous wonder of them all, the great yosemite fall itself. here language ceases and art quite fails. no words nor paintings, not even the photogram itself, can reproduce one tithe of the grandeur here enthroned. a cataract from heaven to earth, plunging from the clouds of the sky to bury itself among the trees of the forest. the loftiest waterfall yet known upon the face of the globe. don't mention figures yet, please. when a man is overwhelmed with the sublime, don't plunge him into statistics. by and by, when we have cooled down to a safe pitch, we may condescend to hear the calm calculator project his inexorable mathematics into the very face of nature's sublimity and triumphantly tell us just _how_ great this surpassing wonder is. but after all his exactest calculations, his absolute measurements and his positive assurances, one _feels_ how small the fraction of real greatness which figures can express or the intellect apprehend. a cataract half a mile high, setting its forehead against the stars and planting its feet at the base of the eternal hills. gracefully swaying from side to side in rhythmical vibration, swelling into grandeur in earlier spring, and shrinking into beauty under the ardency of summer heat; towering far above all other cataracts, it calmly abides, the undisputed monarch of them all. a half mile is no exaggeration, for the official measurement of the state survey makes the height two thousand six hundred and forty-one ( , ) feet--a _full_ half mile, and _one foot more_. the fall is not in one unbroken, perpendicular sheet, but in three successive leaps. in the upper fall, the stream slides over a huge rounded lip or edge of polished granite, and falls one thousand five hundred and eighty-seven feet in one tremendous plunge. here its whole volume thunders upon a broad shelf or recess, whence it rushes in a series of roughly-broken cascades down a broken slope of over seven hundred feet in linear measurement, but whose base is six hundred and twenty-six feet perpendicularly below its top. from the bottom of this broken slope it makes a final plunge of four hundred and twenty-eight feet in one clear fall, and then slides off contentedly into the restful shadows of the welcoming forests below. its width, like that of all snow-fed streams, varies greatly with the season. in march or april, when the tributary snows are melting most rapidly, and myriads of streamlets swell its volume, the stream is from seventy-five to a hundred feet wide, where it suddenly slips over the smoothly-rounded granite at its upper brink. during the same season it scatters or spreads to a width of from three to four hundred feet, when it breaks upon the rocky masses below. in later spring, or earlier summer, it dwindles to less than a third of its greatest bulk; and its most intimate friend, the veteran yosemite pioneer, hutchings, tells us that he has seen it when it hardly seemed more than a silver thread winding down the face of the cliff. under a full moon, the element of weirdness mingles with its graceful grandeur, shrouds it with mystery, and transports one into a soft and dreamy wonder-land, from which he cares not to return. a mile further on our way back toward the western end, brings us under, or in front of, the triple rocky group, or three-peaked stone-mountain, whose name, the three brothers, readily suggests itself to one standing in the proper place below. they are three huge, bluntly conical, rocky peaks, fronting nearly south, slightly inclined toward the valley and descending in height as they approach it. to the rude indian fancy they might well suggest the name _porn-porn-pa-sue_--"mountains playing leap-frog,"--with which they christened them. the highest, which is the northernmost, the one furthest back from the valley, is three thousand eight hundred and thirty feet high. the summit of this rock is readily reached by a trail from the rear, and affords a superb view of the valley and its surroundings. nearly all who have enjoyed it consider it the very best to be had. another mile-and-a-half and the rocky wonders of yosemite fitly culminate and terminate in tu-toch-ah-nu-lah, "the great chief of the valley" more commonly, though very weakly, called "el capitan," an ordinary spanish word, meaning simply, "the captain;" good enough for a ferry-boat or river steamer, but entirely beneath the dignity of this most magnificent rock on the face of the earth. tu-toch-ah-nulah is an immense granite cliff, projecting angularly into the valley, toward the southwest. it has two fronts, one facing nearly west, the other southeasterly, meeting in a sub-acute angle. these two fronts are over a mile long, and three thousand three hundred feet high, smooth, bare and vertical, and bounded above by a sharp edge, standing pressed against the sky, which its atlas-like shoulder seems made to uphold. the state survey, with all its scientific coolness, could not help saying, "_el capitan_ imposes upon us by its stupendous bulk, which seems as if hewed from the mountains on purpose to stand as the type of eternal massiveness. it is doubtful, if anywhere in the world, there is presented so squarely cut, so lofty and so imposing a face of rock." starr king declared, "a more majestic object than this rock, i never expect to see on this planet." horace greeley, who enjoyed the rare experience of entering the valley by night, and in moonlight too, thus pays tribute to the great chief: "that first, full, deliberate gaze, up the opposite height! can i ever forget it? the valley here, is scarcely half a mile wide, while its northern wall of mainly naked, perpendicular granite, is at least four thousand feet high, probably more. but the modicum of moonlight that fell into this awful gorge, gave to that precipice a vagueness of outline, an indefinite vastness, a ghostly and weird spirituality. had the mountain spoken to me in an audible voice, or begun to lean over with the purpose of burying me, i should hardly have been surprised." after tutochahnulah, nothing on earth can seem very grand or overpowering, and with this the wonders of the valley fitly close. we have, by no means, seen all the falls, nor even mentioned all the peaks, but the others are of little note in yosemite, though, elsewhere, tourists might go a thousand miles to see the least of them. this valley is, beyond comparison, the most wonderful and beautiful of all earthly sights. no matter how incredulous one may be before entering, the great chief and his tremendous allies, soon crush him into the most humble and complete subjection. do not expect, however, that your first view will stagger your skepticism. on the contrary, it may even confirm it. upon our first view of tutochahnulah, as we were walking into the valley, one bright july forenoon, we stopped a mile and a half from its foot, collected ourselves for a calm, cool, mathematical judgment and said with all confidence, "that rock isn't over fifteen hundred feet high. it _can't_ be. why, just look at that tree near its base. that tree, certainly, can't be more than a hundred and twenty-five feet high, and certainly, the cliff doesn't rise more than ten times its height above it." but, unfortunately, we had forgotten that never before had we seen the works of nature on as grand a scale. one's judgment has to change its base. he has to reconstruct it; to adopt a new unit. comparison serves him little, for he has no adequate standard by which to measure, or with which to compare the rock-mountains before him. they are like nothing else. they are a law unto themselves, and one must learn the law, the _new_ law, before he can begin to enter the secret of their greatness. look at that tree. elsewhere you would call it lofty. it measures a hundred and fifty feet, and yet, that wall of solid rock behind rises straight up to twenty times its height above it. look again; now, turn away; shut eyes and think. forget all former standards and adopt the new. slowly you begin to "even" yourself to the stupendous scale of the gigantic shapes around. even niagara requires two or three days before one begins to fully realize or truly appreciate its greatness. how much more, then, yosemite, compared with which niagara is but a very little thing! then, on the other hand, one must remember that after he has adjusted himself to the new and grander scale of yosemite, upon coming out into the midst of ordinary hills and mountains, for several days they seem low and flat and small. a single visit to yosemite dwarfs all other natural wonders and spoils one for all places else. he who has seen it listens quietly to the most enthusiastic rhapsodies of the most widely traveled tourists, and simply answers, with a calm, superior smile, "ah, that's all very well, but you should see _yosemite_." the traveler's university--should such an institution ever exist--can never righteously graduate the most widely traveled tourist, until he can truthfully add to his name, "y. s. t."--yosemite tourist. the big trees. the california big trees are a kind of redwood; or, if the strictest and most scientific judgment does not rank them in the same family, it must, at least, allow a very close relationship. nine groves are already certainly known, and, every year or two, as the exploration of the state becomes more exact, or approaches completion, other smaller groves, straggling groups or solitary clumps, are added to the number. of all those thus far discovered the calaveras grove and the mariposa grove are the most celebrated, both from the extent of the groves and the size and height of the trees composing them. the calaveras grove receives its name from that of the county in which it stands. it is near the source of the south fork of the calaveras river, while the upper tributaries of the mokelumne and the stanislaus rivers flow near it: the former on the north, the latter on the southeast. it is about sixteen miles from murphy's camp, and on or near the road crossing the sierras by the silver mountain pass. this grove has received more visitors and attained greater celebrity than any other, for four reasons: st. it was the first discovered. d. it was nearer the principal routes of travel, hence more easily accessible. d. one can visit it on wheels. th. last, and best for the tired tourist, an excellent hotel at the very margin of the grove; sperry & perry, proprietors. the grove extends northeast and southwest about five eighths of a mile. its width is only about one fifth as great. it stands in a shallow valley between two gentle slopes. its height above the sea is four thousand seven hundred and fifty-nine feet. in late spring or early winter a small brook winds and bubbles through the grove; but under the glare of summer suns and the gaze of thronging visitors, it modestly "dries up." the grove contains about ninety trees which can be called really "big," besides a considerable number of smaller ones deferentially grouped around the outskirts. several of the larger ones have fallen since the grove was discovered, in the spring of ; one has had the bark stripped off to the height of one hundred and sixteen feet, and one has been cut down, or, rather, bored and sawed down. the bark thus removed was exhibited in different cities in this country, and finally deposited in the sydenham crystal palace, england, only to be burned in the fire which destroyed a part of that building some years since. the two trees thus destroyed were among the finest, if not the very finest in the grove. among those now standing, the tallest is the "keystone state;" the largest and finest, the "empire state." the following table gives the height of all the trees measured by the state survey, and their girth six feet from the ground: names of trees. girth. height. keystone state general jackson mother of the forest (without bark) daniel webster richard cobden starr king pride of the forest henry clay bay state jas. king of william sentinel dr. kane arbor vitae queen abraham lincoln maid of honor old vermont uncle sam mother (and son) three graces (highest) wm. cullen bryant u. s. grant gen. scott geo. washington henry ward beecher california uncle tom's cabin beauty of the forest j. b. mcpherson florence nightingale james wadsworth elihu burritt the exact measurement of the diameter and the ascertaining of the age of one of the largest trees in this grove, was accomplished by cutting it down. this was done soon after the discovery of the grove. it occupied five men during twenty-two days. they did it by boring into the tree with pump augers. the tree stood so perfectly vertical that, even after they had bored it completely off, it would not fall. it took three days' labor driving huge wedges in upon one side until the monumental monster leaned, toppled and fell. they hewed and smoothed off the stump six feet above the ground, and then made careful measurements as follows: across its longest diameter, north of centre, feet inches. across its longest diameter, south of centre, " ½ " ------------------- total largest diameter, feet ½ inc's. the shorter diameter, from east to west, was twenty-three feet, divided exactly even, eleven and one half feet from the centre each way. the thickness of the bark averaged eighteen inches. this would add three feet to the diameter, making the total diameter as the tree originally stood, a little over twenty-seven feet one way, and twenty-six feet the other. that is _eighty-five feet in circumference, six feet from the ground_. the age was ascertained thus: after it had been felled, it was again cut through about thirty feet from the first cut. at the upper end of this section, which was, of course, nearly forty feet above the ground, as the tree originally stood, they carefully counted the rings of annual growth, at the same time exactly measuring the width of each set of one hundred rings, counting from the outside inwards. these were the figures: first hundred rings . inches. second " " . " third " " . " fourth " " . " fifth " " . " sixth " " . " seventh " " . " eighth " " . " ninth " " . " tenth " " . " eleventh " " . " twelfth " " . " fifty-five years . " ------------------ ------------ , years. . inches. a small hole in the middle of the tree prevented the exact determining of the number of rings which had rotted away, or were missing from the centre; but allowing for that, as well as for the time which the tree must have taken to grow to the height at which they made the count, it is probably speaking within bounds, to say that this tree was, in round numbers, thirteen hundred years old! as the table shows, this grove contains four trees over three hundred feet high. the heights of these big trees, in both the great groves, are usually overstated. the above measurements were carefully and scientifically made--in several cases repeated and verified--and may be relied on as correct. the "keystone state" enjoys the proud honor of lifting its head higher than any other tree now known to be standing on the western continent. australia has trees a hundred and fifty feet higher. the stories occasionally told of trees over four hundred feet high having once stood in this grove, have no reasonable foundation and are not entitled to belief. neither is it true, as some have marvelously asserted, that it takes two men and a boy, working half a day each, to look to the top of the highest tree in this grove. the calaveras trees, as a rule, are taller and slimmer than those of mariposa. this has probably resulted from their growing in a spot more sheltered from the high winds which sweep across the sierra, to which other groves have been more exposed. the mariposa grove, likewise named from the county in which it stands, is about sixteen miles directly south of the lower hotel in yosemite valley, and about four miles southeast of clark's ranch. like the calaveras grove, it occupies a shallow valley or depression in the back of a ridge which runs easterly between big creek and the south merced. one branch of the creek rises in the grove. the grant made by congress is two miles square and embraces two distinct groves; that is, two collections of big trees, separated by a considerable space having none. the upper grove contains three hundred and sixty-five trees of the true _sequoia gigantea_ species, having a diameter of one foot or over. besides these, are a great number of younger and smaller ones. the lower grove is not as large, and its trees are more scattered. it lies southwesterly from the upper. some of its trees grow quite high up the gulches on the south side of the ridge which separates the two groves. on wednesday, july th, , the largest trees of this grove were carefully measured, under the guidance and with the assistance of mr. clarke himself, one of the state commissioners charged with the care of these groves and of the yosemite valley. to prevent misunderstanding and insure uniformity, each tree was measured three feet from the ground, except where the outside of the base was burned away, when the tree was girted seven and a half feet above ground. the following figures are taken from that day's phonographic journal, written on the spot: the "grizzly giant," seven and one half feet up, measures seventy-eight and one half feet in circumference. three feet above ground this tree measured over a hundred feet round; but several feet of this measurement came from projecting roots, where they swell out from the trunk into the mammoth diagonal braces or shores, necessary to support and stiffen such a gigantic structure in its hold upon the earth. one hundred feet up, an immense branch, over six feet through, grows out horizontally some twenty feet, then turns like an elbow and goes up forty feet. it naturally suggests some huge gladiator, uncovering his biceps and drawing up his arm to "show his muscle." this is the largest tree now standing in the grove, and is the one of which starr king wrote: "i confess that my own feeling, as i first scanned it, and let the eye roam up its tawny pillar, was of intense disappointment. but then, i said to myself, this is, doubtless, one of the striplings of this anak brood--only a small affair of some forty feet in girth. i took out the measuring line, fastened it on the trunk with a knife, and walked around, unwinding as i went. the line was seventy-five feet long. i came to the end before completing the circuit. nine feet more were needed. i had dismounted before a structure _eighty-four feet_ in circumference, and nearly three hundred feet high, and i should not have guessed that it would measure more than fifteen feet through." here, as in yosemite and at niagara, tourists are usually disappointed in the first view. the lifelong familiarity with lesser magnitudes makes it almost impossible for the mind to free itself from the trammels of habit, and leap at a single bound, into any adequate perception of the incredible magnitudes which confront him. one needs spend at least a week among these brobdignagian bulks, come twice a day and stay twelve hours each time, before he grows to any worthy appreciation of their unbelievable bigness. of the other trees, the largest ten, measured three feet above ground, gave the following circumferences: la fayette feet. the governor " chas. crocker " the chief commissioner " governor stanford " washington " pluto's chimney " the big diamond (koh-i-noor) " the governor's wife " the forest queen " others of equal size, possibly greater than some above, were not measured. "the governor" is a generic name, applied in honor of him who may happen to be the actual incumbent at any time. at present, of course, it means gov. haight. it is an actual botanical fact, that the tree has actually _gained_ in _height_ under the present gubernatorial administration. it certainly is not as _low_(e) by several inches as during the reign, or lack of rain, of the preceding incumbent. the same general complimentary intention christened the "governor's wife," which has as graceful a form and as dignified a bearing among trees as such a lady should have among the women of the state. then, too, the tree stands with a gentle inclination toward "the governor," which may not be without its suggestions to those fond of tracing analogies. the "chief commissioner" is the largest of a clump of eight, which stand grouped, as if in consultation, at a respectful distance from the governor. "pluto's chimney" is a huge old stump, burned and blackened all over, inside and out. hibernian visitors sometimes call it "the devil's dhudeen." it is between forty and fifty feet high. on one side of the base is a huge opening, much like a puritan fireplace or a scotch inglenook; while within, the whole tree is burned away so that one can look up and out clear to the very sky through its huge circular chimney. outside, the bark and the roots have been burned wholly away. before the burning, this tree must have equaled the largest. nearly in front of the cabin in the upper grove, and not far from the delicious spring before alluded to, stands a solitary tree having its roots burned away on one side, leaning south, and presenting a general appearance of trying to "swing round the circle." in view of all these facts, some imaginative genius once christened it "andy johnson." the only inappropriate thing in the application of that name was the fact that the tree stood so near a spring of cold water. the "big diamond" or "koh-i-noor" is the largest of a group of four very straight and symmetrical trees occupying the corners of a regular rhombus or lozenge, so exactly drawn as to readily suggest the name "diamond group," by which they have been called. as already remarked, the mariposa grove really consists of two groves--the upper and the lower, which approach within a half mile of each other. the upper grove contains three hundred and sixty-five trees; one for every day in the year, with large ones for sundays. by an unfortunate omission, however, it makes no provision for leap year. this is the principal objection which unmarried spinster tourists have thus far been able to urge against it. the lower grove has two hundred and forty-one trees, generally smaller than those of the upper grove. the total number in both groves, according to the latest official count, is six hundred and six. within ten years several trees have fallen, and others follow them from time to time, so that the most accurate count of them made in any one year might not tally with another equally careful count a year earlier or later. among the prostrate trees lies the "fallen giant," measuring eighty-five feet around, three feet from the present base. the bark, the sapwood, the roots, and probably the original base, are all burned away. when standing, this monster must have been by far the largest in both groves, and, indeed, larger than any now known in the world. it should have been called "lucifer," a name hereby respectfully submitted for the consideration of future tourists. the living trees of this species exude a dark-colored substance, looking like gum, but readily dissolving in water. this has a very acrid, bitter taste, which probably aids in preserving the tree from injurious insects, and preventing the decay of the woody fibre. the fruit or seed is hardly conical, but rather ellipsoidal or rudely oval in form, an inch and a half long by one inch through, and looking far too insignificant to contain the actual germ of the most gigantic structure known to botanical science. their age, indicated by the concentric rings of annual growth, carefully counted and registered by the gentlemen of the state survey, varies from five to thirteen, possibly fifteen, centuries. the word "_sequoia_," is the latin form of the indian _sequoyah_, the name of a cherokee indian of mixed blood, who is supposed to have been born about , and who lived in will's valley, in the extreme northeastern corner of alabama, among the cherokees. his english name was george guess. he became famous by his invention of an alphabet, and written letters for his tribe. this alphabet was constructed with wonderful ingenuity. it consisted of eighty-six characters, each representing a syllable, and it had already come into considerable use before the whites heard anything of it. after a while, the missionaries took up sequoyah's idea, had types cast, supplied a printing press to the cherokee nation, and in started a newspaper printed partly with these types. driven, with the rest of his tribe, beyond the mississippi, he died in new mexico, in . his alphabet is still in use, though destined to pass away with his doomed race, but not into complete oblivion, for his name, attached to one of the grandest productions of the vegetable kingdom will keep his memory forever green. for the foregoing bit of aboriginal biography, we gratefully acknowledge our obligation to prof. brewer and the gentlemen of the state survey, to whom he originally furnished it. had sequoyah's name been cadmus--had the cherokees been phenicians--and had this modern heathen of the eighteenth century invented his alphabet away back before the christian era, his name would have stood in every school history among those of inventors, philosophers, discoverers and benefactors; as it is he's "only an indian." no one can deny, however, that he was one of the best re(a)d men in the history of the world. both the calaveras and the mariposa groves contain hollow trunks of fallen trees, through which, or into which, two and even three horsemen can ride abreast for sixty or seventy feet. each grove, also, has trees which have been burned out at the base, but have not fallen. still standing, they contain or enclose huge charcoal-lined rooms, into which one can ride. the writer has been one of four mounted men who rode their horses into such a cavity in the mariposa grove, and reined their horses up side by side without crowding each other or pressing the outside one against the wall. one who has seen only the ordinary big trees of "down east," or "out west," forests, finds it hard to believe that any such vegetable monsters can really exist. even the multiplied and repeated assurances of friends who have actually "_seen_ them, sir," and "measured them _myself_, i tell you," hardly arrest the outward expression of incredulity, and seldom win the inward faith of the skeptical hearer. fancy yourself sitting down to an after-dinner chat in the fifteen-foot sitting room, adjoining the dining room of equal size. you fall to talking of the "big trees." you say, "why, my dear sir, i have actually rode into, and sat upon my horse in, a tree whose hollow was so big that you could put both these rooms into it, side by side, and still have seven or eight feet of solid wood standing on each side of me. no, sir, not romancing at _all_. it's an actual, scientific, measured _fact_, sir." your friend looks quizzically and incredulously into both your eyes, as he says, "why, now see here, my dear fellow, do you suppose i'm going to believe that? tell a _moderate_ whopper, and back it up with such repeated assertion and scientific authority, and you might possibly make me believe it, or at least, allow it until you were fairly out of hearing; but to sit here at a man's own fireside and tell him such a _monstrous_ story as that, and expect him to swallow it for truth--ah, no, my dear fellow, that's _too_ much, altogether too much." so you have to give it over and drop the argument for the present, in the hope that some one of the numerous excursion parties, now so rapidly multiplying every year, will soon include him, carry him into the actual presence of these veritable monsters of the vegetable kingdom, confront him with their colossal columns, and compel his belief. and yet the general incredulity is hardly to be wondered at, after all. in nearly every one of us, our faith in what _may_ be, largely depends upon our personal knowledge of the _facts_ which _have_ been. in matters pertaining to the outward, the material, the physical world, our actual experience of the past governs our belief as to the future. and even when the objects of our disbelief are set bodily before our vision, and we have actually seen them and handled them, it is often difficult to believe our own eyes. so far is "seeing from believing" when the sight so far surpasses all former experience. there is another grove of big trees in fresno county, about fourteen miles southeast of clark's. it is not far from a conspicuous point called wammelo rock. the state survey did not include it, neither have tourists usually visited it. according to the description of mr. clark, who has partially explored it, it extends for more than two miles and a half in length, by from one to two in width. he has counted five hundred trees in it, and believes it to contain not far from six hundred in all. the largest which he measured had a circumference of eighty-one feet at three feet from the ground. following along the slope of the sierras, to the southeast about fifty miles, between king's and kaweah rivers, we find the largest grove of these trees yet discovered in the state. the state survey partially explored this locality, and have given us the following particulars: the trees form a belt rather than a grove. this belt is found about thirty miles north-northeast of visalia, near the tributaries of the king's and kaweah rivers, and along the divide between. they are scattered up and down the slopes and along the valleys, but reach their greatest size in the shallow basins where the soil is more moist. along the trail from visalia to big meadows the belt is four or five miles wide and extends through a vertical range of twenty-five hundred feet; that is, the trees along the lower edge of the belt stand nearly half a mile in perpendicular height below those along its upper boundary. the length of this belt is as much as eight or ten miles and may be more. these trees are not collected in groves, but straggle along through the forests in company with the other species usually found at this height in the sierras. they are most abundant between six and seven thousand feet above the sea. their number is very great; probably thousands might be counted. in size, however, they are not remarkable; that is, in comparison with those of calaveras and mariposa. but few exceed twenty feet in diameter--the average is from ten to twelve feet, while the great majority are smaller. one tree which had been felled, had a diameter of eight feet, not including the bark, and was three hundred and seventy-seven years old. the largest one seen was near thomas' mill. this had a circumference of one hundred and six feet near the ground, though quite a portion of the base had been burned away. another tree, which had fallen and been burned hollow, was so large that three horsemen could ride abreast into the cavity for thirty feet, its inside height and width being nearly twelve feet. seventy feet in, the diameter of the cavity was still as much as eight feet. the base of this tree could not be easily measured; but the trunk was burned off at one hundred and twenty feet from the base, and at that point had a diameter, not including the bark, of thirteen feet and two inches. at one hundred and sixty-nine feet from its base, this tree was still nine feet through. the indians speak of a still larger tree to the north of king's river. it was not in the power of the state survey to look it up and measure it at that time. all through these forests young big trees of all sizes, from the seedling upwards, were very numerous. at thomas' mill they cut them up into lumber, as if they were the most common tree in the forest. fallen trunks of old trees are also numerous. many of these must have lain for ages, as they had almost wholly rotted away, though the wood is very durable. judging from the number of these trees found between king's and kaweah rivers, it would seem that the big trees best like that locality and its vicinity, so that it is not improbable that a further exploration would show a continuous belt of some fifty or sixty miles in extent. from the researches thus far made, it appears that the big tree is not as strange and exceptional as most suppose. it occurs in such abundance, of all ages and sizes, that there is no reason to conclude that it is dying out, or that it belongs exclusively to some past geological or botanical epoch. the age of the big trees is not as great as that assigned by some of the highest authorities to some of the english yews. and in height they hardly begin to equal that of the australian _eucalyptus amygdalina_, many of which, on the authority of dr. muller, the eminent government botanist, have exceeded four hundred feet. one, indeed, reached the enormous height of _four hundred and eighty feet_, thus overtopping the tallest _sequoia_ by one hundred and fifty-five feet. and in diameter, also, there are trees which exceed the big tree, as, for example, the _baobab_; but these are always comparatively low, rarely reaching the height of more than sixty or seventy feet, while their excessive diameter comes from a peculiarly swollen and distorted base. on the whole, we may safely claim that no known tree in the world equals the california big trees in the combined elements of size and height, and in consequent grandeur, unless, indeed, it may be the _eucalyptus_. the largest australian tree yet reported, is said to be eighty-one feet in circumference, four feet from the ground. this is a highly respectable vegetable, but not quite equal to the certified measurements of some of the largest of the california big trees. so the american tourist through the wonders of california, may yet claim that his country still possesses the loftiest waterfalls, the most overpowering cliffs, and the grandest trees yet known upon the face of the globe. bower cave. the traveler who desires good roads, romantic scenery, comfortable conveyances, and excellent hotel accommodations, will be sure to go in or come out by way of coulterville. this town lies on maxwell creek, a branch of the merced, about eighteen hundred feet above the sea, and not far from the border-land between the "foot-hills" and the mountains proper. the road runs from coulterville nearly northeast, about eight miles, when it strikes the north fork of the merced. along the side of this stream it descends for a short distance, then crosses and passes near the bower cave. this is a picturesque and unique locality, and is well worth a visit. the cave is an immense crack or sink, or both combined, in the solid limestone of the mountaintop. at the surface it presents a somewhat crescent-shaped opening, one hundred and thirty-three feet long, eighty-six feet wide near the centre, and one hundred and nine feet deep in the deepest place. trees grow from the bottom and lift their branches out through the opening at the top, while a beautifully tranquil and wonderfully clear lake occupies the greater portion of the floor. we enter at the north end and go down by a rough but strong and safe staircase. the walls of the cleft are perpendicular, or nearly so, throughout the greater portion of their extent, but near the south end the upper part of the wall projects or overhangs several feet. the bottom has the form of an irregular square, measuring over a hundred feet one way and somewhat less than a hundred the other. from the bottom and near the centre grow three large maples, the largest of which is more than two feet through, and about a hundred and twenty-five feet high. around these trees are benches, capable of seating a score or two of persons. on one side of the wall, some twenty feet above the bottom, is a singular niche or alcove which has been christened the "pulpit." it is occasionally used for the legitimate purpose of similar constructions, though more frequently occupied by the fiddler of some festive party. upon special occasions, such as a fourth of july celebration, they erect tables here and use all the available floor as a dining hall. over a hundred have thus dined here at one time. in one corner, and nearly under the pulpit, is a small but singularly beautiful lake, rendered somewhat ghostly and mysterious by the overhanging rocky wall, and the intercepted light falling through the overshadowing trees. upon this lake is a small boat, in which the imaginative visitor may easily fancy himself crossing the styx, with himself as his own charon. not far from the corner of this lake, nearly under the pulpit, the water is claimed to have an immense depth. in all parts it is so clear that one can plainly see the cracks and crevices in the sloping limestone sides at the depth of forty feet. the vision would, doubtless, penetrate much deeper did not the overhanging walls obstruct the light. having rowed across the lake, as you are returning to the shore, the guide may possibly ask you to keep very quiet while he calls and feeds his fish. he gives a few soft whistles, places his hand in the water, waits a moment, repeats his whistle, and softly whispers, "here they come." up swim several large trout, rub their noses against his hand, and circle slowly around it, evidently waiting for the customary food. and that hand seldom disappoints them. it is a pleasant and restful sight. after enjoying it, seeing them finish feeding, and returning to the landing, you ask the guide how they became so tame. he tells you, that for several weeks after putting them into the lake, which he did some years ago, he came every day, about the same time, softly whistling and gently dropping crumbs and worms into the water. after a few days he began to hold on to one end of a worm while the trout would swim up, take hold of the other end and tug away until he pulled it apart, or the hand let go. after a few months they seemed to have learned to associate the whistling and the feeding, so that whenever they hear the first they swim up in evident expectation of the second. at various heights upon one wall several large cavities or small caves are worn into the rock, some of which admit the tourist for a considerable distance. these make that side of the wall a collection of cells, some of which are high enough to permit the visitor to walk erect; others so low that they compel one who would enter to crawl upon his hands and knees. when first discovered, the walls of these chambers were covered with beautiful stalactites of various sizes and fanciful forms, but the ruthless hands of vandal visitors have gradually broken them off and carried them away, until hardly a trace of their original beauty and variety remains. during the heat of the summer, the time when nearly all visitors enter this cave, its cool and refreshing temperature makes it a comfortable and welcome retreat, especially during the hotter midday hours. the place seems as if nature and art had combined to make it as attractive as possible for hot weather picnics, or midsummer lunch parties. it is difficult to imagine, and almost impossible to discover a more fascinating combination of dell and grotto, grove and lake, cave and bower, than nature has kindly provided for the tourist in the romantic bower cave. alabaster cave. the following account of one of the most beautiful of all nature's marvels, is taken, with few alterations, from yosemite hutchings' book, entitled "scenes of wonder and curiosity in california." the alabaster cave is in el dorado county, twelve and a half miles from folsom by the "whisky bar" road, and ten miles by the el dorado valley turnpike. its more exact location is upon kidd's ravine, about three quarters of a mile from its opening upon the north fork of the american river. from sacramento it is thirty-three miles; by rail to folsom: from auburn, about three miles, by stage. it was discovered in april, , in the following way: a ledge of limestone, resembling marble in appearance, cropped out by the side of el dorado valley turnpike road. upon testing it was found to be capable of producing excellent lime. on the th of april, , two workmen, george s. hatterman and john harris, were quarrying limestone from this ledge, when, upon the removal of a large piece of rock, they discovered a dark opening sufficiently enlarged to permit their entrance. availing themselves of the light pouring in through the opening, they went in as far as they could see--some fifty feet. before venturing further into the darkness, they threw a stone forward, which, striking in water, determined them to return for lights. at this juncture mr. gwinn, the owner of the ledge, came up, and, upon learning of their discovery, immediately sent for candles to enable them to further prosecute their explorations. the result of these, after several hours spent in them, can hardly be better described than in mr. gwinn's own language, taken from a letter, dated april , , addressed to mr. holmes, a gentleman friend of his residing in sacramento, and first published in the _bee_, of that city: "wonders will never cease. on yesterday, we, in quarrying rock, made an opening to the most beautiful cave you ever beheld. on our first entrance we descended about fifteen feet, gradually, to the centre of the room, which is one hundred by thirty feet. at the north end there is a most magnificent pulpit, in the episcopal church style, that man has ever seen. it seems that it is, and should be, called the "holy of holies." it is completed with the most beautiful drapery of alabaster sterites of all colors, varying from white to pink-red, overhanging the beholder. immediately under the pulpit there is a beautiful lake of water, extending to an unknown distance. we thought this all, but, to our great admiration, on arriving at the centre of the first room, we saw an entrance to an inner chamber, still more splendid; two hundred by one hundred feet, with the most beautiful alabaster overhanging in every possible shape of drapery. here stands magnitude, giving the instant impression of a power above man; grandeur that defies decay; antiquity that tells of ages _unnumbered_; beauty that the touch of time makes more beautiful; use exhaustless for the service of men; strength imperishable as the globe, the monument of eternity--the truest earthly emblem of that everlasting and unchangeable, irresistible majesty, by whom, and for whom, all things were made." as soon as the news spread, hundreds of people flocked to see the newly discovered wonder, from all the surrounding mining settlements, so that within the first six days, it was visited by upwards of four hundred persons, many of whom, we regret to say, possessed a larger organ of acquisitiveness than of veneration, and laid vandal hands on some of the most beautiful portions within reach, near the entrance. upon this, the proprietor closed it until arrangements could be made for its protection and systematic illumination; the better to see and not to touch the specimens. at this time messrs. smith & hatterman leased the cave and immediately began to prepare it for the reception of the public by building barricades, platforms, etc., and placing a large number of lamps at favorable points, for the better illumination and inspection of the different chambers. at the time of its discovery, in the spring, considerable water was standing in some of the deepest of the cavities, but it presently began to recede at the rate of nearly six inches a day, and continued to do so, until, in a few weeks, it had entirely disappeared, leaving the cave perfectly dry. this afforded opportunity for further exploration, upon which it was found that a more convenient entrance could be made, with but little labor, from an unimportant room within a few feet of the road. this was accordingly done, and the new opening, in addition to its increased convenience, allows the free circulation of pure air. having thus given a historical sketch of its discovery, with other matters connected with its preservation and management, we shall now endeavor to take the reader with us, at least in imagination, while attempting a detailed description of its interior. upon approaching the cave from the roadside, we descend three or four steps to a board floor. here is a door which is always carefully locked when no visitors are within. passing on we enter a chamber about twenty-five feet long by seventeen feet wide and from five to twelve and a half feet in height. though very plain and comparatively unattractive at both roof and sides, it is yet quite curious, especially to visitors unaccustomed to caves. here is also a desk, upon which lies a book inscribed, "coral cave register." this book was presented by some gentlemen of san francisco, who thought that the name "coral cave" would be more appropriate. the impression produced upon our mind upon the first walk through it, was that "alabaster cave" would be equally as good a name, but, upon examining it more thoroughly, we afterwards thought, that as a great proportion of the ornaments at the roots of the stalactites look like beautifully frozen mosses, or very fine coral, and the long icicle-looking pendants being more like alabaster, the name, coral cave, was to be preferred. but as mr. gwinn had given the name "alabaster" to the works themselves, on account of the purity and whiteness of the limestone there found, even before the discovery of the cave, we cheerfully acquiesce in the name originally given. the register was opened april twenty-fourth, , and upon our visit, september thirtieth of the same year, two thousand seven hundred and twenty-one names had been registered. some three or four thousand persons had visited it before the register was provided, many declined entering their names after it was furnished, and many others visited it after the date of our visit, so that it is probable that the number of persons who entered this cave during the year of its discovery must have been nearly or quite three thousand five hundred. advancing beyond the vestibule, or register room, along another passage or room, our eyes rest on several notices, such as, "please do not touch the specimens," "no smoking allowed," "hands and feet off," with _feet_ scratched out, amputation of those members not intended! the low, shelving, rocky wall upon the left and near the end of the passage are covered with coral-like excrescences, resembling bunches of coarse rock-moss. this brings us to the entrance of the dungeon of enchantment. before us is a broad, oddly-shaped and low-roofed chamber, about one hundred and twenty feet long, by seventy in width, and from four to twenty feet high. bright coral-like stalactites hang down in irregular rows and in almost every variety of shape and shade, from milk-white to cream color; forming a most agreeable contrast with the dark arches and the frowning buttresses on either hand, while low-browed ridges, some almost black, others of a reddish-brown, stretch from either side, the space between which is ornamented with a peculiar kind of coloring which nearly resembles a grotesque species of graining. descending toward the left, we approach one of the most singularly beautiful groups of stalactites in this apartment. some of these are fine pendants, hardly larger than pipestems, from two to five feet long, and hollow from end to end. when the cave was first discovered there were four or five of these pendants over eight feet long, but the early admitted vandals ruthlessly destroyed, or selfishly carried them off. others resemble the ears of white elephants, or, rather, the white elephant of siam, while others still present the appearance of long and slender cones, inverted. examining this and other groups more closely, we discover at their bases coral-like excrescences of great beauty; here, like petrified moss, brilliant, and almost transparent; there, a pretty fungus, tipped and spangled with diamonds; yonder, miniature pine trees, which, with a most obliging disposition to accommodate themselves to circumstances, grow bottom up. in other places appear fleeces of the finest merino or silky floss. leaving these, and turning to the right, we can ascend a ladder into the loftiest part of this chamber. here new combinations of beauty surprise and delight us. thence passing on, we come to a large stalagmite, whose form and size suggest a tying post for horses. this has been dignified, or mystified, anything but beautified, by different names, more or less appropriate. one is "lot's wife." if the woman was no higher than the stalagmite she must have been a dwarf, for the top of the post is but four feet and a quarter above its bottom, while its diameter at the bottom is hardly one foot. its two other names, "hercules' club," and "brobdignag's forefinger," are more appropriate, though the latter would suggest an "exaggeration," as mrs. partington would have it. continuing on, we pass over a gently rising floor resembling solidified snow, until we approach the verge of, and look down into, an immense abyss, surmounted by a cavernous roof. icicle and coral formations depend from the roof, and a rude drapery of jet covers the sides. here is suspended a singular petrifaction resembling a human heart, which looks as if it might have belonged to one of the primitive titans, or come from the chest of that miltonian monster, whose spear-shaft was like a norway pine. on one side of this is an elevated and nearly level natural floor, upon which a table and seats have been temporarily erected for the convenience of choristers, choirs or singing societies, and even for the accommodation of public worship, should any desire to witness or participate in it in this most beautiful of god's natural temples. the lover of sacred music would be delighted beyond measure to hear these "vaulted hills" resound the symphonies of mozart, haydn or mendelssohn. scores of these pendent harps would vibrate in unison, or echo them in delicious harmonies from chamber to chamber, or bear them from roof to wall in diminishing reverberations even to the most remote of these rock-formed corridors. we may not linger here too long, so passing hence, we enter other and smaller chambers, along whose roofs we trace formations that resemble streams of water suddenly arrested in their flow and turned to ice. in another, a peculiarly shaped petrifaction presents a perfectly formed beet from one point of view, while from another it resembles a small elephant's head. not far hence, a bell-shaped hollow, a beautiful combination of grotto and arcade, has received the name of "julia's bower." once more advancing, a narrow, low-roofed passage brings us into the most beautiful chamber of all, the crystal chapel. no language can suitably convey, nor any comparisons worthily suggest, the combined beauty and magnificence of this wonderful spot. "from the beginning," says hutchings, "we have felt that we were almost presumptuous in attempting to portray these wonderful scenes, but, in hope of inducing others to see, with their natural eyes, the sights that we have seen, and enjoy the pleasure that we have enjoyed, we entered upon the task, even though inadequately, of giving an outline--nothing more. here, however, we confess ourselves entirely at a loss. "the sublime grandeur of this imposing sight fills the soul with astonishment that swells up from within as though its purpose was to make the beholder speechless, the language of silence being the most fitting and impressive when puny man treads the great halls of nature, the more surely to lead him, humbly, from these to the untold glory of the infinite one who devised the laws, and superintended the processes that brought such wonders into being. "after the mind seems prepared to examine this gorgeous spectacle somewhat in detail, we look upon the ceiling, if we may so speak, which is entirely covered with myriads of the most beautiful of stone icicles, long, large and brilliant; between these are squares or panels, the mullions and bars of which seem to be formed of diamonds; while the panels themselves resemble the frosting upon windows in the very depth of winter; and even those are of many colors, that most prevailing being of a light pinkish-cream. moss, coral, floss, wool, trees, and many other forms, adorn the interstices between the larger of the stalactites. at the further end is one vast mass of rock, resembling congealed water, apparently formed into many folds and hillocks; in many instances connected by pillars with the roof above. deep down and underneath this is the entrance by which we reached the chamber. "at our right stands a large staglamite, dome-shaped at the top, and covered with beautifully undulating and wavy folds. every imaginable gracefulness possible to the most curiously arranged drapery, is here visible, 'carved in alabaster' by the great architect of the universe. this is named 'the pulpit.' "in order to examine this object with more minuteness, a temporary platform has been erected, which, although detractive of the general effect, in our opinion, affords a nearer and better view of all these remarkable objects in detail. "this spectacle, as well as the others, being brilliantly illuminated, the scene is very imposing, and reminds one of those highly-wrought pictures of the imagination, painted in such charming language and with such good effect in such works as the 'arabian nights.' "other apartments known as the 'picture gallery,' etc., might well detain us longer, but, as in many of their most important particulars, they bear a striking resemblance to those already described, we leave them for the tourist to examine for himself." if what we have said excites the desire of any tourist to visit this new combination of wonder and beauty, we are quite sure he will agree with us that the words of man utterly fail to adequately picture forth the works of god, and will ever after delight his soul with the life-long memory of his charming visit to the wonderful alabaster cave. tourist's complete guide to san francisco, suburbs and vicinity; with special trips and short excursions in and about the city. i. city proper. sketch of the city--historical, topographical, general plan - approaches to the city--from the east, by boat; from the south, by rail; from the ocean, by steamship, - conveyances--hacks, coaches, cars, porters, legal rates, caution, baggage and package express, - hotels--grand, occidental, cosmopolitan, lick house, brooklyn, russ house, american exchange, morton house, international, hotel gailhard, what cheer, (males only), - lodging houses--nucleus, clarendon, restaurants--saulman's, swain's, job's, martin's, lermitte's, - baths--fresh, salt, turkish, russian, roman, steam and vapor, places of amusement--california, metropolitan, alhambra, maguire's, and chinese theatres; museums, melodeons, dance halls, and beer cellars, - halls--platt's, union, pacific, mercantile library, mechanic's institute, y. m. c. a., mozart, dashaway, - billiards, bowling saloons and shooting galleries, - gymnasiums--olympic club, y. m. c. a., german turn verein, skating rinks, base ball ground, - gardens--woodward's, city, - menageries--woodward's zoological grounds, north beach, squares and parks--plaza, (portsmouth square), washington square, south park, promenades--montgomery street, kearny street, california street. best time, - drives--cliff house road, ocean house road, bay view, new ocean road, best time, - libraries and reading rooms--mercantile, mechanic's institute, odd fellow's, pioneers, y. m. c. a., what cheer, woodward's gardens, public buildings--_federal_: post office, custom house, old mint, new mint, marine hospital. _city and county_: old city hall, new city hall, jail, almshouse, industrial school, engine houses, engines. _corporation and society buildings_: pioneer's, merchant's exchange, bank of california, mercantile library building, mechanic's institute, masonic temple, odd fellow's hall, y. m. c. a. building, mechanics' pavilion, - business buildings and blocks--alta california building, bancroft's, donohoe, kelly & co., harpending's block, murphy, grant & co., tobin, dixon & davisson, treadwell's, tucker's, wells, fargo & c.'s building, white house, - manufactories--kimball car and carriage factory, pacific rolling mills, mission woolen mills, foundries and iron works, locomotives, boilers, mining machinery, shot tower and lead works, sugar refinery, glass works, ship yards, - churches--baptist, congregational, episcopal, jewish, methodist, presbyterian, roman catholic, swedenborgian, unitarian, chinese mission house, mariner's church, old mission church, - hospitals and asylums--city and county, french, german, protestant orphan, roman catholic orphan, - colleges--california business university, city college, st. ignatius', st. mary's, toland medical, - school buildings--denman, girl's high, lincoln, valencia street, - printing, lithographing, binding, and blank book manufacturing establishment, - private residences--davis', eldridges, laidley's, latham's, bancroft's, otis', parrott's, tallant's, taylor's, tobin's, points of observation--telegraph hill, russian hill, clay street hill, california street hill, rincon hill, lone mountain, twin peaks, bernal heights, u. s. observatory. views from each, - how to get about--horse car lines, routes, distances, times, fares, buggies, carriages, coaches and saddle horses; qualities of, and charges for. hacks, with rates of hire, - ii. suburbs and vicinity. commencing at the foot of market street, thence southward along or near the water front, continuing around the entire city and returning to the point of starting. also, mentioning more distant points, visible to the spectator looking beyond the suburbs. lumber yards; wharves and merchant fleet; california and oregon s. s. co.'s wharves and ships; black diamond coal co.'s pier; rincon point; u. s. marine hospital; p. m. s. s. co.'s piers, docks, sheds and ships; gas works; c. p. r. r. co,'s freight pier, depot and boat; mission bay; mission rock; u. s. ship anchorage; steamboat reserves; long bridge; yacht club and boat-house, with yachts; potrero; glass works; pacific rolling mill; deep cut; islais creek and bridge; rope walk; italian fishing fleet and flakes; celestial ditto; south san francisco; catholic orphan asylum; hunter's point; dry dock; bay view race course; visitacion point and valley; san bruno road; new butchertown; ocean house road; lake honda; almshouse; small pox hospital; ocean house race track; lake merced; ocean house; pacific beach; seal rocks; cliff house; farallones; point lobos; signal station; helmet rock; fort point; fort; light-house; golden gate; lime point; point bonita; mountain lake; lobos creek; presidio; barracks; parade ground; black point; pacific woolen mills; north beach; angel island; alcatraz; north point; sea wall; ferries, - iii. how to see the city. under this head we suggest: morning, or half-day excursions, in and about the city and its suburbs. i. in and about the city. . montgomery street, telegraph hill, north beach, washington square, the plaza, city hall, kearny street, . chinese quarter, . third street, south park, long bridge, potrero, south san francisco, dry dock, . water front, (south), stewart street, p. m. s. s. co.'s docks and mammoth steamships, foundries, factories, shot tower, . water front, (north), sea wall, north point, warehouses and clippers, iron ships, bay and river steamboats and docks, . southwestern suburbs, mission street, woodward's gardens, old mission church, jewish cemeteries, woolen mills, howard street, . western suburbs and beyond bush street, laurel hill, lone mountain cemeteries, cliff house road, race track, cliff house, seal rocks, pacific beach, ocean house, road track, lake honda, new ocean road, . northwestern suburbs and beyond: russian hill, spring valley, fort point, fortress, lighthouse, golden gate, presidio, black point, san francisco. historical. the site of what is now the city of san francisco was first permanently occupied by white men, september , . the same year witnessed the entrenchment of a garrison and the establishment of a mission. san francisco owes its origin to catholic missionaries and spanish soldiers. father junipero serra led the missionaries--and virtually commanded the soldiers. the name san francisco was given in honor of saint francis of asisis, a city of italy, the founder of the order of franciscans to which father junipero belonged. the presidio, garrison or fort, was founded first, sept. , and the mission about three weeks later, oct. th. the site first chosen was near a small lagoon back of, that is, west of, what is now called russian hill, but the prevailing winds proved so high and bitter as to compel its early removal to the more sheltered spot, over a mile south, under the lee of high hills, and near the present mission creek. here, at the head of what is now center or sixteenth street, the old church still stands. for nearly sixty years the mission stood, the nucleus of a little village of rude adobe houses, tenanted by a fluctuating population of indians, mexicans and spanish--and the center of a military and religious authority, which upon more than one occasion made itself felt and feared for leagues around. the population rarely rose above four hundred and frequently fell to less than a hundred and fifty. in , capt. w. a. richardson put up the first pioneer dwelling, with rude wooden walls and sail-cloth roof. on the fourth of july of the next year, , jacob p. leese finished the first frame house. this house stood where the st. francis hotel now stands,--on the southwest corner of clay and dupont streets, a single block west of the present city hall. leese had his store on the beach, which was where montgomery and commercial streets now intersect. nearly seven solid blocks of made-land now stretch between where that old beach lay and the present water front. other houses soon rose near that of leese, and presently the villagers saw their little settlement fast approaching the dignity of a new town, and cast about to find a name. nature caused it to spring out of the ground for them in the form of a species of aromatic mint, which, surrounding their dwellings, perfuming the morning air and supplying frequent and varied medicinal needs, had proved indeed, as the spaniards called it, "yerba buena," the good herb. so the herb named the town, and the name "_stuck_" as the californians say, for nearly a dozen years. during these years the houses grew in number, until , when the town contained seventy-nine buildings,--thirty-one frame, twenty-six adobe, and the rest shanties--and these houses sheltered three hundred souls, or, at least, that number of bodies. on the th of january of that year, these three hundred dropped the old name yerba buena, and adopted the older one, which had belonged to the neighboring mission for nearly fourscore years. thus the town also became san francisco, and has ever since so remained. the first steamboat appeared in the bay, november th of the same year. in march, , the houses had grown to two hundred, and the population to eight hundred and fifty. on the third of the next month, the first public school began. new year's day, ' , the new city claimed a population of two thousand. three days later the two previously published weekly papers merged into the alta california, the earliest established of all newspapers now existing in the state. the early miners were making from twenty to thirty dollars a day, getting "bags" of dust and "piles" of nuggets, and rushing down to "frisco" to gamble it away. these were the "flush times" of the new city. fresh eggs cost from seventy-five cents to one dollar apiece. for a beefsteak and a cup of coffee for breakfast one had to pay a dollar and a half, and a dinner cost him from two to ten or even twenty dollars, according to appetite and drinketite. rough labor brought the old congressional pay of eight dollars a day; draymen earned twenty dollars a day; and family "help" could hardly be had for forty, or even fifty, dollars a week. the great mass of the men lived in tents. very few women had come, but those few were overwhelmed with attention; if one wished to cross the street in the rainy season, a score of brawny arms would fight for the privilege of gallantly wading through the sea of mud to carry her across the unpaved street. great fires came, four of them; the first the day before christmas, ' --it burned over a million dollars worth; the second, may th, ' --it destroyed three millions dollars worth. a little over a month later, june th, , the most destructive fire the city ever saw left it poorer by four millions of dollars; and on the th of the next september the fourth fire consumed another half million. nearly nine million dollars worth burned in less than nine months! business thrived immensely. in , more than seven vessels a day arrived at or departed from san francisco. commerce overdid itself. long piers ran out over the flats where now solid blocks of lofty buildings have stood for half a score of years. sometimes storms kept back the clippers; then prices went still higher. between march and november, flour went up from eight to forty dollars a barrel, while the "alta" came down from its usual broad and sightly page to the size of a pane of window-glass, fourteen by ten. villainy flourished; drinking, gambling, robbery and murder held high carnival; the law did little, and did that little shabbily and tardily; so the people woke and resumed their original legislative, judicial, and especially their executive, functions. in ' and ' , and again in ' , they came nobly to the front, hung the worst villains who defied the common law, frightened away the others, restored order, established security for honest men, and resolved themselves again into law-abiding citizens. and thus, through perils of fire, social convulsions, and financial fluctuation, the cosmopolitan city has swept swiftly on until to-day, though having barely attained her majority, she stands in the first half-score of american cities. every year she leaves a city or two behind in her steady progress toward the throne of the continent which she will surely occupy before the present century has fully fled. situation and extent. in extent, population, commerce, wealth and the growth, san francisco of to-day is not only the chief city of california, but the great commercial metropolis of the whole pacific slope. it is both a city and a county; the county occupies the extreme end of a hilly peninsula stretching north to the golden gate, between the pacific ocean on the west, and san francisco bay on the east. the whole peninsula has a length of from thirty-five to forty miles, with an average width of from twelve to fifteen miles. the average width of the county from bay to ocean is four and one half miles, and its extreme length, from the golden gate on the north, to the san mateo county line on the south, is six miles and a half. its boundary line being the natural one of a coast or shore on the west, north and east, is more or less irregular; on the south it is straight. its entire area is , acres, including the presidio reservation of , acres, which belongs to the general government. the county also includes the farallon islands, lying nearly thirty miles west in the pacific ocean, with the islands of alcatraz and yerba buena, or goat island, in san francisco bay. the city proper occupies the northeast corner of the county. its limits extend about two miles and a half from east to west, by three and a half from north to south, thus including between one fifth and one sixth the area of the county. the natural surface was very uneven and the soil equally varied--sand beach, salt marsh, mud flats, low plains, narrow ravines, small and shallow valleys, elevated benches or plateaux, sandy knolls and dunes, and stretches of the close, adobe soil, made up its original surface; while rocky bluffs fortified its shore line, and extensive ledges underlaid its hills or cropped out from their sides, or crowned their tops. these hills varied in height from two hundred and sixty to four hundred and ten feet, while west and south of the city limits they rose still higher. one or two small lagoons lay sluggishly about, and as many small streams found their way thence to the bay. the original founders of the city, as is usual in similar cases, seemed never to suspect that they were moulding the beginnings of a grand metropolis. hence they laid out what little they did project with the least possible regard to present symmetry, or the probable demands of future growth. the natural inequalities of surface, the grade and width of streets which must become necessary to a large city, reservations for public buildings, promenades, gardens, parks, etc., with the sanitary necessity of thorough drainage, were matters of which they seem to have been serenely unconscious, or, worse still, sublimely indifferent. and many of their immediate successors in authority were legitimate descendants, or humbly imitative followers. we have not an important street in the city which conforms its course to the cardinal points of the compass, and but one main avenue, market street, which begins to be wide enough. as cronise truthfully says: "the whole town stands _askew_." we now proceed to "orient" the tourist, as horace mann used to say, in regard to such streets, avenues, thoroughfares, cuts, parks, etc., as mainly constitute the highly artificial, though not particularly ornamental, topography of our little occidental village. general plan. market street is the widest and the longest, starting at the water front, half a mile east of the old city hall, and slightly ascending through eight or nine blocks, it runs thence southwesterly on a nearly level grade beyond the city limits. its western end is yet unfinished. a mile and a half from the water it cuts through a moderately high and immoderately rocky hill, beyond which it stretches away toward the unfenced freedom of the higher hills, and the dead level of the western beach beyond, at which it will probably condescend ultimately to stop. its surface presents every variety of natural conformation ingeniously varied with artificial distortion. plank, rubble, mcadam, cobble, nicolson, gravel, stow foundation, gravel, adobe, sand, and finally undisguised dirt, offer their pleasing variety to the exploring eye. from two to four horse-railroad tracks diversify its surface with their restful regularity, while the steam cars from san josé follow their locomotive a short distance up its western end. stately blocks, grand hotels, massive stores, lofty factories, tumble-down shanties, unoccupied lots and vacant sand-hills form its picturesque boundary on either hand. when the high summer winds sweep easterly down its broad avenue, laden with clouds of flying sand from vacant lots along its either margin, it becomes a decidedly open question whether the lots aforesaid really belong in the department of real estate, or should, properly enter the catalogue of "movable property." we have dwelt thus at length upon this street, not only on account of its central position and superior dimensions, but because it is a representative street. others are like it as far as they can be. they would resemble it still more closely, did length, width and direction permit. it is fast becoming the great business street of the city, and, spite of the roughness and crudeness necessarily attaching to all the streets of a new and fast-growing city, it unmistakably possesses all the requisites of the future "grand avenue" of the pacific metropolis. on the northeast of market street, through the older portion of the city, the streets run at right angles with each other, though neither at right angles or parallel with market. one set runs, in straight lines, nearly north and south. the other set, also straight, crosses the former at right angles, that is, running nearly east and west. the principal of these streets, as one goes from the bay westerly, back toward the hills, and, in fact, some distance up their slopes, are front, battery, sansome, montgomery, kearny, dupont, stockton, powell, mason, taylor, and a dozen others, of which those nearer the bay are gradually growing into importance as business streets, especially along the more level portions of their southern blocks, near where they run into market street. beyond these, that is, west of them, the streets are chiefly occupied by dwelling houses, among which are many expensive residences of the most modern construction and elegant design. between front street and the bay run two shorter streets, davis and drumm, along which, as well as upon the northern part of front street, are several of the principal wharves, piers, docks and steamboat landings. at right angles with these streets, running back at an acute angle from market street, and at a right angle with the water front as well as the streets already named, are geary, post, sutter, bush, pine, california, sacramento, clay, washington, jackson, pacific, broadway, with a dozen or more others still further north, and a score or so south. along the eastern blocks of these streets, that is, within five or six squares of the water, stand many of the leading business houses, hotels, newspaper offices, etc. a sufficient variety of pavement diversifies the surface of all these streets--from the primitive, original and everlasting cobble, destroyer of quiet, destruction to wheels and death on horses, to the smooth-rolling nicolson and the beautifully level stow foundation, blessed bane of all the above abominations, and not a specially bad thing for the contractors. the sidewalks generally have a liberal breadth. they are commonly covered with plank, asphaltum or brick, and, near the corners and in front of the numerous rum-holes, with gangs of bilks or crowds of loafers, who have only, as sydney smith once said of a certain vestry in london, to lay their heads together to make a first-class wooden pavement. south of market street, that is, in the newer and more rapidly growing portion of the city, the streets were laid out under a new survey, and, of course, have an angle and direction of their own. one set runs parallel with market, that is, nearly southwest and northeast. their names, in receding order from market, are mission, howard, folsom, harrison, bryant, brannan, etc. these streets are generally wider than those of the older, northern part. southeast of them are seven or eight parallel streets, gradually growing shorter as they come nearer the mission bay, ending in south street, less than a block and a half long, lying along the water front. the lower or eastern ends of nearly all these streets run down to piers and wharves, upon which are the leading lumber and coal yards of the city, the largest hay and grain barns and sheds, and the immense docks of the great pacific mail steamship company. nearly two miles back from the water front all these streets "swing around the circle" far enough to bring them into an exactly north and south line, and creep southward down the peninsula, a block or two farther south every season. the streets running at right angles with market street, beginning at the water front and reckoning back southwesterly, are named by their numbers, first, second, etc., up to thirtieth, and even beyond. between first street and the present water front, some six or seven blocks have been filled in and are occupied chiefly by gas works, lumber yards and large manufactories. the new streets thus formed are named, in receding order from first street, fremont, beale, main, spear, stuart and east. to reduce blocks to miles, one has only to know that in the older part of the city the blocks, reckoning east and west, number twelve to the mile, including the streets between. from north to south they are shorter, numbering sixteen to the mile. south of market street the blocks are about one seventh of a mile long from east to west, and one ninth of a mile wide. in both the older and newer parts of the city, the regular standard blocks are frequently subdivided by one, and sometimes two, smaller streets, running through them each way. near the city front, the first six blocks, reckoning back from the water, have from one half to two thirds the standard size. bearing these dimensions in mind, one can readily reduce blocks to miles, and calculate distance and time accordingly. approaches to the city. from only one direction can the traveler approach the city by land; that is, by coming up from the south, through san josé and the intervening places. from every other direction one approaches by water. between sacramento and san francisco there are two principal routes by rail. the first brings the tourist to vallejo, sixty miles, and thence twenty-three miles by boat, making a total of eighty-three miles, over the shortest and quickest route. time, four hours and a half, fare, $ . . approaching by this route, he comes down upon the city from the northeast. on the left, the san pablo, berkeley, oakland and alameda shores, rising gently back into broad plains, whose further edges fringe the feet of the back-lying hills. beyond the hills, mount diablo. on the larboard bow, as the sailors say, that is, a little southwest, rises goat island, or yerba buena, three hundred and forty feet. this island looks "very like a whale," and in outline seems a very monster among leviathans at that. directly south the waters of the bay stretch so far that one can seldom discern the shore line, and may easily fancy himself looking out to sea in that direction. further round to the right, that is, more westerly, he may catch a glimpse of hunter's point with the chimney and engine house of the dry dock. nearer lies the potrero, with the suburban city fast creeping up the sides, and crowning the summit of its rocky promontory. from the beach, at its nearest base, stretch out the piers and rise the grimy buildings of the pacific rolling mills. still nearer you see the south end of the long bridge, stretching southerly across mission bay, and connecting the potrero with the city. in a line with the further end of this bridge, and a mile or more nearer, we have the piers and sheds of the pacific mail steamship company, with the immense ships of their china line, the largest wooden vessels afloat. the steep slope just to the right of them, on which you see the upper stories of a large brick building, is rincon hill, and the building is the u. s. marine hospital. that monument, as it seems, is the shot tower, while in front of, around and beyond it, you see the usual medley of ordinary city buildings, here and there rising into single or double church spires, broken by the bulk of some big business block, and relieved by the regular lines of intersecting streets. right of rincon hill, where the city fills a broad hollow, you are looking over what was once the "happy valley" of early times. in a line beyond it lies the mission, which you cannot now discover, backed by the "twin peaks," and the high hills which form the back-bone of the peninsula. still following around, the larger buildings of the older city meet the eye, gradually rising up the southern slope. those singular minarets or mosque-like twin towers or spires, surmount the jewish synagogue. here and there a church spire shoots above the roofs, but one sees fewer of them than in eastern cities of equal size, because the possibility of earthquakes, and the certainty of high winds, restrain architects and builders from attempting anything too lofty or exposed. several of the finest churches in the city, spread out on the earth much more than they rise toward heaven. one reason may be that they do not own far in the latter direction. north of the synagogue towers, the hill still rises through three blocks, when it reaches its full height in california street hill. then a slight depression in the hill-top outline, followed by another rise into the clay street and washington street hill, two blocks north and three blocks west of the former. the higher hill still further north but nearer the front, is the famous land-mark and signal-station, telegraph hill, from whose top the long familiar observatory has but recently disappeared; prostrated on a stormy night last winter, by one of the giant winds whose fury it had so long defied. beyond, or to the right of telegraph hill, the city falls away to the northwest, and the bay shore also trends in that direction. black point, the presidio, and finally fort point, bring us to the golden gate. unfolding to empire its way, wide opened by gold and by fate, swung by tides which no nation can stay, here standeth the continent's gate. through the narrow gate one has a single glimpse of the grand old sea, which stretches so peacefully away under the sunset. for northern gate-post you have lime point; and thence the vision rests on high hills packed in behind, and gradually lifting the gaze to mount tamalpais, beyond whose sharply-cut summit, nothing of note attracts the sight. between us and tamalpais, four miles nearer and half a mile lower, close at the water's edge, we have the small but beautifully situated town of saucelito, with its sheltered picnic grounds and tranquil bay. beyond the saucelito bay you can almost see through raccoon strait, and discover that the higher land nearer the boat is not a point, but an island. its name is angel island. it is the largest and most valuable island in the bay. the government owns it and occupies its southwestern side with barracks, garrison and parade grounds. several batteries dot the shore at different points, and a military road around the island, connects them with the garrison. this other small island of solid rock, crowned with a heavy fortress and girt with forts and batteries, is alcatraz, the pacific gibraltar. instead of coming by way of vallejo, the passenger from sacramento may come by rail through stockton, forty-eight miles; thence by rail to oakland, eighty-six miles; and thence by boat to san francisco, four miles; making a total distance of one hundred and thirty-eight miles, all rail except the last four. through fare, $ . . by this route you approach the city on the east, and have only to change the point of sight from northeast to east, and remember that goat island will be seen close by on the right hand, that is, north of the boat, to make the description of the approach from vallejo almost equally accurate and easily adaptable for the approach from oakland, which is the direction from which the great majority approach. those who may prefer can have their choice of a third way from sacramento, and a second from stockton; that is by steamer, usually leaving each of those cities at noon, and due in san francisco in eight hours. from sacramento by water the distance is one hundred and twenty-five miles, and the fare, $ . ; from stockton, one hundred and twenty miles, fare, $ . ; dinner on board, $ . ; staterooms, $ . , single berths, $ . . these boats reach san francisco so early one seldom needs a stateroom, except in case of illness, or a strong desire for seclusion. both lines of steamers land at the same pier, at the foot of broadway, from ten to twelve blocks from the leading first-class hotels. the only important route of approaching san francisco, and riding into the city by land, lies on the south, coming from gilroy, san josé, santa clara, redwood city, and intermediate places, in the cars of the southern pacific railroad. coming in by this route, one traverses the fertile plains of the santa clara valley, and skirts the foot-hills lying along the western base of the almost mountains, which form the divide between the bay slope and the ocean slope of the broad peninsula. near redwood city, and for the succeeding fifteen miles, the track runs between fresh water fields on the west and salt water marsh upon the east. from the twelve-mile farm in, we strike nearer the centre of the constantly narrowing peninsula, and near san miguel catch the first glimpse of the broad pacific. the large building just west of the track is the industrial school, our california house of reformation. the southern suburbs of the city, through which we enter, present nothing remarkable beyond the usual medley of old shanties, broad vegetable gardens, pleasant, home-like cottages, and here and there the more pretentious suburban residence, increasing in number as we come nearer the centre. we come in by valencia street, and reach the station upon market, just east of its junction with valencia. ocean approach. besides the approaches already mentioned, one may come in from panama, mexico, oregon, the sandwich islands, australia, japan or china. from whichever he may come, for the last ten miles before reaching the dock, his track will be the same. a few miles west of fort point, all these various ocean routes converge into one, enter san francisco bay by the golden gate, and bear away southward until they intersect, and for a short distance coincide with, the approach from vallejo, already briefly described. conveyances. hacks.--approaching the wharf or the railroad station, you encounter the usual jargon of hotel and baggage runners, each shouting his hotel, hack or coach, as if strength of lungs was his chief stock in trade. it is but simple justice to san francisco hackmen, however, to say that a more obliging, prompt, and courteous set, can hardly be found in any american city of equal size. that travelers may exactly understand for themselves the law regulating hacks and coaches, we quote order no. , of the board of supervisors of the city and county of san francisco: section . "for a hackney carriage drawn by more than one horse, for one person, not exceeding one mile, $ . , and for _more_ than one person, not exceeding one mile, $ . ; and for each additional mile, for _each_ passenger, cents. for a hackney carriage drawn by one horse, for one person, not exceeding one mile, $ . ; for more than one person, not exceeding one mile, $ . ; for each passenger, for each additional mile, cents." sec. . "from any landing of any steamboat, to any point east of the west line of larkin street, and north of the south line of brannan street, and east of third street, shall, in all cases, be estimated not to exceed one mile." in forty-nine cases out of fifty, no newly-arrived gentleman or lady will have any personal need to know the law; the foregoing is written mainly for the fiftieth. bear in mind that these rates, like all fares and charges in the golden state, are payable in gold or its equivalent coin; also, that they are the _highest_. hackmen often carry for less. coaches.--besides the hacks, one may find hotel coaches, which carry free to the hotel for which they run, or charge fifty cents for each passenger within the limits above specified. cars.--the red cars of the city front line pass the head of the dock every five minutes. these carry one to the very door of the "cosmopolitan," and "occidental" hotels, within one block of the "lick house," and two blocks of the "grand hotel." directly across the street from the pier of the sacramento and stockton steamers, half a block from the landing for passengers by rail, and one block from the landing of those coming by vallejo, the green cars of the sutter street line carry one directly by the "cosmopolitan," the "lick house," and the "occidental," and within half a block of the "grand." on both these lines the rate is ten cents coin for a single fare, or twenty-five cents for a coupon ticket good for four rides. wagons.--at or near any landing, one can always find numbered express wagons, waiting to carry baggage for from cents to $ . , according to bulk, weight, or distance. porters.--black, white and yellow, will serve you for "two bits," that is cents, for carrying any reasonable package within reasonable distance. it is well, however, to keep your eye on porter and package. baggage and package expresses.--half an hour or more before reaching the city, either by car or boat, agents of the above companies will take your checks and your money, give you a receipt for both, and deliver your baggage, for cents for each ordinary-sized trunk or valise, at any place within the single-fare limits already given. these are reliable and responsible companies, whose agents none need fear to trust. they deliver baggage promptly and in as good condition as received. hotels. the foreign tourist can witness to the great lack of really fine hotels abroad. all england hardly furnishes a single hotel to rank with the best of our second-class hotels in america. outside of boston, new york, philadelphia, chicago, st. louis, and cincinnati, few, even of the northern cities, present any notable hotel attractions to the temporary guest. new orleans has a single good hotel, but hardly one of the other southern cities has yet outgrown the old-fashioned "tavern." in respect to these--in good hotels--by the immediate and unanimous verdict of every tourist, san francisco stands preëminent. nowhere on the continent can the traveler find beds, tables and rooms superior to those of the "grand," the "occidental," the "cosmopolitan," and the "lick house," and in no large city of america will he find as reasonable charges, considering the amount and quality of accommodation and the style of service rendered. the usual standard rate at the four leading first-class houses, is $ . a day, for board and room. at the "brooklyn," "russ," and "american exchange," the rates are $ . to $ . a day, for good rooms and equally good board. the grand hotel.--this magnificent hotel is the newest of all. it stands on the south side of market street, occupying the whole block from new montgomery to second street, and stretching southward along new montgomery, across stevenson street to jessie. its north front is feet, its west front feet, thus covering over one acre and a half of ground. its height is three stories, surmounted by a mansard roof, containing a fourth. its style of architecture may be called the "modern combination," highly ornamented. in method of construction, it is a complete frame building, surrounded by brick walls of unusual thickness. its four hundred rooms include chambers, parlors and suits of the amplest dimensions and the richest furnishing. the halls, corridors and stairways are spacious and airy. through all the halls, at intervals of every few feet, hang coils of fire-hose, each attached to full hydrants, and always ready for instant use. bath-rooms and toilets abound. barber-shop, billiard room, and the most elegantly frescoed bar-room upon the coast, occupy the most convenient portions of the basement and first floor. an amply-supplied reading-room, with most luxurious chairs, invites and detains all weary guests. branch offices of the leading telegraphs, postal delivery box, and all needed facilities for correspondence, are at hand. hacks stand constantly at the three spacious entrances, and four leading lines of horse-cars radiate thence to every portion of the city and suburbs. the dining-hall accommodates three hundred. its tables are of moderate size, surrounded by plenty of room, loaded with abundant "substantials," flanked with all the latest delicacies, and served in the most attentive manner. breakfast rooms for private parties, and separate eating-rooms for servants and children, immediately adjoin the main dining-hall. a large and well-appointed laundry promptly accommodates guests. if there's anything else imaginable in the whole list of first-class hotel accommodations, just mention it to your obliging host johnson, or his courteous and efficient adjutant, ridgeway, and it shall go hard but they will furnish it for you at once, if it is to be had within the limits of telegraph and express. the occidental.--this popular standard house stands upon the east side of montgomery; its west front occupies the whole block from bush street to sutter; stretches its north flank half a block down bush street, while its south flank goes a hundred and sixty-seven feet down sutter street. vertically it rises six stories into the sunshine. four hundred and twelve elegant single and double rooms, with numerous suits having ample bathing and other accommodations, besides ladies' parlors, dining-halls, billiard-hall, convenient offices, broad stairways, spacious halls, and roomy passages, make up this truly magnificent mammoth establishment. the carpets and furniture are of the most elegant and costly description. a large and beautifully-fitted patent safety elevator adjoins the grand staircase near the main hall, and reading-room at the montgomery street entrance. near the main entrance is a telegraph-office--hacks stand always in front, and four leading lines of horse-cars pass the three entrances. a newspaper and periodical stand, with post-office letter-box, complete the conveniences of the reading-room. the walls are braced with iron, and securely anchored, besides being connected across the building by heavy iron ties on every story. manager, philip mcshane. cosmopolitan hotel.--this worthy compeer of the two already described, occupies the southwest corner of bush and sansome streets. centrally-located, elegantly-constructed, conveniently-arranged, and well-furnished, this house is one of the largest and newest first-class hotels. an extensive addition, including some scores of single and double rooms, richly furnished in the most modern style, sufficiently indicate its prosperity. tubbs & patten, managers. lick house.--west side of montgomery, between sutter and post streets. its east front occupies the entire block between these two streets, and runs up between one and two hundred feet of each of them. whilst this house is excellently finished and furnished throughout, it is especially celebrated for its elegant dining-hall, which is probably more artistically-planned and exquisitely-finished than any public dining-hall in the world. jno. m. lawlor & co., managers. brooklyn hotel.--next to the elegant hotels already named, one may reckon the "brooklyn"--on bush street, north side, between montgomery and sansome. this excellent house makes a specialty of accommodating families, having an unusually large number of suits of rooms especially designed for their comfort. its rates are about two thirds of those before mentioned. hotel coaches convey all guests to the house free of charge. messrs. kelly & wood, proprietors. besides the "brooklyn," the traveler not wishing to stop at any of the grander and dearer houses, may have his choice of the "russ house," west side of montgomery, from sutter to pine, messrs. pearson & seymour, proprietors; the "american exchange," sansome street, west side, corner of halleck, timothy sargent, proprietor; the "morton house," formerly orleans hotel, post street, south side, just above kearny; and the "international hotel," weygant & partridge, - jackson street, north side, just below kearny. european plan.--one fond of this style, may suit himself at gailhard's hotel, nos. and pine street, pereira & co., proprietors. "what cheer house"--this famous hotel combines the lodging-house and restaurant under one roof, with a success of which no old californian needs be told. besides the usual reading-room, it has also an extensive library and museum, free to all guests; r. b. woodward, proprietor, - sacramento street. lodging houses. among these we name the "nucleus" and the "clarendon" as equal to the best. the "nucleus" stands on the southeast corner of third and market streets; david stern, proprietor. the "clarendon house," john m. ward, manager, folsom street, northwest corner of second, is new and central. restaurants. whether a man eats to live or lives to eat, he can readily suit himself here. at present rates, the traveler can get better food, greater variety, and more of it for the same money, than in any eastern city. among the best restaurants, are saulmann's, california street, north side, between montgomery and kearny; swain's family bakery and restaurant, market, north side, between montgomery and kearny; martin's, commercial street; job's, kearny; and lermitte's coffee saloon, merchant street. baths. the hotels usually furnish first-class facilities without the trouble of going out from under the roof. should anyone, however, wish a more extended application of fresh or salt water, hot or cold, vapor or steam, turkish, russian or roman, he has come to the very place where they have them even better than in their original countries. if you doubt it, ask bayard taylor. zeile's baths, at pacific street, north side, between montgomery and kearny, furnish more natural facilities and improved artificial appliances for the scientific application of russian, turkish, and roman baths, than any other establishment in europe or america. the visitor will be surprised at the extent and completeness of every appointment in dr. zeile's establishment. places of amusement. no matter how busy you may be at home, you are _here_ for enjoyment. when evening comes you want a good lecture, concert or play. we have them all--the first occasionally, the last two regularly. the newest, largest and finest play house is the california theater, on the north side of bush street between kearny and dupont: john mccullough, lessee and manager. if there's a good play in the city, we generally find it here; if there are comfortable chairs and luxurious boxes anywhere, they are certainly here; and if there's an artist of good taste and a successful manager combined in one man, his name is john mccullough. the theater is new and spacious, having comfortable seats for over three thousand, one of the largest stages in the united states, with complete mechanical appliances, and finely-painted scenery and drop-curtain. metropolitan theater.--montgomery street, north side, between washington and jackson. occasionally occupied for transient engagements, often presenting excellent plays. has fine acoustic properties; seats two thousand. alhambra, bush street. this is a snug and tasty combination of theater, minstrels and opera house, usually presenting some popular and spicy blending of wit, art and song. maguire's opera house.--washington street, north side, between montgomery and kearny; thomas maguire, proprietor. this is the famous old theater in which forrest, kean and booth delighted the california audiences of earlier days. chinese theater.--at no. jackson street the curious visitor may witness the most curious medley ever put upon a stage and called a play. an interminable and unintelligible jargon of ding-dong, clatter-clatter, tum-tum and rattle-rattle-rattle combined with falsetto screeches, wonderful gymnastics, graceful contortions, terrific sword combats, and strange old oriental masqueradings, is what you may see in the celestial play house. half an hour of it will fully satisfy you; but every eastern visitor must needs endure at least so much. museums--woodward's.--at woodward's gardens, mission street, between thirteenth and fourteenth. this contains over ten thousand specimens of zoology, ornithology, indian relics, alcoholic collections, natural curiosities, ancient coins, etc., besides a beautifully arranged and finely lighted art gallery, including several rare old pictures, and a sort of floral museum in the shape of a charming conservatory, wherein fragrance vies with beauty to delight and detain. melodeons, dance halls, beer cellars.--we hardly anticipate that the average tourist will care to be "guided" into places under this heading, but the philosophic student of human nature, as well as the curious observer of social customs, cannot consider his knowledge of any city complete until he has personally seen and actually known, not only the highest, but the lowest, amusements extensively patronized by its people. like all other large cities, san francisco has its share of low haunts in which really modest, and sometimes meritorious, performances blend with a much larger proportion of immodest, meretricious and disgraceful ones. halls. platt's hall.-- montgomery, east side, just north of bush street, is one of the most popular in the city. popular concerts, literary lectures, religious anniversaries, educational celebrations, magical entertainments, military balls and social dances, succeed each other so rapidly that there are few nights, especially in the pleasure season, when platt's hall does not offer something worth going to see. henry b. platt, proprietor. union hall.--south side of howard, near third. this is the largest permanent hall in the city, and a grand place for unusually large social parties, exhibitions, political conventions and popular mass meetings. it easily accommodates upwards of three thousand. pacific hall.--in the california theater building, north side of bush, just above kearny. this is a centrally-located, tastefully-finished double hall, that is, two connected so as to be used singly or jointly according to need. capacity, fifteen hundred. mercantile library hall.--in the basement of the mercantile library association building, north side of bush street, between montgomery and sansome. elegantly finished in pure white, with paneled and ornamented walls and ceilings. accommodates eight hundred. the closeness of the neighboring buildings gives it a bad light by day, but no hall in the city lights up more brilliantly at night. mechanics' institute hall.--upon the lower floor of the building of that association, south side of post street, between montgomery and kearny. this is another newly-constructed, conveniently-planned, well-furnished and centrally-located hall, with a medium capacity of about six hundred. y. m. c. a. hall.--young men's christian association building, north side of sutter, just west of kearny. a remarkably neat, well-proportioned, lofty and well-ventilated hall, having its capacity largely increased by a conveniently-sloping gallery stretching across the whole of one side, and throwing forward its flanks at either end. capacity, six hundred and fifty. dashaway hall.--dashaway society's building, south side of post, between kearny and dupont. this singular name belongs to the pioneer temperance organization of the pacific coast. its origin can hardly be better stated than in the brief sentences of tuthill, in his history of california: "a company of firemen, howard no. , sitting in their engine house late at night, january st, , celebrating new year's after the custom of the country, fell to musing over their future prospects, and were vouchsafed a vision of their probable fate. at last they solemnly agreed to discontinue the use of intoxicating liquor, or, as they phrased it, to "_dash away_ the cup." they accordingly organized a temperance society of "dashaways," with frank e. r. whitney, chief engineer of the fire department of san francisco, as their first president, pledging themselves to drink nothing intoxicating for five and one half months. they kept their promise, and liked it so well that, before reaching the limit of their self-imposed pledge, they renewed it for all time." thus began the first temperance society of california, which has enrolled thousands of names, erected a fine building, founded a large library, and maintains weekly lectures to this day. in a country where wine is fast becoming a chief production, and whose greatest present danger is the social glass, the origin, efforts and success of the pioneer temperance organization merit more than passing notice. billiards.--tournaments and champions of this king of in-door games compel brief mention of this popular amusement and the places where one may best enjoy it. every leading hotel has a fine billiard room attached; those of the four first named are palatial in the elegance and richness of their finish and furniture. bowling saloons and shooting galleries.--we set these together, not because of any particular affinity between the two, but because the city has hardly enough of either to make an item of one alone. at the southwest corner of montgomery and pine, the enthusiastic bowler may probably find as many pins as he can prostrate, with attendants who can set them up as fast as he can knock them down; while at kearny street, he can keep up his practice, if already an expert, or "get his hand in," if a novice, at "shooting folly as she flies." those wishing the longer range for rifle practice, find it at hermann's, near the presidio, that is, on one's way to fort point. gymnasiums. although nominally a christian land, california has yet many sturdy "musclemen" within her borders, while her larger cities have several schools of various kinds, for the training of young disciples in "muscular christianity." chief among these in san francisco, stands the olympic club, the largest physical culture club in the state. founded in , during its eleven years of ceaseless and increasing activity, over five thousand persons have availed themselves of its admirable facilities for acquiring or perfecting one's ability to "travel on his muscle." it is by no means an association of boys, or of young men only; some of the best known gray-beard pioneers, with many of the leading merchants and professional men, have enthusiastically enjoyed their daily "play-spell" within its walls for many years, and they do it still. at sutter street, south side, just below montgomery, one may find their spacious and lofty hall, amply supplied with all the paraphernalia of modern gymnastics, and adorned with several large paintings in oil, by prominent artists who are also olympics, besides the photographs of past and present leading members. the san francisco turn-verein have their hall and rooms on the north side of o'farrell, between mason and taylor. organized in , it is the oldest association in the state, owns its premises, and has an actual present membership of nearly six hundred. it is, of course, conducted upon the german plan. y. m. c. a.--those who want a roll at the pins upon strictly orthodox principles, or to punch each other's heads under the sanction of christianity, can escape, or at least modify, the censure of their uncharitable spiritual superiors, by resorting to the very neat and comfortable gymnasium in the basement of the young men's christian association building, already described. this has the great advantage and the unquestionable attraction of providing for ladies also. it has all the necessary conveniences of bath-rooms and dressing-rooms attached. skating rinks.--mercury, the fleet messenger of the gods, is fabled to have had _wings_ upon his feet. forbidden by gravity to emulate him, our modern skaters fasten _wheels_ to their feet, and make up for their inability to fly by developing their power to skate. the immense floor of the mechanics' institute mammoth pavilion, on the west side of stockton, between post and geary, affords the largest and smoothest rink to be found in the union. two or three others exist in the city, besides the very large and fine new one in the pavilion at woodward's gardens. base-ball and cricket grounds.--at the southeast corner of folsom and twenty-fifth streets, an entire block, inclosed by a high fence, leveled to the necessary smoothness and overlooked by several hundred well-sheltered spectators' seats, furnishes fine accommodations for match games of base-ball and cricket. here the famous red stockings, of cincinnati, won fresh laurels, and the officers and crew of h. b. m. ship zealous, played the crack cricket clubs of the state. parks and gardens. woodward's gardens are on the west side of mission street, between thirteenth and fourteenth. this famous resort is both park and garden, and much more besides. its fences inclose nearly six acres, but its actual surface considerably surpasses that area, from the fact that the hill-slopes and terraces, with the various floors and galleries of the different buildings really double or even treble the original surface beneath, so that, if spread upon one level, they would cover thousands of square feet more. they thus rival any public square in size and far surpass it in variety and beauty. we reach them, by the red cars of the city railroad company, leaving the west front of the grand hotel, at the junction of new montgomery avenue and market street, every five minutes--fare five cents. or we may go out by either the market street, howard street, or folsom street cars. the first of these carry us within a little over a block of the entrance--fare, five cents; the second within a block, and the third within two blocks. fare on the last two, ten cents for a single ride, or four tickets for a quarter. on sunny days and holiday afternoons the city railroad runs large, open-sided excursion or picnic cars, newly constructed expressly to be run to and from the gardens. the entrance is upon the west side of mission, between thirteenth and fourteenth, through an elegant architectural gateway, or sort of façade, surmounted by four colossal statues, or carved figures. the two central figures resemble a combination of minerva and the goddess of liberty; one might not go far wrong in letting them stand for california and oregon. the one upon either flank is a notably well-carved grizzly; larger than life and twice as natural, sitting erect upon his haunches, supporting a flag-staff with his fore paws, and with mouth slightly opened in an amiable grin of undisguised pleasure at the prominence of his elevated position, and of welcome to the visiting thousands who constantly deposit their quarters and dimes beneath his sentinel post. arrived within we seem to have suddenly left the windy city and dusty streets far behind. grassy lawns surround beautiful gardens. every variety of flowery vine and blossoming shrub alternates with rare trees interspersed here and there with artificial clumps of imported trees, or stretching along the border of the original grove native to the spot, while gravel walks wind among the whole. immediately upon the right of the entrance, in the gate-keeper's building, is a library of nearly two thousand standard volumes, many of them rare and costly. directly in front of the gateway, stands the museum, formerly mr. woodward's private residence--at present occupied by a miscellaneous museum of natural and artificial wonders, beasts, birds, fishes and shells, with an occasional freak of nature in the shape of a mammoth or a dwarf, or a still more startling preservation of some double-headed or six-legged specimens. the zoologist or ornithologist would scarcely get beyond this building the first day. left of the museum stands the conservatory. this is the principal one of five flower and plant houses, having an aggregate length of three hundred feet by one tenth that width. this is a really elegant crystal palace in miniature, filled with the beauty and fragrance of the rarest exotics. through this one may pass directly to the art gallery. the vestibule or ante-room of the art gallery is in fact another museum, containing two statues, an extensive collection of birds and bird's eggs; upwards of a thousand coins of all ages and nations, curious idols and weapons, with hundreds of other curiosities helpfully classified, and the whole enclosed in an ante-room elegantly proportioned and beautifully frescoed by poldeman, in imitation of pompeii. thence we enter the art gallery proper, lighted from above--frescoed by the same artist--decorated, in the corners, with allegorical representations of painting, sculpture, music and architecture--while over the door hang the two celebrated bas-reliefs, "night" and "morning," by thorwaldsen. niches on each side contain busts of schiller, goethe, tasso and petrarch. over sixty rare old paintings or faithful copies cover the walls. raphael and salvator rosa appear in beautiful copies; several gems from the best dutch masters furnish a transition to the modern school, of which one or two pictures from bierstadt, and two or three views of california scenery by virgil williams, stand as pleasing types. leaving the art gallery, by another exit, we stand upon the margin of a lovely little lake, around whose centre revolves the great attraction for the young folks, and no small novelty to most adult visitors, the famous rotary boat. this endless craft is a huge circular vessel, rigged with fore and aft sails, and seating a hundred people, who step in from the concave landing upon one side as the radial seats successively come up. it would puzzle the "cutest" old salt to find bow or stern to this curious craft; the shrewdest countrymen have to confess that they "can't make head nor tail out of the thing," while the enjoyment which the youngsters find in it, like the boat itself, never comes to an end. between the lake and the conservatory, an outdoor gymnasium, with ladders, bars, rings, swings and climbing-poles, accommodates all who may wish to recreate the body. from the lake flows a little stream, along whose banks the pelican, the crane, the albatross, the wild goose and the common gull, pompously stalk or awkwardly waddle; while in its water, two or three beavers, a pair of minks and a seal or two, make their homes. beyond this, the hennery, in which the admirer of fine poultry may see a large variety of the choicest stock. an adjoining inclosure presents a pair of ostriches, and another has two or three beautiful deer and fawn. near the southwest corner of the garden, the tunnel carries the visitor through a heavily-timbered, securely planked, cleanly-kept and well-lighted passage under fourteenth street, into the zoological grounds and the amphitheater. here, ranged along the north side, backed by a high and tight fence, and fronting the south that they may have the warmest possible exposure, are the animals of the menagerie. royal bengal tigers, rocky mountain grizzlies, mexican panthers, and south american jaguars, australian kangaroos, and a curious medley of dissimilar animals known as the "happy family," make up the caged collection. the cages are roomy, airy, cleanly and secure. the animals are remarkably fine specimens, kept in capital condition, and the keeper is intelligent and courteous. beyond the great cages is another range of smaller ones, containing black and cinnamon bears, foxes, badgers, raccoons, opossums, and mischievous monkeys of all sizes. esquimaux dogs, siberian reindeer and european elk, with many other animals, more than we have space even to catalogue, make up a collection of animated nature sufficient to stock half a dozen ordinary traveling shows, and still leave enough on hand to surpass any of them. besides these, spacious inclosures allow arabian and bactrian camels a free promenade, while still beyond, another yard is tenanted by the shaggiest, sleepiest-looking, most patient and good-natured donkeys that ever allowed a gang of roistering youngsters to pack themselves upon their backs, only to be incontinently and ignominiously pitched over their heads into a promiscuous pile of dust-covered and disgusted juvenile humanity. at the extreme end of the zoological grounds the inclosure on the right contains a genuine rocky mountain buffalo, while in the larger one upon the left, two or three reindeer contentedly browse. amphitheater. in the center of the zoological grounds, a large race-course, securely inclosed between inner and outer circular fences, affords free scope for roman chariot races, hurdle races, foot races, and equestrian performances generally. within the inner fence, a level circle of some eighty feet diameter, accommodates acrobatic performers; while a lofty pole, rising from its center, furnishes ambitious youngsters all needed facilities for flying swings or skillful "shinning." around this stadium are raised seats for three thousand, with a covered portion sheltering six hundred, not to mention standing room for ten thousand more. returning through the tunnel we turn to the left, ascend the hill and enter the pavilion. this is the largest and strongest permanent wooden building upon the coast. it has the form of a parallelogram with the corners unequally cut off, thus giving its ground outline the shape of an irregular octagon. it is one hundred and fifty feet long, by one hundred and thirty wide and fifty high, surmounted by a water-tight roof, nearly an acre and a half in extent. half a dozen broad entrances admit us to the spacious interior. here we have a central floor; one hundred and ten feet long by ninety feet wide, as solidly laid, perfectly fitted and smoothly planed as art could make it, and furnishing the finest skating rink imaginable, or the most capacious ball-room floor to be desired. around this floor, a sort of dress-circle, fitted with easy seats, separated by broad aisles and roomy spaces, rises gradually back to the surrounding wall. this dress-circle accommodates three thousand spectators. above it is a broad gallery of equal size, similarly fitted and holding as many. the gallery windows command a fine view of the underlying gardens, the meandering walks, the lake, the conservatories, shrubbery and the museum; of the zoological grounds and amphitheater further away, and of the southwestern suburbs, bounded by the mission hills, beyond. this pavilion has a seating capacity of six thousand, while for any brief mass-meeting, four thousand more could easily stand in the nine thousand nine hundred square feet of space upon the floor. a commodious and conveniently located music, or speaker's stand, with broad stairways between dress-circle and gallery, complete the appointments of this mammoth building, whose workman-like finish and enormous strength, fully equal its huge size and immense capacity. just west of the pavilion stands a picturesque little turkish mosque, whose exterior faithfully reproduces the oriental original. its interior is tastefully frescoed, while its domed ceiling presents an astronomical fresco, representing the starry heavens. near the southeast corner of the pavilion is the restaurant, so that one need not leave the grounds, should he find occasion to fill his stomach before he has sufficiently feasted his eyes. between the restaurant and the mosque, occupying the highest point of the hill, stands the observatory, formed by a secure railing and comfortable seats inclosing and surrounding the circular top of a huge reservoir, or tank. until the recent erection of the pavilion, this was the best point of view from which to study the plan of the grounds and enjoy their scenery; and even now, it well rewards ascent, especially for those who hardly care to climb into the pavilion gallery. in various snug places among and under the trees, and, in some places, surrounding their trunks, are scattered scores of lunch tables, as a sort of out-post or picket-guard thrown out by the restaurant proper. all about the top of the pavilion hill, and for some distance down its sides, these tables, of all shapes and sizes, round, ring-shaped, triangular, octagonal, square, and "parallelogramical," and surrounded by an abundance of comfortable seats, occupy the most romantic situations. descending the hill-slope by a winding path, we pass a broad lawn upon the left, on which the enterprising proprietor proposes the early erection of a large, conveniently-arranged fire-proof museum, for the better security of his valuable collections and cabinets. we have now completed the general tour of this elegant park, with its delightful combination of the beautiful in nature and the wonderful in art, with the rarest curiosities of both. as a broad and airy holiday play-ground for tired pupils, as a romantic retreat for family picnics, as a pleasure-park for the quiet promenades of old and young, as a varied field of study for the naturalist, as one of the lungs through which the tired and dusty city may draw a cool, refreshing, healthful breath, and, finally, as a grand union of park, garden, conservatory, museum, gymnasium, zoological grounds and art gallery, no eastern city offers the equal of woodward's gardens. city gardens. on the south side of twelfth street, stretching from folsom to harrison, and running half a block south. entrance on the corner of folsom and twelfth. reached most directly by the folsom street cars. admission, cts. menageries. the finest in the city is that already described in the zoological department of woodward's gardens. the only other is a small collection of bears, monkeys and birds at north beach. squares and parks. the oldest and best finished public square is portsmouth square, commonly called the plaza, on the west side of kearny street, extending from clay street to washington street, and directly fronting the old city hall. besides these are washington, union, columbia, lobos, alcatraz, lafayette, jefferson, alta, hamilton and alamo squares, with yerba buena, buena vista and golden gate parks. the last named covers nearly , acres, (of sand at present.) of these, the plaza and washington square are the principal ones which have been sufficiently improved to merit even passing notice. to these one may add south park, a small but elegant private inclosure occupying the centre of the block between bryant and brannan streets. promenades. montgomery street.--this is the san francisco broadway. flanked on either side by many of the largest and finest retail business houses, as well as two of the leading hotels. during the forenoon business monopolizes it almost exclusively; afternoons fashion claims its sidewalks, and well-nigh crowds business, not exactly to the wall, but rather upon the curbstone, if not fairly into the gutter. from three to five p.m. the tide of mammon begins to ebb, and that of fashion swells in at full flood. fair women and frail, beauty and ugliness--calicoes, silks, satins, velvets, broadcloths, beavers and cashmere, make up the motley throng, swaying and trailing up and down the crowded thoroughfare. the faces are very fair, "as far as we can see," and the forms equally graceful, with the same limitation. masculine faces, broad-browed, clear-eyed, bronze-cheeked, firm-mouthed or full-bearded, impress one with the dash, the drive and the nerve which have spanned the continent with rails and bridged the pacific with ships, ere yet the flush of full manhood has fairly settled upon them. too many, it is true, show the full, uncertain lip, the flushed cheek and dewy eye that tell of excessive stimulus too frequently applied. nowhere on earth is the temptation to drink stronger than here. business is sharp, competition brisk, and the climate the most stimulating anywhere to be found. so they _drive_ till nature falters or weakens and calls for rest. but rest they cannot or will not afford; the stimulus is _quicker_, it is everywhere close at hand--it seems to save time. business men die suddenly; on the street to-day, at laurel hill to-morrow; heart disease, apoplexy, congestion of the lungs, or liver complaint, are among the causes most frequently assigned to the inquiring public. the causes of these causes, few stop to ask, or dare to tell. kearny street.--with montgomery and but a single block above, that is, west of it, runs the rival, if not already the equal, business and pleasure avenue, kearny street. though some single buildings on montgomery may be finer, the average of the business blocks along kearny street already equals, if it does not surpass that of its rival. the street itself is broader, the sidewalks wider, while the press of vehicles and the throngs of fashion are fully equal. california street.--at right angles with both these streets, and intersecting them near their centre, california street, the wall street of san francisco, runs straight down from one of the highest summits within the city limits, to within two blocks of the water front, and there debouches into market. its upper portion lies between elegant private residences; half way down the slope stand two of the leading city churches; below, the _alta_ office, and leading telegraph offices; thence from montgomery down, the finest number of business blocks the city presents. on this street below montgomery, the bank of california, the merchants' exchange, the pacific insurance company's building, hayward's, duncan's, and wormser's, with other blocks and buildings, present a continuous front of architectural beauty rarely equaled. market street.--this broad, dividing avenue which separates the older city from the newer, offers a rare architectural medley to the exploring tourist's eye. some of the grandest business blocks on the pacific slope tower up between or stand squarely opposite the frailest wooden shells that yet survive the "early days." running up from the water, one encounters such noble blocks as treadwell's, not lofty but broad, deep and strong. harpending's whole-block front. the grand hotel and nucleus foretell the size and style of the blocks which are yet to form continuous fronts along this main artery of trade. second, third and fourth streets.--south of market, these streets come nearer to fashionable streets than any others; especially along the blocks nearer to market. they present several single buildings of notable size and style. the best time.--for any walk or drive within the city limits, or on the entire san francisco peninsular, the most comfortable hours of all the day, during the season in which the tourists commonly visit us, that is from may to september, are, unquestionably, the morning hours; the earlier the better. if you would see men and women go later; take the afternoon, face the wind and the dust, be lifted bodily off your feet, round "cape horn," as they call the southeast corner of market and third streets, until you have quite enough of that "free-soil" which may be a very fine thing in politics, but is a "beastly disagreeable thing," as our english friends might say, on a promenade. drives. the cliff house road.--stretches westerly from the city limits, now the west end of bush street, to the pacific ocean beach--originally a mere trail over shifting sand hills. it has become the broadest, hardest, smoothest and longest track in the state. if you want an idea of california horseflesh, and san francisco turnouts, trot out this way almost any day. the track has a fine, hard surface wide enough, in places, for twenty teams abreast, and is often nearly filled from side to side with smooth-rolling or friendly racing teams, from the natty single buggy to the elegant coach, or the stately four-in-hand. a million dollars' worth of legs and wheels flash by a man in a very few hours on this fashionable drive, especially on a race-day. along this road are one or two wayside inns, which, like the majority of california inns, are chiefly drinking-houses under another name. at the end stands the cliff house, so named from its site, the solid top of a precipitous rocky bluff or cliff, overlooking the seal rocks, a few hundred feet west; then a thirty-mile horizon of the pacific ocean, broken only by the sharp rocky points of the farallones low down under the western sky, visible only when fogs and mists and haze are wanting. attached to the house are long horse sheds which shut off the wind from your horse while his driver goes in to interview _foster_, mine host of the cliff. south of the cliff the road goes down to and out upon the ocean house, which differs little from the popular eastern beach drives, except that it is not as wide even at the lowest of the tide, and that the ocean view thence is far more seldom diversified with sails. the beach and surf are good, however, and a brisk drive of two or three miles upon it, seldom fails to put the oxygen into the lungs--the iodine into the blood, and the exhilaration into the spirits. some two or three miles south of the cliff house, the road bends east, leaves the beach and starts back to the city by another way, known as the ocean house road, named, like the other, from the house standing near its seaward end. approaching the city by this route, one reaches a greater height than by the cliff house road, and when about two miles from the city, enjoys a beautiful view of the southern and western city, the shipping, the bay, the opposite shore, the trailing cities and towns, whose houses gleam between the trees of contra costa and alameda counties, with their grassy foot-hills, the whole view backed and bounded by old mt. diablo beyond. returning by this road, one enters the city suburbs upon the southwest by seventeenth, or corbett street, passes directly by the mission with the famous old church which named it, and pursues his way back to the centre by market, mission, howard or folsom streets. between the cliff house and ocean house roads, and nearer the latter, private enterprise has recently constructed a third track, known as the central ocean drive. bay view road.--drive from market street along third to the long bridge, cross that to the potrero, keep straight on through the deep cut, over the islais bridge, thence through south san francisco, up a little rise, from whose summit you look down into a little valley or green bay of vegetable gardens, between which and the water stands the bay view house, on one side of the bay view race track. from several points as you drive out, you will readily understand why they used the phrase "bay view" so frequently in naming localities hereabout. if you wish to return by another way, drive half a mile beyond the track, where your way runs into the older road of early times. if you have time, drive on to the brow of the hill and look down into visitacion valley; if not, at the acute angle where the roads become one, you turn sharply back, and after two miles of slightly uneven road, enter the city between the eastern edge of the mission flats and the western foot of the potrero hills. the best time for all these drives, as already said concerning the promenades, is morning, the earlier the better. besides the greater purity and freshness of the air, everywhere accompanying the morning hours, one then escapes the wind and dust which, on nearly every afternoon, constitute the chief drawback from the full enjoyment of outdoor pleasure during those hours. libraries. in these windy and dusty afternoons, when nature seems to frown, art and literature invite you within, and proffer quiet retreats with the best of company--good books. for a city as young and as distinctively absorbed in business, san francisco has amply provided for the gratification of scientific research or literary taste. the chief libraries are the mercantile, the mechanics' institute, the odd fellows', the pioneers', and the y. m. c. a., each of which is located in the building of the same name, presently to be noticed. besides these, at the what cheer house, and at woodward's gardens, one finds two or three thousand well selected standard volumes, free to guests and visitors. public buildings. federal. post-office.--the first of these to every tourist is, naturally, the government building through which his letters come and go. this is a moderately-sized two-story building of stuccoed brick, running parallel with the west side of battery street, between washington and jackson. one may enter from any street of the three. the ladies' entrance, which is also common, is from washington street. the principal business entrance is on the west front of the building, through a cross street entered at either end from washington or jackson. the office opens daily at a.m., and closes at : p.m., except sundays, when its only open hour is from to a.m. the great overland mail for new york, by the way of salt lake and omaha, closes every week day at : a.m., and on saturdays at p.m., n. b. stone, p. m. the custom house is simply the upper floor of the post-office building. entrance on battery, near washington. timothy g. phelps, collector. u. s. branch mint.--the old building still occupied, and likely to be for at least a year, stands on the north side of commercial, near montgomery. office hours from a.m. to p.m. visitors received daily from to . o. h. la grange, superintendent. the new mint, or what is to be that building, stands on the northwest corner of fifth and mission streets. its ground dimensions are ½ feet on fifth, by ½ feet on mission street. the basement is already built of california granite. above the basement, which is ¾ feet high, the walls are built of blue-gray freestone, from newcastle island in the gulf of georgia, between vancouver's island and the mainland of british columbia. thus, uncle sam is building his new mint of british stone. two stories of ½ feet each will surmount the high basement. the lower of these is now nearly completed. from the pavement to the crown of the roof will be feet. two chimneys will tower to the height of feet. the u. s. marine hospital stands at the northeast corner of harrison and main streets, upon the northeast slope of rincon hill. this is the old building. the hospital also occupies the former buildings of the deaf and dumb asylum, on the southeast corner of mission and fifteenth streets. city and county buildings. old city hall.--this famous old brick and stucco, two-story, earthquake-cracked, and iron-braced structure, with the adjoining hall of records, stretches along the east side of kearny street from merchant to washington, and extends nearly a third of the block down each of those streets. the police-offices and lock-ups occupy the basement, while the usual district court rooms, with judges' chambers and municipal offices, supervisors' and board of education rooms, fill the upper floors, and clamor for more room. the new city hall thus far exists only on paper. the commissioners have chosen an elaborate plan for a costly edifice, which will far surpass anything on the coast in architectural beauty; but the execution of that plan has hardly yet completed the excavation for the foundation walls. hence it is yet too early to tantalize the tourist with descriptions of a beautiful building not yet visible, except in the architect's drawing, or the lithographic copies. if any tourist is curious to see the _site_, he may find it by going out market street till he reaches what was known as yerba buena park, corner of market and seventh streets. the city hall commissioners adopted the plans and specifications of mr. augustus laver, of new york, and elected him architect; but, at the present rate of progress, it is hardly probable that less than two or three years will witness the completion of the urgently-needed and magnificently-designed new city hall. jail.--on the north side of broadway, between dupont and kearny, one desirous of inspecting our penal institutions may find ample opportunity to study the physiognomy of that class which inhabits them, and learn the crimes which preponderate in the pacific metropolis. sheriff, p. j. white. almshouse.--this asylum occupies one of the healthiest locations in the state, near the ocean house, or san miguel road, about four and one quarter miles southwest of the city hall. m. j. keating, superintendent. industrial school.--this finely-constructed, conveniently-arranged and well-managed reform school, stands on the western slope of the peninsula hills, about seven miles southwest of the city. like the almshouse it has as healthful a location as can be found in the state. it receives only boys, who are regularly taught by competent teachers, and employed in various indoor occupations or out-door work. present number of inmates, two hundred and twelve. the order and discipline of this school well repay a visit. jno. c. pelton, superintendent. engine houses.--in early days, before the establishment of homes, the pioneer firemen seemed to love their machine very much as the sailor loves his ship. they built elegant and costly engine houses, which became to many of them the only homes they ever knew. since the introduction of the improved steam fire engines, and the organization of the paid fire department, the glory of the old volunteer organizations has well nigh departed. but their houses yet remain, some of them converted to other uses, while others still retain much of their earlier attractiveness. eight first-class steamers, of the amoskeag make, weighing from three to four tons each, throwing four hundred gallons a minute, each costing from four to five thousand dollars in gold coin, and manned by twelve men, make up the present paid fire department. at a public trial a week since, new york and philadelphia witnesses voluntarily and unanimously testified that they had never seen machines reach the spot as soon and get a stream upon the flames as quickly, as did the machines of our fire department. this fact may conduce to the sense of security with which the eastern tourist lies down to sleep in his strange bed. for the benefit of any extra nervous gentleman, we may add the universal rule of conduct in regard to midnight alarms of fire among us, is this: when waked by a fire-alarm, place your hand against the nearest wall. if it feels cold, lie still; if moderately warm, order a different room at once; if positively _hot_, leave for another hotel immediately. corporation and society buildings. the pioneer's building.--a finely proportioned building on the corner of gold and montgomery streets, above jackson. this building is not as noteworthy as the society which built and chiefly occupies it. the famous "society of california pioneers" was formed in august, . its constitution declares its object to be: "to cultivate the social virtues of its members; "to collect and preserve information connected with the early settlement of the country; and "to perpetuate the memory of those whose sagacity, energy and love of independence induced them to settle in the wilderness and become the germs of a new state." it includes three classes: st. native californians; foreigners living in california before the american conquest; and citizens of the united states who became actual residents here before january st, --with the male descendants of these. d. citizens of the united states who became actual residents of california before january st, , and their male descendants. d. honorary members admitted according to the by-laws. the society has enrolled over , members. its historical library and museum well repay a visit. charles d. carter, president. merchant's exchange.--this building, the commercial headquarters of the mercantile army of the pacific, stands on the south side of california street, between montgomery and sansome. it ranks among the largest and finest architectural ornaments of the city. bank of california.--northwest corner of california and sansome. this elegant stone structure is not remarkable for size; but for broad and deep foundations, slow and strong construction, harmonious proportions, convenient arrangements and admirable finish within and without, it ranks among the finest and most costly business buildings in the union. president, d. o. mills. cashier, william c. ralston. mercantile library building.--north side of bush street, between montgomery and sansome. this is the building for which the great lottery paid. it presents a noble front, a finely finished interior, with library room containing over , volumes, reading room, magazine room, reference room, chess room, with a large ladies' room of remarkably costly and tasteful furnishing. the hall in the basement, has already been noticed. ogden hoffman, president; alfred stebbins, librarian. mechanics' institute building.--south side of post street, just below kearny. a well-proportioned, substantially built, sensible-looking building, and so far truthfully indicative of the healthful prosperity of the excellent organization which owns and occupies it. a library of nearly , volumes, including many rare and costly scientific works, a large and well-stocked reading room, a sort of museum, including mineralogical cabinets, mechanical models, scientific apparatus and works of art, with a popular business college, occupy this valuable building. the commodious hall upon the lower floor, has been previously described. mechanics' pavilion.--union square, between geary and post streets on the south and north, and stockton and powell streets on the east and west. one of the largest, if not the largest, wooden buildings now standing in america, covering two and one half acres of ground; originally erected by the mechanics' institute association, for the accommodation of their biennial fairs, and found almost indispensably convenient for all grander gatherings; it has since been retained, and successively occupied by fairs, grand masquerade balls, velocipede schools and skating rinks. the most notable event occurring under its mammoth roof was the grand musical festival or gift concert, in aid of the mercantile library association, given under the lead of madame camilla urso. after the approaching mechanics' fair, to be held this summer, the building is to be removed. masonic temple.--upon the west side of montgomery, at the corner of post; of peculiar and attractive architecture, imposing proportions and elegant finish, it justly ranks among the most prominent buildings of the city. odd fellows' hall.--montgomery street, between pine and california. not particularly imposing from without, but attractive from the unity, strength and benificence of the order which it represents. within are a library of nearly , standard and popular volumes, a well-supplied reading-room, and a well-managed savings' bank. y. m. c. a.--this quartette of initials has now become so well known throughout the larger cities of the union, that the visitor in any large city is disappointed if he does not find the local habitation of this fast-spreading bond of unity among all good men. here, upon sutter street, just above kearny, he will be agreeably disappointed to discover a large, new, stone-front building, unique in design, and most pleasing in its general effect. within are library, reading-rooms, hall, gymnasium, and several convenient lodging-rooms. chas. goodall, president; h. l. chamberlain, librarian. business buildings and blocks. alta california building--on the south side of california street, between montgomery and kearny. its comparatively great height, as related to its width, give it a somewhat monumental appearance, not inappropriate, however, when we remember that the whole tasteful structure stands as the monument of the enterprise, energy, perseverance and success of the oldest and largest paper published in the state. fred. maccrellish & co., proprietors. bancroft's--south side of market street, between third and fourth. few business buildings upon the continent combine the colossal proportions with the graceful details of this mammoth house of the oldest and largest publishing firm upon the coast. donohoe, kelly & co.'s building--upon the southeast corner of montgomery and sacramento streets, deserves mention among the finest business buildings. harpending's block--on the south side of market street, between first and second; the longest and loftiest business front presented by any single business block in the city. murphy, grant & co's. building--northeast corner of bush and sansome. a large and handsome building, as strong as iron, stone and brick can make it. tobin, dixon & davisson's building--northwest corner of sansome and sutter, can hardly be omitted from the inspection of our finest business houses. treadwell's agricultural warehouse--south side of market street, opposite front. not lofty, but broad; not imposing, but extensive. tucker's--northwest corner of montgomery and sutter. lofty, finely-proportioned, monumental, and substantial; surmounted by a clock-tower, which has become one of the landmarks of the city. the main salesroom within is beautifully frescoed and fitted throughout with extreme elegance and at great cost. the white house--corner of kearny and post streets. an elegant new iron and brick structure, light, airy and ornamental in its general effect. receives its name from its color, which has hitherto been an uncommon one in this city, but is daily becoming less so. occupied chiefly by the leading dry goods firm of j. w. davidson & co. wells, fargo & co's. building--corner of california and montgomery streets. who does not know it? solid granite blocks, dressed in china, brought hither in ships, and piled in stern simplicity upon that central corner to outstand all earthquake shocks, and survive all business wrecks. a pioneer building which has already become far too small for its immense business, but ought never to be taken down until the whole city goes with it. manufactories. kimball car and carriage factory.--corner of bryant and fourth streets. eastern visitors call this the largest establishment of the kind in america. in immense extent, convenient arrangement, and comprehensiveness of scope, it can hardly be surpassed. its latest triumph is the construction of a magnificent palace car, built wholly of california woods, undisguised by paint, carving, gilding, or varnish--the most complete and superb palace on wheels ever built. thirty-five different woods enter into its construction, displaying a variety of structure and a range of harmonious tints hardly imaginable by those who have seen only the poor imitations of feeble art. the car is a triumph of taste and skill, and is worth a half-day's time of any tourist simply to study and enjoy it. it has been proposed that the merchants of this city buy it, and present it to the president of the united states--to _the office_, not the _incumbent_--to be kept at washington, and used as the official car for all presidential tours. a better idea could hardly be suggested. may the motion prevail! the pacific rolling mills stand upon the point of the potrero. they include all the massive machinery of their ponderous business, and turn out heavy castings, forgings, and railroad iron by hundreds of tons daily. the mission woolen mills--folsom street, corner of sixteenth. here are made those wonderful blankets of such marvelous fineness and thickness, which have attracted so much attention, and received even the world's fair premium abroad. foundries and iron works. union iron works.--the oldest and largest in california, employing three hundred and thirty men, and turning out the heaviest and most perfect mining and railroad machinery, locomotives, etc. located on the northeast corner of mission and first streets. h. j. booth & co. risdon iron and locomotive works, southeast corner of howard and beale streets. has all the latest mechanical improvements of the business. can turn out a shaft forty-eight feet long, and weighing thirty tons. it employs two hundred and seventy-five hands. john n. risdon, president. the fulton, miners', and pacific foundries, with the etna and vulcan iron works, are the other leading ones of the coast. shot tower and lead works. corner of howard and first streets. the pioneer and, thus far, the only works upon the coast. the tower is one of the most prominent and sightly objects visible in all the water approaches to the city. sugar refineries. the city has four: the san francisco and pacific, bay, california, and golden gate, turning out twenty thousand tons of sugar annually. ship yards. at north beach and at the potrero are the principal yards. they build mainly river steamers or ferry boats, or smaller ocean craft, rarely constructing anything above three hundred tons. for larger craft it is cheaper to go north, where immense forests of the finest ship-timber run clear down to the ocean beach, and stand asking to be built into ships. glass works. two: one in the city, on the south side of townsend, between third and fourth; and the other, the pacific glass works, on the potrero, at the corner of iowa and mariposa streets. these confine their works chiefly to bottles, telegraph caps, etc. churches. baptist.--this prominent denomination has six church buildings in the city. the first baptist church claims special space from the fact that it was the first protestant house of worship dedicated in california. this was in august, . the present building of stuccoed brick, occupies the original site of the first small, wooden pioneer church--on the north side of washington street, between stockton and dupont. rev. a. r. medbury, pastor. congregational.--this denomination has the honor of having furnished the first settled protestant chaplain in san francisco, rev. t. dwight hunt. he held the rare position of "citizens' chaplain," nov. st, , conducting divine worship every sunday in the "public institute," (the school-house) on portsmouth square--the plaza. the citizens unitedly invited him from honolulu, and paid him $ , a year. the denomination has four church buildings--named by their order of erection. the first congregational church is on the southwest corner of california and dupont streets. the pastor is rev. dr. stone, formerly of the park street church, boston. episcopal.--this denomination has five church buildings, of which grace church, corner of california and stockton streets, is the oldest and largest. the building is feet long, feet wide and feet high. its great size and sightly location make it one of the prominent buildings in any general view of the city. rev. james s. bush, rector. the four other episcopal church buildings are--trinity, st. john's, church of the advent, and st. luke's. hebrew.--synagogue of the congregation emanu-el, sutter street, between stockton and powell. of the five jewish congregations, this has "the synagogue" par excellence--the one always meant when one speaks of "the jewish synagogue." it is an elegant and costly structure, built of brick, not yet stuccoed, supporting two prominent towers, and finished within in most appropriate and artistic style. total cost, including lot, $ , , gold coin. methodist.--this popular, powerful and rapidly growing denomination has already erected eleven church buildings in san francisco--more than any other protestant church, except the presbyterians. its newest and most elegant church is the first methodist episcopal church, on the west side of powell, between washington and jackson. this is one of the most elegant and really artistic churches; within and without, any where to be found. rev. dr. cox, pastor. howard street m. e. church.--south side of howard, between second and third. this is the most substantial and valuable building owned by the denomination. value, including lot and parsonage, $ , . its style is medieval gothic. pastor, rev. l. walker. presbyterian.--this recently united denomination, no longer old and new school, has also eleven church buildings; of these the two most noted are the calvary presbyterian church, corner of geary and powell streets. this church is as capacious and comfortable, even luxurious within, as the most fastidious could desire. its organ is the largest and finest on the coast. rev. j. hemphill, pastor. howard presbyterian church, mission street, near third; lately, rev. dr. scudder's. this building, with a plain and unpretentious exterior, has greater seating capacity than any other protestant church in the city. it is of recent construction and very convenient internal arrangements. temporary pastor, rev. j. k. kendall. first presbyterian church--on the west side of stockton, between washington and clay. this gothic building is one of the largest and finest--but its chief claim to notice here, rests upon the fact that the church which built it, organized may th, , under the direction of the rev. albert williams, was the first protestant church organized in san francisco. roman catholic.--st. patrick's church, on the north side of mission, between third and fourth streets. although so new that it is not yet finished, this church is set first, because it is the largest in the state, being one hundred and sixty feet long by eighty feet wide. its spire is the loftiest and most beautifully proportioned in the city, height feet. rev. peter j. grey, pastor. st. mary's cathedral, california street, at the northeast corner of dupont. in age, cost and rank this building is entitled to the first place. it is a noble structure of gothic architecture, which has been carried out in every detail. the front extends seventy-five feet on california street, from which the cathedral runs back one hundred and thirty-one feet on dupont. the tower is at present one hundred and thirty-five feet high, and is to be surmounted by a spire rising sixty-five feet further. the most rev. joseph s. alemany is the archbishop. old mission church, on the southwest corner of sixteenth and dolores streets. this was dedicated oct. , , by father junipero serra, the father of the california missions. aside from its age and associations, the building is of little note. it is built of the old adobes, which were simply unburnt bricks dried in the sun, and formed a favorite building material with the early spanish and mexican inhabitants. the old custom-house, on portsmouth square, was built of this material. the roof was covered with semi-cylindrical tiles of burnt clay, laid in alternate rows, the first one having the concave side up, and the next its convex side up. the outside, generally, is very plain, though the front shows some old-fashioned round columns, and a few small bells suspended in square apertures under the projecting roof. the interior is dark, cold and comfortless. rev. thos. cushing, pastor. besides the three churches already named, the catholics have nine others in the city, in addition to five or six chapels and asylums. swedenborgian.--first new jerusalem church. this is a very neat gothic building, on the north side of o'farrell, between mason and taylor streets. rev. john doughty, pastor. a second new jerusalem church, of which rev. joseph worcester is pastor, having yet erected no building, meets in the druids' hall, no. sutter street. unitarian.--first unitarian church. this most beautiful church edifice stands upon the south side of geary street, just below stockton. its front presents, unquestionably, the finest specimen of church architecture in the state, and can hardly be surpassed in america. the interior is tastefully decorated with a colored fresco of extreme beauty, and most artistic harmony of tint. the organ, baptismal font, and the pulpit, perpetuate the unique taste of the lamented pastor, whose loved name the public mind cannot dissociate from the beautiful building, which, always known as "starr king's" church, has become his fitting monument. this is the only church building of this denomination in the city or the state. chinese mission house.--this is a combination church and school-house, new, neat and commodious, fifty-six feet by seventy feet, and three stories high. adjoining school-rooms, readily thrown into one, rooms for the superintendent, rev. mr. gibson and family, and for his assistant, rev. hu sing me, the native preacher, and his family, occupy the various floors. school "keeps" every evening in the week, except saturday and sunday. bible class at half-past ten every sunday morning, and sunday school at seven p.m. the entire property belongs to the methodist church, who maintain it as a most efficient home mission. the mariner's church, northeast corner of sacramento and drumm streets. it is a neat and commodious wooden building, erected in , by contributions from merchants and other citizens of san francisco. rev. j. rowell, pastor. hospitals and asylums. city and county hospital.--stands upon the southwest corner of stockton and francisco streets. french benevolent society.--has one of the finest hospitals of the state, a large and handsome brick building, surrounded with pleasant gardens and ornamented grounds, occupying the whole block on the south side of bryant, between fifth and sixth, making a most agreeable and healthful home for the invalid. others besides french may receive its benefits, by assuming membership and paying its moderate dues. german general benevolent society.--admits only germans. it has over eighteen hundred members. on brannan street, near third, this society has a very large two-story brick building with basement--furnished with every form of bath, and looking out upon fine gardens and shrubbery. protestant orphan asylum.--on the west side of laguna street, between haight and waller. a large and elegant building of brick and stone--one of the ornamental landmarks of that part of the city. it accommodates two hundred and fifty little ones. mrs. ira p. rankin, president; mrs. lucy stewart, matron. roman catholic orphan asylum.--market street, south side, between new montgomery and third. a noble and capacious brick building accommodating three hundred and twenty children, and having a school of five hundred and fifty day scholars attached. the asylum is under the sole management of archbishop alemany and the sisters of charity. san francisco female hospital.--corner of clay street and prospect place. any woman who is sick and poor, has a right to its benefits. it is a genuine charity, regarding neither nativity, religion nor social rank. mrs. m. r. roberts, president; dr. c. t. deane, physician. ladies' protection and relief society.--franklin street, between post and geary. the main object of the society is to furnish a real _home_ for friendless or destitute girls, between three and fourteen years old. boys, under ten and over three, may be received and provided for until furnished with a permanent home in a christian family. it has over two hundred inmates, nearly all girls. miss c. a. harmon, matron. nearly a hundred other public and private benevolent societies attempt to make up, as well as possible, the lack of friends and homes, always so severely felt by strangers or temporary residents in any large city, and especially so in one of as cosmopolitan a character as ours. colleges. besides the larger public schools, which are really the peoples' colleges--the city has sixty-five colleges and private schools. the number of pupils attending them in was , , against , in the public schools. city college.--southeast corner of stockton and geary streets. this institution has built and furnished an elegant french gothic building at university mound, some three miles southwest of the city, which it will occupy early in ' . besides the usual studies, this college especially provides the best facilities for obtaining a thorough practical knowledge of chemistry, in all its applications to assaying, mining, medical manufactures and mechanics. rev. dr. veeder, president. heald's business college.--college building, post street, between montgomery and kearny. its design is to educate boys and young men, with a special view to practical business. it is one of the famous thirty-six bryant and stratton business colleges, located in the leading cities of the united states and canada. students, two hundred and fifty. e. p. heald, president. st. ignatius' college.--occupies the noble brick building on the south side of market street, between fourth and fifth. it is largely attended, and is successfully conducted by the jesuit fathers. st. mary's college.--on the old county road to san josé, four and a half miles southwest of the city. building, two hundred and eighty feet front, by fifty feet deep--of excellent proportion and fine appearance. conducted by the christian brothers. b. justin, president. toland medical college.--east side of stockton street, between chestnut and francisco. the building is of brick, capacious, commodious, finely located and admirably adapted to the purpose of its construction. h. h. toland, m. d., president. public school buildings. lincoln.--fifth street--south side, near market. brick structure, four stories high, ½ feet long, ½ feet wide; class-rooms × feet, besides eight wardrobes and teachers' rooms--wide halls, and four broad stairways the whole height, with a large hall in the upper story. it accommodates twelve hundred grammar grade pupils, all boys. in front stands a finely modeled statue of abraham lincoln for whom the building was named. cost, $ , , gold coin. b. marks, principal. denman.--bush street, north side, corner of taylor. brick stuccoed; length, ¼ feet; width, feet; height, four stories, including attic rooms. fourteen class-rooms, each × , accommodating eight hundred pupils, all girls. cost, $ , , gold. this building was named in honor of james denman, one of the pioneer public school teachers of the city--the founder of this school and for many years, as at present, its principal. few cities in the union can show school buildings as elegant, convenient, substantial and costly as these two noble monuments of public appreciation of, and liberality towards, the system which must underlie and sustain our free government if it is to stand at all. tehama.--tehama street, near first. brick, undisguised; feet long, feet deep, three stories high, besides spacious basement play-rooms--has sixteen class-rooms, each × , hall, × , with ample stairings, and convenient teacher's-rooms and ample yards. cost, $ , , gold. it accommodates one thousand primary pupils of both sexes. mrs. e. a. wood, principal. besides these, the city has several large and fine wooden school-houses of modern structure. of these the most sightly, is the girls' high school, south side of bush street, near stockton-- × , three stories, ten class-rooms, × , with an assembly hall, × ; whose length can be increased to feet, by opening folding doors between it and two adjoining class-rooms. it is the most conveniently arranged, best ventilated, sunniest, most cheerful and healthful school-house in the state. ellis h. holmes, principal. to these the department has recently added, and is now adding, four or five class-room buildings, of wood, each accommodating one thousand pupils, now occupying the old and small school-rooms of early days or hived in unsuitable rented rooms. bancroft's book and stationery establishment. it may appear like exaggeration to say that san francisco contains the largest and most complete general book and stationery, mercantile and manufacturing business in the world. yet, such is the fact. not that the business, by any means, equals that of harpers' and appletons', of new york, hachette of paris, or the stationers of london. but, between these houses and bancroft's, there is no comparison. the character of their trade is totally different. one publishes books, another manufactures paper, and so each is large in one thing, whereas the bancrofts, collecting from the manufacturers of all the world, and manufacturing according to the requirements of their trade, cover under one management the ground occupied by all others combined. in older and larger cities, one house deals in law books alone; another, school books, etc., while this san francisco house--besides a full stock of books in every department of literature, and stationery from the manufacturers of europe and america, paper from the mills of new england, pencils from germany, pen-holders from paris--unite printing, book-binding, lithography, blank-book making, engraving, &c., every thing, in short, comprised in all the business of all the others. the detail is necessarily very great. they buy from a thousand sellers, and sell to many thousand buyers. over one hundred employés, divided into nine departments, each under an experienced manager, ply their vocation like bees in a hive of six rooms, each by feet. to the latest improvements of the finest machinery, driven by steam, apply the highest order of skilled labor, and san francisco can do anything as well and as cheaply as new york, london or paris. the retail department, occupying the first floor, has the most magnificent salesroom on the pacific coast. visitors are warmly welcomed, and strangers politely shown through the premises. private residences. for the convenience of the tourist, who may want to see the homes of our city as well as her public buildings and business blocks, we mention the locality of the following, which are among the finest of our private dwellings: erwin davis, southwest corner of california and powell streets; milton s. latham, folsom street, opposite hawthorne, on rincon hill; d. j. tallant, corner of bush and jones street; richard tobin, corner of california and taylor streets; john parrott, folsom street. by making two trips--first, over california street, and returning by sutter or bush street; second, over rincon hill on folsom street, and returning by harrison, the visitor may see the finest of our private residences. points of observation. telegraph hill.--this notable natural landmark stands at the head, that is, at the north end of montgomery street. the early settlement, the pioneer hamlet from which the present city has grown, was made in the hollow near the southwest foot. civilization has encircled it on the land side, and crept two thirds the way up, while commerce has claimed the water front along its opposite base--but the summit still stands as free as when the priestly fathers first looked thence upon the glorious inland sea, which flashes between it and the sunrise. let us climb it--this way, straight up the montgomery street sidewalk, slowly, please; we have the day before us; exhausted lungs impair one's sight. stop at the corner of each intersecting street, and glance either way, but especially eastward--that is, downward toward the bay. now, "excelsior," again; up these stairs; now along this natural surface--no asphaltum walks or stow foundation pavements up here yet, you see--on, by these houses; turn to the left here; now to the right, follow this winding way; patiently please--that's it; only two or three minutes more--ah! here it is--this is the highest point, where the old observatory stood. sit and breathe a moment; slip on your overcoat, or put that extra shawl about you; it's easy to take cold here, far easier than to rid yourself of it in the city below. for the sake of method in our survey, we may as well begin at the northwest; thence "swing round the circle," through north, east, south and west, and return to the point of starting. looking northwesterly, then, we have first the elevated, undulating plateau, which stretches along the flattened summits of the northernmost spur of the broad peninsular hills, and terminates in the precipitous bluff known as fort point--the southern gate-post of the far-famed golden gate. through this we gaze seaward along the further margin of the strait, where it sends in a surging cove upon the rocky beach, between point diablo and point bonita. the projection of the latter point shuts off the vision, which else might range up the northwesterly trend of the coast, along the ocean-shore of marin county to punta de los reyes, (king's point) which projects southward between bolinas bay and the ocean. between point diablo and lime point, a slight northerly curve, in the shore line makes a shallow cove, from whose edge the vision climbs the successive hills or ridges which fill the ascending space as it roughly rises toward the crowning point of marin county, mount tamalpais, two thousand six hundred and four feet nearer heaven than the beach line whence we set forth. still following round, we look up into richardson's bay; next the southwestern end of raccoon strait, and then angel island. we are now looking north. alcatraz, the rocky island which nature set just there to support a commanding fortress; then, an eye-sweep up over the northern part of san francisco bay to that narrow strait which joins it with san pablo bay; northeast the san pablo shore of contra costa county, and the hills which terminate the mount diablo peninsular range. nearer east, the strangely monotonous hills, whose ridges and gullies look as if plowed out by heavy rains, and rounded by sweeping winds. grassy or earthy, they look, according to the time of year and kind of season. now, almost east, the vision falls. this large island, off in the midst of the bay, is yerba buena, or goat island. it rises three hundred and forty feet above low water mark. nearly in a line over the island appears berkeley, the site of the university of california, of which one large building, already two thirds raised, you may possibly discern. a little further south--that is, to the right, you can plainly see the state asylum for the deaf and dumb and blind. this noble building crowns a gently-sloping eminence just at the margin between the broad and nearly level plain which stretches between it and the bay, and the foothills back of which the contra costa mountains bring up the rear. almost due east lies oakland, the tree-city of the beautiful grove-dotted plain. then clinton, san antonio, brooklyn and alameda, snuggled in together so closely that one can't tell "which is which;" and, as far as the beauty of the view is concerned, it doesn't matter either, for they are all fair to look upon and lovely to behold. the clustering trees shut out by far the larger portion of the houses, so that we might hardly suspect the size and population of the towns, whose scattered roofs show here and there among the trees. we are looking southeasterly now. that creek, whose mouth you see just beyond alameda, leads into san leandro bay; and right over it, nearly hidden by intervening trees, lies the town of the same name. a little further south, and too distant to be plainly seen, is hayward's. that depression in the mountain summits beyond, marks the opening of livermore pass, through which the western pacific railroad finds its way. beyond hayward's, further south, and thence sweeping around to the right, toward the extreme end of the bay, we dimly discern the northern end of the beautiful santa clara valley, where it widens out and flattens down to the bay. we are now looking almost due south. only four miles down, hunter's point shuts off our further view, and compels us to look nearer home. a trifle west of that, and half as far away, the potrero presents its transverse ridge, fast disappearing under the rapidly-growing city, and showing a gap of daylight where the deep cut of the bay view horse railroad was relentlessly dug and blasted through, in its stubborn pursuit of a practicable grade. between the cut and ourselves, the long bridge shuts off the mission bay, and shows where the fast-filling mud-flats will soon crowd back the bay, and make a new water front. still nearer, we have the western slope or ridge of rincon hill, rising gradually to the left, and packed all over with the huddled and mostly wooden houses of the new and hurriedly-built city. along the inner base of the hill, and stretching out westward, lies the old "happy valley." that's just this side of where you see the shot-tower, and runs thence four or five blocks to the right. between that and ourselves, coming over this side of market street, we have the oldest and most densely-built part of the city, relieved here and there--by the occidental hotel, tucker's tower, the merchants' exchange, murphy, grant & co.'s building, and half a dozen others. now let the vision range away southwest, again beginning at the hills and coming in. the bounding hills are bernal heights, west of which fairmount and the adjacent hills merge into the peninsular range, and form a rude amphitheatre, within which nestles the fast-growing southwestern precinct. coming up toward the west, the twin summits of the mission peaks slant the vision up against the sky, or plunge it into the fleecy billows of in-rolling ocean fog, which seldom survives the warmer air of the inner basin long enough to roll far down their western slope. between them and us lies the mission dolores, grouped around its century-old church. northward of the twin-peaks the hills rise in "promiscuous prominence." a little south of west, that irregularly conical hill, surmounted by a gigantic solitary cross, is the famous "lone mountain," about whose lower slopes, and around whose base are grouped so many "cities of the dead." thence northerly, to the point whence our survey began, little of note arrests the sight, more than the broad reach of lower hills and sandy dunes, which patiently wait the coming occupation of the westward-growing city. although the point beneath our feet is but three hundred feet high, the panoramic view is wider and freer than from any other, even the highest hilltop of the city. russian hill.--about one mile west-southwest from telegraph hill, on vallejo street, between taylor and jones street, russian hill rises nearly sixty feet higher, but offers little additional prospect. it was formerly surmounted by a sort of cork-screw observatory, a skeleton structure of open frame-work, surrounded by a spiral stairway, whose summit afforded the loftiest lookout within the city limits. west-northwest of this hill, and about three-quarters of a mile from its summit, lies the small lagoon, near which the founders of the early mission first located. clay street hill.--nearly south of russian hill, and about three furlongs from it, rises this hill, the highest within the city limits. it is named from the street which runs just south of its summit, or will do so when cut through. the hill is feet high, and is a little over a mile southwest of telegraph hill. the view from its summit differs only in having moved the point of sight a mile southwest, and raised it about feet. california street hill.--this, too, takes its name from that of the neighboring street. it is hardly proper to call it a separate hill as it is but two blocks south of clay street hill, from which only a slight hollow originally separated it. rincon hill.--three quarters of a mile southwest of the city hall. its highest point reaches hardly a hundred feet above the bay level. the whole hill originally offered such sightly locations for building that it is covered on nearly all sides, and crowded upon its very height, by some of the most comfortable and home-like residences in the entire city. this fact makes it almost impossible to get an unobstructed view, in all directions, from any part of it. it was a favorite, and almost an aristocratic site for residences, until the heartless greed for gain procured legal authority to excavate the famous "second street cut;" feet deep, which needlessly ruined the beauty of the hill. lone mountain.--this singularly symmetrical hill stands two and one-half miles west of the city hall, at the head of bush street. it is ½ feet high. from its summit rises a solitary cross which, especially near sunset, stands forth against the western sky with peculiar, beautiful effect. the view hence is full of inspiration and suggestion. none have caught more of these, or embodied them in finer words than bret harte, in his favorite lines: as i stand by the cross on the lone mountain crest, looking over the ultimate sea, in the gloom of the mountain a ship lies at rest, and one sails away from the lea; one spreads its white wings on a far-reaching track, with pennant and sheet flowing free, one hides in the shadow with sails laid aback-- the ship that is waiting for me! but lo, in the distance the clouds break away, the gate's glowing portal i see, and i hear, from the out-going ship in the bay, the song of the sailors in glee; so i think of the luminous foot-prints that bore the comfort o'er dark galilee, and wait for the signal to go to the shore; to the ship that is waiting for me. mission peaks.--the double peaks already mentioned in our panoramic eye-sweep from telegraph hill, lying three miles southwest of it, sometimes called the twin peaks. they are five hundred and ten feet high, and stand four miles southwest of the city hall. they are the loftiest points in the county; either summit commands a view which well repays the time and labor expended in gaining it. bernal heights.--this name designates a short range of hills nearly five miles west-southwest of the city hall. starting near the bay, they run transversely, that is, westerly, for about one mile across the peninsula. their highest point is two hundred and ninety-five feet above the bay. the highest point of the potrero is three hundred and twenty-six feet above low tide, and the san miguel hills, near the southerly line of the county, reach the height of about four hundred feet. the pacific heights, near alta plaza, a mile and a half west of the city hall, are three hundred and seventy-five feet high. these are all the natural elevations of note within the city and county. the best artificial outlooks may be had from the roof of the houses standing on or near the summits of those hills which rise within the settled portion. the roof of bancroft's building, the cupola of the grand hotel, the u. s. military observatory, on the southwest corner of third and market streets, and the shot tower, if you can persuade mayor selby to let you up, all afford extensive and beautiful prospects. having thus told the tourist all we know about the most feasible and temperate methods of "getting high," we leave him to his own direction, only adding that if he isn't satisfied with our efforts in his behalf, he'd better go "up in a balloon," and view our city as the germans did paris. how to get about. the universal, inexpensive, always-ready and democratic way is by the ever-present horse cars. seven different companies have laid about fifty miles of rail in and about the city, and carry one either directly to or within a very short distance of any desired point. lines, routes and colors.--the omnibus and north beach and mission r. r. companies run yellow cars through third and fourth, sansome, montgomery and kearney, the central blocks of stockton, and the northern ends of powell and mason. they also run red cars from the centre of the city to the southwestern limits, through howard and folsom streets. the central r. r. co. runs red cars from the steamboat landings along the city front, through jackson, sansome, bush, and other leading streets to lone mountain. their cars are commonly called the lone mountain cars. the front street and ocean r. r. co. runs green cars from the steamboat landings at the foot of broadway, up that street, along battery, market, sutter and polk streets, by spring valley to the presidio, whence busses connect for fort point. a branch of this road runs through larkin street across market through ninth to mission; thus connecting the western with the southwestern suburbs. within the year this company has also constructed and put into operation another branch, carrying one to laurel hill cemetery and lone mountain. the market street r. r., the pioneer, runs blue cars from the junction of montgomery and market street, opposite the grand hotel, through market by the san josé depot, and out valencia to twenty-sixth. from the junction of ninth and larkin street with market, it sends a branch out through hayes valley to hayes valley pavilion. the city r. r.--lately built, and newly stocked, runs from the west front of grand hotel, at the junction of market and new montgomery, along the latter to mission, thence out mission to twenty-sixth, passing directly by the entrance to woodward's gardens, and within one block of the san josé depot. the potrero and bay view r. r.--connecting with the north beach and mission r. r., at the south end of fourth street, runs thence across the long bridge over mission bay--through the potrero deep cut, over the islais creek bridge, through south san francisco to the bay view race track terminus, within half a mile of hunter's point and the dry dock. times, fares, etc.--commencing at about p.m., in summer earlier, the cars run at various intervals of from three to seven minutes until and o'clock p.m., and on the city r. r., till . the next morning. nearly all the roads sell tickets, having four coupons attached, for twenty-five cents each. every coupon is good for one fare from one end of the city to the other, and the coupon tickets of one company are received by every other. for single fares, paid without coupons, they usually charge ten cents. nearly a year ago the city r. r. started the half-dime fare, asking but five cents for a single ride, and the market street r. r. has also adopted it. "children occupying seats, full fare." several of the companies issue transfer checks entitling the passenger to continue his ride upon any intersecting line without extra charge. hacks and coaches.--for the benefit of those who have occasion to engage any of the above, for the transient service of any excursion lying outside of the regular routes, or beyond the legal limits within which the fixed fare obtains, we subjoin the following legal regulations also contained in the order and section already quoted on a previous page: "for a hackney carriage, drawn by more than one horse, for four or less persons, when engaged by the hour, to be computed for the time occupied in going and returning, including detention, $ for the first hour, and $ for each subsequent hour. "for a hackney carriage, drawn by one horse, for two persons, when engaged by the hour, to be occupied in going and returning, including detentions, $ for the first hour, and $ for each subsequent hour." it is hardly necessary to remark, yet it may prevent misunderstanding to add, that the above rates pay for the service of the _whole_ carriage, and may be equitably divided among the occupants as they agree. livery service.--the livery stables of the city are numerous, and well-stocked with animals of blood and speed, and every form of two or four-wheeled vehicles from the substantial, three-seated thorough-braced wagon to the elegant or fancy single buggy or sulky. the usual rates, at all first class stables, are five dollars a day, or a drive, for a single team, and ten dollars for a double one. for a very short trip, and a very short time, they frequently abate something, and when a team is engaged for several days or weeks at once, commonly make the rate lower. for saddle horses the price is usually one half that of a single team, that is $ for a day or drive--subject to similar reductions as above. on foot.--if you have the nerve and muscle of a man, and are not sadly out of training, by all means walk through or about the city and around its suburbs. in several places, as, in climbing telegraph or any other hill, you will have to walk, and then you can. even our lady visitors might profitably emulate the pedestrian performances of their english sisters. provide good easy, wide-bottomed, low-heeled walking-shoes, boots or gaiters, and take the beautiful, windless and dustless morning hours for it and, unless your taste is fashionably perverted or your physical energy hopelessly exhausted, you will find it most delightful. among the scottish highlands, or in the swiss alps, you would certainly do it, endure it, enjoy it, and subsequently boast of it; why not try it here? suburbs and vicinity. we suppose the visitor to have fairly rested--to have walked about a little through the more central portion; to have somewhat studied the general plan of the city, in view of the larger or shorter time which he has to spend in the city, to have made up his mind how much he will see, and what it shall be. by way of helping his planning and sight-seeing, we now catalogue and briefly remark upon the more notable points, taken in regular order from the most central starting point. we offer the following pages as helpful suggestions to those who cannot avail themselves of the personal guidance of some resident friend, who can constantly accompany them to direct their route, and verbally explain the details which these printed pages attempt. if one has not time, or does not wish to see anything here set down, he can easily omit it, and from the remainder select whatever he may chose, transposing, combining, modifying and adapting according to his own good pleasure. general circuit of the city. commencing at the foot of market street, thence southward, along or over the water front, continuing around the entire city and returning to the point of starting. also mentioning more distant points visible to the spectator looking beyond the suburbs: the lumber yards, wharves and merchant fleet, first attract our notice. millions of feet of boards, plank and timber from the northern coast of this state and from oregon, ranged in immense piles on broad and deep piers--alongside of which the schooners, brigs and barks of the lumber fleet are constantly discharging. thence along stewart or east street, the latter being nearer the water, by large lumber-yards, boat-shops, blacksmithing and ship-chandling establishments, we reach the california and oregon s. s. co's wharves and slips. the folsom street cars run within five short blocks; nearer than any others. black diamond coal company's pier.--barges, sheds and piles of coal, straight from the bowels of mount diablo, corner spear and harrison streets, p. b. cornwall, agent. rincon point, foot of harrison street. the wharves and filling have quite obliterated the old shore line, which originally turning a short corner here, received the name "rincon," which, in spanish, means simply a corner. u. s. marine hospital, northwest corner of harrison and spear. p. m. s. s. co.'s piers, docks, sheds and slips. waterfront, foot of brannan and townsend streets. piers having a total front of feet, shed feet long by wide. steamships over five thousand tons register and docks built especially for them. capt. w. b. cox, superintendent. gas works, corner of king and second. the other works of the same company, the san francisco gas co., are on howard street, from first to beale. c. p. r. r. co.'s freight pier, depot and boat. foot of second street. mission bay. foot of second and third streets. the broad cove lying between south street and potrero; now fast filling in, especially beyond, that is, south of the long bridge. mission rock.--off the foot of third street. has a shanty on it. used for fishing. u. s. ship anchorage.--between foot of third and the mission rock, and within a quarter-mile radius of the latter. u. s. revenue cutters and coast survey vessels, chiefly occupy it. steamboat reserves.--in the docks between third and fourth and the adjacent ones along the south side of the bridge. long bridge.--from the foot of fourth street, across mission bay to potrero--one mile. will become kentucky street, when the filling-in makes a street of what is now a bridge. yacht club building.--east side of long bridge, one third across. yachts at moorings near. potrero.--the point at the south end of long bridge. spanish for pasture ground. originally a rocky ridge. fast disappearing under houses. glass works.--pacific glass works, corner iowa and mariposa streets, four blocks west of bridge. pacific rolling mill.--potrero point, water front, east of bridge. deep cut, is really kentucky street, brought down somewhere near the future grade, by cutting through the solid rock, to an average depth of feet for nearly a fifth of a mile. rope walk runs under kentucky street, near the north end of the islais creek bridge, which is the same street continued across islais creek, now a solidly planked bridge, seven eighths of a mile long. italian fishing fleet and flakes, on the right of the bridge, along the cove-beach just beyond the rope-walk. their mongolian competitors have their boats and beach a little further south. south san francisco is the rising land or ridge south of islais creek. it is a pleasant suburb, rapidly growing. catholic orphan asylum, that large, new wooden building fronting on connecticut street, nine blocks west of the bridge. hunter's point is the east end of south san francisco, a rocky point in which the dry dock, dug out of the solid rock, four hundred and twenty-one feet long, one hundred and twenty feet wide at the top, and sixty feet wide at the bottom, which is twenty-two feet below mean high water. with the floating dock, near by, it cost two millions of dollars. bay view race track, near railroad avenue, a mile southwest of islais bridge. one mile around; broad, smooth and hard. bay view house at north margin, near west end. visitacion point and valley, three quarters of a mile beyond the race course; worth driving out to see, if you have plenty of time. san bruno road unites with this railroad avenue about half a mile beyond the race course; brings one back near new butchertown, corner of islais creek canal and kentucky street. drive back this old san bruno road, until you come to twenty-sixth street; along that to mission; down mission to seventeenth, out which you may drive until you find your way winding and climbing up and over the east slopes of the peninsular hills along the ocean house road, a broad, hard track, leading over the hills to the house which names it. opposite twenty-fourth street is the toll gate, where you pay twelve and a half, or twenty-five cents, according to your team. a mile beyond, a side gate, free, admits you to a carriage-way through the fields, leading down, three quarters of a mile, to lake honda, the huge double-reservoir of sloping-sided masonry, covered with cement, and holding thirty-five million gallons. this well merits a visit. the city almshouse stands on the hill, half a mile south of the lake. the small-pox hospital is the small building standing alone on the hill, a third of a mile north of the almshouse. returning to, and resuming the main road, a mile southwesterly and then westerly, brings us to the ocean race course, securely enclosed, and having the usual circuit and surface. opposite this, and half a mile south lies lake merced, three quarters of a mile long by a fifth of a mile wide. that part of it nearer to, and parallel with the road, is a smaller, nearly separate lake called simply "the lagoon." ocean house, on a slight sandy knoll, half a mile northwest of lake merced. pacific beach.--this is the sandy shore of the "ultimate sea," stretching almost exactly north two miles to the base of the cliff, up which a well-built road carries us a score of rods northwesterly to the cliff house, the grand terminus, or at least way-station of all ocean drives. its broad, covered piazza, well-furnished with easy chairs and good marine glasses, has been for years the popular observatory whence fashion languidly patronizes the pacific, or gazes with momentary interest upon the seal rocks--three hundred feet from the shore, and dotted with lubberly seals, clumsily climbing upon the lower rocks, or lazily sunning themselves above. farallones--twenty-five miles seaward from the cliff house--seven sharp-pointed islets break the monotony of the western horizon. the highest of these rises three hundred and forty feet, and has a large lighthouse of the first-class, with the finest fresnel light on the coast. point lobes, a precipitous coast bluff, a third of a mile north of the cliff house, chiefly noted as the site of the signal station; provided with a fine glass and the usual outfit of a marine observatory. thence along the beach, or the brow of the bluff, if you like climbing, by the helmet rock, whose shape hardly appears from the land, around the curve of the shore, whose general direction here is northeast, a full mile, to fort point, where stands a doubly-strengthened and heavily-mounted fort, yet unnamed, whose chief interest founds upon its general resemblance to the famous fort sumter. lighthouse.--the northwest angle of the fort supports a substantial tower, showing a fixed white light. from the walls of the fort, or better still, from the lighthouse balcony, we look upon and across the golden gate, the connecting strait between the pacific ocean and san francisco bay. it is between three and four miles long, from one to two miles wide, and over four hundred feet deep. lime point, the northern inside gate-post--the southeastern extremity of marin county. point bonita.--the outer or oceanward point of the northern shore, nearly two miles west of the fort, crowned with a lighthouse. mountain lake--one mile south of the fort, and sending a little rivulet called lobos creek westward into the pacific, which it helps to replenish. presidio--spanish for garrison or barracks. this is nearly a mile southeast of the fort, as we return toward the city. its main features are the extensive barracks, accommodating several hundred u. s. soldiers, who make this their point of arrival and departure in going to or coming from the different stations to which they may be ordered. forming the parallelogram front is the parade ground, a broad, open field, gently falling toward the bay, surrounded by the officers' quarters or the barracks, and dotted with batteries here and there. black point.--the water front at the foot of franklin and gough streets. pioneer woolen mills--corner of polk and reade streets. office, battery street. north beach--from the foot of powell street west to black point. angel island, three and a half miles north of black point, across the bay. alcatraces island--a mile and a half north of north beach, off in the bay, heavily fortified, commanding the golden gate. north point--water front, foot of kearny street, corner of bay street. sea wall--water front from the foot of union street, southward; a sloping bulkhead of rubble, faced with heavier rock, costing $ a linear foot, and a mile and a half long. ferries.--alameda--corner of davis and pacific street. city front cars. oakland--same dock, next slip south. city front cars. saucelito--meiggs' wharf, foot of powell street. north beach cars. san quentin--davis street, near vallejo. city front or sutter street cars. vallejo--corner of front and vallejo. city front or sutter street cars. how to see san francisco and its surroundings. brief trips, or short excursions, requiring but a few hours each. short skeleton tours in and about the suburbs, suggesting the most interesting points, with the walks, rides, drives or sails by which one may reach them--the time required and the best hours of the day, the amount of walking necessary, with the conveniences and cost. in and about the city. i. walk up montgomery street to telegraph hill. if you don't feel like climbing clear to the top, follow the foot-path which winds around about two thirds up its east and northeast slopes. if you go to the top you can go down into--or if you take the lower path you will come round into, lombard street. walk down that to powell; turn to your right and follow powell north to the water and meiggs' wharf, down the wharf if you want the bay breeze, and the bay sights from a lower level; come back--take the south park cars; ride up powell by washington square, up stockton, down washington--get out at the upper corner of the plaza, walk diagonally across, notice the old city hall on your left, stroll up kearny to california or bush, down which you descend one block to montgomery. ii. chinese quarters.--sacramento street, from kearny to dupont, along dupont to pacific, down pacific to stockton, to jackson, down jackson to kearny; cast your eyes down the little alleyways and courts which cut up the blocks along these streets. look at these signs! "hop yik, wo ki, tin yuk, hop wo, chung sun, cheung kuong, hang ki, yang kee, shang tong, shun wo," that last wouldn't be a bad one to go over the door of "civilized" rum-hole. "wing on tsiang, wung wo shang, kwong on cheang," and scores of others. most are personal names, some are business mottoes. they are generally phonographic, that is, you pronounce them according to their spelling. here and there one suggests fun. for instance, "man li." well, why not a chinaman as well as a white man? has the superior race the monopoly of lying? that sign is certainly creditable to the chinese female; it says man li; not _woman_ lie. not far thence a very appropriate successor finishes the logical sequence, "hung hi." certainly, why not? that's what ought to be done to any merchant who will lie. any man li, should be "hung hi." these celestials certainly have no bad idea of the eternal fitness of things. what would happen to our melican merchants if that rule were rigidly applied? it would'nt be much trouble to take the next census. this is the out-door glance by daylight. if you want a more thorough exploration by day or by night, call on special officer duffield, (george w.) at , montgomery street, who knows their haunts and ways, and can show you all you'll care to see. his long experience among them has also acquainted them with him to such a degree, that they allow him to enter and pass through their houses and rooms whence another might be shut out. in fact, he is their special officer, paid by the chinese merchants to guard their property, and is emphatically _the_ man to have for an escort. he can take you into their gambling saloons, into their pigeon-hole lodging houses where rag-pickers, beggars and thieves fill the air with opium smoke, then shove themselves, feet foremost, into a square box of a pigeon-hole, more like a coffin than a couch. he can guide you into crooked, narrow, labyrinthine passages through which you can just squeeze, and which you could never find nor enter without guidance; into inner courts, around which, and in the midst of which, stand old rickety, tumble-down, vermin-haunted hives of wooden tenements which rise through three or four stories, all alive with the swarming lazzaroni, packed into the smallest and dirtiest of rooms, and huddled into every dark and filthy corner. these are the lowest and worst of their race; the _infernal_ celestials, among whom the officer will not take a woman at all, and where it would not be safe for any man to attempt entrance alone. the approaches are so ingeniously constructed and so artfully disguised, and the passages wind among each other so intricately, and intersect each other so perplexingly, that not one in a thousand could ever find the beginning, and hardly one in ten thousand could discover the end. "for _ways_ that are _dark_, and for _tricks_ that are _vain_, the heathen chinee _is_ peculiar; which the same i would rise to explain." the stranger must not conclude, however, that such as these make up the bulk of the chinese who come to us. on the contrary, these are the lowest and vilest, the dregs and settlings of their social system; no more fit to be taken as samples of their nation than the low, whisky-drinking, shillaly-swinging, skull-cracking, vote-repeating irish, who now govern new york, are to be taken as fair types of the "finest pisantry undher the sun," or considered as a representative of the educated irishman, than whom a warmer-hearted, freer-handed, more courteous-mannered gentleman one can hardly meet in a thousand miles. so the middle classes of the chinese are cleanly, sober, industrious and honest, while their leading merchants, of whom we have several fine representatives in the city, are models of business integrity and social courtesy. enter one of their establishments, with proper introduction, and you shall encounter the most perfect politeness throughout the interview, and carry away the impression that you were never more heartily welcomed and generously entertained, according to their custom, of course, by _any_ strangers, in your life. and one very notable thing should also be said of their street deportment; you may walk through their quarter every day and night for a month, and not see a single drunken man of their own race. if you encounter one at all, he is likely to belong to the "superior race." your survey of the chinese quarter would be incomplete without a visit to their temples or joss houses. one of these stands off pine, just above kearny. they are also used as hospitals. should you wish any souvenir in the shape of their peculiarly ingenious manufacture, you may find them at the chinese or japanese bazaars. iii. third street.--five and a half blocks to south park; thence three blocks to the water; along channel street to long bridge. here we may take the bay view cars, ride across the mission bay, visit the rolling mills, or keep on through the deep cut, over islais creek bridge, through south san francisco, to bay view track, whence 'busses carry us to hunter's point and the dry dock. best time, morning, unless some ship is going into dock on the high tide. fare in 'bus, twenty-five cents each. iv.--water front--south of market.--walk along east or stewart st., by u. s. marine hospital, to p. m. s. s. co.'s ships and docks and c. p. r. r. freight piers and depot. thus far no cars. at foot of brannan take cars, ride up that to third, down third, by south park, to howard--along howard to second, along second to market again. or you can walk from the water up second to market again. or you can walk from the water up second through the cut to harrison, climb the bridge-stairs, walk down harrison to first or fremont, turn left, and come back by the shot tower, foundries, and factories to market. v.--water front--north of market.--no cars here. stroll northerly by the corners of the different streets, along the heads of the different piers, among the grain and produce boats, river steamer docks and ferry slips, around to north point, with its bonded warehouses, iron clippers, and sea wall, thence back sansome to broadway, whence cars take you again to the centre. vi.--southwestern suburbs.--from corner west front of grand hotel, take city cars out mission, by fine new church, new mint, to woodward's gardens; thence to sixteenth; up that three blocks, westerly, to dolores street, where stands the old mission church, the site of the first permanent settlement of san francisco; out dolores; south two blocks, to jewish cemeteries; back by same way to sixteenth; down that to mission woolen mills; thence home by folsom street or howard street cars, either of which brings you to market street. vii.--western suburbs and beyond.--from montgomery up sutter, by cars, or up bush by feet or wheels. either street carries you westerly to laurel hill, in which elegant monuments and mausoleums merit more than passing notice; thence east three blocks to lone mountain and the cemeteries grouped about its base, and upon its lower slopes--the odd fellows', west; the masonic, south, and the calvary north and east. out the cliff house road--you'll need horse probably, or can take the 'bus for cents each way--by the race track or driving park, to the cliff house; look at the seal rocks, seals, ocean and farallones; thence south along pacific beach to ocean house, whence in by ocean road or the new central road by lake peralta and lake honda. the old ocean road brings you back through the mission; the new one, in by lone mountain again. viii.--northwestern suburbs and beyond.--up geary, post or sutter to van ness avenue; thence twelve blocks north through spring valley, by cars from broadway west to harbor view, presidio and fort point. returning from the presidio, keep towards the bay; come around by black point, whence, skirting the water-front through five or six rough blocks, you reach the foot of mason or powell street, and find other cars waiting to bring you home. the routes above suggested, are by no means exhaustive, but will take one to or near the most noted points. if the tourist can have the personal guidance and escort of some well-posted friend, so much the better. in the absence of such friend, or even to accompany him, we respectfully submit our little pocket substitute. excursion routes. under this head we suggest different excursions to and through the most noted localities within a limited radius. we have arranged them in the order of their neighborhood to each other, so that one may pass from the end of one to the beginning of the next without the necessity of returning to san francisco more than once or twice before completing them all. i. the bay trip. we suppose you tired of land travel, with its accompanying jar and dust, and willing to spend a half day in a smooth-sailing steamer on the beautiful bay. go to no. market street, only nine doors east of bancroft's, to the office of gen. ord, commanding the department of california. he can give you a pass, ordering, the captain of the mcpherson, the lively little government propeller, which daily makes the rounds of the military posts on all the chief islands in the harbor, to take you to any you may wish to visit, or all, if you desire. no other boat makes these trips. this one goes the rounds twice a day. unless particularly fond of high wind, and short, choppy, sea-sicky waves, you'd better go in the morning. the steamer leaves jackson street pier every morning at eight, and every afternoon at three. it takes you first, to alcatraz, or alcatraces, as the government spells it over the fortress gate. the first is the singular, and the second the plural, form of a spanish word meaning a pelican. the island lies a mile and a quarter north of san francisco, and two and one half miles east of the golden gate, whose entrance it commands. it is one third of a mile long, one tenth of a mile wide, rises a hundred and forty feet above low tide; a rudely elongated oval in shape, contains about thirty acres, composed mainly of solid rock; is heavily fortified on all sides and crowned by a strong fortress on the top. perfect belts of batteries surround the island, mounting some of the heaviest guns yet made in america. it is the key to the fortifications of the harbor. the island affords no fresh water. all which is used there is carried thither from the main land or caught in cisterns during the rainy season. on the highest point stands a lighthouse of the third order, whose light can be seen, on a clear night, twelve miles at sea, outside the golden gate. the southeast point of the island has a heavy fog-bell, which strikes four times a minute through all dense fogs. if you wish to land and examine the fortress and batteries, you can do so, and stay until the boat returns, usually half or three quarters of an hour, or remain till its afternoon trip, five or six hours later. from alcatraz, the boat goes a mile and a half to angel island, which lies three miles north of san francisco, and is the largest and most valuable island in the bay. it is a mile and one third long, three quarters of a mile wide, and seven hundred and seventy-one feet high. it contains about six hundred acres of excellent land, watered by natural springs. on the east side are quarries of blue and brown sand-stone, while good brick-clay is found elsewhere. three fixed batteries, mounting large and heavy guns, and connected by a military road encircling the island, have been built. the officers' quarters, barracks, and parade ground, are in a shallow, gently-sloping valley, near the landing on the west side. returning, we touch at alcatraz and thence steam round to yerba buena, or goat island, two miles east of san francisco, and two and a half from the oakland shore, from which the long railroad pier is heading straight for it, with the evident intention of bridging the entire distance at an early day. the island contains little over half a square mile, principally covered with chapparal, which is here a thicket of low, evergreen oaks, dwarfed by the salt air and the high winds. the government also owns and occupies this island--barracks, shops, and garrison. the name goat island was given from the fact that many vessels coming to this port in early times, from southern ports where goats were cheap, used to bring them for fresh meat on the passage. in the event of a short voyage, a few goats survived, and upon arrival here were turned loose upon this island, as it lay near the anchorage, and provided a place from which the goats could not escape. these veteran survivors of the voyage "round the horn," presently increased to such numbers as to originate the name "goat island," which has, to a considerable degree, supplanted the earlier and more significant name yerba buena. this latter name, having been lifted from the city, ought at least to be allowed to fall and rest upon the island, in perpetuation of those "early days," whose landmarks are fast failing and fading into forgetfulness. now return with the boat to the pier, exchange the pure bay-breeze for dust-laden city airs, and you have completed your bay trip. ii. the oakland trip. oakland lies seven miles east of san francisco. at least that is the distance from centre to centre; between the nearest margins the measure would be hardly five miles. a dozen times a day the ferry-boat takes one over; fare, cents. get out at broadway street, turn to your left, walk four or five blocks, notice the comfortable, roomy appearance of the city. two blocks up, observe that neat church on the left, set well back from the street and surrounded by ample grounds and pleasant gardens. that's rev. dr. mooar's congregational church. a block or two beyond, look up the broad street to the right, and you see the buildings and grounds now occupied by the state university of california, pending the erection of ampler accommodations on the university site at berkeley, five miles north. take the horse cars if you like, and ride out north along the "telegraph road." noble residences and beautiful grounds line both sides of the way. a mile out, that large, new, wooden building, crowning the summit of a moderate hill, accommodates mcclure's academy, wherein the military drill reinforces and enlivens the other usual studies of a first-class academy. a third of a mile further, upon the same side appears the large and finely-proportioned pacific female college, lately purchased by the pacific theological seminary. still north two miles further, brings us to or in front of the deaf, dumb and blind asylum, beautifully located on the top of a little rise, and commanding a fine view of the golden gate, the bay, san francisco, and its surroundings. the style of the building is a modified gothic. it is built of a fine-grained, bluish granite, from a neighboring quarry. it has a length of one hundred and ninety-two feet front, one hundred and forty-eight feet depth, sixty-two feet height up the three stories and a half to the gable, and one hundred and forty-five feet to the top of the tower. within, the school-rooms, chapel, halls, dormitories, and bath-rooms, are models of convenient arrangement. principal, prof. wilkinson. another mile and we cross a ravine, bear away to the left, and find ourselves on the grounds of the state university of which only the mining and agricultural college building has begun to take form. the site is the finest imaginable: facing the golden gate, the bay and its islands, and the "golden city" beyond. continuing west from the university site, we may go down to the san pablo road and return to oakland by a different route. approaching the centre we may note the new city hall, delight ourselves with glances down the broad and "tree-ful" streets. arrived at the market street station we take the cars south, cross the san antonio creek, through brooklyn to san leandro, where we may get out and take another train to hayward's, six miles southeasterly from san leandro. this is a new, pleasantly-situated and rapidly-growing town, the shipping point for a large agricultural region around. here see the grain sheds, run out to the brighton cattle market, the largest in the state, after which you can take stage six miles to alvarado, and there inspect the salt works, but, more especially, the beet sugar works, the first erected and operated in california, and regarded as the pioneer of an extensive and valuable industry. from alvarado you can keep on, by stage, nine miles to the warm springs, or you can reach these by driving to niles, or decoto, and thence taking the cars of the san josé road. these springs are about two miles south of the old mission san josé, in the midst of a pleasant grove of oak and other trees, near the agua caliente (hot water) creek. the waters contain lime, sulphur, magnesia, and iron, in various combinations. summer guests speak highly of the neighboring hotel. from the springs return to the railroad, and riding eleven miles, enter on iv. the san josé trip, which begins with san josé. the county seat of santa clara county; in population the fourth city of the state, in character of population one of the first, and in beautiful surroundings the gem city. it has a fine situation, in the midst of a beautiful valley, and a climate so healthy that many people affected with lung complaints go thither to live, as a means of cure. hundreds from san francisco and the intermediate cities, go on excursions to san josé and vicinity every summer. from whatever direction we approach san josé, the first object to meet the eye is the lofty dome of the court house. next to the state capitol at sacramento, this is the finest building in the state. it stands on the west side of first street, fronting st. james square. its architecture is roman corinthian; its dimensions, one hundred feet front, one hundred and forty feet depth; height, fifty-six feet to cornice; to top of dome, one hundred and fifteen feet. the building is divided into two lofty stories, containing the principal court room, sixty-five feet long, forty-eight feet wide and thirty-eight feet high, with twenty large and elegant rooms for county officials. the view from the dome is alone worth going to san josé to enjoy. whatever else you may omit, in and about the city, do _not_ omit this. the state normal school building. next to the court house, this is the chief object of interest. it occupies the centre of washington square, faces west; architecture, corinthian; length, two hundred and eighty-four feet; depth, one hundred and sixty feet; and height to top of cornice, seventy feet; to top of tower, one hundred and fifty-two feet; number of stories, four, including basement and mansard roof. the normal hall is ninety-one feet long, sixty-six feet wide, and forty feet high, accommodating nine hundred. auzerais house. among the finest buildings in the city, and the best hotel south of san francisco, is the auzerais house. for first-class hotel accommodations in all variety, for cordial welcome and courteous service, stop here, and you will not be disappointed; especially when restfully reclining in the charming park and garden attached to the house. rates, usual first-class; from $ . single day, to $ . , or even $ . , a week, with lower rates for longer times. new york exchange hotel. corner of first and st. john's streets, ranking next to the auzerais, affords excellent rooms, with good board and attentive service, for from $ . a day to $ . a week. if you want to ride through the surrounding valley, as you certainly will, after looking from the court-house dome, go to church & wallace, no. first street, who will have a capital team waiting for you at the station if you merely drop them a slight hint by telegraph. besides the public buildings already named, fine churches, school buildings, business blocks, private residences and beautiful gardens well repay a stroll through this queen city of a lovely valley. new almaden. from san josé, take one of church & wallace's teams, and drive thirteen miles southerly to the celebrated quicksilver mine, named for the famous old almaden mine, in spain, with the syllable, "new," prefixed by way of distinction. this mine is over five hundred feet deep, and employs nearly five hundred men. for permission to enter, apply to j. b. randol, esq., manager, residing at new almaden. if you prefer to go out by public conveyance, a stage will take you over any afternoon at . for $ . . drive back to san josé: thence, by steam car, horse car or private team, go over three miles north to santa clara, a pleasant, quiet town, chiefly noted for the santa clara college (jesuit), which occupies the site of the old mission, which was really the germ of the town; and the university of the pacific (methodist). saratoga, _springs_, of course, ten miles southwest of san josé, from which daily stage carries one over for $ . . these springs are called the congress springs, from the resemblance of their water to that of the original and famous springs of that name at the new york saratoga. they are three shallow springs, excavated in the sandstone, and tasting very much alike. the water contains sulphates and carbonates of soda, iron and lime, with traces of magnesia. it is very refreshing and healthful; so much so that the guests at the neighboring hotel annually consume increasing quantities, besides the thousand bottles sent away daily. thence back to san josé, and, after a good night's rest, set forth on tour v. gilroy, and points south, and the places for which it is the starting point. this brisk and lively, neat and thriving town, we beg its pardon, _city_, is thirty-one miles southeast of san josé, from which one reaches it by the southern pacific railroad for a fare of $ . . this city is the present terminus of the railroad, and the consequent centre from which radiate the various stage routes to the "lower country." on every hand it presents evidences of business prosperity and rapid growth. population, over two thousand. hot spring--fourteen miles northeast of gilroy, in a small, rocky ravine opening into coyote cañon, is this noted spring. its water contains iron, soda, magnesia, sulphur, and baryta, and has a pungent but not unpleasant taste. throughout the year it preserves a uniform temperature of about one hundred and ten degrees. within a rod of the hot spring are a dozen or more large springs of pure, cold water. the curative properties of the water, added to the romantic character of the surrounding scenery, have caused the erection of a fine hotel, reached by regular stages, over a good road, from gilroy. some twelve miles southwest of gilroy, one may find, in the pajaro valley, as quiet and beautiful an agricultural nook as the state affords. for a quiet retreat in some hospitable farmhouse, with a good chance for small game, for a day or two, this snug valley will decidedly "fill the bill." its black soil, famous potatoes, and charming little branch cañons will dispose a farmer, or a hunter, or a painter to stay as long as possible. when you have rusticated as long as you can in the romantic vicinity of gilroy, and are ready, though unwilling, to go, you can return by the way you came, if you like; but, if time permits, and you wish to see one of the pleasantest sections of the state, you will take stage through hollister and san juan, a quiet little town, old and quaint, and chiefly notable for its early mission, founded in , to monterey, the first capital of california, and noted, also, as the place where the american flag was first raised in california, by com. sloat, july th, . here one may see plenty of the old adobe houses, with tiled roofs, built in the primitive mexican style. from monterey, you may come up the coast, by water, or go back to san juan, and thence take stage to watsonville, near the seaward end of the beautiful pajaro valley, and come through to vi. santa cruz, and up the coast. beyond comparison the most delightful among the smaller towns of the state. in fact it is the occidental newport, the pacific nahant, where languid fashion and exhausted business most do congregate. here land and water meet, present the best beauty of each, and combine to proffer new ones impossible to either alone. rides, rambles and drives, swims and sails, picnics and chowder-parties, excellent hotel accommodations, and plenty of good company, furnish the material for as varied enjoyment, and as much of it, as any one of ordinary constitution can stand. the way of approach which we have mentioned, is comparatively rare. the most noted route is from santa clara by daily stage, thirty miles; fare, $ . . when you have sufficiently enjoyed santa cruz and its beautiful surroundings, you may take the stage any monday, wednesday or friday morning, at eight o'clock, for a ride up the coast. eight miles north we pass laguna creek, noted for good fishing, while its vicinity proffers fine shooting, both of which attractions have combined to make it a favorite camping-ground for picnic parties. nearly three miles further, william's landing gives you the first chance to witness "hawser-shipping", an ingenious device for getting produce, or any form of merchandise, into a boat, or upon the deck of a vessel when the surf is too rough to permit the landing of a boat or the continuance of a pier. thus art makes a "port" for loading or discharging where nature forbids the construction of the ordinary facilities. three and a half miles brings us to davenport's landing, an open roadstead, famous for the longest pier running out into the open ocean, of any place on the pacific coast. thence two miles, to the beautiful laurel groves and camping-grounds of scott's creek. nearly one hundred and fifty deer have been killed in this neighborhood in one season. four miles more, and frogtown welcomes us. here david post proves himself posted in the providing of "good square" meals; in fact, he's just the david who can slay the goliath of hunger, though, instead of hitting one in the middle of the forehead, he commonly aims about an inch below the nose. waddell's wharf is three miles further. thence, by steel's ranch and white house ranch to pigeon point. on the coast, about ten miles from frogtown, thirty-one from santa cruz, and seven from pescadero. this is important to all the neighboring inhabitants, because it is their shipping point, where one may witness the "hawser-pier" in its glory; and interesting to the tourist, because it is a whaling station, and the only one on the coast which he will be likely to see. a colony of portuguese do the whaling. they go out in large open boats, six men to a boat, and shoot the harpoon into the whale from the harpoon-gun. one may sometimes see a dozen or more whales at once, rolling and spouting, or "blowing," in the offing. seven miles further, and our journey ends, or, at least, this particular stage-route ends in pescadero. ho for pescadero and the famous pebble beach! by rail from san francisco to san mateo, twenty miles south, thence by troy coaches over a new toll road, to pescadero, thirty miles. total distance, fifty miles. time: to san mateo, one hour, thence to pescadero, four and a half hours. fare: to san mateo, $ . , thence to pescadero, $ . . leaving san mateo, the road winds through beautiful scenery to the summit of the santa cruz mountains, which divide the waters of the bay from those of the ocean. the summit is eight miles from san mateo and affords a view of great extent, embracing the long coast line on the west, white with the surf of breakers, and the broad expanse of the bay on the east, with the diablo range of mountains bounding the horizon. from the summit, it is four miles to the old-fashioned pueblo of spanishtown, nestled in a little dell opening out on half-moon bay. thence four miles to purissima, another coast town, near which an isolated, rounded peak, called ball knob, rises conspicuously above the surrounding hills. from purissima, a drive of twelve miles along, or in sight of, the beach, brings us to our destination. pescadero, is the spanish for fisherman, from _pescado_, fish. the town is situated near the mouth of pescadero creek, so named, probably, from the abundance of trout which swarm in its pools and eddys. the village is about a mile from the beach, in a sheltered depression, affording a charming and secluded retreat for pleasure seekers and invalids. the tourist will find good hotel and stabling accommodations, among the best of which are the lincoln hotel and stables, under the charge of capt. kinsey. prominent among the objects of interest around pescadero, is the celebrated pebble beach, three miles south. here may be seen ladies, gentlemen, and children, on a warm summer day, down on their hands and knees, searching for curious and pretty little pebbles of every hue and shape. the supply is never exhausted, for every storm casts up a new store of treasures. pebbles of sufficient beauty and value to be set in brooches and rings, have been discovered here. the shell beach is two miles further on, being five miles from the hotel, and affords a great deal of variety to the beach hunters. the moss beach is twelve miles south, and here the lovers of the most beautiful, fanciful and delicate combinations of colors and fibres, peculiar to sea mosses, can revel to their hearts' content. the other objects of interest along the coast, are sea lion rocks, two miles west of the hotel, being, as the name suggests, a large rock covered with sea lions. marble bath tubs, five miles south. these are excavations in the solid rock, in the shape of bath tubs, some of natural and some of colossal size. pescadero creek, as above intimated, is a noted trouting stream. a beautiful drive of six miles up the creek, brings us to the mineral springs, and two miles further, is a forest of big trees, some of which are said to be fifty feet in circumference. in their vicinity are three shingle mills. one mile west of the town, is a so-called indian mound, from the summit of which a fine view is obtained. the butano falls seven miles distant, on butano creek, consists of a succession of cascades, over thirty feet high, located in a deep ravine, surrounded by romantic scenery. from pescadero, we may keep on up the coast, any monday, wednesday or friday morning, through san gregorio, purissima, and other quiet little towns, through a beautiful country, over high hills and bluffs bordering on the beach, and affording most magnificent ocean views, eighteen miles, to spanishtown, or half moon bay. the shipping-point of a fertile region lying in the immediate vicinity, and extending back into branching valleys. from this place the road leaves the coast, climbs the hills, by a winding and well-cut grade, to a height of eight hundred feet, whence one enjoys a combination of bay, ocean, hill and valley scenery rarely equaled. upon this summit we pass, for convenience's sake, to crystal springs and san mateo county, and, after enjoying four miles of charming views, while winding down the western slopes, we reach crystal springs, where a number of cold, clear springs break through the rocks, in a romantic cañon, forming so attractive a spot for summer recreation that a large and fine hotel has been built and well sustained. the neighboring roads are good, the tramps endless, and game encouragingly plentiful. thence four miles of delightful road brings us to san mateo, and the iron track again. this is a beautiful little town, made expressly for homes. several prominent san francisco merchants have here hidden their country residences away among oak groves so snugly that one must know exactly where they are, and even then be close upon them, before he would begin to suspect their number, their beauty, and their comfort. from this place, it is worth one's while to drive or ride four miles down to belmont, noted as a favorite picnic ground for large sunday school and society excursions, chiefly from san francisco, and as the residence of wm. c. ralston, esq., whose country seat, in beauty of location, extent of accommodations, with variety and completeness of appointments, happily combines the elegance of a palace with the simplicity and comfort of a home. many a distinguished eastern visitor warmly remembers the generous hospitality of that "home behind the hill." from belmont, it is but three miles and a quarter to redwood city, the county seat of san mateo county, on a navigable slough leading into the bay. its chief industry is the hauling from the hills and shipping from the wharves the redwood lumber, whose abundance has named the town. it has a good hotel--the american house. four miles south of redwood city, menlo park, terminates our excursion in this direction. the attractions of this place are the fine residences of san francisco merchants, surrounded by noble oaks, which, scattered and grouped over a square mile or two, hereabout, have furnished half the name of the place. nature made it a "park;" man added the "menlo." here we may take the cars again, and after a ride of thirty-two miles, first passing, in reverse order, through the three towns just named, with millbrae, the elegant home of d. o. mills, esq., san bruno, twelve mile farm, schoolhouse station and san miguel, we complete the southern tour around the bay and along the coast, and again commit ourselves for a time to the whirl and dust and bustle of the metropolis. having refreshed ourselves with a dash of city life again for a day or two, we are off for the northern circuit, including san rafael, mt. tamalpais, san quentin, state prison, and saucelito. no. : petaluma, santa rosa, healdsburg, the geysers, and clear lake, with sonoma and its vineyards, we complete no. with vallejo, mare island, the u. s. navy yard, napa, napa valley, oak knoll and calistoga. we come back down the valley to vallejo, whence mccue's stages take us to benicia, seven and a half miles. [for particulars of above three trips, see bancroft's tourist's guide--geysers.] . mt. diablo trip. across the strait of carquinez from benicia, and connected with it by a steam ferry, lies martinez, the county seat of contra costa county. the town has a picturesque situation, several pleasant residences, very beautiful surroundings, and a charming climate. the celebrated alhambra ranch, which has taken several medals as the best cultivated farm, yielding the best fruits, and the best native wine in the state, lies but a short distance hence. five miles back from martinez and the bay, connected with the former by stage and with the latter by a navigable creek, stands pacheco, a quiet, pleasant, country town, noted as the shipping point of the broad and fertile agricultural fields of the diablo and san ramon valleys, lying around and beyond it. the manufacture of carriages and agricultural implements also conduce to its prosperity and importance. another daily stage line also connects this town with oakland. eight miles beyond pacheco, further in and higher up, is clayton, the largest and most romantically situated town in this part of the state, and in the latter particular, surpassed by few on the coast. occupying an elevated bench, or plateau, it commands fine views, and having many wide-spreading oaks scattered through and around, it possesses much intrinsic beauty. mr. clayton, whose name the town has taken, has a vineyard of nearly forty thousand vines, which, though never irrigated, are vigorous and prolific. he sends his excellent grapes directly to san francisco, for the immediate market which they are sure to command, and thus realizes a greater profit than by making them into wine. other vineyards and orchards in this vicinity have over one hundred thousand vines, and nearly forty thousand fruit trees. clayton is the usual point of departure for the ascent of mount diablo, three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six feet high, and christened with its infernal appellation because, like its satanic prototype, it seldom lets men out of its sight. the best time to climb the mountain is early in the morning--the earlier the better. if one can stand on the summit at sunrise he will receive the most ample reward for his early rising. the distance from clayton up is eight miles; the time occupied by a comfortable ascent is a little over two hours. if there are ladies, or persons unused to riding and climbing, the party should allow a good three hours. the clayton livery stable furnishes trained saddle horses for $ . a day. the expense of a guide, who furnishes his own horse, is $ . for the trip, which, of course, as in yosemite, is usually divided among the party. though not absolutely necessary to employ a guide, it is decidedly safer and better, especially if the party includes ladies, as the trail is in some places difficult, and even dangerous to strangers. the first four miles south from clayton a good carriage-road follows the course of a stream through a deep cañon. over this part, ladies unused to the saddle, and desiring to avoid unnecessary fatigue, would better ride on wheels. at the end of this road, near a farm-house, the tourist turns to the right, and follows a cut trail westerly to deer flat, where are two huts and a spring. beyond deer flat, the trail runs southeasterly to the top of a ridge in sight of the flat below, and thence lies along the top of this ridge, two and a half miles to the summit, where, for the first time in his life, probably, the traveler may get the devil fairly under his feet--or at least the devil's mountain. in the opinion of most tourists, this peak commands a more extensive, varied, and beautiful prospect than any equal elevation in the world. the mountain has two peaks, lying in a northeast and southwest line, nearly three miles apart. the southwestern one is the higher, and possesses scientific or topographical interest, from the fact that the state survey made it one of the three "initial points," from which they ran the "base lines" and "meridian lines," from which or by which the townships and sections are reckoned and located in all extensive conveyances of land. this mountain has an additional claim to its sulphurous surname, from the fact that it is supposed to have been, formerly, a volcano. looking east upon a clear day, or with the good field glass which some one of the party has thoughtfully provided, you may see the pacific ocean, sometimes the farallone islands, san francisco, the bay, the golden gate, mt. tamalpais, the petaluma, sonoma and napa valleys, san pablo and suisun bays, vallejo, navy yard, benicia, the sacramento and san joaquin valleys, with the tortuous windings of their serpentine rivers, creeks and sloughs, stockton and sacramento cities, the marysville buttes, and the snow-capped sierras beyond all; while away to the southwest the quiet santa clara valley completes the magnificent sweep of the glorious panorama, unrolled for more than a hundred miles around. if any of the party feel like sermonizing, the text will readily occur to you: "then the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, and saith unto him: 'all these things will i give thee if thou wilt fall down and worship me.'" as for his proposition to "fall down," we have only to remark, "beloved hearers! don't you do it, for the devil or any other man;" you'd break your necks as sure as you tried it. better _sit_ down in one of the sheltered nooks in the lee below the summit, eat your lunch and prepare for the descent. we may easily return to clayton in time to visit the black diamond coal mines, at nortonville, six miles distant, over a good road, through a rugged, mountainous and picturesque region. the tunnels enter the northeast side of the mountain, descend nearly three hundred feet southwesterly, whence one level follows a three-foot-thick seam, a good half mile northwesterly. two main seams are worked at present, one four feet and the other about three feet thick. they dip easterly, or northeasterly. the mine is very neat, and even cleanly, for a coal mine, so that one _could_ wear down an ordinary suit without harmful soiling. the railroad from the mine to the pier, five miles and a half below, whither iron cars, propelled by gravity, can carry three thousand tons per day, is chiefly remarkable for its unusual grade down the first mile and a half, through which the descent is two hundred and seventy-four feet to the mile. to meet this unusual, but unavoidable necessity, heavy locomotives, of peculiar design and construction, were invented and built at san francisco. they weigh twenty tons, have three pairs of thirty-six-inch driving wheels, with complex and powerful brakes for the enormous friction necessary. from these mines one may descend by the railroad already described, to new york landing, whence the regular stockton steamer will transport him thither, or return him to san francisco, the tourist's grand base of supplies, and point of departure for nearly all the more notable excursions about the state and the coast. . sacramento, stockton, and the lakes. to the eleven tours already detailed, one may, or even must, add a twelfth, which is separated from the others, and added, in conclusion, because it consists of cities and places lying on or near the great overland route by which every tourist will be almost certain to enter or leave the state; in most cases, both. these are the capital city, sacramento; the san joaquin county seat, stockton; with lake tahoe and donner lake. one may stop to see these as he comes or goes, or may make them the objects of a special excursion, of which the two lakes, especially tahoe, are notably worthy. sacramento. at the time of the american occupation of california, and for some time previous, the present site of this city was called the "embarcadero;" that is, in spanish, simply "the wharf, or the landing-place," though it strictly means the shipping-place. gen. jno. a. sutter came from new mexico and settled here in august, . the next year the mexican government granted him the land on which he had "located." he accordingly built a fort and gave himself to stock raising, agriculture, and trade. thenceforward for several years the place was known only as "sutter's fort." in july, , gen. sutter engaged the service of jas. w. marshall, as a sort of agent, or manager. this man became the discoverer of gold in the following accidental manner: in september, , he went up some fifty miles from the fort, upon the south fork of the american river, to construct a sawmill, which, in due time, with one single, most fortunate blunder, he accomplished. the blunder was this: when the water was let on, the tail-race proved too narrow and too shallow. to widen and deepen it in the quickest and cheapest way, he let through a strong current of water, which swept a mass of mud and gravel down to and beyond the lower end. january th, , the birth-day of the "golden age" in california, marshall noticed several yellowish particles shining out from this mud and gravel. he was, naturally, curious enough to collect and examine them. he called five carpenters who were at work on the mill, to join their judgments with his. they talked over the _possibility_ of its being gold, but seem to have thought it so little _probable_, that they quietly returned to their usual work. among the larger pieces of "yellow stuff" which marshall picked up that day, was a pebble weighing six pennyweights and eleven grains. he gave it to the nearest housekeeper, mrs. weimer, and asked her to boil it in saleratus water and see what would come of it. she was making soap at the time, and thinking the lye would prove stronger than simple saleratus water, she immediately pitched it into the soap kettle, from which it was fished out the next day, and found all the brighter for its long boiling. two weeks later, marshall brought the specimens down to the fort and gave them to sutter to have them tested. before the general had quite made up his mind as to whether they were certainly gold or not, he went up to the mill, and, with marshall, made a treaty with the indians, buying their titles to all the surrounding country. the little circle that knew it, tried to keep the matter secret, but it soon leaked out, and though not sure of its real nature, several began to hunt the yellow stuff that might prove the king of metals. the next month, february, one of the party carried some of the dust down to yerba buena (san francisco). here he providentially met isaac humphrey, an old georgia gold miner, who, upon his first look at the specimens, said they were gold, and that the diggings must be rich. he tried to persuade some of his friends to go up to the mill with him, but they thought it only a crazy expedition, and let him go alone. mr. humphrey reached the mill march th. only a few were lazily hunting for gold; there was no excitement; the most of the men were working in the mill as usual. next day he began "prospecting," and quickly satisfied himself that he had "struck it rich." he returned to the mill, made a "rocker," and immediately commenced placer mining in dead earnest. a few days later, baptiste, a frenchman, who had mined in mexico, left the lumber he was sawing for sutter, at weber's, ten miles east of coloma, and came over to the mill. he agreed with humphrey that the region was rich, furnished himself with rocker and pan, and forthwith began to develop the shining wealth, beside which mills, lumber, ranches, flocks, and crops were of small account. so these two men, humphrey and baptiste, became the pioneer gold-miners of california, and the first practical teachers of placer mining. the lumbermen around crowded in to see how they did it. the process was simple, the teachers were obliging, the lesson easy, the result sure and speedy wealth. they soon located "claims" all about, began to hoard their "piles," and sutter's fort, as the place through which all new comers passed, began a rapid growth, which proved the origin and nucleus of the present capital of california. the sacramento of to-day stands on the east bank of the sacramento river, about one mile below the junction of the american river, and at the head of tide navigation. next to san francisco, it is the largest city in the state, having a population of twenty thousand. it owes its importance chiefly to four things: st. its central position, in the midst of the finest agricultural region of the state. d. its situation at the head of tide water on the largest river of the state. d. it is the great railroad centre. four leading roads terminate there. th. it is the political capital, having become so in . the city was originally built on ground so low and level that the heavy floods have twice broken through the levee and nearly destroyed the town. the two great floods were those of - and - . thus, by sheer necessity of self-preservation, the inhabitants have been compelled to raise the grade of all the streets, and, in fact, of almost the whole city, nearly ten feet above the original level. sacramento has fine schools and churches, while the gardens, and shrubbery about the houses, combined with the trees along the streets, give it a most refreshing, home-like, and attractive appearance. beyond the depots, immense foundries and machine shops of the central pacific railroad, the city presents the single great attraction of the state capitol, an immense building occupying the centre of four blocks, bounded by l and n streets on the north and south, and by twelfth and tenth streets on the east and west. these four blocks were a gift from the city to the state. the building faces west, fronting three hundred and twenty feet on tenth street, while its two wings run back along l and n streets, one hundred and sixty-four feet upon each. its height is eighty feet, divided into three lofty stories. the lower story is granite; those above, brick. the main entrance is approached by granite steps, twenty-five feet high and eighty feet wide. the style of architecture is composite--the roman corinthian. the building was begun ten years ago, has been steadily carried on since, and will probably require two or three years longer for its full completion. the interior.--entering the vestibule, we find ourselves in a hall twenty feet deep, seventy-three feet wide, and having broad stairs on either hand. from the vestibule a broad and high-arched doorway, admits us to the rotunda, seventy-two feet in diameter, and rising through the height of the first dome. in the wall, between the openings of the different broad halls, are four niches to be filled by statues of washington, lincoln, a pioneer miner, and a pioneer hunter, one half larger than life. above these niches and the hall entrances, will be eight panels, each thirteen feet by six, with stucco frames for frescoes. directly over each of these will be a round panel for similar purposes, and with similar ornamentation. above these circular panels, will be a row of thirteen sunken panels, each thirteen by eight and a half feet, to be filled with pictures; and over these, still higher up, a tier of frames, each ten by sixteen feet, numbering sixteen in all, and also intended for paintings. the frames of these last extend clear to the bottom of the sky-light, and are to be painted red, white and blue, successively, thus presenting from below a huge sixteen pointed star of the national colors. the first story is twenty-one and a half feet high. from the right of the rotunda, a hall sixteen feet wide, leads south through the centre of that wing. first, on the right, are the secretary of state's two rooms, twenty-nine feet wide, and having a united length of forty-seven feet, elegantly finished and furnished. beyond these, in the southwest corner, is a reception, or committee room, twenty-seven by thirty, while the other corner has a like space divided into two rooms for similar purposes. opposite the secretary's is the chief justice's room. as we may not have time to descend to and describe the lower or ground floor, we may here say that its space is mainly occupied by the judges of the supreme court. in the north wing we have a similar arrangement of rooms, and to be occupied by the state treasurer, controller, attorney-general, board of education, besides two yet unassigned. returning to the rotunda, and going east, we enter the supreme court room, occupying a circular or ellipsoidal projection built out from the east side of the building between the two wings. the room is fifty-eight by forty-six feet, lofty and well-lighted. thence, crossing a hall on the southwest, one enters the supreme court library room, twenty-eight by thirty-three feet, and containing four thousand volumes. the second floor has a height of twenty feet clear, with halls like those below. along the central portion of the main hall the rooms on either side are the public law library room, two committee rooms on each side of the library, two rooms for the sergeants-at-arms of the assembly and the senate, and eight committee rooms. occupying the east half of the south wing is the senate chamber, while the assembly chamber has the corresponding location in the north wing, and the state library occupies the circular projection on the east side immediately over the supreme court room already described. between the senate chamber and the hall swing a pair of magnificent double doors of solid black walnut, inclosing beautiful panels of california laurel-wood, bordered by elaborate carving. these doors are thirteen feet high by seven feet wide, and six inches thick, and for massive elegance and costliness, are among the noticeable features of the capitol. the chamber itself is sixty-two feet deep, seventy-two feet wide, and forty-six feet high. a continuous gallery, supported by eight corinthian columns, extends across the west side, and throws a wing some distance forward on both the north and south. these columns are copied from those in portico of septimus severus at rome. twenty windows light the room by day, and two large gilt and crystal chandeliers by night. the president's desk occupies a recess in the centre of the east side. above the desk, large gold letters present the motto, "senatoris est civitatis libertatem tueri." a full-length portrait of washington hangs above this motto. the senators' desks are of black walnut, of large size, and handsome pattern. a capacious arm-chair, upholstered with crimson plush velvet, accompanies each desk. the assembly chamber occupies the eastern portion of the north wing. it measures ten feet more each way than the senate chamber; has the same style of architecture, and closely resembles that room in its general finish and furnishing, except that the desks and chairs are twice as numerous; the senators numbering forty, the assemblymen, eighty. the upholstering of the chairs of this room is of green velvet. very rich and heavy carpets of elegant patterns cover the floors of both rooms. the motto of this hall is, "legislatorum est justas leges condere." over the motto hangs a life-size portrait of general sutter, the founder of the city. still above the portrait, in a sort of arched niche, is a statue of minerva, having a horn of plenty on her right and a california bear upon her left. a like statue similarly flanked, occupies the corresponding position in the senate chamber. the state library.--the state library occupies the circular or elipsoidal projection midway between the north and south wings on the east side of the building, immediately over the supreme court rooms. the library room is fifty-eight feet long by forty-six feet wide, and forty-six feet high. its plan is unique. in the centre, a rotunda, rising straight up through, is crowned by a dome, whose top is sixty-three feet above the floor. a broad, circular gallery divides the room into two stories, each of which is itself again divided into two by a sub-gallery. the circular space around the rotunda, contains nine equal alcoves. the peculiar outline produces a singular, and somewhat startling effect, which is, that when standing in the centre of this library, one cannot see a single book, although the shelves around him contain nearly thirty thousand volumes. convenient stairs give easy access to galleries and sub-galleries; all of which are arranged in the same manner. counting the different levels from which ascend the successive tiers of radial shelving, the library room is four stories high. the dome rests on twelve corinthian columns, similar to those in the senate and assembly chambers, already described. still above the library, surrounding the rotunda, is a large circular room, devoted to the storage of papers, pamphlets, and congressional reports. the third floor is eighteen feet high in the clear, and is divided into seventeen committee rooms, besides a large hall in the southwest corner of the south wing, which is provided for a cabinet and museum. the dome.--over the inner dome, already built, will be erected the main or outer dome, one hundred feet higher, supported on massive iron columns, and surmounted by powers' statue of california, in iron. the grounds about the building, covering the four blocks donated by the city, will be terraced and sodded, set with native trees, beautiful flower plots, traversed by graveled walks, inclosed by a massive and costly fence, and entered by gateways at the corners and at the centres of each side. over $ , , , in gold coin, has already been expended upon it, and it is more than probable that the better part of another million will follow the first, before californians will witness the completion of their costly capitol, which is, however, as it should be, by far the noblest building west of the mississippi. although still unfinished, the legislature took formal possession of the building on monday, dec. th, . the secretary of state, state treasurer, supreme judges, and several other state officials, already occupy the apartments assigned to them. other buildings.--the new odd fellows' hall, the savings bank building, two or three of the churches, the residence of chas. crocker, and those of several other prominent gentlemen, equal the finest in the state. hotels.--the golden eagle and the orleans are the best. the former is newer, stands nearer the capitol, and accommodates the legislators. the latter is newly and elegantly furnished and is the great haunt of the railroad men. as for tables and beds, either will furnish you the best in the city. each runs free coaches from the depots and wharves. view of the city.--no neighboring natural eminence affords any point of sight worth noting. from the capitol dome, however, one has a view of the tree-embowered city, and the far-reaching, fertile valley, the gracefully winding, tree-bordered river, and the distant, snow-capped mountains, which form a panorama of beauty, shut in by grandeur, rarely to be enjoyed from as slight an elevation. stockton. a trifle over one third of the way down from sacramento to san francisco, lies stockton, the county seat of san joaquin county, and in population, the fourth city of the state. it stands on both banks of a deep and wide slough of the same name, navigable the year round, and opening into the san joaquin river, three miles west of the city. it was named in compliment to commodore stockton, in honorable recognition of his prominent services in the conquest of the state. no city in california has had a more gradual, steady and healthful growth. for many years it was the point of departure and the centre of trade for several of the richest mining regions, of which business it still retains, directly or indirectly, a full proportion. its great source of prosperity and of wealth, however, is the immense grain-producing country, the famous san joaquin valley, which surrounds it. last year, , stockton exported , , lbs., nearly , tons, of wheat; and , , lbs. of wool; , tons of hay, and nearly tons of butter and cheese. the artesian well.--one of the points of vital interest to the inhabitants, if not to every tourist, is the great well, one thousand and two feet deep, seven inches in diameter, and discharging three hundred and sixty thousand gallons daily. the insane asylum.--the chief architectural attractions of stockton are the two large and fine buildings of the state insane asylum, occupying most extensive, beautifully planned, and tastefully kept grounds, in the northern part of the city. the institution was opened in , and has now about eleven hundred patients in care. it is the most expensive public institution yet completed in the state, having cost nearly one million dollars. it is open to visitors at stated hours, except the female department, through which gentlemen are not allowed to pass, unless by special permission of, or in company with, the attendant physician. superintendent and resident physician, dr. g. a. shurtleff. hotels.--of the six or eight hotels in the city, only two rank as first-class. the yosemite house is emphatically _the_ tourist's home. the moment you step upon the depot platform, or the steamboat pier, look out for the bluest eye, the fairest hair, and the most attractive face in the crowd, and ride home with their owner. he's one of the three mcbean brothers, whose excellent management has made the yosemite house so widely known and so increasingly popular. the grand hotel is the other first-class house, and is conducted upon the restaurant plan. routes and teams.--if you want to know where to go and how to get there, ask for robert c. patten, or address him through box , stockton p. o., and he'll make any desired arrangements for you, in the kindest way, the promptest time, and at the lowest rate. from stockton toward oakland. the western pacific railroad takes us first, to lathrop, nine miles west of stockton. here is the junction of the visalia division of the central pacific railroad now open to modesto, twenty-one miles south, on the tuolumne river. this is one of the present points of departure for the calaveras big trees and the yosemite valley, whither stages depart daily. returning to lathrop and continuing west about one mile thence, we cross the san joaquin river, broad, shallow and muddy, bordered by level reaches of tule lands, so low that a few feet rise in the river overflows thousands of acres, and makes the river sometimes nearly six miles wide. a necessity, resulting from this overflow, is the san joaquin bridge, which not only spans the permanent bed of the roily stream, but extends several miles across the low tule lands, whose submergence would otherwise completely stop all travel, except by swimming, wading, boating or flying. seven miles from lathrop, we come to banta's, a small freight and passenger station, whence tri-weekly stages connect for hill's ferry, forty miles. five miles further, through a fine agricultural country, brings us to ellis, a small village clustered round the usual saloons and restaurants; whence six miles more and we reach midway, whose name will never be true till either san francisco or sacramento moves six miles nearer the other. seven and a half miles further, we suddenly plunge into a well-cut tunnel, about six hundred feet long, whose chief peculiarity is that we enter it in one county and leave it in another. it receives us in san joaquin county, carries us under the boundary, and ushers us into alameda county. just after coming out from the tunnel, we whirl by the little flag station altamont, whence we begin to enter upon the down grade, and roll through the livermore pass, which is either a valley or a hill, according to whether one reckons downward from the higher summits on either side, or upward from the lower level at either end. eight miles from altamont we stop at livermore, a rapidly-growing village in the beautiful livermore valley, forty-seven miles from san francisco. from this station down to pleasanton, is only six miles, and they are _pleasant 'uns_ indeed. a thriving town, finely situated and beautifully surrounded. thence rolling rapidly down the tortuous track, we skirt along the bases of high hills, follow the windings of a charming little narrow valley, rumbling through two or three strong frame bridges, for twelve miles, when niles, and its junction, with "change cars for san josé," notify us that we have fairly passed the hills, and entered upon the fertile plains which gently slope from the foothills to the bay, whose southern portion is our first glimpse of pacific salt water. at niles we can take the san josé cars, and go round, through that city, to san francisco, all the way by land, if we particularly desire to accomplish the whole transit on wheels. if we do that, we shall travel forty miles further than by keeping straight on from niles through decoto, which is but two miles. decoto is one of the "going to be" towns. at present it exists chiefly in the future tense. nine miles still between the rolling foothills on the right and the almost level plains stretching away bayward, brings us to san lorenzo, which presents nothing of special note beyond a quiet, restful-looking town, quite refreshing to the tired and dusty tourist. thence four miles, and san leandro, town and creek, arrest our train for sixty seconds. the court house, jail, a large agricultural implement factory, with several stores, one or two hotels and a newspaper, invest this pleasant town with all the dignity of a comfortable county seat. seven miles from san leandro, is brooklyn, a thriving, go-ahead town of two thousand inhabitants nights, and about seventeen hundred by day, when a good seventh of its denizens are away at their business in san francisco. thence a short two miles, and we stop again at oakland, the tree-embowered city named by nature, and chosen by man for charming homes and quiet halls of learning. moving once more, and for the last time, we steam by the hedges, gardens, cottages and mansions along the southwest suburb, and roll slowly out two miles along a strongly built pier, over the shallow margin of the bay, or the undisguised flats, according to the tide, and "down brakes" for good on the last rails of the great iron way across the continent, and over the waters of another ocean. an elegant ferry-boat, "el capitan," quickly receives us, and, in fifteen minutes, the san francisco pier welcomes us to the occidental metropolis, and our journey is done. turn, now, to the paragraph on hacks and hotels; let one take you to the other, bathe, eat and sleep, and next morning, hunt up the "short excursions in and about san francisco," and devote yourself to cultivating the pacific metropolis. lake tahoe. this beautiful mountain lake lies along the eastern margins of placer and el dorado counties. the state line between california and nevada passes through it, lengthwise, from north to south. we reach it by stage from the central pacific railroad at truckee, in three hours, over a variable road, through scenery often beautiful, and for the extravagant fare of $ . . the lake is one mile and a quarter above the sea level. it is itself a little inland sea, thirty miles long, from eight to fifteen wide, and in places nearly two thousand feet deep. its water is clear as crystal, cold as the melting ice and snows which feed it, and the purest known upon the continent. floating upon its surface, and looking down through its water, one can easily count the pebbles and stones along its gravelly bottom at the depth of sixty feet. one seems suspended between two firmaments of ether, with birds flying above and fish swimming below. and such trout! swimming forty feet beneath you, and plainly visible in all their quick and graceful motions between you and the rocky bottom. from the water's edge, grassy slopes, pebbly beaches, rocky shores and precipitous bluffs lead the eye up through tree-dotted ravines, over forest-crowned hills to snow-clad mountains, white-headed with age, and ermine-mantled upon their tremendous shoulders. a small steamer or two ply upon the lake--plenty of good boats await one, and excellent hotels accommodate transient guests, or more permanent boarders. from tahoe, back to truckee, by stage, cross the railroad, and ride out two miles to donner lake, smaller, but hardly less beautiful than that just left. its great beauty in itself, the wild and romantic surrounding scenery, its ease of access and its good hotel, make it a popular summer resort. the tragical circumstances, seldom equaled in the pioneer history of any country, which gave the name to this lake, may be found graphically narrated in the "overland monthly" for july, . if you visit these charming lakes on your journey to the state you could not have a grander introduction to its scenes of wonder and beauty; if you take them on your return east, you could not possibly carry away more delicious memories of lovelier spots. whether they bid you "welcome" or "farewell," you will leave them with regret, recall them with delight, and long to return and linger among their matchless charms. complete index. abbreviations.--s. f. san francisco. sac. sacramento. s. j. san josé. st. stockton. yo. yosemite. alabaster cave, alameda, " ferry, alcatraz island, - alhambra theatre, s. f., almaden mine, alta california bldg., s. f., alvarado, american ex. hotel, s. f., angel island, - approaches to s. f., art gallery, artesian well, st., asylums, s. f., - auzerais house, s. j., baggage express, s. f., bancroft's, - - bank of cal., s. f., banta's, baseball grounds, baths, bay trips, bay view road--track--house, - beer cellars, beet sugar works, belmont, bernal heights, s. f., big trees, billiards, s. f., black diamond coal co. mine, - black point, bonita point, bower cave, bowling saloons, s. f., bridal veil fall, yo., brief trips, s. f., broderick mt., brooklyn, brooklyn hotel, s. f., business buildings and blocks, s. f., - butchertown, calaveras big trees, central p. r. r. co., california street, s. f., " " hill, s. f., california theatre, capitol, sac., cathedral rocks, " spires, chinese quarter, s. f., " theatres, churches, s. f., circuit of s. f., city gardens, city and co. buildings, s. f., - clay street hill, clayton, cliff house--road, - cloud's rest, colleges, s. f., - congress springs, conveyances, s. f., corporation buildings, s. f., - cosmopolitan hotel, s. f., court house, s. j., cricket grounds, s. f., crystal chapel, " springs, custom house, s. f., dance halls, s. f., dashaways, davenport's landing, deaf and dumb asylum, berkeley, decoto, deep cut, s. f., denman school, donner lake, donohoe building, drives, s. f., dry dock, dungeon of enchantment, el capitan, ellis, engine houses, s. f., excursion routes, farrallones, ferries, fire department, s. f., fissure, the, yo., footing it, fort point, frogtown, gardens, s. f., gas works, s. f., gilroy, glacier rock, glass works, goat island, gold, discovery of, golden gate, grand hotel, gymnasiums, s. f., half dome, halls, s. f., harpending's block, hayward's, horse cars, s. f., hospitals, s. f., - hotels, s. f., how to get about, hunter's point, illilouette fall, industrial school, italian fishing fleet, jail, s. f., kachoomah fall, kimball car manufactory, lagoon, the, laguna creek, lake honda, lake merced, lathrop, libraries, s. f., light house, fort point, lime point, lincoln school, livermore, livery stables, lodging-houses, s. f., lone mountain, long bridge, s. f., lumber yards, s. f., maguire's opera house, manufactories, s. f., - marine hospital, mariposa big trees, marshall, jas. w., martinez, masonic temple, s. f., mechanics' institute, " pavilion, melodeons, s. f., menageries, menlo park, mercantile library, s. f., merchants' exchange, metropolitan theatre, s. f., midway, milbrae, mint, mirror lake, mission bay--peaks--rocks, - modesto, monterey, mountain lake, mt. broderick, mt. diablo, - mt. starr king, museums, s. f., nevada fall, new almaden, new york exchange hotel, s. j., niles, north beach, north dome, " point, oakland, - " ferry, ocean house--road, - " race course, odd fellows' hall, s. f., pacheco, pacific bank, s. f., p. m. s. s. co., pacific rolling mill, - pajaro valley, palace car, parks, s. f., pescadero, " creek, pigeon point, pioneers, society of, pioneer woolen mills, pleasanton, point bonita, " lobos, points of observation, porn-porn-pa-sue, post-office, s. f., potrero, presidio, private residences, s. f., promenades, s. f., - pulpit, the, redwood city, restaurants, s. f., rincon hill, " point, rope walk, s. f., royal arches, yo., russian hill, sacramento, - san bruno road, san francisco, - approaches, baths, buildings--business, " public, chinese quarter, churches, colleges, conveyances, drives, excursions about city, gymnasiums, halls, hills, historical sketch, horse cars, hospitals, asylums, etc., hotels, how to get about, libraries, lodging houses, manufactories, melodeons, museums, places of amusement, plan of city, private residences, promenades, restaurants, schools, sea wall, situation and extent, skating rinks, squares and parks, suburbs and vicinity, theatres, san joaquin river, san josé--trip, san juan, san leandro, san lorenzo, san mateo, san quentin, santa clara, santa cruz, saratoga, saucelito, scott's creek, sea wall, seal rocks, sentinel dome, sentinel rock, ship yards, s. f., shot tower, s. f., skating rinks, s. f., south san francisco, state normal school, s. j., state university, sugar refineries, sutter, gen. jno. a., tahoe, lake, telegraph hill, tenaya cañon, " lake, three brothers, tooloolweack fall, tutochahnulah, vallejo, vernal fall, visitacion point and val., waddell's wharf, warm springs, washington column, woodward's gardens, - yosemite, - for routes, conveyances, time, hotels, guides, horses, outfit, and expenses see _introduction_. index to advertisers. big trees, calaveras co., sperry & perry, xliii central pac. r. r. yosemite route, xv geysers. great geyser springs, j. c. susenbeth, xvi gilroy. hanna house, j. a. gordon & co., xliv modesto. ross house, j. cole, xvii napa city. revere house, j. w. sharp, xviii oakland. taylor's carpet store, liii petaluma. american hotel, mrs. wm. ordway, xix san francisco. a. l. bancroft & company, books and stationery, cover a. l. bancroft & company, pianos, vii blake, robbins & co., paper, xii bradley & rulofson, photographs, xx california ink company, g. l. faulkner, xxi city livery and sale stables, m. magner, xlv eagle pencils, xxii r. eitner, engraver, xxiii jos. figel, merchant tailor, xxiv l. p. fisher, advertising agent, xxv grand hotel, johnson & co, xlvi henry g. hanks, assayer and chemist, lvi hobbs, gilmore & co., xxvi j. isaac & co., stationery, xi sam'l kellett, plaster, decorations, xlviii mcafee, spiers & co., boiler makers, viii j. c. meussdorffer, hats, xxvii new york livery stable, crittenden & dalton, xlix occidental hotel, xxviii overland monthly, j. h. carmany & co., vi geo. t. pracy, xxix h. rosekrans & co., hardware, xxx sherman & hyde, music dealers, xxxi thurnauer & zinn, willow ware, xxxii watkins' photographic views, xiii woodward's gardens, lvii san josÉ. auzerais house, l church & wallace, teams and saddle horses, lvi new york exchange hotel, li stockton. yosemite house, liv yosemite. coulterville route, xxxiii coulterville and mariposa route, c. p. r. r., xv new yosemite hotel, leidig & davaney, lii boston. and. t. graves, books, xxxiv henry hoyt, new prize books, xxxv lee & shepard, schwartz novels, xiv lee & shepard, books of travel, xxxvi loring's r. r. novels, lv h. a. young & co., books, xxxvii new york. appleton's guide books, xxxviii eagle pencils, xxii gillott's pens, inside cover harper's periodicals, iii j. s. redfield, books, xxxix s. r. wells, phrenology, xl shipmans' patent file, v spencerian pens, ivison, blakeman & taylor, iv palmyra, n. y. globe printing presses, x philadelphia. chas. desilver, school books, xli kay & brother, publishers, &c., xlii springfield, mass. webster's dictionaries, ix tourist's guide advertiser. harper's periodicals. harper's magazine. the great design of _harper's_ is to give correct information and rational amusement to the great masses of the people. there is no monthly magazine an intelligent reading family can less afford to be without. many magazines are accumulated. _harper's_ is edited.--_new england homestead._ harper's weekly. the best publication of its class in america, and so far ahead of all other weekly journals as not to permit of any comparison between it and any of their number.--_boston traveler._ _harper's weekly_ is the best and most interesting illustrated newspaper. nor does its value depend on its illustrations alone. its reading-matter is of a high order of literary merit--varied, instructive, entertaining, and unexceptionable.--_n. y. sun._ harper's bazar. free from all political and sectarian discussion, devoted to fashion, pleasure, and instruction, it is just the agreeable, companionable, and interesting domestic paper which every mother and wife and sweetheart will require every son, husband, and lover to bring home with him, every saturday evening.--_philadelphia ledger._ _terms_: harper's magazine, one year, $ harper's weekly, one year, harper's bazar, one year, harper's magazine, harper's weekly, and harper's bazar, to one address, for one year, $ ; or any two for $ . an extra copy of either the magazine, weekly, or bazar will be supplied gratis for every club of five subscribers at $ each, in one remittance; or six copies for $ , without extra copy. spencerian steel pens. _manufactured by the original inventor of steel pens._ the celebrated durability and perfection of action of these pens are owing to a peculiar process of carbonizing and to the great care taken in their manufacture by the most skilled and experienced workmen in europe. they are a nearer approximation to the real swan quill than anything hitherto invented. for sale by dealers generally. sample card containing all the numbers artistically arranged and securely enclosed, sent by mail on receipt of cents. _the traveler's vade mecum._ lately published. a pocket dictionary of the english language. abridged from webster's quarto, illustrated with nearly two hundred engravings on wood. by wm. g. webster, and wm. a. wheeler. the illustrated catalogue, descriptive of the american educational series of school and college text-books, and the educational reporter, a handsome publication full of useful information, mailed free to any address. ivison, blakeman, taylor & co., publishers, and grand street, new york. for saving valuable papers nothing equals shipman's patent adhesive letter and invoice file. we would respectfully call the attention of business men, bankers and others, to our patent adhesive letter and invoice file. we claim that it is the best article in use for the preservation of all kinds of printed or written documents, such as letters, invoices, bills, &c., &c. they are in use by most of the business firms and companies in the united states. its form is that of a _scrap book_, of various sizes, having narrow leaves with adhesive surface, which requires only to be moistened and the document applied; thus it becomes a _book_ of or letters, _arranged_ in the order of _dates_, secure from _loss_ or _misplacement_, and as convenient for _reference_ as a ledger account--and this with the least expense of time. every lover of order or economist of time must appreciate its importance. we also keep constantly on hand, in great variety, invoice and scrap books, letter copying books, blank books and a full assortment of stationery. asa l. shipman & sons, chambers street, new york. _subscribe for the_ overland monthly _the only literary magazine_ published on the pacific coast. the seventh volume of this popular california magazine will commence with the july number for . its popularity has induced the publishers to make still greater exertions in producing an interesting and instructive periodical. [illustration: bear] terms:--$ . per annum, _payable in advance_. club rates:--two copies, $ . ; five copies, $ . ; ten copies, $ . ; and each additional copy, $ . . for every club of twenty subscribers, an extra copy will be furnished gratis. published by john h. carmany & co. no. washington street san francisco. pianos, organs, and _music publications_. new piano agency.--messrs. a. l. bancroft & co. have organized, under the management of wm. henry knight, a music department, where may be found a complete assortment of pianos, organs, sheet music and music publications. following are some of their specialties: i. the georgi piano-forte--a new and magnificent instrument; in every respect strictly first-class, and becoming very popular in the east. ii. the prince organs and melodeons.--there are , of these now in use. they are unsurpassed among reed organs. iii. the mccammon pianos, formerly known as the celebrated "boardman & gray" piano. a very superior, moderate priced instrument. iv. the cottage and school piano.--in small sized cases, elegant in appearance, of low cost, and very durable. v. hook's pipe organs for churches.--the best manufactured. vi. lunan's german upright pianos.--fine-toned, thoroughly well made instruments. vii. music publications.--sheet music, instruction books, etc., etc. for descriptive circulars and price lists, address or apply to a. l. bancroft & company, music department, bancroft's building, san francisco. mcafee, spiers & co., _boiler makers and_ general machinists. _high and low-pressure boilers_, stationary and marine. howard st., bet. fremont and beale, san francisco. also orders received for every description of machinery. having years' experience in this business, we feel confident of being able to compete, as to quality of work, with any establishment on the pacific coast. particular and personal attention given to repairs of old boilers on steamships and steamboats. [illustration: webster's unabridged dictionary illustrated edition engravings] get the best webster's unabridged dictionary. , words and meanings not in other dictionaries. , engravings. , pages quarto. price $ . glad to add my testimony in its favor. [president walker of hartford.] every scholar knows its value. [w. h. prescott, the historian.] the most complete dictionary of the language. [dr. dick, of scotland.] the best guide of students of our language. [john g. whittier.] he will transmit his name to latest posterity. [chancellor kent.] etymological parts surpasses anything by earlier laborers. [george bancroft.] bearing relation to language principia does to philosophy. [elihu burritt.] excels all others in defining scientific terms. [president hitchcock.] so far as i know, best defining dictionary. [horace mann.] take it altogether, the surpassing work. [smart, the english orthoepist.] a necessity for every intelligent family, student, teacher and professional man. what library is complete without the best english dictionary? published by g. & c. merriam, springfield. mass. sold by a. l. bancroft & co., san francisco, and all booksellers. also, webster's national pictorial dictionary. pages octavo. engravings. price $ . the work is really a _gem of a dictionary_, just the thing for the millions.--_american educational monthly_. globe printing presses. [illustration: printing press] impression can be thrown off. dwell on the impression. detention of rollers on cylinder and double vibrating distributors, giving unlimited distribution. net cash prices: half medium, × ½ inches inside of chase, $ . . fountain, $ . . steam fixtures, $ . . boxing, $ . .--extra. quarto medium, × inches inside of chase, $ . . fountain, $ . . steam fixtures, $ . . boxing, $ . .--extra. eighth medium, × inches inside of chase, $ . . steam fixtures, $ . . boxing, $ . .--extra. one roller mould, two sets roller stocks, and three chases, are included with each press. all of these presses will be thoroughly tested, strongly boxed, and delivered to the order of the purchaser, at our manufactory, palmyra, n. y. jones manufacturing co. palmyra, n. y. joseph isaac. h. robitscheck. j. isaac & co., importers and jobbers of stationery, blank books, _manila and wrapping papers,_ playing cards, labels, liquor essences, etc., etc., etc., _ sansome st., cor. merchant_ san francisco. j. isaac & co's paper warehouse. dealers in papers of all descriptions, _envelopes, inks, twine, playing cards,_ liquor and wine labels, _essential oils, etc., etc._ blake, robbins & co., importers and jobbers of _book, news, writing and_ wrapping paper, _paper bags, card stock, straw paper,_ straw and binders' board, inks, bronzes, etc. agents for carson's celebrated letter papers, inferior to none. agents for dexter's manila papers. agents for whiting mill paper, and other leading brands. _ sacramento & commercial sts._ san francisco. francis blake, } james moffitt, } san francisco. chas. f. robbins, } james w. towne, new york. _new york office, and vesey street._ watkins' yosemite gallery, montgomery street, san francisco, cal. photographic views of yosemite valley, the big trees, the mines, the splendid scenery of the central pacific railroad, the coast etc., etc. can be had in all sizes for framing, the album, or the stereoscope. sold wholesale and retail. a liberal discount made to the trade. _you are requested to visit the gallery._ the most popular novels are the _schwartz novels_. translated from the swedish of madame marie sophie schwartz, by miss selma borg, and miss marie a. brown. _now ready_. guilt and innocence. paper, $ ; cloth, $ . "madame schwartz is a writer of much greater literary merit than miss muhlbach, whose works have been so widely circulated in this country."--_new york atlas._ gold and name. paper, $ ; cloth, $ . "this is a powerful book; in plot and style, it is equally good. its morals--it may be considered to have several--are unexceptionable."--_christian standard, cincinnati._ birth and education. paper, $ ; cloth, $ . "this title would make one suppose that it was a book devoted to common schools and academies. instead of that, it is a romance of the very highest class,--one of the best historical novels of the age."--_albany evening post._ the wife of a vain man. vo., paper, $ ; cloth, $ . in presenting to american readers the first translations of this author, who in her own country is universally popular, the publishers take pleasure in making public the following tribute of the great swedish lyric artiste, mlle. christine nilsson. new york, november , . mademoiselle:--it is with great pleasure that i have learned that you, in conjunction with miss marie a. brown have undertaken to translate into english the magnificent works of madame schwartz. allow me then, dear mademoiselle, as a fervent admirer of madame schwartz, to offer you and miss brown my liveliest felicitations for having chosen an author of so immense merit to introduce to the american public a writer who has contributed to make the glory of our country. i wish you all the success you deserve, and beg you to be so kind as to send me a copy of the work as soon as it is published. accept, mademoiselle, as well as miss brown, my warmest sympathy and the assurance of my perfect consideration. christine nilsson. sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail postpaid on receipt of price. lee & shepard, publishers, boston. lee, shepard & dillingham, and greene st., n. y. yosemite and big tree groves in two days. important for tourists. _new route for _, via the _visalia division of the central pacific railroad_, from lathrop, and from the terminus of the c. p. r. r. by stage, via mariposa and clark's or coulterville. for further information see page . the great geyser springs of california. these celebrated springs are the greatest natural curiosity in the world, and are reached by the napa valley route and the russian river valley route. _for particulars of these routes, see description in body of this guide._ the medicinal and curative properties of the geyser springs are admitted to be equal, if not superior, to calistoga, baden-baden, aix-la-chapel, wiesbaden, or homburg. the scenery is wild, picturesque and grand in the extreme, and finer than that of the lower alps. the pluton, or great sulphur creek, which runs by the geyser hotel, is well supplied with mountain trout; and the hills abound with deer and other game. the hotel is a large, two-story building, with spacious verandahs surrounding it, above and below, and has been newly furnished. new steam and sulphur bathhouses have been erected, and a large stable has been built. private teams can easily and safely drive over the new road from calistoga, and at the geysers will find an abundance of good feed for their horses. saddle horses for ladies and gentlemen, are always on hand, at reasonable prices. a good table is kept at the hotel, and the best of liquors and cigars will be found at the bar, the rooms are comfortable, and the beds are all new and provided with spring mattresses. board and lodging per day, $ ; board and lodging per week, $ . ; single meals, each, $ . . baths, . visiting the geyser canyons, for each person, $ . children under ten years of age, half price. visitors are requested not to pay the guides, as they are furnished by the hotel, free of charge. fare from san francisco to calistoga, per steamer and cars, $ . . stages from there to the geysers, $ . per passage. j. c. susenbeth, p. s.--for further particulars, inquire at the office of j. s. polack, esq., room no. , n. w. corner of jackson and montgomery sts., san francisco. the shortest and _best route to yosemite_ via modesto. ross house, modesto. _jos. cole, proprietor._ tourists will find this house conducted in first-class style. charges moderate, and every attention paid to guests. stages leave this house daily for snelling's, hornitas, mariposa, yosemite, and all points south. _yosemite stables_, modesto, cal. _horses, carriages and saddle horses_ to let on reasonable terms. horses boarded with the best of care, by the day or week. _private teams furnished at the shortest notice; also two four or six horse turnouts furnished for tourists, with concord or kimball carriages, with careful and experienced drivers._ _f. h. ross, proprietor._ modesto is situated at the terminus of the visalia division of the c. p. r. r. the ross house, also the yosemite stables were built by f. h. ross, almost exclusively for the accommodation of tourists, and no pains will be spared to make their visit to the house, or transit to the valley comfortable and pleasant. revere house john w. sharp, proprietor. second street, opposite court house, _napa city_. only first-class house in napa city. this house is fitted up in superior style, and is now open for the reception of permanent and transient guests. it is built in modern style, and the rooms are large, airy and pleasant. the bar is well supplied. the table shall be second to none in the state. the farming community will find at this house the best of accommodations at reasonable prices. _american hotel_, _main street, petaluma_. mrs. wm. ordway, proprietress. this hotel, first-class in every particular, is the leading house in this city and one of the best hotels on the coast. the building is a large, three-story, fire-proof brick, situated in the center of the business part of the city, well ventilated, supplied with water and gas, perfectly arranged with a view to comfort and convenience, containing sixty three rooms, elegant parlor, pleasant reading room, first-class bar and billiard room, hair dressing saloon and cigar stand. the rooms, single and en-suite, are large, with high ceilings, well ventilated and elegantly furnished. the table is supplied with the best the market affords, prepared and served in first-class style. a livery stable is connected with the hotel. splendid carriages are furnished upon notice at the office. omnibuses convey guests to and from the hotel to cars and steamers, free of charge. stages from the city leave from this hotel. tourists, visiting the city, are shown every courtesy and attention in all departments of the hotel. for the very best photographs, go to bradley and rulofson, montgomery street, _san francisco_. closed on sundays. the california ink company, & sansome street, san francisco. george l. faulkner, agent. are manufacturing writing inks of different colors, equal if not superior to those of eastern or foreign manufacture. for our black writing fluid, we claim: st.--that it will not corrode or clog the pen, but keep it always in a bright, clean condition. d.--that there is no sediment that can settle and impair the color. d.--that it flows freely from, and is of a rich, deep color as soon as it leaves the pen. th.--it is not affected by acids, as an acid that would remove the ink will eat up the paper. th.--it cannot be washed off with water. th.--it is a california production, and the manufacture of the same keeps thousands of dollars in the state, that have hitherto been sent abroad for ink. we also make a superior article of mucilage that cannot be excelled for its adhesive qualities. liquid laundry bluing.--a convenient and reliable preparation, to take the place of all others hitherto used for laundry purposes. put up in oz. bottles and gallon jars. the attention of the trade is respectfully solicited to these manufactures. perfect satisfaction guaranteed. refer, by permission, to messrs. a. l. bancroft & company, who are selling large quantities of our writing inks and mucilage. california ink company, geo. l. faulkner, agent. satisfaction in all cases guaranteed. _ask your stationer for_ eagle pencils. these pencils, which have been before the american public for several years, are rapidly growing in popularity, and are to-day more extensively used in the united states than any other. and are pronounced by all who have given them a fair trial, to be inferior to none manufactured, and are sold at prices materially lower than are other first-class articles. office rubber-head pencils are very much liked by business men. eagle drawing pencils are recommended in the drawing books now in use in the state of california, and by drawing teachers, and others. eagle diamond rubber is the best manufactured. sold by booksellers & stationers generally. and at wholesale and retail by a. l. bancroft & company, _booksellers and stationers_ market st., san francisco. [illustration: rudolf eitner, designer and engraver on wood, clay street, san francisco.] jos. figel, clothier, merchant tailor _and dealer in_ men's and boys' clothing, furnishing goods, trunks, &c. montgomery street, _russ block, opposite platt's hall_, would respectfully invite the attention of the public to his superior stock of goods, feeling confident that he can suit, both in regard to price and quality. _a feature_ in his business is the particular attention paid to the manufacture of men's and boys' clothing, college and military uniforms of every description to order, from a large assortment of cloths, cassimeres, beavers, scotch tweed, etc. elegance of style and perfection of fit are in all cases guaranteed. a visit to my establishment will convince you of my ability to please in every respect. jos. figel, no. montgomery street, san francisco, california. established in . l. p. fisher's advertising agency. _rooms & merchants' exchange_ california st., san francisco. _agent for the sacramento union._ "advertising is the oil which wise men put in their lamps." --_modern proverb._ _girard's secret._ stephen girard, than whom no shrewder business man ever lived, used to say in his old age: "i have always considered advertising liberally and long to be the great medium of success in business and prelude to wealth. and i have made it an invariable rule, too, to advertise in the dullest times, as well as in the busiest, long experience having taught me that money thus spent is well laid out; as by keeping my business continually before the public, it has secured many sales that i otherwise would have lost." advertisements and subscriptions solicited for papers published in california and oregon, washington, utah, idaho, montana, colorado, arizona and adjacent territories; sandwich islands, the british possessions, mexican ports, nicaragua, panama, valparaiso, japan, china, europe, australia, atlantic states, etc., etc. n. b.--for sale; bound volumes of the _sacramento union_, from sept. th, , to the present time; also, the _san francisco evening bulletin_, in bound volumes, from the beginning of its publication to the present time. san francisco mills. hobbs, gilmore & co. _manufacturers of boxes_, also, sawing and planing mills, _market, beale and main sts._ san francisco. san pedro street, near depot, san jose. _for sale_; spanish cedar, mahogany, and other fancy wood. we are now manufacturing, and will receive orders for the manufacture of different kinds of agricultural machines. _for fine hats_ go to j. c. meussdorffer. north east corner of montgomery & bush sts. _san francisco_. [illustration: occidental hotel montgomery st san francisco, cal.] george t. pracy, machine works, & mission street, san francisco. these works have lately been increased, by additional tools, and we are now able to turn out any kind of work, equal to and cheaper than any establishment in the state, that is to say:-- steam engines, flour and saw mills, quartz machinery, printing presses, and machinery made of every description. _improved safety store hoists_, fitted with cutting's patent cams, unequaled for safety, convenience and cheapness. this hoist can be built for about half the price of any other in use. to be seen at hawley & co's. also, manufacturer and sole agent for pracy's celebrated governor. turning lathes, &c constantly on hand. h. rosekrans. s. read. h. rosekrans & co. importers and dealers in hardware, builders' materials, carpenters' tools, _house-furnishing utensils_, and all kinds of shelf hardware, _ montgomery street_ near bush street, san francisco. [illustration: piano] sherman & hyde, _importers and dealers in_ sheet music pianos, organs, and _musical merchandise of every description_ corner kearny & sutter streets, san francisco, cal. send your orders directly to us. remember it is no more trouble or expense to send sheet music by mail, one thousand miles than it is one mile. music teachers, seminaries and dealers liberally dealt with. thurnauer & zinn, [illustration: wicker chairs and baskets] importers of french and german fancy baskets, english and american willow ware, _toys, fancy goods_ and yankee notions, cane and willow chairs, ladies' work stands, wooden ware, feather dusters, brushes, etc., etc., etc. _ market street_, opposite sutter and sansome streets, san francisco. the shortest and best route to yosemite valley. _c. p. r. r. to modesto, thence by stage to coulterville, bower cave, pilot peak and crane flat._ leaves modesto on tuesday, thursday and saturday at o'clock, a.m., arrives at coulterville at p.m.; distance miles; leaving coulterville at p.m., arrive at bower cave, at p.m. next morning leave bower cave at a.m., and arrive at crane flat at a.m. take saddle horse and arrive at the hotels in the valley, at o'clock, p.m., miles horseback. returning, leave yosemite at o'clock, a.m., distance, miles, arrive at coulterville at o'clock, p.m., leave coulterville at a.m., arrive at modesto, at o'clock p.m. the above route is superior to all others, as there is less time consumed on the road, more rest, and the whole route gives finer scenery than by any other, from the fact that after you strike the foot hills, you pass along the dividing ridge between the tuolumne and merced rivers, to the east, the sierra nevada, with castle peak, mount dames, and other prominent points, to the west, is the san joaquin, and the coast range; also less dust than any other route, as the route is east and west, and the north winds that are almost constantly blowing, carry the dust from you. and as a round trip is always desirable; parties can go by coulterville, and out _via_ big trees and mariposa, or _vice versa_. by the first of june, there will be but ½ miles horseback riding into the valley. the nights at bower cave are cool and refreshing, unsurpassed on the whole route. through tickets for sale at all the railroad offices, sacramento and lathrop. _g. w. coulter, agent._ office at c. b.& m; r. r. r. office montg'y street. valuable books, _for children and youth._ published by _andrew f. graves,_ cornhill, boston, mass. the sunshine series.--by h. n. w. b. six volumes. mo., $ . this is an entirely new series of books, by one of the best writers of juvenile books. they are put up in a neat box, and will be found excellent for the "sabbath school library." amy garnett. one vol., mo. $ . lynda newton.--by mrs. l. j. h. frost. mo., . an excellent book, and one which will interest every one. davy's motto. mo., . it is better to do well than to say well is the motto. joe and the howards; or armed with eyes. by carl. mo. . it gives much valuable information in regard to insects, both on land and water, in such a manner as cannot fail to amuse children, while it is storing their minds with that which is useful for them to know. the rainford series.--by glance gaylord. four volumes in box, $ . the woodbine series.--by mrs. madeline leslie. mo. illustrated, $ . this is an entire new set, by a very popular author. other volumes will be issued from time to time. the title pages are printed in colors. the arlington series. vols., mo. four volumes in box, $ . the percy family.--by rev. d. c. eddy, d. d. five volumes with neat box, . the cedar brook stories, or the clifford children. by mrs. a. s. m., author of "only a pauper." vols. mo. the five volumes handsomely illustrated in a neat box with illuminated covers, . corwin's west's series.-- vols. in a box, . have you read the _new prize books._ both sides of the street, ($ ) $ . moth and rust, ($ ) $ . fourteenth thousand now ready. digging a grave with a wine-glass. and the first glass of wine. simple texts are sometimes more effective preachers than sermons, or whole volumes of well conceived essays. read the two stories within the covers of this book, kind reader, and if a first glass of wine tempt you, let the prayer go forth, "lead us not into temptation." beautifully illustrated. price $ . . down in a saloon; or the minister's protege. by the author of the new $ . prize book, "both sides of the street." beautifully bound in gold and black, and sent prepaid by mail. price, $ . for sale by all booksellers. _henry hoyt_, no. cornhill, boston. for sale by a. l. bancroft & co. books of travel. published by _lee & shepard, boston_. _a readable book on california._ the sunset land; or, the great pacific slope. by rev. john todd, d. d. vol. mo. $ the press all over the country has given this book by dr. todd, the warmest praise. it contains, in a small compass, just what all desire to know of california. _the "heathen chinee," at home and abroad._ why and how the chinese emigrate, and the means they adopt for the purpose of reaching america. by col. russell h. conwell. mo. cloth. illustrated. $ "nothing is wanting in mr. conwell's book for a clear apprehension of every feature of his subject."--_christian union._ _our new possessions surveyed._ alaska and its resources. by wm. h. dall, director of the scientific corps of the late western union telegraph expedition. one large octavo volume, $ this is the only complete history of our newly acquired possessions published. the narrative is one of actual experience during a three years' residence in the country. _a graphic and truthful history._ history of paraguay. with notes of personal observations and reminiscences of diplomacy under difficulties. by charles a. washburn, commissioner and minister resident of the united states at asuncion, from to . in two volumes. octavo. illustrated with maps and engravings. $ "a history stranger than many works of fiction, abounding in incidents of devoted heroism, and fearful cruelty."--_chicago post._ _a journalist in europe._ over the ocean; or, sights and scenes in foreign lands. by curtis guild, editor of the "commercial bulletin," boston. crown vo. $ "mr. curtis guild has given the public a book of travel such as they may search for elsewhere in vain."--_boston post._ sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail postpaid, on receipt of price. lee & shepard, publishers, boston. lee, shepard & dillingham, n. y. get the best books _for the children_. effie wingate's work. by mary dwinell chellis, $ . dea. sim's prayers. by mary dwinell chellis, . pleasant pages and bible pictures, illustrations; . carl bartlett or what can i do? by d. s. ericson, vol. . bill drock's investment. by mary dwinell chellis, vol. . the old doctor's son. by mary dwinell chellis, . mr. pendleton's cup. by glance gaylord, . miss patience hathaway. by glance gaylord, . donald deane. by glance gaylord, . good measure. a story for boys. by d. s. ericson, . clean your boots, sir? a capital story for boys, . the little peanut merchant, . molly's bible. by miss mary d. chellis, . truth and trust, or iron mountain, . hopes and fears, or broad oaks, . good for evil, or rose cottage, . sidney de grey, or the rival school boys. by lawrence lancewood, . nellie warren, or the lost watch. by lawrence lancewood, esq., . louis sinclair. by lawrence lancewood, esq., . mark dunning's enemy. by mary dwinell chellis, . the hermit of holcombe. by mary dwinell chellis, . breaking the rules, . earl whiting, . the runaway boy, . nellie milton's housekeeping, . brownie sandford, . sylvia's burden, . ruth lovell, . cousin clara. by lawrence lancewood, . jamie noble, . peter clinton. by lawrence lancewood, . a hole in the pocket. by aunt hattie, . stopping the leak. by aunt hattie, . lost but found. by aunt hattie, . fashion and folly. by aunt hattie, . gypsy breynton. by miss e. stuart phelps, . gypsy's cousin joy. by miss e stuart phelps, . gypsy's sowing and reaping. by miss e. stuart phelps, . gypsy's year at the golden crescent. by miss e. stuart phelps, . published by _henry a. young & co._ _guide books_ for travelers, published by _d. appleton & company._ appletons' european guide book.--including england, scotland and ireland, france, belgium, holland, northern and southern germany, switzerland, italy, spain and portugal, russia, denmark, norway and sweden. containing a map of europe, and nine other maps, with plans of of the principal cities, and more than engravings. one vol., thick mo, morocco, tuck, gilt edges. $ . "this is a curious, a useful and an interesting book--a veritable directory of travel, of immense value to the american tourists visiting the old world for the first time, and to the native of britain newly exploring the continent."--_london examiner and review._ "'appletons' european guide book' is a compact manual for the foreign traveler, crowding a great variety of information into a small compass, by a rigorous brevity of statement, and the omission of all irrelevant details."--_new york tribune._ "'appletons' guide' is likely to create a stir among those with which travelers are familiar. it is cheap, considering that it condenses the united kingdom and all the continent of europe, giving a large map, and nine others, with plans of of the principal cities, and engravings, for a guinea."--_anglo-american times._ appletons' railway guide.--containing maps of the principal railways in the united states and the canadas, and a general map. appletons' northern and eastern guide-book.--containing an account of the principal watering-places and summer resorts in the new england and middle states. a new edition with revisions to date. $ . appletons' western guide-book.--containing all through routes to the west and all land routes. the completest work of the kind published. (_will be published early in may._) skeleton routes through england, scotland, ireland, wales, denmark, norway, sweden, russia, poland and spain; with various ways of getting from place to place, the time occupied, and the cost of each journey for a party of four, with some of the principal things to see. mo. $ . new york illustrated.--with illustrations and a map, from drawings made by the best artists. the most complete illustrated memento of new york ever published. vo. price, cents; cloth, $ . either of the above sent _post paid_, _by mail_, to any address, on receipt of the price. d. appleton & co., publishers, new york. books published by j. s. redfield, fulton street, new york. i. modern women and what is said of them. a reprint of a series of articles in _the saturday review_, with an introduction by mrs. lucia gilbert calhoun. _first series._ in one volume, mo, handsomely printed and bound in cloth, beveled $ . ii. modern women and what is said of them. a series of articles reprinted from _the saturday review_. _second series._ in one volume, mo, pp. uniform with first series. $ . iii. tribune essays. leading articles contributed to _the new york tribune_, from to . by charles t. congdon, with an introduction by horace greeley. in one volume, mo, pp. extra cloth. $ . iv hand-book of progressive philosophy. by edward schiller. one volume, mo, extra cloth. $ . walt whitman's books: v. leaves of grass. a new edition, with additions and revisions. one volume, mo, paper, uncut. $ . vi. passage to india. a sequel to "leaves of grass." one volume, mo, paper, uncut. $ . vii. democratic vistas (prose). one volume, mo, paper. . viii. conjugal sins against the laws of life and health, and their effects upon the father, mother and child. by a. k. gardner, a. m., m. d. in one volume, mo. paper cover, $ . ; bound, $ . ix. on the uses of wines in health and disease. by francis e. anstie, m. d., f. r. c. p. paper . x. modern palmistry; or the book of the hand. chiefly according to the systems of d'arpentigny and desbarrolles, with some account of the gipsies. by a. r. craig, m. a., with illustrations. extra cloth. $ . xi. the kidney and its diseases. by dr. e. h. dickson. paper. . xii. redfield's half-dime, vest pocket city maps. new york, now ready. xiii. little breeches, by john hay, illustrated by j. f. engel. beautifully done and printed by photo-lithography. . works on phrenology. new physiognomy; or signs of character, as manifested through temperament and external forms, and especially in the "human face divine." illustrations. by s. r. wells. prices, $ , $ and $ . how to read character. a new illustrated hand-book of phrenology and physiognomy, for students and examiners, with a chart for the delineation of character. engravings. latest and best. for practical phrenologist. paper, $ . muslin, $ . . education and self improvement complete. physiology--animal and mental; self-culture; memory and intellectual improvement. one volume, $ . lectures on phrenology. by geo. combe. phrenological mode of investigation. one volume, mo. $ . . constitution of man. considered in relation to external objects revised. by geo. combe. engravings and portrait of author. $ . moral philosophy. by geo. combe. or, the duties of man considered in his individual, domestic and social capacities. latest revised edition, $ . . mental science. according to the philosophy of phrenology. lectures by g. s. weaver. $ . . annuals of phrenology and physiognomy for , ' , ' , ' , ' , ' , ' . containing pages, many portraits and biographies, with "how to study phrenology." the seven bound in one. $ . . phrenology proved, illustrated and applied. first principles. illustrated. $ . . phrenological busts. classification and location of the organs of the brain, fully developed. designed for learners. two sizes, the largest in box, $ . the smaller, at $ . (sent by express.) education: its elementary principles founded on the nature of man. by spurzheim. excellent. $ . . defence of phrenology, $ . . natural laws, man, cts. self-instructor, cts. phrenology and the scripture, cts. chart of physiognomy, cts. how to write--how to talk--how to behave--how to do business. bound in one large handsome volume, post paid, $ . . it is a capital book for agents. sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, by s. r. wells, publisher, broadway. agents wanted. n. b.--for sale by a. l. bancroft & co., san francisco, california. standard school books published and for sale by charles desilver, no. chestnut street, philadelphia. and by booksellers generally throughout the union and the canadas. _descriptive catalogues furnished on application, and any book sent by mail postage paid, on receipt of the advertised price._ _standard speakers._ sargent's standard speaker, half roan, $ sargent's intermediate standard speaker, half-turkey morocco, sargent's primary standard speaker, half-roan, sargent's selections in poetry, half-morocco, frost's american speaker, half-roan, _standard school histories._ lord's history of the united states, half-morocco, lord's modern history, half-morocco, summary of history, designed to accompany lord's modern history. vol., mo., cloth, frost's history of the united states. mo., half roan, frost's history of the united states, royal mo., half-roan, history of england, pinnock's improved edition of goldsmith, revised by w. c. taylor, ll. d., vol. mo., half roan, history of france, by w. c. taylor, ll. d., vol. mo., half-roan, history of rome, pinnock's improved edition of goldsmith, revised by w. c. taylor, ll. d., vol. mo., half-roan, _natural sciences._ johnston's turner's chemistry, half turkey, johnston's turner's elements of chemistry, vol. mo., half-morocco, johnston's natural philosophy, vol. mo., half-turkey morocco, johnston's primary natural philosophy, vol. mo., half-roan, guy's astronomy and keith on the globes, vol. mo., half-roan, _classical works._ virgil, cæsar, horace, cicero, sallust, ovid, juvenal, half-turkey morocco, each, xenophon's anabasis, and homer's iliad, half-turkey morocco, each, clarke's practical and progressive latin grammar, half-turkey morocco, gospel of st. john, translation with the original greek text, livy. interlinear translation by hamilton and clarke. (_in press._) _to be followed by school editions of other classic authors on the same plan._ for sale by a. l. bancroft & co, market st., san francisco, cal. kay & brother, law publishers, booksellers and importers, & south sixth street, philadelphia. publish brightly's digest of the laws of the united states, vols. vo. $ . brightly's digest of federal decisions, vols. vo. . brightly's bankrupt law, vo. . wharton's american criminal law, vols. vo. . wharton's precedents of indictments and pleas, vols. vo. . wharton's law dictionary, vo. . wharton's conflict of laws, or private international law, vo. (in preparation.) wharton and stelle's medical jurisprudence, vo. . hilliard on injunctions, vo. . hilliard on new trials, vo. . hilliard on contracts, vols. vo. (in preparation.) pennsylvania state reports, vols. to ; vols., vo. per vol. . etc., etc., etc., etc. kay & brother always keep on hand a full assortment of the current law publications, together with many books now either scarce or out of print, at the very lowest prices. letters of inquiry promptly answered. big trees, calaveras county, california, first-class hotel accommodations, sperry & perry, proprietors. the calaveras group is the one known to the world as the big trees of california, and the one chiefly visited by tourists. it comprises the mammoth and the south park groves. the mammoth grove contains ninety-three of these _giants of the forest_, among which are the mother of the forest, the bark from which was exhibited in the crystal palace, london; the father of the forest, through whose prostrate trunk thousands have ridden on horseback; and the original big tree, the stump of which forms the floor of the famous pavilion, thirty-two feet in diameter. the south park grove, six miles distant, has thirteen hundred and eighty of these trees, many of them of immense size. one, still standing and growing, has the inner portion at the base burned out, making a room large enough to contain sixteen men on horseback at the same time; and yet, enough of the outer rim of the tree is left to support the colossal proportions above. the calaveras group surpasses all others in the grandeur and beauty of its trees, and is the only one having hotel accommodations. tourists leaving stockton will take the cars of the copperopolis railroad at o'clock, a.m., to milton, twenty-eight miles, connecting with a daily line of concord coaches via winthrop's, for the big trees, making the entire distance in ten hours. at murphy's, stages leave daily for yosemite valley per hutching's new route, being the shortest and best to yosemite valley. a daily line of coaches leave galt for the big trees. at melton, and murphy's, private conveyances can be obtained for the big trees and yosemite valley, at low rates. thomas houseworth, agent, _ and montgomery st., san francisco_. new hotel. gilroy. the proprietors take pleasure in informing the public generally that they have opened the new hotel, the hanna house. situated in the business centre of the city, near the r. r. depot, and fitted up in elegant style, and being thoroughly experienced in the business, can promise their patrons such attention and accommodations as are found in a first-class house. everything about the house is entirely new, and of the best quality. the hotel coach will be in constant attendance to convey passengers to and from the house free of charge. the patronage of the public is respectfully solicited. j. a. gordon & co., proprietors. city livery and sale stables, bush street, _bet. montgomery and kearny, san francisco._ m. magner, proprietor. an entire new stock of fine young horses, sound and free from vice, of fine style, and capable of going as fast as any gentleman cares to drive. also new and elegant wagons of all descriptions, which i will let to responsible parties at popular prices. _saddle horses for ladies and gentlemen_, horses boarded with the very best of care, under my own supervision, at _prices to suit the times_. patronage respectfully solicited. m. magner, _formerly of the el dorado stables, stockton._ private teams furnished for the big tree grove and yosemite falls, to start from stockton, or the terminus of the visalia or copperopolis railroad. [illustration: grand hotel] grand hotel. johnson & co., proprietors. san francisco, california. samuel kellett, manufacturer of plaster decorations, no. market street, san francisco. new york livery stable. [illustration] crittenden & dalton, proprietors. mission street, near third, _opposite dr. scudder's church, san francisco._ four in hand for cliff house. orders left at the office of grand hotel promptly attended to. [illustration: auzerais house san jose cal.] h. s. greeley, manager, formerly of the occidental, san francisco. new york exchange hotel, san jose. first street, corner st. johns. _centrally located, newly furnished._ bath and billiard rooms, with barber shop attached. _board, with rooms, $ a day,_ or $ . a week. _suites, $ a day, or $ a week._ the new yosemite hotel, _fred. leidig & hugh davanay_, proprietors. this fine new hotel is the first which the tourist reaches on entering the valley, and is situated on the south bank of the merced, in front of cathedral rock, about three miles from the entrance to the valley. the main building is two stories in height, roomy, new and clean, plenty of pleasant, airy bedrooms. table supplied with fresh mountain trout in abundance, in addition to fresh butter, milk, eggs, fruit and every other luxury of the mountains. a splendid stock of ice has been laid in for the comfort of summer visitors--a luxury not to be had elsewhere in the valley. bar well stocked with best qualities of wines, liquors and cigars. the famous yosemite hostess, mrs. leidig, has charge of the domestic arrangements of the house, and the proprietors, in person, give their whole attention to the accommodation of their guests. oakland! taylor's carpet store, cor. broadway and tenth sts., oakland, cal. carpets, oil cloth, paper hangings and upholstery goods. body brussels, tapestry brussels, three ply, ingrain and hemp carpets. oil cloths, all width and qualities. paper hangings, all styles and grades. plain and decorative paper hanging in all its branches. a full and complete line of upholstery goods always in stock. parties residing in oakland and vicinity, and those contemplating removing to oakland, will do well to call and examine our stock before purchasing elsewhere. _we sell all goods at san francisco prices!_ chas. l. taylor, _cor. broadway and tenth streets, oakland_. yosemite house. stockton, cal. _alexander mcbean, prop'r._ new first-class hotel. _main street, bet. san jose and sutter._ centrally located, finely furnished. bath rooms, barber shop and billiard room attached, excellent table, fine rooms, gas and water throughout. terms; $ . a day, $ . a week. free coach to the house. loring's railway novels! we commend them to all travelers. ask for them at the bookstores, at the depot news stands, of the boys in the cars, and on the boats. loring's successful books: louise m. alcott's moods, $ . " " three proverb stories, . virginia f. townsend's hollands, . " " the mills of tuxbury, . laura caxton's marion berkley, . george mcdonald's robert falconer, . " " david elginbrod, . " " adele cathcart, . " " phantasies, . mrs. a. d. t. whitney's hitherto, . " " " the gayworthys, . " " " patience strong's outings, . " " " mother goose for grown folks, . " " " faith gartney's girlhood, . henry g. hanks, assayer and chemist, and dealer in fine minerals, fossils, shells, etc., etc., etc. invites tourists visiting san francisco to call and examine his collection at clay street, (up stairs.) teams and saddle horses. church & wallace, first street, san jose. single horse and buggy to almaden mine, $ elegant double teams, saddle horses, _teams ordered by telegraph, will be on hand at the railway depot._ woodward's gardens, mission st., bet. th and th, san francisco, cal. [illustration: the central park of the pacific. (see page .)] _yosemite and big tree groves via mariposa and clark's or coulterville._ thus a person can leave sacramento at noon, or san francisco at p. m. by the c. p. r. r., remain over night at the junction of the rail and stage roads, the second night at white & hatch's and arrive in the valley of the yosemite the next evening; or those who prefer can remain that night at clark's and ride leisurely into the valley early the next day. the latter course might be preferable to the majority of tourists, who would desire to visit en route the mariposa grove of big trees, which is but five miles from clark's. the trail from clark's leads through alder creek, empire camp, sentinel dome, glacier point, and the far-famed "inspiration point." from the latter is obtained the first grand view of this wonderful valley, lying four thousand feet below the "point." lake tahoe, via stage fourteen miles from truckee donner lake, three miles from either truckee or summit. calaveras big trees, via stage, sixty-five miles from galt, or sixty-two miles from mokelumne _through tickets:_ c. p. r. r.: office, california street. " " " --oakland wharf. c. & n. w. ry. " california street. c. b. & m. r. r. " montgomery street. c. r. i. & p. r. r. " montgomery street. k. c. st. j. & c. b. r. r. office, mont. st. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/ / / / / / -h.zip) a backward glance at eighty recollections & comment by charles a. murdock massachusetts humboldt bay san francisco [illustration: a camera glance at eighty] this book is gratefully dedicated to the friends who inspired it contents chapter i. new england ii. a hidden harbor iii. nine years north iv. the real bret harte v. san francisco--the sixties vi. later san francisco vii. incidents in public service viii. an investment ix. by-product x. concerning persons xi. outings xii. occasional verse epilogue illustrations a camera glance at eighty humboldt bay, winship map francis bret harte (saroney, ) the clay-street office the day after thomas starr king (original given bret harte) horatio stebbins, san francisco, - horace davis, harvard in outings: the sierras, hawaii foreword in the autumn of the board of directors of the pacific coast conference of unitarian churches took note of the approaching eightieth birthday of mr. charles a. murdock, of san francisco. recalling mr. murdock's active service of all good causes, and more particularly his devotion to the cause of liberal religion through a period of more than half a century, the board decided to recognize the anniversary, which fell on january , , by securing the publication of a volume of mr. murdock's essays. a committee was appointed to carry out the project, composed of rev. h.e.b. speight (chairman), rev. c.s.s. dutton, and rev. earl m. wilbur. the committee found a very ready response to its announcement of a subscription edition, and mr. murdock gave much time and thought to the preparation of material for the volume. "a backward glance at eighty" is now issued with the knowledge that its appearance is eagerly awaited by all mr. murdock's friends and by a large number of others who welcome new light upon the life of an earlier generation of pioneers. the publication of the book is an affectionate tribute to a good citizen, a staunch friend, a humble christian gentleman, and a fearless servant of truth--charles a. murdock. memorial committee. genesis in the beginning, the publication of this book is not the deliberate act of the octogenarian. separate causes seem to have co-operated independently to produce the result. several years ago, in a modest literary club, the late henry morse stephens, in his passion for historical material, urged me from time to time to devote my essays to early experiences in the north of the state and in san francisco. these papers were familiar to my friends, and as my eightieth birthday approached they asked that i add to them introductory and connecting chapters and publish a memorial volume. to satisfy me that it would find acceptance they secured advance orders to cover the expense. under these conditions i could not but accede to their request. i would subordinate an unimportant personal life. my purpose is to recall conditions and experiences that may prove of historical interest and to express some of the conclusions and convictions formed in an active and happy life. i wish to express my gratitude to the members of the committee and to my friend, george prescott vance, for suggestions and assistance in preparation and publication. c.a.m. chapter i new england my very early memories alternate between my grandfather's farm in leominster, massachusetts, and the pemberton house in boston. my father and mother, both born in leominster, were schoolmates, and in due time they married. father was at first a clerk in the country store, but at an early age became the tavern-keeper. i was born on january , . soon thereafter father took charge of the pemberton house on howard street, which developed into whig headquarters. being the oldest grandson, i was welcome at the old homestead, and i was so well off under the united care of my aunts that i spent a fair part of my life in the country. my father was a descendant of robert murdock (of roxbury), who left scotland in , and whose descendants settled in newton. my father's branch removed to winchendon, home of tubs and pails. my grandfather (abel) moved to leominster and later settled in worcester, where he died when i was a small boy. my father's mother was a moore, also of scotch ancestry. she died young, and on my father's side there was no family home to visit. my mother's father was deacon charles hills, descended from joseph hills, who came from england in . nearly every new england town was devoted to some special industry, and leominster was given to the manufacture of horn combs. the industry was established by a hills ancestor, and when i was born four hills brothers were co-operative comb-makers, carrying on the business in connection with small farming. the proprietors were the employees. if others were required, they could be readily secured at the going wages of one dollar a day. my grandfather was the oldest of the brothers. when he married betsy buss his father set aside for him twenty acres of the home farm, and here he built the house in which he lived for forty years, raising a family of ten children. i remember quite clearly my great-grandfather silas hills. he was old and querulous, and could certainly scold; but now that i know that he was born in , and had nineteen brothers and sisters, i think of him with compassion and wonder. it connects me with the distant past to think i remember a man who was sixteen years old when the declaration of independence was signed. he died at ninety-five, which induces apprehension. my grandfather's house faced the country road that ran north over the rolling hills among the stone-walled farms, and was about a mile from the common that marked the center of the town. it was white, of course, with green blinds. the garden in front was fragrant from castilian roses, sweet williams, and pinks. there were lilacs and a barberry-bush. a spacious hall bisected the house. the south front room was sacred to funerals and weddings; we seldom entered it. back of that was grandma's room. stairs in the hall led to two sleeping-rooms above. the north front room was "the parlor," but seldom used. there on the center-table reposed baxter's "saints' rest" and young's "night thoughts." the fireplace flue so seldom held a fire that the swallows utilized the chimney for their nests. back of this was the dining-room, in which we lived. it had a large brick oven and a serviceable fireplace. the kitchen was an ell, from which stretched woodshed, carriage-house, pigpen, smoking-house, etc. currant and quince bushes, rhubarb, mulberry, maple, and butternut trees were scattered about. an apple orchard helped to increase the frugal income. we raised corn and pumpkins, and hay for the horse and cows. the corn was gathered into the barn across the road, and a husking-bee gave occasion for mild merrymaking. as necessity arose the dried ears were shelled and the kernels taken to the mill, where an honest portion was taken for grist. the corn-meal bin was the source of supply for all demands for breakfast cereal. hasty-pudding never palled. small incomes sufficed. our own bacon, pork, spare-rib, and souse, our own butter, eggs, and vegetables, with occasional poultry, made us little dependent on others. one of the great-uncles was a sportsman, and snared rabbits and pickerel, thus extending our bill of fare. bread and pies came from the weekly baking, to say nothing of beans and codfish. berries from the pasture and nuts from the woods were plentiful. for lights we were dependent on tallow candles or whale-oil, and soap was mostly home-made. life was simple but happy. the small boy had small duties. he must pick up chips, feed the hens, hunt eggs, sprout potatoes, and weed the garden. but he had fun the year round, varying with the seasons, but culminating with the winter, when severity was unheeded in the joy of coasting, skating, and sleighing in the daytime, and apples, chestnuts, and pop-corn in the long evenings. i never tired of watching my grandfather and his brothers as they worked in their shops. the combs were not the simple instruments we now use to separate and arrange the hair, but ornamental structures that women wore at the back of the head to control their supposedly surplus locks. they were associated with spanish beauties, and at their best estate were made of shell, but our combs were of horn and of great variety. in the better quality, shell was closely imitated, but some were frankly horn and ornamented by the application of aquafortis in patterns artistic or grotesque according to the taste and ability of the operator. the horns were sawed, split, boiled in oil, pressed flat, and then died out ready to be fashioned into the shape required for the special product. this was done in a separate little shop by uncle silas and uncle alvah. uncle emerson then rubbed and polished them in the literally one-horsepower factory, and grandfather bent and packed them for the market. the power was supplied by a patient horse, "log cabin" by name, denoting the date of his acquisition in the harrison campaign. all day the faithful nag trod a horizontal wheel in the cellar, which gave way to his efforts and generated the power that was transmitted by belt to the simple machinery above. uncle emerson generally sung psalm-tunes as he worked. deacon hills, as he was always called, was finisher, packer, and business manager. i was interested to notice that in doing up the dozen combs in a package he always happened to select the best one to tie on the outside as a sample. that was his nearest approach to dishonesty. he was a thoroughly good man, but burdened and grave. i do not know that i ever heard him laugh, and he seldom, if ever, smiled. he worked hard, was faithful to every duty, and no doubt loved his family; but soberness was inbred. he read the _cultivator_, the _christian register_, and the almanac. after the manner of his time, he was kind and helpful; but life was hard and joyless. he was greatly respected and was honored by a period of service as representative in the general court. my grandmother was a gentle, patient soul, living for her family, wholly unselfish and incapable of complaint. she was placid and cheerful, courageous and trusting. i had four fine aunts, two of whom were then unmarried and devoted to the small boy. one was a veritable ray of sunshine; the other, gifted of mind and nearest my age, was most companionable. only one son lived to manhood. he had gone from the home, but faithfully each year returned from the city to observe thanksgiving, the great day of new england. holidays were somewhat infrequent. fourth of july and muster, of course, were not forgotten, and while christmas was almost unnoticed thanksgiving we never failed to mark with all its social and religious significance. almost everybody went to meeting, and the sermon, commonly reviewing the year, was regarded as an event. the home-coming of the absent family members and the reunion at a bountiful dinner became the universal custom. there were no distractions in the way of professional football or other games. the service, the family, and plenty of good things to eat engrossed the day. it was a time of rejoicing--and unlimited pie. sunday was strictly observed. grandfather always blacked his boots before sundown of saturday night, and on sunday anything but going to meeting was regarded with suspicion, especially if it was associated with any form of enjoyment. in summer "log cabin" was hitched into the shafts of the chaise, and with gait slightly accelerated beyond the daily habit jogged to town and was deposited in the church shed during the service. at noon we rejoined him and ate our ginger-bread and cheese while he disposed of his luncheon of oats. then we went back to sunday-school, and he rested or fought flies. in winter he was decked with bells and hitched in the sleigh. plenty of robes and a foot-stove, or at least a slab of heated soap-stone, provided for grandmother's comfort. the church when it was formed was named "the first congregational." when it became unitarian, the word, in parentheses, was added. the second congregational was always called "the orthodox." the church building was a fine example of early architecture. the steeple was high, the walls were white, the pews were square. on a tablet at the right of the pulpit the ten commandments were inscribed, and at the left the beatitudes were found. the first minister i remember was saintly hiram withington, who won my loyalty by his interest manifested by standing me up by the door-jamb and marking my growth from call to call. i remember rufus p. stebbins, the former minister, who married my father and mother and refused a fee because my father had always cut his hair in the barberless days of old. amos a. smith was later in succession. i loved him for his goodness. sunday-school was always a matter of course, and was never dreaded. i early enjoyed the rollo books and later reveled in mayne reid. the haymow in the barn and a blessed knothole are associated with many happy hours. reading has dangers. i think one of the first books i ever read was a bound volume of _merry's museum_. there was a continued story recounting the adventures of one dick boldhero. it was illustrated with horrible woodcuts. one of them showed dick bearing on a spirited charger the clasped form of the heroine, whom he had abducted. it impressed me deeply. i recognized no distinction of sex or attractiveness and lived in terror of suffering abduction. when i saw a stranger coming i would run into the shop and clasp my arms around some post until i felt the danger past. this must have been very early in my career. indeed one of my aunts must have done the reading, leaving me to draw distress from the thrilling illustrations. a very early trial was connected with a visit to a school. i was getting proud of my ability to spell small words. a primer-maker had attempted to help the association of letters with objects by placing them in juxtaposition, but through a mistake he led me to my undoing. i knew my letters and i knew some things. i plainly distinguished the letters p-a-n. against them i was puzzled by a picture of a spoon, and with credulity, perhaps characteristic, i blurted out "p-a-n--spoon," whereat to my great discomfiture everybody laughed. i have never liked being laughed at from that day to this. i am glad that i left new england early, but i am thankful that it was not before i realized the loveliness of the arbutus as it braved the snow and smiled at the returning sun, nor that i made forts or played morris in the snow at school. i have passed on from my first impressions in the country perhaps unwarrantedly. it is hard to differentiate consistently. i may have mixed early memories with more mature realization. i did not live with my grandmother continuously. i went back and forth as convenience and others' desires prompted. i do not know what impressions of life in the pemberton house came first. very early i remember helping my busy little mother, who in the spring of the year uncorded all the bedsteads and made life miserable for the festive bedbugs by an application of whale oil from a capable feather applied to the inside of all holes through which the ropes ran. the re-cording of the beds was a tedious process requiring two persons, and i soon grew big enough to count as one. i remember also the little triangular tin candlesticks that we inserted at the base of each of the very small panes of the window when we illuminated the hotel on special nights. i distinctly recall the quivering of the full glasses of jelly on tapering disks that formed attractive table ornaments. daniel webster was often the central figure at banquets in the pemberton. general sam houston, senator from texas, was also entertained, for i remember that my father told me of an incident that occurred many years after, when he passed through san antonio. as he strolled through the city he saw the senator across the street, but, supposing that he would not be remembered, had no thought of speaking, whereupon houston called out, "young man, are you not going to speak to me!" my father replied that he had not supposed that he would be remembered. "of course i remember meeting you at the pemberton house in boston." i remember some of the boarders, regular and transient, distinguished and otherwise. there was a young grocery clerk who used to hold me in his lap and talk to me. he became one of the best of california's governors, frederick f. low, and was a close friend of thomas starr king. a wit on a san francisco paper once published at thanksgiving time "a thanksgiving proclamation by our stuttering reporter--'praise god from whom all blessings f-f-low.'" in my memory he is associated with haymaker square. i well remember the famous circus clown of the period, joe pentland, very serious and proper when not professionally funny. a minstrel who made a great hit with "jim crow" once gave me a valuable lesson on table manners. one barrett, state treasurer, was a boarder. he had a standing order: "roast beef, rare and fat; gravy from the dish." madame biscaccianti, of the italian opera, graced our table. so did the original drew family. the hotel adjoined the howard athenaeum, and i profited from peeping privileges to the extent of many pins. i recall some wonderful trained animals--van amberg's, i think. a lion descended from back-stage and crawled with stealth upon a sleeping traveler in the foreground. it was thrilling but harmless. there were also some viennese dancers, who introduced, i believe, the cracovienne. i remember a "sissy madigan," who seemed a wonder of beauty and charm. there was great excitement when the athenaeum caught on fire. i can see the trunks being dragged down the stairs to the damage of the banisters, and great confusion and dismay among our boarders. a small boy was hurried in his nightie across the street and kept till all danger had passed. a very early memory is the marching through the streets of soldiers bound for the mexican war. off and on, i lived in boston till , when my father left for california and the family returned to leominster. my first school in boston was in the basement of park street church. hermann clarke, son of our minister, rev. james freeman clarke, was a fellow pupil. afterward i went to the mayhew grammar school, connected in my mind with a mild chastisement for imitating a trombone when a procession passed by. the only other punishment i recall was a spanking by my father for playing "hookey" and roaming in the public garden. i remember sunday-school parades through certain public streets. but the great event was the joining of all the day schools in the great parade when cochituate water was introduced into the city. it was a proud moment when the fountain in the frogpond on the common threw on high the water prodigiously brought from far cochituate. another boston memory is the boston theater, where william warren reigned. cinderella and her pumpkin carriage are fresh in my mind. i also recall a waxwork representation of the birth in the manger. i still can see the heads of the cattle, the spreading horns, and the blessed babe. as i recall my early boyhood, many changes in customs seem suggested. there may be trundle-beds in these days, but i never see them. no fathers wear boots in this era, and bootjacks are as extinct as the dodo. i have kept a few letters written by my mother when i was away from her. they were written on a flat sheet, afterward folded and fastened by a wafer. envelopes had not arrived; neither had postage-stamps. sealing-wax was then in vogue and red tape for important documents. in all well-regulated dwellings there were whatnots in the corner with shells and waxworks and other objects of beauty or mild interest. the pictures did not move--they were fixed in the family album. the musical instruments most in evidence were jew's-harps and harmonicas. the rollo books were well calculated to make a boy sleepy. the franconia books were more attractive, and "the green mountain boy" was thrilling. a small boy's wildest dissipation was rolling a hoop. and now california casts her shadow. my father was an early victim. i remember his parting admonition, as he was a man of few words and seldom offered advice. "be careful," he said, "of wronging others. do not repeat anything you hear that reflects on another. it is a pretty good rule, when you cannot speak well of another, to say nothing at all." he must have said more, but that is all that i recall. father felt that in two years he would return with enough money to provide for our needs. in the meantime we could live at less expense and in greater safety in the country. we returned to the town we all loved, and the two years stretched to six. we three children went to school, my mother keeping house. in my grandfather died, and in my grandmother joined him. during these leominster days we greatly enjoyed a visit from my father's sister, charlotte, with her husband, john downes, an astronomer connected with harvard university. they were charming people, bringing a new atmosphere from their cambridge home. uncle john tried to convince me that by dividing the heavens i might count the visible stars, but he did not succeed. he wrote me a fine, friendly letter on his returning home, in , using a sheet of blue paper giving on the third page a view of the college buildings and a procession of the alumni as they left the church sept. , . in the letter he pronounced it a very good view. it is presented elsewhere, in connection with the picture of a friend who entered the university a few years later. school life was pleasant and i suppose fairly profitable. until i entered high school i attended the ungraded district school. it was on the edge of a wood, and a source of recess pleasure was making umbrageous homes of pine boughs. on the last day of school the school committee, the leading minister, the ablest lawyer, and the best-loved doctor were present to review and address us. we took much pride in the decoration. wreaths of plaited leaves were twisted around the stovepipe; the top of the stove was banked with pond-lilies gathered from a pond in our woods. medals were primitive. for a week i wore a pierced ninepence in evidence of my proficiency in mental arithmetic; then it passed to stronger hands. according to present standards we indulged in precious little amusement. entertainments were few. once in a while a circus came to town, and there were organizations of musical attractions like the hutchinson family and the swiss bell ringers. ossian e. dodge was a name with which to conjure, and a panorama was sometimes unrolled alternating with dissolving views. seen in retrospect, they all seem tame and unalluring. the lyceum was, the feature of strongest interest to the grownups. lectures gave them a chance to see men of note like wendell phillips, emerson, or william lloyd garrison. even boys could enjoy poets of the size of john g. saxe. well do i remember the distrust felt for abolitionists. i had an uncle who entertained fred douglass and was ready at any time to help a fugitive slave to canada. he was considered dangerous. he was a shoemaker, and i remember how he would drop his work when no one was by and get up to pace the floor and rehearse a speech he probably never would make. occasionally our singing-school would give a concert, and once in a farmers' chorus i was costumed in a smock cut down from one of grandfather's. i carried a sickle and joined in "through lanes with hedgerows, pearly." i kept up in the singing but let my attention wander as the farmers made their exit and did not notice that i was left till the other boys were almost off the stage. i then skipped after them, swinging my scythe in chagrin. in the high school we gave an exhibition in which we enacted some scotch scene. i think it had to do with roderick dhu. we were to be costumed, and i was bothered about kilts and things. mr. phillips, the principal, suggested that the stage be set with small evergreen trees. the picture of them in my mind's eye brought relief, and i impulsively exclaimed, "that will be good, because we will not have to wear pants," meaning, of course, the kilts. he had a sense of humor and was a tease. he pretended to take me literally, and raised a laugh as he said, "why, murdock!" one bitterly cold night we went to fitchburg, five miles away, to describe the various pictures given at a magic-lantern exhibition. my share was a few lines on a poor view of scarborough castle. at this distance it seems like a poor investment of energy. i wonder if modern education has not made some progress in a generation. here was a boy of fourteen who had never studied history or physics or physiology and was assigned nothing but latin, algebra and grammar. i left at fourteen and a half to come to california, knowing little but what i had picked up accidentally. a diary of my voyage, dating from june , , vividly illustrates the character of the english inculcated by the school of the period. it refers to the "crowd assembled to witness our departure." it recounts all we saw, beginning with washacum pond, which we passed on our way to worcester: "of considerable magnitude, ... and the small islands which dot its surface render it very beautiful." the buildings of new york impressed the little prig greatly. trinity church he pronounces "one of the most splendid edifices which i ever saw," and he waxes into "opalian" eloquence over barnum's american museum, which was "illuminated from basement to attic." we sailed on the "george law," arriving at aspinwall, the eastern terminal of the panama railroad, in ten days. crossing the isthmus, with its wonders of tropical foliage and varied monkeys, gave a glimpse of a new world. we left panama june th and arrived at san francisco on the morning of the th. let the diary tell the tale of the beginning of life in california: "i arose about - / this morning and went on deck. we were then in the golden gate, which is the entrance into san francisco bay. on each side of us was high land. on the left-hand side was a lighthouse, and the light was still burning. on my right hand was the outer telegraph building. when they see us they telegraph to another place, from which they telegraph all over san francisco. when we were going in there was a strong ebb tide. we arrived at the wharf a little after five o'clock. the first thing which i did was to look for my father. him i did not see." father had been detained in humboldt by the burning of the connecting steamer, so we went to wilson's exchange in sansome near sacramento street, and in the afternoon took the "senator" for sacramento, where my uncle and aunt lived. the part of a day in san francisco was used to the full in prospecting the strange city. we walked its streets and climbed its hills, much interested in all we saw. the line of people waiting for their mail up at portsmouth square was perhaps the most novel sight. a race up the bay, waiting for the tide at benicia, sticking on the "hog's back" in the night, and the surprise of a flat, checkerboard city were the most impressive experiences of the trip to sacramento. a month or so on this compulsory visit passed very pleasantly. we found fresh delight in watching the chinese and their habits. we had never seen a specimen before. a very pleasant picnic and celebration on the fourth of july was another attractive novelty. cheap john auctions and frequent fires afforded amusement and excitement, and we learned to drink muddy water without protest. on the th the diary records: "last night about o'clock i woke, and who should i behold, standing by me, but my father! is it possible that after a separation of nearly six years i have at last met my father? it is even so. this form above me is, indeed, my father's." the day's entry concludes: "i have really enjoyed myself today. i like the idea of a father very well." we were compelled to await an upcoast steamer till august, when that adventurous craft, the steamer "mckim," now newly named the "humboldt," resumed sea-voyages. the pacific does not uniformly justify the name, but this time it completely succeeded. the ocean was as smooth as the deadest mill-pond--not a breath of wind or a ripple of the placid surface. treacherous humboldt bar, sometimes a mountain of danger, did not even disclose its location. the tar from the ancient seams of the humboldt's decks responded to the glowing sun until pacing the deck was impossible, but sea-sickness was no less so. we lazily steamed into the beautiful harbor, up past eureka, her streets still occupied by stumps, and on to the ambitious pier stretching nearly two miles from uniontown to deep water. and now that the surroundings may be better understood, let me digress from the story of my boyhood and touch on the early romance of humboldt bay--its discovery and settlement. chapter ii a hidden harbor the northwesterly corner of california is a region apart. in its physical characteristics and in its history it has little in common with the rest of the state. with no glamour of spanish occupancy, its romance is of quite another type. at the time of the discovery of gold in california the northwestern portion of the state was almost unknown territory. for seven hundred miles, from fort ross to the mouth of the columbia, there stretched a practically uncharted coast. a few headlands were designated on the imperfect map and a few streams were poorly sketched in, but the great domain had simply been approached from the sea and its characteristics were mostly a matter of conjecture. so far as is known, not a white man lived in all california west of the coast range and north of fort ross. here is, generally speaking, a mountainous region heavily timbered along the coast, diversified with river valleys and rolling hills. a marked peculiarity is its sharp slope toward the northwest for its entire length. east of the coast range the sacramento river flows due south, while to the west of the broken mountains all the streams flow northwesterly--more northerly than westerly. eel river flows about miles northerly and, say, forty miles westerly. the same course is taken by the mattole, the mad, and the trinity rivers. the watershed of this corner to the northwest is extensive, including a good part of what are now mendocino, trinity, siskiyou, humboldt, and del norte counties. the drainage of the westerly slope of the mountain ranges north and west of shasta reaches the pacific with difficulty. the klamath river flows southwest for miles until it flanks the siskiyous. it there meets the trinity, which flows northwest. the combined rivers take the direction of the trinity, but the name of the klamath prevails. it enters the ocean about thirty miles south of the oregon line. the whole region is extremely mountainous. the course of the river is tortuous, winding among the mountains. the water-flow shows the general trend of the ranges; but most of the rivers have numerous forks, indicating transverse ridges. from an aeroplane the mountains of northern california would suggest an immense drove of sleeping razor-backed hogs nestling against one another to keep warm, most of their snouts pointed northwest. less than one-fourth of the land is tillable, and not more than a quarter of that is level. yet it is a beautiful, interesting and valuable country, largely diversified, with valuable forests, fine mountain ranges, gently rolling hills, rich river bottoms, and, on the upper trinity, gold-bearing bars. mendocino (in humboldt county) was given its significant name about . when heceta and bodega in were searching the coast for harbors, they anchored under the lee of the next northerly headland. after the pious manner of the time, having left san blas on trinity sunday, they named their haven trinidad. their arrival was six days before the battle of bunker hill. it is about forty-five miles from cape mendocino to trinidad. the bold, mountainous hills, though they often reach the ocean, are somewhat depressed between these points. halfway between them lies humboldt bay, a capacious harbor with a tidal area of twenty-eight miles. it is the best and almost the only harbor from san francisco to puget sound. it is fourteen miles long, in shape like an elongated human ear. it eluded discovery with even greater success than san francisco bay, and the story of its final settlement is striking and romantic. neither cabrillo nor heceta nor drake makes mention of it. in vancouver followed the coast searchingly, but when he anchored in what he called the "nook" of trinidad he was entirely ignorant of a near-by harbor. we must bear in mind that spain had but the slightest acquaintance with the empire she claimed. the occasional visits of navigators did not extend her knowledge of the great domain. it is nevertheless surprising that in the long course of the passage of the galleons to and from the philippines the bays of san francisco and humboldt should not have been found even by accident. the nearest settlement was the russian colony near bodega, one hundred and seventy-five miles to the south. in kuskoff found a river entering the ocean near the point. he called it slavianski, but general vallejo rescued us from that when he referred to it as russian river. the land was bought from the indians for a trifle. madrid was applied to for a title, but the spaniards declined to give it. the russians held possession, however, and proceeded with cultivation. to better protect their claims, nineteen miles up the coast, they erected a stockade mounting twenty guns. they called the fort kosstromitinoff, but the spaniards referred to it as _el fuerte de los rusos_, which was anglicized as fort russ, and, finally, as fort ross. the colony prospered for a while, but sealing "pinched out" and the territory occupied was too small to satisfy agricultural needs. in the russians sold the whole possession to general sutter for thirty thousand dollars and withdrew from california, returning to alaska. in a party of adventurers started north from fort ross for oregon, following the coast. one jedidiah smith, a trapper, was the leader. it is said that smith river, near the oregon line, was named for him. somewhere on the way all but four were reported killed by the indians. they are supposed to have been the first white men to enter the humboldt country. among the very early settlers in california was pearson b. redding, who lived on a ranch near mount shasta. in , on a trapping expedition, he struck west through a divide in the coast range and discovered a good-sized, rapid river flowing to the west. from its direction and the habit of rivers to seek the sea, he concluded that it was likely to reach the pacific at about the latitude of trinidad, named seventy years before. he thereupon gave it the name of trinity, and in due time left it running and returned to his home. three years passed, and gold was discovered by marshall. redding was interested and curious and visited the scene of marshall's find. the american river and its bars reminded him of the trinity, and when he returned to his home he organized a party to prospect it. gold was found in moderate quantities, especially on the upper portions. the trinity mines extended confidence and added to the excitement. camps sprang up on every bar. the town of weaverville took the lead, and still holds it. quite a population followed and the matter of provisioning it became serious. the base of supplies was sacramento, two hundred miles distant and over a range of mountains. to the coast it could not be more than seventy miles. if the trinity entered a bay or was navigable, it would be a great saving and of tremendous advantage. the probability or possibility was alluring and was increasingly discussed. in october, , there were at rich bar forty miners short of provisions and ready for any adventure. the indians reported that eight suns to the west was a large bay with fertile land and tall trees. a vision of a second san francisco, a port for all northern california, urged them to try for it. twenty-four men agreed to join the party, and the fifth of november was set for the start. dr. josiah gregg was chosen leader and two indians were engaged as guides. when the day arrived the rain was pouring and sixteen of the men and the two guides backed out, but the remaining eight were courageous (or foolhardy) and not to be thwarted. with a number of pack animals and eight days' supplies they started up the slippery mountainside. at the summit they encountered a snowstorm and camped for the night. in the morning they faced a western view that would have discouraged most men--a mass of mountains, rough-carved and snow-capped, with main ridges parallel on a northwesterly line. in every direction to the most distant horizon stretched these forbidding mountains. the distance to the ocean was uncertain, and their course to it meant surmounting ridge after ridge of the intervening mountains. they plunged down and on, crossed a swollen stream, and crawled up the eastern side of the next ridge. for six days this performance was repeated. then they reached a large stream with an almost unsurmountable mountain to the west. they followed down the stream until they found it joined another of about equal size. they had discovered the far-flowing south fork of the trinity. they managed to swim the united river and found a large indian village, apparently giving the inhabitants their first view of white men. the natives all fled in fright, leaving their camps to the strange beings. the invaders helped themselves to the smoked salmon that was plentiful, leaving flour in exchange. at dusk about eighty of the fighting sex returned with renewed courage, and threateningly. it took diplomacy to postpone an attack till morning, when powder would be dry. they relied upon a display of magic power from their firearms that would impress superior numbers with the senselessness of hostilities. they did not sleep in great security, and early in the morning proceeded with the demonstration, upon which much depended. when they set up a target and at sixty yards pierced a scrap of paper and the tree to which it was pinned the effect was satisfactory. the indians were astonished at the feat, but equally impressed by the unaccountable noise from the explosion. they became very friendly, warned the wonder-workers of the danger to be encountered if they headed north, where indians were many and fierce, and told them to keep due west. the perilous journey was continued by the ascent of another mountainside. provisions soon became very scarce, nothing but flour remaining, and little of that. on the th they went dinnerless to their cold blankets. their animals had been without food for two days, but the next morning they found grass. a redwood forest was soon encountered, and new difficulties developed. the underbrush was dense and no trails were found. fallen trees made progress very slow. two miles a day was all they could accomplish. they painfully worked through the section of the marvelous redwood belt destined to astonish the world, reaching a small prairie, where they camped. the following day they devoted to hunting, luckily killing a number of deer. here they remained several days, drying the venison in the meantime; but when, their strength recuperated, they resumed their journey, the meat was soon exhausted. three days of fasting for man and beast followed. two of the horses were left to their fate. then another prairie yielded more venison and the meat of three bears. for three weeks they struggled on; life was sustained at times by bitter acorns alone. at length the welcome sound of surf was heard, but three days passed before they reached the ocean. three of the animals had died of starvation in the last stretch of the forest. the men had not eaten for two days, and devoted the first day on the beach to securing food. one shot a bald eagle; another found a raven devouring a cast-up fish, both of which he secured. all were stewed together, and a good night's sleep followed the questionable meal. the party struck the coast near the headland that in had been named trinidad, but not being aware of this fact they named it, for their leader, gregg's point. after two days' feasting on mussels and dried salmon obtained from the indians, they kept on south. soon after crossing a small stream, now named little river, they came to one by no means so little. dr. gregg insisted on getting out his instruments and ascertaining the latitude, but the others had no scientific interest and were in a hurry to go on. they hired indians to row them across in canoes, and all except the doctor bundled in. finding himself about to be left, he grabbed up his instruments and waded out into the stream to reach the canoe, which had no intention of leaving him. he got in, wet and very angry, nursing his wrath till shore was reached; then he treated his companions to some vigorous language. they responded in kind, and the altercation became so violent that the row gave the stream its name, mad river. they continued down the beach, camping when night overtook them. wood, the chronicler of the expedition, [footnote: "the narrative of l.k. wood," published many years after, and largely incorporated in bledsoe's "history of the indian wars of northern california," is the source of most of the incidents relating to gregg's party embraced in this chapter.] and buck went in different directions to find water. wood returned first with a bucketful, brackish and poor. buck soon after arrived with a supply that looked much better, but when gregg sampled it he made a wry face and asked buck where he found it. he replied that he dipped it out of a smooth lake about a half mile distant. it was good plain salt water; they had discovered the mythical bay--or supposed they had. they credulously named it trinity, expecting to come to the river later. the next day they proceeded down the narrow sand strip that now bounds the west side of humboldt bay, but when they reached the harbor entrance from the ocean they were compelled to retrace their steps and try the east shore. the following day they headed the bay, camping at a beautiful plateau on the edge of the redwood belt, giving a fine view of a noble landlocked harbor and a rich stretch of bottom land reaching to mad river. here they found an abundant spring, and narrowly missed a good supper; for they shot a large elk, which, to their great disappointment, took to the brush. it was found dead the next morning, and its head, roasted in ashes, constituted a happy christmas dinner--for december th had arrived, completing an even fifty days since the start from rich bar. they proceeded leisurely down the east side of the bay, stopping the second day nearly opposite the entrance. it seemed a likely place for a townsite, and they honored the water-dipping discoverer by calling it bucksport. then they went on, crossing the little stream now named elk river, and camping near what was subsequently called humboldt point. they were disappointed that no river of importance emptied into so fine a bay, but they realized the importance of such a harbor and the value of the soil and timber. they were, however, in no condition to settle, or even to tarry. their health and strength were impaired, ammunition was practically exhausted, and there were no supplies. they would come back, but now they must reach civilization. it was midwinter and raining almost constantly. they had little idea of distance, but knew there were settlers to the south, and that they must reach them or starve. so they turned from the bay they had found to save their lives. the third day they reached a large river flowing from the south, entering the ocean a few miles south of the bay. as they reached it they met two very old indians loaded down with eels just taken from the river, which the indians freely shared with the travelers. they were so impressed with them and more that followed that they bestowed on the magnificent river which with many branches drains one of the most majestic domains on earth the insignificant, almost sacrilegious name of _eel_! for two days they camped, consuming eels and discussing the future. a most unfortunate difference developed, dividing the little group of men who had suffered together so long. gregg and three others favored following the ocean beach. the other four, headed by wood, were of the opinion that the better course would be to follow up eel river to its head, crossing the probably narrow divide and following down some stream headed either south or east. neither party would yield and they parted company, each almost hopeless. wood and his companions soon found their plan beset with great difficulties. spurs of the mountains came to the river's edge and cut off ascent. after five days they left the river and sought a mountain ridge. a heavy snowfall added to their discomfiture. they killed a small deer, and camped for five days, devouring it thankfully. compelled by the snow, they returned to the river-bed, the skin of the deer their only food. one morning they met and shot at five grizzly bears, but none were killed. the next morning in a mountain gully eight ugly grizzlies faced them. in desperation they determined to attack. wood and wilson were to advance and fire. the others held themselves in reserve--one of them up a tree. at fifty feet each selected a bear and fired. wilson killed his bear; wood thought he had finished his. the beast fell, biting the earth and writhing in agony. wilson sensibly climbed a tree and called upon wood to do likewise. he started to first reload his rifle and the ball stuck. when the two shots were fired five of the bears started up the mountain, but one sat quietly on its haunches watching proceedings. as wood struggled with his refractory bullet it started for him. he gained a small tree and climbed beyond reach. unable to load, he used his rifle to beat back the beast as it tried to claw him. to his horror the bear he thought was killed rose to its feet and furiously charged the tree, breaking it down at once. wood landed on his feet and ran down the mountain to a small buckeye, the bear after him. he managed to hook his arm around the tree, swinging his body clear. the wounded bear was carried by its momentum well down the mountain. wood ran for another tree, the other bear close after him, snapping at his heels. before he could climb out of reach he was grabbed by the ankle and pulled down. the wounded bear came jumping up the mountain and caught him by the shoulder. they pulled against each other as if to dismember him. his hip was dislocated and he suffered some painful flesh wounds. his clothing was stripped from his body and he felt the end had come, but the bears seemed disinclined to seize his flesh. they were evidently suspicious of white meat. finally one disappeared up the ravine, while the other sat down a hundred yards away, and keenly watched him. as long as he kept perfectly still the bear was quiet, but if he moved at all it rushed upon him. wilson came to his aid and both finally managed to climb trees beyond reach. the bear then sat down between the trees, watching both and growling threateningly if either moved. it finally tired of the game and to their great relief disappeared up the mountain. wood, suffering acutely, was carried down to the camp, where they remained twelve days, subsisting on the bear wilson had killed. wood grew worse instead of better, and the situation was grave. little ammunition was left, they were practically without shoes or clothing, and certain death seemed to face them. wood urged them to seek their own safety, saying they could leave him with the indians, or put an end to his sufferings at any time. failing to induce the indians to take him, it was decided to try to bind him on his horse and take him along on the hard journey. he suffered torture, but it was a day at a time and he had great fortitude. after ten days of incredible suffering they reached the ranch of mrs. mark west, thirty miles from sonoma. the date was february th, one hundred and four days from rich bar. the four who started to follow the beach had experiences no less trying. they found it impossible to accomplish their purpose. bold mountains came quite to the shore and blocked the way. they finally struck east for the sacramento valley. they were short of food and suffered unutterably. dr. gregg grew weaker day by day until he fell from his horse and died from starvation, speaking no word. the other three pushed on and managed to reach sacramento a few days after the wood party arrived at sonoma. while these adventurous miners were prosecuting the search for the mythical harbor, enterprising citizens of san francisco renewed efforts to reach it from the ocean. in december, , soon after wood and his companions started from the trinity river, the brig "cameo" was dispatched north to search carefully for a port. she returned without success, but was again dispatched. on this trip she rediscovered trinidad. interest grew, and by march of not less than forty vessels were enlisted in the search. my father, who left boston early in , going by panama and the chagres river, had been through three fires in san francisco and was ready for any change. he joined with a number of acquaintances on one of these ventures, acting as secretary of the company. they purchased the "paragon," a gloucester fishing-boat of tons burden, and early in march, under the command of captain march, with forty-two men in the party, sailed north. they hugged the coast and kept a careful lookout for a harbor, but passed the present humboldt bay in rather calm weather and in the daytime without seeing it. the cause of what was then inexplicable is now quite plain. the entrance has the prevailing northwest slant. the view into the bay from the ocean is cut off by the overlapping south spit. a direct view reveals no entrance; you can not see in by looking back after having passed it. at sea the line of breakers seems continuous, the protruding point from the south connecting in surf line with that from the north. moreover, the bay at the entrance is very narrow. the wooded hills are so near the entrance that there seems no room for a bay. the "paragon" soon found heavy weather and was driven far out to sea. then for three days she was in front of a gale driving her in shore. she reached the coast nearly at the oregon line and dropped anchor in the lee of a small island near point st. george. in the night a gale sprang up, blowing fiercely in shore toward an apparently solid cliff. one after another the cables to her three anchors parted, and my father said it was with a feeling of relief that they heard the last one snap, the suspense giving way to what they believed to be the end of all. but there proved to be an unsuspected sandspit at the base of the cliff, and the "paragon" at high tide plowed her way to a berth she never left. her bones long marked the spot, and for many years the roadstead was known as paragon bay. no lives were lost and no property was saved. about twenty-five of the survivors returned to san francisco on the "cameo," but my father stayed by, and managed to reach humboldt bay soon after its discovery, settling in uniontown in may, . the glory of the ocean discovery remained for the "laura virginia," a baltimore craft, commanded by lieutenant douglass ottinger, a revenue officer on leave of absence. she left soon after the "paragon," and kept close in shore. soon after leaving cape mendocino she reached the mouth of eel river and came to anchor. the next day three other vessels anchored and the "general morgan" sent a boat over the river bar. the "laura virginia" proceeded north and the captain soon saw the waters of a bay, but could see no entrance. he proceeded, anchoring first at trinidad and then at where crescent city was later located. there he found the "cameo" at anchor and the "paragon" on the beach. remaining in the roadstead two days, he started back, and tracing a stream of fresh-looking water discovered the mouth of the klamath. arriving at trinidad, he sent five men down by land to find out if there was an entrance to the bay he had seen. on their favorable report, second officer buhne was instructed to take a ship's boat and sound the entrance before the vessel should attempt it. on april , , he crossed the bar, finding four and a half fathoms. buhne remained in the bay till the ship dropped down. on april th he went out and brought her in. after much discussion the bay and the city they proposed to locate were named humboldt, after the distinguished naturalist and traveler, for whom a member of the company had great admiration. let us now return to l.k. wood, whom we left at the mark west home in the sonoma valley, recovering from the serious injuries incident to the bear encounter on eel river. after about six weeks of recuperation, wood pushed on to san francisco and organized a party of thirty men to return to humboldt and establish a settlement. they were twenty days on the journey, arriving at the shore of the bay on april th, five days after the entrance of the "laura virginia." they were amazed to see the vessel at anchor off humboldt point. they quietly drew back into the woods, and skirting the east side of the bay came out at the bucksport site. four men remained to hold it. the others pushed on to the head of the bay, where they had enjoyed their christmas dinner. this they considered the best place for a town. for three days they were very busily engaged in posting notices, laying foundations for homes, and otherwise fortifying their claims. they named the new settlement uniontown. about six years afterward it was changed to arcata, the original indian name for the spot. the change was made in consideration of the confusion occasioned by there being a uniontown in el dorado county. and so the hidden harbor that had long inspired legend and tradition, and had been the source of great suffering and loss, was revealed. it was _not_ fed by the trinity or any other river. the mouth of the trinity was _not_ navigable; it did not boast a mouth--the klamath just swallowed it. the klamath's far-northern mouth was a poor affair, useless for commercial purposes. but a great empire had been opened and an enormously serviceable harbor had been added to california's assets. it aided mining and created immense lumber interests. strange as it may seem, humboldt bay was not discovered at this time. some years ago a searcher of the archives of far-off st. petersburg found unquestionable proof that the discovery was made in , and not in - . early in the nineteenth century the russian-american company was all-powerful and especially active in the fur trade. it engaged an american captain, jonathan winship, who commanded an american crew on the ship "ocean." the outfit, accompanied by a hundred aleut indians, with fifty-two small boats, was sent from alaska down the california coast in pursuit of seals. they anchored at trinidad and spread out for the capture of sea-otter. eighteen miles south they sighted a bay and finally found the obscure entrance. they entered with a boat and then followed with the ship, which anchored nearly opposite the location of eureka. they found fifteen feet of water on the bar. from the large number of indians living on its shores, they called it the bay of the indians. the entrance they named resanof. winship made a detailed sketch of the bay and its surroundings, locating the indian villages and the small streams that enter the bay. it was sent to st. petersburg and entered on a russian map. the spaniards seem never to have known anything of it, and the americans evidently considered the incident of no importance. humboldt as a community developed slowly. for five years its real resources were neglected. [illustration: humboldt bay--from russian atlas the hidden harbor--thrice discovered winship, . gregg, . ottinger, .] it was merely the shipping point from which the mines of the trinity and klamath rivers were supplied by mule trains. gradually agriculture was developed, and from lumber was king. it is now a great domain. the county is a little less than three times the size of the state of rhode island, and its wealth of resources and its rugged and alluring beauty are still gaining in recognition. its unique glory is the world-famous redwood belt. for its entire length, one hundred and six miles of coast line, and of an average depth of eight miles, extends the marvelous grove. originally it comprised , acres. for more than sixty years it has been mercilessly depleted, yet it is claimed that the supply will not be exhausted for two hundred years. there is nothing on the face of the earth to compare with this stand of superb timber. trees reach two hundred and fifty feet in height, thirty feet in diameter, and a weight of , , pounds. through countless centuries these noble specimens have stood, majestic, serene, reserved for man's use and delight. in these later years fate has numbered their days, but let us firmly withstand their utter demolition. it is beyond conception that all these monuments to nature's power and beauty should be sacrificed. we must preserve accessible groves for the inspiration and joy of those who will take our places. the coast highway following down one of the forks of the eel river passes through the magnificent redwood belt and affords a wonderful view of these superb trees. efforts are now being made to preserve the trees bordering the highway, that one of the most attractive features of california's scenic beauty may be preserved for all time. california has nothing more impressive to offer than these majestic trees, and they are an asset she cannot afford to lose. chapter iii nine years north uniontown (now arcata) had enjoyed the early lead among the humboldt bay towns. the first consideration had been the facility in supplying the mines on the trinity and the klamath. all goods were transported by pack-trains, and the trails over the mountains were nearer the head of the bay. but soon lumber became the leading industry, and the mills were at eureka on deep water at the center of the bay, making that the natural shipping point. it grew rapidly, outstripping its rival, and also capturing the county-seat. arcata struggled valiantly, but it was useless. her geographical position was against her. in an election she shamelessly stuffed the ballot box, but eureka went to the legislature and won her point. arcata had the most beautiful location and its people were very ambitious. in fruitless effort to sustain its lead, the town had built a pier almost two miles in length to a slough navigable to ocean steamers. a single horse drew a flat car carrying passengers and freight. it was the nearest approach to a railroad in the state of california at the time of our arrival on that lovely morning in . we disembarked from the ancient craft and were soon leisurely pursuing our way toward the enterprising town at the other end of the track. it seemed that we were met by the entire population; for the arrival of the steamer with mail and passengers was the exciting event of the month. the station was near the southwest corner of the plaza, which we crossed diagonally to the post-office, housed in the building that had been my father's store until he sold out the year before, when he was elected to the assembly. murdock's hall was in the second story, and a little way north stood a zinc house that was to be our home. it had been shipped first to san francisco and then to humboldt. its plan and architecture were the acme of simplicity. there were three rooms tandem, each with a door in the exact middle, so that if all the doors were open a bullet would be unimpeded in passing through. to add to the social atmosphere, a front porch, open at both ends, extended across the whole front. a horseman could, and in fact often did, ride across it. my brother and i occupied a chamber over the post-office, and he became adept in going to sleep on the parlor sofa every night and later going to bed in the store without waking, dodging all obstructing objects and undressing while sound asleep. we were quite comfortable in this joke of a house. but we had no pump; all the water we used i brought from a spring in the edge of the woods, the one found by the gregg party on the night of christmas, . the first time i visited it and dipped my bucket in the sunken barrel that protected it i had a shock. before leaving san francisco, being a sentimental youth and knowing little of what humboldt offered, i bought two pots of fragrant flowers--heliotrope and a musk-plant--bringing them on the steamer with no little difficulty. as i dipped into the barrel i noticed that it was surrounded by a solid mass of musk-plants growing wild. the misapprehension was at least no greater than that which prompted some full-grown man to ship a zinc house to the one spot in the world where the most readily splitting lumber was plentiful. one of the sights shown to the newcomer was a two-story house built before the era of the sawmill. it was built of split lumber from a single redwood tree--and enough remained to fence the lot! within a stone's throw from the musk-plant spring was a standing redwood, with its heart burned out, in which thirteen men had slept one night, just to boast of it. later, in my time, a shingle-maker had occupied the tree all one winter, both as a residence and as a shop where he made shingles for the trade. we had a very pleasant home and were comfortable and happy. we had a horse, cows, rabbits, and pigeons. our garden furnished berries and vegetables in plenty. the indians sold fish, and i provided at first rabbits and then ducks and geese. one delicious addition to our table was novel to us. as a part of the redwood's undergrowth was a tall bush that in its season yielded a luscious and enormous berry called the salmon-berry. it was much like a raspberry, generally salmon in color, very juicy and delicate, approximating an inch and a half in diameter. armed with a long pole, a short section of a butt limb forming a sort of shepherd's crook, i would pull down the heavily laden branches and after a few moments in the edge of the woods would be provided with a dessert fit for any queen, and so appropriate for my mother. california in those early days seemed wholly dependent on the foreign markets. flour came from chile, "haxall" being the common brand; cheese from holland and switzerland; cordials, sardines, and prunes from france; ale and porter from england; olives from spain; whiskey from scotland. boston supplied us with crackers, philadelphia sent us boots, and new orleans furnished us with sugar and molasses. the stores that supplied the mines carried almost everything--provisions, clothing, dry goods, and certainly wet goods. at every store there was found an open barrel of whiskey, with a convenient glass sampler that would yield through the bunghole a fair-sized drink to test the quality. one day i went into a store where a clever chinaman was employed. he had printed numerous placards announcing the stock. i noticed a fresh one that seemed incongruous. it read, "codfish and cologne water." i said, "what's the idea?" he smilingly replied, "you see its place? i hang it over the whiskey-barrel. some time man come to steal a drink. i no see him; he read sign, he laugh, i hear him, i see him." there was no school in the town when we came. it troubled my mother that my brother and sister must be without lessons. several other small children were deprived of opportunity. in the emergency we cleaned out a room in the store, formerly occupied by a county officer, and i organized a very primary school. i was almost fifteen, but the children were good and manageable. i did not have very many, and fortunately i was not called upon to teach very long. there came to town a clever man, robert desty. he wanted to teach. there was no school building, but he built one all by his own hands. he suggested that i give up my school and become a pupil of his. i was very glad to do it. he was a good and ingenious teacher. i enjoyed his lessons about six months, and then felt i must help my father. my stopping was the only graduation in my experience. my father was an inveterate trader, and the year after our coming he joined with another venturer in buying the standing crop of wheat in hoopa valley, on the trinity river. i went up to help in the harvesting, being charged with the weighing of the sacked grain. it was a fine experience for an innocent yankee boy. we lived out of doors, following the threshers from farm to farm, eating under an oak tree and sleeping on the fragrant straw-piles. i was also the butt of about the wildest lot of jokers ever assembled. they were good-natured, but it was their concerted effort to see how much i could stand in the way of highly flavored stories at mealtime. it was fun for them, besides they felt it would be a service to knock out some of the boston "sissiness." i do not doubt it was. they never quite drove me away from the table. in the meantime i had a great good time. it was a very beautiful spot and all was new and strange. there were many indians, and they were interesting. they lived in rancherias of puncheons along the river. each group of dwellings had a musical name. one village was called matiltin, another savanalta. the children swam like so many ducks, and each village had its sweathouse from which every adult, to keep in health and condition, would plunge into the swiftly flowing river. they lived on salmon, fresh or dried, and on grass-seed cakes cooked on heated stones. they were handsome specimens physically and were good workers. the river was not bridged, but it was not deep and canoes were plenty. if none were seen on the side which you chanced to find yourself, you had only to call, "wanus, matil!" (come, boat!) and one would come. if in a hurry, "holish!" would expedite the service. the indian language was fascinating and musical. "iaquay" was the word of friendly greeting. "aliquor" was indian, "waugee" was white man, "chick" was the general word for money. when "waugee-chick" was mentioned, it meant gold or silver; if "aliquor-chick," reference was made to the spiral quill-like shells which served as their currency, their value increasing rapidly by the length. [footnote: in the hawaiian islands short shells of this variety are strung for beads, but have little value.] there are frequent combined words. "hutla" is night, "wha" is the sun; "hutla-wha" is the moon--the night-sun. if an indian wishes to ask where you are going, he will say, "ta hunt tow ingya?" "teena scoia" is very good. "skeena" is too small. "semastolon" is a young woman; if she is considered beautiful, "clane nuquum" describes her. the indians were very friendly and hospitable. if i wanted an account-book that was on the other side of the river, they would not bother for a canoe, but swim over with it, using-one hand and holding the book high in the air. i found they had settled habits and usages that seemed peculiar to them. if one of their number died, they did not like it referred to; they wished for no condolence. "indian die, indian no talk," was their expression. it was a wonder to me that in a valley connected with civilization by only a trail there should be found mccormick's reapers and pitt's threshers. parts too large for a mule's pack had been cut in two and afterwards reunited. by some dint of ingenuity even a millstone had been hauled over the roadless mountains. the wheat we harvested was ground at the hoopa mill and the flour was shipped to the trinity and klamath mines. all the week we harvested vigorously, and on sunday we devoted most of the day to visiting the watermelon patches and sampling the product. of course, we spent a portion of the day in washing our few clothes, usually swimming and splashing in the river until they were dry. the valley was long and narrow, with mountains on both sides so high that the day was materially shortened in the morning and at night. the tardy sun was ardent when he came, but disturbed us little. the nights were blissful--beds so soft and sweet and a canopy so beautiful! in the morning we awoke to the tender call of cooing doves, and very soon lined up for breakfast in the perfectly ventilated out-of-doors. happy days they were! wise and genial captain snyder, sonnichsen, the patient cook, jim brock, happy tormentor--how clearly they revisit the glimpses of the moon! returning to uniontown, i resumed my placid, busy life, helping in the garden, around the house, and in the post-office. my father was wise in his treatment. boylike i would say, "father, what shall i do?" he would answer, "look around and find out. i'll not always be here to tell you." thrown on my own resources, i had no trouble in finding enough to do, and i was sufficiently normal and indolent to be in no danger of finding too much. the post-office is a harborer of secrets and romance. the postmaster and his assistants alone know "who's who." a character of a packer, tall, straight, and bearded, always called joe the marine, would steal in and call for comely letters addressed to james ashhurst, esq. robert desty was found to be mons. robert d'esti mauville. a blacksmith whose letters were commonly addressed to c.e. bigelow was found entitled to one inscribed c.e.d.l.b. bigelow. asked what his full name was, he replied, "charles edward decatur la fitte butterfield bigelow." and, mind you, he was a _blacksmith_! his christening entitled him to it all, but he felt that all he could afford was what he commonly used. phonetics have a distinct value. uncertain of spelling, one can fall back on remembered sound. i found a letter addressed to "sanerzay." i had no difficulty in determining that san jose was intended. hard labor was suggested when someone wrote "youchiyer." the letter found its resting-place in ukiah. among my miscellaneous occupations was the pasturage of mules about to start on the return trip to the mines. we had a farm and logging-claim on the outskirts of town which afforded a good farewell bite of grass, and at night i would turn loose twenty to forty mules and their beloved bell-mare to feed and fight mosquitoes. early the next morning i would saddle my charger and go and bring them to the packing corral. never shall i forget a surprise given me one morning. i had a tall, awkward mare, and was loping over the field looking for my charges. an innocent little rabbit scuttled across kate's path and she stopped in her tracks as her feet landed. i was gazing for the mule train and i did not stop. i sailed over her head, still grasping the bridle reins, which, attached to the bit, i also had to overleap, so that the next moment i found myself standing erect with the reins between my legs, holding on to a horse behind me still standing in her arrested tracks. remounting, i soon found the frisky mules and started them toward misery. driven into the corral where their freight had been divided into packs of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds, they were one by one saddled, cinched, and packed. a small mule would seem to be unequal to carrying two side-packs, each consisting of three fifty-pound sacks of flour, and perhaps a case of boots for a top-pack. but protests of groans and grunts would be unavailing. two swarthy mexicans, by dint of cleverly thrown ropes and the "diamond hitch," would soon have in place all that the traffic would bear, and the small indian boy on the mother of the train, bearing a tinkling bell, would lead them on their way to salmon river or to orleans bar. another frequent duty was the preparation of the hall for some public function. it might be a dance, a political meeting, or some theatrical performance. different treatment would be required, but all would include cleaning and lighting. at a dance it was floor-scrubbing, filling the camphene lamps, and making up beds for the babies to be later deposited by their dancing mothers. very likely i would tend door and later join in the dance, which commonly continued until morning. politics interested me. in the frémont campaign of my father was one of four republicans in the county, and was by no means popular. he lived to see humboldt county record a six hundred majority for the republican ticket. some of our local legislative candidates surprised and inspired me by their eloquence and unexpected knowledge and ability. it was good to find that men read and thought, even when they lived in the woods and had little encouragement. occasionally we had quite good theatrical performances. very early i recall a thespian named thoman, who was supported by a julia pelby. they vastly pleased an uncritical audience. i was doorkeeper, notwithstanding that thoman doubted if i was "hefty" enough. "little lotta" crabtree was charming. her mother traveled with her. between performances she played with her dolls. she danced gracefully and sang fascinatingly such songs as "i'm the covey what sings." another prime favorite was joe murphy, irish comedian and violinist, pleasing in both roles. i remember a singing comedian who bewailed his sad estate: "for now i have nothing but rags to my back, my boots scarce cover my toes, while my pants are patched with an old flour-sack, to jibe with the rest of my clo'es." the singing-school was pleasure-yielding, its greatest joy being incidental. when i could cut ahead of a chum taking a girl home and shamelessly trip him up with a stretched rope and get back to the drugstore and be curled up in the woodbox when he reached his final destination, i am afraid i took unholy joy. not long after coming we started a public library. mother and i covered all the books, this being considered an economical necessity. somewhat later arcata formed a debating society that was really a helpful influence. it engaged quite a wide range of membership, and we discussed almost everything. some of our members were fluent of speech from long participation in methodist experience meetings. others were self-trained even to pronunciation. one man of good mind, always said "here_dit_ary." he had read french history and often referred to the _gridironists_ of france. i have an idea he was the original of the man whom bret harte made refer to the greek hero as "old ashheels." our meetings were open, and among the visitors i recall a clerk of a commander in the indian war. he afterwards became lieutenant-governor of the state, and later a senator from nevada--john p. jones. an especial pleasure were the thoroughness and zest with which we celebrated the fourth of july. the grown-ups did well in the daylight hours, when the procession, the oration, and the reading of the declaration were in order; but with the shades of night the fireworks would have been inadequate but for the activity of the boys. the town was built around a handsome plaza, probably copied from sonoma as an incident of the wood sojourn. on the highest point in the center a fine flagstaff one hundred and twenty feet high was proudly crowned by a liberty-cap. this elevated plateau was the field of our display. on a spot not too near the flagstaff we planned for a spectacular center of flame. during the day we gathered material for an enormous bonfire. huge casks formed the base and inflammable material of all kinds reached high in the air. at dark we fired the pile. but the chief interest was centered in hundreds of balls of twine, soaked in camphene, which we lighted and threw rapidly from hand to hand all over the plaza. we could not hold on to them long, but we didn't need to. they came flying from every direction and were caught from the ground and sent back before they had a chance to burn. the noise and excitement can be easily imagined. blackened and weary boys kept it up till the bonfire was out and the balls had grown too small to pick up. nothing interfered with our celebrations. when the indians were "bad" we forsook the redwoods and built our speaker's stand and lunch tables and benches out in the open beyond firing distance. our garden was quite creditable. vegetables were plentiful and my flower-beds, though formal, were pleasing. stock-raising was very interesting. one year i had the satisfaction of breaking three heifers and raising their calves. my brother showed more enterprise, for he induced a plump young mother of the herd to allow him to ride her when he drove the rest to pasture. upon our arrival in uniontown we found the only church was the methodist. we at once attended, and i joined the sunday-school. my teacher was a periodically reformed boatman. when he fell from grace he was taken in hand by the sons of temperance, which i had also joined. "morning star division, no. ," was never short of material to work on. my first editorial experience was on its spicy little written journal. i went through the chairs and became "worthy patriarch" while still a boy. the church was mostly served by first-termers, not especially inspiring. i recall one good man who seemed to have no other qualification for the office. he frankly admitted that he had worked in a mill and in a lumber-yard, and said he liked preaching "better than anything he'd ever been at." he was very sincere and honest. he had a uniform lead in prayer: "o lord, we thank thee that it is as well with us as what it is." the sentiment was admirable, but somehow the manner grated. when the presiding elder came around we had a relief. he was wide-awake and witty. one night he read the passage of scripture where they all began with one accord to make excuses. one said: "i have married a wife and cannot come." the elder, looking up, said, "why didn't the pesky fool bring her with him?" in the process of time the presbyterians started a church, and i went there; swept out, trimmed the lamps, and sang in the choir. the preacher was an educated man, and out of the pulpit was kind and reasonable; but he persisted that "good deeds were but as filthy rags." i didn't believe it and i didn't like it. the staid pastor had but little recreation, and i am afraid i was always glad that ulrica schumacher, the frisky sister of the gunsmith, almost always beat him at chess. he was succeeded by a man i loved, and i wonder i did not join his church. we were good friends and used to go out trout-fishing together. he was a delightful man, but when he was in the pulpit he shrank and shriveled. the danger of presbyterianism passed when he expressed his doubt whether it would be best for my mother to partake of communion, as she had all her life in the unitarian church. she was willing, but waited his approval. my mother was the most saintly of women, absolutely unselfish and self-sacrificing, and it shocked me that any belief or lack of belief should exclude her from a christian communion. when my father, in one of his numerous trades, bought out the only tinshop and put me in charge he changed my life and endangered my disposition. the tinsmith left the county and i was left with the tools and the material, the only tinsmith in humboldt county. how i struggled and bungled! i could make stovepipe by the mile, but it was a long time before i could double-seam a copper bottom onto a tin wash-boiler. i lived to construct quite a decent traveling oilcan for a eureka sawmill, but such triumphs come through mental anguish and burned fingers. no doubt the experience extended my desultory education. the taking over of the tinshop was doubly disappointing, since i really wanted to go into the office of the _northern californian_ and become a printer and journalist. that job i turned over to bret harte, who was clever and cultivated, but had not yet "caught on." leon chevret, the french hotelkeeper, said of him to a lawyer of his acquaintance, "bret harte, he have the napoleonic nose, the nose of genius; also, like many of you professional men, his debts trouble him very little." there were many interesting characters among the residents of the town and county. at times there came to play the violin at our dances one seth kinman, a buckskin-clad hunter. he became nationally famous when he fashioned and presented elkhorn chairs to buchanan and several succeeding presidents. they were ingenious and beautiful, and he himself was most picturesque. one of our originals was a shiftless and merry iowan to whose name was added by courtesy the prefix "dr." he had a small farm in the outskirts. gates hung from a single hinge and nothing was kept in repair. he preferred to use his time in persuading nature to joke. a single cucumber grown into a glass bottle till it could not get out was worth more than a salable crop, and a single cock whose comb had grown around an inserted pullet breastbone, until he seemed the precursor of a new breed of horned roosters, was better than much poultry. he reached his highest fame in the cure of his afflicted wife. she languished in bed and he diagnosed her illness as resulting from the fact that she was "hidebound." his house he had never had time to complete. the rafters were unobstructed by ceiling, so she was favorably situated for treatment. he fixed a lasso under her arms, threw the end around a rafter, and proceeded to loosen her refractory hide. one of our leading merchants was a deacon in the methodist church and so enjoyed the patronage of his brother parishioners. one of them came in one day and asked the paying price of eggs. the deacon told him "sixty cents a dozen." "what are sail-needles?" "five cents apiece." the brother produced an egg and proposed a swap. it was smilingly accepted and the egg added to the pile of stock. the brother lingered and finally drawled, "deacon, it's customary, isn't it, to _treat_ a buyer?" "it is; what will you take?" laughingly replied the deacon. "sherry is nice." the deacon poured out the sherry and handed it to his customer, who hesitated and timidly remarked that sherry was improved by a raw egg. the amused deacon turned around and took from the egg-pile the identical one he had received. as the brother broke it into his glass he noticed it had an extra yolk. after enjoying his drink, he handed back the empty glass and said: "deacon, that egg had a double yolk; don't you think you ought to give me another sail-needle?" when thomas starr king was electrifying the state in support of the sanitary commission (the red cross of the civil war), arcata caught the fever and in november, , held a great meeting at the presbyterian church. our leading ministers and lawyers appealed with power and surprising subscriptions followed. mr. coddington, our wealthiest citizen, started the list with three hundred dollars and ten dollars a month during the war. others followed, giving according to their ability. one man gave for himself, as well as for his wife and all his children. on taking his seat and speaking to his wife, he jumped up and added one dollar for the new baby that he had forgotten. when money gave out other belongings were sacrificed. one man gave twenty-five bushels of wheat, another ten cords of wood, another his saddle, another a gun. a notary gave twenty dollars in fees. a cattleman brought down the house when he said, "i have no money, but i will give a cow, and a calf a month as long as the war lasts." the following day it was my joy as secretary to auction off the merchandise. when all was forwarded to san francisco we were told we had won first honors, averaging over twenty-five dollars for each voter in the town. one interesting circumstance was the consignment to me of the first shipments of two novelties that afterward became very common. the discovery of coal-oil and the utilization of kerosene for lighting date back to about . the first coal-oil lamps that came to humboldt were sent to me for display and introduction. likewise, about , a grover & baker sewing-machine was sent up for me to exhibit. by way of showing its capabilities, i sewed the necessary number of yard-widths of the length of murdock's hall to make a new ceiling, of which it chanced to stand in need. humboldt county was an isolated community. sea steamers were both infrequent and uncertain, with ten days or two weeks and more between arrivals. there were no roads to the interior, but there were trails, and they were often threatened by treacherous indians. the indians living near us on mad river were peaceful, but the mountain indians were dangerous, and we never knew when we were really safe. in arcata we had one stone building, a store, and sometimes the frightened would resort to it at night. in times of peace, settlers lived on mad river, on redwood creek, and on the bald hills, where they herded their cattle. one by one they were killed or driven in until there was not a white person living between the bay and trinity river. mail carriers were shot down, and the young men of arcata were often called upon at night to nurse the wounded. we also organized a military company, and a night duty was drilling our men on the plaza or up past the gruesome graveyard. my command was never called out for service, but i had some fortunate escapes from being waylaid. i walked around the bay one morning; a few hours later a man was ambushed on the road. on one occasion i narrowly escaped participation in warfare. in august, , there had been outrages by daring indian bands, killing unprotected men close to town. once a few of us followed the tracks of a party and traced the marauders across mad river and toward a small prairie known to our leader, ousley the saddler. as we passed along a small road he caught the sign. a whiff of a shred of cotton cloth caught on a bush denoted a smoky native. a crushed fern, still moist, told him they had lately passed. at his direction we took to the woods and crawled quietly toward the near-by prairie. our orders were to wait the signal. if the band we expected to find was not too large, we should be given the word to attack. if there were too many for us, we should back out and go to town for help. we soon heard them plainly as they made camp. we found about three times our number, and we retired very quietly and made for the nearest farmhouse that had a team. in town many were anxious to volunteer. my mother did not want me to go, and i must confess i was in full accord with her point of view. i therefore served as commissary, collecting and preparing quantities of bread, bacon, and cheese for a breakfast and distributing a packed bag to each soldier. the attack at daylight resulted in one death to our command and a number to the indians. it was followed up, and a few days later the band was almost annihilated. the plunder recovered proved them guilty of many late attacks. this was toward the end of the indian war that had for so many years been disastrous to the community, and which in many of its aspects was deeply pathetic. originally the indian population was large. the coast indians were spoken of as diggers, and inferior in character. they were generally peaceful and friendly while the mountain dwellers were inclined to hostility. as a whole they did not represent a very high type of humanity, and all seemed to take to the vices rather than to the virtues of the white race, which was by no means represented at its best. a few unprincipled whites were always ready to stir up trouble and the indians were treacherous and when antagonized they killed the innocent rather than the guilty, for they were cowards and took the fewest possible chances. i have known an indian hater who seemed to think the only good indian was a dead one go unmolested through an entire campaign, while a friendly old man was shot from behind while milking his cow. the town was near the edge of the woods and no one was secure. the fine character whom we greatly respected,--the debater of original pronunciation,--who had never wronged a human being of any race, was shot down from the woods quite near the plaza. the regular army was useless in protection or punishment. their regulations and methods did not fit. they made fine plans, but they failed to work. they would locate the enemy and detail detachments to move from various points to surround and capture the foe, but when they got there the bushes were bare. finally battalions of mountaineers were organized among men who knew indian ways and were their equals in cunning. they soon satisfied the hostiles that they would be better off on the reservations that were provided and the war was at an end. it was to the credit of humboldt county that in the final settlement of the contest the rights of the indians were quite fairly considered and the reservations set aside for their residence were of valuable land well situated and fitted for the purpose. hoopa valley, on the trinity, was purchased from its settlers and constituted a reservation protected by fort gaston and a garrison. it was my pleasure to revisit the scene of my boyhood experience and assist in the transfer largely conducted through the leadership of austin wiley, the editor and owner of the _humboldt times_. he was subsequently made superintendent of indian affairs for the state of california, and as his clerk i helped in the administration. when i visited the smith river reservation, to which the bay indians had been sent, i was hailed with joy as "major's pappoose," whom they remembered of old. (my father was always called major.) among the warm friendships formed at this time two stand out. two boys of about my age were to achieve brilliant careers. very early i became intimate with alexander brizard, a clerk in the store of f. roskill, a russian. he was my companion in the adventure of following the indian marauders, and my associate in the church choir and the debating club. in he joined a fellow clerk in establishing a modest business concern, the firm being known as a. brizard & co.; the unnamed partner was james alexander campbell van rossum, a hollander. they prospered amazingly. van rossum died early, brizard became the leading merchant of northern california, and his sons still continue the chain of stores that grew from the small beginning. he was a strong, fine character. the other boy, very near to me, was john j. dehaven, who was first a printer, then a lawyer, then a state senator, then a congressman, and finally a u.s. district judge. he was very able and distinguished himself in every place in life to which he advanced. in , when my father had become superintendent of a nevada county gold mine, he left me to run the post-office, cut the timothy hay, and manage a logging-camp. it was wartime and i had a longing to enlist. one day i received a letter from him, and as i tore it open a startling sentence caught my eye, "your commission will come by the next steamer." i caught my breath and south particulars. it informed me that senator sargent, his close friend, had secured for me the appointment of register of the land office at humboldt. [illustration: presidential commission as registrar of the land office at humboldt, california] there had been a vacancy for some time, resulting from reduction in the pay from $ in gold to $ in greenbacks, together with commissions, which were few. my father thought it would be good experience for me and advised my acceptance. and so at twenty-two i became a federal officeholder. the commission from president lincoln is the most treasured feature of the incident. i learned some valuable lessons. the honor was great and the position was responsible, but i soon felt constrained to resign, to accept a place as quartermaster's clerk, where i had more pay with more work. i was stationed at fort humboldt, where grant spent a few uncomfortable months in . it was an experience very different from any i had ever had. army accounting is wholly unlike civilian, books being dispensed with and accounts of all kinds being made in quadruplicate. i shed quantities of red ink and made my monthly papers appear well. i had no responsibility and obeyed orders, but i could not be wholly comfortable when i covered in all the grain that every mule was entitled to when i had judicial knowledge that he had been turned out to grass. nor could i believe that the full amount of cordwood allowed officers was consumed when fires were infrequent. i was only sure that it was paid for. aside from these ethical informalities the life was socially agreeable, and there is glamour in the military. my period of service was not very long. my father had settled in san francisco and the family had joined him. i was lonely, and when my friend, the new superintendent of indian affairs, offered me employment i forsook fort humboldt and took up my residence in the city by the golden gate. chapter iv the real bret harte before taking up the events related to my residence in san francisco i wish to give my testimony concerning bret harte, perhaps the most interesting character associated with my sojourn in humboldt. it was before he was known to fame that i knew him; but i am able to correct some errors that have been made and i believe can contribute to a more just estimate of him as a literary artist and a man. he has been misjudged as to character. he was a remarkable personality, who interpreted an era of unusual interest, vital and picturesque, with a result unparalleled in literary annals. when he died in england in the english papers paid him very high tribute. the _london spectator_ said of him: "no writer of the present day has struck so powerful and original a note as he has sounded." this is a very unusual acknowledgment from a source not given to the superlative, and fills us with wonder as to what manner of man and what sort of training had led to it. causes are not easily determined, but they exist and function. accidents rarely if ever happen. heredity and experience very largely account for results. what is their testimony in this particular case? francis bret harte was born in albany, new york, february , . his father was a highly educated instructor in greek, of english-jewish descent. his mother was an ostrander, a cultivated and fine character of dutch descent. his grandmother on his father's side was catherine brett. he had an elder brother and two younger sisters. the boys were voracious readers and began shakespeare when six, adding dickens at seven. frank developed an early sense of humor, burlesquing the baldness of his primer and mimicking the recitations of some of his fellow pupils when he entered school. he was studious and very soon began to write. at eleven he sent a poem to a weekly paper and was a little proud when he showed it to the family in print. when they heartlessly pointed out its flaws he was less hilarious. his father died when he was very young and he owed his training to his mother. he left school at thirteen and was first a lawyer's clerk and later found work in a counting-room. he was self-supporting at sixteen. in his mother married colonel andrew williams, an early mayor of oakland, and removed to california. the following year bret and his younger sister, margaret, followed her, arriving in oakland in march, . he found the new home pleasant. the relations with his cultivated stepfather were congenial and cordial, but he suffered the fate of most untrained boys. he was fairly well educated, but he had no trade or profession. he was bright and quick, but remunerative employment was not readily found, and he did not relish a clerkship. for a time he was given a place in a drugstore. some of his early experiences are embalmed in "how reuben allen saw life" and in "bohemian days." in the latter he says: "i had been there a week,--an idle week, spent in listless outlook for employment, a full week, in my eager absorption of the strange life around me and a photographic sensitiveness to certain scenes and incidents of those days, which stand out in my memory today as freshly as on the day they impressed me." it was a satisfaction that he found some congenial work. he wrote for _putnam's_ and the _knickerbocker_. in , when he was twenty, he went to alamo, in the san ramon valley, as tutor in an interesting family. he found the experience agreeable and valuable. a letter to his sister margaret, written soon after his arrival, shows a delightful relation between them and warm affection on his part. it tells in a felicitous manner of the place, the people, and his experiences. he had been to a camp-meeting and was struck with the quaint, old-fashioned garb of the girls, seeming to make the ugly ones uglier and the pretty ones prettier. it was raining when he wrote and he felt depressed, but he sent his love in the form of a charming bit of verse wherein a tear was borne with the flowing water to testify to his tender regard for his "peerless sister." this letter, too personal for publication, his sister lately read to me, and it was a revelation of the matchless style so early acquired. in form it seemed perfect--not a superfluous or an ill-chosen word. every sentence showed rhythm and balance, flowing easily and pleasantly from beginning to end, leaving an impression of beauty and harmony, and testifying to a kindly, gentle nature, with an admiring regard for his seventeen-year-old sister. from alamo he seems to have gone directly to tuolumne county, and it must have been late in . his delightful sketch "how i went to the mines" is surely autobiographical. he says: "i had been two years in california before i ever thought of going to the mines, and my initiation into the vocation of gold-digging was partly compulsory." he refers to "the little pioneer settlement school, of which i was the somewhat youthful, and, i fear, not over-competent master." what he did after the school-teaching episode he does not record. he was a stage messenger at one time. how long he remained in and around the mines is not definitely known, but it seems clear that in less than a year of experience and observation he absorbed the life and local color so thoroughly that he was able to use it with almost undiminished freshness for forty years. it was early in that bret harte came to humboldt county to visit his sister margaret, and for a brief time and to a limited extent our lives touched. he was twenty-one and i was sixteen, so there was little intimacy, but he interested and attracted me as a new type of manhood. he bore the marks of good breeding, education, and refinement. he was quiet of manner, kindly but not demonstrative, with a certain reserve and aloofness. he was of medium height, rather slight of figure, with strongly marked features and an aquiline nose. he seemed clever rather than forcible, and presented a pathetic figure as of one who had gained no foothold on success. he had a very pleasant voice and a modest manner, and never talked of himself. he was always the gentleman, exemplary as to habits, courteous and good-natured, but a trifle aristocratic in bearing. he was dressed in good taste, but was evidently in need of income. he was willing to do anything, but with little ability to help himself. he was simply untrained for doing anything that needed doing in that community. he found occasional work in the drugstore, and for a time he had a small private school. his surviving pupils speak warmly of his sympathy and kindness. he had little mechanical ability. i recall seeing him try to build a fence one morning. he bravely dug postholes, but they were pretty poor, and the completed fence was not so very straight. he was genial and uncomplaining, and he made a few good friends. he was an agreeable guest, and at our house was fond of a game of whist. he was often facetious, with a neatness that was characteristic. one day, on a stroll, we passed a very primitive new house that was wholly destitute of all ornaments or trimming, even without eaves. it seemed modeled after a packing-box. "that," he remarked, "must be of the _iowan_ order of architecture." he was given to teasing, and could be a little malicious. a proud and ambitious schoolteacher had married a well-off but decidedly cockney englishman, whose aspirates could be relied upon to do the expected. soon after the wedding, harte called and cleverly steered the conversation on to music and songs, finally expressing great fondness for "kathleen mavourneen," but professing to have forgotten the words. the bridegroom swallowed the bait with avidity. "why," said he, "they begin with 'the 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill.'" f.b. stroked his dundrearies while his dark eyes twinkled. the bride's eyes flashed ominously, but there seemed to be nothing she felt like saying. in october, , he removed to the liscom ranch in the suburbs at the head of the bay and became the tutor of two boys, fourteen and thirteen years of age. he had a forenoon session of school and in the afternoon enjoyed hunting on the adjacent marshes. for his convenience in keeping run of the lessons given, he kept a brief diary, and it has lately been found. it is of interest both in the little he records and from the significant omissions. it reveals a very simple life of a clever, kindly, clean young man who did his work, enjoyed his outdoor recreation, read a few good books, and generally "retired at / p.m." he records sending letters to various publications. on a certain day he wrote the first lines of "dolores." a few days later he finished it, and mailed it to the _knickerbocker_. he wrote and rewrote a story, "what happened at mendocino." what happened to the story does not appear. he went to church generally, and some of the sermons were good and others "vapid and trite." once in a while he goes to a dance, but not to his great satisfaction. he didn't dance particularly well. he tells of a christmas dinner that he helped his sister to prepare. something made him dissatisfied with himself and he bewails his melancholy and gloomy forebodings that unfit him for rational enjoyment and cause him to be a spectacle for "gods and men." he adds: "thermometer of my spirit on christmas day, , a.m., °; temperature, a.m., °; p.m., °; p.m., ° and falling rapidly; p.m., at zero; a.m., ° below." his entries were brief and practical. he did not write to express his feelings. at the close of he indulged in a brief retrospect, and an emphatic statement of his determination for the future. after referring to the fact that he was a tutor at a salary of twenty-five dollars a month and board, and that a year before he was unemployed, at the close he writes: "in these three hundred and sixty-five days i have again put forth a feeble essay toward fame and perhaps fortune. i have tried literature, albeit in a humble way. i have written some passable prose and it has been successfully published. the conviction is forced on me by observation, and not by vain enthusiasm, that i am fit for nothing else. perhaps i may succeed; if not, i can at least make the trial. therefore i consecrate this year, or as much as god may grant for my services, to honest, heartfelt, sincere labor and devotion to this occupation. god help me! may i succeed!" harte profited by his experience in tutoring my two boy friends, gaining local color quite unlike that of the sierra foothills. humboldt is also on the grand scale and its physical characteristics and its type of manhood were fresh and inspiring. his familiarity with the marsh and the sloughs is shown in "the man on the beach" and the "dedlow marsh stories," and this affords fine opportunity for judging of the part played by knowledge and by imagination in his literary work. his descriptions are photographic in their accuracy. the flight of a flock of sandpipers, the flowing tides, the white line of the bar at the mouth of the bay--all are exact. but the locations and relations irrelevant to the story are wholly ignored. the characters and happenings are purely imaginary. he is the artist using his experiences and his fancy as his colors, and the minimum of experience and small observation suffice. his perception of character is marvelous. he pictures the colonel, his daughters, the spruce lieutenant, and the irish deserter with such familiarity that the reader would think that he had spent most of his life in a garrison, and his ability to portray vividly life in the mines, where his actual experience was so very slight, is far better understood. many of the occurrences of those far-away days have faded from my mind, but one of them, of considerable significance to two lives, is quite clear. uniontown had been the county-seat, and there the _humboldt times_ was published; but eureka, across the bay, had outgrown her older sister and captured both the county-seat and the only paper in the county. in frantic effort to sustain her failing prestige uniontown projected a rival paper and the _northern californian_ was spoken into being. my father was a half owner, and i coveted the humble position of printer's devil. one journeyman could set the type, and on wednesday and saturday, respectively, run off on a hand-press the outside and the inside of the paper, but a boy or a low-priced man was needed to roll the forms and likewise to distribute the type. i looked upon it as the first rung on the ladder of journalism, and i was about to put my foot thereon when the pathetic figure of bret harte presented itself applying for the job, causing me to put my foot on my hopes instead. he seemed to want it and need it so much more than i did that i turned my hand to other pursuits, while he mounted the ladder with cheerful alacrity and skipped up several rungs, very promptly learning to set type and becoming a very acceptable assistant editor. in a community where popular heroes are apt to be loud and aggressive, the quiet man who thinks more than he talks is adjudged effeminate. harte was always modest, and boasting was foreign to his nature; so he was thought devoid of spirit and strength. but occasion brought out the unsuspected. there had been a long and trying indian war in and around humboldt. the feeling against the red men was very bitter. it culminated in a wanton and cowardly attack on a tribe of peaceful indians encamped on an island opposite eureka, and men, women, and children were ruthlessly killed. harte was temporarily in charge of the paper and he denounced the outrage in unmeasured terms. the better part of the community sustained him, but a violent minority resented his strictures and he was seriously threatened and in no little danger. happily he escaped, but the incident resulted in his return to san francisco. the massacre occurred on february , , which fixes the approximate time of harte's becoming identified with san francisco. his experience was of great advantage to him in that he had learned to do something for which there was a demand. he could not earn much as a compositor, but his wants were simple and he could earn something. he soon secured a place on the _golden era_, and it became the doorway to his career. he was soon transferred to the editorial department and contributed freely. for four years he continued on the _golden era_. these were years of growth and increasing accomplishment. he did good work and made good friends. among those whose interest he awakened were mrs. jessie benton frémont and thomas starr king. both befriended and encouraged him. in the critical days when california hung in the balance between the north and the south, and starr king, by his eloquence, fervor, and magnetism, seemed to turn the scale, bret harte did his part in support of the friend he loved. lincoln had called for a hundred thousand volunteers, and at a mass meeting harte contributed a noble poem, "the reveille," which thrillingly read by starr king brought the mighty audience to its feet with cheers for the union. he wrote many virile patriotic poems at this period. in march, , starr king, of the glowing heart and golden tongue, preacher, patriot, and hero, fell at his post, and san francisco mourned him and honored him as seldom falls to the lot of man. at his funeral the federal authorities ordered the firing of a salute from the forts in the harbor, an honor, so far as i know, never before accorded a private citizen. bret harte wrote a poem of rare beauty in expression of his profound grief and his heartfelt appreciation: relieving guard. came the relief. "what, sentry, ho! how passed the night through thy long waking?" "cold, cheerless, dark--as may befit the hour before the dawn is breaking." "no sight? no sound?" "no; nothing save the plover from the marshes calling, and in yon western sky, about an hour ago, a star was falling." "a star? there's nothing strange in that." "no, nothing; but, above the thicket, somehow it seemed to me that god somewhere had just relieved a picket." this is not only good poetry; it reveals deep and fine feeling. [illustration: francis bret harte] through starr king's interest, his parishioner robert b. swain, superintendent of the mint, had early in appointed harte as his private secretary, at a salary of two hundred dollars a month, with duties that allowed considerable leisure. this was especially convenient, as a year or so before he had married, and additional income was indispensable. in may, , harte left the _golden era_, joining charles henry webb and others in a new literary venture, the _californian_. it was a brilliant weekly. among the contributors were mark twain, charles warren stoddard, and prentice mulford. harte continued his delightful "condensed novels" and contributed poems, stories, sketches, and book reviews. "the society on the stanislaus," "john brown of gettysburg," and "the pliocene skull" belong to this period. in the "condensed novels" harte surpassed all parodists. with clever burlesque, there was both appreciation and subtle criticism. as chesterton says, "bret harte's humor was sympathetic and analytical. the wild, sky-breaking humor of america has its fine qualities, but it must in the nature of things be deficient in two qualities--reverence and sympathy--and these two qualities were knit into the closest texture of bret harte's humor." at this time harte lived a quiet domestic life. he wrote steadily. he loved to write, but he was also obliged to. literature is not an overgenerous paymaster, and with a growing family expenses tend to increase in a larger ratio than income. harte's sketches based on early experiences are interesting and amusing. his life in oakland was in many ways pleasant, but he evidently retained some memories that made him enjoy indulging in a sly dig many years after. he gives the pretended result of scientific investigation made in the far-off future as to the great earthquake that totally engulfed san francisco. the escape of oakland seemed inexplicable, but a celebrated german geologist ventured to explain the phenomenon by suggesting that "there are some things that the earth cannot swallow." my last recollection of harte, of a purely personal nature, was of an occurrence in , when he was dramatic critic of the _morning call_ at the time i was doing a little reporting on the same paper. it happened that a benefit was arranged for some charity. "nan, the good-for-nothing," was to be given by a number of amateurs. the _nan_ asked me to play _tom_, and i had insufficient firmness to decline. after the play, when my face was reasonably clean, i dropped into the _call_ office, yearning for a word of commendation from harte. i thought he knew that i had taken the part, but he would not give me the satisfaction of referring to it. finally i mentioned, casually like, that i was _tom_, whereat he feigned surprise, and remarked in his pleasant voice, "was that you? i thought they had sent to some theater and hired a supe." in july, , a. roman & co. launched the _overland monthly_, with harte as editor. he took up the work with eager interest. he named the child, planned its every feature, and chose his contributors. it was a handsome publication, modeled, in a way, on the _atlantic monthly,_ but with a flavor and a character all its own. the first number was attractive and readable, with articles of varied interest by mark twain, noah brooks, charles warren stoddard, william c. bartlett, t.h. rearden, ina coolbrith, and others--a brilliant galaxy for any period. harte contributed "san francisco from the sea." mark twain, long after, alluding to this period in his life, pays this characteristic acknowledgment: "bret harte trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesqueness to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found favor in the eyes of even some of the decentest people in the land." the first issue of the _overland_ was well received, but the second sounded a note heard round the world. the editor contributed a story--"the luck of roaring camp"--that was hailed as a new venture in literature. it was so revolutionary that it shocked an estimable proofreader, and she sounded the alarm. the publishers were timid, but the gentle editor was firm. when it was found that it must go in or he would go out, it went--and he stayed. when the conservative and dignified _atlantic_ wrote to the author soliciting something like it, the publishers were reassured. harte had struck ore. up to this time he had been prospecting. he had early found color and followed promising stringers. he had opened some fair pockets, but with the explosion of this blast he had laid bare the true vein, and the ore assayed well. it was high grade, and the fissure was broad. "the luck of roaring camp" was the first of a series of stories depicting the picturesque life of the early days which made california known the world over and gave it a romantic interest enjoyed by no other community. they were fresh and virile, original in treatment, with real men and women using a new vocabulary, with humor and pathos delightfully blended. they moved on a stage beautifully set, with a background of heroic grandeur. no wonder that california and bret harte became familiar household words. when one reflects on the fact that the exposure to the life depicted had occurred more than ten years before, from very brief experience, the wonder is incomprehensibly great. nothing less than genius can account for such a result. "tennessee's partner," "m'liss," "the outcasts of poker flat," and dozens more of these stories that became classics followed. the supply seemed exhaustless, and fresh welcome awaited every one. it was in september, , that harte in the make-up of the _overland_ found an awkward space too much for an ordinary poem. an associate suggested that he write something to fit the gap; but harte was not given to dashing off to order, nor to writing a given number of inches of poetry. he was not a literary mechanic, nor could he command his moods. however, he handed his friend a bundle of manuscript to see if there was anything that he thought would do, and very soon a neat draft was found bearing the title "on the sinfulness of ah sin as reported by truthful james." it was read with avidity and pronounced "the very thing." harte demurred. he didn't think very well of it. he was generally modest about his work and never quite satisfied. but he finally accepted the judgment of his friend and consented to run it. he changed the title to "later words from truthful james," but when the proof came substituted "plain language from truthful james." he made a number of other changes, as was his wont, for he was always painstaking and given to critical polishing. in some instances he changed an entire line or a phrase of two lines. the copy read: "till at last he led off the right bower, that nye had just hid on his knee." as changed on the proof it read: "till at last he put down a right bower, which the same nye had dealt unto me." it was a happy second thought that suggested the most quoted line in this famous poem. the fifth line of the seventh verse originally read: "or is civilization a failure?" on the margin of the proof-sheet he substituted the ringing line: "we are ruined by chinese cheap labor," --an immense improvement--the verse reading: "then i looked up at nye, and he gazed unto me, and he rose with a sigh, and said, 'can this be? we are ruined by chinese cheap labor!' and he went for that heathen chinee." the corrected proof, one of the treasures of the university of california, with which harte was for a time nominally connected, bears convincing testimony to the painstaking methods by which he sought the highest degree of literary perfection. this poem was not intended as a serious addition to contemporary verse. harte disclaimed any purpose whatever; but there seems just a touch of political satire. "the chinese must go" was becoming the popular political slogan, and he always enjoyed rowing against the tide. the poem greatly extended his name and fame. it was reprinted in _punch_, it was liberally quoted on the floors of congress, and it "caught on" everywhere. perhaps it is today the one thing by which harte is best known. one of the most amusing typographical errors on record occurred in the printing of this poem. in explanation of the manner of the duplicity of _ah sin, truthful james_ was made to say: "in his sleeves, which were long, he had twenty-one packs:" and that was the accepted reading for many years, in spite of the physical impossibility of concealing six hundred and ninety-three cards and one arm in even a chinaman's sleeve. the game they played was euchre, where bowers are supreme, and what harte wrote was "jacks," not "packs." probably the same pious proofreader who was shocked at the "luck" did not know the game, and, as the rhyme was perfect, let it slip. later editions corrected the error, though it is still often seen. harte gave nearly three years to the _overland_. his success had naturally brought him flattering offers, and the temptation to realize on his reputation seems to have been more than he could withstand. the _overland_ had become a valuable property, eventually passing into control of another publisher. the new owners were unable or unwilling to pay what he thought he must earn, and somewhat reluctantly he resigned the editorship and left the state of his adoption. harte, with his family, left san francisco in february, . they went first to chicago, where he confidently expected to be editor of a magazine to be called the _lakeside monthly_. he was invited to a dinner given by the projectors of the enterprise, at which a large-sized check was said to have been concealed beneath his plate; but for some unexplained reason he failed to attend the dinner and the magazine was given up. those who know the facts acquit him of all blame in the matter; but, in any event, his hopes were dashed, and he proceeded to the east disappointed and unsettled. soon after arriving at new york he visited boston, dining with the saturday club and visiting howells, then editor of the _atlantic_, at cambridge. he spent a pleasant week, meeting lowell, longfellow, and emerson. mrs. aldrich, in "crowding memories," gives a vivid picture of his charm and high spirits at this meeting of friends and celebrities. the boston atmosphere as a whole was not altogether delightful. he seemed constrained, but he did a fine stroke of business. james r. osgood & co. offered him ten thousand dollars for whatever he might write in a year, and he accepted the handsome retainer. it did not stimulate him to remarkable output. he wrote four stories, including "how santa claus came to simpson's bar," and five poems, including "concepcion de arguello." the offer was not renewed the following year. for seven years new york city was generally his winter home. some of his summers were spent in newport, and some in new jersey. in the former he wrote "a newport romance" and in the latter "thankful blossom." one summer he spent at cohasset, where he met lawrence barrett and stuart robson, writing "two men of sandy bar," produced in . "sue," his most successful play, was produced in new york and in london in . to earn money sorely needed he took the distasteful lecture field. his two subjects were "the argonauts" and "american humor." his letters to his wife at this time tell the pathetic tale of a sensitive, troubled soul struggling to earn money to pay debts. he writes with brave humor, but the work was uncongenial and the returns disappointing. from ottawa he writes: "do not let this worry you, but kiss the children for me, and hope for the best. i should send you some money, but there _isn't any to send_, and maybe i shall only bring back myself." the next day he added a postscript: "dear nan--i did not send this yesterday, waiting to find the results of last night's lecture. it was a fair house, and this morning--paid me $ , of which i send you the greater part." a few days later he wrote from lawrence, the morning after an unexpectedly good audience: "i made a hundred dollars by the lecture, and it is yours for yourself, nan, to buy minxes with, if you want to." from washington he writes: "thank you, dear nan, for your kind, hopeful letter. i have been very sick, very much disappointed; but i am better now and am only waiting for money to return. can you wonder that i have kept this from you? you have so hard a time of it there, that i cannot bear to have you worried if there is the least hope of a change in my affairs. god bless you and keep you and the children safe, for the sake of frank." no one can read these letters without feeling that they mirror the real man, refined of feeling, kindly and humorous, but not strong of courage, oppressed by obligations, and burdened by doubts of how he was to care for those he loved. with all his talent he could not command independence, and the lot of the man who earns less than it costs to live is hard to bear. harte had the faculty of making friends, even if by neglect he sometimes lost them, and they came to his rescue in this trying time. charles a. dana and others secured for him an appointment by president hayes as commercial agent at crefeld, prussia. in june, , he sailed for england, leaving his family at sea cliff, long island, little supposing that he would never see them or america again. on the day he reached crefeld he wrote his wife in a homesick and almost despondent strain: "i am to all appearance utterly friendless; i have not received the first act of kindness or courtesy from anyone. i think things must be better soon. i shall, please god, make some good friends in good time, and will try and be patient. but i shall not think of sending for you until i see clearly that i can stay myself. if worst comes to worst i shall try to stand it for a year, and save enough to come home and begin anew there. but i could not stand it to see you break your heart here through disappointment as i mayhap may do." here is the artistic, impressionable temperament, easily disheartened, with little self-reliant courage or grit. but he seems to have felt a little ashamed of his plaint, for at midnight of the same day he wrote a second letter, half apologetic and much more hopeful, just because one or two people had been a little kind and he had been taken out to a _fest_. soon after, he wrote a letter to his younger son, then a small boy. it told of a pleasant drive to the rhine, a few miles away. he concludes: "it was all very wonderful, but papa thought after all he was glad his boys live in a country that is as yet _pure_ and _sweet_ and _good_--not in one where every field seems to cry out with the remembrance of bloodshed and wrong, and where so many people have lived and suffered that tonight, under this clear moon, their very ghosts seemed to throng the road and dispute our right of way. be thankful, my dear boy, that you are an american. papa was never so fond of his country before as in this land that has been so great, powerful, and so very hard and wicked." in may, , he was made consul at glasgow, a position that he filled for five years. during this period he spent a considerable part of his time in london and in visiting at country homes. he lectured and wrote and made many friends, among the most valued of whom were william black and walter besant. a new administration came in with and harte was superseded. he went to london and settled down to a simple and regular life. for ten years he lived with the van de veldes, friends of long standing. he wrote with regularity and published several volumes of stories and sketches. in harte visited switzerland. of the alps he wrote: "in spite of their pictorial composition i wouldn't give a mile of the dear old sierras, with their honesty, sincerity, and magnificent uncouthness, for a hundred thousand kilometers of the picturesque vaud." of geneva he wrote: "i thought i should not like it, fancying it a kind of continental boston, and that the shadow of john calvin and the old reformers, or still worse the sentimental idiocy of rousseau and the de staels, still lingered." but he did like it, and wrote brilliantly of lake leman and mont blanc. returning to his home in aldershot he resumed work, giving some time to a libretto for a musical comedy, but his health was failing and he accomplished little. a surgical operation for cancer of the throat in march, , afforded a little relief, but he worked with difficulty. on april th he began a new story, "a friend of colonel starbottle." he wrote one sentence and began another; but the second sentence was his last work, though a few letters to friends bear a later date. on may th, sitting at his desk, there came a hemorrhage of the throat, followed later in the day by a second, which left him unconscious. before the end of the day he peacefully breathed his last. pathetic and inexplicable were the closing days of this gifted man. an exile from his native land, unattended by family or kin, sustaining his lonely life by wringing the dregs of memory, and clasping in farewell the hands of a fancied friend of his dear old reprobate colonel, he, like kentuck, "drifted away into the shadowy river that flows forever to the unknown sea." in his more than forty years of authorship he was both industrious and prolific. in the nineteen volumes of his published work there must be more than two hundred titles of stories and sketches, and many of them are little known. some of them are disappointing in comparison with his earlier and perhaps best work, but many of them are charming and all are in his delightful style, with its undertone of humor that becomes dominant at unexpected intervals. his literary form was distinctive, with a manner not derived from the schools or copied from any of his predecessors, but developed from his own personality. he seems to have founded a modern school, with a lightness of touch and a felicity of expression unparalleled. he was vividly imaginative, and also had the faculty of giving dramatic form and consistency to an incident or story told by another. he was a story-teller, equally dexterous in prose or verse. his taste was unerring and he sought for perfect form. his atmosphere was breezy and healthful--out of doors with the fragrance of the pine-clad sierras. he was never morbid and introspective. his characters are virile and natural men and women who act from simple motives, who live and love, or hate and fight, without regard to problems and with small concern for conventionalities. harte had sentiment, but was realistic and fearless. he felt under no obligation to make all gamblers villains or all preachers heroes. he dealt with human nature in the large and he made it real. his greatest achievement was in faithfully mirroring the life of a new and striking epoch. he seems to have discovered that it was picturesque and to have been almost alone in impressing this fact on the world. he sketched pictures of pioneer life as he saw or imagined it with matchless beauty and compelled the interest and enjoyment of all mankind. his chief medium was the short story, to which he gave a new vogue. translated into many tongues, his tales became the source of knowledge to a large part of the people of europe as to california and the pacific. he associated the far west with romance, and we have never fully outlived it. that he was gifted as a poet no one can deny. perhaps his most striking use of his power as a versifier was in connection with the romantic spanish background of california history. such work as "concepcion de arguello" is well worth while. in his "spanish idylls and legends" he catches the fine spirit of the period and connects california with a past of charm and beauty. his patriotic verse has both strength and loveliness and reflects a depth of feeling that his lighter work does not lead us to expect. in his dialect verse he revels in fun and shows himself a genuine and cleanly humorist. if we search for the source of his great power we may not expect to find it; yet we may decide that among his endowments his extraordinary power of absorption contributes very largely. his early reference to "eager absorption" and "photographic sensitiveness" are singularly significant expressions. experience teaches the plodder, but the man of genius, supremely typified by shakespeare, needs not to acquire knowledge slowly and painfully. sympathy, imagination, and insight reveal truth, and as a plate, sensitized, holds indefinitely the records of the exposure, so harte, forty years after in london, holds in consciousness the impressions of the days he spent in tuolumne county. it is a great gift, a manifestation of genius. he had a fine background of inheritance and a lifetime of good training. bret harte was also gifted with an agreeable personality. he was even-tempered and good-natured. he was an ideal guest and enjoyed his friends. whatever his shortcomings and whatever his personal responsibility for them, he deserves to be treated with the consideration and generosity he extended to others. he was never censorious, and instances of his magnanimity are many. severity of judgment is a custom that few of us can afford, and to be generous is never a mistake. harte was extremely sensitive, and he deplored controversy. he was quite capable of suffering in silence if defense of self might reflect on others. his deficiencies were trivial but damaging, and their heavy retribution he bore with dignity, retaining the respect of those who knew him. as to what he was, as man and author, he is entitled to be judged by a jury of his peers. i could quote at length from a long list of associates of high repute, but they all concur fully with the comprehensive judgment of ina coolbrith, who knew him intimately. she says, "i can only speak of him in terms of unqualified praise as author, friend, and man." in the general introduction that harte wrote for the first volume of his collected stories he refers to the charge that he "confused recognized standards of morality by extenuating lives of recklessness and often criminality with a single solitary virtue" as "the cant of too much mercy." he then adds: "without claiming to be a religious man or a moralist, but simply as an artist, he shall reverently and humbly conform to the rules laid down by a great poet who created the parables of the prodigal son and the good samaritan, whose works have lasted eighteen hundred years, and will remain when the present writer and his generations are forgotten. and he is conscious of uttering no original doctrine in this, but only of voicing the beliefs of a few of his literary brethren happily living, and one gloriously dead, [footnote: evidently dickens.] who never made proclamation of this from the housetops." bret harte had a very unusual combination of sympathetic insight, emotional feeling, and keen sense of the dramatic. in the expression of the result of these powers he commanded a literary style individually developed, expressive of a rare personality. he was vividly imaginative, and he had exacting ideals of precision in expression. his taste was unerring. the depth and power of the great soul were not his. he was the artist, not the prophet. he was a delightful painter of the life he saw, an interpreter of the romance of his day, a keen but merciful satirist, a humorist without reproach, a patriot, a critic, and a kindly, modest gentleman. he was versatile, doing many things exceedingly well, and some things supremely well. he discerned the significance of the remarkable social conditions of early days in california and developed a marvelous power of presenting them in vivid and attractive form. his humor is unsurpassed. it is pervasive, like the perfume of the rose, never offending by violence. his style is a constant surprise and a never-ending delight. his spirit is kindly and generous. he finds good in unsuspected places, and he leaves hope for all mankind. he was sensitive, peace-loving, and indignant at wrong, a scorner of pretense, independent in thought, just in judgment. he surmounted many difficulties, bore suffering without complaint, and left with those who really knew him a pleasant memory. it would seem that he was a greater artist and a better man than is commonly conceded. in failing to honor him california suffers. he should be cherished as her early interpreter, if not as her spirit's discoverer, and ranked high among those who have contributed to her fame. he is the representative literary figure of the state. in her imaginary temple of fame or hall of heroes he deserves a prominent, if not the foremost, niche. as the generations move forward he must not be forgotten. bret harte at our hands needs not to be idealized, but he does deserve to be justly, gratefully, and fittingly realized. chapter v san francisco--the sixties we are familiar with the romantic birth of san francisco and its precocious childhood; we are well acquainted with its picturesque background of spanish history and the glorious days of ' ; but i doubt if we are as well informed as to the significant and perhaps equally important second decade. it was my fortune to catch a hurried glance of san francisco in , when the population was about forty-five thousand. i was then on the way from new england to my father's home in humboldt county. i next saw it in while on my way to and from attendance at the state fair. in i took up my residence in the city and it has since been continuous. that the almost neglected sixties may have some setting, let me briefly trace the beginnings. things moved slowly when america was discovered. columbus found the mainland in . ten years later balboa reached the pacific, and, wading into the ocean, modestly claimed for his sovereign all that bordered its shores. thirty years thereafter the point farthest west was named mendocino, for mendoza, the viceroy ordering the expedition of cabrillo and ferrelos. thirty-seven years later came drake, and almost found san francisco bay. but all these discoveries led to no occupation. it seems incredible that two hundred and twenty-six years elapsed from cabrillo's visit to the day the first settlers landed in san diego, founding the first of the famous missions. historically, is surely marked. in this year napoleon and wellington were born and civilized california was founded. san francisco bay was discovered by a land party. it was august , , seven weeks after the battle of bunker hill, that ayala cautiously found his way into the bay and anchored the "san carlos" off sausalito. five days before the declaration of independence was signed moraga and his men, the first colonists, arrived in san francisco and began getting out the timber to build the fort at the presidio and the church at mission dolores. vancouver, in , poking into an unknown harbor, found a good landing-place at a cove around the first point he rounded at his right. the spaniards called it yerba buena, after the fragrant running vine that abounded in the lee of the sandhills which filled the present site of market street, especially at a point now occupied by the building of the mechanics-mercantile library. there was no human habitation in sight, nor was there to be for forty years, but friendly welcome came on the trails that led to the presidio and the mission. an occasional whaler or a trader in hides and tallow came and went, but foreigners were not encouraged to settle. it was in that the first "gringo" came. in there were thirteen in all california, three of whom were americans. in william a. richardson was the first foreign resident of yerba buena. he was allowed to lay out a street and build a structure of boards and ship's sails in the calle de fundacion, which generally followed the lines of the present grant avenue. the spot approximates number of the avenue today. when dana came in it was the only house visible. the following year jacob p. leese built a complete house, and it was dedicated by a celebration and ball on the fourth of july in which the whole community participated. the settlement grew slowly. in there were sixteen foreigners. in there were a dozen houses and fifty people. in there were but five thousand people in all the state. the missions had been disbanded and the presidio was manned by one gray-haired soldier. the mexican war brought renewed life. on july , , commodore sloat sent captain montgomery with the frigate "portsmouth," and the american flag was raised on the staff in the plaza of , since called portsmouth square. thus began the era of american occupation. lieutenant bartlett was made alcalde, with large powers, in pursuance of which, on february , , he issued a simple order that the town thereafter be known as san francisco,--and its history as such began. the next year gold was discovered. a sleepy, romantic, shiftless but picturesque community became wide-awake, energetic, and aggressive. san francisco leaped into prominence. every nation on earth sent its most ambitious and enterprising as well as its most restless and irresponsible citizens. in the last nine months of , seven hundred shiploads were landed in a houseless town. they largely left for the mines, but more remained than could be housed. they lived on and around hulks run ashore and thousands found shelter in happy valley tents. a population of two thousand at the beginning of the year was twenty thousand at the end. it was a gold-crazed community. everything consumed was imported. gold dust was the only export. from to , gold amounting to over six hundred million dollars was produced. the maximum--eighty-one millions--was reached in . the following year showed a decline of fourteen millions, and saw a further decline of twelve millions. alarm was felt. at the same ratio of decline, in less than four years production would cease. it was plainly evident, if the state were to exist and grow, that other resources must be developed. in the first decade there were periods of great depression. bank and commercial failures were very frequent occurrences in . the state was virtually only six years old--but what wonderful years they had been! in the splendor of achievement and the glamour of the golden fleece we lose sight of the fact that the community was so small. in the whole state there were not more than , people, of whom a seventh lived in san francisco. there were indications that the tide of immigration had reached its height. in arrivals had exceeded departures by twenty-four thousand. in the excess dropped to six thousand. my first view of san francisco left a vivid impression of a city in every way different from any i had ever seen. the streets were planked, the buildings were heterogeneous--some of brick or stone, others little more than shacks. portsmouth square was the general center of interest, facing the city hall and the post office. clay street hill was higher then than now. i know it because i climbed to its top to call on a boy who came on the steamer and lived there. there was but little settlement to the west of the summit. the leading hotel was the international, lately opened, on jackson street below montgomery. it was considered central in location, being convenient to the steamer landings, the custom house, and the wholesale trade. probably but one building of that period has survived. at the corner of montgomery and california streets stood parrott's granite block, the stone for which was cut in china and assembled in by chinese workmen imported for the purpose. it harbored the bank of page, bacon & co., and has been continuously occupied, surviving an explosion of nitroglycerine in (when wells, fargo & co. were its tenants) as well as the fire of . wilson's exchange was in sansome street near sacramento. the american theater was opposite. where the bank of california stands there was a seed store. on the northeast corner of california and sansome streets was bradshaw's zinc grocery store. the growth of the city southward had already begun. the effort to develop north beach commercially had failed. meiggs' wharf was little used; the cobweb saloon, near its shore end, was symbolic. telegraph hill and its semaphore and time-ball were features of business life. it was well worth climbing for the view, which bayard taylor pronounced the finest in the world. at this time san francisco monopolized the commerce of the coast. everything that entered california came through the golden gate, and it nearly all went up the sacramento river. it was distinctly the age of gold. other resources were not considered. this all seemed a very insecure basis for a permanent state. that social and political conditions were threatening may be inferred when we recall that brought the vigilance committee. in came the fraser river stampede. twenty-three thousand people are said to have left the city, and real-estate values suffered severely. in the pony express was established, bringing "the states," as the east was generally designated, considerably nearer. it took but ten and a half days to st. louis, and thirteen to new york, with postage five dollars an ounce. steamers left on the first and fifteenth of the month, and the twenty-eighth and fourteenth were religiously observed as days for collection. no solvent man of honor failed to settle his account on "steamer day." the election of lincoln, followed by the threat of war, was disquieting, and the large southern element was out of sympathy with anything like coercion. but patriotism triumphed. early in a mass meeting was held at the corner of montgomery and market streets, and san francisco pledged her loyalty. in november, , i attended the state fair at sacramento as correspondent for the _humboldt times_. about the only impression of san francisco on my arrival was the disgust i felt for the proprietor of the hotel at which i stopped, when, in reply to my eager inquiry for war news, he was only able to say that he believed there had been some fighting somewhere in virginia. this to one starving for information after a week's abstinence was tantalizing. after a week of absorbing interest, in a fair that seemed enormously important and impressive, i timed my return so as to spend sunday in san francisco, and it was made memorable by attending, morning and evening, the unitarian church, then in stockton near sacramento, and hearing starr king. he had come from boston the year before, proposing to fill the pulpit for a year, and from the first aroused great enthusiasm. i found the church crowded and was naturally consigned to a back seat, which i shared with a sewing-machine, for it was war-time and the women were very active in relief work. the gifted preacher was thirty-seven years old, but seemed younger. he was of medium height, had a kindly face with a generous mouth, a full forehead, and dark, glowing eyes. in june, , i became a resident of san francisco, rejoining the family and becoming a clerk in the office of the superintendent of indian affairs. the city was about one-fifth its present size, claiming a population of , . i want to give an idea of san francisco's character and life at that time, and of general conditions in the second decade. it is not easy to do, and demands the reader's help and sympathy. let him imagine, if he will, that he is visiting san francisco for the first time, and that he is a personal friend of the writer, who takes a day off to show him the city. in one could arrive here only by steamer; there were no railways. i meet my friend at the gangplank of the steamer on the wharf at the foot of broadway. to reach the car on east street (now the embarcadero), we very likely skirt gaping holes in the planked wharf, exposing the dark water lapping the supporting piles, and are assailed by bilge-like odors that escape. two dejected horses await us. entering the car we find two lengthwise seats upholstered in red plush. if it be winter, the floor is liberally covered by straw, to mitigate the mud. if it be summer, the trade winds are liberally charged with fine sand and infinitesimal splinters from the planks which are utilized for both streets and sidewalks. we rattle along east and intersecting streets until we reach sansome, upon which we proceed to bush, which practically bounds the business district on the south, thence we meander by a circuitous route to laurel hill cemetery near lone mountain. a guide is almost necessary. an incoming stranger once asked the conductor to let him off at the american exchange, which the car passed. he was surprised at the distance to his destination. at the cemetery end of the line he discovered that the conductor had forgotten him, but was assured that he would stop at the hotel on the way back. the next thing he knew he reached the wharf; the conductor had again forgotten him. his confidence exhausted, he insisted on walking, following the track until he reached the hotel. in the present instance we alight from the car when it reaches montgomery street, at the occidental hotel, new and attractive, well managed by a new yorker named leland and especially patronized by army people. we rest briefly and start out for a preliminary survey. three blocks to the south we reach market street and gaze upon the outer edge of the bustling city. across the magnificently wide but rude and unfinished street, at the immediate right, where the palace hotel is to stand, we see st. patrick's church and an orphan asylum. a little beyond, at the corner of third street, is a huge hill of sand covering the present site of the glaus spreckels building, upon which a steam-paddy is at work loading flat steam cars that run mission-ward. the lot now occupied by the emporium is the site of a large catholic school. at our left, stretching to the bay are coal-yards, foundries, planing-mills, box-factories, and the like. it will be years before business crosses market street. happy valley and pleasant valley, beyond, are well covered by inexpensive residences. the north beach and south park car line connects the fine residence district on and around rincon hill with the fine stretches of northern stockton street and the environs of telegraph hill. at the time i picture, no street-cars ran below montgomery, on market street; traffic did not warrant it. it was a boundary rather than a thoroughfare. it was destined to be one of the world's noted streets, but at this time the city's life pulsed through montgomery street, to which we will now return. turning from the apparent jumping-off place we cross to the "dollar side" and join the promenaders who pass in review or pause to gaze at the shop windows. montgomery street has been pre-eminent since the early days and is now at its height. for a long time clay street harbored the leading dry-goods stores, like the city of paris, but all are struggling for place in montgomery. here every business is represented--beach, roman, and bancroft, the leading booksellers; barrett & sherwood, tucker, and andrews, jewelers; donohoe, kelly & co., john sime, and hickox & spear, bankers; and numerous dealers in carpets, furniture, hats, french shoes, optical goods, etc. of course barry & patten's was not the only saloon. passing along we are almost sure to see some of the characters of the day--certainly emperor norton and freddie coombs (a reincarnated franklin), probably colonel stevenson, with his punch-like countenance, towering isaac friedlander, the poor rich michael reese, handsome hall mcallister, and aristocratic ogden hoffman. should the fire-bell ring we will see knickerbocker no. five in action, with chief scannell and "bummer" and "lazarus," and perhaps lillie hitchcock. when we reach washington street we cross to make a call at the bank exchange in the montgomery block, the largest structure on the street. the "exchange" is merely a popular saloon, but it boasts ten billiard tables and back of the bar hangs the famous picture of "samson and delilah." luncheon being in order we are embarrassed with riches. perhaps the mint restaurant is as good as the best and probably gives a sight of more prominent politicians than any other resort; but something quite characteristic is the daily gathering at jury's, a humble hole-in-the-wall in merchant street back of the _bulletin_ office. four lawyers who like one another, and like good living as well, have a special table. alexander campbell, milton andros, george sharp, and judge dwinelle will stop first in the clay street market, conveniently opposite, and select the duck, fish, or english mutton-chops for the day's menu. one of the number bears the choice to the kitchen and superintends its preparation while the others engage in shrimps and table-talk until it is served. if jury's is overflowing with custom, there are two other french restaurants alongside. after luncheon we have a glimpse of the business district, following back on the "two-bit" side of the street. at clay we pass a saloon with a cigar-stand in front and find a group listening to a man with bushy hair and a reddish mustache, who in an easy attitude and in a quaintly drawling voice is telling a story. we await the laugh and pass on, and i say that he is a reporter, lately from nevada, called mark twain. very likely we encounter at commercial street, on his way to the _call_ office, a well-dressed young man with dundreary whiskers and an aquiline nose. he nods to me and i introduce bret harte, secretary to the superintendent of the mint, and author of the clever "condensed novels" being printed in the _californian_. at california street we turn east, passing the shipping offices and hardware houses, and coming to battery street, where israelites wax fat in wholesale dry goods and the clothing business. for solid big business in groceries, liquors, and provisions we must keep on to front street--front by name only, for four streets on filled-in land have crept in front of front. following this very important street past the shipping offices we reach washington street, passing up which we come to battery street, where we pause to glance at the custom house and post office at the right and the recently established bank of california on the southwest corner of the two streets. having fairly surveyed the legitimate business we wish to see something of the engrossing avocation of most of the people of the city, of any business or no business, and we pass on to montgomery, crossing over to the center of the stock exchange activities. groups of men and women are watching the tapes in the brokers' offices, messengers are running in and out the board entrances, intense excitement is everywhere apparent. having gained admission to the gallery of the board room we look down on the frantic mob, buying and selling comstock shares. how much is really sold and how much is washing no one knows, but enormous transactions, big with fate, are of everyday occurrence. as we pass out we notice a man with strong face whose shoes show dire need of patching. asked his name, i answer, "jim keane; just now he is down, but some day he is bound to be way up." we saunter up clay, passing burr's savings bank and a few remaining stores, to kearny, and portsmouth square, whose glory is departing. the city hall faces it, and so does exempt engine house, but dentists' offices and cheap theaters and chinese stores are crowding in. clay street holds good boarding-houses, but decay is manifest. we pass on to stockton, still a favorite residence street; turning south we pass, near sacramento, the church in which starr king first preached, now proudly owned by the negro methodists. at post we reach union square, nearly covered by the wooden pavilion in which the mechanics' institute holds its fairs. diagonally opposite the southeast corner of the desecrated park are the buildings of the ambitious city college, and east of them a beautiful church edifice always spoken of as "starr king's church." very likely, seeing the church, i might be reminded of one of mr. king's most valued friends, and suggest that we call upon him at the golden gate flour-mill in pine street, where the california market was to stand. if we met horace davis, i should feel that i had presented one of our best citizens. dinner presents many opportunities; but i am inclined to think we shall settle on frank garcia's restaurant in montgomery near jackson, where good service awaits us, and we may hear the upraised voices of some of the big lawyers who frequent the place. for the evening we have the choice between several bands of minstrels, but if forrest and john mccullough are billed for "jack cade" we shall probably call on tom maguire. after the strenuous play we pass up washington street to peter job's and indulge in his incomparable ice-cream. on sunday i shall continue my guidance. churches are plentiful and preachers are good. in the afternoon i think i may venture to invite my friend to the willows, a public garden between mission and valencia and seventeenth and nineteenth streets. we shall hear excellent music in the open air and can sit at a small table and sip good beer. i find such indulgence far less wicked than i had been led to believe. when there is something distinctive in a community a visitor is supposed to take it in, and in the evening we attend the meeting of the dashaway association in its own hall in post street near dupont. it numbers five thousand members and meets sunday mornings and evenings. strict temperance is a live issue at this time. the sons of temperance maintain four divisions. there are besides two lodges of good templars and a san francisco temperance union. and in spite of all this the city feels called upon to support a home for inebriates at stockton and chestnut streets, to which the supervisors contribute two hundred and fifty dollars a month. i shall feel that i am derelict if i do not manage a jaunt to the cliff house. the most desirable method demands a span of horses for a spin out point lobos avenue. we may, however, be obliged to take a mcginn bus that leaves the plaza hourly. it will be all the same when we reach the cliff and gaze on ben butler and his companion sea-lions as they disport themselves in the ocean or climb the rocks. wind or fog may greet us, but the indifferent monsters roar, fight, and play, while the restless waves roll in. we must, also, make a special trip to rincon hill and south park to see how and where our magnates dwell. the block in folsom street must not be neglected. the residences of such men as john parrott and milton s. latham are almost palatial. it is related that a visitor impressed with the elegance of one of these places asked a modest man in the neighborhood if he knew whose it was. "yes," he replied, "it belongs to an old fool by the name of john parrott, and i am he." we shall leave out something distinctive if we do not call at the what cheer house in sacramento street below montgomery, a hostelry for men, with moderate prices, notwithstanding many unusual privileges. it has a large reading-room and a library of five thousand volumes, besides a very respectable museum. guests are supplied with all facilities for blacking their own boots, and are made at home in every way. incidentally the proprietor made a good fortune, a large part of which he invested in turning his home at fourteenth and mission streets into a pleasure resort known as woodward's gardens, which for many years was our principal park, art gallery and museum. these are a few of the things i could have shown. but to know and appreciate the spirit and character of a city one must live in it and be of it; so i beg to be dismissed as a guide and to offer experiences and events that may throw some light on life in the stirring sixties. when i migrated from humboldt county and enlisted for life as a san franciscan i lived with my father's family in a small brick house in powell street near ellis. the golden west hotel now covers the lot. the little houses opposite were on a higher level and were surrounded by small gardens. both street and sidewalks were planked, but i remember that my brother and i, that we might escape the drifting sand, often walked on the flat board that capped the flimsy fence in front of a vacant lot. on the west of powell, at market, was st. ann's garden and nursery. on the east, where the flood building stands, was a stable and riding-school. much had been accomplished in city building, but the process was continuing. few of us realize the obstacles overcome. fifteen years before, the site was the rugged end of a narrow peninsula, with high rock hills, wastes of drifting sand, a curving cove of beach, bordered with swamps and estuaries, and here and there a few oases in the form of small valleys. in the general lines of the city were practically those of today. it was the present san francisco, laid out but not filled out. there was little west of larkin street and quite a gap between the city proper and the mission. size in a city greatly modifies character. in i found a compact community; whatever was going on seemed to interest all. we now have a multitude of unrelated circles; then there was one great circle including the sympathetic whole. the one theater that offered the legitimate drew and could accommodate all who cared for it. herold's orchestral concerts, a great singer like parepa rosa, or a violinist like ole bull drew all the music-lovers of the city. and likewise, in the early springtime when the unitarian picnic was announced at belmont or fairfax, it would be attended by at least a thousand, and heartily enjoyed by all, regardless of church connection. such things are no more, though the population to draw from be five times as large. in the sixties, church congregations and lecture audiences were much larger than they are now. there seemed always to be some one preacher or lecturer who was the vogue, practically monopolizing public interest. his name might be scudder or kittredge or moody, but while he lasted everybody rushed to hear him. and there was commonly some special fad that prevailed. spiritualism held the boards for quite a time. changes in real-estate values were a marked feature of the city's life. the laying out of broadway was significant of expectations. banks in the early days were north of pacific in montgomery, but very soon the drift to the south began. in , when the unitarian church in stockton street near sacramento was found too small, it was determined to push well to the front of the city's growth. two lots were under final consideration, the northwest corner of geary and powell, where the st. francis now stands, and the lot in geary east of stockton, now covered by the whitney building. the first lot was a corner and well situated, but it was rejected on the ground that it was "too far out." the trustees paid $ , for the other lot and built the fine church that was occupied until , when it was felt to be too far down town, and the present building at franklin and geary streets was erected. incidentally, the lot sold for $ , . the evolution of pavements has been an interesting incident of the city's life. planks were cheap and they held down some of the sand, but they grew in disfavor. in the superintendent of streets reported that in the previous year , , square feet of planks had been laid, and , square feet had been paved with cobbles, a lineal mile of which cost $ , . how much suffering they cost the militia who marched on them is not reported. nicholson pavement was tried and found wanting. basalt blocks found brief favor. finally we reached the modern era and approximate perfection. checker-board street planning was a serious misfortune to the city, and it was aggravated by the narrowness of most of the streets. kearny street, forty-five and one-half feet wide, and dupont, forty-four and one-half feet, were absurd. in steps were taken to add thirty feet to the west side of kearny. in the work was done, and it proved a great success. the cost was five hundred and seventy-nine thousand dollars, and the addition to the value of the property was not less than four million dollars. when the work began the front-foot value at the northern end was double that at market street. today the value at market street is more than five times that at broadway. the first sunday after my arrival in san francisco i went to the unitarian church and heard the wonderfully attractive and satisfying dr. bellows, temporary supply. it was the beginning of a church connection that still continues and to which i owe more than i can express. dr. bellows had endeared himself to the community by his warm appreciation of their liberal support of the sanitary commission during the civil war. the interchange of messages between him in new york and starr king in san francisco had been stimulating and effective. when the work was concluded it was found that california had furnished one-fourth of the $ , , expended. governor low headed the san francisco committee. the pacific coast, with a population of half a million, supplied one-third of all the money spent by this forerunner of the red cross. the other states of the union, with a population of about thirty-two million, supplied two-thirds. but california was far away and it was not thought wise to drain the west of its loyal forces, and we ought to have given freely of our money. in all, quite a number found their way to the fighting front. a friend of mine went to the wharf to see lieutenant sheridan, late of oregon, embark for the east and active service. sheridan was grimly in earnest, and remarked: "i'll come back a captain or i'll not come back at all." when he did come back it was with the rank of lieutenant-general. while san francisco was unquestionably loyal, there were not a few southern sympathizers, and loyalists were prepared for trouble. i soon discovered that a secret union league was active and vigilant. weekly meetings for drill were held in the pavilion in union square, admission being by password only. i promptly joined. the regimental commander was martin j. burke, chief of police. my company commander was george t. knox, a prominent notary public. i also joined the militia, choosing the state guard, captain dawes, which drilled weekly in the armory in market street opposite dupont. fellow members were horace davis and his brother george, charles w. wendte (now an eastern d.d.), samuel l. cutter, fred glimmer of the unitarian church, henry michaels, and w.w. henry, father of the present president of mills college. our active service was mainly confined to marching over the cruel cobble-stones on the fourth of july and other show-off occasions, while commonly we indulged in an annual excursion and target practice in the wilds of alameda. once we saw real service. when the news of the assassination of lincoln reached san francisco the excitement was intense. newspapers that had slandered him or been lukewarm in his support suffered. the militia was called out in fear of a riot and passed a night in the basement of platt's hall. but preparedness was all that was needed. a few days later we took part in a most imposing procession. all the military and most other organizations followed a massive catafalque and a riderless horse through streets heavily draped with black. the line of march was long, arms were reversed, the sorrowing people crowded the way, and solemnity and grief on every hand told how deeply lincoln was loved. i had cast my first presidential vote for him, at turn verein hall, bush street, november , . when the news of his re-election by the voters of every loyal state came to us, we went nearly wild with enthusiasm, but our heartiest rejoicing came with the fall of richmond. we had a great procession, following the usual route--from washington square to montgomery, to market, to third, to south park, where fair women from crowded balconies waved handkerchiefs and flags to shouting marchers--and back to the place of beginning. processioning was a great function of those days, observed by the cohorts of st. patrick and by all political parties. it was a painful process, for the street pavement was simply awful. sometimes there were trouble and mild assaults. the only recollection i have of striking a man is connected with a torchlight procession celebrating some union victory. when returning from south of market, a group of jeering toughs closed in on us and i was lightly hit. i turned and using my oil-filled lamp at the end of a staff as a weapon, hit out at my assailant. the only evidence that the blow was an effective one was the loss of the lamp; borne along by solid ranks of patriots i clung to an unilluminated stick. party feeling was strong in the sixties and bands and bonfires plentiful. at one election the democrats organized a corps of rangers, who marched with brooms, indicative of the impending clean sweep by which they were to "turn the rascals out." for each presidential election drill crops were organized, but the blaine invincibles didn't exactly prove so. the republican party held a long lease of power, however. governor low was a very popular executive, while municipally the people's party, formed in by adherents of the vigilance committee, was still in the saddle, giving good, though not far-sighted and progressive, government. only those who experienced the abuses under the old methods of conducting elections can realize the value of the provision for the uniform ballot and a quiet ballot box, adopted in . there had been no secrecy or privacy, and peddlers of rival tickets fought for patronage to the box's mouth. one served as an election officer at the risk of sanity if not of life. in the "fighting seventh" ward i once counted ballots for thirty-six consecutive hours, and as i remember conditions i was the only officer who finished sober. during my first year in government employ the depreciation in legal-tender notes in which we were paid was very embarrassing. one hundred dollars in notes would bring but thirty-five or forty dollars in gold, and we could get nothing we wanted except with gold. my second year in san francisco i lived in howard street near first and was bookkeeper for a stock-broker. i became familiar with the fascinating financial game that followed the development of the comstock lode, discovered in . it was before production was large. then began the silver age, a new era that completely transformed california and made san francisco a great center of financial power. within twenty years $ , , poured into her banks. the world's silver output increased from forty millions a year to sixty millions. in september of the stock board was organized. at first a share in a company represented a running foot on the lode's length. in , mr. cornelius o'connor bought ten shares of consolidated virginia at eight dollars a share. when it had been divided into one thousand shares and he was offered $ a share, he had the sagacity to sell, realizing a profit of $ , on his investment of $ . at the time he sold, a share represented one-fourteenth of an inch. in six years the bonanza yielded $ , , , of which $ , , was paid in dividends. the effect of such unparalleled riches was wide-spread. it made nevada a state and gave great impetus to the growth of san francisco. it had a marked influence on society and modified the character of the city itself. fifteen years of abnormal excitement, with gains and losses incredible in amount, unsettled the stability of trade and orderly business and proved a demoralizing influence. speculation became a habit. it was gambling adjusted to all conditions, with equal opportunity for millionaire or chambermaid, and few resisted altogether. few felt shame, but some were secretive. a few words are due adolph sutro, who dealt in cigars in his early manhood, but went to nevada in and by owned a quartz-mill. in he became impressed with the idea that the volume of water continually flowing into the deeper mines of the comstock lode would eventually demand an outlet on the floor of carson valley, four miles away. he secured the legislation and surprised both friends and enemies by raising the money to begin construction of the famous sutro tunnel. he began the work in , and in some way carried it through, spending five million dollars. the mine-owners did not want to use his tunnel, but they had to. he finally sold out at a good price and put the most of a large fortune in san francisco real estate. at one time he owned one-tenth of the area of the city. he forested the bald hills of the san miguel rancho, an immense improvement, changing the whole sky-line back of golden gate park. he built the fine sutro baths, planted the beautiful gardens on the heights above the cliff house, established a car line that meant to the ocean for a nickel, amassed a library of twenty thousand volumes, and incidentally made a good mayor. he was a public benefactor and should be held in grateful memory. the memories that cluster around a certain building are often impressive, both intrinsically and by reason of their variety. platt's hall is connected with experiences of first interest. for many years it was the place for most occasional events of every character. it was a large square auditorium on the spot now covered by the mills building. balls, lectures, concerts, political meetings, receptions, everything that was popular and wanted to be considered first-class went to platt's hall. starr king's popularity had given the unitarian church and sunday-school a great hold on the community. at christmas its festivals were held in platt's hall. we paid a hundred dollars for rent and twenty-five dollars for a christmas-tree. persons who served as doorkeepers or in any other capacity received ten dollars each. at one dollar for admission we crowded the big hall and always had money left over. our entertainments were elaborate, closing with a dance. my first service for the sunday-school was the unobserved holding up an angel's wing in a tableau. one of the most charming of effects was an artificial snowstorm, arranged for the concluding dance at a christmas festival. the ceiling of the hall was composed of horizontal windows giving perfect ventilation and incidentally making it feasible for a large force of boys to scatter quantities of cut-up white paper evenly and plentifully over the dancers, the evergreen garlands decorating the hall, and the polished floor. it was a long-continued downpour, a complete surprise, and for many a year a happy tradition. in platt's hall wonderfully fine orchestral concerts were held, under the very capable direction of rudolph herold. early in the sixties caroline richings had a successful season of english opera. later the howsons charmed us for a time. all the noteworthy lecturers of the world who visited california received us at platt's hall. beecher made a great impression. carl schurz, also, stirred us deeply. i recall one clever sentence. he said, "when the time came that this country needed a poultice it elected president hayes and got it." of our local talent real eloquence found its best expression in henry edgerton. the height of enthusiasm was registered in war-time by the mighty throng that gathered at lincoln's call for a hundred thousand men. starr king was the principal speaker. he had called upon his protégé, bret harte, for a poem for the occasion. harte doubted his ability, but he handed mr. king the result of his effort. he called it the "reveille." king was greatly delighted. harte hid himself in the concourse. king's wonderful voice, thrilling with emotion, carried the call to every heart and the audience with one accord stood and cheered again and again. one of the most striking coincidences i ever knew occurred in connection with the comparatively mild earthquake of . it visited us on a sunday at the last moments of the morning sermon. those in attendance at the unitarian church were engaged in singing the last hymn, standing with books in hand. the movement was not violent but threatening. it flashed through my mind that the strain on a building with a large unsupported roof must be great. faces blanched, but all stood quietly waiting the end, and all would have gone well had not the large central pipe of the organ, apparently unattached, only its weight holding it in place, tottered on its base and leaped over the heads of the choir, falling into the aisle in front of the first pews. the effect was electric. the large congregation waited for no benediction or other form of dismissal. the church was emptied in an incredibly short time, and the congregation was very soon in the middle of the street, hymnbooks in hand. the coincidence was that the verse being sung was, "the seas shall melt, and skies to smoke decay, rocks turn to dust, and mountains fall away." we had evening services at the time, and dr. stebbins again gave out the same hymn, and this time we sang it through. the story of golden gate park and how the city got it is very interesting, but must be much abridged. in i pieced out a modest income by reporting the proceedings of the board of supervisors and the school board for the _call_. it was in the palmy days of the people's party. the supervisors, elected from the wards in which they lived, were honest and fairly able. the man of most brains and initiative was frank mccoppin. the most important question before them was the disposition of the outside lands. in the city had sued for the four square leagues (seventeen thousand acres) allowed under the mexican law. it was granted ten thousand acres, which left all land west of divisadero street unsettled as to title. appeal was taken, and finally the city's claim was confirmed. in congress passed an act confirming the decree, and the legislature authorized the conveyance of the lands to occupants. they were mostly squatters, and the prize was a rich one. congress had decreed "that all of this land not needed for public purposes, or not previously disposed of, should be conveyed to the persons in possession," so that all the latitude allowed was as to what "needs for public purposes" covered. there had been agitation for a park; indeed, frederick law olmstead had made an elaborate but discouraging report, ignoring the availability of the drifting sand-hills that formed so large a part of the outside lands, recommending a park including our little duboce park and one at black point, the two to be connected by a widened and parked van ness avenue, sunken and crossed by ornamental bridges. the undistributed outside lands to be disposed of comprised eighty-four hundred acres. the supervisors determined to reserve one thousand acres for a park. some wanted to improve the opportunity to secure without cost considerably more. the _bulletin_ advocated an extension that would bring a bell-shaped panhandle down to the yerba buena cemetery, property owned by the city and now embraced in the civic center. after long consideration a compromise was made by which the claimants paid to those whose lands were kept for public use ten per cent of the value of the lands distributed. by this means , . acres were rescued, of which golden gate park included , . , the rest being used for a cemetery, buena vista park, public squares, school lots, etc. the ordinances accomplishing the qualified boon to the city were fathered by mccoppin and clement. other members of the committee, immortalized by the streets named after them, were clayton, ashbury, cole, shrader, and stanyan. the story of the development of golden gate park is well known. the beauty and charm are more eloquent than words, and john mclaren, ranks high among the city's benefactors. the years from to marked many changes in the character and appearance of san francisco. indeed, its real growth and development date from the end of the first decade. before that we were clearing off the lot and assembling the material. the foundation of the structure that we are still building was laid in the second decade. statistics establish the fact. in population we increased from less than , to , -- per cent. in the first decade our assessed property increased $ , , ; in the second, $ , , . our imports and exports increased from $ , , to $ , , . great gain came through the silver production, but greater far from the development of the permanent industries of the land--grain, fruit, lumber--and the shipping that followed it. the city made strides in growth and beauty. our greatest trial was too much prosperity and the growth of luxury and extravagance. chapter vi later san francisco in a brief chapter little can be offered that will tell the story of half a century of life of a great city. no attempt will be made to trace its progress or to recount its achievement. it is my purpose merely to record events and occurrences that i remember, for whatever interest they may have or whatever light they may throw on the life of the city or on my experience in it. for many years we greatly enjoyed the exhibits and promenade concerts of the mechanics' institute fairs. the large pavilion also served a useful purpose in connection with various entertainments demanding capacity. in there was held a very successful musical festival; twelve hundred singers participated and camilla urso was the violinist. the attendance exceeded six thousand. the mercantile library was in very strong and seemed destined to eternal life, but it became burdened with debt and sought to extricate itself by an outrageous expedient. the legislature passed an act especially permitting a huge lottery, and for three days in the town was given over to gambling, unabashed and unashamed. the result seemed a triumph. half a million dollars was realized, but it was a violation of decency that sounded the knell of the institution, and it was later absorbed by the plodding mechanics' institute, which had always been most judiciously managed. its investments in real estate that it used have made it wealthy. a gala day of was the spectacular removal of blossom rock. the early-day navigation was imperiled by a small rock northwest of angel island, covered at low tide by but five feet of water. it was called blossom, from having caused the loss of an english ship of that name. the government closed a bargain with engineer von schmidt, who three years before had excavated from the solid rock at hunter's point a dry dock that had gained wide renown. von schmidt guaranteed twenty-four feet of water at a cost of seventy-five thousand dollars, no payment to be made unless he succeeded. he built a cofferdam, sunk a shaft, planted twenty-three tons of powder in the tunnels he ran, and on may th, after notice duly served, which sent the bulk of the population to view-commanding hills, he pushed an electric button that fired the mine, throwing water and debris one hundred and fifty feet in the air. blossom rock was no more, deep water was secured, and von schmidt cashed his check. on my trip from humboldt county to san francisco in i made the acquaintance of andrew s. hallidie, an english engineer who had constructed a wire bridge over the klamath river. in he came to my printing office to order a prospectus announcing the formation of a small company to construct a new type of street-car, to be propelled by wire cable running in a conduit in the street and reached by a grip through a slot. it was suggested by the suffering of horses striving to haul cars up our steep hills and it utilized methods successfully used in transporting ores from the mines. on august , , the first cable-car made a successful trial trip of seven blocks over clay street hill, from kearny to leavenworth. later it was extended four blocks to the west. from this beginning the cable-roads spread over most of the city and around the world. with the development of the electric trolley they were largely displaced except on steep grades, where they still perform an important function. mr. hallidie was a public-spirited citizen and an influential regent of the university of california. in there was forced upon the citizens of san francisco the necessity of taking steps to give better care and opportunity to the neglected children of the community. a poorly conducted reform school was encouraging crime instead of effecting reform. on every hand was heard the question, "what shall we do with our boys?" encouraged by the reports of what had been accomplished in new york city by charles l. brace, correspondence was entered into, and finally the boys and girls aid society was organized. difficulty was encountered in finding any one willing to act as president of the organization, but george c. hickox, a well-known banker, was at last persuaded and became much interested in the work. for some time it was a difficult problem to secure funds to meet the modest expenses. a lecture by charles kingsley was a flat failure. much more successful was an entertainment at platt's hall at which well-known citizens took part in an old-time spelling-match. in a small building in clementina street we began with neighborhood boys, who were at first wild and unruly. senator george c. perkins became interested, and for more than forty years served as president. through him senator fair gave five thousand dollars and later the two valuable fifty-vara lots at grove and baker streets, still occupied by the home. we issued a little paper, _child and state_, in which we appealed for a building, and a copy fell into the hands of miss helen mcdowell, daughter of the general. she sent it to miss hattie crocker, who passed it to her father, charles crocker, of railroad fame. he became interested and wrote for particulars, and when the plans were submitted he told us to go ahead and build, sending the bills to him. these two substantial gifts made possible the working out of our plans, and the results have been very encouraging. when the building was erected, on the advice of the experts of the period, two lockups were installed, one without light. experience soon convinced us that they could be dispensed with, and both were torn out. an honor system was substituted, to manifest advantage, and failures to return when boys are permitted to visit parents are negligible in number. the three months of summer vacation are devoted to berry-picking, with satisfaction to growers and to the boys, who last year earned eleven thousand dollars, of which seven thousand dollars was paid to the boys who participated, in proportion to the amount earned. william c. ralston was able, daring, and brilliant. in he organized the bank of california, which, through its virginia city connection and the keenness and audacity of william sharon, practically monopolized the big business of the comstock, controlling mines, milling, and transportation. in san francisco it was _the_ bank, and its earnings were huge. ralston was public-spirited and enterprising. he backed all kinds of schemes as well as many legitimate undertakings. he seemed the great power of the pacific coast. but in , when the silver output dropped and the tide that had flowed in for a dozen years turned to ebb, distrust was speedy. on the afternoon of august th, as i chanced to be passing the bank, i saw with dismay the closing of its doors. the death of ralston, the discovery of wild investments, and the long train of loss were intensely tragic. the final rehabilitation of the bank brought assurance and rich reward to those who met their loss like men, but the lesson was a hard one. in retrospect ralston seems to typify that extraordinary era of wild speculation and recklessness. no glance at old san francisco can be considered complete which does not at least recognize emperor norton, a picturesque figure of its life. a heavy, elderly man, probably jewish, who paraded the streets in a dingy uniform with conspicuous epaulets, a plumed hat, and a knobby cane. whether he was a pretender or imagined that he was an emperor no one knew or seemed to care. he was good-natured, and he was humored. everybody bought his scrip in fifty cents denomination. i was his favored printer, and he assured me that when he came into his estate he would make me chancellor of the exchequer. he often attended the services of the unitarian church, and expressed his feeling that there were too many churches and that when the empire was established he should request all to accept the unitarian church. he once asked me if i could select from among the ladies of our church a suitable empress. i told him i thought i might, but that he must be ready to provide for her handsomely; that no man thought of keeping a bird until he had a cage, and that a queen must have a palace. he was satisfied, and i never was called upon. the most memorable of the fourth of july celebrations was in , when the hundredth anniversary called for something special. the best to be had was prepared for the occasion. the procession was elaborate and impressive. dr. stebbins delivered a fine oration; there was a poem, of course; but the especial feature was a military and naval spectacle, elaborate in character. the fortifications around the harbor and the ships available were scheduled to unite in an attack on a supposed enemy ship attempting to enter the harbor. the part of the invading cruiser was taken by a large scow anchored between sausalito and fort point. at an advertised hour the bombardment was to begin, and practically the whole population of the city sought the high hills commanding the view. the hills above the presidio were then bare of habitations, but on that day they were black with eager spectators. when the hour arrived the bombardment began. the air was full of smoke and the noise was terrific, but alas for marksmanship, the willing and waiting cruiser rode serenely unharmed and unhittable. the afternoon wore away and still no chance shot went home. finally a whitehall boat sneaked out and set the enemy ship on fire, that her continued security might no longer oppress us. it was a most impressive exhibit of unpreparedness, and gave us much to think of. on the evening of the same day, father neri, at st. ignatius college, displayed electric lighting for the first time in san francisco, using three french arc lights. the most significant event of the second decade was the rise and decline of the workingmen's party, following the remarkable episode of the sand lot and denis kearney. the winter of - had been one of slight rainfall, there had been a general failure of crops, the yield of gold and silver had been small, and there was much unemployment. there had been riots in the east and discontent and much resentment were rife. the line of least resistance seemed to be the clothes-line. the chinese, though in no wise responsible, were attacked. laundries were destroyed, but rioting brought speedy organization. a committee of safety, six thousand strong, took the situation in hand. the state and the national governments moved resolutely, and order was very soon restored. kearney was clever and knew when to stop. he used his qualities of leadership for his individual advantage and eventually became sleek and prosperous. in the meantime he was influential in forming a political movement that played a prominent part in giving us a new constitution. the ultra conservatives were frightened, but the new instrument did not prove so harmful as was feared. it had many good features and lent itself readily to judicial construction. while we now treat the episode lightly, it was at the time a serious matter. it was jack cade in real life, and threatened existing society much as the bolshevists do in russia. the significant feature of the experience was that there was a measure of justification for the protest. vast fortunes had been suddenly amassed and luxury and extravagance presented a damaging contrast to the poverty and suffering of the many. heartlessness and indifference are the primary danger. the result of the revolt was on the whole good. the warning was needed, and, on the other hand, the protestants learned that real reforms are not brought about by violence or even the summary change of organic law. in i had the good fortune to join the chit-chat club, which had been formed three years before on very simple lines. a few high-minded young lawyers interested in serious matters, but alive to good-fellowship, dined together once a month and discussed an essay that one of them had written. the essayist of one meeting presided at the next. a secretary-treasurer was the only officer. originally the papers alternated between literature and political economy, but as time went on all restrictions were removed, although by usage politics and religion are shunned. the membership has always been of high character and remarkable interest has been maintained. i have esteemed it a great privilege to be associated with so fine a body of kindly, cultivated men, and educationally it has been of great advantage. i have missed few meetings in the forty-four years, and the friendships formed have been many and close. we formerly celebrated our annual meetings and invited men of note. our guests included generals howard, gibbons, and miles, the lecontes, edward rowland sill, and luther burbank. we enjoyed meeting celebrities, but our regular meetings, with no formality, proved on the whole more to our taste and celebrations were given up. when i think of the delight and benefit that i have derived from this association of clubbable men i feel moved to urge that similar groups be developed wherever even a very few will make the attempt. in i joined many of my friends and acquaintances in a remarkable entertainment on a large scale. it was held in the mechanics' pavilion and continued for many successive nights. it was called the "carnival of authors." the immense floor was divided into a series of booths, occupied by representative characters of all the noted authors, shakespeare, chaucer, dickens, irving, scott, and many others. a grand march every evening introduced the performances or receptions given at the various booths, and was very colorful and amusing. my character was the fortune-teller in the alhambra, and my experiences were interesting and impressive. my disguise was complete, and in my zodiacal quarters i had much fun in telling fortunes for many people i knew quite well, and i could make revelations that seemed to them very wonderful. in the grand march i could indulge in the most unmannered swagger. my own sister asked in indignation: "who is that old man making eyes at me?" i held many charming hands as i pretended to study the lines. one evening charles crocker, as he strolled past, inquired if i would like any help. i assured him that beauty were safer in the hands of age. a young woman whom i saw weekly at church came with her cousin, a well-known banker. i told her fortune quite to her satisfaction, and then informed her that the gentleman with her was a relative, but not a brother. "how wonderful!" she exclaimed. a very well-known irish stock operator came with his daughter, whose fortune i made rosy. she persuaded her father to sit. nearly every morning i had met him as he rode a neat pony along a street running to north beach, where he took a swim. i told him that the lines of his hand indicated water, that he had been born across the water. "yes," he murmured, "in france." i told him he had been successful. "moderately so," he admitted. i said, "some people think it has been merely good luck, but you have contributed to good fortune. you are a man of very regular habits. among your habits is that of bathing every morning in the waters of the bay." "oh, god!" he ejaculated, "he knows me!" some experiences were not so humorous. a very hard-handed, poorly dressed but patently upright man took it very seriously. i told him he had had a pretty hard life, but that no man could look him in the face and say that he had been wronged by him. he said that was so, but he wanted to ask my advice as to what to do when persecuted because he could not do more than was possible to pay an old debt for which he was not to blame. i comforted him all i could, and told him he should not allow himself to be imposed upon. when he left he asked for my address down town. he wanted to see me again. the depth of suffering and the credulity revealed were often embarrassing and made me feel a fraud when i was aiming merely to amuse. i was glad again to become my undisguised self. it was in the late eighties that julia ward howe visited her sister near the city, and i very gladly was of service in helping her fill some of her engagements. she gave much pleasure by lectures and talks and enjoyed visiting some of our attractions. she was charmed with the broadway grammar school, where jean parker had achieved such wonderful results with the foreign girls of the north beach locality. i remember meeting a distinguished educator at a dinner, and i asked him if he had seen the school. he said he had. "what do you think of it?" i asked him. "i think it is the finest school in the world," he said. i took mrs. howe to a class. she was asked to say a few words, and in her beautiful voice she gained instant and warm attention. she asked all the little girls who spoke french in their homes to stand. many rose. then she called for spanish. many more stood. she followed with scandinavian and italian. but when she came to those who used english she found few. she spoke to several in their own tongue and was most enthusiastically greeted. i also escorted her across the bay to mills college, with which she was greatly pleased. she proved herself a good sport. with true bohemianism, she joined in luncheon on the ferryboat, eating ripe strawberries from the original package, using her fingers and enjoying the informality. she fitted every occasion with dignity or humor. in the pulpit at our church she preached a remarkably fine sermon. mozoomdar, the saintly representative of the brahmo somaj, was a highly attractive man. his voice was most musical, and his bearing and manner were beautiful. he seemed pure spirit and a type of the deeply religious nature. nor was he without humor. in speaking of his visit to england he said that his hosts generally seemed to think that for food he required only "an unlimited quantity of milk." politics has had a wide range in san francisco,--rotten at times, petty at others, with the saving grace of occasional idealism. the consolidation act and the people's party touched high-water mark in reform. with the lopping off of the san mateo end of the peninsula in , one board of supervisors was substituted for the three that had spent $ , , the year before. with e.w. burr at its head, under the new board expenditures were reduced to $ , . the people's party had a long lease of power, but in mccoppin was elected mayor. later came the reigns of little bosses, the specter of the big corporation boss behind them all, and then the triumph of decency under mcnab, when good men served as supervisors. then came the sinister triumph of ruef and the days of graft, cut short by the amazing exposure, detection, and overthrow of entrenched wickedness, and the administration of dr. taylor, a high idealist, too good to last. early in twenty-five gentlemen (five of whom were members of the chit-chat club) formed an association for the improvement and adornment of san francisco. d.h. burnham was invited to prepare a plan, and a bungalow was erected on a spur of twin peaks from which to study the problem. a year or more was given to the task, and in september, , a comprehensive report was made and officially sanctioned, by vote and publication. to what extent it might have been followed but for the event of april, , cannot be conjectured, but it is matter of deep regret that so little resulted from this very valuable study of a problem upon which the future of the city so vitally depends. it is not too late to follow its principal features, subject to such modifications as are necessary in the light of a good deal that we have accomplished since the report. san francisco's possibilities for beauty are very great. the earthquake and fire of april, , many san franciscans would gladly forget; but as they faced the fact, so they need not shrink from the memory. it was a never to be effaced experience of man's littleness and helplessness, leaving a changed consciousness and a new attitude. being aroused from deep sleep to find the solid earth wrenched and shaken beneath you, structures displaced, chimneys shorn from their bases, water shut off, railway tracks distorted, and new shocks recurring, induces terror that no imagination can compass. after breakfasting on an egg cooked by the heat from an alcohol lamp, i went to rescue the little i could from my office, and saw the resistless approaching fire shortly consume it. lack of provisions and scarcity of water drove me the next morning across the bay. two days afterward, leaving my motherless children, i returned to bear a hand in relief and restoration. every person going up market street stopped to throw a few bricks from the street to make possible a way for vehicles. for miles desolation reigned. in the unburned districts bread-lines marked the absolute leveling. bankers and beggars were one. very soon the mighty tide of relief set in, beginning with the near-by counties and extending to the ends of the earth. among our interesting experiences at red cross headquarters was the initiation of dr. devine into the habits of the earthquake. he had come from new york to our assistance. we were in session and j.s. merrill was speaking. there came a decidedly sharp shake. an incipient "oh!" from one of the ladies was smothered. mr. merrill kept steadily on. when he had concluded and the shock was over he turned to dr. devine and remarked: "doctor, you look a little pale. i thought a moment ago you were thinking of going out." dr. devine wanly smiled as he replied: "you must excuse me. remember that this is my first experience." i think i never saw a little thing give so much pleasure as when a man who had been given an old coat that was sent from mendocino county found in a pocket a quarter of a dollar that some sympathetic philanthropist had slipped in as a surprise. it seemed a fortune to one who had nothing. perhaps a penniless mother who came in with her little girl was equally pleased when she found that some kind woman had sent in a doll that her girl could have. one of our best citizens, frederick dohrmann, was in germany, his native land, at the time. he had taken his wife in pursuit of rest and health. they had received kindly entertainment from many friends, and decided to make some return by a california reception, at the town hostelry. they ordered a generous dinner. they thought of the usual wealth of flowers at a california party, and visiting a florist's display they bought his entire stock. the invited guests came in large numbers, and the host and hostess made every effort to emphasize their hospitality. but after they had gone mr. dohrmann remarked to his wife: "i somehow feel that the party has not been a success. the people did not seem to enjoy themselves as i thought they would." the next morning as they sought the breakfast-room they were asked if they had seen the morning papers. ordering them they found staring head-lines: "san francisco destroyed by an earthquake!" their guests had seen the billboards on their way to the party, but could not utterly spoil the evening by mentioning it, yet were incapable of merriment. mr. dohrmann and his wife returned at once, and though far from well, he threw himself into the work of restoration, in which no one was more helpful. the dreadful event, however, revealed much good in human nature. helpfulness in the presence of such devastation and suffering might be expected, but honor and integrity after the sharp call of sympathy was over have a deeper meaning. one of my best customers, the bancroft-whitney company, law publishers, having accounts with lawyers and law-booksellers all over the country, lost not only all their stock and plates but all their books of accounts, and were left without any evidence of what was owing them. they knew that exclusive of accounts considered doubtful there was due them by customers other than those in san francisco $ , . their only means of ascertaining the particulars was through those who owed it. they decided to make it wholly a matter of honor, and sent to the thirty-five thousand lawyers in the united states the following printed circular, which i printed at a hastily assembled temporary printing office across the bay: _to our friends and patrons_: _a_--we have lost all our records of accounts. _b_--our net loss will exceed $ , . simply a question of honor. _first_--will each lawyer in the country send us a statement of what he owes us, whether due or not due, and names of books covered by said statement on enclosed blank (blue blank). _second_--information for our records (yellow blank). _third_--send us a postal money order for all the money you can now spare. please fill out and send us as soon as possible the forms enclosed. may , . returns of money and of acknowledgment were prompt and encouraging. some of those considered doubtful were the first to acknowledge their indebtedness. before long they were able to reproduce their books and the acknowledged balances nearly equaled their estimated total of good accounts. remittances were made until over $ , was paid. of this amount about $ , covered accounts not included in their estimate of collectible indebtedness. this brought their estimated total to $ , , and established the fact that over eighty-five per cent of all that was owed them was acknowledged promptly under this call on honor. four years later they were surprised by the receipt of a check for $ from a lawyer in florida for a bill incurred long before, of which they had no memory. let those who scoff at ideals and bemoan the dishonesty of this materialistic age take note that money is not all, and let those who grudgingly admit that there are a few honest men but no honest lawyers take notice that even lawyers have some sense of honor. some few instances of escape are interesting. i have a friend who was living on the taylor street side of russian hill. when the quake came, his daughter, who had lived in japan and learned wise measures, immediately filled the bathtub with water. a doomed grocery-store near by asked customers to help themselves to goods. my friend chose a dozen large siphon bottles of soda water. the house was detached and for a time escaped, but finally the roof caught from flying embers and the fire was slowly extending. when the time came to leave the house a large american flag was raised to a conspicuous staff. a company of soldiers sent from the presidio for general duty saw the flag several blocks away, and made for the house to save the colors. finding the bathroom water supply, they mixed it with sand and plastered the burning spots. they arrested the spreading flames, but could not reach the fire under the cornice. then they utilized the siphon bottles; one soldier, held by his legs, hung over the roof and squirted the small stream on the crucial spot. the danger was soon over and the house was saved with quite a group of others that would have burned with it. while many individuals never recovered their property conditions or their nerve, it is certain that a new spirit was generated. great obstacles were overcome and determination was invincible. we were forced to act broadly, and we reversed the negative policy of doing nothing and owing nothing. we went into debt with our eyes open, and spent millions in money for the public good. the city was made safe and also beautiful. the city hall, the public library, and the auditorium make our civic center a source of pride. the really great exposition of was carried out in a way to increase our courage and our capacity. we have developed a fine public spirit and efficient co-operation. we need fear nothing in the future. we have character and we are gaining in capacity. vocation and avocation have about equally divided my time and energy during my residence in san francisco. i have done some things because i was obliged to and many others because i wished to. when one is fitted and trained for some one thing he is apt to devote himself steadily and profitably to it, but when he is an amateur and not a master he is sure to be handicapped. after about a year in the indian department a change in administration left me without a job. for about a year i was a bookkeeper for a stock-broker. then for another year i was a money-broker, selling currency, silver, and revenue stamps. when that petered out i was ready for anything. a friend had loaned money to a printer and seemed about to lose it. in i became bookkeeper and assistant in this printing office to rescue the loan, and finally succeeded. i liked the business and had the hardihood to buy a small interest, borrowing the necessary money from a bank at one per cent a month. i knew absolutely nothing of the art and little of business. it meant years of wrestling for the weekly pay-roll, often in apprehension of the sheriff, but for better or for worse i stuck to it and gradually established a good business. i found satisfaction in production and had many pleasant experiences. in illustration i reproduce an order i received in from fred beecher perkins, librarian of the recently established free public library. (he was father of charlotte perkins stetson.) san francisco free public library [handwritten: dec c.a. murdock & co gent. we need two hundred ( ) more of those blue chex. please make and deliver same pdq and oblige yours truly f.b. perkins librarian. p.s. the _substance_ of this order is official. the _form_ is slightly speckled with the spice of unofficiality. f.b.p.] [illustration: the clay street office the day after] in , as president of the san francisco typothetae, i had the great pleasure of cooperating with the president of the typographical union in giving a reception and dinner to george w. childs, of philadelphia. our relations were not always so friendly. we once resisted arbitrary methods and a strike followed. my men went out regretfully, shaking hands as they left. we won the strike, and then by gradual voluntary action gave them the pay and hours they asked for. when the earthquake fire of came i was unfortunately situated. i had lately bought out my partner and owed much money. to meet all my obligations i felt obliged to sell a controlling interest in the business, and that was the beginning of the end. i was in active connection with the printing business for forty-seven years. i am forced to admit that it would have been much to my advantage had i learned in my early life to say "no" at the proper time. the loss in scattering one's powers is too great to contemplate with comfort. i had a witty partner who once remarked, "i have great respect for james bunnell, for he has but one hobby at a time." i knew the inference. a man who has too many hobbies is not respectable. he is not even fair to the hobbies. i have always been overloaded and so not efficient. it is also my habit to hold on. it seems almost impossible to drop what i have taken up, and while there is gain in some ways through standing by there is gross danger in not resolutely stopping when you have enough. in addition to the activities i have incidentally mentioned i have served twenty-five years on the board of the associated charities, and still am treasurer. i have been a trustee of the california school of mechanical arts for at least as long. i have served for years on the board of the babies aid, and also represent the protestant charities on the home-finding agency of the native sons and daughters. it is an almost shameful admission of dissipation. no man of good discretion spreads himself too thin. when i was relieved from further public service, and had disposed of the printing business, it was a great satisfaction to accept the field secretaryship of the american unitarian association for the pacific coast. i enjoyed the travel and made many delightful acquaintances. it was an especial pleasure to accompany such a missionary as dr. william l. sullivan. in we visited most of the churches on the coast, and it was a constant pleasure to hear him and to see the gladness with which he was always received, and the fine spirit he inspired. i have also found congenial occupation in keeping alive _the pacific unitarian_. thirty years is almost venerable in the life of a religious journal. i have been favored with excellent health and with unnumbered blessings of many kinds. i rejoice at the goodness and kindness of my fellow men. my experience justifies my trustful and hopeful temperament. i believe "the best is yet to be." i am thankful that my lot has been cast in this fair city. i love it and i have faith in its future. there have been times of trial and of fear, but time has told in favor of courage not to be lost and deep confidence in final good. it cannot be doubted that the splendid achievement of the panama-pacific exposition gave strong faith in power to withstand adverse influences and temporary weakness. when we can look back upon great things we have accomplished we gain confidence in ability to reach any end that we are determined upon. it is manifest that a new spirit, an access of faith, has come to san francisco since she astonished the world and surprised herself by creating the magnificent dream on the shores of the bay. at its conclusion a few of us determined it should not be utterly lost. we formed an exposition preservation league through which we salvaged the palace of fine arts, the most beautiful building of the last five centuries, the incomparable marina, a connected driveway from black point to the presidio, the lagoon, and other features that will ultimately revert to the city, greatly adding to its attractiveness. fifty years of municipal life have seen great advance and promise a rich future. materially they have been as prosperous as well-being demands or as is humanly safe--years of healthy growth, free of fever and delirium, in which natural resources have been steadily developed and we have somewhat leisurely prepared for world business on a large scale. in population we have increased from about , to about , , which is an average advance from decade to decade of thirty-three per cent. bank clearances are considered the best test of business. our clearing house was established in , and the first year the total clearances were $ , . we passed the million mark in , and in they reached $ , , , . in our combined exports and imports were about $ , , . in they were $ , , , giving california fourth rank in the national record. the remarkable feature in all our records is the great acceleration in the increase in the years since the disaster of . savings bank receipts in are twice as large as in , postal receipts three times as large, national bank resources four times as large, national bank deposits nine times as large. there can be no reasonable doubt that san francisco is to be a very important industrial and commercial city. every indication leads to this conclusion. the more important consideration of character and spirit cannot be forecast by statistics, but much that has been accomplished and the changed attitude on social welfare and the humanities leave no doubt on the part of the discerning that we have made great strides and that the future is full of promise. chapter vii incidents in public service at twenty-two i found myself register of the humboldt land office, with offices on the first floor of a building at eureka, the second story of which was occupied by a school. an open veranda extended across the front. when i first let myself into the office, i carelessly left the key in the lock. a mischievous girl simply gave it a turn and i was a prisoner, with a plain but painful way of escape--not physically painful, but humiliating to my official pride. there was nothing for it but ignominiously to crawl out of the window onto the veranda and recover the key--and that i forthwith did. the archives of the office proved interesting. the original register was a missouri congressman, who had been instructed to proceed to humboldt city and open the office. humboldt city was on the map and seemed the logical location. but it had "died aborning" and as a city did not exist. so the register took the responsibility of locating the office at eureka, and in explanation addressed to the president, whom he denominated "buckhannan," a letter in which he went at length into the "hole" subject. the original draft was on file. i was authorized to receive homestead applications, to locate land warrants, to hear contests, and to sell "offered land." the latter was government land that had been offered for sale at $ . an acre and had not been taken. strangely enough, it embraced a portion of the redwood belt along mad river, near arcata. but one man seemed aware of the opportunity. john preston, a tanner of arcata, would accumulate thirty dollars in gold and with it buy fifty dollars in legal-tender notes. then he would call and ask for the plat, and, after considerable pawing, he would say, "well, charlie, i guess i'll take that forty." whereupon the transaction would be completed by my taking his greenbacks and giving him a certificate of purchase for the forty acres of timber-land that had cost him seventy-five cents an acre, and later probably netted him not less than three hundred dollars an acre for stumpage alone. today it would be worth twice that. the opportunity was open to all who had a few cents and a little sense. sales of land were few and locations infrequent, consequently commissions were inconsiderable. now and then i would hold a trial between conflicting claimants, some of them quite important. it was natural that the respective attorneys should take advantage of my youth and inexperience, for they had known me in my verdant boyhood and seemed to rejoice in my discomfiture. i had hard work to keep them in order. they threatened one another with ink-bottles and treated me with contempt. they would lure me on when i rejected evidence as inadmissible, offering slightly changed forms, until i was forced to reverse myself. when i was uncertain i would adjourn court and think it over. these were trying experiences, but i felt sure that the claimants' rights would be protected on appeal to the commissioner of the general land office and finally to the secretary of the interior. i was glad that in the biggest case i guessed right. one occurrence made a strong impression on me. it was war-time, and loyalty was an issue. a rancher from mendocino county came to eureka to prove up on his land and get a patent. he seemed to me a fine man, but when he was asked to take the oath of allegiance he balked. i tried my best to persuade him that it was harmless and reasonable, but he simply wouldn't take it, and went back home without his patent. my experiences while chief clerk in the office of the superintendent of indian affairs are too valuable to be overlooked. i traveled quite freely and saw unfamiliar life. i had a very interesting trip in , to inspect the round valley indian reservation and to distribute clothing to the indians. it was before the days of railroads in that part of california. two of us drove a light wagon from petaluma to ukiah, and then put saddles on our horses and started over the mountains to the valley. we took a cold lunch, planning to stay overnight at a stockman's ranch. when we reached the place we found a notice that he had gone to a rodeo. we broke into his barn to feed our horses, but we spared his house. failing to catch fish in the stream near by, we made our dinner of its good water, and after a troubled night had the same fare for breakfast. for once in my life i knew hunger. to the nearest ranch was half a day's journey, and we lost no time in heading for it. on the way i had an encounter with a vicious rattlesnake. the outcome was more satisfactory than it might have been. at noon, when we found a cattleman whose indian mate served venison and hot bread of good quality and abundant quantity, we were appreciative and happy. the remainder of the trip was uneventful. the equal division of clothing or supplies among a lot of indians throws helpful light on the causes of inequality. a very few days suffice to upset all efforts at impartiality. a few, the best gamblers, soon have more than they need, while the many have little or nothing. the valleys of mendocino county are fascinatingly beautiful, and a trip direct to the coast, with a spin along ten miles of perfect beach as we returned, was a fine contrast to hungry climbing over rugged heights. another memorable trip was with two indians from the mouth of the klamath river to its junction with the trinity at weitchpec. the whole course of the stream is between lofty peaks and is a continuous series of sharp turns. after threading its winding way, it is easy to understand what an almost solid resistance would be presented to a rapidly rising river. with such a watershed as is drained by the two rivers, the run-off in a storm would be so impeded as to be very slow. the actual result was demonstrated in . in august of that year, a.s. hallidie built a wire bridge at weitchpec. he made the closest possible examination as to the highest point the river had reached. in an indian rancheria he found a stone door-sill that had been hollowed by constant use for ages. this was then ninety-eight feet above the level of the flowing river. he accepted it as absolutely safe. in december, , the river rose thirty feet above the bridge and carried away the structure. the indians living on lower mad river had been removed for safety to the smith river indian reservation. they were not happy and felt they might safely return, now that the indian war was over. the white men who were friendly believed that if one of the trusted indians could be brought down to talk with his friends he could satisfy the others that it would be better to remain on the reservation. it was my job to go up and bring him down. we came down the beach past the mouth of the klamath, gold bluff, and trinidad, to fort humboldt, and interviewed many white settlers friendly to the indians until the representative was satisfied as to the proper course to follow. in "gold bluff" was the first great mining excitement. the klamath river enters the ocean just above the bluff that had been made by the deposit of sand, gravel, and boulders to the height of a hundred feet or more. the waves, beating against the bluff for ages, have doubtless washed gold into the ocean's bed. in it was discovered that at certain tides or seasons there were deposited on the beach quantities of black sand, mingled with which were particles of gold. nineteen men formed a company to take up a claim and work the supposedly exhaustless deposit. an expert report declared that the sand measured would yield each of the men the modest sum of $ , , . great excitement stirred san francisco and eight vessels left with adventurers. but it soon was found that black sand was scarce and gold much more so. for some time it paid something, but as a lure it soon failed. when i was first there i was tremendously impressed when shown at the level of the beach, beneath the bluff and its growing trees, an embedded redwood log. it started the imagination on conjectures of when and where it had been clad in beauty as part of a living landscape. an interesting conclusion to this experience was traveling over the state with charles maltby, appointed to succeed my friend, to turn over the property of the department. he was a personal friend of president lincoln, and he bore a striking resemblance to him and seemed like him in character. in a nominee for the assembly from san francisco declined the honor, and it devolved on a group of delegates to select a candidate in his place. they asked me to run, and on the condition that i should solicit no votes and spend no money i consented. i was one of four republicans elected from san francisco. in the entire state we were outnumbered about four to one. but politics ordinarily cuts little figure. the only measure i introduced provided for the probationary treatment of juvenile delinquents through commitment to an unsectarian organization that would seek to provide homes. i found no opposition in committee or on the floor. when it was reached i would not endanger its passage by saying anything for it. it passed unanimously and was concurred in by the senate. my general conclusion is that the average legislator is ready to support a measure that he feels is meritorious and has no other motive than the general good. we were summoned in extra session to act on matters affecting the railroads. it was at a time when they were decidedly in politics. the central pacific was generally credited with controlling the legislative body of the state. a powerful lobby was maintained, and the company was usually able to thwart the passage of any legislation the political manager considered detrimental to its interests. the farmers and country representatives did all in their power to correct abuses and protect the interests of the people of the state, but the city representatives, in many instances not men of character, were usually controlled by some boss ready to do the bidding of the railroad's chief lobbyist. the hope for decency is always in free men, and they generally are from the country. it was pathetic at times to watch proceedings. i recall one instance, where a young associate from san francisco had cast a vote that was discreditable and pretty plainly indicated corrupt influence. the measure he supported won a passage, but a motion for reconsideration carried, and when it came up the following day the father of the young man was seated by his side as the vote was taken. he was a much-respected plasterer, and he came from his home on a hurried call to save his son from disgrace. it was a great relief when on recall the son reversed his vote and the measure was lost. of course, there were punitive measures, unreasonable and unjust, and some men were afraid to be just if the railroad would in any way be benefited. i tried to be discriminating and impartial, judging each measure on its merits. i found it was a thankless task and bred suspicion. an independent man is usually distrusted. at the end of the session a fine old farmer, consistently against the railroad, said to me: "i couldn't make you out for a long time. some days i gave you a white mark, and some days a black one. i finally give you a white mark--but it was a close shave." i was impressed with the power of the speaker to favor or thwart legislation. at the regular session some senator had introduced a bill favoring the needs of the university of california. he wanted it concurred in by the assembly, and as the leading democrats were pretty busy with their own affairs he entrusted it to me. the speaker favored it, and he did not favor a bill in the hands of a leader of the house involving an appropriation. he called me to his seat and suggested that at the reassembling of the assembly after luncheon i should take the floor to move that the bill be placed on the first-reading file. he knew that the leader would be ready with his pet bill, but he would recognize me. when the gavel fell after luncheon three men leaped for the floor. i arose well at the side of the chamber, while the leader stood directly in front, but the speaker happened (?) to see me first, and the entrusted bill started for speedy success. it is always pleasant to discover unsuspected humor. there was a very serious-appearing country member who, with the others of a committee, visited the state prison at san quentin. we were there at the midday meal and saw the prisoners file in to a substantially laden table. he watched them enjoy the spread, and quietly remarked, "a man who wouldn't be satisfied with such food as that deserves to be turned out of the state prison." some reformer had introduced a bill providing for a complete new code of criminal procedure. it had been referred to the appropriate committee and in due time it made its report. i still can see the committee chairman, a country doctor, as he stood and shook a long finger at the members before him, saying: "mr. speaker, we ask that this measure be read in full to the assembly. i want you to know that i have been obliged to hear it, and i am bound that every member of the house shall hear it." my conclusion at the end of the session was that the people of the state were fortunate in faring no worse. the many had little fitness; a few had large responsibility. doubtful and useless measures predominate, but they are mostly quietly smothered. the country members are watchful and discriminating and a few leaders exercise great power. to me it was a fine experience, and i made good friends. i was interested in proposed measures, and would have willingly gone back the next term. some of my friends sounded the political boss of the period and asked if i could be given a place on the ticket. he smiled and said, "we have no use for him." when the nominating convention was held he sent in by a messenger a folded piece of paper upon which was inscribed the name of the man for whom they had use--and my legislative career was at an end. i went back to my printing business, which never should have been neglected, and stayed mildly by it for eleven years. then, there being a vacancy on the board of education, i responded to the wish of friends and accepted the appointment to help them in their endeavor to better our schools. john swett, an experienced educator, was superintendent. the majority of the board was composed of high-minded and able men. they had turned over the selection of teachers to the best-fitted professors of the university and were giving an economical and creditable administration. if a principalship was vacant, applications were apt to be disregarded, and the person in the department considered most capable and deserving was notified of election. there were, however, some loose methods. all graduates of the high schools were privileged to attend a normal class for a year and then were eligible without any examination to be appointed teachers. the board was not popular with the teachers, many of whom seemed to consider that the department was mainly for their benefit. at the end of the unexpired term i was elected a member of the succeeding board, and this was continued for five years. when the first elected board held a preliminary canvass i naturally felt much interest as to my associates, some of whom were entire strangers. among them was henry t. scott, of the firm of shipbuilders who had built the "oregon." some one remarked that a prominent politician (naming him) would like to know what patronage would be accorded him. mr. scott very forcibly and promptly replied: "so far as i am concerned, not a damned bit. i want none for myself, and i will oppose giving any to him or anyone else." i learned later that he had been elected without being consulted, while absent in the east. upon his return a somewhat notorious woman principal called on him and informed him that she was responsible for his election--at least, his name had been submitted to her and received her approval. he replied that he felt she deserved no thanks for that, as he had no desire to serve. she said she had but one request to make; her janitress must not be removed. he gave her no assurances. soon afterward the matter of appointments came up. mr. scott was asked what he wanted, and he replied: "i want but one thing. it involves the janitress of mrs. ----'s school. i want her to be removed immediately." "all right," replied the questioner. "whom shall we name?" "whomever you please," rejoined scott. "i have no candidate; but no one can tell me what i must or must not do." substitution followed at once. later mr. scott played the star part in the most interesting political struggle i ever knew. a democratic victory placed in the superintendent's office a man whose christian name was appropriately andrew jackson. he had the naming of his secretary, who was ex-officio clerk of the board, which confirmed the appointment. one george beanston had grown to manhood in the office and filled it most satisfactorily. the superintendent nominated a man with no experience, whom i shall call wells, for the reason that it was not his name. mr. scott, a democratic member, and i were asked to report on the nomination. the superintendent and the committee discussed the matter at a pleasant dinner at the pacific-union club, given by chairman scott. at its conclusion the majority conceded that usage and courtesy entitled the superintendent to the appointment. feeling that civil service and the interest of the school department were opposed to removal from position for mere political differences, i demurred and brought in a minority report. there were twelve members, and when the vote to concur in the appointment came up there was a tie, and the matter went over for a week. during the week one of the beanston supporters was given the privilege of naming a janitor, and the suspicion that a trade had been made was justified when on roll-call he hung his head and murmured "wells." the cause seemed lost; but when later in the alphabetical roll scott's name was reached, he threw up his head and almost shouted "beanston," offsetting the loss of the turncoat and leaving the vote still a tie. it was never called up again, and beanston retained the place for another two years. early in i was called up on the telephone and asked to come to mayor phelan's office at once. i found there some of the most ardent civil service supporters in the city. richard j. freud, a member of the civil service commission, had suddenly died the night before. the vacancy was filled by the mayor's appointment. eugene schmitz had been elected mayor and would take his seat the following day, and the friends of civil service distrusted his integrity. they did not dare to allow him to act. haste seemed discourteous to the memory of freud, but he would want the best for the service. persuaded of the gravity of the matter, i accepted the appointment for a year and filed my commission before returning to my place of business. i enjoyed the work and its obvious advantage to the departments under its operation. the police department especially was given an intelligent and well-equipped force. an amusing incident of an examination for promotion to the position of corporal concerned the hopes we entertained for the success of a popular patrolman. but he did not apply. one day one of the board met him and asked him if he was not to try for it. "i think not," he replied. "my early education was very unlimited. what i know, i know; but i'll be damned if i'm going to give you fellows a chance to find out what i don't know!" i chanced to visit washington during my term as commissioner, and through the courtesy of senator perkins had a pleasant call on president roosevelt. a senator seems to have ready access to the ordinary president, and almost before i realized it we were in the strenuous presence. a cordial hand-clasp and a genial smile followed my introduction, and as the senator remarked that i was a civil service commissioner, the president called: "shake again. i used to be one of those fellows myself." senator perkins went on: "mr. murdock and i have served for many years as fellow trustees of the boys and girls aid society." "ah," said the president, "modeled, i presume, on brace's society, in which my father was greatly interested. do you know i believe work with boys is about the only hope? it's pretty hard to change a man, but when you can start a boy in the right way he has a chance." turning to me he remarked, "did you know that governor brady of alaska was one of brace's placed-out boys!" then of perkins he asked, "by the way, senator, how is brady doing?" "very well, i understand," replied the senator. "i believe he is a thoroughly honest man." "yes; but is he also able? it is as necessary for a man in public life to be able as to be honest." he bade us a hearty good-by as we left him. he impressed me as untroubled and courageous, ready every day for what came, and meeting life with cheer. the story of the moral and political revolution of has never been adequately told, nor have the significance and importance of the event been fully recognized. the facts are of greater import than the record; but an eyewitness has responsibility, and i feel moved to give my testimony. perhaps so complete a reversal of spirit and administration was never before reached without an election by the people. the faithfulness and nerve of one official backed by the ability of a detective employed by a public-spirited citizen rescued the city government from the control of corrupt and irresponsible men and substituted a mayor and board of supervisors of high character and unselfish purpose. this was accomplished speedily and quietly. with positive proof of bribery that left conviction and a term in prison as the alternative to resignation, district attorney william h. langdon had complete control of the situation. in consultation with those who had proved their interest in the welfare of the city, he asked edward robeson taylor to serve as mayor, privileged to select sixteen citizens to act as supervisors in place of the implicated incumbents, who would be induced to resign. dr. taylor was an attorney of the highest standing, an idealist of fearless and determined character. no pledges hampered him. he was free to act in redeeming the city. in turn, he asked no pledge or promise of those whom he selected to serve as supervisors. he named men whom he felt he could trust, and he subsequently left them alone, asking nothing of them and giving them no advice. it was the year after the fire. i was conducting a substitute printing-office in the old car-barn at geary and buchanan streets. one morning dr. taylor came in and asked if he might speak to me in private. i was not supplied with facilities for much privacy, but i asked him in and we found seats in the corner of the office farthest from the bookkeeper. without preliminary, he said, "i want you to act as one of the supervisors." wholly surprised, i hesitated a moment and then assured him that my respect for him and what he had undertaken was so great that if he was sure he wanted me i would serve. he went out with no further comment, and i heard nothing more of it until i received a notice to meet at his office in the temporary city hall on july th. in response to the call i found fifteen other men, most of whom i knew slightly. we seemed to be waiting for something. mr. langdon was there and mr. burns, the detective, was in and out. mr. gallagher, late acting mayor and an old-time friend of the district attorney, was helping in the transfer, in which he was included. langdon would suggest some procedure: "how will this do, jim?" "it seems to me, billy, that this will be better," gallagher would reply. burns finally reported that the last of the "bunch" had signed his resignation and that we could go ahead. we filed into the boardroom. mayor taylor occupied the chair, to which the week before he had been obediently but not enthusiastically elected by "those about to die." the supervisor alphabetically ranking offered his written resignation, which the mayor promptly accepted. he then appointed as successor the first, alphabetically, on his list. the deputy county clerk was conveniently near and promptly administered the oath and certified the commission. the old member slunk or swaggered out and the new member took his place. so the dramatic scene continued until the transformation was accomplished and a new era dawned. the atmosphere was changed, but was very serious and determined. everyone felt the gravity of the situation and that we had no easy task ahead. solemnity marked the undertaking and full realization that hard work alone could overcome obstacles and restore endurable conditions. many of the men selected by dr. taylor had enjoyed experience and all were anxious to do their best. with firm grasp and resolute procedure, quick results followed. there was to be an election in november. some of the strongest members had accepted service as an emergency call and could not serve longer; but an incredible amount of planning was accomplished and a great deal disposed of, so that though ten of the appointed board served but six months they had rendered a great service and fortunately were succeeded by other men of character, and the good work went steadily on. in looking back to the problems that confronted the appointed board and the first elected board, also headed by dr. taylor, they seem insurmountable. it is hard now to appreciate the physical conditions of the city. it was estimated that not less than five million dollars would be required to put the streets into any decent condition. it was at first proposed to include this, sum in the bond issue that could not be escaped, but reflection assured us that so temporary a purpose was not a proper use of bond money, and we met the expenditure from the annual tax levy. we found the smallest amount required for urgent expenditure in excess of the tax levy was $ , , , and at a special election held early in the voters endorsed the proposed issue by a vote of over , to . the three largest expenditures were for an auxiliary water system for fire protection ($ , , ), for school buildings ($ , , ), and for sewers ($ , , ). i cannot follow the various steps by which order was brought out of chaos, nor can i give special acknowledgment where it is manifestly due; but i can bear testimony to the unselfishness and faithfulness of a remarkable body of public officials and to a few of the things accomplished. to correct gross evils and restore good conditions is no slight task; but to substitute the best for the worst is a great achievement. this san francisco has done in several marked instances. there was a time when about the only thing we could boast was that we spent a _less_ sum per capita than any city in the union for the care of hospital patients. i remember hearing that fine citizen, frederick dohrmann, once say, "every supervisor who has gone out of public service leaving our old county hospital standing is guilty of a municipal crime." it was a disgrace of which we were ashamed. the fire had spared the building, but the new supervisors did not. we now have one of the best hospitals in the country, admirably conducted. our city prison is equally reversed. it was our shame; it is our pride. the old almshouse was a discreditable asylum for the politician who chanced to superintend it. today our "relief home" is a model for the country. in the city was destroyed because unprotected against fire. today we are as safe as a city can be. in the meantime the reduced cost of insurance pays insured citizens a high rate of interest on the cost of our high-pressure auxiliary fire system. our streets were once noted for their poor construction and their filthy condition. recently an informed visitor has pronounced them the best to be found. we had no creditable boulevards or drives. quietly and without bond expenditure we have constructed magnificent examples. our school buildings were shabby and poor. many now are imposing and beautiful. this list could be extended; but turn for a moment to matters of manners. where are the awful corner-groceries that helped the saloons to ruin men and boys, and where are the busy nickel-in-the-slot machines and shameless smokers in the street-cars? where are the sellers of lottery tickets, where the horse-races and the open gambling? it was my fortune to be re-elected for eight years. sometimes i am impressed by how little i seem to have individually accomplished in this long period of time. one effect of experience is to modify one's expectations. it is not nearly so easy to accomplish things as one who has not tried is apt to imagine. reforming is not an easy process. inertia is something really to be overcome, and one is often surprised to find how obstinate majorities can be. initiative is a rare faculty and an average legislator must be content to follow. one can render good service sometimes by what he prevents. again, he may finally fail in some good purpose through no fault of his own, and yet win something even in losing. early in my term i was convinced that one thing that ought to be changed was our absurd liquor license. we had by far the lowest tax of any city in the union, and naturally had the largest number of saloons. i tried to have the license raised from eighty-four dollars to one thousand dollars, hoping to reduce our twenty-four hundred saloons. i almost succeeded. when i failed the liquor interest was so frightened at its narrow escape that it led the people to adopt a five-hundred-dollar substitute. i was led to undertake the correction of grave abuses and confusion in the naming of the city streets. the post-office authorities were greatly hampered in the mail delivery by the duplicate use of names. the dignified word "avenue" had been conferred on many alleys. a commission worked diligently and efficiently. one set of numbered streets was eliminated. the names of men who had figured in the history of the city were given to streets bearing their initials. anza, balboa, and cabrillo gave meaning to a, b, and c. we gave columbus an avenue, lincoln a "way," and substituted for east street the original name of the waterfront, "the embarcadero." in all we made more than four hundred changes and corrections. there were occasional humorous incidents connected with this task. there were opposition and prejudice against names offered. some one proposed a "st. francis boulevard." an apparently intelligent man asked why we wanted to perpetuate the name of "that old pirate." i asked, "who do you think we have in mind?" he replied, "i suppose you would honor sir francis drake." he seemed never to have heard of saint francis of assisi. it was predicted that the taylor administration with its excellent record would be continued, but at the end of two years it went down to defeat and the workingmen's party, with p.h. mccarthy as mayor, gained strong control. for two years, as a minority member, i enjoyed a different but interesting experience. it involved some fighting and preventive effort; but i found that if one fought fairly he was accorded consideration and opportunity. i introduced a charter amendment that seemed very desirable, and it found favor. the charter prescribed a two-year term for eighteen supervisors and their election each alternate year. under the provision it was possible to have every member without experience. by making the term four years and electing nine members every other year experience was assured, and the ballot would be half the length, a great advantage. it had seemed wise to me to allow the term of the mayor to remain two years, but the friends of mayor mccarthy were so confident of his re-election that they insisted on a four-year term. as so amended the matter went to the people and was adopted. at the following election mayor james rolph, jr., was elected for four years, two of which were an unintentional gift of his political opponents. i served for four years under the energetic rolph, and they were fruitful ones. most of the plans inaugurated by the taylor board were carried out, and materially the city made great strides. the exposition was a revelation of what was possible, and of the city hall and the civic center we may well be proud. some of my supervisorial experiences were trying and some were amusing. discussion was often relieved by rare bits of eloquence and surprising use of language. pronunciation was frequently original and unprecedented. amazing ignorance was unconcealed and the gift of gab was unrestrained. nothing quite equaled in fatal facility a progress report made by a former member soon after his debut: "we think we shall soon be able to bring chaos out of the present disorder, now existing." on one of our trips of investigation the city engineer had remarked on the watershed. one of the members later cornered him and asked "where is the watershed?" expecting to be shown a building that had escaped his attention. a pleasant episode of official duty early in rolph's term was an assignment to represent the city at a national municipal congress at los angeles. we were called upon, in connection with a study of municipal art, to make an exhibit of objects of beauty or ornament presented to the city by its citizens. we felt that san francisco had been kindly dealt with, but were surprised at the extent and variety of the gifts. enlarged sepia photographs of structures, monuments, bronzes, statuary, and memorials of all kinds were gathered and framed uniformly. there were very many, and they reflected great credit and taste. properly inscribed, they filled a large room in los angeles and attracted much attention. interest was enhanced by the cleverness of the young woman in charge. the general title of the collection was "objects of art presented by its citizens to the city of san francisco." she left a space and over a conspicuous panel printed the inscription "objects of art presented by its citizens to the city of los angeles." the panel was empty. the ordinarily proud city had nothing to show. moses at pisgah gazed upon the land he was not to enter. my pisgah was reached at the end of . my halls of service were temporary. the new city hall was not occupied until just after i had found my political moab; the pleasure of sitting in a hall which is pronounced the most beautiful in america was not for me. as i look back upon varied public service, i am not clear as to its value; but i do not regret having tried to do my part. my practical creed was never to seek and never to decline opportunity to serve. i feel that the effort to do what i was able to do hardly justified itself; but it always seemed worth trying, and i do not hold myself responsible for results. i am told that in parts of california infinitesimal diatoms form deposits five thousand feet in thickness. if we have but little to give we cannot afford not to give it. chapter viii an investment on the morning of october , , there appeared in san francisco's morning paper the following notice: religious intelligence there will be religious services (unitarian) on sunday morning next, october th, at simmons' athenaeum hall. entrance on commercial and sacramento streets. a discourse will be preached by rev. charles a. farley. san francisco at this time was a community very unlike any known to history. two years before it is said to have numbered eight hundred souls, and two years before that about two hundred. during the year , perhaps thirty thousand men had come from all over the world, of whom many went to the mines. the directory of that year contained twenty-five hundred names. by october, , the population may have been twenty thousand. they were scattered thinly over a hilly and rough peninsula, chaparral-covered but for drifting sand and with few habitable valleys. from pacific to california streets and from dupont to the bay was the beginning of the city's business. a few streets were graded and planked. clay street stretched up to stockton. to the south mountains of sand filled the present market street, and protected by them nestled happy valley, reaching from first to third streets and beyond mission. in it was a city of tents. wharves were pushing out into the bay. long wharf (commercial street) reached deep water about where drumm street now crosses it. among the motley argonauts were a goodly number of new englanders, especially from boston and maine. naturally some of them were unitarians. it seems striking that so many of them were interested in holding services. they had all left "home" within a year or so, and most of them expected to go back within two years with their respective fortunes. when it was learned that a real unitarian minister was among them, they arranged for a service. the halls of the period were west of kearny street in sacramento and california. they secured the athenaeum and gave notice in the _alta california_. it is significant that the day the notice appeared proved to be historical. the steamer "oregon" was due, and it was hoped she would bring the news of favorable action by congress on the application of california to be admitted into the union. when in the early forenoon the steamer, profusely decorated with bunting, rounded clark's point assurance was given, and by the time she landed at commercial and drumm the town was wild with excitement. [illustration: thomas starr king. san francisco, - ] eastern papers sold readily at a dollar a copy. all day and night impromptu celebrations continued. unnumbered silk hats (commonly worn by professional men and leading merchants) were demolished and champagne flowed freely. it should be remembered that thirty-nine days had elapsed since the actual admission, but none here had known it. the pilgrim yankees must have felt like going to church now that california was a part of the union and that another free state had been born. at any rate, the service conducted by rev. charles a. farley was voted a great success. one man had brought a service-book and another a hymnbook. four of the audience volunteered to lead the singing, while another played an accompaniment on the violin. after the services twenty-five men remained to talk things over, and arranged to continue services from week to week. on november , , "the first unitarian church of san francisco" was organized, captain frederick w. macondray being made the first moderator. mr. farley returned to new england in april, , and services were suspended. then occurred two very serious fires, disorganizing conditions and compelling postponement. it was more than a year before an attempt was made to call another minister. in may, , rev. joseph harrington was invited to take charge of the church. he came in august and began services under great promise in the united states district court building. a few weeks later he was taken alarmingly ill, and died on november d. it was a sad blow, but the society withstood it calmly and voted to complete the building it had begun in stockton street, near sacramento. rev. frederic t. gray, of bulfinch street chapel, boston, under a leave of absence for a year, came to california and dedicated the church on july , . this was the beginning of continuous church services. on the following sunday, pilgrim sunday-school was organized. mr. gray, a kind and gentle soul, rendered good service in organizing the activities of the church. he was succeeded by rev. rufus p. cutler, of portland, maine, a refined, scholarly man, who served for nearly five years. he resigned and sailed for new york in june, . during his term the sunday-school prospered under the charge of samuel l. lloyd. rev. j.a. buckingham filled the pulpit for ten months preceding april , , when thomas starr king arrived. the next day mr. king faced a congregation that crowded the church to overflowing and won the warm and enthusiastic regard of all, including many new adherents. with a winning personality, eloquent and brilliant, he was extraordinarily attractive as a preacher and as a man. he had great gifts and he was profoundly in earnest--a kindly, friendly, loving soul. in i planned to pass through the city on sunday with the possibility of hearing him. the church was crowded. i missed no word of his wonderful voice. he looked almost boyish, but his eyes and his bearing proclaimed him a man, and his word was thrilling. i heard him twice and went to my distant home with a blessed memory and an enlarged ideal of the power of a preacher. few who heard him still survive, but a woman of ninety-three years who loves him well vividly recalls his second service that led to a friendship that lasted all his life. in his first year he accomplished wonders for the church. he had felt on coming that in a year he should return to his devoted people in the hollis street church of boston. but when fort sumter was fired upon he saw clearly his appointed place. he threw himself into the struggle to hold california in the union. he lectured and preached everywhere, stimulating patriotism and loyalty. he became a great national leader and the most influential person on the pacific coast. he turned california from a doubtful state to one of solid loyalty. secession defeated, he accomplished wonders for the sanitary commission. a large part of he gave to the building of the beautiful church in geary street near stockton. it was dedicated in january, . he preached in it but seven sundays, when he was attacked with a malady which in these days is not considered serious but from which he died on march th, confirming a premonition that he would not live to the age of forty. he was very deeply mourned. it was regarded a calamity to the entire community. to the church and the denomination the loss seemed irreparable. to dr. henry w. bellows, of new york, the acknowledged unitarian leader, was entrusted the selection of the one to fill the vacant pulpit. he knew the available men and did not hesitate. he notified horatio stebbins, of portland, maine, that he was called by the great disaster to give up the parish he loved and was satisfied to serve and take the post of the fallen leader on the distant shore. dr. bellows at once came to san francisco to comfort the bereaved church and to prepare the way for mr. stebbins, who in the meantime went to new york to minister to dr. bellows' people in his absence. it was during the brief and brilliant ministry of dr. bellows that good fortune brought me to san francisco. dr. bellows was a most attractive preacher, persuasive and eloquent. his word and his manner were so far in advance of anything to which i was accustomed that they came as a revelation of power and beauty. i was entranced, and a new world of thought and feeling opened before me. life itself took on a new meaning, and i realized the privilege offered in such a church home. i joined without delay, and my connection has been uninterrupted from that day to this. for over fifty-seven years i have missed few opportunities to profit by its services. i speak of it not in any spirit of boasting, but in profound gratitude. physical disability and absence from the city have both been rare. in the absence of reasons i have never felt like offering excuses. early in september, horatio stebbins and family arrived from new york, and dr. bellows returned to his own church. the installation of the successor of starr king was an impressive event. the church building that had been erected by and for king was a beautiful and commodious building, but it would not hold all the people that sought to attend the installation of the daring man who came to take up the great work laid down by the preacher-patriot. he was well received, and a feeling of relief was manifest. the church was still in strong hands and the traditions would be maintained. on september th dr. stebbins stood modestly but resolutely in the pulpit so sanctified by the memory of king. few men have faced sharper trials and met them with more serenity and apparent lack of consciousness. it was not because of self-confidence or of failure to recognize what was before him. he knew very well what was implied in following such a man as starr king, but he was so little concerned with anything so comparatively unimportant as self-interest or so unessential as personal success that he was unruffled and calm. he indulged in no illusion of filling mr. king's place. he stood on his own feet to make his own place, and to do his own work in his own way, with such results as came, and he was undisturbed. toward the end of his life he spoke of always having preached from the level of his own mind. it was always true of him. he never strained for effect, or seemed unduly concerned for results. in one of his prayers he expresses his deep philosophy of life: "help us, each one in his place, in the place which is providentially allotted to us in life, to act well our part, with consecrated will, with pure affection, with simplicity of heart--to do our duty, and to leave the rest to god." it was wholly in that spirit that dr. stebbins took up the succession of thomas starr king. personally, i was very glad to renew my early admiration for mr. stebbins, who had chosen his first parish at fitchburg, adjoining my native town, and had always attracted me when he came to exchange with our minister. he was a strong, original, manly character, with great endowments of mind and heart. he was to enjoy a remarkable ministry of over thirty-five years and endear himself to all who knew him. he was a great preacher and a great man. he inspired confidence, and was broad and generous. he served the community as well as his church, being especially influential in promoting the interests of education. he was a kindly and helpful man, and he was not burdened by his large duties and responsibilities, he was never hurried or harassed. he steadily pursued his placid way and built up a really great influence. he was, above all else, an inspirer of steadfast faith. with a great capacity for friendship, he was very generous in it, and was indulgent in judgment of those he liked. i was a raw and ignorant young man, but he opened his great heart to me and treated me like an equal. twenty years difference in years seemed no barrier. he was fond of companionship in his travels, and i often accompanied him as he was called up and down the coast. in i went to the boston may meeting in his company and found delight in both him and it. he was a good traveler, enjoying the change of scene and the contact with all sorts of people. he was courteous and friendly with strangers, meeting them on their own ground with sympathy and understanding. in his own home he was especially happy, and it was a great privilege to share his table-talk and hospitality, for he had a great fund of kindly humor and his speech was bright with homely metaphor and apt allusions. not only was he a great preacher, he was a leader, an inspirer, and a provoker of good. what it meant to fall under the influence of such a man cannot be told. supplementing the blessing was the association with a number of the best of men among the church adherents. hardly second to the great and unearned friendship of dr. stebbins was that of horace davis, ten years my senior, and very close to dr. stebbins in every way. he had been connected with the church almost from the first and was a firm friend of starr king. like dr. stebbins, he was a graduate of harvard. scholarly, and also able in business, he typified sound judgment and common sense, was conservative by nature, but fresh and vigorous of mind. he was active in the sunday-school. we also were associated in club life and as fellow directors of the lick school. our friendship was uninterrupted for more than fifty years. i had great regard for mrs. davis and many happy hours were passed in their home. her interpretation of beethoven was in my experience unequaled. it is impossible even to mention the many men of character and conscience who were a helpful influence to me in my happy church life. captain levi stevens was very good to me; c. adolphe low was one of the best men i ever knew; i had unbounded respect for horatio frost; dr. henry gibbons was very dear to me; and charles r. bishop i could not but love. these few represent a host of noble associates. i would i could mention more of them. [illustration: horatio stebbins. san francisco, - ] we all greatly enjoyed the meetings of a shakespeare club that was sustained for more than twelve consecutive years among congenial friends in the church. we read half a play every other week, devoting the latter part of the evening to impromptu charades, in which we were utterly regardless of dignity and became quite expert. at our annual picnics we joined in the enjoyment of the children. i recall my surprise and chagrin at having challenged mr. davis to a footrace at belmont one year, giving him distance as an age handicap, and finding that i had overestimated the advantage of ten years difference. in we established the unitarian club of california. mr. davis was the first president. for seventeen years it was vigorous and prosperous. we enjoyed a good waiting-list and twice raised the limit of membership numbers. it was then the only forum in the city for the discussion of subjects of public interest. many distinguished visitors were entertained. booker t. washington was greeted by a large audience and so were susan b. anthony and anna h. shaw. as time passed, other organizations afforded opportunity for discussion, and numerous less formal church clubs accomplished its purpose in a simpler manner. a feature of strength in our church has been the william and alice hinckley fund, established in by the will of captain william c. hinckley, under the counsel and advice of dr. stebbins. his wife had died, he had no children, and he wanted his property to be helpful to others. he appointed the then church trustees his executors and the trustees of an endowment to promote human beneficence and charity, especially commending the aged and lonely and the interests of education and religion. shortly after coming to san francisco, in , he had bought a lot in bush street for sixty dollars. at the time of his death it was under lease to the california theater company at a ground rent of a thousand dollars a month. after long litigation, the will was sustained as to $ , , the full proportion of his estate allowed for charity. i have served as secretary of the trust fund for forty years. i am also surviving trustee for a library fund of $ , and another charity fund of $ . these three funds have earned in interest more than $ , . we have disbursed for the purposes indicated $ , , and have now on hand as capital more than $ , , the interest on which we disburse annually. it has been my fortune to outlive the eight trustees appointed with me, and, also, eight since appointed to fill vacancies caused by death or removal. we worshiped in the geary and stockton church for more than twenty-three years, and then concluded it was time to move from a business district to a residential section. we sold the building with the lot that had cost $ , for $ , , and at the corner of franklin and geary streets built a fine church, costing, lot included, $ , . during construction we met in the synagogue emanu-el, and the sunday-school was hospitably entertained in the first congregational church, which circumstances indicate the friendly relations maintained by our minister, who never arraigned or engaged in controversy with any other household of faith. in the new church was dedicated, dr. hedge writing a fine hymn for the occasion. dr. stebbins generally enjoyed robust health, but in he was admonished that he must lay down the work he loved so well. in september of that year, at his own request, he was relieved from active service and elected minister emeritus. subsequently his health improved, and frequently he was able to preach; but in , with his family, he returned to new england, where he lived with a good degree of comfort at cambridge, near his children, occasionally preaching, but gradually failing in health. he suffered severely at the last, and found final release on april , . of the later history of the church i need say little. recollections root in the remote. for thirteen years we were served by rev. bradford leavitt, and for the past eight rev. caleb s.s. dutton has been our leader. the noble traditions of the past have been followed and the place in the community has been fully maintained. the church has been a steady and powerful influence for good, and many a life has been quickened, strengthened, and made more abundant through its ministry. to me it has been a never-failing source of satisfaction and happiness. i would also bear brief testimony to the sunday-school. all my life i had attended sunday-school,--the best available. i remember well the school in leominster and the stories told by deacon cotton and others. i remember nay teacher in boston. coming to california i took what i could get, first the little methodist gathering and then the more respectable presbyterian. when in early manhood i came to san francisco i entered the bible-class at once. the school was large and vigorous. the attendance was around four hundred. lloyd baldwin, an able lawyer, was my first teacher, and a good one, but very soon i was induced to take a class of small boys. they were very bright and too quick for a youth from the country. one sunday we chanced to have as a lesson the healing of the daughter of jairus. in the gospel account the final word was the injunction: "jesus charged them that they tell no man." in all innocence i asked the somewhat leading question: "what did jesus charge them?" quick as a flash one of the boys answered, "he didn't charge them a cent." it was so pat and so unexpected that i could not protest at the levity. in the sunday-school library i met charles w. wendte, then a clerk in the bank of california. he had been befriended and inspired by starr king and soon turned from business and studied for the ministry. he is now a d.d. and has a long record of valuable service. in j.c.a. hill became superintendent of the school and appointed me his assistant. four years later he returned to new hampshire, much to our regret, and i succeeded him. with the exception of the two years that rev. william g. eliot, jr., was assistant to dr. stebbins, and took charge of the school, i served until . very many pleasant memories cluster around my connection with the sunday-school. the friendships made have been enduring. the beautiful young lives lured me on in service that never grew monotonous, and i have been paid over and over again for all i ever gave. it is a great satisfaction to feel that five of our nine church trustees are graduates of the sunday-school. i attended my first christmas festival of the sunday-school in platt's hall in , and i have never missed one since. fifty-seven consecutive celebrations incidentally testify to unbroken health. in looking back on what i have gained from the church, i am impressed with the fact that the association with the fine men and women attending it has been a very important part of my life. good friends are of untold value, and inspiration is not confined to the spoken words of the minister. especially am i impressed with the stream of community helpfulness that has flowed steadily from our church all these years. i wish i dared to refer to individual instances--but they are too many. finally, i must content myself with acknowledgment of great obligation for all i have profited from and enjoyed in church affiliation. i cannot conceive how any man can afford not to avail himself of the privilege of standing by some church. as an investment i am assured that nothing pays better and surer interest. returns are liberal, dividends are never passed, and capital never depreciates. chapter ix by-product in the conduct of life we select, or have assigned, certain measures of activity upon which we rely for our support and the self-respect that follows the doing of our part. this we call our business, and if we are wise we attend to it and prosecute it with due diligence and application. but it is not all of life, and its claim is not the only call that is made upon us. exclusive interest and devotion to it may end in the sort of success that robs us of the highest value, so that, however much substance we accumulate, we are failures as men. on the other hand, we take risks if we slight its just demands and scatter our powers on miscellaneous interests. whatever its value, every man, in addition to what he primarily produces, turns out some by-product. if it is worth anything, he may be thankful and add the amount to total income. the extracts of which this chapter is composed are selections from the editorial columns of _the pacific unitarian_, submitted not as exhibits in the case of achievement, but as indicating the convictions i have formed on the way of life. the beginning thirty years ago, a fairly active sunday-school was instigated to publish a monthly journal, nominally for all the organizations of the first unitarian society. it was not expected to be of great benefit, except to the school. after a year and a half it was adopted by the conference, its modest name, _the guidon_, being expanded to _the pacific unitarian_. its number of pages was increased to thirty-two. probably the most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that it has lived. the fact that it has enjoyed the opportunity of choice between life and death is quite surprising. other journals have had to die. it has never been easy to live, or absolutely necessary to die. anyhow, we have the thirty years of life to look back upon and take satisfaction in. we are grateful for friends far and near, and generous commendation has been pleasant to receive, whether it has been justified or not. christianity we realize more and more truly that christianity in its spirit is a very different thing from christianity as a theological structure formulated by the makers of the creed. the amazing thing is that such a misconception of the message of jesus as has generally prevailed has given us a civilization so creditable. the early councils were incapable of being led by the spirit of jesus. they were prejudiced by their preconceptions of the character of god and the nature of religion, and evolved a scheme of salvation to fit past conceptions instead of accepting as real the love of god and of man that jesus added to the religion of his fathers. even the christianity they fashioned has not been fairly tried. the christianity that jesus proclaimed, a call to trust, to love, and spiritual life, has hardly been tried at all. we seem just to be awakening to what it is, and to its application to the art of living. the prodigal's father what a difference in the thought of god and in the joy of life would have followed had the hearers of jesus given the parable of the prodigal son its full significance! they would then have found in the happy, loving father and his full forgiveness of the son who "came to himself" a type of the heavenly father. the shadow of the olden fear still persists, chilling human life. we do not trust the love of god and bear life's burdens with cheerful courage. from lurking fear of the jealous king of hebrew tradition, we are even afraid to be happy when we might. we fail of faith in the reality of god's love. we forget the robe, the ring, the overflowing joy of the earthly father, not earned by the prodigal, but given from complete love. the thing best worth while is faith in the love of god. if it be lacking, perhaps the best way to gain it is to assume it--to act on the basis of its existence, putting aside our doubts, and giving whatever love we have in our own hearts a chance to strengthen. whitsuntide whitsuntide is a church season that too often fails to receive due acknowledgment or recognition. it is, in observance, a poor third. christmas is largely diverted to a giving of superfluous gifts, and is popular from the wide-felt interest in the happiness of children. easter we can not forget, for it celebrates the rising or the risen life, and is marked by the fresh beauty of a beautiful world. to appreciate the pentecostal season and to care for spiritual inspiration appeals to the few, and to those few on a higher plane. but of all that religion has to give, it represents the highest gift, and it has to do with the world's greatest need. spiritual life is the most precious of possessions, the highest attainment of humanity. happy are we if our better spirit be quickened, if our hearts be lifted up, and our wills be strengthened, that worthy life may bring peace and joy! why the church? we cannot deny the truth that the things of the spirit are of first importance; but when it comes to living we seem to belie our convictions. we live as though we thought the spirit a doubtful matter. there are those who take pride in calling themselves materialists, but they are hardly as hopeless as those who are so indifferent that they have no opinion whatever. the man who thinks and cares is quite apt to come out right, but the mindless animal who only enjoys develops no recognizable soul. the seeking first is not in derogation of any true manhood. it is the full life, the whole life, that we are to compass--but life subordinated and controlled by the spirit, the spirit that recognizes the distinction between right and wrong. those who choose the right and bend all else to it, are of the kingdom. that is all that righteousness means. the church has no monopoly of righteousness, but it is of immense importance in cultivating the religious spirit, and cannot safely be dispensed with. and so it must be strongly supported and made efficient. to those who know true values this is an investment that cannot safely be ignored. to it we should give generously of our money, but equally generously we should give ourselves--our presence, our co-operation, our loyal support of our leaders, our constant effort to hold it to high ideals. if it is to give life, it must have life, and whatever life it has is the aggregation of our collected and consecrated lives. the church called christian cannot win by holding its old trenches. it must advance to the line that stretches from our little fortress where the flag of reason and religion defiantly floats. shall we retreat? no; it is for us to hold the fort at all costs, not for our sake alone, but for the army of humanity. we believe in god and we believe in man. as president eliot lately put it, "we believe in the principles of a simple, practical, and democratic religion. we are meeting ignorance, not with contempt, but with knowledge. we are meeting dogmatism and superstition, not with impatience, but with truth. we are meeting sin and injustice, not with abuse, but with good-will and high idealism. we have the right message for our time." to the church that seems to us to most nearly realize these ideals, it is our bounden duty, and should be our glad privilege, to present ourselves a reasonable sacrifice, that we may do our part in bringing in god's kingdom. the church and progress reforms depend upon reformed men. perhaps the greater need is _formed_ men. as we survey the majority of men around us, they seem largely unconscious of what they really are and of the privileges and responsibilities that appertain to manhood. it must be that men are better, and more, than they seem. visit a baseball game or a movie. the crowds seem wholly irresponsible, and, except in the pleasure or excitement sought, utterly uninterested--apparently without principle or purpose. and yet, when called upon to serve their country, men will go to the ends of the world, and place no limit on the sacrifice freely made for the general good. they are better than they seem, and in ways we know not of possess a sense of justice and a love of right which they found we know not where. this is encouraging, but must not relieve us from doing our utmost to inform more fully every son of man of his great opportunity and responsibility, and also of inspiring him to use his life to his and our best advantage. it is so evident that world-welfare rests upon individual well-being that we cannot escape the conviction that the best thing any one of us can do is to help to make our fellow-men better and happier. and the part of wisdom is to organize for the power we gain. it would seem that the church should be the most effective agency for promoting individual worth and consequent happiness. is it?--and if not, why not? we are apt to say we live in a new age, forgetting how little change of form matters. human nature, with its instincts and desires, love of self, and the general enjoyment of, and through, possessions, is so little changed that differences in condition and circumstance have only a modifying influence. it is man, the man within, that counts--not his clothing. but it is true that human institutions do undergo great changes, and nothing intimate and important has suffered greater changes than the church. religion itself, vastly more important than the church, has changed and is changing. martineau's illuminating classification helps us to realize this. the first expression, the pagan, was based on fear and the idea of winning favor by purchase, giving something to god--it might be burnt-offerings--for his good-will. then came the jewish, the ethical, the thought of doing, rather than giving. righteousness earns god's favor. the higher conception blossomed into christianity with its trust in the love of god and of serving him and fellow-man, self-sacrifice being the highest expression of harmony with him. following this general advance from giving and doing to being, we have the altar, the temple, and the church. the genuine unitarian unitarians owe first allegiance to the kingdom of god on earth. it is of little consequence through which door it is entered. if any other is nearer or broader or more attractive, use it. we offer ours for those who prefer it or who find others not to be entered without a password they cannot pronounce. a unitarian who merely says he is one thereby gives no satisfactory evidence that he is. there are individuals who seem to think they are unitarians because they are nothing else. they regard unitarianism as the next to nothing in its requirement of belief, losing all sight of the fact that even one real belief exceeds, and may be more difficult than, many half-beliefs and hundreds of make-beliefs, and that a unitarian church made up of those who have discarded all they thought they believed and became unitarian for its bald negations is to be pitied and must be patiently nurtured. as regards our responsibility for the growth of unitarianism, we surely cannot fail to recognize it, but it should be clearly qualified by our recognition of the object in view. to regard unitarianism as an end to be pursued for its own sake does not seem compatible with its own true spirit. the church itself is an instrument, and we are in right relation when we give the unitarian church our preference, as, to us, the best instrument, while we hold first allegiance to the idealism for which it stands and to the goodness it seeks to unfold in the heart of man. nor would we seek growth at any sacrifice of high quality or purpose. we do not expect large numbers and great popular applause. unitarians are pioneers, and too independent and discriminating to stir the feverish pulse of the multitude. we seek the heights, and it is our concern to reach them and hold them for the few that struggle up. loaves and fishes we have not to offer, nor can we promise wealth and health as an attractive by-product of righteousness. there is no better service that anyone can render than to implant higher ideals in the breast of another. in the matter of religious education as sought through the ordinary sunday-school, no one who has had any practical experience has ever found it easy, or kept free from doubt as to its being sufficiently efficacious to make it worth while. but the problem is to recognize the difficulty, face all doubts, and stand by. perfect teachers are impossible, satisfactory ones are not always to be had. if they are not dissatisfied with themselves, they are almost always unfit. but as between doing the best you can and doing nothing at all, it would seem that self-respect and a sense of deep responsibility would leave no recourse. there is no place for a shirker or a quitter in a real unitarian church. have we done our work? now and then some indifferent unitarian expresses doubt as to the future value of our particular church. there are those who say, "why should we keep it up? have we not done our work?" we have seen our original protests largely effective, and rejoice that more liberal and generous, and, we believe, more just and true, religious convictions prevail; but have we been constructive and strengthening? and until we have made our own churches fully free and fruitful in spiritual life are we absolved from the call to service? have we earned our discharge from the army of life? shall we be deserters or slackers! we ask no man to fight with us if his loyalty to any other corps is stronger, but to fight _somewhere_--to do his part for god and his fellow-men wherever he can do the most effective service. we are not unitarians first. we are not even christians first. we are human first, seeking the best in humanity, in our appointed place in a civilization that finds its greatest inspiration in the leadership of jesus of nazareth, we are next christians, and we are finally unitarians because for us their point of view embodies most truly the spirit that animated his teachings and his life. and so we appeal to those who really, not nominally, are of our household of faith to feel that it is best worth while to stand by the nearest church and to support it generously, that it may do its part in soul service and world welfare, and also to encourage it and give it more abundant life through attendance and participation in its activities. of first importance it is well for each soul, in the multiplicity of questions besetting him, to deliberately face them and determine what is of first importance. aspects are so diverse and bewildering that if we do not reduce them to some order, giving them rank, we are in danger of becoming purposeless drifters on the sea of life. what is the most important thing in life? what shall be our aim and purpose, as we look about us, observing our fellows--what they have accomplished and what they are--what commends itself to us as best worth while? and what course can we pursue to get the most and the best out of it? we find a world of infinite diversity in conditions, in aims, and in results. one of the most striking differences is in regard to what we call success. we are prone to conclude that he who is prosperous in the matter of having is the successful man. possessing is the proof of efficiency, and he who possesses little has measurably failed in the main object of life. this conclusion has a measure of truth, but is not wholly true. we see not a few instances of utter poverty of life concurrent with great possessions, and are forced to conclude that the real value of possessions is dependent on what they bring us. merely to have is of no advantage. indeed it may be a burden or a curse. happiness is at least desirable, but it has no necessary connection with property accumulations. they may make it possible, but they never insure it. possession may be an incident, but seldom is a cause. if we follow this thought further we shall find that in the accepted methods of accumulation arise many of the causes of current misery and unhappiness. generally he who is said to succeed pays a price, and a large one, for the prosperity he achieves. to be conspicuously successful commonly involves a degree of selfishness that is almost surely damaging. often injustice and unfairness are added to the train of factors, and dishonesty and absence of decency give the finishing touch. every dollar tinged with doubt is a moral liability. if it has been wrested from its rightful owner through fraud or force of opportunity, it would better be at the bottom of the sea. the best in life the power and practical irresponsibility of money have ruined many a man, and the misuse of wealth has left unused immense opportunity for good. it has coined a word that has become abhorrent, and "capitalism" has, in the minds of the suspicious, become the all-sufficient cause of everything deplorable in human conditions. no true-hearted observer can conclude that the first consideration of life should be wealth. on the other hand, no right-minded person will ignore the desirability and the duty of judiciously providing the means for a reasonable degree of comfort and self-respect, with a surplus for the furtherance of human welfare in general, and the relief of misfortune and suffering. thrift is a virtue; greed is a vice. reasonable possession is a commendable and necessary object. the unrestrained avarice that today is making cowards of us all is an unmeasured curse, a world-wide disgrace that threatens civilization. in considering ends of life we cannot ignore those who consider happiness as adequate. perhaps there are few who formulate this, but there are many who seem to give it practical assent. they apparently conform their lives to this butterfly estimate, and, in the absence of any other purpose, rest satisfied. happiness is indeed a desirable condition, and in the highest sense, where it borders on blessedness, may be fairly termed "the end and aim of being." but on the lower stretches of the senses, where it becomes mere enjoyment or pleasure, largely concerned with amusement and self-indulgence of various sorts, it becomes parasitic, robbing life of its strength and flavor and preventing its development and full growth. it is insidious in its deterioration and omnivorous in its appetite. it tends to habits that undermine and to the appropriation of a preponderating share of the valueless things of life. the danger is in the unrestrained appetite, in intemperance that becomes habit. pleasure is exhausting of both purse and mind. we naturally crave pleasant experiences, and we need a certain amount of relaxation. the danger is in overindulgence and indigestion resulting in spiritual invalidism. let us take life sanely, accepting pleasures gratefully but moderately. but what _is_ best in life? why, life itself. life is opportunity. here it is, around us, offered to us. we are free to take what we can or what we like. we have the great privilege of choice, and life's ministry to us depends on what we take and what we leave. we are providentially assigned our place, whatever it is, but in no fixed sense of its being final and unalterable. the only obligation implied is that of acceptance until it can be bettered. our moral responsibility is limited to our opportunity, and the vital question is the use we make of it. the great fact of life is that we are spiritual beings. religion has to do with soul existence and is the field of its development. it is concerned primarily with being and secondly with doing. it is righteousness inspired by love. it is recognition of our responsibilities to do god's will. hence the best life is that which accepts life as opportunity, and faithfully, happily seeks to make the most of it. it seeks to follow the right, and to do the best it can, in any circumstances. it accepts all that life offers, enjoying in moderation its varied gifts, but in restraint of self-indulgence, and with kindly consideration of others. it subordinates its impulses to the apprehended will of god, bears trials with fortitude, and trusts eternal good. overcoming obstacles one of the most impressive sights in the natural world is the difficulties resisted and overcome by a tree in its struggle for life. on the very summit of the sentinel dome, over eight thousand feet above sea-level, there is rooted in the apparently solid granite a lone pine two feet in diameter. it is not tall, for its struggle with the wind and snow has checked its aspirations, but it is sturdy and vigorous, while the wonder is that it ever established and maintained life at all. where it gains its nourishment is not apparent. disintegrated granite seems a hard diet, but it suffices, for the determined tree makes the best of the opportunities offered. like examples abound wherever a crevice holds any soil whatever. in a niche of el capitan, more than a thousand feet from the valley's floor, grows a tree a hundred feet high. a strong glass shows a single tree on the crest of half dome. such persistence is significant, and it enforces a lesson we very much need. reason should not be behind instinct in making the most of life. while man is less rigidly conditioned and may modify his environment, he, too, may nourish his life by using to the full whatever nutriment is offered. lincoln has been characterized as a man who made the most of his life. perhaps his greatness consisted mostly in that. we are inclined to blame conditions and circumstances for failures that result from our lack of effort. we lack in persistence, we resent disparity in the distribution of talents, we blink at responsibility, and are slothful and trifling. our life is a failure from lack of will. who are we that we should complain that life is hard, or conclude that it is not better so? why do we covet other opportunities instead of doing the best with those we have? what is the glory of life but to accept it with such satisfaction as we can command, to enjoy what we have a right to, and to use all it offers for its upbuilding and fulfillment? being right how evident it is that much more than good intentions is needed in one who would either maintain self-respect or be of any use in his daily life! it is not easy to be good, but it is often less easy to be right. it involves an understanding that presupposes both ability and effort. intelligence, thinking, often studious consideration, are necessary to give a working hypothesis of what is best. it is seldom that anything is so simple that without careful thought we can be sure that one course is right and another wrong. perhaps, after we have weighed all that is ponderable, we can only determine which seems the better course of action. being good may help our judgment. doing right is the will of god. patriotism "let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it." abraham lincoln had a marvelous aptitude for condensed statement, and in this compact sentence from his cooper union address expresses the very essence of the appeal that is made to us today. we can find no more fundamental slogan and no nobler one. whatever the circumstances presented and whatever the immediate result will be, we are to dare to do our duty as we understand it. and we are so to dare and so to do in complete faith that right makes might and in utter disregard of fear that might may triumph. the only basis of true courage is faith, and our trust must be in right, in good, in god. we live in a republic that sustains itself through the acceptance by all of the will of the majority, and to talk of despotism whenever the authority necessary for efficiency is exercised, and that with practically unanimous concurrence, is wholly unreasonable. a man who cannot yield allegiance to the country in which he lives should either be silent and inactive or go to some country where his sympathy corresponds with his loyalty. chapter x concerning persons as years increase we more and more value the personal and individual element in human life. character becomes the transcendent interest and friends are our chief assets. as i approach the end of my story of memories i feel that the most interesting feature of life has been the personal. i wish i had given more space to the people i have known. fortune has favored me with friends worth mentioning and of acquaintances, some of whom i must introduce. of horatio stebbins, the best friend and strongest influence of my life, i have tried to express my regard in a little book about to be published by the houghton mifflin company of boston. it will be procurable from our san francisco unitarian headquarters. that those who may not see it may know something of my feeling, i reprint a part of an editorial written when he died. horatio stebbins the thoughts that cluster around the memory of horatio stebbins so fill the mind that nothing else can be considered until some expression is made of them, and yet the impossibility of any adequate statement is so evident that it seems hopeless to begin. the event of his death was not unexpected. it has been imminent and threatening for years. his feebleness and the intense suffering of his later days relieve the grief that must be felt, and there springs by its side gratitude that rest and peace have come to him. and yet to those who loved him the world seems not quite the same since he has gone from it. there is an underlying feeling of something missing, of loss not to be overcome, that must be borne to the end. in my early boyhood horatio stebbins was "the preacher from fitchburg"--original in manner and matter, and impressive even to a boy. ten years passed, and our paths met in san francisco. from the day he first stood in the historic pulpit as successor of that gifted preacher and patriot, starr king, till his removal to cambridge, few opportunities for hearing him were neglected by me. his influence was a great blessing, association with him a delight, his example an inspiration, and his love the richest of undeserved treasures. dr. stebbins was ever the kindliest of men, and his friendliness and consideration were not confined to his social equals. without condescension, he always had a kind word for the humblest people. he was as gentlemanly and courteous to a hackdriver as he would be to a college president. none ever heard him speak severely or impatiently to a servant. he was considerate by nature, and patient from very largeness. he never harbored an injury, and by his generosity and apparent obliviousness or forgetfulness of the unpleasant past he often put to shame those who had wronged him. he was at times stern, and was always fearless in uttering what he felt to be the truth, whether it was to meet with favor or with disapproval from his hearers. as a friend he was loyalty itself, and for the slightest service he was deeply appreciative and grateful. he was the most charitable of men, and was not ashamed to admit that he had often been imposed upon. of his rank as a thinker and a preacher i am not a qualified judge, but he surely was great of heart and strong of mind. he was a man of profound faith, and deeply religious in a strong, manly way. he inspired others by his trust and his unquestioned belief in the reality of spiritual things. he never did anything for effect; his words fell from his lips in tones of wonderful beauty to express the thought and feeling that glowed within. noble man, great preacher, loving friend! thou art not dead, but translated to that higher life of which no doubt ever entered thy trusting mind! horace davis horace davis was born in worcester, massachusetts, on march , . his father was john davis, who served as governor of massachusetts and as united states senator. his mother was the daughter of rev. aaron bancroft, one of the pioneers of the unitarian ministry. horace davis graduated at harvard in the class of . he began the study of the law, but his eyes failed, and in he came to california to seek his fortune. he first tried the mines, starting a store at shaw's flat. when the venture failed he came to san francisco and sought any employment to be found. he began by piling lumber, but when his cousin, isaac davis, found him at it he put him aboard one of his coasting schooners as supercargo. being faithful and capable, he was sought by the pacific mail steamship company, and was for several years a good purser. he and his brother george had loaned their savings to a miller, and were forced to take over the property. mr. davis become the accepted authority on wheat and the production of flour, and enjoyed more than forty years of leadership in the business which he accidentally entered. he was always a public-spirited citizen, and in was elected to congress, serving for two terms. he proved too independent and unmanageable for the political leaders of the time and was allowed to return to private life. in he was urged to accept the presidency of the university of california, and for three years he discharged the duties of the office with credit. his interest in education was always great, and he entered with ardor and intelligence into the discharge of his duties as a trustee of the school of mechanical arts established by the will of james lick. as president of the board, he guided its course, and was responsible for the large plan for co-operation and co-ordination by which, with the wilmerding school and the lux school (of which he was also a leading trustee), a really great endowed industrial school under one administrative management has been built up in san francisco. a large part of his energy was devoted to this end, and it became the strongest desire of his life to see it firmly established. he also served for many years as a trustee for stanford university, and for a time was president of the board. to the day of his death (in july, ) he was active in the affairs of stanford, and was also deeply interested in the university of california. the degree of ll.d. was conferred by the university of the pacific, by harvard, and by the university of california. from his earliest residence in san francisco he was a loyal and devoted supporter of the first unitarian church and of its sunday-school. for over sixty years he had charge of the bible-class, and his influence for spiritual and practical christianity has been very great. he gave himself unsparingly for the cause of religious education, and never failed to prepare himself for his weekly ministration. for eight years he served on the board of trustees of the church and for seven years was moderator of the board. under the will of captain hinckley he was made a trustee of the william and alice hinckley fund, and for thirty-seven years took an active interest in its administration. at the time of his death he was its president. he was deeply interested in the pacific unitarian school for the ministry, and contributed munificently to its foundation and maintenance. mr. davis preserved his youth by the breadth of his sympathies. he seemed to have something in common with everyone he met; was young with the young. in his talks to college classes he was always happy, with a simplicity and directness that attracted close attention, and a sense of humor that lighted up his address. his domestic life was very happy. his first wife, the daughter of captain macondray, for many years an invalid, died in . in he married edith king, the only daughter of thomas starr king, a woman of rare personal gifts, who devoted her life to his welfare and happiness. she died suddenly in . mr. davis, left alone, went steadily on. his books were his constant companions and his friends were always welcome. he would not own that he was lonely. he kept occupied; he had his round of duties, attending to his affairs, and the administration of various benevolent trusts, and he had a large capacity for simple enjoyments. he read good books; he was hospitably inclined; he kept in touch with his old associates; he liked to meet them at luncheon at the university club or at the monthly dinner of the chit-chat club, which he had seldom missed in thirty-nine years of membership. he was punctilious in the preparation of his biennial papers, always giving something of interest and value. his intellectual interest was wide. he was a close student of shakespeare, and years ago printed a modest volume on the sonnets. he also published a fine study of the ministry of jesus, and a discriminating review of the american constitutions. mr. davis was a man of profound religious feeling. he said little of it, but it was a large part of his life. on his desk was a volume of dr. stebbins' prayers, the daily use of which had led to the reading again and again of the book he very deeply cherished. he was the most loyal of friends--patient, appreciative beyond deserts, kindly, and just. the influence for good of such a man is incalculable. one who makes no pretense of virtue, but simply lives uprightly as a matter of course, who is genuine and sound, who does nothing for effect, who shows simple tastes, and is not greedy for possessions, but who looks out for himself and his belongings in a prudent, self-respecting way, who takes what comes without complaint, who believes in the good and shows it by his daily course, who is never violent and desperate, but calmly tries to do his part to make his fellows happier and the world better, who trusts in god and cheerfully bears the trials that come, who holds on to life and its opportunities, without repining if he be left to walk alone, and who faces death with the confidence of a child who trusts in a father's love and care--such a man is blessed himself and is a blessing to his fellow-men. a memory of emerson in ralph waldo emerson visited california. he was accompanied by his daughter ellen, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the new scenes and new experiences. he visited the yosemite valley and other points of interest, and was persuaded to deliver a number of lectures. his first appearance before a california audience was at the unitarian church, then in geary street near stockton, on a sunday evening, when he read his remarkable essay on "immortality," wherein he spoke of people who talk of eternity and yet do not know what to do with a day. the church was completely filled and the interest to hear him seemed so great that it was determined to secure some week-day lectures if possible. in company with horace davis, who enjoyed his acquaintance, i called on him at the occidental hotel. he was the most approachable of men--as simple and kindly in his manner as could be imagined, and putting one at ease with that happy faculty which only a true gentleman possesses. [illustration: horace davis--fifty years a friend] [illustration: harvard university when he entered] his features are familiar from the many published pictures, but no one who had not met his smiling eyes can realize the charm of his personality. his talk was delightfully genial. i asked him if his journey had been wearisome. "not at all," he replied; "i have enjoyed it all." the scenery seemed to have impressed him deeply. "when one crosses your mountains," he said, "and sees their wonderful arches, one discovers how architecture came to be invented." when asked if he could favor us with some lectures, he smiled and said: "well, my daughter thought you might want something of that kind, and put a few in my trunk, in case of an emergency." when it came to dates, it was found that he was to leave the next day for a short trip to the geysers, and it was difficult to arrange the course of three, which had been fixed upon, after his return. it was about eleven o'clock when we called. i asked him if he could give us one of the lectures that evening. he smiled and said, "oh, yes," adding, "i don't know what you can do here, but in boston we could not expect to get an audience on such short notice." we assured him that we felt confident in taking the chances on that. going at once to the office of the _evening bulletin,_ we arranged for a good local notice, and soon had a number of small boys distributing announcements in the business streets. the audience was a good one in point of numbers, and a pleased and interested one. his peculiar manner of reading a few pages, and then shuffling his papers, as though they were inextricably mixed, was embarrassing at first, but when it was found that he was not disturbed by it, and that it was not the result of an accident, but a characteristic manner of delivery, the audience withheld its sympathy and rather enjoyed the novelty and the feeling of uncertainty as to what would come next. one little incident of the lecture occasioned an admiring smile. a small bunch of flowers had been placed on the reading-desk, and by some means, in one of his shuffles, they were tipped over and fell forward to the floor. not at all disconcerted, he skipped nimbly out of the pulpit, picked up the flowers, put them back in the vase, replaced it on the desk, and went on with the lecture as though nothing had happened. he was much interested in the twenty-dollar gold pieces in which he was paid, never before having met with that form of money. his encouraging friendliness of manner quite removed any feeling that a great man's time was being wasted through one's intercourse. he gossiped pleasantly of men and things as though talking with an equal. on one occasion he seemed greatly to enjoy recounting how cleverly james russell lowell imitated alfred tennyson's reading of his own poems. over the sunday-school of our church starr king had provided a small room where he could retire and gain seclusion. it pleased emerson. he said, "i think i should enjoy a study beyond the orbit of the servant girl." he was as self-effacing a man as i ever knew, and the most agreeable to meet. after his return from his short trip he gave two or three more lectures, with a somewhat diminishing attendance. dr. stebbins remarked in explanation, "i thought the people would tire in the sockets of their wings if they attempted to follow _him_." at this distance, i can remember little that he said, but no distance of time or space can ever dim the delight i felt in meeting him, or the impression formed of a most attractive, penetrating, and inspiring personality. his kindliness and geniality were unbounded. during our arrangement of dates mr. davis smiled as he said of one suggested by mr. emerson, "that would not be convenient for mr. murdock, for it is the evening of his wedding." he did not forget it. after the lecture, a few days later, he turned to me and asked, "is she here?" when i brought my flattered wife, he chatted with her familiarly, asking where she had lived before coming to california, and placing her wholly at ease. every tone of his voice and every glance of his eye suggested the most absolute serenity. he seemed the personification of calm wisdom. nothing disturbed him, nothing depressed him. he was as serene and unruffled as a morning in june. he radiated kindliness from a heart at peace with all mankind. his gentleness of manner was an illustration of the possibility of beauty in conduct. he was wholly self-possessed--to imagine him in a passion would be impossible. his word was searching, but its power was that of the sunbeam and not of the blast. he was above all teapot tempests, a strong, tender, fearless, trustful _man_. julia ward howe julia ward howe is something more than a noble memory. she has left her impress on her time, and given a new significance to womanhood. to hear the perfect music of the voice of so cultivated a woman is something of an education, and to have learned how gracious and kindly a great nature really is, is an experience well worth cherishing. mrs. howe was wonderfully alive to a wide range of interests--many-sided and sympathetic. she could take the place of a minister and speak effectively from deep conviction and a wide experience, or talk simply and charmingly to a group of school-children. when some years later than her san francisco visit she spoke at a king's chapel meeting in boston, growing feebleness was apparent, but the same gracious spirit was undimmed. later pictures have been somewhat pathetic. we do not enjoy being reminded of mortality in those of pre-eminent spirit, but what a span of events and changes her life records, and what a part in it all she had borne! when one ponders on the inspiring effect of the battle hymn of the republic, and of the arms it nerved and the hearts it strengthened, and on the direct blows she struck for the emancipation of woman, it seems that there has been abundant answer to her prayer, "as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free." timothy h. rearden in glancing back, i can think of no more charming man than timothy rearden. he had a most attractive personality, combining rare intelligence and kindly affection with humor and a modesty that left him almost shy. he was scholarly and brilliant, especially in literature and languages. his essays and studies in greek attracted world-acknowledgment, but at home he was known chiefly as a genial, self-effacing lawyer, not ambitious for a large practice and oblivious of position, but happy in his friends and in delving deep into whatever topic in the world of letters engaged his interest. he was born in ohio in and graduated from the cleveland high school and from kenyon college. he served in the civil war and came to california in . he was a fellow-worker with bret harte in the mint, and also on the _overland monthly_, contributing "favoring female conventualism" to the first number. he was a sound lawyer, but hid with his elders until , when he opened his own office. he was not a pusher, but his associates respected and loved him, so that when in the governor was called upon to appoint a judge, and, embarrassed by the number of candidates, he called upon the bar association to recommend someone, they took a vote and two-thirds of them named rearden. he served on the bench for eight years. he was a favorite member of the chit-chat club for many years and wrote many brilliant essays, a volume of which was printed in . the first two he gave were "francis petrarch" and "burning sappho." among the most charming was "ballads and lyrics," which was illustrated by the equally charming singing of representative selections by mrs. ida norton, the only time in its history when the club was invaded by a woman. its outside repetition was clamored for, and as the judge found a good excuse in his position and its requirements, he loaned the paper and i had the pleasure of substituting for him. when i was a candidate for the legislature he issued a card that was a departure from political methods. it was during the time when all the names were submitted on the ballot and voters crossed off those they did not want to win. he sent his friends a neat card, as follows: charles a. murdock (_of c.a. murdock & co., clay street_) is one of the republican candidates for the assembly from the tenth senatorial district if you prefer any candidate on any other ticket, scratch murdock. if you require any pledge other than that he will vote according to his honest convictions, scratch murdock. his friend, ambrose bierce, spoke of him as the most scholarly man on the pacific coast. he was surely among the most modest and affectionate. he had remarkable poetic gifts. in the thomas post of the grand army of the republic held a memorial service, and he contributed a poem beginning: "life's fevered day declines; its purple twilight falling draws length'ning shadows from the broken flanks; and from the column's head a viewless chief is calling: 'guide right; close up your ranks!'" he was ill when it was read. a week from the day of the meeting the happy, well-loved man breathed his last. john muir john muir, naturalist, enthusiast, writer, glorifier of the sierras, is held in affectionate memory the world over, but especially in california, where he was known as a delightful personality. real pleasure and a good understanding of his nature and quality await those who read of the meeting of emerson and muir in the yosemite in . it is recorded in their diaries. he was a very rare and versatile man. it was my good fortune to sit by him at a dinner on his return from alaska, where he had studied its glaciers, and had incidentally been honored by having its most characteristic one named after him. he was tremendously impressed by the wonder and majesty of what he had seen, but it in no wise dimmed his enthusiasm for the beauty and glory of the sierra nevada. in speaking of the exquisite loveliness of a mountain meadow he exclaimed: "i could conceive it no punishment to be staked out for a thousand years on one of those meadows." his tales of experiences in the high sierra, where he spent days alone and unarmed, with nothing but tea and a few breadcrusts to sustain him, were most thrilling. i was afterward charmed by his sketch of an adventure with a dog called "stickeen," on one of the great alaskan glaciers, and, meeting him, urged that he make a little book of it. he was pleased and told me he had just done it. late in life he was shocked at what he considered the desecration of the hetch-hetchy valley by the city of san francisco, which sought to dam it and form a great lake that should forever furnish a supply of water and power. he came to my office to supervise the publication of the _sierra club bulletin_, and we had a spirited but friendly discussion of the matter, i being much interested as a supervisor of the city. as a climax he exclaimed, "why, if san francisco ever gets the hetch-hetchy i shall _swear_, even if i am in heaven." george holmes howison among the many beneficent acts of horatio stebbins in his distinguished ministry in san francisco was his influence in the establishment of the chair of moral philosophy in the university of california. it was the gift of d.o. mills, who provided the endowment on the advice of dr. stebbins. the first occupant appointed was professor howison, who from to happily held a fruitful term. he was admirably fitted for his duties, and with the added influence of the philosophical union contributed much to the value of the university. a genial and kindly man, with a keen sense of humor, he was universally and deeply respected by the students and by his associates. he made philosophy almost popular, and could differ utterly from others without any of the common results of antagonism, for he generated so much more light than heat. his mind was so stored that when he began to speak there seemed to be no reason aside from discretion why he should ever stop. i enjoyed to the full one little business incident with him. in my publications i followed a somewhat severe style of typography, especially priding myself on the possession of a complete series of genuine old-style faces cast in philadelphia from moulds cut a hundred and seventy years ago. in these latter days a few bold men have tried to improve on this classic. one ronaldson especially departed from the simplicity and dignity of the cut approved by caxton, aldus, and elzevir, and substituted for the beautiful terminal of, say the capital t, two ridiculous curled points. i resented it passionately, and frequently remarked that a printer who would use ronaldson old-style would not hesitate to eat his pie with a knife. one day professor howison (i think his dog "socrates" was with him) came into my office and inquired if i had a cut of old-style type that had curved terminals on the capital ts. i had no idea why he asked the question; i might have supposed that he wanted the face, but i replied somewhat warmly that i had not, that i had never allowed it in the shop, to which he replied with a chuckle, "good! i was afraid i might get them." professor howison furnished one of the best stories of the great earthquake of . in common with most people, he was in bed at fourteen minutes past five on the th of april. while victims generally arose and dressed more or less, the professor calmly remained between the sheets, concluding that if he was to die the bed would be the most fitting and convenient place to be in. it took more than a full-grown earthquake to disturb his philosophy. josiah royce it is doubtful if any son of california has won greater recognition than josiah royce, born in grass valley in november, . in he graduated at the university of california. after gaining his ph.d. at johns hopkins, he returned to his _alma mater_ and for four years was instructor in english literature and logic. he joined the chit-chat club in and continued a member until his removal to harvard in . he was a brilliant and devoted member, with a whimsical wit and entire indifference to fit of clothes and general personal appearance. he was eminently good-natured and a very clever debater. with all the honors heaped upon him, he never forgot his youthful associates. at a reunion held in he sent this friendly message to the club: "have warmest memories of olden time. send heartiest greetings to all my fellow members. i used to be a long-winded speaker in chit-chat, but my love far outlasts my speeches. you inspired my youth. you make my older years glow." in my youthful complacency i had the audacity to print an essay on "the policy of protection," taking issue with most of my brother members, college men and free-traders. later, while on a visit to california, he told me, with a twinkle in his eye, "i am using your book at harvard as an example of logic." he died honored everywhere as america's greatest philosopher, one of the world's foremost thinkers, and withal a very lovable man. charles gordon ames in the early days rev. charles gordon ames preached for a time in santa cruz. later he removed to san jose, and occasionally addressed san francisco audiences. he was original and witty and was in demand for special occasions. in an address at a commencement day at berkeley, i heard him express his wonder at being called upon, since he had matriculated at a wood-pile and graduated in a printing-office. several years after he had returned east i was walking with him in boston. we met one of his friends, who said, "how are you, ames?" "why, i'm still at large, and have lucid intervals," replied the witty preacher. he once told me of an early experience in candidating. he was asked to preach in worcester, where there was a vacancy. next day he met a friend who told him the results, saying: "you seem to have been fortunate in satisfying both the radicals and the conservatives. but your language was something of a surprise; it does not follow the usual harvard type, and does not seem ministerial. you used unaccustomed illustrations. you spoke of something being as slow as molasses. now, so far as i know, molasses is not a scriptural word. honey is mentioned in the bible, but not molasses." joaquin miller the passing of joaquin miller removed from california her most picturesque figure. in his three-score and twelve years he found wide experience, and while his garb and habits were somewhat theatrical he was a strong character and a poet of power. in some respects he was more like walt whitman than any other american poet, and in vigor and grasp was perhaps his equal. of california authors he is the last of the acknowledged leading three, harte and clemens completing the group. for many years he lived with his wife and daughter at "the heights," in the foothills back of oakland, writing infrequently, but with power and insight. his "columbus" will probably be conceded to be his finest poem, and one of the most perfect in the language. he held his faculties till the last, writing a few days before his death a tender message of faith in the eternal. with strong unconventionality and a somewhat abrupt manner, he was genial and kindly in his feelings, with warm affections and great companionability. an amusing incident of many years ago comes back to freshen his memory. an entertainment of a social character was given at the oakland unitarian church, and when my turn came for a brief paper on wit and humor i found that joaquin miller sat near me on the platform. as an illustration of parody, bordering on burlesque, i introduced a miller imitation--the story of a frontiersman on an arizona desert accompanied by a native woman of "bare, brown beauty," and overtaken by heat so intense that but one could live, whereupon, to preserve the superior race, he seized a huge rock and "crushed with fearful blow her well-poised head." it was highly audacious, and but for a youthful pride of authorship and some curiosity as to how he would take it i should have omitted it. friends in the audience told me that the way in which i watched him from the corner of my eye was the most humorous thing in the paper. at the beginning his head was bowed, and for some time he showed no emotion of any sort, but as i went on and it grew worse and worse, he gave way to a burst of merriment and i saw that i was saved. i was gratified then, and his kindliness brings a little glow of good-will--that softens my farewell. mark twain of mark twain my memory is confined to two brief views, both before he had achieved his fame. one was hearing him tell a story with his inimitable drawl, as he stood smoking in front of a montgomery street cigar-store, and the other when on his return from a voyage to the hawaiian islands he delivered his famous lecture at the academy of music. it was a marvelous address, in which with apparently no effort he led his audience to heights of appreciative enthusiasm in the most felicitous description of the beautiful and wonderful things he had seen, and then dropped them from the sublime to the ridiculous by some absurd reference or surprisingly humorous reflection. the sharp contrast between his incomparably beautiful word paintings and his ludicrous humor was characteristic of two sides of the waggish newspaper reporter who developed into a good deal of a philosopher and the first humorist of his time. sheldon gaylord kellogg among my nearest friends i am proud to count sheldon g. kellogg, associated through both the unitarian church, the sunday-school, and the chit-chat club. he was a lawyer with a large and serviceable conscience as well as a well-trained mind. he grew to manhood in the middle west, graduated in a small methodist college, and studied deeply in germany. he came to san francisco, establishing himself in practice without acquaintance, and by sheer ability and character compelled success. his integrity and thoroughness were beyond any question. he went to the root of any matter that arose. he was remarkably well read and a passionate lover of books. he was exact and accurate in his large store of information. dr. stebbins, in his delightful extravagance, once said to mrs. kellogg, "your husband is the only man i'm afraid of--he knows so much." at the chit-chat no one dared to hazard a doubtful statement of fact. if it was not so, kellogg would know it. he was the most modest of men and would almost hesitate to quote the last census report to set us right, but such was our respect for him that his statements were never questioned; he inspired complete confidence. i remember an occasion when the supreme court of the state, or a department of it, had rendered an opinion setting aside a certain sum as the share of certain trustees. kellogg was our attorney. he studied the facts and the decision until he was perfectly sure the court had erred and that he could convince them of it. we applied for a hearing in bank and he was completely sustained. kellogg was an eminently fair man. he took part in a political convention on one occasion and was elected chairman. there was a bitter fight between contending factions, but kellogg was so just in his rulings that both sides were satisfied and counted him friendly. he was a lovable personality and the embodiment of honor. he was studious and scholarly and always justified our expectation of an able, valuable paper on whatever topic he treated. i do not recall that in all my experience i have ever known any other man so unreservedly and universally respected. joseph worcester it is a salutary experience to see the power of goodness, to know a man whose loveliness of life and character exerts an influence beyond the reach of great intellectual gift or conscious effort. joseph worcester was a modest, shrinking swedenborgian minister. his congregation was a handful of refined mystics who took no prominent part in public affairs and were quiet and unobtrusive citizens. he was not attractive as a preacher, his voice trembled with emotion and bashfulness, and he read with difficulty. he was painfully shy, and he was oppressed and suffered in a crowd. he was unmarried and lived by himself in great simplicity. he seemed to sustain generally good health on tea, toast, and marmalade, which at noonday he often shared with his friend william keith, the artist. he was essentially the gentle man. in public speaking his voice never rang out with indignation. he preserved the conversational tone and seemed devoid of passion and severity. he was patient, kind, and loving. he had humor, and a pleasant smile generally lighted up his benignant countenance. he was often playfully indignant. i remember that at one time an aesthetic character named russell addressed gatherings of society people advising them what they should throw out of their over-furnished rooms. in conversation with mr. worcester i asked him how he felt about it. he replied, "i know what i should throw out--mr. russell." it was so incongruous to think of the violence implied in mr. worcester's throwing out anything that it provoked a hearty laugh. yet there was no weakness in his kindliness. he was simply "slow to wrath," not acquiescent with wrong. his strength was not that of the storm, but of the genial shower and the smiling sun. his heart was full of love and everybody loved him. his hold was through the affections and his blissful unselfishness. he seemed never to think of himself at all. he thought very effectually of others. he was helpfulness incarnate, and since he was influential, surprising results followed. he was fond of children and gave much time to the inmates of the protestant orphan asylum, conducting services and reading to them. they grew very fond of him, and his influence on them was naturally great. he was much interested in the education of the boys and in their finding normal life. he took up especially the providing for them of a home where they could live happily and profitably while pursuing a course of study in the california school of mechanical arts. an incident of his efforts in their behalf illustrates what an influence he had gained in the community. a young man of wealth, not a member of his congregation and not considered a philanthropist, but conversant with what mr. worcester was doing and hoped to do, called upon him one day and said: "mr. worcester, here is a key that i wish to leave with you. i have taken a safe-deposit box; it has two keys. one i will keep to open the box and put in bonds from time to time, and the other i give you that you may open it and use coupons or bonds in carrying out your plans for helping the boys." this illustrates how he was loved and what good he provoked in others. without knowing it or seeking it he was a great community influence. he was gifted of the spirit. he had beauty of character, simplicity, unselfishness, love of god and his fellow-men. his special beliefs interested few, his life gave life, his goodness was radiant. he drew all men to him by his love, and he showed them the way. frederick lucian hosmer i cannot forego the pleasure of referring with sincere affection to my brother octogenarian, frederick l. hosmer. he achieved the fullness of honor two months in advance of me, which is wholly fitting, since we are much farther separated in every other regard. he has been a leader for a great many years, and i am proud to be in sight of him. his kindly friendship has long been one of the delights of my life, and i have long entertained the greatest respect and admiration for his ability and quality. as a writer of hymns he has won the first place in the world's esteem, and probably his noble verse is (after the psalms) the most universally used expression of the religious feeling of mankind. more worshipers unite in singing his hymns, unitarian though he be, than those of any other man, living or dead. it is a great distinction, and in meriting it he holds enviable rank as one of the world's greatest benefactors. yet he remains the most modest of men, with no apparent consciousness that he is great. his humility is an added charm and his geniality is beautiful. he has made the most of a fancied resemblance to me, and in many delightful ways has indulged in pleasantries based on it. in my room hangs a framed photograph signed "faithfully yours, chas. a. murdock." it is far better-looking than i ever was--but that makes no difference. we were once at a conference at seattle. he said with all seriousness, "murdock, i want you to understand that i intend to exercise great circumspection in my conduct, and i rely upon you to do the same." i greatly enjoyed dr. hosmer's party, with its eighty candles, and i was made happy that he could be at mine and nibble my cake. not all good and great men are so thoroughly lovable. thomas lamb eliot when horatio stebbins in assumed charge of the san francisco church he was the sole representative of the denomination on the pacific coast. for years he stood alone,--a beacon-like tower of liberalism. the first glimmer of companionship came from portland, oregon. at the solicitation of a few earnest unitarians dr. stebbins went to portland to consult with and encourage them. a society was formed to prepare the way for a church. a few consecrated women worked devotedly; they bought a lot in the edge of the woods and finally built a small chapel. then they moved for a minister. in st. louis, mo., rev. william greenleaf eliot had been for many years a force in religion and education. a strong unitarian church and washington university resulted. he had also founded a family and had inspired sons to follow in his footsteps. thomas lamb eliot had been ordained and was ready for the ministry. he was asked to take the portland church and he accepted. he came first to san francisco on his way. dr. stebbins was trying the experiment of holding services in the metropolitan theater, and i remember seeing in the stage box one sunday a very prepossessing couple that interested me much--they were the eliots on their way to portland. william g., jr., was an infant-in-arms. i was much impressed with the spirit that moved the attractive couple to venture into an unknown field. the acquaintance formed grew into a friendship that has deepened with the years. the ministry of the son in portland has been much like that of the father in st. louis. the church has been reverent and constructive, a steady force for righteousness, an influence for good in personal life and community welfare. dr. eliot has fostered many interests, but the church has been foremost. he has always been greatly respected and influential. dr. stebbins entertained for him the highest regard. he was wont to say: "thomas eliot is the wisest man for his years i ever knew." he has always been that and more to me. he has served one parish all his life, winning and holding the reverent regard of the whole community. the active service of the church has passed to his son and for years he has given most of his time and strength to reed college, established by his parishioners. in a few months he will complete his eighty years of beautiful life and noble service. he has kept the faith and passed on the fine spirit of his inheritance. chapter xi outings i have not been much of a traveler abroad, or even beyond the pacific states. i have been to the atlantic shore four times since my emigration thence, and going or coming i visited chicago, st. louis, denver, and other points, but have no striking memories of any of them. in i had a very delightful visit to the hawaiian islands, including the volcano. it was full of interest and charm, with a beauty and an atmosphere all its own; but any description, or the story of experiences or impressions, would but re-echo what has been told adequately by others. british columbia and western washington i found full of interest and greatly enjoyed; but they also must be left unsung. my outings from my beaten track have been brief, but have contributed a large stock of happy memories. camping in california is a joy that never palls, and among the pleasantest pictures on memory's walls are the companionship of congenial friends in the beautiful surroundings afforded by the santa cruz mountains. twice in all the years since leaving humboldt have i revisited its hospitable shores and its most impressive redwoods. my love for it will never grow less. twice, too, have i reveled in the yosemite valley and beyond to the valley that will form a majestic lake--glorious hetch-hetchy. i am thankful for the opportunity i have enjoyed of seeing so fully the great pacific empire. my church supervision included california, oregon, and washington, with the southern fringe of canada for good measure. even without this attractive neighbor my territory was larger than france (or germany) and belgium, england, wales, and ireland combined. san diego, bellingham, and spokane were the triangle of bright stars that bounded the constellation. to have found friends and to be sure of a welcome at all of these and everywhere between was a great extension to my enjoyment, and visiting them was not only a pleasant duty but a delightful outing. in the sierras belated vacations perhaps gain more than they lose, and in the sum total at least hold their own. it is one advantage of being well distributed that opportunities increase. in that an individual is an unsalaried editor, extensive or expensive trips are unthinkable; that his calling affords necessities but a scant allowance of luxuries, leaves recreation in the sierras out of the question; but that by the accidents of politics he happens to be a supervisor, certain privileges, disguised attractively as duties, prove too alluring to resist. the city had an option on certain remote lands supposed to be of great value for water and power, and no one wants to buy a pig of that size in a poke, so it was ordained that the city fathers, with their engineer and various clerks and functionaries entitled to a vacation and desiring information (or _vice versa_), should visit the lands proposed to be acquired. in the supervisors inspected the dam-sites at lake eleanor and the hetch-hetchy, but gained little idea of the intervening country and the route of the water on its way to the city. subsequently the trip was more thoroughly planned and the result was satisfactory, both in the end attained and in the incidental process. on the morning of august , , the party of seventeen disembarked from the stockton boat, followed by four fine municipal automobiles. when the men and the machines were satisfactorily supplied with fuel and the outfit was appropriately photographed, the procession started mountainward. for some time the good roads, fairly well watered, passed over level, fruitful country, with comfortable homes. then came gently rolling land and soon the foothills, with gravelly soil and scattered pines. a few orchards and ranches were passed, but not much that was really attractive. then we reached the scenes of early-day mining and half-deserted towns known to bret harte and the days of gold. knight's ferry became a memory instead of a name. chinese camp, once harboring thousands, is now a handful of houses and a few lonely stores and saloons. it had cast sixty-five votes a few days before our visit. then came a stratum of mills and mines, mostly deserted, a few operating sufficiently to discolor with the crushed mineral the streams flowing by. soon we reached the tuolumne, with clear, pellucid water in limited quantities, for the snow was not very plentiful the previous winter and it melted early. following its banks for a time, the road turned to climb a hill, and well along in the afternoon we reached "priests," a favorite roadhouse of the early stage line to the yosemite. here a good dinner was enjoyed, the machines were overhauled, and on we went. then big oak flat, a mining town of some importance, was passed, and a few miles farther groveland, where a quite active community turned out en masse to welcome the distinguished travelers. the day's work was done and the citizens showed a pathetic interest which testified to how little ordinarily happened. the shades of night were well down when hamilton's was reached--a stopping-place once well known, but now off the line of travel. here we were hospitably entertained and slept soundly after a full day's exercise. in the memory of all, perhaps the abundance of fried chicken for breakfast stands out as the distinguishing feature. a few will always remember it as the spot where for the first time they found themselves aboard a horse, and no kind chronicler would refer to which side of the animal they selected for the ascent. the municipally chartered pack-train, with cooks and supplies for man and beast, numbered over sixty animals, and chaparejos and cowboys, real and near, were numerous. the ride to the rim of the south fork of the tuolumne was short. the new trail was not sufficiently settled to be safe for the sharp descents, and for three-quarters of a mile the horses and mules were turned loose and the company dropped down the mountainside on foot. the lovely stream of water running between mountainous, wooded banks was followed up for many miles. about midday a charming spot for luncheon was found, where corral creek tumbles in a fine cascade on its way to the river. the day was warm, and when the mouth of eleanor creek was reached many enjoyed a good swim in an attractive deep basin. turning to the north, the bank of eleanor was followed to the first camping-place, plum flat, an attractive clearing, where wild plums have been augmented by fruit and vegetables. here, after a good dinner served in the open by the municipal cooks, the municipal sleeping-bags were distributed, and soft and level spots were sought for their spreading. the seasoned campers were happy and enjoyed the luxury. some who for the first time reposed upon the breast of mother earth failed to find her charm. one father awoke in the morning, sat up promptly, pointed his hand dramatically to the zenith, and said, "never again!" but he lived to revel in the open-air caravansary, and came home a tougher and a wiser man. a ride of fifteen miles through a finely wooded country brought us to the lake eleanor dam-site and the municipal camp, where general preparations are being made and runoff records are being taken. in a comfortable log house two assistants to the engineer spent the winter, keeping records of rainfall and other meteorological data. while we were in camp here, lake eleanor, a mile distant, was visited and enjoyed in various ways, and those who felt an interest in the main purpose of the trip rode over into the cherry creek watershed and inspected the sites and rights whose purchase is contemplated. saturday morning we left lake eleanor and climbed the steep ridge separating its watershed from that of the tuolumne. from eleanor to hetch-hetchy as the crow would fly, if there were a crow and he wanted to fly, is five miles. as mules crawl and men climb, it takes five hours. but it is well worth it for association with granite helps any politician. hetch-hetchy valley is about half as large as yosemite and almost as beautiful. early in the season the mosquitoes make life miserable, but as late as august the swampy land is pretty well dried up and they are few. the tuolumne tumbles in less effectively than the merced enters yosemite. instead of two falls of nine hundred feet, there is one of twenty or so. the wampana, corresponding to the yosemite falls, is not so high nor so picturesque, but is more industrious, and apparently takes no vacation. kolana is a noble knob, but not quite so imposing as sentinel rock. we camped in the valley two days and found it very delightful. the dam-site is not surpassed. nowhere in the world, it is said, can so large a body of water be impounded so securely at so small an expense. there is an admirable camping-ground within easy distance of the valley, and engineers say that at small expense a good trail, and even a wagon-road, can be built along the face of the north wall, making possible a fine view of the magnificent lake. with the argument for granting the right the city seeks i am not here concerned. the only purpose in view is the casual recital of a good time. it has to do with a delightful sojourn in good company, with songs around the camp-fire, trips up and down the valley, the taking of photographs, the appreciation of brook-trout, the towering mountains, the moon and stars that looked down on eyes facing direct from welcome beds. mention might be made of the discovery of characters--types of mountain guides who prove to be scholars and philosophers; of mules, like "flapjack," of literary fame; of close intercourse with men at their best; of excellent appetites satisfactorily met; of genial sun and of water so alluring as to compel intemperance in its use. the climbing of the south wall in the early morning, the noonday stop at hog ranch, and the touching farewell to mounts and pack-train, the exhilarating ride to crocker's, and the varied attractions of that fascinating resort, must be unsung. a night of mingled pleasure and rest with every want luxuriously supplied, a half-day of good coaching, and once more yosemite--the wonder of the west. its charms need no rehearsing. they not only never fade, but they grow with familiarity. the delight of standing on the summit of sentinel dome, conscious that your own good muscles have lifted you over four thousand feet from the valley's floor, with such a world spread before you; the indescribable beauty of a sunrise at glacier point, the beauty and majesty of vernal and nevada falls, the knightly crest of the half dome, and the imposing grandeur of the great capitan--what words can even hint their varied glory! all this packed into a week, and one comes back strengthened in body and spirit, with a renewed conviction of the beauty of the world, and a freshened readiness to lend a hand in holding human nature up to a standard that shall not shame the older sister. a day in concord there are many lovely spots in new england when june is doing her best. rolling hills dotted with graceful elms, meadows fresh with the greenest of grass, streams of water winding through the peaceful stretches, robins hopping in friendly confidence, distant hills blue against the horizon, soft clouds floating in the sky, air laden with the odor of lilacs and vibrant with songs of birds. there are many other spots of great historic interest, beautiful or not--it doesn't matter much--where memorable meetings have been held which set in motion events that changed the course of history, or where battles have been fought that no american can forget. there are still other places rich with human interest where some man of renown has lived and died--some man who has made his undying mark in letters, or has been a source of inspiration through his calm philosophy. but if one would stand upon the particular spot which can claim supremacy in each of these three respects, where can he go but to concord, massachusetts! it would be hard to find a lovelier view anywhere in the gentle east than is to be gained from the reservoir height--a beautifully broken landscape, hill and dale, woodland, distant trees, two converging streams embracing and flowing in a quiet, decorous union beneath the historic bridge, comfortable homes, many of them too simple and dignified to be suspected of being modern, a cluster of steeples rising above the elms in the center of the town, pastures and plowed fields, well-fed jerseys resting under the oaks, an occasional canoe floating on the gentle stream, genuine old new england homes, painted white, with green blinds, generous wood-piles near at hand, comfortable barns, and blossoming orchards, now and then a luxurious house, showing the architect's effort to preserve the harmonious--all of these and more, to form a scene of pastoral beauty and with nothing to mar the picture--no uncompromising factories, no blocks of flats, no elevated roads, no glaring signs of cuban cheroots or peruna bitters. it is simply an ideal exhibit of all that is most beautiful and attractive in new england scenery and life, and its charm is very great. turning to its historic interest, one is reminded of it at every side. upon a faithful reproduction of the original meeting-house, a tablet informs the visitor that here the first meeting was held that led to national independence. a placard on a quaint old hostelry informs us that it was a tavern in pre-revolutionary times. leaving the "common," around which most new england towns cluster, one soon reaches monument street. following it until houses grow infrequent, one comes to an interesting specimen which seems familiar. a conspicuous sign proclaims it private property and that sightseers are not welcome. it is the "old manse" made immortal by the genius of hawthorne. near by, an interesting road intersects leading to a river. soon we descry a granite monument at the famous bridge, and across the bridge "the minute man." the inscription on the monument informs us that here the first british soldier fell. an iron chain incloses a little plot by the side of a stone wall where rest those who met the first armed resistance. crossing the bridge which spans a dark and sluggish stream one reaches french's fine statue with emerson's noble inscription,-- "by the rude bridge that arched the flood, their flag to april's breeze unfurled, here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world." no historic spot has a finer setting or an atmosphere so well fitted to calm reflection on a momentous event. on the way to concord, if one is so fortunate as to go by trolley, one passes through lexington and catches a glimpse of its bronze "minute man," more spirited and lifelike in its tense suspended motion than french's calm and determined farmer-soldier. in the side of a farmhouse near the concord battle-field--if such an encounter can be called a battle--a shot from a british bullet pierced the wood, and that historic orifice is carefully preserved; a diamond-shaped pane surrounds it. our friend, rev. a.w. jackson, remarked, "i suppose if that house should burn down, the first thing they would try to save would be that bullet-hole." but concord is richest in the memory of the men who have lived and died there, and whose character and influence have made it a center of world-wide inspiration. one has but to visit sleepy hollow cemetery to be impressed with the number and weight of remarkable names associated with this quiet town, little more than a village. sleepy hollow is one of a number of rather unusual depressions separated by sharp ridges that border the town. the hills are wooded, and in some instances their steep sides make them seem like the half of a california canyon. the cemetery is not in the cuplike valley, but on the side and summit of a gentle hill. it is well kept and very impressive. one of the first names to attract attention is "hawthorne," cut on a simple slab with rounded top. it is the sole inscription on the little stone about a foot high. simplicity could go no farther. within a small radius are found the graves of emerson, thoreau, alcott, john weiss, and samuel hoar. emerson's monument is a beautiful boulder, on the smoothed side of which is placed a bronze tablet. the inscriptions on the stones placed to the memory of the different members of the family are most fitting and touching. this is also true of the singularly fine inscriptions in the lot where rest several generations of the hoar family. a good article might be written on monumental inscriptions in the concord burial-ground. it is a lovely spot where these illustrious sons of concord have found their final resting-place, and a pilgrimage to it cannot but freshen one's sense of indebtedness to these gifted men of pure lives and elevated thoughts. the most enjoyable incident of the delightful decoration day on which our trip was made was a visit to emerson's home. his daughter was in new york, but we were given the privilege of freely taking possession of the library and parlor. everything is as the sage left it. his books are undisturbed, his portfolio of notes lies upon the table, and his favorite chair invites the friend who feels he can occupy it. the atmosphere is quietly simple. the few pictures are good, but not conspicuous or insistent. the books bear evidence of loving use. bindings were evidently of no interest. nearly all the books are in the original cloth, now faded and worn. one expects to see the books of his contemporaries and friends, and the expectation is met. they are mostly in first editions, and many of them are almost shabby. taking down the first volume of _the dial_, i found it well filled with narrow strips of paper, marking articles of especial interest. the authors' names not being given, they were frequently supplied by mr. emerson on the margin. i noticed opposite one article the words "t. parker" in mr. emerson's writing. the books covered one side of a good-sized room and ran through the connecting hall into the quaint parlor, or sitting-room, behind it. a matting covered the floor, candlesticks rested on the chimney-piece, and there was no meaningless bric-a-brac, nor other objects of suspected beauty to distract attention. as you enter the house, the library occupies the large right-hand corner room. it was simple to the verge of austerity, and the farthest possible removed from a "collection." there was no effort at arrangement--they were just books, for use and for their own sake. the portfolio of fugitive notes and possible material for future use was interesting, suggesting the source of much that went to make up those fascinating essays where the "thoughts" often made no pretense at sequence, but rested in peaceful unregulated proximity, like eggs in a nest. here is a sentence that evidently didn't quite satisfy him, an uncertain mark of erasure leaving the approved portion in doubt: "read proudly. put the duty of being read invariably on the author. if he is not read, whose fault is it? i am quite ready to be charmed--but i shall not make believe i am charmed." dear man! he never would "make believe." transparent, sincere soul, how he puts to shame all affectation and pretense! mr. jackson says his townsmen found it hard to realize that he was great. they always thought of him as the kindly neighbor. one old farmer told of his experience in driving home a load of hay. he was approaching a gate and was just preparing to climb down to open it, when an old gentleman nimbly ran ahead and opened it for him. it was emerson, who apparently never gave it a second thought. it was simply the natural thing for him to do. walden pond is some little distance from the emerson home, and the time at our disposal did not permit a visit. but we had seen enough and felt enough to leave a memory of rare enjoyment to the credit of that precious day in concord. five days there are several degrees of rest, and there are many ways of resting. what is rest to one person might be an intolerable bore to another, but when one finds the ultimate he is never after in doubt. he knows what is, to him, _the real thing_. the effect of a sufficient season, say five days, to one who had managed to find very little for a disgracefully long time, is not easy to describe, but very agreeable to feel. my friend [footnote: horace davis] has a novel retreat. he is fond of nature as manifested in the growth of trees and plants, and some seventeen years ago he bought a few acres, mostly of woods, in the santa cruz mountains. there was a small orchard, a few acres of hillside hayfield, and a little good land where garden things would grow. there was, too, a somewhat eccentric house where a man who was trying to be theosophical had lived and communed with his mystified soul. to foster the process he had more or less blue glass and a window of gothic form in the peak of his rambling house. in his living-room a round window, with sanskrit characters, let in a doubtful gleam from another room. in the side-hill a supposedly fireproof vault had been built to hold the manuscript that held his precious thoughts. in the gulch he had a sacred spot, where, under the majestic redwoods, he retired to write, and in a small building he had a small printing-press, from which the world was to have been led to the light. but there was some failure of connection, and stern necessity compelled the surrender of these high hopes. my friend took over the plant, and the reformer reformed and went off to earn his daily bread. his memory is kept alive by the name mahatma, given to the gulch, and the blue glass has what effect it may on a neighbor's vegetables. the little house was made habitable. the home of the press was comfortably ceiled and made into a guest-chamber, and apples and potatoes are stored in the fireproof vault. the acres were fairly covered with a second growth of redwood and a wealth of madroños and other native trees; but there were many spaces where nature invited assistance, and my friend every year has planted trees of many kinds from many climes, until he has an arboretum hardly equaled anywhere. there are pines in endless variety--from the sierra and from the seashore, from new england, france, norway, and japan. there flourish the cedar, spruce, hemlock, oak, beech, birch, and maple. there in peace and plenty are the sequoia, the bamboo, and the deodar. eucalypts pierce the sky and japanese dwarfs hug the ground. these children of the woodland vary in age from six months to sixteen years, and each has its interest and tells its story of struggle, with results of success or failure, as conditions determine. at the entrance to the grounds an incense-cedar on one side and an arbor-vitae on the other stand dignified guard. the acres have been added to until about sixty are covered with growing trees. around the house, which wisteria has almost covered, is a garden in which roses predominate, but hollyhocks, coreopsis, and other flowers not demanding constant care grow in luxuriance. there is abundance of water, and filtered sunshine gives a delightful temperature. the thermometer on the vine-clad porch runs up to in the daytime and in the night drops down to . a sympathetic italian lives not far away, keeping a good cow, raising amazingly good vegetables, gathering the apples and other fruit, and caring for the place. the house is unoccupied except during the five days each month when my friend restores himself, mentally and physically, by rest and quiet contemplation and observation. he takes with him a faithful servitor, whose old age is made happy by these periodical sojourns, and the simple life is enjoyed to the full. into this resthaven it was my happy privilege to spend five-sevenths of a week of august, and the rare privilege of being obliged to do nothing was a great delight. early rising was permissible, but not encouraged. at eight o'clock a rich hibernian voice was heard to say, "hot water, mr. murdock," and it was so. a simple breakfast, meatless, but including the best of coffee and apricots, tree-ripened and fresh, was enjoyed at leisure undisturbed by thought of awaiting labor. following the pleasant breakfast chat was a forenoon of converse with my friend or a friendly book or magazine, broken by a stroll through some part of the wood and introduction to the hospitably entertained trees from distant parts. my friend is something of a botanist, and was able to pronounce the court names of all his visitors. wild flowers still persist, and among others was pointed out one which was unknown to the world till he chanced to find it. [illustration: outings in the sierras, in hawaii, ] very interesting is the fact that the flora of the region, which is a thousand feet above sea-level, has many of the characteristics of beach vicinity, and the reason is disclosed by the outcropping at various points of a deposit of white sand, very fine, and showing under the microscope the smoothly rounded form that tells of the rolling waves. this deposit is said to be traceable for two hundred miles easterly, and where it has been eroded by the streams of today enormous trees have grown on the deposited soil. the mind is lost in conjecture of the time that must have elapsed since an ancient sea wore to infinitesimal bits the quartz that some rushing stream had brought from its native mountains. another interesting feature of the landscape was the clearly marked course of the old "indian trail," known to the earliest settlers, which followed through this region from the coast at santa cruz to the santa clara valley. it followed the most accessible ridges and showed elemental surveying of a high order. along its line are still found bits of rusted iron, with specks of silver, relics of the spurs and bridles of the caballeros of the early days. the maples that sheltered the house are thinned out, that the sun may not be excluded, and until its glare becomes too radiant the steamer-chair or the rocker seeks the open that the genial page of "susan's escort, and others," one of the inimitable books of edward everett hale, may be enjoyed in comfort. when midday comes the denser shade of tree or porch is sought, and coats come off. at noon dinner is welcome, and proves that the high cost of living is largely a conventional requirement. it may be beans or a bit of roast ham brought from home, with potatoes or tomatoes, good bread and butter, and a dessert of toasted crackers with loganberries and cream. to experience the comfort of not eating too much and to find how little can be satisfying is a great lesson in the art of living. to supplement, and dispose of, this homily on food, our supper was always baked potatoes and cream toast,--but such potatoes and real cream toast! of course, fruit was always "on tap," and the good coffee reappeared. in the cool of the afternoon a longer walk. good trails lead over the whole place, and sometimes we would go afield and call on some neighbor. almost invariably they were italians, who were thriving where improvident americans had given up in despair. always my friend found friendly welcome. this one he had helped out of a trouble with a refractory pump, that one he had befriended in some other way. all were glad to see him, and wished him well. what a poor investment it is to quarrel with a neighbor! sometimes my friend would busy himself by leading water to some neglected and thirsty plant, while i was re-reading "tom grogan" or brander matthews' plays, but for much of the time we talked and exchanged views on current topics or old friends. when the evening came we prudently went inside and continued our reading or our talk till we felt inclined to seek our comfortable beds and the oblivion that blots out troubles or pleasures. and so on for five momentous days. quite unlike the "seven days" in the delightful farce-comedy of that name, in which everything happened, here nothing seemed to happen. we were miles from a post-office, and newspapers disturbed us not. the world of human activity was as though it were not. politics as we left it was a disturbing memory, but no fresh outbreaks aggravated our discomfort. we were at rest and we rested. a good recipe for long life, i think, would be: withdraw from life's turmoil regularly--five days in a month. an anniversary the humboldt county business established and conducted on honor by alex. brizard was continued on like lines by his three sons with conspicuous success. as the fiftieth anniversary approached they arranged to fitly celebrate the event. they invited many of their father's and business associates to take part in the anniversary observance in july, . with regret, i was about to decline when my good friend henry michaels, a state guard associate, who had become the head of the leading house in drugs and medicines with which brizard and his sons had extensively dealt, came in and urged me to join him in motoring to humboldt. he wanted to go, but would not go alone and the double delight of his company and joining in the anniversary led to prompt acceptance of his generous proposal. there followed one of the most enjoyable outings of my life. i had never compassed the overland trip to humboldt, and while i naturally expected much the realization far exceeded my anticipations. from the fine highway following the main ridge the various branches of the eel river were clearly outlined, and when we penetrated the world-famous redwood belt and approached the coast our enjoyment seemed almost impious, as though we were motoring through a cathedral. we found arcata bedecked for the coming anniversary. the whole community felt its significance. when the hour came every store in town closed. seemingly the whole population assembled in and around the brizard store, anxious to express kindly memory and approval of those who so well sustained the traditions of the elders. the oldest son made a brief, manly address and introduced a few of the many who could have borne tribute. it was a happy occasion in which good-will was made very evident. a ball in the evening concluded the festivities, and it was with positive regret that we turned from the delightful atmosphere and retraced our steps to home and duty. chapter xii occasional verse boston (after bret harte) on the south fork of yuba, in may, fifty-two, an old cabin stood on the hill, where the road to grass valley lay clear to the view, and a ditch that ran down to buck's mill. it was owned by a party that lately had come to discover what fate held in store; he was working for brigham, and prospecting some, while the clothes were well cut that he wore. he had spruced up the cabin, and by it would stay, for he never could bear a hotel. he refused to drink whiskey or poker to play, but was jolly and used the boys well. in the long winter evenings he started a club, to discuss the affairs of the day. he was up in the classics--a scholarly cub-- and the best of the talkers could lay. he could sing like a robin, and play on the flute, and he opened a school, which was free, where he taught all the musical fellows to toot, or to join in an anthem or glee. so he soon "held the age" over any young man who had ever been known on the bar; and the boys put him through, when for sheriff he ran, and his stock now was much above par. in the spring he was lucky, and struck a rich lead, and he let all his friends have a share; it was called the new boston, for that was his breed, and the rock that he showed them was rare. when he called on his partners to put up a mill, they were anxious to furnish the means; and the needful, of course, turned into his till just as freely as though it was beans. then he went to the bay with his snug little pile-- there was seventeen thousand and more-- to arrange for a mill of the most approved style, and to purchase a sturtevant blower. but they waited for boston a year and a day, and he never was heard of again. for the lead he had opened was salted with pay, and he'd played 'em with culture and brain. the greater freedom o god of battles, who sustained our fathers in the glorious days when they our priceless freedom gained, help us, as loyal sons, to raise anew the standard they upbore, and bear it on to farther heights, where freedom seeks for self no more, but love a life of service lights. our father is god our father? so sublime the thought we cannot hope its meaning full to grasp, e'en as the child the gifts the wise men brought could not within his infant fingers clasp. we speak the words from early childhood taught. we sometimes fancy that their truth we feel; but only on life's upper heights is caught the vital message that they may reveal. so on the heights may we be led to dwell, that nearer god we may more truly know how great the heritage his love will tell if we be lifted up from things below. resurgam the stricken city lifts her head, with eyes yet dim from flowing tears; her heart still throbs with pain unspent, but hope, triumphant, conquers fears. with vision calm, she sees her course, nor shrinks, though thorny be the way. shall human will succumb to fate, crushed by the happenings of a day? the city that we love shall live, and grow in beauty and in power; her loyal sons shall stand erect, their chastened courage heaven's dower. and when the story shall be told of direful ruin, loss, and dearth, there shall be said with pride and joy: "but man survived, and proved his worth." san francisco o "city loved around the world," triumphant over direful fate, thy flag of honor never furled, proud guardian of the golden gate; hold thou that standard from the dust of lower ends or doubtful gain; on thy good sword no taint of rust; on stars and stripes no blot or stain. thy loyal sons by thee shall stand, thy highest purpose to uphold; proclaim the word, o'er all the land, that truth more precious is than gold. let justice never be denied, resist the wrong, defend the right; where west meets east stand thou in pride of noble life,--a beacon-light. the new year the past is gone beyond recall, the future kindly veils its face; today we live, today is all we have or need, our day of grace. the world is god's, and hence 'tis plain that only wrong we need to fear; 'tis ours to live, come joy or pain, to make more blessed each new year. prodigals we tarry in a foreign land, with pleasure's husks elate, when robe and ring and father's hand at home our coming wait. deep-rooted fierce boreas in his wildest glee assails in vain the yielding tree that, rooted deep, gains strength to bear, and proudly lifts its head in air. when loss or grief, with sharp distress, to man brings brunt of storm and stress, he stands serene who calmly bends in strength that trust, deep-rooted, lends. to horatio stebbins the sun still shines, and happy, blithesome birds are singing on the swaying boughs in bloom. my eyes look forth and see no sign of gloom, no loss casts shadow on the grazing herds; and yet i bear within a grief that words can ne'er express, for in the silent tomb is laid the body of my friend, the doom of silence on that matchless voice. now girds my spirit for the struggle he would praise. a leader viewless to the mortal eye still guides my steps, still calls with clarion cry to deeds of honor, and my thoughts would raise to seek the truth and share the love on high. with loyal heart i'll follow all my days. new year, the sifting sand that marks the passing year in many-colored tints its course has run through days with shadows dark, or bright with sun, but hope has triumphed over doubt and fear, new radiance flows from stars that grace our flag. our fate we ventured, though full dark the night, and faced the fatuous host who trusted might. god called, the country's lovers could not lag, serenely trustful, danger grave despite, untrained, in love with peace, they dared to fight, and freed a threatened world from peril dire, establishing the majesty of right. our loyal hearts still burn with sacred fire, our spirits' wings are plumed for upward flight. new year, the curtain rises on the all-world stage, the play is unannounced; no prologue's word gives hint of scene, or voices to be heard; we may be called with tragedy to rage, in comedy or farce we may disport, with feverish melodrama we may thrill, or in a pantomimic role be still. we may find fame in field, or grace a court, whate'er the play, forthwith its lines will start, and every soul, in cloister or in mart, must act, and do his best from day to day-- so says the prompter to the human heart. "the play's the thing," might shakespear's hamlet say. "the thing," to us, is playing well our part. epilogue *walking in the way* to hold to faith when all seems dark to keep of good courage when failure follows failure to cherish hope when its promise is faintly whispered to bear without complaint the heavy burdens that must be borne to be cheerful whatever comes to preserve high ideals to trust unfalteringly that well-being follows well-doing this is the way of life to be modest in desires to enjoy simple pleasures to be earnest to be true to be kindly to be reasonably patient and ever-lastingly persistent to be considerate to be at least just to be helpful to be loving this is to walk therein. charles a. murdock legends of san francisco other books by the same author: legends of southern california. oriental rambles. rainbow stories. the wizzywab. by george w. caldwell, m. d. dedication. my san francisco on her seven hills is smiling, beside an opalescent sunset sea; there is a magic in her bracing air beguiling, yet filling all with tireless energy. the tingling tang of open sea the breeze is giving; the fog rolls in and drives heat languors out, and thrills her loyal subjects with the joy of living, and puts the love of idleness to rout. when in the valleys, fervent summer heat oppresses, and gives no, respite night or day, there is a city that the cooling fog caresses, upon the breezy san francisco bay. when winter rains and sun have wrought in fragrant flowers a multicolored carpet on the land, a charm is in her circling hills and redwood bowers that only those who see can understand. she has a mystic charm in all the changing seasons-- a lure that brings the stranger to her door, and in these pages i will give the indian's reasons for charms and lures, never told before. the legends of the hills, the fog, the gulls, the waters idealize the beautiful and true; allow me, therefore, california's native daughters, to dedicate this book of verse to you. contents. the maid of tamalpais the twin guardians of the golden gate the sea gulls the islands of the bay the lake of merita the maid of tamalpais. this she told me in the firelight as i sat beside her campfire, in a grove of giant redwoods, on the slope of tamalpais. old she was, and bent and wrinkled, lone survivor of the tamals, ancient tribe of indian people, who have left their name and legend on the mountain they held sacred. on the ground she sat and brooded, with a blanket wrapped around her-- sat and gazed into the campfire. on her bronze and furrowed features, on her hair of snowy whiteness, played the shadows and the firelight. long she gazed into the embers, and i feared i had offended in the question i had asked her. then she spoke in measured accents, slowly, with a mournful cadence, and long intervals of silence. "you have asked me why my people will not climb mount tamalpais-- why we hold the mountain sacred. i am old, and when the raven calls my spirit to the father, none will know the ancient story, sacred legend of the tamals. therefore, i will tell the story, i will tell and you shall write it, else it will be lost forever; i will tell it that the paleface may respect our sacred mountain." "in the morning of creation all the world was covered over with the flood of troubled waters. only beaver and the turtle swam about upon the surface. beaver said, 'i'm very weary.' turtle said, 'dive to the bottom.' beaver dove and brought up gravel, laid it on the back of turtle; dove again and brought a pebble, then another and another. pebbles grew to rocks and boulders, as a peak above the waters-- thus was mount diablo fashioned. beaver sat upon the mountain, gazing out across the waters; saw a single feather floating; feather grew into an eagle; eagle flew and sat by beaver. long they talked about creation, counseled, planned, and reconsidered, then they moulded clay with tules; beaver placed his hair upon it, eagle breathed into its nostrils thus coyote was created. coyote barked and sat beside them. many creatures were created; some with hair, and some with feathers; some with scales, or shells, or bristles. other peaks and mountain ridges then appeared above the waters. walls of hills were then continued north and south, to hold the waters in a mammoth lake, that, filling all the sacramento valley, found its outlet to the ocean through the russian river canyon. round the lake the blazing mountains spouted lava and hot ashes; casting on the troubled waters lurid gleams and purple shadows. by the lake coyote wandered-- sat and howled, for he was lonely, lonely for a man to tame him into dog as a companion. then coyote mixed dry tules with wet clay and made a figure. sun god came and shone upon it; spirit came and blew upon it, and a man was thus created. sun god made the moon to guard him, and she stood before his tepee, watching while the sun was sleeping; but she loved the sun and followed him into the starry heavens, always with her face turned to him. still she watched the lonely tepee, and her heart was touched with pity for the lonely man within it, so she made a lovely woman, gave her constancy, and sent her on a moonbeam to his tepee, as his helpmate and companion. man then multiplied, and flourished, building villages and lording over all the other creatures. on the sunny eastern margin of the bay of san francisco, grew the village of the tamals; fisher folk they were, and gentle, seeking not for wars of conquest; fishing in the purple waters from their boats of bark or rawhide; wading in the limpid shallows seeking oysters, clams and mussels. in the course of generations piles of shells of many banquets, with the ashes of their campfires, formed a mound upon the bay shore. shell mound park, the people call it, and they gather in the shadows of the ancient oaks for pleasure, roasting clams as in the old days when the tamals lived upon it. gone are now the limpid shallows; gone the oysters and the mussels, and no more are grassy meadows dappled with the spreading oak trees; for great factories, grim and sordid, sprawl in squalid blocks around it, and the smoke of forge and furnace rise from stacks into the heavens. paleface men with concave glasses, learned in lore of printed pages, dig into the mounds and gather spear and arrow heads and axes, broken weapons and utensils made of flint, or bone, or seashell. to the northward, where great boulders lie in tumbled piles and masses, and a thousand oaks are clustered, and the crags upthrust their fingers through the meadows of the uplands, was another indian village, ancient stronghold of the tamals. in the village on the hillside men were hunters, brave and fearless, skillful with the bow and arrow, artful with the snare and deadfall; hunting deer and elk and bison in the open grassy meadows, tracking wolf and mountain lion to their lairs among the redwoods; bearing on their backs the trophies to their camp when night was falling. in the village maids and matrons dressed the furs and tanned the buckskin, dried the venison, and traded with the shell mound folks for salmon, mussels, clams and abalones, ornaments of bone or seashell, weapons chipped from flint or jasper. from the oaks they gathered acorns, and beneath the fragrant bay trees and the heavy blooming buckeyes, ground the acorns into flour to be baked upon the hot-stones. to this day the smoke of campfires may be traced in caves, and crannies where the overhanging cliffsides gives protection from the rainstorms. if you search among the thickets of the low widespreading buckeyes you will find their ancient mortars in the bedrock still remaining-- mortar holes ground deep, and polished by the toil of many women pounding, grinding with a pestle fashioned from a stream-worn boulder. gone are all those ancient people, perished now for many ages. many oaks have grown and withered, many buckeyes bloomed and faded, many tribes have fought and conquered, lived for many generations, then were driven out by others. still the mortar holes will linger as our monuments forever." fainter grew the voice, still fainter, sinking almost to a whisper, with a hesitating quaver, as the picture came before her of her disappearing people. then i rose and piled more branches of the redwood on the campfire, and the flames and sparks leaped upward, lighting up the mournful forest, driving back the eerie shadows. long she bowed her head in silence, then resumed her rhythmic speaking. in the village lived a maiden, fairest of all comely maidens ever born among the tamals; fair of face and pure of spirit, kind in thought and quick in service to the young and old and helpless; ever eager for her duty, ever singing at her labor. when she sat beneath the buckeyes grinding acorns in the mortar, humming birds came sipping honey from the heavy scented blossoms; wild birds came and sang their sweetest music as they perched above her; and the fairies came to greet her dressed as butterflies, and fluttered round her head and whispered secrets-- secrets not revealed to others. little wonder that the chieftain, young and brave and wise in counsel, loved the maid and wished to take her as his wife to rule his people. but she answered him with sadness, for she loved the youth, 'beloved, this is not the time for lovers, but for warriors to make ready, for a danger comes upon us. god has sent a warning message by the fairies, and they whispered to me as i ground the acorns in the mortar 'neath the buckeyes. rally all your braves around you, seize your strong bows, fill your quivers with the long flint-pointed arrows; guard the ridges to the eastward ere the foe shall fall upon us.' to the eastward where diablo rears its peak above the fog banks drifting landward from the ocean, lived a warlike tribe of people. fierce they were, and grim and cruel, worshiping the fire demon who is crouching in the mountain. from their heights they saw the waters of the bay of san francisco lying crystal-clear and purple. then no sacramento river poured its flood of silt into it, for a range of hills continued, all unbroken, from diablo to the distant smoking mountain which is now called saint helena. long they watched the bay and marveled at its strange, alluring beauty; watched it in its changing colors-- in the gray of misty mornings, in the blue of sunny mid-day, in the glories of the sunset, in the silver flood of moonlight-- it enticed and seemed to beckon, then, as ever, to the strangers. long their wizards danced, and rattled with their gourds, to rouse the demon of the mountain to assist them-- danced until they fell in frenzy, prophesying wealth of plunder. warriors danced and chanted war songs, stamped and shouted, waved their war clubs, with the war paint on their bodies, black and yellow and vermillion. hideous and terrifying were they when they took the warpath. oh, the terror of their coming! oh, the horror of the battle on the meadows of the uplands! forward, by the strength of numbers, pressed the devils of diablo; slowly backward fell the tamals to the stronghold of the boulders. when the darkness of the midnight fell as a protecting blanket, silently my tribe retreated, ere the ring should be completed by the merciless invaders. all the tamals started northward-- men and women, little children-- through the open, grassy meadows, through the forest to the ridges circling round the bay below them. at the dawning of the morning they were resting on a hilltop. to the west the bay was sleeping underneath its misty blanket; to the east a lake was gleaming in the rosy light of sunrise. while they rested on the mountain, weary, footsore, and disheartened, came pursuing scouts to spy them. fierce and bloody was the combat, all the rocks were stained with crimson. then the scouts, or those still living, fled to tell their wicked chieftain where to find the fleeing tamals. loud the wail of lamentation when the tamals saw their warriors who had fallen in the combat lying lifeless on the mountain. louder still, the cry of anguish when they found their maid of mercy helpless now, and sorely wounded. no more would her strong young shoulders bear the wounded braves to safety, nor would she withdraw the arrows, bind the wounds nor stanch the bleeding. on the shoulder of the chieftain she was carried, for no other had such strength and gentle manner. on his shoulder thus he bore her, fleeing northward on the ridges, bore her gladly, for he loved her. all the women were exhausted, all the children, tired and weeping; half the warriors, dead or wounded-- slow and painful was the progress. on they fled, but often turning, looking backward o'er their shoulders, fearful lest the foe o'ertake them ere they reached a place of safety. came a deadly fear upon them! 'we are lost,' they cried in terror, for a league behind them, followed such a host of men or devils that they could not hope to conquer. 'we are lost,' they moaned, 'their number is the number of the needles on the redwoods in the forest; and they follow as the foxes follow rabbits in the open.' 'we shall die, oh, my beloved,' said the chieftain to the maiden. 'and die gladly,' said the maiden, 'if our people may not perish. as i sat beneath the buckeye at my mortar, grinding acorns, fairy butterflies came to me, fluttered round my head and told me that an enemy was coming; and i warned you, oh, my lover.' 'aye, you did, my best beloved.' 'and they promised, oh, my lover, that our god would save our people should i offer up my spirit as a sacrifice before him.' and the young chief spoke, and answered, 'life without you would be empty; let my spirit travel with you through the spaces of the heavens, to the upper world of spirits.' 'it shall be as you have spoken,' said the maiden to her lover, 'and i know that god will answer with a mighty sign from heaven. stoop, and bow your head, my lover, that my face may turn to heaven. mighty father, save my people, take my spirit and my lover's to the spirit land of lovers; lift your hand and strike the mountain! cut a chasm wide, between us and the wicked ones who follow; save my people, oh, my father, strike the mountain! strike the mountain!' came a rumble in the distance, nearer, louder, terrifying! god had heard her prayer, and lifted up his hand to strike the mountain. when the mighty blow descended with the crash of many thunders, all the mountains rocked and trembled, rose and fell, and swayed and shuddered; and across the coast range mountains yawned a chasm, hot and smoking; into it careened the hillsides; mountains swooned and fell into it. through it, as a giant sluiceway, rushed the roaring, boiling waters of the lake, in tumbling tumult, flooding all the bayside lowlands, racing through the golden gateway in a cataract stupendous. saint helena burst its crater with a blast that leveled forests, and the falling sand and cinders buried deep the fallen giants, to be petrified to agate. through the steam and sulphurous vapors, flashed the lightning on the mountains, and the din of quake and thunder beat the air until it quivered. when god, his righteous wrath abating, ceased to shake and rend and deluge, and the last reverberation died away into the distance, and the trade winds from the ocean blew away the smoke and vapors, those remaining of the tamals gazed with wonder at a mountain that was standing, new, before them, for upon it lay the maiden with her face upturned to heaven, as it was when she was praying to her god to save her people. on her youthful breast and body lay a forest, like a mantle, new and green, and decked with flowers. and her willing feet were resting near the bay and new-made river; while the chief, her faithful lover, bending 'neath his sacred burden, stretched his arms out to the valleys where his people would find shelter. here for countless generations we have lived in peace and safety, roaming through the wooded valleys, hunting on the grassy meadows, fishing in the bays and rivers. now you know the sacred story of the maid of tamalpais-- why no tamal ever ventured to the holy crest above us. would we tread upon the features of the martyred maid who saved us? would we desecrate the rock-tomb of our chief, her well beloved? there she lies in all her beauty, sacred maid of tamalpais! if her eyes should turn from heaven, she would see across the waters piles of tumbled crags and boulders in the grove of thousand oak trees, where the buckeye trees still blossom over mortar holes, half hidden. children play with merry laughter hide and seek among the boulders. even now perhaps, the fairies dressed as butterflies may whisper secrets in the ears of children, if they listen to the voices. if her eyes should trace the steamers as they thread the curving channel opened by the ancient earthquake, she would see them pass an island on whose red and barren summit she was wounded in the battle. white men call it red rock island, knowing not the crimson color is from blood, shed in the battle fought upon the lofty summit of a mountain that was swallowed when the mighty chasm opened, leaving but its peak projecting through the surface of the waters. there she lies in queenly beauty, martyred maid of tamalpais, with her face upturned to heaven, as when praying, 'take me, father; save my people; save the tamals.' on her head the snows of winter lay a crown of shining crystals. fog banks twine their arms about her to embrace her and caress her. passing rainclouds bathe her features with their tear drops, shed in sorrow, and the rainbow arches over with the glories of a halo. she is first to have the greeting of the rising sun, and latest to receive his goodnight kisses. on her sides the purple shadows linger longest in the twilight. for her robe the fairest wildflowers bloom throughout the changing seasons-- violets, and pink wild roses, blue forget-me-nots, and lilies vie to give their sweetest perfumes to the maid of tamalpais. lovers climb the sacred mountain, roam the hillsides, tread the wildwoods, finding there new inspiration, hope and happiness, not knowing that the maid of tamalpais gives her spirit to all lovers who approach her mystic presence. i, the last of all the tamals, soon will turn my face to heaven where my own, my best beloved, waits with outstretched arms, to greet me. write the story for all people; it is finished; i have spoken." thus she spoke, that ancient woman, lone survivor of the tamals, by the campfire in the redwoods, on the slopes of tamalpais. the twin guardians of the golden gate. would you know the mystic legend of the peaks of san francisco-- of the twin peaks standing guardian of the gay and careless city, ever laughing by the gateway of our golden california? would you know what brings the westwind, with its cool and filmy vapors trailing like a scarf of chiffon through the narrow golden gateway, screening shore and hills and harbor, while the country all around it bathes in floods of golden sunshine? would you know why great sea lions flounder on the rocky islands, standing by the golden gateway? why they fight in baffled fury, barking ever at the mainland? listen then, and i will tell you as the legend was related by an ancient tamal woman, as she sat beside the campfire in a grove of giant redwoods on the slopes of tamalpais. "it was long ago, my children, long ago, in mystic ages when the gods lived near the people, who, like infants newly mothered, needed care and help and guidance. as the children call to parents so the people called to spirits. then the gods were quick to listen, quick to teach them and protect them, quick to punish when they trespassed on the rights of one another. near the place where holy fathers built the mission of dolores was a village of the tamals, vanished now for many ages. by it was a singing streamlet, where the willows waved their banners; round it giant redwoods clustered, redolent with forest odors; live oaks, bay trees, and madronas billowed over plains and hillsides. through the forest ranged the hunters, seeking game in glen and canyon, meat for food, and fur for raiment; vanquishing the forest creatures with flint arrows and stone axes; seeking fish in bay and river with the spear or net of sinew. on the bay the warriors paddled in canoes of bark or rawhide, or in mighty redwood dugouts dared the currents of the narrows training warriors to be ready to defend their shores and harbor. from the north the foemen threatened, as an ever-present shadow. o'er the water came the foemen, in a mighty fleet of warboats; every summer came the foemen, came and fought and then retreated. in his tepee sat the chieftain with the old men, wise in counsel; all their hearts were solely troubled-- every summer brought the foemen, those bronze men of fearless courage, waxing stronger every season-- long they counseled with each other; would the foemen come and conquer? could the tamals long withstand them? thus they questioned in the council while they planned their last defenses. to the council came the sisters, yana fair, and tana fearless, twins, and daughters of the chieftain, came and stood before the wise men, came and bowed their heads and waited. well the wise men knew the sisters, maidens blooming into women, loved them for their grace and beauty, for the joy they radiated, for the charm that emanated from their chaste and gentle spirits, as the perfume that is wafted from the rose buds newly opened. yet the wise men gave no welcome, turned their eyes from maids to chieftain. "why, my daughters, have you ventured into this, the warrior's council? well you know it is forbidden; neither man nor woman enters when the warriors plan for battle." "let us speak," the maidens answered, "for we bring a warning message. as we wandered on the ridges gathering the golden poppies to adorn our mother's tepee, we were talking of the danger from the foemen of the northland, when a maiden stood before us, strangely fair, with golden tresses, eyes of deep blue like the lupins, dressed in garlands made of poppies. hand in hand we stood and wondered, till the lovely apparition smiled and caused our fears to vanish. 'i am the spirit of the country,' said the maiden of the poppies, 'and i choose you, my twin daughters, for the beauty of your bodies, and the worth of soul within you, as the saviors of your people, as the guardians of my harbor. take the message to your chieftain, that the foe comes from the northland; yet they shall not harm your people if you stand upon the hilltop with the talisman i give you. take this magic iris with you, guard it well for every petal has a charm that brings an answer to a prayer that is unselfish, to a prayer for all the people that will live around your harbor. never, while you guard the hilltop, shall a foe invade your country. petals three there are; three wishes shall be granted when you make them.' then the poppy maiden vanished, and we hastened to our village. hand in hand, we ran so swiftly that our feet but touched the flowers; while above our heads the wild ducks flying southward clamored hoarsely, 'they are coming; they are coming!' sea gulls, winging from the ocean, shrieked their warning, 'they are coming!' then we dared to brave your council with the message of the maiden, and the warning of the seabirds. 'it is well,' the chieftain answered, 'daughters with the eyes of springtime and the faces of the flowers, it is well. the gods have marked you with their sign upon the forehead; you have stood before a goddess, and her spirit is upon you.' long the old men sat and pondered. well they knew the ears of children are attuned to hear the voices of the gods and guardian spirits. well they knew that all wild creatures speak to man if one is worthy to receive their friendly warning; knew that seabirds, swift and cunning, see the foemen while their war boats still are far beyond the sea-rim. thus they reasoned in their council, then they stood before the people while the chieftain gave his orders. 'beat the war drums. call the warriors. man the war canoes, and station sentinels upon the headlands up the coast-land to bolinas. let them light the lurid war fires, when they see the foemen coming.' swiftly northward raced the sentries in their light canoes of deerskin-- through the narrows to bonita, on the ocean to bolinas. all was tumult in the village; to each warrior was given long bows, strong bows, wrapped with sinews, stores of arrows, eagle feathered, newly tipped with sharpest flint-heads; stone head war clubs, wrapped with rawhide; shields of oakwood, tough and heavy. women decked the braves with feathers, robes of fur, and charms of seashell; roused their courage with the stories of the prowess of their fathers; cheered with songs of deeds of valor of the heroes of the tamals; while the children, heavy hearted, watched the scene in wide-eyed wonder. every day the chieftain's daughters, as twin sentinels were standing on the hill between the valley and the blue expanse of ocean. every day they watched the morning reach his rosy fingers upward, from behind the eastern mountains, painting with an elfin fancy, crimson edges on the cloudbanks; then erasing and repainting them with gold or mauve or amber; always changing, as his fancy swayed the child to blend the colors; till old father sun uprising, drove his elfin son to shelter from the dazzle of his presence. all day long the faithful sisters stood upon the ridge and waited-- waited while the sun ascended, crossed the zenith, then descended on his daily westward journey. watched him sink into the ocean as a molten globe of metal; while the fleecy clouds above him caught afire, and blazed in beauty, radiating flaming colors through the changing clouds, and lighting o'er the purple sea a pathway glinting in a golden glory. evening came, and still they waited-- while the heavenly dome turned purple, and the twinkling stars were lighted, one by one, until the darkness scintillated with their sparkle; and a milky way of star-dust arched across, to hold the heavens high above the reach of mortals. through the night they watched and waited-- while the silver moon was racing through the silken clouds, and flooding all the bay and hills and ocean with a pale illumination, casting moving shadows earthward when a dark cloud passed before her. wild coyotes broke the silence of the midnight with their barking, and the prowling wolves crept nearer, till the patter of their footsteps could be heard in stealthy rushes. still the fearless sisters waited, watched the north for signal fires, and in eager alternation held the magic yellow iris. came at last the welcome singing of the meadow lark and robin, and above the eastern mountains flushed the rose-light of the morning; then again the sky was tinted by the elf who plays with colors, and the sleeping poppies wakened when the sunbeams kissed their eyelids. from the heights of point bonita rose a thread of smoke that lengthened, broadened, flaunted like a banner, black and ominous of evil. "they are coming!" yana whispered, "see, the signal fires are lighted! they are coming. guardian spirit of our native country, save us!" and she pressed the yellow iris closely to her throbbing bosom. over northern rim of ocean came the war canoes by hundreds, came until the waters darkened with the number of the warboats. never could the tamals conquer such a multitude of foemen. swiftly rose and fell their paddles, flashing in the brilliant sunshine, trailing scarfs of foam behind them, as they raced toward the harbor. tana searched the far horizon, saw the signal fires blazing on the mountain tops and headlands, heard the war drums in the village roll in constant wild alarum. yana held the yellow iris with the magic in its petals, held and gazed with adoration on the velvet mystic markings. then she plucked a magic petal, held it high, and ere it fluttered to the breeze this prayer was uttered: 'spirit of our native country, goddess guarding home and harbor, roll the fog-banks o'er the headlands, hide the narrows from the foemen; bring the west-wind from the ocean, drive their boats to crash and shatter on the rocky surf-bound islands. bring the west-wind! bring the fogbanks!' from the ocean came the west-wind, blowing stronger, growing cooler, bringing in protecting fog-banks, sweeping landward o'er gray waters, flooding through the golden gateway, rolling over shore and headlands. through the fog the boats were racing for the entrance to the harbor, when they plunged into the smother of the breakers round the islands-- crashed upon the rocks and splintered. from the surf the foemen struggled to the rocks and scrambled on them. then the maiden plucked another petal from the magic iris, and she prayed again, 'oh, spirit of our native country, hear us, change the foemen to sea-creatures, that they never more attack us.' as the magic petal fluttered to the ground the foe was changing. arms and paddles changed to flippers; legs were bound as in a bandage, and their brown and hairy bodies wriggled on the rocks, and crowded, barking, fighting one another. when the danger was averted, when the enemy was helpless, sisters wept, embraced each other, thanked the gods for their deliverance. still remained another petal of the magic yellow iris. 'one more wish we have, one only.' said one sister to the other, 'would we might remain forever, as the guardians of the harbor, to protect it from all foemen, to invoke the fog and west-wind.' then, again the poppy maiden stood triumphantly before them. 'you have chosen well, my children, had you wished for wealth or beauty, robes or jewels for adornment, or for any selfish purpose, then the petals would have fallen to the earth and lost their magic. my twin daughters, ever faithful, all your thoughts are for your people; therefore, you shall be immortal, standing on the heights forever, as the guardians of the harbor. draw your mantles around your shoulders, furs they are, but flowers they shall be. as my garments are of flowers, so shall yours be, golden poppies, lupins, blue, shall deck your mantle. blue and gold shall be your colors-- blue, for purity of purpose; gold, for worth of soul and spirit. while you stand above the harbor, while you call the fog and west-wind, while you wear your cloak of poppies, never shall a foeman enter through the golden gate with war-boats. pluck the petal, let it flutter to the ground. your wish is granted. stand forever, native daughters, as twin peaks, to guard the harbor.' that was long ago, my children, when the earth was young, and people heard the voices of the spirits-- knew the language of the sea-birds. to this day the ancient warriors flounder on the sea rock islands, barking, roaring, crowding, fighting, near the gateway of the harbor. still the sisters, as the twin peaks, guard the city and the harbor. in the summer, at the season when the ancient foes came southward, they invoke the cooling west-wind with its fog, to screen the harbor; yet, the sunlight seeks the valley where the ancient tepees clustered, beaming there in benediction, while around it lie the shadows.' that, my children, is the legend told beside the evening campfire by the ancient tamal woman, in a grove of giant redwoods, on the slopes of tamalpais. the sea gulls. round the boat the sea gulls hovered, soaring on their spreading pinions, floating on the air, but turning searching eyes upon the people; searching, searching, always searching, winging, swinging, darting, calling in their plaintive tones, "ah-we-a." by my side my friend, the tamal, stood and gazed upon the sea gulls. long he gazed in deep abstraction, then he said, "they still are searching, still are calling to ah-we-a. would you know the tamal legend of ah-we-a and the sea gulls? know you, then, that these blue waters were not always calm and peaceful. once the sea king, grim and moody, held his court within this harbor-- held his carnivals of beauty, and his wild and stormy revels. in the cove of sausalito, where the houses of the paleface terrace on the wooded hillside and the sailboats ride at anchor, lived a tribe of fisher people, building homes among the crannies of the rocks upon the bayshore, fishing in the harbor waters from their light canoes of redwood-- fishing boldly in defiance of the sea king's fitful anger at the raiding of his kingdom and the slaughter of his subjects. oft the sea king, in reprisal, lashed the harbor with his west wind till the breakers leaped in frenzy, overturning boats and claiming many fishermen as victims. those who clung in desperation to their boats and reached the mainland told the tale of their encounter with the sea king in the tempest. through the smother of the surges, through the driving rain and fog-banks, came the sea king's boat upon them, drawn by floundering sea horses with their manes of seafoam curling from the prow and backward trailing. through the mist they saw it faintly, as a ghostly apparition, riding down upon the billows-- phantom ship, at times transparent, white or gray--to ride them over; racing nearer, nearer, nearer, then dissolving into vapor; or, at times, it darted past them. giving glimpses through the fog-banks of the furies at the paddles, bending, dipping, throwing surges from their mighty magic paddles, while the wake of foaming waters seethed and boiled in whirlpool currents. long the warfare had continued. fishermen must live by fishing, and the sea king claimed his victims through a strategy of cunning, seeking ever to beguile them to the sea to work his vengeance. when day dawned in rosy splendor calm and still the harbor waters as a sea of purple satin, only wrinkled into ruffles, ever widening in a circle where the fishes leaped the surface. fishermen with song and laughter, waved farewell to wives and children, paddled off into the silence; then, without a sign of warning, gales arose and lashed the harbor till the waters writhed and tumbled, wave on wave, in thundering tumult; and the sea king, in his anger, dashed the boats, o'erturned and empty, high upon the rocky seashore at the feet of wailing women. queen ah-we-a of the fishers mourned the sorrows of her people; comforted the weeping widows; cared for all the little orphans. little wonder that her subjects loved the gentle queen ah-we-a. long the queen in silence pondered on the perils of her people. long she stood upon the headland where the wind-distorted cedars cling upon the rocky hillside. long she prayed to the great spirit for his guidance and protection. long she prayed and watched and waited till the moon came up and silvered all the sea, and cast the shadows of the cedars, weird and lonely. from the harbor came the night winds robed in tinsel veils of vapors, and they whispered in the branches of the cedar trees above her-- whispered of the king, their master, whispered terms for ceasing warfare. ah-we-a heard the hard conditions, bowed her head as in submission. on her face the resolution for a sacrifice was graven-- for a sacrifice so noble that the spirit in the heavens smiled and promised, in her absence, to protect her fisher people. morning dawned, with vapors brooding on the silent glassy waters. queen ah-we-a called her people to the sandy shore, and standing in her light canoe of deer skin, told them of her nightlong vigil. 'now i go,' she said in parting, 'to the great boat of the sea king, there to plead that storms be banished, banished from our bay forever. the great spirit will protect you till i come again to lead you.' then her paddle dipped the water, and her light canoe of deer skin went into the fog and faded, faded to a shadow outline, then was gone into the silence. long and watchfully the people waited for the queen ah-we-a. then a great fear came upon them. 'she is lost. the wicked sea king holds her hostage on his war boat.' thus they mourned, and prayed the father, the great spirit, that he give them wings to fly above the waters where the sea king could not reach them. 'give us wings,' they prayed 'on pinions would we fly to find ah-we-a. change us, father, into sea birds. let us search and find ah-we-a, and at last, when we have found her, change us back to fisher people. in the flicker of an eyelid, all the fisher men and women and their children changed to sea gulls. and the father, ever mindful of his promise to ah-we-a, put into the hearts of mortals universal love for sea gulls. laws have even been enacted to protect them from the hunters. to this day the faithful sea gulls search the bay, now free from tempests; search the ferry boats and steamers, soaring by on spreading pinions, peering into people's faces, searching for their queen ah-we-a. winging, swinging, darting, calling in their plaintive tones, 'ah-we-a;' for they know that when they find her they will change to human beings, subjects of the queen ah-we-a. thus was told the ancient legend of ah-we-a and the sea gulls. the islands of the bay. tamalpais wrapped her mantle of the clouds about her shoulders. gray the day, and melancholy, for december rains were falling, falling in a steady downpour. mournful branches of the redwoods, drooping, dripping, swayed above us; moaned above the lonely cabin on the slope of tamalpais. raindrops pattered on the shingles, beat against the eastern windows, flooding down the glass in torrents. through the veil of slanting rainfall. could be seen the distant harbor, with its flecks of fleecy vapors floating, merging, disappearing. in the fireplace of the cabin, logs and knots of pine were blazing, snapping with the pitch imprisoned; flocks of sparks were flying upward; flags of flame were waving welcome, warming, cheering, exorcising ghosts of gloom and eerie phantoms; bringing brightness and the odor of the burning pitch that lingers as the incense of the forests. by the fireplace sat the tamal, lone survivor of her people-- sat and listened to the patter of the raindrops on the shingles, to the soughing of the west-wind in the branches of the redwoods. long she gazed upon the harbor, lying leaden-gray below us. then, she told this ancient legend-- legend of her tribe, the tamals, legend of an ancient deluge. "do you see," she said, "the islands of the albatross and beaver? by another name you call them. one is crested by a prison, grim and somber, melancholy; one is gay with flags and bunting, ringing with the martial music of your sailor boys in training; yet, if you observe them closely, you will see in one the profile of an albatross, a giant sea bird, sleeping on the water; while the other is a beaver facing always to the eastward. when the noon sun casts its shadows you may see his stony features from the deck of ferry steamers near the pier that wades the shallows on the harbor's eastern border, tamals call them sacred islands of the albatross and beaver, for upon their backs were carried all the tamals through the deluge. down the ages came the legend, told by fathers to the children, told on rainy winter evenings round the campfires of the tamals. from the ocean rolled the rain-clouds, came unceasingly the rain-clouds. black and heavy were the rain-clouds, lighted only by the flashes of the lightning playing in them. fell the rain as falls the torrents in the waterfalls of rivers, fell through days of murky darkness, fell through nights of inky blackness, fell for days and nights unnumbered. waters covered plains and valleys. on the coast the sea was rising, flooding all the lower country, creeping up the mountain foothills; still the rains in floods descended. up the slopes of tamalpais climbed the people of the tamals, while behind them crept the waters, covering the hills and mountains. one by one the peaks were swallowed in the flood of rising waters. on the gray and sullen waters floated logs and trees uprooted; on the trunks and in the branches cowered creatures of the forests, then the people prayed the spirit-- prayed the father in the heavens-- that he save his tribe, the tamals, ere the waters rise above them; and the spirit heard their pleading, sent the albatross and beaver, giant messengers from heaven, as the saviors of the tamals. albatross came from the westward, through the lightning of the storm-clouds, growing larger, coming nearer, till the thunder of his pinions echoed from the cliffs above them, then he rested on the waters. from the eastward came the beaver, swimming through the turbid waters, growing, growing, ever growing, till he had become a giant, on whose back the tribe of tamals could find refuge from the waters. then a voice spoke from the storm-clouds, spoke in mighty tones of thunder: 'i have heard your prayer, oh tamals; you shall live, and shall re-people all the world with men and women. i will give to them the spirit of the albatross who searches distant seas on tireless pinions. i will give to them the wisdom of the beaver who with patience labors, building and constructing. on the albatross and beaver you shall ride, until the waters shall return to their own borders.' on the albatross and beaver all the tamals rode in safety, while the swirling deluge covered all the foothills and the mountains. then the northwind, dry and scorching, drove the rain-clouds to the ocean, and the sun-rays, piercing through them, glinted on the troubled waters. came the peak of tamalpais as an island to the surface; down the slopes the flood receded baring forests to the sunlight, then the grass-lands of the valleys and the old familiar coastline. with rejoicing all the tamals sought their homes along the bayshore, singing thanks to the great spirit, singing praises to their saviors, giant albatross and beaver, resting then, within the harbor. then again, in voice of thunder, spoke the spirit from the heavens; 'let the totem of the tamals be the albatross and beaver; search and labor, be their motto; and, lest children of their children may forget their mighty saviors, giant albatross and beaver shall be changed to rocky islands-- monuments to stand forever, in the harbor of the tamals.' thus the ancient tamal woman told the legend of the islands, while december rains were falling, and the fragrant pine was burning in the fireplace of the cabin on the slope of tamalpais. the lake of merita. the lengthening shadows of evening were creeping on mount tamalpais, painting with purple the valleys, gilding the ridges and summit. green were the groves of the redwoods, lacing their branches together; through them the last rays of sunlight pierced to the carpet of needles. only the tinkling of water, only the breeze in the branches, only the call of the blue jays broke the mysterious silence. far through the canyon i wandered, far to her camp in the redwoods-- the home of the indian woman, wrinkled and old and decrepit, learned in the lore of the tamals. nearing her camp-fire, i saw her, and halted in fear, lest i trespass. she sat like a priestess of forests, chanting with weird intonations, slowly, with strange repetitions, swaying in rhythmical measure. round her the wild forest creatures gathered and sat at attention. birds ceased their anthems of evening, fluttered to branches above her, listened as if fascinated. the singing was hushed when she saw me; away fled the wild things to cover. "welcome, my friend," said the tamal. "a seat at my camp-fire is waiting." her welcome was hearty and friendly, but out of the shade of the forests came chattering, chirping and barking, resenting, reproaching, complaining. i sat by the camp-fire and listened in wonder. the scene was uncanny. at last, when the plaints had subsided, or faded away in the distance, i said , "tell me, friend, by what magic are wild creatures called to your camp-fire. is it a secret you cherish? may you reveal it to others?" she gazed in the flickering embers, dreamily gazed in the embers, then she replied, "you have heard me singing the song of merita, the magical song of merita, merita, the friend of wild creatures, wearers of fur or of feathers, creatures of forest and mountain, birds of the sea and the marshes. i will tell you the tale of merita, merita, the daughter of yado, chief of the fishermen people who lived by the lake of the oak trees, far to the east of the harbor. slender and tall was merita, dark were her eyes, and her tresses glossy and black as the feathers that gleam on the wings of the raven. gentle and kind was merita, serving the young and the aged, nursing the sick and the wounded, cheering when sorrow was breaking the heart of some one of her people. the gods taught merita the language of birds that made nests in the oak trees, of water fowl thronging the tules, of all furry creatures that peopled the hills and the valleys around them. they came from afar when she called them, called with her song, and they hastened to tell her their troubles and sorrows. she bound up their wounds and caressed them, and told them the wiles of the hunters. wandering one day to the northward, she came to a creek where strawberries, ripe and delicious were growing beside a small stream that cascaded down from the peak of the grizzlies. refreshing herself with the berries she sat in the shade of the live oaks, the ancient and widespreading live oaks, and called to the wild forest creatures, singing the song of merita. 'come, come, come, birds of the air, for i love you. come, come, come, tell how you fare, for i love you. come, come, come, wild creatures, know that i love you. come, come, come, tell me your woe, for i love you. come, come, come, you will i serve, for i love you. come, come, come, you well deserve, and i love you. come, come, come, i bring you aid, for i love you. come, come, come, be not afraid, for i love you. come, come, come--come--come--come.' before the monotonous chanting was finished, the blue jays and robins, pigeons, and bluebirds, and blackbirds flew to the branches above her, and tipping their heads to observe her opened their bills in complaining. down from the canyon a white fawn came with a shaft in her shoulder, fell at the feet of merita, bleating her plea for protection. quickly the arrow was taken out of her quivering shoulder. then came the hunter, pursuing-- halted, and gazed in amazement. 'i am zarando, the tamal, chief of the thousand oaks people. pardon me, if i have wounded a pet of the beautiful stranger.' under the arm of merita the frightened fawn crept for protection. 'i am merita, the daughter of yado, the chief of the fishers who live by the lake of the oak trees. the fawn is my friend, and she answers my call to all wild forest creatures.' 'i have a call,' said zarando, 'a call to decoy the wild creatures into the range of my arrows, yet few are deceived by the pretense. teach me your call, oh, merita. 'nay, nay, zarando; love only will draw the wild creatures around you. love does not change cannot injure-- the shaft is not aimed at a loved one. if you would draw the wild creatures, love them, and guard them from danger.' 'i am a hunter, merita, and yet would i gladly abandon the bow and the trap to secure the charm that the great spirit gives you. tell me the secret, merita, teach me to speak in the language of all the wild creatures around you; teach me to know and to love them.' then were the first lessons given, where now gather thousands of students, beneath the old widespreading live oaks that stand by the stream in the campus. there the first teacher and pupil, merita and young chief zarando, met on the mornings that followed, met for the love of the study, and then for the love of each other. no more were the tamals and fishers rivals, at war with each other; united they lived as one people-- one people around the great harbor. zarando, their chief ruled with justice; merita, their queen ruled with mercy. their village grew up where the oak trees stand on a point in the lakelet. the water birds came at her calling, and thronged on the lake of merita, holding conventions, and heeding the judgments she gave in their quarrels. no one disturbed them nor harmed them; there was a refuge from danger. it is said that souls of the lovers still live in the oak trees that border the shore of the lake of merita; and that water-birds come at their calling, and throng, unafraid, on the waters, hearing the song of merita: 'come, come, come, birds of the air, for i love you. come, come, come, tell how you fare, for i love you. come, come, come, i bring you aid, for i love you. come, come, come, be not afraid, for i love you.' come, come, come, come, come, come." the end bridge crossing by dave dryfoos illustrated by harrison [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] he knew the city was organized for his individual defense, for it had been that way since he was born. but who was his enemy? in , the mist that sometimes rolled through the golden gate was known as fog. in , it had become far more frequent, and was known as smog. by , it was fog again. but tonight there was smoke mixed with the fog. roddie could smell it. somewhere in the forested ruins, fire was burning. he wasn't worried. the small blaze that smoldered behind him on the cracked concrete floor had consumed everything burnable within blocks; what remained of the gutted concrete office building from which he peered was fire-proof. but roddie was himself aflame with anger. as always when invaders broke in from the north, he'd been left behind with his nurse, molly, while the soldiers went out to fight. and nowadays molly's presence wasn't the comfort it used to be. he felt almost ready to jump out of his skin, the way she rocked and knitted in that grating ruined chair, saying over and over again, "the soldiers don't _want_ little boys. the soldiers don't _want_ little boys. the soldiers don't--" "i'm _not_ a little boy!" roddie suddenly shouted. "i'm full-grown and i've never even _seen_ an invader. why won't you let me go and fight?" fiercely he crossed the bare, gritty floor and shook molly's shoulder. she rattled under his jarring hand, and abruptly changed the subject. "a is for atom, b is for bomb, c is for corpse--" she chanted. roddie reached into her shapeless dress and pinched. lately that had helped her over these spells. but this time, though it stopped the kindergarten song, the treatment only started something worse. "wuzzums hungry?" molly cooed, still rocking. utterly disgusted, roddie ripped her head off her neck. it was a completely futile gesture. the complicated mind that had cared for him and taught him speech and the alphabet hadn't made him a mechanic, and his only tool was a broken-handled screwdriver. * * * * * he was still tinkering when the soldiers came in. while they lined up along the wall, he put molly's head back on her neck. she gaped coyly at the new arrivals. "hello, boys," she simpered. "looking for a good time?" roddie slapped her to silence, reflecting briefly that there were many things he didn't know about molly. but there was work to be done. carefully he framed the ritual words she'd taught him: "soldiers, come to attention and report!" there were eleven of them, six feet tall, with four limbs and eight extremities. they stood uniformly, the thumbs on each pair of hands touching along the center line of the legs, front feet turned out at an angle of forty-five degrees, rear feet turned inward at thirty degrees. "sir," they chorused, "we have met the enemy and he is ours." he inspected them. all were scratched and dented, but one in particular seemed badly damaged. his left arm was almost severed at the shoulder. "come here, fellow," roddie said. "let's see if i can fix that." the soldier took a step forward, lurched suddenly, stopped, and whipped out a bayonet. "death to invaders!" he yelled, and charged crazily. molly stepped in front of him. "you aren't being very nice to my baby," she murmured, and thrust her knitting needles into his eyes. roddie jumped behind him, knocked off his helmet, and pressed a soft spot on his conical skull. the soldier collapsed to the floor. * * * * * roddie salvaged and returned molly's needles. then he examined the patient, tearing him apart as a boy dismembers an alarm clock. it was lucky he did. the left arm's pair of hands suddenly writhed off the floor in an effort to choke him. but because the arm was detached at the shoulder and therefore blind, he escaped the clutching onslaught and could goad the reflexing hands into assaulting one another harmlessly. meanwhile, the other soldiers left, except for one, apparently another casualty, who stumbled on his way out and fell into the fire. by the time roddie had hauled him clear, damage was beyond repair. roddie swore, then decided to try combining parts of this casualty with pieces of the other to make a whole one. to get more light for the operation, he poked up the fire. roddie was new at his work, and took it seriously. it alarmed him to watch the soldiers melt away, gradually succumbing to battle damage, shamed him to see the empty ruins burn section by section as the invaders repeatedly broke through and had to be burned out. soon there would be nothing left of the _private property keep out_ that, according to molly's bedtime story, the owners had entrusted to them when driven away by radioactivity. soon the soldiers themselves would be gone. none would remain to guard the city but a few strayed servants like molly, and an occasional civil defender. and himself, roddie reflected, spitting savagely into the fire. he might remain. but how he fitted into the picture, he didn't know. and molly, who claimed to have found him in the ruins after a fight with invaders twenty years before, couldn't or wouldn't say. well, for as long as possible, roddie decided, he'd do his duty as the others did theirs--single-mindedly. eventually the soldiers might accept him as one of themselves; meanwhile, this newly attempted first aid was useful to them. he gave the fire a final poke and then paused, wondering if, when heated, his screwdriver could make an unfastened end of wire stick on the grayish spot where it seemed to belong. stretching prone to blow the embers hot so he could try out his new idea, roddie got too close to the flames. instantly the room filled with the stench of singed hair. roddie drew angrily back, beating out the sparks in his uncut blond mane. as he stood slapping his head and muttering, a deranged civil defense firefighter popped into the doorway and covered him with carbon dioxide foam. roddie fled. his life-long friends were not merely wearing out, they were unbearably wearing. * * * * * in the street, even before he'd wiped off the foam, he regretted his flight. the fire was back home. and here in the cold of this fog-shrouded canyon, a mere trail between heaped-up walls of rubble, the diaper he wore felt inadequate against the pre-dawn cold. his cherished weapon, a magnetic tack-hammer, was chill beneath the diaper's top, and the broken, radium-dialed wristwatch suspended from a string around his neck hung clammy against his chest. he stood irresolute on numbing bare feet, and considered returning to the more familiar bedlam. but colder than cold was his shame at being cold. molly never was, though she knew how to keep him warm, nor were the others. hunger, thirst, pain and coldness were sensations never experienced by his friends. like the growth he'd been undergoing till recently, these were things of ignominy, to be hidden as far as possible from inquiring eyes. cold as it was, he'd have to hide. temporarily, the darkness concealed him, though it was not quite complete. from above the fog, the moon played vaguely deceptive light on the splinters of architecture looming toward it. some distance off, an owl hooted, but here nocturnal rodents felt free to squeak and rustle as they scampered. the world seemed ghostly. yet it wasn't dead; it merely lurked. and as an irrepressible yawn reminded roddie of his absurd need for sleep even in the midst of danger, he concluded for the thousandth time that the one who'd built him must have been an apprentice. for just such reasons he'd developed the hideout toward which he now walked. it had been the haven of his adolescence, when the discovery of how much he differed from his friends had been a shock, and the shock itself a difference to be hidden. his hiding place was a manhole, dead center in the dead street. a weathered bronze bar, carefully placed in the cover's slotted rim, was the levering key that opened its door. _everything_ was wrong tonight! he couldn't even find the bar. of course that spoiled things, because the bar was a roller on which to move the heavy cover from below, and a support that held it ajar for ventilation. but the example of his friends had taught him above all else to carry out every purpose. molly was a nurse; she had raised him despite all obstacles. the soldiers were guards; they protected the ruins against everything larger than a rat. the firefighter had put even _him_ out when he was aflame.... anyhow, the manhole cover had been loosened by his frequent handling. he lifted it aside by main strength, then flattened himself to the street, and felt with his feet for the top rung. halfway down the iron ladder, something made him pause. he looked, but saw only blackness. he listened, sniffed, found nothing. what could have entered through the iron cover? he sneered at his own timidity and jumped to the bottom. it was warm! the dry bottom of the hole had the temperature of body heat, as if a large animal had recently rested there! * * * * * quickly, roddie drew the hammer from his waist. then, with weapon ready for an instantaneous blow, he stretched his left hand through the darkness. he touched something warm, softish. gingerly he felt over that curving surface for identifying features. while roddie investigated by touch, his long fingers were suddenly seized and bitten. at the same time, his right shin received a savage kick. and his own retaliatory blow was checked in mid-swing by an unexpected voice. "get your filthy hands off me!" it whispered angrily. "who do you think you are?" startled, he dropped his hammer. "i'm roddie," he said, squatting to fumble for it. "who do you think _you_ are?" "i'm ida, naturally! just how many girls _are_ there in this raiding party?" his first invader--and he had dropped his weapon! scrabbling fearfully in the dust for his hammer, roddie paused suddenly. this girl--whatever _that_ was--seemed to think him one of her own kind. there was a chance, not much, but worth taking, to turn delay to advantage. maybe he could learn something of value before he killed her. that would make the soldiers accept him! he stalled, seeking a gambit. "how would _i_ know how many girls there are?" half expecting a blow, he got instead an apology. "i'm sorry," the girl said. "i should have known. never even heard your name before, either. roddie.... whose boat did you come in, roddie?" boat? what was a boat? "how would i know?" he repeated, voice tight with fear of discovery. if she noticed the tension, she didn't show it. certainly her whisper was friendly enough. "oh, you're one of the fellows from bodega, then. they shoved a boy into our boat at the last minute, too. tough, wasn't it, getting separated in the fog and tide like that? if only we didn't have to use boats.... but, say, how are we going to get away from here?" "i wouldn't know," roddie said, closing his fingers on the hammer, and rising. "how did you get in?" "followed your footprints. it was sundown and i saw human tracks in the dust and they led me here. where were you?" "scouting around," roddie said vaguely. "how did you know i was a man when i came back?" "because you couldn't see me, silly! you know perfectly well these androids are heat-sensitive and can locate us in the dark!" indeed he did know! many times he'd felt ashamed that molly could find him whenever she wanted to, even here in the manhole. but perhaps the manhole would help him now to redeem himself.... * * * * * "i'd like to get a look at you," he said. the girl laughed self-consciously. "it's getting gray out. you'll see me soon enough." but she'd see _him_, roddie realized. he had to talk fast. "what'll we do when it's light?" he asked. "well, i guess the boats have gone," ida said. "you could swim the gate, i guess--you seem tall and strong enough. but i couldn't. you'll think it's crazy, but i've given this some thought, and even looked it over from the other side. i expect to try the golden gate bridge!" now he was getting somewhere! the bridge was ruined, impassable. even her own people had crossed the strait by other means. but if there _were_ a way over the bridge.... "it's broken," he said. "how in the world can we cross it?" "oh, you'll find out, if you take me up there. i--i don't want to be alone, roddie. will you go with me? now?" well, she could be made to point out the route before he killed her--_if_ nothing happened when she saw him. uneasy, roddie hefted the hammer in his hand. a giggle broke the pause. "it's nice of you to wait and let me go first up the ladder," the girl said. "but where the heck is the rusty old thing?" "i'll go first," said roddie. he might need the advantage. "the ladder's right behind me." he climbed with hammer in teeth, and stretched his left hand from street level to grasp and neutralize the girl's right. then, nervously fingering his weapon, he stared at her in the thin gray dawn. she was short and lean, except for roundnesses here and there. from her shapeless doeskin dress stretched slender legs that tapered to feet that were bare, tiny, and, like her hands, only two in number. roddie was pleased. they were evenly matched as to members, and that would make things easy when the time came. he looked into her face. it smiled at him, tanned and ruddy, with a full mouth and bright dark eyes that hid under long lashes when he looked too long. startling, those wary eyes. concealing. for a moment he felt a rush of fear, but she gave his hand a squeeze before twisting loose, and burst into sudden laughter. "diapers!" she chortled, struggling to keep her voice low. "my big, strong, blond and blue-eyed hero goes into battle wearing diapers, and carrying only a hammer to fight with! you're the most unforgettable character i have ever known!" he'd passed inspection, then--so far. he expelled his withheld breath, and said, "i think you'll find me a little odd, in some ways." "oh, not at all," ida replied quickly. "different, yes, but i wouldn't say odd." * * * * * when they started down the street, she was nervous despite roddie's assertion that he knew where the soldiers were posted. he wondered if she felt some of the doubt he'd tried to conceal, shared his visions of what the soldiers might do if they found him brazenly strolling with an invader. they might not believe he was only questioning a prisoner. every day, his friends were becoming more unpredictable. for that very reason, because he didn't know what precautions would do any good, he took a chance and walked openly to the bridge by the most direct route. in time this apparent assurance stilled ida's fears, and she began to talk. many of the things she said were beyond his experience and meaningless to him, but he did note with interest how effective the soldiers had been. "it's awful," ida said. "so few young men are left, so many casualties.... "but why do you--we--keep up the fight?" roddie asked. "i mean, the soldiers will never leave the city; their purpose is to guard it and they _can't_ leave, so they won't attack. let them alone, and there'll be plenty of young men." "well!" said ida, sharply. "you need indoctrination! didn't they ever tell you that the city is our home, even if the stupid androids do keep us out? don't you know how dependent we are on these raids for all our tools and things?" she sounded suspicious. roddie shot her a furtive, startled glance. but she wasn't standing off to fight him. on the contrary, she was too close for both comfort and combat. she bumped him hip and shoulder every few steps, and if he edged away, she followed. he went on with his questioning. "why are _you_ here? i mean, sure, the others are after tools and things, but what's _your_ purpose?" ida shrugged. "i'll admit no girl has ever done it before," she said, "but i thought i could help with the wounded. that's why i have no weapon." she hesitated, glanced covertly up at him, and went on with a rush of words. "it's the lack of men, i guess. all the girls are kind of bored and hopeless, so i got this bright idea and stowed away on one of the boats when it was dark and the fog had settled down. do you think i was being silly?" "no, but you do seem a little purposeless." in silence they trudged through a vast area of charred wood and concrete foundations on the northern end of the city. thick fog over the water hid alcatraz, but in-shore visibility was better, and they could see the beginning of the bridge approach. a stone rattled nearby. there was a clink of metal. ida gasped, and clung to roddie's arm. "behind me!" he whispered urgently. "get behind me and hold on!" he felt ida's arms encircling his waist, her chin digging into his back below the left shoulder. facing them, a hundred feet away, stood a soldier. he looked contemptuous, hostile. "it's all right," roddie said, his voice breaking. there was a long, sullen, heart-stopping stare. then the soldier turned and walked away. ida's grip loosened, and he could feel her sag behind him. roddie turned and held her. with eyes closed, she pressed cold blue lips to his. he grimaced and turned away his head. ida's response was quick. "forgive me," she breathed, and slipped from his arms, but she held herself erect. "i was so scared. and then we've had no sleep, no food or water." roddie was familiar with these signs of weakness, proud of appearing to deny his own humiliating needs. "i guess you're not as strong as me," he said smugly. "i'll take care of you. of course we can't sleep now, but i'll get food and water." leaving her to follow, he turned left to the ruins of a supermarket he had previously visited, demonstrating his superior strength by setting a pace ida couldn't match. by the time she caught up with him, he had grubbed out a few cans of the special size that molly always chose. picking two that were neither dented, swollen, nor rusted, he smashed an end of each with his hammer, and gave ida her choice of strained spinach or squash. "baby food!" she muttered. "maybe it's just what we need, but to eat baby food with a man wearing a diaper.... tell me, roddie, how did you happen to know where to find it?" "well, this is the northern end of the city," he answered, shrugging. "i've been here before." "why did the soldier let us go?" "this watch," he said, touching the radium dial. "it's a talisman." but ida's eyes had widened, and the color was gone from her face. she was silent, too, except when asking him to fill his fast-emptied can with rain-water. she didn't finish her own portion, but lay back in the rubble with feet higher than her head, obviously trying to renew her strength. and when they resumed their walk, her sullen, fear-clouded face showed plainly that he'd given himself away. but to kill her now, before learning how she planned to cross the supposedly impassable bridge, seemed as purposeless and impulsive as ida herself. roddie didn't think, in any case, that her death would satisfy the soldiers. with new and useful information to offer, he might join them as an equal at last. but if his dalliance with this enemy seemed pointless, not even molly's knitting needles could protect him. he was sure the soldiers must be tracking the mysterious emanations of his watch dial, and had trouble to keep from glancing over his shoulder at every step. but arrival at the bridge approach ended the need for this self-restraint. here, difficult going demanded full attention. * * * * * he'd never gone as far as the bridge before, not having wanted to look as if he might be leaving the city. the approach was a jungle of concrete with an underbrush of reinforcing-steel that reached for the unwary with rusted spines. frequently they had to balance on cracked girders, and inch over roadless spots high off the ground. here ida took the lead. when they got to where three approach roads made a clover-leaf, she led him down a side road and into a forest. roddie stopped, and seized her arm. "what are you trying to do?" he demanded. "i'm taking you with me," ida said firmly. "taking you where you belong!" "no!" he blurted, drawing his hammer. "i can't go, nor let you go. i belong here!" ida gasped, twisted loose, and ran. roddie ran after her. she wasn't so easily caught. like a frightened doe, she dashed in and out among the trees, leaped to the bridge's underpinnings where they thrust rustedly from a cliff, and scrambled up the ramp. roddie sighed and slowed down. the pavement ended just beyond the cable anchors. from there to the south tower, only an occasional dangling support wire showed where the actual bridge had been suspended. ida was trapped. he could take his time. let the soldiers come up, as they undoubtedly would, to finish the job.... but ida didn't seem to realize she was trapped. without hesitation she dashed up the main left-hand suspension cable and ran along its curved steel surface. for a moment, roddie thought of letting her go, letting her run up the ever-steepening catenary until--because there were no guard-ropes or handgrips--she simply fell. that would solve his problem. except it wouldn't be _his_ solution. her death wouldn't prove him to his friends. he set out quickly, before ida was lost to sight in the thick fog that billowed in straight from the ocean. at first he ran erect along the top of the yard-wide cylinder of twisted metal, but soon the curve steepened. he had to go on all fours, clinging palm and sole. blood was on the cable where she'd passed. more blood stained it when he'd followed. but because his friends knew neither pain nor fatigue, roddie would admit none either. nor would he give in to the fear that dizzied him at every downward look. he scrambled on like an automaton, watching only his holds, till he rammed ida's rear with his head. * * * * * she had stopped, trembling and gasping. roddie clung just below her and looked dazedly around. there was nothing in sight but fog, pierced by the rapier of rusted wire supporting them. neither end of it was in sight. upward lay success, if death were not nearer on the cable. no soldier had ever come even this far, for soldiers, as he'd told ida, never left the city, were not built to do so. but _he_ was here; with luck, he could capitalize on the differences that had plagued him so long. "go on!" he ordered hoarsely. "move!" there was neither answer nor result. he broke off an end of loosened wire and jabbed her rear. ida gasped and crawled on. up and up they went, chilled, wet, bleeding, pain-racked, exhausted. never had roddie felt so thoroughly the defects of his peculiar non-mechanical construction. without realizing it, he acquired a new purpose, a duty as compelling as that of any soldier or fire-watcher. he had to keep that trembling body of his alive, mount to the tall rust tower overhead. he climbed and he made ida climb, till, at nightmare's end, the fog thinned and they came into clear, windswept air and clawed up the last hundred feet to sanctuary. they were completely spent. without word or thought they crept within the tower, huddled together for warmth on its dank steel deck, and slept for several hours. * * * * * roddie awoke as ida finished struggling free of his unconscious grip. limping, he joined her painful walk around the tower. from its openings they looked out on a strange and isolated world. to the north, where ida seemed drawn as though by instinct, mount tamalpais reared its brushy head, a looming island above a billowy white sea of fog. to the south were the twin peaks, a pair of buttons on a cotton sheet. eastward lay mount diablo, bald and brooding, tallest of the peaks and most forbidding. but westward over the ocean lay the land of gold--of all the kinds of gold there are, from brightest yellow to deepest orange. only a small portion of the setting sun glared above the fog-bank; the rest seemed to have been broken off and smeared around by a child in love with its color. fascinated, roddie stared for minutes, but turned when ida showed no interest. she was intent on the tower itself. following her eyes, roddie saw his duty made suddenly clear. easy to make out even in the fading light was the route by which invaders could cross to the foot of this tower on the remaining ruins of the road, climb to where he now stood, and then descend the cable over the bridge's gap and catch the city unaware. easy to estimate was the advantage of even this perilous route over things that scattered on the water and prevented a landing in strength. easy to see was the need to kill ida before she carried home this knowledge. roddie took the hammer from his waist. "don't! oh, don't!" ida screamed. she burst into tears and covered her face with scratched and bloodied hands. surprised, roddie withheld the blow. he had wept, as a child, and, weeping, had for the first time learned he differed from his friends. ida's tears disturbed him, bringing unhappy memories. "why should you cry?" he asked comfortingly. "you know your people will come back to avenge you and will destroy my friends." "but--but my people are your people, too," ida wailed. "it's so senseless, now, after all our struggle to escape. don't you see? your friends are only machines, built by our ancestors. we are men--and the city is ours, not theirs!" "it _can't_ be," roddie objected. "the city surely belongs to those who are superior, and my friends are superior to your people, even to me. each of _us_ has a purpose, though, while you invaders seem to be aimless. each of _us_ helps preserve the city; you only try to rob and end it by destroying it. _my_ people must be the true men, because they're so much more rational than yours.... and it isn't rational to let you escape." ida had turned up her tear-streaked face to stare at him. "rational! what's rational about murdering a defenseless girl in cold blood? don't you realize we're the same sort of being, we two? don't--don't you remember how we've been with each other all day?" she paused. roddie noticed that her eyes were dark and frightened, yet somehow soft, over scarlet cheeks. he had to look away. but he said nothing. "never mind!" ida said viciously. "you can't make me beg. go ahead and kill--see if it proves you're superior. my people will take over the city regardless of you and me, and regardless of your jumping-jack friends, too! men can accomplish anything!" * * * * * scornfully she turned and looked toward the western twilight. it was roddie's turn to stand and stare. "purpose!" ida flung at him over her shoulder. "logic! women hear so much of that from men! you're a man, all right! men _always_ call it logic when they want to destroy! loyalty to your own sort, kindness, affection--all emotional, aren't they? not a bit logical. emotion is for creating, and it's so much more logical to destroy, isn't it?" she whirled back toward him, advancing as if she wanted to sink her teeth into his throat. "go ahead. get it over with--if you have the courage." it was hard for roddie to look away from that wrath-crimsoned face, but it was even harder to keep staring into the blaze of her eyes. he compromised by gazing out an opening at the gathering dusk. he thought for a long time before he decided to tuck his hammer away. "it isn't reasonable to kill you now," he said. "too dark. you can't possibly get down that half-ruined manway tonight, so let's see how i feel in the morning." ida began to weep again, and roddie found it necessary to comfort her. and by morning he knew he was a man.